BacktoBabyhood
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Back to Basics (Chapter Eight)
🕑 Added 2023-05-25 11:59:01 +0000 UTCThis has been written for a US audience by a guest writer. Thanks to James for allowing me to publish it on my Patreon.
From that day on, I was often changed into diapers soon as I got home from school, and was in them twenty-four hours for two whole weekends.
On one of the afternoons I got home before my brother, who had some work to do at the library.
Not knowing this, Rachel came over to wait for him.
My Mom complained about having to make a bunch of phone calls on behalf of the PTA, and of having to diaper me. “I never thought I’d still be changing diapers when my kid was sixteen,” she said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do it,” Rachel said.
“You don’t mind? It would be a big help. You don’t think it’s sort of improper? After all he’s a boy…”
“Not at all. For me it’s just a simple matter of putting a baby in diapers, that’s all. It’s no different. No problem.’
She prepared my diapers on the change table, and then looked away while I got undressed and climbed onto the table.
She powdered me, pinned my diapers on me, and put me in plastic pants. “There,” she said when she was done. “Baby’s got his diapers on. No big deal.”
Later, downstairs my Mom thanked her, and asked me if I had.
My Dad dropped a bombshell one evening.. “Adam and your mother tell me that you’re wetting your diapers every night. Is that right?”
“Well, not every single night,” I protested.
“Pretty darn close,” Adam said.
“Here. Take this. It’s a calendar. From now on every morning when you get up you’ll mark a ‘W’ for wet and ‘D’ for dry on the appropriate date. Adam will check you. Keep it on the wall near your bed. At the end of the week, on Sunday, before you get diapered, Adam will count up the ‘W’s for the previous week, and for every one you’ll get five strokes with the strap. We’ll see if that smartens you up any.”
I knew he was upset with my wetting, but a weekly spanking! And potentially 35 strokes, which was five more than the maximum I could get now! Adam was snickering. “I’m going to love this!” he said.
From then on I had to report to Adam in the morning, and it was he who marked my calendar. So far there wasn’t one ‘D’ for dry.
A couple of his friends had noticed it on the wall and inquired about it, and Adam gleefully explained that it was my bedwetting calendar, and that at the end of each week I’d be getting a spanking administered by him.
“Looks like he’s getting the max this week,” Charlie observed.
It was Saturday, and so far I had been wet every night. So I could expect thirty strokes, and maybe five more.
I wet myself again. My aunt Jane had come over with my twin cousins Brad and Rick. They are my age.
My Mom mentioned the new disciplinary policy regarding me, and the fact that I would be spanked the next day. She said this right in front of the twins, and Adam was there too. I guess the dread and embarrassment made me wet my diaper.
I didn’t even know I had done it until Rick said “Aunt Ellen, Wayne just wet his diaper!”
So in addition to my Sunday spanking, I got a Saturday one as well. Adam delivered thirty with the strap, after which I was put in diapers and my yellow ‘baby pants’ and made to face my cousins like that, with the sounds of my spanking still fresh in their ears.
It was especially unfortunate that I wet my diaper again, at that very moment, because my Mom was planning to send me and Adam to Aunt Jane’s for ten days while she and my Dad went on a trip, and now my Aunt decided that I would have to wear diapers the whole time.
“We finally have nice furniture, we just got new carpeting, and I’d just feel so much better if Wayne wore diapers. And given what’s been happening, I think it’s more than just a precaution.”
Her sons looked at me as if I were the biggest baby in the world. Maybe I was.
My first ‘scheduled’ Sunday spanking was to be the worst I had so far received. Not only was I going to get thirty-five strokes with the strap (seven wet nights), but my backside was still red and sore from my Saturday misadventure.
To make matters worse, Adam’s friend Charlie was over, and would witness the whole thing. The anticipation of being spanked had been terrible all week, and was worse on Sunday because of Charlie. Finally the time was at hand, and I was called upstairs.
“You know what to do,” Adam said. Diapers were already on the change table. He went to the closet and got the strap. Seeing it made me feel shaky.
“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” Charlie said. It was hard to undress in front of them, but I knew I had no choice. I leaned over the table, arms outstretched, and waited for my punishment.
I was crying after five strokes. The pain was bad, but as usual the feelings of shame and disgrace also contributed.
Charlie counted. “Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five.” It was over.
Now, as I lay on top of my diapers, Adam was called downstairs. I knew what would happen.
“My Dad needs me for something. Diaper him for me, Charlie.”
“You want me to diaper him? I’ve never even diapered a baby.”
“Well now’s your chance. Powder him and diaper him, ok?”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Man oh man!”
My brother left, and Charlie managed to awkwardly pin my diapers on me after smothering me in baby powder.
I felt very infantile to be diapered by my brother’s friend, just as when Adam’s girlfriend had done it.
“Where are your baby pants—in the drawer here?” I guess he got the term from my brother. I hated it.
“Yes.” I was dying of embarrassment.
He reached into the drawer and selected a pair of my rubber pants, which he then put on me.
It was a clumsy operation, but I did everything I could to cooperate to get it over with.
He finally had me stand up so he could pull the rubber pants over my diapers.
“We’re done. Don’t you feel kind of dumb to be wearing diapers and rubber pants after being spanked?”
“Kind of.”
