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Chapter I I was watching the Sprint Cup race at my friend Ted’s place the other night, and when I used his bathroom during a commercial break I happened to notice that there was a pair of transparent plastic pants hanging on the shower caddy. They looked big enough to fit him. We’ve been friends for quite a while, and we’d had a couple of beers during the race, so after the race was over I asked him about them. He said, “Oh, I’ve been wearing them to bed now for a few months.” “Oh yeah? Tell me more.” “Well, you remember all that stress I was having at work last summer, those crazy shifts I was working and on weekends…I was surfing the web one evening and ran across a site where some guy said that he wore plastic pants to bed every night, and had done it for years, and the main reason he did was because they relaxed him so that he could sleep better. So that was just some guy online, but I got to thinking about it, and I remembered when I was a kid the family next door to us, all their kids wet the bed until they got to be 8 or 10 years old, so they wore plastic pants and diapers. The boy who was my age said that they all slept really well because they knew they were protected from wetting the bed, so they could relax and fall asleep easily. So I figured, why not give it a try? Of course I don’t have any need for diapers so I figured just the plastic pants would be better. I searched online for plastic pants and found quite a few places that sell adult-size plastic pants. Like everything else online, they were quick and easy to buy.” “It must have taken some time for you to get used to wearing them…” “Yeah, about three days or so, I guess. I felt kinda weird putting them on the first night, especially when I realized I had them on backwards. I thought they were the same front and back until I had a closer look at them. So I could really feel them on me the first night, and it took a while to get to sleep. But I felt fine when I woke up, and even better the next morning. By the end of the week I was falling asleep right away, and waking up really refreshed in the morning. Now I’ve gotten used to wearing them, I wouldn’t go to sleep without them.” “So what does Alice think of them? I’ll bet you had some explaining to do.” “Yeah, I did, I told her pretty much what I just told you. She knew how the stress had been affecting my sleep, because it affected hers too. She was kinda dubious about the idea at first. Said they looked like baby pants. I said no, they actually look kind of like yours but see-through. Just a few days ago she told me she really likes the idea of me wearing them - not only do we both sleep better and get enough sleep, but she said that with my package in there they don’t look like baby pants at all.” “Are they hard to take care of?” “No, not at all. I just rinse them off in the shower and hang them there, and they drip dry overnight. Sometimes I wash them in the sink with hand soap just to make real sure the elastics are washed clean.” “Don’t you get all sweaty in them during the night?” “There’ll be a little sweat on them in the morning, nothing that doesn’t wipe off with a little toilet paper. That kinda surprised me, I thought there would be more.” “So you’re convinced it’s a good idea wearing them…” “Oh, yeah, they give me a feeling, a relaxation that I never felt before. I’m going to try getting some more in different colors, maybe some bikini-cut ones for the summertime. Then I can trade off and they won’t wear out so fast.” On the way home I had plenty to think about, never having considered this idea before. Chapter 2 So a couple of weeks later i was puttering around online and it occurred to me to see what I could find out about people wearing plastic pants. It didn’t take very long to find out that there’s a lot of online activity about wearing plastic pants. I discovered that it’s a huge fetish for some people and that others wear them over diapers because of incontinence. Not only are there dozens of places to buy plastic pants online from quite a few different countries, but some of them have other kinds of plastic garments as well. The next time I talked to Ted I asked him if he thought he might develop a fetish for plastic pants now that he was wearing them every night. He said, “No, I don’t think so. It’s true that I do like to wear them, but it’s because they help me sleep, not because they turn me on or something.” Well, that made sense to me, because I definitely did get the idea from reading people’s posts online that most people who had a fetish for plastic pants or anything else developed it when they were really young. I decided that maybe it would be a good idea to try wearing them to bed myself, just to see if they’d help me to sleep better. I could tell that Ted seemed a lot more relaxed lately but still able to get plenty of work done. I looked at a couple of different websites and decided on one of them, because the site had lots of information on choosing sizes depending on whether a person would be wearing the plastic pants by themselves or over a diaper. I mentioned to Carol, my wife, that I was going to order some plastic pants, and of course she wanted to know why. I explained to her about what I’d learned, and that I really thought they would help me to sleep. “Well, that sounds like it may be worth a try - if you didn’t toss and turn so much I could sleep better too.” I showed her the full-cut translucent pants I planned to buy, and she said, “Why don’t you get a couple of them - that way you can switch from one to the other and they’ll both last longer. We don’t need to get any more until we find out if this plan of yours really works.” I went ahead with the online order, and in a couple of days the package showed up in the mailbox. I opened the package and examined the plastic pants. The soft, smooth plastic material had a faint, pleasant odor. I was surprised at how large the pants seemed until I realized that the plastic didn’t have any stretch to it, so the pants had to be big enough to cover me, with the elastic at the waist and legs to make them fit and hold them in place. The seller’s website had recommended that the new items should be washed before wearing for the first time, so I washed them in the sink with a little soap and warm water. I decided they’d dry faster if I hung them upside down by one of the legs. I thought to myself, “That’s the way Ted’s plastic pants were hanging when I saw them.” They weren’t dry yet at bedtime so the next morning I folded them and put them in my underwear drawer. That night we got ready for bed, and as I undressed I realized that I was a little bit nervous, because this would be the first night I hadn’t slept nude or in underpants since I was in junior high school. And of course Carol was watching, or at least I felt that way although she was doing her normal bedtime routine. I took one of the plastic pants out of the drawer, made sure they were turned right, put my feet through the leg holes, and pulled them up my legs into their place around my middle. When I got into bed the first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t feel the sheet against my plastic-covered butt, or against my penis and scrotum. I could feel the elastics around my waist, and I noticed how warm and soft the smooth plastic was. I did feel quite self-conscious though, and it seemed to take a long time to get to sleep. I hoped that I’d soon be able to fall asleep, and that was the last thing I remembered until the alarm went off in the morning. Carol reached over, patted my ass, and said, “Get up, sleepyhead - oh, that feels smooth…” When I showered, I took the plastic pants into the shower and rinsed them off. There had been a little sweat in the front of them, but not as much as I thought there would be. I hung them on the shower caddy, and we both went about our day. That night I still felt a bit self-conscious when I put them on, but once in bed I found myself relaxing, and fell asleep quite readily. The next morning I woke up feeling quite relaxed and ready to get up and go. This continued for the next couple of weeks, and I started to get over being nervous about putting the plastic pants on at night. One thing I noticed is that my plastic pants slide easily on the sheets when I turn over and don't tend to bind like regular underwear does. One Saturday a couple of months later when I brought in the mail there was a package addressed to Carol from the same seller that I’d bought my plastic pants from. I took it into her sewing room and handed it to her. “Look what came in the mail today….” She took the package and said, “Bob, I’d been planning to surprise you. You really have been sleeping so well lately that I thought I’d try getting some plastic panties too. I was looking through that website you bought your pants from and saw that they had some really cute bikini-cut plastic panties, so I got some pink ones to wear.” “Oh, yours are panties but mine are just pants then…” “Yes, that’s how it is, dear.” So that night when we were getting ready for bed she was the one who was a bit nervous. When she had put her pink plastic panties on for the first time, she turned and looked at herself in the mirror and said “How do you think I look?” I’d figured that I was going to reassure her that she looked great no matter what, but when she stood there in front of the mirror in that pink plastic bikini she did look just fine. “You look so fine in that….” I walked over to her and caressed her ass and “…you feel so fine too!” Well, as it turned out it was a while before we got to sleep that night, me in my clear pants and her in her pink bikini panties. Chapter 3 It wasn’t very long after that night that I realized one Sunday morning that Carol was wearing her plastic panties under her bathrobe. I asked her if she was just wearing them until she showered. She said, “Yes, probably…”, and it turned out that this was what she did. The only thing was, she didn’t shower until almost noon. Another day when we were getting ready to go to dinner and a movie I saw her change into her plastic panties. At dinner I said, “You really like to wear your plastic panties, don’t you?” She grinned, “What was your first clue?” Then she continued, “Yes, I really do. I love the way they feel on me, and they give me a really neat, kind of a secure feeling. Also, I like that you think I look foxy in them.” Then she went on to tell me that when I originally asked her about me wearing plastic pants to bed, she had already been thinking about plastic pants, because the subject had come up for discussion when she was having coffee with three of her friends. They had been talking about when they were kids, and one of them said that the people next door had kids that were bedwetters, and they often had plastic pants and diapers hanging on their clothesline. The two girls wore diapers and plastic pants until they were 12, and the boy was still wearing them at 15. The mother had told her once that she had also worn plastic pants and diapers for bedwetting until she was in junior high school. Another one said that her father-in-law had had a fetish for plastic pants and had worn them often. He hadn’t ever said anything about it but she’d found out from her mother-in-law. The third lady remembered that her mother had worn plastic pants when she had her period. So Carol felt a little weird that she was the only one of the four without any plastic pants story to tell. I said, “I wonder how many other people are wearing plastic pants. It seems that there are all kinds of reasons for people to wear them, doesn’t it?” “Yes, it certainly does. I wonder why we haven’t heard very much about people wearing them to bed just for the relaxing comfort they give.” “Maybe it’s because they feel weird talking about them. Lots of people wore them as babies, but everybody thought they were just for babies, and big kids didn’t need them anymore.” “Hey, look at the time - we’d better get going to the show.” Chapter 4 Now it’s a year later and things are going well. We’re both still wearing our plastic pants - or panties - to bed and sleeping very well indeed. Last time I bought more clear plastic pants for myself, I also got some pink and some red bikini plastic panties that I’m going to give Carol for her birthday. She likes wearing her pink plastic panties sometimes during the day as well as to bed. On some of the really warm days last summer she would just wear them and a bra or bikini top. Sometimes when we get ready for bed I see that she already has her plastic panties on. I haven’t really thought about wearing mine at other times - I’m saving mine to wear to bed. We’ve both talked a little bit about them to some people we know, but I don’t know if any of them have started wearing plastic pants to bed. Ted and I talk about them from time to time and he’s still wearing his every night. In a way it’s just a small thing, but on the other hand most people think it’s kind of a big deal to change what they wear to bed. We are so happy that we discovered this method of improving our sleep that we don’t mind talking about it, and bringing into the mainstream the idea that wearing plastic pants to bed helps people sleep better.

Among the things you need to do with baby panties is to clean them. This can mean rinsing after each use and washing them in a weak solution of dish soap and rinsing thouroghly. This means very tepid water. After that comes the question of drying them. At no time do you want to wring them out, which wrinkles plastic and other materials, or put them in a dryer since you could make a mistake and put the heat up, or, if you decide to run the dryer for a few minutes then shut it off, you may forget or get distracted. Also such drying may be uneven. The recommended thing to do is air dry out of the sunlight. One problem you may run into is that the water will run down into the bottom of the panties and not dry out for just ever, so the best drying position is upside down which lets the water run out of the waist You should have a hanging bar, perhaps over the tub. Then you will want special hangers fro this Here is what to do 1. Get some of the ubiquitous plastic hangers like this 2. clip one of the ends so that it has an opening like this 3. run th bottom of the hanger through the leg openings of the panties so that they hang upside down like this 4. hang the whole thing on the drying bar

From the PamperedPenny.com vault about 2006, which would make me 21 or so. Enjoy!

Tommy’s Tantrums His tummy was gurgling, it sounded very loud in the quiet of his bedroom but he’d had very strict instructions from his mommy that he wasn’t to leave his bed… for any reason. # Tommy had been a very naughty eight year-old. The previous day he’d knocked over, and destroyed a crystal vase and beautiful bouquet of anniversary flowers his daddy had given to his mommy. He was riding his bike in the house and collided with the display table knocking the entire thing over. So dismayed was he at what he’d done he jumped off his bike too eagerly, caught his foot in the pedals and tumbled in a heap onto the broken glass and squashed the lovely flowers. The fact that he’d been riding in the house, which he knew wasn’t allowed, and had now cut himself as he fell, would, he thought, not bring his mommy to carefully tend his cuts, she’d be very angry indeed. She was. His mother admonished him for what he’d done and then dragged him apologising into the kitchen to get his wounds tended. Luckily, despite ruining the wonderful gift and vase, his mother still administered bandages to the small cuts (he was lucky there was nothing more serious) and, as mommies do, kissed the top of her son’s head before sending off to play quietly elsewhere. Meanwhile, his daddy had promised to take him to the park so he could kick his football around and perhaps meet up with some friends. However, he got so frustrated that his daddy was taking so long to get ready that he started kicking his ball around the garden, another no-no, and yes, it did result in yet more damage as he kicked it too hard and cracked the kitchen window. This action only left his parents, who were already at their wit’s end, wondering what to do with their troublesome son. Later, in a moment of temper, Tommy called his two year-old sister Jenny, a ‘poo-monster’ and a ‘smelly pooey, stinky baby’ and pushed her over so that she went ‘splat’ into her messy diaper. The fact that his mommy had witnessed this nasty act made the naughty boy pretend it had all been a joke. His mother would have none of it and sent him to his room as she tended to her sobbing, and messy, daughter. # “Right young man” He knew he was in serious trouble because of her tone. “The report from your teachers is not impressive, you’ve been bullying other children and your clever-clever, back-chatting insolence has won you no friends at school.” Tommy was about to speak and express his sorrow and apologies, he even adopted his most regretful expression (which usually worked) but his mother held up her hand and continued with her speech. “We’ve all simply had enough of your attitude, your tantrums and the bullying of your sister, and the destruction of the vase, is the last straw.” She then reeled off a list of other misdemeanours that he didn’t know she knew about. “You callously ignore what anyone says and in class you wilfully go out of your way to disrespect teachers and forego even the most basic courtesy.” Tommy gulped at the litany of other things his teacher had told his mother because there were lots of offenses he hoped his parents would never hear about. “So… for the rest of the weekend you will wear what you found so ‘funny’ for your sister to sit in… a diaper” “But, but, I, er,…” Tommy tried to interrupt. “Don’t interrupt me, you’ve been an unholy terror for the past few months and you’ve been getting worse. Your recklessness and insolence today has been the deciding factor … this has been a long time coming.” “But mommy, mommy…” Tears were starting to well in his eyes, this time she could tell that her threat had hit home and for once this was no fake reaction. “… I can’t wear a diaper I’m a, er, big boy, diapers are for babies.” “Yes they are aren’t they?” His mother agreed and raised her eyebrows as if emphasising the point. “And you have been behaving like one… wanting your own way, throwing tantrum after tantrum if you didn’t get it… so now you will be treated as one.” The floodgates opened and he bawled his refusal to allow it but his mother grabbed him and slapped his bottom. It wasn’t hard but with enough force to make sure he realised she was serious. “If you don’t do as I say you’ll be in them for school as well, so it’s your choice.” This threat was more than he could endure. The idea of wearing a diaper when none of his classmates did was something that had him sobbing, he knew he’d be ridiculed by the very kids he’d bullied. “It’s, it’s, it’s not fair,” he squealed, “why should I have to wear a diaper?” He was being both petulant and afraid of actually having to wear such an item. Meanwhile, as his mommy left the room, and while he lay sobbing on his bed, he hoped she’d relent like she always did and that he’d gotten away without any real punishment. He hadn’t. # It was six fifteen in the evening and his mommy was running a bath for him. She was completely exasperated with his behaviour and knew that desperate measures needed to be taken. She also hated the idea of disciplining her ‘little boy’ but knew that it was partly due to such an attitude by her that had resulted in the situation they now found themselves in. The destroyed flowers and broken window had finally made her react to the situation instead of hoping it would go away. However, she’d calmed down and, although he was being a bit grumpy, Tommy knew he had to behave. Even though it was early her eight year-old son meekly stripped when ordered into the bathroom and settled in the suds as his mommy gave him a thorough scrubbing. She let him play with his toy boats for a few minutes whilst she went to retrieve a nice warm towel from the airing cupboard. She was gone some time but returned holding his favourite thick, fluffy bath towel, which had the image of a huge squirrel. She wrapped it around and gave him a meticulous drying down before leading him back to his bedroom. He was in for a shock. Set out on the bed was one of his baby sister’s disposable diapers, a pair of pale blue plastic pants and an assortment of powders and lotions, there was also his stretchy, cowboy pyjamas. He looked at his mommy and again started to bawl, pleading with her not to make him wear a diaper. He was screaming, getting hysterical and it was only when his daddy came in that his anxiety subsided. However, any hoped for reprieve from his father was short lived as he told his son in no uncertain terms that any further outburst and he’d be permanently wearing a diaper for school and at all other times as well. “Do you understand?” Like his mother, his father was at the end of his tether wondering how to contain his son’s temper and recent unpleasant demeanour. Right on cue the tantrum kicked in and Tommy was having none of it; screaming, scratching and kicking, hoping above hope that his parents would relent and let him be… after all he was eight and not a baby. It wasn’t to be. # His father dragged his naked son over his knee and gave him a few firm swats. This set him off squealing even more but his protests and weeping were in vain as his father spanked him until he was sure the boy knew who was in charge. Once he’d been subdued his mother quickly powdered her sobbing son, taped him into the tight disposable and pulled up his plastic protection. She then pulled on his stretchy, soft cotton pyjamas, with the elastic cuffs around the wrists and ankles though there was no disguising the thick bulge underneath the cowboy pattern. A tear streaked Tommy looked more like a sobbing four year-old but his parents were being firm; bed now and no getting up playing with toys, reading or watching TV. His computer was confiscated as well as all his little electronic gadgets and once more told that under no circumstances, and they meant ANY circumstances, was he to leave his bed until morning. Tommy was beaten, mentally and physically, and rolled over onto his tummy and buried his tears into the pillow. He’d never been spanked before, in fact, he’d hardly ever been disciplined before and didn’t know what to make of it, except it hurt and he didn’t like it. The huge bulk between his legs emphasising that he was now nothing more than a little baby as far as his parents were concerned, and he could do nothing about it, unless he wanted his daddy to spank him again, which he didn’t. # He cried at the injustice of it all. His sister was younger than him but was still up and watching TV with his mommy and daddy, whilst he, a grown up eight year-old, had been put to bed in a diaper. His daddy had placed Pooh Bear next to him and he clung onto his favourite plushy thinking at least he wouldn’t turn against him. He was even thinking that his little sister had planned all this just to get him into trouble. It never occurred to him that it was his own actions that had made for such an outcome. He was still turning this over in his head when, exhausted by it all, he feel asleep. # Saturday morning and he woke up to find that his tummy was gurgling, it sounded very loud in the quiet of his bedroom but he’d had very specific instructions from his mommy that he wasn’t to leave his bed… for any reason. Despite the thick padding between his legs now feeling substantial it hadn’t stopped him sleeping heavily all through the night, however, he needed to go to the toilet. He wasn’t sure of the time but could hear no movement from any of the family and wondered if he dare make the few feet from his room to the bathroom. The pressure on his bladder made him desperate for a pee; in fact, the gurgling also meant that he needed to make it pretty soon or it would be too late. He lay there in pain trying desperately not to burst when thankfully he could hear the nearby toilet flush and he called out to his mommy that he needed to go. # His daddy came into the room and looked down at his son. “Are you going to be a good boy today?” Moving closer he bent down to face the boy. Tommy was scared, after all it was only last night that this man had spanked him and he could feel there was still a slight soreness to his bottom. “Huh uh.” Was the only response he dare make. As the pressure to pee grew more intense he wriggled uncomfortably under his sheets though for some reason was just too timid to say anything to his daddy. “Well that’s a good boy. Mommy will be making breakfast in a moment and then we’ve got a day at the park planned.” He ruffled his son’s hair. “You’re not grounded for today but you will do what we say or there will be consequences.” His father wasn’t sure if his young son knew what the word ‘consequences’ meant but because of the tone he delivered it in he hoped would make abundantly clear what would happen. Tommy dare not so much as utter a single word; he just looked wide-eyed up at his father and nodded. Once he’d received that understanding he pulled away the boy’s covers and looked to see if his pyjamas were still covering the bulging protection. “Are you wet?” Tommy shook his head but his father didn’t quite believe him so gently pulled at the waistband and slipped his hands down the front of the plastic pants to check. “OK slugger. Well done but, as mommy told you last night, you’ll be wearing these the entire weekend and, because you thought it funny to tease your sister, the toilet is off limits for you.” There was a look of disbelief from Tommy as his daddy emphasised that the diaper was there to be used. # At the thought of him having to use his diaper tears once again began to form and a look of complete dejection filled his face. His daddy almost relented but his wife and he had both decided that drastic action was needed to stop Tommy from getting completely out of control. “But daddy,” he snivelled finding his voice “I’m not a baby. I’m, I’m not Jenny.” “OK son, I know this is difficult but, you have been very, very naughty and when you are you get punished. You’ve been very cruel to your sister and you’ve been doing things when expressly told not to, so now…” “But I’m not a baby, it’s so unfair… I’m, I’m….” he snivelled. “Sorry son but you’ve broken the rules and you need to be disciplined so, for this weekend at least, you are going to be treated like Jenny. She’s too young to understand right from wrong and it would appear so are you. So, for the time being its diapers for you.” Tommy was completely distraught and flung his arms around his daddy. “Please daddy, don’t make me wear… oh… er, I need to go now.” With that sudden movement Tommy felt a brief pain as his bladder reached bursting point and no longer had any control as he let go. Whilst crying in embarrassment, and clinging to his father in support at what was happening, a warm rush of pee swamped his diaper. His daddy patted his son’s padded bottom as the boy continued to weep and his bladder empty. Almost unbidden something else seemed to react to his loaded diaper which he couldn’t stop as his gurgling bowel decided it needed a way out. Even as his father stoked his bottom he could feel the disposable filling up and soon the odour was accompanying the action. # Tommy was still gripping his daddy, weeping like when he was a baby and had just packed his diaper, so his father hugged him tightly until the tears had begun to dry up and he’d calmed down. “Sorry daddy,” he whispered, almost too embarrassed to admit to what had happened. “That’s OK son,” He patted the mushy mess in his full diaper, “let’s go and get breakfast.” “But daddy, I’ve, er, I’ve…” “Yes I know but yesterday you found it funny to shove Jenny over and make her sit in her own messy diaper didn’t you?” The enormity of his crimes where now just about dawning on him. Yes, he had found it funny to make his sister sit in her mess and, with his parents being unaware he’d done it several times before. Also, he knew he shouldn’t have been riding his bike in the house as he’d been warned on many occasions it wasn’t safe to do so, and he’d ruined a special present... and… He began to fill up as his daddy gently led him by the hand from his bed and down to the kitchen. The messy mass in his diaper made it uncomfortable to walk properly. He didn’t want his mommy or Jenny to see him like this and hoped his PJs would hide his accident. He hadn’t noticed how much more obvious his diaper was now it had expanded with the liquid he’d deposited in it. Still led by his father he nervously waddled to the table and reluctantly sat down in his squishy mess. Jenny, being encouraged by mommy, was trying to feed herself and at the same time both caught a whiff of Tommy’s full diaper. “Tommeee done poo-poo.” Jenny said giggling between mouthfuls but carried on eating as if it was quite normal. His mother took pity on him. “Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll get you all cleaned up after breakfast when we see to Jenny.” #tbc#

“Boo” There was a time, a very short time, when I enjoyed Halloween. As a toddler me and my twin sister Jessica would be dressed up by our parents and guided around the neighbourhood collecting candy. Our outfits always seemed to attract a lot of “Oh ain’t you just the cutest” type of remarks and our plastic jack-o-lanterns would be filled with more sweet goodies. I think mom and dad actually liked the event more than either Jess or me, mom especially loved creating our matching costumes. They would hang back at the end of the pathway leading to each house and take great pleasure in the homeowner’s delight in seeing such sweet and adorable, ghosts, ghouls, risen dead or whatever outrageous getup we’d been put in. As in every neighbourhood there is always a house that has a ‘history’ and, depending on who is telling the story, that history could be a number of things; death, murder, the unexplained, strange disappearances, ugly neighbors… you get the drift. Some of these myths may have had some basis in fact but as a seven year-old, if someone older told you such a story, you regarded it as true. One such house was ‘Laurel Grove’ (or Laurel Grave as many people called the place) where they reputedly had the best Halloween displays (very scary) but also, the best candy should you dare to knock at their door. # On this Halloween mom had got us ready but had suddenly felt unwell so we were entrusted into the care of James and Hillary Templeton, our thirteen year-old neighbors to supervise. Of course they didn’t really want anything to do with a couple of seven year-olds but their mother, mom’s best friend, had insisted so they got stuck with us. Things hadn’t gone too badly. Despite them almost dragging us as quickly as possible around the block we had managed to collect a sizeable amount of stuff in our Halloween bags. Jamie and Hills eventually grew tired of our company and desperately wanted to get us home and off their hands but Jess and I still wanted more candy. However, the teenagers came up with a plan to get us to run home and never come out again, they decided we should visit Laurel Grove. # They told us of the deep secret the place concealed, that although it was a scary and frightening place to visit, should we be brave enough, the rewards were everlasting… and the candy was the best too. Neither Jess nor I had heard of this place before and I think the only thing that registered was “the best candy”. Jamie kept saying it was really a place for grown-ups, those over twelve, and probably not a place where seven year-old babies should go because they’d probably wet themselves and run home to mommy to get their diaper changed. We understood the inference… that Jess and I still wore diapers… we didn’t… so didn’t like that one bit. They were baiting us and we, as petulant second, almost third, graders were desperate to prove we weren’t a couple of diaper wearing pre-schoolers. We agreed to go with them the extra couple of blocks to see this particularly scary place. # When we got there a whole new bunch of people dressed in their creepy best were doing the rounds. Most of them appeared older than me and Jess but we never saw anyone go down the pathway of Laurel Grove. The twenty yards or so from sidewalk to front door were wonderfully kitted out in incredible Halloween props; gravestones, coffins, disembodied arms and pieces of flesh hung in a mist they had somehow created. The place looked fantastic, just like a movie set, with strange groans, howls and spine-chilling sniggering emanated from behind every bush putting nerves on edge. Jess and I looked at each other and though impressed by the set, decided not to take our chance at getting the best candy ever. Our teenage supervisors said they understood, we were probably much too babyish to dare to do such a thing and besides they didn’t want the responsibility of having to change our diapers. Their teasing was having an effect and we were getting fed up with this reference to us being diaper wetting babies, neither of us had worn them since we were two, so the joke was on them. Ha! However, when they said that most people were scared of knocking on that particular door, and it would take someone with an enormous amount of courage to do so, we saw our way of not only proving we didn’t need diapers but that we were more grown-up than some of these older boys and girls who were avoiding the place. We saw that not only would we get the best chocolate and candy EVER, we would no longer be seen as babies but become heroes to older kids. This thought spurred us on. # There was absolutely no doubt that we were both sweating heavily as we started slowly and nervously on the journey up the haunted pathway. Jess looked terrified with each moan she heard and became quite upset as some red gunge dripped over the side of a broken coffin. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore each horror as it appeared but my head filled with even worse terror when I walked into a spider’s web that glued itself to my face. The words of encouragement (and giggles) from Jamie and Hills seemed muffled as we drew closer to the door, even though we were still only halfway there. A rustling in the bushes and the bright red-eyes of a skeleton dog howled right next to Jess and she turned tail and ran back down the path. I swallowed hard, determined that I was going to be a hero but already feeling my tummy tighten and breathing difficult, at the same time my bladder and bowel both seemingly wanted to burst. I had no idea this was what fear felt like but I desperately didn’t want to return empty-handed to the sidewalk. I knew that James and Hillary would never let us forget that we were just a couple of scared babies who couldn’t even get up the courage to knock on a door. # I concentrated on achieving my goal. I wasn’t far away and the ghostly hand that touched my face, and the whispered warnings filling my head, only stopped me in my tracks for a few seconds before I forced myself forward. There was low satanic laughter coming from behind the door. I could hear scratching and an evil voice telling the pitiful moans ‘…they would never leave - ah ah ah ahhhhh!’ The hair on the back of my neck was somehow crawling and despite the sweating, I felt goosebumps chill my body. My teeth began to chatter, each step felt like I was dragging a huge weight and the moaning and flapping of wings was getting louder. Blood oozed around the doorway, I felt pee rush into my underwear, shadows drifted by and a bigger shadow filled the reflection in the glass window. The shape changed from man to animal to… I wasn’t too sure but when I looked back to the sidewalk all I could see was the thick mist obliterating everything but a crawling skeleton I hadn’t noticed before. # I gulped and a strange shiver ran down my spine. I was inches away from the door and steeled myself to knock and hope that I wasn’t transformed into some abominable creature of the night. As I raised my little hand to knock, the lit up porch was suddenly plunged into darkness. Fear, or some other shade passed through my body but a purple light switched on. When my eyes got used to the new illumination I could see the word ‘BOO’ smeared in still glistening blood across the door. A scream of death or pain or torture filled my mind and it was that terrifying moment when my bowel decided it had had enough and I filled my underwear. I couldn’t move as my bottom emptied and a rush of lumpy liquid and farts packed my pants with a smelly, mushy load. I stood spellbound for a few moments, staring at that bloody word that appeared to have been so recently scrawled across the woodwork by some poor, ravaged creature. It looked wet and dripped and then I realised that I was also in the same predicament. ‘BOO’ That’s all it had said but those three letters would, unknown to me, haunt me for the rest of my life. # The trip back home was a messy business. Jamie and Hillary didn’t want to have anything to do with a shitty little seven year-old, what with the filthy marks all over my costume, not to mention the smell. Nevertheless, they were nervous of the consequences because they were supposed to be looking after us both and now, one scared little seven year-old had crapped his pants because of their lack of care. Thankfully Jessica held my hand and guided me home because I never would have made it I was crying so much. The two teens were begging me not to tell, whilst coming up with suggestions on how I should explain the disaster. As I was so traumatised by the entire experience I wasn’t party to any of these negotiations. I waddled, slowly and with legs apart, to try and prevent my soiled pants from rubbing against any other part of my body, so I really wasn’t listening. Meanwhile, Jessica had managed to get all Jamie’s and Hillary’s candy and I never knew what else as payment. Once home she spent no time in telling our parents what had happened, how scary the place was and who was really to blame for enticing me up that pathway. Of course mom blamed herself for not being there, whilst dad went around and told their parents. They were grounded for two weeks. # I was still crying when mom led me upstairs to the bathroom and cleaned me up. However, no sooner had she put me in my PJs than a nervous tremble ran through my body and I immediately wet myself. She could see I was in shock and didn’t quite trust me to not spend the night wetting the bed so took evasive action. She told dad to go out to the garage and bring in all the stuff she’d stored there from when I was a baby. In moments he returned with a huge box and mom seemed to know exactly what she was looking for. I was laid out on a towel draped over my bed to ‘catch’ any further accidents and, as she rummaged in the box, through my tears I noticed she had found a couple of thick fabric diapers I hadn’t seen for many years. I wanted to protest but in reality I could hardly get my breath so she had me diapered and in a huge pair of clear plastic pants (which I never remembered owning) in a matter of moments. For the first time since being outside that door at Laurel Grove, I felt out of harm’s way and the thick padding that mom had shrouded me in added to my sense of protection from any evil that may have followed me home. Mom and dad both came and kissed me night-night but left the light on so I wasn’t scared. That didn’t actually work because my dreams were terrible. Every time I closed my eyes I could still see that garden and when I did drop off I was being pursued by all kinds of devilish beings. In the morning I was in no better state than I had been when I’d arrived home that night. It was a good job that mom had the foresight to make sure I was thickly diapered. # For the next few nights I remained well-protected but after a couple of days I was waking up dry and we all thought the drama had past. Life, and school, went on as normal and things only changed when one Saturday morning Jessica crept up behind me and shouted “BOO” and ran off giggling. Under normal circumstances I would have chased after her and this would have developed into a game of tag or have us both roll around on the carpet play fighting. Alas, on this occasion the strange shiver that ran through me on hearing those three letters had the same effect as those scrawled so unnervingly on Laurel Grove’s front door – I filled my underwear. Totally unbidden, pee and poo took urgent leave of my body and soaked what little clothing I was wearing. I looked down in horror as a pool of the stuff formed at my feet - shocked I didn’t move but started to cry. Jessica came running back and saw what had happened and called for mom. She couldn’t believe her eyes on seeing her seven year-old son standing in the middle of his bedroom covered in such a mess. She scooped me up and not caring about her own clothes carried me to the bathroom. She stripped and hosed me down with the shower, then once dry, carried me back to my room and got Jess to find my diapers again. Within minutes of the horror striking, I was back in a thick diaper and plastic pants hugging mommy and wondering what had happened. I don’t suppose the fact that she had scared me even entered Jess’s head, all she explained to mom was that she’d just ‘tagged’ me and ran off when she heard me crying. I couldn’t offer a better explanation, the word ‘boo’ having no connection at the time, so mom must have presumed I was still having some kind of memory to that traumatic night. My diapers stayed with me now for school because on two occasions I’d wet myself while in class. It wasn’t completely unheard of for a seven year-old to have an accident but, with my recent history, mom thought it better to keep me protected 24/7. I didn’t mind. Although I didn’t particularly like the thickness wrapped around me, I certainly didn’t like the wet pants and stifled giggling of my class mates more. Being called a baby was so much worse if there were pee stains down the front of your pants. As time went on I seemed to be wetting myself almost constantly so my diaper was ever present. I never knew when I would leak, or flood and I couldn’t work out the reason. The therapist I saw of course blamed my current situation on the ‘Halloween experience’, which left both my parents feeling very guilty seeing as how much it was they who enjoyed the occasion most. However, I’d seem to go ages without any sort of accident and then suddenly whilst reading, or even walking down the street, I’d feel that shiver and instantly fill my diaper. # I haven’t been able to shake this feeling for, well, since I was seven and I’m sixteen now but I think I now know what might be the cause… it’s those three letters B.O.O. It wasn’t the Halloween garden - the ghosts, blood and bodies, it was those three simple letters. I know this because when I read a book, my concentration is on what I’m reading but as soon as I stop and relax, the word BOOK is no longer the word, all I can see is BOO. The same goes for seeing any word with ‘boo’ somewhere in it. For instance, the word BOOB has recently had me peeing my diaper like a fountain on many embarrassing occasions, especially when I’m trying to chat up a girl. Boomerang, not a word I see often, but I found myself pissing my pants to once I did notice it. The same goes for many words containing those three letters together. So, walking down the street and seeing Book Shop, often finds me filling my diaper. I didn’t notice that was the reason when I was younger, I always assumed it was the event that had caused my problem but now I see the real cause. I hadn’t put the word and that experience together. In fact, although I remember the incident perfectly, the word itself I never thought of as traumatising, just the way it was scrawled bloodily on the door. However, now I think I know the reason, I’m not sure I can tell anyone, I feel stupid that a childish scare word has had such a devastating effect on my life for over nine years. However, I needed help so went to see the shrink and he said he was bamboozled by my casebook. I left his office in a right messy state. ~~~~~~~~ THE END Or is it… BOO

In my recent travels, I came across a most extraordinary lot of baby panties that were the old new stock of a Southern U.S. drugstore. I wondered why the owner of the building didn't throw the lot away when he came across them. But fortunately, he didn't. I procured the lot of baby pants in their original packaging. I was astonished at what I found. There were about thirty Playtex baby panties in all sorts of styles, colors, and material. They were in mint condition each in their respective box, except one that was in a cellophane bag as packaged by Playtex. But what was really surprising was the sizes of most of those baby pants. They were all either extra large, toddler, or toddler large! It was the first time that I had seen a pair of toddler large baby pants, and they were huge! The lot contained about a half dozen of these enormous size panties. The vast majority of the rest of the panties were of the toddler size. They were both of the pull-on style but the slight majority were of the snap on variety. Most were of vinyl material but a few were of a waterproofed silk material. None were of a rubber material. Although the vast majority of the baby pants were of the white transluscent color, a few were pink and one was blue. The transluscent panties were of a similar smooth vinyl material to the present day adult vinyl panties made by Gary or Leakmaster. They feel very soft and nice. I wish I were small enough to slip into a pair ( I bet you do too). they appeared to be from two eras of manufacturing by Playtex because there were two different types of boxes although they all contained the same style and material of baby panties. All were called " Panty" on their packaging, and all have at least on image of a cute baby on them. In addition, some have a small printed paper inside the box with the panties. The pull-on style had the characteristic stitched sides of Playtex with small "breather" hole patterns near the waist on either side of the waist. And they all had a small tag attached to the waistband of the panty giving size and other information. The tags appeared to be made of vinyl as well. Another piece of evidence that suggested they were of two eras were the snap-on panties. Some snaps were made of metal and some were made of a plastic like material. I took the latter to be of a later manufacture. Most of the panties had a slight lanolin type coating. They all had a fresh baby panty scent. One box was unique in that it had two panties in it for a special sale price. And all boxes had the price of the day on them. I may post images of some of these baby panties in the future if there is any interest in them. In all my years of collecting vintage baby panties, I've never come across such a fantastic lot of well recognized brand new vintage baby panties.

Chapter 1 Billy could sense the light before he even opened his eyes. He couldn’t remember anything; the last thing he could remember was pain. He opened his eyes; he was lying in what appeared to be a hospital bed, bit by bit he started to piece together the events that led him here. Billy’s life had been hell since the death of his grandmother 6 years ago. His Mum, who had only been 17 when she had him, had been mostly absent during the first 9 years of his life, while his grandmother raised him. When her mother died, she moved into her house with Gary, her boyfriend, who eventually became her husband. When his Mum died, Billy was left at the mercy of his sadistic stepfather. Gary would get very angry and lash out, mostly on the parts of the body that didn’t show, so no one ever noticed at school. They never noticed anything at school, not the fact that Billy’s uniform was threadbare and two sizes too small, or that his shoes had holes, or that he was dangerously skinny. Gary would only let him eat more than one slice of bread if he thought he deserved it. He would often go days with only a slice of bread a day to survive on. If he dared ask for more food he would be beaten. If only someone had noticed something was wrong he might have been saved. Billy remembered coming home from school at the usual time. He headed upstairs to hide away in his bedroom as usual, only this day Gary stood at the top of the stairs, blocking his path. “Do you think I’m stupid?!” he roared, taking out his wallet, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the money missing?!” “I didn’t –" began Billy “LIAR!” Gary slapped him in the face. “You probably gave it all to your dealer,” mumbled Billy. “What was that?!” roared Gary, “Who do you think you are?! You live under my roof and you will show some respect you little shit!” “It’s not YOUR roof it’s my Gran’s roof!” Billy could hardly recall what happened next, he remembered he fell; Gary must have pushed him, or hit him too hard. He landed at the bottom of the stairs on his back, after his head came into contact with the bottom of the banister. He remembered the terrible pain he felt, before he lost consciousness. Gary, thinking he had killed him, tried to do a runner. Their next door neighbour had heard the noise and called the police. The police caught up to Gary a few days later. He ended up spending months in a hospital bed, with a broken back and brain damage. He had to have operations on his spine; the doctors said he was very lucky to not be paralysed. Billy didn’t feel very lucky, he often felt confused and disoriented, he used to be very good in school, and now his brain functioned much slower, making him feel dumb. His bladder and bowels had been damaged to the point where he no longer had control over either, he now had to wear nappies, possibly for the rest of his life. The only good thing to come out of this was that Gary was now behind bars. Slowly, Billy’s injuries started to heal. He had a visit from a woman named Claire, who called herself a social worker. She told him that he would be leaving the hospital that day and going to live with his new foster parents. A nurse came and changed his nappy, then helped him get dressed in a white and blue striped t shirt, grey sweatpants (nice and baggy, they did a good job of hiding his disposable nappy), a black zip hoodie and a pair of black plimsolls. He gathered these must have been charitable donations, they weren’t his and they looked worn. Billy sat nervously in the back seat of Claire’s car. He had been in foster care before, right after his Nan died…when Mum finally decided to turn up (months after the funeral) social services released him to her. He was in foster care again when he was a little older, this time it was just after his Mum died; Gary fought to get custody (for the child benefits) so social services released him to his stepfather, leaving the poor boy at his mercy. When Gary gets out of prison would they make him go back to him?! The car pulled up in front of a respectable looking bungalow, Billy realised they were in the middle class part of town. There was a wheelchair ramp leading to the front door. “Mr and Mrs Summers have taken care of lots of disabled children,” Claire explained as she led him up the ramp and rang the doorbell. The door opened a few moments later to reveal a mature woman, who looked to be in her fifties. “Oh, you must be Billy,” she said warmly, taking his hand and leading him indoors. “Nice to meet you Mrs Summers,” Billy responded, politely and shyly. “None of that formal nonsense,” she replied, “you can call me Auntie May.” “I’ve got to get on,” said Claire, “I’ll come back in a couple of weeks to check that Billy’s settling in OK.” “You can’t stop for a cup of tea?” asked Auntie May. “I wish I could,” replied Claire, turning to walk back towards her car “But I’ve got so much to do today. Bye bye Billy!” Auntie May waved her goodbye before shutting the door. “Right then! First things first, how’s that nappy of yours looking?” she asked, but did not wait for an answer and slid down his sweatpants anyway and felt his crotch. “Soaking wet,” she declared, “and you look like you could do with a good scrub, so we’ll pop you in the bath before we get you into a nice clean nappy, OK?” “I had a shower this morning,” mumbled Billy. “Well they’re very busy in those hospitals, I’m sure they didn’t have enough time to give you decent showers while you were there,” said Auntie May, “I’ll run you a nice bath, and you can have some bubbles too! Doesn’t that sound lovely?” Billy did have to admit, it was a nice bubble bath. He couldn’t remember that last time he’s had such a relaxing bath. Auntie May gave him a good scrub down and washed his hair. She then removed his pubic hair with some removal cream. “It’s very unhygienic to have hair down there when you wear nappies,” she said, “I can’t believe they didn’t do this at the hospital!” She also removed the hair from his legs and under his armpits, declaring him to be “all nice and clean and smooth”. She left him in the bath to have a nice soak while she went and put lunch in the oven. She returned with a pile of towels and some other supplies. The plug was pulled from the bath and she took Billy’s hand to help him get out. Billy felt horribly bare and cold now that all of his body hair was gone. Auntie May helped him dry off with a large towel, she then draped it around his shoulders to keep him warm before sitting him on the toilet. She picked up a pair of scissors and went for his blonde hair, Billy squirmed. “Stay still,” she said firmly, “you hair currently looks more like a birds nest than anything else!” When she was finished Billy was left with a neat, fluffy bowl cut that made him look about 6. “Much better,” said Auntie, “now we’d better get a nappy on you before you have an accident!” She unfolded a large plastic changing pad, which had a cutesy pattern of jungle animals, and gesture for him to lie down on it. Billy did as he was told, and found himself being liberally coated with baby lotion, followed by a generous sprinkling of baby powder, which made him smell like a baby. She picked up the three remaining towels, they were thick white and fluffy, and started to fold them. Billy quickly realised that these were nappies, the old fashioned kind that babies wore decades ago. Auntie folded two of them together, with the third one folded as a booster pad. The end result was a very thick mass of padding wrapped around his bottom and forcing his legs apart, blue capped nappy pins held it all snugly in place. Finally, a pair of blue plastic pants patterned with farm animals went over his bulky underwear, Auntie made sure every bit of terry towelling was tucked in. “Now, I don’t have any clothes to fit over your nappy yet,” she said, “I’m going to take your measurements later and make you some clothes myself. It’s a nightmare trying to find clothes in the shops that fit comfortably over your nappy. In the meantime, you can just wear a t shirt with your nappy, or…I might have something else that fits, that will cover your nappy. Would you prefer that?” Billy nodded. Auntie left the room and returned a few moments later with what appeared to be a t shirt; it was made of yellow towelling. “This was worn by one of the little boys I used to look after,” she said, pulling the garment over his head and guiding his arms through the sleeves, “he was in nappies too and was about your size.” Auntie knelt down, fumbling with the bottom of the t shirt. Billy felt the material brush against his thigh…this seemed very long to be a t shirt. Billy looked down in time to see that the “t shirt” also had legs attached to it, with fastenings in the crotch; the legs went only an inch past the crotch of his nappy. He was wearing a baby’s romper! The bottom half fitted tautly over his thick underwear, although the garment covered his nappy it did not hide the fact that he was wearing one; his whole bottom half bulged. He noticed there was an adorable looking lamb appliqued on the front. He did have to admit it was comfortable, the towelling material felt nice and soft and it kept his nappy firmly in place and stopped it slipping down. Finally, Auntie slipped a pair of fuzzy yellow socks on his feet and folded them down. “There we go then,” she said, “let’s go have some lunch!” He was served fish fingers, potato waffles and beans for his lunch, Auntie cut up his food for him. “Oops a daisy,” said Auntie, wiping away some bean sauce that missed his mouth before it dribbled onto his clothes, “you don’t want to get your nice clean clothes dirty! Perhaps you need a bib!” Billy though she was joking for a moment…until she opened a drawer and pulled out a large plastic bib, it had a pattern of little lambs matching his romper and a pocket to catch bits of food. Auntie tied the bib around his neck, Billy felt a wave of humiliation of being put into yet another babyish garment and a stream of pee escaped into his thirsty nappies. He ate the rest of his food as carefully as possible, in an effort to prove he didn’t really need the bib. Sadly his co-ordination had taken a blow since the accident and his bib was covered in bean sauce and blackcurrant squash by the time he’d finished eating. Perhaps Billy needed it after all. After lunch Auntie took his measurements so she could get started on his new clothes right away. She was a skilled seamstress, and made children’s clothes to sell online. “You must be feeling a little tired now,” said Auntie, refastening him into his romper, “I think you should take a little nap.” “I’m not tired,” mumbled Billy. “Well, you look it to me,” she replied, taking his hand, “come on then” She walked him down the hall and ushered him into a very colourfully decorated bedroom. The walls were yellow with a wallpaper border featuring the characters from The Tweenies. A large built in closet took up most of one wall and a single bed occupied the opposite wall, the bed had Tweenies bedding to match the wallpaper and a child’s safety rail attached. A long shelf ran across another wall holding various cute cuddly toys and a three large storage tubs were stacked in one corner, each one filled to the brim with toys. Auntie led him by the hand over to the bed and lifted him onto it; Billy led down while Auntie secured the safety rail into place and covered him with a Mickey Mouse patterned fleece blanket. “Sweet dreams Billy,” she said softly, pausing to draw the curtains on her way out of the room. Billy awoke about two hours later to a saturated nappy. He debated getting up and asking Auntie to change him, but wondered if she would be angry at him for getting out of bed during nap time. Auntie didn’t seem the quick to anger type like some of his previous foster parents; she was firm, yet very kind and caring. Nevertheless, Billy decided to play it safe and wait for her to come back. He shifted about trying to get comfortable, which was very difficult in such a thick and soaking nappy. Auntie came in around fifteen minutes later; in that time Billy had done a number two in his nappy. He was disgusted with himself for not being able to control his poos and hated the warm sticky sensation. He was used to being stuck in pooey nappies; the nurses couldn’t always change him right away on the busy ward, where there were half a dozen other boys in nappies. Auntie could smell it as soon as she entered the room. “Phooey,” she exclaimed opening a window, “I think we’d better get you cleaned up hadn’t we?” She had him lying on the changing pad once again while she undid his romper. “Oh dear,” she said, noticing that a little bit of his poo had leaked onto the romper. She slid the romper over his head, careful not to get any of the poo on him as she did so, followed by his socks and the poo stained plastic pants. The inside of his nappy was a mess; it took ages to clean him up, with poor Billy getting more and more mortified by the minute. He was relieved when she had finished and began applying the lotion and powder. Finally Billy was pinned into fresh, thick nappies. Auntie went over to the dresser and pulled out some fresh plastic pants and a clean romper. The plastic pants were yellow with a pattern of bunny rabbits and the romper was made of pastel blue towelling and had a white bunny rabbit appliqued on the front. After she had dressed him she replaced his fluffy yellow socks. Auntie let him do what he wanted after that, Billy decided to take a little look at what was in the toy boxes. There was a mixed selection, with everything from baby toys, to Legos, to superhero action figures to baby dolls. “It looks like Uncle Dave will be working late tonight,” said Auntie when she brought in some squash for him, “you’ll meet him in the morning if you’re up before he leaves for work.” Billy took the cup; it was a toddler’s beaker cup with a lid. Billy went to unscrew the top but was immediately stopped by Auntie. “If you want a big boy cup you have to sit at the table,” she said, “I don’t want any spillages around the house.” Billy sucked the juice out of the toddler cup obediently, he immediately started peeing as soon as he finished. Great, he was now like one of those wetting baby dolls! Billy found a Bart Simpson puzzle and busied himself with that. It was only a 100-piece puzzle, something he would have found easy pre-accident, now he struggled quite a bit with it and hadn’t completed it when Auntie came in and told him it was bed time. The clock on the wall said it was only 6:30 and the sun was still up. “You’ve had a big day and you need your sleep,” said Auntie firmly when he protested, “You can leave your puzzle out and finish it tomorrow.” She ignored any further pleadings, Billy realised his complaints were futile. Auntie took out some fresh terry towelling nappies and plastic pants and Billy once again lay down on the changing pad. His night time nappies were quite a bit thicker than the ones he’d been wearing and Auntie used four layers for the ultimate protection. Walking was a near impossible feat for him now. Auntie removed his romper and replaced it with a plain white baby vest, the kind that stretches over the crotch and has poppers. Auntie had to turn him onto his tummy to fasten him in, as they were located at the back, totally out of reach of naughty fingers. It would be impossible for Billy to remove it himself. His bedtime attire was completed with a pair of peach coloured fleecy booties. After brushing his teeth Auntie tucked him into bed and drew the curtains. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said leaving the room, “I’m going to make you some nice warm milk to help you sleep.” She returned minutes later with a clean bib and a baby’s bottle full of milk. The bib, which sported a picture of Peter Rabbit, was fastened around his neck. Auntie went to slide the teat of the bottle into his mouth, but Billy tried to refuse it. “Come on now,” she said firmly, “drink up your night-night milk like a good boy!” She kept pressing the teat against his firmly sealed lips until he finally gave in. She held the bottle in his mouth until every last drop was gone. She tucked him in and ruffled his hair before leaving the room, forgetting to remove his bib. Billy slowly drifted off, despite the daylight still shining through the crack in the curtains and the sounds of children still out playing.

Circumcised I was ten when mum decided I should be circumcised. I’d become increasingly lazy when carrying out my visits to the bathroom. She was fed up with me missing the toilet bowl and I often departed unaware that I’d left a puddle of pee where I stood. This was because I had a very loose foreskin that, if I didn’t retract right back, often covered my pee-hole and sent trickles in different directions. Some pee hit the water so I assumed it all had but I didn’t check and a small (occasionally large) pool could often be left festering in front of the bowl and not in it. Also, as I was getting older, a lot of ‘stuff’ was beginning to gather under it, which in turn caused me some mild irritation. Mum would often say. “Terry, you’re at that age where these things matter, you must take much more care.” However, her constant nagging only made me care less and I became careless... I was ten and beginning to get insolent, not doing as I was told and thinking I knew best. I became a bit of a show off, not through any kind of theatrical talent but showing my contempt at authority to impress my school mates. As far as mum was concerned the final straw came when we had my Aunt Jen, Uncle Mark and their three children visiting. Of course, I’d used the loo last and uncaringly I’d left a rather large pee-slick on the tiled bathroom floor. My four year old cousin Tammy went and slipped in the puddle and banged herself pretty badly on the bowl. Of course her mum and dad thought she’d left the mess and although sympathetic to her injury blamed her for being negligent. Mum let it go, not saying it was my fault but letting me know by her looks that I should volunteer my culpability. I know mum was losing her patience but she never shouted, nor did she ever punish me, so I thought I was on relatively safe ground. However, it took a few of her fiercest stares for me to get the message and though reluctant I confessed my sins (I might have been becoming rebellious but not that rebellious). I saw the relief on mum’s face when I confessed (not a complete lost cause) and a strange feeling ran through my body. For the first time in quite some time, I’d made her proud of me... or so I hoped... and I liked the feeling. I was ten years old, I wanted to rebel and show I was growing up but that approval, that smile, made me briefly reassess the way I was acting. Alas, my aunt and uncle were furious that they’d blamed their sweet daughter, whilst mum, sensing an atmosphere, sent me to my room and was not allowed to continue to play with their two older boys Phil and Kevin. I’d been bragging to them that I could do anything before mum’s scary stare had made me lose a little face with my confession. However, they were equally fascinated and wanted to know why my foreskin caused so much havoc and sought to have a peek (apparently theirs not giving a moment’s worry). It didn’t happen because the next time they saw me I was minus that particular accessory. # As I left the room I could hear, in her anger, my aunt (who is mum’s older sister) lash out at what had happened and told mum in no uncertain terms that I should be in nappies if I peed indiscriminately, leaving puddles everywhere. Mum didn’t react badly (she never lost her temper) but quietly said that she already had plans to sort that particular problem out. She’d read that circumcision was healthier for a young man and that girls preferred a cut penis, whether any of this was true, that’s how it was sold to me. I wasn’t taken to hospital instead a Jewish medical friend of mum’s, who said he’d done hundreds of such procedures, volunteered his services. I hated the idea of hospital and any kind of operation, so, it’d be done in private and mum even swore that it would be “...but a minor inconvenience”. Oh, and yes, it wasn’t a painful procedure because “...babies had it done and they turned out okay”. Mum lied - There was a lot of blood, I was very sore and my poor little penis looked butchered. # With my penis cut and bandaged I found going to the toilet a harrowing experience. What was worse, at night, after keeping my bladder full because of the pain when I did pee, on several occasions I involuntarily wet the bed as I slept. Mum decided that until my penis healed, I should wear a nappy and argued that the soft fabric would be less irritating against my skin and I’d probably heal quicker. I wasn’t happy about this idea believing it was only because my aunt made such a song and dance about my peeing on the floor. However, my wounded penis was quite painful and I disliked waking up to a soaked bed so it seemed a temporary way round my soggy problem. Also, whether it was because of the nappy reference from her sister or not, mum had probably decided what would happen so really I had little choice. This time mum didn’t lie because the fabric was nice and soft against my skin; the padding keeping me snug so my injured thingy didn’t bounce about. Also, the antiseptic creams and various fragrant lotions that area was subjected to were very soothing. In fact, I was quite grateful for the cushion of relief it all offered. Because my penis was really sore, it was too painful to wear jeans or trousers, and although I didn’t feel comfortable about it, for those first few days I wondered around the house wearing very little below the waist apart from the ease of my padding. When I first thought about having to wear a nappy I assumed it was mum punishing me for my behaviour and to possibly placate her sister, as Aunt Jen had been quite caustic about what she thought of a ten year old still peeing on the floor. However, any seething resentment that I perhaps should have aimed at mum just didn’t happen because the nappy was a great help. Mum became very protective, perhaps, overly protective of me and went out of her way to keep me happy; my wellbeing of the upmost importance. Before the operation I would have shirked off any attempt from mum to coddle me. I was ten and growing up and didn’t need constant attention. However, after the messy business I felt wounded so quite pleased mum was lavishing all her attention on me. She soothed my soreness with oily creams and in truth I liked not fighting with her over everything and nothing. I don’t think I was that aware of it but things had changed as a result of my lost skin. Waking up in a soaked nappy was strangely a comfort because despite everything, my sore willy felt less sore lying in a damp fabric cradle. Whichever way mum had attached that night’s padding felt like it was doing its job because the experience was different. Together with a pair of plastic pants, come the morning my attention was centred on a piece of soggy material not a piece of my missing willy. She often said that despite everything I looked happy in a nappy. It was a catchphrase that kept on repeating in my head time after time and at the most inopportune moments. It was an ear worm that once started never seemed to stop and I’d find it gnawing away as I tried to get to sleep. However, no matter how annoying that was, I was always grateful come the morning when my night time awkward insulation had done its duty and saved me from a repeatedly soaked bed. # Despite the initial painkillers I was taking ‘it’ remained tender and swollen and became a bit of a problem when I returned to school as I certainly didn’t intend on wearing a nappy to class. Mum saw that I was struggling to keep my underpants dry so came up with some extra padding sewn into them for me to wear. Strangely, as I was under no pressure to pee because of being stood in front of a toilet, I could let it out in small, relatively painless spurts when and where I felt the need. Often just letting it trickle into the folds of the extra fabric where it was quickly swallowed up. So I wore wet pants regularly whilst I recuperated, and, despite my reluctance on wearing them, mum’s insistence on slick white vinyl pants were the key in preventing any visible leakage. Nevertheless, the problem continued at night, even after my newly circumcised penis had all but healed, because I was still waking up wringing wet... so to combat the nightly deluge the wearing of night time stuffing continued. # I was a little traumatised by the operation to say the least. I was taking an age to mentally recover and thought my recently pared-back boy part looked strange and inflamed and worried it would always be that way. With the constant reminder every time I looked at my red willy I felt responsible for its current state and, although it was the case I no longer left puddles in front of the toilet bowl when I did make use of the facilities, if only I’d taken more care I wouldn’t have been in this position. Meanwhile, I think mum seemed to connect the reason I was wetting to the pain and subsequent agony I’d been subjected to. I don’t know whether this was the case or not, but despite her ten year old boy needing nappies at night, she didn’t get angry about their prolonged use. In fact, she noticed that with the loss of my foreskin I also lost a lot of the insolence I had been beginning to accrue. The real reason - I felt damaged and wanted my mummy to look after me. I wondered why mum didn’t take me to hospital to have it checked out but I think she was disappointed/embarrassed/guilty about what the ‘doctor’ had done. I had nothing and no one to compare my situation to. I had no idea if this was how it went when a boy was circumcised and that I was just one of many. However, what I did know... her ‘friend’ disappeared from our radar completely. I don’t know if mum had words or what but I never saw him again. Good. # The comfort of wearing a soft thick nappy at night weirdly seemed to be the only relief I could count on. So, despite not wearing a nappy since I was three, the thought that I had to wear one to prevent any apparent complications, and soaked bed, seemed exasperating but inevitable. Although my logic wasn’t following any sensible path I became obsessed with keeping that area clean, covered and worried constantly that it just ‘didn’t look right’. Although I thought, and mum fostered that notion, I needed to wear a nappy to fight off any infections, what I really intended was to keep it hidden. I was ashamed of it always looking scarlet and deformed. It was ugly and I hated it and I’d brought it on myself because I peed all over the floor and in doing so had brought about the injury of a little girl. Guilt is a strange thing - how many other people might I have injured by my inconsiderate toilet habits? I needed that extra thick material to prevent anyone seeing it and also to avoid harming the rest of mankind. # At the start of all this I didn’t have much of a conversation about wearing nappies with mum. She just never let me out of them at night and often joked it was advisable to be better protected during the day if we went anywhere ‘special’. Although to begin with I wasn’t all that keen on going outside wearing a thicker nappy, mum made it seem that it was me who was making a big deal about it and no one else would even notice. She asked me if I’d been in the least bit bothered by wearing a nappy at night. As my foreskinless penis was healing I had to admit that it had been of benefit - so, no, it hadn’t been a problem. “And” she asked, “wearing one now... is that a problem?” She was quite intense and I found my days of lying under such scrutiny were becoming a thing of the past. I was wearing one at that moment, having just woken up after another soggy night, and in truth it had been soft and gentle with the plastic pants holding me in some degree of cosiness. “No, not really it’s just...” I shrugged. “Well then, what’s the problem? If there isn’t a problem, stop making difficulties when there aren’t any.” After all the jokiness mum seemed a bit annoyed that I was questioning her but I also detected she was a bit worried (although she never said anything to me about it) that it was taking so long to repair. However, she was correct about the padding; it was keeping me from any excess dribbles and made things nice and comfy down there. Perhaps weirdly I wasn’t unhappy about having to wear a nappy and it was at this point I psychologically began to associate these two words together - ‘Happy’ and ‘Nappy’. One morning I came down stairs to the kitchen, mum was just finishing pegging out the washing and my soaked nappy and plastic pants hung low between my thighs. It looked a lovely day and as I opened the door for mum because she was coming back carrying the laundry basket, a cool breeze took me by surprise and there in front of her I felt a sudden spurt into my already saturated nappy. The only thing was I couldn’t stop and mum watched as my nappy expand whilst it soaked up even more of my involuntary pee. “It’s a good job you’re wearing that,” she said pointing to my glistening plastic pants, “otherwise had you been wearing your school uniform yet... it would’ve been soaked.” I’d been rooted to the spot but incredibly embarrassed at peeing so publicly and it being witnessed by mum. I couldn’t think of an excuse or even what to say so I simply felt ashamed. Mum pointed upstairs. “Okay, take them off and I’ll get them in the next load... let’s get you ready for school.” Meanwhile, she’d bought a set of different coloured and loose-fitting shorts she thought wouldn’t put pressure around my injury like my school trousers and jeans had been doing. Since the operation I found such items very annoying to wear, tight and at times uncomfortably rubbing against my thicker underpants, so these baggy shorts came as something of a welcome relief. ##tbc##

Hi folks, I see lots of posts on here talking about what disposable diapers people are currently wearing and what they have in their stash. I thought it might be cool to start a similar thread for cloth fans. I wear for genuine need at bedtime but the rest of the time I'm just a DL. Lately though I've been wearing cloth at home in the daytime when I would typically use disposables. I know cloth isn't for everyone but I happen to love the feel and coupled with the environmental side, I see myself using it to occupy the DL side more and more. I've also taken to using it outside the house a bit more without too much hassle. I previously thought this would be impossible. I still use disposables for messing but at this rate that may change too. Currently all my diapers, ( day and night thickness) as well as pants and and doublers and from Babykins. This works well but I'd love to hear about how others do cloth diapers and what kinds they wear.

If you wet and are in rubber panties, then you need to know something. Urine contains harsh materials. the body also secretes material that, if left untreated, will harm rubber apnd plstic as well.. Thse materials eat away at the panty material. Therefore the sooner cleaned the better. Here is what we do immediately after use It should not need saying that you start with things made of a good quality material, Generally, thicker material lasts longer 1 Rinse in tepid water 2, If you do not have access to a mild soap, wash thoroughly in a weak solution of tepid water and dish detergent. avoid any kind of added bleach as it will make the panties harden, even and especially Oxy. Also too strong a solution will leach out oils from the material that helpkeep the material flexible 3. To limit the time that the panties are in contact with the detergent, rinse immediately and thoroughly in tepid water 4. hang to dry away from direct heat and sunlight or any UV source Ideally, you would have a hanging bar over the bathdub to use the RUBBER PANTY HANGER (link below) http://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?showtopic=36514

Henry is seven (Not to be confused with any of the Shakespearian Henrys) The paediatric nurse Ellie is eighteen and able to leave school to pursue a career close to her heart. Ever since she was little she’d always wanted to take care of children and, when an opportunity came up to take a course in paediatric nursing she jumped at the chance. She’d already been a volunteer at Saint Clare’s the local hospice and of course, what also helped was being ten years older than her brother, so had, over the years, taken care of him when their mother was otherwise engaged. Ellie was a young woman full of care, consideration and love, all of which she displayed to those she was charged to look after. She loved the work. Her brother Henry had been born ten years after Ellie, same mother but from a different father. Her own dad, Michael Warren, had married his childhood sweetheart Debra Gold, when, at the age of twenty-five, they could see no reason not to. He’d got a well-paid job at the local quarry straight from school and she’d been a top honours student but wanted to work rather than pursue further studies. She quickly established herself in the financial accounts department of a legal firm and made quite a reputation for herself. With the birth of Ellie, decided she’d cope with child and career from home and set up her own freelance financial advice/accounts company. Unfortunately, eight years later an accident at the quarry had left the wonderful Michael fatally injured and the small family unit almost fell apart. They managed the best they could, the compensation pay-out helping alleviate the financial worries a little. However, eighteen months later Daryl Woodhouse met and dated Debra. He was a funny, slim man, almost the exact opposite of her first husband, and he brought a much-needed breath of fresh air into the household. Alas, he was a freeloader and Debra only realised her mistake when, as the money run out, so did he. By then she was three months pregnant but thanks to her daughter and close-knit family, managed to get over him. She wasn’t going to let her resentment of his father cloud the view of her new son, Henry (named after Michael’s father) and so put the name Warren on the birth certificate. Although Ellie and the family knew he was from a different father, Debra insisted that he be treated as if he was Michael’s son and he was never to know who his real father was. Keeping this lie proved easier than expected because baby Henry was a little treasure. Everyone, including his older sister, doted on this smiling bundle of joy and he instantly slipped into being an important part of the family. Brother and sister were inseparable; he adored Ellie and she was always there to help and teach him as he grew up. # With Ellie already having helped out at the children’s hospital and the attached hospice she knew that paediatric nursing was not an easy job. Not only was she helping children from babies to teenagers, she also had the emotional journey of all that entailed. Babies that needed almost twenty-four hour care, young boys and girls who from some accident or disease needed help or supervision, the job was as much about sensitivity as medical care. Ellie was determined to get it right from the off and throw herself into it with gusto… she didn’t want to get anything wrong. To this end she decided to enlist the help of Henry. He was a robust, noisy, exuberant seven year old, who enjoyed all the pleasures a second grader could appreciate. However, when asked by his adored sister if she could practice on him, he approached this request with some apprehension. He wasn’t sure what it entailed but she promised it wouldn’t involve any ‘medical’ procedure. She said she just didn’t want to harm kids who were already suffering in one way or another simply because of not knowing how to do something quickly, carefully and with a degree of professionality. Henry had always done as his sister wanted but now, at seven, he felt he liked his independence and was weary of committing himself to do anything. Especially as the summer break was here and he planned to be out and about playing with his group of school mates. Ellie promised she would only practice on him when he was home our before bed and that nothing she did would impose on his fun. His mother encouraged him to ‘rally round’ and had a private word with him saying how pleased she’d be if he helped his sister attain the job she so desperately wanted. He loved his mom and loved his sister so… how could he refuse? # Ellie explained to her brother just what her job would entail. He wasn’t aware she would have to look after kids who were nearly as old as she was and who needed help with even the most basic of tasks. Even though she’d changed Henry’s nappy when he was a baby, he was potty trained by his third birthday, and she really had no idea how to go about changing someone older. She knew she’d be taught how to cope with a larger body but there were other considerations to think about. Most of the paediatric staff was female but they would be required to attend to older boys as well as girls, she wanted to get it right. So, on that first night of ‘Henry practice’ the bandages and other medical kit she was going to employ to begin with had been left in a separate bag at the hospice. Thankfully, the actual bag she had brought had all the things she needed for other training purposes. She nappied him. He was embarrassed throughout the entire procedure and had been reluctant to let it happen. However, she’d insisted that some kids needed help even getting undressed so he should let her do everything and that included seeing him nude. Not that his sister hadn’t seen his naked little bum racing around the house ever since he could crawl but at seven years old bashfulness was becoming a thing he was aware of. Any unwillingness was overcome by a word of encouragement, and promise of some future wish granted from his mother, which meant Ellie could get on with the exercise and Henry would simply comply. She stripped him and applied the wipes and creams she’d been told were needed to keep that particular area free of ‘the nasties’. She let out a schoolgirl giggle when she described it with those words to her brother. He looked horrified that such areas should even have ‘nasties’ around. She explained throughout the procedure what she was doing and why. Despite the awkwardness he realised just what a hard job his sister was undertaking. The idea that older kids might need nappies had never occurred to him and, after giving him a couple of examples of the problems some of her patients had, Henry was a little less anxious. “Don’t you use disposables?” Henry wondered. “Most of the time, but some kids are allergic or have different needs so we have to learn to be able to do everything… and that my dear, sweet little brother, is why I need to practice on you.” She smiled as the soft but thick fabric was pulled up between his legs. “So feel free to wriggle around a bit.” Once fitted in the nappy and plastic pants she asked him to walk around and give his opinion of fit; tightness, looseness, comfort, etc. Henry looked at himself in the mirror and burst out in embarrassed laughter. “I look, I look like a big… a big… “ “Maybe, but think of the poor kids who HAVE to wear that all the time?” Ellie looked at him in the mirror and patted the padding down a bit. “Erm, yes, er, it fits well.” For a moment guilt swept through his seven year old body when he realised some unfortunate kids had no alternative. After all, no one else knew or could see him wearing a nappy so why should it bother him? He knew his sister only wanted what was best for her patients and decided that if he could help, even in just this most simple of ways, he would. The padding wasn’t hurting him and Ellie had laid it on pretty thick (just like the nappy) he would be helping her help them. He paraded around the bedroom for a short while. “It does feel strange having all this between my legs… but it’s not uncomfortable.” “That’s reassuring,” she said relieved. With each unfamiliar step Henry could hear the tell-tale rustle of the plastic. The plain white vinyl cover really not hiding the fact of what lay beneath. “This,” he said rubbing the slippery cover, “doesn’t hide anything…” “It’s not supposed to,” Ellie confirmed. “It’s to keep from any leaks happening.” She slipped her finger between the tight elasticated legs and gently felt the soft fabric underneath. “This can get absolutely soaked so, like when you were a baby, it keeps the rest of your clothes and bedding dry until someone can come and change you.” He looked at her as if she thought he was stupid. “I know that.” # She patted his padded bottom. “Okay clever dick, let me try a different way of folding the fabric and see how that feels and then…” After a brief sigh he let Ellie get on with the second change and again was positive about a job well done. She explained that some kids were simply incontinent; whilst others had medical procedures that meant different techniques of protection were needed. Henry looked at the pile of disposable, fabric nappies, plastic covers and other assorted items she needed for her job and was glad he didn’t require any of this stuff on a permanent basis. Ellie was thorough as she manoeuvred the dense material under his bottom, pulled it through his legs and pinned it into place. As if on cue, his mother popped her head around the door to see how things were going. “Oh sweetheart, you look… lovely.” Although this had been said in a friendly way, Henry, who was laid out on the floor, and all but naked, wriggled in embarrassment. “Moommmmm.” “Sorry, sorry… but you do look cute.” She teased. “Mom!” There was no doubt about it, seeing her seven year old son wearing nothing but a nappy had made her go all gooey inside. She was shocked at just how much the feeling of maternal pride and love swamped her body just from seeing him look so sweet and vulnerable. She swallowed a gulp of emotion and smiled. “Okay. I’m making a hot drink… do you two want one as well?” “Yes please,” they chorused. “But not in a baby’s bottle.” Henry added. “Owww but sweetheart… you’d look…” She couldn’t help herself especially when she realised she wasn’t just teasing him. “MOM.” She disappeared just as Ellie pulled him to his feet. “For the last time tonight… how does that feel?” He stood up and walked around and gave a little jump. The nappy was soft, thick and fleecy and it did feel slightly different to the others. “A bit loose… I think with the plastic pants it would be alright.” He gave another little jump as if to prove his point. They didn’t fall down so he jumped again but the nappy stayed steadfastly in place. Not for the first time a smile appeared on Ellie’s face. “Mum’s right, you do look very cute in those.” “Look, if you’re gonna make fun I’m…” “No, sorry, you’re correct. Thank you for all your help. Let me take it off for you… unless you want to keep it on?” She chuckled to herself at the idea, whilst Henry simply pulled at the pins to dispose of the thing as quickly as possible. …to be continued

I started to put this story up before but it was removed for some reason but no one knows why. I have been advised to try again Baby Dick I’m sitting in the doctor’s office stripped down to my underwear awaiting his arrival and I’m feeling cold and vulnerable. The thin cream nylon curtain that separates me and the plastic padded bed I’m sitting on from his surgery still allows me to hear him whispering to a nurse, whilst tapping away at his computer keyboard. I wish he’d hurry up and start his examination as I’m bored of looking at the blue, hygienic paper sheet that covers the bed and the rather large, scary-looking chrome implement that I can just see through the crack in the flimsy drape. Even though I’m expecting it, the sudden noise as he pulls back the curtain makes me jump. “Don’t be scared Michael, I’m only going to examine you.” His words are gentle but I’m still on edge as he places a stethoscope against my chest and begins. He weighs, measures, taps, pokes, and peers into every part of my anatomy though it’s a worry when he shuffles down my underwear and cups my genitals. I look over at mum and dad who are sitting on plastic chairs only a few feet away watching this process. The doctor addresses them rather than me whenever he has a question or makes a comment. “He’s very undeveloped for a thirteen year old.” He continues the examination by feeling my penis and searching for my balls. He looks over at my parents and tells them I may be suffering from something, but he says it in doctor-speak so I have no idea what he means. However, the word ‘micropenis’ is in there somewhere and I understand that. Eventually he stops his prodding and poking and pulls up my underwear, which is a thick fabric nappy and tells me that I should relax. I lay out on the paper covered padded bed and he pops in a large dummy that has suddenly appeared on a ribbon around my neck. He then pulls a soft, fleecy baby blue blanket up over me and tells me again to relax whilst he speaks to my parents. “Is there anything that can be done for him?” I hear mother say. “An operation or drugs?” Dad adds. “Look…. Mr and Mrs Smith… it’s perfectly simple… your boy doesn’t want to grow up. His tiny baby sized penis is him trying to tell you… he wants to stay a baby.” “Really?” Both my parent’s chorus. “It’s perfectly normal for a boy his age. What with the pressures of becoming a teenager… it’s too much stress, so he wants to go back to being looked after… not have to make decisions… to be without responsibilities. His baby sized penis, lack of pubic hair and his soft babyish features… well; it’s his way of telling you this.” I’m shocked by what the doctor is saying but my nappy is hugging me tightly, the fleecy blanket is very comforting and so is sucking on my dummy. I feel myself drift off as my parents continue their discussion with my GP. # I wake up and I’m back in my own bedroom. It’s the smallest room in the house and whilst my older brother Paul and sister Helen have larger rooms, this one suits me as it’s mine… and it’s very, very cosy. I’ve made it my fortress; with all my favourite popstar posters pinned up on the wall. My white closet and chest of drawers keep my clothes nicely stored away, whilst the shelf that runs around three of the walls hold a few books but also my favoured toys and stuffed animals (I have quite a menagerie) who look on and keep me company. It must be getting near morning as I can see a glow around the window frame but checking the clock shows it’s not time to get up for school yet. I sigh in relief although know that this Monday is going to be a bit of a trial for me. I lay there warm and cosy under my covers, though a sudden thought made me check myself. Thankfully, I hadn’t had an accident and my PJs were dry so I wriggled, wondering why, for the second night in a row, I’d had such a similar weird dream. # Actually, I guess I know why - the Friday before I was walking home from school when Cuddy Cudthorpe and his gang of bullies ambushed me near the local park, bundled me through some bushes and stripped me naked. Well, not completely naked, they left me wearing a thick disposable with ‘Baby Dick’ written in thick black letters across the white material, front and back. I tried to fight them off but five burly fifteen year olds had the upper hand, especially as I’m thirteen and a bit of a wimp, physically and mentally. Ever since it became public knowledge, well amongst the school, that I was under endowed, he’d made it his job to terrify and belittle me at every opportunity. Of course, like most bullies, he does his nasty deeds when only he or he and his friends are present, so it’s difficult to prove any of my allegations. But it is true that I have a smaller than perhaps normal penis, certainly a great deal smaller than my older brother, unfortunately, mine had been noticed in the showers after gym and swimming lessons by my class. I got a load of ribbing from my class mates but then it got to the ears of Cuddy and since then he seemed to take great delight in never missing an opportunity of referring to me as ‘Baby Dick’. He’s gone out of his way to leave those two words emblazoned on my locker, my books and on the walls of the toilet. Now loads of the school refer to me by that name, which has pleased him no end. However, being embarrassed at school obviously just wasn’t enough for him so he decided to go public. That’s why the attack; he wanted to publicly humiliate me, which he did. I had to walk home wearing a loose fitting, soaked diaper (I was crying and scared) and it must have made his day as he held me down and in fear began to pee myself. He and his mates took photos, cheered about the ‘fun’ we were all having but left me crying in a heap and I still had to find my way the mile and a half home wearing what I had on and looking like I did. It was a warm afternoon but it didn’t seem to faze anyone that a boy my age should be crying and wearing a sagging nappy; although, at that time of day it was mostly school children on their way home and not many grown-ups. No one stopped to offer me help. Even other pupils from the school crossed over the road or giggled at my distress, no doubt knowing it was Cuddy’s doing and not wanting to be the next in line for his ‘practical jokes’. When I arrived home my school uniform was strewn around the garden, everything that is apart from my underpants. I got the message - they thought I was a baby and didn’t need ‘big boy’ pants. Cuddy’d whispered this at school and also while he bundled me into my current disposable that, with a dick like mine, I should always wear nappies. # Although more than a little traumatised there was no one else at home when I arrived so didn’t have to explain anything to anybody. I picked up my clothes and let myself in and waddled up to my room, the wet disposable sagging dangerously low as I climbed the stairs. I stood in front of the mirror and surveyed myself. My eyes were dark rings, tearstains ran down my cheeks and yet, those two words ‘Baby Dick’ emblazoned on the now pitifully full disposable didn’t hold any horror for me. In fact, since my situation had become common knowledge, the taunting and comments had strangely made me more popular… well, perhaps what I mean is, more people knew who I was - ‘Baby Dick’. I’d never been popular at school, not that I didn’t have friends but to be popular you had to be someone, or have done something, and that just wasn’t me. I excelled in being the very opposite of astounding. However, back to my mirror image - I haven’t worn a nappy since I was three years old, and, although my penis hadn’t grown a great deal since, the doctors said that my small penis is just nature – some people have massive ones, others small, whilst most are just normal. Its size had never really bothered me because until the comments at school, it wasn’t an issue. However, with all the name calling and references to me being a baby I began to think more and more about what it would be like being a toddler again and not have to put up with all this aggravation… and surprise, surprise, I didn’t mind the idea. This was probably why, in my dreams, the doctor was telling my parents my small penis was my way of saying I wanted to be a baby – that dream (and the hundred or so times a day ‘Baby Dick’ was shouted at me across the school yard) had a strange effect on me. It sort of instilled that idea deep in my conscious and subconscious. However and here’s the strange part, I’d had similar dreams before the Cuddy incident. These last two nights hadn’t been the only ones where I was a toddler. The difference was, in the current dreams it was me insisting on being treated as a little kid. Before, in fact way before, I’d had thoughts and dreams where I was a baby, and it wasn’t just my family insisting that’s what I should be, it was everyone. These mental images would just swamp in and for a few seconds it would be like... real... but then I’d come to my senses and just get on with whatever it was I was doing... and more or less tried to ignore it all. # I was standing still looking at myself in the mirror when I peed a little more. The full disposable warming slightly but under the extra weight finally gave up hanging on and collapsed to the floor leaving me staring at my mini penis. To me it didn’t look that small, except in comparison to my brother Paul; who has quite a large one. I know he’s sixteen and more developed than me but he and my sister take after my father’s side of the family, whilst I take after mum. So, whereas dad is tall and strong, mum is blonde and petite and that’s who I get my slim physique and blue eyes from. I suppose in other ways I haven’t kept up to my classmates in maturity- for instance, I still haven’t sprouted much in the way of pubic hair, my voice doesn’t appear to have broken and the things I like on TV are more likely stuff that a seven or eight year old might prefer. Oh yes, you know the menagerie I spoke about, I take it in turns sleeping with them all. I love cuddling my stuffed animals and have never once thought it odd doing so even at my age. Mum has had me at the doctors on several occasions and tests have indicated that there is no growth problem, it will all sort itself out and that I’m quite normal, just developing at a different rate to everyone else. Being the youngest in the family has always meant that I’m treated as the baby, someone who needs looking after. Both my brother and sister have always been very supportive and loving. As a tot I was always hopping from my bed and creeping into theirs if I got scared or had a bad dream. I was never thrown out. I remember Paul once saying he enjoyed these times because he could protect his little brother. Helen remarked that she loved it because I was like a warm, wriggly little teddy bear. Even as I’ve gotten older they seem to still think of me in this way – I’m still their baby brother. Both they and my parents are highly protective of me and I’m so glad to live in such a loving household. # Monday and another school day; I arrived and everyone was laughing and pointing at ‘Baby Dick’. Even my close friends were smiling and nodding as if they were in on some fantastic secret. I was soon to find out what they all knew and I didn’t. Posters of me wearing the disposable, with a very yellow front, which I’m sure had been photo-shopped, had been erected around the school yard as well as on some noticeboards in school. It took the teachers sometime to collect them all and then the inquest started. Of course I accused Cudthorpe but he and his friends denied everything, even saying that I’d been spreading lies about them and that they wouldn’t be surprised if I hadn’t done it myself to gain some kind of notoriety. Of course no teacher believed this accusation but, without evidence one way or the other, they couldn’t go any further with mine. However, come break time I was surprised how many people were sympathetic to my situation and thought how brave I was to remain in school. Of course there were still those who were glorying in my embarrassment but because of those who were more supportive I didn’t let them bother me as much. There was a school full of kids now aware that I’d been wearing a nappy, whether they thought it was voluntary or not I don’t think mattered to them. So, as each passed they patted my bum to see if ‘Baby Dick’ was wearing one to school. It got pretty annoying but I was powerless to stop it. I think they were very disappointed when they couldn’t feel any padding. “Baby Dick, why aren’t you wearing your nappy?” Some accused as if they’d been cheated of the opportunity to see for themselves this baby in their midst. “Baby Dick should be in a nappy” was whispered when some people passed by, other times it was hollered across the playground so ignoring it was more difficult. # However, one boy in particular was very sympathetic; his name Quentin, Quentin Timothy Farron to be exact, who was the butt of everybody’s nastiness. He was around the same age and size as me, except where I was blond he was dark, but he’d accrued the accolade of being the school’s BIG SISSY. “Sissy” was spat at him at every opportunity but he didn’t appear to mind, if he did he hid it well. He was gently spoken, unassuming and impeccably dressed... three points that made him definitely, as far as the rest of the school was concerned, a huge certified sissy. Although I knew him as we were in the same class, we weren’t particular friends even though we did have quite a bit in common. Neither of us were good at sport, we couldn’t throw a ball to save our lives, and gym was a constant torture. We were scared of swimming and clung to the floats as if I lives depended on it, which as far as we were concerned it did. We were both unhappy about appearing naked (apart from swimming trunks) in public and always wrapped a towel around us when we changed. We preferred our own company but were frequently disturbed by other kids and older bullies venting their hostilities on us. Quentin had a good way of scaring his adversaries off... he just screamed as loudly as he could until, a teacher came. Usually by then his aggressors would have run off so he was left to explain himself to the grown-ups. He would just shrug and go about his business. When I was in a similar position I usually got verbally and physically abused... often punched by these macho bullying kids... but I stayed painfully silent and intimidated. Although few people laid a finger on Quentin, I don’t know if that was because his dad was a cop or what, but even though he was constantly being picked on, he didn’t suffer the bruises I often came away with. Quentin Timothy Farron (or Quite The Fuckup as it said on his monogrammed school bag once) saw the wounded look on my face as everyone around was laughing at the poster-sized images of me in a disposable. “This is awful,” he whispered as he nervously approached. “I hope those bullying cunts die.” I was shocked by his language (it was a word I’d heard but never used and in fact I wasn’t sure what it meant). His mother was well known in the church group and his father was high up in the police force, so it came as a bit of a surprise he even knew such an expression. He patted my shoulder. “I hope you’ll be okay...” And that was it as he drifted off to class. For a bullied sissy he certainly carried himself well; no cowering, trying to hide away. He had a certain elegance; from his pristine school uniform and well-polished shoes, right through to his quiet but determined personality. He was the only one who actually seemed genuinely upset on my behalf and I appreciated his bravery in even speaking to me at that point. # That night I wasn’t sure if word about the incident would get to my parents so I decided to get it out in the open and tell them what had happened. They were suitably angry with the victimization and the cruel ‘prank’ that had been played on me. They wanted to make a big deal about it, threatening to complain to the school and taking issue with Cuddy but I begged them to let it drop. Paul wanted to beat Cuddy up but as much as I love my big brother, I don’t think even he would come off better between Cuddy and his gang. Cuddy was a bully but he was also an out and out thug. All I could see was things getting worse and Cuddy being pleased with himself for thinking he was making my life a misery. He was the type of person, from that type of family, who revelled in their own controversial reputation. No one liked them, and everyone gave them a wide berth, they delighted in their notoriety. The following day and my locker and desk were stuffed full of disposables and an assortment of baby gear. It seemed that a few ‘jokers’ had stolen their baby brother’s and sister’s trappings and loaded it on me. I nearly threw up when I discovered a shitty and soaked disposable shoved in my locker but I didn’t want to give the audience that had gathered the satisfaction. Once again what was meant as humiliation had a very strange effect. I gathered up all the baby products (except the soiled nappy) and piled them into my locker with every intention of sorting through them at home because an idea was fermenting in my brain. I was desperately trying to look hurt and hard done by. I attempted to appear careworn and upset by it all but the truth was, all these things had given me an opportunity; it was an opportunity I was keen to exploit. Once I got home (I walked with friends now) I let myself in and, armed with a backpack full of baby stuff, headed up to my room. I knew it would be an hour or so before anyone else got in so I spread out the contents to examine precisely what my ‘school mates’ had left by way of a ‘joke’. Four Disposables One thick terry nappy One pair of see thru plastic pants 2 Dummies 1 Rattle Set of four large safety pins A toy duck And lastly a bib that had ‘Mummy’s messy girl’ written in white on a pink background (it still had the remains of some child’s meal crusted into it). What a witty lot my fellow students were. #tbc# Part 2 I stood pondering for a little while, wondering if at thirteen what I was planning on doing was a good or bad idea. There was no doubt about it, certain things had been buzzing around in my head for some time now. Whether this was made more apparent because of the ‘Cuddy incident’, or because that merely seemed to confirm something else, I wasn’t too sure. What I did know was that the last few dreams I’d been having all pointed to me wanting to wear a nappy... to be a baby. Oddly, this desire didn’t seem to be that much of a ‘big deal’ to me. Although I hadn’t worn a nappy since I’d been potty trained, my dreams indicated that I wasn’t averse to the idea. Indeed, it could be argued (possibly) that I’d simply been putting off the inevitable. I stripped out of my school clothes and stood for a few moments naked in front of the mirror. I ran my hands over my soft juvenile body and cupped my balls. I have small hands so my genitals felt the right size; warm, smooth and soft resting in my palm. I ran my other hand over my bottom and turned slightly to see what I looked like. It was as if I was looking at myself for the first time with any degree of judgement. In the past it was simply my body and though I lived with it, I had never either inspected it or given it much thought... but now? When I mentally conjured up thoughts of my friends at school I could see the difference in our developments, or rather, my lack of such. Kevin, my best mate, although the same age as me was hairy, well-developed and very much a boy; I, on the other hand, was very much an underdeveloped version of myself and still maintained the supple outline of a child. Perhaps surprisingly, my small, immature physique didn’t worry me… it was just the way I’m made but, nagging away in some dark recess, was an urge… and an urge I was about to explore. # I reached for the terry towel square and folded it like I thought was appropriate. I had never done this before so it was only through having seen such things done on TV that I thought I had an idea about how these things worked. I lay it out on my bed and grabbed a couple of the pins. Pulling it up between my legs I thought the material felt quite rough and couldn’t really imagine a baby liking such a thing pinned around its bits and bobs. I suddenly thought how much more comfy the one I was forced to wear by Cuddy just a few days earlier had been. Despite the trauma at the time I was now comparing that scary and forced incident onto what I was doing myself. It felt really odd, even briefly, to be thinking in such a way but the forced disposable felt a lot softer than the fabric one I was trying to fit into. Eventually, after several unsuccessful attempts, I finally managed to pin it into place. The material felt coarse but, as I lay on the bed, my reflection looked fine. I sat up and slowly waddled over to the mirror for a better inspection. There was no huge bulkiness to it, although I thought the big pins made it look suitably childish, but was very loose and immediately sagged around my hairless knees. I bent down and shimmied it back up my thighs, grasping tightly to the material and wondering how to make it stay up. “The plastic pants help hold it in place.” It was Helen my sister at my bedroom door. Obviously I’d been daydreaming for longer than I’d thought and time had simply slipped by without noticing. I was a little stunned to hear her words, and although I was slightly anxious at what she might be thinking, I really wasn’t that worried about her discovering what I was doing. “I’m not sure I want that…” I said as I ran my hands over the fabric, “these feel really rough.” She came up behind me and looked at all the items laid out on the bed. “More stuff left by the school jokers...” I tried to explain. She nodded and examined the plastic pants. “Not sure if these will fit but…” She picked them up and stretched them as wide as they’d go and spread them out for me to attempt to climb into. They were tight but she shuffled them up my legs and the nappy was gripped firmly and held in place. It was as if she thought a nappy wasn’t a strange thing to see me dressed in. She stood back and inspected her handiwork. “Mmmm, not sure…” she smoothed them out and pushed any of the exposed material behind the plastic cover. “Well, are they comfortable?” # It didn’t even occur to me that Helen had not found any of this process strange. She had seen I needed help and simply pitched in as she’d always done if I was in difficulties or needed a problem solved. She stood behind me and we saw each other in the mirror. Even though she was only a couple of years older than me, she looked so much more mature. I was smaller than her and, with her youthful breasts more than adequately filling the front of her school blouse she looked like a girl bursting into womanhood. On the other hand, the image that stared back at me was that of an immature boy who didn’t look out of place wearing a nappy. The thing was, at that moment, and with my big sister in charge, I wasn’t unhappy about my situation. “I guess all this has something to do with last Friday?” She whispered in my ear. I nodded but added. “Yes but, erm, well, it’s something more… I mean…” I shrugged suddenly unable to voice my concerns. “What is it Mikey… you know you can talk to me about anything.” It’s true I could. In fact, our family didn’t like secrets and more especially didn’t like to see anyone suffer if they could help. My head was a jumble of things to say, though I’m not certain if I could have put it into any semblance of thought. Was I trying to reclaim my independence by showing ‘them’ that they couldn’t intimidate me? Was I using ‘their’ joke back against them by wearing it to prove their little japes had no effect? What was the reason...? “Well,” I pointed to my reflection again, “what do you see?” Helen smiled, “Just my favourite little brother.” She hugged me. “Exactly… little… L.I.T.T.L.E. I’m not growing up…” “But you will Mikey; we all grow at different speeds and…” I know she was trying to be sympathetic but that wasn’t what I wanted to say to her. “Helen, that’s not it. I… I… erm… I… ummm…” She waited patiently whilst I got my thoughts into some kind of order. “Erm… when Cuddy and his friends forced me into that disposable… umm… although I was terrified by it all…errr… when I thought about it… ummm… it wasn’t so... bad.” I was watching Helen in the mirror to see how she reacted to what I was saying. She sighed and then ran her hand over my plastic pants. “Are you saying that you think you might like… this?” “I don’t know. What I do know is that for quite some time now I’ve… I’ve felt like Peter Pan… you know… never gonna grow up.” “Has it been worrying you?” “Well, erm, what has been worrying me is that I’m thinking about it all the time.” As I was saying this I could hear “Baby Dick”, “Baby Dick”, “Baby Dick” being chanted in my head. “I don’t know what to say Mikey.” Nor did I. All I really knew was that Cuddy making me wear what he did seemed somehow to make sense. Although I cried all the way home and was embarrassed by the event… it wasn’t the actual nappy that caused it. It may have been the realisation about me. I looked down at my feet in shame at what I’d just told my sister and I could see my toes awkwardly curling up in the carpet. The dreams I’d been having recently also filled my head and all I could think about were the doctor’s words “He wants to be a baby.” At that same moment, and totally unannounced, I felt a spurt of pee shoot into the front of my nappy. # Where that action came from I have no idea although seconds later remembered that I’d peed in the disposable last Friday without giving it much thought. I felt my nappy grow warm and there was no disputing what I’d done as the front of the coarse fabric began to absorb the liquid and turn a slight off-yellow colour. Helen looked on astonished. “Oh Mikey… have you just wet yourself?” With a shiver of recognition I just sadly nodded. “Did you realise…” I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. Ever practical, my sister was immediately on the ball. “Look, you can’t stay wearing this…” Again she stroked the front of my slippery plastic pants. “You aren’t wearing any nappy rash cream and if you stay in it too long it will begin to irritate.” Those nights of babysitting the neighbour’s kids were really paying off. She was already pulling the tight-fitting plastic pants down and with them came my soaked nappy. I was like a statue – I just let it happen. I was too stunned to say or do anything but Helen eased me out of the wet things and grabbed a towel from on top of my drawers. She wiped me down and sent me off to the bathroom to sponge myself clean. When I arrived back Helen had found some cream and powder and had a disposable unfurled and ready for me. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I said in a quiet voice as I peered out from behind the thick towel I was drying myself on. As usual my sister was determined and matter-of-fact. “Mikey,” she raised her eyebrows so I knew she meant business. “You appear to be going through some strange shi… er… problems at the moment and if you don’t even realise when you piss your pants, you need to take some precautions until you can work out…” “No, no I’ll be okay it’s just…” “You’re not okay Mikey. Something is happening in your head and until you… or we… can work out what it is… you need to stay protected.” By this time she’d taken me by the arm and led me over to the bed where everything was laid out. “So, for the time being at least let’s get you sorted so we have some degree of control...” # She didn’t finish what she was saying as a look of determination came over her face and started rubbing cream into my tiny penis and balls. This was followed by a blanket of powder (which had me giggling there was so much of it) and finally she taped the disposable into position. Feeling the soft thick disposable being pulled up between my legs reminded me of when Cubby and his mates had done the same – thankfully, there were no slaps or punches. Helen was much gentler. However, the fit was a lot tighter and I could get up off the bed without feeling it was going to fall down at any moment… also I wasn’t crying. She tossed me my pyjamas and indicated I should put them on and even though it wasn’t yet 6pm, I did as suggested. Luckily my pjs were fairly loose and the bottoms easily pulled over the slightly more bulky underwear. However, there was no denying the bulge that now occupied that area. Whereas my usual small genitals hardly produced a tiny lump, now with the padding I’d gained a profile of some distinction. Yep, the baby padding had given me a bulge where I hadn’t had much of one before; I snickered to myself at this apparent contradictory revelation. # Meanwhile she was ploughing through the rest of the items I’d brought home. She tossed aside one of the disposables and the dirty bib. “These will be way too small.” She shrugged as she checked the toys and dummies but after looking at the array of stuffed animals surrounding the room tossed them back on the bed. She picked up the wet nappy and plastic pants and said: “These will need washing and you’ll need a bit more padding so that it doesn’t feel so rough.” I shrugged and nodded, I wasn’t sure what to think but I quite liked my reflection – standing in just my pjs with the obvious lump at my crotch. I ran my hand over it and it felt so smooth; I was grateful for that soft, yet flattering, large bulge. Helen watched as I teased the fabric under my pjs and in all honesty I was enjoying the surprising comfort it offered. I stroked my padded backside and loved the squashy cushion that now made up my rear. “Helen, is it wrong… you know… to… ermmm… like…” “Mikey, we all like different things… I can’t say how mum and dad will react but…” I pulled my pyjama bottoms down and looked more closely at the way Helen had fastened the disposable. I liked the way the tapes dragged the material in tightly over my tummy, I liked the smoothness of the white, shiny, plastic-looking fabric holding me in such a comfortable embrace. My head was full of strange thoughts. Was all this baby stuff from school planned? Was I being led into a state of mind I had no control over? Was I letting my imagination run away with itself? There was no denying liking what I was seeing in my reflection. My small frame seemed to compliment the disposable and a sense of the inevitable shuddered through my body. Why was I so happy about all this? # The nappy and plastic pants had looked good to me but this looked better. I wondered if plastic pants would improve the look but as Helen had them in her hand, and they were on their way to be washed, I didn’t get a chance to check. However, I was very pleased with what I was wearing and couldn’t stop stroking myself and watching my mirror image. The expression on my face was one of wonder and pleasure. Helen watched my reaction for a few seconds before adding. “When everyone is home you need to tell them your thoughts and what’s happening to you.” I looked her in disbelief. “Can’t I just…?” “Look Mikey, this…” and she indicated not only my padded outline but the rest of my room, “is who and what you are now” She paused before she went on. “But, you might feel different in a week, maybe a month or so… and I think you’ll appreciate the family being with you on whatever you decide.” My sister speaks so much better than my mind works. I’d never be able to find the correct words. I’m hopeless at getting my point of view over even in class. I just tend to go along with what everyone else decides but, this was about me and I’d never got anything less than total support from my family. Of course I wasn’t going to argue with Helen; I didn’t argue with anybody, I’d do as I’m told. “I’m off to start making dinner… mum and dad will be home in half an hour,” She heard the door slam downstairs. “Sounds like Paul’s home … I’ll put these on to wash as well” She said as she exited the room waving my wet nappy. I was alone with my reflection. I saw the rattle on the bed and was drawn to it. I’m not sure why a baby should find such entertainment in the noisy thing but after a couple of shakes I grew board. I picked up a dummy and wondered about trying that out. It looked clean enough but I had no idea where it had been so passed on that for the time being. However, surprisingly I found as I was looking around and thinking I was sucking my thumb. I lay out on my bed and found it incredibly easy to relax; there was definitely something about wearing a nappy that made me feel ‘different’. I sucked my thumb more, closed my eyes and just let go. Without any effort on my part I filled the front with a slow warming pee before I drifted off to sleep. # Mum was home first and Helen had a quick chat explaining what she’d discovered with Michael. “I think that incident last week with the school bullies has had more of an effect than he’s letting on.” “Really dear, why do you say that?” She replied whilst taking off her coat and hanging it up in the hallway. She told her about the conversation and what Mikey had said then beckoned her upstairs to see for herself. She was surprised to see her youngest, fast asleep, with his thumb slick between his lips and wearing what was obviously a disposable peaking over the top of his jammy bottoms. After what she’d just been told she was shocked but her heart went out to him. “Poor little mite… he looks so vulnerable.” “Yes,” Helen slipped her finger under his waistband, “and he’s wet again.” #tbc#

Lately, I find myself loving wearing cloth diapers not for the diapers, but for the plastic pants over them. I just cannot get enough of how they look and feel. This is why I had asked about wearing just a cloth liner/soaker with them, as I've really begun to love how the plastic pants look and feel, as I rarely use the diaper.

Little Liar Part 1 Seven year-old Thomas Sebastian Turner thought he could get away with anything. He was the eldest child of Maria and Earnest Turner and brother to five year-old Mary and two year-old Carrie. From kindergarten onwards Thomas managed to successfully blame anyone and everyone else for his offences. Any mistake he made, item broken or tearful friend, he was always innocent, it had nothing to do with him. He would lie and lie until he convinced himself it was true. Even when caught out with his fibbing, still insisted he was telling the truth. His parents wondered if he knew what truth was. The family lived in a pleasant, inexpensive neighbourhood, in the Mid-west. Earnest worked as the finance director (accountant) for a group of local businesses, whilst Maria was a busy housewife, but had been a talented young seamstress before she married. They got by but there was never loads of spare cash, although they never went into debt either. Life, like the neighbourhood, was pleasant – they made no claims to being the cleverest people in the world, or to knowing anything about politics – The Turners, like the majority of locals, just got on with life as best they could. However, they had been on the net, discussed it with friends and neighbours, read articles in an effort to find a solution to Thomas’s ‘problem’. However, from all the conflicting advice they cobbled together a plan of their own to make their young son understand how his lying affected others and, more importantly, how it was going to affect him. # He’d woken up to a sunny morning as his mother gently shook him from a deep sleep where he’d dreamed he was playing with some of the colourful stars from his favourite TV show. Whilst he rubbed his eyes, she pulled back the covers, noticing as she did so the damp bedding and soaked jammy bottoms. Recently he’d begun to wet more often, not nightly but frequently enough that stricter action needed to be taken. Mary, his sister who he shared the bedroom with, had been potty trained for over a year and had not needed any night time protection since then. His baby sister Carrie was still in diapers day and night so for the eldest of the brood to still wet the bed was becoming a bit of a predicament. However, up until this point his loving parents had been understanding and just put up with the inconvenience because Thomas’s attitude was – it’s just a ‘bedtime accident’, which, ever since he was a toddler was what he’d called such occasional incidents. It was something he couldn’t lie about because it was there for all to see. None-the-less he thought of it as something that just happened naturally so therefore was nothing to do with him. These days he took no responsibility for getting to the bathroom at night. Mr and Mrs Turner had let him get away with it for far too long. They didn’t like confronting or even arguing with their children, in particular their independently minded son, so took the easy option. They came from a long line of very liberal parents who had decided that - a child needed to be given space, needed to find him or herself in their own time and on no account must they be challenged on that route to personal discovery. For Maria and Earnest that was now all a load of bunkum. So, from this day on his parents decided his and their own particular mind-set was no longer going to be appropriate. Young Thomas’s actions and bullying towards his younger sisters and others had been a belated ‘call-to-arms’ that they were about to respond to in a dramatic manner. Thankfully, the wet bed and soaked PJs gave them the perfect opportunity for putting their newly developed plan into action. Things were going to change for their damp little boy and change immediately. The plan had a few elements to it, and to be honest, neither parent was sure if any of them would work. However, they were desperate and hoped to get some response to their ideas. They were quite prepared for the tears, tantrums and drama that no doubt was about to follow. Adding to his mother’s determination about what was to happen was the fact that she noticed a teddy bear peeping out from under the clammy bedsheets. The very cuddly toy his two year-old sister had been crying for the night before because she couldn’t sleep without it. Thomas had sworn he knew nothing about its disappearance yet here it was now wet and as large as life. When his mother asked about it he still pleaded innocent to how it got into his bed, saying Carrie must have put it there. The sweet ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ look he gave her for a second put her off guard but the resolve returned and she knew he needed to learn not to lie. Thinking he’d fooled her, and that was the end of the inquisition, he quickly made his way to the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready for school. # It was the first day of a new term and Thomas was quite excited at seeing all his school friends again but his mother had been planning a surprise for when he wondered back to his bedroom still towelling off. As he returned he noticed that she had stripped the bed and a clear plastic sheet had been put over the mattress. Lying on top of that was a pile of items he couldn’t quite make out but to him looked very suspicious. One of Maria’s great joys was to make clothes for her children, which were often admired when they went out as a family. However, recently she had been busy designing and making a special new school uniform for her boy. She’d spent a few hours once the kids were asleep working away at this secret project, which she knew would be a surprise to Thomas. “We’re going to start this school term differently.” She said to her son as he hesitantly dried his thick brown hair, eyes focusing warily on why his mother should be there. He was a big boy and didn’t need her to dress him. “There’s a new uniform for you to wear but firstly, because you’ve been wetting the bed far too often recently, you’ll be wearing protection for the foreseeable future.” That information brought her carefree son to a sudden halt. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly or what it meant except, there was something about him having to wear ‘protection’ from now on. He noticed the folded disposable, the plastic pants and the baby powder lying on top of the pile of clothing and suddenly realised what exactly that did mean. He definitely wasn’t going to be doing that. “Mummy, I’m not Carrie, I can’t wear a diaper to bed… I’m not a...” his tears and anger came, “BABY” He screamed the final word and stomped off but his mother grabbed him and pulled him back towards the bed. “No sweetheart, you’ll not be wearing a diaper for bed.” She thought this might calm him down enough for her to deliver the sting in her plan. “You’ll be wearing one both night and day from now on.” She smoothed out the crinkly, plastic sheet covering the mattress and smiled at him. “We’ll make it thicker at night so…. if you use it… no harm will be done to your bedding.” # The tantrum and waterworks started immediately. He struggled out from his mother’s grip and stomped around his bedroom screeching at his mother that he shouldn’t (and wouldn’t) wear diapers at his age. This made Mary pay attention. She was used to tantrums and her brother getting his own way but this time mummy’s reactions were different, she spoke to him differently. ‘It wasn’t fair.’ ‘It wasn’t right’. ‘Only babies like Carrie wear diapers … he’d never wear them’. Thomas shouted and protested. As part of their (it had to be said), muddled plan, Thomas’s parents had hoped that by putting him back in a diaper full time would be a reminder that he’d been doing something he shouldn’t – bed-wetting. They hoped that by sporting a thick, babyish garment all day would make him think twice about his actions. They were also desperate for a quick turnaround to their son’s casual, disruptive ways. They worried that should it continue, in later life he might think his attitude was acceptable and find himself in a great deal of trouble. They had to do something now. He was very forceful in his childish arguments but for the first time his normally compliant parents had said “NO” and he’d met an implacable barrier to his normally indulged self. His father came in to the room and told his son to stop all the nonsense and behave. Hoping it was just his mother wanting to put him in diapers he ran and hugged his daddy, claiming his mummy was being unfair. He was a big boy and didn’t need to wear such babyish things. “OK Tommy, did you wet the bed?” His daddy asked as his son tried his best, ‘innocent little boy’ look. Thomas was none too happy admitting to anything but also knew it was something he couldn’t deny. However, he didn’t see Mary looking on so, albeit reluctantly, nodded to his daddy’s question. “Well, what do we do with Carrie when she wets?” Over the years Thomas had seen both his sisters being changed, so diapers, disposables, plastic pants, baby stuff had always been a huge part of the things lying around their home, but this was different. “But daddy,” he snivelled, “I don’t wet in the day… just… sometimes at night.” “Yes that’s true… and we’ve let it go but… you seem to be getting worse and we need you to be aware of the consequences and a diaper will be a constant reminder.” His daddy continued and hoped his son would see this as positive, even though in his own mind he wasn’t really convinced. This plan of theirs was a very piecemeal affair – it took from a host of different opinions, some more reputable than others, and they weren’t sure if any of it would really work. However, they had made the decision to act, so that was what they were doing, and hopefully they’d muddle through to some kind of success. Thomas wasn’t sure what consequences meant but it didn’t sound like daddy had much sympathy so that angered and frustrated him. “The good thing for you is, well, whilst you’re wearing a diaper, er, erm, you’ll get to use it, so, officially, no more accidents because you’ll have all the protection needed.” Earnest was really out of his depth but hoped that something, anything might work and he wanted to be positive and give this course of action a chance. The outburst followed but Mary witnessed something she’d never ever seen in their home before. Fury seethed within Thomas but a quick smack from his mother to his naked little bottom made him stop. This was another part of their plan - a short, sharp shock. They thought that a smack to his bottom might be another thing that would make him re-think his attitude and hoped that he’d be so stunned, the result would be instant. However, neither parent liked the idea of such a punishment and hoped the shock element would be the deciding factor rather than resorting to spanking their son on a regular basis. # Thomas had never ever been spanked before and was stunned. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. It didn’t particularly hurt but there was something in the delivery that meant things had changed and the only way he knew how to deal with that was by crying. He hoped his wailing would gain him some consideration, some sympathy. He wanted them to feel bad about smacking him but it didn’t work. His mother just carried on with hardly any break in the proceedings. Mary watched stunned as her older brother was reduced to a naked bawling baby and in truth trembled hoping that it wouldn’t happen to her. Although, at the same time, silently happy to see her unpleasant brother get his just deserts. This was an awful lot for the seven year-old to take in but with both his parents joining forces and acting as one there was little alternative. Thomas’s uncooperative wriggling and kicking was no match to stop his mother from powdering her boy and taping him into his first disposable diaper in over four years. The incensed wail and stubborn wriggle was being ignored and forcefully subdued. Even his mother’s gentle hand smoothing in creams and powder had been no consolation to the shame of being forced into a diaper at his age. It wasn’t easy but once it was done he did look a lot younger than his seven years. Perhaps, Maria hoped (and there was an awful lot of hope going on in their plan), this alone would make him behave. His young mind couldn’t cope with what was happening but even he could see the silliness of what they were doing. They wanted him to be more grown-up but they put him a disposable and expected him to use it. Why? It was different at night, he didn’t know he was wetting the bed but during the day, he had no trouble making it to the boy’s room. The disposable was a bright yellow colourful affair with blue cartoon character markers that appeared when the item was wet. So, whilst he lay sobbing his mother took advantage of his wriggling hips, which helped slip up a pair of matching slick yellow vinyl pants, she wanted to make sure he was completely waterproof. The thing was, seeing her son like this Maria caught a glimpse of her sweet innocent little baby and not the unholy terror he’d become. His ineffective stamping about and forced crying for some hoped for loving attention would normally have brought out her mothering ways and engulfed him in hugs and kisses. She knew she’d have to see this plan through or at least give it a chance if there was any hope of getting him to at least try to alter his ways. Tommy was terrified of going to school in such protection and protested throughout the entire procedure. He was mortified that he was now wearing such padding and looked like a taller version of Carrie. However, it wasn’t quite as bulky as his baby sister’s, although far more cumbersome than the Thomas the Tank Engine briefs he normally wore. His verbal and emotional protests were ignored by mummy as she simply made sure everything fitted him well. She thought he looked wonderful standing, albeit reluctantly, in front of her dressed as he was. It brought back happy memories of when Thomas was less trouble, more compliant and much easier to take care of. Indeed, Maria was a mother who loved and indulged her children. In years gone by she would have been dubbed an airhead or hippy but she wasn’t really. She adored having babies and wanted nothing more than to love and be loved by her three youngsters. Meanwhile, Mary popped her head round the door and saw her older, tear-streaked brother, being hugged by mummy, wearing babyish plastic pants and smiled. “Tommy looks like Carrie.” She smirked as her words had the desired effect and his face once again creased in total misery. This set him off even more hating her, hating his mother, hating his father … but his parents had further surprises in store for their little liar. Although he looked pretty cute standing there in just his protection mummy fed his arms into his new school uniform; a yellow shirt, loose red shorts with suspenders, a big blue bow and brown shoes. Where this idea had sprung from Maria wasn’t sure but at some point, when they were discussing Thomas’s lying, a reference had been made to a particularly famous childish liar and from that seed had grown into this part of the plan. To be continued… *

My Story I was bawling my eyes out. Dad had just given me the worst spanking of my life for lying to him. It was my own fault because I had been seen breaking something but was still insisting it wasn’t me. Dad said he’d put up with many things from his children but he wouldn’t allow any of us to be a barefaced liar. Dad had asked me outright if I’d done it and I said “No”. I was just about to go to bed so was only wearing my thin cotton shorty pyjamas when I saw that look come into his eyes. If I’d admitted it straight away I’m sure I would still have gotten a spanking but perhaps not quite as hard or for so long. My dad isn’t a big man but, as a ten year-old and not in the least bit sporty, I wasn’t equipped physically or emotionally to be hurt. This was the first time ever I’d been in any real trouble because normally my cuteness and sorrowful expression had in the past got me out of being disciplined. It didn’t work this time and I hated it. My bottom throbbed and, although I was already on my way to bed, it seemed worse that I had to go clutching my red stinging bum. I cried all the way to my room, which I shared with my older brother David (I’m the youngest of three kids) thinking the world was grossly unfair, dad was cruel and I would definitely be running away to a nicer family come the morning. * My sister, Stephanie, is the eldest and five years older than me, who despite dad telling her not to, still came and tried to soothe my tears and make me feel better. It was a pretty hopeless task. Both her and my brother had witnessed my shame and blistered bottom so I was in no mood to be placated. However, she rubbed my back (I dare not lay on my back because it was so painful on my bottom) and settled my teddy bear in my arms, and even though I hadn’t had much to do with it for a couple of years, I hugged him with some force. She kept telling me Daddy loved me and that I shouldn’t think any less of him for what he’d just done. Unfortunately, I wasn’t seeing that side of the argument and only felt the agony of my bum, and possibly guilt, which set me off crying even more. I can’t explain how I was now absolutely terrified of my father. It had been the one and only time in my life I’d been disciplined and that made him, in my immature mind, a complete monster. According to Steph, my sobbing eventually subsided and I fell asleep on my front clutching tightly to teddy. She said that once I’d calmed down I looked adorable snuggling up to him and wearing my little short pale green jammies. Later, both mum and dad came up to check on me and kiss me goodnight. I was dead to the world so I missed that bit of compassion and I didn’t hear David come to bed some time later. Normally we lie awake and chat for a while before dropping off. He’s four years older than me so he has quite a lot going on in his life and I like to hear about his footballing exploits and what he and his mates get up to. * The following morning David was the first to rise. He came over and shook me awake to get ready for school. As I came round I was surprised that I was still clutching teddy, I was conscious of a slight soreness to my bottom but there was something else - I was drenched. My jammies, my sheets; everything was soaked and I didn’t know what or how it had happened. I think at the same moment, as he slid out of his own PJs he smelled the slight odour of pee. Once I realised my situation I started to cry. I was scared that I’d get another spanking, also I was embarrassed at doing something I hadn’t done since I was a toddler and thought I’d be ridiculed by everyone. David called mum, who was already up and working in the kitchen, that I’d had an accident, which on hearing Steph came in to see what the problem was. She saw the state I was in and again tried to tell me not to worry, but I was worried. I’d been punished once for something I’d done that was wrong and now this! Steph led me to the bathroom and, while David was in the shower, she helped me out of my wet clothes. My brother popped his head around the side of the cubicle to see what was going on, he wasn’t gloating or anything, just seeing what was happening, but quickly finished so that I could be attended to. I was still sobbing when mum came in to check what exactly my ‘accident’ had been. “It looks like he’s had a bit of trouble,” Steph said somewhat understating things as I stood there naked and trying not to look so scared. “The beds soaked and…” Mum came over and gave me a huge cuddle. “Don’t worry darling, these things happen.” Dad had already gone to work so at least I didn’t have to face his opinion of his soaked youngest but I was anxious about him finding out. “You won’t tell dad will you?” I nervously appealed to mum. I was now shivering and mum shooed the others out of the bathroom and gave me a warm shower where I was soaped and shampooed, something that she hadn’t done for many years; probably because I was grown up and didn’t need anyone bathing or washing me. However, mum’s gentle care had calmed me down and, as she led me back to the bedroom, she told me again not to worry. I think she could still see the redness of my recently spanked rear and knew that I was more than a little apprehensive about getting the same again. She helped me into my school uniform of grey shirt and shorts and after breakfast gave me a huge kiss and cuddle to send me on my way. * Apparently, the bed was wetter than she’d imagined. The mattress was soaked and, even with a breeze and sunny weather she found it difficult to dry outside. Our neighbours, the Woods, had three children: their eldest was eight year-old Kevin who had learning difficulties and his two younger sisters, five year-old Susan and Bethany who was four. Kevin and I had played together since he was born and his two younger sisters looked after him like he was a precious jewel. Come to think of it, all the Woods were very attentive to Kevin’s needs, as I suppose were the rest of the neighbourhood. Despite his problems Kevin was welcome everywhere… we were a tight estate who watched out for one and other. Mum was explaining to Mrs Woods about drying the mattress in the sun and my accident, our neighbour was most sympathetic. However, she’d had a similar wetting problem with Kevin so offered to let mum have a plastic sheet if she thought that might help. She now used a rubber one over Kevin’s mattress, so she had a spare if needed. As it was, the mattress wasn’t completely dry by the time I had to go to bed so she accepted the offer. I was a bit surprised to hear the crinkling sound of the sheet as I climbed into bed and almost started a petulant strop until I saw dad standing in the doorway. “It’s just until I can get the entire thing dry honey, so don’t worry, it’s only temporary.” Mum explained as she comforted my agitation. Dad stepped over to me and I almost drew back in fear but he just ruffled my hair saying, “Don’t worry Champ, we’ll have this sorted by tomorrow,” then kissed me night-night. It was strange being in a crinkly bed because every time I moved or turned over it was accompanied by such an annoying noise, which was a constant reminder of what I‘d done the night before. However, mum had got my thick flannel PJs for me to wear and that deadened some of the sound and I felt quite cosy. I even let teddy share the bed with me for the second night and I was confused that dad could spank me one day and then kiss me and call me his Champ the next. I was still thinking of this when I fell to sleep. * Again David was up first, rousing me from slumber and urging me to get ready for school. As I turned I heard the tell-tale crinkle and I was immediately reminded of why it was there. David said that all he could hear all night was me crinkling every time I turned; however, the noise hadn’t kept me awake. I pushed back my blanket and it was only then, as the cool air rushed in, that I realised I was once again soaked. David looked and shook his head and I lay there wondering what to do. At that moment mum came in with a freshly ironed shirt for David and caught the look I was exchanging with him. “Er,” my brother started, “I think he’s had another little… er… accident…” his eyes raised in my direction. Mum passed him his shirt and immediately came striding over to me and felt the front of my PJs -they were absolutely sodden. She helped me out of bed and checked to see if the plastic sheet had done its job. “It’s a good job Kevin is such a good friend and loaned you his waterproof sheet,” mum said trying to make me smile, “otherwise we’d never get this mattress dry.” I was desperately holding back tears. I couldn’t understand how I could have wet the bed twice in two days but mum seemed very understanding and after being sorted out in the bathroom left me to get myself ready for school. I decided on my green ‘HULK’ underpants as I thought they’d make me feel more grown up (like the hero himself) then, because I was running late, quickly slipped on my school uniform. I went to a different school to David and Steph but mum always made sure we looked smart before she’d let us go and get our bus. So, with a kiss and a hug she patted my healing bottom and sent me on my way. * Things got worse. After the fourth successive night of waking up soaked both my parents thought I needed a bit more assistance in coping with the problem. Thanks to Mrs Woods, who was able to offer some supplies to help, the situation was soon resolved. So, on the fifth night mum took me upstairs to bed and I found something extra laid out for me to wear. She told me that her and dad had decided that wearing a nappy would save all the extra washing, keep the smell to a minimum (David had made a comment) and should keep me snug and well protected. This was all too much and I screamed that I didn’t want to be babied, I wasn’t a baby, I shouldn’t be treated as a baby but as calming as mum’s words were I refused to let her put it on… that was until dad arrived. I suddenly realised that I was acting up and defying my parents and that would lead to trouble so I stopped having a tantrum but continued to sob. “I know you don’t want to wear these,” he said as he held out the nappy, “and we’d prefer it if you didn’t have to.” He sounded so reasonable. “But you are making quite a mess and it’s not fair on your mother who has to do all the cleaning up… now is it?” Needless to say I was sobbing and although I knew he was right and I was just being selfish I didn’t want to wear it. “You're not being punished, loads of kids your age have trouble getting to the toilet at night but…” and this is where he lifted my sulky chin and made me look at him, “you need some help until you are over it. I’m sure by the weekend you’ll be fine and we can all go back to the way things were.” He was so nice, spoke quietly and seemed very positive. He made me feel I wasn’t being punished and it all seemed to make sense. Besides that, I knew what could happen if I defied him so, I shrugged and nodded and let him get me dressed for bed. * It had been some years since I last wore a nappy but he seemed to be very efficient as he rubbed in some lotion, powdered my groin, folded the square of terry cloth, inserted a soak pad and pinned it into place with a couple of big baby pins. Lastly, he shuffled a pair of Kevin’s plastic pants up my legs to hold it in place. I felt totally humiliated. I hated the bulkiness, I hated the crinkly pants… and sheet, I hated dad for making me wear it… even if it did all make sense. He fed my PJ top over my head and had a little game of pretending it wouldn’t fit, ‘Perhaps my head had recently swelled’, ‘Was it because I was getting brainier?’, he asked. I giggled as he pretended to struggle and when my head did eventually pop through the correct hole he was smiling as much as I was. Then he tried to pull up my PJ bottoms but there he did have a problem because the nappy was just too chunky for them to fit over. “Oh well,” he said, “perhaps for tonight you could just sleep like this.” He looked down at my thick nappy. “It looks like it should keep you snug and dry all night.” He patted the bulk and said that if I wasn’t careful I’d be starting a trend. “Everyone will want to wear something that soft and comfy” He then said in a rather hoity-toity voice. “Eveningwear designed and modelled by the great haute-couture stylist himself… Monsieur Pantalons et Plastique.” Dad could be funny when he wanted and, although I had no idea what he’d just said, we both sniggered at his silliness, which took the sting out of having to wear a nappy. Then he gave me a mock bow, kissed the top of my head and left me to drop off. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very comfortable. I tried to sleep but I just couldn’t get used to having this huge thick thing between my legs. Because I was wriggling around so much, the plastic sheet and my plastic pants were making a noise, which also didn’t help. When David came to bed I told him of my predicament and that I wanted to just shrug them off and sleep naked. He wanted to see what I looked like so I shuffled down the blanket and nervously revealed my shame. He patted the padding and smiled saying that the thickness of my protection should keep any flood at bay. I was half expecting for him to mock me and call me a baby or something but, he just sort of gave a silent whistle and got himself ready for bed. However, as he slipped into his PJs, he warned me that mum and dad wouldn’t be too happy if I did take them off and then wet the bed again. I could see his point but I really wasn’t very comfortable. Eventually, after our usual night time chat he dozed off but I was still wriggling around trying to get snug. His last words were ‘stop fidgeting’ so he could get some sleep. I lay there until certain he was snoozing then I carefully squirmed out of my tight and restricting nappy. Once that was off I felt a lot better and it wasn’t long before I joined David in the Land of Nod. *tbc*

I have 11 pairs of brand new in packaging white plastic pants in size Small. I'm willing to sell all 11 pairs for $30AUD for the lot In addition I have a white onesie with pink ribbing also in size small. The onesie is brand new and never worn but has a tiny light grey stain on the front from manufacturing process. It is barely visible and may well come out with bleach when washed for the first time. $5AUD Also I have an unopened pack of MoliCare Super Pull ups in size small. $5AUD Would prefer payment via PayPal and can quote on postage. (international postage on pull ups will cost ineffective). Located Brisbane, Australia

New School After my parent’s divorce mom decided she wanted to start a new life with me in another part of the country. She knew we needed to make a complete break and was eager that I should reap the benefits of a whole new experience. Educationally I’d been doing OK but she knew I wasn’t all that happy and, as an eleven year-old, was about to move up to Middle School. However, that move was going to be to a new academy mom discovered as she searched for a new job. She’s a research chemist and I’m glad to say, quite in demand. So we travelled half way across the country because she’d found employment in a laboratory, out in the wilds of nowhere, that dealt with medical /gene/stem-cell research, an area that mom was expert in. The centre was settled out of town on the edge of a desert but the town itself was large enough that you didn’t feel completely cut off from civilization… also it had a rather unique ‘school’. ‘Vestra frui pueritia’ was the school’s motto, which I gather roughly translates as ‘Enjoy your childhood’ Mom is clever and intuitive and said she only wanted the best for me, so, although it may be a wrench away from the few friends I had, this new beginning would give us both the kick-start to new opportunities from which she thought we’d both benefit. The school, the ‘ALEXIARES and ANICETUS ACADEMY’ was to be my new seat of learning. It wasn’t quite what I expected. * Hi, I’m David, David Grohm, and ever since I was young I’ve always liked to experiment in the way I dressed. My long tousled dirty blond hair and big green eyes (mom always said I had the deepest green eyes she’d ever seen) giving me a sort of neutral sexual look – I could (and was) mistaken for either gender. Sometimes my ‘dressing up’ got away with little or no comment, other times it created quite a stir. “If everyone else is dressed the same then the world would be a boring place.” This was mom’s general rule about what I wore if I ever felt guilty over some of the outfits I chose. She was always very supportive of my originality and, even if she didn’t totally approve, certainly didn’t try to stop me from developing and investigating those interests. Mom, Heather Grohm, is a very clever woman, far cleverer than my dad, James, who often found it difficult to keep up with his brilliant wife. These days mom probably wouldn’t win any awards for the sexiest mom on the school run, she wasn’t that type of woman, but she was always the most diligent and caring and made me, her only son, feel very special. She wasn’t cloying or over-bearing (perhaps that was me?) she knew what was best or just when I needed some space. She said that she saw a sweet, creative and wonderful person from the moment she set eyes on the ‘cutest baby in the world’. I loved it when mom spoke about me like that. Ever since I was quite young I’d worn my mom’s clothes, I’d worn my dad’s clothes, I’d often make my own stuff up from pieces of fabric, plastic and stick it all together with a few pins then wander around in my latest creation. A little girl doing this would have passed unnoticed but a little boy; well it raised a few eyebrows with our neighbours - especially if I was dressed either like some foreign dignitary (and acting like one) or, more likely, a local peasant in rags and little else. However, as I got older my main desire was to wear diapers. There was something very special about growing up and able to appreciate the comfort and pleasure such a piece of childish clothing offered. I suppose it wasn’t a big leap from some of the stuff I’d already been wearing; homemade loincloths, cod pieces, togas, skirts, dhotis, kilts… and it was whilst I had wrapped a towel around me like a diaper that I realised just how much I liked the sensation of something between my legs. I wanted to dress as a baby even if I didn’t want to be treated as one, well not to begin with anyway. * When mom had discovered my craving (that revealing towel wrapped around and pinned just so) I was seven years old. She didn’t appear concerned that her potty-trained little boy would happily want to envelop himself in a makeshift diaper. She asked if I liked what I was doing, and as she seemed OK about it, I volunteered the fact that I’d always liked the feeling that a diaper gave me – of comfort and safety. I’m sure I didn’t use those exact words but she seemed to understand what I wanted and didn’t mind me continuing to wear such items. She asked if I liked wetting myself but in truth I hadn’t done so at that point and found the idea a bit yukky. She bought me a couple of large, terry style cloth squares, showed me how to fold them myself and how to pin them tightly so they wouldn’t sag too much. I actually liked the sag, the bulkiness when I sat down or played around was… wonderful. Sometimes the looseness sent a tickle between my thighs and bottom which made me smile and wriggle gleefully. For obvious reasons I didn’t wear them for school only when at home or in the holidays but, as I grew older, mostly in private. * Mom has always been very understanding. She reckons from that very first time she saw her seven year-old son wearing a diaper again she thought I looked so damn cute she just wanted to scoop me up and hug me forever. We did (and do) a lot of cuddling and even as I’ve grown bigger and gotten older, we still have the same relationship. I simply prefer diapers around the house and to sleep in. In fact, I’m not sure I’d get a good night’s sleep these days without them. There’s just something about a thick diaper hugging you as you drop off to sleep that is very satisfying. It’s not often that I wet them when I’m asleep but occasionally I have done… though after that first time, mom insisted I wear plastic pants over them when I went to bed. She pointed out that even though I wore thick padding, it still leaked and, though she didn’t mind the diaper wearing, she wasn’t in favour of more unnecessary laundry. However, there was something strangely satisfying the first time I wet on purpose. I was wearing a disposable and nervously thought I’d just experiment and see what it was like. As I tentatively let go I was so sure it would leak all over the place and run down my legs that it took me by surprise how efficiently it soaked up all my pee. A few seconds after I’d done it I couldn’t believe I didn’t feel all that wet and wondered where all the liquid had gone. Soon after I felt my disposable pressing and rubbing against my thighs and the front of my shorts had filled out. It was firm and solid and I was totally amazed at how a disposable was taking away any responsibility or guilt about wetting and was thankfully storing it away until I could dispose of it. The whole process had been a revelation and one I had no trouble pursuing on many more occasions. Mom’s demand that I wear vinyl protection over my diapers didn’t seem unreasonable and as she went to the trouble to buy a few pairs of plastic pants, I wore them over my padding in bed. I quite like the feel and now I’m used to them (I’ve been wearing them continually ever since she first suggested it) there is certainly something special having that extra layer and they’ve prevented wet sheets on more than one occasion. Sometimes, when I’m wearing my pyjamas over them, I love the feeling as they slip around the shiny pants and they slide up and down my legs as I wiggle in utter contentment. Mum says she loves those occasions when I’m dressed for bed, PJs over my diaper, and we’re sat cuddling on the sofa watching TV. She says there is something very comforting when she pats my padded bottom and I rustle around in complete happiness. There’s no doubt about it – I’m a momma’s boy. * To be continued…

I Love My Daddy There have been quite a few times when I’ve been glad I was wearing a nappy whilst out and about in public. I know a seventeen year-old should be past that stage by now but, for instance, when an F16 screams in over your head at about 200 feet, pulls back and accelerates away vertically before going into some incredible aerial manoeuvres, you know that the spine-tingling pee you’d just excitedly let loose, it’s a nappy that saves you from an embarrassing damp patch on your pants. It is times like that, when the unexpected leads to a sudden loss of control, a nappy is designed for. To explain the F16: Daddy and I have recently moved to his villa on the coast near Murcia in Spain, where the local Air Base was having an open day and part of their itinerary was a fantastic air display. People had flocked to the beach to watch and the place was crammed packed with visitors. Although Daddy always insists I wear a nappy I’m constantly thankful for that resolve when such things happen. The display had seen loads of different aircraft, both old and new, doing incredible stunts in formation and solo. Loving planes like I do I was in my element and marvelled at the clever pilots as they guided their planes through various brilliant aero-spectaculars. Suddenly, from behind where we were standing, a F16 military jet roared in over our heads. The noise was deafening but I stood thrilled and in total admiration, giggling and crying in absolute delight as the pilot swung his jet into the most wonderful aerobatics. Physically, I was not in control of my body, which was jumping up and down like an excited two year-old, whilst my bladder had a mind of its own. Being seventeen made no difference, I was so gripped by the awe-inspiring display and oblivious to what else was going on in my baby pink shorts but thankfully, the nappy and matching pink plastic pants were as dependable as ever. My heart was beating madly as the pilot veered his aircraft into yet another superb roll right over my head and several other jets of pee excitedly filled my soaked nappy. However, before Daddy insisted on what I wear I’d had enough embarrassing incidents of wet and messy pants to know his solution was correct. Like earlier in my young life, I was in a London shopping mall and I came face to face with one of my TV heroes. I didn’t dare speak to him but the fact that he was only a few feet away from where I stood, signing autographs and having his photo taken, prompted another loss of control and I wet myself. Had I then had the protection it would have saved me from ridicule but, as it was, the flow didn’t just stop at my pants but trickled onto the marble floor. I’m emotionally and physically unable to stop the excitement I feel at any time from spreading out in other directions. Each time my shorts or trousers would be soaked if not for my well-padded and protected lower half. From the moment Daddy had made that decision he ensured I was always expertly fastened in my nappy and securely wearing plastic protection. It might be ungainly at times but at least I felt safe from any mishap that such a sudden exhilarating thrill might cause. Daddy knew how to prepare me for the day (and night) and Daddy knows best. * Daddy is in fact my Uncle John. He took me in when I was four years old after my parents died in a particularly grizzly accident, one in which I somehow (and some said miraculously) survived. However, once I was out of hospital it was Uncle John, being mum’s younger brother and my only close relation, who took me in and brought me up as his own. From the moment I entered his home he has treated me as a bewildered little boy in need of constant care and attention. Needless to say, to begin with I was scared and terrified of a world without my parents and that led to some pretty appalling moments. I was angry at everything and alas couldn’t contain any of my bodily functions without tears, tantrums and general hysterical, messy behaviour. I was a four year-old jumble of emotions who acted like an irritable toddler all the time. Uncle John eased me through it all, slowly realising just what I needed to help me control my mental and physical problems. Off course he found that cuddles and reassurance helped enormously but to control my incontinence I needed something far more practical. Nappies were his solution and because of the number of times and the amount I peed, thick nappies with thick rubber pants he deemed best. I didn’t like the idea at first but he was insistent that my life would be better if I was protected in such a way. He gently explained that part of why I was getting so upset was the obvious evidence of a wet spot, so, he reasoned, if we could prevent that, it would help. I still wasn’t convinced and hated being put in nappies but they did stop the tell-tale stain, and, more to the point I was no longer plagued by worry of ridicule. Sometimes, if I’d had a bad dream, I would wander into his room crying and wet but he’d never get mad. He’d just pull back the covers and let me snuggle in beside him. His gentle soothing caresses relieved my agitation and I’d drop off quickly. Every so often, he could see that the drooping soggy mass needed instant attention, so he wouldn’t flinch at changing me at such an unsociable hour, my comfort being of the utmost importance. He’d then guide me to my room but it wouldn’t be long before I’d pad back, the soft rustle of my protection accompanying each step, and slip in next to him. His comforting arms always made me feel safe and secure as I’d wriggle up close to his warm, strong, reliable body. He didn’t mind the continuous changing because of the trauma I’d been through and actually thought, as a four, five and six year-old, it was OK for me to still be wearing such stuff. I didn’t know at the time but he later told me that despite all the seething resentment at losing my parents I had coursing through my young mind, I looked innocent and lovable when dressed in thick protection. He was amazed at how peaceful I became once I was cleaned up and put into a nappy, it was a sort of acceptance of how things were before my parents died - apparently they had also kept me in rubber pants as I was very slow to toilet train. It was also at this time, as he was changing me and I was giggling at something he’d done, that I accidentally said “Thank you Daddy” instead of uncle - he liked that. He hugged and kissed me so tightly that I had no option but to return the love and gratitude I felt for him. So, it was a very easy transition seeing as when we went out, most people assumed I was his son anyway, and he never corrected that assumption. * Bits of my memories from those early days keep coming back to me and I can see how the bond between us grew. The first intimate recollection was once as he changed me out of a particularly wet and messy nappy. I was overwhelmingly upset and crying. However, undaunted, he cleaned me up, fitted a thick disposable and, as he pulled up my protecting plastic pants, I threw my arms around him and sobbed uncontrollably for ages. All the time he soothed me with gentle massages to my back and padded bottom. He nuzzled and kissed the top of my head easing away my utter distress - hushing away the tears and rocking me gently. He told me that I’d hugged him so tightly and begged him not to leave (apparently I was so scared of losing him) he replied he wouldn’t want to go anywhere without his ‘Little Soldier’. I fell asleep in his arms and when I eventually did wake up I was still laid in his arms but in his bed and he was sleeping. As I lay there, snug and warm, even as a young boy, I realised the love he had for me and I wanted to return that love. I huddled up close and wrapped my small arms around him as much as I could and fell back to sleep. When we woke up again, to my shame I was wet. Thankfully my nappy had protected me from any spillage but I felt guilty for doing what I’d done in my daddy’s bed. I was sure I would be punished for it but, once he realised what I’d done he just smiled. “It’s a good job my little fellow has adequate protection,” he beamed. “As long as you’re watertight,” he rubbed the front of my plastic pants, the damp nappy underneath feeling a bit strange as it slipped against my skin, “we’re all safe from whatever you do.” * He told me it was strange that these days, when I wore a nappy, I hardly ever wet or soil myself but, as soon as he puts me in briefs (which I insisted on wearing like other boys my age), I inevitably peed my pants. He also noticed that if I got excited about anything, no matter how small (or huge) a deal it was, I would somehow manage to let a little trickle of pee out, often without even knowing I’d done so. I remember fairly early on that Daddy took me to a Christmas Panto and I’d got so excited while watching (there was a lot of flashing lights, bangs and smoke) that I wet myself and the seat pretty badly. I think he was embarrassed as he explained to the manager what had happened but he just smiled knowingly and told Daddy that he’d be surprised at just how many kids wet themselves when the villain appears. I would even wet myself whilst watching TV, or if I received a new toy or even saw a toy on TV or in a shop window. It appeared to Daddy that anything and everything slightly excitable could lead me to fill my pants and the only way to prevent that tell-tale damp stain was a nappy and thick plastic pants. This led me to become even further embarrassed and nervous about going out in public. Despite carrying on alarmingly about having to wear them, he eventually convinced me that they were necessary, and so as not to cause further humiliation (I think he meant arguments and damage to people’s furniture), they became compulsory. Of course I argued about how unfair it all was but time and time again I was thankful to have my boy bits safeguarded as I inadvertently wet my pants. * Daddy has been quite strict with me since those earlier days of messy tantrums and fits of non-stop weeping. He said he understood why these things were happening to me but from that early age he curbed my mental anguish by instilling a ‘nappy regimen’. He said that because I found it ‘calming’ the ‘daily diaper’ (a term he used occasionally) became part of both my waking and sleeping arrangements. He checked that everything fitted well and was watertight so no drips or dribbles would appear in my bed or on my outer clothes. He also hoped I wouldn’t feel ill at ease to do all the things an active boy wanted to do. The bulk I eventually got used to and Daddy’s constant approval and compliments gave me confidence. If I asked him if he thought the nappy was too obvious he would tell me how well it all fitted and how no one would be able to tell so, over time, he persuaded me I need not worry. He also convinced me that my needs were paramount and other people’s opinions didn’t matter. Throughout the years daddy has taken great delight in making sure I was always clean and dry. He loves to see me in a pristine nappy and my plastic armour (as he calls them), often making sure that all the fabric is tucked under the smooth, glossy cover and I’m waterproof. Daddy insists on what I should wear, what I should eat and the TV programmes I am allowed to watch (which even now he still keeps an eye on) and to do as I am told - he will not take any cheek or disrespect. In those early days my rebellion was met with understanding but as soon as I went to school and adopted my friend’s defiance, he became more and more insistent on making sure my conduct was acceptable. The strict nappy regimen was the way in which he curtailed any bad behaviour and, he pointed out, the thickness of my protection made my overall attitude a lot more agreeable. Although he was firm on this point, he was also very loving. He admitted that what makes his life worthwhile is seeing me out and about enjoying my childhood, whilst a glimpse of my plastic pants when I’m charging around wearing shorts (which I now wear all the time) confirms my status as a little boy who still needs his Daddy to look out for him. I wore padding under my school clothes because I wet unexpectedly. I didn’t want to but the embarrassment of a damp smudge appearing on my school pants would have been a beacon to the rest of the class to torment me. Because of the precautions that Daddy took, I was never such a target. However, once home he would check to see if I was wet and we were both often amazed at the amount of pee my nappy had soaked up though thankfully leaving me feeling relatively dry. So now I do what I’m told with no argument because I have learned that Daddy is always right and to defy his ‘rules’ is a stupid course of action. It wasn’t all instant acceptance; it took a couple of extremely fierce spankings to begin with for me to grasp that Daddy’s word was law and, even though I might have once wanted to dress like a big boy and be treated as such, I had to learn that Daddy insisting on my childhood being extended for as long as possible is a good thing and not a punishment. He likes me to dress more as a toddler than a teenager. He thinks that it is far more appropriate for a boy wearing a nappy to sport such clothing. He says it fills him with pride and delight to see me running around in my colourful outfits with my protection clearly defined. The thick nappy or pull-ups are always augmented by a pair of colourful plastic/rubber pants, which sometimes get revealed if I bend over or stretch. Daddy says it teaches me my place in his life - that of a sweet, innocent little boy who wants nothing more than to please him. Besides, as these are the only clothes I get bought I am now used to them and, the up side to this is… I am so well protected I never get embarrassed by any unforeseen wet spots. He says my ‘individual look’ constantly reminds him just how precious and unique I am and if my protection wasn’t there I’d actually miss not having that secure feeling between my legs. However, Daddy likes it best when I act like a kid; a silly, irresponsible little kid who just wants to enjoy himself and one not bogged down with the baggage of growing up. The clothes and how Daddy treats me certainly help me feel that way, with the lack of restraint to do anything, say anything that is anything but childishly fun has me behaving exactly as Daddy wants… and I love it. I might have to wear juvenile outfits but I have a terrific, fun-filled life and we do loads together. Daddy loves me and I love my daddy. * Week days my bed time is seven o’clock unless we are away or on vacation, then it can move around a bit. But daddy used to insist that on school nights I was ready and in bed for seven and that is the same now as it was when I was four or five. Daddy thinks boys should get a good night’s sleep at any age and that just staying up watching TV is not good for a young mind. Since we’ve moved out to live in Spain permanently I spend more and more time in just my protection. Certainly around the villa, which is quite private, it has a pool and a large garden and even the two young guys who come to keep it all tidy don’t appear to bat an eyelid as I play around wearing my plastic pants. I chat to them in my very poor Spanish as they trim the vegetation or keep the pool area clean. They are two very handsome young guys, probably a little older than me, and I really feel at ease around them. Sometimes, as I’m lying out in the sun I wonder what they’d look like wearing what I do. I’m sure Daddy would be happy to have them dressed in protection as they went about their business but alas, as yet, they seem content wearing just their bright red shorts and matching red and white t-shirts. They’re always good-humoured and comment with a smile when I wear something colourful, shiny, rubbery and new that Daddy has bought. At night Daddy fixes me into my night time protection after he’s applied all the various lotions and potions he says I need to keep me from getting a rash. He makes this fun and I’m giggling as he pins me in and pulls up my night time rubber pants - they are a good deal thicker than what I wear during the day but Daddy says this is all just a precaution to keep me safe and my bed dry. It’s a nightly routine that I like and makes me feel very special. Sometimes, depending on the temperature, I am left to sleep in just my protection but other times Daddy zips me into a onesie or footed PJs or something else he thinks I look cute in. More often than not I get fed a final juice or a warm bottle of milk, which I suck down as he gently rocks my sleepy body cradled in his arms. Once that’s finished, if I’m not drowsy enough he’ll read me a story or put some soothing music on to help me relax. I have a selection of dummies and stuffed animals that also accompany me to bed and he’ll make sure I am sucking on a dum-dum and cuddling a furry friend before he turns out the light and leaves me to the Sandman. Even now, I like this routine as I feel it brings me and Daddy closer together… and I love my Daddy. **********

Plastic pants have always been a big turn on for some reason. I have worn them at night over disposables. However, last night I tried a cloth diaper and plastic pants for going to bed. OMG! What a great turn on. Just need a female partner that feels the same. Good luck, right?

Let it... flow (Nothing to do with Frozen) I was looking at some old photographs the other day and one of them was of my dad holding me outside our terraced (and somewhat dilapidated) old house. The caption, obviously written by my father, read - 9 month old Popsi and me taking the morning air. Apparently, my nickname as a baby was Popsi and, from the image at least, my sex indeterminate, which I suppose is OK for a baby, as it really doesn’t matter. As it was, I was dressed in a grey looking smock but my large white nappy was clearly visible resting on dad’s arm. I was giggling about something, and dad was smiling, so it must have been a fun occasion for all concerned but the thing was, I never remembered ever being called Popsi. Now you may be wondering why I’m telling you about this. In fact, I have no idea why I’m sharing this little titbit of my life except as a reminder of the things you forget or aren’t aware of. I’m sure I was called Popsi (by my parents at least) for quite some time although as far as I know, I’ve never had a nickname at school or throughout my adult life. So, although that early part of my life has been forgotten, there is one thing I do remember because in one way or another it continues to this day. * Like I remember, I must have been about six years old and having a bath on my own. I was enjoying playing with my little plastic boats and suddenly I needed a pee. Of course I was already in the bath so it seemed silly to get out and then pee in a different ‘bowl’ of water so I just relaxed and let it flow. I was completely transfixed by the small yellow plume that emerged from my little ‘pidge’ and found that it was something I ended up doing every time I had a bath. Quite simply it was fun and felt good to do. The problem was, even though my potty training had lasted until I was four and I hadn’t wet the bed for over two years, I suddenly started again. These days I can see a link between the two incidents but at the time, well I was only a kid and it never occurred to me. The warmth of the bath and the warmth of my bed both perhaps working on my brain to give me a similar feeling of relaxation; the two experiences were becoming one and the same. However, the connection between the two wasn’t made because no one knew I peed in the bath, all mum saw was that one morning I woke up to a soaked bed. That was followed by further wet bedding and jammies so after a week of such accidents, mum said that I had to return to nappies until I was “over it”. To say I wasn’t happy about this announcement was a bit of an understatement as I threw a tantrum and became very angry. The very idea of being returned to a ‘baby’ had me screaming the house down in protest, which didn’t help my case. Now mum had never been a fan of disposables, I’m not sure if that was a result of worrying about the environment or because of the expense, either way, she never had them in the house. As babies we were always put in thick cloth nappies covered in a rather milky white pair of rubber or plastic pants. I have to say they seemed to do the job remarkably efficiently and mum never seemed bothered about colour or fashion. She is also a no nonsense type of woman. She’s very loving but once her mind is set on a course of action nothing is going to change it. I think dad liked that spark in mum and that’s why he married her (also my oldest brother was on the way). So, once she’d decided on what needed to be done to protect my bed and bedding, her damp little son was going to be well-wrapped at night whether I liked it or not and, as I said, I did not. Besides, I had two older brothers and they would just take the piss (so to speak). They did - as soon as they saw the plastic under-sheet being fastened over my mattress. I was now fair game being referred to as the ‘baby of the family’ and spoken to as if I was still a toddler. My brothers didn’t tire of ‘diddum’s this’ and ‘diddum’s that’ or be constantly checking my padded night time nappy and telling me it was time all babies should be in bed… at 6.30 or earlier. Anyway, it wasn’t something you could talk to a six year old about so my parents just assumed I was being lazy, which may have been part of it, or that I’d probably grow out of my bed-wetting problem soon enough. In the meantime, nappies were the most obvious solution. On that first night mum put me in them I was furious but had no option, both mum and dad said it was for my own good and that the sooner I stopped wetting the bed the sooner I could return to my normal PJs. That initial night was hell, I couldn’t get used to them. They were hot, bulky, uncomfortable and sweaty, which made me squirm around in bed until they were so loose they ‘accidently’ wriggled off. This was a bad move on my part as in the morning my bed was soaked but not the nappy so it was obvious to mum that I hadn’t been wearing it. I got a couple of quick swats to my bare bottom for both lying to her about how it came off and for wetting once again. The following night she pinned me in, added plastic pants over them and made sure I was under no illusions that if everything wasn’t exactly as she had left it (I.e. me in my protection) I’d be feeling more than the little ‘taps’ I’d received as punishment earlier. She had also made it very clear that I wasn’t to take it off, only she and dad were allowed to do that, so I was to stay in my nappy until told otherwise. It was still a damned uncomfortable night but I dare not wriggle free of them this time. My crinkly plastic pants and under-sheet adding to my awkwardness but in the end sleep did visit and so did the pee fairy because in the morning my nappy was soaked. Thankfully, as mum saw it, everything else was dry so her precautions had been a huge success. It felt really awful sitting at the breakfast table with my brother’s giggling at my bloated nappy and plastic pants. Mum said she’d change me when it was time for school. This really worried me because I thought she meant I’d have to wear a nappy to class but in the end she didn’t mean that at all and I went to school in my normal undies … and uniform. What a relief. I didn’t have accidents during the day it was only when I was asleep or in the bath… but then the ones in the bath weren’t accidents… I really liked the feeling and watching the almost invisible pale yellow trails disappear into the rest of the water. I also discovered that if I peed near the surface, and my boats were somewhere near the flow, I could get the current to make them sail in a particular direction. I got pretty good at keeping a load of pee for when I was scheduled for a bath so I could spend more time on this incredible discovery. However, protection at night became a regular feature of my bedtime and eventually my brothers got used to seeing me being wrapped in terry cloth and fitted into rubber pants before I went to bed I shared a room with my two brothers, Leo, the eldest was nine and Gary who was eight shared a big double bed, whilst mine was a small single bed pushed up against the far wall. When all three of us were up or in the room at the same time, like when getting ready for school, it was a very cramped space. With draws, a wardrobe and of course the beds, we had no room for play, it was strictly a place for sleep and changing. This meant that when mum changed me into my night time protection, this was dealt with on my bed and became a bit of a ritual before my brothers needed to get ready. Otherwise there simply wouldn’t have been the room for us all to be changing at the same time and the bathroom was quite small, so there wasn’t much space in there either. We coped but it had to be done to mother’s precision organisation. She liked to apply the various oils and powders and though I resented being put into nappies, that resentment was getting less and less every time. The thing was I was enjoying peeing in my nappy. On more than one occasion I’d woken up and could quite easily have made it to the toilet in time but enjoyed the warm surge. My nappy, like the bath, became the place to let it flow. Mum was slightly annoyed that her washing line was once again filled with my flapping nappies and rubber pants; she thought she was over all that, but as the alternative was fluttering bed sheets and jammies, she let it go. My night time toilet arrangements became quite a topic of conversation between mum and the neighbours who commiserated with her on my immature return to nappies. As far as I knew, and certainly mum never led me to believe otherwise, I was the only six year-old on the estate still needing night time protection. Mum made sure if I was staying up to watch TV or we were doing something else, she always wanted to make sure I was in my protection well before bedtime. She dreaded that I might nod off when not in protection and shame myself by leaving a pool of pee that someone else might notice. I couldn’t understand this as I never arrived home from school in wet pants so why she thought I couldn’t be trusted I wasn’t so sure. Although I suspected it was just the normal amount of gossiping and conclusions drawn that went on between ‘concerned’ neighbours. If mum or dad were going to be busy, on more than one occasion I’d arrive home from school or from playing out and I’d be taken upstairs and made ready for an early night. So, quite often I’d be in my nappy for ages before actual bedtime. So seeing me totter around the house wearing just a t-shirt and nappy was not unusual. I’d try and disguise my padding by choosing a brightly coloured t-shirt, which to me at least, drew attention away from the bulky material between my legs. However, the urge to fill it then was strong, but I was sure that if they knew I could’ve made it to the bathroom and yet didn’t, then I would be in a great deal of trouble. If they thought it was accidental, and I did it in my sleep, that was acceptable. Sometimes I’d have an early night just so I could pee in my nappy as soon as I got into bed. The feeling was wonderful and I’d often fall asleep almost immediately after the event. Mum once or twice checked me when she came to bed and, finding me wet would change me into a clean and dry one only for that to be soaked by morning. There was no doubt I was peeing in my nappy more and more and both Leo and Gary started to complain about the overpowering odour of these ‘mishaps’. As I didn’t seem to be in the process of stopping (and there was nowhere else for me to sleep) her solution was thicker nappies, thicker soak pads and very robust rubber pants. Mum claimed that nothing would get out of this fortified prison and all my changes were to be performed in the bathroom from then on. It was far more cramped and uncomfortable but I couldn’t complain (although I did a little bit). Mum was giving me more and more responsibility for my own changes. I was left to put it on myself, after suitable instruction and supervision from her, and I got quite adept at pinning myself into multiple folds of soft white (now slightly yellowing) fabric. The doctor I went to see told dad there was nothing wrong with me and after giving him the third degree about how I was punished, and satisfying himself I wasn’t being abused, said that I’d probably grow out of it pretty soon. Dad was annoyed that the doctor assumed it was his fault I wet and as a result, I was constantly under dad’s scrutiny and encouraged to improve my night time toilet habits. I did try. I hated that dad was so upset with the disgusting insinuation he was abusing me, so I did get dry for a week or so. Eventually, the strain of staying dry gave way to the pleasure of being wet so nothing changed. Although the outcome of all this was, because of his inquisition dad refused to let me see a doctor again regarding my nightly ‘accidents’. Even when I reached my seventh, eighth and ninth birthdays I was still wearing my night time armour (as I’d jokingly come to call it) but that changed when dad got promoted and transferred to a different town. A change of house, school and friends suddenly had me more interested in that than my wet habits and miraculously (as mum and dad called it) I suddenly found I was dry and the toilet was not an alien place for me to visit at night. Pretty soon, after almost three years I was back to proper nightwear and a dry bed. From then on I hardly ever thought about my ‘golden flow’ and certainly didn’t miss the thick nappy. # Here I’m going to do a potted history of my life then until now, simply because what happened during these years from when I stopped has no bearing on what I want to tell you about (well I don’t think so). I had been working since I left school at eighteen though I never went to college, but found myself at a new firm that had ambition and a workforce that functioned very well together. I was one of their go-getters and the firm was in the right place at the right time for the technical facilities it offered. It was a great place to be and we all did fairly well sharing in the company’s successes. At twenty-one I inherited money that my grandparents had put in trust for me. It was quite a considerable amount and enabled me to put the deposit down on a place of my own. By twenty-four I was married to a nice girl but my sex drive, which had never been prolific, eventually drove her into the arms of another man (a workmate) and I was divorced by the time I reached twenty-seven. During in all that time, I never thought about nappies or wetting and those two thoughts have only just recently surfaced, and that has taken me to a place I wished I’d found earlier. Let me explain. # It’s several months since my divorce and I now live alone. Recently I was taking a shower - don’t get me wrong, I’d taken many showers since the decree absolute, it was just this one was sort of a turning point. It was early morning and as I let the warm jets pulsate against my head and back I let my night time bladder build-up go in the cubicle. Now I’m sure I’d done this more times than I remembered but on this occasion something actually happened. As the stream of bright yellow pee joined the river of warm water I watched in wonder and my mind was immediately transferred back to the moment when I was six and peed in the bath for the very first time. Then it was pale yellow and in volume hardly much at all but now I witnessed a yellow torrent mixing and mingling with a clear water flow and disappear in a swirl down the plughole. It was magical. It brought back that instant over twenty years earlier, when a shiver of excitement, wonder and sheer pleasure led to that most joyful of discoveries - peeing was fun… and not only in the bath. I’d been in a little bit of self despair because I felt useless and it wasn’t just because of the break up. The divorce hadn’t hit me hard because I more or less knew it was coming from the moment I married Penny. We were more friends than lovers and we’d let ourselves fall into the trap that friends could be lovers. Alas, after just a few short, frustrated years (for Penny) it was over. Since then my self-imposed depression meant I wasn’t the bundle of fun I used to be and quite a few of my ‘friends’ took the opportunity to let our friendship slide. I can’t blame them I wasn’t much company but it was all a mask for something… though at the time I hadn’t realised what that might be. However, a stream of pee and a delightful memory had had the most amazing effect and I bounced into work a new man. For the first time in absolutely ages I felt happy. There was energy to my attitude and a zing in my step. I was, to put it mildly, amazingly focused on ME. Not in a depressed state of mind, not self-destructive, not in a negative way at all. In fact, I was all the things I used to be before I got tangled up in growing up. It was surprising how liberated I felt. I could do my job, I could function around others, and the divorce I realised meant a great weight of a lifetime of responsibility had been lifted from my shoulders. THANK YOU GOD… or whoever is in charge of such things. Now, as I live on my own, I saw no reason not to indulge once again in a physical reminisce and went out to purchase a bag of Abena Abri-Form M4 disposables and a couple of pairs of thick shiny plastic pants (they were in packs of two). This was an incredible, life-changing decision. From now on, when not at work (and occasionally when I was, though not as thickly) nappies, disposables and plastic pants would be my underwear of choice. I have once again begun to appreciate that soft rustling sound of a slick pair of vinyl pants, the bulk between my legs, the smooth rounded front to my genital area and wondered why had I let these feelings go? Powder, lotion and a return of baby pins that help make my fabric nappies fit tightly and look so special was like finding old and much missed friends. Now I was older peeing in the bath had more force. I watched the few suds being swept into the current and being destroyed, much to my juvenile enjoyment. I began to drink more liquid in the hope that my bloated bladder made the length of pee last much longer. I now try to hold off from going to the toilet wanting to keep it for my bath time ritual… or later. When bed time comes I just let nature take its course and I find filling my disposable immensely satisfying. I don’t want my complete childhood back but there are things I do that make me giggle like the little kid I once was. The little kid who peed in the bath and enjoyed the sensation of letting go… and letting it flow… a newly warm wet nappy is a thing of immense pleasure. ##################################################

The Visit I'd been invited to spend a few days with a friend and his lover who I hadn't seen for quite some time. My mate Luke is 6'3" tall, blond, blue-eyed and gorgeous. His lover is a Morgan, 5'8" stocky and a spunky Aussie who works with him; they are both air stewards. Unfortunately, when I got to their apartment I found a message that said that they were going to be a day late as their flight from Abu Dhabi had been delayed. The life of a flight attendant is often thought of as glamorous, living out of a suitcase and darting off all over the world is pretty thrilling but it can be very disruptive to any kind of routine. This hectic lifestyle means that washing is often left for weeks simply because there is no time to attend to this simple task between flights. To me this was a godsend. I found their laundry basket with all their dirty clothes in it. To be honest… I am a bit of an underwear perv… and I knew that these two only bought designer styles. The thought of rooting through their collection of Boss, Dolce & Cabana, Armani and other designer briefs just drew me in and I was already pulling off my clothes in eager anticipation. I delved deep into that basket hoping that some of these classy items had been waiting for some soapsuds for a good few weeks… I was in for a huge surprise. At the bottom of the basket were several, well-used, cloth diapers. At first I didn’t realise what they were but I noticed the large safety pins on the dresser and put 2 and 2 together, also, as I dug even deeper I came across a couple of pairs of pop-stud sided plastic pants, one pink and one white. I was quite intrigued as I had no idea my friends had this fetish and although I had read about it, it had never appealed to me. However, my curiosity had been stirred, not least wondering which of the two wore the pink pants and who wore the white… or even if that was an issue. I pulled everything out of the basket and sorted the diaper stuff from the rest and couldn’t believe that the whole idea was having an effect in my pants. If my friends were in to it then it couldn’t be bad and I wondered what it would be like to wear a diaper. I stripped out of my clothes and attempted to put on one of their festering diapers. It had obviously been pissed in but thankfully nothing else. I struggled to get it to fit without it, once pinned, immediately slipping off my hips and landing on the floor. Eventually, using a pin on each hip, the stiff fabric held for a short while and I had the idea that, if I put on the plastic pants that would hold it all into place. It did. I looked in the mirror at the ‘baby’ reflected back and wasn’t sure what to make of it all. I tried to imagine what Luke would look like dressed like this. He was a tall guy and I really couldn’t see it, however, the smaller Morgan, I could definitely see him wearing a diaper and plastic pants. The firmness in my pants increased as I thought about it and I decided I’d explore further to see if they had any photos… or anything else to go with it all. The thickness between my legs felt strange… yet despite the diaper not being fresh and clean, there was something very comforting about wearing it. I checked out their closet and on one shelf were a box of disposable diapers, assorted styles and coloured plastic and rubber pants, as well as a stack of clean cloth diapers. Hanging up were a couple of onesies; a blue one with ducks and rabbits all over it, the other a lighter blue, decorated with teddy bears wearing diapers, both had pop-stud fastenings, like the ones on the plastic pants I was wearing, that fastened between their legs. I wanted to see both my friends wearing them - I bet they would look as cute as hell. Their laptop was password protected so I couldn’t check out if they had any images on that but my mind was spinning as I mentally put the two of them in various situations whilst wearing their diapees and onesies. Of course, the more I imagined, the harder I got and the thick restriction of the diaper and plastic pants meant that, although I could get off on the soft, smooth and slippery feel of my protection, my cock had to throb away unmolested… this idea was turning me on even more. To take my mind off of my diapered situation I decided I’d make myself useful and resolved to do their washing so; they would have some clean clothes on their return. I filled the washer/drier, set it going and went off to make myself something to eat. There wasn’t much in the fridge but I found a packet of pasta and a can of tuna so was able to make myself a reasonable meal. Thankfully, being air crew there was plenty of booze around the place so I didn’t want for some heavy refreshment. I ate, ironed the dried clothes and watched TV, all the while wearing just the diaper and plastic pants. I was really getting into the whole ‘thing’ (I wasn’t sure what it was yet) but then, before I went to bed, I decided I’d swap what I was wearing and try one of their disposables and as the packet was already open I assumed they wouldn’t miss one. I un-popped the plastic sides and they fell to the floor, quickly followed by the warm but wet diaper. I hadn’t pissed myself (or at least I didn’t think I had) but my cock had leaked quite a bit and I definitely needed changing. The disposable, an Abena, was a lot easier to put on. The sticky side tapes soon had me all wrapped nice and tight and snug. I checked out the pile of plastic pants and found a pale blue pair with white sort of lacy bits across the bottom, they looked very girly and childish and I thought, with a shrug… “What the hell”. God, my reflection was turning me on even more and although I could have put my hand up the leg or down the front, I really wanted to just have the sensation of not being able to relieve myself. It was like a game… a baby game. I assumed that a baby couldn’t put its hand down and play with itself but it could enjoy the silky sensation of its pants (I know, I know - What kind of baby has these thoughts? But I did say it was a game). I checked myself out from various angles and found that my bulging and well-padded bottom looked fantastic and the thick protection at my groin sort of emasculated me, which again I found a surprising turn on. With my dick leading me, I went to the closet, pulled out the pale blue onesie and pulled it over my head. Then, with a bit of manipulation and some contorting I was able to pull the flap between my legs and fasten the studs together. When I straightened up the onesie pulled tight and gathered the diaper and plastic pants up very close. There was no doubt about it, this was a very snug fit but I quite liked the image of my bare legs, my teddy bear onesie and my diaper and plastic pants bulging out. Not an image I would have even thought about only a few hours earlier but now I was hooked. By now it was getting late so thought I’d change out of it all but then I was struck by the thought of wearing it a to sleep in. I decided I could wash and dry everything first thing in the morning before the guys got home, so no one would be any the wiser. Once in bed the situation got a bit more complex, the outfit seemed too tight to sleep in and my mind was filled with desperately wanting to relieve myself. Sleep was a long time in coming as I thought about all this babyish stuff, my two mates, my apprehension about what I was going to say to them, whether they’d want me involved in their diaper activities… my mind just raced from one situation to the next. Sleep eventually overtook me but the next thing I knew was I awoken with a start. I could hear voices coming from the living room and it didn’t take me long to realise the lads were home... early. They obviously knew I was there because I heard Morgan say how nice it was that I’d washed and ironed their laundry… and there was a little giggle from Luke as he said that there was a lot more stuff to be done now they were home. I suddenly realised what I was dressed in and I could also feel that I had wet myself in the night. Panic was flooding my body like I’d flooded my diaper as the door opened and in walked my two best friends. ===tbc===

Boomer generation diaper lover and sissy interested in meeting similar friends for chat and playdates in the San Diego area (Rancho Bernardo area).

Kilts and Nappies A few weeks back my partner and I were lying in bed one morning when we got talking about what turns us both on. Not that this isn’t a regular topic of conversation but the previous night we’d watched a programme about Scotland and I commented on how sexy and overtly masculine I thought the guys looked in their kilts. There was some kind of military tattoo going on, so the marching bands and soldiers all looked pretty hot in their traditional tartan dress. James, my partner, asked if it was because of the accepted belief that all those guys weren’t wearing anything under their kilt that I found so exciting. I replied that I appreciated swinging genitals as much as the next homo but I found the idea of them actually wearing something covering those bits even more of a turn on. James thought for a moment and then started to list the things that he would find sexy. He loved the idea of an entire regiment of hunky, young, fit soldiers wearing jock-straps under the kilts. As a sportsman himself, he’s always had a thing about that particular piece of sportswear. Then he got more excited as he thought about leather jocks… or shorts, or briefs… I could see his mind was beginning to work overtime as he was getting himself quite aroused. The thought of their kilts swirling up to reveal leather undies… yep, that got him real excited. What’s more, with the duvet cover thrown back revealing his sexy, slightly tanned, hunky body, there is no denying the fact that my lover is one sexy dude. There was also no denying the fact that his night-time nappy was bulging at the notion. Night-time nappy? Perhaps a brief explanation is required. Yes? A few weeks ago we’d been reading about ADBL and the idea so appealed I was desperate to give it a go. Although we now wear nappies to bed some nights (it’s one of the many ‘interests’ we have in different ‘bed wear’), I am more keen on this particular fetish than he is… he goes along with it because it turns me on as I snuggle up to him bulky nappy to bulky nappy. I also get a kick out of seeing my hunky boyfriend wearing a tight fitting disposable and a pair of plastic pants. It’s not like we do anything in them, well not yet, though I don’t think that side of it appeals to him at all, but just seeing him looking so butch and so vulnerable is such a turn on. However, nappy apart, I could see, after some thought, James liked the way my mind was going because his eyes suddenly lit up as he digested the idea. As he mused on each sexy item that took his fancy, he absent-mindedly stroked the thickly padded material and became more excited than ever. I let him get most of his thoughts off his chest before I countered with the fact that I’d like to see something a bit… well… kinkier. For a start, I wanted to tame all that budding masculinity. Keep that entire macho look on the outside but to even things out a bit have them wearing a well-cushioned nappy underneath. The thought of leather (and several other slinky materials he suggested later) was now abandoned as I expanded on my nappy train of thought. He was literally licking his lips as I told him how I’d like to put all the guys in different coloured satin or silk or plastic or rubber slinky nappy covers so that the padded fabric would grip and mould around their bottoms, whilst emphasising their bulging, but unobtainable, assets. Think how much fun it would be to see a line of sexy, military guys parading (or perhaps that should be waddling) around when a sudden gust of wind would send their kilt fluttering upwards revealing all. You could have all the regiments colour-coded so their thick coverings complemented their tartan. Mmmmm, now both our minds were racing. I wanted to take the younger recruits, who would of course be equally as hunky but perhaps just not as disciplined, and slip them into thicker nappies and cover them with overtly frilly or cartoon character plastic pants. Why my mind should have gone down that route I have no idea but the thought was turning me on more than maybe it should. Possibly, I just wanted a little touch of babyishness under those unbelievably manly looking kilts. The idea of tightly-fastened, double-thick nappies seemed to fit the bill… maybe the sucking on tartan dummies would be better than the drone of bagpipes. As I continued to explain how each hunky soldier would look underneath his swaying tartan uniform, James was on his iPad searching online to find tartan plastic pants. He has since become as obsessed with the idea as I am and our evening nappy routine has taken on a more exotic, colourful and cushioned aspect as we now pad-up on a more regular basis. The kilts had inspired this desire but now it’s all about the thickness of the padding and the silky sheen of the plastic pants. Our nocturnal fun often spills over into the day and we dare each other to wear this ultra-thick padding out in public. Now to buy a kilt. ########################################

Padded Travel The other day I was waiting for my flight at the airport and saw a sight that brought back some mixed, though in general, happy memories. There was a young girl about 6 or 7 sat reading a book resting on her knees with her feet on the seat and her little blue summer dress had risen up innocently showing what she was wearing underneath. What caught my eye were the shiny pale blue plastic pants that were obviously covering a thick diaper. I didn’t want to stare too long but it reminded me of the time when my parents used to put me into diapers for long journeys. The mother was sat next to her but I don’t think she saw me looking however, shortly after I saw this particular sight; she called to her son, who was watching the nearby TV screen. The boy, about 10 or 11 was wearing a pair of blue and grey checked shorts and he also appeared to be protected because when he reached over to pick up a toy he’d dropped, the gap between his t-shirt and shorts showed the top of his diaper. Once I knew he was dressed that way, it became obvious from how he was wearing his shorts that he was also very well padded indeed. Unfortunately, pretty soon after this event the father, a very good-looking man in his late twenties, wearing pale blue chinos and a brilliant white polo shirt, arrived and hurried them all off to their flight. They looked a really nice family group as they gathered up their belongings, and the children’s colourful cases, and hurried their way to the departure gate. Neither child seemed distressed by, or even conscious of, what they were wearing for the flight. They, like their parents, appeared to be just excited by their trip and that was all. **** I’m not a father myself but I always think that having your children well-padded for long flights seems to be such a prudent idea, as kids can suddenly get the urge to go at the most inopportune times and often holding it is not an option. Such precautions seem sensible and cuts down on any anxiety from parents and airline companies. No-one really wants to be left with a wet seat. The reason I think that way is because although I was potty-trained from an early age, when we embarked on any journey of any significance in the family car, I was always diapered for the duration. I do remember that this was because once, when I was 4 years-old, I fell asleep in the back of the car and accidentally wet the seat. Dad was furious, although he didn’t shout or scream at me he just sternly mentioned that we’d have to take more care the ‘next time’. Little did I know that the ‘next time’ meant I was to be well padded. A few weeks later, before we set off to visit my Aunty Joan and Uncle Jon, my mother said that she would supervise my getting ready as she had something I needed to wear. At the time I had no inkling to what she had in mind but it soon became apparent when I got out of the bath, dried myself off and saw the clothing she’d put out. There on the bed, taking pride of place between my navy blue shorts and red t-shirt was a triangle of material that I didn’t at first register what it was for. In my innocence I thought it must be some kind of shawl to keep me warm on the journey… that is until my mum arrived and told me exactly what it was for. I screamed and shouted in protest; “I didn’t want to wear a diaper.” “I was a big boy not a baby.” “I was too old to be in such a thing” or even worse “What would people say?” Bless her, my mum tried to calm me down and assured me that no-one else would know, it would be just me, her and dad… it would be our secret. She said all the correct things but I was still crying and refusing to let her put it on me… that was until my dad arrived saying we were late and to get a move on. I still protested but dad, who in all my 4 years on Earth had hardly ever raised his voice to me, never mind a hand, sat me down and explained why it had to be this way and there was no question about it. It was a company car for one and he took colleagues and visitors around in it and he couldn’t risk it not being anything but perfect for them (he was very car proud, constantly washing and cleaning it). He assured me that as soon as we reached our destination I could change back into my normal underwear but he was adamant, that on this occasion, I would put on what my mother had already sorted out for me to wear for the journey. He stood and watched as my mum fitted and pinned the thick terry towelling to a rather recalcitrant young man but in truth, once my shorts, t-shirt and jumper had been added no one else would have been able to tell that I was padded. Although I knew and I thought it felt really strange and uncomfortable but an argument would not be permitted, dad had made it clear that any more protest would not be tolerated. **** The journey to my aunts was quite long and we stopped for breaks and food along the way. Together with my dad, we went to the restrooms and he helped me skin down my shorts and ease my little penis past the leg holes of the diaper to pee. I was making a point… that I hadn’t really needed to be wearing this bulky item as I could be relied to get to the restroom in time if need be, However, I did fall asleep on the last leg of the trip and, on getting out of the car realised that I had, wet myself. Once at my aunties I was glad to see that at least my shorts didn’t show any evidence of what I’d done and I couldn’t wait to get to my room and change out of the increasing dampness that was clinging to my groin. I thought I might get away with it too but my mum followed me upstairs to unpin me and she saw my embarrassment. I wasn’t very wet but there was no denying what I’d done as my mother ran her hand over my soggy diaper. I was on the verge of crying again but she pulled me to her bosom and comforted me. Telling me what a good boy I’d been and saying that was what all the precautions were for… so not to worry. She quickly got me changed and I was soon wearing my little red nylon swimming trunks and eager to go out to play with my two cousins who were already splashing around in their little inflatable pool outside. My cousins, JJ (Jon Junior) was 6 and his younger brother Si (Simon) was the same age as me and we had a great time firing our water-pistols, throwing water over each other and generally doing what kids do. Our parents were out in the garden chatting and catching up and although we were constantly under their ever watchful eyes we were only called in once and that was to eat. Uncle Jon and my father had made a fantastic barbeque and we boys feasted on sausage and chicken and soda. It was a warm night but at 8 o’clock it was bedtime and the three of us reluctantly trooped in to get ready. Si and I went to the bathroom first to wash the sauce from our fingers and faces and mum came in to supervise we had cleaned everywhere. When we came out of the bathroom JJ was already lying naked on his bed and his mum was getting him ready but I was surprised to see that he was in the final throws of having a diaper put on. Once he was done she called Si to go over to her and he was similarly equipped, though a pair of clear plastic pants were put over his before his pajamas were pulled up over them all. I was shocked but the two boys didn’t seem to mind and suddenly I found myself similarly being diapered by my aunt. I was about to protest when my cousins told me to hurry up as they were waiting for their story. I’d not been sent to bed in a diaper for a long time so I was a little worried about it, especially when a pair of plastic pants was also added to my night time experience. When my mum arrived with my pajamas she could see what was happening and the worried look in my eyes but knew the other boys were already in their night time protection so decided not to make a fuss. I felt betrayed and the thickness around my bottom, as I climbed into bed with Si, only added to that feeling. However, Aunty Joan had told JJ and Si that my mum was going to tell them a story tonight but after that, it was lights out… and we were told in no uncertain terms… no fooling around until morning. My mum is a great story teller. In fact, Aunty Joan always said that even as a child (mum was the eldest by 2 years) she could make up a decent story in seconds. I was still none too happy but Si cuddled up close to me in his little single bed, JJ was on his own in one opposite, and mum began her tale of three rabbits, which just happened to be called JJ, Si and Les. It was a great story and we were all enthralled. Si clung to me for dear life as mum told of the perils these little rabbits got themselves into and we cheered when they escaped the clutches of the farmer and Foxy the Fox. When she’d finished she kissed us all goodnight, turned out the light and closed the door. JJ voiced the opinion that my mum was the ‘bestest story-teller ever’ and as Si held onto me he eagerly agreed. We must have quickly fallen asleep because the next thing I knew we were being roused to get up for breakfast. **** Aunty Joan came in and checked the boys to see if there had been any accidents in the night. JJ was dry but both Si and I had woken up with a soggy diaper so the plastic protection had been needed. “No more drinks after 6 o’clock for you boys” she said, as we realised that the huge glasses of cola we’d drunk had found their way into out diapers. Once all cleaned up and powdered (this was another new experience for me) it was back into out t-shirts and shorts, as after breakfast we all went down to the lake for more swimming, fishing, sun bathing and play. For the entire week we were there on vacation the days followed a similar pattern; we boys were kept busy and interested as we daily went on expeditions with one or all of our parents. Night times became the norm as well and I soon got used to being diapered for bed. As the nights had grown hotter we slept in just our diapers and sometimes, just before bedtime, we were allowed to stay up and watch TV a bit later than normal. We three lads would be laid out on the floor glued to the screen, naked but for our thick diapers, while our parents sat on the two available sofas and quietly chatted about whatever it was grown-ups found to talk about. I think my mum enjoyed seeing us kids dressed like that as she often patted our padded bottoms, whilst telling us how cute the three of us looked. Neither JJ nor I wet again but unfortunately Si did ever night. He always woke up soggy but he never leaked because both me and the bed were always dry. No one seemed to care and he was changed, lotioned and powdered (to prevent a rash Aunty Joan said) in front of us before donning his shorts for the day. **** It was a great week and I hardly thought about it when it was time to return home and I was required to be diapered once again for the journey. This time I didn’t make a fuss as I’d gotten used to it and as no one ever seemed to give it a second thought I also didn’t worry about being padded. In fact, I ‘d got quite comfortable wearing such a bulky piece of material between my legs on a night and as both Si and JJ took it as read that was the way everyone went to sleep… it was easy for me to accept it as well. Before I left Si had cried because we’d become great friends and he didn’t want me to leave as he said he’d miss me. Thoughtfully, mum had bought two new teddy bears, one for him and one for me so that we’d both have similar soft toys to sleep with and to remind us of each other. She also bought JJ a fabulous toy car to go with his collection, which he was really excited about receiving. I was a little sad myself as we waved our goodbyes but after only a couple of hours on the journey home I fell asleep clutching my new teddy bear. **** As he wanted to get home quickly, and I was fast asleep, dad didn’t need to stop once as we hurried along the highway. I woke up when were about 30 miles from home feeling more than a little damp. Dad looked in the mirror and told me we were almost there so I kept quiet but suddenly found I couldn’t hold it any longer and was peeing even more. The wetness spread but unfortunately I wasn’t wearing any plastic pants and a damp patch appeared on my shorts as we turned into our driveway. I dreaded the thought of having wet the seat but I rushed from the car and quickly followed mum into the house desperate to get my soaked diaper off. Mum saw the wet patch on my shorts and followed me to my room where she stripped me and told me to take a shower. Whilst I was doing that, she went and checked the rear seat of the car where I’d been sitting and reported back that it was dry and I wasn’t to worry. Relieved that I wouldn’t be in trouble with dad, I let my mum dry me off and before I was really aware of what was going on, she had powdered me and put me back into a lovely soft diaper, pulled on a pair of clear plastic pants, that I assumed must have been a spare pair of Si’s and told me I could either go straight to bed if I was tired or come down and watch TV for a while. Neither suggestion worried me and I cuddled up on the sofa wearing just my diaper and plastic pants as if this was the norm. That was it. From then on until I was ten years-old I wore diapers and plastic pants to travel in and most nights I wore them to sleep in. I didn’t wear them during the day for school or at weekends but at night I was now wrapped in a thick terry diapers, which mum took great pride in pinning tightly around me. It was all very comforting. Mum doing that, then telling me a new story or just chatting about what I’d done that day. She would make sure my teddy bear, the same type that Si had, was always with me and that last kiss goodnight made my world so much better. **** We visited my aunt and uncle at least once a year but they never came to us, Uncle Jon hated the city and was never keen to travel far from his home. When I was ten my mum and dad were off on a second honeymoon. I was told that when they got married they hadn’t been able to afford a real one so they had waited until they had enough money and would then celebrate in style. They went off to The Bahamas for two weeks without me but I was happy enough as I got to spend more time with JJ and Si. We still had a great time but the boys had grown up and neither now wore diapers for bed so I also wasn’t required to wear them either. At home I’d got into the habit of wearing them even though I couldn’t actually remember the last time I’d needed to use them for the purpose they were designed for. I just found it nice to be wrapped up like that and mum was happy with that choice. Anyway, I wasn’t at home now and my diapers were never unpacked and I wasn’t asked about them. It was just assumed I’d be like my cousins and wear normal big boy clothes. **** So, that was it. My parents returned home fully refreshed and looking even more in love than before and I was now grown up enough not to need any protection at night. I didn’t mind, I was ready to be a big boy but it came as a bit of a shock when, about 4 months later, mum told me I was about to have a baby brother or sister. I wasn’t sure what my reaction should be but as both her and my dad was so excited about it; I thought I should be as well. A few months after that I got my baby brother Joshua and there would be no doubt from then on I was to be the older, wiser and grown-up big brother. It was strange that all those thoughts came scrambling back into my head just because I’d caught sight of two children at the airport wearing diapers to travel in. The waiting at an airport had never seemed to go by as fast when I suddenly heard my name being called over the public address system. “The last and final call for passenger Mr Lee travelling on flight AA2003 to Los Angeles…” I quickly picked up my case and proceeded to the required gate feeling guilty about daydreaming and keeping everyone waiting. It wasn’t that bad and as I took my seat I couldn’t help getting the urge, when I got home, to buy some diapers and plastic pants and happily regress to a time when I felt my most happy. After all, no matter what our age… isn’t that what we all want to feel… HAPPY? **********$************