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Acceptable outside, freaky inside. Hoping to one day merge the two and take over the world.

When I was five, I broke the star that sat upon the Christmas tree. I felt bad. I was angry with myself and wanted to be punished to help alleviate that guilt. My parents weren’t around much, and even when home, they were not disciplinarians. So I sat myself in a corner. And I liked it. Age play has been in my pleasure pocket ever since.

For my seventh birthday I got a Cabbage Patch Kid and a package of real baby diapers for her. Everyone at the party laughed. They teased me, saying the diapers were for me. Well, there’s an idea! I took them home and loved them. They smelled like powder. They crinkled softly. I was intrigued. I tucked them into my panties and used them. Afterwards they were warm and squishy. I masturbated. Then I snuck the used diapers to the trashcan and buried them, terrified of being caught. I seem to have attached shame to sexual feelings from the very beginning.

My teenage years were full of kink, but not age play. Some kinks are hard to share, because they are rare, or less accepted. And high school is a fairly uncertain time as it is. I didn’t share these parts of myself because they were too intimate. I hid these things away. Shame grew.

I graduated, moved out, married young, and had kids. I mentioned slight age play, like spanking, to my husband, but he wasn’t into that at all, which furthered my shame. I avoided age play entirely during my early adult years. Perhaps I had engn=ough diapers to worry about with my babies, but I also knew I wasn’t with a supportive partner. I was certain my diaper fetish would go with me to the grave!

When I divorced and began dating an older man, I felt something awaken within me. I wanted to be little again. I was developing a new power, a desire to go after life. I wanted the things I’d always dreamed about to come true. My boyfriend and I had an organic D/s dynamic. Age play came quite naturally to us. I called him ‘Daddy’ from early on. He spanked me and teased me and I purred. But it took some time before I revealed my diaper fetish to him.

I prepared by writing about it on an anonymous LiveJournal, diving deep into my past, my needs, my reasons, my fears, my shame. I looked at it from all angles. Was I unloved as an infant? Potty trained too early? Why did I love the smell and the feel of diapers as an adult woman? Why did that get me off? What was wrong with me? I joined LiveJournal groups, and met other people who got off in diapers! I let them support me as I came to terms with my desires. I drew inspiration from these other journeys and I gained the confidence to go after what I wanted.

After months of journaling, I decided to let my boyfriend read it all. I was scared sick. But he was so amazing! He ordered diapers for me! Powdery-smelling crinkly ones! And thick white cotton ones! And pins! The first time we played with them I was an emotional wreck. I felt so bad about myself. Shame made my face hot, and tears rolled. For something that turned me on so much, my first time being diapered wasn’t sexy at all! It was more of an intense therapy session that ended with pee running down my legs, forming a puddle at my feet as I sobbed! But we got through it!

The more we played, the less control shame had over me. It helped seeing how much my boyfriend enjoyed diapering me. I had built up these walls over my life, certain that something was wrong with me, embarrassed by sexual desires that were also deep emotional needs. I am still fighting with those feelings. In fact, just writing this piece has caused me some turmoil. It seems I’m still battling the shame that comes when seeking pleasure from outside the widely acceptable menu.

I may never be fully comfortable with my diaper fetish. Most of my diaper play is still in private, and not always due to shame. I know I can share it with my partner, but that doesn’t mean I always want to. From the beginning, my diaper play was part of my masturbation ritual, and that is how I like it the most. I find pleasure holding it in until my bladder is dangerously full, then letting it go, just before I orgasm.

I am lucky to have an accepting and supportive partner, something I really worked for and went after. But it is also okay to embrace kinks on a private, personal level. It doesn’t matter why I want this, why I like this, or when it began. What matters is that I’m living an authentic life and learning to embrace myself. I’m continually beating back the shame, replacing it with pleasure.