dribblez

This is my first story on this site, and it owes a great deal to two of my favourite authors here, Elfy and SallyKat. Apologies to both for what is probably a shadow of the real thing. Another more ambitious project is in the works, and I hope to learn some lessons from this first attempt. Feedback welcome. Some unwelcome news…. “That’s, erm, really great,” Greg said. “Super exciting.” He tried hard to make it sound as though he meant it, and that he shared Anna’s joy at the news that his mother-in-law had put in a successful offer for the house next door. In reality he felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Kathryn, or rather Dr Kathryn Schwarz as Greg tended to think of her, was now in her early sixties and retired, with too much time and too much money on her hands. Her highly successful career as a research scientist had culminated in a professorship and a very well paid position as a senior adviser to one of the world’s leading pharmaceutical giants. Her one and only husband had died many years previously, a couple of years after the birth of Anna, their only child. Kathryn Schwarz now spent her time travelling and cultivating her stunning garden at the family home in southern California, and she was bored. To Greg, Kathryn always induced what can best be described as imposter syndrome. She was rich, highly intelligent, sophisticated, always immaculately coiffured and dressed, and he felt that she could somehow see straight through him. He was inadequate and barely to be tolerated in her eyes, he felt. Anna, on the other hand, was Kathryn’s princess, and surprise visits to the couple’s small flat in London had become increasingly frequent since the mother's retirement. “I just thought I would stop over for a couple of weeks on my way back from Bhutan/Sri Lanka/the Maldives (insert the name of any other exotic location where Kathryn had been spending her time),” she would say as Greg hauled his mother-in-law’s heavy and expensive luggage up the stairs to their flat. And now, Anna explained, Kathryn planned to spend up to half a year enjoying the cultural delights of London and the rest of Europe from her base next door. Naturally Kathryn had not just bought a flat in the building next door, but the entire three floors plus garden, and she now intended to convert the three flats it contained back into a single family home, complete with accommodation for a cook/housekeeper. Needless to say, this was going to be a major renovation and design project, and Kathryn had told her daughter that she would have to live her (she forgot to mention Greg) while the work was carried out to her specifications. Greg speculated that this would mean living with his mother-in-law for at least six months, and probably rather longer. The prospect filled him with dread. Kathryn moves in Weeks went by while the lawyers completed the purchase of Number 8, Wellington Gardens until one day Anna announced that her mother would be arriving the following Monday to begin the renovation project by interviewing prospective architects, project managers and builders. That left Greg with one final weekend of freedom for the foreseeable future, and he made plans for a couple of days of footie and heavy drinking. Greg had met Anna at university, and having graduated and embarked on their respective careers, they had married shortly after their 24th birthdays which both fell in May. Anna worked in PR and was clearly headed for a glittering career; Greg worked in IT for a publishing house. After four years of marriage the couple had no plans to start a family, although Anna sometimes toyed with the idea of what it might be like to have a baby. But there was still plenty of time, and she settled down into a routine of work and visiting art galleries and painting in her spare time. Greg, on the other hand, never seemed to grow up. Ever since his teenage years, his passions had been playing football, or soccer as Anna insisted on calling it, going to watch his team play, and long, boozy sessions with his mates in the pubs and bars of north London. For Greg Wednesday nights were practice nights, followed by a trip to a pub; Thursday nights usually found him out somewhere with his work colleagues; Friday nights were usually spent at home before he headed off to watch his team play on Saturdays, followed by post-match analysis over yet more beers. Sunday mornings saw Greg playing for the second team down at the park, followed once again by beers with his mates. Unsurprisingly, Anna had come to feel neglected by her husband, and although he had tried to persuade her to come and join him and his mates for drinks on a Sunday lunchtime, she never felt comfortable in the company Greg kept, and so she stayed alone or headed off to one of her beloved art galleries. Kathryn had been observing her daughter’s increasingly sterile and boring married life on her trips to London, and now she resolved that it was time to intervene. Anna clearly loved Greg, that much she knew, and as she settled into the small guest bedroom, Kathryn was confident that an extended stay with her daughter and son-in-law would give her scope to carry out more than one project. The ten week project Kathryn had spent her first couple of weeks busying herself with the building project, but that still left her with plenty of spare time during which she set about building up a social network and doing household chores to help her daughter while she was at work. The household chores involved food shopping, a little light cleaning and doing the laundry for Anna and Greg. It was while she stood folding a pile of freshly laundered clothes one day that Kathryn broached the subject of Greg with her daughter. “How are things with Greg?” she asked. “He certainly seems to spend a lot of time kicking a ball around and consuming beers.” Anna felt as though a dam had burst, as she poured out her long pent-up frustration and feelings of neglect. “I love him, I really do,” she sobbed, “but it gets so lonely, and I don’t know what I can do to persuade Greg to spend more time together.” Kathryn hugged her daughter and said, “I’ve been giving this some thought and I think I know what we need to do, but you are going to have to trust me 100% and do exactly as I say for this to work.” “OK,” Anna replied, slightly nervously. “What do you have in mind?” “In essence we need to work on Greg’s motivation so that rather than wanting to spend time with his friends drinking and playing soccer, he comes to understand that he is happier and feels more secure being with you. To the extent that he actually does not want to go out with his friends any more.” Anna listened intently. This seemed to make sense, and she respected her mother’s experience and thoughtful approach. “First things first,” Kathryn said, as she gestured to a pile of Greg’s colourful boxer briefs. “These have to go. Young men these days don’t like wearing plain white briefs, and Greg will probably be embarrassed to be seen wearing them in the locker room. It’s a small beginning, but it will unsettle him slightly. At the same time, you need to reward him for wearing more manly underwear, and that will mean conditioning him to associate your choice of underwear for him with sex.” “OK,” said Kathryn. “I understand. But is there anything else?” “Changing his underwear is just the first step of a ten week plan,” Kathryn explained. “In one of my last projects before retiring I supervised the development of a new drug for use in a specialised branch of urology. Essentially the drug gradually shrinks a patient’s bladder and reduces control. It is still pending approval, but extensive testing has shown very encouraging results, and one of my contacts has provided me with a supply.” Anna looked worried. “I don’t want to hurt him or cause him any long-term damage. I could never do that.” “Don’t worry. Greg will not experience any pain, and his loss of control will be gradual and in time, the evidence suggests that he will return to normal bladder function.” After discussing the implications and details, Anna found herself agreeing to go with her mother’s plan, beginning immediately. Her first task was to head off to the shops while Greg was still away at soccer to buy six pairs of plain white men’s briefs. The boxers would go to recycling.

Up to last week I cannot remember ever having a diaper dream, but I recently decided to upgrade my daytime underwear from pullups to diapers. Until now I have only worn diapers for long journeys and at night. In the dream I was sent by my employer to run some sort of conference in a very plush building. For some reason, the delegates were seated in four separate rooms, and thanks to my boss's increasing reluctance to spend money, I was the only staffer present. This meant that I had to keep running from room to room, making sure everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing, and inevitably there were several complainers in their midst who did not understand the instructions. I remember feeling a little stressed, but the adrenaline was flowing and, as is usual for me, I found myself enjoying the stress. I was wearing a white diaper, that much I remember, and cannot recall whether I was also wearing trousers. Probably not. At some point I leaked, but it did not matter. At this point I woke up, and in the real world I felt a strong urge to pee. Whether I has actually started wetting in my dream, I don't know. So I rolled over onto my back and let nature take its course. I stopped trying to analyse dreams when I emerged from adolescence because they never made any sense, but I suspect that this dream was telling me that it was OK to wear a diaper at work and that I need to wear one. That in turn was probably linked to the thought I have been giving about how to manage my lack of daytime control. Staying in the real world, I ordered a case of new "improved" diapers from my regular supplier who has been promoting this brand (Vivactive) heavily. My advice is don't go there. I put the first one on last night, and was surprised how incredibly thin it was (this is the top end of their range). I added a stuffer and plastic pants. This morning I woke up very wet, although I can't remember peeing that much, with a small leak in the bed. Thank heavens for the mattress protector. I've now somehow to get through the case, and the only way I will be able to do that is by double diapering during the day. Meanwhile, I have had to put another order in for my normal night time nappies.

Thanks Elfy. I somehow missed the last two installments. Another really good story. Keep 'em coming. ?

Last major leak was a year ago. Stupidly I set off on a 250 mile drive in a pullup. 50 miles in and I felt some wetness and realised my jeans crotch was wet. So I pulled into a small service station only to find that the single toilet was occupied. My rear also had telltale half moons. I pretended to be interested in the magazines while I waited, desperately trying to hold because any more leaks would have been catastrophic. Eventually an Indian lady emerged. I did not hang around to see if she clocked my wet crotch. Worse was to come because most of the floor of the toilet was under water. A quick change, as I struggled to keep my feet dry. I made a rapid exit, with wet trousers over a dry nappy. Probably all caught on CCTV.

Thanks for the welcome. Climbs back into high chair....

Hi Elfy. I really love your work, and Bad husband, better baby is my all-time favourite. I was also really enjoying Rebecca's Revenge. Any plans to finish that one?

Hi everyone. Where to start? I just tried to recover my old account which had been lying dormant for about a year, but eventually remembered that I had deleted the e-mail account which it was attached to. Doh. I am now 35, DL but with some but have had mild sporadic urge incontinence for about 10 years. I went 24/7 for almost a year but took a couple of months break in September and October last year since when I have been 24/7 again. It was not binge and purge, just that I went through a spell of not experiencing urge problems and decided to go cold turkey. As so often in the past, the urge problems began again, and for safety's sake I began wearing again. Until now it has been pullups during the day and a mix of pullups and nappies at night. My job sometimes requires a lot of long car journeys, and for anything above 2 hours I have been wearing nappies and plastic pants. Effectively, then, I have been 24/7 for coming up to two years, and although I still have a lot of control, it's not 100%, and I sometimes get surprise leaks. Usually I am completely aware of when I am peeing, but have found recently that there are more and more occasions when I am not really sure whether I am dribbling/leaking or not. I have had myself checked out, and apart from general bladder weakness which I had up to my late teens, there is nothing wrong. Perhaps it's just prolonged wearing that has taken me further down the rabbit hole. As someone said on a different thread not so long, I am probably deeper in than I think, and I certainly would not risk leaving the house for anything other than a quick trip to the shops without padding up. I am married, and my wife has been brilliant. She would rather not have a husband in pullups and nappies, but agrees that exploring the medical possibilities further would likely mean medication or surgery at some point, and neither of us wants that. So it's something she has come to accept, and it does not interfere with our sex life. My wife is a very straight talking person who always goes straight to the point, and without meaning to she has left me feeling pretty awkward in public at times. There is a part of me that gets a little kick out of the humiliation, I suppose. When I started wearing again last November I was out shopping with her and I said I needed to get some more incontinence pants. So we ended up at a large and fairly well-stocked pharmacy where she took charge and went through the range carefully examining each product. I was keen to get out quickly, but she insisted on discussing the pros and cons in detail, dismissing a couple of my choices as inadequate. "You need something thicker than that", she said in a normal voice, as other customers passed by. I now buy all mow supplies online, but have occasionally had to make emergency trips to a large supermarket. A couple of years ago I would have been horrified at the prospect of standing in a line with a package of incontinence pants, but I have now convinced myself that I am incontinent and that being incontinent (at least partially) is part of who I am. Occasionally my wife either forgets that I am padded or perhaps she likes to remind me, I am never sure which, but she will give me a playful smack on my rear. She recently did this while we were on a beach, and it sounded for all the world like a drum. Blush. I have now decided to move on to nappies fulltime, having had a few nights of sleep without having to get up several times thanks to a nappy and plastic pants. I am also going to invest in some onesies after experiencing a few slightly embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions (peakage). Today I went for a walk along a nearby river with my wife and realised after about an hour that I had been walking around with my flies wide open. A onesie wouldn't have helped, of course, but I wonder whether any of the people we met along the route would have noticed that the white material showing from my flies was not cotton. Oops.