Karl's Story 

Chapter 1 - In the beginning.  
	 
	I can remember being interested in diapers even as a 
little boy. I wished I could wear diapers instead of being a 
big boy and I wanted to feel the thick bulk of a diaper 
around my butt. But of course I had no chance to actually 
wear diapers as that point. As I grew somewhat older, I 
decided that if I couldn't wear diapers, then at least I 
could occasionally wet my pants or mess my pants when no one 
was around to catch me. I did this on many occasions and 
never got caught. 
	But when I got to be 12 years old my desire to wet and 
mess and wear diapers become more and more intense. Both of 
my parents worked, so I always came home from school to an 
empty house. We lived in the country, and I had to walk 
about a half mile from the point where the school bus left 
me off. This was actually great. As I walked home I would 
often either wet or mess my pants. I loved to look at myself 
in wet pants, and I loved the feel of a big, warm load 
pushing up against my bottom. After I got home I would walk 
around for a while in my wet or messy pants and then 
eventually pull my pants down and masturbate. 
	After I'd cum then I would suddenly feel ashamed of 
what I had done and I'd clean myself up and promise not to 
do it again. But the next day the same thing would happen. 
By the end of the school year I was wetting and/or messing 
my pants two to three times a week. I suppose the only 
reason I was able to get away with it, is that I was 
actually a very responsible boy. Since my mother worked, it 
had been decided that I was old enough to do my own laundry. 
So I was able to wash my soiled clothing as often as I 
needed to without my mother ever knowing what had happened. 
	The year I was 13, we moved to Maryland for a year and 
lived in a town between Washington and Baltimore. My mother 
didn't work that year, so my wetting and messing went into a 
steep decline. Still, there were occasions, and one of them 
remains one of the most exciting moments of my life. One 
Saturday during that spring my parents had gone somewhere, 
and I was left home alone. I went into the garage to tinker 
with my bicycle, and while I was working on it I felt a 
great need to take a crap. Of course, since I was alone, I 
had no hesitation about doing it in my pants. It felt so 
good. It was a really big load and it was soft and warm 
against my ass. As I worked on my bike I enjoyed the feel of 
the mess being pushed about on my bottom. Suddenly, the 
three boys who lived two houses down the street appeared. 
Steve was a year older than me, Bill was a year younger and 
Bobby was their little 8 year old brother. They walked over 
to see what I was doing, and as they came closer I wondered 
what was going to happen. "Maybe," I thought, "no one will 
notice anything. There isn't really anything to see and the 
garage is kind of dark." 
	"Hi Karl. Whatcha doin?" asked Steve. 
	"Oh, just adjusting the breaks on my bike." 
	"Can I help?" asked Bobby. All three came closer to see 
what I was doing. 
	As he got up to me, Bill wrinkled up his nose and said, 
"boy it smells icky here." 
	"Bobby," said Steve, "did you mess your pants again?" 
	That was a surprise to me. Apparently little Bobby 
occasionally had "accidents" and his brother knew it. 
	"If you have," Steve continued, "I'm going to pull your 
pants down right here and let everyone see what a little 
baby you are." 
	"I didn't!" Bobby shouted. "I bet Bill did it." 
	That made Bill mad and he grabbed Bobby by the arm and 
felt the seat of his pants. He looked surprised to find that 
Bobby's pants were fine. When he let go of Bobby's arm, 
Bobby rushed to feel the seat of Bill's pants. That, of 
course, also turned up no evidence of anything. Before I 
could do anything or say anything Bobby had run around 
behind me and was feeling the seat of my pants. 
	"Karl did. Karl messed his pants, Karl messed his 
pants, Karl messed his pants," Bobby chanted. 
	Steve looked stunned and then came over to me and felt 
the seat of my pants himself. Bill decided he had to check 
me out too and did the same. There was a moment of silence 
(it seemed like an hour to me at the time) and then Bobby 
spoke again. 
	"Well, Steve, are you going to pull Karl's pants down 
like you were going to do to me?" 
	"Yeah," replied Steve, "I think I will." Steve was 
quite a bit bigger and stronger than me and although I tried 
to resist I didn't have much chance. Before I knew it, I had 
been dragged out of the garage into the bright sun and my 
pants had been pulled down. Then each boy pulled the elastic 
of my shorts back and looked into them. They all laughed and 
teased me about the big mess in my shorts. Then they pulled 
my shorts down and made me bend over so they could get a 
really good look at my messy bottom. 
I was so humiliated that I started to cry but that just made 
the boys taunt me even more. There I was, 13 years old, 
messy pants down around my ankles and an 8 year old boy 
calling me a big baby who should be put in diapers. 
Eventually I was allowed to go into the house and clean 
myself up. I begged them not to tell anyone else, and 
eventually they agreed. But they made one proviso - any time 
we were alone, they had the right to check out my pants to 
see if I was being a good boy or a naughty baby. 
	For the rest of that summer I would periodically have 
to pull my pants down so that those boys could check to make 
sure I was keeping my underwear clean. At the end of the 
summer my family was ready to end its year in Maryland and 
move back to California. On that last week end, I spent one 
more time alone with my three friends. I couldn't make up my 
mind what I wanted to do. One part of me said I should be 
good and not give the boys another chance to humiliate me. 
Another part of me realized what a kinky thrill I'd gotten 
from the first episode and wanted a repeat. 
	I vacillated in my decision and as the hours passed my 
bowels and bladder both grew more urgent in their needs. But 
if I went inside and used the bathroom, I'd have no chance 
to do something "naughty." 
	Still I couldn't make up my mind. Eventually, just as I 
was about to excuse my self and go inside, Bill cracked a 
very funny joke (at least I thought it was at the time). As 
I laughed I felt the pee start to flow and I knew that the 
decision had been made. The boys might as well see the big 
baby do everything. As my bladder released a stream of pee 
into my pants I pushed with my bowels and once again filled 
the seat of my pants with a big, warm load. 
	All three boys looked at me with amazement. They had 
decided that nothing like this was going to happen and were 
now caught by surprise. I stood there with wet and messy 
pants and looked at them with anguish. What would they do 
now? 
	It took them a little while to decide what they were 
going to do. Eventually they decided that just pulling my 
pants down wasn't humiliation and punishment enough. Karl 
obviously needed a good spanking. They took my belt off my 
pants and then let the youngest boy, Bobby wield the belt to 
give me a good hard spanking on my bare and messy bottom. I 
cried again with pain and embarrassment. When it was all 
over, I was once again allowed to go into the house to clean 
myself up, but when I had I was  forced to once again pull 
my clean clothes down and offer myself up for a close 
inspection to see if I had cleaned myself up properly. 
	The next day my family packed up the car and we started 
the long drive back to California. I never met Steve or Bill 
again, but years later I ran into Bobby while on a vacation 
in Florida. By that time he was in college and I was in grad 
school. At first I didn't recognize him, but he remembered 
me all too well. He reminded me about who he was and then 
asked me if I still had trouble keeping my pants clean and 
dry. I paused for a moment and then told him "yes, but I 
found the proper solution for me." Then I unbuttoned my 
pants to give him a peak at the plastic pants and diapers I 
was wearing underneath. He looked, gave me a strange smile 
and walked away. 

Karl the Diaper Boy