nitewets

I was really planning this weekend as one of reading and not wearing diapers. Well, it hasn’t worked out that way. Here, Sunday afternoon, with bright sun streaming through the window onto the couch where I’ve been reading, not only am I diapered but I have both wet and pooed. Don’t get me wrong, I love being in diapers although I have to say I’ve always been very conflicted about it. What’s crazy is that I’m still conflicted after 20 years. 

You must think that I moan about this all the time; I guess that I do. In twenty some years, there’s been no month that I haven’t worn diapers for at least a few days. Now, it seems, I seldom go more than a week or two before I am back in diapers. Today is such a day. I am experiencing a creeping dependence on diapers and I don’t know if I am scared or excited. But today, I just wanted to read.

I have a wonderful place to read. In a bedroom converted to an office is a window wall which faces west. In the afternoon, sun pours in onto a long coach positioned against the wall. It is soft and comfy and, bathed in sun, so pleasant to sit or lie and read. I am most often in the company of one or two of my cats who curl into balls weighing down my outstretched legs. So it is today. 

I began reading just after lunch. I am wearing diapers more often than not a nighttime, changing into panties in the morning. So it was this morning. But I’ve been ‘off’ a bit all morning and after lunch I was still a bit unsettled. This isn’t an infrequent occurrence and often I will change into a diaper, “just in case”. What is happening more and more is that ‘just in case’ becomes ‘case’ and I wet. I suspect that it is a sort of conditioning that has occurred over the years I’ve been wearing diapers. When diapered, I’ve learned to relax. I can be unconcerned with the sense that I have to pee and, with time, that momentary sense no longer triggers me to hold when diapered. There is a moments awareness which, if I don’t immediately act to hold, is followed by peeing. With increasing frequency in the last year, when not in diapers, I sense the need to go, believe I am ‘holding’ only to realize that I haven’t and am wetting myself. It is equal parts exciting, scary and embarrassing. It’s not so bad in the winter as my coats will hide any visible leaks. I am a moth to the flame of incontinence evan as I am rationally scared of that consequence. 

There are certainly moments, when not in diapers, where I realize how awkward being incontinent would be. There are days when I simply don’t want to be diapered.. I’m out walking my dog and as other strollers pass, I consider how ‘normal’ they are and how ‘normal’ I am not. Often, during my morning walk I will both pee and poop my diaper. Then, the return home is in a messy diaper, again as others out for a morning stroll exchange pleasantries. No knowing I am diapered. It is in those moments thaat I wonder why that there is undeniable pleasure in being diapered, in being wet or messy, and yet the conflicting feeling that I wish I weren’t.

So, there I was.. Warmed by the sun, my legs weighed down by my favourite cat, reading “Hume and His Relationship with Religion” on my iPad. But my reading was interrupted by an unsettled tummy. Did I need to pee? Well, not really, I guessed, but I couldn’t concentrate. “I don’t need to be diapered. Really, I don’t. But... “ I read on but was again, and again distracted. Why? Finally, with that inexplicable sense of excitement, fear that like a vapour brushes your tummy, I relented and went to change.

Disposable diapers are expensive. More so, now that when diapered I tend to dribble or I wee frequently. In each instant there is that moment’s sense that I am about to wee and without effort I sense that I am. Without the worry of leaking diapers, and the increasing frequency, it is barely noticeable and when I chose to ‘not be bothered’ I am more aware after by the warm between my legs than during, that I have. That means frequent diaper changes if I wish to be in a dry diaper, or accepting that I am in a wet diaper. To allay the expense, I purchased cloth diapers and plastic panties. These I can change as frequently as I wish. As necessary, I can do a diaper wash. In consequence the cost of being diapered but dry is tolerable. Cloth diapers with plastic pants, however, I find to be clammy and itchy when worn at night. More than a few times, I’ve acquired a UTI. Until cleared with anitibotics, there is no other option for me, but to wear diapers 24/7. But I digress. I had only one disposable diaper left. I changed into a cloth diaper covered with plastic panties and pulled on some leggings. I returned to the cats, the sun, the sofa and my iPad. 

“A good start for understand the English philosopher Hume’s  views on theism is his empiricism... “” ; warmth between my legs, that inexplicable  sensation of foreboding, apprehension, perhaps fear, warmed my tummy as my cheeks were parted by an insisting warmth as my bowels moved and poo pushed into my diaper. A cat is languorously spread in sleep between the recess made my legs. My stomach warms at the realization that this feels so normal and right to me. The feeling of contentment, of properly belonging in diapers, of coming to accept that I find pleasure being incontinent, of realizing that however I protest to you and even myself, my denials of this are disingenuous—I’ve wanted this. 

So, in sharing this with you, the contestation of feelings continue. I’m trying to find my truth. I shouldn’t want to be come incontient, but I’m unable, perhaps to undisciplined—whatever—to stop the drift toward incontinence. Perhaps this emotional struggle has heightened since I came back to Dailydiapers in the summer of last year. I had been out of diapers for more than a few months, but, as always happens, that strange sensation attached to needing to poo, triggered the impulse to buy diapers. Once again, I was lost in that pleasure of peeing and pooping my diaper; that state of unconcern and freedom that when the sensation was felt, there was nothing I need do, but allow myself the freedom to wee and poo. Those feelings, although faltering in moments have increased through the winter. For the first time, I’ve admitted to some friends that I wear diapers—their responses, mostly, were concern for my wellbeing and by the third person it was easy, but also scarily thrilling, to admit that I actually didn’t mind being in diapers. It’s continued to progress as I now openly buy my diapers at the Shopper’s drugstore that I frequent. I’ve finally come to tell my doctor that I wear diapers. 

If needed, my healthcare covers the cost of diapers. In the last few years, I’ve had frequent UTIs during which I am incontinent—the discomfort of trying to hold is acute and most often unsuccessful. Antibiotics are indicated. I’ve had many prescriptions. Finally, stomach knotted and fluttering, I took the forms into him and asked if he would sign off on diapers. Diapers are not uncommon for women my age, and being trans there is a greater instance of incontinence.

“Do you need diapers for full-time use in the day and at night?” My stomach burned at the question—my cheeks too, I’m sure.

”Yes.” I replied in a somewhat strangled voice, realizing the steps I’m taking and the implications. He checked the appropriate boxes. 

“That’s unfortunate.” He said, signing the form and then charting me as incontinent. 

“It’s okay... I actually don’t mind wearing diapers... “ I replied weakly. He handed me the signed forms.

And there they sit, on my desk, ready to be submitted. I have to submit what diapers I want, from where and at what cost. The insurance counsellor was quite matter of fact about it. I am on record; the forms expected. How ironic that theses steps and how I feel parallel the philosophy that I’m reading. It’s called constitutive identity. You are, in the eyes of those who know something about you, made into what they perceive of that information. They know that I wear diapers.. I will be supplied with sufficient diapers to be diapered 24/7. To them I am incontinent with all the implications they draw. To me, I am becoming what they think I am and more. I am a diaper lover. As I type them those words thrill me. A warm that is pleasure. Pleasure that I cannot pull away from. But, I must... I have to get back to my reading.

It is on record that I am incontient. And here I sit in the sun, writing to you in a wet and messy diaper. I don’t know if I’m more scared or pleased. I don’t want to believe that I will become incontinent but maybe I am actually enjoying the sensations of worry, that scariness that comes from a certainty that if I am not willing myself to be incontinent, I’m certainly not willing myself not to be.