Warning: This story is extremely graphic in places. The writer confesses that one is not sure whether it really ought to be posted. If the reader feels (s)he can’t handle it, please do not continue reading the story. It is not a true account (obviously), but it easily could be.
He held the leather-bound book in his hands. It was all he asked them to bring to him. It was the only thing he really wanted to reflect upon. They had offered him a Bible; he left it on the table.
He opened it to the beginning and started to read - he knew the date well … June 6, 1983. “Today was the first day out of school for the summer. Mom gave me this cool notebook and told me how I should write things down in it that I will want to read about when I get older. I’m not sure what I will want to read about, so I just put whatever comes into my mind. Mom calls it a diary, but I thought that sounded kinda girly, so I am calling it a journal instead.”
He flipped a few pages. [i]"June 30, 1983 - It happened again. I woke up in a wet bed. This is the third time already this summer. I haven’t wet the bed since I was 5, and I still wore diapers at night then. Will I have to wear them again? I don’t think they make diapers to fit a 10 year old.
“I haven’t told Mom yet. I’m afraid she’ll flip out about it. I’m hoping it just goes away. I have hidden my sheets and try to sneak them in the washing machine after she puts other stuff in it and leaves the basement. It’s not easy to do.”[/i]
He flipped some more pages - if only he had more time. More time was not to be had though. He knew every page by heart anyway, he had read them all many times over the past several years.
“August 1, 1983 - I am worried now. Summer is over in a few weeks, and it won’t be as easy to hide my bedwetting from Mom then. She comes to wake me up in the morning. Maybe I can tell her I am too big for her to get me up now, and I can do it myself. I’ll just have to ask for an alarm clock. Washing my sheets and wet pajamas is going to be harder though, and it is hard enough already.”
He smiled at the memory of his mindset then. How he had dreaded the idea of being put back in diapers! It was legitimate to believe his mother would put him in them; she had when he was five, and she often made teasing remarks to him all through his growing years that, “If you’re going to act like a baby, I’ll buy you diapers.” His father, too, had suggested the idea of diapering him on road trips because he often had to ask for a bathroom break. With all that reinforcement, it was not a stretch to believe wetting the bed would land him in diapers.
The smile felt strange to his face - he hadn’t smiled in a long time. He frowned now. What a waste of time! Had he known then how much he would come to love wearing diapers, maybe things would have been different. As it was, when his mother DID find out he was wetting the bed when he was 10, she offered him the choice of wearing diapers or being spanked when he wet. He chose the latter, so afraid of embarrassment, and lost that chance. His mother had counted it a success, after only 5 or 6 spankings, he stopped wetting his bed.
He flipped to the middle of the book, looking for the subject to appear again. [i]"October 28, 1988 - I feel like I must be crazy. Every time I see a diaper commercial come on TV, I feel drawn to it. I feel like I want to know what it is like to be the baby - to wear diapers, and sleep in the crib. Then today, Mom’s new Christmas Catalog came, and I was looking through it. I couldn’t keep myself from looking through all the baby furniture and stuff.
"Then I saw something near the back that stopped me cold. I can’t believe it, but it is a diaper in adult sizes! They had a whole page of what they called “incontinence supplies”, but what it really is is adult size diapers!
“Well, I have decided what I am going to do is walk to the store and make an order for some of this stuff. Maybe I’ll buy some baby things too, like a bottle or pacifier. I’ll have to watch the mail so Mom doesn’t see my order when it comes in.”[/i]
He winced as he remembered - he had forgotten and his mother HAD seen his order notice. When he go home from school she had left the package - opened - on his bed. She hit the roof about it, asking if he was turning into some kind of pervert or something. She had then forced him to lay on the bed and … he read it….
[i]"December 15, 1988 …. and she gave me a spanking - just like a baby! It was so embarrassing. Afterward was worse, as she took the diapers I bought and put one on me. I had fantasized about being made to wear diapers, but I didn’t really want it, especially not like this! Now the diaper feels so thick on me and my butt is itching. Mom hasn’t spoken to me since she put the diaper on me, and I don’t know if I can take it off now or what.
“December 16, 1988 - Mom made me wear diapers to school today.”
He felt his throat tighten as he remembered the day. That one line was all he had been able to write, though it had been a pivotal point in his life. Reading now, a person could see how it had been; since it was at this point the writings had begun to get darker.
Now he paused in his reading for a moment. He was required to put on a diaper now. He lay back and pulled it up through his legs, marveling at the irony of this situation. For the curiosity of this garment he had been driven to where he was, and now…
When he finished, he picked up the notebook again, now thumbing through the darker writings, pausing now and again to marvel at how it had changed, and what he had actually written. The day his mother had forced him to wear diapers to school, it had not gone unnoticed by his classmates. And while it had been the only time she had forced him to do that, he had been held down various times and put in diapers by groups of teenagers, intent on humiliating him as much as they possibly could. They would catch him and drag him behind the bleachers, into the locker room, wherever they wanted. They teased him mercilessly about everything from that day forward.
“I HATE THEM ALL! THEY ALL DESERVE TO DIE!!!” one entry - without even a date on it - read. “DIE” had been written in larger letters, the word taking up half the page.
Further yet, he started to look at entries where he talked about “the plan”. How he had schemed, how he had waited for the perfect time, how he had acquired all that he needed to pull it off. So intent had he been that he had forgotten all about his innocent curiosity that had been the spark to the fuse. He never learned there were lot of others like him out there; people who liked the same thing, people who also had some bad memories because of it. Maybe if he had only met someone, maybe if he had turned one way instead of the other … maybe… maybe…
Now the book lay open on a table as he ran out of time to read further. The time had come for him to take a walk. The diaper crinkled as he walked, and he became somewhat focused, temporarily, on that. It crinkled loudly again as he sat down. He had nothing to say when asked.
Yes, he remembered his plan. He didn’t need to read any more to remember that. He remembered the feel of the cold hard steel, how it felt in his hands, how it felt when he squeezed the trigger, again and again and again. He remembered the look on their faces in the hallways; they had that deer in the headlights look, the same look they made him have many times before. Never again. Never again. Far away in his mind someone was saying something to him, it sounded like they were reading in a very official sounding voice, but he wasn’t listening. He was remembering the screaming, the running, just like they had made him scream and run. He pulled the trigger on the gun. Never again. Never again. They couldn’t hurt him ever again. He was remembering the red, red color that ran on the floor and ran down some of the walls as he hunted his tormentors through the building. He even laughed as he remembered that some of them had shit in their pants, the very type of thing they had tormented him over.
How ironic. Would he shit his diaper now, in front of “The Witnesses”?
There was a sudden buzzing, crackling noise and he felt a tingling sensation and then intense pain shot through his body. He felt like his whole body was on fire. He thought he could taste lemons and metal. And then he was free.
They say the ears are the last thing to stop working. As he approached … what, he wasn’t sure … he heard snatches of things. He heard his name, followed by "pronounced dead, 12:07 AM, June 6, 2008 …… And the somewhat shrill voice of a woman; “Did you see that? He laughed. That son of a bitch laughed just before they pulled the switch!”