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May 22, 2016 Hi, I’m Eddie. This isn’t a diary; it’s a journal. I like to write, and I want to become a better writer, so I decided to start a journal. My teacher said writing in a journal is a good way to become a better writer. I wasn’t sure what to write about, so I asked my teacher. She said, “Write about yourself, it’s what you know best.” Well, what can I say about myself? Let’s start with the biggest thing. I’m fifteen years old, and I still wet my bed. It’s not even just sometimes. It happens almost every night. I haven’t been dry since January. That’s right! I’m in high school and I’ve peed my pants 134 nights in a row. My mom used to keep track of stuff like that, but she stopped a few years ago. I still keep track, but I don’t know why. It makes me feel like a baby. Some kids stop wetting the bed when they are two years old, and most stop when they are three. I’m fifteen, and I still pee in the bed like a little baby. I guess there are some other teenagers who wet the bed, but for most of them, it’s because something happened that they can’t control. It’s not like they aren’t fully potty-trained. I’ve done this all of my life. I’ve never stopped. The longest streak I’ve ever had is three nights in a row, and that only happened once. A few years ago, I thought it was getting better. When I was twelve years old, I didn’t wet the bed every single night. It still happened, and it happened a lot. It happened more often than not, but I stayed dry at least once a week; that’s when I had my three-night streak. I certainly didn’t wet my bed 134 nights in a row! That’s for sure. Unfortunately, it stopped. I began to wet the bed more often than before, and not less. My doctor thinks I’m sleeping sounder because I’m growing. Trust me, it feels like we’ve tried everything. We tried the medicine, but that just made me feel sick and I still wet the bed. We tried an alarm, but that just woke everybody else up. I slept through it and still wet the bed. My mom used to wake me up in the middle of the night to take me to the bathroom, but I hated it. Who wants to be an eleven-year-old kid who needs his mommy to take him to the potty? Most of the time, I didn’t even remember using the bathroom. Sometimes I was already wet. My mom would change my sheets, and I would wet the bed again. I’m not allowed to drink anything after six o’clock and I can only drink one glass of juice after school. I’m always thirsty and it’s not even helping. My mom made us wear diapers when I was younger, but she stopped when my little sister didn’t need them anymore. Emily was only four years old and could stay dry all night. She didn’t need diapers anymore, but her big brother and big sister still did. Sara was twelve years old and had to wear a diaper every night! I can’t imagine being that old and having to wear a diaper. Mom didn’t even use Pull-ups; she used Pampers! We wore the largest size she could find. I was nine and Sara was twelve, and my mom treated us like we were babies. After that, Sara didn’t want to wear diapers anymore. She threw a couple of tantrums, which only got her in trouble. It never changed Mom’s mind. One night she begged. She promised to do the laundry if she wet the bed. Amazingly my mom agreed. She said, “You two aren’t babies anymore. No more diapers, but you have to take care of your bed.” I think it worked for Sara, but it never worked for me. I thought maybe I would stop when I turned thirteen, just like it did with Sara, but it didn’t. Now, I use Goodnites, which are kind of like diapers. They are padded like diapers, but my mom doesn’t have to put them on me. They are meant for older kids, and don’t have little kid designs. Mom says that nobody can tell when I’m wearing one, but I think it’s pretty obvious. Unfortunately, they leak! They don’t leak all the time, but it happens a lot. I think I just pee too much. Sometimes, I forget to put my sheets in the washing machine. When that happens, my mom gets mad. Yesterday she yelled at me, “For God sakes Eddie! You’re fifteen years old. You shouldn’t wet the bed and you’re old enough to take care of it when you do. The least you can do is put the sheets in the washing machine.” I think my mom is frustrated and I understand why. Who wants to have a teenager who isn’t fully potty-trained? My mom is normally supportive and tries to help. Yesterday, after yelling at me about the sheets, she told me about a doctor who can help older kids who wet the bed. His name is Dr. Albert Bennet. Apparently, his program takes about six months. He said that 80 percent of his patients stopped within a year, and those who didn’t, learned how to manage their bedwetting. They recondition your brain, and you learn not to wet the bed anymore. Mom asked, “What do you think?” “I think it looks good.” “If we do this, will you follow the rules? I don’t want to do this if you won’t cooperate.” “I guess so. What do I have to do?” “I’m not sure, but conditioning means that you’ll have to do something. Do you want to try it?” I told her, “Yeah, I guess so. Yes, I’ll try anything. I don’t want to wet my bed anymore, and if this helps, I’ll try it.” Mom replied, “Okay, we’ll set up an appointment with Dr. Bennet.” I don’t know what they mean by conditioning my brain, nor what it looks like to manage my bedwetting. I don’t care, I just want to stop wetting my bed. I want to be potty-trained before I go to college.

Tobi’s little life Chapter One - Back to Diapers Tobi was a late bloomer, he had heard all of his friends talking about “porn” & “masturbating” for years before he was interested in any of that stuff. “How often do you wank” asked Tommy “A couple times a week” replied Tobi, acting as if he had ever done it before He went to an all boys school from the ages of 11-16, an interesting way for a boy to go through his formative years. Being surrounded by boys during puberty certainly had an impact on the lad. Talking to girls was nerve wracking, and it was difficult to even meet one! Tobi had never tried this “masturbating” thing that all the boys in school had been talking about, but one night decided to. He watched as two women doing all sorts of things he had only heard about, but never witnessed. He tried it, and he didn’t like it. Whether it was the gender, or a lack of maturity, he was not sure. It was simply of no interest. However, Tobi did have a fascination. As a young boy he watched a cartoon in which a character was turned into back into a baby, diapers and all. This made him feel funny, and his penis was erect. Little did he know, this was the beginning something very unique to him. Tobi liked diapers. He didn’t know why, but he did. He remembered seeing a green packet under the bath, picking them up to see a brand name written on them, “Drynites”. The package stated that they were for ages 7-10, he was 14 but little for his age. Tobi stood at about 5”0 tall, and had a baby face, he was often mistaken for younger than he was, which caused lots of embarrassment throughout the years. Adults would think he was the little brother, when in reality he was the second oldest of three. Tobi remembered these diapers, and searched for them. They were not longer under the bath, but after a little while he found them in the bathroom cupboard. “Yay” thought Tobi, happy his mum hadn’t got rid of them yet. He assumed they were his older brothers old diapers for wetting the bed, as he had no memories of doing so as a child, or wearing any sort of protection. He definitely didn’t beyond the age of seven! During his life, Tobi had a few accidents in childhood. His only memories at bedtime were from when he was very little, remembering how he had pooped his bed whilst sleeping (probably around age 4), and his mum had helped him clean up. Also, at around 12 years old he had a dream of using the toilet. Tobi began to pee in the dream toilet, only to suddenly realise things weren’t actually real! There was a small wet patch on the bed & his pajama bottoms too, this had never happened to him before. Sleeping on the other side of the bed was Tobi’s solution to the issue, and the wetness had dried by morning. In terms of daytime, he did recall a number of occasions where he had stuffed wet undies down the side of his old dresser, after coming home from school. As a child he would leak a little bit of pee in his pants after holding it for a while, nothing noticeable but enough to make his underwear wet. He had a little bit of trouble holding it during primary school. Around Christmas time, when Tobi was seven years old, he was in maths class. The urge to pee had built up, and being a little boy (with a small bladder), he couldn’t wait. His hand shot up, attempting to get the attention of the teacher, however the effort was futile. “Miss, can i g-“ “Not now Tobi, I’m busy sorting out the Christmas cards” replied Miss April Tobi was a good boy and he never disobeyed his teachers, he had never even got a detention! So he sat there, the pressure building until he had a brilliant idea. “If i just let a little bit out then I won’t need to go as bad” thought Tobi, who was now bursting to use the toilet. The naive boy put his plan into action, attempting to pee his underwear just a little bit. As he let go for a momentary release, he was shocked to realise his little bladder could not stop the flow! The little release turned into a flood, the boy was peeing his pants completely, the plan had failed. Warm pee pooled in his pants, leaving a puddle on his chair. The black school trousers were now soaked, he had never been so humiliated in his life. Tobi got up and ran to the boys toilets, hiding in a stall. The tears began, this was all too much for a seven year old boy to handle. He was much too big to be wetting himself, and doing it during class made the event all the more humiliating. Eventually a teacher came in and gave him a new pair of pants, as well as undies. He got changed, with mum picking the distraught boy up. The following day Miss April announced to the class that if you need to go to the toilet badly, then you can just go. “Would’ve been nice to know that earlier” he said in his mind. Fast forwarding, Tobi decided he wanted to try one of the old drynites he had found years previously. It was the night before his 15th birthday when the boy dreamed up another one of his schemes. Quietly, he snuck to the bathroom after everybody in the house was asleep, ready to try diapers for the first time in at least 11 years. Cautiously, he swung open the cupboard and found what he had been so fascinated by. A small green packet, with pictures of kids smiling in their pajamas, and a count of 9 diapers on the side. Some were missing already, but this was like an unfinished melody to the boy. He opened the package, taking one of the plain white pull-ups out, just staring at it. They were soft as snow, and white to pair, crinkling in his hands. Tobi stripped his pajamas, and pulled on the drynite. For the first time in 11 years, the adolescent boy was once again had a snug diaper around his waist…

As some of you who have read my posts know, i have been working part-time as a babysitter for some time now, and i have to say that thanks to social media, i have also become relatively in demand thanks to social advertising. This week a strange, almost fanfiction-like thing happened to me. They called me to see if i was free for the evening, if i could watch a boy while his parents were out for the evening (i think it was an anniversary or something). When i arrived was expecting the usual 5/7/8 year old boy, but instead i found a 14 year old teenager, who was also very embarrassed and visibly annoyed with his parents because they had hired a babysitter for him. Since the situation was a bit strange for me too, i tried to put him at ease by saying that i was surprised too, because i was expecting a child and that i agreed with him, that his parents were perhaps too apprehensive. I certainly had no intention of humiliating him like in the stories by telling him things like "brush your teeth", "it's time to sleep", "no more TV". So since he was still angry with his parents, and also shy, I tried to put him at ease a bit, i told him to take it as an evening with a friend, maybe we could play some board games or play console. Then to overcome his embarrassment a bit i added to think about it, after all his friends would envy him since he would be spending an evening with an older girl. At that point he seemed more convinced. We played a bit on the XBox, then we watched some anime. Then in the end i also pulled out my ace in the hole, which all the kids i've worked with like, i took my laptop with the Space Engine program (a universe simulator) that he also liked. By the way, when the parents came back, i also made a great impression since their son was really focused on astronomy, when i give them astronomical notions (i'm very nerdy and passionate about these things), the kids go crazy hearing things like the fact that on Mars the sunset is blue, or that on Titan, Saturn's moon, there are seas and rains of liquid methane. In the end, in contrast to the initial embarrassment and opposition, he was almost sorry that I was leaving. I think the parents could call me back. Let's say that these little jobs are also training for my future, since I would like to be a teacher.

This is a story that I've already completed, and I'll release the parts as I get a chance to edit. It's the story of a boy going into high school who gets sent to stay with his aunt during the summer and she treats him the same as his younger cousins. The Drive to my Aunt's House My mom was deployed to the Middle East the summer after I finished eighth grade. My mom was a single parent, so I went to stay with my Aunt Amanda for the summer. She lived in this remote mountain town, and I didn’t know any kids my age who lived near her house. I was fourteen, which made me too young to get a job, and too old for summer camp. I would spend all summer with my two younger cousins. Scott was seven years old, and Debbie was five. In truth, I liked my aunt, even though she still treated me like I was a little kid. For some reason, she didn’t realize I was a teenager and didn’t need to be supervised all the time. My mom warned me, “Tommy, I know it feels like Aunt Amanda treats you like a kid, but if you can show her that you’re mature, she promised to give you some more freedom and responsibility. But that means that you have to be helpful and respectful. You might need to help with your cousins and, of course, clean up your messes.” The truth was, despite being fourteen and entering high school, I acted more like a kid. My mom still had to remind me to brush my teeth and tell me to take a shower at night. She constantly had to tell me to put away my things, and I never did any chores without being told to. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I just never thought about it unless she asked me. I also would pout and whine, and even tantrum, when I didn’t get my way. I don’t think I was a bad kid, but I was just really immature for my age. I’m not completely sure, but I think my mom hoped time with my aunt would help. My mom and aunt met halfway between their houses. Scott and Debbie were in the car with my aunt, and I noticed a diaper bag in the back of the car. That surprised me because I thought Debbie was already potty trained and figured Scott was too old for diapers, at least during the day. We did our goodbyes, and I took a seat in the passenger side next to my aunt for the three-hour drive to her house. Now, despite my mom’s warnings, I overindulged in chips and soda along the way, and my stomach was already rumbling when we got on our way. I figured it wasn’t an emergency yet. I didn’t want to ask my aunt to stop because she already warned me before we left. She asked, “Tommy, it’s a long drive, do you need to go potty before we leave?” That annoyed me and I replied, “I’m not a baby! I can hold it.” Aunt Amanda noted my sharp tone, “Ok, but remember, you can’t ask me to stop unless you go potty now.” The pressure grew and I tried to fart a little to relieve it, but it wasn’t just a fart. I felt something come out, and it wasn’t just a small leak. It was enough that I could feel it in my underwear, and it wasn’t long before I started to smell it. I was fourteen years old, and I just pooped my pants! I wanted my aunt to see me as a teenager and not just some little kid, but that wouldn’t be possible if she knew that I pooped my pants. I tried to be discrete, but Aunt Amanda noticed the odor. She asked, “Scotty, did you poop?” “No.” Aunt Amanda then asked, "Debbie?” “No, Mommy. I’m a big girl.” “I know you are, honey. It smells like somebody pooped, so we’re going to stop.” We pulled into a rest stop, and everybody got out. My aunt checked Scott and Debbie first. Scott didn’t poop, but he wet his Pull-Up and his mom said, “Scotty, that’s your second accident. That means that you need to go back to diapers. We’re going to take a break from potty training.” I tried to sneak off as she was dealing with Scott, but she saw me. “Where do you think you are going?” “I need to go to the bathroom?” “Not yet; I need to see if it was you.” “WHAT! Don’t treat me like a baby. I didn’t poop my pants!” My aunt shot me a stern look, “Do you need to go to time-out?” I shook my head and meekly said, “No.” “Ok then. I understand that you want me to treat you like a big kid, but I can’t treat you like a big kid unless you act like one. Do big kids throw tantrums?” “No.” “That’s right, and you just threw a tantrum, didn’t you?” “But …” I didn’t get a chance to finish my protest. “Did you just shout at me and cry that you didn’t poop?” I nodded. “If you didn’t, let me check.” “Please! Let me go to the bathroom. I’ll clean it up.” “Was it you?” I blushed and cried, “Only a little bit.” “So, it was you; why didn’t you say so?” “I was embarrassed.” She placed a change pad from the diaper bag in the back of her SUV and said, “Hop up so I can take care of your mess.” “Um. What? Can’t I just go to the bathroom and clean myself?” My aunt shook her head, “I’m afraid not, Tommy. I need to make sure you’re properly cleaned.” I protested, “I can do it myself. I’m not a baby!” I hoped that would make her realize that I didn’t need her to clean my butt, but she just rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Really? Do big kids poop their pants?” “It was an accident!” “Yeah, it was, and I need to make sure it won’t happen again.” “It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m not a baby; I’m fourteen years old.” By this point, I was whining and begging. Aunt Amanda shook her head and said, “Tommy, if you want me to treat you like a big kid, you have to act like a big kid. So far, I’ve seen no evidence that you can do that.” “What? I am a big kid. You can’t do this.” “Do big kids poop their pants?” I shook my head. “Do big kids pout and whine?” I cried, “I’m not pouting!” By this point, Aunt Amanda was tired of it, “Look! If you’re going to act like a baby, I’m going to treat you like a baby. I can’t potty train you if you’re not cooperating.” “I am potty trained. It was an accident.” She laughed and said, “I certainly hope so. I’d hate to think you did that on purpose. However, at my house, an accident means that you have to wear Pull-Ups until you can show me that it won’t happen again.” She took a pacifier and ordered, “Open up.” I asked, “What’s that?” and as I did, she plopped the pacifier in my mouth. “That’s a pacifier. That’s what you get when you whine too much in my house. Keep that in your mouth until I take it out. Now be a good boy and lie down on the mat.” I resigned myself to having my aunt clean my messy bottom but pleaded for more privacy. In a muffled voice, because of the pacifier, I cried, “Can’t we do this in the baffroom?’ “I’m sorry honey, but you’re too old to take into the women’s bathroom. We have to do this out here.” “But you’ll see my --,” I was too embarrassed to say it in front of my aunt. Aunt Amanda grinned, “Honey, I’ve changed lots of little boys. I’ve even changed your diaper a few times.” I closed my eyes and let her lift my legs and clean my bottom, just like I was three years old. She finished wiping my bottom and then praised me, “You’re being such a good boy for me. It is so much easier when you’re not squirming.” She put my legs through a Pull-Up and then told me to lift up, so she could finish putting the Pull-Up on me. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” “I guess so.” I suddenly realized that everybody would see me in just the Pull-Up when I got up to put on my shorts. I asked, “Can you help me with my shorts?” “You want me to help you get dressed?” “I don’t want anybody to see me in just the Pull-Up.” She nodded and then said, “Let’s see what you have in your bag. You can’t wear the ones you were wearing because they need to be cleaned.” After she finished, she helped me up and asked, “Are you going to be a good boy?” I nodded, and she took the pacifier out of my mouth and said, “Ok, that’s good. Keep this in your pocket to remind you what happens when you pout.” She then pointed to the package of Pull-Ups and said, “These are just in case. You still need to use the potty. If you can use the potty for three days, I’ll let you wear underwear again. But, if you don’t, you are going to stay in diapers until I can potty train you. Scotty is going back to diapers because he wasn’t using the potty, and the same thing will happen to you.”

Jimmy’s Story Mary quietly entered her home. She’d had to work a little late at the office but she knew that two of her three children would be out getting on with their lives... she also knew that one wouldn’t. Jimmy was laid out on the sofa dozing. The TV was showing some nature program on elephants whilst the soft, reassuring and knowledgeable English voice of the narrator explained the animal’s lifecycle. The image showed a mother elephant looking after her recently born baby and what she had to do to protect it in those first few hours. Mary stood in quiet appreciation of her youngest son. At that moment, when he looked like he did, her heart filled with the love only a mother can have for her child. His soft, stretchy Disney pyjamas made him appear so damn cute. The top of his PJ bottoms revealed the thick, semi-opaque plastic protection he was wearing and the thick padding they kept in place. His shallow breathing, floppy blond hair and extremely long eye-lashes, only accentuating his sweet, innocent looks, but what topped the entire scene off was how he was soothing himself with his thumb, which was gently embedded between his full moist lips. Mary couldn’t have been greeted by a more agreeable or more reassuring sight as she slowly woke up her sleepy-eyed son. “Time for bed sweetheart,” she said as his eyes fluttered into recognition. “It’s way past your bedtime and you look so, so sleepy. Let’s get you upstairs…” His dribble-coated thumb was replaced by a smile as he recognised his mama was now home. “I stayed awake for you…” then realised he hadn’t. “Tried,” his mother gently corrected with a grin and pushed some loose strands of hair away as she kissed her son’s forehead. She helped him to his feet. His diaper crinkled as he moved also revealing more of his padding and plastic pants. She reached in and pulled them up for him. “Look,” she said pointing towards the digital timer on the cable box, “it’s after nine and you have school tomorrow.” She tapped his padded bottom and followed him up the stairs as he waddled, unselfconsciously, to his room. She pulled back the covers and let him climb in. His thick padding making sure he was well protected for the night ahead. Not that he often needed it these days but it seemed he just couldn’t sleep unless his night time diaper was in place. He hadn’t actually wet or messed himself for quite some time but was scared stiff that he might repeat an incident that happened when he was five. Since that experience ten years ago he never trusted himself to be without protection. The mess, the smell, the effort of cleaning him and his bed up (the sheer awfulness of the memory caused him to shake uncontrollably), and everything the family had to go through on that particularly unpleasant night made him fear any kind of relapse. He’d begged his parents if he could forever wear a diaper when he went to bed. His mother wasn’t in any rush to change things. Eight years earlier she’d lost one son, John who, at fifteen, had been found dead from a drugs overdose in the family garage. He was the eldest of her four children; always positive, clever, the leader, the experimenter, the knowing one of his group of peers but it was he who was now no longer around - she was determined that nothing untoward would happen to her other kids. Jimmy was only seven when his brother died and that led to another series of unfortunate accidents in his pants and bed (a repeat of his experience when he was five), that the rest of the family, coming to terms with the death of his brother, could have done without. Little Jimmy was beside himself with grief both for his lost sibling and the extra work he was adding to the laundry. * Of course, it was all connected and trauma affects people in different ways but Jimmy, well he never really got over that terrible day. However, more was to come, within six months his father Joe also passed away. An industrial disease that had plagued him for many years eventually spread rapidly throughout his body and ended only with the man’s last cough and spluttering fit. The compensation that all the families affected by this terrible disease had been fighting for came two weeks after his death. So, although his wife and children would be comfortable, he would never see that money do the good he hoped it might achieve. Friends and neighbours, and to a certain degree Mary, all thought that the untimely death of his eldest son had hastened his demise. No one could be certain but it certainly coincided with Joe being at his lowest ebb. Losing two members of his family had been hard on the youngest who began to cling to the things he knew, the things that gave him comfort and a sense of stability. His soft cuddly teddy Mr Chips was always by his side, his thick diapers offered security, his blue pacifier (dum-dum) was never far away and, if he could, he would never let mama out of his sight. Unlike most boys his age Jimmy didn’t like to go out, play sport, play X-Box… he didn’t want to do any of the things most other fifteen year-old boy did. He was now at the age his eldest brother had been when he died but you wouldn’t know it, the difference in temperament between them was quite staggering. Whereas John had been confident and extravert, his youngest brother was shy and reserved. Despite him growing like a fifteen year-old he was still very much a child. He clung to his mama. He helped her bake, helped her shop and helped her sew. In fact, he was more of a daughter to her than his sister, seventeen year-old Marcia, who was part time at college and part time at the beauty salon. She, like his older brother, eighteen year-old Paul, was also very independent and spent more time out of the house than in, often only returning for the occasional meal and to sleep. Paul took after his father, who had been an ace with anything mechanical, worked in the local garage fixing engines though these days was hardly ever home. The room he shared with his younger brother still had his single bed made and ready for him but he spent most of his time with his girlfriend at her place. She was ten years older than him but they seemed happy enough and Paul, being an extremely likable roguish, laddish type of lad, was confident in his relationship with her and everyone else. Once, when Jimmy was younger and being picked on by both school mates and the occasional teacher, it was Paul who had thumped the bullying ring-leader in front of the bullying teacher. The withering look he gave the horrified teacher (and the implied threat), even from one so young was enough for him to change his attitude towards “That sissy little fag”. It would have been easy for a self-assured lad like Paul to hate his brother’s childish ways but in fact, the family had grown used to him and liked that he was sweet, naïve and exceptional. Jimmy never said a bad word about, or to, anyone. He was kind, gentle and, as far as Paul was concerned, woe-betide anyone who tried to take advantage or change him. …to be continued *

A debate rages if the mother Liza Martinez over-reacted when her 14 year-old son Aaron took her newest BMW on a joyride in the rain. When the mother found out she phoned her adult daughter, Liza Campero, to see if the BMW was still at home. When told the car was gone, Liza M told her daughter, "Bring me the belt!" Liza C documented most of the incident using her phone to live-tweet to the InterWeb. Subsequently Aaron and both Lizas have appeared on many TV and radio shows. Was this use of a designer belt justified, or effective? Please share your thoughts. Below is a longer on-line posting by Liza Compero talking to be youngest brother Aaron Martinez a few days after the joyride and spanking. Below is a podcast of The Texas Belting Mom, Liza Menendez, and her adult daughter and Tweeter Liza Campero, being interviewed on Buzz Adams in the Morning at a radio station in Midland, Texas on Thursday, 18 October, 2018.

My name is molly I'm 15 years old and i was just taken in by John and Kathleen Carlin.

Seth sat on his bed in the orphanage listening to nirvana and coming to terms with the fact that he'd stay there until he was 18. His ADHD

My name is kelly and i am 13 years old

Posted here for brainstorming purposes. Feel free to point out any weakness you spot in the idea, or to add details