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Views: 14736 Created: 2007.08.22 Updated: 2007.08.22

Johnny's Treatment

Part One

"Darn it, this is the last time." My mom pulled the wet blankets and sheets off my bed and threw them on the floor. My pajamas and even my pillow were soaking wet, as they had been every morning so far this week.

"He stinks, and he makes the whole room stink," Rob complained. At fourteen, my brother was one year older than me, and had never seemed to have any sort of problems in his life, let alone with bedwetting. I hated sharing a room with him, and he apparently didn't like it any better.

"It's horrible and disgusting," said my mom, "and I'm just not putting up with it any longer. That's it. Now get up and get in the shower." As I got up, she ripped the bottom sheet off my bed and tossed it toward the other wet bedclothes, leaving my shameful plastic sheet exposed for my brother to sneer over.

"Are you finally going to put him in diapers, mom? Oh, please? Is little baby Johnny going back in diapers? I sure hope so! At least it would kill some of the smell."

"Well he just might find a little surprise waiting for him tonight."

During my shower and later while getting dressed, I tried not to think of what she might have in mind. To me it was unthinkable that my mom would actually put her thirteen year old son back in diapers. With my brother's encouragement she had threatened to on a few occasions, but I thought she was just understandably exasperated and annoyed by my chronic wetting, and that the idea would pass as her mood improved. So far it had, but this time I wasn't so certain. But surely she wouldn't resort to that? Since becoming enuretic at age eleven (around the time my parents got divorced), I had progressed from a very occasionally wet bed to perhaps once every two weeks, then once a week, then twice, and finally to almost every single night, and often more than once a night, I suspected, given the sheer volume of smelly urine that I usually woke up to. I had been examined by my family doctor, then by a urologist (neither could find anything wrong, unfortunately, adding to my mother's conviction that I must be lazy, or was doing it on purpose, or was bad, or all three); I had tried a pad and alarm system (my brother loved that!), exercises, Impramamine, and nasal spray, none of which had much effect, and the spray badly affected my mood. Most recently I was sent to a behavioral psychologist who did nothing at all to help, and finally in frustration suggested to my mom that she use diapers on me both for practical reasons and for the `negative reinforcement' they might provide regarding my wetting. Might! So was this it?

At breakfast Rob would not stop teasing, and mom didn't intervene.

"Let's see, should we get him Huggies, or Pampers, or Attends? Maybe Johnny should have ecologically friendly cloth diapers? In that case should we get him plastic pants or rubber pants? Decisions, decisions! Mom, if you decide to put him in cloth diapers, be sure to get him blue diaper pins okay, `cause he's a big baby boy, after all."

In class all that day I could not concentrate on schoolwork as my thoughts shifted back and forth between the certainty that such an awful thing could never happen to me, and the equal conviction that it could and soon would. I contemplated running away from home, but thought that even if I succeeded, I might not be better off as a bedwetter in a foster home or group home where I'd likely end up, only to face a bunch of kids at least as nasty as my brother. The thought of an ever-changing group of peers teasing about my bedwetting (and who's to say that bedwetters `in care' aren't made to wear diapers anyway) was too much to contemplate.

I looked around the classroom at each of my fellow male students and tried to imagine any of them as a bedwetter. It didn't work. Rick Simon? Never in a million years. Stuart Richardson? Impossible. Russ Murphy? Give me a break. Conversely, I imagined each one of them in turn being aware that I was a bedwetter and was being made to wear diapers to bed. Pushing the envelope, I perversely daydreamed a sleepover during which four or five of my coolest classmates discovered me in all my diapered shame. I could hear their laughter and derisive taunts. A waking nightmare. Couldn't happen.

I took my time getting home from school, anxious as I was of what might be waiting for me there. I arrived around five o'clock, and was relieved to see that on the surface, everything looked `normal'; that is, there was no obvious `baby' stuff around, no bags or packages. My mother and brother were home, but I gave them a wide berth as I discreetly checked in my bedroom- nothing on the dresser, nothing out of place in my drawers, nothing unusual in the closet. (Nevertheless, I was embarrassed that my bed was still unmade, my plastic sheet still exposed for anyone to see.) I peeked into my mother's room- apparently nothing. I was beginning to feel less anxious, and watched TV until suppertime.

I cautiously allowed my sense of relief to grow during our spaghetti meal, as the conversation centered on trivial events of the day and no mention was made about any `solution' to my `problem'. In retrospect I had to admit that Rob might have exuded more than his usual smugness, but at the time I had no way of knowing that he knew something I didn't.

I was in the living room playing on the computer around 7 o'clock when the doorbell rang.

"They're here," Rob said, and went to open the door. A moment later he ushered our guests into the living room as my mom joined them from the kitchen. I looked around from the computer, startled to see Mrs. Murphy with her son Russ from my class. He was carrying a large box, and kept his eyes downcast. Mrs. Murphy carried something also.

"Hello Margaret, hello Russell," my mom said. "Thanks for coming, and for bringing Russell's old stuff."

I couldn't quite see inside the cardboard box, but Mrs. Murphy was carrying a large diaper pail. She put it down. I froze. Russ wouldn't look at me, but Rob was taking it all in with a peculiar smile on his face. So this was it! The worst was coming true!

"Well, sometimes I thought the day would never come," said Mrs. Murphy, "but believe it or not, Russell's now been completely dry for just over three months, and the deal was that he could get rid of his diapers when he'd been dry that long. It just seemed a pity to throw them away- some are almost brand new and they are quite expensive- so when you mentioned that you decided on diapers for Johnny, here, well it seemed the right thing to do. I'm happy to be able to help." Oh, no! `Diapers for Johnny'!

Russ hadn't budged; he still held the box in his arms. I could hardly breathe, and I would gladly have sunk into the floor and disappeared forever. Diapers for Johnny!

"Let's show them what we've brought for Johnny, Russell," said Mrs. Murphy. "I'm sure there's everything he'll need, and fortunately the boys are the same size..." Russ finally put the box down. Now I could see that it contained many neatly folded white diapers, and pairs of waterproof pants. This couldn't be happening!

Mrs. Murphy is one of those people who likes to wring the most from a favor, and now as I sat semi- paralyzed in shock she systematically reached into the box and displayed various items from my new wardrobe. "There are over a dozen of these prefolds. They're wonderful. They're made for older kids by `Babykins', and are six layers thick in the middle and very absorbent. I'd put Russell in a Babykins with two of these prefold Gerber baby diapers inside, plus a couple of flanelette baby diapers folded inside those. The result was rather bulky, but after all it was only for bed, and he was a heavy wetter." I imagined what Russell must've looked like, what I would look like.

"So's Johnny," my mom said. No secrets here. I had to peek at Russ. He looked miserable, almost on the verge of tears, and I wondered who felt worse. After all, we were looking at his ex-diapers. They were my new ones.

"So I'd suggest you do it that way too," said Mrs. Murphy. "Oh, and here's a bag of pins. They're just regular baby diaper pins, but they work fine and you might as well have them."

"Let's hope they're blue," declared my humorous brother.

She ignored him.

"And here are some of the pants. There are plastic ones, rubber ones, and also vinyl ones that snap-on, handy if you're going to do the diapering. They're also Babykins products that I used to buy at a medical supply store called `All Care' on Victoria Drive. They're in the book. And here's a bag of various creams for diaper rash, which seems unavoidable from time to time. Best to keep right on top of it, or it can become a real problem. Russell once actually missed school because of it. There's powder too.

"So baby will smell nice," Rob said.

I could not take it all in. I was totally humiliated. Not only had I suddenly acquired a large collection of diapers and waterproof pants (some of which I would be wearing that very night, I grimly reminded myself), but here I was having my secret openly discussed in front of relative strangers. I had always liked Russ, but we were not close friends, and I had only met his mom a few times when she came to our house to play bridge with my mom and others. That Russ now knew I wet the bed was not helped by the fact that now I knew that he didn't anymore. I was very ashamed, and my shame was about to get worse.

"Also, somewhere in the bottom of the box is the wooden paddle I used on Russ' behind to encourage him to stop wetting . I really believe it worked, and I strongly recommend that you adopt my method," said Mrs, Murphy. Method? Who was this horrible old bag telling my mother I should be spanked like a naughty little child?

"Would you use it on him every time he wet?" asked my mom. Oh no, she was going to actually consider it. Or was she just being polite?

"For every wetting, but not every night," Mrs. Murphy replied. "But that's how I started. Before being diapered in the evening, Russell would get a spanking if he had wet the night before. But it was particularly hard on him when he had diaper rash, and I thought of a better way. I hung a calendar on his wall, and marked a large `W' for every morning he was wet. Then, on Friday evenings before being put in his diapers, Russell would be made to lean over his bed to receive three strokes for each wet night the previous week. There were no exceptions, even when it caused him considerable embarrassment." She did not say what these occasions were, but I could imagine. Visitors, for example. They would surely know of his punishment.

"Russell, do you think the spankings helped?" my mother asked. She seemed definitely interested. Russ' face was crimson, and he had tears in his eyes. He looked like he didn't know what to say.

"Um, I don't know, I guess so..."

"Ok, Johnny, take your new things upstairs and we'll sort them out later," said my mom. "Thanks again, Margaret."

"Oh, don't mention it. Give him a hand, Russell," said Mrs. Murphy.

My knees were like jelly as I picked up the surprisingly heavy box of diapers. On top was a pair of snap-on vinyl or rubber pants. They looked so incredibly babyish! I wanted to hide everything. At the same time I felt like I might faint. Right beside the infantile pants was a zip-lock bag containing diaper pins. There were blue ones and white ones. I could not believe that soon some of them would be pinning some of these very diapers on me, and that Russ knew it, and my brother knew it. He grabbed the diaper pail and we started toward the stairs.

"Johnny, if you don't mind. I'd like the box back, please," said Mrs. Murphy. She explained to my mom that they'd be moving at the end of the month and she was trying to collect as many boxes as she could.

"Where do you want this?" Russ asked, indicating the diaper pail. I mumbled to put it anywhere. I put the box down beside my bed. I didn't know where to put everything, as my dresser was full, and the top was full of clutter. So I began gingerly stacking the stuff on my bed, and Russ began to help. Just touching the diapers felt weird, and my hands were shaky. And to think that those plastic pants were not for some baby, they were for me! And imagine that just a little earlier in the day I was concerned that someone might see my plastic sheet! Now a classmate was helping me place my diapers, my plastic and rubber pants, my diaper pins, powder and diaper rash cream right on top of it, and now I could not help being aware that it smelled a little of urine. I vaguely hoped Russ wouldn't notice, as if it mattered now! He reached into the box to retrieve the last item- the paddle. It was brown, about 18 inches long, and about 7 or 8 inches wide, and had a handle with a loop of shoelace attached. The plastic sheet rustled a little as Russ put the paddle down. I couldn't believe it was actually designed to administer spankings to someone like me. I felt like crying.

"In case you were wondering, it hurts," he said. "But the embarrassment is worse."

"I had no idea you...had a problem," I stammered.

"I knew about you `cause your mom talked to mine," he said. "Man I sure hated wearing those diapers. Sorry you got stuck with them, Johnny. It sure wasn't my idea."

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"No I won't," he said.

"But I might." It was Rob. "I think I'm going to tell everyone what nice thick diapers you have, what great plastic pants, oh and such cute diaper pins, too! Not to mention the fact that your little butt will be regularly paddled!"

After Russ and Mrs. Murphy left, my mom sent Rob and me to the basement to get a metal trolley that had been down there for ages. I don't know what its original use was, but it had three shelves which I was instructed to fill with my `baby' stuff. This meant I would never be able to have friends over again, because the loaded trolley was right out in the open, up against my bedroom wall. The top two levels now held diapers; below that were my waterproof pants, and on the bottom was powder, cream, and pins. The paddle now hung menacingly from a nail in the wall, a grim reminder each time I glanced at it of the likelihood of humiliating spankings to come. Also on the wall was a calendar on which my brother had playfully added large `W's for `Wet' in magic marker for weeks in advance. When I complained, my mom said we'd just circle each `W' as necessary. I was embarrassed that my exact wetting history would be in plain view for anyone to see.

As I made my bed, I began to dread what I knew was about to come. Some of the shock of the evening had worn off, and I was left with a feeling of dry-mouthed horror at the knowledge that in a short while I would be put in diapers for the first time since I was a baby. I didn't know if I'd be able to stand it, but could see no way to avoid what I now had no doubt was inevitable.

As I finished making my bed, my mom came into the room. Rob followed. She looked at the diaper trolley and pronounced herself satisfied with it. Then she removed one of the large Babykins diapers and spread it open on the bed. It was flannelette, two layers thick overall, with a much thicker middle panel. I could have died right then.

"Now we can do this the easy way," she said, "or we can do it the hard way," as she looked suggestively toward the paddle. "But either way you're going to be wearing diapers tonight and from now on. You can get undressed now. You can keep your t-shirt on, but everything else comes off, please."

"Why does he have to be here?"

"I want Rob to see how I do it in case he has to diaper you if I happen to not be available."

"Oh, man!" I said. This was getting worse and worse. Rob produced a false look of humility. "Glad to be of service."

I slowly began to undress as I felt my face become redder and redder. I hated to be seen naked by anyone, with no exceptions. I watched shakily as my mom placed two baby diaper prefolds along the center panel of the Babykins, then folded three flannelette diapers in three lengthwise and placed them on top of the prefolds. Then she folded the sides of the Babykins toward the center. It was really happening. My shameful diapers were ready. But I decided I wasn't.

"Now lie down on top of your diapers, please," she said, "so I can pin them on." I didn't move. Any reference to the diapers or plastic pants being mine made my stomach flutter. Now here I was, totally embarrassed with only socks and a T-shirt on, and for some reason I turned defiant. I don't know why- I wasn't trying to be bad or anything, I just couldn't let myself completely give in so easily; maybe I still had a bit of pride.

"Are you going to lie down on top of your diapers?"

"No! You can't make me!"

I felt myself being wrestled on to my bed. My mother is strong- especially when she's angry- and with my brother's help I was no match. Now I was lying on the diapers on my stomach. I thought she was going to diaper me that way, but then I heard her call for the paddle, and a moment later I felt its first biting sting. The spanking went on for a long time, and was very painful. As I cried, I was told over and over that this was what I could expect every time I showed the slightest resistance to being put in diapers, whether it was my mother, brother, or anyone else doing the diapering. When she finished, she sprinkled a strongly scented baby powder on my aching rear. Then she rolled me over, told me to lift up, adjusted the diapers under me, then sprinkled powder on my front, and pulled the diapers up between my legs and pinned them on with a single blue pin on either side, with the back of the diapers overlapping the front.

She told my brother to get the snap-on pants. Then I had to lift up again as she slid them underneath me, brought up the front between my legs, then began to do up the five snaps on either side. My butt was very sore, and the diapers felt incredibly bulky around my body, especially between my legs. When my mom was done, she told me to stand up. I did as I was told, and they both stood staring at me in my new ridiculous baby clothing. I felt totally defeated, completely reduced in status, and stared at the floor and cried.

"And by the way," my mother said "if you ever even think of taking your diapers off without permission, that spanking you just got will seem like a tickle compared to what you'll get. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Can I wear pyjamas?"

"Maybe tomorrow. For now I want you to think about what you're wearing and why. Now you can watch TV or do whatever until bedtime." As my mom left the room, my brother lightly spanked me on the back of my vinyl pants. "Does poor baby have a sore bottom?"

It was such an odd, complicated sensation! I felt so bulky, so vulnerable, so ridiculous, so ashamed! And when I moved, the vinyl pants, my vinyl pants- crinkled loudly as if to bring added attention to the farcical infant I had so suddenly become.

I went downstairs, mostly to get away from Rob, who had some homework to do in our room. I could hear my mom putting supper things in the dishwasher in the kitchen. I switched the TV on. There happened to be a Pampers commercial running, and I quickly changed the channel. I stood watching something about racing boats on TLC (my butt was stinging such that I didn't want to risk sitting down) but all I could think about was how I could survive wearing diapers and being spanked like a little kid. Right now I couldn't see a way.

I may have stood there about fifteen minutes, oblivious to everything except my shame and self-pity, when the front door opened and in walked Brad, my brother's best friend. "Knock, knock, only me," he said. He was carrying schoolwork, and was obviously here to study with Rob. He spent a lot of time at our house, and was considered almost a member of the family, so it was not uncommon for him to more or less barge in. But now I was trapped. There was no place to hide, and no time to try anyway. I was aware of the last few moments passing as if in slow motion before Brad discovered that I was in diapers. I saw the look of amazement come over his face.

"Oh man! I can't believe it! Diapers?", he finally said. "You're actually wearing diapers? Johnny's in diapers now?" This he asked of my mom, who on hearing the commotion had come out of the kitchen. I was rooted to the spot, paralyzed.

"Yes, Brad. From now on, `til he stops wetting his bed. Enough's enough." Brad approached. He gently lifted my T-shirt and examined my vinyl pants and took in the obvious bulk beneath them. He actually touched the vinyl between two of the snaps on one side, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Man, oh man, that's amazing! Well, you did warn him, but I never thought it would actually happen..."

"Well, it's happened, all right, as you can see."

But something else had happened, which nobody could see. Brad is just a year older than me, and he's someone I always looked up to as a sort of model. I thought he was just the coolest person. Now, in the raw panic of knowing he was about to see me in such embarrassing, debasing circumstances, I must have wet my diapers. Incredible! I wasn't aware of it happening, but now I knew I was wet down there, and quickly decided to say nothing. Brad, muttering and shaking his head, went up to work with Rob.

It only took my mom about half an hour to realize that something was amiss. I was still watching TV standing up when she came up from the laundry room.

"What's that smell?" She seemed genuinely puzzled.

"I don't smell anything..." I think something shaky in my voice gave me away. Mothers can always tell. She stared at my diaper area.

"You didn't! Come here!" She pulled on the waistband of my pants and took a whiff. She smacked me on the butt a few times. It made a loud noise. "You dirty thing!"

I tried to explain that I didn't do it on purpose, that it was my extreme dread of Brad finding out about my diapers that had caused it to happen, a sort of involuntary panic thing, but she was furious and wouldn't listen.

"Well you can just stay like that until tomorrow," she said. "No, wait, on second thought, go and tell your brother to make up a set of diapers like he saw me do."

"But mom, Brad's with him. I can't tell him in front of Brad. It's too embarrassing."

"Listen, as long as you're wearing diapers, I figure you're entitled to about as much privacy as a little baby, which is exactly what you'll get. Now go and do as I said, then wait for me upstairs."

My vinyl pants rustled loudly going up the stairs, and actually alerted Rob and Brad when I entered the room. They both looked around. "Rob, mom told me to tell you..."

"Speak up. Don't mumble." To Brad he added, "Baby's just learning to talk."

"She told me to tell you to make up a set of, um, of diapers the way she showed you, and she'll be up in a minute." I stared at the floor. Having to say the word `diapers' out loud made me quite dizzy.

"Why?"

"Um, I'm wet. It was an accident."

"Geez!"

"Do you want me to leave?" Brad asked. He was looking at me, but he asked Rob.

"Nope. You better watch, in case you have to do it sometime."

Grumbling the whole time, Rob laid out a Babykins on my bed and began adding baby diapers the way mom had. Then she came into the room with a wet facecloth. She took the top off the diaper pail. Then she slowly unsnapped my pants, putting them on my bed beside the new diapers, unpinned my wet diapers and threw them into the pail while throwing the pins on to the bed. Then she roughly cleaned me with the facecloth. By now my fresh diapers were ready.

"That's fine," she said.

"Well it's not exactly rocket science," Rob replied.

"Now lean over your bed, please, hands on the mattress," mom instructed me. The hidden plastic sheet crinkled again. Who cared? She asked Rob for the paddle, and I got six more hard smacks.

"Ow,ow, ow, man, that's got to hurt!" said Brad. It did. But as Russ said, the embarrassment was worse. Here I was getting my bare, already reddened ass spanked in front of a guy I really admired. And my stupid brother.

"He wets during the day too now?" asked Brad.

"This is the first time. He said it's your fault. You made him do it." I was doing my best to sink into the floor.

"Gosh, I wonder how I did that?" said Brad. There was a bit of derision in his voice.

"Now Rob, I want you to diaper him, so I'll know you know how in case you're needed. Johnny, lie down on your diapers, please."

"No, wait," Rob said. "Brad, hand me the baby powder." He sprinkled some on the diapers where my bum would be, then lay me down and sprinkled my front, then pulled the diapers between my legs and fastened them tightly with the pins my mom handed him. He was more careful with the pins than he would sometimes be in the future. Then I had to lift up as he slid the same vinyl pants under me, pulled up the front, and snapped them on securely over my diapers. Now Brad had seen me get spanked and diapered! I could never live this down in a million years.

"Voila," Rob said, "one freshly diapered baby."

"You did very well," said my mom.

"You'll make an excellent daddy some day," said Brad.

I felt I had lost every shred of dignity. I got off the bed and waddled downstairs to continue watching TV in an upright position. About half an hour later, finished studying, Brad came downstairs and prepared to head for home. He looked at me for a moment and said "Well so long, Johnny. Hey man, try really hard to stay dry and avoid those painful spankings!" He laughed. It was not the last time that someone would feel free to take a condescending attitude toward me because of my problem.

Later, in bed, I worried that the news would get out, would spread all over the neighborhood, to school, even. Could I trust my brother and Brad not to say anything? I didn't think so. There had always been vague, fairly easily deniable rumors about my bedwetting, but this diaper thing was a lot more serious. Even if they didn't say anything (I wasn't worried about Russ), my brother had friends over often, and there was my `baby' stuff right out in the open. Heck, there was `baby' me, more or less right out in the open. Even in PJ's it would be obvious to anyone who saw me that I was wearing thick diapers and noisy waterproof pants. And there was my mom, who seemed not to care who knew. And the new weekly spanking, which anyone in the house would likely be aware of.

It felt very odd being in bed in diapers. It was as if the diapers represented an admission of failure and helplessness at the most basic level. I felt a deep sense of shame and humiliation, and was reminded of it every time I moved and my pants made noise or I felt the bulk of the diapers between my legs. At one point I was finally thinking about something else when my hand came to rest on the cool vinyl, and I was startled and horrified all over again. My butt still hurt from the double spanking, and I felt miserable, mortified, and babyish. I fell asleep, and when I woke in the morning I was wet, but my bed was not. Later I would be made to circle the appropriate `W' on the calendar, a reminder that whatever might happen the rest of the week to make it worse, I would be getting a spanking on Friday evening. It was Saturday, so I had a whole week during which to dread it. And in fact I never did receive fewer than eighteen smacks of the paddle.

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Arranmore 3 years ago