First post

Hey there.

I'm guessing you found your way here because you wear diapers too. If that's true, my guess is that you know how diaper sites can be. I've been trying for a while to keep an ongoing diaper journal where I can put my thoughts on this kind of thing out there and connect with other people who are into diapers too. Well, the first part was pretty easy. I started blogging my diaper experiences on Xanga just about the time I started having them, which is to say as soon as I moved out of my parents' house. Unfortunately, I found out pretty soon that Xanga's dwindling population did not include too many diaper wearers. Mostly these days I get hits from Google image search when people are looking for diaper stuff to jerk off to. It's been a little disheartening. I got a DiaperSpace and tried copying my new posts as entries in my blog there too, but it's been sort of hard to make friends or even get noticed. That site mostly seems like it's for impersonal hook-ups. All I ever get are messages from older guys saying things like "hEY ur cute!1!", which in all honesty I guess I was kind of asking for when I came up with that name three years ago. I suppose I might be tempting fate by sticking with a stupid handle like "Cute diaper boy" for this new blog, but I would kind of like to feel like I'm rebooting my old blog here rather than just giving up and starting a new one.

So basically I have been kind of trying to involve myself a little on the forums at DailyDiapers. I'd been noticing there recently that blogger has a little bit of a diaper community, and it seemed to be active, so I've decided to give it a try too. So here goes.

The best place to start is probably with this big post I did a little while back. It's sort of a personal history of what it has been like growing up with these kind of feelings and all that. It covers basically every meaningful memory I can think of which could help tell the story of me wetting my pants and wanting to wear diapers. From here on out I'm going to do all new posts though. I want to get all my recent thoughts on diapers out there too so I can have a place to deal with whatever I'm thinking or feeling today instead of dwelling on all this stuff from my childhood. Anyway, this is how I got started ...

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My mother tells me that I was potty-trained before I could walk. She has recounted to me numerous times how amazing it was to see me crawl to my baby potty at the age of two. She usually would follow up this kind of story by saying how much I loved to “use the big boy potty.” It was always embarrassing to hear her talk about this, especially because, secretly, I knew that the last part wasn't true. I far back as I can remember, I have wanted to wear diapers.

The first specific time I can remember wanting to be diapered was when I was about three. It's one of my earliest memories: I was playing in the playroom my parents had set up for me, when I realized I needed to go to the bathroom. I was enjoying myself, so I put it off as long as possible. After a while, I realized that I was either going to have to go use the potty or wet myself. I really wanted to just let go and keep playing, but I realized that my parents would scold me and tell me what a big boy I had become and how I couldn't just wet myself anymore now that I was in big boy underwear instead of diapers. As I thought about this, I also realized that I would much rather be in diapers, and considered telling my parents. I knew that they would be mad at me if I told them this though, since they made such a big deal of me using the potty like a big boy and wearing real underwear. In the end, I begrudgingly stopped my playing and went to the bathroom, but only because I was afraid that I would be in trouble if I didn't.

The desire to wet myself and wear diapers didn't go away as I got older. When I was old enough to go to preschool, there was an incident where a boy whom I didn't like wanted to play with me at recess: I told him he could be my friend if he let me watch him pee his pants. He did it, but I still didn't play with him ... I was afraid I would get in trouble for wanting to see him wet himself. Instead, I ran away. He started to cry. The teacher got mad. My parents were called. In short, the message came through pretty clearly that wetting one's pants was not the kind of behavior that was to be encouraged.

It was also around this time that my mother gave birth to my little sister, the first of four younger siblings. I remember noting that she was not so quick to start using the potty as me. She wore diapers until she was nearly four. There was one incident when she was small, not much more than a year old, when my father was changing her diaper and asked me out of the blue whether I would like to “try one.” I was immediately apprehensive; could he somehow have found me out? The temptation was too great to resist though, so despite the inherent discomfort in having my father present, and moreover, in having him be the one diapering me, I said yes. I laid on the changing table and he put one on me. He asked me how it felt. I don't think I answered him, unless I gave him a non-committal sort of “I don't know.” He lifted me off the changing table, and I stood there beside it, feeling very exposed to be secretly living out my wish of being back in diapers right in front of him. I didn't want him to think I was enjoying it ... not that I could enjoy it much when I was so worried that my most secret desires were about to be discovered. It was also very confusing to be receiving such mixed messages from my parents, with my mother bent on seeing me use the potty “like a big boy should,” and my father inviting me to wear diapers. After a minute or so I told him I was done and asked him to take my diaper off. He seemed disappointed and asked me, “Don't you want to run around in it for a little while?” I told him no, and he took it off.

Afterward, I thought a lot about whether I had made the right decision. I wasn't sure what my mother's reaction would have been if she had seen me wearing a diaper around the house, but it seemed like I would be safe from reproach since it had been my father's idea in the first place. I considered the fact that my father had probably been planning on letting me wear my diaper until I needed to be changed, and that I had missed a one time opportunity to not only wear a diaper again but to use one instead of the potty. Remembering the incident years later, I noted with regret that I was about the same age then as my sister had been when she was just beginning to use the potty. My father at least would probably have considered it perfectly acceptable for me to be diapered at that age, if only I had told him that day that I was really enjoying being diapered and wanted to start wearing them again. I also remember thinking about this kind of thing later on while I was at my cousins' house: I had two girl cousins only a few years younger than me who both wore Pull-Ups day and night until they were about six, maybe older. In any case, I didn't have the courage to tell my father the truth. I guess the best way to sum up my feelings at the time was that I was afraid my mother would think less of me. Being a big boy was, according to her, inextricably tied to using the potty, and I didn't want to disappoint her by seeming like I hadn't been up to the task after all.

So, at the age of about four, I decided that I would keep my desire to wear diapers to myself. I used the potty constantly to avoid being caught in a position where I couldn't make it in time, and made a point of informing my mother whenever I was going to do so. I don't think I went without telling an adult until I was at about eight. I also made sure to go every night before bed to avoid nighttime accidents, but even so, I do recall wetting the bed sometimes when I was in preschool. I didn't have it nearly as bad as some kids do, though ... at least at night. Actually, I had a much harder time staying dry in the daytime because I have always had a problem with wetting myself when I laugh really hard. I can remember being over at a friends house once when I was about five ... I laughed so hard that my bladder completely emptied. Sometimes when it happened it was just a little and I could hide it, but this was a major accident and it was obvious what had happened. My friend was shocked and told me he couldn't believe I had just completely wet myself like that. I had to go tell his mom so she could give me a change of clothes.

It happened all the time ... in fact, after I got past the age where people expected me to wet myself if I wasn't reminded to go potty on a regular basis, it got worse. I did it at least once every few weeks until I was about thirteen, but I was always pretty discreet about it. I kind of wish I had told my mom when it happened though - it was frequent enough to where I really should have been in training pants instead of real underwear until about seventh or eighth grade. Occasionally I would go though a bad spell where I was wetting more frequently. It didn't happen very often, but when it did I would sometimes wet more than once in a single day. I really wished for diapers then. I had a pair of soccer shorts that I would change into on days like that, made of a sort of shiny blue material that was basically like plastic, so it wouldn't show through even if my underwear was really wet from multiple accidents. After I had wet, I would go change into a dry pair of underwear and put the soccer shorts back on. Cotton underwear could absorb a small wetting, especially if my bladder had already emptied once and I was just having a lot of little accidents, but it was never really enough. There was one time when it got so bad I tried making a pad out of toilet paper. It mostly just dissolved though.

So, I was wearing plastic pants with absorbent cotton underneath which I could change when it go too wet ... basically, I was diapering myself, but without the benefit of the security diapers offered. Whenever a commercial came on for Pull-Ups, expounding how even "big kids" could wear diapers, I would get really envious. I even went so far as to ask my mom if she thought it would be a good idea to get some for my second little sister, who was potty-training at the time, in hopes that I might be able to sneak one. Of course, she said no. She was in a rush to get everyone out of diapers. None of my siblings ever wore Pull-Ups.

Every pair of underwear I had was at least a little stained, and I was always pretty afraid that my mother would decide I needed to go back into diapers. I can remember being so sure that she would suggest it that I would lie in bed at night and kind of measure with my hands to try to decide whether or not I would still fit into a diaper. I gave this up when I found out at about the age of seven that they made diapers for adults too. With this knowledge came the realization that avoiding going back into diapers wasn't just a matter of growing too big for them. I was going to have to keep my secret as long as I lived with my parents. If they found out that I needed them, I would have no choice but to wear them. There was one incident when I was getting over a bout of diarrhea and completely pooped my pants while I was playing in the yard outside. I was about nine. I was sure I was going to be put back in diapers then ... but somehow I managed to wash my underwear out in the bathtub and hide it behind my dresser. That was my hiding place for whenever I had an accident, that and sometimes the closet next to it. I would keep them there until I could sneak them into the wash. In hindsight, my mother probably knew exactly how often I wet myself since she was the one doing laundry, but by the time I was ten years old I had four younger siblings and she was not about to deal with having me in diapers again. Neither of us ever mentioned it.

There was something that happened when I was about eleven that made me pretty sure that she knew. My mother, my four siblings, and I were driving in the family mini-van to pick up my dad from work because his car was in the shop. He worked at a big office building way out in the middle of nowhere. Because we didn't usually go to pick him up, I didn't realize how far away his office really was. About halfway there, I began to feel the need to go to the bathroom. I kept it to myself at first, thinking that I could just go when we got to the office. The drive was long though, and after a while I realized that I might not make it. “Mom,” I said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Wait until we get to the office,” she replied.

“Could we just pull over at a gas station?” I asked. “I have to go really bad.”

“No,” she said. “You're going to have to hold it.”

“I don't think I can,” I told her. At this point, my mother got a little exasperated with me.

“Why don't you just go in your pants? We'll get you cleaned up later.”

I was shocked. Was having me wet myself such a routine event for my mother that my mother didn't think it was even worth it to take me to the bathroom? This was the kind of thing you said to a child just beginning potty-training when you've put them in a diaper for a long road trip. Was that how little my mother regarded my ability to stay dry? If so, why wasn't I in a diaper right now? It would make more sense than just letting me go in my pants when a toilet wasn't convenient. In any case, I wasn't about to openly give up and wet myself in front of my mother and all my siblings. I had to hold it now, or else I really would look like I needed to be in diapers.

I struggled and held it the whole way to the office building. Once I got inside, I had to ask the guard to direct me to the bathroom. I ran the whole way. When I finally got there, I nearly wet myself in the stall trying to get my pants undone. I made it though.

When I came out with my dad, my mother turned around from the drivers seat and asked, “Did you make it?” I was so embarrassed to have to be checked that way in front of my whole family.

“Of course,” I said, acting as if there had never been any doubt.

Despite the relative impossibility of hiding my wetting from my mother, it was surprisingly easy to hide it from anyone who wasn't doing my laundry. I would just pretend like nothing had happened. It is amazing how little attention people pay to the state of your crotch. I would just hurry and change into fresh clothes if I was at home, and if I was at school I would be spending most of my time sitting at my desk anyway, so no one would see until pants had dried at least a little. If it was really bad or I was at a friend's house where someone was sure to notice, I would spill a glass of water on myself and use that as an excuse. After that first humiliating time at my friend's house, I made a point of not being caught. There are only a few times when I was really caught, and even those were sort of ambiguous- when I was cornered on it I managed to keep it pretty quiet and avoid humiliation in front of my siblings. The biggest ones were bedwettings. As I said before, I didn't wet the bed very often, but when I did it was hard to cover up. Losing control in my sleep usually meant losing control completely- I've never been able to stop going once I've started, and even if I woke up my bladder would just keep emptying. There wasn't a thing I could do about it.

The closest call I can ever remember having was actually in my parent's bed. I was eight years old. I can't remember what my reason for being there was ... just bad luck I guess. What was lucky though was that it was winter time; I was wearing underwear, thick pajamas, and was even wrapped up in my favorite blanket. It was early morning. The sun was just coming up and I was lying there half-awake. As I was lying there, I gradually became aware of a slight need to go to the bathroom. I lay there growing more aware of it, and then suddenly I was just going in my pants. There wasn't even a feeling of desperation or the sensation that if I didn't go soon I would wet the bed. There was just no filter between feeling the need to go and realizing that I was wetting myself. It was a total loss of control. I remember feeling it happening and not realizing what was going on until I had finished. It was pretty shocking to have no warning like that, even if I was just beginning to wake up.

Like I said, it was lucky that I was so bundled up. Once I realized what had happened, I got up as silently as I could and inspected the sheets. They were dry; my clothes and blanket had absorbed it all. I sneaked down the hallway to the laundry chute and dropped my wet clothes and blanket down, praying that they might dry by the time my mother came to do the laundry. I would conclude later that they must have, since she didn't say anything about it. Looking back though, she would have immediately suspected my totally uncharacteristic behavior of putting all my sleep things in the wash without being asked and figured out what was going on. She just didn't say anything.

My second most memorable brush with being found out was when I was about sixteen. It was on a Saturday morning. I couldn't believe it- I just woke up and realized that I was wetting the bed, but like I said, it's hard for me to stop when I'm in the middle of going. I just kind of watched in panic as the wet spot spread. It was a full bladder wetting too- the mattress was completely soaked. I hadn't had a really major accident like this in years, and I had hardly ever wet the bed when I was younger ... the last time was that close call in my parents bed at the age of eight, and even that wasn't as bad as this! I figured that since I didn't have to go to school I could take care of it before my mom would have a chance to discover what had happened. I changed out of my wet underwear and made myself conspicuous as I brewed some tea. I almost never drank tea then, and my mother was a little surprised that I was suddenly so interested. I went upstairs to my room, poured the tea over my wet spot, and then used Lysol to cover the smell. I went back down to tell my mother I had spilled the tea. She was pretty exasperated with me and told me not to bother her and that she would wash the sheets later. When I informed her not to worry about it, and that I had already cleaned it up, she was really surprised and wanted to know what I had used. I told her that I had used the Lysol from the upstairs bathroom. I think this is the point at which she really figured out what was going on, because she went up to my room to investigate. When she got there, she smelled the wet spot, looked at the Lysol, and asked me why I had used an air freshener. I tried to act surprised and pretend that I had thought it would keep the bed from being stained, but it was clear she knew what had happened. She didn't say anything more about it though, since I had already done what I could to clean up the mess. I'm sure she must have noticed the obviously peed-in underwear in the wash too. All she really did was give me a funny look of disbelief that I was still wetting the bed at sixteen.

The last time I was caught was only a few months after that. My mother was going through a walk-in closet attached to the upstairs bathroom where we stored old clothes which had gotten too small and things like that. She was moving boxes around, cleaning the place out and trying to figure out if some of this stuff would fit the younger kids, when she made a discovery. Besides the hiding places in my closet and behind the dresser, I had had a third one which I used sometimes when I couldn't risk being seen coming down the hallway with a pair of wet underwear in my hand. That hiding place was the bathroom storage closet. As she was looking through the old boxes and things, she found several heavily stained pairs of underwear crammed underneath which had been sitting there unwashed for years.

My mother grabbed the soiled underwear and came to door to my room holding them. I knew immediately what had happened and was definitely embarrassed, but the intervening years between the wetting and the discovery softened the blow a little. It didn't help that I had wet the bed not too long ago, though. In any case, whatever she may have been thinking, she kept it short and sharp and didn't really let me get a word in edgewise to make excuses.

"I found these hidden in the closet. If you wet your pants, I want to know about it. I want you to tell me, got it?"

I just sat there and said "Okay." She left without another word to go put them in for a long overdue wash.

I knew then that she wasn't really mad at me for wetting my pants. She was mad that I had hidden it so she would have to find dirty, stained underwear years down the line. I understood this, and had said "okay," but I can say with certainty that I had no intention of telling her the next time it happened, especially because I was sixteen. Remembering her words now, I am filled with regret for the fact that I suffered so quietly with my embarrassing weakness for so long.

Now, if I had been honest with her from the beginning and let her know every time I had had an accident, there is no question that I would have been wearing Pull-Ups full time until I stopped needing them in middle school. I understand now that my mother wouldn't have told anyone who didn't need to know, and that even though my siblings would have found out other one way or another, neither would they. It would definitely have been embarrassing for my younger siblings to know that their older bother still wore training pants for protection, but we were generally pretty kind to each other and I seriously doubt it would have been a very big deal. One note from my mother explaining my wetting situation to my teacher at the beginning of each new school year would have excused me to the nurse whenever I needed a fresh diaper. I never would have had to remain seated to hide my wet spot from the class, or fake those water spills, or be afraid to watch funny movies around my friends. Hiding Pull-Ups would have been a lot easier than hiding wet pants.

In any case, my teenage bedwetting incident and my mother's discovery of my old underwear were the last times I had any major embarrassment from wetting. I haven't had too many real accidents since then, though I've always had a bit of a problem leaving a wet spot on my pants or underwear from small leaks after I've finished using the bathroom. Mostly I just learned that I need to wait a little while and make absolutely sure that everything is out. I do still leak a little sometimes when I laugh, if the joke is really funny and I haven't gone recently. All in all though, I found myself starting to outgrow any major wetting problems by the time I left middle school. As I got older, I found that I didn't really need the diapers anymore so much as want them.

The truth was that as I gained better control, I found myself thinking about diapers more often, not less ... especially when I masturbated. You see, I had been playing-out diaper scenarios in my head for just about as long as I had wanted to wear diapers. As I would lie in bed at night, holding up my hands to see how wide my waist was and trying to decide if I could still fit into diapers, I would imagine little stories in which I, my classmates, or even invented characters were put back into diapers as I feared (or sometimes fantasized) that I would be. Before very long, I discovered that touching myself during these imaginings made them somehow more real and satisfying. When I began doing this, I was extremely young, probably about four years old. My first masturbatory aid was a book my mother had read me in order to reinforce my potty-training, Once Upon A Potty.

"You loved that book," my mother would later tell me. She had no idea.

I knew from the start that I was too old for the book. I had been potty-trained since I could remember. As I realized that letting my parents see me looking at it so much might give my longing for diapers away, I started hiding Once Upon A Potty behind a larger look-and-find sort of book. I would dwell on the images of Joshua, the boy in the story, wearing diapers and not being able to make it to the potty. Though he was, of course, successfully potty-trained by the end of the book, I would imagine a different ending where he was able to continue wearing diapers. By the time I had reached puberty and it was time for my sexuality to really begin to awaken, I had already been masturbating while thinking about diapers and wetting accidents my whole life.

So, when I was about thirteen and I stopped having so many real accidents, I started wetting myself deliberately. At first I started doing it whenever I was at the pool. With a wet swimsuit on, no one could tell, even if I was wetting myself right in front of them. It was the next best thing to wearing diapers.

About this time, I went to summer camp with the Boy Scouts for the first time. The outhouses were, needless to say, something that most Scouts avoided at all costs. A lot of them would just go to the edge of the woods and pee by a tree. Unfortunately, I had never been able to make myself go while I was standing up-- not on purpose anyway. I could sometimes manage it in a pinch if it was a real emergency and there was no other option, but even then it was uncomfortable and took forever, especially if there was anyone else anywhere nearby. Basically, I couldn't do it.

However, there was a pool there, and it was so hot most of the time that a lot of the scouts didn't do much else but swim; one could spend all day at the pool. Because of this, it wasn't uncommon for some scouts to wear their swimsuits all day so that they could go from merit badge classes to the pool without having to hike back to camp to change. The result of this situation was that I seldom visited the outhouse for anything but bowel movements ... I was pretty much wetting my pants at every opportunity for the whole two weeks I was there. Having already mastered hiding the evidence, it wasn't difficult at all to just rinse off in the pool or its showers whenever I had wet. I would soap up meticulously when I did shower (which was often) to make sure I wouldn't get caught by smelling like I had been wetting my pants all day. All in all, it was probably more hygienic than using the outhouse anyway ... they were pretty bad.

After camp, I regretfully went back to using the toilet full time. I was a little afraid that I would have difficulty reclaiming full (or in my case, nearly-full) bladder control, but it was as easy as just deciding to start using the bathroom again. This came as both a relief and a disappointment; on one hand, I had been relieved when my real accidents had started to slow down, and what thirteen-year-old wants to have his parents find out he has suddenly un-potty-trained himself? On the other hand, wetting myself full time had been exactly as liberating as I had imagined it would be. How could I give it up now?

What happened was that I decided to compromise. I was obviously too old now to start wetting my pants full time again, or even occasionally for that matter, but the showers at camp had given me an idea. At home, I could easily get away with wetting myself before I took showers ... all I would have to do was stand in the tub in my underwear, let go, enjoy the sensation, and then rinse off both myself and the soiled underwear in the shower. Rinsing them immediately basically eliminated the possibility of noticeable stains, and afterwards I could just let them dry behind the dresser and toss them in the wash as I was used to doing. By now, of course, I realized that I was doing what I did because it turned me on. Some nights I would hold it until I was about to lose control, then rush to the bathroom, strip off everything but my skivvies, and stand in the shower until I really did have a genuine accident. It was always good when I could feel free to let go on purpose, but I found that when the wetting was something I couldn't help, those times were always the best.

It was when I was sixteen, not to long after my mother's storage closet discovery, that I moved out of her house and into one of a few rental properties my dad owned. My parents were divorced and he was living there too at the time, but pretty soon he moved in with his new fiancée and I was living alone. Now that my dad wasn't around and I was doing my own laundry, I didn't really have to worry about being as secretive anymore. If I felt like wetting, I would just go downstairs to the bathroom, stand in the tub, and do it. Then I would rinse off, toss the underwear in a plastic bag for when I did laundry, and go back to whatever I had been doing. I fantasized about getting diapers, but the possibility that my dad would come around and find them in the trash or left carelessly lying around stopped me. I was pretty sure that he wouldn't be nearly as supportive of me running around the house in diapers at sixteen as he was when I was four. The closest I came to the real thing was diapering myself with a thick white towel, which worked out well except for an obvious yellow stain that scared me into not trying it again. I figured it wouldn't be long until I had an apartment of my own, and then I could do whatever I wanted.

Besides my new found privacy, another benefit of being at my dad's was a computer of my own (which he gave me that first Christmas at his house) and an Internet connection. Until relatively recently, it had not really occurred to me that I might not be the only teenager in the world wishing he was still in diapers. It was an idea that had been slowly taking shape in the back of my mind since I had started wetting deliberately in my early teens: the thought that what I was doing was not just a secret personal wish, but an active fantasy that other people in the world might conceivably share. With all its search engines, chat rooms, and message boards, the Internet seemed like the obvious place to find out anonymously if my theory was true. Unfortunately, these ideas had all started to take shape while I was still at my mother's house, and my mother had never been willing to pay for an Internet connection. As such, I had little experience using it, and no real opportunity to investigate. When I was about fourteen or fifteen though, my chance came came through one of those free NetZero trails you might remember coming across in the first years of the new millennium.

It's amazing how dated it seems to talk about the Internet with such naivety, but at the time it seemed like a sort of amazing forbidden fruit that everyone was secretly exploring now that personal computers had finally found their way into everyone's homes. Everyone's but mine, that was. Being about thirteen or fourteen, my friends were, of course, all whispering about free porn and dirty chat rooms. Now that I had free, and, more importantly, secret access, I could investigate it all for myself. Including the diapers.

I remember doing that first Internet search at my mom's and being so nervous as I typed in the words “diaper porn” into a search engine bar. I don't think anything more than a bunch of dead end adware traps with “porn” as a keyword popped up, but the idea was finally there in my head: I wanted to see wetting videos, and pictures of girls in diapers.

At this point, I got scared that someone might come in and discover me. I am pretty sure I closed the window, erased the history, and went to bed after that, but over the next year or two I managed to sneak onto the computer late at night enough times to confirm that I was right. By time I got to my dad's house, I had a pretty good idea of what to look for now that I had a fast, reliable connection safe from the prying eyes of my parents and siblings. There were definitely others out there, and pictures of girls in diapers were only the tip of the iceberg. There were entire sites, both free and for pay, devoted to the subject of wanting to wear diapers. While I had been composing increasingly complex diaper stories in my head, people on the Internet had actually written them down. There were videos, message boards, blogs, everything.

It made me feel both more and less weird. On one hand, I was obviously not alone in my desires. On the other hand, a lot of these people were hairy, forty-year-old men into not just diapers, but dressing up and acting like babies. This was a major turn off for me, and it made diapers in general seem exceedingly unappealing. I tried numerous times to swear off thinking about wearing them altogether. It didn't really work though. How could I make myself stop thinking about something by constantly reminding myself not to think about it? I worried that I might be like these people and that my fantasies were crazy. Despite my best efforts, I gradually found myself unable to avoid exploring further to see if there were normal people out there who were attractive, close to my age, and not interested in baby talk, outfits, or bottles. I had to know if I was really alone.

As it turned out, I wasn't. I dug a little deeper and found out that “diaper lovers,” as the non-baby-acting half called themselves, outnumbered these “adult babies.” Although generally lumped together in the Internet world, there were numerous subsets within the diaper-wearing community. This included young attractive people who didn't sleep in a giant crib.

During my junior year of high school I met my current girlfriend. After graduating high school, I took a year off to get my affairs together and moved from the suburbs of the Midwest to New York City, where I planned to attend college. My girlfriend was two years younger and still in high school, but she and I made plans for her to come move in with me when she graduated.

When I arrived in New York I didn't have Internet access, but I soon got myself into school, where I could sometimes spend a few hours in the back of the computer lab during the evening when there wasn't anyone around who might wonder loudly about what the hell I was looking at. I started becoming active on the message board at Daily Diapers.

I soon resolved to get my first pack of diapers. I went to the corner drug store on a Friday night and casually purchased a pack of Pull-Ups' GoodNites. It wasn't really even embarrassing; I mean, who could guess that they were for me, a nineteen year old boy who couldn't possibly still be wetting himself? I walked home and went into the bathroom right away to put one on. I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. This was it: for the first time since I was four years old, I was wearing a diaper, and this time there were no worries about what anyone else might think. It took a minute or two of trying, but I let go right there in front of the mirror. I stood there, watching as the front began to darken and swell a little, enjoying the spreading warmth and the weight of the wet diaper. I put my pants back on and examined myself from all sides. No indication I was wearing a diaper. Not unless I pulled my shirt up, anyway- then if I bent over a little you could see the waistband poking out of the top of my pants, making it pretty obvious that I was wearing Pull-Ups. They were pretty discreet though. I'd have to be trying to get caught for it to happen.

I walked around for a little bit, exploring the feeling of being in a wet diaper. It was different than just wetting your pants, which I knew from long experience gets cold and uncomfortable pretty quickly. The diapers were soft and snug and didn't chafe the way wet clothes do, and they stayed warm for a long time. I curled up in bed and enjoyed it. Pretty soon I realized I was going to fall asleep if I laid there much longer, so I pulled out a fresh diaper and changed myself to keep from getting diaper rash.

That first pack went pretty quickly. When I woke up I found that I needed to relieve myself again, so I tried to just let it happen. I couldn't do it lying down, but as soon as I stood up it all flooded into my diaper. As I stood there wetting myself, I realized that I didn't just have to pee. I hesitated for a moment and let go completely. The clean up was a little too much for me to want to make a habit of doing everything in my diaper all the time, but that first weekend it was pretty satisfying to just be able to relax and use my diapers to their fullest extent.

I was still diapered Monday morning-- I hadn't used the toilet in two days. I woke up and wet my diaper while I made breakfast. As I sat enjoying the warmth of my wet diaper, I debated whether or not I would wear one when I headed out to class. I figured it wouldn't hurt to wear one to school- they crinkled a little when I sat down, but other than that they were pretty undetectable. Who was going to guess that a little crinkle meant diapers?

The class passed uneventfully. When it was over I decided to go to the computer lab. Not for diaper stuff or anything, just to check my email and other vitals. While I sat there at the computer, I realized that I had to pee. I wasn't sure if I was ready to wet in public yet, but just like in that early memory of being in the playroom, I didn't want to interrupt what I was doing in order to go, especially because I might have to wait an hour to get another computer since it was the middle of the day and people were between classes. Basically, it got to that point again where it was time to get up and go to the bathroom or wet myself. This time I was wearing a diaper though, so I opted to wet.

What I didn't realize was that GoodNites are fine for light wetting during the night or even relatively heavy daytime wetting if you are standing up, but with the diaper pressed against the chair, it didn't prove very absorbent around my bottom. As I wet, I looked down and noticed that I could see my pants darkening. Luckily, the diaper had absorbed most of it, but it was leaking around the legs back there. I hurried to the bathroom and went into a stall to change. I waited a minute or two until I was sure that everyone else had gone out before opening the door and disposing of the evidence in a trash can. Finally, I made my way to the exit, rehearsing in my head how I would tell anyone who asked that I had sat in some water. Even though I knew no one would guess the truth, I resolved not to wet in public anymore until I could find some more absorbent diapers.

After that, I experimented with a couple of different adult diapers made by Depends. The overnight one was easily the best. It was really thick and absorbent, but pretty dumb looking with multiple tapes and a big wetness indicator stripe down the middle. It was the best the drug store had to offer though. If I wanted a better diaper, I was going to have to order some of those designer ones I had been seeing on the Internet. The ones I had been wearing were designed for pure utility, but there were other diapers out there on the Internet that had been designed by recreational diaper wearers like me with comfort and style in mind. They were slightly more expensive though, so I opted to stick with Pull-Ups and Depends, at least for now. It was around this time that I started keeping a blog of my thoughts on diapers and incontinence and all that, in hopes that I might be able to use it to connect with other diaper lovers.

It was a little while after this that my girlfriend and I were talking on the phone and she mentioned in passing how when she was little, she had secretly wanted to wear Pull-Ups because they looked so soft and comfortable. Once, she had even sneaked a pair that her mom had around the house for her baby cousin, whom her mom would baby-sit sometimes. I couldn't believe it! I had spent my whole childhood fantasizing about that kind of thing, and she had done it! I had been worrying for a long time about telling her that I liked diapers, and it was such a relief to know now that she would at least be able to relate.

Then, a little while later, she had a dream that she was in the bathroom and wet her bed! We had been talking about her coming up to New York to visit on her birthday, so I gave her a little playful teasing about how she would have to wear Pull-Ups when she came to stay at my place. Imagine her surprise when she arrived and one of her birthday presents was a pack of GoodNites! I think she was pretty embarrassed, but I had told her how cute I thought it was when she wet the bed and how it would be even cuter to see her in a diaper. She kind of laughed at me and said "It would really make you happy, wouldn't it?" I was kind of embarrassed to say so, but I told her it would. She opened the pack and put one on.

We were actually getting ready to watch a movie at the time ... she had asked for some hentai for her birthday (she's that kind of girl) and I had gotten La Blue Girl. It was such an unbelievable turn on to see her diapered, especially when we were watching some sexy anime. I couldn't believe how receptive she had been to the idea, but it somehow seemed natural since both the porn and the situation of being diapered had enough silliness to them where it didn't seem like we had to take ourselves too seriously. I ended up touching her through her Pull-Ups to the point where she was getting pretty into it and we weren't really watching the TV anymore. When she came, she told me it was the most intense orgasm she had ever had.

We both wore Pull-Ups to bed on and off while she was there. A one point, she even went so far as to powder my bottom before putting me into them. (I had picked up some wipes and powder just in case.) After her visit, I sent some of the diapers home with her. She actually ended up wearing them a couple of times, too.

The first time was when we were on the phone really late at night and she had to pee but didn't want her mom to know that she was up. She thought she might be able to hold out until morning, but she was afraid she would wet in her sleep again. She did actually make it through the night, though.

The second time was when she was sick. She was having stomach trouble and messed herself during the night. She was afraid it might happen again and didn't want to ruin another pair of panties, so she wore a Pull-Up to bed for the next night or two until she was sure she felt better. I gave her some gentle teasing about it and asked her how she felt in her Pull-Ups. She got embarrassed and said she felt stupid saying it, but she felt more confident, just like the kids in the commercials always did. I knew that feeling exactly, and it was very comforting to know she would be able to understand when I finally told her the whole story.

It think it was mostly just the sense of normalcy we both had about the whole thing, just having the Pull-Ups around, that made it easier for me to keep talking about diapers until I could eventually muster up the courage to tell her that I had always wanted to wear them. It took we a while- she had moved in by then. We were in bed at the time, and I mentioned that we were running low on Goodnites and should get some more, and she told me that we didn't have to have them around for her sake and that she wasn't really into them. Basically I had to admit that I was ... and had been for a long time. She was very sympathetic, just as I knew she would be, and told me I could wear them whenever I wanted. It was a pretty big relief to say it, all the same. It would be great if they were as big a turn on for her as for me, but I was pretty thrilled just to be able to be open with her about them.

So, I started wearing them pretty regularly. It was nice not to worry and have it just be normal if she came home and noticed I was wearing a diaper under my clothes. My diapered life became pretty comfortable and uneventful. As I got more comfortable with just using my diapers instead of having to stop what I was doing to use the bathroom, I did notice one change, though. As I said before, I had never been able to stand and pee when I used the toilet; I had always had to sit. Now that I was getting used to being in diapers, something had chilled out inside me; I could stand and pee like a regular boy, at first only in a diaper, but gradually also at the toilet. It's funny how something that most people would view as so abnormal had been the normalizing factor I need to resolve some deep-seated childhood issue, probably dating back to potty-training. It worked though; for whatever reason, I could cope better as a normal adult when I was wearing a diaper under my clothes.

There was one other notable diaper event after that though, when our toilet started having some problems one night. It started overflowing and wouldn't flush. Using it was out of the question, but it was about ten PM ... too late to do anything but turn the water off until morning. Around this time my girlfriend was having something of a potty emergency, and at ten PM in New York City it is a difficult thing to find a public restroom.

Until now, my girl had been apprehensive about wetting in a diaper. Like she had said, it wasn't really her thing. She warmed up to wearing them pretty quickly, and having me in them didn't bother her, but even so, her potty-training had been a little to firmly ingrained for her to just let go and wet herself. Imagine my surprise when she timidly asked me if I thought she should put on a Pull-Up! She was pretty tentative about it. "It's not bad, is it?" she asked. I told her that it was fine and that the diaper would just soak everything up.

Even as badly as she had to go, she couldn't quite convince herself to wet. After a little while, she decided to go into the bathroom so she could try in there. She closed the door, and a few minutes later came out blushing. I asked her how she felt.

"I had to go pretty bad," she said. "I was really wet. Critical mass."

I felt a little sorry for her that she had so little choice about whether or not to go in a diaper, but I have to admit I was a little glad that she at least knew what it was like now and might have a better idea of what I was feeling.

Shortly afterward, we finally moved into a real apartment of our own. Up until then all of our previous apartments had been rented rooms, and though I never really had to worry that someone might go rummaging around in our room and find a pack of Pull-Ups, I couldn't feel free to just wear a diaper around the house. I had to do all my diaper-wearing in our room and dispose of my wet diapers secretly in an outside trash can. Now that we had our own place, I could just relax in a T-shirt and diaper and not even cover it up. I’d spent so long hiding and worrying about being caught, concealing both my wetting accidents and my desire to wear diapers. Now I could just put one on when I felt the need and feel secure. It was a feeling I could have had years ago, if I had only been able to admit to my parents that yes, even though I was a big boy, I still needed diapers.

My physical need for them has diminished, but the security and ease that comes with wearing them and being accepted for it is something that I never stopped looking for. Now, I feel like I’ve found it. It took a long time to get to this point, but I think I'm finally where I want to be.