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to do with Frozen)
by Les Lea
I was looking
at some old photographs the other day and one of them
was of my dad holding me outside our terraced (and
somewhat dilapidated) old house.
obviously written by my father, read - 9 month old
Popsi and me taking the morning air.
nickname as a baby was Popsi and, from the image at
least, my sex indeterminate, which I suppose is OK for a
baby, as it really doesn’t matter. As it was, I was
dressed in a grey looking smock but my large white nappy
was clearly visible resting on dad’s arm.
I was giggling about something, and dad was
smiling, so it must have been a fun occasion for all
concerned but the thing was, I never remembered ever
being called Popsi.
Now you may be
wondering why I’m telling you about this. In fact, I
have no idea why I’m sharing this little titbit of my
life except as a reminder of the things you forget or
aren’t aware of. I’m sure I was called Popsi (by my
parents at least) for quite some time although as far as
I know, I’ve never had a nickname at school or
throughout my adult life.
that early part of my life has been forgotten, there is
one thing I do remember because in one way or another it
continues to this day.
Like I remember,
I must have been about six years old and having a bath
on my own. I was enjoying playing with my little plastic
boats and suddenly I needed a pee. Of course I was
already in the bath so it seemed silly to get out and
then pee in a different ‘bowl’ of water so I just
relaxed and let it flow. I was completely transfixed by
the small yellow plume that emerged from my little
‘pidge’ and found that it was something I ended up doing
every time I had a bath. Quite simply it was fun and
felt good to do.
The problem was,
even though my potty training had lasted until I was
four and I hadn’t wet the bed for over two years, I
suddenly started again. These days I can see a link
between the two incidents but at the time, well I was
only a kid and it never occurred to me.
The warmth of
the bath and the warmth of my bed both perhaps working
on my brain to give me a similar feeling of relaxation;
the two experiences were becoming one and the same.
connection between the two wasn’t made because no one
knew I peed in the bath, all mum saw was that one
morning I woke up to a soaked bed. That was followed by
further wet bedding and jammies so after a week of such
accidents, mum said that I had to return to nappies
until I was “over it”.
To say I wasn’t
happy about this announcement was a bit of an
understatement as I threw a tantrum and became very
angry. The very idea of being returned to a ‘baby’ had
me screaming the house down in protest, which didn’t
help my case.
Now mum had
never been a fan of disposables, I’m not sure if that
was a result of worrying about the environment or
because of the expense, either way, she never had them
in the house. As babies we were always put in thick
cloth nappies covered in a rather milky white pair of
rubber or plastic pants. I have to say they seemed to do
the job remarkably efficiently and mum never seemed
bothered about colour or fashion.
She is also a no
nonsense type of woman. She’s very loving but once her
mind is set on a course of action nothing is going to
change it. I think dad liked that spark in mum and
that’s why he married her (also my oldest brother was on
So, once she’d
decided on what needed to be done to protect my bed and
bedding, her damp little son was going to be
well-wrapped at night whether I liked it or not and, as
I said, I did not.
Besides, I had
two older brothers and they would just take the piss (so
They did - as
soon as they saw the plastic under-sheet being fastened
over my mattress. I was now fair game being referred to
as the ‘baby of the family’ and spoken to as if I was
still a toddler. My brothers didn’t tire of ‘diddum’s
this’ and ‘diddum’s that’ or be constantly checking my
padded night time nappy and telling me it was time all
babies should be in bed… at 6.30 or earlier.
wasn’t something you could talk to a six year old about
so my parents just assumed I was being lazy, which may
have been part of it, or that I’d probably grow out of
my bed-wetting problem soon enough. In the meantime,
nappies were the most obvious solution.
On that first
night mum put me in them I was furious but had no
option, both mum and dad said it was for my own good and
that the sooner I stopped wetting the bed the sooner I
could return to my normal PJs.
night was hell, I couldn’t get used to them. They were
hot, bulky, uncomfortable and sweaty, which made me
squirm around in bed until they were so loose they
‘accidently’ wriggled off. This was a bad move on my
part as in the morning my bed was soaked but not the
nappy so it was obvious to mum that I hadn’t been
wearing it. I got a couple of quick swats to my bare
bottom for both lying to her about how it came off and
for wetting once again.
night she pinned me in, added plastic pants over them
and made sure I was under no illusions that if
everything wasn’t exactly as she had left it (i.e. me in
my protection) I’d be feeling more than the little
‘taps’ I’d received as punishment earlier. She had also
made it very clear that I wasn’t to take it off, only
she and dad were allowed to do that, so I was to stay in
my nappy until told otherwise.
It was still a
damned uncomfortable night but I dare not wriggle free
of them this time. My crinkly plastic pants and
under-sheet adding to my awkwardness but in the end
sleep did visit and so did the pee fairy because in the
morning my nappy was soaked. Thankfully, as mum saw it,
everything else was dry so her precautions had been a
It felt really
awful sitting at the breakfast table with my brother’s
giggling at my bloated nappy and plastic pants. Mum said
she’d change me when it was time for school. This really
worried me because I thought she meant I’d have to wear
a nappy to class but in the end she didn’t mean that at
all and I went to school in my normal undies … and
uniform. What a relief.
I didn’t have
accidents during the day it was only when I was asleep
or in the bath… but then the ones in the bath weren’t
accidents… I really liked the feeling and watching the
almost invisible pale yellow trails disappear into the
rest of the water. I also discovered that if I peed near
the surface, and my boats were somewhere near the flow,
I could get the current to make them sail in a
particular direction. I got pretty good at keeping a
load of pee for when I was scheduled for a bath so I
could spend more time on this incredible discovery.
protection at night became a regular feature of my
bedtime and eventually my brothers got used to seeing me
being wrapped in terry cloth and fitted into rubber
pants before I went to bed
I shared a room
with my two brothers, Leo, the eldest was nine and Gary
who was eight shared a big double bed, whilst mine was a
small single bed pushed up against the far wall. When
all three of us were up or in the room at the same time,
like when getting ready for school, it was a very
cramped space. With drawers, a wardrobe and of course
the beds, we had no room for play, it was strictly a
place for sleep and changing. This meant that when mum
changed me into my night time protection, this was dealt
with on my bed and became a bit of a ritual before my
brothers needed to get ready. Otherwise there simply
wouldn’t have been the room for us all to be changing at
the same time and the bathroom was quite small, so there
wasn’t much space in there either. We coped but it had
to be done to mother’s precision organisation.
She liked to
apply the various oils and powders and though I resented
being put into nappies, that resentment was getting less
and less every time. The thing was I was enjoying peeing
in my nappy. On more than one occasion I’d woken up and
could quite easily have made it to the toilet in time
but enjoyed the warm surge. My nappy, like the bath,
became the place to let it flow.
Mum was slightly
annoyed that her washing line was once again filled with
my flapping nappies and rubber pants; she thought she
was over all that, but as the alternative was fluttering
bed sheets and jammies, she let it go.
My night time
toilet arrangements became quite a topic of conversation
between mum and the neighbours who commiserated with her
on my immature return to nappies. As
far as I knew, and certainly mum never led me to believe
otherwise, I was the only six year-old on the estate
still needing night time protection.
Mum made sure if
I was staying up to watch TV or we were doing something
else, she always wanted to make sure I was in my
protection well before bedtime. She dreaded that I might
nod off when not in protection and shame myself by
leaving a pool of pee that someone else might notice.
I couldn’t understand this as I never arrived
home from school in wet pants so why she thought I
couldn’t be trusted I wasn’t so sure. Although I
suspected it was just the normal amount of gossiping and
conclusions drawn that went on between ‘concerned’
If mum or dad
were going to be busy, on more than one occasion I’d
arrive home from school or from playing out and I’d be
taken upstairs and made ready for an early night. So,
quite often I’d be in my nappy for ages before actual
bedtime. So seeing me totter around the house wearing
just a t-shirt and nappy was not unusual. I’d try and
disguise my padding by choosing a brightly coloured
t-shirt, which to me at least, drew attention away from
the bulky material between my legs.
urge to fill it then was strong, but I was sure that if
they knew I could’ve made it to the bathroom and yet
didn’t, then I would be in a great deal of trouble. If
they thought it was accidental, and I did it in my
sleep, that was acceptable.
have an early night just so I could pee in my nappy as
soon as I got into bed. The feeling was wonderful and
I’d often fall asleep almost immediately after the
event. Mum once or twice checked me when she came to bed
and, finding me wet would change me into a clean and dry
one only for that to be soaked by morning.
There was no
doubt I was peeing in my nappy more and more and both
Leo and Gary started to complain about the overpowering
odour of these ‘mishaps’. As I didn’t seem to be in the
process of stopping (and there was nowhere else for me
to sleep) her solution was thicker nappies, thicker soak
pads and very robust rubber pants.
Mum claimed that nothing would get out of this fortified
prison and all my changes were to be performed in the
bathroom from then on. It was far more cramped and
uncomfortable but I couldn’t complain (although I did a
Mum was giving
me more and more responsibility for my own changes. I
was left to put it on myself, after suitable instruction
and supervision from her, and I got quite adept at
pinning myself into multiple folds of soft white (now
slightly yellowing) fabric.
The doctor I
went to see told dad there was nothing wrong with me and
after giving him the third degree about how I was
punished, and satisfying himself I wasn’t being abused,
said that I’d probably grow out of it pretty soon.
Dad was annoyed
that the doctor assumed it was his fault I wet and as a
result, I was constantly under dad’s scrutiny and
encouraged to improve my night time toilet habits. I did
try. I hated that dad was so upset with the disgusting
insinuation he was abusing me, so I did get dry for a
week or so. Eventually, the strain of staying dry gave
way to the pleasure of being wet so nothing changed.
Although the outcome of all this was, because of his
inquisition dad refused to let me see a doctor again
regarding my nightly ‘accidents’.
Even when I
reached my seventh, eighth and ninth birthdays I was
still wearing my night time armour (as I’d jokingly come
to call it) but that changed when dad got promoted and
transferred to a different town. A change of house,
school and friends suddenly had me more interested in
that than my wet habits and miraculously (as mum and dad
called it) I suddenly found I was dry and the toilet was
not an alien place for me to visit at night. Pretty
soon, after almost three years I was back to proper
nightwear and a dry bed.
From then on I
hardly ever thought about my ‘golden flow’ and certainly
didn’t miss the thick nappy.
Here I’m going
to do a potted history of my life then until now, simply
because what happened during these years from when I
stopped has no bearing on what I want to tell you about
(well I don’t think so).
I had been
working since I left school at eighteen though I never
went to college, but found myself at a new firm that had
ambition and a workforce that functioned very well
together. I was one of their go-getters and the firm was
in the right place at the right time for the technical
facilities it offered. It was a great place to be and we
all did fairly well sharing in the company’s successes.
At twenty-one I
inherited money that my grandparents had put in trust
for me. It was quite a considerable amount and enabled
me to put the deposit down on a place of my own.
By twenty-four I
was married to a nice girl but my sex drive, which had
never been prolific, eventually drove her into the arms
of another man (a workmate) and I was divorced by the
time I reached twenty-seven.
During in all
that time, I never thought about nappies or wetting
and those two thoughts have only just recently
surfaced, and that has taken me to a place I wished I’d
Let me explain.
months since my divorce and I now live alone. Recently I
was taking a shower - don’t get me wrong, I’d taken many
showers since the decree absolute, it was just this one
was sort of a turning point.
It was early
morning and as I let the warm jets pulsate against my
head and back I let my night time bladder build-up go in
the cubicle. Now I’m sure I’d done this more times than
I remembered but on this occasion something actually
As the stream of
bright yellow pee joined the river of warm water I
watched in wonder and my mind was immediately
transferred back to the moment when I was six and peed
in the bath for the very first time. Then it was pale
yellow and in volume hardly much at all but now I
witnessed a yellow torrent mixing and mingling with a
clear water flow and disappear in a swirl down the
It was magical.
It brought back
that instant over twenty years earlier, when a shiver of
excitement, wonder and sheer pleasure led to that most
joyful of discoveries - peeing was fun… and not only in
I’d been in a
little bit of self despair because I felt useless and it
wasn’t just because of the break up. The divorce hadn’t
hit me hard because I more or less knew it was coming
from the moment I married Penny. We were more friends
than lovers and we’d let ourselves fall into the trap
that friends could be lovers. Alas, after just a few
short, frustrated years (for Penny) it was over.
Since then my
self-imposed depression meant I wasn’t the bundle of fun
I used to be and quite a few of my ‘friends’ took the
opportunity to let our friendship slide. I can’t blame
them I wasn’t much company but it was all a mask for
something… though at the time I hadn’t realised what
that might be. However, a stream of pee and a delightful
memory had had the most amazing effect and I bounced
into work a new man.
For the first
time in absolutely ages I felt happy. There was energy
to my attitude and a zing in my step. I was, to put it
mildly, amazingly focused on ME. Not in a depressed
state of mind, not self-destructive, not in a negative
way at all. In fact, I was all the things I used to be
before I got tangled up in growing up. It was surprising
how liberated I felt. I could do my job, I could
function around others, and the divorce I realised meant
a great weight of a lifetime of responsibility had been
lifted from my shoulders. THANK YOU GOD… or whoever is
in charge of such things.
Now, as I live
on my own, I saw no reason not to indulge once again in
a physical reminisce so went out to purchase a bag of
Abena Abri-Form M4 disposables and a
couple of pairs of thick shiny plastic pants (they were
in packs of two).
This was an
incredible, life-changing decision.
From then on,
when not at work (and occasionally when I was, though
not as thickly) nappies, disposables and plastic pants
would be my underwear of choice. I have once again begun
to appreciate that soft rustling sound of a slick pair
of vinyl pants, the bulk between my legs, the smooth
rounded front to my genital area and wondered why had I
let these feelings go?
and a return of baby pins that help make my fabric
nappies fit tightly and look so special was like finding
old and much missed friends.
Now I was older
peeing in the bath had more force. I
watched the few suds being swept into the current and
being destroyed, much to my juvenile enjoyment. I began
to drink more liquid in the hope that my bloated bladder
made the length of pee last much longer. I now try to
hold off from going to the toilet wanting to keep it for
my bath time ritual… or later. When bed time comes I
just let nature take its course and I find filling my
disposable immensely satisfying.
I don’t want my
complete childhood back but there are things I do that
make me giggle like the little kid I once was. The
little kid who peed in the bath and enjoyed the
sensation of letting go… and letting it flow.
A newly warm wet
nappy is a thing of immense pleasure.
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