so cringe bruh . . . gay and wears diapers

My interview with Hayden continues from Part 1. There, Hayden agreed to collaborate and share about his life and experiences. Hayden is 22 years old and lives with his childhood friend and boyfriend Reid.

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Q: You mentioned the school's diapering policy when you were in middle school. What else do you remember about it?

A: Um . . . when you say "the school's" policy, I guess I should clarify something. The policy wasn't actually set by the middle school I went to in Fort Worth. It was broader than that. Although I assume there must have been a degree of discretion in how the policy was applied, because of how procedure changed from middle school to high school. My IEP and 504 changed too.

Q: Ok, but wait though. What is an IEP?

A: An IEP is an individualized education plan. I had an IEP because my "disabilities" were believed to impact how I learned and functioned. So that meant I needed "specialized" instruction and other support and accommodations based on my "needs." The way that worked is I had a bunch of different "goals" about my behavior, emotional regulation, impulse control and social regulation. Almost all of my "goals" were compliance based.

My step-mom monopolized that entire process when we moved to Fort Worth. Academically, she had a whole case prepared about how I was too stupid to keep up with regular subjects or even understand the material. She also said I couldn't talk or interact with others properly and I couldn't tie my shoes or recognize when I needed to go to the bathroom.

Thankfully, her say-so wasn't the only thing considered. I probably would have been forced into a self-contained classroom after I had to repeat the 6th grade, if not for the functional assessments. My grades at my old school were the primary basis for why my step-mom argued I had learning disabilities.

Q: Your "disabilities"? It sounds like you don't like that word.

A: The word "disability" is actually a term with a specific legal meaning in the context of education law, but that's not the only context in which it's used.

When people talk about "disabilities" or being "disabled" in a general sense, they rarely know what counts as a disability in a legal or policy sense and what does not. Instead, they fill in the gaps with stereotypes, over-generalizations and assumptions without any actual basis. Those tendencies have consequences that people don't think about unless they've been on the receiving end of the harm they cause.

In the context of an IEP, a "disability" includes way more than just learning and intellectual disabilities. It includes sensory, emotional, communication, physical, neurological and a ton of other kinds of disabilities. So autism, ADHD, dyspraxia and stuff like that are totally within the scope.

None of those things imply cognitive impairment. But people assume that being disabled in any way that qualifies you for an IEP means you're cognitively impaired. Like you can't learn properly. That is why autistic, ADHD and neurodivergent people (especially teenagers) get treated like very young children or infants. It's also why my idiot step-mom assumed I was stupid because I couldn't tie my shoes. Even after she had my IQ tested and she had objective proof I wasn't stupid, she still treated me like I was. It's why she made me have a fucking babysitter when I was 18 years old, for example.

Doctors did that too. They still do. They have all of my life. Here's an example. When my step-mom took me to my regular doctor when I had the flu in high school, the doctor barely even talked to me. He asked me questions like I was a toddler. Then he turned to my step-mom to ask the questions that mattered. With the answers she gave, he might have thought it was necessary to test me for mono. Which . . . just . . . no.

My step-mom gave him wrong information about MY symptoms and I corrected her. But this fucking doctor gave me the "hey buddy" line about letting her talk so he could figure out what was wrong. I hate that phrase so much. Whenever some fucking adult began their line with "hey buddy," I always knew what it meant. I would be treated like a child and talked down to, while everything I said would be totally ignored. Then if I tried to advocate for myself, my cunt step-mom would say I was being "disrespectful" and make up an excuse to punish me or whatever.

Q: That sounds really traumatizing.

A: Yeah. It was.

Q: What about your 504? What is that?

A: A 504 is a "plan" is something you get when a disability impacts your ability to fully participate in school and school-related stuff. So like if you have some kind of diagnosed disability, the point of a 504 "plan" is to figure out how you can participate in regular classes with other non-disabled students.

In all fairness I probably needed a 504 plan because I literally could not function in normal school and classroom settings. That school was a total sensory nightmare.

Q: What was it like having to repeat the 6th grade?

Bro . . . I fucking hated it. I was in these crazy easy classes and I was so bored. I got in trouble a lot because most of my teachers just wrote me off.

So here's an example. I had this one teacher who would just relentlessly bully this girl in my class who clearly had problems. I don't know what they were but she just wasn't okay. The way he looked at her was also really creepy. All of the other kids in the class just let it happen. This girl broke down in tears a few times in class.

One day I'd just had enough of watching all of this happen. It was really bothering me how he treated her because legit I'd been on the receiving end of that shit myself for all of my life. So I called him out in front of the whole class. He told me to shut up and sit down. He refused to apologize to her. Then, he got super aggressive with me and made me go to the principal's office. I got called aggressive, disruptive and insubordinate.

I told the principal what happened and yet . . . for whatever fucking reason . . . still got a written warning. Basically, a pink slip saying that if it happened again I could face some kind of disciplinary consequences.

Then my step-mom had to sign it and she totally didn't give a shit about what happened. She believed this creep bully piece of shit teacher and accused me of lying, then spanked me and made me stay in my room the whole night after I got done with my homework. Like whatever.

The next time it happened I got another pink slip and I got paddled at school. That was hilarious. So in Texas paddling students is a thing. It's legit insane. The vice principal made me bend over a chair while he hit my butt with some fucking wooden plank. Didn't hurt much because I was wearing one of those stupid medical diapers. But I was still paddled. I had three "swats" as they called it. My step-mom spanked me at home for real then, too. Like, bare bottom as per her usual ritual. But the punishment at school was a fucking joke.

Third time it happened they tried to remove me from the classroom. But eventually, the principal listened to me and that teacher had something happen to him because he straight up disappeared in the second half of the year.

Q: How many times did you get paddled?

A: I really don't remember. I think by the tenth time or so they stopped because they were concerned about getting sued.

Q: What do you mean?

A: My step-mom threatened to sue them. I don't remember the details. They stopped paddling me after that.

Q: So she could spank you but they couldn't?

A: Yeah . . . I guess so. I never got paddled again after that, even in high school. Other kids did. But I didn't.

Q: Did you still have to wear diapers in high school?

A: Yeah. Same routine for the most part, but there were some changes by the time I was a junior.

Q: What kinds of changes?

A: Like I don't remember everything, but the anti-strip onesies came back for me when I was a sophomore for a little while.

Q: What was the cause?

A: I had an allergic reaction to something and I was really itchy, so I was scratching my lower back and accidentally unsnapped the onesie I was wearing. I took off my hoodie and the "adults" accused me of trying to remove the onesie. This teacher I had at the time said I was behaving erratically and being disruptive. So I spent the rest of the year in anti-strip onesies. Even at home. It was really stupid, but whatever.

Q: What was it like having to wear the anti-strip onesies as a sophomore?

A: These onesies were the anti-strip onesies with some kind of snaps I couldn't remove by myself. They zipped in the back at the side. While they were less of a sensory nightmare than some of the others, just imagine trying to sleep like that. It was hard.

So when you were sixteen, you probably could at least see yourself without someone else around. I couldn't. I couldn't even shower with the bathroom door closed and as soon as I got out, either my step-mom or my step brother would put me in a diaper and one of those fucking back-zip onesies. Like I couldn't even get myself off because I couldn't get my hands inside those onesies.

I looked a lot younger than I was, too. I didn't have much body hair, but it was still removed. I still don't have any body hair for the most part. Especially around my lower abdomen because that was my "diaper area" and having hair there was unhygienic or whatever.

It was also super humiliating because it was just one more rule or whatever I had that no one else my age had. Like all of the stuff most teenagers do without even thinking about it, I couldn't. I had an iPad but it had parental controls on it that limited what I could do with it. Like YouTube kids and basic games and stuff. I had a laptop but it had parental controls and screen time limits. While most 16 year old guys were either learning how to drive or had cars of their own by then, I was getting my diaper changed by a babysitter and spanked by step-mommy dearest whenever I misbehaved.

Now I kind of like being babysat and spanked. But only by Reid and only on my terms.

Q: How does that work?

A: Reid and I negotiated the terms together, I guess. We actually have it written down somewhere, and we check in on how things are going every now and then.

Q: Who came up with the terms?

A: I think Reid came up with some of them and I came up with others. But both of us had to agree before they'd apply.

Q: What are some examples of the "terms" you're talking about? Are they rules? Maybe routines, or something else?

A: Um . . . like all of the above, I guess?

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I recently shared a short story based on the experience of someone I'm friends with in real life, in my post titled "Once and Future Diaper Boy."

The guy whose life inspired that story is a real person who I will refer to as "Hayden" for the purposes of this interview and future posts about his life. Hayden agreed to let me to use his story as inspiration for a series of short stories on the condition that I not reveal personally identifiable information. Although I have not shared most of what I wrote here or elsewhere yet, I probably will over time.

Hayden and I met a few years ago. We were both active in a group for kinky gay/bi guys. Over time we learned that we had more in common than sexual orientation and kinks, and both of us were very interested in stories about other people like us.

What follows below is an abridged version of some of the questions and answers that preceded our collaboration.

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Q: This is exciting. Thanks for agreeing to collaborate, Hayden!

A: Um . . . yeah. It's no problem . . . I haven't done anything like this before so I don't really know what to expect.

Q: What I'd like to do is ask you some questions about your life and experiences and, with your permission, use them as reference material for creative short stories.

A: Okay, yeah. That's fine. I don't know if anyone would be interested. I feel like my life isn't that interesting.

Q: I don't know what the broader appeal will be. I'm interested, though. To get started, how old are you now?

A: I'm 22.

Q: Who do you live with?

A: I live with Reid.

Q: How did you meet Reid?

A: Um . . . I don't remember when we first met. He was my step-brother's friend from elementary school at first, but we started to hang out a lot more once he was in middle school.

Q: How old is Reid?

A: He's 20.

Q: Did you ever have classes together with Reid, while you guys were in school?

A: Not in middle school. But we did when he got to high school. I was a sophomore when he was a freshman. We had an elective together that year. Then when he was a sophomore and I was a junior, we had more classes together.

Q: So you were only one year apart in school?

A: Yeah . . . I was held back when I was in middle school. When my dad and step-mom got married, I was supposed to be going into the seventh grade. We moved out of state that year. At her recommendation, I did a second year in the 6th grade.

Q: Why?

A: Um . . . I guess there's two sides of that story. There's what I was told was "best for me" and there's what I think actually happened. Which do you want?

Q: Both, if you're comfortable sharing.

A: Ok. That's fine. I just want to say though . . . I apologize in advance if I get angry because this is still something that really pissed me off.

Q: That's understandable, given what we've talked about before. Why don't you start with what your dad and your step-mom told you?

A: That was such fucking bullshit. But yeah . . . I guess I should give some context. We moved to Texas after my dad married my step-mom. She had a lot of family in Fort Worth and my dad took a new job there.

Q: You were supposed to be going into 7th grade?

A: Supposed to, yeah. My step-mom thought I would be better off doing another year in 6th grade. I had trouble doing things like tying my shoes, brushing my teeth, buttoning and unbuttoning clothes and other stuff like that. It wasn't because I didn't understand how. I just couldn't get my hands and fingers to work right. It was really frustrating. My step-mom thought I was stupid and insisted that I should be evaluated for learning disabilities.

Q: How did that go?

A: The school was ready to place me in a self-contained special ed class after the shrink my step-mom made me see. My dad got a second opinion. They said I was autistic, had gross and fine motor-skill limitations, insomnia, an anxiety disorder and ADHD. The shrink my step-mom took me to said I had something called "PDA" which means "pathological demand avoidance." My step-mom called it opposition defiant disorder.

Q: Is that why you were held back in the 6th grade?

A: According to my dad and my step-mom, my "behavior" and "maturity" were problems. So like before we moved to Texas, when I was already super over stimulated from being forced to sit still and be quiet all day, I needed to decompress after school. But my step-mom forced me to do homework, study and do chores right after I got home. Then if I had a meltdown (or "tantrum" as she called it) she would spank me in front of my step brother. Like really hard. She tried to convince my dad to put me in special ed.

Q: Where was your dad?

A: He was at work. My step-mom seemed to enjoy humiliating me. One day when I got home from school I had not used the bathroom all day. I could not get my jeans unbuttoned in time and I wet my pants. My step mom spanked me and made me wear one of my nighttime diapers for the rest of the day after that.

Q: Were accidents like that common for you?

A: They became more frequent once my dad started dating my step-mom. I think it's because my anxiety levels were a lot higher and I wasn't as functional when I was under so much stress. But I did have accidents before that, too. I always wet the bed and daytime accidents weren't uncommon. Maybe one or two per month, before I started having to wear diapers to school.

Q: Before we talk about your experience with having to wear diapers to school, why do you think your step-mom wanted you to be in special ed classes?

A: Putting me in special ed was her way of controlling me, when I flat-out refused to obey anything she said for a long time. She tried to get my dad to put me on antipsychotics. He didn't, but she tried. She always framed it as "concern" for "my best interest." My step-mom is one of the most manipulative and narcissistic people I have ever known. She tried to gaslight me so hard when she first started dating my dad. As a kid I didn't know what her game was. But now I can see it for exactly what it is. Humiliating me was her way of "balancing" the scales of her fucked up sense of justice. That's what it was about.

Q: What about your step-brother and younger brother?

A: She liked humiliating them too. I remember watching her face when she spanked my step-brother one time. We had moved to Texas by then and he was playing xbox after he was supposed to be in bed. She got this fucked up smirk on her face when he started crying. But I was her primary target.

Q: She was responsible for whatever arrangement resulted in you having to wear diapers to school, right?

A: Yeah. That was all her. She made my dad think it was his idea. But it was actually all her. What happened is that after we moved to Texas, I had a ton of assessments and she always made sure I was super stressed out and overwhelmed before. So my ability to function was already compromised, beforehand.

Q: Is that how you got diagnosed with incontinence?

A: I actually did have interoception issues which made it hard for me to know when I needed to go to the bathroom and I avoided going to the bathroom at school. The apraxia didn't help. So I got diagnosed with mixed incontinence. It got worse once I was put on ADHD and anxiety medication.

Q: Do you remember what meds you were on?

A: No. I think ritalin was what I took for ADHD. That actually helped me pay attention in class and weirdly it dulled a lot of my sensory issues with lights and clothes. I don't resent that at all. I don't take it anymore but I really don't think I could have functioned in school without it. It cut the frequency of my meltdowns too. The anxiety meds . . . I don't remember what they were. I just remember feeling like a zombie when I took them.

Q: So the diapers in the daytime came before the meds?

A: Yeah.

Q: What was it like having to wear diapers in the daytime?

A: It started the summer I was held back in the 6th grade after we moved to Fort Worth. You know what Texas is like in the summer. It's like being inside an air fryer. Wearing diapers in that heat was really miserable. But it's not like I had a choice.

Q: You didn't have a choice?

A: No. I tried to take them off, but my step-mom would spank me every time. She also forced me to wear anti-strip onesies that I literally could not get out of. They zipped in the back and she used a plastic zip-tie that basically locked the zipper in place, until it was cut off with wire cutters. After I was diagnosed with incontinence the school required me to wear diapers. I had to show up in diapers and leave in diapers.

Q: That seems pretty extreme.

A: Bro you have no idea. I was thirteen and I couldn't even go to the bathroom on my own if I wanted to. I cut one of the onesies off with a kitchen knife because the zipper was excruciating, but I only did that once.

Q: What happened?

A: My step-mom said she would have my dad put me back on an anti-psychotic medication if I ever did that again. She framed it like I was a danger to myself and my step brothers. I was not. I was just trying to get some relief from that zipper. Plus I needed a diaper change and she would not change me until she was done working. After that she started letting my step-brother change me, which was an entirely new level of humiliation. I will say this, though. She got different onesies after that. The new onesies had plastic locking clips at the back. The zippers were less annoying too.

Q: Wow.

A: Yeah it was crazy.

Q: What happened when your step-mom took you to your IEP/504 meeting before school started back in the fall?

A: Ok . . . yeah. So by then it had been determined that I would repeat the 6th grade. Even though my step-mom had my IQ tested with a whole bunch of other stuff and I was in the top 97th percentile (higher than hers, as I later found out), my grades were really bad. Like, I failed multiple subjects and I had a lot of absences. Or so I was told.

Anyway, diapers were a requirement for school. Both middle school and high school. The schools had a policy that any student that came to school wearing a diaper had to be checked and, if necessary, changed, every two hours unless that would be disruptive to classroom instruction.

The school thought I needed to be toilet trained but my step-mom basically shot that down. So the things the school's representative suggested just were not going to work. Things like "student will independently adjust clothing to facilitate bathroom use" sort of goals didn't make sense because I had to wear those anti-strip onesies at first. Instead, my objectives were mostly focused on compliance. I only remember a few of the main ones:

"By the end of 6th grade, Hayden will demonstrate the ability to walk to the special ed classroom independently and without external prompting at designated times throughout the school day."

"By the end of 6th grade, Hayden will demonstrate compliance with approved diapering and changing procedures."

Most of the goals were easy to meet because my step-mom convinced them I was totally incontinent and would strip of my diaper whenever I had the chance. Once I proved that I could show up and get checked and changed on schedule, I was able to stop wearing the anti-strip onesies at school.

Q: What was the diapering and changing procedure?

A: I had to go to the special ed room and wait for a para to take me to the bathroom. That's where the changing area was. I usually wore a t-shirt and hoodie, with jeans or shorts depending on the weather. The para would tell me to take off my clothes. Once I did that, she would come back in and unzip the onesie. By then I'm standing in my socks or sandals and a (usually very wet) diaper.

I'd sit on this changing table thing and lay down. It looked like one of the exam tables in a doctor's office. It was lined with a large piece of paper on top of what looked like a disposable bed pad. Then, she put a strap over my waist so I didn't roll off. At first, she put the straps on my wrists in case I didn't cooperate. But once she knew I wouldn't cause trouble she stopped securing my wrists.

Then she would raise the table up with a foot control. Once the table was at the height the para wanted, she un-taped the diaper I was wearing. She always started with the upper-right tab on the diaper, then the upper-left, the lower-right and finally the lower-left. After the diaper was untaped she rolled it up and threw it in the diaper genie that was beside the table. She wiped everything down and once I was clean she prompted me to raise my lower half up so she could slide a new diaper underneath. Then, she'd raise the front of it up over my diaper area. She always changed gloves at this point for some reason.

Next, she'd tape the new diaper on and lower the table. I had to step back in the back-zip onesie one foot at a time. Once it was on I would turn around and she would zip it back up. Then I put my pants, shirt and hoodie back on.

Later in the year when I stopped having to wear the back-zip onesies, changes got easier. The other onesies had snaps at the crotch. So, I'd get on the table and she'd raise it up. Then she'd unsnap the crotch and slide it up, untape the old diaper and put a new one on. She re-snapped the snaps and then lower the table so I could get dressed after that.

Q: How did it feel to have your diaper checked and changed in that kind of setting?

A: Humiliating at first. I got used to it, I guess. It also was an excuse to get out of class so that was nice. Sometimes I'd just hang out in the special ed room instead of going back to class. The kids who were there were actually really nice and the environment was welcoming. I wasn't the only kid in diapers. But most of the other kids who had to wear diapers in school were in self-contained classes.

Q: Did the school provide diapers?

A: They did once, when I ran out of the diapers I usually wore. But usually I wore the ones my step-mom had sent to the school. I don't know how that process worked. Only that my dad's insurance through his work paid for it and a lot of other stuff.

Q: Did you have special ed classes?

A: No. My step-mom always threatened that as if it was something she had control over, but I was never put in a self-contained class. I was just required to show up to the special ed room to get my diapers checked and changed.

Q: Did you experience ABA therapy?

A: Yes and I don't want to talk about that. It was traumatic and I don't like thinking about it.

Q: How long were you in diapers?

A: I never got out of them. I'm literally wearing one now and it's the middle of the day.

Q: What about after high school?

A: I never actually planned to go to college, but once Reid graduated he convinced me to go to college with him. I really like my college classes and I'm glad I went.

Q: And you live with Reid now?

A: He's kind of like my live-in babysitter boyfriend.

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The "Once and Future Diaper Boy" story was not inspired by my own experience, but someone I know. I wrote it from his perspective.

Presumably, that's why you're asking. I'm clarifying because I don't want to conflate my own experience with the experience of the guy whose life was my inspiration.

His relationship with diapers was complicated. There are things he liked. They were always a source of relief because he struggled with incontinence and interoception. So, that was less demand on already constrained executive functioning. In moments where he was overwhelmed, wearing diapers meant that he wouldn't have an unpredictable moment of embarrassment. That was predictability and stability in terms of his level of exposure and being "seen" or perceived in any number of ways by others. Managing that sort of "exposure" risk from an accident really helped reduce his anxiety.

Diapers also meant predictable sensory inputs. For example, private bathrooms did not exist when he was in school. That meant if he had to use a toilet, he would have to endure the hand dryers, the lights, the (offensive) smells, the water temperatures and everything else. That, for him, was a sensory nightmare. It's why he withheld. Although he didn't have the words to explain it at the time, it's called "sensory avoidant" behavior. I don't think he's ever used a urinal in his life, btw.

Wearing diapers would, later, become a source of sexual arousal once he was about 11 to 12 years old. That was incredibly distressing for him because it was a change in his body that he had no idea how to make sense of. Puberty was even more psychologically traumatic. At that point, diapers were something like the balance between, on the one hand, adapting the psychological safety of sensory familiarity from an antecedent state (pre-adolescence); with, on the other hand, the novelty of all of the sensations and experiences of the his body and sexuality (in adolescence).

There were a lot of things he didn't like, too. Once he understood that diapers were a thing that "babies" used, he started to experience having to wear them as an intrusion on his autonomy. He was made to wear diapers against his will, even before he had to wear them 24/7. That was hugely infantilizing, made worse when it was yet another milestone he didn't hit but others (his friends, classmates and siblings) did, who were often younger than he was.

(Sort of based on a true story.)

It started when I was in middle school. The back story is kind of terrible, starting in the summer between sixth and seventh grade.

I was turning thirteen next month. I was supposed to start 7th grade and I had just been diagnosed with autism and ADHD. Those were the big ones. Some anxiety disorder too.

I was a lot to handle.

I remember being punished for my "behavioral" issues all the time. I lived in the deep south. I was also diagnosed with something called "opposition defiance disorder" that's now called "pathological demand avoidance."

I had "tantrums," as my step-mom called them. Now they'd get called "meltdowns." Tight clothes, bright lights and loud noises were reliable triggers. But this was before the concept of nervous system regulation was a thing. I was always punished. Usually with a belt. Sometimes with a switch. Always with corner time after, with my pants pulled down bearing the marks of the belt or switch.

I couldn't tie my own shoes, either. Like physically I couldn't do it. Oh, I forgot apraxia. That means that something called "fine motor coordination" was very hard for me, although I've grown out of that.

I had been a bedwetter all my life. I had accidents in the daytime too because I hated going to the bathroom in public. It happened in school more than I'd like to think about.

My step-mom was convinced I needed to be in "special" classes. She even suggested a school for kids with "challenges" like mine, whatever that meant.

I started taking pills in the morning. My step-mom always gave them to me in the morning. One was for ADHD and another was for anxiety. I didn't think I had anxiety problems. I knew I probably had ADHD. But it's not like I had a choice. The pills were a doctor's idea. They made me feel like a zombie.

The pills made it harder for me to know when I needed to go to the bathroom. I wet myself twice in the first week. There was one messy accident as well. I didn't even realize it until I felt the mess in my underwear. It was so humiliating.

My younger step-brother took pills too. He was still in elementary school. One of the pills he took in the morning was like mine. But he only had one. I think it was for ADHD.

Our bedtime routine started out the same when our parents got married. We had a pill to eat a gummy that had some kind of sleep medication in it. Diapers had to be on, too. My step-mom put his diaper on first. Then she put mine on. He didn't mind. I hated it.

The diapers we wore were the same too. White and medical, then. My step-brother wasn't a regular bedwetter anymore. He told me he usually woke up dry but would just wet the diaper he slept in because he didn't want to get out of bed. I couldn't seem to grow out of it. I was almost always wet.

The routine changed when I started wearing diapers in the daytime. I hated wearing diapers during the day even more because they were always so tight. Then they'd get sweaty and itchy. Plus they crinkled and were so loud whenever I moved. I would always take them off as soon as I could. But when I did, I got spanked and forced to stand in the corner.

Eventually my step-mom got tired of spanking me and started to make me wear these anti-strip onesies that had a locking plastic clip in the back. The onesies were horrible. They were very tight, with tight sleeves and legs that couldn't be wiggled out of. The plastic clips in the back were very firm and I couldn't reach them to unlock them or take the onesie off. The zippers down the back were annoying beyond description. All of this was exactly as embarrassing as you might imagine. I fought it and my dad took my step-mom's side. I got spanked again.

When I started school in the fall, the diapers didn't go away. The onesies would stay too unless I agreed to not take the diapers off. I played along and as a concession would wear onesies that buttoned at the crotch instead. They looked like the ones babies wore. Solid colors, mostly white and gray like undershirts. They still looked like baby clothes.

I had an IEP and something else that required me to wear diapers while I was in school. The diapers were an actual requirement. Health concerns from my "accident risk" or whatever. That was the policy. And if I took the diapers off during school I'd have to wear those locking onesies every single day. I had to be changed once per day by a para with the special ed kids, too.

It was humiliating at first but I got used to it. I got out of having to do gym class. That was a perk. But I eventually stopped noticing when I had to go to the bathroom and I would just use the diaper. I basically unpotty trained myself and was functionally incontinent for pee.

I also was not allowed to stay home alone. That was something my step-mom made very clear: while I wasn't a "baby" I needed to be supervised and looked after. So in practical terms, one of my friends would "babysit" me whenever we hung out, alone or in groups. There was one boy I was friends with who even changed my diapers.

This all went on until I graduated from high school.

I took a year before college.

College was fun for me because I left home and moved in with one of the friends who "babysat" me when we were in high school. He was a year younger than I was and really leaned into the "baby" aspect of babysitting. He was also bisexual and very cute.

We had rules, though. By then I really was incontinent and I always had to wear diapers. He liked me in onesies, too. I wasn't allowed to change myself or even touch my diaper. He'd make me wear the locking onesies (which he knew I hated) if I ever tried to change myself.

I was not allowed to masturbate at all. Ever. I would get spanked if I did. Any kind of sexual stuff had to be with his permission. And we had to work around the fact that I was always wearing diapers. That meant he was on top and I was on the bottom.

Most of the time he would let me use a magic wand while he would hump the inside of my diaper, in the front or the back. My favorite was when he made me wear a chastity cage and he'd cum in the front of my diaper, while I was wet.

(Obviously, this is a work of fiction.)

It started with the rumors of a merger.

I worked at an investment brokerage. I was hired right out of U Penn. The firm paid to move me to Denver.

We traded derivatives. My division was doing great. Last year I got promoted. The promotion came with a significant increase in my base salary. The bonus was great, too. I was making more money than both of my parents. I bought a condo and a new car. Everything felt surreal. Almost too good to be true.

I met Owen the first weekend I was in Denver. That Saturday was my 23rd birthday. He messaged me first on Grindr. He knew exactly what he wanted. I was his type, too. I still lifted like when I was an athlete. I played lacrosse and football in high school. He was very forward about sex and kinks in our DMs. In person he was totally different. Very shy. Almost timid, actually.

Owen was hotter than he realized. He had no body hair at all. The tiny bit of facial hair he could grow was always clean shaven, too. His body was toned, but not overly muscular. His shaggy light brown hair flipped to the side of his face, every time he twitched his head to get it out of his hazel eyes. He was 19. Just a sophomore at UC Boulder. He had a swimming scholarship.

Our "situationship" was becoming more. We had been casual for a while. Very low key initially. Then we started spending weekends together.

Owen told me he still wet the bed. The evening routine was weird. His parents had rules about how Owen had to get ready for bed. He still followed them. I rolled with it. Just let my bedwetter boyfriend do his thing. The rules seemed super infantile, especially for someone in college who didn't even live at home anymore. Owen had to be diapered and in his pajamas at least two hours before bed. The diapers were thick. White and medical-looking at first.

Eventually, the rest of the story came out. It was a Friday afternoon. Owen had driven over from Boulder. He didn't have class. I took the afternoon off. I thought he was walking differently when he came in. He made some stupid joke. I used that as an excuse to playfully spank him. I expected it to sting a bit since he was just wearing gym shorts. Instead my hand landed with a soft "poof" sound. He wasn't wearing his regular boxer briefs. He was already taped into one of his diapers. It was about 2:30 PM.

The diapers didn't catch me off guard. I knew he was a bedwetter, after all. He already told me the story. Owen wore Goodnites Pull-Ups in elementary and middle school. But in 7th grade he outgrew them. His mom still bought them, for some reason. But his "night time problem" required more protection than Pull-Ups could provide. The transition to tape-on diapers coincided with puberty. That's when padding became more than practical.

I pulled his LuLu's down. He was wearing a diaper that was already wet.

"What, did you run out of underwear?" I teased, his shorts hanging around his ankles.

"Washing machine broke." He smiled, pretending like he wasn't lying.

"I doubt that, young man." I picked up his gym shorts off the floor and laid them on a chair in the kitchen. "You can have these back later."

"Nuh-uh!" Owen feigned indignation.

"It looks like somebody needs diapers anyway." I "checked" him, placing my hand on the front of his wet diaper.

I led him back to the bedroom. He took off his shirt and went down on me. Then I bent him over the bed and pulled down the back of his diaper. It was hotter than I thought it would be. That was our first "role play" session. Our initial foray into DDLB, I guess. It was also the first time we hooked up, when he was wearing a diaper, wet or otherwise.

Owen stayed in diapers that whole weekend. Something about it worked for me. And he was hugely into it, too. It seemed like something he wanted all along but was afraid to ask for.

We tried new things with diapers and role playing over the next six months. Chastity, spanking and light bondage with locking onesies. Owen usually was the sub. I was usually the dom. But we switched things around from time to time. The change of pace could be fun.

The brokerage announced "restructuring" in late spring. The layoffs started right after Owen's finals wrapped up for that semester. Owen was out of class and my "role" was "eliminated" in the first wave. My severance was enough to float me for six months. But it was a huge blow to my ego. I felt like I'd lost the core of my identity. I was laid off, along with more than with half the firm.

I didn't rush to apply anywhere else. It was the middle of May. This was the first time that Owen and I could spend that much time together. Owen's older brother helped me sort through the legal stuff. William was a lawyer, just like his father.

The job market had proven tougher than I thought. Most of the entry and mid-level investment banking jobs were being automated away. AI was changing the field I'd only broken into two years prior. Owen's older sister helped me sell my condo. Julia was a high-end realtor. An associate William worked with handled everything.

I actually made money on the condo, somehow. Like a lot more than I expected. It seemed like there would be serious tax implications if I didn't buy another one soon. But Owen asked his older brother to help me out. I was glad, too. At the time I was in a bad place. My psychiatrist in Denver diagnosed me with clinical depression and anxiety. The only reason I saw him before was to refill the ADHD meds that I'd taken since middle school.

William drew up paperwork of some kind. I just signed it. I didn't read it beforehand. It was Memorial Day weekend. Owen, William and the rest of their family were at their lake house in Telluride. I signed a power of attorney earlier that week. William created a trust and moved my assets around. He explained everything. This was a special kind of trust. I was the sole beneficiary with exclusive rights to the income that the assets generated. But I could not access the principal. The only person who could do that was Owen. I was fine with it.

There was one more piece of paperwork as well. William said that conservatorships weren't usually appropriate in these kinds of situations, but it might be an option with my medical history. It had fringe benefits, too. My insurance would be covered with some other expenses. That was a huge relief. It wasn't like I could go back on my parent's insurance.

My mom had retired and my dad died when I was in the 8th grade. I was absent for about half of the fall semester. There were problems when I went back to school. My grades were dropping. I was being "disruptive" in class. My childhood bedwetting even came back too. It was all humiliating. My mom said I was lashing out at home. There were other things too, but I don't remember them all.

Way back then a family friend arranged for me to be evaluated by a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with mild autism (level 1), ADHD, anxiety and depression. There were a few other things, but they didn't seem important then. The point was to get extra time on tests and to have my absences excused. I got an IEP and a 504, plus all the medical excuses I needed for absences. I took the meds and went to therapy. I didn't like the SSRIs or the benzos. I felt like an empty shell on the mood stabilizers. But the stimulants really helped.

I didn't tell Owen about any of that until his brother asked about my medical history. I didn't understand why that was relevant to anything Owen's brother was doing. But William asked and I'd gotten over the humiliation by then.

William was going to file some kind of a petition. I had to talk to a psychiatrist that consulted with William on legal stuff. The shrink was old. Really old. She and I met about four times over the following week, for an "independent evaluation" and report for whatever William was doing. The shrink had my medical history and all the records going all the way back to when I was 13, when my dad died.

That shrink was exhaustive. She went through everything in my history. She asked me about everything. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment when she asked me if my bedwetting came back, after I was laid off. Truth be told it had. I didn't share that I was already wearing diapers at the time, because of the kinky shit Owen was into. She wrote new prescriptions for anxiety and depression. I didn't even ask for them. She scheduled follow up appointments for the next six months. I didn't want to read the report she prepared. William gave me a copy and said the odds were in our favor.

The petition was granted about a week later. William tried to tell me what it meant but I didn't really listen, because Owen was planning to move off campus the following semester. His parents bought a condo in Boulder. We both moved in. I was still unemployed. His parents gave us a few thousand dollars per month for expenses. After all, the principal in my "trust" was barely large enough to generate income.

The first check came in July, right after we moved in. It was for a few thousand dollars and I was going to cash it, but when I opened the envelope I noticed that Owen's name was on the account. I thought it was super weird, but whatever. I still asked him about it.

"Don't you remember?" Owen asked. "William filed the guardianship petition last month. I was appointed, so I had to be added to everything."

"What do you mean . . . . appointed. Appointed to what? To manage the trust your brother set up" I was confused.

"No that was already in place, silly." He kissed my forehead. "I was appointed your legal guardian."

"My what?" I knew what a legal guardian was. But I could not imagine how my younger boyfriend who was still in college could be the legal guardian of anyone. Much less myself.

"Yeah. It's like I'm your parent. Or your babysitter. William explained all of this. Remember? Memorial day weekend. We were both there." Owen acted like this was no big deal. "You're going to love what I ordered, too."

"Um . . . . what did you apply for?" I was blindsided.

"The benefits cover medical supplies. So, I got a few that I thought we'd enjoy." Owen laughed. "It will be like I'm babysitting you! "

"I am literally 23 years old. I do not need a babysitter." I argued, emphasizing the "not."

"Yes you do, diaper boy." He grabbed the front of my diaper and squeezed. It was so hot.

I could feel my dick straining in the chastity cage.

Owen bought the chastity cage before I sold my condo. I kept him in it at first and held his key on my key-ring. But he made me give the key back after I agreed to move in with him.

Right after I gave the key back, he pushed the front of his gym shorts to reveal an already-wet diaper. Then, after pushing the front of it down he unlocked the chastity cage I'd kept him in and laid it on the foot of our bed.

Owen walked back into his bedroom leading me by the hand.

"Lay back, kiddo." He instructed, positioning me at the side of our bed. I didn't comply. I was almost stupefied.

"I said lay back, brat!" He pushed me back onto the bed. This was a side of him I hadn't seen before.

Owen pulled my jeans and underwear off.

"Are you going to be a good boy and cooperate?" He took one of his diapers out and held it up. "Or are you going to get a spanking?"

I raised my legs up and rested them back down on top of Owen's shoulders. He slid the diaper under me and positioned the diaper under my butt.

He eased my legs down beside him and I tried to close them.

"Not so fast!" He stopped me. I saw him pick up the chastity cage and grab the key.

"Hey! Wait a second. What . . . . What are you doing?" I tried to protest as Owen put the first part of the chastity cage on me.

"You can still earn yourself a spanking, young man!" He reiterated, laughing.

He locked the chastity cage on me without further resistance. Then, he powdered me and put a glove on his right hand. After he lifted my legs, I felt him slip a Vaseline-covered finger inside my butt. He put one of our butt-plugs inside me. I was looking straight up at the ceiling when I heard the glove come off, and felt the front of the diaper brought up over my lower abdomen. The tapes came next.

I tried to sit up, so I could look down to inspect Owen's damage. All four tapes were expertly secured in place. But Owen wouldn't let me off the bed yet. He just took my shirt off.

Instead of taking his clothes off too, he walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer. That was "my" side of the dresser. I hadn't unpacked any of my clothing yet.

Owen took out a onesie. It was big enough for either of us. But it didn't look like the baby themed onesies he liked. This one was solid gray. It had sleeves and a zipper in the back.

"One foot in each leg." He instructed. Owen used a magnetic key to unlock the button that concealed the zipper running all the way down the back. He unzipped the zipper and held it in front of me.

"Owen . . . come on now." I had never been locked in a onesie before.

He didn't yield.

I stepped into the onesie and he pulled it up. The legs came halfway down my thighs, close to where the boxer-briefs I was wearing before did.

He put his hands on my shoulders and made me turn around.

I felt him zip the onesie up, from my lower back up to my neck. Then I heard the magnetic button covering the zipper lock in place, with the key he'd just used.

"We'll try these for a while, kiddo. You look so cute!" He kissed my forehead and "checked" my diaper. "Still dry!"

"Duh." I replied, sarcastically. "You just put me in all of this."

"Don't make me spank you." Owen cautioned.

Owen made me drink three bottles of water over the rest of that afternoon. He changed me once. But only to remove the butt plug before he drove us to Chipotle for dinner that night. The chastity cage stayed on. But I was wet when we left. I was still wearing the onesie. Thankfully it was covered by my jeans and a t-shirt.

The sex we had that night was the best since I met him. He liked everything better this way too.

That following morning he re-diapered me. I had really wet through the night. But it wasn't humiliating. He praised me for it.

I was his "kiddo" after that night.

Owen kept me diapered 24/7.

The chastity cage almost never came off.

There were more onesies, too.

And medical restraints.

Owen treated me like a 23-year old toddler.

Some of his friends even started to "babysit" me.

I got spanked whenever I didn't cooperate. Which was . . . often. I liked it when Owen did it. Not so much when it was one of the babysitters, though.

We started to get deliveries of medical diapers through insurance. An "incontinence, unspecified" diagnosis was added to my medical records in the weeks to come.