In Night Diapers

My earliest memories of being in diapers past potty training are vague yet crystallized in clarity. I was older then three but not four, my sister a year younger never suffered the humiliation. Having only a rudimentary understanding of being singled out to suffer these wrongs done to my pride, I subconsciously endued them. Numerous nameless faces perpetrated the first offenses against my person for reasons I can only guess at. I have conflicting testimony from both my Mother and Grandmother concerning the reason for us being in a Juvenile Facility at our tender ages. That part is of no real importance. What follows is to the best of my knowledge factual.

I woke in the middle of the night in a soaked bed barely aware that it wasn’t of my own accord. I was hustled by some lady to a large tiled room where she forcibly stripped off my wet pajamas; before washing my lower anatomy. I was shivering still in a mindless fog while she drug me into an adjacent room lifted onto a counter or table. I couldn’t make much since of why, nor was there any expansion offered, I simply complied without questions. Presently my legs were lifted until my rear was off the surface, just as I had drifted back to a light sleep. Opening my eyes sluggishly I saw a large white, square object in her other hand. It quickly disappeared from my sight and I was lowered onto its soft comfort. I didn’t realize what it was until she spread my legs wide and pulled part of it between my loins then expertly secured it around my waist. The concept was starting to dawn on me as she deftly pulled a pair of white plastic pants up my legs and over my bundled bottom. A pajama top was whisked over my head before I found myself back on my feet being corralled out of the room. Waddling down the hall, I became more aware of my surroundings even though the dimed lighting. This lady urged me along a brisk pace, to a huge bedroom lined with steel bunk beds on both sides, eventually we stopped at one set of them. I was pushed into a lower bunk and covered up. Without any more thought I faded back into dreamland.

The next morning was a more shocking after being forced out of bed under glaring lights, I was at more of a lose as to what was happening. Even as I complied with spoken commands, I struggled to make sense of my surroundings. I couldn’t put the pieces together of where I was nor where I should have been.  I just knew something was wrong. I recognized and caught up to my sister in sea of kids moving towards the hall. It was stark and dreary looking in the bright light. At the tiled bathroom we were met by a group of ladies and separated into smaller groups. Standing against a wall, I waited for my turn to be selected. I looked around absently, not really thinking about the diapers and plastic pants I was wearing. The chilly morning air was having an effect on them and it suddenly brought to my attention that they were sodden. I wasn’t that concerned or embarrassed at the moment, they were just uncomfortable. I remember tugging on the sagging mass trying to make them stay up. When that failed I tried pulling them off only to have my hair roughly pulled by someone big.  She twisted me around and slapped me on the rear and telling to stop messing with my diapers.

It didn’t really hurt but she got my attention.  The room was more vacant now as the flood of activity was slowing down. We were a mixed group of boys and girls of varying ages.  I wasn’t sure about the selection criteria, until our turned came to be dealt with.  Three of the women came back to join the one watching us, and they each grabbed a child by the hand and started undressing them. To my surprise each of the kids we also wearing diapers and plastic pants similar to the ones I was wearing. The only difference was not all their diapers were wet. The dry kids were directed to one side while wet ones to the other side. When we were all naked, the dry kids were marched by three of the women to another room. The other women turned a hose of warm water on the rest of us before toweling us down. Them we were marched in direction of our predecessors. I was used to seeing my sister naked but not other boys, it was slightly shocking to me, but strangely natural. We were taken to another room full of shelves of clothes; boys were put in pants and girls dresses. Then it was off to breakfast.  Strangely, the rest of the day is shrouded in mist for me, until bedtime when a bunch of us were diapered for the night. I only remember that the next morning my diapers were again soaked.

My other memories of that place and time were during some of our outdoor play sessions. I had seen some of the kids running around in diapers and plastic pants during the day but didn’t know why. There were some younger, older and my age in this condition at various times, while others may have been that way all day. But one day I found out one of the reasons it could happen. The best I can remember it happened when I was goofing around near the slide and disobeyed their rules, I don’t know which one it was but I was suddenly snatched up by some woman and drug inside soundly wailed on, bawled out and chastised while being thickly diapered. This included the plastic pants. Then I was escorted back outside for the rest of the day that way. I don’t know if I used the diapers or not, what time of day it was or if they changed me into fresh diapers for bedtime. The only other part I can clearly visualize is being picked up by Grandma one day and leaving with her, I clearly remember he asking when we got home how come I was wearing diapers though.

There must be a reason made such an impression on me. Years later I learned that we had been in a place called Raymond Hall, part of the Juvenile Detention Facilities of Seattle/Tacoma Metro area in Washington State. I am not sure how long we were there but I believe from what I have been able to get from Grandma or Mom it was about 10 days to 2 weeks. Mom seems to have selective memory a lot these days and the only times I get concrete answers about anything controversial is when she is loaded. I have often wished I could go back in time with my current facility and relive all the diapered times of my youth. Of course, with my body being the proper age I really couldn’t experience as much enjoyment as I can being an adult. But at least my curiosity and unanswered questions could be resolved.  

Professions Who don’t Want Change

Why would they want to lose their jobs by solving problems; this list is not all inclusive.  In my experiences it has been the lower echelon employees who do the real work and effect the most change and reform, especially in the justice and medical fields. The upper tier is more interested in that steady high payday.

Bug and rodent exterminators are in high demand, who wants to have to have some of those nasty little critters infesting their abode. The worst and hardest to get rid of is cockroaches and bedbugs. Have you heard about the nationwide bedbug re-infestation, if not just type their name in a search engine and be surprised. Even government buildings, like firehouse and schools are overrun with these nasty buggers. So what do exterminating companies want to do their jobs, monthly contracts to keep the bad things away? Why of course, if not they will come back as soon as we leave.

Next on my list is the criminal justice system, what would happen to the judges, lawyers, police, prison system, etc…, if they rehabilitated all or even most of their clients. What is interesting is how at certain times thousands of people have gathered for events with relatively no violence or crimes, like Woodstock. And even some natural disasters like the one currently in Japan. I realize that there is probably always going to be people like Bundy and Gacy who want to satisfy their needs at another’s expense. But there are far too many laws that make someone a criminal for little or no reason, not to mention housing small time offenders in with the hardcore ones, which keeps perpetuating their growth in bad deeds. You have to become hard very fast to survivor or you become a victim yourself. They deserve it you say, maybe but how are you going to have a chance to reform someone in that jungle environment. So what is the answer we always hear, more police, prisons, parole officers, etc.., is that the only answer we have?

Ah, now the worst offenders in my mind the Mental Health Industry, which is barely out of the barbaric middle ages. Until the late 60’s prescribed treatments were Shock Treatments, Lobotomies, straight jackets, Thorazine, and Haladol as well as a host of nasty medicines. Huge Federal and State Hospitals were mere warehouses of the infirmed, crammed together with few staff that was frequently abusive and just plain cruel. Granted there have been major changes since then such as patient rights and smaller care units that make it not such a nightmare but what does the major treatment plan entail. Drug therapy perpetuated by multibillionaire Pharmaceutical corporations who reward their clients with perks for using their latest under tested, expensive drugs.  Group and individual counseling are not cost effective enough even though they help the most. The majority of clients would be far better served by learning how to cope with their problems and labeled illnesses then the system wants to admit.  

If you are cured, massive income is lost, so what is the incentive? It is better to say they can only control these mental diseases not cure them. A few years ago it was a major stigma to admit you were suffering from a mental illness, now you have commercials on TV wanting to treat you for depression, with the latest dugs. Depression is a normal part of life, it happens to most people at different times in their life. Granted there are many who suffer such extreme cases; that may benefit from these drugs but for the majority it is a stop gap measure until they can pull themselves out of it. Winston Churchill had extreme depression but was able to run the English government through World War II, his pouts were so extreme that at times his couldn’t even leave the bed for days. What kind of treatment did he receive?

I invite further discussion on these or related topics, these opinions are not necessarily my final word.

New Wave AbDl Scene

It may be just me but the scene seems very fragmented to me now. I realize it may not be a bad thing that BDSM scene is more accepting of us now and that a lot of people may have come over from that scene. And the main stream press since the early '90's when Jerry Springer and other hosts first brought us into the limelight were both good and bad things.

I remember watching these interviews with everyone, including my birth mom at the Oregon meet in '97, I was in awe of those brave souls who risked so much to talk openly and honestly about themselves and their lifestyle. They were very strong,sincere and articulate people. I felt a strong kinship and very much wanted to meet them. Meeting anyone for the first time is very stressful, scary and never easy to me. I have always been somewhat of a clown to hide my nervous nature.

I guess, part of my fears stem from moving around so much. I have lived all over the US and it takes time to develop real friendships. It seems like every time I found some friends we moved off. This continued into my adult life until my mid 30's I never spent more then a couple of years in the same area always searching for something. This made my social skills slow to develop. In a way the only friend I had for very long as a child and young adult was my diapers. But there is a very limited communication that can be preformed with them.

Oops here I've gone off on a tangent again, lets get back to what I wanted to say. I know that most of you probably prefer to stay out of the light so to speak following the path of least resistance. It is the easiest or safest road to move along, and if you do chose to meet anyone within our genre, you will do so in very small groups with someone you have established a longer term relationship with. and by this I mean chatting in stages from say forums to chartrooms to telephone to establish some kind of bond and to reassure yourself that it is a non-threatening person or persons who you are going to meet in person. I noticed it seems harder to meet people that live closed to you then say those in another state. Which makes sense, it is far easier to avoid a long distance person then someone in your own neighborhood.

I have had about 4 different meets during my active years. The first was with a girl who was from the wetting genre who had added diapers to her wetting scene. We had been chatting on irc for a few months, about 3 am there was only three of in the channel so the conversation turned very sexual. On the spur of the moment almost as a challenge a meet was set up between me and this girl. I was like a cat on a hot tin roof, this first time but everything turned out fine between us and we had a relationship that lasted about a year. We were almost 50 miles apart. The second meet was rather haphazardly setup also, with like a weeks notice it was going to happen. This was the Cleveland '96 meet Dougie and his wife/Mommy from Pennsylvania came, Tommie from Kentucky, and a new boy from rural Ohio(hi nickname escapes me at the moment). It lasted three days and was fun but full of surprises. The third one was a year later and well planed the '97 Oregon meet for 8 days where over 20 people showed through various parts of the trip. some we met for a few hours in Portland others showed up for a few days at the actual house we rented. It was fun, adventurous, thoughtful, thrilling, sad, argumentative, and more but above all it was human. We were all different and had different conceptions about what should and could happen. It was a great time of learning and growing for me, I am glad it happened an wouldn't change it for the world. The worst part was that when problems occurred it wasn't resolved soon enough so that some resentments or slights remained of incidents only to rear their ugly heads during the last few days of the event. We worked them out as a group as it should be.

That is what really bothers me about this new Littles Group mentality. Having security members, presidents, advisors, etc., it is all so organized and unnatural to me, so establishment, so many rules, so cultist, it really scares me. Is that really the way to go, am I missing something? I know I am a conventional Rebel and always will be but I miss the other rebels, especially Whisper she was outspoken, contankerous at times but wonderfully real. Stood up for what she felt and I love the way she used to throw those little twists of humor our way, it made everything fall into place. Another person I miss is Rolf, if you are still around drop me a line at johnnyleewhite@yahoo.com, Whisper I would love to hear from you and your mate too, along with anyone else I have forgotten to mention.

The last meetings I had one was kind of awkward a young guy slightly younger anyway agreed to meet up at a diner for coffee that was very close to my apartment at the time. He recognizedly me from my online photo so we got a booth to chat. I think I scared hem away by being to chatty and bold in my new found freedom, he seemed to look around alot and hardly spoke. I never really knew what he was wanting to accomplish by meeting me, as I was busy rambling off to hide my own nervousness to realize until it was too late. He bolted when he got a chance back into the shadows of the city. Tommy from Kentucky used to come up quite frequently for several years but eventually I lost contact with him. Maybe he will holler at me one day.

Well if you have read all this, thanks, if not well thats okay too.

later

__________________
Johnny Lee

http://johnnyleedl.byethost15.com/

http://diapersforfun.blogspot.com/?zx=402dbdbb70608130

http://www.diaperspace.com/johnnyleedl

I love Music

There is so much music out there it is mind boggling to me the variety. I have collected so much that it would take days for me to list to my collection. The ones that really grab me from my favorite artists are usually just a small fraction of their life works. I love screaming guitar riffs, and a wide mix of stuff, but I can't find anything musical to me about Rap. A band is what makes music to me, and hearing the lyrics is very important to the sound. The innovations made from the mid sixties to the end of the eighties is what I love. There are a few groups that get my interest after that. It seems that the music has truly died to me.

Below are just a few of my favorites.

Quicksilver Messenger Service - What About Me?

White Bird - It's a Beautiful Day - Live - 1971 (stereo)

Since I've Been Loving You - Led Zeppelin

Funkadelic - Maggot Brain

ABDL History and Me

 My history with diaper love started in the mid fifties, I cannot definitively say exactly when or why.  At this point in my life it doesn’t really mater to me although I can and do make assumptions all the time, the fact is that it did indeed take place. These entire fancy theories mean squat really if you have become a diaper lover, adult baby, furry baby, sissy, transgender mommy, daddy, etc…, because it happened and it is a part of your life for better or worse. I've pondered for years wondering why me of all the children I knew in my youth who were put in diapers for bedwetting after the age of four, did it grab so profoundly. In my family I had three male cousins and my little brother who were bed-wetter’s, the family next door had two boys and two girls, four houses up the street a boy of four was still in diapers (who was not retarded), and my mother (who was a professional babysitter for several years) put over a dozen different boys and girls in diapers for naps and bedtime who were four or older. I am positive that there were a great many more in the same circumstances judging by the amount of super-sized plastic pants in the stores of my home town and the ads for stuff like Staydry Panties and other garments in women’s magazines. It was a huge shame for those of us with this problem, back then most mothers had no time or pity for wet beds and let it be known to their children’s shame.

I suffered years of torment and self loathing along with the guilt and shame of being so different from my peers. There was just this overpowering need and desire to wear first plastic pants then diapers with them and later girl’s clothes too. I pored though ever book at the school library and found nothing to suggest that there were others out there with the same problems. I had no one to relate to or discuss it with but it would not die.


In 1970 I met my future wife and the first night told her all of it, she didn’t say anything about it or condemn me for it she just listened. I had no idea how she would feel about it but I had to be honest with her. I hoped I wasn’t going to lose her over it but it just wouldn’t have been right to keep it from her. She accepted me despite my frailties; we started living together and were married two years later.  Our marriage ended in 2007 with her accidental death and she was loyal to me to the end.

I took her on the road with me hitchhiking up the coast to Frisco and later all the way to the Portland; we crisscrossed the state several times in our first year together living, a bohemian lifestyle and getting to know each other. I feel lucky to have found someone who was so kind, loving and loyal to have spent my life with, I just wish now that I was as loyal to her as I should have been. After we were married in her home state of West Virginia, I joined the Army to do my part for my country and I was stationed in North Carolina in 1973.


I had been wearing diapers at night since we met whenever it was possible but I still felt alone with them. One night when out with two of my friends smoking weed and bar hopping one of them wanted to stop at an adult bookstore; so I pulled in and we perused the store, (my first visit to one). Imagine my confusion and shock after all this time to see a couple of magazines on the shelf with girls in diapers. One was called Rubber Life the other Rubber Nurse, sister publications; I felt weak at the knees yet excited, I wanted to dash over and snatch them off the shelves. But what would my friends think not to mention the rest of the base. I felt it would spread like wildfire if it got out. So I bid my time took them back to the barracks, slipped back out later where I returned and bought a copy of each magazine. 1974 was the year I discovered that there were others out there, this was the beginning of a new awareness and longing to talk and meet other people with a similar wants and needs.

A lot of vendors have made their presence felt and others have faded out for different reasons. In my humble opinion, there should be a place for those who have advanced the genre into the 21 century. There has been a lot of important contributors’ to the community which before they are forgotten needs to be immortalized I realize that their privacy must be not be compromised and that there is a lot I don’t know that needs to be included but a place needs to be created for this. Our history needs to be respected and remembered! I would volunteer to write it up, but I would rather not do it alone, after all No man is an Island.

Bad Habits

I am one of many of us who have done bad things in the past to further explore our abdl fetish. I am not proud of having done these things but the facts are undeniable
to me. I was like many of us sure that I was alone in my bizarre cravings and lost in trying to satisfy my overwhelming urges. I will start it off and relate some of my Bad Actions.

I am Old School, so my main addictions are cloth diapers (or small bath towels, in my
youth) and plastic pants which I was forced to wear off and on until I was about 14 for being a bed wetter. It’s not easy to pinpoint the exact age I started enjoying wearing them (around 8 to 10), but the fact is that it happened.

There were long periods, sometimes months when I wasn’t wetting the bed and thus weren’t diapered. Sometime after my 8^th birthday I got the desire to put on a pair of plastic pants, since my little brother had started to wet the bed, I stole a pair of his out of the dresser we shared went in the bathroom and put them on. They felt so good that I pulled my undershorts and cutoff pants back on and went outside to play. No one was the wiser, so I wore them all day in the hot southern California sun, I enjoyed feeling them sliding around and caressing my body. The secret desire nourished and grew from there.

Although it wasn’t a very bright idea for me to borrow my little brother’s plastic pants,
it wasn’t a criminal action either. My real crimes came later during the times when I stole plastic pants and or diapers from other families. From about age 10 when I stole my first pair of plastic pants from neighbors clothes line. Until my mid twenties when I stopped raiding clothes lines in what ever neighborhood I was living in at the time.