Gradually, I became obsessed with thoughts of wearing diapers and plastic pants to bed.Įventually, I couldn’t resist any more and, one night in March of that year, I took a detour to Diane’s room before going to the bathroom and retrieved a couple of diapers, pins and a pair of her plastic pants which I hurriedly smuggled into my room and hid in my bottom dresser drawer while I changed into my pajamas, went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. Scents of baby powder, baby oil and baby lotion mixed with the fascinating vinyl smell of her plastic pants and the fresh, line-dried scent of her cloth diapers somehow seemed to entrance me and draw me to her room. Nevertheless, her nursery smelled wonderful to me and I couldn’t resist it. I so wished it was me she was doing that to but I was also ashamed of such thoughts and told myself I was a big boy and didn’t need diapers. Mom would talk to her in baby talk, coo to her, kiss her forehead and chest while she changed Diane or got her ready for bed.
I envied Diane for the care Mom took when changing her diapers. I would spend time watching Mom change Diane’s diapers and offered to help only to be told I was too young. For some reason I can’t explain, I became fascinated with the thought of trying on Diane’s diapers and plastic pants. My younger sister, Marlene, was six and the baby, Diane was just going on two.