justforfun

Thanks for all the likes and comments, folks. I do appreciate the feedback! I'm continuing to post this quickly. -j4f Chapter 29: Side Effects May Include… The waiting room of Dr. Patel's office hadn't changed since our last visit, but it felt different somehow. Maybe it was the festive garland strung along the receptionist's desk, or the soft Christmas playing in the background. Or maybe it was just me, anxious as I sat next to Emily, waiting for my name to be called. Emily's hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's just a routine check-up," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "Nothing to worry about." I nodded, trying to believe her words. But as I watched the other patients come and go, I couldn't shake the feeling that this visit would be anything but routine. "Greg Thompson?" I looked up to see Sarah, the PA from our last visit, standing in the doorway with a clipboard in hand. Her eyes lit up with recognition as they fell on Emily and me. "Oh, hello again!" Sarah said, her voice warm and friendly. "How are you both doing?" Emily rose, pulling me with her. "We're doing well, thank you. And thank you so much for all your help last time. Your advice has been invaluable." As we followed Sarah down the hallway, I couldn't help but notice the knowing glances she and Emily exchanged. It was clear they had been in contact since our last visit, and I felt a twinge of embarrassment at the thought of what they might have discussed. Once in the examination room, Sarah went through the usual routine - checking my weight, blood pressure, and asking about any changes since our last visit. I answered her questions mechanically, my mind elsewhere. "Dr. Patel will be with you shortly," Sarah said as she finished up. "Is there anything else you'd like me to pass along to him?" Emily spoke up before I could respond. "Actually, yes. We wanted to discuss Greg's... nighttime issues. They seem to have increased since our last visit. We've been managing it pretty well... thanks again for your help, by the way... but we want to make sure there's nothing wrong." I felt my face flush as Sarah nodded sympathetically. "Of course. You're welcome. And I'll make sure to note that for Dr. Patel." As Sarah left the room, I turned to Emily, my voice low. "Did you have to bring that up?" Emily's expression was a mix of concern and determination. "Greg, honey, we need to address this. It's affecting both of us, and if it's getting worse, we need to know why." Before I could argue further, Dr. Patel entered the room, his familiar smile doing little to ease my discomfort. "Greg, Emily, good to see you both," he said, settling onto his stool. "I understand there are a few things we need to discuss today." The cold stethoscope against my chest, the rhythmic tap of Dr. Patel's pen against his clipboard, the sterile scent of the examination room—it all amplified the anxiety churning in my gut. When he got to the topic of my bedwetting, I felt my stomach clench. This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent. "So, Greg, I hear the nighttime issues have been increasing?" Dr. Patel's tone was professional, but I could hear the underlying concern. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "And how often would you say it's happening now?" I glanced at Emily, who gave me an encouraging nod. "Almost... almost every night," I admitted, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. Dr. Patel made a note on his chart, his brow furrowing slightly. "I see. And any daytime issues?" I shot her a look, a silent protest, but she just squeezed my hand reassuringly, her touch both a comfort and a silent assertion of her role in this charade. Dr. Patel nodded, his gaze shifting back to me. "Well, that could be related. Stress can exacerbate these issues." He paused, his eyes scanning my chart. "Your test results are all normal, Greg, but your blood pressure is still a concern. It's consistently higher than I'd like." He turned to his computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "I'm going to prescribe a medication called Doxazosin. It's an alpha-blocker, primarily used to treat high blood pressure, but it can also help with urinary symptoms by relaxing the muscles in the prostate and bladder neck." I stared at him, my mind struggling to process the information. An actual medical explanation? A way out? "It's important to be aware of the potential side effects," Dr. Patel continued, his tone professional. "Dizziness, lightheadedness, that sort of thing. And in rare cases," he added, his gaze meeting mine, "it can cause urinary incontinence. Frequency, urgency... even leakage." My breath caught in my throat. He knew. He had to know. This was a test, a way to expose my deception. "Any questions?" Dr. Patel asked, his gaze unwavering. I shook my head, unable to speak, the irony of the situation crushing me. Here I was, being offered a legitimate medical explanation for a condition I'd fabricated, a way out of the web of lies I'd woven. "Any questions?" Dr. Patel asked, snapping me back to attention. I shook my head, but Emily spoke up. "Should we be concerned about how this might affect his... nighttime issues?" Dr. Patel considered for a moment. "It's possible it could exacerbate the problem slightly, but the benefits to his overall health outweigh that risk. If you notice any significant changes, please let me know right away, and we'll try to dial things in." As we left the office, prescription in hand, I felt a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Part of me was worried about the medication and its potential effects. But another part, a part I was almost ashamed to acknowledge, felt a thrill of excitement at the possibilities it presented. That evening, as Emily prepared dinner, I sat at my computer, researching Doxazosin. The list of side effects was daunting, but it was the mention of "urinary incontinence" that jumped out at me. A lifeline in the sea of medical jargon. A perfect out. Not a lie, not exactly. Just… a convenient truth. A side effect, after all, not my fault. I could lean into it, amplify it, make it real. A slow smile spread across my face. I could imagine the scene: a sheepish grin, a hand instinctively moving to my crotch, a muttered 'Damn this medication.' Emily, ever the caregiver, would fuss, would comfort, would take care of me. It would be so easy. Too easy. And yet… the thrill of the deception, the anticipation of her care, overshadowed the nagging whisper of guilt. As the days passed, I found myself increasingly aware of every twinge, every slight urge. Was it the medication? Or was it just my heightened awareness? Either way, I seized the opportunity. Guilt gnawed at me, but a darker, more selfish part of me reveled in the attention, in the deepening of our... arrangement. "Em," I said one evening, shifting uncomfortably in my seat during dinner, my hand instinctively moving to my crotch. "I think I need to use the bathroom again." I didn't need to feign urgency. It was real. But its source... that was the lie. My pulse quickened, a bead of sweat trickling down my temple. She's going to figure it out, I thought, panic rising in my chest. She's too smart, too observant. She'll see through me. But even as the fear gripped me, a thrill of excitement pulsed beneath the surface. Emily looked up from her book, concern etching her features. "Again? That's the third time since we started eating." I nodded, my cheeks burning. "I know. It's like... I can't seem to hold it as long as I used to." I hoped the flicker of fear in my eyes would mask the excitement that thrummed beneath the surface. Emily's brow furrowed. "Maybe we should call Dr. Patel. This doesn't seem right." "Maybe it'll settle down," I offered, my voice weak. Part of me wanted her to call, to escalate things. But another part, the part that still clung to a shred of decency, recoiled at the thought of pushing this charade any further. The next day, I overheard Emily on the phone with the doctor's office. Her voice was low, but I could make out snippets of the conversation. "Yes, increased urgency... frequency too... No, no accidents during the day yet, but the nighttime issues seem worse... he really soaked his diaper last night." As she hung up, Emily turned to me, her expression a mix of concern and determination. "Dr. Patel says the symptoms could be related to the medication. He wants us to monitor things until your next appointment." I nodded, trying to look worried. "What if... what if it gets worse?" Emily's face softened. "Don't worry, honey. We'll deal with it. Sarah had some suggestions on how to handle things if it comes to that." As I lay in bed that night, the thick diaper snug around my waist, I felt a confusing swirl of emotions. Excitement at the prospect of where this might lead. Shame at my deception. And underneath it all, a gnawing fear of what might happen if Emily ever discovered the truth. I rolled onto my side, the plastic pants over my thick cloth diaper crinkling softly with my movement. A single, terrifying thought echoed in the darkness: How long could I keep this up? How long before the weight of my expanding lies crushed me, burying me beneath the very comfort I craved?

Chapter 28: Dark Side of the Moon The soft fleece of the sleeper, my sleeper now, was both a comfort and a cage. Just days since Karen's cloth diapering masterclass, a nightly ritual had solidified, tightening its silken bonds around our lives. The sleeper, with its deceptive softness, meant a night of uninterrupted sleep – for both of us. The thick padding of the cloth diaper, a comforting weight between my legs, was a constant, tactile reminder of my surrender. But surrender to what? Comfort? Security? Or something… darker? But the real comfort wasn't the fabric, it was the memory woven into it - the phantom warmth of Emily's hands as she had fastened the pins, the lingering scent of her perfume clinging to the fibers, a silent promise of her care. I'd lie there, listening to her soft snores from our bed down the hall, the faint rustle of the plastic pants contained by the sleeper a lullaby of dependence. I'd imagine her hand on my diaper, a phantom check for wetness, the imagined touch sending a shiver through me, both soothing and deeply unsettling. The bulk of the diaper, secured by the plastic pants and the sleeper, protected me from even me, ensuring my actions, if not my thoughts, were chaste. The romper nights, however, were a different story. As Emily helped me into the garment, her fingers lingering on the back zipper as it was secured with a click, a thrill would course through me, a potent mix of anticipation and an undercurrent of… fear? "Arms up," she'd murmur, her breath warm against my ear. The click of the little restraint clips, securing my hands high on my chest, sent a strange shiver down my spine – a mix of vulnerability and an unsettling excitement I still didn't quite understand. Sometimes, the diapering was purely practical, almost clinical. Emily's touch would be efficient, her focus on ensuring the diaper was pinned securely, tucked neatly into the plastic pants. I'd lie there, my body taut, trying to ignore the rustle of the plastic, the scent of her vanilla perfume filling my senses, as her hands moved around me. The click of the zipper at my crotch, sealing me in, was a finality that both frustrated and strangely… aroused. But other nights… other nights were different. Emily's touch would linger, her fingers tracing the outline of my diaper beneath the fabric of the romper, sending shivers down my spine. Her breath warm against my neck as she whispered playful teasing in my ear, words that painted pictures I wasn't sure I was ready to acknowledge, her touch igniting a heat within me that had nothing to do with shame. It had only been a couple nights later when, as she zipped me into the gray romper, her hand lingered for a moment on my lower back, her thumb gently rubbing the spot just above where the diaper's plastic met the soft cotton of the romper. "You know," she murmured, her voice low and husky, "I think it's time you came back to our bedroom." My heart leaped. "Really?" Emily nodded, her eyes meeting mine, a warmth in their depths that chased away the shadows of my carefully constructed shame. "Really. I miss you." That night, as I lay beside her in our bed, the familiar weight of the diaper between my legs no longer a source of anxiety but a silent testament to our shared secret, our unspoken intimacy, I felt closer to her than I had in years. I realized it was true that much had changed. The awkwardness, the uncertainty of those first few nights after Thanksgiving, after Karen's visit – it had all faded, replaced by an easy comfort. One particularly warm evening a week later, I stood awkwardly in the bedroom, a chill running down my spine despite the unseasonable December temperature. As Emily laid out the diapering supplies, my eyes were drawn to the garment she selected from the closet – the gray romper. My heart pounded a little faster. Tonight held promise. But even as that thought crossed my mind, a familiar wave of shame washed over me. What am I becoming?, I wondered, the question a silent echo in the quiet room. "Ready, honey?" she asked, her voice laced with a playful amusement that both soothed and unsettled me. I nodded, holding my breath as she approached. She held up the open romper, helping guide my arms into the open, waiting garment. She pulled me close, giving me a hug and deep kiss, as her hand pulled the zipper up my back, the now-familiar click sending… something… through me. Without releasing me, she guided me onto the bed, the plastic changing pad under me crinkling softly under the thick cloth diapers waiting for me as I lay down. She didn't ask this time. It wasn't a negotiation. My hands went to my chest, and she, without a word, deftly fastened the restraints, each click of the metal a tiny surrender. "There," she murmured, pulling back slightly to admire her work, her voice laced with satisfaction as her hand stayed possessively on my stomach. "All secure." My knees were pushed apart as she gently pulled the diapers up between my legs, the bulk giving me no choice but to give way. As the cloth settled, it took an… unnatural… shape. She ran her fingers lightly over the fabric, her touch lingering on the bulge beneath. "Someone's excited," she whispered, her voice husky, a low purr that vibrated through me, her eyes never leaving mine, holding me captive in their depths. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, spreading down my neck, pooling low in my groin, a heavy ache of longing. I want her, I thought, the words a silent scream in the quiet room, my body thrumming with a raw, primal need that eclipsed everything else. But I also want to run, to hide, to disappear, to pretend this isn't happening, this isn't me. Emily leaned in close, her body pressing against mine, the silk of her robe cool against my heated skin. Her lips brushed against my ear, sending shivers down my spine, her breath warm and intoxicating. Her hands, still on my restrained wrists, tightened slightly, a subtle assertion of her control. "Shh," she whispered, her voice a silken promise in the darkness. "Just relax. Let me… take care of you." And then, the night unfolded in a haze of touch and sensation, a slow, deliberate unraveling of inhibitions, a descent into a world where shame and desire danced a dangerous, intoxicating ballet. The soft cotton of the diaper against my bare skin, the warmth of her body molded against mine, the feel of her lips on my neck, feather-light kisses that ignited a fire in my veins… it was all so overwhelming, so intoxicating, a sensory feast that threatened to consume me entirely. I lost myself in the moment, in the feeling of being completely, utterly hers, mind, body, and soul. The guilt, the shame, the fear – they were still there, lurking at the edges of my consciousness, but for now, they were drowned out by the rising tide of sensation, replaced by a raw, primal need that eclipsed everything else, a need only she could satisfy. The next morning, I woke slowly, reluctantly, dragged back to consciousness by the soft light filtering through the bedroom curtains. Emily’s warmth still lingered in the sheets beside me, a phantom pressure against my back. The weight of the diaper, heavy and damp, was a comforting anchor, a tangible reminder of the night’s surrender. The faint scent of her perfume clung to the air, mixed with the musky smell of our bodies, a lingering trace of her presence, her touch, her… dominion. A potent cocktail of contentment, guilt, and a fierce, undeniable yearning for her touch, for more of her touch, swirled within me, leaving me breathless, wanting, undone. I heard her footsteps approaching, soft and deliberate, a familiar rhythm that sent a fresh wave of anticipation through me. My heart quickened, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. She was coming. And I was ready. Utterly, completely, irrevocably ready. She entered the room, a soft smile playing on her lips, her eyes alight with a knowing amusement that made my breath catch in my throat. "Sleep well, honey?" she asked, her voice a low purr, the endearment a loaded weapon, a subtle assertion of ownership. Her eyes searched mine, lingering on my lips, my flushed cheeks, the telltale bulge beneath the sheets, a silent acknowledgment of the intimacy we'd shared, the boundaries we had crossed, the unspoken desires that now bound us together. In their depths, I saw a question, a challenge, and a promise all at once. And in their depths, I saw myself reflected back – naked, vulnerable, and utterly, irrevocably… hers. I nodded, the movement barely perceptible, unable to articulate the complex emotions swirling within me, the tangled mess of guilt, desire, fear, and a fierce, overwhelming love that threatened to consume me. Words felt inadequate, clumsy, useless. All I could manage was a breathy, whispered, "Yeah." This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Chapter 27: Slippery When Wet I awoke as the sun struggled to pierce the chill of the early morning in Abby's room. As consciousness fully returned, I became acutely aware of the bulk between my legs and the snug fit of the sleeper encasing me. The cloth diapers. Karen's visit... And that insistent itch from last night, the phantom sensation of her touch, lingered, just a ghost now but enough to fan the embers of defiance that smoldered within me. Shifting slightly, I felt the familiar pressure in my bladder, coupled with the uncomfortable clamminess of the already wet diaper against my skin. I was supposed to just... lay there? Wait for her? After last night? The thought made my skin crawl. With a resigned sigh, I relaxed and let go, feeling the warmth spread through the cloth. It didn't take long for the diaper to become thoroughly soaked, a warm swampiness clinging uncomfortably to my skin. I glanced at the clock on Abby's nightstand. 6:14 AM. Emily wouldn't be up for at least another hour, and the thought of lying here in a wet diaper for that long was more than just uncomfortable, it felt like a defeat. My gaze fell on the zipper keys sitting innocently on the dresser, and an idea began to form. Both keys were there, the special key, and the red simple key that I could use. As I lay there, the discomfort of the wet diaper intensifying, I found myself grappling with a mix of emotions. On one hand, I appreciated Emily's care and attention. On the other, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was losing control over my own body and routines. The sleeper, while providing a sense of security, now felt constricting – a physical manifestation of my diminishing independence. Emily's increased dominance in our relationship, while exciting in some ways, was starting to chafe. I imagined Emily sleeping peacefully next door, oblivious to my struggle. And the realization struck me: she was probably enjoying my discomfort, knowing I couldn't help myself. Anger, hot and unexpected, flared within me. It's my body, damn it. It wasn't just the physical clamminess; it felt like a symbol of my surrender. "I'm a grown man," I thought to myself, frustration building. "I shouldn't need permission to use the bathroom or change my own clothes." "I'll just take a quick shower and change myself," I muttered, reaching for the red key. "No harm done." As I fumbled with the lock, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Was I betraying Emily's trust? But then again, hadn't she overstepped by insisting on such control over my basic functions? It turned out even with the key I struggled for several minutes, turning myself into a human pretzel, sweating and contorting against the unyielding fabric, before I could finally work the zipper down my back. With the sleeper finally off, I peeled off the sodden diaper, wrinkling my nose at the smell. As I made my way to the bathroom, leaving the wet diaper on the floor to deal with later, I felt a mix of relief and defiance. The hot shower was a welcome respite, washing away not just the physical discomfort but also some of my conflicted feelings. As I dried off and wrapped a towel around my waist, I felt a sense of accomplishment. See? I could handle this on my own. But then I heard a disgusted "UUUUUUUUUGH. Greg! What the hell?" through the door. As I stepped out of the bathroom, that feeling of triumph was short-lived. I nearly collided with Emily, who was standing in the hallway with her arms crossed, nose wrinkled, my discarded diaper dangling from one finger. "Care to explain this?" Emily's voice was deceptively calm, but I could see the storm brewing in her eyes. My carefully rehearsed explanation – the discomfort, the need for a shower – shriveled on my tongue. "I… uh… I woke up wet…" I stammered, my voice cracking, the words a pathetic echo of my earlier defiance. "I thought I'd just… clean up.” Emily’s eyebrow arched, a single, eloquent expression of disbelief. "And you didn’t think to wait for me?" she asked, her voice laced with a controlled anger that made my knees weak. "Or at least… dispose of the evidence properly?" Her gaze swept over me, taking in the towel wrapped around my waist, the damp hair clinging to my forehead, the shame burning in my eyes. "I mean, I know we're empty nesters now, Greg," she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "but I didn't think we'd be leaving… presents… around the house like untrained puppies." The words stung, sharp and precise, each syllable a tiny pinprick of humiliation. I opened my mouth to protest, to defend myself, but the words wouldn't come. I just stood there, mute, a towel-clad monument to my own childishness. "I'm sorry, Em," I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper, the words heavy with genuine remorse, though a flicker of resentment still smoldered beneath the surface. Emily took a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes closing for a moment as if gathering her composure, her control. When she opened them again, they were cold, distant. "Greg," she said, her voice quiet, measured, the controlled anger more terrifying than any outburst, "I understand you were uncomfortable. But this… this is not okay." She held up the diaper, its sodden weight a tangible symbol of my transgression. "You're going to be wearing cloth diapers now, Greg. And they need to be handled… properly." Her gaze, sharp and unwavering, met mine. "Do you have any idea," she asked, her voice dangerously low, "how much these… suck… to step in when you're walking around?" The question, so unexpected in its visceral detail, hit me like a physical blow. I hadn’t thought of that. Of her discomfort, of the mess I had made for her. Shame, hot and heavy, washed over me, drowning the last embers of defiance. "I'm… I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice cracking, the words now utterly devoid of any pretense of defiance, just raw, naked shame. Emily shook her head, a single, sharp movement that spoke volumes. "Greg," she said, her voice laced with a weariness that felt heavier than any accusation, "I'm serious. Sorry isn’t enough. We need to establish some… ground rules… here." And as I stood there, naked and vulnerable in the face of her anger, her disappointment, I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that the game had changed. My small act of rebellion, my desperate attempt to reclaim some control, had backfired spectacularly. And now, I was about to pay the price. “Greg,” Emily began, her voice softer now, but edged with a steel I hadn’t heard before, “every time you’ve tried to ‘help,’ you’ve ended up ripping a diaper, or leaking, or… this.” She gestured to the sodden mess on the floor, her lip curling slightly. “For now,” she continued, her gaze meeting mine, a silent challenge in her eyes, “let’s stick to me handling the diapers.” A flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher – amusement? – danced in her eyes. “Maybe we can try having you help… later. When we’re both… more comfortable with all this.” The implication, clear as a bell, hung in the air. Comfortable meant compliant. Obedient. Hers. I crossed my arms, a futile attempt to reclaim some lost ground. "And what if I don't want this arrangement anymore?" I challenged, my voice a little too loud, a little too desperate, betraying the tremor of uncertainty beneath the bravado. "What if I don't want you to… take care of me?" Emily's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of uncertainty, of vulnerability, crossing her face before it was quickly masked by a cool composure. She stepped closer, the fresh scent of her vanilla perfume, usually a comfort, now feeling like a subtle threat. Her voice, low and intense, sent a shiver down my spine. “Do you really mean that, Greg?” she asked, the question a silken challenge, a dare. “Because if you do,” she continued, her gaze unwavering, “we can stop right now. You can handle all of this… on your own.” Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, a predator’s smile. “But… I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. My carefully constructed defiance crumbled. She was right. I didn’t want to stop. The care, the intimacy, the security – it had become a drug, an addiction. And I was a willing, even eager, addict. I shook my head, the tension draining from my shoulders, leaving me feeling weak, exposed. "I just…" I began, my voice barely a whisper, the words a pathetic admission of defeat, "…I guess I felt a bit… helpless. Waiting for you to change me.” Emily’s lips curved into a genuine smile this time, a small victory acknowledged. “And you decided to take matters into your own… capable… hands?” The word, dripping with playful sarcasm, made my cheeks burn. "Something like that," I admitted, my voice barely audible, the shame clinging to me like the lingering scent of urine. Emily chuckled softly, the sound both forgiving and… something else. Triumphant? She stepped closer, her hand coming to rest on my cheek, her touch sending a familiar shiver down my spine, but this time tinged with a new, unsettling awareness of the power she held. "Greg," she murmured, her voice soft, almost tender, but with an underlying firmness that left no room for doubt, "I'm serious. You need to trust me to take care of this. We’re a team, remember?” Her gaze intensified, her eyes holding mine captive. “But if you keep going against me…” She let the threat hang in the air, unspoken but unmistakable. I leaned into her touch, a desperate, involuntary surrender. "Understood," I whispered, the word a promise, a capitulation. “Good.” Her expression softened, a hint of the familiar warmth returning to her eyes. "Look," she said, her voice gentle but firm, "I know this is all new, and it's an adjustment. But we need to work together on this.” A beat. Then, her voice hardening slightly, “And just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for… the evidence.” She gestured to the discarded diaper, a subtle reminder of my transgression. I groaned, the sound heavy with resignation. "What's my punishment, then?" The words were a plea, a childish request for guidance, for structure, for the very control I had so foolishly tried to reclaim. Emily’s eyes twinkled mischievously, a cat toying with its captured prey. “Well, first of all,” she began, her voice light, playful, but with an undercurrent of steel, “I think it would be best if you kept wearing the sleeper at night… until I think I can trust you again.” Her gaze flicked to the dresser, to the keys. She picked up the red one, the simple magnetic disc, twirling it between her fingers. "I bet these little escape routes will work a lot better if I am the one holding the key." She slipped it into her pocket, the small movement a clear assertion of her dominance. The more complex key, the one requiring a combination, remained on the dresser, a silent, mocking reminder of the autonomy I had so carelessly discarded. My heart sank. Trapped. Not just by the diapers, but by her. By my own desires. "And second…" she continued, her voice taking on a business-like tone, "…I think some… organizational duty is in order." Her lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, a smile that both excited and terrified me. “You’re going to sort, fold, and organize all of the new diaper supplies we got from Karen.” Her eyes sparkled, the playful glint returning, but now tinged with something darker, something… possessive. “Every. Single. Item.” I felt a mix of relief and trepidation. "That's it? Just folding?" "Oh no," Emily said, her tone light but firm. "You're going to organize everything. Fold the diapers, sort the covers, hang the clothes, and arrange the accessories. And while you're at it, I want you to create an inventory list. Categorize everything by type and size." I blinked, surprised by the thoroughness of my 'punishment'. "An inventory list? Really?" Emily nodded. "Really. It'll help us keep track of what we have and what we might need. Plus, it'll give you a chance to familiarize yourself with everything. And next week," she said, cracking a broad smile, "we'll tackle diaper origami - get ready to fold some swans!" I couldn't help but laugh as we walked back to Abby's room, but it gave way to a feeling of being a bit overwhelmed. The sight of the laundry baskets filled with clothes and diapers suddenly seemed daunting. Emily must have sensed my apprehension. She squeezed my hand gently. "I know it seems like a lot, but I'll help you get started. And who knows? You might even enjoy it." I snorted. "Enjoy folding diapers? I doubt it." As we sorted through the diaper supplies, creating neat piles on Abby's bed, I couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and fascination. The sheer variety of items was overwhelming. "Well," I said, trying to sound casual, "it looks like we're not missing anything." Emily paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, I don't know about that. We might need to get some locking diaper covers for you to wear under your clothes when you leave the house. The rompers would be a bit too obvious, don't you think?" I froze, unsure if she was joking. "Locking diaper covers? That's... that's a thing?" Emily nodded, her expression unreadable. "Oh yes, they exist. I found some that are quite discreet, actually." "But Em," I protested, "I don't wear diapers during the day." She raised an eyebrow. "Not usually, no. But you have in the past.” I felt a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension. "You can't be serious." Emily shrugged, her tone light but her eyes watching me carefully. "Well, if you're going to Houdini out of your nighttime protection like you did this morning, maybe we need to consider more secure options. They make adult-sized cribs, you know." I laughed nervously, trying to match her playful tone. "A crib? Come on, Em. That's a bit much, don't you think?" My heart raced at her words. Was she serious? Or just testing me? She paused, studying my face. "I'm just teasing, Greg," she said with a little smile and a look that sent a shiver down my spine. I wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement, and I wasn't sure if she was really teasing. Emily held up a particularly thick diaper. "You know, with the right cover, no one would even know you were wearing this under your clothes." I felt my face flush. "Em, I told you, I don't need diapers during the day." She smirked. "Of course, honey. I'm just saying, it's good to be prepared. You never know when you might need a little extra protection." As I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, I couldn't shake the feeling that our relationship was on the cusp of a significant change. Whether it was a change I was ready for, I wasn't entirely sure. We continued sorting the diapers, but I couldn't help but wonder if Emily was joking or not. She seemed to be watching me carefully, judging my reaction to her suggestions. I tried to match her lighthearted tone, but I couldn't shake the feeling that she was testing me, pushing me to see how far I was willing to go. "Okay, okay," I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "I get it. You're the diaper expert now. But please, no cribs or locking diaper covers. And I think I can handle my own bathroom needs during the day." Emily's eyes sparkled with enigmatic amusement. "So far." By the time I finished, hours later, Abby's room had been transformed. The shelves were neatly organized, each item in its designated spot. The inventory list, far more detailed than I'd initially planned, sat on the desk. Emily examined my work, her expression a mix of approval and amusement. "Impressive," she said, running her finger along a row of perfectly folded diapers. "I think you might have missed your calling as a professional organizer." I chuckled, feeling a strange sense of pride. "Well, if this whole software development thing doesn't work out, at least I have a backup plan." "And Greg?" Emily's voice broke through my thoughts. "Next time you need a change, you call for me. Clear?" "Not like it sounds like I'll have a choice," I replied, thinking of the first part of my punishment. "Well, if you want a choice," she said, her voice softening, "how about you pick out what you'll wear tonight? Now that you're all familiar and all." "What do you mean?" "Pick out what you'll wear." She gestured towards the closet, where the array of sleepers and rompers hung, a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns. The closet door stood slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of the soft, inviting fabrics within. My heart skipped a beat. A choice? The offer felt like a lifeline, a small reclaiming of autonomy. I approached the closet, my fingers trailing over the plush fleece and smooth flannel. There were a mix of solid colors – deep blues, forest greens, stormy grays – and playful prints – bold stripes, whimsical polka dots, even a few with cartoon characters. The air inside the closet smelled faintly of spring, a remnant of the dryer sheets that clashed with the unsettling feeling of confinement. "So many options," I murmured, feeling a bit overwhelmed. I hesitated, my gaze drawn to a deep blue sleeper with a subtle plaid pattern. It looked warm and comfortable, the kind of thing I'd imagine wearing on a snowy winter night, curled up by the fireplace with a good book. "What about this one?" I asked, holding it up for Emily's inspection. She tilted her head, considering. "That one's lovely," she said, her voice a touch lower than usual, "but I was thinking... maybe something a little brighter? To match your mood tonight?" I could feel her gaze on me, a subtle pressure to choose something that aligned with her preferences. I scanned the closet again, my eyes landing on a soft green sleeper with a delicate floral print. It was a compromise – not too childish, not too serious. "How about this one?" I asked, holding it up. Emily's smile was warm and genuine. "Perfect," she said, her voice laced with approval. "It suits you." "Now, choose your armor for the night," she said, a playful glint in her eye. I hesitated, unsure if she was serious. "My... armor?" She nodded, her smile widening. "Think of it as your protective shield. Choose wisely, my knight." I felt a blush creep up my cheeks as I surveyed the options. There were thick, absorbent prefolds, sleek pocket diapers, and even a few massive flat diapers that looked like they could hold a gallon of liquid. I reached for one of the thinner pocket diapers, but Emily shook her head. "Remember what Karen said? Those are for daytime. See? This is why I'm responsible for your diapers! I listen!" I sighed, taking one of the thick white prefolds. As I held it in my hands, its weight and texture both familiar and unsettling, a strange mix of emotions washed over me. It felt like a defeat, a surrender to Emily's control. But there was also a part of me, a dark, hidden part, that reveled in the feeling of being taken care of, of being utterly dependent on her. "And one more," Emily said with a smile. "No leaks, remember?" I took a second of the thick diapers, the cotton soft against my fingertips. "And what else do you need?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper. "Plastic pants," I said somewhat dejectedly. I pulled a pair of thick, white plastic pants from the bin, their crinkle a whisper of anticipation in the quiet room. "Kinda boring," Emily agreed, her fingers brushing against mine as she took the pants, "but these will keep everything nice and secure." She arranged the gathered supplies on Abby's bed, a silent promise of what would happen tonight. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, the air crackled with unspoken desires. "It was a choice, huh?" I asked, trying to break the tension. Her expression suddenly shifted, and her mood turned upbeat as she lifted the key with the protective combination, twirling it in her fingers before setting it tauntingly on the dresser in front of me. "Nope!" she said, her voice light but with an undercurrent of something darker. "Now let's go make lunch. And don't worry," she added, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I'm sure you will have plenty of opportunities to... test out your new armor." This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Pressing on! There are still almost 20 chapters left... Chapter 26: Scratch The doorbell chimed, its cheerful tone jarring against the quiet tension that had settled over the living room. I felt a mix of anticipation and dread, thankfully dulled by the wine, as Emily went to answer it. Karen stood on the porch, a warm smile on her face and a small bag in her hand. "Hello, dears! I hope I'm not too late." Emily ushered her in, relief evident in her voice. "Not at all, Karen. Thank you so much for coming." "It's a little late for me," I grumbled under my breath, feeling the wet diaper between my legs. As they entered the living room, I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, still trapped in the bodysuit. Karen's eyes widened slightly as she took in the scene. "Oh my, you do look stuck, don't you now?," she commented, her tone light but knowing. Emily nodded, a hint of a smile on her face. "Yes, we've had a bit of a... situation." Karen chuckled, reaching into her bag. "Thomas had a problem with, well, let's say he liked decorating with the contents of his diapers. These clothes really helped. He was a little Houdini Picasso, but I figured him out.. Well, let's get you out of that, shall we?" She produced a small red disc on a lanyard and handed it to Emily. "Here you go, dear. This should do the trick." As Emily worked on unlocking the bodysuit, Karen's gaze fell on the cloth diaper visible through the now open zipper. Her brow furrowed slightly. "You know, that cloth diaper doesn't look like it's fitting quite right." It was Emily's turn to be embarrassed. "Oh, I... I'm still learning. I've never put a cloth diaper on someone before. I'd only seen some videos of how to pin baby diapers." Karen's eyes lit up, recognizing a potential cloth diaper convert. "Well, if you'd like, I'd be happy to give you a detailed lesson on proper cloth diapering techniques. I've had years of practice with my Thomas, and I helped many families as part of Sarah's support group!" Her enthusiasm, and willingness to help, obviously were not to be denied. Emily hesitated, glancing at me. "That would be wonderful, but... Greg, would you be okay with that?" I sighed, resigned to my fate. "I suppose so. It's not like I have much dignity left to lose at this point." At least the wine in my veins helped to make it a little more tolerable, I guess. Emily suggested putting some underwear on me to make me more comfortable, which I gratefully agreed to. As Emily helped me take off the wet diaper and quickly slip into a pair of briefs, Karen turned her back to me in deference to my naked state. Soon I was somewhat less naked, and Karen turned back around. "Now, these bodysuits are great for keeping everything snug and in place," Karen said, holding up a red version bodysuit, matching the blue one I still wore, "But Thomas, bless his heart, was a bit of a Houdini." She pauses, and her face takes on a mix of fondness and a little exasperation. "He was a curious little guy, and remarkably flexible. Hence those zippers I had to add to the bodysuits and the sleepers, to help make sure he stayed dressed." As Karen held up the red bodysuit, her voice took on a more practical tone. "And these bodysuits," she explained, pointing to the wrists, "have these little… features here.” She gestured to the subtle loops sewn into the cuffs. "For… well, for keeping hands out of the way during changes, if you need them." Karen reached into the small grey pocket on the chest and produced a few small metal clips, holding one up for Emily to examine. "Thomas was a wiggly one, bless his heart. These just… helped sometimes, especially during changes in public restrooms, or late at night when you're tired." She offered a knowing smile, laden with the unspoken understanding of the challenges of caregiving. Emily leaned closer, her brow furrowed in concentration, examining the loops and clips with a thoughtful expression. She reached for the sleeve of the blue bodysuit I was wearing, her fingers tracing the small loop at the wrist cuff. Her gaze lifted to mine, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "So, they're… detachable?" she murmured, more to herself than to Karen. Karen nodded, demonstrating how the small metal clip could be easily fastened and unfastened. "Just a little thing, but it can be helpful, especially if your… patient… is a bit of a fidget.” She chuckled lightly, then, noticing Emily's focused expression, added, "Though, probably not necessary for Greg, right dear?" Emily, lost in thought, didn't immediately respond. Her fingers still toyed with the clip, a contemplative look on her face. After a moment, she looked up, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "No," she said softly, her gaze meeting mine, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. "Probably not necessary." She carefully unclipped the small metal fastener from the wrist loop, her touch lingering for a moment longer than strictly necessary, a silent question hanging in the air between us. Karen dove into her practiced lesson with enthusiasm, starting with daytime options. "Now, these training pants and plastic pants might come in handy," she explained, holding up examples and showing Emily the details of the underwear-like garments. As Karen slipped the training pants on me, I was surprised by their softness. The fabric felt gentle against my skin, a contrast to the disposables I'd grown accustomed to. The loose fit was actually kind of nice, allowing for a less, well, constricted feeling. Emily nodded thoughtfully. "These were the one thing we tried on this morning before we had trouble with the bodysuit. They might be useful someday, but they do look a bit tricky to change if actually used." "Exactly," Karen agreed. "For daytime use around the house or in the car, pocket diapers might be your best bet." She proceeded to show Emily how to add stuffers and use both velcro and snap versions on me. "Just keep in mind, they're not ideal for nighttime use due to potential side leaks." The pocket diaper felt different from the training pants. It was more structured, with a waterproof outer layer that felt cool against my skin. As Karen adjusted it, I noticed how the added stuffers created a plush, cushioned feeling between my legs. It was snug but not uncomfortable, and I could immediately tell it would be more absorbent than the training pants. Karen demonstrated how to use the snaps to adjust the rise, explaining the difference between daytime and nighttime settings. With each adjustment, I felt the diaper conform more closely to my body, creating a secure feeling I hadn't experienced with disposables. As Karen moved on to prefold diapers, her enthusiasm became even more apparent. She demonstrated various folding techniques, showing Emily how to use pins and Snappies. I was surprised by the difference in feeling between the pins, which felt more secure and created a tighter fit, and the Snappies, which pulled everything together in a different way, allowing for a bit more flexibility. I watched in fascination as Karen then unfolded a massive flat diaper. "This looks huge!" Emily exclaimed. Karen's eyes twinkled. "Just wait and see, dear." With practiced hands, she folded the diaper into a surprisingly compact and functional shape. "And for those extra heavy nights, we can add a stuffer for twelve-layer protection." "Now, Emily, dear," Karen said, her voice warm and encouraging, "the key to a good fit is making sure the diaper is snug but not too tight." She expertly demonstrated on me, her fingers deftly folding and pinning a prefold diaper, her touch surprisingly firm yet gentle. "See how I'm creating a nice, contoured shape around Greg's legs? This will help prevent leaks and ensure a comfortable fit." Emily’s brow furrowed in concentration as she mimicked Karen’s movements on a fresh diaper, her own touch hesitant at first, then growing more assured. A small smile played on her lips as she successfully secured the diaper, her fingers lingering for a moment on the soft fabric before tucking it into a pair of plastic pants. She stepped back, her eyes scanning my now-diapered form, not just assessing the fit but also… something more. A flicker of possessiveness, perhaps? Or was it something else entirely? "Excellent!" Karen exclaimed, her eyes twinkling with approval. "You're a natural, Emily! And those plastic pants help to prevent anything leaking onto the bed or furniture, of course." Karen demonstrated how to ensure the cloth was tucked into the thick plastic pants, and I couldn't help but squirm at the ticklish sensation. The resulting diaper was undeniably bulky, but also felt incredibly secure. The plastic pants created a snug seal around my legs and waist, and I could feel the warmth building up inside. As Karen moved on to demonstrate different folding techniques and diaper styles, I found myself caught between my usual embarrassment and a growing fascination with Emily’s transformation. With each successful diaper change, her movements became more fluid, more confident. The slight tremor in her hands disappeared, replaced by a steady precision that was almost hypnotic to watch. Her gaze, once filled with a mix of concern and apprehension, now held a spark of… what was it? Empowerment? Control? Throughout the lesson, I found myself being repositioned and re-diapered multiple times. Each type of diaper brought its own unique sensations - from the soft, breathable training pants to the structured pocket diapers, to the multi-layered security of the flat diaper with stuffers. Emily practiced getting everything just right under Karen's grandmotherly gaze. By the end, I was back in the bodysuit, this time with a much better fitting double diaper giving me a distinctly poofy appearance. As I stood there, encased in layers of soft fabric and snug crinkling plastic, I couldn't help but marvel at the range of sensations. It was so different from the disposables I'd been using - more tactile, more present. There was a weight to it, a fullness that was both foreign and oddly comforting. I shifted slightly, feeling the layers move with me, and realized that this new world of cloth diapers was going to be a very different experience indeed. As I sat there, Karen went over a few other things, including some bodysuits with just snaps in the crotch (which didn't work for Thomas but would probably work better for me), and some blanket sleepers that featured the same magnetic lock in the back. As Karen prepared to leave, she handed Emily another key - a device that looked like a large pen with a window. She explained how to set a 4-digit code to unlock it, demonstrating the process with her back turned to me. "This makes it easier to keep the key where you need it, but unauthorized people can't mess with their diapers," she said with a knowing smile. She winked at Emily, a knowing glint in her eye. "You're a natural, dear. Don't hesitate to call if you have any questions!" Then, with a final pat on my shoulder and a cheerful "Good luck!", she was gone. After Karen left, I rolled my eyes at Emily, pulling at the zipper in my crotch to illustrate that I was still locked into the suit. "So, any chance I can take this off now?” Emily grinned, a mischievous and knowing glint in her eye. "Well, we wouldn't want Karen's hard work to go to waste, would we? Let's continue the… testing.” She let the word hang in the air, a silent dare. I sighed, and let it drop, knowing that she literally held the key – and, apparently, all the cards. The rest of the afternoon was a blur of waddling and crinkling. I moved through the house like a man in a puffy green spacesuit, acutely aware of every rustle and shift of the bulky diaper, a constant, comical reminder of my predicament. Emily, meanwhile, observed my every move with an amused detachment, her gaze flicking to my midsection with unnerving frequency. Nearing dinnertime, a familiar pressure began to build. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the thick diaper feeling increasingly like a water balloon about to burst. I tried to ignore it, focusing on the baseball game on TV, but the insistent urge was rapidly becoming impossible to ignore. Emily, ever observant, noticed my subtle fidgeting, the way I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs, the barely perceptible wince that flickered across my face. "Greg? Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice laced with a delicate blend of concern and barely suppressed laughter. I hesitated, embarrassment coloring my cheeks. "Em, I, uh… I think all that wine is catching up with me,” I mumbled, gesturing vaguely towards my lower abdomen with a strained smile. Emily glanced down, a slow smile spreading across her face, a delightful mix of amusement and mock exasperation. "Greg, honey,” she sighed, her voice laced with laughter, "you can’t exactly get out of that right now.” Her gaze flicked meaningfully downwards, to the undeniably bulging region between my legs. "Just… use the diaper. Isn’t that what it’s for?” I felt a surge of frustration and helplessness, quickly followed by a strange, unwelcome thrill. "But Em, I can't just... I mean, it feels… wrong to…” She moved closer, kneeling beside the couch, placing a comforting hand on my arm. "You did it this morning, honey. It's not a big deal. Just relax and let go. I'm right here with you.” Her eyes held mine, a silent dare, a playful invitation to surrender. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, and let go. The warm rush of relief flooded through me, a sensation both foreign and oddly familiar, a strange echo of childhood comfort. For a fleeting moment, shame warred with a burgeoning sense of… liberation. When I opened my eyes, Emily was watching me, a tender smile playing on her lips. "There you go," she murmured, her voice soft, almost intimate. "Feel better?" I nodded, surprised to find that I did feel a sense of relief, both physical and emotional. "Yeah, I do. But... it feels strange being so dependent on you for this. Can you get me out of this… contraption… now?” Emily’s smile widened, a hint of something possessive entering her eyes. "I understand, honey, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. Always.” She cupped the diaper, her fingers probing the dampness through the thick fabric, a gesture that sent a shiver down my spine. "I’ll change you later. For now,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "just relax. Let me take care of you.” Even though I knew arguing was pointless, I couldn't help but inspect the bodysuit with a renewed, almost morbid curiosity. The look in Emily's eyes, that mixture of amusement and something deeper, something I couldn’t quite name, had sparked a strange, unsettling fascination within me. I reached behind my neck, my fingers brushing against the soft flap of fabric that concealed the zipper. The buttons beneath felt strangely like Braille, a secret code I was just beginning to decipher. I tugged experimentally at the navy blue fabric. It stretched slightly, then held firm, a silent but unmistakable assertion of its strength. A wave of something hot and unsettling coiled in my gut. This wasn't just a garment; it was a statement. A declaration of control. The elastic cuffs at my wrists felt deceptively soft against my skin. I tested their give, pulling gently, then harder. A hidden resistance, a subtle firmness, stopped me short. The small loops, barely visible against the navy fabric, hinted at a purpose beyond mere comfort. I reached into the small gray pocket on my chest, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of the clip Karen had so casually demonstrated. I pulled it out, the small metal clip glinting in the dim light of the living room. I clipped it to the loop on one wrist, the metal snick of the clip echoing in the sudden quiet. I tugged, my hand trapped against my chest, my pulse quickening. The feeling was… unsettling. A blush crept up my neck. Vulnerability. Restraint. A flicker of… something else. Something dark and exciting that I quickly pushed away, shoving the clip back into its hiding place as if it were a hot coal. My gaze drifted downwards, to the undeniably toddler-ish bulge of the diaper beneath the smooth, unyielding fabric of the suit. The zipper at my crotch, a cold, rigid line against my heated skin, added to the feeling of being… contained. Controlled. I tried to wriggle my fingers beneath the leg cuffs, the soft, fuzzy elastic mocking my efforts. It stretched tantalizingly, then snapped back, holding the plastic pants firmly in place, just beyond the reach of my fingers. The crinkling of a waterproof layer sewn into the garment, as if the plastic pants themselves were not trusted, was a tease, a constant reminder of what lay hidden, inaccessible, hers to control. I probed the bulge between my legs, the thick padding surprisingly soft, almost… comforting. But the comfort was tinged with a growing unease. I shifted, the thick padding of the diaper pressing against me, a constant reminder of my… helplessness. The bodysuit held me captive, its smooth, unyielding fabric a barrier not just to prying hands, but to my own. A disturbing thought flickered in my mind: "...it'll keep things tidy in more ways than one." Karen's parting words echoed in my ears, her knowing grandmotherly smile taking on a new, unsettling meaning. Was this the tidiness she'd spoken of? Not just the prevention of leaks, but… something more? The bodysuit, in its all-encompassing embrace, suddenly felt less like a garment and more like… a wearable cage. A cage designed to render me utterly and completely… hers. During dinner, the conversation inevitably turned to our new situation. As we sat across from each other, the crinkling of my plastic pants a soft background noise, Emily broached the subject. "So,” she began, her fork pausing midway to her mouth, her eyes locking with mine, a spark of something unreadable in their depths, "how are you really feeling about all this?” I took a moment to gather my thoughts, the weight of her gaze making my breath catch in my throat. "Honestly?” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, the truth feeling both dangerous and liberating on my tongue. "It’s a mix of emotions. Part of me feels… embarrassed. Frustrated. Like a… sideshow freak in a diaper and a romper.” I forced a wry chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood, but it fell flat, hollow even to my own ears. "But another part…” I trailed off, unable to articulate the confusing swirl of emotions churning within me. Emily nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, her gaze fixed on my face, searching, probing. "I understand,” she murmured, her voice softening, a hint of something akin to… triumph? In their depths. "And for me, well,” she continued, a delicate flush rising on her cheeks, "I’ve realized how much I enjoy… caring for you this way. It’s different, Greg, than anything we’ve ever shared. Different from when we were raising Abby.” Her eyes met mine, a silent question hanging in the air between us. "But it still… fills that nurturing part of me. In ways I hadn’t expected.” "You don’t find it… I don’t know, weird?” I asked, voicing the question that had been nagging at me all day, the fear that she saw me as something less than a man in this ridiculous, infantilizing getup. Emily reached across the table, her hand warm and possessive as it closed over mine. "Greg, love isn’t weird,” she said, her voice low, almost husky, her thumb tracing slow circles on the back of my hand, sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine. "Caring for each other isn’t weird.” Her gaze intensified, holding mine captive. "This,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "this situation, is… unconventional. Yes.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "But unconventional doesn’t have to mean bad. And it has brought us closer, Greg. In ways I never expected.” Her fingers tightened their grip on mine, a silent promise, a shared secret passing between us. "I feel like I understand you better now,” she murmured, her eyes searching mine, "and I hope,” she added, her voice softening, becoming almost pleading, "you feel the same about me.” I squeezed her hand, a rush of affection warring with the ever-present guilt. "I do, Em. I really do.” I swallowed hard, the unspoken question still hanging heavy in the air between us. "I just… worry sometimes that this might change how you see me.” My gaze dropped to the undeniably childish bulge beneath the bodysuit, the soft crinkle of the plastic pants a constant, mocking reminder of my vulnerability. "The cloth diapers,” I continued, my voice barely audible, "It’s just… it feels so real now. Like we’re really committing to this. Like you’re thinking this is… permanent.” Part of me, the rational, adult part, was terrified. But another part, a darker, more hidden part, thrilled at the prospect. "Part of me is… excited,” I admitted, the confession burning on my tongue, "but another part is… scared. What if this changes us?” "Oh, honey,” Emily said, her voice soft but firm, her thumb still stroking slow circles on my hand, a hypnotic, almost possessive touch. "This doesn’t change who you are to me. You’re still my husband, my partner, my best friend.” Her eyes held mine, a silent promise, a shared understanding passing between us across the candlelit table. "This is just… a new chapter in our story, Greg. And I’m here,” she murmured, leaning closer, her breath warm against my cheek, "for all of it.” Her gaze dropped to my lap, a knowing, almost predatory glint entering her eyes. "And change isn’t always bad, Greg,” she whispered, her voice a husky purr that sent a shiver down my spine. "Otherwise,” she teased, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile, "you might get get diaper rash.” I almost choked on my water, a nervous laugh escaping my lips. "Throw relationships in with politicians and diapers, right? They all benefit from a good change.” The heaviness of the moment broke, replaced by a fragile, shared laughter that danced between us, a fragile bridge built across the chasm of our unconventional desires. Emily raised her wine glass. "Cheers,” she said, her eyes sparkling, the candlelight catching the mischievous glint in their depths. "Let’s hope we both find… benefit… from this change.” I clinked my glass against hers, a wry smile playing on my lips. "And to always reading the fine print,” I added, the words laced with a deeper, more complex meaning than either of us dared to acknowledge. Because really, what else could we do but laugh? After all, life, as we were rapidly discovering, was full of surprises. Some of them just happened to be a hell of a lot more absorbent than others. As evening approached, a familiar knot of anticipation tightened in my stomach. Emily's help in putting on my nightly diaper had become a ritual, a strange mix of intimacy and infantilization that both thrilled and unsettled me. I couldn't deny the comfort it brought, the feeling of being cared for, of surrendering control. But the shame still lingered, a shadow lurking at the edges of my pleasure, and this evening would be a diaper change – a shameful continuation, not the hoped-for installation of a dry, final diaper. When it was time, Emily led me back to the bedroom for my nightly transformation. I made my way to the waiting bed, its plastic sheet cool against my skin, as she gathered the dry diapers and powder, setting the pile beside me like offerings at a bizarre altar. “Comfy?” Emily asked, her voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. A grin played on her lips as she gently guided my hands to my chest, and with two soft snicks, secured the restraints. Helpless. Exposed. Utterly at her mercy. The realization, usually tinged with dread, now sparked a flicker of something else entirely. "It's… different," I admitted, my voice catching slightly. "I feel kind of… helpless." Emily’s expression softened, her eyes darkening with an emotion I couldn't quite name. "You know I'd never do anything to make you uncomfortable, right? This is just to make the change easier.” Her fingers, warm and deliberate, traced the locked zipper of the romper, a possessive caress that sent a jolt through me. "You're okay with this?" She unlocked the zipper between my legs, revealing the wet diaper beneath. I nodded, the lie a silent weight in my chest. I was okay with it. More than okay. I didn't know how to say it, but the truth was, I was more than okay with it. As she began removing the wet diaper, I became acutely aware of how exposed I felt, laid bare both physically and emotionally. There was something oddly freeing in this complete surrender, in relinquishing all pretense of control. I had to simply trust Emily completely. And, absurdly, thrillingly, I did. “How does it feel, being changed like this?” Emily asked, her tone curious, almost clinical, yet laced with a subtle undercurrent of something more intimate, as she used a warm, damp cloth to cleanse my skin. I thought for a moment, the question echoing in the suddenly charged air between us. "It's a little embarrassing," I admitted, the word a paltry offering for the torrent of emotions swirling within me. "But also… I don't know, kind of nice? Like I don't have to worry about anything. You've got it all under control." The words were a confession, not just of dependence, but of a desire for it. Emily smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips that sent a fresh wave of heat through me. As she began pinning on the clean diaper, her touch, no longer just efficient, now lingered, her fingers brushing against my skin with a deliberate tenderness that belied the clinical nature of the task. "That's good to hear. I want you to feel safe, Greg," she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "and cared for." As she finished up, smoothing the soft cloth over the thick padding, I found myself reluctant for the moment to end, wanting to prolong this strange, intimate ritual. “Em?” I said softly, my voice barely audible. “Thank you for being so understanding about all this… but… how do you feel about this?” She paused, her hand resting on the plastic pants, warm and heavy over the fresh diaper. Her gaze met mine, her eyes searching, unreadable for a long, breathless moment. “I have someone that I love,” she said finally, her voice thick with emotion, “that I care for, that needs me, that I can help… I’m very happy.” She paused, her gaze drifting to the new clothes from Karen hanging in the closet, a silent invitation to explore new boundaries. She selected a yellow garment, a long-legged sleeper made of fleece, the soft fabric whispering in her hands. A small smile, knowing and almost predatory, played on her lips. “I was thinking… this sleeper might be even more comfortable than the bodysuit. Want to try one tonight?” She unclipped my hands, the sudden freedom a stark contrast to the anticipation building within me, and unzipped the romper, helping me pull it down and step out, revealing my suddenly vulnerable nakedness. The little grin on her face sent a jolt of pure electricity through me as she helped me put my legs into the soft legs of the sleeper, her touch lingering, possessive. Part of me wanted to protest, to ask why the sudden change, to cling to the familiar structure of the romper, but her gaze held me captive, silencing any resistance. I didn't protest, even if a part of me knew I probably should. I was as curious as she was, drawn by an invisible thread to this new level of surrender. The sleeper felt different, more… encompassing as I put my arms in, the fleece-like fabric brushing against my skin, a gentle caress that sent shivers dancing across my flesh. She zipped up the back, the zipper securing with the same, now familiar click that resonated deep within me as it pulled the soft material snugly around my body. While the fabric seemed delicate, yielding, as I tentatively pulled at the sleeve I realized it was as strong and unyielding as the romper she had just removed. The fleece-like material brushed against my skin, a gentle caress that felt both comforting and… unsettlingly intimate. It reminded me of something… a half-forgotten image of myself as a child, bundled in a footed pajama sleeper, my mother’s hands tucking me into bed, her voice a soothing lullaby in the darkening room. There was no zipper between my legs, a deliberate omission that spoke volumes. It was clear this garment was meant for uninterrupted nights, for complete surrender. There were no clips for my hands; restraint was no longer necessary, or perhaps, simply implied. It promised a night of blissful, helpless slumber, a night where all needs, all control, belonged to Emily. “You know,” Emily said, her voice soft, a playful lilt that sent a fresh shiver down my spine, “I used to wear one of these when I was little. Mom always said I slept like an angel. Maybe you will too.” Her fingers traced the seams of the sleeper, a feather-light touch that ignited a fire within me. She leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck. That warm, familiar vanilla scent… “We can always experiment with other things tomorrow.” I was only mildly surprised when bedtime found me back in Abby’s room, exiled to the guest bed until the cloth diapers had “proven themselves.” Emily’s words, though light and teasing, held a firmness that brooked no argument, a subtle assertion of control that both thrilled and unsettled me. I settled onto the mattress, the familiar crinkle of the plastic sheet beneath me a stark reminder of my… situation, a boundary I was not permitted to cross. The soft rustle of the plastic pants under the sleeper, though, was both foreign and familiar, the thick padding forcing my legs apart, a constant, physical reminder of the strange new territory Emily and I were charting, alone, together. Each movement brought a symphony of crinkles – the plastic pants against the sleeper fabric, the sleeper fabric against the plastic mattress protector – a private, intimate soundtrack to my unease, and to my burgeoning desire. As sleep began to pull me under, I tried to relax into the unfamiliar embrace of the diaper and sleeper, to decipher the complex language of sensation they spoke. The tactile sensations were a confusing mix – the surprising softness of the thick cloth diaper against my skin, the gentle, almost caressing pressure of the plastic pants around my waist and thighs, the snug, all-encompassing hug of the sleeper. It was… a lot. Too much, almost. And yet, beneath the layers of fabric and plastic, a nascent sense of calm, of surrender, began to take root, wrapping itself around me like the sleeper itself. I could still feel the ghost of Emily's touch lingering on my skin – the warmth of her hands as she'd fastened the diaper pins, the gentle pressure of her fingers as she smoothed the fabric of the sleeper, the subtle tug as the long zipper was closed, snug and secure. These phantom sensations, memories imprinted on my nerve endings, were both comforting and unsettling, a constant reminder of her presence, her control, and the unspoken promise of what lay ahead. And then, the itch. It started as a faint tickle, right on the inside of my left thigh, right where Emily's fingers had lingered a moment too long, her continuing touch now a phantom caress. But it quickly intensified, a searing ember igniting beneath my skin, right where her fingers had traced the edge of the diaper, guiding the pin through the thick layers of fabric. It was maddeningly specific, localized just at the elastic leg of the protective plastic, a point of intense focus in the growing darkness. I shifted, trying to alleviate the irritation, but the smooth, unyielding fabric of the sleeper held firm, mocking my efforts. My fingers fumbled ineffectively at the restrictive layers, the long legs of the sleeper a frustrating barrier. I scratched, gently at first, then with growing desperation, my nails scraping uselessly against the fabric of the sleeper, the soft fleece sliding ineffectively across the smooth plastic of the pants beneath, unable to reach the source of the torment sheltered under the bulk of the soft cloth. The frustration mounted, a wave of heat washing over me, settling low in my belly. My breath hitched, a small, involuntary moan escaping my lips. It was more than just an itch now; it was a burning need, a raw, primal urge that mirrored the longing in my heart, a physical manifestation of my yearning for her touch, her care, even as that very care had rendered me helpless. I closed my eyes, the phantom sensation of Emily's touch now indistinguishable from the insistent, maddening itch. The darkness amplified the sensations - the snug embrace of the diaper, the smooth coolness of the plastic pants, the restrictive pressure of the sleeper. My body, trapped and yet strangely... aroused, throbbed with a confusing mix of frustration and a pleasure I couldn't quite name. This dependence, this surrender... was it a prison? A haven? Or... something else entirely? The lines blurred, shifting, dissolving in the rising tide of sensation, of longing, of a darkness that felt both terrifying and... exhilarating. The thought flickered through my mind, unwelcome yet strangely... exciting. Was this the true purpose of this confinement? To heighten my senses, to amplify my desires, to make me even more acutely aware of my own helplessness, my own... need? This dependence, this surrender... a maddening itch, a torment that only she could alleviate... Was it a prison, or a haven? This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

I really liked this; thanks for bringing it full circle! **golf clap**. Well Done!

Thanks for the comment. Now I can paste the next chapter without the board merging them. Chapter 25: Trapped After breakfast, and after what felt like a month’s supply of coffee had been brewed and consumed, I stood in Abby's room, surveying the battlefield. Piles of clean but unfolded cloth diapers and accessories were scattered across the bed, a monument to Emily’s latest project. "Em,” I began, my voice a dry mix of amusement and resignation, "remind me again why our empty nest now resembles a daycare supply closet?” Emily glanced up from the mountainous pile she was excavating, her eyes glinting with something akin to manic glee. "Efficiency, darling! Think of the money we’ll save! Plus,” she added with a theatrical flourish, brandishing a fluffy prefold, "imagine the environmental impact! You’ll be saving the planet, one absorbent layer at a time.” Despite myself, a chuckle escaped. "Ah yes, Captain Planet, defender of the Earth’s aquifers, clad in… cloth.” Emily grinned, undeterred. She plucked a pair of thick blue training pants from the chaotic heap. "Speaking of attire, let’s start with these. Baby steps, Greg, baby steps.” She turned them over in her hands, her brow furrowing. "Though, I’m not sure these alone will cut it for nighttime. Still, for daytime… try these on.” She tossed them to me like a gauntlet thrown down. As I reluctantly tugged on the bulky training pants, Emily, with a predatory gleam in her eye, produced a pair of pristine white plastic pants, as if conjured from thin air. "The pièce de résistance,” she declared, holding them aloft like a trophy. "For… extra security,” she added, her tone deceptively innocent. I pulled them on, the plastic crinkling with each movement, the sound amplifying the absurdity of the situation. "Subtlety is clearly your strong suit, Em,” I deadpanned, striking a mock-heroic pose. "I’m practically invisible.” "Darling, think of it as… acoustic camouflage,” Emily retorted, circling me with a critical eye as she poked and prodded my lower half. "Besides, you'll be so well-cushioned if you fall. Think of the savings on hip replacements.” She finally looked up, a smirk playing on her lips. "Congratulations, by the way. You've just experienced your first plastic pants fitting. Not going to be your last, I suspect.” She started to slide the training pants down. "But for serious leak protection, these are about as effective as…” she trailed off, gesturing dismissively. "Well, we’ll see about those later.” She tossed them onto the burgeoning pile. "Next!” "Next?” I echoed, eyeing the overflowing bins with growing trepidation. Emily rummaged through the pile of diapers with the focused intensity of an archaeologist unearthing ancient relics. She held up a diaper with a print so garish it could induce seizures. "Behold!” she announced, her voice ringing with mock triumph. "The ‘Unicorn Stampede’ special edition!” I squinted at the offending article. "Are those… unicorns riding dinosaurs? Seriously, Karen had these?” Emily dissolved into laughter, tossing the diaper onto a discard pile. "Yeah, maybe those are for… advanced users. For now,” she said, pulling out a plain white prefold edged in a tasteful blue serge, "let’s start with something… less… visually arresting.” She held it out like an offering. "Come here, Greg. Time for diapering 101.” I approached with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man walking the plank, eyeing the prefold warily. "Diaper pins, Em? Really? Are you sure you’re qualified to wield those medieval torture devices?” She looked up, her eyes sparkling with a dangerous mix of determination and mischief. "Nope, not a clue. But that's what YouTube tutorials and years of marriage are for, right? Practice makes perfect. Besides,” she patted the changing pad she’d laid out with a flourish, "think of it as… quality time. Intimate… hands-on quality time.” "Intimate surgery without anesthetic,” I muttered under my breath, reluctantly positioning myself on the changing pad. "Hush, you,” Emily retorted, brandishing a diaper pin like a weapon. "Just relax. This is going to be educational. For both of us.” "Educational and potentially… pointy,” I squeaked, wincing as she approached with the pin held aloft. "You ARE sure you know which end is sharp, right?” Emily rolled her eyes, but a nervous giggle escaped her lips. "Don’t be such a baby. I won’t stick you. Much.” A moment later, a sharp yelp escaped my lips. "Ow! Em! You said you wouldn’t stick me!” "Sorry, sorry!” Emily said, looking genuinely contrite, but her eyes still danced with amusement. "Technically, I said I wouldn’t stick you much…” After several more attempts, punctuated by my increasingly theatrical cries of pain, Emily finally sat back, regarding her handiwork with a critical eye. "There! Not… entirely lopsided. And mostly blood-free. Not bad for a beginner.” I sat up gingerly, the cloth diaper feeling bulky and foreign, and alarmingly loose. Emily, ever the problem solver, produced a pair of clear plastic pants. "Presenting, the pièce de résistance, part deux!” she announced, holding them out with mock fanfare. "Clear plastic pants! For maximum pin admiration.” "And maximum crinkle volume,” I muttered, accepting the garment with a sigh. "Great. Now I’m both a diaper wearer and a walking, talking ASMR trigger.” As I pulled them on, the plastic symphony filled the room. "Fantastic,” I deadpanned. "I sound like I’m wrapped in industrial-strength bubble wrap. If I fall, at least I’ll bounce.” I took a tentative step, and the diaper immediately began a slow, inexorable descent. I tried to hitch it back up, but it was clearly a losing battle. Even Emily, bless her heart, couldn’t suppress a wince. Her face took on that familiar focused look of intense concentration, the ‘problem-solving’ expression I knew so well. A lightbulb visibly illuminated above her head – or at least, it felt that way. She practically dove back into the clothing bins, emerging triumphantly with a dark blue garment held aloft like Excalibur. "Aha!” she cried, brandishing what looked suspiciously like a baby’s onesie, only… larger. "Behold!” she announced with mock gravitas. "The bodysuit! Internet diaper forums swear by these to keep everything… contained.” I eyed the garment with deep suspicion. "Em… that looks suspiciously like… a baby grow.” "Nonsense!” she insisted, thrusting it into my hands with no room for argument. "Think of it as… tactical undergarments. High-performance base layer. Action-ready diaper containment system.” She paused, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "Besides, blue is so your color.” Resigned to my fate, I sighed and held it up, turning it over in my hands. "And the pocket?” I asked, pointing to a small grey square on the chest. "For my pacifier? Teething biscuits?” Emily ignored my sarcasm, already helping me step into the garment. "Pocket goes in front, obviously. Zipper in the back. Standard tactical onesie configuration.” I turned around, and she efficiently zipped me up, the bodysuit conforming snugly to my torso. "And… zipper between the legs,” Emily murmured, her voice now laced with a distinct purr as she reached down, her fingers brushing intimately against my crotch as she fastened the zipper. I heard a faint click, like a seatbelt buckle engaging, but dismissed it. "All done!” I stood there, encased in the soft, yet strangely restrictive fabric, a bewildering mix of anticipation and vulnerability swirling within me. "Superhero suit, huh?” I asked, flexing my arms with exaggerated movements, testing the limits of my new sartorial prison. The not-entirely-unpleasant pull of the diaper in my crotch as I raised my arms was… disconcerting. The soft crinkling sound that accompanied the movement was a new element, a subtle shift in the already bizarre soundtrack of my life. Emily chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement, but something else too, something I couldn't quite place. "Absolutely. You’re ‘Captain Crinkle,’ defender of domestic dryness!” She stepped back, her gaze sweeping over me, lingering a beat too long, a hint of genuine appraisal warming her eyes. "Actually,” she admitted, her voice softening, "it… kinda suits you.” A blush, unwelcome yet undeniably present, crept up my neck. "Okay, very funny. We’ve had our laughs. Can I take this… thing… off now?” The words felt heavier than I intended, a subtle, involuntary resistance to the strange, unsettling comfort I’d found in this bizarre new costume. Emily’s smile faltered, just a fraction, as she reached for the zipper at my back. Her fingers fumbled with the tiny metal pull. She tugged gently. Nothing. She tugged again, harder this time, a crease forming between her perfectly sculpted brows. A small, almost imperceptible, click echoed in the sudden, unsettling quiet of the room. "Um… Greg?” she said, her voice suddenly higher-pitched, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face, quickly replaced by a dawning alarm. "It’s not… budging.” My heart skipped a beat, then started hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I reached behind, my fingers brushing against the smooth, unyielding fabric where the zipper should have yielded. It felt… rigid. Immovable. "What do you mean, it’s not budging?” My voice was tighter than I intended, a thread of genuine panic weaving through the forced levity. I fumbled with the zipper myself, my own fingers tracing the tiny, unmoving metal teeth. The soft, almost mocking click repeated as I pulled. Then… nothing. Emily’s face paled, her playful amusement vanishing like smoke in a high wind. She attacked the zipper again, her touch now frantic, her earlier playful teasing replaced by a raw, dawning panic that mirrored my own. "I think… I think it might be… locked.” "Locked?” I repeated, the word echoing the frantic thump-thump-thump of my pulse in my ears. My mind raced, desperately searching for a rational explanation, a logical escape route from this suddenly, terrifyingly constricting garment. "Locked? Why the hell would a onesie have a lock?” The question was less directed at Emily, more a desperate, whispered plea to the uncaring universe. "Karen… Karen mentioned something about it being… tamper-proof,” Emily stammered, her voice small, distant, as if she were already adrift on a rapidly receding shore. "I… I really didn’t think much of it at the time.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide, reflecting my own rising tide of panic, a mirror image of my own dawning fear. A wave of heat washed over me, the soft, supposedly comforting fabric of the bodysuit now feeling like a suffocating shroud. Trapped. The word echoed in my mind, a stark, brutal, and terrifying truth. I was trapped in this childish, ridiculous garment, a prisoner of my own escalating charade. The carefully constructed walls of my flimsy, farcical deception crumbled around me, leaving me exposed, vulnerable, and utterly, completely… I slumped onto the couch, the soft cushions yielding beneath me, a mocking reminder of the unyielding fabric now imprisoning my lower half. "Great,” I muttered, the word heavy with resignation, laced with a tremor of something darker, something unwelcome, something akin to… thrill? "Just great. So, I’m just… stuck in this thing.” The words were a lament, but beneath the despair, a forbidden spark flickered to life. Trapped. Helpless. Dependent. And utterly, completely… hers. Emily was already scrambling for her phone, her fingers fumbling as she tried to dial Karen’s number, a nervous laugh escaping her lips that sounded far too close to hysteria. Meanwhile, I sank deeper into the cushions, a strange sense of resignation washing over me. Resigned to my fate. Resigned to this ridiculous, humiliating, and undeniably… arousing… predicament. Trapped by my lies. Trapped by the bodysuit. Trapped. As Emily frantically speed-dialed, a perfectly predictable, utterly unwelcome sensation washed over me. Just like Pavlov’s bloody dogs, or that damn seatbelt light on the plane, as soon as my bladder registered that escape was not an option, that the porcelain throne was tantalizingly, infuriatingly out of reach, a familiar pressure began to build. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Utterly, completely… predictable. "Em?” I said, my voice a strained croak. "Em… I think… I think I need to use the bathroom.” She glanced up, her brow furrowed, distracted from her increasingly frantic phone call. Concern warred with a dawning, oh-so-familiar mix of amusement and exasperation. "Greg, honey,” she said, her voice laced with a delicate blend of exasperation and, yes, dammit, humor, "honey, you can’t exactly get out of that right now.” Her gaze flicked meaningfully downwards, to the undeniably bulging region between my legs. "So… just… well… you know.” Her lips twitched, a smile threatening to break free. "Isn’t that what the diaper is for?” "But, Em…” I stammered, the last vestiges of protest dying a whimpering death on my lips. What choice did I have? I was, quite literally, trapped. Emily’s smile softened, a genuine, almost tender curve of her lips that belied the mischievous glint still dancing in her eyes. She knelt beside the couch, placing a reassuring hand on my arm, her touch surprisingly gentle, almost… loving. "It’s okay, Greg,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm against my rising panic, though the faint tremor of laughter still danced beneath the surface. "Just… relax.” Her hand tightened on my arm, a silent dare. "It’s just us.” I closed my eyes, my fists clenching, the nails digging deep into my palms, a futile attempt to ground myself in some semblance of control. Just relax. The words echoed in my mind, a mocking mantra against the rising tide of panic. How could I relax when I felt like I was losing the last shred of my dignity, my autonomy, my very self? I took a shuddering breath, trying, and failing, to quell the rising tide of panic, but my treacherous body, as always, had other plans. The pressure, insistent, undeniable, blossomed into a warm, spreading wetness. Shame washed over me, hot and heavy, but beneath it, a dark, unwelcome tendril of… relief? As I finally, utterly, completely… surrendered, the warmth bloomed, spreading through the thick padding, a physical manifestation of my utter, humiliating, and strangely… liberating… defeat. Emily hung up the phone with a dramatic sigh. "Karen’s not answering,” she announced, her voice laced with theatrical despair. "Left a message. Again.” She re-examined the zipper at my back, tugging at it with a determined frown. "Honestly, Greg, the clothing online was just snaps and zippers and…” She tugged harder, a frustrated grunt escaping her lips, "…I never saw anything that locked. Karen must have had these things custom made for Thomas.” I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the wet diaper now cold and heavy, sagging against my thighs. "So what do we do now?” I asked, my voice a defeated monotone. Just then, Emily’s phone chimed with a text alert. Her eyes widened as she read the message, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Oh no.” "What?” I asked, a fresh wave of dread washing over me. Emily’s grin widened into a full-blown, mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Karen just texted. She… uh… she forgot to include the magnetic key that unlocks the bodysuit.” She paused for dramatic effect, her smile now bordering on predatory. "She used it, apparently, to keep Thomas from, and I quote, ‘re-landscaping his diaper contents with his bare hands’. She’s very sorry,” Emily continued, her voice dripping with false sympathy, "and will bring it over… in an hour. Or two.” I slumped back against the cushions, the wet diaper squishing in protest. "An hour or two? Em, I can’t stay like this for that long!” Emily settled onto the couch beside me, patting my arm with mock sympathy. "I know, honey. I am sorry.” A beat. Then, her lips twitching, she added, "But… look on the bright side? At least we know the diaper works? And… you’ll get to give them a really thorough test?” I shot her what I hoped was a withering glare, but the corner of my mouth twitched despite myself. "Right. Thorough testing. Just what I always wanted to do with my Saturday afternoon.” Emily leaned her head on my shoulder, her fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of the bodysuit, her touch sending a confusing mix of comfort and… something else… something undeniably arousing… tingling through me. "That’s the spirit,” she murmured, her voice a low purr. "And hey, think of the story we’ll have to tell someday. ‘Remember that time Dad got stuck in a diaper suit?’” As we sat there, waiting for Karen and my improbable salvation, I couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, if slightly hysterical, laugh of pure, unadulterated absurdity. Here I was, a supposedly grown man, effectively imprisoned in a baby’s romper, sitting in a rapidly cooling wet diaper. Life, I had to admit, had taken a decidedly… unexpected turn. "Em?” I said after a long, wine-punctuated silence. "Hmm?” "Next time?” I suggested, a wry smile playing on my lips. "Next time, let’s maybe… read the damn instruction manual first.” Her laughter, bright and unrestrained, filled the room, a welcome counterpoint to the crinkling plastic and the ever-present scent of baby powder. As Emily raised her wine glass in a mock toast, her eyes sparkling with delighted mischief, I clinked my glass against hers, grinning despite myself. "To new adventures in absorbency,” she declared, her voice ringing with laughter. "And,” I added, my own grin widening, "To always reading the fine print. And looking for the damn locks before they are locked.” Because really, what else could we do but laugh?

Chapter 24: Dirty Laundry The next morning, light filtered through the curtains, casting a pale, almost spectral glow across Abby's room. I woke slowly, consciousness returning in a hazy swirl of coffee aroma and the persistent, undeniable crinkle of plastic against plastic with every shallow breath. The events of the previous day – Karen’s visit, the bins overflowing with diapers, Emily’s almost unsettling enthusiasm – settled over me like a shroud. The smell of coffee, Emily’s siren song, finally coaxed me downstairs, though I lingered a moment longer than necessary, savoring the last vestiges of warmth and inertia. The MegaDry diaper, thick and reassuringly bulky, was still damp, clinging to me with a familiar, almost unwelcome intimacy. As I moved, the crinkle of the plastic pants beneath my pajamas seemed louder than usual, a public announcement of my secret shame. I found Emily already in the kitchen, bathed in the warm glow of the morning sun, a stark contrast to the chill that still clung to me. She was a whirlwind of domesticity, a brightly colored blur of faded jeans and a worn t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She was ready for "Sweep, Sip, and Serenade," the annual community library event she loved. Her excitement was palpable, a reminder of how much she enjoyed these little escapes from our increasingly complex home life. "Don't forget to switch out the laundry," Emily reminded me as she grabbed her keys, ready to escape into the wider world, leaving me behind in our diaper-filled domain. "I started this morning, so the first load should be about halfway through the wash, so check in an hour." I nodded, watching her leave with a mix of admiration and anxiety. Her ability to balance everything - volunteering, home, me - never ceased to amaze me. After arming myself with a cup of coffee from the pot Emily had made, I trudged to my office. It was going to be a long day. A customer had reported a major bug, and my management was promising a fix ASAP. Of course, it was in a component that my team owed, so it looked to be a long day of meetings and code reviews. I settled into my chair, and logged on. The insistent ding of the washer, a cheerful little chime mocking my inner turmoil, pulled me from the screen's hypnotic pull an hour later. Dutifully, like a well-trained automaton, I trudged downstairs to the laundry room, the familiar route now etched into my muscle memory. I couldn't help but laugh, a short, humorless bark of sound, as I entered the laundry room. Emily's organizational skills were on full display, bordering on obsessive, as three neatly sorted piles awaited me, helpfully labeled with color-coded sticky notes: "Load 2 - Wash Hot", "Load 3 - Wash Cold", and "Load 4 - Wash Cold". Post-it notes on the front of the washing machine, like brightly colored breadcrumbs for a particularly dim-witted Hansel, helpfully detailed "1) Add detergent", "2) Set Temperature ->" and "3) Press start ->", ensuring that even I could manage this most basic of domestic tasks. As I mechanically moved the first load, heavy with damp cloth and a faint, lingering scent of urine that even industrial-strength detergent couldn’t fully mask, from the washer to the dryer, the weight of the wet diapers a heavy burden in my arms, stretching a little too far to reach the stacked dryer, a sharp twinge of pain shooting through my lower back, I felt a fresh wave of self-pity wash over me. I loaded "Load 2" into the washer, the brightly colored dinosaur print of the topmost diaper peeking out from the pile, a childish taunt in the sterile white drum, set the temperature to "Hot," as per Emily’s meticulous instructions, and gave a small, joyless smile of grim satisfaction as the machine started right up, the gentle whirring of the motor a soundtrack to my descent into domestic diaper duty. But the smile quickly faded, replaced by a hollow ache, as I caught my reflection in the washer's round, glass window, my distorted face a pale ghost in the soapy swirl. Who was I becoming? A grown man, hunched and weary, taking a perverse pride in doing laundry – my own diaper laundry, no less. An hour and a half later, the cheerful ding of the dryer, a mocking little jingle at the end of its cycle, again interrupted my work, a relentless summons I couldn't ignore. Again, I made my way downstairs, the familiar dread pooling in my stomach with each step. Taking the unused laundry basket Emily had thoughtfully placed beside the dryer, I began emptying the dryer, the warm air, heavy with the artificial scent of dryer sheets and the faint, lingering ghost of urine, washing over me in a stifling wave. The cloth diapers, previously heavy and sodden, now tumbled out, transformed, light and fluffy, almost deceptively innocent. I lifted one, a thick prefold, still faintly warm from the dryer’s heat, and held it against my cheek, the soft cotton a fleeting comfort against my skin, the warmth seeping into my flesh, momentarily chasing away the chill that had settled deep in my bones. The fresh, almost aggressively cheerful scent of laundry detergent mingled with a faint, underlying smell that was uniquely, undeniably, diaper – a scent that both comforted and unsettled me in equal measure. The soft fibers tickled my face, a phantom touch against my skin, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, allowing myself to be enveloped by the sensations, a brief, stolen moment of… something. Comfort? Resignation? Something dangerously close to acceptance? Picking another diaper from the basket, a particularly thick, almost comically bulky, prefold, up to inspect it more closely, my fingers tracing the intricate stitching, the multiple layers of absorbent cotton, I contemplated, not for the first time, what it meant that Emily intended for me to wear these diapers – diapers that had been used by someone else, a stranger’s hand-me-downs, imbued with a history I couldn’t know, a past I couldn’t escape. The thought was both unsettling, a violation of some unspoken boundary, and oddly, disturbingly comforting. These weren't just pieces of fabric; they were tangible symbols of care, of dependency, of a regression I was hurtling towards with terrifying speed. The soft, fluffy texture yielded under my touch, and I found myself pressing it to my face again, inhaling deeply, the faint, cloying scent of baby powder tickling my nose, bringing with it a rush of conflicting feelings – comfort, security, shame, a perverse, undeniable thrill. As I mechanically folded the diapers, the rhythmic, repetitive motion a strange sort of meditation, my mind wandered, circling back to the family gathering, to Linda’s knowing glances, to Jennifer’s thinly veiled pity. The memory of Emily's mother's knowing looks, of her whispered comments and knowing smiles, made me cringe, a fresh wave of shame washing over me. Yet, even as I cringed, part of me, a darker, more insidious part, longed for that attention, that knowing gaze, craved the validation, however twisted, of being seen, of being… known. Was this about more than just nighttime security? Was it about more than just bladder control? Did I want more than just bedwetting protection? Was it a want, or maybe, a terrifying thought whispered in the back of my mind, a deep-seated, long-denied, need? The questions swirled in my mind, a dizzying vortex of conflicting emotions, pulling me down, down, down into the soft, fluffy, brightly colored abyss of the laundry basket, into the heart of my own… dirty laundry. The cloth diapers also represented permanency, though. As I started moving the rest of the clean diapers into the laundry basket, the number of diapers that we now had struck me; this wasn't a temporary thing. Emily didn't expect my bedwetting to stop anytime soon, and was preparing for the long haul. Even my mother had used disposables when I was young, a perhaps subconscious bet, or at least hope, that my bedwetting days were numbered and didn't justify the investment in cloth diapers. I moved the load from the washer to the dryer and re-loaded the washer. There were colored clothes in this load, along with diapers that had patterns, both childish and plain. I wondered what Emily would think of the rocketships and dinosaurs... would she use them on me, or would they be relegated to a back drawer? I paused. Did I want her to use them on me? When I thought about it, I wasn't sure. Taking the diaper with the rocketship prints, a childish blue and red pattern that clashed violently with the sterile white of the laundry room, I glanced around, a sudden, reckless impulse seizing me. Emily was gone, out at the library, lost in her volunteer work, the house blessedly empty. No judging eyes, no whispered questions. Just me, the diapers, and the echoing silence of the empty nest. Before logic could intervene, before shame could reclaim its hold, I impulsively pulled down my pants, the cool air a shock against my skin, and pulled the diaper between my legs, the soft cotton a fleeting comfort against my suddenly chilled flesh. Holding the diaper awkwardly in place, I pictured Emily, her hands deft and sure, pinning securely, efficiently, transforming a flat piece of cloth into a snug, comforting embrace. The thought of her touch, her care, sent a shiver down my spine, a confusing mix of longing and… something else. Something darker, more forbidden. The childish rocketship print, suddenly, didn't seem so shameful, so… wrong. Shame, sharp and sudden, pricked at my conscience. What was I doing? This was ridiculous. This wasn't me. I quickly replaced the diaper in the washer, the brightly colored print a childish taunt in the sterile steel drum, and restarted the machine with a frustrated sigh, pulling my pants back up with a jerky, self-conscious motion. As I sorted through the pile, I noticed the variety of diapers - some thick and bulky, others thinner and maybe more discreet, and even some that looked almost like regular underwear. Each type seemed to represent a different aspect of dependency, a spectrum I was only beginning to understand. I found myself wondering which ones Emily would choose for me, and more disturbingly, which ones I hoped she'd pick. Throughout the morning, my mind kept drifting back to the diapers. The soft texture, the comforting bulk - it was all I could think about. As I passed Abby's room for the third time, my eyes lingered on the stack of disposables on her dresser, soon to be made redundant by the cloth diapers in the laundry. A rebellious thought flickered in my mind. Why not? Why couldn't I choose, just this once? It's my body, isn't it? I remembered how secure I'd felt in the diaper Emily had insisted on for the trip home from the wedding. Before I could talk myself out of it, I found myself reaching for one, my heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and guilt. This was my small act of defiance, a reclaiming of something I felt slipping away. Laying on her bed as I did each night, I tried to mimic what Emily usually did, carefully taping it up snugly around my waist after dusting myself with powder. The familiar routine, usually performed by Emily, felt different when I was in control. It was a secret, just for me, a forbidden pleasure. I returned to my desk, the bulk between my legs a constant reminder of my secret. As I dove back into my work, I found myself hyper-aware of every shift in my chair, every subtle movement that caused the diaper to rustle or press against me. The warmth and weight were oddly comforting, like a constant hug around my midsection. To my surprise, I found my focus sharpening. The diaper, rather than being a distraction, seemed to ground me. It was as if the physical reminder of my dependency freed my mind from other worries, allowing me to pour all my attention into the complex code before me. Hours slipped by, and I made more progress than I had in weeks. Yet, even as I reveled in this newfound productivity, a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispered uncomfortable questions. Was I really more focused because of the diaper? Or was this just a way to justify my growing desire for this lifestyle? The lines between need and want, between adult and child, seemed to blur more with each passing minute. It wasn't until I felt a familiar pressure that I realized I needed to use the bathroom. But instead of getting up, I hesitated. The diaper was there, ready and waiting. What would it feel like to just... let go? As I relaxed and allowed my bladder to release, the warmth spread slowly at first, then faster. The sensation was foreign yet oddly familiar, reminiscent of those nights when I'd first started this charade. The diaper swelled, conforming to my body, the material becoming heavy and warm against my skin. The subtle scent of baby powder mingled with the faint odor of urine, creating a complex aroma that was strangely nostalgic. I felt a rush of emotions - shame, excitement, comfort, and fear - all swirling together in a confusing mix. I kept working, the damp diaper a constant presence between my legs under my sweatpants. Every movement caused a slight rustle- a secret reminder that only I knew about. As the hours passed and the diaper grew heavier, instead of feeling disgusted, I found myself enjoying it. It was as if a weight had been lifted - a hidden part of myself finally allowed to surface. For dinner, I heated up some leftovers, eating them while sitting in my bulging wet diaper. The normalcy of eating dinner juxtaposed with this secret sent a thrill through me. Was this what I'd been craving all along? Not just the physical sensation but also the emotional release of letting go? As evening approached, I knew I needed to change before Emily got home. A quick shower washed away any evidence of my experiment. But as I stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around my waist, Emily was already home. "Greg? Did you use one of the diapers? From the stack on the dresser?" Her voice was curious but gentle, with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite place - concern? Disappointment? Caught between embarrassment and relief at her perceptiveness, I nodded. "I... wanted to see what it was like during the day." The words felt inadequate, failing to capture the complexity of emotions I'd experienced. "And how was it?" Her voice was neutral, but the question, and the underlying meaning, was obviously anything but neutral. I could see her displeasure underneath. I shifted uncomfortably, the memory of the warm damp diaper giving an answer that I hesitated to voice. "It was… comfortable." Emily studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. I could see her file something away, to be used later, and make a decision. When she spoke again, her voice was soft but steady. "Is this going to be a regular thing? During the day?" The question hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The truth was, I didn't know. The comfort I'd felt was undeniable, but so was the shame. "I... I don't know," I admitted. "It was just this once," I said finally, then added, almost defensively, "And you've had me wear diapers during the day before." She nodded thoughtfully. "That's true." Her hand reached out, gently squeezing mine. "You know, Greg, it's okay. But, tell me so that I can make it's on right and won't leak, okay?" Her words washed over me like a warm wave, soothing yet terrifying in their acceptance. She took my hand and lead me to Abby's bedroom, and I was a little surprised as she prepared another disposable. "We'll figure out the cloth diapers tomorrow," she said, noticing my questioning glance, as she taped the diaper around me. As we got ready for bed in companionable silence, I felt the weight of unspoken words and unexplored possibilities lingering between us. Later, as we lay in darkness, Emily's arm over me holding me securely against her body, I felt a complex mixture of gratitude, love, and apprehension. I fell asleep knowing today had changed something, but I wasn't sure what.

Chapter 23: Second Chance The smell of the coffee called to me, convincing me to wander downstairs before I removed my diaper, still warm and, I had to admit, comfortable from the night. It was a crisp day outside, but the sun was warming the kitchen as I crinkled my way downstairs. I found Emily at the kitchen table, her laptop open, a page titled "Laundering Cloth Diapers: Dealing with a Mess" glowing on the screen. A half-empty mug of coffee sat beside her, a testament to the early hour and her dedication to… research. "Cramming for the big exam?" I quipped, pouring myself a mug. Emily glanced up, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Just making sure I'm prepared," she said, closing the laptop with a decisive snap. "Wouldn't want to ruin your new wardrobe, would I?" She reached down, a quick squeeze with her hand quickly confirming that my diaper was, indeed, wet, as it had been most mornings. I couldn't help but notice as her robe opened a little, her lacy lingerie exposed a peek, a contrast to the diaper I was wearing. Still groggy, the morning sun felt too bright, too cheerful, as I poured myself some coffee and threw a bagel in the toaster, slowly coming to terms with the morning as I waited for the ding of the toaster. As I sipped my coffee, Emily glanced at her phone. "Oh, Karen just texted. She's free this afternoon for us to pick up those diapers," Emily said, a hint of excitement in her voice. I nearly choked on my coffee. "Pick up? As in, both of us?" Emily nodded, her expression a mix of amusement and determination. "Yes, both of us. It'll be good for you to see what we're getting into." I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. "Em, I don't know..." She reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "It'll be fine, Greg. Karen's not going to judge. She's been through this with her own child." I sighed, knowing I was fighting a losing battle. "Alright, fine. But I'm not wearing a diaper to pick up diapers," trying to make light of the situation. Emily laughed, a short, sharp burst of sound that held little genuine amusement, more a performative acknowledgement of my poor attempt at humor. She nodded curtly, a dismissive nod that shut down any further argument. "Yeah, yeah, of course not," she said, her tone flat, already moving on, her mind clearly focused on the afternoon’s expedition, on the acquisition of the cloth diaper hoard, on the next step in our carefully orchestrated journey. As we drove to Karen's house that afternoon, the late autumn sun casting long, skeletal shadows from the bare trees lining the suburban streets, I felt a growing unease settle in my stomach, a cold knot tightening with each passing mile. Emily, however, seemed to radiate an almost unsettling cheerfulness, humming along to the radio, her hand resting casually on my thigh, a possessive warmth that did little to thaw the ice forming in my gut. Karen’s house. The words echoed in my mind, a destination I was approaching with a potent mix of apprehension and morbid curiosity. "Em," I said hesitantly, breaking the strained silence, my fingers twisting my wedding ring, a nervous tic I couldn't seem to control. "Are you really sure about this cloth thing? It still feels like such a big step." Emily glanced at me, her expression softening, a practiced reassurance in her voice that did little to soothe my fraying nerves. "I know it's a lot to take in, Greg." Her hand squeezed my thigh, a fleeting pressure that offered little comfort. "We don't have to commit to anything yet. Let's just see what Karen has to offer, okay?" "What if she thinks I'm pathetic?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, a childish whine betraying the carefully constructed facade of adult nonchalance I’d been trying to maintain. "An adult needing diapers that a child was wearing… What is she going to think?" Emily’s hand tightened its grip, a subtle warning note creeping into her voice. "Don't worry," she said, her tone surprisingly firm, brooking no argument. "You'll see, Karen is amazing. She's not going to judge." Her words were meant to be reassuring, but the unwavering conviction in her voice, the almost knowing glint in her eye, sent a shiver down my spine. Was she so sure? Or was this another step in her carefully orchestrated plan, another nudge down a path I wasn't sure I wanted to tread? We pulled up to a modest suburban home, and Karen greeted us at the door. She was an older petite woman with salt and pepper hair and a friendly smile that did little to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. "Hi Emily, Greg! Come on in," Karen said, ushering us inside with a grandmotherly warmth that felt almost suffocating. As she ushered us inside, her gaze lingered for a fraction of a second too long on my midsection, or so it felt. Heat crept up my neck, a familiar wave of self-consciousness washing over me. Was it my imagination, or could she somehow sense the truth beneath my chosen clothes? I shifted, suddenly aware of the thin cotton of my jeans, feeling oddly exposed, as if the secret outline of a non-existent diaper was somehow visible to her experienced eye. "The bins are just in the garage," Karen continued, her voice cheerful, a little too cheerful, as she led us through the house, the floral wallpaper and lace doilies blurring into a pastel haze around me. "I'm so glad they're going to a good home. They've been sitting here waiting for a while now." She paused in the doorway to the garage, a flicker of something akin to sadness, or perhaps just practiced sentimentality, crossing her face. "I had a child I was fostering who needed them, a sweet boy named Thomas. He had some challenges in life, bless his heart. I just couldn't bring myself to throw them out when he moved on to his forever family." Thomas. The name hung in the air, a phantom presence in the brightly lit garage. Suddenly, these weren't just diapers; they were remnants of a child's life, a stranger's needs, about to become mine. I wasn't sure how I felt, now having a name, a story, however vague, to attach to the previous wearer of the diapers that were about to become mine. A wave of unease washed over me, guilt and a strange, unwelcome sense of connection mingling in my gut. "Goodwill won't take them, of course," Karen added with a wry chuckle, breaking the heavy silence, gesturing towards the looming bins. "But luckily I mentioned them to Sarah, and, well, here you are! I know you mentioned the diapers, but there's some of his special clothing there as well." She gestured towards the garage, and as we followed her into the cavernous space, my eyes fell on three large plastic bins stacked neatly in the corner, looming like brightly colored monoliths promising a future I wasn’t sure I wanted. One was labeled in neat, block letters, "Clothing - Thomas" and the other two proclaimed, in an almost cheerful font, "Diapers - Thomas". "Everything should fit Greg perfectly. He's about the same size as Thomas was when we were using these." Karen’s voice was matter-of-fact, clinical, as if discussing shoe sizes, not intimate garments designed to contain bodily waste. "He wore these day and night, so they've been well-loved, but they're still in great shape. He was quite the little Houdini," she added with a knowing chuckle, a conspiratorial wink in Emily’s direction. "I had to get creative to keep everything… contained." "That's good to know," Emily said, her voice a little too bright, a little too eager, as she laughed politely, a brittle sound that echoed unnaturally in the garage. She moved towards the bins, drawn to them like metal filings to a magnet. She opened one of the bins labeled "Diapers" and peered inside, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she revealed stacks of neatly folded cloth diapers, a rainbow of pastel colors and childish prints overflowing the plastic container. "Honestly," Emily continued, her voice now filled with a conviction that bordered on zealotry, "I think cloth is the way to go." Karen nodded in agreement. "Definitely. So much better. I washed everything thoroughly, of course. It's a shame to see good diapers and clothes go unused, and I'm so glad they'll be helping someone again." "Let's be real, it saves a ton of money," Karen continued, pulling out a thick diaper decorated with small green dinosaurs. "Thomas was a heavy wetter, and I can't imagine how many disposables he would have gone through." Her casual use of the term 'heavy wetter' sent a shiver down my spine as I imagined Emily pinning those dinosaurs around my waist. I glanced at Emily, who was listening intently, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Was she picturing me like that? A 'heavy wetter,' needing these thick, bulky diapers covered in green dinosaurs, the unofficial brand logo of toddlers everywhere? Karen's casual acceptance felt like a challenge, a subtle rebuke to the shame I'd been carrying for so long. She was treating this as a simple fact of life, not a source of embarrassment or judgment. Her matter-of-fact acceptance chipped away at the wall of shame I'd built around myself. Karen and Emily continued to chatter about the diapers, but I found myself tuning her out, my thoughts swirling with conflicting emotions. I glanced at Emily, who was listening intently, her expression a mix of curiosity and determination. It was clear she was embracing this new world with an openness that I envied. As we loaded the bins into our car, Karen checked her watch. "Oh, I've got to run," she said, her voice apologetic. "I have a yoga class in twenty minutes. But please, let me know if you have any questions. I'm always happy to help!" With quick goodbyes, we were back in the car, the plastic bins of cloth diapers and accessories in our trunk. As we drove home I felt a strange mix of apprehension and... anticipation? Was it possible to embrace this new reality and still be the man I thought I was supposed to be? Or was I crossing a line, stepping into a world of dinosaur diapers where my masculinity would be forever compromised? "Em, can I ask you something?" "Of course, honey." "Really, why are you so excited about these cloth diapers? I mean, you seem so… just… enthusiastic about it." Emily was quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the road. When she spoke, her voice was thoughtful. "You know, I think part of it is like I said yesterday, that I feel like I missed an opportunity with Abby. We never tried cloth diapers with her, and now I wonder if it might have been better. I felt guilty about sending all those diapers to the landfill. So, in a way... this is my second chance. A chance to get it right." I raised an eyebrow. "Lucky me?" She laughed, reaching over to pat my knee. "Very lucky you. I know it might seem strange, but... taking care of you like this, it feels right somehow. Like I'm fulfilling a role I didn't even know I wanted." She glanced at me, a mix of love and determination in her eyes. "Plus," she added, a mischievous glint in her eye, "Ever since my mother mentioned cloth diapers I keep picturing you with this adorable, poofy cloth diaper butt. It's kind of cute." I groaned, but I couldn't help chuckling. "Oh god, Em. You're not going to make me waddle around the house like a toddler, are you?" "Maybe just a little," she teased. "Come on, you have to admit it's a funny mental image." As we laughed together, I felt a mix of emotions. On one hand, Emily's enthusiasm was endearing, and I appreciated her effort to find humor in our situation. On the other hand, I couldn't help but feel a bit nervous about the implications of her excitement. How far was this going to go? When we got home and started unloading the bins, the reality of what we'd just acquired hit me. There were stacks of white and colored cloth diapers, plastic pants and diaper covers in various colors, patterns, and prints, clothing of many shapes and colors, and accessories I couldn't even name. I caught sight of a garment that looked suspiciously like a onesie, but for an adult. A wave of both fascination and apprehension washed over me. What exactly was Emily getting us into? "Wow," I muttered, holding up a particularly thick diaper. "This is... a lot." Emily nodded, her eyes wide as she surveyed our haul. "It certainly is. But hey, at least we're well-prepared now, right? Wow, there are things here that I never saw in the diaper tutorials online." "So," I said, trying to keep my voice casual, "when do you want to... you know, try these out?" Emily looked up at me, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Whenever you're ready, honey. There's no rush. We can take our time figuring this out together. We'll get it all in the wash tomorrow, though, since it hasn't been used in a while. Just to give everything a quick freshen up." As I closed the laundry room door, the weight of those bins felt like more than just a mountain of diapers. It felt like a decision point, a fork in the road leading to a future I wasn't sure I was ready for, but couldn't seem to turn away from.

Things went... sideways... for me for a while around the new year, dealing with some family things that took priority. Things have stabilized now, so I will be resuming putting this story up. Sorry for the delay. Chapter 22: Gift Wrapped The Tuesday after Abby departed, I sat beside Emily, my leg bouncing nervously, as she set up her laptop for the video call with Sarah. Guilt at the mountain of lies I’d built our new normal on churned in my stomach, a bitter acid rising in my throat. Emily insisted I be present, "for transparency and shared decision-making," she'd said, her tone allowing no argument. Transparency felt like a cruel joke. My stomach churned, acid bubbling up in my throat, at the thought of discussing my fabricated "condition" with Sarah again, even remotely. I picked at a loose thread on the couch, a nervous habit I thought I’d kicked years ago. As Sarah’s face appeared on the screen, a forced, professional smile plastered across her features, Emily launched in, her voice taking on the smooth, confident tone she used for work presentations. "Thanks for making time for us, Sarah." Emily's professional tone contrasted sharply with her gentle grip on my hand. "We've been struggling with some aspects of Greg's care." Sarah nodded sympathetically, her gaze shifting between Emily and me, assessing, clinical. "Of course. How can I help?" Emily glanced at me, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite read – apology? Excitement? – in her eyes before she turned to the screen again. "The disposables are working, but they're expensive. Over a hundred a month, just for nighttime." She paused, letting the financial reality sink in. "I've been researching reusable options… cloth diapers. What do you think?" Heat crept up my neck as Emily casually discussed the financial burden of my "bedwetting" with a medical professional. Sarah remained impassive. "Cloth diapers can be more cost-effective," she agreed. "They've come a long way since the days of safety pins and plastic pants. More user-friendly, even comfortable." Emily leaned forward, her eyes alight with a spark of something I couldn’t quite decipher – genuine interest? Or something else entirely? "That's what I've read." Her fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the table beside the laptop. "I thought about using cloth diapers on Abby when she was a baby, but never got started, and then even with her bedwetting it was easier to just use disposables. I always thought it would end soon, so I never bought anything." Her gaze sharpened, fixing on Sarah. "How would that work practically?" As Sarah delved into the pros and cons of cloth diapers versus disposables, I found myself oddly fascinated. Emily seemed to have done her homework, asking detailed questions about absorbency, laundering techniques, and different styles of cloth diapers. Prefolds? Pocket diapers? Fitteds? All-in-ones? The terms swam in my mind, a new lexicon. It was oddly familiar, this deep dive into a complex system, this mapping of variables and dependencies. Like dissecting a new coding language, searching for the perfect algorithm of utility, comfort, and dryness. "One option is using cloth at home, disposable products for travel," Sarah suggested. "Cost savings and convenience." "That makes sense," Emily said, her gaze drifting towards the window, a faraway look in her eyes. "Speaking of travel, we had an 'interesting' hotel experience…" She launched into the story of our hotel stay, complete with the crib mix-up. To my surprise, I found myself chuckling along with Emily and Sarah as she recounted the tale. As our laughter subsided, Sarah's expression brightened. "You know, I might have a solution that could help you get started with cloth without a big upfront investment. I have a member of a caregiver support group, Karen, who recently contacted me about donating some gently used cloth diapers and supplies. She doesn't need them anymore, and she's looking to pass them along to someone who could use them." Emily's eyes widened with interest. "Oh, that could be perfect! What do you think, Greg?" I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling up inside me. "If you think it's worth trying, I'm open to it." Emily turned back to the screen. "That sounds great, Sarah. Could you pass along my contact information to Karen?" Sarah nodded. "Of course. I'll let her know right away." Sarah paused, her professional demeanor softening slightly. "Greg," she said, addressing me directly for the first time, "how are you feeling about these changes? It's important that you're comfortable with the management strategy." The directness of her question caught me off guard. I glanced at Emily, suddenly feeling exposed. "I... it's an adjustment," I stammered. "Completely normal," Sarah reassured me. "Incontinence management is a journey, and it looks different for everyone. The key is finding a solution that works for both of you." Emily's hand found mine, squeezing gently. The gesture felt both supportive and possessive. As we wrapped up the call, I realized this wasn't how I'd imagined things going when I started this charade. "Em, can I ask you something?" I said, my voice laced with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Of course, honey," Emily replied as she closed up her laptop. "Why are you so excited about these cloth diapers? I mean, it feels like a big step," I continued, trying to gauge her reaction. Emily's expression turned thoughtful, her brow slightly furrowed. "I know it's a lot to take in, Greg. But think about it this way: we're not just talking about a temporary solution here. We're talking about something that could be more sustainable, more cost-effective, and better for the environment." I nodded, but my mind was racing with the implications. "But it feels... permanent. Like we're committing to this for the long haul." Emily’s voice softened, her gaze unwavering. "Maybe it is, Greg." She paused, her fingers tightening their hold on my face, a subtle pressure that was both comforting and confining. "Maybe this is something we should have considered sooner. With Abby, we never tried cloth diapers because it seemed too complicated at the time. But now, with you… well, it makes sense to explore all our options." There was a subtle shift in her tone, a possessiveness creeping into her voice that sent a shiver down my spine. "Em, are you sure this is what you want?" I asked, trying to sound casual, to mask the tremor of fear in my voice. Emily turned to me, her eyes sparkling, a genuine, almost unsettling, excitement radiating from her. "I'm positive, Greg." Her smile widened, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips. "And I think you'll find that once you get used to it, it's not so bad. In fact," she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "it might even be… better than what we're using now." I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. This was moving faster than I had anticipated. The idea of wearing cloth diapers, of being even more dependent on Emily for my nighttime care, was both thrilling and terrifying. A shiver, not entirely unpleasant, ran down my spine. "But what if I don't like it?" I ventured, trying to assert some control, however futile, over the situation, over my own future. Emily’s smile was both reassuring and subtly, undeniably, mischievous. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, honey." She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, her breath warm against my skin. "For now, let's just see what Karen has to offer and go from there. It's not a commitment; it's just… an experiment." Her words didn't entirely alleviate my concerns. There was a sense that once we started down this path, it might be harder to turn back. I realized that I wasn't as in control as I thought; Emily was guiding this journey, and I was along for the ride. Later that day, Emily's phone pinged with a message. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "It's from Karen. She says the diapers and supplies are still available." She paused, reading further. "And... Sarah already told Karen that you're on the smaller side. So Karen said you might be able to use a lot of the items that she doesn't need anymore?" I felt a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "What kinds of items?" My mind went to waterproof sheets and changing pads, reminders of a childhood in diapers. Emily shrugged. "I'm not sure. Maybe we should go see what she has? She's offered for us to pick everything up tomorrow." I nodded slowly, my mind racing with possibilities. "Okay," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Let's do it." As Emily typed out a reply to Karen, I couldn't help but wonder what we were getting ourselves into. The idea of wearing actual cloth diapers was both thrilling and terrifying. But as I watched Emily's excited expression, I realized that this journey was bringing us closer together in ways I never could have anticipated. I just wished I knew the roadmap. The rest of the day passed in a fog of anticipation and dread. Each time Emily's phone buzzed, I jumped, wondering if it was Karen with more details about the supplies she had to offer. What exactly had Sarah told her about me? About us? The boundaries between my fabricated need and my genuine desires were becoming increasingly blurred. That night, unable to sleep, I found myself drawn to the glow of my laptop, the MegaDry that Emily had taped onto me a few hours before softly crinkling under my pajamas as I sat on my chair. I needed to understand what Emily was so excited about, to see if this cloth diaper world held any appeal for me, beyond the comfort I craved. Cloth diapers. The words echoed in my mind, a mix of excitement and trepidation. I opened a new browser window, my fingers hovering over the keys. A quick search opened up a world I'd only glimpsed, a dizzying array of colors, patterns, styles, and brands. My eyes scanned the images, a strange mix of fascination and discomfort swirling within me. Close-ups of absorbent cores, diagrams of snap placements, testimonials extolling the virtues of bamboo versus microfiber. It was all so… much. I clicked on a link for "Adult Cloth Diapers," and the screen exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors and prints. Teddy bears and rainbows, cartoon characters and cutesy animals – it was a visual assault. No. This wasn't what I wanted. This wasn't... me. I wasn't looking to regress, to become infantilized. The comfort I sought wasn't about escaping adulthood – it was about finding security while remaining myself. I scrolled further, my fingers nervously clicking the mouse, searching for something... different. And then I found it. Solid colors. Subtle prints. Geometric patterns. Clean lines, sophisticated designs, images that spoke of function, not infantilism. A sense of relief washed over me. These looked... normal. Adult. Like something I could wear without feeling like I was playing dress-up in someone else's fantasy. As I browsed through the options, I found myself clicking on daytime styles, comparing the thickness and absorbency of different brands. The realization hit me: I was looking at diapers for daily wear, not just nighttime use. When did that shift happen? When had I started considering this as more than just a nighttime solution? My cursor hovered over a tab labeled "Clothing and Accessories." Emily had mentioned Karen having clothes to offer. What kind of clothes? I thought about how she'd handled everything so far – her practical approach, her focus on function over form. She hadn't tried to baby me or infantilize me. Even when discussing diapers with Sarah, she'd kept the conversation medical, adult. But as things progressed, as we moved toward what she called our "new normal," would that change? Before I clicked on the link sound of our bedroom door opening startled me. Emily stood in the doorway, her silhouette backlit by the hallway light. "Can't sleep?" she asked softly, padding over to where I sat. I quickly minimized the browser window, but not before she caught a glimpse of what I'd been looking at. Her hand came to rest on my shoulder, gentle and reassuring. "Greg," she said softly, her hand resting on my arm, but her touch less reassuring and more… questioning. "Is something bothering you? Are you worried about the cloth diapers? Because honestly, honey, you don't need to be. I've got this handled. We'll find something that works for you, I promise. Just… try not to overthink it, okay?” She gave me a small smile. "Come on, let’s get some sleep." I nodded, unable to meet her eyes. "I just... I don't want..." The words stuck in my throat. "You don't want to be treated like a baby," she finished for me, her tone understanding. "I know, Greg. That's not what this is about." Relief flooded through me at her words, even as guilt gnawed at my conscience. Here she was, being so understanding about a situation I'd manufactured, a lie I'd perpetuated. The weight of my deception pressed down on me, heavier than ever. As I closed the laptop, the images of cloth diapers still swirling in my mind, I realized I was at a crossroads. One path led back to normalcy, to the life I'd known before. The other... the other was shrouded in uncertainty, a tangled mix of desire, shame, and the seductive promise of Emily's care. Did I even have a choice anymore? Emily's hand found mine in the darkness, her touch grounding me in the present moment. She reached down, gently checking for wetness. "Come to bed," she whispered. "We'll figure this out together." As I followed her back to our room, my diaper rustling, I couldn't help but wonder what "together" really meant anymore, and how long I could maintain this delicate balance between truth and deception, between desire and dignity, between the comfort I craved and the independence I feared losing.

It will be continuing, and glad you're enjoying it. The story is all written, and I just need to get it out. Unfortunately I've been dealing with some family things that mean I need to travel, and I just haven't gotten to it. I expect I'll be able to get back to it soon.

Are you talking about the PUL Bloomers? https://incontroldiapers.com/pul-incontinence-bloomers/ I have a pair that I was trying for night time use and, well, I don't think that anyone is going to mistake those for shorts at any distance... I don't really like them because any liquid that escapes down the legs loses any possibility of being absorbed by cloth, so the moment you stand up from bed it simply runs down your legs and makes a nice damp spot on the carpet. Better to use "normal" waterproof pants, where it at least keeps the liquid in the general geographic area where there is a chance it might be absorbed by the diaper, rather than the carpet.

Chapter 21: Homecoming The house felt too quiet, despite the comforting aroma of cinnamon and cloves Emily had simmering on the stove. Everything was in place for Abby’s Thanksgiving return – the table set, a pie cooling on the counter. But a knot of anxiety twisted in my gut, tighter than any holiday gathering had ever managed. This wasn’t just about family time; it was about navigating the minefield of my secret with Abby back under our roof. My secret. Our secret, a voice whispered, but I pushed it down, unwilling to acknowledge the shared responsibility, the web of complicity Emily and I had woven. The days leading up to her arrival had been a blur of preparation – cleaning, shopping, and a constant, low-hum of anxiety thrumming beneath the surface of our lives. The MegaDry diapers had become a fixture in our bedroom, a silent ritual Emily and I performed behind closed doors. But Abby’s return threatened to shatter this fragile normalcy, exposing the carefully constructed façade I'd built around my… condition. "Greg? You okay?" Emily’s voice, laced with a knowing concern that felt more like a weight than a comfort, startled me. I plastered on a smile. “Fine. Just… thinking.” Her hand rested on my arm, a silent reassurance that felt more like a brand, marking me as hers. "She'll be fine, Greg," she murmured, her voice soft but firm, a subtle reminder of the control she now held. "We've got this." I nodded, but the reassurance rang hollow. I didn’t have this. The crunch of tires on the driveway sent a jolt through me. “She’s here,” I breathed, my heart pounding against my ribs. We stood together in the doorway, a tableau of happy family reunion. Abby, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, seemed barely changed. But as she hugged us, a quick, perfunctory embrace, her gaze flicked past me, already searching for an outlet, a connection beyond the confines of this house. Her fingers tapped a silent rhythm against her thigh, a nervous energy that mirrored my own. “Hey, sweetie!” Emily’s hug lingered, a stark contrast to my fleeting touch. “Hey, Dad,” Abby’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, already distant, focused on the glow of her phone screen as she pulled it from her pocket. “Good to have you home,” I managed, the words sticking in my throat, the unspoken secret a barrier between us. Abby's fingers danced across her phone screen, her eyes alight with a vitality I hadn't seen in months. Each tap, each swipe seemed to widen the gap between us. Her occasional chuckle or soft gasp hinted at a rich tapestry of experiences I couldn't access – inside jokes forged in late-night study sessions, shared triumphs and failures, the raw, unfiltered reality of college life. I stood on the sidelines, a spectator to my daughter's evolving identity. Over hot cider in the living room, I tried to bridge the growing distance. “So, how’s school? That history class you were worried about – how’d that turn out?” “Fine,” she mumbled, her gaze fixed on her phone. A fleeting smile, a quick burst of laughter – a response to a text, a meme, a world I couldn’t access. Dinner was a strained performance. Abby’s stories were punctuated by the pings and vibrations of her phone, each interruption a subtle dismissal of our attempts to connect. She spoke of friends I didn’t know, of clubs and activities that seemed to exist in a separate universe, a universe where I, and my diapers, didn’t belong. As Abby disappeared upstairs with her duffel bag, I collapsed onto the couch, my nerves still jangling from her arrival. A carefully folded white rectangle on a basket of laundry caught my eye. My heart leaped into my throat, a sudden spike of panic making my palms sweat. A diaper? Had Emily left something out in the open? I lunged forward, my trembling fingers reaching to snatch it away before Abby could see. My mind raced with increasingly frantic scenarios - what if she picked it up, what if she unfolded it, what if she asked questions? I could already hear the imagined conversation: "Dad, is this a... wait, why do you have a diaper?" Just as my fingers were about to close around the white rectangle, I realized something. The fold was too crisp, the material too stiff. Squinting, I recognized the telltale plastic wrapping of a new tablecloth. Relief washed over me, quickly followed by a wave of self-disgust at my own paranoia. "Greg?" Emily's voice called from the kitchen. "Could you grab that new tablecloth I left with the laundry? Not going to have time to wash it so I'll just iron it." I picked up the package, my heart still racing from the momentary panic. When Emily walked in, she caught my expression and paused. "Everything okay?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. I must have looked ridiculous - frozen mid-reach, clutching the tablecloth like it was evidence of some terrible crime. The absurdity of the moment hit me, and a nervous laugh escaped me. "I thought... for a second..." I stammered, gesturing vaguely. Emily's eyes sparkled with understanding. "Let me guess," she said, her voice low so Abby wouldn't hear, "you saw white and immediately thought 'diaper'?" She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Honey, not everything rectangular and white is a diaper. Sometimes, it's just a tablecloth." The tension broke. I chuckled, feeling the last of the panic drain away. "I'm losing my mind," I admitted. "You're certainly losing something," Emily whispered, giving me a playful pat on the arm. "Your ability to distinguish household linens from personal hygiene products, apparently." As she took the tablecloth and headed to the ironing board, I couldn't help but shake my head. My secret was making me see diapers everywhere - even where they clearly didn't exist. Later, Emily's suggestion of a family movie night brought the simmering tension back to a boil. "Greg, honey, why don't you get comfy?" she said, a knowing glint in her eyes as she casually tossed a folded MegaDry onto the bed. My stomach clenched. "I'm not tired," I said, my voice a little too sharp. "I've got some work to catch up on." "But it's family movie night," Emily insisted, her smile unwavering, a subtle pressure in her tone. I could feel Abby's gaze on me, a silent question in her eyes. I shook my head, my cheeks burning. "Really, Em, I'm fine. Go ahead without me." I retreated to my office, the glow of my laptop screen a pale imitation of the warmth I craved, the warmth I'd denied myself. Through the office door, I could hear the soft murmur of their voices, the occasional burst of laughter, a symphony of connection that mocked my own isolation. From the top of the stairs, I watched the soft glow of Abby's phone illuminate her face. The hushed murmur of her and Emily's voices drifted up, punctuated by occasional laughter. My secret weighed on me like a physical presence, an invisible wall separating me from the warmth below. I took a step forward, then retreated, torn between the desperate need for connection and the paralyzing fear of exposure. The chasm of my deception yawned before me, a void too vast to bridge with lies, too treacherous to cross with truth. I remained frozen, guarding a secret that threatened to unravel the very fabric of our family. The next morning, I woke to the soft murmur of voices drifting down the hallway. My heart raced as I lay there for a moment, feeling the familiar bulk of the diaper still snug against my skin. The quiet conversation between Emily and Abby was a reminder that my secret was still precariously close to being exposed. With a sigh, I carefully peeled off the diaper, wincing at the crinkle of plastic as I tossed it in the trash can hiding in our closet, replacing it with underwear and shorts. The vulnerability lingered, like a shadow following me down the hallway. "I just feel so... lost sometimes," Abby admitted softly, her voice breaking slightly. "It's like everyone around me has their life together - they know what they're doing, where they're going - and here I am, barely keeping up." There was a pause before she added in a whisper, "What if I'm not cut out for this?" "Oh, honey," Emily soothed. "I promise you, no one has it all figured out. College is a big adjustment for everyone." I retreated, not wanting to intrude on their moment. It was clear Abby needed her mother right now, and I was grateful Emily could provide that support. Later that evening, I found Abby alone in the kitchen, absently stirring a mug of tea. Her phone lay face-down on the counter – a rare sight. "Hey, kiddo," I said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. "Everything okay?" She looked up, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before darting away. "Yeah, Dad. Just... thinking." I leaned against the counter, careful to maintain a safe distance. "Penny for your thoughts?" Abby sighed, her fingers tightening around the mug. "It's just... do you ever feel like you're playing a part? Like everyone expects you to be this... person, and you're not sure if it's really you?" Her words hit me like a physical blow, echoing my own internal struggle. I opened my mouth, then closed it, the irony of the moment not lost on me. Here was my daughter, reaching out, and I couldn't bridge the gap without exposing my own deception. "Sometimes," I finally managed, my voice hoarse. "Growing up... it's about figuring out who you really are, not who others expect you to be." Abby nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Dad," she said softly, reaching out to squeeze my hand. The brief contact sent a jolt through me - a bittersweet reminder of the connection we once shared, now strained by the secret weighing on me. The rest of the week passed in a whirlwind of turkey dinners, turkey sandwich leftovers for lunch the next day, and turkey casserole the next evening, lending a familiar feeling to all the family activities - board games, movies, and even a trip to Abby's favorite ice cream shop. With each passing hour, I could see Abby relaxing, becoming more like her old self. But beneath it all, I couldn't shake the constant awareness of my secret. Each evening brought its own quiet ritual - Emily and I slipping away upstairs after Abby had gone to bed, where she would help me into my diaper behind closed doors. As we said our goodbyes, Abby hugged us both tightly, her embrace lingering longer than usual. "Thanks for this weekend," she said softly, her voice catching slightly. "I really needed it." I noticed the subtle shift in her posture - a mix of reluctance to leave and a growing sense of independence. Her eyes, when they met mine, held a complexity I was only beginning to understand. There was vulnerability there, beneath the confident exterior she'd cultivated at college. "Anytime, sweetheart," Emily replied, her eyes misty. "We're always here for you." We watched as Abby loaded the last of her bags into the car, her movements efficient but somehow hesitant. She paused before getting in, turning back to look at our house - our home - one more time. For a moment, I saw her not as the college student she was becoming, but as the little girl who used to run through these same rooms. Emily's hand found mine, her fingers intertwining with my own. We stood together in the doorway, a united front of parenthood, watching our daughter prepare to leave once more. Abby rolled down her window. "I'll call when I get back to campus," she promised. "Drive safely," I called back, my voice thick with emotions I couldn't quite name. The car pulled away, and we remained standing there, watching until the last glimpse of her vehicle disappeared around the corner. Emily leaned into me, her head resting against my shoulder. "We did good," she whispered. I wrapped an arm around her waist, feeling the weight of our shared journey. "We did," I agreed, though a part of me wondered about the secrets we were carrying, the delicate balance we were maintaining. As we walked back into the house, the silence seemed to echo with Abby's recent presence - a sweater draped over a chair, a coffee mug left on the counter, the subtle reminder that she had been here, and would be again. "Hey, Em?" I said quietly as we reached the living room. The weight of everything - the weekend with Abby, my own anxieties - was starting to catch up with me. "I think... it's time for bed." Emily turned toward me with that familiar look of understanding in her eyes - the one that meant she caught the multiple layers of meaning in my words. "Come on, then. Let's take care of you." -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Chapter 20: Homeward Bound Standing in the hotel bathroom, I studied my reflection as I washed my hands. The long drive home loomed ahead - hours of highway stretching between here and our familiar bed. My mind drifted to Friday's journey, to the unexpected comfort I'd found in wearing protection. The physical ease it had provided was undeniable, even if my emotions about it remained… complicated. Should I ask Emily for a diaper? I thought about it, but it seemed too... anxious. Maybe a pull-up? Just as a precaution, of course. Not that I planned to use it, but... My hand gripped the edge of the sink as I wrestled with the thought. Would asking be too forward? Too obvious? A pull-up seemed like a reasonable compromise - less committed than a diaper, just a prudent safety net for the long drive. I took a deep breath, steeling myself to suggest this perfectly reasonable precaution to Emily. "Just a pull-up, Em, for the drive? You know, just in case…" I rehearsed the words, trying for a casual, totally-in-control tone. When I emerged from the bathroom, however, I stopped short. Emily was standing by the bed, a MegaDry diaper already laid out on the mattress. My stomach did a little flip. "Come on," she said, patting the bed beside the diaper. Her tone was gentle but firm, brooking no argument. "Let's get you ready for the drive." "Em, I..." I hesitated, caught off guard by her directness. "Maybe just a pull-up? For the day?" I knew I needed to show reluctance, even if I had just been thinking the same. Emily shook her head, her expression softening but determined. "Greg, honey, we both know how Friday's drive went. This isn't about 'just in case' anymore." She gestured to the bed again. "Come on, let's not pretend this is optional." I felt a flutter of anxiety mixed with something else - relief, maybe? The decision had been taken out of my hands. As I lay on the bed, Emily's movements were efficient and caring as she secured the diaper around me. "Are these going to fit, or do you want your sweatpants?" she asked, holding up the jeans I'd worn to breakfast. I stood, trying to pull the jeans over the bulk of the diaper. They fit, technically, but the compression was uncomfortable. Emily, noting my discomfort, was already reaching for my sweatpants. "Here," she said, handing them to me with a knowing smile. "These’ll work better. We've got a long way to go." As we made our way to the hotel checkout, I couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. The diaper felt bulky between my legs, and I could hear a definite crinkle. I was certain everyone could tell, but there was no one in the hall or elevator. I kept checking to make sure that my un-tucked t-shirt covered the tall white plastic waistband. "Em," I said, my voice tinged with anxiety in the privacy of the elevator, "can you tell I'm wearing it? Is it obvious?" Emily stepped back, giving me a once-over. "Not at all," she assured me. "And even if it was, who cares?" As we made our way through the lobby, I listened for the crinkle of my diaper beneath my sweatpants. I hoped Emily was right - maybe it didn't matter as much as I thought it did. The clerk's eyes widened slightly as we approached the desk. I recognized him from check-in, and my stomach tightened as I noticed his gaze flicking down to my midsection before quickly darting away. The clerk greeted us with a nervous smile. "Good morning! Checking out?" "Yep," Emily said cheerfully. "It was a great stay." The clerk seemed to hesitate, then spoke. "I, uh, wanted to apologize about the misunderstanding with your room request. I hope everything was comfortable." Emily leaned in slightly, her voice warm and conspiratorial. "No need to apologize. Sometimes accommodations are necessary for all sorts of reasons, don't you think?" I could see the clerk growing more flustered, unsure how to respond. "Weren't you comfortable, Greg?" Emily added, giving me a knowing look. I played along, trying to suppress both my nervousness and a grin. "Absolutely," I said, my voice neutral but with just a hint of amusement. The clerk stammered something about having a nice day, clearly eager to end the conversation. As we left the hotel, I muttered with a chuckle, "Did you have to embarrass the poor guy like that?" Emily grinned. "Sometimes, honey, it's fun to let people's imaginations run wild. Besides, he was more embarrassed than you were." Once in the car, I settled into the passenger seat, the diaper crinkling softly beneath me. Emily started the engine, and we were off. Emily glanced over at me with a soft smile. "You okay? I know this weekend was kind of intense." I nodded, appreciating her concern. "Yeah... actually, I'm feeling pretty good." She reached over to squeeze my hand. "I'm proud of you," she said quietly. "You're handling this whole situation so well." About two hours into our journey, I felt the familiar pressure in my bladder. "Em," I said, shifting uncomfortably, "I think I need to stop soon." Emily glanced at me, then at the road signs. "Okay, there's a rest stop coming up in about 10 miles. We can... oh." Her voice trailed off as realization dawned. "What?" I asked, though I had a feeling I knew what she was thinking. "Well," she began hesitantly, "if we stop, you'd need to take the diaper off to use the restroom, right? And then... well, could you get it back on properly?" I hadn't thought about that. "Uh, probably not," I admitted. "Maybe we could find a family restroom?" Emily suggested, her tone hopeful. We pulled into the rest stop, but to our dismay, the family restroom was closed for maintenance. A large "Out of Order" sign mocked us from the door. Emily turned to me, her expression a mix of concern and resignation. "Greg, honey... I think you might need to just use the diaper. That's what it's there for, after all, and you did on Friday, so it's not like this is the first time." A flutter of nervousness tickled my stomach. It's true that it wasn't the first time, but still, using the diaper on purpose, in broad daylight, felt like crossing a line. But as another wave of urgency hit me, I realized I didn't have much choice. "Okay," I said quietly. "I guess you're right." Emily squeezed my hand reassuringly. I nodded, feigning reluctance as I released into the diaper. I felt my body tense, then relax as I finished. When I opened my eyes, Emily was watching me with that knowing smile of hers. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Let me just use the restroom quickly, and then we can head straight home." As we drove on, I found myself processing what had just happened. Using the diaper deliberately, in broad daylight, should have felt more momentous. Instead, it felt... normal. The realization both thrilled and terrified me. How had this become my new normal? The chapters of Emily’s audio book marked the hours, but as we neared home I noticed Emily growing increasingly restless beside me. Her leg bounced against the accelerator, making our speed fluctuate slightly, and she kept glancing between the GPS and the road signs with growing urgency. "Everything okay, Em?" I asked, trying to hide my amusement. "Yeah, I just..." she trailed off, biting her lip. "I need to use the bathroom, but we're so close to home." I leaned back, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Oh, you need to use the potty?" I asked, mimicking her tone from earlier. Emily's eyes narrowed, but I could see the hint of amusement behind her attempt at a stern look. "Very funny, Greg," she said, squirming slightly in her seat. "But seriously, can you check if there's a rest stop nearby?" As she squirmed in her seat, I felt a familiar pressure in my bladder. But instead of feeling anxious, I felt a strange sense of calm. I relaxed, letting the warmth spread through my diaper. "You know, Em," I said casually, "there's a lot to be said for the convenience of protection. No need to rush home." Emily's eyes widened as she realized what I was doing. "Greg! Are you...?" I nodded, a serene smile on my face. "Just taking your advice about using what I have. Luckily I’m prepared." I gave her a Cheshire cat grin as I finished, stressing the "I’m". Emily shook her head, a mix of exasperation and amusement on her face. "I can't believe you're using my words against me while you... Oh, forget it. Just find me a bathroom!" As we approached a gas station, Emily practically leaped out of the car, tossing me the keys. "You drive the rest of the way. I can't concentrate like this!" I chuckled as I switched to the driver's seat. "You know," I called after her retreating form, "maybe we should look into some protection for you too. Just in case." Her response was muffled by the closing bathroom door, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't family-friendly. As we continued our journey home, now with me behind the wheel and Emily looking much more relaxed, I couldn't help but grin. "So, Em," I said innocently, "how does it feel to be on the other side of the 'potty emergency' situation?" Emily rolled her eyes, but I could see the hint of a smile on her lips. "Alright, alright. I get it. Maybe I've been a bit... overbearing about this whole thing." "Just a bit," I teased. "But I love you anyway." Finally, we pulled into our driveway. As we unloaded the car, Emily turned to me with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry you had to stay in that for so long, honey. Why don't you take the first shower and get comfortable?" Once inside and properly cleaned up, Emily and I sat down on the couch. She looked at me, her expression curious. "So... how do you feel about all this? Wearing the diaper during the day, I mean. For trips." I took a moment to gather my thoughts. "Honestly? It's... not as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, it's not something I'd choose to do, but... it was kind of convenient for the drive." Emily nodded encouragingly. "That's good to hear. And you didn't seem too bothered by it at the hotel," she said, then added playfully, "It wouldn't surprise me if you started enjoying it more than you let on." I chuckled, remembering the flustered clerk. "Yeah, that was actually kind of funny. I guess I'm getting more comfortable with the idea. It's still weird, but... I don't know, maybe I'm just getting used to it." Emily leaned in, giving me a quick kiss. "I'm proud of you, Greg. You're handling this whole situation so well." As we sat there, discussing the pros and cons of daytime protection, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of me was still embarrassed by the whole situation, but another part felt a strange sense of freedom. It was oddly liberating to not have to worry about bathroom breaks on long drives, where I had always been the limiting factor since I was a child. "You know," I said, surprising myself, "it really did make the drive less stressful. I wouldn't mind doing that again." I watched Emily's expression change - her eyebrows rising in surprise before her face softened into that warm, encouraging smile I'd grown to both love and fear. "Really?" she asked, her voice gentle but probing. "You'd be okay with that?" I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Sure, why not? It's practical, right?" As Emily hugged me, expressing her appreciation for my openness, I couldn't help but wonder where this journey would take us next. One thing was certain – life with diapers was turning out to be full of surprises. -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Chapter 19: Wedding Bell Blues The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear, the sun casting a golden glow over the coastal landscape. As I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my tie with slightly trembling fingers, I couldnt help but feel a potent mix of excitement and anxiety. It had been a very long time since we'd attended such a formal event, and while I looked forward to the celebration, a nagging worry tugged at the back of my mind, threatening to overshadow the joy of the occasion. Emily appeared behind me, looking stunning in her deep blue dress. She caught my eye in the mirror, a knowing look on her face. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?" she asked softly. I sighed, turning to face her. "Am I that obvious?" She smiled, reaching out to straighten my tie. "Only to me. So, what do you think? Should we play it safe?" I knew what she was asking. Should I wear protection to the wedding? The thought made me uncomfortable, but I couldn't deny the practicality of it. "I don't know, Em. What if someone notices?" Emily shook her head. "No one will know unless you tell them. And honestly, Greg, a little rustling is better than a lot of explaining." I considered her words, weighing the options. On one hand, the security of wearing protection was tempting, exciting. On the other, I knew I didnt actually need it and the idea of attending a formal event in a pull-up felt deeply embarrassing. I imagined the rustle of plastic beneath my suit, the constant awareness of its presence throughout the day. "I think... I think I'll be okay without it," I finally said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Besides, your mom would probably be checking me all day if I wore one." Emily chuckled, but I could see a flicker of concern in her eyes. "You're probably right about Mom. Alright, if you're sure. But promise me you'll be careful with the champagne, okay?" I chuckled, grateful for her understanding. "Actually... Since it's a special occasion, I was thinking maybe we could suspend the one-drink rule for today? We did agree that we could change the rules if we both agreed, right?" Emily's eyebrows raised slightly, but then she smiled. "You're right, we did. And it is a special day. Okay, let's suspend the rule for today. But let's both be responsible, alright?" I nodded, feeling a sense of relief. "Deal. No overdoing it on the bubbly." As we made our way to the wedding venue, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia mixed with apprehension. This would be the first time I'd see Emily's family since my "condition" had developed, and I knew her mother was aware of the situation. We arrived at the wedding venue, a beautiful old mansion on the shore, and I immediately spotted Emily's mother, Linda, standing near the entrance. Her posture was that of a seasoned teacher, surveying the arriving guests with a mix of warmth and authority. Her fingers tapped lightly against her leg, as if keeping time to an unheard melody a habit likely from her years as a church organist. Her posture was relaxed, but I could see the subtle way she directed people with a gentle touch or a warm smile. When her gaze landed on us, her face lit up with genuine warmth, though I caught a glimmer of something else in her eyes - curiosity, perhaps, or anticipation. Emily! Greg! Oh, its so wonderful to see you both, Linda exclaimed, pulling us into a warm embrace. As she hugged me, I felt her hand linger briefly on my lower back, and I couldn't shake the feeling that she was checking for the telltale bulk of protection. Her eyes met mine as she pulled away, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. How are you holding up, dear? The drive wasn't too long, I hope? I made sure to reserve seats near the aisle for you, just in case you need to slip out quickly. I felt my face flush as I realized what she was subtly referring to. "I'm fine, thanks, Linda," I said with all the confidence I could muster, trying not to give her anything to run with. Emily squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Mom, remember what we talked about? Greg's doing great, and we don't need to make a fuss." As we made our way out onto the beautifully prepared area on the beach, Emily leaned in close. "You okay?" she whispered. I nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, just... a bit overwhelming." Emily's hand found mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We're in this together, remember? Just let me know if you need anything." The ceremony was beautiful, and for a while, I was able to forget about my worries. Watching Emily's cousin exchange vows brought back memories of our own wedding day. I glanced at Emily, her eyes shining with happy tears as she watched the ceremony, and felt a surge of love and gratitude. For a brief hour, I lost myself in the ritual, the shared joy, the weight of my secret momentarily forgotten. But the reception, with its open bar and endless small talk, was a different beast altogether. My anxiety returned in full force. As we made our rounds, greeting various family members, I couldn't help but wonder how many of them knew about my situation. Linda seemed to be everywhere, her eyes following me with a mix of concern and amusement. During a lull in the conversations, she cornered us, a champagne flute in hand. "Emily, dear," she began, her voice low and melodious, "I couldn't help but notice Greg's been making quite a few trips to the restroom. Is everything alright today?" Linda leaned in, her voice lowered conspiratorially. You know, in all my years of teaching, I've learned to spot when someone needs a little extra... support. It's a skill that never quite leaves you, even in retirement. Before I could stammer out a response, Emily smoothly interjected, "Oh, Mom, you know how it is at these events. The champagne just goes right through you!" Linda's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Oh, of course. Well, Greg, do try to pace yourself. We wouldn't want you missing the first dance!" She paused, then added with a wink, "You know, I always told Emily that a good wife is always prepared, so I'm sure she's prepared with what you need. Just in case, of course." I felt my face burn as Emily gently steered me away. "Mom, please," she hissed, but Linda just chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. As the night wore on, I began to regret my decision not to wear protection. The champagne was indeed going right through me, and I was acutely aware of every twinge in my bladder. I knew it was just psychosomatic, me playing a part, but after a few glasses of wine and champagne the line between acting and reality was blurring rapidly. Returning from the restroom, a fresh wave of self-consciousness washed over me. Then I noticed Tommy, maybe five years old, twirling on the dance floor, the unmistakable bulge of a pull-up beneath his dress pants. That could have been me. Near the dessert table, Aunt Margaret, her eighties etched on her smiling face, chatted animatedly, the outline of an adult diaper clearly visible beneath her floral dress. That could be me... someday? Did they know? Was their ease a matter of acceptance, a comfortable disregard for a perceived flaw? Or were they simply... unaware, their innocence a shield against the judging eyes I imagined everywhere? Tommy's carefree joy, Margaret's engaged conversation - were they truly oblivious, or had they simply reached a level of comfort I could only dream of? They're different, a nagging voice whispered in the back of my mind. A child. An elderly woman. People understand, make allowances. But me? A man in his prime? It's not the same. The warmth of acceptance I'd felt moments before began to cool, replaced by a familiar chill of self-doubt. My eyes scanned the room, suddenly aware of the diverse needs of the guests. A groomsman discreetly adjusted what looked like a medical device under his jacket. A bridesmaid with a barely visible hearing aid laughed with her friends. And no one seemed to bat an eye. Or did they? Linda appeared at my side, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she followed my gaze. "You know, Greg," she said softly, her voice carrying that familiar teacher's tone, "family gatherings are interesting things. Everyone has their own... accommodations, shall we say? The trick is making sure everyone feels comfortable enough to enjoy themselves." Her eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something in their depths that wasn't amusement but a profound understanding. A warmth sparked beneath the social games she was known for, not pity, but... or was it? I wondered. The warmth felt genuine, but knowing Linda, there was always a game at play, an angle she was working, however subtle it was. Her sudden warmth couldn't help but feel as unsettling as it did strangely comforting. She paused, just long enough to let it sink in, before continuing softly, her eyes moving to the dance floor where Emily was laughing with her cousins, "I'm so glad Emily found you. You've been so good for her." I turned to her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. Thank you, Linda. That means a lot. She squeezed my arm gently, a silent affirmation of... something. Acceptance? Understanding? I wasn't sure, but the unexpected sincerity in her touch left me strangely comforted. The warmth of Linda's unexpected empathy lingered, a surprising balm against the ever-present anxiety. But as the night wore on, the champagne, the small talk, the constant awareness of my own precarious control, took its toll. During a lull in the music, I found Emily by the open French doors, the cool night air a welcome relief against my flushed skin. "I don't know if I can make it much longer," I whispered, the words heavy with more than just physical discomfort. She pulled back slightly, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay? Do you need to...?" I shook my head. "No, no, I'm fine. Just..." Emily's eyes filled with understanding. She glanced around, then led me to a quiet corner. "Okay, I'm tired too. Lets do a goodbye round and get out of here." I nodded gratefully, relief washing over me. As we said our goodbyes, Linda pulled me into a hug. "Greg, dear, don't you worry about a thing. These issues are more common than you'd think. I know several people here that could lend you some supplies. If you needed them, of course." She caught my eye as we pulled apart, and I knew her message was not that I might need to borrow supplies... her message was that I was not alone. "Mom!" Emily interrupted, shooting her mother a warning look. "We really need to get going. Greg needs his rest." Linda nodded, her eyes full of sympathy. "Of course, of course. You take care of him, Emily." Emily rolled her eyes, but I could see the affection behind her exasperation. "I'm so sorry about her," she whispered as we made our way to the car. "She means well, but she can be a bit... much." I chuckled, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "It's okay, Em. I know she cares. And hey, at least I didn't wear protection. Can you imagine how insistent she would have been about checking on me if I had?" Emily laughed, squeezing my hand. "Oh god, she probably would have insisted on changing you herself!" Back in the quiet sanctuary of our hotel room, the tension of the day began to melt away. Emily, already in her robe, turned to me, her eyes soft. Freshen up, honey, she murmured, a knowing smile playing on her lips. As I stepped into the shower, the hot spray stung my skin, a welcome penance for the days deceptions. I scrubbed, hard, as if trying to wash away not just the grime, but the guilt that clung to me like a second skin. By the time I emerged, Emily had laid out a MegaDry, its white expanse a stark contrast to the bed pad beneath. She patted the bed beside it, her gaze holding mine, an unspoken invitation in her eyes. I lay down on the bed, positioning myself over the waiting diaper, the crinkling plastic a familiar sound in the quiet room. Emily frowned at the noise. "Well, this is annoying. Maybe we should have made you sleep in the crib after all," she joked. I shrugged, trying to keep my tone light. "Hey, you get used to the crinkle. I've had to." Emily's face fell slightly. "I'm sorry, Greg. I shouldn't joke about it. You're the one who has to deal with this." Her hands were warm as she unfolded the diaper, her touch sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air. The vulnerability of the moment, the intimacy of her touch, was amplified by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, highlighting the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts beneath the silk of her dress. A warmth stirred within me, more than just physical, igniting a spark of desire that warred with the ever-present shame. As she fastened the first tape, the adhesive ripping with a soft, almost intimate, rrrrrip, I couldn't ignore the unwelcome arousal, a traitorous tightening in my groin. But Emily's gaze met mine, a knowing glint in her eyes, and a subtle smile. "Well, well," she murmured, her voice husky, her fingers lingering for a moment against the inside of my thigh, sending a jolt of electricity through me. "Someone's enjoying this more than they let on." She bent down, her lips brushing mine, the scent of mint tickling my nose. Shame warred with a thrilling sense of validation as her words hung in the air. Is this it? I wondered, my heart pounding against my ribs. Is this the acceptance, the connection, I've been so desperately seeking? Her kiss deepened, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips, a silent invitation I couldn't refuse. The half-fastened diaper, a symbol of my vulnerability, became a focal point, her fingers toying with the exposed tape. The scent of her perfume, a heady mix of vanilla and something musky, filled my senses as our bodies moved together. Her hand, still resting possessively on my diaper, guided me, her touch both tender and demanding. The silk of her dress, cool against my heated skin, tangled around our legs as we found our rhythm, a slow, deliberate dance of desire and surrender. I knew I should resist, that this was another step down a path I wasn't sure I was ready for, a path that led further into her care, her control. But my body, betraying my carefully constructed resolve, responded eagerly to her touch as she pulled the thick diaper back, not for a change, but for access. I felt a surge of excitement, a thrill of transgression mixed with the lingering shame, as our bodies came together, the crinkling plastic a counterpoint to the frantic rhythm of our hearts. As we lay together afterward, both panting slightly, Emily reached down, her fingers tracing the outline of the diaper; her touch, lingering on the damp warmth, sent a shiver down my spine. Her eyes held mine as she re-taped the diaper with slow, deliberate movements. I traced the outline of her collarbone, my fingertip trembling against her skin. Tell her, a voice urged, the words echoing the frantic beat of my heart. Tell her now. But my throat constricted, the words trapped behind a wall of fear. I never meant... I need to tell... the words died before I opened my mouth. I turned away, burying my face against her chest, the warmth of her soft skin a stark contrast to the cold knot of guilt tightening in my gut. "I... I love you", I whispered, the words both a truth and a lie. "I know," she replied, her voice soft as her hand, still resting on my diaper, tightened for a moment, her fingers pressing into the padding, almost as if she were testing for wetness. Or perhaps... testing me? "We take care of each other... In sickness and in health... and everything in between." As we held each other, a deep sense of peace, fragile and fleeting, washed over me. But beneath the surface, her heart echoed with a thump-thump. Thump thump. Thump thump, putting to sound the weight of my deception, a dark undercurrent threatening to pull me under. Emily kissed the top of my head softly as she pulled the sheet over me. "Always." She kissed me again and made her way to the shower, both of us unaware of the text message lighting up Emily's phone on the nightstand - a message from Linda: "Hoping those special accommodations proved... adequate, dear. Give my love to Greg." -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

I was trying to go for a theme on the chapters... I will admit that this was one of my lazier picks...

It was a long time ago, so I won't claim to remember the specifics. But... it was about a year of 'focused effort' before I felt that diapers were no longer optional, but I still thought/assumed I could reverse it if I tried, so maybe I didn't feel like a "real bedwetter." I had been using every tool I could find, from alarms set in the middle of the night to cause me to wake and pee, to drinking a lot before bed, to hypnosis files, and everything else I could think of... I don't know what of everything I threw at the wall actually stuck, but something did, and after about a year I ramped down on 'trying' and the number of wet nights didn't really reduce. I think the single 'event' that moved the switch in my mind from 'I'm playing at being a bedwetter' to 'I am a bedwetter' was when a few years later (5-ish), when I was getting married and tried to re-train myself (sort of), I realized it was not something I had control over, and at that point any thought that I wasn't a 'real' bedwetter ended. I remember thinking that too, for over a decade.

Chapter 18: Hotel California The hotel's neon sign cast a harsh glow through the windshield as Emily pulled into a parking spot. I shifted uncomfortably, the movement causing my heavily saturated diaper to squish beneath me. The long drive and cups of iced tea had taken their toll, leaving me with what felt like a sodden mass clinging to my skin. Each subtle movement brought a fresh reminder of my predicament, the cooling wetness making me acutely aware of my vulnerability. "We're here," Emily announced, stifling a yawn as she killed the engine. "Let's get checked in and crash. I'm exhausted." My heart raced as I contemplated the journey from car to room. The hotel lobby blazed with fluorescent lights, its glass walls offering no shadows to hide in. I remained frozen in my seat, the prospect of walking that next 100 feet through the bright, exposed space more daunting than the entire 300 mile drive had been. "Coming?" Emily asked softly, already standing by my door, suitcase in hand. I nodded wearily and pushed myself up, wincing at the loud crinkle that accompanied my movement. The diaper, which had seemed discreet when we left home, now felt impossibly obvious, sagging heavily between my legs. I tugged self-consciously at my sweatpants, trying to arrange them to hide the bulge, but Emily's raised eyebrow told me I wasn't fooling anyone. Emily noticed my hesitation and handed me her oversized sweatshirt. "Here, put this on," she said, her eyes twinkling with understanding. "It's fine, honey. No one's going to notice." But I caught the subtle undertone in her voice - this gentle pushing of boundaries was her way of preparing me for tomorrow's bigger challenge: facing her mother. As we made our way across the parking lot, Emily's hand rested reassuringly on my arm. The sound of my diaper seemed to echo with each step, though logically I knew only I could hear it. My face burned as we approached the brightly lit entrance, fearful of discovery. A young clerk greeted us with a tired smile. "Good evening. Checking in?" Emily nodded, handing over her ID. "Reservation for Thompson." The clerk tapped at his computer, then frowned slightly in confusion. "Ah, yes. I see a special request on your reservation... a crib?" He looked back at us, obviously wondering where the child was. Emily's eyebrows shot up. "I’m sorry, what? A crib?" The clerk clicked a few things on his screen, confused. "Oh, I'm so sorry. There must have been a misunderstanding. The note requested a separate bed with waterproof mattress protection... and it looks like we thought that meant… uh…" As the clerk mentioned the crib, my heart raced. The thought of him noticing my situation was mortifying, but the crib... it felt like a cruel reminder of my childhood fears. Emily's hand on my arm was a lifeline, but inside, I was battling a storm of emotions. "Ah," Emily said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. "Yes, we did request the waterproof bedding, but the separate bed won't be necessary." She squeezed my hand reassuringly. The clerk's face flushed as he realized the situation. "Of course, I'm so sorry. Unfortunately, at this hour, we don't have any other rooms available, and our housekeeping staff has gone home. The crib is already set up in your room." Emily glanced at me, then back at the clerk. "That's alright. We'll work around it. Can we just have the key, please?" The clerk's embarrassment deepened, clearly casting a glance at my bulging waist as he handed over the key cards. Emily couldn't resist adding with a smirk as we collected our bags, "Though I have to say, the thought of my husband trying to squeeze into a crib is pretty hilarious." I groaned inwardly as the clerk chuckled nervously. "Em, please," I muttered. We made our way to the elevator, and as soon as the doors closed, I let out a long sigh. "Well, that was mortifying." "Oh, c’mon. It's kind of funny.” Emily patted my arm with a little laugh. “And it's just us here, no need to worry. Are you okay?" I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help smiling a little at her attempt to lighten the mood. “Yeah.” I caught my reflection in the elevator mirror, and I realized with the sweatshirt hanging low, the diaper, which felt huge between my legs, wasn’t nearly as obvious as I had thought it was. We found our room, and I fumbled with the key card. As the door swung open, my gaze was immediately drawn to a large white metal crib awkwardly positioned next to the king-size bed. It looked comically out of place, its mattress covered with a plastic sheet and a cartoon-themed blanket. Emily burst out laughing, her hand over her mouth. Even I had to chuckle at the absurdity. “I know this seems ridiculous," Emily said softly, her hand on the crib rail. "But sometimes it helps to face these awkward moments head-on." She paused, gauging my reaction. "Besides, if you can handle a stranger seeing evidence of your diapers, Mom's fussing won't seem so bad. And remember, it's just us." "Ha ha," I said dryly. "Very funny. Can we just get ready for bed?" Emily nodded, still chuckling as she rummaged through our bags. "Alright, let's get you changed. That diaper looks pretty wet." I glanced down, my hand on the front of my diaper feeling just how swollen the diaper had become. "Yeah, I guess I didn't realize how much I went in the car." "See? Aren't you glad we decided on the diaper for the trip?" Emily's eyes twinkled with mischief as she patted the crib mattress. “Come on, big guy, let's get you sorted.” Her tone was light, but I knew she was watching my reaction closely. I hesitated, eyeing the crib dubiously. "Em, I don't think that's going to hold me." She waved off my concern. "It'll be fine for a quick change. Come on, it'll be easier than the bed." Reluctantly, I sat on the edge of the crib mattress, wincing at the loud noise the crib and plastic-covered mattress made. “This has to be an OSHA violation,” I said, trying to keep my voice normal despite a dim memory from my childhood surfacing. Suddenly I was a young child again, four or five years old. It was a hot summer afternoon, and I had wet the bed the night before. My mother, her face a mix of frustration and concern, had taken all of my sheets off for washing. "Greg, honey," she had as she led me into my brother's room, "you'll have to take a nap in your brother's crib. Your sheets won't be dry until later and I can’t deal with more laundry today." We entered his room where his crib stood waiting. The scent of baby powder and the sight of the familiar cartoon characters on the crib mattress filled me with dread. The rails towered above me, suddenly menacing. Too big for cribs. Too old. And yet, here I was, exiled to this infant prison because of my own failure. My mother's hands were cool, impersonal as she lifted me into the crib. The plastic sheet crinkled beneath me, cold and stiff against my skin, a stark contrast to the soft warmth of my own bed. “Just for a little nap, sweetheart,” she’d said, her voice tight, her smile strained as she tucked my brother's blanket around me, a blanket that still held the faint, sweet smell of him. “Close your eyes and imagine you're on an adventure.” But all I could imagine was the shame, the humiliation, the hot tears welling in my eyes Emily studied my face, noting my sudden discomfort. "Hey, you okay?" Her tone had shifted from playful to concerned. "Yeah, just... the crib brings back some not-great memories." I managed a weak smile as I stood back up, the crib creaking again as my weight was removed. "And honestly, I'd rather not risk breaking hotel furniture. These things aren't meant for grown men." Emily nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Alright, the bed it is then." She quickly set up the waterproof pad on the king-sized bed. "Though I have to say, you're missing out on quite the photo opportunity." I laughed despite myself, grateful for her attempt to lighten the mood. "I think we have enough blackmail material in our relationship without adding 'husband breaks hotel crib' to the list." I moved to the bed, aligning myself on the bed pad as I prepared to be changed. Emily worked quickly, removing my sweatpants and the sodden diaper. “You know, tomorrow might be a bit intense with Mom around,” she said softly as she cleaned me up. “She loves you, but she can be a bit... hands-on. I just want you to be comfortable with it, to show her that you can handle this.” Her eyes searched mine, curiosity and concern mingling. “And maybe we can have a little fun with it too,” she added with a wink, trying to ease the tension. As she taped up the new diaper, she couldn't resist one more quip. "You know, if you were just a bit smaller, this crib would be perfect for you. Built-in bed rails and everything." The afternoon sun beat down on my face, the light filtering through the slats of the crib casting striped shadows on the wall. The air was thick with the smell of baby powder, a scent that usually comforted me but now felt cloying, suffocating. I stared up at the mobile above the crib, the brightly colored plastic animals mocking my misery with their cheerful grins. My bladder felt full, heavy, the pressure building with each passing minute. I squirmed, trying to shift my position, but the confines of the crib held me captive as I sought the freedom of sleep. The warmth spread slowly at first, then in a rush, soaking the thin sheet beneath my shorts, cooling as it pooled under me. Shame, hot and heavy, coiled in my gut. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear as silent tears traced hot paths down my cheeks. My sobs subsided as my mother’s concerned face appeared above me. She didn't say anything at first, just gathered me into her arms, the familiar scent of her perfume a mix of comfort and… something else. Disappointment? She carried me to the changing table, my cold wet shorts clinging to me, her touch gentle but firm. As she laid me down, the cool plastic of the changing mat sent a shiver down my spine. “I think it would be better for both of us if you were in diapers, Greg,” she said softly, her voice laced with a weariness that felt heavier than any hug. “Just for sleeping. For now.” The declaration was a slap to my young psyche, a step backward, a setback I wouldn’t be able to shake for years, trapped by my body as surely as I was confined by the bars of the crib. The memory, sharp and vivid, sent a shiver down my spine, a phantom echo of that childhood shame. I glanced at Emily, her concerned gaze a stark contrast to the detached practicality of my mother's touch all those years ago. "You okay?" she asked softly, her hand resting on my chest, a silent offer of comfort I hadn't received then, a comfort I desperately craved now, even as the weight of my deception made it feel undeserved. I felt a strange mix of embarrassment and... something else. I managed a weak smile. "Your mom's going to be all over this, isn't she?" "Oh, honey," Emily laughed, "you have no idea. But that's why we're practicing." I groaned, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "You're enjoying this way too much." Emily leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Just trying to keep things light, honey. I know this isn't easy for you." As we settled into bed, Emily propped herself up on one elbow, looking at me seriously. "You know why I’m pushing you a little tonight?" I nodded slowly. "Trying to thicken my skin before your mom starts digging her claws in tomorrow?" "Exactly," she said, kissing my lips. "And honestly, Greg? You're handling it all amazingly well." I chuckled softly, the weight of the day lifting slightly as Emily's arm draped protectively over me, pulling me into her warm body. "I'll do my best. Goodnight, Em."

Abby is busy at school and wasn't able to make it! Also, someone asked me where (geographically) this was taking place. It's never explicitly stated. If it's important to you, you can picture Greg and Emily living near Boston, Abby going to school at Cornell, and the wedding is near Bar Harbor, Maine. Or, if you're a left-coast person, Greg and Emily live near Sacramento, Abby is in school at Cal-Poly SLO, and the wedding is in Mendocino.

I trained myself back to bed wetting close to 25 years ago now. The answer to your question is very, very complicated. While there have been many things to deal with (visiting friends, traveling for work, camping, etc) most of those I managed to figure out pretty quickly. That's not remotely the hard part. Twice I put in real effort to get dry again. The first was soon after I got married. Things got a lot more complicated in many ways and being a bedwetter was a real problem, so I went through all the 'expected' steps one would take to try to stop. It didn't work. Looking back, I would question how hard I was actually trying, versus looking like I was trying. The second time was when my daughter was potty training and getting out of diapers. That time, I honestly tried very hard to stop wetting for more than a year. There is a big difference between being single or a couple and bedwetting, versus the dad of a young child. That was honestly a time of significant regret. Now, I'm... Resigned. It is what it is, and I try to make the best of it. My daughter is a teen, and the situation is... different. I do wish that I had a choice and could choose to indulge in diapers when I wanted to and not every night because I have to. At this point l, though, I've had to wear diapers at night longer than I didn't, which is... A thing. Would I do it again knowing everything I know now? I really don't know.

Very fun. I got into scale modeling in college, when I worked on one of the largest scale HO layouts in the world. Many, many years later I keep myself entertained building wooden sailing ships... currently working (very, very slowly...) on this: https://www.modelerscentral.com/model-ship-kits/mamoli/uss-constitution/. I completed this https://www.billingboatsusa.com/product/564-cutty-sark/ about a year ago. I also build wooden kayaks (https://clcboats.com/shop/kayak-kits/performance-kayaks/). Fiddling with little pieces of wood is therapeutic.

I'll see your million miles driving, and raise you a United Million Miler card... Most of them diapered. 😀 Greg and Emily are newbs on this journey of theirs, and it will take years for them to realize what many of us take for granted! (And scissors are not a good answer when on a plane. 😂)

So... in another thread, @WillinglyUnwiling resurrected the Keeperverse stories with the posting of "Oliver & Annie: A Keeperverse Story", and kindly enough mentioned my story "Jeff's Story" as an inspiration. Well, back in 2018/2019 I had written a sequel to that, but it went dark. Very, very dark, and I decided to not share it. As I said in a comment on that thread: "It was mostly done but I never completed the final editing because it was... well, even I had a hard time reading it, emotionally, and I wrote the damn thing. Maybe I'll update it to be a little less... Disturbing. When you think about where these power dynamics and pet behaviors lead in the context of less-than-savory, exploitive characters... *Shiver*, and not in a good way." Well, I went back and re-visited the story. After a pretty substantial re-write it's less disturbing... maybe... somewhat... but it's at least updated to some modern themes and such. This will NOT be to everyone's liking. If you read Jeff's Story and liked it, this might be interesting... but even so, it examines several possible extreme end-results of Pet-ness and how that could play out. If it's not a fit for you, I completely understand. It is questionably a fit for this site at all, honestly. So, if you like the Keeperverse, I welcome your comments and input. If your response is "HOLY CRAP THATS F'D UP!" then I thank you for taking a try at it, I completely agree and apologize for the nightmares, and maybe you'd be more interested in the other story I'm currently serializing, "Empty Nest", which is completely different. -j4f (If you haven't already read Jeff's Story, this will make a lot more sense if you read that first...) JayJay's Adventure Chapter 1: Everyday.... I woke to the insistent buzzing of Jenn's alarm, followed by a muffled "Argh, Kendra, shut it off already!" My limbs instinctively stretched, meeting the familiar mesh of my cage. The thick blue diaper, heavy and saturated, pressed against my skin, a constant reminder of my status. The waterproof cushion beneath me creaked slightly as I shifted, additional protection in case a diaper was overwhelmed during a long stay in the cage. The stiff leather of the mitts on my hands, while softened due to their constant use, were a frustrating reminder of my Pet status, a status I both resented and craved. I watched Kiki her own cage, her bare chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was both comforting and a little sad. She was a study in contrast to the vibrant woman named Karen that I had known her as in college. Kiki's eyes, once bright and intelligent before Bonding, now held a more childlike dependence, reflecting the conversations now dominated by Pet Chow, diaper fashion, and viral Pet videos. The Bond, it seemed, had a way of simplifying things for some people, and Karen had, if anything, embraced her journey to the simpler world of Kiki. She had even sought it out, I knew, drawn to the security and freedom from responsibility that being a Pet offered, and the random fate of The Bond had certainly worked in her favor. Jenn, with a muttered curse, finally rose and stumbled towards the bathroom. The familiar morning ritual began. Kendra, dressed in her robe and slippers, unlocked Kiki's cage and encouraged her still-sleepy Pet out of her cage and onto the changing pad. Jenn's face beamed with a happy, almost maternal, smile as she kissed her Pet and exclaimed, "Good morning, my sweet Kiki!" as she provided an efficient diaper change. As Kiki slowly and sleepily made her way to the kitchen, crinkling in the now dry diaper, I would be let out, cleaned, and diapered as well. Kendra's morning changes were not unkind, but they were efficient and clinical, the washcloth cold against my skin, her motions mechanical as she closed the puffy diaper with eyes that were still only half open. I longed for Jenn, who I could hear in the bathroom singing in the shower, her voice as warm as her hands were when she changed me, her caress and breath a warm kiss on my skin. But Jenn, as always on these weekday mornings, was in a hurry, her commute waiting. Like Kiki, my walk was slow on my hands and knees, kept down on all four legs by the leather mitts on my hands and the restraints keeping my legs bent. The jingle of the registration tags on my collar, a constant reminder of my Pet status, accompanied my every movement. In the kitchen, Kendra, now a little more together in some sweats, tossed the wet diapers in the large lined trash can intended for such things, washed her hands, and proceeded to fill our bowls on the floor from a bag of Pet Chow. It wasn't my favorite, but I was used to the sugary cinnamon-raisin pellets, particularly in the morning. Kendra started coffee for her and Jenn as Kiki and I started eating. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, a forbidden memory from my past life, was a tantalizing reminder of the world my changed physiology had forced me to leave behind. As Kiki and I finished eating, Kendra was pouring a second cup of coffee for herself, and a travel cup for Jenn. Jenn would emerge from the bedroom, now dressed in a smart dark blue pant-suit appropriate for her paralegal job in the city. She'd grab the travel mug Kendra had prepared and give her a kiss. "What's your day like?" Kendra, still waking up despite the coffee, thought for a moment. "Meetings starting at eight. I think I go straight until four or five, so I'll take them out for a walk this morning, and thenI'll put them in the kennel until I'm done." Jenn nodded. That was the usual. She knelt down next to me. "You're a good boy, JayJay," she whispered as she gave me a solid hug. "Listen to Ken, right? Be good on your walk." I loved the feeling of her securely holding me, her warm hand firm on the side of my face feeding an amazingly intimate tingle throughout my body. It was what I lived for, and I breathed in her scent, clean, powerful, my Keeper. I loved her with all my body as only a Pet can. "I'll see you tonight, my Pet." Soon, though, she was standing up, giving Kiki a quick pat goodbye, and then out the door to the garage, not to be seen until later in the evening. Kendra took a more leisurely route in the morning. Not usually needing to commute, she grabbed our leashes and muzzles. Kiki, instantly excited about going for a walk, ran over to her, presenting her collar and waiting for the click of her pink leash and the straps of the muzzle to be secured around her smiling face. Rolling my eyes at her excitement I joined them more slowly, making a point that only one of us was going to pee ourselves in excitement about our morning walk. Well, maybe I was going to pee myself, but it wasn't because of what Jenn insisted on calling 'walkies'. I obediently, if not enthusiastically, allowed Kendra to clip on my leash and secure my muzzle. I did always enjoy our walks, even if I was legally required to wear the muzzle and leash in public, physical restraints that kept me from hurting others, or myself, but also symbols of a Pet's legal status. The birds chirping, the sprinklers watering, the other beings on a leash, be they human Pets or actual canines, all added to an invigorating sensual experience as we did our usual lap around the small reservoir forming the green belt across the street from our house, an important selling point of the location Jenn and Kendra had purchased after they graduated and were married. The smell of fresh dew on the long grass filled my nostrils, a sharp contrast to the stale air of my cage. The sun, warm on my face, was a fleeting reminder of a freedom I no longer possessed. While I tried to walk as calmly as I could, enjoying the serenity of nature despite being kept in the 'heel' position on my leash, Kiki was all over the place, reveling in the raw sensations, colors, and smells the walk presented, clearly enjoying and appreciating her 'freedom'. My collar was attached to a short leash that was clipped to a belt that Kendra wore, while Kiki was on a longer retractable leash in Kiki's hand that zipped and zinged as Kiki danced. After our half hour walk, or sometimes an hour if Kendra was in a good mood and we walked around twice, we returned to the house, an unassuming green single-level surrounded by a neat yard, a stark contrast to the wild beauty of the reservoir that lay across the street. The garage dominated one side, connected by a breezeway which was not a great visual feature, but all too common in this mature subdevelopment. As we entered the front door, Kendra guided our leashes to the right, toward the garage. I sighed, not resisting as Kendra removed our muzzles and hung them by the door. Soon the leash was pulling me toward the breezeway door, a command I reluctantly followed. The breezeway door swung open, revealing an add-on room between the house and the garage which comprised the kennel, who's main feature was a stark, chain-link enclosure stretching floor to ceiling. The metallic tang of disinfectant battled with the lingering scent of soiled diapers and the musky odor of Pet Chow, creating a unique kennel aroma. The rhythmic drip...drip...drip of the automatic watering system echoed in the otherwise quiet space. Three kennel cages lined the back wall of the room, two outfitted with warm blankets and water bowls, the third used as a storage area overflowing with boxes of diapers, bags of PetChow, and the assorted paraphernalia of Pet life. Off to the side, a low diaper changing table, its shelves stuffed with diapers, the white padded plastic top surrounded by restraints that could be used when our Keepers deemed it necessary. My cage, furthest from the door, beckoned with the promise of empty hours, its chain-link walls a visible manifestation of my confinement. As we entered, the familiar, cold white tile under my paws sent a shiver through me. Kendra clipped my leash to a loop by the door, the metallic snick of the leash another small sound that chipped away at my dwindling hope. Taking Kiki's leash, she opened the pink-themed door of the second kennel, the gate creaking in protest. Kiki bounded in eagerly, turning to offer her collar for Kendra's affectionate embrace. I watched, a familiar ache growing in my chest, as Kendra showered Kiki with kisses and murmured endearments. The intensity of their Bond, a tangible warmth radiating from their intertwined bodies, was a stark contrast to the growing chill I felt creeping into my own. It had been hours since Jenn had left, hours since I had felt the reassuring warmth of her hand, inhaled the comforting scent of her skin. The memory of her morning hug, the brief pressure of her lips on my forehead, was a fading ember against the rising tide of loneliness. Taking my leash, Kendra tugged gently, her voice a jarring intrusion on my quiet yearning. "C'mon JayJay, I don't have time for this." I resisted, digging my paws into the cold tile, my gaze fixed on the closed door that led back to the house, back to Jenn, or, perhaps more accurately, back to the space where Jenn had been. "Please Ken," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears, "please can I just stay in the house today?" Even as I asked, I knew the answer. The house, empty of Jenn's presence, held no comfort, only the echoing silence of her absence. She glanced at her watch, giving the leash a sharper pull. My collar gave a warning beep. Kendra sighed. "Don't make this harder than it has to be." The collar beeped again, more insistently this time. This was a new addition to my wardrobe, an unwelcome result of having resisted Kendra a few too many times. While Jenn, as my Keeper, could get me to follow orders instantly and without question, Kendra didn't have that control over me, and had convinced Jenn to "upgrade" my collar to a model with "Positive Pet Control" after I had, in a moment of very bad judgment, dragged Kendra through the swampy area for almost a half mile before she could talk sense into me. The disappointment from Jenn, both in my behavior as well as what it meant for me, had been a sledgehammer blow to my chest as she locked my new collar around my neck. I knew what would come next. Jenn had programmed the collar to deliver a series of warning beeps and then escalating shocks if I didn't respond to the leash. While she'd assured me the shocks were "mild," I could not escape the memory of the first and only time I had really tested it on a walk, the sharp jolt ripping through my neck, my muscles contracting involuntarily as I was frozen, unable to react to the dagger stuck into me, and then I had lost bowel control. It wasn't Kendra I feared; it was the invisible hand of Jenn, her control extending even in her absence, the collar a constant reminder that my body was no longer truly my own. The metallic tang of fear flooded my mouth. One more beep, and then the searing pain would begin. I relented. With a resigned, slow walk, I made my way to the open cage door. Kendra closed the door and latched it before reaching in to release my leash, giving me a little head scratch before withdrawing her hand. "Sorry JayJay, but you know I just can't have you in the house when I'm on meetings." I nodded my head, remembering all the times I had done something stupid to try to get her attention. At this point, the options were my crate in the bedroom or the kennel, and this was, despite everything, a far better option, even if the faint odor of disinfectant clinging to the concrete floor was a sterile contrast to the warmth of Jenn's scent that lingered in our bedroom. In this cage, my cage, I had a 5 by 10 foot area to roam in, with blankets and pillows, my PetTech tablet, and access to the fenced area just outside through the Pet door at the back. "It's okay, JayJay, Jenn will be back tonight." I nodded, the intellectual fact conflicting with the gap in my heart as I gave an involuntarily animalistic keene. Kendra stood up, regarding me for a moment as her hand lingered on the closed kennel door, and I could see that she felt my pain, even if she couldn't resolve it. With a sigh she went back to the door to Kiki's cage, and with what sounded like forced cheerfulness gave her usual, "See you soon, my Pet!", to which Kiki, looking up from her tablet momentarily, gave a happy, "See you soon, my Keeper!" before returning to whatever she was watching. I lay down, putting my head on a pillow, and sulked. As the hours ticked by, I found myself drifting in and out of a restless sleep. The kennel, while comfortable enough, was a poor substitute for the warmth of Jenn's presence. My mind wandered, replaying memories of our time together her gentle touch, her reassuring voice, the safety I felt in her arms. I tried to distract myself with a movie on my PetTech tablet, but even the wilderness scenes of "Into the Wild" couldn't drown out the yearning for my own lost freedom, the longing for Jenn's touch. I shut it off, the silence amplifying the metallic click of Kiki's cage door as Kendra entered, lavishing her Pet with affection before returning to the house. Their bond, so different from mine and Jenn's, was a constant reminder of what I craved - that constant, unquestioning acceptance of Keeper-hood and Pet-hood, that complete immersion in the warmth of a shared connection. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at their constant companionship as I watched through the chain link cage of my kennel. As afternoon bled into evening, I found myself pacing by the kennel door, my mitted hand resting on the cold metal near the latch, as if willing Jenn's touch to appear on the other side. Every sound a car passing, the rustle of leaves in the wind sent a surge of anticipation through me, only to be followed by the sinking disappointment of her continued absence. Finally, I heard it the crunch of gravel, the slam of a car door. My heart hammered against my ribs, every nerve ending on high alert. Footsteps. The front door opening. And then, Jenn's voice, "I'm home!" I couldn't contain my excitement, my Pet side fully taking over as happy whines and yells for Jenn's attention escaped my throat as I pawed at the kennel door, trying to open it despite myself, my diaper growing even warmer in my excitement. Kiki's enthusiastic calls for attention joined mine, creating a cacophony of Pet greetings. Moments later, Jenn appeared in the doorway of the kennel room, her face lighting up as she saw me. "Hey there, JayJay," she cooed, kneeling down to unlock my cage. "Did you miss me?" As soon as the door opened, I launched myself into her arms, nuzzling against her neck and breathing in her scent. The Bond hummed between us, a tangible current of love and belonging that washed away the loneliness of the day and I buried myself in her scent, her body, her everything. I fuzzed out briefly in my emotional state, though only for a few seconds, as I reconnected with my Keeper. Jenn laughed, running her fingers through my hair. "I missed you too, sweetie," she murmured, planting a kiss on my forehead. "Let's get you out of this diaper and cleaned up, okay?" I nodded eagerly, following over to the changing table in the corner of the kennel room on all fours, my mitts making soft padding sounds on the floor. As we passed Kiki's cage, I saw Kendra already there, cuddling her Pet and cooing softly. On my back laying on the white plastic padded table, Jenn gently cleaned me up, her touch soothing and familiar. As she fastened a fresh diaper around my hips, she chatted about her day, filling me in on the mundane details of her work life. I listened intently, soaking in every word, every gesture. "There we go, all fresh and clean," Jenn said, helping me to my feet. Well, my knees, anyway. She paused, studying my face. "You okay, JayJay? You seem a little down today." I hesitated, unsure how to express the complex swirl of emotions I'd been grappling with. The Bond made it difficult to articulate the immense feelings I felt sometimes, simplifying them into more basic needs and desires. But Jenn, patient as always, waited for me to find the words. "I... I missed you," I finally managed. "It's hard, sometimes, being here without you. Spending all day in the kennel." Jenn's face softened with understanding. She pulled me into a tight hug, her hand cradling the back of my head. "Oh, sweetie. I know it's not easy. But you know I always come back to you, right? You're my Pet, my JayJay. Nothing will ever change that." I nodded against her shoulder, feeling the tension in my body start to ease. This was what I needed her reassurance, her love, the security of knowing I belonged to her. This time, when she arrived home, was for me. I knew that later she would need to spend more time with Kendra, but for now, this moment, she was mine, and more importantly, I was hers. As we made our way to the living room, where Kendra and Kiki were already settled on the couch, I felt a renewed sense of contentment. The day's loneliness faded, replaced by the warmth of family and the comfort of routine. Yet, as I curled up at Jenn's feet while she and Kendra discussed dinner plans, a small part of me wondered was this enough? Was the joy of these moments worth the hours of separation, the loss of independence? I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the gentle scratch of Jenn's fingers behind my ears. For now, at least, I was home. I was loved. And that, I told myself, was all that mattered. At least, that's what I told myself, as the familiar jingle of my registration tags echoed in the quiet room. Chapter 2: The Birth of a PetFluencer The kennel room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of movement from Kiki across from me. I lay on my cushion, idly flipping through my PetTech tablet, the specialized Pet-OS a constant reminder of my limited world. The "SafeBrowse" filter meant there were no news sites, and the only social media allowed was heavily curated and censored, a bland digital landscape designed to keep us Pets entertained but not informed. I sighed, a wave of familiar emptiness washing over me. It had been hours since Jenn left for work, and the ache in my chest, a constant companion during these long days, intensified. I knew, intellectually, that it was the Bond pulling at me, simplifying my desires into a primal need for her presence, her touch. But knowing the why didn't make the weight any easier to bear. Across from me, Kiki giggled, her eyes glued to her own PetTech tablet. Her giggles were infectious, echoing in the otherwise sterile space. She was watching PetTok, a seemingly endless stream of short videos featuring Pets performing tricks, trying on ridiculous outfits, or reacting with exaggerated enthusiasm to the most mundane things. Curiosity and the desperate need for some kind of distraction got the better of me. "Hey Kiki, what are you watching?" Kiki looked up, her eyes bright. "Oh, JayJay! It's PetTok! Want to see?" I hesitated, a familiar wave of cynicism rising. My pre-Bond self would have scoffed at such inanity, but my Pet brain, craving even the most basic interaction after days and weeks and months of boredom urged me forward. "Sure, why not?" Kiki scooted closer to me, the fine metal mesh between us an addition as a result of Kiki and I trying to do, well, the kinds of things bored Pets try to do through the original chain link. She angled her tablet so I could see. The screen was a kaleidoscope of color and movement, a sensory overload that would have given my pre-Bond self a headache. One video featured a Pet in a frilly tutu attempting to pirouette, another showcased a Pet with a thick diaper attempting to sing along to an 80's hair band power ballad, hitting notes that could shatter glass. Another showed a Pet, muzzled and pawed, attempting to sneak into their Keeper's underwear drawer. "Isn't it great?" Kiki gushed, her tail wagging metaphorically. "Look at this one! It's a Pet teaching other Pets how to beg for treats!" The video featured a young man, clearly a Pet judging from his diaper and mitts, grinning maniacally as he demonstrated a variety of begging techniques, each more exaggerated and humiliating than the last. He groveled, he whined, he even rolled over and played dead. The comments section was overflowing with emojis of hearts, clapping hands, and laughing faces. "That's... something," I muttered, unable to completely mask the sarcasm in my voice. Kiki, oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm, continued scrolling, her giggles a jarring counterpoint to the gnawing emptiness in my own chest. If these brain-dead videos can get millions of views, I thought, imagine what would happen if someone with a little more... edge... got involved. An idea started to form, a mischievous spark in the dull ache of my afternoon. Later that evening, after Jenn had returned and we were settled in the kitchen with our dinner bowls, I felt the familiar warmth of her presence soothe the emptiness. She was preparing dinner, and Kendra had retreated to her office, leaving Kiki and me to our own devices - literally. "Hey, Kiki, watch this!" I activated my tablet with a tap of my mitted paw. "Riri, open PetTok. And start recording." "Opening... Pet... Talk Recording." Riri, the tablet's voice assistant, was a little slow on the uptake sometimes, especially with my clumsy paw-taps. "It's PetTok, Riri," I corrected, trying to enunciate clearly. "Pet. Tok." "Opening... Pat... Tick. Application not found." I sighed. "Never mind." I used my mitted hands to awkwardly navigate the simple structure of the tablet, finding the video recording app and starting it before I used my mouth to position it precariously on a chair. Entering the field of view, I gestured dramatically toward Kiki, who was happily munching on her after-dinner PetSnax. "I'm going to show you how to train your Keeper to give you more PetSnax." Kiki, a PetSnax pellet still lodged in her cheek, looked up, her brow furrowed. "Watch what, JayJay?" Her voice was muffled by the lingering treat. I struck a pose I'd seen countless times on PetTok, my inner voice cringing at the over-the-top theatrics, but knowing that exaggeration was the key to success in this world. "Hey all you Pets out there! Is your Keeper stingy with the PetSnax? Do they make you perform endless, humiliating tricks for just a taste of that sweet, sweet goodness? Well, no more! JayJay's here with some pro tips on how to maximize your treat intake!" I gestured dramatically towards Kiki, speaking in a voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Exhibit A: The Desperate Pet. Observe her pathetic attempts to gain the attention of her Keeper. Note the pleading eyes, the submissive posture, the barely contained drool." Kiki, completely oblivious to my sarcasm, puffed out her chest, preening under my attention. "Now, here's the secret. Keepers, despite their delusions of control, are easily manipulated. They crave our affection, our obedience, our... well, let's just say they like it when we act like good little Pets. So, here's the play. First, the setup." I winked at Kiki, who, bless her heart, actually winked back. "Give them the big puppy-dog eyes. Whine a little. Make them feel needed." Kiki, ever the eager student, put on her most pathetic expression, whimpering softly. I almost choked on my own laughter. "Now, for the kill. Perform a simple trick. Nothing too impressive, mind you. You don't want to raise their expectations too much. A simple 'sit' will usually suffice." Kiki, with surprising speed, sat down with a thud, her diaper crinkling loudly. I gestured wildly. "And there it is, folks! The magic moment! The Keeper, overwhelmed by our cuteness and obedience, is compelled to reward us with that sweet, sweet nectar of the Pet gods PetSnax!" Kendra, drawn by the commotion, appeared in the doorway, a bemused smile on her face. Her eyes flicked to my tablet, but she didn't comment. "What are you two up to?" I ignored her, keeping my focus on my imaginary audience. "Keeper Training 101 is in session! We will teach your Keeper how to be the best Keeper they can! And if the Keeper is good, maybe the Pet will get more PetSnax! Isn't that right, Kiki?" Kiki nodded enthusiastically, her gaze fixed on Kendra. Kendra chuckled, tossing Kiki a PetSnax. "You two are ridiculous. JayJay, you're a terrible influence." "And there you have it, Pets! Pro tip number one: Keep it simple. Keep it pathetic. Keep the treats coming! Stay tuned for more of JayJay's Keeper Training Academy!" "Riri, stop recording." The screen flashed, confirming the end of the recording. I looked at Kiki, who was happily munching on her PetSnax. "Well, what do you think? Pretty good, huh?" Kiki, her mouth full, lifted her mitt, a Pet thumbs-up. I rolled my eyes, feeling a surge of both amusement and a strange sense of accomplishment. This was going to be easier than I thought. Jenn emerged from the pantry, carrying a bag of groceries. "What are you two goofs up to now?" "Just showing Kiki some new tricks," I said before casually gathering my tablet by the mouth-friendly carrying strap.. "Oh, really? Well, don't get into too much trouble." She ruffled my hair, her touch sending a familiar wave of warmth through me. "I'm going to get started on dinner. Want to help me unpack the groceries, JayJay?" I nodded eagerly, dropping my tablet and following her as she set the bags on the counter. As she unpacked cans of soup and boxes of pasta and I mostly sat there and watched, my mind raced, replaying the video, imagining the reactions, anticipating the possibilities. But a nagging doubt lingered in the back of my mind. Would Jenn approve of this? Was I pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable for a Pet? Later that night, after Jenn had tucked me into my crate her goodnight kiss lingering on my skin and the house had settled into a quiet hum, I turned on my tablet. "Riri, open video editor," I whispered. "Application Video Yodeler not found. Should I open the calculator?" "Dammit Riri. Cancel. Open. Video. Editor." "Opening video... editor." I turned the sound down to where it was just audible, hiding under a blanket to try to muffle the sound. The familiar interface popped up, and I began working on the video. It was surprisingly intuitive, even for a Pet with mitts. I'd gotten used to tapping the screen with my paws, and Riri understood most of my commands, even if she occasionally misinterpreted "crop" as "crap" or "add music" as "add mucus." I added captions, choosing a font that mimicked the cheesy style of countless PetTok videos, and then selected a bouncy, upbeat soundtrack, deliberately at odds with the cynical tone of my narration. "Riri, play back." The video played, Kiki's exaggerated begging and my sarcastic narration set to an almost offensively cheerful tune. I chuckled, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. But beneath the amusement, a knot of anxiety tightened in my chest. What would Jenn think? Would she be angry? Would other Pets understand my message, or would they see it as a betrayal? My finger hovered over the "Upload" button. Was I really going to do this? The thought of Jenn's disappointment, of the potential fallout from this small act of rebellion, sent a shiver of fear down my spine. But the urge to share my perspective, to inject a dose of reality into the saccharine world of PetTok, was too strong to resist. "Riri, upload to PetTok." "Uploading to... Pet... Talk. Application not found." "Pet. Tok. Riri, it's Pet. Tok. Upload. to. Pet. Tok." "Uploading to... PetTok." The progress bar inched forward, a visual representation of my foray into a world I never expected to be a part of. What had I just set in motion? The screen flashed "Upload Complete," and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. It was done. My cynical take on Pet life was now out there in the digital world, floating in the vast sea of data, waiting to be discovered. As I settled back onto my cushion, a wave of exhaustion washed over me, but sleep wouldn't come. Instead, my mind raced, replaying the events of the evening, a strange mix of anticipation and dread swirling within me. What would tomorrow bring? Little did I know, this was just the beginning. This seemingly insignificant act of rebellion, this cynical video uploaded in the quiet of the night, was the first step on a journey that would challenge everything I thought I knew about being a Pet, about freedom, and about myself. A journey into a world I never anticipated, a world where the lines between obedience and defiance, between contentment and longing, were about to become very, very blurry.

Hmmm. An Apple watch hack that starts by identifying when you're peeing (mic/location/etc) and provides a subtle haptic pattern... then identifies when you're about to pee, and starts moving the haptic pattern earlier... then starts giving you that haptic pattern at night... 6 months later... "So, what are you in for?" "I caused half the Apple users in the world to start wetting their beds."

Chapter 17: Highway to Hell The first frost of November coated the grass, a stark reminder that winter was closing in. I stared at the open suitcase on our bed from the hallway, half listening in to the daily standup meeting on my headset, half listening to Emily talk to her mother as she packed. Emily's cousin's wedding was a six-hour drive away, up the coast, and as much as I looked forward to celebrating with family, the journey itself was filling me with a cold sweat, my mind a jumble of excitement and dread. But it wasn't just the drive later this week that had my stomach in knots. Emily's mother would be there too. My mother-in-law, who Emily had told about my "bedwetting problem." The thought of facing her, knowing she was aware of my supposed "issue", sent a wave of anxiety through me. Yet, buried beneath that anxiety was a tiny thrill of excitement that I couldn't quite explain. "Okay, Mom, so Aunt Susan is picking you up at the airport on Friday afternoon, right?" Emily's voice echoed from our bedroom as I made my way down the hall, a mug of coffee warming my hands. "And then you're all staying at the... wait, which hotel did you book again?" "The Seabreeze Inn," her mother replied through the phone's speaker. "It's right on the beach. Lovely views, apparently. Aunt Carol and her family are staying there too." "Right, the Seabreeze," Emily repeated, making a note on a pad of paper. "Yes, dear," Linda confirmed. "We'll be there around dinnertime on Friday. Now, about Greg..." I paused in the doorway, a knot tightening in my stomach. Here it comes, I thought, bracing myself for another round of thinly veiled inquiries about my "condition." "...have you talked to him about the... arrangements? It's a pretty long drive for you, and so late at night. I wouldn't want..." "Mom, we've got it handled," Emily interrupted, her tone a mix of reassurance and a subtle warning. "That's good to hear, dear," Linda replied, but there was a hint of skepticism in her voice. "But are you sure you've thought..." "Mom, really, we..." Emily tried to cut in, but Linda continued without breaking. "...about maybe some extra protection for the car seats... and the hotel bed? Just in case." My coffee nearly came out my nose. Car seat protection? Really? I cringed, picturing myself swaddled in plastic wrap like some oversized infant. "Mom!" Emily said, her frustration growing, before she paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. I hadn't thought about the car. I'll look into that." Emily caught my eye, making a big eye roll while giving the she keeps talking...' quacking-duck hand motion. "Always happy to help, dear," Linda chirped, clearly pleased with herself. "Now, about the seating chart... Oh, and Emily," Linda added casually, "you guys are at the Cliffside, right? It's just down the road, I think." "Yes," Emily replied, sounding a bit surprised. "I thought you knew that. By the time we made reservations everything else was booked." "No problem, dear," Linda confirmed. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the seating chart..." I wandered back to my office, the weight of Linda's well-meaning but embarrassing advice settling heavily on my shoulders. Emily's casual acceptance of her mother's suggestions, though, was a small comfort. "Ugh, Mom worries too much," Emily muttered a few minutes later, tossing her phone onto the bed. She turned to me, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Come on, Greg. Lunch time road trip!" I blinked, surprised. "Road trip? Where are we going?" "Just a little shopping trip," she said with a playful wink, already grabbing her car keys and a pair of sneakers to put on in place of the slippers she had been wearing on the chilly morning. My stomach lurched. I had a feeling I knew what was coming. As much as I appreciated Emily's ministrations, dealing with the supplies was more her project than mine. But, I was looking for an excuse to get out of the house for a break, so I grabbed a jacket and followed her to the car. Fifteen minutes later we were standing in the aisle of a medical supply store, surrounded by shelves overflowing with adult diapers, bed pads, and other... necessities. The harsh fluorescent lights bounced off the shiny plastic packaging, creating a dizzying array of reflections. Emily scanned the shelves, moving us toward the Incontinence' sign. "Mom suggested some chair pads," she mused, more to herself than to me. "But disposable or reusable?" I shuffled my feet, trying to look anywhere but at the colorful packages of disposable underpads. I couldn't help my eyes lingering a little longer than probably normal on what the package advertised as booster pads - additional absorbency to augment a diaper for "light to moderate bladder leaks". Not something I needed right now, but given Emily's earlier comment I knew I needed to appear to be supportive rather than annoyed. Emily's brow furrowed in thought. "I guess reusable would make sense," she muttered. Then her eyes went wide as she glanced up. "Wait. Maybe a multi-pack then..." She grabbed a single pack of reusable chair pads and was considering it before walking down to where another bag, marked "four pack!" adorned the shelf. "You never know..." I winced. Suddenly, her gaze fell on some packages of Adult Waterproof Pants.' "Hmm," she mused, turning to me as she studied the package. "I wonder if these would help in the car too?" My cheeks burned as she turned the package over, studying the instructions and diagrams. Emily held up the package, her eyebrow arched in a playful challenge. "Come on, Greg. It's not that bad. They're just a precaution." I cleared my throat, suddenly finding myself uncharacteristically assertive. "Really? I...don't know how I feel about plastic pants," I stated, much louder and more firmly than usual, and much clearer than I thought, though based on Emily's eyebrow rising she hadn't really been taking the idea of plastic pants seriously until just now. She tilted her head, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. "Would you prefer 'adult waterproof underwear'? Because that's what these are." Emily smiled, enjoying herself and this conversation a little too much as lips rose into a full smile. I couldn't help but chuckle despite my embarrassment. "You know," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "I never thought I'd be having a serious discussion about waterproof underwear in public. Can we... not..." "It is sort of... childish, isn't it?" she said with an over-the-top innocent lilt to her voice. She lingered for a moment longer, still dangling the pants between us, before replacing them on the rack. "Still," she said as she added a large bed pad to the package of chair pads she already held, "if your diaper does leak these will make sure it won't damage anything else." "Uh, right, we should be prepared. For anything." I agreed quickly, in the hope of moving along and getting out of the store as quickly as possible. Back in the car, Emily hummed along to the radio, a stack of plastic-wrapped packages on the back seat a stark reminder of the new reality. As we pulled away from the curb, she glanced at me, her brow furrowed. "You know, this whole 'managing your needs' thing takes on a whole new dimension when we're not at home," she mused aloud. "It's like a whole different level of planning and preparation." I nodded, my stomach twisting with a familiar knot of anxiety. "Tell me about it." The thought of needing a diaper change in a public restroom, let alone at a family wedding with my mother-in-law present, sent a wave of apprehension through me. "I mean, at home, it's easy," Emily continued, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "We have our routine, our supplies. But on the road... or at a hotel... it's just so much more complicated." "And with your mom there..." I trailed off, not wanting to voice my apprehension about Linda's well-meaning but often intrusive concern. Emily sighed, her hand tightening on the steering wheel. "Don't worry about Mom. I'll handle her. I just wish she wouldn't treat you like a child." Her protective tone was a balm to my raw nerves. Over the next couple of days, a sense of nervous anticipation settled over me like a heavy blanket. The second suitcase, the one with my diapers and supplies, sat next to the suitcase with our clothes for the trip, a vivid orange reminder. I tried to keep the worry at bay, but the more I thought about wearing the diaper at the hotel, and having to face Linda, the more anxious I became. I felt like we were preparing for a covert operation, rather than a joyous family celebration. The carefully calculated inventory list of diaper supplies we'd need had taken almost as long as the packing list for clothing and gifts. Friday afternoon arrived, crisp and clear. I was finishing up the last email of the week and shutting down my laptop as I heard Emily's voice down the hall. "Hey, Greg, honey?" Emily called, her voice muffled. "Can you come here for a sec?" My stomach lurched. I had a feeling I knew what was coming. As I found Emily in Abby's room, I saw I was right. She was holding a MegaDry, its white plastic crinkling as she unfolded it in the quiet room. My cheeks flushed. "I've been thinking," she said, her tone casual but her eyes searching mine, "that it would be smart for you to wear one of these for the drive, just in case." "Em, come on," I protested, my voice a little too high-pitched. "I'll be fine. It's only a few hours." The real reason for my reluctance bubbled up inside me. "What if... what if your mom sees when we get to the hotel?" Emily's expression softened. "Oh, honey, Mom's staying at a different hotel. She won't see anything. Besides, it's a long drive, Greg. You'll be tired, and there aren't many good places to stop on the way up there. It's just a precaution." I wanted to argue, but deep down, I knew she had a point and, perhaps more importantly, had already decided. Still, I hesitated, my mind racing with thoughts of my mother-in-law and her knowing looks. "What if someone sees?" I mumbled again, embarrassment coloring my voice. Emily's expression softened. "No one will see, Greg. Now lay down." With a resigned sigh, I nodded. As Emily helped me into the diaper, her movements gentle and efficient, I couldn't help but feel how different this was, being diapered for a trip out of the house. Once I was securely encased, she handed me a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. "These will be comfortable over your diaper," she said with a smile. "And don't worry, you can't tell you're wearing anything underneath." I slipped on the sweatpants, still self-conscious about the bulk between my legs. "Are you sure it's not obvious?" Emily stepped back, giving me an appraising look. "Absolutely sure. You look perfectly normal, just comfy for a long drive." She grinned. "And maybe a little cute, but that's just for me to know." I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. Emily always knew how to put me at ease, even in the most embarrassing situations. "You know Greg, when I see how much more relaxed you are... like this..." She paused for a moment, regarding my form, the bulk of the diaper not as hidden as she might suggest, "When you're not constantly worrying about accidents..." I tried to think of something to say, but couldn't, and soon the moment passed, and we quickly moved on towards preparing to leave. As we finished packing and loaded the car, I tried to push my anxiety aside and focus on the trip ahead. The thought of seeing my mother-in-law tomorrow, knowing she was aware of my "condition," sent another wave of nervous anticipation through me. I pushed it down, something to deal with when the time came. Emily's addition of one of the chair pads to the passenger seat didn't help reduce my anxiety about what she expected during the drive. At 5 PM sharp, we pulled out of the driveway, Emily behind the wheel. As we merged onto the highway, I settled into my seat, the unfamiliar bulk between my legs a constant reminder of what lay ahead - both on this journey and at tomorrow's wedding. The first hour of the drive passed uneventfully. As the familiar landscape gave way to the open highway, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. The stress of the long workday combined with the gentle hum of the engine was lulling me to sleep, and the audiobook Emily had put on, something about how guns, germs, and steel had influenced the development of human societies, couldn't hold my interest. "Get some rest, honey," Emily said softly, noticing my drowsiness. "I'll wake you if I need anything." Exhausted from the long week of work, I decided to take her up on the offer. I reclined my seat and closed my eyes, drifting off to the rhythm of the road and the drone of the narrator. As I slipped into sleep, the last thing I noticed was the comforting pressure of the diaper around my waist, a strange yet familiar embrace. It was only about two hours later when I woke with a start, my bladder urgently demanding attention. Blinking groggily, I looked around, trying to get my bearings. "Where are we?" I asked, my voice thick with sleep. Emily glanced over at me. "Middle of nowhere. You okay?" I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "I, uh... I need to go." Emily's eyes scanned the map display. "I don't see any rest stops coming up. We're kind of in the middle of nowhere." I felt a wave of panic rising. "Can't we just pull over?" Emily shook her head. "Honey, it's pitch black out there. And we're on a pretty busy highway. It's not safe." Of course I knew what she was going to say next, but I still wasn't prepared for it. "This is why I put you in a diaper for this ride," she said gently. "It's okay to use it. That's what it's there for." I felt my face burning with embarrassment. "I can't just... here? In the car?" Emily smiled, reaching over to squeeze my hand. Her touch was comforting, but it couldn't distract me from the warm, bulky sensation between my legs. I shifted, feeling a surprising twinge of excitement as the wet diaper provided a warm security under my sweatpants. "It's okay, Greg. I promise. It's just us, and it's safer than trying to find a place to stop." I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. She was right, of course. But knowing that didn't make it any easier. "Okay," I whispered, more to myself than to Emily. I tried to relax, but my body seemed to have forgotten how to let go while sitting upright. After a few moments of tense silence, Emily spoke up. "Try closing your eyes," she suggested softly. "Pretend you're at home, in bed." I did as she said, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. I focused on my breathing, trying to ignore the rumble of the road beneath us and the occasional passing headlights. Slowly, I felt my muscles begin to relax. When it finally happened, it was almost anticlimactic. The warm rush of relief flooded through me, and I felt the diaper growing heavier between my legs. To my surprise, there was no leak, no uncomfortable wetness spreading across the chair pad. Just warmth of a freshly wet diaper while fully clothed. I opened my eyes to find Emily watching me, a mix of concern and pride on her face. "You okay?" she asked, her eyes flicking between me and the road. "Yeah, just..." I trailed off, unsure how to express the conflicting emotions swirling inside me. Relief warred with discomfort, shame with a perverse sense of security. "Is it uncomfortable?" Her voice was gentle, questioning. I nodded, swallowing hard, then shook my head. "Not... really. It's okay. I know we packed extras, but..." The thought of sitting in this wet diaper for hours made my stomach churn. Emily's brow furrowed. "We could stop, you know. We're only half way. Find a rest area-" "No," I cut her off, perhaps too quickly. The idea of changing in a public restroom was even worse. "I'll be fine. It's just... new, I guess." She nodded, her expression a mix of concern and something else - pride, maybe? "You're doing great, Greg. Really." Her words sent an unexpected warmth through me, separate from the physical discomfort. I leaned back, trying to focus on the passing scenery instead of the growing unease in my lower half. Four more hours. I could do this. I had to. Emily smiled, squeezing my hand that I realized she had never released. I shifted in my seat, acutely aware of the warm, damp diaper between my legs. The drive stretched on, the miles blurring into an endless ribbon of asphalt under the headlights. The audiobook droned a monotonous counterpoint to the rhythmic swoosh of the tires on the wet road. I fidgeted, trying to find a position that didn't exacerbate the clammy feeling against my skin, as I used the diaper again, and then again. Emily, bless her heart, seemed oblivious, focusing on the road and her audiobook. Finally we reached our planned fuel stop as we exited the highway and started on the windy road to the coast. We pulled into the brightly lit service area at the exit, the fluorescent lights casting long, stark shadows across the nearly empty parking lot. As Emily braked and parked at a pump, she turned to me, her brow furrowed with concern. "How are you doing, honey?" She reached over, her hand resting gently on the front of my sweatpants, close to where the diaper was most... evident. Her fingers felt the plastic diaper and her eyes widened slightly. "Oh, Greg. Your diaper is really wet." My cheeks burned with shame. "I... I didn't realize it was that much," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "It's okay," she said softly, her thumb gently stroking my leg. "We can change you now, inside..." A wave of panic washed over me. Changing in a public restroom, even a relatively empty one like this, felt impossible. "I... I can wait," I stammered, dreading the thought of fumbling with tapes and plastic in a cramped, brightly lit stall. "Just until we get to the hotel." Emily considered this, her eyes scanning the rest stop building. "I don't know, Greg. It's still a couple of hours. But these restrooms... well, they're not exactly known for their cleanliness. It might be more comfortable to just wait." I watched as Emily walked towards the restroom after starting the pump, her silhouette disappearing into the brightly lit doorway. The juxtaposition of our situations hit me with a painful irony. Here I was, a grown man, sitting in a wet diaper, while Emily headed off to use the restroom without a care in the world. I sat there, alone in the car, the damp bulk between my legs a constant reminder of my vulnerability. The smell of urine, faint but undeniable, mingled with the stale air of the car, creating a cloying, uncomfortable scent. The crinkling plastic of the diaper seemed to amplify every movement, every rustle of my clothes. It was humiliating, emasculating, and yet... a part of me, a part I still struggled to understand, found a strange comfort in my helplessness. Finally, the restroom door opened, and Emily emerged, her face fresh and relaxed. She gave me a small smile. "All set?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with a mix of tenderness and amusement. "As I'll ever be," I replied, trying to inject some humor into my voice, but it came out sounding strained and flat. As we pulled back onto the dark road, the hum of the engine and the drone of the audiobook couldn't drown out the rustle of the wet diaper against the car seat. The minutes stretched into an eternity, each tick of the clock a small torture. I fidgeted, trying to find a position that offered even a modicum of comfort, but it was no use. The damp diaper clung to my skin, a heavy, uncomfortable presence. Emily reached over and squeezed my hand. "We're almost there, honey," she said, her voice soft. "Just hang in there." I nodded, closing my eyes, and let the darkness of the highway lull me into a restless, uncomfortable sleep, dreaming of dry sheets and clean clothes. The weight of the diaper, the constant reminder of my dependence on Emily, was a burden I carried not just in my pants, but deep within my heart. -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Chapter 16: The Restaurant At the End of the Universe The warm glow of Luigi's familiar neon sign washed over us as Emily and I stepped out of the car. The familiar red-and-white checkered tablecloths, a little worn at the edges, brought a pang of nostalgia as the aroma of garlic and tomato sauce wafted through the air. It had been months since we'd last seen our friends, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and anxiety as we approached the entrance. "Ready for this?" Emily asked, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. I nodded, forcing a smile. "As I'll ever be." As we entered the restaurant, the cacophony of clinking glasses and animated conversations enveloped us. I scanned the room, my eyes finally landing on Kevin's unmistakable mop of curly hair. He spotted us at the same moment, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Well, look what the cat dragged in!" Kevin's booming voice carried across the restaurant as he stood to greet us. "Where have you two been hiding?" We exchanged hugs and pleasantries, the familiar ritual easing some of my tension. As we settled into our seats, Diane leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Nice to see you both looking so well," she said, her voice warm. "How are you doing? How’s the job hunt going?" she immediately asked Emily, her tone laced with genuine concern. Emily sighed, swirling the ice in her water glass. "It’s been… an adjustment. Honestly, the lack of a paycheck stings a bit especially with Abby in college, but Greg’s startup just secured another funding round, so we’re managing. How is it at the office?" Diane rolled her eyes. “It’s been a mess ever since we lost Morgan-Grahm. You and Tim were just the first. The partners have let almost half the staff go over the last few months.” She paused. “I’m not sure if I’ll be next. It’s not helping the stress around the house.” Her eyes dropped. “I don’t think we could manage on Kevin’s salary alone.” Emily nodded in sympathy, her gaze drifting to a family with young children at the next table. "Well, between you and me," she leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice, "part of me is almost… reliev…” “Hey, where’s the waiter,” Kevin interjected, “I think we need a drink for this conversation!” Emily’s eyes narrowed as she spoke to Diane, ignoring Kevin’s interruption. “I know it sounds crazy, but I spent so many late nights at the office, so many weekends catching up, that I missed out on so much with Abby growing up. School plays, volleyball games… you name it. Now I have the time, but she’s off at college." Diane’s expression softened. "I know what you mean," she said. "It goes by so fast. One minute they’re learning to walk, and the next they’re packing their bags for college." She smiled, a touch wistful. "I always admired how driven you were, Emily. You were such a force at the firm. And then, with the layoffs… it seemed like such a waste." A flicker of something - regret? Defensiveness? - crossed Emily’s face. "I thought you were crazy, Diane," she said, her voice a little sharper than intended. "Leaving work early, taking days off… I thought you were throwing your career away." She paused, taking a long sip of her water. "Now… now I’m not so sure. Now I’m finally getting time to volunteer at the library, helping some small non-profits get their books in order. It’s… different. More rewarding, I guess." Kevin, who had been mostly ignoring the conversation after Emily had ignored him, piped up, "That’s the spirit! Gotta stay busy, right? Nothing worse than an empty nest and nothing to fill it. Idle hands… and all that." He chuckled, oblivious to the weight of Emily’s words. "Where is that waiter? And what’s new with you, Greg?" Emily opened her mouth to respond, but I quickly interjected, "Nothing too exciting. Just the usual empty nest stuff. How about you guys? How's Nico doing?" The mention of their teenage son cast a shadow over the table, the lively chatter of the restaurant suddenly feeling distant, muffled. Diane hesitated, her smile fading as she exchanged a look with Kevin. Her gaze dropped to her lap. "Actually," she began, her voice hesitant, "We've been having... some challenges with Nico lately. He's been struggling with... bedwetting. Again." The air around us grew heavy. I felt a wave of empathy for Diane, a painful recognition of the shame and frustration in her eyes. I almost checked the bottom of my shoe for the pile of poop I was sure I’d just stepped in. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Emily said, her voice soft and full of compassion. She reached out, her hand resting on Diane's arm in a gesture of comfort. "It's more common than people think, you know? Even at his age. It can be so hard on them." Kevin shifted in his seat, his expression a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. "Look, Diane, I'm sure he'll grow out of it," he said, his voice dismissive. "It's probably just stress. Teenagers, you know?" Diane's eyes narrowed, a flash of anger in their depths. "It's not just stress, Kevin. It's affecting his life, his self-esteem. He's withdrawn, he doesn't want to go out with his friends..." Her voice cracked. "He's miserable." She fiddled with her napkin, her gaze darting around the bustling restaurant, as if searching for an escape route. “Kevin rolled his eyes. “Teenagers, am I right?” he muttered, reaching for the bread sticks. "It's annoying, but at least he's finally bringing Diane out of the dumps, with all this caring and worry." He looked pointedly at Emily. "Boys will be boys, right? Besides, what’s the big deal? He’ll grow out of it." Emily’s smile tightened, becoming more of a grimace. “It’s not always that simple, Kevin,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “And I'm not sure that's an appropriate way to talk about it." Kevin scowled, but before he could respond, Diane turned to me, her eyes pleading. "Greg, you understand, don't you? You’ve… You've been there for Abby, right? You know how hard it can be." She fidgeted with her napkin, her gaze darting nervously around the restaurant. My breath hitched in my throat. Kevin's dismissive attitude towards Nico's struggle had struck a raw nerve, triggering a wave of guilt and shame. "I... yes, I do," I stammered, avoiding Kevin's gaze. "It's... it's not easy. But there are... ways to manage it. And... it doesn't have to define you." My words felt hollow, a betrayal of both Abby and Nico. Diane offered a weak smile. "Thank you, Greg. That means a lot." The rest of the dinner was strained, the conversation stilted and forced. Kevin, clearly annoyed by the turn of events, barely spoke. Emily and Diane, united in their shared concern, talked quietly about potential solutions and support groups. I sat there, caught in the middle, the weight of my own deception pressing down on me. As our entrees arrived, the rich aroma of garlic and herbs filling the air contrasted with the tone of the conversation, Emily raised her glass. "Cheers," Emily said, her voice a touch too sharp, her gaze fixed on Kevin. "Let's hope we all find... solutions... to our problems." Her words, laced with a subtle barb, hung in the air, and I could feel the tension crackle between them. "And to not having to change diapers...someday!" Diana added, an awkward attempt to lighten the mood that earned an almost-hidden cringe from Emily. We clinked glasses. As I took a sip of my wine, I caught Emily's eye. Her look betrayed her burden, her effort to support Nico and Diane, while not betraying Abby. Or me. As we bid farewell to Kevin and Diane, the tension from our dinner conversation lingered in the air. Emily and I walked to our car in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Once inside, Emily turned to me, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. "You okay, honey?" she asked, her voice soft. "That was... a lot." I nodded, unable to meet her gaze. "I’m okay," I lied, but the weight of the evening pressed heavily on my mind. Emily reached over, squeezing my knee. "Greg, honey, you know I would never expose you like that. It's all between us. I understand why you don't want to talk to Kevin about it, even if it would help Nico." She paused. "It's hard, isn't it? Feeling like you have to hide a part of yourself, like you have to pretend to be someone you're not." I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. "I know. It's just... hearing Kevin and Diane talk about Nico, it made me realize how easily this could become public knowledge if we're not careful." Emily was quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "You're right," she said finally. "If this continues, if you keep needing diapers, people will probably start to notice or ask questions. Be careful, Greg," she murmured, her voice low, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. "These things... have a way of unraveling." The street lights flickered past, casting fleeting shadows across her face, making her expression unreadable. As we pulled into our driveway, the soft glow of our porch light welcoming us home, I felt a complex mix of emotions swirling within me. There was gratitude for Emily's unwavering support, anxiety about the potential for my secret to be discovered, and a strange sense of connection to Nico and others who might be dealing with similar issues. As we walked hand-in-hand towards the house, Emily's warmth a stark contrast to the chill that had settled over me, Kevin's dismissive words echoed in my ears, a mocking reminder of the precariousness of my own carefully constructed facade. How long could I keep this up? How long before the weight of my secret crushed me, burying me beneath the rubble of my own deception? I couldn't help but chuckle softly. "What's so funny?" Emily asked, tilting her head curiously. "Just thinking," I replied, a wry smile playing on my lips. "Life sure has a way of throwing curveballs, doesn't it? Who would have thought a simple dinner with friends could feel like such an adventure?" Emily laughed, the sound warm and comforting in the quiet night. "Welcome to our new normal, honey. I have a feeling it's going to be quite the ride." She leaned down to give me a quick kiss and held my face, saying lightly, "Now then, let's get you into a diaper." -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.