Rhumba Pants Dilemma! Why Do I Love Wearing Them?

[turtlepins]

I spent the last two years wading through red tape to get records from the Montgomery County Orphans Court in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania. The first five years of my life were a mystery, partially unlocked by transcient ischemic attacks, finally and completely unlocked by information. Reading the police reports, the orphan's court appointed investigator's reports, and the judge advocate's reports clared away the fog of mystery. It would be very much appreciated at this point if those of you who typically enjoy being nasty, negative, and generally repulsive would just leave your thoughts and dripping malace somewhere else. I believe I've seen the worst of it already!

My biological mother hated me. I have a younger brother and older sister, both of whom share the same father. My father seems to have been a "friendly" neighbor who kept my mother company while her husband was in prison. When my mother's husband discovered she was pregnant with me he became violent and beat her with a dog leash chain. Following that he shackled her to a support pole on the back porch with a chain long enough to reach the bathroom and kitchen. She slept on the kitchen floor until I was born, on the kitchen floor. Later, when I was five, he murdered another man in our house with a knife, while I watched. He went to prison after that, and eventually to the electric chair.

To humiliate and "punish" me my mother did not potty train me, but kept me in diapers. When I was three she would put one diaper on me in the morning, slide rubber pants over it, and tell me if I leaked I would be punished. She made sure I'd leak by feeding me three bottles of liquid every hour, so by mid-morning I would be soaked and leaking. A diaper only holds so much! To "punish" me she would use three or four diapers and ridicule me. My sister was encouraged to ridicule me for wearing diapers. For a messy diaper the punishment was three or four diapers, rhumba pants, and sometimes a matching dress. I would be put in the playpen out on the porch so everyone could see.

My mother and her sister worked at the Montgomery County Assylum and were able to procure certain drugs. They performed sexual favors for certain staff members (both were quite attractive when young). I don't know which of them got the idea, but as I grew more active it frustrated my mother and she began mixing cloropromazine in my food, along with benzodiazepines. Don't ask me to pronounce either of those. One is Thorazine. I don't know what the other is. They also put Pancuronium in my apple juice (always fed by baby bottle). This kept my leg muscles from working, so that I could not stand or walk.

When I was adopted, just before turning six, I could not walk, I could only crawl. It took my adopting parents six months to potty train me. According to the orphan's court investigator I spent most of my life, from age three to six, sitting quietly in a playpen. I didn't talk. Talking meant a different kind of punishment. That's all the report says. I don't remember what that was but I didn't talk.

My biological mother brought me to my first day of kindergarten in a yellow dress, four diapers (already soaked and messy) and yellow rhumba pants. There wasn't a "Social Services Department" back then so the teacher and principal reported my condition to the police, who turned it over to the orphan's court. We were consequently taken away from our biolobical mother, and put up for adoption.

When the murder took place my psychiatrist says I shut down mentally and emotionally, and regressed completely. That was why, when I had my first transcient ischemic atack and the memory of the murder came back I wanted regression. That's why I still want regression, and I probably always will want it. I remember loving diapers, and especially rhumba pants. It's not rational but it was probably the only pleasure I had as a young child. I wonder what my biological mother would think if she knew that I loved wearing thick diapers and rhumba pants more than anything else. Perhaps she would gloat.

After I was potty trained I longed for diapers. Of course I never told anyone. When I was twelve I fell sixty feet onto some rocks in a rough surf and woke up twenty-one days later with incontinence one of the results of my injuries. (I don't recommend that as a way to become incontinent! Ouch!) No one knew how much I loved wearing diapers with the exception of my nanny. Although I never told her, she somehow knew. I think she felt sorry for me living in that huge house with no one really caring what or how I felt. My adopting father was an absentee father, and my adopting mother never touched or held me.

Even in junior high school, wearing three diapers during the day and taking all the teasing that comes from junior high boys and girls I was quite content because diapers were my security. As I grew older, matured (well, a little) I learned to find my security elsewhere. One diaper during the day and two at night was sufficient up until that first mini stroke. After that three diapers in the daytime and four or five at night is what I wear.

My psychologist has helped me understand why I don't mind people knowing I wear diapers. It's part of that make-believe world I lived in after my regression, part of the security I needed then and now. My love for rhumba pants? Irrational, I know. My wife says she's going to make me a pretty yellow babydoll dress to go with my yellow rhumba pants, and a white one to go with my pink rhumba pants. Oh yeah! I'll wear them. I just have to remember not to answer the door in nothing but diapers, rhumba pants, and a T-shirt, or my babydoll dresses when they're made! lol

I have three grown kids. Two of them are married, my sons, and my daughter is going to school in Maryland. They're normal kids, good men, who married good women, and a great daughter. (daddy's little girl! you know how it is!) I think she believed me when I told her she couldn't date until she was 35. She's 24 and has only been on one date. But Jeremy waited until he was 26 to date, and Jeff until he was 21. Maybe they listened to me when I told them to wait until they were ready for the responsibility of marriage? The thing is, they grew up with a dad in diapers (never saw me in them, but knew about them) and none of them has ever been interested in diapers since they were potty trained.

They know where I am now, and why. My daughter-in-law makes me some cool stuff to go over the diapers. Nor are they threatened or uncomfortable with my present condition (mentally and emotionally). They're very supportive and loving and that will help in the long run. Jeff and Tawny come up often to help or just to visit. Living just a mile away is nice for us. I get hugs, even if I'm just wearing diapers, plastic pants, and a T-shirt. I also get a dad's respect, which is amazing to me.

So now I know where a great deal of the stories I've written come from. The subconscious mind is an amazing thing! I'm just glad I finally understand the regression needs and the enjoyment of the adult baby world! So I'm nuts! I'm loved, and that makes all the difference. Gotta change now, and head for dreamland. I hope I dream about diapers, and not about the bad stuff! luv and hugs evybody!

[Momma Rosie]

Let's try this thread again with RESPECT. I will not tolerate anyone flaming or being judgmental about other members. If you think someone is lying and you have a nasty comment bite your tongue and don't respond at all.

So let's rewind and see some intelligent respectful replies.

--- Revision ---

If you can't respect the member or the administration enough to positively post then this topic is closed.