Site Logo

DailyDiapers is presented in part by our proud sponsors:


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

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

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


Jack (and Jill)                                                                                                                     by Les Lea


I heard voices. Low, whispering voices but the sound was definitely getting closer.

I looked from my bed to the door, it was open. This was strange because I always slept with my door closed but with the window open a crack to allow air to circulate. However, the noise wasn’t from outside the house.

It must have been early because it was still relatively dark but those voices were so loud now I knew they were just beyond my bedroom door.

Three figures in white coats stood in the doorway and peered in. They looked like doctors and were holding charts and stethoscopes so I guess that’s what they were... but what were they doing in my room?

“Hello there.” One of the lab-coated people said. “Don’t worry we’ll soon have you sorted.”

I was paralysed with fear; who were they, what were they doing here and more importantly... what were they going to sort?”

They all approached my bed but I was too afraid to say anything. They were all smiles and business-like as one of them produced a needle and stuck it in my arm.

“Try and count backwards...” I saw two men in blue scrubs come in and start pushing my bed from the room.

“9...8...7...” I felt woozy and drifted off.


I woke up and mum was there smiling. I noticed my aunts and uncles were also standing around and grinning all carrying balloons and presents.

“Oooohh, she’s such a good girl... yes she is...”

“Good girl?” I thought. “What are they talking about? I’m a ten year-old boy not a girl. I’m a b....”

But I was sitting in a pushchair. I could see my short, frilly pink dress and the enormous padded knickers I was wearing...

I saw my pink room now stacked with baby clothes and... was that... nappies?

What the hell was going on?


“Oooohh, she’s such a good girl... yes she is... and look, bless her, she’s filling her nappy.”

I could feel the warmth spreading around but I had no idea how anyone else knew what was happening.

“Oooohhh yes, what a clever little girl you are.”

I couldn’t speak; there was a dummy in my mouth so gurgles and dribble seemed to be my only language.

“That’s it baby, you fill that nappy and mummy will change you soon.”

“Oh-ho, I think our pretty little Miss is doing more than wetting her lovely little panties... yes she is.”

There was a general sound of approval coming from the surrounding audience.

“She loves her soft nappy and lovely shiny pink plastic pants doesn’t she? What a sweet baby girl...”

As if on cue I could feel the seat of my nappy filling up but I was grinning because all those around me were smiles and eager faces encouraging me to do so... I was making grown-ups happy.

I filled my nappy but the adult celebrations carried on around me.

The wet warmth began to cool and the mess began to irritate yet from behind my dummy I couldn’t get anyone to take any notice of me as they were all too busy cooing and flapping around, holding up cute little girlie outfits and saying how ‘precious’ I would look wearing them. The fact that I was sitting in a full nappy was just taken for granted and that’s what a baby had to simply put up with until a grown-up could get around to changing her.

What was I thinking? I didn’t need changing. I wasn’t a baby. I wasn’t a girl... I was a boy. I, I, I...


I woke up and I heard myself screaming “I’m a boy” at the top of my lungs.

Mum came rushing in to my room looking somewhat concerned about what I was creating about.

“What is it Jack, are you OK?”

I think we noticed at the same time that nothing was OK because every inch of my bed appeared sopping wet and the smell meant I was lying on more than a nice comfy bedding.

“Oh dear.”

Mum made a bee-line for my blankets and pulled them back to reveal my boxer shorts and t-shirt (my pyjamas) looking less than pristine. Everything was just covered in pee and poo and she stood there shaking her head deciding what needed doing first.

“Stay where you are for the moment poppet...”

She went to open the window wider.

“OK, now slowly get up and let’s see the damage.”

I was finding it difficult to do anything but cry... I was too old for this but I felt like a silly little kid and I didn’t know what to do about it.

Tentatively I dragged myself from the smelly pit I’d caused and stood aghast at what I left behind.

“Get yourself to the bathroom and take a nice long shower... leave your stuff in the plastic bin... I’ll sort out the bedroom.”

I staggered the few feet from my room to the shower desperate to leave no drips, splashes or any other evidence of what had taken place. I pulled the sticky, smelly clothing from my body and almost threw up. I gagged as I shoved the t-shirt and boxers into the empty plastic bin we usually use for bits of paper and empty toilet rolls... I desperately needed to cover it as the smell was just too overpowering. It didn’t seem right so I pulled them back out and threw them onto the shower floor, they’d need more than a simple rinse through before they could go to laundry. Thankfully, once I was under the spray things began to improve as I watched the debris of my scary dream slip down the plughole.


With the window wide open my room was cold as a surprisingly stiff breeze cleared the fetid air. Mum had cleared the bed so all that was left was my mattress, for some reason the scene looked pretty sad. I stood shivering wrapped in a thin towel not too sure what my next move was. As it was still a weekday I got myself dressed and ready for another day in fifth grade.

We had breakfast and I told mum about my peculiar nightmare. She seemed astonished at my weird dream so nodded and sympathised in equal amounts. I had no idea where such a strange nightmare had come from and it appeared mum couldn’t give me an answer either.

“Well dear, I’m not sure what you ate to produce such a flight of fancy but we’d better check tonight so we don’t get a repeat.”

She smiled as if she was making a bit of a joke but I spent the entire day worrying about going to sleep again... and I had every good reason as that night I had the same dream and the same messy outcome.


I must have been lying in the stuff a lot longer because it had soaked through and ruined the mattress, and as it turned out, a second load of bed linen.

Mum stripped the bed and decided that the sheets and duvet were not in a fit state to be salvaged. So, despite them being in my favourite team colours and begging to keep them, they, like the increasingly messed in and smelly mattress, were thrown out.

I was very unhappy about what had taken place. The embarrassment of crapping myself and destroying so much bedding and losing my cherished duvet cover meant I was in a funk. Despite us not having loads of money since dad died (we were okay but didn’t have much to spare) mum said that we might as well change my entire bedroom from a kids to that of a growing boy - that made me feel a bit better.

The following night as I couldn’t sleep in my own bed, I had to sleep on a plastic inflatable we used if we had guests. Mum also insisted that I wear some protection as she didn’t want to lose any further sheets or blankets.

“But mum, I’m ten, I’m not a baby, you can’t make me...”

“Look sweetheart, we don’t know what’s happening and we certainly don’t know if it will happen again so, until we do, you’ll be wearing a nice thick nappy to sleep in.”

“But that’s not fair.” I argued. “I can’t help it... I... I...” 

“Exactly my point, this isn’t a punishment sweetie, it’s a simple precaution and I’m sure, in a couple of days’ time and when your new mattress arrives... everything will be back as it should be.”

It was an argument I couldn’t win but I wasn’t happy, especially when it came to bedtime and saw mum upstairs to get me ready. There, waiting on the newly expanded inflatable bed, was a thick triangle of fabric. Mum told me to strip, which I did fairly nervously, and told me to lie out. I was surprised to actually find that there were two nappies folded together so it was very thick once pinned into place. Thick pink rubber pants were then guided up my legs and snapped in to place before I realised what was happening (I was so embarrassed I’d kept my eyes tightly closed so I didn’t have to watch what mum was doing).

“Why these pants...?”

“Why not? They’re just to keep you from leaking so what’s the problem?”

“But they’re er, um, you know... pink.”

The thought of all that pink in my dreams and of me being a baby girl emphasised it was not a colour for a boy.


“Ummm, erm, maybe... you know...?”

“Oh for crying out loud and stop being silly. It’s just protection. No one’s going to see and it’s only for tonight as I’m sure you’ll be fine in the morning.”

It was no good arguing so I crawled under the thin cotton sheet and thick fuzzy blanket and tried to sleep. With each turn I bounced around on the plastic surface, which was taking some getting used to, as well was the thick padding and my equally slippery plastic pants. I was convinced I’d never get to sleep.


For a few weeks now I’d had trouble sleeping and mum had leant me her iPad so I could listen to soft relaxing music to help me drift off. I was surprised at how effective it had been when I first started.  So I wouldn’t get bored she changed the download so I’d get a nice selection of peaceful tunes in my head to aid rest. However, for the last few nights, the same nightmare had made my sleep patterns go all over the place so was exceptionally tired all the time. However, when mum suggested what I needed was perhaps a completely different piece of soothing music, I thought it might be a good opportunity to finally get a good night’s sleep.

To a certain extent it worked and I didn’t wake up screaming, however, I did wake up to a soaked and messy nappy. Mum had been right to make sure I was protected and, as I’d slept so well in my surprisingly comfy padding, there was no one to clean up but me. With the bedding saved, the nappy went straight into the wash and I went straight under the shower, all this without any drama whatsoever because I’d actually slept well.

However, what I realised was that my night time now came with nappy accompaniment.


Mum had simply said that until we were sure I was over this ‘trauma’ or whatever it was, she insisted, for the sake of our laundry bill and replacement bedding, that I would be protected every night.

It never occurred to me to ask how or why she had all this stuff available for me, I just accepted that’s what mums have in their ‘mother repertoire’ of equipment to tackle any problem.

I couldn’t complain. My new mattress had been ordered but for some reason was proving difficult to get delivered. However, mum was getting my Uncle James in to redecorate my room whilst we waited. He was a decorator by profession so we were in capable hands. I sat with him one night and discussed what colour I wanted things, which was strange because I was wearing a particularly thick nappy and crinkly plastic pants under my boxers, but he never let on.  We chose a design that I thought was quite grown-up and hoped would last for a few years at least.

Meanwhile, mum said that she’d read that pastel shades helped induce sleep, so I should opt for that. I tried to mix my ideas (my team colours) with hers but I soon found that she had a much stronger say in things and I was persuaded to take her ‘advice’.


Another thing mum had got me to do, which happened without realising it, was that I was changed into my night time nappy when I changed out of my school uniform. So, I was wearing a nappy from around 5pm through to 8am, which is the reason my uncle saw me wearing one. I thought I’d be very anxious about such a situation but I wasn’t. I was praised by mum for being very sensible about it all and strangely, I’d found myself not worrying about the bulk for such a length of time.

However, whether mum was a Supermum, or just knew how these things worked, I was glad because I began accidently wetting before bed (only a little) but I was still glad of the protection rather than a tell-tale stain on my boxers. I didn’t let on to her about these little spurts so often climbed into bed already slightly wet.

Mum seemed anxious that the night time music wasn’t helping so found some other, more intense programmes that she hoped would do the trick. However, though I was sleeping heavily but more importantly without nasty nightmares, my full morning nappy continued.


Mummy didn’t seem to worry I was waking up so wet (and sometime messy) she was just glad that I’d taken to wearing a nappy to cover such an eventuality. She often smiled when I was wearing just my protection around the house and quite positive that I was a good boy for understanding the need for them.

I liked it when mummy praised me even if I was wearing a huge bulky nappy.

She’d moved me into the small box-room whilst my bedroom was being stripped and prepared for the new decoration.  She wanted to keep it as a surprise so I would only see it for the ‘grand re-opening’ when my new mattress and special bedding she’d ordered arrived.

Mummy said that being in the spare room and sleeping on the inflatable was like being on an expedition... she moved all my stuffed toys in to keep me company... and it did feel like I was living somewhere special. In fact, she got me so animated about how exciting it was that I peed my nappy. I didn’t care much because I just wriggled contentedly in the warm flush that I’d begun to look forward to.

I suppose I wasn’t acting like a ten year-old much, in fact I liked wearing a nappy and was happy hugging my soft childhood stuffed giraffe when I went to bed. It was nice having him back keeping me company.

I was getting quite enthusiastic by all these new plans but was waking up on my inflatable bed, hot, wet and flustered every morning, whether I’d had a nightmare or not.

Somehow mummy convinced me that I needed my protection all the time and my mornings now involved a change out of wet stuff only to be put straight back into another nappy. I know being ten I should have cringed at such treatment but I quite liked the attention she was lavishing on me. The lotions and powder were a treat and, perhaps oddly enough, I was more grateful to be in a clean and dry nappy than I was upset about having to wear one 24/7.

Over the past few weeks I’d gotten less and less stressed, I think mummy’s relaxing music was working. Also, I was happy that she’d taken charge and was treating me as her best boy... well that’s what she kept calling me and, when she patted my soft padding as she said it, it made me feel loved, safe and comfortable.



I couldn’t believe it when he told me about the weird dream that led him to mess the bed that first time.

It’s true that I’d been playing my ten year-old son relaxing music to help him over a touch of insomnia. However, it became apparent that the later downloads I began using weren’t the same I’d used to help sleep when I was having trouble.

Relaxation sounds and music for the young was what I thought I was downloading. Instead, I noticed too late that the option I’d pressed was for a different types of downloads and that the soothing vibe contains subtle, hypnotic instructions to wet the bed. I hadn’t read that this particular relaxation (and subliminal) track linked to an ABDL site, which was aimed specifically at a certain type of user. However, such a terrifying dream surely couldn’t have been down to a few subliminal words... could it?


I’d been going through a bit of a bad patch. My husband was no longer around (dead for three years), I’d found making new friends fairly difficult although my family had been quite supportive. The trouble, I was weighed down in a pit of depression myself (thus the relaxation music) but all I could see was my anchor, my sweet and loving ten year-old son Jack, getting older and would, before too long, be drifting away. The thought terrified me.

I was possessed with the idea of keeping him just as he was.... then I thought I needed it the way things used to be when he was a toddler and completely dependent on me. I liked that idea better. This night time ritual of using music to help him sleep had given me a way of extending his dependence on me for a little while longer.

Perhaps unashamedly, I was pleased he needed nappies again.


I questioned him further about screaming “I’m a boy. I’m a boy” when I found him so messy and disturbed but he didn’t want to say. Eventually, and because my boy loves his mum, I was able to drag the details about him being dressed and treated like a baby girl.

He looked at me through weepy eyes and my heart went out to him. It was obvious that despite his full boxers and dirty bed the extra embarrassment had been difficult for him to take. However, I couldn’t see how the night time music, even with subliminal directions could have brought about such a strange and gender-confusing dream. As far as I knew none of those I’d played to him already would have sent him off in that direction... none were gender specific. I hugged him tightly to my bosom but his dream had planted a seed which I found difficult to not let take root.

I searched the net and found a few interesting hypnotic ‘programmes’ and ‘apps’ that could possibly help and I tried them out, though not really believing in their efficacy.

The main idea was to get him back into, and dependent on, nappies and then I could insist I change him and thus he’d be back to being reliant on me. A simple notion that I thought would hurt no one and I’d have my lovely boy enjoying his mother fussing over him. I quickly assembled the protection I’d need to keep him dry and safe at night.

I didn’t realise how distressing those dreams would be, or the fact that he continued to wake up to an absolute mess each day. He said he was still having nightmares and when I enquired if they were about the same subject he timidly nodded assent. However, as result of these disgusting occurrences to his bedding and pjs it was fairly easy to convince him he had to wear protection.

He bleated about it for a short while but Jack has always been a mummy’s boy and I knew he’d comply with enough persuasion. Because it meant more work for me I simply made him feel guilty if he didn’t act in accordance with my wishes.

Since his father died he’d never been a moment’s trouble. He seemed to know, despite the trauma of it all, that now it was just the two of us, we should stick together. Since he was seven he’d been an absolute rock and I’m not sure I could have coped without him.


However, once in a nappy I was able to get him to leave his bedroom, which I said I thought could do with a redesign. I told him we’d make it special and perfect for a ‘growing boy’ but I had a different idea which I thought I’d try although time I knew would be against me.

However, my brother the decorator was suddenly swamped with ‘proper’ work (he was doing me a freebie) so it took more time to get it done. Meanwhile, I postponed the delivery of the mattress and told Jack it would be all the more exciting if we waited and saw the entire project completed and in all its glory before he returned to his bedroom.


I inflated the plastic mattress and set it up in the spare room and pretended he was on some special mission. The real reason; I liked the idea of him sleeping on a waterproof cover just in case his protection leaked and so he couldn’t do any further damage. It worked because I made a huge thing about how much fun it was to sleep on a bouncy castle. Despite the thick nappies and the plastic pants I made him wear we laughed a lot before I put the music on and settled him down for the night. I like to think he was actually enjoying me fussing so much.

I was surprised at how quickly the auto-suggestion behind the music was working. At home he wore nappies and especially at night used them but, when he went to school he wore his normal underwear and had no problem... well to begin with anyway.

I loved changing him first thing in a morning. He was so upset that he’d wet again but I said to be grateful for the protections as it did just that, protected the bed so it was only a strip of material that needed laundering. I have to admit that I liked the fact the everyday I’d be hanging out his recently washed nappy and pants. I was sending out a message, which Jack didn’t cotton on to at all, as I saw a couple of sympathetic nods from the neighbours as if to say “Oh you poor thing... your boy’s wetting the bed again”.


Almost a week after I got him permanently in night time nappies he started having accidents in class. It horrified him but I quickly saw the solution... permanent nappies during the day as well. I think an echo of the subliminal music had made him forget he wasn’t wearing a nappy. The fact he seemed resigned to be in a nappy at night (well he’d stopped complaining) made it less of a problem to get him into one for the full day. I was very pleased at the speed my little boy was accepting his toddler status, even if he wasn’t quite yet aware of it.

By chance, all this coincided with the upcoming summer break so he only had to wear a nappy at school for a short time. The teachers said he’d become quite a deal more reserved since he had to wear one and looked scared and miserable when bigger boys were around and mocking him.

However, as far as I was concerned, once in a nappy he was much more loving and spent a lot of time hugging and holding me. Of course, I just couldn’t get enough of my little boy as he regressed further thanks to those subliminal whispered words and relaxing tones.

Another thing I noticed after I changed the download on the iPad was that he started calling me ‘mummy’ instead of ‘mum’. I could have cried when he said the word... just like I had when he was a baby and first uttered it. Damn I was getting carried away with my own sentimentality.

Even his voice was getting softer and more childish. With him now in nappies all the time it was easy to bring his bedtime a little earlier each night. Just a few minutes at a time but, because I had him ready for bed as soon as he got in from school, well in his thicker night time nappy at least, he didn’t protest much at all.

The nightly music and words were having quite an impact on my boy and I could see him anxiously checking I was still around if I stepped out of the room even for just a few seconds.


When he got home his school uniform was hung up and put out of the way, then I’d check just how wet he was. I loved the slow reveal as I gently pulled off his plastic pants. My mind would be happily dragged back to when I used to do this for him when a baby... I’d really missed this intimacy.

His eyes would fill up slightly in embarrassment but I’d be offering reassurance and telling him all was okay and he was “mummy’s sweetest boy”. I’d remove the soaked material and tenderly wipe him clean, checking there was no rash to worry about before slathering him in lotion to make sure that didn’t happen.

He would close his eyes and let out a low contented moan as I lightly rubbed in the talcum powder before pinning him into a nicely tight, thick, pre-prepared nappy. His sweet, shy, almost infantile voice thanked his mummy for making him all clean and dry again as I’d pull up the plastic pants that held the bulky softness in place.

A couple of times I’d see him look down as if wondering how or why he was back in such heavy protection but I’d just emphasise that “Jack is a good boy” and needed to wear a nappy  for mummy. I could see a doubt hanging there for the briefest of moments before his mind would lock back on to what he’d been secretly told night after night – nappies were good and should be used by baby Jack.


That had been the secret; changing the message so he slowly regressed and accepted his place. Nappies, plastic pants, soft toys, mummy’s hugs, the words were there to help him into his new position. The ABDL site I downloaded these from certainly knew their business and my boy was blissfully unaware.

Cuddling up on the sofa to watch television together was a delight. I’d stroke his hair, whisper what a lovely boy he was and patted his thick padding... offering continued confirmation that all was well and fine to be “mummy’s little sweetie-pie”.

If we were going out he wanted to hold my hand all the time, which was an unexpected bonus but quite wonderful. He’d toddle and waddle each step, the plastic pants slipping and caressing his thighs, whilst the thick fabric would rub against his boyish genitals, I’m sure made him constantly aware of his juvenile standing. There’d be times when he’d look at me with saddened eyes and whisper that he was sorry but he’d wet again.

I would smile and tell him he must not worry as mummy would sort him a dry nappy very soon. However, I liked the fact that he would be in his soaked nappy for a little while, the heavy wet material making him walk with a little more deliberation and a rather sweet sway.  I’d also found some very childish baby print plastic pants, which I began to put him in and they just made the entire scene so much sweeter.

My big boy was kept as a little boy with the daily music and verbal affirmation, both from me and the subliminal recordings. Toys for a ten year old were changed for those more appropriate to a toddler and I just adored reading him a fairy story every night. However, I wanted more.



I was waking up wet every morning on my plastic inflatable bed. I thought I was sleeping well, mummy’s music definitely helping me to drop off – I loved the relaxing sound as I snuggled under the lovely soft blankets, but my soaked nappies continued.

However, mummy wasn’t angry, which was a relief she just said I needed to wear a nappy all the time because I’d had a few silly accidents at school. I was quite embarrassed to find myself filling my underpants without realising it and then having to deal with wet pants. I didn’t like any of that because bullies would gang up to mock and poke me. Mummy said it was better to be in a nice fluffy nappy that was wet than a pee-stained pair of shorts... and I couldn’t disagree... mummy was right about everything.

The new designed bedroom seemed to be taking an age. Mummy and I had already stripped the old wallpaper but Uncle James was finding it a bit difficult to commit because he was a bit overwhelmed with work himself. However, mummy said there was no rush and that it would make it so much more exciting when I eventually did get my bedroom completely refurbished.

Mummy had made the spare room into a nice little place to be. She’d set out all my stuffed animals which surrounded me as I slept, “ keep a protective eye on their favourite little chap” she said. She’d made a play area and a box for all my toys, mind you, there were also piles and piles of fresh nappies, plastic pants and various lotions and powder also on view. Mummy said it was good to see them to remind me “that’s what a good boy gets to wear if he wets himself”. I didn’t know what a bad boy got to wear if he wet himself.

She enthused about the different materials the nappies came in and kept buying new and more colourful or fun-patterned plastic pants, “...better than boring old plain ones” she’d beam. Mummy liked me to change out of my school uniform as soon as I got home when she’d put me straight into my night time protection. Always encouraging me to walk around wearing nothing but these items... she said I looked amazing.

I like it when mummy praises me.

Mummy seemed pleased with the new relaxation downloads I’d been listening to, as she pointed out, I appeared a lot more at ease and relaxed, which she thought was wonderful but suggested I try something different. I asked what she had in mind and suggested a hypnotism app she’d found on the computer. It said in the write-up that it was best used to alter the deep sleep state and set the listener on “... a road to spiritual and personal healing”. I thought it sounded stupid but mummy convinced me it was worth a try.

So, she set it up and pressed play.



Now I had my sweet boy wrapped in a nappy all the time I couldn’t get over how quickly all this had happened. The music, the words, the ease in which he’d taken to this more juvenile state had stunned me but of course I was thrilled.

Now the school’s summer break was upon us I wanted to experiment further. It was nice to have him playing with his toys wearing only his shiny protection and he didn’t seem to mind if we had visitors, which were few and far between I must say. The sad thing was, some of his friends were shocked at seeing him this way and even when I put him in a pair of shorts, his demeanour was still that of a toddler and even though his bulging nappy was on view... he didn’t seem to care. However, his friends did so they came round less and less.

We’d play silly games, or he’d set out all his toys and be immersed in some adventure that would take off into a world of its own; all the time he’d wriggle around wearing just his slippery plastic pants and bulging nappy. Sometimes we’d go to the park and I’d watch as he had a fun time on all the kiddie equipment. The slides, swings, roundabout and horses on springs kept him amused for ages – he giggled nonstop eventually returning to my loving arms when he’d worn himself out or wet his padding.

However, I couldn’t shake off his description of that first nightmare where he’d been treated as a baby girl. I wondered if I could make my sweet baby boy think he was a sweet baby girl, I began to obsess about this idea. What would I do? What could I do? Would I be taking things too far? If it worked, would I ever get my boy back? Would I want Jack back or...?

My mind was a whirl of questions and ideas. Soon it didn’t seem like a stupid undertaking but one that would be interesting. I began to think of it as an experiment, research into the human psyche... I began to justify the entire concept to myself...

I convinced myself it would be fantastic for both of us to push the limits and see where we ended up.

I searched the various ABDL sites and others to see if I could find something, anything that had been similarly attempted; I was surprised at the range of programmes on offer. I checked their success ratings and comments sections. Some you could tell were written by the designers and friends of the designers themselves and therefore I dismissed them but I did find a hypnosis strategy that seemed to cover, in part at least, what I wanted to do.

I wasn’t sure it would work because I’d have to use the programme whilst Jack was awake and I didn’t have a great deal of faith that hypnosis was a simple thing to induce in someone... or how susceptible they were to the subliminal.

I bought it and downloaded it onto my laptop – it was all about swirling visuals and subtle suggestion that would filter into the brain of the recipient.

The idea that words alone could make a boy think he was a girl I found a little preposterous but, after everything else that Jack now did and was, I thought if it would affect anyone it might just be him.

He loved the colourful whirling images. He thought they were just a bunch of crayons making nice pictures. He said he could see nappies... panties... dresses... dollies... princesses and little girls all inviting him to join them. There were loads of other girlie things he said he saw but I couldn’t see any of it. I could hear the soft soothing words as the voice took him under and wondered if he wore headphones it would make the programme more accessible.

His eyes stared at the screen unblinking. There was a strange grin on his face as occasionally his body would shake as if an electric current was being passed through it. He was also wetting his nappy but appeared unconcerned or even aware what was happening.

Suddenly Jack was all smiles and even speaking back to the voice as he slipped deeper and deeper. The hypnosis programme seemed to interact with the replies it received so seemed far more sophisticated than I’d first thought. The images changed, the words were specific to Jack.

I was asked to type into the programme the name I wanted Jack to go by.


From that moment on the voice referred to Jack as Jill and made him repeat that name after each part of the procedure.

“I am Jill.”

“Mummy loves Jill”

“Jill loves mummy”

It was so wonderful to hear those sweet words being said with such love and sincerity I hugged my baby boy and for the first time... called him Jill.

Eventually, the colourful images slowly faded and the voice encouraged Jill to go ‘sleepy-time’ and in the morning mummy would be waiting to take her sweet baby daughter for a walk in the park.

I hadn’t planned on that. I was only thinking as far as just staying in the house. I’d bought a few silky, satiny things that I hoped s/he would like but my plan was, after I’d changed him... her... from the soaked morning nappy it would be down to her what she choose what to wear.



The screen lit up with black and white swirls that slipped slowly into colourful patterns that held me spellbound.

The music was a different sort of pulsating rhythm but not unpleasant and I could feel myself being drawn further and further into the images. A voice gently invited me to relax, to concentrate on the swirling/twirling designs and let myself go.

Mummy wasn’t far away and I wanted to reach out to hold her whilst the voice increasingly attracted my attention. She kept telling me to just let go just like the voice did and I felt myself slipping away as I filled the front of my nappy with a warm comforting flood. Mummy covered my ears with her headphones so there were no distractions only the voice and the images.

My mind was finding it difficult to focus on anything around me but I was cosy and warm so all was well. I didn’t remember being put to bed, in fact, I couldn’t remember much about last night except... erm... ummm...  

I slowly woke up in my bed sucking on a dummy, whilst crooked under my arm was a dolly I didn’t recognise.  Her eyes were closed but she wore a pretty pink satin dress and matching nappy, she looked very pretty so we snuggled together.

I was lovely and comfy but began to realise that my nappy was once again quite full. I slipped my hand down and felt the comforting slipperiness of my protection but there was no doubt it all seemed wrong and I didn’t know what to do about it.

Suddenly tears sprang to my eyes and I heard a wailing I wasn’t expecting. I was crying for mummy.


I was half asleep when I heard the cry for “mummy”. Jack hadn’t cried out since he’d screamed “I’m a boy”, but this didn’t sound like a panic cry... more an ‘attention’ cry. There was a difference, which took me a second or two to realise and then to respond.

The previous night, after the few hours of absorbing the hypnotic programme I’d put Jack to bed. To be honest I was a little worried as he didn’t seem to know who I was, where he was or be aware of anything around him. I hoped I’d not turned him into some kind of Zombie.

It was a warm night so I changed him into dry protection and left him zonked out under a fleecy spread. However, he began to mutter stuff to himself so I inserted a dummy, which thankfully settled him down. I also had a new toy doll for him and thought I’d simply give him that to hold during the night instead of his usual stuffed animal. He appeared to like the choice because he smiled (I think it was a smile) from behind the plastic guard and cuddled her.

Actually, I’m sure it was a smile because up until that moment his eyes hadn’t focused on me or anything. However, they seemed to brighten up considerably when he saw the dolly and hugged her so tenderly.

Whilst he was asleep I got out an array of clothes so that come the morning he could choose what he wanted to wear. The info I’d received regarding the hypnosis suggested that there be some girl’s clothes ready. I went with that idea, though thought was quite presumptive of them, but nonetheless I’d chosen an outfit like the one the doll was wearing to ‘encourage’ Jill’s choice in the matter.

A short pink satin dress, with matching knickers and assorted ribbons were my starting point but I also laid out his normal shorts and t-shirts plus rather nice pale blue denim dungaree style shorts (that I have to say he had previously looked wonderful in) as well as a couple of onesies. I wasn’t sure if he’d be in any frame of mind to select what he wanted but I thought, as per instructions, to give my little sweetheart the choice.

That night I sat in the chair in his room watching him sleep. I was worried that after all that huge ‘information dump’ he might be a bit fidgety, or disorientated, or something I didn’t know what... so, I just sat and kept an eye on him.

He slept like a log - hugging his dolly and sucking on his dummy.


I have to admit that my eyes filled up on more than one occasion – he looked so damn cute. My ten year old son just looked so sweet and adorable gently suckling and at peace. I’m surprised at just how emotional I felt and wanted to just lift him from his snuggly warm bed, into my arms, and for him to nurse as I rocked and kissed his head.

I slid my hand under the fleecy blanket and inside his slippery plastic pants checking to see just how wet he was this morning. That was something I’d have to remember its Jill from now on not Jack... and she was soaked.

“Wakey-wakey little cherub.”

Oh God could this image in front of me get any more appealing as she slowly struggled herself awake. Still sucking and with a slight dribble down her chin she forced herself to focus and I saw her eyes as they lit up with recognition.

“Merrrmmmmy, murmmmmmmy.”

The dummy got in the way but I knew she was excitedly calling to me.

“Yes sweetheart,” She thrust her hands out for me to lift her up, “and a good morning to my prettiest baby girl.”

Jack had been a typical physical boy. He liked his sport and was fairly strong and it was strange holding and hugging this soft, pliable body. It seemed that his strength had diminished with age regression and his femininity.  As I held him in my arms supporting his squishy padded bottom, he... sorry... she rested her head on my boob and nudged in as close as she could to snuggle.

“Yes little love. Let’s get this wet nappy off and all cleaned up and as a special treat... mummy’s going to let you decide what to wear today.”

Of course, once stripped there was absolutely no doubt she was a boy. His little balls and penis lying quietly as they were wiped and cleaned, lotioned and powdered before applying a nice double thick pink disposable and taping it into place.

Dressed like that I just wanted to spend the entire day cuddling and hugging his adorable little cushiony frame. I slipped a pair of frilly pink plastic pants over it all and then led him to the bench where I’d laid out a selection of stuff for him to choose. Like I suspected, he was carrying his dolly with the pink dress so opted for the nice pink satin number I hoped he would.

I know a pink satin dress is a bit of a cliché but I remembered when I was a little girl I had a similar party dress I loved  so much that I cried when I had to take it off. I thought I looked really pretty, in fact, everyone who saw me said how pretty I looked... I just didn’t want to take it off. Every opportunity I got I’d ask mummy to let me wear my ‘special’ dress.

Happy memories.

Sliding it over Jill’s head she giggled at the soft material as it tickled her skin. It came down to just above her knees so the thick nappy and frilly pants couldn’t be seen unless she bent over or sat down. However, Jill looked gorgeous. I know I’d never have got Jack into anything so girlie but she looked very pretty.

However, with her short hair Jill looked like a very good-looking effeminate boy or a boyish looking girl but the effect as far as I was concerned... he was stunning. I put a pair of lacy topped stockings on his legs and a pair of pink plastic sandals and asked if he fancied going to the park to play.

“Yeeaahh” He squealed in girlish delight.

Jill looked like she was more ready for a tea party than a trip outside but her enthusiasm was catching and, although I might have had doubts, the fact that she was open to it made me feel more confident about the entire project.

It was ridiculous, yet I couldn’t stop feeling proud of my new daughter because she looked wonderful; young, eager and confident. I thought how lucky I would have been to have a toddler like her.

The hypnotic score had certainly been well made because it had altered even her speech patterns to that of a more childish, girlish timbre. She looked like a ten year old but her actions and voice were that of a three year old.

We went to a park not in our neighbourhood so that if we met anyone we knew I could avoid complicated explanations. Once there she ran, jumped and played on every bit of equipment the playground had to offer. Even as Jack, I’d never seen such uncontrolled excitement for what was available. The party dress was no inhibition to her delight and, as she swung, the breeze would lift it up and expose her thick silky protection, she squealed even more with delight.

Her satin dress glistened in the sunlight and when she bent down or crouched to pick up a toy or examine a flower or stroke a passing dog... her shiny plastic frilly panties told anyone that noticed... my little girl still had a wetting problem.

The pleasure my little daughter gave was at times unbearable. My head flooded with memories of Jack and the pleasure he gave me and the almost unbelievable loyalty he had to his mother... me.


Ohhh Jesus... what had I done?

I felt guilty. I’d changed my ten year old boy into a toddler... a toddler girl and I’m not sure why. It’d all seemed so logical to begin with, Jack himself had told me of his dream, it was as if both our psyches were working on a plan that neither of us knew about. Well to begin with at least.

Why should I have taken it to such an extreme?

Why didn’t I just stop at him wearing nappies?

How do I get him back?

Will he want to be back?

Yes of course he would... I never gave him the option... but he looks so happy... no night terrors... no worries... and she... I mean he, looks so cute in his thick padding. I’m sure it was nothing I did that made him dream of being a baby girl and although he kept saying he was a boy, the dreams continued... surely that points to him wanting to be a... at least I think it did...

“Okay sweetie, time for us to be heading home... are you wet?”

She walked slowly back from the slide looking a little sheepish, I hadn’t really needed to ask if she was wet, her waddle gave the game away.

She nodded.

“Oh love, don’t let it worry you, lots of little bo... girls have accidents... look I have a change in my bag so let’s do that now so you’ll have a nice dry nappy to go home in.”

Despite it all being a bit of a rush to get to the park in the first place, I had come prepared for just such an occasion. I’d bought a nappy bag and filled it with all the things I knew I’d need to keep my nappy wearing son clean and dry.

It was easy to change Jack when I could get him to wear nothing but protection leaving his shorts or jeans as a thing of the past but it became a bit of a faff when he was dressed as a boy. Being Jill, and wearing a dress, made access far easier and the change superfast.

Yes a dress for my bo... little girl was a bonus when it came to changing a soaked nappy.



Mummy had got me a dwess just like my dowwy wore... it’s shiny and pritteee.

And then we went to the park... and then I went on swings and a roundabout and... umm, a slide... and mummy was fun and we pwayed for ages...

Mummy... I wet...


Changing Jill, even out in the open where anyone might see, was an absolute delight... she never stopped giggling all the way through. Apart from his penis and little balls, Jack had all but disappeared from the way my new found daughter was reacting.

Jill enjoyed being wrapped in a fresh, thick nappy. She gushed in giggly fun at wearing a new dress or playing with a new doll. It was all exciting and fresh to her and she seemed such an enthusiastic little toddler. She hugged and kissed all the time, running to inform me of some latest thing she’d seen, or a new experience she’d enjoyed. When she slipped and grazed her knee, her sad little face was immediately lifted when I planted hundreds of tiny little ‘making it bet-bet’ kisses all over her ticklish knee. These were things that Jack had grown out of but Jill was sentimentally restoring to my mothering needs.

I am full of guilt and euphoria at the same time. The guilt comes when I change her nappy and see his little penis and I think of Jack as an occasionally naughty boy growing up and away from his mother. The euphoria comes as soon as his little penis is tucked away under a fresh layer of padding and the loving, heartfelt cuddles that follow. Jill is a very, very loving child, even more so than I remember Jack being at her ‘age’. Sometimes I forget and call her Jack but she simply doesn’t respond to that name but when I call “Jill” it’s all smiles and wanting hugs as she waddles her way towards me.

At the moment she, like Jack did, just sleeps in just a t-shirt and protection, although in truth, I have added plenty more padding to Jill’s nappy. I just love to see her with that juvenile waddle. It also gives me the chance to take more time with her morning change. She doesn’t have the bladder of a small child but that of a much bigger boy so she wakes up to an absolutely sodden nappy. I tell her what a good girl she is for using her nappy and can’t wait to get her changed and dressed wondering what the day ahead holds.

Some boys in the park who would have been around Jack’s age, maybe a year or two older, started calling Jill a sissy. I’m not sure how they knew Jill was a boy but somehow they’d sussed it out and to be honest, I can’t think why it hadn’t occurred to me before. My boy was, to all intents and purposes, a big sissy... and my sissy was crying because of the things these boys were saying.

Of course Jill had no idea she was a boy, that her nice flowery dress and thick nappy and shiny plastic pants were all an illusion I’d created for... I wasn’t sure why. I mean... Jack had this dream about being made into a girl and... well... a baby girl and... well... I just went with it. Jack seemed happier once he was back wearing a nappy I thought he might be even happier if I gave him what he wanted, well, dreamed he was... a baby girl.

However, once the summer holidays are over and school beckons, I can see I might have problems. That’s when the guilt returns and I wonder what exactly it is that I’ve done to my once loving son.

Would Jack ever forgive me?


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

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