By BitterGrey
Robert, knowing I had been laid off, invited me to join him on a trip to Anza Barrego, in California's Colorado desert(?). The town has a past, but now it serves to attract tourists who want to see the old west the way that it never really was. Outside of that, it had nothing. It had more than just nothing, it had vast expanses of nothing. This made for quite a view. It was the off-season, during a nationwide heat wave, so we had the place pretty much to ourselves. The restaurants had to organize so that at least one would be open on each day. As one born and raised in Los Angeles, the solitude had an impact on me.
As far as diapers are concerned, a few concessions were made. First, Robert's interests are fetishistic, so he doesn't use diapers. He just wears them now and then. To avoid asking too much of him, I only wet my diapers. At home I'd mess too. (I'm saving myself for marriage, so I changed myself as usual. ) Not knowing how the hotel's laundry was, I'd only packed disposables. Has anyone tried setting wet diapers out for cleaning at a hotel? Do they charge extra for dirty ones? I also brought some liter-sized zip-lock bags, so the used diapers wouldn't stink up the room. One can only wonder what room service thought as they daily found the big, wet diapers in the bathroom trashcan. I hadn't asked them to put a rubber sheet on my bed.
The hotel had a pool, which we would use about twice a day. Like most pools, this pool had a sign showing the rules. The last rule on the list was "No diapered infants." Robert and I argued about it playfully. However, this meant that I had to leave mine back in the room. Darn.
The final concern was something that few take seriously until it happens to them. Diapers insulate. Pants, especially jeans that were bought without diapers in mind, cut down on ventilation and airspace. Finally, diapers with a good plastic backing, and especially with plastic pants, have a near zero breathability. Since only the groin is affected, this will probably just cause rashes and maybe short-term sterility.
In his book "The Complete Walker III," Colin Fletcher writes "Give your balls some air." There is some justification for this, in addition to Colin's preference for hiking naked. Of course, only the truly dedicated venture out into the desert during an August heat wave. We chose to stay under shelter, in the pool, or at milder climates. As a result, there weren't any problems.
We had fun hiking and wandering around the local towns. My friend would periodically make fun of my diapers, mocking "Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle." I was using plastic pants much of the time, so I was at most barely audible when dressed. Plastic over disposable, under denim is almost undetectable. (Or at least, most of my friends who have been into diapers for decades say they can't tell. The trick? If someone is really in diapers, there will be a diaper bag. Simple, isn't it?)
For most of the trip, I wore denim or twill shorts. Although there were some times when we were alone enough to strip down to just the diaper, I'm shy. I'm also part Scottish, so there is a next-best option. However, it would require a kilt and an accent. Aye.
One new toy for this trip was a custom pair of shorts. They were denim and had ample diaper clearance. (You do wear diapers when shopping for clothes, right? It is the easy way to insure fit and clearance.) I'd put in a snap-crotch and an elastic waist band for comfort, fun and accessibility. The knee-length shorts had five snaps, but two more should be added. The snap crotch is more a novelty than a practical enhancement. Still, it was fun. Of course, the snaps weren't used often. I was dehydrated, and so only went through two diapers a day.
Three lessons learned from these shorts:
We said our goodbyes and drove back to our respective homes. I stopped off in an outlet shopping center to see what could be found. Outlet centers are good places to hang out and be reasonably discrete. There offer an anonymity and a confusion in the swirling masses.
One curiosity. The was a person who walked toward, and then past me. He seemed to take note of my knees. Now, except for the misplaced snaps, there was nothing interesting there. Had he seen my snaps? Guess I'll never know.
Did I mention that I found a one-buck changing pad? (A "Bambi" pad for one dollar, that is.)
This has been quite a surreal night. I walked into my restroom and the changing station looked foreign, almost as if I was seeing it for the first time. It is nothing elaborate - that vinyl sheet with a "Bambi" print covering the tile floor where I change. At the left end there is an open pack of disposables, a few plastic pants, a jar of baby oil, a canister of talcum powder, and a couple birdseyeDEF diapers. The bag of disposables is used as a pillow. Everything else is piled up in a heap beside it.
Then came time for my evening change. I was wearing a gauze diaper and snap-on nylon pants. This time, I started to remove the diaper while standing. The error became clear as the last snap on the right side popped open, the plastic pants fell away, and some urine which had passed through the soaked diaper and puddled in the pants splashed onto the bathroom floor and some laundry. (It even sprayed the brace from "Three Things to Do with a Wet Knee Brace." Yes, there was a real knee brace.) I felt doubly stupid. I should have checked for puddles, or at least noted that the diaper was soaked. I suppose it is like locking yourself out. Everyone who locks themselves out feels stupid, but can take comfort in the fact that everyone has done this at some time. This is why I felt doubly stupid, because nobody else on my block seems to have botched changing his own diaper. This is one of the costs of being different. My only comfort is that I think I was able to clean the puddle before anybody found out.
Well, except for you.
Thanks to a leaky Depends a couple nights ago, there is a messy mark on my Lion King bed sheets. I need to remember that a lot of things are changing in my life, and if I'm not in control, they might not change for the better. Those sheets have grown into an analogy. Their bright orange and black have faded, and they seem less cheerful. However, they are still playful, and when wet, still have a rich color and luster. Although they are wet sort of often, it doesn't last.
At home, I can be a little lax about leaks. At work, it would be an entirely different matter. Although I planned to stop wearing diapers constantly after I found a job, it was important to consider how they would go together. Part of being in diapers always is being in them when it is inconvenient, such as at work. At home, I could put off changing until the mass mailing of resumes was finished. At work, the diaper would need to come first. If I needed to change, whatever I was working on would be interrupted. It is easier to change a diaper now than try to be discrete and professional while slipping off to change your pants - and knowing my bladder, it wouldn't care if it had already leaked into all the dry pants in the office. Wet slacks at the office are just one of those realities that those who have to wear diapers deal with, but that those who want to wear diapers don't often consider.
You'll notice that social events and misadventures are getting most of the coverage here. The process of researching companies, making calls, sending resumes, and going out to interviews is downplayed because it wouldn't make for interesting reading.
After the interviews near home, I would go back to my place to shed the suit and diaper up. Today's interview was an hour away in good traffic, so I tossed a T-shirt, shorts, and a hanger into my diaper bag. The interview went quite well. (I would eventually get the job.) Afterwards, I drove around Azusa a little. It was a warm day in a Hispanic neighborhood, so there were a number of infants out in just diapers. I felt a envious, not only for the ventilation, but for the freedom they had. They wore them day in, day out, and it was simply accepted. They had what I thought I wanted.
You may notice some caginess in my language; that I only 'thought' I wanted it. Once, not too long ago, we were all like them. Young, innocent, free, and in diapers our entire life. The parenting books seem to agree that training should happen when the child is ready, when he or she starts to dislike wearing diapers. This might be to counter the parents and teachers, who want children trained early so that they don't have to change diapers any more. Yes, some parents pulled their little ones out of diapers. Now some infantilists credit that early trauma with a desire to wear diapers again.
Might this be the case? For others, maybe. For me, no. I say this for two reasons. My infantilism is specific to disposable diapers. I use cloth diapers for the environment, but they just aren't the same. I was raised in cloth, so if my infantilism was trauma-induced, wouldn't it focus on what was torn away, cloth diapers? One of these days, I'll get up the courage to ask my mom. She doesn't talk about my infancy much. However, she once commented about my weaning. I "weaned myself" she said, I "pushed away with both hands." According to her, I would also never stay in the crib, either. As much as I'd like to get back to where those babies are, it can't be denied that I was there once, and probably wanted to leave.
"When were young we want to get away when we're old we want to go back, and we spend our lives replacing all the things we leave behind."
Traveling West, I found a mall and changed there. This was a newer mall near the Santa Anita Racetrack. There aren't any covered malls in Azusa, and no real uncovered malls either. What is so special about covered malls? They generally have public restrooms. Most department stores also have restrooms, but they might have trouble with what I was about to do. They wouldn't have problems with the diapers, at least, they haven't before. Their questions would be about the suit I would be walking out with, on a hanger over my shoulder.
This mall had three restrooms on the lower level (and lousy parking if you didn't want to pay the valet). Although I wondered what the "family" restroom was like, I went into the men's room. The men's room was functional and businesslike. The floor was wet in spots and place needed a good mopping. It also had an installed changing table, about a meter long. I didn't try it to see if it would hold my weight - it probably wouldn't have. Instead, I used one of the stalls. It is a pain trying to get out of a suit in a stall. One of the trouser legs dropped onto the floor and became wet. (The dry cleaner was able to get that out without a problem. Had the wet spot been a leak, it might have raised more eyebrows.)
The janitor stopped by. He could hear me putting on the diaper, if not hanging up the suit. He didn't comment. He left before I finished reverting from proper businessman to pampered engineer in T-shirt and shorts. The suit went on a hanger, and then out to the car. Since I wasn't leaving a clothing store, what had just happened didn't need to be explained. I returned to spend some time in the mall and get lunch. (This was my second post-interview visit to this mall, oddly enough, I haven't returned to it since.)
Marvin and I went to Disneyland today. We were both diapered, but he didn't use them. Although after the water rides I told (bad) jokes about being wet, my diapers weren't much of a problem. In fact, being a little wet may have kept me cooler than my friend.
Because this was an all-day trip, my diaper bag proved invaluable. There would be no going home to change. There wasn't a drawer full of shorts to change into in case these got wet. There would just be the discipline of changes when possible, with new diapers coming from a bag stuffed with fluffy disposables. My diaper bag showed another of it's virtues: It could be rotated around, from fanny to belly. As a result, I wouldn't need to sit on it, or take it off and risk it getting flung during the rides. Imagine it:
Disney Cast Member: "You say you lost a large gray fanny pack on Thunder Mountain? What was in it?"
Me: "A camera, sunscreen, three diapers, one pair of plastic pants, talcum powder, baby oil..."
We had lots of fun, and stayed until they closed the place down. I had to change twice. The second time was on the road - two freeway closures stuck me in the middle of nowhere, and I had to stop to check my maps at 4 AM in a deserted parking lot in an industrial zone. And I needed to change.
A lot of fetish stories seem to start that way. I wasn't frightened in the dark-alley sense, but was insecure in an odd sort of way. Wearing a diaper includes a sort of helplessness. It isn't like a hat, that is put on and taken off. Being "in" diapers implies being dependent on them, to have them on constantly or risk shame and humiliation. Diapers prevent the humiliation of being wet in public, but every now and then, they need to be changed when there isn't any place to do so. A secret is unveiled in the most humiliating and exposed sense. Baby is wet and needs to change his diaper. No more secrets. One is rendered bare and helpless, socially if not physically.
I drank more orange juice than usual this morning, so my diaper got soaked and leaked. I wanted to get out of it. Either out of diapers in general, or at least out of this diaper, and those wet shorts. My current state of diaper-neutrality has periodically shifted toward the downside. What if I had been at work? I guess being crabby from having stayed out so late didn't help.
Today, I drove down to campus to use their job-hunting resources. They have an ample supply. Previously, I've visited my alma-mater's libraries in sweats, without the plastic pants. This is much more comfortable, but the rustle can be heard. Never had a complaint, or even a negative glance though. This time, I was wearing the discrete disposable, plastic pants, and denim shorts.
After that, I was browsing through the student store. Diarrhea and poor communication run in my family. My father has it, but doesn't talk about it. Anyway, I was in the engineering section, and it struck. Typically, I'd need to dash up the stairs, through the store, across the benches, down the hall, to the restroom. I hadn't soiled myself while enrolled there, but came close.
Today was different. I had the runs, but could just let them go and finish my shopping. The plastic pants do a good job of containing odors. Diarrhea is probably the messiest type of change, but I had packed a terry washcloth. The alternative is to use a roll or two of toilet paper.
(Everyone knows the drill, I suspect. Drop denim and plastic pants, taking off the jeans if practical. Lean against a wall or lay down. Release the tapes, holding the front if standing. Wipe front pelvis, penis, and scrotum with the corners and front of the diaper padding. OK, well, at least try. Be careful not to let anything drop from the crotch of the diaper. With large, runny stools, this may be quite difficult. This is why you should take your pants off if you can. Fold the front wings over themselves and onto the middle. Using the back wings, wipe you buttocks and crotch. Remember, males can wipe as is easiest. The books say that females should always wipe away from the vagina, to avoid getting stool in it. Having never changed a female, I have to trust the books. Of course, I've never changed another male, but being able to see what you are doing could only make things easier. Right?
Next, roll the stool into the toilet and ball up the diaper. Now finish cleaning with the wet, soapy washcloth. I did say to put water and soap from the sink outside the stall before taking your pants off, didn't I? Sorry.
For me, the fun of the first diaper is putting it on, but the fun of the hundredth diaper is changing. And yes, if you are thinking about going back into diapers, plan for the thousandth.
Apply powder or lotion if you use them. Wipe your hands on a clean section of the washcloth. This is the step that everyone seems to botch a couple times, giving rise the dreaded 'Attends® PopDEF' which can happen with all makes. It helps to have some extra tape handy. Put the washcloth, and maybe the diaper and plastic pants too, in a zip lock bag, and then into your diaper bag. Never dispose of a diaper improperly.
Get out a new diaper. If there is a trick to partially unfolding cloth diapers while standing and holding them in place, I don't know it. As for disposables, we've all read the instructions and drooled at the illustrations several dozen times. Put on clean plastic pants if needed. By the way, it is possible to change pull-on panties without taking your shorts off.
Pause briefly to listen for anyone listening to you. Every adult diaper wearer can recognize the sound of multiple pairs of tapes and knows what it means: The man in the next stall is changing his own diaper. (Unless you can hear his baby twins or triplets.) Cloth diapers are more easy to smell than hear.
One thing that seems counter-intuitive: I frequently feel more wet just after I've changed. This may be because the spots on my shorts aren't body-temperature anymore or that a residual dampness from the washcloth is still inside the plastic pants.
That about wraps it up. Now to try to find a venue where this knowledge can be put to good use - somewhere where these paternal skills can be displayed to impress females of the maternal persuasion.... (What can I say? I'm looking for a mommy.)
More misadventures with leaks. I arrived at the mall with a moderately sized, plainly visible wet spot on my shorts. Riding a bicycle might be one of the toughest challenges for a diaper - you can wet gradually, but can't mount slowly.
I went to change the diaper, of course. A further complication was that the restroom I changed in didn't have doors on the stalls. I usually change standing up, unless there is a well-cleaned place to lie down in the stall. Here I used the lee side, hidden from the main door. Two men came in, walked by, and looked into all the stalls for one with doors: Doors to keep people from looking in. Humans are like that sometimes, and it makes one wonder how we survived as a species.
Anyway, I was busy so I didn't make eye contact, and they left without comment. My shorts and vinyl pants were at about knee level at that moment. There was no mistaking what I was doing. When I was done, I went out and found a bench that wouldn't be damaged, and waited for the spot to dry up. It was afternoon, but this took longer than it might on the ordinary August day.
That was about the last of the Depends. The bag claims 80% better leakage protection. Frequently, both internal and external elastic would fail, as was the case in the pair that stained my wonderful Lion King sheets. To have improved 80% and still leak this much: Imagine how bad they must have been before!
I missed church today. At 8 AM, I went to shower and get changed. By 8:45 I was clean, freshly diapered, and dressed for church. I wet twice in the following fifteen minutes, but didn't think I needed to change - not after fifteen minutes! I got on my bike and headed off, only to stop off at a park halfway with a four inch (100 mm) wet spot on my pants. There was time to change my diaper and get to church, but not enough to go back home for dry pants. I wanted to leave an indelible mark at the church, but urine stains aren't quite what I had in mind.
I stayed at the park and gathered some thoughts. The thoughts were about how things were going, how I could best serve God, and what the next few months might hold. After a little while, I got back on the bike and headed home to change.
I've caught myself lingering on the changing pad more and more. The attraction to diapers has been absent for about two weeks, but now there is a periodic nudging to get out of them. This nudge seems more frequent when a bowel movement is imminent. Of course, this is still far from the deep stigma that can be expected to last. The nudge to get out of diapers probably won't remain once I am out of them.
I've started using cloth diapers around the house and on short trips during the day. They don't have the tactile pleasure that disposables have sometimes. However, cloth diapers are better for the landfills and have added some to the experience. A number of very real details, like cleaning out diaper pails, are absent from our fantasies. They are present in reality. And my reality had settled into a biweekly cleaning.
I'd take the sheets off the bed, and lay them on the changing pad. The diapers were taken from the pail and put on the sheet. The washing machine was set for hot and started. The sheets was then rolled up and moved rapidly out to the washing machine, and shaken out into the machine. The longer the process took, the more odor would need to be cleared from the living room. I used a semi-wet diaper pail, with a little vinegar. A little vinegar is supposed to reduce odor. To much will make your diapers smell like vinegar. I didn't try a 'wet' pail, where the pail is full enough to submerge all the diapers. Soaking wet diapers are heavy.
The nylon and vinyl pants were tossed into the sink. There they were hand-washed in warm water and detergent. Check the vinyl pants for holes, especially in the crotch. Nylon pants are more durable. Large-diameter plastic hangers were used to hold them open for drying. These hangers passed through one leg opening. (If hung from the waist, the water will collect in the crotch.)
Finally, a rag and cleaning powder are used to clean out the diaper pail. This is perhaps the least romantic aspect of infantilism. Generally I did it each Tuesday and Friday morning. It isn't the best way to end the month, I suppose. All in all, it was a month rich in experiences.
Do you have Questions, tips, suggestions, or other feedback?