Part 1

I well remember the only time I was made to wear a diaper as punishment. It took place some ten years ago now -- when I was 14. But I remember it vividly. It was one of the most embarrassing events of my life up to that point.

When I was growing up I usually got spanked for misbehaving. From about the age of nine (I'm guessing) my dad always did the spanking. I suppose this was because I got spanked on my bare butt and perhaps Mom and Dad wanted to spare me the embarrassment of pulling my pants down in front of my mother. Then too, Mom couldn't spank as hard as Dad. These spankings were painful and humiliating.

When I turned 13, Dad announced that being too old for spanking, I would thenceforth be paddled. And I was indeed paddled on several memorable occasions. These paddlings always took place in my bedroom with me bent over, jeans and underwear down around my ankles. And they always were scheduled just after dinner. This gave my mom a chance to leave the house; she hated to hear the crisp whack of the paddle on my bare butt and me yelling and -- yes -- often crying afterward. I could go into great detail about these paddling. My dad made a ritual out of them so that when the actual paddling took place it was almost -- but not quite -- anticlimactic. But you asked me to relate the diaper experience.

When I was 15, my cousin -- Arnold -- and my aunt and uncle spent a day visiting us. Although they lived only about 100 miles away, they didn't visit all that often. Arnold would have been 13-14 years old at the time. It was either Labor Day or Memorial Day weekend, I don't exactly recall. I was out of school and the weather was warm. We had a big picnic in our back yard. Arnold was a real "snot" (that's how I referred to him) and we didn't exactly get along. We were "picking on" each other all afternoon. And to make a long story short, Arnold and I got into a food fight, ending up throwing globs of potato salad at each other and ending with me knocking a pitcher of lemonade onto the picnic table. Arnold's dad (my Uncle Ted) sent Arnold to their car. My dad sent me to my room.

As I sat in my room, I pretty much knew that I would be scheduled for a paddling that night. I was already remorseful -- and resentful toward Arnold who had driven me to such stupid behavior.

Later that night -- after Arnold and his mom and dad had left -- Dad came to the room. I was surprised when I didn't see the paddle in his hand. I thought that perhaps he had sided with me, against Arnold. But no.

"That was very childish behavior, Brian," he said, calmly. He then launched into a lecture about my being older than Arnold, setting the example, how I had embarrassed him in front of his brother, etc., etc. It went on for at least twenty minutes with the main theme being how childish I had behaved. He ended my scolding with this: "I have a different punishment in mind for you, young man. Oh, you'll get a paddling all right but you'll pay a price in another way as well." I was told to be in my room the next evening.

The next day was long as I waited to see what Dad had in mind. I stayed as far away from him that day as I could -- from my mom too. I mostly stayed in my room.

After diner I went to my room to wait for the paddling and whatever else Dad had in mind. Dad came into the room. Under his arm was a package. He asked if I knew what he was carrying. I read the label on the plastic wrapping and my heart sank. "Diapers??" I said.

"Right," he said. "Take your clothes off -- all of them." I was soon standing naked and feeling very embarrassed at having to show myself so blatantly to my dad. "You act like a child, you'll be treated like a child," he began and as I stood with fully exposed, he began telling me again how childish my behavior had been. Eventually, I he told me to lie on my bed. "I've diapered you before," he said as he pulled my legs up and back over my head, "and I can diaper you again." He slid a diaper under my horribly exposed butt, lowered my legs and fastened it tightly around my waist.

"Dad, please," I think I said at one point.

"You are hereby grounded for the next four days," he said. "Stand up."

I stood and felt terrible as I looked down at my diapered middle. I couldn't help but sneak a look at my reflection in a closet door mirror. I looked like a 14 year old baby.

"You're grounded," he repeated, "not that you'll want to leave the house with a diaper on. You will wear a diaper day and night -- I've got a full package here -- for the next four days. It will stay on until it needs to be changed," he said. "And that means you'll use your diaper just as though you were two years old. Do you fully understand what that means?"

"Yes, sir," I said as the full import of what he meant sunk in.

"Just so there's no misunderstanding," he said, "you'll wet and dirty the diaper when you need to. You'll then come to me ant tell me you need changed. I'll put a new diaper on you. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Good. You can wear socks and a T-shirt -- and your diaper -- and that's all. You'll eat in the kitchen and dining room with me and your mother as usual." He bent down and placed the package of diapers under my bed. "Call your friends and tell them you're grounded and to keep away. You don't have to mention the diaper." He looked at me for a few seconds. "You'll get the paddling you deserve at the end of the four days. The severity of the paddling will depend upon how well you behave until then." With that he left the room.

Part 2

After Dad left the room I stood around trying to get used to the feel of the diaper. It wasn't easy. The diaper was tight around my legs and made it awkward to walk. After a few minutes I also realized that it was hot. My crotch and butt became real sweaty. I stood in front of the mirror on my closet door looking at myself and for some reason what I saw both disgusted and fascinated me. I turned and looked back over my shoulder at the reflection of my covered butt. The diaper made my butt look twice as big as it would have if I had been wearing my usual jockey underpants. I looked ridiculous. I felt ridiculous.

I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled my socks on. But now, looking at myself in the mirror, I looked twice as silly. The socks only emphasized the diaper, it seemed to me. I found the largest T-shirt I had, hoping it would be long enough to cover the diaper. It didn't. I came about halfway down and the diaper made it stand out, making me look like I had suddenly gained ten pounds -- a lot of weight for a typically thin, 145 pound 14 year-old. If anything, I looked more silly.

Just then, my dad knocked on my bedroom door and after a few seconds -- during which I moved away from the closet door mirror -- he poked his head around the door. "Being grounded means you can't use your phone, but I *did* tell you to call your friends. Have you?"

"Not yet," I said. I could have sworn he was staring at my diapered body and I became very self-conscious. "I will."

"The sooner the better," he said. "And keep it brief," he added and closed the door.

There were only two people I wanted to call; my best friend Leonard and my second-best friend Carey. As it happened, Carey was at Leonard's house so I killed two birds with one call. Somehow Leonard knew something was wrong and he said so. I merely told him: "I'm grounded for four days. Don't either of you call. Okay?" I hung up.

Being "grounded" in my house meant no TV, no records (this was pre-CD) and no radio. It meant staying in my room unless I had a good reason to leave it -- like going across the hallway to the bathroom, going downstairs to eat or going to school. Well, school was out so that reason was removed. And I assumed that I wasn't to go over to the bathroom except to shower and brush my teeth. Dad had already told me that I would have to eat in the kitchen or dining room as usual so these were about the only reasons for me to leave the confines of my bedroom. Oh, one other: to go downstairs and tell Dad I needed my diaper changed! I didn't look forward to that.

As an only child I had learned to pretty much entertain myself growing up and I spent a lot of time reading. I liked reading. So I read. But the unaccustomed feeling of the diaper kept my mind from concentrating. It wasn't long before I really wanted the thing off. I tried sitting on my bed, sitting at my desk, laying down on my bed. I kept moving around and I found myself returning to the mirror on my closet door, looking at my silly reflection.

It got dark late in the summer and the evening passed slowly. At one point my mom knocked on the door. God, I didn't want her to see me. But she called through the door "Are you alright, Brian?" I answered yes and was glad she didn't come in. She'd see me soon enough in the morning.

Then I had to pee. I sort-of knew this would happen but I'd placed it in the back of my mind, I guess. I was faced with a decision: go ahead and wet the diaper or put it off.

Part 3

Then I had to pee. I sort-of knew this would happen but I'd placed it in the back of my mind, I guess. I was faced with a decision: go ahead and wet the diaper or put it off.

Putting it off would get me nowhere I decided. It was getting near bedtime. So, I stood at the foot of my bed and just let go. It was horrible. I felt the diaper getting heavier as the warm pee was soaked up by the diaper material. Soon the seat of the diaper was hanging lower from the weight and the entire diaper felt soaking wet. How was I going to walk downstairs without dripping on the carpet I wondered. I carefully "sloshed" to the bedroom door. By keeping my legs fairly stiff I managed to make it to the stairs. Then, by holding the handrail, I got halfway down but by now the pee was turning cold and a little was running down my leg. Just then my dad walked through the downstairs hall and he saw me out of the corner of his eye. He stopped and looked up at me but said nothing. We stared at each other for a few moments.

"Dad," I finally said.

"Yes?" He said. He was going to make me tell him -- although the condition of the diaper was obvious.

"I think I need a new diaper." I said, embarrassed.

"I think you do too, son," he said, seriously. "Go to your bathroom. I'll be there in a few minutes."

I slowly retreated back up the stairs and down the hallway to the bathroom. I stood and waited. Pee was now trickling down both legs. My socks were absorbing it so that I now had to contend with soaked socks as well as a soaked diaper. It seemed like a long time until my dad came in the bathroom. He was holding a small plastic garbage bag in one hand.

Here, put the diaper in here," he said handy the bag to me. "Are your socks wet?"

"Yes," I said. I must admit that at this point my feeling were a mixture of embarrassment and anger -- anger at being put through this humiliation.

"Okay," he said showing absolutely no sympathy for me. "Take a shower. Make it a short one. Leave your socks on the floor for now. I'll be waiting for you in your room." And he left. I fiddled with the adhesive straps on the diaper and finally got it to where I could pull it through my legs and off. I carefully held it at arm's length while I opened the plastic bag. It was completely soaked and dripping slightly. Yuck!, I remember thinking. After dropping the diaper in the bag and tying it closed, I took a shower. I felt good, the hot water splashing on my penis and balls. I used lots of soap and turned to let the stream of water pound on my butt. That felt good too as I rubbed hard between my buttocks. I quickly washed the rest of me but bypassed shampooing my hair.

I dried quickly and scooted across the hall with the towel around my waist. Back in my room, Dad was standing at my bedroom window. He had spread a bath towel on the bed. At the bottom of the bed was a plastic bottle of Johnson & Johnson's Baby Oil, a plastic box labeled Baby Wipes and a container of Johnson & Johnson's Baby Powder. A new diaper was unfolded and waiting. He had been busy while I showered.

"Towel off and on the bed, son," he said turning and looking at me.

I don't know what it is about being 14-15 years old but being made to stand in front of your dad is very embarrassing. I was a little on the shy side anyway but I'd gotten over most of that after 3 or 4 years of showering "in public" after gym classes at school. But standing naked in front of my dad was a lot different somehow. The only good thing was that the warm shower had caused my penis and scrotum to relax so that, at least, I didn't look like a six year old who had sprouted a growth of thick pubic hair.

I lay on the bed, the towel squarely under my back and butt, staring at the ceiling.

"When you were younger, I could do all of this myself but you're a lot bigger now so you'll have to help," he said. "Raise your legs up and back and hold them."