Because we say so – Chapter Two
Although I’m always well dressed for school or if we go anywhere, at home I often walk around wearing only my protection with a t-shirt or jumper. When I was little this was often the only clothing I got to wear indoors so, as I’ve gotten older, that initial repetition is still there so I haven’t changed. There’s no embarrassment because it’s something I’ve always been used to.
Because I’ve been encouraged by my parents to be relaxed and have no hang ups about my padding, I’m equally at home sliding onto the furniture in my slippery plastic protection (and little else) as I am a pair of shorts covering my thick nappy. It’s another one of those things that, over the years, I’ve just found I prefer to do.
It appears a very childish position to be in but neither mum nor dad recognises the supposition that it is in anyway immature. Nappies are what they’ve decided their son will wear, so that’s exactly what I do wear. Not childish, babyish, juvenile or any of the other comments I’ve had screamed at me by a guffawing group of kids. It’s just my parents preference so… no dispute.
They are not a hindrance to my daily school or home life as I’m used to it. Equally, when I’m put into something bulkier I seem to be able to cope with it, although perhaps my waddle is slightly more pronounced.
Mum doesn’t even see it as extra work. In fine weather the washing line in the back garden is in continuous use, when it is inclement the airing cupboard or drier has the job of freshening everything up. My large colourful fabric nappies and array of equally vibrant plastic pants hang side by side with the more mundane white versions of themselves. I have all manner of styles and designs.
Some are hypoallergenic, others with different absorbency, special inserts using diverse materials or gels. Indeed all my fabric nappies are re-usable, although occasionally (and for no reason given to me) I’ll suddenly have a period of wearing disposables, eco-disposables or thick, thick pullups.
Mum and dad are equally enthusiastic about changing me especially if it’s something new until I get the hang of doing it myself.
Then there’s the selection of protective lotions, creams and powder spread around my groin and over my teenage bottom… and still I have no say. My pubic hair has never grown but that might be down to the lotions I’ve had spread down there since I was a kid.
I scream “I’m fifteen for God’s sake…” but it has no effect whatsoever. Mum looks down on me benignly as if to say ‘I hope you’re not going to have a tantrum’, then continues her ministrations to make sure I am well cared for. She does this in such a loving way it’s very hard not to enjoy and appreciate such attention.
Mum and dad smile their knowing smile, pat me on my padded seat and tell me how proud they are of having such a well-balanced teenager for a son. It’s difficult to get too agitated when you’re being praised and then there’s the obvious love that flows between us all. They don’t particularly spoil me but I’ve never had to go without anything.
Having said all that, and despite my having to use my nappy for what it’s designed for, I’ve never truly had a nappy rash. A little reddening, yes, but never to the degree I’ve heard others have suffered. So, on that subject my parents do at least appear to know what they’re doing.
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Although I always wear a nappy I’m not treated as a baby. Apart from when I was a baby and I had all the paraphernalia a baby needs; I’ve never been kept from growing up. My clothes, toys and education all kept pace with my age and, apart from insisting I wear what my parents tell me to in the underwear department; I’ve never felt at a disadvantage to any of my peers.
Mind you, I still have to say poo and pee as mum, when I was nine and used the other more grown up words Sh*t and P*ss (even typing them makes me feel queasy) took me to the bathroom and washed my mouth out with a bar of soap. I don’t know if you’ve ever had it done but it’s a horrible, nasty taste and I was made to understand that swearing and using ‘naughty’ words was a definite no-no. Despite not actually saying or typing the entire words, to this day I can still taste the displeasure mum introduced me to when I hear them spoken or see them written down.
So, you’ll only ever get poo and pee from me.
To be honest, there are times when I actually like being ‘different’. I see all my school chums searching for some individuality, which they seem to find by copying someone else. I see the anxiety some exhibit quite a lot of the time.
My well-wrapped groin has often given me the comfort and security that I once received from my teddy bear (Mr Teddy) as a kid, something indefinable, but being there when I’ve unexpectedly needed some kind of reassurance.
Silly I know, but at times, without warning, something will happen and I’ve been really relieved to have my protection. A sudden fright, some emotional overload or the occasional excited but accidental spurt…
Being an only child I am mollycoddled and mum and dad are very loving with lots of hugs and kisses and time together (which incidentally I love) but, other than the protection, I’m treated as a teenager. Having said that, even now mum leaves my daily protection on my dresser all neatly folded and with the various creams and powder I’ll need to maintain a nappied existence.
It’s a process she’s continued since I began to dress myself. To begin with she checked I’d got everything fastened correctly and securely, praising me for getting the job done well and helping me if it wasn’t quite right. When I’d been left to my own devices I wasn’t that clever so, in those early days she helped by getting everything ready. It has simply continued since then.
So, when I wake up to a soaked nappy, which is common, I dispose of them in a plastic bin with a lid, and my selected anti-rash creams, powder, nappy, pins and vinyl pants are there prepared for the day ahead.
I’ve learned to efficiently use all these things by slathering on the correct barriers to prevent my skin for developing any nasty inflammation and cover it with nice tight leak-proof protection.
I probably wake up wet on more occasions than someone my age would be expected to do. For instance, I can go days without any such night time involvement and then spend the next couple of nights waking up to a very soggy and sagging nappy. I suppose, because now as a sixteen year old it isn’t all the time, I feel I’m in some kind of control, though whether I am or not I can tell from my parent’s faces they think that’s a debateable point.
However, once I do have a wet night the look on their faces tells me they are justified in their approach to my comfort… and it will continue.
Perhaps they know my needs better than I do, I just wish they’d tell me…
I’m used to slipping between my sheets accompanied by the slight rustle of plastic. I suppose, over the years, the smooth plastic panties have added to my nightly experience and have taken the place of my trusted teddy bear from when I was little. When I do wake up wet I am really glad that I’ve worn my night time protection and none of my bed linen has suffered. I only wear PJs over it all if we’re visiting relations or on a trip somewhere. Also, I prefer to have my legs unencumbered so it’s just a t-shirt and my glossy protection.
I’ll also admit that even now, I can get a great deal of pleasure from having Mr Teddy in bed with me. I know at sixteen I should be well over such things but occasionally, just occasionally, hugging my bear is a fantastic confidence booster.
A cartoon teddy bear wearing a nappy has been the company logo for the children’s range of products since very early on in the company’s history. Mr Teddy was the first promotional gimmick they used and has been passed down the family line for a good few years now, but still looks pretty good for his age.
Mum keeps my room smelling fresh by never leaving a wet or smelly nappy lying around for very long. She collects whatever dirty items are left and it’s straight into the machine. Meanwhile, windows are thrown open, a quick spray and everything is back to relative freshness. She keeps a meticulous eye on my bedding and checks if I have leaked or had any other accidents during the night. My room and laundry are spotless and always unsullied by the usual detritus of a boy my age. My parents have got me well-schooled in maintaining a high degree of cleanliness and neatness, so my room is very well regulated with a place for everything… and everything in its place.
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I’ve never been potty trained but I have been well nappy trained. As a toddler I would always wake up wet and messy, which mum or dad would sort out. I was always told what a “good boy” I was for filling my nappy. As I got older and moved from onesies to pyjamas mum would come in my room and check my bulging protection. If I was only wet she would get me out of bed and she’d stand behind me whilst rubbing my tummy, encouraging me to fill my nappy.
Her words of whispered reassurance that it was okay to poo in my already soaked nappy, together with the slight pressure she put on my tummy as she gently rubbed, had me doing so in a relatively short time. In fact, mum’s (and occasionally dad’s) reinforcement that my nappy needed to be used would mean that all they had to say by way of encouragement was what a ‘clever boy’ I was to get the result they wanted.
This meant that my thick, night time nappy was always used so I could be cleaned up and placed in fresh protection for the rest of the day. Very rarely did I mess my nappy during the day, my parents had got me well trained to do the works first thing.
Even to this day that’s how it works; I get my poo time done before I get ready for the day ahead. Although occasionally, when we’re having an intimate loving family moment and mum says I’m a ‘clever boy’, it has led to an accident which would have been better to avoid.
My nappy use has become very regulated. Apart from what I’ve mentioned about my early morning ablutions I have made my daytime wettings only happen when I know I’m about to be changed. I may be the only boy at school whose backpack contains a plastic zip-lock bag with emergency disposables, wipes, creams, lotions and plastic pants.
I have to admit that I have occasionally wet myself at school. I have been known to drift off in lessons and I’d only become aware of what I’d done as the warmth spread around my groin. Thankfully, my vinyl pants meant I was the only person who knew what happened and perhaps strangely, it was in those moments I was really glad of mum’s insistence on my protection.
I don’t like a messy nappy or for that matter a messy room, even though my parents don’t seem to worry about such a thing. So, now I’m older I time my toilet ‘main event’ to coincide with that release from the night time nappy and before my morning shower. I’m not supervised so, once I’ve done my poo for the day, relieved, I can scrub myself clean then put on the fresh nappy that’s been ‘decided and provided’.
My home life is bizarre at times.
The End of Because we say so – Chapter Two.
The story originally came from: https://www.dailydiapers.com/content/stories.html
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index