An Old Problem – Chapter Eighteen
It was the strangest of sensations. I could see mum speaking but that slow and pleasant warmth spread from my crotch to engulf my entire body. In slow-motion my mind floated back through the many times I’d worn protection. It was eerie observing being put into nappies and being delighted for the younger versions of me. This was despite the fact that I could feel I was filling my own disposable at the same time.
Even as I watched those diminishing images my senses were alert to the way mum wrapped me in a fresh nappy, the material softly encasing my boyish parts and hugging my bottom. The various styles of rubber and plastic pants that I didn’t remember… I now noticed as the slide back continued.
Mum was always smiling, unflappable and full of sweet words, telling me not to be troubled, everything would be alright, I looked as cute as cute could be. There was an awful lot of that type of emphasis and encouragement that I wasn’t to worry… I wasn’t to worry… I wasn’t to worry. The worry of wet pants quickly transformed into a wet nappy, which was no worry at all.
It was the same at eighteen, sixteen, twelve, ten, seven… as I reversed through imagined time there was always that praise, reassurance and love… and it was special… it made me feel special. Even though no words were said, I could ‘hear’ them echoing around in my head. And even though these were extremely swift glimpses, they were incredibly detailed.
I tumbled further back and was suddenly brought to a dead halt by the sound of thunder rushing from the front to the back of my head. I was small and scared even though mum and dad were there with me. Again my body was engulfed in that hot flush and I knew I was filling the seat of my pants. They were trying to soothe and reassure me but I was too scared to listen and my soft cotton pyjamas were becoming a total mess.
It must have been my first experience of such a phenomenon, not helped by the rolling noisy echo that reverberated down the valley where we were camped. I had no concept of thunder sounding like this. The only thing I did have some idea about was that monsters created a ferocious roar to scare kids. Each ear-splitting roar and rumble making me fear the huge scary beast that must be creating it.
Mum asked dad to get a towel and after she stripped me out of the stinky disaster and wiped away most of the mess, then wrapped it around like a make-do nappy. I immediately began to settle down but was still blubbing. I saw dad grab a carton of juice and fit a straw, which he gave to mum to see if I could be distracted by a cool drink. It worked for a while.
“He’s shaking like a leaf…” Mum said as she patted my towel covered bottom.
“A very messy leaf.” Dad humorously mumbled half to himself.
“He’ll be over it soon.”
I observed all this ‘history’ in a micro-second as another loud crash set the three year-old me off once again. I’d never been so scared, it was a totally new experience and I was terrified, not just for myself but also how that imagined creature would overwhelm my parents.
I finished the drink but the rumbling down the valley continued. Mum held me tightly and kept up her reassuring stroking and petting of my towelled bottom. However, the juice and any other fluid in my frightened body were seeping into the towel so that was also getting rapidly soaked.
“I think we’ll need another towel pretty soon.”
“OK, will this yellow one do?” Dad was sorting through the pre-packed cases.
“Might be a good idea but I’ll only change him when he settles down. Ssshhhuussshh sweetheart, there’s nothing to be scared of… mummy and daddy are here… Ssshhhsss…”
Whilst still trying to placate my young mind she manoeuvred my thumb between my lips and instantly started to pacify myself. She reassured and cooed in my ear, whilst dad wondered aloud if they hadn’t let me out of nappies too soon. I think they must have agreed on that point because I was changed into another towel as a make-do nappy.
Eventually I must have dropped off.
Still held in mum’s protective arms my head ached… no… more than ached it felt painful… there was turmoil, fear, thunder and blackness… but then nothing.
I was completely disorientated when I came round it was daylight and I was back home. I had no memory of us packing up and leaving the campsite but was still trembling a little and aware of the thick wet towel between my legs.
Every night from then on, I wore a nappy, which was just as well seeing as how, for quite a while after that frightening experience, I had regular nightly accidents.
However, although I saw everything so clearly, or so I thought, my memory didn’t go any further back and I was both scared and numb.
#
“Anthony, Anthony are you OK sweetie?”
Mum looked worried as I came back from my revealing mental journey.
“Sweetie you’re soaked,” she tried to cheer me up because I apparently looked ‘weird’. “Your dinosaur chums look desperate to find dry land.” She was stroking my colourful padding.
Mum had put me in this disposable so was she treating me as a little kid now?
Why this thought entered my head I don’t know but she needn’t have worried. It had served its purpose because despite the amount I’d peed there were no leaks. However, some of the dinosaurs looked a bit the worse for wear.
As my padding was still warm it confirmed all that I’d conjured up in that weird and unwarranted flashback had happened in mere seconds.
“Let’s get you into a fresh one for the night shall we?”
It wasn’t a question but I wasn’t sure how to react after all I’d just ‘witnessed’. I mean, there wasn’t a moment in that memory when wearing a nappy I wasn’t content to do so. Yet there also wasn’t a moment in that brief excursion into my past, where I wore my normal underpants. Obviously I had, and for the majority of time, though it simply didn’t register in that weird scrutiny I’d just endured.
I wasn’t sure what my brain was telling me, or if indeed it was trying to tell me anything, all I seemed to get from that slip into a time-warp was, whenever I needed a nappy I was grateful to be put in one.
Conversely, I kept telling myself you’re eighteen… you’re eighteen… yet… and yet… I just didn’t feel that mattered. My age was of absolutely no consequence because all that was significant ended up to be something I had no control over. I surmised that as the flashback stopped at the tent in France that must have been the start of all my problems.
However, as mum ripped away the tapes and let the disposable fall heavily to my bedroom floor I wondered if I was the one making the ‘old problem’ real. I mean, there was no thunder or anxiety now but I had just completely sodden my ‘Dino disposable’ and mum was about to put me in a clean and dry fluffy piece of fleecy material. It was something I looked forward to without thinking just what it meant.
I loved the way mum was so careful, so upbeat, so loving. I couldn’t remember her once being upset that I needed a nappy. Though it meant more laundry, more supervision, more work on her part she never complained. Her solution to a wet boy, and one I never disagreed with, a nappy was a quick and easy fix. Even now, at eighteen, mum’s the one who tends to my ‘problem’ and I’ve always enjoyed the attention.
#
Up until we’d talked with Doctor Ames neither of us had felt any guilt about what we did to prevent wet pants. The psychiatrist hadn’t been caustic, clever or critical, merely asked alternative questions, which surprisingly had made us both think differently. Now I was looking at things from an altered point of view I could see how mum might have thought the doctor was blaming her.
I reasoned that was all very well and good but why was I having gaps in my memory? Why had I written poems I had no knowledge of? Why did I taste orange? Why had the lightning strike…?
Why? Why? Why? Doctor Ames had certainly got into both mine and mum’s heads.
As mum left my room, but now with a fresh thick nappy firmly pinned on, I searched for the plastic pants I wanted to wear. There it was – I WANTED TO WEAR. I could so easily have rummaged through my underwear drawer and found a pair of pants or shorts or something to cover it up (well maybe only slightly) but I didn’t, I went straight to my pile of plastic pants. I felt safer knowing my nappy was secured behind a leak-proof guard and no other thought entered my head.
However, I searched through my underpants and inspected them. I wasn’t sure why because I knew I had mainly tighty-whities but also a few pairs of colourful spandex style trunks, a couple of dark blue boxers and loads of stuff from my childhood I’d never got around to throwing out. It all just lay in the drawer for when I was over my wetting spell. They hadn’t been disturbed for a couple of weeks or so now, whilst the heap of fabric nappies grew as did the packs of disposables.
I felt the pile of thick terry nappies, they were everywhere, big and cumbersome but I enjoyed going to sleep with them encased in vinyl knowing I was so well protected. The disposables – both the Abena and mum’s latest childish (but oh so cute) Dinosaur ones – were likewise fantastic and I loved wearing them all.
In the past, when I wet from being anxious or because of a storm, I knew that I’d be back in briefs as soon as I stopped soaking my pants either at night or during the day. However, for the moment at least, that seemed a target too far. What’s peculiar this time than in the past, the lightning strike had affected me mentally somehow and, if I wanted to get back to any kind of normality, where my workmates didn’t need to change my dripping nappies, or indeed have need for nappies, I had to find that explanation and deal with it. However, there was a problem – and it had taken talking to the psychiatrist to realise just how much this was a fact, I didn’t mind the current fuss.
#
There have been moments since the strike when I obviously know I’ve had no control yet still had the illusion I had. There have also been times when I was outwardly horrified as to what was happening (like peeing in front of our neighbour on the way to the seaside) but quickly came to terms with it. The problem I had now was that Doctor Laura had gently and expertly probed deeply enough for me to deliberate on the things I’d just accepted. Like; why had I not mastered pinning on a nappy? Why had I accepted the workforce had a place in my nappy change regime and why was I so happy to be wearing nappies?
There was absolutely no reason why, if needed, I couldn’t pin myself into a fabric nappy. I’d found it difficult to begin with and had leaked a bit the few times I’d tried but that was no excuse to stop trying and letting mum take on total responsibility for any change. The trouble was, I’m used to it being done that way and I like it. It doesn’t hold any embarrassment to the proceedings just because I’m eighteen. I get the impression from the good doctor that it should worry me and should be embarrassed that mum still has that responsibility. I’m not.
In fact, apart from once or twice getting annoyed at waitresses asking if I wanted the Children’s Menu in a restaurant, I’m fairly easy-going about how I appear to others. When I think about it, I even think my annoyance is a bit of an act because I don’t really mind. I might have felt I ‘should’ say something but didn’t need to…
Oh Doctor Laura… you’ve got me thinking I might also be a fraud.
Then I think, I can’t be a fraud, I let my workmates change my wet nappies… that’s hardly a fraudulent thing to do… but then I can almost hear her asking the question “Why do you let them?”
The arguments in my head continue as I reason it’s the weather that makes me wet. What did Mrs Dewhurst say her daughter suffered from… biometeorology… surely that’s not made up? However, I am wetting all the time now so there must be something other than that causing my trouble. I just haven’t found out what yet.
#
I’d been standing at the window looking out but whatever was going on out there was of no consequence compared with what was going on in my head. I was wearing a t-shirt, a thick nappy and plastic pants, exactly as mum left me a few… I looked at the clock… over two hours ago.
I sighed and looked in the mirror and was trying to decide something about that guy looking back at me. He looked the same and dressed the same as me… but I was beginning to have doubts about just how grown up that eighteen year old was. I was dressed as a toddler and when I thought about it, I spent quite a bit of my life wearing just this outfit. It had never bothered me because I never thought, until now, just what a juvenile outfit it was. My solution was to simply pull up some shorts and I was ready to go.
I was a kid.
I might have moments of being an adult, or thinking I’m an adult, but there was absolutely no doubt, the majority of the time I looked like a kid.
A shiver of recognition ran down my back and I wondered if the reflection had come to the same conclusion?
#
Brrr-brrr, brrr-brrr, brrr-brrr….
Mary Turner picked up her mobile as she sorted through a batch of freshly cleaned nappies she’d just pulled from the drier.
“Hello.”
“Yes, hello Mary it’s Laura, Laura Ames.”
“Yes Laura,” she answered suspiciously, “what can I do for you?”
“First, let me thank you for coming in today… I think it helped me understand Anthony’s situation a little better.”
“Ohh, erm, in what way?” She paused from folding the large soft cotton squares.
“Well Mary, he’s such a sweet boy. Most teenagers I meet are absolute terrors so it’s nice to talk with someone who doesn’t want to kill their parents or…” She suddenly realised she was talking too much. “Anyway, what I’m really calling for is something I forgot to ask both of you…”
“Which is?”
“When did Anthony last see a GP…. or have a medical… or a full examination?”
Mary had to think hard because he hadn’t actually been to their GP except for the usual childhood inoculations.
“Erm, not for quite some time, uumm, there’s nothing wrong is there?” Mary was suddenly concerned.
“Well, I’ve been going over my recent notes and those from when he was seven when I first saw him. Some things seem a little baffling…”
“In what way?” She wasn’t sure if this was worrying or the doctor just being a bit guarded.
“Well, my observations then…” Laura decided, for the moment at least, against raising her doubts with her patient’s mother. “Look… let’s do some tests before we get too bogged down in speculation.”
“Good heavens,” anxiety crept into Mary’s voice, “what do you think needs to happen?”
“Well, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to do a couple of neurological tests and, erm, stuff.”
“Oh god, this sounds serious?”
Although the psychiatrist thought there was more to Anthony’s problem than she was letting on… she didn’t want to exacerbate the situation so played it down.
“No Mary, this is just to rule out a few things… and it also might explain why Anthony has so many bouts of incontinence. It could be just some kind of hormonal imbalance but… I’d like to check. To be honest, I was hoping your GP would have picked up on that by now but, if he hasn’t seen your son…”
Although this sounded like an accusation of some kind Mary calmed down thanks to the lack of an immediate threat to her son’s well-being. Although, now something had been said she’d some thoughts herself.
“OK, Tom’s private health insurance covers the family so, how quickly can you organise this… test?”
“Well, I have a friend at the BUPA hospital who deals with this so, once I get your OK, I’ll start the ball rolling.”
“Will Anthony need any referral from his GP?”
“It wouldn’t harm but I think we can arrange this privately if you prefer.”
“Look, are you sure there’s not something I should be aware of?”
“Mary, if there was I would tell you… these are only tests…”
Mary thought for a moment and then asked anxiously.
“But you’ve phoned me at home and…”
The doctor recognised the high level of apprehension in Mary’s voice and knew she’d need to calm her further.
“Well, you looked pretty fed up when you left the office and I got the impression you thought I was blaming you for Anthony’s problem.”
“Erm.”
“Well, I think from all you’ve both said that whatever is ailing Anthony it stems from his scary camping trip to France… so… if there is anything else you can remember from that trip, any small detail, please let me know as it may just be the pointer we need.”
“Oh, OK.”
“Great, then you’re OK with me having a word with my colleague and getting the ball rolling?”
“Absolutely… I’ll check with Tom’s insurance… but I’m sure we’re covered.”
“Fine, good, I’ll do that then. Also Mary, don’t worry, Anthony’s a fine lad and a credit to you and Tom… I wish all my patients were as affable as he is.”
“Thanks Laura, if that’s all… good night.”
“Good night Mary I’ll be in touch as soon as I have can sort something out.”
“Bye then.”
“Bye.”
Mary patted the pile she’d expertly folded throughout the conversation.
However, once the phone call was over she sat down and began to think. Anthony’s own questioning about that camping holiday had made her review the trip herself. There was something else that happened at the campsite, something she’d all but forgotten about because it didn’t appear relevant. It seemed such a minor thing but…
The End of An Old Problem – Chapter Eighteen.
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