Tim and I agreed that having to poop our diapers was the most unreasonable request of the experiment. Mrs. Perals, however, was adamant that we needed to learn how to do this ‘naturally’ so that Carl would continue to accept us. Just thinking about it made me feel queasy. What made my first time even more traumatic was that it happened when my dad and I were alone.

After dinner on the first night that I was in diapers, my mother measured me for new pants and then went out to buy them. I decided to watch TV and a little while later my dad joined me. By the time the program was half over I really needed to poop. I was desperately holding it in because I didn’t want my dad to see me behave in such a babyish manner. Even though he knew all about the experiment (including that I had to use my diapers for all my bodily needs), I felt ashamed at using my diapers for that purpose in his presence. I started to squirm in discomfort.

“Are your diapers uncomfortable?” my dad asked.

“Kind of,” I replied.

I continued to squirm as I sat on the couch.

“Come here, Billy,” my dad said. “I’ll rub your back.” This was my dad’s cure all for whatever ailed you. I guess it worked most of the time. Anyway, I got up from the couch and nearly lost it right then and there. Tears filled my eyes and started running down my cheeks.

“What’s the matter, son? Are you in pain?”

“I have to do number two really bad,” I sobbed. He pulled me close to him and rubbed my back. I felt my bowels relax and when I bent my knees a little bit I started filling my diaper. The more I pooped the bigger my sobs got. When I was finished I could feel the heaviness of this seemingly huge mass of poop pulling down on my diaper.

“Finished?” my dad asked.

I nodded my head and continued to cry. I felt so embarrassed that my dad had witnessed my infantile behavior. Also, I wondered how long it would be before my mom got home to change me. The smell emanating from my backside was very unpleasant. This was definitely the most miserable experience of my life.

“I think we’d better get you changed before you get diaper rash.”

I stiffened noticeably under his embrace.

“What’s the matter?” he asked in a semi-serious way. “Don’t you think your old man knows how to change a diaper? Believe me, I changed lots of them when your sister and you were babies.”

This was news to me. I didn’t think that dads ever did things like that. (Remember, this was in 1962.) He led me upstairs. I couldn’t get my sobs under control. Each step I took caused the load in my diaper to shift, reminding me of what I had just done.

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” my dad said, “I think it’s time for you to get into your nighttime diaper.”

I remained silent (except for my slowly diminishing sobs) as my dad prepared everything. My dad took my shirt and shoes off.

“I think it’ll be best if I take your diaper off in the bathroom.” He lowered my plastic pants and I stepped out of them. The smell was awful but my dad didn’t seem at all affected by it. He then unpinned and lowered my diaper. He dumped the loose contents into the toilet and flushed it. While the bowl was refilling he rinsed the diaper in it. He gently squeezed out the excess water and threw into the diaper pail (that I hadn’t yet noticed). He flushed the toilet again. I thought the whole thing was disgusting but my dad took it all in stride. He washed his hands and moistened a towel to clean me with.

“We may as well get you cleaned up here,” he said as he got down to business.

He had me turn around while he cleaned my backside. He rinsed the towel twice before he was satisfied. We went back to my room and my dad laid out the nighttime diaper on the changing pad. ‘Here you go,” he said. “Hop on, big guy.”

I had pretty much gotten myself under control and my dad’s attempt at humor actually got me to laugh for a second or two. I lied down on the diaper. He took a bottle of baby oil from the dresser.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“When you wet during the night you’ll need extra protection because it will be longer before you get changed. But,” he added with emphasis, “if you need to get changed in the middle of the night don’t hesitate to wake us up.”

He oiled my front and backside.

“Oops… forgot the pins in the bathroom,” my dad said as he scurried off to get them.

In the few seconds that he was gone I took note of the diaper. I had heard my mom say that it had four more layers in the center than the daytime diapers but it sure felt like more. I wondered how I could possible sleep wearing such bulky things.

“OK, here we go. Ready?” my dad asked in a lighthearted tone. I nodded my head and smiled. He adjusted the diaper and fastened the top pin on my right side. When he fastened the corresponding pin of the left side I was aghast that this diaper rose even higher than the daytime ones. It actually came into contact with the lower part of my ribcage. He quickly fastened the remaining pins.

“See,” he said with a certain measure of pride. “Perfect. It’s like riding a bicycle—you never forget how to do it. Now, let’s get you into your plastic pants.”

My dad unfolded the pair that he had earlier placed on the bed. They crinkled loudly as he pulled them up my legs and over the diaper, just like the ones Tim and I wore earlier in the day. Also, the leg openings and waistband seemed to grip tighter. The thought passed through my mind that this was good because I didn’t want my diapers to leak all over the bed.

When I stood up I fully realized how thick these diapers were. The huge bulk of material between my legs made me unable to bring my knees together.

“Did mom buy you new pajamas?” my dad asked. The import of the question didn’t sink in for a second or two.

“Uh… I don’t know,” I answered.

He opened the dresser and handed me the shirt to my blue ski pajamas. I pulled it over my head and pulled it down to cover the top part of my plastic pants but it slid right back up to the waistband,

“I guess you’ll have to wear it that way,” my dad chuckled. “Your pants are to puffy and too slippery for the shirt to stay in place.” I didn’t think it was at all funny that these huge plastic pants would have to remain fully exposed. We went back downstairs to watch TV. My dad noticed that I shivered a couple of times as I sat watching. It was springtime but the evenings still got pretty cool.

“Are you cold without your pajama bottoms?” he asked.

“Kind of,” I answered.

“Come here,” he said.

He picked me up and sat me on his lap. My legs were draped over his and my head rested against his right shoulder. He rubbed the upper part of my legs for a several seconds until I warmed up. I guess I could have returned to the couch but I was very comfortable and my dad didn’t seem to mind either. When mom got home I made a move to get up but dad stopped me.

“You don’t have to move,” he said. “But, I wouldn’t let mom see you sucking your thumb. She was always after to stop doing that.” I yanked my thumb out of my mouth, horrified and embarrassed that I had unconsciously done it.

“It’s OK with me,” he said, kissing me on the top of the head, “you’ve had a hard day.”