"It's time to get ready to go to bed", my Nanny would say to me every night between when I was 6 and 14 years old. Now, my family was not wealthy by any means; but I was born in 1946 and during my childhood many young women would serve as Nannies for room and board plus a small stipend. My Nanny's name was Claudine, but she insisted I call her "Nanny" during her eight years of service with my family. She was an aspiring artist during this time, and has since become regionally known in the midwest. I had a sister twelve years older than myself and a brother 2 years younger. I was a bedwetter, the only one in the family. This is the story of my growing up. My earliest recollection was when I was around four or five, I think. All I remember was the embarrassment I faced every morning with my wet bed. My mother was generally understanding, but she was pressured by my father to "take steps" to end my "problem". I remember that I wore diapers and Playtex rubber pants during those early years. Frequently, as I grew older, the diapers and rubber pants could not contain my "output", and the sheets and mattress would get wet and soiled, and this infuriated my father.

The next step in protecting my bedding was a rubber sheet placed under the cotton sheet. This at least protected the mattress. My mother would dutifully change and wash the sheets every morning - but soon tired of this and took her frustration out on me. The more she pressured me to stop wetting the bed, the worse it became. A good thing, though, was that I was not humiliated to my brother; and had a separate bedroom.

When I was six, my mother started helping my father in his business, and hired Claudine to take care of my brother and I and keep the house cleaned up. One of her jobs was to get me to stop wetting the bed; and more particularly to stop needing diapers and wetting the sheets that needed to be washed all the time.

Since Claudine made me call her "Nanny" I will refer to her by this name from now on in this story. She started out, as I recall, very calmly; trying to talk me into not wetting the bed, thinking that I must be doing it on purpose. She kept this up for a couple of years, and the more I tried to please her, the worse it seemed to get. My mother started putting more pressure on her to get some improvement. One of the ways my improvement was measured was how many sheets had to be washed.

Nanny found a way to improve this - she put the rubber sheet on top of the cotton sheet and made me sleep on it. I really hated this - the sheet was cold when you got on it in the winter, and was hot and sweaty to sleep on in the summer. But because of the output I had, often the top sheet and sometimes the blanket would become wet. Sometime in the next couple of years, she got to the point of putting a second rubber sheet on the bed to protect the upper bed clothing. I remember I had a twin sized bed when I was around eight years old, and these rubber sheets were so big that they would drape over the edges, almost as much as the cotton sheet and blankets, so they would do a good job of keeping everything dry. But during the summer they really got hot, so I would take all the covers, including the top rubber sheet, off the bed and sleep with no covers at all, but still laying on the bottom rubber sheet in my diapers and rubber pants.

This continues for a couple of years with no improvement in my bedwetting. I was taken to some doctors who said I would outgrow it by the time I was twelve. My parents both would put pressure on Nanny to get their "big baby" out of his "rubbers" (meaning the rubber sheets, diapers and rubber pants). Well, Nanny, after several months of pressure decided to take them off during the day, and make it seem like I wasn't wetting the bed. Then every night she would say "it's time to get ready for bed". This meant that I had to help her get the rubber sheets and put them on the bed, and then put on a diaper and rubber pants something I really hated - although my mother was really nice to me since she thought I was improving. Nanny would hide the diapers and wash them secretly during the day.

Then, it happened. My mother found Nanny washing the diapers and demanded to know what she was doing. Nanny confessed that I still wet the bed, and my mother erupted in fury. This is when I was twelve years old. She told Nanny that if she could not get me to stop wetting the bed, she would be fired. Now, Nanny was always nice to me and I became very loyal to her, and she used this loyalty and the threat that my bedwetting would get her fired to keep me in line.

She started making me wear the rubber pants without any diapers, sleeping between the rubber sheets. I protested this more strongly during the next several months. When she would say "It's time to get ready for bed" I would procrastinate and become angry. She would ask me if I wanted to get her fired, and after pleading I would give in and help her get my bed ready and then slip on my rubber pants and go to bed. I started taking the rubber sheets of the bed, because my bedwetting was subsiding. But occasionally, I would wet the bed when I had taken off the rubber sheets, and of course the sheets got wet. One morning my mother found this out and blew up at Nanny and me. She told me that if I ever did this again, Nanny was fired.

By this time I was just thirteen and entering puberty. Nanny was afraid that I would be taking the rubber sheets off of the bed, and she would stay in the room until I went to sleep. I started becoming more forceful in not wanting to have to wear the rubber pants and sleep on the rubber sheets and she continued her pressure and pleadings.

At some point in the next few months, I would feign sleep, and when she left, I would get up and take off the rubber sheets and pants. The first time I wet the bed without my "rubbers", Nanny found out, and I guess luckily my mother did not. Well, Nanny got furious.

She said she was not leaving my room until she knew I was asleep. I became very argumentative. Finally one night, after she got the rubber sheets on the bed, I got mad and yanked them off. She then told me she was going to tell my mother that I still wet the bed and was disobeying Nanny - a thought that brought fear into me. I again gave in, but this time Nanny decided to stay in my room until she was sure I was asleep. She assured this by laying in my bed until my breathing became regular and would then leave.

I protested this, and would turn over on my stomach to hide my face. One night I started crying in frustration. Nanny felt sorry for me, I think, and put her hand on my lower back and started rocking me back and forth. I will never forget that night as long as I live. I got my first full erection as she slowly rocked me back and forth. The rubber sheets were getting wet with sweat, as were the rubber pants. The sheets started clinging to my body and making a rustling sound as I was rocked. The sweat in the rubber pants made my erection slip against the wet rubber. It was then, as I lay with my head buried in the rubber sheet, gently being rocked to and fro that I had my first orgasm. After this occurred, and I am sure Nanny must have known what happened, I quickly went to sleep, still being slowly rocked in my rubber cocoon.

For whatever reason, my bedwetting stopped shortly thereafter. Nanny continued to make me sleep between the rubber sheets and wear the rubber pants for another three or four months, and would rock me to sleep if I would protest my "rubbers". Finally, Nanny got another job, and left me "high and dry".

For the next six or eight years everything was fine, but after I got out of the service I became very insecure. I started to wet the bed again, and found myself longing for the security and protection of the rubber sheets and pants and diapers. The smell and feel and sound of the rubber, the softness of diapers.

I finally found a source for rubber sheets and pants and diapers; now all I need to find is another Nanny.