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....