Sillyfaerie

I can recall when I was about 4, my Mom made me wear diapers for wetting my pants and I vaguely recall feeling very comfortable/comforted in them - not what she was after. . . I can certainly say that my multitude of kinks/fetishes stem from childhood, tho' no one would be likely to care to hear the stories. She was one sick fuck. What I can determine is that I'm essentially, at some deeper level, seeking to recreate my childhood experiences in a positive, affirming context. In a different manner, there is another memory connected to diapers that I can't explain. I don't remember the event so much as remembering the memory. That is, I don't so much recall it happening, but I've had this memory since I was quite little (as long as I can remember. . .) The memory has always had a "quality' of remembering a dream, but seems too concrete and persistant for having been one. Anyway, I'd have been about 3-4 years old, I remember being in a small room late in the afternoon. It was warm and the light has the quality of late winter afternoon sunlight. There was a woman, I have no other recollection of, whom I can only describe as "matronly," in a plain white dress, of a style considered conservative back in the early/mid 60s - not a nurse, but perhaps day care. (I vaguely recall the nursery on the Naval Base in Kodiac, Alaska where we lived at the time.) Anyway, she had me lying on my tummy on a padded table with a diaper beneath me and gave me an enema of warm (castor, mineral?) oil. What's truly peculiar about this is that I didn't *need* the enema - she was doing this simply because she wanted to, it pleased her to do so for some reason. Once the enema was complete she wrapped the diaper on me with the intent that I expell it (and my poop) into the diaper. There are a couple of very distinct things about this memory. 1) This was done to me solely because she could and enjoyed doing so. 2) I was utterly helpless to do anything about it. 3) I liked everything about it - the sensations, the helplessness, the fact that it was being done entirely for her enjoyment. . . I've been aware of these facets of this for as long as I've had this memory. (I can remember recalling this when I was around 5 - not understnding it or the pleasure, only that it was a very pleasurable memory.) It's an experience I've always wanted to repeat.

DPF was not only the first online site I found, but the first resource at all, before the Internet. Warning, this story is *so last century* Back in '89 (when Fidonet ruled and I had to log on at a baud rate, up hill in the rain, both ways) I found the physical address (in a print publication, forget what now) for the Diaper Pail Fraternity and got on their mailing list. I was surprised, after a divorce and a couple of moves later that, DPF actually continued to try (successfully) to send me their updates via snail-mail. (And yes, it's the same organization, some identifying products haven't changed in 15 years. . .) I never used the site online much, but I'm very sad to see them fall - DPF really was the first; old school, cottage industry networking and outreach via USMAIL because some folks new they weren't alone and wanted the rest of us to know it too. I don't know what happened in the interrim, but I raise my ba-ba high in their honor.

Mistress calls me Kitty