Off all the odd and crazy times I have experienced in my lifetime there is one pleasure that has always remained strong in my memories. That is how a new or even a freshly washed pair of plastic pants smells. The new brands have a slightly different odor, at least, it seems to me they do. It was an intoxicating odor that never ceased to arouse my manhood. But from the first time that I wore a pair of plastic pants on my own accord, it was in the summer of 1961. We had just moved into our first new home as a family in the Los Angeles suburb of La Puente in a subdivision called Valinda. I had been wearing night diapers during the winter so one of my drawers was full of plastic pants; the pins were kept in a container on its top.
During those hot summer days, most of the neighborhood boys only wore shorts and shoes when we went outside to play, the temperatures were usually 90 or better. One afternoon I was searching my drawers for one of my hidden treasures, I don’t remember what it was exactly but wile rummaging though the underwear drawer my hands came in contact with a new pair of blue plastic pants. The way they felt in my hands intrigued me, so I pulled them out to look closer at them. It was like I couldn’t resist them as I put up to my face and inhaled deeply their delicious odor. Hearing noises from the hall, I glanced around quickly as I stuffed them back into the drawer. I looked out my open doorway and saw the retreating figure of my mother walking into the living room. Upon reflection I realized if she would have seen my actions she would have been quizzing me instead of walking away. Something drew me back to that drawer, where I pulled out those blue plastic pants again; staring at them in my hands once more I got an overwhelming desire to put them on. I stuffed them in the pocket of my cutoff jean shorts and headed toward the men’s bathroom. Once inside I shimmied out of my shorts and briefs and slipped the plastic pants on. I felt this rush of warming sensation against my bare skin that sent shivers down my back. I had never felt this way about the plastic pants before or even liked the fact that I had to wear them over diapers at night. I couldn’t understand the way it was making me feel or why I was starting to get hard, without even touching my penis. Just moving around slightly was massaging it to stiffness; I rubbed it through the warm plastic and experienced more chills and thrills. I didn’t want to take them off so I pulled back on my briefs and shorts and slipped back to the front yard.
My stepfather was in the garage working on something, I got my bike out as casually as I could and quickly pedaled down the street. Outside in the oppressive dry heat, it felt like there was a fire blazing in my crotch which was intensified by the rapid movement of my legs and my penis was fully alert, at attention. I was only ten and a half, and had recently had my first wet dream. And it was almost an embarrassing experience waking up with my crotch all sticky. The morning it happened I was taken out of the wet diapers by mother, who said nothing out of the ordinary, just the customary get a shower before you get dressed routine. It was me that acted differently, a subconscious part of me that said you are different now,, what happened?
I was not asleep now when I got a craving to rub myself in a secret place. I pedaled faster, heading for the nearby wooded hillside. I was sweating slightly under my arms and on my brow but inside the plastic pants it felt like a wet myself. When I got in a private spot I stuck my hand inside the waistband of my briefs feeling the outside of the plastic pants. They was clinging to my body like they had been molded on me, it was another new and strange sensation but I liked it. I looked the area over good before I found dirt gully that afforded good visibility in all directions. The only way someone could see what I was doing in it was if they were above me on the hillside. I decided to chance it; I pulled my pants and briefs to my ankles, before stepping out of them. Looking at myself I laughed, thinking I was wacked out dude, imagining how bad it would be to be seen by the kids at school in my current attire.
Relaxing I lowered my hands to my plastic covered bottom running them over the smooth creamy surface, While I continued to rub my butt with my left hand my right snaked around to the front to my rock hard erection. I was lost in the pleasure I was giving myself when a spasm hit me and I felt liquid start squirting out of my rod. For a few seconds I was afraid I had hurt myself as the spasms continued even stronger for a few brief seconds. It felt like all my strength had left me, I was weak in the knees and had to lean against the dirt, while my senses recovered. Time seemed to standstill as I lay there breathing heavily the only sounds I could hear were the songbirds going about their daily chores.
I eventually stood up and pulled my briefs and shorts back over the plastic pants, but not before pulling back the elastic of the soggy plastic pants to look down at my shrunken penis. The smell was the same one from the wet dream I had. My thoughts went back to boyhood as I surveyed my current surroundings, imagining I was Daniel Boone or Robinson Crusoe. I adventured a few hours before hunger pangs got the better of me and I headed home for lunch. After a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a small glass of milk, I was off again this time riding around the local blocks knowing better then to be late for dinner at five o’clock. I didn’t want to be grounded again.
I was so sticky feeling that I jumped into the shower in just the plastic pants before dinner knowing I had to get leaned up before mother discovered what I had been wearing. I can still smell the mess in those plastic pants a sour sickly odor that seemed to stick to my skin. I had to wash myself and the plastic pants twice with the ivory soap to get rid of it. I stuffed them in the dirty clothes hamper afterwards, which is what mom would do every morning I woke up wet. With luck it wouldn’t be noticed that there was to many plastic pants in the hamper. After that first time I would use a dirty pair from the hamper. Since it was far easier then smuggling a clean pair out of my room but also because I liked the smell of dried pee on them, it enhanced my arousal. It was about two years before I decided to try diapers with the plastic pants. I fondly remember those early years of exploration with the sweet delight of plastic pants of various colors clinging so tightly to my tender skin. I even experimented with wearing multiple pairs of them at once which was another great adventure. This was something I didn’t do unless no one else was home but me. I stayed home whenever possible just so I could experiment in different ways. I also combined them with a pair of my sister’s nylon panties and a bra I stole from her dresser; of course I had to put them back again when I was done with them. The only part during those couple of years that didn’t change was keeping the plastic next to my bare skin.
Wearing the panties and bra developed from the play-acting with my sister in the backyard when we used to play dress-up in the come old clothes and shoes mom gave her to play with. I was wearing plastic pants once while dressed up in the clothes and got turned on enough to try the panties and bra also. After I had mastered masturbation in plastic pants, I started doing it while wearing diapers at night and fantasying about doing it with a girl while we wore both wearing diapers and plastic pants. The dreams have stayed with me my whole life and enabled me to get through those rough years in reform school where I wasn’t able to wear them and had to masturbate secretly thinking wearing them. I got lucky and only wet the bed a couple of times during the first year I was property of the State of California. I spent seventeen months the first time in various institutions thought-out the state. The first month and a half was in Los Angeles Juvenile Hall, then A month and a half in Boys Republic in Chino (a boy’s home). After two escapes there and an attempt in the juvenile hall they decided the state was better equipped to deal with me. More about that stuff another time.
Being in fifth grade I had not had sex education yet so I at a loss about human sexuality except for what was whispered about by knowledgeable kids in school. And anyone who totally believed what they bragged about was naïve which most of the kids my age. When school started back up in September, I did my own research and found out what had happened to me. But until then I just enjoyed what I was doing.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Jailed in Diapers
Last month I watched a film that really warmed my heart and made me mad at the same time. It was part of 3 films made about the life of Dick Proenneke (Richard L. Proenneke) called ‘Alone in the Wilderness’. This man was an incredible carpenter and self made naturalist, who built a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness in his later years and lived alone there for years. Several years he was there year long and others he wintered in Iowa. He wandered and explored those remote mountains mostly alone without a gun a lot of the time using his intelligence and wits to survive. It was a truly amazing feat to me, and a big part of me is envious of his life and experiences.
But the part that boils my blood is his part in helping change the area into a National Park. Granted there are many unscrupulous people that would have exploited the area destroying it and inflating the land prices or destroying the natural beauty and animals there needlessly. But the part that upsets me is at the time he built his cabin on public land; anyone could have done the same thing and attempted to live life a free, their own way, But now that is no longer possible and the area is very expensive to even think about visiting not to mention all the regulations surrounding even a hike in any of these remote area around the US.
There has always been a big part of me that wanted to try my hand living alone pitting myself against nature and the elements. I can remember years of wishful planning and fantasying about doing just that starting when I was twelve. I had discovered the remote wildness when I was spending time with my Uncle in the Lone Pine area of California. Several times I attempted to return to the area but not succeeding until I was twenty years old to not find the place he used to live. I was at times unrealistic about my desires, such as the time 1976 when I took off to explore ghost town in the northern Nevada area. I didn’t have enough money or supplies to last more then a couple of weeks ended up stranding myself in the middle of no where. I drove my car in areas I shouldn’t have and busted the oil pan and later I ran the battery down listening to my tape player. After the hunger got almost too much to bear I walked the 30 miles From Aurora to Hawthorne.
The best part of the time I spent there alone was the freedom to do as I pleased with only myself to answer to. I ware my diapers and plastic pants the whole time and washed them out in a nearby abandoned mine shaft before handing them to dry on a makeshift clothesline near an empty cabin that was still functional. It contained a double bed a table in the kitchen area and a homemade barrel stove for heating. I cooked on its top or outdoors on a fire pit I threw together. Since it was so isolated in the area; I freely walked around most of the time in just boots, a tee-shirt and diapers. It was a very exhilarating experience for me that I will never forget. Even the tortuous hike out was thrilling.
I saw very little signs of other humans in the area during the first week. One morning around 9 am I was awakened by a knock on the cabin door. Of course I was startled awake, after shouting just a minute I shimmied into my pants and answered the door. There was no one there by then he was standing out on the dirt road near his truck, while his wife sat in the passenger seat. He said his name and told me it was his place. I stood in the doorway staring absently at them confused for a minute lacking the words to communicate. The he asked me how I liked the place. I told him fine it was nice. Then he told me to stay as long as I liked but not to destroy it. He calmly got in his truck and went on down the road. This left me with a weird feeling; I hadn’t imagined anyone caring or really owning the ruins of this old gold mining town.
I was naïve surely but well meaning, except for running around in just diapers of course, anyone that might have come by would have surely spotted what I was wearing. After that I was more aware that others might show up and was more discreet. One day a man and his wife showed up in a large motor home and camped out nearby for a couple of nights. I didn’t bother them or they me, I’ve always assumed they were either afraid of strangers or just loners like I was at the time. Another day a couple of young guys rode around the area on dirt bikes for a couple of hours, but otherwise it was like I was on the planet alone. I appeared alone in the wilderness; there wasn’t even much visible wildlife to speak of. Beyond the few rabbits, lizard and bug I spotted.
I was severely depressed for the few days I stayed after running out of food; I still had cigarettes, which let me hang on longer. In some ways I guess I was hoping someone would come along and give me a ride back to civilization. I really wanted to stay and would have if I could have found a job of any kind to earn food and cigarette money. And of course get the car repaired. But another part of me realized I shouldn’t stay, I had a wife and two year-old to worry about and take care of and I should go home and do just that. I knew that although she may have followed me and lived a life in the wilds, it might not work so well with a youngster. At least not without a substantial grubstake which was unlikely to happen any time soon. I also felt guilty about leaving her alone in that huge apartment building in Walnut California without so much as a word I had taken my last paycheck and vanished. It sucks being fired from even a prissy job and I suppose I was angry at everyone in the world again, or on my pity-pot which ever is not really important I guess. The important part was knowing I was wrong and needing right my wrongs.
So like feeling like an abandoned waif I trudged those 30 miles along dusty dirt roads until I arrived the next morning in the one horse town of Hawthorne Nevada. The first dilemma I had to resolve was no money and starving. I was so desperate I entered the towns only casino entered the diner and ordered steak and eggs. I figured if the worst they could do was either beat me up or throw me in jail. After eating I went to the cashier and pretended to have lost my money, she called the manager and he said it was on him, telling me to beat it. After that I wandered the little town a bit looking for someone to salvage my car. I found a car dealer and gave him the particulars, along with my car keys and a promise to contact him once I returned to LA. The only thing left was to hit the road and hitch the four hundred miles home.
My wife was relieved that I had come back but pissed at the same time. We made plans to recover my car; it took me a couple of weeks to earn the repair money which I sent off. But the storage fees were mounting up, so we devised a plan to recover it. I got a bus ticket back and with enough to get it out of hock and drive back in my pocket. The problem was I had an eight hour layover in Las Vegas, This compounded the situation. You have probably already guessed what happened, yes I got broke again, it was all so innocent, bored as I was I started checking out all the lighted casinos and in the first one I entered, I forget the name of it they handed me a two dollar roll of nickels. So I started putting them in a slot machine, three coins later I had ten bucks, which I put back in the machine alone with the free nickels, then I won twenty dollars, with a few nickels still in my pocket. The pretty lady shows up next and offers me a free drink and hands me a small bucket for my winnings. With booze coursing through my veins and an estimated jackpot of two thousand dollars in front of my beady eyes I continued to play, for the next six hours. Eventually, I had to break the hundred dollar bill in my pocket to continue and thy kept plying me with free drinks every half hour. I still had high hopes on putting in my last nickel. Then despair and horror hits me, now what am I going to do. I tried cashing in the rest of my bus ticket, so I win back my losses but that was a no deal, they have seen it all before. I accepted their complementary free meal and wandered the streets for two hours wondering what to do. I found five dollars on the side walk during my wonderings and had accepted free nickels at several other places which I pretended to use before slipping out of another set of doors.
I eventually gathered up about twenty dollars and caught my bus, thinking about stealing my car back. They had been paid for the repairs and the tow fee, why should I also worry about the storage fee in an outside parking lot. When I got there I hung around until after midnight before going to the car lot. It was in a fenced lot so I hoped the fence and started it up, unfortunately I didn’t wait for it to warm up enough and my attempt to ram the gate open failed with it stalling out. There I was in a car with a dead battery in the middle of the lot, I used tools out of my trunk to remove the batteries out of several cars, hooked my jumper cables to them, but no dice. It was dawn and I was out of time. My attempts to push back into place also failed so reluctantly I left it where it hopped the fence and left town. Hitching home this time, I was wearing a set of diapers and plastic pants, I had taken out of my car and for some odd reason I decide to also stuff a pair of my wife’s panties’ along with my hunting knife in the pockets of my army fatigue jacket. I put my failures behind me after a few miles walking and hitching especially after finding a thick pocketbook of TS Elliot’s works along side the road. I was standing reading it and putting out my finger whenever I herd a car going the direction I was traveling, when a deputy Nevada sheriff pulled up. I was slightly worried but being almost a hundred miles from the crime scene I wasn’t really worried. After a brief questioning and pat down, he was on his way, and I went back to reading.
An hour later he was back telling me I was under arrest for suspicion of murdering a girl with a knife in Reno. I was in shock and retracted the part about coming from Reno, explaining that I had come up to get my car from Hawthorne but didn’t have enough money to recover it so I was going home to get it. He radioed for conformation while I sweated it out in the back seat; he started driving telling me this was no joking matter, I had started laughing nervously when he told me the charges, I was mortified not only about being accused but because I was wearing diapers. It seemed so ironic to me I couldn’t help but laugh about it. He was almost back to Hawthorne before it was confirmed I had been there, That and my bus ticket stub convinced him he had the wrong man so he pulled over a left me on the side of the road. The deputy told me the lot owner wondered why I hadn’t taken my car but obviously didn’t say I trespassed on his lot and tried to steal it.
Eventually I got enough rides to make to LA but was about 10 miles from home and it was 2 am. I started walking and hitching figuring I could at least make it by daylight. As my bad luck would have it here came another cop to hassle me. This time Los Angeles County Sherriff deputies, another pat down and questioning. I figured it was just routine; knowing how the LA cops were. But they come back with a warrant for an unpaid traffic ticket, this time I was going to jail and to a lot worse one then the one would have been in Nevada. At the substation during a further search a deputy wanted to know why I was so bulky downstairs. What did I have in my pants, without waiting for a reply he unzipped my pants and pulled them partially down exposing my diapers and plastic pants? I had been so worried about going to jail I had forgotten about wearing them. I stuttered when he asked me why I was wearing them and how often I needed a diaper change. Finally I was stuck into a holding cell, I would have only been five miles away from home and the only person I could call was my mother. I asked her to contact my wife and let her know I was alright would be home as soon as I was released.
It took about a hour until the bus picked me up for the trip downtown to LA County Jail, once there a deputy was informed they couldn’t take me into the normal intake side and I was ushered into the medical intake holding cells. I had only been here once before when I was eighteen and it took almost eight hours to be processed through the maze of increasingly garbage filled holding cells into your final destination. It was a lot faster through the medical side though since there were only about a dozen of us there. In the first room the moment of ultimate embarrassment came when I had to strip down for a shower. I slipped everything off with my jeans and tried unsuccessfully to put on the hanger I was given. They were really for me and made me remove my diapers and plastic pants from the jeans. A deputy wearing plastic gloves removed them and undid the pins after pulling the plastic pants off the diapers. He checked them then tossed them one at a time in a trash barrel.
Even with my head hung in shame and despair I was aware of all the eyes on me. I shuffled through the rest of the processing. Totally exhausted by the time I entered the final phase that I didn’t even realize at the time what or who I was talking too. I figured out later was the medical staff and I completely lost it in front of them. The next thing I knew I was putting on blue pajamas and put in 4 point restraints in a single cell. The stuck my penis in a milk carton style urinal and left me alone. I fell asleep and was awakened some time later by having one hand released and breakfast set on the table beside me. I feel back to sleep, only to be disturbed again at lunch and later dinner. I was just couldn’t or wouldn’t stay awake long enough to try eating that way. I just pushed the stuff on the floor when they left and closed my eyes. I also refused to answer their questions or talk at all to them. Eventually I woke up and somehow worked my other had free by then it was late at night and I was staving. They didn’t notice I had both hands free until breakfast came. I greedily swallowed it all down this time, although I still kept my eyes closed peering through the slits till they left the room. When the remains were collected they re-strapped my left hand with a new cuff that I couldn’t wiggle out of.
As my bad luck it was Friday night when I was picked up so I had the weekend to cool my heels before I could go to court. I was able to sleep most of the first day and night between waking for meals. Sunday I got upset and tossed the urinal at the door and was rewarded with a few smacks of a club of some kind by the jail staff on my torso and legs warning me to not do it again. I screamed at them something unintelligentable while I struggled against my bonds trying to get loose some lady told here male to be careful that I was an animal and would be treated so. I was getting the attention I had warranted but in my mind I wanted to get back at all the unjust treatment they were giving me, I didn’t want to understand why I was getting the shaft. I was the victim in my mind; the world was against me in my bid for freedom. I couldn’t figure out why I just couldn’t be left along to go my own way. I especially hated them for not only taking away my diapers and plastic pants but tossing them in the trash. I wasn’t made of money and all they needed was a good washing. So much to think about when you have nothing else to do but think or sleep, it seemed like a never-ending nightmare.
Getting ready for court was the real nightmare though, I was escorted downstairs to departure holding cells being segregated from the rest of the prisoners. The rest were chained together in fours. But they put one those four man chain sets on me like I was Rambo or something I was wearing both sets of handcuffs with the chain wrapped around my body and the only one wearing leg irons. One of the deputies trussing me up was so rough I was resisting him. I became infuriated and shouted something stupid about being a GI and that he couldn’t hurt me so he showed me with his club, somehow I didn’t feel it anymore then I did the day before. I now felt like the animal they were treating like, even a bit invincible. There were three or four single cells on the bus I entered and this is where the put me. There was only one other that was occupied and he was trussed up similar to me, except he was wearing his street clothes while I still had on pajamas. The ride to El Monte was long, yet the most boring part was being placed in an empty private cell in the courthouse for the entire day. I didn’t even get to go inside the courtroom.
I was treated better the return trip back to the main jail after being informed I was released for time served. The problem was the processing had to be continued. I was relieved by then and didn’t feel like the world was still out to get me. Back upstairs in that single cell again to wait for my release to go through I felt okay for the first time in three days, I even got a couple of ice cream cups to eat with the sandwiches they rustled up for me, since I had missed dinner. The problem was they had to put me back in restarts until I was released since I was doctor ordered and he wasn’t available at the moment. When the order finally came to be set free I stressed out again and had to explain why I was so upset and that I was okay to go home to my wife and kid.
Another hour of exit processing and I hit the streets, the weird part was they returned my hunting knife back to me when I left. I always found that a bit funny, I didn’t even mind that I was in downtown LA at one in the morning and had over twenty miles to walk home.
I had to earn more money to get the car released which continued to grow until it was over a hundred dollars. This time my wife came with me to make sure nothing went wrong, it was a fairly uneventful trip, we stayed in the bus depot during our eight hour layover in Los Vegas though.
But the part that boils my blood is his part in helping change the area into a National Park. Granted there are many unscrupulous people that would have exploited the area destroying it and inflating the land prices or destroying the natural beauty and animals there needlessly. But the part that upsets me is at the time he built his cabin on public land; anyone could have done the same thing and attempted to live life a free, their own way, But now that is no longer possible and the area is very expensive to even think about visiting not to mention all the regulations surrounding even a hike in any of these remote area around the US.
There has always been a big part of me that wanted to try my hand living alone pitting myself against nature and the elements. I can remember years of wishful planning and fantasying about doing just that starting when I was twelve. I had discovered the remote wildness when I was spending time with my Uncle in the Lone Pine area of California. Several times I attempted to return to the area but not succeeding until I was twenty years old to not find the place he used to live. I was at times unrealistic about my desires, such as the time 1976 when I took off to explore ghost town in the northern Nevada area. I didn’t have enough money or supplies to last more then a couple of weeks ended up stranding myself in the middle of no where. I drove my car in areas I shouldn’t have and busted the oil pan and later I ran the battery down listening to my tape player. After the hunger got almost too much to bear I walked the 30 miles From Aurora to Hawthorne.
The best part of the time I spent there alone was the freedom to do as I pleased with only myself to answer to. I ware my diapers and plastic pants the whole time and washed them out in a nearby abandoned mine shaft before handing them to dry on a makeshift clothesline near an empty cabin that was still functional. It contained a double bed a table in the kitchen area and a homemade barrel stove for heating. I cooked on its top or outdoors on a fire pit I threw together. Since it was so isolated in the area; I freely walked around most of the time in just boots, a tee-shirt and diapers. It was a very exhilarating experience for me that I will never forget. Even the tortuous hike out was thrilling.
I saw very little signs of other humans in the area during the first week. One morning around 9 am I was awakened by a knock on the cabin door. Of course I was startled awake, after shouting just a minute I shimmied into my pants and answered the door. There was no one there by then he was standing out on the dirt road near his truck, while his wife sat in the passenger seat. He said his name and told me it was his place. I stood in the doorway staring absently at them confused for a minute lacking the words to communicate. The he asked me how I liked the place. I told him fine it was nice. Then he told me to stay as long as I liked but not to destroy it. He calmly got in his truck and went on down the road. This left me with a weird feeling; I hadn’t imagined anyone caring or really owning the ruins of this old gold mining town.
I was naïve surely but well meaning, except for running around in just diapers of course, anyone that might have come by would have surely spotted what I was wearing. After that I was more aware that others might show up and was more discreet. One day a man and his wife showed up in a large motor home and camped out nearby for a couple of nights. I didn’t bother them or they me, I’ve always assumed they were either afraid of strangers or just loners like I was at the time. Another day a couple of young guys rode around the area on dirt bikes for a couple of hours, but otherwise it was like I was on the planet alone. I appeared alone in the wilderness; there wasn’t even much visible wildlife to speak of. Beyond the few rabbits, lizard and bug I spotted.
I was severely depressed for the few days I stayed after running out of food; I still had cigarettes, which let me hang on longer. In some ways I guess I was hoping someone would come along and give me a ride back to civilization. I really wanted to stay and would have if I could have found a job of any kind to earn food and cigarette money. And of course get the car repaired. But another part of me realized I shouldn’t stay, I had a wife and two year-old to worry about and take care of and I should go home and do just that. I knew that although she may have followed me and lived a life in the wilds, it might not work so well with a youngster. At least not without a substantial grubstake which was unlikely to happen any time soon. I also felt guilty about leaving her alone in that huge apartment building in Walnut California without so much as a word I had taken my last paycheck and vanished. It sucks being fired from even a prissy job and I suppose I was angry at everyone in the world again, or on my pity-pot which ever is not really important I guess. The important part was knowing I was wrong and needing right my wrongs.
So like feeling like an abandoned waif I trudged those 30 miles along dusty dirt roads until I arrived the next morning in the one horse town of Hawthorne Nevada. The first dilemma I had to resolve was no money and starving. I was so desperate I entered the towns only casino entered the diner and ordered steak and eggs. I figured if the worst they could do was either beat me up or throw me in jail. After eating I went to the cashier and pretended to have lost my money, she called the manager and he said it was on him, telling me to beat it. After that I wandered the little town a bit looking for someone to salvage my car. I found a car dealer and gave him the particulars, along with my car keys and a promise to contact him once I returned to LA. The only thing left was to hit the road and hitch the four hundred miles home.
My wife was relieved that I had come back but pissed at the same time. We made plans to recover my car; it took me a couple of weeks to earn the repair money which I sent off. But the storage fees were mounting up, so we devised a plan to recover it. I got a bus ticket back and with enough to get it out of hock and drive back in my pocket. The problem was I had an eight hour layover in Las Vegas, This compounded the situation. You have probably already guessed what happened, yes I got broke again, it was all so innocent, bored as I was I started checking out all the lighted casinos and in the first one I entered, I forget the name of it they handed me a two dollar roll of nickels. So I started putting them in a slot machine, three coins later I had ten bucks, which I put back in the machine alone with the free nickels, then I won twenty dollars, with a few nickels still in my pocket. The pretty lady shows up next and offers me a free drink and hands me a small bucket for my winnings. With booze coursing through my veins and an estimated jackpot of two thousand dollars in front of my beady eyes I continued to play, for the next six hours. Eventually, I had to break the hundred dollar bill in my pocket to continue and thy kept plying me with free drinks every half hour. I still had high hopes on putting in my last nickel. Then despair and horror hits me, now what am I going to do. I tried cashing in the rest of my bus ticket, so I win back my losses but that was a no deal, they have seen it all before. I accepted their complementary free meal and wandered the streets for two hours wondering what to do. I found five dollars on the side walk during my wonderings and had accepted free nickels at several other places which I pretended to use before slipping out of another set of doors.
I eventually gathered up about twenty dollars and caught my bus, thinking about stealing my car back. They had been paid for the repairs and the tow fee, why should I also worry about the storage fee in an outside parking lot. When I got there I hung around until after midnight before going to the car lot. It was in a fenced lot so I hoped the fence and started it up, unfortunately I didn’t wait for it to warm up enough and my attempt to ram the gate open failed with it stalling out. There I was in a car with a dead battery in the middle of the lot, I used tools out of my trunk to remove the batteries out of several cars, hooked my jumper cables to them, but no dice. It was dawn and I was out of time. My attempts to push back into place also failed so reluctantly I left it where it hopped the fence and left town. Hitching home this time, I was wearing a set of diapers and plastic pants, I had taken out of my car and for some odd reason I decide to also stuff a pair of my wife’s panties’ along with my hunting knife in the pockets of my army fatigue jacket. I put my failures behind me after a few miles walking and hitching especially after finding a thick pocketbook of TS Elliot’s works along side the road. I was standing reading it and putting out my finger whenever I herd a car going the direction I was traveling, when a deputy Nevada sheriff pulled up. I was slightly worried but being almost a hundred miles from the crime scene I wasn’t really worried. After a brief questioning and pat down, he was on his way, and I went back to reading.
An hour later he was back telling me I was under arrest for suspicion of murdering a girl with a knife in Reno. I was in shock and retracted the part about coming from Reno, explaining that I had come up to get my car from Hawthorne but didn’t have enough money to recover it so I was going home to get it. He radioed for conformation while I sweated it out in the back seat; he started driving telling me this was no joking matter, I had started laughing nervously when he told me the charges, I was mortified not only about being accused but because I was wearing diapers. It seemed so ironic to me I couldn’t help but laugh about it. He was almost back to Hawthorne before it was confirmed I had been there, That and my bus ticket stub convinced him he had the wrong man so he pulled over a left me on the side of the road. The deputy told me the lot owner wondered why I hadn’t taken my car but obviously didn’t say I trespassed on his lot and tried to steal it.
Eventually I got enough rides to make to LA but was about 10 miles from home and it was 2 am. I started walking and hitching figuring I could at least make it by daylight. As my bad luck would have it here came another cop to hassle me. This time Los Angeles County Sherriff deputies, another pat down and questioning. I figured it was just routine; knowing how the LA cops were. But they come back with a warrant for an unpaid traffic ticket, this time I was going to jail and to a lot worse one then the one would have been in Nevada. At the substation during a further search a deputy wanted to know why I was so bulky downstairs. What did I have in my pants, without waiting for a reply he unzipped my pants and pulled them partially down exposing my diapers and plastic pants? I had been so worried about going to jail I had forgotten about wearing them. I stuttered when he asked me why I was wearing them and how often I needed a diaper change. Finally I was stuck into a holding cell, I would have only been five miles away from home and the only person I could call was my mother. I asked her to contact my wife and let her know I was alright would be home as soon as I was released.
It took about a hour until the bus picked me up for the trip downtown to LA County Jail, once there a deputy was informed they couldn’t take me into the normal intake side and I was ushered into the medical intake holding cells. I had only been here once before when I was eighteen and it took almost eight hours to be processed through the maze of increasingly garbage filled holding cells into your final destination. It was a lot faster through the medical side though since there were only about a dozen of us there. In the first room the moment of ultimate embarrassment came when I had to strip down for a shower. I slipped everything off with my jeans and tried unsuccessfully to put on the hanger I was given. They were really for me and made me remove my diapers and plastic pants from the jeans. A deputy wearing plastic gloves removed them and undid the pins after pulling the plastic pants off the diapers. He checked them then tossed them one at a time in a trash barrel.
Even with my head hung in shame and despair I was aware of all the eyes on me. I shuffled through the rest of the processing. Totally exhausted by the time I entered the final phase that I didn’t even realize at the time what or who I was talking too. I figured out later was the medical staff and I completely lost it in front of them. The next thing I knew I was putting on blue pajamas and put in 4 point restraints in a single cell. The stuck my penis in a milk carton style urinal and left me alone. I fell asleep and was awakened some time later by having one hand released and breakfast set on the table beside me. I feel back to sleep, only to be disturbed again at lunch and later dinner. I was just couldn’t or wouldn’t stay awake long enough to try eating that way. I just pushed the stuff on the floor when they left and closed my eyes. I also refused to answer their questions or talk at all to them. Eventually I woke up and somehow worked my other had free by then it was late at night and I was staving. They didn’t notice I had both hands free until breakfast came. I greedily swallowed it all down this time, although I still kept my eyes closed peering through the slits till they left the room. When the remains were collected they re-strapped my left hand with a new cuff that I couldn’t wiggle out of.
As my bad luck it was Friday night when I was picked up so I had the weekend to cool my heels before I could go to court. I was able to sleep most of the first day and night between waking for meals. Sunday I got upset and tossed the urinal at the door and was rewarded with a few smacks of a club of some kind by the jail staff on my torso and legs warning me to not do it again. I screamed at them something unintelligentable while I struggled against my bonds trying to get loose some lady told here male to be careful that I was an animal and would be treated so. I was getting the attention I had warranted but in my mind I wanted to get back at all the unjust treatment they were giving me, I didn’t want to understand why I was getting the shaft. I was the victim in my mind; the world was against me in my bid for freedom. I couldn’t figure out why I just couldn’t be left along to go my own way. I especially hated them for not only taking away my diapers and plastic pants but tossing them in the trash. I wasn’t made of money and all they needed was a good washing. So much to think about when you have nothing else to do but think or sleep, it seemed like a never-ending nightmare.
Getting ready for court was the real nightmare though, I was escorted downstairs to departure holding cells being segregated from the rest of the prisoners. The rest were chained together in fours. But they put one those four man chain sets on me like I was Rambo or something I was wearing both sets of handcuffs with the chain wrapped around my body and the only one wearing leg irons. One of the deputies trussing me up was so rough I was resisting him. I became infuriated and shouted something stupid about being a GI and that he couldn’t hurt me so he showed me with his club, somehow I didn’t feel it anymore then I did the day before. I now felt like the animal they were treating like, even a bit invincible. There were three or four single cells on the bus I entered and this is where the put me. There was only one other that was occupied and he was trussed up similar to me, except he was wearing his street clothes while I still had on pajamas. The ride to El Monte was long, yet the most boring part was being placed in an empty private cell in the courthouse for the entire day. I didn’t even get to go inside the courtroom.
I was treated better the return trip back to the main jail after being informed I was released for time served. The problem was the processing had to be continued. I was relieved by then and didn’t feel like the world was still out to get me. Back upstairs in that single cell again to wait for my release to go through I felt okay for the first time in three days, I even got a couple of ice cream cups to eat with the sandwiches they rustled up for me, since I had missed dinner. The problem was they had to put me back in restarts until I was released since I was doctor ordered and he wasn’t available at the moment. When the order finally came to be set free I stressed out again and had to explain why I was so upset and that I was okay to go home to my wife and kid.
Another hour of exit processing and I hit the streets, the weird part was they returned my hunting knife back to me when I left. I always found that a bit funny, I didn’t even mind that I was in downtown LA at one in the morning and had over twenty miles to walk home.
I had to earn more money to get the car released which continued to grow until it was over a hundred dollars. This time my wife came with me to make sure nothing went wrong, it was a fairly uneventful trip, we stayed in the bus depot during our eight hour layover in Los Vegas though.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Can't Chose your Relatives
The is a line that should not be crossed in any family where even Love can not heal. It is even worse when it is between a relative that you had no choice in their being part of your family. This is a hard lession to learn and it is not easy to deal with, at least if you still have feelings for them. My mother is a profound believer in Tough-Love, while I have been way to soft in dealing with my immediate family. But that does not mean that I do not have a tough side or that I cannot be mean when it is required. I am now at a another crossroads in my life which will be very hard to get through, even though I am not sure how I am going to accomplish the changes that I feel now need to be done.
I realize I am being a bit vauge, so I will elaberate a bit. I have went out of my way since 1999 to take care of my son and help him find himself. I have gave him so much of my life in an effrot to make up for the mistakes I was apart of in his upbringing. I am sure from the reactions from my Mother that she feels I have not done him any favors, which I at times agreed with. Most of my friends have expressed the same sediments over the years. I turned my back on their advice, but I fear that now they were right.
Over the years we have had a few semi-violent arguments that would have turned to fisticufts but I averted that by eventually giving in and letting things return to a sort of normality. But two nights ago we had another disagreement over someting so trivial it was mind-blowing to me why he was so cotinuing his tirade. I refused to give in this time and that's when it took the ugliest turn yet. After ten minutes of shouting at each other he got to what was it was really all about. He still resents me bitterly for precieved wrongs of his past. And he said stuff to me that made me realize that he is using me more then loves me.
This is a very bitter pill to swallow, but I coannot let it sore inside. I will not repaeat any of the stuff he said to me but it cut me to my very core. Anything once said cannot be taken back, they are now out there and the person has to decide for themselves wether it is something they can live with. I have learned from experience that a relationship can be so permantly scared from words and actions to nullify it. If it is between a husband and wife it usually leads to divorce. But when it is you blood realatives it is so much ahrder to divorce yourself from them.
I am at this point now with my son, I feel that I need to separate my life from his. It will be hard since I pay all the bills. If it was just him I would make him move out, just like my mother did when I was 19. But He has his wife and my 2 year old grandson and it puts me in a quandry on how to resolve this issue. The only one I can talk to is my mother about this and I know already what she will say.
Becaquse of my current situation, I will not be devoting much time for the forseeable future to my blogs, Thank You for your patience.
I realize I am being a bit vauge, so I will elaberate a bit. I have went out of my way since 1999 to take care of my son and help him find himself. I have gave him so much of my life in an effrot to make up for the mistakes I was apart of in his upbringing. I am sure from the reactions from my Mother that she feels I have not done him any favors, which I at times agreed with. Most of my friends have expressed the same sediments over the years. I turned my back on their advice, but I fear that now they were right.
Over the years we have had a few semi-violent arguments that would have turned to fisticufts but I averted that by eventually giving in and letting things return to a sort of normality. But two nights ago we had another disagreement over someting so trivial it was mind-blowing to me why he was so cotinuing his tirade. I refused to give in this time and that's when it took the ugliest turn yet. After ten minutes of shouting at each other he got to what was it was really all about. He still resents me bitterly for precieved wrongs of his past. And he said stuff to me that made me realize that he is using me more then loves me.
This is a very bitter pill to swallow, but I coannot let it sore inside. I will not repaeat any of the stuff he said to me but it cut me to my very core. Anything once said cannot be taken back, they are now out there and the person has to decide for themselves wether it is something they can live with. I have learned from experience that a relationship can be so permantly scared from words and actions to nullify it. If it is between a husband and wife it usually leads to divorce. But when it is you blood realatives it is so much ahrder to divorce yourself from them.
I am at this point now with my son, I feel that I need to separate my life from his. It will be hard since I pay all the bills. If it was just him I would make him move out, just like my mother did when I was 19. But He has his wife and my 2 year old grandson and it puts me in a quandry on how to resolve this issue. The only one I can talk to is my mother about this and I know already what she will say.
Becaquse of my current situation, I will not be devoting much time for the forseeable future to my blogs, Thank You for your patience.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Caught in the Act Stealing Plastic Pants
In January of 1972 I was 21 off probation and moved with my girlfriend to her mother’s house in WV. We were February in a rural church near Beckley WV, Unable to find work without a car I got a delayed entry enlistment in the army for May. We lived with her family until was sent for basic training at Fort Jackson, SC. With five of her little brothers, mother and step-father in that small three bedroom house it was all most impossible to have privacy let alone sex. Back then her mother refused to let us share the same bed, even after we were married, while we were under her roof. Since leaving California I was unable to wear diapers and plastic pants at all until I returned for leave in July. Her grandmother was out of state visiting some of her kids living in California. We were able to use her house for the two weeks. Thoughtfully she bought my diapers and plastic pants as well as civilian clothes along. The sex was great but being able to wear my diapers was relaxing and made my leave so much more enjoyable. Before I knew it I was off to Fort Gordon, Georgia for AIT (advanced individual training) for 4 months.
It felt good being off on adventure again, even though I would be alone, I vowed to make the best of it. Basic was more regimented then AIT, since I was going to Signal School which was more like being in High School with boarding. Except for KP (kitchen police) and guard duties it was very relaxed. The problem was it left us too much free time to get into trouble. On Friday and Saturday nights we were off to Augusta to drink and whore. None of the three times I bought whores were very fulfilling, just mechanic pumping with little pleasure. The titty bars were even less satisfying, even drunk I found myself feeling sick to my stomach looking at hot girls wearing sweat stained panties with disgust. Every time I visited those clubs it seemed like they were wearing the same panties, I wondered if they ever washed them.
I wasn’t trying to judge them but I couldn’t help comparing them to my wife who even when we were on the road homeless always kept her hygiene up. She was a very clean girl with lots of self-respect who valued loyalty and faithfulness above all. I hate and will always regret the fact that I wasn’t as faithful to her as she was to me. Especially in view of the fact; she accepted my sexual flaws and always tried to help me improve my inadequacies. I always wonder how different my life could have been if I would have been so rebellious and stubborn towards her. If she wouldn’t give in to something I wanted to do I frequently would brutally ignore her advice and do it anyway. Sometimes it would work out alright but sometimes I was totally wrong in my ideas leading to a disaster which I usually left for her to right.
After two and a half months of training one of the guys I was hanging out with returned from going AWOL (absent without leave) for a week. It was payday the next day so we went to town that night together. He had brought some decent weed back with him and after hitting the clubs awhile. We visited a local gun store where I bought two 25 automatics with two extra clips each and two boxes of ammo. We went to an isolated, dilapidated wharf to load them and try them out, while we smoked some more. He kept telling me how great it was in Connecticut where he was from, and how much he hated the army. He said he was going to take off the next day. I through caution to the wind, and went with him, like a fool.
My record in the army was good so far, except for getting caught with two nickel bags of weed, while being stoned out of my gourd in basic. I had gotten out of trouble since I was painting two 10’x10’ murals directly on the cinder block walls of the Battalion mess hall for the Lt. Colonel. I had gotten a friend of mine to compose who had studied some graphics design in art school to create the designs. He was helping me paint them until I got caught. The Colonel got it quashed in exchange for my working all my free time to complete the projects alone, negating the promotion and commendation medal I was going to receive.
Our errant adventure was short lived four days of privation since we were picked up in his tiny rural home town the same day we got there. By that time we were almost broke with about half my ammo left. To this day I don’t know what I was thinking or why I decided the guns. Fortunately we were only caught twice carrying them, both times in Connecticut. The first time we were patted down by a County Sherriff Deputy two counties away from his, who didn’t want us hitchhiking in his county. He felt our guns, there is no way he could have missed them, since we were carrying them in our back pockets of fairly tight jeans. But he just took us to the county line and ejected us telling us not to return. The second time was by the town constable of his home town. His parents were riding with him looking for him. He gave us a break breaking them down and bagging them up, the report said we were carrying them unloaded. His parents drove us to the Hartford Navy Base. The Shore Patrol drove us to Providence, Rhode Island police station where the Army Military Police picked us up three days later, taking us to Fort Devin’s, Mass. They confiscated my guns and gave us train tickets to the Boston Airport. We had Vouchers for our air travel and arrived back Fort Gordon the next morning to big trouble. He was sent to the stockade, me to my barracks. I never saw him again, nor do I know what his fate was.
To my surprise my wife was in the Captain’s office when I entered to be judged. I was overjoyed to see her but at the same time ashamed for letting her down. Weird as it was she was staying with the Captain and his wife until I got back. I was in shock since I was only a PV2 (one striped or rank two private), it is a breach of edict for me our families to be so familiar. He limited my suspended my punishment telling me to keep my nose clean and take good care wife. He let me know that it was only because of her that I was getting a break. As far as he was concerned he would have threw the book at me. His wife even took her looking for a place to rent and he let made me move off-post with her. It was one of the best two bedroom trailers I ever lived in with built in intercom and radio and a raised living room with a washer and dryer included, on a wooded lot with plenty of room privacy from the other trailers in the area. It had belonged to the owners of the trailer court who had recently bought a new one. The nice part was one of the guys in my company lived close by with a car and we rode to the base together.
The next two months were sweet and I kept out of trouble. But not because I was being good, I just didn’t get caught. The guy next door became my best friend there and our wives used to hang out together. One night I got guard duty, which is an all night event, with us taking turns guarding a particular post. You had two hours on and four hours off, from 6 pm until 6 am in groups of three, which amounted to having to only walk the post 2 times during the night. The worst part is feeling sluggish the next day due to uninterrupted sleep. After standing guard duty, you always got the next day off, which left me to have to walk the two miles home. I was three quarters of the way home when I saw a thrilling sight. Diapers fluttering in the breeze, I was amazed unable to believe what I was seeing. I didn’t avert my gaze as I approached the house they were next too. Suddenly I was no longer tired; my legs were flooded with energy as excitement fueled my movement. My breathing was shallow and my loins burned with desire and imagination of feeling their softness in my sweaty palms. Time seemed to stand still as I surveyed the house looking for activity inside. There were no other houses in view and the only noise was from insects, small mammals and birds. I was walking very slowly getting closer to that wonderful sight, they were looked like a bright white rows of flags calling for me to release them from their captivity and possess them. It was a compact arrangement of clothes lines in a square-like grid with a center pole supporting it. Creeping softy next to the nearest widow, I peeked inside, my heart rate increasing with the thrill of danger. I couldn’t see anyone although I could hear two voices talking in another room through the open window. In a moment of extreme desire I quickly turned and started pulled the diapers of the line, inhaling the delicious sweet, babyish sent as the pile filled my arms. I contained the first pile with my left arm while my right continued to gather more, repeating the action until they were none left. With a quick glance behind me I scurried across the road into a small stand of woods. I could hardly contain myself from the panicky feeling that was welling up from my gut. I took off my shirt and folded the whole buddle of diapers inside it. Holding it under my left arm, I took off at a brisk pace for home, my luck held as I made it to the trailer without anyone passing me. Once inside I found my wife sleeping, so I slipped into the spare room to sort and count my loot. I had over two dozen Gerber 30”x30” gauze diapers that were like new, some were slightly damp. They had the odor of Ivory Snow and freshened by a sweet breeze, there was not even a hint of chlorine bleach. The softness increased my intoxication as I separated them in piles of three for later use. Without waking up my wife I slipped into our room to get my plastic pants and add the new diapers to the dozen she had brought with her. Back in the other room I pinned on the three I had left there before donning my Gerber Toddler Plastic Pants. They still fit me comfortably since I only weighed 120 lbs. and my hips were very slim. Their only drawback was their snugness prevented the bulkier diapers which I would have preferred, and would have allowed less leakage,, Since elastic tended to slip down in the back, leaving the diapers without adequate coverage. The good part was being so snug they were not as noticeable under my loose fitting army fatigues. I found a good fantasy as I lay on the bed, enjoying a slow wank, before joining my wife in bed. In many ways I regret stealing those diapers, because it was the first time since my teenage days of stealing them. And the start of a regular habit that continued the rest of my time in the service.
The only remarkable part of my time in the army that I have not already related in other tales was after I was stationed in Fort Bragg, NC, Where I was caught in the act of raiding a clothes line, not once but twice. This is what should have curbed my actions but it didn’t. This year was 1973 in the fall. I had been raiding all the clothes lines in my trailer court which had anything of interest to me and several other ones on the back road through part of Pope Air Force base to my unit. There was even one located right on the edge of that base where I got a tremendous amount of diapers, and plastic pants, as well as women’s panties, bras and other frilly goodies. This is also the site of the raid described in the short story ‘One Stormy Nite’. If you haven’t read it and want to, look on the Soggy Press stories page.
The first incident was at a trailer four down from mine, it was one of my favorites among the dozen or so in my court, since they seemed to always have diapers and plastic pants hanging on the line whenever I passed it. The problem was they were not leaving them on the line overnight much anymore. Trailers in most of these courts were arranged with only about a dozen feet between them along their length which ranged from 50 to 70 feet. The distance between the rows varied because of the different trailer lengths but they were all two bedroom. My court was about the size of a football field containing two rows of trailers with the park road forming an oval around the all the lots. There was an entrance at each end of the court from the highway. Each lot had its own clothesline and parking space. You parked a car if you had one on the side where your front door was and you back door faced your clothesline with a heating fuel tank on the side facing the road. Most of the kitchens were in the front of the trailer facing the trailer park road, with traditional two piece curtains allowing a view outside while cooking or washing dishes. There was less chance of being seen between the trailers.
Although most people kept their curtains on the side drawn you never knew when someone might hear something and peek out of them. This increased the danger although you were sheltered due to their arrangement from any of the other neighbors seeing you unless they were diving down the road in the park. The day in question my Brigade was on maneuvers, which included the majority units of the fort. Not only did this make the base seem deserted but also the nearby trailer courts which surrounded the base, since they were mostly reserved for soldiers and their families. I felt like I was walking through a ghost town as I walked home, because it was only halfway through the six weeks scheduled to last. The majority of wives usually took this opportunity to leave until their husbands returned and mine was no exception. I had come in for a dentist appointment and would be returning to the field the next day.
On my way to my own trailer I spotted a sweet looking bunch of plastic pants on that clothes line. I checked out the rest of the trailers on my way by and everything seemed quiet. I went inside and changed into civilian clothes before going back out to do some stealing. I walked on the other end of the trailers, down the rows and then between the two where my treasures were. With only a quick glance at the darkened trailers on either side I started peeling off my loot.
I had only acquired two pair of plastic pants, when I heard a shout behind me. I quickly cranked my head around in complete shock to see a shirtless blond harried man glaring at me through his trailer window. He cranked open his window and demanded to know what I was doing and why, I stood there like a deer could in mid-flight in a complete panic. The air seemed to thicken slowing not only my response but my intentions to take flight. I couldn’t even form a verbal response to his continued questions and demands for me to stop what ever it was I was doing. We were like two frozen statues staring at each other for eternity.
The elasticity of the moment ended when he left the window and opened his front door, I franticly tried to pin the pans back on the line in an effort to reverse my actions, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I ended up dropping both pairs and fleeing back the way I had came in complete rout. I wisely passed my trailer and continued near the end of the rows of trailers before coming between a pair of them onto the park road, slowing to a walk trying to act normal without looking behind me. Somehow he had flanked me and was suddenly directly in from of me blocking my retreat, and demanding my surrender. As the distance between us narrowed I pulled my pocket knife to ward him off. In a half-crouch, we were like two bucks dueling over a doe in heat, turning in union in a circular direction I managed to out flank him and the way was clear for further flight. I refused to not only to answer his questions but also his final request for surrender. Luckily he declined to advance any closer to me, so I slowly backed away lengthening the distance between us. He followed me when I turned my back to leave the scene but after I turned around and charged at him in a rage he finally gave up and left me alone. I walked down the road about a mile and waited for what seemed like an eternity before slinking back to my trailer vowing to stop my criminal behavior.
I was very careful when I returned from the field not to run into that guy again. The lucky part being no one seen our little show and I didn’t know any of my neighbors. I always took the long way around when walking any where near his place. And stopped my stealing at least in my own area, it had frightened me at least that much. Two months I discovered his place was empty, when my wife made friends with the family I had almost been caught sealing from. They had a car and we didn’t which helped my wife go shopping when I was at work. We hung out quite a few times until they also moved away. It was very strange to me and I was on edge every time we were around them, in doubt to what the might know. Especially after finding they had been close friends with the man who had caught sight of me stealing. They must have received a poor description; since I was never accused. We got together one Friday night to drink and play cards before the subject was finally broached. I don’t remember how it came up or why, but thankfully I wasn’t looking either of them in the eye when it did. It gave me time to compose myself enough to shrug it off and act surprised and outraged by someone doing something so strange. We ended up laughing it off and it ended. It was awkward but thrilling to finally hear someone wonder why anyone would steal diapers and plastic panties, Later that night I got some strange knowing looks from my wife, who had never asked me where all my diapers and other things came from. I am sure she had figured it out long before but chose to feign ignorance.
The second time I was caught in action stealing plastic pants could have been a lot turned out even worse but luck was once again riding my coat tails that time. It was the summer of 1975. I had a car by then and was supplementing my income driving a taxicab part time on base. During one of my slow evenings, I started cruising the on-base housing. Pretending to look for fares, I was really scoping out all the clotheslines I could find.
I finally spotted what looked like a likely target behind a group of enlisted men’s family housing units. I parked my cab fairly close and took hopefully casual walk towards my intended target. It was twilight but the security lights in the area enabled me to confirm a couple of pairs of plastic pants dangling from the line. I passed them up in an effort to look innocent, when I reached to other end of the building I retraced my steps this time close enough to the clothes lines to be able to pick them off the line as I passed them, without pausing. I figured if I was smooth enough in my approach no one would even notice.
I was wrong, within seconds after procuring them, I was hailed and being chased by two shadowy figures. I ran straight to the cab, barely starting it before they were upon me. I slammed it in gear and took off as fast as I could. I was speeding in a residential district, which was almost as bad a crime as my theft on a military reservation. A couple of blocks away I relaxed enough to slow down to the speed limit. But to my dismay, I found myself being followed. I tried to contain my obvious paranoia, making several abrupt turns, before discovering I was really being followed. The best part about driving a cab is learning the whole layout of the base. I used all this knowledge to lose them, as I made to the cabstand to clock out for the night. The whole time was worried they be waiting for me at the office or might call them to report my crime or even worse the MP’s (Military Police). If they did either of them I never found out and this is the first time I told anyone else about it. Even though it was petty theft it was on a Federal Government Property and any crime there is magnified because of it. The least that would have happened to me was being drummed out of the service in dishonor and lose of most of my veterans’ benefits. I never hunted on the base again but I didn’t reform either. Was Satan was aiding me or was I having extremely good luck during those years. One thing I am sure of it couldn’t have been a guardian angel.
It felt good being off on adventure again, even though I would be alone, I vowed to make the best of it. Basic was more regimented then AIT, since I was going to Signal School which was more like being in High School with boarding. Except for KP (kitchen police) and guard duties it was very relaxed. The problem was it left us too much free time to get into trouble. On Friday and Saturday nights we were off to Augusta to drink and whore. None of the three times I bought whores were very fulfilling, just mechanic pumping with little pleasure. The titty bars were even less satisfying, even drunk I found myself feeling sick to my stomach looking at hot girls wearing sweat stained panties with disgust. Every time I visited those clubs it seemed like they were wearing the same panties, I wondered if they ever washed them.
I wasn’t trying to judge them but I couldn’t help comparing them to my wife who even when we were on the road homeless always kept her hygiene up. She was a very clean girl with lots of self-respect who valued loyalty and faithfulness above all. I hate and will always regret the fact that I wasn’t as faithful to her as she was to me. Especially in view of the fact; she accepted my sexual flaws and always tried to help me improve my inadequacies. I always wonder how different my life could have been if I would have been so rebellious and stubborn towards her. If she wouldn’t give in to something I wanted to do I frequently would brutally ignore her advice and do it anyway. Sometimes it would work out alright but sometimes I was totally wrong in my ideas leading to a disaster which I usually left for her to right.
After two and a half months of training one of the guys I was hanging out with returned from going AWOL (absent without leave) for a week. It was payday the next day so we went to town that night together. He had brought some decent weed back with him and after hitting the clubs awhile. We visited a local gun store where I bought two 25 automatics with two extra clips each and two boxes of ammo. We went to an isolated, dilapidated wharf to load them and try them out, while we smoked some more. He kept telling me how great it was in Connecticut where he was from, and how much he hated the army. He said he was going to take off the next day. I through caution to the wind, and went with him, like a fool.
My record in the army was good so far, except for getting caught with two nickel bags of weed, while being stoned out of my gourd in basic. I had gotten out of trouble since I was painting two 10’x10’ murals directly on the cinder block walls of the Battalion mess hall for the Lt. Colonel. I had gotten a friend of mine to compose who had studied some graphics design in art school to create the designs. He was helping me paint them until I got caught. The Colonel got it quashed in exchange for my working all my free time to complete the projects alone, negating the promotion and commendation medal I was going to receive.
Our errant adventure was short lived four days of privation since we were picked up in his tiny rural home town the same day we got there. By that time we were almost broke with about half my ammo left. To this day I don’t know what I was thinking or why I decided the guns. Fortunately we were only caught twice carrying them, both times in Connecticut. The first time we were patted down by a County Sherriff Deputy two counties away from his, who didn’t want us hitchhiking in his county. He felt our guns, there is no way he could have missed them, since we were carrying them in our back pockets of fairly tight jeans. But he just took us to the county line and ejected us telling us not to return. The second time was by the town constable of his home town. His parents were riding with him looking for him. He gave us a break breaking them down and bagging them up, the report said we were carrying them unloaded. His parents drove us to the Hartford Navy Base. The Shore Patrol drove us to Providence, Rhode Island police station where the Army Military Police picked us up three days later, taking us to Fort Devin’s, Mass. They confiscated my guns and gave us train tickets to the Boston Airport. We had Vouchers for our air travel and arrived back Fort Gordon the next morning to big trouble. He was sent to the stockade, me to my barracks. I never saw him again, nor do I know what his fate was.
To my surprise my wife was in the Captain’s office when I entered to be judged. I was overjoyed to see her but at the same time ashamed for letting her down. Weird as it was she was staying with the Captain and his wife until I got back. I was in shock since I was only a PV2 (one striped or rank two private), it is a breach of edict for me our families to be so familiar. He limited my suspended my punishment telling me to keep my nose clean and take good care wife. He let me know that it was only because of her that I was getting a break. As far as he was concerned he would have threw the book at me. His wife even took her looking for a place to rent and he let made me move off-post with her. It was one of the best two bedroom trailers I ever lived in with built in intercom and radio and a raised living room with a washer and dryer included, on a wooded lot with plenty of room privacy from the other trailers in the area. It had belonged to the owners of the trailer court who had recently bought a new one. The nice part was one of the guys in my company lived close by with a car and we rode to the base together.
The next two months were sweet and I kept out of trouble. But not because I was being good, I just didn’t get caught. The guy next door became my best friend there and our wives used to hang out together. One night I got guard duty, which is an all night event, with us taking turns guarding a particular post. You had two hours on and four hours off, from 6 pm until 6 am in groups of three, which amounted to having to only walk the post 2 times during the night. The worst part is feeling sluggish the next day due to uninterrupted sleep. After standing guard duty, you always got the next day off, which left me to have to walk the two miles home. I was three quarters of the way home when I saw a thrilling sight. Diapers fluttering in the breeze, I was amazed unable to believe what I was seeing. I didn’t avert my gaze as I approached the house they were next too. Suddenly I was no longer tired; my legs were flooded with energy as excitement fueled my movement. My breathing was shallow and my loins burned with desire and imagination of feeling their softness in my sweaty palms. Time seemed to stand still as I surveyed the house looking for activity inside. There were no other houses in view and the only noise was from insects, small mammals and birds. I was walking very slowly getting closer to that wonderful sight, they were looked like a bright white rows of flags calling for me to release them from their captivity and possess them. It was a compact arrangement of clothes lines in a square-like grid with a center pole supporting it. Creeping softy next to the nearest widow, I peeked inside, my heart rate increasing with the thrill of danger. I couldn’t see anyone although I could hear two voices talking in another room through the open window. In a moment of extreme desire I quickly turned and started pulled the diapers of the line, inhaling the delicious sweet, babyish sent as the pile filled my arms. I contained the first pile with my left arm while my right continued to gather more, repeating the action until they were none left. With a quick glance behind me I scurried across the road into a small stand of woods. I could hardly contain myself from the panicky feeling that was welling up from my gut. I took off my shirt and folded the whole buddle of diapers inside it. Holding it under my left arm, I took off at a brisk pace for home, my luck held as I made it to the trailer without anyone passing me. Once inside I found my wife sleeping, so I slipped into the spare room to sort and count my loot. I had over two dozen Gerber 30”x30” gauze diapers that were like new, some were slightly damp. They had the odor of Ivory Snow and freshened by a sweet breeze, there was not even a hint of chlorine bleach. The softness increased my intoxication as I separated them in piles of three for later use. Without waking up my wife I slipped into our room to get my plastic pants and add the new diapers to the dozen she had brought with her. Back in the other room I pinned on the three I had left there before donning my Gerber Toddler Plastic Pants. They still fit me comfortably since I only weighed 120 lbs. and my hips were very slim. Their only drawback was their snugness prevented the bulkier diapers which I would have preferred, and would have allowed less leakage,, Since elastic tended to slip down in the back, leaving the diapers without adequate coverage. The good part was being so snug they were not as noticeable under my loose fitting army fatigues. I found a good fantasy as I lay on the bed, enjoying a slow wank, before joining my wife in bed. In many ways I regret stealing those diapers, because it was the first time since my teenage days of stealing them. And the start of a regular habit that continued the rest of my time in the service.
The only remarkable part of my time in the army that I have not already related in other tales was after I was stationed in Fort Bragg, NC, Where I was caught in the act of raiding a clothes line, not once but twice. This is what should have curbed my actions but it didn’t. This year was 1973 in the fall. I had been raiding all the clothes lines in my trailer court which had anything of interest to me and several other ones on the back road through part of Pope Air Force base to my unit. There was even one located right on the edge of that base where I got a tremendous amount of diapers, and plastic pants, as well as women’s panties, bras and other frilly goodies. This is also the site of the raid described in the short story ‘One Stormy Nite’. If you haven’t read it and want to, look on the Soggy Press stories page.
The first incident was at a trailer four down from mine, it was one of my favorites among the dozen or so in my court, since they seemed to always have diapers and plastic pants hanging on the line whenever I passed it. The problem was they were not leaving them on the line overnight much anymore. Trailers in most of these courts were arranged with only about a dozen feet between them along their length which ranged from 50 to 70 feet. The distance between the rows varied because of the different trailer lengths but they were all two bedroom. My court was about the size of a football field containing two rows of trailers with the park road forming an oval around the all the lots. There was an entrance at each end of the court from the highway. Each lot had its own clothesline and parking space. You parked a car if you had one on the side where your front door was and you back door faced your clothesline with a heating fuel tank on the side facing the road. Most of the kitchens were in the front of the trailer facing the trailer park road, with traditional two piece curtains allowing a view outside while cooking or washing dishes. There was less chance of being seen between the trailers.
Although most people kept their curtains on the side drawn you never knew when someone might hear something and peek out of them. This increased the danger although you were sheltered due to their arrangement from any of the other neighbors seeing you unless they were diving down the road in the park. The day in question my Brigade was on maneuvers, which included the majority units of the fort. Not only did this make the base seem deserted but also the nearby trailer courts which surrounded the base, since they were mostly reserved for soldiers and their families. I felt like I was walking through a ghost town as I walked home, because it was only halfway through the six weeks scheduled to last. The majority of wives usually took this opportunity to leave until their husbands returned and mine was no exception. I had come in for a dentist appointment and would be returning to the field the next day.
On my way to my own trailer I spotted a sweet looking bunch of plastic pants on that clothes line. I checked out the rest of the trailers on my way by and everything seemed quiet. I went inside and changed into civilian clothes before going back out to do some stealing. I walked on the other end of the trailers, down the rows and then between the two where my treasures were. With only a quick glance at the darkened trailers on either side I started peeling off my loot.
I had only acquired two pair of plastic pants, when I heard a shout behind me. I quickly cranked my head around in complete shock to see a shirtless blond harried man glaring at me through his trailer window. He cranked open his window and demanded to know what I was doing and why, I stood there like a deer could in mid-flight in a complete panic. The air seemed to thicken slowing not only my response but my intentions to take flight. I couldn’t even form a verbal response to his continued questions and demands for me to stop what ever it was I was doing. We were like two frozen statues staring at each other for eternity.
The elasticity of the moment ended when he left the window and opened his front door, I franticly tried to pin the pans back on the line in an effort to reverse my actions, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I ended up dropping both pairs and fleeing back the way I had came in complete rout. I wisely passed my trailer and continued near the end of the rows of trailers before coming between a pair of them onto the park road, slowing to a walk trying to act normal without looking behind me. Somehow he had flanked me and was suddenly directly in from of me blocking my retreat, and demanding my surrender. As the distance between us narrowed I pulled my pocket knife to ward him off. In a half-crouch, we were like two bucks dueling over a doe in heat, turning in union in a circular direction I managed to out flank him and the way was clear for further flight. I refused to not only to answer his questions but also his final request for surrender. Luckily he declined to advance any closer to me, so I slowly backed away lengthening the distance between us. He followed me when I turned my back to leave the scene but after I turned around and charged at him in a rage he finally gave up and left me alone. I walked down the road about a mile and waited for what seemed like an eternity before slinking back to my trailer vowing to stop my criminal behavior.
I was very careful when I returned from the field not to run into that guy again. The lucky part being no one seen our little show and I didn’t know any of my neighbors. I always took the long way around when walking any where near his place. And stopped my stealing at least in my own area, it had frightened me at least that much. Two months I discovered his place was empty, when my wife made friends with the family I had almost been caught sealing from. They had a car and we didn’t which helped my wife go shopping when I was at work. We hung out quite a few times until they also moved away. It was very strange to me and I was on edge every time we were around them, in doubt to what the might know. Especially after finding they had been close friends with the man who had caught sight of me stealing. They must have received a poor description; since I was never accused. We got together one Friday night to drink and play cards before the subject was finally broached. I don’t remember how it came up or why, but thankfully I wasn’t looking either of them in the eye when it did. It gave me time to compose myself enough to shrug it off and act surprised and outraged by someone doing something so strange. We ended up laughing it off and it ended. It was awkward but thrilling to finally hear someone wonder why anyone would steal diapers and plastic panties, Later that night I got some strange knowing looks from my wife, who had never asked me where all my diapers and other things came from. I am sure she had figured it out long before but chose to feign ignorance.
The second time I was caught in action stealing plastic pants could have been a lot turned out even worse but luck was once again riding my coat tails that time. It was the summer of 1975. I had a car by then and was supplementing my income driving a taxicab part time on base. During one of my slow evenings, I started cruising the on-base housing. Pretending to look for fares, I was really scoping out all the clotheslines I could find.
I finally spotted what looked like a likely target behind a group of enlisted men’s family housing units. I parked my cab fairly close and took hopefully casual walk towards my intended target. It was twilight but the security lights in the area enabled me to confirm a couple of pairs of plastic pants dangling from the line. I passed them up in an effort to look innocent, when I reached to other end of the building I retraced my steps this time close enough to the clothes lines to be able to pick them off the line as I passed them, without pausing. I figured if I was smooth enough in my approach no one would even notice.
I was wrong, within seconds after procuring them, I was hailed and being chased by two shadowy figures. I ran straight to the cab, barely starting it before they were upon me. I slammed it in gear and took off as fast as I could. I was speeding in a residential district, which was almost as bad a crime as my theft on a military reservation. A couple of blocks away I relaxed enough to slow down to the speed limit. But to my dismay, I found myself being followed. I tried to contain my obvious paranoia, making several abrupt turns, before discovering I was really being followed. The best part about driving a cab is learning the whole layout of the base. I used all this knowledge to lose them, as I made to the cabstand to clock out for the night. The whole time was worried they be waiting for me at the office or might call them to report my crime or even worse the MP’s (Military Police). If they did either of them I never found out and this is the first time I told anyone else about it. Even though it was petty theft it was on a Federal Government Property and any crime there is magnified because of it. The least that would have happened to me was being drummed out of the service in dishonor and lose of most of my veterans’ benefits. I never hunted on the base again but I didn’t reform either. Was Satan was aiding me or was I having extremely good luck during those years. One thing I am sure of it couldn’t have been a guardian angel.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Caught in the Act
Caught in the Act
First Time:
The summer of my fourteenth year (1963), I spent in Santa Barbara with my Grandmother and Step-Grandfather. They had just taken over managing a 12 unit motel; they were the only employees living in a small one bedroom attached to the office. I wasn’t officially wearing night diapers anymore. Yet the feel of wearing them made my heart throb wildly in my chest, I was addicted and would secretly wear them when ever I could. Since my brother was still wearing them at night most nights, I snuck a pair of his plastic pants and a set of diaper pins with me. I was sleeping on the couch where it was harder to have privacy at night. Once I found out the routine I was able to diaper myself, with two thin motel towels in the bathroom keeping my robe on, until I got the chance to hop under the covers safely. The hardest part was jerking off without being disturbed. At home I had been secretly wearing plastic pants underneath my briefs and shorts especially at night but often during the day. One time I had even worn a pair of Yellow Snap-On Plastic Pants to school. They became very uncomfortable as they were smaller then the normal slip-on ones my brother had in his drawer. In the bathroom stall I stretched the leg bands so much I was afraid I was going to rip them. Since I was temporarily a member of the Visual Arts Department I had a key to the storerooms in which they were kept. During lunch hour I went in there to eat my lunch and jerk off in those slimy pants that had been teasing me for hours. I hid them in there since my next class would be PE and I couldn’t wear them there. After my last class I returned there and put them back on to wear home. It was so much more relaxing walking home in those stinky, slimy pants then it was during school hours. I never did that trick again even though I desperately wanted to, I just couldn’t get up the nerve again. At this time in my life I wasn’t as bothered by secretly wearing diapers and plastic pants as I became the next year. Sometimes it would bother me enough to get them off as quickly as possible only to have my loins ache for them minutes or hours later. The only times I had risked wearing diapers with the plastic pants during the day was when I was home alone or in the bathroom. And I seldom had the nerve to wear them at night, Mom was still sometimes waking me in the middle of the night to use the toilet and she always watched to make sure I peed or at least tried to.
I didn’t know how much my grandma knew about my bedwetting since she had just moved down from Washington State the year before. For some unknown reason I started wearing one of the towel diapers and plastic pants during the day, I was nervous at first but after the first day that faded totally away and it became part of my routine. I loved it because if I did wet one of them it was easy to sneak it into the laundry room and get a clean replacement to put on. They were coarse terrycloth roughly the size and thickness of 30” x 30” Gerber gauze diaper. Since Grandma took any notice of my slightly bulky crotch or gave any indication at all I felt secure enough to continue doing it.
I got bolder still, enough that I started wearing two at a time; this made my bulk more prominent even with my regular briefs squishing them tightly. I compensate I started wearing my shirttails out of my pants something we couldn’t do in school. It seemed to do the trick so I relaxed enjoying the increased friction on my thighs. It was delightful to have free reign to experiment and even though I had no one to share my joys with I relished the secret thrills. I felt really clever with my devilish behavior. I was sent to the local grocery store one day and spotted a box of Gerber toddler size plastic pants. I wondered how they would feel and if they would fit so I slipped them in my pants, all the while trembling inside as the adrenaline quickened my heart beat intensely. This was a new thrill, shoplifting, the uncertainty of getting caught especially with something I should not be interested in swiping. The thoughts swirling through my brain hoping I was seen stashing the goods and that they didn’t show. Imagine the shame and ridicule I would have had to endure getting caught not only stealing baby pants but wearing them over a diaper at an age when all the boys in the world would have laughed themselves silly at my actions. Getting away with it was the worst thing that could have happened because it fueled my desire for the thrills of stealing, and added hazard to my perverse sexual desires.
Everyday I had to help Grandma clean and prep the rooms to be rented before I was able to explore, The Motel was on a highway 101 which runs the coast of California from San Diego all the way to Portland although some parts of it is not as close to the ocean. Even though we were in a city this part was still underdeveloped so there was lots of open fields and wooded areas to poke around in without getting into trouble. These were my most enjoyable times romping through acres of sparse grass covered hills with thinly populated woods to find places where I could pull of my shorts and underwear with little fear of being seen and jerking off whenever I felt the urge, which was several times a day. It never occurred to me that I could get in trouble for my bizarre behavior.
A few days before it was time to go back home, Uncle Ron, his wife and two year old son came by to visit, Ron was the son of my step-grandpa. They were on vacation and from Alaska. I had never met him or his other two sons, one of which was in prison at the time with a long sentence. They waited until the rest of my family showed up to take me home. The part that interested me was that the boy was still in diapers and I was able to borrow some of his diapers, they were so soft and comfortable feeling and it was great to pee them full and dump them in the diaper pail in the bathroom before changing into a fresh set. Since the weather was so warm he usually was in just a diapers, tee-shirt, socks and shoes. I was envious of him. The strange part about his outfit was that his mother but plastic covered pre-training pants inside out over his diapers, I have never seen anyone do that before or since. This gave me something to think about but since I wasn’t able to get a pair my size until the 90’s, it was interesting but not very fulfilling to me. We stayed another day after they departed, I knew that the drier was full of diapers but kept my mouth shut hoping to be able to steal a few for myself, when they were dry Grandma discovered them before I could appropriate any. Sadly I was back to towel diapers again, but I had gone back to wearing one at time since my parents had arrived partially because I feared my sister would give me away. She probably wouldn’t have done it on purpose but I didn’t want to take the chance.
Since it was late at night when we left I took the chance wearing a double thick towel diapers and plastic pants under my underpants and pajamas. Everyone was too tired to notice. I hid them under my mattress at home, and wore them every night. I frequently wore them under my jeans during the day for the next couple of weeks. One Saturday mom announced at the last minute we were going out to dinner, I barely had time to change clothes and without thinking about just traded play shorts for my kaki dress shorts, I didn’t realize how tight they were until we were driving away, too late to do anything but pray no one would take notice. I was very self-conscious of my padded crotch the whole meal at our favorite Mexican restaurant. This was my most daring experiment; the excitement was building up the whole time and I couldn’t wait to be able to make a trip to the bathroom to satisfy my lust. On the way back home mom made a frightening statement, it was haircut time; school was only a few days away. Her haircutting strategy involved striping to your undershorts before sitting on a barstool while she took her time. That was bad enough but she would make you strip naked afterwards so the hair wouldn’t be carried through the house on your way to the tub or shower.
I tried to slip into the bathroom to get out of the diapers but it didn’t work and the next thing I knew I was down to briefs on the stool knowing my secret had been exposed. Naturally there was no hiding my crotch, but she didn’t act funny or say anything other then what of cut I wanted. This back then amounted to just a few short hairstyles such as a crew cut, a flattop or a buzz cut. I choose a flattop even though it would take longer. Time seemed to standstill and I was apprehensive and tense of every movement in the room fearful that at any moment I’d be slapped silly when she discovered what I was wearing. I couldn’t imagine her not noticing my situation especially when she would press her crotch into one of my hips while she was clipping away with the scissors. That part had always made me wince even though I am sure there was nothing sexual about it, but have always been aware when it happens. The last time I felt a woman’s crotch pressed against my body was during an EKG last month, it is a difficult position to be in sometimes. Are these strangers purposely doing it or is it an unconscious action.
I was squirming by the time mom finished dreading the inevitable but she turned her back and told me to hit the shower. Relieved I made to bathroom and quickly striped off the underpants then slipping off the diapers and plastic pants, like they sewn together, before burying them deep in the clothes hamper. I hoped in the shower my mind whirling in crazy circles in a desperate attempt to put what had just happened in perspective to how my mom usually acted when she caught me in the wrong. Nothing seemed to make sense. When the water was hot enough I entered its soothing flow letting it flow over my head like it was a heated waterfall hoping it would help clear my thoughts. When I heard the bathroom door open, my heart skipped a beat. The shower door was so frosted you could just barely see shadows through the glass. I held my breath and closed my eyes hoping it was dad or my brother using the toilet. Suddenly the shower door opened and I was facing mom, I blinked as my hand bushed water away from my eyes. Then I was focusing on the diapers and plastic pants clutched in her right hand. The moment I was dreading was upon me, my head started pounding as my heartbeat so hard I felt faint. It was all I could do not to start whimpering like a child as she grabbed my arm her long nails pressing into them. I switched my attention to her face feeling her eyes boring into my skull like a drill bit through soft wood. It always felt like she could read my thoughts at these times. She wanted to know why I was wearing them and it was like I was in a trance, I just shook my head no. then she asked if Granma made me wear them and I just stood there my eyes going from hers to the diapers then down, she dug her nails harder into my skin and I just shook my head no again. She tightened her grip on my arm and dug her nails deeper; I realized she wanted me to look at her again which I did. She told me there was something twisted about me and a moment later I was staring at the door again. The whole confrontation was only minutes but time seems to stretch like it’s a rubber band at intense times. It seemed like forever before I heard the bathroom door open and close again. I felt drained of energy and didn’t want to lave the shower weighting what could happen next. I stalled a long time before getting dried off and dressed. I didn’t see the diapers and plastic pants on the floor so I searched the hamper only finding the diapers had become towels again. There was no sign of the plastic pants or pins. I went to my room to put on my pajamas and checked my brother’s drawer figuring they were back in there. To my surprise there wasn’t even one pair left in the drawer. I was perplexed some but knowing that he was still wearing night diapers, which I confirmed when he came waddling later. I was still worrying about my future but I knew I had the pair of Gerber pants stashed in the closet. I hid them in my pillowcase figuring it would be safer to put them on after lights out.
I searched the house every chance I got but it was days before I found those precious plastic pants in a tin candy container, in the hall closet, in an old chest of drawers. The pins were in another tin full of various sized of safety pins. Whenever I borrowed any of them I made sure to replace them as soon as possible. I was sure mom’s wrath would be worse next time.
I had gotten caught because I got carried away and became to bold in my actions. Looking back over the years it was a continuing theme throughout my life.
First Time:
The summer of my fourteenth year (1963), I spent in Santa Barbara with my Grandmother and Step-Grandfather. They had just taken over managing a 12 unit motel; they were the only employees living in a small one bedroom attached to the office. I wasn’t officially wearing night diapers anymore. Yet the feel of wearing them made my heart throb wildly in my chest, I was addicted and would secretly wear them when ever I could. Since my brother was still wearing them at night most nights, I snuck a pair of his plastic pants and a set of diaper pins with me. I was sleeping on the couch where it was harder to have privacy at night. Once I found out the routine I was able to diaper myself, with two thin motel towels in the bathroom keeping my robe on, until I got the chance to hop under the covers safely. The hardest part was jerking off without being disturbed. At home I had been secretly wearing plastic pants underneath my briefs and shorts especially at night but often during the day. One time I had even worn a pair of Yellow Snap-On Plastic Pants to school. They became very uncomfortable as they were smaller then the normal slip-on ones my brother had in his drawer. In the bathroom stall I stretched the leg bands so much I was afraid I was going to rip them. Since I was temporarily a member of the Visual Arts Department I had a key to the storerooms in which they were kept. During lunch hour I went in there to eat my lunch and jerk off in those slimy pants that had been teasing me for hours. I hid them in there since my next class would be PE and I couldn’t wear them there. After my last class I returned there and put them back on to wear home. It was so much more relaxing walking home in those stinky, slimy pants then it was during school hours. I never did that trick again even though I desperately wanted to, I just couldn’t get up the nerve again. At this time in my life I wasn’t as bothered by secretly wearing diapers and plastic pants as I became the next year. Sometimes it would bother me enough to get them off as quickly as possible only to have my loins ache for them minutes or hours later. The only times I had risked wearing diapers with the plastic pants during the day was when I was home alone or in the bathroom. And I seldom had the nerve to wear them at night, Mom was still sometimes waking me in the middle of the night to use the toilet and she always watched to make sure I peed or at least tried to.
I didn’t know how much my grandma knew about my bedwetting since she had just moved down from Washington State the year before. For some unknown reason I started wearing one of the towel diapers and plastic pants during the day, I was nervous at first but after the first day that faded totally away and it became part of my routine. I loved it because if I did wet one of them it was easy to sneak it into the laundry room and get a clean replacement to put on. They were coarse terrycloth roughly the size and thickness of 30” x 30” Gerber gauze diaper. Since Grandma took any notice of my slightly bulky crotch or gave any indication at all I felt secure enough to continue doing it.
I got bolder still, enough that I started wearing two at a time; this made my bulk more prominent even with my regular briefs squishing them tightly. I compensate I started wearing my shirttails out of my pants something we couldn’t do in school. It seemed to do the trick so I relaxed enjoying the increased friction on my thighs. It was delightful to have free reign to experiment and even though I had no one to share my joys with I relished the secret thrills. I felt really clever with my devilish behavior. I was sent to the local grocery store one day and spotted a box of Gerber toddler size plastic pants. I wondered how they would feel and if they would fit so I slipped them in my pants, all the while trembling inside as the adrenaline quickened my heart beat intensely. This was a new thrill, shoplifting, the uncertainty of getting caught especially with something I should not be interested in swiping. The thoughts swirling through my brain hoping I was seen stashing the goods and that they didn’t show. Imagine the shame and ridicule I would have had to endure getting caught not only stealing baby pants but wearing them over a diaper at an age when all the boys in the world would have laughed themselves silly at my actions. Getting away with it was the worst thing that could have happened because it fueled my desire for the thrills of stealing, and added hazard to my perverse sexual desires.
Everyday I had to help Grandma clean and prep the rooms to be rented before I was able to explore, The Motel was on a highway 101 which runs the coast of California from San Diego all the way to Portland although some parts of it is not as close to the ocean. Even though we were in a city this part was still underdeveloped so there was lots of open fields and wooded areas to poke around in without getting into trouble. These were my most enjoyable times romping through acres of sparse grass covered hills with thinly populated woods to find places where I could pull of my shorts and underwear with little fear of being seen and jerking off whenever I felt the urge, which was several times a day. It never occurred to me that I could get in trouble for my bizarre behavior.
A few days before it was time to go back home, Uncle Ron, his wife and two year old son came by to visit, Ron was the son of my step-grandpa. They were on vacation and from Alaska. I had never met him or his other two sons, one of which was in prison at the time with a long sentence. They waited until the rest of my family showed up to take me home. The part that interested me was that the boy was still in diapers and I was able to borrow some of his diapers, they were so soft and comfortable feeling and it was great to pee them full and dump them in the diaper pail in the bathroom before changing into a fresh set. Since the weather was so warm he usually was in just a diapers, tee-shirt, socks and shoes. I was envious of him. The strange part about his outfit was that his mother but plastic covered pre-training pants inside out over his diapers, I have never seen anyone do that before or since. This gave me something to think about but since I wasn’t able to get a pair my size until the 90’s, it was interesting but not very fulfilling to me. We stayed another day after they departed, I knew that the drier was full of diapers but kept my mouth shut hoping to be able to steal a few for myself, when they were dry Grandma discovered them before I could appropriate any. Sadly I was back to towel diapers again, but I had gone back to wearing one at time since my parents had arrived partially because I feared my sister would give me away. She probably wouldn’t have done it on purpose but I didn’t want to take the chance.
Since it was late at night when we left I took the chance wearing a double thick towel diapers and plastic pants under my underpants and pajamas. Everyone was too tired to notice. I hid them under my mattress at home, and wore them every night. I frequently wore them under my jeans during the day for the next couple of weeks. One Saturday mom announced at the last minute we were going out to dinner, I barely had time to change clothes and without thinking about just traded play shorts for my kaki dress shorts, I didn’t realize how tight they were until we were driving away, too late to do anything but pray no one would take notice. I was very self-conscious of my padded crotch the whole meal at our favorite Mexican restaurant. This was my most daring experiment; the excitement was building up the whole time and I couldn’t wait to be able to make a trip to the bathroom to satisfy my lust. On the way back home mom made a frightening statement, it was haircut time; school was only a few days away. Her haircutting strategy involved striping to your undershorts before sitting on a barstool while she took her time. That was bad enough but she would make you strip naked afterwards so the hair wouldn’t be carried through the house on your way to the tub or shower.
I tried to slip into the bathroom to get out of the diapers but it didn’t work and the next thing I knew I was down to briefs on the stool knowing my secret had been exposed. Naturally there was no hiding my crotch, but she didn’t act funny or say anything other then what of cut I wanted. This back then amounted to just a few short hairstyles such as a crew cut, a flattop or a buzz cut. I choose a flattop even though it would take longer. Time seemed to standstill and I was apprehensive and tense of every movement in the room fearful that at any moment I’d be slapped silly when she discovered what I was wearing. I couldn’t imagine her not noticing my situation especially when she would press her crotch into one of my hips while she was clipping away with the scissors. That part had always made me wince even though I am sure there was nothing sexual about it, but have always been aware when it happens. The last time I felt a woman’s crotch pressed against my body was during an EKG last month, it is a difficult position to be in sometimes. Are these strangers purposely doing it or is it an unconscious action.
I was squirming by the time mom finished dreading the inevitable but she turned her back and told me to hit the shower. Relieved I made to bathroom and quickly striped off the underpants then slipping off the diapers and plastic pants, like they sewn together, before burying them deep in the clothes hamper. I hoped in the shower my mind whirling in crazy circles in a desperate attempt to put what had just happened in perspective to how my mom usually acted when she caught me in the wrong. Nothing seemed to make sense. When the water was hot enough I entered its soothing flow letting it flow over my head like it was a heated waterfall hoping it would help clear my thoughts. When I heard the bathroom door open, my heart skipped a beat. The shower door was so frosted you could just barely see shadows through the glass. I held my breath and closed my eyes hoping it was dad or my brother using the toilet. Suddenly the shower door opened and I was facing mom, I blinked as my hand bushed water away from my eyes. Then I was focusing on the diapers and plastic pants clutched in her right hand. The moment I was dreading was upon me, my head started pounding as my heartbeat so hard I felt faint. It was all I could do not to start whimpering like a child as she grabbed my arm her long nails pressing into them. I switched my attention to her face feeling her eyes boring into my skull like a drill bit through soft wood. It always felt like she could read my thoughts at these times. She wanted to know why I was wearing them and it was like I was in a trance, I just shook my head no. then she asked if Granma made me wear them and I just stood there my eyes going from hers to the diapers then down, she dug her nails harder into my skin and I just shook my head no again. She tightened her grip on my arm and dug her nails deeper; I realized she wanted me to look at her again which I did. She told me there was something twisted about me and a moment later I was staring at the door again. The whole confrontation was only minutes but time seems to stretch like it’s a rubber band at intense times. It seemed like forever before I heard the bathroom door open and close again. I felt drained of energy and didn’t want to lave the shower weighting what could happen next. I stalled a long time before getting dried off and dressed. I didn’t see the diapers and plastic pants on the floor so I searched the hamper only finding the diapers had become towels again. There was no sign of the plastic pants or pins. I went to my room to put on my pajamas and checked my brother’s drawer figuring they were back in there. To my surprise there wasn’t even one pair left in the drawer. I was perplexed some but knowing that he was still wearing night diapers, which I confirmed when he came waddling later. I was still worrying about my future but I knew I had the pair of Gerber pants stashed in the closet. I hid them in my pillowcase figuring it would be safer to put them on after lights out.
I searched the house every chance I got but it was days before I found those precious plastic pants in a tin candy container, in the hall closet, in an old chest of drawers. The pins were in another tin full of various sized of safety pins. Whenever I borrowed any of them I made sure to replace them as soon as possible. I was sure mom’s wrath would be worse next time.
I had gotten caught because I got carried away and became to bold in my actions. Looking back over the years it was a continuing theme throughout my life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)