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Although she didn’t know exactly what I did up in my tree house all day, Joan (my mum) knew that it wasn’t anything bad. As far as she thought, I just liked the peace and quiet. Today, like most since I broke up from school, I was up in my tree house. As usual, I had got out of bed at 8:35, eaten breakfast, and gone straight to the tree house. She already knew that as soon as she called me down for lunch, I would appear, eat, and then go back to my hiding place. She really didn’t know what could keep me occupied all day, but at least she knew I wasn’t out doing drugs, or getting drunk, or anything silly like that. It just didn’t seem normal behaviour for a 10 year old, just to sit in a tree house all day.
I, on the other hand, thought that it was a perfect way of wishing away the holidays.
A bit of background. Joan and Bill (mum and dad) had always had difficulty having a child. In the end, they resorted to using fertilisation treatment, and had ended up not with one child, nor two, but three. Yes, I am one of triplets. My sisters, Jill and Claire, seemed normal, healthy 10 year-olds. But I was confusing to my parents.
I was not a normal child. That much was obvious. From the outside, it only seemed that I was shy, but when you lived with me all the time, it was obviously not shyness. I wouldn’t say more than I needed to to anyone. Not even my mother. Even though both mum and dad had tried to get me to talk to them, they had never succeeded. I just didn’t want to talk. I had flatly refused to be taken to a psychiatrist. I was just an enclosed, depressed person. I was But that was about to change.
“Jamie, lunch time.” mum called in the vague direction of the tree house. Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, my feet appeared at the top of the ladder. She watched them quickly descend. Then, only a few feet from the bottom, my foot slipped. She watched me plummet the rest of the distance to the floor, and land flat on my back.
“JAMIE” she screamed, already running towards my body. When she got there, I was groaning.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“My back hurts” I said, feeling very weak.
Joan scooped me up in her arms, and rushed back towards the house.
“Lunch is on the table. I’m taking Jamie to hospital.” She said to the girls on her way out. “I’ll be back later.” She managed to grab the car keys from the table in the hall, and went outside, placing me in the back seat. She completely ignored the warm, wet patch on my clothes, slowly soaking into the seat.
She drove as fast as she could to the nearest hospital.
Just as she scooped me out of the back of the car, I passed out.
The next thing I knew, I was lying in a hospital bed. Mum was sitting in a seat across the other side of the room.
“Welcome back” she said the second my eyes opened. “How’re you feeling?”
I smiled. It’s never like mum to be anything but to the point.
“The doctor says that there’s nothing wrong with you, just that you had a nasty fall, and shouldn’t do anything strenuous with your back for the next couple of weeks.”
The doctor came in a couple of minutes later and explained to me that I would be released soon, but that if I experienced any trouble with my back, or had anything to ask, I should come back and speak to him.
About half an hour after that, I was released, and we were on our way home.
“So, what happened?” I asked. It seemed that my memory had been effected by the fall, as I couldn’t remember any of it.
“You were on the way down from that wretched tree house of yours, and you slipped on the third rung.” Mom explained. She didn’t like the fact that I was so enclosed, and secretive about my feelings.
You see, I had been having a bad time at school. I was getting regularly bullied, although I didn’t dare tell anyone. I was quite bright, but I wasn’t applying my knowledge. I had recently got into a spot of bother about the amount of effort that I was putting into the work that I was handing in at school. Just as I was reflecting on these problems that I was having, I felt a sudden warmth spreading out from my crotch. I looked down. I could see the pool of urine collecting between my legs.
“Uh, mum,” I said, trying very hard not to cry “I’ve got a slight problem.”
I couldn’t help it. A tear rolled down my cheek. Mom looked over at me. She glanced down, but didn’t have enough time to take in the pool, as we had just arrived at our drive. She drove the car into the garage, and then got out. By this time, tears were steadily rolling down my cheeks. She came round to my door, and opened it. She glanced down at the lake in between my legs, and then looked me in the eye. She could see that I was crying, so she hugged me, saying:
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll still be in shock. It’s just a small accident.”
She broke off the hug, and helped me out of the car. As soon as I was out, she scooped me off my feet and carried me into my room. She stood me in the middle of my room, and helped me to get out of my damp clothes. She left me standing there in the middle of my room, and went to get a warm washcloth from the bathroom. She gently washed all the places that were wet, and passed me some clean underwear. I put on the underwear that she had handed me, but didn’t put on anything over it. Mum took the wet stuff down to the washing machine. I lay down on my bed, and cried myself to sleep.
I woke up to a wet bed. I could feel the wet sheets clinging to my legs. I glanced outside. It was getting dark.
“Mum” I yelled, hoping to get her attention, but not the attention of any of the rest of my family. I didn’t know how my sisters would react, but I didn’t really want them to know that I had wet the bed.
Seconds later, mum came into my room to find me sitting up, shivering slightly, in a very wet bed. She instantly reacted. She closed the door to stop anyone from seeing me, and moved over to the bed. She helped me out, minimising the amount of pee that I dripped onto the floor. She helped me take my now yellow underpants down, and put them onto my soaked bed. She went out the door for a couple of minutes, returning with a warm washcloth, and a large plastic bag. She scooped up the wet sheets and my underwear, and placed them in the bag. She then moved over to me, and cleaned me with the washcloth. I was glad to have all of the pee washed off me. She then helped me get into some clean underwear. All through this experience I was crying. If I was allowed to, I would have been up in my tree house, doing nothing, but the doctor had said that I wasn’t allowed to do any strenuous exercise. I grabbed some clothes, and put them on. Mum took the bag-full of wet things and took them down to the washing machine. I found my sisters watching TV. The fact that they had no idea what had just happened helped to comfort me, and I almost managed to forget about it. We were watching TV, when I felt that dreaded warmth spread down into the sofa. It wasn’t long until Claire, who was sitting next to me, had noticed it. I saw her look down and notice the wet patch around my crotch. I started to sob. Claire stood up, and walked out to find mum. It wasn’t long before, yet again, I was upstairs, this time in the bathroom, being washed down by mum. This time, she was slightly annoyed that it had happened again.
“Jamie, darling, if this is going to keep happening then we are going to have to think about some protection. I’m sure that you don’t want to keep having to change out of wet clothes, and the urine doesn’t do the furniture much good. I know you may not want to, but we may have to put you into some diapers.”
I cringed at the word. ‘Diapers are for babies’ I thought to myself. I could, however, see the advantages. It would mean that I wouldn’t keep wetting, and it would stop me from having to worry about going to the toilet. I meekly nodded my head, and agreed to wear them.
“OK” mum said “If you can make sure that you get to the bathroom, then I’ll pop out and get you some. OK?”
I nodded, trying very hard not to cry. A single tear rolled down my cheek.
“I can tell that you aren’t happy about the idea, but it’s the only way that I think we can deal with this. At least give it a try, eh” she said, as soothingly as she could.
She left me to get dressed myself this time, as she went out to buy some diapers.
I was sulking in my room when she came back from the store. She came up, and was pleased that I had not wet myself again.
“Now then,” she said “I know that if I make you do this, and you are uncomfortable with it, then it could damage your health. So are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.
I thought for a couple of seconds, weighing up the idea. I nodded.
“OK then, lay down on the bed, and take you clothes off.” I obeyed. A couple of seconds later, I was lying on my bed, stark naked. She took out a package of diapers from her bag. She also took out a packet of wipes, and a tub of powder. She skilfully powdered my smallish penis, and tightly taped a diaper around me. Although I never admitted it to mum, it did feel kinda nice to have a diaper on.
So, for the next couple of weeks, I wore diapers. I was always changed by mum, although my sisters did express an interest in changing my diapers. After about two weeks, I started to gain some control over my wetting. I was getting to the point where I could tell for about 3 minutes before that I was going to wet. Even with this new-found control, I didn’t use it. You see, I had grown to like my diapers. The effect that they had on me is indescribable. They made me feel safe, secure, loved. Unless you have ever felt that way, there is no way that you can understand the feeling. The downside to the fact that I was regaining control was that I had to start to deliberately wet my diapers. This proved tricky, and, as a result, it wasn’t long until I was caught. I was eating lunch with mum. It was only us, as dad was at work, and the girls were around at one of their friend’s house.
I could feel my full bladder, and I started to try to pee. Well, it took me a couple of minutes to get started, but then I managed to get a steady flow. The only problem was that mum had watched me do the whole thing. I looked at her, and she was just looking at me.
“Listen, Jamie, I guess you’re wet?” I nodded “Then how about I change you, and we can talk.” I nodded again. We both finished our food, and then mum led me upstairs to my room. She got out the old towel that had been used as a changing mat, and laid it on the bed. I let her do the whole change. Whilst doing it, she talked to me.
“I have had a suspicion that you liked diapers for quite a while now, and what I saw a few minutes ago merely re-enmakes what I already thought. You see, potty training you was very hard. You just didn’t want to give up your diapers. We tried everything: treats, spanking, everything. The only thing that we could find that worked was to leave you locked in the bathroom. In the end, you worked out that if you didn’t get trained, then you would never be allowed to have much fun. After we had trained you, however, you were not the same child. You withdrew from us, and became more personal, more secretive. You lost some of your love for life. You got by, sure, but you weren’t nearly the same person as you were when you were wearing diapers.
“At first, your father and I were not worried about you. We merely thought that it was a way of you trying to get back into diapers. We were determined to keep you out of diapers. Whenever you tried to tell us your point of view, we just denied you. As time went by, you grew further and further away from the family. It got to the point where we had no idea what you were thinking. This led to problems at school. We know you are bright, but you just didn’t show it in school. It eventually led to you staying up in that tree house of yours every day of the holidays. You had got to the point where you were wishing away your life, not interested in all of the things that you could be doing.
“Then you had the accident. I blamed myself. I should have realised that you were depressed before now, and I could have avoided the whole bloody thing, had I just allowed you to talk to us. When we went to the hospital, after you were unconscious, the doctor warned me that you may have some wetting problems. He suggested that I get you some diapers, but I flatly refused him. I was not going to have you back in diapers. Then you started to have your accidents. I talked with your father on the phone, and he managed to convince me to allow you to wear diapers. I brought you some, and put you in them. I don’t know if you realised it, but you were a lot happier when in diapers than you were when you weren’t. You smiled a lot more. You were a lot more like your old self. You had regained some of what you had lost during potty training.
“Even though I was convinced that you would not want to stay in diapers, I picked up on some obvious signs. You subconsciously smiled when I put you in a clean diaper. You stopped running to me as soon as you had wet. Small signs, but not so small I missed them. Then, at lunch time, the look on your face as you deliberately wet your diaper said it all. You were now, in my mind, definitely wanting to wear diapers.”
By this time, she had managed to take of the old wet diaper, and wash off my diaper area. She continued:
“I had a talk with your father last night, after you three had gone to bed. I told him my concerns about you wanting to wear diapers, and he convinced me that if that’s what you want, we should support you. To be honest, I couldn’t send you back into the state that you were in, but your father suggested that, if you wanted to, we could put you back into diapers for everything. Not just for peeing.”
“OK, I guess that you want that then. But I’m warning you now, if you do decide to wear diapers full time, then you will very quickly lose what little control you have. There will be no turning back.”
She was deliberately holding back on putting me into a clean diaper. She hadn’t even got one out.
“So, what do you say? Do you want to stay in diapers full time?”
I smiled, and nodded.
“OK then.” She said, “But I think that you should be wearing these.” She pulled a cloth diaper out from the bag with my stuff in it.
“The disposables are expensive, and un-environmentally-friendly.”
She expertly folded the diaper, and placed it under me. I was in heaven. The cloth diaper felt so much better than the disposables ever had. They brought a whole new meaning to the word ‘diaper’.
She put me into another diaper, so that I was double-diapered, then pulled a pair of semi-transparent plastic pants over them. I loved it. I looked in the mirror, and smile at my appearance.
“Do you want me to tell your sisters about the decision that you have made today, or do you want to tell them yourself?” she asked, noting my huge smile.
The smile faded. How would my sisters feel about having a brother in diapers? Mom realised what I was thinking.
“They’ll be fine about it. They both think that you look cute in you diapers. But I warn you, I may not be able to stop them from wanting to change you diapers. You’re ok with that, aren’t you?” I nodded, relieved that they didn’t mind.
So, there I was: lying down on my bed, with a large diaper pinned around my waist. Smiling, I drifted off to sleep.
In the year that followed, it became the routine that my sisters would change my diapers, unless they weren’t there, in which case my mum would. I was moved to a school equipped for my ‘special needs’. It was brilliant at that school. There weren’t that many of us (about 10 or 12), and all of the teachers teach you on a one-to-one basis. I made a huge amount of friends there (pretty much every other student), and was sad when we were moving away.
It was decided that we were going to move closer to my grandparents. It was decided that mum would home-school us, as she had trained to be a teacher.
Well, we moved a couple of weeks later, and the next door neighbours came round to meet us. As we hadn’t unpacked everything yet, I only had the small amount of Lego that I had brought in the car with me. The neighbours had two sons and a daughter. Well, me and the two boys from next door were playing upstairs, and I noticed the small signs that they were wearing diapers. I asked them about it, and they explained that they had been bullied, and had started wearing them at night. Then they moved to wearing them full time.
And there I was, thinking I was the only one. It’s a small world after all.
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