Definitely ABDL. That doesn't really give the right answer though. I'm really DL with a fascination with BDSM. I've come to realize that the AB side of me was really an extension into BDSM with all its nifty thrills from pain to humiliation to all the fun head spaces non vanilla sex provides. Adult Baby for me is really a dark unforgiving experience. All about being controlled and becoming a plaything for a powerful authoritarian. I am infinitely luck to have a life partner that understands my need to go to my dark place.
Diapers and plastic pants is where it all started years ago. Fantasizing about a controlling authoritative figure forcing me into diapers for whatever misbehavior I've committed sends chills thru me. So, it's not much of a jump to role playing a bed wetting adolescent or even an adult that needs an "attitude improvement". This results in being forced back into rubber pants and diapers for my lack of maturity. Spanking, restraints, mouth soaping and whatever punishments my "caretaker" feels are necessary creates an unreal rush. That grew into being forced into ridiculous baby dresses and to use my diapers while being supervised as part of the role playing. I'm expected to demonstrate my limited maturity by keeping my diapers dry. But when the pressure builds to where I have trouble controlling myself, I'm told to hold it like an adult. Eventually I fail. I'm berated and reduced for my infantile act and lack of maturity and manhood. All the other infant necessities are then added for more drama in our session. Bottles, bibs pacifiers, baby crib (with restraints) make great tools in the regression. Especially when an emotionally bruising lecture goes along with the addition of each item. Did I mention enemas? Oh yeah, that's a real mind bender when administered as a means of adjusting a bad attitude. Especially when thickly diapered and constantly supervised with a locked bathroom door. It's only a matter of time....
Eventually this all ends up with "diaper training". My plastic pants are pulled down and my wet diaper is unpinned. A pair of snap on plastic pants are snapped on my bare bottom. My wet diaper is pinned back on and my wet plastic pants are pulled back up my legs over my diaper. I'm given a bottle along with a stern warning that I had better drink it "or else" ….the threat is real too, backed up with her paddle. Eventually with Nanny controlling my bathroom privileges, as time goes by, I loose control and have to wet in my plastic "training" pants. I'm required to notify my her, which results in a conversation about my lack of control. I'm then marched back to my crib. I'm placed in it with my pissy diaper and very slippery plastic pants for about a half hour. By now there's a puddle trapped between my legs and leaking into my diaper.
Nanny comes in and explains that she feels I need to to demonstrate my maturity by showing her I can at least control "adult male needs". To prove to her, I'm expected to play with my plastic pants and diaper. I normally have a hard time getting started so nanny always starts rubbing my diaper. Once she sees the intended results, I'm required to carry on till conclusion. Her lecture darkly turns again to my lack of manhood and what she feels is the necessary permanent answer. Often I'm wearing a very short baby dress. The sensation of being weak and exposed for some reason is greatly intensified by this. The cool air below the lace trimming on the dress showing off my soaked baby pants brings about a feeling of extreme vulnerability. I'm slapped on my thigh until I admit that I'm just a big baby that deserves to be permanently treated like a misbehaving toddler.
By now I'm ready to loose my control. Nanny is well aware and forces to me to keep playing with my plastic pants. I have to tell her I want to be her diapered, baby dress wearing pansy. She explains how this is where I really need to be. With that I'm allowed to fill my plastic pants with a BIG shamey mess. As I drift down from my "accident", I'm required to explain how I just demonstrated my inability to show any kind of self control. I have to tell her that I really need to be put in diapers. With her paddle clearly in sight, I find it difficult to offer an objection. After requiring me to lay in my messy diapers and baby outfit for some time to think about what I just did, she allows me shower up and I'm put into clean diapers for the day.
After our session I'm pretty well burned out on both the DL and the AB for a while. But we both know the immature husband will soon need a readjustment. Till then we resume the normal adult world, whatever the hell that is. So yes, I'm an Adult Baby. But not the warm and fuzzy, lovey dovey cutesy kind every body thinks when AB is talked about.