Rainbow Diapers

I like that diapersexual I believe that’s got me all over it 

That's clearly a factor, but it's more complicated than just pure laziness.  There are ADHD tendencies, avoidance, and being completely unprepared for what his mother expected. He spent most of the first 14+ years of his life with his mom doing everything for him, because he wasn't allowed to do anything for himself.  After that, she monitored for such an extent that he never learned to do it for himself.   That's not to excuse his behavior, but even if he functioned normally, he would not been able to succeed with his physical limitations.  One of the keys is that he feel into a depression cycle, which is why he lacked the motivation to do the basics. FTR- not to over criticize myself, but some of that imagery comes from firsthand experience, including diaper disposal😉 But, I'll also take the blame that I'm lazy. Why should I clean when I wait until tomorrow? I'm a little surprised that messiness was an issue, but not the toileting. I realize that a 24-year-old who seemingly has no other health issues wouldn't suddenly lose elimination control as he has.  But I'm justifying it because of the complicated emotional issues that Reggie is going through. With Reggie, there is no middle ground. When he isn't potty-trained, he wears diapers and is treated like a baby.  When he is potty-trained, he's expected to be a full adult, with no help.  For him, that also means virtual complete isolation, since he can't have a functional social life as an adult.  His experience in New York was pretty bleak, and what he just went through was even worse.  For him, at least where he is right now, that nursery might be a necessary evil.  FTR- that plays a big role in how this ends for Reggie.

ok

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED? “Suzie and I had a nice chat with Antonio this morning,” Ian softly observed. He had said little in the limousine riding over to the hotel from the sorority house, but now that they had arrived and Sarah and Suzie were walking ahead of them and knee deep in conversation, he decided to press Spats for an update. “Your nephew Aldo shares my enthusiasm for surfing, so I've invited him to fly over and have a go at cold water surfing up on Lake Superior before we send him out west to tackle Malibu and Rincon, two of my old haunts. He wants to bring his sons along; Dario and Fabio also surf, and they are just the right age to enjoy a sorority party or two. They are eager to check out the California girls, but I think they might find Minnesota girls very much to their liking. Antonio is going to call Suzie tomorrow; he's hoping that we'll have a specific travel date pinned down.” “Ian, I can't give you a firm date, but maybe a timeline. Remember me saying that Tony was going to help me out by sending Hollie Knightley and some of the other girls up from Southern California to cover for my girls while they're in the slammer?” “Sure. You said that they were exploring some leads.” “Right. They're still hard at it. I spoke to Tony this afternoon, and he says that Hollie and some of the others will be in Vegas on Monday. He's running the operation from there, so it sounds like they're reporting in. Vegas will also be getting reports from the docks and the freight haulers. The capo will pull it altogether, maybe make a few phone calls, then put the girls on a flight to MSP. It might take Vegas a few days to smooth out all the wrinkles, but I would expect Hollie to show up at the latest on the twentieth.” “And I'm getting married on the twenty-third, while my Best Man and his family are flying in on the twenty-first. Hope you're coming to the wedding.” “Count on it. I'm planning on asking Miss Marshall to be my date.” “Be nice to have Aldo and the boys attending ...” “I'll talk to Tony … try and get everything squared away by Monday night. But no promises ...” “Time to put our game faces on,” Ian warned as the foursome got onto the elevator. “I'm nervous, Ian,” Suzie confessed; “it's been a while since my little black dress last left the closet.” “Oh, come on, Suz. You and Sarah could be wearing burlap sacks and the two of you would still outshine every woman in the room. This should be a walk in the park for both of you.” “I'm the one with the jitters,” Spats blurted out. “I mean … really … this ain't exactly my sort of crowd.” “And neither of us is wearing a tuxedo,” Ian grinned. “No matter. Here we go.” With Ian and Sarah taking the lead, the quartet followed the sound of clinking glasses into the Grand Salon. As soon as they entered, a liveried waiter appeared with a tray of champagne flutes. Ian thus found himself with a drink in hand before he had gone ten feet. “Classy,” he muttered to Spats. “Let's find the Carlsons, and let them perform the introductions.” “Wonder if they've got caviar,” Spats replied. “Can you believe that I actually like the stuff?” “No accounting for taste,” Ian laughed as Emily Carlson strolled over to welcome them. “Suzie, you look fantastic,” Emily smiled as they exchanged air kisses. “And Sarah … wow! It's an open question who's going to be more jealous-- the wives of you, or their husbands of Ian. And yes, everyone here has heard about your commune. But this is a sophisticated crowd, or so at least they like to pretend, which means that you will really have to lay it on thick if you expect to shock anyone.” “What I'd like to do is set Ian's diaper bag aside.” Sarah waved it in front of her with one hand while gripping a champagne flute with the other. “Is there an anteroom where I can change him when the need arises?” “The cloakroom is at your disposal.” Emily gestured at a door off to their right. “There's a settee that you can use as a changing table.” Nodding, Sarah wandered off to check out the arrangement. She was back less than a minute later, to find that Andrew Carlson had joined their party. “Very nice,” she murmured as she shook Andrew's hand. “Ian, one of the hospital's Directors is here tonight, and he is anxious to meet you. I've warned him not to wave his checkbook in your face ...” “Unless he's making a contribution to the scholarship fund,” Emily laughed as she finished her husband's thought. “Harrison Knowles.” Sarah nodded at a stylishly dressed couple across the room. “I'll handle him.” When it came to jerks, in Sarah's judgment Knowles was at or near the top of the list. “Doesn't Gayle Soderberg report to him?” Ian was pretty sure that he had heard the name before, but he couldn't remember where or when. “Yes, so for Cindy's sake we have to be polite. Hit him up for the scholarship fund, but leave the rest to me.” “Gladly.” Ian sighed with relief. “Happily, they're camped out in front of the buffet,” Spats noted as he moved off . “I'm hungry.” “Harrison, I'd like you to meet our guests of honor,” Andrew began as they approached the table in Spats' wake. “Sarah, it's good to see you again,” Knowles cut in. “And you must be Grady,” he went on as he held out his hand. “Erica and I have been looking forward to meeting you.” “My pleasure,” Ian politely replied as he shook their hands. “I have enjoyed working with Gayle Soderberg, and in Cindy Carlson you now have another dynamo gracing Patient Relations. Indeed, my surrogate daughters seems to be having a positive impact hospital wide.” “One of the girls has become my administrative assistant,” Sarah pointed out, “and she is making my job a lot easier.” “Good to know,” Harrison lamely remarked. “Professor, Gayle wants me to hire you, and I've brought my checkbook.” Knowles tapped his jacket pocket. “But I gather that Andrew also wants to hire you, and I know that Todd Lyons would like to have a word.” “We are open to offers,” Sarah smoothly answered, “but we have retained an agent to represent Ian in these matters.” Fishing in her handbag, Sarah pulled out a business card and passed it over. “Marilyn Marsden of Recruitment Services International is the person you want to talk to.” “She's a straight shooter, Harrison; she won't gild the lily.” Andrew chose not to mention that Marilyn's daughter was one of Cindy's sorority sisters. “But if your checkbook is burning a hole in your pocket,” Emily laughed, “a contribution to the Panhellenic Scholarship Fund would be appreciated. That's why Ian came tonight … he's now the Faculty Advisor to the Council.” “What about you, Mister Belmondo? Did you bring your checkbook?” Harrison figured that two could play this game. “Andrew tells us that you are a philanthropist in the making, and the hospital endowment fund is going to need some serious cash. Professor Grady here has made it possible for us to help vets with serious mental health issues, but doing so is going to require more of everything, above all staff and floor space. The Psych ward is going to need a major overhaul … an expensive overhaul that will probably result in a new hospital wing. Do such projects interest you?” “Sure. And if you use me as an intermediary, I can save you some dough on the building site. My associates pour a lot of cement in this burg … plumbing, electrical … we do it all.” “Union labor?” “Natch. I'm president of the Teamster's Local, and we take membership seriously. Won't be any scabs on the work site.” “Professor, have you perfected your pitch yet?” Erica had a big smile on her face. “I don't follow,” Ian admitted. “For the scholarship fund. It's always a hard sell, and the ZAP girls aren't making it any easier.” “Here, here,” Cynthia Lyons teased as she and her husband Todd joined the conclave. She cast a sideways glance at Suzie, who had so far steered clear of the conversation. “Talk about taking the rivalry between the houses to the point of absurdity … running around town stealing diapers off of people's front porches. Really!” “The upside is that the hospital got forty-one new candy stripers out of the deal,” Suzie quickly pointed out. “Vincent's diaper service is turning a tidy profit, and ZAP is providing a refuge for bedwetters in the other houses and the dorms. Letters have already gone out to every high school guidance counselor in the state promoting ZAP as a place where bedwetters won't be shamed.” “The girls are turning lemons into lemonade,” Ian added. “And don't let the competition among the houses overshadow their ability to come together for the common good. Suzie, have you got the sign-up sheet in your purse?” Nodding, Suzie pulled it out and handed it to him. “End of term parties, especially formals, are a big deal,” Ian commented as he passed the sheet to Cynthia. “But there are only so many dates on the calendar, and some of the smaller houses don't have the financial wherewithal to host a gala event. I'm working with the Panhellenic Council to overcome these obstacles. And we're getting down into the weeds. For example, ZAP wants to host a Roaring Twenties evening, which means shimmy dresses or ballroom gowns for the ladies and tuxedos for the gentlemen. Rental wear is in limited supply, so best to choose a date when the shops have what we need on hand. Right now, it looks like the frats will be holding court on the twenty-second and twenty-ninth, so I'm going to try and pair them off with the smaller sororities.” “Good luck with that,” Todd snorted. A Beta Theta Rho alum, he regarded the other fraternities as little more than ill disguised drinking societies. “Stan Carmichael has brought the Lamdas on board,” Ian mildly replied. “Which reminds me,” he went on as he reached into his jacket pocket. “This is a list of the business and econ majors in the houses … names, year and GPA. There's a lot of talent here.” Ian raised his voice to make sure that everyone in the room could here him. “I'm thinking of organizing an open house over term break, where the community's business leaders can get together with our young guns and talk shop. I'm pushing them hard to master a foreign language, which is where you come in. If your firms have interests overseas, or would like to dip your toes in the water, what languages would best fit into your long term plans? Here's your chance to influence what goes into the degrees that you are going to end up hiring.” “Good point, Ian,” Andrew nodded. “I learned a lot attending your class, so count me in. And let me be the first person here to make a contribution to the Scholarship Fund.” Pulling out his checkbook, Andrew made out a check for a thousand dollars. “Gonna go you one better,” Spats crowed as he hauled out a sealed envelope. “Ian, here's a G … in crisp, new hundreds.” Spats owed Grady big time for getting the heat off Tony Accardo, but he also wanted to impress Suzie. The lady looked really good hanging on his arm. . . . . It was a little after six o'clock when Johnny Spagnoli's flight landed in Las Vegas. It was a long walk to the taxi stand, but with no luggage to delay him, he figured to reach Battista's just before seven. He was looking forward to dinner at one of the best Italian restaurants in the country, a classy joint that served a decent wine with the meal free of charge. The Outfit normally conducted its business at Piero's, but the Hole in the Wall was the Capo's personal favorite. Tony the Ant would chow down on steak pizzaiola, but Johnny would settle for the world famous veal piccata. The photographs that he would scatter across the table with the cappuccino guaranteed that the night would end well. With luck, he would have time to shoot a little craps at the Stardust before catching the last flight back to LA. Still, he would be up in Ventura when the docks opened for business early Friday morning. Johnny wanted to get a good look at the quarry he had been tracking for more than a week. . . . . “Happy with the take,” Spats asked. It had been a long evening, but the foursome was now on its way to the sorority house. “Six thousand is a good night's work,” Suzie replied. “But then Ian is a very good salesman. Offering to host a roundtable that would give our corporate leadership a chance to groom our business and econ majors while they're still in school was a stroke of genius. After that, it was easy sledding.” “And you held your end up, Spats.” Ian was being sincere. Andrew had taken him aside at the end of the evening to let him know that Spats had neither done nor said anything to embarrass himself. He would be welcome at future gatherings of the community's movers and shakers. “Were you good with the settee?” Sarah had taken Ian into the cloakroom to change his diaper midway through the evening, and Suzie had done the honors just before everyone called it a night. Envious looks had been directed their way by more than one corporate wife, an interesting twist on the otherwise predictable give and take that defined social gatherings among the rich and powerful. “It sure beats the floor,” Ian grinned. “I'll have to see about sticking something like that in my office. It would sure make things easier for Tippi.” “And what do I tell Antonio when he calls in the morning?” Suzie didn't want to get out of the limousine until she had an answer. “Tell him that we won't have a firm date until Monday night our time at the earliest, but to keep Thursday open,” Spats growled. “And find out whether Aldo and the boys are going to test the waters around Palermo this weekend,” Ian added. “Stoney Point is not for beginners. If Palermo doesn't work out, tell him that I want them to practice in Portugal, preferably Praia do Norte. Here, I wrote it down for you.” Ian handed her a note. Sarah gave Ian a quizzical look. She had no idea what he was talking about. “Spats has a cousin in Sicily with whom I've done a fair amount of business,” he explained. “Aldo is Spats' nephew, and he has two sons, nineteen and twenty-one. They are all eager surfers, but before we send them out to the coast I'd like the boys to attend a party or two on Fraternity Row. Midwestern girls can hold their own against California girls any day of the week.” “I'll say,” Suzie called out. “Why settle for a bleached blonde when you'll find the real thing on every college campus in the upper midwest. Vincent, be warned, once they've experienced life on Fraternity Row, your grandnephews may never want to leave!” . . . . Hollie Knightley settled back in her chair, delighted that once again neither Ralph nor Warren had chosen to visit The Pirate's Roost on this laid back Thursday eve. Like Lana and Maureen, she and Dana were now regular members of the circle gathered around Russ Carmody and his friends, and things could only go awry if any of the boating set showed up to ask awkward questions. It had been a profitable day all the way around. Carmody had taken her out to breakfast, after which she had slipped away to do some shopping. A trip to the local Sav-on for a few feminine products ran cover for her visit to the Ventura County Government Center, where she had quickly learned that the Visitor's Center for the new national park was underway down at the harbor. The only structures scheduled for the island themselves were a few outhouses covering primitive pit toilets. In short, Carmody had been lying through his teeth when he asserted that his crew was hard at work on construction sites out on the islands. There was no longer any doubt in her mind: this was the bunch that the Outfit was after. Returning to The Continental Inn later in the morning, she had settled in at the pool along with her friends. Periodically, one of them would accompany a guy back to his room, money would change hands, and sexual favors would be dispensed. It was a profitable afternoon for the four of them, but for Hollie the real payoff was the slips of paper on which the girls had managed to record the names and home addresses off of six different driver's licenses. She now had the ID's of seven of the fourteen men in this cohort. Vegas would definitely be pleased. Over dinner Hollie had an idea that was a stroke of genius. She asked Russ whether there was anyone inbound with whom he thought she should hook up. When he tossed out a name, she asked if she could tag along in the morning so that he could introduce her on the pier. What Hollie really wanted to do was get a closer look at the craft, and hopefully take the measure of its crew. Were they also ex-military? If they looked the part, she would urge Vegas to take a hard look at the skipper. If he didn't own the boat, who did? The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together. She had now identified a quarter of her targets, and by Monday morning she fully expected at a minimum to double that number. Whatever Spats was after, she was going to hand it to him on a silver platter sometime next week.

Not punishment.  Discipline,  as in follow through. After wearing a couple of diapers, I very often lose the ... discipline, and proceed till next time.  Humph