DANNY'S DIAPER FANTASIES
PART 1

CHAPTER 1

	This is a fictionalized account of my own life, very near the 
very beginning of my life. The names have been changed, and I've 
just picked names out of the air, so they don't have any other 
meaning than that I give them, and are not intended to refer to 
any one now living or dead. It has many references to infantilism 
and diaper loving sex fetish. If this offends, please don't read. 
This is not pornography, child or adult, and although there is 
some mention of, well, child abuse coupled within the guise of 
child punishment, it is only to depict the horrors that really did 
happen. I am a very vocal and active anti-child abuse activist!
	The story is about me. I and my three brothers and mama, were 
rendered homeless when I was two and a half years old, and my next 
older brother was not quite four. Our oldest brother was just 
five, while our youngest was 18 months. We had been living in an 
old two room cabin, in an old resort on a lake in Wisconsin. We 
were living, if you can call it that, at this old resort because 
our Daddy was gone to war, (WWII) and it was the only place our 
mama could afford to rent that would rent to a woman with four 
kids not in school, and for the most part, were all in diapers. Us 
boys didn't know that our mama and daddy were divorced, and would 
never live together again. The money that the federal government 
(U.S.Army)allotted his children was not very much and our mama had 
to work every day but Sunday, in a diner in the town of Fifield. 
Mama had a friend living next door, named Grace, or Gracie as us 
kids called her that and she never corrected us for that. She had 
three boys, all around the same ages as we were. She kind of kept 
an eye on us for mama, just trying to keep us from any dangerous 
situations, that the seven of us managed to create. Nearly daily, 
we were "all" in trouble for something. The main thing that had us 
in "dutch", was with the resort manager, who ran a little 
convenience market for the resort and surrounding area. He also 
had the row boat rental and fishing bait and supplies. He really 
got hyper when the seven of us, ranging in age from one and a half 
to five years of age, nearly all of whom were either wearing 
diapers, or training pants, and no plastic or rubber pants. Of 
course we seldom managed to get to his front porch until after we 
got our peanut butter sandwiches and milk at lunch time at 
Gracie's house. She always wanted us to take a nap after lunch, 
and we'd all lay down on the floor until her friend came courting, 
and we'd sneak out. By then, like on most days in the summertime 
in Wisconsin, it would be so hot and humid and the gravel driveway 
would be so hot that we would naturally migrate to where it was a 
little cooler. The convenience market was the coolest place in the 
resort, being surrounded by very large pine trees and having a 
covered front porch. Also by this time, even though Gracie tried 
to keep us changed, we'd be in various stages of being wet, and 
our pants or diapers full. It got to be a game with us kids. We'd 
wait until he was busy with some fishermen or a customer, and then 
we'd climb onto his porch where his painted floor and the roof of 
the porch would be a balm to our hot, sore bare feet. (All of us 
got only one new pair of shoes a year, donated by the local 
confederacy of churches, in the fall of the year) He'd finish his 
business with the fishermen, or customers, and come and chase us 
away, hollering and shouting so fast that nobody could understand 
him. The game was to see if we could all get onto the porch, or if 
real lucky, see how long we could stay their cooling our feet. I 
think I learned then, the true meaning of the saying, "Cooling 
their heels". Mama would often stay over at a man friends 
apartment, leaving us kids home alone, and poor Gracie'd have to 
see that we at least started the night in dry clothes, and that we 
had something for supper, then she'd tuck us all in before going 
home to her own three boys, who were much more rowdy than we were. 
That's pretty much the way we'd spend our days. Playing around our 
cabins, battling one another over use of the tricycles, or pedal 
cars among other toys given to us that were repaired cast-offs 
that other, more wealthy families had no use for any more, before 
lunch, getting in the way of the ice truck and driver every day, 
and getting other kids in the camp in trouble by telling them that 
there was a rattlesnake in the out house. I don't know why, but 
for some reason some of those boys always believed us. Nearly 
every week one of us boys would start the story going around the 
cabins that there was a snake in there, and nearly every week 
they'd believe us, wetting and messing their pants or diapers in 
fear of the snake, while we watched them and tried to not let them 
see us watching them. Often some of those boys who were supposed 
to be potty trained and wearing training pants or even briefs, 
were put back into diapers, 24/7 for a couple of weeks.
	One night, about four in the morning, I woke up choking on 
the fumes in the bedroom. My crib was actually in the closet, in 
order for there to be room for Eric's crib, and Ronny and Andy's 
bunkbeds, plus mama's bed. Now, usually when any of us woke up 
we'd be choking on the fumes in our room. Mama was never a very 
good housekeeper. She only had one set of sheets for each of our 
beds, and couldn't afford to buy more, of course everything was 
rationed during the war, but even then she couldn't afford the 
extra expense plus the expense of additional loads of wash. She 
did the laundry on Sunday morning, since that was her only day off 
and besides, there wasn't usually anyone around using the washers 
on Sunday. The sheets that were washed and dried on Sunday and put 
back on our beds, didn't get washed or removed from the bed unless 
one of us had a particularly messy diaper, that got on the sheets. 
Then, Andy'd pump some water into the sink, and attempt to wash 
the sheet good enough to last until Sunday. But you can imagine 
what our bedroom was like after a couple of nights of all of us 
wetting and or pooping in our beds. Mama had a problem too that no 
one ever mentioned, even then everyone knew about it. It isn't 
something in those days, that was considered polite to comment on 
in adult conversation. Mama had a problem giving birth to Eric, 
that left her nearly totally incontinent as far as her bladder was 
concerned. She couldn't cough, or laugh very hard at all and her 
bladder would empty. She had bought herself three pairs of rubber 
pants, and used some large bath, terry towels as diapers for 
herself, because she was a waitress and couldn't go home and 
change and come back. I could see a fairly large pee stain on her 
mattress from the vantage point of standing up in my crib, and 
wondered to myself, "Why does mama and everyone try to get us all 
*Potty Trained* when obviously mama wets the bed." Anyway, you can 
see the confusion upon waking, choking on the fumes in the 
bedroom, until I opened my eyes and saw that it was 
totally...BLACK.....DARK, My eyes are burning, and it hurt to draw 
a breath. One side of my crib was up against the back wall of the 
closet, and the one end of it was up against the side wall of the 
closet. The other end of the crib was about three or four inches 
from the other side wall. I stood up in total darkness and quietly 
at first, called out, then louder, and nobody answered. I started 
then, to scream. I was badly scared. I had never been in any where 
that was that dark. I groped my way to the side of the crib that I 
thought was open to the bedroom, and ran my hand into the wall. I 
was so surprised that I stumbled on the twisted up top sheet of my 
crib, and fell heavily, smack down on the mattress that brought my 
attention to another problem. I mashed a considerable load of poop 
against my bum, squeezing a lot of it into and up the crack of my 
bum. Then I noticed that I was wet all the way up to my armpits, 
the nearly threadbare blanket sleeper heavy with my pee, and 
discovered that I was standing up in my wet clothes and I was not 
the least bit cold, in fact, I was sweating in mid day type of 
heat. That was very different from any of my young experience. I 
tried standing up again, while continuing my screaming, thinking 
that I had turned, and therefor should be facing the open bedroom. 
I ran my fingers, rather painfully into the wall once again, and 
now I really panicked, and couldn't hear any of my brothers, even 
if they had been screaming too. I was standing in a room so dark 
that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, and seemed to be 
in a small closet with the door closed, and it was so hot now that 
sweat was pouring from my body. I tried once again to reach a rail 
or end panel of my crib, and again ran my hand into the wall. I 
was choking so hard now on some kind of fumes, and my nose was 
running so I had to breathe with my mouth open. My throat was 
burning, I was wet, soiled, alone and locked I some kind of 
closet, and I wanted my mommy, I was totally freaked out and all 
consciousness departed. I came to when I felt cool air on my face 
and my wet cold sleeper clinging to me, as Gracie was rubbing my 
arms and legs, after what must have been a slap to my face, 
because my face stung. I gasped as I took in the cool air in my 
tortured lungs and throat, and awareness brought back my panic for 
just a couple of seconds, then subsiding as I could see Eric lying 
on the grass next to me, nearly asleep. He could sleep through an 
earthquake. Then I recognized everyone in the very early dawn 
light, as a fire truck was pumping water from the lake to a tanker 
that sprayed water on our cabin, that was burning like paper. 
Someone came running and screaming out of the place that was 
supposed to be the doorway, screaming at the top of her lungs and 
with her hair on fire and holding my highchair at arms length 
before collapsing soundlessly on the ground. Someone said that the 
person running out of the cabin was my mama, but I never knew for 
sure until I found her twenty five years later. I don't really 
remember much of anything from the fire through having to be quiet 
in the hallway of the courthouse while the fate of us four boys 
was decided. I found myself in a strange home, with some strange 
people, saying that I could, if I wished call them mama and daddy. 
I fought like a little demon then, because I was all alone with 
these people who are trying to tell me that they are my Mommy and 
Daddy now, and tried laying down some kinds of rules, what's going 
on around here. I don't remember any of what happened the first 
few weeks after the fire, in which the child welfare department 
saw fit to break up us boys, and spread us to the four winds and 
took away the only constant in our young lives, our mother.

CHAPTER 2

	I wasn't to see my Mother for twenty-five years. The people 
with whom the Child Welfare Dept. saw fit, in their infinite 
wisdom, to put me, were people I didn't like, and the more they 
tried to get me to say Mama, or Daddy, the more I disliked them. 
After about thirty minutes or so, they stopped the car, instructed 
me to stay in the car, don't play with anything and left. We were 
in the middle of an early spring blizzard. I was wet, and it began 
to feel like I needed to poop. Seeing no reason to change my 
habits, I just let it rip when I had to go, wetting as well after 
holding it so long. Remember?, NO POTTY TRAINING!! It wasn't my 
fault that I did what came natural! It began to get dark, and it 
seemed to take them forever to come out of the bar. I had wet my 
diaper yet again, just before those people came out of the bar, 
holding each other up in the storm, and both staggering as they 
walked.
	The man got in behind the wheel and almost immediately began 
cussing, What is that blank-itty ________ Smell!!! She got in 
saying, "You're the one had the big Idea to get a really young 
one. He is wearing diapers, that should have given you a rough 
idea that he might wet and fill his diapers. No sane human would 
guess otherwise!" The stink of sour beer mixed with the odors 
emanating from my wet soiled diaper, and their yelling at each 
other, and scared me really bad. The poop I'd done in my diapers 
had cooled off considerably, while waiting for their return, now 
they return and immediately they start yelling and screaming at 
each other over me. Man, that really scared me! I felt another 
round of poop coming, but it came so fast, and was thin like 
water, but hot. I'd found out some time before that sometimes you 
can ease the pain of imminent pooping by releasing a bubble of gas 
or two. This one just felt like a bubble of gas, so I added a 
little pressure to it and sent it on its way out of my body, 
and.....wwellllllll! It wasn't gas. It was, hot watery diarrhea. 
Now the battle really started rolling. Before we even got `home', 
Fred turned in the front seat, just enough that he could reach me 
to plant a hard smack to my teary face, catching one of my ears 
into the bargain. I quickly covered my head and squeezed my tiny 
body as close to the rear corner of the car as I could, and right 
behind him so he would have to turn all the way around to hit me 
again. This was an older car from my stand point at the time, ( 
think it was a thirty-six Ford, and this was the winter or spring 
of 1945-1946.) and the car was quite narrow in the back seat where 
Lolitta could still, if she wanted, reach me to hurt me, but I 
figured that she wouldn't be able to hit with the force that Fred 
did.
	It must have snowed a lot just recently, because the snow 
banks formed when the plows went through were very high and 
remarkably clean. It was like riding through a white tunnel with a 
black ceiling as far as the fairly dim headlights of that era 
went. Beyond the headlights, it seemed as if the scene was being 
created as we went forward in the car. Really spooky to a young 
kid like me. There would be a break in the wall on one side or the 
other as we proceeded, being driveways to peoples homes, that was 
eerie too. Eventually we started to slow down, and I could hear 
the snow complaining as the wheels rolled over it, a high pitch 
squeaking sound. Up ahead I could just see a break on the right 
hand snow bank, as the car continued to slow and the break in the 
bank got closer and closer, until we were slowed down enough to 
turn into that drive. It was a fairly long driveway, about a 
quarter of a mile, at the end of which was a home, a garage, an 
ice shed and a barn. There was another shed behind the ice shed in 
which Fred kept his beer truck and cases of full bottles of beer. 
There weren't any beer cans yet, like there is now. He stopped to 
let Lolitta and me out at the front door of the house, then drove 
the car about twenty-five feet further, got out to open the garage 
door, and presumably parked the car in it and then closed the 
garage again. I wasn't there to see it, being as Lolitta had hold 
of my hand and dragged me into the house. I had no choice but to 
go along.
	Inside, the house was fairly clean as far as I could see when 
she pulled the string turning on the single light bulb hanging 
from a cord in the center of the kitchen. Our place, the place 
that burned down, wasn't very clean, As I said, our mother was not 
a very good house keeper, and us boys managed to mess up the house 
just as soon as our feet got inside the door. We had gone through 
a shed full of cases of empty beer bottles, and up a stairway onto 
a small porch, where we'd stopped while Lolitta unlocked the door 
and then into the kitchen with it's sorry little light bulb. There 
was a doorway straight ahead, and I could see the arm of either an 
easy chair or a couch, so that must bee the living room. Lolitta 
flung her coat onto a kitchen chair, and led me to a room to the 
left. As she opened the door, I could see a crib, changing table 
and other baby things. She took me by the hand and pulled me into 
this room and lifted up onto the changing table.
	She said to me in a soft voice, "My you are a tiny little 
thing aren't you? A person would think you are to little to know 
how to walk, let alone use the potty. Maybe we ought to keep you 
in diapers a while longer, since you won't be able to get up on 
the potty, let alone use it. I'll see if I can find a little step 
stool you can use to get up on the toilet." I was thinking, "No, 
don't take away my diapers, I don't want to go the agony my two 
older brothers went through until they were nominally "trained". 
She strapped my hands down and my chest had a belt over it too, 
and began undoing my little overalls with the snap all the way up 
one leg and down the other, un-buttoned the straps that went over 
either shoulder, and pulled them off. She removed the plastic 
pants, and disappeared into the attached bathroom for a few 
seconds, and appeared after a little bit, with a white face. I 
think she couldn't handle the stink that permeated the air from 
the stink of my wet messy pants that I had worn all day long. She 
should have known that I would stink even worse with the diaper 
opened to the air, than with it covered with my regular outer 
clothing. I couldn't see anything from where I was laying. I was 
only able to see the door and doorway leading to the kitchen, and 
when she touched me again, I jumped a little, having forgotten for 
just a second, that she'd be back to finish the job.

	The next installment on this story will attempt to show the 
violent type of person Fred is to his foster child, soon to be 
children, when my next older brother, by some quirk of fate, joins 
me at this little ranch of horrors.