Diaper References

Well, about 7am I came here in a 4 tape low end cloth backed Attends disposable and tried to read the forums.  Unfortunately I kept getting a message something was wrong, please try again.  I was able to get in the chat room where others said they had the same problem.  I reported it.  Changed out of my Attends around 9am or shortly before. I just discovered I'll have the house to myself the rest of the day, so I am now in a Betterdry diaper with double layer russel plastic pants over it and a good slathering of Vaseline on my butt and between my legs in case I mess myself (which is very possible). 

Chapter 20: Fallout   Ms. Thorne cradled the device between shoulder and ear, her fingers dancing across a digital ledger, tallying profits and losses with the detached precision of a seasoned trader. The phone chirped, its tone as crisp as the lines of code that swirled on her screen. "Ms. Thorne, you have Evelyn Harrow on the line," her assistant's voice cut through the financial reverie. "Patch her through," she commanded without missing a beat, shifting in her chair to face the skyline beyond her window—a mosaic of steel and light that felt more at home than any terrestrial vista. "Evelyn," Ms. Thorne greeted, her voice devoid of warmth yet polished to a professional sheen. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Evelyn's response crackled through, laced with a melody that masked the cold undercurrents. "I trust you've heard about the minor setback with our last shipment?" Ms. Thorne's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, an imperceptible motion betraying annoyance. "I might consider it more than minor if it affects my clients' satisfaction." The silence on the other end lasted just long enough to communicate disapproval. "Well, let's just say they weren't quite up to standard," Evelyn finally conceded. "A hiccup in the training process." "A hiccup we can ill afford." Ms. Thorne's words were terse pebbles tossed across a still pond. "I'm aware," Evelyn said, an edge creeping into her tone. "Which is why I'm proposing a solution—a new arrival who might just fit your clientele's exacting standards." Ms. Thorne leaned back, allowing herself a moment to consider the offer veiled within Evelyn's velvet tones. "Go on." "He's bright, resilient—qualities your customers adore. I can ensure his compliance; he'll be primed for display by next auction." A pause stretched between them like taut wire. "Your assurances have been less than reliable lately," Ms. Thorne observed. A soft laugh floated from Evelyn's end—a brushstroke of disdain on an otherwise placid conversation. "Let's not dwell on past inconveniences, shall we? This one is different." "Different enough to risk my reputation?" Ms. Thorne challenged. Evelyn's reply came swift and sharp as a scalpel's edge. "Consider it an exclusive opportunity, one you'd be foolish to decline." Ms. Thorne weighed the threat nestled in Evelyn's promise like a jeweler appraising an opaque gemstone. Calculations flickered in her gaze, each one dissecting potential gains against potential repercussions. "Very well," she said at last, her voice a calm expanse hiding turbulent depths. "But should this 'exclusive opportunity' fall through—" "It won't," Evelyn cut in smoothly. "But if it does," Ms. Thorne continued as if uninterrupted, "you'll find my goodwill isn't inexhaustible." Evelyn let silence speak for a moment before responding with controlled grace. "Understood." With that, the line went dead, leaving Ms. Thorne alone with her thoughts and the sprawling cityscape—a web of connections and power plays in which she was both spider and fly. * * * The car pulled up to Emerson's hospital, a sleek silhouette against the imposing backdrop of the institution. Behind the wheel sat a figure clad in the distinctive attire of a tippy toes nurse, an unusual sight for someone of his build and demeanor. The uniform hung on his tall, lean frame with an air of irony; he seemed more accustomed to the cut of a sharp suit than the soft fabric designed for nurturing caregivers. As he stepped out, the light playing off his intelligent eyes, betraying a mind that danced with thoughts far removed from the caregiving role his outfit suggested. A deceptive smile played on his lips, one that could charm and disarm with equal ease. His hair, neatly styled, suggested an attention to detail that bordered on meticulous, while his movements carried a confidence that spoke of authority rather than subservience. As he locked the car with a subtle click, he surveyed his surroundings with a critical eye. The park stretched before him like a canvas painted with shades of green and ivory – statues of renowned scholars looked on in silent judgment while art installations caught the sunlight in playful glints. It was a space crafted for giants, where every bench and blade of grass was scaled to match their grandeur. He passed by others without so much as a glance, their conversations floating by as insignificant whispers against the grand scheme playing out in his mind. He carried with him an air of expectancy, as though each moment leading up to this had been carefully orchestrated for maximum effect.   The clerk at the registration desk looked up, her eyes widening slightly as the man approached. Her surprise was palpable, though she masked it quickly with a practiced smile. It wasn't every day that someone in a tippy toes nurse's uniform strolled into Emerson’s park, let alone one with such an imposing presence. "Good morning," she greeted, her voice steady. "How may I assist you today?" He leaned on the counter, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Morning. I'm here to collect a Little under your care—Bixente Echavoyen." The name seemed to echo around the room, causing a momentary hush in the usual hum of activity. The clerk's fingers danced over the keyboard, a frown creasing her brow as she searched the records. "Bixente Echavoyen, you said?" She glanced up at him through her lashes, clearly still processing his request. "One moment, please." He nodded, patience etched into his stance as he surveyed the room around him with an air of detached curiosity. The clerk scrutinized the screen before her, and then checked a stack of papers beside her computer. With each passing second, her initial surprise gave way to confusion and then to cautious acceptance. "Everything seems to be in order," she said finally, handing over a clipboard with several forms attached. "Please sign here and here." He took the pen she offered and signed with a flourish that spoke of confidence. Handing back the clipboard, he watched as she stamped the papers with an official seal. "Room 11," she informed him, her voice tinged with uncertainty that she couldn't quite hide. He nodded again, offering no further conversation as he took a step back from the desk. There was an air about him that suggested he was well-versed in these procedures; yet something in his gaze hinted at thoughts far beyond the walls of this park and its bureaucratic processes. In silence, he waited for them to bring Bixente out to him, his mind already turning over what would come next in this carefully laid plan of his.   The man offered a brief nod of gratitude to the clerk, who watched with a mix of relief and bewilderment as he turned away. He navigated the halls with a practiced ease, passing doorways that whispered secrets of academia and tradition. He arrived at a quiet room where Bixente lay, the soft rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life in his sleeping form. Bixente's face, serene in slumber, betrayed none of the turmoil that had seized him in recent days. The boy's deep blue eyes remained closed, lashes casting delicate shadows over his youthful cheeks. The mechanical bed hummed faintly, its technology a stark contrast to the boy's vulnerability. The man approached with silent steps, careful not to disturb the peace that sleep had granted Bixente. With deft hands, he unlocked the restraints that secured Bixente to the bed and scooped him up. The boy remained oblivious to the transfer, his body limp in the arms of his unexpected caretaker. In one smooth motion, the man placed Bixente into a stroller designed for such occasions—its frame sturdy yet discreet, cradling its occupant with care. He secured the restraints around Bixente, ensuring safety without causing discomfort. With each click of the buckles, it was as if he was sealing away Bixente's fate within the confines of soft padding and secure straps. With Bixente settled, the man wheeled him through Emerson’s park, moving past statues and art pieces that seemed to observe their passage with silent scrutiny. The stroller glided over well-tended paths toward a changing station, weaving through clusters of students and faculty who paid them little mind— showing how too common such sights had become. Once alone, he slipped out of the nurse's garb with a sigh of relief. The walls, adorned with whimsical characters and vibrant hues, mocked him silently as he folded the uniform with a precision that belied his distaste for the role it represented. His movements were swift, shedding the facade of caregiver as easily as one might discard a worn-out pair of gloves. He dressed in casual attire, choosing pieces that fit his frame and his status—a crisply ironed shirt paired with jeans that clung to his long legs in a way that spoke of quiet confidence rather than ostentation. The transformation was not merely physical; with each layer of clothing, he reclaimed his identity, shrugging off the constraints of expectation and assumption. His reflection in the mirror gave a subtle nod of approval as he ran a hand through his hair, restoring it to its usual impeccable state. The door swung open with a gentle push, and he stepped back into the world, now just another face in the crowd.   The park welcomed him back with open arms, embracing him in its leafy bosom. He strolled through Emerson’s park with purpose, pushing the stroller ahead of him. The air buzzed with the chatter of students and academics lost in their own orbits of thought and discussion. A mother walked alongside her charges—a pair of toddlers bouncing on youthful legs—when her gaze caught on Bixente's still form in the stroller. She slowed her pace, her eyes darting between the sleeping boy and the man who guided him through this garden of giants. "My goodness," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "The eyes... such a striking resemblance." Her words hung between them like an unspoken question, an invitation to unravel a mystery that was none of her business. He turned to meet her gaze, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a conspiratorial wink. "Family traits can be quite persuasive," he offered, voice tinged with amusement that didn't quite reach his eyes. She smiled back, perhaps content with this scrap of acknowledgment or simply charmed by his demeanor. With a final glance at Bixente's peaceful face, she corralled her little and continued on her way. He watched her depart before redirecting his attention to the path ahead. Each step carried them further from the life Bixente knew—a life suspended in the quietude of sleep—and closer to an uncertain future where control and autonomy were currencies hard-earned and easily spent.   The park's tranquility followed them out to where traffic hummed with life. He maneuvered the stroller with ease to where his car waited—its design sleek and unassuming among its peers. The back door opened at a touch, revealing a car seat inside tailored for a Little's safety. Gently lifting Bixente once more, he settled him into the car seat. Straps clicked into place over the boy's form as if embracing him in a protective cocoon. The man stood back for a moment, his gaze lingering on Bixente's still face before he closed the door with a soft thud. He noticed the familiar silhouette of a tippy toes vehicle navigating its way toward Emerson’s hospital, and a grin crept across his face. The sight sparked a sense of satisfaction within him, a small victory in a game that was far from over. He watched as the vehicle, unmistakable with its vibrant livery and playful design, merged into the flow of traffic with an air of importance that belied its appearance. A chuckle escaped his lips, soft but carrying an edge. He shook his head slightly, acknowledging the absurdity of it all—the way power and control dressed themselves up in the soft pastels and rounded edges meant for children. His thoughts turned to Bixente—sleeping innocently in the back seat—and to all that lay ahead. There were moves yet to be made, strategies yet to unfold. But for now, he allowed himself a small measure of contentment in knowing that the first phase had gone exactly as planned. Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the car with barely a whisper of sound—a marvel of engineering that promised power without proclamation. As he pulled away from Emerson’s park, blending into the flow of traffic, there was no spectacle to mark their departure—just another vehicle carrying its precious cargo toward an unseen destination. The world continued its rhythm around them; pedestrians walked by engrossed in their own lives while other cars merged and turned at intersections oblivious to the stroller now empty at Emerson’s park. The car vanished into the throng like a drop melding into an ocean—a typical event on an ordinary day.     end of part I

"Park!" He shouts excitedly

Yes.  But the "underwear" that Macy is wearing is absorbent.  But if more of the class wore diapers,  it would be more of a normal thing and the "special needs" wouldn't really be an issue... 😅

I came home from work this morning and had some breakfast and got ready for my Dr. appointment.  After that,  I  had a little running around to do. My last stop was at Walmart to get a fee things. As I walked around the store,  I really had to go. I really had to clench to hold it in.  By the time I got home,  it was really urgent.  I really had to go bad. I hurried into the house, dropped my bags of groceries,  went down stairs and grabbed an Adventure Puffs diaper.  I really didn't know if I'd be able to hold it until I got my diaper on.  Came back up to the bedroom.  I hurried up and fluffed up the diaper,  dropped my shorts and undies and put my diaper on.  As soon as I got the tapes fastened,  I just relaxed and huge, very soft poop filled out the seat of my diaper.  I wasn't done pooping and I flooded the front of my diaper.   It felt absolutely amazing,  the warm mess spreading out all over my butt and warm pee spreading in the front and all of that built up pressure released all at once.