The Op asked, “Anyone think a lot of this is tied to your childhood?”
My response? Nope, not a lot of it. All of it! By age 14 I was hooked.
When I was only 4 or 5, I accidentally pooped my pants while I was outside playing. I don’t recall being embarrassed, but I didn’t have a plan when I went inside. I have only happy memories of the incident, from the enjoyable sensation when I climbed onto the kitchen counter to watch my mom making an apple pie. I don’t think that I remember how it felt “down there” when I sat down on the counter, but I know, from the thousands of pants poops I’ve enjoyed since then, that it felt just fine! My mother soon noticed the smell not from the cinnamon and apples that were going into her pie but from the little boy on the counter, although I don’t remember the moment. but I know that I wasn’t punished or even scolded But treated like a beloved son, which I was.
When I was in first grade, I was bullied by a neighbour kid who followed me home from school one day, threatening me all the way. I guess you could say that I stood my ground when I got home and turned to face him. He stopped, pushed a big turd into his pants, and shook it down his pant leg onto our lawn. Later in life I began enjoying doing the same thing, but in private, at least two or three times a month.
At about the same time, two older boys coerced me into peeing into an old bottle behind an old shed. I don’t have a “peeing in old bottles“ fetish, but old, abandoned buildings turn me on big time. Once, on a solo hike, I came across an abandoned house out in the middle of nowhere. Inside, I found a mattress with a new box of Kotex on it with a single unused pad inside. In moments, I had tucked the pad in my jockey shorts and was humping the mattress to orgasm.
There were other incidents, too. My paternal grandmother telling me how ladies used to pee by standing over a hole in the floor, or outside, I suppose, and pee. It seemed to me that she was telling me that they wet their undies, and that became something to try. I did. I loved it! I really loved it later when I peed and pooped in a pair of my sister’s panties that were on their way to the Sally Ann; that was when, for the first time, smearing myself with poop seemed like a good idea, and was, in our back yard where anyone walking past could have seen me. “Doing it” outside is one of my biggest turn-ons to this day.
I was also aroused — “incestualized?” — in my early teens, by my sister, who is five years older than me. She had invited me to go on a hike with her, on a hot summer day. On the way home, she complained that she was too warm and took off her blouse (but kept her bra on). I‘d never seen her nude or even with just a bra. Nothing ”happened” after that, but many times since then my mind’s eye will take me into bed with my sister, who was a beautiful girl and then woman, a woman without moral scruples who was screwing a neighbour the week after her honeymoon. We haven’t spoken in years. Surprisingly, my cross-dressing has never gone further than wearing panties except for very brief moments wearing of a bra, or a slip, or pantyhose, none of which did much for me.
I believe that my parents, who were, admittedly, products of their upbringing, are largely responsible for my skewed sexuality. They were modern-day Puritans who rejected sex as a pleasurable but evil necessity that was permissible only within heterosexual marriage. That placed an impossible demand on me, to remain a virgin until marriage while ignoring the overwhelming sexual desires that normal young men have nearly every waking (and sometimes sleeping) moment of every day. A psychologist told me that mt parents’ Puritanical attitudes toward sexuality, my sexuality in particular, amounted to psychological abuse.
Peter P. P.
