By J. Nash
It’s the same thing every night. At about 8 pm I get called to my bedroom, the one I share with my new step-brother Nathan. Usually I have to wait for my mother, or Nathan (or worse, whoever has been designated) to show up. During this time I’m expected to make up a diaper (by placing two triple-folded flannelette baby diapers inside one of my Babykins cloth youth diapers), to place the diaper on top of the rubber sheet ‘change pad’ on my change table (it’s not really a change table but a work table, but what’s the difference-- it looks like one, especially with that 3x4 foot white rubber sheet permanently on it), to remove my clothing except for my tee-shirt and socks, and climb on the table, lay on the diaper, and wait for my mom or brother or whoever to powder me, pin the diaper on me, and then put me in plastic or rubber pants. And if I show the slightest resistance or ‘attitude’, I get the strap on my bare butt, maybe twenty or thirty times. It’s a leather strap, and it really hurts. Imagine being spanked, then diapered by your own younger (by a few months) step-brother, or mother, or maybe even someone you hardly know. Not fun. I never get used to the shame of it all, but I try to cooperate (it’s really bad when we have visitors, especially Nathan’s friends). Even so, I seem to end up getting a spanking about two or three times a week. Sometimes more. Nathan pretty much spanks me whenever he wants to, and my Mom lets him (‘Wayne, if you got a spanking, then I’m sure you did something to deserve it.’)
I’m a chronic bedwetter. I don’t know why. I always have been, and I’m fourteen now. It doesn’t happen every night, but most. And sometimes more than once a night. I’ve been through all the treatments- doctors, pills, books, alarm clocks, a wetness alarm, shaming, ridicule, spanking, all without success. We even tried hypnotism. It was the wetness alarm that finally did it. It kept waking Nathan up, but not me. Up until about a year ago I’d just wet the bed—the mattress is protected by a shameful, noisy plastic sheet—then change the sheets and myself and go back to sleep. But when Nathan moved in with his Dad, I guess my fate was sealed. He complained about the constant smell of urine in our room (I have to admit he had a point), the disruption to his sleep when I changed my sheets, generally about having to share a room with a bedwetter. My alarm, it turned out, was the last resort. The mother of an ex-bedwetter loaned it to us.
“This worked for Russ Kennedy, and I hope it works for you,” my Mom said. “You better hope so too, because if it doesn’t I’m putting you back in diapers. It’s enough now.” I was too stunned to say anything. Diapers! Nathan said, “Wayne in diapers! Yes! Do it! I can’t wait!”
The wetness alarm worked very well—for Nathan. It woke him up every time, and he was furious. As for me, I slept and wet right through it. I wondered how long I’d last before my Mom carried out her threat, and I found out after about a week. “How long do I have to put up with this?” a tired Nathan said to her on the morning of my last wet bed. “Could you please just get it over with—put him in diapers, like you said you would.”
“I’m going to,” she said, “as of tonight. Guess what Wayne--no more wet beds for you. That’s the good news.” All day I worried about what would happen that evening. The anticipation of being put back in diapers was horrible. I didn’t think I could take it. It was the worst thing that could ever happen. My bedwetting was shameful to me, but was nothing compared to being made to wear diapers like a helpless little baby. Would they be like Pampers? Or pinned-on cloth and plastic pants? Either way it was a disaster. I had tears in my eyes more than once that day, especially when I thought of how I would be treated by the ever superior- acting Nathan. Would his friends find out? Of course they would! Everyone would! I was finished!
When I got home from school, my Mom was waiting with instructions. “I’ve spoken with Mrs. Kennedy,” she said. “You’re to go over there right now. You can bring the wetness alarm back and be sure to thank her for letting you try it. And since it worked for Russell and he no longer needs the cloth diapers she made him wear, she’s going to give you a bunch of his along with pins and plastic pants, and everything else you need to keep you dry. Isn’t that generous?”
“Very, very generous,” Nathan laughed. “Stupendously generous. Be sure to thank her for me, Wayne.” I knew that Russell Kennedy was a bedwetter, but not that he had worn diapers. So not only was I going to be put in diapers, I was going to be put in another kid’s diapers, ones that he’d peed in!
When I got there, I couldn’t look Russell or his older brother Gene in the eye. Russ looked pretty embarrassed too, but Gene seemed to be enjoying our mutual discomfort quite a bit.
“So Wayne, I hear you’re going to be wearing a bunch of Russ’ diapers,” he said. “I bet he’s glad it’s you and not still him.” He laughed. “He looked like a doofus in them. A baby doofus. But don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t.”
“Some of these diapers are quite new,” Mrs. Kennedy said, ignoring Gene. “And Russell only wore these rubber pants a few times. Those plastic ones too. And these ones have snaps, in case you need to be in diapers during the day sometimes. It makes changing easier for your Mom or babysitter, ‘cause your outer pants don’t have to come right off. They’re all from Babykins, in case your mother wants to know.” Russ looked at the floor. His brother chuckled. “Babykins! Your babysitter will put you in Babykins!”
“We’ll put everything in this diaper pail, and you can have that too. Being in cloth diapers, you need to have a diaper pail. Thank goodness Russell is finally finished with it. Oh, and here’s some baby powder, and diaper rash ointment, and some medical gloves for your Mom or babysitter to change you when you’re wet. And a rubber sheet that I used as a change pad for Russell. And of course diaper pins.” There were white pins and blue ones, suitable for a baby boy. It struck me that Russ’ mom would attend to such a detail in diapering him. Would yellow ones have been that much more humiliating? Suddenly acquiring all this ‘baby’ stuff made my knees shaky and my mouth go dry. I was going to be made to wear diapers, and here they were! I remember Gene said something, no doubt demeaning as I left their house, but I was enveloped in a black, buzzing haze, and I don’t remember what it was. Something sarcastic about trying to stay dry, I think. Oh I remember now. “Wayne, twy to stay dwy.” Baby talk.
It was only a few blocks to walk with my conspicuous white diaper pail, and I prayed I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew, especially any kids from my school. I was almost home when I saw Johnny Franklin with some of his friends. Johnny’s a bully, and I admit being afraid of him. I discreetly crossed the street, hoping he wouldn’t see me. But of course he did, and in a moment I was surrounded by his menacing associates.
“What you got there, Wayne?’
“It’s nothing. Just a pail.”
“Looks kind of like a diaper pail, Wayne. Got a new baby brother?”
“Then what are you doing with a diaper pail?”
“Then let’s see inside.” Johnny took the pail from me and took the lid off. A pair of plastic pants were on top. He gingerly held them up to his friends, as if he was afraid to catch germs. They rustled as he displayed them.
“See? I was right. Baby pants. Oh and there’s diapers in there too, and other baby stuff. But wait a minute. Those diapers look pretty large. And these baby pants aren’t baby-sized at all-- they look more Wayne-sized. Guess what, guys? Wayne is the baby! Still wet your bed, Wayne? Maybe wet your pants too? That’s what I heard, anyway.”
“Ha-ha, Wayne wears diapers! Wayne wears diapers!”
“Wayne wears baby pants!”
I guess I was lucky to get away with just derisive laughter and jeers, the knowledge that school would now be forever different, and the fact that whenever I was put into that particular pair of plastic pants, I would carry an extra measure of shame. ‘Wayne wears diapers and baby pants!’
In all my horrified fascination at my new fourteen-year-old ‘baby’ status, I had never imagined that I would actually ‘own’ a diaper pail. My amused brother Nathan watched as my mother went through it and removed my new Babykins diapers, baby diaper inserts (all the diapers were clean, but still showed signs of prior use) plastic pants, rubber pants, pins, powder, ointment, gloves, and the rubber sheet ‘change pad’, which was white, and about two and a half feet by four feet.. She put my plastic and rubber pants in the top drawer of my dresser, which held my socks, tee-shirts and underwear. Now I had infantile plastic and rubber diaper pants beside and on top of my cool boxer shorts! Babykins and Calvin Klein. The other drawers were full, so she stacked my diapers on top of the dresser, in plain sight, where they would remain. The diaper pail was to stay beside the dresser. I wondered what would happen when Nathan’s friends came over.
“I guess Russ is keeping his plastic sheet, for now,” my observant brother remarked.
“For a few months, apparently,” my Mom replied. “Just in case.”
“I guess Wayne will have his forever, just in case,” Nathan said.
I knew that being put in diapers would be degrading and humiliating, but had no idea how awful it would actually be. Or that it was going to happen right away.
“Ok, you can keep your socks and tee-shirt on, everything else comes off. Right now, Wayne.”
“Now?” She was going to diaper me, right now, and in front of Nathan! “You’re going to do it now?” I wasn’t ready. But then I never would be. I felt like crying.
“Yes. Right now. And remember, Wayne, whenever you’re being diapered, you’re this close to getting a spanking as well. So just cooperate, or else.”
She sensed my discomfort at the fact that Nathan was present. I am very shy and modest, and even though we share a room, Nathan had never seen me naked, as far as I knew.
“Don’t worry about Nathan. He’s actually going to be changing your diapers at least some of the time, if not most. I’ve already done more than my share of diaper changing. I thought I was finished with it. He’s also authorized to spank you if he sees fit.” Nathan gave me a condescending smirk.
“Just call me Nanny.” They had obviously discussed the matter. He continued to look at me as if to say ‘Go ahead—get undressed, sucker.’
“Wayne, should I ask Nathan to go and get the strap? We’re not fooling around here. Do it!”
Slowly I unzipped my pants, not even believing what I was doing. I lowered them, and stepped out of them, almost tripping. My mother looked at me expectantly, impatiently. I reluctantly lowered my boxers and stepped out of them, conscious of Nathan’s eyes upon me. I hung my head. I waited.
“Ok Nathan, Pick up a diaper and two of the flannelette baby diapers—I’m going to show you how to do this. Here, we’ll use this table, ‘cause his bed’s too low. No sense in straining our backs.” The table was a simple work table, about five feet long and two and a half wide and two and a half feet high. It had papers on it and CD’s and junk. My Mom cleared it off and told Nathan to hand her the rubber sheet, which she unfolded and placed in the center. It had an unusual, strong odor. Sort of medical. Nathan placed a Babykins diaper on it. I was totally humiliated to be naked and exposed, and thought my Mom could at least have waited until the stuff was ready. But no; this was the way it was going to be. Nobody worries about a baby’s dignity, and to them that’s what I had become, a baby in need of diapers. Nathan kept giving me smirking, taunting looks, as he stared at my nakedness. He was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. The top of his boxer shorts were visible above his waistband when he moved. They were similar to what I had just been made to give up. Joe Boxer..
“Now fold the baby diapers lengthwise in thirds, and place one on top of the other along the length of the youth diaper. There. Now fold the sides of the main diaper one on top of the other. There. Now we’re ready. Get up on the change table, Wayne, and lay on your diaper.” The words stung. My diaper! I gingerly did as I was told. I was trying not to cry. Here I was lying naked on diapers on top of a rubber sheet. It was really happening. She picked up some diaper pins from my dresser, and some baby powder.
“Sprinkle some powder on him—you can do the back once he’s standing up. Ok. Now bring the diaper up between his legs, that’s right, and pin on either side, carefully. No need to stab him. Make sure you pin tight to prevent leaks. Good. Now go to his drawer and get him some diaper pants. Rubber or plastic, it doesn’t matter”
“Wow, I can’t believe what I’m doing,” Nathan said. “I’m actually diapering Wayne! Like a baby! Look, freakin’ baby pants!”
“Well you better get used to it,” my Mom said. “You too, Wayne.”
Nathan chose the same plastic pants that Johnny Franklin had shown to his friends. They made noise as he placed my feet through them and moved them up my legs.
“Lift up, baby Wayne.” I did as I was told and he slid the plastic pants over my diapers. They made a lot of noise.
“Make sure the plastic pants completely cover his diapers,” Mom said.
“Otherwise they can leak, which would defeat the purpose.”
“You’re done,” Nathan said. I got off the table, head still hanging, aware of huge, unfamiliar bulk between my legs, plastic pants that rustled and crinkled at every move, and the strong smell of baby powder mixed with the odor of urine. I didn’t know that cloth diapers and plastic pants over time can retain a faint but unmistakable smell of urine. So now I smelled of Russ’ pee. I realized that the shame of being in diapers was not just visual and tactile, but was also audible and aromatic. Diapers affected four out of my five senses. Well maybe all five, because I could practically taste the humiliation I was feeling. And now. Nathan grabbed me from behind, inserting fingers in the waistband of my plastic pants and dumped baby powder down my diapers in the rear. Then he swatted me on the back of my plastic pants, making a loud noise. That was it. This was the ultimate shame. A teen diapered like a baby, deprived of all self-respect and dignity. Now I was actually crying like a baby
I calmed down a little. “Mom, can I have pants over my…my…” I couldn’t say the words.
“Over your diapers and plastic pants? No. I want you to be acutely reminded of what you’re wearing and why. It might help to motivate you to stay dry.” My brother liked this.
“But everyone will see me. Everyone will know!”
“They sure will!” Nathan said.
“Well that’s too bad. More motivation. Anyway your pants wouldn’t fit over those thick diapers, and even if you wore pj’s it would be obvious what you’re wearing underneath. And there’s the noise from your plastic pants, and the smell of baby powder. Plus there’s the rubber sheet on your change table, your diaper pail and the diapers on your dresser. Your brother’s always having friends over, and there’s just no way to keep them from finding out. That’s just one of the consequences of being back in diapers, Wayne. There’s just no hiding the fact, and there’s no use trying. You’ll just have to get used to it. Of course you could always stop wetting. But even then, you need two months of consecutive dry nights before the diapers come off.”
“And the plastic sheet stays,” Nathan added.
“Yes, at least for six months after you’re dry,” she said.
While I decided to ‘hide’ in shame in my room, my mother made it clear that family life would not change because I was in diapers—Nathan would still have friends over (his PlayStation and computer were in our room), cousins, aunts and uncles would still visit, life would go on. The diapers were my problem. That first night was hard. I was awash in shame and embarrassment and the fear that mean Nathan would invite a friend or friends over to ridicule me. I couldn’t get over the bulk between my legs, the smell, the sound, the blue diaper pins, the total lack of dignity. It was if from one minute to the next I had gone from being a teen (sure with some problems) to being a totally dominated and helpless infant. Worse, because diapers and plastic pants are appropriate for an infant. But on a fourteen year old boy? And worse again, I knew that as ridiculous as I must look in diapers and plastic pants, I would not be able to keep them dry. How infantile was that? I knew that in a way I deserved to be in them, and that made the shame even worse.
I knew he’d do it, and I was right.
“Hey Stuart, what’s up? Want to come over for awhile?” Nathan made sure I could hear his cell-phone conversation. “Hey guess what? Wayne’s finally been put back in diapers. You’ve got to see. He looks like a big baby. Yeah. I’m serious. They’re cloth. He has diaper pins. And plastic pants. Right. No more bedwetting for Wayne, just wet diapers. Ok. See you.”
A short while later I heard the doorbell, and then the sound of Stuart’s voice as he greeted my Mom. A few moments later and he was staring hard at me.
“Man oh man, Nathan—I thought you were kidding! Wayne really is in diapers! I can’t believe it! You said he was a bedwetter, but…diapers?” There was nothing I could say or do, except look at the floor and hope to sink into it.
“I got tired of the smell in our room and getting woken up in the middle of the night,” Nathan said. “Putting him back in diapers was the best thing to happen.”
“I didn’t even know they made them, except for babies. It must be so embarrassing,” Stuart said. “What a freak show! Wait, I got to get a picture.” He took a photo of me with his cell-phone cam. “Who changes him?”
“So far me, or my Mom will.”
“I still can’t believe it—you change Wayne’s diapers! And he lets you?”
“Oh he has no choice. Either that or he gets a harsh spanking first, then he gets put in his diapers. Very simple.”
I couldn’t take it anymore, so I decided to leave the room. I was very conscious of the noise my plastic pants made as I waddled toward the door.
“See ya later, Baby Pants,” Stuart said.
My Dad (well my new Dad, he’s not my real one) hadn’t seen me in diapers yet, and I dreaded that first occasion. He never hid the fact that he thought I was a pathetic weakling for wetting the bed, and that I should be punished for it by being made to wear diapers, and probably worse. I went into the kitchen, not realizing that Rick was sitting at the table. My Mom came into the room from the opposite direction. Both stared at my plastic pants.
“Well, I see someone’s finally taken control of your chronic wetting, even if you won’t,” said Rick. “Tell me--how does it feel to be a fourteen-year old still wearing diapers? Pretty ridiculous?”
“I guess so.” Gosh, I was doing a lot of floor-staring lately. Rick shook his head and gave me a pathetic look. “Nathan’s been dry since he was two,” he said.
“Since Wayne won’t take control, Nathan and I are doing the changing. Imagine getting your diapers changed at fourteen by your mother and younger brother, and who knows who else?” said my Mom. “Pretty pathetic, all right.”
“Well, he’s lucky I’m not involved. If I ever have to change him, he’s getting the strap on his butt first, mark my words.”
The doorbell rang. I was about to bolt, but Mom put her hand up. “You just stand right there, Wayne. You’re not going to run away and hide from this.” She went to answer the door, and when she came back she was with Russell. He seemed as shocked to see me as I was to see him. It must have seemed strange to encounter another kid wearing what had been his diapers and plastic pants. And I never expected that he would ever see me in them. I was hugely embarrassed and I think he was also. I didn’t say hello. He carried a bag. I immediately realized it was a diaper bag.
“Nice to see you Russell, what brings you here?” my Mom asked. He tried not to stare at me, but couldn’t stop.
“My Mom asked me to bring these things—for Wayne. We forgot them the other day.” He handed Mom the diaper bag. It was light blue and had recurring images of baby animals. She took out a blue cotton shirt, like a tee-shirt. Except this one had a snap-closure crotch. Like for babies! I didn’t know what they were called.
“It’s a onesie!” Mom said.
“There’s three of them,” Russ said. “Um, they’re for if Wayne needs to be in diapers during the day sometimes. The snaps stop the diapers from being seen--the shirt can’t ride up. Oh and there’s three more snap-on plastic pants. And he can have the bib overalls that are in there for when he’s in daytime diapers—I’m sure not going to wear them again.””
“Come here, Wayne, and let’s see if the onesies fit you.” I was horrified, but knew better than to resist. She pulled my tee-shirt up over my head. I closed my eyes, and felt the onesie being slipped on. I felt her arm brush against my plastic pants as she pulled the crotch through my legs and began doing up the snaps to the front of the shirt. There were five of them. There’s nothing like snaps to make you feel like a baby. My plastic pants crinkled as she worked.
“There. A perfect fit. I’m sure they’ll come in handy. What do you say, Wayne?”
“Um, Thank you, Russ.”
“And thank him for your new snap-on plastic pants—let’s see what they look like.” She examined a pair, then returned them to the diaper bag. They looked incredibly infantile.
The onesie did little to hide what I was wearing, and made the bulk of the diapers even tighter between my legs. Ten minutes ago I wouldn’t have thought I could look and feel even more infantile, but that was ten minutes ago. Russell was uncomfortable and was obviously anxious to go.
“So Russell, you used to be a bedwetter?” My Dad is not subtle.
“Yes sir.” He turned red and fidgeted.
“But you stopped.”
“Yes, sir. It’s been over three months.”
“How old are you?”
“Just turned fourteen, sir.”
“Ah, you’re younger than Wayne. And why did you stop, do you think?”
“I dunno. Maybe my body just matured. Or I just learned to stay dry. The alarm helped.”
“Did the shame of having to wear diapers have anything to do with it?”
“Well, it was real embarrassing, and I got teased, and I got tired of feeling like a baby and being wet and smelly, that’s for sure. And getting changed by my Mom. That was no fun.”
“Ok. Well I think we’re on the right track. Maybe we’ll get you to come back and baby-sit Wayne.” Russ didn’t seem to know if this was a joke. Neither did I..
After Russell left I was told to take my new things upstairs. I didn’t bother to zip up the bag, and went up to my room.
“Wow, Nathan, it just keeps getting curiouser and curiouser,” Stuart said when he saw me. “A onesie! What next, a pacifier? And what’s that, a bib in your diaper bag?’ He saw a bit of plastic on top of the pile of stuff. He peered into the bag. “No, I see it’s more baby pants. Geez, Wayne, you need to kind of grow up, dude!” That first night I wet my diapers for the first time, and had my first dry bed in awhile..
The first time Nathan diapered me solo, he spanked me first. I couldn’t believe it. For no reason. I wasn’t displaying ‘attitude’; as hard as it was I had got myself and my diapers ready and was about to get on the table for him to diaper me, but he stopped me.
“Go get me the strap.”
“Just do it, or it’ll be worse.”
While he went into my dresser drawer to choose some waterproof pants for me, I had to go, naked from the waist down into my Mom’s closet and get the dreaded strap. I couldn’t believe he was going to spank me for no reason. If it was to show me who was boss, I already knew that. It was hard handing it to him, knowing he was about to use it on me. I was too shocked to even complain to my mom.
“But I didn’t do anything!”
“Just lean over the table, Wayne. Go ahead. Bend over.” My arms straddled my waiting diapers and the rubber sheet. He made me wait a long time. The anticipation was terrible, as was the humiliation of having to assume a bare butt spanking position, and wait to be spanked by my nominally younger ‘brother’. Then it finally came. It was a slow, methodical, and painful spanking. Whap...whap…whap…probably thirty times, I didn’t count. When my diapers were finally under my butt on the change table, it was burning, and the pain and humiliation lingered all night. Being spanked by Nathan was almost as bad as being put in diapers by him, but the two together—it was overwhelming. I was scared—what was to stop Nathan from doing this every night? He powdered me, pinned my diapers on me, tightly, then put me in a pair of Russ’ rubber pants—although I guess they weren’t Russell’s any more, now they were all mine. I wasn’t put in a onesie, but I worried about what Russell had said about sometimes needing to be in diapers during the day. Would it happen to me?
“I see you’re wearing rubber pants this evening,” my Mom said when she saw me. “Good job, Nathan.” My Dad just shook his head. “Nathan, did I hear a spanking being administered just now?”
“You did. It was the sound of leather on bare butt.”
“He did it for no reason,” I complained, upset that Nathan had delivered a demeaning, painful, unfair spanking before diapering me. I thought my Mom would object. My butt was still stinging like crazy.
“Oh I’m sure he had his reasons,” she said. “If Nathan thinks you need a spanking, then that’s fine with me. He doesn’t need my permission.” Nathan smirked at me. This was bad. This was very bad. My brother had carte blanche to use the strap on me whenever he wanted.
“You just concentrate on keeping your diapers dry,” my Dad said. “We’ll take care of the rest. I can’t believe it—a fourteen year old in rubber pants! Don’t worry, you deserve everything you get.”
My brother really wanted to go to a Rolling Stones concert. His friend Stuart had good tickets, and this might be their last tour. The problem was that my parents had plans to attend their best friends’ fourteenth wedding anniversary, leaving no one to ‘baby-sit’ me. Whenever I was in diapers, I had to be supervised. Like a baby. It was the rule.
“I know,” Nathan said after much speculation, “my friend Hoshi owes me big time ‘cause I found his bike when it got stolen. I could ask him.”
“How old is he, and is he responsible?’ my Mom asked.
“He’s my age, and you know these Japanese kids—totally serious and responsible.”
“Ok, ask him.”
It was a weird thing to wish for, but I hoped to already be in diapers by the time Hoshi (it means ‘Star’) arrived. I had never met him, and I dreaded the thought of being diapered (and maybe even spanked first) in front of a complete stranger. I didn’t even consider how I would face being baby-sat, in diapers, by a kid I had never met who was probably younger than me. I couldn’t come out and ask Nathan to get it over with, but I sort of made myself conspicuous. Then Stuart arrived, and Nathan told me to go up to our room and get ready. I did, and when he arrived it was with Stuart and Hoshi. My heart sank. Hoshi looked really cool. I didn’t want him to see me like this.
“Hey, Baby Pants!” Stuart said. Hoshi looked around 14 1/2. He had short black hair and expensive glasses. He wore designer jeans and a blue collar-less shirt with three buttons at the top. He looked at me with undisguised curiosity and maybe derision. Nathan powdered me and pulled the diapers up between my legs. At least there was no spanking. He pinned the diapers on me. Blue diaper pins.
“So this is the baby,” Hoshi said.
“Yep, this is Wayne.”
“Is he retarded?”
“Sometimes I think so, but no. He’s a bedwetter.” Hoshi looked as if he had never even heard of such a thing. A bedwetter!
“So what do I have to do?”
“Nothing. Just watch him, that’s all. Just baby-sit. Stuart, get me some plastic pants out of the drawer, there please.”
Stuart handed him a pair. They were snap-ons. Clear plastic.
“Wayne, lift your butt.” He positioned the back of the plastic pants under me, then brought the front up between my legs and started to snap them on. There were four snaps on either side. Like I said about snaps—they make me feel incredibly babyish. The plastic rustled as Nathan worked, and Hoshi looked on with a bemused expression, as if he had never seen anything quite so ridiculous. Stuart too. A fourteen year old being diapered before their eyes! I felt totally helpless and humiliated. My diapers and blue diaper pins were clearly visible through the plastic pants.
“Ok, you’re done, baby boy.” I got off the table, my plastic pants rustling with every move..
“I’m not a baby.”
“Well, gee, you sure look like one,” Nathan said. “And you act like one, peeing your bed every night.”
“And you have to admit, you smell like one,” Stuart added.
“Come here.” Nathan pulled on my arm. In our room there is a full-length mirror on the door to the closet.. He stood me in front of it. “What do you see?” I looked pathetic in my diapers and plastic pants, no doubt about it. I said nothing. I saw the three of them reflected behind me.
“I see a big baby. Tell you what. You can just stand there and think about it, okay? Hoshi will let me know if you budge. You better not, or your butt will be sorry.”
“You even spank him?” Hoshi asked.
“Oh, yes. If and when he needs it.”
My brother and Stuart left. It was weird to be left in the house with Hoshi. Here I was in diapers in front of a total stranger. In the mirror I saw that as he worked (or played) on the computer every once in awhile he looked up to stare at me, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He didn’t speak, and I didn’t know what to say to him. What do you say to your ‘babysitter’ when you’re doing diapered mirror time? I was too ashamed to even think straight. He dialed someone on his cell phone.
“Hello, George? Hey, what’s up. I’m at Nathan’s. Nathan Riley. You’ll never guess what I’m doing—babysitting Nathan’s step bro Wayne Roberts. Know him? Yeah that’s the guy. Guess what? He’s in diapers. He still wets the bed and his parents make him wear diapers. It’s so weird. He’s like our age. Even a bit older. He’s got these cloth diapers and plastic baby pants on. Nathan diapered him, and he even spanks him. I’m doing it ‘cause I owed Nathan a favor, plus he’s paying me…I know…weird!”
I had to go to the bathroom, and it was becoming urgent. I had been trying to ignore the pressure, but now it was becoming too strong to disregard. I was already feeling such humiliation, how could I ask Hoshi if I could please use the toilet? Would he take my plastic pants down and unpin my diapers? I couldn’t ask. Suddenly I couldn’t hold it anymore, and I felt myself getting wet. Here I was peeing my diapers in front of Hoshi! What next?
“Nathan and Stuart went to the Stones’ concert. He’s giving me twenty bucks to baby-sit Wayne. Not bad.” I saw him looking at me in the mirror. He noticed something.
“Darn. I’ll have to call you back.” He came over to be and observed my diapers through my plastic pants. They were clearly wet. Just to make sure, he pushed my hands away and stretched the waistband of my plastic pants and had a closer look. I was wet, and I smelled. He looked surprised, angry.
“Darn, what am I supposed to do now?” he asked. I was more embarrassed than ever. He reached for his cell-phone.
“Nathan? Hey man, sorry to bother you. How’s the concert? About to start? Cool! Listen, Wayne peed his diapers. What should I do?” I hoped he would just leave me wet and alone.
“Ok. Yep, I’ll do it, what the heck. The gloves are where? Ok.” Now I knew I was in for it. This guy was going to change my diapers!
“You really want me to? Ok, I don’t mind, but how do you do it? Do I put him over my knee, or what? Ok, the change table, I got it. How many? Yep, ok. ‘Bye.” This was going to be worse than I thought.
“Nathan said to spank you and change your diapers. He said if you don’t co-operate you’ll get double when he gets home. So go get me your strap, please.” When I got back he was putting on a pair of the medical gloves we had been given. He put the strap on the table, after examining it and flexing it. I couldn’t believe what was about to happen, but felt powerless to do anything to stop it. I recoiled as he reached for the first snap on my plastic pants.
“Don’t fight me, Wayne, or it will be worse. Much worse.” One by one he undid the snaps on my plastic pants, then laid them on the change table. He undid my diaper pins, and pulled the diapers free through my legs. That felt weird. He dropped the diapers in the pail.
“Nathan said he makes you lean over the change table for a spanking. So do it, please.” So he wasn’t going to clean me off, or let me do it. Slowly, reluctantly I leaned over the table, my arms and elbows on my rubber sheet. I waited in dread for my spanking to begin, but then Hoshi’s cell-phone rang. He spoke in Japanese. I heard my name and the word ‘omutsu’. I know it means diaper. A moment after he finally said ‘Bye’ Then I felt the first sting of leather.
Hoshi spanked me about thirty strokes, I think even harder than Nathan does. The last ten lashes made me cry out, but Hoshi didn’t hesitate. He punished me with the same solemn earnestness he seems to reserve for everything. Finally the spanking ended. I was dying of shame.
“Now Nathan said to make up a diaper, then lay on it, and I’ll pin it on you.” I did as I was told, and Hoshi pinned it on tight after spilling powder all over me. All the time he wore the gloves. “Now lift up your butt. I can’t believe I’m doing this!” He slid the same plastic pants under my diapers, brought the front through my legs and began snapping them on. Still in total shock from my spanking, I could hardly believe that Hoshi was now putting me in diapers. A total stranger! Then he was done.
“Ok, now you can go back to where you were, and if you wet again, I’m going to have to spank you again.” So there I was, back in front of the mirror. I couldn’t even look at myself without tears coming to my eyes. Spanked, diapered, smelly, and in total shame. When Nathan got home, he berated me for wetting, made me thank Hoshi for babysitting, then sent me to bed. In the morning I was wet again.
Now there’s a new thing. How many kids still wet the bed after around age ten? Maybe one in a hundred? That’s a small percentage, but still a large number in a town like ours, and I think my Mom is determined to find every one. Somehow she got the word out to Moms of newly afflicted bedwetters (or bedwetters that weren’t yet made to wear some form of diaper) that I could be made available as an example of what could happen if the child didn’t stop wetting. Nathan called it the ‘Scared Dry’ program. My Mom referred to it as ‘creative shaming’. A bedwetting kid would be brought over to our house to watch me being diapered (sometimes after a spanking), usually by Nathan, once in awhile by my Mom. The first one to do the ‘program’ was Roy, a twelve-year old who began wetting about once a week. He watched wide-eyed as I undressed and got up on the change table.
“Now watch closely, Roy. See what happens to chronic bedwetters?” Nathan said. He pulled the diapers between my legs, and after first powdering me he slowly pinned them on me. Would you like this to happen to you every day?”
“Now, Roy, I’d like you to reach into the top drawer there and get me a pair of plastic pants for Wayne, okay? Any pair will do. Would you like to be in baby pants like Wayne?”
“No.” He handed Nathan a pair of rubber pants, and he put them on me, then motioned me to get off the table. I stood in front or Roy, an example to avoid.
“Now look at him. Is that the way you want to look?”
“Do you want your Mom or a babysitter to diaper you every night?”
“Do you want to get spanked?”
“Then you better stop wetting your bed.”
So far I’ve been a bad example to about 10 kids. The youngest was about 8, the oldest around my age. Once I’m in diapers I have to stick around the kid for a half-hour or so, answer any questions from him or his mom, and generally look like a pathetic diapered (and sometimes spanked) bedwetter, and make him scared that he’ll end up being and looking like me. It seems to be working very well, and more kids are coming all the time. This has only helped to spread the word in the community, and now even kids I don’t recognize (at the mall for instance) call me ‘Diaper-Boy’ or ‘Baby Pants’ or otherwise laugh or make other derisive comments. Even young kids.
My fear about being in day diapers came true. It was in the morning, on Saturday. I knew something was up.
“Go upstairs to your change table, Wayne. Nathan will be up to diaper you,” my Mom said.
“What? It’s like ten o’clock in the morning,” I protested. I had slept in and only been out of my wet diapers for half an hour.
“We’re all going to Aunt Grace’s for the day. It’s her birthday. It’s about a 2 hour drive, there’s nowhere to stop, so as a precaution you’re going in diapers.”
Oh, man, this was the worst. Wearing diapers to bed was bad enough, but to be diapered during the day—would everyone know? Aunt Grace had twin boys, Carl and Jasper, who I didn’t know very well. They were approximately my age. I figured they probably knew I was a bedwetter (who didn’t?), but having to visit their house wearing diapers—it was too much.
I reluctantly went upstairs. Lost in self-pity, my diapers weren’t ready when Nathan showed up, and I was still dressed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Why don’t you drop dead?”
“You have one minute to get ready, but don’t bother getting on the change table. I’ll be right back.” Of course I knew he was going for the strap. He gave me the maximum thirty, and hard. Then I was dressed in diapers, snap-on plastic pants, and a onesie.
“Now you can put on your big baby bib overalls.” I had no choice but to wear them. After Nathan left I carefully examined myself in the mirror. Any discerning eye would see the bulk of my diapers under my overalls. I looked like a toddler. And my plastic pants made noise when I moved. Not loud, but still audible. And I seemed to have a constant smell of baby powder and urine.
One more humiliation greeted me as we left the house. My Mom handed me my diaper bag, which she had packed with who knows what horrors. My father looked at me sarcastically. “So all spanked and diapered and ready to go?”
The trip was uneventful except that I was horribly self-conscious about being in diapers, and shamed about my spanking. My dread about arriving increased the closer we got to my Aunt’s. Finally we were there, and I had to walk into the house carrying my diaper bag. With its baby animals it was very obvious what it was, and it would surely invite a closer look at what I was wearing, in case anyone didn’t already know. My Aunt greeted us, and my cousins lost no time in zeroing in.
“So you still wear diapers, right?” Jasper said.
“Yes, Jasper, he does,” my Mom said.
“He looks like he’s wearing diapers right now,” Carl said.
“Yes he is. Mostly he needs them at night, but sometimes in the day as a precaution. Are you dry, Wayne?” This made the boys laugh and laugh.
“Are you dry, Wayne?” It became their slogan from hell.
My parents celebrated with Aunt Grace, but for me it was a hard day. The twins were really hard on me, and it only got worse when a couple of their friends dropped in. Sean and William.
“This is our cousin, pee-pants Wayne,” Jasper said.
“He’s in diapers. Can’t you tell?” Carl said.
“Yeah I can,” Sean said. He seemed shocked. “How come?”
“Cause he pees his pants and pees the bed,” Nathan said. “So he wears cloth diapers and big-baby pants.”
“Man oh man!” William said.
Aunt Grace invited us to stay over and continue the celebrations on Sunday. My parents enthusiastically agreed, but then my Mom brought up a concern.
“What about sleeping arrangements? I brought extra diapers for Wayne, but never thought to bring a plastic sheet for the bed, although he does have his change pad. Once in awhile his diapers leak in bed.”
”Well we only have the one spare bed in the boys’ room, and I thought Nathan could have that. But tell you what, we still have the twins’ old crib mattresses in the basement. We can bring those up and lay them end to end on the floor. And I have some old sheets and blankets that he can use.”
So that’s what happened. Much to the boys’ amusement I got to sleep on their old waterproof crib mattresses wearing only my diapers, snap-on plastic pants, and blue onesie. When the twins saw me after I finally had to get out of my bib overalls, I thought (wished) they’d die laughing. Later, when we were all in bed, they still couldn’t stop, especially if I moved and my plastic pants or the crib mattress made noise.
“Hey Wayne—are you still dry?”
The next morning I was wet. I tried to stay in bed as long as possible, but Carl finally ripped my blanket away and Nathan unsnapped the crotch of my onesie. All three could see through my plastic pants that I was wet. I was smelly too..
“Hey Wayne—I guess you’re not still dry!” Laughter.
“He went pee-pee in his diapers!” More laughter.
“Carl, go get me his diaper bag,” Nathan said. “I’ll change him and then we can have breakfast.” Carl handed him the bag. He took out my rubber sheet change pad, a garbage bag, an already made-up diaper, baby powder, baby wipes, and medical gloves. He put the gloves on. He told me to move to the closest bed, which was Carl’s. He placed the rubber sheet on the blanket. He told me to lie down. The twins watched in fascination as he moved the lower part of my onesie out of the way of my plastic pants. Then he unsnapped my pants, and moved the front part between my legs and left me lying on the back part. He unpinned my diapers and drew them up from under me. He dropped them in the garbage bag. Now I was lying there practically naked, and totally humiliated, in the middle of a diaper change in front of my merciless cousins. He handed me a wipe. “Clean yourself off.” I did the best I could, but I was almost paralyzed with embarrassment. I dabbed at my butt.
”How come his butt is all red?” Jasper asked. “Is that diaper rash?” He laughed.
“You laugh, but Wayne does get diaper rash,” Nathan said, “but no—that is the result of the spanking he got yesterday.”
“Bedwetting, diapers, spankings, man oh man, what a wuss!” Carl said. ”What a loser!”
The boys watched as Nathan diapered me, snapped my plastic pants back on me, snapped up my onesie and then told me to get back in my bib overalls. The boys broke out into spontaneous laughter until it was time to go home. And sometimes they held their noses.
“Hey Wayne—are you still dry?”
That’s it—that’s pretty much my life.