Boy turned slowly to girl by mother, and in the process becomes a night-time diaper lover
I was surprised one very hot summer’s day when my 12-year old son, Luke, came to me and complained. He was dressed in a pair of shorts and a sleeve-less t-shirt, but still said it was too hot.
“O.K, I can appreciate that. “ I said. “What would you like to wear instead?” The reply I got, definitely took me by surprise, because it was so..; well, unexpected.
He took a deep breath, and blurted out:”I’d like to try wearing a skirt, to see if that cools me down any.”
Now, it was my turn to take a deep breath, to try to calm down.
“A skirt; you mean like a sarong, or something?” I carefully asked. “Because, if that’s what you mean; I’ve got plenty of those.”
“I did mean a proper skirt, but I guess a sarong will have to do.” he said, but I could see how disappointed he was.
“Right, well in that case; how about you wear one while we go down to the local thrift shop and see if they got one in your size that you like? Would you like that?” I said, not wanting to see my only son, my only child in fact so disappointed.
His face lit up: “Thank you, mum!”
After having given him one of my old sarongs and shown him how to put it on, we got into the car and went shopping. We didn’t find what we were looking for at the thrift shop, but there was a man selling sarongs in a stall outside the supermarket. As it was three for the prize of two, we bought some.
“I like the way the wind takes away the heat from my legs.” he said in a surprised voice, as we carried on with our shopping expedition.
“Yes, it is nice, isn’t it?” I agreed. We walked into a clothes store, and began looking at skirts. We had soon picked out a knee-length denim skirt he liked, but I carried on looking, and had soon found a couple of more skirts, and even a frilly pink, floor-length dress for him. And then it was off to the under-wear section to pick out some panties. I even bought some bathing suits.
By now, he had started to protest quite loudly saying he only wanted one skirt, which he wasn’t sure he’d wear more than maybe once.
But as soon as he had said he much rather wear a skirt in this heat, an idea had started to form in my head. I’m a widow, and we moved here after Luke’s father’s sudden death in late spring, which means he hasn’t had time to make any friends yet. Maybe, just maybe, I could convince everyone I had a daughter? Not that it would make any difference; I just wanted to see if I could. If not; I could always turn him back to being a boy. I planned, however, to make damn sure it worked.
I quickly explained my plan to him and he reluctantly agreed to play along. That sorted, we went on shopping and soon had everything we needed, including a couple of nice night-gowns. When Luke asked why I had bought those, I explained it would be best if he stayed a girl from now on and not change back and forth all the time; that way he would be more convincing.
“Well, all right,” he grudgingly agreed, “as long as I don’t have to wear any make-up!”
“Put make-up on a 12 year-old; are you completely bonkers?” I said, in faked consternation. “But we will have to get you a wig, though, to cover that boyish hairdo.” ‘For the time being, anyway,’ I added in my mind. If things went my way, he wouldn’t need a wig for long.
When we had returned home, I emptied his closet and drawers, and replaced his boy-clothes with the ones we had just bought. I told him I would put them in a locked storage space in the garage, until or if he wanted them back.
Then, I got another idea about what to make him wear at night. I told Luke I had to go back to town, but that I didn’t want him with me this time. Instead I told him to watch the way girls going by our house moved, and also how girls moved on TV, because I didn’t want him to ruin the experiment by walking and moving like a boy.
Then, I set out to put the second part of my newly hatched plan into action.
I went directly to the diaper-section in the store, and bought a couple of packs of thick teen diaper pants.
As I almost had expected, Luke protested wildly, when he saw them.
Him being forced to wear girls’ clothes was maybe acceptable for a while; but wearing diapers? No, way, José! Not even if it was only at night. I had to use all my authority as a parent to make him, and a fair bit of coaxing and bribery; but in the end, he relented.
“I don’t want you to just wear them in bed,” I sternly told him,” I want you to use them as well!”
“Oh, mum!” he whined, but agreed to my demands.