Jennie's Potty-Training chapter 1

Jennie's Potty-training by Baby Jennie

Please note: this story is very loosely adapted from an old tale called 'Potty Training' by Mo, which I read decades ago (probably on Bytemine BBS.) Although I loved the concepts introduced by the original author, I feel he regrettably skipped over some of the most exciting and dramatic parts of the 'victim's' enforced sissification and infantilisation. I have re-written what was a 14-page short story into a novel of over 500 pages, altered to suit my own twisted 'dominated, diapered and petticoated' fantasies.

Warning! This is an extreme adult-baby FANTASY, containing graphic descriptions of teen play, female domination, forced babying and cross-dressing, lesbian/gay interaction, corporal punishment, mild incest, urolagnia, coprophilia, and explicit nappy contents. If those sorts of thing offend, please don't read any further. If any of those things float your boat too, I hope this makes you wet your nappy again and again and again!
Hugs from Baby Jennie in Australia

Chapter 1. The Beginning

I can't believe I am sitting strapped to a potty-chair in the middle of the bathroom! Sitting right next to me is an empty yellow potty-chair belonging to my little sister Angelica, who is just over three years old. I've been perched on my pink potty for at least fifteen or twenty minutes, impatiently waiting for Mummy to return and release me. There is a tight pink leather restraining strap around my waist, so I can't stand up until Mummy unfastens the buckle at the back of the chair, well out of my limited reach. My thick wet terry nappies and pink vinyl panties are bunched in a humiliating pile around my ankles. I should mention that my name is Jeremy, and I am thirteen years old! I don't know how long I will take to be potty-trained this time. Angie - which is what everybody calls Angelica - and I have been 'potty-training' for three days now.

This whole mess started on Friday a little over two weeks ago, when Mum and Dad decided that Angie was old enough to begin potty-training. My sister is a very independent-minded little girl, and she really didn't want to give up the comfort and security of her nappies. After much persuasion and some tears, Mum finally talked Angie into sitting on her new, bright-yellow potty-chair. In minutes she was ready to hop up and play, since she had no clear idea what she was supposed to be doing there. Because she was strapped into her potty-chair she couldn't stand up, so she started loudly crying. With some cajoling and soothing talk, Mum was just starting to quieten my sister down again, patiently trying to explain to Angie that she should 'make tinkles' in her potty.

I had been outside in the back yard playing with my second-best friend, Michael from next door. It was the start of our summer vacation. My best friend Sally is only six months older than me, and lived in the house behind ours with her much younger sister - but their family was away on vacation for two weeks. Sally and I attended the same junior school, and we’d been in the same class ever since first grade. At the beginning of this year we started at different high schools, but we remained best friends. Even though my skinny mate Michael is three years younger than me, he was a good few inches taller, and we've always been close friends, too. We were tossing a ball in the back yard when I belatedly realised my bladder was full. I grabbed the head of my peenie through my cotton shorts and ran for the toilet. Michael started laughing at the tell-tale grip I had on my crotch, and his cobalt-blue eyes sparkled with mischief when he yelled after me; "Run! Don't wet your pants again, Jeremy!"

I urgently scurried inside the house to do a wee. I dashed into the downstairs bathroom to find Mum hovering over a disconsolate Angie, still unhappily bound on her tiny potty-chair. The scene caught me by surprise, and I started giggling uncontrollably as I struggled to pull my dribbling peenie out of my tight shorts and undies. With a start I realised some wee-wee had already started to leak out, and a tell-tale warm wet spot had formed on the front of my khaki shorts. I finally managed to free my trickling tool and with an audible sigh of relief, relaxed my bladder to let my stream splash noisily into the toilet. To distract Mum from the obvious wet spot on my shorts, I called my sister "Potty Princess" and some other silly names. Needless to say that really set Angie to screaming and crying again, and there was nothing our Mum could do to make her stop.

Finally exasperated with both of us, Mum gave up with a loud sigh of despair. She unbuckled Angie from her hated potty-chair while I finished peeing in the toilet. She taped a clean disposable diaper safely back in place around Angie's bum and carried my pouting baby sister out of the bathroom, sending her toddling into the lounge room with a crisp swat on the butt. In a cross voice, she ordered me to wait in the kitchen for her when I had finished washing my hands. Minutes later Mum stormed into the kitchen, her olive-green eyes blazing.

"Well, my little lad! You have really done it this time! I had the devil of a time convincing Angie to try out her new potty-chair! Now you've made it damn-nigh impossible! I'm sure she will never willingly try again. Just wait until your father comes home tonight. You are going to be one sorry little boy, I can promise you that!"

I saw her angry green eyes drop to the front of my khaki shorts and her delicate arched eyebrows rose another notch. "Have you wet your pants again?" she snarled in annoyance, her long blonde ponytail flicking like the tail of a fractious horse. "Really, Jeremy! Sometimes I think you're the one who needs potty-training, not your baby sister!" She pointed her finger in the direction of the hallway and fumed, "Go up to your room right now and change out of those wet pants immediately, and dump your dirty shorts in the laundry hamper downstairs." She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then wagged her finger at me in warning. "And don't you shove your stinky wet underpants under the bed this time," she cautioned me. "Last time I didn't find them for days, and your bedroom reeked of stale urine all week."

I knew I was in big trouble, since I hadn't seen Mum this furious in ages. I wasn't looking forward to Dad coming home, since I was pretty sure I could anticipate the belting of a lifetime. I hadn't been spanked in months, but when it happened, it was really painful. When I changed my damp pants and underwear in my bedroom, I put on my thickest cotton undies and a pair of heavy denim shorts I hoped might protect my bottom. The rest of the afternoon dragged slowly by, with Mum and Angie barely speaking to me. Around six that evening Dad returned home. Before he wandered in to say hello as usual, Mum quickly drew him aside to inform him of my misdeeds. They remained in the kitchen talking in muted voices for ages! On my way to the toilet, I tried to linger within earshot in the hallway. I worried, 'How long does it take to explain what happened?'

When I felt the first hot trickle leaking out of me, I grabbed the end of my peenie through my thick shorts and squeezed the head painfully hard, belatedly cutting off the flow. I realised I couldn't hold it any longer, and sprinted as quietly as I could to the downstairs bathroom, actually whimpering with the need to let go. After I emptied my bladder into the toilet, I flicked my long blonde hair back over my shoulders and carefully checked my pants for pee stains. The wet patch on my thick white undies wasn't too bad, and the damp spot on the front of my blue shorts was miniscule. I felt sure my minor accident would pass unnoticed, and I skulked silently back to the lounge room where I had been watching TV. I was expecting Dad to storm in, snap off the blaring television and start yelling at me, and then drag me over his lap. I was really surprised when he walked into the lounge room rather calmly and quietly instructed me to turn off the TV, announcing, "Jeremy? We need to have a serious talk."

It was obvious he was extremely annoyed, but his grim controlled demeanour frightened me much more than his normal yelling. He started to carefully explain; "You should know how difficult it is to potty-train toddlers, Jeremy. You weren't fully potty-trained till you were six or seven, and even now your mother has her doubts about how successful we were. You remember how difficult life was for you, when you wet your pants in junior school? Your mother and I feel Angie is already passing the right age to start toilet-training. But instead of helping us, you have made this task really difficult; what with your laughing at Angie and mocking her efforts.” He shook his head in despair and I ducked away from his sorrowful stare.

“You've had your fun, and now you are going to help us with her potty-training,” Dad continued. “We feel the best way for you to help is by setting an example! Therefore, beginning tonight - like Angelica - you will start wearing nappies - and using them! The bathroom will be off-limits to you, except for bath times - which your Mother will be giving you, by the way. After two weeks of wearing and using nappies full-time, we will once again try to start potty-training Angie - and you! We hope that when Angie sees you being potty-trained, she will try to copy you and more easily accept it herself. You will be kept in nappies until Angie is fully potty-trained. Understand? You just better hope that your sister is completely toilet-trained before school starts in February."

My mouth gaped open in shock. I couldn't believe my ears! A hard spanking would have been preferable to this. But what could I do? I could end up wearing nappies all summer - or even longer! After a rather subdued dinner, the whole family climbed into Dad's silver Ford and we headed for the nearby shopping centre. We entered a huge store at the far end of the mall called, 'Johnson & Johnson Medical Supplies.'
Mum dragged me along by the hand towards a pretty female clerk standing behind the counter. “Good evening, Madam,” the clerk said, “my name is Melanie. Can I help you with anything?”
"I hope so, Melanie. Do you stock nappies and plastic panties that would fit my teenage son Jeremy here?" Mum asked the smiling buxom woman in a loud clear voice. I wished I could have melted into the floor, I was so embarrassed! I'm sure my cheeks turned bright red as the woman's placid professional smile froze in place.

The sales clerk, an attractive mid-twenties brunette, first eyed me up and down speculatively, and then smiled cheerily at my statuesque blonde mother before she responded. "No problem! We have a variety of nappies and other diaper supplies for incontinent youths. Is your little boy a bed-wetter?" I couldn't believe it. This was going from bad to worse!
"Not recently, although he does have a problem keeping his pants dry, sometimes. No, my little Jeremy here has just 'volunteered' to help us potty-train our diapered youngest Angie, by setting a good example. That's Angie with her father, over by the entrance." The shop assistant's full rosy cheeks stretched tautly as her smile widened, her dark eyes flashing merrily.

"Oh! I see. Would you prefer your little Jeremy dressed in cloth nappies or disposable diapers?" Melanie inquired.
Mum considered the choice for less than a second before replying firmly, "Cloth nappies!" We were led to the aisle where the cloth nappies were stacked, most in big bundles of twelve wrapped in clear plastic. After an experienced calculating glance at my hips, the clerk picked up two large packages with a dozen contoured white terry towelling nappies in each, along with some packets of large stainless-steel safety pins. Mum took the chosen pins from her hand and frowned, shaking her head as she rejected them. Unseen by me, she swapped them for some packets of extra-large, 'baby-proof, safety-lock,' pink-headed nappy pins!

The saleswoman smiled broadly at my mother's choice and nodded in sudden understanding. She loudly suggested; "Your big baby should try on his new nappies at once, just to make sure they fit." Mum firmly agreed, much to my dismay.
"No way!" I objected indignantly. Then Dad marched over carrying Angie in his arms, and gave me 'the look.' I knew I was dead meat if I protested any further. I reluctantly followed Mum and the grinning clerk into a rear 'changing-room' while Dad remained outside with my sister.

The spacious change room was unlike any I remembered from other clothing stores. Instead of a seat to sit on, there was a high wooden bench supporting a thin brown, vinyl-covered mattress. The bemused clerk crisply ordered me to take off all my clothes and hop up onto the baby change table!

I looked up at Mum with pleading eyes, but found no sympathy in her cool dispassionate gaze. Slowly I stripped off my t-shirt and ratty old sandshoes, my cheeks flushing warmly. I pulled down my heavy denim shorts and removed my socks, leaving me standing in only my pee-stained, thick white underpants. Again I hoped for a reprieve from Mum, but she was waiting impatiently for me to finish undressing, her frown deepening when she spied the fresh damp spots on the front of my old white underpants. Slowly and unwillingly I removed my undies, and then Mum snatched the garment from my hands.

She disdainfully pointed out to the saleswoman the shameful still-wet yellow spots, in addition to the many overlapping old pee stains. The attractive brunette shop assistant snorted in disgust and agreed, "Clearly, nappies are the correct choice for a hopeless pants-wetter like him." To me she snapped, “Up you hop!” Naked and acutely embarrassed, I jumped up onto the vinyl-covered mattress and defensively covered my crotch with my cupped hands. The bench was fairly high but I clambered up pretty easily, and sat there watching the women suspiciously. The clerk instructed me to lie down on my back, which I did.

The smirking saleslady opened one of the packages of terrycloth nappies and turned to Mum. "I will be glad to show you how we recommend diapering bigger children. I’m sure you're used to doing it for babies and toddlers, but older wetters require some special techniques." She held up one of the thick, white, hourglass-shaped nappies to display to my mother. "These are the best, cheapest, plain cotton contoured nappies we stock for older wetters. They are made from two layers of fluffy, double-sided terry towelling sewn together, and are very absorbent. How many nappies do you want to use at a time?"
"It's important that our Angie can readily see that our Jeremy is actually wearing nappies, so they should be very thick! How about two nappies to start with?" Mum suggested. The clerk selected two of the huge cloth nappies and proceeded to arrange them together. She sang to me to lift my botty high in the air, and then slid the bunched nappies together under my elevated rear.

The smirking brunette shot me an odd questioning look, and then turned to my mother again. "Will little Jeremy be making poopies in his nappies, too?" Melanie asked. Her toothy mile seemed shark-like.
"Since he will be wearing them all the time, I would say most definitely!" Mum tartly responded. My mouth fell open in horror at this unexpected revelation.
"In that case, I have a great product for you." The grinning saleswoman left the changing room leaving me lying beside my mother, naked and shame-faced on top of the soft pile of fluffy nappies. They felt at least two inches thick under my trembling bottom.

I hadn't even thought of messing in the nappies! My blushes intensified when I realised this added a whole new humiliating dimension to my already-embarrassing predicament. Mum stood by gripping my shoulder tightly and smiling resolutely down at me, as if to remind me that she was in complete control.

The sales clerk returned in a few moments with a plastic package she held out for Mum's inspection, saying, "These are flushable, disposable nappy-liners. They will prevent most of your child's messy faeces from coming in contact with the cloth nappies, but still let baby's urine pass through. In addition to being safe to flush down the toilet, they also have a moisture barrier, so they help prevent nappy rash. We wouldn't want your little Jeremy here to suffer from a nasty diaper rash, would we?" She grinned down maliciously at my obvious writhing discomfort. "When your big baby messes in his nappies, not only will cleaning him up be simpler, but washing his soiled nappies will be easier, too."

"That sounds wonderful! We'll take a package of the disposable liners as well," Mum insisted, nodding eagerly in agreement. The smug self-satisfied clerk then slit open the plastic package and pulled out some of the disposable blue fabric liners. She instructed me to lift my botty again, and she positioned two rectangular liners in the centre on top of the pile of nappies. With the cloth nappies and liners in place, she reached for a bottle of baby oil and smoothed it all over my hairless crotch and bottom. This was followed by a generous amount of talcum powder sprinkled liberally about, including on my bottom, stomach, groin and thighs. When she rubbed it in, all of a sudden I really smelled like a baby!

The front flap was then pulled up snugly between my legs, and the saleslady showed my Mum how to pull the bottom edges right up into the crease of my groin. She pinned one side closed with one pink-capped pin, then drew the other rear flap over my tummy as far around as possible. Once again she demonstrated how she pushed the crotch of the bulky nappy right into the junction of my legs, and then she pinned the second flap tightly in place with two of the big pink pins. She then unfastened the pin in the first flap, and drew that side even tighter as well. She pinned the first flap around my waist with two pink pins as well, explaining; "These large cloth diapers have to be double-pinned extra-tight on bigger babies like your Jeremy, otherwise they might loosen and slip down when your bigger wetter saturates his nappy." With two of the fluffy cloth nappies pinned snugly around my hips, I couldn't believe how thick the crotch section felt bunched between my thighs.

"There, all diapered! See how easy it is?" My mother nodded in understanding, smiling thinly in contempt at the infantile picture I presented. She then tugged on the front of my snug nappy, to check for herself how tightly it was pinned. Melanie cooed, "Now you wait here, Jeremy, and your Mummy and I will find you some lovely wetproof baby panties to wear over your new nappies." Chatting brightly to each other like old friends, Mum and Melanie left the changing room, leaving me alone on the padded table in a state of shock. Here I was lying on a baby changing table pinned into some thick cloth nappies, knowing that this was only the beginning! A few minutes later the women returned, both clutching a handful of waterproof panties, all in feminine colours and styles, it seemed to me.

For one awful moment, I wondered if Mum knew I had been secretly trying on her sexy nylon panties and silky slips over the past six months. There was also that terrible occasion a month or so ago, when my buxom older teen cousin caught me trying on her recently-discarded cheerleader panties. But I knew Bonnie hadn't seen Mum since then to tell her what I'd done, so I felt pretty sure my secret was safe. And the few discrete occasions I'd dressed up in a tutu at my girlfriend-next-door Sally's house with her and her kid sister, were all in plain fun. That was ages ago, anyway. Although over the past months, I’d regularly been borrowing Mum's silkiest, recently-worn panties from the laundry hamper, to secretly wear in bed at night under my pyjamas. I loved the way the smooth material caressed my hard sensitive peenie when I pulled the silky knickers high over my hips.

Mum's smallest panties were way too large on me of course - although some of the stretchy satin ones felt quite snug around my little bottom cheeks. At least they didn’t fall down when I modelled them in front of the mirror. Her heavy nylon half-slips fell almost to the floor from my narrow shoulders, like gorgeous, full-length, satin evening dresses. I dressed in Mum’s underwear at bedtime a few nights per week, whenever I thought I could get away with it. I would occasionally turn on my tummy and rub my panty-clad stiffie against the mattress. The thrilling sensations of the slick nylon panties rubbing against my stiff little peenie were amazing! I would lie there quietly grunting and thrusting my groin against my mattress for what must have been hours. When I awoke in the morning, sometimes there were sticky wet spots in the front of my borrowed knickers. I always stuffed the balled-up stained panties in the bottom of the laundry hamper the next morning, and I felt certain Mum hadn't noticed - at least that is, until I saw the pile of frilly baby panties she carried in her hands.

"Let's try these lovely pull-up plastic panties on you first, little one," suggested the broadly smiling clerk, exactly as though she was talking to a shy toddler. Melanie instructed me to lift my ankles and point my toes, as she fed my feet through the leg holes of some stiff transparent pink vinyl panties decorated with cartoon farm animals. My mind went blank, and I numbly followed the instructions she crooned to me in saccharine baby tones. The saleswoman slid the noisily crackling pilchers up my legs and when I raised my bottom, she stretched the tight elastic waistband around the bulk of my new swaddling. The baby pants fitted over the nappies well enough, but the wide white, elasticised leg bands with the lace-trim felt too tight around my upper thighs, and I tentatively dared to complain.
“They’re too tight!”
The pushy clerk presumptively interrupted my whining to insist; "But that's excellent! That means these baby panties are less likely to leak! And being transparent, your Mummy can easily see when her big baby's nappy is wet and needs changing."

To my dismay, my mother nodded and heartily agreed with each observation with mounting enthusiasm. I was ordered to hop off the table so they could check how well they fitted me while standing. Mum and the clerk prodded and poked my bulging nappies through the tight panties, and pulled at the frilly elastic leg and waist bands experimentally, tugging me this way and that like a rag doll. After commenting at length on the style and coverage of the snug-fitting baby panties, finally they both agreed they were "a perfect fit!" I was then forced to try on about a dozen different styles of vinyl or plastic, snap-on and pull-up baby panties. In my humble opinion, most of them looked extremely feminine in both colour and design, but Mum seemed to decide to keep most of the pull-up panties. Some of the frillier, nylon-covered plastic panties even had matching bibs, which she declared; "My new baby definitely must have!" So they too were added to the huge packages of nappies in the trolley, along with the nappy liners and the bundles of my new wet-proof 'underwear.'

Mindful of a good sales opportunity, the helpful smiling saleswoman then suggested; "It would be handy to have a package of suitable disposable diapers too, for your new big baby. They are much more convenient when you are away from home for longer periods of time, if your bigger baby needs a quick diaper change." Mum realised her advice made sense, and the willing clerk fetched a large plastic package of disposable diapers she assured Mum were in my correct size. I noticed the pastel-pink package was clearly labelled 'Extra-extra-large, junior size 6, girl's super-thick night-time variety.'

Mum briskly ordered me to put back on the first pair of pink vinyl panties I'd tried on, and she handed them to me. As soon as she helped me tug the stiff crackling panties' tight elastic waistband up over my bulky nappy, Mum grabbed my hand and hauled me out towards the main shopping area. I was wearing nothing but nappies and frilly pink plastic panties! I ineffectually tried to wrench my hand away, protesting that I couldn't leave the changing rooms dressed like this.

"Please don't make me go out there wearing only these nappies and baby pants!" I begged my stony-faced mother as I writhed in embarrassment.
"You might as well get used to being seen in your nappies and plastic panties, Jeremy! You'll be wearing nappies for quite a while, I suspect. And lots of people will be seeing you in them! Don't make any more problems for me, little one - or you will be even more sorry!" Mum threatened darkly.

I frankly didn't know how I could be sorrier than I already was. My bottom lip began to droop as I realised I had no choice but to obey her, and I resentfully followed my cranky mother. As I started to walk - or maybe I should say waddle along behind her, the crinkling and crackling of the new stiff plastic panties seemed to announce my entrance like a deafening fanfare - or at least it sounded that way to my sensitive ears. When we emerged from the changing rooms, Dad and Angie were standing nearby and spotted us immediately. Dad couldn't help but smile broadly at my humble downcast appearance, but what really hurt was when Angie joyfully asked; "Is Jeremy going to start wearing nappies like me now?" Dad smiled tightly and nodded, and when he told my sister that I was going to be a baby just like her for some time, I wanted to weep - just like the sissy baby I was being turned into!

In addition to the nappies and baby panties, the overly-helpful clerk then suggested that the store also sold onesies and footed baby sleepers that would probably fit a child my size. Mum gripped my hand tightly as we walked behind the woman over to the 'alternative clothing' section of the store. The clerk then opened a box containing a white stretchy terrycloth onesie, and informed Mum. "This style and size should probably fit him, although it is a size six to eight! Didn't I hear you mention little Jeremy here is in his teens?"

Mum's polite smile turned sardonic and her tone frosty when she replied; "Yes Melanie, I'm afraid he is. He turned thirteen two months ago! But he's very small for his age, and often acts like a six-year-old, too - or even younger!" I was scowling fiercely by the time Mum released my hand to examine the short-sleeved onesie. It was basically white, but had a babyish print of pink teddies dancing across the breast. After stretching it out across my slender chest experimentally, she asked the clerk if it was okay for me to try it on here. When the pretty brunette smiled and nodded enthusiastically, my mother instructed me to raise my hands and she threaded the juvenile garment over my arms and bowed head. She tugged it down over my bulky nappy, and stretched the tail hanging over my padded bum to check the size.

"Spread your legs a little more, Jeremy," Mum ordered curtly. My mother then knelt in front of me and reaching between my legs, pulled the dangling crotch pieces together and clipped closed the five chromed snap fasteners under my groin. It felt strange to have Mum pulling the flaps of the onesie firmly together under my heavily padded crotch, and snapping it closed while pushing up hard against my genitals, even protected as they were by the soft thick nappies. She stood up and admired my new 'underwear,' pulling it higher at the shoulders till the crotch band tugged my snug nappy even tighter against my groin. Behind me she stretched the onesie's sides down over my bulging rear until my pink plastic panties were completely enclosed, the stretchy material drawn taut across my huge bottom and clearly outlining the thick nappy pinned beneath.

Mum ran her fingers along the frilly bands of white lace peeping out attractively all the way around each leg hole. "This one fits just fine!” she crowed. “I would like six more, in a variety of colours and patterns, if they're available?" Naturally they were. I huddled morosely next to my father and sister, studiously ignoring Mum as she chose the colours and patterns she liked best. Mindful of her preference in baby panties and nappy pins, the clerk only showed my mother the most feminine pastel colours and prints to choose from. When the sales clerk helpfully pointed to the bargain box of winter pyjamas on sale, Mum loudly declared, "Since it's mid-summer, my new baby can sleep in just a onesie. We don't need footed sleepers for him - not yet." I felt relieved she wasn't buying any of the babyish footed sleepers the store also stocked. Mum held up the plastic bag containing my normal clothes, and asked the assistant if they sold any outer wear, as the denim shorts I'd worn into the store would no longer fit over my bulky nappies.

Unfortunately this store didn't sell ordinary clothes, but while I was tying one of the broken laces on my sandshoes, the grinning sales clerk assured my Mum, "As a matter of fact, the department store at the other end of the mall stocks some rather suitable clothing for pre-teen wetters like your little Jeremy." She turned her back to me and whispered instructions to my sniggering mother, who laughed loudly at one suggestion.
“Thank you, Melanie. You’ve been a great help,” Mum assured the smiling woman, who waved away her thanks before walking off.

Dad paid for all my new stuff, and after Mum removed a couple of items and placed them in a smaller pink plastic bag she kept with her, he wheeled the loaded trolley out to the car - along with the bag containing my original clothes. When he returned empty-handed about five minutes later, we all walked over to the department store at the other end of the crowded mall. I was dragged along by one hand wearing only my baby pants and thick nappies, the infantile white onesie and my tatty old sandshoes. I let my head hang down so that my long blonde hair fell forward, trying to hide my blushing red cheeks. I can only imagine what people thought when they saw me waddle by, my Mum dragging me along by the hand like a shy toddler.

Mum insisted we stroll over to the girl's clothing department first, and she handed the small pink plastic bag she was holding to Dad with a sly smirk. I had no idea why she wanted to go to the girl's section - until we reached a rack full of little girls' cotton drill shortalls. They looked exactly the same as cut-down shortie bibbed overalls for toddlers, only bigger. Mum sorted through the sizes and colours on the long rack, and finally pulled out a pair of pink shortalls obviously designed for a chubbier girl. She held them up in front of me. "I think these will do," she stated firmly. "Let's try them on you, honey." From her tone, I knew it wasn't a suggestion.

I couldn't decide whether it would be better to remain clad only in a revealing infantile onesie, or let Mum dress me in an effeminate pair of pink shortalls - which at least might conceal my humiliating nappies. In my dazed confusion, I didn't offer much resistance when she sharply ordered me to try them on, holding the open pink overalls down in front of me in blunt invitation. I instinctively grabbed Mum's shoulders for support as I unsteadily stepped into the gaping leg holes, the thick wad of cloth bunched between my upper thighs making every movement clumsy. She then pulled them up my little legs, and with difficulty tugged the shirred elastic waistband over my big diapered bottom, almost lifting me off my feet in the process.

Mum decided the fit was too tight, so she selected another pair of pink shortalls in the next larger size, announcing loudly; "Try these bigger ones, Jeremy. We have to make sure there is plenty of room for your thick nappies, sweetheart!" My cheeks suffused with blood and turned pink with embarrassment, and my eyes darted about to see if any of the customers or staff wandering about had heard my mother's humiliating admonishment. Several women and girls were looking our way but my mother seemed undeterred. She undressed me and then helped me into the larger outfit. She was apparently satisfied with the roomier fit around my bulky hips and protruding bottom. The dangling pink shoulder straps at the rear were brought over my narrow shoulders and then connected to the high bib front, and she adjusted them for a snugger fit at the crotch. When I tried to assist her, Mum simply batted my hands away and did it herself. I was made to feel more and more like a useless toddler with each passing moment, especially when she man-handled me like an incompetent pre-schooler. "I can pick up some snap fasteners at the fabric store tonight, and sew them in the crotch for you," she commented, with a tight smile that never reached her cool, olive-green eyes. "It will make for easier nappy changes later. Then your pretty pink shortalls will be just like a real baby's!"

While inspecting my cringing form, Mum noted with a snort of annoyance that I was still wearing my shabby old sneakers. "Those old things will never do!" she exclaimed with a dismissive wave of her hand. She dragged me over to the nearby girls' shoe section, where she picked out some pink sneakers for me to try on. When the young female assistant explained I wouldn't be allowed to try on any shoes unless I was wearing socks or stockings, Mummy strode over to the girls' sock display and opened a new packet of white cotton socks for me. She made me sit in a chair on my big padded bottom and then knelt in front of me, tugging the almost-sheer socks over my obediently-pointed toes. When she turned the sock tops down, I saw there were two elaborate rows of wide pink lace frills flaring out around my ankles. Mum had dressed me in little girl's frilly anklet socks!

After the pretty smiling assistant took Mum's place, she couldn't stop stealing glances at my huge padded crotch.Although the question was clearly written in her wide blue eyes, she didn't say a word about my babyish outfit while she tied the lolly-pink laces on the new sandshoes for me. When she grinned and stood up and stepped out of the way, I was finally allowed to stand and view my appearance in a nearby full-length mirror. I could hardly believe what had happened to me in less than half an hour! As Mum selected a few more pairs of frilly socks for me from the rack, she told me, "I want you to wear your new socks and pink sneakers home, too, baby. They really complete your 'new look'!"

In the mirror I caught sight of Dad returning with my sister. My eyes widened when I saw Angie was also dressed in a new outfit. She too, wore a new pair of pink cotton drill shortalls over her white terry onesie, and she was wearing her usual pink sneakers with pink-frilled white anklet socks. With a start I realised Angie and I were dressed like twin sisters! Smiling down at me with ill-concealed contempt, Dad grimly informed me, "I don't know if I mentioned it before, but you and Angie will be dressed alike from now on. We thought that your sister would be more anxious to copy you and follow your example on the potty, if you two looked more alike."

Needless to say Angie was thrilled when she saw her big brother dressed in exactly the same fashion as herself, right down to the bulging nappies. She already adored buying new clothes - girls seem to love shopping for clothes even at an early age - and was proud as Punch to be dressed just like her big brother. She didn't understand that it was really the other way around; I was dressed just like her!

Mum suggested to Dad, "Brett, why don't you take our 'girls' to the ice-cream store, while I finish my shopping." She smiled down superiorly at me, a knowing glint in her cool, olive-green eyes. "It's going to be so much fun buying pretty new clothes for my new baby girl, now that I know her proper girl's size!" Dad took Angie and me firmly by the hand and walked us over to the ice-cream parlour in the centre of the mall. I tried to stay close to Dad and ducked my head in embarrassment, but kept a wary eye out in case any of my friends might be wandering about.

"Aren't your toddler girls adorable!" some confused old woman gushed at Dad while we were walking along hand-in-hand. I knew I looked like an oversized toddler, but it didn't occur to me that strangers would think I was a girl toddler! Though it should have been obvious, because here I was, wearing pink shoes and pink shortalls, frilly socks, and I had shoulder-length blonde hair. Dad politely thanked the elderly woman for the compliment without correcting her mistake, much to my initial puzzlement.

I started growing my hair again about a year ago, when the girl-next-door's mum told me it would look really pretty if I grew it longer. My dad used to make me cut it real short, almost like a crew-cut, telling me he was sick and tired of me being mistaken for a girl all the time. But last year I timidly stood up for myself, and told Mum I didn't want to look like a concentration-camp victim any more. I wanted to grow my hair longer, like most of the other kids. She convinced Dad to let me have my own way, and except for having the ends trimmed a couple of times - at Mum's firm insistence - my hair had grown untouched for most of the year.

When we arrived at the ice-cream store, Dad bought us all small vanilla cones and led us to a booth to sit down. Before I could start on my ice-cream, he emptied the small pink plastic bag on the table, and two plastic-backed cotton bibs fell out. Dad clipped one of the childish bibs around my neck so I wouldn't mess my new clothes, and I started to frown and sulk - till I realised at least Angie had to wear a bib, too. The only bearable thing about this whole evening was that I hadn't yet been spotted by any of my friends, either at the department store or in the ice-cream parlour. I knew it was only a matter of time. I dreaded the excruciating moment of discovery. I tried to forget about my embarrassing predicament and gobbled my yummy ice-cream with relish.

We later met Mum at the entrance to the department store, where she was waiting with a couple of huge, suspiciously-full shopping bags at her feet. When she grinned at my appearance and flicked up the ice-cream-stained bib covering my chest, I blanched when I realised I had unwittingly worn the humiliating baby item during our entire stroll back through the mall. I ineffectually plucked at my dirty bib and glanced distractedly at her overflowing bags of shopping, and could only fearfully imagine what the bulging plastic bags contained. Mum told me to leave my bib alone while we all walked slowly to the car, and thankfully Dad then drove us home. Angie was still excited about our new matching clothes, and twittered on about "how cool" it was for us to be dressed alike. She chattered endlessly about it all the way home. I wished I could share her enthusiasm.

Since it was already after eight in the evening and past Angie's bedtime, I was told it was also time for me to be 'put down for the night' too. After brushing my teeth, Mum helped me take off my bib, my new pink shortalls, shoes and socks, and then ordered me to climb straight into bed. Before she pulled the covers over me, Mum reached under my onesie and inside one of the tight leg holes of my crackling pink plastic panties, and she fingered the crotch of my bulky cloth nappies. I gazed up at her in astonished confusion when she cooed, "Still dry, my baby?" She smiled in wicked anticipation. "I'll bring you some milk after I put Angie down."

A few minutes later Mum returned with a sippy-cup full of warm milk, and instructed me to drink it all down. After I drained it, she took the plastic toddler cup from my trembling hands and turned out the light, and whispered; "Sweet dreams, Baby Jeremy." It took me forever to fall asleep. I twisted and turned from side to side, unaccustomed to wearing the humiliating bulky nappies and the noisy crackling plastic panties. The thick padding between my legs prevented me from lying comfortably on my side as I usually did. My thighs were forced so wide, they were really uncomfortable. I rolled on my back, my little legs flopping uncontrollably apart, the covers tenting over my hugely padded loins. I lay awake for some time, scared of what the morrow might bring.

to be continued in chapter 2.
If you want to read more, leave a comment and let me know.

Baby Jennie



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