Trading Post

Part 34: Reparenting A psychologist once recommended to my mother, right in front of me, that she put me back in diapers. This is described in detail in Part 2 of the story. Back then, I interpreted it as a necessary relief for my mother, a way to defuse the crises triggered by my bedwetting. And, of course, I felt it was a punishment. Much later, as an adult, the suspicion arose in me that the psychologist wanted to connect this to my early baby games with hidden old diaper covers, which were eventually taken away from me. I was supposed to be able to openly play baby or toddler to retroactively fill the gap left by a toddlerhood that had been cut too short. That would be one possible explanation for the memories I have of my parents' subsequent behavior. And indeed, this scientific movement of "reparenting" or regressive approaches did, in fact, exist. Back then, in the 1970s, people believed that traumas or developmental disorders could be healed by psychologically reverting the patient back to the age where the psychological damage or trauma first occurred ("regression"). There was a trend in science back then and in pseudoscience (Regressive Parenting) that advocated this approach, even extending to diapers in cases like Tom's. Whether this was actually and deliberately recommended in my case based on those exact considerations is something I will never know. I refused it myself. But how would my life have turned out if I had just let myself go in a safe space between only my mother and me? Shamelessly and unconditionally… I couldn't do it. How would I have looked in front of my younger brother, my father? What if word got out because my brother talked or dropped hints… to my grandparents, or worse, at school? Diapers for the night as a reaction to increased bedwetting were enough. But somehow, during my childhood, I still always wondered what it would be like if I could live through such toddler days under the pretext of 'hygiene.' Well, for Tom, I am resurrecting this piece of my life.   "So Mrs. Lofler, the psychologist, actually pulled it off. For today, she’s turning me into a real diaper baby," I thought as my mother led me by the hand into the living room. With every step, I felt the thick, awkward bulk between my legs. Yet, both the feeling and the crinkling sound of the yellow plastic pants felt familiar too. My mother acted as if all of this were the most normal thing in the world. But inside me, a rollercoaster of emotions raged; one moment everything tightened up anxiously, and the next, the liberation and relief of those first few minutes on the bed returned, only to make way for a dull, creeping helplessness. "Alright, young man, let’s get comfortable first," she said, her voice taking on that soft, singsong cadence usually reserved for toddlers. She patted the sofa. I sat down, and once again, a long, betraying pshhhhhh escaped the plastic pants. I turned beet red and stared down at my knees. Sitting on the sofa at 13 years old and being spoken to like a three-year-old was a humiliation I could hardly put into words. She turned on the TV. A black-and-white cartoon was playing. "Look, I’m sure you’ll like this," she whispered, gently stroking my hair. Strangely, there was no trace of reproach or resentment left in her eyes. She was intentionally trying to appeal to a layer inside me that I thought had been buried long ago. She was trying to uncover my inner child, to give him exactly the space that had been so abruptly stripped away from me as a five-year-old. And as incredibly embarrassing as the situation was for me as a 13-year-old high school student—deep down, this gesture triggered something surprising. Despite all the shame, I suddenly felt deeply accepted and cared for. It was a warmth I hadn't felt in years. Someone was simply there, just for me, without expectations, without any pressure to perform. For the duration of the movie, I surrendered to this feeling. I was wrapped up, softly padded, completely shielded and held secure from the world outside. After the movie, my mother sent me to my room to play. "Run along to your room, Tommy, Mommy will make lunch in the meantime." She poured out a box of building blocks on the floor that I had completely forgotten about, which had been stored in the attic. Everything seemed perfectly coordinated with "my psychologist," Dr. Lofler. I sat on my rug, surrounded by my old toys. I was amazed that my mother had kept them. Overjoyed, I greeted them all like old friends. The comfortably snug pressure of the daytime diaper, the thick crotch, reminded me with every movement of my status, my dependency, but also of the security of the past. This feeling was suddenly more present than ever before. Sounds, smells… the voices of my parents….. Right at that moment, the phone in the hallway rang loud and clear. It snapped me out of my daydreams. I held my breath, listening, frozen and terrified. What if visitors were coming over? What if it was one of my friends from school? What if Chris or Mike were calling to ask if we wanted to go play soccer today? Or even worse, what if Marie wanted to drop something off for school? There it was again, the terror that other kids might ever find out. That they might find out 'Tom still wets the bed.' The fear and shame that other kids might remember those 'mother-child' games in my bedroom, where I naively but proudly dug out my old diaper covers. The diaper covers that my babysitter had put back on me even then because of the bedwetting. The ones I had rescued from the trash at some point and then hidden. Those games that my mother, as I now knew, had not forgotten and had obviously told Dr. Lofler about. But which I had kept remembering myself, and which I somehow yearned for now. If Marie and the others had even a clue, if they had the slightest chance of knowing what was happening to me right now, my life would be over. Social ruin, the relentless mockery—I would be branded forever as the 13-year-old diaper boy. I heard my mother speaking outside in a hushed but protective tone, and I walked out. As I did, my bottom waddled just like a toddler's. "No, Tom can’t come out to play today, unfortunately, he has some practicing to do today." I was standing next to her by then, and she used the opportunity to affectionately pat my thick diapered bottom a few times to encourage me. She smiled as she did it. "No, not for school," she added casually, slipping her hand under my cloth pants and gripping the front of the diaper firmly to check if it was already wet. "He has a doctor's appointment tomorrow." She pulled her hand back out, gave a thumbs-up—likely meaning what a 'good child' I was because my diaper was still dry—and smiled encouragingly at me. After smoothing out my cloth pants, I got two more little pats on the butt. Through the diaper, they sounded dull and muffled. It was clearly a sign for me to go back to my room. "Yes, the doctor gave him something like 'homework,' I’m sure she’ll want to talk about it tomorrow… yes, thanks, see you Tuesday." When she hung up, I let out a trembling sigh of relief. "Who was it?" "Oh, Mike’s mom wanted to know if you could come over to play, but you’ll see each other on Tuesday at their birthday party anyway." How far away that outside world felt, with puberty-stricken friends and girls and 'parties,' when you still wet the bed or when you have your diapers put on in the evening… But I was saved. My mother kept the outside world away from us to preserve this space for today. She followed me into my room. "Tommy, you can go ahead and wet your diaper today, that's what it's there for. Mrs. Lofler will surely ask tomorrow how you felt about it. She believes this will help you," she encouraged me. I really had to go badly… "I can tell, Mr. Tinkle is at the door to visit." With that, she lifted my shirt and tickled my belly. And just like that, I couldn't hold it anymore, looking down bashfully in the middle of laughing. But the feeling was so liberating. Just being allowed to be a little boy again, with my mother’s approval… I played along with the game. It reminded me of the mother-child games I used to play with my cousin. It reminded me of my very first days of kindergarten. She laughed: "There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, my little diaper prince, and you definitely don’t need to be ashamed. These things just happen; it’s completely normal. I know you’ve been so proud so many times because you made it to the bathroom all by yourself. But right now, you just need a little help and your diaper again, and that is completely fine. Do you remember when you were even smaller? Mommy used to change you and clean you up all the time back then, too. And that’s exactly how Mommy is here for you now. You don’t have to worry at all. I’ll take care of everything and get you all cleaned up—just like the old days. But I can see that right now, you’d rather not get up at all and just keep playing in your thick diaper pants. Is it that nice when it’s all warm around your bottom? I totally get that. Look at what a sweet smile you have." In fact, I could feel the sensation spreading all around me. My bladder was relaxed; I was relaxed. A comfortable satisfaction and tiredness washed over me. "Dr. Loffler is going to be so happy when Tommy is this joyful," my mother continued. "But the skin on your bottom really doesn’t like a wet diaper. If we leave it like this, it’ll start to sting soon and get all red. And I want your bottom to feel good. Let’s get you cleaned up real quick so you can go back to playing all cozy and dry. Come on, my little prince, you can help me and decide for yourself: Do you want to be changed standing up in the bathroom, like the big boys at the playground who are in such a rush, or should we lay a blanket down here on the bed, just like at bedtime? Nice and cozy! And would you like to bring me the yellow fresh diaper or the white one? You get to choose. Come on, let’s do this real quick together, and then we’ll go eat." Bashfully, I said, "On the bed." "Alright then, I’ll get everything ready for the little man, and you run along quickly and fetch the diaper pants you’d like to wear…." She was so sweet and loving to me. And suddenly, it felt completely natural that I was wearing diaper pants. I quickly ran to the closet, standing on my tiptoes to reach the white plastic pants. My eyes could barely see over the edge of the shelf. Strange, they were lying right where my underwear used to be. I always used to reach those without any trouble. Happily waving the white plastic pants, I ran back to my mother. "Well, look at someone being so happy about getting dry pants," she laughed. Yes, the wet diapers were a bit uncomfortable and were already hanging low between my legs inside the baggy pants. But in reality, I was looking forward to the feeling of having to surrender myself a little, of letting 'Mommy' handle it… Just the thought of it suddenly made me happy….. When I finally had the thick diaper bundle between my legs and the smell of the new plastic pants surrounded me, I was allowed to stand up. "Look there, my sweetie, your pants got a little wet. We won't put those back on. Look here, we’re going to put these tights on you. They'll keep your diapers in place much better, too." She held the tights out in front of her and I had to step into them, then my mother pulled them tight up over my hips. With that, she pressed the diaper so comfortably against my body in the crotch area. Ahhh, what a blissful feeling. She pressed another kiss onto my belly and gently led me by the arm over into the kitchen. There, she sat me down on the floor and handed me a picture book. She wanted to get lunch ready. Once again, I wondered. Where did she suddenly get my old picture books from? But they were the books from my very early childhood. I recognized every single picture. For lunch, she sat me on two pillows so I would sit higher. And truly, without them, I would have struggled to reach the table. And when I tried to cut my meat, she gently held my arm back. "No, no, my hero. Let Mommy do that. You don’t have to worry about a single thing today. Just sit right back down." As I sat there watching her wait on me, the bitterness faded. It felt like a forbidden luxury. I didn't have to carry any responsibility. Before I could even protest, she was already standing behind me. "Alright, the two hours are up. Let’s check and see if my fine boy is still dry." Her hand grabbed the waistband of my tights and pulled them down a bit along with the plastic pants to check the fabric. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. I was wet. I hadn't even really noticed it while reading the picture books; I had just let it go because this thick packaging suggested to me that it didn't matter. "Well, look at that, completely wet," she said with a look so full of compassion and maternal care that it disarmed me. "Come on, let’s go right over to the bed to do fresh diapers. And after that, it’s night-night time. A nice afternoon nap for my little groundhog with the thick bottom." Once again, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling while the procedure started all over. The metallic click, click, click of the snaps. The opening of the yellow plastic pants. (Hadn't I just brought her the white ones? I was a bit confused). The cleaning up. I didn't fight it anymore; I had accepted it long ago, and amidst the shame, I felt this overwhelming certainty: I am absolutely safe. My mother lifted me out of my role as a 13-year-old and tended to my wounded, little self with a patience that touched me deeply. In the background hovered the face of the psychologist with her "back to the roots" advice. She had been right. She had seen right through this buried longing. When the plastic pants were sitting tight and secure again, my mother popped the blue pacifier into my mouth. The familiar taste of rubber spread out. "There you go, and now be a good boy and go to sleep." She darkened the room and tenderly tucked me in up to my shoulders. I lay there, 13 years old, legs spread wide in the thick, fresh diaper bundle, the pacifier in my mouth—torn apart by the shame I felt toward myself and at the same time deeply comforted by the feeling of finally being unconditionally cared for again.   But before this feeling could fully spread inside me, I felt a familiar warmth unfolding around me, and then, out of a fog, I heard my mother’s voice becoming clearer and clearer… "…..how many times have I said this… Thomas! Get up already… Thomas! Wake up! Everything is soaked… You can’t just go to sleep without diaper pants. ….. Thomas, how many times have I told you to let me know when you’re tired? From now on, we’re putting the diaper pants on an hour earlier. ……now get up. Everything is swimming, the mattress is dry thanks to the bedwetting mat ….but we have to wash everything else. Now get up, strip your bed, and then into your diaper pants for the night…." Just a moment ago, I had fallen for the dream of how healing it would be if I could let myself be treated like a baby. Exactly as the psychologist had secretly suggested. The next moment, I was the failure again. The failure in a wet bed. A miserable heap of sorrow standing before an angry and increasingly worried mother.     "Well, you’ll have plenty to talk about with Dr. Loffler tomorrow….."     I simply couldn’t trust my dreams!

Thank you to the editors for reviewing my first draft. This time, @DprBoySissyWI offered some great suggestions for improvements, which I've followed. Chapter 22: A Busy Day Clara woke Lucas up at 6:30 on Tuesday morning, 15 minutes earlier than on Monday morning, as she had suggested the night before. This made for a less stressful morning before he had to leave the house at 7:20. Lucas and Clara prepared breakfast together and could then enjoy it with Daniel without rushing. While they were eating, Lucas said, “Clara, it’s much better not to be in such a rush in the morning. Could you keep waking me up at half past six on weekdays?” “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. It was too rushed yesterday morning. What about the weekends?” “I don’t need to be up that early then. Can we stick with a quarter to seven? No, why not make it seven? That way I’ll still be able to study in my room in the morning.” “That sounds like a great idea, so let’s do that.” Lucas continued, “By the way, I’ve invited Stef and Saskia—you know, the two I worked with on the field trip—to come over tomorrow afternoon to work on our reports about the measurements we took at the quarry. We only have classes until noon on Wednesdays, so we can work the whole afternoon.” Daniel replied, “They’re more than welcome. You can all have lunch here before you get started.” “Thanks, I’ll let them know when I see them today.” "Have you discussed how you’ll write your reports?" Daniel asked. "Yes. Don Kingston recommended yesterday that we use Overleaf, which is an online editor for the LaTeX markup language. He said it would make the process easier once we’ve learned how to use it. We’ll do as he recommends, but since it’s new to all three of us, we’ll probably run into some trouble getting started.” “I agree with Don Kingston that it’s a good choice. We also use Overleaf at the engineering firm where I work, so I’m sure I can help you out if you get stuck.” “Really? That will be a huge help! Thank you so much—now I feel a lot better about it!” The bike ride that morning went smoothly. Lucas took a slightly different route than before. It was a bit longer, but on roads with less car traffic. The 8:00 lecture was Mathematics and Statistics for the Natural Sciences. It was with geography and biology students, just like the Academic Writing class the day before. The lecture hall was also the same. More than one hundred students sat in tiered rows. There was a small tabletop mounted on the back of each chair for the person sitting behind it. Lucas had taken intermediate-level math in high school. He’d done okay, but he’d worked hard for it, and he hadn’t given math a second thought over the past year. The lecturer started with basic statistics, and it wasn’t easy for Lucas to keep up. After the break, the lecture switched tracks. They were going to learn Python, a general-purpose programming language, and use it to analyze measurement results and other empirical data, including identifying statistical correlations and generating plots and graphs. The instructor showed examples of simple programs and explained some of the principles behind the programming language. Lucas found this easier to understand, even though he had only very limited experience with programming. He hoped to find someone to work with, since math was difficult for him, but he didn’t have time to talk to anyone about it after class because he’d been invited to lunch with Saskia and Paul. Paul was waiting for them outside the biology building when Lucas and Saskia came out. He greeted Lucas warmly. When Lucas opened one of the back doors, Paul asked if he’d rather sit in the front seat. “Don’t you want to sit next to Saskia?” Lucas asked. “I’d like to get to know you,” Paul replied, encouraging him to take the front seat. Saskia nodded, and Lucas then sat down in the front seat. They didn’t have much time to talk before they arrived at an Italian restaurant near campus where Paul had made a reservation. They were seated at a somewhat secluded table in a corner where they could talk undisturbed. After ordering fresh pasta dishes, Paul started the conversation. “Saskia and I are going out on Friday, and I understand you’ve offered to babysit our nine-year-old son, Kim.” “Yes. Saskia said he still wets the bed and hates it when his babysitters have to put a diaper on him. I also wet the bed when I was his age—and still do—so I understand. Babysitters, like most people, often associate diapers with babies and toddlers, and will therefore treat him like a much younger child than he is. There isn’t necessarily any ill will—it just happens unconsciously—but I suppose Kim feels like he’s being talked down to.” “That’s probably true, but what are you going to do about it?” "I think I can give him a better experience. I’m good with kids. I worked for a year at a daycare before I started university. Those kids were a little younger, but I can also relate to nine-year-olds. First of all, Kim’s diaper won’t affect how I see him. I still wear diapers myself, so it’s normal for me. Second, from what Saskia told me, I understand that he doesn’t have many friends because he’s afraid of being found out and teased. I know exactly how that feels, because I’m the same way. I think I can give Kim a good experience by treating it like a sleepover. If he sees me as a friend with whom he has something in common—and not just as an authority figure—it’ll be a whole different experience for him. I imagine that Saskia or you will introduce us to each other, and that you’ll tell him right from the start that I’ll be staying the night, going to bed at the same time as him, and wearing a diaper just like him, because I also wet the bed. He’ll probably have a lot of questions for me, and hopefully realize that he’s not alone with his problem.” “But what will it be like for you? Saskia said you broke down when she guessed you were a bedwetter on the bus on the way to Lyle.” "Back then, I was on edge after being nervous about the field trip for many days, and it completely caught me off guard when it happened. I can handle it and talk about it when I’m prepared and know what’s going to happen, like right now, for example. Besides, you or Saskia will be there when you tell Kim about me, and you’ll be able to see how things go before you leave.” Their food arrived, and they paused the conversation while it was being served. Afterward, Lucas continued. “Yeah, it’ll be embarrassing for me, but I’ll also see it as a victory if I can make sure another bed-wetter has a good experience—the kind I would have wanted for myself when I was a kid.” “Will he see your diaper?” Paul asked. “No, not exactly. I’ll change into my pajamas behind closed doors, maybe in the bathroom. But I don’t think I’ll hide my diaper-clad bottom—the outline of the diaper will be visible under my pajamas. So he’ll know for sure that I’m wearing a diaper—if you don’t mind him seeing it. “We’ll have to talk about it,” Paul said to Saskia. “I’ll go to the bathroom,” Lucas said, getting up. When he came back ten minutes later, Paul spoke up. “Let’s try it on Friday. Kim isn’t doing well, and we’d like to do this if it can help him.” “May I suggest something else, too?” Lucas asked. “What?” Saskia replied. “He should learn to put on his own diaper. It’ll mean a lot to his self-esteem. If it hasn’t happened already, he’ll soon reach an age where it’s embarrassing to be naked, even in front of his parents.” "He's tried a few times, but the diaper ended up crooked and too loose, so I had to redo it. He hasn't shown any interest since then." “Yes, it takes some fine motor skills to hold the diaper in place with one hand while securing the tape with the other, but it can be practiced. May I suggest a three-step program that’s practically foolproof?” "Let’s hear it," Paul replied. "Start by explaining to him how and why to fluff the diaper. Once it’s in place, explain how he can lie on the back of the diaper and pull the front up between his legs. He should then adjust the position so that the top of the waistband on the back and front align on both his right and left sides. This may require many small adjustments to the diaper’s position, but it will be possible for him. He’ll already have his crotch covered by now, which will be his first victory. You can then secure the tapes while he continues to hold the diaper in place. The final step will be to explain how he can fasten the tapes himself with one hand while holding the diaper with the other. That’s probably the hardest part, but with practice, I think he’ll get the hang of it quickly. “That sounds like a good plan,” Saskia replied. After that, they finished their meal while talking about other topics. They finished with coffee and tea and dessert before Paul drove Lucas and Saskia back to the university. The next class was Geological Laboratory, where they began preparing the samples the groups had collected at Lyle Limestone Quarry. When Lucas got home after three o’clock, the house was empty. He put a load of laundry in the washer and started on his homework. Daniel came back a little before four. He had a cardboard box that he asked Lucas to help carry inside. It was a drawer that could fit at the bottom of Lucas’s closet. They helped each other screw it together and put it in the closet. Daniel handed Lucas the bag containing the two keys to the drawer. “Now you can have your own secret stash for personal papers, diapers, porn, or whatever else you’ve got.” Lucas was a little taken aback that Daniel mentioned porn, but realized he was just teasing and decided to fire back. “It was your generation that kept porn in the closet. Now we use the internet when we want to watch porn—not that I do it much.” “You’re right, but I’m not that old either. The internet had already been invented when I was your age.” Lucas thanked Daniel for the locked drawer. It was something he’d talked to Clara about on Friday morning before the field trip started. She’d insisted that he needed to have some privacy, even though she opened his closet to pick out clothes for him. Lucas spent the rest of the day studying, interrupted only by dinner—a vegetarian meal with rice and vegetables—doing the dishes, and hanging his laundry out to dry. He installed Python on his computer, ran some programs from the beginner’s guide he was using, and also studied geology and math along with the accompanying exercises. He couldn’t solve all the math problems and needed more help with them. He was starting to get frustrated about it when Clara interrupted him at half past ten and told him he had to go to bed now. He put his things away and got ready for bed. After Clara had zipped up his onesie and tucked him in, they chatted as usual. There were several new items to add to Clara’s notebook regarding his homework assignments. When they had nothing more to say, she helped him relax, kissed him on the forehead, and left. Lucas was tired, but he didn’t fall asleep right away. So much had happened that day. He thought about what it would be like to have his diapers revealed to Saskia’s son Kim before he fell asleep.

Ok now let's play nice kiddies.   I agree its Frostybabies story and he probably should ask if it was ok to do that.  But let's not kill the nice thing we have going here.  I have corners for naughty kiddies to stand with their wittle noses in hehe. 

Yes but it's @frosty story and he spent time choosing the soundtracks finding the videos and embedding them into the text as well as creating the digital art to go alongside with his written story so you're taking part of his creative work apart to reassemble it and offer it back up in the same thread people without part of his creative work attached. It seems as though you're doing a disservice to the original offer then since he chose to spend his time writing a story, sourcing music to go with it, creating art for it and then publishing it for people to enjoy only for you to come alongside and say his creative time and talents don't matter which kind of seems dismissive.    I guess there's a Marcus in every story lol. 

Every morning i wake in my soaked diaper / bed my mattress is covered sealed in a zipper vinly fully encased mattress so dont care when i leak i usally wake up have coffee then walk dog and then get back in my piss soaked bed and then hump until i have orgams my pissy bed / diapers are my way and how i cum daily my pissy diapers and bed feel way better then pussy