I see people posting about how they developed their diaper fetish and I wanted to include my own. You see, I was a bedwetter for most of my childhood. My mom kept a plastic sheet on my bed and laid out an absorbent pad under my regular sheet for my accidents. Accidents that varied from once a week or every night for several weeks in a row.
When I was fourteen, my mom got sick and was in the hospital for several months and my grandmother came to stay with me until she got out. The first night she was there I wet the bed and she walked in while I was stripping the sheets to put in the wash. At first, she was supportive and told me it happens to everyone at some point. Then she noticed the plastic sheet and padding and realized it was a common theme. Her tone changed from supportive to just mean and told me it was ridiculous that a fourteen year old boy would be wetting the bed. That night there was no padding on my bed, but the plastic sheet was still there. She told me that I needed to stop being coddled or I would never stop pissing the bed. She told me to use the toilet before bed and wouldn’t let me drink anything after dinner. When she sent me to bed, she warned me that if I wet the bed again she was going to buy diapers.
Of course, I woke up wet the very next morning and she was more than disappointed. She called me a baby and told me I needed to grow up, because my behavior was ridiculous. It hurt a lot, because my mother always told me that bedwetting was a common theme and I shouldn’t be concerned about it, because it would go away eventually. My grandmother, however, was adamant that I only wet the bed because I was too lazy to get up and use the toilet. Some of the comments she made were “Only cowards are afraid of the dark” and “The toilet isn’t going to swallow you.”
After school, I came home to find a box of Attends sitting on the counter in the dining room. I knew what they were from the picture on the front of the box. I pretended not to notice and hoped it was just a veiled threat. The rest of the day I avoided her as much as possible and drank as little as possible. I figured if I didn’t wet the bed that night, she wouldn’t make me wear them. My hopes were dashed at bedtime when she walked into my room with one of the diapers and told me to put it on. I flipped out and told here I wasn’t wearing “a fucking diaper” and tried to storm out of the room. I say tried, because she grabbed a handful of hair and dragged me back to the bed. With a little effort, she forced me over her lap and she pulled off one of her house shoes and started beating me with it.
My mother had spanked me a few times in the past, but it was always a few swats with a wooden spatula to five strokes with the belt. Grandma blistered my ass for several minutes. It hurt so much, I was completely broken down and blubbering like a baby by the time she finished. I couldn’t even stand up after she finished, so she rolled me onto the bed and yanked off my pajama pants and underwear. I tried to cover my privates, but she ignored me and wrapped the diaper around my waist. Once she had it taped up, she tossed my pants and underwear in the hamper and pulled the blanket over me. She didn’t say a word as she left the room.
The following morning, I realized I had wet again despite drinking nearly nothing the previous evening. The diaper soaked it all up easily though. I was about to get out of bed and remove the diaper, but grandma walked in before I had a chance. She asked if I was wet. I was tempted to lie, but didn’t want to risk another beating with her shoe, so I nodded my head silently and stared at the floor. She took me by the hand and half dragged me down the hall to the dining room. I felt ridiculous walking through the house in a diaper – a soaked one at that – but she was much stronger than me. When she stopped, we were standing in front of the box of Attends and I nearly fainted at the thought that she might be getting another diaper to change me into.
Instead, she handed me a pen and told me to mark an X on the wall calendar. She told me she was determined to have me “potty trained” by the time my mother returned, so if I could keep my diapers dry for one week I could stop wearing them. As an added incentive, she told me if I had more wet days then dry days in a given week, I would get another taste of her shoe. And if I was wet every day of the week, she would make me wear them all day on Sunday. The results were mixed. The first six weeks, I had more wet days than dry days four times. True to her word, I got a beating to remember every time.
The entire experience had an unintended side effect. By the time that first six weeks ended, I had actually become attached to the diapers. It started with a simple appreciation for not having to clean my sheets in the morning, but escalated quickly to a full fetish. I started fantasizing about wearing diapers during the day and being caught by my friends. Even the spankings started to turn me on. The actual spankings themselves were horrendously painful, but the endorphins I felt afterwards were amazing. On week six, I actually wet twice on purpose to make sure I would get a spanking.
Week seven I decided to try my luck at wetting every night. I wasn’t sure if she would actually make me wear a diaper during the day, because we went to church that day and she was very involved with all of their functions. However, always true to her word, when I woke up wet for the seventh day in a row, she made me mark the day on the the calendar and grabbed another diaper before heading back. We stopped at the bathroom first, where my wet diaper was removed and tossed into the trash, and a wet rag was used to wipe away the remaining pee. Then it was back to my room for a trip over her lap.
She seemed to spank me longer and harder than she had before, but it might have just been my nerves making me think so. As always, I was bawling and blubbering when she finished. When she finished, she rolled me onto my back and put the clean diaper on me. Most of me was ecstatic for the experience, but part of me was terrified of the potential embarrassment. As she stood up, she told me to go wash up and make myself a bowl of cereal while she got my church clothes ready. Wearing only a diaper and pajama shirt, I made my way through the house doing as I was told.
After I finished my breakfast, I went back to my room to find grandma waiting. My suit for special occassions was laid out on my bed, even though I normally wore school clothes to church. My mother never let me wear my suit unless it was something important, so I told grandma that I couldn’t wear it. She thought I was refusing and told me that I could wear the suit or go to church dressed the way I was. I decided against arguing about my mother’s rules and changed into the suit while she watched. While she was helping me with my tie, she told me if I needed to “go number one” I needed to use my diaper. If I needed to “go number two”, let her know and she would take me to the bathroom. She also warned me that if I lied about number two to avoid peeing in the diaper, she would pull my pants down in front of everyone and blister my butt for a second time.
On the ride to church, I was actually feeling particularly content. Being diapered under my clothes was an amazing feeling and I was getting a rather uncomfortable erection as the padding didn’t leave much room for expansion. Once we got to church, the full weight of my situation hit me. People at church liked to hug – a lot. If someone felt the diaper, would they tell everyone? It seems like a ridiculous worry these days, but my young self was distraught. The other problem was how quiet the church got right before the pastor came out. Grandma was very popular, so we were among the last to find our seats and I was certain everyone in the quiet hall could hear the crinkling of my diaper as I walked.
Despite my worries, church was mostly uneventful. We were there for the most of the day, as usual, and I had wet the diaper twice. I could feel how swollen it was and had to make a concerted effort not to walk funny as we left for home. When we got there, I realized the diaper had leaked around the leg band and there was a wet spot on my pants. Grandma was only a little upset that I didn’t tell her how wet I was, but I think she realized there weren’t any other options. She had not thought to bring another diaper, so I couldn’t be held responsible when I was just following her rules.
I took off the suit and met her in the bathroom. She took the diaper off and wiped me down, then told me to sit on the toilet and do a number two. It was really embarrassing to sit on the toilet while she watched and try to poop, but I had actually been holding it in for several hours so I wouldn’t have to deal with her taking me to the bathroom at church. After I did my business, she put me in another diaper and sent me to dining room table to finish my homework. The rest of the day was just me doing my homework in a diaper while she cooked dinner, then being sent to bed early after that. She didn’t bother to change me again before bed, even though I had peed just before dinner. The next morning, she threatened to keep me in diapers during the day until I woke up dry, but didn’t follow through. I remember very clearly being confused, because I had been sent to bed in a wet diaper and it would have been some trick to wake up dry. I wasn’t about to point out her mistake though.
I became a bit worried she would discover that I liked the diapers, so over the next two weeks I didn’t wet on purpose at all and only had two wet nights each week. However, my desires outpaced my fears and I went right back to wetting on purpose, earning a solid spanking on week ten. Of course, the endorphin rush from that beating convinced me to have another wet week, earning another full day in diapers. This time, she took two spare diapers and a box of wet naps with us. In addition to the previous rules, she told me to tell her if my diaper was in danger of leaking.
By the time the regular church service was finished, I had wet twice and was worried it might leak. There were a lot of people mingling, however, so I was too embarrassed to get her attention while people were around. After most of the people left, grandma and her friends met up in one of the halls to discuss fundraisers. I was the only person there under 50 years old. Still too scared to ask for a change, I just impatiently waited for them to finish. Then one of the older ladies in the group interruped the discussion to tell me I must’ve sat in something, because my pants were wet. Grandma knew right away and I could see the anger on her face as she excused herself from the group.
She dragged me down the hall to the bathroom and yanked down my pants – pulling them over my shoes. She ran water over the pee stain and then wrung them out and hung them on a hook. The soaked diaper was removed and tossed into the garbage. She pulled the wet naps from her purse and wiped me clean. She didn’t say a word the entire time, but still had that mixed look of anger and disappointment on her face. I had to lay on the floor as she taped on a clean diaper, but then she pulled out the second diaper and taped it over the first. All she said was “That oughtta take care of any leaks”.
When I stood up, I reached for my pants, but she grabbed them first. “They need to dry” was all she said as she took hold of my wrist and dragged me out of the bathroom without pants. I refused to move for a moment, but she just pulled harder and nearly dragged me down the hall. All of the women in the group stared at me in silence as grandma pulled me to the corner and told me to keep my nose in the corner until her meeting was finished. She explained everything to them as their meeting continued and they all seemed to think it was a fitting punishment. Their meeting must’ve gone on for a couple hours. At that point, she gave me back my air dried pants and we headed home. At bedtime, she cleaned me up, removing the wet inner diaper and making me sit on the toilet to move my bowels. For bed, she reused the outer diaper.
After that, I was too afraid of being seen diapered in public again, so I stopped wetting on purpose. Without trying, I still managed to wet more often than not, so the spankings came nearly every Sunday. Then, on week nineteen, I woke up wet the entire week naturally. It wasn’t as bad as the last time, but it was still quite humiliating. Grandma had another of her meetings, so when all the ladies had gathered, she made a show of checking my diaper. She said she didn’t want to be interrupted and pulled my pants down to my knees right in front of everyone. Luckily it was still just the ladies and no younger people, but it was still very humiliating. Instead of standing in the corner this time, she put me to work collecting bibles from the pews and stacking them in the closet.
After nearly six months without my mom, she was finally well enough to come home. Grandma stayed for another two weeks to make sure Mom was back up to speed. When Mom found out about the diapers, she was really upset at first, but after a long talk with Grandma she calmed down and let her keep up the diapering while she recovered. I still remember Mom shaking her in disbelief the first time Grandma dragged me into the dining room in a wet diaper to mark it on the calendar.
Grandma left behind three big boxes of diapers as a ‘suggestion’ for my mother, even commenting that it would be a waste not to use them. Even though she didn’t like the idea of punishing me for bedwetting, she did like that it was easier than washing bedding every day. She wasn’t about to diaper me herself though and asked me if I would keep using them, promising I wouldn’t be punished if I woke up wet. I didn’t want to lose the diapers, so I agreed – although I acted like it was a big deal.
Well, that is how my fetish started. I will be turning 50 in a few months and still think back fondly on grandma’s methods. 🙂