Summer with Aunt Amanda_ Finished July 31, 2023

[spark]

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.”

[Rachel1]

Nice story will there be more?

[spark]

2 hours ago, Rachel1 said:

Nice story will there be more?

I finished writing the story, so as long as I don't get distracted, I'll post more.  I just have to go through the editing process with each part

[GQLF]

A great start, I think Tommy will soon be even younger than Scott in terms of bedwetting. Perhaps in the end, he will be asked to use Debbie's things because Debbie's things are more suitable for a baby, but that means baby girl supplies and little girl clothing. I think that must be terrible for Tommy.

 

However, the story of turning an immature boy into a baby girl who needs diapers is very appealing, isn't it? Although I don't know if this story will develop like this, I am also looking forward to the following content.

[spark]

20 minutes ago, GQLF said:

A great start, I think Tommy will soon be even younger than Scott in terms of bedwetting. Perhaps in the end, he will be asked to use Debbie's things because Debbie's things are more suitable for a baby, but that means baby girl supplies and little girl clothing. I think that must be terrible for Tommy.

 

However, the story of turning an immature boy into a baby girl who needs diapers is very appealing, isn't it? Although I don't know if this story will develop like this, I am also looking forward to the following content.

You are partly right.  This is obviously Tommy's regression story, which is the type of story I like.

This story is already drafted, and I don't anticipate major character/plot changes in the editing process   I'm planning to edit roughly 1000-word segments and posting them.

Fair warning, there will be no little girl/sissy development with Tommy.  I get the trope, but I've always been a little boy and as a little boy- girls are icky.  BTW- feminine little characters are easier to describe than infantile masculine characters.  Tommy is an immature little boy, and that will not change

[wetdiaper55]

Great start.....this is going to be a good story

[spark]

Arriving at My Aunt’s House

I realized that my aunt was crazy!  She was completely nuts, but at fourteen years old, I didn’t have any recourse.  I was in the middle of nowhere and couldn’t run away.  I couldn’t fight back and change her mind.  I could only stay out of her way and not rock the boat.  Fortunately, I wasn’t going to keep pooping my pants and I hadn’t wet the bed since I was ten.  My aunt promised to let me wear underwear again if I could stay dry for three days, which seemed easy.  I expected my mom to flip out when she found out what my aunt did.  It was a Monday, and my mom promised to call me on Wednesday after she got settled at her base.  I just had to make it until then, and this would all be over.

I felt sorry for Scott, especially when I noticed how his mom was treating him.  She treated Scott like he was two years old.  He had to stay close to an adult all the time and he didn’t have the same privileges that Debbie or I had.  In fact, he had to sit in a highchair for dinner.  I wasn’t sure if he could help it when he peed, and I wondered if he really did need diapers.

I didn’t notice much at first, other than my aunt putting him in a diaper after she put me in the Pull-Up.  He and Debbie both sat in car seats.  He was kind of a small kid and still fit in a car seat, so that made sense to me.  I remembered that I used a car seat when I was his age.   He also had a sippy cup in the car, but Aunt Amanda would probably make me use a sippy cup as well.

It wasn’t until we got to their house that I noticed anything.  First, Aunt Amanda told me, “Tommy, you’re wearing Pull-Ups, but I expect you to use the potty like a big kid.  Do you want Auntie to help when you go potty?”

I was trying to hide my annoyance, but my tone didn’t do much to hide it.  “I can do it myself!”

Aunt Amanda rolled her eyes and remarked, “Ok!  Just remember to tell me when you go potty.”

“WHY?”

“Don’t yell at me.  It’s not my fault you pooped your pants.  Remember, if you want me to treat you like a big kid, you have to show me that you’re a big kid.”

I huffed, “Fine! But why do I need to tell you when I go to the bathroom.”

“I need to make sure you’re using the potty like you should.”

I gritted my teeth and said, “Fine!” I needed to pee, and I had no intention of wetting the Pull-Up, not that I felt that was likely.   I tried not to sound snarky, which is difficult for an annoyed fourteen-year-old.   “Can I use your bathroom?”

Aunt Amanda smiled, “Of course, honey.  Remember, this is your house for the summer.  It’s right down the hall.”   I did my thing, and when I came out, she asked, “Did you go?”

I rolled my eyes, “Yes.”

“Did you pee or poop?”

“I peed.”

In a falsely excited voice that you would use if I was just learning to use the potty, my aunt cried out, “GOOD JOB!  I’m so proud of you.  Now, did you wash your hands?”

In reality, I pulled my pants down low enough to aim (albeit my aim wasn’t all that great), zipped up, and left.  I didn’t wash my hands, which was normal for me at the time.   I replied in a halting and questioning tone, “Yes?”

It sounded more like a question than a response, and I think my aunt knew I was lying.  She looked at me and asked again, “Are you sure?”

I gave away my deception with my stammer, “Um, uh.”

“Why don’t you go wash your hands again?  Remember, it’s very important to wash your hands after going pee-pee and poo-poo.”  While I hated being talked to like I was a three-year-old, I knew that protests would get me nowhere.   What I didn’t expect was that I would receive praise when I complied with my aunt’s absurd request.  Aunt Amanda praised, “Thank you for being such a good boy; I’m glad you washed your hands.”   

I know this sounds strange, but I didn’t get much praise from adults back then.  My mom tended to criticize me most of the time.  She didn’t like my grades; she got mad when I played video games for long periods, and she was mad when I didn’t put away my things.  It felt like anything I did was going to make her mad, and when she wasn’t mad, she ignored me.  Even my teachers got upset with me, and when I was praised, it was backhanded praise.  It was always something like; “See, look what you can do when you apply yourself.”   Suddenly my aunt praised me twice in just a few minutes.  Ok, it was for peeing in the toilet and washing my hands, but she sounded genuinely proud of me.

My aunt changed Scott’s diaper in the living room, right in front of everybody.  It seemed weird to me, but my aunt is crazy.  It wouldn’t be unusual if he was only three years old, so my aunt didn’t think it was unusual now.  At least, she acted like it was normal.   Scott seemed resigned to his fate, although he begged me not to watch.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t turn away.

After his diaper was changed, Scott returned to his cheery self and asked, “Can Tommy and I go play in the yard?”  They had a neat playset that he was excited to show me.

My aunt shook her head, “I’m sorry, honey.  Mommy has to put stuff away, and you need somebody to watch you.”

He immediately protested, “But Debbie is playing outside.”

“Debbie is a big girl, and big kids can play outside if they are careful.”

“I’m a big kid.”  Scott’s voice was more of a whine than a true protest, and I’m sure he knew what his mom would say next.

“Do big kids wear diapers?”

Scott smirked, “Sometimes?”

“No, they don’t.  Big kids use the potty.  When you use the potty, you get big kid privileges.”

I felt bad.  A few years ago, Scott was still in diapers, but my aunt let him go outside as long as he stayed with me.  I figured the same thing still applied and I said, “I can watch him.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think so.  You haven’t shown me that you are responsible enough yet.”

“WHAT?”  

Aunt Amanda shot me a disapproving look and remarked, “Maybe if you can show me that you can handle responsibility, I’ll let you watch Scotty.  But not yet.”   She then looked over to Scott, whose face was disappointed, and said, “I’ll tell you what.  Jessica is next door, and maybe she is willing to watch you while I get dinner ready.”

Jessica looked close to my age.  Based on her looks, I figured she was in middle school.   Aunt Amanda asked Jessica, “Can you do me a favor?  Scott wants to show his cousin the playset outside, but he’s been put back in diapers and doesn’t have big boy privileges.”

Jessica smiled, “More accidents?”

“I’m afraid so.  He wet himself twice on the ride to pick Tommy up.”

Jessica nodded and agreed to take us outside.  It felt like she was babysitting me as well, which was strange.    Jessica asked, “You look old enough to babysit; how old are you?”

Now, I was somewhat embarrassed, but maybe I could impress her if she knew I was in high school.  I guessed she was in eighth grade, and she might think it’s cool to date a kid in high school.  That’s what boys my age should do, and I hoped that she could be my girlfriend for the summer.  This summer might not suck so bad if I had a girlfriend.   Unfortunately, I had no idea how to get a girlfriend, and I only wanted one because that’s what I thought every boy my age wanted.  I confidently gloated, “I’m fourteen.  I’m going to high school next year.”

Jessica didn’t seem all that impressed with a fourteen-year-old who wasn’t even allowed to watch his younger cousin for a few minutes.  “Really?  Why didn’t Mrs. Whitmore let you watch Scott?”

I shrugged and said, “I don’t know; I think she is mad at me.”

“Already?  What did you do?”

I hoped that sounding like a bad boy would help my cause and responded, “She talked down to me, and I don’t let people do that.  I’m not a little kid, so you got to treat me with respect.”

“I see.”  She smirked with a kind of mocking tone, and replied, “Well, I’m younger than you.  I’m only thirteen, and I’m going into eighth grade.”  She then noticed the elastic band of my Pull-Up peeking above my shorts.  “Is that a Pull-Up?”

My eyes grew big, and I tried to hide it, but I am terrible at lying.  Everybody knows when I’m lying.   “NO!  Do you think I’m wearing Pull-Ups?”

“Whatever, dude.  It looks like you are wearing a Pull-Up.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“If you say so.   Just remember, if you are, you still have to use the bathroom.  Your aunt is really strict about that.”

I shook my head and turned my attention to Scott.  They did have a cool playset.  It had a jungle gym, a tire swing, and a teeter-totter.  If I was still a little kid, I would probably think it was the coolest thing, but I wasn’t supposed to be impressed with stuff like that at fourteen.

Scott whined when his mom pulled out the highchair. “Please, Mommy.  I don’t want to sit in the highchair.”

Aunt Amanda put a pacifier in Scott’s mouth and said, “That’s enough whining out of you.  If you want to be a big kid, you have to use the potty.  If you keep whining, you are going to sit in your playpen until everybody finishes dinner.”

While I did feel sorry for Scott, I knew it was a bad idea to argue with my aunt.   I ate in silence, hoping to avoid making her mad.  Fortunately, Aunt Amanda left me on my own, but she did have to remind me to clear my plate when I was done.   I guess my mom was right; I wasn’t very responsible.

We finished dinner, and Aunt Amanda announced, “Ok, kids, it is time to get ready for bed.  Tommy, go take a shower and then put on your PJs.”

“What?  It’s only seven o’clock.”

“Yes.  It’s almost bedtime.  Go shower and put on your pajamas.”  Her tone was getting more and more insistent.

“I don’t wear pajamas.  I don’t have any.”

Aunt Amanda looked disgusted.  “You don’t.  That’s not going to work.  It’s too late tonight, but tomorrow we need to buy you some pajamas.  I guess you can wear one of Uncle Ron’s tee shirts tonight.”  She waved her hands and warned, “Now take off your clothes, and go take a shower.  Don’t make me ask you again!”   I knew it was a bad idea to test Aunt Amanda any further, so I stripped down to let her inspect my Pull-Up.  She praised, “It’s still dry; that’s good.   Hopefully, you’ll stay dry for three more days, and you can get your big kid underwear back.   Now it’s time for you to take a shower.”

“But it’s early,” I complained.

“No, it’s not.   It’s almost bedtime.  Maybe I’ll have to give you and Scott a bath together.”

“I don’t take baths.”

“Then go take a shower.”  Once again, my attempt to establish independence failed miserably.

Scott was getting his diaper changed on the floor when I came out.  I didn’t have any clothes with me, so I wrapped a towel around my body and asked, “Where is my underwear?”

Aunt Amanda pointed to a tee shirt and said, “I’ve got a shirt for you to wear, but I need to put a diaper on you first.”

“What?  I don’t need diapers.”

She asked, “Are you sure about that?  You pooped your pants today.”

“I don’t wet the bed anymore, I promise.  You can even ask my mom.”  My case wasn’t helped by the fact that Aunt Amanda knew I wet the bed until I was ten years old.

Aunt Amanda was unswayed and simply replied, “I’m sorry, but no.  If you need Pull-Ups during the day, you have to sleep in a diaper.  That’s our rule.  That way, you don’t have to worry about staying dry at night until we know you are potty trained during the day.”

She was crazy, but I couldn’t do anything about it.   I remarked, “I’m going to tell my mom.”

Aunt Amanda was unimpressed and scoffed, “You are?  Are you going to tell her you pooped your pants?  Your mommy told you to follow our rules, right?”  I nodded.  “And in our house, big boys don’t poop their pants, do they?” I nodded.   “Until I know that you can use the potty like a big boy, you need to wear a diaper at night.  Now lie down, so I can get you ready for bed.”  She held a pacifier in her hand and ordered, “That’s enough pouting.  Now, open up.”

I obliged and allowed my aunt to plop the pacifier in my mouth, and reluctantly laid down on the mat.   I was trying to hold back cries and sobbed, “Why are you punishing me?  It was an accident; I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Aunt Amanda hugged me and said, “Honey, I’m not punishing you for pooping your pants.”

“You aren’t?   It feels like it.”

“Well, I’m not.  Do you think wearing glasses is punishment?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s the same with diapers.  I don’t want you to pee in your sleep, and the diaper protects it.”

“But I don’t pee in my sleep,” I cried.

“And if you can show me that’s true, you won’t need diapers anymore.  Ok, it’s getting late.  I’m going to read you guys a story, and then it’s off to bed.”

My uncle’s shirt fit me more like a dress than a shirt.   It dropped down to my knees, which made it look like I was wearing a nightgown.   Aunt Amanda asked, “How does that feel, sweetie?”

“I don’t like it.  It feels like I’m wearing a nightgown.”

“I agree, but it’s all we have tonight.  We’ll get some pajamas for you tomorrow.”

We snuggled up next to my aunt, and she told us a story of a boy in a magic land, which was kind of like Jack and The Beanstalk, but her original version.  That’s what my dad used to do before he died, and I missed hearing his wonderful stories.

After the story, my aunt took us to our rooms.  Debbie’s room was a little girl’s room with a lot of pink, and there was a princess bed in the corner.  Then we walked into a room that looked like a nursery with two cribs.  Aunt Amanda said, “Tommy, you’ll sleep here with Scott.”

I cried, “That’s a crib!”

She calmly remarked, “Yeah, fortunately, Debbie has a big kid bed, so you can use her old crib.”

I cried, “I can’t sleep in a crib.  I’m not a baby.”   I wanted to avoid the pacifier and stay calm, but it made no sense.  I’m fourteen years old; it’s still daylight and I’m being sent to bed; I’m wearing a diaper, and now she is making me sleep in a crib!

Aunt Amanda countered, “little kids sleep in a crib.”

“But I’m not a little kid, I’m a teenager.”

“Big kids don’t wear diapers.”

“But I don’t need a diaper.”

“Did you poop your pants?”  It was a vicious cycle.  When I reminded her that I wasn’t a baby, she told me that big kids don’t wear diapers.  I whined that I didn’t need the diaper, but she reminded me that I pooped my pants.    I needed the diaper because I pooped my pants, and I needed to sleep in a crib because I was wearing a diaper.

I tried more tactics to delay my bedtime.  I said, “I’m not tired; it’s too early to go to bed.”

Aunt Amanda countered, “You’re pouting, and you’re cranky, so I can tell you are tired.  It’s time for bed.”

“I’m thirsty.”

She pointed to a baby bottle.  “There is a bottle for you to drink.”  She then warned, “Scott already knows this, but I want to make sure you know.  Stay in your crib until I get you.”

I suddenly found a flaw in her plan.  I can’t pee in the toilet if I’m stuck in a crib.  She had to lower the rails.  “What happens if I wake up and need to pee?  If I use the diaper, you’re going to think that I peed in my sleep.”

She paused a second and then said, “Scotty sleeps through the night, so usually that’s not a problem.  But there is a baby monitor on, and I can hear when you cry.  Just remember, if I take you to the potty, you better pee.”   In reality, at that age, I rarely woke up in the middle of the night.  I usually slept until the morning, and peed after I woke up.

I got in the crib, and I have to admit it felt nice when Aunt Amanda tucked me in.  She calmly said, “Good Nite.”  It was strange; I hated all the baby treatment, but the attention felt good.  I never got that attention at home.

[wetdiaper55]

I love the way the story is headed.

[Dirkimaus]

Tolle Geschichte, bitte weiter so.

[spark]

Another Day

After his mom left, Scott asked “Do you wet the bed at home?”

I replied, “No, I don’t pee at night.”  I could have left it at that, but I felt an odd sense of companionship with Scott.  I shared, “But I used to.”

There was a sense of relief in Scott’s voice.  He knew he wasn’t alone in his plight.  “Really!  How long did you wet the bed?”

“I wet the bed until I was ten.”

“Oh, did your mommy make you wear diapers as well?”

I answered, “No.  I used to just wet the bed, and then my mom would get mad.”

Scott replied, “Mommy makes me wear diapers, but she doesn’t get mad if I’m wet.   Debbie used to wet the bed too, but she stopped.  Mommy told me that I’ll get a big kid bed if I can stay dry three times in a row.”

I asked, “Do you wear diapers during the day all the time?”

Scott said, “No, only when I have too many accidents.  When I have accidents, I have to stay in diapers until Mommy can potty train me.  Sometimes I even get to wear real underwear like other big kids, but then I pee my pants and have to wear Pull-Ups.”

“How long will you have to wear diapers now?”

“I don’t know.  A few days.  I can’t use the potty until Mommy lets me.”

Aunt Amanda chimed in on the monitor with an annoyed tone.  “It’s bedtime.   No more talking!”

My aunt is crazy! Scott is going to be treated like a baby until he stops wetting his pants, and it might be three more years until she lets him sleep in a real bed.  That’s what would have happened to me.  If my mom acted like Aunt Amanda, I would have slept in a crib until I was ten, and I used to wet my pans as well.  I might have had to wear diapers during the day!  At least I knew this wouldn’t last forever.  I hoped my mom would make Aunt Amanda stop and everything would be back to normal.

 I thought about making my aunt wake up in the middle of the night to take me to the bathroom.  I figured it would be a good punishment for doing this to me.   However, there weren’t any clocks in the nursery.  It was just a night light and curtains.  Even if I woke up in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t know what time it was.

I ended up falling asleep and slept until my aunt woke me up.   “It’s time to wake up.  I want to check your diaper.”  She put her hand on the diaper and said, “Good, it’s still dry.”

In a smug voice, I chimed, “See, I told you.  I don’t wet the bed.”

Aunt Amanda grinned and said, “We’ve got to make sure you are potty trained during the day before we can worry about nighttime.”  She handed me a new Pull-Up and said, “Try to keep these dry, remember to use the potty.”

I protested, “I don’t have accidents!”

Aunt Amanda replied, “You did yesterday.  If you stay dry through Thursday, I’ll give you big kid underwear on Friday.”

“WHAT?  It’s only supposed to be for three days.  That’s the day after tomorrow!”

Aunt Amanda shook her head, put the pacifier in my mouth, and warned, “Stop whining.   Yesterday doesn’t count because you had an accident.”

Scott sat in his highchair for breakfast, and then Aunt Amanda got ready to take us to Reno, which I think was to buy me some pajamas.  I guess they had to buy some other stuff as well, but I didn’t pay too much attention.  I just followed along.

Other than the thick padded underwear that I was wearing, my aunt didn’t treat me much differently than I got from my mom.   She even let me go into the men’s bathroom by myself, which shouldn’t have sounded like a big deal, but it was.   On the other hand, Scott was pushed in a stroller, and Debbie kept close to her mom the whole time.  Debbie might have technically been a big kid, but she was still only five years old and didn’t have much independence.

I got into a small tussle with my aunt at the store.  I wanted to buy something from the men’s section, but my aunt knew those clothes were too big for me.  At the time, I wasn’t quite big enough for men’s clothes, but baggy clothes were more popular.   I pointed to the men’s section and whined, “I want to go there.”

“No, Tommy.  Those are too big.   You still need boy’s clothing.”

“But I like them big.”

“I’m not buying clothes that fit you like a dress.”

I stomped and huffed, “It’s not fair.”  I had a sour demeanor and didn’t like anything that my aunt showed.  She eventually got tired of it and just picked something out herself.  To my dismay, most of the pajamas had themes that were for younger kids.  Things like Pokémon or Power Rangers.  She remembered that I liked airplanes when I was younger, and she found a pair that had airplanes on it.   She showed them to me and said, “How about these?  You like airplanes, don’t you?”

These would have been the pajamas that I would have picked if I was younger, and I really do like airplanes.   If I had to get some pajamas, they wouldn’t be so bad.   I held back my excitement and answered, “They are kind of babyish.”

“Well, I think they look cute.  Go try them on.”   By the way, fourteen-year-old boys do not like ‘cute’ things.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, you do; I want to make sure they fit.”  Fortunately, Aunt Amanda didn’t make me parade out of the dressing room, and I got to take them off once she knew they fit.  

She didn’t make Scott sit in a highchair at the In-n-Out.  I guess she didn’t think that was necessary, and it saved Scott a whole lot of embarrassment.

Other than making me tell her when I went to the bathroom, she left me alone after we got home.   She was concerned that I hadn’t pooped and wanted me to try and poop when we got home.  No fourteen-year-old boy wants to discuss bowel movements with his aunt, but she reminded me that I was supposed to tell her when I used the potty.

We followed the same routine that night, which included me having to strip down to let my aunt inspect my Pull-Up.   She noted that it was dry and praised me for it.  “Good job.  You get a smiley face.  Only two more days until you earn your big kid pants.”   I mumbled something under my breath, and she chastised me for being a sourpuss.  I was once again back in the nursery, sleeping in a crib and it was still light outside.

[kirababy]

LOL @ sourpuss.   For some reason that struck me funny.   Enjoying the slow burn here.  

[spark]

23 minutes ago, kirababy said:

LOL @ sourpuss.   For some reason that struck me funny.   Enjoying the slow burn here.  

Tommy is meant to be immature for his age, but trying to act like he is older and more like a typical teenager.  He is an 11-year-old in a 14-year-olds body who thinks (or just wants) to be 17.  Aunt Amanda is meant to be cloying and treats kids like they are four until they are adults.

I actually have an aunt who is a little like that, although not anywhere near the ABDL fantasy that I'm portraying here, and she would use sourpuss, which is probably where I got the words.

[spark]

My Mom’s Phone Call

I was dry again in the morning, and I made sure to gloat when Aunt Amanda woke us up.  She said, “You’re dry.  Do you need to go pee-pee?”

I nodded and smugly said, “See, I told you.”

My aunt remarked, “First, we need to make sure you stay dry during the day.”

I wanted to tell her that I was already potty trained, but I knew it would just put us in a vicious cycle.  I did my business in the bathroom and then took a seat next to Scott in his highchair.   My aunt looked at me and asked, “Did you pee, or did you poop?”

I tried not to sound snarky, but I probably did.  “I just peed.”  I was a little more excited when I added, “And I washed my hands, too.”

Aunt Amanda smiled and said, “Good job, and you did it without being reminded.”

I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely proud of me, or just being snide.   It didn’t matter at the time; I was too excited about the phone call from my mom later that morning.  All I needed to do was let my mom know what my aunt was doing.  There was no way my mom would let Aunt Amanda keep treating me like a baby.  My mom was always telling me that it was time to grow up, but that wouldn’t be possible if I was literally treated like a baby.

The call was just before lunch, which was nighttime at my mom’s base.   She wasn’t allowed to tell me where she was, but it looked like just another Army base.  I have to admit, it was kind of cool seeing her.  It had only been two days, and even if I wouldn’t admit it, I missed her.  However, I had business to conduct.  I had to let her know what my aunt did.  The first thing I said was, “Mom, can I go somewhere else for the summer?”

My mom shook her head.  “I’m afraid not, honey.  Aunt Amanda is the only person who can watch you this summer.”

“But Aunt Amanda is crazy!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mom!  She is making me wear Pull-ups, like the kind that little kids wear.”

I figured that would get her attention, but Mom didn’t seem surprised.  “Aunt Amanda told me that you pooped your pants in the car on Monday.”

I tried to think of an excuse, “Yeah, but.”

“She wants to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Mom, I’m fourteen.  It won’t happen again.”

 “It’s only been two days; how do you know it won’t happen again?”

I cried, “It was an accident.”

Mom countered, “Isn’t that what the Pull-ups are for?”

I smirked, “If I was three.”

Mom was not impressed and said, “You pooped your pants, and you’re fourteen.  What does that say about you?”

It wasn’t going how I expected.   “Mom!  She is making me sleep in a crib, and I have to go to bed at eight o’clock.  It’s not even dark yet!”   I could have told her about the diapers, but I didn’t want her to know about that.

My mom was undeterred, “Tommy, I told you before you left that you’re going to have to follow Aunt Amanda’s rules.”

“But.”

My mom interrupted me, “I know that I did things differently when you were little but let me ask you this.  Are you going to poop your pants again?”

I immediately shouted, “No!”

“Are you going to wet the bed?”

“NO!”

“Good, then it’s working.  You know that Scott still has problems making it to the potty, just like you did.”  My mom liked to remind me about my potty issues when I was little.  “Scott has to wear Pull-ups when he doesn’t make it to the bathroom, and she has to treat you the same way.  It’s only fair, right?”  I guess I was supposed to nod in agreement, but I just rolled my eyes.   Mom continued, “Look, I don’t expect you to have any issues.  It’s just three days, and then everything will be back to normal.  You’ll get your own room, and you can stay up as late as you want.  She will leave you alone and let you do whatever you want, within reason.”

My mom saw the disappointment on my face and scoffed, “Tommy, don’t give me that look.   You’re a lot older than Scott, so I expect more from you.  Pooping your pants is just not acceptable.  At the very least, you should have to follow the same rules.” I shook my head, but Mom ignored it.  “Maybe if I made you wear Pull-ups and diapers when you were younger, you wouldn’t have kept wetting your pants.”

I sulked in protest, “I’m not a baby!”  It was supposed to sound defiant and strong, but it came off more like a whine.

My mom rolled her eyes and gave me that disapproving look that only a mom can give.  “Tommy Michael Montgomery,” she used all three of my names, and any kid knows that’s never good.  “Aunt Amanda told me that you’ve done nothing but pout and sulk.  If you don’t get your way, you pout and throw a tantrum.  I already told you that if you want Aunt Amanda to treat you like a teenager, you have to act like you deserve it.   You have to be mature and responsible.   You have to help around the house and do your chores without being asked.  Don’t whine, don’t pout, and don’t throw tantrums when you don’t get your way.  If you keep acting like a baby, you should be treated like one.”

That conversation didn’t go as well as I hoped, and I fought back the tears when we hung up.  I didn’t mean to cry, but I felt hopeless.  I was stuck living under my aunt’s absurd rules for the whole summer.

[wetdiaper55]

I love reading this,I think mom to baby him too

[spark]

Getting my underwear back

After my mom failed to come to my rescue, I sulked for the rest of the day, which I guess kind of proved her point.  I didn’t get my way and just moped around for the rest of the day without talking to anybody.  In my mind, it was safer to stay silent.   If I did talk, my aunt would just make me suck on a pacifier to keep me from pouting.  I kept to myself, read some books, and looked at my phone.  I wanted to go to my room, but my room was the nursery with the crib in it.

Fortunately, my aunt left me alone.  She asked me to do some minor chores, which I complained about until she said, “Tommy, don’t you want me to treat you like a big kid.”

Oddly, I wasn’t treated like a baby during the day.   It was nothing like how she treated Scott, who wasn’t allowed to do much of anything.  Scott had to stay close to an adult, or Jessica at all times.  He had to take a nap after lunch, and there was the highchair and sippy cups.   He also didn’t have any chores, short of putting the toys back.

I wasn’t even treated like Debbie, who technically was considered a big kid, but she was still kind of little and needed to be watched closely.   She still took a nap, but she slept in her own bed.   Other than the Pull-ups, my aunt didn’t treat me that much differently than I hope she would have.   My aunt didn’t even have a problem letting me explore the property near their house, which was something that my mom didn’t always allow.

Things always took a drastic turn after dinner.  That’s when I had to take my shower, get diapered for bed and then put in a crib at a ridiculously early hour. From dinner till morning, I was just a little baby who wore diapers and slept in a crib.  Complaining about it didn’t do any good, and I didn’t hate all of it.   To be honest, I really enjoyed our story time when we would cuddle up next to my aunt and listen to her wonderful stories.

I kind of wondered what it would feel like to pee in the Pull-up.   It’s no secret that I wet the bed, and even had accidents during the day when I was younger, but my mom stopped using diapers and Pull-ups after I started school.  She said, “You’re a big kid and big kids don’t wear diapers.”  I wished I could just go back to diapers and not wake up with pee all over me.  Especially because my mom would yell at me, and I was still crying when I got to school.

I asked Scott, “What happens if I accidentally pee in my Pull-up?”  I had to do that on the sly, because I didn’t want my aunt or Jessica to know what I was thinking, nor did I want anybody to think that I really needed them.

Scott answered, “Mommy just helps me change, and then reminds me that big kids use the potty.  Mommy puts me back in diapers if I do it again.”

I asked, “Does she get mad?”  My mom used to get furious when I had an accident.

Scott shook his head, “No.   Mommy never gets mad.  Even when I have to wear diapers.  She says that I’m just not ready, and that’s why I still need diapers.”

I knew that was true.  I never saw Aunt Amanda get upset about changing diapers, nor did she say anything mean.   She had a really strict ‘no teasing’ policy in her house, so I didn’t even have to worry about getting teased.  I could wet myself one time, and nobody would say anything.

However, I didn’t want to give Aunt Amanda the satisfaction.  I wanted her to know just how ridiculous it was to put a fourteen-year-old kid in a Pull-up and make him sleep in a crib like a baby.  I used the bathroom and didn’t have any accidents.  Aunt Amanda inspected my final Pull-up Thursday night after dinner, and upon seeing that it was still dry, put a third smiley face on my chart.  “That’s three smiley faces in a row, do you know what that means?”

I smugly replied, “It means I don’t have to wear these stupid Pull-ups anymore.”

My aunt didn’t like the tone of my reply and shot me a terse look, “Is that what you say Tommy?”

I immediately shrank back down and meekly mouthed, “Sorry.”   I couldn’t risk giving my aunt ammunition to extend my time in Pull-ups.  She nodded, and so I answered more appropriately, “It means that I can wear underwear tomorrow.”

Aunt Amanda nodded and announced, “Yes, Tommy has proven that he is ready for big boy pants.  No more Pull-ups for Tommy!”

My cousins both raised their hands and shouted, “Hooray for Tommy!”

She had the nighttime diapers laid out and I asked, “What about those, why do I still need to wear diapers at night?”

Aunt Amanda kept telling me that we were only concentrating on my daytime potty training, so I should have realized I would have to wear a diaper a few more nights.   “Now that we’ve taken care of your potty training during the day, it’s time for you to show me you can be dry at night.”

I pouted, “That’s not fair!   I haven’t been wet all week.  Why do I still have to wear diapers?”

Aunt Amanda rolled her eyes, grabbed a pacifier, and ordered, “Open up.”   I started to protest, but she plopped the pacifier in my mouth and said, “We don’t whine in this house.  Go stand in the corner and I’ll get you when I finish with Scotty.”

I stomped to the corner and sulked as my aunt took care of Scott.  I heard her giving Scott loads of attention.  I once saw a kid getting treated like a baby by his mom and it was so different than what my aunt was doing.  That kid’s mom was mean and making fun of him, while my aunt didn’t even seem mad. 

Part of me was mad at her.  I couldn’t believe my aunt was doing this to me, but another part of me was mad at myself.  I knew I wasn’t helping myself by throwing tantrums.  Things were so much easier for me when I just let her do her thing.  What if she decided I wasn’t a big kid yet, and made me wear diapers all the time?

Aunt Amanda didn’t seem mad when she came to the corner.  I mouthed, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to get mad.”

My aunt hugged me and said, “I know honey.  You’re just over-excited and tired.  Let’s get you diapered and ready for bed.”

I had tears in my eyes and asked, “Do I still have to wear Pull-ups tomorrow?”

She had a confused look and remarked, “Of course not.  You earned big boy pants, remember?”

“But I threw a tantrum.”

“That’s not good, but if you don’t make it a habit, we won’t worry about it.”

I asked, “How much longer do I need to wear diapers at night?”

Aunt Amanda replied, “Now that we know that you are potty trained during the day, it’s time to see if you can stay dry overnight.  If you are dry three nights in a row, you can move to Pull-ups.”

“Will I have to sleep in a crib after that?”

Aunt Amanda shook her head and reminded me, “Big kids sleep in a bed.  You’ll get to sleep in the guest room.  That’s where you were going to sleep until you pooped your pants.”

“What about my bedtime?”

“You’ll be a big kid, so you should get a big kid bedtime.   You’re fourteen, so this summer will be a good chance to show that you can manage your own bedtimes.  First, show me that you are ready, and I’ll treat you like you’re in high school.  Does that sound good?”

I had time to think after my aunt finished her story and tucked us in our cribs.  I allowed my aunt to put me in a diaper and make me sleep in a baby crib, even though I didn’t wet the bed, and then she made me feel guilty when I complained about it.  She wasn’t only crazy; she was evil.  I did the math in my head.  Three nights would take me to Sunday morning, which was a week after I got here.  I wondered if this was all part of an elaborate plot my mom concocted to get me to grow up.  Maybe she planned this whole thing!  I get treated like a baby for one week just to make me realize I shouldn’t be acting like a child.

I thought about punishing my aunt by using the diaper, but based on how she treated Scott, it didn’t seem like much of a punishment.  She didn’t seem to think it was a big deal to change his diaper, even when it was poopy.  I would just have to wear diapers a while longer.

Aunt Amanda would wake us up around seven o’clock, which was much earlier than I wanted to get up.  However, my bedtime was so early that I wasn’t groggy in the morning and didn’t get cranky.  My aunt praised me when I was still dry the next two mornings.  She then removed the diaper, wiped the area, and let me get dressed in the bathroom.  She typically waited until Scott had breakfast before changing his diaper, so he ate breakfast from his highchair while staying in his soggy diaper.

For me, everything was normal during the day, just like it would be if I never had to wear Pull-ups.  Aunt Amanda gave me some chores, which I would eventually do after getting tired of her nagging, and then leave me alone for the rest of the day.  I usually kept myself entertained and didn’t bother anybody.

Aunt Amanda worked from home and paid Jessica to help keep an eye on Debbie and Scott.  My aunt did most of the parenting, but Jessica was there to help.  It was very clear that my aunt felt Jessica was more mature than me and far more responsible.  My aunt didn’t think I was mature enough to watch Scott or Debbie, even if we were just outside.  Jessica didn’t seem all that interested in me.  I think she knew about my Pull-ups, and she probably knew the second crib was mine, but she mostly ignored me during the day.

At first, I tried to avoid being around my younger cousins, because I felt like another little kid.  However, as the week progressed, I didn’t seem to mind it and spent more time around my cousins.  Scott liked a lot of the same things I did when I was little, so it was kind of fun playing with him.

I started to get these weird thoughts in my head.  It is hard to explain, but I was a little envious, especially with all the attention everybody gave to Scott.  I still counted how many days I had left in diapers, but I started to accept and even eagerly anticipate the nightly diapering routine.  By Saturday night, I offered no resistance when it was time to get ready for bed and compliantly allowed my aunt to change my diaper.

It was enough that she commented, “My, you are so calm and being such a good boy.  I didn’t even have to tell you to stop wriggling.”  She started to say something else and stopped herself.   I remember thinking she was going to say, “It is almost like you like it,” but then decided to stop.   I was desperately trying to convince myself that I hated it, but I knew that wasn’t true.

She finished up, hugged me, and said, “If you’re dry tomorrow, I won’t need to do this again.  You won’t need diapers anymore.  Isn’t that nice?”

I answered with an awkward, “Yeah.”  I wanted to sound excited and with a huge sense of relief.  My nightmare was finally over, but it was hard to hide the reality.  I think I came off sounding disappointed.

I tried to regain my composure and asked, “Will I still have to go to bed so early?”

Aunt Amanda smiled and answered, “Of course not.  You and Scotty have an early bedtime because little kids need more sleep.  If you show me that you’re not a little kid, I can treat you like a big kid.”

I said, “Thank you,” but part of me was disappointed.  I didn’t think my mom cared about me anymore.  It felt like Aunt Amanda really did care, especially when she was putting me in diapers and being so nice.   I wondered if that would stop when I didn’t need diapers.

This was my sixth night wearing a diaper, and I still hadn’t peed in one.  I had the Pull-ups for three days and never wet one.  I asked Scott how it felt when he wet his diaper, but the question sounded weird, and Scott didn’t know how to answer.  This was my chance to see what it felt like to pee in a diaper.  I didn’t think Aunt Amanda would get mad.  That’s what the diaper is for.   It would mean another three nights in the nursery, but that didn’t seem so bad.

I felt a slight pressure on my bladder.  It wasn’t that strong, but it was enough that I could pee if I wanted.  I thought, “Why not just pee in my diaper?”  It was harder than I expected, but I eventually started to pee.  The warmth spread and I fell back asleep wondering what my aunt would say in the morning.

[wetdiaper55]

I think Tommy will like being a diapered baby again

[spark]

8 hours ago, wetdiaper55 said:

I think Tommy will like being a diapered baby again

There is a time and a place for a kid like Tommy to pretend to wet the bed so his aunt will put him diapers and treat him like a baby.  For Tommy, this is the time and this the place.

[spark]

BTW- my chapter titles have no meaning

A Wet diaper

It’s a lot harder to start to pee when you think you should only pee in the toilet.  I had to think about standing in front of a toilet, and really concentrate, but I managed to pee in the diaper.  I rolled over and fell back asleep.

I was already awake when Aunt Amanda came into the nursery.  I let her discover my wet diaper when she checked.  In my mind, it sounded more believable if I didn’t know I was wet.

She checked Scott first, and it wasn’t a surprise that he wet his diaper.  Scott always woke up with a wet diaper and my aunt just said, “You’re wet again, but that’s why you need diapers.  We’ll change it after breakfast.”  She came to me and gently tapped, “Are you awake?”  I nodded and she replied, “Let’s see how you did last night.”  She looked surprised when she felt my diaper.  I hadn’t wet my diaper all week, so I’m sure she expected me to be dry.  “Uh-oh, it looks like you wet your diaper.  I guess it’s a good thing you wore one last night.”  I pretended to look disappointed, but in reality, I loved it.  Aunt Amanda hugged me and said, “It’s ok, honey.  Sometimes these things happen.  Let’s have some breakfast, and then we will take care of your wet diaper.  Do you want to go pee-pee in the potty?”

I shook my head, even though I needed to pee.  It wasn’t urgent because I peed two more times that night.   I asked, “Do I have to wear Pull-ups, or a diaper today?”

Aunt Amanda shook her head and said, “No, honey you’ve shown me that you are potty trained during the day, it just doesn’t look like you’re ready for a big boy bed.  I think you’ll get there, but you have to sleep in here until you do.”

I guess I was supposed to be upset about that, but I meekly accepted my fate.  My aunt pulled a second highchair from the closet and brought it to the table.  I asked, “Do I have to sit in that?”

My aunt answered calmly and matter-of-factly, “Yes, little kids sit in highchairs.”

It made no sense, but a part of me was curious about what baby treatment was like.  I complained, “I’m not a little kid.”  It wasn’t a strong protest; I was genuinely confused.  This was the first time she made me sit in a highchair.

Aunt Amanda asked, “Is your diaper wet?”  I had to admit the truth and nodded.  She said, “Ok then, hop up.  In my house, little kids who wear diapers have to sit in a highchair.”

Debbie saw me sitting in the highchair and asked, “Why is Tommy in a highchair?”

“His diaper is wet, and that means he eats breakfast in a highchair.”

As if that was completely normal, Debbie responded, “Oh, yeah.”  It sounded like this made perfect sense to her and wasn’t anything to be concerned about.  She also knew enough to avoid saying anything that could be considered teasing.

I know my aunt wanted to humiliate us.  We wet our diapers like babies therefore we should be treated like babies.  She tied a bib around my neck, cut my pancakes into bite-sized pieces, and handed me a sippy cup full of juice.  It was just like she did with Scott, and just like she would if I was two years old.  I was embarrassed but oddly enjoyed the spectacle.

She changed my diaper after breakfast, and it was more involved than any of the previous diaper changes.  When my diaper was dry, my aunt just did a quick wipe and then sent me to the bathroom to get dressed.   This time, she took her time and made sure the diaper area was clean and dry.  She also took time to clean my butt, just like she did when I pooped my pants.  It was more than just a few wipes, so I don’t think I was very clean down there, but my aunt didn’t say anything about it.  I think it was about five minutes later when she finally handed me my underwear and said, “Off you go, honey.   You’re a big boy now.”  I was the same awkward teenager I always was.

Based on how she treated me that Sunday morning, I knew I would get the same treatment Scott was getting if I wet myself during the day.  I knew her system.  I would have to wear Pull-ups if I had an accident, and I would go back to diapers if I had too many accidents in Pull-ups.  I knew I would get the full baby treatment, just like Scott.

I wasn’t sure how long the baby treatment would last, nor did I know how many times I could wet a Pull-up before getting put in a diaper.  It was almost a full week, and Scott was still in diapers all the time.  Scott never asked to use the bathroom, and she never took him.  She said they were taking a break from potty training, but I didn’t know how long the break would be.  What if she makes him do this all summer?  What happens if she puts me in a diaper?

I’d like to say that the bug was out of my system.  I peed in my diaper and knew what it felt like, which is what I wanted.  However, I wanted it more, and not less.  I thought about wetting my pants that Sunday afternoon.  I might have done it, but I was too scared.   I wanted to wet my diaper again the next night, but it is hard to pee in a diaper when you are used to using the potty.   I slept the whole night and was still dry when my aunt woke us up.  She took off the dry diaper, gave me the appropriate kudos, and sent me on my way.  I ate breakfast from a normal chair, and my aunt went back to ignoring me most of the time.

That was the day that Scott started potty training.  I was a single child, so I didn’t know how little kids learned to use the potty.  My experience was a bit rough.  I remember my mom getting mad at me when I didn’t make it to the potty, but I didn’t understand how kids learned when they needed to go.  My aunt seemed to be calmer and a lot nicer than my mom.  She didn’t yell and didn’t make him sit on the toilet unless he asked.  When she knew he was ready to poo, she asked, “Scotty, do you want to try to use the potty?”  He nodded and she praised him when he pooped in the toilet.  She then asked me, “Tommy, Scotty wants to use the potty like a big boy.  Can you show him how big boys use the potty?”

I was confused and answered, “Yeah? what do I have to do?”

“It is really easy, just make sure to take Scotty with you when you use the potty.  You can model how big boys use the potty.”

I was fourteen, and it was weird bringing my seven-year-old cousin with me when I peed in the toilet.   I didn’t want to do that, and I am ashamed to admit this, but I wanted Scott to stay in diapers.  I think I only did it one time, and that was when my aunt was watching. That first day, my aunt asked Scott if he needed to use the potty and praised him when he went.  The second day, which was a Tuesday, she told him, “Scotty, big boys don’t need to be told when it is time to use the potty.  If you need to use the potty, ask me and I will take you.”

I think Scott asked her a few times, but most of the time, he just used his diaper.  I don’t know if he did it on purpose or couldn’t tell when he needed to pee.  Either way, my aunt didn’t get mad.  She just said, “I guess you are not ready.  We’ll take a break and try again later.”

I figured my aunt wanted to put Scott in Pull-ups, just like she did with me after I pooped my pants.  If he did make it three days without an accident, he could wear underwear.   I started to do the math.  I wanted to see how long Scott would have to wear diapers, and how long until he could get to full big-boy status.  At least, that’s what I told myself.   In reality, I wanted to know how long it would take to go back to normal after being put in diapers.  It was a whole week until my aunt started to potty train Scott again, and I figured that’s what would happen to me.  I knew it would be another three days in Pull-ups, and then three more nights wearing diapers to bed.  Obviously, that included sleeping in the crib the whole time and getting treated like a baby while wearing a diaper.  That was only two weeks, which didn’t seem that bad.

I knew I would have to act fast if I wanted to do this.   My aunt just put Scott back in diapers, and it would be another week until she tried to potty train him again.  If it happened soon, Scott and I would be babies together.  However, there was a chance that Scott would be potty trained and out of diapers, while I still needed them.   It sounds weird, but I didn’t want to be the only one treated like a baby.

I considered wetting my pants right there, but I had to make it seem real.  It would look suspicious if I started to wet my pants for no reason.   However, my aunt knew I used to wet the bed, and I just wet the bed again on Sunday.   Maybe, if I wet the bed, she would think it came back.  It made sense, to me, that if I was already wetting the bed, I could have accidents during the day.

 That night I set my plan into action.   First, I peed in the diaper before I fell asleep.  My aunt had to think I was wetting the bed again, and I couldn’t risk another dry diaper.  That meant I had to sleep in a wet diaper all night, but I didn’t mind.

The second part of my plan came after our highchair ritual.   Aunt Amanda was working from the patio as I played with Scott and Debbie.  We were running around like little kids, and I felt the urge to pee.  I wanted to make sure I could pee when we were outside, so I didn’t go before we started to play.  I made sure nobody was watching, closed my eyes, and started to pee in my pants.  I felt the warm liquid stream down my legs and looked down at the obvious sign that I wet my pants.

This set up a problem I hadn’t considered.  My aunt had to find out, but how to I make sure it isn’t obvious that I wet myself on purpose?   I asked myself, ‘What would I do if I really did wet my pants?’  When I was little, I hid my accidents to avoid punishment.  However, this time I wanted to be caught.   I could have easily excused myself and cleaned up in private.  Nobody would ever know I peed my pants, but that’s not what I wanted.  I decided to let my aunt discover it for herself, which is what happened before.   Unfortunately, I didn’t count on Debbie seeing it.  She saw the wet spot and said, “Tommy, you peed your pants.”

I shook my head and defiantly cried, “No I didn’t.  I don’t pee my pants.”

“Yes, you did.  It’s right there.  I need to tell Mommy.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Mommy said to tell her when Scott pees his pants, so it’s the same for you.”  She then shouted, “MOMMY!  Tommy peed in his pants.”

Aunt Amanda looked surprised and said, “He did?  Tommy, what happened?”

Debbie said, “We were playing, and Tommy went pee-pee.”

Aunt Amanda looked at the wet spot and said, “It looks like you had an accident.  I’m afraid that you need to go back to Pull-ups.  Let’s get you changed.”

[Pampertimmy]

It looks like Tommy is going to get what he wants. Great story so far.

[spark]

My Mom finds out.

My aunt put a change pad on the living room floor; it was right in front of everybody.  That’s what she did at night, so I don’t know why I expected any privacy.  I complained, “Do we need to do this here?  Can’t I go to the bathroom and clean up by myself?”

My aunt looked at me like I was crazy.  In her eyes, only a little kid would wet their pants, so I was just a little kid.  She shook her head and said, “I have to make sure you are cleaned properly.  I don’t want you to get a rash.   Now, stop stalling and lie down.”

I guess this was kind of what I wanted, but it scared me anyway.  I was also putting on a bit of an act.  I was afraid that she would suspect something if I didn’t complain.  I grumbled in a whiney voice, “I don’t want to.”

Aunt Amanda rolled her eyes, put a pacifier in front of my mouth, and said, “Tough, now lie down.”  To be honest, I was beginning to like the pacifier.  It calmed me down and helped me relax.  She put the pacifier in my mouth, and I calmly laid back down on the floor.

She praised me, “Good boy.”  She finished wiping, helped me into the clean Pull-up, and then warned, “This is a Pull-up, not a diaper.  You still need to use the potty like a big boy.  If you can use the potty, you can have your big boy pants back.  If not, you’re going to have to go back to diapers.”

I muffled through the pacifier, “How long?”

“Just like last time.  Three days.   You can get your big boy pants back on Saturday.”  She patted my Pull-up in a condescending way and said, “Go to the nursery and get dressed, then you can play with Scott and Debbie.”

Going back to Pull-ups was the first part of my plan.  I knew I would need more accidents to be put in diapers, but I didn’t know how many.  Scott told me that he sometimes stays in Pull-ups after an accident but usually goes back to diapers if he has more than one.  I figured that one accident wouldn’t be enough, and I would need to have at least two accidents in my Pull-ups.  I didn’t want to make my aunt suspicious, so I didn’t have any more accidents that day.  That night my aunt praised me for keeping my Pull-ups dry, and then got me ready for bed.

I made sure to wet my diaper again that night.  In my mind, I had to start wetting the bed to make my plan believable.  It was getting easier to wet my diaper.  I no longer had to visualize standing in front of a toilet.  I just started to pee when I wanted to go.  My aunt noted the wet diaper in the morning but didn’t seem all that concerned about my sudden bedwetting.  She acted like everything was normal.

I thought my plan was going well.   My aunt was acting like these were real accidents, and that I might need to go back to diapers.  I figured it would be fun to act like a baby for a few weeks, and I didn’t have to worry about other kids finding out.  Nobody at my school would ever know.  However, teenagers don’t always think about all of the factors before acting.  I forgot about my mom.  My mom wasn’t around, and I didn’t think she would know anything about it.   It didn’t dawn on me that my aunt told my mom all about it.  That was stupid!  My aunt told her that I pooped my pants, so why didn’t I think my aunt would tell her that I wet my pants and started wetting the bed.

Mom called me on Wednesday morning, which was the day after I peed my pants.  I also wet the bed three times.  A week earlier, I complained about having to sleep in a crib after pooping my pants, and now I was wetting the bed again, and I already wet my pants once.  I hadn’t wet my pants since I was in 2^nd grade.  She asked, “Tommy, what’s going on?  Do you know why you’re wetting yourself?”

My first instinct was to deny it.  “I’m not peeing myself.”

My mom tersely replied, “Tommy, stop it!   Aunt Amanda told me that you wet your diaper twice.  She also told me that you peed your pants yesterday.  Why is that happening?”

I tried to blame my aunt.   “It’s not my fault.  Aunt Amanda is making me sleep in a crib, and I can’t get out when I need to pee.”

Mom shook her head, “I don’t buy that one bit.  You were dry for the first five nights.  You only had to stay dry one more night to get out of diapers.”

I dejectedly answered, “I know.”  

Mom continued, “What about the accident yesterday?”

I stammered, trying to think of an explanation.  I went back to what I used to say when I was little.   I meekly answered, “I didn’t know I had to go.”

Mom sighed, trying to contain her anger.   “That means you have to wear Pull-ups again, right?”  I was too embarrassed to answer, but I nodded to avoid more wrath.   “What about this morning?  Did you wet again last night?”

My lack of an answer gave it away.  Mom replied, “Tommy, you’re much too old to be wetting your pants like a baby.  You know that if this continues, Aunt Amanda is going to make you wear diapers during the day.”

I shifted my eyes away from the camera and mumbled, “I know.”

“Well, is that what you want?”

This was the first time Mom implied that I was doing this on purpose.  I emphatically denied the charge. “No!  She is going to treat me like a baby.  I don’t want that.  Why would you even let her do that?”  I hoped turning the tables might put my mom on the defensive.

My mom sighed and said, “Tommy, I can only think of two reasons that a boy your age would suddenly pee himself.   You’re either doing it on purpose, or something is wrong.”

“It’s not on purpose.”  I protested.

My mom replied, “Ok, I guess Aunt Amanda will have to take you to the doctor.”

The thought of telling a doctor that I was wetting my pants was humiliating.   I cried out, almost begging, “Don’t do that.  Please.  I’ll stop.  I’ll stop, I promise.”

Mom clearly didn’t believe me.  She asked, “Are you telling me that you can stop?  That means you’re doing this on purpose.”

I was getting frustrated.  She was turning everything against me.  I cried out, “I’m not doing this on purpose!”

“Then you can’t promise to stop.”   She paused, while I tried to think of a way out.  Mom continued, “It doesn’t matter anyway.  You still need to go back to diapers.”

“What?  Why?”

“Because, if you don’t wear a diaper, you’ll pee your pants.  That’s why babies wear diapers.”

I whimpered, “But, she is going to treat me like a baby.”

Mom replied, “Why shouldn’t she? You should be treated like a baby if you aren’t potty trained.”

I protested, “I am potty trained!  Stop saying that.”

Mom snapped back, “You aren’t if you purposely pee your pants.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!”  By this point, I was on the verge of massive tears.  The kind of meltdown I only had when I was very young.

“But that means you need diapers to avoid accidents, and you’re not ready to diaper yourself.”  She paused in the middle to give me time to process what she was saying.

I was confused, “Diapering yourself?”

“That means you change your own diapers, and I don’t think you’re ready to do that.”

I indignantly asked, “Why not?”

“Tommy, it takes a lot of maturity to take care of your own diapers, and you’re not ready.   You have to make sure you clean everything and then get rid of the diaper without making a mess.  I don’t trust you to do any part of that.  You don’t even pick up after yourself when you take a shower, and I still have to nag you to take a shower.”  Mom continued, “If you really are having accidents, you’ll have to learn how to handle it like an adult.  I can’t ask Aunt Amanda to teach you something like that, so you’ll have to wait until we get home.  Until then, Aunt Amanda is going to take care of it her way.”

I was stunned, and said, “But, that’s the whole summer.”

Mom scoffed, “It’s probably going to be a lot longer than that.  I need to see a lot more maturity from you before I’m willing to teach you.  You will need to be potty trained all over again.” 

Once again, I protested, “I am potty trained.”

“Big boys don’t pee their pants.  You keep peeing and pooping in your pants, so obviously you aren’t potty trained.   I didn’t do it right the first time, so maybe it is time to let Aunt Amanda have a try.”  Mom saw the look on my face and asked, “Tommy, did Aunt Amanda put you in a Pull-up, or is she making you wear a diaper?”

I meekly replied, “a Pull-up.”

“That means she thinks you are ready to use the potty on your own.  If you show her that you can be a big boy and use the potty, she won’t treat you like a baby.  You can do that, can’t you?”

My mom was talking to me like I was a baby.  Her voice was high, and she used short phrases.  She used euphemisms like potty and pee-pee, just like I was a small child.  I regained my composure and said, “Mom, can you stop talking like that?  It makes me feel like a baby.”

Mom replied, “That’s the point, Tommy.  If you don’t want to be treated like a three-year-old, stop acting like a three-year-old.”

  “I’m not a baby!”

Mom rolled her eyes and said, “Prove it.  If you want to become a teenager, act like one.   Stop peeing your pants, don’t wet the bed, and stop whining when you don’t get your way.  If you act like a little kid, you’re going to be treated like a little kid.”

[kirababy]

Always forgetting something.   That was an intense conversation.

[spark]

21 minutes ago, kirababy said:

Always forgetting something.   That was an intense conversation.

Thanks;

I've already drafted the follow-up to the conversation, but I'm doing almost a complete rewrite.  There aren't any plot changes, but I'm trying to think what Tommy would do following that conversation.

[wetdiaper55]

I do love this story..💜

[spark]

BTW- Chapter names are just there as placeholders.  It's kind of the first thing that pops in my head when I get to the next part.   

What should I do?

Even though she didn’t say it, my mom thought I was wetting myself on purpose.  Did she really mean it when she said that I wasn’t potty-trained?  I was especially mad when she said that I was acting like a little kid, and she wanted my aunt to treat me like I was a baby.  I couldn’t believe it when she said that I might stay in diapers a lot longer than just the summer.

I wondered why I did this in the first place.  I wished I’d never pooped my pants.  I didn’t do that on purpose; that was a real accident.  Everything would be normal if that didn’t happen.  I wouldn’t have to wear Pull-ups and I wouldn’t have to sleep in a diaper.   I asked myself, ‘Why did I want to pee in my diaper?’  That wasn’t an accident, nor was it when I peed my pants.  I did that because I wanted to stay in diapers, which made no sense.  What kid my age wants to wear diapers?

Unfortunately, I didn’t feel like a typical teenager. I was a fourteen-year-old boy who was starting high school in a few months, but that’s not what I saw in the mirror.  Physically, I didn’t look like a teenager.  I wasn’t just small, I was undeveloped.  The boys at my school bragged about their giant dicks, while mine was just a tiny bald little thing.  Mine looked like it belonged to a little kid. Some of the boys in my class were shaving, but I didn’t even have peach fuzz.

The friends I had in elementary school grew up, and I didn’t.  I had a good friend named Jaxon; he was the only kid who knew that I wet my bed, and he kept my secret.  I’m older than him, but he was always one of the bigger kids.  He was always bigger, but by eighth grade, he towered over me.   He was big, even for an adult.   He wore size 13 shoes, and I wore size 6.  We didn’t share many things in common anymore, so we stopped hanging out together.  His friends were jerks anyway, so I tried to avoid them.  

I wanted to be cool, but I didn’t know how.   I pretended to like girls, but I wasn’t really interested, at least in that way.   The girls didn’t seem all that interested in me either, other than the ones who treated me like a little brother.  Some kids thought I was gay, but I didn’t think about boys that way either.   I just spent my time pretending that I was a famous athlete, or whatever cool thing I could think of.   That’s fine when you’re nine-years-old, but not at fourteen.

At first, I wanted to punish my mom for what she said.   I thought about going into full baby mode.  If they were going to treat me like a baby, I would become a huge brat.   I would cry, throw tantrums, and do all the things that babies do when they get upset.  I soon realized that wasn’t going to work, and it was better if I just proved them wrong.   I had to prove that I wasn’t just some little kid who needed diapers; I was a teenager who needed independence and respect.

However, that’s not who I was.  My mom constantly nagged me to do my chores and then complained that I didn’t do them properly when I finally completed them.  Aunt Amanda took a different route.  At the end of the week, she gave me money for each chore I completed.  She had to inspect it to make sure it was done correctly, but I got credit for the chore.  I didn’t have to do them unless I wanted the money.  It was the same for Debbie, but hers were simpler and she didn’t get as much money.   I could have earned $20 for cleaning the garage, while Debbie got $1 for setting the table.   At the end of the week, Debbie made three times more money than I did.

I tried to be a big kid that day.  I knocked a chore off the list; I vacuumed the living room.  It took me four times to pass the inspection, but I finally met my aunt’s expectations.  At the same time, I watched Scott happily play on the floor.  He wasn’t allowed to do any chores and didn’t get an allowance.  That was reserved for big kids.  My aunt doted over him while changing his wet diaper, which made me jealous.

I had a strange dream that night.  It was about the last time I wore diapers for an extended period.   I was five years old, and we went to Asia for vacation. I remember wearing diapers on the plane.  I still wore diapers at night, but I didn’t wear them in the daytime anymore, and that felt weird to me.  I remember that these were diapers and not Pull-ups.  I had some accidents, so I had to wear diapers for the rest of the trip, which was three weeks.  That’s a long time for a five-year-old.   I also remember getting lost at the airport and getting put in a stroller.   This wasn’t a bad memory.  It was pleasant, and I didn’t care that I had to wear diapers or sit in a stroller.  I woke up in a wet diaper.

Having a real accident put me in a strange place.  It’s hard to explain, but I used to feel special after I wet my bed.  It was like a part of me was still a baby, and I didn’t want it to go away.   I felt the same that morning, but I didn’t get yelled at, and I wasn’t covered in pee. 

After lunch, I went outside to play while my cousins took their naps.  I purposely didn’t use the bathroom, and I drank two glasses of lemonade before heading outside.  I was playing in a puddle when I felt the first twinge in my bladder.   I told myself to let go and started to pee.  I felt the warmth spread in the padding.  It felt different than the cloth diapers my aunt used at night.  The Pull-up was about to leak, but I kept peeing.

I don’t know if my aunt was watching me, or just sensed that I had an accident.  She called to me, “Tommy, come over here.  I need to check your Pull-up.”  I didn’t even have a chance to tell her. 

I was surprised, and given my condition, I was reluctant to let her see.  I don’t know why I was reluctant; she was going to find out eventually.   The Pull-up was close to leaking and I needed to change.  How did I ever think I would get that past my aunt?

I cried, “What? Why?”

“You haven’t used the potty since lunch, and I need to see if you’re still dry.”

I didn’t want to admit the truth.  I answered, “I’m dry, and I did go. I just forgot to tell you.”

“That doesn’t matter, I need to check your Pull-Up right now!”   This was her no-nonsense voice, and I could tell she was out of patience.

I huffed, “Ok,” and trundled over to her.

I thought she would be angry when she felt my soggy Pull-up, but she wasn’t. “Oh dear, you’re wet.  Is that why you didn’t want me to check?”

I shot my eyes down and mumbled, “Yes.”

My aunt acted like it was just an accident. “I guess you didn’t know, but you’re supposed to tell me when you have an accident sweetie.  If you hide an accident again, you’ll go right back to diapers.  Is that understood?”

I felt guilty and looked like I was going to cry.  Aunt Amanda gently hugged me and said, “It’s ok honey.  Sometimes kids have accidents when they are learning to use the potty.  Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

It was the same process that she always did, making sure to thoroughly clean and dry everything before handing me another Pull-up.  She warned, “Tommy, you can’t be a big boy if you don’t use the potty.  If you have any more accidents between now and Monday, we have to pause your potty training.  You’ll go back to diapers.”

[Pierry Louys]

Love the story!!! One question tommy is using toddlers pull ups and baby diapers (size 7) ?? Or he is using adult diapers