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Bedwetters
Discussion area for REAL adult bedwetters.
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Posts
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By FuryLenon331 · Posted
Katherine cringed at the sight of the canary-yellow bib that now adorned her front. She couldn’t stand anything that messed with her elegant, classy wardrobe. -
By littlebopeeper · Posted
Unless this is going to be a short story, it looks like he's caving in really fast. Telegraphing this way takes the suspense out of it. -
By Little Sherri · Posted
This is corrosive to my faith in humanity. Although I assume he filters these for the worst outcomes. I know 10-year-olds who could answer these questions pretty reliably. -
By fauerdache · Posted
I just started and i wanna try it out of i can Manege it but i wanna know if its hard at First to get the Hang of it? -
By justme9000 · Posted
Thanks for the kind feedback all. Thanks. I'm more confident in my ability to write nice sentences than to construct a satisfying story arc, which I've never done, so that remains to be seen. I always see people saying this is a common trope, but I don't notice that many myself. Possibly because I filter pretty aggressively, rarely finishing stories I don't like. Anyway, here's the next chapter. It's a little shorter because I wrote a ton of exposition between the doctor and Abigail but decided to cut it out because it more or less telegraphed the whole plot. I think it still reads coherently, but I'm just letting it be known in case it stands out. Chapter 2 - Side Effects May Include Oliver knelt on his saturated bedding, eyes locked with Abigail for several tense seconds that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. “I... I... I...” he trembled, wracking his brain for an excuse but none was forthcoming. Abigail closed the gap between them and pressed his head to her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to.” was all he sputtered out the, last word dragged out as the floodgates burst and he began to weep. “I know, I know.” she hushed. “Accidents happen. You just had a little too much soda.” She held him rocking gently for several minutes until concern for his skin and the mattress prompted her to action. “Come on, why don’t you hop in the shower and I’ll take care of all this?” she said as she reflexively pealed his soaking pyjamas off. She hadn’t undressed him in years, but some dormant maternal instinct took over. She shooed him off to the shower and turned her attention to the bedding. He stood in the shower and allowed to hot water to wash over him trying to forget about the events of the past few days. He shut off the water and donned his towel before walking back to his bedroom. When he arrived the chaos of the morning’s events had been replaced by freshly washed sheets, creating a conspicuous contrast reminiscent of a crime scene clean-up. Fresh clothes had been laid out for him which he knew meant he was expected to wear them. A pair of yellow cargo shorts and a light blue t-shirt sporting a playful illustration of the planets. These were some of the older items in his rotation that he ordinarily would have objected to individually, let alone as a set, but he didn’t feel like fighting it this morning. He made his way downstairs with the events of the morning hanging over him. He was greeted with a smile as he entered the kitchen and a plate of fresh French toast, his favorite. He managed a muted thank you and took his seat. Beside his plate was the now familiar glass of Nutriform. This one had been prepared from the green container, not that he could tell the difference. He sipped it without protest and by the end of the meal, the glass was empty but for the coating of residue that lined it. After putting away his dishes, he made to settle in front of the TV. Not long after settling in, Abigail poked her head in. “I’m gonna take a shower. Be good.” She too used her time under the running hot water to reflect and mentally debrief from the past few days. It hadn’t escaped her notice that this bedwetting episode followed her son’s first induced heavy sleep. She certainly wasn’t going to let him in on this theory, and she hoped he wouldn’t draw the connection himself. It wounded his carefully cultivated sense of maturity enough to begin with, without knowing it was going to relinquish him of bladder control too. She smiled to herself at that thought. In reality, apart from his determination to be perceived as such, there was nothing grown up about him at all. She couldn’t help but notice when other adult — her friends, or his friends mothers, teachers — would dote on him, or the subtle ways they’d enunciate big words more slowly for him or insist on helping him with more basic tasks compared to his peers. By the time she shut off the water, she had resolved to give Dr. Richardson a call so she would know what to expect. She checked in on Oliver again to let him know that she’d be in her office getting some work done. She dialed the number closing the door to make sure he was well out of earshot. As the phone rang she tried to get a list of questions straight in her head. They spoke at length, confirming all of Abigail’s suspicions and more before they said their goodbyes and concluded the call. Abigail could feel herself sagging in her office chair as if being drained of the energy it was taking to process everything she had just been told. She could barely focus on work for the next couple of hours. All she could do, she decided, was to take things one challenge and one day at a time. She broke for lunch and went to find Oliver who seemed to be fully mentally invested and more than a little frustrated at some video game she didn’t recognize. He sat hunched over, red in the face with a glassy-eyed stare fixed to a screen where his character was attempting to extract violent, bloody vengeance on the other characters on screen. He grunted loudly and shook the controller every time the tide seemed to turn against him. Maybe less screen time and a little more parental curation of the kind of media he engaged with would do him some good, Abigail thought. “Hey, Mad Max, how about a little lunch?” “What?” he said looking up like had hadn’t noticed her presence up until this point. “It’s a movie from the ancient 20th century. Don’t worry about it. Lunch?” “I’m not hungry.” She took the controller from his hands and pressed the pause button. He shot her a defiant glare but was met with one of her own that he knew meant even more business. “You need to eat.” He threw up his hands and marched into the kitchen with his shoulder arched in annoyance. On the table sat a sandwich with the crusts neatly cut off, a bowl of piping hot tomato soup, and his glass of formula. Part of the way through the meal, Oliver absentmindedly swung his forearm clear through the path of the soup and glass, tipping the bowl over and sending the glass crashing to the ground. Luckily Abigail reacted quickly and hoisted him clear of the impending lava flow, saving him from any burns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” he said, with a shaky sincerity to his voice that immediately discounted Abigail’s initial presumption, that this was a ploy to get out of drinking his formula. Her annoyed expression softened. “It’s okay, what’s important is you weren’t hurt. Have you had enough to eat? We have to get going to the store so I can get back to work.” Abigail worked quickly to clean up the mess all the while considering that this little mishap, intentional or not, had caused him to miss one of his prescribed glasses of formula. They drove to the store and Oliver retrieved a cart, a small task he had adopted to be helpful which he always managed to make look Herculean as to Abigail as he negotiated the unwieldy craft over to her, reaching for the handlebars like a helmsman on a supertanker navigating the Panama canal. Abigail took the cart and lead Oliver on a meandering path weaving through the aisles as they accumulated groceries, taking it at an even slower clip than usual as Abigail put off the inevitable. Eventually there was nothing left to get and Abigail took a sharp breath as she turned down the baby aisle. As casually as she could, she rolled the cart to a stop and scanned the blue packages of boys’ pull-ups lining the shelves and retrieved a single package. “Mom... no. No no no. Please don’t make me! It won’t happen again. I promise.” he pleaded, pulling on her hand in case there was a possibility she simply wasn’t hear him. “I’m sorry hon.” she said as she knelt down to meet him at eye level, holding the blue package like a necessary prop for the explanation. “These are just in case. I can’t have you waking up in wet sheets every morning.” she said before standing to signal that the matter was concluded and placing them in the cart where, as a consequence of being the last item to purchase, it sat clearly atop the pile of shopping for all passersby to see. Oliver followed along to the checkout nursing his wounded pride and straining to hold back tears. He noticed the cashier glance at him as Abigail unloaded the cart onto the conveyor belt, starting with the pull-ups. “Someone having a hard day?” she asked casually as she scanned the items. “Just having some big feelings.” Abigail allowed, They drove home in silence and the rest of the day seemed to pass by without incident until the evening came crashing in on Oliver earlier than expected. “Hey little man, I think we better get your jammies on now before dinner. You know how sleepy you were last night.” she reasoned as she ushered him up the stairs and tailed him into his room. “I can dress myself mom.” “I know you’re a big boy, but this is new to you and I just thought you could use a little help.” she explained as she started to pull his shirt over his head. Oliver noticed her inspect his underwear briefly before throwing them in the hamper and opening the bag of training pants. She pulled out a single pair adorned with a smiling motif of Mickey Mouse and shook them loose before holding them out invitingly for him to step in to. Not wanting to prolong the ordeal, he placed one foot and then the other into the garment, holding onto Abigail’s shoulders for balance as she shimmied them up his legs. Next she helped him into an old, long john style set of pyjamas she picked out for him. He was acutely aware of the feeling of padding hugging his waist and crinkling as he walked down stairs. Passing the hall mirror, he noticed the pyjamas did nothing to conceal his secret. Dinner came and went and Abigail served Oliver his nighttime formula, this time in a plastic cup he noticed, which he drank kneeling in front of the TV. Abigail sat from the couch and took notice of the plastic waistband peaking aa couple of inches above his pyjama pants when he leaned forward, bringing back pleasant memories of time long past. Like clockwork, before long he she could see he was wavering. She stood him up and led him up the stairs to minimal protests. She tucked him into bed and kissed him goodnight before making her way to the door. She glanced back from the threshold to see his thumb had found its way into his mouth as he slept soundly before closing the door.
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