Auntie Joan Part 9

This story is written by Les Lea

The night before school my mind had been working overtime. All I could think (and partially dream) about was my life at the different ‘educational’ establishments I’d attended since I was young. Alas, as I tossed and turned with each invading reflection, the thick night time diaper that held me tightly didn’t offer the soft comfort I’d come to expect.

#

At three years old I had been potty trained by my mother and then, with her part in my development done, sent off into the world. At that first ‘nursery/crèche/kindergarten’, I have no idea what it was, but what I did eventually get to know was that I was away from my ‘loving’ mommy and daddy and not a happy child. My first and main recollection from that time was that I wet myself constantly. The people looking after me seemed to focus on the fact I was wetting rather than the why and so kept me in diapers the entire time I was there.
In between brief visits from my parents, after which I would cry for days, I was kept clean and fed but for me, and the other toddlers (I was not alone), each day followed the same timetable; a diet of dynamic learning, followed by unhappiness, followed by more learning. If we played at all… that particular memory escapes me… but that austere and unloving place literally scared the shit out of me. As if to prove it, my potty training reversed and my diaper was constantly full.

#

In those half-dreams and fevered recollections I could still feel that dense rough diaper irritating with each movement. Together with the noisy crack of the thick, almost unyielding plastic pants that held it in place felt like I was encased in granite.
I wriggled unhappily under my nursery print covers, thankful at least auntie always made sure my protection was soft and comfortable, though, because of my agitated dreams, at that moment I wasn’t particularly enjoying such consideration.

#

When I reached the age of five I was moved to another private school. It took pride in the fact its ‘student’ body was prepared for senior school and so, ‘education, education, education’ was its main (and I would say only) priority. Here at least I wasn’t kept in scratchy diapers, which to some degree I eventually grew out of with just an occasional nocturnal lapse. However, the school wasn’t equipped for these little lapses and I (like anyone else who suffered a wet night) was ridiculed and ostracised and made to wear protection in class for the entire following day. The other kids never let such an opportunity pass so I was fair game for any grade to mock and be made fun of. By the time I was approaching my tenth birthday I’d learned to hide any toiletry hiccups so to all intents and purposes I’d grown out of that ‘problem’. At the same time my abilities were recognised when academically at least I easily came top of the class.
This was when my parents broke the news that I was to sit another exam in the UK to further my education. Stupidly I assumed they would be in England too, it wasn’t to be.

#

These dreams, thoughts and often unpleasant images raced through my active brain whether I was asleep or awake and by morning I was severely wet and half dead to the world.

#

The morning wasn’t helped after auntie stripped me out of my soaked protection but, after a shower, the ritual I so looked forward to was denied. Not that auntie would do anything to upset me but, this was a new opportunity that I was encouraged to take. So, no lotions or powders or soft fluffy disposable taped snugly into place. No slinky vinyl slowly fed up my legs, slipping deliciously over my thighs to grip my waist in a welcoming manner. The nursery held the clothes I wanted but the clothes I was to wear were in the ‘other room’ and I had to fortify myself from that moment – I had to get back into teenage mode.

Of course auntie had laid out my wardrobe for the day; right on top was a little pair of pull-ups that we’d spoken about. She knew I was a bit nervous about staying dry so we agreed to this little ‘help’ to be worn under my underpants. It wasn’t the same but their slight rustle and full crotch was most welcome under the rest of my school clothes.

#

I caught the bus to school like so many other kids and, apart from one or two who knew me and were whispering, looking and giggling in my direction, the journey passed off without much to report.
I’d entered the school grounds with a slight crinkle and a great deal of apprehension. I saw Yoosuf talking to a group of girls, waved and then looked around for the familiar face of Oliver but couldn’t see him.

#

There was no set ‘uniform’, social or educational, and everyone appeared to be wearing what they liked. I’d chosen a pair of fawn coloured chinos over my slight protection, a green polo shirt, trainers and had my backpack slung over one shoulder… I thought I blended in quite well. Not overly smart but not slovenly either. There were several boys wearing shorts, but nearly all wore them long and baggy so definitely not my style. The girls were a completely different story and seemed to form into groups who all dressed the same. However, that was just a first impression as I gazed around at my new school buddies. Then I spied a familiar face coming through a group of noisy students who were standing at the gate.

#

He was nodding to everyone, even folk I suspect he didn’t know, but when our eyes met he waved and made straight towards me. The thing was I was spellbound. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and an AC/DC t-shirt… it was a young Colin come to life from one of the images in auntie’s photo album.
Stunned by this apparition I couldn’t move. I wanted to say something, I wanted to greet my friend, I wanted to acknowledge, well, I wasn’t sure what – because for that one shocking moment Oliver looked exactly like Colin, the only difference from the photo was the logo on the t-shirt.
He came up and hugged me like a long lost friend and I was so overcome, my bladder gave way and I pissed my pants. Not just a little, but a flow so strong that it deluged my pull-up and a tell-tale stain radiated from my groin.
If it hadn’t been for Oliver’s quick action the first impression I would have made at school was as a pants wetter.

#

He was surprised that I didn’t reciprocate the hug but when he pulled back he noticed my pants. Quick as a flash, and before anyone else could see, he pulled off his backpack and held it in front of my rapidly expanding stain. To be honest, I wasn’t really aware of what I’d done and it wasn’t until Oliver was guiding me towards the main building that I realised what had happened. The spreading damp radiating from my groin was not the nicely warming experience it would have been in a diaper.
I was full of apologies but Oli just smiled and said, “Wow, nobody’s ever been that pleased to see me.”
He seemed to know his way around the school and we ended up at the nurse’s office. She came out to see who her first patient of the day was and, as the bell had just gone, dismissed Oli back to

class. I sat there trying to explain how I was taken by surprise by his enthusiastic hug but the nurse, Nurse Jefferson, wasn’t convinced.
She noticed something that no one else had mentioned. She said that I spoke like a little boy. Well, to be honest, she didn’t say that exactly but the way she responded to my words left me in no doubt. I hadn’t realised that my speech had been so defined by my time at Rainbow and I suppose, those who knew me, especially auntie, just thought that’s the way I spoke. It hadn’t bothered me until Nurse Jefferson mentioned it but now I was at High School, with wet pants and sounding like a baby… things definitely needed to change.

#

My pants were a mess and there was no way I could walk around school looking like I did. She spoke to someone on the phone, who I assumed was the principal, checked something on her computer and then phoned auntie. My pull-up hadn’t been as efficient as hoped and I could see Nurse Jefferson wondering what action to take.
Before she had chance to come to any conclusion the phone rang and she was obviously receiving further information as she kept looking up at me and agreeing to what was being said down the phone.
“Oh I see.” She listened
“Right.” There was more.

“Well that explains…” Something was said and agreed upon.
She eventually wandered over and asked in a soft cajoling whisper you’d use with an infant if I needed any help and did I want a change.
I was taken by surprise at her suggestion, and even though at that particular moment I would have loved a change, the thought of a fluffy disposable hugging my groin making me wriggle in anticipation, I said “No”. I didn’t want it to get around that on my first day I’d wet my pants, had to see the nurse and she’d diapered me. I needed to keep that a secret for a while longer… or so I thought.

#

Not long after auntie arrived with a bag of dry clothes but before I could change we were called into the principal’s office. He seemed a nice man but was obviously a little perplexed at what he was reading; it was a report from the psychiatrist.
I’d not thought this far ahead and for the second time that day I was shocked, with the result that, unfortunately, I wet myself even more. This was not going well and I couldn’t fathom where all this pee was coming from. As the dark stain on my chinos spread further the principal noticed and requested I immediately go and see the nurse while he and auntie talked.
Auntie passed me the bag with my clean clothes and I reluctantly left the room clutching it tightly to my groin for the few yards journey to the nurse’s office.

#

When I arrived she was very business-like.
“Right, let’s get you organised and into something dry shall we?”
I knew I looked like a stupid little kid, which of course I normally didn’t mind, but confronted by this particular lady, I felt feeble and inadequate. The folk at Rainbow just changed me like they would any other infant but here, at High School, I was no longer a happy, playful toddler but a teenage student who’d wet his pants.
“Take off your pants,” she paused, “or would you prefer I do it?”
There was no malice in her voice just a question.

Since I’d been with auntie I was used to doing as instructed so slowly unbuttoned the top of my chinos and let them drop to the floor.
She could see the expanded pull-up bulging out behind my underpants and indicated they needed to come off as well.
Standing there in my soggy pull-up and stained underpants it just didn’t feel real. I hadn’t been wearing any extra plastic protection so my pee had not been well contained. Being changed at Rainbow (or at home) was a process I wasn’t involved in, somebody else made the decision and it just happened. My involvement was…
She pulled the squelchy mass down.

“OK Dean, I’m going to clean you up, then rub in some lotion, powder and fit a diaper… any questions?”
I just shrugged. I was in a sort of dream world, which I knew I liked but at that moment found particularly alien.

#

She had me lie out on a low table, which I wasn’t sure could support my weight but, as she’d covered the entire thing in a loose piece of blue absorbent paper (I’d seen something similar on the doctor’s examination table), I did as I was told.
“Good boy,” she said as I climbed up, my naked lower half reacting to the cool air conditioning of her office.
“Now I’ll just check the bag and see what mommy, er, Miss Marsden has brought.”
Jeans, a clean shirt, socks and a fresh pair of boxers were laid out on another table, eventually she found what she was searching for, a fresh disposable.
“Ah, here we go.”

She slowly and meticulously unfurled it and slipped it under my bottom. There was a look of understanding on her face and it suddenly struck me that she might know of my parent’s dramatic death and was being sympathetic. She then reached for some wipes, lotion and powder, which she conscientiously applied to my hair-free pubic area before fastening me in.
I’m not sure how many fourteen year-old boys she’d had to diaper in her time as a nurse but as she cleaned me up I thought she smiled and nodded approval at my a/c shrunken pee-pee and hairless genital area.

“Mmmm sensible… and no sign of a rash… good, good.” She said half to herself and half to me.
She smoothed in the lotion and my pee-pee began to react but, like the ladies at Rainbow, it was completely ignored as she pulled the disposable into place. Any raging hormones that a healthy teenage boy might have were dismissed as I was really just a ‘little boy’ so treated as such.
Once I was tightly enclosed she delved into the bag once more and found a pair of opaque plastic pants, which she shuffled up my legs. She did it all with such care that I found myself relaxing and beginning to enjoy her attention. After that was completed she had me sit up and checked that everything fitted correctly; smoothing the plastic pants down over the diaper and making sure I was well tucked in and leak-proof.

#

She stood back to appreciate her work and smiled. Whether that was because of a job well done or the fact that my slinky plastic pants could be seen dangling below my polo shirt I wasn’t too sure.
“OK Dean,” she seemed satisfied, “put the rest of your clothes back on and put the wet stuff in this plastic bag.”
She indicated a black bin bag on another table.
“Sit over there and wait until the principal and your mommy, er, Miss Marsden finish their conversation.”
Perhaps she wasn’t being sympathetic about the death of my parents, maybe she thought she was dealing with a teenager who was somewhat ‘challenged’. She spoke to me as if I was slow, or a toddler and I moved from enjoying the process to resenting it a bit.
Although I was happier now I was padded and protected I wondered about how late I was for my first class. What excuse could I come up with? What did anyone know? Had anyone noticed? What, if anything, has Oliver said? Perhaps more importantly, would anyone notice my padded butt?
“Don’t I need to be in class?” I queried.
“Yes you do but the principal will need to have a word before you go.”
“Ohhh.”

#

Ten minutes later and auntie emerged from the principal’s office looking worried.
“Are you OK sweetie?” She was concerned about me.
I nodded and looked down at my padded crotch and shrugged.
Nurse Jefferson smiled and said that I’d been a very co-operative boy and that everything had been taken care of and, if the principal had finished with me, I needed to get to class.
There was a slight rustling sound as I got to my feet and auntie hugged me and patted my cushioned bottom. She rubbed it slightly and I felt most reassured by both the padding and auntie’s tender touch.

She looked at me and said we’d talk when I got home. I was a bit apprehensive as it looked like she had something serious to say but getting to my new class was made a priority as the principal’s secretary came out with a note I had to give to the teacher.

#

“Sorry I’m late sir,” I handed Mr Brown the note, “I’m afraid I had to see the principal first…”
I wanted to say more, to come up with a plausible excuse but he just nodded to a seat next to Oliver and thanked me for being polite.
I hadn’t realised I had been but I suppose, even after all this time, the manners and attitude of an English private school, had some effect.
A chorus of derision from a few of the students followed Mr Brown’s compliment, which thankfully drowned out the rustling noise my protection made as I sat down. Oli was all smiles as he passed me a photocopied timetable list of subjects and extra-curricular activities and again I got the impression he completely understood.

#

After such a god awful start to the day I have to say, it got better. When I say it got better, I mean nobody noticed, or if they did they didn’t say anything, so from then on, for me it was a pretty good first day.

Now I was over my initial shock of seeing Oliver/Colin I realised that they weren’t all that alike after all although they were dressed similarly. I have to say Oli looked great in his shorts, his young blond hairy legs showed he was maturing way faster than I was. In fact, because of the special lotion auntie used at bath time, all my bodily hair had vanished. Next to Oli I looked like a little immature five year-old but it didn’t seem to worry him and we spent most of the day in each other’s company.
Motioning towards his t-shirt I asked him if he was a fan of AC/DC. He just shrugged and said he liked the logo but had to admit he wasn’t keen on their music although his father was a huge fan. He confessed that he, his brother and sister grew up in a house that was filled with rock music. Even as a baby he fell asleep to the riffs of Motorhead, AC/DC and most heavy metal bands his dad played all the time. Apparently his parents had met at a rock festival in their home town and he was a result of that first drug-fuelled night of metal debauchery. Thankfully his mom and dad were “really into each other” (his words) so they married two months before he was born.
He was very enthusiastic about his parents saying that they’d never had two dimes to rub together but both worked hard and brought up him, his younger brother and sister, pretty well.

#

It was great for me to hear somebody who actually liked his parents and not only that was vocal about it. On that first day I learned so much about Oliver but every time he asked about my life I slunk into babbling and avoiding the subject apart from telling him I now lived with my auntie and that I’d moved from DC. Not quite AC/DC but halfway there, I pathetically joked!
I simply wasn’t sure what to tell him. I doubted he’d be interested in hearing about life at a private school in England, I was positive he wouldn’t want to know about my ‘super important’ parents and I definitely wasn’t sure I could share my diaper wearing ways with him. Because he hadn’t mentioned it I assumed he didn’t know, or hadn’t noticed, the bulkiness in my jeans. However, just as I was boarding my bus he patted my bottom and smiled.
“Perhaps tomorrow you’ll tell me about this?”
I was stunned but his effortless grin said I should trust him… and why wouldn’t I? So far he’d saved me from total embarrassment and he’d appeared to have kept my secret. So, my journey home was filled with thoughts about just what I wanted to explain the following day… and did I in fact want to share any of this information?

This story is written by Les Lea

You can find more story’s like this one posted on My ABDL Life. The only thing you need to do is to check out this page to find them.

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

Wet in class

Wet in classLooks like someone is having a few problems in class and could use a hand.

Draw and everything by familliar

Source: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/30149860/

Dont forget to support him on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Familliar

Awww poor thing looks like it is time for someone to take a trip to the school nurse and get his diaper changed.

I think it should be even more humiliated to end up whit a leaking diaper in the classroom.

Auntie Joan Part 1

This story is written by Les Lea

I watched as the latest terror attack was reported in graphic detail by the TV news. Over ninety people so far dead in an explosion in Mumbai that was obviously aimed at the bus full of new army recruits who were on their way back to base. The huge car bomb was so intense that it obliterated the bus and everything within a hundred metre radius, what I didn’t know was that my parents just happened to be passing in their taxi at the time.
My name is Dean Court.
Yes I know it sounds like a venue – ‘Could you book the reception at Dean Court please?’ or ‘Dean Court, the ideal place for your aging parents to live out the rest of their lives in a safe and secure environment’ or more likely ‘Dean Court, oh yes they do a wonderful seafood and champagne brunch’.
However, I’m thirteen, nearly fourteen, and go to a private school in the UK, even though I’m from Washington DC originally. Both my parents work for the government, though I have no idea what they do, but I hardly know them as I was packed off to school the minute I was of the correct age – I was three. Since then I have spent more time away from home and my parents than I have with them. They were quite old, late forties, when they had me but there was never a close bond. I can honestly say I hardly know them and obviously I was some kind of hindrance to their busy careers. I suppose that’s why I ended up at a school I absolutely hate in England but which was well away from them back home in the USA.

#

I had no idea why my parents should have been in Mumbai, but when two men and a woman from the embassy arrived at school and I was removed from class to be informed of their deaths, I honestly didn’t know what to think. I was stunned. I asked the agents what mom and dad were doing in India in the first place but they said they didn’t know. I could tell they knew more than they were saying but they were ‘agents’ so weren’t going to tell me anything. None of it made any sense, but whether it made sense or not, the main point was that both my parents had perished in a terrorist attack, in a foreign country and I had no idea why. Perhaps the sad thing was, I didn’t cry, I hardly knew them. I hadn’t even know they were in India that’s how invested they were in me. They may have thought I was getting the best education available but I was an unhappy American, in a school riddled with class and discrimination. It may well have been number one for educating the elite of ‘Ye Olde England’ but for me it was a constant and unhappy trial.

The school’s philosophy of keeping their students busy and involved backfired with me. I hated games, I hated my fellow students, I hated being away from home, I hated the teachers that tried to involve me in the way the ethos of the school operated. I hated the over-prissy school uniform along with the fucking UK and all it stood for.
My nickname was ‘Doodle’, they chirpily informed me, as in ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’ but I never responded to it. The school ‘house’ system annoyed me so much, I couldn’t understand (or want to be involved) in anything that bonded a group of kids, as diverse as we were, over something so stupid as ‘playing for the benefit of the team’ or house in this case. No, I was a very unhappy boy in an institution I couldn’t escape. I resented every second I was there and even more the parents who, without asking or even considering my opinion, sent me to such a prestigious hell hole.
I felt cheated out of my childhood. I’d been handed from one institution to the next since I was three and always with the expectation of the betterment my parents no doubt wanted for or from me. Even when I was home the contact between us was minimal and I’d spend a huge amount of time in my room, playing on the computer, reading and waiting to be shipped back to school. Not once do I ever remember my father suggesting we should go to a theme park together, or go swimming, or camping together… or any damn thing that parents do with their kids.

#

Of course I had everything I wanted… except a family or friends. At school I hated being forced to be friends with people I detested. I wasn’t stupid and my grades were quite good, but I objected to being made to live with people I found objectionable, shallow, self-obsessed and entitled. In return they found me pathetic, dumb, withdrawn and not worthy of any consideration at all. I absorbed more than I showed but gave out very little. Teachers tried to chivvy (God at times I come over so English) me into various pursuits but gave up when my apathy began to corrupt others. I think they didn’t really want me contaminating the other students and I’m sure dad got regular reports on my attitude to school fellowship and all that rubbish entails. On several occasions I’d be called into the house master’s study or the school shrink’s office for a ‘friendly chat’ but I could see their prying ways and offered nothing back. I may have detested my parents but I wasn’t going to give this bunch of ‘professors’ that kind of ammo. I said very little, offering one word answers or subliminal contempt, all though I’m not sure just how subliminal I was.
So, my parents being blown to smithereens was a turning point in my life because I was shipped back to Washington DC for a funeral that was attended by some bigwigs from the government. It was so high profile that even the TV companies and press were there but I still couldn’t get a straight answer to my question – ‘what did my parents do?’ It was then I realised that mom and dad must have been pretty important. Although this revelation didn’t make me think any less of them (I was so angry I don’t think I could have thought any less of them), as far as I was concerned they had abandoned me in favour of the state and left for others to bring up… they also did a terrible job.
As both coffins were ceremoniously lowered into the grave I realised I was now an orphan and knew that as a thirteen year-old I still had no say in my future. I dreaded being returned to school in England to ‘finish my education’ but looked around at the mourners and wondered who, if any of those assembled, would be bothered at what became of me.
I believe that people within the government had tried to find my next of kin. My grandparents were old and unable to take me in, my parents being in their forties when they had me, and the only person they tracked down was dad’s estranged sister Joan who lived out in the mid-west. I hadn’t seen her for over ten years and could hardly remember what she looked like so when the black-clad lady approached with her condolences I had no idea she was to be my future guardian. However, she put an arm around my shoulder and for the first time since the deaths, well, in fact, for the first time in many years; I felt that someone actually cared.

#

For the next few days she and I lived in my parent’s house as their business was put into some kind of order; the house, their banking details, the compensation from the government for my loss, were all sorted by the family lawyer and my aunt. A trust fund was set up and several other financial, legal and administrative problems overcome. It came as no surprise to me that Aunt Joan was the only person who, albeit reluctantly, was thinking what was best for me.
As I said, I was dreading being punted off back to the UK but thankfully Auntie Joan was dead against it. She didn’t like their privileged educational system and I think more importantly, she detected my complete distaste for the place. I loved her immediately for her insight into what made me tick. It may not seem such a big thing but I can tell you, for the first time in my entire life, I thought I was on the same wavelength as another person.
One night she asked me if I was happy. A simple question and not imbued with any deep meaning but it was the first time I’d been asked about anything and, I’m sad to say, I broke down and cried. I’m thirteen and this was the first time I’d openly cried for as long as I could remember. That one spark of interest in me and my welfare meant the world and I cried and cried whilst being gently consoled by my dad’s estranged sister.
The tears weren’t at the loss of my parents but, as I saw it, the loss of my life that had me so emotional. Again auntie offered comfort and explained she was going to look after me and to forget the pompous school in England… she hoped I’d be OK with that decision. As far as she was concerned I was going to join her back at the little town she called home and where, she assured me, I would have a better life. She said quite deliberately that she would never abandon nor leave me to someone else to bring up; I was too precious to put in other people’s hands. I can’t tell you what a relief her few words were and I felt a whole heap of anger, frustration and entrenched hate suddenly evaporate.

#

However, her now being my guardian she was also privy to the fact I had another, more personal problem. When I was at the school in the UK, I occasionally wet the bed. I wasn’t even sure if I was doing it on purpose or not, although I certainly didn’t like the name calling or my wet mattress, for some reason I didn’t actually mind wet PJs and the little rebellion it kindled in my head. However, that night time problem persisted whilst back home and even after the funeral I had woken up every morning drenched in a pool of piss. Everyone appeared very understanding knowing the pressure I was obviously under, coming to terms with everything though I didn’t tell them it was an ongoing problem that I’d had for some time. I had no idea if the school had reported back to my parents; however, I felt I should speak to my aunt about it.
I was nervous bringing up the subject but she came into my room one morning and I was just coming to terms with another wet set of PJs. The dark huge damp patch was obvious spreading across my pale blue cotton bottoms. It had even reached my jacket and I couldn’t be sure but I think my room smelled of pee. Luckily, I’d already managed to put a rubber sheet down to protect the mattress so it was only me and the sheets that were wet. I was embarrassed. Normally, if I’d been at school I would have looked defiantly at anyone who thought to make a comment, as if daring them to say something, but at that moment I felt like a silly little kid who couldn’t last a night without pissing himself.
Tears seemed to be something I did now as I guiltily revealed to her what had happened. I don’t cry, well I didn’t cry before, so why they came so easily I wasn’t too sure.
“It’s OK Dean, don’t worry.”
She put her arms around me and gave me a cuddle.
I stifled the sobs that were left.
I explained that this wasn’t a one off, that I’d been a bed-wetter, off and on, for a long time now. I knew I should have grown out of it but, well, I hadn’t and I was sorry if that was going to be a problem for her.
“Don’t be silly Dean, nothing you do will be a problem to or for me, but let’s get you cleaned up and packed, as I think it’s time I… we… went home.”
She smiled the most endearing smile. Like mom and dad she was at least 50 years-old but still had the skin the texture of a woman in her thirties. Under her mop of faded blonde hair her face radiated warmth and understanding and again I felt protected and safe when Auntie Joan spoke.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” I queried as I looked down at my sodden bedding.
She laughed out loud.
“Sweetie, back home I run a children’s nursery so if a bit of pee or poo worried me, I’d definitely be in the wrong business.”
She urged me to get up, take a shower and dress as she’d booked us on a flight home.

#

HOME?
I had no idea where in the mid-west I was going to call home but auntie had organised everything, she’d packed up most of my things and had already shipped them out together with one or two mementos and pieces of furniture. She said there was little point in taking too much as she didn’t need it and I didn’t appear that bothered about keeping anything so, my clothes and computer had been dispatched and we travelled with minimal luggage.
However, once I was out of the shower and deciding on what to wear for the flight auntie asked me a strange question.
“Will you be OK to travel as you are or would you prefer to wear protection?”
She said it so matter of factly, as if it was something I might have considered in the past but in truth I hadn’t.
“Er, er, no, er I’m OK,” I was still adding up the ramifications of what she’d just asked. Did she expect that I needed to wear some kind of protection when I travelled?
“OK Sweetheart…”
That was a new term of endearment and one that instantly sent a shiver of pleasure through my body. Nobody, not even my parents, had ever used such a term of endearment… and I loved it.
“…dress for comfort because when we get there it will be in the 80s and we don’t want a sweat drenched suit to be your first experience of your new home.”
I didn’t have much choice; some stuff was left for the final packing crate so I ended up wearing my undies, a t-shirt, a blue sweatshirt and a pair of knee-length navy blue shorts and navy blue sneakers. Auntie said I looked like a local, which I suppose she meant those I was going to meet for the first time.
She was all smiles and joviality and determined that my parent’s deaths were consigned to history and that I should be treated as a boy about to embark on a new life that I had some control over.

#

During the flight, and again on the journey from the airport to her… our… home, the fact that she’d asked if I needed protection kept resurfacing in my brain. It wasn’t that I was offended, though I was surprised, but the thought of what that might be like just wouldn’t go away. She was telling me about the town where she, sorry, we called home, a place of just twenty thousand inhabitants in the south-west corner of Kansas. She explained that ‘The Rainbow Rooms Nursery’ (hereinafter called The Rainbow) was her business and where she and a staff of four permanent and four temporary looked after children from babies up to pre-schoolers at five. She explained that sometimes older kids also joined the youngsters in class because that was the age they identified with. I assumed she was being polite and meant that they were slow or had mental problems but, as she didn’t speak that way, I kept those thoughts to myself.
My new home was a two story house comprising off; three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, a kitchen, a living room, a den and large utility room (with toilet and shower facilities) downstairs and an even larger basement. All this was set on a decent plot of land, which auntie had made into a very nice garden with flowers and bushes to all sides and a lawn that swept down to the sidewalk. The street was a mixture of small homes like ours and larger, three story places designed for rich folk or big families. There was quite a selection but the area felt safe and clean and all the exteriors appeared well maintained. We lived at number 46 Glendew Lane and the homes on either side of us were built exactly the same as ours.

#

Auntie’s room was the largest and at the front of the building whereas mine was one of the two rooms that faced the back garden. The packing cases had already been magically transported to my room although the bed had yet to be constructed. I sighed a little at the prospect of fixing up my bed because in truth, I was hopeless at anything, even that basics, by way of construction. However, the other bedroom was already set up as a nursery because auntie said that occasionally she babysat or looked after kids whose parents had to go somewhere in an emergency and they needed someone to look out for their child.
Most of the children she babysat were of an age where a nursery was more appropriate than a bedroom, so she kept it prepared for any such crisis. There was a crib and a small bed, both already made up and ready for a little person in need of a place to stay. The crib was all childish fleecy blankets and stuffed animals and I felt a sudden pang in my chest and I wasn’t sure why. The bed was covered by a duvet with Disney characters all over it and a matching pillow. Again, it was stacked with several teddy bears and other stuffed animals. I swallowed hard, standing in the doorway wishing I could just curl up with them and go to sleep. For some reason I couldn’t get my breath and my heart was pounding, I thought I was having some sort of panic attack or delayed response to my parents death and I started to cry.
God damn it, what is wrong with me?

#

Unaware of her presence auntie seemed to know I was struggling with something and came and put her arms around me. The roar that left my chest as I bawled like a two year-old was quite uncontrollable and I wept into auntie’s bosom just like that toddler would. She soothed my distress and stroked my hair, it was a feeling that was alien to me and I couldn’t get enough of it. Eventually, she guided me towards the bed and we sat to talk. The bed had rails around to stop a child from falling out but on one side the rail was down so we made ourselves comfortable there. In due course I was able to get my tears under control and we chatted like we hadn’t done before.
To get things rolling she explained the function of the room, even though it was pretty obvious; the toys, the piles of diapers, plastic pants, wipes and lotions, ointments and powders. What I hadn’t noticed though auntie had, was that I’d wet myself whilst being so affected by the room. There was a damp stain on my trousers, enough to flag my wet situation but she just patted my back and asked if I’d mind if she sorted me out. I wasn’t completely sure what that meant but I was too emotional to think straight and in truth I was tired and just glad I didn’t have to concern myself with any of it.
She told me not to worry; she’d done this a thousand times and with boys my age so not to be embarrassed. She stripped me out of all my clothes and lay me out naked on the bed. She asked if I thought I needed to go to the toilet but I think it was too late for that, so shook my head. She then wiped my damp pubic area and towelled me dry before applying a scented lotion and rubbed in some baby powder. None of this bothered me I was now so relaxed in her caring hands I needed it to continue, I’d never felt so wanted. Once she was satisfied I was happy and not anxious about anything she reached up and grabbed a large disposable. She unfurled it as I watched, and although part of me was saying ‘no’, another part was hoping she’d just tape me in and I’d have no say in the situation. This was exactly what she did.
I was clean, warm and snug as she juggled a pair of opaque plastic pants up and over the diaper. She then reached for a blue cotton t-shirt and fed my arms and head into it before rolling it down my body. I hadn’t noticed the snaps at the bottom as she fastened me in.
“I think Dean you are just one tired little boy… so why don’t you just climb into bed,” She pulled down the duvet cover and invited me in, “and get a good night’s sleep?”
It wasn’t a question, I was exhausted and at that moment I yawned and felt that sleep was just what I needed. She stroked my hair for a few moments before slipping a teddy into my arms, which I snuggled tightly. My eyes were closed but I could hear the rails being pulled up and click into position but I was too sleepy to think any more about it. I heard her say night-night from the door and then I was alone.

This story is written by Les Lea

You can find more story’s like this one posted on My ABDL Life. The only thing you need to do is to check out this page to find them.

Chapter 2

Balloons Are The Best

Balloons Are The Best

Kenny writes on the chalkboard as he gets ready for Show And Tell!

“Balloons are the best! Especially big pretty balloons! They feel really nice and squishy when you hug and sit down on them! But you have to be gentle, because they make a loud boom when they pop. So, balloons are the best! Danku!”

The cute fox and above text belongs to KennyKitsune

Draw by Rairai

Source: https://inkbunny.net/s/1781168

Giggle someone sure teels everyone how match he loves balloons :)

And it sure not strange most cubs love to play around and have a big balloon :)

So i bet that Kenny is not alone about this in the classroom.

Eight Days of Diapers – Part V: The Flickering Light

This story is written by WingZ

Andy was so shocked to actually receive diapers for Hanukah that he hadn’t given much thought to the logistics of wearing them and school was no exception. In the stories he read, strange things seemed to happen when kids wore diapers to school. Either they were changed by the school nurse or someone of the opposite sex started babying them or it suddenly emerged that their best friend wore diapers, too. Andy couldn’t see any of that happening, but what he could see, if anyone found out, was teasing and lots of it. His social position was already precarious. Being caught wearing diapers would only compound that.

“Hey Dad,” he said on Sunday night. “Is it OK if I don’t wear diapers to school?”

“They’re your diapers,” his father told him. “But I certainly wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think I will.”

Andy saw relief sweep over his old man’s face. That sealed it. He would wear at home only and it would remain his secret. It was better that way, Andy thought. It would give him something to look forward to, something to get him through the day.

The next day seemed to drag, though, as Mondays often did. The fact that Andy knew he would be at home, diapered, in a couple of hours, only made things worse. Anxiety gnawed at him throughout his first couple of classes. At lunch, his friends told him he was acting weird and seemed distracted. That prompted Andy to try to focus on something else. He turned his attention to the rest of his classes, boring as they were; to the social studies test that was coming up at the end of the week; to that cool-looking movie, Avatar, which would be out soon; to the football season, where both the Saints AND the Colts had yet to lose a game. No one topic completely held his attention, but together, the swirl of thoughts succeeded in getting his mind off diapers for the rest of the day.

It was a trick that nearly worked too well. Andy had gone home, helped himself to a snack (milk and Oreos – a classic) and set out his books on the small desk in his room to do his homework before it finally occurred to him that he could be doing all of that diapered. He stopped what he was doing, grabbed a fresh diaper from the package, his fifth out of the original twenty, and put it on.

A strange thing happened next: Andy felt nothing. The diaper felt fine physically, or at least no different than any of the other diapers that he’d worn since Friday, but there was no spark of excitement when he put it on. He did not feel more mischievous or more secure or more anything, really. It was just like when Hannah changed him on Saturday. The thrill was gone.

Andy stared at the remaining diapers in disbelief, bewildered that his enjoyment would come and go. That never happened in the stories he read. The diaperee either loved being diapered or hated it. It was never just OK. He would post something to the forums later asking if this was normal. In the meantime, he went about doing his homework, hopeful that his enthusiasm would return.

It did not. He finished his homework, played some Wii and ate dinner with his family. Throughout all of it, the knowledge that he was diapered did not seem to do anything to his mood. No one drew any attention to it and Andy soon forgot that he had a diaper on. When nature called, he stood in front of the toilet and pulled his diaper down so he could pee, treating it as if it were no more than a pair of standard-issue briefs. Only a desire to avoid wasting it caused him to pull the diaper back up at the last minute.

Wearing diapers, Andy realized, felt a lot like lighting that night’s candles. There were no more presents to be exchanged, no changes to the blessings, nothing that would make him think additionally or differently about the meaning of Hanukah or Judaism or life or God, but he took part in it anyway because it was what was to be done.

***

Unlike Andy’s diaper, the message board was flooded when he logged in Tuesday morning. His post received a wide range of responses. One poster said he should be thankful that he had diapers at all. Another replied with “Welcome to reality, kid.” Not all the responses were antagonistic, however. Someone suggested that he wasn’t enjoying diapers as much because they were no longer new for him. If he wanted to enjoy them again, the poster advised, he would have to try something new along with them. Andy wasn’t sure what that meant at the time, but by the end of the school day, he had an idea.

“What happened to your pants?” his mother asked when he walked into the kitchen without them.

“Trying something new,” Andy told her.

She gave him a quizzical look and shook her head, but did not tell him to put them back on until his father was nearly home. During that time, Jake giggled at his exposed diaper and Andy began to feel like he’d accomplished something.

The accomplishment was short-lived, however. By Thursday afternoon, going pantsless had begun to feel as routine as wearing diapers had felt on Monday. Andy’s mind couldn’t be further from his attire when he sat at his desk at home, working out algebra problems from a musty-smelling textbook. The scrape of the pencil against the page, the jumble of numbers and operators before him and the temptation of the calculator in his backpack’s zippered outer pocket all seized his attention in a way that his diaper, at that moment, proved incapable of matching.

Later, he noted with some dismay that he’d only gone through half the bag of diapers. Hanukah was more than halfway over and he was unlikely to finish the rest by Saturday evening. His once-golden opportunity now seemed like a colossal waste.

***

Friday came and Andy finally caught a break. His social studies test was done with and he went to lunch feeling free and clear. He’d just taken his first bite of his cafeteria-grade (the crust tasted like sawdust and the cheese came off in a single coagulated layer) pizza when his friend Shane asked him if he wanted to go see Avatar that evening.

“My mom can drive us,” he offered.

“Sure,” Andy said. It was a no-brainer as far as he was concerned.

“Cool,” said Shane. “Oh, hey, you don’t mind if Audrey comes with us?”

Audrey was Shane’s alleged girlfriend. If certain rumors were to believed, she and Shane were going steady, but Andy didn’t know what to make of all that. He saw Shane talk to her in the halls sometimes, but he never saw them doing any mushy stuff. If they had, Andy was pretty sure he would have heard about it. The talk seemed like just that: talk. Then again, maybe Shane WANTED to kiss her and stuff, but didn’t want to seem weird about it. Maybe that’s what this whole going-to-see-Avatar stuff was really all about.

“Nah, I don’t mind,” Andy replied.

When he got home from school, Andy told his mother that he thought he did pretty well on the test and asked about going to the movies that night.

“Who are you going with and what are you going to see?” she asked.

Avatar,” Andy answered. “I’m going with Shane and his…friend. His mom’s driving.”

Andy’s mother nodded, contemplated the choice of movie, decided it would be acceptable and gave her assent.

“We’ll light candles before you go,” she said.

He was not surprised to hear her say “yes.” If anything, Andy suspected she was relieved because that meant he would be back to wearing pants. But what she didn’t know and what Shane and Audrey didn’t know either was that he would be breaking his own rule and going to the movies in a diaper.

This story is written by WingZ

You can find more story’s like this one posted on My ABDL Life. The only thing you need to do is to check out this page to find them.

Diaperfur Comic: School Issues Comic Pt2

Diaperfur Comic: School Issues Comic Pt2

Draw and everything by chuckybb

Source: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/28972538/

It seems like Kela is going to experience something very special and embarrassing the coming weeks. Maybe this is what she really wont deep inside?  At lest she maybe can find some sort of comfort sucking on that pacifier.

I kind of looking forward to the next page in this comic to she was is going to happen at the kindergarten. But one thing she really need is a new clean diaper. That sure is going to be a blushing moment for here i bet.

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