[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

 Thanks for all the comments. I'm admittedly a bit amused by the discussion on how many bedwetters should statistically be at a camp for it to be realistic. But more on that later.

22 hours ago, Night Rain said:

I'd like to see Maddy actually become Hannah's friend over time instead of seeing her pretend to be one.

That would certainly be ideal, probably both for Maddy and Hannah. We'll have to see if Maddy is able to recognize that though.

21 hours ago, spark said:

She is acting like an in-coming 8th grader.  She is ashamed to be friends, and scared that Hannah will let her secret be known.

Yep, Maddy certainly shouldn't be treating Hannah that way, but it is understandable why.

21 hours ago, BabySofia said:

I thought this was a likely outcome of things here. Curious if Hannah manages any discretion here, somehow I expect her to blurt things out at the worst possible time. 

I'm also curious if Maddy has a few more genuine accidents during the week. It'll look suspicious to her parents if she has none I would think.

17 hours ago, spark said:

Hannah doesn't seem to have much discretion.  

Nope, that was something I definitely wanted to make clear in that chapter.

17 hours ago, spark said:

s

I think you have to play loose with the timeline in a story like this.   In the story I'm writing, they got an appointment with in a week, and then a battery of test the next week.  A few years ago, I had a brain scare after an MRI, and it took more than a week to see all the specialist I needed to see.   PS- it wasn't a tumor.  The kid wouldn't see a doctor for a month.

FTR- I just scheduled the meeting for a kid with AP (assessment plan) signed in August, but I think the process started in May.   However- from the kid's standpoint, he didn't know he was getting tested for anything until I told him (the kid is 15, he needs to be told).   That was 3 weeks ago, and I started testing him right away.  In his mind, things happened fast. 

As long as you don't throw her into an self-contained classroom on the 1st day of 8th grade, your timeline should be fine.  

Yeah, in my first story, I tried to actually have everything line-up in-universe with a calendar. Then I realized no one was really paying that close attention (I threw in an extra week or two between Thankgiving and Christmas, for example). Unless it is critical to the plot, I think it's OK to be loose with some timing of events.

7 hours ago, Salsa said:

Hmmmmm. So I've always appreciated this author's dedication to realism. However, for the past 10+ years I actually have worked on and off in summer camps and related environments. The idea of an entire camp cabin filled to the brim with bedwetters like this leans a bit more diaper story fantasy to me than something that would actually happen.

The idea of there being eight bedwetters ages 11-13 at this camp is already a lot. How many kids are at this camp? Like 500? The fact that this is a specialty, girls-only soccer camp that runs only 1 week strikes makes the number seem extra high. I know statistically it might make sense for there to be this many at once, but statistics aren't always the case. I've worked at camps for entire summers before that have gone without a single reported accident, and I've worked with even younger kids during the school year where we had exactly one accident all year. 

And keep in mind I am more likely to notice these kinds of things compared to my coworkers. I've never seen a single kid wearing a Goodnite to sleepaway camp, I can't imagine having enough to fill a cabin. But maybe I didn't notice because most kids get ready for bed privately and would only put protection on right before bed and remove it first thing in the morning. In that case, I wouldn't be made aware since it was none of my business. This makes the "Cabin B" thing really weird. Are we to assume all of the adults here are aware of why campers were placed in this particular cabin?

Another thing, we would only be able to put all of the bedwetters in one cabin if the parents actually told us their kid was a bedwetter. In my experience, you cannot expect parents to tell a camp everything they should probably know. We ask our parents to fill out a form and it's up to them how much, if any, information they want to give. We've had kids show up with very obvious cases of ADHD and autism that we were not explicitly made aware of. I had a kid disappear for over a week once to recover from bladder surgery to fix an ongoing issue we never knew about. I even had a kid who I am 100% certain was wearing some kind of protection full-time during the day and yet his parents didn't tell us a thing about it.

So I find it way more likely that a camp like this might have one or two bedwetters and the camp might only know about one of them. Especially when you consider how easy it is for a middle school aged to discretely manage their bedwetting. There isn't even a real benefit to sticking them all in one cabin.

I don't know. This is still just fiction and maybe I am overthinking it. For all I know the author has taken liberties with the therapy and doctor sessions and I wouldn't know cus I'm not a urologist. But considering we spent two whole chapters setting up this camp and introducing seven other cabin-mates, it can be assumed that we're going to spend the next 10-20+ chapters at this camp and overall the premise of this arc feels way less believable than the previous 39 chapters combined.

Appreciate your comment. A few things:

The main reason for the camp setting is that I very much needed to have Maddy spend time alone with Hannah without any of their friends/family present and for Maddy to be in a situation where it would be completely impossible for her to avoid having Hannah discover her bedwetting. 

Going to camp together made the most sense for that, which is why I made sure to showcase Hannah's interest in soccer as well when Maddy first met her.

As far as realism goes, I view realism as a question of whether something is feasibly possible, not whether it is the most likely scenario. After all, most people don't wear diapers in the first place (whether because of medical conditions or a desire to do so).

As for the number of bedwetters at a camp... Assuming that 1-2 percent of girls her age are bedwetters (which is the range that seems to come up most when I look up the stats for that age), 8 bedwetters out of a camp of several hundred girls is statistically likely.

Variance and small sample sizes are something that has to be taken into consideration for stats. If 2 percent of girls that age are bedwetters and you have 300 kids, 6 bedwetters is the average number that would be expected, but in taking to account the variance you would see in that small of a smaple size, it wouldn't be statistically unlikely to have anywhere from 0 to 12 bedwetters at Maddy's camp.

Both four bedwetters and eight bedwetters would be completely reasonable amounts of bedwetters in a sample size of 300 girls assuming 2 percent are bedwetters.

Lastly, we'll probably be spending another three chapters at camp, not 20. I could probably find a way to write twenty, but that wouldn't be good pacing for a story isn't even halfway done yet. Three more will cover the main things that need to happen between Maddy and Hannah before they both return home.

1 hour ago, WBDaddy said:

I will simply answer this by saying that I once wrote a story (called "Daddy's Dilemma" for those curious, available here on this site) with the expressed intent of demonstrating as realistic a story as I could possibly imagine.  And it still failed to pass muster, so much so that the sexist assholes who perved the site I originally posted it on reported it.  Mainly because it was a father and daughter story, granted.  

There has to be a level of suspension of disbelief with any of these stories.  Did the author break you out of your suspension of disbelief?  Or did your prior experiences?  That's the question you have to ask yourself.  Because it's really not all that much of a stretch that there was a bedwetter cabin.  You admitted as much yourself.  The population of that cabin is what you're taking issue with here.  

For sure, the very premise of a character wearing diapers (either by choice or a medical condition) is inherently unlikely, that doesn't mean that you can't write a realistic story working out of those circumstances though.

51 minutes ago, Salsa said:

Yeah I didn't even bat an eye when this was first set up a few chapters ago. I thought, "Maddy is gonna be in a cabin with other bedwetters. I met it'll be like... four." But eight is a LOT and the way the counselors are so casual about it is really throwing me off. Maybe it's because everything up until this point as been so believable, but it really does come off as incredibly realistic. Maybe it's just me, but I am certain most people reading over my last comment could agree this entire situation would almost certainly never, ever happen. 

37 minutes ago, randonmf said:

I went to camp exactly once in middle school which was also a specific sports camp (this was going into 8th grade so i would have been the same age as maddy)

My mom never told the camp that I wet the bed, and I managed it discreetly. My neighbor also went to the camp the same weekend as me (we planned this on purpose), and they still don’t know that I was a bedwetter. Thinking about it, we were also bunk mates which increases the likelihood of them finding out but they didn’t. 🤷 

I also agree that an entire cabin for bedwetters doesn’t seem likely and is only something I’ve seen in ABDL stories  

Kids 12+ who wet the bed is 2%, having 8 girls who do it (boys are more likely to do so also) just doesn’t seem plausible. Especially if we take into account that a lot of kids don’t want to go to camp if they wet the bed. 

I do really like this author tho regardless 

Like I mentioned above, the different between four and eight isn't statistically significant. Is it perhaps less likely? Maybe, but it would be well with the expected range given the percent of kids that age that wet the bed.

As for being in the same cabin, I'll admit that my first overnight camp experience was when I was 17 (and I never was a bedwetter).

But I don't think it is unreasonable to assume that a camp could inquire about whether the campers wet the bed and that a camp might then group them together to avoid bullying.

For me the question isn't: Is this how most camps operate, but is it unreasonable to envision a camp that is behaving like the one Maddy is in? For me, the answer that is no.

37 minutes ago, A_Pale_Spirit said:

Agreed that I didn't think it was unusual or unrealistic that there'd be a cabin for bedwetters.

I never was a counselor at an overnight camp nor ever went to an overnight camp but it logically made sense to me that there would be a cabin for those who had that problem.

Also with 8 girls out of 500, that's 1.6%, which is not an unusually high amount of bedwetters in that age group. I think the most commonly mentioned statistics state around 5% of kids still wet their bed at 10, and that number drops to around 1% at 15, and even though boys are twice as likely to bedwet and it's an all girl's camp, that 1.6% number in this story still seems logical with girls who were between 11-13.

Even the one movie I can think of which references bedwetting at a sleepaway camp (Bless the Beasts and the Children) has a separate cabin for the kids who wet the bed (though in that movie, it's all the outcasts of the camp who end up in that cabin, not just bedwetters).

 

Definitely not just in those stories. Like I mentioned above, the movie "Bless the Beasts and the Children" has a cabin like that.

Yep, regardless of the exact number of girls and the exact percent who wet the bed at the age, a small fraction of them being bedwetters would be expected. Now, if I had a cabin of 40+ bedwetters, that would probably be stretching things too far in my mind, unless it was specifically a camp geared toweard bedwetters. (and though that is probably a thing that actually exists in real life, that is probably too much of an ABDL trope for me to want to dig into).

27 minutes ago, zzzz50 said:

Changing the subject, I wonder if Hannah is inquiring about a friend because she needs assistance with changes or diapering? It was a bit strange that she was bringing this up so quickly.

That's a good question and something we'll get an answer to in later chapters.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

A quick announcement: I've changed my username from MinnesotaWriter to AB_DeLane. 

A.B. DeLane is the pen name I use for my books on Amazon, and, as it's what I'm using every else I post, I figured it made sense to finally get it updated her as well.

Chapter 41: Of Course

There was no way this was actually happening to me.

I stood, frozen in place, my mouth slightly ajar as I watched all of my carefully laid plans tumble to the ground like I had just pulled the wrong piece out of a Jenga tower.

Three long, painful years of longing. Months of careful planning. All the humiliation and embarrassment I’d allowed myself to endure to get to the point of having pull-ups of my own.

All of it completely unraveled because, of course, I had to run into Hannah again at the worst possible moment.

There was a look of recognition in Hannah’s eyes that signaled something far more than just recognizing a friend of her cousin that she had met once before. She knew. She knew exactly what this cabin was for. She knew why she had been assigned to it. She knew why every other girl in the room was here rather than in any of the dozens of other cabins in these campgrounds.

Hannah knew that I was a bedwetter.

My mouth felt dry as her eyes flicked down to my bag, then back up. She probably even knew that there was more than regular underwear tucked away inside my duffle bag.

My mind raced through all the possible excuses I could make for myself. What if I pretended that I must have been assigned to the wrong cabin? I could deny being a bedwetter and just keep the pull-ups out of sight all week long.

But that wouldn’t do. I had to imagine that this news would find a way of getting back to my parents. I couldn’t see any way of talking myself out of that situation.

“Oh, my goodness. Maddy!” Hannah raced across the cabin to me, and without asking any permission, she flung her arms around me in a big hug.

I responded by giving her a tentative pat on the back before slithering out of her grasp and taking a step backward. As I gave myself a tiny bit of breathing room from Hannah, whose face was still beaming with excitement, I caught a brief flash of purple sticking out of the top of her shorts before her shirt shifted back down again.

The three other girls who had arrived before me, who hadn’t paid much attention when I had first entered the cabin, were all looking up and staring at us now.

The only person who didn’t seem to care was the counselor, Amy, who was staring disinterestedly at her cell phone as she waited by the door for the remaining campers to arrive.

“Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness.” The girl closest to us had stood up from where she was seated on a bed on the other side of the room. Both of her hands were clasped across her face.

She looked back and forth between Maddy and me, her long French braid waving rapidly from side to side.

“Like, you guys know each other? From, like, outside of camp?”

“Yes!” Hannah exclaimed a little too loudly.

Know was a bit strong of a word for me and Hannah, in my opinion. I’d only met her a couple times, and only because she was a cousin of one of my friends.

The girl looked back and forth between us again. “And you both know what this cabin is for, right?”

I looked down at my feet.

“It’s for soccer players,” Hannah ventured.

The girl just started laughing. “Like, you guys seriously didn’t know about each other before this?”

I remembered that I wasn’t actually supposed to know that Hannah was a bedwetter. I’d caught a glimpse of the pull-ups she wore during the day – the same as the ones I wore at night – when Hannah had come with me and my friends to the park.

Her cousin, Emma, had then explained to me about how Hannah still wasn’t fully toilet trained – a fact she attributed to her cousin’s autism.

It was only later that I noticed the diaper in the garbage at Emma’s place. I then discovered the plain white diapers that Hannah wore to bed each night when I discreetly rummaged through her suitcase.

I looked up at Hannah. The confused expression on her face made me wonder how much she actually understood about the situation.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

I turned to look at the corner, where another girl was slowly clapping her hands together.

“It’s because we all still piss the bed at night. Yippy Ki Yay,” the girl said sarcastically as she let the clapping come to a stop. “And now you know.”

“Oh, shut up, Maya,” said the girl on the bed next to her. “You’re only mad because you lost the bet we made that you wouldn’t be back in this cabin again.”

“I’m not doing it,” Maya said as she crossed her arms.

Our counselor finally chimed in, though she didn’t even look up from her phone. “I seem to recall you making a pretty big deal about it last time.”

“I don’t even care about pissing the bed. I was just hoping I’d be rid of you this year,” Maya retorted.

“Well,” the counselor said, “judging by what I saw you unpack, I’d say you are still very much out of luck. Stuck with me for one more week.”

“So what,” Maya said. “I get to graduate from this cabin at least, unlike you.”

I was so caught up in the feud – I wondered what the terms of that bet had been – that I nearly forgot about Hannah for a few seconds.

I turned to face Hannah again. Her eyes were wider than I thought was humanly possible.

“You... wear diapers?” Hannah whispered, her eyes wide, voice trembling with awe.

“Pull-ups,” I said tartly. “They are pull-ups, not diapers.” I paused, wanting to make the distinction between myself and Hannah clear. “And I only wear them at night.”

“Aww, is someone embarrassed?” the girl who had won the bet with Maya said. She had gotten up from her spot in the corner and walked up to Hannah and me.

I just glared at her.

“Chill,” she said. “I’m just teasing. We’re in the same boat, after all.”

“Boat?” Hannah asked. “This is a cabin.”

I grit my teeth together. The thought of spending an entire week trapped in this cabin with Hannah twisted my stomach into knots.

The girl rolled her eyes. “The camp doesn’t know what to do with us bedwetters, so they just toss us together in one cabin for the week.

“Oh,” Hannah said.

“I’m Chloe, by the way,” she said.

“You guys all wet the bed at night? And you wear diapers?” Hannah blurted out before I had a chance to introduce myself.

My face burned again at her insistence on referring to pull-ups as diapers. I was really ready for the topic to be dropped until tonight. I was not nearly as prepared as I thought I was to be talking about bedwetting amid a bunch of strangers, especially now that I had to be much more careful about my answers with Hannah around.

“Duh,” Chloe said. “It would be kind of weird if I was assigned to this cabin and didn’t wear them.”

“I wear them during the day, too,” Hannah said excitedly.

Chloe raised her eyebrows at Hannah’s sudden, unprompted confession, but Hannah continued on, completely oblivious.

“Do you wear them... like... during the day, too?” Hannah asked, her voice rising at the end as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“No,” Chloe replied, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Wait, you seriously do?”

“Yeah,” Hannah said. “Sometimes I don’t notice that I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Ok, yeah, that’s…” Chloe’s voice trailed off into an awkward silence.

I realized belatedly that I probably was supposed to appear surprised by this revelation as well. Hannah didn’t know that I had gotten a glimpse of the pull-up under her shorts that other day or that her own cousin had spilled the tea on her condition.

I made a show of looking down at Hannah’s waist and back up at her. “Wait, for real?”

“How did you not know about each other?” the girl with the French braid asked, joining back in on the conversation.

“We’ve only met a couple of times, actually,” I said, rushing to answer the question before Hannah could. “She’s a cousin of one of my friends.”

“I see,” the girl said. “I’m Hailey.”

“Maddy,” I said.

Hailey looked expectantly at Hannah for a few seconds. “And you are?”

“Hannah.”

<><><> 

What followed were a bunch of introductions as I desperately tried to steer the topic of conversation to anything other than diapers.

Maya and Chloe, who had lost the bet, were both entering eighth grade like me. This was Maya’s third year at the camp, while it was Chloe’s second. I tried to ask what it was that Maya had to do since she lost the bet, but she only scowled and refused to answer me while Chloe was reduced to giggling excitedly.

When Chloe finally managed to stop laughing, she assured me that I would find out by the end of the week.

Hailey, a soon-to-be sixth grader who was tall and skinny for her age, was a first-timer like Hannah and me.

What annoyed me was that I couldn’t seem to shake Hannah. She followed me everywhere around the cabin, standing at the edge of every conversation I was having, hovering just off to the side of me.

It was like she couldn’t stop talking about it — every conversation with Hannah circled back to the same embarrassing question. “Are you a bedwetter too?” It was as if she had no sense of discretion, no understanding of how horrifying it was to hear that question aloud, especially in front of others. Each time she said it, my body tensed, a fresh wave of embarrassment coursing through me, my cringe almost painful as I braced myself each time.

What ended up saving me was her noticing that Hailey had a Gryffindor pin on her backpack. I slipped back to my bed as soon as Hannah started chatting away about Harry Potter, leaving Hailey stuck in that rather one-sided conversation.

I knew I would need to unpack my stuff eventually, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it yet. I suddenly felt rather self-conscious about my pull-ups, but not for the normal reasons a bedwetter might feel that way.

I stared at my duffle bag, the childish designs on my pull-ups swimming in my mind. They were cute... but not in a good way. Not in the way I needed them to be. Compared to the plain white diapers Hannah wore at night, mine looked like they belonged in a daycare. What if everyone else had something like hers? Something neutral, something that didn’t scream that I’m still a kid.

I took a deep breath as I pulled out my phone and sat on the bed I had claimed. I wasn’t really planning on doing anything on the mobile device. I just wanted to look busy enough to not be bothered while I collected my thoughts.

I hadn’t counted on running into anyone I knew. I had pondered the then worst-case scenario of meeting another girl I had played with or against in years past in the bedwetter cabin, but I had figured my secret would be safe under those circumstances. After all, we both would be mutually motivated to keep silent.

But Hannah? How could I possibly be expected to entrust a secret of this magnitude to her? Was she even smart enough to do so?

Besides, both my friends were already aware of Hannah’s need for diapers at night. I couldn’t use that leverage to keep her quiet.

There was one factor going in my favor. I was fortunate that I had met Hannah earlier this summer. If camp had been our first meeting, and I hadn’t realized she was Emma’s cousin until later on, that would have put me in an even more precarious position. I shuddered at the thought of that scenario.

All my worries about how I would handle being around a bunch of other bedwetters seemed miniscule in comparison to the question of how I would handle things when Hannah’s family moved into my neighborhood.

What would Hannah say about me? Would she be willing to keep my secret? And even if she was willing to do so, could I trust her not to accidentally let it slip?

The remaining three campers arrived in the next fifteen minutes, with Isabell, Olivia, and Lily bringing the group of bedwetting campers to eight.

Like Hanah and myself, Isabell and Olivia were both first-timers at the camp. Neither appeared to be surprised to have been placed in Cabin B, as Amy kept referring it to when she checked the new arrivals off of her list.

The last arrival at our cabin, Lily, like Maya and Chloe, had been coming for three straight years.

I watched as Olivia unpacked her suitcase full of clothes by unzipping it and unceremoniously dumping all the contents out on top of her bed before stuffing them haphazardly into the dresser.

I tried to avoid staring as Olivia rummaged through the pile of clothes on her bed. I was sitting on my own bed, pretending to be distracted by my phone while actually attempting to get a glimpse at what sort of nighttime protection Olivia might have brought with her.

My eyes gravitated to Olivia’s bed as she unpacked, my breath catching when I glimpsed something white and crinkly in her pile of clothes. I strained to see more, my heart thudding in my chest, but Olivia shifted, blocking my view. Was that... another diaper? Or pull-ups like mine? My curiosity buzzed, but I forced myself to look away, acting nonchalant, even as my stomach churned with nerves.

From outside, I caught a few words of some announcement that was playing on the loudspeaker.

“Alright, everyone,” Amy said. “We can finish unpacking later. We’ve got orientation, dinner, and some games to play.” Amy looked over at Hannah. “Make sure to grab anything you need since we won’t be back until it’s time to get ready for bed.”

I tucked my phone in my backpack after getting up from the bed. This pair of shorts didn’t have any pockets, and I didn’t think I’d need it for anything. No sooner had I done that then Hannah was right back beside me. She was wearing a small drawstring athletic bag on her back and was holding her noise-reducing headphones in one hand.

Everyone else was out the door when Hannah turned and asked me a question.

“We’re friends, right?” Hannah asked, her voice small, her hands fumbling awkwardly with her noise-reducing earmuffs.

For a moment, I hesitated, forcing my lips into what I hoped was a sincere smile. The beginnings of a new plan were forming in the back of my head, a way in which I might actually manage to salvage this situation.

My secret had to be kept, and I was willing to do anything to keep it.

Even if that meant having to pretend to Hannah that I was her friend.

“Of course.”

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

[Username change request]

Hi, would like to request a username change.

Would like to have my username changed to: AB_DeLane

That matches my Amazon pen name, which I have as my username everywhere else that I post.

Thanks!

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 9/27/2024 at 12:07 AM, spark said:

I'm not surprised.  I was leaning toward High Functioning Autism (FTR- the two are highly correlated). 

I work in that field.  Right now, Maddy got an outside diagnosis, which doesn't necessarily qualifying for an IEP.  In most cases, she would be assessed by the district when she gets back.    BTW- this process is not fast.  There are a couple of kids I'm assessing, and they won't qualify until nearly Halloween.  Best case for Maddy is that she would qualify in December.

One of the questions psychologist tend to ask parents is when certain milestones were reached.  Students with ADHD tend to reach those milestones later.

I don't think it's unrealistic for somebody to be diagnosed with ADHD, or even HFA later in school.   I lived in different era and was never diagnosed, but I are one those kids (still am).  I will always wonder if I would have qualified had I been tested.

I'm very excited to see how this continues.

  I've never personally been through the process of any of those diagnoses or getting an IEP. I am wanting to have it be portrayed in a way that is realistic, though I'm probably going to be playing a little fast and loose with the timing of how long it happens, just so that things are lining up with other aspects of the plot.

I'll just say we haven't seen an end of Maddy's therapy sessions.

On 9/25/2024 at 5:04 PM, Salsa said:

I've reread the first 5 or 6 chapters since my last comment and it's in like... the first scene... it's in every scene. There's clues and hints everywhere. But I think you did a good job balancing it so it wasn't stupidly obvious or impossible to guess. I've known people in real life who got diagnosed out of nowhere with no obvious signs. And I know people who are a walking, talking, real-life cartoon depiction of neurodivergence and yet have no diagnosis to speak of - to be fair parents have to ask for it and not everyone even believes in it.

I think making this a first-person POV story really helped. Looking back on those earlier chapters I can imagine off-screen scenes of the parents discussing what's going on. From Maddy's POV she was going to therapy because of her bedwetting, yet that topic was dropped after the first appointment? I bet the parents were already considering therapy after her school, performance and the bedwetting was just another thing to finally make them book an appointment.

I think Maddy understands that the therapy is mostly tied to the grades. Therapy was first brought up when her parents had that intervention with her when her final grades for the year came in.

From the therapist's perspective, bedwetting would be more of an issue if it appeared to be having more of a psychological impact on Maddy, but with the family history and the fact that Maddy is showing a probably normal level of embarrassment about the topic, it isn't as much of a concern as the ADHD diagnosis which is something that is impacting her daily life.

On 9/26/2024 at 3:18 AM, ante_bees said:

this makes me think you might not have known when you started, but now or partway through you found out about it

I'll just say that I did my homework with the outline for the story.

On 9/27/2024 at 12:35 PM, Salsa said:

Buuuuuuut I also sorta work in this area and should have noticed the signs considering they're in every scene.

As intended

On 9/28/2024 at 5:38 PM, bobindiapers said:

I'm really curious to see how Maddy's week at camp goes. With the camp counselor using a nickname like "Cabin B" instead of "Cabin 10", I'm guessing the existence of a bedwetter's cabin isn't a big secret, do the rest of the campers know about it? How will that play out as the week goes on?

The Hannah twist was a huge surprise, and is going to make things really interesting for Maddy. Will she ask Hannah for one of her diapers, or maybe just take one without asking? Hannah will naturally tell Emma that her and Maddy shared a cabin, does Emma know about the bedwetters' cabin? Will Hannah just tell Emma that Maddy is a bedwetter and what will that do to their friendship considering how much Emma looked down on Hannah for still wetting the bed? During Maddy's birthday sleepover it kind of seemed like Maddy's interests might be drifting from Emma's and Angie's interests. They were both a lot more interested in making videos but Maddy ignored them so she could play her Harry Potter game, although that might have just been because the game was brand new. But if Maddy's interests are drifting from her friends' what happens then, especially with the bedwetting?  Back to camp, without Emma around constantly putting down Hannah, will Maddy realize she actually has stuff in common with her and maybe become friends?

I'm really looking forward to the next few chapters to see how this plays out.

Thanks, I think we will be spending a while at camp. There's just a lot that needs to happen there, and I think it may take more than three chapters to fit it all in in a reasonable way.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

17 hours ago, LGGrace said:

Maddy's ADHD diagnosis was not a surprise to me, especially after the pervious chapter. I have two siblings with ADD and ADHD and she was checking a lot boxes from what I have seen.  I'm curious to see how her behavior will change after starting the medication. My one sibling that has ADD was night and day when starting medication when it came to schoolwork.

Maddy's stay at camp is going to be interesting with Hannah being there!

Yep, I've been sure to include sporadic examples of neurodivergent behavior for Maddy throughout the story. 

And yes, camp will be fun We'll likely be spending several chapters there before returning home.

16 hours ago, Night Rain said:

Maddy's in for one very long and challenging week.

I think the weeks after camp might be just as challenging.

15 hours ago, Salsa said:

Ooooooooshit this is about to get good. And now I want to reread it with the diagnosis in mind to see if there were any signs I hadn't picked up on.

Oh, we are still working our way up the rollercoaster for the big descent.

And yes, there are plenty of clues. I wanted to make sure it was clear in retrospect, but I also didn't want it to be too over the top or annoying. It's harder as well when writing first person with a protagonist that doesn't think or know that there is anything wrong with themselves.

14 hours ago, Annie_Austria said:

Oh I love that she meet Hannah on the soccer Camp. That will be great.

Thanks for the Update and your work.

 

You're welcome. I'm excited to finally be writing this part of the story after teasing it so far back with Hannah.

3 hours ago, DL64 said:

I just checked, and it seems that the medication to treat ADHD has the word "incontinence" in the list of side effects in the undefined frequency section. People who develop this side effect must be rare, but maybe Maddy will be one of the lucky ones, or maybe by reading it in the instructions, she will pretend to have this effect so she can be put back in diapers.

I'm going to plead the fifth as to whether I was aware of that before I outlined this story.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 40: Cabin B

I couldn’t wait for the soccer camp to begin.

The one annoyance of all the vacations planned for later this summer was that I wasn’t able to be on the summer soccer team that I had been on with Angie and Emma in previous years. That meant hearing secondhand about how all their games went while wishing I had been out on the field with them as well.

The itch to start playing again was beginning to grow after I had largely taken a break from soccer over the first month of the summer, having avoided it apart from the handful of times I had gone to the park to kick a ball around with my friends.

My worries about spending the week at the camp had receded as that date was quickly approaching.

All I had to deal with was one more appointment with the therapist, one that both Mom and Dad were coming along with this time. Then I’d be free until it was time for Mom to take me on the two-hour drive to the camp after lunch tomorrow.

There didn’t seem to be any end in sight to the appointments with Mrs. Reynolds. In the visits after the first appointment, there had been other questionaries and tests, along with many more questions about school and my interests in general.

Thankfully, the topic was dropped after the brief questions about bedwetting during the initial visit.

The downside to driving with both Mom and Dad in the car to the appointment was that I was relegated to the less comfortable seats in the middle row of the van.

I stared out the window as Dad drove. It would be nice to have a break from therapy the next week. The last few sessions had felt so repetitive that I found it wasn’t any easier to pay attention to Mrs. Reynolds than to any of my teachers at school.

About ten minutes into the drive, I noticed a problem. This was not the route to Mrs. Reynolds’ house, where all the previous therapy sessions had occurred.

“Mom, I think Dad is lost,” I said.

Mom just chuckled a bit before answering me. “No, he’s going the right way.”

“But this isn’t the way to Mrs. Reynolds’ place.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Dad said. “We told you the other day that we would be meeting her at the clinic this time.”

“Why’s that?”

“She wanted to have a psychiatrist at the meeting today as well,” Mom said.

That didn’t make any sense. “I thought Mrs. Reynolds was a psychiatrist?”

“Oh no, that’s actually something different,” Mom said from the front seat. “Therapists help diagnose patients and talk with them through their issues. But for any medications, a psychiatrist will usually be the one to prescribe them.”

That was not welcome news. I felt rather betrayed. No one had told me anything about having to take any medicine.

Words seemed to slip off my tongue and go back down my mouth as I fumbled out a response. “But, what?”

“Maddy,” Mom said gently, turning around slightly in her seat so that she could look back at me. “We did talk about this yesterday. Weren’t you paying attention?”

The answer was probably not. After my initial fears about therapy had proven to be unfounded, I hadn’t given much, if any, thought to it. But it wasn’t like I wanted to admit that to my parents, either.

“I don’t know,” I replied sulkily, looking away from Mom and out the window again.

“Well,” Mom said. “I’m sure Mrs. Reynolds can fill you in again when we arrive.”

<><><> 

As I slumped in the chair with my head resting on my hand, my thoughts drifted ahead to the cabin full of other bedwetters I’d be spending a week with.

I’d been sitting in the room with my parents, Mrs. Reynolds, and Dr. Arnold, the psychiatrist, for about ten minutes now. I would rather have been about anywhere else. I tried my best to distract myself from the worries about what medications I might be forced to take. My mind raced back to nightmares of being forced to sit still for shots or take thimble-sized drinks of pungent cough syrup that had the consistency of molasses.

I thought ahead to what would be awaiting me at camp. I tried to picture the diapers I had seen in Hannah’s suitcase: thick, large, and nearly all white. They hinted at a world of possibilities to be explored. Aside from the many ads I’d seen over the years for my nighttime pull-ups and a few ads for incontinence underwear for old people, I hadn’t seen any ads for diapers or pull-ups that weren’t for babies.

If that option existed for Hannah, was it likely that it was the only alternative, or was there a whole host of other diapers and pull-ups that I had been completely oblivious to all along? My mind raced through dozens of combinations of styles, colors, and patterns. Maybe one of the other bedwetters would have extra I could borrow to try?

“Madelyn, Madelyn,” Mom said. “You need to be paying attention to what Dr. Arnold is saying.

“Huh,” I replied, looking up at all the adults.

Dr. Arnold just chuckled. “I didn’t exactly need more evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” I asked.

“Of your diagnosis,” Dr. Arnold said. “Mrs. Reynolds and I went through all the information from your therapy session and the questionnaires we had everyone fill out, and it seems clear that you have ADHD.”

“ADHD?”

“It stands for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,” Dr. Arnold said.

I just stared at him blankly. I didn’t get it. I understood what all of those words meant individually, but not when they were lumped together like a run-on sentence.

“It’s basically just a long string of words that means that the brain doesn’t always think through things in the same way that everything else does,” Mrs. Reynolds explained. “That’s why it’s hard for you to focus sometimes in school or why your mind tends to wander off into daydreams like you did just now.”

“I did not,” I said. I think I was blushing, less from being caught daydreaming and more from the knowledge of what I had been daydreaming about.

“Madelyn,” Mom said.

“Fine,” I said. “So I guess that daydreaming is illegal.”

“It’s not illegal,” Dr. Arnold said with a laugh, “but it is important to be able to concentrate at times when you need to do so, like at school. There isn’t anything wrong with daydreaming as long as it isn’t stopping you from handling your other responsibilities.”

I didn’t like where this conversation was going or what seemed to be implied behind Dr. Arnold’s and Mrs. Reynolds’ polite explanations. “You’re saying that I’m stupid.”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “Just smart in different ways. Your brain is sometimes trying to take on more things than it can handle at once. There are medications that can help you focus better.”

“I’m not sick,” I said. “I don’t want to take any medicine.”

“This type of medicine isn’t like that,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “There isn’t a cure for ADHD. Nothing we give you is going to make it go away permanently. Think of it more like taking vitamins. It’s something that helps your body work the way that it should.”

“I’m going to write up a prescription,” Dr. Arnold said. “We’re going to start on a smaller dose, and we can re-evaluate in a few weeks.”

I sank back into the chair as the adults talked back and forth over me. It didn’t feel like I had much of a say in this decision at all. There was talk about neurodivergence, IEPs, and some other words and acronyms that I didn’t understand. I tried to think about how Mrs. Reynolds had described it. I could deal with the idea that my brain handled things differently. But I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t.

“Can’t the medication wait until school starts?” Dad asked.

“Actually, it would be better to start now,” Dr. Arnold said. “That way, if there are any side effects or it just isn’t helping, we can consider other dosage levels or medications and work to get everything set by the time school starts up again.”

“That makes sense,” Dad said. “But Maddy’s got a soccer camp she’s going to for the next week.”

“In that case, you can start once she gets back. Best to not start new medications while away from home for a week.”

“So that means I don’t have to come back now?” I asked.

“No,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “There will still be things to talk about. Medication is just one part of helping with ADHD. It can’t be the only thing. We still need to work on different learning and studying strategies to help as well, but that should get a lot easier with the medication.”

I didn’t argue. I just sighed and crossed my arms. There couldn’t be anything that wrong with me if all it took was a small pill to make everything all better.

<><><> 

We pulled up to the entrance of the camp in the middle of the afternoon.

I was sitting in the front passenger seat as Dad, Grace, and Jackson were staying at home while Mom handled the nearly two-hour drive to camp. It would be Dad’s turn when it came time to pick me up in a week.

We hadn’t spoken much on the drive, but that was mostly because Mom had chosen to play almost the entire soundtrack from Hamilton, with the music turned up way too loud. As I hadn’t brought any headphones with me, there was nothing to do but listen along to the music.

That was fine by me. I didn’t really want to have another discussion about my bedwetting or how I was supposed to handle it at camp. Mom and Dad had spent twenty minutes talking to me about it the night before. I had been forced to sit on the couch and bite my lip as they went over how I needed to make sure to use the toilet before bed and not forget to put on a pull-up every night and what I could do to keep everything discreet.

I didn’t see why they were so concerned. I was going to be with a bunch of other bedwetters, and apparently, all the mattresses in the cabin had protective covers, just in case there were any leaks.

I had passed the time on the drive by playing my Harry Potter video game. I hadn’t beaten it yet, but I thought I had to be getting somewhat close to the end of the game. Mom and Dad had allowed me to bring it along for the drive with very clear instructions that it was going to return with Mom. Video game systems were not allowed at the camp.

With the rush to get ready for camp, the topic of the ADHD diagnosis and the pills I’d need to be taking afterward had fallen largely to the wayside, apart from both Mom and Dad giving me assurances that there wasn’t any harm in giving the medication to see how it would go. Still, I couldn’t help but feel as though the fact that we stopped to get fast food on the way home wasn’t a bribe in some way or another.

I worked hard to push the topic out of my mind. It wasn’t like I’d have to deal with it for another week. I could worry about it then.

Dust kicked up in the air as we drove down a narrow dirt road. I could make out a bunch of wood buildings about a half mile in the distance.

The gravel parking lot was about halfway full when Mom pulled the van into an empty space and finally turned off the music.

I stepped out of the van with my backpack while Mom popped open the trunk to grab my soccer bag and the duffle bag with all my regular clothes.

There were collections of parents and their kids walking toward the welcome center, hauling suitcases and gym bags. The camp was for middle-school-age students only, with just girls entering sixth, seventh, and eighth grade. That left me in the oldest tier of campers.

Some of the kids were wearing orange or green t-shirts. I got a better glimpse of one as we got to the back of the check-in line. They appeared to be from previous summers at the camp.

I scanned over the crowd of anxious parents and impatient girls getting dropped off for the camp. There was at least one cabin of bedwetters. I wondered which of my fellow campers were going to be in mine.

The first time I had ever met any other bedwetters before had been the experience with my cousins at the reception after the funeral those three years ago. I had plied them with so many questions, though in the years after, I had always wished I had managed to ask better ones.

Three years had passed before meeting another bedwetter, but with Hannah, I had no intention of asking her about her nighttime or daytime accidents, partly because I couldn’t think of a way to do that around my friends that wouldn’t seem strange and mostly because I had been put off by her weird behavior

This was different. I wasn’t a curious outsider, with the excuse of just wanting to know how things worked. This time, I was one of them. I had to act like I really was a bedwetter, and not that it was some new thing I was curious about.

I had already decided against mentioning to the other girls about how I had only recently started bedwetting. I had been able to sell that to everyone back home, but it felt like it would just be easier to go along with the story of having been a lifelong bedwetting when among other girls who surely must have had that experience.

The sign-in and drop-off process was well rehearsed. A bunch of counselors – denoted by their bright purple shirts and name tags – were checking names off lists, handing out shirts, and pointing out what direction to take their bags.

I stood by silently as Mom checked me in. I was handed a pink camp t-shirt. I set my backpack down on the floor so I could pull it on over my shirt like the other campers were doing.

Once I had the oversized camp shirt on, the counselor handed me a name tag. I looked at it in annoyance. They had spelled out my full name – Madelyn – rather than putting Maddy.

“You’ll be in cabin ten,” the impatient counselor said as they glanced at the ever-growing line of new arrivals. “You can go ahead and walk over to cabin ten. The cabin counselor will be waiting for you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help carrying anything?” Mom asked me.

“I’m sure,” I said.

I gave Mom one final hug goodbye and then headed out the opposite door toward the cabin where I’d be spending the rest of the week.

There were a couple dozen cabins lining either side of a trail on the other side of the welcome building. I could make out a bunch of soccer fields in the distance as part of a large sports complex. To the side was a larger building. I figured it must be the cafeteria.

I readjusted my backpack and duffle bag so they fit correctly around me. I was only going to be away from home for seven nights, but my parents had insisted that I pack an extra five of the nighttime pull-ups, just in case.

I paused in front of the entrance to cabin ten. I had to remind myself that there wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about. Every other girl in the cabin would be a genuine bedwetter themselves.

It was one thing to fool my parents and Grace or the doctors, nurses, and therapists I’d seen this summer. A cabin full of girls my age was going to be something entirely else.

I took a deep breath. I could do it. I could pretend to be a bedwetter for the next week. I’d wet my pull-up a couple times or maybe even every night.

After all, there couldn’t be any way in the world that they’d come close to thinking that someone would voluntarily fake wetting the bed.

I stepped forward, took hold of the door, and pulled it open.

A college-age woman in a purple camp t-shirt greeted me the second I stepped inside.

“Hi, I’m Amy,” she said. “I’m the cabin counselor.”

“Um, Maddy,” I said after a short pause.

“Welcome to Cabin B,” Amy said.

“I think I’m supposed to be in cabin ten,” I said. I looked down at my name tag, which also included my cabin number, which still very much said the number ten, which was what I was sure I had seen on the outside of the cabin door.

Amy just rolled her eyes. “That’s just a joke. Trust me, you’re in the right spot.”

Amy looked down at her clipboard without bothering to explain what she meant and then checked off a box that must have been next to my name.

“Halfway done,” she muttered to herself before looking up at me again.

“Half the beds are taken,” she said. “You can grab any that are still free. Orientation will start once check-ins are done, which should be…” Amy pulled out her phone to confirm the time, “… in about forty minutes. So you can just chill here and unpack while we wait for everyone else to arrive.”

I took a look around the cabin. The first thing I noticed that was different about the cabin was that there weren’t any bunk beds. Instead, there were a bunch of slightly lofted beds spread out around the edge of the cabin, each with a small dresser and nightstand next to them.

There were two girls chatting over to the right side of the room. A third girl was rummaging through a suitcase she had set up on another bed. A fourth bed was taken, though its claimant was nowhere in sight.

I took a free bed in the corner. There was a smaller dresser next to the bed for me to unpack my clothes into. I didn’t feel like doing that at the moment. My pull-ups may have been at the bottom of my bag of clothes, but I didn’t want to be the first person at the cabin to expose their different nighttime underwear.

I mean. I knew that this was supposedly the bedwetter cabin. Was that something all the other girls knew yet as well?

My thoughts vacillated between anticipation and trepidation. I was so intrigued at the possibility of learning what other products existed outside of my own nighttime bedwetting pull-ups, but I was scared that one wrong move, one misstep, could out me as a fraud as I tried to not stand out among a crowd of seasoned bedwetters.

I couldn’t wait until it was time for everyone to be getting into their pajamas for bed.

“Maddy! Hi!”

I nearly jumped from the shock of a distinctive voice

I turned around, my heart already sinking, as I knew full well what I was going to see.

Stepping out of the cabin bathroom, with her telltale headphones, Harry Potter shirt, and Velcro shoes, was Hannah.

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 9/14/2024 at 10:58 PM, spark said:

Her desires are expanding.  That's how it starts.  First the Pull-ups, but only at night.  Then it's okay to wear them during the day.  Then Pull-ups aren't enough, and you want real diapers.   I remember going through that, and look where I am now.  In a very wet two-tape diaper, not quite ready to change it.

For sure, pull-ups can only sate those interests for so long.

On 9/16/2024 at 3:34 AM, Dutch dl said:

This story keeps getting better  

 

Thanks!

On 9/16/2024 at 4:28 PM, Kaiko-chan said:

Amazon generally boxes things up, it's part of their standardized shipping procedure. So that the trucks are nearly 100% loaded

True, unless the item is already in a sturdy cardboard box. Then, Amazon wants to ship it as is because using another box is wasteful and an unnecessary expense. Which is all good and fine until it is a product that you'd like to keep your neighbors from seeing on your doorstep.

23 hours ago, ARNB19 said:

Very interested to see who she meets at camp!

Well, there is one thing for sure. There will be a lot of other bedwetters.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 39: Maybe

My heart pounded in my chest as I leaped up the four steps leading to the front door in a single bound.

The package of my bedwetting pull-ups had been set unceremoniously right in front of the door sometime while I had been away at the therapy appointment.

The box was much larger than I had anticipated when Mom had mentioned that she’d be re-stocking on pull-ups. I had been a bit relieved when she mentioned she would be getting them online, as that meant there wouldn’t be any risk of someone seeing her purchase those items in person. The idea that they would arrive in anything other than a standard, plain, brown cardboard box was completely unthought of.

I bent down and heaved the package up with both hands. It was even heavier than it looked. Not in my wildest dreams would I have expected my parents to order me so many pull-ups this early.

But why did it have to come packaged like this?

It simply wasn’t fair. I mean, the whole point of the product was that it was supposed to be discreet. Many of the advertisements I had seen had focused on how the pull-ups could be worn underneath pajamas at sleepovers, with other kids being none the wiser. My own sleepover experience – setting aside my older sister’s observations the following morning – had proved that part of the advertising to be true.

But being able to hide the pull-up under one’s pajamas wouldn’t do any good if the whole neighborhood was already aware that you wore them because of packaging that practically screamed out that the contents were for a teenage bedwetter.

Like, why couldn’t it have just come in a normal brown box like practically everything else on Amazon did?

I struggled to hold the box of pull-ups in one hand while reaching for the door handle. I wiggled it to no avail. Locked.

If only I hadn’t had to go to that pointless therapy session, then I would have been home, and I would have been able to get the package out of sight right away. I wouldn’t have gone to the door immediately since I wasn’t supposed to answer it when at home by myself, but at most, the package would have been out there for only a minute or two instead of who knows how long.

I looked back for Dad. To my dismay, he had instead crossed the street to the mailbox, completely oblivious to my current crisis.

I rang the doorbell several times in quick succession. My older sister was home. The minivan that Grace drove was in the driveway as well. I heard the bell echoing inside, but I didn’t hear the sound of any footsteps approaching the door.

“Grace, please,” I whined to myself. “I know you’re in there.”

I glanced up and down the street. At least no one was in sight at the moment.

With my luck, my older sister would already be upstairs in her bedroom, sitting in front of her fancy computer with her fancy headphones on, typing away at her fancy keyboard. There really wasn’t that much hope of her coming to my rescue.

I tried to think. Exactly how long had I been gone from the house? Counting the drive to and from the therapist’s home office, we had been gone for a little over an hour and a half.

I tried to reassure myself that this was fine. Maybe the package had been dropped off a few minutes ago. Maybe the packaging wasn’t so obvious to people who might be unfamiliar with the product. Maybe none of my friends had passed by my house while the box of pull-ups had been lying out there in the open.

Would Emma have passed my house? Maybe not. After all, both my friends were well aware of the restrictions I was under to start the summer. They had given up on trying to tempt me to break my parents’ rules and sneak out to visit them during the day, or, just as badly, to let them hang out with me at home while everyone else was gone at work.

Maybe my secret was still safe.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

I looked across the street. The pale-cream-white blinds were drawn shut, and the regular silver sedan wasn’t in the driveway.

I looked to my left. There was still no traffic coming in that direction. I looked to my right. Way off in the distance, there was someone riding a bike. Someone that I didn’t have any trouble recognizing.

I shielded the box out of sight as much as I could as Dad ambled across the street and up the driveway, his eye scanning through a dozen pieces of mail that he was slowly sifting through as he walked back toward the house.

“Dad,” I moaned, drawing out his name. I didn’t dare yell, but I desperately wanted to convey a sense of urgency while not drawing Emma’s attention to my predicament.

I looked back down the road. My friend was still far enough away that I doubted she could make out anything more than the fact that I was holding some sort of colorful package. But distance wasn’t going to be my friend for long.

“Dad, please!”

As Dad reached the bottom of the steps, his eyes flicked up at last to the package I was holding in my hands.

“I’m sorry,” Dad said as he rushed up the steps to unlock the door. “Didn’t think that was supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

I kept my eyes focused on Dad’s hands as he sorted through his keychain for the right one to unlock the door.

The second the lock clicked open. I shoved at the door and burst inside, slamming right into my older sister. The box slipped out of my hands as we both crashed to the floor.

“What the hell, Maddy,” Grace yelped out as she lay on the floor, wincing and rubbing at her knee.

“Sorry,” I muttered. There was a sudden annoying ache in my shoulder.

“Seriously, what’s the hurry?” Grace asked. Her eyes caught sight of the package before I had a chance to say anything in response. She raised her eyebrows. “Oh.”

There was someone especially embarrassing about the quantity of pull-ups in the box. Like, if it had just been a nine-pack of them, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But the whole thing just screamed out that I was a super serious bedwetter.

At least Grace already knew about the bedwetting and that I was wearing the pull-ups every night. This would have been a million times worse if it had been the first time she had found out about it.

Dad had completely ignored the collision. He was standing near the dining room table, opening up the letters one by one.

“You didn’t have to leave it sitting out there,” I said.

“I was upstairs,” Grace said. “Besides, they probably didn’t even knock. Half the time, they just dump in at the bottom of the steps and run off.”

Grace eased herself off of the floor first, then offered me a hand, helping me get up to my feet.

The doorbell rang.

It wasn’t hard for me to guess who it was. I instinctively raced to the door. It would very much be like Emma to barge on in after ringing the doorbell without waiting for anyone to come to the door.

I was too late. I got to the door, but before I could do anything to stop her, Emma had set foot inside.

I turned around in a panic. The box of pull-ups was nowhere to be seen. And neither was Grace.

“I was headed over to the park to meet up with Angie before dinner,” Emma said. “Didn’t think you’d be free until I saw you drive by. Wanna come?”

I looked back at Dad.

He checked the time on the phone. “Go ahead, but you need to be back in about an hour for dinner.”

I went to join Emma outside. I would have liked to change into something more comfortable, but I didn’t want to risk Emma following me further inside the house. Grace may have taken the pull-ups out of sight for me, but I wasn’t sure where they had ended up.

“What were you up to with your Dad?” Emma asked as I punched in the code for the garage door so that I could retrieve my bike.

I thought for a second about a lie that would sound better than going to see a therapist.

“Just shopping. Was looking for some new cleats but didn’t find anything I liked.”

That was a safe enough answer that Emma didn’t follow it up with any other queries as we made our way to the park.

<><><> 

To my good luck, neither Emma nor Grace had asked any more questions about what I had been up to with Dad. Emma must not have been close enough to make out anything about the package, because she didn’t say anything about it, either.

With dinner still about ten minutes away, I headed up to my bedroom right after coming home from the park.

My bedroom door was closed, which was odd, because I was fairly certain I had left it open before I had left to go to the therapy appointment.

I opened the door and then shut it right behind me. It turned out that Grace had put the box of pull-ups right on my bed. I probably should thank her for rushing to get that out of sight when Emma came to the door, but I didn’t have any desire for any further conversations about pull-ups with my older sister.

It’s not like she had worn them for her own bedwetting, after all. Had that simply been out of embarrassment? Or had they not worked for her as well as they mostly did for me?

I glanced down again at the numbers on the box. Sixty-three pull-ups. Sixty. Three. That was more than two whole months’ worth of pull-ups.

I grabbed a pen from my desk. I stabbed a couple dozen times at the plastic wrap holding the box together until there were finally enough holes to weaken it and let me rip the box open.

Inside were another three bags, though the packaging on them was much more discreet than the outrageously blunt designs on the exterior.

I ripped each of the bags open one by one, letting the pull-ups tumble out into a pile on my bed. I was suddenly overcome with the desire to have a pile of pull-ups so large I could dive into them like Scrooge McDuck did with his hoard of gold.

The pull-ups did end up fitting in the dresser drawer, though just barely. There was hardly enough room for my regular underwear, though, to be fair, those didn’t take up nearly as much space.

I paused to consider what this meant for me.

With the much smaller package that Mom had purchased initially, it had been impossible for me to sneak an extra pull-up for use during the day. I had instead been forced to wait until after a dry morning before being able to have a pull-up to experiment on while home alone. It would have been too obvious to my parents if I had been going through the pull-ups a lot faster than one per day.

But with this many pull-ups, I doubted that using a few extra a week would cause my parents to think anything was amiss. And, even if they did notice, I decided that I could just tell them that there had been nights when I had woken up wet and wanted to change so that I could fall back asleep.

That would work, at least as long as Mom and Dad were much more careful the next time they shopped for a refill.

<><><> 

I was practically in heaven the next two weeks. It didn’t matter that I had to go to the stupid therapy sessions a few times a week and answer all the stupid and pointless questions. It didn’t matter that I had to go to the private tutoring sessions – and at least those didn’t send me home any homework to do. And, to my great relief, I didn’t actually know any of the other kids whose parents had also signed them up for summer lessons.

I had more pull-ups than I could ever have dreamed of getting for myself, and that was enough to make even the more unpleasant parts of my summer break at least a bit bearable.

Pull-ups had completely replaced my regular underwear, at least when I was in bed or had the house to myself. I would never choose to wear a pull-up around Grace. And I wasn’t tempted to risk it with either of my parents, though I didn’t think they would be as observant as her.

For the two weeks after the arrival of the box of pull-ups, I paced myself with the actual bedwetting, working it out so I wet my pull-up in the morning a little over half the time.

I figured that was frequent enough to ensure that my parents continued to supply me with pull-ups while also giving me enough extras to wet during the day at my own leisure.

After a few more mornings of checking in on me, Mom finally gave up on checking to see whether I had had a bedwetting incident overnight. She hadn’t checked my dresser either. I probably wouldn’t be doing that for another month.

With my bedwetting phase now having lasted almost a month, it seemed as though my parents had come to accept that it was how life was going to be for me for the time being.

The initial restrictions my parents had placed on me for staying home alone had been loosened, though I had mixed feelings about that. I was now allowed to have my friends over to hang out, and I could go and visit them, though I had to text my parents right before I left the house and right when I arrived at my destination.

On one hand, it was nice to hang out with Angie and Emma again during the day. On the other hand, it severely cut into the time I would have had to wear the extra pull-ups.

The only time the topic of bedwetting came up with my parents was in relation to spending the night away from home. I attended two more sleepovers, one at each of my friends’ houses.

Mom had been reluctant to let me go – in fact, she had nearly even spoken to my friends’ parents about my bedwetting, only relenting after I begged and begged her not to do so.

In the end, the perceived effectiveness of the pull-ups was enough to convince her that it would be OK for me to spend the night away from home, though that didn’t stop my parents from both giving me several reminders about how I was to refrain from drinking too much in the evening.

I had headed out to both sleepovers with a pair of pull-ups tucked deep at the bottom of my backpack. Despite the actual bedwetting that had happened at the previous sleepover, I didn’t actually end up getting a pull-up out of the hidden spot in my bag before getting ready for bed.

After a few more weeks without any issues, that single actual bedwetting accident was now almost an ancient memory.

Since I hadn’t actually had any true bedwetting accidents other than that one incident, I decided to write it off as a fluke. I figured I was safe from that happening again, and my bigger fear – given how easily Grace had figured out my secret – was that I might not be lucky enough to hide a pull-up around Angie and Emma again.

All those worries proved to be for nothing. I made sure not to have a second glass of soda in the evening, left the pull-ups out of sight, and made it through both nights without any problems.

This wasn’t going to be my experience at camp, which was now only two days away. I still couldn’t believe that my parents had actually told the camp counselors about the bedwetting and that they had consented to have me placed in a cabin with other bedwetters.

I knew that my parents meant well, but the fact that I had managed to deal with the bedwetting secretly during the birthday sleepover should have been enough to show them that I would be fine at camp without any interventions.

I still didn’t know how I felt about that.

I was incredibly embarrassed at the idea of anyone else thinking I was a bedwetter. It was bad enough that the circle of people who were aware of that secret had expanded to include the therapist I had now had several appointments with.

But that meant that I wouldn’t have to go a week of abstaining from wearing and wetting pull-ups.

Besides. I was curious. I wondered. Would all the other girls wear the same bedwetting pull-ups as me? Were there other brands that I was unaware of?

And what about what I’d seen in Hannah’s suitcase several weeks ago? What if one of them – like her – instead wore diapers to bed?

Maybe I could get my hands on one?

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 9/8/2024 at 8:57 PM, thedman said:

I mean you would have to know what Abri Form M4 means, but a 3 second google search would solve that, and because podunk small town shipping sucks they often have the handles partially ripped which somewhat offers a glance of the packages inside as well

That's fair, but people can be surprisingly nosy, especially in small towns.

On 9/9/2024 at 6:45 PM, randonmf said:

i pretty much only get goodnites (im small enough/have a tiny af bladder so a full wetting or two doesnt leak on me). I only order off of amazon for them. They come in a regular box plus another box then with navy blue wrapper over them. Not sure if thats normal tho since I always get something else off amazon whenever i get them. 

It varies. I know that when I've purchased Goodnites for my girlfriend before that there's been a box to check to make sure it doesn't ship in original packaging. I do recall seeing some horror stories (either here or on Reddit) of people whose Goodnite's orders arrived in ways that weren't all that discreet.

On 9/10/2024 at 1:36 PM, DL64 said:

When this story started, it was updated twice a week, is there any hope that in the future we will find this frequency of updates, of course I understand that we can have other obligations and that we do not always do what we want, but I am just asking.

On 9/11/2024 at 12:43 AM, ante_bees said:

yes the author has said multiple times that the updates will be increasing in frequency during the winter

maybe not twice a week frequent but more frequent

Unlikely, I had a lot more time to write then than now. And I have other writing projects that I want to work on as well, so writing time gets split between a few things.

I think about once a week will be the pace for the time being.

14 hours ago, Windy said:

Seeing Emma out riding her bike in the neighborhood, I wonder if she came over to her house or just rode by and got a good look at the pullups on the front porch. I have a feeling she is going to have to talk to her friends about her secret soon. 

Also, with a whole new box, she doesn't have to worry about the pullups going away soon. Maybe she gets a little more comfortable using them as intended, even with some leaks. She was worried that her mom would backtrack if they didn't seem to work, but I think we're past that point. Great story! Always love these updates, and the commentary. 

The box of pull-ups will certainly change things for Maddy. I think the biggest boxes have 50-60 last I checked on Amazon. Maddy better hope that it hasn't been sitting outside the door for long.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 8/24/2024 at 4:50 AM, DL64 said:

I have a question, will the entire story be limited to the two summer months, or will it continue beyond the start of the school year and throughout the school year?

It will go past the summer break, how far is up in the air right now.

17 hours ago, BabySofia said:

Amazon or Walmart strikes again! Good to see a new chapter!

Yes, I'm always very careful to check what packaging a product ships in. (and Amazon will give an option to not ship in original packaging as well).

15 hours ago, spark said:

I once order booster pads that came in the original package.  

I went to Japan this summer, and Iet my neighbor that I would be gone, just in case I got a delivery while I was away.  She said, "Yeah, you get some big boxes.  I didn't let her know what is in those big boxes.

 

Yes, I had a larger shipment of diapers arrive a couple weeks ago. 4 packs at once instead of 1 or 2. Hadn't had that large of a purchase in a while and was a bit surprised by how big the box waiting for me in the apartment mail room was.

7 hours ago, thedman said:

I have a regular supply of Abena M4 that comes from a healthcare supplier and 4 out of 5 tines they show up on my front step in the original packaging

That a bit surprising. I thought it was pretty much standard for adult diapers (whether kink or medical) to arrive in discreet shipping).

That's one of the reasons I was initially surprised to hear that Goodnites would come in a regular box. Makes sense for baby diapers, but for a product for teenage bedwetters, you'd think that companies would understand the need for some discretion.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 38: Questions

Perhaps it was better that the therapy appointment had been sprung on me just the night before, as I only had to endure one restless night of wondering what the following day would entail rather than going through a week of the worry building up day by day.

The contents of my dreams escaped me as I woke up the following morning, but even though I couldn’t recall what had been happening in my dreams, I could still feel the lingering sense of apprehension that had been a common thread through all of them.

I woke up dry, the room still dim and quiet. No alarm had gone off yet, and it would be a while before Mom or Dad would peek in to check on me before heading to work.

I stepped out of bed. A peek out the window confirmed that Grace was already out of the house. I hadn’t seen much of my older sister this week. And last night, she had been out working an extra shift at her job. I had fallen asleep before she had returned home. It would have been impossible to miss the sound of her returning to her bedroom.

As much as I would have preferred to have saved the pull-up to use later today, I needed to make sure that Mom and Dad continued to believe that my bedwetting wasn’t abating. I’d been dry the past two nights. Three dry nights in a row was more of a risk than I was willing to take.

The urge to pee felt a little more urgent than normal this morning, enough so that I wasn’t comfortable even trying to carefully wet the pull-up while in a safer standing position.

This could have been the most perfect summer ever. It should have been the most perfect summer ever. But instead of being able to enjoy the warmth and comfort of a wet pull-up in bed in the morning, my mind was instead racing through all the potential scenarios for what could happen in the therapy session.

What about the bedwetting? Of course she’d bring it up — how could she not? What if she asked something too specific, a question I hadn’t prepared for? What if she looked at me and knew? What if she could see right through me, see the lie I had built so carefully unraveling in front of her?

I snatched a change of clothes and slipped into the hallway, moving quickly to the bathroom before Mom’s usual knock came, telling me to get moving. I managed to traverse the short distance in the hallway between my bedroom and the bathroom without running into anyone.

The one benefit of waiting to wet my pull-up until I was in the bathroom was that I could let loose without fear of leaks. And that had ended up being a wise decision, with the pull-up proving to be little match for an extra full morning bladder.

Everyone was gone by the time I finished showering. Mom had come to knock on the door half-way through, letting me know that she was on her way and reminding me about how Dad was going to get off work early to take me to the appointment later in the afternoon.

The day went by far too quick.

Instead of playing my Harry Potter game, I retreated to the familiar comfort of the books. The clock seemed to have jumped ahead by leaps and bounds every time I looked up from my current spot on the page. My eyes flickered rapidly back and forth as I almost skimmed through the already familiar tale, desperate to keep my mind on another topic but unable to fully prevent the worst of my anxious thoughts from occasionally creeping in.

I managed to nearly finish the first book in the series by the time I heard the sound of Dad’s car pulling into the driveway.

<><><> 

I had a picture built up in my mind of what a therapy session was supposed to look like. What actually transpired couldn’t have been further from what I had anticipated.

I think that Dad had tried to talk to me on the fifteen-minute ride over, but his words of advice or encouragement simply went in one ear and out the other. I had given the occasional nod or mumbled response, but my eyes were focused out in the distance as I watched each mile pass by, bringing me closer and closer to an encounter I wasn’t looking forward to.

I felt confident that I had everyone fooled. I was sure that Mom and Dad believed that my bedwetting was genuine. The same went for my older sister, Grace. I was a little less confident about the doctors and nurses I had seen, but even though they hadn’t been able to determine a specific medical cause to attribute the bedwetting to, they also hadn’t said anything that would suggest that they thought I was faking my condition.

But I worried that this next test would be far more difficult. Her whole job was about being able to understand how people think and act. What type of information would the therapist be able to trick me into unknowingly providing her? I was determined to give her as little as possible to work with.

The therapist’s office turned out to not be in some massive downtown medical complex, but rather at her home in an older neighborhood filled with sprawling, massive trees.

I positioned myself as much behind Dad as I could as he rang the doorbell and then introduced me to Mrs. Reynolds when she opened the door and ushered us inside. I had been expecting an older woman, maybe one with thick glasses and a cardigan. Mrs. Reynolds was younger than my parents, though at least several years removed from college.

Her office was right in the entryway and was not what I had initially pictured. In my mind, I had pictured all the cartoons I’d seen of people going to see a therapist or psychologist, and they had always seemed to include some sort of reclining chair for the patient to lie down in.

Instead, in the middle of the room there were two couches facing each other with a large coffee table in between them. There was a box of tissue paper and some jars of wrapped candies on the center of the coffee table. The room was well lit, though the curtains were drawn, cutting off the view of the street.

Dad and Mrs. Reynolds talked for a couple of minutes while I took a seat on the couch and helped myself to a couple of chocolates, though I had to fish through the bowl to find some that weren’t dark chocolate.

“I’ll be right in the waiting room, Maddy,” Dad said as he turned to head toward the door at the other end of the room. He was holding a handful of papers that Mrs. Reynolds had handed him on a clipboard. “Mrs. Reynolds will come get me when you are done.”

The door closed behind him a few seconds later. Then, it was just the two of us.

As Mrs. Reynolds walked toward the couch opposite the one that I was seated on, I set my feet on my couch and sprawled out all the way on my back. The couch was just long enough for me to stretch out fully, my toes brushing the armrest, but not so small that I felt cramped.

“Looks like someone is getting comfortable,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“I thought I was supposed to lie down while you asked me questions?”

“That’s a common misperception,” she said. “You can sit however you feel comfortable, though it might be easier for you to sit up for some of the things we’ll be doing. Though yes, I have some questions for you. I like to think of it as more of a conversation than an interrogation.”

I swung my feet off of the couch and sat upright, but I wasn’t eager for this to begin. I was determined to say as little as possible lest she somehow figure out the one secret I couldn’t allow her to discover.

“Do I really have to do this?” I mumbled, avoiding eye contact. My fingers picked at the couch seam.

“Well, what do you mean by this?”

Her question in response to my own query left me uncertain of how to respond as I picked at my fingernails. I waited a few seconds. Mrs. Reynolds didn’t say anything. She kept looking at me expectantly with a calm expression on her face.

“I don’t know,” I said at last after another ten seconds of awkward silence. “How is talking with you supposed to make anything better?”

“You’d rather be somewhere else?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s alright to feel that way,” Mrs. Reynolds said, her voice steady. “What were you up to earlier? Anything fun before your dad brought you in?”

I skipped over the whole waking up and wetting my pull-up part of the morning and mentioned that I had spent most of the morning and afternoon reading a Harry Potter book. We talked for a bit about the books and the new game I had gotten for my birthday.

It was only when I looked up at the clock that I realized ten minutes had passed by. Mrs. Reynolds’ relaxed demeanor made it impossible for me to maintain my initial reticence.

“So, which house would you be in?” Mrs. Reynolds asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Slytherin,” I said quickly, the answer coming without a second thought.

She raised an eyebrow. “Slytherin? Interesting. What makes you say that?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be in Hufflepuff,” I said. I thought back to the first day I’d met Hannah, who had been decked out in Hufflepuff gear. No way would I be in the same house as her. “They’re boring. And everyone always chooses Gryffindor, so I didn’t want to choose them either.”

“And what about Ravenclaw?”

“No, I don’t think that would be right for me. My older sister Grace would be in there for sure, though she doesn’t like anything to do with that stuff.”

“And why don’t you think you could be in Ravenclaw?”

“It’s just like where are the nerdy kids go and, I’m not like…”

I let that train of thought drop off, but not soon enough. No sooner had the words left my mouth than I felt as though Mrs. Reynolds had just played a cruel trick in getting me to make a confession that I hadn’t intended to let slip past my lips.

“So, you settled on Slytherin, then?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.

“I guess so,” I replied, though I wasn’t as certain of that answer as I had been before. “I like how their house colors look.”

To my relief, Mrs. Reynolds didn’t dig further into the explanation I had given about what Hogwarts house I would be in. We drifted into safer territory—school, classes, homework. The mundane stuff. But even as I answered, my mind raced ahead, waiting for her to circle back to something more personal, something I wasn’t ready to talk about.

As Mrs. Reynolds continued to ask questions around those topics, I could see that she was beginning to take much more thorough notes. She never once made any direction mention of how my grades had shown on my report card.

“When you’re bored in class, what do you like to daydream about?” she asked, her pen tapping lightly against the notebook.

I was pretty sure I was beginning to blush from embarrassment. I knew exactly what topic my mind had the tendency to wander to over the past three years.

“Um,” I stammered, trying to think of something else that I could admit to daydreaming about that would be believable, but much less embarrassing. “I don’t know. Maybe Hogwarts or soccer.”

“Do you find that you like to stop what you are doing and daydream a lot, especially in school?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“And why do you think that might be?”

I shrugged. “I guess it beats math class.”

The conversation shifted to the topic of ADHD and a lot of big, fancy-sounding words that I didn’t quite understand.

Mrs. Reynolds handed me a sheet of paper with twenty questions on them. I was supposed to give answers ranging from never to very often for the behaviors being described.

I looked at the first question: “How often do you find yourself being restless or fidgety?”

I bit down on my lip. It was a tie between often and very often. I put a checkmark on very often. It took me less than five minutes to go through the rest of the questions while Mrs. Reynolds sat at her desk and typed away at her computer.

I didn’t understand the point of the questions, but I did try to answer them as accurately as I could. As far as tests went, this was a lot easier than any I’d had this year at school.

Mrs. Reynolds took a seat back on the couch across from me once she noticed I was done answering all the questions. “There’s one more thing from the intake application that I wanted to talk with you about this afternoon before I go and get your dad.”

I stared down at my feet. There was only one possibility I could think of.

“They mentioned that you started wetting the bed several weeks ago,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “They said that though it does tend to run in the family, that you hadn’t had any issues staying dry at night since you were a toddler.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at Mrs. Reynolds. “Can we please not talk about it?” I whispered.

“It’s just that bedwetting starting randomly, especially if there isn’t a medical cause, can indicate that other things aren’t well for you. If there is anything else that is going on, I want you to know that you can talk with me about it.”

I shook my head emphatically. “No, I’m fine.”

“OK,” Mrs. Reynolds said in a way that seemed to suggest that she had been hoping I had something else to elaborate on.

“Then I think this will be good for today.” Mrs. Reynolds took the paper from the coffee table. “I’ll let your dad know that we are all done.”

Mrs. Reynolds let Dad in from the waiting room and took the papers she had given him. They looked suspiciously similar to the worksheet she had made me fill out just now. She exchanged them for another stack of papers.

“We’ll have some similar assessments for your parents and some of your teachers to do as well,” Mrs. Reynolds said as she turned back to face me. “Then we’ll take those into consideration the next time that we meet.”

The idea of my teachers grading my behavior like that made me feel a bit queasy, so I just nodded mutely in response. I hoped I would have a different set of teachers for the new classes I’d be taking in the fall.

I breathed a small sigh of relief as I stepped outside after Dad, and the door swung shut behind us. I still didn’t quite get what the point of the past hour had been, but it at least hadn’t been as bad as I had feared.

Dad and I spent the drive home talking about a soccer game that was going to be on TV later that evening, leaving the topic of what had happened during the therapy appointment untouched.

On the way through the neighborhood, we passed Emma, who was riding her bike down the street. I gave her a quick wave, though my mind began working through what I might tell her I had been doing going out with Dad in the afternoon. It wasn’t as though I was going to tell either of my friends the truth about the therapy appointment.

But even with that hiccup, I was beginning to feel a little better about how this summer was going to go – maybe if I was lucky, the summer tutoring also wouldn’t be as bad as I feared. I was busy looking at my phone as we pulled into the driveway. It wasn’t until after I had stepped out of the car that I saw the package that had been unceremoniously dumped on the top of the front steps.

It wasn’t one of the plain brown cardboard boxes that usually came delivered whenever we ordered something online.

Mom had ordered a new box of nighttime pull-ups for me. The package on the doorstep was anything but subtle. The bright cardboard box screamed its contents, the brand name and product pictures bold enough for anyone passing by to notice.

I raced toward the front door. I had to get the package out of sight as soon as possible.

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 8/21/2024 at 4:49 AM, ante_bees said:

on another website (a03 https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/148537477) i asked the same question and he said "Thanks! And yes, with the sleepover arc coming to and end it made sense to get things set up for what will be coming next for Maddy over the summer.

I think I'll be back to posting every week or so now that summer is close to being over." so take of that what you will (i said asked for an estimate of the next chapter)

That's the tentative plan. I have some chapters I'm very much looking forward to writing, but we need to work our way to them first.

20 hours ago, LGGrace said:

Great chapter. I wonder if the therapist will eventually get her to open up about the real reason she is wetting the bed.

I'm sure Maddy will have to be very careful with how she answers questions in the next chapter.

9 minutes ago, randonmf said:

im actually kind of surpised you decided to take that route when it comes to cabins especially since it differs from your usual (realistic) depiction of what may happen. 

I don't think it would be that unusual for campers with bedwetting issues to be grouped together. Seems like that would make things a lot easier on all of the kids. I've got a good plan for how it will be handled and for why I want Maddy to be in a cabin like that.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

7 hours ago, diaperboymi said:

Thank you for the Wonderful update!!!  Take as long as you need for the next one.  Fabulous story ☺️

Thanks, and you're welcome!

4 hours ago, zzzz50 said:

It will be interesting what events happen in the bedwetting cabin. This feels exactly like how a 12/13 year old’s plan would go off course. Good old Mom to derail the perfect plan!

Yes, Maddy's parents have a tendency to mess up her plans by trying to be extra helpful.

2 hours ago, DL64 said:

Maybe not, in the bedwetting cabin, there could also be children her age who are incontinent, and therefore in diapers permanently, and being around them during the duration of the camp, could possibly make Maddy want to do the same and decide to increase these accidents to end up in diapers 24/7, until now she was afraid to do it because of the looks of the other children, but if she meets one who does it............?????

I think it is safe to say that camp will be a learning experience for Maddy.

1 hour ago, Night Rain said:

Will Maddy run into Hannah at the camp?

Cannot say. However, that would make it a lot harder for Maddy to keep her secret.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Thanks again for being patient with waiting for the next chapter.

Chapter 37: Ambushed

For the third morning in a row, I reached cautiously below my waist and pressed my hand up against the front of my pull-up. The material crinkled gently under the touch of my fingers as I lay on my stomach in bed.

It had been warmer the past few nights, so I had gone to bed wearing just a thin t-shirt in lieu of the pajamas I typically wore to bed. Grace and I had both complained to our parents about the air conditioning’s sudden lack of effectiveness in the summer heat, but apparently, it was something that wasn’t going to be able to get fixed for a day or two more.

With my little brother now the only person in the house still unaware of what I was now wearing to bed, the risk of discovery didn’t feel as great. The state of undress had the added benefit of making it even easier to determine the condition of my pull-up in the morning.

I gave the front of the pull-up a good squeeze. The result was what it should be: Dry.

I breathed a sigh of relief, not a feeling a teenage girl should be experiencing over finding out the condition of her undergarments in the morning. I had always taken my ability to choose when and where I relieved my bladder for granted. The actual bedwetting accident – during a birthday sleepover, nonetheless – had shaken that self-perception.

I had gone to bed a bit nervously the night after the sleepover, but despite a handful of scary dreams, there was no repeat of the bedwetting incident that had marred an otherwise successful sleepover of hiding the pull-ups from my two completely oblivious friends.

I still didn’t know what could have happened at the sleepover to make me have my first genuine bedwetting accident in over a decade, but with three straight days having passed by without a recurrence, I felt safe in assuming that whatever had befallen me that night had been a random fluke. That being said, I wasn’t going to skip out on wearing a pull-up at the next sleepover.

On the other hand, the fake bedwetting was being continued with regularity. I had mastered the ability of managing to wet the pull-ups in moderation so as to not deal with the leaks that had first plagued me when Mom had finally purchased them for me last week, though I still abstained from wetting the pull-ups while in bed.

I wasn’t sure what my parents would do if they discovered that the pull-ups weren’t all that effective. My hope in that scenario would be that they would upgrade my nighttime protection from pull-ups to the type of diapers I had seen in Hannah’s suitcase. My fear – and what I worried would be the more likely scenario – was that my parents would just have me go back to washing the sheets every night if the pull-ups provide futile in keeping my bedding dry.

I certainly didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of asking my parents to purchase diapers instead of pull-ups. That was a bridge too far. And without making that direct request, I didn’t think there would be any likelihood of them taking such a drastic step to handle the bedwetting.

That left me stuck in the status quo. I’d gotten what I wanted, and it was enough to satisfy me for the time being.

I did need to pee as I lay in bed, but I decided not to do it at the moment. I could have stood up out of bed and let myself gradually pee into the pull-up before getting back under the sheets, but I decided that it was too early in the day to do that. Grace had a full eight-hour shift today, which meant I’d have the house to myself to wear the pull-up.

After having to endure the humiliation of having my older sister point out how I had been wearing a pull-up – and tell me that I needed to change it at that – I had completely avoided having my pull-ups on in any circumstances when my sister might be around.

At the sound of knocking on the door, I adjusted the covers to make sure I was hidden completely beneath them.

“Maddy, I’m opening the door in three seconds.”

The door swung open in what felt like a lot less than three seconds, but I was already completely prepared by the time Mom stepped into the room.

“You really should be up by now,” Mom said. “Everyone else has already gotten dressed and eaten breakfast.”

“But I don’t eat breakfast.”

“Then it should be even quicker for you to get up in the morning.”

That, in my opinion, was completely unfair. If I was able to get ready for the day quicker, I ought to be allowed to stay in bed longer.

“Did you sleep well last night?” Mom asked.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod, thinking about how I hadn’t had any more scary dreams, which was good considering the Harry Potter game had given my brain more than enough material to work with for that.

“And?” Mom asked.                                   

I remembered what Mom was really wanting to know with that seemingly benign question.

Both Mom and Dad had taken great pains to avoid using the word diaper or pull-up. If those articles of clothing got mentioned at all, they were usually called something along the lines of nighttime underwear or protective undergarments. Usually, though, they didn’t even go that far, choosing to instead allude to the topic rather than state it outright.

I had learned that in Mom’s mind, the condition of my pull-up was reflective of how well I had slept.

I didn’t have to fake embarrassment when giving my answer: “Dry.”

“That’s good,” Mom said.

Mom walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer.

“Mom,” I protested. But she didn’t heed my warning as she slid the drawer open all the way and shuffled through the contents.

I didn’t care much for Mom to be looking at any of my underwear, whether that was my regular or special nighttime ones.

“I’m just seeing if I need to order any more for you,” Mom said as she shut the drawer.

“I haven’t run out yet,” I said.

“There are only three left,” Mom said. “Since they seem to be working well, I’m going to order more online if that’s OK with you.”

I answered that question with the slightest of nods, with my head barely peeking out from underneath my covers.

“Don’t forget to hop into the shower when you are out of bed,” Mom said. “Just because you aren’t going anywhere today doesn’t mean you can skip cleaning up.”

That had been a point of contention earlier in the week. I didn’t see the point of needing to do that right away when I wasn’t allowed to leave the house yet when I was staying home alone.

That was followed by the usual reminders. No cooking anything in the oven or on the stove. Make sure to do all my chores for the day – vacuuming, cleaning the cat litter, and making my bed – that I was supposed to have done before everyone was home from work.

After Mom left the room, I got out of bed and took a peek out through the blinds from the window that overlooked the front lawn.

Only Mom’s minivan remained in the driveway. Dad’s car and the old minivan that my older sister now drove were both already gone. I waited impatiently until I at last watched as Mom and Jackson stepped out the front door and then sped off down the road.

Part of me wanted to be annoyed at the idea that my parents didn’t trust me to look after my six-year-old brother during the day, but then I thought about how much of a pain it would be to have him around, and I decided that I was completely OK with that decision.

The rule about not hanging out with my friends while home to myself was still in place. Though Dad had hinted the other night that as long as I continued to show that I was being responsible with doing my chores and not burning the house down that I might be granted some additional freedoms later this summer.

I let out one last yawn as I stretched my hands out above my head. It was going to be a perfect day. I had the next eight hours all to myself. I had a Harry Potter game to stay inside and play. And I had a pull-up to wear that I would eventually get around to wetting at some point in the afternoon.

Well, almost perfect. If only I didn’t have chores to get done as well.

<><><> 

I hopped in the shower a few minutes later as Mom had requested. I stayed in the shower for a lot longer than normal. It wasn’t so much that I enjoyed it, as I disliked how I would feel once the warm water was turned off. It wasn’t uncommon for Mom or Grace to pound on the bathroom door, telling me to hurry up and finish so that there would still be some hot water left for them.

But once I reached the point where my fingers were starting to look like raisins, I finally gave in and turned the water off, stepping out of the tub to dry myself off while I began to shiver slightly.

I left my pull-up back on the bed. I didn’t like putting it on after it had sat in the bathroom, which would get all steamy during my shower. I made sure to dry off extra thoroughly before putting it on. I didn’t want any of the absorbent material to go to waste before I decided that it was time to wet the pull-up.

I put on the pull-up and one of my sports shirts. Afterward, I skimmed through my closet and dresser for about a minute and then decided that I didn’t really feel like putting anything on over the pull-up. The house wasn’t exactly as cool as it normally was in the summer.

I took a careful peek down the stairs after leaving my bedroom. The blinds covering the front window were completely closed. That was one nice thing about our house. I had total privacy as here weren’t any vantage points where someone would be able to see inside.

It felt exhilarating to be wearing the pull-up so openly. Before I had gotten the pull-ups, I would never have felt comfortable enough to go around the house in just my underwear while I was home alone, but for some reason, this felt different.

It wasn’t like I wanted someone to catch me wearing them; that would have been completely mortifying, even if it was only Grace or my parents. There was just a sense of freedom in being able to flaunt my pull-ups as I walked around the house alone.

One of the nice parts about being home alone was that I could connect the Switch to play on the TV rather than just squinting to make out all the details on the small screen. With everything plugged in, I sat cross-legged on the floor with a glass of lemonade set next to me on the coffee table.

The chores weren’t that important. They could always be done later. That was what I told myself, at least. I had about eight hours until everyone was back home, and it wasn’t like they would take that long to do, anyway.

I tried to decide how I wanted to wet the pull-up today. That was always a challenge. There were so many scenarios I still wanted to experiment with and given that I still needed to wet the pull-up at night at least three to four times a week to keep up the bedwetting charade, I didn’t get nearly as many chances I would like to wet the pull-up at my leisure during the day.

I took another sip of my lemonade as I watched a cutscene from the game play out on the TV. Playing a game in the Harry Potter world had replaced – at least for a moment – my obsession with the books that had remained mostly untouched since my birthday.

The important thing was staying hydrated. I could figure out how the pull-up was going to get wet once I actually needed to pee.

The first several times I felt my bladder telling me it was time to go. I managed to take a reluctant break from the game to make a short trip to the toilet. I made sure to refill my glass of lemonade a couple of times, staying a lot more hydrated than usual.

It was late in the afternoon when I finally decided it was time to put the pull-up to use. I had held off on going to the restroom as long as I could. It was all I could do to keep from squirming at the need to pee.

I headed into the bathroom where the tile floor would serve as protection against any leaks. I picked up the rug in front of the sink and tossed it into the corner where it would be safely out of the way. I adjusted the bathroom mirror so that I could stand in front of it with my back to it and look over my shoulder to see my padded bottom.

I watched with a sense of exhilaration as the pull-up grew warm and expanded in the mirror. It was one thing to feel it. It was something else to also be watching it happen.

The pull-up sagged even more heavily, and then I watched in the mirror as pee began streaming out of both sides, running down my legs and dripping straight down onto the floor.

Unlike past times when the pull-up had leaked, I wasn’t disappointed. I had come to accept that it wasn’t capable of absorbing everything when my bladder was full to the brim.

I tentatively pressed against the bottom of the sagging pull-up. It was incredibly heavy. It had absorbed a lot of pee, but there was also some that had pooled up inside it that hadn’t leaked out yet.

I crossed my feet and squeezed my legs together, causing another small wave of pee to release down my legs.

Then the exhilaration was replaced with disappointment. It wasn’t a disappointment of anything that I had done. Just a disappointment that I was only able to indulge in this experience several times a week.

<><><> 

With the wet pull-up safely disposed of, I rushed through all my chores. I should have known better than to save them until the end of the afternoon, but I had kept putting them off by telling myself that I’d just do them in another ten minutes until I’d reached the point that I barely would have enough time to complete them before the rest of my family got home.

I had just finished wrapping up the cord back around the vacuuming cleaner when I heard the sound of the front door opening. I slid the vacuum cleaner into its spot in the hallway closet and slid the door shut.

All done, and not a moment to spare.

I ran back to the living room – now neatly vacuumed – and resumed my game on the Switch, trying to pretend that I hadn’t just left doing all of my chores to the last minute.

Dad took a single step out of the hallway and into the living room.

“You finish all the chores your mom asked you to?”

I wanted to roll my eyes. Couldn’t Dad see that the living room had just been neatly vacuumed?

“Yes,” I said.

“I see that you vacuumed. Did you also make your bed and clean the cat litter?”

My heart sank at the last item on the list.

“You better hurry and get the litter cleaned,” Dad said without waiting for the answer to his question. “Your Mom will be home in a few minutes. She’s a few minutes later tonight since she has to drop Jackson off at the sleepover he’s going to tonight.”

I tossed my gaming console to the side and sprinted past Dad all the way to the basement.

No sooner had I dumped the bag of litter clumps in the garbage then I heard the front door open once again. This time, it was Mom who had returned home.

“Did Maddy get all of her chores done?” Mom asked Dad.

Instead of answering, Dad just turned and looked at me.

“Yes, I got them all done.” I went through the list proudly. “I vacuumed, made the bed, and cleaned the litter.”

“Thanks, Maddy,” Mom said.

I grabbed the Switch and headed upstairs to my bedroom. Dad often took over the TV after work, preferring to watch the news for a bit before dinner.

<><><> 

“Maddy, dinner time!” Mom called out fifteen minutes later from the top of the stairs.

I paused my game. That didn’t make any sense. My older sister wasn’t supposed to be home from her summer job for at least another twenty minutes.

“Why aren’t we waiting for Grace?” I asked as I arrived in the dining room.

“Your sister just texted,” Mom said. “She picked up an extra shift and won’t be home until late tonight.”

There were only three spots set at the table tonight. Jackson’s absence, unlike Grace’s, wasn’t unexpected. He was off to his very first sleepover for a birthday party for one of his school friends.

It was only slightly unfair. I hadn’t been allowed to go on sleepovers when I was Jackson’s age.

Perhaps Mom and Dad had simply not wanted my older sister to feel left out. It would have been hard to explain how Grace wasn’t having sleepovers if her younger sister wasn’t. But whatever the explanation, the result was that I was having dinner alone with my parents this evening.

I picked at my meal uneasily with my fork. Dinner was fried rice and egg rolls. Not my favorite, but it could have been far worse. Mom had at least forgotten to put the frozen peas in it this time.

I had been forced to endure a taco casserole the night before. The only thing going for me was that the rest of my family had liked it so much there weren’t any leftovers.

The three of us started the meal in silence as we chowed down on our food, but the dinner alone with my parents soon turned into a complete ambush. It became clear that they intended to make use of my siblings’ absence to bring up some topics that would never have been discussed had Grace or Jackson been around.

“We looked into signing you up for summer school,” Dad said.

“Do I really have to?” I said, cutting Dad off mid-sentence.

“Maddy, don’t interrupt people when they are talking,” Mom said.

“As I was saying,” Dad continued. “Your Mom and I looked at summer school options, and it seems like it was too late to sign you up for the earlier classes, and we’ll be gone on vacation later in the summer, so classes then won’t work either.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. I had blocked out the whole conversation about my grades and summer school. Now I wouldn’t need to worry about doing it at all.

“Instead,” Dad said. “We’ve found a company that offers private tutoring for small groups of students, so you’ll be doing that three days a week to help you get caught up by the time school starts in the fall.”

“But.”

“Think about it this way, Maddy. It won’t be anything like school,” Dad said. “There will be lots of time to interact with your tutors, since it will just be with you and a few other students. It won’t be just sitting at a desk for hours while someone talks at you.”

That didn’t cheer me up. I wanted to spend less time with teachers this summer, not more.

“When does that start?” I grumbled.

“Next week,” Mom said. “You’ll go every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

“All day?”

“No, it will just be for the mornings. Either your Dad or I will drop you off when we go to work, and then one of us will take you home during our lunch break.”

I relaxed just a little. This wasn’t as bad a deal as I had feared when the threat of summer school had been brought up last week. Losing three summer mornings wasn’t the worst possible outcome by far.

“There is something else that is going to be starting, too,” Mom said. “We have an appointment set up for a therapist you’re going to be seeing this summer.”

I was surprised, but then I realized that I shouldn’t have been. If they hadn’t forgotten about summer school, there wasn’t any way they had forgotten about therapy, either.

“I don’t need therapy. There isn’t anything wrong with me.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance.

“Going to therapy doesn’t mean that there is anything wrong with you,” Dad said. “It’s more about learning how to deal with different situations that can be challenging, like school can be, for example.”

“Or marriages,” Mom added.

I blinked a few times. “You went to a therapist?”

“Of course,” Dad said. “So there isn’t anything for you to worry about with seeing one yourself.”

“Is therapy starting next week as well?”

“No,” Dad said. “Actually, we’ll be starting that tomorrow. It will be in the afternoon, so I’ll come home from work a little early so I can take you to the appointment.”

I winced after realizing that I had picked a little too far at one of my fingernails. I could think of a lot of things that there was no way that I was going to tell a therapist about, no matter how much they poked or prodded.

“It’s OK,” Mom said. “You’ll do it for a few weeks, and then you’ll get a break for camp.”

Camp. Even before I had committed to the plan of faking my bedwetting, I had been a little nervous about the idea.

I would leave on a Sunday afternoon and not be home until midday on Saturday. I had never had a multi-day sleepover before. Yes, I’d had back-to-back sleepovers with Angie and Emma before, but that didn’t really count as I’d had plenty of time to see my family.

Under the best of circumstances, being that far away from home for that long had me feeling uncertain.

I hadn’t realized how quickly it was approaching. It was less than three weeks away.

The summer camp – along with the family vacation planned for later in the summer – had been one of the big hurdles initially as I had been trying to work up the courage to begin wetting the bed, but without Mom and Dad around to actual check if I was wearing a pull-up to bed, it would be an easier secret to keep than at a sleepover at our house.

“If you don’t feel like going to camp this summer, you don’t have to,” Dad said, interrupting my stream of thoughts.

“No, I still want to.”

The soccer camp had been my consolation prize for not getting to do my summer soccer league because of all the vacations planned for later in the summer. I had no intention of backing out of it, regardless of the bedwetting situation.

“That’s good,” Mom said. “I called the camp and talked to them about your new medical condition.”

My jaw dropped down in shock. There was no way she actually did that. The whole point of wearing the pull-ups was that no one else needed to know.

“Why?” I croaked out, barely able to keep the sound of distress out of my voice.

“Maddy,” Mom said. “It isn’t like there aren’t other campers who have similar issues. It was important to talk with your camp counselors about it to see what they could do to help.”

“But I don’t need any help.”

“Cabins don’t always have a lot of privacy for getting dressed and changed,” Mom said. “I don’t think I would be as easy to hide as it was for your sleepover. They told me that your bedwetting won’t be a problem at all. In fact, they have a cabin that is reserved for kids like you. That way, you don’t have to worry about having to sneak around and hide your nighttime protection while you are away.”
 

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 7/8/2024 at 8:00 PM, ErikMxx said:

Grace is adorable, the ideal older sister, loving, caring, but benevolently condescending. Enjoying the story!

Younger siblings do need to be kept in check every once in a a while.

On 7/10/2024 at 8:19 PM, ARNB19 said:

So maybe my memory is too wild and so is my imagination but is anyone else wondering where Grace went when she dropped them at the mall or what she does in her room all alone so often?

She most certainly went somewhere.

On 7/12/2024 at 3:33 PM, diaperguy85 said:

I would assume she went to a friend's, a movie, maybe her own shopping elsewhere or something. But it's anyone's guess at this point. Hopefully soon we can find out! As for her room, (and I'm going with what I did) she's just mindlessly surfing the web, chatting with friends. But perhaps she's making diaper content lol!

My money's on the whole family wears diapers to bed, at least!! A little secret that everyone is keeping from Maddy! 

But seriously, to @MinnesotaWriter, great story! Can't wait for the next installment and to see how this all goes!

Thanks! I do promise that we will find out what is up with Grace. All in due time.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 7/6/2024 at 3:38 PM, LGGrace said:

Glad to see another chapter.  I have a feeling Maddy's secret is not going to stay a secret for too much longer. 

We'll have to see how she reacts to the revelation that Grace is aware of both the pull-ups and the fact that the one Maddy had on was wet. She's been perhaps a bit overconfident in her sneakiness so far.

On 7/6/2024 at 9:32 PM, thedman said:

The way her friends wouldn't stop watching her get out of the sleeping bag and the comment of "I told you" would either allude to them both being in on the water prank and I told you meaning they were arguing whether it would work, or that one possibly had a suspicion of the diapers and the fact that Maddie had not wet the bed being confirmation of their presence.

That is an interesting theory.

18 hours ago, martijn said:

Yes! another chapter. i am glad the stories is still going.

Yep! I should be back to posting a little more regularly. It was just a crazy busy last month.

On 6/30/2024 at 2:02 PM, thedman said:

This would mean that they would have to have been confident the trick would work to make her pee, and if they were it would seem more likely that they would be suspicious when she didn't pee after putting her hand in the water during the night as clearly the bowl (if there was one) was removed before she awoke

Another interesting theory, there's a lot of different things one could read into that short conversation between Angie and Emma.

On 6/29/2024 at 6:51 PM, Allman90 said:

As someone who gets buried by work this time of year im pretty sure op is too

 

realy hard to write when your working a lot

 

But i know what you mean lol

this next chapter could go a lot of ways. did her friends find out already? will she notice if they know? or will she be the one to expose her self because she overreacted trying to hide herself?

hmmmmmm

Yeah, and summer in general is harder. Posting every several days works a lot better when I'm stuck inside for the winter. Probably will have a chapter or so a week until fall and then things will pick up faster again.

On 6/19/2024 at 11:29 PM, Gentle Gemma said:

I've binged this in like three days!  Can't wait for more! 

Thanks!

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 36: The Sleepover Part 4 (Taking No Chances)

The smell of waffles was the first thing that I noticed the moment I woke up.

Unlike my rude awakening in the middle of the night, when I had woken up from a terrifying nightmare into the more terrifying reality of having actually wet the bed, I was still completely snug inside my sleeping bag, which remained all zipped shut.

Angie was already out of her sleeping bag. She was sitting on the couch, scrolling away on her phone. Emma appeared to have just woken up as well. She was sitting up halfway out of her sleeping bag, her arms stretched upward, while she let out a large yawn.

I took a deep sniff, breathing in the familiar smells wafting across the house from the kitchen. There were some traditions for our sleepovers that were always the same at my house, one of which was that we would be woken up by the smell of Dad making breakfast for everyone in the kitchen. That wasn’t the same for sleepovers at my friends’ places. At Emma’s house, we were lucky to get something other than a bowl of cereal, while Angie’s parents often had bagels on hand for a quick bite in the morning.

I reached down inside the sleeping bag down to my shorts to conduct a blind examination of my pull-up. The good news was that it was all dry this time. I felt all around the edge of my shorts to make sure the pull-up was peeking out at all. I wasn’t taking the slightest risk that a bit of the pull-up might be visible, but I was safe, as my shorts were more than enough to keep my nighttime underwear hidden.

The hard part was over. I just needed to survive the next few hours. I tried to set aside the idea that I was going to have so many more sleepovers this summer. The one good thing was a lot of them would hopefully be at my friends’ places now that Mom would be satisfied that the pull-ups were working. And over there, I could just leave the pull-up Mom sent me with in my backpack.

Or could I?

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Having finally realized my dream of getting pull-ups for myself, I had careful plans to keep them secret for the whole summer. When I was sleeping away from the house, all I had to do was make sure Mom was aware that I had packed pull-ups for the trip, and then, whether it was at my friend’s place or at summer camp, I could just leave them in my bag, and no one would be any wiser.

That wasn’t a risk that could be taken if I was actually wetting the bed.

“Well, are you coming to breakfast or what?” Emma asked.

I looked up to see both of my friends staring down at me. Emma had finally extricated herself from her own sleeping bag, which now lay in a jumbled mess on the floor.

“You’d probably have better luck if you told her she couldn’t play her Harry Potter game until after she’s had breakfast,” Angie joked.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’m coming.”

I had hoped that answer would send both of them off to the kitchen, and then I could carefully get out of the sleeping bag while making sure again that the pull-up wasn’t visible in any way. But instead, my two friends kept their gaze fixed on me.

No one said anything for a couple of seconds.

“Well,” Emma said. Her eyes flickered over to meet Angie’s for a split second afterward.

Beneath the sleeping bag, I brushed my hand against the edge of my shorts one final time. I was safe. I didn’t feel the crinkly touch of the pull-up sticking out of my shorts.

With my friends still watching me impatiently, I carefully unzipped the sleeping bag, making sure to casually tug my shirt down as I stood up.

“I told you,” Angie muttered as she turned and walked toward the kitchen.

It was Emma’s turn to roll her eyes. “Whatever,” she said as she turned to follow Angie toward the smell of waffles.

With their eyes finally off of me, I did one last look-over of my midsection before following them into the kitchen. I was safe. The pull-up was completely obscured.

I caught up to Angie and Emma just as they stepped into the kitchen. I started to stretch my arms upward, but caught myself just in time. My T-shirt was long, but it wasn’t that long. Lifting my hands up like that would still leave the waistband of my shorts exposed. Again, I couldn’t be taking any chances.

There was a pile of waffles on a plate on the counter, and two waffle makers were set up next to them. From the steam coming from the sides, it appeared like there were still even more waffles on the way. I didn’t get how everyone else managed to be able to eat so much in the morning. About half of one of those massive waffles would be about as much as my stomach could handle this early in the morning.

“It’s not time for breakfast just yet,” Mom said as Angie stepped forward to grab a plate. “Sleeping bags need to be rolled up first before you come and get your waffles.”

I let Angie and Emma go ahead first as we retreated back to the living room to get things tidied up from the sleepover.

I tugged down on the hem of my shirt as I knelt down next to the edge of the sleeping bag. I hated rolling up sleeping bags. I could never seem to get them into a compact enough spiral, which just meant trying to tie them shut was a massive pain.

Angie and Emma finished with their sleeping bags well before me. They didn’t stick around to watch me struggle with getting mine all tied up.

None of my friends showed any indications of changing out of their pajamas yet. Both had made their way to the kitchen without bothering to get changed.

I usually felt a decent need to pee when I got up in the morning. That wasn’t the case at the moment. I winced when I recalled why that was the case.

The freak bedwetting accident still didn’t make any more sense to me this morning than it had last night. I mean, it couldn’t actually be possible to turn oneself into an actual, real bedwetter? I refused to believe that. And I refused to believe that I could have coincidentally had something go wrong with my body at the exact time I had started faking bedwetting. But there wasn’t any other explanation, and I didn’t see any other way to figure out what was going on other than to see what would happen the next few nights.

I thought about how I still had my underwear tucked into the bag Mom had for me under the sink. There wasn’t anything stopping me from going to the bathroom on the main floor and swapping out the pull-up for my regular underwear.

Except, I didn’t really feel like taking off the pull-up just yet.

After spending all of last night and the beginning of this morning around my friends, I had slowly let go of my initial fear that what I had on beneath my shorts was going to be obvious to them. Yes, I had rationalized all the reasons for why they wouldn’t notice, but it was different seeing how easily my secret was kept.

Angie and Emma were completely oblivious. Even though I had managed to catch on to the crinkling sound beneath Hannah’s clothes, they hadn’t the slightest clue about what lay beneath mine.

Besides, if I put the pull-up back underneath the sink, odds were that Mom would probably just toss it with the wet one I had put in the bag overnight. That would be a complete waste. It would be a lot better if I could save the pull-up until I had a chance to wet it either later today or tomorrow.

With that decision made, I returned to the kitchen. I cut a waffle in half before putting it on my plate and smothering it in maple syrup. We weren’t allowed to eat waffles in the living room, not after that incident a couple years back. That had resulted in a very sticky mess to clean up.

Grace and Jackson were both up for breakfast as well, so it made for seven people squeezed in around the table for breakfast.

“Did you guys end up staying up late?” Dad asked.

My mouth was full of waffles at the moment, so I just nodded in response. Come to think of it, I couldn’t exactly recall how late we had stayed up.

The conversation shifted to summer plans. There was the soccer camp I’d be going to in a couple of weeks, a consolation prize from my parents since the lengthy vacation we had planned later in the summer was enough to prevent me from taking part in the summer soccer league that I had done the past two years. Emma said she wasn’t sure yet when her cousin Hannah would be moving, but that it would be before the end of the summer.

“Are you looking forward to having your cousin at the same school as you?” Mom asked Emma.

My friend bit her lip before responding. “Oh, she’s not. There’s a school for special needs kids that she’s going to be attending. That’s part of why they are moving to the area.”

“Special needs?” Mom asked.

“Autistic,” Emma replied.

“I thought the school district had programs for kids like that,” Dad asked.

“I don’t know,” Emma said. “I think she is too—”

Emma paused abruptly. I got the sense that she had just caught herself before using the same word to describe Hannah as she had done that weekend when I had first met her cousin.

“I mean,” Emma continued. “She just needs a lot of extra help with school cause she isn’t very good with it.”

“Well, we’ll have to invite them over for dinner sometime after they get settled in,” Mom said.

I took a peek out of the front window. The sky was already getting overcast. Everything was dry still, but it wouldn’t be worth risking going out to the park to bike or play soccer. The forecast had only said that there was a thirty percent chance of rain, so that didn’t seem quite fair.

We had another couple of hours left for the sleepover, as both Angie and Emma would be headed home before lunch. Their families had other plans for the afternoon. Angie was off to a birthday party for her grandparents, and Emma was going to a movie with her parents. I would have gone along, except it was rated R, and I hadn’t been able to convince Dad that it was OK for me to be able to watch it, at least before he had a chance to see it himself.

After returning our very sticky places to the kitchen, we meandered back over to the living room, all of us still in our pajamas. Grace was still in the living room, as she hadn’t retreated to her upstairs bedroom yet.

“Can’t you guys find somewhere else to goof off?” Grace asked, interrupting our noisy chattering about what to do for the next couple of hours. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be bothering anyone upstairs.”

I gave my sister a look. Not that she knew, but going to my bedroom was the last thing I wanted to do at the moment. Between the pull-ups in the dresser, my extra crinkly bed with the mattress protector, and the fact that my friends seemed to think that the room smelled like pee, there was far too much evidence of the bedwetting for me to want to spend any more time with them there today.

“Yeah, no,” Angie said. “It smells gross since Chester peed in it.”

“He did what?” Grace asked.

“Don’t you remember,” I said. “Chester peed in my room a couple times this week.”

Grace turned to look at me. Her lips were pursed, and she had a frown on her face. She knew full well that Chester hadn’t been having any issues whatsoever with peeing outside of the litter box.

“Well, it’s not the cat’s fault,” Grace said. “You should know better by now not to close your bedroom door if he is in your room when you are going to sleep.”

Graced shut her laptop firmly. “Since you guys aren’t going anyway,” she muttered as she left the room.

“She needs to chill out,” Angie said.

<><><> 

We ended up putting together a large puzzle on the living room coffee table while listening to the sound of rain coming down hard outside. It was a 500-piece puzzle, but between the three of us — with a small amount of help from Jackson — we managed to get it down before it was time for everyone to leave.

I was so distracted that I completely forgot about the fact that I had a pull-up underneath my shorts. It was almost a surprise to see it when I took a break halfway through the puzzle to go and use the toilet. For half a second, I was tempted to wet the pull-up then and there and toss it under the sink with the one I had wet during the night, but that wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t going to get that many pull-ups to use during the day, so I needed to make it count.

After Angie and Emma left for home, Dad took Jackson out to get a haircut while Mom went off to run some other errands in the rain. Grace was all the way upstairs, leaving me alone on the living room couch.

I lifted up the front of my shorts to take a look at the pull-up underneath. There was still something surreal about how the last several weeks had gone. As embarrassing as some parts of it had been, it still felt so incredibly worth it.

The need to pee was fairly slight. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to force anything out. But now I might be able to, and a little tinkle wouldn’t create any leaks. I watched as the pull-up began to swell with a familiar warmth between my legs. I set a timer on my phone for thirty minutes. That would give me a good reminder to get changed before Mom and Dad got back home.

I didn’t go back to playing my video games. I laid all the way down on my back on the couch. This was perfection. I’d gotten what I had always wanted, and it felt better than I could have dared dream. After about fifteen minutes of lying on my back, the pull-up began to cool off. I allowed myself to make just another slight tinkle into it, warming it up again.

That’s when I heard the unmistakable sound of my sister walking down the stairs. I scrambled back to a sitting position, hastily grabbed my Switch, and restarted the game. Maybe Grace was just hungry for lunch. But if she did come into the room, I needed to look natural, like nothing was out of place.

To that end, I kept my eyes glued to the screen, even as the sound of Grace’s footsteps indicated that she was now in the living room.

“You,” Grace said. “Need to be a lot more careful. I’m not going to tell your secret, but I’m not always going to be able to get away with covering for your lies.”

I paused my game and looked up from where I was seated on the couch.

 My heart stopped. What did Grace know? What lies and secrets was she referring to? Did she know that the bedwetting accidents were anything but accidents? Did she know about those times when I had been wetting myself intentionally in the basement? Had I not been as careful as I had intended to be about covering my tracks?

Did she know that even at this moment, I was sitting in a wet pull-up?

“Lies? I tried to sound confident but casual in my denial, but the word seemed to catch in my throat as I croaked out my answer.

“Come on, we both know that Chester hasn’t been peeing in your bedroom. It smells like that because you’re still wetting the bed and not airing your room out enough. You need to leave the window open for a couple hours with a fan every morning. Just spraying some air fresheners in there isn’t going to do enough.”

I paused before responding after Grace gave her explanation. Was that it? If so, I might still be safe.

But that was the thing. Grace wasn’t supposed to know that I was a bedwetter. Mom and Dad had promised to keep it a secret. And besides, if I had managed to keep wearing a pull-up secret from Angie and Emma, surely Grace hadn’t noticed anything about the pull-up as well.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said in a nervous whisper, concerned that Jackson might come back at any moment. “I mean, it stopped earlier this week. That’s why Mom and Dad let me have the sleepover for my birthday.”

“Sure, and you’re wearing a pull-up under your pajamas for no reason at all.”

I made the mistake of looking right down at my pajama shorts that I still hadn’t changed out of, fearing for a second that the bulge from the accident might be visible or, even worse, that pull-up was something sticking out in some way. I looked back up at my sister. She had that expression on her face that told me that any more denials weren’t going to be believed.

“Mom and Dad promised not to tell you.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “No, they didn’t. But it was pretty obvious. It wasn’t exactly believable that your bedwetting would magically go away before it was time for the sleepover.”

There wasn’t much I could say in response to that. I realized that I was still very much a beginning when it came to bedwetting. Grace had wet the bed for about a decade after being toilet trained. It was stupid to think I could have kept it hidden from her like that.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright. I’m not going to tell anyone,” Grace said. She stepped forward and gave me a big hug with one hand around my back and another on my shorts.

I hadn’t even realized that I was on the verge of crying until the first few sobs came out, the sound muffled with my face pressed against my older sister’s shoulder. I had gotten over the embarrassment of Mom and Dad knowing about the bedwetting. That had been an inevitable and necessary part of my plan. But I hated that Grace thought that I was a bedwetter. I didn’t want her advice or opinions. I wanted my bedwetting to be handled the way hers had been left as an unspoken secret that didn’t need to be brought up in conversation.

“You should go get changed,” Grace told me as she released me from the hug. “It’s not good for your skin to stay in a wet pull-up that long.”

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 6/4/2024 at 8:16 PM, Zylo1893 said:

Love it.

Thanks!

On 6/6/2024 at 9:16 AM, DL64 said:

Will this story be updated soon, or will your new job prevent you from updating regularly enough? You said it would be once a week for the next few months, and it's been 8 days without an update. Don't get me wrong, I completely understand that we don't always do what we want, and that work comes first, but I love this story so much, and I can't wait to see Maddy end up in daytime diapers like in the pictures in the book, that I can't control my impatience.

I don't think I'm going to end up with a set schedule for updating this summer. Summer is busy enough as it is, and throwing in a new job (and going to work in person vs remote) and it is a bit chaotic, especially as there are other writing projects I want to spend time on as well. Still will aim for roughly a chapter a week, maybe a little more frequently, but we will see.

As far as Maddy getting diapers, I can't promise that any soon. This will end up being a pretty long story still.

On 6/6/2024 at 1:10 PM, spark said:

MW had some long pauses in the past, and I know how hard it is to keep stories up to date when we have the awful called work to deal with.   I'm usually mentally exhausted when I come home from work

On 6/6/2024 at 1:20 PM, DL64 said:

The work is tiring, I can understand that, and when these long breaks come, they last on average several weeks???, or rather several months???

I think I had two-three breaks that were easily upwards of 6+ months when writing All My Mother's Rules. Don't think you need to worry about anything crazy like that going forward.

On 6/6/2024 at 6:27 PM, LGGrace said:

This is about to get very interesting with Maddy actually wetting the bed.

Yes it will.

On 6/6/2024 at 6:51 PM, Mushysnugglebutts said:

Her friends pranked her with the bowl of water I see.

That is certainly a theory. Will have to see if that is correct.

On 6/6/2024 at 10:24 PM, DL64 said:

Thank you for this new chapter, first bedwetting in a long series, next step, real diapers because of repeated leaks.

You're welcome!

On 6/7/2024 at 5:31 AM, thedman said:

An actual bedwetting incident and the pull up barely held.  Seems like there might be a next time where the pull up doesn't do the job.

Yeah, as Maddy has experienced already, she's found that pull-ups don't work in every circumstance.

On 6/7/2024 at 6:30 PM, Windy said:

Ooh between the whispering friends and the mystery wet hand, looks like a prank to me. Will it blow her cover? I wonder if she thinks it might happen for real going forward, does she hide them less and get more comfortable/open about them? She has wanted them for so long, it's be a shame if she stays constantly embarrassed about it. 

I think it is reasonable for her to want to keep her friends/family in the dark as much as possible when it comes to the pull-ups. 

On 6/8/2024 at 1:12 AM, Dutch dl said:

Thank you for sharing another great chapter

You're welcome!

16 hours ago, spark said:

I'm a little surprised that MW went that route, but it makes for interesting story.

FTR- I tried that trick on myself, and it didn't work.  I wonder how I would have reacted to something like that at 13.  By then- the idea of wetting my bed was already present and I had crossed from the little kid fascination to something a little more complex.

Maddy is at an interesting age when it comes the diaper obsession. For me, I was clearly reluctant to grow up and be a big kid.  I was slow to potty train, slow to talk, slow to dress myself.  It took me forever to learn how to tie my damn shoes (FTR- Sketchers all the way! No more GD shoe laces.)   I don't recall major obsession with diapers between 9 and 12, but I was also the youngest in my family, and my parents friends all had older friends.   I was still the little kid amongst big kids.   It wasn't until I was 12 or 13 that I was around kids younger than me, who had sibling in diapers.  It's right at the end of prepubescence.   In Maddy's case- she doesn't have any desire to be a baby.  She wants to be big kid, but also wants to wear diapers.

9 hours ago, A_Pale_Spirit said:

I had always assumed the 'hand in warm water' trick/prank was just an urban legend and doesn't legitimately work, but maybe there is actual science behind it?

3 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Nope.  Immersion Diuresis is a thing, but it's more the thing where your whole body, or at least a whole limb, needs to be immersed to trigger it.  Why you feel the need to pee when you get into a pool or a bathtub.  Hand only ain't enough to trigger it.  But it's a fun element in a diaper story, so who cares if it's a reach?   

2 hours ago, ARNB19 said:

Is that why I always had to pee when I got in a pool? I used to get so annoyed as a kid that I needed to pee less than five minutes into swimming in my grandparents' in-ground pool. Eventually I decided that there was enough chlorine in the pool and it was all family that I just swam away from anyone else and let go. Hearing that my baby cousins' swim diapers didn't hold pee also helped my come to that conclusion. XD

So, from my personal experience, the hand in water trick does work, but only sometimes and under specific circumstances. You need to have someone who is really exhausted and sleeping deeply, who also went to bed pretty hydrated.

I did successfully do it with my girlfriend once (she was wearing a pull-up to bed). It's a real thing (even if it is hard to pull off) not an urban legend.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 35: The Birthday Sleepover (Part 3: Not on My Terms)

My dreams picked up right where the Harry Potter game had left off.

But just like the video game, which I had been all-so-clumsily attempting to control with my non-existent gaming abilities, I stumbled around almost drunkenly through a never-ending underground labyrinth.

That was far from the normal experience of dreams in which I found myself wandering through Hogwarts. That wasn’t to say that none of those dreams had been scary, but I had at least been competent at using magic during them.

I failed my arms again in an exaggerated motion, but just like this evening, when I had kept getting confused about which buttons to press, I kept casting the wrong spells.

A ghoulish skeleton was closing in on me way too fast. I was already far too close to the edge of the pathway I was walking on. The little light being given off by a few lanterns only gave enough illumination to prove that the fall would probably be quite long.

I couldn’t risk maybe more than a single step backward before falling off into an unknown darkness. Just because I was mostly aware that this was a dream didn’t make the situation any less frightening.

I waved my wand again, taking careful aim at the animated skeleton approaching me. There was a spell that was supposed to send the foul creature flying backward. The problem was, there was also a spell that, for some unbeknownst to me reason, would actually cause an enemy to come flying toward me instead.

And guess what spell I ended up using on accident?

I tripped over my robe and took a step backward, swinging my arms again while trying to steady myself.

One wrong step led to another, and then I was falling, falling, falling. Had I been in the game, I would have received a pitiful message – one I had gotten far too many times while still in what appeared to be the tutorial level – that I had died and would need to pick up from the most recent point the game had saved.

But in dreams, falling only ends when you wake up the instant before you strike the ground.

I landed in my sleeping bag, not at whatever was at the bottom of that endless abyss.

The living room was almost completely dark, save for the tiniest amount of moonlight. I gasped as I opened my eyes. I didn’t like this new turn my Harry Potter dreams had taken one bit.

As I dragged my hand along the floor in an unsuccessful attempt to locate my phone to see exactly what time it was, I realized that I was both colder and warmer than I expected to be.

The answer for the first half of that realization was obvious.

The top half of my sleeping bag had shifted off of me. I must have been tossing and turning quite a bit during that dream. The AC had been left a bit cooler than normal since my friends were over. I shivered as I fumbled in the dark, attempting to grab the right part of my sleeping bag to pull it back over me. It didn’t feel at all like a normal early summer night in Minnesota. I probably should have considered retrieving some of my winter pajamas from the closest, in fact, considering how much more coverage they provided, that wouldn’t be a bad idea for when I would be forced to wear a pull-up again during future sleepovers.

I started to rub my eyes but immediately yanked my right hand back in disgust. It was wet? How?

I slid my hand back inside the sleeping bag, rubbing it dry against the outside of my shorts. Yes, there was that second sensation that needed to be addressed. Considering the events of the past week, I perhaps should have come to an understanding of what had transpired during my dream a little faster, but I was still rather groggy.

Despite having been uncovered for who knows how long, my shorts felt unreasonably warm.

My hand slid from where I had been drying it off on the outside of my shorts to in-between my legs and everything became abundantly clear. There was a pull-up beneath my shorts. And it was wet.

Unlike every other time I had wet my clothes or my pull-up the past two weeks, that revelation brought about no sudden burst of euphoria, no rush of excitement, no sense of relaxation or calmness.

No, there was just a cold wave of terror a million times worse than watching a creepy dream skeleton advancing toward me.

I lay as still as I could inside the sleeping bag. I was off to the side, with both Angie and Emma lying between me and the hallway leading to the downstairs bedroom.

I held my breath as I listened for any sounds coming from the other two sleeping bags. I’d spent enough nights with my friends to be able to differentiate the noises they made when they were asleep. Thankfully, neither of them snored at night. Angie wheezed just slightly in her sleep, while Emma’s soft but regularly paced breaths were only barely noticeable.

That settled it. They were asleep. I needed to do everything I could to make sure it stayed that way until I was out of the pull-up.

And I had to get out of the wet pull-up. The longer I waited, the worse things would be.

I realized that I didn’t have a good nose for the smells that accompanied a wet pull-up. I hadn’t noticed anything off in my room. But when we had been getting dressed for bed, my friends had. It was only my quick thinking to blame Chester that had diverted their attention from me.

It would be harder to blame the poor cat again if my friends were to wake up in the morning, insistent that the room suddenly smelt like pee.

And that wasn’t even considering the fact that a wet pull-up would alter the outline of my shorts and the way that I walked. Emma would know exactly what that looked like.

I carefully ran my arms along the carpet around my sleeping bag. My phone was still nowhere to be found. But perhaps that was for the best.

I tiptoed softly all the way to the hallway. That had been the easy part. This room was carpeted, at least. To avoid making too much noise in the wood-floor hallway, I slid on my socks instead of walking, taking a look back every few feet while pausing to listen and make sure that I wasn’t being followed.

I shut the door softly behind me before flipping on the lights.

One look in the mirror told me that it was a good thing I had woken up now rather than in the morning.

While I had been fortunate enough not to suffer any leaks, outside of a tiny damp spot on my shorts where I had dried off my hand., the way the pull-up was now sagging down against my shorts would have made it plain as day to my friends that I hadn’t gone to bed in normal underwear.

I must have somehow slipped it under my shorts while I was asleep. That would explain why it had been wet when I woke up.

I hastily stripped off my shorts and the wet pull-up. I peered inside it as I slid it down my legs. There wasn’t a single white, dry spot to be seen inside. Had I let out just another ounce of pee, it would have been a far greater disaster. As it was, even the underwear I had put back on over the pull-up remained completely dry.

There had been a number of things going for me that might have prevented the leaks I had experienced the first few times I had wet these pull-ups. The first of which was that I had obeyed my parent’s rules about liquids this evening. I hadn’t gone off to sneak any extra sips from my secret water bottle, mostly because I didn’t see the need to try to get extra hydrated because I wasn’t going to have an opportunity to wet the pull-up.

The second factor in my favor was that I had fallen asleep lying on my back. My brief experiments this week seemed to indicate that this was a superior position for wetting a pull-up, at least compared to doing it while lying on my side or my stomach.

I set the pull-up on the floor while I tried to figure out how I was supposed to get cleaned up.

Showering wasn’t an option. It was bad enough having to explain that to Grace or my parents, who knew that any middle-of-the-night shower obviously meant that I had wet the bed. But my friends? There wouldn’t be any adequate explanation for them. Besides, I suspected that while Angie might not know much about bedwetting, Emma’s knowledge of the topic was possibly rather decent, considering her experiences with her autistic cousin.

I raised a tentative hand to the faucet for the bathroom sink. I twisted it as slightly as I could. But counterintuitively, I hadn’t actually turned it on enough. A rapid series of drips started coming out of the faucet, the flow not enough to form a solid stream as the water noisily splashed in the sink, the sound a lot louder than what I would have expected from so little water.

I twisted the nob just a hair more, turning the steady, noisy drips into a solid, thin stream of water that made only the faintest noise as it ran into the sink.

A washcloth would be another piece of evidence that had the potential to give me away. Instead, I unrolled a ton of toilet paper, balling it up before quickly waving it through the running water in the sink before making my best attempt at getting myself all wiped down and then dried off.

I chucked the toilet paper into the toilet. That evidence would flush away at least once I was ready to head back to my sleeping bag.

With my heart no longer racing, I took a deep breath. The problem was both fixed and not fixed.

I’d solved the problem of preventing my friends from discovering that I had wet the bed. But now that the stress of working to resolve that situation was fading away, I was left to ponder the more concerning long-term problem.

I hadn’t even considered the possibility of starting to wet the bed again for real. How was it even possible? Yes, I knew that there were potential medical reasons for why a teenager might suddenly start losing control of their bladder – I had counted on the fact to get away with my fake bedwetting.

But that would be way too much of a coincidence for that to happen to me, and not only to happen to me but to happen just weeks into my fake bedwetting.

Could I have done anything to accidentally cause my body to suddenly think it was OK to let my bladder go while I was asleep? Could it be as simple as the idea that wearing a pull-up would have subconsciously given my brain the go-ahead to forget a decade’s worth of potty training?

And what was I going to do about it? It would be ironic if I ended up needing to rely on whatever solution my doctor came up with from those tests earlier this week in order to actually stop bedwetting.

Because that’s the thing. I didn’t want to actually be a bedwetter. That wasn’t to say I hadn’t toyed with the idea and played out elaborate scenarios in my mind of what it would be like if I had suddenly actually been afflicted with that rather than having faked my way into it.

But all those fantasies had always come undone in one way or another. Sleepovers were, of course, the main thing that killed the plausibility of that fantasy. I wasn’t going to stop having them, but the idea of playing bedwetting roulette every time I went to sleep around my friends was something that had always steered my thoughts away from any desire to be a real bedwetter.

However, the reasons behind that were more than just the convenience of sleepovers. Yes, I liked wetting my pants, but I liked doing it on my own terms when the desire was at its highest, when the anticipation had built up all day until I could scarcely take it any longer.

And doing it in my sleep meant I was missing all the fun. The warmth I had felt under my shorts upon waking up just now was but a fraction of what it would have felt the moments after wetting the pull-up. But I had been asleep, so I had missed all of that.

No, being an actual bedwetter meant getting none of the fun and taking on all the risks. That wasn’t for me.

I stared back down at the pull-up lying on the floor. Now, to hide the last bit of evidence.

Mom, thankfully, had thought of everything. There was no way I was going to be tossing the pull-up in the nearly empty bathroom trash bin. Even if I were to cover it up with toilet paper, that would still pose too much of a risk of it being noticed.

Instead, the plastic baggies Mom had left under the sink with the pull-up bag were perfect. I slid the wet pull-up inside and zipped the bag shut.

But the plastic baggies weren’t the only thing left under the sink for me. There was another pull-up in the bag. Mom had, of course, thought of everything.

The idea of not putting it on wasn’t even considered. If I could wet the bed for real once. It could certainly happen again. I couldn’t take that chance with my friends asleep a few feet from me.

But wearing a pull-up because I had to was a lot less fun than wearing one because I needed to. I tied the drawstring of my shorts as snugly as I could and re-examined myself in the mirror. I could tell I was wearing a pull-up, or at least I thought I could. But the signs were faint. And if my friends hadn’t noticed last night, they weren’t going to notice for a few minutes in the morning before I snuck off to the bathroom to change.

I placed the baggie with the wet pull-up back inside the bag, making sure it was tucked away as far back in the cupboard as possible.

I made my way back to my sleeping bag as quietly as possible, hopeful that I at least couldn’t have any scarier dreams tonight than the nightmare I had woken up to.

 

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

 

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

On 6/1/2024 at 12:26 PM, spark said:

It's too bad.  I like the discussion element on this board, but prefer to read it on Wattpad.  Let us know where else you will post it.

Yeah, different sites tend to work better depending on how you like to read/comment. Wattpad was nice since it had the ability to schedule a post to go at a certain time.

Besides here, I post on AO3, Deviant Art, and Qoutev. Links to stories on those sites are at: abdlwriter.wordpress.com

20 hours ago, FreezMilo said:

I'll be honest, I love this story despite the fact that I don't like the first-person narration at all. 
It is one of the few stories that I would never get tired of reading. 
I'm sorry Wattpad banned it (who knows how much time will be left for the stories currently published on the platform...). At least you ran for cover. I think this forum, in my case, will fill that hole.
I will certainly read all the other work you have published so far and will publish in the future. Keep up the good work!

Thanks! I go for reading both. I've stuck with first-person for writing mostly because I find it a lot easier to write than third-person, especially with getting into what a character is thinking/feeling.

There are still plenty of sites that do allow ABDL content to be posted, so despite it being annoying that Wattpad is going on a run blocking it, my (and others) stories will still be available online.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Appreciate all the comments. It's been crazy busy the past couple of weeks, a lot to catch up to.

On 5/16/2024 at 8:56 AM, Brown Owl said:

In my school district growing up retention was offered as an option to my parents when my learning disabilities were identified. This was third grade i think. But the key thing was "What will we (teacher/parents) do differently next time?" And it was really night and day. Don't remember much obviously.

But the first time through i only got 40 "reading points" and the second time through i raked in 185. And would've gotten 200+ if the post office hadn't lost my audiobook of Harry Potter. I'm still salty about that 25 years later

Reason i tell that story is if these points were a proxy for my overall grades. the difference was night/day. I remember it being a lot less stressful using large print/audio for most of the reading assignments, and taking tests in separate.rooms and so forth.  I think Maddy will be surprised at how much her life will improve.

 

And let's face it she could use some one on one attention. As she's basically exhibiting the social development of your average 10 year old

 

A different learning plan would certainly make a difference for her. The question is how well will she accept doing something that is different from her friends and is something she would feel is not normal.

On 5/16/2024 at 10:03 AM, LittleAcorn said:

I hope she's right that no one will look into her drawer.

I the last couple chapters have been great.  I'm considering writing a story with neurodivergent character who gets assessed and diagnosed, so it's interesting to see how you're developing that plot arc.

Thanks! The nuerodivergent aspect is going to come into play a lot more once the sleepover is over and we start seeing the steps her parents will be taking after that conversation with her grades earlier in the week.

On 5/17/2024 at 8:46 PM, spark said:

It's always interesting to see how old my students were when they were identified with a disability.   I'm always shocked and embarrassed when we identify a learning disability after 7th grade.  It happens, but it really shouldn't.    BTW- that's an indictment on the district and not the kid or parents.  In fact, the only reason that a kid makes it through that long without being identified is that the parents busted their butts to help and the kid works his butt off.

FTR- DGS syndrome is very common among secondary students with an IEP (I'll let you guess what that acronym stands for- hint: it's not an official diagnosis).   I've never seen a kid identified with SLD that late, who also has DGS.  If they exist, it's because they have really rich parents (read between the lines on that one).

SLD is usually identified between 3rd and 7th grade (mostly 4-5).   Speech is almost always identified in pre-school.   Autism comes shortly after that

OHI (ADHD) is usually identified K-2 in boys (usually K-1).   It is identified (2-4) in girls.  OHI identified after 4th grade will also come with a DGS syndrome.   After that, the next disability is ED, which is almost always some form of a mental health issue.

Here's the thing: there is a strong correlation between anxiety and learning issues.    There is a correlation between learning issues and speech, and speech and autism.  There is also a correlation between OHI and autism, as well autism and speech.

I think it is fairly common for things to get missed, especially in non-public school environments, but also because a lot of these diagnoses are subjective. It's not like you can take a blood test and determine if someone has autism or ADHD.

On 5/18/2024 at 9:44 AM, BabySofia said:

Recent research has actually pointed to a likely large underdiagnosis of ADHD in girls. Boys tend to be identified because they're going crazy everywhere, and people lose their minds with them. Girls, a lot of times, it's more of an attention/distraction issue. I'm friends with a mom who just had her 17-year-old daughter diagnosed with it. The daughter is currently ranked as the likely valedictorian going into her senior year... definitely an oddball kid! 

Good chapter, by the way! I don't think I responded to this one!

Thanks! I would say that is similar to what I've read as well. Which does help explain why Maddy may not have been diagnosed earlier.

On 5/19/2024 at 5:54 PM, Night Rain said:

Maddy is in for a long night of tough challenges.

That very much may be the case. And she's just only getting to sleep now.

On 5/20/2024 at 10:30 AM, fyunch said:

Of course, all of this might be a setup.  Does Maddy wear a pull-up to bed?  Is there a surprise bed wetting?  Does the pull-up leak, if she is wearing one.

The anticipation is delicious.

We've got an answer to the first question. And we'll get answers to the next ones with the next chapter.

On 5/21/2024 at 8:59 AM, PamperedPrince said:

I like how the mom is very helpful in keeping Maddy's nighttime pull-up routine a secret.  Is it downstairs bedroom or downstairs bathroom?  Hiding it in cupboard underneath the sink is a nice hiding place.

But I can't help that something might go wrong during the sleepover.  What if her friends notice the rustling of the pull-up?  Or, even worse, what if Maddy has a night time accident and the pull-up leaks?  Poor Maddy...

Yep, lots of things that could go wrong. I like the set up where the Mom's attempts at being helpful are actually making things more difficult for Maddy.

On 5/23/2024 at 5:37 AM, ErikMxx said:

Love the progress of the story. The only way she is getting into real diapers is if she leaks in a more consistent way. I hope her wishes come true! Great story!

Thanks!

On 5/23/2024 at 11:35 AM, Mushysnugglebutts said:

I can't wait for Hannah to find out about her having that game.  How mortifying it will be for Maddy

No question that Hannah will be quite exciting.

On 5/23/2024 at 3:57 PM, Bonsai said:

I think that one of the two presents attributed to Angie was instead made by Grace. I guess it's the electric inflator, since Maddy started from the presents from her friends and this is the third present.

Nice catch, will go at and that fixed.

On 5/23/2024 at 7:39 PM, Night Rain said:

Hannah will want to play the Harry Potter game with Maddy.

For sure!

On 5/29/2024 at 9:08 AM, Bonsai said:

Nintendo Switch = very strong daytime distraction.

Parents are likely to notice soon and take countermeasures.

Maybe, they would only have themselves to blame. I mean, the gift was their idea after all.

On 5/29/2024 at 12:01 PM, Babytom948 said:

Today is 5/29 btw

Yes, it was. Will fix that as well.

On 5/29/2024 at 2:13 PM, thedman said:

Hmmm, I wonder where this goes from here, maybe a for real night time wetting and a leak, or an accidental reveal of the pull up in the morning?  So many possibilities

Yes, there are lots of options. Maddy will be getting more than she bargained for.

On 5/29/2024 at 6:22 PM, AnythingWillDo said:

I feel like we are getting more and more connections to Hannah. I still think that both Hannah and Grace are going to play big roles going forward. My guess is the morning won’t be too eventful but a twist  wouldn’t be a shock. 

I don’t think Maddy is going to avoid being treated ‘littler’ if she stays in pull-ups. Her plans are going to have further consequences, her life is already starting to change.

Yep, we will be seeing Hannah again (as hinted, she is going to be moving to the neighborhood at some point.

On 5/29/2024 at 8:06 PM, spark said:

I'm wondering if her parents discover that her bedwetting is done intentionally and how they would react to it

I think they would be quite shocked. Especially given their background and their own experiences of being very embarrassed by that condition.

On 5/30/2024 at 3:54 PM, fyunch said:

Ignoring your friends?  Not cool!

Nope, but a very ADHD thing to do.

8 hours ago, DL64 said:

Well, it's finally happened, Wattpad has deleted this story from its site, even if we expected it, it's unpleasant to know that some people are waging war on us.

4 minutes ago, spark said:

It can't be due to the content, because the content is far tamer than most of the content on Wattpad.  I think it must be that the quality is too strong for Wattpad's algorithm.  Their algorithm will reward mindless crap that is written with one hand.

Yep, I was just a little surprised. When the story was un-shadowbanned, I figured I had caught a break, as there is still a lot of other ABDL content on there. And I'm certain I didn't break any actual rules, but all it takes is one moderator looking at it who doesn't like ABDL stuff and there isn't much that can be done.

It's Wattpad's choice, which is disappointing, but thankfully there are lots of other places that I can post stories still.

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 34: The Birthday Sleepover (Part 2: Hidden Underneath)

I kept pressing all of the buttons on the Nintendo Switch, but nothing was happening.

Getting everything out of the box had been a pain. My fingernails had been too short to pick through all of the tape holding the box for the gaming console together. Dad had needed to pull out his keys to get it open.

What had really surprised me was out tiny the game cartridge was. I had figured with how big the case was for the Harry Potter game that what was inside would have been a lot bigger. Instead, the cartridge I had pulled out after opening it had been just a little bigger than the fingernail on my thumb.

I had clutched it tightly, deathly afraid that I'd somehow drop it and never find it again. Grace helped show me where I should insert the cartridge into the Switch, and that at least alleviated some of my fears about losing it for the moment.

But that wasn't my biggest annoyance.

"It won't turn on," I complained. I was fairly certain I was pressing the power button.

"Um, I think you need to charge it first," Angie said a bit sarcastically.

"Of course, I knew that," I mumbled, searching through the box until I found the charging cable.

That was so not fair. I didn't want to wait for it to charge. I wanted to play it right away. The one nice thing I noticed was that it did use the same type of charger as my phone, that would at least keep things simple.

The consolation prize was that it was now time for cake, Harry Potter themed, of course. 

"Why don't you girls get ready for bed now?" Mom said after we had finished eating our cake.

"But Mom, we're not going to sleep now. I want to stay up until midnight."

"I know," Mom said. "But if you're going to do that upstairs, I want you to do it now so you aren't waking everyone else up in the middle of the night."

We filed up to my bedroom to have a spot to get ready for bed. My friends both grabbed their bags and followed me upstairs.

Angie and Emma searched their bags for pajamas. Emma pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for herself, but Angie came up empty handed.

"I didn't bring anything," Angie said. "Can I just borrow some of your shorts instead?"

"Fine," I sighed. Angie seemed to almost never remember to bring pajamas for herself.

"Thanks," she replied. Then Angie started walking directly toward my dresser, her hand reaching toward the top drawer.

That was not good. The pull-ups were in the top drawer. And even with Mom having me re-organize my dresser, I hadn't done anything to tuck them out of sight. I should have done so. I just hadn't considered that my friends might snoop or, in this case, have a legitimate reason to be going through the dresser.

Instead, the pull-ups were just stacked in a neat pile on the left side of the dresser, next to the actual underwear that they were but a crude imitation of.

"Bottom drawer," I said quickly. "You can't borrow my underwear."

"Eww. No." Angie instead bent down to open the newly organized bottom drawer where she pulled out a pair of pajama shorts.

That was close. Way too close. I didn't want my friends to be in my bedroom any longer than was absolutely necessary.

"Thanks," Angie said as she finished getting dressed. "My Mom hasn't gotten caught up on laundry after getting back from our road trip."

That was another thing. Of the three of us, I was the only one who actually had to do their own laundry. Angie and Emma's parents still did theirs.

"I am just so glad to be back," Angie said. "I would go crazy if I would have to stare out the window like that again for hours on end."

"You got to see Mount Rushmore," I said.

"Boring. I mean, I guess it was kind of cool, but not like the drive ten hours to see it kind of cool."

Emma started sniffing as she finished getting dressed.

"Something smells," she said. "It almost smells like my room did with Hannah pissing herself every night."

Angie and Emma both turned to look at me. I sniffed a little myself. Why couldn't I notice anything? Mom had just been in my room earlier today as well. She should have noticed and said something to me if it was smelling off.

But I needed an excuse. And I could just say that I wasn't able to smell it myself.

"That must have been Chester," I said, throwing the cat under the bus. "Sometimes he gets shut in the bedroom overnight. He might have peed on something then. I don't know how I didn't notice it earlier."

"Gross," Angie said.

"I'm glad I don't have a cat," Emma said.

This was the second disaster that had been narrowly averted in a matter of minutes. I needed to get my friends out of my bedroom as soon as possible before something else went wrong. The only good thing so far was that no one had sat down on my bed yet. I wasn't sure if I would be able to come up with as good of an excuse for why it was suddenly sounding different than it had on sleepovers last summer.

"Are you going to get dressed, or are you just going to stand there?" Angie asked.

Oh. Right. I headed over to my dresser and stripped off my shorts and shirt.

I considered my options.

A nightgown was out. Yes, while I was standing, it would be good, but lying down on the couch or on the carpet could potentially make things tricky.

Most of my pajama pants had gotten ruled out as well. They tended to either be too thin or tight-fitting, to the point where the extra padding from the pull-up would be obvious, or they were low-rise, meaning the pull-up would stick out an inch or so over the waistband.

I settled for a loose pair of pajama shorts, ones that came up a decent way up my waist and also had a drawstring I could tie shut to ensure that there was no scenario in which they would fall down. I paired them with a long t-shirt that covered the top half of the shorts.

I still didn't feel great about what I was going to need to do, but I didn't have any better options. I would just have to hope that the pull-up didn't show too badly. Perhaps I could get away with putting it on right before it was time to get into our sleeping bags for the night.

By the time we were downstairs again, Mom had laid out the sleeping bags in the middle of the floor in the living room with a pillow next to each of them.

Grace was still in her room, and by now, Jackson was getting ready for bed. He had stomped off angrily after being informed by Dad that he wasn't old enough yet to stay up as late as my friends and I.

Mom pulled me aside into the kitchen while Angie and Emma went into the living room.

"Happy birthday again," Mom said as she gave me a hug. One of her hands patted my bottom as she embraced me.

"I think you need to finish getting ready for bed in the bathroom," Mom said in a quiet whisper after she had let go from the hug.

That didn't make sense. "I don't need to brush my teeth yet. I'm going to have some more snacks this evening."

"Maddy," Mom said. "You know what I put in the downstairs bathroom for you."

I grimaced and turned around to make sure none of my friends were in earshot. "I'm not going to forget."

Mom wasn't in any way convinced by that statement. "Maddy, go do it right now. And make sure you don't have too much to drink while you're staying up. And make sure to use the toilet one last time before getting in your sleeping bag."

"Fine." I stomped off toward the bathroom, a little miffed. Just because I was wetting the bed didn't mean I needed to be treated like a baby. I was a teenager. I could remember to do all of those things on my own without needing any reminders.

<><><> 

I made double sure that the door was locked behind me before I retrieved the pull-up from the bag in the cupboard underneath the sink.

Just like when I had packed it earlier, there were two pull-ups along with two plastic baggies.

There was no getting around it. Mom was going to check. She'd either look under the sink to see if a pull-up had been taken from the bag or just give me a pat on the bottom at some point before she finally went to sleep. Or perhaps when she woke us up for breakfast in the morning, she'd be listening extra carefully to see if there was any slight crinkling sound coming from me.

I undressed and slid the pull-up up to my waist, all the while listening for any sound of my friends, not that they should have had any reason to try and spy on me as I used the bathroom.

For a moment, I wasn't sure what I would do with my underwear. I could just toss it in the bag before I put it back under the sink. But I decided to wear it over the pull-up instead, though it didn't exactly do anything to obscure it. The underwear wasn't even as high-waisted as the pull-up, and there would be no mistaking what was underneath it.

After pulling on my shorts as well and getting them securely tied around my waist, I was satisfied at least that the pull-up wasn't going to be visible.

The legs on the shorts were long enough that there wasn't any way that anyone would be able to get a glimpse of the pull-up, even when I was sitting down. And the top of the shorts easily covered the pull-up as well. The long t-shirt provided insurance just in case the pull-up did somehow manage to peak out over the top of my shorts despite all the precautions I was taking.

But there was one last problem – the noise.

I paced back and forth in the bathroom, listening to the faint sound of the pull-up rustling from beneath my pajamas.

It didn't matter that I knew that my friends were unlikely to notice the sound, and even more unlikely to connect to me, and even more unlikely to realized that it signified that I was wearing a diaper under my pajamas.

I knew. And that was enough of a problem for me.

<><><> 

Mom and Dad might have typically spent more time downstairs on a weekend evening, but with the sleepover, they headed upstairs a little earlier, giving us some more space by ourselves.

Angie and Emma were both on their phones when I arrived back in the living room from getting changed into the pull-up.

I attempted to walk as normally as possible as I entered the room. Angie and Emma both glanced up from their phones for a second but then dropped their gaze right back down where they were holding their phones in their laps once they realized it was me and not one of my parents or siblings.

That caused me to look down at my shorts as well. But everything, at least looking on the outside at the front of my shorts, was still all good. I grabbed the Switch from where I had left it, plugged it into the charger earlier this evening, and pressed the power button. There apparently was a way to get it connected to the TV, but I didn't have a clue how to do that on my own, so that would need to wait until later.

This time, it turned on. I took a seat on the couch, careful not to sit too close to either of my friends.

It was impossible for me to forget that I was wearing a pull-up. Not with the way I had totally felt like I was waddling as I walked to the couch. Not with the way that it crinkled as I was bending over to sit down. Not with the way that the padding pressed up against me as I eased myself down onto the couch.

My heart was racing. I looked over again at Angie and Emma. How could they not possibly realize something was out of place? But there they were, just sitting casually on the couch, playing with their phones.

They didn't know. It didn't make sense to me that they didn't know. Everything about what I was wearing felt so obvious, from the way the pull-up crinkled ever so slightly to how I walked with a little bit more of a waddle as I moved around to how I was still certain that the outline of my bottom must appear slightly didn't beneath my shorts.

That was an important lesson to learn. They didn't expect me to be wearing a pull-up, so they weren't going to attribute any of those signs to me wearing one, and that was only if they noticed any of those signs in the first place.

I was safe. This was going to work. I could continue to manage my fake bedwetting act throughout the summer.

I looked down at the gaming console in my hands. It was now fully powered on after a minute of going through some initial steps to get things set up. I finally managed to get the game started.

The device felt clunky in my hands. I had to keep checking to see whether I was pressing the correct button. It didn't seem intuitive which ones were labeled A, B, Y, or X. I was ready to start playing, but the first thing the game made me do was design my own character. Of course, I named the witch I was creating after me. I managed to finally turn her hair red and take off her glasses, but after ten minutes of trying to get the rest of her appearance to match, I finally gave up and pressed the next button to continue.

Angie snapped her fingers. "Hello, Maddy, you going to join in the video we're making or what?"

I finally looked up from the Switch. Angie and Emma were standing in the middle of the living room. Angie had brought a stand for her phone so it would stay up while they did a video for her TikTok channel.

"Just a few more minutes," I said. "I just started. You want to see the witch I made. She looks like me."

I flipped the Switch over so my friends could see my newly created character "That's nice, Maddy," Emma said flatly. "Are you going to join us or what?"

On any other sleepover I would have been incredibly eager to jump into a video with my friends. This was the only time I ever got to experiment with social media. And I had been very careful to never bring up the topic of what we did late in the evenings with my parents.

But in my hands was a gateway into a completely new Harry Potter experience. I'd eaten up as much information as I could about the Harry Potter universe. I'd read all the books a million times and watched all of the movies about as often, including the newer ones that weren't based on the books. There wasn't any way I could possibly wait and put off the game until tomorrow morning.

"Later," I replied. I turned up the volume on the Switch as the intro music began to play.

"Can you use headphones or something?" Emma asked. "If you have the music playing in the background, this video could get taken down for a copyright violation."

"I don't have any for the Switch."

"Then just turn down the volume."

I relented and clicked the volume down button a half-dozen times until the music was just barely audible to me.

The next few hours passed by in a blur. My inexperience with video games was quickly apparent. While the opening sequence had been mesmerizing as I was getting introduced to this new story, actually playing the game was a whole different challenge. The biggest issue was the two joysticks. I kept randomly making my character stare up at the sky or right down at their feet as I attempted to get the hang of maneuvering around the world.

Angie and Emma kept asking if I would join in with them on the videos they were making, and I kept waving them off as I worked my way through the tutorial level. It wasn't fair. I just wanted to go and explore Hogwarts, not get stuck in this mysterious cavern.

I yawned and finally paused the game to check the time on my phone. It was already after midnight. I couldn't believe that I'd already been playing the game for over three hours. It didn't feel as though I had made almost any progress on it at all.

Angie was folding up the phone stand and tucking it back into her backpack. Both she and Emma looked about as tired as I felt.

I stood up, ready to head to the bathroom one last time. Even though I knew Mom and Dad weren't going to be aware of whether or not I was brushing my teeth and using the toilet, it was too much of an ingrained habit to ignore.

"You guys going to brush your teeth as well?" I asked as I stood up from the couch.

"You going to let me borrow your toothbrush?" Angie asked.

"No."

"Then I guess not," Angie said with a laugh.

I tiptoed up the steps, careful not to wake anyone, as I finished getting ready for bed in the upstairs bathroom. I contemplated taking off the pull-up again, but I couldn't risk Mom noticing that I didn't have it on in the morning.

Angie and Emma were huddled close together on the couch when I returned from brushing my teeth. They paused whatever they were whispering about the moment I entered the room.

"What were you talking about?" I asked.

"Nothing," Emma said. "Just planning some more videos to make."

"Seriously," Angie said. "You need to take a break and join us next time."

"I'll do them with you next time," I said absentmindedly. My mind was still mostly thinking about the new game.

I turned off the light and slid under the covers of my sleeping bag as Angie and Emma did the same. At least this time I wasn't using a sleeping bag because of having wet the bed in the middle of the night. Looking back on those initial attempts to convince my parents that I was becoming a bedwetting, I couldn't believe I had actually had the gumption to pull it off.

I drifted off to sleep, full of thoughts of what it would be like to begin exploring Hogwarts for real tomorrow

 

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 33: Birthday Sleepover (Part 1: A Birthday Wish)

Everything was all set for the sleepover.

Three sleeping bags and accompanying pillows were set in a corner of the living room for when we would finally be headed to bed. Even though my parents had vetoed the idea of an all-nighter – my mom insisted that we had to at least get a little sleep – there was no doubt we would be up late, definitely well past the time everyone else in the house was asleep.

Somewhere in the house, there were birthday presents wrapped and hidden. I still didn’t know where my parents kept presents hidden before birthdays and Christmas. I’d had no better luck finding them in the house than I’d had in my fruitless searches for diapers years ago.

Pizza was ordered. I’d gotten my choice of anything I wanted to eat for dinner, and I had chosen exactly what I had wanted. There was also a Hawaiian pizza for me, a cheese pizza for Angie and Jackson, who were the picky eaters of the bunch, and a meat lover’s pizza for everyone else so they could have something that they might enjoy.

The pull-ups I hadn’t found a way around wearing tonight were currently tucked away in the back of the cupboard beneath the bathroom sink. A few minutes ago, mom had given me one last quiet reminder about the plan for me to discreetly change into – and out of – them tonight.

I could hardly sit still. I found myself getting up every few minutes from where I was sitting on the couch with my phone and walking all the way to the window near the dining room to check if any of my friends had pulled into the driveway yet.

The anticipation wasn’t for the usual reasons, at least not completely. There was still that concern about what might be awaiting me when I opened my birthday presents later today. But there was also the nervousness of what was going to be in store for me as I attempted to keep my bedwetting secret safe. I had to wear the pull-up to make sure Mom believed that my worries about wetting myself overnight were genuine. And I had to keep the secret from my friends, because I would never, ever live it down if that secret were to get out.

I had only settled back into my spot on the couch when I finally heard the sound I had been looking for.

Now, with the first ring of the doorbell, one of my friends was here.

I sprinted into the dining room, which was by the entryway, just as Dad opened the door for Angie to come inside. It felt like it had been forever since I had last seen her, even though she had only been gone away on a road trip to South Dakota with her parents for a week.

I gave her a hug before she had a chance to set any of her things down. Then I noticed what she was holding.

I attempted to reach for the present in Angie’s hand, but she pulled it back. 

“Not yet,” she said. “I know you’re trying to guess what is inside.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “That’s half the fun.”

Angie set the present aside on the table, but only after I had pinkie-promised not to touch it until it was time to open it. 

Emma arrived a few minutes later, also carrying a backpack and a present. Both presents were wrapped into neat cubes, not giving away any potential hints about their contents.

We chatted for a bit about details from the past week that hadn’t made it into our shared text chat. Angie complained quite a bit about how boring the road trip had been.

“You have no idea how freaking flat it was, grass for as far as you could see for hours and hours.”

“So,” Emma said. “At least you didn’t have to deal with a teenage cousin who isn’t potty trained yet, going around peeing all over my bedroom.”

“Hey, let’s not turn this debate about who had the more miserable week into a pissing contest,” Angie said, barely managing to keep a straight face before cracking up at her joke.

“You’ll find out exactly what I mean,” Emma said. “This weekend wasn’t the worst of it. My aunt and uncle apparently found a house in the neighborhood that they want to put an offer on pretty soon. Just wait till you have to deal with her later in the summer.”

I didn’t know how to react to that news. I couldn’t get over the sense of annoyance and discomfort I felt from being around Emma’s cousin. But then I remembered what I had seen inside her suitcase. If I had a diaper to wear instead of a pull-up, I was sure I’d be able to drink as much as I wanted and pee without the slightest concern of a leak. Having to deal with Hannah might be worth it if just for the slightest chance of getting to try an actual diaper for once.

The doorbell rang for a third time. This time, it was for the pizza delivery.

“Please don’t tell me you ordered a Hawaiian Pizza,” Angie said.

“Don’t worry,” Emma said. “I’m sure Maddy still got a cheese one just for you.”

Grace, who had already retreated to her bedroom before the doorbell had run for Angie, made her way downstairs to fill a plate with pizza before heading up to her bedroom. Getting to hide away and eat upstairs was her one consolation prize for needing to deal with me having friends over for a sleepover.

It was pretty much the same for me whenever Grace had hosted sleepovers of her own. I didn’t have anything in common with her friends, either, so during her sleepovers I would be off at Angie or Emma’s place for a sleepover of my own, or I would be happily hidden away in my bedroom reading Harry Potter.

I had the whole evening planned out. And, of course, because it was my birthday, I got to have priority for the evening plans.

That meant it was time to watch a Harry Potter movie. This was the only day of the year when I could get away with making my friends sit down for it. In my defense, I didn’t care all that much about the movies they would choose to watch during their birthday parties.

After pizza and a movie, it would be time for presents and cake. I would probably be able to talk my friends into playing some games before everyone else went to bed and we had the living room to ourselves. Then the real fun could begin.

My Dad wasn’t much for social media, which didn’t really make a lot of sense to me, considering his whole job seemed to revolve around working with computers and technology. I wasn’t allowed access to any of that and wouldn’t get it until high school. 

That didn’t stop me from attempting to live vicariously through my friends, though we’d have to make at least some effort to be quiet later this evening if we wanted to make any TikTok videos downstairs without waking up the rest of the house.

I settled onto the couch with my pizza as the familiar opening theme began to play, a melody that was calming in the face of the unknown awaiting me later this evening.

<><><> 

There weren’t any candles on the cake in front of me. I had a thing about blowing over food that people were about to it. It just felt so gross and weird.

And given that it was an ice cream cake as well, perhaps that was for the best.

Instead, two candles – a one and a three – were sitting upright on a small plate, secured at the bottom with wax that was keeping them from falling over. Dad struck a match and lit the one and then the three. What followed was my least favorite part of having a birthday – the completely out-of-tune rendition of the Happy Birthday song.

It would have been fine if everyone gathered around the table could follow Mom’s lead – she, at least, being a former actress in musicals, could keep a perfect pitch – but what followed was a discordant mess that just made me want to place my hands over my ears.

The only good thing was the song was over quickly. I didn’t think there was a second chorus to it. And if there was, I prayed fervently that my friends and family would never discover it.

I blew out the candles in two short puffs the moment the song ended.

“What did you wish for?” Grace asked. “You have to have a birthday wish.”

“But you can’t tell anyone,” Mom said. “Then the wish doesn’t happen.”

I had completely forgotten about birthday wishes. Of course, the wishes for the past few years had been pretty obvious. Pull-ups had been at the top of my mind each of those times, and that wasn’t a hard wish to keep secret.

But what did I want now that I had gotten what I wanted? I knew what it was. I wanted more. I wished for diapers.

“Looks like someone is happy about her wish,” Angie said.

I felt my cheeks growing warm at her comment. I added a second wish. And don’t let my friends find out.

There were a total of six presents waiting for me on the table next to my birthday cake. There were one each from Angie and Emma, two from my parents – though technically three, since they would have also bought whatever Jackson had picked out for me for his gift – and one present from my sister.

I started with the gifts from my friends. I got a new soccer ball from Angie – I could never have enough – and then a soccer jersey from my favorite team, courtesy of Emma. The theme continued with Grace, who got me an electric soccer ball inflator tool, but that was interrupted by Jackson, whose gift was a couple bags of my favorite candy.

While I was happy with everything, I was hoping that I had saved the best for last. There were two presents remaining, both from my parents. One of them was just a regular box shape; the other was thin, almost in the shape of a book, except probably too thin to actually be one.

Out of curiosity, I grabbed the smaller of the two presents first.

“I think you should open that one second…“ Mom began, but I was already in the middle of ripping off the wrapping paper to reveal someone that I hadn’t even remotely considered as a possibility, a Harry Potter video game. I turned the case over in my hands, noticing that the game was for a Nintendo Switch.

I stared at the game blankly. I had never had any gaming systems, and as none of my friends did either, I hadn’t ever played outside of a few random times I’d played with a soccer teammate during overnight trips for tournaments, and I had been pretty terrible at it compared to my much more well-practiced teammates.

The only video games I ever played were simple games I would occasionally pull up on my phone if I was especially bored at the moment.

“But how I am supposed to play it?” I asked. “I don’t have a Switch.”

Mom started laughing. “Maddy, I think you’d better open up the next present.”

I set the video-game case on the table and began to unwrap the last remaining present. I didn’t even need to get all the wrapping paper off before I realized what had been hidden beneath. I was now the proud owner of a Nintendo Switch.

I dropped the half-unwrapped box onto the table and raced over to give each of my parents a hug.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Emma groaning and Angie rolling her eyes. I had never succeeded – despite my many attempts – to convert them into becoming at least slightly into Harry Potter, much less into becoming as much of a dedicated fan as I was.

That was perfectly OK. As far as I was aware, this was only a single-player game, after all.

I returned to the table and finished tearing off the rest of the wrapping paper. I was pretty clueless as to how I was supposed to set everything up, but I knew exactly how I was going to be spending all of my free time this summer, even if there ended up being a little less of it than I initially had hoped for.

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 32: Definitions

Breakfast did, in fact, contain a lot of bacon. There was plenty of other stuff as well. Sliced grapefruits, French toast, scrambled eggs, and yogurt.

The plate I filled up before heading to the dining room table was mostly bacon with the smallest slice of French toast I could find. I didn’t really care for it, but I knew my parents would say something if I didn’t eat anything other than bacon. Yogurt was plain yucky, and I would rather eat almost anything else other than grapefruit.

The one bonus was Mom had at least purchased the right kind of orange juice – pulp free – for me. I had a completely full glass of it. There wasn’t any point in restricting how much I drank during breakfast.

Everyone said happy birthday at least once as I sat down at the table. I was just glad that there wasn’t a muffin with a candle on it to have them sing happy birthday to me like they had done last year.

“How does it feel to finally be a teenager?” Mom asked.

My mouth was already full of bacon, so I shrugged my shoulders.

 Honestly, I didn’t feel any different from the day before. It was weird. I’d had been looking forward to it for so long, but it wasn’t like anything was all that different. I looked and felt the same as yesterday. 

“She does still have a few hours till it counts for real,” Grace said.

I just rolled my eyes and stuck a fork in a greasy piece of bacon. Everyone else was eating it with their fingers, but I didn’t like the feeling of my hands being that messy while I was eating.

Dad reminded my siblings of the birthday plans for the evening. Jackson was indifferent, but Grace wasn’t able to hide that she was shocked.

“Wait, Maddy is having a sleepover tonight?” Grace asked with a barely disguised incredulity.

I realized, rather belatedly, that my older sister must have suspected that something was up, but she should have noticed that the morning laundry had come to a stop after my doctor’s appointment. I would be fine as long as that could be attributed to my bedwetting ending as abruptly as it had begun, rather than her thinking that I was now wearing diapers to bed.

Jackson was busy chowing down on his French toast, but his presence at the dining room table thankfully prevented the conversation from delving directly into the topic of bedwetting. 

“Yes, your sister is all set to have a sleepover without any issues,” Mom said. “Angie and Emma will be over shortly before dinner, so I’ll need you to spend a little time helping to get things straightened up before they arrive.”

Grace looked over at me after Mom had finished with her explanation. I tried to keep a neutral face. Did she believe that the bedwetting had actually stopped?

“Fine,” Grace muttered, “just as long as they leave me alone.”

That wouldn’t be an issue. Grace didn’t care much for hanging out with my friends, and the feeling was mutual. That lone time she had taken us to be dropped off at the mall a couple of weeks back had been the most interaction she’d had with Angie and Emma in ages.

Thankfully, Grace’s interrogation came to a quick end. I managed to eat a half-dozen slices of thick bacon and a couple of bites of French toast before I was too stuffed to eat anything else.

My birthday fun was put on hold as soon as I was done with breakfast. I was immediately banished to my bedroom to get it tidied up for tonight.

It wasn’t like my friends typically spent much time in my bedroom, and, with my new extra crinkly mattress, I didn’t have any plans of inviting them up, either.

That didn’t stop Mom from making me clean it as thoroughly as possible.

I had been warned earlier in the week that I would need to have everything tidied up, but as Mom hadn’t officially cleared the sleepover until I had once again woken up Saturday morning to a dry bed, it had been hard to motivate myself to actually do anything more than pick up a few clothes off of the floor.

That is to say, I was forced to spend the morning of my thirteenth birthday cleaning my bedroom.

I surveyed my bedroom. I didn’t think it was all that bad, but Mom didn’t agree.

The problem was that our definitions of cleanliness were vastly different.  It was not that we both didn’t think that everything needed to be in the right spot; it was just that our understanding of what the right spot to put things in didn’t always line up all that well. 

For me, as long as I could remember where something was, that was enough. For Mom, everything had to have a specific place to be put away, and it had to be done in a neat and orderly fashion.

The next couple of hours passed slowly. I ended up sitting on my bed reading for most of the time rather than getting to work tidying up the room. I would listen carefully for the sound of someone coming up the stairs or down the hallway and would hastily tuck the book under the pillow and start the cleaning up again for a few minutes anytime there was the possibility that Mom might be coming to check on my progress. Most of my cleaning had involved collecting miscellaneous odds and ends and stuffing them in the closet or the drawers beneath my bed.

Mom was that way with the rest of the house, but she never allowed it to get to the point of being super messy, so getting ready for guests was never a huge chore. Jackson had been given his own set of cleaning chores to do, but that mostly consisted of picking up his toys so that Grace could help with vacuuming.

The distant sound of footsteps coming up the stairs caused me to tuck my book once again under my pillow as I sprung out of bed and pretended to be organizing a bookshelf.

There was a knock at the door, and I yelled to Mom that she could come in. 

“We need to talk about the plan for tonight,” Mom said as she was in my bedroom with the door shut firmly behind her.

She looked around at the state of my room. It didn’t seem like she was all that impressed with my progress – or lack thereof – in the few hours since breakfast. “When it is time to get changed into your pajamas, you need to make sure you don’t forget to put your bedtime underwear on.”

It had been a while since we had directly talked about the pull-ups she had purchased for me. I had very much preferred our arrangement, where she and Dad would let me handle everything for myself.

“Mom, I’m not going to forget.”

Mom stared back at me. “There’s going to be a lot going on for the sleepover, and I know it’s easy for you to get caught up in things. I had an idea to help make it easier for you. I know you don’t normally get a lot of privacy to dress by yourself during sleepovers, so I’m going to leave a pair of bedtime underwear in the downstairs bedroom for you.”

“Mom. No.”

Mom held up an opaque makeup bag. “Why don’t we put two of them in here, just in case? I’ll tuck it in the back of the cupboard under the sink. No one else will notice it. I’ve even put some plastic baggies in there so you can toss it without someone seeing that it has been put in the garbage.”

I didn’t like Mom’s plan, but I could hardly say no to it. My intention all along had been to just not wear the pull-up to bed during the sleepover. It wasn’t like I was going to have an actual bedwetting accident. And since I had had a few nights where I had stayed dry, I could play it off as just getting lucky for the sleepover.

But with Mom setting all of that up for me, avoiding wearing a pull-up would be an impossible task to pull off. What if Mom were to check that container later and discover that I hadn’t actually taken a pull-up out of it?

“Fine,” I said.

“OK, but I need you to help me get some to put in it. Where are you keeping them?”

That last question led to me needing to awkwardly walk over to my dresser, cringing as I pulled open the top drawer to reveal that the remaining pull-ups had been crammed in hap hazardously with my socks and underwear.

I handed Mom two of the pull-ups while trying to keep the disarray out of view, but I wasn’t successful. Mom leaned in to take a look at the rest of the dresser.

I didn’t understand the point of folding underwear. It got all crinkling under my clothes, anyway. And I hated having to go through my socks and put together matching pairs. It was much easier to just have them all in one pile in my dresser, where I could take out any two that looked like they might be a good fit while I was getting dressed.

“Madelyn, this is a mess,” Mom said, sifting through the pile of socks. “I’ve told you before that everything needs to be sorted and folder before it goes into the dresser.”

I knew better at this point than to argue. I hadn’t been successful in my other attempts to get Mom to see my point of view on how laundry should be managed.

But then Mom had the gumption to pull open the remaining dresser drawers, which revealed much of the same issue. I had folded my shirts, well, perhaps most of them. But the rest — shorts, leggings, and other items – had been balled up and stuffed randomly in the rest of the dressers.

I stood anxiously with my legs crossed as I watched Mom look at each of the drawers. Thankfully, all the items I intended to keep hidden from her – the dry pull-up from last night and the diaper and pull-up advertisements – were instead in the drawers beneath my bed. I couldn’t help but glance over at them as well. If Mom was intent on seeing how I had organized everything, was she going to stop with my dresser and not check everything else out?

I didn’t have that luck. Mom proceeded to check the drawers beneath my bed, though at least those were deep and she didn’t do much more than a cursory glance to see that like with everything else, I had pretty much just stuffed all the things I had needed to put away into the drawers without taking any time to make things neat or organized.

“You’ll need to tackle this later,” Mom said. “It will have to do for now. Your room isn’t clean just because you jammed everything out of sight, but you need to get all your clothing re-folded.”

“But Mom, that is going to take too long.”

“There is plenty of time until your friends arrive. It would have been quicker if you had cleaned up your room right the first time, but it still needs to be done.”

There was no escape at this point. Mom left to go to her own bedroom and was doing some tidying up there, which seemed exceptionally pointless to me. I mean, why did it matter if it was a little disorganized or messy? It wasn’t as though any of my friends would be checking it out.

The problem was that Mom was only ever a few steps into the hallway, away from being able to see what I was doing in my bedroom.

I emptied out each drawer individually onto my bed, re-folding all the clothes before tucking them back into place. I wanted the fun parts of being a teenager, not the assumption that I was supposed to do everything in the responsible way my parents wanted it done.

As I finished finally placing all my newly sorted and folded clothing back into the dresser, I tried to figure out what I was going to do about the pull-up tonight.

I thought about how I had heard a crinkling sound occasionally when I had been around Hannah. What excuse would I give my friends if they began to ask what the sound was or where it was coming from? I tried to remind myself that even though the sound had stood out, I hadn’t connected it to her wearing pull-ups until Hannah had been on the swing and had accidentally shown me what was beneath her skirt. 

I would be safe tonight. My friends didn’t know I wore pull-ups. They would have zero reason to even think there was the remotest possibility that I had one on when I was around them.

After the third inspection, the state of my room finally received Mom’s seal of approval, and with the rest of the house all clean, everything was set for my friends to arrive in a few hours.

Given all the chaos of the past week – some of it good, some of it, well, not very good – a birthday sleepover would be a welcome return to normal.

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/ 

[The Girl Who Wanted to Wear Diapers (Ch. 46- 06/25/25)]

Chapter 31: Saved for Later

I was fairly certain that I had brushed my teeth, flossed, washed my face, and used the toilet. But I wasn't one hundred percent sure.

I also didn't recall putting the pull-up on either, but there it was, snug around my waist as I stood in front of my dresser. The differences between it and the pull-up I had desired all these years felt a little less pronounced now that I had worn these generic bedwetting pull-ups to bed four nights in a row. It wasn't the same. But it was still pretty good.

The past half-hour had been a complete blur. I was extremely grateful that my siblings had been too distracted to wander back downstairs because I had stayed and cried on Mom's shoulder for several minutes before I managed to calm down slightly and catch my breath.

I still wasn't sure how I had managed to find my way upstairs and get ready for bed while my brain was still in a fog. The sniffles still hadn't gone away, and my eyes now felt irritated from how much I had been rubbing them earlier in unsuccessful attempts to quell the tears.

However, my mind was finally beginning to feel clear enough to begin to assess what had just transpired.

It almost felt like it would have been better if my parents had simply been angry with me for getting bad grades. But they never really got angry with me – or any of my siblings. Disappointment was a reaction to times of more serious misbehavior.

But how they had handled the news about my end-of-year grades – instead of making me feel better – only made me feel worse. I had done so poorly that they couldn't even be mad or disappointed. My performance had been so bad that nothing but a complete intervention of help would do.

I didn't like the insinuation behind my parents' offers of help that there was something wrong with me. I'd just had a bad time with this semester. I could try harder next year. I still wasn't really clear what exactly they wanted to do about it before school started up again in several months.

But assurances that I would try harder weren't enough for my parents. And now, a summer that I felt had been perfectly planned out was about to be ruined less than a week in.

It just wasn't fair. I did try to do well in school. I had plenty of other classmates who goofed off and didn't pay attention. But they didn't seem to have any issues with getting good grades when it came time to turn in assignments and take quizzes and exams. I probably just hadn't tried hard enough; that, at least, was something I could admit at times.

I grabbed a nightgown from my dresser. While it was long enough to easily cover the pull-up, it was a thin enough material that I wouldn't be uncomfortable in this summer weather.

As far as I knew, Grace remained oblivious to the fact that I was now wearing pull-ups to bed. I'd finally worked up the courage to directly bring up that topic with my parents earlier in the week when I had a chance to be alone with them, and they reassured me that they wouldn't.

It helped that Grace was gone for her summer job by the time I was out of bed in the morning. That made it easy for me to toss the wet pull-up in the garage trash bin without fear of it being seen in the process.

That left the question of what to say if Grace asked whether the bedwetting was continuing. Thankfully, she wasn't usually that nosy and had shown a reluctance to bring up the topic of her own accord around me, likely because it brought up memories of her own years as a bedwetter.

Which was good for me. Mom, Dad, and Dr. Mathorn were the only people who needed to know that I was wearing pull-ups to bed at night, and I didn't see any reason why I wouldn't be able to keep the secret limiting to just them.

I was so emotionally drained that even wetting the pull-up didn't sound all that appealing. I didn't feel like attempting to stay up late to wet my pull-up in the bathroom like the past three nights.

But that was fine for this evening. I didn't doubt Mom's sincerity in her threats to cancel the sleepover if the pull-ups leaked at all, so perhaps it was best to just completely play things safe for the night.

<><><> 

I woke up to the unusual sensation of a dry pull-up between my legs. I had grown used to waking up to a full pull-up the past three mornings, as I had always chosen to wear the pull-up back to bed after wetting it in the bathroom.

There was enough light coming through my windows that I knew I had slept for a long time. Which was fair, as I had a lot of lost sleep that I probably needed to catch up on.

Then I remembered why I had been so exhausted last night that I hadn't bothered to wet the pull-up and the conversation with my parents about my extra poor grades this semester. I didn't want to dwell on whatever plans they were drawing up for me this summer, but I couldn't keep the worst-case scenarios from flooding my brain after having a night to mull over what might be in store for me.

Could I end up stuck in summer school, forced to get on the bus every day to in a musty, warm classroom that lacked adequate air condition to protect from the summer heat? Suddenly, the last, mostly boring, week of being home alone was suddenly not bad after all.

Then I remembered something else that put all of that out of my mind. Today was my birthday. I was now officially a teenager. And I was having a sleepover tonight.

Technically, as my parents and older sister liked to remind me. I wasn't going to officially be thirteen until 7:14 p.m. this evening. That didn't seem fair to me. I deserved a full day to celebrate being a year older. I wondered what my parents had planned for a gift for me, but presents were usually reserved for the party, and that wouldn't begin until later in the afternoon as Angie needed at least a little bit of time to recover from coming back from the road trip she had been on with her family.

And now that I was thirteen, Angie and Emma wouldn't be able to get away with teasing me about being the baby of our friend group. Maybe Grace would take me a little more seriously with us both being in our teens.

I did feel a normal urge to pee. If I hadn't had the threat of not having a sleepover hanging over my head, I perhaps would have given into that urge to let my bladder go right away, despite the high likelihood that the pull-up would end up leaking all over the bed.

Then I decided that it was for the best that I hadn't wet the pull-up.

I realized something that I hadn't considered earlier. Since I had kept the pull-up dry all night, there certainly wasn't any point in throwing it out. Mom had said that I should toss even the unwet ones each morning. She had said something about how just sweating at night would make it unhygienic to wear the same pull-up for multiple nights in a row.

I really didn't see the harm in it. Besides, if I kept it, I wouldn't be wearing it to bed again. I'd just be getting it out Monday morning to wear for a few hours in the day before I actually wet it.

Still, it wouldn't do for Mom to realize that the pull-up count was off in my dresser on the off chance that she was to check it. She did sometimes put clothes away in my bedroom if she had purchased anything new for me or if any of my things had gotten mixed up in her laundry.

I removed the dry pull-up from underneath my nightgown. The drawer beneath my bed, where I kept the old magazine and ads I had saved over the years, would be the perfect spot to hide it away until Monday arrived.

I had just reached down to grab the handle of the drawer when my bedroom door burst open.

I twirled around quickly, keeping the pull-up behind me and out of sight as Jackson burst into the room. A few seconds earlier or a few seconds later and it would have been a disaster as I likely wouldn't have been able to keep the pull-up out of sight.

"What the heck?" I yelled.

I didn't understand why he didn't get it. The rules with my bedroom were really simple. Knock. And then enter when I say you can. I mean, I understood that about Grace's room when I was Jackson's age.

"Happy birthday!" Jackson yelled in response as he continued to speed toward me.

It was clear that he wanted to give me a hug.

There was, of course, absolutely no way I was going to allow that to happen. I had the pull-up head securely behind my back. I couldn't risk moving around, much less allowing him to wrap his arms around me.

"Shoo!" I said, still keeping a tight grip on the pull-up with both hands behind me. "You shouldn't be in here. You have your own bedroom."

My lack of enthusiasm for his rude awakening at least caused Jackson to stop short of throwing his arms around me.

"Dad says you need to get up for breakfast."

I sighed. There probably were a bunch of things waiting for me down in the kitchen that I didn't really feel like eating. I usually wasn't hungry until I'd been awake for several hours. Explaining that to my parents still didn't stop them from being aghast at all the times, I would skip eating anything for breakfast.

I hated the types of birthday surprised which were more my parents attempting to get me to do something they would think is fun than something that I would actually think was fun. A massive breakfast in the morning, when I would be judged for not trying all the food they had made for me despite the fact that my stomach wasn't ready for anything yet, wasn't exactly my definition of fun.

"What are you hiding?" Jackson asked. He started to lean to the side, so I shifted as well, keeping my hands and the pull-up out of sight.

I tightened my grip on the pull-up. "Nothing."

"Then show me your hands."

I inched backward so that I was standing right up against my bed. With my legs together, the pull-up wouldn't be visible directly behind me.

I dropped it onto the mattress and displayed both of my hands.

"See. Nothing. Now shoo. You shouldn't come in without knocking."

He ran off. But, of course, he didn't even have the courtesy to shut the door behind him.

The second I heard his feet start to race down the stairs, I turned and hastily stuffed the pull-up deep in the drawer. That had been way too much of a close call.

I wasn't worried that it would be found in that location. Mom didn't have any reason to go into that drawer on the rare times she came into my room. And my friends usually didn't spend much time in my bedroom during normal sleepovers. We would sleep in the living room to avoid disturbing everyone else upstairs. And even during normal hours, there wasn't as much to do in my bedroom.

I didn't bother changing out of the rest of my pajamas. I could do that when I hopped in the shower after breakfast.

Maybe if I was lucky, there would at least be bacon.

---

Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/