I had been avoiding looking at myself in the mirror because I knew that

I would look ridiculous. However, curiosity was getting the better of me. I walked into my parents’ room and opened the closet door to see my reflection in their full-length mirror. I looked much worse than I had imagined. The triple diapers gave me a baby-like roundness from any angle. My body hadn’t started maturing yet and my hairless legs still had plenty of baby-fat on them. Moreover, the yellow and white t-shirt took years off me. Frankly, I could have passed for a large seven year old. I was devastated.

A little while later the telephone rang. My mom picked it up and I listened to her half of the conversation.

“Hello… Yes, everything went fine… That’s right, triple… [There was no doubt that she was talking to Mrs. Perals.] Yes… Yes… It will take some time, yes… He’ll get used to it, I’m sure… Oh, yes. I’m sure… They’re both good kids… Uh huh, we’ve always been proud of Billy, too… Ok, I’ll take him over now… Right, good bye.”

My mom came to tell me that it was time to leave. I felt my courage desert me—my legs became wobbly, tears pooled into my eyes, and my hands began shaking uncontrollably. My mom, who could read my moods even in normal circumstances, hugged me.

“Scared?”

I nodded my head.

“Why are you scared?”

“Because I look like a baby.”

“Do you feel like a baby? Are you about to do something babyish?”

“No,” I mumbled. (Actually, I was beginning to feel an urgent need to wet my diapers, which certainly was babyish but I knew that that wasn’t what she meant.)

“I agree. You’re about to give up some of your time and some of your freedom to reach out to another person—a person who may never know that you’re there. On the other hand, what you’re doing might change that person’s life. There’s nothing babyish about taking that kind of a risk or offering that kind of service.”

“I know,” I mumbled again. “OK, I’m almost ready to go.”

“Almost?” my mom asked with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah,” I said with embarrassment, “My diapers are wet. Could you check them, please?”

She assured me that my diapers could hold out for at least one or two more wettings. She did caution me that every time I soiled my diapers I was to notify Mrs. Perals immediately. The idea of soiling my diapers left me with a dull pain in the stomach.

We walked out of the house and onto the street. I had never felt so self-conscious in all my life; I would have sworn that the curtains moved in several houses. It was only when we got to the Perals’ driveway that I became aware that my mother was holding my hand. Maybe she thought I would run away if given the chance. More likely, she did it to give me a sense of security and a sort of vote of confidence. As I walked along and peed my diaper for the second time in five minutes I didn’t feel very confident… and, my diaper was getting really heavy. Mrs. Perals Greeted us at the door, “Come in. Tim is in his room.” Mrs. Perals and my mom stayed in the kitchen. Tim was sitting on the floor looking even more glum than I felt. I was relieved that he was wearing the same kind of triple diapers, plastic pants, and striped t-shirt as me. He had a bunch of Civil Was army soldiers strewn in front of him.

“Hi,” I said. “Is that a real Civil War battle or are you just goofing around?

“Just goofing around,” he answered. He looked at me closely. “Looks like we both got the same treatment, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You’re pretty wet,” he said flatly.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “How about you?”

“I’ve been holding out but I don’t think I can last much longer.”

I sat down opposite him and we began an imaginary battle against each other. A few minutes into the battle, Tim suddenly stopped. He looked into my eyes and I heard the hissing sound of him peeing his diapers. He started turning red in embarrassment and then looked away. (I was embarrassed, too.) The noise seemed to go on for a long time. Tim didn’t look toward me but stared at the play soldiers for about a minute.

“We’re in bigger trouble than I thought,” he finally said.

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” I was already depressed and scared—I resented having to think about even worse things.

“I was wrong when I said that my mom would let us off the hook after two or three days if Carl didn’t show some kind of positive response to our diapers. She says that that’s not fair to him. She says that his brain doesn’t work like ours and that it might take weeks for him to notice. She says that I have to continue with the experiment for at least six weeks.”

“But, that’s almost all the way to the end of school!”

“And school’s another thing,” he added. “I have to wear my diapers everywhere, all the time.”

“But what about pants? You can’t go around school without pants!”

“Of course not,” he answered testily, “my mom will get me some to fit over my diapers and plastic pants.” His eyes were beginning to tear up. I didn’t blame him. What an awful thought—to be sent to school in diapers!

“Maybe the school won’t allow you to wear diapers,” I suggested.

“Yeah, maybe… but my mom is pretty persuasive. I think she’ll get her way no matter what I or they say.” Boy, was he ever trapped. My situation didn’t seem so bad after all.

“I’ll carry out my bargain… for the whole six weeks… I mean, I’ll wear diapers when I’m home or when I come over here. I promise.” I hoped that I had said that clearly enough. I didn’t want any more misunderstandings that might result in my being forced to do stuff I didn’t want to do.

“Thanks,” he said. Mrs. Perals walked into Tim’s room.

“Carl will probably wake up in a few minutes. How are you guys doing?”

“My mom told me to tell you when I need my diaper changed. I think I need to go home,” I said.

I didn’t look forward to walking back to my house alone, except that it seemed preferable to staying here and having my plastic pants leak. I had wet again (nervousness, I guess) and my diaper felt awfully soaked. “No, honey, that’s not what your mom meant. I’ll take care of you, right now… just like your mom will take care of Tim when he’s over at your house,” Mrs. Perals explained. While I was happy that I wouldn’t have to walk back to my house in a diaper I felt funny about Tim’s mom seeing my… diaper area. Also, I was really soaked. What would she think? I had only been in these diapers for about ninety minutes.

“How about you, Billy?” his mom asked. “Do you need a change?”

“Umm, I guess so,” he answered vaguely.

“Get up and let me check… Oh my, you’re soaked. In fact, I think we made a mistake in the choice of daytime diapers. Both of you definitely need heavier diapers.”

Now what? I thought as another wave of dread overtook me. She opened Tim’s closet and pulled out two thick flannel diapers and heavyweight plastic pants.

“It’s a good thing that we (my mother and her) only opened up a few of the packages of daytime diapers that we bought—we’re going to have to return the rest, and the plastic pants that go with them. We’re going to switch you to these heavyweight diapers during the day. I suppose that this also means that we’ll need to get you even heavier ones for nighttime.” Switching gears completely, she added, “Carl is still asleep so let’s be very quiet going into his room.”

I wondered why we were getting our diapers changed in Carl’s room until I figured out that she wanted to use Carl’s changing table. I got up on the table and lied down. I took the opportunity to take a quick glance around the room. It was decorated more like a baby’s room than an eight year old’s. Carl was asleep in a large crib. (Mrs. Perals later told me that this was because Carl moved around a lot in his sleep and fell out of regular beds.)

“Lift up, Billy, so I can take your plastic pants off,” Mrs. Perals whispered softly.

I complied and the plastic pants were quickly removed. The smell of pee became strong and I blushed. Mrs. Perals unpinned the soaking diapers and cleaned my diaper area. She slid the new diaper under me. It felt soft and extremely thick.

“This is a pre-folded diaper,” Mrs. Perals explained. “It is made out of two layers of flannel with four additional layers of terry cloth in the center strip. This ought to hold you for a couple of hours at least.” She adjusted the diaper and began to pin it up. I was appalled by the way the diaper completely covered my stomach and stopped just below my ribcage. I could feel it rise very high on my back, too. If Mrs. Perals had been my mother I’m sure that I would have protested loudly but, since I barely knew her, I kept quiet. She pulled the plastic pants up my legs and they sealed me in. I got up and had to hold onto the table while Mrs. Perals checked to see that the diaper was completely encased inside my plastic pants—the diaper was so thick between my legs that I could hardly keep my balance. I sank into an even bigger depression.

These diapers were huge by comparison to the first ones and the plastic pants made crinkly sounds at the slightest movement. Judging by the look on his face, Tim was as unhappy as I was over this turn of events. The only point of comfort for me was that I had already made it clear that I would not, under any circumstance, wear diapers to school. I felt really bad about what lay ahead for Tim. Mrs. Perals diapered him and we stumbled our way back to his room.

“Oh, God,” was Tim’s only comment.

“Yeah,” I answered, understanding him completely.

There was no way that things could get any worse for him.

“I’ll never be able to hide these diapers under my pants. I’ve got to get my mom to let me wear the thinner diapers to school,” he said in a choked voice.

“Yeah,” I answered sympathetically. Mrs. Perals, who had stayed in Carl’s room, came out to tell us that he was just waking up.

“I want you boys to go outside and play where Carl can see you from his window,” she said.

“But that’s the front yard! People will see us.” Tim protested.

“I know that,” she said in an irritated voice. “I’ve already explained to you that the neighbors know all about what you boys are doing and why you’re doing it. Now, go!”

We cautiously made our way downstairs and out the side door.

“Now what?” I asked nervously.

“Do you want to play with Carl’s Tonka trucks?”

“What??” I asked incredulously.

“Just kidding. Let’s get my football out of the garage.”

As far as I could tell, Carl didn’t see us (or didn’t pay any attention to us) during the hour that we tossed the football around. But, lots of neighbors did. At least our activity gave us a chance to learn how to walk and run in our new diapers. ****