justforfun

You should be a straight man in a comedy act, setting up the next few chapters like that. Not all your questions really get answered, but I think that you'll be happier soon. The whole story (40+chapters) is written and done, so there's not an easy way to really change things... at least not within the level of effort that I want to put in for what is really just a labor of love... Thanks, very much appreciate the feedback from everyone! As far as the timeline, I think the '3 months' dialog was the biggest problem. When the chapter go re-arranged I didn't update it. I'm going to go with, "Emily was exaggerating to her mother." Approximate timelines: Chapter 1: Late July / early August Chapter 2: Late August (college move) Chapter 3: Late August to late Sept (Falling Down) Chapter 4-9: End of Sept (First Wetting) Chapter 10-12: First half of October (Dr Visit, Pullups->Diapers) Chapter 13-16:: Second half of October (Initial normalization, initial socialization) Let's have it in a different thread. All I'll add now is this has worked for us for almost 15 years, so... *shrug*. To each their own.

Yeah, I think I messed up the timeline as I was editing. I'll have to go look at it when I have time this weekend. At the end of chapter 15 above, he's back in her bed, but it's never clear when that happens. And yes, the holidays are coming up soon. 😃

The rest of the family is out trick-or-treating. Here's a treat. Happy Halloween. Chapter 15: Soft Parade The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room floor. I glanced at the clock, a nervous flutter in my stomach. Emily was upstairs getting ready for dinner out with some friends, and I had the house to myself. For a few precious hours, at least. It had been a while since I'd had any real alone time, and I was looking forward to an evening of catching up on my favorite shows. "Alright, honey, I'm almost ready to go," Emily called out from the bedroom. "Can you come here for a second?" I made my way to the bedroom, curious about what she needed. As I entered, I noticed her holding one of my diapers. My stomach did a little flip. "Em?" My voice came out tighter than I intended. "What's the diaper for?" She closed the distance between us, her eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. "Let's get you diapered," she murmured, her voice low and husky, her fingers brushing against my waistband as she spoke, “so I don't have to worry about you while I'm out." I blinked, taken aback. "What? But it's not even dinnertime. I don't need it yet." Emily's gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. "Greg, I might be back after you go to bed. Given your history in putting a diaper on yourself, I don't think you can be trusted to do it yourself." Her words, a playful tease laced with an underlying authority, left no room for argument. My face flushed, the heat of embarrassment mixed somehow with a shiver of excitement at Emily's suggestion. The idea of wearing a diaper during the day, even just for the evening, sent a shiver down my spine. It was one thing to wear them at night, but this felt like crossing a new threshold. "Em, do you really think it's necessary? I'm not going to have an accident sitting on the couch." "Probably you won't," she agreed, her voice gentle but unwavering. "But if you fall asleep, there is a chance, and I don't want to do laundry again like the last time you tried to put your diaper on." I winced. "That was different. It was nighttime, and I was tired." Emily stepped closer, placing a hand on my arm. "Greg, you've never managed to put your own diaper on correctly. Let me help you before I go.” She guided me to the bed, her gentle pressure laying me back. I opened my mouth to protest as I felt her fingers undoing my belt, but the words caught in my throat. I knew she was right. And a part of me, a part I didn't want to acknowledge, actually liked the idea as she slipped my pants off. I couldn't help but marvel at how different this felt from our usual nighttime routine. The late afternoon sun streaming through the windows made everything feel more exposed, more real. Emily sensed my wavering and pressed on, positioning the diaper under me. "Honey, we've been over this. It's easier for both of us this way." Emily's movements were quick and efficient as she diapered me, her touch a familiar comfort despite the unusual circumstances. "There," she said, patting my hip as she finished. "All set. Now don't try to remove it, okay? Just use it if you need to. I'll change you when I get home if you're awake." I nodded, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by the situation. As Emily gathered her things and prepared to leave, she leaned down and kissed me softly. "I love you, Greg. Have a good evening, and I'll see you later." After Emily left, I stood in the quiet house, acutely aware of the thick padding between my legs. It felt strange to be wearing a diaper while fully dressed in my day clothes, the bulk causing my sweatpants to fit differently. As I moved around the house, each step was accompanied by a rustle, a constant reminder of my situation. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, Abby's name flashing on the screen. "Hey, sweetie," I answered, trying to keep my voice light, hoping she wouldn't detect the tremor of anxiety I felt. "Hey, Dad," she said, her voice unusually subdued. "Can I talk to you about something?" "Of course, honey. What's up?" I settled onto the couch, the crinkle of the diaper beneath me a sudden, unwelcome reminder of my own predicament. A long pause, then a shaky sigh. "It... it happened again last night." Another pause, then a muffled sniffle. "I just... I feel like such a failure, Dad. I'm nineteen years old. This shouldn't be happening to me." I wanted to offer words of comfort, to reassure her that she wasn't alone, that it was okay to struggle. But the words felt hollow, hypocritical, coming from a man who was currently sitting on his couch in a diaper. "Abby, listen to me," I said, trying to inject as much confidence into my voice as I could muster. "This doesn't define you. It's just a medical condition. It's more common than you think. And it's nothing to be ashamed of." "But I am ashamed, Dad," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Everyone else seems to have it all figured out. I just feel... broken." I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. I wanted to tell her about my own experience, to offer a shared sense of understanding. But I was paralyzed by the fear of exposure, of shattering the carefully constructed facade I'd built. "I know it's hard, sweetie," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But you're strong. You're resilient. And you'll get through this. Remember what your mom always says? It doesn't define you." Abby was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I know. It's just... hard." "I understand," and for the first time, the words felt like a betrayal. I was offering her comfort, guidance, while I was drowning in a sea of my own deception. Every word I spoke was a lie, a cruel irony that twisted like a knife in my gut. We talked for a while longer, me offering generic advice about stress management and relaxation techniques, all the while feeling the weight of my own deception. As we hung up, I felt a knot of guilt tighten in my stomach. I had failed her, not just as a father, but as a fellow traveler on this unexpected journey. As I passed by the full-length mirror in the hallway, my reflection stopped me in my tracks. The unmistakable bulge of the diaper beneath my sweatpants created a silhouette that was both familiar and strange. In that moment, I was catapulted back through time, to a memory I had long forgotten: I was five or six years old, standing before a similar mirror in my parents' bedroom. Rain lashed against the windows, the sound a symphony of chaos as a flash of lightning illuminated my small, frightened face in the mirror. My mother, drawn by my frightened cries, had come to my rescue. I could still feel my mother's hands, gentle and soothing, as she'd changed me out of my wet pajamas and diaper, replacing them with fresh, dry ones. I felt no shame or embarrassment. Instead, a wave of security and love washed over me, banishing the lingering tendrils of my nightmare. The scent of baby powder filled the air, a comforting aroma that I suddenly realized I still craved, even now, as a grown man. My mother's soothing voice echoed in my mind, "There you go, sweetheart. All nice and snug. No more worries now." Her words and arms had encircled me in a tight embrace, the comforting scent of her perfume mingling with the soft, sweet smell of the baby powder in my fresh diaper. In that moment, wrapped in the warmth of her care, all my fears had evaporated like morning dew on a calm sunny morning even as the sky sparked and roared outside. Blinking, I found myself back in the present, still transfixed by my reflection. To my surprise, that same feeling of security enveloped me, its intensity catching me off guard. The diaper was no longer just a necessity; it had become a tangible symbol of care and protection. I realized that Emily's attentiveness, her tender touch as she diapered me, had rekindled that long-forgotten sense of comfort from my childhood. For a fleeting moment, the guilt that had been my constant companion subsided, replaced by a profound sense of peace. I allowed myself to bask in the feeling, knowing it was transient but treasuring it all the same. With a small, wistful smile, I continued down the hallway, each step accompanied by the soft rustle of my diaper. The memory had left me feeling strangely grounded, more at ease with my current situation than I had been in weeks. I couldn't help but wonder if this was the comfort I had been seeking all along, hidden beneath layers of adult responsibilities and expectations, lacking only the sweet smell of the powder. When I finally felt the need to use the bathroom, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the white plastic of the diaper's waistband sticking up above my sweatpants, crinkling under my T-shirt. It felt strange, wrong even, to consider using it for its intended purpose. I put my hand on one of the stiff tapes, thinking to loosen it just enough that I could use the toilet. But as the pressure built, I decided to trust Emily's judgment. I took a deep breath and let go, feeling the warmth spread between my legs. It was a surreal moment, a mix of relief and shame that left me feeling vulnerable and exposed as the diaper warmed and swelled between my legs. Time passed, and I found myself growing accustomed to the feeling. By the time Emily returned home, I had dozed off on the couch, oddly content despite the unfamiliar warm bulk between my legs. "Greg?" Emily's soft voice roused me from my slumber. I blinked awake to find her smiling down at me, her expression a mix of love and something I couldn't quite identify. Pride, perhaps? "Hey," I mumbled, suddenly acutely aware of my state. "You're home." Emily's hand gently probed the front of my sweatpants, lingering on the plastic between my legs. "How was your evening, honey?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes searching my face. I felt a blush creep up my neck. "It was... different," I admitted. "But not bad." Emily's smile crept up her face. "I'm glad to hear that. Let's get you changed and comfortable." As Emily took my hand and led me to the bedroom for a change, I felt a slight discomfort that triggered another memory. The scent of the diaper reminded me of something from my childhood flashback. "Em," I started hesitantly, "I think the diaper might have chafed a little. Is there something we could use to make it rub less?" Emily paused, her expression thoughtful. "Hmm, that's a good point. We want to keep you comfortable." She tapped her chin, considering. "What about some powder? That might help reduce friction and keep you dry." I felt a flutter in my stomach at her suggestion, remembering the soft, powdery smell from my childhood memory. "Y-yeah," I agreed shyly, "that might work." Emily smiled warmly. "Alright then, let's give it a try." As she began changing me, she pulled a bottle of baby powder from the dresser. The familiar scent filled the air as she applied it gently, her touch as caring as ever. The powder's silky texture against my skin brought an unexpected wave of comfort and nostalgia. "How's that feel?" Emily asked, her voice a soft whisper, her fingers gently dusting the powder over my skin. I shivered involuntarily, the sensation strangely arousing. "Much better," I murmured, my voice barely audible. The warmth of her hand, the scent of the powder, the vulnerability of my position - it was all intoxicatingly familiar." While she expertly completed the change, pulling the front of the diaper between my legs and fastening the tapes across the front of the diaper, I couldn't help but reflect on how different this was from how she talked to Abby now. With our daughter, Emily was supportive but distant, offering advice and encouragement. With me, her care was hands-on, intimate, and all-encompassing. As we settled into bed, Emily's arm draped protectively over me, pulling me into her, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. My wife had found a way to balance her roles - mother, caregiver, partner - with a grace I was only beginning to fully appreciate.

I'm curious... first, I wonder why you were getting different reading based on the dampness of the diaper? My readings were not affected by the dampness, as the contacts were within the tube and not sensitive to the diaper environment? Second, I'd like to know how it went with a longer wearing? The first two days (and I only wore during the days) didn't really see many changes. It was after that where I started to see the intervals decrease. What did you use for a 'reminder' interval over time? I really am very curious about the psychology aspects here, which are definitely not my area of expertise. Is something that is a 'reminder' sufficient, or is something more 'compelling' or 'feared' required? I'm really curious what others who play with this idea observe, and what kinds of rewards/punishments/reminders/etc are effective for different folks...

I very much appreciate your comment, but we might have to agree to disagree. As someone who wears cloth diapers to bed on an every-night basis, my wife and I's analysis indicates that the cloth is quite a bit cheaper. At $3-$4 each, the disposables that I wear when traveling, or when there are visitors that would make washing and drying diapers inconvenient, are much, much more expensive than the cloth diapers. Even if you say 100 uses for a cloth diaper (which I think is very low, considering many of my diapers are several years old), it's still about $0.30 per use, or $0.60 if I use two, which I usually do. (Leakmaster day weight, Large, $28/each.) Add plastic pants, and let's call it $1/day for the cloth diapers themselves. Doing laundry every other day the diapers are just added to the normal laundry load; the machines might have a slightly larger load, but it's not like we're running extra loads of just diapers. Our washer and dryer are both about 10 years old, so even at a conservative ($600*2)/10 = $120 year burden rate for the machines, the diapers alone, even if you assume $2/day in disposables (which is not realistic), pay for themselves in four months each year. Without $3-4/day disposables, we're doing more laundry (sheets, pajamas, etc), so it's more like a 2-3 month/year payoff, and even the good disposables tend to leak fairly often, as a male side-sleeper, necessitating a full load of sheets, bedpads, and blankets. In any case, my wife (an MBA), is a firm believer in the economics of re-usable cloth, and who am I (a mere engineer) to argue with her.

Chapter 14: Permanent Waves Several days had passed since that night on the couch, each one bringing new adjustments to our routine. The diapers had become a nightly fixture, a silent reminder of our evolving dynamic. It was on one such evening that I woke with a start, momentarily disoriented. The living room was dark, the TV playing some random late-night show that had come on after the baseball game I'd been watching. Glancing at the clock on the cable box - 10:47 PM - I could hear Emily's voice drifting down from upstairs, punctuated by occasional laughter. As I made my way up the stairs, her voice grew clearer. I paused outside our bedroom door, Emily's muffled voice filtering through the wood. Curiosity, and a prickle of unease, made me press my ear against the door. "...driving me crazy, Mom," Emily's voice, tight with frustration, reached me. I strained to hear the response, but only caught a low murmur. "No, not Abby... although who knows if her 'accidents' when she was younger would have gotten worse if we hadn't, you know, helped her take charge of the situation... but I really thought he'd be better by now." A longer pause, then a sigh. "... the doctor just says it's stress, that there's nothing physically wrong with him. But it's every single night, Mom. And those MegaDry... they're so expensive." My heart thudded against my ribs. So, she was complaining to her mother about me. My ears warmed as I realized my mother-in-law knew I was wearing diapers. "I know, I know, you keep saying cloth diapers... but seriously, Mom, I can barely keep up as it is! And how would I even...?" My heart skipped a beat as a vivid memory flooded my senses. It was Christmas morning at my parents' house, the air thick with the scent of pine needles and cinnamon rolls. My younger cousin, Tommy, came toddling into the living room, a bright red fire truck emblazoned on his pajama top. But it was what was beneath the pajamas that caught my attention a thick, white cloth diaper, encased in plastic pants that peeked out from beneath his waistband, crinkling as he walked. The diaper, enormous and undeniably infantile, forced his legs apart in an awkward waddle. I remember thinking how huge it looked, how soft and pillowy, how warm, how protective. A pang of longing, sharp and unexpected, had pierced through the forced cheer of that Christmas morning. I was cold then, shivering even though I had changed from my wet pajamas after my mother had, in her infinite wisdom, decided I was too old for such "infantile" things some months ago. Tommy, oblivious to my envious gaze, waddled happily towards the tree, the crinkle of his diaper a cheerful soundtrack to my own shame-filled morning. I wondered then, as now, if the warm comfort such protection provided would be worth the jeers and heckling heaped on the wearer of such an infantile garment. Even then, I think, some part of me envied him, envied the unquestioned acceptance of his need. I imagined Linda leaning back in her chair, a knowing smile on her face as she skillfully steered the conversation. Emily's tone shifted, becoming more thoughtful. "Well... you said they worked for... well, with me... and Greg would look cute..." A nervous laugh, then a sigh. "... True, it would be cheaper in the long run. You always said I should be more environmentally conscious. But so much work!" A pause. "... Yeah, that is true, especially if this is going to be a long-term thing. It's been three months so far... what if this is just how things are now? And what if he really doesn't like them? ... True, and I bet I could get a lot of them free or used..." I pressed harder against the door, desperate to hear more, but Linda's response was lost in a jumble of indistinct sounds. "Okay, Mom," Emily's voice echoed clearly in the empty stairwell. "I'll talk to Sarah again. Maybe she knows someone who can... help me get started." Then, a change in her tone, a lowering of her voice that made my stomach clench. "...daytime, too. He's always running to the bathroom, even at home. It's like he can't hold it for more than an hour." My blood ran cold. Daytime issues. That hadn't been part of the plan. The small bladder act was supposed to be confined to the bedroom, a private performance for Emily's benefit to justify my nightime wetting. The thought of extending the charade into daylight hours, into the public sphere... it filled me with a mix of dread and a strange, unwelcome excitement. Emily continued, her voice a mix of concern and exasperation. "...It's getting ridiculous, Mom. I can barely get him out the door without him needing to stop halfway there. I feel like I'm constantly hovering, waiting for the next emergency... we may just need to be prepared, in case we can't leave in a few weeks." More muffled words from Linda, then Emily again, her voice resigned. "You're right, I should probably prepare for that possibility... maybe something discreet... Maybe Sarah knows where to get those..." I stepped back from the door, my mind racing. Cloth diapers? Daytime issues? The conversation had taken a darker turn, one I hadn't anticipated. And Linda's influence was clear, a subtle undercurrent that had shifted the narrative from nighttime accidents to the potential for full-time dependence. As I made my way back to Abby's room, my mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The guilt of my deception weighed heavily on me, yet I couldn't deny the thrill that ran through me. Annoyance that Emily was discussing such private matters with her mother. Embarrassment at the thought of Emily finding me "cute" in a puffy diaper. As I stood in front of the dresser, staring at the package of MegaDry diapers, I found myself at a crossroads. Part of me wanted to toss the diapers in the trash and never put another one on again. To march over and tell Emily the truth, consequences be damned. But another part of me, the part that had started this whole charade, whispered that I was finally getting what I'd always wanted. The care, the attention, the freedom to find comfort without judgment. The conflict tore at me, leaving me feeling both exhilarated and terrified. With a sigh, I reached for a fresh diaper. I knew I should wear one. After all, that was the whole point of this, wasn't it? But as I held the thick, white garment in my hands, I felt a surge of resentment. Towards Emily, for talking about me behind my back. Towards myself, for putting us in this situation. Towards the diaper itself, for being a symbol of both my desires and my shame. As I held the diaper in my hands, the soft, crinkly material a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within me, a childish urge to rebel surged through me. Cloth diapers? Daytime issues? Is this what I'm reduced to? A topic of hushed phone calls between Emily and her mother? The thought stung, a bitter mix of shame and resentment. If she's going to talk about me like a child, then fine. I'll act like one. The rational part of my brain screamed in protest. This was stupid, I knew. I knew this would only give her more ammunition. But the desire to assert some control, any control, to push back against the tightening grip of her care, overwhelmed my better judgment. It was a petty, childish act of defiance, and I knew it. But in that moment, I didn't care. I flung the diaper onto the bed, not with Emily's usual gentle placement, but with a careless toss that made the plastic crinkle loudly in the quiet room. See? I can do this myself. I don't need your help. The thought was a childish taunt, directed as much at myself as at Emily. As I positioned myself over it, I deliberately hiked it up way too high on my back, the waistband practically under my armpits, and twisted it slightly, ensuring it wouldn't sit properly. Take that, perfect diaper placement. I pulled the front panel loosely up between my legs, leaving one side bunched and folded, a deliberate act of sabotage. When it came time to fasten the tapes, I ignored Emily's meticulous method. The bottom tapes I slapped on haphazardly, barely catching the edge of the front waistband, creating gaping holes at my thighs. The top tapes were yanked down at odd angles, criss crossing each other, further contorting the diaper into a grotesque parody of its intended form. As I pulled one of the bottom tapes off to reposition it - because even in my rebellion, some part of me still craved the rightness of her touch - the plastic backing of the diaper ripped, a long tear mocking my half-hearted attempt at competence. The tape, its adhesive now useless against the torn plastic, dangled uselessly, a testament to my failure. The top of the diaper was ripped and so low in front that it was almost scandalous. Perfect, I thought, a bitter satisfaction twisting in my gut. A masterpiece of incompetence. It was guaranteed to leak at the slightest provocation. A wave of self-sabotage, a desperate attempt to reclaim some sense of agency in this increasingly controlled life, washed over me. I knew, with a certainty that both terrified and exhilarated me, that this act of rebellion would have consequences. Standing up, I could feel the diaper sagging awkwardly, the absorbent core bunched uncomfortably between my legs. The three tapes that held it on were criss-crossed, the fourth dangling uselessly, a piece of the ripped plastic diaper clinging to it. The top of the diaper was ripped, and was so low in front that it was almost scandalous. It was a masterpiece of incompetence, guaranteed to leak at the slightest provocation. But as I climbed into bed, the mangled diaper a crinkling monument to my defiance, I couldn't bring myself to care. I had made a choice, however small, however self-destructive. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like my choice. A part of me wanted to take it off and do it properly, but stubbornness won out. I could still hear the faint sound of Emily's voice. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the discomfort of my poorly fitted diaper. I tried to untangle the knot of emotions in my chest. I wanted her attention, her care, her love. But I also wanted control, autonomy, a sense of self that wasn't defined by diapers. The two desires seemed to war within me, each pulling me in opposite directions, leaving me feeling torn and confused. It was a long time before sleep finally claimed me. In the early hours of the morning, I woke to the familiar pressure in my bladder. Half-asleep and disoriented, I released without thinking. The warm flood quickly overwhelmed the misaligned diaper, seeping out at the legs and waist. I woke in the morning to the acrid smell of urine and the familiar feeling of a wet and chilly bed, my hand instinctively reaching down to feel the sheets. Wet. Of course. I let out a frustrated groan, realizing my petty act of defiance had backfired spectacularly. "Shit," I muttered, the full impact of my childish decision hitting me. I lay there, miserable and wet, dreading the moment Emily would discover what I'd done. I didn't have to wait long. Emily appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting from sleepy confusion to a look of barely concealed annoyance as she took in the obviously wet sheets. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and I braced myself for the inevitable lecture. But instead, she simply shook her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Another leak?" she asked, though we both knew the answer. I nodded, shame burning my cheeks. "I'm... I'm sorry about the mess," I mumbled, unable to meet her eyes. She crossed the room, her hand reaching out to gently touch my arm. "It's okay, Greg," she said, her voice laced with a tenderness that made my chest ache. "I'm just... well, these diapers had been working so well. Let's get you cleaned up." I could feel her gaze on me as I pulled the soaked pajamas away, revealing the disastrous state of the diaper. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of her soft, even breathing. I felt a wave of shame wash over me as I looked down, unable to meet Emily's gaze. "I... I tried to put it on myself last night," I mumbled. Emily was quiet for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "Well, maybe it wasn't the diaper's fault?" Her tone was gentle, amused. Emily's face softened as she took in the scene, her expression shifting from annoyance to something... else. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of her lips before she smoothed it into a look of gentle concern. But her eyes... her eyes held a spark of something I couldn't quite decipher. "Oh, Greg," she sighed, her voice a mix of exasperation and tenderness. "What are we going to do with you?" She didn't wait for an answer. Her hand reached out, lifting the ripped tape of the mangled diaper. "Well," she said, her voice soft but firm, "I guess this settles it, doesn't it? I know you want to do this yourself, to be independent," she continued, her voice soft but firm, "But... I think we need to reconsider things." she continued, her gaze holding mine. I stayed silent, not sure where this was going. "You know," Emily said after a moment, her voice thoughtful, "this reminds me of something that happened with Abby." She paused, seeming to consider her words carefully. "Do you remember when she was going through her independent phase?"" I looked up, surprised. "Which of her independent phases?" I asked with a slight smile as memories of Abby's many independent phases crossed my mind. She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "When Abby had outgrown the pullups and we just had gone back to using diapers, we had a similar incident. She insisted that since she could put on her own pull-up, she could just as well manage her own diaper one night, and..." I felt a twinge of embarrassment at being compared to our often rebellious teenage daughter, but I remained silent, listening. "That incident taught me something important," Emily continued. "While being calm and supportive and letting her have some control was good, I realized I still needed to be more hands-on in making sure Abby was wearing what she was supposed to, and wearing it correctly." I felt a mix of emotions - embarrassment, gratitude, and a strange sense of relief. My mind was still on Tommy, on the comfort he seemed to exude in that diaper. "So... what are you saying?" I asked, my voice strained with the weight of my internal conflict. Emily squeezed my arm gently. "I'm saying that from now on, I'll be making sure you're properly diapered. You're not alone in this, Greg. We're in this together. It's not just about the laundry, it's about your comfort. And my peace of mind. You're going to wear what I choose, and I'll make sure it's put on properly. Understood?" Her voice left no room for argument, sending a unexpected thrill through me. I felt my cheeks flush, not just with embarrassment, but with a heat that spread lower, settling in my groin. I swallowed hard, my voice a strained whisper.. "I... I guess that makes sense." "Good," Emily said, standing up. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, and then we'll deal with the bed. And from now on, I'll make sure you're properly diapered. No arguments." As Emily's words sank in, I realized the full impact of my childish rebellion. In trying to assert some control, I had inadvertently given Emily even more reason to treat me like a child. The irony wasn't lost on me - my attempt at defiance had only served to deepen our roles in this strange dynamic. I felt a mix of regret and excitement, wondering how far down this rabbit hole we would go. So, why not dig deeper? "Emily," I started, my voice hesitant. "I... I heard you talking to your mom last night." Emily's eyes widened, and she bit her lip. "Oh, Greg," she sighed, her hand reaching out to touch my arm. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have..." "It's okay," I interrupted, forcing a casual shrug, "I just... cloth diapers? Really?" My voice was meant to convey skepticism, but even to my own ears it sounded a little too high-pitched. The thought of those bulky, infantile garments sent a shiver down my spine. But there was something about the image, the idea of being completely enveloped, that stirred a strange excitement deep within me. "It's an option," she said, her eyes locked onto mine, a questioning in their depths. "I think it's a more sustainable solution. But I'd never force you into something you're not comfortable with." "Cloth diapers?" I repeated, my voice catching in my throat. My mind kept drifting back to that Christmas morning. The memory of Tommy's bulky diaper, the way it crinkled and swayed with each step, the way his mother had grabbed him as he ran past, one hand checking his diaper while he was wrapped in a hug being kissed and cuddled, was still vivid in my mind. "Em, isn't that a bit... much? I mean, what if this... what if it's just a phase?" I forced a laugh, but the nervous fear in my voice was palpable. "I don't think we should... rush into anything. Maybe we should see how things go with the disposables for a while longer." "I understand, honey," Emily said, her voice soft, but her gaze unwavering. "But I think... I think we both know this isn't going away anytime soon." She paused, her fingers gently tracing the outline of my arm, dropping down to land on the wet soggy mess of the front of my diaper. "And honestly, Greg, I think you'd be more comfortable in cloth. They're so much more absorbent, and I can pin them to make sure they fit perfectly. No more leaks, no more discomfort." "I... I don't know, Em," I stammered, my voice betraying my uncertainty. "It's just... a big step, you know?" But even as I spoke, I couldn't shake the image of Tommy's thick cloth diaper. The memory of the comfort it seemed to provide, the security it represented, was both alluring and terrifying. A thought, unbidden and overwhelming, rose in my mind: Cloth diapers weren't a temporary solution; they meant commitment. Cloth diapers meant it was permanent. "It is." she agreed, her voice soft but firm, her eyes acknowledging the magnitude of the statement. Emily pulled me into a hug, careful to avoid the wet parts of my pajamas as she guided my head to her chest, her arms warm around my back. Her fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down my back, lingering for a moment on the damp, bunched plastic of my diaper. "We don't have to hurry on the cloth diapers, okay? And from now on, I'll make sure you're properly taken care of each night, just like I did with Abby, for as long as she needed it." As I hugged her back, my cheek against her soft breasts through her pajamas, I felt a mix of emotions swirling inside me. The guilt of my deception was a bitter pill, but the warmth of her embrace, the knowledge that she was always there for me, was intoxicating. I felt a strange, unbidden tingle in my groin, a physical response to her tenderness, that both surprised and excited me. She kissed my forehead, a tender gesture that comforted and unnerved me. We sat there for a long moment, lost in the silence of our unspoken desires. When she finally released me, I stood, the diaper falling to the floor with a soft thud. I glanced at it, then at Emily, a blush creeping up my neck. She just smiled, a knowing smile that made my heart race. "Go get cleaned up, honey," she said, her voice a husky whisper. "I'll take care of... everything else." As I headed for the shower, I couldn't help but wonder what that "everything else" entailed. And as the warm water cascaded over my skin, washing away the remnants of the night, I felt a strange sense of anticipation. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: I was on a path I couldn't turn back from, a path that led me deeper into Emily's care, into her control, into a world where my needs, my desires, were no longer mine alone. -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Chapter 13: Dial M for Movie Night As we finished clearing the dinner dishes, Emily turned to me with a smile. "Hey, how about we curl up on the couch and watch a movie tonight?" I nodded, always grateful for the chance to spend some quality time with her. "Sounds great. What did you have in mind?" Emily bit her lip, her eyes darting to the side before meeting mine. "Hey, um... before we start the movie, do you think maybe you should... you know..." She gestured vaguely towards my midsection. "What do you mean..." Emily lifted an eyebrow and I caught on. I felt my cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and indignation washing over me. "What? No, Em, come on. I'm not a child." Emily's voice was gentle but firm. "I'm just thinking ahead. What if you fall asleep?" I crossed my arms, feeling defensive. "I haven't had any daytime accidents. What if someone came over? What would they think?" Emily rolled her eyes. "Greg, it's just us tonight, and you have been having a lot of wet nights. No one else is coming over. And even if they did, they wouldn't know unless you told them. So let’s not chance it on the couch." As we argued, a vivid memory suddenly flooded back to me, transporting me to a moment from my childhood. I was about seven years old, and the excitement in our household was palpable. It was a rare treat - my father had rented a VHS tape of a popular movie, promising a special family movie night. My mother's voice rang out, clear and authoritative: "Everyone needs to be ready for bed before the movie starts. Pajamas on, teeth brushed!" Eager to comply and not miss a moment of the film, I raced to my room. I quickly changed into my favorite pajamas - soft flannel adorned with cartoon characters - and vigorously brushed my teeth. The minty taste still lingered in my mouth as I prepared to dash back to the living room. However, my mother intercepted me in the hallway. "And you," she said, pointing directly at me, "need a diaper on." My "problem" wasn't a secret in our family, but having it announced so openly stung. I caught the smug looks from my brothers, particularly my youngest brother who had recently achieved nighttime dryness. Their smirks made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. With heavy steps, I followed my mother back to the bedroom. As I sat on my bed, the crinkle of my bed echoed the crinkle of the diaper as she pulled it from the large blue box, a smiling baby on the front, proudly proclaiming "Luvs Super Baby Pants - Extra Large Size". As she lifted my feet, slid the diaper under me, and then gently let me down on the thick diaper, I felt a mix of emotions. The shame of needing this protection warred with the relief of knowing I wouldn't wake up in a cold, wet bed. She quickly did up the tapes, sealing me in. "These are getting pretty small on you," Mom said with a sigh, not really talking to me, "If you keep this up we're going to need to find something bigger." When we finally emerged from the bedroom, I was acutely aware of the diaper's presence. It felt enormous under my pajamas, and I was certain everyone could hear the telltale crinkle with each step I took. Wearing a diaper outside my bedroom was rare for me, and as I got older it became rarer and rarer, especially now that I was alone in wearing them. The walk to the living room felt like an eternity, my shame growing with each passing second. Back in the present, I shook my head, trying to dispel the memory. "Let's just wait until we go to bed. I don't want to walk around like that." Emily sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Greg, I understand this is difficult for you, but please try to work with me. It's just a precaution." We went back and forth for several minutes, my stubbornness matched only by Emily's persistence. Finally, exhausted by the argument and seeing the determination in Emily's eyes, I relented. "Fine," I grumbled, my voice laced with frustration. "I'll wear the stupid diaper. But I'm not happy about this." Emily's expression softened. "I know, honey. Thank you for understanding. Do you want me to help you put it on?" I was about to snap back with a sarcastic remark, but something in her tone made me pause. There was no judgment in her voice, only care, and the reality was that she had been helping me put it on every night so far, so it wasn't exactly a new thing. Reluctantly, with a sigh, I nodded. "I... I guess that would be helpful." We made our way upstairs, and Emily pulled one of the MegaDry diapers from the package. As she positioned it under me, drew it up between my legs, and adjusted the position, her movements were gentle and efficient. Emily smoothed down the front of the diaper, her touch gentle. "There we go. How's that feel, honey? Comfy? Not pinching anywhere?" "It's fine," I admitted, my voice softer now. "Thanks, Em. I'm sorry for being so difficult about this." Emily stood up and gave me a hug. She handed me my pajama bottoms and I slipped them on before heading back downstairs, the noise of my diaper barely dampened by the pajamas over it. As we walked, I couldn't help but feel self-conscious. "Em," I said quietly, "do you think it's... noticeable?" Emily glanced at me, her eyes scanning my appearance. "Eh, not really. The pajamas hide it well. No one would know unless they were looking for it." Her words provided some comfort, but I still felt exposed as we made our way to the living room. The bulk between my legs was a constant reminder of my situation, and I found myself walking a bit awkwardly, trying to minimize the sound and movement. We settled onto the couch, Emily snuggling up against me. The thick diaper between my legs was a constant presence, but as Emily started the movie and rested her head on my shoulder, I found myself focusing more on the warmth of her body and the comfort of our closeness. "Do you mind if we watch this?" she asked, gesturing to the TV where she had queued up a movie. I didn't even look, it didn't matter right now. "Sure, sounds good, honey." A movie started, a RomCom that she had been talking about. I tried to focus on the movie, but my mind kept wandering. As I shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable with the bulky diaper between my legs, Emily gently guided my head to her lap. I felt Emily's fingers running through my hair, her touch soothing and familiar. I felt my eyelids growing heavy as the movie's dialogue faded into background noise. The warm thud-thud of her heartbeat and the soft, secure feeling of the diaper combined to create a cocoon of comfort that I hadn't realized I'd been craving. As I dozed, my mind wandered through the events of the past few weeks. I was surprised by how quickly things had escalated, from my initial "accident" to now wearing diapers regularly. Part of me felt guilty for the deception, for allowing Emily to believe this was a medical issue rather than... well, whatever it actually was. But another part of me reveled in the care and attention. Emily had been so accepting of my situation. She seemed to be taking my supposed accidents in stride, even if she was going a bit overboard in protecting herself from being peed on. Which, of course, meant that she had actually insisted on the diaper I currently wore. It was a strange turn of events, but one that was allowing me to explore that deep-rooted feeling I'd buried for so long. And I was doing it without facing the disgust she had shown years ago when I'd mentioned wearing a diaper by choice. It was a convoluted path, but somehow, it was working. I knew I'd have to come clean eventually. The guilt of my deception nagged at me, even as I reveled in the comfort and care Emily was providing. But for now, as sleep began to claim me, I allowed myself to simply enjoy the moment. The gentle rise and fall of Emily's breathing, her fingers still absently running through my hair, and the snug embrace of the diaper all combined to lull me into a peaceful slumber. At some point, the movie over, Emily roused me gently and helped me upstairs. I went sleepily into Abby's room and lay on the bed. Emily's hand moved across my midsection, her fingers tracing the outline of the diaper. I kept my eyes closed, torn between embarrassment and an unexpected comfort. The gentle pressure as she checked for wetness sent a shiver through me. It was oddly reminiscent of how she used to check on Abby, and I found myself longing for that same care and attention.. As Emily's fingers carefully prodded and assessed the diaper's state, memories of her caring for Abby flooded my mind. I recalled the tenderness in her voice as she'd ask, "Do you need a change, sweetie?" The gentleness of her touch as she'd check, always making sure Abby felt safe and cared for, never shamed. Now, feeling that same touch on me, I was struck by a confusing mix of emotions. Part of me felt infantilized, reduced to the state of a child needing their diaper to be checked on. But another part - a part I was almost afraid to acknowledge - felt deeply comforted by Emily's care. The warmth of her lap beneath my head, the soothing rhythm of her fingers in my hair, and now this intimate check - it all combined to create a cocoon of safety I hadn't realized I'd been craving. As Emily's hand retreated, apparently satisfied that the diaper was still dry, I felt a fleeting sense of loss. But then her fingers resumed their gentle stroking of my hair, and I allowed myself to sink deeper into the comfort of the moment. My last coherent thought before sleep fully claimed me was a mix of gratitude and wonder at how understanding and supportive Emily had been through all of this. Despite the awkwardness and embarrassment, I felt closer to her than I had in years. And as I drifted off, I hoped she felt the same. -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Chapter 12: Help! As I sat on the toilet doing my normal morning routine, I was a little disappointed. My internet searches weren't finding all that many reasons why an otherwise healthy forty-something guy would (re-)start wetting the bed. Sure, stress, anxiety, and alcohol might contribute, as the doctor had said, but I settled on an enlarged prostate as the symptoms I wanted to latch on to. It seemed to make sense... I was already waking up several times a night to pee, and my not-great bladder range, while not truly a problem, had always been a point of some ribbing from the seemingly iron-bladdered women in my life. So, all I needed to do was to start peeing more often during the day. Show urgency. Then perhaps an increase in night-time wettings wouldn't be completely unexpected. I had already gotten the clean bill of health from the doctors, so no one should make too big a deal of it. Everyone knows that it's something that happens when you get older, right? After dinner that evening it was time to confront the item that had been sitting on Abby's bed since Emily had run out to do some errands in the morning. The plastic packaging didn't show a happy man wearing underwear. It pictured what looked more like a baby's diaper, open to show the inner details, lacking only the wearer to fill out the picture. It was the drug-store brand, which seemed to eschew the feel-good happy-looking men and focus-group-tested euphemisms of expensive brands in favor of straight-to-the-point marketing, proudly proclaiming "ADULT DIAPERS - NIGHT ABSORBENCY" in bright white letters on the sea-foam green of the pharmacy's corporate branding scheme. I pulled one out, the thin material crinkling like tissue paper. It felt flimsy, almost... pathetic. This was supposed to be my armor, my shield against the shame of wet sheets. But holding it in my hands, I felt a surge of disappointment. This wasn't the comforting bulk, the secure embrace I remembered from my childhood. This was... nothing. On the one hand, the idea of wearing a real diaper again was definitely an exciting fantasy, but the reality of walking to the bathroom carrying a diaper that my wife had bought for my 'bedwetting' was... well, I had to admit it wasn't quite delivering the comfort I had been hoping for when I started this exercise. I walked quickly, furtively tucking the diaper under my shirt as I hoped that Emily wouldn't appear to see my walk of shame. As I tried to figure out how to put it on, I quickly realized I was in over my head. There was a single large tab on each side that needed to be unfolded and in my frustration I accidentally tore the sides. "Dammit," I groaned, louder than I'd intended. "Greg? Everything okay in there?" Emily's voice came through the door, laced with concern. My heart raced. I didn't want her to see me like this, but it didn't look like I had many options. "Not really," I admitted, hating how strained my voice sounded. "These new... things... that you got... I can't seem to get it on." "Do you need a hand, sweetie?" she asked, a playful lilt in her voice, as if she were indulging a child's game. My stomach clenched. The thought of Emily seeing me struggle with this was mortifying. But what choice did I have? "I... yeah, maybe that would be good," I finally managed to say. As Emily entered the bathroom, I felt my face burn with shame. I couldn't meet her eyes, instead focusing on the torn brief in my hands. "Oh. Wow," Emily said, looking at the pieces of the brief I held. She made a quick trip back to Abby's room to grab the bag of briefs. Pulling out a new diaper, she examined it. "These are a lot thinner than I thought they'd be. I hope they work better than the pull-ups." I nodded, still avoiding her gaze. "Yeah, me too. Maybe I could just wear a trash bag," I joked weakly, trying to lighten the mood. Emily chuckled softly. "Well, maybe. But maybe these will work better than they look. Here, let me help you with this one." I watched as Emily unfolded the diaper, her brow furrowing in concentration. She seemed just as unsure as I was, which oddly made me feel a bit better. "Okay, these tabs are kind of weird. So I think... this part goes in front?" she said, more of a question than a statement. "Your guess is as good as mine," I replied, managing a small smile. "Maybe we should've watched some YouTube tutorials first." Emily laughed, the tension in the room easing slightly. "Who knew I'd have to read the instructions on how to put a diaper on you?" As Emily tried to position the brief between my legs, her hands trembled slightly. I could tell she was nervous too, probably worried about hurting my feelings or making me uncomfortable. "You know," I said, trying to keep my voice light, "when I imagined you taking off my underwear, this isn't quite what I had in mind." Emily snorted, shaking her head. "Greg!" "What? Just trying to keep things romantic," I quipped, feeling some of my anxiety dissipate. I tried to help by holding the front and back of the diaper while Emily carefully pulled the stretchy tabs around my side and tried to get the hook-and-loop tab to adhere. Eventually it was staying up on its own. Sort of. I took a few tentative steps, and immediately felt the brief shifting uncomfortably. Emily must have noticed my grimace because she frowned, her eyes darting to my midsection. "Hmm, something's not quite right here," she mused, her fingers tracing the outline of the diaper with a touch of amusement. "Maybe we need a different... approach." I sighed, feeling the brief slowly sliding down. "Yeah, I think you're right. This isn't going to work." We stood there for a moment, the awkwardness palpable. I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated and embarrassed. "Maybe this was a bad idea. I should just" "No," Emily interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. "We can figure this out." Emily bit her lip. "I think... this would be easier with you laying down, rather than standing?" The suggestion made my cheeks burn. I stood there, trying to figure out if my embarrassment was in reaction to Emily suggesting that I lay down to be diapered like a child, or was in reaction to liking that idea? But as I felt the brief slipping further, I realized we didn't have many options. "Okay," I said quietly. "Let's try it." We made our way to Abby's bedroom, each step reminding me of how poorly the diaper fit. Emily quickly spread a towel on the bed, then looked at me expectantly. I hesitated for a moment before lying down, feeling more vulnerable than I had in years as the mattress protector crinkled under me even louder than the brief around my waist. "Well, this is dignified," I muttered, trying to mask my discomfort with humor. Emily smiled softly. "Hey, at least you don't have to worry about me dropping you like we did with Abby that one time." I couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. "Small mercies, I suppose." As Emily began adjusting the brief, I found myself staring at the ceiling, trying to detach from the situation. But her gentle touch and careful movements kept pulling me back to the present. "Okay, I think I see the problem now," Emily said, her voice taking on a more confident tone. She bit her lower lip in concentration, a habit I'd always found endearing. "Hmm... let me just... there we go." "What are you doing?" "Just adjusting the tabs. I think they need to be tighter." I winced slightly as she tugged on the tabs. "Whoa, easy there. I still need to breathe, you know." Emily chuckled, her hands pausing for a moment. "Sorry, honey. Too tight?" "No, it's fine," I assured her, settling back down. "Just... different." As Emily worked, I noticed her brow furrowing slightly. "You okay?" I asked, reaching out to touch her arm. She nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah, just... never thought I'd be doing this, you know?" Her hands stilled after a moment, resting on my hip. "There," she said finally. "I think that's much better. How does it feel?" She ran her fingers through my crotch, pulling out the leg gathers as I shivered a little at her intimate touch. I sat up slowly, surprised at how much better the brief hugged me now. "It's... actually pretty good," I admitted, standing up to test it. "Thanks for... you know, not making this even weirder than it is." I took a few experimental steps, a soft crinkling sound following my movements. Emily stepped closer, wrapping her arms around me. "Greg, you were there when I pushed a human out of my vagina, a compound broken leg, and that time you got food poisoning in Mexico. I think we're past 'weird' at this point." I laughed, pulling her closer. "Fair point. Still, I appreciate it." Emily pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting mine. "Look, Greg, I won't lie. This isn't easy for me. I never thought I'd be diapering my husband." She paused, taking a deep breath. "But after everything we went through with Abby, and knowing your history... I want to be here for you. I want you to be comfortable. So..." Emily said, stepping back a little more to look at me, her tone becoming more upbeat. "Now that we've got that sorted, what do you say we head downstairs and watch a movie? I'll even let you pick. Just promise me you won't fall asleep and leave me watching one of your sci-fi snooze-fests alone." I smiled, grateful for the return to what passed for normal these days. "Deal. How about a comedy instead?" Emily nodded, linking her arm through mine. "Perfect. Let's go, my padded prince." After our awkward but successful attempt at diapering, we headed downstairs for some much-needed normalcy. The next few nights were an exercise in frustration. Each evening, as I prepared for bed, I found myself dreading the moment I'd have to put on one of those flimsy drugstore diapers. They crinkled softly as Emily unfolded one, a sound that should have been comforting but instead filled me with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. She continued to be the one to put it on me, her hands pulling the diaper between my legs and increasingly quickly getting the tapes properly positioned and fixed in place as I lay there. The first night, I woke up dry, the flimsy diaper unused. The second night, however, was a different story. I woke in the early hours needing to pee. Deciding it was time to give the flimsy diaper a test I relaxed, a familiar warmth spreading beneath me. For a moment, I felt a surge of relief as I thought the diaper was working. But that relief quickly turned to dismay as I felt the wetness seeping through, soaking into the sheets. "Dammit," I muttered, fumbling in the dark to assess the damage. The diaper had failed spectacularly, leaving me in a puddle of my own making, a stark indication that it was no more effective than the gray pullups we had tried. As I struggled to sit up, the sodden garment sagged heavily. The fifth morning, Emily didn't even try to hide her frustration. She yanked the wet sheets from the bed, the force of her movements making the mattress protector crinkle like thunder. "This is ridiculous, Greg," she said, her voice tight. "I'm spending more time doing laundry than anything else." "Em," I started, my voice hesitant, "maybe we should look into something... more substantial?" She turned to me, her eyes tired but determined. "I've actually been doing some research," she said, reaching for her phone. "There are some medical-grade options we could try. They're quite a bit more expensive, but if they work..." As she scrolled through the options, showing me pictures and reviews, I felt a mix of emotions churning inside me. Part of me was excited at the prospect of wearing something more effective, more like I remembered from my childhood. But another part recoiled at being perceived by Emily as actually needing these infantile garments. "What do you think?" Emily asked, her finger hovering over the 'Add to Cart' button for a product called "MegaDry Overnight". "Rush Ship" was selected, the promise of dry sheets in a hurry. I swallowed hard, nodding. "If you think it'll help, let's give it a try." Three mornings later, the doorbell rang as the SMS notification dinged Emily's phone that a delivery had been made. We exchanged glances, a mix of anticipation and trepidation in our eyes. "Shall we see what the diaper fairy has brought us?" I asked, only half-joking. We made our way to the front door, where a large brown box sat innocuously on our porch. It was as if it was trying to blend in, pretending it didn't contain what we both knew it did. "Ladies and gentlemen," I announced in my best game show host voice as we carried the box inside, "it's time for 'Let's Make a Diaper Deal'! What mysteries lie within this unassuming cardboard container?" Emily rolled her eyes, but I could see the amusement dancing in them. "Alright, Bob Barker, let's see what we've got." I lifted the box cutter, slicing through the packing tape with a satisfying shhhk. Inside, nestled amongst layers of crumpled brown paper, lay the promise of... something. I reached in, my fingers brushing against the smooth, cool plastic. I lifted the package of diapers out of the box, immediately faced with the proud proclamation of "Diaper Style With Tabs!" and "Extreme Absorbency, For Even the Heaviest Control Problems." It clearly wasn't intended to be subtle. Opening the package I extracted one of the MegaDry Overnight diapers, its weight a surprise in my hands. This wasn't the flimsy, crackling ghost of the drugstore brand. This was... substance. Weight. Like holding a brick wrapped in velvet. Something flickered in my chest. I unfolded the diaper, the crinkling of the plastic loud and reassuring in the quiet room. It was thick, almost obscenely so. The quilted lining felt soft against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the scratchy, paper-thin material of the others. I ran my hand over the absorbent padding, the thick, plush layers a world away from the flimsy, almost nonexistent protection we'd tried before. This... this felt real. This felt... close. Close to the feeling, the memory, the deep-seated need that had driven me after being awakened. I held it up to the light, the white plastic gleaming like a beacon in the light of the living room. Could this be it? The key to unlocking... something? My gaze met Emily's. She was watching me, her expression unreadable. A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "Well," I said, trying for a lightness I didn't feel, "This definitely looks... absorbent." Emily nodded, examining the product closely. "I know, right? But hey, if it addresses your problem..." I agreed, though I couldn't hide my nervousness. Or was it anticipation? "Yeah, I guess. Just hope I don't waddle too much. Although, if I do, maybe I can market myself as the world's first human penguin hybrid." Emily chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, Mr. Penguin, let's save your debut for tonight. For now, why don't we put these away and grab some lunch?" As we stored the new diapers in the dresser in Abby's room, I couldn't help but feel like we were crossing a threshold. Whether it was a step forward or backward, I wasn't sure. That night, as I prepared for bed, I couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions as I went to lay down on Abby's bed. Anticipation. Trepidation. A strange, almost childlike excitement. Emily had entered to assist, as she had the previous nights with the crappy drug store briefs, and offered to help with the new diaper as she placed a towel on the bed. With me laying on the bed, Emily pulled one of the diapers from the package. She looked at me with a smile. "This time I watched Youtube. I've been studying." She stretched the diaper out and folded it lengthwise, twisting it back and forth. When she was done it seemed to have doubled in thickness. Emily's hands were surprisingly firm as she positioned the MegaDry beneath me. I lifted my hips, the mattress protector crinkling beneath me, a sound that was almost drowned out by the louder crinkle of the diaper against my skin. I felt her fingers brushing against my inner thighs as she adjusted the padding, the touch sending a shiver down my spine. The tapes ripped open with a satisfying rrrrip, each one followed by the crinkle of plastic against plastic as she secured them in place. She tugged, adjusted, smoothed, her touch both clinical and... intimate. And as I lay there, encased in the thick, comforting bulk of the MegaDry, I felt a wave of something wash over me- relief, security, and a surprising surge of... arousal. This wasn't just a diaper; it was... an experience. The diaper felt firm, supporting. It was noticeably thicker and larger than anything I'd worn before, the front up to my belly button, and well up my back. I felt the substantial bulk between my thighs, keeping my legs slightly spread. She tugged, adjusted, smoothed, her fingers lingering for a moment on the thick padding that now encased me. I could feel her through the thick diaper, her touch and pressure an almost electric current, her warm hand cupping my groin and butt as she adjusted the position one final time, making sure I was encased and secured. "How's that feel?" she asked, her voice low, her breath warm against my ear. I thought about it, sampling the feelings. "Different," trying to keep my voice steady. "It's bulkier, for sure. But also... I don't know, more secure? Like it might actually work." They certainly felt more like the feeling from my childhood. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I couldn't help it. Most importantly, maybe they were the ticket back into Emily's bed. Emily gave me an encouraging smile. "That's a good sign. Let's hope it does the trick." As I drifted off to sleep, enveloped in the thick, comforting embrace of the MegaDry, a wave of memories washed over me. I was a child again, lying in my bed as my mother put me in my night diaper. Her touch had been... perfunctory. Detached. A chore to be completed quickly, efficiently, with a minimum of fuss. Her hands had been cool, her movements brisk, almost... impatient. "There," she'd say, her voice tight, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Try to stay dry tonight, Greg." And then she'd be gone, leaving me alone in the darkness with the lingering scent of baby powder and the cold, empty feeling in my chest. But Emily... Emily's touch was different. Gentle. Caring. Almost... loving. Her fingers lingered on my skin, a warm caress against the cool plastic of the diaper. She smoothed the fabric, adjusted the tapes, her movements slow, deliberate, almost... reverent. And as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, whispering, "All done, honey. Sweet dreams," I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the diaper and everything to do with... love. Acceptance. My mind drifted to Abby, our daughter, and how differently Emily had handled her bedwetting. She had been supportive, helping her get what she needed, never making her feel ashamed. I had stood on the sidelines, especially as Abby was older, not wanting the misery I was left with as a bedwetter to infect her. Now, as an adult, the MegaDry brought back that long-forgotten feeling of security. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. More than that, it was like finding a missing piece of myself, a piece I hadn't realized had been lost. The diaper centered me, grounded me, enveloped me in a cocoon of comfort I hadn't known I craved. I fell into an easy sleep, a deep, dreamless sleep I hadn't experienced in... well, maybe ever. I woke only once, the familiar pressure in my bladder a distant hum, easily quelled by the soft, reassuring give of the diaper beneath me. I let go, the warmth spreading through the thick padding, a comforting weight against my skin. And then, back to sleep, cradled in a blissful, dreamless slumber. The next morning, I woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains, a warmth that mirrored the strange contentment that bloomed in my chest. I felt... different. Good. Damp, yes, but the bed beneath me was dry. I reached down, my fingers exploring the heavy, swollen bulk between my legs. No cold, clammy sheets. Just the soft, comforting give of the MegaDry, a warm, secure presence against my skin. It had worked. A grin stretched across my face, so wide it hurt. "Emily!" I called out, the excitement bubbling up, spilling over. "Emily, come here!" She appeared in the doorway, her face a mixture of sleep-softened concern and anticipation. "What is it? Everything okay?" "Look!" I said, throwing back the covers with a flourish, a magician revealing his greatest trick. Ta-da! A giant, wet diaper. Emily's concern melted away, replaced by a slow, knowing smile. "Oh, Greg," she murmured, her eyes sparkling. "That's... impressive." I preened under her gaze, ridiculously proud of my... accomplishment. I pulled down my pajama bottoms to fully expose the diaper, the thick, wet padding and prominent blue stripe a badge of honor. Emily's gaze lingered on the damp bulk, a flicker of something hot and unreadable in her eyes. "Amazing," she whispered, stepping closer. "You seem... very comfortable this morning." "Yeah," I said, the grin still plastered across my face. "It seems weird to be happy about wearing a wet diaper, but it's so much better than waking in wet sheets..." Emily's eyes sparkled as she reached out, her hand resting gently on the warm, damp bulk of the diaper. Her touch was hesitant at first, then more confident, her fingers probing, exploring. "Fantastic," she murmured, her voice a low rumble. "I'm so glad these seem to work for you." "Yeah," I said, the grin still plastered across my face. "It seems weird to be happy about wearing a wet diaper, but..." Emily leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. "Not weird at all," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "Let's celebrate a morning where you're wet, but I didn't have to do laundry." As she headed downstairs to start the coffee, I made my way to the bathroom, the heavy, swollen diaper giving me a distinct waddle. I caught my reflection in the mirror the unmistakable silhouette from mornings in my youth, complete with a bulging midsection. A wave of shame washed over me, a cold splash against the warm glow of contentment I'd been basking in. This was... wrong. Infantile. Pathetic. And yet... I couldn't deny the comfort, the security, the deep sense of... rightness that settled over me like a warm blanket. I glanced down at the diaper, the thick padding now a tangible symbol of Emily's care, of her unwavering support. And that's when the guilt twisted in my gut, sharp and unrelenting. I'd manipulated her, hadn't I? Used her love and concern to fulfill my own... needs. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow, a dark stain spreading through the bright joy of the morning. I loved her. And I'd lied to her. I stood there for a long moment, the weight of my deception pressing down on me, threatening to crush the fragile happiness I'd found. I was caught in a web of my own making, and as I looked at my reflection in the mirror a grown man, a husband, a father, standing there in a wet diaper I knew that I couldn't keep this up. I couldn't keep lying. I had to tell her the truth. But as I turned away from the mirror, the warmth of the diaper against my skin, the memory of Emily's touch, the knowledge that she was downstairs, waiting for me... The fear tightened its grip, whispering insidious doubts in my ear. What if she leaves you? What if this is the one thing she can't accept? The thought was a cold fist clenching around my heart, squeezing the hope, the resolve, out of me. I sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. I'd tell her. Soon. I just... needed a little more time. A little more... comfort. A little more... her. -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

When my story "The Trainer" was stolen, I spent a fair amount of time researching this, including talking to an actual copyright/IP lawyer in my state. While registration is necessary before a legal suit can be initiated, it is not in any way required to establish the fact of copyright, and registration can be done anytime in the future until the expiration of the copyright, which for a work created by an individual author is the life of the author plus 70 years. You just need to be able to 1) Prove the idea is yours and 2) Prove when it was 'fixed' (i.e., written). Both of those are quite easy, particularly when the store was written on Google Docs, for instance, although it's pretty much a "because I said so" if you do it within 5 years of first publication. Then you can actually file lawsuit papers. I'm going on about this a little both because I'm sensitive (and still pissed off) about the theft of my story, and because other writers should be educated as to what their rights and protections are when they are publishing stories on this site and others.

Yeah, I agree... so I did that. Copyright has nothing to do with the title; the copyright actually covers the original creative content of the work itself. The copyright notification does not, itself, give any legal protection; copyright protections are granted as of the "fixing" (writing) of the work and happens automatically. The copyright notification, and registration of the copyright, are entirely optional, and just serve as 'markers' to make subsequent legal claims against others using the material a little easier; they do not, themselves, establish or confer any rights. https://copyrightalliance.org/education/copyright-law-explained/

You know, I hadn't even noticed my typo! Ooops... but at least one person seemed to like the 'Empty Next' title! It was supposed to be 'Empty Nest', but 'Empty Next' is accidentally pretty good too.... Hmmmm.... which should I keep?

Thanks for the comments. I really appreciate them! Chapter 11: Physical Graffiti The crisp air of early October carried the scent of fallen leaves as Emily and I prepared dinner together. Guilt at the laundry I had been causing Emily meant that a happy face adorned the last few days on the calendar, promising a relaxed Sunday evening. Throughout the day, Emily had been dropping less and less subtle hints about some "fun time" later, keeping me on edge with anticipation. I stirred the couscous, the repetitive motion a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in my head. My gaze kept returning to Emily, drawn to the subtle sway of her hips as she moved about the kitchen. Her thin t-shirt clung to her curves, the fabric stretched taut across her breasts, her nipples visibly erect in the cool autumn air. They seemed to beckon me, a silent invitation to a dance. Each time she brushed past me – a fleeting touch of a breast against my back, the whisper of a nipple against my cheek – a jolt of electricity shot through me. Accidental touches, perhaps. But the quick glances she threw my way, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, made me wonder if she was deliberately testing the waters, gauging my reaction. I fumbled with the couscous, the simple task suddenly overwhelming. The proportions—one part couscous, two parts water—escaped me, replaced by an all-consuming focus on the tantalizing topography shaping the threadbare tapestry, mixed with a gnawing sense of inadequacy. For twenty excruciating minutes, I tried to maintain my composure. But the growing tent in my sweatpants and the saliva pooling in my mouth betrayed my aroused state. It had been a while since we'd been intimate, and a primal need was rapidly overtaking my higher brain functions. "Um, Em, what's..." I started, my voice husky with barely contained desire. Emily turned to face me, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Something you'd like?" she asked, her tone teasing and suggestive. I could only nod. Her breasts, firm and enticing, were mere inches from my face. The fabric of her shirt did nothing to conceal their perfect shape. In that moment, I was acutely aware of how lucky I was - a short, scrawny guy like me with this absolutely amazing woman. The contrast between her confidence and my own awkwardness, between her alluring curves and my own less-than-impressive physique, made me feel both grateful and strangely inadequate. "Is the couscous done?" Emily's voice a gentle reminder of the mundane task I’d abandoned. I glanced at the pot, barely registering its contents. There was, indeed, water and couscous in it. "Uh huh," I muttered, trying and failing to keep my eyes off her chest as I turned off the burner. Emily turned, a strand of hair falling across her cheek. "Do you want to help me with something?" The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. I nodded as my gaze drifted to the swell of her breasts beneath her t-shirt as she took a breath. "I’d like…" she paused, a playful glint in her eye, "…to see how something feels. Would you get one of your pull-ups on? For me?" I paused. That was not at all what I was expecting, but in my haste I simply answered, "I'll be right back." I saw Emily turning off the burner she had been using as I quickly left on the assigned quest. Stripping off my sweatpants, the cool air a shock against my skin, I fumbled with the pull-up. The soft, crinkly material felt strangely… comforting. A wave of shame washed over me, quickly followed by a thrill of anticipation. This was… different. Wrong, somehow. And yet… the thought of Emily’s hands on me, even with this childish barrier between us… I pulled the pull-up on, my heart pounding against my ribs. I paused just long enough to throw my sweatpants back on. No need to be traipsing around the house in just a pull-up, even if I didn't plan on wearing it for very long. Back in the living room, Emily patted the cushion beside her on the couch. As I sat down, she gently guided me to lie down, my head resting in her lap. She positioned one of her nipples at my mouth, her fingers toying with the waistband of my sweatpants. I looked up at her, my eyes questioning. I knew she really liked having her nipples sucked on, having extensively explored each other’s erogenous zones over years of marriage, but I looked at her with questioning eyes. This felt… surreal. The intimacy of the moment, juxtaposed with the childish pull-up I wore, created a dissonance that rattled me. "Shh..." she said. "Just relax. Let's see how this feels, OK? For me?" The warmth of her skin radiated through the thin fabric of her shirt, a brand against my lips. She gently lifted her t-shirt, setting the warm fabric on the side of my face. As she guided my head closer, the scent of her perfume, a familiar mix of vanilla and something musky, filled my senses. Then, the soft, yielding pressure of her nipple against my tongue. I suckled instinctively, the taste surprisingly sweet, a hint of saltiness clinging to the edges. I felt her breath hitch, a small tremor running through her body. I could feel the texture of her skin against my tongue, the slight bumps of her areola contrasting with the smoothness of her nipple. I felt a rush of conflicting emotions. Excitement at the prospect of this intimate act, confusion about the role of the pull-up, and a twinge of shame at the childishness of my attire. I felt her breathe in, her arm cradling my head closer, settling me into the perfect place, her other hand resting on my groin. As she rubbed me through the pullup, I followed her lead, softer and harder, as I sucked on her nipple. My hand not trapped against her body went to her breast and I gently massaged it. Already excited, it didn't take long to ramp up even more. Soon, though, I realized that Emily's gentle kneading had slowed down and become more rhythmic, and I had followed without thinking, my sucking becoming slower, deeper, more- well, more intimate. I relaxed. Her heartbeat thumped reassuringly in my ear as I rested on her chest. As I suckled, I felt Emily's breath catch. Her hand, resting on my groin, trembled slightly. Was she as affected by this as I was? Her other hand cradled my head closer, her fingers woven into my hair in a way that felt both maternal and possessive. The tension built slowly, a warm pressure coiling tighter and tighter in my core. When I finally reached my peak, it was like a wave of pleasure crashing over me, radiating from my center to the tips of my fingers and toes. I shuddered against Emily, my mouth still latched onto her breast, as the intensity of the sensation overwhelmed me. Emily held me tightly for a few minutes, rocking gently until I recovered. She kissed my forehead. "You good, babe?" she asked, her voice steady and assured. There was a new confidence in her tone, as if she'd discovered a power she hadn't known she possessed. I nodded my head, still nestled comfortably at her breast. "Dinner time?" I nodded again, resting my head on her chest. As she gently helped me sit up the scent of Emily's skin lingered on my face, a faint trace of her essence clinging to my lips. The taste of her nipple still danced on my tongue, a sweet reminder of our intimate moment. As I stood, the pull-up rustled softly, bringing me back to reality. I started towards Abby's room, intending to change, but Emily caught my hand. She pulled me into the kitchen, giving me a playful pat on the butt and a kiss on the cheek. "Leave it on for now," she whispered. "For me." As we collected the prepared food and sat down, we made small talk. At some point, though, when the smalltalk died down, I just said, "Thank you. But..." Emily smiled, knowing what I was talking about, of course. "Don't worry. I got what I needed today. It was nice." "Em, but why the pull-up during... you know?" In the post-orgasmic let-down what had happened seemed wrong. I mean, I certainly enjoyed her breasts. That wasn't a problem. But having her... do that... to me... in a pull-up... it had felt great in the moment, but now I was feeling guilt, and shame, and a host of other emotions that left me unsure if it had been worth it. I could even feel that the deeper need lurking under the surface of my consciousness had receded, not fulfilled, even repulsed, by the events. She laughed gently. "Easier cleanup! No muss, no fuss. You've got 'em, and they obviously don't work for your bed-wetting, so you might as well use them for something, right?" She paused and looked at me, a curious look on her face. "And I wanted to see if it was... something you'd like." She paused, her warm loving eyes looking into my soul. "Did you like it?" My voice caught in my throat, the words tangled with shame and confusion. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, how much I needed her, but the memory of that moment, of myself lying there in that stupid pull-up, choked the words back. "It felt good," I admitted, hating how weak my voice sounded. "But… also wrong, somehow. I felt… Like I wasn’t a man anymore. I mean, I always love being close to you. It was just... different." My eyes went to her chest. Still braless, my eyes beheld a wonderful sight. "But really I was thinking about other things..." Her smile and kiss on my cheek let me know that she appreciated the attention and, well, my fixation on her. "I’m glad you enjoyed it, Greg," Emily said, her voice soft but with an underlying current of something I couldn’t quite place. It was like she was testing me, pushing my boundaries, seeing how far she could take this. "We’ll explore this more, I promise." She stood, smoothing down her t-shirt, her nipples still clearly visible beneath the thin fabric. The sight sent a jolt through me, but the shame lingered, a heavy weight in my gut. "Em…" I began, my voice hesitant. The words "I love you" hovered on my lips, but I couldn't bring myself to say them. Not yet. Instead, I blurted out, "When can I sleep in your bed again?" Her smile faded slightly as she sat back down. "That's a good question." She was back to business. "First, we need to find something for you to wear that works and doesn't leak. I really don't want to be peed on. It's gross." I couldn't help but recall the uncomfortable sensation of waking up swaddled in wet sheets. The cold, clammy feeling against my skin, the acrid smell of urine, and the sound of the plastic mattress cover crinkling beneath me - all vivid reminders of why this conversation was necessary. Not something I'd wish on her. "But," I protested, "what if I stop wetting?" Emily sighed, her expression a mix of amusement, sympathy, and determination. "Honey, if you can't control it, how can you know when you've stopped?" The reality of my situation began to sink in. I had created a problem I couldn't easily solve without admitting my deception. "So... how do we know when something won't leak?" "I'll decide," Emily said firmly, "when you've had enough accidents in them that I'm sure you won't leak on me. I’m getting some options for better protection for you, and I’ll go with what works best." I felt my face flush hot, the blood rushing to my cheeks. The idea of wearing something more substantial, more babyish, sent a confusing mix of shame and excitement coursing through me. I imagined the thick, crinkly bulk of a real diaper hugging my hips, the soft inner lining nestled against my most intimate areas. The thought was both terrifying and strangely comforting. "Don't I get a say?" I asked, a note of desperation creeping into my voice. Emily's eyes met mine, her gaze unwavering. "Do you want to get back into my bed?" I nodded with a sigh, defeated. "Okay, sure. Please get whatever you think will work." Later that night, as I lay on the crinkly mattress in Abby's room wearing a probably pointless pullup the full weight of what I'd agreed to hit me. If I didn't have accidents, Emily wouldn't know if a solution was working. If my 'problem' didn't get worse, it might be a long time before I made it back into her bed. I groaned softly, the realization washing over me. I had dug myself into a hole, and the only way out seemed to be to dig deeper. The thought filled me with a confusing mix of dread and anticipation. Was I really willing to go that far? To potentially humiliate myself further in pursuit of this secret desire? I stared at the glowing stars on the ceiling, knowing the answer was yes. The pull of that deep-seated need was too strong to ignore, no matter the cost. I was trapped, caught between my need to be seen as a man and my desire to recapture the security and comfort of a child. And as I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if those two desires might be irreconcilable. -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

For Greg, everything that has happened is emphatically in his control. He is choosing to wet at night. He has perfect control during the day. This isn't a creeping physical issue. This is a conscious choice on his part, and in his mind he is in perfect control of the situation. The fact that Emily is overreacting to it is, of course, just because her problem-solving nature, and her experience with Abby.

Others said this already, but to reiterate: being hairless down there helps. Make sure you get those hairs in the perianal area as well, as I find those are some of the worst. Also, drink more water. Although it will make you pee more, the pee smells a lot less. In general, your diapers shouldn't really be yellow. Plastic pants over the top also help when you need to be discreet smell-wise, but they can also make it worse overall as they limit airflow. You'll have to experiment to find out what works. As far as money, cloth diapers can really help if you have the washing facilities available. They don't need to be expensive... Get and learn how to use some thin flat or prefold diapers and plastic/PUL pants, layer them to meet your needs, and wear them around the house or where discretion is not important at first. There are also cheap pockets diapers and diaper covers on Amazon, for instance. Stay away from "All in one" products (where the absorbency and the waterproof cover cannot be separated) as they make the washing and drying much harder. Even replacing your night diapers and some weekend day diapers will quickly have a positive impact on the cost. Thanks for continuing to share your journey. I've learned a lot!

Maybe it makes sense to switch those? Waking In the AM dry means there was never a need to relieve yourself, and 'all systems are nominal.' On the other hand, waking in the middle of the night to use the restroom means there was a need that is not 'normal' (depending on your age 😂), which might lead to simply wetting the bed. Anyway, for the second question I have a mix of all of those, although 10 is by far the most common.

It's also interesting to consider if this a world where other pets exist? I rather think that Pets exist along with 'normal' animal pets. Otherwise, what would the people know how to model it on? Most of the equipment being dual use (collars, leases, muzzles, cages, etc) helps explain why they would have been introduced and used already. I think that's mentioned in one of the other stories someplace? In any case, it allows for the interesting scene in the unpublished story where JayJay has taken a job as a dog walker, and has a run-in with Animal Control... So at least in that part of the world they definitely co-exist I look forward to much more of your story!!!

I dusted off an old story I had started, based on Jeff's Story, but is much, much darker. 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. But going back, I do find these Keeperverse stories are interesting because the explore many of the same themes and dynamics as the, say, Diaper Dimension universe, but through a different lens. Some people prefer one perspective, some another, But both look at what is means to give control versus take control, what it means to be an 'adult' or even 'human', and the blurred lines between 'caring for' versus 'owning'. Personally, as a (very amateur) writer I find the color gamut between 'Keeper/human' and 'Pet/animal' to be wider and more interesting to explore than between 'Amazon' and 'Little', but it also starts to get into even more uncomfortable territory, which some people find interesting and others, not so much. So, I'm glad you're putting this out there, and I hope it inspires other to complete, or start, stories in this universe!

Chapter 10: The Game Five nights. Five nights of pretending. The insistent chirping of a cricket out in the October darkness mocked my own internal struggle. Each night, I'd woken with that familiar pressure, the urge to let go, to surrender to the warmth and security I craved. But I'd resisted, trudging to the bathroom like a dutiful adult, playing the role Emily expected. Tonight, though, the pull-up felt different - less like a barrier, more like a promise. I took a deep breath, the rustle beneath my pajamas voicing a quiet invitation. Tonight, I decided, I wouldn’t resist. With a deep breath, I let go. Relief washed over me, but then the wetness spreading beneath my back brought a jolt of something more than just shame - a confusing mix of guilt and... excitement. "Shit," I muttered, the scent of urine stinging my nostrils. The pull-up, a flimsy shield against the flood, had failed. I lay there for a moment, the dampness clinging to my skin, a tangible reminder of my transgression. But as exhaustion crept back in, I pushed the guilt aside. It was Friday night. I’d had a few beers with Kevin before dinner - a fact Emily didn't know, and didn't need to know. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with the cleanup. I drifted back to sleep, the wet pull-up a strange, secret comfort against my skin. The next morning, the consequences of my actions became clear as Emily found me struggling with the washing machine. Again. I had changed into a pair of sweats, my wet pajamas and the sheets in the washer as I again tried to find the right sequence of buttons. Without saying anything, Emily pushed two buttons and the washer played its little musical ditty before starting. She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine, a flicker of something crossing her features before it was quickly masked by concern. She kissed me on the forehead and gave me a hug. I could smell the faint scent of her lavender lotion, a mix of comfort and something… more. Her hand lingering on my lower back. Her touch was gentle, but the clear intention of the check she made as her fingers traced the waistband of my pants caused my heart to skip a beat. Taking my hand, she led me to the kitchen where she had already started a pot of coffee, enough for two. The aroma filled the air, a comforting scent that did little to ease the tension I felt. Emily placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You okay?" she asked, her voice caring and calm. I nodded. Emily’s eyes met mine across the kitchen table, a mix of concern and something else I couldn’t quite place swirling in their depths. “It seems those pull-ups aren’t quite doing the trick, are they, honey?” She took a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze lingering on my face. “I’ve been looking, and there are a lot of other options out there that we can try.” I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. "I can do some more research online and order something," she offered, her gaze fixed on the coffee pot. "I've already been talking to Sarah about it, but if you want, we can take a trip back to the doctor." She looked up, her eyes meeting mine, a hint of mischief in their depths. "I'm sure she'd be happy to see you again. What do you think?" She took a sip of coffee, her gaze lingering on my face. I swallowed, my throat still dry despite the coffee. "No, I trust you, Em," I replied, eager to avoid having to see Sarah again. “Whatever you think is best." "OK." She nodded. "I'll look into it." She paused. "And honey, it's OK. I don't mind doing this for you. I just want to help get you back on track, OK?" And that was that. I felt a little relief that it was out of my hands. While I was sort of surprised that Emily was as accepting as she was of this, it was also the kind of thing that she thrived on- fixing problems. Even if I had created the problem, it was still a challenge for her to fix that could bring us back together. I poured a full cup of coffee for each of us now that the brewing had completed, and the day went on. Later that day, I sat across from Emily at our dining room table, the aroma of her homemade lasagna filling the air. Emily took a sip of her water, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of determination and compassion. "Greg," she began, her voice soft but firm, "I've been thinking. I think we need to talk about establishing some structure. Some boundaries. Like we talked about." Despite the delicious meal before me, my appetite vanished. The tension between us became palpable, a stark reminder of the elephant in the room - or rather, the wet sheets in Abby's bedroom. I winced. Boundaries. It sounded so clinical, so formal. “Boundaries?” I echoed, my throat tightening. "Greg," she began, her voice softening, “I know this isn’t easy, but I think it’s important that we're both on the same page. Guidelines to help us navigate this together?” “Guidelines, like the Pirate’s Code?” I asked, trying and failing to inject humor into a conversation that Emily was trying to keep serious. “Well, okay, rules then,” she said with a smirk she tried to suppress. Emily waited for my nod of acceptance before continuing, her voice showing her confidence. "Here's what I'm thinking. First, I want to propose that all… rules… apply to both of us, and we both have to agree on them." "Both of us?" I raised an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on my lips. “Em, I appreciate the solidarity, but I think we both know who these are really for.” Emily laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, you’re probably right,” she conceded. “But if I start sneaking extra cookies before bed, you have my full permission to lay down the law. These rules," Emily continued, "can be changed as needed, as long as we both agree. We're not locking ourselves into anything permanent here. Our needs might change, and we need to be able to adapt." "Flexible rules for a fluid situation. I can work with that," I said, finally earning a small smile from Emily. "So for the first rule." Emily said, her tone growing more serious. "We need to address your alcohol consumption." I stiffened. Now we were getting to the part I had expected. She held up a hand, her expression gentle but firm. "Hear me out, Greg. I don’t want to be your mother, but it's not hard to draw a correlation between your drinking and the bedwetting incidents. Even the doctor pointed it out. I'm not saying you have a problem, but I think limiting alcohol could really help. What if we agree to one drink per day, and no more than two drinks per week?" I wanted to argue, to point out that the alcohol wasn’t the real culprit. But the truth was, I’d been using beer as a crutch for weeks now, a way to numb the anxiety of this whole situation. “Alright,” I conceded. “One drink a day, max. Two a week. Can I have one now?" Emily smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Thank you, Greg. I know this isn't easy. And no." I squeezed back. "What's next?" I asked, bracing myself. “This one’s important,” she began her caring smile returning. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to take care of everything. The diapers, the laundry, the changes. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just… let me take care of you. Okay?” I blinked in surprise. "You'd do that? I don’t need to clean up after an accident?" “I’ll take care of the laundry, of course,” Emily said, her voice firm, but her eyes twinkling. “But if I’m the one washing your pants, I get to choose what goes in them, right?” “So… you’ll…” I thought I knew what she meant, but I wanted her to say it. “I’ll choose what diaper you wear.” Her statement was a statement of fact, not a question. I felt a surge of emotions - embarrassment, gratitude, and a touch of indignation. But as I thought about it, I had to admit it made sense. "That's... actually pretty fair," I conceded. I realized that it also made the choice of my protection her choice, so she couldn't be upset with me for wearing what she chose. I felt the opportunity for the mountain of guilt to melt away. Emily's face lit up with surprise. "Really? You're okay with that?" I shrugged, trying to appear more nonchalant than I felt. "Well, you're the one who'll be dealing with the aftermath. If this makes it easier for you, then I can live with it." Emily reached out, taking both of my hands in hers. "Thank you, Greg. “So," she said, her voice softening, "here's my last suggestion. Let's try wearing protection for two weeks after each… incident. Just to be safe. We don't want any more surprises, do we?” Her smile was tentative, seeking my approval. “Two weeks?" I protested, trying to sound indignant, but the words felt hollow even to my own ears. "It's not a punishment, Greg," she said softly. "It’s just… a precaution. Like when Abby would have a dry streak… we always thought it was over, but then…” She trailed off, her gaze distant. "I don’t want us to go back to square one, Greg. Do you?" I shook my head, a wave of guilt washing over me. I was the one who kept resetting the clock, who kept pulling us back into this world of diapers and secrets. I managed a small smile, squeezing her hands. "We're in this together, right?" "Always," she affirmed. Emily thought for a moment. "And one more thing. If we both consistently follow the rules for a month, we reward ourselves with a special date night. How does that sound?" She had thought a lot about this. A small smile crept onto my face despite my reluctance. "That... actually sounds nice. But what if I don't make it dry for a month?" "If you have an accident it doesn't break the rules, Greg. The rules are just about how we're dealing with it. If you wet, no big deal. That's why I'm going to help you find something that works. If we keep breaking the rules, though, then we sit down and have a serious discussion about why we're struggling and how we can do better," Emily said firmly. "This is about supporting each other, Greg. And sometimes, support means... accepting each other's needs, even if they're a little unconventional." I nodded, a grudging appreciation for Emily's care and determination added to the mix of emotions I already felt. "Okay, Em. You win. We'll do it your way. Although it seems like most of the penalties are for me." She smiled. "Well, the alcohol rule is for both of us. And if I start wetting the bed, you can put me in a diaper, okay?" Her statement gave me a curious little flutter down below, but I knew that would never happen, so I agreed, and had another swig of water. As we resumed eating, the mix of emotions swirled inside me. The embarrassment, though, was giving way to relief. We had a plan now, a structure. I knew the guidelines, and my hidden search for comfort was not only being allowed, it was being enabled. "So," I said, attempting to lighten the mood, "any chance the next rule involves you making this lasagna more often?" Emily laughed, the sound breaking through the last of the tension. As we resumed eating, I felt a knot of guilt tightening in my stomach. Had I gone too far? Emily’s dedication, her willingness to embrace this new reality, was touching. But I was the one pulling the strings, orchestrating this whole charade. And I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking a dangerous tightrope, one that could snap at any moment, leaving us both hurt and broken. The next morning, I found Emily’s "rules" neatly typed and posted on the refrigerator, next to a calendar marked with frowny faces for each of my “accidents.” Yesterday’s frowny face had a new annotation: "P/U Leaked." I stared at the calendar, a knot of guilt tightening in my stomach. She was so organized, so dedicated to… fixing this. And I was the one who kept breaking her system. The guilt was overwhelming, yet… a thrill of anticipation coursed through me. How far would Emily go to help me? And how far was I willing to take this? -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Great to see another story set in this universe! Looks like a good start, I'm curious to see where it goes!

I'm enjoying this story, as with all of yours.

Chapter 9: New Sensation The fluorescent lights of the grocery store buzzed overhead as Emily steered our cart toward the produce section. The scent of citrus and ripe bananas momentarily distracted me from the sterile smell of the doctor's office still lingering in my mind. I trailed behind Emily, lost in thought, grappling with the morning’s revelations. Within a week things had gone from a semi-drunken impulsive act to being a passive bystander as my wife discussed diapering options with my doctor. I followed her through the aisles as she grabbed the basics. Bread. Some steaks. Salad materials. She talked to herself under her breath, calling out brands and prices, but it flowed in one ear and out the other as I followed her with the cart. Why had I done this? Why had I wet the bed not once, not twice, but three times? I mean, who does that? Who does that on purpose? And then talk to the doctor, as if I had no idea why my bed suddenly had a yellow spot? And now it was on my permanent record, the doctor having notes that my wife was talking to him about diapers. Why would I allow myself to be in that position? I didn't want Emily to think less of me. I really didn't want Emily to leave me, even if she did seem surprisingly supportive about all this. What could I do to fix this and make her realize it was all just a mistake? A one time- no, three time- accident that surely wouldn't happen again? Why had I thought 'accidents' were a good idea at the time? And did it really only take three bedwetting episodes before she was openly talking to the doctor about diapers for me? "Greg?" Emily's voice cut through my thoughts like a lifeline. Her eyes held a mix of concern and determination as she gestured toward a towering shelf of adult diapers. "I think we should get some for you." I was standing in front of a display. A display of diapers. A display of adult diapers. A display of adult diapers with pictures of smiling people on them. The harsh lighting on the bright packages contrasted with the faint smell of baby powder as I looked around, trying to figure out how I had teleported here without realizing where I was. Emily paused, seeing that I needed a moment to re-enter reality from the far away place I had been, her gaze fixed on a towering display of diapers. Her hand gently brushed my back, a silent reassurance. "I think we should get some diapers for you." Her words were gentle yet firm, leaving no room for argument. I glanced around, half-expecting her suggestion to echo through the store like an announcement over the PA system. But it was just us, standing in front of the wall of brightly colored packages. I felt my throat tighten, the words catching in my throat. "But..." I stammered. It wasn't so much that I didn't want to be doing this, it was that I didn't want to be doing it here, now. "But..." I sputtered again. "Look, honey. " Emily's hand rested gently on my back, her voice calm and steady. "When Abby had problems we encouraged her to handle it responsibly, like an adult, right?" I nodded slowly... this wasn't an argument that I was going to win. Really, it wasn't an argument to begin with. "So which diapers do you want to try first? I know Sarah said that the store-bought options weren't very good, but until I can order something better let's see how these work for you, OK?" I looked at the options, a dizzying kaleidoscope of brightly colored packages.. The seemingly happy men, wearing gray underwear, adorned the front of the packages on the top shelves. The bottom shelves had store brands, some looking like baby diapers. Actual diapers. Like I wore when I was smaller. My eyes lingered there, but from what Emily had said about how she had handled Abby’s wetting, I was sure she’d expect me to try the pullups first. I took a package off the top of the rack and hurriedly put it in the cart. The green package said small/medium and night-something. The middle-aged guy looked confident and happy to be standing there in absorbent underwear. I wondered if he knew something that I didn’t. "So you want to try the pull-ups?" Emily turned over a package of pull-ups, scrutinizing the size guide with a critical eye. Her finger traced a line. “These might be too big,” she mused, her tone practical yet caring. She looked at the shelves, turning a few other packages over. I nervously tried to move the cart onwards, eager to get out of here, but without stopping her examination of the options she reached back and stopped the cart. She shrugged. "They didn't really work very well for Emily, and these might be too big for you, but sure, let's try them. I don't see anything smaller for adults, unless you like pink..." She looked at me, her eyebrow raised and a half-smile on her face as she held out the small-sized women's version of the package I had chosen, a smiling woman modeling the pink underwear on the pink package. "No," I said, my voice a little too sharp, my gaze avoiding hers. I felt my chest tighten, the heat creeping up my neck. Emily didn't say anything, her hand gently sliding across my back as she reached for the package I had chosen. As I turned away and pushed the cart onward Emily replaced the pink package on the shelf and caught up, taking my arm. She leaned down to give me a little peck on the cheek and put her hand on mine, letting me know everything was going to be OK. As we approached the checkout, Emily paused, her hand gently resting on my shoulder. "Do you need to use the restroom, honey? I'll handle the cart while I pay," she offered, her voice a soothing balm against my frayed nerves. Her touch was reassuring, grounding me in the moment. My heart raced—not just from the embarrassment of buying diapers but from the vulnerability of being so exposed. Yet, Emily’s understanding gaze and the warmth of her hand on my back made me realize that maybe this wasn't as bad as it seemed. I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I think I will." Relief washed over me as I slipped away from the cart, leaving Emily to navigate the checkout line alone. The thought of reliving childhood memories - standing in line with my mother as she placed a box of "Extra Large Size Baby Pants" on the conveyor belt - was too much to bear. I loved Emily for her strength and support, even if she seemed to be embracing this new dynamic between us with a bit too much enthusiasm. A few minutes later, I met Emily back at the cart. She had already paid, the cart full of brown paper bags, except for a bright green package that sat prominently on top. My heart skipped a beat. "Couldn't he have put those in a paper bag too?" I muttered to her as the sliding door opened, letting us out into the bright sunshine, which only served to light up the green bag like a beacon. "Bags are ten cents apiece, Greg, and," she emphasized, "And MY FATHER doesn't care." She gave me a sly wink, "Now, you try and argue with a man who's been selling diapers for thirty years." I rolled my eyes. I appreciated the attempt, but my emotional ability to deal with this was pretty much exhausted. As we walked to the car, Emily, sensing my discomfort, gently took my hand. "It's okay, honey. You'll get used to it. And besides, you’ll look so handsome in your new diapers." She kissed me softly on the cheek. Her smile was reassuring, but there was a glint in her eye that hinted at something more. As we entered the house, the weight of the green package in my hands felt heavier than it should. Emily busied herself with putting away the groceries, her movements efficient and practiced, a stark contrast to my own awkward fumbling with the pull-ups. "Why don't you take those upstairs and... get familiar with them? You know, just in case." Emily suggested, her voice gentle but firm. "Maybe put them in the nightstand in Abby's room for now." I nodded, grateful for the direction but dreading the task. As I climbed the stairs, each step felt like an admission of defeat. I entered Abby's room, the familiar surroundings now tinged with a new purpose. I opened the nightstand drawer, hesitating before placing the package inside. I didn't need to "familiarize" myself with them. That time would come soon enough. Later, as I stood at the sink, brushing my teeth, I felt Emily’s presence behind me. Her hand rested gently on my back, her fingertips brushing the waistband of my pajama pants. "Are you going to put one on?" she asked, her voice soft and playful. "The pull-up, I mean. I think it's time." "Ah, yes, after I finish brushing my teeth," I replied. "Okay." She hugged me again and then left me to finish my ablutions, heading to the toilet. I spit, washed my mouth out, and washed my face. I trudged back to Abby's room. The bag was sitting on the bed where it had been since this evening when Emily had pulled it from it's hiding place, studiously being ignored every time I walked past the door. Its presence told me not only that Emily expected me to wear one of these, but she expected me to do it on that bed. It wasn't a ticket back into her bed. Yet. I sighed. I opened the bag and pulled one out. It was much thinner than I expected. Though Abby had used them, I'd never really paid attention to hers; Emily had always handled that part. I had stayed out of it. Now, it was my turn. Stepping out of my pants, I slipped it on. It felt like it was barely there and rustled quietly when I moved. Sliding my pajama bottoms on, I could barely tell there was anything there at all. As I climbed into bed, the crinkling of the sheets masked the faint rustle of the pull-up beneath my pajama pants. It wasn't uncomfortable. I wondered if I should use it tonight? Would it be too soon? I was thinking about what I could, or should, do when Emily entered. She glanced at the open bag and then at me. "Yes, honey, I put one on." I rolled my eyes as hard as the previous occupant of the room had. "How does it fit?" She came over and sat down next to me on the bed, pulling the sheet back to expose my midsection. "It's OK. I guess." "Can I see?" I hesitated, my cheeks flushing. It was one thing to wear a diaper, but quite another to have Emily inspect it. But she already knew what I was wearing. With a sigh I lifted myself slightly and pulled down my pajamas to reveal pullup beneath. Her fingers were gentle as she examined the fit, her touch a mix of concern and fascination. "It's pretty loose. You're at the minimum of the waist range, so we'll see if it works..." She was thoughtful as she poked, prodded, pulled, and cupped. "Well, with any luck we won't need to find out, right?" I asked. I mean I knew it was up to me, after all, even if she didn't. "Sure, honey," she replied softly. "But if it does happen, no big deal—we'll find something that works for you." She leaned over and kissed me lovingly on the lips before pulling the sheet over me and turning out the light. I felt relaxed. I wasn't back in our marital bed yet, but at least Emily was talking to me. More than talking to me. I realized it had been a long time since we had had such personal and meaningful conversations. I also realized I hadn't even had a beer today. That was probably for the best. Soon I was in dreamland. -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Thanks! Hope you enjoy the read!

Chapter 8: Dr Who I waited three days before I relaxed in Abby's bed again, feeling the warmth puddle under me for the second time in my adult life. I didn't really have a detailed plan yet, just an end goal. I remembered the comfort and security of wearing a diaper to bed as a child, and the mental anguish of when my parents had declared me "too old" for diapers and decided I shouldn't wear them anymore. I remembered the years of shameful wet beds and cold wet winter mornings, wishing for the warm embrace of a wet diaper under my pajamas until my bedwetting had finally dribbled to a stop during puberty. My teen years had been a hormonal emotional mess of trying to bury and suppress the memory of my infantile night problem as I sought to become what I perceived as a normal adult male, my small stature adding an additional complexity to my already challenging adolescent transformation. I remembered the surprise I had felt when the idea of wearing a diaper had surfaced in college shortly before meeting Emily, and then quickly burying that self-discovery so that I could be with the really hot and amazing chick I had met and somehow, despite her being way, way out of my league, I ended up marrying. Maybe now I could reach out for that comfort and security to dig me out of the hole I was in. I couldn't just tell Emily though. I knew that for a fact. She had reacted with such disgust and revulsion the first, and only, time I had mentioned liking to wear a diaper to her. I'm sure she had long forgotten that afternoon. I had opened up a small part of my soul that I was a little uncomfortable with, and her reaction gave me the confirmation I needed that this little thing was not normal, not acceptable. Thankfully, we had moved on and she had never brought it up again. Hey, she had married me and stuck with me for more than twenty years. The conversation over coffee had given me hope that now, maybe, if she thought I needed them perhaps she'd be more accepting. The obvious solution, then, was that I'd pretend to need them. It wasn't a great plan, but plans devised when one-third awake, and one-half drunk, rarely are. So here I was, laying in a rapidly cooling wet spot on a plastic sheet in my daughter's room. Later that morning, Emily and I found ourselves together in Abby's room, sunlight pouring through the window onto the bed, perfectly framing the dark wet spot on the light green sheets as we tackled the aftermath together. The air was filled with the rich aroma of coffee, a comforting contrast to the awkwardness of the situation and hiding other less desirable smells. Emily handed me a fresh set of pink sheets, the set that had gone in the washer just three days ago, her expression a mix of concern and determination. "Once is happenstance, Greg," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Twice is a coincidence. If it happens again, though, you need to see the doctor." I nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief. "Yeah, I know. It's just... I didn't think it would happen again." Emily gave me a reassuring smile, her hand resting on my arm. "We didn't really talk about the rules, either. I couldn't find that old paper." Oh. The rules. "Yeah, well, that's OK, we were kind of busy that night," I said with a smile. For the first time in a long time, we had fooled around together, which was great, even if I still had been banished to Abby's room, with its plastic-covered bed, to sleep. Emily smiled a contented smile. "Yeah, that was nice, wasn't it? Well, this is strike two. Think about what it means at strike three, beyond seeing a doctor." True to her word, when the third incident happened to occur a few days later, Emily set up an appointment with our family doctor. Her luck was good, and due to a cancellation she got an appointment later that morning. With a kiss to my forehead over coffee, Emily volunteered to clean up my mess as I rearranged my meeting schedule to free up the appointment time. As we drove to our family doctor's office, I felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach. The thought of discussing bedwetting with a stranger was daunting, but I knew it was inevitable given the path I was on. Vague memories of embarrassing conversations about the same topic as a child didn't help my anxiety. Sitting in the waiting room of the clinic, I felt a swirl of emotions- embarrassment, anxiety, and anxiousness. Emily sat beside me, her presence comforting. The walls were adorned with pastel-colored posters about healthy living and the importance of HPV vaccinations, and the soft murmur of the receptionist's voice blended with the rustle of magazines being flipped through by other patients. "Greg Thompson?" a voice called, and I looked up to see a friendly-looking Physician's Assistant, clipboard in hand. I stood, smoothing down my shirt, and turned to Emily. "Would you mind coming in with me?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "I think it might be good for you to hear what they say." Emily gave a little surprised look and then nodded, giving me a reassuring smile. "Of course." She took my hand as we followed the PA, a woman in her thirties who introduced herself as Sarah, down a hallway to a small examination room. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, and I took a seat on the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath me. Emily settled into a chair beside me, her hand resting lightly on my knee. "Hi, Greg," Sarah said, her tone warm and professional. "Let's go over a few things before Dr. Patel joins us." I nodded, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety in my stomach. "Sure." Sarah glanced at her clipboard, then met my eyes. "So, when you set up this appointment, you mentioned that you've been experiencing some bedwetting recently. Can you tell me a bit more about that?" I hesitated, glancing at Emily before speaking. "Well, um... Emily actually set up the appointment, so I'm not... I'm not entirely sure what she told you. But yeah, it's happened a few times this week. It's... not exactly new for me. I had issues with it as a child, but it went away for a long time." Sarah nodded, making notes. "I see. Do you know what age it stopped?" "Well, it's hard to remember exactly,' I said, rubbing the back of my neck. 'It kind of tapered off... maybe around thirteen or fourteen? Might've had a few incidents when I was fifteen, but it's all a bit fuzzy now." "Have you experienced any symptoms of nocturia or polyuria?" I gave Sarah a blank look as I turned to Emily, "I'm not sure what those mean..." Sarah laughed lightly. "I apologize for the medical jargon. Nocturia refers to waking up at night to urinate, while polyuria means producing an abnormally large volume of urine. Have you noticed either of these happening?" "Oh, I see. Well, I have been waking up to use the bathroom, but I'm not sure about the amount..." Sarah nodded, continuing to write before looking up. "And have there been any recent changes in your life? Stress, diet, sleep patterns?" I shifted uncomfortably on the exam table, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah, you could say that," I mumbled. "Our daughter just left for college, and the house feels... empty, you know?" Emily gave me a pointed look. "And the drinking?" I tried to sink into the unyielding table. "Well, I guess I've been drinking a little more than I should..." Sarah's expression was understanding. "That makes sense. Stress and alcohol can definitely contribute to these kinds of issues. You probably know this, but sometimes hearing it from someone else helps to make it a little& clearer." Sarah continued, "And about the prostate concerns that you... Emily... mentioned when you called- you're right, it's less common at your age, Greg, but it's worth checking. We'll do a simple blood test to rule it out." I nodded, relieved that it was just a blood test and not something more invasive. "And what about medication? Emily mentioned that too." Sarah paused, considering her words. "There are medications that can help manage symptoms, but they come with potential side effects. It's something we can discuss with Dr. Patel if you're interested." I shook my head, never a fan of pills or medications unless my life depended on it. Well, that and I didn't want to take medication for something I'd done on purpose. "I'd rather not take any meds if I can help it. Is that an option?" "That's perfectly fine," Sarah said, her smile reassuring. "We can explore other options as well, like lifestyle changes and stress management techniques. It's all about finding what works best for you. Anything else before I get the doctor?" Emily squeezed my hand as she spoke, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "The laundry has been... Well, it's really only been three times, but dealing with wet sheets isn't my favorite. It's like having a child again." Sarah smiled gently, nodding, speaking a well-practiced response. "I understand. It can be overwhelming. There are a few practical things you can do to manage it. Using a waterproof mattress cover can make cleanup easier and protect your mattress. There are also absorbent pads you can place on top of the sheets." "He is already sleeping on a plastic mattress cover. Our daughter, Abby, actually wet the bed almost every night until she was about 15, and she still has occasional issues now at 18. So I'm not entirely unfamiliar with managing this kind of situation." Sarah looked interested. "That's good to know, Emily. How did you handle Abby's bedwetting?" Emily straightened in her chair, her tone becoming more confident. "Well, we tried a lot of different approaches," Emily began, then paused, seeming to gather her thoughts. "We started with limiting fluids before bed and scheduled bathroom trips, but that didn't seem to help much. Eventually, we found that using protective garments at night was the most effective solution." I felt my cheeks burning as Emily casually discussed 'protective garments.' Part of me was mortified, but another part - a part I was trying hard to ignore - felt a thrill of excitement Emily continued as Sarah nodded encouragingly, "We used pull-ups for a while, but as Abby got older, we switched to diapers at some point because the pull-ups just weren't working for her. I did a lot of research on different products, and we even joined some online support groups for families dealing with bedwetting." Sarah smiled, clearly impressed by Emily's proactive approach. "That's excellent, Emily. It sounds like you have a good understanding of how to manage this kind of situation. How do you feel about Greg potentially using similar solutions?" Emily glanced at me, her expression softening. "Well, I wonder if what worked for Abby might not necessarily work for Greg. He's an adult, after all. But I'm open to whatever will help him feel comfortable and secure. I just want to make sure we find a solution that works for both of us." Sarah nodded, her expression understanding. "That's a great attitude to have. Greg, how do you feel about potentially using something like Abby wore?" My mind flashed to the cardboard box under the bed. The thick white diaper. The crinkling plastic. I blushed furiously. I couldn't believe that Emily was asking the PA this. I mean, yeah, sure, I was doing this because I had some deep-seated desire to wear a diaper, but Emily didn't know this and to have her come out and directly talk to the doctor about it? That's more than a bit much. I bit my lip and dropped my eyes. "I... I'm not sure. It feels a bit... I don't know, childish?" Sarah nodded, a little smile on her face she was clearly trying to suppress as she turned to address Emily. "Well, it's something we often discuss with patients who are experiencing bedwetting. While it can be a sensitive topic, having the patient wear a 'protective garment'" (she even did the air quotes, her eyes glancing sideways in my direction while continuing to face Emily) "can help. But it depends on the patient and the situation. It might be a little early to take those kinds of drastic actions, with only three incidents, but given Greg's history and your history with your daughter I certainly understand your concern and desire to be prepared." She looked at me. "Greg, when you were dealing with this in your teens, did you wear anything?" I shook my head in the negative as I continued to blush and stare at my shoes. Sarah continued talking to Emily, her voice calm and professional as she continued on what sounded like a well-rehearsed script. "There are various options available, from pull-up style briefs to more traditional taped-on versions. Most of the products you find in the store that fit adults aren't great, but there are a lot of online options." She paused, then added, "If this continues and you're interested in eco-friendly options for him, there are reusable products available that might be worth considering. Everything from pocket diapers to prefolds and flats, like you might use with a b..." she caught herself, "child." She took a paper pad from her white lab coat pocket and scribbled a few lines on the paper before tearing it off and holding it out to Emily. "Maybe try some of these. You'll probably need to try a few options to see what works. It depends on how much he wets, how he sleeps, your laundry routine, how he feels about it, and so on." Emily took the paper and looked at it. She nodded with a sigh. "Well, we're at strike three, so I think it's time to look into options. Having dealt with a bedwetting daughter, I'd rather get ahead of things." She looked up with a smile for Sarah. "Thanks for the pointers. I'm sure we'll find something that works." "No problem. You can call the office and ask to talk to me if I can help more. Anything else before I get the doctor?" She looked at Emily, then me, then back at Emily. I shook my head, unable to meet the eyes of the PA who had just given my wife diaper recommendations for me. Was this really it? Three "accidents" was all it took? "Thanks, Sarah. I really appreciate it," Emily said for both of us. As she left the room to get Dr. Patel, I sat there, reflecting on the conversation. That hadn't gone the way I expected, but at least it was over. Emily squeezed my knee, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of support and understanding. "I'm glad we came," she said softly. "Me too," I replied, feeling a sense of gratitude for her presence. When Dr. Patel entered, Emily did most of the talking. We discussed my history and the recent changes in my life, and he echoed her sentiments about stress and lifestyle factors. He suggested some strategies to try, like reducing alcohol intake and establishing a bedtime routine, and reassured me that we could revisit the idea of medication if needed. I let him rattle on, but Emily was much more engaged, asking questions and getting details, as I sat there on the exam table studying the various posters on the wall. Dr. Patel's hands were cool and clinical as he palpated my abdomen, asking me to cough at intervals. I focused on the anatomy chart across the room, trying to distance myself from the surreal situation I found myself in. Following down the chart, he paused and looked up at me. "I see that you discussed some protective garment options with Sarah as well?" Emily answered for me. "Yeah, washing sheets isn't my favorite, so I asked her about diapers for him." I cringed at the "d-word". Dr Patel nodded. "Makes sense, although I hope this resolves itself quickly with the lifestyle changes. With only three occurrences so far..." he paused... "But with your history..." He shrugged. "We'll see. We'll check the test results to make sure it's nothing to worry about." He gave a big smile, obviously well practiced to make a patient feel at ease. "The good news is you've already met Sarah, and she is our certified continence support specialist. Feel free to reach out to her if you need anything." Emily returned the smile. "I'm sure I will." The doctor wrapped things up quickly after that, and we exited the exam room. As we walked down the hall towards the exit, Sarah waved goodbye, and we left the office. I felt smaller than usual beside Emily as we walked to the car, holding hands. Part of me was thrilled at the prospect of wearing diapers again, while another part recoiled at the deception I was perpetrating. I wondered how long I could keep up this charade, and what would happen when the truth inevitably came out. -- This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Sorry about the long delay. I had an offer of some feedback from a talented author that I took, and over the last month I've had quite the education as I wrote the rest of the story. It's certainly not perfect, but it's a lot better than it would have been. Of course, I'm still an amateur, and any rough spots, inconsistencies, or generally bad writing remain my own fault! I did go through and update the first 6 chapters, but the changes are intentionally tiny and don't affect the story so far. More than 30 chapters to go... Chapter 7: Memories I stood in Abby's room, clean sheets in hand, ready to make the bed. As I tucked in the corners of the fitted sheet, my hand brushed against something under the bed. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through me as I got what felt like a papercut. Looking to see what had injured me I reached down and my fingers encountered the rough cardboard of a box. I pulled it out, a cloud of dust bunnies rising and tickling my nose. Curious, I opened the box. Inside were several bags. Youth-sized pull-ups and diapers - remnants of Abby's struggle with bedwetting. I knew she struggled as a teenager, but at some point as her body developed as might be expected she only talked to her mother about such things, and Emily must have helped her keep this secret from me. A wave of guilt washed over me, mingled with a strange excitement that made my cheeks burn with shame. With trembling fingers, I pulled a white plastic diaper from the bag. The backing crinkled softly, a sound that instantly transported me back to my own childhood. I was suddenly seven years old again, lying in bed as my mother carefully fastened a diaper around my waist, her gentle touch both comforting and embarrassing. "There you go, sweetie," she'd say, her voice soft and reassuring. "Try to be dry in the morning." The memory was so vivid, I could almost feel the snug embrace of the diaper, the way it hugged my hips and made me feel secure. But with that security came a deep sense of shame, a feeling that I was different, somehow less than my peers who didn't need this kind of protection. As I ran my fingers over the white diaper's surface, I marveled at how the touch and feel of a simple object could unlock so many deeply buried emotions. The soft padding yielded under my touch, and I found myself pressing it to my face, inhaling deeply. The faint scent of baby powder tickled my nose, bringing with it a rush of conflicting feelings - comfort, security, shame, relief. My mind raced, comparing this moment to my experiences in college. Back then, when I'd experimented with wearing adult diapers, it had been purely about the physical sensation. I knew I was looking for… something…, but hadn’t found it. The diapers I'd bought were thin, utilitarian things, nothing like the thick, secure diapers of my childhood. They had satisfied a curiosity, but never truly connected to the deeper emotional need I was only now beginning to understand. This diaper, though - it was the missing link. It bridged the gap between my past and present, explaining why my recent experiences had been so powerful. The thickness, the plastic backing, the baby powder scent - all of it combined to create a sensory experience that spoke to a part of me I'd long tried to ignore. My legs suddenly felt weak, and I sank onto the edge of Abby's bed, the mattress protector crinkling beneath me. I held the diaper in my lap, staring at it as if it held the answers to questions I hadn't even known I was asking. A whirlwind of emotions swept through me - excitement at rediscovering this long-buried part of myself, anxiety about what it might mean, and a deep, gnawing guilt over the deception I was perpetrating on Emily. How could I explain this to her? How could I make her understand that this wasn't just about bedwetting, but about a fundamental need for comfort and security that I'd been denying to even myself for years? The thought of her potential disgust or rejection made my stomach churn. A noise from downstairs jolted me from my reverie. Emily was moving around in the kitchen. What if Emily walked in right now? I could picture her face, the confusion and disgust in her eyes as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Would she think I was some kind of pervert? Would she be able to understand the complex emotions driving me, or would she simply recoil in horror? Panic seized me as I realized how this must look. My heart pounded in my chest as I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping over the box in my haste. With shaking hands, I shoved the diaper back into the box and pushed it under the bed. I could hear Emily's footsteps on the stairs now, growing louder with each passing second. I lunged for the sheets, my fingers fumbling as I tried to finish making the bed. As I smoothed out the last wrinkle in the comforter, I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. But I knew something fundamental had shifted. The connection I'd just made couldn't be undone. My hands tingled where they had touched the diaper, and my heart continued to race, a physical reminder of the emotional journey I'd just experienced. I joined Emily in the kitchen, trying to act normal, but the weight of my secret hung heavy on my shoulders. I smiled and laughed, but inside, I was already bracing myself for the inevitable fallout. I had opened Pandora's box, and now I would have to deal with the consequences, whatever they might be. The contrast between my past shame and my current curiosity was stark. As a child, I'd felt nothing but embarrassment about needing diapers. In college, it had been a secret thrill, but ultimately unfulfilling. Now, as an adult struggling with changes and uncertainty, I found myself longing for the comfort and security they represented, even as I grappled with the implications of that desire.

Was this one of your friends that is already aware of your choice of under-garment, so your knowledge of the options wasn't a surprise? Or were you helpfully "pulling a list of items off the new AI helper I was trying out?"