fakeyplant

My first attempt at a complete story, though it has opening for more if demand warrants. But I'm a bit flighty, so don't hold your breath. Brittany felt the warmth spread throughout her crotch and down the insides of her thighs. She tugged her t-shirt down as low as she could get it, hoping for the best. But of course the conveyor belt at the checkout lane was much too tall. Like everything else in this cursed place. Every time she reached up on tiptoes to put another item on the conveyor, she could feel eyes on the growing wet spot on her behind. Someone was sure to notice soon enough. Brittany had to practically climb into the shopping cart to get the last few items, exposing herself even more. The smallest size bag of chips was enough to feed her for a week. A single serving of apple juice was like a gallon to her. The clerk waited patiently as Brittany unloaded the items and pulled a wallet out of her purse. “That’ll be $24.87,” the clerk said after ringing up the last of Brittany’s purchases. Brittany pulled a wallet out of a small pink purse with unicorn and princess prints. The purse was just a child’s toy she had picked up at a dollar store, but it was the only bag small enough for her to carry. Brittany pulled out a ten and a twenty and stood on her tiptoes to hand them to the clerk. The clerk punched the numbers into the register and calculated the change. She stretched across the counter to hand the change down to the Little. Brittany stuffed the change and wallet into her purse, eager to get out of the store. Brittany was 5’ 5”, but that reduced her to the size of the average four-year-old in this place. She had to reach up just to get her hands on the buggy’s handle. “Have a great day,” the clerk said. “Thanks,” Brittany said. As Brittany stretched to push the buggy out of the aisle toward the door, her shirt rose up again, exposing her wet behind. This time, the clerk noticed. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?” the clerk asked. “Do you need some help?” “O-oh, I’ve got it,” Brittany stammered back. “I just noticed your behind is a little damp,” the clerk said. “Are you with someone?” Brittany’s heart began to race. She knew “Are you with someone” meant “Where is your mommy or daddy,” and she nearly froze. Brittany turned around. “No, I, uh — I just accidentally bumped one of the freezer doors. It had a lot of condensation on it,” Brittany said. Brittany tried to remain calm, but her hands were trembling now. The clerk looked skeptical, but smiled and nodded. Brittany continued to head toward the exit. With no other customers in line, the clerk then stepped out from behind the counter and went into the aisle to tidy up the displays there. Suddenly she noticed a small puddle on the floor. She was about to call for someone to clean up the spill when she glanced back at Brittany, who was nearly to the exit. She looked back at the puddle and put two and two together. “Security!” the clerk called. Brittany pushed faster toward the exit when she felt a large hand on her shoulder stopping her. “Just wait right here, miss,” another female voice said. Brittany looked over her shoulder and saw a large redhead in a uniform. The woman kept her hand firmly on Brittany’s shoulder, but she smiled pleasantly. “Is there a problem?” the security guard asked. “I think that Little just peed on the floor,” the clerk said. “N-no!” Brittany protested. “I just bumped one of the freezer doors. It was wet!” “Is that so?” the guard said, not believing her. “Let’s see.” The guard lifted Brittany’s t-shirt, saw the dark wet stain on her faded blue jeans, and asked, “Then why are your pants wet all the way down to your shoes?” The guard sighed, still smiling. “And how did you get wet between your legs?” By then, a young boy, from the strange place Brittany had found herself in, with a peach fuzz mustache, had arrived with a mop. Brittany glanced at him, taller than her by several feet though years younger, and she glanced back at the guard. She swallowed hard. She looked at the clerk, who was looking at her now with a frown. Then she looked back at the guard. “I-I-I don’t know,” Brittany said. She struggled to find the words. “Maybe it was more wet than I thought. It was just an accident.” “We know all about accidents, Little one.” The guard’s voice had turned stern. “Where are your mommy and daddy?” Brittany’s jaw dropped. Her mouth opened and closed with no sound coming out. Finally, she managed to say, “I don’t have any. I’m not a baby.” “I asked her if she had someone with her,” the clerk interrupted. “I see,” the guard said. Brittany looked around desperately, hoping for a way out. Another boy about her age and size had turned around to see what the commotion was. He had a pacifier in his mouth, and Brittany noticed a diaper bulge under his shortalls. The large woman next to him tugged his hand, and he waddled after her out the door. Brittany began to panic. “I think we should step into the office here and have a chat,” the guard said. With the guard’s strong hand firmly on her shoulder, Brittany knew she had no choice but to go along. With the guard leading, Brittany pushed her buggy, conscious of the now cold and damp jeans chaffing her thighs. The guard led Brittany to a small room near the service desk and opened the door. She held the door open and motioned for Brittany to go inside. Brittany parked her buggy by the wall, and her hands trembled as she walked into the room. The guard followed her in and closed the door behind them. Brittany surveyed the room. There was a small desk with a computer screen, keyboard, and mouse on top, along with scattered papers. Multiple framed signs hung on the walls, highlighting employee rights and company values. The guard dropped into a swiveling office chair behind the desk. She was just about to motion to Brittany to take a seat in a squarish cushioned chair on the other side when she reconsidered. “I’d invite you to sit down, but I don’t want the chair to get wet,” the guard said. Brittany blushed. “Now, tell me again what happened,” the guard said. She had picked up a pen and a legal pad to take notes. After testing her pen on the pad with a few scribbles, she looked at Brittany and said, “You said you bumped something wet, and that’s how your pants got wet?” Brittany swallowed. “Y-yeah, I was in the freezer section, and, uh, one of the doors was really wet. I guess someone had left it open too long. Condensation, you know?” “Condensation,” the guard said, writing it down. “Yeah, I bumped it,” Brittany said. Brittany looked around nervously. Though the room was small for the guard, it was huge to Brittany. She saw a padded table on the other side of the room from the desk. Beneath the table were multiple drawers. The guard noticed Brittany’s nervousness and said, “My apologies. I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Angela.” Angela smiled and reached out a hand. “And yours is?” Brittany looked back at Angela, swallowed, and said, “B-B-Brittany.” Brittany’s eyes had turned glassy, her lips quivering. Beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead. She sniffed, and wiped at the corner of her eye. She wiped her hand on the knee of her pants and reached her hand out. Her fingertips were trembling as she took Angela’s proffered hand. Angela’s giant hand took Brittany’s fingertips in a gentle shake. She squeezed Brittany’s tiny fingers gently, smiled, and then let go. “It’s nice to meet you, Brittany,” Angela said, still smiling gently. “So, let’s talk about what happened here. Would that be okay?” “I-I guess so,” Brittany said. “Good,” Angela said. She scribbled something on her pad. “That’s good.” Angela’s lips tightened, and she studied her desk a moment with a look of concern. Then she looked back up and smiled from the corner of her mouth. She looked Brittany in the eyes. “You know the rules about Littles, right?” “Well, y-yeah!” Brittany said, hoping Angela would see she was going to cooperate. “Of course!” Angela’s tight smile widened, and she said, “Great. I’m glad we got that out of the way.” Brittany took a shuddering breath, exhaling slowly. Maybe there was some hope. Maybe she could get off with a warning. It really was just an accident. It wasn’t like it happened all the time. She had her own apartment. She had a steady job teaching at preschool, even if some of the toddlers there were as big as she was. Angela continued. “So you know one of the rules is we can’t have Littles having, you know, accidents in public. At least not without protection. It’s a health concern. You understand, right? We can’t have urine and all that on the floors.” Brittany’s eyes grew wide. This was not going the direction she had hoped. She said, “Well, yeah! I mean, but—but it wasn’t an accident! I mean, not that kind!” Angela tightened her lips in a tired smile. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened her eyes again, she said, “Look, we understand the gravity here affects you all differently.” “No, it’s not like that!” Brittany interrupted. “I just. That is, I-I—” “You bumped your butt against a freezer door, and somehow got ‘condensation’ all between your legs,” Angela finished, miming quotation marks as she said the word condensation. “That’s your story, right?” Brittany’s jaws worked furiously, but the sounds wouldn’t come out. “And so we can walk back to the freezer section together and find that butt print on the freezer door, right?” Angela asked. “It hasn’t been that long, so it should be pretty obvious where you bumped it. And as wet as your butt got, there’s probably some ‘condensation’ on the floor there, too. So we should have someone clean that up.” Brittany’s glassy eyes began to produce real tears, and they rolled down her blushing cheeks. She furiously searched her brain for anything that might suffice as an explanation, but she came up with nothing. She knew there would be no butt print on the freezer door. She didn’t even know if there was a wet freezer door. She hadn’t bought anything frozen. Brittany squeezed her eyes shut as the tears rolled down. Her chest heaved as she began to sob in earnest. Her nose began to run, and she swiped at her face, wiping snot and tears all at once. She snorted loudly and tried to regain her composure. She said, “I-It was just an accident.” Brittany hung her head and continued to cry. Angela rose from her office chair. She took two steps around the desk and towered over the Little who was dripping tears and snot onto the carpet. She knelt down and put her hand on top of Brittany’s head and began to stroke her hair. Angela kissed Brittany on the side of the head and said, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re right. It was just an accident.” Angela said, “I’m not going to report you or try to get you adopted,” She was still stroking Brittany’s hair. She waited while Brittany continued to sniffle. Then she put a hand on Brittany’s shoulder, rose to her full height, and said, “But I do think we should get you out of those wet pants.” Brittany looked up at Angela, eyes and cheeks still wet and red from her crying. “You’re not going to report me?” she asked. Angela reached down and thumbed a bit of snot from under Brittany’s nose. She wiped it on her own sleeve and brushed her hand over Brittany’s head again. “Of course not, sweetie. It was just an accident, right?” Brittany’s lips quivered, still looking at the ground. “Y-yeah.” “No harm, no foul,” Angela said. Angela brushed a tear from Brittany’s cheek. Then she tucked a finger under Brittany’s chin and lifted it gently until their eyes met. “But can we get you into some dry pants?” Brittany’s eyes met Angela’s. Their gazes locked. “Please?” Angela asked. Brittany looked away from Angela. The wet material of her jeans was burning the insides of her thighs. She desperately wanted to sit down and have a good cry, but she couldn’t sit because of her wet pants. And she didn’t want to bicycle home in wet pants — the chaffing and burning. She had done it before. But it wasn’t like it was that often! Brittany shook her head and rubbed her eyes. She could imagine all the crazy expressions that must have been crossing her face as she tried to wrap her head around the predicament she was in. Plus her red eyes and the tear stains on her cheeks. Brittany wiped her cheeks and looked up at Angela again and said, “I guess so.” And then she thought about the situation and said, “But I don’t have any dry clothes with me.” Angela smiled. “I have a few things of my daughter’s in my truck. She’s three, but I think I can find something that will fit you. Shuttling between work and home, you know? It’s easy to forget stuff. Maybe for the best this time.” She chuckled. “You two are about the same size. She’s a pretty big girl for her age.” Brittany grimaced at being compared to a three-year-old. Of course, she had bought plenty of clothes during her time in this place, and she knew she generally had to select her outfits from the toddler section. As with her purse. Brittany thought about it, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. “Look, I know it’s not what you really want,” Angela said. “But it’s got to be better than having to ride around in, well … condensated pants? Condensed pants? I’m not quite sure what the right word is.” She chuckled. Brittany looked back at the ground and tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help herself. The words were so silly. And she could see how gentle Angela was trying to be with her. Angela hadn’t even ruled that Brittany had wet her pants, or that she had lied about it. And Angela wasn’t going to turn her in. She was giving her so many second chances. Brittany looked up and smiled weakly. She said, “I don’t think ‘condensated’ is a real word.” She took a big breath, exhaled, and confessed, “I think you mean I wet my pants. By accident, I mean.” “By accident,” Angela agreed. “But I didn’t say anything about you wetting your pants! There was an accident of some kind, and we’re going to try to fix it. Sound fair?” Brittany locked eyes with Angela again. She looked sad, but she smiled. She said, “Sounds fair.” “Deal,” Angela said. She grabbed her keys from her purse under her desk and said, “Give me just a few minutes. I’m sure I can find something. Just sit tight here.” Then she cocked her head and gave Brittany a wry smile. “Or maybe stand tight.” Brittany repressed a chuckle and sniffed up a snot trail. She’d had no intention of sitting on anything except her bicycle seat in her condition. And she didn’t know how she could come close to laughing in this situation, but her hands had stopped trembling so much. Somehow, Angela, who she feared would judge and condemn her, was putting her at ease. She just wanted to get home and take a long shower. She said, “Yes, ma’am.” Angela nodded, and then left and closed the door behind her. Brittany stood in the office and wondered what in the world she had gotten into. With no place to sit, she decided to look at the various signs around the office. She walked over to one wall and saw a sign. She had to stand on tiptoes to read it, but it was about company culture, and she noticed it had a line about treating “everyone like family.” Brittany thought that was a pretty good way to do things, and she thought Angela must really be taking it seriously. She then noticed the cushioned table again. It was a little taller than she was. She walked over and reached up to touch the top of it. She squeezed the padded material. It was impossibly soft and squishy. She thought maybe it was for naps, though it was smaller than a typical adult in this place. Then she noticed the drawers beneath again. Brittany didn’t dare go through Angela’s desk or rifle through her papers. Angela already could have cited her on multiple charges and possibly even have had her adopted, but she hadn’t. So she was trying to be as above board as possible. But the drawers nagged at her. What harm would it be to take a peek? She looked at the door, and sensing no one was about to come in, she pulled open one of the drawers. It was situated at the bottom of the table at about half her height, so she could look into it easily. Inside, she found disposable diapers printed with flowers and butterflies. Those were the small ones. She saw another stack of bigger ones, printed with cartoon astronauts and aliens. She touched one of the bigger ones, and she fingered the leg gathers. She sighed. She wondered if maybe she could have avoided this whole mess. But she wasn’t a baby! An accident here and there, and that’s all! She opened the second drawer and found baby powder, baby wipes, and skin cream. The bottle of baby powder was turned upside down, and she read the instructions on the back: “For baby: Use at each diaper change. Do not apply near the face. Apply directly into the diaper, or rub gently into the skin.” She was about to read “For Adults:” when she heard the door opening. Brittany immediately slammed the drawer shut. Angela stepped inside with a wad of black cloth in her hands and said, “I found some tights at least.” Brittany’s frightened eyes met Angela’s eyes. Angela glanced past Brittany at the table, and Brittany followed her look. Then Brittany realized the drawer with the diapers was still open. Brittany’s jaw dropped. Angela paused a moment, then smiled at Brittany. Angela walked over to the table. She hovered over Brittany. “Doing a little exploring, I see,” she said. Brittany stammered but couldn’t come up with words. Finally she said, “I’m sorry.” Angela ignored her, set the tights on the table, stepped back, and said, “I’m pretty sure these will fit you. They might be a little small, but we’ll make them work.” Brittany was ready to start crying all over again. At least her eyes glassed over. She thought how kind Angela had been to her already. No condemnation, no citation, no adoption. The tears welled up. Brittany was getting into things she didn’t belong in. And here Angela was bringing Brittany her own daughter’s clothes to wear. All because Brittany had had an accident. And then, Brittany started to sob. “Oh sweetheart!” Angela said. She began to stroke Brittany’s hair with one hand and massage her shoulder with the other. “It’s okay, baby. What’s wrong?” “I-I-I—!” Brittany began to wail. “It’s okay, baby. Just tell me.” Between sobs, Brittany said, “I d-d-didn’t mean t-to have an a-a-accident.” “Oh, I know that, baby!” Angela laughed, then leaned in to kiss Brittany on the cheek. “That’s why they’re called accidents. Otherwise, it would be an on-purpose, wouldn’t it?” Brittany tried to regain her composure. She mopped her face with the inside of her arm, succeeding in smearing snot all over her cheeks and forehead. “I-I guess so,” she said. Angela picked Brittany up under her arms and set her on top of the table. Brittany didn’t resist. Then she reached down and opened the drawer that Brittany had slammed closed moments before. She grabbed the pack of baby wipes and took one out. She used it to mop Brittany’s face. After wiping her face, she pinched the last of the snot out of Brittany’s nose, and then threw it away. “Why are you being so kind to me?” Brittany asked, trying to catch her breath. Angela sighed, shook her head, and gave Brittany a plaintive look. “Because you’re Little,” she said. “Not all of us are that way. Not kind, I should say. Many use whatever tactics they can to pick up a Little girl like you. But I think you Littles are very, very smart. I think you are very, very smart. You just need a little help, here in this place.” Brittany sighed also. She wanted to curl up in bed and cover herself in blankets. “Would you let me help you?” Angela asked. Brittany glanced over at the tights on the table next to her. “I guess so,” she said, picking up the tights. She began to unbuckle her belt and unbutton her jeans. She scooched back on the table, set the tights aside, and rested her head on the pillow to start to wriggle off the tight, wet jeans. “Here, let me help you,” Angela said. Angela tugged at the legs of Brittany’s jeans, and Brittany lifted her bottom out of the air until the jeans were down past her hips. Angela pulled the wet jeans down her legs, tugged the skinny material past Brittany’s ankles, wadded the wet mess into a ball, and put them in a plastic bag. Brittany lay there in a pair of wet, flower-printed panties. “And now these,” Angela said. Before Brittany could say a word, Angela had started pulling the waistband of Brittany’s soaked panties down, peeling them off. Blushing furiously, Brittany allowed Angela to slide her wet panties down past her knees, and she lifted her feet so Angela could slide them off completely. Angela placed the wet bundle in the same plastic bag with Brittany’s pants. Brittany didn’t know what to think. She hadn’t been this exposed in front of anyone since she was a little girl. But she felt cleaner. Less sticky and itchy. She thought of jumping off the table and being done with this. But she couldn’t just steal this woman’s daughter’s pants. And she couldn’t bear to put on her wet clothes. Angela reached down into the drawer Brittany hadn’t closed. She picked out a diaper with astronaut and alien prints. Brittany noticed it was the same one she had touched earlier. Angela unfolded it, fluffed it in the air, and set it next to Brittany on what Brittany now recognized as a changing table. Brittany started to sit up, saying, “But I don’t need—” “Shhhh,” Angela said, putting a giant hand on Brittany’s tiny shoulder and laying her back down. “Yes, you do, sweetie. And it’s okay. Just let me help you, all right?” Brittany wanted to protest, but she was tired. The day’s ordeal had exhausted her. She began to think of times at the mall, when she’d had to run to the bathroom. How big the toilets were and how hard they were to get to. By the time she had gotten situated, she’d already had stains in her panties. She wondered if Angela had seen any in her panties just now. And then there were the clubs, where even half a drink their size was enough to make her squirm. She’d walked out more than once with wet pants, though nobody had noticed in the dark. And now here, in the grocery store. Brittany snapped out of her reverie and realized that Angela was now dusting powder between her legs and on the small of her belly. Angela pulled the diaper up tight between Brittany’s legs and taped it snugly. She gave the front of the diaper a pat, and Brittany blushed. “There we go! All dry!” Angela announced. Brittany marveled at the bulk now between her thighs. She rocked her knees back and forth, and her diaper crinkled. The sweet scent of baby powder wafted up to her nose. She thought of how ripe she had smelled just an hour earlier. “Now let’s get those pants on,” Angela said. Angela slipped Brittany’s feet into the tights and pulled the legs up. Then she swung Brittany’s legs over the side of the changing table and hiked them up to her thighs. She picked Brittany up again under her arms and set her down on the floor. She pulled the tights up over Brittany’s diaper. “Well, a little small, I guess,” Angela said. Even black tights, small as they were, stretched so much over the diaper that the astronaut prints were visible from close up. And they didn’t cover the waistband. The diaper bulge was of course considerable. “But better than nothing,” Angela concluded. Brittany was having a hard time with what she was feeling. On one hand, she felt humiliated. She was 25 years old, and there was no reason she should be wearing a diaper. On the other hand, she was in a very strange world that she didn’t understand. And whether it was gravity or anxiety or any other thing, she had just wet her pants, once again, in public. She knew at least now she wouldn’t have to lie about any accidents. “How about I take you home?” Angela asked. “I assume you either walked here or rode here on a bike. You Littles can’t really drive our cars. Am I right?” “I rode my bike,” Brittany said, chewing at a thumbnail. “No problem,” Angela said. “I have my truck.” She glanced at her watch. “And my shift is just about over. I’m sure I can leave a few minutes early. Let’s see.” Angela took Brittany by the hand and led her out of the room. They went to the service desk where Angela asked the representative on duty to call for the manager. Brittany stood next to the tall, redheaded guard who had been about to ruin her life, and she continued to chew at her thumb while the two waited. Angela picked up Brittany’s groceries out of the buggy she had left by the wall. After a few minutes, the manager arrived. He was a small, thin man with a blonde mustache and a bad comb-over. He wore an apron over his button-up shirt and slacks. He stopped a few feet from Angela and Brittany and put his hands on his hips. He had beady eyes and a hard stare. “Well?” the manager asked. “This Little here had an accident, and I just want to leave a few minutes early to help her get home,” Angela said. “An accident?” the manager replied. “Why wasn’t she wearing a diaper? Is it cleaned up? You’d better be taking her to Little Services,” he huffed. “It was just an accident, Mr. Donaldson,” Angela said. She patted Brittany on the head. “And everything has been taken care of. As you can see, she’s clean and dry.” Mr. Donaldson scowled at Brittany, who hid behind Angela’s legs. He stared for a second at the bulge in Brittany’s tights. Brittany blushed. Mr. Donaldson crossed his arms, and then he glared at Angela. “I don’t brook shenanigans around here. You know that.” Angela lowered her head to hide a smirk at the awkwardly pretentious phrasing. Behind her, gripping her thigh with both arms, Brittany giggled. Angela put her hand on the Brittany’s shoulder to calm her. Angela then lifted her head, her bright green eyes standing in stark contrast to the red mane surrounding her face. She said with a straight face, “I’m taking her into custody right now and delivering her to a proper home.” Then she felt a warmth pressing into the back of her knee. “You’d better be,” Mr. Donaldson said. “And I expect you back here at 6 a.m. sharp.” “Yes, sir,” Angela said. “And thank you, sir.” Mr. Donaldson stalked off, and Angela took Brittany’s hand. “You ready?” Angela asked Brittany. Brittany nodded. Angela took Brittany’s hand and led her out the front door. The same door Brittany had thought she’d never get out of except in handcuffs or in the arms of some abusive foster. Her diapered behind crinkled with every step as Angela led her to the bike rack. “So, which bike is yours?” Angela asked. Brittany pointed at an aqua-colored child’s bike that had the training wheels taken off. It had Little Mermaid designs stenciled on it and a white basket attached to the handlebar. It had tassels on the hand grips, and a little pink flag in back. Angela smiled. Brittany hooked her little unicorn and princess purse around her neck, then unlocked her bike and maneuvered it out of the tangle of other bikes. The pair walked together, Angela with a hand on Brittany’s shoulder, and Brittany with a hand on her bike. They made their way across the parking lot to Angela’s truck, Brittany crinkling all the way. Angela opened the passenger door for Brittany, then picked the bike up and placed it gently into the bed of her truck. Then she loaded Brittany’s groceries. Meanwhile, Brittany was trying to climb into what was a fairly large vehicle for her. As she did so, the stress of the afternoon got to Brittany, and Angela heard the messy accident but said nothing. Instead, Angela lifted her into the seat and buckled her in. “I guess it’s okay for you to ride up front, since you’re not actually a baby,” Angela said. “Uh-huh!” Brittany declared, not realizing she had already both wet and messed herself. Angela closed the passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side. She climbed in, closed the door, and turned the key in the ignition. She adjusted the air conditioning and tuned the radio to a classic rock station. She put the truck in gear and began to back out of the parking lot. Brittany leaned over in Angela’s lap, her diapered butt sticking out prominently, and asked, “Can we go home now, Mommy?” It was Angela’s turn to get tears. She said, “Of course, sweetie. That’s exactly what I had in mind.” They left the parking lot and turned onto the highway. Brittany managed to snuggle in even closer to Angela’s thigh from the passenger seat. “And,” Angela said, patting Brittany’s head, “I think someone might need a diaper change.”

From the standpoint of making a purchase decision, I'd like to see better product photos (posed, shaped, back-left, front-right, etc.) linked to the thumbnails. But I think models for each product would seem like a kink and likely would invite more window shoppers than buyers. I'm sure you could market opened products as singles or offer them as samples. Perhaps a few strategically placed photos of men and women aged 20 to 40 (instead of, or in addition to, the typical 50+ crowd) with testimonial quotes would do the trick. College Student: "With [ultimate Site's] low prices and discrete shipping, I can afford to sit through all my classes. No more interruptions, and now I get As instead of Cs!" Mother of Three: "For just a few dollars a day, I'm getting the best sleep I've had in years. Thanks, [ultimate Site]!" Middle-aged Professional: "I didn't need medical supplies, just convenience. [ultimate Site] got me back to business as usual in no time." I see no reason to direct a site toward one crowd or another. Treat people like people, individuals. Not every AB is keen on wearing ruffles and pastel colors, nor does every incontinent person bristle at the word "diaper." Give people a little positive reinforcement and let them make their own decisions - a "you can do this, and we're here to help" kind of attitude. Ruthless dedication to a single pursuit is the key to excelling in business. If you want to try to sell every product under the sun, for every type of crowd, I recommend separating the components and running them as distinct entities. Then you can treat the entities as partners, but if one flops or gets a bad reputation, you have the opportunity to put some distance between the two and start again on the failed one.

Let me know what you think, if you would. * * * Janie opened her eyes and rolled over in bed. She kicked the covers off and lay staring at the ceiling. Next to her in bed, Alex stirred. He tucked his share of the blanket around his shoulder and wiggled to get comfortable. Janie sighed and arranged her pillows behind her, sitting up in bed, when she put her hand in a wet spot on the mattress. She grimaced and wiped her hand on a dry area of the sheet and frowned at Alex. Then she noticed her panties were also wet. Her muscles tensed. One slow movement at a time, she eased her legs over the side of the bed, which squeaked beneath her, and stood up. She leaned over and began to curl the blanket up around Alex, to keep it from getting wet. But the wet stain on the sheets was under Alex as well. Janie hurried to the clothes hamper and pulled out the shirt she had worn the day before. She laid it over the wet spot on her side of the bed, and gently eased her half of the blanket away from Alex and over the shirt. Janie froze when Alex mumbled suddenly and rolled to face away from her. “Morning, sweetie,” she whispered. “I love you.” Alex exhaled, and Janie stood still while his breathing evened out. Then she slipped out of her wet panties and hid them under a few of the other clothes in the hamper. She slid open the top dresser drawer, while watching Alex over her shoulder. She pulled out a pair of plain, white pair of cotton panties and eased the drawer shut. As she slipped into her dry panties, she realized the hem of her nightshirt was also wet. She pulled it off and hid it, too, with her wet panties in the hamper. She began to pull another nightshirt from the closet, but straightened it back out on its hanger. Instead, she selected a white blouse with short, ruffled cuffs. She slipped it on. Watching Alex from the corner of her eye, she eased open the bottom dresser drawer and got a pair of loose, black jeans. Closing the drawer, she tucked the jeans under her arm and tiptoed into the hallway. In the living room, Janie pulled on her jeans, and then went into the kitchen. She flicked a switch on the coffee maker, which burbled to life. She got a cup from the dish drainer and a spoon. She opened the sugar dish, an older ceramic dish with a thick wire clamp that kept it closed, and dug out about half a spoonful of sugar into her cup. She lowered the spoon into the cup, careful not to cause any extra clinking or clanking. She walked back down the hall to the bathroom and slowly closed the door. She pulled at her long, black locks, brushing them straight as she stood in front of the mirror on the shower door. She had a narrow face and high cheekbones. She knew she was the model for good looks, but she couldn’t help but to think she was too thin, bony. Then her eyes found her waistline and hips in the mirror. Maybe not so thin, she thought. Her mother had told her she had “good birthing hips.” As if. She went to the sink and turned on the faucet a trifle, and waited while the streamlet pooled in her palms. She lowered her face into the water and wiped her hands up and down the sides of her face and along her forehead. She sighed, turned the faucet tight, and then patted her hands and face with the hand towel hanging on the wall next to the medicine cabinet. She flicked off the light and crept out of the bathroom, peeking in on Alex, who was still sleeping soundly. Janie tiptoed back out to the living room and gathered her purse and keys from the table by the front door. She checked for her wallet and then zipped her purse shut. She looked the room over and everything seemed to be in place. She leaned her shoulder into the front door, and eased the deadbolt out of its shaft. As she pulled the door open, the seal crackled from being closed overnight, and she winced at the noise. She paused, listening. Nothing. She slipped out into the sunlight and shut the door quietly behind her, locking the deadbolt. Janie walked to the car, an early 90s model Corolla. She unlocked the driver’s side door and slipped into the front seat. She put her purse into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed, but unlatched. Sticking the key into the ignition, she only unlocked the steering column, and shifted into reverse gear. She eased the car back down the driveway and into the street. The whole neighborhood was quiet, and the windows on the cars still glistened with remnants of morning dew. Pushing the shifter up into the parking gear, Janie turned the key in the ignition and the motor purred to life. She put the car into drive and rolled away from the house. * * * Alex stirred in bed. He thought he heard a car motor, and he sat up. Twisting around, he leaned over the headboard and pulled the curtain open. He squinted into the sunlight, but saw only a quiet street. Must have been the paper lady, running late. He closed the curtain and rubbed his eyes. Alex leaned back against the headboard while he tried to wake up. He scratched the top of his curly head, which had become a mass of tangles overnight. They itched terribly when that happened. Alex also noticed that something smelled strange. Eyes still closed, he sniffed the air, trying to place it. The odor was terribly familiar. The feeling made his insides shiver. Déjà vu, he guessed. He flipped the blanket down to the end of the bed and stood up. His boxers stuck to his thighs. Then he noticed that the bed was wet. He was smelling the all too familiar odor of urine. “Shit,” Alex swore. It was a good thing that Janie was already up, he thought. Or maybe not. Maybe she already knew. He cursed himself several more times and went to the door. He peeked into the hallway and saw no sign of Janie. He eased the door shut and locked it, and then bolted into action. He quickly peeled his boxers down and shoved them down the side of the hamper, never noticing Janie’s wet panties and nightshirt in the mix. He opened his drawer and pulled out another pair of boxer shorts and a pair of jeans. He got a polo shirt from the closet. Alex rushed to change his clothes, stumbling into the side of the bed as he tried to get both of his legs into his pants at the same time. Once he had dressed, he threw the bed pillows onto the floor and stripped the sheets. He found the second of the pair of matching fitted and flat sheets on the closet shelf, and he proceeded to make the bed. He quickly felt around all the edges of the blanket, which appeared dry, so he laid it out on the bed and flipped the edge over, to give the appearance of having been slept in. He bundled the dirty sheets – along with the shirt Janie had laid out and which he had not spotted – into a ball to hide the wetness, and he shoved that, too, into the top of the hamper. Alex’s heart pounded in his chest. He surveyed the room. Everything seemed in order. He went to the door and quietly unlocked and opened it. Still out of view of the living room, Alex shook his arms out and then rubbed his face. He took a deep breath and paused. Then he strolled into the hallway. Alex got out to the living room, but Janie was not there either. He smelled coffee, and he went into the kitchen. He saw the cup, filled with sugar, on the counter. “Janie?” Alex called. No response. “Hey, Jane.” Still nothing. Alex got the pot and poured coffee into the waiting cup. He stirred it, enjoying the quiet tinkle of metal against ceramic. He rinsed the spoon and set it in the drainer, and then took a small sip from the cup. Blowing tendrils of steam from the top of the cup, Alex walked back to the living room. He frowned and scratched at the stubble along his jaw. Except for the coffee, he saw no sign of Janie. Then he noticed that her purse and the car keys were gone from the table by the door. “What the heck?” Alex mumbled. * * * Janie pulled into the pharmacy’s side parking lot and shut off the car engine. She heaved a long sigh, took the key from the ignition, opened the door, and stepped out into the sunshine. Set to the rhythm of her sandals slapping her heels, Janie walked toward the pharmacy, which loomed bright and empty for a Sunday morning. No sooner had the sliding doors opened for her than she heard a perky voice to her left. “Good morning,” a young clerk said from the front register. She was about twenty, had straight dark hair, and wore a nose ring. Janie wondered about the state of the world, when nose rings were acceptable apparel on the job. And that was only a small sign that times were changing. “Morning,” Janie said. She forced a smile. “Can I help you find anything?” the clerk asked, before Janie could get more than a half dozen steps inside. “No, I think I’m set. But thanks.” Janie hoped there was another clerk available, perhaps at the pharmacy counter. She walked straight down the center aisle. Turning to her right, Janie caught two figures in white behind the pharmacy counter and several people in line. She swore under her breath and headed down one of the aisles. She glanced up. Bath and body, the sign indicated, among other notations. She browsed the shelves, pacing down the aisle, and paused in front of the shower soaps, gels, shampoos, and conditioners. To her left, she spotted bath powders. She picked up one of the bottles and scanned the back label. She twisted the cap and sniffed the opening, then twisted it closed again and replaced the bottle on the shelf. She stole a quick glance over the shelf, toward the pharmacy, and then circled around to the next aisle. Baby supplies. She walked past a shelf of bottles, bibs, pacifiers, and formula. On the other side, the shelf was lined with Huggies, Pampers, Luvs, and generic brands. At the end of the aisle, she paused. Larger packages of Goodnites, in blues and pinks, took up as much space on the shelf as the baby diapers. Janie blushed. She stepped out into the main aisle, nearly bumping an elderly woman, to whom she apologized quietly. Then she paused. Janie went back down the baby aisle, and scanned the rows of diapers. She turned around and surveyed the other side. Halfway down the aisle, she spotted wipes. She walked over and reviewed the options: tubs, travel packs, refills; and Pampers, Huggies, and generics. She selected a tan-colored tub of Huggies wipes and read the front panel. Shea butter sounded good to her. Around the next aisle, she pretended to peruse the notebooks, pens, envelopes and other business supplies. She meandered through the aisle, glancing up occasionally to peek into the pharmacy. By the time she reached the end of the aisle, one customer remained at the pick-up counter. Janie saw only one woman in white, behind the counter, and she seemed preoccupied with a phone call. She slipped into the main aisle and past the pharmacy counter. She felt certain that any moment, someone would recognize that she was in fact on fire, and would run over to dump a bucket of gasoline on her. But no one paid her the least bit of attention. The woman at the counter, the same woman with whom she had nearly collided in the aisle a moment ago, was busy digging in her purse. The pharmacist had her back turned, phone to one ear, wagging her finger at nothing in particular. Looking up as far as she could without raising her head noticeably, Janie read “Feminine Hygiene” on one of the signs. She turned down that aisle. She walked halfway down, stooped, and selected a pack of overnight pads. Then she looked up and down the aisle and frowned. Janie had been sure she was in the right aisle. She looked up and scanned the signs, finally spotting it. Great, she thought. It had a section all to itself. She strode down to the end of the aisle and turned. She passed two aisles on her right and went into the last one, next to the wall. She slowed her pace, and saw the pharmacist, but the customer at the counter was blocked by the rows of shelves. Janie passed the urinals, catheters, and alarms. She spotted them, put on her best business face, and grabbed the first two medium sized packages she could find. She took two bags of Attends, one in each hand by the carrying straps, and tucked the tub of baby wipes beneath one arm and the pads beneath the other. Without looking to see if anyone noticed, she hurried back toward the front of the store, but paused before she reached the front. She swore under he breath. She had forgotten the powder. Janie looked back over her shoulder. She didn’t see anyone, but she wondered if she should risk it. Cursing her luck, she doubled back. Her cheeks burned as she walked into the baby aisle. She quickly grabbed a large bottle of Johnson’s Baby Powder and gripped her thumb around it, while one of the bags dangled from her fingers. Eyes on the ground, she hurried back out to the center aisle and bumped the elderly woman from the pharmacy counter. “I’m so sorry!” Janie exclaimed. “Are you alright?” The woman bent slowly to pick up her prescription bag. Janie offered her hand before realizing that she still had a bag of diapers dangling from that one, too. But the woman accepted and Janie helped her straight. “Oh, I’m okay, dear. Thank you,” the woman said. “But do please be more careful. We wouldn’t want any serious accidents, would we?” The woman smiled. “Of course not,” Janie agreed, blushing furiously. She smiled weakly and sped toward the front of the store. One other customer was in line, leaning over the counter as he pointed to a particular area of the cigarette rack in attempting to direct a confused male clerk. Janie was thankful for a different clerk than the one she met when she came in. Nevertheless, her face burned with self-conscious fire. Janie waited. “I can help someone at the photo counter,” a female voice called out. Janie cast a sideways glance in the voice’s direction. The perky girl from the front counter earlier was smiling eagerly. “Ma’am?” the female clerk called. Janie decided to ignore it. She could wait. “Ma’am,” the voice called again, “I can take you over here.” Janie looked over again and her eyes met the clerk’s eyes. The young clerk waved her over with a smile. She realized that continuing to ignore the offer would create more of a scene, so she put on a grim smile and went to the photo counter. Janie lifted each of the bags as high as she could, and slid them up onto the counter. Then she set down her other purchases. She dug into her purse and pulled out a small wad of cash, which she flipped through. The girl grabbed one of the bags nonchalantly and turned it, searching for the bar code. She smiled at Janie as she aimed the bar code gun at the label and punched a key on the register. “I’m sorry,” the girl said, still smiling. “I don’t think I have a bag for these.” She moved the bags aside and pulled the other items forward. “Oh, that’s okay,” Janie said. She laid a twenty dollar bill on the counter and pulled the two bags down from the counter, setting them on the floor on each side of her. “Comes to thirty-two sixteen,” the girl said. “Wow,” Janie remarked, flipping out a ten and a five and handing them to the clerk. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” the girl said. She laughed. “I guess such big diapers go for a big price.” Janie blushed. “I suppose so,” she said. “I guess it beats all the hassle of extra laundry, if you have the money,” the girl continued. “But I hope it gets better for you.” “They’re not for me. They’re for my husband,” Janie blurted. “I mean, for my husband’s mother. My mother-in-law. She’s visiting.” “Whatever,” the girl said, smiling and handing back a couple of dollar bills and a handful of change. Janie, shocked, stuttered in protest, but the girl cut her off. “I mean that I don’t care who they’re for,” the girl said, shrugging as she put the last of the items in a bag and handed it over to Janie. “If everything is great with you, then I’m happy. If not, then I hope things gets better.” She flashed a smile. “Well, thanks,” Janie mumbled. “I didn’t mean to –“ “No sweat,” the girl said. “I have those days, too. We’re all human.” “Thanks,” Janie said again, offering a weak smile. Janie collected her things and was met with a rush of warm air from outside as the sliding glass doors opened. She squinted and peered into the parking lot, searching for her car. On a bench against the wall a few feet away, a curly-haired woman about forty, with freckles, stroked the buzz cut on a young boy next to her. The boy looked to be thirteen or so, and was sitting on the bench next to the woman, with his knees drawn up to his chest. A rectangular shaped package, double-bagged and knotted at the top, sat at the pair’s feet. The woman spoke quietly, but Janie overheard her. “Look, honey. I know this isn’t something you want to do,” the woman said. “But it’s for the best. At least these will keep you dry. You won’t wake up shivering every morning. Won’t that be better?” The boy remained silent. “It’s normal, really.” The woman pressed on. “Look. That lady there has two bags of diapers, even bigger than yours.” “Shut up,” the boy hissed. Janie cringed. She felt sorry for the boy. She wondered how many times that female clerk saw this sort of scene, and scenes like Janie’s, played out every day. She told herself that that should give her reason to feel better, not worse. But she didn’t believe it. Janie spotted her car and hurried away from the mother and son, across the parking lot, with what now seemed like enormous bags slapping against her hips as she walked. Suddenly Janie wished she could teleport. * * * Alex scrubbed his hair vigorously as he rinsed it beneath the shower head. He turned and let the steaming water massage his shoulders. After a moment, he reached around and twisted the faucets off. Alex shook his head, spraying water all inside the walls. He ran both hands through his hair, ringing out the excess. Reaching outside the shower door, he grabbed a towel and flipped it lengthwise over his head as he began to dry off his back and shoulders. He laid the towel out on top of his head, drying his hair, and stepped out onto the bath mat. When he finished dressing, Alex took a brush and peered through the fogged mirror on the shower door as he worked through his still damp hair. He brushed his teeth and splashed on a small bit of aftershave. He was not going to bother with shaving this morning. He would worry about that on Monday. As Alex turned out the bathroom light, he heard a car door outside. He went out to the kitchen. * * * Janie backed slowly into the front door, easing it open behind her. Janie swore under her breath as she struggled with the two bags of diapers and the additional plastic bag from the pharmacy. She took all three in one hand, holding it behind her while she turned the knob on the door, with her other hand. The door eased shut with just a click. Janie paused, listening. Janie turned around and squealed, dropping one handle of the plastic pharmacy bag, spilling its content. Alex had slipped up on her, standing just a few steps away. “Well, good morning to you, too,” Alex said. “What’s all this?” “Oh, God, Alex,” Janie said, breathless. “You scared the crap out of me.” “You sure it wasn’t the piss?” Alex remarked. “What does it matter?” Janie frowned. “It’s just an expression.” “That’s more than just an expression running down the inside of your jeans there, sweetheart,” Alex said. Eyes wide, Janie looked down at herself, standing bow-legged. Sure enough, her blue jeans were stained dark at her crotch, with dark stains running down each leg, as far down as one of her knees. “I think you’re supposed to put the diaper on before you piss yourself,” Alex said. He glanced at the two bags she still held and at the baby powder and wipes on the floor. Mouth agape, at a loss for words, Janie’s lips parted several times in silence before she spoke. “They’re for you, you jerk,” she snapped. “You’re the one that pissed all over me this morning. Remember?” “The hell I did,” Alex shot back, annoyed. “Why don’t we go take a look?” Janie countered, dropping the two bags of diapers by the door. She brushed past Alex, toward the hallway. “Wait,” Alex said. Janie turned and planted her fists on her hips. She eyed him for several seconds before speaking. “Why?” “I changed it,” Alex said, hanging his head. “So you knew. You were trying to cover it up.” Janie glared at Alex from across the room. “And you’re making fun of me? You overgrown baby.” “Wait, now,” Alex said, hurt. “Why the name calling? It was an accident. It’s never happened before.” “Oh, sure. It’s fine when you make fun of me, knowing full well that you were guilty. But you want me to go easy on you?” Janie scowled. Alex sighed and Janie stalked down the hallway. “Why don’t you come bring your diapers and things back to the bedroom, baby,” Janie called out to him. * * *

Oh yeah. I almost forgot. I have often seen 250+ lb people walk past a parking lot full of grocery carts, go into the store, pay with food stamps and cash, come back out with a cart loaded full of junk food, alcohol, and a few other staples, and then leave their cart, not in a corral conveniently located no more than 20 feet from anywhere in the lot, but in the middle of a parking space to inconvenience someone else, before driving off. I got my revenge once, though. A shopper and I came out of a store at about the same time. We each loaded our cars. I finished first and walked my cart to the corral in the parking lot. When I got back to my car, he had left his cart leaning against my driver's side door and was sitting in his car, chatting on his cell phone. I was incensed. So I casually moved his shopping cart behind his own car, thinking he'd see it in the mirror once he was ready to leave, and he'd be forced to get out and put it away responsibly (or at least he'd suffer the hassle of having to move it after the way he had disregarded me). But no. I watched as, without even a glance, he threw the car into reverse, ground the clutch, hit the gas, and slammed into the cart at as full a speed as he could muster in five feet, and sent it skittering across the parking lot on its side. I waited just long enough for him to get out of his car to find out what he had hit, and then I eased back out of the parking space and went on about my merry way. It probably wasn't a nice thing to do, I know. But it felt really, really good.

I have to say... I agree with Jilly Poo about crosswalks. My uncle nearly ran over some fool college student because of a stunt like that. The kid rode his bike through one crosswalk (which is illegal anyway), cut the corner of the intersection and rode into the crosswalk in front of my uncle, who was making a legal right turn on red. My uncle began to pull forward as the bicyclist pulled into the path of the truck, and the kid swerved and fell. My uncle got out to help the kid up, and the kid began swearing at him. So my uncle popped him one in the jaw and knocked him back down. "You're just lucky you didn't DIE," my uncle told him. "The laws of physics don't care about your right of way."

The chair works for my partner in every case. At the airport, though, they wiped her whole chair down with a chemical wand, testing for drugs and/or explosives. Nobody's ever asked to check her diaper, though, so she's always gotten away with hiding contraband.

Hmm. I work for a company that develops software for and provides proactive web help services to client corporations looking for a stronger presence on the web. I'm not sure any of that ever actually happens, and I feel kind of slimy for saying it, but I think that fairly portrays the company's stated goals. I'm also an every-once-in-awhile student. Once upon a time, I had a full scholarship, but I last took classes about a year and a half ago. I stand somewhere between a Bachelor's in Computer Science, which I began more than 10 years ago, and an Associate's in Journalism, which I started in the last few years. I have the credits required for an Associate's in English, but I haven't applied. I also write. Wheee... life.

Of course I wear diapers to bed. Not wearing one would be like going to a pool party and forgetting my swim suit.

I was born with a small bladder and had surgery for that and a related problem when I was very young. As a result, I woke up soaked every morning for nearly 14 years and had problems staying dry during the day as well. I've wet the bed most nights since then and have discovered that "dry" nights are really just "low flow" nights that allow me to wake up only damp if I accidentally fall asleep undiapered. Despite that, I was out of diapers at a relatively early age. My parents and grandparents figured I would grow out of the problem, and I guess by the time they realized I wasn't growing out of it, they didn't want to stigmatize me by putting me back in diapers. I remember twins I knew from the church my grandparents frequented. I was 7 or 8 and the twins were about a year younger - we were all school age. We stopped by one Sunday after church, and their mother was getting them ready for a nap, which I thought was unusual because I hadn't taken naps for a few years. I was standing in the living room while my grandmother chatted, and I was shocked as the twins' mother called them into the living room and had them each climb up on a changing table outside their bedroom. She proceeded to put the twins in disposable diapers before sending them into their room. The twins were obviously embarassed by the ordeal, but I was, too. I knew that I still belonged in diapers. Still, I wished that event had triggered someone to act on my bedwetting problem and put me back in diapers, because I was too embarassed to tell anyone that I needed them and wanted to stay dry at night even if it meant wearing diapers. My grandfather and I were especially close and still are. Before I started school, I stayed almost exclusively with my grandparents for a couple of years. One summer when I was somewhere between the ages of 8 and 10, I was staying with my grandparents and my grandfather, the pragmatist that he is, decided to try to tackle the bedwetting problem. Even though he kept a plastic sheet on a rollaway bed for me, he had to wash sheets daily, so he tried fit me in one of my baby cousin's diapers that my aunt and uncle had left behind from their last visit. Unfortunately, it was too small for even a tape job to secure it in his opinion. He could see my distress, and he dropped the issue. I wanted him to pick up some diapers that would fit me, and he would have done what he could to help, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. I started buying diapers on my own with my first job at 16. I hid them from everyone because the stigma associated with them had me believing that no one could possibly understand why I wanted to wear diapers even though I obviously needed them. I can't even begin to describe how nice it was the first morning that I woke up in a wet diaper instead of a wet bed. Anyone with a similar experience knows what I mean. After many years, I've rejected the stigma. Diapers, like glasses or hearing aides or special shoes, are for anyone who needs them. While I question the motives of companies that profit from advertising, I am glad to see that someone out there at least is making the public aware that lots of older kids still need diapers and that it's OK. Hopefully those kids will grow up to encourage even middle-aged populations to reject the myth that diapers are only for certain age groups and that diapers are, in fact, an appropriate and even preferred method for addressing continence problems. I look forward to the day when, instead of advertisements for medications that cause more physiological problems than they solve, I'll catch a commercial on TV wherein a young business man or young soccer mom offers a testimonial about how much softer, fuller, and more absorbant the new diaper is than the leading competitor. I can see it now: "With Mickey and Minnie prints for our daughter, South Park prints for our son, and now, new Star Wars prints for us, Diaper X keeps the whole family dry and happy!"