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New member, old guy, not a DL or AB, but...

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PeterPPeevy

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81
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  1. Diaper Lover
  2. Other
I'm an 80-year-old retired professional, and a wounded Vietnam vet, with a history of pee and poop fetishes starting at age 13 or 14, which means a lifetime of angst, fear and ignorance about my own sexuality and sexuality in general. I hid my fetishes (and my desire to wear panties with menstrual and incontinence pads) from my wife for most of our 57-year marriage. The stress of living in my fetish closet finally got to me around 2012, and I revealed all to my wife, who was incredibly supportive even though her own sexual interests are pure vanilla. On that day, she volunteered to buy pads and panties for me, and for the first time in my adult life I felt like a reasonably normal person. A note about the Vietnam War: You should be aware that I am proud of my service in Vietnam because I proved to myself that I was not a coward and did my job to the best of my ability not because I was given the "opportunity" to fight for American democracy. Within days of arriving in Vietnam, I was fighting only to stay alive and to keep the Marines in my charge alive (I was a Navy hospital corpsman). I was not — NOT — fighting for Mom, or democracy, or apple pie, and I regret being a part of the huge military force that largely destroyed North and South Vietnam for no valid reason. Because of my wound and Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD), I receive a large monthly disability compensation from the VA, less than I deserve but helpful for all that. Finally, please don't say to me, "Thank you for your service" unless you understand that my "service" was not in the interest of the political desires of American politicians and military leaders but for the Marines I was with, both those who lived those many who died.
 
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I am also a Vet from the same time period and at your request I will not state those words you detest!
Will state that the amount of pent-up frustration within is likely eating you from the inside out, but I also guess this is not the first time you have heard that.

Thanks for the warning style introduction and I will start from there.

Welcome and be welcomed to the very unique world of ADISC an interesting place as near everyone here is wearing a diaper.
Enjoy your look around.
 
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Thank you for your response, Edgewater. Good username!

"Pent-up frustration" is a reasonable description many days of my current life. For a long time — about the same period of time that it took for me to "come clean" to my wife about my fetishes — I believed that my only wound from Vietnam was physical, but it turned out that the wound to my psyche — my "soul," or what was left of it — was far worse. My PTSD had made it impossible for me to work at my chosen profession, and challenged my marriage as well. And it never ends. Just a couple of weeks ago I was "re-wounded" when I learned that my company commander, who had been suffering severe depression, had committed suicide. He himself, although he was an excellent officer, had never come to terms with his own experience. He blamed himself for the ambush that resulted in the deaths of 10 Marines in my company, and 20 wounded. The real blame lies with the Marines' poor intelligence about the communists in our operating area. He was in the habit, for decades, of writing to every Marine in his company at least those for whom he had an email, thanking us for our sacrifice on that day. To me, he is every bit as much a casualty of the Vietnam War as any of the men whose names appear on The Wall in Washington.

I don't know whether I can contribute much to discussions on this web site, but I have benefitted from many hours of sessions with sex-friendly psychologists who have convinced me that my fetishes are just one not-unexpected aspect of what has been a life of interesting, broad experience. Perhaps I can pass on some of what I have learned.
 
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There are rare few that return from War that are not deeply effected, whether the World Wars of the past, the so named conflicts of our era or those more recent near never-ending conflicts. I have seen the same moments when their eyes go empty as those horror moments repeat, repeat, repeat themselves. I know far too many that have taken their own lives. Creative people with much to add and the family's left to grieve. The blood still flows from my hands as I am haunted by those that I had sent to an early death. My only salvation is those on our side that did not die that day or any of the following days I was there. It was my job to keep the heavy guns able to keep pounding, but the location was still over run by individuals that wanted our blood. I have come to pease with those that haunted me! They return less often, likely because the graying of my elderly mind forgets more often now days.

Yes, there is no question that you could pass on some of what you have learned. But, understand that you will be moving around fragile minds that have some exposure to violence, but not at the levels that we have witnessed. The discussion with in this Thread is likely reverberating even as we write. With hope, we do not set fear loose in their sleep. Bring you heart to the surface, allow the struggle to wage separately as you engage with them.

Thank you, Edgewater is a reflection of my raging struggles far off-shore and come to rest softy along the water's edge.
 
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PeterPPeevy said:
I regret being a part of the huge military force that largely destroyed North and South Vietnam for no valid reason.
I can say with confidence that this is not an entirely correct statement. There were many atrocities committed by both sides and the Cong did just as much damage to their own country. The war had a very big impact on the country but it was not all bad. The US soldiers did not fight in vein like so many still believe today.

The reason I can say this is because I had the great opportunity to befriend a Vietnamese refugee. He came to the states as a teen and has many memories of the country before and after the war. He visits his family there regularly. He told me about what he had expected the first time he went back to visit in the 80's. He expected a downtrodden country run by a communist regime and feared even going there but was reassured by his family there that he would be untouched and be able to return safely. What he discovered when he arrived is a country full of people that largely deny the communist party and run their 'states' however they see fit. The communist party only has a strong presence in around the city of Hanoi. Even then it isn't really that powerful. In his southern town he saw more people wearing American flag printed clothing than in the most patriotic cities in the US. People there talk about the war and are grateful for the US presence that helped them grow their freedoms over time.

War is ugly and not the best solution. We come back scarred emotionally and in a lot of cases physically and leave behind a scarred country. The worst scar is the one thinking it was all in vein and that you did more harm than good. The thing about scars is that they do heal over time, becoming less noticeable and in most cases leave something more resilient. I hope some day you can have the same opportunity to sit and talk with a Vietnamese refugee or national to hear the stories directly to help heal that scar.

So, to you Peter and all your brothers in arms, I say thank you for your service. And I'm sure my good friend would thank you as well just as he thanked me when I returned home from my deployment.
 
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I lived in Vietnam for 10 years and saw a lot of the aftermarth of that war you fought in. Vietnam moved forward in a way nobody expected. The people now surprisingly don't hold much of a grudge against the Americans and many, in fact, openly support the American way of life. (though not to the press)

I had some interesting times there maintaining my diaper interest although I'm now back in Europe. My time was, for sure, very different but did leave both a positive and negative mark on me.

Welcome to ADISC, we're a diverse bunch here, but indeed, most of us are in diapers
 
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PeterPPeevy said:
I'm an 80-year-old retired professional, and a wounded Vietnam vet, with a history of pee and poop fetishes starting at age 13 or 14, which means a lifetime of angst, fear and ignorance about my own sexuality and sexuality in general. I hid my fetishes (and my desire to wear panties with menstrual and incontinence pads) from my wife for most of our 57-year marriage. The stress of living in my fetish closet finally got to me around 2012, and I revealed all to my wife, who was incredibly supportive even though her own sexual interests are pure vanilla. On that day, she volunteered to buy pads and panties for me, and for the first time in my adult life I felt like a reasonably normal person. A note about the Vietnam War: You should be aware that I am proud of my service in Vietnam because I proved to myself that I was not a coward and did my job to the best of my ability not because I was given the "opportunity" to fight for American democracy. Within days of arriving in Vietnam, I was fighting only to stay alive and to keep the Marines in my charge alive (I was a Navy hospital corpsman). I was not — NOT — fighting for Mom, or democracy, or apple pie, and I regret being a part of the huge military force that largely destroyed North and South Vietnam for no valid reason. Because of my wound and Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD), I receive a large monthly disability compensation from the VA, less than I deserve but helpful for all that. Finally, please don't say to me, "Thank you for your service" unless you understand that my "service" was not in the interest of the political desires of American politicians and military leaders but for the Marines I was with, both those who lived those many who died.
Hello and welcome from the UK 🇬🇧
 
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Thank you for your sacrifice.
Thought I was only in elementary school at the time you Served.
I'm very thankful you all did.
Welcome home I would shake all your hands I very much respect you very much 👍
 
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Welcome, @PeterPPeevy.

I'm sure I can't imagine what it was like to be a part of the War, and I respect your position implicitly. One of my uncles was an infantryman and field artillery instructor in Vietnam. He's never shared any stories of his time there, but when I visited him a few years ago he was listening to CDs of gunfire, basically sounds of the battlefield. He said they calmed him, and he'd rattle off the name of every gun that was heard. I knew then that something had happened to him that I couldn't understand, and hopefully never would. It's truly heartbreaking. He used to go deer hunting with us, and we wondered how a trained weapons expert managed to never shoot a dear. Years later he told me that he never even considered shooting a deer, and went hunting just to spend time with us. He said (basically), "I've done enough killing for one lifetime."

Phew! Sorry for that aside. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it back and I’m sorry for what our political machinery put you through.

Moving on to less-weighty topics: Bras, panties, pads, and other girl stuff were a huge thing for me in my teens. Mom eventually found my stuff and was surprisingly gentle, but I was so embarrassed that I still threw it all away. I left for college not long after and never got back into it. On the other hand, the diaper interests have been with me for as long as I can remember and seem to be here to stay. And although my “big” side seems firmly male now, my “little” side would rather be a girl. Who knows? We’re a complicated bunch, obviously.

Take care and enjoy the site. I hope we can be worthy companions in this stuff. I joined mainly to satisfy my curiosity and now can’t imagine leaving. Until I had it, I never knew I needed the support and validation of others in this quirky little community of ours.
 
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My ending up in combat in Vietnam was an unexpected outcome of — wait for it — my pee and poop fetishes! I began soiling and soaking myself, smearing myself with poop, and then masturbating, when I was 13. For me, it was like a hit of crack cocaine — I was hooked after the very first experience. I couldn’t enjoy that activity very often — we didn’t have a washing machine, and I had very little clean clothing that I could change into, not that that stopped me. One day, when I was 19 and a college sophomore, I came home from a date and discovered that the filthy, wet pair of underpants that I had hidden in my a dresser drawer was gone! I didn’t swear in those days — I was a “good boy” — but “Holy shit!” would have been appropriate. Then, the next day, my underwear magically reappeared, snowy white and smelling good, not at all like the pit beneath an outhouse. My mother had obviously found my dirty underwear, probably by using her nose, and washed and bleached it.

Mom never said a word about it, and probably just assumed that I had had an accident and was embarrassed, but it had been no accident and I was mortified (and further convinced that I was insane). n
That nightI had to play in the pep band for a college football game. My girlfriend wasn’t there because she had a cold, or so she said. When we weren’t playing, I was talking to a friend, a girl, about how I hated all of my classes, and I was tired of being dependent on my parents, all of which really was code for saying that I had to get away from home and college because I was terrified that someone besides my mom would learn how disgusting a person I really was, because of my fetishes, although I didn’t even know the word “fetish” then. My friend listened patiently, then said, “You should join the Navy!” Which is exactly what I did, the next day. I was sure that the Navy would help me “grow out” of my fetishes.

Now to fast-forward through the next four-plus years: Bootcamp, hospital corps school, working for two years in a Navy hospital, combat medical training with the Marines, assignment to the 1st Marine Regiment, training for combat, landing in South Vietnam, witnessing or being involved in a dozen horrific incidents involving torture of POWs and a lot of blood, most of it American blood, then becoming one of 30 casualties in my company when communists ambushed us; 10 Marines were killed.

I was in hospital almost a year, mostly recovering from my wound. When I was discharged, my fiancée and I rented an apartment, although because of stupid “Christian” morality she could moved in with me u til after our wedding. On my first day in that apartment, for the first time sinceI enlisted in the Navy, I soaked my underwear and khaki pants and filled them with a massive, soft poop and enjoyed a long smearing session.

Moral: Joining the Navy will not end a fetishist’s compulsions. At least it didn’t end mine.

Today, 57 years after Vietnam, I still pee and poop as often as possible in whatever clothing or pull-up or pad that I am wearing, in public whenever possible, but taking not to be noticed. Smearing and masturbation often follow.
 
PeterPPeevy said:
My ending up in combat in Vietnam was an unexpected outcome of — wait for it — my pee and poop fetishes! I began soiling and soaking myself, smearing myself with poop, and then masturbating, when I was 13. For me, it was like a hit of crack cocaine — I was hooked after the very first experience. I couldn’t enjoy that activity very often — we didn’t have a washing machine, and I had very little clean clothing that I could change into, not that that stopped me. One day, when I was 19 and a college sophomore, I came home from a date and discovered that the filthy, wet pair of underpants that I had hidden in my a dresser drawer was gone! I didn’t swear in those days — I was a “good boy” — but “Holy shit!” would have been appropriate. Then, the next day, my underwear magically reappeared, snowy white and smelling good, not at all like the pit beneath an outhouse. My mother had obviously found my dirty underwear, probably by using her nose, and washed and bleached it.

Mom never said a word about it, and probably just assumed that I had had an accident and was embarrassed, but it had been no accident and I was mortified (and further convinced that I was insane). n
That nightI had to play in the pep band for a college football game. My girlfriend wasn’t there because she had a cold, or so she said. When we weren’t playing, I was talking to a friend, a girl, about how I hated all of my classes, and I was tired of being dependent on my parents, all of which really was code for saying that I had to get away from home and college because I was terrified that someone besides my mom would learn how disgusting a person I really was, because of my fetishes, although I didn’t even know the word “fetish” then. My friend listened patiently, then said, “You should join the Navy!” Which is exactly what I did, the next day. I was sure that the Navy would help me “grow out” of my fetishes.

Now to fast-forward through the next four-plus years: Bootcamp, hospital corps school, working for two years in a Navy hospital, combat medical training with the Marines, assignment to the 1st Marine Regiment, training for combat, landing in South Vietnam, witnessing or being involved in a dozen horrific incidents involving torture of POWs and a lot of blood, most of it American blood, then becoming one of 30 casualties in my company when communists ambushed us; 10 Marines were killed.

I was in hospital almost a year, mostly recovering from my wound. When I was discharged, my fiancée and I rented an apartment, although because of stupid “Christian” morality she could moved in with me u til after our wedding. On my first day in that apartment, for the first time sinceI enlisted in the Navy, I soaked my underwear and khaki pants and filled them with a massive, soft poop and enjoyed a long smearing session.

Moral: Joining the Navy will not end a fetishist’s compulsions. At least it didn’t end mine.

Today, 57 years after Vietnam, I still pee and poop as often as possible in whatever clothing or pull-up or pad that I am wearing, in public whenever possible, but taking not to be noticed. Smearing and masturbation often follow.
That's your love map we all have our own love maps . I remember the first time I felt good those things imprint your love map. Do you think you're the only one into wetting and messing no . There are so many into things. As long as you do no harm and consenting adults your ok.
Get over the self hate it does you no good. Just go on with your life.
Yes I wear diapers so what a lot of us do . After 40 + years of trying to give it up I found that it's a part of me. God knows what I would become I was still born so God loves me .so why can't I accept myself like he does.
 
Oof. I was close to enlisting a couple times out of highschool / starting college. Was something I was really into at the time. Got a 90+ something on ASVAB iirc. But ultimately money talks when you've known poverty and being ridiculed and showed off to all your childhood. I ended up with an offer I couldn't refuse on the civilian job market so that ended that aspiration.

I didn't think anything of it at the time cause my ABDL (mostly DL then) episodes were pretty infrequent and far apart. And I was pretty hyped on the fantasy of military life at the time like most boys/young men are at that age.

But I look back and not sure how I could even survive basic now. Going 2-3 months and keeping that unbearable pent up need growing inside like an insatiable all consuming monster without binge access to anything diapers, footy jammies, stuffies? Ugh it would be miserable and completely taking over my brain now days. And that is something you absolutely could not be caught being associated with in the military or your life is pretty much over.

I don't know how people into forbidden things like ABDL can do it. Maybe it's the same thing as me, it's not as bad early on and you can go without for longer and the desire and need just grows when you get older.

Even now I sometimes think about my ABDL as it pertains to one of my favorite genres, survival apocalypse stuff. What I would do if there was ever a true Civil War or Red Dawn event, or natural disaster, or zombies style end of life as we know it scenario in my life time? Can you imagine fending off zombies and bandits and desperately rummaging ruins of houses and hospitals and drug stores looking for a diaper fix? OMFG. 🤣

I know it should be the least of my worries with what's going on in the world but I think about how everything ABDL is made in China right now and what happens when all trade is suddenly stopped...a very realistic scenario playing out as we speak. 😬
 
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@foxkits — Not to worry, I don't hate myself, and don't think I ever did, although I certainly did wonder if I was mentally ill. And I understand now, thanks to the Internet, that I am not alone. I also know that I'm a better person than half the people who end up in headlines in the news.

@LittleAndAlone — Fortunately, I didn't suffer the "…unbearable, pent-up need" you mention. It wouldn't have been diapers in my case, since I had never considered using them or anything besides my normal clothing. In the Navy, you live cheek to jowl with other men, even in shore assignments, and wetting or messing myself intentionally was unthinkable. Only once, during a stressful period of night duty, did I give in and drop a wee bit of poop in my Navy undies, so little that I was able to rinse it out in the shower, which I often did anyway (I was spending money on cameras and stereos, not laundry!).

I think you are correct that the desire and need for "forbidden things like ABDL" only grow with age. When I was working, I indulged in my fetishes no more than a very few times a month. Now it’s a few times every week, and would be daily or several times a day if I were living alone. In my case, I suspect that it's the stress of multiple health issues, my son's money troubles and health problems, climate change, the suicide of democracies, and the deaths of friends and former Navy and Marine Corps colleagues that have resulted in my increasing need for self-soothing.

The "Chinese connection" you mention is interesting. I could easily survive that disruption of the world supply chain since I use pull-up or pads only occasionally. But pray that Goddess does Her best to keep Spanish sherry and Chinese-made Apple products flowing smoothly!
 
LittleAndAlone said:
But I look back and not sure how I could even survive basic now. Going 2-3 months and keeping that unbearable pent up need growing inside like an insatiable all consuming monster without binge access to anything diapers, footy jammies, stuffies? Ugh it would be miserable and completely taking over my brain now days. And that is something you absolutely could not be caught being associated with in the military or your life is pretty much over.
You aren’t wrong. The first time that I learned that men sometimes wear sexy underwear was when I was waiting for an advanced training class to begin. I was assigned temporarily to a barracks where some men were staying, at the far end of the barracks, while waiting for discharge from the military. It was rumoured that they were “homos” (we didn’t know the term “gay”). I never talked with them, but I saw them occasionally, wandering about the barracks in black, bikini-like underwear, which I had never seen.

Later, once the new class had started, I learned from a boot camp a friend of mine, at the same school but in a different class, that he was being discharged. He had been arrested by military police while he was visiting friends in Los Angeles who were gay, and communists to boot. I had not known that he was gay even though we had spent many happy non-sexual hours together. So much for the fear among Republicans that gay men “groom” anyone male they can to become gay, which I am not (although I do seem to have non-binary characteristics). Anyway, the military lost more than it gained — my friend was a good soldier. At least he did have to go to Vietnam like I did.
 
Bellow and welcome from a currently serving member of the UK Royal Navy.

Absolutely you should be proud to have served, we all get sent to places where the politicians have failed and we don’t have a choice once serving.

I am proud of every theatre I have served in and the parts in between too.

Lots of love from across the pond pal
 
PeterPPeevy said:
Anyway, the military lost more than it gained — my friend was a good soldier. At least he did have to go to Vietnam like I did.
Correction — in the above quote from my previous post, I said that my friend “…did have to go to Vietnam….” Obviously, His discharge from the military meant that he didn’t have to to Vietnam.

In a similar vein, I had a friend, a gay man who was conscripted in 1941 or 1942. He was a popular musician in Vancouver, and was out of the closet early in life. Perhaps he was never in the closet! When he reported for duty, he told them that he was homosexual, that he didn’t want to be in the Royal Canadian A4my, and that the army certainly wouldn’t want him. The next day he was on his way home, and not with a dishonourable discharge because, as far as the military was concerned, he’d never been more than a homosexual civilian who hadn’t been sworn In. he remained active in Vancouver’s gay community until his death about 10 years ago.

There is an IC connection to my gay friend’s story. Late in life, his lifelong partner developed dementia and then urinary incontinence. For a couple of years before his death, he would be unaware that he was soaking his pants, making life very unpleasant for the people around him.
 
What a terrific introduction! Welcome to ADISC.
 
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