    DANNY'S DIAPER FANTASIES
    PART 1

    CHAPTER 1

    	This is a fictionalized account of my own life, very near the
    very beginning of my life. The names have been changed, and I've
    just picked names out of the air, so they don't have any other
    meaning than that I give them, and are not intended to refer to
    any one now living or dead. It has many references to infantilism
    and diaper loving sex fetish. If this offends, please don't read.
    This is not pornography, child or adult, and although there is
    some mention of, well, child abuse coupled within the guise of
    child punishment, it is only to depict the horrors that really did
    happen. I am a very vocal and active anti-child abuse activist!
    	The story is about me. I and my three brothers and mama, were
    rendered homeless when I was two and a half years old, and my next
    older brother was not quite four. Our oldest brother was just
    five, while our youngest was 18 months. We had been living in an
    old two room cabin, in an old resort on a lake in Wisconsin. We
    were living, if you can call it that, at this old resort because
    our Daddy was gone to war, (WWII) and it was the only place our
    mama could afford to rent that would rent to a woman with four
    kids not in school, and for the most part, were all in diapers. Us
    boys didn't know that our mama and daddy were divorced, and would
    never live together again. The money that the federal government
    (U.S.Army)allotted his children was not very much and our mama had
    to work every day but Sunday, in a diner in the town of Fifield.
    Mama had a friend living next door, named Grace, or Gracie as us
    kids called her that and she never corrected us for that. She had
    three boys, all around the same ages as we were. She kind of kept
    an eye on us for mama, just trying to keep us from any dangerous
    situations, that the seven of us managed to create. Nearly daily,
    we were "all" in trouble for something. The main thing that had us
    in "dutch", was with the resort manager, who ran a little
    convenience market for the resort and surrounding area. He also
    had the row boat rental and fishing bait and supplies. He really
    got hyper when the seven of us, ranging in age from one and a half
    to five years of age, nearly all of whom were either wearing
    diapers, or training pants, and no plastic or rubber pants. Of
    course we seldom managed to get to his front porch until after we
    got our peanut butter sandwiches and milk at lunch time at
    Gracie's house. She always wanted us to take a nap after lunch,
    and we'd all lay down on the floor until her friend came courting,
    and we'd sneak out. By then, like on most days in the summertime
    in Wisconsin, it would be so hot and humid and the gravel driveway
    would be so hot that we would naturally migrate to where it was a
    little cooler. The convenience market was the coolest place in the
    resort, being surrounded by very large pine trees and having a
    covered front porch. Also by this time, even though Gracie tried
    to keep us changed, we'd be in various stages of being wet, and
    our pants or diapers full. It got to be a game with us kids. We'd
    wait until he was busy with some fishermen or a customer, and then
    we'd climb onto his porch where his painted floor and the roof of
    the porch would be a balm to our hot, sore bare feet. (All of us
    got only one new pair of shoes a year, donated by the local
    confederacy of churches, in the fall of the year) He'd finish his
    business with the fishermen, or customers, and come and chase us
    away, hollering and shouting so fast that nobody could understand
    him. The game was to see if we could all get onto the porch, or if
    real lucky, see how long we could stay their cooling our feet. I
    think I learned then, the true meaning of the saying, "Cooling
    their heels". Mama would often stay over at a man friends
    apartment, leaving us kids home alone, and poor Gracie'd have to
    see that we at least started the night in dry clothes, and that we
    had something for supper, then she'd tuck us all in before going
    home to her own three boys, who were much more rowdy than we were.
    That's pretty much the way we'd spend our days. Playing around our
    cabins, battling one another over use of the tricycles, or pedal
    cars among other toys given to us that were repaired cast-offs
    that other, more wealthy families had no use for any more, before
    lunch, getting in the way of the ice truck and driver every day,
    and getting other kids in the camp in trouble by telling them that
    there was a rattlesnake in the out house. I don't know why, but
    for some reason some of those boys always believed us. Nearly
    every week one of us boys would start the story going around the
    cabins that there was a snake in there, and nearly every week
    they'd believe us, wetting and messing their pants or diapers in
    fear of the snake, while we watched them and tried to not let them
    see us watching them. Often some of those boys who were supposed
    to be potty trained and wearing training pants or even briefs,
    were put back into diapers, 24/7 for a couple of weeks.
    	One night, about four in the morning, I woke up choking on
    the fumes in the bedroom. My crib was actually in the closet, in
    order for there to be room for Eric's crib, and Ronny and Andy's
    bunkbeds, plus mama's bed. Now, usually when any of us woke up
    we'd be choking on the fumes in our room. Mama was never a very
    good housekeeper. She only had one set of sheets for each of our
    beds, and couldn't afford to buy more, of course everything was
    rationed during the war, but even then she couldn't afford the
    extra expense plus the expense of additional loads of wash. She
    did the laundry on Sunday morning, since that was her only day off
    and besides, there wasn't usually anyone around using the washers
    on Sunday. The sheets that were washed and dried on Sunday and put
    back on our beds, didn't get washed or removed from the bed unless
    one of us had a particularly messy diaper, that got on the sheets.
    Then, Andy'd pump some water into the sink, and attempt to wash
    the sheet good enough to last until Sunday. But you can imagine
    what our bedroom was like after a couple of nights of all of us
    wetting and or pooping in our beds. Mama had a problem too that no
    one ever mentioned, even then everyone knew about it. It isn't
    something in those days, that was considered polite to comment on
    in adult conversation. Mama had a problem giving birth to Eric,
    that left her nearly totally incontinent as far as her bladder was
    concerned. She couldn't cough, or laugh very hard at all and her
    bladder would empty. She had bought herself three pairs of rubber
    pants, and used some large bath, terry towels as diapers for
    herself, because she was a waitress and couldn't go home and
    change and come back. I could see a fairly large pee stain on her
    mattress from the vantage point of standing up in my crib, and
    wondered to myself, "Why does mama and everyone try to get us all
    *Potty Trained* when obviously mama wets the bed." Anyway, you can
    see the confusion upon waking, choking on the fumes in the
    bedroom, until I opened my eyes and saw that it was
    totally...BLACK.....DARK, My eyes are burning, and it hurt to draw
    a breath. One side of my crib was up against the back wall of the
    closet, and the one end of it was up against the side wall of the
    closet. The other end of the crib was about three or four inches
    from the other side wall. I stood up in total darkness and quietly
    at first, called out, then louder, and nobody answered. I started
    then, to scream. I was badly scared. I had never been in any where
    that was that dark. I groped my way to the side of the crib that I
    thought was open to the bedroom, and ran my hand into the wall. I
    was so surprised that I stumbled on the twisted up top sheet of my
    crib, and fell heavily, smack down on the mattress that brought my
    attention to another problem. I mashed a considerable load of poop
    against my bum, squeezing a lot of it into and up the crack of my
    bum. Then I noticed that I was wet all the way up to my armpits,
    the nearly threadbare blanket sleeper heavy with my pee, and
    discovered that I was standing up in my wet clothes and I was not
    the least bit cold, in fact, I was sweating in mid day type of
    heat. That was very different from any of my young experience. I
    tried standing up again, while continuing my screaming, thinking
    that I had turned, and therefor should be facing the open bedroom.
    I ran my fingers, rather painfully into the wall once again, and
    now I really panicked, and couldn't hear any of my brothers, even
    if they had been screaming too. I was standing in a room so dark
    that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, and seemed to be
    in a small closet with the door closed, and it was so hot now that
    sweat was pouring from my body. I tried once again to reach a rail
    or end panel of my crib, and again ran my hand into the wall. I
    was choking so hard now on some kind of fumes, and my nose was
    running so I had to breathe with my mouth open. My throat was
    burning, I was wet, soiled, alone and locked I some kind of
    closet, and I wanted my mommy, I was totally freaked out and all
    consciousness departed. I came to when I felt cool air on my face
    and my wet cold sleeper clinging to me, as Gracie was rubbing my
    arms and legs, after what must have been a slap to my face,
    because my face stung. I gasped as I took in the cool air in my
    tortured lungs and throat, and awareness brought back my panic for
    just a couple of seconds, then subsiding as I could see Eric lying
    on the grass next to me, nearly asleep. He could sleep through an
    earthquake. Then I recognized everyone in the very early dawn
    light, as a fire truck was pumping water from the lake to a tanker
    that sprayed water on our cabin, that was burning like paper.
    Someone came running and screaming out of the place that was
    supposed to be the doorway, screaming at the top of her lungs and
    with her hair on fire and holding my highchair at arms length
    before collapsing soundlessly on the ground. Someone said that the
    person running out of the cabin was my mama, but I never knew for
    sure until I found her twenty five years later. I don't really
    remember much of anything from the fire through having to be quiet
    in the hallway of the courthouse while the fate of us four boys
    was decided. I found myself in a strange home, with some strange
    people, saying that I could, if I wished call them mama and daddy.
    I fought like a little demon then, because I was all alone with
    these people who are trying to tell me that they are my Mommy and
    Daddy now, and tried laying down some kinds of rules, what's going
    on around here. I don't remember any of what happened the first
    few weeks after the fire, in which the child welfare department
    saw fit to break up us boys, and spread us to the four winds and
    took away the only constant in our young lives, our mother.

    CHAPTER 2

    	I wasn't to see my Mother for twenty-five years. The people
    with whom the Child Welfare Dept. saw fit, in their infinite
    wisdom, to put me, were people I didn't like, and the more they
    tried to get me to say Mama, or Daddy, the more I disliked them.
    After about thirty minutes or so, they stopped the car, instructed
    me to stay in the car, don't play with anything and left. We were
    in the middle of an early spring blizzard. I was wet, and it began
    to feel like I needed to poop. Seeing no reason to change my
    habits, I just let it rip when I had to go, wetting as well after
    holding it so long. Remember?, NO POTTY TRAINING!! It wasn't my
    fault that I did what came natural! It began to get dark, and it
    seemed to take them forever to come out of the bar. I had wet my
    diaper yet again, just before those people came out of the bar,
    holding each other up in the storm, and both staggering as they
    walked.
    	The man got in behind the wheel and almost immediately began
    cussing, What is that blank-itty ________ Smell!!! She got in
    saying, "You're the one had the big Idea to get a really young
    one. He is wearing diapers, that should have given you a rough
    idea that he might wet and fill his diapers. No sane human would
    guess otherwise!" The stink of sour beer mixed with the odors
    emanating from my wet soiled diaper, and their yelling at each
    other, and scared me really bad. The poop I'd done in my diapers
    had cooled off considerably, while waiting for their return, now
    they return and immediately they start yelling and screaming at
    each other over me. Man, that really scared me! I felt another
    round of poop coming, but it came so fast, and was thin like
    water, but hot. I'd found out some time before that sometimes you
    can ease the pain of imminent pooping by releasing a bubble of gas
    or two. This one just felt like a bubble of gas, so I added a
    little pressure to it and sent it on its way out of my body,
    and.....wwellllllll! It wasn't gas. It was, hot watery diarrhea.
    Now the battle really started rolling. Before we even got `home',
    Fred turned in the front seat, just enough that he could reach me
    to plant a hard smack to my teary face, catching one of my ears
    into the bargain. I quickly covered my head and squeezed my tiny
    body as close to the rear corner of the car as I could, and right
    behind him so he would have to turn all the way around to hit me
    again. This was an older car from my stand point at the time, (
    think it was a thirty-six Ford, and this was the winter or spring
    of 1945-1946.) and the car was quite narrow in the back seat where
    Lolitta could still, if she wanted, reach me to hurt me, but I
    figured that she wouldn't be able to hit with the force that Fred
    did.
    	It must have snowed a lot just recently, because the snow
    banks formed when the plows went through were very high and
    remarkably clean. It was like riding through a white tunnel with a
    black ceiling as far as the fairly dim headlights of that era
    went. Beyond the headlights, it seemed as if the scene was being
    created as we went forward in the car. Really spooky to a young
    kid like me. There would be a break in the wall on one side or the
    other as we proceeded, being driveways to peoples homes, that was
    eerie too. Eventually we started to slow down, and I could hear
    the snow complaining as the wheels rolled over it, a high pitch
    squeaking sound. Up ahead I could just see a break on the right
    hand snow bank, as the car continued to slow and the break in the
    bank got closer and closer, until we were slowed down enough to
    turn into that drive. It was a fairly long driveway, about a
    quarter of a mile, at the end of which was a home, a garage, an
    ice shed and a barn. There was another shed behind the ice shed in
    which Fred kept his beer truck and cases of full bottles of beer.
    There weren't any beer cans yet, like there is now. He stopped to
    let Lolitta and me out at the front door of the house, then drove
    the car about twenty-five feet further, got out to open the garage
    door, and presumably parked the car in it and then closed the
    garage again. I wasn't there to see it, being as Lolitta had hold
    of my hand and dragged me into the house. I had no choice but to
    go along.
    	Inside, the house was fairly clean as far as I could see when
    she pulled the string turning on the single light bulb hanging
    from a cord in the center of the kitchen. Our place, the place
    that burned down, wasn't very clean, As I said, our mother was not
    a very good house keeper, and us boys managed to mess up the house
    just as soon as our feet got inside the door. We had gone through
    a shed full of cases of empty beer bottles, and up a stairway onto
    a small porch, where we'd stopped while Lolitta unlocked the door
    and then into the kitchen with it's sorry little light bulb. There
    was a doorway straight ahead, and I could see the arm of either an
    easy chair or a couch, so that must bee the living room. Lolitta
    flung her coat onto a kitchen chair, and led me to a room to the
    left. As she opened the door, I could see a crib, changing table
    and other baby things. She took me by the hand and pulled me into
    this room and lifted up onto the changing table.
    	She said to me in a soft voice, "My you are a tiny little
    thing aren't you? A person would think you are to little to know
    how to walk, let alone use the potty. Maybe we ought to keep you
    in diapers a while longer, since you won't be able to get up on
    the potty, let alone use it. I'll see if I can find a little step
    stool you can use to get up on the toilet." I was thinking, "No,
    don't take away my diapers, I don't want to go the agony my two
    older brothers went through until they were nominally "trained".
    She strapped my hands down and my chest had a belt over it too,
    and began undoing my little overalls with the snap all the way up
    one leg and down the other, un-buttoned the straps that went over
    either shoulder, and pulled them off. She removed the plastic
    pants, and disappeared into the attached bathroom for a few
    seconds, and appeared after a little bit, with a white face. I
    think she couldn't handle the stink that permeated the air from
    the stink of my wet messy pants that I had worn all day long. She
    should have known that I would stink even worse with the diaper
    opened to the air, than with it covered with my regular outer
    clothing. I couldn't see anything from where I was laying. I was
    only able to see the door and doorway leading to the kitchen, and
    when she touched me again, I jumped a little, having forgotten for
    just a second, that she'd be back to finish the job.

    	The next installment on this story will attempt to show the
    violent type of person Fred is to his foster child, soon to be
    children, when my next older brother, by some quirk of fate, joins
    me at this little ranch of horrors.