    				 Johnny's Treatment

    					Part One

    	"Darn it, this is the last time." My mom pulled
    the wet blankets and sheets off my bed and threw them
    on the floor. My pajamas and even my pillow were
    soaking wet, as they had been every morning so far this
    week.
    	"He stinks, and he makes the whole room stink,"
    Rob complained. At fourteen, my brother was one year
    older than me, and had never seemed to have any sort of
    problems in his life, let alone with bedwetting. I
    hated sharing a room with him, and he apparently didn't
    like it any better.
    	"It's horrible and disgusting," said my mom, "and
    I'm just not putting up with it any longer. That's it.
    Now get up and get in the shower." As I got up, she
    ripped the bottom sheet off my bed and tossed it toward
    the other wet bedclothes, leaving my shameful plastic
    sheet exposed for my brother to sneer over.
    	"Are you finally going to put him in diapers, mom?
    Oh, please? Is little baby Johnny going back in
    diapers? I sure hope so! At least it would kill some of
    the smell."
    	"Well he just might find a little surprise waiting
    for him tonight."
    	During my shower and later while getting dressed,
    I tried not to think of what she might have in mind. To
    me it was unthinkable that my mom would actually put
    her thirteen year old son back in diapers. With my
    brother's encouragement she had threatened to on a few
    occasions, but I thought she was just understandably
    exasperated and annoyed by my chronic wetting, and that
    the idea would pass as her mood improved. So far it
    had, but this time I wasn't so certain. But surely she
    wouldn't resort to that? Since becoming enuretic at age
    eleven (around the time my parents got divorced), I had
    progressed from a very occasionally wet bed to perhaps
    once every two weeks, then once a week, then twice, and
    finally to almost every single night, and often more
    than once a night, I suspected, given the sheer volume
    of smelly urine that I usually woke up to. I had been
    examined by my family doctor, then by a urologist
    (neither could find anything wrong, unfortunately,
    adding to my mother's conviction that I must be lazy,
    or was doing it on purpose, or was bad, or all three);
    I had tried a pad and alarm system (my brother loved
    that!), exercises, Impramamine, and nasal spray, none
    of which had much effect, and the spray badly affected
    my mood. Most recently I was sent to a behavioral
    psychologist who did nothing at all to help, and
    finally in frustration suggested to my mom that she use
    diapers on me both for practical reasons and for the
    `negative reinforcement' they might provide regarding
    my wetting. Might! So was this it?
    	At breakfast Rob would not stop teasing, and mom
    didn't intervene.
    	"Let's see, should we get him Huggies, or Pampers,
    or Attends? Maybe Johnny should have ecologically
    friendly cloth diapers? In that case should we get him
    plastic pants or rubber pants? Decisions, decisions!
    Mom, if you decide to put him in cloth diapers, be sure
    to get him blue diaper pins okay, `cause he's a big
    baby boy, after all."
    	In class all that day I could not concentrate on
    schoolwork as my thoughts shifted back and forth
    between the certainty that such an awful thing could
    never happen to me, and the equal conviction that it
    could and soon would. I contemplated running away from
    home, but thought that even if I succeeded, I might not
    be better off as a bedwetter in a foster home or group
    home where I'd likely end up, only to face a bunch of
    kids at least as nasty as my brother. The thought of an
    ever-changing group of peers teasing about my
    bedwetting (and who's to say that bedwetters `in care'
    aren't made to wear diapers anyway) was too much to
    contemplate.
    	I looked around the classroom at each of my fellow
    male students and tried to imagine any of them as a
    bedwetter. It didn't work. Rick Simon? Never in a
    million years. Stuart Richardson? Impossible. Russ
    Murphy? Give me a break. Conversely, I imagined each
    one of them in turn being aware that I was a bedwetter
    and was being made to wear diapers to bed. Pushing the
    envelope, I perversely daydreamed a sleepover during
    which four or five of my coolest classmates discovered
    me in all my diapered shame. I could hear their
    laughter and derisive taunts. A waking nightmare.
    Couldn't happen.
    	I took my time getting home from school, anxious
    as I was of what might be waiting for me there. I
    arrived around five o'clock, and was relieved to see
    that on the surface, everything looked `normal'; that
    is, there was no obvious `baby' stuff around, no bags
    or packages. My mother and brother were home, but I
    gave them a wide berth as I discreetly checked in my
    bedroom- nothing on the dresser, nothing out of place
    in my drawers, nothing unusual in the closet.
    (Nevertheless, I was embarrassed that my bed was still
    unmade, my plastic sheet still exposed for anyone to
    see.) I peeked into my mother's room- apparently
    nothing. I was beginning to feel less anxious, and
    watched TV until suppertime.
    	I cautiously allowed my sense of relief to grow
    during our spaghetti meal, as the conversation centered
    on trivial events of the day and no mention was made
    about any `solution' to my `problem'. In retrospect I
    had to admit that Rob might have exuded more than his
    usual smugness, but at the time I had no way of knowing
    that he knew something I didn't.
    	I was in the living room playing on the computer
    around 7 o'clock when the doorbell rang.
    	"They're here," Rob said, and went to open the
    door. A moment later he ushered our guests into the
    living room as my mom joined them from the kitchen. I
    looked around from the computer, startled to see Mrs.
    Murphy with her son Russ from my class. He was carrying
    a large box, and kept his eyes downcast. Mrs. Murphy
    carried something also.
    	"Hello Margaret, hello Russell," my mom said.
    "Thanks for coming, and for bringing Russell's old
    stuff."
    	I couldn't quite see inside the cardboard box, but
    Mrs. Murphy was carrying a large diaper pail. She put
    it down. I froze. Russ wouldn't look at me, but Rob was
    taking it all in with a peculiar smile on his face. So
    this was it! The worst was coming true!
    	"Well, sometimes I thought the day would never
    come," said Mrs. Murphy, "but believe it or not,
    Russell's now been completely dry for just over three
    months, and the deal was that he could get rid of his
    diapers when he'd been dry that long. It just seemed a
    pity to throw them away- some are almost brand new and
    they are quite expensive- so when you mentioned that
    you decided on diapers for Johnny, here, well it seemed
    the right thing to do. I'm happy to be able to help."
    Oh, no! `Diapers for Johnny'!
    	Russ hadn't budged; he still held the box in his
    arms. I could hardly breathe, and I would gladly have
    sunk into the floor and disappeared forever. Diapers
    for Johnny!
    	"Let's show them what we've brought for Johnny,
    Russell," said Mrs. Murphy. "I'm sure there's
    everything he'll need, and fortunately the boys are the
    same size..." Russ finally put the box down. Now I
    could see that it contained many neatly folded white
    diapers, and pairs of waterproof pants. This couldn't
    be happening!
    	Mrs. Murphy is one of those people who likes to
    wring the most from a favor, and now as I sat semi-
    paralyzed in shock she systematically reached into the
    box and displayed various items from my new wardrobe.
    "There are over a dozen of these prefolds. They're
    wonderful. They're made for older kids by `Babykins',
    and are six layers thick in the middle and very
    absorbent. I'd put Russell in a Babykins with two of
    these prefold Gerber baby diapers inside, plus a couple
    of flanelette baby diapers folded inside those. The
    result was rather bulky, but after all it was only for
    bed, and he was a heavy wetter." I imagined what
    Russell must've looked like, what I would look like.
    	"So's Johnny," my mom said. No secrets here. I had
    to peek at Russ. He looked miserable, almost on the
    verge of tears, and I wondered who felt worse. After
    all, we were looking at his ex-diapers. They were my
    new ones.
    	"So I'd suggest you do it that way too," said Mrs.
    Murphy. "Oh, and here's a bag of pins. They're just
    regular baby diaper pins, but they work fine and you
    might as well have them."
    	"Let's hope they're blue," declared my humorous
    brother.
    	She ignored him.
    	"And here are some of the pants. There are plastic
    ones, rubber ones, and also vinyl ones that snap-on,
    handy if you're going to do the diapering. They're also
    Babykins products that I used to buy at a medical
    supply store called `All Care' on Victoria Drive.
    They're in the book. And here's a bag of various creams
    for diaper rash, which seems unavoidable from time to
    time. Best to keep right on top of it, or it can become
    a real problem. Russell once actually missed school
    because of it. There's powder too.
    	"So baby will smell nice," Rob said.
    	I could not take it all in. I was totally
    humiliated. Not only had I suddenly acquired a large
    collection of diapers and waterproof pants (some of
    which I would be wearing that very night, I grimly
    reminded myself), but here I was having my secret
    openly discussed in front of relative strangers. I had
    always liked Russ, but we were not close friends, and I
    had only met his mom a few times when she came to our
    house to play bridge with my mom and others. That Russ
    now knew I wet the bed was not helped by the fact that
    now I knew that he didn't anymore. I was very ashamed,
    and my shame was about to get worse.
    	"Also, somewhere in the bottom of the box is the
    wooden paddle I used on Russ' behind to encourage him
    to stop wetting . I really believe it worked, and I
    strongly recommend that you adopt my method," said Mrs,
    Murphy. Method? Who was this horrible old bag telling
    my mother I should be spanked like a naughty little
    child?
    	"Would you use it on him every time he wet?" asked
    my mom. Oh no, she was going to actually consider it.
    Or was she just being polite?
    	"For every wetting, but not every night," Mrs.
    Murphy replied. "But that's how I started. Before being
    diapered in the evening, Russell would get a spanking
    if he had wet the night before. But it was particularly
    hard on him when he had diaper rash, and I thought of a
    better way. I hung a calendar on his wall, and marked a
    large `W' for every morning he was wet. Then, on Friday
    evenings before being put in his diapers, Russell would
    be made to lean over his bed to receive three strokes
    for each wet night the previous week. There were no
    exceptions, even when it caused him considerable
    embarrassment." She did not say what these occasions
    were, but I could imagine. Visitors, for example. They
    would surely know of his punishment.
    	"Russell, do you think the spankings helped?" my
    mother asked. She seemed definitely interested. Russ'
    face was crimson, and he had tears in his eyes. He
    looked like he didn't know what to say.
    	"Um, I don't know, I guess so..."
    	"Ok, Johnny, take your new things upstairs and
    we'll sort them out later," said my mom. "Thanks again,
    Margaret."
    	"Oh, don't mention it. Give him a hand, Russell,"
    said Mrs. Murphy.
    	My knees were like jelly as I picked up the
    surprisingly heavy box of diapers. On top was a pair of
    snap-on vinyl or rubber pants. They looked so
    incredibly babyish! I wanted to hide everything. At the
    same time I felt like I might faint. Right beside the
    infantile pants was a zip-lock bag containing diaper
    pins. There were blue ones and white ones. I could not
    believe that soon some of them would be pinning some of
    these very diapers on me, and that Russ knew it, and my
    brother knew it. He grabbed the diaper pail and we
    started toward the stairs.
    	"Johnny, if you don't mind. I'd like the box back,
    please," said Mrs. Murphy. She explained to my mom that
    they'd be moving at the end of the month and she was
    trying to collect as many boxes as she could.
    	"Where do you want this?" Russ asked, indicating
    the diaper pail. I mumbled to put it anywhere. I put
    the box down beside my bed. I didn't know where to put
    everything, as my dresser was full, and the top was
    full of clutter. So I began gingerly stacking the stuff
    on my bed, and Russ began to help. Just touching the
    diapers felt weird, and my hands were shaky. And to
    think that those plastic pants were not for some baby,
    they were for me! And imagine that just a little
    earlier in the day I was concerned that someone might
    see my plastic sheet! Now a classmate was helping me
    place my diapers, my plastic and rubber pants, my
    diaper pins, powder and diaper rash cream right on top
    of it, and now I could not help being aware that it
    smelled a little of urine. I vaguely hoped Russ
    wouldn't notice, as if it mattered now! He reached into
    the box to retrieve the last item- the paddle. It was
    brown, about 18 inches long, and about 7 or 8 inches
    wide, and had a handle with a loop of shoelace
    attached. The plastic sheet rustled a little as Russ
    put the paddle down. I couldn't believe it was actually
    designed to administer spankings to someone like me. I
    felt like crying.
    	"In case you were wondering, it hurts," he said.
    "But the embarrassment is worse."
    	"I had no idea you...had a problem," I stammered.
    	"I knew about you `cause your mom talked to mine,"
    he said. "Man I sure hated wearing those diapers. Sorry
    you got stuck with them, Johnny. It sure wasn't my
    idea."
    	"You won't tell anyone, will you?"
    	"No I won't," he said.
    	"But I might." It was Rob. "I think I'm going to
    tell everyone what nice thick diapers you have, what
    great plastic pants, oh and such cute diaper pins, too!
    Not to mention the fact that your little butt will be
    regularly paddled!"
    	After Russ and Mrs. Murphy left, my mom sent Rob
    and me to the basement to get a metal trolley that had
    been down there for ages. I don't know what its
    original use was, but it had three shelves which I was
    instructed to fill with my `baby' stuff. This meant I
    would never be able to have friends over again, because
    the loaded trolley was right out in the open, up
    against my bedroom wall. The top two levels now held
    diapers; below that were my waterproof pants, and on
    the bottom was powder, cream, and pins. The paddle now
    hung menacingly from a nail in the wall, a grim
    reminder each time I glanced at it of the likelihood of
    humiliating spankings to come. Also on the wall was a
    calendar on which my brother had playfully added large
    `W's for `Wet' in magic marker for weeks in advance.
    When I complained, my mom said we'd just circle each
    `W' as necessary. I was embarrassed that my exact
    wetting history would be in plain view for anyone to
    see.
    	As I made my bed, I began to dread what I knew was
    about to come. Some of the shock of the evening had
    worn off, and I was left with a feeling of dry-mouthed
    horror at the knowledge that in a short while I would
    be put in diapers for the first time since I was a
    baby. I didn't know if I'd be able to stand it, but
    could see no way to avoid what I now had no doubt was
    inevitable.
    	As I finished making my bed, my mom came into the
    room. Rob followed. She looked at the diaper trolley
    and pronounced herself satisfied with it. Then she
    removed one of the large Babykins diapers and spread it
    open on the bed. It was flannelette, two layers thick
    overall, with a much thicker middle panel. I could have
    died right then.
    	"Now we can do this the easy way," she said, "or
    we can do it the hard way," as she looked suggestively
    toward the paddle. "But either way you're going to be
    wearing diapers tonight and from now on. You can get
    undressed now. You can keep your t-shirt on, but
    everything else comes off, please."
    	"Why does he have to be here?"
    	"I want Rob to see how I do it in case he has to
    diaper you if I happen to not be available."
    	"Oh, man!" I said. This was getting worse and
    worse. Rob produced a false look of humility. "Glad to
    be of service."
    	I slowly began to undress as I felt my face become
    redder and redder. I hated to be seen naked by anyone,
    with no exceptions. I watched shakily as my mom placed
    two baby diaper prefolds along the center panel of the
    Babykins, then folded three flannelette diapers in
    three lengthwise and placed them on top of the
    prefolds. Then she folded the sides of the Babykins
    toward the center. It was really happening. My shameful
    diapers were ready. But I decided I wasn't.
    	"Now lie down on top of your diapers, please," she
    said, "so I can pin them on." I didn't move. Any
    reference to the diapers or plastic pants being mine
    made my stomach flutter. Now here I was, totally
    embarrassed with only socks and a T-shirt on, and for
    some reason I turned defiant. I don't know why- I
    wasn't trying to be bad or anything, I just couldn't
    let myself completely give in so easily; maybe I still
    had a bit of pride.
    	"Are you going to lie down on top of your
    diapers?"
    	"No! You can't make me!"
    	I felt myself being wrestled on to my bed. My
    mother is strong- especially when she's angry- and with
    my brother's help I was no match. Now I was lying on
    the diapers on my stomach. I thought she was going to
    diaper me that way, but then I heard her call for the
    paddle, and a moment later I felt its first biting
    sting. The spanking went on for a long time, and was
    very painful. As I cried, I was told over and over that
    this was what I could expect every time I showed the
    slightest resistance to being put in diapers, whether
    it was my mother, brother, or anyone else doing the
    diapering. When she finished, she sprinkled a strongly
    scented baby powder on my aching rear. Then she rolled
    me over, told me to lift up, adjusted the diapers under
    me, then sprinkled powder on my front, and pulled the
    diapers up between my legs and pinned them on with a
    single blue pin on either side, with the back of the
    diapers overlapping the front.
    	She told my brother to get the snap-on pants. Then
    I had to lift up again as she slid them underneath me,
    brought up the front between my legs, then began to do
    up the five snaps on either side. My butt was very
    sore, and the diapers felt incredibly bulky around my
    body, especially between my legs. When my mom was done,
    she told me to stand up. I did as I was told, and they
    both stood staring at me in my new ridiculous baby
    clothing. I felt totally defeated, completely reduced
    in status, and stared at the floor and cried.
    	"And by the way," my mother said "if you ever even
    think of taking your diapers off without permission,
    that spanking you just got will seem like a tickle
    compared to what you'll get. Do you understand?"
    	"Yes. Can I wear pyjamas?"
    	"Maybe tomorrow. For now I want you to think about
    what you're wearing and why. Now you can watch TV or do
    whatever until bedtime." As my mom left the room, my
    brother lightly spanked me on the back of my vinyl
    pants. "Does poor baby have a sore bottom?"
    	It was such an odd, complicated sensation! I felt
    so bulky, so vulnerable, so ridiculous, so ashamed! And
    when I moved, the vinyl pants, my vinyl pants- crinkled
    loudly as if to bring added attention to the farcical
    infant I had so suddenly become.
    	I went downstairs, mostly to get away from Rob,
    who had some homework to do in our room. I could hear
    my mom putting supper things in the dishwasher in the
    kitchen. I switched the TV on. There happened to be a
    Pampers commercial running, and I quickly changed the
    channel. I stood watching something about racing boats
    on TLC (my butt was stinging such that I didn't want to
    risk sitting down) but all I could think about was how
    I could survive wearing diapers and being spanked like
    a little kid. Right now I couldn't see a way.
    	I may have stood there about fifteen minutes,
    oblivious to everything except my shame and self-pity,
    when the front door opened and in walked Brad, my
    brother's best friend. "Knock, knock, only me," he
    said. He was carrying schoolwork, and was obviously
    here to study with Rob. He spent a lot of time at our
    house, and was considered almost a member of the
    family, so it was not uncommon for him to more or less
    barge in. But now I was trapped. There was no place to
    hide, and no time to try anyway. I was aware of the
    last few moments passing as if in slow motion before
    Brad discovered that I was in diapers. I saw the look
    of amazement come over his face.
    	"Oh man! I can't believe it! Diapers?", he finally
    said. "You're actually wearing diapers? Johnny's in
    diapers now?" This he asked of my mom, who on hearing
    the commotion had come out of the kitchen. I was rooted
    to the spot, paralyzed.
    	"Yes, Brad. From now on, `til he stops wetting his
    bed. Enough's enough." Brad approached. He gently
    lifted my T-shirt and examined my vinyl pants and took
    in the obvious bulk beneath them. He actually touched
    the vinyl between two of the snaps on one side, as if
    he couldn't believe his eyes.
    	"Man, oh man, that's amazing! Well, you did warn
    him, but I never thought it would actually happen..."
    	"Well, it's happened, all right, as you can see."
    	But something else had happened, which nobody
    could see. Brad is just a year older than me, and he's
    someone I always looked up to as a sort of model. I
    thought he was just the coolest person. Now, in the raw
    panic of knowing he was about to see me in such
    embarrassing, debasing circumstances, I must have wet
    my diapers. Incredible! I wasn't aware of it happening,
    but now I knew I was wet down there, and quickly
    decided to say nothing. Brad, muttering and shaking his
    head, went up to work with Rob.
    	It only took my mom about half an hour to realize
    that something was amiss. I was still watching TV
    standing up when she came up from the laundry room.
    	"What's that smell?" She seemed genuinely puzzled.
    	"I don't smell anything..." I think something
    shaky in my voice gave me away. Mothers can always
    tell. She stared at my diaper area.
    	"You didn't! Come here!" She pulled on the
    waistband of my pants and took a whiff. She smacked me
    on the butt a few times. It made a loud noise. "You
    dirty thing!"
    	I tried to explain that I didn't do it on purpose,
    that it was my extreme dread of Brad finding out about
    my diapers that had caused it to happen, a sort of
    involuntary panic thing, but she was furious and
    wouldn't listen.
    	"Well you can just stay like that until tomorrow,"
    she said. "No, wait, on second thought, go and tell
    your brother to make up a set of diapers like he saw me
    do."
    	"But mom, Brad's with him. I can't tell him in
    front of Brad. It's too embarrassing."
    	"Listen, as long as you're wearing diapers, I
    figure you're entitled to about as much privacy as a
    little baby, which is exactly what you'll get. Now go
    and do as I said, then wait for me upstairs."
    	My vinyl pants rustled loudly going up the stairs,
    and actually alerted Rob and Brad when I entered the
    room. They both looked around. "Rob, mom told me to
    tell you..."
    	"Speak up. Don't mumble." To Brad he added,
    "Baby's just learning to talk."
    	"She told me to tell you to make up a set of, um,
    of diapers the way she showed you, and she'll be up in
    a minute." I stared at the floor. Having to say the
    word `diapers' out loud made me quite dizzy.
    	"Why?"
    	"Um, I'm wet. It was an accident."
    	"Geez!"
    	"Do you want me to leave?" Brad asked. He was
    looking at me, but he asked Rob.
    	"Nope. You better watch, in case you have to do it
    sometime."
    	Grumbling the whole time, Rob laid out a Babykins
    on my bed and began adding baby diapers the way mom
    had. Then she came into the room with a wet facecloth.
    She took the top off the diaper pail. Then she slowly
    unsnapped my pants, putting them on my bed beside the
    new diapers, unpinned my wet diapers and threw them
    into the pail while throwing the pins on to the bed.
    Then she roughly cleaned me with the facecloth. By now
    my fresh diapers were ready.
    	"That's fine," she said.
    	"Well it's not exactly rocket science," Rob
    replied.
    	"Now lean over your bed, please, hands on the
    mattress," mom instructed me. The hidden plastic sheet
    crinkled again. Who cared? She asked Rob for the
    paddle, and I got six more hard smacks.
    	"Ow,ow, ow, man, that's got to hurt!" said Brad.
    It did. But as Russ said, the embarrassment was worse.
    Here I was getting my bare, already reddened ass
    spanked in front of a guy I really admired. And my
    stupid brother.
    	"He wets during the day too now?" asked Brad.
    	"This is the first time. He said it's your fault.
    You made him do it." I was doing my best to sink into
    the floor.
    	"Gosh, I wonder how I did that?" said Brad. There
    was a bit of derision in his voice.
    	"Now Rob, I want you to diaper him, so I'll know
    you know how in case you're needed. Johnny, lie down on
    your diapers, please."
    	"No, wait," Rob said. "Brad, hand me the baby
    powder." He sprinkled some on the diapers where my bum
    would be, then lay me down and sprinkled my front, then
    pulled the diapers between my legs and fastened them
    tightly with the pins my mom handed him. He was more
    careful with the pins than he would sometimes be in the
    future. Then I had to lift up as he slid the same vinyl
    pants under me, pulled up the front, and snapped them
    on securely over my diapers. Now Brad had seen me get
    spanked and diapered! I could never live this down in a
    million years.
    	"Voila," Rob said, "one freshly diapered baby."
    	"You did very well," said my mom.
    	"You'll make an excellent daddy some day," said
    Brad.
    	I felt I had lost every shred of dignity. I got
    off the bed and waddled downstairs to continue watching
    TV in an upright position. About half an hour later,
    finished studying, Brad came downstairs and prepared to
    head for home. He looked at me for a moment and said
    "Well so long, Johnny. Hey man, try really hard to stay
    dry and avoid those painful spankings!" He laughed. It
    was not the last time that someone would feel free to
    take a condescending attitude toward me because of my
    problem.
    	Later, in bed, I worried that the news would get
    out, would spread all over the neighborhood, to school,
    even. Could I trust my brother and Brad not to say
    anything? I didn't think so. There had always been
    vague, fairly easily deniable rumors about my
    bedwetting, but this diaper thing was a lot more
    serious. Even if they didn't say anything (I wasn't
    worried about Russ), my brother had friends over often,
    and there was my `baby' stuff right out in the open.
    Heck, there was `baby' me, more or less right out in
    the open. Even in PJ's it would be obvious to anyone
    who saw me that I was wearing thick diapers and noisy
    waterproof pants. And there was my mom, who seemed not
    to care who knew. And the new weekly spanking, which
    anyone in the house would likely be aware of.
    	It felt very odd being in bed in diapers. It was
    as if the diapers represented an admission of failure
    and helplessness at the most basic level. I felt a deep
    sense of shame and humiliation, and was reminded of it
    every time I moved and my pants made noise or I felt
    the bulk of the diapers between my legs. At one point I
    was finally thinking about something else when my hand
    came to rest on the cool vinyl, and I was startled and
    horrified all over again. My butt still hurt from the
    double spanking, and I felt miserable, mortified, and
    babyish. I fell asleep, and when I woke in the morning
    I was wet, but my bed was not. Later I would be made to
    circle the appropriate `W' on the calendar, a reminder
    that whatever might happen the rest of the week to make
    it worse, I would be getting a spanking on Friday
    evening. It was Saturday, so I had a whole week during
    which to dread it. And in fact I never did receive
    fewer than eighteen smacks of the paddle.

    				Johnny's Treatment

    					Part Two

    	As I had feared but expected, word about my
    nightly diapered status slowly got out. At first I
    denied everything, but over time the list of
    `eyewitnesses' grew so large and the `evidence' became
    so overwhelming that any further denials were
    pointless. While my brother's friend Brad might not
    have made a crusade of it, I know for certain that he
    did talk to several kids about my wetting and the fact
    that I was put in diapers every night, and they surely
    told others and so on. The old snowball effect. My
    brother didn't exactly hide my `secret' either- he
    openly discussed my `big baby' treatment with anyone
    who asked, and never left out the fact that I was
    regularly spanked for it; but then he couldn't have
    hidden the truth even if he wanted to, what with my
    infantile clothing and associated items in plain view
    in my room for his friends and anyone else to see. And
    of course his buddies soon all seemed to know exactly
    what the circled `W's represented on my `calendar of
    disgrace', and they appeared gleefully interested in
    the paddle hanging ominously under it. (`Hey Johnny- I
    see you peed your diapers again last night? Come here
    and bend over, young man...') Furthermore, my mom
    diapered me around 7 p.m. each evening regardless of
    who might be in the house. Or even in my room.
    	Naturally I complained about this, but she would
    simply reply "Well in this house, if you behave like a
    baby, you get treated like a baby, and I don't care who
    knows about it," or words to that effect. Not very
    original. She considered my shame a positive thing, an
    incentive for me to stop wetting. So the more the
    better. And of course as Friday evenings approached, my
    apprehension mounted as I anticipated not only a
    painful and demeaning spanking, but also the fact that
    quite often friends of my brother (or sometimes of my
    mother) would not only be acutely aware of my
    punishment blow by blow, but then would most likely see
    me shamefaced in my diapers, sometimes in tears, soon
    after. I was allowed pajamas now, but there was simply
    no disguising the bulk of my diapers or the rustling of
    my plastic or rubber pants. And I had to get used to
    people talking over me as if I really were a baby, as
    if I couldn't understand. "Is he made to launder and
    fold his own diapers? I hope so! I would certainly not
    do it for him." This was a busybody friend of my mom's.
    She kept staring at the front of my protruding pajamas,
    the old cow.
    	"Yes, Gloria. And either he does it promptly and
    properly or he knows I will hire a diaper service for
    him. I actually made him call one to confirm that they
    do provide diapers for older kids such as himself who
    are incontinent or bedwetters, so he knows I mean
    business. Johnny, what was the name of that diaper
    service again?"
    	"Natural Diapers Unlimited," I mumbled in a shaky
    voice. The lady there had asked how old I was, and told
    me that indeed they do provide Babykins `youth' diapers
    and inserts. No problem. Plastic or rubber pants also.
    Would my mother or caregiver like to speak to her now?
    No thank you.
     	"That's it. `Unlimited' is right! Actually Rob
    keeps after me to do just that because he doesn't like
    his clothes done in the same washer that's used for
    Johnny's urine-soaked diapers. He's afraid his things
    will smell."
    	Soon at the mall, at school, and on the street my
    reputation was such that I was having to endure such
    taunts as `Diaperboy', `Piss-head', and the like. I
    especially hated to be teased by kids younger than me,
    and it happened often. "Hey Johnnybaby, it's getting
    late, you better toddle on home and ask your mommy to
    diaper you!" Stupid stuff, but it always bothered me.
    Sometimes I didn't even know the kids doing the
    teasing, and I never knew when or where I might
    encounter such mean comments. For instance, at
    McDonald's I ran into some kids I barely knew in a
    booth beside mine. I was just trying to eat an order of
    fries in peace, when one of them said: "Hey look guys,
    it's Johnny the toxic tot! John-boy, did you `dampen'
    your diapers again last night?" No, as a matter of fact
    I soaked them. And I just decided on take-out fries
    after all.
    	Once in my desk at school I found a couple of
    diaper pins along with a crude drawing of me in crayon-
    yellow diapers, and a pacifier on another occasion.
    Some time after that on the blackboard I noticed
    someone had written `Why can't Johnny read?' But the
    word `read' was dramatically crossed out and the words
    `stay dry' added. The teacher didn't notice, and the
    question remained there all afternoon. In my class I
    had become a pariah, an object of ridicule and
    derision, fair game for everyone. Teachers did not
    encourage this, but actually did very little to stop
    it. Russ never teased me, but he kept his distance and
    I couldn't blame him. Of course no one knew that it was
    his hand-me-down diapers I was wearing to bed every
    night.
    	And there was always something new to worry about.
    For example, we were assigned a Japanese exchange
    student to room and board with us. My brother's bed had
    been replaced by bunkbeds, and fourteen year old `Hiro'
    (his name is Hiroaki, from Kyoto) would occupy the top
    bunk. It's common for Japanese students to come to
    Canada for six month stints of intense English language
    training at various special schools. They stay with
    pre-approved families and pay quite high rates for room
    and board. My mom had applied, and was accepted. I
    doubt she mentioned on the application form that any
    prospective student would be sharing a room with a
    diapered chronic wetter. Would he complain? For weeks
    before Hiro arrived I worried what his reaction to my
    diapers would be. Would he think I was a loser and a
    retard as my brother was so fond of claiming? Would he
    think me a big baby? Would he tease and humiliate me? I
    didn't think I could take much more of that.
    	I was very nervous on that first evening after his
    arrival. Hiro turned out to be about my size, and if
    anything, even lighter. He seemed tired after his long
    flight, and as he brought his stuff into the room, if
    he noticed my supply of diapers and rubber pants and
    other things, he didn't say anything. And of course my
    painfully revealing calendar wouldn't mean anything to
    him. Not yet, anyway. He didn't say anything, but as it
    turned out he couldn't have, at least nothing I would
    have understood. His English was all but non-existent,
    and we tried to communicate using gestures, trial and
    error, and a Fodor's travel dictionary.
    	As the dreaded 7 o'clock arrived, Hiro was lying
    on his bunk, reading, half snoozing. I was grateful
    that at least this was not a Friday, but knew that that
    would come soon enough. I felt very awkward that he was
    in the room, and protested, of course to no avail.
    "He's going to find out all about it anyway, so it
    might as well be now." Then my mom tried to make him
    understand what was about to happen. She pointed to the
    trolley. "Diapers." She pointed to me. "Bedwetter." She
    thought if she talked loud he'd understand. "Hiro,
    Johnny has to wear diapers to bed at night because he
    wets the bed."
    	Great. Hiro didn't seem to have a clue as to what
    she was saying, but unfortunately now we had his
    attention. He seemed bewildered, and stared blankly in
    the direction of my shameful stay-dry wear.
    	"Go ahead and get undressed," my mom said, as she
    selected the regulation diapers and started to combine
    them in the now familiar way. I hesitated. My mouth was
    dry, and I had that peculiar floating feeling I get
    when something awful has already begun to happen. Naked
    in front of a stranger, a peer! Unceremoniously
    diapered in front of our student boarder! Again I felt
    faint.
    	"Look, I don't want to have to spank you in front
    of Hiro on his first night," she said noticing my
    reticence, "but you know I surely will if I'm forced
    to." She looked toward the paddle. My brother had
    recently offered to drill holes in it to eliminate any
    `cushion' of air against the skin, therefore to render
    spankings a little more painful. She was thinking about
    it. I sheepishly did as I was told, then lay in
    excruciating nakedness on the powdered thick rectangle
    of diapers. The babyish scent of Johnson & Johnson Pure
    Cornstarch already seemed to fill the room as my mom
    sprinkled my front, then pulled the diapers up and
    pinned them tight. Then she slid my vinyl pants under
    my submissive butt and snapped me into them. I felt
    totally infantilized, ashamed, horrified to be so
    helpless in front of Hiro in this way.
    	"I wonder what poor Hiro must be thinking," she
    chuckled as she finished. "I bet he's never seen
    anything like this before." She read my mind, but I
    wasn't laughing. I opened my eyes and got a glimpse of
    him. He was wide-eyed and his mouth was open as he
    stared at me laying in my bulky, waterproof state. And
    his face was almost as red as mine felt. He mumbled to
    himself, seemingly in disbelief. Now I had no choice
    but to waddle over to my dresser if I wanted pajamas to
    at least cover my ever cumbersome diapers. I was
    intensely aware of my (to me) deafening diaper-pants
    noise as I moved, and I knew that Hiro must be noticing
    also. I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked in
    short steps to try to minimize the effect. So now he
    knew everything! Well, almost.
    	Later, downstairs, my brother and Hiro were
    watching TV when I came into the room. I didn't sit
    down. I was wisely testing the waters. Rob started
    almost immediately.
    	"What's on?" I innocently asked.
    	"Sshhh! I'm already helping Hiro with his English.
    Let me think of a word; Hiro, can you say...
    `diapers'?"
    	"Di-pers?"
    	"Very good! Can you say... `baby'?"
    	"Ba-bee."
    	"Excellent! Do you know what a `spanking' is?"
    	"Spanking?"
    	"Here, I'll show you."
    	Without warning Rob grabbed me in a tight grip and
    managed to force me over his knee. He's on the
    wrestling team at school and very wiry and strong. He
    held me down with his left arm and began to spank me on
    my diapers with his right. It was `play' but he was
    spanking me quite hard, and my vinyl pants were making
    a lot of noise under my pj's. I squirmed and struggled,
    but couldn't get free, and finally simply had to submit
    to Rob's degrading treatment as Hiro watched with a
    bemused expression. When my brother was finally
    satisfied, he said "There. Spank-ing. Bad boy." I got
    up and slunk up to my room in tears of helpless
    embarrassment and rage. Later, recovered somewhat and
    reading in bed, I was shocked when Rob and Hiro came in
    to the room to prepare for bed. Hiro went over to my
    supply of diapers, touched one, and said "Omutsu.
    Diaper. Omutsu."
    	"Omutsu," repeated Rob. "Gosh, you learn something
    new every day. Johnny, can you say `omutsu'?"
    	"Shut up."
    	"Pantsu," said Hiro, pointing at a pair of my
    vinyl pants. "Akachan."
    	He slowly took in my `baby' supplies, shook his
    head in incredulity and said in Japanese what I took to
    mean `Man, I can hardly believe this! The kid's 13 and
    still in diapers!' I had to admit he had a point, if
    that's what he was thinking. After all, he had come
    halfway around the world on his own to board with
    strangers and immerse himself in a language that was
    almost totally foreign. Pretty grown-up stuff. And what
    does he find? A kid his own size and only a little
    younger (I was thirteen and a half by then) whose
    mother still regularly diapers him at night and whose
    thick diapers are almost always soaked by morning. A
    kid who has to submit to a humiliating bare-butt
    spanking every week because he can't accomplish what
    some three-year olds have no problem mastering. (Of
    course Hiro didn't even know about my punishment yet,
    but I was getting quite carried away in my self-pitying
    daydream.) A kid who has to have a ridiculous, noisy
    plastic sheet on his bed because sometimes he pees so
    much in his sleep that his infantile rubber pants can't
    hold it all.
    	Later in the dark I tried not to move around too
    much as I imagined that Hiro might be hearing every
    babyish crinkle of my mattress protector and/or vinyl
    pants. I could only hope he wouldn't hear my diapers
    being peed later. Soon after I dreamed that, while
    sobbing naked from the waist down in my room in front
    of a group of amused, quietly laughing and jeering
    Japanese students, my mother spanked me (the paddle had
    holes drilled in it), then diapered me using ceremonial
    diaper pins which Hiro, bowing, handed her from a
    package with Japanese writing on it. As she snapped my
    stigmatizing vinyl pants on me, one of the students
    contemptuously spat out `Akachan!', while the others
    nodded and laughed in agreement. I woke up in the
    morning wet as usual. Later, I looked up the Japanese
    word from my dream in the Japanese-English dictionary
    we had bought to help communicate with Hiro, and sure
    enough: Akachan = Baby!
    	Hiro was mercifully not home on the first Friday
    since taking up residence at our house, and I was glad
    he would not be a witness to my regularly scheduled
    paddling session for wetting, but Rob and Brad were
    downstairs watching TV. As I shakily took off my pants
    and underwear as ordered, I hoped they wouldn't hear,
    but I knew there was no chance of that. My mom somewhat
    redundantly checked my calendar, which I well knew
    depicted a circled `W' for each of the previous seven
    days. Then as I bent cowering over the bed, she took
    the paddle off the wall, and began to administer the
    maximum twenty-one strokes I had `earned'. That night's
    diapers already lay waiting for my sore post-spanking
    backside. By about the tenth whack, the combination of
    humiliation and pain had usually reduced me to a
    blubbering mess, and tonight was no exception. I was
    still whimpering as my mom diapered me. Tonight she put
    me in rubber pants. After putting on my pajamas I hung
    around my room to avoid my brother and Brad, but later
    they both came up in preparation of going out.
    	"I heard a certain chronic wetter got the max with
    the old paddle, again," Brad said, condescendingly.
    "Ouch. Too bad. Better luck next week, maybe."
    	"Oh, he always gets the max," said Rob. "'Cause
    he's a maximum baby. Just check out his bedwetting
    calendar."
    	"Here's a tip," said Brad. "Get your mom to diaper
    you before your spanking instead of after. Would hurt a
    lot less, but then it might be a bit tricky to convince
    her..." He laughed. I decided to get out of there and
    go downstairs to watch TV. As usual my waterproof pants
    made loud and embarrassing rustling noises as I walked.
    	"Man, what a racket his rubber pants make!" said
    Brad. Lucky guess.
    	"I know. If it wasn't so obvious already, it's
    like he's wearing a neon sign that says `Look at me!
    I'm in diapers! Look at me! I'm a baby!" my brother
    answered. "And he reeks of baby powder, too." I went to
    watch TV. Standing up.
    	Weeks went slowly by. I tried to keep as low a
    profile as possible. I kept to myself at school (not
    that I had much choice) and tried to ignore the
    teasing. But I knew that even if I stopped wetting
    tomorrow, then won the Nobel prize for literature, to
    my fellow students I'd still be `the diaper kid', or
    `piss-boy', or whatever. Forever.
    	At home I continued to have feelings of deep
    disgrace from the time I submissively took my pants off
    to be diapered until I removed my almost invariably
    wet, smelly diapers in the morning, sometimes after
    having to wait forever for the bathroom, thus causing
    further wetness and feelings of babyish helplessness.
    Once there simply wasn't time for a shower, and I had
    to go to school smelling of urine. Kids around me
    teased mercilessly, pretended to faint, and held their
    noses.
    	Meanwhile Hiro, whose English was improving by the
    day, didn't overtly harass me, but it was clear he
    thought me infantile, and he did playfully refer to me
    as `akachan' and `osinago'. Baby. ("Johnny big
    baby...") He seemed genuinely bewildered that I could
    still need to be in diapers at my age, and as a result
    he tended to dismiss me as being beneath his interest.
    Also, the few excruciating times he was around during
    my spankings, he didn't seem to disapprove, and offered
    me no sympathy or consolation afterward. Sometimes I
    heard my name mentioned when he talked to his friends
    on his cell phone, and it sounded like he was filling
    them in. I sometimes heard the word `omutsu' following
    my name. Also `oneshou'. Bedwetting. I wondered if
    Emperor Hirohito had been informed yet.
    	My brother continued to make my life as miserable
    as possible, and I just hated it when he had friends
    over in the evening. Several had by now seen me
    actually being diapered, and virtually all had seen me
    wearing them. For me, being seen in diapers put me just
    about as low on the totem pole of humanity as one can
    get. Only a friend of his witnessing me get a spanking
    first couldn't make me sink a little lower; maybe half
    an inch.
    	Something finally happened that I knew very well
    was inevitable, but nevertheless had hoped to avoid.
    After supper one evening, my mom was called to a
    neighbor's house. Her husband had been in a car
    accident. She said she wouldn't be long, but when seven
    o'clock came and she wasn't home, I started to get
    nervous. Then the phone rang.
    	"Hello?" I already knew who it probably was, and
    why she was phoning.
    	"Johnny, I'm going to have to be here for awhile.
    Mr. Simmons will be all right, but I have to drive Mary
    to the hospital, and I don't know how long I'll be. So
    I think your brother is going to have to stay in, and
    he's going to have to diaper you. Right now. And I
    don't want you to make a fuss, or else. Understand?"
    	"Aw mom, Brad's here. He's right up in my room..."
    	"You know my attitude toward that. Give Rob the
    phone, please." I did, and tried to follow the
    conversation. I had butterflies in my stomach already.
    And that weird, black, floating feeling.
    	"Hello? Hi... Aw jeez! What a pain! Aw, do I have
    to? Well what if he gives me a hard time? He's bound
    to. He's not going to just lie still, you know...Well
    if he does make a fuss can I use the paddle on him?
    Brad's here, and he can help me. Yay! `Only If you
    absolutely have to,'" he repeated for my benefit, then
    said goodbye and hung up. "Well, let's go get it over
    with, Johnnyboy."
    	In our room Rob began putting my diapers together
    on my bed.
    	"Oh man, did you get stuck with the job of
    changing him?" Brad said. Hiro was downstairs. I hoped
    he would stay downstairs.
    	"Yeah, mom's late. Hurry up, Johnny, get your
    pants off. And remember, if you squawk, you're getting
    the paddle. Don't try me, I'm warning you." He took the
    paddle off the wall and laid it threateningly on my
    bed.
    	"I wouldn't try him," Brad said. "Personally, if I
    were you, I wouldn't squawk, or even peep." They
    laughed at his wit.
    	I submitted. It was hard to undress in front of
    them. Then my brother carelessly stuck me with a diaper
    pin. Brad, my former idol, watched the whole belittling
    procedure, and added a snide comment on the minor
    diaper rash I usually suffered. Then to my horror Hiro
    came into the room just as Rob was finishing snapping
    up my waterproof pants. He looked surprised at what he
    was seeing. "Rob komori," he said smiling. "Rob
    babysitter today?"
    	"That's right, I'm a babysitter. And what does
    that make you, Johnnyboy?"
    	"Duh, a wittle baby, I guess," answered Brad, and
    sucked his thumb. Why deny it? There I was standing in
    front of the three of them in just my baby-powdered
    diapers, vinyl pants, and a tee-shirt. What could I
    say?
    	About a week later, a particularly embarrassing
    thing happened. I was just putting my pajamas on after
    being diapered when my mother noticed a stain on the
    back of my pj bottoms which she touched and felt to be
    damp. She also complained of a urine smell. The night
    before, my diapers had leaked a little and got a tiny
    section of my pj's a bit wet. I thought nothing of it
    and just threw them in my drawer in the morning, where
    because of poor air circulation I guess they hadn't
    quite dried. Now my mom had noticed and was making a
    big deal about it.
    	"You're not wearing damp and smelly pajamas around
    the house," said my mom. "You can just take them off."
    	"But there's just one problem," I said. "My other
    pair's already in the wash. I'll have nothing to wear."
    	"You should have thought of that before. You can
    put them back on after you've run them through the
    laundry. Now take them off and go and do it please and
    then you can come back and finish your homework." At
    least she said please. But there was another little
    problem. This was bridge night, meaning there were
    three of my mother's card cronies downstairs, and one
    of them, when a babysitter had called in sick, had
    brought her visiting 12 year old nephew along rather
    than miss out on the evening. In order to get to the
    laundry room, I would have to pass in front of all of
    them in just my diapers and tee-shirt. I might have
    been brave enough to ask Hiro to lend me some pj's, but
    neither he nor my brother was around, and I didn't dare
    borrow a pair of his or Rob's without asking. Now my
    mother was back downstairs while I stood in my room
    shifting from foot to foot (even that made my pants
    crinkle) while trying to screw up my courage. I thought
    maybe I could sort of bundle up my pajamas and try to
    hide behind them, but I didn't think it would work too
    well. And there were still the noisy pants and fresh
    baby-powder smell. I was a goner. I waited as long as I
    dared, then took a deep breath and started a surreal
    voyage downstairs. Near the bottom was the nephew,
    watching TV. He was the first to spot me. Of course he
    stared wide-eyed, seemingly disbelieving. He called
    across the room to the card table. "Aunt Jessica, how
    come that kid is wearing diapers?" They all looked up.
    I stopped dead, holding the balled-up pajamas at chest
    level in both hands. They did smell a little.
    	"Carl, meet Johnny; Johnny, this is my nephew
    Carl, from Calgary." We didn't shake hands.
    	"Auntie, why's he wearing diapers? He's bigger
    than me."
    	"I don't know, Carl. Why don't you ask him why?"
    	"How come?" asked Carl. It was almost a demand.
    The card game was in suspension. So was I. I wished it
    was by the neck until dead.
    	"Um, `cause sometimes I wet my bed," I managed to
    stammer.
    	"Wow. I never even met a bedwetter before. I
    thought only babies did that. Do you do it every
    night?"
    	"Well..." I looked at my mom. She returned my look
    meaningfully. "Pretty much," I admitted. "Excuse me, I
    have to get to the laundry." My diapers never felt so
    thick or my pants so loud as I trudged self-conscious
    and mortified past everyone toward the kitchen and the
    stairs to the basement. "How come he wets his bed?" I
    heard Carl ask.
    	With the machine going, again I had to eventually
    force myself to leave the safety of the laundry room to
    face who knew what new humiliation. My face was just
    burning. As expected, Carl was waiting. "Is it true
    your mom even diapers you? And you even get a spanking
    for wetting your diapers?"
    	"Yes." If I had denied it, my mom would have
    stepped in and made it worse.
    	"Man, you're just like a big baby." Tell me about
    it, Carl, you little twelve year old twerp. I toddled
    off as the ladies began on a discussion regarding the
    merits of spankings for enuretics. My mother's position
    was that even if spanking eventually proved ineffective
    as a deterrent to bedwetting, "... and it's 'way too
    early to say...", it still provided a powerful reminder
    regarding a parent's disapproving attitude toward the
    wetting behavior. I couldn't concentrate on my homework
    knowing they were discussing such things (what was
    Carl's opinion on the matter?) and that of course they
    would all see me again when I went to put the pj's in
    the dryer. This time on the way up Carl just shook his
    head. "Man. I can't believe it!" he said. "Thirteen and
    he still has to get diapered like a little baby!
    Believe it or not, Carl.
    	Then something really bad happened. One Monday, on
    her way to the laundry room my mother slipped on the
    basement stairs, and suffered a separated shoulder and
    a broken wrist. She went to hospital by ambulance, and
    came back with her wrist in a cast and her arm in a
    sling. Naturally I felt very awful for her, but I began
    to feel bad for my selfish self also as the
    implications began to sink in. Yikes! Who would diaper
    me? Just as bad or even worse, who would inflict my
    degrading punishments while she recovered? Oh, I could
    guess who...
    	Rob was not at all happy with his regular new
    chores, which he carried out with maximal derision and
    with very little regard for my privacy or dignity (not
    that this represented much of a change), and he was
    quite careless with diaper pins, too. Now I had to make
    up my own set of diapers each evening, with the threat
    of severe repercussions if I ever used fewer than
    specified by my mom, something which seemed pointless
    to me anyway. Would I appear any less babyish overall
    for wearing one or two fewer baby diapers inside my
    Babykins? But the new arrangement was really
    inconvenient when Rob planned to be out for the
    evening, because then I'd be put in my infantilizing
    diapers before he left, once as early as 5 o'clock. I
    had to sit diapered at the supper table in front of
    Hiro and my mom. I was glad Hiro hadn't asked anyone
    over to eat, at least.
    	However, my first spanking in my brother's charge
    was almost a relief after the anxiety I had built up
    over the week. As it turned out, he only spanked me
    about as hard as my mom, who included enough physical
    and mental discomfort that any more would be overkill,
    but that's what I was afraid of. I think she warned him
    not to go overboard. But once again I first had to
    undress in front of Brad, which for me was almost as
    bad as the disciplining itself. Then it was torturous
    being made to lean over my bed with a bared bum, and
    being sadistically made to wait a little while for the
    first burning smack of the paddle while knowing my
    brother's friend was watching everything, taking in
    every detail of my disgrace. I began to cry around the
    fifth stroke, wishing my brother to hurry it up to at
    least get my ego-crushing spanking over with. He took
    his time, but finally it was over, and as I lay
    blubbering while passively having my diapers pinned on,
    another total defeat, Brad said, "Has he really always
    got the full 21 smacks?"
    	"Nah," said Rob. "I think he only got 18 once."
    	I was still sniffling as he snapped me into my
    hated vinyl pants. As I stood up shakily, Brad
    playfully swatted my sore behind a few more times with
    his hand. "Stay dry, Johnny. Just stay dry! That's my
    advice to you."
    	Then later in the week the plan hit a big snag.
    Rob had a chance to go camping for the weekend with
    Brad and some other friends, and no one thought he
    should miss out just because of having to diaper me.
    	"You could take him with you," suggested my mom.
    Rob seemed to consider it.
    	"Nah, it's just not practical. Besides, the guys
    don't want to be hanging around with a kid who's still
    in diapers. It's embarrassing." Brad was shaking his
    head. "It's a big boy thing."
    	"No, I have to agree," conceded my mom. Whew!
    Under the circumstances I didn't think I'd have been a
    very happy camper.
    	"What about Hiro? He could easily do it. He
    wouldn't mind." My stomach lurched. No!
    	"He'll be away the same time as you. He's going to
    the island on a field trip with his class over the
    weekend."
    	"Got it," Brad said, snapping his fingers. "Why
    don't you hire a babysitter?"
    	"What?" my mom asked.
    	"Sure. You must know someone whose son or daughter
    baby-sits. Hire someone just to come in on Friday and
    Saturday evening, diaper Johnny, and that's it!"
    	"Sure, why not?" my mom replied. "And I think I
    know of somebody, too."
    	A plan was worked out whereby, incidentally, I
    would be spanked in advance on Thursday evening on the
    understanding (`In the unlikely event' was how my
    brother put it) that if, big if, I was dry on Friday,
    then three smacks would be deducted from next week's
    `earnings'. That's how much faith they had in me. The
    next day I heard my mom on the phone. She explained to
    someone down the street called Monica that she had had
    a slight accident and was in a bind regarding diapering
    her son over the weekend. It was just for bedwetting.
    Didn't Monica have a daughter who babysat? Karen,
    that's right. Could Karen possibly stop by on Friday
    and Saturday at 7 o'clock? It would only take a minute,
    and she'd be well paid. I'll hold on... She could?
    Great! See her then. And thanks!
    	Karen arrived promptly at five to seven on Friday.
    I answered the door. I was shaking, then even more as I
    realized she seemed to be only around 15, and was with
    a guy around the same age. I recognized him from
    school, but we had never spoken. "Hello, I'm Karen, and
    this is my boyfriend Kevin. We're just on our way to a
    movie."
    	"I'm uh, Johnny. Pleased to meet you." My mom
    heard from the kitchen. "Is that Karen? Thanks for
    coming, Karen, you're a godsend! Wait, I'm just
    coming."
    	"So where's the nursery? Is the baby upstairs?"
    Karen asked.
    	"Um, baby?" I stammered. This was bad. This was
    terrible. My mom came into the room. She looked
    surprised when she saw Karen.
    	"Hello Mrs. Nash, I'm Karen, and this is Kevin, my
    boyfriend. We're on our way to a movie. Gosh, I hope
    your shoulder isn't too sore? That sling looks like a
    good idea. Is the baby upstairs? We only have a
    minute."
    	My mom looked bewildered. I was beyond bewildered.
    All of a sudden I was downright terrified.
    	 "Baby? Oh, I see! I think there's been a
    misunderstanding. I'm afraid you're looking at the
    `baby'. Johnny here wets the bed and I keep him in
    diapers at night." I stared very hard at the floor. "
    But with this darn thing..." She indicated the sling.
    	"Oh, my mom thought there was a baby. Like a
    toddler or something, in toilet training. Gosh. I dunno
    if I can do it. Given our relative closeness in age and
    difference in gender, I honestly don't think it would
    be appropriate for me to diaper your son, do you? She
    was blushing. So was I. "How old is Johnny, by the
    way?"
    	"Thirteen," answered my mom. I almost added `And a
    half,' but bit my tongue.
    	"Oh, I completely I agree, Karen. For some reason
    I thought you were around 19," said my mom. "Well.
    Sorry about this."
    	"But what'll you do?" Karen asked.
    	"I'm not sure," said my mom. Dared I hope for one
    or two diaperless nights?
    	"Maybe I could help, ma'am" said Kevin. No Kevin!
    Shut up! Don't help! "Perhaps I could do it for you.
    After all, we're both guys, so that's not a problem.
    And you see, I have a seven year old brother who's
    still in diapers at night. He's mentally challenged. So
    I have lots of diapering experience. If you like, I can
    diaper Johnny, here. Only take a minute. And Karen said
    it's for two nights? We can come back tomorrow also. Up
    to you, but it's no problem at all."
    	I was told to go upstairs, make up a set of
    diapers, get undressed, and wait for Kevin. Any
    deviation would result in you-know-what. Great! Maybe I
    should paste up pictures of myself alternately naked,
    getting spanked, and in diapers on billboards all over
    town and just get it over with and make sure everybody
    knew. I felt pale and shaky as I waited. He finally
    came. He surveyed my diapers waiting on the bed. Now I
    felt totally at a loss.
    	"Does your mom powder you?"
    	"Yes, it's on the trolley over there. She puts
    some on the diaper (that word again!) under my butt,
    and then sprinkles some on my, um, front." Kevin
    sprinkled the whole inside surface, then had me lie
    down, and pulled the diapers up between my legs, and
    carefully pinned them tight with pins he brought with
    the powder and held lightly in his mouth, just like my
    mom did.
    	"Which pants does she usually use?"
    	"Vinyl ones. Snap-ons".
    	"Lift up." I couldn't believe this stranger was
    actually giving me orders, snapping me into my vinyl
    pants after putting me in my diapers as a favor to my
    mother. It was nightmarish. What next? And this guy
    went to my school! And he was all business, too. No
    small talk with Kevin. no baseball scores, no weather
    chit-chat. It was like he was diapering a mentally-
    disabled little kid. Or a baby.
    	"There you go. All done."
    	I wanted to hide upstairs, but soon heard my mom
    calling. I quickly put pajamas on and reluctantly went
    down. The three were standing near the front door,
    which was open. I had to cross the room. Crinkle,
    crinkle, crinkle.
    	"Did you remember to say thank you to Kevin?" my
    mom asked.
    	"Um, thanks, Kevin." Thanks a lot, pal...
    	"No problem, Johnny. Mrs. Nash, I noticed he's got
    a fair bit of diaper rash. At home we have a very good
    new ointment that we use on Kyle. Should I bring some?"
    	"Please! If you wouldn't mind, Kevin. Thank you!
    Johnny, did you thank Karen?"
    	Karen was losing the battle to politely avoid
    staring at my diaper area.
    	"Thanks, Karen."
    	"No problem. Glad we could work something out."
    She blushed. "Well, we'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Nash,
    same time." Sigh. Something to look forward to.
    	The next evening unfolded similarly, except that
    Kevin ordered me to lie on my diapers on my stomach. I
    felt a dab of coldness on my backside, then heard a
    rustling noise. A moment later I realized that Kevin
    had put on a pair disposable medical gloves. He spread
    the diaper-rash cream all over my backside, then told
    me to turn over, and repeated the process between my
    legs and on my front. He did it with the detached
    professionalism of a trained hospital attendant or
    nurse, but I still found it wildly embarrassing, and my
    eyes teared up. He ignored this and diapered me as the
    day before, generously leaving the rest of the ointment
    behind for future treatments. Again I was called
    downstairs to thank them. My diapers felt strange and
    sticky inside the rubber pants he put me in by pulling
    them part way up, having me stand up, then, pushing my
    hands away, pulling them up over my diapers. This time
    Karen stared fairly openly. Bye, bye!
    	My mom slowly began getting better. The cast had
    come off her wrist, but she still found it very stiff,
    and she continued to have pain in her shoulder, though
    it was much diminished. So my brother continued to be
    charged with my nightly diapering as well as the weekly
    infliction of the usual twenty-one strokes of the
    paddle. This was bad enough, but he always seemed to
    make sure at least one of his friends was around for
    the spectacle (and once three teasing, giggling gawkers
    were present). Whether this was done deliberately (with
    the approval or even encouragement of my mom) to
    maximize my shame or out of sheer insensitivity I don't
    know, but it was effective. Not in terms of making me
    wet any less, but in making me feel like a naughty
    toddler, helpless to prevent such humiliating
    treatment, and perhaps even deserving of it after all.
    Perhaps I was beginning to accept my infantile status,
    but I still had one big fear- above all I didn't want
    to be punished and diapered by Hiro, and prayed my
    mom's healing would be complete before there was any
    chance of that happening. But it seems St. Jude wasn't
    listening.
    	By now I had been wearing and wetting my donated
    Babykins long enough that they were becoming flat and
    less absorbent, while my most used waterproof pants
    were showing signs of age and yellow discoloration, as
    well as an apparent permanent faint smell of urine
    which greatly irritated my mom's sensitive nose. She
    decided it was time for some new supplies, and asked
    the name of the medical supply store that Mrs. Murphy
    had mentioned.
    	"All-Care," I gulped. That and everything else
    about the horrible evening of Mrs. Murphy's visit with
    her ex-bedwetter son Russell was etched permanently in
    my memory.
    	"Well you can call them and see if they have what
    you need in stock. Six Babykins youth diapers, and,
    say, two snap-on vinyl pants and two pull-up rubber
    pants. We can get new baby diapers at Wal-Mart to use
    as inserts. There's the yellow pages."
    	I had to clear my throat several times, and it
    still wasn't easy to speak. My voice kept going way up.
    "I was wondering; do you have, um any um, Babykins
    medium youth diapers? I need six. I mean, six are
    needed. White?" My mom indicated that was ok. "And, um,
    rubber and vinyl pants, same size? Two each." I nodded
    to my mom. She handed me her Visa card, and I read the
    number and expiry date into the phone.
    	"Say that you'll pick them up Friday, that's
    tomorrow," ordered my mom. I did, my heart thumping.
    	My mom found a parking spot right outside the
    store, which had wheelchairs, hospital beds, neck
    braces, bathroom aids, and many other medical devices
    and supplies displayed in two large show-windows. She
    had other errands, and impatiently told me to hurry.
    Don't worry! I even closed the car door carefully so as
    not to draw undue attention on the sidewalk. I had
    hoped there would be no one else in the store, but I
    could see customers inside. I would've walked around
    the block a few times, but of course my mom was
    watching. It wasn't easy, but I went in.
    	"Can I help you?" I wasn't expecting this. He
    looked 19, maybe a college student. I wanted to run,
    but I was fighting off a weird form of paralysis. All
    along the wall beside me were stacks of packaged
    disposable diapers for youth, for adults, bins of
    individual disposable diapers, and shelves containing
    bins of individually packaged Babykins cloth diapers,
    waterproof pants, plastic sheets, bed-pads, all
    labeled. It was overwhelming. I felt I shouldn't be
    there, but I couldn't move. The woman who I took to be
    the owner stood behind the counter. Further down the
    room, an elderly couple was examining an aluminum
    walker, which I thought I could probably use myself at
    the moment. I was trying to be discreet. I practically
    whispered.
    	"I called..." He gave me a blank look.
    	"Yesterday." Still nothing. "About, um diapers?
    Babykins?"
    	"Ah yes, six `flannelettes' and four waterproof
    pants?" He approached the counter at the same time as a
    young man with two different diabetes blood-testing
    kits who began to ask questions of the woman. My guy
    politely interrupted.
    	"Excuse me. Mom? This is the boy for the Babykins
    order."
    	She picked up a paper bag and placed it on the
    counter. It was stacked too full to be folded at the
    top, revealing a pair of packaged vinyl snap-on pants.
    	"By the way," said the son, "no problem with the
    youth diapers, but we made a mistake and had to give
    you three vinyl pants and one pair of rubber pants
    instead of two and two. Is that ok? Same price." The
    other customer gave me very strange looks, up and down.
    He looked at my pants. I silently wished him high blood
    sugar. My knees were knocking.
    	"That's fine," I choked. Through body language I
    tried but failed badly to communicate `Oh, Granny won't
    care...'
    	"Do you want to check with your mom if that's ok?"
    He looked toward the car outside. Everyone did, even
    me.
    	I finally escaped to the car with my revealing
    package, which my mom insisted on dismantling to
    examine each item. People might see! A couple of
    errands later and we were at Wal-Mart. I tagged along
    with her as she picked up a carrying basket and checked
    a short list, hoping she'd forget about the baby
    diapers she had mentioned. But I guess she already
    reached that item on the list, and abruptly told me to
    go to the infants' department downstairs and to come
    back with two packages.
    	"Just bring them, we'll pay with the rest of the
    stuff. And remember, it's `Snugabye' flannelette
    diapers you want. Flat, not prefold. And you could use
    more baby powder, too." Customers were listening. I
    sneaked self-consciously around the baby department,
    avoiding staff, mothers, and mothers-to-be, while
    instantly inventing a cute little infant brother in
    case he might be necessary as cover. Sweet little
    `Joey' wasn't needed after all, as I found what I was
    looking for, grabbed the diapers and a container of
    baby powder, and raced back upstairs to find my mom.
    	Now the problem was finding her. I was acutely
    aware of my excruciating burden as I went vainly from
    department to department. I tried to hide the
    `Snugabye' labels on the packages, but a package of
    cloth diapers is a pretty obvious thing, especially
    when accompanied by a second one and a container of
    baby powder. My mouth was as dry as if I had swallowed
    some of the Johnson & Johnson's.
    	I finally found her in linens, where she had
    already picked out some fitted flannelette sheets for
    my bed, and was in the process of selecting a new
    plastic mattress cover. I wondered whether she chose
    according to how noisy it would be. She verified my
    diaper selection, then placed everything in the basket,
    and off we went to the in-store McDonalds, much against
    my better judgement.
    	My mom wanted coffee, and I wanted only to get out
    of there. We sat more or less in the middle of the
    restaurant area, with the incriminating basket pulled
    up close to the table on a chair. As my mom went to get
    her coffee, I had a feeling something would go wrong. I
    thought it would be wise to bury the diapers under the
    less incriminating flannelette sheets in the basket in
    case someone I knew came along. As I began to do that,
    I noticed the plastic sheet was very noticeable also.
    So I grabbed that first and was about to stuff the
    package underneath when I felt it taken out of my grasp
    from behind. I turned. It was Brad and friends.
    	"Been shopping, Johnny? What have we got here?"
    There were four of them; Brad, Craig Simon and his
    brother Rick (who was in my class!), and a friend of my
    brother's and Brad's named Derek. Brad read from the
    package: "`fitted 100% waterproof vinyl mattress
    protector'. That's very nice. Your mom buying it for
    you?"
    	"Maybe it's his birthday," Rick added. "Hey,
    what's this?" He picked up a package of Snugabyes.
    "`Ten flannelette baby diapers.' These still fit you,
    Johnny?"
    	"They go inside his big-boy diapers, to make them
    more absorbent," insider Brad explained. "Heavy
    wetter." My mom came back with her coffee. Brad greeted
    her, and the four boys sat at a table beside us. They
    talked quietly, but could not contain their laughter,
    and I knew it was about me. I felt awful sitting there
    with personal baby diapers in plain view. When things
    quieted down a little, Brad spoke to my mom. "I see you
    got Johnny some nice new things," he said. This brought
    renewed torrents of suppressed laughter.
    	"And that's not all," she said. "You should see
    what he's got in the car."
    	"Johnny! Don't tell me! New Babykins, I bet! New
    diaper pants! Even new pins, perhaps? Well, this is
    your lucky day! Of course I forgot; it is a Friday..."
    As we left there was more mirth as Brad pantomimed in
    turn both the wielder of a paddle and a squirming,
    blubbering spanking recipient. After that, going
    through the check-out was a breeze. Once home I was
    told to bring my new `baby' stuff up to my room.
    	Now there was only one other hurdle, but I didn't
    have a chance. It was Friday. As my mom was so much
    better, I expected that my brother would deliver one
    last spanking, and then things would get back to
    normal, so to speak. I thought I could take it,
    especially if no one else was there to see it. Once
    again I had twenty-one strokes coming.
    	"Where's Rob?" It was almost suppertime.
    	"Oh, he won't be home. Late basketball practice,
    then he's staying over at Brad's." Of course; why
    bother to inform the baby?
    	"But..."
    	"Don't worry, other arrangements have been made."
    Other arrangements! Not Kevin! Oh no, not Hiro!
    	Hiro arrived home and he was not alone. He
    introduced us to a friend and fellow student called
    Yoshi, roughly the same age and slight build as Hiro.
    They had been going to study at Yoshi's, but altered
    their plans to accommodate my mother. And me, of
    course.
    	During supper there was not a lot of conversation.
    I contemplated what was coming, and picked at my food.
    I knew that even if I begged my mom, my punishment
    would still happen, that Hiro would carry it out. Worse
    than my worst nightmare, because he had a friend with
    him.
    	"You're sure you don't mind, Hiro?" asked my mom.
    "I know it's a lot to ask, and not very pleasant, but
    there's no one else. I asked Kevin, the boy who came
    when you were away, but he wasn't available."
    	"No problem." Hiro and Yoshi talked quietly back
    and forth, as if Hiro were explaining. I recognized
    some familiar words, and quietly, morbidly looked up
    some others. `Diaper', `spanking', `bedwetting'. In
    response to a question by Yoshi, Hiro replied `juusan'.
    Thirteen years old. "No!" said Yoshi. That I
    understood.
    	"While Hiro has more dessert, I want you to go
    upstairs and get ready," my mom said. "Make up a
    diaper- you can use new ones, and get new pants ready,
    and then get undressed and wait, please. Oh, and while
    you're waiting, you can strip your bed and remake it
    with your new plastic cover and a flannelette sheet.
    And no fuss please, or it'll be worse."
    	I sheepishly went upstairs, and did as I was told.
    I had never seen a new Babykins diaper before, and in
    spite of my extreme nervousness I was surprised at its
    size and thickness, its overwhelming, sterile
    whiteness. With the other also un-shrunk baby diapers
    inside, I would be padded as never before. I found it
    helped to keep busy. I made up the diaper and powdered
    it to spare myself the humiliation of having Hiro do
    it. I put the diaper on the chair near my desk with
    pins on it so that he wouldn't have to search for them,
    or ask me where they were. I couldn't believe that
    Hiro's fingers would be using these pins to fasten my
    diapers in a few minutes. Next I opened a package and
    readied a new pair of vinyl pants which I left on top
    of the diaper. I though it better than having Hiro do
    it. I had put off getting undressed as long as I could,
    but now did so, leaving on my socks and tee-shirt as
    usual. It always felt extremely weird having to strip
    specifically for a spanking, then diapers, but never
    more than now.
    	Feeling extremely embarrassed, vulnerable, and
    keenly aware of just what I was waiting for, I took the
    bedclothes off my bed and placed them in a heap on the
    floor. I opened the package containing my new plastic
    sheet, and turned it out. It was fairly thick, white,
    and noisy as expected. I moved the bed out a little
    from the wall, and fit the cover to the foot, then
    moved forward. I secured the head, then smoothed it out
    until it was tight all over.
    	Then Hiro was behind me. I hadn't heard him come
    in. He looked at me, examined my calendar, and shook
    his head a little. Then I felt dread as he slowly
    reached for the paddle, and gently took it off its
    hook. I was going to protest that my bed wasn't ready
    yet, but he gently but firmly took my shoulder and bent
    me over until my hands lay on the plastic sheet, then
    spread my legs a little with his foot. He took my
    diaper off the chair and opened it up in readiness on
    the bed beside me, placing the vinyl pants back on the
    chair. It felt extremely strange to see him handle my
    diaper stuff. Now I braced for the first blow. Instead
    I heard Yoshi talking excitedly, with his companion
    answering. I heard Yoshi leave the room. Hiro touched
    me on the backside lightly with the paddle and said
    "Stay, please." I maintained that ridiculous exposed
    position for half a minute, waiting helplessly to be
    spanked. I was already sniffling.
    	Finally Yoshi said "Ok, go!" I could hear a low
    whirring sound, and then the sound and sting of the
    paddle smacking against my skin. He hit me pretty hard,
    then again and again and again. I had been determined
    not to cry, but my nerves were shot even before Hiro
    began. This is what I had dreaded more than anything,
    and it was all coming true. Hiro made no concession to
    companionship or compassion; he spanked me with a firm
    and steady rhythm, but one that lacked specific malice;
    he was merely giving me, on behalf of my mother, what
    they both thought I deserved.
    	And Yoshi was videotaping my punishment. That was
    the sound I had heard. Now I could see him out of the
    corner of my eye as he moved in on various angles. The
    spanking went on. I had been silently counting the
    blows, and now Yoshi counted out loud. "Juukuu,
    juusan...," Nineteen, twenty. And finally, twenty-one.
    It was over. Now, before I could even rub my stinging
    behind, Hiro guided me firmly down onto my diapers.
    Even though I had pre-powdered, he sprinkled me anyway,
    perhaps for the benefit of the camera, which continued
    to roll. He pulled my diapers up between my legs, and
    pinned them securely in place. They felt huge, and slid
    a little on the plastic sheet.
    	Next he prepared my vinyl pants and said "Up." I
    lifted up and he slid them under my burning diapered
    bottom. Their newness held a certain soft stiffness,
    and a clean rubbery smell, and they made noise as he
    manipulated them into place. The camera watched as they
    covered my diapers in front, and as Hiro snapped up
    five snaps on one side, then the other. I was never so
    overwhelmed with shame as he stood me up, and I tried
    to hide my teary face from the world. Yoshi seemed to
    pass instructions to Hiro, who turned me around so that
    my back was to the camera. Hiro patted my bum and
    laughingly said "Omutsukabure." Diaper rash. Then Yoshi
    shot a side view of me, then front, then sitting on the
    side of the bed. All the time I tried to hide my face.
    When they finally went downstairs I finished making my
    bed like an automaton. I didn't even bother putting
    pajamas on until much later, and when I did I realized
    that I was already quite wet.