Sissy Room

Last week I saw the movie Eternity. It's about a woman who dies, and has too choose which of her two husbands to spent her afterlife with. Where some film are 'gay-coded' or 'queer-coded' or 'trans-coded'.... Films that don't outwardly seem queer, but had queer themes in the subtext.   This is the first film I've ever seen that had a pro ABDL message hidden in the background. In this version of heaven you spend forever at the age when you were happiest. You are lead to a hotel room with your 'favourite clothing' from when you were alive in it. Your are then given a week, to choose in which scenario you will spent all of eternity in. Amongst the options displayed in the world are posters for Infantilastion world. There are leaflets with the outline of a little girl on the front, baring the statement 'this could be you'. At one point on of the ladies at the Infantilastion world stand tills prospective people "we have breast milk".   This whole things has been living rent free in my mind since I left the cinema 

I realise this may not be clearly stated anywhere so I'll pin this post to the top of the page. This sub-forum is for people who fantasise about achieving incontinence or who are hoping to achieve it whether that is through unpotty training, surgery, or whatever else. If you don't agree with what the people here are trying to achieve we ask that you don't post. You can criticise the methods IF it is constructive and you have a suggestion for improvements, etc. But if you have no interest in incontinence then you shouldn't be posting in here. If you have a moral objection, that's fine, but this isn't the place to preach about it. To be 100% clear: This sub-forum is for people interested in or trying to achieve incontinence. Please give these people the courtesy of their space. Any post that is judgemental will be deleted, repeat offenders will face suspensions or bans. Just like if you have no interest in LGBT issues we would expect you to stay out of the Rainbow Forum, just like if you have no interest in messing we would expect you to stay out of the "Stinky" forum, etc. Thank you.

A diaper load.   To be honest, there is no way to tell. A big thing is how do you define ABDL. Is the person that collects plushies an AB or just someone that likes plushies? How about the person that sucks on a pacifier? AB or trying to quit smoking? Way back in the day when they were trying to figure out how many homosexuals there were, several "scientists" sent out polls to try and get data. The problem was that most of them let their preconceptions and biases in. Two of the extremes were: one scientist trying to prove that there were few homosexuals only counted people that ONLY ever had homosexual relationships, at the other end a scientist counted everyone that ever tried anything "homosexual." The 10% of the population being homosexual was announced as an arbitrary figure after a group looked at a bunch of polls, but they were just guessing. That number has been used for decades.   So yeah, what is an ABDL? Just look at Mikey, he identifies as an 8 year old (I think), is that still an Adult Baby? One of the old talkshows had a self identified AB on that didn't like or wear diapers. Is she still an AB? How about Bigs, do they count? TBs? People that wear for convenience or for job related issues? It's very complex counting groups like this.

I didn't vote because I have no clue how many of us there are out there. Many of the members on this site would deny being ABDL in any way if asked. I suspect that 100% of the guests on here would deny it. What I do know for certain, is that I'm not alone, our Kansas City Crinklestars group has 94 members on our Discord page and our November munch had 15 people at one point. I think this poll will likely result in a lower count than reality. Hugs, Freta

Chapter 15: My Mother’s Journals My heart skipped a beat and my breathing became shallow as I entered the dim corridor of the east wing of the Rivers Estate. All the lights were off, and the sunlight peering into the tall windows was the only light that lit up the whole corridor. Abby let go of my back and began to whimper. “Nah Gah-bee.  Yoo nah gah hee yah.  Ih skaw-wee…” The words that my sister just said sent chills down my spine.  I have never heard my sister talk so much like this before. I picked up Abby and sighed.  “Why Abby?” I asked her.  “Why shouldn’t I be here in the east wing?” My sister didn’t answer me.  All I could see was fear in her face.  She yanked the pacifier ribbon and began sucking on her pacifier as fast as she could.  I could hear the soft whimpers from my sister as I carried her through the quiet corridor.  It was clean like it was hardly used.  But why?  Why would my mother just keep this whole wing off limits? I entered the next room from the staircase that led into a small hallway.  I entered the first room on the right and my nose was already filled with a very musty smell.  I turned on the light to find a spacious bedroom filled with pink pastels. Patterns of teddy bears and zoo animals lined the walls and baseboards around the room.  The carpet was a pure white with a crib and a changing table on the far side of the room.  A rocking chair sat in the middle of the room, with a large open playpen on the other side of the room, full of toys that an infant would play with.  This was not just any bedroom.  It was a nursery. And Abby was now pressing her eyes into my neck as she moistened it with her tears.  When I tried to turn her around to look at the room, she closed her eyes and cried. “Nah goh in woom!  Nah GOH IN WOOM!!!!!” Her crying became loud screams, so I left the room quickly with her. “Why?” I said, looking very worried as I glanced at my little sister. “Woom skaw-wee….Goh bak toh mah woom.  Goh bak naw…” I tried to remain calm as I gave my sister a serious look.  “Abby.  Please tell me why you are so afraid of that room.” Abby’s wailing continued as her heaving of tears elevated.  “I wuz bahd gul!  Mama haht me!  It haht!  I nevah bee bahd gul ah gahn…” I gasped.  “When were you a bad girl?” Abby didn’t answer me.  All she gave me was a frightful stare. I began to sit Abby down to see if she wanted to follow me on foot.  Wrong choice.  Abby began to throw a fit. “Naw Gah-bee!  Cawee me! Cawee me!” I nodded and carried my sister in my arms.  It was a good thing that she didn’t weigh any more than she did.  I continued down the hallway with her while she clung to me like a monkey clinging to a tree.  Her arms were wrapped around me and I could hear her breathing. “Goh bak.” She pleaded. I shook my head.  “No Abby.  Your big sister needs to finish a school assignment.  This is the only way I can learn more about my mother.” After the small hallway, it opened up into a great room, with a living room further east and what looked like a kitchen to the north of it.  The living room had what looked like an older TV with another playpen sitting in the corner with more infant toys.  I also saw a pack n’ play with a coffee table caked in dust.  Underneath the coffee table was an open sack of Size 3 Pampers Baby-Dry diapers.  There was something strange about the packaging of the diapers as none of the packaging looked that old on the diapers used today.  The Pampers logo looked outdated. And yeah.  When I saw the TV, it looked like one of those older TV’s.  All the furniture in this room looked older, like it was never updated for a number of years.  I would say a couple decades or longer. And like the bedroom, the living room too had a musty smell.  I carried my sister out of the living room and back to the great room, heading north toward the kitchen. The kitchen was spacious and dated, with a large dining room area to the west of it.  A highchair sat between the dining room table and the kitchen island. My sister then complained again.  “Thaw-sty Gaw-bee!  Thaw-sty!” I sighed.  “I don’t know if this kitchen has anything for you to drink.” My sister continued looking at me.  “Mo Mak!  No foamwah!  No foamwah Gaw-bee!” I nodded and sat Abby on the floor, where she crawled next to where I was standing. I opened the side-by-side refrigerator which had a water and ice dispenser that I was too afraid to use, due to how poorly kept this part of the mansion was.  And it was just as I suspected.  The entire fridge was empty.  The freezer was also empty, with nothing inside of it. I then saw an archway that marked the double doors at the end of the kitchen. I scooped Abby back up and entered those double doors. The double doors led through a hallway, with only one door on the left in the middle of it.  I entered the one door to find a staircase, which led down a few flights of stairs. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, it was pitch black. I felt around for a light switch and could feel my fingers over one. Upon turning on the lights, I could see a large open space.  Test tubes and vials sitting on various tables and a large modern desk with a state of the art computer with three monitors. Adjacent to the computer were rows of book shelves that extended the entire width of the wall.  Some bookshelves were filled with various textbooks which my mother probably wrote, due to her four PhD’s that she keeps bragging about.  Textbooks on Molecular Genetics, Medical Genetics, Genomics, History of Genetics, Gerontology, and a few books on Psychology.  There were also various books on different aging studies as well as scientific journals and even a few of her dissertations with one of them highlighting “the missing link” needed for the fountain of youth. Another shelf had some smaller books.  And due to my mother’s studious method of organization, these smaller books were sorted under what she classified as personal journals.  One large binder at the end was labeled “MEMOIR NOTES”. I gasped as I picked up one of my mother’s journals.  This was it.  This was the key to finishing my 20-page genealogy essay and getting an A on Tuesday (since The Madeira School was closed on Labor Day). The journal that I was holding was the first in the list and it was labeled with the following:  AGE 10:  January 1, 1987 – August 24, 1989 Before I could study it anymore, I could smell a strong odor coming from Abby.  Seriously Abby.  Do I have to change your poopy diaper right now? Abby was sitting beside me, now rubbing her eyes and yawning.  It looked like my little sister didn’t just need a diaper change, but a nap.  I decided to take care of both before I began studying my mother’s journals. I left the east wing with Abby and changed her diaper.  After that, I filled a baby bottle with milk and fed it to her before putting her down for a nap. With Abby taken care of, I returned to my mother’s laboratory in the east wing and grabbed a stack of her journals to learn more about my family.  I brought them back to my room and piled them on my bed.  I opened up my mother’s journal and read the first page: January 1, 1987 Words cannot describe the level of frustration that I am feeling right now.  Forget my excitement about Christmas at the end of the previous journal.  To kick off the New Year, I just received my rejection letter from Harvard.  Forget the irrelevant fact that it was postmarked on December 29, 1986.  The Ivy League made it very clear to me.  That 10 years old is too young an age for someone like me to be attending Harvard. Considering that the Dean of Admissions who responded was a MALE, I consider their selection process to be nothing short of a pure display of ageism and misogyny.  Did the admission committee ever consider that I am in the TENTH GRADE and have been taking AP Courses since my freshmen year when I was nine?  That, and I have gotten nothing but straight A’s since I first attended school. Well Harvard, this isn’t the last that you have heard from Vivian Rivers.  I will appeal your decision to reject my admittance into your university on the basis of discrimination because of my age and giftedness.  I will make an example of your university and the Ivy League at large for your decision to discriminate a child prodigy like me.  If you had but a modicum of empathy, you would understand my position and consider it an honor and a privilege to allow an adolescent into your institution of higher learning.  Imagine the favorable press and headlines you would get for allowing a 10-year-old girl to attend one of the most prestigious schools in the world.  Might I remind you that the average girl my age would be in the fifth grade?  I am just two years from a high school diploma and will have two years of college credit from my stellar AP scores. It is abundantly clear that you have overlooked my story and case that I have built that would make me a suitable candidate for Harvard.  I started reading chapter books at two and a half and was reading longer novels by three.  At three, I also knew basic arithmetic.  By the time I was five, I placed out of kindergarten and was placed in the fifth grade.  Learning to spell?  I could write research papers and I loved doing science experiments! Also, I would like to remind you that two of my uncles and my father also attended Harvard, so don’t make this a misogynistic gentlemen’s club. Anyway, I am seeing red right now and I’m going to draft my appeal letter to the Dean of Admissions.  On a more serious note, my Uncle Marvin has Sickle Cell Disease and my father has told me that it runs in the family.  If that’s the case, I am both bound and determined to find a cure for this disease, whatever the cost may be. Well, my father’s calling me for dinner.  Our chef has made a delectable dinner for us again.  I can hardly wait. Until we meet again! Yours Truly, Vivian Rivers Wow.  I couldn’t believe it.  Did my mother actually write that when she was ten?  Anyway, from just that page alone, I learned that one of my great uncles was named Marvin and that Sickle Cell Disease runs in the Rivers family.  I also learned that my mother has journals that are even older than her journal from 1987.  And from just my mother’s writing alone at ten, I can clearly see how that became who she is today.  Her arguing about not being accepted at Harvard.  Wow.  And my mother wanted to find a cure for Sickle Cell Disease?  I wonder if she ever did? I scanned the pages and leafed through the various entries, flipping the pages until I found something more interesting about my mother.  A lot of them talked about her education at…my heart stopped.  Did she?  Is that what I think it is? Yes.  From perusing the next three months worth of journal entries, she kept mentioning her studies at The Madeira School.  Is that why my mom sent me to Madeira?  Because she used to attend that school herself?  She complained about how Madeira would allow a 10-year-old but Harvard wouldn’t.  Then I found another entry that caught my eye.  I read that one next: April 27, 1987 Salutations again, journal.  I can’t believe it.  I didn’t think that Harvard would do it.  But they did it.  They responded to my appeal letter.  They offered me their “most sincere apology” (their words, not mine).  After their carefully constructed apology that could almost pass for a steady stanza, they provided me with a explanation as to why they couldn’t admit me into Harvard.  Their explanation?  I didn’t have a high school diploma.  They made it clear that Harvard does not discriminate on the basis of age or even gender, and only required that I have a high school diploma before they could admit me.  They even expressed that they would be delighted to admit me when I have met this requirement. So the only thing that is preventing me from attending Harvard is a high school diploma.  Well, considering that The Madeira School has me in the most rigorous program that they have to offer, there is really no other expedited way that I could obtain my high school diploma any earlier than my twelfth birthday.  Two years is not much of an inconvenience to attend Harvard, I guess. In the meantime, I will figure out what fields of science I want to get my degrees in and begin drafting out my Valedictorian address for the Class of 1989.  Look out Madeira.  Your Valedictorian is going to be a pre-teen. This made today even more satisfying.  Thanks Harvard for your reply!  I now have a science project to work on for extra credit.  Keep that seat warm for me and keep that ivy growing on your buildings! Until we meet again! Yours Truly, Vivian Rivers I began typing notes on my laptop of all the new things that I have learned about my mother. I kept leafing through the weeks and months in 1987 before moving to 1988. After 1988, I kept reading through 1989 and found an entry in June: June 9, 1989 Greetings and warm salutations, journal.  I am rather tired and fatigued tonight from it being the day of my commencement.  As I expected, I graduated at the top of my class and I gave The Madeira School a Valedictorian address that they would never forget.  It was an address that challenged the minds of every one of my fellow classmates.  One that challenged their very future as they knew it.  Like me, they all hold the keys to the future. But it is with a heavy heart that I have to say that my uncle let go of his.  On June 7, just two days before my commencement, my uncle Marvin died from Sickle Cell Disease.  This night is bittersweet as I am a mixture of emotions right now. On a more positive note, Harvard is ready for me.  They mailed their acceptance letter to me back in January, asking that I provide them with the diploma before I enroll for classes in the fall. In terms of energy, I am spent and I’m ready to recharge.  The maid has just changed the linens on my bed and I can smell the fresh sheets.  The funeral for my uncle Marvin is next weekend.  Rest in peace, uncle! Well, I’m done writing for the evening now.  Tonight was memorable. Until we meet again! Yours Truly, Vivian Rivers I spent the next 45 minutes leafing through more of my mother’s journals, scanning through all of 1989 and 1990. I then stopped again when I came across September of 1991: September 2, 1991 Dear Journal, I think I’m in love.  You are not going to believe this but there’s another student that is my age also attending Harvard with me.  His name is Jim Rogers and he is 14 years old.  Well, he’s not quite my age since I turn 14 in November, but that’s close enough. Having taking classes non-stop since I graduated, I already have a Bachelor’s Degree in Biology and a Master’s Degree in Biology.  I am already working on my first PhD, which I should have in a couple more years since I still need more research to write a complete dissertation.  I want it to be on genetic links and triggers that affect hemoglobin malformity as I am determined to find a cure for Sickle Cell Disease.  I am postulating that I will need to map out the entire genome before I can draw any conclusions in my research.  My uncle Clifford is very sick with Sickle Cell Disease and I fear that my other two uncles could be next.  My dad is the youngest of all my uncles and has shown no signs of the disease yet. Well, I think that Jim really likes me and he wants to ask me on a date.  Time to finish my research and spend some time with my new boyfriend! Until we meet again! Yours Truly, Vivian Rivers I gasped.  Jim?  Rogers?  There was a Jim Rogers that attended the Landon School (an all-boy’s school)!  He was at Gina’s pool party!  I couldn’t believe the coincidence.  Could that Jim at that pool party be Jim Jr. or Jim Rogers II?  I will have to find out from Gina if Jim has a father named Jim.  My mother did say that she divorced her husband when I was born.  Could my father have gotten remarried and had a boy named Jim? I stopped reading for a moment to go and check on Abby. Since Abby was awake, I changed her into a fresh new diaper.  Fortunately, it was only wet so it was a quick change. I put on some Cocomelon for Abby to watch and she just mindlessly glanced at the screen while a nanny came in. She offered to get Abby a baby bottle filled with juice while I freely went back to my room. I returned to my bed to notice a large patch of pee all over the comforter. I gasped when I noticed a matching patch of pee that covered my entire groin.  Shoot.  I was so distracted with reading my mother’s journals that I didn’t even realize that I had to use the bathroom. I told the maid and she removed the comforter to get it washed while she put a new comforter on my bed. I then quickly removed my dress and panties and rinsed the pee off in the shower.  I put on a new pair of panties with another dress, which was orange instead of pink. I continued reading my mother’s journals.  In December of 1992, she got her first PhD like she said.  It was in Molecular Genetics.  In December of 1994, she got her second PhD in chemistry. In May of 1995, my mother married Jim Rogers, but emphatically decided to keep her last name of Rivers, as she didn’t want it to be Rogers for some reason.  She fondly spoke about how my father was her wonderful lab partner and was always full of good ideas.  A couple months later, my great uncle Clifford died from Sickle Cell Disease. In December of 1995, my mother got two more PhD’s.  One was in Medical Genetics and the other was in Genomics.  My father too got a PhD in Genomics and I continued reading my mother’s excitement as they worked on mapping the human genome together. In January of 1996, my uncle Stewart was sick with Sickle Cell Disease.  He died two weeks later. In February, I came across an entry that was rather interesting: February 12, 1996 I’m going to make this quick since me and Jim need to get back to the research. I just returned from the OB/GYN.  This is my first journal entry talking about this matter, as I don’t want anything bad to happen.  No complications or miscarriages or anything of the sort.  But with me being six months in, it looks like I’m going to be a mother.  The new baby is due May 7th, and I wanted to make it clear to them that I didn’t want to know the gender of the baby until the due date.  I have lost three uncles now to Sickle Cell Disease so I want to be extra careful before I celebrate any new life that would come into the world. When the baby is born, my first order of business is to lose all this excess weight.  I want my bundle of joy to see a fit mother.  I am not even 20 yet and I look like a blimp with this baby inside of me. Jim is calling me.  We need to get the research done.  Uncle Edward is beginning to show symptoms of sickle cell disease.  Tests have come back negative and no cure has been found yet. I’m coming, Jim! Until we meet again! Yours Truly, Dr. Vivian Rivers I smiled.  Wow.  It doesn’t look like my mother had that baby as it must have miscarried right before birth. I read the next entry: April 4, 1996 This is the saddest day of my life.  My mother died in a plane crash.  Her private jet never returned.  It crashed somewhere in the Atlantic and no one has been able to even recover her body! Excuse me.  This is not a time to journal.  I am sad. Oh mother!!! The next entry was no better: April 20, 1996 Oh cruel fate!  Why do you despise me?  Uncle Edward died this morning.  That’s all of my uncles that lost their battle with Sickle Cell Disease. That leaves my father.  Don’t worry.  Jim and I are trying to find a cure.  We will not stop nor will we rest until a cure is found. That is all. I wiped a tear out of my eye.  Could this be why my mother is so unstable?  So much trauma and so much loss in such a short time.  Could the baby be next? I read the next entry in May: May 12, 1996 I’m going to be quick with this one since I’m still at the hospital. Salutations, journal.  The day finally came and I just gave birth to a baby girl!  Her name is Abigail Marie Rivers and she was born at 10:36 this morning… My blood ran cold as I dropped the journal.  My face turned pale and I gasped.  No.  Either a horrible disease killed this baby with the same name or… I read the journal again.  The name sent chills up my spine. Abigail Marie Rivers. My sister’s name is Abigail Marie Rivers!  It had to be the same.  It… But something didn’t make sense.  If my sister was actually born in 1996, she would be 28 years old. Years. Old. Mother.  Oh. My. God.  What did you do to her?  Abby is just three years old!  What did you do to Abby? Oh, I’m going to be sick! I dropped the journal and lost color in my face again. The fear and anxiety was more than I could bear. I entered the bathroom and I vomited. As I finished vomiting, I became very lightheaded and dizzy.  And… CLUNK! I blacked out.