I was ten, nearly eleven and discovering, as most boys do... girls! While girls were still a mystery I felt fortunate to have what I thought was the inside track by way of some of my uncle's girlie magazines. There were stacks of them in the basement organized by years so the basement soon became my most favorite place. Actually, my most favorite place was a small window set into the basement wall, just above ground level near an old coal bin, because it gave me both privacy and light. For those needing a lot of detail suffice to say I found great pleasure "often" by that window.

I was there for the Summer, this being soon after arriving, and had hardly made a dent in what was still unread. Unfortunately and as often happens those desires slowly took hold blinding me to the risk and, of course, caution suffered. As also can sometimes happen there is a moment, however brief, when all of your senses (the six we have, including common) are no longer focused on the outside world and that was the moment my aunt arrived. What I remember of those first few minutes, when my senses did return, was fear growing into terror as my aunt stood there working her mouth as a fish might (opening and closing with no sound).

My aunt was a formidable woman doing most things around their farm as effortlessly as my uncle and a hired hand named Bill might, which put me about four inches higher on a very rapid trip up into the kitchen. Went past the kitchen, up the steps to the second floor and straight onto what I fully expected to be the worse spanking I could imagine, and having been spanked by my aunt that was very scary indeed. Only we went past the second floor and up a narrow set of steps to the attic. I still had a great deal of fear and a whole lot of regret but curiosity was creeping in.

The only words to come out of her was right at the top of those attic steps as she opened the door when she said: "If you can't get at it, you can't do that anymore!" I had no idea what that meant and stood terrified after she released me and began fishing for boxes and you have to know my aunt to know how scared I was. She found what she was looking for and, instead of rummaging, as one might, she just dumped the contents on the floor in front of her.

What fell into view made that statement clear and what I was looking at were baby clothes. Baby clothes as in diapers, folded plastic pants and a good many of the accessories that comes with having babies around the house. I would later discover they once belonged to an invalid girl who my aunt had taken in with her mother. Can't give more details than that because it was a very brief and very angry conversation with my uncle, over why I was in those diapers and plastic pants, not too long after my aunt dumped that box.

I jumped ahead a bit only for the context, but I knew in an instant what she planned and ironically not getting spanked made what she was planning definitely the lessor of two evils. I was literally stripped of my clothes cooperating as much as I could only because I still feared that very large hand and her anger. Within too short a time I was laying on top of a folded diaper she took only seconds to prepare and did so quietly while she searched for the diaper pins.

What amazes me even today and why I'm confessing this was an odd mix of embarrassment, terror still, humiliation obviously and suddenly a modest amount of excitement. Can't explain that part yet but on that floor watching the dust in the light and my aunt kneeling over me left me very conscious of both the diaper and being diapered.

This wasn't a loving act and nothing was said as she worked, but even in her haste she sprinkled me from an old tin of Johnson's Baby Powder. I was pinned within that cotton by two white tipped diaper pins and remember the oddness of it growing lose as I lifted my legs for those baby pants. They were plastic and noisy even as she unfolded them, more so when she eased them over my feet. I'll add guilt as an emotion to the rest, because what was feeding my senses was now fueling my excitement.

I stood, at my aunt's command and when the baby pants reached my thighs, remaining quiet and cooperative till they covered the diaper. A kind of tee-shirt followed and definitely a girl's (tiny buttons and pink) that fell at least two inches short of my waist showing clearly what I was wearing. When that was on I was pressed to help her pick up what she had dumped out and carried my share of those things back down the stairs. I went back for my clothes after I was told to leave what I had on the dining room table.

That, she said, was my outfit for the remainder of my stay and my penance for what I'd done. I honestly wanted to cry for no other reason than to satisfy her sense of justice (and what I hoped was any risk of a spanking) but couldn't. I couldn't cry and worse nearly smiled in spite of the fear I still had and the obvious shame over what I was wearing. Fortunately whatever was on my face was good enough when she hollered for my uncle.

He laughed but it was short lived when my aunt told him what had happened. I'm not sure how fearful of my aunt my uncle was but he agreed readily to burning those magazines of his and never once protested the punishment she'd had outlined. That punishment, simply put, was for me to remain in those diapers and plastic pants for the remainder of my stay and the only good news, in those seconds was her telling me if I had to go potty, I could - normally. Normal being relative given the circumstances and my outfit.

Was put on the bus for home six weeks later and until that day I left I wore those diapers and plastic pants and at least a half dozen tee shirts like that first. I was changed in the morning, just before dinner, at supper time and before bed after my bath. Never actually needed to be changed but I think it was meant as part of the punishment. And in keeping with this confession, it ceased to be punishment very soon after that first diaper she pinned me into.