A - The Appeal

Hey, come inside! Don’t be shy!

May I take your coat? What a splendid diaper you wear! Colours are lovely!
Please, make yourself comfortable. It’s a safe place.

Welcome to my blog!

Here, I will confide in you my ABDL life. I got the luck and the discomfort to realise very early that I was attracted by diapers, regression, bodysuits and the smell of talc. The aim of this blog is to share this journey that we too often have to hide. With a bit of chance, it will participate to free some speeches, to find old memories back and, who knows, to feel better.

There will be a new publication every other Tuesdays. The global tone will be rather serious, but I have an intrusive humour and I am not planning on showing it the door. It is quite good company, you will see. When I would have nothing more to reveal to you about my ABDL life, we will take other ABDL topics on. If you have any subjects you would like to talk about, do not hesitate to let me know! 

ABDLy yours,

Daisy

PS: English is not my mother tongue… I try my best to make myself understand clearly but if you notice regular mistakes or something that does not make sense, please tell me about it! I am always happy to improve.

A

Appeal

As it happens, I have a little sister. I was born in 1995 and she in 1999. When she was 7, she had issues dealing with school and our parents’ separation. She started peeing in bed again, sometimes on the sofa watching TV or dining. So my mother got her diapers. I watched her from a distance pulling those thick knickers up with an internal layer that seemed very velvety. The pack took place on the third shelf in the bathroom. It was flirtatious pink. It was massive. It was open.
I spent several days lurking at it every time I brushed my teeth or got out of the shower. Strange… I had no use of those diapers but still… It appealed to me.

I have a good relationship with my sister, but kids can be cruel. She intentionally broke one of my toys, I intentionally cut a large lock of her hair, she added salt to my chocolate yoghurt (I threw up), I put earthworms in her favourite blue shoes, etc. Nothing but banal pettiness among siblings. Nonetheless, I never felt like mocking her for having to put diapers on again. Perhaps I had compassion for her real angst even if I was no older than 12. Or perhaps I already saw diapers as not something only meant for babies.

I spitted, I sipped water to wash my mouth, I took a look at them.
I spitted again, I sipped some more water, I looked at them.
I spitted one last time, I put my toothbrush back in its pot. I stayed in front of the sink.
I stared at them.
I came closer. The pack had been opened by the upper side. I searched for the little plastic step to have a better look. There must have been about 10 diapers well lined up. From downstairs were coming sounds of my sister and my mother cleaning up the kitchen. I slowly moved my hand to pick one up. The rough sensation compelled me. When I got one out of the pack, it was thinner than I expected. I opened it. It smelled like childhood.

The sudden acceleration of my heart beat made me put it back without doing anything more. I brought the step back exactly where I found it while I felt my pulse in my temples. I got out of the bathroom, almost slamming the door and went to my room. I sat on my bed and soothed in minutes.

“Anyhow, I repeated to myself, I have not done anything.”

I now know that this was not true. I just did something that would change my entire life. I gave way to the appeal.