We're All Diapered Here

Dude these don’t even fit on me and you expect to what…? To pee and poop in this diaper? You cannot he serious.

I know you have to film your little movie about a man brought low by his friends and girlfriend. From top of the school to the lowest of the low.

Chilling in the summer sunshine!☀️

A very thick diaper to wear at Saturday night out

Today marks 1 year of wearing diapers 247. I am so happy I made it this far it has been an interesting journey to say the least.

Although truthfully I would say I wear 22/7 in hindsight.

(The tracker says 350 because it tracks the actual time I have been diapered. It doesnt include showers, diaper changes or short breaks I took for my skin to breath.)

Overall I enjoyed myself. I found that just wearing without any additional requirements and obligations took a lot of the pressure off of me that can make something like this daunting. I found that giving myself specific situations where I am allowed to not be diapered but must re diaper within 24 hours was super helpful and took a huge burden off of my shoulders.

Over the course of the year I experienced no loss of control of any kind. I did not force myself to mess my diapers and allowed myself to wear a pullup as needed, which really helped me push through! Especially when my enjoyment was fading and finding the motivation to push through was tough! I am on the fence on if I should continue wearing 247 or not.

(Sorry I must have missed the first response when posting. That is just supposed to say yes🤦‍♂️)

Sound on 🔊

Okay, so I’m totally new to diapers outside of a strictly kink-sexual context. I wore nothing but a diaper and tee shirt as soon as I got back from work last night—to my wife’s subtly amused confusion—and stayed like that till bedtime. No toilet, no pants.

Sir started by laying me on the changing mat and putting the crinkly white diaper on me, fastening the blue tabs carefully. I was beginning to get used to the soft bulk between my legs. Over it went the multi-coloured check shirt, the navy shorts, the long black knee socks, and the polished black T-bar shoes. Last of all he clipped the navy bow tie onto my collar.

As we walked to the park I found myself thinking about other adult boys in relationships like ours. They seemed to get away with soft shortalls and onesies. I was always made to wear uniforms or bow ties.

“Why do I have to dress like this?” I asked quietly while he photographed me sitting on the grass.

Sir looked down at me with a faintly amused, condescending expression. “Little boys don’t get to decide what they wear, do they? You wear what your Sir chooses for you. And this—” he gestured at the bow tie and long socks “—is how a boy of mine is meant to look.”