You have to read this!!! Most amazing article I have ever read.
Diaper Fetishism, Necrophilia and the Cultural Taboo
A prerequisite is certainly required for the writing of this report. I would first like to bluntly make it clear that I am a diaper fetishist and have been one for the entire time I have consciously lived. I have spent an entire lifetime balancing the struggles of my convictions. Sometimes it has been magical and other times it has been grim and hopeless. I have faced social exile, and while not very important in my life, is something which can be enormously consuming and painful for others. I have spent years and years of my life trying to learn and accept my fetish. At times I have spent every ounce of energy trying to somehow accept my inner-being. The worst thing that can happen to someone is losing love in ones self. But I must not go on, for this is to reflect my wisdom and not my heartache. I have spent hundreds of hours absorbed into the diaper fetish community. I have taken in a lot of information and experiences by being one of the communities myself. It is for all these reasons that I have a unique outlook that everyone can benefit from.
When it comes to diaper fetishism, most people dont even know what the term means. On the surface, diaper fetishism means an abnormal attachment to diapers. The term has evolved to define a sexual attachment. Typically, a sexual fetish is an attraction to a material or item that provides sexual gratification. Not surprisingly, diaper fetishism refers to using diapers in some sort of way as sexual relief. One such example would be achieving ejaculation through the act of wearing diapers. While diapers are not always necessary for achieving ejaculation, the fixation is extremely powerful. Many find diapers absolutely necessary for ejaculation, and at the same time, there is a powerful link between diapers and the sex the fetishist is attracted to. A diaper fetishist may be not be aroused by simply diapers or simply females, but the two of them combined provide the arousal desired.
The first time I realized I had a diaper fetish came about a year after my first ejaculation. When I was about 9 years I ejaculated for the first time. I was masturbating in my bed at night and reached what I know now as ejaculation. Over the course of this year, I had developed a strong link between reaching an orgasm and picturing myself as a diapered baby. The first three months were without a doubt the most rapid. I had come from being seemingly nothing to being completely aroused and dependent on fantasizing about being diapered. Puberty was a scary time for me, though during this first year I never questioned whether it was strange to have an orgasm to diapers. Instead, I seemed more upset and embarrassed about the fact that I actually masturbated. The idea of masturbating to diapers seemed unbelievably natural and comfortable.
But as time went on, I somehow learned that masturbation was acceptable in our society. This came as of amazing relief to me. But as the year almost completed itself, I found myself in a confusing situation. I had been friends with an older boy, and one time I was at his house and he showed me a pornographic magazine. He was making fun of me, and jokingly said I was getting an erection. It was at that point that I realized I did not get aroused from simply females. I didnt understand. Was I supposed to be aroused when I see a naked female? Was I supposed to be aroused when I think about sex? My sexuality definitely worked at this point, but it was not stimulated in any sense to nudity or sex.
As even more time progressed, I started to feel alienated from other people. I always had attraction to females, but never in the sexual sense. That part of me was dead. It was inevitable that the event to change my life would come soon. And it did. I learned that I was sexually retarded. I learned that I was not normal or accepted. I realized that I had a huge, huge problem. About two years after my first ejaculation, I found out that other people around the world achieved orgasm through diapers as well. What an amazing relief that was! But the poison of my sexual being did not leave. The overwhelming dread and fright of being a diaper fetishist was prominent over everything else.
At about this same time, my sexuality hit some sort of crossroad. I started to get erections whenever people would talk about murder or death. As the months progressed, I had become completely aroused by murder and gore just as I had become aroused by diapers. I remember skipping biology classes in high school because I was afraid of having an orgasm in class when they showed footage of an animal being eaten alive. At times I fantasized about being thrown into an alligator pool and being eaten alive as gorgeous women watched on. When I wanted to have an orgasm, but failed while masturbating to diapers, I would sheepishly take a shortcut to masturbate about death. I recorded nature channels on my VCR and masturbated time and time again to animals being eaten, tortured, and brutalized.
As this was happening, my diaper fetish matured as well. I was now 14 years old with a confused sexuality. I contemplated suicide over and over again in order to escape my sexual nightmare. I remember with my first love of my life, at the age of 15, I got recurring images of shooting her head off with a shotgun. It was mostly during times when we cuddled together, watching a movie, and her head blocked some of the screen. I couldnt stop the image of shooting her head off. I could never get passed the image of three-quarters of her head being removed. It came to me and I could never stop it. I had masturbated furiously time and time again about the time my beautiful girlfriend and I sat on a log in a campground and were watching ants trying to get a dead wasp into the hole. I said, I dont think they are going to get him in the hole, and she replied, Unless they rip him apart. The images of murdering people close to me were unbelievably scary. At the same time, when I had conversations with people close to me, like my friends or brother, I got pictures of sucking their genitals with my mouth. I couldnt stop the murder images or sexual images from entering my mind.
I had become a monster. Every day I woke up I felt sick. I felt so incredibly rotten to the core that I wished everyday I could murder myself. I did the best I could to stop masturbating to gore, but sometimes it overwhelmed me and I found myself doing it. The scary part was that while masturbating to diapers took 30 minutes, masturbating to gore may have only taken 30 seconds before I achieved. I felt alienated from everybody. I could never, ever have described the slaughterhouse that was in my head to anybody else. I didnt feel human. I wish God could have saved me, but he didnt.
It only got worse. The more I had grown to use the internet because of my social isolation, the more I came across murder and death material. I remember trying as hard as I could to hold back an erection as I saw a real live decapitation taking place. My ultimate fantasy of being publicly executed came true as I found real footage. It was as though I took the final step into becoming a monster.
The development of my sexuality was nothing but a nightmare. As a result, my social relationships soared into the void. In many ways I became a sexual addict, somehow trying to balance my social insecurities by masturbation. My entire life revolved around diapers and death. Women became unapproachable to me, and I would often masturbate about their dominance and superiority over myself. It has taken me a lifetime to understand and accept my sexual impulses. One of the greatest gifts I have is being able to contemplate and understand myself. I now know every exact reason which has caused me to become who I am.
I would closely resemble myself as a mad genius. As a child I used to be extremely obsessive compulsive, and for hours I would agonize about whether something could be wet and dry at the same time. I would lie in bed at night for hours trying to imagine a new color I had never seen before. I would often think about opposites and try to apply them to a single object, much like imagining a wash cloth that was wet and dry at the same time. Another thing I did was try to understand what a color would look like if it were bright and dark at the same time. I would spend hours trying to imagine what the largest number looked like. I drove myself insane because I could never get to the largest number. In a sense, I was in my own world.
I grew up in a fairly wealthy home and a loving family. I was born into a family of three with one brother. I was always loved and nurtured as a child. I have memories of my Dad taking me outside into the snow and pulling me around in a sled all the way around the block. My parents had loved me deeply and I was extremely fortunate. But with all the beautiful memories I have lurks a darker, sadder memory. I had some sort of unexplainable inadequacy as a child. If my Mom had ever left me, in a way I had felt neglected. If I was ever punished or yelled at, I felt abandoned. I felt inadequate to everybody and everything around me. I grew up picturing the world as a hostile, scary place.
I felt I needed to be nurtured forever. I remember the terrible dread I had when I was punished. I remember a sort of darkness that always rested inside of me. I felt sad often. I often thought about things obsessively. I always questioned myself. Everything, in some sort of way, I saw as dreadful. The best I can describe it as is feeling worried, broken and inadequate my entire life. Now that I understand this part of my life, I can determine the roots and reasoning behind my gore and diaper tendencies.
When we grow up with some sort of necessity, we instinctively do whatever we can to benefit ourselves. It is a primal instinct that we all possess. As a child, I couldve been considered moderately retarded because of my inadequacy. I spent the early years of my life scared and in a shell. As I grew up to the age of 5 or so, my social realm had already become unbelievably complicated. The older I got, the more I needed. The part of me that felt it needed some reassurance somehow had to be nurtured. The fear and inadequacy conquered my soul, and I was desperately trying to survive and flourish in this world. In order to go on, I somehow needed a cure. Even to this day, I do not know how to let other human beings help me. And so, as a child, I had to depend on myself and turn everything inward in order to survive.
The childhood memories I possess and often revisit in my mind may be the saddest part of my life. It is where I skew off into the void, hopelessly spiraling down and down into despair and frustration as an adult. I remember the first time I heard the word dead being used. I remember the type of vulnerability, heartbreak, and pure horror I felt whenever I thought of something dying. Death is a scary thing when you are 5 years old, but I surely dwelled upon it obsessively. Sometimes when I remember scenes from my childhood, when I think of death, a charge of fear runs through me, and I feel sick to my stomach. Equally, I remember the first time I saw a diaper change. I remember vividly the way the baby was changed, what it looked like, and how the baby was taken care of. Not coincidentally, the two aspects in my childhood that I have amazing memories of and attachments to are the two aspects that show up prominently in my sexuality.
And so the realization that my social retardations as a child effected the outcome of my sexuality as an adult became a subject of thought. I discovered that for many people sexual orgasms are coping mechanisms. The fantasizing of an act, such as having sex with the opposite gender (for most), is actually relieving when finished by ejaculation. Ejaculation is a way of relieving pressure. I am completely sure that as I hit puberty, my social retardations, desperately looking for nurturing, attached themselves right into my sexuality. My body had found a natural, primitive way of coping with the insecurities and inadequacies I felt.
This explains the reason that as I grew up I became fixated with diapers and death. The theme both of these aspects have is that being diapered and killed are both degrading. Both instances make you feel inferior. The humiliation and vulnerability of being diapered, being completely helpless and out of control, matches the vulnerability and defeat that one has when one is being murdered. The two most fearful, humiliating and defeating things I perceived later became the two things I would most indulge upon. As I hit my sexuality, the coping mechanism I developed became a way for me to relieve stress. Maybe a descriptive line from a diaper fetishist story sums it up best.
(During a scene in which Brians wife is changing his diaper)
Brian climaxed, spurting cum from his turgid penis as she deftly caught it in his wet diaper. The orgasm seemed to last an eternity; he emptied himself into the moist diaper cupped around his balls and penis. He felt like his life, his very manhood was being drained into her hand; the conflicts and contradictions of his existence were resolved in one final moment of blissful rapture, leaving his inner child at rest and peace.
- Jennifer Loraine The Baby Game
My sexuality was perfect for catching my diaper and death affections. Now I know that every since I was born, I was taking step after step towards becoming a gore loving monster. There was nothing that couldve stopped it and it only took time before my sexuality and social realms were left in frightening chaos. I had been born feeling inadequate, and my body had used its sexuality as a coping mechanism to relieve the stress I had. In a sense, it is quite clever, but the intelligent responses my body made caused me to live a life of suffering and pain. I believe my existence is simply a reflection of the experiences I have lived and the effects that have arose from them. In every sense, I was hopeless from the start.
I am now more into diaper fetishism than I ever have been. I continue to masturbate to death, gore and murder occasionally, but I continue to hold my strength together in order to save myself from the final void that awaits me. Every day I must conserve the strength to refrain from my sexual impulses. The day I become completely absorbed into death and murder is the day I truly die and become a monster. I have decided long ago that I must either kill myself or fight the dark lurking monster inside of me. I chose to fight and I continue to do so every day I live.
I have tried to get help but it has failed. I have mentioned in this writing that I am unable to be helped by other human beings. This is a direct aspect of my social life that has caused the creation of a monster. Therefore, I will not pursue any counseling or psychology. I am seemingly untouched by other people, and this is why counseling in the past has failed. I do not want any sympathy from anybody, whether or not I will get any in the first place, for in a way this has been the most enlightening gift in my life. My diaper and death affection has redefined my very existence. My life will never, ever be the same.
And so I want to close this out by reminding all of you that the ties which bind us simultaneously alienate us. The cultural taboo accomplishes absolutely nothing, for it is here to hide information and ideas from one another. From the depths of my heart, I must say, please take the information I have provided you with and make good use of it. Our society has sheltered us from realization, and thus I felt the responsibility to somehow offer my information to anybody who needs it. This is about my life and it is truthful. By writing this, I hope to contribute in any way possible. I hope that I can help you, or your family, or your doctor, or even the highest level of humanities. Knowing that I wrote this to desperately inform the public of the insights to my lifestyle, to help mankind, I grant you full permission, and even ask you kindly, to completely redistribute this report to anyone who wants it. Finally, I want to leave you with a quote that has touched me dearly after the reading of A Fathers Story by Lionel Dahmer. Take care, take care, take care.
- Anonymous
Written in the 21st century
For all who care
Diaper Fetishism, Necrophilia and the Cultural Taboo
A prerequisite is certainly required for the writing of this report. I would first like to bluntly make it clear that I am a diaper fetishist and have been one for the entire time I have consciously lived. I have spent an entire lifetime balancing the struggles of my convictions. Sometimes it has been magical and other times it has been grim and hopeless. I have faced social exile, and while not very important in my life, is something which can be enormously consuming and painful for others. I have spent years and years of my life trying to learn and accept my fetish. At times I have spent every ounce of energy trying to somehow accept my inner-being. The worst thing that can happen to someone is losing love in ones self. But I must not go on, for this is to reflect my wisdom and not my heartache. I have spent hundreds of hours absorbed into the diaper fetish community. I have taken in a lot of information and experiences by being one of the communities myself. It is for all these reasons that I have a unique outlook that everyone can benefit from.
When it comes to diaper fetishism, most people dont even know what the term means. On the surface, diaper fetishism means an abnormal attachment to diapers. The term has evolved to define a sexual attachment. Typically, a sexual fetish is an attraction to a material or item that provides sexual gratification. Not surprisingly, diaper fetishism refers to using diapers in some sort of way as sexual relief. One such example would be achieving ejaculation through the act of wearing diapers. While diapers are not always necessary for achieving ejaculation, the fixation is extremely powerful. Many find diapers absolutely necessary for ejaculation, and at the same time, there is a powerful link between diapers and the sex the fetishist is attracted to. A diaper fetishist may be not be aroused by simply diapers or simply females, but the two of them combined provide the arousal desired.
The first time I realized I had a diaper fetish came about a year after my first ejaculation. When I was about 9 years I ejaculated for the first time. I was masturbating in my bed at night and reached what I know now as ejaculation. Over the course of this year, I had developed a strong link between reaching an orgasm and picturing myself as a diapered baby. The first three months were without a doubt the most rapid. I had come from being seemingly nothing to being completely aroused and dependent on fantasizing about being diapered. Puberty was a scary time for me, though during this first year I never questioned whether it was strange to have an orgasm to diapers. Instead, I seemed more upset and embarrassed about the fact that I actually masturbated. The idea of masturbating to diapers seemed unbelievably natural and comfortable.
But as time went on, I somehow learned that masturbation was acceptable in our society. This came as of amazing relief to me. But as the year almost completed itself, I found myself in a confusing situation. I had been friends with an older boy, and one time I was at his house and he showed me a pornographic magazine. He was making fun of me, and jokingly said I was getting an erection. It was at that point that I realized I did not get aroused from simply females. I didnt understand. Was I supposed to be aroused when I see a naked female? Was I supposed to be aroused when I think about sex? My sexuality definitely worked at this point, but it was not stimulated in any sense to nudity or sex.
As even more time progressed, I started to feel alienated from other people. I always had attraction to females, but never in the sexual sense. That part of me was dead. It was inevitable that the event to change my life would come soon. And it did. I learned that I was sexually retarded. I learned that I was not normal or accepted. I realized that I had a huge, huge problem. About two years after my first ejaculation, I found out that other people around the world achieved orgasm through diapers as well. What an amazing relief that was! But the poison of my sexual being did not leave. The overwhelming dread and fright of being a diaper fetishist was prominent over everything else.
At about this same time, my sexuality hit some sort of crossroad. I started to get erections whenever people would talk about murder or death. As the months progressed, I had become completely aroused by murder and gore just as I had become aroused by diapers. I remember skipping biology classes in high school because I was afraid of having an orgasm in class when they showed footage of an animal being eaten alive. At times I fantasized about being thrown into an alligator pool and being eaten alive as gorgeous women watched on. When I wanted to have an orgasm, but failed while masturbating to diapers, I would sheepishly take a shortcut to masturbate about death. I recorded nature channels on my VCR and masturbated time and time again to animals being eaten, tortured, and brutalized.
As this was happening, my diaper fetish matured as well. I was now 14 years old with a confused sexuality. I contemplated suicide over and over again in order to escape my sexual nightmare. I remember with my first love of my life, at the age of 15, I got recurring images of shooting her head off with a shotgun. It was mostly during times when we cuddled together, watching a movie, and her head blocked some of the screen. I couldnt stop the image of shooting her head off. I could never get passed the image of three-quarters of her head being removed. It came to me and I could never stop it. I had masturbated furiously time and time again about the time my beautiful girlfriend and I sat on a log in a campground and were watching ants trying to get a dead wasp into the hole. I said, I dont think they are going to get him in the hole, and she replied, Unless they rip him apart. The images of murdering people close to me were unbelievably scary. At the same time, when I had conversations with people close to me, like my friends or brother, I got pictures of sucking their genitals with my mouth. I couldnt stop the murder images or sexual images from entering my mind.
I had become a monster. Every day I woke up I felt sick. I felt so incredibly rotten to the core that I wished everyday I could murder myself. I did the best I could to stop masturbating to gore, but sometimes it overwhelmed me and I found myself doing it. The scary part was that while masturbating to diapers took 30 minutes, masturbating to gore may have only taken 30 seconds before I achieved. I felt alienated from everybody. I could never, ever have described the slaughterhouse that was in my head to anybody else. I didnt feel human. I wish God could have saved me, but he didnt.
It only got worse. The more I had grown to use the internet because of my social isolation, the more I came across murder and death material. I remember trying as hard as I could to hold back an erection as I saw a real live decapitation taking place. My ultimate fantasy of being publicly executed came true as I found real footage. It was as though I took the final step into becoming a monster.
The development of my sexuality was nothing but a nightmare. As a result, my social relationships soared into the void. In many ways I became a sexual addict, somehow trying to balance my social insecurities by masturbation. My entire life revolved around diapers and death. Women became unapproachable to me, and I would often masturbate about their dominance and superiority over myself. It has taken me a lifetime to understand and accept my sexual impulses. One of the greatest gifts I have is being able to contemplate and understand myself. I now know every exact reason which has caused me to become who I am.
I would closely resemble myself as a mad genius. As a child I used to be extremely obsessive compulsive, and for hours I would agonize about whether something could be wet and dry at the same time. I would lie in bed at night for hours trying to imagine a new color I had never seen before. I would often think about opposites and try to apply them to a single object, much like imagining a wash cloth that was wet and dry at the same time. Another thing I did was try to understand what a color would look like if it were bright and dark at the same time. I would spend hours trying to imagine what the largest number looked like. I drove myself insane because I could never get to the largest number. In a sense, I was in my own world.
I grew up in a fairly wealthy home and a loving family. I was born into a family of three with one brother. I was always loved and nurtured as a child. I have memories of my Dad taking me outside into the snow and pulling me around in a sled all the way around the block. My parents had loved me deeply and I was extremely fortunate. But with all the beautiful memories I have lurks a darker, sadder memory. I had some sort of unexplainable inadequacy as a child. If my Mom had ever left me, in a way I had felt neglected. If I was ever punished or yelled at, I felt abandoned. I felt inadequate to everybody and everything around me. I grew up picturing the world as a hostile, scary place.
I felt I needed to be nurtured forever. I remember the terrible dread I had when I was punished. I remember a sort of darkness that always rested inside of me. I felt sad often. I often thought about things obsessively. I always questioned myself. Everything, in some sort of way, I saw as dreadful. The best I can describe it as is feeling worried, broken and inadequate my entire life. Now that I understand this part of my life, I can determine the roots and reasoning behind my gore and diaper tendencies.
When we grow up with some sort of necessity, we instinctively do whatever we can to benefit ourselves. It is a primal instinct that we all possess. As a child, I couldve been considered moderately retarded because of my inadequacy. I spent the early years of my life scared and in a shell. As I grew up to the age of 5 or so, my social realm had already become unbelievably complicated. The older I got, the more I needed. The part of me that felt it needed some reassurance somehow had to be nurtured. The fear and inadequacy conquered my soul, and I was desperately trying to survive and flourish in this world. In order to go on, I somehow needed a cure. Even to this day, I do not know how to let other human beings help me. And so, as a child, I had to depend on myself and turn everything inward in order to survive.
The childhood memories I possess and often revisit in my mind may be the saddest part of my life. It is where I skew off into the void, hopelessly spiraling down and down into despair and frustration as an adult. I remember the first time I heard the word dead being used. I remember the type of vulnerability, heartbreak, and pure horror I felt whenever I thought of something dying. Death is a scary thing when you are 5 years old, but I surely dwelled upon it obsessively. Sometimes when I remember scenes from my childhood, when I think of death, a charge of fear runs through me, and I feel sick to my stomach. Equally, I remember the first time I saw a diaper change. I remember vividly the way the baby was changed, what it looked like, and how the baby was taken care of. Not coincidentally, the two aspects in my childhood that I have amazing memories of and attachments to are the two aspects that show up prominently in my sexuality.
And so the realization that my social retardations as a child effected the outcome of my sexuality as an adult became a subject of thought. I discovered that for many people sexual orgasms are coping mechanisms. The fantasizing of an act, such as having sex with the opposite gender (for most), is actually relieving when finished by ejaculation. Ejaculation is a way of relieving pressure. I am completely sure that as I hit puberty, my social retardations, desperately looking for nurturing, attached themselves right into my sexuality. My body had found a natural, primitive way of coping with the insecurities and inadequacies I felt.
This explains the reason that as I grew up I became fixated with diapers and death. The theme both of these aspects have is that being diapered and killed are both degrading. Both instances make you feel inferior. The humiliation and vulnerability of being diapered, being completely helpless and out of control, matches the vulnerability and defeat that one has when one is being murdered. The two most fearful, humiliating and defeating things I perceived later became the two things I would most indulge upon. As I hit my sexuality, the coping mechanism I developed became a way for me to relieve stress. Maybe a descriptive line from a diaper fetishist story sums it up best.
(During a scene in which Brians wife is changing his diaper)
Brian climaxed, spurting cum from his turgid penis as she deftly caught it in his wet diaper. The orgasm seemed to last an eternity; he emptied himself into the moist diaper cupped around his balls and penis. He felt like his life, his very manhood was being drained into her hand; the conflicts and contradictions of his existence were resolved in one final moment of blissful rapture, leaving his inner child at rest and peace.
- Jennifer Loraine The Baby Game
My sexuality was perfect for catching my diaper and death affections. Now I know that every since I was born, I was taking step after step towards becoming a gore loving monster. There was nothing that couldve stopped it and it only took time before my sexuality and social realms were left in frightening chaos. I had been born feeling inadequate, and my body had used its sexuality as a coping mechanism to relieve the stress I had. In a sense, it is quite clever, but the intelligent responses my body made caused me to live a life of suffering and pain. I believe my existence is simply a reflection of the experiences I have lived and the effects that have arose from them. In every sense, I was hopeless from the start.
I am now more into diaper fetishism than I ever have been. I continue to masturbate to death, gore and murder occasionally, but I continue to hold my strength together in order to save myself from the final void that awaits me. Every day I must conserve the strength to refrain from my sexual impulses. The day I become completely absorbed into death and murder is the day I truly die and become a monster. I have decided long ago that I must either kill myself or fight the dark lurking monster inside of me. I chose to fight and I continue to do so every day I live.
I have tried to get help but it has failed. I have mentioned in this writing that I am unable to be helped by other human beings. This is a direct aspect of my social life that has caused the creation of a monster. Therefore, I will not pursue any counseling or psychology. I am seemingly untouched by other people, and this is why counseling in the past has failed. I do not want any sympathy from anybody, whether or not I will get any in the first place, for in a way this has been the most enlightening gift in my life. My diaper and death affection has redefined my very existence. My life will never, ever be the same.
And so I want to close this out by reminding all of you that the ties which bind us simultaneously alienate us. The cultural taboo accomplishes absolutely nothing, for it is here to hide information and ideas from one another. From the depths of my heart, I must say, please take the information I have provided you with and make good use of it. Our society has sheltered us from realization, and thus I felt the responsibility to somehow offer my information to anybody who needs it. This is about my life and it is truthful. By writing this, I hope to contribute in any way possible. I hope that I can help you, or your family, or your doctor, or even the highest level of humanities. Knowing that I wrote this to desperately inform the public of the insights to my lifestyle, to help mankind, I grant you full permission, and even ask you kindly, to completely redistribute this report to anyone who wants it. Finally, I want to leave you with a quote that has touched me dearly after the reading of A Fathers Story by Lionel Dahmer. Take care, take care, take care.
- Anonymous
Written in the 21st century
For all who care
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
cmaxwell:
I get the diaper part, sort of. I don't get the gore connection part.
duffbeer:
dipers and death 