Brad’s Back in Diapers
by
JJ
“Aunty Beth, Brad wet the bed again. Can we please do something
about it? The room reeks of pee.” This was Adam, my thirteen-year-old
cousin with whom I share a room. He’s from another town, but moved in
with us a year ago so he could attend a fancy private school. He was
always complaining about my bedwetting, which was pretty frequent since
starting up again. This was my fifth wet bed in a week.
“Yes, it’s finally enough. I agree. Brad, after school you can go
over to the Hamiltons’ and ask for your diapers back. Their mother said
that the twins have been consistently dry for weeks now, and the deal
was that you could have them back if you needed them. Well, it looks
like you do. I’ll call Mary.”
“Yes!” Adam shouted.
Derek and Kyle Hamilton are twins and were chronic bedwetters.
When I stopped wetting at 12 (I’m 13 now, a couple of months older than
Adam), my Mom waited a number of weeks and then offered my bedwetter
stuff to her frustrated friend to use on the boys. (Apparently there
were lots of tears on the twins’ first night back in diapers.) Now they
were dry, apparently and I was wet again, so the stuff was coming back.
It consisted of a dozen or so thick cloth pre-fold diapers, baby
diapers for use as inserts, vinyl snap-on and pull-on pants, and rubber
pants. Maybe about 10 pairs in all, all of it fairly new. Or at least
it was.
I had been a bedwetter all my life. From pretty early on my
mother decided that diapers were the most practical way to deal with
the problem. She favored thick youth cloth pin-on diapers and plastic
or rubber pants. I think she chose cloth because of its absorbency, the
obvious bulk, and also so that I’d feel the wetness. So every evening I
had to submit to being diapered like a baby, and she made the most of
making me feel like one, and had others do the same. If I wasn’t
diapered by her then my Dad, an aunt, a babysitter, even cousins, both
male and female. It was just a nuisance job that needed doing without
concern for discretion or dignity. ‘If you wet like a baby…’
Some Moms are very discreet about their kids’ bedwetting and/or
need for diapers, keeping the matter a strict family secret. But my Mom
favors another approach, one in which the need for diapers is right out
in the open. This is on the theory that all control needs to be taken
away from the wetter, that diapering is done strictly at the
convenience of the parent/babysitter and that the wetter will be shamed
into stopping sooner if he has to deal with people knowing he’s in
diapers. I think it just makes the problem worse, but she’s the boss.
Consistent with that my mother’s attitude was and is that
bedwetting is a rather shameful behavior that could and should be
altered through willpower and ‘a little maturity’. Consequently she
didn’t (and doesn’t) mind embarrassing me by talking about it in front
of others, by diapering me early, and preventing me from wearing
anything over my ‘baby pants’. I would stretch my tee-shirt down as far
as I could, but it didn’t really help. I never got used to the shame
and embarrassment of being seen in diapers, especially by kids around
my own age or younger, who would tease unmercifully. As you can
imagine, I have no friends (who wants to hang out with a known
bedwetter who still wears diapers?), and I have always got a hard time
at school.
I stopped wetting between twelve and about two weeks ago. I was
consistently dry for so long that my Mom felt safe in giving (well
loaning as it turns out) my ‘baby’ stuff to the twins (I never saw them
wearing my diapers). But then I started again in a big way.
They say bedwetting is genetic. I guess it’s true. Guess what? My
Dad wets his bed. I didn’t know, but I heard my parents arguing about
it late one night. I guess it happened, and my Mom was mad. She said my
Dad would have to start wearing Depends, and he said no way (actually,
no !@#$%^ way). Later on they got separate beds, and then last month he
left for good. That’s when I started wetting again. The plastic
mattress cover had never come off my bed, so at least I didn’t wreck
the mattress. But my Mom was mad, and right away my cousin said I
should be put back in diapers. I was really scared, ‘cause I know my
Mom. She has no patience with the ‘weakness’ of bedwetting.
My Mom forgot to call. I knew better than not to do as I was
told, and as I walked toward Fraser Street where the Hamilton’s live.
It was like walking through glue, and my knees were weak. I hoped Derek
and Kyle would be out, but they were home, as it turned out, and had
two friends over. I didn’t know the twins that well, and there was an
uneasiness between us. We did know each others’ shameful history, and
even had diapers in common. There was not a lot we wanted to talk
about.
“It’s nice to see you, Brad,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “What brings
you over?”
“Um, my Mom didn’t call?” I was starting to panic. The boys and
their friends were listening.
“No…”
“Um, she told me to come and get some ahhh diapers and stuff.”
The twins got very quiet. One of their friends said “Diapers?"
“Oh. she did mention last week that you were wetting the bed
again. Sure, you can have them back.” The twins were looking very
uncomfortable, and their friends looked puzzled.
“Boys, go up to the attic and get the stuff we were storing, um,
for Brad’s Mom. Bring everything, including the diaper pail.”
The twins went upstairs, leaving their friends behind. They
watched me with growing curiosity.
“I thought you were finally finished with diapers for good,
Brad,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “What a pity.” The two friends laughed as I
felt my face go crimson.
“The guy wears diapers?”
“Just at night. Right, Brad?”
The boys came back carrying a white plastic garbage bag and a
large white diaper pail with a lid on it. I knew what was in the bag.
“We can probably put all your stuff in the diaper pail, which you
can keep,” said Mrs. Hamilton. She took the top off the diaper pail and
started to sort through the bag, pulling diapers out and placing them
in the pail. I recognized them. “They’re none the worse for wear.” Then
realizing she might be giving away a secret, she quickly added “And
there are four pairs of vinyl pants here, never even worn, still in
their packages. And some new diaper pins. Oh. And your Mom might as
well have this change pad.” It was originally for a baby, of course,
plastic on one side.
The twins looked incredibly ill at ease, while their friends
looked at me with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
“How come the kid’s diapers are at your guys’ house?” one of the
friends asked.
“I dunno, we were just storing them here as a favor. For his
Mom,” Kyle said, not very convincingly.
“He’s a bedwetter,” his brother helpfully added. Not everything
fit into the diaper pail, so I ended up with that and the plastic bag
of diapers and ‘baby pants’, some of them still in their packages,
which were zip-lock plastic with cardboard inserts with a large printed
word at the top. ‘Babykins’.
“He wears Babykins baby pants,” one of the friends laughed. “His
Mommy still diapers him?”
“I guess so,” Derek said.
“Brad, when your Mom diapers you tonight, tell her to do it on
one of those worktables so she doesn’t break her back changing you on
the bed,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “That’s what I used for the twins.”
“When we were little,” Derek quickly added.
I don’t know if their friends caught on. I finally left.
You’d think that after wearing diapers almost all my life I’d be
used to it, but I wasn’t. As part of Mom’s method I had never been
allowed to diaper myself, even if it sometimes meant that it was done
by a virtual stranger, someone my age or younger, or even someone of
the opposite sex. That was the rule, and any hopes that it would change
now were quickly put to rest. Another rule was that once in diapers, I
was allowed only a tee-shirt and socks. No hiding the fact that I was
in shameful diapers and ‘baby pants’. No exceptions, and there never
had been one. Plus I was diapered whenever my Mom, babysitter, or
whoever wanted, but never later than 7 o’clock. Rule number three: when
in diapers, I always have to have someone in charge, a ‘babysitter’.
(This would come to drive Adam crazy, as it mostly fell to him, but he
found ways to get revenge. Once when my Mom wasn’t home he even got a
friend of his to babysit me while he went out—you can imaging how that
felt.) Rule number four: whine, resist, make a fuss, get a spanking.
Either way I would wind up in diapers, so I found it best to try to
avoid that scenario. So far so good, but I’ve come close.
My cousin laughed when he saw what I came home with. “Dude, I
can’t wait to see you in your diapers,” Adam smirked. “And nice diaper
pail, too.” My Mom told me to take the stuff upstairs, and she and Adam
followed me up. I guess Mrs. Hamilton had phoned, because a plain
worktable had been brought up from the basement and was placed near my
bed. A blanket had been folded on it. A change table! On it was Johnson
& Johnson baby powder, some Huggies wipes, and some medical rubber
gloves.
“Mary said there’s a change pad with your stuff?” my Mom asked.
Let’s get it out and it can go on your change table.” She found it and
placed it on the blanket roughly where my butt would be if I were lying
down. The plastic crinkled. “Now we’ll put your stuff away. Your
waterproof pants can go in your socks and underwear drawer, but there’s
no room for your diapers, so they can be stacked on top of the dresser.
Your pins can go inside. The diaper pail can stay under the change
table.
“Man, it looks like a nursery in here,” Adam said. It did.
“Well, Adam, you can’t have it both ways,” my Mom said. “You
wanted Brad in diapers, you got it.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining,” he said.
“Adam, I guess you’ve never changed a baby’s diapers? Or have
you?”
“No, and I don’t intend to start now,” Adam replied.
“Well I have news for you. You’ll be diapering Brad regularly, so
get used to the idea. You can watch as I do it later. We can prepare
diapers for him now.” She took one of the prefold youth diapers and
laid it on the change pad. Then she took two flannelette baby diapers,
folded each in thirds along its length and placed each along the center
of the prefold, adding six layers to the already thick diaper. Then she
folded the result in three lengthwise. “There,” she said, “that’s all
there is to it. Use rubber gloves when you remove his wet diapers in
the morning.”
“Eewww, I forgot about that part,” Adam said.
I had trouble eating supper, knowing what would come after. Adam
kept gleefully rubbing it in. “Dude, it’s countdown to diapertime!”
After supper came another surprise. My Mom handed me a disposable
razor. “I want you to take a shower, and remove any hair you might have
in your diaper area. It’s for hygienic reasons and will also help keep
down the odor of urine.”
“And coincidentally make you look even more like a pee baby,”
Adam added, laughing.
“When you’re finished, go to your room and call us, and we’ll put
you in diapers for the night.”
I stayed in the shower until the water started getting cold, and
took a long time to dry myself, noticing in the mirror that I was
missing a symbol of ‘grown-upness’ that had begun appearing a year
earlier. I went to my room wearing only my dressing-gown. My Mom and
cousin were already there, so I was spared the indignity of having to
call them.
“Brad, take off the dressing gown and climb up on the change
table, on top of the diaper.” Adam chortled when he saw my smooth look,
although he had never seen me naked before. It was hard to cooperate,
but I knew that the certain outcome of refusing was a spanking, which
would only make things worse. I sat on the diaper. Powder and pins were
ready.
“Sprinkle some powder on the diaper first where his back and butt
will be, then have him lie down and sprinkle some on his front.” She
did so as I lay on the diapers. The smell of the baby powder was
familiar. I was very conscious of Adam’s eyes on me, and the ultra-
humiliating experience of being diapered again, and especially in front
of him. “Now unfold it back and front, but leave it folded between his
legs. Like so. Bring the front up and pin the back to the front, one
pin each side, like so. Be careful not to stab him, but pin the diapers
on tightly. There. Now get me some pants from his drawer. You can put
his plastic pants on him, for practice.”
Adam reached into my drawer and selected a pair of used Babykins
snap-on vinyl pants. “Lift up, Brad.” I did so, and he slid the back of
the pants under my butt and adjusted their position. Then he brought
the front up between my legs and started snapping them on. Once he was
done he took care to ensure that my diapers were completely and
properly covered.
“Very good! I’m impressed,” my Mom said. “Ok, Brad, you’re done.”
As I climbed off the table, head down, my cousin playfully spanked me
on my plastic pants. It made a sound I was familiar with. “Welcome back
to Babyland, dude!”
So now I was back in diapers and plastic pants for the first time
in over a year. All the familiar sensations came rushing back—the
shame, the smell of baby powder and plastic, the thickness between my
legs, the noise the plastic made as I moved, the helpless feeling of
being diapered by my mother and cousin, and the knowledge that this was
just the first day. Also that I would likely wake up soaking wet in
diapers that had been worn and wet many times by other bedwetters, as
if we were just infants whose mothers would share our baby clothes. I
put on a clean white tee-shirt and stretched it down in that familiar,
useless way.
Needless to say, getting diapered by my cousin was not fun, and
because he resented ‘babysitting’ as he always called it, he made sure
the experience and its aftermath were as humiliating as possible.
Worse, I had to totally cooperate; because he also had the authority to
spank me, and made it clear he would love to do just that. More than
once he had friends over and allowed them to watch me being put in
diapers. Of course I was laughed at and ridiculed. Afterwards Adam
would tell me to “get lost—we don’t hang out with babies.” Maybe the
worst experience was when I was on the change table, and Adam was about
to pin my diapers on when his cell phone rang. Just then his girlfriend
Ann looked into the room. I thought she’d leave when she saw what was
happening, but he motioned for her to come over and finish the job. I
was shocked, but not surprised. Then she noticed the container of baby
powder beside me.
“Adam, did you powder him?” He took the phone off his ear.
“No, I forgot.” She lifted the front of the diaper off me,
completely exposing me, then sprinkled baby powder all over. She then
repositioned the diaper, pinned it on me, then put me in a snap-on pair
of my plastic pants. I just lay there, stunned. Later on downstairs
Adam told her to check me to see if I was wet, and she did! Of course I
wasn’t, but when you’re in diapers even though they can be as dry as
Adam’s cool big-boy boxers, you’re always assumed to be potentially
wet. The diapers define you and take over your life. Well, I sure was
wet by the next morning, and most after that.
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