As I had feared but expected, word about my nightly diapered status slowly got out. At first I denied everything, but over time the list of `eyewitnesses' grew so large and the `evidence' became so overwhelming that any further denials were pointless. While my brother's friend Brad might not have made a crusade of it, I know for certain that he did talk to several kids about my wetting and the fact that I was put in diapers every night, and they surely told others and so on. The old snowball effect. My brother didn't exactly hide my `secret' either- he openly discussed my `big baby' treatment with anyone who asked, and never left out the fact that I was regularly spanked for it; but then he couldn't have hidden the truth even if he wanted to, what with my infantile clothing and associated items in plain view in my room for his friends and anyone else to see. And of course his buddies soon all seemed to know exactly what the circled `W's represented on my `calendar of disgrace', and they appeared gleefully interested in the paddle hanging ominously under it. (`Hey Johnny- I see you peed your diapers again last night? Come here and bend over, young man...') Furthermore, my mom diapered me around 7 p.m. each evening regardless of who might be in the house. Or even in my room.

Naturally I complained about this, but she would simply reply "Well in this house, if you behave like a baby, you get treated like a baby, and I don't care who knows about it," or words to that effect. Not very original. She considered my shame a positive thing, an incentive for me to stop wetting. So the more the better. And of course as Friday evenings approached, my apprehension mounted as I anticipated not only a painful and demeaning spanking, but also the fact that quite often friends of my brother (or sometimes of my mother) would not only be acutely aware of my punishment blow by blow, but then would most likely see me shamefaced in my diapers, sometimes in tears, soon after. I was allowed pajamas now, but there was simply no disguising the bulk of my diapers or the rustling of my plastic or rubber pants. And I had to get used to people talking over me as if I really were a baby, as if I couldn't understand. "Is he made to launder and fold his own diapers? I hope so! I would certainly not do it for him." This was a busybody friend of my mom's. She kept staring at the front of my protruding pajamas, the old cow.

"Yes, Gloria. And either he does it promptly and properly or he knows I will hire a diaper service for him. I actually made him call one to confirm that they do provide diapers for older kids such as himself who are incontinent or bedwetters, so he knows I mean business. Johnny, what was the name of that diaper service again?"

"Natural Diapers Unlimited," I mumbled in a shaky voice. The lady there had asked how old I was, and told me that indeed they do provide Babykins `youth' diapers and inserts. No problem. Plastic or rubber pants also. Would my mother or caregiver like to speak to her now? No thank you.

"That's it. `Unlimited' is right! Actually Rob keeps after me to do just that because he doesn't like his clothes done in the same washer that's used for Johnny's urine-soaked diapers. He's afraid his things will smell."

Soon at the mall, at school, and on the street my reputation was such that I was having to endure such taunts as `Diaperboy', `Piss-head', and the like. I especially hated to be teased by kids younger than me, and it happened often. "Hey Johnnybaby, it's getting late, you better toddle on home and ask your mommy to diaper you!" Stupid stuff, but it always bothered me. Sometimes I didn't even know the kids doing the teasing, and I never knew when or where I might encounter such mean comments. For instance, at McDonald's I ran into some kids I barely knew in a booth beside mine. I was just trying to eat an order of fries in peace, when one of them said: "Hey look guys, it's Johnny the toxic tot! John-boy, did you `dampen' your diapers again last night?" No, as a matter of fact I soaked them. And I just decided on take-out fries after all.

Once in my desk at school I found a couple of diaper pins along with a crude drawing of me in crayon- yellow diapers, and a pacifier on another occasion. Some time after that on the blackboard I noticed someone had written `Why can't Johnny read?' But the word `read' was dramatically crossed out and the words `stay dry' added. The teacher didn't notice, and the question remained there all afternoon. In my class I had become a pariah, an object of ridicule and derision, fair game for everyone. Teachers did not encourage this, but actually did very little to stop it. Russ never teased me, but he kept his distance and I couldn't blame him. Of course no one knew that it was his hand-me-down diapers I was wearing to bed every night.

And there was always something new to worry about. For example, we were assigned a Japanese exchange student to room and board with us. My brother's bed had been replaced by bunkbeds, and fourteen year old `Hiro' (his name is Hiroaki, from Kyoto) would occupy the top bunk. It's common for Japanese students to come to Canada for six month stints of intense English language training at various special schools. They stay with pre-approved families and pay quite high rates for room and board. My mom had applied, and was accepted. I doubt she mentioned on the application form that any prospective student would be sharing a room with a diapered chronic wetter. Would he complain? For weeks before Hiro arrived I worried what his reaction to my diapers would be. Would he think I was a loser and a retard as my brother was so fond of claiming? Would he think me a big baby? Would he tease and humiliate me? I didn't think I could take much more of that.

I was very nervous on that first evening after his arrival. Hiro turned out to be about my size, and if anything, even lighter. He seemed tired after his long flight, and as he brought his stuff into the room, if he noticed my supply of diapers and rubber pants and other things, he didn't say anything. And of course my painfully revealing calendar wouldn't mean anything to him. Not yet, anyway. He didn't say anything, but as it turned out he couldn't have, at least nothing I would have understood. His English was all but non-existent, and we tried to communicate using gestures, trial and error, and a Fodor's travel dictionary.

As the dreaded 7 o'clock arrived, Hiro was lying on his bunk, reading, half snoozing. I was grateful that at least this was not a Friday, but knew that that would come soon enough. I felt very awkward that he was in the room, and protested, of course to no avail. "He's going to find out all about it anyway, so it might as well be now." Then my mom tried to make him understand what was about to happen. She pointed to the trolley. "Diapers." She pointed to me. "Bedwetter." She thought if she talked loud he'd understand. "Hiro, Johnny has to wear diapers to bed at night because he wets the bed."

Great. Hiro didn't seem to have a clue as to what she was saying, but unfortunately now we had his attention. He seemed bewildered, and stared blankly in the direction of my shameful stay-dry wear.

"Go ahead and get undressed," my mom said, as she selected the regulation diapers and started to combine them in the now familiar way. I hesitated. My mouth was dry, and I had that peculiar floating feeling I get when something awful has already begun to happen. Naked in front of a stranger, a peer! Unceremoniously diapered in front of our student boarder! Again I felt faint.

"Look, I don't want to have to spank you in front of Hiro on his first night," she said noticing my reticence, "but you know I surely will if I'm forced to." She looked toward the paddle. My brother had recently offered to drill holes in it to eliminate any `cushion' of air against the skin, therefore to render spankings a little more painful. She was thinking about it. I sheepishly did as I was told, then lay in excruciating nakedness on the powdered thick rectangle of diapers. The babyish scent of Johnson & Johnson Pure Cornstarch already seemed to fill the room as my mom sprinkled my front, then pulled the diapers up and pinned them tight. Then she slid my vinyl pants under my submissive butt and snapped me into them. I felt totally infantilized, ashamed, horrified to be so helpless in front of Hiro in this way.

"I wonder what poor Hiro must be thinking," she chuckled as she finished. "I bet he's never seen anything like this before." She read my mind, but I wasn't laughing. I opened my eyes and got a glimpse of him. He was wide-eyed and his mouth was open as he stared at me laying in my bulky, waterproof state. And his face was almost as red as mine felt. He mumbled to himself, seemingly in disbelief. Now I had no choice but to waddle over to my dresser if I wanted pajamas to at least cover my ever cumbersome diapers. I was intensely aware of my (to me) deafening diaper-pants noise as I moved, and I knew that Hiro must be noticing also. I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked in short steps to try to minimize the effect. So now he knew everything! Well, almost.

Later, downstairs, my brother and Hiro were watching TV when I came into the room. I didn't sit down. I was wisely testing the waters. Rob started almost immediately.

"What's on?" I innocently asked.

"Sshhh! I'm already helping Hiro with his English. Let me think of a word; Hiro, can you say... `diapers'?"

"Di-pers?"

"Very good! Can you say... `baby'?"

"Ba-bee."

"Excellent! Do you know what a `spanking' is?"

"Spanking?"

"Here, I'll show you."

Without warning Rob grabbed me in a tight grip and managed to force me over his knee. He's on the wrestling team at school and very wiry and strong. He held me down with his left arm and began to spank me on my diapers with his right. It was `play' but he was spanking me quite hard, and my vinyl pants were making a lot of noise under my pj's. I squirmed and struggled, but couldn't get free, and finally simply had to submit to Rob's degrading treatment as Hiro watched with a bemused expression. When my brother was finally satisfied, he said "There. Spank-ing. Bad boy." I got up and slunk up to my room in tears of helpless embarrassment and rage. Later, recovered somewhat and reading in bed, I was shocked when Rob and Hiro came in to the room to prepare for bed. Hiro went over to my supply of diapers, touched one, and said "Omutsu. Diaper. Omutsu."

"Omutsu," repeated Rob. "Gosh, you learn something new every day. Johnny, can you say `omutsu'?"

"Shut up."

"Pantsu," said Hiro, pointing at a pair of my vinyl pants. "Akachan."

He slowly took in my `baby' supplies, shook his head in incredulity and said in Japanese what I took to mean `Man, I can hardly believe this! The kid's 13 and still in diapers!' I had to admit he had a point, if that's what he was thinking. After all, he had come halfway around the world on his own to board with strangers and immerse himself in a language that was almost totally foreign. Pretty grown-up stuff. And what does he find? A kid his own size and only a little younger (I was thirteen and a half by then) whose mother still regularly diapers him at night and whose thick diapers are almost always soaked by morning. A kid who has to submit to a humiliating bare-butt spanking every week because he can't accomplish what some three-year olds have no problem mastering. (Of course Hiro didn't even know about my punishment yet, but I was getting quite carried away in my self-pitying daydream.) A kid who has to have a ridiculous, noisy plastic sheet on his bed because sometimes he pees so much in his sleep that his infantile rubber pants can't hold it all.

Later in the dark I tried not to move around too much as I imagined that Hiro might be hearing every babyish crinkle of my mattress protector and/or vinyl pants. I could only hope he wouldn't hear my diapers being peed later. Soon after I dreamed that, while sobbing naked from the waist down in my room in front of a group of amused, quietly laughing and jeering Japanese students, my mother spanked me (the paddle had holes drilled in it), then diapered me using ceremonial diaper pins which Hiro, bowing, handed her from a package with Japanese writing on it. As she snapped my stigmatizing vinyl pants on me, one of the students contemptuously spat out `Akachan!', while the others nodded and laughed in agreement. I woke up in the morning wet as usual. Later, I looked up the Japanese word from my dream in the Japanese-English dictionary we had bought to help communicate with Hiro, and sure enough: Akachan = Baby!

Hiro was mercifully not home on the first Friday since taking up residence at our house, and I was glad he would not be a witness to my regularly scheduled paddling session for wetting, but Rob and Brad were downstairs watching TV. As I shakily took off my pants and underwear as ordered, I hoped they wouldn't hear, but I knew there was no chance of that. My mom somewhat redundantly checked my calendar, which I well knew depicted a circled `W' for each of the previous seven days. Then as I bent cowering over the bed, she took the paddle off the wall, and began to administer the maximum twenty-one strokes I had `earned'. That night's diapers already lay waiting for my sore post-spanking backside. By about the tenth whack, the combination of humiliation and pain had usually reduced me to a blubbering mess, and tonight was no exception. I was still whimpering as my mom diapered me. Tonight she put me in rubber pants. After putting on my pajamas I hung around my room to avoid my brother and Brad, but later they both came up in preparation of going out.

"I heard a certain chronic wetter got the max with the old paddle, again," Brad said, condescendingly. "Ouch. Too bad. Better luck next week, maybe."

"Oh, he always gets the max," said Rob. "'Cause he's a maximum baby. Just check out his bedwetting calendar."

"Here's a tip," said Brad. "Get your mom to diaper you before your spanking instead of after. Would hurt a lot less, but then it might be a bit tricky to convince her..." He laughed. I decided to get out of there and go downstairs to watch TV. As usual my waterproof pants made loud and embarrassing rustling noises as I walked.

"Man, what a racket his rubber pants make!" said Brad. Lucky guess.

"I know. If it wasn't so obvious already, it's like he's wearing a neon sign that says `Look at me! I'm in diapers! Look at me! I'm a baby!" my brother answered. "And he reeks of baby powder, too." I went to watch TV. Standing up.

Weeks went slowly by. I tried to keep as low a profile as possible. I kept to myself at school (not that I had much choice) and tried to ignore the teasing. But I knew that even if I stopped wetting tomorrow, then won the Nobel prize for literature, to my fellow students I'd still be `the diaper kid', or `piss-boy', or whatever. Forever.

At home I continued to have feelings of deep disgrace from the time I submissively took my pants off to be diapered until I removed my almost invariably wet, smelly diapers in the morning, sometimes after having to wait forever for the bathroom, thus causing further wetness and feelings of babyish helplessness. Once there simply wasn't time for a shower, and I had to go to school smelling of urine. Kids around me teased mercilessly, pretended to faint, and held their noses.

Meanwhile Hiro, whose English was improving by the day, didn't overtly harass me, but it was clear he thought me infantile, and he did playfully refer to me as `akachan' and `osinago'. Baby. ("Johnny big baby...") He seemed genuinely bewildered that I could still need to be in diapers at my age, and as a result he tended to dismiss me as being beneath his interest. Also, the few excruciating times he was around during my spankings, he didn't seem to disapprove, and offered me no sympathy or consolation afterward. Sometimes I heard my name mentioned when he talked to his friends on his cell phone, and it sounded like he was filling them in. I sometimes heard the word `omutsu' following my name. Also `oneshou'. Bedwetting. I wondered if Emperor Hirohito had been informed yet.

My brother continued to make my life as miserable as possible, and I just hated it when he had friends over in the evening. Several had by now seen me actually being diapered, and virtually all had seen me wearing them. For me, being seen in diapers put me just about as low on the totem pole of humanity as one can get. Only a friend of his witnessing me get a spanking first couldn't make me sink a little lower; maybe half an inch.

Something finally happened that I knew very well was inevitable, but nevertheless had hoped to avoid. After supper one evening, my mom was called to a neighbor's house. Her husband had been in a car accident. She said she wouldn't be long, but when seven o'clock came and she wasn't home, I started to get nervous. Then the phone rang.

"Hello?" I already knew who it probably was, and why she was phoning.

"Johnny, I'm going to have to be here for awhile. Mr. Simmons will be all right, but I have to drive Mary to the hospital, and I don't know how long I'll be. So I think your brother is going to have to stay in, and he's going to have to diaper you. Right now. And I don't want you to make a fuss, or else. Understand?"

"Aw mom, Brad's here. He's right up in my room..."

"You know my attitude toward that. Give Rob the phone, please." I did, and tried to follow the conversation. I had butterflies in my stomach already. And that weird, black, floating feeling.

"Hello? Hi... Aw jeez! What a pain! Aw, do I have to? Well what if he gives me a hard time? He's bound to. He's not going to just lie still, you know...Well if he does make a fuss can I use the paddle on him? Brad's here, and he can help me. Yay! `Only If you absolutely have to,'" he repeated for my benefit, then said goodbye and hung up. "Well, let's go get it over with, Johnnyboy."

In our room Rob began putting my diapers together on my bed.

"Oh man, did you get stuck with the job of changing him?" Brad said. Hiro was downstairs. I hoped he would stay downstairs.

"Yeah, mom's late. Hurry up, Johnny, get your pants off. And remember, if you squawk, you're getting the paddle. Don't try me, I'm warning you." He took the paddle off the wall and laid it threateningly on my bed.

"I wouldn't try him," Brad said. "Personally, if I were you, I wouldn't squawk, or even peep." They laughed at his wit.

I submitted. It was hard to undress in front of them. Then my brother carelessly stuck me with a diaper pin. Brad, my former idol, watched the whole belittling procedure, and added a snide comment on the minor diaper rash I usually suffered. Then to my horror Hiro came into the room just as Rob was finishing snapping up my waterproof pants. He looked surprised at what he was seeing. "Rob komori," he said smiling. "Rob babysitter today?"

"That's right, I'm a babysitter. And what does that make you, Johnnyboy?"

"Duh, a wittle baby, I guess," answered Brad, and sucked his thumb. Why deny it? There I was standing in front of the three of them in just my baby-powdered diapers, vinyl pants, and a tee-shirt. What could I say?

About a week later, a particularly embarrassing thing happened. I was just putting my pajamas on after being diapered when my mother noticed a stain on the back of my pj bottoms which she touched and felt to be damp. She also complained of a urine smell. The night before, my diapers had leaked a little and got a tiny section of my pj's a bit wet. I thought nothing of it and just threw them in my drawer in the morning, where because of poor air circulation I guess they hadn't quite dried. Now my mom had noticed and was making a big deal about it.

"You're not wearing damp and smelly pajamas around the house," said my mom. "You can just take them off."

"But there's just one problem," I said. "My other pair's already in the wash. I'll have nothing to wear."

"You should have thought of that before. You can put them back on after you've run them through the laundry. Now take them off and go and do it please and then you can come back and finish your homework." At least she said please. But there was another little problem. This was bridge night, meaning there were three of my mother's card cronies downstairs, and one of them, when a babysitter had called in sick, had brought her visiting 12 year old nephew along rather than miss out on the evening. In order to get to the laundry room, I would have to pass in front of all of them in just my diapers and tee-shirt. I might have been brave enough to ask Hiro to lend me some pj's, but neither he nor my brother was around, and I didn't dare borrow a pair of his or Rob's without asking. Now my mother was back downstairs while I stood in my room shifting from foot to foot (even that made my pants crinkle) while trying to screw up my courage. I thought maybe I could sort of bundle up my pajamas and try to hide behind them, but I didn't think it would work too well. And there were still the noisy pants and fresh baby-powder smell. I was a goner. I waited as long as I dared, then took a deep breath and started a surreal voyage downstairs. Near the bottom was the nephew, watching TV. He was the first to spot me. Of course he stared wide-eyed, seemingly disbelieving. He called across the room to the card table. "Aunt Jessica, how come that kid is wearing diapers?" They all looked up. I stopped dead, holding the balled-up pajamas at chest level in both hands. They did smell a little.

"Carl, meet Johnny; Johnny, this is my nephew Carl, from Calgary." We didn't shake hands.

"Auntie, why's he wearing diapers? He's bigger than me."

"I don't know, Carl. Why don't you ask him why?"

"How come?" asked Carl. It was almost a demand. The card game was in suspension. So was I. I wished it was by the neck until dead.

"Um, `cause sometimes I wet my bed," I managed to stammer.

"Wow. I never even met a bedwetter before. I thought only babies did that. Do you do it every night?"

"Well..." I looked at my mom. She returned my look meaningfully. "Pretty much," I admitted. "Excuse me, I have to get to the laundry." My diapers never felt so thick or my pants so loud as I trudged self-conscious and mortified past everyone toward the kitchen and the stairs to the basement. "How come he wets his bed?" I heard Carl ask.

With the machine going, again I had to eventually force myself to leave the safety of the laundry room to face who knew what new humiliation. My face was just burning. As expected, Carl was waiting. "Is it true your mom even diapers you? And you even get a spanking for wetting your diapers?"

"Yes." If I had denied it, my mom would have stepped in and made it worse.

"Man, you're just like a big baby." Tell me about it, Carl, you little twelve year old twerp. I toddled off as the ladies began on a discussion regarding the merits of spankings for enuretics. My mother's position was that even if spanking eventually proved ineffective as a deterrent to bedwetting, "... and it's 'way too early to say...", it still provided a powerful reminder regarding a parent's disapproving attitude toward the wetting behavior. I couldn't concentrate on my homework knowing they were discussing such things (what was Carl's opinion on the matter?) and that of course they would all see me again when I went to put the pj's in the dryer. This time on the way up Carl just shook his head. "Man. I can't believe it!" he said. "Thirteen and he still has to get diapered like a little baby! Believe it or not, Carl.

Then something really bad happened. One Monday, on her way to the laundry room my mother slipped on the basement stairs, and suffered a separated shoulder and a broken wrist. She went to hospital by ambulance, and came back with her wrist in a cast and her arm in a sling. Naturally I felt very awful for her, but I began to feel bad for my selfish self also as the implications began to sink in. Yikes! Who would diaper me? Just as bad or even worse, who would inflict my degrading punishments while she recovered? Oh, I could guess who...

Rob was not at all happy with his regular new chores, which he carried out with maximal derision and with very little regard for my privacy or dignity (not that this represented much of a change), and he was quite careless with diaper pins, too. Now I had to make up my own set of diapers each evening, with the threat of severe repercussions if I ever used fewer than specified by my mom, something which seemed pointless to me anyway. Would I appear any less babyish overall for wearing one or two fewer baby diapers inside my Babykins? But the new arrangement was really inconvenient when Rob planned to be out for the evening, because then I'd be put in my infantilizing diapers before he left, once as early as 5 o'clock. I had to sit diapered at the supper table in front of Hiro and my mom. I was glad Hiro hadn't asked anyone over to eat, at least.

However, my first spanking in my brother's charge was almost a relief after the anxiety I had built up over the week. As it turned out, he only spanked me about as hard as my mom, who included enough physical and mental discomfort that any more would be overkill, but that's what I was afraid of. I think she warned him not to go overboard. But once again I first had to undress in front of Brad, which for me was almost as bad as the disciplining itself. Then it was torturous being made to lean over my bed with a bared bum, and being sadistically made to wait a little while for the first burning smack of the paddle while knowing my brother's friend was watching everything, taking in every detail of my disgrace. I began to cry around the fifth stroke, wishing my brother to hurry it up to at least get my ego-crushing spanking over with. He took his time, but finally it was over, and as I lay blubbering while passively having my diapers pinned on, another total defeat, Brad said, "Has he really always got the full 21 smacks?"

"Nah," said Rob. "I think he only got 18 once."

I was still sniffling as he snapped me into my hated vinyl pants. As I stood up shakily, Brad playfully swatted my sore behind a few more times with his hand. "Stay dry, Johnny. Just stay dry! That's my advice to you."

Then later in the week the plan hit a big snag. Rob had a chance to go camping for the weekend with Brad and some other friends, and no one thought he should miss out just because of having to diaper me.

"You could take him with you," suggested my mom. Rob seemed to consider it.

"Nah, it's just not practical. Besides, the guys don't want to be hanging around with a kid who's still in diapers. It's embarrassing." Brad was shaking his head. "It's a big boy thing."

"No, I have to agree," conceded my mom. Whew! Under the circumstances I didn't think I'd have been a very happy camper.

"What about Hiro? He could easily do it. He wouldn't mind." My stomach lurched. No!

"He'll be away the same time as you. He's going to the island on a field trip with his class over the weekend."

"Got it," Brad said, snapping his fingers. "Why don't you hire a babysitter?"

"What?" my mom asked.

"Sure. You must know someone whose son or daughter baby-sits. Hire someone just to come in on Friday and Saturday evening, diaper Johnny, and that's it!"

"Sure, why not?" my mom replied. "And I think I know of somebody, too."

A plan was worked out whereby, incidentally, I would be spanked in advance on Thursday evening on the understanding (`In the unlikely event' was how my brother put it) that if, big if, I was dry on Friday, then three smacks would be deducted from next week's `earnings'. That's how much faith they had in me. The next day I heard my mom on the phone. She explained to someone down the street called Monica that she had had a slight accident and was in a bind regarding diapering her son over the weekend. It was just for bedwetting. Didn't Monica have a daughter who babysat? Karen, that's right. Could Karen possibly stop by on Friday and Saturday at 7 o'clock? It would only take a minute, and she'd be well paid. I'll hold on... She could? Great! See her then. And thanks!

Karen arrived promptly at five to seven on Friday. I answered the door. I was shaking, then even more as I realized she seemed to be only around 15, and was with a guy around the same age. I recognized him from school, but we had never spoken. "Hello, I'm Karen, and this is my boyfriend Kevin. We're just on our way to a movie."

"I'm uh, Johnny. Pleased to meet you." My mom heard from the kitchen. "Is that Karen? Thanks for coming, Karen, you're a godsend! Wait, I'm just coming."

"So where's the nursery? Is the baby upstairs?" Karen asked.

"Um, baby?" I stammered. This was bad. This was terrible. My mom came into the room. She looked surprised when she saw Karen.

"Hello Mrs. Nash, I'm Karen, and this is Kevin, my boyfriend. We're on our way to a movie. Gosh, I hope your shoulder isn't too sore? That sling looks like a good idea. Is the baby upstairs? We only have a minute."

My mom looked bewildered. I was beyond bewildered. All of a sudden I was downright terrified.

"Baby? Oh, I see! I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm afraid you're looking at the `baby'. Johnny here wets the bed and I keep him in diapers at night." I stared very hard at the floor. " But with this darn thing..." She indicated the sling.

"Oh, my mom thought there was a baby. Like a toddler or something, in toilet training. Gosh. I dunno if I can do it. Given our relative closeness in age and difference in gender, I honestly don't think it would be appropriate for me to diaper your son, do you? She was blushing. So was I. "How old is Johnny, by the way?"

"Thirteen," answered my mom. I almost added `And a half,' but bit my tongue.

"Oh, I completely I agree, Karen. For some reason I thought you were around 19," said my mom. "Well. Sorry about this."

"But what'll you do?" Karen asked.

"I'm not sure," said my mom. Dared I hope for one or two diaperless nights?

"Maybe I could help, ma'am" said Kevin. No Kevin! Shut up! Don't help! "Perhaps I could do it for you. After all, we're both guys, so that's not a problem. And you see, I have a seven year old brother who's still in diapers at night. He's mentally challenged. So I have lots of diapering experience. If you like, I can diaper Johnny, here. Only take a minute. And Karen said it's for two nights? We can come back tomorrow also. Up to you, but it's no problem at all."

I was told to go upstairs, make up a set of diapers, get undressed, and wait for Kevin. Any deviation would result in you-know-what. Great! Maybe I should paste up pictures of myself alternately naked, getting spanked, and in diapers on billboards all over town and just get it over with and make sure everybody knew. I felt pale and shaky as I waited. He finally came. He surveyed my diapers waiting on the bed. Now I felt totally at a loss.

"Does your mom powder you?"

"Yes, it's on the trolley over there. She puts some on the diaper (that word again!) under my butt, and then sprinkles some on my, um, front." Kevin sprinkled the whole inside surface, then had me lie down, and pulled the diapers up between my legs, and carefully pinned them tight with pins he brought with the powder and held lightly in his mouth, just like my mom did.

"Which pants does she usually use?"

"Vinyl ones. Snap-ons".

"Lift up." I couldn't believe this stranger was actually giving me orders, snapping me into my vinyl pants after putting me in my diapers as a favor to my mother. It was nightmarish. What next? And this guy went to my school! And he was all business, too. No small talk with Kevin. no baseball scores, no weather chit-chat. It was like he was diapering a mentally- disabled little kid. Or a baby.

"There you go. All done."

I wanted to hide upstairs, but soon heard my mom calling. I quickly put pajamas on and reluctantly went down. The three were standing near the front door, which was open. I had to cross the room. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle.

"Did you remember to say thank you to Kevin?" my mom asked.

"Um, thanks, Kevin." Thanks a lot, pal...

"No problem, Johnny. Mrs. Nash, I noticed he's got a fair bit of diaper rash. At home we have a very good new ointment that we use on Kyle. Should I bring some?"

"Please! If you wouldn't mind, Kevin. Thank you! Johnny, did you thank Karen?"

Karen was losing the battle to politely avoid staring at my diaper area.

"Thanks, Karen."

"No problem. Glad we could work something out." She blushed. "Well, we'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Nash, same time." Sigh. Something to look forward to.

The next evening unfolded similarly, except that Kevin ordered me to lie on my diapers on my stomach. I felt a dab of coldness on my backside, then heard a rustling noise. A moment later I realized that Kevin had put on a pair disposable medical gloves. He spread the diaper-rash cream all over my backside, then told me to turn over, and repeated the process between my legs and on my front. He did it with the detached professionalism of a trained hospital attendant or nurse, but I still found it wildly embarrassing, and my eyes teared up. He ignored this and diapered me as the day before, generously leaving the rest of the ointment behind for future treatments. Again I was called downstairs to thank them. My diapers felt strange and sticky inside the rubber pants he put me in by pulling them part way up, having me stand up, then, pushing my hands away, pulling them up over my diapers. This time Karen stared fairly openly. Bye, bye!

My mom slowly began getting better. The cast had come off her wrist, but she still found it very stiff, and she continued to have pain in her shoulder, though it was much diminished. So my brother continued to be charged with my nightly diapering as well as the weekly infliction of the usual twenty-one strokes of the paddle. This was bad enough, but he always seemed to make sure at least one of his friends was around for the spectacle (and once three teasing, giggling gawkers were present). Whether this was done deliberately (with the approval or even encouragement of my mom) to maximize my shame or out of sheer insensitivity I don't know, but it was effective. Not in terms of making me wet any less, but in making me feel like a naughty toddler, helpless to prevent such humiliating treatment, and perhaps even deserving of it after all. Perhaps I was beginning to accept my infantile status, but I still had one big fear- above all I didn't want to be punished and diapered by Hiro, and prayed my mom's healing would be complete before there was any chance of that happening. But it seems St. Jude wasn't listening.

By now I had been wearing and wetting my donated Babykins long enough that they were becoming flat and less absorbent, while my most used waterproof pants were showing signs of age and yellow discoloration, as well as an apparent permanent faint smell of urine which greatly irritated my mom's sensitive nose. She decided it was time for some new supplies, and asked the name of the medical supply store that Mrs. Murphy had mentioned.

"All-Care," I gulped. That and everything else about the horrible evening of Mrs. Murphy's visit with her ex-bedwetter son Russell was etched permanently in my memory.

"Well you can call them and see if they have what you need in stock. Six Babykins youth diapers, and, say, two snap-on vinyl pants and two pull-up rubber pants. We can get new baby diapers at Wal-Mart to use as inserts. There's the yellow pages."

I had to clear my throat several times, and it still wasn't easy to speak. My voice kept going way up. "I was wondering; do you have, um any um, Babykins medium youth diapers? I need six. I mean, six are needed. White?" My mom indicated that was ok. "And, um, rubber and vinyl pants, same size? Two each." I nodded to my mom. She handed me her Visa card, and I read the number and expiry date into the phone.

"Say that you'll pick them up Friday, that's tomorrow," ordered my mom. I did, my heart thumping.

My mom found a parking spot right outside the store, which had wheelchairs, hospital beds, neck braces, bathroom aids, and many other medical devices and supplies displayed in two large show-windows. She had other errands, and impatiently told me to hurry. Don't worry! I even closed the car door carefully so as not to draw undue attention on the sidewalk. I had hoped there would be no one else in the store, but I could see customers inside. I would've walked around the block a few times, but of course my mom was watching. It wasn't easy, but I went in.

"Can I help you?" I wasn't expecting this. He looked 19, maybe a college student. I wanted to run, but I was fighting off a weird form of paralysis. All along the wall beside me were stacks of packaged disposable diapers for youth, for adults, bins of individual disposable diapers, and shelves containing bins of individually packaged Babykins cloth diapers, waterproof pants, plastic sheets, bed-pads, all labeled. It was overwhelming. I felt I shouldn't be there, but I couldn't move. The woman who I took to be the owner stood behind the counter. Further down the room, an elderly couple was examining an aluminum walker, which I thought I could probably use myself at the moment. I was trying to be discreet. I practically whispered.

"I called..." He gave me a blank look.

"Yesterday." Still nothing. "About, um diapers? Babykins?"

"Ah yes, six `flannelettes' and four waterproof pants?" He approached the counter at the same time as a young man with two different diabetes blood-testing kits who began to ask questions of the woman. My guy politely interrupted.

"Excuse me. Mom? This is the boy for the Babykins order."

She picked up a paper bag and placed it on the counter. It was stacked too full to be folded at the top, revealing a pair of packaged vinyl snap-on pants.

"By the way," said the son, "no problem with the youth diapers, but we made a mistake and had to give you three vinyl pants and one pair of rubber pants instead of two and two. Is that ok? Same price." The other customer gave me very strange looks, up and down. He looked at my pants. I silently wished him high blood sugar. My knees were knocking.

"That's fine," I choked. Through body language I tried but failed badly to communicate `Oh, Granny won't care...'

"Do you want to check with your mom if that's ok?" He looked toward the car outside. Everyone did, even me.

I finally escaped to the car with my revealing package, which my mom insisted on dismantling to examine each item. People might see! A couple of errands later and we were at Wal-Mart. I tagged along with her as she picked up a carrying basket and checked a short list, hoping she'd forget about the baby diapers she had mentioned. But I guess she already reached that item on the list, and abruptly told me to go to the infants' department downstairs and to come back with two packages.

"Just bring them, we'll pay with the rest of the stuff. And remember, it's `Snugabye' flannelette diapers you want. Flat, not prefold. And you could use more baby powder, too." Customers were listening. I sneaked self-consciously around the baby department, avoiding staff, mothers, and mothers-to-be, while instantly inventing a cute little infant brother in case he might be necessary as cover. Sweet little `Joey' wasn't needed after all, as I found what I was looking for, grabbed the diapers and a container of baby powder, and raced back upstairs to find my mom.

Now the problem was finding her. I was acutely aware of my excruciating burden as I went vainly from department to department. I tried to hide the `Snugabye' labels on the packages, but a package of cloth diapers is a pretty obvious thing, especially when accompanied by a second one and a container of baby powder. My mouth was as dry as if I had swallowed some of the Johnson & Johnson's.

I finally found her in linens, where she had already picked out some fitted flannelette sheets for my bed, and was in the process of selecting a new plastic mattress cover. I wondered whether she chose according to how noisy it would be. She verified my diaper selection, then placed everything in the basket, and off we went to the in-store McDonalds, much against my better judgement.

My mom wanted coffee, and I wanted only to get out of there. We sat more or less in the middle of the restaurant area, with the incriminating basket pulled up close to the table on a chair. As my mom went to get her coffee, I had a feeling something would go wrong. I thought it would be wise to bury the diapers under the less incriminating flannelette sheets in the basket in case someone I knew came along. As I began to do that, I noticed the plastic sheet was very noticeable also. So I grabbed that first and was about to stuff the package underneath when I felt it taken out of my grasp from behind. I turned. It was Brad and friends.

"Been shopping, Johnny? What have we got here?" There were four of them; Brad, Craig Simon and his brother Rick (who was in my class!), and a friend of my brother's and Brad's named Derek. Brad read from the package: "`fitted 100% waterproof vinyl mattress protector'. That's very nice. Your mom buying it for you?"

"Maybe it's his birthday," Rick added. "Hey, what's this?" He picked up a package of Snugabyes. "`Ten flannelette baby diapers.' These still fit you, Johnny?"

"They go inside his big-boy diapers, to make them more absorbent," insider Brad explained. "Heavy wetter." My mom came back with her coffee. Brad greeted her, and the four boys sat at a table beside us. They talked quietly, but could not contain their laughter, and I knew it was about me. I felt awful sitting there with personal baby diapers in plain view. When things quieted down a little, Brad spoke to my mom. "I see you got Johnny some nice new things," he said. This brought renewed torrents of suppressed laughter.

"And that's not all," she said. "You should see what he's got in the car."

"Johnny! Don't tell me! New Babykins, I bet! New diaper pants! Even new pins, perhaps? Well, this is your lucky day! Of course I forgot; it is a Friday..." As we left there was more mirth as Brad pantomimed in turn both the wielder of a paddle and a squirming, blubbering spanking recipient. After that, going through the check-out was a breeze. Once home I was told to bring my new `baby' stuff up to my room.

Now there was only one other hurdle, but I didn't have a chance. It was Friday. As my mom was so much better, I expected that my brother would deliver one last spanking, and then things would get back to normal, so to speak. I thought I could take it, especially if no one else was there to see it. Once again I had twenty-one strokes coming.

"Where's Rob?" It was almost suppertime.

"Oh, he won't be home. Late basketball practice, then he's staying over at Brad's." Of course; why bother to inform the baby?

"But..."

"Don't worry, other arrangements have been made." Other arrangements! Not Kevin! Oh no, not Hiro!

Hiro arrived home and he was not alone. He introduced us to a friend and fellow student called Yoshi, roughly the same age and slight build as Hiro. They had been going to study at Yoshi's, but altered their plans to accommodate my mother. And me, of course.

During supper there was not a lot of conversation. I contemplated what was coming, and picked at my food. I knew that even if I begged my mom, my punishment would still happen, that Hiro would carry it out. Worse than my worst nightmare, because he had a friend with him.

"You're sure you don't mind, Hiro?" asked my mom. "I know it's a lot to ask, and not very pleasant, but there's no one else. I asked Kevin, the boy who came when you were away, but he wasn't available."

"No problem." Hiro and Yoshi talked quietly back and forth, as if Hiro were explaining. I recognized some familiar words, and quietly, morbidly looked up some others. `Diaper', `spanking', `bedwetting'. In response to a question by Yoshi, Hiro replied `juusan'. Thirteen years old. "No!" said Yoshi. That I understood.

"While Hiro has more dessert, I want you to go upstairs and get ready," my mom said. "Make up a diaper- you can use new ones, and get new pants ready, and then get undressed and wait, please. Oh, and while you're waiting, you can strip your bed and remake it with your new plastic cover and a flannelette sheet. And no fuss please, or it'll be worse."

I sheepishly went upstairs, and did as I was told. I had never seen a new Babykins diaper before, and in spite of my extreme nervousness I was surprised at its size and thickness, its overwhelming, sterile whiteness. With the other also un-shrunk baby diapers inside, I would be padded as never before. I found it helped to keep busy. I made up the diaper and powdered it to spare myself the humiliation of having Hiro do it. I put the diaper on the chair near my desk with pins on it so that he wouldn't have to search for them, or ask me where they were. I couldn't believe that Hiro's fingers would be using these pins to fasten my diapers in a few minutes. Next I opened a package and readied a new pair of vinyl pants which I left on top of the diaper. I though it better than having Hiro do it. I had put off getting undressed as long as I could, but now did so, leaving on my socks and tee-shirt as usual. It always felt extremely weird having to strip specifically for a spanking, then diapers, but never more than now.

Feeling extremely embarrassed, vulnerable, and keenly aware of just what I was waiting for, I took the bedclothes off my bed and placed them in a heap on the floor. I opened the package containing my new plastic sheet, and turned it out. It was fairly thick, white, and noisy as expected. I moved the bed out a little from the wall, and fit the cover to the foot, then moved forward. I secured the head, then smoothed it out until it was tight all over.

Then Hiro was behind me. I hadn't heard him come in. He looked at me, examined my calendar, and shook his head a little. Then I felt dread as he slowly reached for the paddle, and gently took it off its hook. I was going to protest that my bed wasn't ready yet, but he gently but firmly took my shoulder and bent me over until my hands lay on the plastic sheet, then spread my legs a little with his foot. He took my diaper off the chair and opened it up in readiness on the bed beside me, placing the vinyl pants back on the chair. It felt extremely strange to see him handle my diaper stuff. Now I braced for the first blow. Instead I heard Yoshi talking excitedly, with his companion answering. I heard Yoshi leave the room. Hiro touched me on the backside lightly with the paddle and said "Stay, please." I maintained that ridiculous exposed position for half a minute, waiting helplessly to be spanked. I was already sniffling.

Finally Yoshi said "Ok, go!" I could hear a low whirring sound, and then the sound and sting of the paddle smacking against my skin. He hit me pretty hard, then again and again and again. I had been determined not to cry, but my nerves were shot even before Hiro began. This is what I had dreaded more than anything, and it was all coming true. Hiro made no concession to companionship or compassion; he spanked me with a firm and steady rhythm, but one that lacked specific malice; he was merely giving me, on behalf of my mother, what they both thought I deserved.

And Yoshi was videotaping my punishment. That was the sound I had heard. Now I could see him out of the corner of my eye as he moved in on various angles. The spanking went on. I had been silently counting the blows, and now Yoshi counted out loud. "Juukuu, juusan...," Nineteen, twenty. And finally, twenty-one. It was over. Now, before I could even rub my stinging behind, Hiro guided me firmly down onto my diapers. Even though I had pre-powdered, he sprinkled me anyway, perhaps for the benefit of the camera, which continued to roll. He pulled my diapers up between my legs, and pinned them securely in place. They felt huge, and slid a little on the plastic sheet.

Next he prepared my vinyl pants and said "Up." I lifted up and he slid them under my burning diapered bottom. Their newness held a certain soft stiffness, and a clean rubbery smell, and they made noise as he manipulated them into place. The camera watched as they covered my diapers in front, and as Hiro snapped up five snaps on one side, then the other. I was never so overwhelmed with shame as he stood me up, and I tried to hide my teary face from the world. Yoshi seemed to pass instructions to Hiro, who turned me around so that my back was to the camera. Hiro patted my bum and laughingly said "Omutsukabure." Diaper rash. Then Yoshi shot a side view of me, then front, then sitting on the side of the bed. All the time I tried to hide my face. When they finally went downstairs I finished making my bed like an automaton. I didn't even bother putting pajamas on until much later, and when I did I realized that I was already quite wet.