She stopped buying diapers, telling me she wasn’t going to humiliate herself anymore by buying diapers for her 15 year old daughter. So I just stuffed my plastic pants with a towel. In the morning I would hang the wet towel and pants to dry over the head of the bed and at night I would simply re-use them. My room became impregnated by the smell of pee, but I didn’t realize it, until kids at school began saying I smelled like piss.
You will find the preceding chapters of this story in “categories” under “Redemption”, with the different chapters in reversed order. To find the first chapter you just have to scroll down to the bottom.
By the time I was in second grade I had become an extremely shy and lonely girl. Tammy had stopped pretending being my friend and joined the other kids in calling me diaper-girl or pee-baby. On those occasions I would either start crying or kicking and biting. This didn’t make me any more popular.
On week-end nights I continued to sleepover at Tammy’s place, and her mother continued to diaper me. Sometimes little Suzy would quietly slip in the bathroom to make fun of me. Her mother would scold her, but we all knew that that was just for the form. I knew they all considered me to be a weirdo.
Towards half of second grade my grades had gone from bad to worse. Now they began to call me stupid too. And I was so shy that I didn’t dare to ask permission to leave class to go to the bathroom when I had to. I knew that when I asked all the kids would start giggling. And so the inevitably happened: I had a couple of accidents in class in a short time.
My mother was asked to come to the school. When my mother got out of that meeting she gave me a strange look. Full of contempt as usual but there was also a triumphantly aspect to it. She told me I had to change schools as I was too stupid to stay at a normal school. I don’t know what my mother was exactly told but the result was that the next day we went to a school for mentally handicapped children, where I had to undergo a number of tests. I don’t think that my old school had had that in mind. I had been falling behind, was getting more and more withdrawn, and was having wetting accidents, which were all good causes for concern and maybe for looking for a. more adapted school environment. But it just happened that in our city there was this school for really mentally handicapped children that were bused in from all over the region. In stead of looking for a school that would rebuild my confidence and concentrate on recuperating the gap with my peers, so that I could rejoin them as soon as possible, my mother carted me off to this institution for retards. I have often wondered why that school accepted me. I probably did very badly on the tests as my confidence was so low that I always panicked for tests and always did very bad. But even so. I’m quiet sure my mother told them all kind of exaggerations and lies of how I was and behaved so as to get me in. Because she resented me and having me in an institute for retarded children probably gave her some satisfaction, and more importantly, the school was very conveniently situated about 1,5 kilometer from our house.
Although the change had been very abrupt and sharp I adapted very fast to my new school. It felt as a relief after the ordeal of my previous school. My mother probably had told them I was completely incontinent because I now wore diapers to go to school too. But I was not the only one which made a big difference. There was no school uniform but we all had to wear the same “school smock”, a long sleeved blouse that closed with a row of buttons in the front. Pale blue for the boys, pink for the girls. There also was a kind of an informal “dress code”. In winter everybody wore a track suit with pants with an elastic waistband. In summer the track pants were replaced by shorts, or – for the girls- a skirt. But always with an elastic waistband, no buttons or zips allowed.
There were no classes or grades in the school. We were assigned to small groups of 5 or 6 kids each with one “educator”. At the time I did not ask myself by which criteria those groups were constituted. It was clearly not by age as there were kids in my group that were both several years older and younger than me. With hindsight I think we were assigned to a certain group in function of our development stage. But as I remember having two girls in my group that could hardly articulate a simple phrase I’m not sure about that either. But I do remember that contrary to my previous school I soon was recognized as one of the “smarter” kids. That should have boosted my confidence were it not that once outside the school walls I was now officially a retard.
Walking from school to home – I was probably the only child in the whole school who went home unaccompanied – wearing my pink school smock over my skirt and diapers I would often meet former schoolmates who would make fun of me by making uncoordinated movements and strange sounds in a mock imitation of retarded persons. I was especially afraid to meet Tammy and the other kids from the neighborhood, as they always made me lift my skirt to expose my diapers that at the end of the schoolday were soaked. The memories of standing on the sidewalk surrounded by 5 or 6 kids, looking at my shoes holding my skirt high up, and having some of them come up to me to squeeze the plastic pants and soaked diaper, are amongst the worst of my life. Sometimes I would refuse and would kick and scream at them, which made them only laugh even harder as they would scream “retard, retard, retard”. Most of the time I would just stand there and wait for them to leave me alone.
And of course my mother would constantly remind me of my stupidity, retardation and clumsiness: “Where did I deserve to have such a retard as a child?”, “I guess it’s not your fault you are so daft, your father had a couple of mentally deficient cousins”, “Gosh, wet again? Even in that school for retards of you most of the kids don’t piss in their pants”, “Don’t they teach you to eat properly? No, I guess not, that’s why they make you wear smocks.” Most of the time such remarks were followed by some loud, sarcastic laugh.
I stayed 2,5 years at that institution before someone realized I didn’t belong there. When finally my mother was told I couldn’t stay there her solution was to send me back to my old school. I was now 10 years old and should have been in 5th grade. Instead I was put in 3rd, with kids of eight. My grades were never good but I managed to hang on from then on. The wetting problem was also more or less under control but remained a constant worry. After being diapered all the time for more then two years my bladder control hadn’t improved of course. I still had frequent near-accidents, and occasionally a real accident, which of course was the cause for constant nasty teasing. And at night I was still a daily wetter wearing diapers every night.
Around that time my mother invited a distant cousin to stay over for a night, explaining she was a bed wetter too. As my mother had suggested we could become friends I looked forward to it. .The girl turned out to be 6 years old! Nevertheless we bonded for a while. I remember her coming over to our place on a couple of occasions and me staying at her place at least once. I don’t recall how this friendship ended but probably I must have gotten into a fight with her as I always did.
Some time later, I must have been 11, I had a relative dry period, having a lot more dry nights than I was wet. I begged my mother not to have to wear diapers any more, but to no avail. Only when I had been dry for several months in a row did she relent. But less than two weeks later I wet my bed again! To my surprise my mother didn’t get into a rage, but she took me to the shop and bought five pairs of waterproof pants, and a new plastic mattress cover, taking care to ask the salesperson if the diapers would fit me in a loud voice so that all other people in the shop would know the pants were for me.
I still went almost every week-end night to sleep with the neighbors but I now put on my diapers myself and they had found some small attic room where I could sleep alone. “Alone” is the word that describes my whole childhood, I was the loneliest girl on the planet. Most of the time I would be sitting in my room on my own, or when there was no one around, I went downstairs to watch television. I longed to have a TV in my room but my mother would not let me have that. And as I grew up I got taken to long lonely walks. Often staying out for several hours. I hardly spoke to my mother any more but she insisted to take our meals together: “We still are a family, you like it or not” One day I got lost on one of my walks and when I finally got home, hours late for dinner, all hell broke lose. Of course I took a severe beating. I sometimes wonder why I never hit back. By that time, although still a lot smaller than my mother, I was quiet fast. I could easily have defended me but I never did, taking the beatings stoically. The next day she got home with a couple of leather straps and a small lock with which she fastened me to the radiator as she had done when I was a little kid. For a number of months she would fasten me whenever she left the house, and when I didn’t come home immediately after school she would give me a horrible beating. And of course the baby potty, that had remained standing in a corner of the kitchen, came back in use.
When I was 13 I was still in primary school. I was the tallest girl of the school. Never having been small, I towered now more than a head over the tallest boys and girls. Always the loner I began wearing gothic outfits, even to go to school. On my lonely walks I would go to vintage markets and stores and often found the most outlandish outfits for very little money. Little by little I dressed exclusively in black. At first they let me do. But when one day I went to school wearing black nail polish and black eye make-up that was the end. I was told to dress as a “normal” 6th grade girl. I tried to tone down a little but not having other clothes I probably still looked a little weird. My mother was called to the school and as always that was bad news.
When we got home she beat me up again and then had me take out all my black gothic stuff and, handing me a pair of scissors, I had to cut it all in shreds. The problem afterwards was that I didn’t have any clothes that fitted any more. With a shrug I went back to wearing the eternal denim jumper dresses of my childhood –although rather tight and short I managed to get in a couple of them. And a little bit later I discovered I would still fit in one of the pink long sleeved school smocks that I had worn in the special school until I was 10. I wore is as a short dress, turning it around and fastening the row of buttons in the back, and thought it looked cool. When I had been 10 it had fallen just above the knee, now it barely covered half my upper leg. Although as inappropriate as my gothic outfits the school didn’t say anything any more.
When I finally finished primary school I was send to a vocational school. With hindsight another mistake. I know now that my IQ is above average, but my technical insights and manual skills are not very strong. So once again I found myself at the bottom of the class.
By that time I had learned that the best way to survive was to be as discreet as possible. I stopped dressing extravagantly, always wearing ordinary jeans, and shirts and sweaters as non-descript as possible.I.always sat at the back of the class and at home I stayed most of the time in my room. My mother, who was now drunk every night, had stopped pretending we were a family. I would eat whatever I found in the fridge, but I was hardly ever hungry. Sometimes my only food in a whole day would be a couple of apples. I always had been skinny but by that time it had become somewhat extreme. I was not anorexic, but eating just didn’t interest me.
When I would run into my mother in the kitchen most of the time she hardly acknowledged my presence, but when she did it was to criticize my looks. My primary aim always was to avoid provoking my mother. So after she had made remarks a couple of times about my “boring jeans” asking why I never wore a pretty dress, I took care to always change on coming home from school in one of the eternal jumper dresses I had worn a couple of years before. Being skinny I didn’t have any difficulty fitting in it but, being tall, this meant the dress was extremely short, barely covering my panties. But at least it stopped my mother making her sniping remarks.
Around that same time she stopped buying diapers telling me she wasn’t going to humiliate herself anymore by buying diapers for her 15 year old daughter. Buying them myself would have consumed my whole allowance. So I just stuffed my plastic pants with a towel. In the morning I would hang the towel and pants to dry over the head of the bed and at night I would simply re-use them. And when I had a leak, which was quiet often, I didn’t care to change the sheets. I would have short “dry periods” and during those I stopped wearing protection. When the bedwetting started again I would wet my bed without protection for several days before going back to plastic pants. I would get out of my cold wet sheets in the middle of the night and continue to sleep on the floor. My room became impregnated by the smell of pee, but I didn’t realize it, until kids at school began saying I smelled like piss.
On a couple of occasions, when she wasn’t drunk, my mother would have a good day and wanted “to start all over”. I must have longed so much for this to happen that every time again I believed her and would do anything to help her. On one of those occasions she remembered it was her mother’s birthday and she wanted to go and visit her. I hadn’t seen my grandmother for more than a year and was very glad with the prospect to go there. My mother looked at my short, worn out, denim jumper dress and smiling nicely told me we would have to buy me a new dress first. I got all excited as she hadn’t bought me new clothes for several years.
When we got to the department store she took me to the children’s section. I was 15 years old but had not developed as a normal girl my age. I was tall, taller as my mother, but extremely skinny, with match stick legs and arms, and almost no breasts. I hadn’t yet had my first period and mentally too I was closer to a shy 11 year old little girl than to a 15 year old adolescent. When my mother took me to the children’s section I didn’t think that was strange. My mother too got excited taking out a couple of flowery print summer dresses with balloon sleeves and a bow in the waist. She held them in front of me telling me how pretty I was going to look. Between the dresses my mother had taken out I choose a light blue, green and white print with a small round collar. I had immediately realized it was going to fit although it would be very short. But when I tried it on it was even shorter than I had expected. As I liked the little dress I was disappointed as I began taking it off. My mother stopped me: “Don’t you like it? I think you look very smart in it!” It was the first compliment I got from her for as far as I could remember. With tears in my eye I answered I loved it but didn’t she think it was too short? My mother feigned surprise telling me it was perfect, that it was a summer dress after all.
She called the sales person telling her we wanted to buy the dress and I wanted to keep it on right away, so if she could cut out the price label please. The sales person looked hesitantly and wanted to say something but my mother interrupted her: “Don’t you think she looks just lovely?” The salesperson hesitated another second but then confirming I looked good began taking off the information labels and we followed her to the cashier, me feeling rather awkward pulling down the rim of my dress.
The drive to my grandmother was uneventful which was just great. Our spirits high we got out of the car, my mother even taking me by the hand. When my grandmother saw me enter the house it all came tumbling down: “God, what are you wearing? You look like a 5 year old! ”, and turning to her daughter she began scolding her:” Why do you always have to put down the poor girl, treat her like an idiot?” I froze as I saw my mother’s mood change. She gasped for air before she screamed: “Because that’s what she is! I should have kept her in that fucking institution, amongst the other half wits. That’s where she belongs.” She took my hand again and made me turn around, “Come on, lets go home so that you can return to your piss reeking room little precious!’”
On the drive back she bought a bottle of whisky and she was half drunk when we got home. I took off the dress, put on the denim jumper dress, and stayed in my room, crying softly.
On Friday evenings my mother always went for drinks after work. She would come home quiet drunk, often accompanied by some man she had picked up. As I always stayed in my room anyway I avoided all contacts with them. But one day, having gone down to fetch something to drink, I ran into one of them in the kitchen. He was handsome and had a kind smile, so when he presented himself as Dave and asked if I was Katie for once I didn’t run off but shyly nodded yes. He said my mother had passed away on the couch and he wanted to fix himself something to eat. He asked me if I did care for something. Having someone being nice to me was so exceptional that I couldn’t pull myself away. I nodded vaguely and he laughed kindly asking if that was a yes or a no. When I whispered yes he opened the fridge and after a few seconds asked if I would care for scrambled eggs with jam. I thought this was a joke and didn’t know what to answer. He looked me in the eye and he said that he gathered that had been a yes too: “Don’t be afraid, I make a world famous jam omelet. Just sit down and watch!” As I didn’t move he came over, took me with both hands in the waist and sat me down on the table. My eternal too-short jumper dress had been pulled up in the process revealing my panties, so smiling shyly I pulled it down. He acted as if he hadn’t noticed.
When he was ready he served two plates and coming over handed me one of them and then sat down at the table and began eating. His face was 30 cm away form my legs which I pressed hard together, trying to decide if I should come off the table and take a chair, but I didn’t dare to move. He smiled: “Don’t move, you have the nicest legs in the world” I blushed but stayed where I was, stuffing my face with the liquid egg.
In a few minutes I emptied my plate and mumbling some thanks ran off to my room. Having been treated nicely and having been complimented made me all excited .I had trouble finding my sleep and dreamed of handsome Dave. The next morning when I woke I heard some noise in the kitchen. It took me a couple of minutes to realize it was not my mother. Jumping out of bed I ran to the window and saw the strange car sitting on the drive way. Realizing that Dave was still around I hesitated for quiet a while but finally taking my courage in both hands I put my jumper dress on – contrary to my custom I washed up after taking off my plastic pants and even washed my teeth- and went downstairs.
When I entered the kitchen Dave gave me a warm smile: “Hi beauty, had a good night?” I blushed and didn’t answer. “Want some breakfast?” I nodded no. “But you have to, you are way to skinny!” He came over to me and before I knew what he was up to he took me by the waist again and sat me on the table as he had done the night before. Did he do it on purpose, but this time my dress was pushed even higher. “You sure like that dress don’t you?” Surprised by what was happening and by that question I shrugged. ”Well I certainly do. You look lovely in it. And you have the longest legs I have ever seen young lady! Let me fix you some fruit salad, ok?” Feeling all warm inside I nodded and smiled. I noticed I hadn’t pulled down my dress but I didn’t move.
At that moment my mother entered the kitchen. She looked surprised and somewhat irritated:”What’s going? This little shrimp normally hides away as far as possible from any human being!” Dave went up to her and kissed her on her lips: “As you know very well my dear I have my ways with beautiful girls”. She laughed heartily.
Dave became a regular visitor and I developed a huge crush on him. My mother knew this of course but to my surprise she seemed more amused than annoyed by it. But this didn’t stop her from putting me down worse as ever. She would insist on demonstrating how dumb I was and of course revealed that I wet my bed “like a little baby”. He always made light of those remarks and secretly I became convinced he came to our house for me rather than for my mother. I suddenly turned very sociable, loving to sit between him and my mother on the sofa to watch television. I took care that my skirt was always pulled high, revealing my panties, and his hand would often rest on my naked legs.
But then there was a development which puzzled me. One day my mother gave me a couple of new girlie panties telling me to put them on when Dave came, as “he would surely love them”. She had never before bought anything remotely as cute for me, so I was very happy, but at the same time I couldn’t quiet place this gesture. Maybe hard to believe, but I don’t think that at first I was in any way suspicious about her possible motive. That evening I wore the panties but Dave didn’t seem to notice it, until my mother, telling me to lift my skirt, asked Dave if he didn’t think the panties looked cute. I blushed very hard but felt very happy when he said he loved them.
Some weeks later my mother gave me a set of other cute printed panties with an assorted shirt with two small braces. When Dave arrived she told me to take off my jumper-dress and T-shirt so that Dave could admire the cute set I was wearing. Very embarrassed but at the same time feeling very happy I did as told and spent the next two hours wearing only my underwear. When Dave took me on his lap I was in heaven.
But soon heaven would turn to hell. Except for Dave my mother brought home other men. As I always stayed in my room except for when I recognized the sound of Dave’s car, this didn’t bother me. But one day my mother irrupted in my room and told me to come down to greet her friend. This was so unusual that I looked to her and just asked:”Why?” My mother, drunk as always, grew instantly impatient :”Because well educated girls come to greet there parent’s guests. And besides, you’ll like him just as Dave.” Was it because of the reference to Dave, I don’t know, but I became suddenly defiant – which I never ever was – and answered that I would rather stay in my room. A fraction of a second later I felt the first slap in my face, immediately followed by a second:”Who the hell do you think you are speaking to, little stinking piss baby? I’m your mother and you do as I tell you to do”. Pulling me by the arm to my wardrobe she grabbed one of the pretty panties and told me to put it on. As I was executing the order her eye fell on the little dress we had bought some months before to go to my grandmother, and .I was told to put it on. When I was ready she looked me from head to feet and from her smile I deduced she was pleased by what she saw. Before pulling me along she turned to a corner of the room and picked up the doll that she had made me carry around years earlier and trusted it in my hands. “Here, take your dolly, maybe that will make the little baby less afraid to say hello to adult persons.”
She held me by the hand as I followed her downstairs. As she presented me to her friend Clive I looked at my feet and pressed my doll hard against my chest. “This is my daughter Katie of whom I told you. She is a little stupid, but isn’t she pretty?” She pushed me forward and told me to give a kiss to Clive which I did reluctantly. She followed me and pulled up my dress: “She has put on her nicest panties Clive, just for you”. The guy laughed and pulled me towards him, forcing me to sit on his lap. He smelled of alcohol and smoke and I wanted to pull away from him but he held me back. Putting a finger under my chin he pushed my head up, making me look at him: “Don’t be afraid I won’t hurt such a pretty little girl” .He had a fat unshaven face and I remember very clearly I wanted to run away from there, but I didn’t move. Not even when I felt hi hand slip into my panties, and his heavy breath in my ear. “You see, you like that don’t you? “ For the next hour he had his hands and face all over me, until my mother told me it was time for little babies to go to bed, and I had to give “Uncle Clive” another kiss before leaving the two of them giggling together.
A couple of days later my mother came into my room again telling me to put back on my pretty dress as uncle Clive was coming. I pleaded not having to see him again but of course to no avail. Seeing my mother was getting mad by my pleading I quietly nodded in obedience. But from the moment she had left my room I listened carefully and when I heard she had gone to the kitchen I quietly slept down the stairs and out. I went for one of my long walks. When I came home many hours later I didn’t see any car in front. Inside I heard the television but for the rest everything was quiet. My mom probably had fallen asleep in front of the TV. I went to bed without any trouble.
But the next day it was hell again. Slapping me around she got out the leather straps she had used a number of years before and I was again fastened to a radiator but this time in the living room. She then phoned Clive to tell him “little Katie was impatiently waiting for his visit”. When about an hour later he entered the room and saw me sitting on the floor attached with the leash that seemed to please him:”Ah, I see that your mother knows how to take care of naughty girls.” He kneeled next to me “Come give a kiss to Uncle Clive.” Reluctantly I did as asked and he helped me on my feet, and pulled me along to the couch where I had to sit on his lap where his hand glided between my legs. But immediately afterwards he pushed me to the floor and had me sit on my knees facing him: “Well little devil, to make me forgive that yesterday you ran away, I want you to be very nice with me.” Before I realized what was happening he opened his pants and a stiff dick popped out, as he pushed my mouth towards it: “Come on, suck the lollipop baby, you’ll love it!” Horrified I turned my head towards my mother who was looking on from the other side of the room but she didn’t move, and Clive turned my head back towards him. I had no choice but to take the disgusting thing in my mouth and in my memory that first time he came almost immediately, filling my mouth with his filthy juice.
The next couple of weeks that scene became regular, always ending with me being released from the leash after having done what was expected. Most of the time I was attached, even when Dave was there. But I didn’t care about that. My problem was Clive and what he made me do. .I was so disgusted by that that nothing else mattered any more. One day I was sitting on Dave’s lap, my head resting on his shoulder. Thinking that that night Clive would probably come over again I began weeping silently. Probably my tears must have dropped on his neck because suddenly he noticed I was crying and asked what the matter was. I explained and asked if he would please plead with my mother not to invite Clive to the house anymore. At that moment my mother entered the room and under my pleading gaze Dave did what I had asked. My mother seemed surprised and then gave me one of her spiteful looks before turning to Dave: “Oh trying being the Good Samaritan again? Well if you are ready to pay double tariff, then there is no problem! OK?”
Dave began laughing nervously: “Come on baby, you know I can’t afford that!” She smiled maliciously: “So why did you bring up the subject then?” And on that she left us alone again. Still not completely grasping the meaning I looked pleadingly in his face. He hesitated but then taking me of his lap he followed her. I listened to their distant voices for a short while and then heard his car depart. It was only then that I fully understood. That Clive was paying my mother for the services I performed was something I had unconsciously know, but that Dave too was paying was a shock. I didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he was paying to have me sit on his lap, or that he wasn’t willing to pay double to avoid me to have to suck disgusting Clive’s dick.
A while later I heard my mother leaving too and it was then that the idea of escaping suddenly popped up in my mind. My mother kept her “silver cutlery” in a drawer in the living room and the length of my leash let me reach it. Getting out a knife I began cutting the leather. It was harder than expected, but after about half an hour I had cut me free. I immediately ran to the kitchen where my mother kept her savings and took all the money out of the box. I then sped up the stairs and taking my small school backpack I wanted to grab some clothes when I heard my mothers’ car coming up the driveway. I jumped down the stairs and went out the back door when I heard the key turning in the kitchen door.
I ran to the bus stop and was lucky as there was a bus departing at that very moment. When the driver saw me running towards him he stopped an opened the doors. Twenty minutes later I was in the railway station where I took a ticket on the first intercity train leaving.
An hour after I had left my mother’s house the train was leaving the town where I had lived all my life. Swearing never to come back I felt elated, but also worried. Here I was, fifteen years old, dressed in a very short denim jumper dress, and a T-shirt, carrying as only luggage a small empty back pack with 312 $ (I had been positively surprised when I had counted the money 340 $ – minus 28 for my bus and train tickets). I had no idea where I was going to sleep that night but I was finally free.
Next chapter: https://clairodon.wordpress.com/2011/08/04/redemption-3/