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@Spanky As I've mentioned elsewhere (most recently at https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/topic/98192-looking-for-cute-reusablecloth-options/#comment-2231437 ), at one point I found ADC's Purity flat 4 layer gauze cloth diapers the most cost effective and reasonable for me ( https://adultclothdiaper.com/products/adult-flat-diapers-gauze-purity ).  Size small works for me, and in quantity is about the best price / performance out there.  I use two at a time for day time and 3 or 4 at night time. As to protective pants, if I could still get XL V.I.Products or Comco vinyl pants, that's what I would be buying.  They were very cost effective for their time. My memory says buying a set of six at one time would last me about a year (using three in rotation at a time).  I have yet to find something as cost effective that properly fits me.  Since Gary Manufacturing slightly loosened the leg elastics, I'm no longer getting a good fit from the folks that sell that company's current products, such as the Leakmasters PUL line and others such as Angel Fluff.  For now, I'm seeing how long the PUL type XXL pants that @DailyDi sells at https://biggerdiapers.com/ and the elastics fit me properly, however the cut is a bit tighter than I'd like.  I  am managing pretty good - just need to make sure I get all the cotton material properly tucked in.  These come out of Asia, and the Asian XXL size is about an XL size from the Gary and previous US Manufactures.  If you are willing to spend more, you can find other US, CA or EU based solutions out there that might work better for you. And previously, I have used a multi-layer (with center added layers) that was supposedly a supplier to DPF.  It handled my night time output, but took a long time to dry.  I still have some of those diapers, but due to drying time prefer multiple layers of my current setup from ADC. Agree that having a disposable under the cotton layers should keep cleanup easier. And on the very rare occupation when I get caught not able to make the toilet for # 2, I find a cold wash (no detergent?) immediately after changing, followed by my standard wash, w/ vinegar and double rinse, helps keep the brown stains from setting.  Standard hot wash would otherwise set some stains.  

Hole

Wanted to post this mid-ish-week drop for you all. This time it's a happy cliffhanger, and I will say this: within the next two parts of the chapter, we're getting that "Avengers Assmeble" moment from a certain POV. Enjoy.  Chapter One Hundred & Fifteen: Part One How did we get here? Lilly thought, the question blooming soft and steady in her chest as she scooped a small portion of spinach leaves heavy with ranch dressing. She had been the outsider—the ambitious woman whose life revolved around shoots and red carpets, not diapers and nightmares. Now, holding this spork for a boy who had once looked at her like she was the enemy, she felt something deeper than duty: a fierce, maternal pull that had quietly rewritten every part of her. He’s not just Bryan’s son anymore. He’s mine too. The realization still startled her sometimes, but it also anchored her. She held the bite up with an encouraging tilt of her head. “Here we go, sweet boy,” she cooed softly, her voice a warm, melodic lilt that wrapped around the words like a hug. “Just a little bite for Mommy. Open wide—that’s my good boy.” Paul opened his mouth, the big side in him cringing at the baby talk while the little side leaned into it like a lifeline, the ranch tang sharp on his tongue. I hate this, the big part of him whispered, shame curling tight in his gut. I’m eighteen in a day and she’s feeding me like a toddler. But the little side pushed back, warm and needy: It feels safe. She’s not judging. She’s here. He swallowed, the conflict a quiet war behind his eyes. Lilly followed with a careful sporkful of the weak chicken soup, the broth warm and salty. “Mmm, there’s a good sip for my brave little man. You’re doing so well, honey. Mommy’s so proud of you.”   Bryan stood at the foot of the bed, arms loosely crossed, watching. Pride swelled in his chest like a slow tide, warm and overwhelming. Look at her, he thought, the admiration so deep it ached. She walked into our broken little family as the “wicked stepmother” and turned into this—someone who changes wet diapers without flinching, who cradles him after nightmares, who feeds him hospital soup like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The way Lilly and Paul’s relationship had transformed over these last few months faced every unexpected challenge head-on. Bryan’s heart broke open in the best possible way. She’s the second sweetest mommy he’s ever had. And I get to love them both. He walked around the bed, keeping watch from the side, one hand resting lightly on the rail.   Lilly paused after a few more bites, playfully sniffing the air with exaggerated flair, her nose wrinkling in mock concern. “Hmm… do I smell something stinky in here?”   Paul’s cheeks flushed bright red, the little side making him squirm under the blankets. “I—I’m not stinky!” he protested, voice cracking between teenager and toddler.   Lilly laughed, soft and bright, and Bryan joined in with a low chuckle, raising his hands in surrender. “Guilty,” he admitted, the stubble on his jaw catching the light as he grinned. “I’m the stinkiest guy in the room right now. Long flight, no shower since Tokyo—sorry, kiddo.”   Lilly pointed toward the bathroom with the purple roller bag she had packed earlier, her smile warm and teasing.   “Shower’s all yours, handsome. I put a few things in there for you.”   Bryan smiled, leaning down to kiss his wife lovingly on the forehead, the brief press of lips full of gratitude and quiet promise. God, I love her, he thought, the words simple and profound. She’s holding us all together. As he straightened, Paul spoke up, the words tumbling out in a rush of sincerity.   “D-Dad… I’m sorry about the salad to the face thing,” Paul said, voice small but steady. “But… I’m really happy you’re here. With me. With us.”   Bryan’s expression softened completely. He reached out and took Paul’s hand, squeezing it like a promise sealed in flesh and bone. My boy, Bryan thought, throat tight. He’s still in there—fighting, growing, letting us in.   “Apology accepted, buddy. We’ll work on our communication—because I’m going to be home way more often now. For you. For Lilly. For all of us.”   The squeeze lingered, warm and solid, a father’s vow made tangible. Bryan found his way into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality. Lilly didn’t continue feeding Paul right away. Instead, she set the spork down on the tray, her hand finding its way to the back of his head, fingers gently stroking through his hair in slow, soothing circles. He’s scared, she realized, the maternal instinct flaring bright and protective. Eighteen in a day and he’s spending it here. I need to make this feel safe.   “Sweetheart,” she began, voice gentle but honest, “the doctors want to keep you here until Wednesday. Just to watch your condition after what happened on Saturday—make sure everything’s stable before we take you home.”   Paul’s eyes widened, mild panic flashing across his face.   “But Monday’s my birthday. My eighteenth birthday is gonna be in a nursery room.”   His tone was defeated, depressed, the words landing heavy like stones dropped into still water. Inside, the little side whimpered at the unfairness; the big side felt the weight of every lost plan, every friend who wasn’t really a friend anymore. Lilly’s heart twisted. She kept stroking his hair, the motion steady and comforting.   “I know it’s not what you wanted, honey, but the doctors, me, and your Dad just want to make sure you’re okay before going back home.”   Paul nodded in frustration, not crying but certainly sadder, his shoulders slumping.   “I know… I… I just wanted to be somewhere else on my birthday with friends……”   The word “friends” fell off a cliff, heavy with the weight of the reality he had imagined crashing down around him. Friends. What friends? The thought echoed painfully.   Lilly saw it—the flicker of isolation, the ache of it. “Do you want to talk about it, baby?”   But Paul let his little side peek out for a short moment, pointing back to the soup bowl with toddler-like authority.   “More. I want more soup.”   Lilly noticed the deflection, the way his little side was leaking through like a safety valve. He’s hurting—physically from the ribs, emotionally from everything that shattered on Saturday—and I don’t want to push if he’s not ready. She put on a soft smile.   “Okay, honey. Can you do it, or do you want Mommy to keep feeding you?”   Paul didn’t have to think long. “Mommy, please… if it’s not too much trouble.”   Lilly pulled the tray closer. “Of course not, my sweet boy.” She went back to feeding him, sprinkling in more gentle lines of baby talk—   “Here comes another yummy bite for my brave little man… open up for Mommy, that’s it, such a good boy”   Then, offering small sporkfuls of soup and a few wiggly pieces of Jell-O. Paul’s big side felt content after only two more bites; he wanted to say I’m good, no more please, but the little side wasn’t giving up that easy. He obeyed the request, but the words he used even stunned Lilly. Paul looked up, voice laced with a soft lisp.   “No… No… No more, Mama.”   He shook his head no, closing his lips so the Jell-O bounced off the bib and landed on the sheets below.   “Mama,” Lilly replied softly, the word landing with quiet surprise and warmth.   Paul’s big side finally surfaced again. He nodded. “I’m full. Thank you.”   Lilly smiled, removed the bib, and used it to scoop up the two fallen pieces of Jell-O before setting the tray aside. She handed Paul back his sippy cup, which he was only too happy to suckle down again, eyes drifting back to the football game. Despite Jacksonville blowing out Indianapolis, he needed the distraction—the bright colors and distant cheers a safe place to hide. While Paul watched the game, Lilly moved around the room, unpacking his rollaway bag. She opened drawers and shelves, placing a jersey inside one and stacking more of his diapers in another. Paul blushed and shifted under the blanket, the faint crinkle of his current diaper audible in the quiet. Then he felt it. WET. Not blood seeping from a cut wet. Not sweat rolling down the padding around his ribs. This wet was a soaked diaper—and more. It was wet on the outside. Panic surged through him. With his right hand, Paul grabbed a handful of blankets and threw them up and over the rails, trying to hide the spreading dark patch.   Lilly felt the breeze behind her and turned. “Paul, what are you—” Her words dropped off as both of them saw it: the large wet patch seeping under him, staining the front of the sweatpants and parts of the hospital gown.   Paul was shocked, ready to burst into tears from the humiliation. Not again. Not in front of her. The little side wanted to curl up and hide; the big side screamed at the unfairness of it all.   But Lilly filled the silence, not with baby talk but with gentle concern, her voice steady and warm. “Oh sweetheart, what happened, honey? Did you not feel it?”   Paul searched for words, voice trembling. “I… I knew I was wet… but I never leak… never like this… what… what’s happening to me?”   I’m broken, the thought spiraled inside him. Even my body won’t let me pretend I’m normal. Lilly leaned in with a hug, comfort gentle and grounding.   “This might just be all the pain you suffered, baby. Maybe your bladder is just a lot weaker after the attack, and we can work on that. Or maybe it’s all the liquids here—between bottles, sippy cups, and IVs, honey, you’re getting so much water. Whatever it is, it’s okay. This is a hospital. Diapers leak. No big deal, right?”   She noticed his tracker spiking from yellow to orange fast. “This isn’t a big deal,” she reassured him softly. “Why don’t we just get you changed, all right?”   “Okay,” Paul responded, still not satisfied but a little calmer.   But Lilly quickly found a problem. She couldn’t move Paul safely enough to get the changing pad under him—he was too heavy, and when he tried to help, the movement jolted his ribs. He let out a painful cry, sharp and involuntary. Lilly’s heart clenched.   “Don’t move, honey.” She inserted his pacifier into his mouth, trying to ease the pain with the familiar comfort. “Shhh, that’s it. Mommy’s got you.”   At that moment, Bryan opened the bathroom door, freshly dressed in a pair of Dockers pants and a simple black golf shirt, hair still damp from the shower. “Is everything all right?”   Lilly explained quickly, voice steady but urgent. “It’s not. Paul had a leak, and I need help moving him safely.”   Bryan sprang into action without hesitation, light baby talk slipping in naturally to keep his son calm. “Hey, my guy, Daddy’s here. We’re gonna make this all better, okay?”   The pacifier was a dead giveaway—Paul needed the comfort, just for a moment. Bryan lowered the left-hand bed rail while Lilly already had the right side down. He gently lifted Paul up ever so much off the bed, murmuring proudly,   “Relax, buddy—Daddy’s got you. You’re doing such a good job staying still for us.”   Paul’s little side melted into the words, the big side grateful for the safety. Lilly slid the changing mat underneath as Bryan guided him down extremely gently.   “There we go, champ. You did such a good job.” Paul’s tracker stayed a steady green, and a small smile tugged at his lips around the pacifier.   Bryan and Lilly worked as a seamless team. Bryan commented gently,   “Even your gown’s wet, champ. That’s okay, Daddy’s got you nice and steady now. Just relax those big strong legs for me, buddy—there we go, that’s my good boy.”   As he pushed Paul forward just enough, only the slightest discomfort heard through the pacifier, he untied the gown at the back, removing it carefully and laying Paul back down while murmuring, “Look at you being so brave, yes you are.” Lilly slowly removed the wet sweatpants, sliding the plastic pants off as well.   “Ohhh, my wittle guy made a big soggy mess, didn’t he? That’s all right, Mommy’s gonna make it all better. We’ll pop a nice thick stuffer in every change until we figure out why you’re wetting so much, my sweet pea. Mommy’s gonna keep her special wittle guy nice and dry and comfy, yes she is.”   Bryan was the one to remove the soaked diaper and give him a quick, clinical wipe. Lilly was busy fluffing out a fresh new Critter Caboose diaper and pulling a soaker pad from the bag, inserting it inside.   “Fluffy and ready for my precious baby boy! Look at this nice big diapee all puffed up just for you, honey. Mommy’s gonna make sure it’s extra snuggy and safe.”   Bryan gently lifted Paul’s legs high enough for Lilly to position the fresh, dry, fluffed diaper underneath.   “Up we go, buddy—nice and high for Daddy. You’re doing amazing, hold nice and still… there we go, perfect.”   As he lowered Paul back down, Paul’s nostrils filled with the sweet, powdery scent of baby powder Lilly had already sprinkled inside. He smiled and giggled softly to himself, his little side enjoying the extra “pampering.” Lilly applied baby lotion to her hands and gently rubbed it around Paul’s waist, bum cheeks, and legs, the lavender-and-vanilla scent blooming in the air.   “Mommy’s rubbing in the yummy lotion to make you all soft and smell so pretty, my wittle angel. Such a cozy, happy baby for Mommy… yes you are.”   She followed with a thick layer of diaper rash cream and another heavy dusting of baby powder, her voice a soft coo: “There we go, my precious baby… Mommy’s making you all fresh and cozy and dry. No more ouchies for my sweet boy.”   Then came the cute, alternating part of the change. Bryan and Lilly taped up the diaper together, each tape accompanied by their own style of baby talk.   Bryan, proud and guiding: “First tape, buddy—nice and snug right here. You’re being such a strong little man for Daddy. Look at you holding still like a champ!”   Lilly, babyish and full of love: “Second tape for Mommy’s wittle angel… all snuggy and puffy!”   Bryan continued: “Third tape coming in making sure it’s extra secure. You’re doing so good, champ. I’m so proud of my big, brave boy.”   Lilly finished the last tape with a delighted coo: “And the last tape… all done! Mommy’s got her happy, fluffy baby boy all taped up nice and tight. Such a perfect wittle diapee for my sweet, special baby!”   They finished the last tape in unison. Bryan kissed Paul’s left cheek. “You’re a happy boy now, champ—Daddy’s so proud of you.”   Lilly kissed his right. “Yes you are, my happy, dry baby boy. Mommy loves her fresh, cozy wittle guy so, so much.”   Paul’s little side sighed contentedly around the pacifier, the big side feeling safe and held, until he heard a knock at the door as a voice said “Doctor Rowe is ready for you now, Paul.” And all of a sudden, Paul was forced to be an adult again.       The room Mindy chose looked like it  never tried too hard. That was one of the reasons Paul hated it a little less than the others. It wasn’t bright in that fake cheerful hospital way, where pastel walls and cartoon decals acted like bandages over pain nobody knew what to do with. This room was quieter than that. Softer. The overhead lights were off. A small lamp near the bookshelf cast a warm amber pool over one corner, and the blinds had been tilted just enough to let in the diluted light of a gray Sunday afternoon. Somewhere beyond the walls, the hospital was still being a hospital—soft footsteps, rolling carts, an intercom two hallways away—but in here the world felt narrowed. Contained.   There was a box of tissues on the little side table between the two chairs.   Paul noticed that first.   Of course he did.   Not because he intended to cry.   Because he didn’t.   Because he absolutely, one hundred percent, did not want to be the kind of patient who sat in a soft-lit room with his doctor and started talking about his feelings until there were tissues involved.   That thought alone made his shoulders tighten.   He sat in the wheelchair they had brought him down in from his room, still buckled in because it hurt less than having to keep repositioning himself every few minutes. The turquoise hospital gown printed all over with cheerful and fresh puzzle-bear shapes made him feel younger than he wanted to feel. His ribs ached in a dull, layered way that made every deep breath feel like it had to negotiate for permission. One side of his face still throbbed faintly. His knuckles were healing badly and looking ugly in that red, stiff way that said anger had a cost long after the moment itself was gone. The thick diaper was hidden underneath another set of plastic pants and more importantly his nike workout pants with a built in “swish” meaning the crinkle was finally turned down for awhile. Mindy sat across from him—not behind a desk, not with a chart in her hands, not perched up and above him like this was something to endure. Just in the chair. Legs crossed at the ankle. Hands resting loosely in her lap. Her white coat was gone, left behind on purpose somewhere else, and beneath it she looked less like Dr. Rowe and more like a woman who had made time in her day to sit with someone who might break open if spoken to incorrectly.   Paul stared at the bookshelf. Then the lamp.   Then the tissue box again. Anywhere except her face.   Mindy waited him out for a while. Not because she enjoyed silence. Because she knew the first words mattered, and boys like Paul could smell pity the way animals smelled smoke.   Finally, softly, she asked, “What’s wrong?”   It was such a simple question that for one stupid second Paul almost laughed. What wasn’t wrong? His ribs. His face. His body. His future. His name in the halls of school. His whole goddamn life.   Instead, he picked at the edge of his hospital blanket and said the truest thing he had.   “I don’t like talking about my feelings.”   Mindy smiled, but not in the patronizing way adults sometimes smiled when teenagers said something honest and inconvenient. Her face just softened with recognition, like he’d named a weather pattern she had already felt coming.   “Yeah,” she said gently. “A lot of people don’t. Sometimes it sucks doing the hard things.”   Her voice had changed. It was still adult. Still direct. But she was using that slower, more careful tone people used when they didn’t want to push too hard and crack something that was already strained. Not babying him. Not exactly. But not forcing him to climb emotionally without a railing either.   She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and placed it on the table between them.   “I want to give you a choice before we start,” she said. “Because while yes, I’m your doctor, this session still belongs to you.”   That got his eyes up. Not all the way. But enough.   “You get to decide whether what we talk about here stays here,” Mindy continued, “or whether any part of it gets shared with your dad and Lilly. I do need your permission to record the session so I can refer back to it later and make notes if I need to, but the recording is protected. It doesn’t become family property. It doesn’t get passed around. It stays clinical.”   Paul’s fingers started worrying at each other immediately, thumb rubbing against the side of his index finger, then back again. He hated how badly he wanted that to be true.   “So…” he said slowly, “the recording stays between us unless I say otherwise?”   Mindy nodded once. “If that’s what you want.”   “And if they ask what we talked about?”   “I’ll tell them only what you’ve given me permission to say,” she said. Then, after a beat, “And if there’s something I genuinely believe they need to know for your safety, I’ll tell you first before I tell them. I won’t blindside you.”   Paul looked at the phone. At her. Back to the phone.   It was ridiculous how much that mattered. How much the idea of one adult in his life not taking the truth out of his hands mattered.   He swallowed. “Okay.”   Mindy turned the phone over, tapped the screen, and set it down again.   “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That took trust.”   Paul almost said don’t make it a thing.   But he didn’t.   The tracker on his wrist dipped back to an unsteady green, the color flickering but holding.  She leaned back slightly, giving him space, and started with small talk to ease him in—the kind of gentle bridge she knew worked best.   “So,” she said, voice still soft and measured, “how are those ribs feeling today? Any better after the night’s rest?” She smiled again, warm and inviting. “And your birthday’s coming up soon—eighteen, right? Any thoughts on a party? Something fun to look forward to?”   Paul let out a short, lame little laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.   “No… I haven’t really thought about my birthday this year. I don’t really want to celebrate. I feel more like I’ll be turning eighteen months instead of eighteen years.”   The joke landed flat, hanging in the air between them, and Paul’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He could feel the little side peeking out, the words tasting childish even as he said them. Mindy caught the tension immediately, the way his shoulders tightened again. She kept her tone light but probing, guiding him toward safer ground.   “That’s okay. Birthdays can feel complicated sometimes. What about a gift? Is there anything you’ve been wanting—something that might make the day feel a little brighter?”   Paul looked at her then, really looked, his eyes heavy with something raw and honest.   “Honestly? A cure for this disease… or a time machine. So I could go back to Friday and just… not get out of bed.”   The words hung there, heavy and unfiltered. Mindy let the silence breathe for a moment, then gently steered the conversation deeper, her voice still soft, still slow, but now carrying the quiet gravity of someone who had walked this path with many patients before.   Then she asked, “Where do you want to start?”   Paul looked down at his hands.   He hadn’t planned anything. He hated people who planned therapy speeches in movies, like pain lined itself up politely if the room had enough neutral colors and a licensed professional in it. Real pain was messier than that. Real pain made you circle things. Dodge things. Say something smaller because the real thing felt too big to survive once it was outside you.   So what came out first surprised even him.   “I hated my dad.”   The words sat there.   He heard them after he said them and wished instantly he could grab them back—not because they weren’t true, but because they sounded uglier spoken aloud.   Mindy didn’t flinch.   “When?”   “When he married Lilly.”   There. That was easier. Cleaner. More explainable.   Mindy nodded faintly. “Why?”   Paul let out a breath through his nose, stared harder at his knees, and answered because he had already stepped off the ledge anyway.   “Because I was scared.”   The word felt childish. He hated that. So he corrected himself too fast.   “Not scared like… I don’t know. Not weak. Just…” He clenched his jaw. “I thought he was gonna forget me.”   “How?”   Paul’s eyes flicked up, then away again.   “Because that’s what happens,” he said. “The guy remarries,I thought they’d have a baby. A real one. One that wasn’t messed up.” His mouth twisted bitterly “ And then I’d just be… there.....the old kid becomes… I don’t know. A picture in the hallway. Somebody you loved once. Somebody you used to take care of before the real family showed up.”   That one hurt more than he expected. He looked away. Mindy’s chest tightened at that, but her face stayed open. Paul kept going now, quieter and quicker, like he didn’t want to stop long enough to feel too much of it.   “I was already messed up by then. Not just with…” He gestured vaguely downward, to his body, to the things his body did when it stopped cooperating. “Everything. School. The stress. My disease. Amber.”   That name came out raw.   Still.   Even now.   Mindy heard it.   Didn’t seize it.   Let him place it where he needed to.   “I thought she was gonna be…” He stopped, jaw flexing. “The one. Like my real love. My true one. Which sounds stupid now.”   “It doesn’t sound stupid,” Mindy said calmly. “It sounds seventeen.”   That got the faintest breath of a laugh out of him.   Just enough to let him continue.   “She picked someone else. I kept screwing up college stuff. Every time I tried to apply somewhere or imagine a future, it was like…” He stared hard at the floor. “Like I’d get close and then just mess it up again. And again. And again.”   His fingers curled.   “Everybody says men face hardships and overcome them. That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Be strong. Figure it out. And if you can’t—”   He shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. It was brutal.   “Then you deserve to fail and try again. And again. Until you win......”   He rubbed his palms together once. Hard.   “Or it kills you first.”   The room went still.   Not dramatically still. Not movie-still. Just quiet in the way rooms go when the truth has entered and everyone present knows pretending not to notice would be insulting.   She didn’t rush to fill it. Didn’t rescue him from what he had just said.   Instead, she sat with him in it for a moment, long enough for his words to stop sounding like philosophy and start sounding like what they really were—survival rules written by a frightened boy who had mistaken endurance for maturity.   Then she asked, gently, “What does school feel like for you now?”   Paul frowned. The question seemed almost too simple.   “School?”   Mindy nodded. “Yeah. Not your grades. Not your transcript. Not the version adults ask about. I mean what it feels like in your body to walk into that place.”   Paul looked away immediately. That answer alone was an answer.   He shrugged first, because boys like him always shrugged first when the truth felt too exposed.   “Stressful,” he said. “I don’t know.”   Mindy tilted her head just slightly. “That’s a start. Stressful how?”   Paul’s fingers started moving again, thumb rubbing against the side of his index finger, then the nail of his middle finger. Small movements. Restless ones.   “It’s just…” He exhaled. “It’s always something.”   “What’s always something?”   He gave a humorless little laugh.   “Everything.”   Mindy didn’t let him hide in that.   “Give me one thing.”   Paul shifted in the wheelchair and winced a little from his ribs. The pain made him sharper for half a second, then more tired.   “Okay,” he said. “Walking in and already wondering if today’s gonna be a day where I make it all the way through without… you know.”   Mindy nodded once. “Without an accident.”   Paul’s jaw tightened at the word.   “Yeah.”   She noticed it.   “You don’t have to use softer language with me,” she said quietly. “We can call things what they are in here.”   He looked at her for a second, then away again.   “Fine,” he muttered. “Without wetting myself. Or worse.”   That one cost him more to say.   Mindy kept her tone even. “And when that thought hits you?”   Paul let out a slow breath.   “I start tracking everything.” He glanced down at his hands. “How long I’ve been sitting. How much water I drank. Where the nearest bathroom is. Whether there’s time between classes. Whether somebody’s gonna stop me in the hall. Whether I can laugh too hard or if that’ll screw me over. Whether I can make it through rehearsal. Through lunch. Through one stupid conversation.”   He laughed once under his breath, but there was no humor in it.   “It’s like… other people get to just have a day. I have to manage one.”   That landed.   Mindy’s expression softened—not with pity, but with comprehension.   “That sounds exhausting.”   “It is exhausting.”   The answer came too fast. Too honest. Paul swallowed and kept going before he lost the nerve.   “And then there’s the whole part where you’re trying to act normal while your whole brain is basically going don’t mess up, don’t leak, don’t smell weird, don’t sit wrong, don’t bend weird, don’t let anyone notice, don’t let anyone hear anything.”   His voice had changed. Still adult, still trying to stay measured—but fraying now, the edges younger, more tired. Mindy stayed very still.   “What happens if someone notices?”   Paul’s eyes flicked up to hers. Then away.   The answer lived too close to Friday.   “They look at you different,” he said quietly.   “Different how?”   Paul shook his head once, irritated already. “Like you’re not a person anymore.”   Mindy let that breathe.   He went on, because once the feeling had been named, it wanted more room.   “Like they’re doing math in their heads about you. Like—oh, okay, so that’s what he is. Not Paul. Not funny. Not smart. Not good on stage. Not maybe worth liking. Just…” He swallowed hard. “The sick kid. The weird kid. The one who can’t control his own body.”   His mouth twisted.   “The freak.”   The word came out flat.   Used.   Old.   Not a dramatic label. A familiar one.   Mindy asked, “How long have you been feeling that at school?”   Paul laughed again—smaller now.   “Since before this? Since before Friday?” He shrugged, but his shoulders didn’t really rise. “A while.”   “How long is a while?”   He thought about it.   “Since the accidents got worse, I guess. Since I started needing more backup than I wanted to admit. Since I realized just getting through a school day felt harder for me than it seemed to be for everybody else.”   He rubbed his palms together once.   “Then once I started getting… little more often, it got weirder.”   Mindy picked up on that immediately. “Weirder how?”   Paul blushed. Actually blushed.   Because now they were getting to the part he still didn’t know how to talk about without feeling ridiculous.   “I started wanting it at school.”   Mindy didn’t react.   That helped.   “Not like fully,” he said quickly. “Not like I wanted to show up there and… I don’t know. But when stuff got too loud, too hard, too much, I’d start thinking about going home and just being small. Like really small. Like—paci, toys, diaper, nap, snack, somebody else just handling things for a while.”   He looked sick with embarrassment now.   Then she asked, “Can I push a little?”   Paul tensed immediately. But nodded.   “How do you feel now?” she asked.   He frowned. “Now?”   “Now that you’ve spent real time little. Not just slipping into it in a crisis. Not just using it to survive. How do you actually feel?”   That question moved through him differently than the others.   Because it embarrassed him. Because the answer wasn’t socially acceptable. Because the answer, if he said it plainly, sounded crazy even in his own head.   He shifted in the chair. His ears started burning. His fingers tugged at the hem of the blanket over his lap.   “Better,” he muttered.   “Better how?”   Paul swallowed.   Mindy’s tone stayed soft and slow. Not pushy. Not indulgent. Just steady enough that he had room to say something humiliating and survive it.   “Inside,” she clarified. “Not sleep. Not food. Not the schedule. What inside feels better?”   Mindy saw the shift at once. Saw the little side beginning to leak through him the way water finds cracks in old metal—quietly, but inevitably.   His words softened around the edges.   “It make me feel warm,” he said quietly.   The lisp was slight, but there. He heard it.   Blushed harder. Kept going anyway.   “Like… fuzzy. Cozy. Like from a real big hug.” His eyes stayed on his hands. “Everybody smiles at me when I’m little. They’re happier with me that way. So I happy too.”   He paused.   Then the rest came easier than it should have.   “No more sonabilities. No school. No scary big-boy thoughts. Just play. Play with fun toys, lotsa cuddles with Daddy and Mommy and Savvy. Yummy snacks. Sometimes Mommy or Daddy feed me good food. Sometimes I paint with my hands with Harley. She’s nice.” His mouth trembled a little around the truth of the next part. “And bestest of all… I don’t have to worry ’bout bein’ laughed at for wearin’ diapees.”   Mindy let the silence sit for a second before she said, “I need you to be big for me for a minute.”   Paul blinked, then straightened automatically, his face burning. The adult part of him rushed back in like someone yanking a shirt closed over bare skin.   Mindy held his gaze.   “Do you like being little because other people like you that way?”   The question hit hard. And accurately.   “At first?” Paul admitted after a long pause. “Yeah. I think so.”   He looked away.   “Every time I tried to act my age, I was doing it wrong. Messing up. Failing at stuff everybody else seemed to just… know how to do.” He swallowed. “So when I got the chance to stop and go small, at first it was for them. It was easier for everybody.”   He laughed once, quietly, hatefully.   “But now…”   The sentence took effort.   “Now I kinda like it more too.” He said it too quickly, like ripping off tape. “Even the diapers. Which sounds insane. I know it sounds insane.”   “It doesn’t,” Mindy said.   Paul blinked.   “It really doesn’t.”   He looked at her a long second, trying to see if that was professional kindness or actual belief. Whatever he found there let him continue.   “It’s like you said. Or Dad said. Or Mama-K...I mean what Kim said. Sometimes it’s okay to take a break.”   Mindy nodded once.   “Do you think you’re taking too many breaks,” she asked, “or not enough?”   That one sat in the room a long time.   Paul thought about it. Really thought.   “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “I think it’s too many.”   Then his eyes moved away.   “But then I have days like Friday.”   His voice dropped.   “And I think if I had just stayed little and played at home… maybe I wouldn’t be so screwed up.”   Mindy let that complexity stand. Then she shifted.   “Why did you fight Danny?”   Paul’s whole body stiffened.   “Because he had to pay.”   The answer came instantly.   Not rehearsed. Not thoughtful. Truth.   His fist balled up and tapped once against the armrest of the wheelchair.   “Somebody needed to pay. Somebody needed to feel the same pain I feel every day because—”   He stopped.   Mindy didn’t let him turn away from it.   “Because what?”   Paul’s jaw worked.   “Because he was a bully. Because he cheated. Because he exposed me.”   “That’s true,” Mindy said. “And it’s not the whole thing.”   Paul looked at her, cornered.   “You said somebody needed to feel the same pain you feel every day,” she continued. “What pain is that, Paul?”   He tried to avoid it. Actually tried.   You could see it in his body—the way he twisted his neck, shifted against the restraints of the chair, dragged in a breath like he might power through the question by brute force.   Mindy held steady.   “What pain?”   He shut his eyes. Shook his head once. Then twice. Then his eyes flew open and the words came out of him like they had been waiting years for air.         “My mom!”     He was shouting now. Not at Mindy. Through her.   “My real mom—I miss her so bad every single fucking day and I don’t know how to make it stop!” His voice cracked, then rose again. “So yeah, I wanted him to hurt too, okay? I wanted somebody else to hurt because I’m so tired of being the only one carrying this all the time!”   His breath hitched. Tears finally broke loose.   Not dramatic. Not performative. Pain.   “People love me, I know they do. I know I’m not empty. I know that.” He was crying harder now, angry that he was crying, too hurt to stop. “But every day I know I don’t have a mommy and it hurts. It hurts when I’m happy, it hurts when I’m sick, it hurts when I’m doing fine, it hurts when I’m doing awful—there’s no version of my life where it doesn’t hurt.”   His mouth shook.   “How do I deal with pain without a painkiller, doctor?” he asked, and now the question sounded younger than seventeen. “How? Because I keep trying things and nothing kills it.”   That was the moment.   Tears welled in his eyes, not a full sob but raw pain mixed with them, his chest heaving with the weight of years. Mindy’s expression softened completely. She rose from her chair, crossed the small space, and knelt down in front of the wheelchair. She wrapped her arms around him gently—motherly, protective, the way only someone who had held her own children through storms could. Paul’s head found its way into the crook of her neck and shoulder, nuzzling there like he would with his dad or Lilly. Mindy rubbed gentle circles on his back, stroking his hair with slow, soothing strokes.   “Shhhh,” she whispered, the sound soft and rhythmic, a lullaby of safety in the middle of the storm.   Once Paul’s breathing steadied, Mindy pulled back just enough to offer him a tissue. She held it gently between his nose and said, “Blow,” like a mother helping a child. He did. She tossed the used tissue away, then sat back on her heels, still close. Then she crouched back just enough to see his face.   “That,” she said softly, “was brave.”   Paul looked wrecked. Splotchy. Raw. Older and younger at the same time.   “I feel stupid,” he muttered.   “You feel exposed,” Mindy corrected gently. “That’s different.”   He looked at the floor. She let him.   Then asked, “How do you feel now?”   He took a long time answering.   Because he wanted to lie. Because “better” felt like betrayal. But lying felt pointless in this room now.   “…kind of good,” he admitted finally. “In a weird way.”   Mindy nodded.   “And?”   He sniffed.   “Still really sad.”   She nodded again.   “And the pain?”   He frowned, surprised by his own answer.   “Less,” he said.   That made her smile—not triumphantly, not like aha, therapy works, but like a woman who had watched one knot loosen in a rope that had been strangling someone for years.   “I’d really like you to keep doing this,” she said. “Not like this every time. Not every talk has to end in tears. But talking. To me. To someone. Because that’s part of how grief moves. If you never speak it, it just stays in the same place and keeps poisoning everything around it.”   Paul nodded once.   Mindy watched him for another beat, then said, “I have one more thing I need from you.”   He looked up warily.   “You need to tell your dad and Lilly how much you miss your mom.”   His face changed instantly.   Mindy kept going before he could shut down.   “Not everything you said here. That’s still yours. But that part—they need to know. Your dad needs to understand how long you’ve been carrying this alone. And Lilly…” Mindy smiled softly. “Lilly needs to know too.” Paul stared at her.   Mindy’s voice gentled again.   “It’s obvious when you lost Rachel, a part of your world froze there. And nothing you did or didn’t do can change that. But you need to tell your dad that you missed your mom so much, you never really let yourself believe you could have another one.”   Paul’s mouth parted.   “Like… Lilly?”   “Exactly like Lilly.”   The words came without hesitation.   “You two have grown so much since you came to see me in September. She may have been Lilly then. Then she became your stepmom.”   Mindy’s eyes softened.   “And now, honey, she’s becoming Mom. Or Mommy. Whatever you choose.”   Paul looked stunned. Not resistant. Just stunned.   Mindy leaned forward slightly.   “What I want you to do,” she said, “is tell her how much she means to you. Tell her how she makes you feel better.” She let the next words come slowly. “It’s not about replacing Rachel, Paul. Nobody replaces Rachel.”   His eyes filled again, but not the same way.   “This is about adding Lilly.”   A long silence followed that. Not awkward. Sacred, maybe.   Finally, very quietly, Paul said, “And if I want her to be my mom?”   Mindy smiled—a real one now, warm enough to make the room feel less clinical.   “Then ask,” she said simply. “You’ve already learned how to ask to be little when you need it. This is the same kind of bravery. Different language. Same courage.”     Paul sat there in the aftermath of that, puffy-eyed and bruised and still breathing hard in spots, but lighter than he had been when he came in. The weight that had pressed on his chest for years felt… not gone, but shifted. Like a heavy blanket finally folded back just enough to let him breathe. His fingers still trembled slightly in his lap, the tracker on his wrist holding a steady, hopeful green. Mindy sat across from him, her expression soft and patient, the kind of quiet presence that made the sterile hospital room feel almost like a safe porch swing on a summer evening. Paul’s mind drifted for a moment—flashes of Rachel’s laugh, the empty space where a mother should have been, the way Lilly’s gentle hands had become something he never knew he needed. I miss her so much it still hurts, he thought, but maybe… maybe I don’t have to carry it alone anymore. The little side inside him curled up warm and safe; the big side, for once, didn’t fight it.   A soft knock sounded at the door.   Mindy’s face lit with a knowing smile. “That’s for you,” she said gently, standing and wheeling Paul’s chair around so he faced the entrance. She gave the door a light rap in return. “Come in.”   Paul’s entire face transformed—like a Christmas tree switched on in the dark, eyes widening, a grin breaking through the bruises and exhaustion. “SAVVY!” The word burst out of him, bright and enthusiastic, the little side bubbling up in pure, unfiltered joy while the big side felt a rush of something warmer, something that made his cheeks heat in the best possible way. The door swung open and there she stood.   Savannah filled the doorway like sunlight spilling into shadow. Her smile was wide and genuine, but worry creased the corners of her eyes, the kind of caring concern that came from someone who had spent the last two days checking her phone every five minutes. She had clearly come straight from Sunday service, yet the outfit was effortlessly perfect for a picnic or afternoon garden party: a soft, knee-length floral sundress in pale blush and cream tones that skimmed her natural curves without clinging, the fabric flowing gently with every step. A light cream cardigan draped over her shoulders, modest and elegant, the neckline high enough to feel respectful yet flattering the warm glow of her skin. Her hair fell in loose, natural curls around her shoulders, catching the afternoon light in soft chestnut waves. No heavy makeup—just a touch of gloss and the faint flush of someone who had hurried across town with hope in her heart.   She didn’t run, but she moved quickly, the soft click of her modest heels on the tile floor carrying her across the room in seconds. Paul’s arms were already open, reaching despite the twinge in his ribs. Savvy knelt down in front of the wheelchair, careful, so careful, and wrapped him in an embrace that was tight and loving and full of everything she couldn’t say in words. Her arms circled him gently, mindful of the bruises and the taped ribs, yet holding him like she never wanted to let go. Paul buried his face in the curve of her shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo—something light and floral—and felt the last tight knot in his chest loosen another fraction.   “Oh my Paul,” Savvy whispered, voice thick with emotion, the worry and relief tangling together. “I was so worried about you. Getting into fights… a broken rib… a ride in an ambulance… oh my Paul, what happened to you?”   She pulled back just enough to cup his face, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his right cheek, then his left. A small, breathy giggle slipped out of him before he could stop it, his shoulders tensing just slightly with the sensation.   “Y-your hair tickles…” he admitted, a little embarrassed, a little dazed by how quickly she had filled the space around him.   Savvy let out a soft, relieved laugh, one hand brushing a curl back from her face.   “I’m sorry,” she said, though she was clearly not sorry at all.   Paul shook his head quickly. The little side peeked out, happy and shy; the big side felt a spark—something warm and new fluttering between them, the kind of quiet connection that had been building for months.   “No—it’s… it’s okay,” he said, still smiling in that slightly crooked, recovering way. “I… I was wrong. About the fight. I shouldn’t’ve…” He trailed off, then looked back at her, something softer settling into his expression. “But I’m… I’m doing better. Really. And now… a lot better after seeing you.”   Mindy, still standing by the door, let out a soft, delighted giggle. “Paul has a souvenir of yours, Savvy.”   Savvy blinked, then followed Mindy’s pointing finger to Paul’s right cheek. Her eyes sparkled with laughter.   “Oh no—hold on, sweet boy.”   She reached into her purse, pulled out a small compact mirror, and held it up for him. Paul stared at his reflection. There, firmly stamped on his right cheek, was a perfect lipstick imprint of Savvy’s kiss—soft pink and unmistakable. Even Paul blushed deeper, then laughed—a real, light sound that made his ribs ache just a little but felt worth it.   “Guess I’m marked now,” he said, grinning.   Mindy smiled at the sound of it, something satisfied settling quietly behind her eyes. That was her cue. She stepped back, giving them space, and moved toward the door. Paul looked up just in time to catch her.   He lifted a hand in a small wave.   “Bye…” She returned it. “Bye, Paul.”   Then she slipped out .Savvy stood, brushing her dress gently as she did, then reached down and placed her purse into Paul’s lap.   “Can you hold this for me?” she asked.   Paul took it automatically.   “Yeah, but… why?”   Savvy’s answer came with a small, knowing smile.   And then—A kiss. Soft. Placed gently on the top of his head.   “Because,” she said, already moving behind him, hands finding the wheelchair handles, “we’ve got somewhere to be.” Paul blinked.   “W-where are we going?”   Savvy leaned down just slightly, her voice warm near his ear as she started to push him toward the door.   “We have a rooftop picnic to attend, sweet boy.”   The words settled over him like sunlight.   “I hope you’re hungry,” she added with a playful lilt. “’Cause Mama Kim brought something special.” The hallway opened up ahead of them, afternoon light streaming through the windows in golden shafts. Paul glanced back once at the room where he had laid bare so much pain, then forward again, the weight on his chest lighter than it had been in years. Savvy’s hands on the wheelchair handles felt steady and sure. Somewhere above them, a rooftop waited with food and family and the kind of normalcy he was only beginning to believe he could have.   For the first time in a long time, Paul let himself feel excited about what came next.

I had my first wank after 3 months 24/7 and couldn't even get a hard on. My pelvic muscles seem to be very weak. I pushed a poop out in my nappy earlier and could feel the uncontrollable gushing like beginnings of stress incontinence. It's brilliant, really looking forward to more continence loss! I'm still on forced monthly injections (antipsychotics) and I hardly ever get erections now which is a side effect of my meds, but I absolutely love being impotent and disabled. I see myself as a disabled adult with double incontinence and have to use '''pads'' to deal with the incontinence, no big deal. I feel whole being incontinent, its something I've wanted foe a very long time.

That's awesome.  I'm not into butt plug, but love getting my butt paddled, both on my messy diaper and bare bottom.