Childhood memories

I did not have a bad childhood, living on the top floor of my grandparent's large house in an affluent Paris suburb, we did not lack anything although France was still struggling to recover from the second world war. We were well cared for and looked after. Still my parent's old traditional strict, catholic, upbringing affected the first years of my life, being the eldest of four. 

I was later told by members of my family I bore the brunt of them learning to be parents. Little show of affection, being shouted at for allegedly being naughty, regular bottom spanking.

Long sections from my childhood have been erased from my memory or rather, locked in an airtight box which, perhaps, one day will open for the best or probably for the worse. 

The memories, which have NOT been erased by my selective memory, are those which relate to diapers and remain very strong, painful or happy ones. 

My parents discovered my attraction to diapers very soon after I started wearing them again, I was never punished but they never tried to understand nor help me either. 

They tried to stop me and prevent me from wearing them and, when discovered, always made me throw away what I had bought. 

I was taken to a shrink, but it didn't do anything nor did he try to help me. He didn't even raise the subject of diapers with me. 

The sight of diapered boys always overwhelmed me and tore me apart, so strong was my need to wear diapers. 

During my teen years, my love for diapers and shorts grew ever stronger whilst believing I was the only one in the world with what I thought to be a serious vice.

The first decades of my adult life have been rich of findings and meeting with other ABDL, thanks to the arrival of the Minitel then of Internet, but full of crisis, suffering, lies and regrets, still blind to my true sexuality, in spite of numerous ABDL encounters with men.