Abandon all guilt, ye who enter hereHeidilynn: The Early Years...
Well, I guess it's best to start at the beginning. I really don't know what caused this in me. I only know it happened. I found myself drawn to diapers and rubber pants at a very early age. The baby girl thing happened shortly after.
It was very frustrating , at first, to try to put on the diapers, because, diapers had to be pinned on at the time. There was no such thing as disposibles. I lacked the finger strength and hand eye co-ordination to pin them on myself, at 4 years old. And I thought that you only needed the rubber pants to protect. I didn't realize that something absorbent, was needed to accept the pee and poop. I thought you just filled the rubber panties up and that was it! Boy, was I wrong. The first time I recall actually putting on, is trying on my baby sister Sally's rubber panties at my Grandmother's house in Middletown, Ohio, when I was four years old. After Regina (the Nanny), had finished changing my sister, she hung the rinsed out panties on the doorknob of the bathroom that faced the bedroom I was billeted in.
The lure was irresistable. I held back as long as I could. But ultimately, I gave in. When no one was around, I got out of bed and as surreptiously as I could, snuck into the bathroom, grabbed the rubber panties off the doorknob and closed the door.
I slipped them on. I began to pee. Oh no! The pee started to trickle down my leggy-wegs and once it started, there was no way to stop it. A balloon full of pee that only got worse. I hastily (and regrettably), pulled them down and flooded the bathroom floor with my pee-pee. Horrified, I stuffed the rubber panties in the toilet and flushed, hoping to rid the scene of evidence. Then, I ran back to my bed and awaited the worst...
As I'm sure you can imagine, it was "Murphy's Law" in it's most potent form. The toilet backed up and flooded the bathroom with water and pee and God knows what else. My grandmother came rushing upstairs when the deluge finally started making a bit of a drip problem on the first floor of the house (in the parlor). She discovered the rubber pants in the toilet and demanded to know what had happened. Only four years old at the time, I played on innocence. "I don't know! What happened?" Grandma looked at me and just shook her head in a shaming way.
"I dinnent do it!", I plead my case.
This was probably the first experience I ever had with being discovered. It was bad, but, it was also exciting for some strange reason. And, I dinnent get 'panked for it, neither. Maybe, I should have been. Anyway, this is one of my first memorable pre/AB experiences.
"Big Boy Pants"
I remember going down to J.C. Penney's in downtown Middletown, Ohio, to get my first "big boy pants" with my grandmother. I also remember raising a fuss when she pulled them up as I tried them on, because she pulled them up high. Over my bellybutton. Just like rubber panties over diapers. And, snapped the waistband three times. It was in front of all the people standing around.
Oh, Atlanta!
The last time I was in Atlanta GA, in November '80, my wife let me wear my
"overhauls" and pink little girl tee down there, but once we checked into the
motel, she made me take them off. She then proceeded
to trash them with a pair of dressmaking shears she just happened to have handy. This left me with the only other clothes she had packed for me. A couple of shortie, toddler girl dresses that were so short they could not cover up my diapered condition. About knuckle length, with my arms hanging down. They were actually maternity dresses, but served the purpose well. Sissy socks, white sandals, pacifier. I was good to go. I got over my
shyness about being AB sissy in a hurry. I had no
choice. But, you know what? I liked it. It was a
"watershed" moment for me. She paraded me all over
town. She made me get out and march "right down Peachtree", as the saying goes. Literally. Even parked at the Atlanta classic "The Varsity" drive-in restaurant, downtown, for slaw dawgs. A true Southern experience. I was forced to wear my baby girl attire, all the way home to Nashville. I had not wanted to pee my panties, but I had no choice when we reached Chattanooga. I let go and it wasn't long before she recognized to odor coming from the passenger seat. She knew that smell well, having raised two daughters, in a previous marriage. She told me I'd just have to wait to be changed and I squirmed all the way, from Monteagle to Nashville. She sent me into the "Big Ten" department store on Murfreesboro Road in my soaked condition before we got home, to puchase any suitable maternity dresses. Ya know, to kinda fill out the wardrobe? There were a couple of really cute dresses there. With baby motif and the sash that ties in a bow at the back. I brought them back to the car and displayed my purchase. She liked it!
I was thouroghly soaked and dripping, when I exited the car in front of our apartment building on Division St. It took three trips up and down the stairs to our apartment to get everything inside. When we left for Atlanta, it was in the dead of night. This was mid-day in Nashville. I was in full view of all the Music Row lunchtime traffic. As well as the neighbors.
Just call me "Droopy Drawers"?
Things got even more intense. She took to making
me go out in public regularly, in Nashville. She
got off on it more than I did, it seemed. She was
definitely "pushing the edge". I wasn't
really ready for some of the things she came up
with. But me, appearing in public, was a huge
turn-on for her even though she would never
accompany me on my forced strolls. She'd just drive me to
whatever location she had selected and say get out. If I was
reluctant at all to get out of the car, she'd have a lit
cigarette in her hand, or a hot car lighter, which she'd thrust at me. Sometimes, she'd take a small switch to me, forcing me out of the car. Malls, Wal-Marts, you name it. She even drove off once, leaving me stranded in the parking lot, after seeing me come out of the store, chicken-hearted and empty handed. Luckily, I was only stranded for about thirty minutes. But, she had made her point.
Sometimes, she would force me
out of the house with a switch. She would take away my house key and out I went in my diapers, bonnet and dress on some errand. She would not let me back
in the house until I produced a receipt at the window. I had to prove my purchase from her designated store. She sent me to "Sears" to buy adult cloth diapers one time. And, a tennis shop, to purchase rhumba panties that were in fashion for the sport at the time. That was tough. Devious woman. But, it became more and more exciting for
me. The adrenalin rush. Incredible.
Anyway, we're not married anymore. But, I got over
my phobia of public exposure, thanks to her. She
always said I'd get used to it. I have, to a certain
degree. I've gotten used to the stares, comments and people taking photos.
I've also gotten used to the positive reactions from the general public. That has been a revelation, to me. What I haven't gotten used to is the realization
that this is my life now. No choice.
I love it.
Kidnappied!
I started life in Illinois. Northbrook, to be specific. Chicagoland. We moved to Barrington Hills when I was 6, but I was already a confirmed DL by this time. No doubt about it. My younger sisters provided the access to material and the feeling grew from there. I attended the Country Day School on the Cook County line in Barrington and was a standout student. Though I was only in the first grade, I was elected to student council, representing grades K-3rd. I will never forget the first meeting of the council. Evidently, there was a serious problem with a group of 4th and 5th Grade girls who were snatching kindergarten, 1st Grade, 2nd Grade and 3rd Grade boys, on their way to recess. Usually, a gang of four or five girls. They would drag their victim out of the hallway as they walked by the girl's restroom, strip them in the girl's lavatory, hold them down while one of the girls stood watch at the door and put diapers and rubber pants on them one of the girls had brought from home. Their younger brother or sister's dydees. Then, they would take their victim's stripped clothes away from them. Usually, depositing them in a trash can outside. As far away as possible. This left the poor unfortunates no choice but to exit the girl's bathroom, dressed only in diapers and rubber pants in front of the whole school. Crying their eyes out. I never witnessed it. But evidently, from testimony, it had been an ongoing problem.
The headmaster of the school brought up this issue at the meeting and I could not believe what I was hearing. "Why can't this happen to me?", I wished and wondered. But the faculty and student body put the kibosh on it as a result of the meeting. However, I did find myself lingering in the hallway at recess from time to time, outside the girl's room. Ya know, just on the odd chance....
Regardless, this information only served to re-inforce my baby tendencies.
"We found your diapers!"
The words came from my original, Phoenix, neighborhood sweetheart, Becky. I was 12 yrs. old, at that time. We were on the school bus, on the way home, when she broke the news. She detailed the events as they unfolded. That my younger brother had discovered them in the closet, in a box of my football gear. He decided to let my whole world know. When I was gone from the house, he gave my childhood chums a grand tour of all my baby belongings. Bottles, rubber pants, diapers, the whole schmear. I was stunned, to say the least. Granted, the smell from some of the soiled didees I had stashed away in the corner of the closet, is what drew my brother's curiosity there and were ultimately my undoing. The humiliation and shame are something I have yet to recover from.
When my family moved to Arizona, in 1959, I was enrolled at Kiva Elementary in Scottsdale. Second grade. I humbly admit, that I was quite the little "pretty boy" and was constantly chased by my girl classmates at recess, all wanting to catch me, hold me down and kiss me. (Why is it, girls are so much more sexually aggressive at that age?) I began to enjoy the attention and began to seek it out. One day, at recess, I spied some of my tormentors on the playground swingsets and approached. As I did, I noticed a pink diaper bag on the ground, next to the swingset. None of the girls would have brought it there. Some adult must have left it there. Either intentionally, or inadvertantly. Nonetheless, it was there. Anyway, from my past experience in school in Illinois, this caught my attention. I started taunting my female tormentors. One of them said, "Let's get him!" I said, "You can't catch me!" One of the girls grabbed the diaper bag and started rummaging through it, finally fishing a pair of plastic "popper panties" (snap-ons) and a cloth diaper out and the chase was on. I easily outran them until I realized I was defeating my desires. I slowed my pace. I even "tripped" over a convenient chuckhole on the playground to allow my capture. As they neared, I feigned a struggle to get to my feet, but just at that moment, the bell rang to return to class. (Damn!)
