Site Logo

DailyDiapers is presented in part by our proud sponsors:


Daily Diapers is your Adult Baby, Diaper Lover and Age-Play Playground!

Home About Us Photos Videos Stories Reviews Forums & Chat Personals Links Advertise Donate Contact

After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index

“Because we say so.”

I’m fed up with hearing those words from everyone.

“Because we say so.” or “Because I say so.”

It was the answer to my question, “Why do I have to wear a nappy?”

“Because we say so,” was and is the constant reply.

When I say “everyone” who I actually mean are my parents.

It’s never expanded on. It’s never explained. It’s never negotiable but, since being a baby until now at fifteen, I‘m still told I have to wear a nappy.

It isn’t like I have much choice in the matter; both mum and dad never gave me an option and insist that I wear all the time. As it’s the only thing I’ve ever known or been allowed to wear… it’s what I wear.

At night I have varied fabrications to sleep in but most often it’s a hefty doubled-up one with a pair of heavy, slippery opaque vinyl pants, whilst during the day, the padding is less bulky but only marginally. The daytime plastic pants I wear over them are quite crinkly and sometimes see-thru but thankfully not as thick as those I have to sleep in.

I vaguely remember when I was five mum trying me out in a disposable to wear for sleep but waking up soaked through - not only me but the bed as well so, from that moment on, she insisted I also wore rubber pants over my nappies. In the intervening time she hasn’t seen any reason to change that decision so I have a selection of rubber, plastic, vinyl, pvc and other waterproof covers that range from the plain, to the colourful and some might say… ornate.

There is no other underwear in the house, well not for me at least, and the times I’ve tried to refuse that cumbersome fabric embrace have been met with determined and sometimes painful opposition.

“David, we’re not going through this again and again. We want you to be safe and secure at all times and we’ve decided the best way to maintain that is by wearing protection.”

Well, that’s roughly what the answer used to be to begin with - now they just ignore my occasional grumbling.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve tried reasoning with them, expressing the silliness of a lad my age still in nappies, the bulkiness of them and urine constantly next to my body…

Dad says he can’t see why I complain. In his opinion it is simply a different type of underwear and I should think myself lucky I have parents who dote on me enough to make sure I’m always well-guarded. According to them, wearing my toilet is no excuse for not wearing it???

There is no logic to their argument, not that it is an argument. I wear because that’s how my parents want me to dress. I’m an only child and although I’ve never known anything different, I know the other boys at school don’t wear what I have to. My parents regard it, for me at least, the absolute pinnacle of underwear and I think they pity those young people who’ve made the change to briefs or boxer shorts... or so I’m led to believe.

I’m always dressed impeccably, mum sees to that. My school uniform is always clean and pressed, fresh clean shirt, Windsor knot on my tie, I look like a new boy every morning. My parents don’t see the thickness in my pants, sending out messages of being incontinent or worse, as a problem.

You’d think a pair of briefs would be better than the reams of fabric I’ve worn over the years but they just reiterate that how can I be sure I won’t wet... again?

This is where they got me because once or twice my nappy had been soaked when I was younger and they used those few occasions as reason enough to keep me padded. Now I have no option but to flood my nappies because I have no way out of them.


Gary Harrison was grateful. A new job, in an executive position was just what he needed. His wife of barely a year, Jennifer, was expecting their first child, so this opportunity and financial reward couldn’t have come at a better time.

Prestige Pharmacists Products, a company his grandfather had founded and run for a number of years was ill so the firm needed an injection of new blood to take it to the next generation of supplies to the industry.

Gary’s father had recently passed, and with the prospect of the older member of the family also likely to be taken soon, there was urgency in keeping the family business on track. Even though Gary had tried to make his way in the world in his own fashion he hadn’t been involved in the family business up until that moment. However, with this new opportunity he found he had ideas and drive to take on such responsibility.

Harry, Gary’s grandfather, had come up with the idea of developing products that would last through a child’s formative years and well past puberty. He was hopeful to expand the company and have ‘customers for a lifetime’, not just at an age when they would normally need some protection – babies and incontinent old age. It was an idea that came to him when he saw how fathers would take their sons to football games at an early age; indoctrinate them in the ways, chants and colours of the team, which invariably lead to that child becoming a fan for life. He wanted that same principle to be attached to a lifetime for loving his products. He was an innovator and wanted new, exotic, must-have, trendy personal health products that would transcend the fact they were originally designed for only the pant-wetter’s of the world.

His plan would be part research, part commercial, part promotional and part innovation – but it needed a subject matter, a volunteer they could follow throughout his or her life.

Gary suggested his own, as yet unborn baby might be the ideal guinea pig for this experiment.

Despite an initial reluctance to allow this to happen, eventually, as her husband was suddenly promoted to CEO, Jennifer was talked into seeing the benefits of such exploration and agreed to pursuing the research with enthusiasm.

It was agreed that their son David, must never know the reason for the way he was being treated otherwise might reject the entire notion when older. He needed to know from his first questioning moments that he was a normal boy and his treatment was special to him because it’s what his mummy and daddy thought was best.

He must be continuously told it was for his own good and brook no nonsense from any and all nay-sayers. A firm and constant reply of “because we say so” to his curiosity from the very beginning would mean it unlikely that he’d grow up and make demands that would change this bizarre but important piece of research. Any questioning of their methods on how to bring up their child must be fiercely and vehemently defended. They would, over the years, learn to quell any and all objections to David’s way of life with a series of carefully defended and aggressively pursued explanations.

No one really knew what the outcome might be but making their son know he was (and is) loved, and not aware of being used as a guinea pig in some obscure marketing experiment, was paramount. They didn’t want to confuse him with mixed messages or any doubts, the way they cared for their son was to appear normal in their household at least.


Over the years I’ve found that a tantrum leads to a spanked bottom and no amount of crying, pleading or begging makes the slightest difference. I still end up having to wear a nappy. I occasionally still have my petty little rebellions, usually after someone has passed a comment on a boy my age still in nappies, but it’s no use. I usually end up seething for a few minutes before I’m back to wearing what I’m told. I haven’t been brought up to be confrontational, that has long since been spanked out of me, so tend to do as I’m told most of the time.

“Because I say so.” It can be either of my parents speaking; it’s always the same answer so my reluctance to do as I’m told has all but evaporated.

I may be a teenager but whilst my peers are all angst and mood swings, I’m a fairly easy-going type of guy. Despite being forced to wear a nappy I don’t have any particular hang ups, which I truly don’t understand. In fact, there is something about the way dad says he’s doing his duty by how he treats me is both mystifying but also quite pleasing… there’s never a moment when I don’t think mum and dad are there for me or are honest in their desire to keep me well protected.

Maybe it’s simply because I have to wear a nappy that I’m so easy-going and at ease with myself, I’ve had to put up with a lot... I don’t know, perhaps I’m immune to some of the pressures other kids suffer. However, mum and dad are certain that their way is the right way for me and I do as I’m told (more often than not).

From being a kid the changing of my soaked nappy has become a fun ritual. There is quite a bit of laughter, whilst the intimacy and tender way both my parents attend me is incredibly loving. Now, at fifteen, I don’t baulk if either of them want to change me, it’s just part of our relationship so I have no concerns about whether it’s appropriate or not. It simply doesn’t matter.

Despite all the “Because we say so’s”, I love my parents. I suppose my initial statement doesn’t look that convincing now I’ve written it down but there were (and are) times when the resentment teeters (briefly) on the verge of anger. Usually because someone else has wound me up over it.

Over the years various boys (and the occasional girl) have gone out of their way to befriend or bully me into wetting myself. When I was younger, the bullies were almost nonstop in trying to get me to pee my nappy. They would pull down my shorts or trousers and insist that I wouldn’t get them back until they had proof I’d wet myself. The growing yellow spot or gradual inflation of a disposable soaking up my scared pee was enough to have them victoriously laughing at my situation.

I’d arrive home crying and demanding to be let out of my nappy but, at those moments mum, who works as an administrator for an overseas charity, would show me photographs of the starving and destitute people they are trying to help and that soon puts a lid on any ‘pathetic’ grievance I think I might have. Seeing images of kids and entire countries desperately trying to find enough food to stave off starvation is not a helpful sight if your only complaint is that you have to wear a nappy; especially, when so many kids hardly have any clothes at all.

It was a shock to the system that what I have to put up with is as of nothing compared to the suffering others have to manage on a daily basis. I was learning that fact from a very early age and it sort of dwells continually in my brain should my ‘suffering’ seem all consuming.

However, mum never let me contemplate on it for too long and takes a similar view to dad saying that I am her (and by implication, their) ‘sweet little pumpkin’ who should have the constant reassurance that a loving family and nappy, offers.

Why they decided that a nappy is the best way to show that fact I’m not sure (cos no one tells me anything) therefore, I’m always well-protected.


Part 2

Although I’m always well dressed for school or if we go anywhere, at home I often walk around wearing only my protection with a t-shirt or jumper. When I was little this was often the only clothing I got to wear indoors so, as I’ve gotten older, that initial repetition is still there so I haven’t changed. There’s no embarrassment because it’s something I’ve always been used to.

Because I’ve been encouraged by my parents to be relaxed and have no hang ups about my padding, I’m equally at home sliding onto the furniture in my slippery plastic protection (and little else) as I am a pair of shorts covering my thick nappy. It’s another one of those things that, over the years, I’ve just found I prefer to do.

It appears a very childish position to be in but neither mum nor dad recognises the supposition that it is in anyway immature. Nappies are what they’ve decided their son will wear, so that’s exactly what I do wear. Not childish, babyish, juvenile or any of the other comments I’ve had screamed at me by a guffawing group of kids. It’s just my parents preference so… no dispute.

They are not a hindrance to my daily school or home life as I’m used to it. Equally, when I’m put into something bulkier I seem to be able to cope with it, although perhaps my waddle is slightly more pronounced.

Mum doesn’t even see it as extra work. In fine weather the washing line in the back garden is in continuous use, when it is inclement the airing cupboard or drier has the job of freshening everything up. My large colourful fabric nappies and array of equally vibrant plastic pants hang side by side with the more mundane white versions of themselves. I have all manner of styles and designs.

Some are hypoallergenic, others with different absorbency, special inserts using diverse materials or gels. Indeed all my fabric nappies are re-usable, although occasionally (and for no reason given to me) I’ll suddenly have a period of wearing disposables, eco-disposables or thick, thick pullups.

Mum and dad are equally enthusiastic about changing me especially if it’s something new until I get the hang of doing it myself.

Then there’s the selection of protective lotions, creams and powder spread around my groin and over my teenage bottom… and still I have no say. My pubic hair has never grown but that might be down to the lotions I’ve had spread down there since I was a kid.

I scream “I’m fifteen for God’s sake…” but it has no effect whatsoever. Mum looks down on me benignly as if to say ‘I hope you’re not going to have a tantrum’, then continues her ministrations to make sure I am well cared for. She does this in such a loving way it’s very hard not to enjoy and appreciate such attention.

Mum and dad smile their knowing smile, pat me on my padded seat and tell me how proud they are of having such a well-balanced teenager for a son. It’s difficult to get too agitated when you’re being praised and then there’s the obvious love that flows between us all. They don’t particularly spoil me but I’ve never had to go without anything.

Having said all that, and despite my having to use my nappy for what it’s designed for, I’ve never truly had a nappy rash. A little reddening, yes, but never to the degree I’ve heard others have suffered. So, on that subject my parents do at least appear to know what they’re doing.


Although I always wear a nappy I’m not treated as a baby. Apart from when I was a baby and I had all the paraphernalia a baby needs; I’ve never been kept from growing up. My clothes, toys and education all kept pace with my age and, apart from insisting I wear what my parents tell me to in the underwear department; I’ve never felt at a disadvantage to any of my peers.

Mind you, I still have to say poo and pee as mum, when I was nine and used the other more grown up words Sh*t and P*ss (even typing them makes me feel queasy) took me to the bathroom and washed my mouth out with a bar of soap. I don’t know if you’ve ever had it done but it’s a horrible, nasty taste and I was made to understand that swearing and using ‘naughty’ words was a definite no-no. Despite not actually saying or typing the entire words, to this day I can still taste the displeasure mum introduced me to when I hear them spoken or see them written down.

So, you’ll only ever get poo and pee from me.

To be honest, there are times when I actually like being ‘different’. I see all my school chums searching for some individuality, which they seem to find by copying someone else. I see the anxiety some exhibit quite a lot of the time.

My well-wrapped groin has often given me the comfort and security that I once received from my teddy bear (Mr Teddy) as a kid, something indefinable, but being there when I’ve unexpectedly needed some kind of reassurance.

Silly I know, but at times, without warning, something will happen and I’ve been really relieved to have my protection. A sudden fright, some emotional overload or the occasional excited but accidental spurt…

Being an only child I am mollycoddled and mum and dad are very loving with lots of hugs and kisses and time together (which incidentally I love) but, other than the protection, I’m treated as a teenager. Having said that, even now mum leaves my daily protection on my dresser all neatly folded and with the various creams and powder I’ll need to maintain a nappied existence.

It’s a process she’s continued since I began to dress myself. To begin with she checked I’d got everything fastened correctly and securely, praising me for getting the job done well and helping me if it wasn’t quite right. When I’d been left to my own devices I wasn’t that clever so, in those early days she helped by getting everything ready. It has simply continued since then.

So, when I wake up to a soaked nappy, which is common, I dispose of them in a plastic bin with a lid, and my selected anti-rash creams, powder, nappy, pins and vinyl pants are there prepared for the day ahead.

I’ve learned to efficiently use all these things by slathering on the correct barriers to prevent my skin for developing any nasty inflammation and cover it with nice tight leak-proof protection.

I probably wake up wet on more occasions than someone my age would be expected to do. For instance, I can go days without any such night time involvement and then spend the next couple of nights waking up to a very soggy and sagging nappy. I suppose, because now as a fifteen year old it isn’t all the time, I feel I’m in some kind of control, though whether I am or not I can tell from my parent’s faces they think that’s a debateable point.

However, once I do have a wet night the look on their faces tells me they are justified in their approach to my comfort… and it will continue.

Perhaps they know my needs better than I do, I just wish they’d tell me…

I’m used to slipping between my sheets accompanied by the slight rustle of plastic. I suppose, over the years, the smooth plastic panties have added to my nightly experience and have taken the place of my trusted teddy bear from when I was little. When I do wake up wet I am really glad that I’ve worn my night time protection and none of my bed linen has suffered. I only wear PJs over it all if we’re visiting relations or on a trip somewhere. Also, I prefer to have my legs unencumbered so it’s just a t-shirt and my glossy protection.

I’ll also admit that even now, I can get a great deal of pleasure from having Mr Teddy in bed with me. I know at fifteen I should be well over such things but occasionally, just occasionally, hugging my bear is a fantastic confidence booster.

A cartoon teddy bear wearing a nappy has been the company logo for the children’s range of products since very early on in the company’s history. Mr Teddy was the first promotional gimmick they used and has been passed down the family line for a good few years now, but still looks pretty good for his age.

Mum keeps my room smelling fresh by never leaving a wet or smelly nappy lying around for very long. She collects whatever dirty items are left and it’s straight into the machine. Meanwhile, windows are thrown open, a quick spray and everything is back to relative freshness. She keeps a meticulous eye on my bedding and checks if I have leaked or had any other accidents during the night. My room and laundry are spotless and always unsullied by the usual detritus of a boy my age. My parents have got me well-schooled in maintaining a high degree of cleanliness and neatness, so my room is very well regulated with a place for everything… and everything in its place.


I’ve never been potty trained but I have been well nappy trained. As a toddler I would always wake up wet and messy, which mum or dad would sort out. I was always told what a “good boy” I was for filling my nappy. As I got older and moved from onesies to pyjamas mum would come in my room and check my bulging protection. If I was only wet she would get me out of bed and she’d stand behind me whilst rubbing my tummy, encouraging me to fill my nappy.

Her words of whispered reassurance that it was okay to poo in my already soaked nappy, together with the slight pressure she put on my tummy as she gently rubbed, had me doing so in a relatively short time. In fact, mum’s (and occasionally dad’s) reinforcement that my nappy needed to be used would mean that all they had to say by way of encouragement was what a ‘clever boy’ I was to get the result they wanted.

This meant that my thick, night time nappy was always used so I could be cleaned up and placed in fresh protection for the rest of the day. Very rarely did I mess my nappy during the day, my parents had got me well trained to do the works first thing.

Even to this day that’s how it works; I get my poo time done before I get ready for the day ahead. Although occasionally, when we’re having an intimate loving family moment and mum says I’m a ‘clever boy’, it has led to an accident which would have been better to avoid.

My nappy use has become very regulated. Apart from what I’ve mentioned about my early morning ablutions I have made my daytime wettings only happen when I know I’m about to be changed. I may be the only boy at school whose backpack contains a plastic zip-lock bag with emergency disposables, wipes, creams, lotions and plastic pants.

I have to admit that I have occasionally wet myself at school. I have been known to drift off in lessons and I’d only become aware of what I’d done as the warmth spread around my groin. Thankfully, my vinyl pants meant I was the only person who knew what happened and perhaps strangely, it was in those moments I was really glad of mum’s insistence on my protection.

I don’t like a messy nappy or for that matter a messy room, even though my parents don’t seem to worry about such a thing. So, now I’m older I time my toilet ‘main event’ to coincide with that release from the night time nappy and before my morning shower. I’m not supervised so, once I’ve done my poo for the day, relieved, I can scrub myself clean then put on the fresh nappy that’s been ‘decided and provided’.

My home life is bizarre at times.



Part 3

When I was ten a pair of blue nylon ‘briefs’ had been accidentally folded in with my neatly doubled-up terry nappy, so I took the opportunity to put them on under my shorts. I didn’t realise that they were actually a pair of my mum’s knickers and when she patted my bum and realised I wasn’t wearing a nappy she went ballistic.

My excuse that it was there amongst the stuff she’d left for me went unheeded as she accused me of pilfering her underwear from her and dad’s room. I was mortified at wearing her panties. Even though I thought they fitted me quite well and liked the thin silky texture with its delicate lacy design, I didn’t think of them as anything more than a different style of underpants. Had I had more time wearing them I think I might have preferred them to a nappy but, that was the first time I ever wore anything even resembling a pair of briefs.

I pleaded my innocence but nonetheless still received a very red bottom at the hands of my irate mother. With each slap she made me beg to be returned to wearing a nappy so, to make the spanking stop, I cried out loudly I wanted my thick protection back and that I’d never try mum’s briefs on again.

Actually, I’ve told a fib because a couple of years ago I bought some briefs of my own. I’d saved some pocket money and went to town shopping. I noticed this pack of three white cotton briefs in a sale and on impulse just bought them. Plenty of boys at school wore white underwear and I always thought it just looked like tight-fitting nappies. I should have known better because I didn’t try to hide them and they were soon discovered.

Mum and dad accused me of being sneaky, of going against their wishes, of being a very naughty little boy who should know better.

The term ‘naughty little boy’ really hit home and as they berated me for what I’d done that was just how I felt. At such times mum and dad have a way of making me feel I’m the most thoughtless, immature and ungrateful person in the world.

Despite that, my bottom was well and truly spanked until I promised in future never to be so underhand again. They saw it as me being deceptive and secretive and they weren’t going to allow me to become that type of person.

It was a strange punishment because throughout the spanking, dad spoke to me and made me feel I’d let everyone down. I came away not only hurting but feeling guilty, which has stopped me from doing anything similar since.

However, once I’d been spanked, and made aware of my ‘crime’, both mum and dad always held me tightly and hugged me tenderly until I stopped crying.

The other strange thing was, after I’d been summarily punished, it was the thick padding of the nappy I was then fastened into that helped ease the pain and offered so much comfort and reassurance. It was then a pleasure to wear it.

Weird? I know.


I’ve been putting on my own nappies since I was seven but, when I’d throw a tantrum mum or dad would come to my room, spank my bare bottom and fasten me in and woe betide should I try to wriggle free. Then for the next few days I am supervised until they feel they can trust me and I’ve promised to behave.

I’m not spanked as much now I’m a teenager, because I’ve learnt not to object to the way things are. Having said that, I’m not the type of person who would physically fight anyone let alone my parents so, even now, if I have to go over their knee to be disciplined, that’s just what happens. It’s not often but my fifteen year old bum does still sporadically get reddened in this fashion.

So much for me saying they don’t treat me as a baby… they do if, in their words, “fussing and whinging”, I act like one.  

As I’ve said, neither bothers if I’ve wet or messed (though messing, other than occasionally first thing in the morning, is incredibly rare) they just take it in their stride. If one of them is around then they’ll volunteer to change me but, I’d rather do it myself. Their loving morning pats to my padded bottom I suspect are more to check that I‘m wearing what I has been designated as much as from familial affection.

They expect and encourage me to not let a bulky nappy get in the way of my doing anything I want to. They even adapt my protection to suit any project or sporting event I might like to undertake but, nonetheless insist I wear either a disposable or fabric nappy... there’s no getting away from that.

Even when I go swimming they have a special water-tight pair of briefs for me to wear. They look like a pullup but are very tight fitting with several layers of plastic, foam and absorbent material. The outer waterproof material has little fish swimming all over it – cute but attracts attention at the pool, which I’m not keen on.


To be honest I’d often go weeks without mentioning anything about my protection. The bulkiness in my pants just something I take in my (awkward) stride as it is always been there.


“Because we say so.”

Because I’d only ever been nappy trained, it never occurred to me to think about being potty trained. By the time I went to school and all my friends were using the toilet, I was still wetting my nappy, although, because of the plastic pants, it was never really that apparent. They would stand up and pee in a bowl or into a urinal whereas I didn’t have to wait until break time, I would just go when I needed to. They argued that I was still a baby but I’d throw a wobbly, insist I wasn’t, which only seemed to prove I was. However, at that age you simply do not question your parents… well, I certainly didn’t.  

Since then, any other ‘revolt’ has been painful and short-lived. When they say, “Because we say so” I know I can’t argue. I’d done so on many occasions that now, even to myself, my protests seemed ridiculous because I already knew the outcome.

“Because we say so.”

There is no disputing that… they do and I do what they say.


I didn’t have many friends growing up (and still don’t). Those few I do have are used to me being who I am and wearing what I do even at school. Over the years the call of ‘Nappy Boy’ was less an insult and more a name which I responded to and everyone knew was true. I didn’t mind as it was a fact and there was nothing I could do to pretend otherwise. Under my shorts, under my trousers, under my jeans – there was (and is) always that bunch of fabric soaking up any dribbles or spurts, whilst the vinyl pants make sure my outerwear is never compromised.

Once people know that what they say has no effect they soon get bored of saying it, especially if it isn’t getting any response from anyone. Over the years, once everyone knew, there was nothing anyone could say that made the slightest difference or impression on the people around me. If, when I was out, somebody commented on my padded bottom or smooth bulging crotch, it appeared to be more excitement for them than embarrassment for me… I was long past embarrassment.

During the day my protective plastic pants are colour-coded to match whatever I’m wearing and I have a vast selection of shades and designs as options. The reason for this is that part of dad’s company is making various items for the medical supply business. Not drugs but equipment and specialist items like, well, plastic pants, disposables and the like.

I suppose that’s why for some reason I’m kept in nappies, though it has never been explained as such. Apparently over the years the company developed different styles and sizes of disposable, nappies, plastic pants and other incontinence paraphernalia… all of which I suppose I’ve worn or used at some time or other.

However, neither parent said that’s why I’m kept in them. They’ve never even suggested I’m wearing a sample and wanted to see how an item worked in a real life situation. In fact, until recently I never really knew what the company did. I just knew dad went out in the morning and came home at night, whilst mum worked at home on the computer doing her charity administration work. I suppose my lack of knowledge, or interest for that matter, in my parent’s work some might say proves how childishly self-absorbed I was. It was just never discussed with me.

No doubt, over the years, I have worn many of the company’s prototype range without knowing that’s what I was doing. I can’t say I remember anything too bizarre, although there have been times when the padding has been more immense than usual, or newly designed pvc nappy covers have held me tightly in a hot embrace.

When I think about it, there have been many different styles. There was one disposable where once it got wet filled out and became quite solid. It didn’t mould itself around your bits but became like a board forcing legs well apart so you were left with an unfavourable waddle.

I think if they said I was some kind of ‘test-pilot’ checking out their range of items to see if they were reliable I might have felt involved… even privileged but, as it is, they’ve never said a word so my life in nappies just carries on “because they say so”.


Part 4

Gary Harrison had recently employed a new development team at the company. Although the old crew had some ideas, he wanted innovation not just alternatives. The old team had been trying out various homeopathic herb infusions into the fabric to give a feeling of well-being. Lavender, turmeric, sandalwood and a host of other essential oils were blended together and used in the design and make up of new products. Although they were quite well received, they didn’t have the desired ‘total impact’ Gary was searching for.


A year ago, I overheard mum and dad discussing the fact they had thought to pull me out of school. I was at an age where I could officially leave and go to work and they thought it would be better for me to do so. I was quite terrified of having to work, not that I’m scared of the idea of work; it’s just that I’m not sure I’m ready yet for such responsibility. However, I asked them if I could finish my exams even if I didn’t think I’d do too well in them. I didn’t, the results were pretty dire but my parents loved me enough to let me try again so...  agreed to let me continue with my studies for the extra period.

I’ve got two more years at school and then join father’s company. No chance of University I’m just not that clever but I would like to finish my main exams.  I feel I’ve managed to put up with school and nappies long enough to see the thing through.

Although what dad’s business is has basically passed me by, when they were having their conversation, I heard it being discussed that I would join the firm. Apparently I’d start in the warehouse and work every position to see what I’m either good at or… not.

Anyway, being the only one in class to still wear nappies is difficult but, as I have no choice, I just wear them and get on with it. Over the years a couple of teachers had words with mum and dad but they were given short shrift and never mentioned it again. I have no idea what was said in those discussions but the teachers who’d voiced concern were most definitely silenced. From then on they were polite but wary of me and I’m conscious that they are making some kind of special effort - although I don’t know if it is for my benefit or theirs.


I was barely through the door when mum spoke.

“Hey David, I’ve got something for you.”

I’m late home having been doing some extracurricular work with a couple of my schoolmates in the science lab. Don’t worry, a teacher was there and we weren’t planning on making some magical potion or explosives… or drugs (although Keith had suggested that might be ‘fun’), we just wanted extra credit for the projects that were up-coming before the exams.

Anyway, because of the lateness my nappy’s well soaked and has been for quite some time so I’m grateful when she hands me what is obviously a new disposable.

“I bet you’re soaked.”

After all this time, she knows exactly how squishy I am.

“Let’s get you changed and into this lovely, bright new nappy eh?”

I shrugged off my bag, slipped off my school blazer and went upstairs to my bedroom, which was already set out with the usual array of paraphernalia I need for a change.

“It’s okay mum I can…”

“No sweetheart, this is a new design… let me put it on first and check we’ve got it correctly…”

It was my turn to interrupt.

“Muuumm, after all this time don’t you think that…”

“Pumpkin, no argument. I’ll see to it and that’s an end to the discussion. I want to ensure I follow the instructions carefully. It’s a new design and I think,” she smiled, “you’re going to like it a lot.”

Why I was supposed to “like it a lot” I was unsure but, as per “Because I/we/they say so” I didn’t object.

Mum was most insistent that I wear it straight away and I hardly have time to take off my shirt, trousers or soaked nappy before she’s there with wipes, powder and cream. I scarcely had time to draw breath before she has expertly taped me firmly into this new ‘fabrication’. There’s something to it that’s quite unlike anything else I’ve ever worn; I have to agree it does feel different.

It’s pink and yellow, thick but soft and crinkles with a soft welcoming sound that makes me immediately feel relaxed… perhaps not relaxed but… something. I mean, it is comfortable, with the various, light, multi-layers of padding in its design. I’m conscious of it all… but not inconvenienced by any of it.

In fact, as I run my hands over the pliable, almost weightless stuffing, the slippery, plastic-like outer covering is just so insubstantial. I know ‘nice’ isn’t an acceptable word but it’s as if I’m being given a friendly hug, a nudge to say ‘well didn’t I tell you it was something different?’ that has me feeling happy and contented. Yes, that’s it, I feel contented. I’m almost sixteen, wearing a nappy and yet, after all I’ve said, I wriggle in total satisfaction. That surely can’t be right?

This new disposable feels ‘altered’, but not bulky.

Well, let me re-phrase that observation.

It looks bulky, it looks like a thick nappy but, it’s so light it feels like I’m wearing, very little. I check in the mirror and there is absolutely no mistaking what it looks like, it’s definitely a disposable. But, when I sit down, the seat seems to compact, although my groin still has that tell-tail bulge. However, even that can be pushed down as if the air is removed, although, as soon as I let go, it sort of self-inflates back to its original size. It’s quite substantial but feels very insubstantial… almost wispy.

Weird but fascinating.

Mum mentions that I need to wear it all the time and to do everything in it. I question her on ‘everything’ but she is adamant that I use it completely. I have to say I don’t particularly like this command but after they’d agreed to let me stay on at school I thought I owed them some reciprocal deal.

However, not only do I decline to argue on this occasion, I am more than a little intrigued by the product. It feels unlike anything I’ve ever worn before.

I question mum about the need for vinyl pants to cover it but she says to try it without first. I’m nervous of using it lacking such added protection but she is insistent that I do so.

When I pull my jeans on over it, it all but disappears, like it’s deflated or something, yet I can still feel its protective grip around my genitals. Normally, I eventually forget I’m wearing a bulky item but although this looked bulky to begin with, it certainly doesn’t look that way under my pants. It’s deflated to nothing.


Part 5

I’m at a strange point in my life.

I’m sixteen (well almost), I feel like I’m grown up yet my nappy says I’m not yet trusted to go to the toilet. I’m still at school and wear the uniform of a schoolboy but my body has developed and I no longer have the physique of a child.

However, I also don’t have the pubic bush that all my friends and classmates appear to have sprouted in abundance. The lotion mum has spread on me over time has stopped that particular hairy growth. To be honest I’m not overly worried by this lack of hirsuteness ‘down there’ since mum said that a clean and hair-free groin is healthier and not prone to smelling. I take her words as gospel and “because she says so”.

To be honest I have seen many naked guys online and have to admit that I prefer the shaved to the bushy and that goes for the face as well as the crotch.

There are tons of conflicting emotions that grow day by day and yet, and yet… there’s also a feeling of… I don’t know how to explain it but, well, I feel… distinctive.

Of course my parents have added to this response because of the way I’ve been treated all my life. I’m not even sure if it’s negative or positive. All I know, there are times when my body shakes with emotions I simply do not comprehend and my head is filled with thoughts I have no idea from where they came.

I’m growing up, so I’m aware my body has changed and continues to change but, but, there is definitely something going on that my brain finds difficult to compute.

It’s mixed up, perplexed, conflicting and often down right awkward, but then the next moment, I’m at peace, full of calm and unbelievably relaxed; the nappy causing me neither fear nor anger, sometimes, just utter and totally unexpected bliss.

Although I often sit around wearing just a nappy when I’m at the desk in my bedroom, I’m wearing jeans at the moment just while I work. It’s not that I’m ashamed or anything just that they are a little distracting as I continually want to run my fingers over this new, soft, tantalising fabric...  but I need to get my homework done.

Even now, as I type this on the computer in my bedroom, a shiver has just run through my body. I sit; tapping away on the keyboard, dressed in the latest disposable, which I assume is from dad’s company and mum insisted I wear as soon I walked in from school.

The thing is, at the moment, it’s doing it again… my nappy is giving me pleasure and comfort as I wriggle in its snuggly embrace.

I’m beginning to realise (and not before time I suppose) that everything I wear has in some way to do with dad’s company. I’m not sure why I’m involved but I guess it’s only natural that I should somehow benefit from what they make. Still, I wish they would simply tell me rather than say “because we say so.”

Under my jeans the cushioned layers of supple, velvety material slips around caressing my skin in a provocatively sensual manner, the soft new colourful textile sends desirous messages to my brain. It’s all slightly feminine in some way and yet in others, well, it doesn’t matter except... what the hell is going on?


A couple of hours later and with the drinks mum served beginning to press on my bladder, the first part of what she insists I do is imminent.

I finish the homework I’m working on and move from the computer to the window and look out at the view. Nothing new, nothing has changed except, except, well, that short walk has brought me back to be fully aware of the nappy I’m wearing.

I release my jeans and let them fall unaided to the floor before casually slipping out of them. At the same time, watch in complete fascination, as my disposable elegantly re-inflates and returns to the size it was originally. The materials are still gripping my groin and the wispy fabric tickles as well as caresses my skin.

I watch myself in the full-length mirror, I look more colourful than usual but still like an incontinent teen. However, I’ve been given my instructions by mum so I return to look out over the back garden and concentrate as I release the pressure in my bladder.

With the first spurt of pee the flimsy structure tightens a little and secures around my genitals.  I try to hold back but it’s as if the material is pressing on my bladder, encouraging me to finish what I started.

The sensation is just that, quite sensational. I stand looking out across the back lawn to the row of trees that surround the garden and it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time as my mind seems to join the flooded relief in my nappy. As I fill it, the pattern and colours change whilst the tightening bulk forces my legs apart a little. The flimsy fabric layers are now storing what I’ve just released and although I don’t feel wet, I can feel it expanding and becoming more solid.  

The fragile lattice work of alternative textiles are binding together to contain what I’ve let go and suddenly, without any warning, my bowel wants to join in the experience. I stand at the window transfixed as I fill the seat of dad’s latest development and notice that the colours change again. Where I’ve messed the colour is bright purple, where I’ve wet its bright yellow but there are other discrepancies.

For one; the entire disposable is very solid and although I’m being gripped firmly, the weight is not there. However, I cannot smell anything, the contrivance has kept everything I’ve expelled well contained and that includes the stink I occasionally have to bear.

Mum knocks on my bedroom door and walks in. She sees me standing at the window, legs now slightly apart and the new nappy obviously well used.

“Well done Pumpkin.” She comes over and pushes a few stray hairs away from my eyes. “How does it feel?”

There is certainly a different aspect to what I’m wearing though, for the moment, I am not really sure what it is. It feels unlike anything I’ve ever used before, as if it has moulded itself around everything and is giving me a pleasurable squeeze… like its congratulating me for using it. I know that’s stupid but that’s what’s going through my brain as mum inspects the thing. For some stupid reason I’m delighted that I’ve just messed and peed in my nappy and don’t feel in the least bit embarrassed as mum checks me out.

She runs her hands over the bulk and its far more ‘dense’ now. The wispy material has bonded together to make a security proof seal, though the crimped filigree leg holes have given a softer edge to the tightened grip. There is a lacy, almost girlish look to the slick exterior and appears like a padded pair of panties. Even the tabs that fastened me in have blended into the surrounding fabric producing a colourful but unifying look.

Mum smiles and whistles in appreciation, I just look dumbfounded.

“Your father said it was special… what do you think?”

I walked the few steps from the window to the mirror and am speechless; the entire look of the disposable has changed to something that looks more ‘permanent.’

I just nod. It’s no longer a soft, wispy concoction but something real and substantial.

“Judging by the colours… there’s still plenty of use in it. Apparently, the disposable turns totally bright red when it’s full and needs changing. So… keep wearing it until it does.

“But mum… er… I’ve… er…um… done a poo as well as wet… erm…” I started to tell her as I know she likes to keep me clean at all times.

I’ve rarely worn a used nappy for more than a couple of minutes when at home, she’s that scrupulous about hygiene.

“Well done love but, as it isn’t completely red yet, that means there is still plenty more absorbency in it so…”

I’m a little shocked to still have to wear something I’ve messed in, despite the fact that it doesn’t actually feel like I’ve done so. I mean, well, there’s certainly some firmness to the disposable but all in all, I don’t sense it needed a change. The squishy mushiness that would normally follow me around after I messed just wasn’t there. This was one very strange and unique disposable.

I peered in the mirror as mum gently ran her fingers over it and looked pretty pleased and impressed. Standing there, with mum fussing, it took me back to when I was a lot younger and she was always proud of the fact that I’d done my business. At that moment I felt like a three year-old and for the briefest of moments, the image looking back was just that, me at three.


It was getting late, so I wished mum a ‘goodnight’ and before tentatively easing myself under the covers I gave this incredible piece of clothing a final inspection. The wispy, floaty, quilted material had become firm but not immobile, there was still a bit of give to the structure and even the silky, supple texture was quite thrilling to fondle… I didn’t want to leave it alone.

There was definitely something else happening that was making me regard this product in a completely different way I’d viewed everything I’d ever worn (and used) before. My fingers traced over what had once been a very insubstantial piece of incontinence-wear but now… something robust and strangely calming occupied my crotch… and my thoughts… yet I had no idea why.

I tentatively slipped between the sheets wearing only the new piece of merchandise but for some reason was a bit apprehensive. Of course, over the many years wearing just a thick nappy and plastic pants to bed had become my natural sleep attire. In fact, I’d gotten used to the slippery nature of the vinyl and quite liked its silken, supple quality – I often fell asleep just stroking and enjoying the glassy material… although this was something else.

Actually, that was what was different. I was enjoying wearing this new design, not only enjoying wearing it but enjoying still using it. My head was full of ridiculous thoughts as I caressed the special fabric. The soft lacy bits, together with the firmer, slicker padding, all sending wave after wave of utter delight through my system.

Thoughts of pleasure, of accomplishment, of contentment…


The total sensation was making my heart and mind surge with complete gratification and my body shook as I realised that this was a very exceptional thing I was experiencing.


Part 6

Normally, when I went to bed my nappy was clean and dry. This was used, and well used at that, but it didn’t feel discomforting, well not to wear at least. Often, some of the other nappies and disposables I’ve worn would bunch up and be slightly annoying until I’d gotten used to them… these were not in the least like that.  

These didn’t bunch at all, in fact, they felt like I was wearing a padded pair of pants, they moulded themselves to my anatomy and hugged me in a pleasant, reassuring way. Although the leg and waist gripped me firmly, it didn’t feel that tight. In fact, the soft lacy fabric seemed to caress my thighs and waist, adding a pleasant tingle I’d never experienced before.

I spent the night squirming, wriggling, touching – I simply could not believe the sensations I was experiencing. When I was not in complete physical pleasure, I was smiling because it felt so good. I’d never felt better. I’d never been more positive and, the big thing was, I didn’t want to take them off.

Had someone come up with a design for an everlasting nappy?

I slept, woke, played, slept and giggled uncontrollably to myself but after each short nap I felt myself slipping back to my childhood where everything was wonderful. Not that it wasn’t now, or is that then? I don’t know but my nappy is full and surprise, surprise... that’s all I want to wear. I look at my bedside clock and it’s just after six a.m. yet I’m wide awake and want to play.

My hectic night has reduced me to a chuckling big kid. I can see I’m physically still a, erm, well, umm, I forget but I don’t want this feeling to stop.

I want to get up… er… when mummy tells me I can… ummm… no… I mean…

I look around my bedroom for all my toys, Mr Teddy and other animals, my dummy… oops… my dummy?

For some reason I daren’t get out of bed without mummy’s permission. There I’ve said it again “Mummy”, what the hell is going on.

Oooo I’ve just sworn, even if it was in my head… mummy doesn’t like it if I say naughty words.

I grip my blanket like a terrified tot wondering what mummy will do. My joyful giggling of just a few moments ago has been replaced by feelings of worry. However, my hand reaches down and I can feel my ‘special’ nappy. The feel is distinctive, its grip is unique, I do my special wriggle and I’m happy again because I am wearing my distinctive protection.

Mummy comes in smiling and cheerily asks how her ‘special’ boy is doing.

I’m glad she’s not angry so I stretch out my arms to greet her and she delivers a peck to my forehead as she rummages under my blanket to check. She pulls back the bedding and for the first time I see that my nappy is now completely red.

“Oooo,” I say in wonder, “that’s pwitty.”

At the same time I say this I can feel I’m filling it again. There’s a slight warmth but I look up at mummy and look as innocent as possible.

“Is my little baby taking a wee-wee… hhhmmm… is he?”

I nod as my special nappy whips away the flood and hides it in its many folds of material. I can feel it once again slightly expand to accommodate what I’ve done but it doesn’t feel in the least bit unpleasant.


“Yes Pumpkin.”

“Where are my toys…?”

Mum looks at me in a strange way. It seems she’s totting up something in her head or working out some problem.

“All tidied away but now my little sweet-pea is awake he can get them all out again and play until breakfast.”


I suddenly stop in mid yay… Toys? There is a sudden and unclear thought in my head that I don’t need toys at my age… but mummy has pulled my blanket back and is urging me out of bed and towards the cupboard.

She’s patting my padded bottom and almost guiding me there, whilst she takes stock of my bulging nappy.

“Your teddies and all your other favourites are in there as well sweetie.”

There’s something not right about all this and for the briefest of moments I’m unsure of what I’m doing. However, mummy quickly encourages me forward and that doubt disappears as I open the door and see all my wonderful toys.

“But I want you to play quietly so… pop this in until I call you for breakfast… and after that, we can get you changed for the day.”

I’m confused as she slips in a dummy she’s produced from her pocket. At first I’m reluctant to take it but she has forced it in without too much effort and I’m already sucking enthusiastically on it… I do as instructed.

By the side of all my toys are a stack of shelves where nappies, liners, disposable and plastic pants are kept. It’s strange that again I stop midway through what I’m doing as I’m convinced that my cupboard usually stored my real clothes but, they were nowhere to be seen.

Once I looked more closely it was obvious that this was not my cupboard but one I had as a child, so, really, it was my cupboard but…

Once again that brief moment of doubt passed as I reached in and checked out teddy.

I look around and see that mummy’s gone so I pull out Mr Teddy and a few toys and prop myself up against the bed. I splay out my legs and am still amazed at the bright red colour of my padding. I feel such comfort as I start to play with my toys and suck intently on my dummy.

There’s a big, old wind-up car I didn’t remember. I wound it up, pushed a lever and off it went at great speed.


At the same time I let out my excited squeal I could feel my nappy being soaked once again.


I woke up from my dream absolutely convinced I’d flooded the bed but when I pulled back the blanket I was relieved that my nappy was warm, firm, blood red and had contained whatever I’d managed to dump into it during the night. I was also thankful that I wasn’t regressing as a baby and that, apart from by bulky nappy; all was back to what I knew.

The dream, like most dreams I assume, felt real but I was a little worried that at my age, I appeared to enjoy being a little kid again.

The fact that the nappy had absorbed everything and left me feeling completely dry was a surprise.

However, even full (if the colour was anything to go by) my nappy hugged me in a most satisfying way. I’d slept the night, for the first time in many years, without plastic pants and yet my bedding was completely dry.

Again I stood at the mirror and inspected the huge padding that now engulfed my groin yet it didn’t feel like it was a heavy burden. I had a slight waddle; the expansion between my legs was firm but not overly intrusive. I was just thinking whether to go down to breakfast dressed as I was (it wouldn’t have been the first time I sat at the table in just a nappy) or whether to put some shorts or jeans on over it when dad came in.

“Wow.” He said from the doorway. “That looks... impressive.”

I stood erect and let him view me and the disposable from every angle. He touched it and was fascinated with its firmness, yet it was also soft...

“How does it feel son?”

“Great.” I couldn’t think of anything else to add.

“It’s the latest and newest technological development and you’re the first to experience it... I need more than... great if you don’t mind.”


Normally it’s mum who sees me first thing in the morning and we never have a conversation, if we do it’s always one way and she just accepts nods, smiles and acquiescence as my part in it.  Dad wanted more so, as he felt around my crotch and padded bottom, I explained just how great it was and why.

Every now and then he’d throw in a question like: “Did I sleep well?” or “Was it in anyway cumbersome?” “What about it did I like or dislike?” “Did I enjoy the fit?” “What feelings did it produce?” and lots of other stuff that I tried to answer as honestly as I could. 

I had to admit, I’d never worn anything like it before, nor had I actually ENJOYED wearing something like it before.

Dad beamed his delight.

“I’d be happy to wear this all the time.” I eagerly confessed.


Mum came into my bedroom at that moment and she was equally upbeat and cheerful... they nodded optimistically to each other.

“Ohh Gary, not sure about the colour, it looks like someone has hacked away at his privates.”

Up until mum mentioned it I didn’t think the colour was bad but now, all I could think was it looked a bloody parcel.

“Mmmm okay,” dad said, “let’s get you out of that and into something cleaner and drier.”


Mum was already reaching for one of my thicker fabric nappies off the shelf. I was a bit disappointed after what I’d just experienced but I’ve learned not to argue and mum indicated I should get on the bed so she could relieve me of the red disposable and replace it with a nice thick fleecy nappy.

She grabbed some pins and a pair of see thru plastic pants so I knew what I was going to be wearing for the rest of the day.

Meanwhile, dad took the red discarded protection muttering something about “, yes maybe orange...”but I have no idea where he then went with it. I assumed it must have gone for some kind of research. However, mum had drawn my attention back to the extra thick padding she was slipping into the material and telling me she wanted to see how much that would hold in comparison to what I’d just taken off. She used the see-thru plastic because she wanted to monitor me for the rest of the day... so no shorts or trousers either.

Although being told what to do wasn’t new to me, what to wear and when to do my business, what was new was the way I suddenly felt about it all. For the first time, and I have to put it down to that fabulous ‘super disposable’ I’d come so quickly to love, I was happily compliant and interested in the future.

In the past I would simply have gotten on with whatever my parents had told me to, no matter what that was. If I was uncomfortable or there was something about what I wore I didn’t like, it didn’t matter because, well, you know, “because we say so”. However, that wonderful creation that I’d just spent the night in had completely won me over, and on so many different levels. For the first time in my entire memory I thought I was part of something special. Something different and I was the one designated, the chosen one, to experience this breakthrough... scientific or otherwise.


Part 7

I’d never worn anything like them before. I’d never had such unbelievable sensations being sent through my body and which settled in my mind. I can’t remember ever being so content, and at the same time, flabbergasted with what occupied my groin. I was in awe of what had been produced and, now wrapped in a thick fluffy nappy, missed the serenity that new disposable had bestowed.

Whilst this feeling of wellbeing buzzed happily in my head I found myself unexpectedly searching in the cupboards for something, I wasn’t sure what. I leafed through the piles and piles of fabric squares, disposables, vinyl pants and every other piece of apparatus designed for my ‘comfort’ but I just couldn’t find what I was searching for. It didn’t help that I had no idea what it was; I just had this urge to discover.

I was looking for something to compliment my thick, thick nappy and eventually, what entered my head was an idea from my earlier dream – I needed a stuffed animal to hug and some toys to play with. I’m a teenager, so knew all my kid’s stuff had been either packed or given away, yet the impulse to find a teddy bear to cuddle was becoming the most important of tasks. I could even hear myself whimpering because of my lack of success and tears were forming in my eyes.

I threw myself onto the bed and roared in frustration, shouting for mummy and feeling little. It seemed like I was two years old again and, just like the dream, needed to be surrounded by my things from that time.

As I rolled around in despair my plastic pants crinkled and slid around the sheets. The thick bulk a comfort but not as much as the fantastic new disposable had been. I was crying because I wanted to be put back in one of those as much as I wanted a teddy to hug.

Mum came in and stroked my padded bottom.

“There, there sweetheart.”

She seemed to sense, or perhaps she already knew, what ailed me as I tried between huge sobbing gulps to get the words out, I couldn’t find Mr Teddy.

She stroked my naked back and then my head.

“Don’t worry little fella, I’ll find him for you... I know where he is... you just relax and let mummy sort it out.”

With a final stroke of my head and a caress of my silky cushioned bottom, she went off somewhere.

She was only gone moments when I felt a nice soft fluffy object being pressed into my arms.

“Yay, Mr Teddy” I screamed in delight.

My tears had all but stopped by then but I was sucking on my thumb.

Her hand searched down the front and back of my protection but I was still dry.

She smiled.

“I’ll bring some toys for you to play with in a little while but I want my sweet baby to have a little rest now and mummy will be back soon with some nice num-nums. In the meantime Little Davey, let’s lose this soggy thumb... and my sweet boy can suck on this.”

Where she’d got it from, or how long she’d had it, I have no idea but replacing my wet digit with a clear plastic dummy, which tasted of caramel, soon had me sucking joyously on this new addition to my ensemble.

Was Tasty Teats a new product from the workshop?

I no longer felt I was a teen; I was where I needed to be – being looked after by my mummy and feeling all the love and comfort she always offered.

I hugged Mr Teddy tightly and rolled over onto my side. The constant crinkle with each movement made it like teddy was chatting to me. We had a terrific conversation before mummy came back with a bottle.


Although initially taken by surprise by such a staggering regression, Jennifer had been warned by her husband that the new style disposable could have some significant side effects. She was warned to be prepared for all occasions and that might just mean some very childish behaviour. Of course this was nothing new. Over the years that David had been wearing such things Prestige Pharmacists Products had been trying to develop structures that offered more than just protection.

For instance; this new fabric was made up of many layers of specially treated material, bonded by a coating of a new synthetic compound, which released pleasure pheromones and a blissful elixir to be absorbed through the skin and eventually find itself into the wearer’s brain. The chemical formula was not much different to that of the party and ‘feel-good’ social drug, Ecstasy. As the disposable was used... more of the drug was released, whilst the cunning weave of the fabric held the contents in place. Meanwhile, Davey might show some puzzling signs, or experience some changes to his mental state, but these should be very brief interludes. Jennifer simply had to just play along with whatever his mind conjures up - in this case, his desire to be a two year old.

The new range of Tasty Teats was aimed primarily at those who needed instant childish gratification. The chemical ‘palate receptor’ was made in various essences depending on what the subject’s favourite flavour was. The sucking action filled the mouth and mind with a pleasing process that transported the person to a period in their life where this simple act was all they were required to do.

With his temporary blissful mental state David’s mind took him to a place where cares and worry didn’t exist for him. As a toddler his world was just play, eat and poop, where everything was taken care of and his only worry was if he couldn’t find Mr Teddy.

Both his parents stood at their son’s bedroom door and watched as he gleefully sucked down the huge bottle of warm milk; in between he continued to speak in baby talk to Mr Teddy as he played. His thick nappy crinkled loudly which indicated that, for the time being at least, he was relatively dry. He seemed happy that his entire world revolved around the area of his mattress and appeared unable to move past the edges because of the perceived long drop to the floor.

In his head David and Mr Teddy were having a wonderful time as long as they stayed on their cosy island. He was scared of what lay below but his stuffed bear was very comforting on the matter.

Later mum brought in more toys and lifted her son off the bed and onto the floor reassuring him that all was well and he needn’t be worried as all the scary stuff had been banished from the area. She gave him another bottle, which he snaffled down with equal speed as he’d done the first one, the chemicals in his system making him very thirsty indeed.

He eagerly played for over two hours pushing his toy cars all over his carpet and making cities and mountains from boxes, cushions and piles of fresh nappies. Later, exhausted he fell asleep propped up against the bottom of his bed, which is where is mother found him soaked and fast asleep.

She woke him up.


I couldn’t believe the dream I’d just had but as I opened my eyes and looked around the room at the toys, my old teddy, the bottle and my mum’s smiling face, I realised it wasn’t a dream.

“Hi sweetie, you’re really soaked but, for the moment at least, I want you to wear it a little longer and see if you can add to it.”

I was still coming round but this was a strange request, normally I’m changed immediately after I wet. Mum was inspecting the saturated fabric through the see-thru plastic pants and nodding saying yes there was more soakability yet.

Soakability? Why was she talking to me like I was a child?

Mum had got me thinking about something other than the fact I was surrounded by the debris of a toddler, which incidentally was what I’d been ‘dreaming’ about, so I was distracted from what my main question was.

“Mum it doesn’t feel so nice.” I said as I pushed at the front of my soaked nappy.

I was actually comparing my sopping protection to the wonderful disposable I’d worn so recently.

She stopped and stared at me for a few seconds and I wondered if I’d done something wrong.

“Yes, I know Pumpkin but your father has asked for you to wear that until he comes home. Perhaps he’ll have another of those new nappies for you to wear then.”

A shudder of anticipation ran through my body at the very mention of wearing one of those new-fangled disposables.

Strangely, this quietened me down and all questions were immediately silenced at the prospect of a new ‘super disposable’. I didn’t want to harm my chances of getting into another as soon as possible so; a wet nappy for a few hours wasn’t going to interfere with such an opportunity.


Never before had I longed to wear a new nappy so much. I was always pleased when I was changed, a fresh, clean and dry nappy for me at least was far better than a soggy one. However, with this distinct prospect a tingle of expectation and desire surged through my body culminating in a surge of pee flooding my drenched nappy even more.

It didn’t matter in the slightest.

A sudden compulsion to go and play some more with teddy and the toys also coursed through my nervous system but each movement was met with a squishy accompaniment that made me think twice. I suddenly realised I was fifteen and not a two year old, even if I was wearing an incredibly wet nappy. Having said that, I was now so hyped up about receiving and wearing a new disposable I hugged teddy very tightly, sharing my excitement with my furry friend.

I was aware of my childish enthusiasm for the new disposable and asked mummy when she thought daddy would be home. I wriggled against my furry teddy putting on my most appealing and cute look hoping that would make it all happen quicker.

Again, for a second, I got that slightly confused look from mum.

“I’m sure daddy won’t be long sweetie-pie but your nappy is certainly sagging so let’s hope he’ll be home sooner rather than later.”

“Yay.” I slipped my thumb between my lips but mum saw this and immediately fed me my tasty new dummy.

Mum tousled my hair and hugged me close.

“Who’s a good boy then?”

I looked up at her and felt like a shy two year old and smiled around my dummy.

“Yes... Davey’s a good boy.”

I could hear her words and under normal circumstances I would have objected, or more to the point, mum would never say such juvenile stuff to me. However, there was no denying that I liked what I heard and even the heavy wet nappy, which hung dragging even the plastic pants down a little, I hoped mummy would soon change... though I knew it wasn’t my decision. She’d change me when she was good and ready.


I squished over to the pile of nappies that I’d built up to run my toy cars around and over like I was racing them in the snowy white mountains. Whilst I crawled from one play-zone to the next my legs were pushed further apart as the soggy nappy slipped around my crotch. At one point I began to fret about something (though I’ve no idea what) and called out for mummy.

She’d left the room by then and I whimpered for no apparent reason.

Actually, I think I was crying because I was wet and a damp itchiness was all I could feel.


“Mumm... mummy...”

I was engulfed in tears.


Part 8

Jennifer was on the phone to her husband worried about the effects of the drug on Davey. She’d known about the constant endeavour for the company to come up with a product that fulfilled Grandfather Harry’s vision of the desire for “ that would last throughout a lifetime”. She also knew that it was only recently, with a new, younger design team, who had taken that concept much further. Meanwhile, the trials continued and it was young Davey who got to try out each prototype. She couldn’t complain as she’d let her son be the guinea pig all his life but this new incident was scary.

“But one minute he’s acting normally and the next, almost within seconds, he’s like a toddler wanting to play with his toys.”

She was explaining, as much as complaining to Gary about the drastic effects on their son.

Gary had already taken this on board and had been discussing this glitch with his project chief, a thirty-five year old, super-smart chemist called Abraham Gunney.

He’d nodded and shook his head as if it was nothing to be too concerned about.

“The main thrust of this new disposable, the Xtreme, is to make people want to wear it, in fact, desire the object above all other options when it comes to underwear... correct?”

He was in his bosses face to make sure he understood where he was coming from.

Abraham was a man who was confident in his own abilities and proud of developing this brand new concept, which he’d predicted would make Prestige Pharmacists Products a world leader. The new Xtreme (he planned to change its name when released in the USA to DiapersXdream) was everything the old man could have hoped for; desirable, addictive and fashionable, his team had done a remarkable job.

Although this was the aim, Gary was out of his depth as to the means. Although he knew all about the special infused drug that was released as the cleverly quilted disposable was used he had no real concept of the ultimate ingenious design that was worked to contain a day’s waste.

The lace and filigree design, the special fabric coating, new multi-layered poly-carbon, poly-cotton derivatives and pseudo-silk materials that had been specifically conceived. It had all been a major development under the ingenious and inspirational drive of Abraham Gunney and his crew of nappy pioneers.  

Abe was intense, focused but with a short fuse, so, his social skills were few. However, his genius was obvious so allowances were made. He knew his development was working and hated interference... even from his boss.


Abraham Gunney was not new to the world of incontinence. His sister Florence had internal problems from birth and an operation when she was seven had made things worse. The poor girl was destined for a life of constant wetness. She hated the bags that were fitted and eventually settled on wearing a nappy to deal with her constant flow. Her brother, seeing her distress and occasional resentment, though making the best of it, spent his early years trying to find something to make her life that much better.

At university he majored in physics, chemistry and biology and surprised his tutors by being extremely advanced in his ideas and techniques. Always with Florence at the forefront of his mind he set about developing a nappy that would add to her pleasure rather than deal with her bitterness.

Whilst at Uni he experimented with drugs and saw the positive side of some of their effects. He postulated his own theory but needed a breakthrough system to deliver the results. So, when an opportunity arose at Prestige Pharmacists Products, a completely new and technological advance was needed he pulled together a team of young visionaries to do just that.


Abraham dismissed Gary’s concern for his son as something that would soon pass; a mere hitch in an otherwise brilliant piece of engineering.

“We’ll just have to regulate the barrier cream, the anti-rash cream, and the soaker pads that should help neutralise the effects, a little more.”

The thick nappy with the extra (special) soaker pads that Davey had been put into after he’d worn the Xtreme were meant to help counterbalance any of the drug effects was Abraham’s answer. They were impregnated with a special agent to diffuse such an effect but it hadn’t worked.

Unknown to Gary, whilst he was using his son to gauge new products, Abraham was trying out each development on his sister. There he was getting nothing but positive results from a woman of thirty three, unfortunately, Davey’s teenage metabolism couldn’t cope with the severe changes. Abraham was dismissive of the boy’s results and regarded them as minor setbacks taking more notice of Florence’s reactions than David’s.

Gary understood these points but he hadn’t witnessed what Jennifer had, the complete regression of Davey from a lively teenager to a weepy toddler... and in such a dramatic fashion.

Abraham was definite that with just a few tweaks and a couple more tests, they should soon have the levels correct and could then launch their unbelievable addictive product on the masses.


There was a moment when I was playing when I realised what I was doing. Why on earth should I, a teenager, be running toy cars up a pile of nappies, sucking on a dummy and talking to Mr Teddy? This may have been okay in a dream but (I pinched myself) this wasn’t a dream.

Mum had even spoken to me as if I was a toddler and... and...

Bbbrrrmmmm, bruuummm... screech... (suck, suck, suck)...


Jennifer had been appeased by her husband’s conviction that what was happening to Davey was merely a temporary set-back and that he’d be “as right as rain” very shortly.

She poked her head around Davey’s bedroom door and saw him laid out on his front, plastic pants bulging under the sheer volume that his thick, soaker-filled nappy had contained and reckoned it was way past the time for a change.

Davey was deep in his game, shoving cars around and making appropriate noises as they tore around a make-believe track. When she called him he didn’t respond although a wriggle and a crinkle told her it was definitely time for a change. Whilst he continued to play she went to the closet and got all the bits necessary; more super-soakers to fit into his fleecy fabric nappy and a pair of extremely thick white rubber pants to hold the bulk in. She’d been told the soakers contained a neutraliser so was determined to get whatever was coursing around his system out and hoped he wouldn’t argue about her unwieldly decision.

Of course, he very rarely argued about anything regarding his nappies but as she approached she noticed the faraway look in his eyes.

“Okay sweetheart, let’s get you into something a bit drier shall we?”

Panic ran through her body when she realised that he had no idea who she was. There was no recognition at all.


The boss of Prestige Pharmacists Products had no idea that Abraham was running his own trial with his sister. He’d never even mentioned he had a sister and kept that side of his life very separate. Gary had no idea that the pile of soaker pads he took home was in fact a specially impregnated batch aimed at giving Florence a sensation of complete and utter euphoria. She had gotten to like the new protection her brother was bringing home and urged him to develop even more extremes – it had given her a new lease of life and a desire for protection which gave her more than just a buzz between her legs.

This new, infused compound, which wasn’t illegal as no one knew about it, was proving quite toxic to Davey. Jenny didn’t know that she was making it worse by wrapping him in such thick protection, having no idea they weren’t what Gary had told her about. As it was, she got a totally vacant looking Davey into a new, ultra-thick nappy but he couldn’t focus, eat or do anything but dribble and appear mystified by everything around him. She even had to resort to feeding him, which wasn’t very successful but thankfully, his co-ordination for nursing on a bottle was still there so he managed some nourishment.

Jenny was really worried that the constant testing of products on her son had inevitably led to such consequences. Eyes that looked but didn’t see - the total absence of any response - Davey’s wobbly head and non-existent verbal skills were increasing his mother’s anxiety. Of course, up until now all had been going well, her son had accepted his role and wore what they’d told him but now, with this new product, what had gone so drastically wrong?

Jenny took her fears out on her husband who wanted answers and, after denials and obfuscation, had eventually got the truth from Abraham. He confessed about the super –soaker pads meant for his sister and Jenny was quickly informed to get Davey out of all his current nappies and protection and urgently replace it with his old thick terry nappies.

Aware now of the problem Jenny speedily ripped off her son’s drug-infused nappy, wiped him clean and applied coating after coating of neutralising balm and hoped for the best. Throughout this her fifteen year old son just looked glassy-eyed and unable to coordinate anything. Again she slipped a bottle of formula between his lips and at least his compulsion to suck was still there. He was now more baby than he had been when he was a baby.


Abraham explained to his boss that the reason the company had been able to make such huge strides toward getting their new product up and running was thanks to the responses from his sister and latterly Davey.

The product itself was well-liked - in fact both test subjects had responded very positively to it. Xtreme worked and worked unbelievably well, yet despite this current set-back, its success should be applauded. Abraham was not so much dismissive of Davey’s problem he was more excited by the way Xtreme could be marketed. He promised that Gary’s son would be ‘tickety-boo’ in a day or so and to stop worrying, all their efforts, he argued, should now be focused on getting the brand known and into the appropriate outlets.

Gary was angry but also knew that he had pushed and pushed for this new product and it had fulfilled all expectations. In fact, his son had been only too keen to wear the new Xtreme permanently if he could. The soaker pads were a mix-up, a mistake that could easily happen in a busy environment like the development lab. Gary had to take as much responsibility as Abraham... and he wasn’t worried at all; even when, after three days, Davey had shown no signs of improvement.


Meanwhile, Xtreme was being worn by all the development staff, Gary included. It was true; it did give the wearer an incredible feeling. The new designed fabric, the cleverness of its intricacies, its ability to store waste and the exotic colours it went through – was spectacular. The final colour was changed to black when the disposable was at capacity. Everyone reported back that as soon as they changed out of their filled Xtreme the only alternative they wanted was the finesse and comfort of another Xtreme – normal underwear was discarded like last year’s fashion.

The team knew they had created the very thing that Harry Harrison had hoped for – except a thousand times better than he could have dreamed.


Over the next few months a subtle advertising campaign was launched. Word spread amongst those celebrities who’d tried out the Xtreme and the desire to own such an item became ‘the thing’. Fashion and celebrity bloggers were ecstatic claiming a major shift when it came to ‘usage und style’.

Prestige Pharmacists Products (now Prestige Xtreme) was catapulted into the big time. Everyone wanted their wonderful new and exciting invention and, with a price designed to keep elite customers coming back, they soon had an influential clique clambering at their door.

It had been Abraham’s idea to keep the product exclusive, thus keeping it as a premium brand. They allowed a similar brand, PowerXtreme without the full ‘ecstasy’ drug quotient but still maintaining the rest of Xtreme capabilities, to be available to the masses.

Underwear companies were playing catch-up and desperate to find something to compete but without success – soon anyone who was anyone only wore Power or PrestigeXtreme (or in the USA DiaperXdream). The concept had been an unbelievable success and even when questions were raised by health and government bodies, the clamour from the public meant the cases were never tested or got to court.

Gary’s company quickly became an industry leader thanks to Abraham and the young team of innovators who had made everyone involved incredibly wealthy. Their success inspired them to create more and more incredible products and develop the ultimate indispensable disposable.

underwear that care

Life is a dream in Xtreme Supreme

Now available at only the best pharmaceutical outlets.


The Harrison family had riches beyond their wildest imagining and Gary had fulfilled his grandfather’s vision of the firm’s desirability of its ‘products for all generations’ but their only son would never appreciate or inherit what they’d built up.

They were able to afford the very best of everything but for him his future was a life of baby’s bottles, prams, dribbles and soaked nappies.

Davey could only gurgle at his parents, even if he no longer knew who they were. He was given the very best to make life better but, his life would never get better. The company had developed a ‘forever’ nappy for someone who now needed one permanently.

Davey sat drooling in his crib wearing the latest colourful creation... he was the only casualty in the product’s development but after all the years of being told “because we say so” now it was because he had to.


---------The End---------


After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index

© Copyright 1999 - 2021 VTL DailyDi Websites for - All Rights Reserved
"The Daily Diaper", "DailyDiapers" and "Daily Diapers" are trademarks of