A switch still lovin' his dips. In my 30's and actually trying to give blogging a try. Lotsa' AB/DL content in here, some my own original postings and a tiny sprinkle of other things I might like. Obviously 18+ so minors are not welcomed. Pedophiles and bigots are also not welcomed by any means. Seriously, fuck off with any hateful rhetoric.
Call me 'Dipper' or 'Dip' or 'Gellan' or 'Gel', whatever really. I'm not super picky as long we keep it consistent somewhere down the line. My pronouns are 'he/him'.
Looking to start fresh here because I want to try and actually interact with the community. I've kept myself on the sidelines for too long and while I'm not going to pretend I'm extroverted or anything, I want to at least say that I've made a friend or two in this community.
I'm a switch who's been in exclusively vanilla relationships, so I don't think I'd ever loudly admit that I might have a little side but believe me when I say it's definitely there. You just have to coax it out. Expect plenty of reblogs of diaper and AB/DL content, embarrassing and outright disgusting ideas, and wholesome vibes.
A few things to know about me is:
I'm openly bisexual. I've had a few long relationships with girls, a couple of short ones with some guys, but as for this blog, I'm not really looking for a relationship. It's not something I want anyone to approach me with when interacting with me.
I'm a huge nerd. I love movies, anime, video games and I can literally talk for hours at length about those things if you'll let me. I hope people that follow me won't be put off if I reblog or post about these things because they take up a large part of my interests and I don't want to restrict myself to only AB/DL stuff for content.
I discovered not long ago that I enjoy cooking; for myself but doubly so for others. It started as a way to avoid the absurd upcharges of food delivery apps but believe me when I say that I have been surprised that I have had more fun with cooking than I thought I would and it's a hobby that I want to continue to get into.
ANYWAY, I think that's all I'm keen on sharing for now but if you have any questions or just want to try and embarrass me, feel free to send me an ask. I'd appreciate the interactions if nothing else.
Pet peeve: people online will act disgusted by the term "ageplay" because they don't actually care to read what it means and assume the worst and then turn around and call a pretty woman "dommy mommy" when that is literally ageplay
also people will agree that it's good to 'heal your inner child <3' but then get angry when you fantasize about consensual role-play where you can let your childish side be free and allow yourself to be taken care of because it falls under the 'bdsm' umbrella and they're unable to understand that bdsm isn't a synonym for 'spicy sex'
It especially bothers me when I see it in queer people's DNI list like babe don't you too grieve all the years we've lost? All the years in the closet, or dealing with dysphoria, not allowed to be ourselves? Can't you have compassion for the people who want to roleplay or even just fantasize about a re-do?
This caption is for @ellieabdl, a blushy little thing. I hope you enjoy it!
You sat there frozen in place, terror washing over you.
This can’t be happening.
Pee trickled down your office chair, pooling on the floor. You just peed yourself. At work.
What were you going to do?
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does. She walked in, that same confident smile plastered on her face.
Nobody would have ever suspected Megan was a mere intern at the office. Despite being over ten years older than her—and her direct supervisor—you were often confused for her intern by clients.
There was just something about her. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you felt the pressure her presence put on you.
Megan took one look at you, her eyes drifting down to the pool of your own pee, before walking straight toward you.
“Up,” she demanded. You obey. She inspects the damage, turning you around.
“Don’t worry, you’re okay. Give me your phone, I’ll call your husband.”
Too shocked to argue, you hand her your phone.
“Hi…no, this is Megan, Eleanor’s intern. She’s fine, well, kinda…no, no nothing serious! She just…well she had a little accident…oh, it’s not her first? Well that explains some things…great, we’ll be waiting in her office.”
She turns to you, smiling. “Your husband is on the way with a change of clothes. Just sit here, okay? I’ll make sure everything gets cleaned up.”
The next twenty minutes were some of the most awkward in your life. Megan never left your office. Finally, your husband, Jason, walks in with a bag of spare clothes.
He hands you the bag and you open it. To your utter horror, a pull-up is sitting on top.
“Eleanor,” Jason says calmly, “I think it’s time you wear some protection. This is starting to get out of hand.”
Before you can argue, Megan nods her head. “I agree, Eleanor. And Jason, I’ll be happy to help keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s not leaking and changing on time.”
That was six months ago.
Six grueling, humiliating months.
Somehow your intern now walked into your office like you were her subordinate. She didn’t knock. She just came in.
Megan walked straight over to you, telling you to stand up. And, no matter how much you wanted to argue, to stand up for yourself, you obeyed.
You let your intern—over a decade younger than you—walk into your office and check your pull-up. And if you were soggy, she’d hand you another pull-up and tell you to go change.
And your pull-up was wet far more often than before. Needless to say, your confidence was shattered. Your performance and work was slipping.
Every day, Megan would report your pull-up usage to your husband. Each day their conversations got lighter, their laughter intensified.
You loathed Megan’s power over you. The way everything she did was so effortless. She was graceful; she was strong. Most of all, you hated the way you always obeyed her.
And then it happened.
You felt a sudden, devastating urge. You needed to get to the bathroom now or you’d mess your pull-up. You wouldn’t let that happen.
You waddled as fast as you could without losing control to the bathroom. As you got to the bathroom door, you felt a sigh of relief.
You were going to make it.
Until Megan opened the door. “What’s the rush, Ellie?”
It was too late. Before you could take another step—or even respond—you were squatting down and filling your pull-up.
Megan watched the whole thing, eyes locked onto you.
“Uh oh, did smelly Ellie make a stinky in her pull-up? I need to call your husband, we need to have a little chat about you.”
The next day, your husband insisted that he drives you to work over your objections. It was unusual—but so was the thick diaper between your legs.
After yesterday, your husband decided you’ll be in diapers until you can figure out your “potty situation.”
To your surprise, your husband opened your car door and told you to follow him upstairs, offering his hand.
“W-what are you doing?” you ask meekly.
“Your boss is expecting us,” he says matter-of-factly.
Without another word, you follow your husband as he marched to your bosses office, hyper-aware of the crinkling of your diaper.
You stop dead in your tracks when you see her in your bosses office. That same confident grin you hated so much.
Megan greets your husband like an old friend before everyone sits.
“What’s this all about?” your boss asks.
Without hesitation, Megan starts, “About my promotion, sir. Ellie is no longer qualified for her position, though I’m not sure she ever was.”
You look at her stunned. You move to stand up, but your husband’s hand prevents it. “No, Ellie,” he whispers to you.
Your husband turns to your boss. “Ellie is here to resign. It’s for the best. She’s clearly overwhelmed by this job and Megan is far better suited for the position.”
Your boss looks at you and Megan. His confusion gives way to a smile.
“Well, this certainly saves an awkward conversation. Megan is someone our company cannot afford to lose. And Eleanor’s performance has been, well, dreadful lately.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m happy to take over her position immediately,” Megan grins, “This is a win-win for everyone.”
Your boss nods. “But…may I ask why?”
Your husband answers for you. “Ellie isn’t made for the corporate world. She needs a slower pace in life. If she’s too immature to keep her pants clean, she’s definitely too immature to be a Senior Vice President!”
“So it’s true?” your boss asks, “I try not to be involved in office gossip, but it was all everyone could talk about yesterday.”
“Yep!” Megan answers, “Ellie had an oopsie-daisy in her pull-up yesterday. So we decided it was best for her to…move to a position more suited for her.”
“Well, that settles it,” your boss says standing up, signifying the end of the meeting, “Stick around Megan, I want to talk to you about your job after I walk Elean—Ellie—out.”
On the drive home, your husband explained exactly what your “new position” would be.
“Ellie, I love you. I’ll always love you. But things are going to change. You were never cut out for all this. I see that now. It was selfish of me to even let you try.”
You open your mouth to argue.
“No sweetie, just listen. You’re not like Megan. She may be 12 years younger than you, but she’s already everything you’re not. She’s smart, confident, and capable. I mean, she did take your job in six months—starting as in intern!”
“And what did you do while she did that? You went back to diapers. While she was taking your job, you were filling your pampers. So, if you’re going to act like a baby, then you’ll be treated like one.”
“I-I’m not a baby, it was just stress! I..”
“Oh, you’re not? Let’s see, Ellie. Babies need diapers—and so do you. Babies don’t have jobs—and neither do you. Babies cry when they’re upset or have an accident—and so do you. So what does that make you?”
You feel your diaper grow warm.
“I’ll help you out. It makes you a baby. And what do babies need, hmm? Caregivers! Babies need Daddies! And so do you.”
Your eyes grow wide.
“So from now on, I’m not your husband. I’m your Daddy. And your only job—now that you’re unemployed—is to be Daddy’s little angel. You don’t need to worry about a single thing anymore.”
Your husband—well, Daddy now—took his new role seriously. The guest room slowly transformed into a nursery. Complete with changing table, crib, and toys.
So many toys.
You found yourself losing more adult privileges every day, slipping more into the world of your second babyhood.
Your bedtime was now 7:30. You took a nap at noon every day. Your meals were served in a high chair—and never with any utensils. Your movies and tv shows were never rated above PG.
More troubling, you could swear you heard someone else in the house after Daddy put you to bed. But no matter how many times you asked, Daddy just laughed.
“Don’t worry about the adults, Ellie-welly, babies like you should be in dreamland!”
Which brings us to today.
It started like any other. Well, since your Daddy sent you back to babyhood. Daddy woke you up, changed your diaper with plenty of tummy tickles and raspberries. You ate your oatmeal in your highchair. You made your mid-morning stinky. And Daddy put you down for your nap.
All standard stuff.
You were laying on your bed, coloring and watching Bluey when it happened.
“Hi Da—!” you started, before realizing it wasn’t Daddy.
It was Megan.
“Hiya, Ellie!” Megan cooed, “Awwww, are you coloring for Daddy? Are you staying in the lines or is that still too much for you?”
“Wha-what are you doing here?” you whimper.
“Well, someone needs to watch Daddy’s little stinker while he runs errands. Babies can’t change their own diapers, silly!”
Megan reaches down and checks your diaper. “Not too wet, yet, Ellie-belly!”
You whimper like a scared baby who misses her Daddy.
Because that’s what you are.
"I can’t believe it,” Megan scoffs, “I knew you were pathetic when you hired me, but I didn’t know you were this pathetic. I mean, aren’t you like 33? Look at you! In a soggy diaper coloring on a workday?”
You look at Megan. She’s so beautiful, so sexy in a way you could never be. Not in thick, soggy diapers.
“And this room? I can’t. Well, nursery, is the better word. You even have a changing table! And look how many diapers! Isn’t it embarrassing to know you’re going to fill every single one up?”
“Or do you even care? I mean, I’d never let myself be some pamper packer while my Daddy is out fucking re—never mind.”
Despite your overwhelming humiliation, you can’t help yourself. “D-doing what?”
“Oh, honey, you don’t know? Did Daddy not tell you? Well, it does make sense, why would a Daddy tell a baby who he’s fucking? Wait…have you not even wondered? Are you THAT much of a baby you don’t even think of sex anymore?”
She’s lying. She had to be.
You blush violently, dreading the truth. You hadn’t had sex since the day you were fired. But that was just because Daddy was adjusting! Surely.
“Ellie, your Daddy needs a woman—not some baby in diapers. You understand that, right? Look at me. I’m everything your Daddy wants. I have a job. I’m potty trained. I’m mature. You’re none of those things.”
You want to yell, to scream at Megan. But the look in her eye—the menace—shuts you down.
There’s no point in trying. She’s in control. You’ll never beat her. She’s right. She’s everything you’re not.
“Now, little one, let’s find something to do before your Daddy gets home. I think it’s good for us to bond in our new roles.”
“N-new roles?” you stutter.
She just laughs. “Don’t you worry your silly little head, Ellie-welly, I’m sure you’ll figure it all out one day.”
sorry i got a boner when u said something really heartfelt and sweet and held me and reassured me that im okay. theres a lot of wires crossed in my poor diseased brain when it comes to that sort of thing
really hate when people are like age REGRESSION is fine as long as its kept Pure & Innocent but age PLAY during SEX is Evil & Vile like that isnt for some people an extremely thin line like either way its someone acting like a child or younger than they are for comfort &/or to cope with trauma like why is age regression or age play only acceptable when its nonsexual . i mean we all know why its puritainism innit but its such an arbitrary division sometimes ;0; & you gotta wrap yr head around the fact that sometimes the 'regresses to cope with trauma' & 'acts like a kid during sex' person are the SAME PERSON & theres nothing inherently wrong with that. grow the hell up!
last night daddy & i were playing and when i was close to cumming i kept asking “daddy what’s happening” “daddy’s what’s going on” and they kept saying “it’s okay baby, it just means you love daddy so much” “daddy’s got you, it’s okay”
I made a fetlife account like six months ago and I'm only recently trying to be more active with it and I... just don't really see how people actually connect on this site. Maybe I'm just impatient, maybe it's my experience as a cis-gender male, maybe I'm doing something wrong but I don't really understand what I'm supposed to do here.
I look at groups and see that people in my area haven't posted anything in months. I see people posting ads from like a year ago as the most recent post. I follow and message people near me and don't really get anything back for days.
I want to believe that there are definitely people finding their people but I worry it's because those are the people that put up more information and pictures of themselves than I would be reasonably be comfortable putting there on the internet for just anyone to see.
I don't know. Maybe there's a middle ground where I can be more open to garner more interest in my profile. Maybe I can just be more patient and not expect fast results. Maybe fetlife isn't my vibe.
I'm a baby. Of course, my diapers have to be hook and loop, so I can redo them 15 million times because I can't ever get them taped up right on the first try.
"for you, i would" is such a gentle n sweet love language like no maybe i wouldn't usually do this but i would love to do it if it would make you happy
