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  1. Hello everyone, This is the first chapter of my latest story. This is currently being published chapter by chapter on my Patreon and will be available in its entirety later this year. You can find the latest chapters at patreon.com/alex_bridges. All characters are 18+ Chapter 1 It’s not like I did it on purpose. I’m not sorry, but it’s not like I did it on purpose. I babysit three times a week on average, more like five times in the summer. I want to pay for as much of college as I can in cash, and childcare pays better than retail or waiting tables. Especially now that schools keep opening and closing, parents are desperate for a night away. For me, an opportunity to make more money, which I need. I’m not going to risk my reputation as the best sitter in town just because of a little mix up. “Hi, Mrs. Rooney,” I said when she opened the door. “Hi, Sally. Come on in. Thanks for coming over on short notice.” I followed her into her kitchen; the Rooneys always have good stuff in the fridge. I didn’t get where I am as a sitter by abusing fridge privileges, but I don’t pass up the benefit either. She was dressed to the nines. I never asked, but it always seemed like she and Mr. Rooney must be going someplace expensive. Just based on their house alone, they must be one of the richer families I sit for. They’re not wealthy, but they got the upper-middle-class thing down pat. Literally the only people I know whose entryway it an actual room. “Always happy to when I can,” I replied, “I like Jamie and Jackie.” Well behaved kids, easy to get along with. “O, they’re both at friends’ houses tonight. It’ll just be you and Gordy tonight. Is that okay?” Like I couldn’t tell this ‘misunderstanding’ was totally on purpose. She had this guilty, pleading look on her face, but that was so beside the point. “Gordon? Really?” I knew Gordon. More specifically, I’ve known him since kindergarten, which would make fourteen years we’ve known each other. We graduated a little over year ago in the same class; we were even in the same twelfth grade homeroom, and now we’re both sophomores townies at the same college. I’ve sat for the Rooneys more than a few times, and Gordon was, obviously, never one of my charges. I just figured that was because he was the same age as me. Come to think of it, he was never even home when I sat for the kids because if he was, why would they need me to watch the kids? “I wouldn’t ask. Normally he spends the night at my sister’s or a friend’s house when you’re over, but he can’t tonight.” Like, but he’s … “But why does he need a sitter? He’s twenty. He’s, like, a month older than me, right?” And I’m also twenty. “Yes, but I don’t like leaving him alone if it can be helped.” “O … kay. So we’ll just watch a movie, I guess.” Get paid a hundred bucks to watch a movie with one of my peers? Weird, but fine by me. We’re not friends exactly, but we’re friendly. We were sorta friends when we were younger, but less so once we got to middle school. Gordon’s not exactly Mister Popular. Everyone’s nice to him, though, and he seems nice enough too. Just … different crowds. “Not exactly. I can explain fast, but we’re running late.” “That’s fine. I’ll stay.” “O, thank you. We just really need a night out, and since he got in trouble on campus today, he’s not allowed to go to his friend’s house and my sister already had plans and …” Didn’t really need her life story. “Whatever. It’s fine. Just tell me what’s up,” I said with a dab of false cheer to cover my WTF. She’s running late; I’m getting paid whether she tells me all this other stuff or not, so hey, let’s skip to the part I need to know, right? “Gordy,” Mrs. Rooney said, “come sit at the table with us. I want you to hear all of this so you can’t say you didn’t know later.” I followed her eyes, and color me surprised to see Gordon – Gordy at home, apparently; he always hated being called that in school – standing in the corner in his pajamas at six o’clock. I know the difference between lazy around-the-house-clothes and jammies, and those were definitely jammies. He shuffled over blushing all the way to his ears as he kept his eyes pointed at the floor. We all took a seat at the table. I couldn’t tell if he as about to cry, tantrum, or both, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did. If I were him, I’d probably have broken something and peeled out of the driveway while flipping the bird. I mean, we’re not kids. We’re not even teenagers. We’re way too old for a babysitter by about eight years. “First off,” Mrs. Rooney said, “do you know about Gordy’s issue?” “His diapers? Yeah.” Like he could keep that a secret for since literally the entire time I’d known him. No one made fun of him for it, not in a long time. Kindergarten and maybe first grade a little, but even in kindergarten it quickly became normal: our class had a kid in diapers. An adult in diapers now. And he’s not on the spectrum or delayed or anything. I don’t know what the issue is cuz it’s none of my business, but he’s always been in diapers, at least so far as I know. You’d have to be dense to have not figured it out within the first week of kindergarten. And if even if you were dense, when we got to middle school and had to change for gym, I think they let him change in a private stall or something, but you could totally hear him crinkling through those shorts. And no one teased him. Gordon wears diapers, always has; he went to the nurse a couple times a day, and we all knew why. If anything, people in school were kind of protective of him even though he didn’t need it. I even heard a rumor that when a new kid asked about it in tenth grade, the biggest bully in our class hauled off and punched him just to make it perfectly clear no one bullies Gordon. “You’ll need to check and change him tonight.” Just when I thought Gordon – well, when in Rome – Gordy couldn’t bow his head any lower. “Uh, he doesn’t do that himself? Or can’t he?” You don’t get to be the most sought-after babysitter in town by being squeamish about changing diapers, but one fact I do know: toddlers make bigger messes than newborns, and twenty-year-old Gordy has about a hundred and five pounds on the average two-year-old. Though come to think of it, I didn’t know if Gordy needed diapers for that or just for wetting accidents. In the brief second I had to consider that, it occurred to me even a toddler who still has wetting accidents is usually in a pull-up, not a full blown diaper. Our school’s gym shorts covered everything, but there was no mistaking Gordy’s underpants for a pull-up. He wears diapers. “Gordy got a diaper rash last week. If he wants the privilege of changing his own diapers, he needs to be responsible about it, which means no rashes. I’m sorry to even ask you to change him, but I like to be very consistent with the rules, and the rule is if he gets a diaper rash, no changing his own diapers for a month.” Not surprised exactly. She’s one of the stricter parents I sat for. So yeah, she’s his stepmom, but she’s not really an evil stepmom. She’s just a stickler for rules. I was afraid to ask this and very sorry to have to ask it in front of Gordy, poor little guy, but I had to. “Um, does he … both ways?” I guess I could’ve asked him, but he seemed like he’d rather have a hole swallow him than answer any questions. “He doesn’t usually have a dirty diaper in the evening.” “Still …” “Two hundred for the night,” Mrs. Rooney said before I could finish the sentence we both knew I was in the middle of saying. “Two-fifty.” Hey, I’m not one to miss an opportunity. Do you know what books cost for just one semester? “Done.” “Sorry,” I said under my breath to Gordy. I felt bad enough for him that she was making him have a sitter, but how much worse for him to hear what it costs to get someone to look after him, which he doesn’t want anyway, and pretty obvious why anyone would want extra to sit for him. So yes, I felt bad for him, but it’s just … the ‘usually’ in ‘doesn’t usually have a dirty diaper in the evening’ sorta stands out like sore thumb in that sentence, right? It would if you were me, and I am me. “And another thing,” Mrs. Rooney said. “Mommmm,” he whined. A little spark of rebellion flashed in his eyes. I didn’t know about what, but that’s what you expect from someone his age. I guess I understand if life’s circumstances made him a little more likely to give in than lash out even when any of the boys we graduated with most of the girls would’ve told their stepmom where to go by now. “Gordon, last warning.” I looked from her to him, and that little spark turned into a little water, and he looked back down at the table. “As I was saying, Gordon got in trouble on campus today and is grounded, so he’s not spending the night at a friend’s like he normally does. Why don’t you tell the story, Gordy, since you think you’re old enough to say anything you want?” Did I say ‘stepmom’, cuz I meant ‘bitch.’ And Mrs. Rooney is not normally a bitch, so that got me more than a little curious what exactly he’d done to piss her off so mightily. On top of which, it’s not exactly easy to get in trouble on campus. I mean, we’re adults. You can do some seriously stupid stuff on campus without getting in trouble. He sighed and answered, “I called called someone … a name.” “The ‘C’ word,” his stepmom clarified. Or should I say his very reasonable, no more pissed off than she had a right to be (but could still be a whole lot more chill and even more thoughtful) stepmom clarified. “Gordy actually called a woman the ‘C’ word.” “But she …” Gordy tried to defend his actions. “I know what she said, and you had every right to be angry with her, but that is not how you talk to or about women. You know that, and losing your temper is not an excuse for using a slur.” She turned back to me. “I already washed his mouth out, but that language also earned him a bedtime spanking.” “A sp … O … kay.” Of all the ways my day could’ve gone, didn’t see this one coming. Like, at all. I personally never got why some parents get so bent out of shape about bad words (how bad can they be when you can turn on network TV and hear most of them?), and I didn’t really get why she cared given that – did I mention it six times already? – Gordy is twenty years old. On the other hand … now I understood why Mrs. Rooney was taking it so seriously. It’s not that big a deal if you think of the ‘C’ word as a swear, but if you think of it as a slur, yeah, much bigger deal. I guess it depends on how you use it, cuz I could see how it could be a slur, but I’ve always thought of it more as a swear. Not that my opinion meant anything in the circumstances. I’m the babysitter – I literally just work here. “I’m too old,” Gordy interjected probably (more like definitely) more loudly than someone in his position should’ve. I mean, I agree with him, but he still should’ve just kept quiet. There’s standing up for yourself, and then there’s digging the hole deeper. If she had already washed his mouth out (ick!), not let him go out with friends, and hired a sitter for him, I couldn’t imagine any argument, not matter how obviously valid, changing her mind. Mrs. Rooney is a fit woman; I’ve seen her play a heckuva game of tennis at the club, so not a surprise she could be on her feet and have her stepson by the ear so damn fast. Gordy’s not the first kid I’ve gone to babysit and found standing in a timeout; or the first kid I’ve gone to sit and seen spank-marched to the nearest corner for corner time; or even the first kid I’ve sat for who earned a spanking on my watch. But he was the first kid I’ve sat for who wasn’t, ya know, an actual kid. He may have crinkled all the way to the corner; he may have eeped a little when she tugged his ear; he may have tried to get out of the way of her hand as she delivered those underhand spanks; and he may even be kinda cute in a boyish kind of way, but definitely an adult. One whose birthday actually comes before mine. Diapered or not, adult. “Not another word,” Mrs. Rooney warned him, “or I’ll take your pants down right here. You just stand there and listen.” And damn did she mean it, even in evening wear. That tone? Enough to make me almost jump out of my chair to find my own corner and listen. “Are we ready, honey,” Mr. Rooney asked as he appeared from somewhere. Not that I wanna be that babysitter, but Mr. Rooney can take me anywhere so long as he’s wearing his tux. Shawl collar? Makes him seem even taller. No mistaking him for your waiter. And who even goes places that are black tie? “Just a minute,” Mrs. Rooney replied and picked up the pace; they probably had a reservation at one of those places you have to reserve six months ahead of time. Anyway, she continued quickly with, “He takes a bath on Fridays, not a shower. When he gets out of the bath, please give him his spanking. His diaper comes down, and he goes over your knee. He knows where to the hairbrush is. Then it’s straight to bed. Lights out at 9:30. That means no dawdling in the tub, Gordy. Out at 9:15. Understood?” He either understood or he didn’t want to risk saying anything he had every right to say but shouldn’t unless he wanted two spankings in one day. “Any questions,” she asked me. “So … on his … bare?” “Have you ever given a spanking before?” “Yeah … Well, a swat on their reset button,” I said, oddly embarrassed. I mean, most parents don’t even spank anymore, let alone allow – let alone ask! – a sitter to do it. I’ve tapped a tantruming toddler on the bottom before, but that’s not even a spanking. “Are you okay doing it? I wouldn’t ask, but the rule is a bedtime spanking. It’s best for them to get their consequence as soon as possible, and Gordy really needs the structure.” I guess that was all Gordy could take. “But she can’t! She’s the same age as me!” There was silence as Mrs. Rooney turned and looked at him like he was out of his mind. I thought he was in his exact right mind, but if I had to live with her, always strict like she is and and just then downright exuding this weird kind of determined, calm-but-pissed-off vibe she was giving off, I think I’d have kept my mouth shut. I think he realized that too cuz he didn’t say anything else or turn around. So that was two outbursts (justified if unwise) since I’d gotten there plus calling someone the ‘C’ word all in one day. Talk about your verbal incontinence. I don’t feel very strongly about spanking one way or the other. It didn’t do me any harm – though the last one I got was in third or fourth grade, and it was pretty rare before then too – but I’m not one of those crazy people who thinks you can’t possibly raise godly tomatoes (or whatever asinine phrase the bible bunch uses) without it. Still, I was the babysitter. It’s kind of my critical to my job to not let “you’re just the babysitter so you can’t XYZ” slide. On the one hand, pick your battles. On yet another hand, some battles you gotta fight. So I got up and connected that hand hard with Gordy’s butt. “I’m the babysitter. I’m in charge. And if your stepmom says you’re getting a spanking, you’re getting a spanking.” Two bonuses to stepping up like I did. First, and this wasn’t the main thing but was intentional, Mrs. Rooney smiled thinly and stood up, not to follow up on her threat to spank Gordy but to leave. Good riddance. Who needs those vibes around? Second, unintentional bonus: holy crap did I feel more powerful than I ever have in my life. And turned on. My promise ring didn’t make the journey from youth group to my mom’s car, but never I felt the way I did right then without a D or a D-cell battery before. Downside? Gordy finally lost it and started sniffling. I know the two spanks I landed didn’t actually hurt through his diaper, but I’m sure he was feeling about two inches tall having his college classmate spank him on his diaper while telling him she could and would give him a real spanking later that same night. I hated that I made him feel that way, even if I was just his stepmom’s instrument in this case. But also, and I feel guilty for saying this, it kinda added to the whole arousal hearing him sniffle. So … there’s a thing I learned about myself that night. Mrs. Rooney said to me, “I think you’ll do fine, but if you have any questions, Gordy will answer them. Not his first trip over a knee.” “Another fifty.” Did I say that? Good for me! “That’s fair. Edward,” she called out to wherever Mr. Rooney had gone, “ready when you are.” To me she said, “Thank you again and sorry for all the fuss. I didn’t want to call just anyone over. I trust you. He may not want you here, but I told him you’d keep everything between us, won’t you?” “Of course.” Also, ‘may not?’ Try resented the hell out of it, understandably so. And I resented the hell out of her asking me to sit and springing this on me. “We’ll be home very late.” “I know. I’ll probably be asleep on the couch when you get home.” I stood against the doorframe and watched Mr. Rooney count out three hundred dollars and put it next to the pizza money. I told them to have fun. She called me a godsend and barely avoided the door hitting her on the butt on the way out. To my right, Gordy in the corner, no longer sniffling but still staring at the wall on his naughty spot. To my left, three hundred dollars on the counter just for spanking and diapering a grown man. If I’d only known about this cottage industry sooner! Heck, I’d have paid off my car by now. Go to patreon.com/alex_bridges to continue reading
  2. Reilly in diapers. This is the story about the girl who moved next door to me during the summer of my eighth grade year. I would only know her for about nine months and then after that I would never see her again. Her name was Reilly. She was about five two with shoulder length brown hair. She was pretty I suppose in a plain sort of way. But it wasn’t her looks that made her different. Reilly had a fear of toilets and refused to even go near them. A unique phobia to be sure. Because of her phobia she saw no real alternative other than to pee and poop straight into her pants and she would do so without hesitation. Her parents for their part resisted putting her back in diapers because after all Reilly knew when she needed to go. Her fear of using a toilet won out over her fear of embarrassment and getting in trouble. So these are some snippets of my memories of Reilly. The first time I realized that Reilly was not like all of the other girls in the eighth grade was the first time I saw her wet her pants. It was still summer vacation and her family had just gotten settled in. Reilly had set up a hopscotch game in her driveway made out of sidewalk chalk and she was jumping in and out of the squares. She was wearing a white tee shirt with a mini skirt on a particularly dry summer day. I watched her with passive curiosity from my bedroom window as she played the kids game by herself. I half debated going down there and saying hi but I thought better of it. At some point she stopped in the middle of her game and looked down the road. I couldn’t see what she was looking at if anything she just seemed to be staring off into the distance. Slowly a growing puddle formed between her legs on the concrete and partially washed out one of her squares as she slowly wet herself. Once she was done she went right back to her game not seeming to mind her wet panties or the puddle she'd made in the street. She played until she got bored of the game and went inside. During school registrations I made it a point to seek her out and introduce myself as the boy who lived next door. She was quite and shy and we quickly ran out of things to say seeing as we were both in the middle of our awkward teenage years. When she left I saw her again in the parking lot and at some point while waiting in one of the many lines she must have peed her pants again because the crotch of the jean shorts she was wearing were sodden between her legs. She didn’t seem to mind the wetness and waved goodbye to me when she caught me staring at her. I waved back politely as I got into my parents car and we drove away. Weeks would go by without me seeing hide nor hair of Reilly. In fact I didn’t see her again until school started. I sat a couple of rows behind and to the left of her during the introductory assembly. The shirt she was wearing had ridden up her back enough to reveal a white plastic waistband and a large tape off to the side. It was clearly a diaper. It made sense. because if she was going to pee in her pants it seemed like a good thing for her to be wearing, especially since it was her first day at a new school. She must have felt my eyes on her because she adjusted in her seat and pulled her shirt down and sat on it covering her behind. I began sitting next to her during lunch breaks and we soon became friends. For the first week or so of school she must have been wearing a diaper because she didn’t have any accidents that I could tell. I remember once I was talking to her in the hallway when I got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t listening to me. Her eyes had seemed to glass over. it was only when I stopped talking at her that I could hear it. The muffled hissing sound that could only be Reilly wetting her diaper. Once she was done her hand felt around her pants looking for leaks. When she found none she shook it off and we continued walking and talking until we got to our respective classes. Reilly wearing diapers all the time didn’t last long however. For better or worst her parents would send her to school wearing normal underwear again in the hope that she would use the toilets at school. This turned out to be a fools errand. During this time she would come to school wearing dark stretchy pants that would hide accidents well when they happened. Most of the time when she was wearing these black pants her crotch area was some degree of wet, damp or stained with dried on pee from an accident no one had noticed. She acted like this was perfectly normal and saw no need to stop what she was doing when she would wet herself. More often than not it was left up to the teacher to tell her to go get changed because she wouldn’t go on her own. Reilly would always sit in the front row with the closest seat to the door. When she would inevitably wet herself the teacher would discretely walk towards her desk, whisper something in her ear and she would begrudgingly go to the office to get changed. Depending on the severity of the accident sometimes the teacher would have to call the janitor to clean up her seat and the floor underneath it. When she would come back she would come back to her seat wearing a baggy pair of men’s basketball shorts with a diaper on underneath. There was some snickering and pointing by the popular kids but most people new better than to out right make fun of the girl that just wet herself in class. On most days it seemed like she would show up for school wearing black pants, wet herself sometime in the first two hours then spend the rest of the day wearing those basketball shorts and the diaper. After about a month we were walking home from school and out of the blue I garnered up the courage to ask her why she was wetting her pants all the time. I thought she would be timid about it but she wasn’t. In fact she was stunned that it took as long as it did for me to ask her about it. This is when she opened up to me and told me about her life long fear of toilets and her decision not to use them no matter the cost. She told me that even the thought of sitting on a toilet induced a heavy panic attack that made her feel cold scared and so alone. She knew how nutty all that sounded but she couldn’t help it. So for the longest time when she felt like she had to pee she simply peed. She said that she used to over think it and get embarrassed but over time she stopped caring what other people thought about her. I was expecting her to say she had a small bladder or something else that was medical in nature like a birth defect of something. Well, in a way it was a medical issue. Her confession didn’t change how I felt about her. Over time I had developed a bit of a crush on the girl but I wasn’t ready to tell her that. At that age I was too naïve and immature to have a real girl friend. So we remained friends despite my feelings for her. One day while in class I could tell something was wrong with Reilly. She just seemed nervous and antsy so when she asked to be excused to use the restroom I knew something was wrong so immediately after she walked out of class I asked to use the restroom myself. I caught up to her quickly in the halls to ask her if she was okay. “Why are you following me?” she asked rather sharply. I stumbled over my words before I said the only thing that made sense. “I just wanted to check on you to see if you were okay. You seemed a little off in class.” She took a moment to process this and smiled politely. “I’m fine I just had a stomachache.” She said flipping her hair over her shoulder. It was then that I smelt it. She was already wearing her gym shorts for the day which meant she was wearing a diaper. A diaper that I now understood was full. Oh shit, I thought to myself. “well, do you feel better now?” I asked trying to lighten the mood. “I do actually. So you should get back to class little boy.” She said with a smirk as she opened the door to the nurses station to get cleaned up and changed. I couldn’t help but steal a glance at her bottom as she walked away from me. I could see her dirty diaper bulging outward through her shorts and swaying with every step she took until the door closed behind her. Ten minutes later when she came back to class. She flashed me a quick smile reassuring me that everything was okay as she took her seat and the day carried on as usual. By the time of the winter school dance there was only one girl that I wanted to take. When I asked Reilly to the dance she blushed bright red but said yes. But only as two friends going together not as a couple or like boy friend and girl friend she insisted. I didn’t really mind the conditions I was just glad that she had said yes. I had stopped listening after that. The night of the dance Reilly wore a cute white dress with pink lace wrapped around her waist and the trim of the dress. She looked really pretty. We danced hugged and laughed all night together. We may have entered that dance as just friends but we left as a couple. After winter break I noticed that Reilly no longer wore those black tights to class. Instead she wore normal pants and shorts that were a size or two to big for her with a diaper taped on underneath. While I tried not to bring attention to it I could always see the bulk and hear the faint crinkle of plastic when she would walk past me. It seemed like her parents had given up for now that Reilly would get over her fears and use the bathroom like everyone else because by all appearances Reilly wore and used diapers full time. I began to wonder if she even knew when she was wet or when it was time to change. There were a couple of times that I had to quietly make her aware of a leaking diaper that needed changing. She teased and said that maybe one day she would let me be the one to change her diapers. I giggled and blushed but secretly I wanted to do that more than anything. On some days when I’d walk her home she would invite me over to hangout at her house until her parents got home from work. On these days the first thing she would do was lock herself in the bathroom where she would change her wet diaper. A few minutes later she would emerge and we would watch tv or talk about school. It was on one of these days that my curiosity and hormones took over and when she took a seat next to me on the couch I flipped up the skirt that she was wearing and caught a glimpse of her diaper before she slapped my hand away. “What are you doing!?” She said playfully. I smiled. “I’m only making sure you put that on correctly and that you're not going to leak everywhere.” She saw through my bullshit pretty quickly. “ So you want to see my diaper huh?” “Well, only if it doesn’t bother you.” I replied not wanting to sound like to much of a pervert. She stood up and unbuttoned her skirt and stepped out of it leaving her only in her T-shirt diaper and sneakers and then sat down next to me to watch tv. I thought about putting some kind of move on her but I got nervous and shy. After a while it was time for me to go. My mom was always pretty good about having dinner on the table by 6:30 and it was already 6:25 and I was getting hungry. She got up and walked me to her door. Where she gave me a hug. When I was squeezed my arms around her I could feel warmth pressing against my thigh When I pulled away I looked down as her diaper worked to absorb her pee. It only took a minute for her diaper to go from dry and clean to soaked, discolored and sagging off of her hips. “oops! I think I’ve had an accident!” She said playfully grabbing at herself and laughing as she shut the door in my face. I simply laughed it off and went home thinking Reilly was a little nutty. The rest of my time with Reilly was somewhat of a blur of laughter and fun. We would continue to hang out after school and watch movies together on the weekends and eat dinner at each others houses from time to time. I never did get to see her diapers again or change her diaper like I wanted to. That was probably for the best because I’m sure that I would have messed it up somehow. During the last week of school she told me that her family was moving across town. Her dad had gotten some big time promotion and with it came a sign on bonus that was enough to move them to the rich side of town. I gave her my phone number scribbled on a post it note on the day they moved. When she saw it she smiled as she leaned in and gave me my first kiss and in a hushed whisper she said goodbye.
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