Name: Jayjay
Ages: 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
Current Age: 18

As I understand it, I didn't have a single dry night until after age 
five. When I was six years old, I can remember Annie, my baby sitter, 
putting me in diapers as soon as my parents would leave. I don't know 
if she was a DL or just thought I was really cute in them, but as soon 
as my parents were gone no matter the time of day or night she would 
say, "It's time you got ready for bed."

I would often argue with her, and sometimes cry. Saying things like, 
"It's still day out." or, "but I don't need to wear them except for 
bed," but nevertheless would have me out of my underwear and into my 
diapers faster then a commercial break for G.I. Joe.

The worst for me was when my mother and her friends would "share a baby 
sitter". I didn't know the other kids too well, or at least not as far 
as I can remember. However, it never failed that one of them would find 
my diapers in my backpack and ask me, "What are these!?" as if they 
didn't know. Often I would get teased and end up playing with my G. I. 
Joes somewhere by myself.

Then there were the times when the other kids would be dropped off at 
my house. I often would hide my diapers in my dresser so the other kids 
wouldn't see them in my closet. The one time Annie babysat for a group 
of us at my house, all of us kids were in diapers before nightfall. 
That was the last time Annie ever babysat for a group of us.

Most of the time, though, my mother would diaper me. Just before 
bedtime my mother would be telling me, "got get ready for bed." Or, "go 
take your bath." As soon as I would get out of the bath and dry off, my 
mother would have me lay down on the bed and she would diaper me. I can 
still remember how it felt to get baby powder sprinkled on me right 
after drying off after a bath. I always hated diapers as a kid, but 
looking back on it now it's some of my fondest memories.

However, my fascination with diapers really started, I think, because 
of my Father. See, my father was an over the road truck driver for 
basically my entire life. He's retired now, but he was a driver before 
I was born and drove until just about a year ago as an owner operator.

I'm getting a bit ahead of myself though. I want to tell this story in 
chronological order. So....

When I was early six years I was wetting the bed probably only once a 
week, though I still had to ware diapers every night. I had a star 
chart to keep track of what days I didn't wet, and by that process what 
days I did. I remember those days very well, because when I was around 
6 and a half I almost stopped wetting all together. My day had come 
home for one of his vacation weeks, and had seen my star chart. He told 
me if I could go for an entire month without wetting that I wouldn't 
have to wear diapers ever again. As honest as things go, there wasn't 
much I could do about it aside from not intentionally wetting, which I 
wasn't in the first place...

So, three months before 7th birthday I had made it an entire month 
without wetting. My father was on the last day of a 3-day weekend the 
morning I woke up dry to make my personal record of 1 month dry. 
However, as it turned out there was nearly an entire package of diapers 
left in my closet. My father said to just throw them out, but my mother 
argued that "we should use them all up."

I don't remember how exactly what happened before, but I remember 
sitting on my father's lap just before he was leaving to go back on the 
road and me balling my eyes out saying, "I don't want to wear diapers 
any more daddy!" and him saying, "I know, I know." and me saying, "You 
promised."

He then looked me straight in the eyes and said, "All you have to do it 
make it through the pack. What's left of the pack? You made it an 
entire month, you can make it 10 more days or so." I bawled and whined, 
"Quit your crying, you're a big boy," he said, "Aren't you?" I nodded 
and said yes. And that's it... I can't really remember what else 
happened, except that I ended up wearing diapers until I was 7.

That's the day. When I was 7 years old, the day I turned 7, as a 
birthday gift my parents let me toss the last 3 diapers in a pack in 
the garbage. Looking back now, well... you know. (How wasteful. ;) ) 
However, on my 7th Birthday, along with lots of toys from various 
relatives and a new pair of "Big Boy Pajamas" (They were like a pair of 
boxer shorts and a shirt made of the same material with buttons down 
it. That's another thing I can remember very well. My first night not 
wearing a diaper and how naked I felt.), was the fact that, that night 
I remember smiling real big when hopping into bed and telling myself, 
"I don't ever have to wear diapers again. I'm growing up!"

So, I went to 2nd grade and made some good friends that year in school 
and for that whole school year life was pretty much as usual for a 2nd 
grader who wasn't a bed wetter. Summer came and I turned big eight. 
Eight years old. I remember actually hearing my Aunt remark to my 
mother how, "He's made a whole year without wetting then?" Or something 
like that.

Being eight years old, I was then old enough to go with my father over 
the road. Back then he wasn't an owner operator yet, and his company 
wouldn't let anyone younger then either ride on the trucks with their 
parents. However, being eight I was now old enough and my father 
decided he wanted to "Show me The Road!" and what he did for a living. 
Why he "couldn't be home for me more" and such.

So, we (my family and I) had all known about if for a few weeks in 
advance and I don't remember getting all excited about it until just a 
few days before it was time to "go out on the road" with my "Pa". My 
father had come home for another vacation, and then after him being 
home for a few days my mother helped me pack up and we "hit the road".

I can remember climbing into that huge tractor ("It's a tractor, it 
pulls trailers," my day would say, "it's not quite a truck.") and all 
the room inside. I had a heck of a time climbing in and out of it; it 
was like climbing a Juggle-Gym. And so, we were on the road.

I remember the first place we were heading to was Chicago to pick up a 
load to take to California. It was my first time traveling any where 
outside of my hometown, so it was like one giant field trip to me.

We picked up the load in Chicago, drove a little while (well, I guess 
really a long while. like several hours. The time seemed to fly those 
first few days.) and stopped and ate. I remember my father making a big 
deal about using the restroom before we left. He led me to the 
restroom, and well... we both went (number one).... and so we were on 
the road again.

As it turns out the human body usually has to take care of "number two" 
not to long after eating. So, right after we had gotten on the road I 
had to go "number two". I can actually remember I held it for a little 
while before telling my father I had to go. I think I can remember 
because after I told him he said, "I thought so, I can tell your 
squirming over there...." Well, he told me to hold it until we could 
reach the next rest area, and I guess I didn't have much choice. Well, 
three miles before the rest area I had been holding it for so long I 
didn't need to just go "two" any more and was holding onto "one" with 
both hands.

We pulled into the rest area and got ready for a mad dash to the 
restroom, but as soon as I stood up I felt the valve open on "number 
one". My hands were damp, my pants were really damp, and "number two" 
was trying to escape as well. By the time we made it into the restroom 
of the rest area I needed to change my cloths. I got cleaned up as much 
as I cold, and ended getting back in the truck and changing my clothes. 
We stuck my dirty ones in a plastic bag and after what seemed a while 
headed back out down the road.

That night we stopped at a truck stop and I was surprised to find out 
they had TV rooms and such. I played some arcade games with my dad and 
we got something to eat in the diner. After watching some TV in the TV 
room, we went back to the truck to "call it a night" and go to sleep. I 
remember it was a bit crowded in the truck. I made a bed out of quilts 
and blankets on the tiny space between the backs of the seats and the 
tiny bunk. It wasn't uncomfortable, just small. It worked for me 
anyways, but two full-grown men couldn't fit in there.

After a few hours of listening to the truck engines rumbling and taking 
in the fragrant scent of diesel I discovered I had to use the restroom. 
I neglected to mention my father told me never leave the truck without 
him, and never to wander off while we were stopped somewhere. You know, 
all the good parental stuff. For that matter, I wouldn't want my kid 
(if I had one) wandering off on his own at a truck stop or leaving the 
truck knowing what I know now. So, anyway... I had to go to the 
restroom, so I woke my father up and told him so.

He threw his pants on (he was in his boxers) and escorted me to the 
restrooms in the truck stop. I took care of business, and think he 
probably did too, and well we went back to the truck. Night turned into 
day, late day as it were, and my father got very upset that we were 
suddenly running late.

So, we went inside grabbed some junk food for breakfast on the road, 
and my father went to driving. I just watched the scenery.

(*** I'd like to note, since this is a story about me and diapers. Me, 
growing up in diapers, and why I probably like them. I am trying to 
skip over the stuff of little interest to 'you' the reader. I'm sorry 
we haven't gotten to the "good stuff" yet. If you're still reading, 
well... please bear with me. This is my true account; I'm trying to 
make it as accurate as humanly possible. You can probably see where 
this is going, so I'll try to speed it up a little more. ***)

So... well.. Skipping ahead, things went on like that for about two or 
three days. Turns out eight-year-olds don't have the bladders of 30ish 
year old truck drivers and they always have to go the restroom at the 
least convenient times. Like when there's no truck stops or rest areas 
around. Not less then three times did I personally discover I had to 
use the restroom AFTER passing a rest area while we were on the 
freeway.

So, around day three maybe it was four... It turns out I had to use the 
restroom pretty bad and were driving in the middle of the desert with 
no rest area or truck stops for miles. So, my father pulls off on the 
side of the freeway to let me "check the tires," as he called it. (He'd 
make jokes about if I saw any bubbles on the tires I know there was a 
leak in them... anyway...) When a state trooper pulls up behind us. 
There I am whizzing on the tires, and Sergeant Super Trooper pulls 
right up behind our truck. He takes a good look at me, (not the gay 
kind! But he did look take a look me over suspiciously.) And then 
walked up to the front of the truck where my father was still sitting 
in the driver seat.

After taking care of my business I went back up to the front of the 
truck, and got up in the passenger seat. Cops nowadays would probably 
be more uptight then this guy was, but still this cop was not in any 
kind mood. I guess he asked the usual questions, "Truck running 
alright, anything wrong?" and after those routine ones started asking 
about me. He wanted to see my birth certificate, which I guess my 
father had a copy on him because he shoed the cop it, and asked all the 
questions like, "how longs he been riding with ya?" and "is he in 
school?" (It wasn't school time, this was summer break still.)

So, after all the to-do. The officer gave my father a ticket of some 
type for being stopped on the freeway without emergency equipment 
(cones/triangles/flares) out, and told my father he could have ticketed 
him for something else, and said he should report my father for 
endangering me by letting me play on the highway. (Which I wasn't.) 
Cops are such jerks.

So, after Super Trooper left, my father just pulled back out on the 
highway and we were off again. (Skipping to the parts your waiting 
for...) So, later that evening after we had stopped to have dinner, we 
were heading towards our last truck stop we would sleep in for this 
delivery and I had to use the restroom yet again. Turns out, I had to 
go somewhere between 3 to 5 times a day. Which is about 2 to 4 times 
more often then truck drivers seem to.

So, my father pulls into a truck stop and leads me to the restroom. I 
do my business, and when I come out my father lead me through the 
little shopping area of the truck stop. I didn't know what he was 
looking for then, though I am pretty sure I know now. He walked up and 
down the isles, stopped near the diapers, glanced them over... but then 
he got up and we headed out and left.

We then drove for several more hours, and when heading through a city 
my father pulled the truck into a supermarket parking lot and told me 
to wait in the truck. After several minutes I saw him come out of the 
store holding a paper grocery bag. He got up into the truck, looked at 
me strangely without saying anything, and then put the bag in the back.

I asked him, "what did you get?" and his reply was, "nothing, don't 
worry about it, I'll tell ya later." And so he pulled back out on the 
road, got back on the freeway, and off we were to California.

So, we drove all day and that evening we pulled into a large truck 
parking lot area. With a warehouse, and a bunch of trailers parked 
everywhere. My father pulled the truck into a parking spot, turned in 
his seat completely sideways to face me, and said, "We're here."

I looked around, and asked, "This is it?"

He replied, "Yep. Now we wait." I looked around.

"So, now what do we do?" I asked.

"We just wait," re replied, "we go to sleep, and in the morning they 
unload us." He explained about docking and stuff, but the short of it 
is, "we wait 'till morning."

My father turned on the radio and tuned in a Country station, and we 
played some cards in the truck for a little while. I can't say it was 
really fun, but nor can I honestly say it was super boring or not fun.

So anyway, after a while I asked about what we were going to do for 
food. My smiled and said, "that's what the grocers are for." He said 
he'd bought some stuff to make sandwiches and some snacks, and some 
stuff for breakfast, but I'll never forget the first thing he pulled 
out of the bag.

I watched him go to the back of the truck, and reach into the brown 
bag. Watching with mild curiosity. His arm went down into the bag, 
about halfway between his wrist and elbow, and when it came back up it 
was holding a package of Huggies. My jaw about dropped and I 
immediately felt queasy inside.

"Who are those for?" I asked, already knowing the answer. He was 
reaching into the bag for some other stuff, kind of ignoring the whole 
fact that he had just pulled a package of Large Size diapers out of the 
bag.

He looked up at me as if he didn't understand the question, and yet I 
could tell plainly he did, and then glanced and pointed at the diapers, 
"These?" he asked.

I said, "Yeah, what are they for?"

"Well," he glanced around, "There isn't exactly a lot of restrooms 
around here if you haven't noticed."

My jaw slackened. "What about you?" I asked, actually trying to sort of 
deflect them back at him... in my eight-year-old mind. As if those 
things would fit him, but that's what I was actually trying to imply. I 
don't think he took it that way, and he replied, "I'll be fine. I'm 
used to this."

So, long story short... he made some sandwiches, and we ate, and every 
now and then I would glance over at the package of diapers sitting on 
the bunk in the back. And then it was one of those moments when I was 
glancing back at the diapers, like a snake that was going to bite me or 
something, that my father said, "Lets get you ready for bed." Which I 
knew immediately was code for, "Well, lets put you in a diaper."

"I'm not sleepy," I replied.
"Well, it's getting late," He answered.
"But I'm not tired, really," I said.
"Yeah, but you will be, and besides I am." He half lied.
"Well, I can wait." I said again.
"No you can't," He said firmly, as statement of fact. I looked at him, 
not sure how to respond to that.

"Do I have to?" I asked in a whiny voice.
Him knowing fully well what I was asking replied, "Yeah, come on. Lets 
just get it over with. Then you we can lay down and go to bed, and in 
the morning after we're done unloading we can go get breakfast at a 
diner." Which I took as code for, "Yes, you have to, but only for the 
night."

He stood up, put his hand on the back of my right shoulder and said, 
"Come on, let's go." and applied a firm push to coach me out of the 
passenger seat of the semi. I stood up and kind of staggered, slumped, 
swayed, dragged to the back of the truck and flopped down face first on 
the mattress in the back.

"Come on," he said, implying for me to either roll over or get up. 
"Here, I'll leave you be. He said, and headed to the front of the truck 
and closed the curtain.

I sat back there and stared at the package of diapers for some time. I 
could hear my dad upfront changing the stations on the radio.

"Are you done yet?" He'd call back to me every now and then, I believe 
knowing full well I hadn't even moved yet.

"Can't we go to a truck stop?" I asked.
"Nope, aren't any around for miles." He said.
"A restaurant of something?" I asked.
"We're here, and we're staying here." He said firmly.
"Alright." I said drudgingly.

I stared at the baby on the package for a bit, and read the label 
several times, "Huggies".

"Come on, hurry up. I have to go to be soon." My dad called from the 
front.
"Alright." I said.
"Have you got your pants off yet?" He asked.
"Nope." I replied.
"Well, take your pants of already... come on, I gotta go back there to 
go to bed soon." He urged.

So, I took my pants off. Then I ran my hand over the package of 
diapers, feeling them through the plastic package. I thought about 
tearing it open, but was really, really, terrified of doing so.

"I can't." I said.
"Can't what?" My dad asked.
"I can't put them on." I answered.
"Why, they don't fit?" He asked.
"Nah, I just don't want to." I said.
"Well, we all do things we don't want to, son. Putting a diaper on is 
small in comparison to the things in life you'll have to do but don't 
want to." He said.
"I can't." I said.
"You can, and you will," He said, "or I will."
"Fine!" I said.
"Alright, good." He said.
"No." I said.
"No, what?" I asked.
"I can't put them on." I said.
"Do I have to come back there and show you how?" He asked.
"No." I replied.
"Alright then." He said, and went back to fiddling with the radio.

I stared at the package some more, and poked a whole in the plastic 
packaging. I wiggled my finger in the whole and felt the soft smooth 
plastic of the diapers inside. My stomach had stopped feeling queasy, 
but I kept thinking about "me in school wearing a diaper." and "What if 
my friends saw me wearing a diaper." Which is funny, since my father 
wasn't telling me I had to wear them to school, and looking back nor 
did he mean that... yet some how I was afraid of that. Also, none of my 
friends were around for thousands of miles, but I was still afraid.

"Come on, it's getting late." My father's voice startled me. He was 
leaning his head through the curtain of the truck. "We both know you 
can't make it through the whole night without going to the restroom." I 
didn't want to tell him, but I felt that I would need to go sometime in 
the not so distant future. I mean, I wasn't holding it at that moment, 
but I could just tell I would be holding it later or something.

"I can't." I said.
"Are you going to do it, or do I have to?" My father asked. I suddenly 
froze up, I felt like a dear in headlights. My chest was tight, my 
loins were tight, and I could feel a queasy feeling in my bladder and 
pines. I just stared at him.
"Well, are you?" He asked. I stared at him.
"You or me?" He asked, and got ready to close the curtain.

The mind does funny things. I thought about it. I thought logically, I 
didn't' want to wear diapers. I thought, "If I put diapers on myself, 
he's going to make me wear them." and here's the kicker, "but if I tell 
him he has to, then he knows I don't want to wear them." Now, does that 
make any sense? Well, strangely, to my eight-year-old mind back then, 
it did. Now note, I wasn't a Diaper Lover back then. I didn't want to 
wear a diaper. I think, though, this is why I'm a Diaper Lover now.

So.... In all my truly strange logic. Staring at him like a deer in 
headlights. I heard the words pop out of my mouth, and no sooner did it 
then I wish I could have grabbed it right out of the air and pulled it 
back.

"You." I said.

My father looked at me for a moment. Then cocked his head off to the 
side and looked like he went into a thought. Like he was reflecting. 
Then without moving his head much he glanced up at me and gave me a 
look that said to me at the time, "Did I hear your right?" However, 
thinking back, I can see the look clearly as if it was yesterday. The 
look was really saying, "Yeah, I call your bluff."

And so he said, "Alright, lay down."

I looked at him AS IF _I_ hadn't heard HIM right. Very dear-in-
headlights again.

"Lay down." He said more firmly, and with a slight inflection that 
implied he wasn't going to say it again.

"I don't want to wear diapers again daddy!" I cried, and tears started 
pouring down my face.

"Now don't start crying," he said, "I'll give you something to cry 
about."

I tried to choke back some of my balling before it came out, and felt 
like an apple got stick in my throat, and then I started to cry again.

"Now come on. Now you're starting to act like a baby." He said, and I 
started to ball a little harder.

I couldn't see very well through the tears that I was wiping out of my 
eyes, but I saw my father tear open the package of diapers and pull one 
out.

"Been a while since your mother and I have had to put you in one of 
these." He said, "Now come on, quite your crying," he said. I cried 
some more. "Your really starting to make me think you are a baby." 
(Gosh, he was really rubbing it in. Looking back though, I love it and 
wish I could go back there. Oddly enough. But I was scared as all get 
up back then.)

So, he grabbed my thighs and pulled me so I would fall backwards onto 
the bed, and before I realized it he had my underwear down to my knees. 
He then tried to pick my rump up by using my ankles, but I was too big 
and the space in the truck was small so he tried to roll me. I cried 
some more and squirmed, so he flipped me over and gave me three very 
fast very firm swats on my bare rump and said, "Knock it off!"

Amazingly, for a second I stopped crying. But then after that second I 
started back up again.

He pulled my underwear all the way off, I sort of kicked a bit, which 
actually helped in a way. Then he grabbed my ankles and moved them to 
hold firmly in his right hand. Amazingly, (amazingly now anyway... back 
then it was just, "dad was strong" to me) he managed to (this time 
around) use my ankles to life my rump and slide the diaper under me. He 
then put my legs down and spread them apart by with one hand on each 
knee. But before he could pull the diaper up I slammed my legs shut and 
covered myself with my hands. Actually, I think my hands had already 
been covering myself.

So, he spread my legs again and slapped me hard on the inside of my 
right thigh once. "Quit fighting." He said, pointed his finger at my 
nose, and gave me a firm look. Maybe it was how he said it, maybe it 
was the slap, maybe it was just everything, but I stopped fighting 
right then and there.

So, he sort of elbowed my right knee while using his hand on my left 
knee, separated my legs and pulled the diaper up and over my hands, 
which were over my stuff. He looked at me with, well. A stern look, and 
so I moved my hands from out of there and held them just over my belly 
button.

"By your side." He said, and so I put my hands by my side while he 
started to pull the straps out from under my and get them straightened 
out. "Better yet, behind your head." He said. And so, I put my hand 
behind my head and stared down as my father pulled the right tap out 
and proceeded to fasten it tightly to the plastic of the diaper over my 
right hip. He then of coarse pulled the left on up.... he pulled it was 
a bit of a stretch, but he fastened it. I began to move, and the left 
tape came lose. "Not yet!" He called out, and I froze halfway up and 
looking stared at the diaper between my legs.

I felt very worm and fuzzy inside. My bladder suddenly told me I had to 
go to pee. "I have to go." I said. And my father looked at me, then at 
the tap that wasn't attacked to my left side. "Not yet," He said, "Just 
hold it a minute." He then pulled some electrical tape out of a little 
cubby whole in that was in the back 'living area' of the truck and used 
it to fasten the left side, and then to make sure the right would stay 
put.

"Ok." He said.
"I stood up, and felt the diaper with my hands. I also felt the cold 
tears on my face crusting up in the air conditioning and so wiped my 
face. My father looked me over, took in a deep breath, crossed his 
arms, and said, "alright."

I just looked back down at the diaper, and in doing so saw my pants. I 
bent down to pick them up, and my father stopped my by saying, "Don't 
bother."

"Wha?" I said, not even able to finish a complete word.
"Just go, and then I'll change you again." He frowned. I remembered 
that I had to go, and that I had said so out load.
"I can't," I said.
My father shrugged, "Alright, well it's time for bed, so why don't you 
get your bed ready."

I picked up my pants; my father took them out of my hands and hung them 
over the driver seat. "Get your bed ready." He said. And then closed 
the curtain and from the way the truck moved and what I heard, I could 
tell he sat down in the passenger seat.

So, I got my bead ready and after a while I realized I "really had to 
go." But I held it.

After a short time my father came back into the back, turned of the 
light, and lay down in his bunk. I was already lying on my bed on the 
floor and I kept playing with the tapes on the diaper. Not quit pulling 
up on them, just kind of flickering the edges of the tapes. I had to go 
pee, but I held it. I thought about just going in the diaper. I mean, 
the thought had crossed my mind, but I was afraid to. I was afraid of 
my dad thinking I needed to wear them, which is a funny thought 
considering all that had just happened.

So, I stayed up most of the night unable to sleep cause I had to go 
pee. However, I woke up in the morning to the truck moving. At first I 
didn't notice anything else. Maybe I was still used to how it felt 
waking up in diapers from the not so distance year before that I last 
wore one. Maybe I just got used to the feeling (again) through the 
night, and the truck moving was kind of a bigger thing to notice. So, I 
woke up, blanket in hand (Maybe I did realize I was wearing it *shrug*) 
and got up and sat in the passenger seat with the blanket over me.

"Good morning," My father said. I looked outside, the sun was barely 
out, and the sky was just a light gray color.
"We're moving?" I said.
"Docking." My father said without taking a pause. I watched as my 
father docked...
"Sleep well?" He asked. I thought about it, and that's when it suddenly 
hit me. I was wearing a diaper! I just as suddenly felt very awful. You 
know, that down feeling you have after a good crying.... I also 
realized.... I was wet. I lifted the blanket up and looked at the 
diaper, which was obviously very damp and heavy.
"I need that mirror," My dad said and motioned for me to put the 
blanket down. Which I did.

"Sleep ok?" He asked, glancing at my diaper.
"Yeah, alright." I said.
"Well, you can change in the back." He said, "I have to go in and take 
care of some paperwork."
"Ahhh, ok." I said.
"We'll go get breakfast, I know a diner that should be opening soon." 
My father said.

So.... After docking my father indeed got out of the truck to go take 
care of some paperwork. I went in the back and stared at the package of 
diapers sitting on the floor at the foot of what I call my bed onto his 
trip. I walked over to the package and without any whoopdy-do pulled a 
diaper right out of it. I then placed the diaper on the bunk and looked 
at the wet and soggy one I was wearing. I pulled the wet one off. I was 
fairly dry, but looking around I found a t-shirt and dried myself off 
some more. I then folded the wet diaper up into a ball and used the 
tapes to seal it closed.

After wrapping up the wet one and hiding it in my dirty laundry bag I 
folded the fresh one out on the bunk. I could feel the forklifts going 
in and out of the trailer in the back, and I could kind of judge their 
progress by the rumbles and sounds. .... So, after folding the fresh 
diaper out on the bunk I turned around, sat on it, and laid down into 
it. It felt soft and cottony under my rump, and my little willy kind of 
peckered up. It felt like soft feathers between my legs as I pulled it 
up and over my pines. I then strapped the tapes, first the right and 
then the left, and then adjusted so the diaper fit snuggly. I then 
smoothed over the tapes several times to make sure they would stick. 
They didn't look like they were going anywhere this time. I should have 
felt really strange or embarrassed, or at least I feel I should have 
felt that way. However, I just felt very moppy. I felt like crying but 
couldn't work up the tears.

Thinking of breakfast and the diner I pulled on my pants. They felt 
tight, or really the diaper felt tight with the pants over them. I 
looked the sides of my pants and did my best to make sure none of the 
diaper was showing out of my pant's waist by pulling my pants up and 
tucking the diaper down. I was zipping up my backpack when my father 
opened the driver side of the truck's door.

"Ready?" He called in as I heard him stepping into the truck.
"Yeah!" I called back.
"Good, lets get some breakfast." He said.

After a moment I hopped up in the front seat of the truck. My father 
was finished up working on his logbook, glanced around, and pulled the 
truck out. After going back to close the doors on trailer, we hit the 
road, and headed towards whatever diner my father knew was opening.

About halfway to the diner I realized I had to pee. I didn't mention it 
to my father, nor did I give it serious thought about going into he 
diaper. So, I just held it figuring I'd take care of it at the diner. 
When we reached the diner I had (isn't it funny how that works) forgot 
that I had to go to the restroom and we went right into to sit down and 
eat. We had a good breakfast, and then were getting up to leave when my 
father asked, "Are you wearing a diaper?" in a tone that sounded half 
shocked.

I looked around real quick checking to see if anyone had heard and had 
noticed some old guy glace my way when he heard that. Looking around I 
bit my lip and replied, "no." in a near whisper.

My father looked at my diaper section with a discerning eye, gave me a 
grimace, and said in a lower voice (probably because he realized I was 
embarrassed), "Yes you are, I can tell. I can see it though your 
pants." He then rolled his eyes.

"Well," I said in a defensive voice, "you're the one who said I had to 
wear them."
"Last night," He said, "Last night you had to wear them. I didn't say 
you had to wear one through the day."

"Ahhh.." I said, just about ready to pout, "I thought...." I said, and 
my mouth froze. I couldn't think of how to finish the sentence. My 
mouth just hung there, open and the cat had my tongue.

My dad shrugged, "Does it fit alright?" He asked.

"Yeah," I replied hardly thinking.

"Well, no harm done." he said, "Come on lets go." Just then I realized 
I had to go to the restroom. Then I thought about how I was wearing a 
diaper. I picture myself standing at the urinal going pee while wearing 
a diaper and got scared.

"Ahh..." I said.

"What?" My dad asked.

Images of me standing in front of urinal, diaper showing... "How would 
I get it off?" I thought... "Without taking the tapes off..." I 
thought.

"I have to go to the restroom." I said.

"O.k." My father said. And began to escort me to the restroom.

"Wait." I said, and my father looked at me with a puzzled look. I 
thought about, "How would I look taking off and putting on a diaper in 
the restroom."

"Ahhh.. never mind." I said.

"Nah, come lets go." My father said, "It's an hour or so to pick up the 
next load, and we don't know how long we'll have to wait there for them 
to load it."

So, I went into the restroom. I went up to the urinal, and then turned 
around ready to leave.

"What?" My father asked. I looked at him with a look that said, "you 
know what." and he pointed at the stalls.

So, I went into the stall, pulled down my pants, slid down the diaper 
part way, and went in the toilet in the restroom. And we left the 
diner.

When we were getting back in the truck my father started to say 
something, "Well you know..." but never finished it. I said, "What?"

And so, I wore the diaper.

Well.. This story could go on a lot longer. However the details are 
starting to get fuzzy for me. Some of the story is starting to become 
"fill in" for parts I don't remember so clear. So I'm going to leave it 
off here.

The short of the story is... I ended up wearing for the rest of my time 
out with my father on the road. When I got home my father told me not 
to tell my mother about it, and so I didn't. However, the night after I 
got home I wet the bed. My father told my mother I should be put back 
into diapers, my mother and he argued about it a bit and she said, "One 
night is no big deal." And then my father said, "Well he wet the bed 
several times while on the road." Totally making it sound like I had 
"Just started wetting the bed" all over again. And so, they agreed to 
"wait and see." However, I ended up wetting again the next three nights 
in a row and my mother gave in and agreed, and so they put me back into 
diapers.

My father actually bought wipes and changed me a few times on the road 
when I had gone "number two" and needed help getting cleaned up, but 
after that road trip my father never changed me again. My mother 
however put the diapers on me the first few nights that I started 
wearing them again after coming home, but then after that I pretty much 
did the changing on my own. My parents started me on a star chart again 
and said that if I could make it a month without wetting I'd never have 
to wear diapers again. After a year or so their offer became, "two 
weeks without wetting" and even eventually, "a week without wetting, 
and we'll buy you 'this toy' or 'that toy'".

I found when I got older, around age 10 that I secretly liked wearing 
diapers. My father was going to put me on an allowance and said, 
something along the lines that he couldn't afford to (the liar) because 
of the cost of diapers. That if I stopped wetting I could get an 
allowance.

Around age 10, I started wearing them secretly during the day. 
Sometimes I would pretend to forget to take them off in the morning. 
Eventually my best friend, and still is to this day, found out that I 
still "had to wear diapers", and he even tried them on a few times when 
he would stay the night. I don't think anyone else ever knew (and 
that's how you can tell who's really your friend ;) )

That's my life story. Well, my life in diapers anyway. I hope you liked 
hearing it, I enjoyed telling it. I also enjoy reading all you other 
guys' stories. Though I honestly think at least half the stories on 
here are bogus.

Oh well, they're good reads either way.