As I understand it, I didn't have a single dry night until after age five. When I was six years old, I can remember Annie, my baby sitter, putting me in diapers as soon as my parents would leave. I don't know if she was a DL or just thought I was really cute in them, but as soon as my parents were gone no matter the time of day or night she would say, "It's time you got ready for bed."

I would often argue with her, and sometimes cry. Saying things like, "It's still day out." or, "but I don't need to wear them except for bed," but nevertheless would have me out of my underwear and into my diapers faster then a commercial break for G.I. Joe.

The worst for me was when my mother and her friends would "share a baby sitter". I didn't know the other kids too well, or at least not as far as I can remember. However, it never failed that one of them would find my diapers in my backpack and ask me, "What are these!?" as if they didn't know. Often I would get teased and end up playing with my G. I. Joes somewhere by myself.

Then there were the times when the other kids would be dropped off at my house. I often would hide my diapers in my dresser so the other kids wouldn't see them in my closet. The one time Annie babysat for a group of us at my house, all of us kids were in diapers before nightfall. That was the last time Annie ever babysat for a group of us.

Most of the time, though, my mother would diaper me. Just before bedtime my mother would be telling me, "got get ready for bed." Or, "go take your bath." As soon as I would get out of the bath and dry off, my mother would have me lay down on the bed and she would diaper me. I can still remember how it felt to get baby powder sprinkled on me right after drying off after a bath. I always hated diapers as a kid, but looking back on it now it's some of my fondest memories.

However, my fascination with diapers really started, I think, because of my Father. See, my father was an over the road truck driver for basically my entire life. He's retired now, but he was a driver before I was born and drove until just about a year ago as an owner operator.

I'm getting a bit ahead of myself though. I want to tell this story in chronological order. So....

When I was early six years I was wetting the bed probably only once a week, though I still had to ware diapers every night. I had a star chart to keep track of what days I didn't wet, and by that process what days I did. I remember those days very well, because when I was around 6 and a half I almost stopped wetting all together. My day had come home for one of his vacation weeks, and had seen my star chart. He told me if I could go for an entire month without wetting that I wouldn't have to wear diapers ever again. As honest as things go, there wasn't much I could do about it aside from not intentionally wetting, which I wasn't in the first place...

So, three months before 7th birthday I had made it an entire month without wetting. My father was on the last day of a 3-day weekend the morning I woke up dry to make my personal record of 1 month dry. However, as it turned out there was nearly an entire package of diapers left in my closet. My father said to just throw them out, but my mother argued that "we should use them all up."

I don't remember how exactly what happened before, but I remember sitting on my father's lap just before he was leaving to go back on the road and me balling my eyes out saying, "I don't want to wear diapers any more daddy!" and him saying, "I know, I know." and me saying, "You promised."

He then looked me straight in the eyes and said, "All you have to do it make it through the pack. What's left of the pack? You made it an entire month, you can make it 10 more days or so." I bawled and whined, "Quit your crying, you're a big boy," he said, "Aren't you?" I nodded and said yes. And that's it... I can't really remember what else happened, except that I ended up wearing diapers until I was 7.

That's the day. When I was 7 years old, the day I turned 7, as a birthday gift my parents let me toss the last 3 diapers in a pack in the garbage. Looking back now, well... you know. (How wasteful. 😉 ) However, on my 7th Birthday, along with lots of toys from various relatives and a new pair of "Big Boy Pajamas" (They were like a pair of boxer shorts and a shirt made of the same material with buttons down it. That's another thing I can remember very well. My first night not wearing a diaper and how naked I felt.), was the fact that, that night I remember smiling real big when hopping into bed and telling myself, "I don't ever have to wear diapers again. I'm growing up!"

So, I went to 2nd grade and made some good friends that year in school and for that whole school year life was pretty much as usual for a 2nd grader who wasn't a bed wetter. Summer came and I turned big eight. Eight years old. I remember actually hearing my Aunt remark to my mother how, "He's made a whole year without wetting then?" Or something like that.

Being eight years old, I was then old enough to go with my father over the road. Back then he wasn't an owner operator yet, and his company wouldn't let anyone younger then either ride on the trucks with their parents. However, being eight I was now old enough and my father decided he wanted to "Show me The Road!" and what he did for a living. Why he "couldn't be home for me more" and such.

So, we (my family and I) had all known about if for a few weeks in advance and I don't remember getting all excited about it until just a few days before it was time to "go out on the road" with my "Pa". My father had come home for another vacation, and then after him being home for a few days my mother helped me pack up and we "hit the road".

I can remember climbing into that huge tractor ("It's a tractor, it pulls trailers," my day would say, "it's not quite a truck.") and all the room inside. I had a heck of a time climbing in and out of it; it was like climbing a Juggle-Gym. And so, we were on the road.

I remember the first place we were heading to was Chicago to pick up a load to take to California. It was my first time traveling any where outside of my hometown, so it was like one giant field trip to me.

We picked up the load in Chicago, drove a little while (well, I guess really a long while. like several hours. The time seemed to fly those first few days.) and stopped and ate. I remember my father making a big deal about using the restroom before we left. He led me to the restroom, and well... we both went (number one).... and so we were on the road again.

As it turns out the human body usually has to take care of "number two" not to long after eating. So, right after we had gotten on the road I had to go "number two". I can actually remember I held it for a little while before telling my father I had to go. I think I can remember because after I told him he said, "I thought so, I can tell your squirming over there...." Well, he told me to hold it until we could reach the next rest area, and I guess I didn't have much choice. Well, three miles before the rest area I had been holding it for so long I didn't need to just go "two" any more and was holding onto "one" with both hands.

We pulled into the rest area and got ready for a mad dash to the restroom, but as soon as I stood up I felt the valve open on "number one". My hands were damp, my pants were really damp, and "number two" was trying to escape as well. By the time we made it into the restroom of the rest area I needed to change my cloths. I got cleaned up as much as I cold, and ended getting back in the truck and changing my clothes. We stuck my dirty ones in a plastic bag and after what seemed a while headed back out down the road.

That night we stopped at a truck stop and I was surprised to find out they had TV rooms and such. I played some arcade games with my dad and we got something to eat in the diner. After watching some TV in the TV room, we went back to the truck to "call it a night" and go to sleep. I remember it was a bit crowded in the truck. I made a bed out of quilts and blankets on the tiny space between the backs of the seats and the tiny bunk. It wasn't uncomfortable, just small. It worked for me anyways, but two full-grown men couldn't fit in there.

After a few hours of listening to the truck engines rumbling and taking in the fragrant scent of diesel I discovered I had to use the restroom. I neglected to mention my father told me never leave the truck without him, and never to wander off while we were stopped somewhere. You know, all the good parental stuff. For that matter, I wouldn't want my kid (if I had one) wandering off on his own at a truck stop or leaving the truck knowing what I know now. So, anyway... I had to go to the restroom, so I woke my father up and told him so.

He threw his pants on (he was in his boxers) and escorted me to the restrooms in the truck stop. I took care of business, and think he probably did too, and well we went back to the truck. Night turned into day, late day as it were, and my father got very upset that we were suddenly running late.

So, we went inside grabbed some junk food for breakfast on the road, and my father went to driving. I just watched the scenery.

(*** I'd like to note, since this is a story about me and diapers. Me, growing up in diapers, and why I probably like them. I am trying to skip over the stuff of little interest to 'you' the reader. I'm sorry we haven't gotten to the "good stuff" yet. If you're still reading, well... please bear with me. This is my true account; I'm trying to make it as accurate as humanly possible. You can probably see where this is going, so I'll try to speed it up a little more. ***)

So... well.. Skipping ahead, things went on like that for about two or three days. Turns out eight-year-olds don't have the bladders of 30ish year old truck drivers and they always have to go the restroom at the least convenient times. Like when there's no truck stops or rest areas around. Not less then three times did I personally discover I had to use the restroom AFTER passing a rest area while we were on the freeway.

So, around day three maybe it was four... It turns out I had to use the restroom pretty bad and were driving in the middle of the desert with no rest area or truck stops for miles. So, my father pulls off on the side of the freeway to let me "check the tires," as he called it. (He'd make jokes about if I saw any bubbles on the tires I know there was a leak in them... anyway...) When a state trooper pulls up behind us. There I am whizzing on the tires, and Sergeant Super Trooper pulls right up behind our truck. He takes a good look at me, (not the gay kind! But he did look take a look me over suspiciously.) And then walked up to the front of the truck where my father was still sitting in the driver seat.

After taking care of my business I went back up to the front of the truck, and got up in the passenger seat. Cops nowadays would probably be more uptight then this guy was, but still this cop was not in any kind mood. I guess he asked the usual questions, "Truck running alright, anything wrong?" and after those routine ones started asking about me. He wanted to see my birth certificate, which I guess my father had a copy on him because he shoed the cop it, and asked all the questions like, "how longs he been riding with ya?" and "is he in school?" (It wasn't school time, this was summer break still.)

So, after all the to-do. The officer gave my father a ticket of some type for being stopped on the freeway without emergency equipment (cones/triangles/flares) out, and told my father he could have ticketed him for something else, and said he should report my father for endangering me by letting me play on the highway. (Which I wasn't.) Cops are such jerks.

So, after Super Trooper left, my father just pulled back out on the highway and we were off again. (Skipping to the parts your waiting for...) So, later that evening after we had stopped to have dinner, we were heading towards our last truck stop we would sleep in for this delivery and I had to use the restroom yet again. Turns out, I had to go somewhere between 3 to 5 times a day. Which is about 2 to 4 times more often then truck drivers seem to.

So, my father pulls into a truck stop and leads me to the restroom. I do my business, and when I come out my father lead me through the little shopping area of the truck stop. I didn't know what he was looking for then, though I am pretty sure I know now. He walked up and down the isles, stopped near the diapers, glanced them over... but then he got up and we headed out and left.

We then drove for several more hours, and when heading through a city my father pulled the truck into a supermarket parking lot and told me to wait in the truck. After several minutes I saw him come out of the store holding a paper grocery bag. He got up into the truck, looked at me strangely without saying anything, and then put the bag in the back.

I asked him, "what did you get?" and his reply was, "nothing, don't worry about it, I'll tell ya later." And so he pulled back out on the road, got back on the freeway, and off we were to California.

So, we drove all day and that evening we pulled into a large truck parking lot area. With a warehouse, and a bunch of trailers parked everywhere. My father pulled the truck into a parking spot, turned in his seat completely sideways to face me, and said, "We're here."

I looked around, and asked, "This is it?"

He replied, "Yep. Now we wait." I looked around.

"So, now what do we do?" I asked.

"We just wait," re replied, "we go to sleep, and in the morning they unload us." He explained about docking and stuff, but the short of it is, "we wait 'till morning."

My father turned on the radio and tuned in a Country station, and we played some cards in the truck for a little while. I can't say it was really fun, but nor can I honestly say it was super boring or not fun.

So anyway, after a while I asked about what we were going to do for food. My smiled and said, "that's what the grocers are for." He said he'd bought some stuff to make sandwiches and some snacks, and some stuff for breakfast, but I'll never forget the first thing he pulled out of the bag.

I watched him go to the back of the truck, and reach into the brown bag. Watching with mild curiosity. His arm went down into the bag, about halfway between his wrist and elbow, and when it came back up it was holding a package of Huggies. My jaw about dropped and I immediately felt queasy inside.

"Who are those for?" I asked, already knowing the answer. He was reaching into the bag for some other stuff, kind of ignoring the whole fact that he had just pulled a package of Large Size diapers out of the bag.

He looked up at me as if he didn't understand the question, and yet I could tell plainly he did, and then glanced and pointed at the diapers, "These?" he asked.

I said, "Yeah, what are they for?"

"Well," he glanced around, "There isn't exactly a lot of restrooms around here if you haven't noticed."

My jaw slackened. "What about you?" I asked, actually trying to sort of deflect them back at him... in my eight-year-old mind. As if those things would fit him, but that's what I was actually trying to imply. I don't think he took it that way, and he replied, "I'll be fine. I'm used to this."

So, long story short... he made some sandwiches, and we ate, and every now and then I would glance over at the package of diapers sitting on the bunk in the back. And then it was one of those moments when I was glancing back at the diapers, like a snake that was going to bite me or something, that my father said, "Lets get you ready for bed." Which I knew immediately was code for, "Well, lets put you in a diaper."

"I'm not sleepy," I replied. "Well, it's getting late," He answered. "But I'm not tired, really," I said. "Yeah, but you will be, and besides I am." He half lied. "Well, I can wait." I said again. "No you can't," He said firmly, as statement of fact. I looked at him, not sure how to respond to that.

"Do I have to?" I asked in a whiny voice. Him knowing fully well what I was asking replied, "Yeah, come on. Lets just get it over with. Then you we can lay down and go to bed, and in the morning after we're done unloading we can go get breakfast at a diner." Which I took as code for, "Yes, you have to, but only for the night."

He stood up, put his hand on the back of my right shoulder and said, "Come on, let's go." and applied a firm push to coach me out of the passenger seat of the semi. I stood up and kind of staggered, slumped, swayed, dragged to the back of the truck and flopped down face first on the mattress in the back.

"Come on," he said, implying for me to either roll over or get up. "Here, I'll leave you be. He said, and headed to the front of the truck and closed the curtain.

I sat back there and stared at the package of diapers for some time. I could hear my dad upfront changing the stations on the radio.

"Are you done yet?" He'd call back to me every now and then, I believe knowing full well I hadn't even moved yet.

"Can't we go to a truck stop?" I asked. "Nope, aren't any around for miles." He said. "A restaurant of something?" I asked. "We're here, and we're staying here." He said firmly. "Alright." I said drudgingly.

I stared at the baby on the package for a bit, and read the label several times, "Huggies".

"Come on, hurry up. I have to go to be soon." My dad called from the front. "Alright." I said. "Have you got your pants off yet?" He asked. "Nope." I replied. "Well, take your pants of already... come on, I gotta go back there to go to bed soon." He urged.

So, I took my pants off. Then I ran my hand over the package of diapers, feeling them through the plastic package. I thought about tearing it open, but was really, really, terrified of doing so.

"I can't." I said. "Can't what?" My dad asked. "I can't put them on." I answered. "Why, they don't fit?" He asked. "Nah, I just don't want to." I said. "Well, we all do things we don't want to, son. Putting a diaper on is small in comparison to the things in life you'll have to do but don't want to." He said. "I can't." I said. "You can, and you will," He said, "or I will." "Fine!" I said. "Alright, good." He said. "No." I said. "No, what?" I asked. "I can't put them on." I said. "Do I have to come back there and show you how?" He asked. "No." I replied. "Alright then." He said, and went back to fiddling with the radio.

I stared at the package some more, and poked a whole in the plastic packaging. I wiggled my finger in the whole and felt the soft smooth plastic of the diapers inside. My stomach had stopped feeling queasy, but I kept thinking about "me in school wearing a diaper." and "What if my friends saw me wearing a diaper." Which is funny, since my father wasn't telling me I had to wear them to school, and looking back nor did he mean that... yet some how I was afraid of that. Also, none of my friends were around for thousands of miles, but I was still afraid.

"Come on, it's getting late." My father's voice startled me. He was leaning his head through the curtain of the truck. "We both know you can't make it through the whole night without going to the restroom." I didn't want to tell him, but I felt that I would need to go sometime in the not so distant future. I mean, I wasn't holding it at that moment, but I could just tell I would be holding it later or something.

"I can't." I said. "Are you going to do it, or do I have to?" My father asked. I suddenly froze up, I felt like a dear in headlights. My chest was tight, my loins were tight, and I could feel a queasy feeling in my bladder and pines. I just stared at him. "Well, are you?" He asked. I stared at him. "You or me?" He asked, and got ready to close the curtain.

The mind does funny things. I thought about it. I thought logically, I didn't' want to wear diapers. I thought, "If I put diapers on myself, he's going to make me wear them." and here's the kicker, "but if I tell him he has to, then he knows I don't want to wear them." Now, does that make any sense? Well, strangely, to my eight-year-old mind back then, it did. Now note, I wasn't a Diaper Lover back then. I didn't want to wear a diaper. I think, though, this is why I'm a Diaper Lover now.

So.... In all my truly strange logic. Staring at him like a deer in headlights. I heard the words pop out of my mouth, and no sooner did it then I wish I could have grabbed it right out of the air and pulled it back.

"You." I said.

My father looked at me for a moment. Then cocked his head off to the side and looked like he went into a thought. Like he was reflecting. Then without moving his head much he glanced up at me and gave me a look that said to me at the time, "Did I hear your right?" However, thinking back, I can see the look clearly as if it was yesterday. The look was really saying, "Yeah, I call your bluff."

And so he said, "Alright, lay down."

I looked at him AS IF _I_ hadn't heard HIM right. Very dear-in- headlights again.

"Lay down." He said more firmly, and with a slight inflection that implied he wasn't going to say it again.

"I don't want to wear diapers again daddy!" I cried, and tears started pouring down my face.

"Now don't start crying," he said, "I'll give you something to cry about."

I tried to choke back some of my balling before it came out, and felt like an apple got stick in my throat, and then I started to cry again.

"Now come on. Now you're starting to act like a baby." He said, and I started to ball a little harder.

I couldn't see very well through the tears that I was wiping out of my eyes, but I saw my father tear open the package of diapers and pull one out.

"Been a while since your mother and I have had to put you in one of these." He said, "Now come on, quite your crying," he said. I cried some more. "Your really starting to make me think you are a baby." (Gosh, he was really rubbing it in. Looking back though, I love it and wish I could go back there. Oddly enough. But I was scared as all get up back then.)

So, he grabbed my thighs and pulled me so I would fall backwards onto the bed, and before I realized it he had my underwear down to my knees. He then tried to pick my rump up by using my ankles, but I was too big and the space in the truck was small so he tried to roll me. I cried some more and squirmed, so he flipped me over and gave me three very fast very firm swats on my bare rump and said, "Knock it off!"

Amazingly, for a second I stopped crying. But then after that second I started back up again.

He pulled my underwear all the way off, I sort of kicked a bit, which actually helped in a way. Then he grabbed my ankles and moved them to hold firmly in his right hand. Amazingly, (amazingly now anyway... back then it was just, "dad was strong" to me) he managed to (this time around) use my ankles to life my rump and slide the diaper under me. He then put my legs down and spread them apart by with one hand on each knee. But before he could pull the diaper up I slammed my legs shut and covered myself with my hands. Actually, I think my hands had already been covering myself.

So, he spread my legs again and slapped me hard on the inside of my right thigh once. "Quit fighting." He said, pointed his finger at my nose, and gave me a firm look. Maybe it was how he said it, maybe it was the slap, maybe it was just everything, but I stopped fighting right then and there.

So, he sort of elbowed my right knee while using his hand on my left knee, separated my legs and pulled the diaper up and over my hands, which were over my stuff. He looked at me with, well. A stern look, and so I moved my hands from out of there and held them just over my belly button.

"By your side." He said, and so I put my hands by my side while he started to pull the straps out from under my and get them straightened out. "Better yet, behind your head." He said. And so, I put my hand behind my head and stared down as my father pulled the right tap out and proceeded to fasten it tightly to the plastic of the diaper over my right hip. He then of coarse pulled the left on up.... he pulled it was a bit of a stretch, but he fastened it. I began to move, and the left tape came lose. "Not yet!" He called out, and I froze halfway up and looking stared at the diaper between my legs.

I felt very worm and fuzzy inside. My bladder suddenly told me I had to go to pee. "I have to go." I said. And my father looked at me, then at the tap that wasn't attacked to my left side. "Not yet," He said, "Just hold it a minute." He then pulled some electrical tape out of a little cubby whole in that was in the back 'living area' of the truck and used it to fasten the left side, and then to make sure the right would stay put.

"Ok." He said. "I stood up, and felt the diaper with my hands. I also felt the cold tears on my face crusting up in the air conditioning and so wiped my face. My father looked me over, took in a deep breath, crossed his arms, and said, "alright."

I just looked back down at the diaper, and in doing so saw my pants. I bent down to pick them up, and my father stopped my by saying, "Don't bother."

"Wha?" I said, not even able to finish a complete word. "Just go, and then I'll change you again." He frowned. I remembered that I had to go, and that I had said so out load. "I can't," I said. My father shrugged, "Alright, well it's time for bed, so why don't you get your bed ready."

I picked up my pants; my father took them out of my hands and hung them over the driver seat. "Get your bed ready." He said. And then closed the curtain and from the way the truck moved and what I heard, I could tell he sat down in the passenger seat.

So, I got my bead ready and after a while I realized I "really had to go." But I held it.

After a short time my father came back into the back, turned of the light, and lay down in his bunk. I was already lying on my bed on the floor and I kept playing with the tapes on the diaper. Not quit pulling up on them, just kind of flickering the edges of the tapes. I had to go pee, but I held it. I thought about just going in the diaper. I mean, the thought had crossed my mind, but I was afraid to. I was afraid of my dad thinking I needed to wear them, which is a funny thought considering all that had just happened.

So, I stayed up most of the night unable to sleep cause I had to go pee. However, I woke up in the morning to the truck moving. At first I didn't notice anything else. Maybe I was still used to how it felt waking up in diapers from the not so distance year before that I last wore one. Maybe I just got used to the feeling (again) through the night, and the truck moving was kind of a bigger thing to notice. So, I woke up, blanket in hand (Maybe I did realize I was wearing it *shrug*) and got up and sat in the passenger seat with the blanket over me.

"Good morning," My father said. I looked outside, the sun was barely out, and the sky was just a light gray color. "We're moving?" I said. "Docking." My father said without taking a pause. I watched as my father docked... "Sleep well?" He asked. I thought about it, and that's when it suddenly hit me. I was wearing a diaper! I just as suddenly felt very awful. You know, that down feeling you have after a good crying.... I also realized.... I was wet. I lifted the blanket up and looked at the diaper, which was obviously very damp and heavy. "I need that mirror," My dad said and motioned for me to put the blanket down. Which I did.

"Sleep ok?" He asked, glancing at my diaper. "Yeah, alright." I said. "Well, you can change in the back." He said, "I have to go in and take care of some paperwork." "Ahhh, ok." I said. "We'll go get breakfast, I know a diner that should be opening soon." My father said.

So.... After docking my father indeed got out of the truck to go take care of some paperwork. I went in the back and stared at the package of diapers sitting on the floor at the foot of what I call my bed onto his trip. I walked over to the package and without any whoopdy-do pulled a diaper right out of it. I then placed the diaper on the bunk and looked at the wet and soggy one I was wearing. I pulled the wet one off. I was fairly dry, but looking around I found a t-shirt and dried myself off some more. I then folded the wet diaper up into a ball and used the tapes to seal it closed.

After wrapping up the wet one and hiding it in my dirty laundry bag I folded the fresh one out on the bunk. I could feel the forklifts going in and out of the trailer in the back, and I could kind of judge their progress by the rumbles and sounds. .... So, after folding the fresh diaper out on the bunk I turned around, sat on it, and laid down into it. It felt soft and cottony under my rump, and my little willy kind of peckered up. It felt like soft feathers between my legs as I pulled it up and over my pines. I then strapped the tapes, first the right and then the left, and then adjusted so the diaper fit snuggly. I then smoothed over the tapes several times to make sure they would stick. They didn't look like they were going anywhere this time. I should have felt really strange or embarrassed, or at least I feel I should have felt that way. However, I just felt very moppy. I felt like crying but couldn't work up the tears.

Thinking of breakfast and the diner I pulled on my pants. They felt tight, or really the diaper felt tight with the pants over them. I looked the sides of my pants and did my best to make sure none of the diaper was showing out of my pant's waist by pulling my pants up and tucking the diaper down. I was zipping up my backpack when my father opened the driver side of the truck's door.

"Ready?" He called in as I heard him stepping into the truck. "Yeah!" I called back. "Good, lets get some breakfast." He said.

After a moment I hopped up in the front seat of the truck. My father was finished up working on his logbook, glanced around, and pulled the truck out. After going back to close the doors on trailer, we hit the road, and headed towards whatever diner my father knew was opening.

About halfway to the diner I realized I had to pee. I didn't mention it to my father, nor did I give it serious thought about going into he diaper. So, I just held it figuring I'd take care of it at the diner. When we reached the diner I had (isn't it funny how that works) forgot that I had to go to the restroom and we went right into to sit down and eat. We had a good breakfast, and then were getting up to leave when my father asked, "Are you wearing a diaper?" in a tone that sounded half shocked.

I looked around real quick checking to see if anyone had heard and had noticed some old guy glace my way when he heard that. Looking around I bit my lip and replied, "no." in a near whisper.

My father looked at my diaper section with a discerning eye, gave me a grimace, and said in a lower voice (probably because he realized I was embarrassed), "Yes you are, I can tell. I can see it though your pants." He then rolled his eyes.

"Well," I said in a defensive voice, "you're the one who said I had to wear them." "Last night," He said, "Last night you had to wear them. I didn't say you had to wear one through the day."

"Ahhh.." I said, just about ready to pout, "I thought...." I said, and my mouth froze. I couldn't think of how to finish the sentence. My mouth just hung there, open and the cat had my tongue.

My dad shrugged, "Does it fit alright?" He asked.

"Yeah," I replied hardly thinking.

"Well, no harm done." he said, "Come on lets go." Just then I realized I had to go to the restroom. Then I thought about how I was wearing a diaper. I picture myself standing at the urinal going pee while wearing a diaper and got scared.

"Ahh..." I said.

"What?" My dad asked.

Images of me standing in front of urinal, diaper showing... "How would I get it off?" I thought... "Without taking the tapes off..." I thought.

"I have to go to the restroom." I said.

"O.k." My father said. And began to escort me to the restroom.

"Wait." I said, and my father looked at me with a puzzled look. I thought about, "How would I look taking off and putting on a diaper in the restroom."

"Ahhh.. never mind." I said.

"Nah, come lets go." My father said, "It's an hour or so to pick up the next load, and we don't know how long we'll have to wait there for them to load it."

So, I went into the restroom. I went up to the urinal, and then turned around ready to leave.

"What?" My father asked. I looked at him with a look that said, "you know what." and he pointed at the stalls.

So, I went into the stall, pulled down my pants, slid down the diaper part way, and went in the toilet in the restroom. And we left the diner.

When we were getting back in the truck my father started to say something, "Well you know..." but never finished it. I said, "What?"

And so, I wore the diaper.

Well.. This story could go on a lot longer. However the details are starting to get fuzzy for me. Some of the story is starting to become "fill in" for parts I don't remember so clear. So I'm going to leave it off here.

The short of the story is... I ended up wearing for the rest of my time out with my father on the road. When I got home my father told me not to tell my mother about it, and so I didn't. However, the night after I got home I wet the bed. My father told my mother I should be put back into diapers, my mother and he argued about it a bit and she said, "One night is no big deal." And then my father said, "Well he wet the bed several times while on the road." Totally making it sound like I had "Just started wetting the bed" all over again. And so, they agreed to "wait and see." However, I ended up wetting again the next three nights in a row and my mother gave in and agreed, and so they put me back into diapers.

My father actually bought wipes and changed me a few times on the road when I had gone "number two" and needed help getting cleaned up, but after that road trip my father never changed me again. My mother however put the diapers on me the first few nights that I started wearing them again after coming home, but then after that I pretty much did the changing on my own. My parents started me on a star chart again and said that if I could make it a month without wetting I'd never have to wear diapers again. After a year or so their offer became, "two weeks without wetting" and even eventually, "a week without wetting, and we'll buy you 'this toy' or 'that toy'".

I found when I got older, around age 10 that I secretly liked wearing diapers. My father was going to put me on an allowance and said, something along the lines that he couldn't afford to (the liar) because of the cost of diapers. That if I stopped wetting I could get an allowance.

Around age 10, I started wearing them secretly during the day. Sometimes I would pretend to forget to take them off in the morning. Eventually my best friend, and still is to this day, found out that I still "had to wear diapers", and he even tried them on a few times when he would stay the night. I don't think anyone else ever knew (and that's how you can tell who's really your friend 😉 )

That's my life story. Well, my life in diapers anyway. I hope you liked hearing it, I enjoyed telling it. I also enjoy reading all you other guys' stories. Though I honestly think at least half the stories on here are bogus.

Oh well, they're good reads either way.