I was herded into the spare room that had been my bedroom when I had been ill. I heard the sound of a car door and looked out the window. It was Gina’s sister. I watched through the curtains as she walked to the car carrying her ‘baby’ sister. It was a relief to see Gina go. I laid back down in bed and thought about everything that had happened to me in the last few years and what I had become. I was sorry I was so weak. I had always had a desire to be a baby again. When I was a teenager had secretly slept in ‘diapers’ I had made for a time. The ‘problem’ resurfaced when I was a graduate student after I saw an old rerun of a ‘Twilight Zone” episode titled, “A Short Drink from a Certain Fountain”. It was about a man who convinces his scientist brother to inject him with an experimental youth drug to please his wife. The man is inadvertently regressed into babyhood when the untested drug causes too much rejuvenation. The story tripped some sort of hidden desire in my subconscious and all I could think about for weeks was what it must be like to be regressed into a baby. I would get an erection just thinking about it. Even the word “diaper’ became erotic. Finally, late one night I went to an all night grocery store far from my house and bought a package of adult diapers. I went home and put them on, intending to masturbate and then sleep in them. When I awoke the next morning, I discovered to my horror that I had wet the diapers in my sleep. I removed the wet diaper and took a shower before going to class. After that I wore diapers to bed about three times a week. I discovered that if I wore diapers to bed, more often than not, I would wake up in the morning with a soggy diaper. This didn’t worry me at first, I thought it was my subconscious playing games with itself. It wasn’t unit I started to wet the bed when I wasn’t wearing diapers that I began to worry. I went to see a urologist who could find nothing physically wrong with me. Until I could get control of my bladder again during sleep, he suggested I wear incontinent briefs to sleep. He suggested I see a psychiatrist to see if there wasn’t a psychological component to my enuresis. I promised him I would and went home to think. A psychiatrist was out of the question; long term treatment of psychiatric problems are expensive and I didn’t have any medical insurance. I would just have to wear diapers and hope for the best.
A year later I met Pauline. I had just gotten my masters and was working on my Ph.D. We dated for a little over a year before we decided to get married. My doctoral thesis was accepted and made quite a stir in the Physics community. I was invited to test my theories at a research laboratory and accepted. Pauline and I got married and we moved here where I became the director’s assistant. Everything was fine for the first months, then the urge to sleep in diapers returned with a vengeance. I snuck around for a few months wearing a cloth diaper under the sweat pants I wore on weekends until Pauline caught me. Then we had the biggest row of our marriage. She insisted that I go to a psychiatrist to treat me for my pedophilia. I tried to explain to her that I wasn’t a dangerous pervert, I only liked to sleep in diapers. In the end, I bowed to her wishes and went to a psychiatrist. The doctor examined me and found that I was, as he explained, a sexual infantilist. He told me it was not uncommon and usually harmless unless it got out of hand. He told me it was considered treatable, but the treatments might have long term side effects. When I asked him what they were, he told me the drugs used to reduce my sex drive during the treatments might produce long term impotence. Having been only recently married, I rejected his offer of treatment out of hand. I suspected my marriage might not last too long if I began it by becoming impotent. I explained my concerns to the psychiatrist and he agreed it probably wasn’t a good idea. He offered to speak to Pauline about my ‘problem’ and I readily agreed. The next day Pauline accompanied me to the doctor’s office for a consultation. When he explained to her about my infantile fixation she appeared relieved and gave me the strangest look. She agreed that if my fixation only made me want to sleep in diapers occasionally, she wouldn’t object. She told the doctor that her main concern was that I was some kind of sexual psychopath. The doctor assured her that my behavior, although mildly deviant, was nothing to be concerned about.