From: pjsrbst@aol.com (PJsRBST) 
Subject: A Life in Diapers 
Date: 16 Jul 1996 21:14:58 -0400 

A LIFE IN DIAPERS

	The following is essentially my story. All of it is 
true to the best of my memory and is offered here to others 
like me as a gesture to all those who have posted here for 
my benefit and to all those who will come after me. It may 
come in parts, if so, this will be part one...others will 
follow.  
	The usual disclaimer here: this is in no way intended 
to offend or cross over any boundaries. If you do not enjoy 
or, minimally, read about infantilism and/or diaper 
fetishism, do not read further. The story is true and is not 
meant to depict any more than my personal history.  
	I can't begin to describe the fulfillment finding the 
universe of diapers and ABs here and online in general. The 
wonderful feeling of having a thick white diaper pulled up 
between my legs, the faint scent of baby powder and oil, the 
crinkle of plastic pants as I walk, the naughty feeling I 
still feel every time I wet my pants, the warm glow that 
spreads around my crotch and the ultimate disgrace I have 
when I poop my pants has been validated. And for that I am 
grateful.  
	I was born with a mild birth defect called spina bifida 
that wasn't diagnosed until I was nearly 14 years old. The 
only side effect seems to have been a lack of bladder and 
some bowel control. My mom tried potty training me at the 
usual age for my generation, about 3, without any success at 
all.  
	Finally, in total frustration and anger, she adopted an 
aggressive path of humiliation in a final attempt to get me 
to use the potty. Diapers, wetting, pooping, plastic panties 
and such became her tools and I was constantly reminded of 
what a "baby" I was. At this point, I came to hate diapers, 
hate being treated like a baby and wished with all my might 
that this nightmare would end. Especially when my little 
brother was born (when I was three), I was still the big 
brother in diapers.  
	By the time I was four, I was still in diapers full 
time. And, of course, my mom took every opportunity to make 
sure everyone knew I wasn't potty trained. At age five, I 
started to become of aware of some of the sensual aspects of 
my diapers, starting kind of ying-yang, love hate feelings 
for my predicament. At this point, mom stopped diapering me 
and just let me wet and poop in my pants, except at night 
when I was diapered in thick nighttime diapers and covered 
with toddler plastic panties.  
	This continued until I was ready for school. At night, 
my brother and I shared a tub. After baths, I was usually 
escorted out of the tub first, dried off and a large folded 
diaper was laid out on the floor. I was seated in the 
middle, powdered and the diaper was drawn between my legs 
and pinned at the side. Then I stood up and a pair of 
plastic panties was pulled over my diapers as a constant 
reminder I was still a baby. In the winter, I wore sleepers 
and in the summer usually just a jammy top and my diapers 
and waterproof panties. Anyone who came over to the house 
knew I was still in diapers as did all my relatives and the 
baby-sitters. Even after my younger brother was potty 
trained, the routine never varied.  
	A few days before school started my first year, my mom, 
tired of all my messy panties and ruined clothes, decided to 
put me back into diapers full-time. She also decided that 
all my clothes were to be baby style clothes. An expert 
seamstress, she converted all my jumpers and shorts and 
stuff to snap crotches for easier diaper changes and, I'm 
sure, instant humiliation. She also made me onesies and 
other baby style stuff. This was to be my clothing style for 
the next eight years. I was both apprehensive, angry and 
humiliated, and secretly relieved and thrilled to be back in 
diapers. I didn't look forward to wearing diapers in public 
again, but the thought of the security and attention was 
very primal for me. I was actually looking anticipating 
wetting and pooping in a diaper again! 

PART 2: Doctors, School & Summer 

	I was dragged from doctor to doctor beginning around 
age five. Most of these incompetents were military doctors 
with little or no training in pediatrics or birth defects 
like mine (spina bifida). Because my condition was very mild 
and perceptively not intrusive, most doctors concluded my 
lack of potty training was a psychological or attitudinal 
thing. The barrage of doctors continued well into my seventh 
year. Each time I was forced to strip to my diapers, 
examined and then made to listen to things I didn't quite 
understand while my mom grew angrier and angrier.  
	A particularly screwed up psychiatrist suggested my 
behavior was a manifestation of severe authority contempt 
and congratulated my mom on her approach! Mom became more 
and more agitated with my lack of control and finally 
decided that if she was going to be dealing with an overage 
wetter and pooper, she was going to treat me just like a 
baby.  
	My diaper routine was never a secret to anyone. And, of 
course, I was forced to attend school in thick cotton 
diapers and noisy plastic panties. As with many children of 
school age who still wore diapers, I was changed by the 
school nurse on most occasions. And, of course, subjected to 
the most cruel treatment by other kids. I was regularly 
pantsed at recess; older kids would force me down and take 
my coveralls off and run away with them, exposing my diapers 
to everyone. I would have to walk to the office and my pants 
would returned and I was always sent back to class. Any sign 
of a smell and I was the immediate culprit. Teachers would 
stand me up and fondle the back of my diapers for the poop 
and sometimes pull my pants down a bit and peak in to see if 
I was messy. But I did enjoy the attention I got from most 
nurses, who proved to most kind with rare exception. I think 
this sort of attention, balanced by the humiliation fostered 
by my mom, provided the impetus to my fetish. 
	As with many military families, we moved a lot and I 
was constantly the source of great amusement wherever I 
went. I grew so I didn't really care. Occasionally I was 
embarrassed, but by this time I had grown very attached to 
the security and feel of the diapers, changing time, etc.  
	In the hot months of summer, I was frequently sent out 
to play in nothing more than my diapers, plastic panties and 
a T-shirt. At the pool club, I was stuck with the other 
babies in the baby pool, swimming as it was, in just diapers 
and my panties. Upon a visit to a relatives house one 
summer, some distant cousin of my moms, I was made to sleep 
in their toddler's crib because it was the only mattress in 
the house with a rubber sheet. At eight years old, this made 
quite an impression on me. I both feared this treatment and 
craved it.  
	At the beach, we liked to go to the beach when it was 
convenient, mom thought nothing of letting me romp on the 
beach in just my diapers. On one trip, she let me wear a 
swim suit and no diapers, figuring I was going to get wet in 
the ocean anyway. Playing in the sand, I realized I was 
wetting my pants and then sitting, couldn't stop a 
horrendous poop from spreading in my pants. When she 
discovered my accident, I was dragged to the outdoor 
showers, stripped, rinsed, walked back to our little enclave 
(mom, holding my messy swimsuit out as a sign to all of my 
babyish ways) and diapered on a towel. What a sight I must 
have been, nearly nine years old and being put into diapers! 
	more to come... 

PART 3: The Emotional Beginnings 

	Through the early part of my struggle with my 
circumstances, such as they were, I developed a very strange 
love /hate complex about wearing diapers and my mom's 
treatment of me as a baby. Probably around age seven, I 
recognized that I really like wearing diapers and plastic 
panties. Yes, it bothered me to be seen in public and to 
have people tease me. But I also received an inordinate 
amount of attention because of it. Sometimes, I even got 
some positive reinforcement for my situation which made me 
feel very good.  
	As long as I was wearing diapers and baby pants, my 
pants and/or my jammies stayed dry. And, I received quite a 
lot of tactile sensations during diaper changes. Soft hands 
spreading oil and powder around me, the feeling of a soft, 
thick cloth pulled between my legs and the heightened 
awareness of my bodily functions all gave me pleasure, a 
pleasure I certainly didn't understand but felt nonetheless.  
	Through pre-pubescence, women, my mom and countless 
sitters, were the ones to change me and I secretly welcomed 
the extra attention. Although it often was mixed with pain. 
Spankings were common, especially if I messed in my diapers 
in public outside the house or my diapers leaked after a 
wetting and left marks on furniture, car seats, etc. 
Depending on her mood, she often changed me in public, 
pulling own my outside pants or shorts, sliding my plastic 
panties to my knees and unpinning my diapers for all to see. 
I must have made quite a sight as this continued until I was 
at least ten. I remember attending a movie with her and my 
little brother and I didn't want to tell her about the urge 
I was getting to poop for fear of missing the movie. Shortly 
before the film rolled, I couldn't hold it any longer and 
pooped my pants, sitting in the mess in my seat.  
	Mom yanked me out of the theater and into the ladies 
room where she discovered the mess had leaked out into my 
coveralls. Well, she changed me and lead us back into our 
seats with me in nothing except a clean diaper and baby 
panties.  
	By age 10, I had gained some control over my bowels 
through sheer will power but my bladder would fill and I 
wouldn't get the signal in my brain and it would come 
gushing out into my diapers. Sometimes I would poop my pants 
on purpose, just to piss my mom off and get back at her. Of 
course, I would spend hours trapped on the potty in her vain 
attempts to keep me dry and clean. Sometimes I would tell 
her just before I knew I was going to go and she would, in a 
loud voice for all to hear, just tell me to potty my diapers 
and she would change my panties after awhile.  
	Lying in bed at night was always the best time for me, 
a thick double nighttime diaper on, I could fantasize that I 
was actually a baby and all of this was really necessary. 
The diapers felt good and secure and I would dream about 
having a loving and nurturing woman care for me.  
	I realize now, still in diapers, that all of this must 
have been a test of my character development. I certainly 
grew a thick hide and developed a wicked sense of humor. I 
might have still been in diapers, but I was a pretty sharp 
fellow and I learned patience and fortitude, if not 
intestinal (sorry, couldn't help the pun), minimally 
emotional fortitude. And I developed a very strong 
attachment to diapers and some, if not all of the baby 
treatment my mom believed was going to deter me from acting 
out as she believed me to be. Certainly a very odd start on 
pubescence, a most fitful trial of life in its own right.  

More to come....