Well here's my story:
Coming to the realization that I was a DL took many years. I was married (thankfully divorced now). Marriage was hugely stressful, living in a rural area on the other side of the world from all my friends and family. There was no one to confide in except my then-wife (and she wasn't always that understanding). She was older, with a child from a previous marriage. I remember becoming interested in what the heck female pads were, after having had an aversion to them for my whole adult life (it's a guy thing, we can be squeamish....). It took a long time, but the sequence of events was sort of like a "desensitization" of sorts. First I just looked at a packet of my wifes pads, sitting there in the basket in the bathroom. I felt guilty, shameful, as if I was about to be caught. I had no idea why I felt that way. I hated it, and secretly loved it at the same time, they were feelings I had never really had, or allowed myself to feel.
Then, after many weeks of just looking each time I went to the toilet, trying to work out what the heck was wrong with me, I furtively looked at the (locked) door in case she came through (weird what our brains make up), and picked up the packet just to feel it and look closer. It crinkled, and I dropped it, turned red, panicked, held my breath in case I had just been rumbled, then as quietly as possible, replaced it in *exactly* the position it had been in, flushed and tried to calm my shaking hands.
Well, that put me off for a little while, it was way too intense, I thought my head was exploding.
But fast forward a few more weeks, and it started again. Then when I had worked out how to not make the packet crinkle, it became more regular, and finally after a few months, when my wife was out, I opened a single pad, just to study it. It didn't bite me or kill me, which I guess I found surprising, haha. But now I had a new problem! How the heck would I hide this from my wife? She would obviously find out that there was an unused pad just sitting there, or in the bin, or wherever, and she'd confront me, and my life would be over....my mind was in overdrive again. I managed to stuff it down the bottom of the almost full kitchen garbage, inside an empty biscuit packet, and I prayed for her not to find it and confront me.
And fast forward a year. I was now fairly comfortable holding unused, open pads, and was considering what they felt like to wear. I mean, were they uncomfortable? My wife had complained about that sometimes, something which I really didn't want to hear or think about, thank you very much. But nevertheless, was she right, or just making it up? I had to wait a few more weeks for her to leave the house for any length of time, but I seized the opportunity when it came. I waited for the car to become a distant sound....I waited in case she had forgotten something and came back....I waited....I waited.....finally, after half an hour, I knew she wasn't coming back, so I dove right into the bathroom, ripped open a pad, pulled my trousers and underwear down, and tried to work out how these things stuck.
I kept looking round at the bathroom walls and door, it felt like the whole world was watching me, I wanted to bail so hard, yet I was magnetically drawn to completing this task. I felt weird, I wasn't female, yet I was doing something that literally only females do, and even then, only because they have no other options, they have to! I was choosing to do this! I didn't understand myself, I felt embarrassed, shameful, guilty, sad, perhaps I had truly gone mad?
And so it went on, bit by bit, every few weeks there would be another single episode to add to the one before it. It really did take a long time, years in fact. I was a normal guy, living a normal (but stressful) life, and just occasionally, I'd be gripped by this desire to "find out more". And when I did, each time I did, my head would nearly explode, I would be left shaking, full of weird emotions I didn't understand, thinking I was crazy, and it would put me off it for weeks.
Then I remember one time when I wondered how those pads absorbed....erm....stuff? I didn't really want to know. But I did. But I didn't. But I did. Were they like a sponge? Or a dishcloth? Did they get wet and stay wet? Or what? And again, I had to wait. And wait. Until the next chance... And the next chance came some time later, but I took it. I did the same as before, furtively waiting for the sound of the car to fade, waiting, waiting, waiting, trying to distract myself with chores, until the half-an-hour was up. I dove into the bathroom again, got one out, and wondered what the heck to do? Should I put it under the tap? Or get a cup of water? Or.....no.....I didn't just think that......I didn't.....did I.....? Pee? NO. That's too far. That's stupid. Put it away, you really are crazy now. That's it, throw it away, go and mend the fence. YOU DIDN'T THINK THAT.
I threw it away. I was disgusted with myself. I hated how crazy I thought I was becoming. I was a normal guy. Why was I having abnormal thoughts?? This was NOT normal behaviour, and I felt like my entire upbringing was all for nothing. I was letting my family down, my friends, any higher being that might have been looking down benevolently on me.
But I couldn't shake that thought.
And so it went on like this. Until one time I plucked up the courage to pee on a pad just a tiny bit, watching what happened. The few drops of pale yellow liquid disappeared into the pad, staining it in a patch, moving up and down the length of it, more than it did sideways. Wow, that was interesting! I had had no idea that these things were designed so well! Ingenious! Man, that deserves some special attention now. I wonder how much it can hold?
And on it went. I worked out (at a particularly inconvenient moment, and in the worst possible way) that pads didn't hold very much at all. FUCK. How the heck am I going to clean the bathroom floor without being noticed??????? Now my pants are wet too!! SHIT SHIT SHIT.....SHE'S IN THE OTHER ROOM!!!!!
Yeah. Until I wondered what sort of products DID hold more than a pad. I knew that there were different sizes of pad, so what was the biggest? Next time I was in the supermarket, I thought, I'll take a quick peek at that aisle to see....(which blew my head just as much as the very first time I held a pad, since now it was in public, and strangers could see me looking at the shelves of pads, so they'll automatically know my entire history, how deranged I am, that I'm a pedophile (obviously there's a proven connection between pads and pedophilia, well done brain), a mass murderer, probably Hitler, and they'll......look at me disapprovingly!!! ;-) Wowee, my brain loves to wind me up.
I came to the conclusion that adult diapers were.....a thing.....and probably had been designed for exactly my sort of predicament - stopping too much....liquid.....from hitting the floor while your wife is in the next room. Thank god there were clever people on this planet!
But it took for ever to work out a time and place to actually buy a packet. I had to work out - where - it was important that it was somewhere I didn't go very often, so that no one would recognise me afterwards, then - when - the wife had to be out of town (which never happened), then - how I would hide them from her - fuck, this was almost too much effort.
I knew I was highly interested though. I couldn't shake the thought, and the emotions kept blowing my mind, each time I thought about it.
That first time I put the diapers on the conveyor, trying desperately not to look the cashier in the eye. But she looked at them, looked at me, looked at them, looked at me, looked at them, slowly lifted her head, eyes wide open in some kind of realization, and just looked at me, eyes popping out of her head.... I honestly nearly died that day.
...
How did I deal with the emotions? The shame, guilt, excitement, horror, sadness at myself, embarrassment of telling my current girlfriend (it's now a long time after the divorce)?
I'm still dealing with them now, 14 years after I first looked at that pad. My current girlfriend has helped enormously, she was absolutely cool when I told her I wore diapers occasionally. She gave me a hug and said that it was a part of me, and that she loved me for who I am. I couldn't have asked for anything more. She's a keeper. My ex-wife was NOT so understanding, I had broached the topic, but never actually shown her anything - she never had any evidence - but that didn't stop her from bringing it up in court when we divorced. She told the lawyers the most horrible stuff, which I still haven't really forgiven her for.
Yeah, so it's a daily struggle. I haven't quite figured out why I'm this way, but I'm very glad that there are other really nice people who also share this personal oddity. Thank you everyone reading this for being you, for being cool. I've actually met some DLs in real life, and the vast majority of them have been super lovely people. So thank you! You guys rock for being open and accepting.
I'm not a psychologist, but I do wonder if I am just deeply ashamed of who I am, period. The DL bit is a fascinating way of getting in touch with that part of me, and I while I still harbour thoughts of giving it all up to "become normal again", that hasn't happened, and every time I try, I cave pretty quickly.
So yeah.
