My name is Troy. I am 20 and from Orlando, FL. I have been reading Chris's blog since he began it, and have recently had the chance to meet with him.
I wanted to tell my story a long time ago, but never had the nerve to share it with anyone. I've actually written it half a dozen times. Writing it is kind of therapeutic for me. It helps me both understand, and get over, the reason I am into the things I am into. Every time I write it I remember some new detail, and it takes me back.
My story begins when I was 12.
[CWIS'S NOTE]: I kindly invite anyone who may be turned on by stories involving adolescents to stop reading now. The account you are about to read is a true story, the recollection of someone now in his 20s. If you are looking for stories involving actual children for sexual gratification purposes, check out Deeker.com. ;]
When I was 12, my aunt caught me and my cousin, who was 11, experimenting with each other.
It was completely innocent. At age 20, I know recognize that I am straight, and while I am open to experiences with guys involving diapers, I am not sexually attracted to guys.
But when you are 12, you are sexually attracted to everything. It's not even sexual, really. It's just curiosity.
So my cousin, who was 11, and I were comparing penises one afternoon when my aunt walked in.
First, let me tell you, you have never seen such an overreaction.
My aunt, who is normally not a violent person, literally ran across the room, grabbed me up by my ear, and started wailing on my ass.
She dragged me out of his room, down the hall, down the stairs, and into the living room, where the spanking continued.
Her husband, a man I refuse to call my uncle, walked in, hearing the commotion, and asked what was going on.
She told him. But she didn't say "curiosity". She said "molesting" or "abusing" or words to that effect.
I was just one year older. Yet my aunt had decided that I had taken advantage of my cousin. The truth was, we were both about equal in terms of maturity, size, and every other factor. And he had had lots of advantages that I hadn't. In some ways I think he was probably at my level. My aunt did not agree.
She handed me off to my uncle, who pulled my pants down and whaled on me like you wouldn't believe.
My cousin walked into the room, and I'll never forget looking over at him. I could tell he wanted to speak up in my defense, but I'm sure he was as humiliated as I was, and probably scared of getting the same beating if he did. So he stood silently by and watch me get the spanking of my life, then turned and went back to his room.
I don't remember much after that, but I remember later that day standing in my living room while my fake uncle told my father and mother what had happened.
My parents, who were fairly religious people, were very embarrassed. I'll never forget them apologizing over and over to this man who had just spanked their son without even really knowing what had been going on. At one point he told them something to the effect of probably having left marks on my bottom, and my mother said something about me having needed a spanking for a long time. The truth was, I was a very well behaved kid, and I had never really done anything to warrant a spanking. But in my parents eyes that day, I probably needed 10 of them.
I remember spending the entire weekend sitting in my room. I remember having to go to the bathroom so bad that hurt, and actually opening my window and leaning out to pee from the upstairs. I remember how afraid I was that my father would be outside in the yard, and see me. I'm sure they would think I was waving my penis around in public, just like my aunt thought I was blasting my cousin.
Finally, when I had to poop so bad I thought I might go in my pants, my parents came upstairs and into my room. They sat down, and told me to get into my pajamas. I grabbed my pajamas and started to walk out into the hallway to go to the bathroom but my father stopped me. Change here, he told me. I remember standing there, waiting for them to get up and go out of the room so I could change, and my father got angry and told me to change right now. I asked if I could go downstairs to the bathroom to change, and I'll never forget what my father told me.
He told me I couldn't leave the room, because my younger brothers were downstairs and I was not allowed to be alone with them.
What the fuck!
I was just 12, and it was eight years ago, but I remember that day in graphic detail. My parents watch me change, and when I tried to put my pajama bottoms on over my boxers they told me to take my boxers off. I turned so they would only see my butt, what it was one of the most familiar embarrassing moments of my life.
After I was changed, I sat down on the bed. I had to poop so bad. But I was afraid to ask. So I sat and listened to my parents.
My father explained that because I had been caught having sexual relations with a minor, things were going to be very different for me. I asked if the fact that I was also a minor didn't mean anything, and he told me that the fact that I was older made it so that I was the adult in this situation. (I now know that the law says very differently, but I believed my father at the time, and I found out later my father thought that what he was telling me was the truth.)
My father explained that they had convinced my aunt's husband not to notify the police. My father was very afraid that I would get taken away; he was also afraid that they might lose custody of my brothers, and that the word might get out in public. My father was a public figure at the time, and very involved in his church. He was also very homophobic, and actually still is, and I'm sure worrying that his son was gay, and that his friends would find out, weighed very heavily on what he would do next.
My father explained that, if my uncle had called the police, I would surely be taken away and locked up in a residential group home until I was 18. And maybe longer.
My father should have been in a position to know, so I took his word for the Gospel.
My father told me that the most important thing was that I could no longer be unsupervised around any children. I have two younger brothers, one who was two and the other's nine at the time. My parents told me that being alone with them was simply not an option, and that if I was not able to be supervised well enough to prevent this they would have no choice but to send me away themselves. They are sorry for feeling that way now, but at the time they meant it
My father explained that things would be changing around the house. I would no longer be allowed to sleep in my room, which was in the half of the house next to my brothers rooms. I would be sleeping in their half of the house from now on. I would not be allowed in the television room, nor would I be watching television anytime soon. I would not be allowed in the computer area, where my brothers like to play games on the computer, which meant no more Internet. And I would only be allowed in the part of the house my parents were in. If my mother needed to go into the basement to do laundry, I would have to follow her. If they needed to go out to get the mail, I would have to go outside to.
My parents also told me that I was not allowed to go out unsupervised anymore. At the time I played in a basketball league at a church on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I asked about that, in my father told me you've Artie spoken with the coach, and that was over. I remember wondering if he told him the reason why, and feeling very embarrassed. I now realize there was no way in hell my father would ever have told anyone the real reason...
I know you're probably wondering where diapers come into all of this.
Here's where.
My parents told me to follow them down to their room. I did, and they led me to their walk-in closet. It was empty now, my parents clothing thrown about the floor in their room, but they had put a twin bed in the closet.
The closet was off the hallway into their room, so it wasn't right in their bedroom, but it was in a place where they would be able to see if I came or went. I knew that was the idea. They wanted to keep me away from my brothers. And they wanted to make sure they could see exactly where I was. Their closet was the perfect spot for this. I remember wondering if my mom went along with it willingly, or unwillingly. She loved that walk-in closet.
My parents explained that they could no longer trust me around other males. So I would not be allowed to leave the closet at anytime during the night. At this point I had to poop so bad a turtle head was probably popping out, so I used this as my excuse to ask. My parents shook their heads. I remember my father asking me what part of not being able to leave the room did I not understand.
So I have to have you take me to the bathroom every time I have to go, I asked them incredulously.
And I remember my father looking at my mother, and my mother looking back at my father. This probably hadn't occurred to them. But I could tell my father had an idea. I remember getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as he stood up with a start, obviously inspired by my question, and left the room. My mother and I sat in nervous silence. He returned a few minutes later with what I recognized immediately as my brother's diaper bag. I remember my mother saying his name, and her know her tone was as if to say don't do this. But he cut her off and asked me if I had to go right now. I told him I did and he told me to follow him.
My father took me to the bathroom, and I'll never forget how he first check it to make sure my brothers were inside. He then motioned for me to go in, but when I put my hand on the door to close it he held in place. I sat down on the toilet, went to the bathroom, with the realization that my father was leaving the bathroom door open a crack. This is when I knew he was really serious about everything was saying.
After I got done I washed my hands and returned to the door. My father leaned over and whispered in my ear, telling me that if he caught me in this part of the house without permission he wouldn't be able to let me stay there. I remember how sad that made me. I wanted to explain that they had the situation completely wrong, but he had never even asked me what had happened, or give me a chance to explain my side. He sort of took me by the arm and let me back upstairs.
My brother asked as I was being led back into his room why I wasn't sleeping in my own room. My father didn't miss a beat, turning to my brother and letting him know that I didn't want to sleep there anymore. He then asked my brother if he would like to have that room instead of the room that he had. And my brother, believing my father, jumped at the chance. My father told him to go ahead and start moving in.
My father waited until we were in the hallway to tell me that he just assumed I didn't want to sleep there based on my behavior. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. But I heard the screeching of my brothers desk being dragged across the floor as he prepared to move it into my room. I thought of all of my video games and movies that were in my room, and mustered up the courage to ask my father what was going to happen to them. He looked at me very seriously and told me he wouldn't worry about anything in my room.
We returned to my parents room and I saw my mother was looking through the diaper bag. My father told my mother to leave for a minute, to go help my brother move some of his stuff into my room. I could tell my mother had no idea what was going on, but she got up and left anyway.
My father then went over the rules with me. The rules were very simple. I would go to bed at whatever time my parents tired of watching me like a hawk. I would stay in my room until morning. And I would not be allowed to leave to use the toilet unless one of them felt generous enough to take me. My father teased me by telling me I should not have anything to drink after dinner, or maybe even after school. And then he pulled a diaper out of the diaper bag...
I could immediately tell the diaper my father was holding was not one of the diapers that belonged to my baby brother. It was much larger. I now recognize that it was an adult diaper, and realize that it was one that had probably belonged to one of my grandparents. I've never known that they wore diapers, or even that there were diapers for adults, but they had stayed with us quite a bit in the months preceding this event, so I am fairly certain that is where they came from.
My father grabbed my arm and brought me over to him by the bed. In one quick motion he pulled my pajamas down and pulled a diaper between my legs. I tried to resist, by pushing my knees together, but he quickly kicked my feet apart, and was in 10 seconds had all six tapes taped and my pajama bottoms pulled back up. I was now in a diaper, in my pajamas, in my parents room. My father told me that it was time for bed, and as I glanced to look at the clock on the wall, which showed it was not even 7 o'clock yet, he told me not to worry about the time. He suspected my parents would grow exhausted from having to watch me every second of the day, and figured there would be many nights that I would be going to bed extremely early.
My mother had returned by this time, and my father and mother both stood at the door to the closet as I got into bed. My parents threw a pillow and blanket down onto the bed, and then pulled the chain on the lightbulb to turn it off. The room was dark now, and I am laying in bed in utter shock and humiliation. I remember that I began to cry, and I remember being angry that I was not once allowed to even begin to explain the situation.
The next morning when I woke up my diaper was dry. I had to go very badly, and I had probably stayed awake through half the night trying to not wet. It was kind of a sense of accomplishment when I got up and was brought to the bathroom to take off my diaper and go. I remember being very proud of myself for having to pee in the morning, but thinking how very ridiculous that was, since I hadn't actually wet the bed since I was a little kid.
My mother fixed me breakfast. I grabbed my bowl of cereal off of the table and began to take it to the kitchen table but my mother stopped me, pointing to the dining room table. We never ate our meals in the dining room unless it was a family dinner. I was confused. My mother pulled out a chair and told me to sit. I would no longer be allowed to eat my meals in the kitchen. My brothers ate there. I remember my face turning bright red as I wondered what my brother was thinking about why I was being kept away.
My mother stood in the doorway for a long while, and then came and sat down next to me. She watched me eat, but she probably didn't know I was forcing my food down. I had actually lost my appetite. As she sat there she began to give me the overview on why I was not going to be allowed to be around children unsupervised. If I hadn't already felt sick to my stomach, the talk she gave me would of been the turning point. I remember wanting to throw up, as I realized how much stock my parents had put into the report from my aunt and her husband.
I finished eating, and my mother followed me to the bathroom. She did allow me to close the door, but after I went to the bathroom and brush my teeth she told me to hurry up, and then followed me up to my room. My brother was already in it, getting his stuff ready for school, and I noticed how he had already moved all of the furniture around. He thanked me for letting him have my room, and I meekly nodded. Didn't know what to say. I watched as my mother walked over to my closet, and grabbed a shirt I hadn't worn for two years and a pair of pants that was at least one size too small for me. She went to my dresser and took out a pair of socks and underpants, and I remember being relieved that she had boxers in her hand. I was ready to take off my diaper.
She took me to the closet and told me to get dressed. She gave me privacy, but when I finished dressing I realized I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do next. I knew I wasn't allowed to leave without supervision, but my mother had left the room. Did she expect me to go downstairs? Would I get in trouble if I did? I had no idea what to do. So I decided to take the chance, and walked down the hall and to the stairs. I was halfway down the stairs when my mother am walking around the corner and stopped. She immediately let me know that my decision had been the wrong one. She then grabbed me by the arm and returned me to the closet. She let me know the rules again, and it now suddenly became very clear to me: I would not be outside of her eyesight at any time for the immediate foreseeable future.
After my mother got done lecturing me she told me to follow her. I walked down the stairs after her, and she handed me my backpack. I could hear the bus rumbling down our street, and my brother had already run out to catch it. I began to follow him, and my mother stopped me cold. She explained, in a very condescending fashion, how I would no longer be riding the school bus. She or my father would be picking me up from school after work, and they would be driving me every morning.
And, if I had problems in school, my mother would be cutting back on her hours to homeschool me.
The idea of this was so horrifying I didn't even want to think about it. Was bad enough that I was no longer allowed to do CYO basketball. Not being allowed to see my friends at school?
When we went to school my mother walk me in to the main office. She had me sit down, and then she went up and spoke to the secretary. The secretary glanced to me several times and I remember wondering what my mother was saying...
My mother sat down next to me and a few minutes later the assistant principal came out. He invited my mother to join him in his office, and my mother told me to sit and wait. I noticed that once my mother left the lobby the secretary moved over to the counter, pretending to stuff envelopes but actually watching me very closely. After about 15 minutes I was allowed to go into the principals office with my mother. Neither of them explained what they had talked about, but from the principal's instructions I knew. He told me that at gym time I was to report to the main office, let a secretary know I was there, and then sit quietly in the lobby. He also told me that anytime I needed to use the bathroom, I was to ask for the bathroom pass, but then report directly to the main office, where I would be escorted to a bathroom. I remember feeling helpless and humiliated. This was a man who went to our church, a man who I respected, and he was probably now under the impression that I was some kind of sexual predator. As if to back this up, he told me that if I was found in a bathroom without supervision I would be suspended from school. Thoughts of homeschooling went through my head, and I began to feel very depressed.
My life continued like this for months. I would go home after school in my moms car while my brother rode the bus. By the time my brother got home I would have already been fed, sent to the bathroom, and sent to my closet. I would be allowed out to go to the bathroom before bed, but then would be diapered, usually by my father but sometimes by myself, and sent to bed.
Nights were very difficult. I would do everything in my power to not use the diaper. Sometimes I think my parents could tell I had to go, and they would take me. Other times I would wind up wetting. I never pooped, not once, but a whole bunch of different nights I came very close...
I was essentially grounded, and we really didn't do very much in the way of outings, so being out in public didn't really come up for at least a few months.
I spent a lot of time in the closet, and a lot of time in whatever room my mother was in. Sometimes we would go out into the yard, and I would always have to sit around wherever she was.
Diapers were reserved for nighttime, and I had pretty much gotten used to them, before an incident one day which changed all of that. On this particular day a group of women from church all came over to play cards. They were all seated around the yard, when I told my mother I had to go to the bathroom. She got up and took me. But 10 minutes later I had to go again. When I told her, she looked angry. She got up and walked me in, but instead of taking me to the bathroom she took me to my room. She then did the same thing my father had done, but in half the time. Thirty seconds later I was standing there in an adult diaper. She pulled up my clothes, and told me to follow her back outside. I was made to sit back down in the grass, and spent the rest of the time holding my bladder.
We hadn't really gone anywhere for a long time, except for church where my father would take me to use the bathroom. One Saturday afternoon my mother announced that we had to go to the mall to shop for birthday present for my cousin. She got my baby brother dressed, and me and my younger brother were both told to go to our rooms to change. I got dressed to go out, but I had just gotten completed and sent back down to wait when my father came up into the closet.
My father told me that my mother was taking us to the mall, and that I was going to have to wear a diaper because I was not allowed to use the toilet at the mall without supervision. He mentioned that next year my younger brother might be allowed to take me into the bathroom, but at this point it was me with parental supervision only.
I remember resisting, wanting to have to put a diaper on. And I remember very vividly my father giving me a demonstration as to why that was futile.
So I walked around the mall in a disposable diaper meant for my grandmother, while my mother watched me and my interactions with everyone around me like a hawk.
By this point I have been diapered for so many nights that I realize trying to fight it seems futile.
You can't imagine how uncomfortable it is sleeping on a bed on the floor in your parents closet in a diaper unless you have been in that situation.
Picture yourself, at age 12, desperately having to poop, and trying very hard to hold it. Every other kid you know can just walk out of their room and go to the bathroom, but your parents, in some misguided attempt to teach you not to compare your penis with anyone else's, have decided that for you, going to the bathroom on your own is some kind of crisis.
The first few times I forgot to ask permission to leave the room I got my ass smacked. The first time I protested, I got put in the closet for the rest of the day. I quickly learned that this is how things were going to be. I tried not to feel guilty about the situation, but it is hard to not feel like a criminal when you are being better supervised than most murderers.
My brother played up his advantage to the hilt. I remember how he moved into my room the very first moment he had a chance. a few days later I came home to find all of my things in the hall. My parents watched me as I had to move them all into the storage closet so my brother would not be disturbed in his new room. Another time my brother stood in the doorway and told me that my mom had said I had to leave the living room. When I asked why, he told me it was because he wanted to watch television and I couldn't be there. I got sent to the closet so my brother could watch cartoons because my mom couldn't watch both of us. This became a theme... my brother, realizing that I would be sent to the closet anytime my mom couldn't directly supervise me, would constantly find reasons to want to be in an area she would have difficulty watching. At that point it would either be me being forced to sit in my mother's room while she worked on projects for her church, or being sent to the closet. Most of the time, into the closet I went.
I wasn't sure exactly what they had told my brother, I wasn't even sure if he knew the deal. I found out one day when I started to complain about having to leave the room so he could go on the Internet. He turned to me and said that maybe I would be allowed on the Internet to mom and dad were worried that I would spend my time surfing for pictures of penises. He told me not to get mad at him because he knew how to use the Internet appropriately. And then my mother sent me straight to my room.
So in school I would spend my days going to class, going to the principals office to have an escort to take me to the bathroom, and sitting in the office during gym time because I was not allowed to change in the boys locker room. The few times I would be allowed to go outside out of school, I would have to wear a diaper because I was not allowed to use the bathroom in the mall. And at church, my father would take me to the bathroom if I had to go, but he would make a big show of walking into the bathroom with me, checking the bathroom stall, and then standing at it with his hand on the door while I went. It was so embarrassing that I almost wish I had been sent to church in the diaper.
I had not seen my aunt or her husband in all of this time. But for the whole six months that this was going on you have to know I hated my uncle with a passion. He had totally misjudged the situation, and put such fear into my parents that they put me through months of humiliation without ever even asking for my side of the story. There would be conversations where they would spend time talking to me about things like the sex offender registry, but if I even started to try to explain they would cut me off and tell me to take responsibility for my behavior.
So my aunt, my cousins, and my uncle or not a part of any of this. Still, I hated them for starting this all in motion.
A few weeks after we had gone shopping for a present for my cousins birthday it came time to go to the party. I knew that we were going to be going to see the same cousin I had the problems with, and I felt like it was finally time for me to tell my side of the story.
I asked my parents if I could talk to them at dinner that night. They had me go sit at the dining room table, and they came in and set with me when everyone else was finished eating. They asked what I wanted to talk about, and I told them. They acted like they wanted to hear what I had to say, so I spoke freely, for almost 10 minutes, explaining that what I had done had not really been sexual in nature. They didn't stop me, so I went on to explain that I felt like my aunt and uncle had made a big deal about nothing, and I even told them on my uncle had spanked me very hard. Which I felt like he was wrong for.
When I was finished, it suddenly hit me that my father's face was very red. He kind of looked angry. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake.
When he opened his mouth to speak, I realized that I had. I had misjudged the situation. And my father let me know it. What what he heard had been very different from what I had been trying to say. My father had heard me say that what I had done was no big deal, and I did not find there to be any problem with me doing sexual things with another boy. He heard me say that my aunt and uncle were to blame for protecting their child, and he heard me saying that I did not feel like I needed extra supervision. Or any supervision. As my father spoke his voice got louder and his tone angrier. By the time he was finished I was saying that homosexuality was okay, and that the church's teachings were wrong. After you finish speaking I began crying for the first time. My father seized on this moment of weakness to let me know that, number one, he and my mother had already spent plenty of time crying over this, so I could stop. And number two, I was about to get something to cry about.
The next day was my cousin's birthday party. It was in the form of a family reunion in a park by the lake. This had become a family tradition, an annual outing which attracted several different branches of our family, including my parents, my aunt and uncle, and other aunts and uncles with their children. In all there would be five sets of adults and more than 15 children at this picnic/party.
This had always been one of my most favorite days of the year. It was a chance to play with all of my cousins. We would rent bicycles, or ride the trolley. We played basketball, go to the beach, and had a delicious picnic. It would start as early as 8 in the morning, and would often go to nine or 10 at night. The park was an hour from our house so the drive was always long, but it was well worth it.
I wondered how my parents would ruin it this year. They had already ruined basketball, school, and my life at home. At first I figured they just wouldn't let me go, but then I realized that wasn't an option. If I stayed home, one would have to stay home with me. I wondered if they would hire a babysitter.
I got my answer the day before the party. At that time, my parents sat me and my brother down outside of the closet. My father began to explain that I was being allowed to go to a park with great trepidation on their part. They had concerns, because parks are full of children, and boys who need such close supervision, like me, generally aren't allowed in places where children congregate. I remember being totally humiliated as my brother sat next to me, nodding along as though he knew this all the time. I had just explained the day before that none of this was my fault, hoping that it would make things seem more normal, but it had had the entirely opposite effect.
My parents explained that the park rules, and they had rules, as well. My father told me that I would not be allowed inside the park bathroom. I remember interrupting him to say, without you right? And he and my mother both said in unison, not at all.
I remember asking them, in all seriousness, if they plan to drive me all the way home to use the bathroom. That's when they looked at each other, and my father looked at me, and told me, 100% serious, that I will be wearing diapers the entire day.
I remember bawling. I remember just bursting out crying. Begging to be allowed to stay home. Even my brother felt bad for me all of a sudden, and he put his hand on my back, patting it. My parents weren't swayed by any of this, and they continued to explain that I could not stay home because I needed to be supervised by them. They were going to the park and I would be going too. But since I couldn't be trusted in a bathroom, I would not be allowed to go to one. I remember what shot through my head was how stupid I was going to look to all of my cousins.
My parents continued on about other rules, including not being allowed to go to the beach, to ride the trolley, or to go to the basketball hoops. I remember thinking that left nothing left, but boy, I had no idea.
The next day true to their claim, I was told to get a diaper on before we even left the house.
We all carry something to the picnic. This year my brother carried a cherry pie, my mother carried her Jell-O salad, and my father carried a cooler full of meat. I carried the diaper bags. One for my baby brother, and one for me.
When we got to the park everyone else was already there. The kids were playing Frisbee in a field, and the adults were all gathered around the picnic tables. My mom told my brother to hand her the pie and go play with our cousins. She didn't say anything to me, so I followed her and my father.
When we got to the table my mother told me to sit down. I did, and I sat there quietly for 15 minutes while my uncles and aunts smiled and said hello. Even the aunt and uncle who had flipped on me were there, and they were all very friendly. I began to get the impression that nobody even knew, that it had all been forgotten. Boy was I wrong.
My father left the meat, and walked back to the car to get some other things. I watched him walking across the field with my brothers playpen and with something else in his other arm. As he came closer I realized he was lugging two playpens. I hadn't noticed them in the back of the van, but there they were. He put one down on one side of the picnic table, and the other one down on the edge of the ring of tables. Then he called to me to come to him. I did, and with no effort at all he picked me up, and set me down in the playpen. I stood there, balancing myself on the floor of the playpen, struggling to stand, and he snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor of it. Sit, he told me. I wanted to point out that I was not a dog, but I realized every single aunt and uncle was looking at me, so I sat down.
My mother then began to explain that I needed special supervision in a park setting, and sense they weren't about to allow that fact to ruin the reunion for them, they were going to do the next best thing.
I realized at this point that not a single relative looked surprised to see a 12-year-old boy sitting in a playpen. This had to have been planned. And to prove my suspicion right, no one even looked surprised when my father picked me up by my feet, laying me on my back, and pulled my pants down. I'm laying there in a diaper, and my aunts and uncles are talking to each other and looking over at me like they've seen it all before. My father handed me a pair of bright yellow pajamas to wear, pajamas I had never seen before. I quickly pulled them on, and then found myself laying in a playpen that barely had room for me. My mother brought me a book and a sports bottle of water from the fountain. This, it looked like, was going to be my date.
Other families came walking by, and every single one of them looked over at me. I was sitting in a pair of pajamas, in a playpen. I thought surely someone would call the police, or something. But nobody even spoke to my parents about it. People said hello, but they looked at me like it was no big deal. One father even said he wished he had a playpen for his son, and his son looked to be 15.
After a while my cousins trickled over. I heard one or two ask my brother why I was in a playpen. I didn't hear his answer, but whatever it was seem to satisfy them. They came over to get stuff before they went to ride the trolley, and when I asked my mom if there was any way I could go, she said no. I even asked her if I could go if an adult went, and she told me no.
They returned and went for a hike. Still, I remained in the playpen. They came back and decided to go swimming. I heard my brother make a crack about swim diapers, getting a good laugh from all of my cousins, but still I was not invited to go.
Got to be noon, and my father came over with a cover for the playpen. He told me to lay down, and he put it over the playpen. He announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, that it was naptime for the baby. He was referring to my baby brother, but I heard some laughter as people probably assumed it applied to me.
At lunchtime, I expected to be let out of the playpen to eat. Instead, they brought a bowl of stuff over to me. I sat there and ate in the playpen while everyone else sat at the table. It was totally humiliating.
After lunch I had to piss so bad I couldn't hold it anymore. I went in my diaper, and almost as though they had an alarm set in it or something, my father asked me a minute later if my diaper was wet yet. Every single family member of every age turned and looked at me, getting silent, awaiting my response. I didn't say anything, but my red face was probably enough to answer the question. My father told me to follow him, and bring the diaper bag. I did, and he brought me to the van, which he had backed up against a hill, and he made me lay in the back of the van while he changed my diaper.
I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the playpen, pretending to read a book but actually watching all of my cousins as they had the times of their life. All day families walked by and looked at me curiously, but nobody ever asked even one question about why a 12-year-old was sitting in the playpen.
My cousins asked a lot of questions though. They asked questions like is he allowed to go to the basketball hoops? Is he allowed to come over to the field? My parents told them, in great detail, but I was in the playpen because I wasn't allowed to be unsupervised in a park. In that since I wasn't allowed to wander, the playpen was the safest bet for everyone.
Dinner time came, usually the best part of the day. I began to realize I was probably going to be given a bowl of baked beans for dinner, but just when I had resigned myself missing out on the barbecue, my father told me to get out of the playpen and come set the table. I set the adults table, and then the kids table, and then my father pulled a third table up into the circle. This table he pulled very close to the adult table, and then he set the place personally. It was seating for one, and I realized that was going to be my seat.
My father directed me to sit. I did, but it was 30 minutes or more while the meat cooked, and I sat at the table, bored out of my mind, but afraid to say anything lest U be sent back to the playpen.
After a while I realized I had to poop. The other kids had been going in and out of the bathroom all day, but I had only went once, and hadn't pooped at all. I hadn't really thought about how this was going to work. But I assumed my family would at least take me to the toilet for this. So I waited for my father came close to the table, and I asked him.
He got angry.
I remember him telling me that I obviously still wasn't getting it. And then he announced that he and my mother had decided to keep me in the closet for the rest of the year. It was only summer, and even though they hadn't really ever told me what was going to end, I remember starting to cry when he told me that.
My uncle chose this time to come over and sit down in front of me. He explained to me that I was lucky that I wasn't in jail. Keep in mind, I was just 12 years old the time. He then went on to tell me that through counseling his son had come to realize that his behavior that day was wrong. He told me that it was clear that I had not accepted responsibility. I don't remember much else of what he said, but it don't with homosexuality, and the law. Keep in mind I'm still 12, and I still have to poop.
My uncle was almost finished talking and I couldn't hold it anymore. I leaned my butt over the picnic table, and went. I'm not sure if my uncle could see that I was doing it, or if you just smelled it. But after a few more seconds of talking, he abruptly stopped.
Your son has a dirty diaper, he announced loudly to my father. My father walked over, took a whiff, and looked at me sternly. I started to remind him that I have asked to go, but he didn't say anything. He just walked back over to the meat and continued cooking.
10 or 15 minutes later everyone began to gather around the tables. I could tell people were able to smell my diaper, and finally someone said something about it. My father responded by telling me to go sit under a tree. The tree was probably 40 or 50 feet from our table. I walked to it, trying to walk a circle round the table so the other kids couldn't smell my poopy diaper. I squatted down, but I avoided sitting because I didn't want my diaper to come into contact with my butt. My father quickly put a stop to that plan, yelling at me to sit. I finally did, and it was disgusting. The feces pushed up against my ass cheeks, leaving me a sticky, stinky mess. The air all around me smelled like poop, and at one point of father and his son came walking by, the father beginning to ask me if I knew where the ice cream truck was, but stopping to sniff the air vigorously.
I remember him turning to his son, who was probably six or seven, and asking his son if he had messed his pants. The boy pointed to me, and said no dad, it's him. The father looked at me, probably realized right away it was true, and just walked away shaking his head.
My father gave my brother a plate to bring to me. My brother walked to me carefully, as though he was trying to avoid stepping on a land mine. He handed me a plate of food, and then turned and practically ran. When it came time for dessert, my uncle handed my cousin a plate of pie and told him to bring it to me. My cousin did, and that moment where he handed me the pie, and then smelled my poopy diaper, is one of the most humiliating moments of my life.
The most humiliating moment ever, though, would be this same day. Because on this day, after everyone had eaten, and people began to tire, my father announced that he was going to change my diaper.
Before he'd taken me to the van. This time, my diaper was soaked and messy. And he announced that he was going to, instead, change me right there.
It was getting dark, and my father picked me up and laid across the picnic table. He pulled my pajamas down, and the diaper kind of came with it. Then he carefully untaped it, and pulled it back. I remember it was dusk now, but even in the darkness I could clearly see the diaper was covered with brown poop. I was sure everyone else could see it too, especially my cousin, who came walking up and stood at my feet, with my father. As my father wiped me, for what seemed to be 100 times, he explained to my cousin that doing certain things meant you weren't allowed to use bathrooms in public places. And the only alternative to using the bathroom, was wearing yours, in the form of a disposable diaper.
I would never poop in mine, my cousin explained confidently. And my father went on to tell my cousin that he was pretty certain my cousin would never have to deal with these kind of restrictions anyway.
When I had a new diaper on and my pajama bottoms were pulled back up my father made me pick up my messy diaper and carry it all the way across the field to the garbage can by the bathroom. This was the farthest I had gotten away from my parents all day, and it struck me as ironic that I was allowed to put a poopy diaper in the trash outside the bathroom door, but couldn't walk inside to go poop in the first place. Still, as I carried this stinky shit bomb through all of my cousins, I did feel ashamed of my actions for the first time.
I went back to the group and was directed immediately to the playpen. I spent the rest of the night there, with nobody really saying anything to me. But I could sense to my cousins were looking at me with pity, and when it came time to go, as we were all getting into the car, my oldest cousin Brian turned to me and said Yo cuz! I need you out of diapers next year bro, so we can clean up on the basketball court. I didn't even know what to say. I just nodded, and got into the car. As I did I heard my uncle ask everyone if they had to go potty one more time before we hit the road. Well, I know Troy doesn't, he told everyone, and I heard them all laugh...
The sleeping in the closet sentence lasted another six months. My Christmas present that year was actually getting my brothers room. Sure, it was way smaller than the room I had had before, and it was the closest one to my parents, but it seemed like such a huge difference. I got to sleep in it on Christmas night, after my parents took the door off the hinges that day. They told me that, if I continued to "prove myself", by my birthday I might be allowed to have a door in my room too. The day after Christmas I was actually allowed to go on the Internet, and my brother came into the room and didn't tell me that I had to leave. Things were kind of back to normal.
We never really talked about this time. After it happened, I resented my parents for a while, but I kind of pushed it out of my memory.
It wasn't until I went away to college that I began to realize that I have a sexual attraction to diapers.
It wasn't like Chris, where I knew my whole life, was born with it, and just never stopped wearing. It wasn't like that at all.
In my freshman year I got hella stressed. For no reason I can actually explain I found myself driving to the drugstore, picking up a package of depends, bringing the back to my dorm, and shitting in them.
I found myself sitting in my messy diaper for a few hours. Even studied in it. I didn't take it off until just before I knew my roommate would be coming back. And I told him I had gas, because our room stunk when he came back...
I finally realized that there was a connection to what had happened to me as a kid the third or fourth time that I messed my diaper in my dorm. I found myself on my MacBook Googling the park we had our reunions at as a child. I began looking through pictures of that park, and wondered if I was looking at any of the pictures of the actual tree I have been made to sit under in my messy diaper. I had the strongest, inexplicable urge to go back to that park right at that moment!!
The same night I looked for pictures of that park I e-mailed my cousin at his school. I asked him if he remembered that birthday, and he e-mailed me back later that night to tell me the only thing he remembered about it is how bad he felt watching me sit in a poopy diaper because he hadn't have the Kerge to stand up to his father and explain that he was the one who had suggested we look at each other's penises in the first place.
My cousin is now openly gay. And his parents accept it. As do mine, although somewhat reluctantly.
The irony of that day is that I, a heterosexual male, who only took out my penis because my cousin suggested it, was made to sit in a messy diaper, and be humiliated in front of my entire family and every person who came by us in that park, in some misguided attempt by our family to shame me out of acting on homosexual urges. They made it look like I was some kind of raging child molester, at age 12, and gave me the sex offender registry treatment – while my cousin, who was homosexual and just feeling himself out at age 11, was given a pass.
I love my cousin to death. And my parents and I have a much stronger relationship than you might think. But because I had to sit in a poopy diaper one day while I was 12, I will have a lifelong attraction to messing in diapers that will probably never go away.
I have had the same girlfriend since senior year, and we go to the same college now. But I can't tell her anything about this. The same goes for my friends, my roommate, and the people I play ball with. I was lucky to find this blog, and lucky to be able to meet up to be babysat. Because while I don't fancy myself a baby by any stretch of the imagination, there's something about being told to sit in a messy diaper that completely relaxes me. And just reading the experiences of others in my situation, and being able to talk to someone... you have no idea.
Well, on second thought... if you're reading this blog, you probably do.
I have promised Chris I will write more about my experience in the near future. I know, it's probably hard to believe there is more, but there is.
In the meantime, thanks for reading my story. If you have any comments, please post them straight to this blog, I promise I will be checking back often.
- Troy
