At 13, I was a trouble maker. I thought I was a bad ass gang member that could take care of myself. Right up until I was sent to juvenile detention for breaking into a car and stealing a stereo. In court, my own father told the judge to throw the book at me, because he couldn’t do anything for me. The judge sentenced me to two years in detention.
My first week in detention, I tried to make a reputation for myself. That didn’t work out so well. One night I got up at 2am to pee and was jumped in the bathroom by three other boys. They worked me over good and even made me piss myself. I was in the infirmary for a week recovering.
A few weeks later, I tried to get revenge on the boys that jumped me, but only managed to get myself an even worse beating. This time I was in the infirmary for more than two weeks. This latest beating, however, made me afraid of going to the bathroom at night. That first night, I woke up desperately needing to pee, but was so afraid of another beating that I just wet the bed.
After several nights of the same, the nurse thought I had a damaged bladder from the latest beating. She began putting me into an adult sized diaper at night while they waited for a doctor’s appointment. It did make things easier, but it turned out the nurse was also keep a closer watch on me. When she realized I was waking up and intentionally pissing myself, she confronted me.
I explained everything to her and she tried to make me feel better by telling me she would tell the guards to allow me to use the infirmary restroom at night. That night, she didn’t put me in a diaper, but my fear was still too strong and I wet the bed again.
This was back in 1982, so her reaction was not what it would have been today. She was upset that I couldn’t overcome my fear and figured that humiliating me would cure my fear. I was put into a diaper that next night, but she told me if it was wet in the morning, I would have to wear a diaper all day as well.
As much as I didn’t want that to happen, the idea of using the bathroom at night was just too much and I wet the diaper. As promised, she changed me into another diaper in the morning and I went on about my daily routine. I was teased all day by other students, but in my head it was better than the alternative.
A week of this didn’t rid me of my fear (surprise surprise!), so she upped the humiliation and began treating me like an infant when she would change my diaper. She would take to me in baby talk and ask if I needed a bottle. It was intended to be embarrassing, but I found that I rather liked it.
I went on wearing diapers for about three weeks before I was finally able to get over my fear enough to use the infirmary restroom at night. Once the diapers stopped though, I found that I missed them and began to have very sexual fantasies about them and the nurse. I was tempted to fake a reoccurrence of bedwetting, but was worried she would know why. For some reason, the embarrassment of being made to wear diapers was a turn on, but anyone knowing that I liked it was the wrong kind of embarrassment that I couldn’t handle.
Today, I am creeping up on fifty years old and still love to be put into diapers and treated like a baby. My wife is understanding and participates on occasion, which is amazing. Anyway, I just wanted to share my own story, as many have before.