SHOULD I ADMIT THIS…SOMETHING? OR WILL IT BE ’TMI’?


Listen, y’all. The readers of my blog, and especially those who follow me: I really love you guys and gals. I never thought when I started this, that I’d ever have as many readers as I do. It’s truly awesome, in the literal meaning of the word.

When I first started this, I had maybe 4 readers a week, sometimes less. Lately, I have been getting about 300 reads a week! That’s hard for me to fathom. I would assume that the name The Nylon Obsession is part of it, thanks to Google. I don’t really know. I do know that the frottage story seems to be the most popular, the most read.

I have shared many stories and opinions, and truths about me. I’ve said it before, but every story I write is completely true. I’ve shared a lot. People who know me personally don’t even know most of the things that I have shared with you all. I consider you readers friends. I know it sounds like hokey bullshit, but it’s true.

Now… I have talked about some of my turn-ons. If you’ve even casually skimmed through one or two posts, you know that. And, of course, the title of the blog is a dead giveaway as to my main ‘bent’.

But..,and I hate to say it…but…I’ve been holding out. I have another obsession, or whatever you want to call it, that I haven’t shared with you. And, almost as much as my obsession with nylon, silky and smooth clothes, this part of me gets bigger all the time.

The thing is, I really hope my followers, my friends,  don’t read about this and think “Okay. That’s it. I’m done with this gender-confused, cross-dressing moron. It’s too much.”

But it’s become such an integral part of me, that I’m going to close my eyes and jump in. I’m going to tell you. If I feel it’s a huge disastrous idea, perhaps I’ll delete the post. I don’t want to do that, but I really don’t want to alienate any readers.

Christ, enough build-up already!

Here goes nothing.

I am an age player. I’m an “adult baby, slash diaper lover”. An AB/DL. I wear adult-sized disposable baby diapers. I don’t always engage in the age play aspect. And… I don’t always wear toddler-ish clothes. (Like overalls, or short-alls and cute babyish t-shirts.)  I don’t gurgle or talk like a baby. Sometimes, the diaper I’ll choose will have a cute, childish pattern on the front, but most of the time it’s plain white. They’re thick, they’re snug, with two tapes on each side, and they make the cutest (sometimes TOO loud) crackle sound when I walk. And the answer is “yes and no.” Yes, I use them. I wet them. No, I don’t “mess” them. No number two for me. To be honest, I have messed them, but the clean-up is a bit too much for me. But wetting? Yes. (Without going into detail, wetting my diaper (especially when I have one on under my clothes when I’m out in public) feels great. Of course, after a minute or so, the padding soaks it all and you feel completely dry. The adult diapers available on sites like bambino.com, or wearingclouds.com are amazing. They’re sometimes referred to as ‘designer’ diapers and generally cost a couple bucks each! But, you save money in the long run because they can be wet, and re-wet about four or five times before they start to leak, and therefore don’t need to be changed as much.

I’m well aware: The image of me, in a giant crib sucking on an oversized bottle, and cooing “goo goo, ga ga” is ridiculous. Even to me. But just sitting around and watching tv is a completely different experience if I have a diaper on under my Under Armour track pants.. You probably don’t know it’s a cliche among AB/DLs, but…wearing a diaper makes me feel safe. Comforted. And I forget my ‘adult’ troubles for a while. It makes me feel so happy, words don’t do it justice.

I know it’s fucked up. I know there’s a chance that most people are going to unfollow me, and write me off as a freak. But, if you do any reading about this fetish or lifestyle (and really, why would you have studied it?) you’ll know that people who have this ‘obsession’ with wearing diapers have absolutely NO CONTROL OVER THEIR DESIRES. It’s like liking vanilla ice cream. I don’t really know ‘why’ I like…need to engage in this behavior, but it’s part of me. And I can’t change it. I can change my behavior. I can throw out all my AB stuff. My diapers. But the desire will always, and has always, been a large part of who I am. I’ve had this desire since I was at least 5 years old. Truly.

As I said, I’ve been wearing more and more of late. It’s gone from a couple times a weak to an almost daily thing. Even if it’s only for an hour a day. Perhaps it’s because I’ve had a lot more personal problems. Family problems. Work problems. Identity problems! Gender identity problems. And…taping on an adult-sized plastic, thick and comfy disposable diaper makes me feel great. It’s like it lifts the weight off me. A emit a huge sigh. A sigh that says “There! Now that’s better!” Believe it or not, even though wearing a diaper does ‘excite’ me, turn me on; I don’t masturbate while wearing all the time. Sometimes, the enjoyment and comfort of being diapered isn’t sexual in the slightest. Sometimes.

What saddens me, though, is this: I’ve never had another guy ‘change’ me. I’ve never had the one thing I’ve wanted as long as I can remember. (Now, I don’t like the word ‘daddy.’ I feel silly even writing it.) But…I guess that what it amounts to. I want a guy to treat me like his little brother. Or even treat me like a son. Be my daddy. My “little” age is not a newborn, but a toddler. Like, three years old. To have a guy hug me, cuddle me, play with my hair and tell me I’m a “good boy” is what I want. What I need. And I want/need it badly. I think about it every day.

Isnt there some guy out there that would love to be a daddy (I’m so embarrassed!) or my big brother? And…just take care of me? He’d protect me. He’d hold my hand and tell me not to be scared. “Daddy’s here, little guy. No need to worry. About anything.” I’d say “I know, daddy” and smile, looking at the ground shyly. He’d laugh at my behavior and pull me into a hug. He’d say “You are such a cute, good little boy.” And…my heart would soar. I’d know that I was the luckiest guy in the world.

No matter how silly and ludicrous this all may sound to you, to me? Not having someone? It hurts. A lot.

But, I guess it’ll always be just a fantasy.

 

[I don’t get a ton of letters, or people making comments on my posts. But this time, I would love to hear what you all think. Is it too much? And, what do you think? Do you have any ideas as to how I could find another guy to love me and protect me? Do YOU want to be that guy? (sorry girls) Just some words of support would mean the world to me.

Coming out and admitting my gender issues seems like a cake walk compared to admitting this. I hope I haven’t made a huge error.]

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FROTTAGE: AN UNBELIVABLY TRUE STORY


Here’s a story that, like every one of my posts, is true. I hope you believe me. If you doubt me, I guess that’s okay, too. I mean, there’s nothing I can do about it, and I hope that you’ll still at least like the story. But again; this is 100% true.

1984. I was wearing my black parachute pants, and I was hanging out with my girlfriend Karen, her friend Jennifer, and Jennifer’s boyfriend Ryan. Yes. I’ll admit it; I had a huge crush on Ryan. A very mixed up foursome. This night in particular, he was wearing Nike basketball pants that looked like they were satin, and a t-shirt tucked in. He had longish blond hair that just covered his ears. He was cool, also, because he had an actual earring in his left ear. One of those tough guy, pretty boys. I bet that if any guy challenged Ry to a fight, his tough image would crumble like the Berlin wall. But I thought that was charming, and kinda sexy.

The four of us had just seen the first “Police Academy” movie. I swear it. I didn’t pick the movie, and I seemed to be the only one who didn’t think it was a laugh riot. Anyway…it was Saturday night, and after the movie we took the bus back to Karen’s house. We went into her furnished basement and both of us started “making out” with our girlfriends. I was facing Ryan, and even though I was into making out with my girlfriend, I found myself opening my eyes and watching Ryan make out with Jennifer. He was way ahead of me that night and seemed to want to go farther. So we decided to open the sofa bed. Karen and I were both a bit nervous, as we really hadn’t gone much further than second base. And even then, I would run back to first nervously. But that night seemed to promise more, and the four of us layed down on the bed. From left to right it was Jennifer, Ryan, me, then Karen. So, Ryan and I had our backs to each other. No blankets or sheets to cover us up.

While I was making out with Karen, pretty heavily, I was constantly aware of Ryan right behind me making out with his girlfriend. Suddenly, I felt a quick, (too quick,) brush of his ass against mine. Because I was wearing my nylon parachutes, and he was wearing shiny, slick basketball pants, the quick contact was slippery. I’d never felt such a rush of pure adrenaline and excitement as my bulge began to grow in my pants. I knew that Karen had no idea why I seemed more excited, except that it was due to making out with her. Her tongue and mine were moving around in our lip lock.

While I was afraid to push things by rubbing my ass against him, I couldn’t stand the waiting any more, and went ahead. I brushed my ass against his. I actually did it. I was waiting for some kind of “Stop that! What, are you gay?”, or him just changing places with Jennifer. But nothing happened. My dick at this point was rock hard at the beautiful feeling of two silky fabrics rubbing against each other. And the thought of two boys’ asses!

Needless to say, the frottage continued, and while he seemed to be getting further with Jennifer, the contact with me became increasingly hotter. Now, our asses were always up against the other’s. It felt so intense, and I’ll never forget the feeling. Or, what was going through my mind. I thought, maybe Ry is like me. Maybe he likes guys, too. MAYBE…he likes ME! But at that moment, I was mainly thinking about our asses, slickly, smoothly touching, and moving around each other.

The makeout session was ended abruptly when Karen’s mom called downstairs, “Karen! I think it’s time the boys left! Good night, Ryan. Goodnight, Corey.” I sadly and frustratingly got up, straightened my cock, and buttoned up my shirt. I rolled the sleeves up just past my elbow and tucked it in. Ryan straightened himself out quickly, too.

We both left Karen’s house with a quick “‘night” to her mother. I walked out with Ryan. He was going to the train station, and I was walking home. The same direction. He and I joked and talked as we walked. I wasn’t going to bring up what was going on in my head during our time on the couch, and Ryan wasn’t talking either.

We got to the train station, and said our goodbyes. Cute Ryan walked away. I watched him go. I visually took in his satiny warm-up pants, his gray high-tops, his t-shirt and his cute now-mussed hair. Yes, I wished I had asked him to spend the night at my house. But I chickened out. We never mentioned that night again, and I lost touch a long time ago.

Yet, I’ll never forget his touch. Never.