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Baby Butch
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June 22nd, 2015 ~ 5:07 am
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PG My lovely neighbour
My beautiful neighbour
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I've been wearing nappies and baby clothes for as long as I can remember. My mother used to put me back into nappies when I was a child as a punishment, and that continued well into my teens.


At the time it was SO humiliating, especially as she used to change my nappies in front of my little sister. She used to giggle so much at the sight of her big brother being babied like that.


Anyway, I got used to the humiliation, and after a while I kind of accepted it. I knew other boys my age didn’t have to go through being babied, but I knew I had no choice.


As I reached puberty I started to find the feeling of a bulky nappy between my legs, and the tight grasp of baby knickers round my legs and waist something of a thrill. The first time I ever came was in a nappy – over my mother’s lap on the receiving end of a spanking.


So anyway – cut to now, and I still love to wear a nappy and baby knickers. When I get home from work the first thing I usually do is strip off my male clothes and put on my baby things.


I had to move house a couple of months ago, and as I was moving in my neighbour popped round to say hello.


I heard the knock on the door and gasped. I wasn’t expecting any visitors. I pulled my baby dress up over my head and dropped it on the floor. As I tugged my pretty white tights down round my ankles there was another knock.


I knew I didn’t have time to remove my nappy and baby knickers, so I pulled a pair of shorts up over them and slipped a t-shirt over my head.

Breathless, I went to answer the door.


Before me stood perhaps the most perfect woman I'd ever seen. She was in her early thirties, blonde, trim and oh so beautiful.

“Hello,” she said, “I’m Kirsty. I'm your neighbour.”


She smiled at me and I felt my heart going ten to the dozen. I invited her in, dreading that such a beautiful woman would realise I had a nappy on.

Trying to be neighbourly I offer her a coffee, which she readily accepted. She told me she had two small children, and that she was struggling to manage them after their father had left her.


I went and made us coffees, trying to hide the bulkiness under my shorts.


When I came back she told me the problems she’d been having with her children. “Alice is okay,” she said, “But Stanley is still such a problem. Ever since his father left us he just won’t behave. He’s seven now, but he still wets his pants. Can you imagine that? I still have to put him in nappies at his age!”


I didn’t know what to say. And I saw her glance down at my own bulky shorts. She looked up, and smiled.

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