Security in My Curitys At age 7, I was home from school and sick in bed. For reasons that are a mystery to me to this day, boredom-and some other curious force-drove me into one of my sibling's rooms where I sneaked off with a couple of cloth diapers. I failed in my fumbling attempt to put them on and placed them back where I found them. Sick again a couple of months later, I tried them once more. This time, I took care to get the right length and width, planted myself in them, pinned myself on the left, and then drove home that second and decisive safety pin on the right. I was hooked. With the exception of the three years of my marriage, diapers have not been far away. I wore diapers periodically for probably four or five years prior to the onset of puberty. I wore them whenever the mood struck me and the opportunity presented itself. It was the sort of thing I did on the sly, and I knew that I was being a little naughty. I also had to make sure that I wasn't taking the last diapers in someone's supply. However, there were lots of diapers around-I was the oldest of eight children. The house brand was the Curity flat gauze diaper, 21-by-40 inches. It is still my favorite diaper. Over the years, I have wondered about what I might have been up do in those formative days. I have no recollection of problems with potty training. I was raised in a happy family setting. I had no sense that I was doing anything morally wrong. I would wear them for several hours and then return them, never using them for their intended purpose. I viewed wearing diapers as simply fun. In the seventh grade, at age 12, I started to get interested in girls. At roughly the same time, I began collecting pictures of movie stars. Terry Moore was the most prominent among them. She was on the cover of one of the first girlie magazines I got the courage to buy. Combining diaper-wearing with pin-up-gazing came slowly-I was that unaware of any sexual connection. That blending provoked my first erection, an event I remember scaring me. And some time after that I experienced my first ejaculation, something that terrified me; I had no idea what was happening to me. Where does one go with this "problem"-I was looking at a picture of this girl in a bikini and then this scary thing happened to me, and, oh yeah, I was wearing diapers? By age 12 wearing diapers had become an engrained habit. In the early years of wearing them I have absolutely no recollection or knowledge of anything sexual going on (although that might not have been the fact subliminally). In fact, then-and now-it was not essential to get sexual pleasure from wearing them. Diapers were-are-warm, friendly, comforting. Sex is confusing enough in the eighth grade. For me the confusion was amplified by the emphasis I placed on diapers. I had good friends who were girls, yet I was shy when it came to dating. I didn't think of it at the time, but I was almost certainly putting diapers and dating on something of the same plane-and diapers won out more frequently than dating did. What was more fun: going through the nervous business of dating a live human being-and, I was convinced, inevitably failing-or staying at home and wearing diapers and falling in love with the pictures of girls piling up under my bed? I have had several diaper fantasies since the earliest days. The most persistent has me powdered and oiled and amply diapered, wearing latex panties. I'm in my own crib, slurping away at a bottle of warm milk. A variation of this dream has me nursing at the breasts-the very large breasts-of a young, pretty blonde. Of course, I'm drooling on myself, the first of several messes I'll make. When I'm finished doing my diaper business, I'll clean myself up and then get ready to be powdered and re-diapered by my nursemaid. Nothing can beat that final safety pin being driven home, nothing. An elaboration of this fantasy will have me in a room dedicated exclusively to this baby business-full-sized crib, cabinets stuffed with diapers and latex pants, a closet full of gowns, bonnets, bibs, booties, shelves of Johnson's Baby Powder and Johnson's Baby Oil. The diaper stash would include piles of unopened packages of Curity diapers. (I still thrill at the thought of going to some yard sale and finding packages of Curity diapers. This is a great discovery because they haven't been made in years.) Over the years, I have used my own baby bottles and have occasionally eaten baby food. I sometimes use my diapers for their intended purpose. There is some fun in drinking lots of water and juices, putting on latex pants over my diapers and then peeing in them more than once, loading them up and waddling around carefully to prevent any leaking. In an odd way, this is almost a liberating experience-I pee in my diapers (cloth with vinyl pants) and then continue to go about my business. Eventually, I'll remove the soiled diapers and replace them after spraying myself generously with baby powder. Every now and then I'll wear a pile of diapers, reaching a point where I can barely walk. My record is 25 diapers at one time. (I have a vast stash of cloth diapers-176 of them, as of this writing.)