Wearing Diapers To School

	Growing up as a diapered bedwetter there were many 
occasions when I experienced a sissy's shame. I was kept in 
diapers full time until shortly after my fifth birthday, 
when I finally gained control of daytime wetting, and I was 
in night diapers until my thirteenth birthday, by which 
point I had finally stopped wetting the bed at night. But 
there were many occasions up until my thirteenth birthday 
and even beyond when I experienced the humiliation of a 
sissy's shame: the feeling of self-consciousness that 
overcomes a bedwetter whenever he happens to be publicly 
exposed as a diaper-wearer.
	While I had largely gained daytime control over my 
wetting shortly after my fifth birthday and was no longer 
kept in daytime diapers as a matter of course, I still had 
plenty of daytime accidents up until I was nine or ten years 
old. Occasionally, of course, I even had the misfortune of 
having an accident at school, especially in Kindergarten, 
but also in the lower grades of primary school. I think I 
was in Fourth Grade the last time I had a daytime accident 
at school. It was always embarrassing to wet your pants at 
school, but in Kindergarten and First Grade it wasn't really 
all that bad. Lots of kids still have accidents in 
Kindergarten and First Grade, and the other kids are still 
little enough that they don't make a big deal out of it. But 
certainly by the Second Grade it began to be tremendously 
embarrassing to have a so-called "accident" at school.
	At least as early as Second Grade, boys are beginning 
to think of themselves as grown up, as little men. 
Encouraged by their fathers they strike out for greater 
independence. "Don't be a sissy. Don't be a crybaby. Act 
like a man." Already in Second Grade the other males in the 
class are beginning to draw distinctions on the basis of 
athletic ability, self-confidence, and independence. It goes 
without saying that by Second Grade the worst and most 
humiliating thing that could ever happen to a boy was to 
have an accident in public, to wet his pants at school. And 
for some reason, it was never one of the budding young 
jocks, already self-confident in his masculinity, who had an 
accident, but someone like me. In Second Grade I was neither 
very athletic nor very self-confident, and I
	was firmly tied to my mother's all-powerful apron 
strings. In short, I was what many of the other boys would 
have recognized as a sissy. In Second Grade I suddenly found 
myself in the situation of a sissy who wets his pants.
	And as if it wasn't bad enough to be humiliated and 
degraded in public, to be teased and humiliated on the 
playground for wetting my pants, I couldn't look to home for 
any comfort or support. My mother was not the least bit 
sympathetic to my plight, and she took a dim view of my 
daytime accidents. At first, when I had accidents in 
Kindergarten or even First Grade, my mother chalked it up to 
the fact that I was still such a little boy. She disapproved 
of my having accidents at school from the very beginning, of 
course, scolding me and telling me that I was getting too 
old to have accidents during the day, but she didn't really 
make a federal case out of it until I was in Second Grade. 
The summer before I started Second Grade, we moved to a 
different city, and I had managed to get through the entire 
summer without having a daytime accident. My parents were 
convinced that the days of my daytime wetting were behind 
me, and I started Second Grade at a new school with a clean 
slate. Then suddenly one day I had another accident at 
school, and my mother finally laid down the law. I was going 
to be punished for having accidents at school, and the 
punishment was going to fit the crime: literally fit the 
crime. I was going to be forced to wear diapers to school. 
My mother made it clear to me in no uncertain terms that if 
I was going to act like a baby I was going to be treated 
like a baby. If I was going to wet my pants at school, I was 
going to have to wear diapers to school. From that time on, 
the punishment for wetting my pants at school was wearing 
diapers to school for a full school day, so if I was sent 
home from school for having an accident, I was sent back to 
school wearing diapers, not only for the rest of the day, 
but for the following full day as well. And so it was that 
two or three times per school year up through the Fourth 
Grade, I experienced sissy shame for wetting my pants at 
school only to be further humiliated by being sent back to 
school wearing diapers and rubber pants.
	As for my father, it goes without saying that I was too 
embarrassed to tell him of my own free will when I had had 
an accident at school. I idealized my father, and I didn't 
want him to know that I had disgraced myself in public by 
wetting my pants. A boy's behavior affects the male parent 
differently from the way it affects the mother, and my 
performance as a boy reflected on my father's
	masculinity. It really upset my father to have a son 
who was a sissy bedwetter, and I didn't want him to know 
that I had disgraced myself in public by wetting my pants. 
But he always found out because my mother made me tell him. 
When my father got home from work, my mother would force me 
to tell him that I had wet my pants at school.
	As a bedwetter, I was usually diapered at bedtime, but 
on days when I had been sent to school in diapers as a 
punishment, my mother would strip me to my diapers and baby 
pants as soon as I got home from school. After I did my 
chores, she would make me go into the bathroom and sit on 
the toilet in my diapers and baby vinyls and think about 
where I was supposed to go to the bathroom until my father 
got home from work. And the whole time that I sat there on 
the punishment potty in my diapers and plastic panties, I 
knew that I was going to be punished by my father when he 
got home. When he finally did get home, I was forced to 
stand in front of my father stripped to my humiliating 
diapers and baby pants and confess that I had wet my pants 
at school. My mother had a real vindictive streak, and she 
always wanted my father to know "what your worthless son has 
done now." If my mother's goal was to embarrass us both, she 
certainly succeeded. When I stood in front of my father in 
diapers and rubber baby pants, my head hung in shame, and 
confessed my public disgrace, it embarrassed my father as 
much as it embarrassed me. I was disgraced in my father's 
eyes, while he was embarrassed by my sissy behavior. When my 
father marched me up to my room for the paddling he always 
gave me for wetting my pants at school, it made me feel that 
much worse knowing that I had publicly disgraced him. I felt 
as if I really deserved it when he bent me over his knee and 
pulled my diapers down in back, exposing my rear end for a 
good old fashioned bare-bottom whipping. As I lay there 
squirming on my father's lap waiting to have my bare bottom 
blistered, I knew it was my own fault. I knew how 
disappointed my father was in me when I wet my pants at 
school.
	When I had an accident at school, my teacher sent me to 
the principal's office, where the principal would call my 
mother to make certain that she was home before sending me 
home to be changed. Blushing with shame and embarrassment, I 
would overhear the principal telling my mother that I had 
had another accident, and then I would be sent home for my 
mother to change me. We lived less than two blocks from the 
primary school where my brother and I
	went to school, and I would walk home with a heavy step 
and an even heavier heart, dreading having to face my mother 
every step of the way. I knew that I could never expect any 
sympathy from her quarter, but only scorn and contempt. 
Obviously disgusted with my infantile behavior, my mother 
would scold and shame me. "Aren't you ever going to grow up? 
You're completely worthless. Do you want all of the other 
boys to know what a big sissy you are? You're a disgrace. 
You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I'm ashamed to call you 
my son." Already having suffered the humiliation of wetting 
myself in public, I couldn't expect any sympathy from my 
mother.
	Once I got home, my mother would lay me back on my bed 
on my rubber sheet, undress me, wash my crotch off with a 
wet wash cloth, and fetch a fresh cotton diaper from the 
pile of diapers neatly folded and stacked on top of my 
dresser. Then she would quickly and skillfully pin a thick 
layer of diapers on me. My mother would lift me up by the 
ankles with one hand while she slid the diapers under my 
bottom with the other. Then she would pull the folds of the 
soft cotton diapers up between my legs, up over my pee-pee, 
and pin the diapers tightly in place with a pair of safety 
pins. Then came the baby pants. I knew the drill and didn't 
have to be told what to do. I lifted my legs up to 
accommodate the plastic panties without having to be told. 
Around my mother I was already docile and compliant enough 
to begin with because she had long since made me that way. 
But--lying there about to be diapered as a punishment 
because I had been sent home from school for wetting my 
pants--I didn't want to irritate her in any way. As I 
submitted to a diapering, I lay there penitent, contrite, 
and obedient. As I hoisted my legs, she bunched up the baby 
pants and skillfully inserted my feet and ankles through the 
leg openings in the panties. She slid the bunched-up panties 
up as far as my knees, at which point I instinctively knew 
to lower my heels back down to the rubber sheet. Then she 
tugged my panties on up over my knees and pulled them up my 
thighs. Obediently and without having to be told, I lifted 
my bottom up so that my mother could slide the panties up 
the rest of the way. She pulled my plastic pants on up over 
my diapers, sealing me up inside the soft smooth baby vinyl, 
the panties spreading out evenly over my diapers. Last but 
not least, she would carefully and methodically check ail 
around the elastic waist band of my panties and all around 
the elastic leg bands, purposefully and methodically sliding 
her hands all the way around each
	opening, tucking the diapers in as she went, making 
absolutely certain that the diapers were tucked inside the 
vinyl.
	Finally it was time for me to put my pants back on, and 
time for the final humiliation. By Second Grade, boys hardly 
ever wear the kind of pants they wore as toddlers anymore: 
pants designed to accommodate diapers with an elastic waist 
band and no fly. But whenever I wore my diapers to school, 
that was e?

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Name:
Age:
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I am a/an:
Your diapers
If you are a boy or adult male, select all that apply: Cloth diapers Disposable diapers Multiple underpants
(6+ pairs)
I wear this diaper type:
I wear this diaper type in plain white:
how many of this diaper type I wear at a time:
Are you pantsless at home while in diapers? Always Usually Sometimes Rarely Never I do not wear diapers
I was often in diapers and pantsless as a boy (ages 12 and under)
How do you use your diapers? Pee Poop
How many older sisters do you have (boys only)? None One Two Three More than three
How many younger sisters do you have? (boys only) None One Two Three More than three
If you are a girl or adult female, indicate what your relationship is to the diaper boy who read this story:
Who else in your family has read this story? Mother Father Older Brother Younger Brother Older Sister Younger Sister
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