A return to diapers

My favorite Shiny Dark Green German leather shorts. This pair was bought when I was 8 and although it still fitted me and I can wear it over a diaper, it shows. My Grandpa took this picture and didn't say a thing.

It is early July 1964, the first week-end of the summer vacations, I am now 11 years old.

My eight years younger, toddler brother and I share a bedroom. He is still in diapers and will wear diapers when asleep to past age five, including for long night train or car journeys.

To make my brother’s diapers, Mom cuts lengths of baby cellulose padding from a 1/5 inch ( 5 mm) thick, 20 cms (8 inches) wide, 7 feet (2 meters) long roll. This padding is folded in three to four layers and placed in a thick cotton diaper tied up snugly with diaper pins round the waist, wearing waterproof (rubber, rubberized cloth or plastic) pants over it is of course essential.

How many times on Sunday morning have I invited my brother into my bed so that I could touch, through his plastic pants, his wet diaper, still warm from the heat of the night, dying to wear one like him.

The stock of diapers, cellulose padding and plastic pants is kept in a large fabric bag hanging behind our bedroom door, the safety pins being tied together and to the bag.

It is Saturday afternoon and my parents are gone with my little brother to the awards ceremony at my sisters' school. I am home alone for several hours, which is very rare. Going back to my room to take some of my cars to play the sight of the diaper bag  makes my heart beat faster.

I am irresistibly drawn towards it, my hand mechanically touching the diaper pins. "There is no harm in touching the diapers inside, I tell myself" and I put my hands, shaking with excitement, inside the bag, touching the plastic and rubberized pants folded on top then the cotton diapers and finally the pre-cut wads of cellulose padding. My entire body is as if paralyzed by this simple contact.

Feverishly I pull out all those diaper items that make me react so violently and put them on my bed to better contemplate, stroke and smell them. Although systematically washed with soap after each use, the pants have a light yellow tint on the front and between the legs and have a slight acrid odor.

"What size is this cotton diaper, if I spread it on the bed can I see it better?" "

"How big is the cellulose padding compared to the diaper?" "Would it cover my pee-pee and bottom?"

Almost without thinking I laid the diaper bits on the bed and suddenly realized that it was ready for use. My little pee-pee is so hard it stands up like it never did before.

"OK, I'm just going to check what it feels like!"

I wear my beautiful shiny green leather short shorts, bought for me during last year’s vacation in Bavaria. I love them so much.

I pull down the two zips, unhook the belt and slide the braces from over my shoulders, letting my shorts drop to the floor. My white undies follow and here I am placing my bum on the thick diaper that had been calling me for so long.

"I wonder how my brother feels when mom puts talcum powder on his diaper area?" »And here I am sprinkling my hard little member. A wonderful childhood scent spreads around.

"What if I pull the padding on the front?" "Ooooh, how soft and good it is!" "

My trembling fingers pull the cotton diaper at the front and somehow, after several trials, manage to tie it around me with safety pins.

Without getting up I put my feet through the plastic pants leg holes and, lifting my bum, pull it over my diaper, it is a little tight around my thighs and let some of the diaper stick out at the back. My mind drifts away. My fingers stroke, through the plastic, this wonderful soft thickness that surrounds my lower abdomen. At last I wear a diaper "my diaper" just like a little boy, a baby, my right hand's the thumb finds its way to my mouth, which it had left so long ago, I find myself lying on the side in a fetal posture, feeling wonderfully safe, away from all the pressures of life.

Time flows slowly.

"Littel boys pee in their diapers," I said to myself suddenly, "if I drank a large glass of water, could I see what it feels like to wet my diaper?" Going past my bedroom's wardrobe large mirror I stop to admire the picture of this big little boy in diaper.

After drinking, I lie down on my bed and resume my fetal position, thumb in my mouth.

Time flies without me realizing it and the pressure builds up in my bladder. Soon enough it is full and I can no longer hold back. I lay on my back, a few drops of urine begin to escape which quickly turn into a hot stream, immediately absorbed by the thickness of the diaper. I am in total ecstasy, this soft moist warmth spreads quickly on my lower abdomen, between my thighs and on the sides, also absorbed by the cotton layer and contained by the waterproof pants, until the source dries up. It is as if my body had never forgotten how to wet a diaper. My fingers stroke the warm plastic of the pants and the bedspread under me, not a drop had escaped. Baby is safe in bed and no longer needs to get up to go to the toilet, my mind keeps wandering away.

"I wonder if my diaper would fit under my leather pants?". It does fit nicely. It is true that at that time my shorts were bought several sizes bigger to last several years and accommodate body growth. It is only at the age 14 that a larger size one will have to be bought.

I shorten the braces as much as possible to reinforce the sublime pressure of my wet diaper on my lower abdomen and I rub mechanically in a dream the smooth leather of my pants on the front and on the back.

But time is running out and my family is going to be back soon. Removing my diaper is heartbreaking, I feel empty.  The cotton diaper is put to soak in the bathroom’s diaper pail, the wet cellulose padding full of urine is hidden at the bottom of the outside trash bin and I carefully put back in the bag everything else I had taken out.