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by Les Lea
I was ten
when mum decided I should be circumcised. I’d become
increasingly lazy when carrying out my visits to the
bathroom. She was fed up with me missing the toilet bowl
and I often departed unaware that I’d left a puddle of
pee where I stood. This was because I had a very loose
foreskin that, if I didn’t retract right back, often
covered my pee-hole and sent trickles in different
directions. Some pee hit the water so I assumed it all
had but I didn’t check and a small (occasionally large)
pool could often be left festering in front of the bowl
and not in it.
Also, as I was
getting older, a lot of ‘stuff’ was beginning to gather
under it, which in turn caused me some mild irritation.
Mum would often
say. “Terry, you’re at that age where these things
matter, you must take much more care.”
constant nagging only made me care less and I became
careless... I was ten and beginning to get insolent, not
doing as I was told and thinking I knew best. I became a
bit of a show off, not through any kind of theatrical
talent but showing my contempt at authority to impress
my school mates.
As far as mum
was concerned the final straw came when we had my Aunt
Jen, Uncle Mark and their three children visiting. Of
course, I’d used the loo last and uncaringly I’d left a
rather large pee-slick on the tiled bathroom floor. My
four year old cousin Tammy went and slipped in the
puddle and banged herself pretty badly on the bowl. Of
course her mum and dad thought she’d left the mess and
although sympathetic to her injury blamed her for being
Mum let it go,
not saying it was my fault but letting me know by her
look that I should volunteer my culpability. I know mum
was losing her patience but she never shouted, nor did
she ever punish me, so I thought I was on relatively
safe ground. However, it took a few of her fiercest
stares for me to get the message and though reluctant I
confessed my sins (I might have been becoming rebellious
but not that rebellious).
I saw the relief
on mum’s face when I confessed (not a complete lost
cause) and a strange feeling ran through my body. For
the first time in quite some time, I’d made her proud of
me... or so I hoped... and I liked the feeling. I was
ten years old, I wanted to rebel and show I was growing
up but that approval, that smile, made me briefly
reassess the way I was acting.
Alas, my aunt
and uncle were furious that they’d blamed their sweet
daughter, whilst mum, sensing an atmosphere, sent me to
my room and was not allowed to continue to play with
their two older boys Phil and Kevin. I’d been bragging
to them that I could do anything before mum’s scary
stare had made me lose a little face with my confession.
However, they were equally fascinated and wanted
to know why my foreskin caused so much havoc and sought
to have a peek (apparently theirs not giving a moment’s
worry). It didn’t happen because the next time they saw
me I was minus that particular accessory.
As I left the
room I could hear, in her anger, my aunt (who is mum’s
older sister) lash out at what had happened and told mum
in no uncertain terms that I should be in nappies if I
peed indiscriminately, leaving puddles everywhere. Mum
didn’t react badly (she never lost her temper) but
quietly said that she already had plans to sort that
particular problem out.
She’d read that
circumcision was healthier for a young man and that
girls preferred a cut penis, whether any of this was
true, that’s how it was sold to me. I wasn’t taken to
hospital instead a Jewish medical friend of mum’s, who
said he’d done hundreds of such procedures, volunteered
I hated the idea
of hospital and any kind of operation, so, it’d be done
in private and mum even swore that it would be
“...but a minor inconvenience”. Oh, and yes, it
wasn’t a painful procedure because “...babies had it
done and they turned out okay”.
Mum lied - There
was a lot of blood, I was very sore and my poor little
penis looked butchered.
With my penis
cut and bandaged I found going to the toilet a harrowing
experience. What was worse, at night, after keeping my
bladder full because of the pain when I did pee, on
several occasions I involuntarily wet the bed as I
slept. Mum decided that until my penis healed, I should
wear a nappy and argued that the soft fabric would be
less irritating against my skin and I’d probably heal
I wasn’t happy
about this idea believing it was only because my aunt
made such a song and dance about my peeing on the floor.
However, my wounded penis was quite painful and I
disliked waking up to a soaked bed so it seemed a
temporary way round my soggy problem. Also,
whether it was because of the nappy reference from her
sister or not, mum had probably decided what would
happen so really I had little choice.
This time mum
didn’t lie because the fabric was nice and soft against
my skin; the padding keeping me snug so my injured
thingy didn’t bounce about. Also, the antiseptic creams
and various fragrant lotions that area was subjected to
were very soothing. In fact, I was quite grateful for
the cushion of relief it all offered. Because my penis
was really sore, it was too painful to wear jeans or
trousers, and although I didn’t feel comfortable about
it, for those first few days I wondered around the house
wearing very little below the waist apart from the ease
of my padding.
When I first
thought about having to wear a nappy I assumed it was
mum punishing me for my behaviour and to possibly
placate her sister, as Aunt Jen had been quite caustic
about what she thought of a ten year old still peeing on
the floor. However, any seething resentment that I
perhaps should have aimed at mum just didn’t happen
because the nappy was a great help. Mum became very
protective, perhaps, overly protective of me and went
out of her way to keep me happy; my wellbeing of the
operation I would have shirked off any attempt from mum
to coddle me. I was ten and growing up and didn’t need
constant attention. However, after the messy business I
felt wounded so quite pleased mum was lavishing all her
attention on me. She soothed my soreness with oily
creams and in truth I liked not fighting with her over
everything and nothing.
I don’t think I
was that aware of it but things had changed as a result
of my lost skin.
Waking up in a
soaked nappy was strangely a comfort because despite
everything, my sore willie felt less sore lying in a
damp fabric cradle. Whichever way mum had attached that
night’s padding felt like it was doing its job because
the experience was different. Together with a pair of
plastic pants, come the morning my attention was centred
on a piece of soggy material not a piece of my missing
She often said
that despite everything I looked happy in a nappy.
It was a catchphrase that kept on repeating in my
head time after time and at the most inopportune
moments. It was an ear worm that once started
never seemed to stop and I’d find it gnawing away as I
tried to get to sleep. However, no matter how annoying
that was, I was always grateful come the morning when my
night time awkward insulation had done its duty and
saved me from a repeatedly soaked bed.
initial painkillers I was taking ‘it’ remained tender
and swollen and became a bit of a problem when I
returned to school as I certainly didn’t intend on
wearing a nappy to class.
Mum saw that I
was struggling to keep my underpants dry so came up with
some extra padding sewn into them for me to wear.
Strangely, as I was under no pressure to pee because of
being stood in front of a toilet, I could let it out in
small, relatively painless spurts when and where I felt
the need. Often just letting it trickle into the folds
of the extra fabric where it was quickly swallowed up.
So I wore wet pants regularly whilst I recuperated, and,
despite my reluctance on wearing them, mum’s insistence
on slick white vinyl pants were the key in preventing
any visible leakage.
the problem continued at night, even after my newly
circumcised penis had all but healed, because I was
still waking up wringing wet... so to combat the nightly
deluge the wearing of night time stuffing continued.
I was a little
traumatised by the operation to say the least. I was
taking an age to mentally recover and thought my
recently pared-back boy part looked strange and inflamed
and worried it would always be that way. With the
constant reminder every time I looked at my red willie I
felt responsible for its current state and, although it
was the case I no longer left puddles in front of the
toilet bowl when I did make use of the facilities, I
remembered that if only I’d taken more care I wouldn’t
be in such a position.
think mum seemed to connect the reason I was wetting to
the pain and subsequent agony I’d been subjected to. I
don’t know whether this was the case or not, but despite
her ten year old boy needing nappies at night, she
didn’t get angry about their prolonged use. In fact, she
noticed that with the loss of my foreskin I also lost a
lot of the insolence I had been beginning to accrue.
The real reason
- I felt damaged and wanted my mummy to look after me.
I wondered why
mum didn’t take me to hospital to have it checked out
but I think she was disappointed/embarrassed/guilty
about what the ‘doctor’ had done. I had nothing and no
one to compare my situation to. I had no idea if this
was how it went when a boy was circumcised and that I
was just one of many. However, what I did know... her
‘friend’ disappeared from our radar completely. I don’t
know if mum had words or what but I never saw him again.
The comfort of
wearing a soft thick nappy at night weirdly seemed to be
the only relief I could count on. So, despite not
wearing a nappy since I was three, the thought that I
had to wear one to prevent any apparent
complications, and soaked bed, seemed exasperating but
logic wasn’t following any sensible path I became
obsessed with keeping that area clean, covered and
worried constantly that it just ‘didn’t look right’.
Although I thought, and mum fostered that notion, I
needed to wear a nappy to fight off any infections, what
I really intended was to keep it hidden. I was ashamed
of it always looking scarlet and deformed. It was ugly
and I hated it and I’d brought it on myself because I
peed all over the floor and in doing so had brought
about the injury of a little girl. Guilt is a strange
thing - how many other people might I have injured by my
inconsiderate toilet habits? I needed that extra thick
material to prevent anyone seeing it and also to avoid
harming the rest of mankind.
At the start of
all this I didn’t have much of a conversation about
wearing nappies with mum. She just never let me out of
them at night and often joked it was advisable to be
better protected during the day if we went anywhere
‘special’. Although to begin with I wasn’t all that keen
on going outside wearing a thicker nappy, mum made it
seem that it was me who was making a big deal about it
and no one else would even notice.
She asked me if
I’d been in the least bit bothered by wearing a nappy at
foreskinless penis was healing I had to admit that it
had been of benefit - so, no, it hadn’t been a problem.
“And” she asked,
“wearing one now... is that a problem?” She was quite
intense and I found my days of lying under such scrutiny
were becoming a thing of the past.
wearing one at that moment, having just woken up after
another soggy night, and in truth it had been soft and
gentle with the plastic pants holding me in some degree
“No, not really
it’s just...” I shrugged.
what’s the problem? If there isn’t a problem, stop
making difficulties when there aren’t any.”
After all the
jokiness mum seemed a bit annoyed that I was questioning
her but I also detected she was a bit worried (although
she never said anything to me about it) that it was
taking so long to repair. However, she was correct about
the padding; it was keeping me from any excess dribbles
and made things nice and comfy down there. Perhaps
weirdly I wasn’t unhappy about having to wear a nappy
and it was at this point I psychologically began to
associate these two words together - ‘Happy’ and
One morning I
came down stairs to the kitchen, mum was just finishing
pegging out the washing and my soaked nappy and plastic
pants hung low between my thighs. It looked a lovely day
and as I opened the door for mum because she was coming
back carrying the laundry basket, a cool breeze took me
by surprise and there in front of her I felt a sudden
spurt into my already saturated nappy. The only thing
was I couldn’t stop and mum watched as my nappy expand
whilst it soaked up even more of my involuntary pee.
“It’s a good job
you’re wearing that,” she said pointing to my glistening
plastic pants, “otherwise had you been wearing your
school uniform yet... it would’ve been soaked.”
I’d been rooted
to the spot but incredibly embarrassed at peeing so
publicly and it being witnessed by mum. I couldn’t think
of an excuse or even what to say so I simply felt
ashamed. Mum pointed upstairs.
“Okay, take them
off and I’ll get them in the next load... let’s get you
ready for school.”
bought a set of different coloured and loose-fitting
shorts she thought wouldn’t put pressure around my
injury like my school trousers and jeans had been doing.
Since the operation I found such items very annoying to
wear, tight and at times uncomfortably rubbing against
my thicker underpants, so these baggy shorts came as
something of a welcome relief.
There is just
me and mum and we are incredibly close (more so now I
suppose). Yet despite my ten year old independence it
appeared she was back in control, if in fact she’d ever
lost it? When I was younger mum easily talked me into
most things and it was no different now. Because I
wasn’t in any discomfort she must have noticed I was
less irritated (and irritating) when only wearing a
nappy. And because they weren’t causing me any harm, and
my lacklustre objections were dismissed, I found myself
wearing one more often especially when mum spoilt me.
Now I have to
admit this was something new.
A few weeks
after the circumcision, mum unexpectedly began to give
me treats. To begin with when I was healing she kept up
an array of events that took me completely by surprise.
This could be a meal at a fun restaurant, a visit
to the cinema, trip to the fair or some other
indulgence. However, because we were going out she
didn’t want me to get embarrassed by accidently staining
my pants so insisted that I wore some padded defence.
At first I
complained saying that I didn’t have such accidents
during the day it was only at night. Of course, I’d had
wet undies during the day when supposedly on the mend
but she insisted we simply should not take any chances
if I wanted the treat. Like I’d always done, I gave in
to mum’s powers of persuasion, although it was always
done in a way that suggested it was my brainchild.
something mum was very good at. She’d suggest something
and then give you the credit for coming up with the
idea, which she would afterwards enthuse about. It got
to a stage where I was coming up with every plan without
realising where that source had sprung from. So, when it
came to having to wear more protection I really did
think it was because I’d thought it was a good solution.
This was partly
due to guilt. I know I hadn’t done the operation (I had
a different feeling regarding him) but my
laziness and general taking-things-for-granted had led
mum to such drastic action. This was my fault so
I couldn’t object to mum doing her best to make me as
comfortable as possible. She seemed happier once I was
wearing protection when going out; regarding it as a
necessity so therefore shouldn’t be worried about it.
everything I had to admit that wearing loose-fitting
shorts was a lot more comfortable than any of my school
wear or jeans. Even my jogging pants weren’t as comfy as
the shorts and didn’t hide the outline of my protection
any better. I was back to bare legs after less than a
year of wearing long trousers to school. So, after the
initial worry about wearing the padding where it might
be seen, I was encouraged by the lack of reaction from
anyone else to not give it too much thought. Mum was
adamant that under the shorts no one could tell and that
worrying what other might think was a fool’s
She knew that I
was a little uncertain about wearing shorts back to
school but showed me some photos of much older boys who
wore shorts as part of their school uniform. In fact,
the entire school seemed to wear grey shorts and they
all appeared to be at ease in doing so. What I didn’t
know at the time, and only found out later, was that
those schools were in a lot warmer climate than I was...
so no doubt they were grateful not to have to wear long
trousers in the heat.
worked. Although my mates were surprised to see a return
to them there were still a few other boys at school
wearing shorts so it wasn’t like I stood out. I insisted
that I actually found them much more comfy to wear. I
didn’t tell them about the ‘operation’ or the fact that
my thicker undies made for a more comfy time if I was
wearing shorts. My choice of what was best to wear
seemed to be working. I was less stressful about my
‘snip’ because I was no longer uncomfortable so wore
them more often than anything else.
mum noticed was that my attitude towards her changed.
I’d picked up this acting tough, thoughtless attitude
from a couple of my school friends as it had seemed the
way to be. However, under these new circumstances I
became more polite, more amenable and treated her with
respect rather than the previous disdain I’d begun to
I know I did a
lot off deep sighing but in the end mum got her way.
There had been several nervous leaks and tell-tale damp
patches that she didn’t know about, but there again,
perhaps she did and that’s why she insisted on adopting
a more preventative approach.
In fact, she
appeared to be ahead of the game because on more than
one instance, when we arrived at our ’special’
destination or eventual return home, she’d just slip her
hand down the front of my nappy and let me know I was
already wet. Then I’d be rushed to the nearest available
space for a change and off would come my shorts, plastic
pants and nappy before registering I was the slightest
bit damp. She’d have me stripped, powdered and
re-nappied in no time at all and look as pleased as
anything once I was dry. Thankfully, she’d stopped
grimacing every time she saw my aggravated looking
I didn’t know of
any other ten year old who had been circumcised. I also
didn’t know any other ten year old who wore nappies. So
simply assumed that it was how all boys who’d had a
similar operation were nursed.
doesn’t that feel better?”
Was a question
she always asked after a change and I replied in the
affirmative with a grateful smile on my face because,
well, a dry nappy means a “happy boy” (as mum often
remarked)? I began to equate being a “happy boy” with
being a “nappy boy” and it was difficult to shake that
thought. Besides, the treats she’d showered on me since
the circumcision were fantastic and I wanted them to
One late night,
which for me meant around ten o’clock, I sleepily asked
mum if I’d always need a nappy for bed. She let out a
resigned sigh, stroked my brow, kissed my forehead and
replied that I shouldn’t worry about such things as I
wasn’t the only boy my age that had a bed-wetting
problem... so I shouldn’t think about such things.
“There’ll come a
time sweetheart,” she said wistfully, “when everything
will change and you’ll look back to this time
with fondness and wish you were still mummy’s sweet
in; who or what would replace me? And I began to think
what I could do to maintain my position. I wanted to
stay mum’s sweet little cherub and worried that soon I
might not be... that thought became another major worry
I fixated on; that and my scarred and sorry looking
She patted my
padding through the blanket and smiled as if we were
having a special moment between the two of us.
“You are my only
concern... and that is to keep you safe, secure and
happy (Happy – Nappy).”
She ruffled my
return... my little sweetie-pie,” she whispered in my
ear, “you make me very happy indeed.”
The problem was,
whenever she said the word ‘happy’ I heard ‘nappy’ and
it was this thought that kept swirling around in my
head. So, despite not answering my question she’d
partially put my initial anxiety to rest, only for it to
be replaced by the thought that if I didn’t maintain the
way things were... things might change and not to my
benefit. I was more than a little scared at what that
It wasn’t like I
wet every night though in truth, I don’t think I went
more than three dry nights before I’d wake up to that
morning dampness where I was thankful I’d been wearing
protection. It was something I came to rely on and in so
doing found the layers of material more of a reassurance
than a hindrance. Nappy=Happy, Happy=Nappy,
Nappy=Happy that’s all that went through my brain.
That little ditty seemed more pervasive when I went to
As time moved on
mum said that as I was getting older I should wear
coloured plastic pants rather than just the more
juvenile see-thru, frosted or shiny white ones I’d been
wearing. She made it sound like it was a natural
progression, a rite of passage, what any growing boy
would desire and wear. This fitted into my thinking that
I was, despite wearing a nappy at night, growing up.
The fact that I
would still be wearing protection didn’t occur to me
because now my plastic pants were a nice shiny blue,
red, yellow or purple... you see... grown-up colours.
penis had healed I was constantly distressed by the
sight of it. I felt disturbed when I viewed it, even
handling it was distasteful. I didn’t
think it was a subject I could talk about with my school
friends so worried incessantly and kept its deformity a
secret. To me it always looked unhappy, if you can have
such a thing look unhappy, and as a result I was
terrified that anyone else might see it. I still wanted
to keep it hidden and as far away from view as possible.
Perhaps this was why I so often ended up
with a wet nappy, I couldn’t bear the thought of
Don’t get me
wrong, when I healed enough, I continued to wear special
thicker underpants for school and never felt pressure
from mum to wear anything else. The fact was mum always
prepared well in advance so night time protection was
usually already laid out on my bed and sometimes, and I
wasn’t unhappy about this, when I got home I couldn’t
see why I shouldn’t put it on.
I wasn’t sure
but it might have been the nagging doubt that I wouldn’t
be mum’s sweet little cherub for much longer that
also spurred me into wearing the laid out protection. I
desperately didn’t want things to change, and if things
did, then perhaps that would be the start of everything
changing and I’d be the one responsible for what was to
come. I didn’t want that – look what happened last time
I’d become careless.
As it was, the
only time mum insisted was if we were going on a
long journey or ‘special’ event, when she coerced me
into wearing ‘robust protection’. She seemed overly
worried about any public leakage on my part, which would
undoubtedly lead to my complete embarrassment. So she
was making sure I wasn’t humiliated and always there to
fit me expertly into whatever had been decided I needed.
Sometimes she’d have a new pair of plastic or rubber
pants she was trying out for the first time... or new
fabric (and occasional disposable) when she’d ask for my
opinion. It was difficult not being positive because I
thought that if she’d gone to so much trouble, she must
think it was for my benefit and if I was dismissive,
perhaps she’d begin to care less... and I didn’t want
It was strange
because I can only ever remember rebelling against this
the once. I was wearing my night time protection and
feeling hot and irritable so thought if I removed it I’d
feel a lot better; besides mum had never forbidden me to
take it off. However, once I’d squirmed out of it I did
feel less hot but an overpowering sensation of fear and
guilt replaced that particular sense (Nappy=Happy,
Happy=Nappy, Nappy=Happy) so quickly wriggled back
into it and surprisingly dropped off to sleep straight
away. In the morning I was soaked so glad I hadn’t spent
the night exposed.
simply went along with what mum decided. If it wasn’t
being kitted out for sleeping I associated being put
into a nappy as part of the process to getting a treat
of some kind... and I always wanted the treat.
Being dressed in
a nappy wasn’t an issue. Perhaps unknowingly my
cooperation, together with my shame about a ‘deformed’
thingy, had been bought with all these outings and
wonderful extravagances. I had no idea why mum suddenly
started with them, perhaps because she felt guilty for
me losing some of my manhood. Whatever the reason, it
was nice to be with her at such times because we always
had a great time together and were getting on better
experiences with her were always brilliant and I felt
really privileged that I had the type of parent who
lavished so much love and attention on their kid.
However, I didn’t know if I was wearing nappies now for
her benefit or my own. What I did remember was that
puddles of pee and my lack of cleaning up after myself,
which for some reason never even occurred to me (I don’t
know why?), was thankfully a thing of the past.
made me wear them all the time, just suggestions for
specific occasions where it seemed she was protecting me
from any awkwardness I might cause from an involuntary
spurt of pee. Then of course I wanted to wear them
because I felt safe and my injured thingy was hidden
deep within the many folds of soft fabric. Cupped as it
was behind such protection, and held in place by a
defensive guard of shiny plastic, was the only time I
sensed I had any control.
that window of opportunity after I woke up, but before I
shrugged off my damp overnight nappy, when I
occasionally wondered what I’d become.
Mum didn’t baby
me, she didn’t treat me as anything other than who I was
and the age I was. So, I didn’t feel like I was being
made to do or be anything other than me. I’d tug off the
sopping thing, dump it in the bathroom bin, do my
business, have a shower, avoid looking at my strange
naked member and get ready for school. I can’t say I
ever wanted to wear thick protection to class, the need
to keep that aspect of my person hush-hush was
overpowering, but mainly, they’d know if I wore a nappy.
So, I’d unenthusiastically pull on a clean pair of
padded underpants before dragging over my loose-fitting
grey school shorts in order to keep that secret.
Of course once
home I didn’t need to. I mean the amount of times since
the circumcision I’d arrive back and mum would insist on
inspecting the wound to make sure I was healing
correctly. She was always positive and encouraging
saying things like “It’s healing nicely” or
“let’s keep up what you’re doing as its helping”.
Then, subtly suggest that the nice, fresh padding she’d
laid out would benefit the continued restorative
process, whilst indicating those recuperating powers
would be wasted the longer I wasn’t wrapped in the
things in an easy going, jocular voice like; “Oh
you’re correct, I think you’ll feel more comfortable
once you’re in them”, or, “I think your thingy is
getting a bit fierce, better put on some healing lotion
and nappy to be on the safe side”. She was always
upbeat and smiling; there was no down side to it and
none of it was too much trouble.
protest: Nappy=Happy, Happy=Nappy, Nappy=Happy
would wheedle into my head and once that had taken hold
I really had no alternative but to comply.
If I was a bit
slow she might suggest a new balm or cream that she’d
encourage me to try and in so doing immediately after
wrap me up in layers of fabric “...to make sure it
Apart from at
night, when she insisted I was suitably enveloped, mum
never required I wore a nappy at any other time.
Although, there was always one on the dresser...
ready... should I feel the need? She would
intimate and flatter and I’d end up thinking it was me
who was the reluctant problem and should just wear what
was on offer, but she never forced me into a fresh clean
She seemed to
regard my nappy-wearing as something medicinal and
therapeutic, certainly something that would help my
pruned penis in its continued but slow recuperation. The
problem was, mum made it all sound that it was desirable
and, more importantly, what I required.
So, before I knew it, the fleecy material was
safely enclosing my crotch and I’d be set for the rest
of the day wearing padded protection.
When I was in
‘full protection’ mode, my jeans and even my jogging
bottoms hardly fit over it... if I could be bothered
wearing them, so most often I didn’t bother. Mum didn’t
seem to be troubled by her growing son wondering around
the house in such a state – she didn’t encourage it (I
don’t think) but certainly didn’t object either.
She often said
that since the circumcision it was best to cover my
penis in soft fabric to keep it healthy. So, wearing a
nappy made sure that I was focused on keeping the area
pristine and clean. It never occurred to me that the
constant dousing in pee might have had something to do
with my willie staying a bit red and raw. However, as I
peed myself at night I had no way around such a problem.
She’d shrewdly made me think that any young guy who’d
had a similar operation also wore such comfy fabric to
help stop irritation and continue to aid recovery...
even long after I’d seemingly recovered.
Actually, I had
very little to do with that side of things because mum
was the one who kept an eye on it all. Because most
mornings I was still waking up waterlogged the
protection I wore was as mum had said; “Something
that is required”.
Even when I was
much better, she dressed, anointed, powdered and
inspected the area almost daily so all I had to do was
let her know if I itched or felt uncomfortable. So, as
well as nappies, she even powdered my padded underpants
for school. All in the name of keeping me safe and, as
they never felt too unpleasant under my trousers, I
didn’t complain, so she never asked if I was okay with
it all... it had become normal practice.
the first year or so the treats got fewer but my nappy
wearing was maintained every night and any other
‘special’ occasion. ‘Special’ now seemed to mean anytime
I wasn’t at school, where, as I mentioned, I wore
underpants; white cotton, well-powdered and padded
underpants to be precise. However, as soon as I got home
after class I’d find night time protection always laid
out on my bed. Also possibly a new pair of plastic
pants, as well as canisters of powder and lotion mum
thought was prudent to use. She insisted it was there to
make sure everything was protected and kept in the
healthiest possible state. So a nappy change and
lashings of lotion were for health reasons and not only
because of my nocturnal flood. I still simply assumed
that everyone my age who’d been circumcised was facing
the same course of treatment and a fresh, dry nappy
wasn’t a problem it was a help.
As I got older I
suddenly realised that mum had me circumcised because of
the dribbles and yet now, I wore a nappy, it wouldn’t
have mattered if I dribbled as the material would take
care of it. I was also absolutely sure that something
happened, or had gone wrong, when I had the cut because
I didn’t wet the bed at all before then. Also, I was
convinced the scar tissue was something major despite
mum saying it was absolutely nothing to worry about. I
did worry... constantly. It didn’t help that my wetting
was getting worse.
Mum would have
none of this conspiracy theory, insisting that my
bed-wetting was more likely down to hormones as I was
getting older and my entire body was going through many
boys your age, as they go through puberty and
adolescence, sometimes wet the bed... so it’s no big
deal. We’re just ahead of the game and have planned for
such developments. You sweetheart are a leader. You’re
organised, at ease with the situation and more
importantly a fantastic example for anyone your age. You
should be proud of yourself... because I am.”
Of course when
mum said anything like that I just was so full of pride
my self-satisfaction would hit danger levels and I’d
smugly feel an air of superiority around my well
protected groin. My ego would inflate to the size of the
bulk under my slippery smooth pants and I’d be putty in
mum’s very caring hands and do whatever she recommended.
From the very
beginning she’d made nappy wearing no big deal and I
came to associate the soft fabric as something soothing
and healing so therefore desirable for my wellbeing -
happened when I was twelve that had little to do with
circumcision but had a huge impact on my attitude to
wearing protection - my cousin Bradley came to live with
us. Aunty Jane, mum’s other sister, lived over two
hundred miles away from us so we very rarely saw her.
I’d not seen Bradley since he was three and now he was a
nine year old; it shows just how much we didn’t keep in
Jane was going through a very messy divorce, which
according to mum was about time (she’d never liked or
got on with Uncle Thomas... she thought he was a bully).
However, Uncle Thomas was making the divorce an
unpleasant procedure and even though he no longer lived
with my aunt and their son, was demanding access to him,
which neither wanted, and making threats. Aunt Jane was
scared of what might happen and begged mum to take
Bradley in for the foreseeable future and the final
Mum asked me if
I’d mind. I wasn’t keen to begin with, worrying that a
nine year old might become her sweet little cherub.
However, she told me all the facts and painted a picture
of poor little Bradley suffering and needing a refuge
from all the bickering and intimidation. Put that way I
could hardly say no even though it had been just mum and
me for all these years. So mum agreed to take him in
temporarily having thanked me for not only agreeing to
his stay but for insisting he should come.
delivered Bradley on a flying visit where she unloaded
her son (she did look drained and very unhappy) together
with a small suitcase with his belongings. She couldn’t
thank mum and me enough for doing what we were doing but
begged us not to let her husband have access to Bradley
should he come looking. The entire thing sounded very
scary and fraught with menace.
Bradley looked as worn and scared as his mother with the
very mention of his father making him fearful and
tearful; the poor nine year old looked and acted like a
first grader anxious about his first day at school. I
think he barely remembered either me or mum and was
perhaps wondering why he was being separated from his
own mother. She tried to remain positive, whilst both
mum and I tried to make him feel welcome but as soon as
she departed, he seemed inconsolable as the stream of
tears dripped from his flushed cheeks.
Even mum’s hugs
and reassurances, which I’d always found incredibly
comforting, had no effect and he cried and cried for the
rest of the day. At first I was sceptical about this
visitor. Even though it had been quite some time since
mum had mentioned about being her sweet little cherub,
I was still worried my position might be usurped.
However, I felt so sorry for the poor little guy. I’m
not sure had this happened before my circumcision if I’d
be more guarded, but now I wanted mum to hug him as much
as he needed to get over whatever trauma he’d suffered.
As we only have
two bedrooms in our house Bradley would be sharing my
room and, as I now possessed a double bed, he would be
sharing that with me. I would have to explain why I, a
boy older then him, wore protection to bed, which I was
sure would only lead to further confusion and possible
humiliation for me, though mum thought not.
As it was,
Bradley was so worn out with the journey and no doubt
the weeks and weeks of turmoil at home he was so tired
mum immediately put him to bed. In his suitcase were all
his clothes so as he took a quick bath mum got his
pyjamas ready and found a spare drawer for the rest of
his few possessions. Whilst I was still downstairs
watching TV mum checked our visitor was comfortable,
helping him into his clean cotton pjs, and still trying
to console the scared little chap. She stayed with him
in my room until she was sure he’d fallen asleep. That
would mean I wouldn’t have to explain anything about my
own sleeping arrangements until the morning.
why he was in such a vulnerable situation and asked me
to be aware that it was all strange and daunting for a
sensitive young boy such as him. She asked me to be
gentle and reassuring in the way I spoke to him and let
him come around to his new circumstances in his own
time. I understood all that and, at mum’s submission,
might be fun having a ‘brother’, no matter how damaged
he was, even for just a short time.
Later, mum got
me ready for bed in the bathroom so as not to disturb
Bradley. I did wonder what he’d think when he eventually
saw I had to wear a nappy and thick plastic pants to
bed, but for the moment all I had to do was know that I
had a very frightened little boy lying next to me and I
had to look after for him.
I’d never had
school friends for a sleepover so this was a new
experience for me, sharing a bed with another person. Of
course I‘d slept in mum’s bed on many occasions but this
seemed different and was unsure what to do. I was
pleased he was asleep when I clambered in beside him and
before I fell asleep I whispered a “Goodnight”, which I
hoped he’d hear in whatever dreamland he was visiting.
However, I lay
awake thinking. My thick silky protection rustled softly
as I tried to get myself comfortable without waking my
tired guest. At one point he let out a little scream and
sob which he quickly silenced by sucking on his thumb. I
really wanted to cuddle him so he’d know there was
someone there for comfort but wasn’t sure if that was
something I was allowed to do.
I didn’t have
the best of nights but did wake up to find Bradley
sleepily hugging me. His arm was draped across my
plastic pants and he was squeezed up tight into the
small of my back. I don’t know how he got into this
position without me knowing but his little body seemed
to be holding on for all he was worth. I could feel the
warmth of both him and my drenched nappy and wondered if
it was best just to lie there until he woke up.
He seemed in no
hurry to wake up and wriggled constantly up against my
soft padding, which again I wasn’t sure was something
that was allowed. However, it wasn’t doing me any harm
and he obviously needed as much sleep as possible so I
eventually stretched out, put my arm around him and
pulled him in until he was resting in the crook of my
came in and smiled at the both of us lying there; he
cuddled up against me, whilst I was wondering what the
rest of his stay was going to be like. Mum gently roused
him from his dreams and he yawned himself awake but
nervously looked around his new environment. He still
wasn’t quite sure where he was so pulled away as if he
was seeing me for the first time.
need to get ready for school, meanwhile Bradley, why not
join me for breakfast?”
Our guest seemed
a little nervous about getting up but, as I drew back
the covers he noticed my billowing protection and burst
It was a weird
sound but it was nice to see him smile for the first
time since he’d arrived.
“Do you mind?” I
said in mock seriousness. “A chap needs his protection
when he’s sleeping with others.”
continued as he reached out to examine the bulging
plastic pants that were now in his eye-line.
Before he could
ask I volunteered the information.
“I have a
serious bed-wetting problem... I don’t know why...
but... ermmm... the easiest way to stop me from waking
up to a wet bed is a nappy. That way I only wake up to
that, whilst the plastic pants keep everything else
“But you look
like a big baby.” He scoffed.
countered, “but a dry big baby.” I emphasised
quite wrongly, I was wringing wet.
He smiled again
but shook his head in disbelief.
“I don’t know
why you sound superior... you spent the night time
snuggled up to it,” I stroked the plastic he’d been
mocking, “and with your thumb in your mouth.”
was no point in arguing so I just shrugged my shoulders
and ambled off to the bathroom.
school to worry about, Bradley sauntered down to the
kitchen for breakfast.
“What do you
like for breakfast sweetie? We have cereal, toast... and
I think we still have a couple of hot-cross buns if you
He opted for
He sat quietly
munching on his food but mum tried to put him at ease.
“I know this is
a difficult time for you Bradley, but I want you to know
that we’re very pleased to have you as our guest... and
I’m sure as soon as mummy has things sorted out she’ll
come and get you.”
His eyes looked
like they’d fill up again and mum wondered if she was
making things worse.
I joined them at
the table and as I walked past ruffled his hair and said
I bet he was glad that at least he didn’t have school to
He wiggled his
head from side to side; I think he was pleased about
I also think he
checked out my school shorts to see if I was wearing
protection under them but of course... not for school.
Mum likes me to be smart so it’s always a clean shirt,
nicely tied tie, brushed and shiny shoes, pulled up
socks and spotless school blazer. Although the shorts
were quite loose-fitting, the entire uniform made me
look well-turned-out. Mum's always proud of the way I
dressed for school and since returning to wearing shorts
had been even more complimentary than before, which I
Bradley hadn’t noticed, until mum pointed out, was that
his pyjama bottoms had a rather large wet stain on them.
He instantly stopped munching on his cereal, looked down
and his eyes and face scrunched into a painful
expression. He was most embarrassed and ran from the
kitchen back up to our bedroom.
I have to admit
that I didn’t notice the bed being wet, so perhaps he’d
had a little accident wondering where he was when he
woke up... maybe he was disorientated?
trying to reassure him that he need not worry but she
found him crying heavily into the pillows on the bed.
“I, I, I don’t
want to have to wear a, a, a nappy.” He sniffled, upset
at what had taken place.
“No one said
you’d have to sweetie.”
“But, but you
make T,T,Terry wear one.”
Terry wears a nappy because he has a problem... yours...
I’m sure is just a little accident... no one is going to
make you wear...” She gently cuddled him.
comforting words were said there was a realisation she
couldn’t make such a promise. What if this wasn’t just a
one off accident, what if the boy was traumatised by
family events and this was the reaction. No, she had to
be reassuring but keep her options open. He was a
frightened little boy but if things got worse, he may
just need the support and security of tight fitting
nappies and plastic pants.
Whilst he was in
the bathroom she checked the bed and there was a very
slight bit of dampness to his side. She changed the
sheet and was grateful that there’d been a waterproof
mattress cover on for some time. The mattress protector
I’d lived with since I got the double bed.
No more was said
and Bradley dressed in his usual clothes. He spent the
rest of the day getting to know the house and garden,
which in truth wasn’t that impressive. However, mum
raided my old cupboard and found some toys to occupy
him. According to mum he spent equal amounts of time
looking engrossed in a game, or looking miserable
wondering what was going to happen to him and his mum.
Apparently, when mum’s back was turned, he ate an entire
box of chocolates in a matter of minutes.
nothing, the boy had been through enough without being
rebuked for being a bit greedy.
morning I woke up to find a pretty distressed looking
Bradley holding his tummy and moaning.
I knew this
couldn’t be him making excuses because, for the moment
at least, he wasn’t going to school and mum had said
she’d take him to the park.
when my tummy hurts mum has me drink some Andrews.”
“It’s like a
sparkling, effervescent drink that always seems to help
clear... Look, I’ll get you some and see if it works.”
I hopped out of
bed. My silky plastic pants holding up my soggy nappy
quite well I thought as I played nurse to my ailing
He watched as I
spooned in the white crystals into a cold glass of water
and told him it worked better if he drank it whilst it
He took a
nervous sip and smiled as the bubbles tickled the end of
his nose. Pretty soon he’d downed the whole lot so told
him to give it a few minutes before he moved. I heard
mum shouting from downstairs that breakfast was on the
table so rushed off to get ready for school and left him
smiling face of Bradley joined us and I noticed that
small damp patch again on the front of his PJs. I
wondered if mum would say anything and I could see she’d
clocked it but just poured him some juice and moved back
to the fridge.
whilst she was attending to something else he whispered
how good ‘that stuff’ was.
“I just did a
massive fart,” he smiled secretively at me whilst making
sure mum hadn’t heard him use such a word and getting
into trouble. “No tummy-ache... I feel a lot better
We didn’t know
until much later that as his stomach was still aching
he’d returned to the bathroom cabinet and taken even
more Andrews (quite a lot more) and was convinced that
had made him do his ‘massive fart’ which made him feel
better. He had no idea of the consequences.
wasn’t in pain I didn’t think to mention giving him any
medicine so went off to school innocent of any turmoil
mum told him to get a wash and then ready for their
planned day out at the park. She’d decided to show him
around so he could see what our small town had to offer
ending up at the food court in the Mall where he could
choose what he wanted for lunch. It was going to be a
treat and so she could get to know him a lot better when
hopefully he was more relaxed about being away from his
That morning his
mum had spoken to him and told him that she’d be back to
collect him before too long, but, in other conversations
she had with mum said things were bad though hoped to
sort things out soon. Mum reassured her that he was
welcome to stay as long as she needed him to but would
have to enrol him in school if it was going to be more
than a couple of weeks.
Aunt Jane hoped
it wouldn’t be that long but didn’t really know - as
long as Bradley was out of the line of fire and safe she
was happy... ish.
As he was going
to the park Bradley got dressed in his football strip of
white shorts and red shirt and hoped there’d be other
kids there with whom he could play football. The journey
is part urban and part suburban and is about a twenty
minute drive from our place.
After about ten
minutes mum said she could see he was a bit agitated and
wondered what the problem might be when he suddenly
announce that she should stop the car. She told him that
we’d be at the park in just a few minutes and besides,
at that moment, there was nowhere for her to pull over.
She asked if he needed the loo, he nodded. She asked if
it was urgent, he looked pained and nodded again. She
looked for a spot to pull over and saw up ahead a layby
and told Bradley to hold on he could have a wee there.
Alas, no sooner
had she pulled in than he opened the door and made it
about three steps before his full and churning bowel let
loose. The thin underpants and
polyester shorts soaked nothing up as the explosive
contents of his bottom let rip. The poor boy didn’t even
make it to the sanctuary of the few trees that might
have given him a little bit of privacy. There were a few
beeps from passing vehicles that’d witnessed Bradley’s
incident. His failure to get his shorts down in time and
the wetness of his accident saw much of the watery mess
trickle down his legs soaking everything from top to
bottom and reduced him to a pitiful, weeping boy at the
side of the road.
Mum said she
ushered him behind the trees as soon as she could but
the poor boy was embarrassed and scared of what had just
happened and begged mum not to punish him. She went all
out to comfort him and eventually, after quite a few
minutes of reassurance told him to wait where he was and
she’d see about getting him in a slightly better
condition before they returned home. He didn’t want to
change but mum said he couldn’t travel in her car in
such a state. Everything he was wearing was a complete
smelly mess so he’d need changing. As it was, the only
stuff she had was my emergency nappy pack she always
carried in the boot of the car and it was with this she
returned to Bradley hidden for a little privacy behind a
couple of low bushes.
him what was in the bag she slowly and lovingly stripped
him naked and put his messy clothes in a large black
plastic bag. Then she swabbed him using a mixture of wet
wipes, a damp cloth (she had to dampen it from the water
bottle she had with her) and a spare towel that was also
in the bag. Once he was as clean as she could get him
came the moment when she knew he would react.
She fluffed out
a disposable and started to put it on him. He reacted
badly crying, screaming and shouting “NO” but mum
pointed out there was no choice as she had nothing else.
After many minutes of tears and guarantees she finally
got him into it with the promise that they would go
straight home... the park and a game of football
was quite large on him but did the job and whilst she
had him slightly calmer slipped up a pair of my reserve
plastic pants to hold everything in place. He was not
happy at all and refused to budge. But mum maintained
that he looked fine and no one would be able to tell if
he didn’t make a fuss. By now the traffic had lessened
but he felt apprehensive about walking the few feet to
the car desperately hoping that as fewer people as
possible spotted his slinky protection.
Mum kept telling
him she was sorry but it was all she had to clothe him
but he sat annoyed and unhappy as she drove to the next
roundabout and started the return journey. The subdued
boy wriggled trying to get comfortable. Mum wasn’t sure
if this was because he was actually uncomfortable or if
he was making a point. However, she admitted to herself
that he looked a lot like me when I only wore a
disposable covered by vinyl pants... and was quite used
to that scenario.
just before they drove down our road, Bradley was once
again hit with the need to flush out whatever was left
and at the same time his bladder joined in. A surprised
and distressing moan escaped his trembling lips followed
by tears and sobbed apologies. He arrived back with an
incredibly messy disposable sagging heavily behind huge
It was his turn
to feel bad. Twice he’d filled his pants in the most
undignified of ways and was thankful that what he was
wearing actually helped from turning the car into a
roadside convenience. He was completely and utterly
distraught and apprehensive about what was to come as a
result of such a catastrophe.
Mum had no idea
at all about Bradley complaining of a poorly stomach,
nor did she know he’d taken loads of Andrews to get rid
of it. All she knew was that Bradley had filled his
pants twice so she was taking no chances. Luckily, the
protection had done its job and had contained the
secondary mess quite well. Although she made a note
about that amount of protection being barely adequate
so, a bit more padding would make it better and lessen
any anxiety, even if it was her anxiety about the house
being turned into a public toilet.
She cleaned him
up as best she could but thought a complete shower,
which she supervised, was a better idea. There was no
chance of Bradley being embarrassed by mum seeing him
naked; she’d already seen him at his worst. He meekly
did as mum told him to as she sponged him down making
sure he was completely clean.
So, once out of
the shower, and despite his timid protestations, he was
wrapped in a similar fabric nappy as I wore for bed and
had the same white plastic pants pulled over to keep it
in place. She wanted no arguments, insisting this was
only a temporary measure, until she’d sorted out what
the problem was.
When I got home
there was one very grumpy boy sat watching television
and I noticed he was wearing exactly the same as I did
for bed. I wondered if he’d wet after I’d gone and mum
was punishing him but I tried not to make a big deal
I’m not on my own... the Corp needs more honest and true
He didn’t appear
very impressed and just huffily shrugged and ignored me.
boy in similar protection to what I wore was quite an
eye-opener. I didn’t realise how much I needed to know
others wore the same as me... and here was my new little
‘brother’ in the same outfit and not looking much
different to the way I was often dressed.
I called on mum
in the kitchen and she brought me up to speed. She
seemed worried he would find being put into protection,
even if it was for his own good, too much of a trauma...
and he’d suffered enough of that already. I explained
about his tummy ache and the glass of Andrews. She was
sure that couldn’t have given him such a reaction but
agreed it might have contributed.
(I only found
out much later when he told me that, as his tummy still
hurt and how much he’d liked the Andrews,
so took some more. He hadn’t acquainted the two things
as having any significance but anyway, by then he was
wearing a nappy and plastic pants at night... like me.
So I wasn’t going to say anything.)
Meanwhile, I had
an idea and dashed up to our room, removed my school
uniform and returned wearing exactly the same as
now we can tackle the world’s naughty people together...
fighting evil and heroically save those desperately sad
folk who don’t have plastic armour to wear.”
He looked up
bemused but no longer ignoring me.
you’ve joined the ranks of the plastic pants brigade...
better known as... da da da darrrrr – The Armoured Pant
Corps.” I said encouragingly.
I plonked myself
down beside him and rubbed our plastic pants together.
“We are now
bonded for life.”
There was a
little indecision in his eyes so I stepped it up a
Bradley the Great... promise to uphold the laws of the
Armoured Pant Corps; fight evil and protect the world
I’d wished I’d
used a better term than naughtiness but he seemed to
suddenly get the game.
“To wear your
special, impregnable plastic protection for the good of
others?” I continued.
“Erm... yes... I
promise.” He nodded with more enthusiasm than I could
“Then let it be
known throughout the land that Bradley the Great and
Terry the Terrified... erm... Terrifying.” He laughed at
this silly mistake. “Have joined forces to rid the world
of wickedness and the universe can rest assured it is
now under our protection.”
I indicated our
respective shiny plastic pants on the word ‘protection’.
I saw mum
watching from the doorway but Bradley couldn’t see her.
She looked so happy that I’d managed to get the morose
little boy of earlier, involved in a project... as silly
as it was.
“OK, swear on
your plastic pants that you do so... erm... swear.”
We both put our
hand on our plastic mound and saluted (he followed my
salute to him) “I so swear,” we chorused.
I’d watched how
mum gently but very persuasively had gotten him to wear
the same as me. She made it sound like it was his
idea... and such a brilliant idea... that he wanted to
be safe and dress like me. After all; “Protectors of
the Universe needed protection of their own... didn’t
praise on him being a thoughtful and grown-up boy for
doing such a thing, which made him very pleased with
himself. Mum told me to keep reinforcing what a good,
considerate boy he was as we cuddled together before
dropping off. Oddly enough, from that moment on he wore
protection whenever I did and mum seemed more than happy
to change his wet nappy if need be. She just changed him
like she did me, with no comment and as if it was the
most natural thing in the world to do for a couple of
I told him that
it was as we dreamt we could journey to anywhere and
everywhere to do our Super Hero work. He seemed happy
with that explanation though where I got it from I don’t
know. In the morning I’d wake up more often than not
soaked, whilst he would wake up damp. He rarely wet the
way I did but there were trickles so seemed more than
content to drop off wearing such defence.
When I say
‘rarely wet like me’ I don’t mean he never did. On two
occasions he woke up completely and utterly drenched,
though he didn’t know why. Then on a couple of other
occasions fairly early on, he messed himself after two
particularly scary nightmares. I was jarred awake by a
sudden kick and a frightened muffled scream. I could
hear my bed mate making muted scared noises and tossing
around like a boy possessed. He woke up and was a crying
ball of confusion not knowing what to do and obviously
very, very worried.
By the time I
realised what was going on and tried to comfort him he’d
filled his night time protection and appeared even more
scared. As always, mum took it in her stride and praised
him for wearing a nappy, continually going on about how
brilliant it was that he wore protection. She even
thanked him for saving her from having to do a ton of
laundry. The plastic pants had once again come into
their own, mum swore by them.
It may sound
strange but, as easily as Bradley had accepted the
plastic and fabric safeguard at night, so it didn’t seem
so bad for me and I accepted my need for it more
willingly than perhaps I had been. Not that I’d been
creating a fuss or anything it was just something I had
to wear but now it was something I could share, it
seemed fun? I did feel like we were a ‘special’ little
team of nappy wearers and as such were distinctive, and
I’m embarrassed to say, extraordinary.
Mum was always
positive about us wearing nappies though, if we had
anyone visiting, school friends or neighbours, we’d wear
underpants under our shorts. For me it was always a
relief come bed time when it was back into our nightly
Nappy=Happy, Happy=Nappy’ couldn’t have been truer as I
enjoyed the fact that both of us now wore them and we
both seemed content with the way things were. I’m not
sure that Bradley had the refrain zinging around his
brain but his total acceptance for his night attire made
everything so much better. Our bed time chats and our
mutual vinyl rustling were definitely the highlights of
The fact that I
was embarrassed about my scarred, and as I saw it,
deformed willie became less of an issue. I was more at
ease with having Bradley around and us spending so much
together. Privacy was one thing that I’d been used to
but of course sharing a room this became impossible and
then completely unimportant. He saw me being changed and
I watched as he was also fitted into his safeguard.
There was no embarrassment just a joint feeling of
Our joint night
time security was a major bond between us and even if it
was just sitting watching TV together, it didn’t seem
strange. He opened up and we chatted about everything
from the few mates he had at home, to his parent’s
constant fighting and his hopes of becoming an
astronaut. (I’m sure the thought of getting away from
his squabbling parents having something to do with that
ambition). I think he was glad to have me as a
distraction to his own worries and the frequent calls
from his mother, although always positive, never gave
him a date when they’d be together again. He could have
slipped into despair but I like to think that, perhaps
without knowing it, we helped each other with our
In truth, things
were not going well with the divorce and it was
anticipated he’d be with us for some time so mum
enrolled him at my school. She’d raided the attic and I
was surprised by how much of my old clothing she’d kept;
I thought it had long gone to a charity shop. She sorted
through and found plenty of stuff still functional and
made it available to Bradley.
He took great
delight in wearing a pair of my rather colourful
childish pyjamas I’d had when I was seven. He joked
saying that he thought I must have looked very cute in
them... and then he roared with laughter as he said now
it was his turn. Wearing a thick nappy under them I had
to agree he did look very cute indeed.
My old school
uniform fitted him and thankfully was still smart and
functional... as were quite a lot of my old clothes. He
even ended up wearing some of my underwear from when I
was his age... everything looked pretty good on him.
strained, not having anyone he knew apart from me,
whilst his reticence to mix and make friends made things
difficult. He always seemed glad to see me at the end of
the school day when we’d meet up to walk home together.
I urged him to make friends but his response was it
didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to be here that long.
I found it
rewarding to see him wearing my old clothes as we walked
the mile or so to and from our classes each day. As I
say it was like having a brother and more than one
person who didn’t know the circumstances assumed that
was exactly what we were.
He appeared to
like having a big brother and I certainly liked having a
At night, laid
in bed, if he wasn’t asleep (he went to bed slightly
earlier than I did) we’d chat and giggle and he’d tell
me all his plans. His father occasionally got mentioned
(and not in a good way) but hoped he and his mum could
come and live with or near us. Other times we’d make up
stories about saving the universe wearing our special
plastic armour, taking down bad guys and ‘smelly
criminals’ (that was one of his phrases). His
imagination was better than mine, the stories and
adventures he came up with were quite fantastic, night
times were fun.
He was with us
almost six months when his mother nervously arrived to
pick him up. Uncle Thomas was in prison for threatening
behaviour and contempt of court. So, aunty and my cousin
suddenly moved to a completely different town where he
couldn’t track them down. Well, that’s what mum told me
but I suspect there was a lot more going on than either
she or aunty let on.
I’m not sure if
mum had mentioned to auntie about Bradley’s need for a
nappy at night, or that he’d been wearing one all the
time he’d been with us. However, he did leave with more
clothes than he came with as mum loaded him up with all
my still serviceable old stuff.
I was sad to see
Bradley go. We’d become really good friends and I liked
having a younger brother to look after. Now I’m not
saying we never fell out or hadn’t had arguments but, in
general, perhaps because we had to share a bed at night,
I thought we got on pretty well.
There had been
times when he said he didn’t want to wear a nappy to bed
and mum would agree with him that he didn’t need to but
only if he woke up in a dry nappy. He rarely did. She
would tell him how clever he was for anticipating the
possibility he might wet and praised a dry bed
My bed was very
empty without my slippery-panted bed mate and Armoured
Pant Corps wingman.
After our guest
and his mother departed we didn’t hear from them for a
few weeks. I was sad to lose my little friend and it was
through his juvenile teasing that I came to accept
wearing nappies simply because there was never any spite
in his comments. Of course I gave as good as I got but
there was something, a link perhaps, between us both
that meant that everything was okay.
I’m sure my
trauma was nothing compared to his but Bradley relaxed
with us and I think even mum’s insistence on him, like
me, wearing protection to bed was a display of
thoughtfulness and love. At the very least it stopped
any worries he might have had about wetting his pyjamas
and the daily embarrassment that would have caused.
Well that’s how
I saw it and hope my little brother did too.
##tbc##owever, I didn’t fall
years since the operation and I adopted nappies as a
secure way to help in my willie’s recovery but I have to
admit that I still wet at night. I’ve no idea
(nor does any doctor I’ve seen) why I should be wetting
at my age but to be perfectly truthful, I’m incredibly
grateful it’s my padding that takes on that
We’ve tried over
the years to see if I can manage without that magic
‘sponge’ between my legs, although I don’t know why but
sleep and a wet nappy seem to go hand in hand. It
appears I can’t stop. I still sleep fully ‘wrapped
and sealed’ (as mum once joked) and I’m not sure I
would sleep at all if it wasn’t so.
Over the years
I’ve had dreams that involved the painful removal of
that flappy bit of skin and wondered if mum was onto
something all that time ago. She’d equated that
disastrous operation with each nightly flood. My not
very prettily cut penis is a constant reminder of that
event (even if mum and doctor insists that there’s
nothing wrong with it now) and it wouldn’t be wrong to
say a shiver of trepidation, whether night or day, has
had the occasional effect of an unexpected spurt of pee.
My night time wetting isn’t done on purpose as I can
never remember ever wanting, or needing, to go to the
toilet so, perhaps I’ve clung onto wearing nappies with
It may seem
strange that after all this time I haven’t lost the need
for protection. In fact, if anything, I’ve come to rely
on it more and more. I can’t pretend that I haven’t
tried to stop wearing it but all attempts have ended in
failure. At these times, if mum sees I’m looking
frustrated, angry or even slightly begrudging (and
occasionally I do) she beams her best smile, whispers in
my ear that there is nothing to worry about. So,
whilst it’s stopping any embarrassment on my part... I
should be happy in my nappy.
refrain fills my brain every thought tells me that
wearing a nappy is good for me and will make me happy.
Oddly enough, I do usually feel better knowing that I
have mum’s support and can’t think why I resented its
presence even for a moment.
Two months after
Bradley left us mum received a cheque for quite a hefty
sum of money. I assumed it was from auntie to pay for
all the care and attention mum had spent on our little
guest. Anyway, she said it was a great deal more than
she’d anticipate. I hadn’t realised that there was a
financial side to the deal... still it was most welcome
and mum thought a special treat was justified.
mentioned before I love treats but this was
extra-special because she said we deserve a holiday to
the Mediterranean sun. This was an exhilarating
possibility and I could hardly contain my visible
excitement at the prospect. I loved every aspect of it;
the planning, the booking of flights and hotel, the
packing and the journey itself. Though most of all I
loved the sun once we got there.
Now she makes
sure that we go abroad several times a year and I have
to say I love visiting all those lovely destinations.
However, when we’re flying off to some sunnier climate
she insists that I’m well-padded for the journey. She’s
not that keen on me sharing the inflight toilet with
hundreds of other people so tells me to use my nappy if
I’m desperate to go. I try to stay dry but don’t always
when we go out anywhere, she also recommends secure
padding because, although she is enthusiastic about
seeing all the wonderful places of interest, she isn’t
keen on the state of sanitation in some of these places.
I have to agree.
I don’t mind as
I’m pretty obsessed about not letting my disfigured
willie be exposed to anything I worry might make it
‘flare up’. The thick padding always seems a good
precaution, although she insists it is me that made this
‘nappy’ rule despite her saying.
disposable is better than contracting some infection as
a result of poor toilet facilities”.
Not that they
are all bad but some of the more public, and
touristy ones are in a terrible state so:
to be safe than sorry”.
Even now I’m
fourteen years old, mum’s thinking of my health and
welfare. In fact, she’s said on more than one occasion
that my protection is there for good reason and
whilst it’s doing me no harm I shouldn’t be afraid to
wear or use it.
Not once has she
ever complained about my wetting problem or thought that
my wearing a nappy was in anyway a criticism of who I
am. In fact, if anything, it is mum who encourages me to
wear a nappy as often and whenever I want. She sees it
as a sensible precaution and prevention from any
unfortunate accidents... and as always I can’t disagree
with her. Even more so when I realise too late that I
needed to pee and my warm nappy has thankfully taken
care of it all. I’d be mortified if anyone saw a wet
patch as I wondered some historic site and I’d hate to
embarrass mum if anyone spied what I’d done.
No, no, NO. I’d
rather have a bulky nappy covered in thick waterproof
plastic than a wet stain any day... I always feel a lot
safer when I wear them. It’s like the insurance policy
mum had to take out for our travels – you hope you won’t
need it but you’re so glad you had it if you do.
These days the
prospect of people mentioning my padded bottom or sleek
genital area, or catching a glimpse of my vinyl pants,
is no longer a worry to me. If folk say anything I can
always inform them of my urinary problem or simply
ignore them. Not since the very early
days of wearing has it been a problem and that’s down to
the way mum treats me and such padding. She jokes that
guys who prefer white CK briefs really want a nappy but
don’t have the guts to wear one.
A nappy is just
underwear, the underwear I wear.
Once when we
were talking about it she’d playfully called it my
‘cushion of love’ and in that strangely
inappropriate comment I’d never felt closer to my
mother. She loved me and that was all that mattered and
I wanted to maintain that love.
I know that
sounds like I’m a bit of a mummy’s boy, and I
suppose since the snip I have relied on her taking care
of my wellbeing and welfare. I think being an only
parent she’s doing a remarkable job and when we had
Bradley with us, I could see just how caring mum was...
and is. She made time for us both. She didn’t treat our
visitor any differently than she did me and spent equal
amounts of time encouraging us when needed and
sympathising if we were feeling upset. Whatever she did
we’d both come away feeling better because of her so, if
I’m a mummy’s boy... it’s because I have a wonderful,
I know that
wearing a nappy can be thought of as being a bit
juvenile but thick padding has saved my embarrassment on
more occasions than I care to remember so for me they
are a reliable friend. I don’t want you to think that
mum forces me into wearing a nappy all the time, because
I don’t. At school I don’t and if I don’t want to I
don’t. However, over time I’ve come to both rely and
appreciate what a nappy can offer that a pair of briefs
or boxers can’t. So it’s my choice...
instance, if we go to the beach I don’t wear a nappy I
wear my pale blue nylon Speedos. I love to swim in the
sea (although mum’s not that enthusiastic) where, if I
have to, I can wee in the ocean without consequence and
later innocently lay out on a towel in the sun, which I
also like. This is what’s so wonderful
about our holidays abroad... I enjoy the sun and if I
had my way I’d like to live in Spain or one of the Greek
However, mum is
always hovering with suntan cream and lotions which she
liberally smears all over me. She takes
protection very seriously so there’s not a bit of skin
that doesn’t get a thick coating... and I mean
everywhere. She’s also very strict about how much time
I’m allowed to lie out in the sun and is often calling
me to put on some t-shirt over my reddening skin. I do
like it when I go a little bit tanned because there is a
nice white patch around my groin where I’ve worn my
Speedos, which looks like the marker for where a nappy
should be pinned. It was mum who pointed this out and we
both giggled at the idea.
However, when we
get back to the hotel I have to take a long shower.
After being in the sea she insists on a really good
cleaning, after which, copious amounts of antiseptic
cream and anti-rash lotion (not unlike the suntan
lotion) are slathered in to my untanned nappy area.
Sometimes I do it myself but even then she always checks
so, it’s just as easy to leave her to do it for me and
then at least we know it’s on correctly.
As usual mum has
a disposable (for holiday use) laid out ready for when
we go out to dinner. She checks which colourful holiday
outfit I want to wear and then matches the coloured
plastic pants to it so I feel co-ordinated. I know this
might sound stupid but I do feel more grown-up knowing
the vinyl cover matches my clothes.
These days I
don’t even think about it, a nappy seems to be what’s
needed and mum still insists it’s better for a
circumcised boy (no matter how long ago it was done) to
feel the soft reassuring, comfortable material hugging
and keeping his ‘bits and bobs’ safe.
‘reassuring’ is the main point about wearing a nappy.
Despite occasional spurts of pee at the most inopportune
moments they take care of any difficulty and stop it
becoming a crisis.
Once we’ve eaten
we often walk through the resort occasionally stopping
at some cute little bar where she might sit and have a
coffee as we watch the other holiday makers enjoying
themselves. It appears strange that most kids are not
that interested in being with their families, simply
intent on looking at their phones for entertainment. To
my mind they are missing out on the wonderful night time
vistas; the white-washed cobbled streets lit by the
occasional lamp, or the subtly lit castle that dominates
a particular skyline. It’s all just wonderful.
Mum likes to
chat and if it isn’t with me she’ll start up a
conversation with whoever’s sat at a nearby table. She
encourages me to join in and often, in a matter of a few
minutes, we’ll be deep in conversation with new friends
as if we’ve known them all our lives.
A couple of
times I’ve seen both kids and grown-ups looking at my
protection (sometimes it can be seen if my shorts ride
up and expose my plastic pants) and I can see a query
coming. One or two kids have called me a baby but I just
shrug and ignore them. The insult doesn’t worry me
because I don’t feel, or am treated, like a baby. Mum
has never treated me as a baby and tells anyone
interested that I have a ‘urinary problem’ and
protection is the best way to deal with it.
This excuse of
having a ‘urinary problem’ was something I hadn’t
expected but could tell mum was just using it so that I
didn’t feel like I had to go deep into explaining being
circumcised etc. So, for the last couple of years we’d
been using that as the excuse for padding.
was something I now did almost all the time (I still
wore padded underpants to school) and mum seemed okay
with it. I’d managed to convince her that I didn’t mind
such a dependable way to prevent the occasional mishap
during the day, or the practical thick padding I needed
at night where my flooding has not declined.
I think she was
relieved that I didn’t demand that ‘butcher’ put it back
and was glad that I’d come to terms with what she knew
was a very botched job. I love my mother more and more
each day, and I’m sure she didn’t do it to hurt me, it
just did, both physically and mentally and so a wet
nappy (better than a wet bed or pants) is the price I
suppose we both have to pay.
weird when people notice and I become the centre of
attention. I just echo what mum says so when they ask if
it’s uncomfortable I happily admit that it’s fine. In
fact, it’s all very pleasant to wear and not only stops
any embarrassing damp patches but offers a great deal of
comfort and security. I’ve seen some kids, and a few
parents, appear stunned at my admission and look warily
at one and other; although I never know if this is to do
with me or something going on in their own family. I
think they think that I must be being punished for some
reason and that I’m being forced to wear them against my
you’ll see one parent nodding and I wonder if their
child might end up wearing a nappy at some time in the
near future. I think I can count on one hand the number
of times an adult has ever said anything negative in
public to me or mum about my wearing such protection.
Mum says I’m a good advert for a boy who wears a nappy –
polite, interesting and happy.
When she says
stuff like that I still have the refrain running through
my mind; Happy=Nappy, Nappy=Happy, Happy=Nappy.
sing-song little melody has been with me since I
started wearing padding and now that’s all I can think
about... I am happy... and so is mum.
saunter, the chat and the coffee, we eventually get back
to our room. Mum makes sure I’m particularly well-padded
for bed and so far, to her credit and foresight, and
despite nearly every morning waking up sodden, I’ve
never once wet a hotel bed... for which I am very
grateful. That would be terribly embarrassing.
In fact, it is
with a great deal of pride that since I’ve worn a nappy
with plastic covering, I’ve never wet any bed... no
matter how much I’ve peed during the night.
The amount I pee
I suspect is down to the gallons of bottled water I’m
encouraged to drink. Mum says that my body works better
when I’m well hydrated, because it gives me an ‘unpolluted
internal system’. She says that with the heat and
everything it’s simply the best way to stop getting
sunstroke or becoming dehydrated.
This makes sense
to me but anyway, I do as I’m told and take in liquids
all the time. Unfortunately, this often means I’ve
swamped my nappy when we’ve been out and about. A wet
nappy isn’t much of a hindrance to me just getting on
with stuff. Mum always carries disposables and nappy
rash cream in her shoulder bag so if I feel the need,
can change me as soon as she finds a suitable spot,
although sometimes I do it myself.
Of course, I
prefer mum doing it, she makes sure everything is wiped
clean and all the fabric is neatly tucked into my
plastic pants. I love these intimate moments because mum
is always positive, smiling and encouraging. When she’s
done there’s always that final loving tap to my heavily
padded bottom as she smooths it all into position.
She’ll give me that look, our own private knowing look,
then whisper a few reassuring words that leave me
feeling cosy and warm. As I say, I’m used to it but to
me it confirms her continued love. Besides, mum seems to
like looking after me and I’m blessed to have a mother
who cares so much. I think I’m still her ‘sweet
little cherub’, only a little bit bigger.
For this current
holiday mum has bought some new, super-fitting rubber
nappy covers that feel fantastic to wear. They’re glossy
but tough and in an array of bright colours that I think
look incredible. Thankfully, the new, thicker, shiny
light blue rubber pants she’s invested in keeps
everything sealed and secured both day and night. She’d
found them online before we left the UK as they reminded
her of our trip. Even with the Mediterranean weather
being so warm it’s nice to fall asleep on my bed wearing
such chunky protection with their glistening cover. Mum
says that when it catches the light they sort of shimmer
and glow... she says that could be a description of me;
silly I know, but nice to hear.
definitely something special about what I wear... and
what I like. Mum says the soft silky rubber matches the
wonderful Mediterranean character; warm, colourful,
laid-back, whilst I look the most contented boy in the
world. I suppose I am because I have nothing at all to
Happy=Nappy, Nappy=Happy, Happy=Nappy
disastrous attempt at circumcision I realised I’d made a
huge mistake and damaged my little boy. His slap-dash
approach to going to the toilet was frankly annoying and
the fact he didn’t seem to notice or care was driving me
mad, I looked for a solution. I honestly thought I was
doing him a favour by having that flappy bit of skin
removed because of the positive arguments for doing so,
together with the words of assurance from Peter; the man
who actually did it, convinced me it was the right move.
However, once the deed was done, and I saw the impact it
had on Terry, I knew I’d have to make amends somehow.
It was quite
drastic action to take just to prevent him leaving
puddles around, especially when I read that quite a lot
of boys had the same problem guiding their pee into the
correct space. It would seem that a large number of
uncircumcised boys have trouble with their foreskin,
which sends the stream off in different directions.
Apparently mine is not, or was not, the only toilet to
have puddles all over the place. Alas, I only found out
about that unedifying fact after he’d had the tortuous
It took longer
than normal (if normal is the correct term) for it to
heal. In those early days its slightly misshapen angle
and continued redness gave it a look of not actually
having mended at all. It was unfortunate that Terry
constantly worried about it even when it appeared to
operate as it should in a growing boy. However, with the
application of lotions, creams etc. he welcomed the
constant attention believing it was doing some good.
guilt sent my protective genes into overdrive. I knew
what had happened was my fault but, as I also knew I
couldn’t reattach it, I needed to find a way of making
things better. To begin with he was in so much distress
from the operation I thought he’d never speak to me
again. However, something did happen, he started wetting
the bed and needed me to make the misery go away.
So that was my
job; to relieve him of the discomfort he was in. I set
about that mission with determination to make my little
boy comfy and happy. Though at the time I had no idea
the way I went about it would lead to an area I found
What that way
was... I’d read on one of the internet’s
‘helpful’ info sites, where parents exchange
views and offer solutions, that for an injured penis a
soft nappy might be more comforting than normal everyday
wear. It could have been I was clutching at straws for a
solution and although it seemed the last thing my boy
would appreciate, I thought I’d give it a go.
Oddly enough, in
my sister Jen’s usual angry way she’d recommended this
course of action earlier as a punishment but I’d not
given it any thought. She was very bitter and angry
about the whole idea of a boy spraying urine around like
he was marking some kind of territory. I think if Terry
had been hers he would have found himself with a
blistered bottom and wearing protection on a daily
wasn’t the way I treated my son, now others were also
offering it not as a punishment but as a possible
temporary solution I thought it couldn’t harm. My boy
was sore and I explained that a viable solution was a
nice soft nappy. He looked at me like I’d suggested to
remove his penis altogether but I managed to convince
him to give it a try. I explained that if he wasn’t more
comfortable he wouldn’t have to keep it... if he wasn’t
So, as he’d
started to wet the bed in his sleep the padding took
care of both problems and quite efficiently if I say so
myself, but I needed him to know just how much I cared.
I don’t like to
go on about it (and I know I shouldn’t) but my ten year
old son in a nappy was a delightful sight. He looked so
much younger, dependant, uncertain and when he looked to
me for guidance, even after what had happened, so very
trusting. The fact that when a thick fabric nappy was
applied, and he hadn’t reacted badly (and more
importantly actually seemed grateful for the relief), I
wondered what else I could do.
It was a hug.
Yes, as simple as that... a hug.
When I held him
and calmed his anxiety, when I patted his nicely padded
bottom before bed, when I whispered that all would be
okay and that he had nothing to worry about, he accepted
the situation. What was even more remarkable, as he
clung dependently to my neck, was the impression he
didn’t blame me... he needed me to make things better.
However, despite this, my guilt still persisted.
from his injury was also suggested by those advice
givers on the net and who was I to think they were wrong
after what I’d done to my son. ‘Keep his mind from
dwelling on the damage and find him something else to
focus on’. Treats seemed a good option... it also
assuaged some of that overpowering blame I continued to
feel as I watched my robust young son replaced by a
timid pre-teen wearing a nappy.
I didn’t want
him to think he didn’t have options so I made his
underwear more absorbent by sewing in some extra
padding. The idea was that while it was painful for him
to pee they should act as a temporary barrier, which I
hoped at school would at least give him time to get to
the boy’s room.
noticed a couple of things, psychological things; he
wasn’t as bold or as argumentative as he’d become (which
I’m sure was an age thing) and (and this was most
important) he didn’t seem bothered by wearing a nappy
and protection at home. He wore his booster undies to
school because even he wasn’t brave enough for his class
mates to know he wore that kind of protection, but, all
in all, I saw little in the way of resentment.
I’m not sure
that he liked his padded underpants much but they were
better than anything else for school. Although, he
always appeared relieved when home and could just wander
about wearing a soft nappy that gently held things in
wetting continued so needed extra insulation for
sleeping in but I suggested (making sure he was
waterproof), that if we went anywhere special he might
then also consider wearing extra padding. The fear of
having an accident in public meant his anxiety levels
were already high so was predisposed to that particular
argument. Almost relieved he wore additional covering on
any visit away from home.
once at home and in a nappy Terry seemed a lot more at
ease, although if I wasn’t around, he’d search me out
and want a hug at every opportunity. I’m convinced that
extra bit of wadding made him emotional and dependent.
Now, I’m only human and desperately wanted that
affection from my boy. So, big decision; as I was
finding Terry much more compliant (and I have to admit
more loving) I fostered the idea that a nappy would
benefit the healing process. I also suggested that he
drink lots of fluids, mainly water, to keep his damaged
penis well-flushed to avoid infection. He took to this
theory, apparently relieved he could hide his damaged
penis away in the folds of the soft fabric.
I encouraged him
to think for himself but affirmed my opinion that he
always looked happy once wearing a nappy. I constantly
told him that comfort and happiness were what he should
aim for and that other people’s opinion shouldn’t be
worried about. Whenever he was in a nappy I have to
admit I was all smiles and reassurance, which I think
put him at ease with that part of the situation at
hear him mumbling or sometimes singing to himself;
Happy=Nappy, Nappy=Happy, Happy=Nappy, which I
thought was very sweet and an indication that he was
okay with the state of affairs.
I didn’t insist
he wore padding; I simply let him decide the speed at
which his recovery suited him best. I was amazed that he
appeared to be in no rush to lose his night time
protection but then again, he was habitually using it.
Each morning he woke up soaked so I thought I’d pretend
that it was just something that happened and not make a
big deal about it. Also, in the back of my mind, I
wondered if I was responsible for that as well. I mean,
he’d never wet before the operation and now... well...
something psychosomatic happened in his sleep which made
getting to the toilet a nonstarter. Off
course, the gallons of liquid I encouraged him to drink
might have had something to do with it as well.
grateful that I wasn’t chastising him for it and became
more and more reliant on such padding. He gave the
impression it was what he needed to feel secure and to
be honest, he was so affectionate, looked cute and happy
so didn’t want to upset such emotions.
The thing I
suspected was that he was feeling guilty about wetting
every night and he thought that I thought heavy
protection was needed. So, when he was well bundled up
he didn’t object because either he also thought it was
needed or he didn’t want to argue because he wanted to
please me. Whichever way, my boy was always well-padded
at night so each of us was doing our bit.
guilt was a deciding factor in what we both did?
anything I made it known that a nappy had my approval
and he shouldn’t be ashamed if he found it useful for
his own requirements. Also, I could see he was anxious
about wetting. So again, without making a big thing
about it, I advised that he should be able to wear
protection where and when he liked, and not just for
sleeping, if it made him feel safer.
As a result I always laid out a pre-folded nappy and
vinyl pants on his bed or dresser so they were available
for whenever he felt the need.
Bradley came to stay, I thought that might make a
difference but, after our guest’s little accident, I saw
a way of having two boys wearing protection and then
Terry wouldn’t necessarily feel he was the only one. I
couldn’t help but be chuffed with the uncanny way things
After all the
conflict poor Bradley had witnessed I think he was
relieved to be with people who loved each other. Without
trying too hard he could see Terry and I cherished each
other, he even saw that when it came to putting my son
in his nappy, there was no strife and he accepted it as
the most natural thing to do. I sensed this quickly made
inroads in to our little guests mind and, as we had no
problem with it, he must have thought nor should he...
so he didn’t.
Bradley; Bradley looked up to Terry, and as he wore a
nappy to bed, didn’t find it too strange to have to wear
one also. I was really pleased with how speedily the
nine year old came to terms with the idea of protection
being something appropriate to wear to sleep in at
Having two boys
sometimes running around the house wearing just nappies
was quite a sight. I have to say it brought out my
mothering instinct to an even higher degree (and I
thought I was already at a pretty lofty level) and all I
wanted to do was preserve their innocent fun both gave
the impression to be enjoying.
I think like
Terry, young Bradley really liked the attention of
having his padding changed and the various ointments
smoothed into his nappy area. It makes for a very
intense link and after all the drama he’d been through,
he appeared to enjoy this personal connection. Again, I
didn’t demand our guest wear one it just turned out that
way, although in truth little Bradley did have a few
issues that a nappy certainly helped with.
Once Jane took
Bradley away to start a new life together I worried that
Terry would start to feel alone again, so I came up with
a new idea. Financially we’d always been comfortable but
not excessively so, however, when a sudden windfall
materialised I saw an opportunity to do something we’d
never even thought about before.
Up until then
we’d always had our summer holidays in the UK but I
wondered if being exposed to different cultures might be
another ‘distraction’ from which he would benefit. We
started to spend a few of the longer school holidays in
the Mediterranean where he loved the sun, sea and sand.
As it turned out it wasn’t so much of a culture change,
more of a climate change... he just loved the hot
With the time
waiting at airports and then the possibility of the
flight being delayed, I recommended he be well padded
for the journey. He didn’t take to the idea immediately
but when I implied it was for hygienic reasons (keeping
his penis from being infected and not having to queue up
for a messy toilet) he seemed more on board with the
The thing is...
to me there appears to be nothing wrong with his penis.
It has healed and apart from a red scar, which I suppose
is something but not that troublesome, I can’t see much
of a problem. Of course Terry has his own opinion and
the constant wetting has made him very aware of that
area and still thinks it is something distasteful and to
be hid away. The fact that he finds keeping it concealed
behind a ream of material socially acceptable is up to
him... and of course, I do not discourage him in that
I have mentioned
on more than one occasion that cleanliness is next to
godliness so he is scrupulous about having a
pristine nappy always accessible. I use both disposables
and fabric nappies (depending on when and where we’re
going) but he prefers thick, soft fabric ones and they
are always contained within his favourite soft vinyl
pants... of which there are many.
Even wearing his
protection on balmy sultry Mediterranean evenings and we
go out to dinner the bulk never seems to bother him. In
fact, if anything, he’s out of his reserve, more than
happy to socialise and gets on with people; strangers
hold no fear for him. Whether this is simply down to
being in a different country, or the sun has a positive
effect on him, it’s a personality change I’ve noticed
because he’s never this open back home.
On more than one
occasion his protection would be observed but it didn’t
faze him. He’d just brave out what was said or, if they
appeared genuinely interested, explain his need for it
all. I’d never been more proud of my son than at those
As my boy has
gotten older he still has a need for padding. The night
time especially is still a wet event, which I really
don’t know if he’s making happen or simply does no
longer have any control. In fact, he now wears
protection most of the time. He’s not embarrassed by it
nor does he feel disadvantaged because it’s his choice.
I hope I’m not fooling myself but... I’ve never made him
have to wear a nappy; it has always been up to
him... and he appears to be thriving on it.
those first few weeks when he wore one to protect his
injured penis I saw how much more comfortable it
appeared to make him. The fact at the same time he
started to wet at night made it more convenient for him
to wear one as often as he felt appropriate. Now I have
an affectionate fourteen year old that just happens to
wear a nappy.
I continue to
buy new products as they come on the market just so he
has choice but I don’t require him to wear them
either... I just give him the option. He has told me
that it feels strange when he doesn’t have the
protection tightly wrapped around his ‘bits’ and likes
the padded bolster when he’s out and about. I think it
gives him some sort of extra confidence. Of course I’ve
never discouraged what he wears because there is
something about a teenager still dependent on nappies
that is quite endearing... well to me anyhow.
We hug a lot. I
pat the nice soft cushion that he seems so content to
wear and hear that soft rustle of his plastic cushion. I
think we both get something from that sound which is
Whether at home,
where he spends most of his time wearing only his
protection, or when in a different country, where he
sports the more colourful of his leak-proof pants... to
see him completely at ease with whatever he decides to
wear is very pleasing.
I always said
that a nappy makes him happy and he seems to support
that idea and... I couldn’t be happier myself.
My boy hasn’t
grown out of nappies, he’s grown into them.
## The End ##
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