When I was younger, I found some used Kotex pads in a closet in the bathroom of my family’s home. They belonged to my sister. I knew enough about sex to understand that my mother’s hysterectomy ended her periods. I didn’t understand why the pads I found were bloody, but that didn’t stop me from instantly stacking several in my underwear and quickly masturbating to climax.
Several years went by until one day, after I was married, I “borrowed” a Kotex pad from my wife to masturbate with. Ever since then, I’ve never failed to take advantage of tucking pads of some sort into my underwear, first as an aid in masturbating (not that I’ve ever need much help with that!), and then one day for something even more interesting: I had an errand to run in the car, but before I left I tucked a Kotex pad into my underpants, and drove away, dribbling urine into it until it was saturated. I tossed it out somewhere, but I was hooked.
For the next several years I continued borrowing pads from my wife, without her knowledge, or I would buy them in a grocery store. To this day, decades later, my heart can race if just walk down the “feminine paper” aisle in a grocery or drug store. At first, it would take days for me to work up the courage to buy Kotex pads, but eventually I realized that no one could know that I was buying them myself; I might have been buying them for my wife or daughter, who might be unable to buy them for themselves because of illness or disability.
It was a problem hiding the packages at home, but I found nooks and crannies here and there where my wife wouldn’t be likely to find them. I almost got caught once: my wife, who is nothing if not well organized, decided to reorganize some shelves in the basement, the same shelves where a big box of Kotex was hiding. I did some very fast talking — I can’t remember the very logical argument I made — and she decided not to do it that day. And I found another hiding place where I was sure she wouldn’t find them.
Fast forward to about five or six years ago. I’d been in counselling for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD — I’m a Vietnam vet), and found myself revealing for the first time in my life my multiple fetishes — wearing panties, peeing and pooping in them and in my pants, using dildos and butt plugs, and wearing pads and peeing in them. After my therapist assured me that I was not a freak of nature, and not the only person in the world who enjoyed fetishes, and even gave me a hug at the end of my session, I decided to tell all to my wife. One outcome of that was that she readily agreed to buy panties for me, if I wished, as well as pads. But by that time I was already buying both panties and pads with confidence, though not necessarily without nervousness. My wife did go shopping with me a few times, but in a short time I had pretty much dropped most of my inhibitions.
About the same time I had also discovered incontinence pads. I am wearing a very soaked one right now, a Tena overnight model, which seems to hold a bit more pee than the Poise overnight pads I used at first. The moments when I first start peeing in a pad simply transport me to a place where I could spend eternity. The hot urine swirling around my penis and balls is heavenly, the feeling of the swollen, warm pad against my nether parts devine.
The best part, which isn’t often practical, is when I go for broke and the pads start leaking, soaking my panties and pants.
Often, poop follows the pee and adds to the pleasure, especially if the poop escapes pad and panties and tumbles down my pant legs, only to get put back on the pad to be helped once again down my pant legs. (That has to be one result of being bullied by another boy when I was about five or six years old; he pooped in his pants and a big turd fell down his pant leg onto my front yard.)
Oddly, although there is little real difference between diapers and incontinence pads, I don’t find diapers in the least erotic. Just thinking about tucking a pad in my panties, however, will give me an instant erection.
P.S. My wife is very supportive of my fetishes, although she is not interested in the details. We’ve been married almost 49 years. I “practice” the messiest part of my fetishes when she is out, although she has “caught me” in the act once, and apologized; not many years ago I might have wanted to die on the spot, but I wasn’t even embarrassed.