Diaper References

How do those Little Protective Services amazons even collect their paychecks with a straight face? So many littles being treated so roughly and do they come and take those amazons away? As if! I don't recall seeing any stories with amazons who were either furry-furries or not covered in fur but furry-fandom. I do remember seeing a story where you had not just littles but little sized furry people who were at extra risk of being grabbed because they were seen as even cuter than many littles. Chores! Chores! Hey Amazons, give Alex all the chores! Like maybe he gets his intended Amazon parents, but they recognize that he's a brat and don't play along with the bratty games he wants to play. All the toys and hobbies? Not for bratty brats who are being disciplined. It's corner time and a playpen with no toys and no TV nearby for him. Hey, future Amazon Parents of Alex, have you heard of Soggies diapers with FeelWet™ technology are now available with the same Shame When Wet™ shell art as Soggies' Not So BigKid™ Untraining Pants? They're the only diaper that feels wet even when dry and has art that looks like the usual cute prints when dry but changes to teasing prints when wet. I'm a brand ambassador, so have some of their coupons for one of their BratPacks. I knew it! The most tricky amazon of all, Mister Murphy has dropped his law upon Alex! Doom! Doom! Alex's perfect life is over! Mrs. McValence's perfect demonstration target is born! Absolutely deserved. If he's super, super duper, extra lucky the parents he wanted will come through the door and rescue him. Only for him to find out he's still in ultra trouble.  

Chapter 7   I exit through the multicolored glass door of the famed coffee and pastry chain, putting my sunglasses back over my eyes as I walk through the parking lot and back to my car. I take a small sip of the hot coffee, the styrofoam squeaking lightly against the tips of my fingers as I do so.   Holy shit that’s so awful.   I gag audibly in performative melodrama to an audience of no one. I don’t understand why Northeasterners are so obsessed with this place. God, it’s like drinking battery acid. Get your pH balance right, you godless, donut-bearing heathens.   I sit down in my car and take another sip. Equally repugnant. As I rest my weight into the seat, I notice something feels off, like I can feel my ass bones pressing into the leather. The pull-ups I’m wearing under my jeans barely make a rustle as I move around. I really would’ve thought the transition from diapers to training pants would have been less jarring than cotton, but god, it’s like I’m basically wearing nothing.    It’s crazy how quickly your body adjusts in little ways to new normals, and how you don’t even realize it until they’re ripped away. The telltale symphony of crinkles you hear every time you move in your seat reduced to a fraction of the volume, how much harder surfaces feel when you sit on them…not to mention having to catch yourself from just relaxing when you feel a twinge in your bladder.   I squirm a bit at the thought, my hand going to the front of my jeans instinctively. I press my fingers gently into the crotch of my pants, feeling the…VERY SLIGHTLY damp padding shift from the pressure. My cheeks flush immediately despite my rationalization.   There I was last night, debating whether or not I should wear one of the few diapers I had left in my inventory on the drive down. I'd gotten so used to peeing myself every half-hour or so that there was no way I'd be dry for my initial intake and medical exam, and that thought made my stomach curl.   On the other hand, there'd already been a few times I caught myself peeing before I'd even fully processed what was happening. It's not like I was having 'accidents,' per se…I was just BARELY thinking about using my diapers before relaxing my bladder, three weeks into wearing almost constantly. I’m sure I’d be fine if I had even a day or so to adjust, but I was leaving the next morning, and then I’d be back in diapers full time just a few hours later.   I couldn’t honestly say that I trusted myself in big girl panties for a few hours.   That thought made me irrationally squirmy.   God dammit. Focus, you dumb baby. What are you gonna do?   Then the perfect compromise hit me: Pull-ups.   Did I have any? No. Could I get them delivered from TheNile in a few hours? Yes. Was it insanely asinine and wasteful to order an entire pack of them just so I could use one of them for maybe three hours on my journey down to Evergreen, especially considering I might not even end up needing the extra protection? Abso-fucking-lutely.   I ordered them right away. And it turns out my anxiety was justified. I hadn’t even made it an hour into the drive before I noticed a twinge in my bladder. I smiled, I let myself relax, felt a tiny bit of warmth–   SHIT. NO. ABORT. FUCK.   My hand shot to my jeans, clenching my pelvic muscles as I stopped myself mid-stream. Luckily it was little more than a spurt, and the pull-ups absorbed it with no issues.   I squirm again. I SHOULD feel responsible. I made the right call. But ‘the right call’ was about whether or not I could keep my pants dry for a couple of hours. The juxtaposition of maturity was ripping my brain in half.   I take a third sip of the coffee. The lukewarm toxic sludge hitting my tongue grounds me in an instant, snapping me back to reality. I shake off the thoughts, starting my car, my phone automatically re-connecting to the system as it springs back to life. A map with directions pulls up on the central interface.   14 Minutes 1 Evergreen Blvd   Less than a quarter hour off the highway. Less than fifteen minutes until my new life officially begins.   I look at the top corner of the screen. Two bars of reception, and I’m about to drive from nowhere-adjacent to its absolute center.   You’ve procrastinated for the entire first hour of the trip. It’s now or never. You’ve gotta call Mom.    I click into the phone app on the car screen and scroll to mom’s name. I hover over the call button.   It’s fine, you’ve got this, just like you practiced:   Hey Mom! I’m calling from the road right now. I’m sorry but things have gotten soooo crazy for me in the past couple weeks. I’ve decided I’m going to Evergreen. I know it’s a lot out of nowhere, but I really don’t see any downside to getting another two years of schooling and connections under my belt. I’ve gotta go, I’m pulling up now, but I love you! We’ll talk more soon!   And that would be that. Cut her off with a slight stretch of the truth so she doesn’t have time to rebut. Today is gonna be a lot as it is, and an exasperated sigh from her is the upper limit of what my brain can handle right now.   My hand is still hovering.   Fuck. I should’ve done this days ago. Stupid.   My finger presses down.   …One ring tone…   …Another…   …And again…   “Hiiiiiii there! This is Victoria. I can’t make it to the phone, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can! Have a great day!”   My breath releases in a heavy sigh of relief. Oh god, a voicemail is gonna be so much easier.   I feel a bit guilty at how relieved I feel.   The BEEEEEEEEPP that follows pulls me back out of my own head. Shit.   “Hi! Mom! It’s Erica! You probably knew that, duh,” I laugh nervously. Dammit girl, get your shit together.   “Sorry I missed you and that I took forever to let you know, things have just been….BLAAAAAHH!” I make a silly face and voice. Jesus Christ.   “But yeah, so, anyway, sorry, I’m just calling to let you know that I’m going to Evergreen! The school. I decided to do it. Two more years of school and connections for free just seems too good to turn down…so…”   I pause for a second. I squirm in my seat anxiously. The rustle of my damp pull-up distracts me, and the pause stretches from awkward into something worse. Fuck, what else?   “So yeah! Just wanted to let you know! The apartment’s all set, I won’t be able to make it home first, I’m actually heading down to school now. About to pull-up, actually!”   My stomach flips at the freudian slip, and I cough uncontrollably like a fucking idiot.   “Sorry! I’ll call back soon and we can talk more! Love you! Bye! Bye! Bye.”   I pause for another second. Jesus, that was abysmal. All that mid-shower rehearsal, and for what? Should I re-record that?    Whatever. It’s fine. I hit the red button to end the call.   I breathe out slowly, deeply. That was certainly a voicemail of all time. The guilt of having to break the news to her like that is still nagging heavily at the back of my mind.   It’s fine. I’ll talk to her soon. I adjust my rear view mirror for no reason, the boxes I have stacked in the pulled-down seats of my hatchback making it impossible to use. I take one more sip of coffee. Christ. Still so bad.   I turn on the loudest, most braindead deathcore playlist in my library to drown out any semblance of thought in my racing mind.   Next stop: Evergreen.   ———   Well that’s intimidating.   I had first spotted the stone wall through the trees a mile or so back. Ten feet tall, plain, light grey stone, with the tiniest hint of ornate carvings running along the top trim. I followed the road until I hit the road sign for EVERGREEN BLVD and swung a right. I saw it right away on approach: a wide stone arch connecting the walls on either side, a wide pillar hanging down right in the center of it.   No…not a pillar, a small structure. I can see a black tinted window roughly eye level in the front of the structure. This must be the first security checkpoint.   And now I’m sitting in the car, completely stopped at the road’s entrance like a head in deerlights. Wait, what? Oh my god, I need more coffee.   I’ve already stopped the music, ears ringing just a bit. Just dead silence as I stare at the monolithic, imposing pillar in front of me.   I snap out of it when I see a figure pop out of the side of the structure. It’s waving at me energetically. I shake my head and pull up, slowly but surely. My head shoots downward for a moment as I slow the car to a crawl, and I have to stop myself from checking my pull-ups through my jeans again.    When I finally get close enough to see the door to the checkpoint, I see the figure again, waving at me with a warm smile. I feel my chest tighten a touch. It’s fine. They’re basically underwear, and they’re barely wet. No one will see. No one will know.   “Hey hun, don’t be shy. How’re you doing today? New student, just arriving?” Her voice is low, a bit gravelly, but has a surprisingly calm and soothing tone.   She’s an older woman in a light grey guard uniform that matches the stone walls surrounding her. She has curly grey hair, long, but pulled back into a tight bun. Her eyes look like they’re only half open, but there’s a gentleness to them I wouldn’t have expected from a security officer.   “Hi! Yes, sorry. Erica Fairport, new student.”   “Perfect! Welcome to Evergreen, Erica. I’m Betty, and it’s a pleasure to meet ya.” I can see her making a few clicks on the monitor she’s sitting in front of. “I just need a quick photo ID from you and we’ll get you on your way.”   “Oh, sure, of course!” I stumble and frantically dive into my bag. I should’ve gotten this out ahead of time, what was I thinking?   “No rush hun, take your time,” she says in an equally calm measure. She probably means that genuinely, but I maintain my frantic pace regardless, albeit with a quick glance and smile to her.   I eventually grab my license out of my wallet, cringing as I glance at the picture on it. It’s amazing how bad the photographers at the DMV make you look, even after you spend hours doing your hair and makeup the morning of.   Betty smiles again and casually takes the license from my hand with a, “Thanks hun, this’ll just be a second…”   I see her do a quick check of the front of the license before flipping it over and placing it somewhere out of my line of sight. I hear a beep from somewhere in the guard post. An exhale from Betty follows, and then a rhythmic clacking of her long, gorgeously painted nails on plastic as she rolls her fingers against the desk.   Another beep a moment later, and another smile from Betty. She turns back to me slowly, handing back my license in turn.   “You’re all set, Erica. Just follow this road, it’ll lead you directly to the parking garage. Once you’re underground, just park in the first lot you come to, which is the guest lot. From there you’ll see some signs to the elevator that’ll lead you to the campus entrance. Everything’s well marked, so don’t worry about getting lost.”   I place my license back in my wallet, nodding in understanding. “Amazing, thanks so much Betty! I hope you have a great day!”   She smiles back to me, taking a sip of her own shitty coffee in the same styrofoam cup as she waves a goodbye.   Well that was relatively painless. For a school so worried about security, I was honestly expecting a full sweep of my car. It’s only as I pull forward that I notice several thin black strips running along the underside of the arch above me. Were they scanning my car while I was parked under the arch?   I shrug it off. Whatever makes things easy.   The two-lane road immediately bends to the left, thick pine trees flanking either side, completely obscuring the view after twenty or so feet. I drive slowly as the path winds back and forth a few times before coming to a small clearing, the road straightening and running directly into a tunnel built into a tall, grassy knoll. The hill must be two stories tall and twice as wide, again completely blocking the view of anything beyond it.   The tunnel starts descending almost immediately as I drive into it, then flattens at what must be at least thirty feet underground. The tunnel is well lit but plain, the walls and ceiling lined with bright concrete.   Another fifty yards in I see the tunnel opening up, with a large sign pointing to the right for GUEST PARKING. The ceiling of the opening curves up to about fifteen feet into a wide dome shape, a single level parking lot appearing before me. There’s a fork at the entrance to this lot, with a sign reading STAFF HOUSING to the right and STUDENT PARKING / STAFF PARKING / DELIVERIES going straight.   I turn into the guest parking lot. It’s easily the biggest underground lot I’ve ever seen. I can see probably two dozen cars bunched together close to what I’m assuming are the elevators, and they’re taking up maybe a quarter of the available spaces.   I park as close as I can to the cluster. As I do, I can see a comically large, ornately decorated sign bolted into the cement, an arrow pointing down to the floor below it:   ELEVATORS   I guess Betty wasn’t kidding.   I hop out of my car and shut the door behind me, then swing around to my trunk. The paperwork wasn’t clear on when or where I should bring my stuff in, so I guess I should grab a few suitcases now just in case I need to take multiple trips. I grab the first oversized, black, plastic-shelled travel suitcase from out of my trunk, pulling the handle up as I set it on the ground next to me.   “Welcome, new student!” I hear in a strange, overly enthusiastic voice behind me.   I jump what feels like several feet in the air. That’s one hundred percent a serial killer, and this is how I die. I quickly turn around, heart pounding in my ears, hoping I have enough time to kick the killer square in the dick before he starts with the stabby stabs.   Who I’m met with is…well, actually, no one at all. Five feet in front of me is what appears to be a large hotel bellhop cart, lined in a polished, silvery metal finish with multiple hooks, racks, shelves, and a large bin in the center. I stare at it in confusion for a moment until I notice a pair of cheap-looking plastic googly eyes staring right back at me from the solid panel lining the front of the cart.   “Hello, new student!” it repeats, “Please confirm identity: ERICA FAIRPORT.”   I laugh out loud. Still slightly disconcerting, but oh my god, the googly eyes got me. So stupid.   “I…um…yes, that’s me,” I reply to the machine, still half out of breath.   It pauses for a moment before continuing, “Thank you for confirming, ERICA FAIRPORT.” The tonal shift where the AI takes over for the name pronunciation is jarring, almost comically so. “Please load all items you wish to be brought to your room on my shelves and racks! After you are finished loading me up, please say, ‘LOAD COMPLETE’”.   I laugh again. That had to be intentional, right? I don’t know, maybe I really do just have the same sense of humor as a twelve-year-old boy.   “Alright, scab,” I reply in my best fake porn voice, cracking my knuckles before walking closer to the cart, gently caressing the polished metal as I continue, “Hope you’re ready, because I’m about to fill you up with my big. Fat. Load.”   I fucking crack myself up.   A few minutes later and I’ve filled the bot up with everything in my car. It’s probably a little sad that I can fit my entire life onto a bellhop robot, but I’m honestly more impressed than anything.   “Load Complete, my little slut.” I can’t help but take one more crack.   “Confirmed! Thank you, ERICA FAIRPORT,” it replies in the same, overly jolly tone, “I will now proceed to your room, ROOM 404. I will remain directly outside of your room until you are ready to unload all of your items into your new living space!”   And with that, it starts wheeling away from me at a hilariously slow pace.   Well, that was equal parts weird and convenient.   I make my way to the elevator, purse on my shoulder, sunglasses on my head, coffee cup in hand. I take a final swig. FUCK. So awful. I toss the cup in the trash can in front of the elevator right before I walk in.   Only two buttons on this one, CAMPUS and GARAGE. I press the former and I’m on my way.   The first thing that hits me when the elevator doors part is the smell. The air is heavy and humid, carrying a mix of pine, earth, and a sort of clean musk into my lungs. I’m instantly hit with a flashback to the summer camp I attended in middle school. A light breeze kisses my cheeks, gently blowing through my hair. I feel a calmness easing through my whole body.   I step out from under the small canopy covering the elevator entrances. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light of the mostly clear sky, taking my sunglasses down as I step forward onto the cobblestone path in front of me. The sounds hit me next. The light rustling of the wind through the trees fills my ears, followed by a chorus of birdsongs.   But when my eyes adjust a few seconds later, I see it, directly in front of me, right on the path ahead.   Holy fucking shit.   The building is totally unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Its scale and beauty are equally staggering. Dark brick, copper colored roofing, and gigantic glass windows comprise the majority of the structure. I see two glass rotundas from my angle: one on the top level of the frontmost building, and a much larger one further back. I can’t even tell how far up it goes…I try to count the levels, but keep getting distracted by the glasswork, the detail of which I’m blown away by even from this distance. There’s also absolutely no way to tell how far back the building goes from this angle.   I realize I’m barely moving, slowed to a crawl in my state of awe. I pick up the pace a little, but my gaze continues to shoot all over, admiring so many tiny details that I can barely retain them all.   The front of the building seems to form a sort of semi-circle shape, but with several sharp angles separating certain sections. Jesus, so much glass. So many windows. The natural lighting in there must be phenomenal.    It all faces a large, mostly empty, light-colored brick courtyard. At the center of the courtyard is a large bronze statue of an angelic looking figure, wings and hands both facing sharply upward, its face looking directly forward, right into my soul.   I walk closer, the whole structure continuing to grow in stature as I do so, towering over me. The sun’s light gleams off of the windows at different angles with every movement I make. I slowly start to notice dozens of tiny rainbow shadows (wait, no, refractions, right?) scattered across the grounds of the courtyard as I pass through it.   I gaze at the statue as I pass it. Its lack of real detail is intriguing, thanks especially to its towering scale of at least twelve feet. I try to spot a plaque, an inscription, ANY kind of marker as I continue to walk by it, but find nothing. Huh.   I face the building once again, spotting the large wooden doors in the center. They’re flanked by massive paned glass windows on all sides, left, right, upward and diagonally. I pause just before I make it to the door, and my hand shoots to the front of my jeans for another instinctive check. I step forward, brace myself, expecting that they’ll need a good amount of push to open. When I do push, I’m shocked by how light they are, and how easily they glide open.   I step through the door, taking my sunglasses off and placing them on the top of my head once again, my eyes taking another moment to adjust to the indoor space. The doors swing shut behind me and the noise of the courtyard just… stops. The silence is deafening.   There’s a staircase directly in front of me, and it’s breathtakingly gorgeous…I’m no architectural guru, but I can recognize an artistic masterpiece when I see one. Carved banister, wide enough for four people, leading up to a landing lined with large paintings, all of which seem to be landscapes, and all against walls paneled with dark wood.   There’s dark wood everywhere. Panels running the full height of the walls, upstairs and down, waxed to a low shine…the kind of wood that took a forest and a century. Delicately carved, pale, off-white stone pillars form a line underneath the atrium for support. Past them, the room keeps going, though I can’t see how far.   The floor is stone, the same shade of off-white as the pillars. You can see where it’s worn smooth in a path down the middle, just a few shades lighter, tens of thousands of footsteps impressing it over at least a hundred years. My steps echo on the pale, archaic stone. I take three of them and stop, the sound of my own shoes making me unbelievably self-conscious.   Two hallways, one on either side. The left one is lit and open and has a little brass sign. The right one is just… a hallway.   Against the center of the left wall is a large desk. Dark wood, similar in shade to the room's paneling but noticeably more modern. The woman behind it is already looking up at me, already smiling, like she's been expecting me for a while.   "Welcome to Evergreen!" Her voice bounces off every wall in the room. She's younger than Betty by a couple of decades, dark hair in a high ponytail, sporting a pastel yellow cardigan so bright it could sear the skin off a vampire. The nameplate on the desk reads SANDRA. "New student?"   "Hi! Yes. Erica Fairport." I walk toward the desk, my footsteps announcing every inch of the trip.   "Erica! Perfect, perfect, perfect." I hear her begin to clack at a keyboard that’s out of my view, typing at a speed I can only describe as ludicrous. "Can I please just grab your ID one more time? I know, I know…Betty JUST checked it down at the front gate, but I PROMISE this is the last time you’ll have to take it out today."   I smile back to her as I fish the license back out of my purse, this time with fifty percent less clumsy bitch energy (practice makes perfect). Sandra takes it, holds it up, does the glance-down-glance-up, and hands it back with a smile like I've passed some kind of test.   "Wonderful! Okay!" She produces a lanyard from under the desk with a plastic badge clipped to it. TEMPORARY, it says, in letters big enough to read from low earth orbit. She also hands me a single folded sheet of paper. "Please be sure to keep this badge on until you get your new watch! You’re headed to New Student Intake, which is in our medical wing.”   I unfold it. It's a clean little diagram of the first floor: the Grand Hall, the Dining Hall, Medical, a terrace, a scatter of restrooms. Half the rooms don't have labels at all.   "Head straight through those doors, then all the way through the Grand Hall…it’s the first room you enter after the security door and you’ll absolutely know it when you see it because oh. My. God. SO GORGEOUS.” She laughs and fans herself in jest. “After that, just take a right at the windows. The signs should lead you right to medical after that, and the door to intake will be on your left!"   “Straight, right, follow the signs. Got it.” I loop the lanyard over my head. "Thank you so much!"   "Of course, hun! And congratulations, by the way." She says it warmly, like she means something specific by it, and then she's already looking back at her screen.   I turn to my right, toward the back of the room that she gestured to. That’s when it occurs to me that there are no doors.   The wall under the atrium is just… wall. That dark wood paneling, floor to ceiling, interrupted by nothing except the stone pillars in front of it. I glance down at the map, then up again, like a door is going to materialize out of sheer cartographic authority.   Behind me, I hear a single soft click.   A section of the paneling swings inward. A whole piece of the wall, moving on invisible hinges, opening onto a lit space beyond. No hiss, no glowing seam, no campy spaceship noises. It just opens, the way a door opens, because apparently it is one.   What in the ever-loving sci-fi fuck?   I look back at Sandra. She's still facing her screen, but she's smiling.   "Right through there, sweetie."   Okay. Sure. The walls open here. Noted.   I walk through the door-that’s-a-wall-that’s-a-door and it closes behind me with the same soft click, seamless again, and I'm standing in a small wood-paneled room about the size of my old bedroom. Empty, except for a single frosted glass door set in the center of the far wall, glowing faintly with the light of whatever's behind it. A small black panel waits beside it at shoulder height.   An airlock. It's a fancy, wood-paneled airlock. What the fuck IS this place?   I tap the temporary badge against the panel. It replies in a series of jolly beeps, like a tiny robot sidekick saying hello, and the frosted glass slides aside.   Oh.   Oh, wow.   The Grand Hall is the kind of room that makes you stand still in the doorway like an idiot, which is exactly what I do. It's a ballroom. An actual, honest-to-Vishnu, Victorian ballroom, the length of maybe four of my apartments, with floor-to-ceiling windows down the entire far wall pouring morning light across a polished parquet floor. The ceiling is white and gold and painted… a mural with clouds and pale blue sky, like somebody looked at the actual sky outside, thought they could do better, and said ‘Hold my beer’. A chandelier the size of my car hangs dead center, throwing tiny prisms across the floor. Two raised seating areas bracket the far corners, all velvet and dark wood, arranged around fireplaces I'd bet money still work.   It's the kind of room that should be roped off. The kind you shuffle through behind a tour guide who says please don't touch anything twice a minute. And instead there's a girl my age curled sideways in one of the velvet chairs with her shoes off, reading something on a tablet, a coffee cup on the two-hundred-year-old table beside her like it's a dorm lounge.   Because it is. Because this is where I live now.   I cross the ballroom at a reverent shuffle, resisting the urge to apologize to the parquet, and pass under the arch at the far end.   The corridor beyond runs along the back of the building, and the entire outer wall is glass. Beyond it, a stone terrace, and beyond that the lawn rolls downhill for what must be a quarter mile to the lake, because of course there’s also a fucking lake. The water glimmers in the morning sun with absurd beauty, like a shot out of a cheesy romance film. Glass doors stand open to the terrace, and the scent of pine and fresh water fills my lungs.   To my left, the hallway wraps around, and a bronze sign with tidy institutional lettering points that way:   DREAMLAND NURSERY →  POOL →   My whole body cringes so completely that I feel my teeth vibrate. Dreamland Nursery. Sure. Fine. Of course that's real, and of course it has a sign, in the same font they'd use for a chemistry lab.    I’m not ready to think about that sign, so I don't. Instead, I go right.   Twenty feet down, another archway opens on my left, and the smell hits me before the sight does: coffee. Real coffee, recently ground, so so so fresh. The Dining Hall is smaller than the ballroom but built from the same materials: long tables, big windows, morning light. A handful of girls are scattered around it in twos and threes, eating, talking quietly, one of them laughing at something with a mug in her hand.   My mouth literally waters. I think about the styrofoam abomination I drank an hour ago and feel a wave of genuine grief.   Later. Coffee later. Intake now.   Another sign at the far side of the dining room points me onward, and the corridor past it changes personality mid-stride. The dark wood gives way to pale walls, the stone floor to something softer and quieter, the light warmer and lower. It doesn't look like a hospital. It looks like what a hospital would be if somebody actually wanted you to feel okay in it, which for some reason makes my heart beat harder, not softer.   And then I see it. An office door on the left, propped open, with a rolling poster board parked beside it. The board is bordered with a god-damn-I-shit-you-not literal construction paper rainbow, complete with an enormous hand-drawn arrow pointing at the door. Above it are bubble letters in six alternating colors:   ✿ NEW STUDENT INTAKE ✿   Somebody laminated it.   I stand there a second, one hand on the strap of my purse, the little map folded in my fist, my damp pull-up suddenly very present against my skin. Three weeks of practicing alone in my apartment, and every step of it walked me here, to a door with a fucking rainbow on it.   Okay, Erica.   I step inside.

Thank you!

You could just be in between sizes, which requires some more experimentation. When I first bought Megamaxes a few years ago, out of habit I just bought a pack of mediums when I should really have gotten small. Yes, the tapes felt snug around my tummy...but I didn't have a snug fit around the legs. I ended up leaking pretty badly on a chair at a garage while waiting for new tyres to be put on my car - didn't notice how bad the leak was until I got up to pay. I know buying samples can be a bit expensive, but it might be worth it if it helps you decide if it's a taping issue or a sizing issue.

Sad to say we lost another resource The once-gret XPMedical has closed. No word on why, but they haven't been the same since Gary sold them.