L - Liberty

Anglophones say “unleached” meaning “free from the leash”. In French, we have “débridé”, literally “free from the bridle”, but the word has taken a festive connotation. Thursdays in a diaper at middle school, I did not live them like a party, I lived them feeling like I found freedom again. At first, there sure was a sort of excitement like when one just arrives at a bash with loud music after sneaking out of the house. Those enchantments were quickly replaced by a feeling more powerful, more profound, more sincere. “Found again” because deep down I knew that this feeling was not new ; it only had been neglected to oblivion. When I used to sit down as a diaper girl in the two-hour-long French class which started my day, the discomfort that had followed me for a good part of my school years simply vanished. Even though the place was unchanged, I now felt that I belonged where I was.

The following years especially developed my DL side. If I was still putting Pampers on one or two nights a week, I loved wearing it more and more during outings. The cinema, the skating rink, the winter strolls on the beach with a diaper on gave me a much better time. I had the feeling of being more myself.

I was still babysitting and a good part of the money I earned was spent in diapers. Added to Gwenaëlle, I would take care of the little Erwan, son of one of my mother’s colleagues.

During the last year of middle school, I started seeing a boy. We met at a neighbourhood gathering ; his family having moved in a couple of months earlier. William was in high-school and integrated a sport-program as a swimmer. He was quite good-looking : well-built for his age, his mid-length hair unruled by chlorine, bright eyes that diffused a sheer sweetness in his look. Above all, he was shy, big time. Each and every concept that gravitated around the word “girl” terrified him. How many meetings did it take for him to look me in the eyes ? We were seeing each other during weekends, but the biggest part of our relationship happened through texts and calls.

Summer holiday played an incubator role for our sprouting love. Smacks turned into more emphatic kisses, hand-in-hands became more subtle, embracings would be more caressing.

My little diaper girl's pleasure consisted in putting a diaper on at night and calling him. At first, the idea was only to give me some extra comfort in those appreciated moments. Before long, hormones stuck their noses into our conversations… Our new physical closeness would resume at night during our phone calls. We were so young and so inexperienced ! During one of those objectively silly dialogues, I mechanically put a hand on my diaper. I blushed alone in my room with Will at the other end of the receiver. I let him talk while I was exploring those new possibilities. I felt that something was happening in me without quite figuring it out. We ended up hanging up the phone and I followed my lead on my own. I fell asleep without getting to anything concrete and more perplexed than titillated. It was followed by several nights, several attempts and several positions for the same mediocre result. Then, speaking to William, I felt a tension rising. It was Sunday. We spent the evening before at his place. His bed had been the witness of an intimacy that could easily have been taken for foreplays. We spoke of it again on the phone, fresh memories running in my head, the hand rubbing my diaper. My heart speeded up and I felt a hot flush. When I tightened my thighs, I compressed my crotch and it took away my breath. For seconds, my body was weightless. I relaxed. All my limbs softened. My mouth was dry. I cut the conversation short and sat at the edge of my bed. Some liquid flowed in my diaper. I thought it was pee. When I went to the toilet to check, the inside of the diaper was not yellow and did not smell like it. I went back to bed.

The practice I just discovered did not have a name for a longer time than I should admit. My understanding of intercourses was shaped by some blurry theories seen in education classes and spread by uncertain accounts. This weak knowledge still allowed me to affirm that what I did was not it. As feminine masturbation had never been evoked before, my candour did not immediately make connections. I kept that ignorance for myself. It would have been difficult to talk about what I felt without mentioning what I was wearing. I am teaching nothing to ABDL people when I say that pleasures in diapers provoke some pretty singular sensations. The whole thing went therefore under the seal of silence, whereas the discovery of sexuality became, in my close friends’ sphere, a group work.

In the neighbourhood, a friend hosted a little gathering one day. It was a brotherhood of four kids and their vast garden had heaps of sources of fun : a trampoline, slides moulding the modest slope and, above all, a structure with swings. One of our games consisted in not sitting on the previously mentioned swings, but climbing up the crossbars that stabilised the foot and do diverse figures to go down. To get up, we would pull ourselves on the oblique poles that fixed both sides. My thighs would clasp the bar to keep my balance when straddling. As a consequence, my crotch would experience pressure and friction from the movement that pulled me upwards. I started feeling the same sensations as when I rubbed my diaper at night. After several climbs, my breath was taken away and the relief followed. I did a little somersault to get down and did not go up anymore. I felt my knickers going wet. I was so ashamed. I feared that somebody would notice. My luck had been to wear thick tights under a dark skirt. This is how I learnt that this reaction was not due to diapers but only to my body. It did not give me more craving to speak about it.

Passing my first diploma put a closure to a chapter of my school life. Whereas I used to regularly wear diapers in middle school, I stopped when I changed of establishment. It took me several months to feel entirely at ease in this new environment. The week before my sixteenth birthday, my mother asked me what gift I wished to receive. A night of thinking enabled me to give her an answer and to formulate another in my head. For my birthday, I would spend the day as a diaper girl. The fact that it fell on a Tuesday would be the cherry on the canteen cake… Afterall, there was no reason for high school not to be a place of liberty too.