This story is written by Les Lea
The prospect of losing my status as auntie’s little boy was more than I could bear. She consoled me as I wept long after our visitors had departed. Her reassuring words lost as all I could hear were my own heartfelt sobs.
Although my return to a lively teenager wasn’t planned to happen for a couple of months I’d really got into being a little boy with no thoughts other than to play and please auntie. Of course auntie had been as good as her word and had bought me a suit like the ones Gordon and Colin had worn in their photograph. I know it may sound strange but the fact that I was dressed like Colin when he was eight (even though I’m a lot taller than he was) and wearing a nappy underneath those shorts, pleased me no end.
I looked so dapper and I have to say, absolutely no other kids, anywhere we went, were wearing anything even resembling what I was dressed in. I got many looks, some nods of approval from older citizens and some anything but, however, I may have looked like I should be in elementary school but inside I still felt like a toddler desperately playing at looking grown up (and of course to a toddler anyone over eight looks grown up).
Meanwhile, the elastic on my plastic pants, just an inch from the hem of my short shorts (which no doubt could be noticed by anyone who showed an interest), gripped the top of my leg tightly, holding my disposable in place and keeping my desired juvenile experience going. Auntie was all praise. She thought I’d chosen the outfit well and that I looked the handsomest, most stylish boy around and that made me glow with pride when we went anywhere.
However, with the scheduled return of my teenage years, together with the thought of losing that special bond which both of us enjoyed, left me feeling very distressed indeed.
Since I’d taken to wearing protection all the time auntie had developed a routine that I found wonderful. It was the same for when I got up or went to bed.
Clean up – the applying of various ointments and powders to protect my skin thus prevent any irritation, rashes or reappearance of my pubic hair.
Fresh diaper – sometimes a disposable, sometime fabric that was left to auntie to decide, I happily went along with whatever she thought most appropriate.
Then it was a pair of plastic pants either pulled up or snapped into position. Again auntie made the choice about thickness, colour, pattern, size – often she just liked the clear pull-up style so she could see the diaper underneath.
This was my favourite moment, standing in front of the mirror, or even just laying out, wearing my newly fitted diaper and clear plastic pants. It was a joy to see the fluffy white material contained under the slippery, glossy vinyl and, to me at least (and I’m sure to auntie as well), this was the basis for me becoming her ‘special little boy’. It was like the first block on the Lego board and the start of whatever else was made… and what was being made… was me.
Once that was done then, depending on whether I was going out or going to sleep, she chose what, if anything was to go over it all. She loved choosing my outfits and although I liked that I didn’t have to make a decision I also felt I was giving her something back as a result.
I picked up from the way auntie sometimes spoke, reminisced or simply cared for me that this action, this dressing me as a child, meant something to her as well. I hoped that it brought back happy memories of when she and Bill were together; perhaps looking after Gordon and Colin as they began to grow, though needing that stabilising influence which they offered. They had no kids of their own but auntie had spent a great deal of her life devoted to looking after and nurturing the young of the town. I’m sure she saw me as another soul in need of such cherishing and I was certainly appreciative of all that she did for me. Some might have felt smothered by such attention but to me, it was something I’d missed all my life and simply couldn’t get enough of her love.
Sometimes, if auntie was working in the den on reports or assessments for Rainbow I’d check out the photo albums again and again. I loved that one picture of Gordon and Colin with their parents and often thought about where the photo might have been taken as it didn’t look like anywhere local. I’d fantasize about an eight year-old Colin wriggling in his diaper and plastic pants under those smart shorts and think… that’s what I do.
The smiles on the boy’s faces were genuine and even at that young age they did look incredibly handsome. Although I couldn’t see, because the photo was cropped at the knee, I imagined they wore leather sandals and little white ankle socks to complete the outfit. That one image from when they were so happy fed into my brain and I mentally produced a thousand and one scenarios that included me wearing my suit and joining them in some adventure or other.
There were a few other snaps of the boys but they were when they were that bit older and had fallen under the spell of Uncle Bill and Auntie Joan. There were shots of them working alongside Bill, looking at the camera and pleased at some completed project. The two boys in their ‘uniform’ of khaki shorts and t-shirts also showed how they had filled out and developed in the time since that early ‘wedding’ photograph. However, every time I saw Colin in one of the poses I’d let my mind wander and think about perhaps him wearing the same protection as me. There were no shots even hinting that he had a diaper on, but that still didn’t stop my imagination from working overtime and supplying him, like me, with a whole array of thick protection.
I’d see the boys occasionally. They had the maintenance contract at Rainbow so kept the lawns mowed and the garden trimmed. They also repaired anything that needed doing and removed the large oddly shaped graffiti penis that had been spray-painted on one of the exterior walls. I only caught sight of them for a few moments but was transfixed at how they worked so easily together. Gordon in his paint speckled brown overalls and Colin in his similarly paint streaked brown shorts and t-shirt. To me they looked a powerful couple and wondered what it would be like to join their small firm.
I wished auntie would invite them to the house for dinner or something but, they were a busy little company (remember: no job too small) so their services were always in demand. The other probability of course was that I was often in bed and fast asleep by the time they finished their day’s work. If they happened to notice auntie and I when we were out and about, they always tooted their horn and waved. This simple action had an unexpected effect and my bladder would give way with some kind of excited surge and I’d spend the rest of the day, until auntie noticed, wandering around in a GorCol Services inspired soaked diaper.
Since I’d been in auntie’s care I’d never once thought our relationship was odd. In fact, quite the opposite, I’d never known a more loving, understanding, empathetic person whose soul aim was to give other people all the encouragement they might need. In my case she’d provided me with the options of what I wanted and what was needed. I had the one life I was happily living; yet, on the horizon was the life I’d soon have to return to. Auntie was prepared. She’d said it might happen and wanted the trauma of such an event to impact as little as possible. So, to ease me back into teenagedom, sometimes, when we went to a restaurant or shopping, I was encouraged to dress in my ‘normal’ clothes.
Of course, ‘normal’ for me now meant my diaper and such stuff not the teen apparel hung up in the ‘other room’. Together we went through all my clothes and sorted what still fit and useful, what was awful and decided I’d need a few more things for when I went back to school. I had no desire to be trendy but auntie thought I should look like I fit in so that’s how I ended up with an almost entirely new ‘teenage’ wardrobe. In the changing rooms trying on various items seemed strange attempting to drag a pair of chinos over my thick diaper. Still, when I went to school perhaps I wouldn’t be wearing protection?
A problem auntie encountered was my reluctance to wear trousers or jeans because I was more than content in my shorts. I still had my diaper under whatever I wore because I didn’t feel confident about not peeing myself. I’d gotten out of that particular discipline and realised it was something, when I resumed senior school I was going to have to be more aware of. However, since being put in diapers after that first time I wet myself at the mall I’d never wanted to wear my boxers or briefs. I saw they were neatly folded away in one of the draws in the ‘other room’ but I’d had no desire to swap them for my diaper.
There is just something so comforting about a diaper – the way it hugs you all the time. If I’m crouching or sitting and I get up, I like the way you can feel the weight readjust its position – underpants don’t do that. If I’m watching TV I like the way I can stroke the plastic mound knowing that I’m protected and safe. I love the feel of a fresh diaper as it’s taped tightly into place and love when I pee and that warm, clammy flush fills the front and acts like a huge, spontaneous indirect smile… a smile that then stays with you until it’s time for a change and the entire happy process starts all over again.
I had another problem and that was, I wasn’t a very sociable person. Back at school in the UK I had tried to avoid mixing and went out of my way not to have ‘best friends’. I don’t know precisely what my thought process in those days was but my general dislike of authority, the people, the situation and the UK, in truth, I just hated everything about everything. However, one thing about the stuffy uniform was that every boy was dressed the same. There were no fashion shows going on there and education was what the school was all about, even if you did look like a reject from the nineteenth century.
Because I was just so resentful of the position I was in it never occurred to me that friends might help me through it all. Over the many years I’d been away from my parents some kids had sought a friendship but I’d been unapproachable and a loner. When I got to England, I despised and was bitter about my life – I hated the inevitability that I’d end up in this grotesque ancient institution even though I’d had to sit an exam to enter its hallowed halls.
Yes, another quandary. I was so mixed up I wanted to do my best at all times, because I thought that was for me, I didn’t want to be reliant on anyone else. If my parents felt they could do without me, then I would show them I didn’t need them. I may have been the least friendly person at school but I was diligent in my work.
Oh, the contradictory thoughts and feelings which go through your mind when you hit puberty. Still, I had to mix at some level but kept myself as detached as possible from my ‘house’ mates. It wasn’t always possible and that was how I came to be the recipient of a small trophy for my contribution to a ‘house’ quiz night. For some reason it was like in Slumdog Millionaire, I just knew all the answers. I didn’t know why but I did and my knowledge meant we won by a considerable margin. For two minutes I glowed in the praise of others and then returned to my uncommunicative self.
There is no doubt about it – I was a mess.
The chance auntie offered to start again had been some kind of salve because, although I was only mixing with toddlers, at least I was mixing. I no longer hated everyone. My parents were gone so there was no point in hating them and, I know this sounds terrible, but I had rarely thought about mom and dad since I’d arrived in Kansas. I no longer only thought of myself now I had auntie and the rest of Rainbow to think about. The kids at Rainbow had, despite my obvious size difference, accepted me completely and I was grateful to them for that. They were a great crowd who just wanted me to play and have as much fun as they did. I discovered early on that when I stopped fighting my jumbled ‘big boy’ thoughts and gave myself over completely to enjoying my life, even if that was as a diaper-clad toddler, I could… and did.
As the time approached for my return to senior education at the town’s High School I got to think that maybe I could reinvent myself. No one knew me here; I’d be just a new boy from Out-of-State who for some reason had to relocate. I could be who I wanted and do what I wanted. I could…
At times I’d get carried away with my thoughts but then look down and see my fluffy white diaper under the see-thru plastic pants and know I didn’t really want to change from where I was, or who I was, at all. I loved being aunties ‘good little boy’ and didn’t want to change. However, the impending visit to the education department’s child psychiatrist had me worried.
Auntie tried to prepare me. I’d immersed myself so deeply in being a toddler that the thought of ‘growing up’ made me anxious. However, as I say, auntie was there to help and guide and reaffirm my status. It was unfortunate that my appointment with the psychiatrist was on the same day that I turned fourteen. It was a date I couldn’t change, the psychiatrist was always well booked up so you took the appointment when they said and it wasn’t open to discussion. Birthday or no birthday I was going to be assessed for High School.
The education department was being pretty tough on auntie and I saw the welter of papers she had to fill out for school on my behalf. However, the one thing she did say about attending High School was that they didn’t have a uniform, students could, within reason, wear what they liked. After the formal regalia I’d had to wear at my last school I was quite pleased about that but wondered if I’d be allowed to wear my preferred shorts and t-shirt. Auntie suggested that, when the time came, I should check out what the other students wore and then make a decision. She encouraged me to think positive about it but I still couldn’t get over that I’d be away from my friends at Rainbow and the thought of mixing with ‘big kids’ actually scared me.
As I couldn’t be there to celebrate, a few days before my birthday auntie and I made cookies for all the folk at Rainbow. I spent a wonderful evening in the kitchen covering them in colourful frosting. I got a bit messy, which I really enjoyed, standing there next to auntie as she supervised and read off the names of all the boys and girls and staff as I carefully (well not that carefully) piped each name across some weirdly shaped cookie. I was dressed only in my diaper, nursery print plastic pants and a matching bib, which was just as well as I think I tasted more cookies than I should (they were delicious) and frosting ended up all over me and in to some weird places.
On the morning of my birthday I was surprised to see I had more than just a card from auntie. The staff at Rainbow had sent one and a huge, handmade one ‘signed’ by all my friends took pride of place. Auntie had bought me enough since I’d been with her and the only thing I’d hinted I might like was a huge castle I’d seen advertised on TV (aimed at children 5 and over), which had loads of dragons, knights and monsters you could add. Since I’d seen the advert, me and a couple of the boys at Rainbow who had also seen it, had been building our own imaginary castle out of boxes and foam squares. I may have been the biggest boy there but I was just like the others in my excitement of the TV programme that the castle was licensed to.
The day following each TV show, we’d all re-enact what had happened, adding our own interpretation and screaming with delight as Mikey, who was the dragon, pretended to swoop down breathing imaginary fire. It was wonderful.
I got what I wanted for my birthday.
I wanted to wear shorts and t-shirt to go and see the psychiatrist but, as I’d been practicing being a teenager again, it was thought jeans and a polo shirt might be more appropriate. However, as I‘d not had a dry day since I put on my first diaper, auntie made sure I still had my protection on under my jeans. Crammed against the tight denim they didn’t crinkle quite so much but I felt slightly more confident knowing I was wearing them.
The psychiatrist saw auntie first and she was in his office for well over an hour. She’d told me before we went in (I was still holding her hand when we were first greeted by Doctor Gomez) to answer honestly. After being with pre-schoolers for so long I wasn’t sure I was capable of being anything but honest, kids may lie but you can tell immediately so I wasn’t going to chance it. So, whilst Auntie Joan was interviewed by the doctor, I found myself on the carpeted floor playing with some toys aimed at the under-fives. I knew the receptionist was watching but pretty soon I forgot about her and just let my imagination run wild as I played with cars and bricks to keep myself amused. I also accidentally wet myself before being called into his office.
Eventually auntie swapped places with me in the reception area and I went in alone to see the doctor. It was strange because I was very nervous and yet, when I sat the exam and had the interview for school in the UK, I wasn’t in the least bit bothered, perhaps that was due to the fact I didn’t care. However, now I was confronted by the doctor and with an absolutely soaked diaper hanging between my legs, I was very tense. I wished I still had auntie’s hand to hold but Doctor Gomez tried in his way to put me at ease.
The doctor was a man younger than auntie but certainly didn’t look it. His receding hairline made his face appear long and horse-like, with thin lips that when he smiled seemed more of an evil smirk than amusement. His suit had seen better days but the office itself was bright and tidy with one wall covered by framed diplomas and photographs. I’d expected to see a black leather couch but instead I was offered a seat on a pale beige three seater sofa, which matched the pale beige swivel chair where he sat. There was a desk behind him, with an expensive looking leather chair, a phone and a small recording devise. He appeared pleasant enough but I was too nervous to speak and all I could think about was my wet diaper squashed under my denim jeans. It all seemed so tight and I wanted the looseness of my shorts back as soon as possible.
He had a pile of notes in front of him so I gathered he already knew most of my history. I didn’t realise he’d also have a copy of a final report that the UK school had compiled on my academic worth but he had because I could see the school emblem on the front of it.
He asked me about my parent’s death, how it had affected me. He burrowed into my younger life living away from home and how I felt about that. School in the UK and the discipline it offered (I’m not sure what he imagined went on there but corporal punishment just didn’t happen). For over an hour he cross-examined me (or that was what it felt like) about everything since I’d arrived in Kansas but I had a problem, I was getting angry, and I knew I shouldn’t. It seemed to me he wanted to hear negative things about auntie, to somehow blame her for my retreat back to childhood. For the first time since I’d been with auntie I had to think as an adult, I didn’t want to but knew I hated this doctor and what I saw as his snide, nasty insinuations.
I hated people prying or knowing too much about me, (although that huge sheaf of papers meant he already knew a great deal) and, as if sensing my predicament, my bladder just opened up and I felt the warming sensation fill my already soaked diaper. Any thoughts of being an adult vanished in that moment and I did what I thought I had to do to get out of there. So, to emphasise my toddler status, I filled my diaper with as much poo as I could force out. I was grateful that auntie had made sure the plastic pants she’d put me in had been well tucked around my diaper to prevent any leaks. But now I could feel my full and messy diaper squished up in my jeans and wanted to make sure he knew what I’d done.
I pulled at my jeans, yanked down my plastic pants and said. “Gone poo poo.”
The smell was horrendous and I saw the doctor back away as I crawled on all-fours towards him.
I wrinkled my nose and grabbed his leg.
I didn’t get any request out before he shrugged me off and called for auntie to come and attend to me.
I followed him and tried to grab his leg again but when auntie came in she looked down at me and I immediately sat back on my haunches with a sad expression and pet lip.
“Auntie I done a poo…” I confessed.
Auntie didn’t quite know what was going on but took her cue wonderfully.
“What have you been saying to him?” Her accusation was fierce and direct.
The doctor seemed stunned that he was under attack and could only stammer some kind of defence.
“I’ve only recently got him to engage with other teenagers and you, you quazi-psychiatrist…”
She was on top form and her anger seemed to seep into every word she uttered,
“Have set him back to his…”
Her rant went on for quite some time as I sucked my thumb, sat in my own poo rubbing the front of my engorged diaper looking sorry, weepy and scared.
Doctor Gomez was none too happy about this turn of events and tried to escape into the reception area and hide behind his secretary. She seemed horrified as a smelly fourteen year-old followed him and crawled around her office. With jeans and plastic pants around my ankles I leaked, dripping wet stinking turds onto her lovely beige carpet.
Meanwhile, not only was she not pleased but the doctor’s next patients looked on bemused and shocked in equal amounts.
Auntie saw the sign for the bathroom and dragged me in, she was pretending to look annoyed but I could see a slight smirk on her face.
“What were you thinking?”
She whispered as she ripped at the tapes and let my sagging diaper slosh onto the floor.
“I have no idea.” I had to admit.
As always she was prepared and her bag was full of wipes, lotion, powder and spare disposables.
“I just didn’t like him… he was trying to cause trouble…” I whispered back.
I was still wondering to myself just what great plan had formulated in my head but in truth, there was nothing.
“Sorry auntie,” I really was sorry if I’d done something that might reflect badly on her, “but he really was a complete…”
“Now now, no name calling.” She interrupted. “Good boys don’t say naughty words.”
She picked up the messy diaper and deftly rolled it up before shoving it in a rather small and inappropriate pedal bin.
“Well, I’m not sure what his report will say now but I think between us we probably haven’t done ourselves any favours.”
She said and opened a bright green canister.
I giggled as the first cooling wet wipe scraped across my bottom.
“I don’t care.”
I was angry and giggly all at the same time, those wipes really tickled.
“I’m not having him blame you for my wanting a childhood back… not even back. I never had one in the first place so… who is he to deny me one?”
I’m sure there was a tantrum brewing as I thought about screaming these simple facts at him.
She could see I was getting agitated and speedily sponged me clean, quickly powdered and slipped a fresh diaper into place. She noticed that because I’d crawled around on the floor with my jeans and plastic pants pulled down some of my mess had managed to stick to the rest of my clothes.
My aunt was more prepared than I would have thought because when we eventually emerged from the bathroom I had a clean t-shirt, fresh protection and a pair of elasticated pale green shorts any five year-old would be proud of.
She looked over at Doctor Gomez who was trying to placate his next patients.
“I don’t know what you said,” she accused, “but I can’t get him to wear anything else.”
She held my hand as I sucked my thumb.
“I shall be making a full report to your superiors about your… methods.”
She left the threat hanging in the air as we waltzed out of his office and climbed into the car.
“Oh Dean, I don’t know what is going to happen now but I have to tell you I felt the same. I didn’t like that man at all.”
She gently pulled my thumb out of my mouth and popped in my dummy.
“However, I think it’s time to give you the birthday you really want.”
She put the car into drive and set off.
It was just after nap time when we arrived at Rainbow so I could happily celebrate my fourteenth (or was that my fourth?), with the people I actually liked.
This story is written by Les Lea
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