LITTLE BRO
NON-FICTION | WRITTEN BY CWIS
The email came in while I was on my summer vacation in New York. I was actually in the middle of setting up the survey for my first-ever photo contest, and I have having a hell of a time... the survey seemed to be allowing people to vote more than once, and I’d been warned at least one contestant planned to cheat. I’d gotten a few emails that day from people who thought sure that the voting not starting on time was a sign that I had abandoned the contest. Between the polling website glitches and the nasty tone of some of the emails, I was not having a good day at all.
I took a short break, padding up and taking a nap in my old bedroom in my parents’ house. When I woke up, I pulled out my iPhone, checked my notifications, and saw it.
Even if I hadn’t have been having a rough afternoon, B’s email would have made my day.
MIKEY & ME
NON-FICTION | WRITTEN BY CWIS
There is nothing cuter than watching one of your best friends suck on a baby bottle full of warm milk for the first time. I've given bottles to a lot of people, mostly ABDL, and I wasn't prepared for how adorable the look on Mikey's face would be... he looked so happy... so comfortable. He sucked and sucked, a satisfied smile on his face. I put my hand on his tummy and rubbed, and he giggled a little.
After a few minutes I pulled the bottle out of his mouth and set it on his stomach, rubbing it back and forth. He closed his eyes, still smiling.
"Has anyone ever found you wearing diapers?" Mikey asked after several minutes.
"You mean... ever?" I asked him. He nodded. "A couple times," I told him. "I could tell you some stories..."
"So tell me one," Mikey asked me, giggling. "I want to hear some diaper stories while I dwink."
BABY CHAD
NON-FICTION | WRITTEN BY CWIS
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..."
THE TRUCKER & THE CB RADIO
NON-FICTION | WRITTEN BY CWIS
I took a diaper out of the bag and threw it to him.
"Holy shit, this is freezing!" he cried out, letting it drop to the floor.
"It's been in a car in a snowed-in parking lot for hours, dude," I told him. "What do you think, I have a special diaper warmer in the car?" Now it was my turn to be sarcastic. He smirked at me and bent over to pick the diaper back up.
"So I'm just going to be straight up with you, Chris," he told me, holding the diaper away from him like it was poison or something. "I have been interested in trying one of these ever since the day I first saw them on Jerry. I would never just walk into the store and buy a bag but..."
He didn't have to explain. This was something I totally understood. I cut him off, nodding, and he nodded, too, and trailed off.
"I just want to try one. Maybe I'll hate it, but... I mean, I want to wear one and see."
I asked him what he thought he wanted to wear one for. Had he always wanted to be back in diapers? He looked at me like I was insane and shook his head. Did he want to regress back to a younger age? He laughed out loud and shook his head. Did he know why he wanted to wear one? He nodded.
"I'm on the road for miles, dude. Like, days at a time. I've always just felt like I should be wearing diapers. Every time I have to pull over to pee it makes me mad."
I nodded. He looked embarrassed again. "Do you pee in them?" he asked me.
"Oh, hell yea," I replied. He looked relieved and laughed.
"Chris is like, OH HELL YEA!!! Haha bro... that's hilarious. Wait... is it wet now?"
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SCHAEFER’S FIRST TIME
NON-FICTION | WRITTEN BY CWIS
Schaefer sat scowling in his playpen.
He seemed to be taking great care not to look at me.
I sat on the sofa, alternating between looking at him – or, more accurately, at the top of his head as he stared at the floor – and looking outside.
This wasn’t exactly what I had had in mind.
“So. Did you want to – “ I began.
“I’m not sure yet,” Schaefer interrupted me. He looked up at me, and I could see that his face was red. He looked angry, almost. He looked away as quickly as he saw me look up.
I waited some more.
A few minutes went by, and a few minutes more. I made small talk, to no one. I picked up my phone and started scrolling through text messages, looking for one I might have missed – hoping there would be someone I could text with, anyone really, to kill this awkwardness.
More silence.
Finally, the kid spoke.
“My grandmother used to dress me up in a sailor suit.”
Well – that was random.
Or maybe not. I had asked him, when we’d first entered the room, what the littlest he’d ever felt was.
FIRST TIME
NON-FICTION | WRITTEN BY CWIS
One day I was in a computer lab at school when a email notification popped up. DIAPERS was the subject header, and I remember getting all excited - and looking over my shoulder in both directions to make sure nobody was looking over them.
Nobody was watching, so I opened the email and read it. It was from Travis, a 24yo diaper lover located about an hour away. The email was short, I thought: a brief description of himself and a quick question, would I like to meet and diaper each other?
I replied: "yes".
Within two minutes I got an email back that easily spanned five or six pages. It was clear that Travis had written this one a while ago, and was just waiting until I confirmed I was interested before he sent it. I read it. It was his whole diaper history, from birth until that very week. He wrote about how his parents had potty trained him when he was one year old, and how he'd been rebelling ever since. He admitted that he was afraid to buy diapers in his town, so drove to mine to purchase them. I read about how he felt that changing his own wet diaper was beneath him, how he believed he deserved to have someone else to do it. And I heard all about how difficult it was to sneak diapers on base; he was in the military, and was looking forward to visiting me off-base so he could finally wear out in the open.
He wrote what he wanted to happen. He had it all planned down from the moment he walked in until the time that he left. I was a little nervous - he seemed like a control freak of sorts - but nothing that he'd listed was objectionable, so I figured I'd roll with it.
The first few almost-meets with other ABDLs were sooooo complicated. Emails back and forth. Phone calls. No-shows. And here comes this kid, Travis: so direct, self-assured. I knew that day this would be the first diaper person I'd ever meet.
Two days later he was on his way downtown, and I was sitting in a freshly-cleaned apartment - thanks, little brother - enjoying the aroma of scented candles and coffee while I waited. I'd given Jerrod $20 and instructions not to return until 9 p.m.; I was a starving college student at the time, but I figured four hours of diaper bliss would be worth the investment.
At 5 o'clock on the dot I heard the buzzer. Military, I said to myself. I pressed the talk button, said "Who is it?" and leaned on the listen button. I heard the echoes of the lobby, the banter of security guards at the desk, and silence. I pressed the talk button and repeated myself. Listen. Finally, after a few more seconds of silence, I heard it: Travis reporting, sir. Hmm.
NEAR MISS
NON-FICTION | WRITTEN BY CWIS
Think about it: you've had this love of feeling little for so long, and you've been able to share it with nobody. Now, for the first time, you're able to talk about it. And it feels fucking good.
You talk about the first time you realized you were into diapers. 'Addicted' to diapers, he calls it. He describes manufacturing diapers out of various materials, and you admit to making your own, as well. You both laugh about stories of getting caught, or almost-caught, by parents, siblings, friends.You go on for hours, over a few days. He mentions wanting to bring up his interest to his girlfriend, and asks for your advice. You advise against it, and tell him how your best friend took it when he found out. That leads to discussion about the theories behind ABDL, and a debate over whether there's "anything wrong with it." You both take both sides; you're still young, and truthfully, you're not sure.
Then he suggests you meet.
"Just to hang out and talk," he says.
You mull it over. For about four seconds.
"I guess we could try that," you say. Hell fucking yessssss! you're thinking.
THE SCARIEST BEAR
NON-FICTION | WRITTEN BY CWIS
“RAWR!”
I pretend to be frightened, and you giggle with glee. Then, out of nowhere, your teeth clamp down on my neck.
“Rawrarararar!”
“Stop!” I order. “That hurts, actually!"
You don’t stop biting me, but you let up a bit – probably only because you’re giggling harder now.
“Rabies!!!!”
You’ve paused in mid-chomp, just long enough to shout, and then your teeth sink in again. I can feel saliva oozing down my neck.
“I’ll just get a rabies shot,” I counter, trying to pinch you so you’ll stop. You just bite down harder, chomping full force, but I think I know how to end this – I put my fingers in your armpits and begin to tickle, and suddenly you’re wriggling and giggling – and no longer biting. You cling to me, wrapping your feet around me, and squeeze me as hard as you can.
“Uh, Z – bears don’t squeeze like that."
“Koala bears do,” you shoot back.
Hmm – I guess you have me there. You also ease up, thankfully, and the deadly squeeze becomes more of a – well, a normal bear hug.
“Am I the scariest bear?” you ask, drawing out the word scary. I realize you’re ready to bite again at any time.
“You arrrre pretty scary,” I answer, and I can feel your face begin to smile.
“But am I also the meanest bear?”
“Well, you’re not that mean, really. I actually think you’re a pretty ni – OWW!"
You’re biting again, now. I crack you hard across your little bear behind and, though it’s thickly padded and I’m sure you feel nothing, you stop.
“Okay, so am I the… driest bear?”
“You are definitely not the driest bear!” I answer. laughing at this strange twist of questioning. “Not even close…”
“Okay, but am I still the scariest bear?” Your mouth is open, and I can see you’re contemplating sinking those teeth into my shoulder again.
“Yes, I said you’re pretty – "
“RAWWWWWWWWWWWWWR!”
“Okay, okay… yes – yes, you are the scariest bear!”
