Brad’s Back in Diapers
by
JJ

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

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Age: <8 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 >18
What diapers do you wear? Cloth Disposable Multiple Underpants I do not wear diapers
Are your diapers plain white? Always Usually Sometimes Rarely Never I do not wear diapers
Do you wear multiple diapers? Always Usually Sometimes Rarely Never I do not wear diapers
Are you pantsless at home while in diapers? Always Usually Sometimes Rarely Never I do not wear diapers
How do you use your diapers? Pee Poop
Who else in your family has read this story? Mother Father Older Brother Younger Brother Older Sister Younger Sister
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