To all posters in this thread: THANK YOU! Sinceiwassmall and denis97y, especially; they seem to be my fetish doppelgängers, with minor differences.
I know nothing about my toilet training (although I can assume that my mother always made a face when she changed me), and I have no memory of being in diapers. I do remember accidentally pooping my pants at play when I was four or five. Since I don’t remember being cleaned up, I can only assume that my mother treated the incident as she would have treated spilled milk, with love instead of an inappropriate scolding or punishment.
I became entranced by “anal stuff” as an early pre-teen, but pooping my pants intentionally didn’t happen until I was 13 or 14. The desire to poop in my tighty-whities came on without warning one Sunday just before I was to attend church with my parents. I’d been bullied by a pair of sadistic bullies at Sunday school, and was hardly in the mood to pretend church was anything but pointless. I told my mom and dad that I had to go home to do some homework — we lived just a couple blocks from the church. Once at home, it took me a few tries to push a small, hard, round turd into my underwear. I immediately sat down on my basketball, rolled around a bit, masturbated to orgasm, and was hooked.
My next pants poop, perhaps a year later, was Olympian: I was naked except for a thin nylon pair of my sister’s panties that I‘d found among old clothes going to the Sally Ann. I was in my back yard, which was surrounded by a low wall which any passerby could have glanced over, but our street had few pedestrians, and because I was in "the zone" I didn't even think about the possibility of being seen. I’d had the panties on for maybe three seconds before I started peeing in them and pushing out a massive load of soft poop which almost immediately started oozing past the panties’ leg openings. Soon I was soon laying on my back on the grass, smearing myself thoroughly and masturbating to a grand orgasm.
From that day onward, but not necessarily upward, I preferred “going” in my pants rather than using the toilet. I recall only a few more times that I indulged myself after that memorable beginning. It can’t have been often: my family didn’t have a washing machine (Mom went to a laundromat) or a shower or a washing machine (Mom went to a laundromat). I don’t remember how I managed to wash my clothes the few times I gave in to my poopy desires during the remainder of my teenage years, but I do know there was a serious downside.
After every pants pooping/peeing session. I would plunge into at least a full day of shame, guilt, and depression. The only break I got was when I joined the Navy, in part because I hoped that the Navy would “cure“ me, for really did wonder if I was insane. I was certain that I was the only person in the world who “did that” in their pants. One of the reasons I joined the Navy was because I believed that my mother had outed me; she found a filthy pair of underpants in one of my dresser drawers, washed and bleached them, dried them, and returned them to my dresser without a comment. I was sure that I had been outed, and decided that I had to get away from family, and chose the Navy route to do that. It was probably a hasty decision: I doubt, now, that my mother had ever heard of fetishes. I'd bet good money, now, that she thought I'd had diarrhea and she didn't want to embarrass me.
Joining the Navy was one of the best decisions I ever made, even though it resulted in my being seriously wounded in Vietnam, where I was one of two hospital corpsmen (medics) in a platoon of U.S. Marines. The Navy didn’t cure me of my fetishes. I enjoyed only one tiny pants poop in the Navy, and that didn’t amount to more than a heavy skid mark in my skivvies. When I was discharged after my four-year enlistment and got my own apartment, it didn’t take more than a day or two for me to revert to the good old days, and I had one of the wettest, messiest, smeariest pee ‘n’ poop sessions of my life.
Almost 60 years later, I’m still at it. I finally told my wife about my fetishes after more than 45 years of shamefully hiding them from her. She coped with that information really well, and even volunteered to buy panties for me, sometimes gives me panties that she’s getting rid of, and includes my rinsed or pre-washed clothes without complaint. I have more or less come to terms with who I am, but I can still go into a dark place after especially messy poops. ADISC had been an important resource for connection with like-minded people, as was The Experience Project before that site descended into the murky depths of censorship of what they called "titillating" posts.
Peter P.P.
sometimes it’s deliberate and sometimes it’s a surprise in public. I’d rather be a stinky diaper girl than have an embarrassing panty mess in public.
in my opinion it’s one of the best feelings you can have in a diaper.