PETER

	My first experience with diapers still is my favorite. 
I was 12 or 13 at the time and had just discovered 
masturbation. A new kid my age had moved in next door a few 
weeks before all this happened and we had become friends. 
	Peter's family was of German origin and very strict. 
His father traveled a lot and I don't remember much about 
him. I know I'll never forget Peter's mother. 
	She was a slim, blonde woman who although attractive 
always looked severe. I don't ever remember hearing her 
laugh or seeing her smile. She ran her house according to 
her husband's rules even when he wasn't there. 
	Everything started on Friday morning when we found out 
that a distant uncle of mine had died. The funeral was in 
another state (a long drive) and my mother didn't think I 
should go. She asked Peter's mother if I could stay at her 
house Saturday night, when my parents would be away. Frau S. 
agreed. Peter and I thought this a great idea and planned 
all sorts of things we could do together. 
	On Saturday morning my parents left on their trip and 
Peter and I built a fort in the back yard. When Peter's 
mother called us for lunch I was surprised at how quickly 
Peter responded. He told me it was best to do what we're 
told when we're told. 
	After washing up we sat down at the table and said 
Grace Then Frau S. served lunch. It was fish and I didn't 
like the thought of it at all. Just as I was about to take 
my first bite I happen to look at Peter. 
	His face was red and tears were streaming down his 
cheeks. He looked at his mother with pleading eyes. 
	"Please, mother, can I have something else?" 
	His voice had a hope against hope tone in it that let 
me guess his words were wasted. 
	Frau S. barely glanced at him. 
	"Stop being such a baby, Peter, eat your fish. It's 
time you learned to like it." 
	She paused then and looked him in the eye. 
	"You know what will happen if you don't!" 
	I felt a knot of nerves tighten in my stomach. 
Instinctively I knew Peter's mother was strict and I didn't 
want to even guess what her punishments were like. I had 
never been spanked before and didn't want to find out what 
it felt like so I tried to ignore my distaste and eat my 
fish. 
	Peter just stared at his plate and picked at his 
vegetables. The minutes passed and soon it was plain that 
Peter was in trouble. Frau S. glanced at his untouched plate 
a few times but said nothing more. 
	When Frau S. and I were both finished she fixed her 
stern eyes on Peter and watched him squirm. 
	"Last chance, Peter, Eat up!" 
	He just turned a deeper red and his tears flowed anew. 
	"So be it," she said finally and rose to clear the 
table. 
	I guessed that we had to wait for permission to leave 
the table so I sat still and listened to Peter's sniffles 
while I watched Frau.'s solemn efficiency. My stomach was in 
knots while the seconds slipped away, even though it wasn't 
me who was in trouble. 
	Finally the kitchen was clean. Frau S. took a large 
wooden spoon from a drawer and said to me, "Let's take the 
baby upstairs to get his diaper put on." 
	I was shocked and yet fascinated at the same time. 
	Peter buried his face in his hands. 
	"Please, mother, no. Just this once let me go, please!" 
	While my mind reeled at the thought of diapering a 12 
year old, Frau S. went over to her son and grabbed his ear. 
The boy came out of his chair so fast it could've been on 
fire. 
	I stood up, on shaky legs, to follow when she led him 
toward the stairs. Peter sniffled and whimpered but said 
nothing more. I kept looking at the wooden spoon in her hand 
and guessed correctly that it would soon be making itself 
felt on Peter's bottom. 
	Mother and son went up the stairs ahead of me. I 
remember staring at the seams in her stocking, their 
reinforced heels and even sneaking a peak up her skirt to 
see her garters. In the back of my mind I was intensely 
curious about what she had said. Would she really diaper him 
like a baby? Part of me felt very sorry for Peter. 
	When we got to Peter's room Frau S. released his ear 
and went to his dresser. 
	"You know what to do," she said to him while she 
started pulling things from the drawers. 
	Now crying openly, Peter began to take off his jeans. 
His hands were shaking and he looked away when he saw me 
staring at him. I turned my attention back to his mother 
just in time to see her put two diaper pins on top of a 
stack of white cloth and then pull out a pair of plastic 
pants. My heart raced; she was really going to diaper him 
and it didn't look like the first time, either! 
	Peter was standing beside his bed with just his shirt 
and underwear on. His mother nodded toward his underpants 
and he immediately began to pull them down. Meanwhile she 
was spreading the diapers out on his bed. 
	Peter pleaded for clemency one more time, sobbing out 
his words, "I'll eat the fish, you don't have to diaper me. 
Please don't make me wear diapers! Please don't spank me!" 
	"It's too late for that" his mother said as she guided 
him to sit on the waiting diapers, "Now lie back and raise 
your legs. Try to be a little less of a baby!" Slowly, Peter 
did as he was told, he peered through his upraised and 
spread legs with fear as his mother reached for the spoon. 
	She took his bare ankles in her left hand and pulled 
his legs even higher. This forced Peter to lay flat on his 
back, his arms at his sides. I stared at his smooth white 
little behind and wondered just how red she would leave it. 
	With her spoon held high and ready, Frau S. stared down 
at her son. 
	"How many smacks this time, Peter?" she demanded. 
	Peter, red-faced with shame and trembling with fear 
couldn't get control of his voice; he just croaked something 
unintelligible. 
	Frau S. gave his ankles a good shake. 
	"Answer me!" 
	Peter squinted at her through a wall of tears. Finally 
I heard a tiny voice say, "ten". 
	The spoon suddenly became a brown blur. I heard a 
sickening CRACK as it caught both cheeks. Peter yelped and 
renewed his crying with loud wails. 
	"It was 20 last time. You don't remember? Maybe it 
should hurt more! This time we make it 25!" 
	Peter had time only for a brief wail of protest before 
the spanking started in earnest. Frau S. kept a steady 
rhythm and marched her blows up and down the defenseless 
cheeks. At first I flinched at the sound of each smack but 
soon got used to the sickening cadence. Peter gave a little 
scream with each touch of the wood to his flesh and then 
started into a wail, only to have the next blow make him cut 
it off with another scream. 
	I hadn't been counting the blows and it surprised me 
when Frau S. suddenly stopped spanking and calmly lay the 
spoon down on the bed beside her son. Without releasing the 
boy's ankles she picked up a can of baby powder and dusted 
Peter's red and sore bottom. Then she pulled the diaper up 
between his legs and let go of his ankles. 
	When he felt the diaper being pinned, Peter began to 
cry even louder; long wracking sobs that made me feel sorry 
for him. He couldn't bear to watch. His face was turned 
toward the head of the bed, his chest heaving with sobs of 
despair. 
	Once she was satisfied with the fit of the diaper, Frau 
S. began fitting the plastic pants over Peter's ankles. When 
she had them up to his knees, she told the boy to stand. He 
either didn't hear her or pretended not to. With a 
gentleness that surprised me she grasped his wrists and 
pulled him to his feet and then pulled the pants into place. 
	She stood back and watched the distraught lad for a 
moment. 
	"These are double diapers. You can put some trousers on 
if any will fit. You should learn not to waste food." 
	Then she turned on her heel and went downstairs. 
	Peter sat on the edge of his bed, took one look at the 
puffy baby pants in which he had been dressed and burst into 
tears all over again. I felt embarrassed for him and very 
awkward. Finally I grabbed a comic book and sat on the floor 
to read it until he felt better. 
	It was hard to concentrate on my reading with Peter 
sniffling so loudly. Gradually he got more composed and 
after a few minutes of just sniffling I looked up at him. 
	"You OK?" I asked. 
	He nodded. 
	"What do we do now?" 
	Peter muttered, "jeans," and went to his dresser. 
	He tried on pair after pair until he found one that 
would cover his bulging loins. Even though he could do them 
up it was pretty obvious he was in diapers. 
	I really felt sorry for him. He looked so sad. If 
anyone saw him they'd know his secret. Curiosity got the 
better of me. I had to ask. 
	"How long do you have to wear them?" 
	Peter stared down at the telltale bumps in his pants 
and gulped, "Until they're soaked or until Mother decides 
I've been punished enough." 
	That sent my mind spinning. Being made to wear diapers 
was one thing, being made to use them was something else 
again. 
	"You mean... if you have to pee you just... wet 
yourself?" 
	Peter blushed and looked as if he was about to break 
into tears again. I was about to ask the obvious second 
question but he saved me the trouble. 
	"Yes, I wet. I'm not allowed to take them off, not even 
for... the other." 
	Then he did start crying again. Peter and I had 
originally planned to go to a movie that afternoon but with 
the obvious evidence of Peter's shame, it was out of the 
question. We played inside with some of his board games. I 
kept looking at the straining denim, hiding the diapers and 
plastic pants underneath and wondered what it felt like. 
Peter didn't want to talk about it, even when I asked a 
couple of questions about the other punishments he got. 
	A couple of hours later I could tell Peter was getting 
nervous about something. He didn't want to sit in one place 
for any length of time and seemed very upset. Finally I 
guessed that his bladder was making its pressure felt and he 
was coming closer to having to use his diapers. I noticed 
that Frau S. was also taking more interest in her son's 
behavior, as if she was keeping an eye on us to make sure 
that Peter didn't try to use the bathroom. 
	That thought excited me. I didn't know why but the idea 
of Peter having to pee in his diapers turned me on. Of 
course, I wanted to ask him what was wrong but I couldn't 
bring myself to do it. 
	Finally Peter stood up, spread his legs and let out a 
little gasp. I heard a trickle of water and saw his face go 
red with embarrassment. He knew that I knew.  Biting his 
lower lip to stave off tears, he took a few awkward steps 
and looked at me again. It was then I realized that his 
mother had been watching from the doorway, a broad smile on 
her face. She gave me a wink and then went back into the 
kitchen. 
	Just before dinner (the smell of which I didn't like 
and was getting me pretty nervous), Peter's mother came into 
the room. She went up to her son, made him stand and began 
to undo the snap on his jeans. 
	"So, how's the baby?" she asked lightly. 
	Peter just looked away. 
	She made him take off the jeans and then she felt 
inside the plastic pants to see how wet he was. 
	Even from where I was standing I could tell that my 
friend had been doing a lot more wetting than I had been 
aware. The plastic pants were darker where they clung to the 
soaked diapers underneath. 
	Peter's mother hummed a tune while she pulled his 
plastic pants part way down and began undoing one of the 
diaper pins. At first I though she was going to take the 
diaper off. Peter just stared off into space, his face red 
with shame and looking as if he was about to start crying 
again. 
	"Time to tighten your diaper!" she said. 
	Then I understood. The diaper was so heavy with pee 
that it hung down from its pinnings loosely. She gathered it 
snug and repined it, ignoring Peter's gasps of discomfort. 
	"It is not good to stretch your jeans so much. Since it 
is too close to supper for you to be going outside, I think 
you should not wear anything over your nice baby clothes." 
	Peter trembled with dread but said nothing as she 
picked up his jeans, folded them and then returned to the 
kitchen. I couldn't keep myself from staring at my friend's 
diaper and plastic pants. I wanted to know why she had felt 
it important to tighten the diapers and if that made them 
any more uncomfortable. 
	As soon as I saw the chicken livers on my plate I got 
scared. I hated the taste of them then and still do. I just 
can't swallow them. I gag and almost throw up but I doubted 
that would convince Frau S. that I should not have to eat 
them. 
	Peter, sitting there in his diapers and plastic pants, 
seemed to relish the meal. I thought it funny that he didn't 
like fish but could enjoy something that tasted as strong as 
chicken livers. It didn't take long for Peter's mother to 
notice that I was ignoring the livers. Both she and Peter 
began to stare and I began to blush with a combination of 
fear and embarrassment. I didn't know if Frau S. would 
punish me at all or if she would diaper me as she had Peter. 
Time began to drag. Both Peter and his mother were finishing 
their plates. I was having trouble with even my vegetables 
and potatoes because my stomach was tight with fear. 
	Finally Frau S. got up and took Peter's plate and mine 
without saying a word. I looked at Peter and realized he was 
wondering what was going to happen as much as I was. 
	We watched Frau S. stack the dishes. I began to want it 
over with and yet, I dared not ask the question that was 
burning my mind. Finally she came back to the table and 
offered me her hand. I didn't understand. 
	"Give me your hand, Jamie." 
	I did, though I didn't like the gesture. I felt her 
grip tighten. 
	"Come along. It's a good thing I have lots of diapers 
since it turns out there are two babies in the house today!" 
	My throat went dry and my legs felt weak when I got up 
to follow her. I was going to be diapered! Even though I had 
wondered all afternoon what Peter had been feeling I didn't 
like the thought of it now that it was about to happen. I 
thought of a hundred things to say, to protest but none of 
them made it past my lips. We went up the stairs, this time 
with Peter following. I listen to the crackle of his plastic 
pants and hated each step that brought me closer to Peter's 
room. 
	At first I thought that I had escaped the spanking part 
since she carried no spoon. As soon as we got to the room, I 
saw the wooden spoon still on the bed where she had left it 
and didn't have to wait for her to pick it up to know that 
she would be using it again. 
	Just as she had for Peter, she told me to undress while 
she started gathering diapers and plastic pants from Peter's 
dresser. Now it was Peter who stared while I undid my jeans 
and lowered my underwear with them. The cool air on my loins 
made my face turn an even deeper shade of red and I wanted 
to cover myself. 
	I had to wait for Frau S. to spread the diapers out on 
the bed. Then she motioned me to lie down on them and I did. 
It felt very strange as I raised my legs and she removed my 
socks before gripping my ankles in her strong fingers. 
	So far I had not cried, not protested, maybe because it 
all seemed to be happening to someone else. The first time 
the spoon flashed through the air and left a band of red hot 
fire on my bottom, I broke down and pleaded with her to 
stop. I cried and moaned and struggled and pleaded with her 
but she kept hitting my bottom with the spoon the same way 
she had with Peter. 
	Finally, in desperation, I flung out my last desperate 
ploy for leniency, "I'll tell my mother!" 
	The pace of her strokes never faltered. Instead, I 
heard her calm voice drive a shaft of fear into my heart. 
	"Your mother knows all about how Peter is punished and 
thinks its a good thing. What would you say if I told you 
that she asked me where she could buy diapers and plastic 
pants that would fit you?" 
	Her words shocked me into silence.  At the same time 
the spanking finished. My bottom felt hot and sore. The 
taste of crying filled my mouth and I felt totally helpless. 
I looked down just in time to see her sprinkle some baby 
power on me, then I smelled its sweet fragrance and it made 
me start crying again. I felt so embarrassed at being put 
into diapers again; I could think of nothing but how 
miserable I was. Through my tear-filled eyes I watched her 
twist the diaper before bring it up through my legs. Already 
I could feel the thick bulk of it. 
	She pinned it tightly. It felt so strange. The cloth 
was soft against my scorched bottom. Then came the plastic 
pants. Somehow it seemed worse to have to wear them than the 
diaper. The elastic rasped on my ankles and then she began 
to work them up my legs. Just like with Peter she made me 
stand so she could pull them up to my waist. 
	She stood back. I looked down at my puffy loins and 
then up at the faces that stared a me. I wanted to cry some 
more but I had no tears left. That long moment of silence 
was broken only by the rustling of Peter's plastic pants as 
he changed position. Slowly, fearfully, my hands moved 
toward the babyish plastic pants that would keep my diapers 
from leaking. 
	Frau S. swatted my hands away. 
	"You don't touch them ever, ja?" 
	I trembled but nodded. I understood. I felt imprisoned. 
	After Frau S. told us that bedtime would be early 
because we were both babies, she left Peter and me to 
contemplate our fate. He had trouble looking at me. 
	"Now you know what it feels like," he said softly. 
	I just nodded. 
	There was nothing much to do so we went downstairs to 
watch TV. I got a surprised at my first step. The thick 
diapers between my legs made me walk funny. Every step, each 
movement reminded me I was in diapers and the plastic pants 
crackled loudly, announcing my shame. My face felt hot and 
flushed. I hated every moment of it. 
	As I followed Peter downstairs I realized how wet his 
diaper had become. I thought it looked pretty uncomfortable 
and then realized that I would soon find out. 
	When bedtime came, we went back upstairs with the same 
sense of dread. Peter had become silent and moody. There 
were so many things I wanted to ask him but I found no 
words. His wet diaper had started to bother him and he 
shifted about while sitting on the floor trying to make it 
more comfortable. My diaper was still dry; I could only 
guess that Peter's made him itchy. 
	Frau S. checked and then tightened my diaper. Even in 
the hour since dinner it had become looser. She made it so 
tight that I gasped. It was really uncomfortable but I seem 
to know better than to complain. Then she turned her 
attention to Peter. 
	Silently she laid out some fresh diapers for him. There 
were three this time, and a fresh pair of plastic pants. 
Peter stood patiently, his face red with shame, staring at 
the floor. After the new diapers were ready his mother went 
over to him, peeled down his plastic pants and unpinned his 
sopping wet diaper. As she took it to the bathroom, he 
sullenly went to the bed and lay down on the waiting 
diapers. We looked at each other for a moment, each feeling 
the awkwardness of the other. Peter looked so defenseless, 
lying there on the waiting diapers with his legs spread and 
his privates exposed, knowing that in a few seconds they 
would be bound in cloth. 
	Frau S. returned, powdered her son and then completed 
the diapering. She twisted the diaper as she brought it 
between his legs, making a thick band of material that Peter 
would not be able to ignore. 
	Then came the plastic pants, with Peter standing for 
the final fitting. I thought the diapering was over but 
Peter still looked sullen, there was something else left to 
do? 
	Frau S. was taking something from one of the drawers. 
As she turned around, Peter held out his hands as if waiting 
for handcuffs. I watched her fit some kind of mitten over 
each of his hands and then use diaper pins on the cuffs to 
hold them in place. Peter sniffled, let his hands drop to 
his sides and then looked at me. 
	Frau S. came toward me with another pair of the mittens 
in her hand. 
	"Hold out your hands, please," she said softly. 
	Before I knew it she was fitting a mitten made of some 
kind of thick, leathery material over my right hand and 
wrist. I looked up at her, surprised and shocked. 
	"This will make sure you don't try to take your diapers 
off or put your hands inside them. We have no dirty habits 
here!" 
	I flexed my hands inside their semi-rigid pouches and 
understood. My fingers were useless; I couldn't grip 
anything. My diapers were going to stay in place as long as 
Frau S. wanted. 
	Frau S. made a bed for Peter on the floor. She tucked 
us both in and turned out the light, warning us not to talk 
or she would be back with some pacifiers. I heard Peter 
sniffle in the darkness as my own hands fluttered uselessly 
against my plastic pants. I suddenly realized that I had to 
pee very badly. 
	The diaper was very tight from Frau. S having tightened 
it and the bulk of it between my legs made matters worse. I 
could feel my body heat being trapped by the plastic pants. 
The more I thought about it, the worse I had to go. I guess 
Peter heard me thrashing around. 
	"What's wrong?" he asked in a sullen tone. 
	"I have to pee real bad!" I whispered back. 
	There was a long pause before he replied, "Then just do 
it. She wants us to wet our diapers. You won't get into 
trouble over it but she will tease you in the morning." 
	I lay there and thought about that for a minute. It was 
getting so bad that I didn't care about the morning. After I 
decided to let it go, I found that I couldn't while lying 
down. I was ramrod stiff by now and felt all jammed up down 
there. Peter's voice came through the darkness. 
	"Get into a kneeling position. It'll be easier that 
way." 
	I pushed off the covers and kneeled on the bed. It felt 
strange to have the mittens on my hand. They were effective; 
I couldn't grip anything with my fingers. 
	I took a deep breath and tried to relax enough to let 
the flow start. It started as a trickle, but even that was 
enough to give me some relief. Then the floodgates opened 
and I felt hot pee rush into the thirsty cloth. I could feel 
it soaking me, running down into my crotch and then slowly 
up the back. Suddenly I was sure the diaper wouldn't take 
another drop. Fearful of wetting the bed I tried to stop but 
there was no stopping. The pee had a mind of its own. I 
heard myself gasp. 
	Finally I was drained. The diaper and plastic pants had 
held it all. I could feel the sodden cloth hanging from its 
pins. Drops of pee ran down the cheeks of my ass. I felt 
dirty and ashamed. I wanted to cry. 
	"Don't lie down for a few seconds. Let the cloth soak 
it all up," Peter said. 
	When I finally did lie down, I felt awful. All I wanted 
to do was get the damned diaper off but my hands were 
useless. 
	"It's awful," I said to Peter. 
	"You'll get used to it," he said quietly. 
	"Do you have to wear diapers a lot?" 
	"I don't want to talk about it. Go to sleep." 
	I did want to talk about it and as far as sleep was 
concerned, I was too uncomfortable. I tried to question 
Peter some more but he just told me to be quiet. Eventually 
I heard his deep breathing. I lay in that wet diaper for a 
long time, feeling very babyish and embarrassed before I 
drifted off. 
	Peter woke me up in the morning. He was standing beside 
my bed wearing just his diapers and his mittens. I could see 
from the dark patches on his panties that his diaper was 
wet. I asked him if he had wet before he went to sleep or 
during the night. He just blushed beet red and told me to 
mind my own business. 
	We went downstairs to the kitchen where Frau S. was 
making breakfast. I felt my face get hot with embarrassment 
when she looked at us. 
	"So! I haf two vet babies this morning, ja?" 
	She let the question go unanswered for a few seconds. 
	"Und ven did this vetting happen? Peter?" 
	The poor kid was staring at the floor, his mittened 
hands flapping uselessly at his sides. 
	"During the night, Mama," he said softly. 
	"Und you?" 
	I could feel her eyes burn into me as I too stared at 
the floor. At least I had a better answer. At least I hadn't 
wet while asleep. 
	"Just before I went to sleep, Frau S." 
	She paced around us, pausing to test the condition of 
our diapers by running a finger under the leg bands of our 
plastic pants. 
	"So! Haf you both learned not to waste food?" 
	We both nodded earnestly. My diaper was very 
uncomfortable. It was also getting itchy but the mittens on 
my hands wouldn't let me scratch. I wanted out of it. 
	"Vell, I'm not so sure. It ve best, I think, if we keep 
the diapers on for today, ja?" 
	The new sentence stunned me. I looked at Peter. His 
face was red and he was starting to cry. 
	"But Mama!" he sobbed, "It's Sunday! What about 
Church?" 
	Frau S. didn't say anything but her face got hard. She 
grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and advanced on 
Peter. He looked up just in time to see what was coming and 
started to cry really loud. 
	"More crying!" she shouted, "I giff you something to 
cry about!" 
	She spun Peter around by the shoulders and reached 
inside the waist of his plastic pants. As soon as the pin 
was taken out, his soggy diapers and plastic pants fell to 
the floor with a thud. Then she gave him ten hard swats with 
the spoon. I could see the red outline of the spoon on his 
tender white bum. At first he sobbed louder but as soon as 
he realized that she was going to keep spanking him until he 
shut up, he tried to control himself. She left him standing 
with his diapers and panties around his ankles, rubbing his 
sore tush, as she came toward me. 
	"But I didn't do anything!" I protested as I felt her 
hands reach for one of my diaper pins. 
	"Vat is good for one is good for the other," was her 
only comment before the first of ten hard smacks of the 
spoon connected with my bottom. 
	Every one of them hurt like hell. It was all I could do 
not to start crying. When it was over I looked just like 
Peter and felt just as bad. 
	Peter and I were told to take baths and then go to 
Peter's room where we would be diapered and dressed for 
Church. We trudged up the stairs carrying our wet diapers 
and plastic pants, too scared to talk. 
	In the bathroom Peter showed me the diaper pail. It was 
partly full. That made me guess that Peter was put into 
diapers a lot. His reaction to having to go to Church 
wearing a diaper told me this was the first time he was 
being made to go out in public that way. 
	We shared a bath but still didn't say anything. As we 
dried off, I noticed that Peter's bum was still red but the 
marks were fading. Mine was still on fire and I didn't like 
the thought of sitting down. 
	We wrapped towels around ourselves and walked with 
bowed heads back to Peter's room. Frau S. was there waiting 
for us. There were two sets of cloth diapers and fresh 
plastic pants spread out on the bed. I trembled at the sight 
of them. I was beginning to get scared about what would 
happen at Church. 
	Frau. S used as many diapers on us then as she had the 
night before. I wondered if she really wanted everybody to 
guess that we were diapered and decided that was indeed her 
plan. Neither Peter nor I gave her any trouble as she 
powdered us and then pinned the diapers very tightly. Then 
she handed us each a pair of plastic pants and told us to 
put them on. 
	I discovered in a hurry that it's one thing when 
someone else diapers you but it's a different story when you 
have to pull on your own plastic panties. Except for being 
made of plastic they reminded me of my mother's underwear. 
There was no fly, of course, and they fit high on the waist 
and snug. Frau S. checked us to make sure all of the cloth 
was trapped inside the plastic and then started on the other 
clothes we would wear. 
	It took a while. Our diapers were so thick that none of 
Peter's dress slacks would fit over them. At first I thought 
she would have to take off some of the extra diapers but 
Frau S. kept trying until she found a pair of dress shorts 
for each of us. 
	They fit but just barely. The bulges from our diapers 
were very obvious and when Peter walked I could see little 
puffs of plastic peeking out from his waist and leg 
openings. My shorts fit little better. We were each given a 
short sleeved white shirt to wear and a child's bow tie. 
After adding shoes and socks, we were allowed to look in the 
mirror. 
	I was shocked. I looked six years old and anyone who 
looked could tell at a glance that I was wearing thick 
diapers. The shorts were tight and when I walked I could 
feel the thick cloth bunched between my legs, but worse, 
hear the rustle from my plastic panties. My face felt hot. I 
was scared like hell. However, one look at Peter's mother 
told me to keep quiet. Peter and I looked at each other. We 
didn't need to say anything, each knew how the other felt. 
	On the way downstairs I had to admit to myself that at 
least these diapers were dry. When I sat down, all the extra 
padding made my sore rear end feel a little better. 
	All through breakfast the thought of church loomed over 
me like a sword. Frau S. insisted we have at least three 
glasses of juice and then I knew that she wanted to make 
sure that our diapers would be put to good use very soon. 
	After breakfast we went back upstairs to brush our 
teeth and then it was time to leave. Peter and I waddled 
toward the car with red faces and shaking hands. I wanted to 
run and hide but Frau S. kept a careful eye on us. 
	As soon as we got to the church, Frau S. took us to the 
Sunday School section. There were kids of all ages, but none 
as old as Peter and me, playing quietly under the 
supervision of a pretty young girl. She looked up at us and 
smiled, but the expression on her face quickly changed and 
she began to look puzzled as she stared at Peter and me. 
	Frau S. took us to her and said something in German. 
She looked a little surprised and then glanced at us and 
then smiled again. 
	Peter whispered into my ear, "Mama just told her we are 
wearing diapers for behaving like babies." 
	I could hear the fear and embarrassment in his voice. 
His face was crimson and mine was no different. 
	Frau S. left us to go upstairs to the service and the 
girl told us her name was Heidi. 
	"You're both pretty big to be in diapers, aren't you?" 
	I could see her eyes laughing at us. She kept staring 
at our waists. Not getting an answer she reached out and 
patted Peter on the bum. He went stiff as a board and 
stifled a cry of surprise. 
	After a little more silence she said, "Well, if you're 
not up to talking, I'll just have to find out for myself." 
	She took us each by the hand and led us off to the 
changing room in the women's washroom. 
	I felt my throat go dry as soon as we walked through 
the door. There were a couple of women in there changing 
their infants and at first nobody paid any attention to us. 
Then, Heidi started to undo my shorts. 
	"Please, no!" I said in a hoarse whisper. 
	She just smiled. 
	"Be good, Jamie. Or I will report you to Frau S." 
	That sent a tremor of fear down my spine and before I 
could stop it a trickle of pee ran out of me into the 
diaper. I gasped and turned even deeper red. She guessed 
what had happened and giggled while lowering my shorts to 
the floor. 
	She stroked the dark spot on the front of my plastic 
pants. 
	"Did you just wet yourself?" she asked, "It sure looks 
like it. We wouldn't want your nice clothes to get wet, now 
would we? I think it would be a good idea to do what they do 
in the nursery and let you run around in just your diapers. 
That way everybody will be able to tell when you need 
changing." 
	By now, every woman in the room was staring at us. I 
wanted to die. Peter started to cry. Heidi made me step out 
of my shorts and then took Peter's off him too. I started to 
cry and there we were, two 13 year old boys, dressed in 
shirts and diapers behaving like toddlers. The women started 
talking in German. Later, Peter told me they said it was 
just as well that we were dressed like babies if we were 
going to act like little ones. 
	Heidi had to drag us out of the wash room. She took us 
to the class for older kids but we were the oldest in the 
room. As soon as we walked in all the kids started laughing 
at us and Heidi told them we were being punished for acting 
like babies. 
	She explained that since she wanted everybody to get a 
good look at our diapers, it would be a good idea if they 
didn't use the desks but put chairs in a circle instead. 
This was done and Peter and I were the focus of attention 
for the rest of the morning. 
	I didn't understand the lesson and I didn't care. I 
just wanted to run and hide somewhere. Since I didn't speak 
German, I got off pretty easy, but Peter was made to stand 
and recite passages all the time. I knew Heidi was making 
him do it more than the others so he would have to show off 
his diapers more. 
	Unfortunately, being scared to death and humiliated 
didn't stop the passage of three glasses of juice through 
our bladders. I tried to let my pee out slowly, praying that 
my plastic panties would hold it all in. Poor Peter, having 
to stand so often, also showed himself as getting wetter. 
His plastic pants were almost totally dark by the time the 
class ended. 
	As the other kids left, Heidi told us to stay behind. 
She said she wouldn't be doing her duty if she returned us 
to Frau S. in such a condition and so she led us by the hand 
back to the changing room in the women's wash room. 
	As soon as we walked in we were noticed and a chatter 
of German made my face get hot with embarrassment. Heidi 
told Peter and me to get up on the counter to be changed. It 
was only the fear of Frau S. that gave me the strength. 
	Heidi took two Pampers from a cupboard and said she 
hoped these would fit. She changed Peter first, removing his 
plastic pants and the wet diapers which she put into a 
plastic bag for us to take home with us. Then she fanned out 
the Pampers and told Peter to lift his bum so she could fit 
it to him. It covered him pretty well but the tapes wouldn't 
meet the back of the diaper. Heidi solved this with a roll 
of wide packing tape. The she replaced Peter's plastic 
pants, handed him his shorts to put on and turned her 
attention to me. 
	The Pampers felt dry and comfortable but very strange. 
Heidi used a lot of tape to hold it onto me. Then I had to 
step into my damp plastic pants. I felt all the eyes in the 
room watching me and wondered if there could be anything 
worse than this. 
	When Peter and I were dressed again, Heidi took us 
upstairs to the coffee room to find Frau S.. She greeted us 
as toddlers and told the people to whom she was talking that 
Peter and I were in diapers for acting like babies. They 
looked down at us, smiled and continued talking. Peter and I 
were each carrying a plastic bag containing our wet diapers. 
It made it all that much easier to guess our condition. 
	On the way home, Frau S. said we would wear the Pampers 
until we needed changing. Once we were in the door we were 
told to take off everything but our diapers and stay that 
way for the afternoon. 
	Lunch was very quiet. Peter and I both liked the food 
but it wouldn't have mattered if we didn't. We had both 
learned a lot about not wasting food. I began to feel the 
need for a BM and that scared me. I was sure that my folks 
would be back before I really had to go. Peter was shifting 
about nervously too. He told me he was trying to hold it 
until the next morning when he wouldn't have to wear diapers 
anymore. 
	We played quietly all afternoon. I began to get nervous 
about my folks coming back. I wanted to get away from Frau 
S. but what if she told my mom that I had spent the weekend 
in diapers? 
	When Mom did come for me I was still dressed in just 
diapers and plastic pants. I heard her voice in the front 
hall and ran and hid behind a chair. I didn't want her to 
see me dressed like a baby. 
	Frau S. had taken care of everything. Mom came into the 
room, spotted where I was hiding and told me to present 
myself right away. With cheeks burning I did as I was told. 
	"I want you to thank Frau S. for her hospitality this 
weekend," she said. 
	It was the toughest thing I've ever done but I did 
manage to sputter out the words. Frau S. beamed. 
	"And now you must thank her for the diapers and plastic 
panties she's given me for you." 
	I looked up in shock. I couldn't believe what I was 
hearing. Mom's face was smiling but it was serious too. It 
was a nightmare come true. She held a bag in her hand. I 
could just see a whisp of plastic peeking out. 
	"But.." I stammered. 
	Mom's eyes burned into me. 
	"Thank you, Frau S., for the diapers," I said softly. 
	"She's done you a favor, Jamie. You needed some 
discipline. Diapers seem to help you behave. I suggest we 
put you into them every night, as soon as you get home from 
school, as a good introduction. Remember, if I get any 
trouble from you over this, you'll go to school in diapers. 
How would the track team like you then?" 
	I couldn't bear the thought of it. I started to cry. 
Mom reached into the bag and pulled out a pacifier and stuck 
it in my mouth. Then she took by the hand and led me home. I 
didn't even notice that I was outside in just diapers. 
	Back in my room she changed me into thicker, night 
diapers and showed me the stacks of diapers and plastic 
pants in my dresser.