Johnny's Treatment

					Part One


	"Darn it, this is the last time." My mom pulled 
the wet blankets and sheets off my bed and threw them 
on the floor. My pajamas and even my pillow were 
soaking wet, as they had been every morning so far this 
week.
	"He stinks, and he makes the whole room stink," 
Rob complained. At fourteen, my brother was one year 
older than me, and had never seemed to have any sort of 
problems in his life, let alone with bedwetting. I 
hated sharing a room with him, and he apparently didn't 
like it any better.
	"It's horrible and disgusting," said my mom, "and 
I'm just not putting up with it any longer. That's it. 
Now get up and get in the shower." As I got up, she 
ripped the bottom sheet off my bed and tossed it toward 
the other wet bedclothes, leaving my shameful plastic 
sheet exposed for my brother to sneer over.
	"Are you finally going to put him in diapers, mom? 
Oh, please? Is little baby Johnny going back in 
diapers? I sure hope so! At least it would kill some of 
the smell."
	"Well he just might find a little surprise waiting 
for him tonight."
	During my shower and later while getting dressed, 
I tried not to think of what she might have in mind. To 
me it was unthinkable that my mom would actually put 
her thirteen year old son back in diapers. With my 
brother's encouragement she had threatened to on a few 
occasions, but I thought she was just understandably 
exasperated and annoyed by my chronic wetting, and that 
the idea would pass as her mood improved. So far it 
had, but this time I wasn't so certain. But surely she 
wouldn't resort to that? Since becoming enuretic at age 
eleven (around the time my parents got divorced), I had 
progressed from a very occasionally wet bed to perhaps 
once every two weeks, then once a week, then twice, and 
finally to almost every single night, and often more 
than once a night, I suspected, given the sheer volume 
of smelly urine that I usually woke up to. I had been 
examined by my family doctor, then by a urologist 
(neither could find anything wrong, unfortunately, 
adding to my mother's conviction that I must be lazy, 
or was doing it on purpose, or was bad, or all three); 
I had tried a pad and alarm system (my brother loved 
that!), exercises, Impramamine, and nasal spray, none 
of which had much effect, and the spray badly affected 
my mood. Most recently I was sent to a behavioral 
psychologist who did nothing at all to help, and 
finally in frustration suggested to my mom that she use 
diapers on me both for practical reasons and for the 
`negative reinforcement' they might provide regarding 
my wetting. Might! So was this it?
	At breakfast Rob would not stop teasing, and mom 
didn't intervene.
	"Let's see, should we get him Huggies, or Pampers, 
or Attends? Maybe Johnny should have ecologically 
friendly cloth diapers? In that case should we get him 
plastic pants or rubber pants? Decisions, decisions! 
Mom, if you decide to put him in cloth diapers, be sure 
to get him blue diaper pins okay, `cause he's a big 
baby boy, after all."
	In class all that day I could not concentrate on 
schoolwork as my thoughts shifted back and forth 
between the certainty that such an awful thing could 
never happen to me, and the equal conviction that it 
could and soon would. I contemplated running away from 
home, but thought that even if I succeeded, I might not 
be better off as a bedwetter in a foster home or group 
home where I'd likely end up, only to face a bunch of 
kids at least as nasty as my brother. The thought of an 
ever-changing group of peers teasing about my 
bedwetting (and who's to say that bedwetters `in care' 
aren't made to wear diapers anyway) was too much to 
contemplate.
	I looked around the classroom at each of my fellow 
male students and tried to imagine any of them as a 
bedwetter. It didn't work. Rick Simon? Never in a 
million years. Stuart Richardson? Impossible. Russ 
Murphy? Give me a break. Conversely, I imagined each 
one of them in turn being aware that I was a bedwetter 
and was being made to wear diapers to bed. Pushing the 
envelope, I perversely daydreamed a sleepover during 
which four or five of my coolest classmates discovered 
me in all my diapered shame. I could hear their 
laughter and derisive taunts. A waking nightmare. 
Couldn't happen.
	I took my time getting home from school, anxious 
as I was of what might be waiting for me there. I 
arrived around five o'clock, and was relieved to see 
that on the surface, everything looked `normal'; that 
is, there was no obvious `baby' stuff around, no bags 
or packages. My mother and brother were home, but I 
gave them a wide berth as I discreetly checked in my 
bedroom- nothing on the dresser, nothing out of place 
in my drawers, nothing unusual in the closet. 
(Nevertheless, I was embarrassed that my bed was still 
unmade, my plastic sheet still exposed for anyone to 
see.) I peeked into my mother's room- apparently 
nothing. I was beginning to feel less anxious, and 
watched TV until suppertime.
	I cautiously allowed my sense of relief to grow 
during our spaghetti meal, as the conversation centered 
on trivial events of the day and no mention was made 
about any `solution' to my `problem'. In retrospect I 
had to admit that Rob might have exuded more than his 
usual smugness, but at the time I had no way of knowing 
that he knew something I didn't.
	I was in the living room playing on the computer 
around 7 o'clock when the doorbell rang.
	"They're here," Rob said, and went to open the 
door. A moment later he ushered our guests into the 
living room as my mom joined them from the kitchen. I 
looked around from the computer, startled to see Mrs. 
Murphy with her son Russ from my class. He was carrying 
a large box, and kept his eyes downcast. Mrs. Murphy 
carried something also.
	"Hello Margaret, hello Russell," my mom said. 
"Thanks for coming, and for bringing Russell's old 
stuff."
	I couldn't quite see inside the cardboard box, but 
Mrs. Murphy was carrying a large diaper pail. She put 
it down. I froze. Russ wouldn't look at me, but Rob was 
taking it all in with a peculiar smile on his face. So 
this was it! The worst was coming true!
	"Well, sometimes I thought the day would never 
come," said Mrs. Murphy, "but believe it or not, 
Russell's now been completely dry for just over three 
months, and the deal was that he could get rid of his 
diapers when he'd been dry that long. It just seemed a 
pity to throw them away- some are almost brand new and 
they are quite expensive- so when you mentioned that 
you decided on diapers for Johnny, here, well it seemed 
the right thing to do. I'm happy to be able to help." 
Oh, no! `Diapers for Johnny'!
	Russ hadn't budged; he still held the box in his 
arms. I could hardly breathe, and I would gladly have 
sunk into the floor and disappeared forever. Diapers 
for Johnny!
	"Let's show them what we've brought for Johnny, 
Russell," said Mrs. Murphy. "I'm sure there's 
everything he'll need, and fortunately the boys are the 
same size..." Russ finally put the box down. Now I 
could see that it contained many neatly folded white 
diapers, and pairs of waterproof pants. This couldn't 
be happening!
	Mrs. Murphy is one of those people who likes to 
wring the most from a favor, and now as I sat semi-
paralyzed in shock she systematically reached into the 
box and displayed various items from my new wardrobe. 
"There are over a dozen of these prefolds. They're 
wonderful. They're made for older kids by `Babykins', 
and are six layers thick in the middle and very 
absorbent. I'd put Russell in a Babykins with two of 
these prefold Gerber baby diapers inside, plus a couple 
of flanelette baby diapers folded inside those. The 
result was rather bulky, but after all it was only for 
bed, and he was a heavy wetter." I imagined what 
Russell must've looked like, what I would look like.
	"So's Johnny," my mom said. No secrets here. I had 
to peek at Russ. He looked miserable, almost on the 
verge of tears, and I wondered who felt worse. After 
all, we were looking at his ex-diapers. They were my 
new ones.
	"So I'd suggest you do it that way too," said Mrs. 
Murphy. "Oh, and here's a bag of pins. They're just 
regular baby diaper pins, but they work fine and you 
might as well have them."
	"Let's hope they're blue," declared my humorous 
brother.
	She ignored him.
	"And here are some of the pants. There are plastic 
ones, rubber ones, and also vinyl ones that snap-on, 
handy if you're going to do the diapering. They're also 
Babykins products that I used to buy at a medical 
supply store called `All Care' on Victoria Drive. 
They're in the book. And here's a bag of various creams 
for diaper rash, which seems unavoidable from time to 
time. Best to keep right on top of it, or it can become 
a real problem. Russell once actually missed school 
because of it. There's powder too.
	"So baby will smell nice," Rob said.
	I could not take it all in. I was totally 
humiliated. Not only had I suddenly acquired a large 
collection of diapers and waterproof pants (some of 
which I would be wearing that very night, I grimly 
reminded myself), but here I was having my secret 
openly discussed in front of relative strangers. I had 
always liked Russ, but we were not close friends, and I 
had only met his mom a few times when she came to our 
house to play bridge with my mom and others. That Russ 
now knew I wet the bed was not helped by the fact that 
now I knew that he didn't anymore. I was very ashamed, 
and my shame was about to get worse.
	"Also, somewhere in the bottom of the box is the 
wooden paddle I used on Russ' behind to encourage him 
to stop wetting . I really believe it worked, and I 
strongly recommend that you adopt my method," said Mrs, 
Murphy. Method? Who was this horrible old bag telling 
my mother I should be spanked like a naughty little 
child?
	"Would you use it on him every time he wet?" asked 
my mom. Oh no, she was going to actually consider it. 
Or was she just being polite?
	"For every wetting, but not every night," Mrs. 
Murphy replied. "But that's how I started. Before being 
diapered in the evening, Russell would get a spanking 
if he had wet the night before. But it was particularly 
hard on him when he had diaper rash, and I thought of a 
better way. I hung a calendar on his wall, and marked a 
large `W' for every morning he was wet. Then, on Friday 
evenings before being put in his diapers, Russell would 
be made to lean over his bed to receive three strokes 
for each wet night the previous week. There were no 
exceptions, even when it caused him considerable 
embarrassment." She did not say what these occasions 
were, but I could imagine. Visitors, for example. They 
would surely know of his punishment.
	"Russell, do you think the spankings helped?" my 
mother asked. She seemed definitely interested. Russ' 
face was crimson, and he had tears in his eyes. He 
looked like he didn't know what to say.
	"Um, I don't know, I guess so..."
	"Ok, Johnny, take your new things upstairs and 
we'll sort them out later," said my mom. "Thanks again, 
Margaret."
	"Oh, don't mention it. Give him a hand, Russell," 
said Mrs. Murphy.
	My knees were like jelly as I picked up the 
surprisingly heavy box of diapers. On top was a pair of 
snap-on vinyl or rubber pants. They looked so 
incredibly babyish! I wanted to hide everything. At the 
same time I felt like I might faint. Right beside the 
infantile pants was a zip-lock bag containing diaper 
pins. There were blue ones and white ones. I could not 
believe that soon some of them would be pinning some of 
these very diapers on me, and that Russ knew it, and my 
brother knew it. He grabbed the diaper pail and we 
started toward the stairs.
	"Johnny, if you don't mind. I'd like the box back, 
please," said Mrs. Murphy. She explained to my mom that 
they'd be moving at the end of the month and she was 
trying to collect as many boxes as she could.
	"Where do you want this?" Russ asked, indicating 
the diaper pail. I mumbled to put it anywhere. I put 
the box down beside my bed. I didn't know where to put 
everything, as my dresser was full, and the top was 
full of clutter. So I began gingerly stacking the stuff 
on my bed, and Russ began to help. Just touching the 
diapers felt weird, and my hands were shaky. And to 
think that those plastic pants were not for some baby, 
they were for me! And imagine that just a little 
earlier in the day I was concerned that someone might 
see my plastic sheet! Now a classmate was helping me 
place my diapers, my plastic and rubber pants, my 
diaper pins, powder and diaper rash cream right on top 
of it, and now I could not help being aware that it 
smelled a little of urine. I vaguely hoped Russ 
wouldn't notice, as if it mattered now! He reached into 
the box to retrieve the last item- the paddle. It was 
brown, about 18 inches long, and about 7 or 8 inches 
wide, and had a handle with a loop of shoelace 
attached. The plastic sheet rustled a little as Russ 
put the paddle down. I couldn't believe it was actually 
designed to administer spankings to someone like me. I 
felt like crying.
	"In case you were wondering, it hurts," he said. 
"But the embarrassment is worse."
	"I had no idea you...had a problem," I stammered.
	"I knew about you `cause your mom talked to mine," 
he said. "Man I sure hated wearing those diapers. Sorry 
you got stuck with them, Johnny. It sure wasn't my 
idea."
	"You won't tell anyone, will you?"
	"No I won't," he said.
	"But I might." It was Rob. "I think I'm going to 
tell everyone what nice thick diapers you have, what 
great plastic pants, oh and such cute diaper pins, too! 
Not to mention the fact that your little butt will be 
regularly paddled!"
	After Russ and Mrs. Murphy left, my mom sent Rob 
and me to the basement to get a metal trolley that had 
been down there for ages. I don't know what its 
original use was, but it had three shelves which I was 
instructed to fill with my `baby' stuff. This meant I 
would never be able to have friends over again, because 
the loaded trolley was right out in the open, up 
against my bedroom wall. The top two levels now held 
diapers; below that were my waterproof pants, and on 
the bottom was powder, cream, and pins. The paddle now 
hung menacingly from a nail in the wall, a grim 
reminder each time I glanced at it of the likelihood of 
humiliating spankings to come. Also on the wall was a 
calendar on which my brother had playfully added large 
`W's for `Wet' in magic marker for weeks in advance. 
When I complained, my mom said we'd just circle each 
`W' as necessary. I was embarrassed that my exact 
wetting history would be in plain view for anyone to 
see.
	As I made my bed, I began to dread what I knew was 
about to come. Some of the shock of the evening had 
worn off, and I was left with a feeling of dry-mouthed 
horror at the knowledge that in a short while I would 
be put in diapers for the first time since I was a 
baby. I didn't know if I'd be able to stand it, but 
could see no way to avoid what I now had no doubt was 
inevitable.
	As I finished making my bed, my mom came into the 
room. Rob followed. She looked at the diaper trolley 
and pronounced herself satisfied with it. Then she 
removed one of the large Babykins diapers and spread it 
open on the bed. It was flannelette, two layers thick 
overall, with a much thicker middle panel. I could have 
died right then.
	"Now we can do this the easy way," she said, "or 
we can do it the hard way," as she looked suggestively 
toward the paddle. "But either way you're going to be 
wearing diapers tonight and from now on. You can get 
undressed now. You can keep your t-shirt on, but 
everything else comes off, please."
	"Why does he have to be here?"
	"I want Rob to see how I do it in case he has to 
diaper you if I happen to not be available."
	"Oh, man!" I said. This was getting worse and 
worse. Rob produced a false look of humility. "Glad to 
be of service."
	I slowly began to undress as I felt my face become 
redder and redder. I hated to be seen naked by anyone, 
with no exceptions. I watched shakily as my mom placed 
two baby diaper prefolds along the center panel of the 
Babykins, then folded three flannelette diapers in 
three lengthwise and placed them on top of the 
prefolds. Then she folded the sides of the Babykins 
toward the center. It was really happening. My shameful 
diapers were ready. But I decided I wasn't.
	"Now lie down on top of your diapers, please," she 
said, "so I can pin them on." I didn't move. Any 
reference to the diapers or plastic pants being mine 
made my stomach flutter. Now here I was, totally 
embarrassed with only socks and a T-shirt on, and for 
some reason I turned defiant. I don't know why- I 
wasn't trying to be bad or anything, I just couldn't 
let myself completely give in so easily; maybe I still 
had a bit of pride.
	"Are you going to lie down on top of your 
diapers?"
	"No! You can't make me!"
	I felt myself being wrestled on to my bed. My 
mother is strong- especially when she's angry- and with 
my brother's help I was no match. Now I was lying on 
the diapers on my stomach. I thought she was going to 
diaper me that way, but then I heard her call for the 
paddle, and a moment later I felt its first biting 
sting. The spanking went on for a long time, and was 
very painful. As I cried, I was told over and over that 
this was what I could expect every time I showed the 
slightest resistance to being put in diapers, whether 
it was my mother, brother, or anyone else doing the 
diapering. When she finished, she sprinkled a strongly 
scented baby powder on my aching rear. Then she rolled 
me over, told me to lift up, adjusted the diapers under 
me, then sprinkled powder on my front, and pulled the 
diapers up between my legs and pinned them on with a 
single blue pin on either side, with the back of the 
diapers overlapping the front.
	She told my brother to get the snap-on pants. Then 
I had to lift up again as she slid them underneath me, 
brought up the front between my legs, then began to do 
up the five snaps on either side. My butt was very 
sore, and the diapers felt incredibly bulky around my 
body, especially between my legs. When my mom was done, 
she told me to stand up. I did as I was told, and they 
both stood staring at me in my new ridiculous baby 
clothing. I felt totally defeated, completely reduced 
in status, and stared at the floor and cried.
	"And by the way," my mother said "if you ever even 
think of taking your diapers off without permission, 
that spanking you just got will seem like a tickle 
compared to what you'll get. Do you understand?"
	"Yes. Can I wear pyjamas?"
	"Maybe tomorrow. For now I want you to think about 
what you're wearing and why. Now you can watch TV or do 
whatever until bedtime." As my mom left the room, my 
brother lightly spanked me on the back of my vinyl 
pants. "Does poor baby have a sore bottom?"
	It was such an odd, complicated sensation! I felt 
so bulky, so vulnerable, so ridiculous, so ashamed! And 
when I moved, the vinyl pants, my vinyl pants- crinkled 
loudly as if to bring added attention to the farcical 
infant I had so suddenly become.
	I went downstairs, mostly to get away from Rob, 
who had some homework to do in our room. I could hear 
my mom putting supper things in the dishwasher in the 
kitchen. I switched the TV on. There happened to be a 
Pampers commercial running, and I quickly changed the 
channel. I stood watching something about racing boats 
on TLC (my butt was stinging such that I didn't want to 
risk sitting down) but all I could think about was how 
I could survive wearing diapers and being spanked like 
a little kid. Right now I couldn't see a way.
	I may have stood there about fifteen minutes, 
oblivious to everything except my shame and self-pity, 
when the front door opened and in walked Brad, my 
brother's best friend. "Knock, knock, only me," he 
said. He was carrying schoolwork, and was obviously 
here to study with Rob. He spent a lot of time at our 
house, and was considered almost a member of the 
family, so it was not uncommon for him to more or less 
barge in. But now I was trapped. There was no place to 
hide, and no time to try anyway. I was aware of the 
last few moments passing as if in slow motion before 
Brad discovered that I was in diapers. I saw the look 
of amazement come over his face.
	"Oh man! I can't believe it! Diapers?", he finally 
said. "You're actually wearing diapers? Johnny's in 
diapers now?" This he asked of my mom, who on hearing 
the commotion had come out of the kitchen. I was rooted 
to the spot, paralyzed.
	"Yes, Brad. From now on, `til he stops wetting his 
bed. Enough's enough." Brad approached. He gently 
lifted my T-shirt and examined my vinyl pants and took 
in the obvious bulk beneath them. He actually touched 
the vinyl between two of the snaps on one side, as if 
he couldn't believe his eyes.
	"Man, oh man, that's amazing! Well, you did warn 
him, but I never thought it would actually happen..."
	"Well, it's happened, all right, as you can see."
	But something else had happened, which nobody 
could see. Brad is just a year older than me, and he's 
someone I always looked up to as a sort of model. I 
thought he was just the coolest person. Now, in the raw 
panic of knowing he was about to see me in such 
embarrassing, debasing circumstances, I must have wet 
my diapers. Incredible! I wasn't aware of it happening, 
but now I knew I was wet down there, and quickly 
decided to say nothing. Brad, muttering and shaking his 
head, went up to work with Rob.
	It only took my mom about half an hour to realize 
that something was amiss. I was still watching TV 
standing up when she came up from the laundry room.
	"What's that smell?" She seemed genuinely puzzled.
	"I don't smell anything..." I think something 
shaky in my voice gave me away. Mothers can always 
tell. She stared at my diaper area.
	"You didn't! Come here!" She pulled on the 
waistband of my pants and took a whiff. She smacked me 
on the butt a few times. It made a loud noise. "You 
dirty thing!"
	I tried to explain that I didn't do it on purpose, 
that it was my extreme dread of Brad finding out about 
my diapers that had caused it to happen, a sort of 
involuntary panic thing, but she was furious and 
wouldn't listen.
	"Well you can just stay like that until tomorrow," 
she said. "No, wait, on second thought, go and tell 
your brother to make up a set of diapers like he saw me 
do."
	"But mom, Brad's with him. I can't tell him in 
front of Brad. It's too embarrassing."
	"Listen, as long as you're wearing diapers, I 
figure you're entitled to about as much privacy as a 
little baby, which is exactly what you'll get. Now go 
and do as I said, then wait for me upstairs."
	My vinyl pants rustled loudly going up the stairs, 
and actually alerted Rob and Brad when I entered the 
room. They both looked around. "Rob, mom told me to 
tell you..."
	"Speak up. Don't mumble." To Brad he added, 
"Baby's just learning to talk."
	"She told me to tell you to make up a set of, um, 
of diapers the way she showed you, and she'll be up in 
a minute." I stared at the floor. Having to say the 
word `diapers' out loud made me quite dizzy.
	"Why?"
	"Um, I'm wet. It was an accident."
	"Geez!"
	"Do you want me to leave?" Brad asked. He was 
looking at me, but he asked Rob.
	"Nope. You better watch, in case you have to do it 
sometime."
	Grumbling the whole time, Rob laid out a Babykins 
on my bed and began adding baby diapers the way mom 
had. Then she came into the room with a wet facecloth. 
She took the top off the diaper pail. Then she slowly 
unsnapped my pants, putting them on my bed beside the 
new diapers, unpinned my wet diapers and threw them 
into the pail while throwing the pins on to the bed. 
Then she roughly cleaned me with the facecloth. By now 
my fresh diapers were ready.
	"That's fine," she said.
	"Well it's not exactly rocket science," Rob 
replied.
	"Now lean over your bed, please, hands on the 
mattress," mom instructed me. The hidden plastic sheet 
crinkled again. Who cared? She asked Rob for the 
paddle, and I got six more hard smacks.
	"Ow,ow, ow, man, that's got to hurt!" said Brad. 
It did. But as Russ said, the embarrassment was worse. 
Here I was getting my bare, already reddened ass 
spanked in front of a guy I really admired. And my 
stupid brother.
	"He wets during the day too now?" asked Brad.
	"This is the first time. He said it's your fault. 
You made him do it." I was doing my best to sink into 
the floor.
	"Gosh, I wonder how I did that?" said Brad. There 
was a bit of derision in his voice.
	"Now Rob, I want you to diaper him, so I'll know 
you know how in case you're needed. Johnny, lie down on 
your diapers, please."
	"No, wait," Rob said. "Brad, hand me the baby 
powder." He sprinkled some on the diapers where my bum 
would be, then lay me down and sprinkled my front, then 
pulled the diapers between my legs and fastened them 
tightly with the pins my mom handed him. He was more 
careful with the pins than he would sometimes be in the 
future. Then I had to lift up as he slid the same vinyl 
pants under me, pulled up the front, and snapped them 
on securely over my diapers. Now Brad had seen me get 
spanked and diapered! I could never live this down in a 
million years.
	"Voila," Rob said, "one freshly diapered baby."
	"You did very well," said my mom.
	"You'll make an excellent daddy some day," said 
Brad.
	I felt I had lost every shred of dignity. I got 
off the bed and waddled downstairs to continue watching 
TV in an upright position. About half an hour later, 
finished studying, Brad came downstairs and prepared to 
head for home. He looked at me for a moment and said 
"Well so long, Johnny. Hey man, try really hard to stay 
dry and avoid those painful spankings!" He laughed. It 
was not the last time that someone would feel free to 
take a condescending attitude toward me because of my 
problem.
	Later, in bed, I worried that the news would get 
out, would spread all over the neighborhood, to school, 
even. Could I trust my brother and Brad not to say 
anything? I didn't think so. There had always been 
vague, fairly easily deniable rumors about my 
bedwetting, but this diaper thing was a lot more 
serious. Even if they didn't say anything (I wasn't 
worried about Russ), my brother had friends over often, 
and there was my `baby' stuff right out in the open. 
Heck, there was `baby' me, more or less right out in 
the open. Even in PJ's it would be obvious to anyone 
who saw me that I was wearing thick diapers and noisy 
waterproof pants. And there was my mom, who seemed not 
to care who knew. And the new weekly spanking, which 
anyone in the house would likely be aware of.
	It felt very odd being in bed in diapers. It was 
as if the diapers represented an admission of failure 
and helplessness at the most basic level. I felt a deep 
sense of shame and humiliation, and was reminded of it 
every time I moved and my pants made noise or I felt 
the bulk of the diapers between my legs. At one point I 
was finally thinking about something else when my hand 
came to rest on the cool vinyl, and I was startled and 
horrified all over again. My butt still hurt from the 
double spanking, and I felt miserable, mortified, and 
babyish. I fell asleep, and when I woke in the morning 
I was wet, but my bed was not. Later I would be made to 
circle the appropriate `W' on the calendar, a reminder 
that whatever might happen the rest of the week to make 
it worse, I would be getting a spanking on Friday 
evening. It was Saturday, so I had a whole week during 
which to dread it. And in fact I never did receive 
fewer than eighteen smacks of the paddle.

				Johnny's Treatment

					Part Two

	As I had feared but expected, word about my 
nightly diapered status slowly got out. At first I 
denied everything, but over time the list of 
`eyewitnesses' grew so large and the `evidence' became 
so overwhelming that any further denials were 
pointless. While my brother's friend Brad might not 
have made a crusade of it, I know for certain that he 
did talk to several kids about my wetting and the fact 
that I was put in diapers every night, and they surely 
told others and so on. The old snowball effect. My 
brother didn't exactly hide my `secret' either- he 
openly discussed my `big baby' treatment with anyone 
who asked, and never left out the fact that I was 
regularly spanked for it; but then he couldn't have 
hidden the truth even if he wanted to, what with my 
infantile clothing and associated items in plain view 
in my room for his friends and anyone else to see. And 
of course his buddies soon all seemed to know exactly 
what the circled `W's represented on my `calendar of 
disgrace', and they appeared gleefully interested in 
the paddle hanging ominously under it. (`Hey Johnny- I 
see you peed your diapers again last night? Come here 
and bend over, young man...') Furthermore, my mom 
diapered me around 7 p.m. each evening regardless of 
who might be in the house. Or even in my room.
	Naturally I complained about this, but she would 
simply reply "Well in this house, if you behave like a 
baby, you get treated like a baby, and I don't care who 
knows about it," or words to that effect. Not very 
original. She considered my shame a positive thing, an 
incentive for me to stop wetting. So the more the 
better. And of course as Friday evenings approached, my 
apprehension mounted as I anticipated not only a 
painful and demeaning spanking, but also the fact that 
quite often friends of my brother (or sometimes of my 
mother) would not only be acutely aware of my 
punishment blow by blow, but then would most likely see 
me shamefaced in my diapers, sometimes in tears, soon 
after. I was allowed pajamas now, but there was simply 
no disguising the bulk of my diapers or the rustling of 
my plastic or rubber pants. And I had to get used to 
people talking over me as if I really were a baby, as 
if I couldn't understand. "Is he made to launder and 
fold his own diapers? I hope so! I would certainly not 
do it for him." This was a busybody friend of my mom's. 
She kept staring at the front of my protruding pajamas, 
the old cow.
	"Yes, Gloria. And either he does it promptly and 
properly or he knows I will hire a diaper service for 
him. I actually made him call one to confirm that they 
do provide diapers for older kids such as himself who 
are incontinent or bedwetters, so he knows I mean 
business. Johnny, what was the name of that diaper 
service again?"
	"Natural Diapers Unlimited," I mumbled in a shaky 
voice. The lady there had asked how old I was, and told 
me that indeed they do provide Babykins `youth' diapers 
and inserts. No problem. Plastic or rubber pants also. 
Would my mother or caregiver like to speak to her now? 
No thank you.
 	"That's it. `Unlimited' is right! Actually Rob 
keeps after me to do just that because he doesn't like 
his clothes done in the same washer that's used for 
Johnny's urine-soaked diapers. He's afraid his things 
will smell."
	Soon at the mall, at school, and on the street my 
reputation was such that I was having to endure such 
taunts as `Diaperboy', `Piss-head', and the like. I 
especially hated to be teased by kids younger than me, 
and it happened often. "Hey Johnnybaby, it's getting 
late, you better toddle on home and ask your mommy to 
diaper you!" Stupid stuff, but it always bothered me. 
Sometimes I didn't even know the kids doing the 
teasing, and I never knew when or where I might 
encounter such mean comments. For instance, at 
McDonald's I ran into some kids I barely knew in a 
booth beside mine. I was just trying to eat an order of 
fries in peace, when one of them said: "Hey look guys, 
it's Johnny the toxic tot! John-boy, did you `dampen' 
your diapers again last night?" No, as a matter of fact 
I soaked them. And I just decided on take-out fries 
after all.
	Once in my desk at school I found a couple of 
diaper pins along with a crude drawing of me in crayon-
yellow diapers, and a pacifier on another occasion. 
Some time after that on the blackboard I noticed 
someone had written `Why can't Johnny read?' But the 
word `read' was dramatically crossed out and the words 
`stay dry' added. The teacher didn't notice, and the 
question remained there all afternoon. In my class I 
had become a pariah, an object of ridicule and 
derision, fair game for everyone. Teachers did not 
encourage this, but actually did very little to stop 
it. Russ never teased me, but he kept his distance and 
I couldn't blame him. Of course no one knew that it was 
his hand-me-down diapers I was wearing to bed every 
night.
	And there was always something new to worry about. 
For example, we were assigned a Japanese exchange 
student to room and board with us. My brother's bed had 
been replaced by bunkbeds, and fourteen year old `Hiro' 
(his name is Hiroaki, from Kyoto) would occupy the top 
bunk. It's common for Japanese students to come to 
Canada for six month stints of intense English language 
training at various special schools. They stay with 
pre-approved families and pay quite high rates for room 
and board. My mom had applied, and was accepted. I 
doubt she mentioned on the application form that any 
prospective student would be sharing a room with a 
diapered chronic wetter. Would he complain? For weeks 
before Hiro arrived I worried what his reaction to my 
diapers would be. Would he think I was a loser and a 
retard as my brother was so fond of claiming? Would he 
think me a big baby? Would he tease and humiliate me? I 
didn't think I could take much more of that.
	I was very nervous on that first evening after his 
arrival. Hiro turned out to be about my size, and if 
anything, even lighter. He seemed tired after his long 
flight, and as he brought his stuff into the room, if 
he noticed my supply of diapers and rubber pants and 
other things, he didn't say anything. And of course my 
painfully revealing calendar wouldn't mean anything to 
him. Not yet, anyway. He didn't say anything, but as it 
turned out he couldn't have, at least nothing I would 
have understood. His English was all but non-existent, 
and we tried to communicate using gestures, trial and 
error, and a Fodor's travel dictionary.
	As the dreaded 7 o'clock arrived, Hiro was lying 
on his bunk, reading, half snoozing. I was grateful 
that at least this was not a Friday, but knew that that 
would come soon enough. I felt very awkward that he was 
in the room, and protested, of course to no avail. 
"He's going to find out all about it anyway, so it 
might as well be now." Then my mom tried to make him 
understand what was about to happen. She pointed to the 
trolley. "Diapers." She pointed to me. "Bedwetter." She 
thought if she talked loud he'd understand. "Hiro, 
Johnny has to wear diapers to bed at night because he 
wets the bed."
	Great. Hiro didn't seem to have a clue as to what 
she was saying, but unfortunately now we had his 
attention. He seemed bewildered, and stared blankly in 
the direction of my shameful stay-dry wear.
	"Go ahead and get undressed," my mom said, as she 
selected the regulation diapers and started to combine 
them in the now familiar way. I hesitated. My mouth was 
dry, and I had that peculiar floating feeling I get 
when something awful has already begun to happen. Naked 
in front of a stranger, a peer! Unceremoniously 
diapered in front of our student boarder! Again I felt 
faint.
	"Look, I don't want to have to spank you in front 
of Hiro on his first night," she said noticing my 
reticence, "but you know I surely will if I'm forced 
to." She looked toward the paddle. My brother had 
recently offered to drill holes in it to eliminate any 
`cushion' of air against the skin, therefore to render 
spankings a little more painful. She was thinking about 
it. I sheepishly did as I was told, then lay in 
excruciating nakedness on the powdered thick rectangle 
of diapers. The babyish scent of Johnson & Johnson Pure 
Cornstarch already seemed to fill the room as my mom 
sprinkled my front, then pulled the diapers up and 
pinned them tight. Then she slid my vinyl pants under 
my submissive butt and snapped me into them. I felt 
totally infantilized, ashamed, horrified to be so 
helpless in front of Hiro in this way.
	"I wonder what poor Hiro must be thinking," she 
chuckled as she finished. "I bet he's never seen 
anything like this before." She read my mind, but I 
wasn't laughing. I opened my eyes and got a glimpse of 
him. He was wide-eyed and his mouth was open as he 
stared at me laying in my bulky, waterproof state. And 
his face was almost as red as mine felt. He mumbled to 
himself, seemingly in disbelief. Now I had no choice 
but to waddle over to my dresser if I wanted pajamas to 
at least cover my ever cumbersome diapers. I was 
intensely aware of my (to me) deafening diaper-pants 
noise as I moved, and I knew that Hiro must be noticing 
also. I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked in 
short steps to try to minimize the effect. So now he 
knew everything! Well, almost.
	Later, downstairs, my brother and Hiro were 
watching TV when I came into the room. I didn't sit 
down. I was wisely testing the waters. Rob started 
almost immediately.
	"What's on?" I innocently asked.
	"Sshhh! I'm already helping Hiro with his English. 
Let me think of a word; Hiro, can you say... 
`diapers'?"
	"Di-pers?"
	"Very good! Can you say... `baby'?"
	"Ba-bee."
	"Excellent! Do you know what a `spanking' is?"
	"Spanking?"
	"Here, I'll show you."
	Without warning Rob grabbed me in a tight grip and 
managed to force me over his knee. He's on the 
wrestling team at school and very wiry and strong. He 
held me down with his left arm and began to spank me on 
my diapers with his right. It was `play' but he was 
spanking me quite hard, and my vinyl pants were making 
a lot of noise under my pj's. I squirmed and struggled, 
but couldn't get free, and finally simply had to submit 
to Rob's degrading treatment as Hiro watched with a 
bemused expression. When my brother was finally 
satisfied, he said "There. Spank-ing. Bad boy." I got 
up and slunk up to my room in tears of helpless 
embarrassment and rage. Later, recovered somewhat and 
reading in bed, I was shocked when Rob and Hiro came in 
to the room to prepare for bed. Hiro went over to my 
supply of diapers, touched one, and said "Omutsu. 
Diaper. Omutsu."
	"Omutsu," repeated Rob. "Gosh, you learn something 
new every day. Johnny, can you say `omutsu'?"
	"Shut up."
	"Pantsu," said Hiro, pointing at a pair of my 
vinyl pants. "Akachan."
	He slowly took in my `baby' supplies, shook his 
head in incredulity and said in Japanese what I took to 
mean `Man, I can hardly believe this! The kid's 13 and 
still in diapers!' I had to admit he had a point, if 
that's what he was thinking. After all, he had come 
halfway around the world on his own to board with 
strangers and immerse himself in a language that was 
almost totally foreign. Pretty grown-up stuff. And what 
does he find? A kid his own size and only a little 
younger (I was thirteen and a half by then) whose 
mother still regularly diapers him at night and whose 
thick diapers are almost always soaked by morning. A 
kid who has to submit to a humiliating bare-butt 
spanking every week because he can't accomplish what 
some three-year olds have no problem mastering. (Of 
course Hiro didn't even know about my punishment yet, 
but I was getting quite carried away in my self-pitying 
daydream.) A kid who has to have a ridiculous, noisy 
plastic sheet on his bed because sometimes he pees so 
much in his sleep that his infantile rubber pants can't 
hold it all.
	Later in the dark I tried not to move around too 
much as I imagined that Hiro might be hearing every 
babyish crinkle of my mattress protector and/or vinyl 
pants. I could only hope he wouldn't hear my diapers 
being peed later. Soon after I dreamed that, while 
sobbing naked from the waist down in my room in front 
of a group of amused, quietly laughing and jeering 
Japanese students, my mother spanked me (the paddle had 
holes drilled in it), then diapered me using ceremonial 
diaper pins which Hiro, bowing, handed her from a 
package with Japanese writing on it. As she snapped my 
stigmatizing vinyl pants on me, one of the students 
contemptuously spat out `Akachan!', while the others 
nodded and laughed in agreement. I woke up in the 
morning wet as usual. Later, I looked up the Japanese 
word from my dream in the Japanese-English dictionary 
we had bought to help communicate with Hiro, and sure 
enough: Akachan = Baby!
	Hiro was mercifully not home on the first Friday 
since taking up residence at our house, and I was glad 
he would not be a witness to my regularly scheduled 
paddling session for wetting, but Rob and Brad were 
downstairs watching TV. As I shakily took off my pants 
and underwear as ordered, I hoped they wouldn't hear, 
but I knew there was no chance of that. My mom somewhat 
redundantly checked my calendar, which I well knew 
depicted a circled `W' for each of the previous seven 
days. Then as I bent cowering over the bed, she took 
the paddle off the wall, and began to administer the 
maximum twenty-one strokes I had `earned'. That night's 
diapers already lay waiting for my sore post-spanking 
backside. By about the tenth whack, the combination of 
humiliation and pain had usually reduced me to a 
blubbering mess, and tonight was no exception. I was 
still whimpering as my mom diapered me. Tonight she put 
me in rubber pants. After putting on my pajamas I hung 
around my room to avoid my brother and Brad, but later 
they both came up in preparation of going out.
	"I heard a certain chronic wetter got the max with 
the old paddle, again," Brad said, condescendingly. 
"Ouch. Too bad. Better luck next week, maybe."
	"Oh, he always gets the max," said Rob. "'Cause 
he's a maximum baby. Just check out his bedwetting 
calendar."
	"Here's a tip," said Brad. "Get your mom to diaper 
you before your spanking instead of after. Would hurt a 
lot less, but then it might be a bit tricky to convince 
her..." He laughed. I decided to get out of there and 
go downstairs to watch TV. As usual my waterproof pants 
made loud and embarrassing rustling noises as I walked.
	"Man, what a racket his rubber pants make!" said 
Brad. Lucky guess.
	"I know. If it wasn't so obvious already, it's 
like he's wearing a neon sign that says `Look at me! 
I'm in diapers! Look at me! I'm a baby!" my brother 
answered. "And he reeks of baby powder, too." I went to 
watch TV. Standing up.
	Weeks went slowly by. I tried to keep as low a 
profile as possible. I kept to myself at school (not 
that I had much choice) and tried to ignore the 
teasing. But I knew that even if I stopped wetting 
tomorrow, then won the Nobel prize for literature, to 
my fellow students I'd still be `the diaper kid', or 
`piss-boy', or whatever. Forever.
	At home I continued to have feelings of deep 
disgrace from the time I submissively took my pants off 
to be diapered until I removed my almost invariably 
wet, smelly diapers in the morning, sometimes after 
having to wait forever for the bathroom, thus causing 
further wetness and feelings of babyish helplessness. 
Once there simply wasn't time for a shower, and I had 
to go to school smelling of urine. Kids around me 
teased mercilessly, pretended to faint, and held their 
noses.
	Meanwhile Hiro, whose English was improving by the 
day, didn't overtly harass me, but it was clear he 
thought me infantile, and he did playfully refer to me 
as `akachan' and `osinago'. Baby. ("Johnny big 
baby...") He seemed genuinely bewildered that I could 
still need to be in diapers at my age, and as a result 
he tended to dismiss me as being beneath his interest. 
Also, the few excruciating times he was around during 
my spankings, he didn't seem to disapprove, and offered 
me no sympathy or consolation afterward. Sometimes I 
heard my name mentioned when he talked to his friends 
on his cell phone, and it sounded like he was filling 
them in. I sometimes heard the word `omutsu' following 
my name. Also `oneshou'. Bedwetting. I wondered if 
Emperor Hirohito had been informed yet.
	My brother continued to make my life as miserable 
as possible, and I just hated it when he had friends 
over in the evening. Several had by now seen me 
actually being diapered, and virtually all had seen me 
wearing them. For me, being seen in diapers put me just 
about as low on the totem pole of humanity as one can 
get. Only a friend of his witnessing me get a spanking 
first couldn't make me sink a little lower; maybe half 
an inch.
	Something finally happened that I knew very well 
was inevitable, but nevertheless had hoped to avoid. 
After supper one evening, my mom was called to a 
neighbor's house. Her husband had been in a car 
accident. She said she wouldn't be long, but when seven 
o'clock came and she wasn't home, I started to get 
nervous. Then the phone rang.
	"Hello?" I already knew who it probably was, and 
why she was phoning.
	"Johnny, I'm going to have to be here for awhile. 
Mr. Simmons will be all right, but I have to drive Mary 
to the hospital, and I don't know how long I'll be. So 
I think your brother is going to have to stay in, and 
he's going to have to diaper you. Right now. And I 
don't want you to make a fuss, or else. Understand?"
	"Aw mom, Brad's here. He's right up in my room..."
	"You know my attitude toward that. Give Rob the 
phone, please." I did, and tried to follow the 
conversation. I had butterflies in my stomach already. 
And that weird, black, floating feeling.
	"Hello? Hi... Aw jeez! What a pain! Aw, do I have 
to? Well what if he gives me a hard time? He's bound 
to. He's not going to just lie still, you know...Well 
if he does make a fuss can I use the paddle on him? 
Brad's here, and he can help me. Yay! `Only If you 
absolutely have to,'" he repeated for my benefit, then 
said goodbye and hung up. "Well, let's go get it over 
with, Johnnyboy."
	In our room Rob began putting my diapers together 
on my bed.
	"Oh man, did you get stuck with the job of 
changing him?" Brad said. Hiro was downstairs. I hoped 
he would stay downstairs.
	"Yeah, mom's late. Hurry up, Johnny, get your 
pants off. And remember, if you squawk, you're getting 
the paddle. Don't try me, I'm warning you." He took the 
paddle off the wall and laid it threateningly on my 
bed.
	"I wouldn't try him," Brad said. "Personally, if I 
were you, I wouldn't squawk, or even peep." They 
laughed at his wit.
	I submitted. It was hard to undress in front of 
them. Then my brother carelessly stuck me with a diaper 
pin. Brad, my former idol, watched the whole belittling 
procedure, and added a snide comment on the minor 
diaper rash I usually suffered. Then to my horror Hiro 
came into the room just as Rob was finishing snapping 
up my waterproof pants. He looked surprised at what he 
was seeing. "Rob komori," he said smiling. "Rob 
babysitter today?"
	"That's right, I'm a babysitter. And what does 
that make you, Johnnyboy?"
	"Duh, a wittle baby, I guess," answered Brad, and 
sucked his thumb. Why deny it? There I was standing in 
front of the three of them in just my baby-powdered 
diapers, vinyl pants, and a tee-shirt. What could I 
say?	
	About a week later, a particularly embarrassing 
thing happened. I was just putting my pajamas on after 
being diapered when my mother noticed a stain on the 
back of my pj bottoms which she touched and felt to be 
damp. She also complained of a urine smell. The night 
before, my diapers had leaked a little and got a tiny 
section of my pj's a bit wet. I thought nothing of it 
and just threw them in my drawer in the morning, where 
because of poor air circulation I guess they hadn't 
quite dried. Now my mom had noticed and was making a 
big deal about it.
	"You're not wearing damp and smelly pajamas around 
the house," said my mom. "You can just take them off."
	"But there's just one problem," I said. "My other 
pair's already in the wash. I'll have nothing to wear."
	"You should have thought of that before. You can 
put them back on after you've run them through the 
laundry. Now take them off and go and do it please and 
then you can come back and finish your homework." At 
least she said please. But there was another little 
problem. This was bridge night, meaning there were 
three of my mother's card cronies downstairs, and one 
of them, when a babysitter had called in sick, had 
brought her visiting 12 year old nephew along rather 
than miss out on the evening. In order to get to the 
laundry room, I would have to pass in front of all of 
them in just my diapers and tee-shirt. I might have 
been brave enough to ask Hiro to lend me some pj's, but 
neither he nor my brother was around, and I didn't dare 
borrow a pair of his or Rob's without asking. Now my 
mother was back downstairs while I stood in my room 
shifting from foot to foot (even that made my pants 
crinkle) while trying to screw up my courage. I thought 
maybe I could sort of bundle up my pajamas and try to 
hide behind them, but I didn't think it would work too 
well. And there were still the noisy pants and fresh 
baby-powder smell. I was a goner. I waited as long as I 
dared, then took a deep breath and started a surreal 
voyage downstairs. Near the bottom was the nephew, 
watching TV. He was the first to spot me. Of course he 
stared wide-eyed, seemingly disbelieving. He called 
across the room to the card table. "Aunt Jessica, how 
come that kid is wearing diapers?" They all looked up. 
I stopped dead, holding the balled-up pajamas at chest 
level in both hands. They did smell a little.
	"Carl, meet Johnny; Johnny, this is my nephew 
Carl, from Calgary." We didn't shake hands.
	"Auntie, why's he wearing diapers? He's bigger 
than me."
	"I don't know, Carl. Why don't you ask him why?"
	"How come?" asked Carl. It was almost a demand. 
The card game was in suspension. So was I. I wished it 
was by the neck until dead.
	"Um, `cause sometimes I wet my bed," I managed to 
stammer.
	"Wow. I never even met a bedwetter before. I 
thought only babies did that. Do you do it every 
night?"
	"Well..." I looked at my mom. She returned my look 
meaningfully. "Pretty much," I admitted. "Excuse me, I 
have to get to the laundry." My diapers never felt so 
thick or my pants so loud as I trudged self-conscious 
and mortified past everyone toward the kitchen and the 
stairs to the basement. "How come he wets his bed?" I 
heard Carl ask.
	With the machine going, again I had to eventually 
force myself to leave the safety of the laundry room to 
face who knew what new humiliation. My face was just 
burning. As expected, Carl was waiting. "Is it true 
your mom even diapers you? And you even get a spanking 
for wetting your diapers?"
	"Yes." If I had denied it, my mom would have 
stepped in and made it worse.
	"Man, you're just like a big baby." Tell me about 
it, Carl, you little twelve year old twerp. I toddled 
off as the ladies began on a discussion regarding the 
merits of spankings for enuretics. My mother's position 
was that even if spanking eventually proved ineffective 
as a deterrent to bedwetting, "... and it's 'way too 
early to say...", it still provided a powerful reminder 
regarding a parent's disapproving attitude toward the 
wetting behavior. I couldn't concentrate on my homework 
knowing they were discussing such things (what was 
Carl's opinion on the matter?) and that of course they 
would all see me again when I went to put the pj's in 
the dryer. This time on the way up Carl just shook his 
head. "Man. I can't believe it!" he said. "Thirteen and 
he still has to get diapered like a little baby! 
Believe it or not, Carl.
	Then something really bad happened. One Monday, on 
her way to the laundry room my mother slipped on the 
basement stairs, and suffered a separated shoulder and 
a broken wrist. She went to hospital by ambulance, and 
came back with her wrist in a cast and her arm in a 
sling. Naturally I felt very awful for her, but I began 
to feel bad for my selfish self also as the 
implications began to sink in. Yikes! Who would diaper 
me? Just as bad or even worse, who would inflict my 
degrading punishments while she recovered? Oh, I could 
guess who...
	Rob was not at all happy with his regular new 
chores, which he carried out with maximal derision and 
with very little regard for my privacy or dignity (not 
that this represented much of a change), and he was 
quite careless with diaper pins, too. Now I had to make 
up my own set of diapers each evening, with the threat 
of severe repercussions if I ever used fewer than 
specified by my mom, something which seemed pointless 
to me anyway. Would I appear any less babyish overall 
for wearing one or two fewer baby diapers inside my 
Babykins? But the new arrangement was really 
inconvenient when Rob planned to be out for the 
evening, because then I'd be put in my infantilizing 
diapers before he left, once as early as 5 o'clock. I 
had to sit diapered at the supper table in front of 
Hiro and my mom. I was glad Hiro hadn't asked anyone 
over to eat, at least.
	However, my first spanking in my brother's charge 
was almost a relief after the anxiety I had built up 
over the week. As it turned out, he only spanked me 
about as hard as my mom, who included enough physical 
and mental discomfort that any more would be overkill, 
but that's what I was afraid of. I think she warned him 
not to go overboard. But once again I first had to 
undress in front of Brad, which for me was almost as 
bad as the disciplining itself. Then it was torturous 
being made to lean over my bed with a bared bum, and 
being sadistically made to wait a little while for the 
first burning smack of the paddle while knowing my 
brother's friend was watching everything, taking in 
every detail of my disgrace. I began to cry around the 
fifth stroke, wishing my brother to hurry it up to at 
least get my ego-crushing spanking over with. He took 
his time, but finally it was over, and as I lay 
blubbering while passively having my diapers pinned on, 
another total defeat, Brad said, "Has he really always 
got the full 21 smacks?"
	"Nah," said Rob. "I think he only got 18 once."
	I was still sniffling as he snapped me into my 
hated vinyl pants. As I stood up shakily, Brad 
playfully swatted my sore behind a few more times with 
his hand. "Stay dry, Johnny. Just stay dry! That's my 
advice to you."
	Then later in the week the plan hit a big snag. 
Rob had a chance to go camping for the weekend with 
Brad and some other friends, and no one thought he 
should miss out just because of having to diaper me.
	"You could take him with you," suggested my mom. 
Rob seemed to consider it.
	"Nah, it's just not practical. Besides, the guys 
don't want to be hanging around with a kid who's still 
in diapers. It's embarrassing." Brad was shaking his 
head. "It's a big boy thing."
	"No, I have to agree," conceded my mom. Whew! 
Under the circumstances I didn't think I'd have been a 
very happy camper.
	"What about Hiro? He could easily do it. He 
wouldn't mind." My stomach lurched. No!
	"He'll be away the same time as you. He's going to 
the island on a field trip with his class over the 
weekend."
	"Got it," Brad said, snapping his fingers. "Why 
don't you hire a babysitter?"
	"What?" my mom asked.
	"Sure. You must know someone whose son or daughter 
baby-sits. Hire someone just to come in on Friday and 
Saturday evening, diaper Johnny, and that's it!"
	"Sure, why not?" my mom replied. "And I think I 
know of somebody, too."
	A plan was worked out whereby, incidentally, I 
would be spanked in advance on Thursday evening on the 
understanding (`In the unlikely event' was how my 
brother put it) that if, big if, I was dry on Friday, 
then three smacks would be deducted from next week's 
`earnings'. That's how much faith they had in me. The 
next day I heard my mom on the phone. She explained to 
someone down the street called Monica that she had had 
a slight accident and was in a bind regarding diapering 
her son over the weekend. It was just for bedwetting. 
Didn't Monica have a daughter who babysat? Karen, 
that's right. Could Karen possibly stop by on Friday 
and Saturday at 7 o'clock? It would only take a minute, 
and she'd be well paid. I'll hold on... She could? 
Great! See her then. And thanks!
	Karen arrived promptly at five to seven on Friday. 
I answered the door. I was shaking, then even more as I 
realized she seemed to be only around 15, and was with 
a guy around the same age. I recognized him from 
school, but we had never spoken. "Hello, I'm Karen, and 
this is my boyfriend Kevin. We're just on our way to a 
movie."
	"I'm uh, Johnny. Pleased to meet you." My mom 
heard from the kitchen. "Is that Karen? Thanks for 
coming, Karen, you're a godsend! Wait, I'm just 
coming."
	"So where's the nursery? Is the baby upstairs?" 
Karen asked.
	"Um, baby?" I stammered. This was bad. This was 
terrible. My mom came into the room. She looked 
surprised when she saw Karen.
	"Hello Mrs. Nash, I'm Karen, and this is Kevin, my 
boyfriend. We're on our way to a movie. Gosh, I hope 
your shoulder isn't too sore? That sling looks like a 
good idea. Is the baby upstairs? We only have a 
minute."
	My mom looked bewildered. I was beyond bewildered. 
All of a sudden I was downright terrified.
	 "Baby? Oh, I see! I think there's been a 
misunderstanding. I'm afraid you're looking at the 
`baby'. Johnny here wets the bed and I keep him in 
diapers at night." I stared very hard at the floor. " 
But with this darn thing..." She indicated the sling.
	"Oh, my mom thought there was a baby. Like a 
toddler or something, in toilet training. Gosh. I dunno 
if I can do it. Given our relative closeness in age and 
difference in gender, I honestly don't think it would 
be appropriate for me to diaper your son, do you? She 
was blushing. So was I. "How old is Johnny, by the 
way?"
	"Thirteen," answered my mom. I almost added `And a 
half,' but bit my tongue.
	"Oh, I completely I agree, Karen. For some reason 
I thought you were around 19," said my mom. "Well. 
Sorry about this."
	"But what'll you do?" Karen asked.
	"I'm not sure," said my mom. Dared I hope for one 
or two diaperless nights?
	"Maybe I could help, ma'am" said Kevin. No Kevin! 
Shut up! Don't help! "Perhaps I could do it for you. 
After all, we're both guys, so that's not a problem. 
And you see, I have a seven year old brother who's 
still in diapers at night. He's mentally challenged. So 
I have lots of diapering experience. If you like, I can 
diaper Johnny, here. Only take a minute. And Karen said 
it's for two nights? We can come back tomorrow also. Up 
to you, but it's no problem at all."
	I was told to go upstairs, make up a set of 
diapers, get undressed, and wait for Kevin. Any 
deviation would result in you-know-what. Great! Maybe I 
should paste up pictures of myself alternately naked, 
getting spanked, and in diapers on billboards all over 
town and just get it over with and make sure everybody 
knew. I felt pale and shaky as I waited. He finally 
came. He surveyed my diapers waiting on the bed. Now I 
felt totally at a loss.
	"Does your mom powder you?"
	"Yes, it's on the trolley over there. She puts 
some on the diaper (that word again!) under my butt, 
and then sprinkles some on my, um, front." Kevin 
sprinkled the whole inside surface, then had me lie 
down, and pulled the diapers up between my legs, and 
carefully pinned them tight with pins he brought with 
the powder and held lightly in his mouth, just like my 
mom did.
	"Which pants does she usually use?"
	"Vinyl ones. Snap-ons".
	"Lift up." I couldn't believe this stranger was 
actually giving me orders, snapping me into my vinyl 
pants after putting me in my diapers as a favor to my 
mother. It was nightmarish. What next? And this guy 
went to my school! And he was all business, too. No 
small talk with Kevin. no baseball scores, no weather 
chit-chat. It was like he was diapering a mentally-
disabled little kid. Or a baby.
	"There you go. All done."
	I wanted to hide upstairs, but soon heard my mom 
calling. I quickly put pajamas on and reluctantly went 
down. The three were standing near the front door, 
which was open. I had to cross the room. Crinkle, 
crinkle, crinkle.
	"Did you remember to say thank you to Kevin?" my 
mom asked.
	"Um, thanks, Kevin." Thanks a lot, pal...
	"No problem, Johnny. Mrs. Nash, I noticed he's got 
a fair bit of diaper rash. At home we have a very good 
new ointment that we use on Kyle. Should I bring some?"
	"Please! If you wouldn't mind, Kevin. Thank you! 
Johnny, did you thank Karen?"
	Karen was losing the battle to politely avoid 
staring at my diaper area.
	"Thanks, Karen."
	"No problem. Glad we could work something out." 
She blushed. "Well, we'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Nash, 
same time." Sigh. Something to look forward to.
	The next evening unfolded similarly, except that 
Kevin ordered me to lie on my diapers on my stomach. I 
felt a dab of coldness on my backside, then heard a 
rustling noise. A moment later I realized that Kevin 
had put on a pair disposable medical gloves. He spread 
the diaper-rash cream all over my backside, then told 
me to turn over, and repeated the process between my 
legs and on my front. He did it with the detached 
professionalism of a trained hospital attendant or 
nurse, but I still found it wildly embarrassing, and my 
eyes teared up. He ignored this and diapered me as the 
day before, generously leaving the rest of the ointment 
behind for future treatments. Again I was called 
downstairs to thank them. My diapers felt strange and 
sticky inside the rubber pants he put me in by pulling 
them part way up, having me stand up, then, pushing my 
hands away, pulling them up over my diapers. This time 
Karen stared fairly openly. Bye, bye!
	My mom slowly began getting better. The cast had 
come off her wrist, but she still found it very stiff, 
and she continued to have pain in her shoulder, though 
it was much diminished. So my brother continued to be 
charged with my nightly diapering as well as the weekly 
infliction of the usual twenty-one strokes of the 
paddle. This was bad enough, but he always seemed to 
make sure at least one of his friends was around for 
the spectacle (and once three teasing, giggling gawkers 
were present). Whether this was done deliberately (with 
the approval or even encouragement of my mom) to 
maximize my shame or out of sheer insensitivity I don't 
know, but it was effective. Not in terms of making me 
wet any less, but in making me feel like a naughty 
toddler, helpless to prevent such humiliating 
treatment, and perhaps even deserving of it after all. 
Perhaps I was beginning to accept my infantile status, 
but I still had one big fear- above all I didn't want 
to be punished and diapered by Hiro, and prayed my 
mom's healing would be complete before there was any 
chance of that happening. But it seems St. Jude wasn't 
listening.
	By now I had been wearing and wetting my donated 
Babykins long enough that they were becoming flat and 
less absorbent, while my most used waterproof pants 
were showing signs of age and yellow discoloration, as 
well as an apparent permanent faint smell of urine 
which greatly irritated my mom's sensitive nose. She 
decided it was time for some new supplies, and asked 
the name of the medical supply store that Mrs. Murphy 
had mentioned.
	"All-Care," I gulped. That and everything else 
about the horrible evening of Mrs. Murphy's visit with 
her ex-bedwetter son Russell was etched permanently in 
my memory.
	"Well you can call them and see if they have what 
you need in stock. Six Babykins youth diapers, and, 
say, two snap-on vinyl pants and two pull-up rubber 
pants. We can get new baby diapers at Wal-Mart to use 
as inserts. There's the yellow pages."
	I had to clear my throat several times, and it 
still wasn't easy to speak. My voice kept going way up. 
"I was wondering; do you have, um any um, Babykins 
medium youth diapers? I need six. I mean, six are 
needed. White?" My mom indicated that was ok. "And, um, 
rubber and vinyl pants, same size? Two each." I nodded 
to my mom. She handed me her Visa card, and I read the 
number and expiry date into the phone.
	"Say that you'll pick them up Friday, that's 
tomorrow," ordered my mom. I did, my heart thumping.
	My mom found a parking spot right outside the 
store, which had wheelchairs, hospital beds, neck 
braces, bathroom aids, and many other medical devices 
and supplies displayed in two large show-windows. She 
had other errands, and impatiently told me to hurry. 
Don't worry! I even closed the car door carefully so as 
not to draw undue attention on the sidewalk. I had 
hoped there would be no one else in the store, but I 
could see customers inside. I would've walked around 
the block a few times, but of course my mom was 
watching. It wasn't easy, but I went in.
	"Can I help you?" I wasn't expecting this. He 
looked 19, maybe a college student. I wanted to run, 
but I was fighting off a weird form of paralysis. All 
along the wall beside me were stacks of packaged 
disposable diapers for youth, for adults, bins of 
individual disposable diapers, and shelves containing 
bins of individually packaged Babykins cloth diapers, 
waterproof pants, plastic sheets, bed-pads, all 
labeled. It was overwhelming. I felt I shouldn't be 
there, but I couldn't move. The woman who I took to be 
the owner stood behind the counter. Further down the 
room, an elderly couple was examining an aluminum 
walker, which I thought I could probably use myself at 
the moment. I was trying to be discreet. I practically 
whispered.
	"I called..." He gave me a blank look.
	"Yesterday." Still nothing. "About, um diapers? 
Babykins?"
	"Ah yes, six `flannelettes' and four waterproof 
pants?" He approached the counter at the same time as a 
young man with two different diabetes blood-testing 
kits who began to ask questions of the woman. My guy 
politely interrupted.
	"Excuse me. Mom? This is the boy for the Babykins 
order."
	She picked up a paper bag and placed it on the 
counter. It was stacked too full to be folded at the 
top, revealing a pair of packaged vinyl snap-on pants.
	"By the way," said the son, "no problem with the 
youth diapers, but we made a mistake and had to give 
you three vinyl pants and one pair of rubber pants 
instead of two and two. Is that ok? Same price." The 
other customer gave me very strange looks, up and down. 
He looked at my pants. I silently wished him high blood 
sugar. My knees were knocking.
	"That's fine," I choked. Through body language I 
tried but failed badly to communicate `Oh, Granny won't 
care...'
	"Do you want to check with your mom if that's ok?" 
He looked toward the car outside. Everyone did, even 
me.
	I finally escaped to the car with my revealing 
package, which my mom insisted on dismantling to 
examine each item. People might see! A couple of 
errands later and we were at Wal-Mart. I tagged along 
with her as she picked up a carrying basket and checked 
a short list, hoping she'd forget about the baby 
diapers she had mentioned. But I guess she already 
reached that item on the list, and abruptly told me to 
go to the infants' department downstairs and to come 
back with two packages.
	"Just bring them, we'll pay with the rest of the 
stuff. And remember, it's `Snugabye' flannelette 
diapers you want. Flat, not prefold. And you could use 
more baby powder, too." Customers were listening. I 
sneaked self-consciously around the baby department, 
avoiding staff, mothers, and mothers-to-be, while 
instantly inventing a cute little infant brother in 
case he might be necessary as cover. Sweet little 
`Joey' wasn't needed after all, as I found what I was 
looking for, grabbed the diapers and a container of 
baby powder, and raced back upstairs to find my mom.
	Now the problem was finding her. I was acutely 
aware of my excruciating burden as I went vainly from 
department to department. I tried to hide the 
`Snugabye' labels on the packages, but a package of 
cloth diapers is a pretty obvious thing, especially 
when accompanied by a second one and a container of 
baby powder. My mouth was as dry as if I had swallowed 
some of the Johnson & Johnson's.
	I finally found her in linens, where she had 
already picked out some fitted flannelette sheets for 
my bed, and was in the process of selecting a new 
plastic mattress cover. I wondered whether she chose 
according to how noisy it would be. She verified my 
diaper selection, then placed everything in the basket, 
and off we went to the in-store McDonalds, much against 
my better judgement.
	My mom wanted coffee, and I wanted only to get out 
of there. We sat more or less in the middle of the 
restaurant area, with the incriminating basket pulled 
up close to the table on a chair. As my mom went to get 
her coffee, I had a feeling something would go wrong. I 
thought it would be wise to bury the diapers under the 
less incriminating flannelette sheets in the basket in 
case someone I knew came along. As I began to do that, 
I noticed the plastic sheet was very noticeable also. 
So I grabbed that first and was about to stuff the 
package underneath when I felt it taken out of my grasp 
from behind. I turned. It was Brad and friends.
	"Been shopping, Johnny? What have we got here?" 
There were four of them; Brad, Craig Simon and his 
brother Rick (who was in my class!), and a friend of my 
brother's and Brad's named Derek. Brad read from the 
package: "`fitted 100% waterproof vinyl mattress 
protector'. That's very nice. Your mom buying it for 
you?"
	"Maybe it's his birthday," Rick added. "Hey, 
what's this?" He picked up a package of Snugabyes. 
"`Ten flannelette baby diapers.' These still fit you, 
Johnny?"
	"They go inside his big-boy diapers, to make them 
more absorbent," insider Brad explained. "Heavy 
wetter." My mom came back with her coffee. Brad greeted 
her, and the four boys sat at a table beside us. They 
talked quietly, but could not contain their laughter, 
and I knew it was about me. I felt awful sitting there 
with personal baby diapers in plain view. When things 
quieted down a little, Brad spoke to my mom. "I see you 
got Johnny some nice new things," he said. This brought 
renewed torrents of suppressed laughter.
	"And that's not all," she said. "You should see 
what he's got in the car."
	"Johnny! Don't tell me! New Babykins, I bet! New 
diaper pants! Even new pins, perhaps? Well, this is 
your lucky day! Of course I forgot; it is a Friday..." 
As we left there was more mirth as Brad pantomimed in 
turn both the wielder of a paddle and a squirming, 
blubbering spanking recipient. After that, going 
through the check-out was a breeze. Once home I was 
told to bring my new `baby' stuff up to my room.
	Now there was only one other hurdle, but I didn't 
have a chance. It was Friday. As my mom was so much 
better, I expected that my brother would deliver one 
last spanking, and then things would get back to 
normal, so to speak. I thought I could take it, 
especially if no one else was there to see it. Once 
again I had twenty-one strokes coming.
	"Where's Rob?" It was almost suppertime.
	"Oh, he won't be home. Late basketball practice, 
then he's staying over at Brad's." Of course; why 
bother to inform the baby?
	"But..."
	"Don't worry, other arrangements have been made." 
Other arrangements! Not Kevin! Oh no, not Hiro!
	Hiro arrived home and he was not alone. He 
introduced us to a friend and fellow student called 
Yoshi, roughly the same age and slight build as Hiro. 
They had been going to study at Yoshi's, but altered 
their plans to accommodate my mother. And me, of 
course.
	During supper there was not a lot of conversation. 
I contemplated what was coming, and picked at my food. 
I knew that even if I begged my mom, my punishment 
would still happen, that Hiro would carry it out. Worse 
than my worst nightmare, because he had a friend with 
him.
	"You're sure you don't mind, Hiro?" asked my mom. 
"I know it's a lot to ask, and not very pleasant, but 
there's no one else. I asked Kevin, the boy who came 
when you were away, but he wasn't available."
	"No problem." Hiro and Yoshi talked quietly back 
and forth, as if Hiro were explaining. I recognized 
some familiar words, and quietly, morbidly looked up 
some others. `Diaper', `spanking', `bedwetting'. In 
response to a question by Yoshi, Hiro replied `juusan'. 
Thirteen years old. "No!" said Yoshi. That I 
understood.
	"While Hiro has more dessert, I want you to go 
upstairs and get ready," my mom said. "Make up a 
diaper- you can use new ones, and get new pants ready, 
and then get undressed and wait, please. Oh, and while 
you're waiting, you can strip your bed and remake it 
with your new plastic cover and a flannelette sheet. 
And no fuss please, or it'll be worse."
	I sheepishly went upstairs, and did as I was told. 
I had never seen a new Babykins diaper before, and in 
spite of my extreme nervousness I was surprised at its 
size and thickness, its overwhelming, sterile 
whiteness. With the other also un-shrunk baby diapers 
inside, I would be padded as never before. I found it 
helped to keep busy. I made up the diaper and powdered 
it to spare myself the humiliation of having Hiro do 
it. I put the diaper on the chair near my desk with 
pins on it so that he wouldn't have to search for them, 
or ask me where they were. I couldn't believe that 
Hiro's fingers would be using these pins to fasten my 
diapers in a few minutes. Next I opened a package and 
readied a new pair of vinyl pants which I left on top 
of the diaper. I though it better than having Hiro do 
it. I had put off getting undressed as long as I could, 
but now did so, leaving on my socks and tee-shirt as 
usual. It always felt extremely weird having to strip 
specifically for a spanking, then diapers, but never 
more than now.
	Feeling extremely embarrassed, vulnerable, and 
keenly aware of just what I was waiting for, I took the 
bedclothes off my bed and placed them in a heap on the 
floor. I opened the package containing my new plastic 
sheet, and turned it out. It was fairly thick, white, 
and noisy as expected. I moved the bed out a little 
from the wall, and fit the cover to the foot, then 
moved forward. I secured the head, then smoothed it out 
until it was tight all over.
	Then Hiro was behind me. I hadn't heard him come 
in. He looked at me, examined my calendar, and shook 
his head a little. Then I felt dread as he slowly 
reached for the paddle, and gently took it off its 
hook. I was going to protest that my bed wasn't ready 
yet, but he gently but firmly took my shoulder and bent 
me over until my hands lay on the plastic sheet, then 
spread my legs a little with his foot. He took my 
diaper off the chair and opened it up in readiness on 
the bed beside me, placing the vinyl pants back on the 
chair. It felt extremely strange to see him handle my 
diaper stuff. Now I braced for the first blow. Instead 
I heard Yoshi talking excitedly, with his companion 
answering. I heard Yoshi leave the room. Hiro touched 
me on the backside lightly with the paddle and said 
"Stay, please." I maintained that ridiculous exposed 
position for half a minute, waiting helplessly to be 
spanked. I was already sniffling.
	Finally Yoshi said "Ok, go!" I could hear a low 
whirring sound, and then the sound and sting of the 
paddle smacking against my skin. He hit me pretty hard, 
then again and again and again. I had been determined 
not to cry, but my nerves were shot even before Hiro 
began. This is what I had dreaded more than anything, 
and it was all coming true. Hiro made no concession to 
companionship or compassion; he spanked me with a firm 
and steady rhythm, but one that lacked specific malice; 
he was merely giving me, on behalf of my mother, what 
they both thought I deserved.
	And Yoshi was videotaping my punishment. That was 
the sound I had heard. Now I could see him out of the 
corner of my eye as he moved in on various angles. The 
spanking went on. I had been silently counting the 
blows, and now Yoshi counted out loud. "Juukuu, 
juusan...," Nineteen, twenty. And finally, twenty-one. 
It was over. Now, before I could even rub my stinging 
behind, Hiro guided me firmly down onto my diapers. 
Even though I had pre-powdered, he sprinkled me anyway, 
perhaps for the benefit of the camera, which continued 
to roll. He pulled my diapers up between my legs, and 
pinned them securely in place. They felt huge, and slid 
a little on the plastic sheet.
	Next he prepared my vinyl pants and said "Up." I 
lifted up and he slid them under my burning diapered 
bottom. Their newness held a certain soft stiffness, 
and a clean rubbery smell, and they made noise as he 
manipulated them into place. The camera watched as they 
covered my diapers in front, and as Hiro snapped up 
five snaps on one side, then the other. I was never so 
overwhelmed with shame as he stood me up, and I tried 
to hide my teary face from the world. Yoshi seemed to 
pass instructions to Hiro, who turned me around so that 
my back was to the camera. Hiro patted my bum and 
laughingly said "Omutsukabure." Diaper rash. Then Yoshi 
shot a side view of me, then front, then sitting on the 
side of the bed. All the time I tried to hide my face. 
When they finally went downstairs I finished making my 
bed like an automaton. I didn't even bother putting 
pajamas on until much later, and when I did I realized 
that I was already quite wet.