Like many other infantillists, I grew up with an urge to associate with diapers at an early age. To be sure, I can’t remember not having these urges to handle diapers. As far as I know, I was “created” with these desires, but why HaShem would create such a person is beyond the scope of this current story. Nevertheless, I do contemplate such a possibility from time to time.

I was a bed-wetter up until the age of 12 or so. I was actually an off-and-on bed-wetter, so I did not need diapers 100% of the time. But because I needed them occasionally, I always had them on hand. Now, my parents knew about my bladder problems, but surprisingly they did not find out about my “self-imposed solution”. You see, it was my idea to use diapers, but looking back, I’m not entirely sure that the desire to use diapers always stemmed from the bed-wetting problems.

In many ways, the common belief that infantillism has much to do with the “rejection of hardness” (as Tommy of DPF has put it in his “A Theory on Infantillism”) found itself true in my case. My father was this huge authoritative, religious figure in my home. His word was the “law” and to step out of bound was to invite swift and painful punishment. My parents both believed in spankings, my father having the ability to “settle” a situation with his stern look and raised voice alone. We kids lived in both love and fear of our parents.

My father was also a very accomplished semi-pro football player. As far back as I can remember, he would take us boys especially to his games to watch him play. My older brother especially took on my father’s sports interest with enthusiasm; I on the other hand tended to be a rather quiet and shy type of fellow. I usually had my nose in a science fiction book or some other make-believe comic novel. My world consisted of the fantasy and fanciful flights of the mind.

I was also an accomplished artist growing up. I could sculpt anything my mind could imagine out of a little bit of cardboard, glue, balsa wood, and some paint. When Star Trek was on the tube, my eyes were glued there! When George Lucas’ Star Wars hit the theaters, I was instantly hooked! But amidst this all, my world also consisted of disposable diapers.

I rejected my father’s wishes to become his predecessor in sports, so he instead turned his focus on my older brother, who was more athletically inclined anyway. My father was happy, so he let me be my quiet, shy self. My mother never openly argued or opposed my father’s rulings, so I do not know what she thought of the whole situation, except to say that she always viewed me as her “favorite son”. I loved my mother immensely and usually sought her affection before I would seek my father’s.

As my parents began to have more children, diapers became a common sight in my house. My earliest “imprints” came whenever I would watch my mother change my younger brothers and sister on the changing table. We children average anywhere from 3 to 5 years apart in age proximity, so I was old enough to understand what was taking place with them, but too young to remember it personally happening to me. I have vivid memories of seeing this happy little baby lying on its back with my mom’s smiling face gazing down and gentle hands caressing the most vulnerable parts of its body. The smell of fresh baby powder, the sight and smell of a soft, clean white, Pampers disposable diaper being placed between the baby’s legs, the sight of the other stack of unused diapers waiting in the storage bin under the table, the look on the baby’s face… This was pure bliss to me! Little did I know at the time, but I would return to that metaphor time and time again as I would later develop my fetish for these Pampers diapers.

Then, one day something new happened. As my mother was changing one of my siblings, they began to cry because of a diaper rash. Of course, I had no first-hand knowledge of this. At any rate, my mother then applied some baby oil to their reddened bottom and soothed it into their skin, the opened, clean diaper resting beneath their naked bottom waiting to be secured between their legs. As my mother applied this oil, the child stopped crying. This was amazing to me! What was so “magical” about this smooth liquid which was applied to their genitals? I had to find out.

That night, I secretly slipped a diaper from the diaper bin into my pajama shorts and took it to my room. Once there, I lay on my back, stripped off all of my clothes and duplicated exactly what I saw my mother do for my younger siblings, without fastening the tapes just yet. I was a skinny kid, so this large diaper easily fit me. The diaper was soft and comforting, but something was missing. I must have been 7 or so, but I still remember trying to induce crying upon myself. I wanted to cry, so that this fantastic experience would make it all better. I finally produced a muffled whimper (remember, my family was asleep), and then spit into my hand and applied it to my genitals. This sounds strange, but the spit represented the oil that I had forgotten to grab the first time. I watched myself as I applied my “oil” to myself for awhile. There must have been sexual feelings present, but I am unsure to this day. What was strongly felt was intense comfort and total gratification indescribable to my 7 year-old mind at the time. I pulled the diaper up between my legs and fastened the tapes. The feeling of this bulky Pampers between my legs would pave the way to my becoming a diaper fetishist. I remember thinking to myself, “I am completely naked and wearing a disposable diaper!” The joy was unmeasurable. For years afterwards, I would repeat this phrase in my head as I fondled Pampers diapers. To this day, the words "diaper", "disposable diapers", "Pampers diapers" and such have an arousing affect on me when I hear them or see them in print anywhere.

The next time I experimented with a Pampers, I remembered to snatch the oil. I applied baby oil and then diapered myself quite a few times, until once I over-applied the oil and got some on the front taping surface of the diaper. As you know, the tapes won’t stick to that, so I was disappointed. I eventually abandoned the oil, but always kept a few diapers under my bed for such pleasurable adventures. I had begun to focus on these Pampers, and with my imagination, I dreamed of a day when I could understand all of this with more clarity.

As I grew older, my diaper fetish hightened. My bed-wetting experiences gave me the “excuse” I needed to have diapers in the event that one of my siblings ever discovered my hidden stash (which they never did, but I had a few close calls). Indeed, as puberty set in, I discovered that these Pampers had the ability to provide for me intense sexual gratification if I touched them just right. I began to sharpen my desire to touch diapers, particularly the smooth outer white plastic that Pampers of the early 80’s were made of. That is when my mind made the discovery that these diapers would always produce a climax when rubbed just the right way. I was hooked on the feeling of this stimulation during my entire teenhood.

During my early twenties, I began to notice girls. I would interact with them on a friendly level, but never divulged my interest in diapers. As far as I knew, I was the only one in the world who liked to touch diapers, and no one even knew! I kept my secret so well-hidden that even my younger brother, who shared a room with me during my early teens did not know that I would wait until he drifted off to sleep before getting out of bed and going down the hall to the downstairs T.V. room to masturbate with my Pampers. There I would be in the late hours, everyone else asleep in bed, with half a dozen disposable diapers and climax experiences that left me shaking. I did not understand it, but I was definitely dependent on this feeling.

Even during my college years, I secretly hid diapers in my lockable trunk at the foot of my bed. When my roomate would drift off to sleep, I would lie on my back and fondle my Pampers. I usually kept an old tee shirt around for cleaning up the seminal fluid I would produce. After returning from college, I began working and dating a girl who changed my life forever.

While we dated, we discovered that I had a hidden fetish for pantyhose as well. She gave me pleasure this way, and for once in my life, the diapers were not at the forefront of my sexual experience. I have elaborated about this dating experience in another story, so you will have to read it there.

What did my friends and parents think about all of this? As far as they could tell, I was a decent young man who made good grades, respected my elders, went to synagogue like I was supposed to, said my prayers at each meal, did not smoke, did not drink, did not engage in pre-marital sex, did not do any drugs, and had bright and ambitious plans for the future. I was an all-around normal and respectable person, even as I am today. The only difference, unknown to anyone but myself, was that I masturbated with disposable diapers.

To make this long story short, I discovered DPF in 1997 or so. This opened up a whole new world of research for me, as I now knew that there were indeed others like myself. I was happy, yet I wanted to research this side of me more intensely. My rabbinical training has taught me how to conduct serious religious studies on many subjects. When I was with the U.S. Army, I learned during my psychological and counselling training how to probe the deep inner behavioral maps of individuals. These tools gave me the edge I needed to begin to unlock the reasons behind my paraphilic behaviour. Indeed, I do have what studies called a paraphilia.

A paraphilia is a condition in which a person's sexual arousal and gratification depend on fantasizing about and engaging in sexual behavior that is atypical and extreme. A paraphilia can revolve around a particular object (e.g., children, animals, underwear) or around a particular act (e.g., inflicting pain, exposing oneself). Most of the paraphilias are far more common in men than in women. The focus of a paraphilia is usually very specific and unchanging. For example, for someone who derives sexual pleasure from exposing his genitals, watching others engaging in sexual activity will not generally provide sexual gratification. A paraphilia is distinguished by a preoccupation with the object or behavior to the point of being dependent on that object or behavior for sexual gratification. In most cases, types of sexual activity outside the boundaries of the paraphilia lose their arousal or satisfaction potential unless the person fantasizes about the paraphilia at the same time. In my case, I need not fantasize about diapers; they are instead a stark reality to me during sexual arousal. This information might be helpful to those of you trying to understand why exactly you have an attraction for diapers.

I also mentioned that I consider myself as a fetishist. Studies show that fetishism is actually a type of paraphilia and define fetishism thusly: Fetishism is a fixation on an object or body part that is not primarily sexual in nature, and the compulsive need for its use in order to obtain sexual gratification. The fetish object is almost invariably used during masturbation and may also be incorporated into sexual activity with a partner in order to produce sexual excitation. Fetishists usually collect the object of their favor, and may go to great lengths, including theft, to acquire just the "right" addition for their collection. Some of the more common objects that have served as fetishes include women's undergarments, high-heeled shoes, or specific materials, like silk, leather or fur. Some people have a fetish for particular body parts such as feet, hair or legs. In my particular case, a specific type of disposable diaper became the object of my arousal.

In closing, I want to state that my parents and family most definitely played an indirect part in my development as a diaper lover. They certainly weren’t active participants to the best of their knowledge, for indeed they currently do NOT know that I have this interest in diapers. My wife is the only person other than cyber readers who know about this side of the rabbi. Thank you for reading my story.

-Rabbi