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- Pansy
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Today I often remember how, during my childhood, periods of regular bedwetting alternated with periods when my bed stayed dry for a long time. After a few nights of bedwetting, the plastic diaper pants were brought out again. At around age 8, though I hadn’t worn them in a long time, I suddenly missed the “baby panties.” At the same time, I felt embarrassed by the memories of the time when I had to wear them. Still, I secretly put a pair on…. Did this for weeks, many months. When, years later, the bedwetting started again and a psychologist suggested I should wear diapers again for a while, the feelings were doubly shameful. PART 25: SHAME AND LONGING It’s Saturday. Today’s schedule included a visit to Dr. Fink. She is the “specialist” in bedwetting to whom the pediatrician referred us. With these thoughts, I slowly woke up. It must be quite late already. The room was brightly lit. Suddenly, the dream came flooding back. No, not again! I reached for my mattress pad. But luckily, everything was dry. My pajama pants felt dry, too. I reached inside, felt the plastic of my plastic diaper pants, pressed against the diapers. It really seemed to have stayed dry. I could hardly believe it. Then one last test. I rolled onto my back, lifted my legs a little, spread them, and carefully slid my fingers under my diaper pants. Everything was dry! I was incredibly proud. I’d finally got those stupid dreams under control. If only it weren’t for that stupid appointment today. “Maybe I can convince my mom that we don’t need the appointment after all.” With that plan in mind, I jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen. The thick package wobbled back and forth, and between my legs, the plastic pants made their typical sounds—the kind toddlers make when running through the house: sahhp, sahhhp, sahppp. “Mom! My pants are dry! I had another one of those dreams, but nothing happened. I don’t think we need to go see Dr. Fink at all.” With these excited words, I had reached my mother. What I had forgotten: My aunt and Laura had spent the night in the guest room, “because it got really late yesterday,” as my aunt later explained. That happened often, and my mother had mentioned it, too. Despite that, I was surprised when Aunt Lisa appeared in the kitchen shortly after me. Both of them were now looking at me with a motherly grin. Which immediately made me realize how childish I must have looked right then with my chubby bottom, my excited words, and the diaper between my legs. Then things happened in quick succession. My mother came over to me, pulled my pajama bottoms slightly to the side at the back, and reached for the plastic pants to check. I turned pale. Only now did I notice that my pajama bottoms had slipped down a little. But at the waistband, instead of the yellow plastic pants from last night, I could now see the white plastic peeking out. At the same time, I spotted Laura outside, hanging up freshly washed diapers. “My diapers,” the thought flashed through my mind. She bent down one last time toward the laundry basket to retrieve my yellow plastic diaper pants from last night. As she did, she noticed me standing in the kitchen, staring at her—or rather, at my diaper pants—with my mouth agape, while my mother was checking the diaper pants I was wearing. Laura waved at me with a friendly smile, neatly folded the diaper, and hung it on an empty spot on the clothesline. As she did so, she looked up again and smiled at me kindly as she hung it up. The shame that welled up inside me was overwhelming. “Laura is hanging up my diaper pants to dry. You know, those yellow pants I was sent to bed in yesterday. I wet the bed again! Or more accurately, I peed in my diapers, just like a toddler.” “Great, Tomy! Your diaper pants are really dry now—you did a great job,” my mother said, letting go of my pajama pants. “Good morning, Tomy. Finally awake? Great that you were able to keep your underwear dry—very good boy,” added my aunt, who was standing behind me, running her hand through my hair in a friendly way. I was still standing there, frozen in place. Laura tucked the laundry basket under her arm and came into our room. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she laughed when she saw me still standing there with my legs spread wide and my mouth hanging open. “You were impossible to wake up last night. You kept trying to tell me something about a chair and your potty,” she added with a laugh. All of a sudden, I felt a rush of embarrassment at the thought of how my mom must have changed my diaper during the night with the help of my aunt and maybe even Laura. At least Laura was there. I felt hot—my face must have been bright red. “But sweetie, you don’t have to be embarrassed about that. That’s why you’re wearing a diaper. So your bed stays dry and you sleep well,” my mother explained the situation to me and everyone else. “Both worked out. And thanks to the potty, I can tell when I need to change you again during the night.” My aunt and Laura exchanged understanding glances and nods. Followed by a caring, forgiving smile. “Shall we go over to your room quickly and get you changed?” I nodded shyly and ran ahead of her. “It smells pretty strong in here. Are you sure your bed is dry?” She ran her hand over the sheet to check, then opened the window. “Okay, come here—are you really dry?” She knelt down in front of me, grabbed my pajama bottoms, and pulled them down. “Let’s take your your diapers off, and then we’ll give you a quick bath, Tom.” But she stopped in her tracks because she’d spotted something under my bed that now demanded her full attention. My mother stood up again, walked over, and pulled out my wet pants and underwear from yesterday. I had completely forgotten about them. Immediately, the smell of the damp, pee-stained clothes filled the room. My mother was stunned. “Tom! What is this?” She held the clothes up. “This can’t be true!” Because of the commotion, Laura and my aunt came over too. “Tom, the whole room stinks. You wet your pants and then just hide your wet clothes like a baby. This can’t be true.” Laura and my aunt’s eyes widened as they understood the situation and saw the wet, strongly smelling pants in my mother’s hand. “And it’s not the first time you’ve hidden your wet laundry,” she accused me. She was referring to my first bedwetting “accidents” at my grandma’s house a few weeks ago. Where I had later hidden the bedding at home. My mom had discovered those just the day before yesterday, too. Again, Laura and my aunt just listened in disbelief. “Do we have to expect now that you’ll just wet your pants during the day, just like when you were a baby?” I had no answer. “I’d love to just leave you in your diaper. Just the way you are.” It was bad enough that I now had to try to explain to my mother that I’d fallen asleep at my desk and “had another dream,” and that I’d wet myself in the process, but the fact that Laura and my aunt were standing right there, listening to my pathetic excuses, was the height of embarrassment. Why I was hiding my wet clothes remained a mystery anyway. By the end of my story, my mom believed me, mostly because the wet spot was also visible on my chair at the desk. She was still upset, but she also recognized my helplessness. “Tom, what I don’t understand is why you don’t tell me when you wet your pants.” I looked guiltily at the floor. “Just like with going to the bathroom before we put you to bed. You tell me you really did pee properly, and then that’s not true. Now we need a potty because of that.” She paused. “Do we need to put diapers on you during the day now, too, so your pants don’t get wet?” I felt caught out and looked up again, feeling guilty. I could understand that my mother was considering it, but I hoped it was just an empty threat. I was, however, unable to give an answer. Still annoyed, she urged me, “Come on, it’s not just your room that smells—you smell like your wet diapers from last night, too. We’re going to clean you up. So off to the bathroom.” And just as she must have done back when I was two, just as she would do with a toddler, she began to unbutton my diaper pants. Click, click, click. Right in front of my aunt and Laura. In their eyes, I was probably really a baby again. My diaper pants opened on one side. I grabbed my mother’s hand as she was about to unbutton the other side. “Mom! Please don’t! I’m not…” But the diaper was already open. My mother cut short my resistance with a slap on my bottom. “Is it? Do you think you’re too grown-up for me to take off your diapers? But I have to change you at night so your bed doesn’t get wet, because you won’t go to the bathroom and you won’t even try to use the potty. And your peed-on pants are lying under the bed. “So hands off!” she ordered. “Come on, Laura, let’s get breakfast ready. Tom and Lara still need a little something,” my aunt said and left with Laura. I looked down at the floor in shame again, and when the two of them were finally out of the room, my now-open diaper pants came loose. They fell to the floor along with all the diapers, and I stood there in just my short pajama top. “And you don’t need to be ashamed in front of Laura either. She just washed all your diapers from last night and hung them up to dry,” my mother continued. As she spoke, she picked up the plastic pants and the cloth diapers and pressed them into my hand. „You can put the diaper pants on your bed. Please just put the diapers in the laundry basket. They’re really dry. You were a good boy the rest of the night. But you’ll get fresh ones anyway. Last night we just took off your wet diapers and changed you. But we couldn’t clean you up any more than that and had to put you back in right away.” Slowly, memories of last night, filled with shame, came flooding back to me. She now took off my shirt as well. “Okay, now into the bathtub. It smells a little like bed-wetter in here,” she said, sounding a bit friendlier now and smiling as she spoke. Naked, I ran ahead of her into the bathroom and was glad she was in a better mood than she had been just a few minutes ago. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. But she followed me in with my blue potty. “Okay, I’ll run the water, and you sit on your potty and try to empty your bladder completely. We’re going to be out and about for a long time today.” “Mom! Can’t I use the toilet?” “No! Not the toilet! The potty. Young man. After all, I want to know if we have to worry about wet pants.” My hopes of still being able to calm my mother faded, and I sat down as she had ordered me to. After a few minutes, the bathwater was running and I was allowed to get up. “Very good, Tom. You really tried your best,” I was praised. Like a toddler, I sat in the tub while someone watched over me as I washed off the remnants of my nighttime accident. In the meantime, my mother cleaned the potty. “Hop! Out of the tub and over to your room!” She led me to my bed. I knew what she was up to. “Mom, please, it was an accident.” “Sweetie, today and tomorrow you’re going to wear diapers again.” “But Mom…” “No ‘buts.’ Not only was your bed wet the night before and your diapers last night, but now your pants are wet too. Wearing diapers for a few days is the least we can do; I already told you yesterday. Let’s see if you can really stay dry.” I tried again to talk my way out of it and explain that it wouldn’t happen again. “Tom, diapers are the reason you don’t go to the bathroom properly and don’t tell me on your own when you’ve wet yourself, like little kids do. They have to wear diapers again until they learn. I don’t want any wet pants today. And now please lie down.” She had laid the changing mat on my bed and placed tonight’s white plastic diaper pants on top of it. I saw “it was decided”; I could only make things worse now. So I resigned myself to the inevitable that awaited me and took a step forward. “Okay, hop on quickly. Lie down on the changing pad and stretch your legs way back. That’s good.” As a test, she pulled the package containing the cloth diaper and two liners up through my crotch and placed it on my stomach. “If you promise to tell me right away when you’re wet, we’ll leave it at that. Then you can even wear a pair of slightly looser pants over it.” I protested, “Mom, I don’t need diapers during the day. It only happens at night…” She cut me off. “Tom!…over there in the washing machine are a pair of wet jeans and damp underwear.” I turned bright red. “So will you promise to tell me right away if you wet yourself again, or should we just put those big baby pants on you like we do at night? But people will see them.” I agreed immediately. We stuck with the two extra inserts. My mother now pulled the ends of the diapers tight around my hips and through my crotch and secured them with safety pins. “We’re going to be out and about a lot today, so everything needs to stay in place,” she explained. “Okay, bottom up again!” She even held my legs wide back with one hand and pushed the plastic pants far under my bottom all the way to my back. She let go of my legs, and I set them down. As I did, I spread them as if it were the most natural thing in the world so my mother could now complete the final step: fastening the plastic panties. She pulled the front panel out from between my legs and a side with her other hand. The first snap at the very top of the waistband was fastened, “Click.” Then came the other side. Here, too, she fastened the top snap button to the part that now stretched from between my legs all the way up to my stomach. “Click.” Then my mother tugged briefly at the edges of the plastic pants. Several times I had to lift my bottom slightly and push myself up with the soles of my feet against the bed. The panties were stretched in every direction. Then they were completely fastened: “Click, click, click, click.” “See? It’s not so bad. It wasn’t that long ago that you actually liked wearing diapers…” She smiled. A flush of heat rushed to my face and I froze. What did she mean? Was she talking about my time as a baby? Did I enjoy being diapered back then? Or was she referring to what happened 5 or 6 years ago…? The memory came flooding back. My bedwetting had gotten better by then. It hardly ever happened anymore. I hadn’t needed diapers for over a year. Then I found my old plastic pants in my mother’s closet. I was immediately fascinated by them, secretly putting them on again and again, stuffing them with an old baby blanket, wanting to “play baby.” I didn’t know why. This went on until my mother discovered the diaper pants under my mattress. As if it were yesterday, I now remembered that embarrassing situation here in my room and the conversations that followed. Did my mother just remember that too? Was that another reference to that embarrassing time? Back then, I’d hoped she’d forget about it quickly, and I’d pushed the memories aside as best I could. The images were becoming clearer and clearer now. After she caught me, she initially thought I was afraid I’d wet the bed again. She put my old mattress protector under the sheet. Still, I didn’t want to give up the yellow diaper pants. When she once caught me secretly wearing them during the day, she knew it was a kind of game I’d come up with. She brought that up with me back then, too. “Sweetie, what’s that all about? You don’t need them anymore, thankfully. They’re from way back and already very old…” Then one day, my beloved baby pants suddenly where gone. I didn’t dare complain about it, or even ask, because I was so embarrassed. My plastic pants were gone from that moment on, gone forever. Now I was lying there, in front of her. Wearing diaper pants for the day. Something I had wanted back then, but which still made me unspeakably embarrassed. Is that what she meant just now when she said, “...it wasn’t that long ago that you liked wearing a diaper...”?” I felt my face flush bright red at the thought. „You don’t need to be embarrassed.“ Again I did not know what my mother was referring to. She still had a faint smile on her face as she ran two fingers through the leg openings of the plastic pants to check. “Isn’t it nice not to have to worry about anything today?” She went to the closet and took out the loose-fitting pants I’d gotten from Laura. They were called “training pants.” “Now just pull these pants over them, and then nobody won’t see a thing…” Laura was also allowed to wear them over her diapers back then when she had to do her bladder training during the day—on a “training days“. My mom held them out to me. I stepped into them with my legs wide apart. The pants were cut wide around the bottom and had much more room in the front than regular pants. “Maybe we should buy you a few more pairs of these pants if you want to wear diapers more often during the day again.” “No! I don’t want diapers. I definitely don’t need them. I promise it was just an accident…” “It’s okay, we will see,” she interrupted me. “Now raise your arms!” She also put a white T-shirt on me. Unfortunately, it barely fit over the waistband. ‘I’ll have to be careful when I stretch so the edge of the diaper pants doesn’t slip out and become immediately visible,’ I thought to myself. My mother pulled the waistband of the pants aside in several places and checked the fit of the diaper pants underneath, as well as whether all the diapers were well covered by the plastic pants. Then she straightened everything out, stretched the waistband of the pants one last time, and reached far down to check the cuffs of the plastic pants at the legs to make sure no diaper had slipped out. “...see, you can’t see a thing, and even if you do wet yourself, no one will notice...” She handed me a pair of socks. I sat down on the edge of my bed, lifted one leg, and slipped the first one on. As I did so, I saw in the mirror on my dresser—in that sitting position—how clearly the bulge in the crotch stood out. It looked better when I stood up. But you could make out the diaper on my bottom. At least if you “knew what was going on,” it was impossible to miss. I stood there, wearing a diaper under my pants for the first time since I was a baby. Not a thin pull-up like the other day, no—a diaper. With cloth diapers and a plastic panty, with buttons, over them. Wait! Not “for the first time.” There it was again, the memory of my “games” with the yellow plastic pants I’d discovered in my mother’s closet, over 5 years ago. Five years—almost half my life—lay between that afternoon when my mother came home early and suddenly stood before me. She just grinned and shook her head when she saw me there in those thickly padded pants. There it was again, the feeling of thick diapers between my legs. The same feeling as back then. The shame of standing there in front of my mother was similar, too. But back then, I was ashamed because my mother had caught me putting them on myself and wearing baggy pants over them like a baby. Today I felt ashamed because my mother put those diaper pants back on me—just like a baby—because my pants were wet (and I’d tried to hide it). Still, the two experiences felt almost exactly the same. “So now let’s see if this was really just another ‚accident’ or if it’s happening more often again……“ -
About an hour ago. Loved it. As always -
By pamper4014 · Posted
After putting the new diaper on you I inspect the leg elastic with my finger just to be sure it fits well. Also to feel the diaper. Then I pat the diaper in the center -
By Jimmy the Belgian · Posted
When I was younger, up until adolescence, it happened to me involuntarily. But now, I don't really feel the urge anymore. I urinate regularly, but as an adult, I've never pooped in my diaper. -
“Of course, sweetheart,” Azumi grabbed her T-shirt and pulled over Kara’s head, removed her skirt and panties and put her into the bathtub. “Let’s take a nice warm shower,” she washed Kara slowly and gently, wrapped her into a towel and asked: “do you need a diapee for the night?”
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