AB/DL Story Pages

My Early Life, or How I stopped hating and started loving Nappies (diapers)

This is a true account of my early life; all names are real, as are all events.  This work is copyrighted and may not be used without my express written permission.

I can be contacted at Kelvinclarke@zoom.co.uk

I was born on the 2^nd May 1955 to Mavis and Donald Clarke, in a city called Bradford (west Yorkshire ) in the North of England (UK).  My earliest memory is of sitting in a bed sit (very small apartment) with my mom listing to Petula Clark on the radio singing “sailor”.  My next memories are probably about 6 months later when we moved to our new house.  At that time I was still sleeping in a cot (Crib), and if I became upset I would sometimes bang my head against the side of it.  If I did this whilst my father was around, he’d take me out, spank me (on the back of the legs, with his hand), put me back in the cot and then bang my head against the bars for me.  This pretty much set the way my dad and I related to another for the rest of his life.  I don’t recall potty training at all, but by the time I started infant school (5 years old), I was neither dry nor clean during the day or night. School was equipped to deal with the normal small accidents that children have.  The teacher would take us into a corner of the classroom (behind a screen), and have our trousers and underpants removed, and be wiped and put into a clean pair of underpants.  What they weren’t equipped for was for someone who couldn’t apparently tell when he needed to go, and would wet and soil himself whenever.  After various attempts by the school to toilet train me, it was felt that the best thing to do, would be to put me back into nappies and rubber pants, and to make sure that the school had a supply, so that I could be changed as and when it was needed.  However at home, I think my mom had given up any attempt to train me, and was happy to let me remain in nappies.

            When I was 7 years old we moved and I moved into the junior school (7 to 11 yr. olds).  Mom decided that I couldn’t wear nappies any more (they were getting a bit small and the rubber pants were getting very tight and uncomfortable), so I was sent to junior school in my nice new school uniform.

Things were fine until about 930am on the first morning when I wet myself, it was assumed it was an accident caused by the excitement of a new school and my father was phoned to come and collect me (dad worked night shifts and mom worked day shifts).  Dad wasn’t too happy about having his sleep disturbed, and when we got home, I got the inevitable spanking and told it was about time I grew up and starting acting like a boy, not a baby!  The following days and weeks at school rapidly became a nightmare, as it became obvious (at least to the teachers), that I was totally incontinent.  Mom started sending me to school with a change of trousers and underpants and if I wet myself I was sent to the nurses room, where I was allowed to wash myself and get changed, however if I soiled myself, I was either taken home or my father called to pick me up.  At home things also weren’t getting any better.  I was a fairly bright child, loved reading and had a vivid imagination, but this didn’t impress dad, he wanted a son that would go out to play football and cricket, climb trees, ride a bike.  All the things I hated.  At school I was being teased and bullied more and more (everyone in my year knew I wet and soiled myself), and their favourite game seemed to be pick on Kelvin and make him wet his pants (or worse).  The name-calling was horrible and went on day in and day out.  I became more and more withdrawn both at school and home.  I hated myself for being the way I was, I hated school, and I hated my parents.  At this point I was still wearing nappies and rubbers to bed, but when I was about 8, mom decide to try and get me to be clean at night.  |Her version of toilet training was to take me to the toilet before I went to bed, (she literally sat me on it and then waited whilst I performed for her), then put me to bed, (about 8pm ).  She would then come in when she went to bed and if I was dry, would take me back to the bathroom and repeat the process), this worked, however after about 10 or 11pm , she wouldn’t come back into my bedroom until morning, by which time I was always wet and quite often soiled as well.  This would get me yelled at, bathed (sometimes in cold water), and then spanked.  When mom spanked me, I was invariable naked and put over her knee. Although apart from once, she always used her hand.  (The time she didn’t use her hand has nothing to do with this story).  At this stage If I came home from school either wet or soiled mom took to standing me on sheets of newspaper and undressing me at arm’s length, all the while telling me how bad I was, and how lazy I was and generally making me feel about 2 inches high and 2 years old.

            Over the next year nothing improved, and mom went from spanking me, to rubbing my face in wet sheets, to leaving the wet/soiled sheets on the bed and making me sleep in them the next night.  When I came in from school I was made to undress, I then had to put my Pyjama top on and just wear underpants underneath.  My dad was also getting increasingly annoyed by my marked lack of typical boy hobbies and pursuits and would start teasing me about being a girl, this unfortunately started to escalate after we had gone to some of my parent’s friends and dad caught me playing with their daughters and their dolls.  He convinced himself that I would never be the son he wanted, and that if he couldn’t have a son, then he would have a fake daughter.  During all this time if we went to friends or relatives I was still put in nappies and rubbers, although my mom had made my nappies bigger (she was a seamstress), the rubber pants were now even tighter, and used to cut right in to my waist and thighs).  This also meant that unless my nappy leaked non of the family was aware I had a problem, on the odd occasion they did leak, they were told I had a weak bladder and couldn’t help it.

About this time, dad also managed to convince mom that if I was going to act like a little girl, I should be treated as one.  Mom bought some knickers (panties) and if dad hadn’t gone to work when I got home I was forced to wear those and nothing else around the house.  Weekends were not much better, mom would either put me in nappies or dad would put me in panties and usually a vest.

            When I was about 9 and a half, I noticed that dad seemed to be spending more time with me.

Mom had by this time made a few pinafore skirts for me, and if dad was at home when I was, I was allowed to change into panties, a simple white school girls shirt and a pinafore dress.  Dad used to sit me on his knee, tell me about when he was a boy, showed me how to make plaits and things, I suppose I liked this attention, I certainly wasn’t used to it, and in some ways, I’d play up and try to be his little girl.  One day, dad told me that it was time I stopped being a little girl and grew up.  He told me what grown up girls and boys did, and said that he would show me what he meant.  He took me off his knee. Put me over the arm of a chair, lifted my skirt, took my knickers down and raped me.  Even today I can still see it as though it was still happening.  Home life after this was not good, if my mom got control of me I was her baby and if dad got me I was his big girl, of the two I much preferred being a baby, mom wasn’t great and would quite often leave me wet and or soiled for hours but at least it wasn’t sexual abuse.

This pattern went on for about 4 years until I was 13 and a half.  By this time I was at senior school and mom and dad owned a small shop (although dad still worked nights), I was allowed to baby-sit for my younger cousins once a week, and although I had to go in nappies and rubbers at least it was a change.  One Saturday evening I got a phone call from my dad’s sister (aunty Kath), asking if I could go over and baby-sit her 4 youngest as she and my Uncle Alf had been invited out and her eldest son Dennis had made plans to go out with his girlfriend.  I checked with my mom and dad, and although we had made arraignments to go see my Nanna (grand mother), they said I could go.  I got home about 1030pm that night.  My parents weren’t home, but I knew if they were playing cards that they could be late.  However by about midnight they still hadn’t arrived and I was beginning to worry a little bit, so phoned my Nanna, who said they had left, but they were going to see some other friends that lived nearby.  I stayed up to wait for them, as the shop alarm was on and they normally knocked on the door, so I could switch the alarm off before they came in.  At about 130am there was a knock on the door but instead of my parent it was a police Sergeant and a police constable there.  When I let them in, they asked me if I could recognise a driver’s licence (it was my dad’s).  They then told me that both my parents had been killed by a drunk driver whilst coming home that night.  I couldn’t believe what I was being told, but the sergeant kept talking to me, and asking me if I had any relatives I could stay with.  I eventually managed to give them the telephone number of my Aunty Kath, and they phoned her and then took me to her house.  Aunty Kath said I could stay with her until things were sorted out, and sent me off to bed.

I got undressed and without thinking about got into bed and went to sleep.  The next morning I was almost swimming in a very wet and cold bed, went to the bathroom and got washed then got dressed and went downstairs. Her entire family were down there, 3 boys and two girls, and despite being very embarrassed I manage to tell her I had wet the bed.  She wasn’t really surprised and told me not to worry, she would sort it out.  The rest of that Sunday is really a bit of a blur, mom’s family was called and told the news, and both families decided that there should be a joint family meeting to decide what should happen to me. I can remember that during the morning I wet myself and soiled myself at least once, and although Aunty Kath wasn’t happy about it. She just made sure I got cleaned up properly and had clean clothes to wear.  (Aunt Kath had a son my age who had Poliomyelitis) he could only move his head and one hand, had no bladder or bowel control at all and was still in nappies and rubbers).  Before the big meeting I was wet again and Aunty Kath suggested that it might be an idea if she made an appointment with a doctor for me, as my “weak bladder” seemed to be getting worse, and that , perhaps I should borrow some of Anthony’s things (nappies and rubbers) to protect my clothes.

At this point I wasn’t really in any fit state to object to anything and let her put them on me.  I also admitted that I usually wet the bed every night, and she told me not to worry, because I could borrow more of Anthony’s things if I needed them.  The rest of the families eventually arrived and it was decided that I would stay with Uncle Alf and Aunty Kath until at least after the funeral.  It was also decided that Aunty Kath and my mom’s sister (Aunty Ann) would take me back to our shop and house, get some clothes for me, and make sure the shop was secure.  Whilst Ann was putting up the security grilles and sorting out some of the more important documents, Aunty Kath and I packed up my clothes.  Aunty Kath noticed the nappies and rubbers and asked me about them, so I told her my mom made me wear them at night to protect the bed.  She didn’t say anything but she did pack them up to take with us.  The next week really was a blur, I can remember different relatives coming to see me, and talking to me, but I think I was in a fairly deep state of shock.  I was still wetting and soiling myself on a regular basis, but Aunty Kath seemed to take it in her stride, she decide that I should go back into nappies full time, as I would be more comfortable, and If I needed help I was to ask, as she had changed me when I was a baby, had three boys of her own and still changed one of them.  This was so different to the way I was treated at home, non-of my cousins teased me about my problem, they just assumed I was like their brother.  Usually I tried to change myself, although my nappy folding and fastening left a lot to be desired and I almost always leaked.  Aunt Kath didn’t tell me off for this, just made it obvious she was there if I needed help, after one bad day of heavy soiling, I asked her if she would change me.  She said yes, and said that she would take me into the bathroom instead of doing it in the front room (she normally changed Anthony wherever he was), the downstairs bathroom was adapted for Anthony, it had a large bath, a built in table with padding on it and several built in cupboards.  Aunty Kath said She would be back in a minute and asked me to get undressed but to leave my nappy and rubbers on until she came back.  I did as I was told and she came back in a few minutes.  Whilst I was standing there she started to run a bath, explaining that she wanted to bath me to make sure I was really clean as she didn’t want me getting nappy rash (neither did I, I had it most of the time, and I know why babies cry!).  She had me lie down on the table, and then she removed my rubber pants and then a very badly soiled nappy, whilst my bottom (bum) was off the table she used a clean part of the nappy to wipe most of my bum clean, and then used a wet soapy cloth to make sure I was properly clean.  Having done that, (she put the nappy and rubbers in with Anthony’s soiled stuff), she told me to get into the bath and wash myself and to call her when I was finished.  I must have spent a while in there because there was a discreet knock at the door and she came back in, helped me wash my hair (well, She washed and I moved my head when she told me to).  After the bath she dried my hair and back and then asked me to lie on the table again.  Whilst I did that she got out a nappy and what looked like a babies nappy, she also got a pair of Anthony’s rubbers out as they were bigger than mine, as well as pins and a tub of Vaseline. She asked me to raise my bum and slid the larger nappy underneath me, she then very gently covered my backside in Vaseline and telling me to lie still did the same for my front, especially the creases. She then folded the babies nappy and placed it over me genitals, explaining that they were old nappies that she used on the other children when they were babies, and that if I wet the same as Anthony did, it would help soak up the wee and be more comfortable for me. She then finished putting the nappy on and pinning it, she then pulled the rubber pants over my feet and up above my knees, and then asked me to stand whilst she made sure the nappy was properly tucked in.  She then left and told me to get dressed and come into the kitchen, as she wanted to talk to me in private.  When I went into the kitchen she had made a cup of milky coffee and gave it to me.  She wanted to know how I was feeling and that if I wanted to talk about my mom and dad I could.  She also wanted to know how long I had been having problems, as my mom had never mentioned it.  It was a very long and difficult conversation.  I didn’t talk about the abuse as I didn’t feel able to (and wasn’t able to until I was in my 30’s).  At the end of the conversation we decided that it would be best if I stayed dressed as I was, that I could use the downstairs bathroom, that if I felt I needed to use the toilet to go, and then tell her and she would re-pin my nappy, or of I used my nappy to tell her and she would change me.  During that week I don’t think I made it to the toilet once (I did try, if only to try to please my Aunty), but true to her word Aunty Kath changed me as soon as I said I needed it, although by the end of the week, if Anthony had his nappy checked by his mom or his Sisters then I tended to get mine checked too.

Neither of the girls was allowed to change the nappies, but they could tell their mom if one or both of us needed changing.  Also by the end of that week I was being changed whether I was in the front room, bedroom or bathroom.  I was just accepted as me, and treated exactly the same as the rest of the family.

Looking back over the years, I think it was that acceptance and the way my Aunty Kath dealt with my problem that started my love of nappies.  She didn’t make me feel small or little or odd or dirty, she just accepted me, and whilst she would occasionally tease me about my nappies (normally during a change), it was fun teasing. I would also like to add that despite my age (13) and despite the very intimate contact involved during changes there were no sexual feelings at all, it was just warm and loving.

            However, after the funeral there was yet another big family meeting (well more like all out war). There had been rows before the funeral.  Dad’s families were strict Roman Catholics. Mom’s side was Kirk (Church of Scotland). There been arguments over whether they should be cremated or buried, should there be crucifixes on one coffin, both or non.  Who was going to get what from the shop and property and insurance, etc etc. and as an aside, who was going to have me!

Aunty Kath and Uncle Alf felt that I had already settled with them, and they would either formally adopt me, or I could stay with them until I decide otherwise, however my mom’s family decide that if one of them couldn’t take me (and the money I had inherited, not much about £6000 then about £30000 now ($65000)) they would take legal action and put me in care.  So it was decide that I would go to live with my Mom’s’ Sister (Aunty Ann), and her husband Roger (A warrant officer in the Royal Air force) and their two sons, Simon and John.  I know that my Aunty Kath had a long private chat with Aunty Ann before she left about me and my problems (the Doctor my Aunty Kath took me to, said I’d grow out of it), and what Kath had done to help (nappies and rubbers)

**(Sorry I keep referring to nappies and rubber pants, but this is in the days before disposable nappies were available, it was all terries and protective rubber pants)

            Aunty Ann wasn’t happy and there was a large argument about how Kath was abusing me and not letting me grow up, the upshot of which was, I was literally dragged out with the clothes I had on and not allowed to see or contact my Aunty Kath again. Nor was I allowed to say goodbye to her my uncle or my cousins.  My Uncle Roger was stationed at an air base about 300 miles from where we were, the journey down was awful, I was silently miserable all the way, refusing to talk accept to say I wanted to go back, and being told that I was an ungrateful child and didn’t I realise how much they were putting themselves out.  When we eventually arrived at the base I was soaked, soiled, angry, upset and hungry all at the same time, but most of all I needed a change.  I told my Aunty Ann that I needed one, and was told that she would do it this time. But that I had to be a big boy and use the toilet, just like her two fair haired little wonders did (not her words, I came to hate Simon and John with an unbelievable intensity.  They were both younger than I was, and I was supposed to grow up to be like them, YecCHHHHHH).

She took me into the kitchen, stood me on a newspaper, put on rubber gloves and literally stripped me piece of clothing by piece of clothing until I was naked and in tears (definition of Nude and Naked nude is not wearing clothes.  Naked means defenceless).  I was back to being made to feel about two inches tall and two years old again, she then literally scrubbed me top to bottom in the kitchen and then gave me a pair of Simons pyjama’s (pj’s) to put on, until “she could buy some clothes for me”, I did ask if she was going to put another nappy on and was told “I didn’t need them, I was a big boy.”

Well, it was a case of easier said than done, I wasn’t a big boy, I was wetting 5 or 6 times a day and every night and soiling usually about once or twice a  day and sometimes at night as well.  It was just like being at home again the only difference was that I had two younger cousins who took great delight in informing their mother every time I had an accident and taking every opportunity to make fun of me and to ridicule me to their friends.  I stayed with them for 3 months of pure hell.  By the end of 3 months just about everyone on the airbase knew about Ann & Roger and their problem nephew, including Roger’s Commanding Officer.  It was pointed out that if Roger couldn’t solve his family problems then his promotions and postings might be delayed until he could.  Two weeks later I was in front of a court and being placed in childcare, the stated reason being that they felt they couldn’t give me the stability I needed because of Rogers frequent Postings (what a load of Bull!!!!)

So. I was placed in a children’s home in a small town called Wellington in Shropshire , miles away from anyone I knew or cared about.

Part two to come.

ã K Clarke 2002