This story is written by Les Lea
Auntie Joan had received confirmation that our appointment with Dr Jayne Barrows, another psychologist, would happen in four weeks. Why it had taken so long to arrange I wasn’t sure (I suppose it showed the mental health of the state) anyway, that meant that for the next month at least I would have to continue to wear my protection for school.
The principal insisted that I was still checked every morning and that any changes (should I wet) would be supervised by the nurse on duty, I was not to be allowed to change myself. I assumed this was some fear the school had of being sued should I develop a rash (or something worse) whilst in their ‘care’. I didn’t mind, I was used to having others take charge of my diaper change and I quite liked the fuss that surrounded this particular action.
Auntie had made it into an art. The care and attention paid to each part of the process always left me wriggling in pleasure. I know at fourteen I should be over that but in truth, it was the one thing that held me completely under its spell. The clothing… the childish clothing… was all well and good but the consideration auntie gave to my wellbeing with each wipe of the cloth, each tender touch as she applied the creams and lotions, the gentle loving sprinkle of the baby powder over my genitals and bum, were the things that made it all so special. The final firm fitting of the diaper was all part of a bonding experience I particularly enjoyed and so… was in no hurry to forego.
From the start Auntie Joan had let me go at my own pace, though I hadn’t realised it at the time, and to make my own decisions. She knew what I wanted, what I needed, and let me, with her encouragement, find what worked. The few months I’d spent as a little kid in her charge had been a complete revelation. I began to see things in a completely different way. My anger decreased, my self-imposed exile from the rest of the human race was broken and I’m sure I’d grown in such a way that my mind had been recalibrated. If this was what being ‘born again’ felt like, no wonder religious people praised it so much. Now I wasn’t religious in the least but this ‘glow’ from within was undeniable and it did indeed feel like something very special had happened deep inside.
For me, auntie was the best psychologist in the world, even if she didn’t have a bunch of diplomas and degrees after her name.
She’d rebuilt a fairly damaged boy and given him a future that wasn’t on a path of anger, isolation and possible self-destruction. I now found I had options that I would never have considered only
a few months back. The diapers, as a simple wetting precaution at first, had proved to be the catalyst for my regeneration and I owed that simple piece of clothing everything I did now… and perhaps would do in future.
I’d worried about Kyle, the Hulk (as I thought of him) and the pleasure he’d taken in seeing my juvenile and diapered status, I began to ponder how he would set about using this to his ends. At the time, and despite just being changed into a fresh and dry disposable, the confrontation in the nurse’s office had un-nerved me and I’d wet myself instantly. So, for the rest of the day I was walking around with a very bloated diaper between my legs and decided I’d just put up with the inconvenience rather than return to Nurse Jefferson. I certainly didn’t want to meet him or any of his team buddies in that state of wetness.
I’d had few ‘run-ins’ with this type of person and wasn’t sure how to react. In England, if you felt threatened by anyone or anything at school, you simply discussed it with a senior or teacher (whoever you were more comfortable talking with) and the problem would be resolved. Over those first few weeks at High School I hadn’t detected that type of intervention. Intimidation seemed rife and it appeared it was up to the individual to sort it out, make themselves invisible or just put up with it, whatever that ‘it’ might be. I knew jocks were a closely bonded group and they would mindlessly support each other so expected ‘The Hulk’ wouldn’t be the only one I’d have dealings with in the coming days.
I discussed what had happened with Oliver. Like me he saw possible problems ahead but was of the firm belief that telling a teacher or the principal was not the way to proceed. Because of what I’d experienced in the UK I couldn’t believe that a principal, or anyone else in a responsible position, wouldn’t want to nip such intimidation in the bud. However, Oliver just told me to “Look around”.
He was right to underline what I’d already established; it was going on everywhere, openly and with no interference from anyone. If you defended some poor picked on junior, pretty soon you also became the object for intimidation. So far Oli and I had flown ‘under the radar’ (Oli’s words) but we did notice that Yoosuf had to cope with a great deal of jealousy from various groups of boys.
He was good-looking, dressed well, confident and, with his dark looks, had a mysterious air to him that many at the school found both scary and exciting. For many generations his family had been part of the ruling classes in the Middle East, now there were barbed comments and graffiti calling him a ‘terrorist’. He tried his best to laugh these excesses off but I could see that at times he was struggling. He was subject to quite a number of personal provocations from seniors and junior thugs alike.
Typical of Oliver he was well aware of what was going on and despite the fact he was no ‘hard case from the block’ he hovered in Yoosuf’s proximity in case he needed any kind of support. He still maintained that our small group of three newcomers should stick together and that we should support one and other. On more than one occasion I saw him deftly insert himself between Yoosuf and some adversary and gently, almost as if it wasn’t planned, ease Yoosuf away.
For some reason Oliver didn’t attract a negative reaction. He was friendly with everyone and despite being quite clever, never flaunted his superior knowledge and abilities over others. I suppose it helped that he never looked afraid of anybody, no matter how big or threatening they might appear. His humour, quick and clever talk and incredible affability made him instantly likeable. Also, he held his ground so as a result was not pushed around or picked on. Those who crumbled became victims.
Whereas, Yoosuf and I were obviously different – his Persian looks and my ‘English’ accent, Oliver just mixed in well with the locals. Even after a very short time he was already well-liked by his classmates and had new friends who sought his company. I think when he hung around with either Yoosuf or me it put some people off a little, although I was still socialising and interacting more than I’d ever done before.
The day after my encounter with the Hulk it started… and it started with a grope to my padded bottom.
“She’s well diapered… but probably wet… so no doubt needs to be.”
He was talking to a couple of his equally hulking mates when we passed in the hallway and as I was retrieving some books from my locker.
“She’s the little baby I was telling you guys about…”
The molestation was forceful and I ended up being pushed up against the lockers as he patted my bottom and continued his vulgar juvenile comments.
“Hairless and diapered… just like my shitty baby sister.”
Those around looked on wondering what all this was about.
“Yes siree, she sure has a fine ass…” He continued his fondling of my diapered bum.
His mates found this hilarious and were laughing as if he’d just told the funniest joke ever.
“Perhaps she’ll show us her little diapee when she goes bye-byes… or our little baby here gets nursey to change her?”
With one final swat I was left half crammed into my locker and feeling shocked at what had taken place and that I hadn’t had chance to respond. When I finally extricated myself he and his mates were already gone and there was a look of both pity and pleasure from the assorted group who’d witnessed the event.
I looked around the assembled faces and saw that there wasn’t one of them who would have intervened on my behalf and I even saw a teacher, who obviously having witnessed what had taken place and seemed embarrassed that I’d noticed him looking on, quickly made himself scarce.
Other than in the boxing ring at school in the UK I don’t think I’d ever had to fight anyone. Especially after a few months at Rainbow I simply wasn’t equipped to combat aggression. In my head I thought I’d be fearless but in truth, I was shaking like a leaf. The other result of this altercation was that I’d severely wet my diaper but once again didn’t want to give him the satisfaction (whether he was aware of it or not) that’s how my bladder reacted to such confrontation. I could feel the very bloated disposable filling out my pants but would have to wait until break to do anything about it, for now I still had class.
At break, instead of going to the nurse I went to the principal’s office to lodge a complaint about Kyle’s behaviour. I got the brush off with an “I’ll speak with him”. There was nothing more I could do and the principal seemed to want me out of his office as quickly as possible. Whether that was from being worried I’d poo all over the place or that he just didn’t want bothering with, to him, such trivial matters, I’m not sure but I was speedily dismissed.
However, once home and in a safe environment the more I thought about it I was sure I’d be able to cope. I was in two minds whether to let auntie know but she had been fretting since I’d gone to High School that something like this might happen so I decided I should mention it… I hated keeping secrets from her.
“Well, my diapers are no longer a secret.” I announced with a shrug.
“Oh Doodle I am sorry… hope it wasn’t too traumatic…”
I shrugged again and told her exactly what had happened.
As always she listened carefully and I could see various emotions passing over her face and began to wonder if I’d done the right thing in bringing it up.
“Oh darling, that’s a terrible experience. Do you want me to speak with the principal?”
“No auntie it’s… fine… I’m sure all kids have to go through this type of thing and, if The Hulk wants to use my diapers as ammunition,” I smiled at the idea of my diapers being used as ammo, “there’s going to be very little anyone can do about it.”
“Well dear, keep me informed, I need to know what’s going on with my sweet Doodle.”
She gave me a hug.
“Besides, you have a legitimate reason for wearing them and I say… screw anyone who has a problem with that.”
I was surprised at auntie’s use of such a word and it set us both off giggling like three year-olds.
Now I could see certain aspects of my life in perspective, the idea of anyone ridiculing me for wearing diapers was not going to gain any embarrassment at my expense. If needed I would let the entire school know I wore protection… and even more so… was not in the least bit troubled by that fact. So, if he, or anyone else, thought they could benefit from any attempt to humiliate me in front of others I would have to play things on my terms and not theirs.
Alas, the whole team seemed to now be in on the ‘joke’.
I hardly went anywhere without one of them patting my bum or pulling at the rear of my pants “Just checking baby’s still dry” and gleefully saying babyish things as they passed by. Of course, their actions meant that it was a signal for others to act the same way and before long I could hardly step in the hallway or move to a different classroom without a barrage of comments and assaults. The name ‘diaper boy’ followed me everywhere; unfortunately it was never said as if referring to a Super Hero.
What started out as ‘playful’ banter got turned up several notches after the Bronco’s worst defeat of the early season. It appeared that I was the person the wounded team could lash out at and those ‘playful’ thumps became much more painful and the attacks more humiliating.
Despite my continuing complaints the principal just didn’t want to know and, although he’d had a word with Kyle, nothing changed apart from him getting more and more aggressive. This had a knock on effect because I was continually wetting myself and every time I went to the nurse’s office, one of the team seemed to be ready to ridicule me in front of her. Nurse Jefferson took absolutely no notice of them but there again, she just didn’t seem aware of the damage their actions were doing to me and so, resentment settled in and I stopped going to her. My diaper would be full and leaking by the end of the day, through natural causes and through my distressed bladder.
My impotent anger was building and although I asked auntie to make sure my diaper had extra padding each morning I wasn’t sleeping well at nights and would wake up in the same state as when I returned home – soaking and irritable. She was adamant about speaking to the principal but I begged her not to intervene as I desperately wanted to sort this problem out for myself.
After one particularly aggressive de-panting that left me wearing little more than my drenched diaper and ripped plastic pants (and perhaps could have been a lot worse if Oliver and Yoosuf hadn’t
come to my rescue) I was quite devastated. There were looks of derision and sympathy from those who witnessed the event but no one of any authority stepped in to stop it.
As I stood in the main school hallway in an obviously soaked diaper anyone who didn’t know before were now left in no doubt that ‘weird English kid’ wears pissy diapers. My pants had disappeared with the football team and I had to scramble around trying to find something else to cover my shame. Some girls offered me a skirt, but whether this was out of kindness or a further opportunity to embarrass me I was in no mood to find out. Thankfully Oliver arrived with a pair of gym shorts that I gratefully pulled over my demonstrably swollen diaper.
My anger had returned. That anger that had me thrown out of the boxing club back in the UK and the one I’d reserved for my ‘thoughtless’ parents was bubbling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t helped by the fist that had connected there earlier from one of Kyle’s goons and, as there wasn’t going to be any adult intervention, I was going to have to sort it out for myself. Somehow I didn’t think that a polite note, or even a confrontation of the principal by auntie, would produce results so I decided that this diaper-wearing little baby was going to seek revenge.
Throughout my time at Rainbow I’d never been angry. I’d had toys taken from me by other toddlers and felt occasionally petulant but these feelings passed surprisingly quickly as I’d immerse myself (with the help of the staff) in some other enthralling game. However, my Rainbow time was now definitely at an end and although I still wore protection to sleep in I was determined to be a clever fourteen year-old student and not a wimpy, fourteen year-old victim.
As auntie changed me and got me ready for bed she could tell I had something on my mind. I wanted to discuss it with her but was afraid that she would try and talk me out of my course of action. I also didn’t want her worrying, but of course she would. I slipped a pair of baggy boxers over my night time diapers and crawled into bed determined not to let Kyle and his cronies continue to infect my dreams. Auntie waited a few extra seconds at my bedroom door. I knew she knew that I had things on my mind and hoped that I would share them but this time I needed to do it without her help.
My dream was not quite what I anticipated. Indeed, not a sign of Kyle and his gang appeared but a potted history of my time at 46 Glendew Lane rolled out before me. The first time I wet myself in public, the first time auntie suggested I return to diapers, the quick way I embraced the entire idea of a return to some kind of positive childhood…
The dream continued and at every turn I saw how reliant on auntie I’d been, how I was determined to be her ‘best little boy’, why I had taken to diapers so easily and come to rely on them for
comfort and safety. The dream was an endless procession of why I had become what I’d become and the love that had guided that entire journey.
Towards the end of my dream things got a bit more confusing. A few figures from my past began to interrupt proceedings. The feeling of happiness was being disturbed by teachers and pupils I had known in the past and who, despite their best intentions of friendship, I had snubbed. A tangle of emotions, and as it turned out, anger at myself, was eating fiercely into my subconscious and draining any comfort I’d been experiencing up until the moment when I awoke with a start.
I wasn’t in the nursery, I hadn’t actually slept in there for a couple of weeks, but, as I woke up I desperately needed all those comforting signs that I associated with ‘happiness’. At that moment my bedroom felt austere and unwelcoming. The blues, greys and blacks echoing my mood and I wanted sunshine, colour, cartoons and fluffy animals. I threw back the covers and discovered a different sensation, I was dry.
I didn’t quite believe it as I hadn’t had a dry morning for some time. I slowly pulled down my boxers and tentatively ran my hand over the slick plastic cover, it definitely didn’t feel bloated. I slipped them down and was surprised to find that, although the diaper had bunched up a little, it was completely dry. Shocked, I unpinned it and set it on my desk before wandering to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
My spirits rose as I showered and I thought about not wearing protection to school. I knew that I had to be inspected but I thought about ignoring that particular instruction and not visiting the nurse before attending class.
Back in my room I searched for a pair of boxers and decided not to even wear a pair of pull-ups under them. When auntie came in and saw me wearing underwear and not protection I could see from her look she didn’t think it was a wise move.
“I want to try a day without protection.”
I was both explaining my stance and appealing for auntie’s understanding.
“OK Doodle… but you know that Mr Thomson has already said you need to be protected…”
“Yes, but, er, I don’t intend to see Nurse Jefferson, er, or the principal, I’ll just go straight to class.”
She raised her eyebrows and left the final decision to me.
Half way through the first period of English I was summoned to the principal’s office.
“Court.” Mr Thomson looked fatigued and annoyed.
“Yes sir.” I maintained my composure and politeness.
“Did you see the nurse this morning… as per my instructions?”
“Because sir, I’m fed up with being treated as a child and it’s affecting…”
“So,” he interrupted my flow and I could see he was heading towards a showdown “you have decided, unbidden by me, to take the rules I have set down and what, just ignore them?”
“My wearing diapers to class sir has resulted in bullying and…”
“Tell me Mr Court why you were wearing diapers in the first place.”
He had me and he knew it.
Reluctantly I had to give him the answer he already knew.
“Because I occasionally wet myself sir.”
It was a reply without the bravado I would have liked.
“Wet… and MORE,” He emphasised the more.
“And do you no longer wet yourself Mr Court?”
“Erm, er, not as much… er, “
This was a complete lie because since Kyle and his chums had adopted me as their punch bag I’d been wetting constantly.
“Well let me tell you Mr Court, I get complaints in here every day about you smelling of urine…”
This took the wind out of my sails.
He watched as my face flushed, it was something I hadn’t noticed but obviously others had.
“… but I knew that was something you couldn’t help because of your ‘problem’ and you were doing your best, by wearing protection, to limit such a dilemma.”
He explained as if he was defending my predicament.
My argument about being bullied had just flown out the window as I tried to think of why I never thought about the smell of my wet diapers.
My eyes were searching his carpet for some escape. I wasn’t expecting this and I felt stupid, inferior and at a huge disadvantage.
I shuffled my feet.
I’m sure he could recognise my uncertainty but firmly laid down his rules once more.
“Now you have a choice. Go to the nurse immediately and get yourself appropriately protected or go home and explain to your aunt why I will not allow you back into my school.”
I certainly didn’t want to alarm auntie, besides she had more or less inferred this might happen so I didn’t see I had an alternative.
“Yes sir.” I whispered.
“Yes sir what?” He wanted me to spell out his instructions.
“I’ll go to the nurse sir”.
He was determined I should know who was in charge.
“I will not come to school again without the appropriate protection.”
“Now get out and don’t waste my time… again.”
He was obviously referring to my other complaints as well.
I was in no position to protest against that comment so just had to accept his decision.
“If I don’t hear from Nurse Jefferson every morning you will not be allowed to enter this school again. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Sir”.
As I left his office I felt the tears and my crushed rebellion fill my heart like a dead weight and grudgingly made my way to the nurse.
Nurse Jefferson was just finishing on the phone when I knocked on her door. She had a look of disdain that is normally kept for silly little kids who should know better but still do something stupid.
“Well young man.”
I was expecting a lecture about my non-attendance but she just pointed towards the changing bench and told me to take off my pants and boxers.
Thankfully I’d remained dry all the way through the principal’s speech and had managed to visit the toilet before I arrived at the nurse’s office. I was hopeful I’d remain dry for the rest of the day.
“Last week Miss Marsden left some things for you, just in case of emergencies but I am under strict instructions from Principal Thomson to make sure you are well padded, leak-proof and… smell like a daisy.”
I’m not sure if “smell like a daisy” were his words but I got the meaning that the thin plastic pants auntie had left with the nurse were going to be changed for the thicker, more robust rubber pair she was holding.
After all the preliminaries she fitted me in a very generous and extra padded disposable before adding the super smooth but inflexible rubber pants, it felt like I’d been concreted into my protection. I’d like to say it was a comforting sensation but it wasn’t, the elastic cuff held the top of my thighs tightly and irritated me because they were old and worn. Some of the rubber was slightly cracked so it nipped at my bare skin when she made sure none of my diaper showed past the seal. The waistband was equally tight and despite the white rubber being very glossy the durable material creaked with even the slightest movement. I sounded like I needed oiling.
As I stood up but before I’d been able to put my pants on the principal’s secretary walked in unannounced and gave me a letter with the instruction that I had to deliver it to auntie. As she left the door was wide open and it was just my luck that a couple of seniors were there for some reason and saw my newly diapered state. Despite my protests Nurse Jefferson didn’t seem in a hurry to close it, whilst insisting I put my pants on and return to class immediately. You can probably guess the names I was subjected to as I eventually left her office. So, although I’d intended not to be embarrassed by wearing diapers, the fact was, at that moment I was extremely self-conscious and ashamed.
I think a great part of that shame was because I knew I’d brought this on myself by refusing to wear my diaper as instructed that morning. The nurse’s attitude had been correct, I had been a silly little kid who should know better but still did something stupid.
Walking at normal speed produced a very obvious rustling sound but slowing down made it look like I’d had some kind of accident as my legs were slightly bowed by the thick padding. I was awkward and I’d never felt that my protection looked so noticeable before. I was uncomfortable so it may have been that I was just too aware of what I was wearing but I noticed that Oliver’s mates suddenly found better things to do when I appeared on the scene.
Oliver was very supportive as expected and even tried to make a joke about my ‘special containment’ (as he referred to it). Unfortunately, everyone else, and not just the football team, decided that I was now total fair game and I received a barrage of comments and abuse. Even though the nurse had covered me in baby powder and “sweet smelling oil” (Nurse Jefferson’s words), quite a few people either could, or pretended, that they could smell pee… my pee and poop.
Now everyone knew about my diapers I wished they didn’t.
This story is written by Les Lea
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