Little Dad

by Eros
eros2wings@yahoo.com

Summary: A very short man is humiliated and treated like a toddler by 
his sons after wetting his pants.


Part One

	My name is David Masters. It's an ironic name considering my far-
from-masterful stature. My lifelong growth hormone deficiency has left 
me a four-foot tall thirty-two-year-old man. I'm not a dwarf, though, 
as I possess none of the other physical characteristics that define 
dwarfism. I'm basically a white version of Gary Coleman, a grown man 
who looks just like a little boy. My family was always very supportive, 
which made it easier to cope, but I have experienced difficulties in my 
life that most people have not.
	My body may not have had any of the benignly abnormal stubby 
features of a little person, but I grew at a much slower rate than 
other kids my age. The most obvious difference, other than my miniscule 
size, was the slow development of the muscles of my bladder and bowels. 
I was unable to toilet train until I was ten, and even then I still had 
occasional accidents until I was fourteen. I also wet the bed until I 
was sixteen. I started puberty around that time, which my parents and I 
had always hoped would see some change in my growth rate. We were 
somewhat disappointed at my lack of a growth spurt, but at least I 
could finally stop wearing diapers to bed. I still had occasional 
accidents, but they weren't frequent enough for me to go on wearing 
protection.
	At the same time, I started dating the girl who would become my 
wife. Carrie was of normal height, about twice as tall as me, but she 
thought I was adorable. I thought she was just as beautiful, and we hit 
it off right away. Our parents approved and let us spend a lot of time 
together. As horny teenagers, it wasn't long before we were spending a 
great deal of our time together fooling around. We figured that since I 
was underdeveloped, we weren't risking much, but not long after we went 
all the way, we were shown just how wrong we were.
	When our parents found out that Carrie was pregnant, they threw a 
wedding together, and she moved in with my parents and me. Matthew, our 
first son, was born when we were both just seventeen. The stress of 
suddenly having marital and parental responsibilities got to me and I 
started having accidents at night again. For about six months, both my 
son and I wore diapers to bed, my bladder being little bigger than his. 
Since I was so small, my diapers were even a larger size of the same 
brand as Matt's! Obviously, Carrie and I were both very glad when I 
started waking up dry in the morning. With our parents' help, we 
finished high school, I found a job to support my family, we moved into 
our own house, and my wife started college. After she graduated, she 
landed a nice job that paid well, and we settled in to adult life 
together in the real world.
	We were, of course, still different from the average family. I 
was too short to operate a car, so Carrie had to do all the driving. 
That left me dependant on her for transportation, and since her work 
schedule kept her away from home for so many hours a day, she was 
unable to drive me to and from work every day. I quit my job without 
much reluctance to stay at home and take care of the house and our son. 
Our second son Josh was born when Matt was nine years old (and already 
about two feet taller than me). After Carrie went back from maternity 
leave, Matt helped me take care of his baby brother.
	The arrival of our third son five years later wasn't as happy an 
occasion as it should have been. There were complications during the 
delivery, and my wife died giving birth. My older sons and I mourned 
her loss, and new adjustments had to be made to compensate for my short 
stature. Fortunately, a large insurance policy she maintained through 
her job had left us with a sizable inheritance, and we didn't have to 
worry about money. Matthew applied for and, upon passing his test, 
received a special early driver's license that enabled him to drive us 
around as Carrie had done for so many years. Again, he helped take care 
of his new baby brother and was just like a second dad to little Alex. 
Josh also helped out a little, and we all settled into the changes that 
had to be made.
	Two years had passed since Carrie died, and Matt had grown into a 
fine, responsible young man who, having inherited more from his mom 
than from his dad, was a perfect six feet tall. He was almost twice as 
big as me. The two younger boys also seemed to take after Carrie as 
Alex showed no signs of my slow childhood development and Josh was 
already a foot and a half taller than me. When we were out in public, 
people often mistook me for another one of Matt's little brothers, and 
to be honest, there were times when I felt a little like a little 
brother. Although he was very mature for his age, he could often be 
impatient and sometimes reacted to my requests for transportation with 
annoyance, as though I were a little boy tagging along with his big 
brother. At first, I thought this attitude was typical teenage 
behavior, but it grew progressively worse until it reached a flashpoint 
during one summer vacation to the beach.
	We had been in the car for a little more than four hours and had 
made three pit stops, mostly for my benefit. My bladder was still much 
smaller than that of a normal, full-grown man, so I had to make 
frequent trips to the bathroom, usually every hour to an hour and a 
half. I simply couldn't hold it any longer than that. The boys, of 
course, were a different story. Even little Alex, who had started 
toilet training only two months ago, could go three or four hours 
between bathroom visits. Although I felt a little jealous of my two-
year-old's bladder capacity, I was proud that he was training so 
quickly, especially with all the problems Carrie, Matt, and I had had 
with Josh. Of the three stops that we had made, I had to pee 
desperately every time, but the boys were fine. Even Alex had to pee 
only during our third stop. I returned from the bathroom that time to 
find Josh sitting in the front passenger seat, complaining that he was 
tired of riding in the back, which left me to take his place beside 
Alex.
	Matt had grown more impatient with each time that I asked him to 
find a restroom, but I was still very surprised by his reaction to the 
fourth time I asked him to pull off the road so I could use the 
bathroom.
	"We'll stop again in a little while," he said.
	"But I have to go now," I said.
	"We're not gonna make any time this way! We've already stopped 
three times in four hours!" he exclaimed.
	"I'm sorry, Son, I had to pee," I replied in my defense.
	"God, are you going to do this all fu . . . all day?" he asked, 
almost swearing but stopping himself as he remembered that his little 
brothers were in the car.
	"Matt, you know I . . ." I began.
	"Yeah, I know," he interrupted. "You can't hold your piss long, 
so you always have to go to the bathroom."
	"Exactly," I said firmly. "I can't help it. It's just the way I 
am."
	He laughed. "We'll see."
	"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked him.
	"It means that you're gonna have to hold it for a while because 
I'm not stopping right now."
	Josh and Alex watched the exchange in silence. They sensed that 
something of circumstance was happening, but they didn't know exactly 
what it was. I'm not sure any of us did, but I had the misfortune of 
being on the negative receiving end of all of it.
	"Matt," I said in a firm authoritarian I-mean-business-young-man 
voice. "Stop the car and let me use the bathroom."
	His reply was just as firm. "No."
	"Matt!" I said, raising my voice.
	"No, and that's final! It's all in your head! If Alex can hold it 
for more than an hour, so can you! So sit back, pipe down, and hold 
your water . . . literally! End of discussion!"
	"Matt, I am your father, and you . . ."
	"I am driving this car, and I say that we're not stopping. You're 
welcome to disagree, but there's nothing you can do about it, so just 
keep it to yourself, and enjoy the ride!"
	I was shocked. I guess, in the back of my mind, I had always been 
afraid of this. Most teenagers rebel at some point, but they aren't 
able to take it as far as Matt could. Not only could he get away with 
rebelling; he could get away with a full-fledged family coup. I hoped 
he wouldn't take it that far, but at the moment, my real concern was 
the already-significant pressure on my bladder that was quickly growing 
worse.
	I settled in to do exactly as my son had said, to simply hold it 
until someone else had to use the bathroom, but I knew I wouldn't last 
long. Throughout my adult life, I had tried very hard to avoid 
situations like these, and I had done a pretty good job until that 
point. But there I was trapped and at the mercy of a teenager with an 
attitude, and it wasn't looking good. I crossed my legs and clamped 
down on my muscles to relieve the pressure. I tried to think about 
other things, but nothing helped much. I hadn't wet my pants in almost 
twenty years, and I was getting increasingly worried that it might 
happen. I glanced at Alex in his toddler seat and thought very briefly 
how lucky he was. He was wearing Pull-Ups and would not have to worry 
about wetting his pants in a situation like this as his training pants 
would absorb all the pee. Suddenly, the car hit a pothole, making a 
loud noise that startled me out of my concentration. Immediately I felt 
a burst of warm wetness in my crotch and realized I was wetting myself. 
I clamped down with everything I had and stopped the flow, but I knew I 
would not be able to maintain that for long.
	"Matt," I said in a desperate voice.
	"I told you, we're not stopping," he snapped, which also startled 
me and resulted in another small burst of pee in my pants.
	"I'm wetting my pants," I said emphatically.
	"You're WHAT?!" He and Josh glanced back as Alex looked over, and 
they all saw the tell-tale dark spot on the front of my jeans. "Jesus 
Christ!" he yelled.
	Seeing a nearby convenience store, he pulled the car over just as 
I felt another warm burst in my pants. I once again stopped the flow, 
and as soon as the car had stopped moving, threw open my door and 
jumped out onto the pavement. I ran for the store's entrance, feeling 
pee leak into my boxers (child-sized, of course) with every step I 
took. I ran into the bathroom and, undoing my pants, stood at the 
nearest urinal. I peed for an eternity, and while I was going, the boys 
came in and took up urinals beside me. "I figured as long as we were 
here, we may as well go too because it's gonna be a while before we 
stop again," Matt explained. My cheeks burned bright red in 
embarrassment as my flow stopped and I looked down to see the damage 
done to my jeans. My entire front was dark and wet with my pee, leaving 
no doubt as to what had happened.
	Josh was smiling and chuckling at what I'd done, and Alex was 
laughing and giggling hysterically, but Matt was definitely not amused.
	"My God," he said. "A grown man! Pissing his pants! What is wrong 
with you? Even Alex can hold it longer than you can!"
	Still blushing, I defended myself as best I could. "I couldn't 
help it, Matt."
	He glared down at me and said, "Apparently not!" He shook his 
head and said, "This isn't gonna happen again. Let's go back to the 
car."
	He was speaking to me as if I were a child, but I really wasn't 
in any condition to do anything about it. As we walked back to our car, 
Alex sang out, "Daddy wet his pa-ants, Daddy wet his pa-ants!"
	"Alex, please stop that," I said.
	But he ignored me. "Daddy had an acc-i-dent, Daddy had an acc-i-
dent!"
	"I have to change my pants," I said glancing at Matt. We both 
knew I would need him to get my bag out of the trunk for me.
	"Just wait here," he replied. He helped Alex, who was still 
singing about my accident, into his car seat while Josh climbed back 
into the front. After he was done with his little brother, he walked to 
the back of the car, opened the trunk, and zipped my bag open while I 
stood at the side of the car with my head hung in shame. He zipped the 
bag back up and returned a moment later with a plastic bag for my wet 
jeans and underwear and, to my great surprise and further shame, one of 
Alex's blue Buzz Lightyear Pull-Ups. For a split second and against all 
hope, I asked, "Did Alex have an accident?"
	Matt looked at me with an amused expression on his face and said, 
"No. No, he's completely dry. You're the one who had the accident, so 
this is for you!
	Shocked at what I was hearing, I could scarcely get the words 
out. "Matt, those are for little kids. I'm a grown man!"
	"You wet your pants like a little kid!" he retorted.
	"Because you wouldn't pull over so I could use the bathroom!"
	"I did, and you still didn't make it in time," he said as he 
pointed to the wet spot on my pants.
	"You waited too long!"
	"Hey, we can't help it if you can't keep your pants dry for more 
than an hour."
	"Matt . . ."
	"No," he stopped me. "I'm not arguing with you, Dad. We're not 
gonna keep stopping every hour and a half for you to piss, and you 
obviously can't keep your pants dry, so you're gonna wear the Pull-up!"
	"Or what?" I challenged.
	"Or . . . " he hesitated for just a moment, knowing that what he 
was about to say would change our relationship forever. "Or I'll give 
you a spanking!"
	"What?!" I yelled.
	"You heard me," he said without blinking. "You're gonna wear it 
one way or the other, and if it takes a sore butt to make you wear it, 
I'll do it."
	A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard as I realized 
with even greater shame that for the first time in my life, I was 
afraid of my son. "Okay," I said quietly.
	"Okay, what?" Matt asked.
	"I'll wear the Pull-Up."
	"Good. Now come over here," he motioned to the backseat of the 
car. I walked over, and Matt told me to take off my shoes and pants. 
Embarrassed at changing my wet pants in front of my kids, I hesitated 
for just a second. Matt impatiently said, "Fine, I'll do it," then 
pushed me back onto the seat and quickly removed my shoes and wet pants 
and underwear, all of which were sized for a six-year-old. He then 
unfolded the Pull-Up, and as he was pulling it up my legs, Josh started 
to sing, "Matty, WOW, Dad's a big kid now!" The younger boys roared 
with laughter, and Matt smiled, saying, "This is what happens when you 
act like a little kid." With that, he pulled the training pants up over 
my slender butt and snapped the waistband. They were a little tight but 
they fit me. "Okay, climb in and let's go," he said.
	"What? Don't I get any pants?" I asked.
	Tossing the plastic bag containing my wet clothes into the trunk, 
he said, "Nope. I want to be able to see if you wet again." I glanced 
at my Pull-Up and realized that it was the kind with the designs that 
disappear when the pants are wet. "Great," I thought. "Now, not only do 
I have to wear baby pants and probably use them, but they'll all know 
when I do it."
	We pulled out of the parking lot and were on our way again. Half 
an hour later, we were all hungry, so Matt picked up some burgers and 
sodas from a fast food drive-thru.
	"Why don't we go in to eat?" I asked him.
	"Because we need to make up for the time we lost to your bathroom 
trips and your accident," he replied.
	"Well, as long as we're here, I should go use the bathroom 
again," I said.
	"That would take too long and defeat the purpose of using the 
drive-thru and you wearing a Pull-Up. If you can't hold it till we stop 
again, just go in your pants."
	I blushed again and began to worry because I could already feel 
the pressure building in my bladder again. The soda I had with my 
burger only made it worse. Fifteen minutes later, I was nervously 
fidgeting, hoping one of the kids would need a pit stop and worrying 
that I couldn't hold it that long. I couldn't. Just a few minutes 
later, the pressure grew too strong, and I was forced to let go, 
flooding my Pull-Up with a gush of hot pee. I looked down and watched 
as the stars disappeared to show what I had done. Josh, who had been 
glancing back at me from the front seat from time to time, swiveled his 
head around and saw the faded stars. He started laughing and said, 
"Hey, Matt, Dad wet his Pull-Up!" Alex, thankfully, was napping at the 
time, so I was spared the embarrassment of my two-year-old son knowing 
I'd had another accident.
	"Well, that's what it's there for," Matt said with a shrug.
	"Can I please change this thing?" I asked in a low voice.
	"Sure, next time we stop," replied the sixteen-year-old.
	I was mortified. There I was, a grown man, sitting in wet 
training pants, forced to wait for my son to give me a chance to change 
into a dry pair. I felt helpless, powerless. I felt like a baby.
	We arrived at the hotel about an hour later, and Matt checked us 
in, then we unloaded our bags from the car and headed for our room. As 
soon as the door was open, I darted for the bathroom to empty my full 
bladder. I stepped out of the bathroom and found Matt standing at the 
doorway waiting for me as Josh and Alex brushed past me, shutting the 
door behind them.
	"You could have let them go first, you know," Matt said.
	I sighed and said, "Yeah, I guess I could have."
	"Well, at least you're not alone," he said motioning to the soggy 
pants hugging my hips. "Alex had an accident in his sleep." He said it 
with a little smirk, mocking me by comparing me to a toddler.
	"Accidents happen" was all I could manage in reply.
	"Yeah, well, if another one happens to you, you're going back to 
Pull-Ups," he said as he handed me a pair of my child-sized briefs and 
jeans. "Try to keep these dry."
	"Don't worry. Now that I'm not at the mercy of a teenager with an 
attitude, it won't be a problem," I said as I pulled my training pants 
down and kicked them off.
	"We'll see," he shrugged as I pulled my underwear on, followed by 
my jeans.
	The bathroom door opened, and Josh and Alex walked out, Alex 
having changed out of his wet Pull-Up as well. He looked refreshed 
after his nap, so when Matt said he was going to buy some groceries and 
asked if Alex wanted to go, he enthusiastically said yes. Within a few 
seconds, they were out the door with the promise that they'd return 
soon, leaving only Josh and me in the room.
	My son, a dedicated couch potato, stretched out on the sofa with 
the remote to see what sort of channels were available on local cable. 
He surfed the channels for a bit before settling on an episode of South 
Park, a show he was not allowed to watch.
	"Josh, you know you're not allowed to watch that show," I said. 
"There's too much bad language in it."
	He looked at me with a grin and said, "So? You can't stop me."
	"Excuse me?" I asked reproachfully. "Young man, I'm your father, 
and I'm telling you to change the channel."
	He laughed in my face. "Like I said, you can't stop me. I'm 
bigger than you."
	That was thanks to Matt. Before that day, Josh had never talked 
to me like that. But since seeing Matt push me around just because he 
could, the younger boy realized that he could do the same thing and get 
away with anything around me. Just to prove it, he started repeating 
what was said on the screen.
	"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed with a wide grin.
	Angry and frustrated, I walked over to the set and turned it off. 
"I said I don't want you watching that show, and if you're not going to 
mind, you're not going watch any TV."
	He laughed and simply aimed the remote, and the television 
flickered back to life. I pressed the button again, and, losing 
patience, he got up and walked over to me, his nose almost touching 
mine. "If you do that again," he said in a serious tone, "I'm going to 
knock you down and beat the shit out of you." I couldn't believe it: at 
seven, my son was already looking to fight me, and he would probably 
win. With him standing there glaring down at me, I knew he was serious, 
and I didn't know what to say. I stood there quietly, and after a 
moment, he reached behind me, turned the set back on, and said, "That's 
what I thought" as he walked back to the sofa.
	Feeling defeated, I sat down on the carpet and started watching 
the show. I'd never seen it before, and it wasn't as bad as I'd thought 
it was. It was also funnier than I'd expected, and as I laughed, I 
became aware of a familiar pressure in my bladder. It must have been 
the soda I'd had in the car before we got to the hotel because I had 
peed only about a half hour before. I stood up and started for the 
bathroom, which caught Josh's eye.
	"Where you going?" he asked.
	"I have to pee," I said as I walked past him. I made it to the 
hallway when I suddenly felt him grab my shoulders and push me against 
the wall.
	"What's wrong, Dad? Can't you just hold it?" he asked mockingly.
	"Not for much longer," I said as I struggled to break his grip. I 
managed to get free of his hands, but he immediately slammed his 
shoulder into me, using his weight, which was somewhat greater than 
mine, to pin me to the wall. "Josh, please," I begged frantically, "I 
have to use the bathroom!"
	"Let's see how long you can hold it," he said wickedly.
	"I'm going to piss my pants," I pleaded.
	"I thought you were a grown-up," he taunted. "Grown-ups don't 
piss their pants. That's for babies!"
	"Josh!" I yelled as my bladder reached critical mass. I stopped 
struggling and clenched my muscles to hold back the flow, but it was 
too late. Sensing what was happening, he jumped back and looked down 
just in time to see a dark wet spot appear on the front of my jeans and 
begin to spread. Free from his grip, I ran to the bathroom as the pee 
started running down my legs, hearing my son laughing behind me. My 
stream flowing steadily, I made it to the bathroom and emptied the rest 
of my bladder into the toilet. When I was done, I looked down to see 
the evidence of what I'd done across my jeans, in my crotch, and down 
my inner thighs. It was even worse than the accident I'd had in the car 
a few hours earlier.
	Josh stood in the doorway almost doubled over with laughter. 
"Pissed your pants again, just like a little baby. Matt's gonna be so 
pissed when he gets home! But not as 'pissed' as you are! Want me to 
help you get your Pull-Ups on you, baby?"
	Humiliated and enraged, I could barely control my temper as I 
brushed past him and walked into my bedroom. I slammed the door and 
locked it behind me, allowing me a little privacy, though I could 
certainly hear Josh banging on the door and yelling and laughing and 
taunting me. I took off my wet pants and tossed them in a corner in a 
bundle, then pulled out a dry pair of jeans and underwear. Suddenly, 
the noise outside the door stopped, and I had a sinking feeling that I 
knew why. I pulled up and fastened my pants, then cautiously opened the 
door to see that my feeling had been right: Matt was back.
	"Hi, Dad," he said sarcastically. "What's up? Anything happen 
while I was gone?"
	I could tell by his tone and his expression that Josh had already 
told him, so I responded, "Fine, I pissed in my pants, but it's Josh's 
fault! He held me back and wouldn't let me go until I couldn't hold it 
anymore."
	He turned to his younger brother and said, "Josh, is that true?"
	Josh, an excellent liar for a seven-year-old, said with all 
sincerity, "No. We were sitting there watching TV, and I looked and saw 
that his pants were wet, and then he ran out of the room to the 
bathroom."
	"He's lying!" I shouted.
	"That's enough!" Matt replied. "You should be ashamed of 
yourself, wetting your pants like a little boy, then trying to blame it 
on your own son. You should at least admit what you did like a mature, 
responsible adult would do. Instead, here you are acting just like a 
little boy, blaming somebody else. It wasn't Josh's fault you wet 
yourself earlier today, and it's not his fault you wet yourself now." 
He sighed and said, "well, if you're gonna act like a little boy, 
that's how I'm going to treat you." Then, walking over to one of the 
unpacked grocery bags, he added, "It's a good thing I bought some extra 
Pull-Ups 'cause it looks like you're gonna need them."
	"But it's not my fault," I asserted.
	"Not another word," he said severely. "You might upset Josh, and 
I'm not gonna let you do that." He opened a new bag of Pull-Ups and 
said, "Now come over here."
	I was actually scared. So scared that I was slightly shaking all 
over. My head was almost spinning with what was happening. In a single 
day, I'd lost all my authority to my son, and now he was speaking to me 
as if I were his son. I had no choice, though, so I slowly walked over 
to Matt and stood frozen, still shaking, as he took off my pants and 
underwear, then replaced them with one of the Pull-Ups. Not 
surprisingly, he didn't give me back my pants, which added to my 
humiliation. Even Alex got to wear pants.
	"I expect you to keep them dry, but if you have an accident, tell 
me immediately," he instructed. Then, with a swat to my behind, he sent 
me off to watch TV while he turned his attention to fixing dinner, 
another of his usual daily tasks.
	I didn't have any more accidents for the rest of the night -- 
with Matt around, Josh wasn't brave enough to try pushing me around 
again. Of course, none of them let me forget what had happened. They 
were constantly looking at me, asking me if I needed to go "potty," 
calling me names, laughing, and even touching my pants to check for any 
wetness. I was hoping that staying dry for the rest of the day would 
prompt Matt to let me out of the toddler pants, but after I'd had my 
shower, he insisted that I wear a Pull-Up to bed. "You had three 
accidents today, and you were wide awake. I'll be surprised if you 
manage to stay dry in your sleep," he explained. Of course, he couldn't 
stop with that embarrassment. He also decreed that I would sleep with 
Alex since the two of us had something in common, leaving Josh to have 
his own room and Matt to have the master bedroom.
	After Matt put my Pull-Up on me, he sent me to the bathroom one 
last time, then tucked me into bed beside Alex, who was already fast 
asleep, as if I were a little kid. Then he turned out the light and 
left the room, closing the door behind him. As I lay in bed, I reached 
down to my Pull-Up to feel the soft outer lining, I suppose in an 
effort to reconcile myself with my predicament. As I replayed the 
events of the day in my mind, I was overcome by a profound sense of 
shame and helplessness. My own son had essentially stripped me of my 
manhood, my very adulthood, and reduced me to the level of a toddler. 
It was so unfair; I was a man, not a child. But I was at the mercy of 
those who were bigger than me, powerless in their hands and subject to 
their decisions. Matt had decided to ignore the fact that my bladder 
never grew to a normal size, requiring me to make frequent visits to 
the bathroom. Then my own son had left me to wet my pants by refusing 
to allow me access to a bathroom, then forced me to wear baby pants 
because I'd had an "accident." Even worse, it was all done right in 
front of my two youngest kids. I was so ashamed by these thoughts that 
tears started to well up in my eyes. I flopped over and buried my head 
in my pillow, hearing my pants crinkle as I did so. The fact that I was 
crying made me feel even worse, and I began to think that I really was 
acting like a baby.
	Finally, I managed to compose myself and decided I should get 
some rest. I rolled back over and realized that Alex had snuggled up to 
me in his sleep. Forgetting my problems, I looked at my son and saw how 
cute he was lying there all curled up next to his Daddy. Feeling a bond 
with Alex calmed and comforted me, and I quickly forgot about what I 
was wearing and how Matt was treating me to simply enjoy spending time 
with my little boy. It didn't take much longer for me to drift off.
	I had a strange dream that night. I saw my kids running, playing, 
and laughing, just the three of them being silly the way I'd watched 
them when Matt was a little younger and Carrie was still alive. They 
looked like they were having so much fun, so young and so happy, as 
happy as I'd wanted them to be when they were born. I watched them a 
little longer before walking over to join them. As I approached, they 
all seemed to grow larger, and as I wondered over this, I tripped and 
fell over just a few feet away from Matt. The fall was so sudden that I 
cried out in surprise and lay on the ground stunned. Matt heard me and 
walked over, asking "What's the matter?" He looked gigantic, and that 
frightened me. I didn't understand what was happening as the world 
suddenly made no sense, and out of my confusion, I suddenly felt tears 
being to run down my cheeks. Matt cradled me in his arms and repeated 
his question, "What's the matter, Baby?" Josh and Alex walked up asking 
the same thin! g as I began to loudly sob in frustration. Matt shifted 
me in his arms, and I saw one of his hands disappear as I became 
vaguely aware of something happening at my crotch. "Oh, he's wet," Matt 
said to his brothers, then carried me into the house as I bawled 
helplessly. He laid me down on the carpet and moved his hands to my 
waist as I suddenly realized that I was wearing a diaper that was 
indeed very wet. He took it off me, then Josh appeared with a dry one, 
and I tried to get up and get away. "No, no, no, we need to get your 
new diapee on you," Josh cooed at me. He pulled me back down, and in a 
swift motion had the diaper taped snugly around my waist. Matt picked 
me back up and held me to his shoulder, gently rubbing my back until I 
calmed down.
	I awoke the next morning feeling a little disoriented and 
momentarily forgetting the events of the previous day. I glanced at 
Alex on the bed beside me and, acting on paternal instinct, moved my 
hand to his Pull-Up and discovered that it was wet. "Aw, poor little 
guy," I thought. Then, my memory suddenly coming back, I looked down as 
I moved my hand down to my own crotch and found that I was wet too. 
Realizing that it must have happened during that dream I had, I felt a 
new wave of shame wash over me as I hadn't wet in my sleep in more than 
ten years. Worse, I wasn't just wet, I was soaked, which meant that I'd 
probably wet more than once during the night. I glanced back at Alex's 
Pull-Up and mine and noticed that the stars had faded off both of them, 
but mne was noticeably wetter than my son's. "What the hell is 
happening to me?" I thought.
	I got up to change my Pull-Up, but I couldn't find any in my 
room, nor could I find any of my clothes. Matt must have put them all 
in his room, so I wandered out in nothing but my wet training pants to 
his room. He was just waking up and saw me walk in. Glancing at the 
yellow tint around my crotch, he said, "Yep, that's pretty much what I 
figured." He changed my pants for me and went to fix breakfast.
	I didn't enjoy that trip much at all. Matt kept me in Pull-Ups 
the entire time and continued to treat me like a little kid. He 
constantly reminded me to go use the bathroom so I wouldn't have an 
accident in my pants, and any time Alex went to the bathroom, I was 
forced to go too. Josh made fun of me a lot, though not as much when 
his big brother was around. Worse, even with the constant encouragement 
to use the bathroom, I still had some accidents. I woke up wet every 
morning while we stayed at the hotel, and I also wet a few times while 
we were out of the hotel. Fortunately, I was allowed to wear pants (or 
a bathing suit at the beach) over my Pull-Ups, but the boys kept us 
busy, leaving little time for bathroom breaks, and since I was unable 
to hold it long enough, I would end up going in my pants. Matt would 
scold me when we got back to the room and he checked me to see that I 
had wet again, especially when Alex hadn't had any accidents. I also 
had a couple of leaks, both during the night when I wet the most.
	I knew I'd still be made to wear them on the car ride home, and I 
was right. Still insisting that we had to make good time and couldn't 
stop as frequently as I needed to pee, Matt had me in Pull-Ups in the 
car again. I wet four times in three pairs, twice the number of 
accidents that Alex had. I couldn't wait to get back home where things 
made sense and my life could return to normal. But as it turned out, I 
would be sorely disappointed when the time came.

Part Two

	I had expected my family and my household to return to the way 
they had been prior to our vacation once it was over. I believed that 
being in a familiar environment would stop the weirdness that I had 
been subjected to in an unfamiliar environment. But I quickly saw that 
I had only been kidding myself in a desperate attempt to find a light 
at the end of the tunnel, an end to my humiliation at the hands of my 
sons. Matt, my rebellious oldest, had something else in mind, and he 
let us all know about it as soon as we had unpacked our bags.
	"Since Dad's been having so many accidents lately," he said, "I 
think he needs to be re-toilet trained."
	I was speechless and must have looked shocked, especially when 
Matt looked at me and added, "You are to keep your Pull-Ups on and keep 
them dry. If you have an accident, you let me or Josh know so I can 
keep up with your progress. You can go back to 'Big Boy' underwear when 
you stop pissing in your pants. Until then, I'm going to treat you just 
like Alex."
	"What if I say no?" I asked hesitantly.
	"You don't have that option," Matt replied with a stern look on 
his face. "As of right now, I'm in charge around here, and you'll do 
what I say or you'll suffer the consequences."
	"I am your father!" I asserted.
	"Well, since you're acting like my little brother and I'm so much 
bigger than you, I'm going to treat you like my little brother. Any 
more objections?"
	My head dropped, and I softly said, "No."
	For the next week or so, I did pretty well. Although I wet a few 
nights that week, I managed to stay dry during the day without 
exception. Alex wasn't so successful, though. He wet every night and 
had a few accidents during the day, and not all of them were pee. Matt 
decided to encourage him by proposing to him a competition between him 
and me to see which of us could have fewer pairs of wet or messy 
training pants. "Daddy hasn't wet during the day all week long, and he 
hasn't messed at all. Right now, he's winning, so you need to catch up 
to him," Matt told him. It worked too: Alex became more aware of when 
he had to go and had fewer accidents as a result.
	Unfortunately, I wasn't to remain so successful, but again, it 
wasn't my fault. Josh and I were helping Matt with some yard work one 
day when Josh announced that he had to pee. Matt told him to take me 
along because I probably had to go too, and to my embarrassment, he was 
right. But once we got in the house, Josh tackled me, held me down, and 
tickled me until, laughing uncontrollably, I couldn't stop myself and 
soaked my Pull-Up. He let me up to change into a dry pair while he used 
the toilet. I knew my face showed my shame because when got back 
outside, Matt looked at me and said, "Not everybody made it in time, 
did they?"
	"Josh tickled me until I peed!" I said.
	Matt looked at his brother, who defended himself with, "I didn't 
touch him! He just waited too long!"
	My oldest son walked over, knelt beside me, and looked me 
straight in the eyes. "If you have an accident, fine. But if you keep 
lying about Josh to try to cover it up, I will pull your pants down and 
spank you over my knee right in front of him and Alex! Understood?"
	Feeling suddenly very afraid of him, I simply nodded in response. 
I was beginning to lose hope of my life ever being normal again. After 
all, I had one domineering son much larger than me and another who was 
a bully taking advantage of my small stature and his older brother's 
attitude. With so much against me and so little in my favor, what hope 
did I really have? I suppose it was at that point that I simply gave up 
all my authority and independence, or at least the illusions of them. 
In hindsight, that probably only made things worse.
	By the time school started back, my night-time accidents had 
grown more frequent. Josh continued to push me around and make me wet 
myself whenever he got the chance. For some reason, Matt never caught 
onto the fact that my "accidents" coincided with Josh and I being alone 
together. However, I wouldn't have Josh to blame for my wetting 
forever.
	Matt drove Josh and himself to school every morning around 7:30, 
and they usually got home around 3:30, leaving me alone to watch after 
Alex for eight hours a day. One day he had wanted to go outside and 
play, so, with a pair of jeans to cover my shamefully juvenile 
underwear, we went out for a while. About an hour had gone by when I 
realized that I had to go, and since I obviously couldn't leave a two-
year-old in the yard unsupervised, I told him to follow me back into 
the house. He refused, saying that he wasn't ready to go in. I promised 
that it would only be for a minute, but he wouldn't listen. I tried to 
take him by the hand, but he bolted. Fortunately, our backyard is 
fenced, so I knew he couldn't wander onto the street where he might get 
hurt. Unfortunately, our yard also had plenty of places for him to 
hide, and he was fast for his age. He spontaneously decided to play 
hide and seek at the worst possible moment. Fence or not, I was far too 
worried about Alex to leave him alone, even for a minute to use the 
bathroom. I considered peeing in one of our bushes, but I was afraid a 
neighbor might see me. Instead, I continued looking for Alex, calling 
for him all over the yard and pleading that I needed to go inside. 
Whether he thought it was a game or whether he was simply being 
stubborn, he ignored me, so I was forced to hold it as best as I could. 
Of course, I couldn't hold it forever, and I eventually felt the 
pressure in my bladder grow too strong. Unable to hold it any longer, I 
gave in and felt a hot burst of urine in my pants, flooding my Pull-Up. 
I finally found Alex and, badly needing to change my underpants, I 
promised him some candy if he would go back into the house. He 
enthusiastically agreed, and once there, I changed my Pull-Ups and 
asked him if he needed to go potty. He did, and I felt a wave of shame 
to think that, unlike me, he had managed to stay dry until he could get 
to a bathroom.
	I didn't tell Matt about that, but I wasn't so lucky after the 
third such incident. Alex had pulled a similar stunt in the middle of 
the afternoon, and my two older sons walked into the house to find 
their dad in the middle of changing his wet training pants. Once the 
details of the first two incidents came to light, Matt decided that I 
was no longer capable of controlling Alex, so he quit school to keep an 
eye on the toddler himself, adding that I apparently needed a little 
more supervision as well. With the substantial inheritance my wife had 
left us, he wasn't very worried about getting a diploma and making a 
future for himself.
	But having Matt around the house more did nothing to further my 
toilet retraining. In fact, things only got worse for me. By Alex's 
third birthday, my night-time wetting had increased so that it happened 
every single night, regardless of what I did to prevent it. I tried not 
drinking before bedtime and setting my alarm, but I still woke up wet 
every morning. I had become a true bedwetter all over again, and the 
question of why nagged me constantly. I'm no psychologist, but I 
assumed that the way my boys were treating me had something to do with 
it. Alex, meanwhile, was still wetting every night, but his daytime 
accidents were less frequent. The competition Matt had proposed between 
my son and me for potty-training bragging rights was paying off for 
him. He had caught up to me, and we were now "tied."
	Unfortunately for me, the tie didn't last very long. We were 
having dinner one night and Josh was telling us about something funny 
that had happened at school that day. I found it especially funny and 
was laughing so hard that my sides hurt. Then, without any warning, I 
felt my crotch grow warm. I realized immediately what was happening, 
but I couldn't stop it. I was mortified -- another accident in my 
pants. And this time, I had no one else to blame. I hadn't even 
realized that I had to pee until it happened. Astonished, I quickly 
fell silent, and it wasn't long before Matt noticed.
	"What's wrong, Dad?" he asked me.
	I was so ashamed, sitting in soggy pants in front of my kids, so 
I answered slowly and quietly, "I . . . I had an accident."
	Josh laughed even harder as Alex sang, "Daddy had an acc-i-dent! 
Daddy had an acc-i-dent!"
	"Finish eating," Matt said, "And then you can go change your 
Pull-Ups."
	I humbly obeyed; glad afterward to at least have dry pants again.
	I definitely didn't want that to happen again, so I started going 
to the bathroom more often. Every hour, I stopped whatever I was doing 
and went to use the toilet. Alex and I were both still wetting every 
night, but my daytime accidents stopped. Matt was encouraging, telling 
me how well I was doing, which ironically was even worse. To have my 
son make me wear training pants was one thing, but having him actually 
training me to use the toilet really made me feel like a little kid. I 
stayed on schedule, going every two hours like clockwork and was able 
to keep my pants dry.
	Unfortunately, this had an unforeseen side effect. In going so 
often, my bladder shrank, and I soon found that I could no longer hold 
my pee for more than two hours at a time. Matt had taken Alex and me 
shopping before we picked Josh up from school, and even though I used 
the bathroom at the mall, I felt a slight pressure in my bladder when 
we pulled up to the curb outside the school. It was only about a ten-
minute drive back to our house, so I felt quite confident that I could 
hold it until we got home. But once we'd reached the road, Josh told 
Matt that he needed some supplies for school, so instead of heading 
home, Matt turned the car to go downtown to our local Wal-Mart, which 
was twenty minutes away. We then got caught in the after-school 
traffic, which slowed us down dramatically. I crossed my legs and did 
my best, but I couldn't last and wet my pants just as we pulled into 
the parking lot. Since we had no spare Pull-Ups with us, I had to walk 
around the store in my soggy pair.
	After that incident, I tried holding my pee longer in the hope 
that it would stretch my bladder out again. But, thanks to a busy, 
eventful life, I often wound up trying to hold it longer than I could. 
I would wait two and a half hours and just as I was about to go the 
bathroom, one of the boys would beat me to it, often Josh, which I 
suspect he did intentionally. Or one of them might tickle or tackle me 
playfully. Again, I always thought Josh did this to encourage my 
accidents, and I'm ashamed to say that it worked every time. No matter 
what the obstacle or distraction was, I would always end up with my 
full bladder suddenly emptying and flooding my disposable training 
pants with pee. It was under these circumstances and during this time 
that my accidents not only became more frequent but also became 
noticeably more frequent than Alex's accidents. He was down to about 
two or three accidents a week, while I was having four or five a week. 
At my thirty-third birthday, I was wetting my pants more often than my 
three-year-old son. The shame was so great that some nights found me 
quietly crying in bed.
	Two months passed and saw the potty-training gap between Alex and 
me widen even further. He was having about one accident per week at 
this point, while I had increased to wetting myself almost every day. I 
realized that I was beginning to have trouble discerning when I 
actually had to go. I would get busy doing housework or watching 
television and suddenly realize that I had to pee. But just as I 
started to make for the bathroom, I would feel a sudden burst of warm 
wetness as my bladder automatically let go. I couldn't understand why 
this was happening, and I seemed powerless to stop it. Then it got even 
worse when Alex started to wake up dry some mornings, while I still 
woke up in a wet Pull-Up every morning. Eventually, he stopped having 
accidents during the day and only needed to wear a Pull-Up at night.
	A few months went by and we had two more birthdays -- Matt turned 
seventeen and Josh turned eight. My oldest son had grown into a tall, 
muscular young man who was more than strong enough to handle his 
younger brothers and his miniscule father. Josh had also grown a little 
and was now about two inches taller than me and, like Matt, looked more 
like my big brother instead of my son. Alex also reached a new level of 
maturity when he stopped needing his Pull-Ups at night. No longer 
wetting at night, he had finally, completely graduated to "big boy" 
pants while I was left in his potty-training dust, still wearing often-
wet training pants.
	At the same time, my wetting had become an every-day occurrence, 
sometimes even happening more than once a day. In addition to not 
always knowing when to go, I had begun having trouble knowing when I 
had gone. There were many times when I realized that my Pull-Up was wet 
and I wasn't able to remember wetting it. Matt caught onto this when he 
realized one day that it had been hours since I had gone to the 
bathroom or changed my Pull-Up. Without saying a word to me, he walked 
up and pulled my pants down to reveal the yellowish tint of my 
underpants.
	"Did you even know you were wet?" he asked me.
	I slowly shook my head and quietly said, "No."
	Sighing, he said, "Well, let's go get you some dry pants then." 
After that, he started checking my pants on a regular basis to see if I 
had wet and helping me into a dry pair when I had, which was a frequent 
occurrence.
	Then one bright Saturday in the spring, I was outside playing 
with Alex when we decided to go in and get something to drink. As I 
stepped into the house, I felt something wet running down my leg and 
looked down to see a wet spot on my pants. Matt saw it too and we both 
realized at the same time what had happened: I had wet my Pull-Up 
multiple times and it had leaked.
	"That's it!" Matt yelled at me. "I am DONE playing games with 
you!" He walked over and jerked me up, carrying me with one arm to the 
laundry room, where, with his free arm, he opened the closet door and 
pulled out a plastic bag. I couldn't see what was in the bag, but I 
would find out soon enough as he carried me back to the living room, 
Alex following us and curiously watching to see what was going to 
happen. Matt set me down and laid me on the carpet, ordering me to stay 
there. Having long ago grown accustomed to my son's authority, I did as 
I was told. Until I found out what was in the bag, that is.
	"I bought these a week ago when I realized that your potty 
training wasn't taking," he said pulling out a plastic bag of size 6 
Pampers Baby-Dry disposable diapers.
	"No!" I screamed. "I'm NOT wearing those!" I stood up and started 
to run, but Matt caught me and pulled me back down. I struggled to get 
free, but my efforts were in vain as the strong teenager held me down 
with one hand and unfastened my pants with the other. I continued to 
fight him, trying to break free, as he took my Pull-Up off me and 
yelled, "Stop squirming, Dad!" I didn't listen, so I found myself 
lifted off the floor and in one swift move was face-down across his 
lap. I knew what would come next and continued to struggle against his 
grip, yelling, "NO! NO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" I was shocked into 
silence as his large hand came down upon my bare ass for the first 
time. "You do NOT tell me what I can and can't do," he said as he 
slapped my ass a second time. "You will NOT fight me! You will not 
struggle against me!" Whap! Whap! You WILL wear what I tell you to 
wear, or you will get a spanking! Do you understand?" At this point, 
the pain was so bad that I w! as actually crying, sobbing like a baby, 
but I wanted it to stop, so I nodded my head and said, "Yes! Yes! I'll 
do whatever you say! I promise!"
	With that, the spanking stopped, and Matt laid me back on the 
carpet, an aching, humiliated, sobbing mess. I laid there quietly and 
watched my son as he worked over me. He opened the bag, removed one of 
the diapers, lifted my ass off the carpet by my ankles, and slip the 
diaper under me. As he sprinkled baby powder on me, he said, "You've 
been wetting your pants like a baby for months, and now you're worse 
than ever. You wet your Pull-Ups constantly; God, Alex doesn't even 
need them anymore! Meanwhile, you, Alex's dad, use your Pull-Ups like 
diapers, just peeing all over yourself like a baby. And if that's how 
you want to act, I'm going treat you like a baby and just put you back 
in diapers!" With that, he stuck the tabs on the sides of the diaper to 
the front of it, securing it to me for a snug but comfortable fit. "You 
are never to take your diaper off for any reason! You can't control 
yourself anymore, and I don't want you peeing all over the furniture 
and the carpet. When you're wet, you can ask me to change you, and I'll 
do it. But you leave your diapers and all your changes to me. 
Understood?" with tears still flowing from my eyes, I nodded in 
agreement. He said I could go play some more and walked off, leaving me 
lying on the floor in contemplation. Alex, having seen the entire 
incident and having laughed the whole time, knelt beside me and said 
teasingly, "Daddy a little baby! Pretty baby!"
	Eventually, I did go back to playing again, though I stayed 
inside because I wasn't allowed to wear any pants over my diaper and 
didn't want the neighbors to see me looking like such a baby. Matt 
checked my diaper a few hours later and announced that it was wet, 
which surprised me somewhat because I didn't remember wetting it. He 
laid me on the carpet and changed me right in front of Alex. Just I 
expected, I was equally humiliated when Josh got home and saw me in my 
Pampers. "You're just a little baby, aren't you?" he asked me. I found 
that I couldn't argue with him as a baby was exactly what I felt like.
	The final humiliation came one day while I was playing a 
videogame with Josh and began to feel something happening in my 
stomach. It was an odd sensation that for some reason I couldn't quite 
place, so I dismissed it and continued playing. But then I felt cramps 
in my abdomen and realized what it was. We were in the middle of our 
game, and I didn't want to bring on more teasing by pausing it so I 
could go poop, so I decided I would hold it until the game was over. 
But as we got to a particularly exciting part of the game, I felt the 
pressure in my bowels suddenly grow beyond what I could bare, and 
before I could take the first step towards the bathroom, I felt the 
pressure shift as the shit started to slide out of my asshole. It went 
slowly at first, then sped up, as the back of my diaper got warm and 
started to fill up. Before I knew it, I was standing in the living room 
beside my eight-year-old son in a very dirty diaper. Josh smelled it 
and, realizing what had happened, called for his brother, "Matt! The 
baby pooped in his diaper!"
	Matt came in and laid me down for a change. Upset by the shock 
and shame of the experience, I started to cry, and he stuck a pacifier 
into my mouth, which I instinctively began to suck. I sucked my new 
paci as my son wiped the poop off my bottom and put a fresh diaper on 
me. Then he said that I must be tired and took me to my room for a nap 
in my new crib, which had been in storage ever since Alex had been 
sleeping in a "big boy" bed. As I lay in my crib sucking on my 
pacifier, I thought about my life and how it had changed in the past 
year. With my soft blanket covering me to keep me warm, I drifted off 
to peaceful dreams and realized that being a baby wasn't all that bad 
after all.