Little Steps Big Love - A Story about Commitment and Acceptance -- (Author) ItsTimmyTime

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 7, 2025 at 11:36 AM
Content: I've been reading a lot of stories recently and they've given me inspiration to have a go and writing my own. I'd like to preface the beginning of my story to actually be non-fictional, a true insight to how my abdl relationship began with my wife. Further into the story I plan for it to turn more fiction based.

As our dynamic progressed it was more than anything I dreamed of but after a while our dynamic shifted and my wife felt unable to engage with me to the same extent. This is where my story will shift to where I wish our dynamic could have continued to progress further. I still live in hope it will continue to grow and we can end up back where we once were as she's still very mindful of what I would like.

Writing this story might even prove to be a useful insight to her of what my ideal dynamic with her would look like.

Chapter One - The Road to “Coming Out”

I’ve been with my wife for fifteen years now — happily married for thirteen of them. In the early days of our relationship, I remember one evening vividly. She was out with friends, and I sat alone, wrestling with a secret I had never dared to share with anyone. I typed out a carefully worded confession on my old Samsung Ericsson, a digital speech filled with vulnerability, honesty, and hope. But the days passed, and the courage I needed never quite surfaced. That message remained unsent, buried deep in the drafts folder of my heart, while a vital part of myself was quietly pushed into the background — dormant, yet desperately yearning to be seen.

When I first began dating my wife, I made the decision to cut off everything related to ABDL. At the time, there wasn’t the wealth of information or the supportive communities that exist today. I genuinely believed that to have a meaningful, loving relationship — one that could lead to something lasting — I had no choice but to abandon this side of myself. And so, I did.

Years passed. Life moved on. But something inside me never quieted. That internal part of me — the part I’d tried to silence — continued to whisper in the background. Only recently did I come to truly understand how powerful and persistent that voice could be.

As those long-suppressed desires began to resurface, I found myself doing something I hadn't done in years: soul-searching. I began to explore why I had always felt these needs so deeply, so instinctively — and why they carried such a profound mix of shame, guilt, and longing. I realized I needed to confront those feelings within myself before I could ever think about revealing them to the person I loved most.

How could I even consider telling her? After all these years, how could I unveil something so intimate, so misunderstood — a part of me rooted in childhood, wrapped in emotional complexity? How could I confess that I had long harbored overwhelming urges to wear nappies, and found comfort in items typically reserved for babies or toddlers?

The thought terrified me. I feared judgment. Rejection. I feared losing the most important person in my life. Yet, at that point, it felt as though I had no other choice. The weight of secrecy had become too heavy to bear. If I wanted to be fully known — and fully loved — I had to step into the light.

In the months that followed, I stumbled across various podcasts and forums. The level of support I found there blew me away. For the first time, I felt a genuine sense of belonging. I realised I didn’t have to be afraid anymore — or ashamed — of the way I felt. That realisation was liberating. Surrounded by others who shared similar experiences, I began to find the words I’d never been able to speak. With their help and encouragement, I eventually managed to articulate a message — a rough draft of what I hoped I’d one day be able to say out loud to my wife.

One lazy Sunday afternoon, as we lounged together watching Netflix, I felt that familiar knot begin to form in my stomach. Could this be the moment? I debated with myself for hours, teetering on the edge of confession, my heart racing every time I thought I might say it. Throughout the day, my wife asked me twice, “Are you okay?” And both times I brushed it off with a smile and a soft, “Yeah, I’m good, thanks.” But she wasn’t fooled. She could see straight through the mask I was trying to wear.

When she asked a third time, I hesitated. I knew, deep down, it was now or never. The weight of this secret had grown too heavy, and the fear of what I might lose was clashing with the fear of never being known. Was I about to risk everything — the most important person in my life?

My wife has always been understanding, kind-hearted, and open-minded. But I knew this wasn’t something most people encounter in everyday life. This kink — this part of me — lives far outside the boundaries of what many consider “normal.” Her only exposure to ABDL, if any, would have been through the occasional offhand joke in a comedy film. I doubted she even realised it was something real — something people genuinely experienced and lived with.

I’ve never considered myself an anxious person, but in that moment, I was overwhelmed. The tension in my chest, the pounding in my ears — it was like nothing I’d felt before. The vulnerability was immense.

I started slowly, speaking from the heart. “I feel really anxious,” I admitted — something I almost never say. “There’s something I need to tell you… but I’m finding it really hard to say.”

My heart was thundering. This was it. The point of no return. I continued, my voice barely steady: “It’s something I’ve carried with me since childhood.”

Even then, I still couldn’t quite get the words out. But she waited. Patient. Calm. Reassuring. “It’s okay,” she said gently. “Take your time. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

I could see she was trying to make this easier for me, even though she didn’t yet understand what it was. I reassured her about what it wasn’t — that it wouldn’t affect our relationship in a negative way, and no, I hadn’t been abused. I could see she was concerned, but she remained open.

Then she said something that caught me off guard. “What if I laugh?”

It lightened the mood. I half-smiled and told her, “Honestly, I’d rather you did laugh at me.” I meant it, too. Any reaction was better than rejection — and I had prepared myself for all possibilities.

Then I said it.

“I’ve always had this feeling… ever since I was little, I’ve felt drawn to wearing nappies.”

She didn’t flinch. Without missing a beat, she replied, “I totally get it. I bet it’s because you associate that with feeling safe and comfortable.”

That response floored me. She saw straight into it. Into me. Her emotional intelligence and intuition were stunning.

With that door now open, I began to tell her everything — not word for word from my draft, but from the heart. I explained the background, the feelings, the shame I’d carried, and the inner conflict that had followed me through life. The conversation flowed more naturally than I could have imagined.

After hearing me out, she told me she wanted to learn more. She reassured me that she still loved me — that nothing had changed in her eyes. Most of all, she didn’t make me feel like I’d betrayed her by keeping this hidden. She understood that I’d needed to first come to terms with it myself before I could ever share it with anyone, even her.

What amazed me most was how her empathy turned toward me — not herself. She didn’t dwell on what she might have felt. Instead, she said how sad she felt for me — that I’d had to carry this alone for so long, without her support.

She would have been completely within her rights to react with confusion, hurt, or even anger. I had prepared myself for all of that. But instead, she did the opposite. She listened. She cared. She tried to understand. And she did it all with love.

I was, and still am, in awe of her.

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 7, 2025 at 2:00 PM
Content: Chapter Two - In a Nappy Again

The following morning, we headed out together to run a few errands. One of our stops was a place most people in the UK will know well — Home Bargains. It’s one of those shops you pop into for a couple of bits, and somehow walk out with an armful of things you didn’t even realise you needed.

As fate would have it, the second aisle we turned into was the baby aisle. For anyone in the ABDL community, that aisle has always held a strange power — a mixture of curiosity, longing, and internal conflict. Growing up, walking past rows of nappies, dummies, and wipes, I’d always feel an unshakable pull. Even as an adult, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to have a pack of nappies or a dummy of my own again.

“Did you bring me down here on purpose?” I joked.

“Oh my god!” my wife laughed, “I didn’t even think!”

We both laughed, and in that moment, the tension that had once accompanied these feelings seemed to lift. I felt light. Accepted. Seen.

Later that day, we visited another shop. As we pulled into the car park, I sensed the conversation was about to go deeper. My wife turned to me and asked the question I had known, eventually, would come.

“So… do you wee in your nappy?”

I paused. The question caught me off guard, but after being so open with her already, I knew I could keep being honest — even if it felt a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” I replied gently. “I do.”

She took a moment to process that, quietly thoughtful. Then came the next, slightly heavier question.

“How about pooing?”

That was harder. Admitting this out loud was uncharted territory, even for me. But I couldn’t deny it — it had always been an important part of the experience for me. Deeply tied to regression and vulnerability.

“Yes,” I said, my cheeks burning. “That’s always been a part of it for me… I can’t really explain why.”

She reached over and gave my hand a soft squeeze. “That’s okay,” she said with compassion. “You don’t have to try to explain.”

Her kindness in that moment was everything.

Over the following weeks, we slowly began exploring what this new layer of our relationship could look like. We shopped together for protective bed covers and, for the first time in fifteen years, I ordered a pack of adult nappies — Large Tena Ultima. When they finally arrived, I could hardly believe it. It felt surreal. Like something out of a dream. I actually had to pinch myself to be sure it was real.

For years, I’d had recurring dreams where my wife would find me wearing — and be completely accepting. Dreams where I felt safe, loved, and seen. But now… it was real.

A few days later, she told me she felt comfortable enough for me to wear one to bed. I was stunned — grateful beyond words. Before I got ready for bed, I hesitated.

“What if I need a wee?” I asked.

She looked at me and smiled gently. “What would you usually do?”

“Go to the toilet,” I said, a bit puzzled.

“Well, there’s your answer then.”

Simple. Understanding. No pressure. Just her way of letting me figure it out on my own terms.

That night, lying in bed in a nappy again for the first time in so many years, I felt this overwhelming sense of comfort. Like I’d come home to a part of myself I’d long forgotten. I kissed her goodnight, thanking her sincerely, and soon drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

But sometime in the night, I woke with a familiar pressure in my bladder — something that, for most of my life, had not woken me. I had been a bedwetter well into my late teens, often waking up to a soaked bed with no memory of having needed the toilet at all. That part of my childhood had always carried a quiet weight of shame, confusion, and helplessness. So this — being aware of the need to go, while wearing a nappy — stirred up all kinds of conflicting emotions.

On one hand, the adult in me knew I should get up and use the toilet. It was the respectful, sensible choice. But the little boy inside — the one who had never really felt in control of those nighttime moments — was quietly whispering that it was okay now. That he didn’t have to hold it anymore. That, maybe for the first time, he was allowed to just be.

I lay there for over an hour, torn between adult logic and childlike longing. I eventually drifted back to sleep, still undecided.

Not long after, I woke again. This time the urge was stronger. The child in me relaxed just enough to allow a small wetting. I stopped myself almost immediately — but even that little moment sent a wave of warmth and emotion over me. The feeling was intoxicating. Safe. Tender. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was allowed to be this vulnerable.

I knew I shouldn’t have — not without talking to her about it first. But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking with my adult mind. I wasn’t weighing consequences. I was simply a little boy, curled up in his bedtime nappy, unable to resist the feeling of comfort and security.

A few moments later, I dribbled again — just a little — and the soft warmth as it spread through the padding sent a rush of emotion through me. This was the part of me that had waited, hidden in the shadows, yearning to be accepted. Finally… he felt heard. Understood.

But once the initial wave passed, my adult self returned. I felt a twinge of guilt. I’d broken a boundary — even if it hadn’t been clearly defined yet. I didn’t know how I’d tell her in the morning. I hadn’t meant to betray her trust… but I also couldn’t deny how deeply comforting, how right it had felt.

For the first time in a very long time, that little boy inside me didn’t feel ashamed. He felt safe.

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 7, 2025 at 3:36 PM
Content: Chapter Three – Feelings of Guilt Return

“Morning, gorgeous,” I said to my wife as she stirred beside me.

“Good morning, babe. How are you doing? Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice gentle and warm.

“Yes, it was lovely — thank you,” I replied, offering her a beaming smile. But behind that smile sat a shadow — the weight of guilt and shame quietly lingering.

We cuddled for a while, enjoying the comfort of each other’s arms. But I knew the time had come. I couldn’t hold it in any longer — I needed to tell her.

“I had a little accident in the middle of the night,” I admitted, softly. “I’m really sorry.”

“Aww, that’s okay,” she replied without hesitation. “I knew you’d find it difficult. Don’t worry.”

This is what I mean when I speak about her kindness. Even though this part of my life is something she doesn’t personally relate to — not being an ABDL herself — she still responded with compassion. But deep down, I knew I’d crossed a line. This moment wasn’t just about me and the emotions I was wrestling with. It was also about her — her boundaries, her trust, her emotional world.

In the days that followed, I continued to express how truly sorry I felt. And still, she responded with grace: “Honestly, it’s fine.”

But I knew it wasn’t — not really. I understood why I acted the way I did in the moment, but it didn’t excuse it. What mattered now was allowing her the space to fully acknowledge how it made her feel. Yes, I’d carried shame and vulnerability for years, but so too did she now carry feelings of her own — ones that deserved to be seen, heard, and respected. I had broken a boundary, and I needed to own that, no matter how much remorse or guilt I felt.

To continue building our healthy, loving relationship, we both needed space to reflect — together. Her emotions mattered just as much as mine.

What neither of us anticipated in those early days was how much vulnerability could deepen our intimacy. We had always been close — intrinsically bonded — but since opening up, that closeness had grown even stronger. It was an unexpected and beautiful shift. I’ve always loved this woman beyond words, but now I felt even more deeply connected to her. I had never doubted she was my soulmate — in fact, our wedding bands carry that very message, engraved with the phrase soulmates, each band bearing a diamond cut from the same stone.

Eventually, she found the words to express how she truly felt. She agreed that I had crossed a boundary, and told me gently that she wasn’t yet comfortable with me using my nappy. She didn’t shame me, didn’t scold me — just expressed herself honestly. And I heard her.

For the following weeks, we agreed that while I could wear, I would stay dry — and I kept that promise. Even without using, I still felt a certain degree of comfort. But my inner child… he was hurting. He felt unheard again. Not just by her, but by me.

It was during this period that I began to understand the connection between my “big” and “little” selves. I am one whole person, yes — but within me live different needs, and when those needs aren’t acknowledged, I suffer. If either side is neglected — whether adult or child — I lose balance. This part of the story focuses on my little self, but it won’t always. There are times ahead where my adult needs, too, go unmet.

As Christmas drew near, emotions started to stir in me again. That time of year always brings back deep, embedded memories from childhood — some joyful, others more painful.

One of the happiest: waking up on Christmas morning as a toddler, probably two or three years old, still in a wet bedtime nappy, and being allowed to open my presents before getting changed. Everything back then felt so simple. So carefree. Safe. I cherish that memory.

But not all memories from that time were so warm.

One that’s stayed with me for years — something that still tugs at my emotions — was the Christmas when my mum gently “bribed” me to give up my dummy. She told me if I left it out for Santa, I’d get extra presents. Like the tooth fairy — but for something far more personal.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand what I was losing. But looking back now, I think it caused me more harm than anyone realised. That single moment may have shaped a lifetime of longing — my desperate desire to reclaim that comfort, that soothing sense of security a dummy once gave me. It was something I was told to let go of before I was ready, and I don’t think my inner child ever truly healed from that.

By now, my wife was becoming more comfortable around the idea of me using while wearing, and we tentatively agreed we could aim for sometime around Christmas — before the relatives arrived.

That Christmas, I took another step forward: I purchased my first pack of ABDL-specific nappies. Just entry-level, looking back — but at the time, they felt like a major step. They were Crinklz, the Aquanauts design.

When the package arrived and my wife saw them, her expression was priceless — part surprise, part amusement. The childish print really caught her off guard. I had originally intended to buy BetterDry — the plain, medical version — but my size was out of stock. After some research, I discovered that Crinklz were essentially the same nappy underneath, just with different outer designs.

I wouldn’t have minded a plain white nappy, not at all. But something about the colourful, babyish print stirred something deep within me. My inner child — long silenced — felt alive again. Seen. Listened to. Waiting patiently for his moment to be himself once more.

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 7, 2025 at 6:37 PM
Content: Chapter Four – The Beginning of Total Acceptance

The morning before Christmas Eve rolled around. I greeted my wife with my usual, “Good morning gorgeous.”

“Good morning babe,” she replied softly. Christmas morning would fall on a Monday this year, making today a Saturday. I got up out of bed and wandered downstairs to make coffee for the both of us, as was usually my weekend routine.

Upon my return to bed, I handed her her coffee and climbed back under the covers. As we sat there watching television together, sipping our drinks, she turned to me, completely catching me off guard.

“If you would like to wear for a couple of hours while we chill, I’d be completely fine with that. And if you’d like to use them, that’s okay too.”

I was taken aback—almost confused. Had I heard her correctly, or was I misunderstanding what she was saying?

I had to double check. “You mean… you don’t mind me using it?”

“Sure, but just for a couple of hours until we get up. If we’re going to chill in bed together anyway, you might as well.”

“Well… okay. Thank you so much.” That was about all I managed to say—I can’t remember my exact words, but it was something along those lines. I didn’t really know what else to say.

I sat there for a couple of minutes, trying not to seem overly eager by jumping up instantly and getting padded up. Eventually, when the timing felt right, I slid out of bed and grabbed a Crinklz nappy from the new pack. The plastic feel of the outer shell felt buttery soft.

Out of consideration, I decided it would probably be best to take myself off to the bathroom to put it on—just to spare any possible blushes or discomfort for either of us. I couldn't believe how crinkly this nappy was compared to the cloth-backed Tenas I’d been wearing. And it felt so much larger on me. The waistband came all the way up to my belly button, the leak guards were ridiculously tall, and as I got up to walk downstairs to grab a large glass of water, I could feel the gathers brushing on my inner thighs. I felt so toddlerish—at last, this is what I’d been craving deep inside. My little self felt so seen.

On the way back upstairs, I grabbed a pair of pyjama bottoms to wear over the top. It felt like the right thing to do—a little at a time. This was still likely uncomfortable territory for my wife, and there was no reason to make it any harder for her.

When I walked back into the bedroom, the first thing she commented on was the crinkly sound. I can’t quite remember when she first started calling me "Russel," but it might have been from that exact moment—playing on the word "rustle," of course.

For the next couple of hours, I half sat, half lay in bed, gulping at my pint glass of water, which I refilled several times. We just sat together chatting and watching TV as we normally would—nothing out of the ordinary. Except, under the covers, my nappy was getting wetter and wetter.

The feeling of relief from a completely full bladder was incredible. It wasn’t like a couple of months ago when I’d just dribbled a little — this time, I wet continuously for at least thirty seconds. The thing that amazed me was how it didn’t feel awkward or difficult at all, even after all those years out of nappies. It felt completely natural — even with my wife right there beside me.

Later, she admitted she’d expected it to feel a bit strange—but in the end, it didn’t. We’d simply spent the morning in bed, like we always did.

Afterwards, she commented that she had imagined I would actually use my nappy completely—as in, mess. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind when she first said I could “use” it. But I guess in her mind, she was waiting to give me the full go-ahead, knowing that my ultimate dream experience involved both weeing and pooing.

I couldn’t wait for the next opportunity to wear again!

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 7, 2025 at 6:48 PM
Content:

ToddlingAbout said:

following or more

[End of quote]

Thank you

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 8, 2025 at 4:54 PM
Content:

Subtlerustle said:

Your's is such a relatable experience. I don't wet in front of my wife. I am just not comfortable for some reason and I guess its not that integral to the experience. I little dribble is enough to feel good.
Most importantly she is a total gem of a person. For something that is at the very least foreign to most people she has proven to show a vast openness to listen and digest. It seems like her genuine kind nature fook care of the rest.

[End of quote]

It most certainly takes a special kind of person to have that willingness to try to understand. No doubt it can't be easy on them. I've learned it could take years for them to come to terms with things. There's so many intricacies to ABDL and when we struggle to understand it ourselves, it's not easy to guide another person. Love is a great driver of course.

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 8, 2025 at 5:04 PM
Content:

Growler0128 said:

really wish we had in our stores here in the states.
in reality you have to go to radom shops which are usually out of the way places or go online.

[End of quote]

You say that but imagine a life time of torture everytime your mum or anyone else led you down that aisle

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 9, 2025 at 10:11 AM
Content: Chapter Five – The Return of Mr Stinky

After a long, hard week at work, Friday finally arrived. Just eight more hours until my now-regular evening of indulging my little self. Fridays always felt the best — no early alarms the next day, no pressure to change straight back into big boy pants in the morning.

Sometimes we’d share a few drinks, which lowered both our inhibitions. For me, it also made wetting my nappy completely effortless — natural, almost automatic; caused by the diuretic affect— I loved that sense of helplessness.

When work finally ended, I rushed home and we tackled the usual chores together so we could settle in for the night.

“I’m going to get myself comfortable, gorgeous,” I told her, still using the softer phrase instead of plainly saying, “I’m going to put my nappy on now.” Even then, there was a trace of shyness.

Upstairs, I pulled a fresh Crinklz from the pack, twisting and rolling it until the padding was fluffed and the leak guards stood tall. Lying back, I slid it into place, dusted myself generously with Johnson’s Baby Powder — sadly now discontinued — and taped it snug. The scent hung sweetly in the air, wrapping me in that familiar comfort I’d craved all week.

I slipped on my fluffy Oodie, sprinkling extra powder into the hood so I’d smell baby-fresh, then toddled downstairs via the kitchen to pour us both a vodka and Coke.

Entering the living room, I passed my wife her drink. She wife grinned. “Alright, Russel!”

We spent the evening chatting and laughing, the conversation light and easy. The drinks flowed — four vodka Cokes each — and my nappy swelled steadily between my legs.

When we finally headed to bed, she gave me a cheeky bum pat as I waddled past. We’d talked before about little gestures like this, and I knew it took her outside her comfort zone. But in that moment, she gave the little boy in me something I hadn’t felt since I was four: warmth, acceptance, love, and understanding.

We climbed under the covers. “Good night, gorgeous,” I said, looking lovingly into her eyes.

“Night, babe. Hope you have a nice sleep,” she replied.

As I drifted off, I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Such a small gesture for her — maybe even uncomfortable — yet it meant the world to me.

During the night, I woke a few times needing to wee. Lying on my front, I relaxed and felt the warmth run up the back of my nappy before seeping forward toward my belly. I loved how Crinklz swelled at the front, leaving room for more.

By morning, my nappy was heavy and full, the front soaked right to the waistband. My belly was slightly damp, and a faint, familiar scent drifted up — comforting, not unpleasant. It carried me back to my childhood bedwetting days, safe and cared for.

I waddled downstairs to make us both coffee, feeling the bulk between my legs. I felt properly babyish. I wasn’t in full regression, but I still got most of the emotional benefits my little side craved. It’s a strange headspace to explain — somewhere between adult and child, yet completely its own.

Back upstairs, I passed her a coffee. “I’ll make breakfast. Fancy scrambled eggs on toast?”

“Yes, that would be lovely, if you don’t mind. I’ll be down shortly.”

Once again, off I waddled downstairs with the wet, swollen bulk hanging between my thighs.

As I cracked six eggs into a bowl, my tummy gave a little flip. I knew instantly — this was it. I always needed the toilet first thing in the morning, but today I wouldn’t. It had been fifteen years since I’d done this, but there was no hesitation. Messing had always been such an intrinsic part of the experience for me - the ultimate sensation of loss of control, and in my toddler brain it still felt deliciously naughty. I’m too old to poo in my nappy, but it’s okay if I do, I won't get into trouble, cause accidents can happen sometimes.

The kitchen bin needed emptying. As I pulled the liner out, the pressure built. I let myself relax. The back of my nappy bulged slightly, warmth spreading as I heard my wife coming downstairs.

I hadn’t gone much, but it took the edge off. As she entered the kitchen, I tied the bin bag and started towards the outside bin. With each waddling step, I pushed a little more; more warmth pressed softly against me.

Returning to the kitchen, I kept going. She caught the scent immediately.

“Have you had a poo?”

“Errr… yeah. I’m having one,” I admitted.

She smiled. “That’s okay.” Just like that, any lingering shame vanished.

A few minutes past. “Do you feel better for that?” she asked.

“I still need to do some more,” I replied, casual as you like.

One last push, and I completely filled the back of my Crinklz. The warm mush spread forward and back, leaving me content, happy, and deeply relieved. I reached around, amazed at the bulge.

“I can’t believe how big it feels,” I said.

As she passed behind me, she placed her hand on the rear of my nappy — even gave it a squeeze.

“I can’t believe you actually touched it!” I laughed.

“In for a penny, in for a pound!” she grinned.

By now, my nappy was so heavy it was clearly time for a change. My little meter was full to the brim, my heart equally so.

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 9, 2025 at 10:29 AM
Content:

Growler0128 said:

my wife knows and is ok with it.(kinda hard to wear with two adult kids around)

[End of quote]

It's great to hear that your wife is okay with it. I'd like to hear more about your journey with her. How long has she known? Did you tell her from the outset of your relationship or not. Do you have a little side and does she try her best engage with it?

I know how difficult it can be to wear with teenage kids around. You have to be real stealthy. Up until a year ago we had the same scenario before one evening when I admitted the truth to my 15 year old daughter. Something I never even considered doing but the situation just happened to present itself.

You can read about it here:
https://www.adisc.org/forum/threads/a-s ... on.189916/

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 9, 2025 at 3:17 PM
Content:

BBBen said:

Thank you Timmy for sharing your story
you were one of the first adisc community people I wrote here and its cool to see, that your own journey take a good way
looking forward for then next parts

[End of quote]

Hi @BBBen! Of course I remember chatting to you in your first few months here. It's nice to be back posting and feeling less conflicted myself. It's always nice to take part in our community

My journey has had it's ups and downs. This is just the beginning of my story really, with plenty more to follow. I hope you continue to enjoy following its progression

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 9, 2025 at 7:14 PM
Content:

FelixS said:

I totally get this. Thank you for putting it in writing - I have somehow felt this but haven’t been able to say what feeling is.

[End of quote]

It's a strange feeling isn't it? It's still difficult to put it into writing, this was my best attempt. It's nice to know that you can relate to this also.

Knowing that you're just being yourself however whilst doing so, you're still feeding the little that lives inside of you. It doesn't always have to be regressive to reap the benefits

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 10, 2025 at 12:12 AM
Content:

mrnobody78 said:

Great yo hear your story

[End of quote]

Thank you. I'll continue writing some more tomorrow. Watch this space...

Chapter Six - A Drunken Nappy Change

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Author: ItsTimmyTime
Timestamp: Aug 10, 2025 at 10:10 PM
Content: Chapter Six – A Drunken Nappy Change

As the next few weeks went by, as usual on a Friday night I indulged my little side. On this occasion my wife and I had some deeper conversations based around my needs and wants. Back in the early stages I had written a list of scenarios I would like to experience.

It started off with needs and wants which were easily achievable, nothing too awkward. The list was separated into levels 1–4, with the perceived difficulty increasing as the levels did. By this stage my wife had already excelled in meeting levels 1–2.

Needs such as allowing me to wear and use completely, teasing me in a playful manner, and feeling comfortable for me to actually wear around her.

Scenarios and scenes I’d envisioned mostly revolved around having my nappy changed by her. Sometimes that would lead to sex. The thought of her simply wiping me clean, putting nappy rash cream or talc on me sounded so intimate, so thrilling. Perhaps a gentle hand during this time to help me climax was heaven in my mind.

A story my wife had mentioned a few times always stuck with me. When her brother was younger, she had, on occasions, changed his nappy after he had pooed. Whenever I heard this story, my imagination would race uncontrollably. Imagine if she would do that for me — that would be so hot! Along with the experience she had gained from babysitting and raising our own children, I knew she was naturally nurturing.

During our deeper conversations, she had alluded to it maybe being a possibility with me — not a given, but perhaps, even if only as a one-off, she might be willing to give me that experience.

These scenarios and wants were levels 3 and 4. They weren’t needs, but they were things she knew I wanted. I felt it was worth being open about everything from the outset.

Other wants included items such as snap-crotch onesies and a dummy — although the latter I disguised as a possible surprise gift idea, should she want to embarrass me further. That one felt particularly vulnerable to admit.

We certainly didn’t make a habit of drinking on a Friday evening, yet this is one time I definitely want to recall which did include a drink or two. This Friday evening’s chosen beverage was a few bottles of prosecco shared between us — my wife’s favourite.

A nice fresh nappy on and the evening started. Drinks in hand, we opted for a gaming evening: It Takes Two, a two-player game where you have to work together. Perhaps you have heard of it?

We played for a good few hours, completing level after level whilst the drinks quenched our thirst and sent us both into an intoxicated state of mind and lowered our inhibitions. We laughed and joked together. Engrossed in the game, concentrating, I only realised I needed to wet my nappy when I was desperate. Once again, as in previous times after a few drinks, the release was effortless and, as the floodgates opened, I soaked my nappy more than just a couple of times.

Courage rose with the alcohol. “Would you mind having a try at changing me tonight?” I asked, my voice catching slightly, a flutter of nerves rising in my chest.

She looked at me for a moment, her lips curving into an awkward but curious smile. “I suppose so.”

As we continued playing I could sense my nappy reaching its limit. “Do you think we should go up to bed?” I asked.

“Not quite yet, I’m not ready to go up yet,” she replied, engrossed in the game herself, enjoying the prosecco.

“Only… I’m quite wet. I think I’m going to leak soon.”

“Here, sit on this just in case.” She folded a settee throw in half, patting it for me to sit on. The soft fabric smelled faintly of lavender and home, comforting and safe. “That’ll be fine if it gets wet a little bit.”

“What a lovely idea,” I thought to myself. “Okay, if you’re sure. Thank you, gorgeous.”

It wasn't long until I felt the pressure in my bladder building once more. The padding between my legs was so thick, bulky and wet by now — almost a soupy feeling. As I released I knew my nappy couldn’t take any more; I felt the warmth spreading everywhere, all at once. The swell was incredible.

This wasn’t the only time I had to go. By the time we decided to head upstairs to bed, I stood up, feeling more liquid squeeze out of my nappy as I sat forward. The throw I’d been sitting on was soaking.

“Wow, you really had to pee, didn’t you!” my wife exclaimed, half-laughing, half-shaking her head. “Come on then, let’s get you sorted.”

She led me up the stairs and into our bedroom. As I went to my stash to grab a fresh nappy she laid a towel on the bed, its terry cloth texture rough and reassuring. I lay down, my heartbeat loud in my ears, my skin prickling with vulnerability. My pyjama bottoms peeled away, revealing the heavy, sodden nappy beneath — the faint smell of baby powder mixed with the muskiness of wetness filled the air.

“Where are your wipes and powder?” she asked.

I pointed to my bedside.

“Oh yes, there they are.”

“I don’t suppose you’d mind putting some of that thrush cream and Sudocrem on for me as well, would you?” I asked, almost shy.

“Of course I will.”

Still being rather new to wearing nappies again, my skin hadn’t toughened up yet and the previous week had caused a little bit of nappy rash on the inside of my groin on both sides.

The first tape ripped, then the next, and then a rush of cool air replaced the humid warmth of the nappy. Her touch was gentle as she began wiping me clean — her fingertips deliberate but tender, the wet wipes cool and soft, soothing against the rawness of my skin. My heart swelled unexpectedly. I’d imagined this moment would be erotic, but instead it was deeply emotional. I felt small, cared for, safe.

“Lift your bum,” she said softly. She whisked the nappy away, catching it before it slid off the bed. “Wow, that’s heavy!” she laughed, setting it aside.

The creams followed — the slight pressure of her fingers, the faint scent of medicated ointment mingling with baby powder. She worked with quiet focus, like she had when tending to our children.

The nappy cane next. Pulling one side tight — bottom tab first, followed by the top — and then repeating the process on the other side. Surprisingly, her unconventional method worked pretty well. She’d never diapered a grown adult before. This was, of course, on a much larger scale than she was accustomed to.

When she finally taped the fresh nappy snugly in place, she stood back. “How’s that?”

I smiled, my chest tight with gratitude. “Pretty good — thank you so much. That meant a lot to me.”

In the UK we have a store called Sainsbury’s. When you purchase six bottles of wine they offer a twenty-five percent discount. On this occasion we decided to take the offer, with the intention of stocking up. Usually two, maybe three bottles shared between us is ample for the evening.

Tonight was different though; we felt giddy and my wife suggested we grab another bottle of prosecco to enjoy together in our room. I thought it sounded like a good idea. We continued our evening, talking and laughing together. The conversation revolved around everything ABDL related. We revisited the list I had written months previously, checking off everything my wife had achieved from said list. She was amazed at how well she’d done and how many of the things she’d felt comfortable doing — as was I.

Before we knew it, another couple of hours had passed. Time had flown. Reaching beneath myself I noticed the bed was wet. I hadn’t realised how much I’d wet my nappy during that time and clearly I’d had a leak.

“Oh no,” I cried. “I think I’ve leaked on the bed.” I pulled the covers back and climbed out of bed. Sure enough there was a large damp spot on the sheets. Standing there feeling embarrassed, like a helpless child, I began to wet myself again, flooding my nappy on the spot. Suddenly I heard a unmistakable trickle hitting the floor. Even the tall leak guards of the Crinklz I was wearing weren’t enough to hold back the torrent I had just done.

I felt even more helpless and embarrassed now, standing still in shock.

Her reaction was instant, and it wasn’t annoyance. “Awww, it’s okay. Don’t worry,” she said in a tone I’d never heard directed at me before — pure, nurturing reassurance.

She changed me again, without hesitation, repeating the same careful routine as before. I felt like a child in her care, and oddly, that didn’t feel wrong.

“Should we change the sheets?” she asked, without judgment.

“No, it’s fine — I’ll lie on a towel. It’s too much work at this time of night,” I replied.

She had done so much for me that evening; there was no way I expected her to do any more.

Crawling back into bed, I leaned forward and pulled over the covers. The towel helped to keep my portion of the bed from feeling wet.

“Good night, gorgeous. Thank you so much for tonight,” I said, looking desperately into her eyes. “I wish I could make you understand how much it means to me with everything you have done. I love you so much.”

I felt like the luckiest man alive, yet a little confused by the headspace I had experienced that night.

Perhaps I had more adult-baby tendencies than I had realised or had been comfortable admitting to myself. My wife had unlocked something deep inside of me.