An Old Problem – Chapter Twenty-One
I suppose the main thing was that Doctor Ames had been proved correct in her assumption that there was more to my situation than just being frightened of thunder. Indeed, that there were other underlying factors to do with both physical and mental issues… and a new one was about to be added… nurture.
At the hospital I’d found the entire procedure both thrilling and scary. I was overcome by the fact they’d discovered scarring but relieved they didn’t have to drill into my skull to fix it. Doctor Mandip was nice and reassuring and I liked the way he talked me through all that they’d uncovered. He was helpful explaining the colourful images of how my brain worked and what part was doing what; it gave the impression there was a kids TV show going on in there.
However, it seems that Doctor Ames and I would be seeing a lot of one and other over the coming months. She and mum had a very long talk and I think between them they’ve delved deeply into my past and uncovered some things of which I wasn’t necessarily aware. I could tell that the psychiatrist had got into mum’s head as well because her attitude around me altered.
I gathered from little snippets of over-heard conversation she had with dad that the psychiatrist had put mum on the spot. A brief outline to what was said – mum was to blame for rushing to put me in a nappy at the first sign of incontinence and not taking me to a paediatrician or doctor when I began to regularly wet when I got stressed.
Putting me in a nappy may have been a speedy way of dealing with my anxiety-wetting but, and it was a big BUT, according to Laura Ames, it bordered on neglect by not sorting out the problem, merely hiding it.
I think mum would have rounded on her if she also hadn’t thought it was all her fault and seemed keen to do all she could to remedy the situation.
If I’m truthful, I’m a little worried because mum has already said that she foresees changes.
“Wouldn’t it be nice not to wake up wet in the morning, or worry about having to wear a nappy all the time?”
I mean, of course it would…
“Not being afraid whenever a thunder storm was forecast?” She emphasised with seriousness.
I nod in agreement but…
Mum kept up a litany of things that would be better, though I could tell she was only echoing the psychiatrist’s thoughts.
What if Doctor Laura changes my personality?
What if she makes it so I don’t like certain people… or things?
The bottom line is… I’m mainly worried that at the end of all this… I won’t be me.
#
Mum started making changes straight away. The main change was… that from now on… she wouldn’t be supervising my changes. I’d have to learn to do it myself. That also meant the same at the office… no more community nappy changes.
“Sorry Anthony but from now on, nappies are your responsibility. So, you’ll have to change yourself and be responsible for washing and drying all your protection… I won’t be buying any more supplies of disposables.”
She said all this just a couple of mornings after my hospital visit. It didn’t help that I was lying in a double thick soaked nappy and was caught more than a little off-guard. I knew mum had said there would be some adjustments but this was a very dramatic and unexpected development.
“Oh, erm, why… can’t you, errr, ummm…?” I sleepily tried to argue my position.
“Doctor Ames has told me to let you deal with your problem yourself, give you room to understand what’s happening and to let you… you know… sort it on your own.”
“But, I mean, I like you, ummm.” I was speechless wondering why mum didn’t want to help anymore and why my psychiatrist had prescribed such a course of action.
“She thinks it will be better for you to… well…” She didn’t carry on with what she was going to say and it was only later I realised she was going to say… “grow-up.”
I had to get up to go to work but I felt a burden had been placed on my shoulders and the motivation to go into the office, for the first time since I got the job, wasn’t there. So, not only did I have to sort my own nappy… the support that had been so willingly offered by my colleagues was also to be taken away. I’d grown to like the fuss and attention I received from my fellow workers, it made me feel special.
I mean, we’d even talked about it in Doctor Ames’s office… how nice and special it was and how wonderful because all my colleagues had been so supportive. I hadn’t realised just how unhelpful she’d thought my work mates had been.
I waddled to the bathroom, the nappy hefty after my nightly flood. It flopped heavily to the tiled floor and with a huge sigh I turned on the shower to wake up properly. Once finished I scurried back to my bedroom but more or less knew mum wouldn’t be there to help. Lazily drying myself I looked around to see what supplies remained; only a couple of white disposables and three of the joyful cartoon ones were left. I thought that was a shame because I’d really gotten into wearing those in particular.
There was still a pile of thick fabric nappies stacked up on the dresser and piles of plastic pants, pins, lotion and powder available for use. Of course, it was only recently mum had let me wear disposables, she being against the landfill side of a used one. However, I knew I couldn’t just put on my briefs and all would be well, so I struggled to get myself pinned into a thick cotton fleecy nappy and pulled up a pair of white shiny plastic pants to hold it firmly in place.
#
The weather had turned much cooler so shorts were out of the question even if they did hide things better, so I sorted out a pair of longs and got ready for the bus ride into town. I put a couple of spares in my backpack and, because I was running late left to catch the bus without so much as a ‘goodbye’ to mum.
If I’m honest I was pretty annoyed with her and Doctor Laura, things had moved on at pace since my scan and I wasn’t quite prepared for just how it would affect me.
However, because I’d put my protection on myself, I’d never been more conscious of what I was wearing. Every step seemed to convince my brain that the thickness wasn’t a problem because the fabric and plastic combined to make its presence known with each little movement. It was both stimulating and security.
There was no question – although I’d worn protection loads and loads of times – this was the first time I had a raging hard on all the way to work. I had no idea why suddenly, something I’d taken for granted, and rarely thought of in a sexual way, was making me feel so horny. All the way into town the phrase that then kept repeating in my head was “Do you masturbate in your nappy?”
Well thank you Doctor Laura because now that’s all I could think about. It probably didn’t help that the nappy was loose (not quite the tight way mum pins it on) so I was being buffeted and caressed by the soft material all the time. I felt a little giddy by the sensations the material and the bus’s vibrations were sending to various parts of my body.
#
Sadly, in the office there seemed to be on a downer, a blanket of… I don’t know what, just an impression the place had lost some of the joy I’d taken for granted. Of course I might have been projecting something I was feeling onto them but the atmosphere had seemed to have dropped.
Deidre said how sad she thought it was that they weren’t allowed to help out any more but intimated she was happy to continue if I wanted. However, with Mrs Dewhurst telling me first thing that from ‘now on’ (how I was beginning to hate those two words) I couldn’t expect anyone else to help when I needed a change; they were all under strict instructions from mum. Otherwise, she said quite upbeat, nothing has changed. I wasn’t sure if she realised just how ironic her choice of words were.
Anyway, to try and avoid any conflict, for me or for my colleagues, I tried my best to control any wetting. I made a point of visiting the loo as often as I could but that had a detrimental influence on just how effective the tightness of my nappy was. Oddly enough, I was able to keep my nappy relatively dry until the bus ride home, when I felt the usual warmth. But guess what… it was excited again so the rest of the ride wasn’t all that bad. By the time I walked through the front door at home I was feeling exhausted but in dire need of a change.
#
Mum was near the front door as I came in.
“Hello love, had a good day at work?” She smiled as if nothing had altered.
“Different.” Was all I could muster in reply.
“Oh, erm, well your tea will be on the table in ten minutes.”
“I need to change…” I shrugged and went to my room.
I saw her hesitate as she nearly followed me up the stairs but that natural response was broken and simply returned to the kitchen.
I was pretty glad really, I didn’t want her to see the sticky state the wet nappy was in. It was my secret.
I began to wonder why, after all this time, my thick nappy now meant something different to me. It wasn’t like I’d never exploded in a nappy before but now… well it seemed that’s what it was there for. Why this had never occurred to me before I will never know because it felt really, really, good.
Up in my room I shrugged off pants, folded them neatly and hung them up. I slipped out of my shirt and jumper and was left wearing just my soiled nappy and rather shiny plastic pants. I wandered over to the window and looked out. “This is where it all started” I began to tell myself. “Weeks ago and that…”
Suddenly I saw again that tree burst into flame and the loud crack of thunder that rattled my brain. Except. Except. EXCEPT…
Look, I wasn’t shaking. I hadn’t pissed myself, well not any more than was already there. Even with the sound of thunder still running around my head, I was thinking clearly… or was I?
I moved from the window and stood staring at myself in the mirror. I peered closely into my own eyes. I guess I was trying to see which areas of my brain were lighting up like they had on the EEG. I gazed intently wondering if I got close enough I’d be able to detect those flashes of neurons going about their business… mapping and remapping my thoughts.
I felt myself being pulled closer into my own reflection, my nose all but touching the glass but I detected none of those sparks of activity behind my eyes and felt strangely let down.
A sudden touch on my shoulder pulled me from sinking any further into my image.
“Anthony, Anthony, sweetie… we’ve been waiting twenty minutes for you… are you coming down… are you OK?”
The focus of my deep scrutiny quickly moved and I could see mum looking concerned over my shoulder.
“Yes, errrmmm, OK, fine just… you know… checking…” I stammered guiltily for being up close to the mirror like that. “Just wondering about those new pathways the doctor was talking about.”
This didn’t seem a bad answer considering.
Mum just made a sort of “OK then” noise but was still taking in the way I looked. It was only on closer inspection I realised I was all but naked – the thick shiny plastic pants that still hid my mucky nappy… perhaps I should have changed first.
“Are you planning on wearing them all night?” She half smiled and I was a bit confused, did she want to change me?
“No, I, umm, just got thinking about what the doctor said about my brain making adjustments and, well, I think it might have just made another.”
That seemed a better answer than admit I was trying to see the colourful bits of my brain lighting up.
Mum rubbed my neck and sighed. “C’mon sweetie, come and get your tea and then we can discuss things if you want.”
I did want. I wanted to take mum to task about her announcement of no more nappy changes. I wanted to tell her the office didn’t seem as friendly now. I wanted to tell her about my most recent discovery of thinking about the lightning tree and not panicking. Oh yes there was a lot to talk about but in the end I reached for a pair of shorts, pulled on a jumper and joined the family at the table.
#
As we ate our meal, a rather delicious creamy Roquefort, mushroom and walnut tagliatelle, nothing appeared different. Dad was mainly silent, Jen was gossiping about school, mum was saying that Mrs Symanski had called saying how she’d had enough of her sister and was ready to come home. No subtle hinting as far as she was concerned… she expected mum to go and collect her.
“So,” she smiled at us all around the table, “anyone fancy a trip to the coast this weekend?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.” Dad gruffly responded.
“No chance,” was Jen’s equally dismissive answer.
“Well sweetie,” mum looked in my direction, “looks like it’s me and you again?” She raised her eyebrows as if it was both a question and something taken as read. “I’m sure she’d be hurt if she didn’t have her favourite neighbour there…”
“Mum, do I have to?” I asked rather more sullenly than intended.
She looked a bit sad.
“I thought you liked our trip to the seaside.”
I had. I’d absolutely loved it but things had changed. As of this morning mum, you changed things and, and, and… I wanted to scream but of course I stayed mute.
“C’mon sweetie, keep your old mum company. It can be a long drive and I like to…”
She could see the grimace on my face and her encouraging smile faded.
“Oh OK, if you don’t want to come I can’t make you but we could go on Saturday, stay at the hotel and pick her up Sunday afternoon…”
I loaded my fork and carried on eating without replying further.
#
Mum does make lovely meals and despite the mood I was in felt pretty shitty at being in that mood and not telling her how much I enjoyed the pasta. The thing was, sitting in my used nappy was getting uncomfortable and the slight wriggling around was making a noisy crinkle… more so than usual. My head was full of arguments but didn’t want to say anything in case I said something I’d regret later. I’m not one for confrontation or arguments normally but my head was buzzing.
It all just felt strange and un-necessary.
Mum and Jen cleared away the empty plates, dad retired to the living room and I thought it about time to… oh… yes it was time because I was experiencing another warm flush and I wasn’t sure just how much more the nappy could absorb.
Back in my room I desperately wanted to change into the Dino disposable but, as I only had three left, decided to keep them for special occasions… if there were to be any. I grabbed one of the super-thick fabric nappies off the dresser, a pair of thick rubber pants, four pins and headed for the bathroom.
I shucked off my shorts, wriggled down the plastic pants and the entire soaked nappy drooped between my thighs. It was heavy so just let it fall to the floor with a sodden squelch. I looked in the laundry bin and saw I had a couple of other items in there to wash so I knew that was my next job (oh, and rinse through the several pairs of vinyl pants that also needed attention) only after I’d cleaned up and fastened myself into a fresh nappy.
As I’d done it once I was sure I could make it tighter than the morning’s attempt but the thicker rubber pants were going to be my insurance to hold everything in place for the night. I put on a large baggy t-shirt that just about covered my bulky bottom and sauntered downstairs to the machine. It surprised me to think that this was something I’d never even thought about doing previously.
There was a pre-soak setting and then it would automatically run a wash and spin cycle. I set it to do all that so by the morning, if the weather was fine, I could hang everything out on the line before I went off to work. I was pretty pleased with my pre-planning and was returning back up to my room when Jen asked for some help with her homework. She rarely did this so I knew it must have been important and, as I was only going to read in bed, went into her room where I spent a good couple of hours.
Of course being used to the sight she never mentioned my rubber pants but I was pleased that I felt so secure behind them. It was nice to be completely at ease with my sister and I felt good that I was able to help her. Later mum and dad came in to kiss us ‘goodnight’ and told us not to work too late but as we worked through the problems our conversation eventually turned personal.
I was sitting on her bed dressed in a nappy and rubber pants, whilst she, even in her pyjamas, looked like she’d just stepped off a catwalk. She asked me more about the tests I’d had at the hospital. What I thought about it all and did I blame mum? I said I wanted to blame her but it’s difficult to blame someone who just didn’t know something might have happened when there was no obvious sign.
She pointed to the large white bulge between my legs. “And does that ever worry you?”
I shrugged my shoulders but I noticed her emphasis on the word ‘ever’.
“It’s never bothered me because I know I wear it for a reason. I think I would hate it more if I was piss… peeing… all over the place.” She was far more sophisticated than me and yet here I was, trying to protect my fourteen year-old sister from such a swear word as ‘piss’. I must have appeared ridiculous.
She looked and raised her eyebrows much the same way mum did when I’d acted a bit stupid.
“What I mean is,” she started on me again, “here you are, eighteen, and still wearing a nappy. I mean, I don’t think there is anyone else I know who wouldn’t think that strange or at least be resentful about it.”
She waited for an answer but I wasn’t sure I could give her the one I thought she wanted.
“As long as I’ve known you,” she carried on, “at some point for one reason or another you have been returned to nappies and I’ve never heard one word of complaint… or… seen an ounce of regret.”
There was no demand for answers in her voice, she was simply stating what she saw as facts and I couldn’t refute her on any of it.
“Ermpphhh?” was my initial response. What I should have said was that I didn’t mind wearing a nappy because it gave, and continues to give, comfort and security.
I ran my hand over its slippery surface as if to confirm what I was thinking… it did.
The conversation then went to the fact that now I knew why I wet… what was I going to do about it?
That was more difficult because I wasn’t sure. For some reason I simply thought that between them, mum and Doctor Ames would have come to some conclusion and that would be it.
She wondered what I thought of having to see a psychiatrist who had suspected something was wrong so quickly.
This was not the girl I’d watched Peppa Pig with… she was so much more adult than me.
As we talked I was surprised how much our chat was putting things into perspective and, although I may have aided Jen with her maths, she’d more than repaid the favour. Her observation, and criticisms, were not meant to hurt but certainly made me think. I returned to my own room, it was past eleven by then, so slipped under the covers with a different awareness of myself.
#
The power chords and screaming guitar had brought the song to an end. The huge arena had burst into wild applause and I was taking a bow. Dressed like I’d just been on an expedition through a desert (or I could have been a scout), the audience loving every movement, swish and wink as I barrelled into the next song… these were my adoring fans.
On lead guitar was Pete, looking exactly like he had the last I saw him and the rest of the band made up of school mates and musicians I’d seen on TV, we rocked the stadium as we ploughed into another of our rock classics.
Slowly the scene dissolved and the screaming fans became a line of dolls, stuffed animals and my old action figures. The stadium had shrunk to a large playpen where both Pete and I were frolicking. Now we were just a couple of nappy-clad babies giggling and crawling around, hugging toys and building bricks; he with a bulbous nappy restricting much movement, which was covered in shiny plastic nursery print pants and me in an even thicker nappy and large white rubber pants that glowed in the lights.
We had a toy screen in the playpen that was flashing 2.13 at us but we were just happy to push a ball between each other’s outstretched legs. The scene pulled back further and we were reduced to colourful childish cartoon characters, who mum, dad and Jen were watching on TV.
“Oh, Ant would love this show.” Jen said as she watched the two of us giggling like pixies whilst we entertained ourselves.
That’s when I woke up. My clock clearly telling me the time – 2.13 – in bold blue and I could feel that I was in the process of wetting the thick padding between my legs. Although the dream was clear I just couldn’t be bothered and let my rubber pants take on the responsibility of keeping the bed dry. I rolled over and fell back to sleep.
#
When mum came in to wake me up for work at 7.30 I could feel the thick padding had been needed but the main thing going around my head was just how well I remembered the dream. This was unusual but it seemed so important, I thought it must have meaning though the reason completely escaped me.
My sister had asked a very important question “What was I going to do about it?” and that was also resonating around my head. As I fondled my swollen nappy I wondered if the dream had been influenced by that question. Were the two things connected?
I have to tell you here that my thinking was not forensic. It was all over the place and fluttered like a butterfly on a warm summer’s day from one blossom to the next. There was a blame game but how could I play that when I might have been as culpable as anyone else?
Up until Doctor Laura neither I, or anyone else in the family, had ever asked ourselves any of these questions, we’d simply got on with what we thought needed to be done with everyone accepting their part of keeping to the status quo… but now.
I waddled to the bathroom and all the way through the shower and clean up I could think of nothing else. That was until mum knocked on the bathroom door and told me that the laundry had finished. It was getting late and I didn’t want to miss my bus so cut short my thoughtful meanderings and concentrated on what needed to be done.
There on the floor was still my sodden nappy, which in other circumstances mum would have removed. Now that was my job. As I picked up the sopping material and shoved it in the bin, another fact dawned on me – I was forever going to be in a circle of washing and drying nappies unless I could shrug off whatever it was that kept my bladder from permanently leaking.
Back in my bedroom I wondered if I should give my briefs a try but quickly decided that I wasn’t confident enough yet to go a day without some fortification. I grabbed a surprisingly soft nappy from the pile and went through the folding procedure that mum had done so many times. Although it still didn’t quite feel the same as when she did it, I had to go with what I’d done and knew that the tight plastic pants would hold it in place. Actually, I settled on thicker rubber ones to do that job and tottered downstairs to see breakfast set out and mum sitting drinking coffee.
“I’ve pegged out your nappies sweetie because there’s a nice breeze this morning but it might rain this afternoon. Don’t worry, I’ll be here to see to them… have you rinsed through the vinyl pants?”
“Thanks and yes, they’re hanging up in the bathroom.”
“Oh, well I’ll get them and peg them out as well… might as well let the sun do its job whilst we can.”
“I’ll go and get them.”
“Have your breakfast first love or you’ll be late for the bus.”
It’s amazing how quickly little bits of life creep in when you’re trying to solve the big picture. I instantly forgot the questions and dream and wondered if I had time to eat breakfast, pack my bag, retrieve the plastic pants and get to the bus in the next few minutes. Mum made it easy for me… despite nappies being my responsibility, she said she’d sort all that out… much to my relief.
#
I had another couple of days with only slightly wet nappies but I can’t say the same for the nights when I woke up absolutely soaked. My next appointment with Doctor Ames was fast approaching and other than mum (or anyone in the office) no longer changing me nothing much had changed. For some reason, after all the tests and evaluations, I thought she’d expect a complete turnaround in my wetting routine.
Six o’clock Friday and back in her office where she was all smiles and friendly welcomes but I’d become conflicted; I wasn’t sure whether I could or should trust her any more. I was worried that she was going to change me and despite my commitment to resolving my problem, I wasn’t sure if that’s what I really wanted.
“Hello Anthony, nice to see you again, take a seat.”
As last time I’d arrived straight from work so had a thick nappy (dry thanks to a late change in the toilets before I left) and the rubber pants I put my faith in to hold my feeble attempts in making the padding secure. I was getting better but I still didn’t trust myself to do the task correctly.
I was a bit more reserved and surveyed the office before I sat down. It was like I was checking for… what… I have no idea. I was just being cautious… then of course I rustled as I took a seat.
In many ways it was a silly stance to adopt because she now knew more about me than before, so if I clammed up, she would know I was doing just that. However, mum withdrawing her nappy changing had made me think badly of the doctor… it was like mum was withdrawing her love and I’d had that unconditionally all my life.
“So, how’s the nappy situation coming along?”
No messing with Doctor Laura Ames, straight in with the questions.
“Still peeing a lot at night but not so much in the day.”
I thought I’d be as direct as her but she didn’t react to my answer other than waiting for me to elaborate. We waited for a minute or so before the silence got too much and I had to explain myself.
#
I’m not sure if she said it at all but “And how does that make you feel?” seemed to be carried in each reply to my reply.
I eventually got around to saying that I hated the loss of mum’s love… and there it was, crying about a love I perceived I had lost when really I hadn’t. My emotions were all wrapped up in my relationship with mum and I felt that the psychiatrist had spoiled it.
I was upset, I’d had enough and wanted to go home but the child in me said I couldn’t just get up and walk away without being told I could. This was stupid, I’m eighteen, a fact I kept hammering home to her but she just wrote something down or sat back and let me carry on.
The stress levels in my head were rising and I could feel my nappy was about to take the brunt of that worry.
I was just about to explode when she said in a firm and controlling voice: “STOP.”
I felt my bladder slam shut as I looked across and she was leaning forward with a steely expression on her face.
“You can make it all stop if you want to. You can do whatever you want, you are in control.”
I gazed at her wondering what she was on about.
“You’ve let things happen because it’s easier than confronting them…”
“But I don’t like confrontation… I… I…” It was that small childish voice I’d heard so often.
“You don’t like confrontation because it’s easier not to have to do so.”
“No, no, I get stressed if…”
“Yes, yes, you pee your pants… I know… but that’s your decision.”
“What, I don’t, umm, ermmm, I don’t pee my pants on purpose.” I whined.
I almost got up to leave. Oh god this was getting worse and I couldn’t escape. This three year-old, no, eighteen year-old, couldn’t escape from my tormentor because I hadn’t been given permission.
“If you leave now it will just prove my point… you are in control. You decide your actions.”
I wavered in the chair but felt the bulky padding almost dragging me back down.
The tears were rolling down my face as I tried again to get up but I was afraid. I wanted mummy and I wanted to be away from all this, this stress… but my nappy remained dry.
She sat watching for a few moments as I tried to compose myself. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a hanky to wipe away the tears but they kept coming. She reached forward and held my hand. It was what I needed, some comfort, someone to say it was all OK, an authority figure who would help get me through this… mummy.
I felt my nappy warming up… the flood had started.
The End of An Old Problem – Chapter Twenty-One.
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index
The story originally came from: https://www.dailydiapers.com/content/stories.html