YouTube: The ABC's of ABDL

Here's a great video from some kink-friendly (but reportedly non-ABDL) folks based in Seattle talking about AB/DL. Lots of good information, some humor - Depend jokes galore - and two certified hotties using all of our terminology. Hot. 

One of them explains that he used to enjoy peeing in wetsuits, and kinda transfers this to an interest in diapers. They talk about the crossover between AB/DL and other kinks, as well. 

Exposed: America's Most Disgusting Fraternity!

I know that there are people in our community who hate me because I've spent the past eight years advocating for a community that is "18+". 

When my blog was new, community members offended by the 18+ used to hit me up fairly regularly to defend their own past practices of mixing minors with adults. I heard all of the arguments, from "it isn't porn unless there's nudity involved" to "if we don't take them under our wing, someone with bad intentions will." 

I didn't budge on my position, and over time the community members I heard from at first became the community members I saw posting "18+" on their own content, as well. 

Still, there were haters amongst the responsible community members. 

I saw you, haters... 

I once had a friend tell me that people were making fun of me on a chat on a popular AB/DL website. He didn't provide additional information, but I clicked into the chat, only to read a few "LOL"'s - but nothing more. I wrote back to tell him that nobody had said anything about me when I entered, and he reminded me that - duh - they wouldn't say it with me in the chatroom. He offered me his login information, and I took him up on it, entering as him a few minutes later. Sure enough, the conversation was all about "ABYSitter, the 18 and up Nazi". And it was people I'd thought were (online) friends - and standup members of the community - doing the shit talking. 

Another time I met with a young man in his early 20s who, over lunch, confided that he'd been wearing diapers with community members/groups since he was in his early teens. I realized this kid was fucked up and having some regrets, and put him on a bus bound for the west coast, where his parents were. The trip cost me nearly $200, minus a Greyhound credit I'd had on hand. I've sponsored contests and bought tons of diapers, and even paid straight non-ABDLs to wear for me, but the money I spent that day was probably some of the best money I've ever spent related to diapers. I knew when I bought the ticket that drama would follow - and it did - but it was worth it to me. 18+

I've posted so many "Hall of Shame" posts over the years, each reminding people to "keep it 18+". These posts chronicle the many community members who have gotten into trouble for forgetting how important not involving minors is - or not getting consent from other adults. For every person who tells me that they think these posts are important, it seems like there is another person who lets me know that I should stop posting them... the age of consent is different in their state or Canada... nothing sexual is going on with these minors they're chatting with... there's nothing illegal about wearing diapers with people, no matter the age... the list of excuses goes on and on. 

I've decided to keep on with the 18+ posts, regardless of who's with me or against me. No regrets, either. I believe that the culture of our community has changed over the past decade, and while I certainly don't give credit to the writings in my blog, enough people have let me know that they first saw it discussed on these pages to indicate that my blog has had a positive impact regarding it. 

I've talked to a number of collegebabies who have thanked me for blogging, admitting that they read this blog in high school but never contacted me out of respect for the 18+ requirement. Some of them have stories about others in the community having no such rules. One was upset because pictures he took as a minor, sharing with his "daddy", were publicly posted and shared hundreds of times on Tumblr. He wasn't as upset by the breach of his privacy as he was about having introduced what amounts of child porn to our community. He contacted me to apologize for not following the 18+ rule himself, something that meant a lot to me. 

I wish it meant as much to some of the others out in our community collecting young boys at every turn, not checking IDs, and even giving 'extra points' for those under 18 in some cases. I've been contacted by people under 18 many times, and my answer is always the same: 

   1. I don't F with people under 18. 

   2. That includes simply talking about diapers. 

   3. Regardless, you are a valued member of the community. 

   4. Lurking is OK until you're 18 - don't share, and beware those who ask you to. 

   5. I've been apart of this community a while, and look forward to welcoming you to it. 

   5b. Promise me you'll wait until you turn 18 to join. 

I include that last bullet point because I know that there are people in our community one might call 'diaper snipers' - they're here to watch for signs of young life, and try to snatch it up for their collections. This might include being a boy's first diaper experience, or adding boys to the list of boys they control, or collecting photos, or - well, you name it, and people will do it. 

This isn't meant to be a blog entry exposing our community's worst. 

It is, however, an explanation of why I've been so staunch of the 18+ posts, and why - even though younger people are going to be a part of our community anyway, and the age of consent is lower in some states and countries, and [insert lame-ass excuse here], I stay nazi on that age ruling. 

It's because I came up before the age of the internet. 

And because my first-ever introduction to the fact that there even was a community of adult diaper lovers was an exposé in Penthouse Magazine on a group of pedophiles who called themselves DPF. 

The year was 1991. I was a high school student. My best friend, Mark, had left a Penthouse magazine in my car, later telling me to read it - suggesting there was something in the magazine I would like. 

I'd felt hurt, at the time - Mark and I had spent much of our junior high and high school careers 'wrastling' to see who could pants each other, skinny dipping, and even spooning each other as we slept at night. Now he'd presented me with a hetero porno mag - and told me that I'd like it? What was that all about? 

READ MARK'S STORY - "BEST FRIENDS" PART I

READ MARK'S STORY - "BEST FRIENDS" PART II

READ MARK'S STORY - "BEST FRIENDS" PART III

It turned out that what Mark thought I would 'like' was an article on something called Diaper Pail Fraternity. 

DPF, the article explained, was a group of men who communicated through a monthly newsletter - and by mail - about their love for diapers. 

Somehow Mark had discovered my secret - and this, it seemed, was his way of letting me know he knew I loved diapers without having to speak the words. 

The problem was, the story in the magazine he'd left in my car was an exposé on 'America's Most Disgusting Fraternity' - and it centered around an FBI investigation into a network of pedophiles who, in the 1980s and early 1990s, used DPF for the purpose of networking to share child pornography and even set up experiences with boys as young as toddler age. 

Mark would later explain that he knew I wasn't interested in young boys. 

He'd read the article through the lense of someone with a best friend who was interested in diapers. 

But as I read it - still in my formative binge/purge stages - I couldn't help but immediately be ashamed of myself, and my diaper identity. Our 'community', it seemed, wanted nothing more than to meet up with little boys in the backs of vans, and make videos of them smashing their poop in their underwear. 

Yes, it was that disgusting... 

The article was written by an investigative reporter named Shaun Assael. He spent a lot of time talking to FBI agents, and looking through evidence. (Side note: Mr. Assael now heads up investigative reporting for ESPN, and writes stories on doping, FIFA, and other sporting-related topics.) His article, of course, was written from the perspective of someone who doesn't understand who we are, or why we like what we like. But it was primarily fact-based - and the facts did not make us look good, at all. 

The article followed the story of one Donald Salata - a University of Wisconsin graduate student who specialized in children who have trouble moving their bowels, according to the article. Mr. Salata, it seems, ran something of a mobile potty training service out of the back of his van - and parents trusted him to take their difficult-to-train children and find the secrets to potty training. 

In 1989 someone saw something that looked suspicious, and said something: they called the police and reported what might be child molestation occurring in the back of a Ford Econoline. A sheriff's deputy pulling up on scene found Salata, a young boy, and a tape recorder and video camera - Salata had just made recordings and video of the boy urinating and defecating in his diaper. In addition, the deputy would find numerous DPF newsletters, as well as letters from men who got Salata's contact information from the group. 

Investigators would find child pornography being traded by group members - three people were arrested and convicted shortly after Salata's mobile potty training service was discovered, and at least ten other suspects were named. At one point the FBI investigation included more than thirty agents, and the investigation became so large and unwieldy that they had to meet as a group at the Hyatt Regency in Kansas City, MO to discuss the case, convention style. 

(Note: not sure what the cartoon has to do with the article -

but it was included in the magazine,

and had a permanent imprint on my psyche, so I'm including it here...) 

The article discusses DPF at length, including a bio on founder 'Tommy' - identified in the article as former IT specialist Thomas E. Siegel. 

"The group, based in Sausalito, California, is run by former computer-systems analyst Thomas E. Siegel, known to followers only as Tommy" the article reads. "Siegel has created a mini-industry around infantilism - the retention of childish physical and emotional qualities in adult life. Siegel sells everything from plastic pants to hypnotic tapes that are billed as tools to induce incontinence. His bi-monthly newsletters tout the sensation of wearing diapers and sitting in excrement for long periods of time." 

In Salata's van sheriff's deputies would find more than 100 letters from fellow DPF members, some of whom addressed their correspondence to "Dirty Don" or "Poopy Pants." These responses - at least one thanking Salata for sending photos of the little boy in the van - appeared to clinch the case: Salata would be arrested on federal and local charges. Astonishingly, the parent of one of the children Salata cared for would contribute to his bail, after he wrote her a letter that included the following information:

"I was enuretic [subject to involuntary urinary discharge] nightly until age eight and ... sporadically for years afterward. What's more, I had a real jealousy of my twin brother and a real attachment to my night diapers. I had this emotional or psychological need for quite some time on into adolescence. I began to collect everything I could find that catered to this group - stories, products, etc. ... I tried to work with children and adolescents." 

The truth is, Salata's story closely mirrors mine, and many others in our community. 

Right up until the "trying to work with children and adolescents" part. 

DPF seems to have been a free-for-all at one point, with ABies and DLs and pedophiles all thrown into the same mixture, and one man - Tommy - left to do his best to sort it all out. 

The Penthouse article shows that membership in DPF was a magnet for pedophiles. 

And that our community at one point had very little ground rules when it came to the inclusion of minors - both children and teenagers - in our activities. 

The article goes on to describe the arrest of a noted abortion doctor, Dr. Milan Chepko, a frequent target of abortion activists who reportedly turned to age regression to cope with the stress. 

He also made and distributed videos, including one he sent to Salada in trade: it started with a close-up of an infant's anus, and cutting away to Chepko defecating, spreading the feces across his body, and then masturbating. 

According to Chepko's attorney: 

"They frightened him. He felt at risk physically and couldn't cope with the fear until it reached paralysis. When you're at the bottom, when your image is totally destroyed, what's the most degrading thing you can do? It's what he's charged with..." 

I remember being a high school student, reading this article, and feeling my face burn with shame and humiliation at hearing those words. 

I'd play them over and over in my head for a long time afterward. 

"What's the most degrading thing you can do? It's what he's charged with..." 

In my young and sheltered mind, the idea that these two men - and likely some of the others - were both pedophiles and infantilists ... well, that never really registered. 

These two men were me, I told myself. 

I liked what they liked. 

Certainly, you'd think, even a high school student struggling with his identity as both gay and a diaper enthusiast could discern the difference between pedophilia and a love for diapers. 

But you'd have to remember that there was no internet then. 

There was no 'community' - save for the DPF world I'd just been introduced to. 

I still had no fucking idea why I liked to wear diapers. 

And this article, in the form of a Penthouse expose on DPF, was the first real evidence that I wasn't alone. 

The trouble was, it linked infantilism with infants. 

And I didn't understand enough to know that the two aren't actually linked together. 

It was my best friend's offer to wear a diaper with me a few weeks after I read this that ended what would be my only real 'purge'. 

I'd been quietly throwing away the adult diapers I'd only recently discovered and purchased, and anything else that had to do with this 'diaper fetish' - including my thoughts - was being deeply hidden or discarded. 

I was ashamed of my love for diapers for the first time. And it sucked. 

Mark, though, had no belief whatsoever that my interest in wearing diapers had anything to do with children, and told me so. 

He also explained how he came to learn that I liked diapers - something he'd found out at just about the time this magazine had been published, coincidentally - and he told me that he understood why - even though he'd later admit that he didn't. 

"I'll let you put one on me," Mark had offered. "I just turned 17 last week... so I'm legal hehe... let's explore this thing together." 

In the end Mark would decline to wear an actual diaper, instead presenting me with a pair of his father's tighty whiteys he'd cut to fit like a cloth diaper. It still made for one of the hottest moments ever in little Chris's sexual awakening, and was a memory I'd treasure forever. (Click the links above to read more of the story). 

Still, as I lay next to my best friend, wearing a diaper - with him in his makeshift cloth diaper with diaper pins - we discussed diapers and why I might like them so much. 

Today I present myself as an expert, of sorts, on the subject. 

But as a teen I had no idea. 

I'll never forget, though, the importance of feeling like I needed to stress that it didn't have to do with actual children. 

I remember my face burning with rage at the people profiled in the Penthouse article, and their actions - actions that had lead to all of us being painted with the same brush by anyone who read it. 

Dr. Chepko's advertisement in the DPF newsletter had sought out "Fantasies of young boys who wet the best with diapers or underpants. Home videos to loan or trade." 

And while Tommy did his best to explain that the "young boys" part so often thrown around was supposed to be a fantasy many infantilists would use to imagine themselves in the 'young boy' role, the truth seemed to be that the network was as much a clearinghouse for child pornography as it was for anything else. 

I remember discovering DPF.com when I was in college, years later. 

It was an obvious extension of the 1980s era DPF, except now, instead of the 'Diaper Pail Fraternity', it had become 'Diaper Pail Friends.' 

I'll write more about my experiences with this, our community's first official 'place to play' on the web, in a future blog entry. Let's just say that the importance of remaining vigilant about 18+ never went away; some of my first contacts on the website were from people who were looking to trade in child porn. It was a far different world than the community we've become today. But it gradually morphed into a fairly safe space for ABDLs to meet, and it's really the precursor to the community we are today. By its end, when other community spaces eclipsed it, it bore little resemblance to the organization profiled in the Penthouse piece. 

I wrote this blog entry because I recently met a college student who expressed that, while he loved my blog and respected me for "putting yourself out there like that," he also had "a bone to pick" with me - because my blog had made it impossible for him to find a daddy while he was underage. 

He told me that he'd tried, and failed, to locate a daddy for several years. Two or more of the people he'd reached out to, he said, sarcastically told him that they'd love to do it, but that they didn't want to get on "Abysitter's Hall of Shame" - or words to that effect. 

Why, he wanted to know, was I forever going on and on about 18+. 

Didn't I realize that marginalized young ABDL's just coming up into our community? 

Didn't I think that my "exclusion" of them might make them feel like "pariahs" - like they are evil, dirty, and etc.? 

Who was I to think that I should have "control over" what people do and don't do? 

I realized, while we were talking, that I've done a shit ton of 18+ posts, but not very many that explain it in detail. Part of me, probably, thought that it needed no explanation. But I see, now, that it does. 

I should have realized this when the debate on the Race Car diapers was raging back in 2011 - the idea of a company using minor children in its diaper catalogs smacked of pedophilia to many in our community, but was defended by far more than I ever would have thought. I was occupied with some pretty heady shit then, and didn't post anything on it, but I did read a number of discussion on the subject, and backed up Todaler's position on it on RUPadded.com. That's when I received a batch of responses telling me I was wrong and our community should be inclusive of all ages lol - I should have blogged about this then, but didn't. 

I'll blog more about it in the future, but let this entry be my introduction to it. 

I'm passionate about 18+ because, in 1991, when I was still underage myself, my first realization that there was anyone besides me into diapers came in the form of a Penthouse Magazine article that linked our community with the pedophilia once rampant in it. 

I don't ever want my face to burn like that again. 

If we want to be able to say with certainty that we are a community that does not involve children in our fantasies, we need to keep it all 18+, all the time: photos, meetups, stories, and events. 

I am proud to call myself a member of this community, and prouder still that, over the years, incidences of inappropriateness appear to be on the decline. 

Anyone who is under 18 and waiting to join us has my profound respect if they do just that: wait. 

Everyone who works to convince them of that has my profound respect, as well. 

Our community, in its many forms and variations, has existed since at least 1980, according to this article. 

That's 35+ years of diapering. 

We're not going anywhere. 

There is no reason anyone under 18 can't wait to join in on the action, and the fun, until they turn 18. 

For the little dude who took me to task for ruining things for him - I suspect by the end of our conversation he understood that what I'd been trying to do was help him.

Just in case, here's my entry on the article that I referenced, as promise. 

PLEASE SHARE THIS

WITH ANY COMMUNITY MEMBERS

(18+ LOL)

WHO ARE UNCLEAR ON WHY

IT'S SO FUCKING IMPORTANT

THAT WE KEEP IT ALL

(ALL ALL ALL!) 

18+

CWIS

I'm interested in hearing from anyone else who saw this old article, either when it was first released or later over the years. Did anyone else have this ugliness as their first real introduction to our community? Email me: abysitter@gmail.com. 

America's Most Shocking Fraternity?

The Penthouse Magazine issue that I ordered came in the mail today. This is the magazine that a friend gave me in high school. He wouldn't tell me why, but he told me that I needed to read it. (This was the same straight, vanilla "best friend" from high school who used to offer to wear a diaper for me, later getting cold feet and only allowing me to jerk off with him in tightly whiteys and a ton of baby powder - but I digress.)

This is the magazine that gave me my first horrifying look at the adult diaper fetish "community". It's also the magazine my parents inadvertently found hidden in the back of my car after I was in an accident, and read it cover to cover. I haven't seen it since then, but it did make for a awful, awkward conversation. I recently found it online and ordered it. I'll do a write up soon.

I Support Fetlife!

I'm happy to announce that I've finally put some dough toward supporting our favorite fetish community website. 

I'd thought about paying for Fetlife before. I didn't do it, though. Sure, the $5/month got you the ability to go back further in messages, and see more of your timeline, and it puts a nifty little badge on your profile page - but I could live without those perks, I figured. 

After an amazing CAPCON weekend, though, I reconsidered. 

First of all, CAPCON came together largely because of Fetlife. From the organization's Fetlife group, to its event page on the site, much of the promotion and organization was done through Fet. 

I also met some people at the event who were dope as fuck, and several of them admitted to me that they don't even have profiles on any of the remaining diaper websites, or even a Tumblr in some cases - they're on Fetlife, and Fetlife alone. At some point during the weekend it occurred to me that I might have missed hanging out with some incredible people if it weren't for this fetish website. It's the one site that diaper fetishists feel so comfortable with - both the environment/people and their belief that it's a stable site that isn't going anywhere anytime soon - and it's opened a lot of people up to accept ageplay and infantilism. 

So today I put my credit card on it, dropping $30 for the first six months. It's the least I can do for a website that helped bring such an amazing event together, and introduced such amazing people to it. 

I'll post my "I Heart Fetlife" badge on the right column of my blog at some point. In the meantime, if you're on Fetlife, my name is "Abysitter" - or just click http://www.fetlife.com/abysitter. I accept everyone, so add me up. 

Q&A With Pandaku

Up today I have a Q&A with, and some photos from, Pandaku. Pandaku is a 24 year-old babyfur, and hails from Fort Collins, CO. You may know him from his Tumblr blog, Pandaku101.tumblr.com. If not, hit him up and get to know him! 

I'll let him tell you the rest, in his words... thanks, Pandaku! 

[PHOTOS COPYRIGHT ABYSITTER.COM]

[DO NOT REDISTRIBUTE WITHOUT PERMISSION]

Q&A With Pandaku

Name/Nick: Pandaku

Age: 24    

City/State/Country: Fort Collins, CO USA

AB/DL/BabyFur/Other? babyfur

The questions are:

When did you first realize you were ABDL? When I was in middle school working at church. I helped the little kids in class, and I knew some had to wear diapers, so one day I took some and tried them on, and fell in love with the felling of it.

What steps did you take to get your diaper 'fix' as a child and/or teen? I took them from church, but mostly it would be from my own money, I started working from a young age, so i had money to go to the store and bye depends.

Do your parents and/or siblings know about you and diapers? If so, please explain how, and how they reacted? Not a single person in my family knows about this.

Have you dealt with the shame and regret that is the binge/purge cycle? Please explain. I had to purge my collection before, but I gave them to a friend to hold till I got time to get them back.

For collegebabies/DLs, did this interest affect your college experiences? If so, how? It was fun when i did, and scary all at the same time.

How has this fetish affected your social life and/or dating? Married life? Parenting? It never really affected it, but when looking for a boyfriend, I did make sure that he was ok with me wearing and he is, been with him for 2 years so far

Some experts believe that we become the way we are because of traumas experienced at an early age, including abuse and/or neglect. Do your life experiences bear this out? Other then my grandma diein in front of me when I was 5 years old, I am not sure. 

For the little dunces, please tell us about what it was like to discover this fetish/lifestyle on the Internet. Please be at least 18 at the time of writing, but be specific about what age you discovered it, what sites helped you, and keep this part PG for obvious reasons.  I first found out about this fetsih about 15 16 I think. Looked up guyes in diapers and there were so many sites.

Do your interests involve a subset of this community, such as babyfurs, diaper disciplinarians, wet/messy, sissybabies etc.? Please tell us about it. I won't even try to be specific here; just tell us what you think people should know. I am a baby fur, or DL furry

What % of your sexual activities and/or masturbation incorporate diapers? Has this caused problems for you? For masturbations that is always diapers on tumbler. For sexual it Depends who i am with.

If you get into the regression aspect of ABDL please tell us more about that. If you do not, and you have feelings about being lumped into a fetish involving it, explain how it makes you feel. I got no problem with regression, It is not for me, unless someone can make me feel small.

Don't forget to check out Pandaku's blog at

pandaku101.tumblr.com!

Want to complete a Q&A for my blog?

Just email me: 

abysitter@gmail.com

18+

The Big Boy Bucket - Part I Coming Soon...

Uh oh... looks like someone is in for a surprise... 

Our little friend Baby Spencey, 

Daddy Paul, and a new friend posed for some pictures

at CAPCON 2016. 

I'll be posting some

diapered adorableness, plus the 2016 revision of

"What Is Abysitting"

soon. 

Stay tuned... 

Thoughts on CAPCON: Con Drop

Con Drop. 

That's what CAPCON organizers refer to as the low feeling many participants will experience upon leaving the event, after being on a 'high' for so many days - the kind of 'high' that an ABDL can only get by being around other ABDLs. 

In a world where so many of us want to just… feel little… we entered a temporary world created just for us. For one long weekend we were in our element, surrounded by people who think like us, feel like us, and have had many of the same experiences as us. And it was magical. 

There was a space just for 'littles', with a giant ball pit, a high chair, a playpen, and even giant tricycles to ride around on. There were toys and games, fun play mats, huge stuffed animals, tables covered with coloring books and crayons, and all sorts of other things to make you feel little. 

There were classes galore on all sorts of topics, some pertinent to ABs, others to DLs, and even some to daddies and mommies. I especially enjoyed a class called "Still AB After All of these Years", lead by a panel of folks who have been in our community for many decades. I marveled at the sight of someone I remembered from my days in college; I'm not allowed to reveal participant info for confidentiality reasons, but let's just say that this person had their own website before we even had a community site, and was one of the first websites I found on infantilism. I remember thinking, then: "how intensely crazy must someone be to make their own website about this diaper shit?" Now I've had my own for eight years. If you had told me as a college student in the late 1990s that one day we'd be all sitting together celebrating our infantilism, I'd have laughed at you. Yet here we were… 

New this year was a nursery space, set up in a separate area from the main play area. It was quiet and soothing, with soft lighting and pretty colors. I walked through it and saw a changing table, a playpen, a high chair, and a crib. I'm told there was a big rocking horse, as well, although I somehow didn't see it. What I did see were ABies at peace. It was a beautiful thing. Next year I plan to enjoy that nursery myself, as a little - but more about that in a future blog entry. 

There was a pageant on Saturday night where littles had the opportunity to answer a question about what ABDL means to them, as well as show off a talent. There were quite a few talented littles, and we watched as they belted out the hits - including some popular music repurposed for the ABDL scene. At the end prizes were awarded, and raffles winners were announced, as well. There were some touching moments during the pageant, as participants become overwhelmed by their feelings, something I saw a lot of over the weekend. Many of us felt alone for so long, that realizing how un-alone we truly are is… well, overwhelming. 

There was another room filled with vendors. I bought my first-ever Nuk 5 from PacifiersRUs this weekend. You may remember that PacifiersRUs served as a sponsor of both my photo contests a few years back, and offered a special sale to Abysitter.com readers. Guess who didn't get one? That would be this guy. But I bought one at CAPCON, and I am kicking myself for not having bought one sooner. I also bought an awesome Batman lanyard and a backup Nuk 5 from LilKinkBoutique. Baby/Daddy Inky was selling products from a few different manufacturers, including some adorable patches that my good friend Baby Spencey will be adding to some overalls soon. The folks from Tykables were there selling diapers galore, and I saw quite a few people wearing Tykables t's. I remember talking to Todaler circa 2011 about how our ABDL diaper companies did very little to support our community back then, so it's especially nice to see Tykables stepping up and supporting this event. 

There were room parties, too, some private but most open to all. I enjoyed having friends to my own room - I even brought a playpen for the occasion, pictures coming soon. People met up in rooms after each nights events, or went to dinner; I was glad I got a rental car, because I went out to eat with friends and having a car helped. 

Speaking of friends… the best part, for me, was the people. 

I reunited with old friends, including a few I've chilled with in Orlando, or New York, or other places - even some I've babysat before, but who I haven't seen for a few years. 

Lots of first-time meet ups, too. It was funny to see some of the people who I've seen online so often over the years. There were people I recognized immediately just from years of seeing pictures. I met people who have submitted photos to my blog, or who've done Q&A's for it. I met people who've entered my contests. People I am Facebook friends with, or text with a lot, but who I've never met in person, I finally got to meet at this event. I wish I'd had more time to actually sit down and talk with some of them, but we often met in passing - one was volunteering at the moment, and another was in the bouncy chair. But recognizing people you've only seen online was pretty dope. Next year I think I'll host my own room party and hopefully get to actually spend time with some of the people I wish I could have gotten to know better at this event. 

I did get to hang out with some of the people I've gotten to know via the diaper sites, and I found out that they are as awesome in person as their online personas are. I did some diaper changes, and fed someone a bottle, and through all of that had some pretty deep conversations about all kinds of things. CAPCON seems to be a place where you can talk about just about anything, and from that came some very personal stories. If you know me you know I enjoy talking to people about the origins of our fetish/lifestyle, and I had lots of chances to do that here. 

I met some amazing new friends, too - some people who I suspect will become 'con buddies', and some others who may well become lifelong friends. I met people who I felt like I bonded with almost immediately, and as it was happening I kept thinking how none of it would be possible without diapers - diapers were the one thing that brought us together. 

I fucking love diapers. 

Con drop. 

It began this morning for many. Following the pageant, and a whole series of late-nite room party conversations had, new friendships made, Fetlife handles and Tumblr links swapped, and the high all of that brings, Sunday was basically a day for saying goodbyes. 

I watched people cry as they gave each other hugs, promising to keep in touch - and I knew that the con drop that I'd heard spoken of was beginning. I gave and received hugs myself. Then it was my friends' turn to go, and I watched them haul their luggage out on the trolley to the parking lot, and… boom. 

That con drop. 

As I post this rambling collection of things I noticed from the weekend, I am sitting in my room looking at the playpen I set up and was fortunate enough to get to watch some adorable li'l boys chill in. I'm seeing the empty baby food jars a new friend and I ate dinner out of last night. I look over at my phone and want to text someone and ask them if they're in their room like I have so many times this weekend - maybe I'll stop by on my way downstairs - but I remember that they're already out on the road. And I'm reading a text from someone promising to keep in touch, and I'm realizing that after a weekend filled with so many smiles and hugs and - well, just adorable littleness in person - going back to text messages is going to be HARD. 

Con drop. 

Already, though, I'm thinking ahead to the next con. There's US Littles in Colorado. And TeddyCon in the northeast. And CAPCON 2017. After an amazing weekend in my element, surrounded by so many others so much like me, I find myself like so many others leaving - wishing there was a way to make this feeling last. 

This weekend has made me resolved to one day have a permanent little of my own - a way to get some of this feeling every single day. 

Until then, there are con's… and you'll be seeing me at a lot more of them. 

To everyone who made CAPCON 2016 so amazing for me and so many other people here, thank you. 

Reflections on CAPCON: Day One

I am attending my first CAPCON. (That's an acronym for Chicago Ageplayers Conference.) It's actually my first conference of any sort. More accurately, my first real diaper event. And, my first time meeting more than two ABDLs simultaneously. 

I have to say, so far the experience has been amazing.

I arrived at the undisclosed hotel location on Thursday. Scheduled events weren't planned until Friday, save for a pre-con "munch." I checked in and then took a seat in the lobby, hoping to spy someone I knew. Or even anyone else who might be at the convention. 

I'll admit, my first hour or two here was spent curiously checking out the other people in the hotel, trying to determine who was actually with the con and who was probably just a vanilla guest of the hotel. Nobody had been issued their wristbands yet, so it was difficult to determine. 

As folks began to trickle in, I begin to realize something: this was going to be what you might call... an odd bunch. 

There were people in all phases of adult, including more than a few folks who looked like cartoonwear is probably their daily wear. The socially anxious sat in their corners, speaking to no one - as did I - while others, clearly in their element, held conversations with old friends peppered with ageplay terminology, including code words even I didn't understand. 

Weirdos? 

Most definitely. 

I kept reminding myself, "not weird - just unique." But as a collection of people with unique qualities grew, I caught myself second-guessing, wondering if I might have made a mistake.

I found myself saying, "Yup - this is exactly who I'd expect to see at an ageplay convention" a lot. I saw before me an assortment of social misfits, brought together only by a common interest, it seemed. 

As more and more people arrived, though, I began to have a realization: these were MY people...

Eventually it occurred to me that I, too, was someone the other people around me were probably looking at and saying, "Yup - that's exactly who I'd expect to see at an ageplay convention." 

People began to introduce themselves to me, and as I met them I began to view what I first saw as "weirdness" - ahem, "uniqueness" - as something to be embraced. In them, and in me. 

I felt bad for being so judgmental myself. I'm the guy who is constantly saying "Fuck normal - normal is boring." 

What kind of asshole was I being...

After a while the CAPCON folks outnumbered the vanilla folks, who probably had no idea they were sharing a hotel with such an alternative convention, but almost certainly must have noticed a mass of fellow hotel guests wearing all sorts of childish t-shirts, overalls, and etc.

Where I had first sat trying to pick out people might be visiting the convention, I later found myself trying to pick out people who might not be with us at all. 

A part of me felt sorry for the regular people.

I noticed the judgmental looks two men in business attire gave each other when a woman with pigtails and a brightly-colored bow walked by, and I couldn't help but think how close they had just come to becoming acquainted with a crowd of some of the purest, most nonjudgmental people they might ever meet.

Being surrounded by all of these people in person who share so many of my own weird/unique qualities - the ones we refer to as "little"/ABDL - made me proud to be "different." 

When you're attending a convention with so many guests that your group outnumbers everyone else, are you really that different at all? 

Or, after a while, are the outsiders - now in the minority - the "weird" ones?

Hmm... :P

It was an amazing feeling to be with my people - to be accepted for who I am and, after an initial bout of sizing people up, to just accept everyone for who they were, as well. 

I am looking forward to a great weekend at my first diaper convention. And while no photos inside the convention space are allowed save the official photos - what happens in a con stays in the con - I will do my best to give you an overview of my experience. 

I definitely did not a mistake - the only mistake I made was not doing one of these sooner. 

---

By the way, got to hang out with a group in my hotel room, including some old friends, Baby Spencey and his daddy, Paul, and some new friends, too. If you are at this event, hit me up somewhere - text, email, sites, whatever - and let's make a point of meeting up and saying hello.

CAPCON 2016

CAPCON 2016

Me and Pomsky

are going to be attending

CAPCON

this year! 

I've posted ads for CAPCON on my blog before,

but this will be my first time actually attending this

(or any) conference. 

I'm excited! 

I can't wait to meet some of the people

I've been talking to for a decade or more. 

Looking forward to the classes, especially... 

...some cool learning experiences, sounds like. 

Yay! 

(Interested in hearing the discussion

about the history of ABDL, especially. 

Because I'm old and was there for part of it lol.)

Don't be shy! 

Email me: 

abysitter@gmail.com

or text me

and let me know you're going to be there! 

I'd also like to do a few photoshoots for the blog, 

so if anyone attending is up for it, definitely get in touch. 

See you in Chicago! 

Visit to Orlando: Baby Chad Part III

I wrote Part I to this story in April 2011. It took me a while to write part II - January 2013, actually, and Chad was chilling with me when I wrote the first part of it. I promised, then, to write Part III soon. 

In between both entries I got a shit ton of requests for an update. This has actually been one of the entries I've gotten the most responses about. I don't know why it's taken me three years to write the next chapter. I will say, though, that writing stories about the people I have the biggest emotional connection with is taxing. It's why the Baby Mikey story is also unfinished from 2011 - and why I haven't published the ABenjaminButton visit story in all this time. 

It's easy to write stories about me and my experiences. But writing about the experiences I've had with some of the people from our community who mean the most to me isn't easy at all. I feel like I'm writing for me, for my blog readers, and for the subject of the story, as well. That third component is a bit of extra pressure, and it leads me to start an entry and then abandon it, feeling like I haven't done the subject of the entry justice. 

Since the 2011 Baby Chad visit we've gotten to hang two more times - in January 2013 when his family visited Florida over holiday break, and more recently when he came here to celebrate graduation. I'll write about those visits in a future entry, too. If we go by my current track record it should be some time in 2019 - but I'll try to do better... 

Thanks for being patient. 

We drove down Colonial Drive. The car was beginning to smell, now - not overpowering, nor overwhelming, but a definite odor that hung in the air. I looked over at Chad, whose face was still red, and couldn't help but chuckle. He looked at me and did the same, then put his head down and leaned in on my shoulder. 

"I sowwy, Cwis!" 

I reassured Chad that it was okay, and we continued along the drive. 

I considered bringing him back to my apartment for a change - that might be the safer option, rather than try to get him into a crowded hotel in a messy diaper. But my neighborhood was having a BBQ, and I knew there would be people all over - people I would have to see every day. I didn't want to risk it so, selfishly, I turned in the direction of the hotel. 

Chad had gotten the tour of Orlando - the low-budget, no-frills, no admission charges tour of some of Orlando's poorer neighborhoods. Now we were going back to his hotel. Besides breakfast and some hot chocolate, we hadn't really done anything. I wondered if he'd look back on our chill time and regret not having gone with his school. Or spending all his money taking me to dinner. Or... 

"Cwis?" Chad's baby talk pierced the silence. He was still leaning on me, smacking on his pacifier, just taking in everything as we passed. 

"What's up, Baby Chad?" I asked. 

"I really appreciate the time you spent with me today," he replied. "Taking me around and showing me the places you go and stuff." 

I probably said something like no problem, and he continued smacking. 

"You know what's weird?" he asked me. "I'm in college - a place where, presumably, kids should be learning about the world. But we've been here a few days and all we did was go to seminars and some theme parks. We talked about problems facing communities at one point - but we never actually saw any of the people we were talking about. And they were right here in Orlando the whole time." 

I nodded. I'd been worried that Chad, a kid who had clearly been sheltered most of his young life, would find the 'real Orlando' experience a little too real. I hadn't even taken him into any of the city's worst neighborhoods. But we'd seen prostitutes, homeless people, and even a man passed out drunk in a position that made us question whether he could even be alive. It was clear, though, that Chad appreciated everything he'd seen. 

"I want to graduate and do something to help people," Chad continued. "Probably not where I live now, though - there's not enough people who need help, really." 

"You might be surprised," I told him. "I live in a nice neighborhood now, but at night my next door neighbor sneaks into the back alley to use the phone away from his family. They drive a brand new BMW, and have a second BMW too. Beautiful house. But they're having serious financial problems, and have no savings left. I hear the husband trying to set things up for when they get foreclosed on. You never know how many people are one paycheck away from being homeless. They need help, too." 

Chad was quiet for a moment. 

"Does he know you're listening?" he finally spoke up. 

"I don't knock on the window and wave or anything," I told him.

"He probably doesn't, if he's sneaking into the backyard to avoid people hearing him." 

"Probably not," I agreed. 

"Is he quiet when he's having these conversations?" Chad asked. 

"Actually, sometimes he gets upset and starts yelling," I told him. "When someone tells him they can't help him, I guess - he starts shouting that he's helped them in the past - and then he gets quiet again." 

More quiet from Chad. 

"You should probably tell him you can hear him," Chad finally advised. 

"Probably," I said, knowing full well I wasn't going to approach my angry, desperate neighbor and tell him that I knew his secret. 

"How could I find out if my parents are in that position?" he asked me. He'd sat up and looked straight ahead, with a worried look on his face. 

"What position?" I asked. "You mean - financial?" 

"Yes," Chad said. "My mom got laid off last year and hasn't been able to find work. My father didn't get a promotion he thought he was going to get. And now they have a kid in college..." 

"Do you get financial aid?" I asked him hopefully. 

"No. We didn't qualify because they looked at my mom's income. She got laid off the week I left for school." 

"Damn, that sucks, bro," I said. I wondered if they were having problems - maybe Chad's worry was a sign of something he already knew, and my story about my neighbor had been a trigger for it. "But it's a tough time for a lot of people. If your parents are having problems, they probably won't tell you. They'll want you to be able to focus on school. That's what parents do." 

"Like your neighbor sneaking out of the house for his calls," Chad said. 

"Exactly." 

We rode in silence for a bit, and I realized that Chad was looking for some type of reassurance from me that everything would likely be okay. I didn't really have any to give - it was a tough time for our economy, and people were being foreclosed on everywhere. I had only known Chad for one day - who was I to say what his family's situation might be. 

Still, I'd opened the door to this conversation, and I had to try to close it. 

"If I were you, I wouldn't worry too much - you're an 18 year old kid, and there's not much you can do, anyway, really. The best thing you can do is to focus on school, do well, graduate in four years, and start making money." 

"And making a difference," Chad reminded me. 

"Exactly," I said. 

More silence. But I noticed that the smacking on his pacifier had increased. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and saw that he'd leaned his head back and closed his eyes - he seemed relaxed, now. 

As we got closer to the hotel a thought occurred to me - just because Chad had messed his Pamper didn't mean we had to rush back to the hotel. 

I'm what's known as an #avgeek - I love watching planes take off and land. I sometimes film them for Instagram or Snapchat, even. I'm not crazy with it like the people who spend thousands of dollars on camera equipment and spend their every free moment stalking airport runways hoping for that perfect shot. But I do enjoy parking in places around the airport and getting a good video of a 747 coming in for a landing. 

I was pretty sure Chad hadn't experienced planespotting yet, so I decided to pass the hotel and continue along to the runway. 

I drove past one spot known for being particularly close to planes coming in for a landing, did a quick U-Turn, and parked along the road. Chad looked confused as I directed him to get out of the car. 

"Where are we, Cwis?" he asked. 

"We're at the chill spot, bwo," I told him. 

Chad looked all around. We were on a road alongside a highway, and with all of the traffic and fencing you really couldn't get a sense that you were just yards from one of the busiest runways in the southeast, let alone directly under the flight path. 

"What are we going to do here... chill?" Chad asked me, laughing. "Watch cars go by? Is this more of the 'Real Orlando' Tour?" 

"Something like that," I told him. I leaned up against the fence so he'd have to face me. Behind him I could see the lights of a jet coming in for a landing. I hoped it would be a big, loud one. Chad was looking directly into my eyes, as if he was trying to read my mind to see why we'd parked at the side of the road. I looked directly into his, not wanting him to see me divert my gaze to the sky behind him and turn around to see what was coming. Still, I could see two more sets of lights just behind the first - I knew it was going to be a busy day on the runway. 

We didn't have to wait long. The noise of the jet engines grew, and I watched Chad's brow furrow as he looked in all directions behind me, trying to see which vehicle was so loud. His quizzical look gave way to one of concern as the whine of jet engines began to turn into a roar. He slowly... turned... around... and... then... 

"Holy shit! Holy shit!" Chad cried out. "What the fuck! Holy shit!" 

The jet was an AirTran. It wasn't big, but it was noisy - a throwback to a time before jet engines were made with quieter technology to avoid noise complaints from neighbors around the airports they would fly into. 

Chad actually ducked down and then kind of waddled behind the car - as if the frame of my Toyota would protect him from the impact of a DC-9. He watched the plane fly over and followed it as it landed. 

"Bro - that's the airport?" he asked me, shouting over the din of the jets. I nodded. "Cwis - you have to tell someone that - oh my God! I thought it was going to crash!" 

I felt bad. I'd known he would be surprised by how close we were to the aircraft, but it didn't occur to me that he didn't know where we were. We'd passed his hotel moments before - maybe he'd had his eyes closed as I rubbed the top of his head. 

"Sorry," I apologized. "I should have warned you. I wanted you to see one of the spots I come to chill, and - "

"No, don't apologize," Chad interrupted. "I'm glad I got to see that. Oh wow, that was a rush!" 

"Pretty exhilarating," I agreed. 

"Oh, and I'm sorry, too," Chad said. I cocked my head and he could see I was trying to figure out what he was sorry for, so he helped me out. "Sorry for all the swears. For my potty mouth." 

Chad was back to being adorable again - just in time for the next aircraft. This one was larger, but quieter. I pointed to it, and Chad pointed to the car, and then made a beeline for it and got in. I walked around to the driver's side door and got in, as well. 

"That was scawy, Cwis," he explained. "Can we watch from the car?" 

I assured him that was no problem, and we both leaned back and watched a steady stream of jet airplanes make their way to Runway 18R. 

I'm not sure how much time had gone by, but at some point among the other cars that pulled up a father got out of his vehicle, put his infant in the back, and changed the child's diaper. Chad briefly looked up, and then pointed to it. 

"Wanna twy that wif me, Cwis?" he asked, sounding serious. 

"No diapers," I replied, secretly wishing I'd brought one. 

"Damn," Chad said, and then, "Dang, I mean. Dang," quickly correcting himself. 

As we waited for what appeared to be a Boeing 777 off in the distance a police officer pulled up behind us. I looked at him in my mirror, and then said something to Chad. He sat bolt upright in his seat, a panic'd expression on his face. 

"What do we do?" he asked me. 

"We don't do anything," I told him. I'd been planespotting in this very spot for a few years, and seeing the police come by was nothing new - they typically checked cars to ensure that 1) you weren't of Middle Eastern descent; and 2) if you were of Middle Eastern descent, that you did not have a rocket launcher or other such weaponry. "Just sit back and relax. Planespotting isn't illegal..." 

"What if they search us?" Chad asked me. He looked serious, but his giggle gave him away. 

"They won't," I replied. 

"If they do, think about what they'll find," he said, laughing. "Sir", he said, mimicking a police officer, "do you have anything in your pants that you shouldn't have?" We were both chuckling now. "Sir, what is this lump right here - are you smuggling something in your diaper? Mind if I reach in and pull it out?" 

We were still laughing when the officer walked up. 

"Everything okay?" he asked me. I told him we were planespotting and he turned around, as if to confirm that we were, indeed, next to a runway. Just as he did the 777 roared close, and then overhead. We all watched it zoom over, and the officer shouted Holy shit as it was overhead. Chad nudged me and shook his head, feigning disgust at the officer's potty mouth. 

"Just wanted to make sure everything is okay," the officer repeated. "Saw you'd been here for a bit, wanted to make sure you hadn't broken down or anything." As he spoke he sort of leaned in, peering into the backseat, probably looking for a weapon capable of bringing down an aircraft. Seeing htere was none, he began to sniff the air. I'd forgotten Chad's diaper was messy - you sort of get accustomed to the odor - and as the officer took a few deep snorts of air Chad nudged me again. "Do y'all smell that?" 

"Smell what, sir?" Chad asked in all seriousness. 

"It smells like... fecal matter." 

I looked at Chad. He looked both alarmed and amused. He nudged me, as if to prompt me to speak, but I couldn't even think of what to say. 

"Well, that man just changed his baby a minute ago," Chad offered helpfully. 

"Did the throw the diaper on the ground?" the officer asked us, shaking his head in disgust. "Well, have a good day..." and with that the policeman was on to the next vehicle, making his rounds. 

It occurred to me that we might not want to wait around while Detective Schnozz solved the source of the smell, so I pulled away. 

"Hope nobody from my school can smell as good as that guy," Chad told me. 

It was time to find out... 

I pulled into the hotel parking lot and parked. 

My mind was racing, trying to figure out other solutions. I knew that Chad kind of viewed his first public messing as an adventure - partly my fault, probably - but I also knew that the adventure would come to a crashing end if his fellow students figured out that he'd shit his pants. 

Despite all of the dumb ideas that went through my head, the one that would have made the most sense - swinging by my apartment for some diapers, leaving him in the car, and then finding a secluded spot to change him in the car - never entered my mind. 

It occurred to me much later, and I felt like an idiot for not thinking of it that day. 

Back to the hotel parking lot, though... 

"I wonder if they're here?" Chad said, looking around for the vehicles his school had rented. "I... don't... see... them..." 

"There's another parking lot around the back," I reminded him. He urged me to drive around, so we did. No sign of them, Chad assured me - before pointing out that he didn't remember exactly what they'd rented. 

"So that was a bust," I told him. 

"Maybe," he replied. "I guess there's nothing else to do but nut up and..." he trailed off. 

"Nut up, then," I replied. "Let's do this." 

We both stepped out of the car and began the long trod into the hotel. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the entry to the building was crowded. It occurred to me that check-in had probably just begun in the last hour or so, and the elevators would probably be crowded with guests. Eek! 

"What floor are you on?" I asked Chad. He held up six fingers and rolled his eyes. "Stairs, you think?" 

"I don't want to walk up six flights, Cwis..." 

We walked in and around to the elevators. There was a family waiting, and the lights indicated that all of the elevators except one were on the highest floor. 

"We could wait..." Chad suggested in a hushed whisper. I pointed down the hall, to a couple with bags in tow. "Oh... poop," Chad said. 

"You said it," I said, laughing. He rolled his eyes again. 

Just at that moment the father realized something had been left in the car. He shouted that he'd be right back, and walked past us back in the direction of the front desk. 

"Honeyyyyyy," the mother called out after him. "We don't have the key!" 

"602!" the man called back. Chad and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes - the family would be riding up to the same floor as us. Surely they'd soon smell the stink that was Chad's dirty diaper. But the mother had other ideas - she strode to her husband and called for her children to follow her as the elevator doors dinged open. I looked down the hall - the couple was getting closer. A woman stepped off the elevator and Chad and I stepped on. 

"Door close, door close!" Chad shrieked, pointing to the button. 

"Would you hold that?" someone down the hall called out. I pushed the 'door close' button and watched as the doors closed. The elevator didn't move. 

"Oh frick! Oh frick! Push six!" Chad shouted, entirely too loud for inside an elevator. In my panic I'd failed to press the floor button. I pressed it, and we waited to see if the elevator would move or the door would open. It moved, and Chad let out a happy little shriek. "Yes! What were the chances of getting an elevator all to ourselves! Nobody from my school is - " 

And with that, Chad cut himself off. The elevator had stopped - on floor 2. The floor his fellow students and chaperones were staying on. 

"Fuck. Whoops - poop." 

The door opened, and an old man in a suit stepped on. He had an angry look on his face, and looked exhausted. I wondered if he was tired from supervising a bunch of li'l country ass college students on their first jaunt into the Big City. The man pressed six, then saw that it was already pressed, and pressed the 'door closed' button, jamming it repeatedly as if that would make the doors close faster. 

Do you know him? I mouthed to Chad. I think he mouthed the words Fuck NO! back to me. 

The old man snorted, and then held his nose. Then, as if unable to help himself, he sniffed again. 

"What is that smell?" the old man finally asked, looking at us. His accent was distinctly British. 

Chad and I both put on a good act, sniffing as though we couldn't smell anything at all. This appeared to annoy the man, and he screwed up his face in an expression of disgust. 

"Don't tell me you can't smell that," he said. "It smells like someone let out one of the ripest of farts on this elevator. That is absolutely awful." 

"Oh, that," Chad said, and I looked at him, concerned. What was he going to admit to? He winked at me. "Right before we got on a man was changing his baby on the floor." 

I had to laugh - an old excuse, recycled? 

"On the floor?" the old man repeated, surprised. "Who changes a baby on the floor of an elevator?" 

"Lots of people here in America, sir. Everyone does it..." Chad said. I snickered out loud and the old man looked at me, then back at Chad. 

"Well, where I come from people don't do such things. How inconsiderate. Now everyone who rides in this lift will smell shit nappies all day." 

I pointed to Chad and mouthed the words, That's you... inconsiderate! He smiled and turned away so the old Brit wouldn't see him. 

The elevator stopped on six, and the old man held the door for us. 

"After you," he said. 

I stepped off, but Chad stayed back. 

"No, after you, sir," he said politely, reaching his hand to hold the other door for the old man. 

"I insist," the old man said, and Chad dutifully stepped off the elevator and followed me. 

As we walked, I realized why Chad had waited. His diaper, though unnoticeable in the car, by the airport, and even in the parking lot, was crinkling nice in the hotel hallway. As we walked, the old man right behind us, we all heard it: crinkle crinkle crinkle crinkle...

I wondered if the man could tell he was following a loaded diaper down the hall. Or if he wondered why the odor of poop wasn't getting any fainter the further we got from the lift. We were both relieved when we heard the man pop his key card into the lock, go into his room, and close the door. 

"I thought that would never end," Chad told me, bursting out laughing. "The walk of shame..." 

"Why you have to be so inconsiderate?" I asked him, feigning seriousness. His face got very serious for a moment, and I couldn't help but laugh. We were both laughing as we walked into the hotel room, where Chad promptly flopped onto the bed. 

"Alright, Cwis," he called out. "This baby needs a change!" 

[WARNING: SEXUAL ACTIVITY BELOW]

Despite diapering over 100 people since I first started, I have very little experience with messy diapers. 

Messy diapers just aren't my thing. And while in 'big bro'/'abysitter'/'daddy' mode I change them as a part of the big/little headspace, most of the littles I've had the pleasure of caring for weren't into it either, and it's just not something I've had a lot of time perfecting. 

Needless to say, this change was a bit awkward. For both of us. Between Chad's embarrassment - his red face was suddenly back - and my lack of skill, I made more of a mess than I cleaned one up for a minute or two. 

Eventually, though, I had the boy squeaky clean. I slid a fresh Cushie up underneath him, powdered his bottom, and taped it tightly. Chad's eyes were closed, now, and he was sucking his thumb, a little smile on his face. It was adorable - too adorable for words, really. Part of me wanted to sneak my iPhone and take a picture to save the image forever, but I have a rule: no pictures means no pictures. I just stared at him for a little while, hoping to preserve it in my memory. 

Eventually Chad opened his eyes, looked at me, and started to laugh. 

"What are you looking at, Cwis?" he asked me, smiling. He cocked his head, waiting for my answer, and I didn't really know what to say. 

"Just... you." 

"Awwww," he said. "Cwis is at a loss for words. What you're looking at is someone who just got changed out of a messy diaper into a fresh one. Someone who just felt the kind of caring and affection he's been dreaming about for a long, long time." 

"That too," I told him. He grinned. 

"Are you finally going to - " he began, but I snapped my fingers and cut him off. 

Shhhhhh... I put my finger to my lips and motioned for him to be quiet. Then I leaned down over him, put my hands on the bed, and made my way up toward his middle. I put my lips to his tummy - that flat stomach, OMG - and blew a raspberry on it. It tickled, and he giggled playfully. He smiled widely now, and I could see that he appeared to be completely at peace. 

I lay down next to Chad and rubbed him tummy with my hand for a while. 

"Turn over," I finally ordered. Chad obediently followed my direction. I got up, walked over to my bag, and got out a Dry 24/7, returning to the bed to put it on. "Scoot up a little bit," I told Chad, and he crawled to the headboard. I leaned over and pulled his feet toward the opposite corner of the bed, and then lay beside him, using the opportunity to rub his padded bum. For a while. A long while. 

"If I do my thing, will that make you feel less... little?" I asked him. I know that, for some abies, any kind of sexual activity ruins the moment. Most that I've diapered, though, have been cool with it. I knew that Chad had mentioned it several times, but I wanted to give him one last chance to back out. 

"Hump?" he asked me. He sounded happy, as if I'd asked him a difficult question and he'd known the right answer. 

"Yea," I replied. "I don't want to do it if you're - "

"Why would that make me feel less little?" Chad interrupted. I decided not to answer that one. 

Instead I turned over, took my place on the mattress between Chad's legs, and pushed them apart a bit. I put my hands underneath his diaper, pushed it up in the air an inch or two, and rested my head on it. It felt amazing. For a while I just lay there, his diapered bottom serving as my pillow, enjoying the smell of wipes and powder. 

I really had done a good job cleaning the kid up... 

Chad was breathing deeply now, and I wondered if he may have fallen asleep. I rubbed the front of his diaper with my hands and he let out a little gasp and shuddered. Nope, still awake... 

I began to rub his diaper and, after a little bit, began to hump the mattress. Chad got hard about the same time I did - I could feel his diaper bulge in my hands, and he slowly moved his legs apart as it did, as if offering me more room to maneuver. Chad was a grower, not a shower - his penis was short, but when diapered and played with it more than doubled in size.

As I humped the mattress I continued to rub Chad's diaper. I wasn't sure if he'd want to squirt - we hadn't talked about that - but I figured I could edge him at any time. After a while Chad began to move his own diapered ass up and down, trying to do it in concert with mine. I told him to hold still, and then put one hand on the back of his Cushie, rubbing it hard and playing with the crack of his ass. I could hear Chad breathing deeply in between shudders, so I knew I didn't have to ask him if he liked it. 

It takes me a while to ejaculate. When I was younger this was something that bothered me - I thought I was defective or something. As I've gotten older it's something I've come to appreciate. Still, I'm somewhat self-conscious about it when I'm with someone else, always worried that they'll get bored, tired of waiting, or will squirt n merc (that's trademarked - hehe) before I've had the chance to squirt myself. If you're someone who can lay patiently for an unlimited amount of time while I bust, you'll have my affection for a lifetime. 

With Chad, I got a sense that he was in a state of total relaxation. Still unsure of whether making him squirt was something he wanted - or, a good idea - I continued on, humping and playing with his diaper, pushing it into his ass, rubbing it, and pressing my chin into it. 

After a while I turned my attention back to Chad's penis. I moved my hands to the sides of his diaper and pushed my fingers into the leggings of it, finding his erection and rubbing it with my fingers. He didn't seem fazed by this, so I found the head and continued stroking it as I humped. I moved my thumbs into position near the back of his balls, and massaged him with my thumbs. 

Shudder... 

After a while Chad suddenly lifted his bottom up, and then put it back down. 

And then again. 

He began to squirm. 

"Cwis... I am going to come, I think." 

"Is that cool, Chad?" I asked him. I knew I could stop at anytime. 

"Of course, Cwis." 

With that I stroked Chad's shaft, pressing my face into the crack of his ass, sort of rimming him through the diaper. He continued to squirm, and I stopped sucking on his diaper long enough to tell him to hold still. I could tell that he was trying to, but losing the battle. He let out a shudder, moaned a little, and I could feel the pulsing that could only be a squirting penis. 

"Oh, man... oh, man..." Chad murmured as he came. I pulled my fingers out of his diaper - they were wet now - and cleaned them on a baby wipe. Chad was quiet and still now, but I wasn't done. I rested my head flat on his bottom, humped for another minute or two, and came in my own diaper. 

Once we were both spent I crawled up slowly, grabbed a pillow, and lay next to Chad, on my back. I looked over at him. His eyes were closed and he was laying, still. 

I hoped that letting him ejaculate wouldn't be a mistake. 

I'm familiar with the phenomenon that is 'squirt and merc' - the one where a dude, usually younger, usually 'straight', ejaculates and then, feeling immediate sense of guilt, announces that he's heterosexual and, then, that he has something else to do. 

Sure. LOL. 

It happens in our community quite often, or so I hear. I've only experienced it myself a few times, but I've read about it in forums enough to know that it's more than the usual post-ejac jitters - it's coupled with the binge/purge cycle and the shameful feelings that many young people (and some older) have about their diaper side. 

Had I just let an amazing day with an amazing little dude end in a 'merc' for a quick jerkoff session? 

Eek! 

Just then... 

"Cwis?" 

"Yes, Chad?" 

"You said you have tomorrow off, right?" 

"Yes, Chad." 

"Can you spend one more night here?" 

"Most definitely, Chad!" 

With that Chad slowly inched his way over to me, put his leg up over mine, and rested his head on my chest. 

I pulled him closer, sort of cuddling with him, and closed my eyes. 

Next Up... Chad's Return, Junior Year... and Graduation...