Part 1

I got Timmy back when he was 10. He arrived in a Taxi, all of a sudden, one September day. His mother, whom I hadn't seen for about 3 years had just died from a drugs overdose, but she’d been screwed up for years, had snatched Timmy away and not let me see him, and, I think, neglected the child severely. The last time we had met was 2 years before - we were complete strangers.

He was short and thin, with a mass of badly cut blonde hair, scruffy, dirty clothes, and a sour, rather frightened look. He had with him only a small rucksack. We eyed each other warily as the taxi pulled away.

“Well Timmy, I’m your dad, and we’re going to live together for a while. I'm sure we’re going to get on just fine”. He gave a small, limp hand and said hello, his eyes not meeting mine. The he said, “I’m not Timmy, I’m Tim. I don’t like Timmy.” Oh really? “Well,” I said, ”come in, and I’ll tell you all about me, and the rules of the house, that kind of thing.” I had already decided how to handle him. I had a plan for the lad, though I didn't know then how successful I would be.

Tim, I knew, had quite acute behaviour problems - he had ADHD ‘Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder’. He’d nearly been kicked out of his school. He had tantrums, could be aggressive and violent. He cried. He had no friends. And - he wet the bed. Now I did too, most nights, and so had I all through my early teens, so I was well qualified on how to deal with this; indeed I’d decided to get to his behaviour through the bedwetting. Soon, I hoped, that would no longer be a problem for him.......

I was firm with him right from the beginning. I expected him to do what I said, right from the word go. I told him the rules: In this house, we don’t swear. In this house we do our chores. In this house we do as daddy says, and in this house we are happy. (And the one I didn’t tell him: in this house we wet our beds!) First, I sent him for a bath, a real good one. He had hardly any clothes, so I had him change into a T-shirt and shorts of mine. Then we had tea. At the end of tea we had our first tantrum - he wouldn't put his plate in the dishwasher, but ran away. When I caught him I followed my plan - I simply held him while he screamed and yelled and swore. It took him an hour to calm down. I knew he was OK when he stopped struggling and relaxed, quietly sobbing.

“Now,” I said “Listen, that was a hiccup. Whenever you have a tantrum I’ll hold you like this until you’re calm. I’ll always do this, I’ll never smack you, and you will never ever get your way by doing this. Understand?” He nodded. “Now I want you to go to your room, and come back when you’re ready to say sorry.” And off he went. Round one to me.

After half an hour he came down, and said he was sorry. I went down to his height and hugged him. “Good boy, now let’s get ready for bed.” We went back up to his room and I told him - half an hour of television, teeth, story and bed. And while we were on the subject...

I sat on his bed and had him sit next to me.

“Now, Timmy, I know a little boy who wets his bed at night.” He looked up at me suddenly, startled and unhappy. “And do you know, that little boy is soon not going to worry about that anymore, really, honestly. But first tell me about it, do you wet every night?”

“Uh no, not always...sometimes...” he said, looking down. “Most nights?” “Yeah. I can’t help it,” he said defensively. “And did it ever happen during the day? Did he ever wet his pants? “No!” And he burst into tears. I put an arm around him, and pulled him close.

“All right, all right....it won’t be a problem any more...now listen. Do you know who used to wet his bed? And do you know who still does sometimes?” He stopped crying. “Me. I wet the bed every single night when I was your age, and for a long time afterwards. But it wasn’t a problem for me, not because it stopped, but because I got used to it. And then...” But I didn’t go any further at that stage. “Anyway, this is what I’m going to do. Now you wet your bed, you can’t help it, you just do, and it’s going to carry on for a while yet so.....I’m going to make you feel a whole lot better about it.”

“Here’s the deal. I want you to wet the bed. I’ll reward you if you wet the bed. Every morning you wake up wet, I’ll give you a dollar, and we’ll have a wetting chart - but this time, every morning you’re wet, you’ll get a big smiley face, and a big hug, and a buck. Good boys wet the bed, and you are going to be a good boy. Understand?”

He looked up at me, surprised and puzzled. “You want me to wet the bed?” I nodded. He couldn’t believe it.

“Right. Well, just for now. If you try to wet the bed, and don’t try to stop, it will make you feel better because it won’t be anything bad anymore. And after a couple of weeks, we’ll see where we are. But for now, I’ve put a plastic sheet on your bed so you won’t ruin the mattress” - I pulled the sheet aside to show the pink plastic sheet underneath. “So from now on, I want you to get used to it, and then, perhaps, you’ll start to think of wetting the bed as a good thing you do, something positive, and you'll find that as time goes by you’ll get a whole lot happier....OK?” I tousled his hair and smiled at him - and he almost smiled back!

So it happened. He watched a video, then we went up to clean his teeth and have a pee, then I took him into the bedroom. “For tonight, you can wear your old T-shirt to bed, but tomorrow we’ll go out and get you a whole lot of new clothes, really cool stuff.” As I was telling him this I began to pull off his shirt. I wanted him to get used to me dressing and undressing him - he pulled away but I was gently insistent. He wasn’t used to being touched. Or cuddled - just one of the things I was to change.

Soon he was in bed, and I started to read him a little Roald Dahl. As his eyes started to close I said: “Goodnight, and remember, good boys wet their beds...”

He was a good boy that night. A very good boy. When I woke him in the morning, he was soaked, lying all twisted up in the wet sheet. I made a mental note to put a towel under him as I shook him awake. He looked all confused, then unhappy as he felt the wetness, then not knowing where he was. “Good morning, sleepyhead! And you’ve been a really good boy! You’ve wet your bed! Well done!” Gradually it all began to come back to him and he looked relieved, then he said good morning. I reminded him of last night. “So daddy’s really pleased with you, and you’ll get your dollar, now up you get.....”

The next week was up and down, but mostly up. I kept him close to me so we got used to each other. I went out and bought him the clothes I’d promised, cool sport stuff. I called him ‘Timmy’ despite his initial objections - it was “a new name for a new life,” I said. I made sure I always dressed and undressed him. He got used to it and would come over with his stuff to let me put it on him, arms in the air, up with the shirt, step out of your pants.....There were tantrums, sometimes it all got too much, but I held him and we saw them through. And he started to smile and become affectionate, and so did I.

The bedwetting went well. Once or twice he woke up dry, which I said nothing about, but when he had wet I always made a fuss of him and praised him, and he soon got the idea. After about a fortnight he was used to it and then, when I woke him, he would smile and look happy.

“Wet bed again daddy......”

“Good boy,” I would say, giving his damp little body a hug, then we would put another sticker on his chart and I’d put some change into his money box, where it landed with a chink. Dry beds, I thought, would soon be soon a thing of the past.

About a month in, he woke first, and came through to my bedroom. Bleary eyed, I looked at the clock - 6 am. What was the matter? “I wet my bed but....I’m too wet to sleep and it’s all damp and cold and.....” He was in tears, the first time for days. “All right, all right, don’t worry. Good boy for wetting the bed. But you can get in with me.” Of course I had a wet sheet on my bed, and I was also wearing diapers (though I didn’t want him to know about those yet) so I didn’t have to worry about my mattress. I told him to step out of his wet PJs and climb in. As he settled next to me I said, casually, “It’s a shame you can ‘t sleep in your wed bed in the morning, but maybe we can do something to help that....” He was soon fast asleep again.

It began to work well. He certainly seemed happier, and obviously we began to get on very well together. The only tiny problem was the occasional early morning because of the wet things, but I had to carry on a little until I figured he was ready for the next stage - his introduction, or reintroduction, to diapers.

He got better at doing what I said, without thinking really. After a few initial battles he did his chores and tidied up, took his washing to the washer (and even used the machine). I regularly rewarded him, often praised him - and not just for his bedwetting - and after two months I felt I was ready to give him stage two.

A short word here about my own bedwetting history. I’d been put back in diapers when I was nine, and had soon learnt to love them (about which more below) but had finally had my first dry nights about 15. By 16 I was dry. Then, with other interests I kind of forgot about it all, until one night about 2 years before Timmy’s return, I had too much to drink and woke up soaked - the first time in 20 years. As I lay in the drenched bed it wasn’t like I expected to feel - shock and shame - but rather pleasure, like the return of an old friend. It had all come flooding back to me (no pun intended!) and I began to masturbate in the wet sheets. As I came images of wet beds and nappies and plastic pants overerwhelmed me so it wasn’t long before I’d got plastic sheets back on the bed and started to wet deliberately.

Ididn’t buy diapers at first, really because (and some of us have forgotten about it) wet beds have their own damp pleasures, and anyway I couldn’t be bothered with the hassle. When I did get them, disposables from Walgreen’s, I’d only done it the odd night, but after a year it was pretty much all the time. That was when I went onto the Internet and found out, at last, who and what I was. I found some more diapers, proper adult baby ones, and began to wear them to bed, and also the solution to the only problem I now had - doing it deliberately wasn’t quite satisfying enough. I wanted to get back to effortless, natural, helpless bedwetting as I had in my teen years. So I got a tape on involuntary bedwetting and after about two months of no change, finally wet my bed in my sleep, which felt great. As I continued with the tape my voluntary control slipped away, so when Timmy arrived I was personally at about the same stage as he was - a chronic bedwetter. I now wore diapers to bed every night, and the pleasures of being carefree and incontinent were uppermost in my mind. I felt that if I gave the option to Timmy it would help him to be happier in himself, as I was. With my background as a psychologist I also felt I had the means to bring about the change in him I felt he deserved. Anyway, on with the story.

I sat him down at bedtime and gave him a little talk. “Timmy, you’ve done brilliantly - a whole month without a dry night! I’m so pleased with you.”

“Daddy,” he said, “why do you want me to wet the bed so much?” It was a good question, and led me on nicely.

“Well let me tell you. When I was little I had a really hard time at first with the bedwetting, until I was about nine, My mom would spank me for it” (a kind of shadow passed over his face, yes, his mom had too) “then we went to see a doctor, and he said I had a problem, then he offered my mom a solution. Well, I’ll tell you what that was, but the thing is, it wasn’t until I’d gone through that a bit that I finally stopped having a bedwetting problem. Oh I still wet the bed every night, often more than once, but I got used to it, and then I even began to quite like it.......but now that you're used to it........are you used to it? Do you mind anymore? Do you feel OK about it?”

“Yeah....it’s kind of OK, I mean I don’t really mind any more, but I wish I wasn’t so cold and wet in the morning”

“Well, I’ve got a solution for that......and it means you having to do something which you might not like......but once you’ve done it you’ll be really happy, I promise you. It’s the same solution that made me so happy when I was little and made it so that bedwetting was never ever again a problem for me. Do you want to know what it is?” He nodded, yes. “It’s diapers.” He looked alarmed. “Baby diapers. I’d like you to try them for me.” I used the word ‘baby’ right at the outset. I planned to let him hear it a lot.

He got suddenly cross.

“I don’t want to wear diapers! I’m not a baby!”

“Well in some ways you are......I mean you wet yourself like a baby - but I’d like you to give them a try, at least for a week, then we can see. I’m sure you’ll get to like them....and anyway......” I paused “It wouldn’t just be you - I often wear them to bed at night ......”

“No way, you wear diapers!” He was astonished, I’d kept it really quiet.

“Errr...yeah....I’ll show you -”

I took him into my room, where the usually locked closet was wide open. He looked inside. There were disposable diapers, plastic pants, plastic sheets - all the stuff, you know.

“Wow!” He said, “and you wear diapers to bed that’s...weird.”

“I know, but it really helps with the bedwetting, and once you get used to it, it’s OK - but that’s the thing, I want you to try them. I want to put you back in baby diapers until you’re dry at night.”

This was too much. he tried to pull away, then went into tantrum mode....screaming “I'm not a baby...I hate you...” for some time. I held him gently till he stopped struggling and the sobbing subsided. I was going to insist on it. I knew that I now had the control over him so that he would do what I said to start with, and beyond that I expected the diapers to exert their magical effect.

“Now, good boy,” I said “Tell me, have I done anything bad to you” - no - “and was I looking after him well?” - yes - “and did he love me?” Yes.

“Well then. I’m going to diaper you at bedtime for a week, and we’ll see how it goes.” I got up and went over to his closet, taking out the box I’d put in there earlier. I pulled out a Pampers XL, and a pair of plastic pants, a towel and a new sleeper for him, folded up. I laid the towel on the bed. “Now, let me get your shirt off.....”

He let me pull the shirt off him, as I talked. He looked kind of glum. I was sure that would change.

“You see Timmy, I don’t think you really had time to be a proper baby. I think you grew up too fast because of your mom, and it might be good for you to have a little of what you missed, even now, when you go to bed. Now lie back on the sheet.” I pulled off his pants. “Now lift your butt” He lifted up as I slid the crisp, white diaper under him. “With these diapers you won’t wake up in a wet bed anymore, and it really won’t matter at all. And there’s something else......a little secret...” I finished taping up the diaper and reached for the plastic pants. I lent closer to his ear. “Diapers feel really wonderful, and whenever you wear them you’ll feel good.” He stared back at me, transfixed. “And even better,” I added “when you’re wearing plastic pants......” I pulled the white plastic pants, crinkling, over his feet, then under his raised butt, then up around his waist, and adjusted all the cuffs so they covered the diaper all over. “Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

He just looked at me, with a faraway look in eyes. I thought he was hooked - he was me, the first night I’d had the diapers back on, that first warm, secure touch of the baby diapers, the caress of the plastic pants. He was there, at the gates of heaven, looking in......

Yup, he was going to have all the good times I’d had, and more. I got out a new sleeper I’d bought him, with kiddie designs all over, and feets. “These are new, they’ll be better with the baby diapers,” I said pushing his feet in and pulling the legs up. “Now, stand up.” I did up the zip at the back. He stood there, cute as you like, a 10-year-old boy, in bulging diapers and a cartoon sleeper, looking kind of miserable, kind of happy. “I look like a baby,” he said. “Never mind,” I said, leading him to his bed. He climbed in and just lay there, obviously confused, liking it despite himself. I chattered away as I fetched his book to read him to sleep. “You are a good boy, diapers aren’t so bad, are they? And you do look cute. Now no more wet beds in the morning, just wet diapers. Because from now on you’ll be wetting your baby diapers and plastic pants at night. We might never have a wet bed again! I’m so pleased with you, you’ll be much happier at night, and I can give you other little things too.....OK?” He nodded. “Because when I went back into diapers I was so happy. Once I got used to them I began to really like them, and I’m sure you will too; now let’s have a story”

And that was that. The next morning I woke him, and his diapers were soaked, but the bed was dry. I gathered the still sleepy boy in my arms. “Good boy, you’re wearing your babydiapers and plastic pants, and you’ve wet. I’m very pleased with you! How do you feel?”

“Uh OK......good,” he buried his face in my chest and I stroked his hair . “Yes, you will feel good when you wear your diapers to bed, like a little boy. A little boy who has to wear diapers......”

That first morning I was really quite laid back about it all. I didn’t say much about the night before, just changed him, bathed him (put a rubber ducky in the bath though - no more showers for a while!) then dressed him for the day.

He wasn’t going to school yet - I didn’t think we were ready for that. I needed to change him properly before I felt he could cope, so I’d decided to home school him for a while. I’d taken a six-month sabbatical, which I was long due when I’d found out that I was to have Timmy, so had most of my time to devote to him.

That first morning AD (after diapers!) we went out to an Art gallery, as it happened - mustn’t neglect his cultural education - and spent the day agreeably. That night I tried to soothe him all over again.

“Timmy!” I called, “come and get ready for bed!” He came in, but didn’t seem overjoyed to see the diapers on his bed. Early days, I thought. I expected him to resist the diaper wearing for a while, that was quite natural in a 10-year-old. I knew he would get used to it in time, as I had. I didn’t let him back out. As I taped them on him, I made a big fuss of him, and chatted away about this and that and our day, and soon he was back in the diapers. “OK?” He sort of shrugged. “Yes daddy.” I chatted away as I pulled up a pair of plastic pants.

“That’s my little boy, in his baby diapers and plastic pants, good boy. Yes it wasn't until my mom put me back into diapers when I was 9 that I felt really happy. Before then I hated bedtimes almost as much as waking up, but after that it was my favourite time of day. And d’you know something? From that time on I began to... almost like wetting at night...it began to feel nice...., so something I really hated became something I really liked...that’s why I’m encouraging you to wear them, cos I think you’ll really like them too. You do, don’t you? He kind of smiled, then looked embarrassed. “I dunno… it's weird.” I gave him a big hug, and a kiss. “I’m so pleased with you Timmy! You wet the bed every night like daddy’s good boy, and now you’re wearing babydiapers and plastic pants, and you’re more of a baby but more of a big boy too! Now hop into bed..” He got under the duvet, crinkling. “Now,” I said, “I‘m going to do something that will help you relax and sleep, and make you feel nice in your babydiapers and plastic pants.... Close your eyes. Now, imagine you are standing at the top of a long staircase...”

I started off on the old hypnotist spiel...relax, count to ten, and on the last count he would feel really relaxed and really happy - just the stuff I remembered from the hypnosis tape that had helped me to lose control again. On ten he looked almost asleep, but he wasn't.

“Can you hear me Timmy?” He said yes. “Good, now, you’re lying in bed in your babydiapers and plastic pants, and they feel really really nice, really really comfortable. Whenever you put on your babydiapers you will feel really nice, like a baby, all relaxed and lovely and comfortable....and when you go to sleep you will wee, wee in your sleep, and when you wake up in the morning you will feel so happy....a little baby, in your babydiapers, all wet and warm and lovely....you wear babydiapers because you have to...you must wear babydiapers...you need your babydiapers....but you love your babydiapers.. you love your baby diapers.....” I counted him up again, and sent him to sleep.

The next morning when I went in, he was awake, and smiling up at the ceiling. “Good morning Timmy! How do you feel?”

“Great.” He said. “I feel....it’s lovely. I’m all warm and wet, and the - the babydiapers (I was thrilled - it was the first time he’d ever used the word) feel nice... really nice.”

“Do you feel a bit like a baby?”

”Yes...it’s really lovely...” When I changed him out of his diapers he seemed a little disappointed.

That night, and now every night, I did the hypnotism thing to put him to sleep. I emphasised the diapers, which I always called babydiapers, and the wetting, and the morning pleasure. Within days, he began to enjoy the diapering, and had overcome any embarrassment. Soon when I called him up for his diapers, he came running, and threw himself on the bed, then chatted away eagerly as I taped him up and pulled on the baby pants.

I bought some cloth diapers and patterned plastic pants, and went shopping for the babiest clothes I could find - shortalls, T-shirts with cartoon characters and so on; I was lucky because he was little and fitted in to 5-year-old’s sizes, when the clothes were still babyish At first he used to object if the clothes were too obviously those of a baby, but within a month or so the complaints stopped and then he never objected to any of the clothes I put him in (I still made sure that he only wore the baby clothes in the house, and had super cool street clothes for outside). He became completely compliant, and even, to my great happiness, started using the name ‘Timmy’ for himself. He did everything I asked him to. As far as I was concerned, the change was complete. But as events a while later showed, for Timmy this was just the first stage....

Part 2

In the last part I told how I got sudden custody of my difficult, damaged 10-year-old son, and how I had managed to improve his behaviour and social skills by approaching it through his bedwetting. I had managed to persuade him to accept this as something to be enjoyed instead of endured, and, by using hypnosis and behaviour modification, I had put him back into night diapers.

Now, he completely accepted it; in fact he loved his night diapering, and bedtime was a real pleasure for both of us. I told him what a lovely boy he was as I taped, or pinned, him into the diapers, and how grown up I thought he was, even as I pulled the baby pants up over his waist. He was very receptive to my hypnotic messages, and seemed to like them too. Mornings were just as good - he always had wet diapers, and he was always happy to have wet them. I usually let him eat breakfast before changing him, and as time went by he seemed quite disappointed to be put back into big boy clothes. However I didn’t let him wear them during the day because I was worried that he’d get used to it and then I’d never get him out of diapers. But Timmy soon began to have other ideas.....

I’d had Timmy for just over 3 months, and one of the Batman films was on late. Could he stay up and watch it? OK, I said, but -

“I’ll get all ready for bed early,” he said, “If you put me in my babydiapers before the film starts, then you won’t have to put them on me later on.” (we always used the word babydiapers now; after all, that was what they were!) How could I not agree?

“Oh all right then, if you go up and get your babydiapers and your baby pants, we’ll get you ready early. But it’s only for tonight mind - I don’t want this to become a habit.”

We watched the film together. I made sure he had plenty of milk to drink, and so, about half way through, he lay back with his head on my lap and said: “Daddy, I need a pee” Well, I just gave in. “All right,” I said, “you might as well just go in your babydiapers.....I’ll change you in the morning...just relax and pee, you’ll be all right...” He beamed back at me, then turned back to watch the film. Shortly, I heard the trickling sound of his pee spilling in to his diapers. He lay there on my lap, looking so cute. His hair was nicely cut, his face was so sweet, and he lay there in a teddy bear printed top and shorts, bulging out over the thick and now wet diapers. He turned back to look at me. “Daddy....I love my babydiapers,” he said and kind of wriggled his butt, which crinkled, and slid a little further out of the shorts.

“I’m so glad,” I said, “I knew you would like babydiapers, and being able to wet like a baby...I loved it when I was a little boy...and I love you too.....” I kissed him, and gave him a hug and then we watched to the end of the film. I carried him up to bed, and as I slid him under the covers, I produced a little surprise for him, something I’d had for a few weeks and was just wondering when best to introduce it. Now was the time, a little reward for his good behaviour. “Now Timmy, I’ve got something extra for my little baby boy, which may help him to sleep.” I pulled a pink and yellow pacifier from my pocket.

“It’s a pacifier.” He looked at it wide eyed. “I used to have a pacifier- when I was a baby, I mean a real little baby. I, I really liked it.....”

“Well, you can like it again,” I said, pushing it between his lips. He started sucking on it and it bobbed around in his mouth. He seemed to go all loose and floppy. I counted him down, and gave him all the usual messages but this time added,” and now you can go to sleep with a pacifier...and as you suck on your paci you can feel yourself going back and back, like a little baby, back into yourself to a little baby boy....you love your pacifier, and your baby diapers, and in the morning when you wake up, you will feel so happy and warm and wet, my little baby boy.....” He was soon asleep.

That morning, he was the happiest I’d ever seen him. I let him lie in bed, sucking on the pacifier. He was quite wet - the sheets were damp, but it obviously didn’t bother him, and when he finally did get up, I let him have breakfast in his wet diapers before changing him.

Now there was a real change in his behaviour. The tantrums had gone. He did whatever I asked him, happily and immediately. I dressed him, washed him, and often carried him around the house, or held his hand. He loved the paci and was seldom without it, if not in his mouth then in his hand. In fact, whenever he was diapered I let him have a few, attached to his clothes with a stretchy chain. He would suck on one and fondle another, or press it close to his nose. And he started using the word ‘babydiapers’ whenever he could. As for clothes, obviously I now always dressed and undressed him - I hardly think he could dress himself now, any more than he could stay dry at night. I bought baby PJs whenever I saw them large enough for him, and after school I’d put him in overalls or shortalls.

Now I was all too well aware that this couldn’t last forever. For a start I wanted Timmy to be a happy well-balanced boy. He was certainly happy, I’d never seen him so content. He now took open pleasure in wearing his babydiapers, and having to wear them, and wetting every night.

This was fine, except that he couldn’t do it quite like that all the time and I would have to reintroduce him to the world. This meant, obviously, that he couldn’t be a baby all time, that baby sitters would have to be used (who would think it strange that I let him behave like a baby, and actively babied him), and above all that he would have to go to school, so difficult for him in the past. As the three months came to an end I began to prepare him for more independence, perhaps letting him grow up a little. I talked to him as I diapered him, one night before I had to go in and start delivering lectures (I’m a college lecturer, and it was the end of my three month sabbatical.) He would have to start going to a child minder, and I didn’t want him all diapered and babyish in front of anyone else.

“Timmy,” I said as he lay on his back on the bed, sucking a yellow pacifier, ”You do know that you'll have to come out of babydiapers when daddy’s away, and sometimes have a baby sitter? And that you’re going to have to go to school?”

“Ohhhhh!” He sounded disappointed. “Yes, daddy likes you being a baby, and Timmy likes being a baby, but with other people Timmy’s going to have to be a bit more grown up. And when we go away together and visit my relatives and friends, you’ll be more of a big boy. You won’t wear babydiapers at night, just pull ups, and no pacifier, sorry. Do you think you can do that?” I pinned the cloth diapers around him (we were trying these out; we really liked them. In particular, when I changed him in the morning and pulled off the plastic pants, I loved the smell of the wee-soaked diaper, it took me right back to by own diaper mornings as a kid.) “Maybe,” he mumbled from behind the paci, “can I still wear them at night at home?” Of course he could. I pulled the plastic pants under him and began to do up the snaps. “Yes, now we aren’t going to stop wearing babydiapers, are we? Not when Timmy’s such a good little boy, and so happy, do we? But when Timmy’s out I think no one should know about my little baby, and when you go to school.....”

I got a babyminder for him, a woman called Anne who had a boy of Tim’s age, and that went fine. I made sure all Timmy’s real baby stuff, the footed sleepers and so on, and the diapers and plastic pants, were all locked away. I bought him some cloth training pants in white, and some easy to wash sleeping bags, told Anne about the bedwetting, and he seemed fine with it. He got on with the Greg, the other boy, quite happily (he was now much easier to get on with and sociable, I discovered to my delight) Anne liked him and never questioned the bedwetting. He did wet of course, heavily, and with the thin goodnites he caused a lot of washing but I’d told Anne and I guess she just got used to it. When I saw him again we went back to the wetting chart and I made sure he got smileys, and money for every wet night. When I got home after being away he was delighted, flinging himself on me and asking for his paci (which he couldn’t have when he was with Anne - he had taken to sucking his thumb) then was really soft and affectionate when I diapered him.

School, when he started, proved amazingly easy - there wasn’t a hint of his behaviour problem and he was soon doing all right. He didn’t wet his pants at school at first, so there was no problem there, and no one knew he wore diapers at all. He began to make more friends, and all the reports I had were good.

The only thing was, and I realised this quite gradually, that now Timmy was starting to take charge. Up to now, I had controlled everything about his diapered life - when he wore them, what clothes he wore, when he could have a pacifier, when he went to bed, and so on. But as the weeks went by I found myself doing everything he wanted. When he asked for a bottle, I got him one, If he wanted to stay in his diapers in the morning, I let him. He would come up to me sucking on his paci, and hold his arms up, and I would pick him up and carry him around. At first I hardly noticed, but then, it came up to his 11th birthday...

We were going out to Gator Land, his treat, and I’d got him a great present, so when he woke me up he was really excited. He jumped up and down beside my bed, dressed in his teddy bear PJ top, sagging diapers under printed baby pants, and sucking frantically on his paci..”Happy birthday Mr Eleven!” I said, as he threw himself into my bed. He was quite damp to the touch, and had that nice sharp smell of diapers and night wee, and he was really clingy. (I, of course, was in a similar state.) He stayed in bed with me for a while but he was too wriggly so I decided to get up. He insisted on being carried into the kitchen to get breakfast. We discussed everything we were going to do, “I want to catch a gator, dad.” Then I gave him my present, a slot racing system, and we sat putting it together. While I finished it, he went off to run a bath. I pulled off his diaper (mmm, that smell) and bathed him, then held out some underpants for him to step into. He hesitated. “Dad?”

“What”

“Could I.....I mean I......”

“What?”

“Well it’s my birthday, and it’s going to be really fun, and....well I might get really excited....and.....wet my pants...so...”

So...?

“Could I wear my babydiapers today, I mean all day? Then I wouldn’t need to worry....and err....”

I laughed “You like wearing them? All right, just for today, because it’s your birthday, and because you’re a good boy, and daddy loves you...”

I was a bit worried - it had worked too well! He wanted to be a baby and dress in diapers, and he loved it all. Oh well. I gave him a huge hug and a kiss and carried him back into the bedroom. He beamed as I pinned him tightly into his diapers (he wanted cloth diapers on again). I stood him up and had him step into his favourite blue plastic pants. Then I handed him a lovely new blue pacifier, plonking it straight between his lips. He wore a nursery print T-shirt over the top, and he looked adorable. We rushed back to play with the racing game.

It was a lovely day. In the morning we stayed home, he happily playing in his diapers. After lunch, which I fed him sitting in my lap, I changed him ready for the trip to Gatorland. He wore disposables, Tena juniors - brilliant diapers - plastic pants, a plain T-shirt onesie and shortalls so on one could tell. The place was great, exciting, fun brilliant, for him and me, and I got to change him while I was there, in the disabled toilet. We raced everywhere and, on the way home, he said it was “his best day ever - It was real fun being wish you. And....I really liked being able to wear my babydiapers all day long...I wish...no....I....”

“I know,” I said, “you wish you could wear them all the time?”

“Sometimes, yeah.....”

”That happened to me too...but I stayed clear of that..just...well, you can on special occasions, but if you need protection for wetting in the day you'll have to wear pull ups...”

That night as I changed him into his night diapers, he again reminded me how nice he had felt.

“Yeah well when you first said babydiapers I was really like, no way!” He said animatedly as I pinned the diapers on him. “But then you like got me to try them and now I love them, they’re so soft and warm......” I stroked the towelling, heavens, he was getting a stiffie! I took my hand away, I wasn’t going there. I put the plastic pants under him and started snapping up the sides. “And I really like the plastic pants too....and the baby things and.....I love it when you put me to bed and relax me and tell me all these things....it makes me feel really good........and what’s weird too is that I used to hate wetting the bed and feel like really ashamed of it, but now I love it! I never want to stop! It feels so nice just to wet in my sleep and not have to worry about it! You know now I feel really sorry for kids who don’t wet the bed! I mean actually, well I errr...I usually wet my diaper before I go to sleep, and when I wake up! ” I nodded. I’d thought so. Often the bed was very recently wet when I got him up. “I mean I like the bedwetting now, and I’m even quite proud of it. I told Greg and Tom, and they just said “oh”, so everything you told me was true - oh thank you dad, thanks for putting me in babydiapers and getting me to like wetting the bed - I love you!”

We had a big hug, and that night, in the semi-darkness, I told him once again about the diapers and the wetting and the pacifier, and added, “and when you're in your babydiapers you can enjoy yourself anyway you want, anyway you want...”

In the morning I went into his room early. I’d timed it perfectly - he was lying belly down and humping up and down inside his babydiapers, moaning softly. He stopped immediately he saw me, but I came in and sat down on the pillow. He looked at me all worried and guilty.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “that's another nice thing about wearing babydiapers. When you wear them and wet in them they make you feel all nice like that. It’s OK to rub yourself like that....go on, if it feels nice....”

Slowly he started again, then faster and faster. I tousled his hair and felt the head jerking as he breathed faster and faster. He grabbed my hand and gripped it tight.

“I...Oh...this is....all wet ...oh baby diapers...I-”

And with that he twitched up and down for a few seconds and then lay back, gasping. I had been privileged to see Timmy’s first orgasm at the age of 11, in wet babydiapers and baby pants. Lucky little bastard!

“It’s OK,” I said, “it’s OK to enjoy your wet diapers like that....little boys and men often rub themselves to sleep like that...”

Needless to say, he took to rubbing himself enthusiastically. I explained to him about orgasms, and also how he shouldn’t do it in front of anyone else, but that I didn’t mind, and that I’d done it often when I was his age, but not in front of my mom and dad, or anyone else.

That day, when I put his clothes on the bed for him, he looked all disappointed.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well....I mean, oh dad, I had such a nice time yesterday, and no one noticed, couldn’t I wear diapers again today? I’ll do anything you want, I mean you can dress me in baby clothes all day long if you want to...oh please dad, please, just for today.”

So I gave in “just for today”. But in return I really treated him like a baby, feeding him and carrying him round with me, sucking contentedly on his paci.

That really was the first occasion when he wore them during the day. Though he sometimes asked me if he could, I tried to keep him out of diapers during the day. He did make efforts to get back to them, however, and I now know that what happened after was quite deliberate.

One day he’d been playing on his play station, lying on the floor. I came in to get him for tea, and as he rolled over I saw:

“You’ve wet yourself!” I said. The front of his shorts, and the cushion he was lying on were both soaked.

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” He looked all sheepish. “I couldn’t get to the bathroom in time.”

“Couldn’t be bothered, more like. Damn. I hope you’re not going to start wetting your pants - that would be too much.”

“Sorry dad, I’ll try not to.”

But he didn’t. He started wetting whenever he got excited. Not often, at first, but then more and more - out on his bike, he would come in with wet pants, or at the cinema, and then he started having accidents at school. One day, we were out in the park together and as I was carrying him on my shoulders he wet all down my back. I wanted to get cross, but somehow I just couldn’t.

“Don’t do that - or I’ll have to put you in babydiapers and plastic pants during the day!” This, of course, was just what he wanted, as you will see in Part 3.

Part 3

Well, to bring it all up to date. Timmy’s 12 now, and a mature, responsible, even independent young man, far different from the timid 10 year old I first saw. He has lots of friends - and the girls really like him - and has just come top of his class in math. He’s also a talented soccer player, so pretty well-rounded, except of course for the little wetting problem. But it isn’t a problem any more, though he wets himself round the clock, and now wears diapers all the time. He chose to - and it happened like this:

The night-time, and sometimes evening diapering, was an important and very pleasurable part of his day, as was waking up. He would masturbate in his diapers, even when I was around, but I thought that I’d resisted his attempts to wear them more often. Timmy thought otherwise, and, I now realised manipulated my behaviour to get what he wanted. First, he started to wet himself a little during the day (“I couldn’t help it....honest”) first outside school, while he was playing (he’d come up to me with long streaks of pee down his legs, almost in tears, and then, once or twice, in school. He was ashamed of this of course, because he did get teased so, without making a fuss about it, I’d begun dressing him in Goodnites and packing a spare in his bag. As a result he used the Goodnites, though just a little so as not to overflow into his pants. He was still, I thought, a bit embarrassed about his wetting; but that was just about to change.

One morning last spring holidays, I was changing him. I pulled off the plastic pants, and he lay there in just a wet, yellow, flannel diaper, which smelled beautifully of his pee. I unpinned the sides and pulled them out from under him, and asked, almost absent-mindedly, when, or if, he wanted to try to give up the wetting and grow up a little.

“No!” he said, suddenly alarmed, “not yet. Actually well.........I really love wetting at night, and wearing the babydiapers, and I don’t think I could give up the wetting even if I wanted to.....I don’t ever want to give up!” I picked him up and carried him into the bathroom, where his morning bubble bath awaited. What did he want to do then?

“I’m so happy at the moment that I want it to carry on even......” There was a long pause. What? “I want to wear diapers all day long” Even to school? I sat him in the hot water and began to sponge his back

” Yes...I’m wetting more and more and I think I need them. And I don’t care any more about the other kids because when I’ve told them they’re always fine about it....and I just want to like, honest about it...so can I start wearing proper diapers to school?”

Oh dear. Errr..... In one way I thought it was a bad idea, because having a 12-year-old in diapers round the clock, wearing them everywhere, and under his school clothes, seemed too much, especially as I’d done everything I could to put him back into them, almost as if I’d done too good a job on him. Would he be in diapers for the rest of his life - and was that my fault?

On the other hand I was so conditioned now to diaper him and treat him as a baby that this seemed very little extra, and Timmy was now so content with himself and who he was that it seemed cruel to stop him taking the logical next step. And besides, I simply loved looking after him as a baby.

And, if it was me, I’d have wanted exactly the same.

I asked him if he really knew what that would mean. “Do you really want to wear them all the time? I mean, I reckon that if you do you’ll probably lose all control of your bladder...and do you really want to never have dry pants again, even if you want to? And what about the shame of everyone at school knowing, how will you cope with that?” Then I confessed: “I’m actually feeling a bit guilty, because if it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t be in diapers at all at your age.”

He grinned. “You should have thought of that before you made me wear diapers again, and got me to like it so much!”

Fair point.

“But yes, daddy, I do really want to wear babydiapers all the time. I love them and they make me feel great, and I reckon that if I tell everyone, and then I say I can’t help it and have to wear them all the time, it’ll be cool. No one will be able to tease me about if they know it isn’t a secret, will they? And I don’t care if I lose control, I mean, I’ll be wearing diapers, so it won’t matter, will it?”

I sighed, then caved in.

“Well OK then. If that’s what you really want. You’ve got a week left of the Easter Holiday. When do you want to start?” Silly question.

“Errr.....now? I’ll need to practise with them....before I wear them to school.”

“OK,” I said, “if that’s what you really want...”

So that was when he went back to full-time baby diapers and plastic pants. After the bath I lifted him out and back over to his changing mat on the bed. I bought in a thin disposable (too thin for at night) taped them up tight and popped him into some plastic pants. He stood him up in front of me wearing just the diaper and pants, cute as a button. He popped his pacifier in, gave me a huge smile and hugged me tight. “Thanks dad, you’re the greatest!” he said, then scampered off to play.

We had a lovely few days. He just wet the diapers whenever he felt like it, and I changed him whenever he needed it. At home, I put him into more and more babyish clothes, pants with snaps, and anything I could find which looked really babyish. Most often he was in overalls when he was out, which proved an ideal solution - but actually he would wear anything I put him into.

Anyway, he now wore diapers round the clock, and school was just a few days away.... There was only one sticky incident. On the Saturday, when he was out skateboarding, the diapers peeped up over his pants, and one of the other boys noticed - “hey, that kid’s wearing diapers!”

Timmy paused, then shrugged. “Yeah, so?” And he got onto his board and scooted off, leaving the kids dumfounded. (They all know him now of course, and that he always wears diapers)

Then it was the night before school restarted and we talked about what to do if anyone found out. I said I hoped I that he wouldn’t be teased about it, but Timmy had already considered this. He said “Dad - the only thing I want now is to tell people about it, then I won’t have to be embarrassed about it ever again.”

He was as good as his word. On the Monday, Timmy went to school for the first time wearing full diapers and plastic pants (God, he was so proud, that first day, in his ‘school diapers’. He looked fantastic, and so full of self-confidence!) As he left he turned to me and said “I’m serious dad - I’m going to tell everyone!” And he did.

He went into every class, of kids his own age or younger, during ‘Show and Tell’ and announced his startling news.

“Right,” he said, when he had all the kids’ attention, “put your hand up if you wet the bed at night.” There was a horrified silence. Like, you were going to admit it in front of your class? Timmy raised his hand. The class gasped. “I do. And I bet there’s others too scared to admit it......but there’s more. I suffer from Neurotic Bladder Instability, it’s a kind of disease, and because of it I.....well I wet the bed every single night -, but I also wet my pants during the day- “ More gasps - “and because of it I wear diapers - all the time!”

At this point there was usually pandemonium, laughter, rude comments about babies and so on, till he held up his hand.

“And I’m telling you this because I’ve decided to be really open about it - because lots of men and women and older children have to wear diapers and are incontinent like me - and I don’t want to be ashamed of it any more. I’m like handicapped and I don’t care about it because I know who I am, and so I want everyone to know so that nobody should be ashamed of it, and so we can help kids who wet, and understand them.”

Then he pulled down his pants to show them he really was wearing plastic pants, and under them his babydiapers, white disposables. Sensational stuff.

The effect of this turned out to be brilliant. He was mobbed in the playground with interested kids who really admired his courage, and the teachers gave him a bravery certificate. He even, he admitted about three days later, had given himself the name diaperboy, and written it on his exercise books. “Wet and Proud” went on a T-shirt. He quite openly set up an incontinence club at school to help any bedwetters who wanted to come forward - and quite a few of them did. He became a really cool kid and the others wanted to hang out with him. He was suddenly the most popular kid in the school. (He never tried to persuade anyone else to wear diapers, though Frank, a 9-year-old, and now one of his best friends, has told him he persuaded his parents to try diapers at night and, Timmy says, is now quite happy, He’s coming for a sleep over next week but we’ll not do the full baby thing. Timmy says “that’s me, not anyone else.”)

Right from the beginning he wore a little probe in the diapers which measured urine flow - when he peed and how long - which he wore for two weeks. The wetting experiment showed that as time went on he became, as he hoped, a chronic wetter. At first it looked as if he was sometimes doing it deliberately like every hour of so but as the week went on it was more irregular, and he’d started to dribble. Now, six months later, a retest showed that he has no control at all. When I remarked on it he said that he’d tried really hard to just let himself go whenever, and that he’d kind of got this little trick - he tried to keep his sphincter muscle stuck open, and that now it pretty much was. Now he tends to he just drips and dribbles all the time - it’s like his bladder muscles had rusted open!

At night, he seemed to wet almost as soon as he fell asleep - his bladder was continuously open. I published the results in the American Journal of Psychology in an article called “Voluntary loss of urinary continence in ADHD 11-year-old” and ended by concluding: “In this case, T had progressed from irregular night-time enuresis, to full urinary incontinence, apparently only by force of will, and the recognition that this was somehow connected with much improved social development and success.” Well, yes. The diapers were not mentioned, except in passing as in: “T nullified the unpleasant aspects of wetting - uncomfortably wet sheets, pants, shame etc. - by choosing to wear diapers on a regular basis”. In a way he had become a star!

In a practical sense we managed the school quite well. Timmy changed himself in the disabled john. I told them officially that he had a bladder disorder and that it had got worse, and that he had to wear diapers, and because he was doing so well they couldn't really object. In fact, it didn’t really affect them - Timmy always looks after his wetting and doesn’t bother them about it.

It was real fun to watch the process of the complete change to daytime incontinence. He now had me completely under his spell and I did everything I could to satisfy his baby dreams, being ready with bottles and baby clothes whenever he wanted them. I also helped him to overcome his previous conditioning and wet like a baby, all day long.

At his suggestion, and with his suggestions, I restarted the evening ‘relax’ process. “Count me down and then tell me that I can’t help wetting all the time, that it’s really great, and that I have to wear diapers!” He bubbled enthusiastically.

So, once I’d gotten him into bed and deep in a trance, sucking on his pacifier, and often playing with his willy deep inside the diapers, I’d tell him:

“Baby Timmy wets his pants....baby Timmy can’t help wetting his pants....baby Timmy wants to wet his pants....baby Timmy likes to wet his pants.... Baby Timmy can’t help wetting himself....Baby Timmy wets himself all day long....Baby Timmy has to wear diapers...Baby Timmy likes to wear diapers......baby Timmy wets in his diapers all day.....Timmy can’t help wetting in his diapers all day long and when he’s asleep.... baby Timmy has to wear diapers and plastic pants all day long and at night in bed.......Baby Timmy loves to wear his babydiapers all day long.....he loves his babydiapers...he loves his babydiapers......”

And we watched as the daytime control evaporated. Now, as I said, he wets more or less continually and, he says, without noticing. He told me last week, when he came home with very soaked diapers (and another damp set in his bag) that now:

“It just happens. When I first started wearing my babydiapers to school, I could mostly control it, and get to the toilet in time if I wanted to, but now I can’t. ‘Cos at first, I kind of stopped trying to use the bathroom, and would just let myself go, but after a while it just started to come out and I couldn’t stop it....it’s like the bedwetting, when I first came here I sometimes woke up dry, but now it’s totally something I can’t stop......and so now, I don’t even notice, I just suddenly find I’m wet, but that’s so cool!......and the other kids, they all know, and I’ve actually started ‘diaperboy’ as my nickname.....and some of the other kids who wet the bed have come up to me and talked about it - though they don’t ever wear diapers - I wish they did!” He grinned all over his face.

And with this has come some really babyish behaviour, which, I’m ashamed to say, I haven’t discouraged. When he gets home from school, he immediately runs up to his baby bedroom and lies on the changing table, sucking happily on his paci. Then he does his homework (sucking on a pacifier, so cute!) Then he goes out with his mates, or brings them back home - now he’s known as “Dipes”. If he stays in with me, it’s baby clothes for the evening - 2 or 3-year-old little boy style, when he’s at home now, and sometimes, at my request, he even dresses as a little girl - any clothes I put him in now, he wears. I bought him a lovely furry bear, and then, by working it into his hypnosis “you love your baby bear, you want to hug your babybear......”had now got him trailing round the place holding his babybear and sucking a paci...

Two months ago, for his birthday, I made over his bedroom. I got him in a large crib, painted the walls with nursery figures, and put a musical mobile hanging over it. So now he’s got two rooms, one a regular one for a 12-year-old (except that there are stacks of diapers in the corner) and that’s where he takes his mates. The other is his nursery, where he is the baby, whenever he wants to be.

So here we are. I’ve got the wetting baby boy I always wanted, and he’s delighted with himself, and me. On the one hand Timmy is now handicapped. He is totally incontinent, day and night, and is unlikely to ever regain control - but he doesn’t want it. He now wears diapers openly all the time, loves them, and never wants to stop. He has to be dressed and changed, and outside of school he often chooses to wear baby clothes. He is sexually turned on by them. He is dependent on a pacifier. He loves to be treated as a baby.

On the other hand, he is happy and successful. His live if full of love, his behaviour problems all sorted out in the nursery. In fact, come to think of it, I have never met a boy so happy.........