[CWIS'S NOTE] Up today I have a real-life story from a 24yo DL from Orlando. Thanks for sharing bro!!
This is the story of my summer in diapers. At least, that's what it came to be known in my family. My "summer in diapers" - and, ironically, although I hated every minute of it, the summer that I became a lifelong ABDL.
I will preface this by telling you that I am a recent college graduate, aged 24. I live in Orlando, FL but grew up in the southern part of the state. I am the middle of three brothers, one a year older than me and one a year younger.
When I was in fifth grade a decision was made to hold me back a year. This was based not on academic performance, but on my maturity level: my teachers felt that I was immature for my age and had actually urged my parents to keep me back in third grade. Failure was not an option for my family, and this request has been vehemently refused! The school had made the same request after fourth grade - also denied - but by fifth grade my parents were tired of fighting. A decision was made to keep me back a grade, and I was notified the last day of school.
For me, this decision would be a life changing one with ramifications that would never go away. First of all, all of my friends were in my grade. Secondly, my friends were fond of picking on the kids in the grade before mine, calling them "babies" - a tradition we'd had since we entered first grade and they entered kindergarten. Picturing myself in the class we picked on, that was an awful thought; but picturing myself being picked on by my friends year after year... that was a humiliation that I could not bear.
But the third thing that really upset me was the fact that my younger brother was one grade behind me. We would now be in the same grade. This was, for me, beyond humiliating. I remember sobbing when I found out, and pleading with the principal to change her mind. Then, when she told me that the decision had involved my parents and all had agreed that I should repeat fifth grade, I became inconsolable. I went into a closet in her office and refused to come out. She had to tell other students who had failed the news in the lobby of the office, or somewhere else in the building, something each person who came to try to extract me mentioned as though I should give a fuck. I didn't care! Finally my father entered, reached in and pick me up, and set me on my feet for the long walk to the car.
When we got to the van the front seat and middle seats were taken by my brothers and a carpool friend. I climbed into the back, trying to stop crying. Our carpool rider asked what was wrong, and my younger brother answered for me, telling all that I was repeating fifth grade. I remember being angry, wondering if he had known even before I did, and I hit him in the back of the head as hard as I could. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. That proved to be a poor decision on my part, because we weren't out of the parking lot yet; my father pulled over, parked, got out, walked to the back, opened the door, pulled me out by my sleeve, bent me over the van a little, pulled my pants down some, and spanked my bare bottom enough times to start me crying again. As I climbed back into the van I heard someone shout something about the moon, and I turned to see rows full of school buses - all eyes on us. The door closed, and I could see my brother snickering in the seat in front of me. I thought this was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life. Turns out, I would quickly find out how wrong I was...
These days putting a fifth grade boy in diapers would probably be considered child abuse. But I was in fifth grade when the Internet was brand-new, and news like that didn't get out like it is out today. Google was still new, and there was no Abysitter.com Hall of Shame.
When I got home I was sent to my room. I knew consequences were coming, because our family was a family that didn't hit - unless you count spankings - and consequences for something like that were severe. As expected, I spent most of the rest of the day sitting in my room, including through supper. It wasn't until bedtime that my parents came in and sat down with me to talk.
My parents had told me I was going to be kept in fifth grade, so this was the first time I'd had an opportunity to voice my frustration. I mostly kept it bottled up inside all day, and I let loose on them! I remember swearing and threatening, and I remember my father getting up to spank me again, stopping only when my mother urged him not to do it. I somehow thought if I was aggressive enough I could change their minds. I certainly tried, but after I was finished with my tirade father ordered me to say it, and then let me know point blank: it was way too late to change that decision.
I began crying again, and my mother and had enough. She lit into me with a ferocity that even my father's earlier spanking couldn't match. I stopped crying as she listed all of the ways my behavior to change our family. I was the first child in our family to be held back. I was considered immature for my age. There had been talk of my younger brother moving ahead a grade, but they had put that off to give me time to adjust. I didn't understand what that last part meant, but I knew that my mother was very ashamed of me. (I now know that her standards were ridiculous and put unnecessary pressure on all of us, but at that time I took it to heart and really began to feel like a failure.)
My parents let me know that they had come to a decision: I would spend the summer sleeping in diapers. To me, this made absolutely no sense. I had no trouble with bedwetting, although my younger brother had.
I tried to plead my case, but to no avail. My father had come into the room with a diaper, although I hadn't noticed it until now. He told me to put it on or have it put on for me. I told him there was no way in hell I was putting that thing on. I don't need to tell you what happened next, but I will: it was put on for me.
New most humiliating life moment? Yes.
I remember asking if I could wear my pajamas, and my parents looking at me like I was an idiot. Of course I would wear my pajamas, my mother told me. Wake anyone should know that. I hadn't worn a diaper since I was a baby, and these weren't the same pull-up underpants my brother had worn - they were real baby diapers. I put on my pajamas and immediately noticed how hot my ass got; maybe it was left over from the spanking, but I was uncomfortable!!
That first night was horrible. My parents hadn't gotten me anything for dinner, or let me go to the bathroom. After I was back in my pajamas my father let me know that I would be spending every night for the rest of the summer just like that. Then he and my mother got up, kissed me, and left the room. I got into bed, and went as still as possible. The diaper was very noisy and I was sure my younger brother probably knew all of this, too - I hoped not to give him any confirmation by making diaper noises.
After an hour I had to urinate so badly that it had hurt. Nobody had mentioned whether I was allowed to get up and go or not, and I hadn't thought to ask. Not knowing what to do, but being afraid of another tongue-lashing or spanking, I tried to hold out as long as I could. I heard my parents climb the stairs to go to bed and tried to call out to them, but they either ignored me or didn't hear. I finally, in desperation, flooded my diaper.
We all know how awesome it feels to flood a diaper right? It's a feeling that many of us live for. We enjoy feeling the wetness as it saturates our diaper and soaks every part of our diaper area. I enjoy feeling the wetness trickle down my ass crack and - well, you know the rest.
Now imagine being a fifth grade boy back in diapers for the first time as a punishment. That same feeling is an awful feeling full of helplessness and humiliation! As good as it feels to pee, after holding it's so long your entire body aches, you are flooded with a sense of shame even as your diaper is flooded with your urine. The wetness covers every inch of you, and the feeling of shame is intensified as it fills the crack of your ass. You are certain it will leak straight out the back and get your bed wet, too. You convince yourself everybody in the house can probably hear or smell it...
And that was just the first night.
The next morning my father had already left for work by the time my mother came into my room to get me. My diaper was so wet it was heavy, and when I stood up and got out of bed it drooped so badly my pajama bottoms fell down a little. I mostly waddled behind my mother as she led me downstairs and to the bathroom, trying to hike up my pajamas the whole time so nobody would see. The stench of pee was unmistakable, and I could tell the ripeness of it was filling the air. I was relieved when I got to the bathroom without either of my brothers seeing me, and when my mother ordered me to get into the shower I obeyed instantly. I took off my pajamas and my diaper fell to my feet. I handed it to my mother'a outstretched hand, careful to hide behind the frosted glass of the shower door, and then turned the water on and bathed. I was never so grateful for hot water or soap in all my life.
Once I was cleaning I stepped out of the shower to dry off. I saw that my mother had thrown my diaper into the small garbage can, and I realized that it would quickly be seen and smelled by anyone who entered the bathroom. I want to take it out, thinking I could sneak it into a bigger trash bag, but she saw me and told me to leave it.
I followed her into the kitchen, and sat obediently in my chair. She came up behind me and pushed my chair into the table so that the table served as almost a highchair of sorts. I was trapped, and my younger brother knew it. He took that time to turn to me and say "You know you're not going to camp, right?"
I asked my mother what he was talking about. She came over with my bowl of cereal, put it in front of me, and told me they had decided not to let me go to camp. She gave my brother a glare as if to tell him to be quiet, but instead he blurted out "we each got a vote!" Then he got up and leave the table, me unable to follow. I looked at my mother expectantly, and she rolled her eyes. He didn't vote, she explained, but everybody got to give their own opinion. She told me it was unanimous. She also explained how it was linked to my immaturity in school, but I didn't hear that part, because I had begun to cry again. I loved summer camp.
I was no longer hungry, but I somehow finished my cereal. My mother sat with me, and after I finished eating she told me she needed to go over the rules. This was a surprise to me, but I sat and listened as she explained that I was not allowed to leave the yard without her, and that I had to be inside at noon every day to take a nap. A NAP??? She told me she didn't care if I slept, but I had to be inside at noon to have lunch and then the light down for a little while. I asked if either of my brothers had to take a nap, and she answered by saying they would probably not be anywhere around, as though that answer would be acceptable.
As if on cue my younger brother came in with a baseball glove and told my mother they were going to the school to play. I wanted to go to, of course, and it suddenly hit me how much this summer was going to suck! I thought of the ramifications of having to go everywhere with my mother - nobody would want me on their team if it meant a parent was going to be ever-present, because there would be no swearing, fighting, or any of the other things that were a regular part of our baseball games. I realized that I was going to become a social pariah. Always accompanied by my mom during the day, diapered at night, and probably smelling like piss? Yeah.
I remember my brother making a huge point to pound his ball into his glove as they left, smirking, and it occurred to me that my mother being there might be the perfect way to get revenge. So I asked her if she would take me to play. Her answer stunned me. She told me I would have to get used to playing in the yard all summer, because she didn't have time to take me all over town. Besides, she said, schools for the kids who could play unsupervised. She managed to throw in something else about maturity, but again, I was beginning to cry. This time they were tears of anger.
This could have been as bad as it got. Something made me act out on my anger, and that very same day I really messed up my summer. Let's just say I got the bright idea to take that soaking wet diaper and wring it out on my brother's bed - right in the center - leaving a huge stain of urine. In my 11 year-old mind, this was setting up my brother for his own humiliation. Except it didn't; instead he came back (during my nap), discovered the wet spot, and shouted that I had peed in his bed. A minute later my mother was in his room, and a minute after that I was being dragged out of bed by my ear. She wailed on my buttcheeks first, and then dragged me - again, by my ear - to my brother's room, where I was ordered to strip his bed, and put fresh sheets on it. After being forced to apologize to him as he smirked I thought surely things couldn't get any worse, but I was wrong; she made me carry his wet sheets into my room, pull my sheets of my bed, and put his on them. At this point I already thoroughly regretted how stupid I had been, and then she finished it off by pulling a diaper out of my dresser drawer and bringing it to me. I didn't even need to be told to put it on, I just did, careful to keep my backside to her. I began to put my pajamas on but she snatched them from me, ordering me to lay down. I tried to lay on the edge of the mattress, but she told me to move over until I was laying directly on the piss stain. I was humiliated, and still she lectured me about urinating on other peoples things. I couldn't explain that I had merely taken a wet diaper and wrung it out - that was even worse, right? So I just kept quiet.
I was in my room for hours when my father got home, and I could hear him talking to my mother before he walked upstairs to my room. He came in and pulled me out of bed by my arm, and I was sure I was about to get yet another spanking, but instead he led me outside and to my brothers room. Damn.
My younger brother came walking upstairs, and there I stood in nothing but a baby diaper, humiliated as hell, standing next to my father. Father explained my predicament, acting like my brother didn't know, and my brother over acted his surprise, confirming to me that he did. Then my father explained that I had indeed urinated on his bed - something that I hadn't even admitted to - and that my brother could choose my punishment. I felt my face grow super red with the newfound power my brother suddenly had. The choices were me doing all of my brothers chores for the summer, me giving up my room and taking my brothers smaller room indefinitely, or me having to stay in diapers during the day, too, all summer. As soon as I heard the third option I knew what it was going to be, and he confirmed it by saying "well, he DID use my bed for a toilet..."
Imagine spending your entire summer wearing diapers day and night. It sounds like a dream too many of us, but when you're in fifth grade, it is a nightmare. I remember long car rides where I would be in pain from trying to hold it, because I didn't want everyone around me to have to smell pee all day. I remember going to movies, and being utterly humiliated when my brothers and their friends would go straight to the men's room right afterwards, but I would stand by the exit doors with my mother instead. I remember actually looking forward to having to take a nap, because I would be allowed to use the toilet right before it.
And worst of all, knowing that my brothers knew, and their friends probably knew, and feeling like everyone's allegations that I was immature for my age was really verified by the fact that I was diapered.
I had initially hoped that the punishment would last only as long as it took the shock factor to wear off. I was wrong. By the end of the summer I was so used wearing diapers that I think not wearing one would have felt weird to me.
I was sent to bed early many nights, and spent at least an hour during a nap every day in my bed. This is basically when I learned to masturbate as well, well that is a story for a different day, I will say this: learning about masturbation during the time that you are diapered for an extended period has ramifications we are all aware of.
It wasn't until three years later when my younger brother was allowed to accelerate through a grade (8) that I became so stressed out that I began to revisit old feelings of being diapered. My brother was a grade ahead of me - something that occurred during the same summer my parents announced that our bedtimes and other privileges would not be based on grade level. I would spend the next you're going to bed at eight while he was allowed to stay up until nine.
That was too much for me, and one night I found myself searching through drawers looking for those old baby diapers. They no longer fit, but I still managed to stuff them in my boxer briefs and hump the shit out of them. The rest is history - and it's a history you probably already know. That next school year a routine had begun: spend one hour before bedtime jerking off in my diaper, my revenge for them letting Ryan your brother stay up later. Boom!
I am now a lifelong diaper lover, and that same feeling of humiliation is now a feeling of pleasure. My older brother found diapers in my bag on a trip once, and asked me about it, but I made up a story that he believed. The rest of my family probably has no idea, but my so-called "Summer in Diapers" is now talked about like it was a life-changing experience for me.
It was life-changing alright; because of it I will now have a desire to be diapered for the rest of eternity.
Thanks for listening.
