My fetish started when I was in my early teens. I was thirteen years old the first time my mom agreed to let me go to summer camp. It was something we hadn’t been able to afford before, but my mom had started dating this guy that offered to pay for it. I thought it was nice of him but realized later in life it was a small investment to get my mom alone for two weeks. I don’t blame him at all.
When all the kids were at camp, the head counselor gave us a speech about rules and then told us to check the boards for our cabin assignments. Most of the cabins were separated out between boys and girls, but I was assigned to cabin 4A and several girls were assigned to 4B. It was a larger cabin than the others with a room of bunks for boys and another for girls. Between the two rooms was the infirmary.
That evening, after curfew, one of the counselors gathered us together and told us this was the cabin for campers that wet the bed. Most of the kids looked embarrassed to have their secret talked about so openly but I was just confused. I hadn’t wet the bed since I was a toddler.
At first, I assumed they just ran out of room in the other cabins and I was the unlucky one to get stuck with the bedwetters, but then she introduced the camp nurse and told us we would all be required to wear “protective underwear” to bed for health code reasons. When she told us to line up outside her office with our pajamas, I went directly to the counselor and told her I was in the wrong cabin. Being diapered at camp was simply not going to happen.
She tried to calm me down by insisting bedwetting was normal and I shouldn’t be embarrassed. I was adamant though and swore up and down I hadn’t wet the bed since I was young. To her credit, she did check my file to make sure it wasn’t a mistake. Right there in the paperwork my mom signed, she had marked off “Enuresis” as one of my medical conditions. I still argued though and told her I didn’t think my mother knew what that word meant, but she insisted she wouldn’t have listed it if she didn’t.
When I started crying, she offered to call my mother and get it straightened out. Nobody answered, which was just my luck. It figures she would spend her first free night with her boyfriend. The counselor told me they had no choice but to follow health code requirements, but insisted that nobody outside of our cabin would know and she would call my mom again the next day.
I wasn’t the only person crying. Several of the campers were crying as they walked out of the nurse’s office – diapered under their pajamas. The counselor cut in line and took me into the office as one of the girls walked out. She told the nurse everything and then left the room. The nurse tried to calm me down by telling me that a lot of people had to wear special underwear and even if I didn’t need it I shouldn’t be embarrassed.
She told me to lay down on one of the cots and then pulled off my pants and underwear. I froze in embarrassment at being exposed in front of her, but I broke down bawling when she pulled out the large adult diaper. I had assumed “protective underwear” was going to be like training pants, but I was wrong. I was about to be diapered at thirteen. As much as I wanted to run away, I just lay there as she wrapped the diaper around me and taped it up.
The crinkling sound of the plastic diaper made me blush as I changed into my pajamas but walking out of the room was even worse. I hadn’t noticed the sound coming from the other students but felt like it was exceptionally loud in my case. I walked quickly to my bunk and hid under the covers.
Nobody really talked before light’s out. We were all too embarrassed about laying in our bunks diapered. It took a while to fall asleep as the thoughts of the evening ran through my head. Why would my mother list me as a bedwetter? Was it a joke? Was she being mean? Maybe her boyfriend did it? In the quiet room, I could hear the crinkling of diapers as the other boys shifted around in bed.
In the morning, we once again had to line up outside the nurse’s office. Several of us complained that we would take the diapers off ourselves, but she said she had to check for rashes. She was always apologetic about it and explained that bedwetters usually weren’t allowed to attend summer camp, but they were able to make exceptions if they followed certain protocols.
Several campers smelled of pee and you could see the looks of disappointment on their face. Even though I wasn’t wet, the nurse still wiped me down with wipes after removing the diaper. To my surprise, I found I enjoyed it a little. The nurse was an attractive woman in her 30s, so her touch gave me goosebumps. After she finished, she said she left a message for my mother and that I should tell her to call the nurse if I talked to her before she called back.
A few hours later, I used the payphone to call home and my mom picked up. She said she didn’t answer the phone because she got home late and slept in. I was too embarrassed to tell her I was diapered for bed, so I just asked her why she checked off enuresis on my paperwork. The answer was worse than I imaged.
She said she knew all about my “little habit” because she’s the one that washed my clothes. I was confused at first, because I never wet the bed, but then she made it clear she was talking about the stains in my underwear from masturbating. Turns out my mother thought enuresis meant masturbation.
At that point I realized if she talked to the nurse, she was going to explain the mix-up and the nurse would know about me masturbating. As an adult I know it’s normal, but at 13 it was the worst thing I could imagine. My mind went through the options really quick and I realized I would rather be diapered than have anyone know I was a masturbator, so I told my mom not to worry about calling the nurse.
That night the cabin loosened up a bit. Lining up to be diapered wasn’t as embarrassing, because we all knew to keep each other’s secrets. As I was lying in bed thinking about the nurse wiping me down the next morning, I started rubbing myself through the diaper. A minute later I was ejaculating into the diaper.
A little while after that I remembered what my mom had said about washing my underwear and that’s how she knew I was masturbating. I had just masturbated in my diaper and the nurse was going to notice in the morning. I thought about going to the bathroom and throwing away the diaper, but I knew I would get caught. They would find it in the trash and see the stains. After a lot of deliberation, I realized I only had one option. I had to pee in the diaper to cover up the evidence. It took a lot of concentration, but I was able to get my bladder to release and I started to pee. I got another surprise when I realized how good it felt.
When I went in for morning cleanup, the nurse said “I guess I can stop trying to reach your mother now” and gave me one of those smiles like she knew I was lying about being a bedwetter. The rest of camp, I masturbated several more times. Instead of pissing myself to cover it up, I would soak the diaper first and masturbate to the wonderful sensation.
When I got home, my mother told me she looked up enuresis and apologized for marking it on my paperwork. She asked if it caused me any trouble, so I omitted the part of the story about being diapered and told her I had to sleep in a stinky cabin with a bunch of bedwetters.
The following two years I went back to the same camp, but she filled out the paperwork properly both times. Not wanting to miss out on being diapered, I opened the envelope and marked it off myself before mailing it in.
Aside from three wonderful summer breaks in night time diapers, I had saved some of the money I earned mowing lawns to buy diapers of my own. I would often wear them under my clothes when I went hiking in the woods and remove my pants when I was far enough in to know I was alone. It was always a thrill that someone else might be hiking, but I never ran into anyone else.
During my senior year, I gave into temptation and wore a diaper to school once. I wore underwear over the diaper to cut down on the crinkling and just in case I chickened out and removed the diaper. Also wore my baggiest jeans and a long flannel to hide any trace of the bulk. I felt like I was floating on a cloud all day, constantly aroused by the possible of being discovered diapered, and wet the diaper twice after lunch. At the end of the day, the diaper had leaked and there was a tell-tale stain at the top of my thigh. Someone else pointed it out, but I played it off as spilled soda.
As an adult I have been fairly active in the ABDL community. I met my amazing girlfriend on FetLife and we’ve been together for three years now. We are both diapered the majority of the time at home, but my job doesn’t really allow me to wear at work. I really don’t think my life could get any better.
Yours Truly, William