When we were much younger Riley and I had always had a bit of a rocky relationship.  Perhaps it was because I was always a bit jealous of how much more attention he got from our parents.  Looking back, it was probably because he was just better behaved than I ever was, as evidenced by the story I'm about to tell.  

First things first - my name is Paulie.  Our family has a rich heritage of baking as far back as we can trace.  Some might say that it would be strange for wolves to bake, but I could tell you firsthand that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.  For one, despite being a muscled fur, my dad was the stay-at-home parent while my mom took care of the actual day-to-days of our family bakery.  Grampa and grandma still worked in the bakery but my father had never quite gotten the hang of the family business.  I suppose it's only natural since he married into it.  He doesn't like to talk about what he used to do before he met mom but when we ask, he usually goes into the gross couple talk as if they were still dating.  Gross!

My brother was born when I was in kindergarten.  Apparently he was very sick when he was born so I didn't see my parents for long periods of time because he always needed to go to specialist doctors for something or other.  I still don't know the details to this day and it seemed to not matter since he grew up to be a perfectly normal wolf like me.  Well...except for a random issue or two growing up, but we'll get into that shortly.

The main reason I mention my brother's sickness is because it sets up all of...this...  For one, my parents were spending a lot of time taking care of my baby brother.  I got pretty jealous of this attention.  I remember fixating on some pretty strange things as a result.  I'd never been much of a crier, but I'd begun crying at minor scrapes, playing them up as if I needed a trip to the ER.  When my brother was old enough to move, I tried playing all sorts of games with him but was discouraged often with the common line of "that's for babies, not you, Paulie."  I threw more than a few tantrums to try to get the same amount of attention that Riley got from just stacking a handful of blocks or walking a few feet without falling down.  I never blamed Riley for any of it, but I think I took it out on him unfairly at times.  

A major shift occurred in our relationship when we were forced to share a room in addition to a bed.  Apparently the medical costs of having Riley had severely strained our savings and they couldn't afford a second bed especially when we both fit on one.  One night in particular forever shaped my future with my brother so I'll go a little more in detail over it.  

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Riley was four-years-old.  He'd recently graduated from training pants into briefs and from his crib into my bed.  We slept cuddled up to each other.  This led to a bit of a dilemma one morning when our parents woke us up.  The bed was completely soaked, including both pairs of our underwear.  Riley swore up and down as only a toddler could, vehemently denying that he'd done it and that he didn't want to go back into diapers.  I just shrugged my shoulders, a little miffed that my baby brother was using what few words he knew to throw me under the bus.  Our parents shared a look, seeming at odds with what to do, but somehow they both seemed to have the same idea at the same time.

My mother carried my brother off and made a gesture to my father.  Riley, thinking the worst, burst out into tears.  Meanwhile, my dad just tussled my hair and asked me a question that excited me in ways that I didn't understand at the time.  "Paulie, will you wear a diaper to make your little brother feel better?"

I didn't respond right away.  I was shocked.  After all, I obviously hadn't done it.  My brother was the culprit.  But that wasn't what my dad thought either, or so his words indicated.  Perhaps he did think that I had and simply wanted me to agree.  In any case, it worked.  I said okay bashfully.  Then he did something he hadn't done in a long time.  He flashed a proud smile and picked me up in his arms.

It was a strange feeling.  Exhilarating?  Perhaps.   It was something that I didn't know I wanted at the time.  After all, everything I tell you is now filtered through the mind of someone who has the benefit of maturity and retrospective.  As he carried me off to bathe me, I was blushing a hot red beneath my gray fur.  

I felt like I had before.  Before Riley.  Here my dad was, giving me all his attention, stripping my soaked briefs from me and hand-bathing me in the tub, even playing with the squeaky toys that only ever seemed to come out when Riley was being bathed.  As he lathered the soap into my fur and tickled me periodically, I felt like I was loved again.

The feeling of littleness didn't disappear when I stepped out of the soapy and toy-filled bath to be dried off.  In fact, it only intensified as he cradled me in his arms to carry me to a destination that I should've dreaded.  As he laid me onto the changing table, I didn't have any reservations or last minute take-backs.  I was loving this feeling.  The smell of baby powder hitting my nostrils triggered memories of safety and warmth that I hadn't expected and by the time I'd come out of the trance it induced, I had a very thick pull-up secured around my waist.  "That's my big boy," my father said, triggering much more of a blush than the diapers had.  

As he set me back down and patted my bottom, a puff of baby powder exploded into the air, enciting a giggle from the corner of the room where Riley stood with my mother.  I hadn't even noticed that he or my mother was in the room, to be frank.  I felt more than a little bit ridiculous, but mom looked similarly proud of me for what I was doing.  "Okay your turn, little guy," she said, which likely would've caused another crying fit if not for the fact that he was still giggling at me.

The rest of the day when pretty normal although Riley and I were wearing nothing but diapers the entire time.  We both went to the potty like normal, dropping our Pull-Ups to do so.  But there was certainly a different feeling with both of our parents, at least as far as I was concerned.  There were the joking diaper checks from my mom and dad centered only on me, which always drew a blush from myself and a fit of laughter from my little brother.  Despite the fact that I knew this was all being done for my little brother, I felt like the baby that everyone was paying attention to for once...and I liked it.

Later that night, our parents came to tuck us in and I felt very conflicted about what was happening.  I remember thinking that I wish it didn't have to end.  But when I opened my mouth to tell them, I couldn't get out the words.  I knew it would ruin the feeling that I was currently experiencing.  After all, diapers were "for babies" and I wasn't a baby.  I'd had a good day.  Maybe if I was lucky, they might do this again tomorrow.  I went to sleep very conflicted, but happy to be back in diapers.  

I woke up in the middle of the night to the strange feeling of being tugged.  I shook out of the haze that normally surrounds sleep and came to my senses to see Riley crying and tugging for all he was worth, trying to take my diaper off.  At first, I was confused.  Then, I smelled the familiar smell of urine and realized that he had wet his own Pull-Up and was trying to take mine.  He hadn't noticed that I was awake since I hadn't moved other than to look down at him.  My heart was racing and I didn't know what to do.  He looked to be quite distraught.  Despite the ridiculousness of his feeble attempts, I was impressed that he'd thought to take my Pull-Up.  In any case, I needed to stop him as he was causing the plastic to chafe with his efforts.

I sat up in the bed and engulfed him in a hug that he resisted at first, but eventually folded into, crying in earnest.  "It's okay," I told him.  I didn't know that for sure, nor did I even have a plan.  I just knew that I wasn't going to let him cry.  It seemed to work, as his sniffles started to die down.  I took his paw in mine and together we scoured the house for the bag of Pull-Ups.  We found them, but neither of us could reach its position on the top shelf of the closet.  I thought to find a ladder or stepstool but I didn't want to wake the parents.  Instead, I sighed and reluctantly stripped the Pull-Up from around my waist and helped my little brother put it on.  That said, I had no interest in wearing my brother's soggy Pull-Up and instead threw it into the bottom of the trash bin, attempting to hide it beneath everything that was already there.

My brother thanked me and after tucking him back in, I put on a pair of underwear and climbed back in with him.  The feeling of littleness had gone with the diaper, but the memory and desire stayed.

Nothing more came of the diaper in the trash can.  Thinking back on it, there was no way our parents didn't smell it.  It was probably why Riley was kept in diapers for another week after that night.  I didn't get that same treatment, but it wouldn't be the last of my adventures in diapers.