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Memories of an Adult Baby

I am what is called an Adult Baby. That is, I find it fulfilling to wear diapers, babyish clothes, or other infant paraphernalia. At one point I found these things very sexually arousing, but over recent years that has changed.

I don't know for certain why I'm interested in these things, and I'd like to know, so I'm writing this history. I don't think that control over one's bodily functions occupies most people's minds very often, but I've had many experiences that called my attention to my bladder control, or lack of it, as was the case when I was younger. This is mainly a catalog of life experiences that I think contributed to my current interest in infantilism. If you enjoy it, or find it interesting, I'm glad, but I wrote it mostly to sort out my memories. Everything here is true; however, I've changed all names but my own.

Childhood Longings

Looking back on my childhood, I can clearly see the signs of infantilism. At the time, however, I didn't know what infantilism was, and I didn't care. I just knew what felt good.

Vague memories

I don't remember anything from when I was a "real" baby, so I can't say whether being regularly diapered by my parents felt good. I have no definite idea why diapers arouse me. Perhaps I was toilet-trained too early, or perhaps not; my memory tells me nothing. I have memories from later on, but they get vaguer the farther I try to think back.

Bedwetting

I occasionally wet the bed at night until I was in my early teens. It wasn't intentional, or even fun, but it didn't bother me either. If it woke me up, my parents would just lay down a towel so I could sleep. In the morning, they'd just wash everything. The mattress was OK, since they always had a vinyl mattress protector on it. Still, my parents tried reducing the amount of liquids that I drank before bedtime, and making sure that I went to the bathroom before I went to bed. They didn't try to make me feel bad about wetting the bed, but they made it clear that it wasn't supposed to happen. They seemed to believe, as I did, that it was nothing I did consciously.

There was one time they at least considered diapering me at night. My brother Chris (not his real name) was in diapers, and he's five years younger than I am, so I must have been around seven. Before I went to sleep, I seem to recall that they came in and put one of Chris's Pampers on me, explaining that the diaper might keep me from wetting the bed. Sadly, I don't remember whether I resisted or whether I enjoyed it, or whether I woke up in a wet diaper in the morning — I don't even remember them actually putting the diaper on me or whether they decided not to. However, my parents must have decided that it wasn't any use, since they never tried to put me in diapers again.

Chris's plastic pants

Perhaps because plastic pants aren't as necessary when a baby is wearing disposable diapers, my little brother Chris always had at least one pair of unused plastic pants in his dresser drawer. (It is possible that these were actually my hand-me-down plastic pants.) Some nights I'd sneak in there and take a pair of them, and wear them under my pajamas at night. I liked the feel of the plastic next to my skin. Sometimes I wished I had other plastic clothes. I didn't like the way I'd sweat and the pants would stick to my skin, so sometimes I'd wear a pair of underpants underneath. I'd put the plastic pants under my pillow in the morning sometimes they'd be there again that night, and sometimes they'd be back in Chris's drawer. I don't remember whether I started doing this before or after my parents tried diapering me that one night.

I don't know what my parents thought about all this; they must have known, but they never said anything about it at all. Maybe they figured I was trying to keep myself from wetting the bed. I wasn't; I was wearing the plastic pants because they felt good. The way I could feel the wrinkles in them under my pajamas, the soft rustling sound perhaps these sensations were helping me imagine myself in diapers again. Perhaps also my parents' silence was what convinced me that I had to keep my plastic pants a secret.

Accidents at school

I don't consciously remember having an accident in grade school, but I know it must have happened, because I do remember the teacher having to change my wet pants, at least once. This was probably in first or second grade, and the teacher put either training pants or diapers on me for the rest of the day; I can't remember which. (Looking back, I hope they were diapers.) Unfortunately, I can't remember how I felt, though I was probably embarrassed.

Strangely, I didn't get teased for wetting my pants, although it must have happened more than once, because I didn't have very good control. After first or second grade, though, I didn't wet my pants in public for a long time.

I know there was a period of time when my parents sent me to school with traning pants on instead of underpants every day, so I know I didn't have very good bladder control. They laid my clothes out for me, including the training pants, so I just put them on. Probably I didn't think much of it.

Adolescent Experiences

It's a lot easier to remember things that happened to me as an older child. When I was nine years old, we moved to South Dakota, and lots of things about my life changed. For one thing, the plastic pants in Chris's drawer were packed away in a box; I never wore them again. They probably got stored in the basement and later sold at a yard sale. For another thing, I started getting an allowance. But one thing didn't change: I was still wetting my bed at night.

Buying my own diapers

I think it was because of my bedwetting that I started buying Pampers at the local grocery store and secretly wearing them at night.

Why Pampers? Well, they were what my parents had used on my little brother, and on me that one night. They were also the only brand of disposable diapers available then, at least at that store. There were generic diapers, but they only came in huge bags, hard to conceal, and I don't think they appeared on the shelves until later. I'd go early in the morning, before my parents were awake, and nervously pace the aisles until the store was clearly as empty as it was going to get. I didn't want anybody who knew me to see me buying diapers, because they'd know that neither my brother nor I needed them. I had a story ready about buying them for the neighbors, but I never had to use it. Miraculously, nobody I knew ever saw me buy diapers. Once, out of nervousness, I said to the checker, "They're for my kid brother." I shouldn't have said anything; there was no need. I just felt like my heart was going to leap out of my chest and yell at the cashier that the diapers were for me.

"Well, I didn't think they were for you!" she replied. I paid for the diapers and went away.

I was only able to wear the Pampers because I bought the largest size, because I used masking tape to extend the diapers' built-in tapes, and because I've always been fairly thin. After wearing diapers for a few nights in a row, though, the masking tape irritated the skin on my hips, leaving red marks that I hoped nobody ever noticed.

Why did I decide to buy diapers? I don't remember whether I started buying diapers because I thought they would feel good, or whether I started buying them to try to control my bedwetting. Once I was started, though, I bought them because they felt good. Let's face it; they are and were designed for Baby's comfort. Pampers' famous "quilted lining"; the baby-powder smell of a fresh diaper; the slightly textured plastic on the outside; and the fact that when I wet them, nothing showed in my pajamas or in my bed; all combined to make them such fun for me to wear. In the beginning, I didn't know that it was sexual pleasure that I felt when I wore Pampers; I just knew that they felt good. Sometimes I'd wake up wet, but most of the time I'd wake up dry and wet them on purpose, because I liked the feeling of wet diapers. Once I discovered how, I'd masturbate in them, too.

I'd buy them early in the morning, or when nobody was home. At that time, disposable diapers all came in boxes, so I'd buy a box of 12, the largest box I could afford. Such delight, opening the box to see those fresh diapers smooth, white, sweet-smelling, and all for me! When I got home I'd take the box apart and flatten it, then put the diapers either under my mattress, in a box in my closet, or under the bottom drawer of my dresser. I'd take them out and wear them at night. The wet ones went under the mattress, and later into the bottom of the kitchen garbage can, underneath everything else. That was where the box went, too. Nobody searches through the bag when they take the trash out.

My parents found out about my diapers once or twice, usually because I got over confident. Once, I put some diapers under my underwear in the drawer, and my stepmother found them after she had done the laundry, when she put clean underwear into the drawer. I remember lying there as she came in with my underwear, thinking I was asleep. She opened my underwear drawer, paused, and left. I wish I knew what she told my dad.

Another time, I put a wet diaper at the bottom of the bathroom wastebasket, hoping to pull the same trick I did with the trash can in the kitchen, but it started to smell bad long before the wastebasket was emptied. I remember it very clearly: Dad called me downstairs and said, "I want you to find whatever is in the bathroom that smells, and get rid of it." I tied a knot in the wastebasket's garbage bag and took it downstairs. He asked me, "Is that it?" I hoped and prayed that he didn't know what it was.

Each time my parents found out about my diapers, they just assumed I was trying to control my bedwetting. My father sat down with me and told me that I shouldn't use diapers, because it wasn't really going to help solve the problem. I was so embarrassed that he knew I'd been wearing diapers; my face felt like it was burning red! I still remember that the song "Heat of the Moment," by Asia, was playing on the radio when he left my room. I was secretly glad, though, when I found out that they didn't know why I really wore diapers. I let them assume whatever they wanted, and because they never asked me whether I liked wearing diapers, I never told them.

Sometime around the beginning of high school, around age 14 or 15, I entirely stopped wetting my bed. Since I don't know what caused me to wet in the first place, I don't know what caused me to stop. I now think it most likely that it was something physiological — probably my urethral muscles were too weak, and they finally developed when puberty arrived. (Perhaps I should have been kept in diapers until age 14. But I digress.) But I kept on wearing diapers anyway, because it was fun and felt good.

Accidents in middle school

Since the episodes in first or second grade, I hadn't wet my pants during the day at all. But once I got to sixth grade and entered middle school, there was one big difference students had touse their own time to go to the bathroom. I never had time, since Ihad to get my books between classes, and my locker was nowhere near a bathroom. (Carrying books for several classes at once was heavy andmade you look like a nerd.) I know I hated using the middle schoolboys' rooms they were always so crowded, and everybody was always so rude! So I usually had to go pretty badly by the time the lunch bell rang but if I didn't get in the lunch line right away, I'd be way at the end of the line. I'd have to wait forever, and I'd miss waiting with my friends, who always got in line right away.

The result? You got it I couldn't hold it. By the time I got to the front of the line, there was often a wet spot on the front of my pants, and all I could do was hope nobody noticed. The weird thing is, I never got teased for this at all. Nobody even mentioned it tome. As far as I know, nobody ever noticed but that's impossible. The wet spot sometimes got pretty big. I'm thinking that I was probably beyond the "too sissy to pick on" limit (see Ozy And Millie).

The problem must have stopped eventually, but I don't remember when. Maybe my bladder grew enough, or maybe I started toughing it out and going to the bathroom before lunch. I know for certain that I didn't have a problem with this in high school, much to my relief.

Research

I liked to look up information about diapers and infantile things. I guess I'm just very word-fixated. I loved reading my parents' baby books (one was Better Homes and Gardens' Baby Book, andone was Dr. Spock's Baby and Child Care), mostly the parts about diapers. I had an encyclopedia in my room, and the entries onenuresis, hermaphrodites, and sexual disorders (as sexual variations were known in the 1970 edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica that I had in my room) were the ones I found most interesting. I liked to look up the words "diaper" and "incontinent" in dictionaries. There were also references to bedwetting and incontinence in Better Homes and Gardens' Family Medical Guide. Also,once, I stumbled upon the word "infantilism" in my friend Paul's (not his real name) scientific dictionary, although it was defined as the phenomenon in which the sexual characteristics don't develop atpuberty.

Friends and fantasies

I never told any of my friends that I liked to wear diapers, or even that I wet my bed at night, but there's lots of evidence that I longed to talk about such things. They must have suspected that something was strange about me, but they never mentioned it.

I could never discuss anything even vaguely sexual with my friend Paul. It wasn't that he was prudish; he just never ever brought up anything sexual in conversation, and I'm very sensitive towhat people want to talk about. Once when he came over to my house,we were telling jokes or something, and I laughed so hard that I wetmy pants. I didn't want him to see, so I grabbed a dry pair of pants from a drawer, ran to the bathroom, and changed my pants. He must have figured it out, but he didn't say anything.

Also, once I invited Paul over when I was wearing diapers. When I called him on the phone, I had no pants on, just diapers and a T-shirt, and I was sitting on the floor with a blanket over everything from my waist down. For some reason, though, I didn't want to takethe diapers off, and I didn't want to put anything on over them, and before I could make a decision Paul had arrived. It must have been my exhibitionistic streak, bubbling up from somewhere deep down, where it was covered by all this irrational fear of embarrassment. There I was, blanket and all. He suggested a few things we could do, but none of them were things I could do dressed as I was, and there was no way I could think of to get some pants on without his seeing my diaper. Finally, he got tired of suggesting things that I didn't want to do and went home. That never happened again.

I played Dungeons and Dragons a lot, so my friend Tony (also not his real name) and I liked to come up with ideas for adventures, magic spells, magic items, and the like. I used to fantasize about magic belts that turned into diapers and made you incontinent, magic armor that turned into a baby-girl dress that you couldn't remove, andother things like that.

In fact, once I discovered masturbation, I'd lie in bed touching myself and fantasizing. Once I imagined adventurers encountering strange rooms in some underground complex, rooms withwhat looked like beds or benches in them. They weren't beds, though; they were changing tables for the babies of some lost civilization. If our heroes sat down on them, their armor or clothes would be removed by unseen forces and they'd be thoroughly diapered. Each night I'd add to the story. What if the magic of these changing tables were also equipped to take care of the babies' medical needs? What if it decided that these babies were precociously large and strong for their age and introduced chemical changes in their bodies to make them the right size and weaken their muscles? What if the bladder and bowel control muscles were among those weakened? Would they have to stay there, getting their diapers changed? Maybe there was a magical source of food nearby, too, but it only produced babyfood. You can see how the stories developed.

I never told anybody about my fantasies (although my brother found some of my drawings of them once, and showed them to our parents I was mortified, but they never said anything about them), but Tony and I did talk about how we could render incontinent, and therefore embarrass, the characters of people we didn't like. He found my ideas very funny, but he thought my interest in it was excessive and somewhat strange, so I stopped talking about it.

Chris's interest

Once or twice, when I was ten or eleven, I diapered my brother. He liked it; he thought diapers felt good but he didn't wet them. I told him about plastic pants, and he wanted to wear some, but I wouldn't let him wear mine. I hope he never said anything about my diapering him to our parents.

One time, when I was 12 or so, my brother and I were playing cards and eating candy bars. I had diapers on under my pajamas, and for some reason I decided to test him. I knew that, if I put my handon the outside of my diapers for a minute, my hand would smell baby-powdery, like my Pampers. I did that, and asked Chris what my hand smelled like. He immediately said, "Diapers".

Quite a memory he's got, I thought. "No," I said, "that's the smell of the Clover Farm," naming the grocery store where I'd gotten the diapers, but where we had also gotten the candy bars we were eating. "It's on these candy-bar wrappers. The store smells like diapers, though, since they're the strongest-smelling thing they sell." My, was I clever. He seemed to accept this, and we kept playing cards.

Some friends of the family came over one night to visit, and one of their kids found my diapers under my bed. Once again, I lied my way out of it, saying they were my brother's. "Oh, for when he's bad," said the visiting kid.

"Yeah, for when he's bad," said I. The subject was dropped.

Years later, when my parents were driving us around Iowa so I could visit colleges I was looking at, they somehow got to talking about diapers, and Chris spoke up, saying that there were diapers that could be used over and over. I knew he was talking about plastic pants and tried to correct him in whispers, but my mother told us, "Let's talk about something else." Once again, my parents had decided not to talk about it.

Kelly the babysitter

Before my parents considered me old enough to take care of Chris by myself, they often paid the older girl next door, Kelly (again, not her real name), to come over and watch us when they went out. One night, she sent us upstairs and told us to get ready for bed. Chris and I went up and put our pajamas on, but in my room I also put on diapers underneath.

I don't remember whether I told him or whether he found out on his own, but Chris told Kelly that I had diapers on. One might suspect that killing him might be the first idea to come to my mind, but I was mostly concerned with escaping before she could discover the truth firsthand. As I ran up the stairs I heard her say, "Let me see." I got into my room and managed to get the diapers off and hidden before she was close enough to look. I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been so fast.

Discoveries and paranoia

As I said, sometimes my parents discovered my diapers. However, much of the time I only thought they had discovered my diapers. If you're reading this, you have probably noticed that my parents often chose to say nothing about my diaper wearing. Well, after I'd worked my way partly through a typical box of a dozen diapers, the fear that they'd found out began to grow. I'd lie in bed at night and worry that they were downstairs deciding what to do about me, calling doctors, talking to my teachers at school, and so on. Sometimes I'd get so paranoid that I'd throw all my diapers and plastic pants away.

Other than the ones I've mentioned already, I made a few mistakes with my diapers. Once I got the blotter on my desk wet while changing my diapers, and then spilled baby powder on it. I couldn'tget rid of the white spots, but since it was a calendar blotter, I threw it away after the month was over. They must have thought I'd spilled white-out or something. Urine from some too-wet diapers got spilled on the carpet a few times, and once on some photographs for aschool project. (They cleaned off easily, thank Kodak.)

Computer games

I should briefly mention that I adapted certain computer games, some of which I wrote myself and some of which I got copies of, to have infantilistic themes. For example, I altered an adventure game so that you could drink from a pool (which occasionally transformed you into a dwarf or elf, or changed your sex) and become a baby. (My favorite thing to be turned into was a baby female elf.) While you were a baby, you might at any time wet your diapers, so you would have to find new diapers, which were located here and there throughout the dungeon. I arranged things so that it was impossible to finish the game if your diapers were wet.

I also wrote a game in which you had been turned into a baby by an evil spell, and you were supposed to find a counterspell in a wizard's cavern. One of the rooms was a nursery, where you could get a diaper change, but if you stayed too long you lost your will to grow up and stayed a baby forever. If your diapers became wet while you roamed around the cavern, you had to hurry to the nursery, or you ran the risk of diaper rash. If you had diaper rash, you stayed where you were and cried until the nurse came and got you. To cure diaper rash, you had to stay in the nursery for several turns, but you ran the risk of becoming a baby permanently.

Finally, I wrote a game that allowed you to be a baby in our house, letting you roam around at will and calculating when you were hungry, and when you wet and messed your diapers. This game got accidentally erased, because at the time I only had a tape recorder to save programs on, and I couldn't recover the program after it was saved. Regardless of difficulties, I wrote these programs far more often than I actually wore diapers, because there was no danger of my parents finding out. (They never did figure my computer out.) Sometimes the software development was interrupted when I got a little too excited (started masturbating).

Oh, as an answer to a frequently-asked question, I don't have any of these games anymore. After my Commodore 64 finally died, right around the time I got married, I erased all my disks with a big magnet and later gave them away.

The vacation

Right before my family took a vacation to Oregon, I bought a big bag of generic diapers. Proctor and Gamble had started putting elastic in the legs of Pampers, probably because Huggies had come along, but generic diapers were still the old featureless folded rectangles, so I could tape four of them together into one big diaper, which fit me nicely. But by the time the vacation rolled around, I hadn't used all my diapers up, so I just had to hide them in a box in my closet. Then my parents sprung a surprise on me — our next-door neighbor had volunteered to check the house every once in a while to make sure nobody stole anything! This meant that he'd be looking around and making sure everything was still there.

Throughout the vacation, I kept worrying that he'd found the diapers in the closet! I could think of nothing else at first, but later I told myself that I wasn't going to enjoy the vacation if I kept worrying. Finally, I calmed myself with the thought that he was probably just looking at the stereo, the microwave, the TV, and things like that, to make sure they were still there. Thinking about it still made me nervous, but at least I wasn't thinking about it all the time.

The morning after we got home, I got up early, put the diapers in a brown paper bag, and put them in a trash can at the park. I didn't buy diapers again until after I graduated from high school.

Throwing in the towel

Of course, just because I had no diapers, that didn't mean that I didn't want to wear diapers anymore. Later on, I found an old, raggedy towel in the linen closet and figured that nobody would want to use it, especially since it wasn't part of a set. I borrowed it and a few safety pins and folded myself a diaper, just like I'd read in the baby books. Knowledge is power. Either I still had some plastic pants or I bought some, so I put those on over it, and it felt great the thickest diaper I'd ever put on! I could only wet my "diapers" when I knew everybody'd be gone so I could wash the towel, but it was still fun. One New Year's Eve, I wore my towel diaper for the last time and resolved to stop wearing diapers. (You know and I know, that resolution got broken.) It was my "last chance," so I wet the towel, and put it under my mattress until I could wash it. This wasn't a really great idea, I found out. Although my mattress had a vinyl cover on it, the wooden support underneath soaked up the urine from the diaper. I finally got the chance to take the towel out and wash it, but you could smell the urine for years afterwards, if you lifted up the mattress, and if you knew where the place was.

College Uncertainties

As I said, I broke my New Year's resolution, but not until after I'd graduated from high school. I became interested in girls, and was sort of going out with a girl who was in some of my classes for my last two years of high school, so that relationship was something else to think about. That was a relief, since I'd been wondering whether something was wrong with me in the sexuality department, with all these diaper desires (when I masturbated, I didn't think of girls or women, but of fantastic and magical ways that I could be turned into a baby or put back into diapers). I still wanted to wear diapers, but it became less important, because I liked feeling "normal" and "fitting in" with everybody else.

Mostly diaperless

I went to college right out of high school, and stayed diaperless two years into it. I kept on fantasizing about diapers, but couldn't do anything about it, because I had a roommate. But when I was a sophomore, my dad went on sabbatical, and the family rented a cottage on the East Coast. They planned to be there for around six months, from spring on into the summer. That meant that when I went home for the summer, I'd have the house to myself for nearly two months.

The summer alone

When the spring semester ended, I came home to an empty house. I was working during the day, but I had the house to myself, with no fears of being discovered or even disturbed. I went to all the stores in town, quietly I hoped, and bought anything I thought I could use. I bought diapers (Huggies, with the tapes extended with reinforced packing tape this time), plastic pants (they fit, but the fit was tighter than ever), bottles, pacifiers, bibs, and even a bonnet. Every night, I put diapers on and told myself to wake up wet, and every morning, I'd wake up dry and wet my diapers on purpose, just like I had when I was in high school. The wet diapers felt as great as they always had, though I'd rather have wet them in my sleep. I checked out books on self-hypnosis from the library, trying to get myself to wet my diapers at night, but that didn't work. It was great to be back in diapers, though, and I loved that summer.

About halfway through the summer, the old paranoia came back for a visit, and my diaper desires fled. I was afraid people saw me through the windows of the house. It's irrational, I know, because even if people were looking in the windows, it would have been pretty hard for them to see me clearly, and I had been pretty careful to keep the curtains closed anyway. Still, I threw everything out, silly me, and lived "normally" for about a week.

The paranoia subsided then, as I noticed no change in anyone's behavior toward me, and my desire to wear diapers came surging back. This time, I tried some Depends briefs, which had just appeared in stores. It was great, having diapers that fit me but they were green, and that turned me off a little. Also, I had bought them a size too large, so they were pretty loose. Still, they were great. I used a whole box (yes, they still came in boxes) of Pampers and eight Depends during the evenings and nights. By the time my parents and my brother got back, I had used everything up, leaving no evidence whatsoever that I had done anything unusual while they had been gone.

A little knowledge

Until then, I had no idea that anybody else liked to wear diapers. I thought I was some kind of psychosexual freak, until I got an indication that I wasn't alone.

I was a computer network fanatic in undergraduate school (and remain one to this day), so I got hold of one of the famous "Purity Tests" from a friend. The tests are merely lists of questions, the "Have you ever..." sort, designed to discover how sexually "pure" you are. One of the questions asked, "Have you ever engaged in infantilism (derivation of sexual pleasure from wearing diapers and/or baby clothes)?" Immediately I knew that I wasn't the only one, for why would there be a name for it if it was completely unheard of? I still had no idea how to find any of the other diaper-wearers that must be out there, but this was something, at least.

By the way, I came out to be about 92% pure. Sad.

During my senior year I met the woman I would later marry. Once the relationship looked like it was getting serious, I told myself that I'd have to tell her about my diapers, because I wanted her to make a fully informed decision. I had no idea how to tell her, though. As it turned out, I went as far as telling her that I had some unusual sexual desires, and she pestered me until I told her the rest. She asked a few questions, but seemed to accept it. Recently she told me that, at the time, she had thought that these were desires that would go away once we were married, although she now knew how ignorant she had been.

One final fling

Although I never wore any diapers while I was at college, because I always had a roommate, I still walked through grocery stores and department stores when I was out alone, looking at the baby and incontinent sections. I was at a mall one day during my senior year, and in a drug store I saw something interesting. A company had sprung up to sell special underclothes for incontinent people (Tranquility). From the illustrations on the box, they looked like grown-up plastic pants, and they came with three insertable absorbent pads. I quietly bought them and went out into the mall.

I went to the restroom and sat down in a stall with the intent to put my new incontinent pants on. However, upon opening the box, I found that they weren't plastic pants at all just kind of a stretch material, with a rubber panel sewn into the crotch. I'm going to get my money's worth anyhow, I thought, and put in one of the pads. After waiting until nobody else was in the bathroom, I changed my underwear for these new pants and went back out into the mall.

Nobody noticed, of course, since these pants were designed not to be noticeable. I took them back to my dorm room and hid them in a box, and went through the three pads in about as many days. One time when I had the pants on under my clothes, my roommate Al (not his realname either) and his friend came in. Al couldn't go to dinner, and his friend asked me if I'd eaten yet. I saw no way out of it, so I wound up going to dinner with my roommate's friend, with my (fortunately dry) absorbent pants on.

Onward

I went on to graduate school immediately after college, and got a room in the graduate dorm. Later, I moved to a single room, so I had plenty of time to explore my diaper desires. My fianc‚e, who is now my wife, didn't mind me exercising my infantilism by myself, but she would not (and still will not) participate.

Quality time

First I had a double room in the graduate dorm, but until my roommate arrived, I had the room to myself. (Even after he arrived, he was frequently gone until late evening.) So I bought some Depends at the drug store (the right size this time) and lived it up. They fit perfectly, and the elastic in the waist was terrific. I bought other baby things, like a pacifier and some plastic pants, but the pants wouldn't fit this time, even though I tried the largest size of two different brands.

I was creative; I bought a package of cloth diapers and sewed four of them together, but I'm not great at sewing, so the resulting big diaper wasn't very sturdy, and the seams started coming undone. I also tried buying a baby's velcro-fastening diaper and extending the velcro with some elastic from an old pair of underwear, but it wound up looking like a Depends undergarment, and I wanted to be surrounded by absorbency.

When I moved to a single room later, I finally felt like I had real privacy. I tried Attends briefs, which are great, and Attends undergarments, which aren't so great. I also tried the old Curity briefs, but the ones I got were kind of small. I tried Suretys briefs a while later, and they're pretty good. I found Entrust Plus briefs, which aren't very thick in the crotch (but they're quiet and undetectable under clothes), at a Wal-Mart. Most of these adult incontinence briefs have adhesive tapes, as well as a feature that's starting to appear on diapers for babies wetness indicators. Yellow stripes on the briefs turn blue when they get wet. I find that exciting, since someone watching me would be able to tell at a glance if I wet my diapers. However, they turn blue from sweat, too, if the diapers stay on long enough.

I still had a problem, though I didn't have any plastic pants that would fit me. I tried cutting apart some of my baby-sized plastic pants and sewing them together. When I was done, I had a pair of plastic pants that fit, but I was afraid to use them, because the seams might leak or come undone.

For the first time in my life, I didn't feel that I had to throw away all my baby supplies each time the mood left me. I just set aside certain boxes for them, and put them under my bed or in my closet. In fact, I didn't feel the old paranoia either, especially once I was in a single room. I resolved never again to throw everything away as I had in the past.

The asb connection

I was still a computer-network fanatic, and I found a worldwide discussion group about bondage (the "alt.sex.bondage" newsgroup on Usenet). After a while, it became possible to speak anonymously on this discussion group, so nobody would know even where a given person was posting from. I was finally able to tell everybody that I found bondage interesting, and that I was interested in infantilism, without anybody knowing my real name. Now I've lost enough of my fear that I can post under my real name.

I asked whether anybody else was interested in infantilism, and got a few responses. One of them told me about the order-by-phone incontinence supplies that were in Sears' home health care catalog; I ordered some pretty good things from there. Also, another of them, a man who went by the handle "North Man," told me about an organization for infantilists called DPF, which stood for Diaper Pail Fraternity. He gave me the address, and I wrote for information. Meanwhile, I had some very enlightening conversations by electronic mail. I discovered that these were other, real people who liked diapers too, and that their life experiences were quite similar to mine. This was a big step in helping me feel good about myself: as one of my correspondents put it, I was not a freak I was making a valid sexual choice.

The DPF connection

When the information came from DPF, I could hardly believe my eyes. Here were things I'd wished existed, but I hadn't thought they actually did. DPF had adult-size diapers, plastic pants, baby clothes, and other baby paraphernalia for sale. With stories about infantilism, informational publications, videos, and even hypnotic tapes to help people lose control if they wanted to, DPF was definitely the way to go. I joined right away, and ordered a diaper, plastic pants, and a pacifier, all intended for someone my size.

When it came, the pacifier had kind of a funny shape that didn't fit my mouth well, but the diaper and plastic pants definitely lived up to every expectation. I put them on right away, fastening the diaper with my pink diaper pins (why doesn't anybody make those in a large size?) and pulling the plastic pants on over it. "At last!" I seemed to say to myself.

Later on, I tried some of DPF's hypnotic tapes, trying to make myself lose all control over my bladder and bowels, but only when I had diapers on. They didn't work at all, as far as I can tell, and I stopped using them when I got married.

Other computer connections

"North Man" also told me about a computer bulletin board that was devoted to transvestism and infantilism. The T&B BBS, as it was called, proved to be another godsend, allowing uninhibited conversation among infantilists (inhibited, that is, by nothing but the long-distance phone bills). The stories and pictures available from the BBS were difficult to download, because my computer wasn't very compatible, but I managed, and I enjoyed nearly every word and pixel. These were certainly people who liked the same sorts of things that I liked!

A newsgroup has recently been created on Usenet for the discussion of diaper fetishes and infantilism. It's called "alt.sex.fetish.diapers." The real discussion is hard to find with all the advertisements and personal ads, but I try to welcome anybody new who arrives in the friendliest way I can.

An incident at K-Mart

I bought a diaper pail and a diaper bag at a K-Mart, in a town far from where I went to school. The checker asked, "When's the baby due?"

"Not for a while yet," I answered. Maybe I could pull this off without embarrassing myself.

"Oh, planning ahead? Is your wife in the hospital yet?"

"No, not yet," I said as I paid, being evasive without lying. I once read a science fiction book about a guy who had the psychic ability to make people lose interest in him, effectively giving him the power of invisibility. (In case you're interested, it's A Gift from Earth, by Larry Niven.) Sometimes it seems like I must have this same ability, because people often stop pursuing questions at just the right time. Whether this is really possible or not, the checker did lose interest in questioning me and moved on to the next customer. I still felt a bit embarrassed, though.

Marriage and counseling

Once I got married, I had to deal with the fact that infantilism upsets my wife greatly, since she was sexually abused as a very young child. She has been through a lot of therapy, and the fact that I wouldn't even consider the possibility that I had a problem angered her greatly. So, I decided to consider the possibility that my infantilism was a problem, and we went together to the university's student counseling center.

The counselor listened to us both, and told my wife that she could probably use more counseling for her childhood sexual abuse, as well as for her attempted rapes. He told me that counseling might be able to help me discover where my infantilism comes from, and he suggested that we both get counseling, separately but simultaneously. We've both been able to go to counseling since then, but not at the same time.

My counselor listened to me and told me that I didn't have aproblem, as long as I could choose when to indulge in my infantilism and when not to. As long as I controlled it, instead of it controlling me, he said, I was fine. He suggested that I try journaling — writing down the infantile activities that I want to do, and the thoughts and feelings that I have when I do them. That is what I've been doing, and this history is part of that.

Conclusions

It seems possible to me that, when I wear diapers, I am trying to recapture not my infancy, but my later childhood, when I wore my brother's plastic pants and was diapered once for wetting the bed. I say that because disposable diapers are more exciting to me than cloth diapers, but I wore cloth diapers when I was a baby (as my parents once told me).

Another possibility is that I actually am trying to recapture my infancy. When I was nearly five years old, my little brother was born, and suddenly part of my mother's attention went away. Then, when I was six, my mother died, and all her attention went away. I can't remember whether I started putting on my brother's plastic pants before or after she died, but I might have seen them as a symbol for being taken care of by my mother. Perhaps I first wore them because they made me feel taken care of, then discovered they felt good, and I began to associate plastic pants and diapers with pleasure.

Also, I frequently ignore things that I have to do in favor of things that I want to do. This could be called procrastination, or laziness, but I call it irresponsibility, and it's caused me many problems. I just want to let go and not have to worry about anything for a little while, and then the little while becomes a long while. Wetting or messing in diapers is another form of irresponsibility, and I believe they may be connected.

I have continued to update this history as time has passed, and as I have discovered more about myself. This document was last updated in December, 1999. Anybody reading this, I hope you have found it enjoyable, or at least interesting.