The following is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to any persons living 
or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.  Any reference to actual 
products does not imply the author's endorsement of said product, nor is it 
a paid advertisement.  Nothing of what you are about to read EVER HAPPENED.
This work may contain offensive material, including but not limited to 
graphic descriptions of violent acts.  The author and agents thereof do not 
support, condone or encourage any illegal activity.  This work is presented 
as is, without any warranty expressed or implied.  The author and agents 
thereof do not support, condone, or encourage the practice of any illegal 
acts described herein.  This work is presented for entertainment value only.
This work is distributed free of charge so long as the following conditions 
are met:  *The story may not be changed, truncated, expanded, altered, etc. 
without the authors express written permission.  *The story may not be sold 
or bartered except with express written permission of the author.  Each 
reader is entitled to print exactly (1) one copy for personal use, provided 
that the printed copy is not distributed or published or used for any 
purpose other than specifically designated herein.

*The Story, in this sense, refers to any written or printed material created 
by the author, Pencil2011@hotmail.com


Overview:
A teenage boy has gotten in with the wrong crowd.  Being arrested after 
stealing a car is the last straw.  His mother seeks a cure that will change 
his behavior and make him a good boy.  The trials and triumphs of his 
treatment and his new life are detailed within...


		Timothy's Cure

		By Pencil2011@hotmail.com


"Dude, get in quick! We gotta bail, NOW!"
Doors slammed shut, as the two boys seated themselves in the Ford.  Tires 
squealed and the engine revved.  Far off in the distance, police sirens 
could be heard.  The cool air coursed in through open windows, a sharp 
contrast to the heat being emitted from the vents.  Suddenly, the tell-tale 
flashing of blue and red lights illuminated the interior of the sedan.  The 
deafening mixture of police siren, engine and moving air intensified the 
situation.
"Sean,  they're right behind us!  Come on!"  shouted Timothy Hasbert, an 
ordinary looking 13 year old boy sitting in the passenger seat, to his 
friend.
Fear was slowly creeping into the minds of both boys, but the road and all 
of it's hazards were occupying the concentration of the driver.  Sean,  only 
5 months older than Tim, but already 14, had driven before, but never by 
himself.  He was also driving faster now than he had ever done, and found it 
noticeably more difficult.  Trying to round tight corners at such speeds 
would give the professional drivers in car commercials a bit of a challenge. 
  Necessity and adrenaline were the only things keeping Sean in control.  
Sean and Tim had been lucky so far,  the streets were mostly deserted.  A 
change in luck was not far off though.

"Patti, lets close early tonight.  I just got a bad feeling, and I want to 
get home." The worry and concern of Rachel Hasbert's voice was easily 
detectable.
"All right, hun.  It's only half an hour till closing anyhow.  I don't think 
anyone's here either."
The two women went about their daily routine of locking doors, counting cash 
and receipts, and turning off the lights.
Soon the women were leaving the bookstore, light-heartedly chatting as they 
parted ways for the night.
Rachel, an attractive brunette in her mid-30's had been managing the 
bookstore for almost 2 years now.  It was not a high paying job, but it  
provided enough of an income for her and her two children to live 
comfortably.  As she turned on her car, the radio began it's familiar music. 
  She had this lurking bad feeling, but tried to push it to the back of her 
mind.  "It's probably nothing," she thought to herself.
She continued driving,  the sound of the radio slowly causing the feeling to 
fade.

"KSFT,  your number one light rock radio.  Let's check in now with Dean and 
Laurie from channel 2 for our nightly news update.  Our top story tonight:  
Police began a high speed chase just moments ago, after a man reported that 
two teenage boys stole his blue Ford escort from a gas station near 6th and 
Jewel.  Watch channel 2 news at nine for all the latest details on this and 
much more."

Rachel's bad feeling resurfaced, but was soon replaced by thoughts of making 
dinner, and helping her children with their homework.

Sean had narrowly avoided three collisions so far.  Whether it was his dumb 
luck, or the other drivers' skill, it was hard to say.  He knew his luck 
wouldn't hold out much longer.  Florida avenue was one of the busier streets 
in the city.  Tim had already buckled his seatbelt, and Sean began to fumble 
with his.  Then, the inevitable happened.  There wasn't enough stopping 
distance between the Ford and the cars stopped at the red light.  The brakes 
make a terrible noise when so much is demanded of them, but it doesn't mask 
the sound of metal and glass being crushed.  So many things were happening 
at once it was difficult to sort them all out.  Thought ceases and reflex 
takes over.  The Ford rear-ended a stopped vehicle, and it's back end spun 
into another car.
The air-bags deployed just as they were supposed to, allowing Tim and Sean 
to survive virtually unharmed, aside from being momentarily stunned.  Before 
his mind recovered, Sean had already jumped out of the open window, and 
tried to run.  Tim struggled to find his seatbelt buckle, and open his door. 
  Tim heard Sean's scream as he was opening his door.

The police officers are well trained to respond to situations like this.  
Before Sean even left the Ford,  Two police officers were approaching it.  
When Sean tried to run, they were right behind him, and tackled him.  That's 
the scream that Tim heard.  The sound of his friend being overtaken and 
captured.  Tim knew there was nothing he could do for his friend, he needed 
to get away himself.  His panic must have blinded him, because he did not 
see the second pair of police officers rushing toward him.  They had their 
guns drawn and were shouting to him.  They might as well have been speaking 
Chinese,  he couldn't understand them with all the commotion around him.  
The world spun and a whirling convection of sound and light descended on 
Tim. As he was laying on the ground, he then noticed that his pants were 
wet, and as he was rolled over on his back so the police could search the 
pockets on his jeans, he felt a warm sticky mass spread out over his 
buttocks.  Then he noticed the handcuffs as well.  The cold steel biting 
into his wrists caused pain, but the real pain came when he realized what he 
had done.  In minutes he was in the back of a police car, sitting on the 
plastic seat, with the disgusting feeling of feces spreading over his butt 
and into his crotch.  It was just after the policeman closed the door that 
the smell hit him, causing full realization of what he had done, and along 
with it, a fountain of tears and wailing.
Soon, he was speeding off to the Peaceful Valley Juvenile Detention 
Facility.

Tim was too busy being concerned with his accident to notice much on the 
drive to Peaceful Valley.  He was suddenly shocked back to reality by the 
chilly blast of air that stung him when the Police Officer opened his window 
to press the button on the drive-up intercom.  Upon doing so, a large garage 
door opened before them, and the Officer drove his cruiser in.  The door 
promptly shut when the car was inside, and the Police officer exited the 
vehicle.

The Officer opened Tim's door, and told him to step out.  Tim did as he was 
told, hoping the officer wouldn't notice his accident.  What he didn't know 
was that the officer had been well aware of it since the time of arrest.  
The large wet spot on the front of his jeans and the stench emitted from his 
rear was a dead giveaway.  Officer Jordan led Tim into a moderate sized 
room, very sterile looking.  The white painted cinderblock walls gave an 
institutional quality to the room.  There was a sturdy plastic bench sitting 
against the wall opposite the door, about three feet high.  Officer Jordan 
removed the handcuffs from Tim's wrists.
"Go ahead and have a seat on that bench, and a nurse will be here in a few 
moments to give you a quick exam, before we book you in," Officer Jordan 
directed.
Tim meekly sat down, and felt the mess shift in his pants.  He was 
uncomfortable, but he didn't dare say anything out of embarrassment.
Soon a nurse entered the room, pushing a steel cart.  The cart had two doors 
on the side, and an empty trash bag hanging on the end.  Neatly folded on 
top of the cart were several cloth items.  Officer Jordan then left the room 
and closed the door behind him.  The nurse opened the door of the cart, 
reached in, and pulled out two latex gloves.  As she was putting them on, 
she started speaking to Tim.  "Did you have an accident?"
"Yes," Tim replied with a hint of a whimper in his voice and his eyes 
tearing up.
"That's ok.  Many people have accidents when they're in traumatic 
situations.  It's a natural instinctive response to fear.  Now, take off 
your pants, so I can clean you up."
Tim hesitated, then bent down and began to untie his shoes.
As he was doing so, the nurse was shuffling items in the cabinet of the 
cart.  Soon she withdrew a plastic box of baby wipes and set it on top of 
the cart.  As she was doing so, she noticed out of the corner of her eye 
that Tim was hesitating again.  "Don't worry,  the bench is plastic.  Just 
take your pants off and lay down.  The janitor will be in here afterwards, 
and he can clean up the bench."
Tim, having no choice and unwilling to disobey the nurse, unzipped his jeans 
and slowly let them fall.  He withdrew his feet from the legholes around his 
ankles and pushed the pile of jeans aside with his foot.  Then he slid his 
underpants off, being careful to avoid spreading the mess anywhere new.
"Go ahead and lay down on the bench,  I'll take your pants and underpants 
and put them in this bag to be cleaned."  The nurse carefully picked up the 
items along with his socks and placed them into a plastic bag, then set it 
on the floor.  She also picked up his shoes and put them on the cart.  Tim 
laid down on his back on the bench, with his knees bent, trying to hide his 
penis with his legs and hands.  He had not developed any pubic hair yet.  
The nurse turned her attention to him, and instructed him to move his hands 
away.  She grabbed his ankles and raised his legs vertical.  While doing so, 
she took baby-wipes and began to clean his butt off.  The unfaltering 
professional attitude she presented suggested that this was something she 
was accustomed to.  She was very careful and meticulous in cleaning him, and 
when he was cleaned to her satisfaction, she took another wipe and cleaned 
the bench.  She gently let his legs back down to the position they had 
started in, and deposited the last wipe in the trash bag on the cart.  Then 
she reached in the cabinet, and withdrew a rather thick white disposable 
youth sized diaper, and powder.  She returned to Tim, generously sprinkled 
powder on his crotch and butt, then lifted his legs again and slid the 
diaper underneath him.  As before, she gently let his legs down, but this 
time she separated them and pulled the diaper up between them.  As she was 
doing this,  Tim started softly crying.  His sobs continued as she taped the 
diaper snugly around his waist.
"I'm not a baby!  Why are you doing this to me?"
The sudden outburst startled the nurse, and startled Tim also.  Up to this 
point, he had been very submissive and frightened, but being diapered 
violated his sensibilities.  He began to cry louder, thinking that the nurse 
might get angry at him and punish him.  The nurse finished with the diaper, 
and reached on top of the cart, grabbing a pair of white cotton pants with 
an elastic waist.
"Here put these on."
Tim grabbed them from the nurse and put them on.
"What's your name?" the nurse asked Tim.
Tim's sobbing quieted as he answered her. "My name is Tim."
"Ok, Tim,  please take off your shirt for me now."
She put the stethoscope to her ears, then pressed the cold metal end against 
Tim's chest.  The cold metal caused a slight shudder in Tim.  The nurse 
returned to the cart, picking up a clipboard that was formerly hidden 
beneath the pants which Tim was now wearing.  She wrote several things down, 
then picked up the other cloth item from the cart and handed it to Tim.  He 
took the shirt from the nurse and put it on.
"Tim,  I know you're not a baby, but you've been through a traumatic 
experience and your body is in shock.  The diaper will keep you from being 
embarrassed, if you have any more accidents, and it'll help you sleep better 
tonight."
Tim gave a small nod of acceptance.  This explanation seemed reasonable to 
him, after all, he hadn't messed his pants in almost 8 years, and he had no 
other explanation for it's cause.
The nurse then picked up the bag of dirty clothes, twisted the top of the 
bag closed, and affixed a label over the twist.  "Officer Jordan is going to 
take you out and fingerprint you now," the nurse said as she wheeled the 
cart to the door. "Have you had dinner tonight?"
"No," Tim replied.  The nurse left the room.

____________________________________________________________

Timothy's Cure Part II
____________________________________________________________

Tim heard the jingling of keys outside the door of the exam room, followed 
by Officer Jordan entering the room, carrying a pair of sandals.
"Tim, put these on and come with me to the booking area.  I need to take 
your fingerprints, then we'll get you something to eat."
Tim slid the sandals on his feet and reluctantly followed Officer Jordan to 
the booking area, all the time wondering if the policeman knew that he was 
wearing a diaper.  It seemed to Tim that it was plainly visible to the whole 
world, even though it was totally covered by the white prison-issue pants 
and the long white prison issue shirt.  A tell-tale soft rustle could be 
faintly heard with each step that Tim took, but Officer Jordan made no 
indication of awareness.
The short hallway outside the exam room terminated in a large open room, 
with offices and various other rooms branching off from every wall.  It had 
the same white painted cinder-block walls as the exam room, with drab grey 
doors.  In the center of the room, there was a circular console, in the 
middle sat two more uniformed officers.  Officer Jordan lead Tim to a 
machine along the wall, and picked up Tim's right hand by the wrist.
"Hey, Jim, is that the boy from the car chase?" asked one of the officers 
seated at the console.
"Yeah, this is the passenger," Officer Jordan responded as he methodically 
pressed and rolled each of Tim's fingers on the glass plate in the center of 
the machine.  After capturing a complete set of fingerprints with the 
machine, Officer Jordan lead Tim to a chair at the counter on the outside of 
the console.
"Sit tight for a few, and I'll go fetch you some dinner, Tim"
Officer Jordan proceeded to go through one of the grey doors.  After a few 
minutes of uncomfortably looking around the plain room, Tim noticed the grey 
door open again and Officer Jordan appeared, carrying a small plastic sack 
with food in it.
Tim eagerly ripped the sack open,  his hunger finally catching up to him.  
He voraciously ate the two bologna and cheese sandwiches, the orange and the 
dry brownie.  All of this was washed down by a small carton of milk.  
Officer Jordan was conversing with the two policemen behind the console.  As 
he was eating, Tim overheard one of them say "We're gonna need a room in 
special management for this big guy."
When he was done eating, he was led by Officer Jordan through one of the 
grey doors, down a dimly lit hallway, through another grey metal door into 
the special management module.  There were twelve cells with doors 
accessible from the special management module.  Each of the doors had two 
windows in them.  They were painted in the same grey color as all of the 
other doors in this place, each having a white number painted boldly across 
the bottom half of the door.  Tim was taken to cell 7.  Officer Jordan 
unlocked the door, motioned for Tim to go in, then closed the door behind 
him.  Inside, there wasn't much space, but it was well used.  There was a 
stainless steel toilet/sink combo attached to one of the walls,  a plastic 
chair, and a steel bed bolted to the floor.  A thin vinyl covered foam 
rubber mattress was placed on top of the steel bed, with sheets, blankets 
and a pillow arranged neatly on top.  Timothy sat down on the bed.  He felt 
tired, exhausted from the day's ordeal.  He soon found himself asleep.

Rachel Hasbert arrived home.  It was only a 15 minute drive from the 
bookstore to her home, but tonight it felt like an hour.  She did not know 
the reason for the uneasy, sinking feeling that had been in the back of her 
mind since she closed the store.  She figured that it would all be forgotten 
when she got home and ate dinner with her two children.  As she stepped 
through the front door, she called out, "Mommie's home."  Her eleven year 
old daughter, Carrie, came down the stairs and hugged her.  Rachel began the 
usual mothering.
"How was school today, Carrie?"
"Fine.  Today in art class I painted a picture of a unicorn."
“Did you bring it home for me to see?”
“No, it’s not finished yet.”
"Where's Tim?"
"He didn't come home today."
Suddenly, Rachel's uneasy feeling became a snarling monster, infusing her 
with fear.
"Has anyone called?" she asked.
"No, mommie," Carrie replied, wondering at her mother's strange reaction.  
This wasn't the first time that Tim hadn't come home till late.  It was only 
7:45, Tim had been known to stay at friend's houses playing nintendo and the 
like till late, but he usually called.
Visions of the horrific possibilities invaded Rachel's mind, each one worse 
than the last, each one sending a wave of fear coursing through her body.  
She began to call some of Timmy's friends, hoping he was at someone else's 
house.  As she called Timmy's friends, she popped TV dinners into the 
microwave and cooked them.  By the time she had cooked two dinners,  she had 
called all of Timmy's friends that she knew.  Her fear became more real when 
none of them had reported having Tim over that afternoon.  Rachel and her 
daughter ate in silence.  Rachel kept trying to convince herself that Tim 
was just out at a new friend's house, and would be home any minute, despite 
the sense of dread that had developed back at the bookstore.
It took all her concentration to try to bury memory of recent events 
involving Timmy.  Two weeks ago, he and his friend Sean had set fire to a 
small field.  The fire department determined that the two boys had been 
playing with gasoline.  She had a stern talk with Tim, and had given him a 
good spanking.  Thoughts of her being a bad mother, and Timmy running away 
crossed her mind.  Finally, after eating the TV dinner, which seemed to have 
no taste, no texture, almost as if it were a dream, she was able to calm 
herself.  "Timmy's just at a new friends house.  He'll be home any minute 
now.  I don't need to worry," was the mantra she repeated to herself.  The 
calm was an illusion, but an illusion was better than the very real fear.
"Carrie, did you finish your homework?"
"I didn't have any homework tonight, mommy."
"Do you want to go take a shower before bed-time?"
"Okay mommy."
Carrie quickly scrambled up the staircase to the second floor.  Shortly, 
Rachel heard the water start running.  The usual sounds of any normal day.  
A small comfort, helping to enforce the illusion of calm.  Then there was an 
unexpected sound.  The doorbell reverberating through the house.  Relief 
washed the fear, and the illusion of calm from Rachel's mind.  "Timmy must 
be home," she thought.  When the mind is looking for reassurance, little 
things are often overlooked.  Timmy wouldn't use the doorbell, he lived 
here.  He had his own key.  This did not matter.  Someone had come to the 
door, and it could only be Timmy, she reasoned.
Answering the door proved different than she expected.  Standing outside was 
a policeman, dressed in a very neat pressed navy blue uniform.  Polished 
badge and nametag on his breast,  radio microphone clipped to his shoulder.
"Mrs. Hasbert?"
"Yes?"  Rachel's eyes began to tear up.
"May I come in?"
"Y-yes, officer. Please come in and have a seat."  She was near a breakdown. 
"Is this about Timmy?"
The policeman entered the room, closed the front door, and took a seat on 
the couch in the living room.  Rachel sat on the chair opposite the coffe 
table from where the policeman sat.
"Mrs. Hasbert, I'm Jeff Daniels with the Lincoln County Sheriff's 
Department.  Earlier this evening, your son was involved in an accident with 
a stolen car."
The uneasy feeling became terror in Rachel's mind.  It brought back memories 
of years ago, when her husband died.  She feared the worst.  It never 
occured to her that Timmy might have stolen the car.
"Is Timmy all right?"
"Yes.  Timothy was unharmed due to the airbags, and his wearing a seatbelt.  
After the crash, he tried to run, but was safely apprehended.  He's being 
held at the Peaceful Valley Juvenile Detention Facility.  Due to the nature 
of the crimes he has commited, we can't release him to you.  He's going to 
stay under county supervision until he's been formally charged and had a 
bond hearing."
The shock of this news took hold of Rachel.  She sat quietly, retreating 
into herself.  This situation hadn't ever entered her mind.
She was almost in a trance, her head clouded with bewilderment. "Did they 
have the right person?" she wondered.
"Can I see him?"
"No, Mrs. Hasbert, There's no visitations after 5:00 p. m.  Timothy's 
scheduled for a court appearance inside the detention facility tomorrow at 
10:00 a. m.  You can visit him tomorrow.  Here's a pamphlet with details 
about the detention center.  I've also got one here from the Red Cross about 
coping with traumatic situations.  I think you should take it as well."
"W-W-Why  Why did Timmy get arrested?" Rachel said as some strange force 
reached her arms out to take the pamphlets.  The idea of Tim commiting a 
crime was as absurd to her as the idea of elephants wearing tutus.
"Your son was in the passenger seat of the stolen vehicle when it crashed 
into several other vehicles at a traffic signal."
Suddenly, the news headline from the radio when she was driving home popped 
into her mind.
"Who was the other boy?" Rachel asked.
"His parent's haven't been contacted yet, so I can't release any 
information."
Rachel's blank pale face displayed the severity and shock of the news.
"If you have any questions,  you can reach me at this number," said Officer 
Daniels, as he took one of his business cards and underlined a phone number 
on it.  He promptly stood up, exited the home, and securely closed the door 
behind him.  To Rachel, the whole conversation had a dream-like quality.  
"It wasn't real,  it couldn't be real," the thought kept racing through her 
mind.
"Mommy, who was that?"
The trance faded at the sound of her daughter's voice.
"That was a policeman, honey.  Timmy's going to spend the night at a 
friend's house."
"How come he gets to spend the night on a school night?"
"Are you ready for bed honey?"  Rachel’s voice had that “don’t argue with 
my, missy” tone to it,  so Carrie did not push the issue.
"Yes mommy."
Rachel proceeded up the stairs, and into her daughter's room.  She hugged 
Carrie extra long, she kissed her an extra goodnight kiss, and tucked her in 
twice as gently.  All the while, whispering "I love you so much, honey"
Rachel's mind was a mess.  Things didn't make sense.  So much was going on, 
she couldn't comprehend it.  Somehow, without realizing it, she had gone 
through her usual nightly routine of locking the doors, turning out the 
lights, and changing into her nightgown.  She descended into a fitful sleep, 
full of nightmares, followed by waking up to the same dreamlike state that 
had engulfed her during the conversation with the policeman.

Tim thought he would never be able to get to sleep that night.  Being in 
such a strange place, and wearing such strange clothing unnerved him.  His 
conscious mind told him that wearing a diaper was almost painful.  At the 
same time, there was a comforting feeling to it.  It's like getting hugged 
and kissed by your mother in front of all your friends.  It's extremely 
embarrassing, but at the same time, it's full of love and comfort.  The 
feeling of the thick mass between his legs every time he tried to squeeze 
them together brought back memories of better times long past.  He knew he 
would never soon forget this experience.
Tim woke up several times during the night, just long enough to see the 
faint rumors of flourescent light streaming in through the windows in the 
door of the cell.  Awake barely long enough to be reminded that he was not 
in his own bed, not in his own house.  There was another sensation.  He 
couldn't identify it.  It stirred memories and visions of when his father 
died, of when he started wetting the bed again.  His recurrance of 
bedwetting lasted two months after that tragic event, but he became dry 
again.  Out of concern that he may have wet the bed again, he sweeped his 
arm down to his side, and felt the sheets.  The place where he had been 
laying was warm to the touch, but it was not wet.  The impending possibility 
of embarrassment lifted, and he fell alseep again.  Three times during the 
night this happened.
A loud sound awakened Tim.  It was like a heavy new hardcover textbook being 
dropped on a concrete floor.  The sound echoed from the cinderblock walls of 
the room outside the cell.  It happened again, and again.  Soon, Tim 
understood the source of the sound.  Each cell door had a hinged metal panel 
about mid-way up the door.  It could be unlocked and dropped down so things 
could be passed through the door without opening the whole door, and 
allowing a chance of escape.  Something stopped the panels at a 90 degree 
angle to the door, in effect, forming a small table.
"Breakfast time!" came the emotionless shout from the policeman.
_______________________________________________________

Timothy’s Cure, Part III
_______________________________________________________
As Tim sat up in bed and turned so his legs hung off the edge of the steel 
bed, he felt an odd feeling between his legs.  He remembered he was wearing 
a diaper, but there was a different feeling about it this morning than what 
he remembered about last night.  It felt squishier.  As he stood up, a very 
faint smell of urine passed by his nose.  He looked down and saw that he was 
dry, but as a precaution, he pulled back the blankets and inspected his bed 
again.  The policeman came by, and placed a large plastic tray with a 
plastic top over it onto the little table made by the panel in the door.  
Tim took the tray, removed the top and placed the top back on the little 
table.  The smell of unflavored oatmeal tinged his face with disgust.  He 
sat down in the plastic chair in his cell, setting the tray on his lap, and 
began to mechanically eat the oatmeal.  It was extremely unappetizing, but 
he was hungry, and there was no alternative.  Soon the policeman came by 
again, this time leaving a plastic mug filled with milk on the passthrough 
in the door.  Tim quickly finished the oatmeal, half an orange, and two 
slices of buttered toast provided for his breakfast, and drank down the 
milk.  Time dragged by.  There was nothing to do inside of this jail cell.  
Eventually, the policeman came by again and collected up the tray and its 
top, and the mug, checking the tray to make sure the plastic spork was 
returned.
There was a click, then a voice emanating from outside the cell announced, 
"Timothy Hasbert, please come out of your cell."
Tim cautiously stood up again, and walked to the door.  He peered out, saw 
no one, and gave the door a gentle push.  To his surprise, it opened.  Ever 
cautious, he stepped out of the cell and looked around.  He saw an open 
doorway, with a male nurse standing in it, beckoning for Tim to come to him. 
  Tim did so, and was led out through the hallway, into a small room, very 
similar to the exam room from the previous night, except smaller.  Again, it 
had a plastic bench against one wall.  This room had a counter piled with 
various cloth items, a sink, and beneath it all, three cabinet doors.  The 
nurse directed Tim to have a seat on the bench, and take off his pants.  A 
wave of embarrassment surged over Tim, but he did as he was told.  The nurse 
went to the counter,  reached in a box on the countertop and began to put on 
latex gloves.  After doing so, the nurse shot a glance in Tim's direction, 
specifically at his diaper.  Tim hadn't noticed it last night, but there was 
blue printing plainly visible on the outside of the diaper.  It said in bold 
blue letters, "Medium."  The nurse reached into the cabinet in the middle, 
grabbed something and set it on the counter.  The nurse then retrieved the 
powder and the baby wipes from on top of the counter and carried them over 
to the bench where Tim was now sitting, in only a shirt and diaper.
"You go by Tim, or Timothy?" the nurse asked.
"Tim"
"Okay, Tim,  go ahead and lay down on the bench for me."
Tim did so, unwilling to provide any resistance, for fear of being punished. 
  Tim didn't know how they might punish him if he were to disobey, but he 
imagined that it would be some terribly painful way.  The nurse untaped the 
diaper, and peeled it away from Tim's skin.  The air washing over Tim's 
diaper area felt colder than the air against the rest of him.
"I see you wet your diaper last night.  Have you ever wet your bed before?"
It was a truth Tim could have done without hearing.  It made sense of his 
feelings last night though.  The cold touch of the baby wipes didn't ease 
his present discomfort.
"No, I'm not a baby. I don’t wet the bed.”
“You’ve been through a traumatic experience.  Sometimes the body regresses 
to help deal with the stress.  I need to know if you’ve ever wet the bed 
before so I can determine if you’re getting sick or not.”
A dilemma presented itself to Tim.  If he was sick, they might give him 
shots, and do other bad things to him.  If he told them that he wet the bed, 
they might keep him in a diaper.  He didn’t want either.  The undeniable but 
distant feeling of comfort that the diapers gave him made the decision 
easier.
“I used to wet my bed after my daddy died,” Tim answered in a small voice.
The nurse walked to the counter, and grabbed the item he set there before.  
He began unfolding it as he walked back to the bench.  Tim realized that it 
was another diaper.  Tim had already been prepared for this, almost expected 
it.  The nurse asked Tim to raise his but, and Tim did so.  With speed and 
efficiency, the nurse finished the removal of the old diaper, the powdering, 
and the replacement of the new diaper.  Unlike the used diaper, the new 
diaper did not have blue writing down the middle of it.

Rachel gently shook Carrie’s shoulder. “Time to get up, honey child.”
Upon waking,  Carrie received a long hug from her mother.
“Get dressed, and then come downstairs.  I made bacon and eggs for 
breakfast.”
With that, Rachel left the room and went back down the stairs to the 
kitchen.  She pulled the newly browned slices of bread from the toaster and 
smeared butter across them.
Soon Carrie came down the stairs, wearing a Tigger T-shirt partially covered 
by overalls.  She sat at the kitchen table, and was presented with a plate 
heaping with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.  Rachel sat down at the table 
across from her.
“Say prayers, honey.”
They each bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and folded their hands.
“God is great, God is good, and we thank him for this food.  Amen.”  As soon 
as Carrie finished with the blessing, they began to eat.  When the meal was 
done, Carrie rushed up the stairs into the bathroom to wash her hands, and 
brush her teeth.  She had been woken up late this morning, and it was almost 
time to leave for school.  Rachel cleared the dishes from the table.  When 
Carrie came back down the stairs,  Rachel hugged her again. “If you need to 
call me,  use my pager.  I won’t be at work today.”
“Okay, mom.”
“Have fun at school today, and don’t get into any trouble.”  Rachel knew 
that Carrie was a good student, and didn’t cause trouble,  but thoughts of 
Tim’s arrest made her blurt out the warning.  Carrie put on her shoes, and 
rushed out the door, grabbing her backpack along the way.
Rachel moved to the window in the living room, and watched as Carrie walked 
down the street to the bus stop.  The bus came, picked up everyone at the 
bus stop, and only then, after the bus left, did Rachel leave her post at 
the window.  She immediately went to the phone in the kitchen and dialed her 
assistant manager of the bookstore, Patti.
“Hi, Patti.”
“Hi, Rachel,  what’s going on?”
“Oh, Patti,  can you run the bookstore today?”
“Why of course, Rachel,  what’s wrong?”
“Timmy was arrested last night.”
“Arrested, you’re joking, right?”
“No.  A policeman stopped by last night, and said they arrested Timmy, and 
he’s being held at Peaceful hills or something like that.”  Rachel’s voice 
choked up, as tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh my God!  Is he all right?”
“They said he wasn’t hurt.  I’m going to go see him today.”
“How are you holding up?”
“I couldn’t sleep last night, worrying about him.  I’ve got to call an 
attorney now too, and find out what’s going on.”
“Dear, don’t worry about the bookstore.  I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks Patti.”
“Bye-bye now, Rachel”
Patti’s friendship and willingness to step in helped calm Rachel.  She 
regained her poise, and began to search for the number of her business 
attorney.  “Here it is...  French, Dewell & Mathis.”  She quickly dialed the 
number, and was greeted by a receptionist.
“French Dewell and Mathis,  Attorneys.  How may I help you?”
“I need to speak to Mr. French.”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“Rachel Hasbert”
“Please hold”
There was no hold music, but the wait was not long.  A booming male voice 
soon picked up the other end.
“Rachel!  How are you doing?”
“Jerry,  my son got arrested last night.”
“Did they release him to you after the arrest?”“No, they’re holding him 
someplace.  He’s got a trial or something at 10 this morning.”
“Okay.  Can you come down here right away?”
“Thank you so much, Jerry.  I just don’t know what’s going on...”
“Ok, Rachel,  just stay calm.  We’ll get it straightened out.”
As Rachel was hanging up, she heard the muted mumbles of Jerry French 
talking with his receptionist, probably checking the day’s schedule.  Rachel 
wasted no time in readying herself to leave the house.  Within 45 minutes, 
she was out the door, in her car and driving to the attorney’s office.
When she arrived, Jerry French was standing at the reception desk, and 
ushered her into his office.
“I called the DA’s office while you were on your way over here.  Timothy is 
going to have what’s called a bond hearing, and filing of charges, at 10.  
The bond hearing is where they set the bond.  Depending on the amount,  you 
can either pay cash, or go to a bail bondsman to get the money.  They’re not 
charging Tim with car theft,  they think he was just an accomplice.  Usually 
something like this is difficult to guess at, but since he’s a child still,  
the bond most likely won’t be set over ten-thousand dollars.”
Rachel gasped at the figure.
“I usually specialize in business and real-estate law,  Joe Mathis has much 
more criminal law experience.  Joe is out of the office today, so I’ll be 
more than happy to represent you at the hearing.”
“Thank you so much, Jerry.”
“It’s getting close to 10:00.  I’ll drive you to the detention center.”
Rachel willingly accepted the offer, and together they walked out to Mr. 
French’s Subaru Outback.  Jerry French had a folder with several papers in 
it, one of them containing directions to Peaceful Valley.  As he seated 
himself in the driver’s seat, he set the directions on top of the folder.   
It was a twenty minute drive to Peaceful Valley.  As they approached, Rachel 
noted how it didn’t look at all like prisons she’d seen in movies.  From the 
outside, it was a beautifully architectured building, with immaculate 
landscaping.  It bore quite a resemblance to a school.  There was even a 
playground, with a tall chain-link fence surrounding it.
Jerry French and Rachel parked near the main entrance to the building.  They 
walked quickly up the concrete walkway, and up the three steps to the main 
doors.  The striking contrast between the barren insides of the center and 
the colorful, almost cheerful outside became apparent when they opened the 
main doors.  Inside the doors, they found a sparsely decorated lobby,  a few 
plastic chairs sitting against white cinderblock walls, and a reception 
window.  They walked directly to the reception window, and were greeted by a 
woman wearing a police uniform.
“Sign in on the clipboard,” the policewoman grunted, in a slightly nasal 
voice.
As Jerry and Rachel were signing in, the officer walked over to the 
reception window, reached under the counter, and pushed a button, allowing 
the gray metal door next to the reception window to open.  Jerry and Rachel 
proceeded through, and were escorted by the policewoman to the courtroom.

After finishing the diaper change, the nurse took Tim back to his cell.  The 
boredom of being in a cell all alone caught up with him before long.  To 
pass the time, he stood on the bed, and looked out of the window.  The 
window was about three-quarters as wide as the wall against which the bed 
rested, but was only four inches high.  The vibrant colors of the grass, 
flowers, trees, and rising sun caused a pang of homesickness.  The view 
outside only drove off the boredom for a few minutes.  Tim ended up sitting 
on the edge of the bed, swinging his feet.  It was impossible to tell how 
much time had passed.  There were no clocks in sight.  The only measure of 
time was the slow filling of Tim’s bladder.  He barley noticed it happening.
Every once in awhile,  Tim heard someone walking, then pausing, then walking 
then pausing then walking again.  As the footsteps approached his cell, he 
caught a glimpse of a police officer staring in at him.  As quick as he had 
come, the police man started walking away to the next cell.  It could have 
been every 10 minutes, or only once an hour.  Tim had no clue.  After seeing 
this routine six or seven times, a new event took place.  Instead of walking 
to each cell,  the policeman went directly to Tim’s cell, and opened the 
door.  The large man stepped inside and told Tim to stand up.  Tim did so, 
and the officer approached him.  The officer placed handcuffs on his wrists, 
but handcuffed his hands in front of him instead of behind him.
“It’s time for court.  Go out the door, to your left, and into the hallway.”
Tim silently followed the orders, all the while feeling the imposing 
presence of the police officer behind him.
“Make a right here,” the officer directed him.
“Right here, and all the way to the end of the hall.”
The highly polished tile floors reflected their images as they walked.
“Stand with your back against that wall,” the policeman bellowed out as they 
reached the end of the hall.  Tim could hear an electric motor run briefly, 
then the officer opened the door.  Inside, the walls were different.  They 
were wallpapered, using a very conservative pattern.  It was plainly obvious 
that this was a courtroom.  There was a large wooden desk sitting on a 
raised part of the floor in one corner of the room.  Behind the desk, there 
was an empty tall-backed leather chair, a large state seal hanging on the 
wall, and two flags.  A closed door on one of the walls behind the desk 
opened, and an older woman stepped into the courtroom.  She was wearing a 
white blouse, and a long navy blue skirt.
The woman was carrying a stack of papers, which she sat on the judge’s desk. 
  The policeman directed Tim to a table sitting before the judge’s desk, 
facing it.  Tim sat down.  To his right, there was a podium, and to the 
right of that, at a right angle to the table he was sitting at, was another 
similar table.  After setting the stack of papers down,  the woman organized 
them, picked several up again, and walked over to the other table with them. 
  There was a clock on the wall, it read 9:50.
After soaking in his surroundings for a few minutes, Tim began to relax.  
The door behind him, the one he had entered through, opened again.  A short 
black-haired police woman entered, followed by a man in a suit, and his 
mother.  Tim did a double take.
Rachel rushed over to Tim, picked him up and gave him big hug.  A few tears 
escaped her eyes.
Jerry French went and shook hands with the woman in the navy skirt.  He 
chuckled a bit, and talked to her for several minutes.  When he returned to 
the table where Tim and Rachel were, he explained that the woman was from 
the D. A.’s office.  Jerry further explained that Ashley Canbury had been a 
legal assistant of his, before she became a D. A.  The policewoman who 
escorted Mr. French and Rachel quietly slipped out of the room.  The 
policeman who had walked Tim to the courtroom was still in the room, seated 
in a chair near the door.
A second woman entered the courtroom through the door behind the judge’s 
desk, and moved to a desk beside the judge’s, facing Tim.  The woman 
promptly announced, “All rise,” then almost immediately afterward, “Please 
be seated.”  It was comedic, how quickly it had been done, but that’s all 
the time Judge Farnstock needed to enter the room and seat himself.  During 
the brief instant when Tim had begun to stand,  he noticed the fullness of 
his bladder.
_________________________________________________________________

Timothy’s Cure Part IV
_________________________________________________________________
Judge Farnstock had a deep, grumbling voice.
“Okay,  First order of business this morning...” he said as he shuffled 
papers on his desk.
“The people vs. Timothy Hasbert,” he continued.
The D.A. stood up and started speaking.  “The first item this morning is the 
filing of charges regarding people vs. Timothy Hasbert.”  She handed a 
document to the secretary sitting beside the judge’s desk.  The secretary in 
turn handed it to the judge.  Ashley also handed a copy of the document to 
Mr. French.
As Judge Farnstock was glancing over the document,  Mr. French moved to the 
podium.
“Your Honor,  Jerry French, Bar 7202, on behalf of the defendant, Timothy 
Hasbert.  We’d like to waive reading of the charges.”
Judge Farnstock looked up at the D. A.   She looked back at him, then looked 
down again.
“Okay, the reading is waived.  Ms. Canbury, do you have a recommendation for 
the bond amount?”
As the D. A. began speaking, Tim felt his ever filling bladder begging to be 
emptied again.  It was extremely uncomfortable, and he unconsciously began 
bouncing his knee up and down, trying to relieve the pressure.
“Yes, your honor.  I would ask that a bond in the amount of 50,000 dollars 
be set, with the conditions that Timothy be released to a parent or 
guardian, and that he have no contact with the accomplice.  I also recommend 
that he be evaluated by a behavioral psychologist.”
Jerry French immediately rebutted.  “Your honor,  this is an unreasonable 
request.  Timothy did not actually commit the alleged crime,  he is just 
being charged as an accomplice.  His mother, who is present today, is an 
active, involved parent, and has been manager of a prominent bookstore in 
town for the last 2 years.  We do agree to the conditions specified by Ms. 
Canbury, though.”
Ms. Canbury started again. “Your honor,  Timothy was an accomplice to car 
theft, and contributed to a crash involving two other vehicles.  He also was 
involved in an altercation about two weeks ago where a field was set on fire 
with gasoline.”
“Given the fact that Timothy is only being considered as an accomplice, I 
think 50,000 is unreasonable.  Bond for an adult in the same position would 
only be half that.”
At that instant, Tim couldn’t hold the pressure of his bladder back.  He 
began to pee into his diaper.  A worried look pasted itself on his face.   
No one else seemed to take notice.
“The recommended bond for a juvenile involved with a crime of this type is 
15,000.  In light of his mother being present, willing and able to take 
custody of him,  I believe a bond of ten thousand would be appropriate,” the 
judge continued.
Ms. Canbury shot a glance to Mr. French.
“Bond is set at ten thousand dollars cash surety, with the conditions that 
Timothy cannot leave the state, and shall have no contact with the alleged 
accomplice, Sean Dunham.   Timothy is ordered to undergo an evaluation by a 
state certified psychologist, with results to be submitted to the court, 
sometime before his arraignment. Let’s set this case for an arraignment on,  
Hmmm,” the judge flipped the page of a notebook, “uhmmm,  Tuesday, March 13, 
at the district courthouse.”
Jerry French thumbed through his planner, and browsed the schedule for March 
13.  “Before noon on the 13th?” he asked.
“March 13, 10 a. m. will work,” announced the legal secretary, as she 
scrambled to write the date down.
“Okay.  Tuesday, March 13, 10 a. m. at the justice complex.  Court 
dismissed,” bellowed the judge as he stood up and left the room.
Tim continually hoped that no one had noticed him wetting his diaper.  He 
knew it shouldn’t have happened.  He didn’t want to admit it to himself,  
but his diaper was more comfortable after he wet in it.
“Tim, time to go back to your cell.”  The policeman had moved behind Tim 
undetected.
“I’m going to get you out of here as soon as I can, Timmy,” Rachel cried out 
as she hugged him one last time.  The policeman then led Tim through the 
door in the back of the room, back down the hall, and to his cell.
Jerry French instructed Rachel on the intimacies of posting bond as they 
drove away from the detention facility toward Mr. French’s office and 
Rachel’s car.  Mr. French also indicated that he wanted to have a meeting 
with Rachel and Timothy, after his release.
As Tim and the policeman were walking to the cell,  the faint odor of urine 
followed Tim.  Had there been anything to occupy a person’s concentration 
while walking down the empty hall,  it might have gone by unnoticed.  After 
securing Tim in his cell, the policeman left and informed the nurse.
Tim heard the click from the door of his cell, and the voice on the 
loudspeaker instructed him to come out.  He did so,  only to see the male 
nurse standing at the doorway to the hall, motioning to him.  Tim followed 
the nurse to the changing room.  When the door of the changing room was 
closed,  the nurse instructed Tim to take off his pants.  As Tim pulled down 
his pants,  he noticed blue writing down the center of his diaper was 
visible.
“Just as he thought,” the nurse silently muttered.  The nurse again donned 
latex gloves, reached into the middle cabinet and withdrew a diaper.  With 
the same speed and efficiency as the earlier diaper change,  he proceeded.  
In a matter of minutes, the task was completed.  Timothy was silent, 
beginning to accept the routine.  He was returned to his cell for another 
long wait.
The loud clang of the passthrough being dropped down signaled lunch time.  
Lunch was served in the same manner as breakfast,  in large plastic trays, 
with a plastic mug of milk on the side.  Today’s lunch consisted of a boiled 
hot dog with a soggy bun, a scoop of potato salad, and a square of chocolate 
cake.  Timothy sat in the plastic chair with the tray on his lap and started 
to dress the hot dog with the packets of condiments provided.  He munched 
slowly on the meal,  enjoying the flavor.  The blandness of breakfast was 
erased by this meal.
Afterward, Tim laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.  He saw the 
officers on patrol once, twice, then one came and unlocked his door.
“Time to go home, Tim”
Tim’s heart leapt with joy.  He sprung out of bed and eagerly followed the 
policeman.  There was no cautious reluctance in his actions as there had 
been earlier.  He was taken to a room with his jeans, T-shirt, socks and 
shoes in it.  The mess had been cleaned from his clothing, and each piece 
was neatly folded.  The officer told him to change back into his clothes, 
and put the detention facility clothing in the sack hanging on the wall.  
Then the officer closed the door.  Timothy pulled down the prison pants, and 
threw them into the sack, then removed the shirt and did the same.  He 
reached to untape the diaper, but something stopped him.  The muscles in his 
arm slowly relaxed, and he moved toward the chair where his folded clothes 
lay.  He slipped his underpants on over the diaper, pulled up his jeans, 
zipped and buttoned them, and put on his shirt.  Socks and shoes came next.  
As he was tying his shoe, someone knocked on the door, and asked, “Are you 
ready to go yet Tim?”
“Just a sec.  I’m putting on my shoes.”
The door opened, and the policeman stood watching Tim finish off the knot.
Soon, Tim and his mother were reunited.  That moment lasted an eternity.  
Rachel lifted Tim slightly off his feet while hugging him.  She kissed his 
forehead numerous times.
“Oh, Timmy,  are you all right?”
“Yeah, mom, I’m fine.”
“You didn’t get hurt did you?”
“No, mom.”
“Oh, Timmy, I’m just so happy to see you again.”
Tim enjoyed the warm embrace of his mother, and did not struggle even though 
it lasted forever.  Like all good things, it came to an end.
“Did they give you lunch, Timmy?”
“Yeah, mom.  I had a hot dog, and a brownie.”
“Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yeah.”
The conversation continued as they walked out of the detention center, 
Rachel asking many questions about her son’s experience in the detention 
center.  As they drove away,  Tim was silent, absorbing all the sights 
around him, as if seeing them for the first time.  Having his freedom taken 
away, even for such a short time, had quite an impact on him.
“Timmy,  do you remember Mr. French, the lawyer?”
“Kind of.  Why?”
“He’s going to help us out when the trial comes.  We’re going to go talk to 
him now.”
“Okay.”
The interior of Mr. French’s office was full of darker colors.  Mr. French 
sat behind a rather large polished wooden desk.  The desk stirred memories 
of the one the judge had been sitting at.  Behind Mr. French a tall bookcase 
sat, filled with many indistinguishably different volumes.  The items on top 
of the desk were neatly organized.  When Rachel and Tim entered the office,  
Jerry French immediately stood, and offered a handshake to Tim.
“Hi, Tim. I’m Mr. French.”
“Hi,” a weak voice forced out of Tim’s lungs as he shook hands.  He had met 
Mr. French before, at a Christmas party or something, but barely remembered.
“Have a seat.”  As Mr. French sat down,  he picked up a yellow legal pad and 
a pen from the center of his desk.  “Tim,  I want to let you know that you 
can be perfectly honest with me.  Whatever you tell me,  no one else gets to 
know.  I’m going to help you, but I need to know everything that you did.  
If you did something wrong,  don’t be afraid to tell me.  I’m not going to 
be angry, and your mother isn’t going to be angry.  But I need to know the 
truth, you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. French”  Tim’s mouth was becoming dry.  The words barely creaked 
out.
“Okay, Tim.  Tell me a little bit about what happened after school 
yesterday.”
Tim began the story of the events leading up to his arrest, at first 
attempting to cover up his part in the events, while Mr. French furiously 
wrote notes on his notepad.  Little contradictions arose, and the more 
questions Mr. French asked, the clearer the story became.  Tim was quick to 
realize that he couldn’t hide things from Mr. French, and gave up trying.  
It had been Tim’s idea to steal the car, Sean was driving because Tim had no 
experience.  Concern filled Mr. French’s face as the details were made 
clear.
“I understand you were involved in an incident about two weeks ago, a field 
burned down?”
“Uhmmm...   Sean and I were playing with a can of spray paint and a lighter. 
  We tried to make a flamethower with a squirt gun.”
“How did you make the flamethrower?”
“I filled the squirt gun with gasoline.”
“Go on...”
Tim continued with all the details, ending with the fire department showing 
up to put out the blaze.  Rachel filled in details as to the magnitude of 
the emergency response.  Rachel hadn’t know that it was Tim’s idea to use 
gasoline.  Tim had told her that it was his friend’s idea.  This dishonesty 
disturbed her.  She had always though that her son was an angel, incapable 
of serious wrongdoing.
“Okay, Tim.  I appreciate your being honest with me.  Are there any other 
things you did that I should know about?”
“No.”
Mr. French stood up, walked around from behind his desk, moving toward the 
door.  “Come with me, Tim.”
Tim looked at his mother, who gave a nod.  Tim stood and followed Mr. French 
out the door.  Mr. French showed Tim to a chair in the waiting area, and a 
dish filled with candies sitting on the reception desk.
“I’m going to talk with your mother for a while.  You wait here.  We’ll be 
done soon.”
Mr. French returned to his office, and closed the door.
“Rachel, I’m very concerned with what I’ve been hearing from Tim.”
“He’s always been a good boy.  He’s never done anything like this before.  
He told me his friend got the gasoline.”  The tone of her voice clearly 
conveyed the sense of betrayal she was feeling.
“These are very disturbing patterns.  The court ordered a psychological 
exam, but even if it weren’t ordered,  I think it would be appropriate.”
“They aren’t going to take him away from me, are they?”  The pain was 
evident in Rachel’s voice.  No amount of betrayal could overcome her love 
for her children.
“No, no, they won’t do that.  First they’d have to find cause to believe 
that you were negligent as a parent, and I don’t think that’s the case.  Tim 
may need therapy, though.  I know a psychologist, he’s been a good friend of 
mine since college.  He’s got a practice over in the Burning Tree 
professional building.  I can schedule an appointment for Tim, if you like.”
Mr. French pushed a button on his phone.  The speaker became active.  “Mary, 
  can you set up an appointment for Tim this afternoon with Dr. Scovill?”
“Sure, Jerry.”  The speaker became silent again.  Mr. French began some idle 
conversation to try to lighten the mood.  He cracked a joke, and Rachel was 
giggling when the speaker sparked to life again.  Jerry,  I’ve got a 1:30 
set up for Tim at Dr. Scovill’s.”
“Thanks, Mary,” he replied to his receptionist,  then hit a button to 
silence the intercom.  “Rachel,  do you know where you’re going?”
“Yeah,  I’ve been taking my kids to another doctor in the same building 
since we moved here.”
“Okay,  you better get going, there’s not much time.”
A quick goodbye sent Rachel and Timothy on their way to the Burning Tree 
professional building in search of Dr. Scovill.  It was a ten minute drive, 
and another three minutes to find a parking place.  As they entered the 
reception area,  A cheerful young receptionist greeted them.
“Hi,  you must be Timothy.  Dr. Scovill is ready to see you.  Just have a 
seat for one second, while I go get him.”
Rachel and Tim sat together on a couch.  There was quite a selection of 
magazines sitting on the coffee table before them.  There were several 
modern art paintings gracing the walls of this cheerful third floor 
reception area.  The vivid colors and odd shapes of the paintings captured 
one’s attention.  A man emerged into the reception area.
“Hello Mrs. Hasbert,  Hello Timothy.  I’m Dr. Mark Scovill.”
Rachel stood up to shake hands with the tall, handsome, dark haired man.  He 
reminded her of her late husband.  He had an air of friendly professionalism 
about him.
“Well, Timothy, let’s get started.  My office is back this way.”
While Tim and Dr. Scovill were in the office,  Rachel received a clipboard 
from the receptionist, and filled out the paperwork upon it.  Then Rachel 
read magazines.  She read through several magazines, cover to cover.  She 
was a quick reader,  but it still occupied her for more than an hour.  
Timothy came bounding back into the reception area.
“Mom,  Dr. Scovill wants to see you.  I’ll show you where he is.”
Rachel followed Tim to Dr. Scovill’s office.
“Tim,  you can wait out in the reception room.  I need to talk with your 
mother for a bit.”
Tim bounded back out to the reception room.  For whatever reason,  he was 
full of energy, and in a very good mood.
Rachel closed the door of the office and had a seat.
“Mrs. Hasbert,  Timothy showed a couple of warning signs that I’m very 
concerned about.  On the outside, he’s a very well adjusted, likable young 
man.  I gave him a psychological profile test, which indicated that he’s 
having trouble dealing with some of his emotions.  This could be a very 
serious problem if it continues into his adulthood.  He’s already been 
arrested once, and it could be the start of a pattern if it’s not treated 
now.  I think a type of behavior modification program would be effective for 
Tim.”
“What kind of treatment?”
“The standard treatment for difficulties such as Timothy’s involves a 
prescription medication and weekly behavior modification therapy.  These 
therapy sessions would typically continue for two to three years,  with the 
medication probably continuing into adulthood.  There is also another type 
of behavior modification, but it is very rare.”
“Behavior modification sounds so severe, so harsh.”
“Let me continue.  This second form of therapy is more of a re-training.  
Almost like letting Tim grow up again, to develop the tools to cope with his 
negative feelings.  This second form of therapy only works for a specific 
type of individual with strong support from family,  but it has a 
overwhelming success rate.  I think Tim is an ideal candidate who would 
exceed with this type of treatment.”
“What is this other treatment?”
“It’s known as behavioral regression.  It’s a newer therapy, but it’s been 
used in a substantial number of cases across the U. S. over the last five 
years. It has a remarkable success rate.  It does take a lot of time and 
dedication from the family though.”
“Please, tell me more.”
“Behavioral regression is essentially returning Timothy’s mind to an earlier 
stage of development, before his problems started.  Through the course of 
the treatment, he is allowed to ‘grow up’ again,  and develop constructive 
methods of dealing with his feelings.  The full course of the treatment 
would last for a year or more,  but he wouldn’t be on medication for the 
rest of his life.”
“This is a big decision.  I need time to think it over.”
“By all means,  take your time, Mrs. Hasbert.  In the meantime,  I think 
Timothy should be scheduled for another session tomorrow afternoon.”
Arrangements were made for Tim to visit Dr. Scovill again the next day after 
school.
Soon, Rachel and her son were driving home.  When they reached home,  Tim 
parked himself on the couch facing the TV, and began watching cartoons.
“Timmy, honey, why don’t you go upstairs and take a nice hot shower, then 
I’ll fix you a special snack.”
The mention of a shower caused Tim to notice that he hadn’t had a shower in 
two days, and was kind of dirty.  He marched up the stairs and into the 
bathroom.  He undressed himself, and tossed the worn clothing down the 
laundry chute.  Standing naked except for his diaper, he looked into the 
mirror.  He liked the way it looked on him.  It stirred echoes of a carefree 
time in his life.  He slid the diaper slowly and carefully down his legs, 
afraid that untaping it would destroy it.  He set it on the counter by the 
sink, and jumped into the shower. He quickly cleaned himself, then turned 
off the water, and stepped out of the shower.  He toweled off with a soft 
fluffy towel,  then slipped the diaper back on himself.  He didn’t know why 
he was doing it.  It made no sense to him.  He didn’t need the diaper.  He 
kept on telling himself that he didn’t want the diaper.  Something else was 
controlling him.  The urge was too powerful to resist, so he went along with 
it.  He pulled the diaper all the way up, and stood for a few minutes, 
enjoying the look and feel of the snug diaper between his legs.  Minutes 
later, the trance wore off, he wrapped the towel around his waist to hide 
the diaper and went to his bedroom.
He closed the door to his bedroom, and propped the chair from his desk 
against the door, with its back just underneath the door knob.  He tossed 
the towel aside, got down on his hands and knees and crawled around on the 
floor.  He knew it was babyish, and that he’d die of embarrassment if he got 
caught, but he had to do it.  He quickly regained his senses, and dressed 
himself.  Tim remembered the special snack he was entitled to, and hurried 
down the staircase.  He saw his mom on the phone, talking to someone.  She 
handed him a package of Hostess cupcakes.  With lightening speed, Tim’s hand 
reached out and grabbed the package.  He tore off the plastic wrapper and 
tossed it in the trash.  As he fished the first cupcake from its plastic 
tray, he wandered back to the couch and sat to watch TV again.  Hostess 
cupcakes were his favorite dessert, especially the chocolate frosting on 
top.
The afternoon was uneventful.  Rachel took her two children to McDonalds for 
supper.  Bedtime came, as on any other day.  Tim changed into his pajamas, 
keeping the diaper on underneath.  He knew it was a huge risk to keep 
wearing it,  but the temptation was too strong.  It was a part of him now.  
He didn’t want to give it up.  Rachel came in, tucked him in, kissed him 
goodnight, all without noticing the hidden secret.
Rachel’s gentle shaking woke Tim up.  The events of the previous day 
lingered in his mind, with a dream-like quality.
“Wake up, honey.  Breakfast is almost ready.”  Rachel left the room to wake 
up Carrie.
Tim flipped the blankets off, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  
Wetting his diaper in the detention facility suddenly sprang to his mind.  
With fearful hurriedness, he tugged the blankets off the bed, only to find 
the bed completely dry.  Relief washed over him, and he began to fish 
clothing for the day from his dresser drawers.  He removed his pajamas, 
tossing them to the corner. The first thing Tim noticed about his diaper was 
that it wasn’t wet.  This presented a difficult decision.  The diaper was 
still wearable,  but the ridicule of being discovered wearing a diaper at 
school would be unbearable.  Reason won the debate, and Tim carefully slid 
the diaper off.  He hid the diaper beneath several pair of underwear in his 
dresser drawer.  He quickly dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.
Today was like any normal day.  The events of yesterday were all but 
forgotten, for the time being.  Carrie and Tim got ready for school, then 
left the house to catch the bus.  Rachel used the time to catch up on 
laundry that hadn’t been done yesterday.  She folded and sorted clothes, 
stacking them neatly.  She took a pile of Tim’s clothing and carried it up 
the stairs into his room, setting it on the bed.  She then proceeded to 
place the items in appropriate drawers of the dresser, starting with the 
underpants.  As she pulled the drawer open, an unexpected item peeked out 
from behind several pair of underwear.  Rachel set the clean underwear in 
the drawer.  She stared at the plastic material lying there in the drawer, 
stumped as to what it could be.  It slid out from beneath the pairs of 
underwear when she tugged at it, and presented itself in all its glory.  
Rachel immediately recognized what it was, but the size of it dumbfounded 
her.  She had never seen a diaper this size before.  “Its big enough to fit 
Tim,” she thought to herself.  She guessed that he must have worn it, there 
was no other explanation for it being taped already.  This was a jigsaw 
puzzle in her mind, with many pieces still missing.  She set the diaper on 
the bed, and finished putting away the clean clothes.  The mystery of the 
diaper would remain in her mind for the rest of the day.  On her way out the 
door to go to work, Rachel stuffed the oversized diaper into her purse.
Rachel sat in her car outside the school, scanning the emerging students for 
her son.  She had left work early so she could pick Tim up, and get him to 
Dr. Scovill’s in time for his appointment.  It took her a minute to find him 
in the crowd.  Tim strolled along, busily chatting with friends as they all 
mingled outside the school.  Rachel honked the horn.  Through the bustle of 
students outside the school, Tim heard the horn and was made aware of his 
awaiting ride.  He departed his friends and walked to his mother’s car.
Tim was used to riding the bus, but was always grateful to have a 
comfortable ride home.
The scheduled appointment escaped his mind for the moment, soon to return 
when they arrived at the Burning Tree professional building.
The receptionist was just as cheerful as the day before.  Dr. Scovill was in 
a session when Tim and Rachel arrived.  A short wait, and Dr. Scovill 
emerged, ushering his previous patient to a parent in the waiting room.  Dr. 
Scovill called out to Rachel.  Rachel went, leaving Tim in the waiting room. 
  Dr. Scovill handed a small stack of colorful glossy brochures to Rachel.
“Dr. Scovill,” Rachel hesitated, “This is kind of embarrassing.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Hasbert, I’ve seen it all.”  The reassurance in his voice 
spread to Rachel.
“I found this diaper in Timmy’s dresser this morning.  I don’t know where he 
got it from, I didn’t even know there were diapers in his size.”
“This is an ironic finding, Mrs. Hasbert.  I didn’t mention it yesterday, 
but one of the treatments we discussed would involve Timmy wearing diapers 
again.  It helps enforce the regression.  It’s a fairly common practice for 
juvenile facilities to diaper individuals who show signs of weak control.  
Timothy told me about being diapered at the detention center during our 
session yesterday.  It’s really nothing to worry about.”
“It just comes as such a shock to me.  I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“As you’ll see when you get a chance to look over the information I’ve given 
you,  behavioral regression involves putting Timothy back in diapers, and 
re-training him to use the diapers.  It helps enforce the mental regression. 
  This is the part of the treatment that requires an immense commitment from 
the family, specifically the parents.  When I talked with Timothy yesterday, 
  I saw several warning signs that could indicate that his abnormal 
behaviors will intensify as he grows older, unless treatment is begun 
immediately.  I did some more research into the behavioral regression 
therapy,  just to be certain that it would help Timothy.  He fits the 
candidate description to a T.  According to the studies done so far,  he 
will benefit immensely from this type of treatment, moreso than from 
conventional treatments.”
“It just doesn’t sound reasonable.  Putting him back in diapers.  What is 
that going to do?”
“Mrs. Hasbert,  you’ve got to understand.  It’s much more than putting him 
back in diapers.  During the first few months of the treatment,  he will 
have weekly therapy sessions with me, in addition to being put on medication 
to help his physical regression.  Take a minute and browse through the 
papers I’ve given you.”
Rachel did so, perusing each document with scrutiny and disbelief.  They 
were very informative, giving an in depth discussion of the processes 
involved in the treatment.  The whole concept seemed so absurd to her.  The 
idea of having a baby around the house again brought maternal instinct to 
the edges of her mind though.
“Does this treatment really work?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hasbert,  it has been proven in numerous case studies around the 
U. S. during the last five years.  I must stress that to be successful, it 
requires a deep and thorough commitment on your part.”
“Does Timmy know about this?”
“I haven’t mentioned it to him yet.  If he’s formed an attachment to wearing 
diapers,  it should be easy for him to accept the therapy.  The key to 
getting him to accept it is to continually enforce the fact that it’s a 
therapy, not a punishment.  If he feels that it’s a punishment, he’s likely 
to resist it, which makes the whole process more stressful for everyone 
involved and it takes longer.”
Rachel sat in silence, thoughtfully considering the ramifications of such a 
therapy.  Timmy would have to quit school.  She would have to quit her job, 
or find a baby-sitter that didn’t mind changing a 13 year old’s diapers.  
She was having an unbelievable debate in her mind.  To put her 13 year old 
son back in diapers or not.  Images of Timmy sitting in a stroller with a 
pacifier in his mouth popped into her head.  The image continued as her 
dearest friends walked by, looked in the stroller, and commented on how cute 
the baby was.  She had visions of when Timmy was little, and still in 
diapers.  She and her husband had been so happy then, with a newborn baby, 
and a loving marriage.
“Yes,” she blurted out, “If you think this therapy is going to help Timmy,  
I want to do it.”
“There’s no rush to decide, Mrs. Hasbert.  But keep in mind that this can’t 
be started on a trial basis.  Either we commit to the therapy, or we don’t 
start.”
“I don’t want Timmy to grow up to be a criminal.  If this is the way to help 
him,  I want to do it.”  Dr. Scovill perceived the true concern for 
Timothy’s well being in her voice, and the finality in it.
“Let me explain a little bit more.  The thing that makes this treatment 
truly successful is the dependency formed as a result of the regression.  
The star of the show is a drug called Xenical, which was developed a number 
of years ago as a diet drug.  The drug acts by preventing absorption of fat 
into the digestive system.  The excess fat in the stools causes 
unpredictable bowel movements, in other words, you can’t control when you 
poop.  With one element of toilet training removed,  the brain is confused, 
and more susceptible to the regression.  Timothy would also be receiving a 
weekly injection of a slow acting muscle relaxant,  to decrease his bladder 
control.  He would be wearing and using diapers full time again.  This would 
continue for the first two months.  After two months of these medications, 
the bladder and bowel muscles will have atrophied enough that Timothy will 
have no control, even without the medication.  It’s at this point that I 
begin teaching Timothy how to deal with his emotions in positive 
constructive ways.  When he exhibits sufficient capacities for dealing with 
his emotions, he begins toilet training again.  The whole process should 
last about a year.”
Dr. Scovill’s therapy still sounded barbaric, but the appeal to Rachel’s 
maternal instinct was strong.  Timmy would be completely dependent on her 
again, just like when he was a baby.  The thought filled her with a strange 
happiness.
“Yes, Dr. Scovill,  I want to do this for Timmy.  I’m sure of it now.”
Dr. Scovill’s deep penetrating gaze pierced Rachel’s soul.  She sat 
motionless, allowing him to read her thoughts.  Dr. Scovill drew a deep 
breath.
“Well, Mrs. Hasbert,  I’ll contact Timothy’s school, and inform them of the 
situation.  I’m going to write a prescription for Timothy,  I want to get 
him started right away.  I think he should also be diapered before he leaves 
the office today.  Being diapered here will help ease the shock, and help 
him accept the necessity of diapering.  I’m also going to give him a dose of 
the muscle relaxant today.”
Dr. Scovill scribbled on a notepad, then tore the sheet off and handed it to 
Rachel.  He then called Timothy into his office.  Rachel went to the waiting 
room.
Timothy wasn’t really interested in talking to Dr. Scovill today.  He 
fidgeted and squirmed in his chair as Dr. Scovill was talking.  A half a 
minute passed lazily by.  Timothy knew this session would last forever, 
would keep him away from his diaper as long as possible.  He tried not to 
think about wearing the diaper,  but vivid memories were always invading 
from the edges of his brain.  Suddenly, a word from Dr. Scovill caught his 
attention.
“...diapers.”
Timothy went numb, and all sounds except Dr. Scovill’s voice became 
silenced.
“I know it sounds very odd, Tim, but I think it will help you.  I’ve already 
discussed this with your mother, and she has accepted it, and is willing to 
help you.  Your mom and I are going to arrange for you to be ‘home schooled’ 
for the next year, so you won’t be embarrassed by the treatment.  You’re 
going to need to wear diapers for a year.”
Each time Dr. Scovill said the word, it echoed louder in Tim’s mind. 
Diapers.  Paralysis took hold. Tim was overcome with a secret joy, but his 
stunned state prevented him from showing it.  It took no thought to know 
that he wanted to wear diapers.  He tried to think how to say yes without 
disclosing his eagerness.
“Why do I need to wear diapers?”  As soon as he said the words, he knew they 
were too resistive,  to defiant.
“No one’s going to force you to wear diapers, Tim.  Your mother and I both 
thought this treatment would be best for you.”  Dr. Scovill understood 
Timothy’s fear.  He was, after all, a pediatric psychologist.  “I’m not 
asking you to LIKE wearing diapers, I’m not even asking you to be happy 
wearing diapers.  I just want you to agree that you’ll wear them as part of 
a therapy program.”
This was the break Tim needed.  Now, he wasn’t saying that he liked or 
wanted to wear diapers, only that he would because his psychologist wanted 
to.  Still, he hesitated.
Dr. Scovill opened a desk drawer, and pulled something out.
“Do you want to try a diaper, just to see what it feels like?”
Tim’s response came hesitantly, his desire for a diaper overcoming his 
doubts.
“Okay”
As Dr. Scovill moved the item he held into view, Tim got a feeling of deja’ 
vu.
“There’s a restroom outside my office to your left.”
Tim took the diaper, hiding it under his shirt as he proceeded to the 
restroom.  When he had the door securely locked, he looked the diaper over 
again.  It looked so familiar to him.  It was already taped.  Tim wondered 
if it was the right size for him.  He quickly slid his shoes off, then his 
pants and underpants.  The diaper eased on, fitting perfectly. Tim was 
engulfed in bliss.  Tim enjoyed the feeling a few moments, then quickly 
slipped his clothing and shoes back on.
The bulge of the diaper was only slightly visible beneath his jeans. If you 
didn’t know to look for it, it would never be noticed.  Tim closed Dr. 
Scovill’s door and sat down again.
“Is it uncomfortable, Tim?”
“It’s weird.”  Those were the only words Tim could find to mask his 
pleasure, yet not seem resistant.
“Would you be willing to wear diapers as part of a treatment plan?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Tim.  Let’s go talk to your mother.”
Rachel followed Timothy back to Dr. Scovill’s office.  She looked at Tim, 
and had a feeling that he accepted the idea.
“Timothy has agreed to the treatment we discussed.  I’m going to have you go 
downstairs, to Dr. Galinski, and get a muscle relaxant shot.  You can also 
stop by the pharmacy on the first floor.  They should be able to fill the 
prescription right away.  You can also pick up the other supplies you’ll 
need there.”
A look of horror filled Tim’s face at the mention of a shot.  Before he 
could say anything,  Rachel was leading him out of the office, on the way to 
Dr. Galinski’s office.  Dr. Galinski’s waiting room was less cheerful 
looking than Dr. Scovill’s.  Rachel and Tim didn’t have to see it for long,  
They were quickly in an exam room with Dr. Galinski.  Dr. Galinski had an 
aged face, and wavy blond hair.  She wore a white lab coat, with a 
stethoscope hanging around her neck.
“Tim, take your pants down and lay face down on the exam table.”
Her demanding voice controlled him.  He didn’t question how she knew his 
name.  He was just about to comply with her order, when he remembered the 
diaper.
As if in response to Tim’s unasked question, Dr. Galinski barked out again.
“Don’t worry about the diaper, just pull your pants down.”
This shocked Tim.  The shock made it easier for him to act without thinking, 
without objecting.  Soon he was belly down on the paper covering the exam 
table, his diapered rear end facing up for all to see.  Dr. Galinski took 
items from a drawer near the door, and stood at Tim’s side.  She untaped the 
diaper like an expert, being careful not to rip the plastic.  She folded the 
back of the diaper down, exposing Tim’s butt.  Dr. Galinski placed a gloved 
hand on Tim’s buttock, stretching the skin.  With her other hand, she wiped 
the stretched area with an alcohol wipe.  The contrasting sensations of warm 
hands and cool air on is behind caused his penis to stiffen.  Tim felt a 
momentary pinch on his buttock, then the diaper was being re-fastened.  As 
Tim rolled over and sat up again, he felt a soreness in his bottom where Dr. 
Galinski had pricked him.
“That’s all for today, Tim.”
Tim was already standing,  with is pants up again.
“The exit’s to your left.  Charges will be billed to Dr. Scovill,” Dr. 
Galinski said as all three exited the exam room.
Strange sensations were creeping through Tim’s diaper area.  A slight 
tingling coupled with numbness.  His awareness of his internals was 
heightened, but at the same time, numbed.  He could still feel the diaper 
against his skin despite the effects of the shot.  This whole experience 
passed quickly, and soon was just a memory.  Tim became accustomed to the 
strange internal numbness, forgetting it as he entered the pharmacy on the 
first floor of the medical building.
Rachel and Timothy proceeded directly to the rear of the shop, to the 
druggist’s counter.  An older moustached gentleman wearing a white lab coat 
greeted them.  Casual banter ensued as Rachel handed Dr. Scovill’s 
prescription to the pharmacist.  He disappeared momentarily, humming as he 
went about his work.  He returned with a white paper sack, top folded over 
and stapled, and handed it to Rachel.
“You can find lotion and wipes in aisle seven,  I’ll carry this box up to 
the front counter for you,” he said, loading a large brown box into a nearby 
cart.  Tim noticed the lack of labelling on the box, which sparked his 
curiosity.  He wondered if he was dreaming or if the box might actually 
contain the thing he lusted for.  Diapers.  As Tim stood contemplating the 
situation, Rachel wandered into aisle seven, picking up several items.
The sound of his mother’s voice broke his trance, allowing Tim to rejoin his 
mother at the checkout counter.  The brown box was there, in addition to the 
white bag with the prescription, baby wipes, powder, and lotion.  The full 
reality of what Tim had agreed to still evaded his consciousness.  He was on 
the brink of realization, but the actuality remained subdued.
The warm feeling around Tim’s groin was a surprise.  Definitely not a bad 
surprise, it was comfortable, but it was entirely unexpected.  Timothy 
hadn’t felt the need to urinate, but he knew what the growing wetness 
between his legs meant.  Fright took hold of his mind, as it dawned on him 
that he wet his pants.  But it wasn’t his pants that were wet, it was his 
diaper.  This was the key that unlocked his mind.  He realized what he had 
agreed to.  He was going to wear diapers, and use them.  He didn’t know for 
how long, or why.  He just knew that he was going to need diapers.  Tears 
streamed from his eyes as he and Rachel left the store.  He buckled himself 
in to the car, sobbing wildly, as Rachel loaded the box of diapers and the 
other supplies into the trunk.  As quickly as it began, his sobbing stopped, 
transforming into a hushed whimper.  Rachel was hugging him, his head buried 
in her bosom.  She stroked his hair, comforting him and quieting him.
“Mommy, am I gonna have to wear diapers?” Tim choked out.
“Timmy, honey, I thought you wanted to,” Rachel replied in a gentle voice.
With Tim now regaining his composure, Rachel closed his door, walked around, 
and seated herself.  As they drove home, Tim tried to resolve his feelings, 
fears and desires, and tried to make sense of the situation.
“Mommy, everybody at school is gonna make fun of me.”
“No, Timmy,  you don’t have to go to school anymore.  I’m going to teach you 
at home.  Dr. Scovill made all the arrangments.  Nobody is going to make fun 
of you.”
Tim had neglected Dr. Scovill’s involvement during his thought.  The 
knowledge that he wouldn’t be going to school anymore was a great weight 
lifted from his mind, but fear lurked.  He couldn’t see any of his friends 
anymore,  not while he was wearing a diaper.  If they saw him, they’d laugh 
at him.  They’d make cruel jokes, taunt him until he cried, they laugh at 
him some more because he was crying.  The flood of emotion was too much for 
him to handle.  “Mommy,  I hate diapers.  I don’t wanna wear diapers.  I 
don’t need diapers,” Tim exploded.
Timothy’s pleading tortured Rachel.  She didn’t want Tim to feel bad, but at 
the same time, she didn’t want him to grow up to become a criminal.  The 
treatment seemed cruel, but it was recommended by Dr. Scovill.  Her whole 
concentration was devoted to rationalizing the treatment to herself, making 
her unable to ease Timothy’s mind.  The remainder of the trip passed in 
silence, punctuated by the occasional choked sob from Tim.
By the time they arrived home,  Tim’s diaper was very soaked, making him 
uncomfortable.  He was greatly embarassed.  Even though his mother had full 
knowledge that he was wearing a diaper, and that he had a shot to make him 
incontinent, it did not detract from his embarrassment.  The embarrassment 
far outweighed his discomfort.  The soggy and sagging diaper disrupted his 
movement as he walked into the house.  Rachel noticed this, and suspected 
its cause.
When the front door was closed, Rachel spoke up.  “Timmy, is your diaper 
wet?”
Tim figured he would never overcome the embarrassment of wetting his diaper. 
  He didn’t know how long he would be wearing a diaper, he didn’t want to 
think of it.  It was like an addiction, with horrible side effects.  He 
enjoyed wearing the diaper, even when it was wet and uncomfortable, but the 
mental anguish was always present.  He knew it wasn’t normal, and that 
everybody else knew it wasn’t normal.  Despite his embarrassment, he 
answered in the affimative.
“Let me go get a towel, then I’ll change you here on the floor.”  Rachel 
promptly sprang up the staircase to the second floor, grabbed a fluffy white 
towel from the linen closet, and brought it back down.  She neatly laid it 
flat on the living room floor.
“Do we have to do it right here?  Everybody can see.”  Timothy’s complaint 
was valid.  The curtains on the front window were open, allowing a clear 
view from the street into the house.
“Just close the curtains, dear,” was Rachel’s practical answer.
Tim did so, then laid himself face up on the towel.  Rachel tore the tape 
off the cardboard box, and opened the flaps.  Inside, there were two plastic 
packages, labelled “Medium Disposable Briefs.”  She pulled one package out, 
and slit the top open.  The briefs were very similar to the one Tim was 
wearing at the moment, a plain white exterior, with a faint scent of baby 
powder.  Rachel proceeded to Tim’s side with the clean brief, the baby wipes 
and the powder.  Tim had not bothered to take down his pants, or even unzip 
them.  Rachel unzipped Tim’s pants.
“Lift up, honey.”  Tim knew what she meant, and lifted his hips off the 
floor.  With a fluid motion, Rachel tugged his pants down his legs, letting 
them bunch around his ankles.  Memories of diaper changes when Tim was a 
baby floated into her head, as she untaped the used diaper.  She tenderly 
cleaned his diaper area, and sprinkled powder about, but remained silent.  
Tim was silent as well, not knowing how to interpret this experience.  His 
mother’s tender touch was very comforting.  It brought about good feelings.  
It wasn’t like the diaper changes in the jail.  This was gentle, tender, 
full of love, not efficient, mechanical and sterile.  He was showered with 
attention by his mommy, something he liked a lot.  The diaper change was 
done soon.  The feeling of the clean dry diaper against his skin made him 
happy.  For a few minutes, he forgot that he was 13, and that he shouldn’t 
be wearing a diaper at that age.
“All done.  You can get up now, honey.”  Rachel’s words interrupted his 
bliss.  As he pulled his pants up over the new diaper,  he noticed that it 
was thicker than the previous one.  It was more noticable under his pants as 
well.
“Timmy,  do you want a snack?”
“Yeah, mom,” Tim readily agreed, hoping that he would get cupcakes again.  
To his surprise and delight, he did.  He also got a pill.  An oval-shaped 
pink pill.  “This must be the prescription,” he thought.  Nobody had told 
him what the prescription was for, but he trusted the doctor.  He swallowed 
the pill down, then devoured his cupcakes, frosting first, as was his 
custom.  As he sat eating his snack,  Rachel was busy moving the changing 
supplies and diapers to Tim’s room.  She was making a list of things she’d 
probably need for Tim, a list which included a changing table and a diaper 
pail.
Not long afterwards,  Carrie came in through the door.  The afternoon 
proceeded rather normally, leading into a family dinner of pizza.  After 
dinner, Carrie worked on her homework.  Because Tim had not been to school, 
he had no homework, allowing him to spend the evening doing one of his 
favorite activities, playing video games.  Just after defeating the level 3 
boss on his favorite game, he had a very strong urge to poop.  He paused the 
game, and shot up out of his chair.  As he did so, he felt a warm sticky 
mass spreading out across his rear, and the urge to poop was gone.  He 
didn’t have to guess at what just happened.  Pooping his pants for the first 
time since he had been potty trained scared him.  He was stunned for a 
moment, then called out,  “MOM!”
“I’m upstairs in my room,” came the reply.
He quickly ran up the stairs into Rachel’s room.
“What’s wrong honey?”
Tim closed the door, not wanting his sister to hear what was going on.  “I 
think I pooped in my pants,” he whispered, with a touch of fright in his 
voice.
“Okay, honey.  We’ll get you changed right away.  You don’t need to worry.”
Rachel opened her door, leading Tim down the hall to his room.  The towel he 
was changed on earlier was laid out on his floor.  Rachel opened his dresser 
drawer to get the changing supplies and a clean diaper, while Tim closed the 
door, dropped his pants and laid down.

____________________________________________________________

TO BE CONTINUED, if interest is shown.

Please e-mail your comments to Pencil2011@hotmail.com or post them to the 
newsgroup.
Please let me know if the descriptions of events provided a vivid image in 
your mind.  It is my goal to try to evoke as much realism as possible, 
within the confines of the plot of this story.