Peter's Story

Peter’s Story

He had no option, the river’s current was just too strong to swim against so he gave up and allowed himself to be carried along. Every now and then some flotsam or tree branch would float nearby but always seemingly just out of arms reach. He was way past panic; he was just waiting for the undercurrent to drag him to his watery doom. The rain continued to lash against him and the squalls whipped up the waves creating a sickening motion as he bobbed uselessly up and down. The storm was getting worse, the lightning scarily highlighting his plight and whilst he cried pitifully for help the thunder roared deafeningly in his ears… and then…

A sudden flash made him scream in terror but it was only his mother who’d turned on the bedroom light rushing to comfort her shrieking son. Peter hung tightly to her thankful that tonight at least he wasn’t to be swept away. His sobbing subsided but the realization that his bed was soaked dampened his slowly rising spirit. This was the fourth night in a week he’d wet the bed and no matter how much his mother loved and comforted her twelve year-old son, this couldn’t continue.

Lying open on his bedside table was the culprit for the dream. Peter had been reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and had somehow got himself tangled up in the river and Huck’s troubles. It was strange how his own imagination had not only embellished the story but made it so real. The battle with the river, the hellish storm, the sheer terror he felt, meant he’d peed the bed, again.

His mother drew back his bedclothes to see everything soaked; his PJs, briefs, blanket, sheet, pillow and mattress. The only thing that appeared to have escaped the deluge was his teddy, Franky, who must have ‘swum’ to safety fairly early on. His mom sighed at the amount of extra work that needed to be done before she could retire for the night herself but set about the chore in her usual, no nonsense manner. Stripping Peter in the bathroom she told him to take a shower whilst she cleaned up his room. Everything was thrown into the hamper and the single mattress flipped.

Perhaps, oddly enough, she was prepared for this. Peter’s older brother Damian had also wet the bed when he was younger. In fact from the age of five until he was almost fifteen Damian had problems getting to the bathroom at night. Then suddenly, and for no apparent reason, it was dry night after dry night and the problem appeared to rectify itself. Despite there being almost eight years difference in the brother’s ages their mother had kept all the things she’d needed to make Damian comfortable and she hoped to do the same for Peter.

Damian was away at university now so there was only Peter and his mother at home, father having long fled the family home and abandoning his second but newly arrived son. Thankfully, Peter’s maternal grandparents had rallied round and helped them through that difficult time, whilst a godsend from a deceased uncle had meant that, financially at least, she was able to cope rearing her sons. Having such a long gap between each child was quite a surprise (as was the fact that she was pregnant with Peter) the responsibility proving a huge problem for her philandering husband who took it as a signal to make himself scarce, something he’d managed to do successfully for over twelve years.

That abandonment had hardened Janice, Pete’s mother, and made her determined that she wouldn’t be reliant on a man again. She had immersed herself in her two son’s wellbeing and made sure that both were well looked after and wanted for nothing. As she coped with her new baby she was also coping with Damian who was also wetting the bed. Diapering one or both of them made no difference to Janice; she just got on with the job. Damian only needed his at night and soon settled into the regime and of course baby Peter needed his all the time. He was slow to potty train but she didn’t mind, all her efforts went into making sure her boys were the happiest and most contented kids around.

Perhaps strangely, Peter was out of his diaper before Damian but the two boys got on reasonably well, considering their age difference, and diapers were never an issue. Once Damian was out of them she simply packed all the things away in the attic, not imagining that they just might be needed on a future occasion.

As her son showered she went up to the attic and retrieved the box with all the things she needed: The rubber sheet to cover the mattress, the selection of disposable and fabric diapers, plastic pants for added protection and the cartons of wipes, lotions and baby powder that she hoped would still have retained the smell she’d loved so much. In fact, just handling all those things brought back happy memories from when her eldest son had relied on her. Now he was a grad student he was too independent to need her fussing. She was both proud and upset when Damian went off to University, proud of his achievements but sad he was growing up and would no doubt soon have a life on his own.

Meanwhile, Peter was growing up far too quickly, he was nearly a teenager and she couldn’t understand how the time had suddenly shot by. However, here he was, her baby son (he’d always be the baby to her no matter how old he was) wetting himself, having nightmares and relying on his mommy to comfort and sort things out for him. She relished the opportunity to look after her baby’s needs.

When he returned to his room from the shower Peter was greeted by his mom who had cleared away all the wet debris, put new sheets and blankets on his bed and had a further surprise for him. She told him to lie out on the bed, which, as he was naked, he was reluctant to do. She gently mocked him for being embarrassed around her.

“You’ve got nothing I haven’t cleaned and powdered hundreds of times so there’s no point in being bashful now.”

She smiled and patted the bed for him to come closer. He still seemed hesitant and the fact that she was holding a strange looking package made him a little nervous.

“What’s that?” He nodded toward the item in her hand.

“It’s a disposable diaper.” She fanned it open.

“You’re not planning on putting me in that… are you?” He asked incredulously.

“Only while you are having these nightmares and wetting the bed.”

“But mom,” he tried to be brave but could already sense it was a done deal, “I won’t wet again, honest. I’m twelve… mom… I can’t wear a diaper.”

“Yes, you are twelve and do twelve year-olds wet the bed?”

He couldn’t answer that simple question so stayed quiet. His mother pushed her advantage.

“Do you think it’s fair all the extra washing that needs to be done, the mattress that’s almost ruined, your PJs that stink… do you think that’s OK?”

He shuffled his 4 foot 8 inch body nervously still unable to bring himself to answer.

“Come here then and let’s get you back to bed and then I can get some sleep myself.”

She held out her hand and he unenthusiastically gave himself over to his mother’s tender ministrations. As she rechecked that he was totally dry in all his nooks and crannies, she spread the lotion and sprinkled baby powder, all the while knowing she needed to put his mind at rest.

“I’m sure this will only be temporary and, it is only at night when there is only you and me here, so, no one else needs to know.”

She smiled encouragingly as she pulled the diaper up between his legs and taped it into place. Peter wasn’t happy but had no choice. He knew that over the past couple of weeks he’d made so much extra work for her and in truth he felt a bit guilty about the whole bed-wetting business. He blamed Mark Twain for writing such a great book and vowed not to read any more, hoping that alone would put an end to his night time misfortunes.

His mother was delighted to be able once again to baby her baby and took great pleasure in making sure every bit of his diaper area was swathed in protecting cream and powder and that the disposable fitted him perfectly. She wriggled a pair of cream coloured plastic pants in place, much to Peter’s disgust, but a resigned sigh was all he could muster and the action passed off with no further argument. She pulled a t-shirt over his head, his mop of still damp thick brown hair bursting through the head-hole like a surprised little flower; it made her smile. She then drew back the bed clothes. He was going to ask for his PJs but thought he might get too hot with another layer of clothing so yawning he just crawled into bed. His mother gave him a gentle pat on his padded tush, told him to budge up, lay herself down and gently cuddled her son.

She whispered that she was just making sure he had no more bad dreams and lightly stroked his hair and wrapped her arm around his waist; the slickness of the plastic pants giving her a wonderful sensation and reviving happy memories of when he was an actual baby.

“Morning sweetheart.” His mother’s words brought him from the edge of sleep and into the day.

He yawned, stretched and realised he’d spent the night on top of his bed clothes. Before he was fully awake he also sensed that there was something different and slowly became aware of what he was wearing. His first night in diapers since he was a little kid sent a feeling of annoyance and disgust rippling through his waking body until he then gathered there was more to it, he was once again soaked. He closed his eyes tight shut and hoped that when he opened them again all this would be a dream - it wasn’t and he groaned inwardly about the mess in his diaper. In fact, since his mom had changed him during the night he’d slept, well, like a baby. No dreams, certainly no scary nightmare and possibly the most restful night he’d had in quite some time.

His mother noticed the look on his face, which, over the years, she had come to recognise for what it was - a realisation of a wet diaper.

She didn’t want to be the one to bring it up or embarrass her almost teenage son but thought that maybe it was something that had to be confronted.

“How’s my little flower this morning?” she gently wiped the sleep from his eyes. “It looks like the morning dew has taken its toll on my…”

“Yes mom I’m wet,” Peter replied off hand, “You don’t have to avoid the subject… I am WET.”

He emphasised the last word but not in anger more in recognition that his mom had done her best for him and the precaution had been needed. As he moved to get up he noticed that the disposable and plastic pants hadn’t prevented a small leak from reaching the sheet he’d been sleeping on. The damp patch was relatively small but there was no denying what had happened. He looked from damp patch to mom, groaned again and resignedly shook his head.

His mother guided him to the bathroom and helped him out of his wet clothes. Peter was in no position to complain about his mother’s fussing so let her just get on with it. The rubberised pants she’d put over it all had, with age, perished slightly and there were areas she hadn’t noticed that were considerably worn. She also checked the disposable and noticed it wasn’t as absorbent as she’d remembered and knew she’d need cloth diapers and extra padding for him in future. She didn’t tell him this was going to happen, she didn’t want to make it an issue and besides, he was getting ready for school so didn’t need to be thinking of what was going to happen when it was time for bed.

Once she’d got him off to school she loaded the washer with his wet sheets then sat down to think of what she could do for her son. Over a cup of coffee she sorted through all the things she’d brought down from the attic and decided on what would be useful and what wouldn’t. At the bottom of the box were a few items she’d forgotten about; some of the baby clothes that both boys had worn way back when. She sighed as she clutched each small soft item and her mind tumbled back to when they had both been small, The pale green onesie of Damian, which she always thought made him look so sweet. He had his father’s flame red hair and even at that young age it was thick and distinctive. Other mom’s used to look and comment. No matter where they went, the proud mother was always on the receiving end of praise for her beautiful and distinguished looking son.

Peter had inherited her colouring. His thick brown hair was wild and when he’d worn the blue romper suit, which she was hugging to her bosom, he’d looked like a little version of her. In the early days he was often mistaken for a baby girl, his soft features, and the fact that his older brother always called him Petra, meant there was a bit of confusion when they went out together. She liked to dress Peter in slightly different clothes to his older brother, never really thinking that they might appear a little more appropriate for a girl than a boy. Eventually, someone had mentioned this fact to her and offered words of warning that it might affect him in later life if she didn’t dress him more fitting to his sex.

She held his pale pink plastic pants to her face, the soft, smooth material she remembered changing so often, though it was never a trial. The sweet little pink top with a kitten on the front, his delightful little blue shorts with the kittens dancing all over them… she loved them and more memories flowed but even then she smiled as she wondered – what the hell was she thinking?

Reminiscing was alright but she needed to get things ready and available for Peter. She sorted through a pile of fabric diapers that Damian had worn throughout his long wetting spell. The disposables had been for emergencies but would have proved too expensive over time. Fabric diapers, safety pins, creams, powder and a selection of plastic and rubber pants were all going to be conscripted into use for when Peter needed them. She didn’t know how long his ‘problem’ was going to last but at least she was determined to be prepared. She went out and bought a few extra items she thought might be needed, things that she didn’t have in the box but remembered were useful for Damian. Extra padding had been a must most nights so those were at the top of her shopping list and again she couldn’t help smiling as she remembered how cute Damian looked as a five year-old as he waddled up to bed. He was still waddling up the stairs when he was fifteen, it never bothered him that he had to go to sleep in diapers and plastic pants. He just accepted it and would blithely sit watching TV in his protection before bed. Typically of him, he just got on with it, that particular characteristic he inherited from his mother.

Peter was altogether different in looks and temperament. His soft features and easy attitude often made him a target for more boisterous boys. Not that he couldn’t take care of himself, although he rarely put up a fight (unlike his brother who, as a youngster, had been constantly in trouble for his daring dos and confrontational ways), but he thought trouble would pass soon enough so there was no point in getting ‘involved’. Everyone seemed to adore Peter, he was very friendly, easy to talk to and smiled an awful lot, had there been an award for the most cheery, he would have won it hands down. School he seemed to sail through. He wasn’t the most brilliant student (again unlike his brother who was in the top spot in most of his subjects) but he was not stupid and kept up without being outstanding. He was a difficult person to push because he was so damn likeable people felt guilty even mildly criticizing him. However, the last few weeks had seen the ‘once in a blue moon’ bed wetting ‘accident’, become a more regular occurrence and his mother didn’t believe it was all down to the words of Mr Mark Twain.

That night when it was time for bed Janice told her son that there would be a slight change to his sleeping arrangement, nothing too drastic, she assured him, but something she hoped would put both their minds at rest. As Peter changed, washed and brushed his teeth his mother got everything ready. When he entered the bedroom nothing really appeared to have changed except his mother was waiting. She told her naked and nervous son that she was going to fit a nice thick diaper to make sure there would be no further accidents. However, she pointed out, if there were then the only consequences would be a wet diaper. Peter shrugged his shoulders half expecting this anyway but was a bit more reticent about his mom dressing him.

“It’s OK mom, I understand I need this but, I can do it myself, you don’t have to supervise.”

She thought he might think this way and knew that he probably could sort himself out but in reality she desperately wanted the intimacy with her son that they’d shared when he was a baby.

She looked seriously at him, “I’m supervising and dressing you,” she said firmly. “No arguments. I am the one who has to clean up after you and I’m the one who washes your wet clothes and I’m the one who…”

“OK, OK, you’ve made your point.” He sighed as he walked over to his bed where his mother had set all the things she needed.

He lay out and his mom checked that he was dry; she rubbed in some cream, telling him what each thing she applied was for.

“This will prevent you getting a rash.” She smoothed it all around and despite himself he started to giggle.

His mother’s eyes filled up as the memory of how he used to do the same when he was a baby flooded her head. She even bent forward and kissed his tummy, which produced a snort as well as a chuckle that set them both off.

A cloud of baby powder finished the preliminaries before she folded a square of fabric and pushed it under his bum. Then, to Peter’s surprise, she put a chunky soaker in there with it and pinned the entire thing into place. Peter was alarmed at the thickness of it all but acknowledged that he would never have been able to conclude the operation had he been left to his own devices. With a final flourish his mom yanked up a pair of white plastic pants that engulfed the entire bulky item. A t-shirt followed and he was ready for bed.

“Don’t I get my PJs?” he asked but already knew the reason why they would be unnecessary.

“You won’t really need them honey and besides, I don’t think you have any that might fit.”

She could have grabbed a pair of Damian’s boxer shorts from his room, the baggy style that he seemed to prefer, but wanted to see her son as she imagined he would look. She was actually stunned. He looked so childlike, so juvenile, and so… babyish! It was like she’d turned back the clock eleven years and got her cute, sweet and loving little baby back. Now she sighed, but it was a sigh of recognition and pure joy.

“Now don’t you worry. You’re all wrapped up safe and snug….” She was going to add that he looked so adorable but left it unsaid, and instead stroked his hair.

Peter accepted that he was probably dressed for the best; especially as the last few times he had flooded and made such a mess of his bed. He decided it was a wise precaution but doubted he’d ever be able to sleep wrapped in such ginormous protection. Janice loved her son and thought that, in future, she would find a more colourful pair of plastic pants as the ones she had slipped on him were dated and deadly dull. She wished she’d thought about that on her last shopping trip but, she couldn’t think of everything and, smiled to herself, there’s always tomorrow. The idea of shopping for such an item for Peter, lovely, grown up Peter, who, as he snuggled down under the blanket looked like he had when he was a toddler, made her beam with happiness as she kissed him goodnight and turned off the light.

Peter dreamed. He was no longer in the terrifying current of the Mississippi but playing with a boy called William who use to be his best friend when he was a toddler. In fact, they were both two year-olds, Princes of Fairydell, a magical place about which William’s mother used to make up stories. In her tales the two little Princes featured heavily in some heroic scheme, or came to each other’s rescue, or found some hidden treasure. She did a drawing of them (William’s mum was an illustrator) both in all their regal finery with their shiny golden diapers showing just beneath their splendid silky blue tunics. This was the image that had suddenly popped into Peter’s head as he slept and for some reason was thoroughly enjoying the silly thrill of being a gallant toddler again.

William and his family had moved when he was three so sadly Peter lost his best friend and neighbour, the new people that moved in were an elderly couple who didn’t have any kids. For months after they’d gone Peter asked his mommy when he’d be seeing William again but it never happened. Those stories had been fantastic and he missed being a hero with his best friend.
Peter woke up with a smile on his face. He and Prince William had just completed leaping several streams to get to some treasure. The gold matched their diapers and the buttons on their tunics but the pile of gilded coins they were skating around on didn’t feel hard because it was slowly melting beneath them. Soon it felt like golden syrup that was warm and smooth against their skin… it tasted nice as well…

A voice was calling that it was time to return to the palace but the two boys giggled and splashed and soon they were both as golden in what was now a lake of gold, which stretched off into infinity.

Janice’s voice gently roused her son to get him up and ready for another day at school. The chirpy smile he had on his face was in complete contrast to the previous dark day and the memory of that terrible watery nightmare, this, had been an enjoyable experience. It was still clearly imprinted on his brain and he wanted to share it with his mother so threw back the covers and leapt out of bed. It was only then that he realised that his diaper was even more bulky and that he was sodden. His protection had done its job and there were no drips or leaks but Peter was mortified that he’d wet again… and after having such a wonderful dream. He didn’t understand what had caused it but his mom didn’t seem to care, the diaper had done its job so all was well.

“I’m really sorry mom but I’m wet.”

He didn’t know whether to cry or what but his mother hugged and patted his soaked padded bottom as she soothed any worries he had. Peter was relieved she seemed as resigned as he was to the situation and, because the thick diaper had done what is was designed for, both seemed happy at the outcome. If he was going to wet, at least they had a system in place that prevented any collateral damage (as his mother called it).

“OK sweetheart, just put all the wet stuff in the hamper in the bathroom and I’ll sort it out,” she encouraged as she swept her hand across his bed. “Look, no sign of dampness at all.”

She gave a sort of thumbs up.

Once he’d got himself ready for school he arrived in the kitchen for some breakfast, nothing fancy just juice and cereal but, as he sat munching away his mind was full of thoughts of his dream, and William.

“Mom, do you remember William?”

“Of course sweetheart, why?”

“Well… I dreamt about him last night.”

“Oh, that’s interesting honey. How was he?” She asked not really taking in what was being discussed.

“Just the same as he always was,” he was happily remembering his dream as he spoke.

“We were Princes in Fairydell…”

His mother put down the morning paper, “Wow, that takes me back. Diane made up such wonderful tales for you boys and, if I’m not mistaken, you two were joint Princes of the kingdom.”

Peter was pleased that his mother remembered. “Well,” he smiled, “we still were and we’d found some treasure…”

His mother chuckled, “Oh good, we could do with some of that.” They both laughed.

“Diane even drew you boys as toddlers,” she had a smile on her face now as she could envisage the image in her mind. “You boys looked so cute in your uniforms, all that gold braid and silk and those sweet little diapers that she had you wearing. You both were such a picture… literally.”

The illustration that Diane had done was absolutely brilliant. Janice remembered being very envious of her neighbours talent and wished she’d been able to keep a copy for herself. She recalled at the time thinking it would have made a brilliant cover image for a children’s book, perhaps she ended up doing something with it.

Peter was sort of wriggling in happiness now that his mom was on the same page as him. “Yes, that’s exactly how we were dressed in my dream. We hadn’t changed or grown up at all. We were having such a great time.”

His mother looked at him in a slightly questioningly way, “You didn’t mind being back as a toddler?”

“It’s how I remembered him and me together when his mom told her stories or we played in their garden.”

“Well you were only three when they left and the Josephs moved in… but I wonder why you dreamt of him last night”

“I don’t know, but it was better than fighting a river current… at least we found gold and…”

“Sorry son, you’ll have to tell me later.” She tapped her watch. “You’ll be late if you don’t get going. The bus will be arriving in a minute and you haven’t even got your books together.”

She shooed him from the table and off to collect what he’d need for the day. He quickly returned, pecked her on the cheek and was out of the house and running to the bus stop in a matter of seconds.

Janice thought about his dream and wondered why he’d had that one in particular. Even though it was completely different from his Huck Finn nightmare it had the same watery results. Thankfully his protection had done a great job and saved her from further washing. As she sipped her coffee she smiled at the memory of how happy Peter had been when William was with him. He got on well with his older brother but having someone his own age was better. In fact, the two boys were almost inseparable, and those stories of Diane’s, well they were truly wonderful. She liked the fact that something in his subconscious had brought it all to the surface and again those memories of him as a toddler filled her mind, suddenly she had an idea.

THE PRINCES OF FAIRYDELL - Janice typed the words in to the search engine and pressed enter. She didn’t really expect any response but an entire list of possible info was quickly presented to her. It looked like there were no entries by that particular title but she was given alternatives of books whose title was close. She clicked on images and scrolled through a bunch of covers that had PRINCES in their title. On the third page of the search in the children’s book section she saw something that looked familiar. The title was The Princes of Faerie Realm but there was no escaping the image on the front, it was Peter and William. Frozen in time was the wonderful artwork that Diane had created, even after almost ten years it looked fresh, new and totally endearing (well Janice thought so) as it had when she’d first drawn it for her son’s bedroom wall. The book’s credits were; written and illustrated by Diane Jerome, which was her maiden name and its full title was ‘The Princes of Faerie Realm and their adventures near and far’.

Janice noticed that the book had been published over six years earlier and that she could buy a copy for just a couple of dollars, plus postage. Although temporarily transfixed on seeing the cover again she clicked to buy. Her mind then moved to thoughts of Diane herself and wondered what happened to her. Was she still married? Why had she not kept in touch? But, nine years had passed and neither had found the opportunity to call or write so she guessed their friendship must have ended due to other things in their life. Still, she was excited at finding the book and couldn’t wait to show it to Peter, it would be a wonderful surprise for him.
She then did another search, clicked on another site and found what she was looking for; a pair of golden plastic pants that she hoped would complete Peter’s happy memory of being a prince.

When Peter came home his mother was desperate to share her discovery but decided to wait and surprise him with the complete ‘package’ one evening. He went up to his room to change out of his school clothes, slip into his more comfortable home wear and start on the project he had to do for class. Other than their evening meal together both hardly saw each other until it was time for bed. Janice peaked round the door and observed her son hard at work surrounded by books and writing in his journal. It was getting late and he was looking a little fraught so she suggested he stopped for the night, perhaps continue again in the morning. He seemed relieved he had an excuse to stop so packed everything away and sauntered to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Whilst he was there Janice got the thick diaper and soaker pads ready and the cream she knew would prevent him from getting a rash. She remembered that at one point with Damian he had a terrible reaction to one cream she’d used, which had inflamed his most sensitive area. She didn’t want a repeat of that so had found some baby-sensitive lotion for Peter to go with the other items she’d bought.

Peter walked back into his bedroom gently rubbing his hair dry, he knew his mother would be waiting and also knew it would be diapers again. He didn’t put up any argument, how could he, he’d wet himself as he slept too many times not to be sensible and take precautions. His mother was making it as easy and as comfortable as she could for him but he was still glad that no one other than they knew. He surveyed the laid out folded piece of fabric with the extra padding and his smiling mother waiting expectantly to do her job. He decided to make the process fun as he slowly aimed his bottom at the central part of the folded material and, with a bit of a theatrical ‘whoop’ plonked himself down. They were both giggling as his mother thoroughly applied the lotion and sprinkled the powder before pulling up and pinning his thick night time diaper into place. Then, as if she was performing at a magic show, produced from under the bed a new pair of thick blue plastic pants, which she hoped would look great on him. She shuffled them up his legs but Peter didn’t seem bothered what he was put in, to him it was just another thing that was needed to stop him from leaking all over the bed. His mother was a little disappointed at the lack of reaction to her new purchase but she thought he looked better, indeed, despite the bulk, it gave him an almost impish look. She wished it wasn’t so late and that he’d want to walk around wearing his diaper like Damian used to do but, Peter was a lot more reserved than his brother so, for the moment at least, it wasn’t going to happen. His mother even offered to let him stay up and watch TV for a further half-hour but he declined saying he was too tired. So, having kissed him goodnight returned to a late night chat show to take her up to her own bed time.

Peter dreamed again, and again it involved him and William but this time, they weren’t Princes they were just normal two year-olds out playing on swings in a park. Both their mothers were there keeping a watchful eye out as they ran, jumped, hid and screamed their way around the playground. They were having fun and it only came to an end when he was being shaken awake by his mother.

He couldn’t believe how deep or how long he’d slept but there was no disputing that the sun was up and so should he. He was wet. He could feel the dampness surrounding his crotch but had no idea why he’d done so. There was no stress he could pinpoint as the possible cause, he was even ahead on his school project and it wasn’t proving to be a difficult subject so… why? His dream had been fun, no drama or terror, yet his diaper was soaked. He ran his hand over the blue plastic and was thankful that at least it had helped contain his problem and, as he stroked the fabric, for the first time he became aware of the material. Even though they’d done a good job, the pants from the night before had felt rough in comparison to this smooth fabric and had paid them little attention. However, now his interest was piqued he examined this new garment more closely. The plastic was semi-opaque, bonded, shaped and the silver coloured snap studs down each side made them look both stylish and sturdy. Despite the fact that they ballooned out over his thick soaked diaper he was surprised to think that something that thin could be so strong. However, as he had no idea how long he’d be wearing them he decided to be grateful and handled with care. As he waddled to the bathroom he couldn’t help enjoying the slight rustle with each step. As he slipped them down his legs (it hadn’t occurred to him that he could pull the studs apart), the soft caress on his skin sent a slight tremble up his body. He quite liked the texture of this new fabric and was pleased his mother had bought him something new instead of only dressing him in the old stuff of Damian’s. Before he threw his damp protection into the hamper he smoothed the blue plastic pants against his naked thighs and was happily surprised that he experienced again that wonderful shiver through his body.

Once at school Peter had no trouble getting to the washroom when needed so his wetting was just a night time occurrence. There was a test coming up but he usually had no trouble with them. He’d never thought a choice of boxes to tick as worrying so, unlike many of his friends, never gave it a second thought. Meanwhile, he did tell a couple of his mates about his nightmare brought on by Huckleberry Finn but left out the bit about wetting the bed as a result. However, he guiltily smiled when one of them said he would have crapped himself if he’d had such a dream. He thought telling them about his dream of being a toddler prince might lend himself open to ridicule (as he would have done to any of his buddies if they had confessed to such a dream) so thought better of that and kept quiet. The problem he had was - once home and mother putting him into diapers for bed - was now preying constantly on his mind. A couple of times a day he’d discovered his thoughts wandering, thinking about them, even ‘feeling’ their phantom snugness around his groin. He found it most disconcerting but also strangely arousing. He daren’t discuss it with any of his mates, he was convinced he’d die if anyone found out he was a bed-wetter and the only person he could talk to, his brother, was away at university.

Once home he noticed his mother out in the back garden pottering around picking out weeds and tidying the flower beds. He was shocked to see his diapers and various pairs of plastic pants wafting gently in the sunny breeze and was only glad their garden wasn’t easily overlooked. Of course the neighbours had seen stuff hanging out over the years when Damian had his problem but he definitely didn’t want them to know he was going through something similar. At the very end of the line were his blue plastic pants, now unsnapped and as a result looked strange, it took him a second to realise what they actually were. The blue set amongst all the whites of the diaper squares, the cream and milky coloured plastic pants really did stand out and looked oddly out of place.

“Mommm, do you have to leave them out for everyone to see…” he whined. “Couldn’t you dry them inside?”

“No sweetheart,” she said continuing her snipping and without looking up, “but if you’d like to do the washing in future you can dry them where you like… or perhaps you’d like to start off wearing wet diapers.”

He knew that wouldn’t happen, he didn’t want to take on the responsibility of his own washing.

“Well, er, couldn’t you, er, not put the plastic pants out they look so, babyish.”

She looked up. “Well Peter, when you stop wetting the bed there will be no need for these,” she said as she pointed to the line of washing. “I’ve done a full load and washed all Damian’s old stuff so they are all nice, fresh and clean for you and I’ve bought one or two other items,” she pointed to the blue pants, “that seem a little more fashionable so you wouldn’t feel you were only getting hand-me-downs.”

Peter stood there regretting having said anything.

“But if you want to go to bed in stale and old protection just say the word and I’ll not bother in future. Is that what you want?”

“No mom. Sorry mom. Thank-you.” He turned and retreated back into the house and headed up to his room feeling like an ungrateful urchin.

Once behind the safety of his bedroom door he noticed that the night time equipment had been left on top of his desk ready for applying later in the evening. Whilst he stripped out of his school clothes his thoughts turned to the fact that he didn’t really want his mom dressing him every time. Although the couple of times she’d done it he’d actually liked the way she’d fussed over him. However, not knowing precisely how long his ‘problem’ would last, he thought he should learn to do it himself. Disposables were relatively easy (or so he presumed) but these fabric creations might take a bit more science to fit correctly.

He stretched a diaper out on his bed and folded it as he’d seen his mother do so accurately, he wasn’t sure if it was quite right but plonked his bottom on it and wrapped it around his waist, then pulled up the other bit of fabric between his legs and tried to hold them together. Each time he tugged he’d lose one of the other corners, or it would be too thick in his grip and the entire construction would fall apart. After five or six attempts he was getting very frustrated and still hadn’t been able to put one pin in place. Eventually, and after what seemed an age, he had the diaper pinned together. As he lay looking down on it he sighed with relief that at least, in future, he could diaper himself. Unfortunately, as he stood up to admire his brilliant assembly it simply fell off his hips and settled in a heap around his ankles.

His mother wondered what had been taking her son so long to get changed and come down for his meal so she ventured to his room just as his unsuccessful attempt hit the floor. She sniggered in a most un-adult way as she saw her confused son struggling with what had gone wrong. Seeing his mom laughing set him off and naked, apart from a heap of diaper around his ankles, waited for her offer of help. She had him step out of it and then, after flattening the thick terry square out on his bed, started again.
She showed him how to fold it correctly, which bits to hold firm, which order to pin into place and how to keep it tight though not uncomfortable around his waist. It wasn’t too late but to avoid doing the operation twice she suggested that he may as well be prepared for bed now. They weren’t planning on going anywhere so it seemed a reasonable idea. So, albeit reluctantly, let his mother get on with it. Within seconds she had loosened the pins, added the extra padding and re-pinned him tightly. She then opened a small package that contained another pair of plastic pants not unlike the blue pair he’d worn the day before, this time they were bright red. The silver studs looking effective as she pressed them into place. She pointed out to her well-diapered son that it was the pants which held the entire thing in place and, as she showed him by tucking in any extraneous bit of exposed diaper, it made it the entire thing completely waterproof and almost impossible to leak.

“That’s not a challenge,” she said as she tickled him, which produced a high pitched giggle, a sound Peter couldn’t remember ever having made before. They both laughed.

Suddenly realising that she had left something on the stove she quickly guided Peter down the stairs and into the kitchen. He sat at the table a little self-conscious. Wearing just his diaper felt strange, he hadn’t even had time to put on a t-shirt before she had rushed from his room. However, as he sat waiting for the meal to be dished out he stroked the new plastic covering. Like the blue pair he’d worn the day before, its slippery smooth, almost silky texture was most pleasant to handle. The bulkiness made him sit higher in his chair but he was cushioned comfortably and any misgivings of his diaper situation seemed to float away as, with each gentle touch, he enjoyed the glossy thrills engulfing his mind and body.

Janice had got her way. Without having to do much at all she now had her son shuffling around the house wearing just his thick protection. To her, the memories such a spectacle brought back were most pleasurable. After her husband was no longer with them it was the sheer delight her children gave her that kept her from falling into a deep depression. Dressing up her new infant, whilst keeping her older son entertained, took up all of her time but it stopped her from thinking about her cheating spouse. Thankfully she didn’t transfer any of her hate to her kids like some divorced parents do; she just immersed herself in making sure they were the happiest kids around.

For the most part she succeeded but when Damian had started bed-wetting again, and the doctors could find nothing wrong, even though her hubby was around then, she had a slight pang of guilt wondering if it was something she’d done to cause it. However, the doctors said her eldest son was fine so she tried to see it in a positive light, which gave her a chance to almost re-baby Damian. Not totally of course but she actually enjoyed all the changing of diapers and getting him suitably wrapped up for bed. A precaution it may have been to begin with but it became a necessity as usually his diaper was wet come sunrise. She loved all the bustle and cleaning and thought it brought mother and son closer together. Perhaps it was no wonder Damian didn’t stop his bed-wetting until he was fifteen.

Damian was so used to wearing diapers for bed that he often wondered around the house in them. His bolstered, waddling bottom never stopped entertaining Janice so those times when little Peter was in bed fast asleep, she and Damian cuddled on the sofa watching TV, were magic moments… and moments that she didn’t realise how much she missed. Now, with Peter going through something comparable, she jumped at the opportunity to have those times back. Inwardly she prayed that he would wet for quite some time but recognised that such a prayer was being a bit unkind to her son. She was simply desirous for this scene of her heavily diapered son and his shiny plastic cushioned bottom to continue for as long as possible so, was determined to make the most of the days, weeks, months or however long it might last.

Peter wasn’t aware of his mother’s fervour for his current situation. He just thought that as she’d been through it before with his brother, therefore she was doing what needed to be done. Despite the thickness that swaddled him as he slept he never once thought it wasn’t needed. If his mother believed that’s what was required then he wasn’t in a position to complain and besides, his mother hadn’t made him feel guilty about wetting the bed at his age. She hadn’t ridiculed or made it an issue; she’d simply taken the precautions to make him safe and dry whilst he slept. He was thankful that he had such a caring mother who wasn’t judgmental like he was sure many of his buddy’s parents would have been.

He remembered that Damian had just got on with wearing his nightly diaper, he didn’t recollect him ever worrying or acting up about his situation it was something that just happened. He decided he would adopt his brother’s attitude; react the same way and not let it worry him, although he hoped that his problem would pass a damn sight quicker than his brother’s. However, each morning he woke up and he was wet but on Friday he was both wet and messy.

This was a huge dent to his self-image. He had absolutely no idea why he should have pooped his diaper. He could recall no bad dreams or situations, in fact, he’d never slept better, perhaps that was the problem, sleeping too deeply and not knowing when he needed the bathroom. However, that messy realisation had also made him do something he hadn’t experienced since he was a toddler, he cried for his mommy.

She was quick to comfort her distraught and confused son but before she set about changing him she held him tightly wanting him to cry away any possible stresses. Janice knew this was a massive deal and would be a huge upset to her twelve year-old son and wanted him to get any and all his pent-up frustrations, anger and emotions out. As he sobbed into her chest she casually patted his cushioned and full bottom, whispering reassuring words and telling him not to worry; mommy was there and she’d make it all right.

Perhaps not unsurprisingly, Peter was exhausted after expressing such deep seated emotions. He had no idea how long he cried for but it seemed an age. He lay docile and sucked on his thumb (something Janice didn’t expect) as she cleaned him up and without thinking re-diapered him. She phoned the school to say he was ill and that he’d be staying home for the day and when she returned Peter was already fast asleep on his bed. Seeing him wearing just the diaper his mother found another pair of new plastic pants and, without disturbing him, snapped them into place. Making sure he was all tucked in and leak-proof she kissed her sweetly slumbering son and gently guided his thumb back between his lips. She exited his room to the sound of soft slurping noises.

Whilst he slept the mailman delivered both the book and new plastic pants that Janice had ordered earlier. She opened the book and found that Diane’s colourful illustrations were just as wonderful as she remembered and was even happier that both Peter and William had lost none of the childish charm. As the toddler princes took on their adventures she loved that their diapers could be seen under their little tunics. Each bright and lively image showed the boys as they went in search of some treasure; climbing up mountains, crossing streams, fighting with hobgoblins. The stories seemed aimed at children older than toddlers but the vivid images would have been loved by everyone, especially little children who might just have identified with these sweet little heroes.
Enthralled, she read the book a few times and as she did so unwrapped the new gold plastic pants. They weren’t quite as shiny as those in the story but they did look thick and well made. As Peter slept on upstairs she began to wonder if perhaps she might be pushing him into an area he wasn’t happy with. So far he hadn’t said anything and appeared to have accepted his diapers without much comment but perhaps this, the golden diaper cover, might be a little too far.

Forty minutes later the rustling was the first thing she heard as Peter slowly waddled down from his room, he was still fairly tired but hungry and in search of food. He’d managed to slip on a blue t-shirt but it wasn’t long enough to hide his diaper which hung below. He didn’t appear wet and when his mother asked him he nonchalantly pushed his hand down the front, looked up and confirmed he was dry. For some reason he thought that was some kind of victory and welcomed his mother’s praise as if he was still a toddler.

Over milk and sandwiches she asked him if he remembered the dream he’d had of him and William. He nodded and said that he had no idea why he was dreaming about all those years ago but it had been fun. She then produced the book and Peter was completely fascinated. She explained that after he’d told her of his dream she searched the internet to see if Diane had actually produced anything and, guess what, the book was available. Peter’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he slowly turned each page and could hardly believe his mom had discovered what he was convinced was his dream. Like his mother had done he read and reread each page, pointing out to her just how fantastic the artwork was.

“You’re a star,” She announced proudly, “My little Peter is in a book, and such a fabulous book.”

She ruffled his hair and he loved both the book and the attention from his proud mother.

“I wonder if she did any other books… she had a lot of stories…” Peter wondered aloud.

“Sorry sweetheart but that was all I could find… and that was published six years ago.” Peter looked disappointed. “However, we can search the internet together as there might be something else that I just haven’t found yet.”

He cheered up and went back to reading the book. The pride he felt that she’d used the same images as when they had known her all those years ago pleased him and he began to wonder about what William might be up to these days. His mother, taking her cue from his excitement, then produced the golden plastic pants and gently asked him if he wanted to put them on. It was like ten years fell away from him as he eagerly insisted his mum snap them into place. Joyously he paraded around the room in them and, much to his mother’s amusement said that, with the blue t-shirt he was wearing he almost looked like he did in the book. She couldn’t disagree and he spent the rest of the day wearing his golden protection, whilst also remembering some of the other stories William’s mom had made up for them.

When it came to bed time he was already dressed and didn’t want to change out of his new outfit. His mother smiled to herself and thought how little things had changed over the years because he was just the same when he was two… he knew what he wanted to wear and insisted, even if it meant a little tantrum, to have his own way.

His wetting and occasional messing continued. The most he ever went was three days dry but, just when his mother thought about putting him back into PJs for the night; he’d have another damp morning which put any such plans on hold. Perhaps the strange truth was that he enjoyed being diapered, even though he couldn’t explain why he wet so much. He wondered if Damian had felt the same and wanted to talk to him next time he came home from Uni, until then, he was happy to spend every night tightly wrapped in a secure diaper and wonderful colourful plastic pants.


Re: Peter’s Story

  1. Les Lea another great story more please? :angel:

Re: Peter’s Story

Little guy just likes his diapers. I’m sure we can all sympathize.

Re: Peter’s Story

Thanks to all who comment. I realise that not every diaper story hits the mark so I am grateful if mine have an effect on others.
Thanks :wink:

Re: Peter’s Story

Hi Diaper Warm

I’m always pleased to get a comment from you and it is a possibility I will return to some of the ‘Story’ headings in future.

Thanks :slight_smile: