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In January, I had heart ablation surgery. It went well with very little overall discomfort. This is about the 6 hours in recovery with urinary incontinence. The surgery itself takes about 5 hours and requires the insertion of hearth catheters in the center top of both legs. The incisions are large and are the main reason for the recovery period. For 5 hours you are basically on your back and not allows to move and open the sutures in your legs. The surgery also involves a lot of intravenous fluids and post operation urination is quite high. There is no record of any urinary catheter use during the operation. I arrived in the operating room wearing a diaper. This wasn’t a problem with the surgical team and they mentioned they will just remove it when ready. It takes a few minutes to prep before they knock you out. I woke in recovery to the news that the operation when well. I immediately noticed I was already wet. I mentioned my incontinence to the staff and the solution was to take another rolled cotton blanket and place it between my legs. Since they already have you on a waterproof mattress pad and just use blankets to soak up the urine. After an hour I was quite wet and mentioned to the staff that I had a supply of my diapers. I wasn’t allowed to move or to wear them due to the leg sutures but they had no problems helping out. I wasn’t allowed to move but they could move me to change the bedding and clean me up a bit. With business like efficiency, they quickly had the pad and blankets changed out as well as laying down one of my diapers so it could provide a dryer feeling. They did the changing and cleaning without ounce exposing my genitals or putting any strain on my legs as they rolled me around. The ladies were total professionals. I asked why they didn’t do a catheter and they said there was no need. This is the usual way they handle it when the patient isn’t allowed to move post-op. After some time they start to allow you to sit up. After 5 hours you can stand and they make sure the sutures are holding well. Then after another hour, I was able to put on a diaper as usual and check out. I was surprised at just how much urine I produced. Urination was nearly constant for the 6 hours and very high in the evening and through the night. I also had to have yet another set of emergency eye surgeries and in those cases, I was able to wear a diaper thru the procedure once I mentioned. One anesthesiologist mentioned that you don’t urinate under the general anesthesia they normally use. Which makes a lot of sense as urine output for the next 48 hours is much lower than usual. All three times as I awoke slowly post-op, the first thing I noticed was heavy urination occurring.

I am single, love sex but now wet myself constantly and on several occasions have peed whist having sex. Are there any ladies who have had the same experience and can offer any advice?

[Author’s note: This is a story from a different perspective, and set in the near future. I got the idea of having stories in the same ‘universe’ from other stories, although I’m not quite sure yet how it fits with my other stories. Medical themes and regression are involved in this story. As always, feedback welcome, so let me know what ya'll think] Chapter 1: Experience required After my birthday, and turning 20, I thought I had everything planned out. Most of my childhood health issues had been resolved, and I had my own small apartment. Not to brag, but I was top of my class at nursing school, but had trouble finding work. Hospitals wanted someone with a 4 year degree, or it was basically as a nursing assistant, with much less pay, not a position for a qualified nurse. I had a scholarship, but also earned money tutoring. Tutoring younger kids actually paid better than older kids. It was looking like I was going to have to finish my BSN degree before I’d take her seriously. One of my interviews was at a small children’s hospital. They said I didn’t have enough experience. I spent half my childhood in hospitals, but they didn’t care. I’m quite petite and still only 5’3” so they think of me as a kid, not a fully qualified nurse. Did they really notice that I wore a pull-up under my pants. I dread interviews for jobs, because of peoples weird reaction to my past, assuming they know, since I legally changed my name at 17. I was a medical miracle according to some, but others though they might catch some virus from me. I’ve survived a gymnastics fall that sent me to the hospital, a car accident that put me in a coma, catching the flu every year as a child, and more. Daycare experience: I’ve worked at daycare centers, preschools, and a summer camp. For some reason, I haven’t been able to find a job I actually enjoy. Well, the summer camp work was good while it lasted. Tutoring grade school students pays well, and doesn’t come with the stress of babysitting kids. Unlike most babysitters, I’m quite experienced at changing older kids’ diapers, and changed my cousins many times growing up. Working at a daycare, the thing that frustrated me most, was how many parents, and teachers, bought into the whole ‘potty trained by 2’ nonsense. Kids do have accidents, kids do regress in their potty training. Medical conditions can cause temporary or or short term incontinence. At one one daycare I worked at part-time, the nurse was an idiot, and reassured parents that their little angel is happy, and their temper tantrums, anxiety and other behavior isn’t the parents fault. I quit after 2 weeks, even though they begged me to stay. At one daycare I applied for a job, then changed my mind, the director actually said she was trying to prepare 5 year olds for Harvard or MIT. Do they want their little darlings to need a lifetime of therapy? Then again, My aunt wanted me to work on schoolwork, the day after I woke up in ICU. I wasn’t really awake and could barely get a sentence out. Normal is overrated: Much to my mom’s annoyance, I loved watching House on TV. I still wear my House t-shirts sometimes. Even though I cringe at the inaccuracies, as I had been in hospital enough to notice, I loved the show. When parents insist their kid is normal, and somehow it’s the teachers fault, I want to scream. Kids learn in different ways, at their own pace. If the parents work too much, hire a tutor to help your kids learn the subjects. One phrase I really hate is “mastering their skills”, such as making sure they can do everything expected of a child in kindergarten. If the child is non-verbal, still in diapers, but seems to be able to read, and use a tablet or laptop, then teach them basic math and English. Last year, I tutored a young girl, turning 10, who was still in diapers due to her inability to stay consistently dry. Her mom was surprised that I was well aware some children find being babied by their mommy comforting, and changing diapers is often necessary. I was aware because that used to be me, I was in and out of diapers growing up. After the car accident, with my mom driving, she wanted things to go back to normal, but that couldn’t happen while I had to wear diapers due to a weak bladder. A second car accident, again with mom driving, was more than my mom could handle. When I woke up from the coma, my aunt was there, my dad was there, but no mommy, and I had a complete breakdown. Eventually, another of my aunts, Charlie, who happens to be a nurse, let me stay with her at the farm that was an hour out of the city, until I got better, and the was able to live with dad again, before going back to Aunt Charlie's farm. The reason I didn't stay with Aunt Charlie longer is that eventually word of my past leaked out, probably from staff at the hospital. Maybe they found one of the published medical journal papers, of one of the studies, that I was a part of. Surviving the pandemic: Part of the reason I hide the details my past as much as possible, is that my story was on national news, for reasons that are complicated. When coronavirus pandemic first hit, I tested negative, when people around me caught the virus. Specialized testing confirmed I didn’t have coronavirus, until a later strain hit me like a freight train. The hospital kept me isolated from other patients, including other teens with coronavirus. It was almost like I was a celebrity, well I was, kind of. Anyway, after a month in hospital, I had survived and my aunt Charlie and uncle Jack, took me to their farm about an hour out of the city. We stayed on the farm, although Charlie worked at a senior center as a nurse, part time. That was three years ago, and now I’m living on my own in the city, changed my name and appearance, and nobody knows my past. I’m just a normal young woman, although I still wear a mask, and gloves. Most people still wear masks, in the city. Tutoring Makela: I had been tutoring a 11 year old girl, mainly on biology. She had a concussion and spinal injury, when she came off her bike, due to a crack in the road. She still had a lot of questions, about how her recovery would be, and how the other girls at school, even her so-called friends avoid her since she returned to school, just before thanksgiving. She is surprised how knowledgeable I am on spinal injuries compared to most of the doctors she has seen. She had a tough day, as she had anxiety, and needed to lay down for a few hours, after getting her diaper changed by the nurse. School rules require her to change her diaper in the nurses office bathroom, or by the nurse. There was a different nurse at school today, who was surprised that Makela asked her to change her. During our tutoring session, Makela messed her diaper a bit, along with wetting it, and that upset her. Her parents are okay with me changing her, while I’m there, and so I changed her. A few weeks ago, her mom was surprised when she asked me to change her, as her mom was busy. I changed her without too much fuss, although since it was in the evening, Makela asked if I could put her night diaper on her, which was thicker than her normal day ones. Makela and her parents know I wear pull-ups, but assumed it’s because of my pandemic-related germophobia. Since the pandemic, more and more women are wearing a diaper or pull-up when going out, as it'si one way to avoid unhygienic public restrooms. It’s clear Makela realizes that I don’t find being in diapers a weird thing, and I’m supportive of her need for diapers.

Back to school: Special edition [Note: This is a different approach to my other stories. Still with the medical regression sub-plot. Constructive feedback welcome] Being potty trained was a requirement for kindergarten. My parents put a lot of pressure on me to be potty trained. I was able to wear panties sometimes when I was in kindergarten but preferred pull-ups. Every evening, mom would diaper me. Any time I was feeling sick and stayed home, my mom diapered me. I would fuss and complain, unless the cold and flu meds made me too sleepy to care. Having a small accident didn’t seem like a bad thing. I got focused and began to forget about going potty. It felt normal to wet myself. It didn’t seem like thing my mom would get so annoyed about, but when she walked in, well, she was upset. I hadn’t been a good girl lately, a lot of tantrums over silly stuff, not wearing the clothes my mom asked me to, throwing tantrums. Not to mention a few small wetting accidents, just because I was lazy. I kind of hinted that I didn’t care, just to get more attention from mommy. My name is Del, or at least that’s what I’ll answer to. My full name is Madelyn. I hate being called Maddy, I’ve always been small for my age, and quite petite. I’d just turned 10, and still got thought of as a little girl, which I hated. I often got teased for being little, and even my friends joked that I had to buy my clothes in the children's section. I had always been the odd one out, not fitting in with kids my age, or the ‘little kids’, which only made me more moody and tantrum prone. At the same time, I tried to convince my mom I was a big girl, and didn’t need to be supervised or babysat constantly. Because of the pandemic, my school had shut down, and I did most of my schooling on the computer, with a few hours of scheduled lessons with my teachers. The rest was worksheets and reading assignments. The number of wet pull-ups, and wet panties, since all this started had increased significantly. She diapered me as reminder a few times, and I pretended to be upset, but was really just trying to be a bratty girl. It was just after my bath, when my mom came in to check on me, and finding me in wet panties on my bed, just playing on my Switch, and not caring about it, was the last straw for my mom. I’d pushed her too far. She insisted this wasn’t a punishment, but she wanted me feel babyish, until I wanted to be a good girl. This set in motion a series of events that would fulfill my dreams, more than I could have imagined. It was an experience that I will never forget. Another doctors visit planned: After finding me with wet panties, in a wet bed, from being lazy, my mom seemed annoyed, but didn’t yell, didn’t spank me, she just told me to wait on my bed. My mom planned on taking me to the doctors, again, to see if I was healthy, and if anything was causing my wetting accidents. The thing is that TV shows make going to the doctors sound like some fun experience. I get embarrassed and upset because the doctors and nurses do things that scare me, or want to look at my special places. I guess its because I have so many issues going potty. Being put a in diaper for a doctor visit isn’t unusual. What is a little surprising was my mommy expected me to have a soaked diaper from several wettings, when the nurse gets me ready for the doctor to examine me. I wondered why finding me in wet panties, again, made her book yet another doctors appointment, but then forgot all about it. Changes for me: After finding me with wet panties, again, in a wet bed because I was being lazy, my mom seemed annoyed, but didn’t yell, didn’t spank me, she just told me to wait on my bed, then came in and told me to follow her to her room. She had laid out a disposable underpad, some cloth diapers, booster pad, some plastic pants, and few other things. I was scared, partly because she usually changes me for bed in my room, not her room. I started feeling uneasy, that I was about to be spanked. “Can you take off your wet clothes, Maddy?” Mom calmly asked. “Umm… “ was all I could say, before wondering why she didn’t just say wet panties. My top wasn’t wet. I started crying. “All of the clothes… little girls shouldn’t be embarrassed with their parents seeing them without their clothes on!” Mom said without being entirely clear on her plans for me. “Mommy, Am I getting a spanking….for wetting myself?” I asked, starting to cry. I was scared, as I hadn’t been spanked for wetting myself before. “No spanking, unless you really misbehave!” She asked as I removed all my clothes. This was confusing for me, as mom was clearly annoyed. Mom picked me up, and carried me into the bath, which was already filled with warm water. I hadn’t actually been bathed by her in almost a year, and that was when I was sick with the flu. I might wear diapers to bed, but I can bath myself. She proceeded to wash me from head to my mid-section. “Lay down so mommy can clean your little girl parts.” She asked. “Mommy, this is embarrassing! I don’t need another bath! And I can bath myself!” I replied, turning red, with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. “Maddy! You are mommy’s little girl, and you’ll be bathed and kept diapered like a little girl! Now let me wash your little girl parts, or are you trying to get spanked?” Mom answered, clearly annoyed. I hesitantly laid down and spread my legs so mommy could finish washing my girl parts. I squirmed a little as mommy finished washing my sensitive parts, and finished washing the rest of my body. She then wrapped me in a towel, and carried me to her bed, and laid me onto the pad. “Mommy, are you going to punish me for being bad?” I asked, trying not to cry. She was clearly annoyed at my wet panties earlier, but didn’t say much. “No Maddy.. I’m not trying to punish you. I want you to wear cloth diapers, so you feel the wetness, and then we’ll talk about what happens after that” her cryptic tone, and smile, didn’t reassure me. Mommy was considering changing schools, because I had so much trouble following the classes that were so full, the teacher wasn’t answering my questions properly, and the online lessons were even worse. The other main problem is because the school nurse got mad at me for needing a diaper changed, or put on after a wetting accident. A few months ago, I did a poopy diaper at school, and the nurse called mom to ask what my problem is. I couldn’t stop crying so had to be picked up from school early. Mom proceeded to put rash cream, and powder on my diaper area. I didn’t stay still, but that is normal for me. Mom assembled a cloth diaper, several different booster pads, and another cloth diaper liner. I cried as I realized how thickly I was being diapered, and how long I’d have to stay like this. I remembered when I was 6, and for Thanksgiving, mommy used a thick diaper for the car ride to visit Aunt Katherine’s house. I slept for most 3 hour ride, but had wet my diaper. When we arrived, and seeing me with an obvious diaper on, that was sagging from being wet. She commented that I was a good girl for wearing diapers for car rides, and some young girls need extra help and being taken care of. My younger cousins, potty trained late, and still wear pull-ups sometimes. Aunt Katherine was a nurse, and my mom allowed her to give me to receive a full medical exam, which was uncomfortable and embarrassing. The more I got upset, the more babyish she made things. After a week staying with my aunt, mommy kept me in diapers an additional week. Mommy was pretty nice about having to change my messy diapers, and my little girl behavior. I was awoken from these memories by mom putting on some rubber panties on me. Another cloth diaper was placed over them, keeping the diapers in place. What scared me more was these new panties, with a small locking clip. She slid these locking plastic panties on me, and secured them with a small lock. The last time she did this was when I was 8, and pulled off my night diapers. She was definitely mad that night. She helped me into a jumpsuit, that was a ‘gift’ from Aunt Katherine, and had a rear zipper. I cried as the jumpsuit zipper was locked into place. “Mommy, why are you doing this?” I asked, scared about what my mommy planned for me. “I want you to settle down, and feel like a little girl. Wet diapers are a natural part of that. If you want to be a big girl again, we can talk about that!” mom tried to explain all this to me, but I wasn’t really listening. The reason the I didn’t want to be back in diapers during the day is that if mom decides to diaper me, it could be a while for her to let me use the potty and wear panties again. As the pandemic lock down continued down through summer, she has said that getting me changed at school won’t be an issue for a while. As I was crying, she picked me up and carried me to my room. I’m pretty small, and my mom can pick me up and carry me around. Laid down on my bed, as the bulky diaper would have made it hard to walk. Mom tucked me into bed, and then left the room.

Chapter 1: Three sisters, one home, one family The only thing that seemed the same was something, or someone, was always being changed. When my dad remarried, Kelly, who is 7, became my step-sisters. The feeling of not quite being a ‘big girl’ and not sure about being a little girl as I’m 8, gets confusing. As we’re close in age, we’re expected to have a close relationship, but we hadn’t grown up together and too shy to share our secrets. We didn’t share a bedroom, our parents tried to get us to be more like sisters, but with little success. We did watch TV together sometimes, do homework, or play with our younger sister, Aimee, She’s almost 5 and has some disabilities, so more like a big baby. Our mom gets upset if we call her a baby, though, so we’re careful. It seems our mom has found plenty of ways to make us behave without it quite seemly like a punishment. Keeping us in our room, watching boring educational shows from the 1980s is one way. She claims its educational, so its good for us, but we end up bored and sometimes in tears anyway. Our dad is usually pretty reasonable, but one thing is didn’t seem to like was changing diapers, and always felt awkward changing me for bed as I got older. Having 3 girls in diapers at night makes him really awkward if he’s changing us. It’s also cold this time of year, and one thing all of us girls have in common is we get the flu, despite getting a flu shot every year. It seems like one of us is sick, especially during the colder time of year. Getting sick usually means stuck in bed, wearing diapers, and practically treated like our little sister. Our mom has been a foster parent for some years, and works from home for some big company, or something. She keeps telling us how much fun she had living in Manhattan, but it didn’t sound like fun to us. Dad worked for a different big company, but quit after my mom died a few years ago. Even though it was something healthcare related, he doesn’t like hospitals much. The thing with our mom being a foster parent that provides temporary care to kids, although she prefers younger kids, especially those who are babied and immature. It feels like sometimes when we’re acting like a ‘big girl’ mom doesn’t notice, but if we’re being immature and babyish, like our little sister, mom pays attention. We’re stuck in the middle, not being fully incontinent and babied like our younger sister, or old enough be able to make our own choices like our older sister who is now 17. My dad is surprised that some foster kids ask for diapers, or just accept being diapered again. Because foster kids wetting the bed is common, mom usually puts them in diapers for bed. We’re not the same: To say our family is complicated, would be an understatement. We’re always competing with each other, and recent restrictions have made things even more complicated. Some times we compete to see who can be bratty and get away with it, other times we focus on our schoolwork and homework. Our young sister, Aimee, isn’t really able to use the potty without considerable help, and has no real bladder or bowel control. It’s more sit her on the potty, and wait until she goes in the potty, then clean her and back in a diaper. On the other hand, our dad insists we use the potty, and gets annoyed when we have accidents, although 7 or 8 year old girls do have accidents sometimes, he doesn’t quite understand. We sometimes have to use pull-ups or diapers during the day, because of accidents. Depending on our parents mood, we have to get our pull-ups check and have to tell them when we have accidents. When my sis and I are fighting, especially when one of us is back in diapers, things sometimes get out of hand. This was one of the times when things got complicated, was when It was one of those times, that our oldest sister Lisa, was visiting and taking forever in the shower, and Kelly had an accident in her pull-up while waiting for one of the bathrooms to become available. Our dad wasn’t expecting to change a poopy pull-up, and mom wasn’t home yet. I made faces at my sister, even though I was expecting to be diapered for bed, just like her and Aimee. Bath time and diaper time: After Kelly had cried in her room for half an hour, our mom returned and Kelly was taken to the bathroom, her messy bottom cleaned and bathed, then wrapped in a towel and carried to Aimee’s room, basically the nursery, and sat on a chair. Not long after, I was bathed by my mom, something that felt embarrassing at times, and wrapped in a towel, then carried to Aimee’s room, and placed on the changing table straight away. Aimee was laying in her bed, with a thick cloth diaper on, and a pacifier in her mouth. She seemed slightly amused, watching me, her older sisters, fussing and protesting being put in a cloth diaper for bed time. It didn’t take long for dad to come in to see what the fuss was about. “It’s a diaper. The sooner you get you’re diaper on, the sooner you can watch Netflix before bed.” he said. “Cloth diapers are so thick and uncomfortable” I replied, but my dad wasn’t interested in my complaining, especially since Kelly was already in her cloth diaper. Our younger sister often gets cloth diapers for bed, and doesn’t complain. She can’t talk, but she does get cry to and fuss. Our parents weren’t big on spanking us, but did from time to time. Being mean to Aimee, like calling her a baby, sometimes got us a spanking. Lisa came in with a bottle for Aimee, but silly me couldn’t resist poking fun at my sister, who was still upset about messing her pull-up. “Is that for Kelly?” She asked, trying to sound innocent but failing on the sarcasm. The glare from mom said it all. “Are you thirsty? It’ll help you settle down!” Mom replied, leaving little doubt that I wasn’t being kind, then handing me the bottle, and I started drinking. Even though Aimee needs to be bottle fed, mom sometimes gives us a bottle of warm milk in the evening to help us settle down for the night. “How many little girls are thirsty?” Lisa asked, with a hint of snarkiness. Mom whispered something to her, and she just nodded. It seemed like our mom wanted us to stop with the teasing, and diapering us in front of our little sister, is one way to get her point across without yelling and spanking us. While mom put us both in our pajamas, Lisa prepared more bottles. Something told us that our mom didn’t think we’d be dry in the morning. We drank our bottles, while Aimee was fed her bottle by Lisa, and she still seemed to giggle at our babying. Both Kelly and I have a love-hate relationship with babying, and being in diapers, especially cloth diapers. Our mom expects us not wet our pull-ups during the day, but will sometimes diaper us in the evening.

This story is now finished, so congratulations, new readers, you'll be able to finish without needing to wait for any further updates from me. There are, however, some things you should be aware before you begin. For first time readers, you should know that this story is a part of another one that I'm currently writing, All My Mother's Rules, covering the backstory of Lisa. The stories can be read in either order. You can start with this one first, or, if you choose to start with All My Mother's Rules, you'll be re-directed back to this story when necessary. A note from me to avoid some confusion. Lisa changes her name from Annabelle to Lisa at the conclusion of this story. (I've removed that name twist and kept her name as Lisa throughout when I've updated and posted the story elsewhere. I'm leaving that element here with this note so there isn't any confusion about her character). Synopsis: Annabelle, a teenage girl with a troubled past and trouble with keeping her pants dry, must confront what has been done to her if she is to begin a new life, one that she hopes will allow her to eventually be free from diapers. Content warning: This is a messed-up story. If profanity, violence, and references to suicide are off-putting, you probably shouldn’t read it. ----- Chapter 1: Therapy Session Present time My legs wobbled slightly as I followed the therapist down the hospital hallway and into her office. Even though a month had passed after the incident, standing for any length of time quickly tired me out, and walking was so much worse. To be fair, I had been offered a wheelchair, but I had turned it down. It wasn't as if I was too embarrassed or prideful to use the wheelchair, but the thought of being constrained... well, that just wasn't going to happen. Not now. Not again. Not ever. My therapist, Miss Amanda, said the room was private. I wasn't inclined to believe her. There was one of those one-way windows installed on the wall. She said it was only used for other clients, like if there was a parent or guardian that needed to be involved. I don't have any of those, well, at least not anymore. Though tiny, the room wasn't so small that it felt constraining. The room was muted, with only few splashes of color. A light-brown leather couch with a couple of bright, plush pillows sat along the wall opposite the fake window. The far wall had a large, flatscreen TV inside of a wood cabinet. "Annabelle, you can take a seat over there," Amanda said, motioning to the couch with her hand. The therapist took a seat herself in a swivel chair that was next to the far end of the couch. The binder Amanda was carrying remained closed. I wondered what it said about me in it. To be more accurate, I worried about what it said about me. In the first few days after the incident, I had talked a lot. Maybe I'd said more than I should have. Probably. But I had thought for once that I would have been believed. I'm still not sure if they do, or, if this therapy session is some sort of test or trick to discover what actually took place. I'm sure the transcripts of those initial interviews are in her binder. There's no way they would have let Amanda begin her first day as my therapist without providing her with that information. I tried to remember everything I had told them. It's not as if I hadn't been truthful, but I wasn't certain yet that I wanted to reveal any more than I already had. I fidgeted on the couch, but that was more due to my nerves being uncomfortable, not my bottom. It would, however, be inaccurate to describe the couch itself as comfortable, even if I didn't happen to be uncomfortable sitting on it. There are few benefits to being incontinent but having what is essentially a portable pillow for your butt is one of them. So, while the cushioning in the couch may have been lacking, the padding in the diaper I had taped on beneath my dress more than made up for it. Amanda opened the binder and began to peruse it silently without saying anything. I didn't get it. Was this some kind of trick into getting me to talk? All I knew about therapists was from what I'd seen on TV, which is to say, I didn't know much. Well fine. Staying silent was my modus operandi so why should I give a shit? A few minutes passed before Amanda looked up from the binder to talk to me. "Do you understand why we are having this conversation?" Amanda asked. Because some judge is worried that I might be a danger to society. That isn't what I said to Amanda though. I just shrugged nonchalantly. "Let's start by talking about how you're feeling right now." Talk about my feelings? Since when has anyone given two fucks, let alone a single one, about my feelings? "I... um... I... I don't know." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Everything made sense in my head. The thoughts and words flowed seamlessly together. I knew exactly how I felt right now. Despite my ongoing efforts to repress those thoughts, Amanda's innocuous question had brought them forward again. I'm lonely after being in the hospital for a month with basically no visitors besides the doctors and nurses who have been caring for me. I'm embarrassed because even though I'm fourteen, I've never been able to move on from needing to wear diapers. And I'm confused, because a month ago I wanted to end my life, and now I want to live, but I have no clue as to what the future could possibly look like for me. But it all became a jumbled mess the moment I began to speak. I closed my mouth, shut my eyes, and curled up in a ball on my couch. Maybe going to juvie instead of this wouldn't be so bad after all. With my eyes closed and my mind all wrapped up in my own thoughts, I didn't notice that Amanda had taken a seat on the couch until she was sitting next to me with her arm tight around my shoulder. "You know what, why don't we do something different. It's only the first session after all." I opened my eyes and nodded, though I didn't turn to look at her. "Do you like to play videogames?" "I don't know." "Annabelle, you need to help me out a little. I'm sure you know if you like video games or not. And if you don't, that's OK. We can find something else to do." How I am supposed to explain to her that I had never been allowed to play videogames? Well, besides that one time. I felt really embarrassed. "But I don't know if I like them." "Why not?" "I.. I wasn't allowed to..." My voice trailed off into a stutter, and I felt Amanda's hand rubbing my shoulder. "Why weren't you allowed to play videogames?" The laughter started with a brief giggle, but I couldn't get it under control. In a few seconds I was laughing so hard that I was crying. This situation wasn't supposed to be funny, but the absurdity and irony of it was more than I could deal with. I gave a better explanation to Amanda a minute later when I finally managed to compose myself. "She said video games caused kids to be violent. You know, Columbine and all that stuff." "I don't think there is much truth to that," Amanda said. "Humans started being violent long before video games were invented. I'll get the Wii set up and we can play for a bit, OK?" Curious, I peaked over Amanda's shoulder as she knelt next to the TV cabinet and got the gaming system plugged in. My excitement to give it a try overpowered my cynicism that this was just a ploy Amanda was using to get on my good side. I mean, I knew that the cynic in me was right, but I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity. Amanda handed me the two remotes – Wiimotes, she called them. It was such as stupid pun that it made me giggle again. She started a bowling game on the Wii. Just another thing I'd never done before. After a few gutter balls to start, and one time where I threw the bowling ball backwards and scared all the Miis into jumping, I began to get the hang of it and even managed to pull off a couple of strikes. But the fun was over as quickly as it began. Amanda turned off the TV and placed the controls back in the cabinet. I knew she would be expecting me to be more talkative this time around, but I still wasn't ready for that. "Can I slip out to the restroom?" Amanda gave me a look. I guess her binder did have all my medical information in it as well. I shuffled my feet. Couldn't she just let me get away with saying I needed to go to the restroom? Why did I need to specify that I needed to do it to change my diaper? "To change myself," I added. "Can you wait until we're done?" Amanda asked, clearly feeling like she didn't want to interrupt the momentum she had gained from our gaming session. Why does everyone always assume that having a diaper on means that I can wait forever to go to the bathroom? Like, do they not get that it can be uncomfortable sitting in a wet or messy diaper, or that it will leak or smell if I wait too long? "Well, it might leak." That threat of having to deal with urine all over her couch was more than enough to get Amanda to give me permission to go to the restroom. I grabbed my backpack and slipped out into the hallow to a restroom that was a few doors down. It was a one-person family restroom, always nice for times when I need to change a diaper. I took a seat on the toilet without bothering to raise the lid. I slid my shorts down to my ankles and pulled my ankle-length dress up to my waist. The wetness indicator on the diaper had barely changed. I still hadn't gotten quite used to the new brand of diapers I switched to when I arrived at the hospital. They were more absorbent than I was accustomed to, so sometimes it was hard for me to determine if I needed to change myself without actually taking a look at the diaper. I decided that I didn't need to change myself quite yet. The diaper was slightly wet, but it will more than make it through the rest of the therapy session without any leaks. But the trip to the restroom served a second purpose. It gave me a mental break that I desperately needed. I figured I could at least take my time. It's not like Amanda knows how long it takes to change a diaper. This past month hadn't gone like I had imaged it would. Sure, I had escaped from her, but in my imagination, that had always been the moment where everything in the universe finally fell back in order for me. While I couldn't deny that my life had improved slightly, this still wasn't the life that I dreamed of. I paced back and forth across the restroom. It only took me four steps to go from one wall to the other. I already knew the question Amanda was going to ask when I returned. It wasn't so much that the truth was a problematic answer, but that there was so much to say that I didn't know where to begin. Amanda was seated in the swivel chair and reading through the binder when I returned to the therapy room. Without saying anything, I took a seat on the far end of the couch from her. "Annabelle, are you ready to begin?" No. I'm not at all ready. But does that matter? Not one bit. I stared at my hands as I picked at one of my fingernails. "Annabelle," she said again, sounding a bit impatient. I kept on ignoring her. "Annabelle, look at me. You need to be treating this seriously. You did tell the judge that you agreed to do this." I didn't agree to do shit. When presented with a choice between going through therapy or being sent to juvenile detention, was there really, actually, a choice to be made? "Would you rather just get right to the point?" Amanda asked, gently, but firmly. I relented and nodded silently, waiting for Amanda to continue. "Let's talk about why you tried to kill your mother."

Tricked by my family I decided to enter this story in @kasarberang competition. Feel free to post feedback and suggestions, and I welcome constructive feedback. Introduction: I guess things haven’t been normal for a long time. Bedwetting and bladder issues runs in our family. Mom tried to avoid the topic, but aunt Cassie didn’t deny it either. My older sister Katie, who is now sixteen became older and more mature, she helped babysit me. Mom was irritated that I didn’t want to wear diapers, and often fussed about it. My sister Katie made it seemed like she didn’t like changing my diaper, but mom wanted her to help babysit me anyway. Sometimes mom wanted me back in diapers “Because” for reasons I didn’t quite understand. Mom kept telling me it wasn’t a punishment. For the first time, mom went on a business trip, with my sister “in charge”, now she is 16 and trustworthy. My aunt was around to check on us and help out, but she worked as a nurse, for a medical clinic. Little did I know how things would change for me. Getting ready: Aunt Cassie brought over some food for while we were gone. My sister drinks a lot of Gatorade, and seems to always read the label on food and drink. She likes to stay active, and is glad she doesn’t wear pullups to school much. Mom asked if we had plans for the almost two weeks she will be away. My sister says she’ll be studying, but didn’t say which subject. Mom didn’t seem surprised. Cassie mentioned that I had a doctors appointment this week, for a “checkup”, which made me worry about what the doctor needed to check. I’ve been to doctors and hospitals enough, and things happen unexpectedly, and sometimes hurts and I cry like a baby. I wet my pullup a lot just thinking about it. Mom handed Katie a wallet of gift cards, for CVS, Grubhub, and a few other places. We had plenty of frozen food, but could also order food delivered. Cassie handed a folder with some papers, that mom put together for while she was away. “Mom, did you schedule our daily activities in advance?”, she asked. “I don’t want you two sitting around watching Netflix all day”, mom replied. Cassie also brought over a box of diapers and other supplies, supposedly for her neighbors, but I knew it was meant for me. I had started to cry, and Cassie picked me up, and tried to comfort me, as my sister walked with mom, bags in hand. “You sure are a little girl, aren’t you?” Cassie said quietly. She checked that my pullup was now soaked. A few minutes later, Cassie had me back in my room, removed my pullup, cleaned me and put a diaper on me. My sister came in, a little surprised I hadn’t thrown a tantrum. I really don’t like getting put in diapers during the day, or getting changed.

Hi ive got a couple questions im going to be flying for the first time out of las vegas on Friday i was wondering if anyone has any experience going through TSA while diaperd do they're sensors go off over a wet diaper will the metal buttons at the bottom of a ctdc onesie set off there scanner do will i have to untuck my under shirt because i dont want any extra problems with tsa are they professional Any help would be appreciated thank you I forgot to add ill also have a firearm in my checked bagage as per TSA rules please do not turn this into a political discussion I dont wont arguments coming up in my first post i try my best to remain neutral but if anyone has experience with flying with firearms words of wisdom are welcome Ps i do not care what a tsa agent sees or thinks of me but i dont want to be rude or force everyone in tsa line to see me in a diaper also or onesie thank you very much

Hey there! I'm Thorn (he/him). New member, long time writer and self-published author of queer fiction. I've been looking for somewhere to post some DL stories, and then I found you folks! So I thought I'd share a little something I've been working on lately. It's a work-in-progress with quite a bit written already, so I'll be posting new chapters frequently. I'd love some feedback and I'm not afraid of constructive criticism, so bring it on! lol Summary: Caiden is an eighteen-year-old trans boy about to graduate from high school. He's been a bedwetter all his life, but when he develops Irritable Bowel Syndrome, with explosive diarrhoea as a symptom, he starts wearing his bedtime diapers in the daytime. When his best friend Victor discovers his secret, Caiden is sure he won't want to be friends anymore, but that isn't what happens at all . . . CW: This story contains messing, light BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, coarse language, and sexual situations between consenting individuals over eighteen. I looked and couldn't find any rules that prohibit any of these things, but if there are some, please let me know and I will edit accordingly. ———————— Chapter 1. ‘Caiden!’ He turned his head as he heard his name and saw Victor running up to him. ‘Hey. Where were you earlier? You missed English.’ Caiden tried his best not to blush. ‘Yeah. Sorry. I . . . wasn’t feeling well.’ He looked down and mumbled, ‘Stomach upset.’ Victor frowned, now caught up and walking alongside him. ‘Again? Didn’t that happen last week too?’ Caiden nodded. ‘Yeah. In Math.’ His friend made a face. ‘Sorry, dude. Was it something you ate?’ Caiden shrugged. ‘Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Mom thinks it might be some IBS shit or something . . . Anyway. Let’s change the subject, you don’t wanna hear about my bowel movements.’ Victor laughed. ‘Maybe I do?’ Caiden stopped, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, and Victor laughed again. ‘Nah, bro, just kidding.’ Caiden laughed as well and they resumed their walk, but then he was quiet, mostly just listening as Victor talked about what they’d gone over in English that afternoon. They parted ways at their usual spot and exchanged fistbumps. Then Caiden set off home. Truth was, he had barely made it to the bathroom in time today. In fact, he hadn’t, a little bit had come out in his shorts before he managed to get them off. He carried a spare pair of underwear in his gym bag that was stashed in his locker, thankfully, so he’d been able to change, but it was still embarrassing. When he got home, no one else was there yet. His parents were both at work and his younger twin brothers still at school. He went to the bathroom, getting his soiled shorts out of a plastic bag in his backpack and rinsing them in the bathtub before throwing them in the laundry basket. Entering his room, he pondered. He knelt next to the bed and pulled out the drawer underneath, where he kept his nighttime diapers. Caiden had been wetting the bed all his life. It was like his body had never quite pulled off that whole subconsciously holding your bladder thing. He’d had a few close calls in the daytime as well, though he hadn’t wet himself when awake since he was in grade school. Now he was eighteen, nearly finished with high school. His stomach troubles had started about half a year ago. Until today, he’d managed to make it to the toilet every time, but this minor accident had made up his mind about something he’d been considering for a while; whether he should wear his diapers in the daytime as well. A couple of weeks ago he’d woken up with a stomach ache and, in his sleepy, groggy state, had let it all out in his diaper instead of rushing to the toilet. Once he woke up properly, he felt ashamed. He’d gone to the bathroom, changed himself, and gotten rid of the evidence. If they found out, his mom would worry, his brothers would tease him, and his step-dad would be a dick about it as usual, like he was about everything else. He’d sworn to himself never to do it in his diaper again, but since then it had begun to occur to him that it might not be so bad to have a safety net of sorts. So if he didn’t make it in time, he’d have an easy fix. It could have come in handy today. The diapers he slept in were designed for heavy urine incontinence, though they worked for bowel incontinence as well. And anyway, it wasn’t like he’d be properly pooping in them, they’d just be there for safety. Caiden undressed, leaving just his chest binder on. Then he took a diaper from the drawer and put it on. He pulled his shorts and his jeans back on and looked in the mirror. The jeans were loose, like most of his clothes, and he inspected himself thoroughly. There was no real noticeable bulge. Caiden had been blessed with slim hips and a small behind. The padding made no noticeable difference. He moved around a bit, listening for any noise. There wasn’t much. A slight occasional crinkle, his waistband sliding against the diaper, but nothing anyone would notice. He stared at his reflection and laughed at himself a little. Was he really going to wear a diaper to school tomorrow? His stomach rumbled. ‘Fuck, not this again,’ he muttered. He made to go to the bathroom, but then the thought occurred to him that he might want to test the diaper, see if it could hold a potential accident. He reached to undo his jeans, take off both them and his shorts so they wouldn’t risk getting messy . . . but there was no time. Caiden farted loudly, and then the poop rushed out of him and into his diaper. It was soft and squishy, not exactly liquid diarrhoea, but far from solid. Then it stopped, though he knew there was more, and, figuring that he might as well get it all out, he squatted down and pushed, groaning with the strain. A more solid clump was blocking the rest of it from coming out, and it took a moment to press it out. When it was over, he was trembling and panting. He stood up, making a face at the feeling of his full diaper. He inspected himself in the full length mirror. There was now a considerable bulge, but his jeans looked fine, and he took them off. His shorts were fine too, though he didn’t want to gamble on the diaper holding this kind of load for long, and so he got a fresh one out of the drawer and went to the bathroom to clean up and change. Standing in the shower, he felt suddenly horny. He reached down, rubbing himself. He thought of Victor. Then he wondered what Victor would think if he knew that Caiden wore diapers now. The thought made him blush. Somehow, the thought of Victor knowing turned him on more, and he rubbed himself yet more vigorously, until he came with shaking thighs. By the time Caiden was finished in the bathroom, his mother had come home. ‘Oh!’ she said, as he came out of the bathroom. ‘There you are, Kayla.’ ‘Mom, it’s Caiden,’ he said, somewhat exasperated. ‘I’m sorry. Caiden.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry, it just takes a little getting used to, is all.’ ‘Yeah. It’s okay. Just . . . try?’ ‘I am. I promise. I haven’t referred to you as my daughter in months.’ She smiled. ‘How was school?’ ‘It was okay.’ Caiden hesitated. ‘Mom?’ ‘Mhm?’ ‘I . . . I had another stomach upset today and . . . I kind of had an accident. Just . . . just a little one!’ he hurried to say. ‘I just . . . almost didn’t make it. To the bathroom.’ His face felt hot. ‘Aww, I’m sorry, baby!’ Caiden’s mother hugged him. ‘You okay?’ ‘Yeah. Fine. But . . .’ He licked his lips. ‘I think I should . . . start wearing the . . . you know. In the daytime as well. Like, to school. Just . . . just as a precaution. Until we can figure out what’s wrong with my stomach, you know?’ His mother nodded. ‘Hm, yeah . . . That might actually be a good idea. If you’re having a hard time making it to the bathroom on time. It would be just awful if you pooped your pants in class, wouldn’t it?’ Caiden snorted. ‘“Just awful” doesn’t begin to cover it, Mom. It would be the end of my life.’ ‘All right. I’ll make sure we keep stocked up, all right, baby?’ ‘Yeah. Thanks, Mom.’ Caiden bit his lip. ‘Hey . . . do you think you could maybe not mention this to Brendan and Ryker? Or to Sam? I . . . I’d rather they not know. It’s embarrassing enough wearing diapers at night.’ ‘Of course, sweetie.’ She hugged him. ‘I won’t tell a soul.’

Here is chapter one of a new project. This is a shared project from me and Sky Hooves, based on an RP! We both hope that you'll enjoy it! Climbing the Corporate Ladder by Panther Cub & Sky Hooves The city of Sanoto, the gleaming silver jeweled capitol of Lushuin. Population roughly 8,000,000. When I was a little kit, I always used to dream of coming to the big city and making it big. After college, when I was finally able to move into an apartment of my very own… well… let’s just say that those dreams are on hold… The fact that I’m a twenty-seven-year-old jackrabbit suffering from Youngston’s Disease, rendering me fully incontinent certainly not helping. My name is Melody Cooper. I have yellow eyes, a pink nose, and tan fur. After many years of humiliation, I have become very adept at discretion. Still, though, I live every day in fear that my secret will get out. It's why I changed my name after graduating high school. Gunna be late! I think to myself, frantically, as I sprint down the sidewalk. There is a slight waddle to my gait, but I push on. After getting ready for work, I had suddenly found myself with a very messy diaper, which I of course had to take care of, thus eating up so many precious minutes to get to work on time. I ignore the bulge of my padding as I make the next crosswalk in record time. I check my watch, feeling a slight stitch in my side, surprised that I might just make it. It's going to be a close one. I can see the building, Bushel Inc. coming into view. I reach into my purse and pull out my i.d. badge, and practically hurtle through the revolving doors at the front desk, and leap up to flash it to the security guard, as is required of all employees. The bored-looking male polar bear takes it and scans it. I hop from foot to foot as I wait for the o.k. to enter. Then there's a beep, and he hands it back to me, and I dart off. My cubicle is on the twenty-seventh floor, so when I make it to the elevator, my heart soars as I'm the only one, and jump up to hit button 27, taking some time to catch my breath and smooth out my clothes, a simple navy skirt-suit. Linda’s POV: I look down at the bunny that just ran into the elevator at high speed, trying to get her breath under control. It was one of my employees, Melody Cooper. Seems like, she made it just in time. She is a really hard working mammal, but a tad on the shy side. I'm actually a little worried for her, since she doesn't seem to have many friends outside of work from what I heard. My name is Linda Moon. I'm a 31 year-old lioness. I have green eyes and a black nose, and very light beige fur. I also have a daughter named Kira. She is also a lioness, like me. Her father, a loving and wonderful hyena named Jonas, died before she was born in an accident, and I have raised her since then. It wasn't easy, but I managed to have time for her and my company. Melody’s POV: Satisfied, I take a deep breath and smile, certain I‘m gunna make it before I was officially counted as late. It was then that I heard the noise of someone clearing their throat, and I turned, jumping a little at the sight of my boss, Mrs. Moon. "OH! Mrs. Moon," I say to the lioness towering over me, "g-good morning." Linda: I smile down at her, making sure to look as non-threatening as possible. "Good morning Ms. Cooper. Seems like that was a close call this time." Melody: I blush a little and nod, I can't let her think that I'm lazy or something. "Uh... I h-had a minor emergency to deal with this morning." Linda: I look a bit worried. "Is everything alright? I hope nothing bad happened." Melody: "Oh no, nothing terrible. Just an... inconvenience I had to deal with, is all..." Linda: "Alright then. As long as you still make it on time, It's no problem. But try to keep these inconveniences to a minimum. You are a hard worker." The Elevator dinged at the 20th floor, signaling that I had reached my destination. "And here is my exit. I wish you a nice day, Ms Cooper." I say and wave to her as I leave for my office. Melody: "Y-yes Mrs. Moon. Y-you too!" I say, putting on a smile, despite my nervousness, and wave back. I sigh as I ride the rest of the way up, feeling good to hear someone as important as Linda Moon telling me how important I am. Still though, I'll have to wake up even earlier from now on, just in case I start messing myself in the morning again. Linda: I make my way to my office. I couldn't help but worry a bit about Ms Cooper. I meant what I said that she is a great worker and the others really like her, even with the little interaction she has with them. She seems pretty skittish around others... or it is just my size that is intimidating her. "Or maybe, it's just my motherly instincts taking over again..." I say to myself under my breath. It is a well-documented fact that lionesses have overactive mothering instincts, myself being no exception. Melody: I find my cubicle, with just two minutes to spare, and quickly turn on my computer, logging in. I sigh once more, before smiling, getting to work. It may not be glamorous, but I do find the monotonous work to be relaxing. Linda: I sit at my desk and go through some new contracts and other paperwork. Nothing much was happening and soon, after a few calls, I feel the need to use the restroom. I log off my computer, and head out my office door, making my way to the elevator. Melody: I type away at the keyboard, checking each shipment and double-checking, making sure everything is going where it's supposed to. Not the most exciting job in the world, but it's certainly an important one. I just finished another batch, when I smell a sickly-sweet perfume, like rotten bananas, and my stomach tightened. "Almost came in late, Miss Cooper," came a voice just as sickly sweet as the perfume of its owner. I gulp and turn in my chair, which is several sizes too big for me, to look up at the leering face of my manager, Amanda Winter. For some reason, the snow leopardess has always seemed to have it out for me. "Y-yes, Miss Winter. But I got in before I was," I say in my own defense. The primly dressed feline clicked her tongue dismissively. She was wearing a lavender pinstripe skirt-suit, her claws painted a matching color, with two big dangly gold rings in her ears. "Just make sure to be at your desk, on time, in the future." She said, implying that I was late, when I have never been late to work, not once. "Y-yes, Miss Winter," I say, blushing as I feel like a small child who had just been scolded for being bad. The padding I can feel warming between my legs not helping. I wait for her to continue on her rounds before I grab my purse and hop down to take a bathroom break... to change my diaper. I remember getting a memo about how all the restrooms are being worked on on various floors, so I picked the closest floor to go, on the 20th. Linda: After a bit more work, I had to go to the ladies’ room. I sat down in one of the stalls to do my "personal business" as I heard the door open again and little paws tapping around on the tile. Melody: I blush from the extra waddle that's been added to my walk, before I enter the stall. I sigh once more as I am confronted by toilet stalls and toilets meant for much larger animals. Still, I don't suppose I could easily use the toilets in here due to my size. Silver lining, I suppose. I close the door behind me, unable to reach the latch, and instead take off my skirt. I fold it up and put it into my purse, before I untape my wet diaper, letting it fall to the ground with a wet plop. Linda: I sit still in my box and hear a ripping sound and something wet hitting the ground next to my stall. The sound is familiar, and as a mother, it takes me only a few moments to realize that it’s the sound of a wet diaper. Had someone brought their cub to work? Why not leave them at the daycare here at the company? Maybe I need to better advertise to my employees about the free childcare on level fifteen. Melody: I pull out the tub of wipes and start cleaning myself, tossing two used ones into the used diaper, which I then fold and tape up into a ball. Then I pull out a fresh diaper and, not wanting to lay down on the bathroom tile, put it on while standing up, the tapes being the trickiest part. Once finished, I pull out the canister of baby powder, and open it. After I pull open the front waistband of my diaper and powder myself, I repeat the process in the back. Then I double-check the tape just above my tail, brushing off some of the powder that had lightly dusted it. I finish off by putting my skirt back on, double-checking to make sure it's on correctly, before I grab the used diaper and my purse, and walk back out, heading first for the trash can, thankful to have the bathroom to myself. Linda: From my stall, I could hear the familiar sound of a diaper change going on right next to my box. But something was off. It was the lacking sound of a child moving around or making any kind of noise. Also, they aren’t using the diaper change station. I heard the stall opening and the occupant leaving and the lid of the trash can being opened and closed. I finished my business and left to wash my paws. There was a faint smell of baby powder in the air. I don't know why I did what I did next, maybe just out of curiosity, or motherly instincts, but I took a peek inside the trash can. There I saw a rolled up, used diaper. It was a small diaper, like the ones my own little cub used, but the markings on it didn’t look like a child’s diaper at all. Actually, it looked more like a very tiny adult diaper... But who was small enough... my eyes widened a bit as I made a connection as to who the other mammal potentially is. But I wasn't 100% sure. For now, I would just continue work and think about this later. After all, it wasn't really any of my business. Melody: I make my way back to my desk and get right back to it. Amanda stopped by a few more times, just to let me know that she was watching me, I suppose. Soon enough, lunch rolled around, and I logged out before hopping up and making my way down to the cafeteria. Linda: After some more hours of paperwork, lunchtime comes by and I make my way to the cafeteria. But before that, I take another stop at the company's daycare centre to get my own little cub from there. As I entered the daycare, I find a little light beige ball of fluff leaping into my arms. "MOMMY!" Kira shouted gleefully. "Hello, my little princess. Mommy missed you. Have you been a good girl?" I ask her, hugging her close. "Mhm! I have been super good! I colored this for you!" She said, holding out her paws with a piece of paper in them. It’s a crayon picture of us together, holding hands, with a big smiling sun in one corner. "Such a cute picture! I'll make sure to put it right in my office so I can see it everyday! Now, how about we get some lunch together?" I offer, folding up the picture and putting it into my purse. "YAY!" Kira cheered. I first had to sign her out, but then we made our way to the elevator, my little cub in my arms. Melody: I’m in the elevator, lost in my own thoughts, only vaguely aware of the door opening, not paying attention as to who just entered. Linda: I see Ms. Cooper is already in the elevator, lost in her own thoughts. My little girl looks down at her and tilts her head. She motioned for me to let her down, to which I comply. She walks over to Ms Cooper and taps her shoulder. “Hi there! I'm Kira! Who are you?" She says, sounding bubbly and excited. Melody: I jump a little and turn to face the childish voice, to see a lion cub looking at me with a big smile on her face. She's wearing a bright white sundress, which I realize looks very similar to one I have back at home. I blush a little, and then my eyes go a little wider when I recognize Mrs. Moon, towering over us. I realize that this must be her daughter, so I compose myself and give the little girl a smile. "H-hi. I'm Melody. I-it's nice to meet you, Kira." Linda: I smile down at the two interacting, looking like two children becoming friends. My little Kira always loves to make new friends. "Hi! You have a cute name! I like you!" Without a warning, Kira hugged my little bunny employee. There was a ding, and the door opening signaled our arrival at the cafeteria. Kira grabbed Ms. Coopers paw in her own and my left in her other. "We can have lunch together! Can we mommy? Can we?" Kira asks, bouncing on her feet. Kira looked at me with her best, puppy eyes and I just couldn't resist. "Well, if Ms. Cooper is ok with that," I say, turning to look at Melody. Kira looked now to Ms. Cooper with the same puppy eyes. "You want to have lunch with us, don't you, Melody?" Melody: "U-uh..." I look from my boss to her daughter before nodding, making what I feel is a smart decision, at least to keep my job, "s-sure." Linda: "YAY! My new friend and I are having lunch together!" Kira shouts, starting to skip as we walk along. A few employees looked our way at the outburst of my little girl, but they didn't think much of it, since most of them already knowing how excitale she can be. The crinkling sound of her diaper made me think back to the events from the bathroom... But a tug on my paw got me back to the here and now. "Come on, mommy! Me and Melody are hungry!" Kira says, tugging again. "Alright, alright. I'm coming." I say with a laugh. Me and Ms. Cooper are led by my little girl to the line of people waiting for their turn. There’s numerous stations, each with dishes catering to the variety of different dietary needs for my employees. Kira, meanwhile, starts talking with her new friend about this and that. "What is your favorite color? Mine is pink! I also like to play dress up and have tea parties! What do you like to play?" Her words came out practically in a rush. Melody: I blush as I'm sure all eyes are on my holding hands with Mrs. Moon's daughter, but I continue on, wanting to keep the child, and therefore her mother, happy. "O-oh! I've always been p-partial to g-green myself. A-and... uh... I enjoy p-playing games o-on my Z-box." We get in line, and I have to hop up a little to grab a fresh tray. Linda: "You have a Z-Box? That's so cool! My mommy won't allow me one until I'm older." She says, looking up at me with a small blast of her puppy-eye look. I listen to the two talking while grabbing myself a tray. I noticed how Ms. Cooper had to jump up a bit, but didn't comment on it, now realizing that we seemed to have overlooked species of smaller statures, something that’s going to need to be amended. We walked along the line and I grabbed a few things for myself and my daughter. "When you see something you want, sweetie, just point it out." I say to her. "Ok mommy. You hear, Melody? Just point something out and mommy will get it for us." I had to hold back a laugh at that. Melody: "U-uh, th-that's very nice. But I d-don't w-want to be r-rude," I say, hopping up a little to try and grab a carrot and berry smoothie from the nearest station. I had already managed to snag a salad, but this cup was just a little too out of my reach. Linda: Kira giggled at the cute scene of the bunny hopping up and down to try and grab the smoothie. I hear again the familiar crinkle of a diaper but don't think much about it. I smile at the cute scene between these two and just grab the smoothie for Ms Cooper and give it to her. "Here you are. Don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I actually think we should make a few changes to fit the cafeteria for smaller species." Melody: "O-oh! Th-thank y-you, Mrs. Moon," I say, accepting the smoothie with a blush, "that would actually be wonderful." Linda: We walk over to an empty table and Kira leads Ms. Moon to an empty chair, which is big enough for them both. "Come Melody! We can sit together!" Melody: "U-uh..." I say, unable to think of a reason why we couldn't sit together, but then find myself being tugged up into the chair next to the toddler. My ears twitch at the sounds of what I take to be her crinkling diaper, and hope that I'm not also hearing my own. Linda: Kira got Ms. Cooper up in the chair and cuddled close to her while I set the trays on the table. "Now, Kira. Do you want me to feed you or do you want to eat on your own?" "Feed me, please?. What about you, Melody? Do you want to be fed as well until your mommy comes?" Oh my goodness, that is just too precious! As Kira asked that, I understood why she was so friendly with Ms Cooper. She thought the little bunny was also a toddler. I decided to not say anything and let it play out. It was just too cute. Melody: I blush even more now. "U-uh... I can f-feed myself, b-but thank y-you for offering, th-that is v-very polite. A-also, I-I'm an adult." Linda: Kira tilts her head, clearly not understanding how this mammal, that was the same size as her, could be a grown-up. Then she looked down at the outfit of her new friend. It was rather adult like... “Ooooh… YOU LIKE TO PLAY DRESS UP TOO!” Kira shouts excitedly, bouncing in her seat, while Ms. Cooper seems to be blushing even more underneath her fur. "Maybe we can play something else after lunch?" I couldn't help myself but giggle at the cute little scene. Kira is still very young and hasn't met any adults her own size, so it makes sense that she is confused. "How about we first eat and then talk about playtime later? Don't want to let the food get cold." I say. "Okay, mommy!" Kira says. I start to cut up Kira’s food for her into small bites, feeding it to her, while taking bites from my own food between her chewing. Melody: I feel as though my face is as red as a tomato, yet all I can think to do is instead start drinking my smoothie, and start in on my salad. Linda: As we continue to eat, Kira keeps looking and smiling at Melody, occasionally asking a question between bites. "My Favorite TV-Show is The Lion Guard! Guardians protecting Prideland City from criminals! My favorite character is Officer Kion! He is really cute and silly! Who is your favorite character?" Melody: "I, ahem, I haven't actually s-seen that show." Linda: "Really? Doesn't your mommy let you watch it?" Kira says before gasping. "Maybe you could come over for a playdate! I have every episode on DVD! We can watch them together!" Kira smiled brightly and jumped a little on her seat, making her diaper crinkle and giving Ms. Cooper another hug. I smiled at how well Ms Cooper is behaving for my little girl’s sake. Melody: "W-woah now. I'm a-actually a grown-up, and therefore h-have a lot of responsibilities." I say, looking panicked at Mrs. Moon, whom I'm certain would not at all be comfortable with some strange adult coming over to watch a tv show with her daughter. Linda: I keep watching the whole interaction between the two and couldn't help but find it extremely adorable. But Ms Cooper is right. I pet my little girl's head and lift her into my lap... but since she was still holding onto Ms. Cooper, I also lifted her into my lap. "Sorry, sweetie, but Ms Cooper is right. She still has a lot of work to do here." Melody: I squeak, and quickly scoot off of my boss' lap, her daughter somehow still clinging to me. My ears twitch as I hear a certain rustling as I scoot, but I ignore it and hope she just assumes it's her cub. Linda: I hear again the rustling of a diaper but first assumed it was Kira, until I heard it again as Melody began moving. I was interrupted from my thoughts by the sound of my watch beeping, signaling the end of my lunch break. And sure enough, people in the cafeteria are also already putting away their trays and heading out to the elevators. "Alright, sweetie. Lunchtime is over. Let's get you back to daycare." I say to Kira. I stand up and take Kira’s paw in my own again, while she grabs Melody’s paw and we make our way to the elevator. Kira giggled in excitement and looked to the still blushing jackrabbit while hopping from one paw to the other. "I can't wait to show you all the toys they have there! They even have lots of cute outfits to play dress up in!" Melody: "I-I'm s-sorry, miss Kira, b-but I have to get back to work now." I say now looking with pleading eyes at Mrs. Moon. Linda: Kira tilted her head in confusion. "Why would you want to work? Work is boring. Bah!" Kira sticks her tongue out for emphasis. I decided to step in and help Ms. Cooper. "Sorry Kira. But Ms. Cooper has a job to get back to, before she can play anywhere." I hit the button for the fifteenth floor first, to drop Kira off at the daycare. Melody: My eyes widen as I'm still being dragged along due to the little girl's surprisingly iron-like grip. "Uhm... M-Mrs. Moon?" Linda: "Yes, sweetie? ...I mean, Ms. Cooper?" My saying sweetie just felt so natural to say to Ms. Cooper, her little voice really sounded like that of a little cub. Melody: I blush as I point to my paw still in her daughter's. Linda: I giggle at the sight and bend down a little. "Kira, sweetie? Melody needs her paw back." Kira looks sadly up at me and lets go of my paw to give Ms Cooper a big, kinda protective, hug. "But I want to play with her! She’s my new friend!" Kira whined, giving me the full blast of her puppy eyes. I look apologetically to Ms. Cooper, then back to my daughter. "Maybe when you behave, she can play with you another time?” Melody: "U-uh... m-maybe?" I say, unsure of how to go about proceeding. I'm not really looking to sign on for any babysitting duties, but Mrs. Moon is my boss after all... Linda: Kira smiled brightly and started jumping again, with Ms. Cooper still in her arms. "YAY! We can have a playdate! I can show you all of my toys and drawings!" I giggle at her excitement, but I’m unsure if Melody would be willing to play with a four-year-old girl. The door to the elevator opened and Kira again held my paw and Ms. Coopers as we entered the daycare. Melody: I blush as we enter and I get the chance to look around. Once more I am reminded of my size, seeing all of the young children sitting on furniture and playing in play sets that would fit me more or less perfectly. There are some larger ones for children of larger species, but still. Linda: A warm and happy voice came greeting the group. "Hello Mrs. Moon! I see that you’re bringing little Kira back to us today!" A cheetah woman in a yellow dress and pink apron came over to the group. "Hello Mrs. Spot! Yep, I’m bringing back this little wildcat for some more playtime." Melody: I nod and politely wave to the daycare worker, waiting for Mrs. Moon to help me get Kira to let go. Linda: Mrs. Spot looks down and sees Kira holding the paw of another little mammal. This one may be small, but it only takes a moment for it to register for her that the little jackrabbit is clearly an adult. "Hello Kira! Welcome back. And who is your little friend here?" Mrs. Spot gives the bunny a wink. "This is Melody! She’s my new friend and we’re gunna have a playdate soon!" Kira announced excitedly. "Is that so? That sounds like fun! Now, why don't you go along and play with your other friends, while I talk with your mommy and Melody?" "Okay! Bye Mommy! Bye Melody! See you soon!" Kira said, giving both hugs before finally releasing Melody and running off. I took a second to sign her back in. Melody: I blush, now worried, and look up at the two taller ladies. Linda: Mrs. Spot sees the worried look on Ms. Cooper's face and bends down to get on eye level with her. "Don't worry. I know you are an adult. But sometimes, kids from bigger mammals have a problem seeing the difference." Mrs. Moon looked a bit guilty and scratched the back of her head, as she explained "I'm sorry for that whole thing. I should have stopped it from the beginning, but, to be honest, it was just too cute to see you two interacting. I'm sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable, Ms. Cooper. But I also have to thank you, for being so patient with my little girl and playing along." Melody: I smile nervously and rub the back of my head as well. "N-no problem, Mrs. Moon. Well, I need to get back to work, before my manager starts to wonder where I am." Linda: "Alright. Don't let me stop you. And when your manager asks, tell her to ask me for an explanation." I say. Melody: I sputter an embarrassed goodbye as I jog back to the elevator, crinkling as I did so. Linda: As the elevator closed, with a red faced bunny inside, I turned to Mrs. Spot. "Thank you again for taking care of my little one and all the other children here." "No problem. I love taking care of them. So, Ms. Cooper seems to be a nice person. If a bit on the shy side." "Oh yes. But that's probably because she was talked to like a toddler by my daughter." I say, feeling a small pang of guilt. "I can see how she could make this mistake. With them both being the same size… why, if Ms. Cooper were dressed in something more childish, I could see how she could easily be confused for a toddler, or even an infant, even by most adults!" I think back to earlier today in the ladies’ room, as well as to all the times I heard Melody crinkling when she moved. I then started to imagine what Melody would look like, dressed in just a shirt and diaper, and almost let out a coo at the thought, it being just too cute for words. Melody: I hop up to hit the button for the 27th floor again, and take the time to compose myself on the way up. The door opens and I step out, only to immediately bump into the leg of Amanda, as she leered down at me. "Get lost on your way back from lunch?" She asked in that sickly-sweet voice of hers. "S-sorry, Ms. Winter," I say, my ears drooping, "I got a little caught up with Mrs. Moon and her daughter." Amanda's eyes narrow at that. "Oh? Nice to see you finally taking the initiative and begin sucking up to the boss herself, but I would recommend learning to walk before trying to run." "H-huh?" I ask, bewildered. "I mean, you already have a boss immediately over you..." she trails off before turning with a swish of her white spotted tail and stalking off. Still confused, I make my way back to my cubicle, hop up into my chair, and log back onto my computer. Linda: I head back to my office and continue with work. But I'm a bit distracted as I think about what happened today. Especially at lunch. From the outside, it must have looked like a mother lion eating lunch with her two cubs. I remember how... cute... Ms. Cooper looked when she was so embarrassed sitting next to my Kira. Melody: Amanda walked by my cubicle a few more times, before she had to take a call. I wasted no time signing off and finishing up making sure my work space is cleaned, before I head to the elevator. I ride amongst several different people, some I've seen around that I make polite conversation with. I panic a little as I realize that I'm wet again, but I decide to tough it out and wait until I get back to my apartment before I change. Linda: After finally finishing my work, I prepare to leave. Signing off and making my way to the daycare to get my cub. I saw Ms. Cooper in the elevator among other employees, but we didn't get a chance to talk with each other. I left the elevator and entered the daycare, and again, a little fluffy lion jumps in my arms. "MOMMY!" "Hey there, Kitten. What are you doing? Waiting in a ready position to jump into my arms?" I ask with a chuckle. "Uhu!" Kira responds with a giggle. We thanked Mrs Spot once more, with me signing Kira out again for the day, and started for the elevator. Kira looked a bit upset and I asked what was wrong. "What's wrong, Sweetie Pie?" "Well, I didn't see my new friend Melody. I wanted to show her all the pictures I drew. I even made a picture for her!" She showed me a drawing of herself and Melody, both wearing pink dresses, standing on a green line with flowers and a smiling sun in the sky. It was really cute how attached she already got to her new friend, despite only meeting her for half an hour at lunch. "Could you give it to her when you see her? Please?" I smiled at my little princess and took the drawing from her paws, ruffling her head fur. "When I see her next time, I will let her know you miss her and show her the picture." We got to the parking garage and I got Kira all buckled up in her carseat in the back, before getting in myself. It didn’t take long for us to arrive at home and, after a quick change of my little girl's diaper, I prepared our dinner. We both hope that you enjoyed this first chapter! Please leave a review!

Hi all. I thought I'd tell you my hospital diapering story. I write to you right now while wearing a large and somewhat soggy diaper with a medical look to it, while wrapped up snugly in my warm blankets. These diapers are very spacious and thick, they have the odd effect of making me forget where my pee-pee is positioned at all--seems it could be anywhere in the mass of almost nerve-numbing padding. I think I wet while I was laying down earlier, though I'm not totally sure. Probably peed a couple of times. Feels like I won't need a change for a while though. When I poke at these undies very gently with one finger only, it seems like wave of pressure is coming from all directions. I couldn't tell you where my finger was, or where my genitals were. They're in there somewhere, and that's probably for the better considering the accidents. Let me back up a bit and tell you how I got here, and how I ended up in diapers pretty much against my will. I had a mental health episode back in early February that landed me in an institution. I would rather not go into the specifics, suffice to say I was going to be holed up for a while. I remember that the food was hard to get used to at first, but, you get used to it. As a safety precaution, I was only allowed to wear the outfit that was approved there, a plain looking hospital gown and some ruffly thin trousers. They'd begun to force an unknown cocktail of medications on me which were having some pretty strong effects. I could tell by how sedated I was that there was some kind of anti-psychotic in the chemical soup. Three times a day with meals I took pills of many different colours, none of which I knew the potential side effects of. I guess I had to simply place my trust in an authority whose methods were unknown to me. It was around my fifth day there when I noticed pee leaking down my leg under the trousers I had on. It had already came out, I had no recollection of peeing. I was a bit dazed, and couldn't make out what that strange cold feeling was for a while. I noticed when I sat down in a chair in the common room that my crotch had a few thin lines of wetness emanating downward from it. It was only then that it dawned on me, I'd wet myself. No idea when, but I was wet now. I stood up and shuffled around, looking for my nurse. Her name's Lindy, she's a pretty woman a few years older than me. If I had to describe her body type, she's fit but a little thick, with something extra on the caboose. You'd almost think she was wearing diapers too, if it wasn't for her panty lines. I spotted her as she walked briskly past me on her way to the east wing. I had to catch up with her, but she was too quick. I followed along behind, trying hard to stay focused. It seemed like I was nearly ready to forget the whole matter and lay down on the cool tile floor for a nap. "Lindy?" I called. "Lindy?" She stopped and turned. "Yes?" "I had an accident I think," I said calmly, much more calmly than I would have if I wasn't totally drugged. "I see, I see," She said in a laid back and cool way. "Let's go, follow me." I was a little bit disoriented as she led me by the hand to the room I was staying in. I had little sense that we were going there until we were actually in the room. In a lot of ways it was more like a cell than a room, with white walls and an angular metal bunk bed being its most defining features. Up above my bed there was a small sliver of window, with bright sunlight trying to poke as much of itself in as possible. "Can you sit on the floor for me, hon?" She helped me to sit on the floor. The chillness of it made me shudder. Suddenly, I was feeling really cold. I started to shiver. "I'm c-cold," I stammered. "It might be a side effect of one of your meds. I'll be right back, you just stay on the floor, okay?" "Why the floor?" I asked hazily. "Well," She began, as if trying to find the nicest words possible give the awkward circumstances, "I'm afraid you'll pee on the bed--be right back, just stay there..." She trailed off as she briskly exited the room, closing the door behind her. I distinctly remember hearing the door's lock reverb through the room as it was turned, and suddenly I felt a burst of warmth on my crotch as I erupted into feeble shivers. I don't know how long I sat there, but when Lindy returned she had a really thick looking blanket which immediately put my heart at rest in a child-like sort of way when I saw it. She was also holding under her arm what looked like a package of diapers. I watched as she laid the blanket out on the bed and placed the diapers on my little bedside table by the ruled journal they gave us. I took this fact without concern, not really making the connection of assuming that those diapers were going to be there for me. Soon Lindy had placed a mat on the floor beside my bed and motioned for me to come over. "Come on, come on sweetie. This won't be so bad." I went to her cooing call, transfixed by her disarming gaze. It almost looked sensual at the time, but I doubt she wanted anything to do with my pants-wetting butt beyond merely changing it. Before I really knew what hit me, I was fastened into a gigantic crinkly diaper. I tried to sit up at first but fell back. Luckily, Lindy was there to catch me and help me sit up against my bed. "So, we have you in a brief," she said, looking at me with a sympathetic gaze that suggested a little pity as well. "I need you to not try to take this off, okay? I really, really need you to cooperate with me." "I don't wanna wear a diaper--" "I know, I know you don't. But I really can't trust you after that big accident you just had," she cooed. "No, no!" I said, raising my voice slightly as the gravity of the situation began to weigh on me. "Please, they're not so bad to wear... Will you do it for me?" She winked at me and smiled contagiously. I couldn't help but capture a little of her smile on my own lips. "Well, fine," I said after a pause. "But I don't need diapers." "Yes you do, remember that accident you had? I can't have you trailing pee. That's not nice feeling, is it?" She shook her head for emphasis. "Oh, yeah," I replied after a pause. I shivered some more and Lindy helped me into my bed and under the covers. She tucked me in like as if she was my mommy. It felt that way at the time. "Now you're all snuggly and warm, and protected. I will bring you your dinner and your medication soon, okay?" "Thanks mommy," I said before I could stop myself. I laughed at the silliness of what I'd just said and could have swore I felt something warm swelling up on my crotch. "Sorry mo--I uh--sorry Lindy." She looked at me for a long time after I said that. Not with an unhappy gaze though. I could see some pity in her eyes for her poor diapered patient, but there was something motherly mingled in there as well. When she sat down on my bed and began to stroke my hair, the motherliness was made much more manifest. There was no doubt that she cared about me in that most vulnerable moment. I think as she stroked my hair, I continued to dribble into my diaper. I shivered here and there, which only made the fight to keep my pee inside more difficult. I have no idea how much I was peeing at the time, but after she left the room I took a peek under the covers and saw that it looked puffy and yellow, though I felt totally dry. It was weird at first, I wasn't used to the oddly comforting and convenient mechanics of my new diapered life. Here I was peeing myself in bed and it didn't even feel wet. I looked at the plastic tabs fastened firmly on the front panel of my underwear and tried to pull one of them off out of curiosity and absentmindedness. It wouldn't budge, so I gave up my effort soon after. I didn't know what to think about being diapered at the time. so I rolled over and tried to get some sleep. I passed out almost immediately. I woke up in a daze and tried to sit up, though I struggled to at first, feeling a little bit dizzy. I stared at the wall for a while as I came to. The room seemed darker somehow. I looked up at the little window and saw no light pushing through. It must have been the middle of the night. I went under the covers again and looked at my diaper with an absentminded, child like curiosity again. My diaper's different! It wasn't soggy yellow anymore. When did that happen? *** I'll cut to the chase and fast forward a little. As the weeks went on I came to really like Lindy's diaper changes. She was really gentle about it and rubbed lots of baby powder into me with intimate movements. Her changes were the highlight of my otherwise dreary days at the asylum. I liked to look at her thick thighs as she cleaned me. I wasn't sure if my bladder control was getting better or not, and I didn't really care or think about it. As the weeks went by I watched as package after package of disposables came and went, doing their time on my feeble and soggy bottom before being relegated to the diaper genie. By the time of writing this, it seems I've lost most of my bladder control. But I'm not really concerned, since I have Lindy around most days of the week to keep me changed and secure. Maybe it's not so bad here. I found a group to play with during common time. When we aren't playing video games together, we're playing with blocks. They don't seem to know that there's a diaper under my pants, but it seems like they're as hazy and inattentive as me. I swear I caught a glimpse of the waistband of a pull-up on one of the women in the group. Maybe most of the patients here were in some kind of diaper. Luckily for me Lindy always made sure I was changed into a clean brief before playtime so I wouldn't have to be interrupted. So that's my story. I hope you liked it. End note: this is a fictional account. Hope you enjoyed the ride.

Any preference on pull-up diapers? Best store -bought? Best all around? I have Depend Sillouette and they smell horrible when wet.

MY DADDY THE DIPLOMAT By LtlGary “But Dad, I don’t need any help. I can change myself.” I whined. “I know you can, Dustin. But where we’re going you won’t be allowed to. Besides, we’re both guys. And we got the same equipment. Or did you forget I used to change your diapers when you were a baby?” I grumbled under my breath as Dad laid the changing pad on the hotel room bed. He neatly lined up the bottles of baby powder and rash cream. Next came the diapers. I had wanted just the plain white disposables, but Dad had insisted on getting a variety. “Dinos, Race Cars, or Super Heroes?” He asked me. “I don’t care. You can pick.” I murmured. He picked up a race car diaper and ushered me over to the bed. I raised my arms, like a boy much younger than me would. My shirt was soon pulled off my skinny ten year old body. My pants were next, falling to the ground. I simply stared at my Dad in just my boxer briefs. He saw I was getting emotional and snatched me off the ground in a big bear hug. “It’s ok. I know moving isn’t easy. But this new diplomatic post is a dream come true. It will be a fresh start. For the both of us.” “I know, but I can’t help feeling that we’re leaving Mom behind.” Losing my mother to cancer had been hard on the both of us. Dad had used up all his medical leave to be with her. He had gone into deep debt with all kinds of experimental treatments. Eventually he had to sell the house. My grades also began to suffer as I didn’t see the point of keeping up with my schoolwork. Mom had always helped me with my homework, and she always made it practical as well as fun. We were lucky enough to have church friends who helped take care of us after the funeral. Who bought me diapers when my bedwetting had reared its ugly head. To have a shoulder to cry on. Who even babysat me when Dad had to work long hours to pay off the debt. Three months later Dad was called into the office. He had been appointed to be a junior diplomat for the island nation of Panjeah. The next few days we packed all our things and hopped on the next flight over. The trip would take two days, and currently we were in a hotel. In a city called San Romero I think? I can’t remember. Dad gently lowered my boxer briefs to the floor where they joined my jeans. “You know why I’m doing this?” I wiped my eyes. “Panjeah keeps all children under 18 in diapers. Not to mention I have to wear a uniform to school. Don’t they treat all their kids like infants and toddlers?” “Not all of them. It depends on their behavior. You won’t have to deal with corporal punishment, which is a crying shame…” “Dad!” “Only joking. Most kids can wear regular clothes just like you. Only the naughty ones will be pushed around in strollers or be in harnesses.” “You’re not planning on doing anything like that with me?” “Relax. As long as you make good grades and get along with everyone, then you will have nothing to worry about. The only change will be wearing diapers 24/7 instead of just at nighttime.” Dad laid me down onto the bed. He made sure to cover my ‘package’ and my rear with lots of rash cream. “Not so much powder, I don’t want people to know.” He fixed me with a stare. “Sorry.” I nervously brushed my bright red hair out of my eyes as Dad finished taping up my sides. “There, all finished!” “Thanks, Dad.” “You’re welcome, Dustin.” He set me on my own bed next to his. “Dad?” “Yes?” “I love you.” “I know.” I curled up with my blankie and closed my eyes. I felt the sheets being tucked around my small frame and a kiss on my forehead. *** The next morning my diaper was drenched. I didn’t dream about Mom like I did most nights, strangely enough. It was the first restful night I’d had in months. Dad let me have the shower first, which I greatly appreciated. He probably wanted to dispose of my diaper and not leave it for the maids. I let the water pour down my frame, imagining all my worries going down the drain. Dad helped me towel off, paying extra attention to my mid-section. He offered me the same choice as last night and I chose super heroes. Moments later I was sporting a thick diaper with a Marvel super hero on the front. “I laid out new jeans for you, since your old ones won’t fit in your current state.” I took my time getting dressed while Dad was in the shower. The jeans were loose enough to hide my diaper but tight enough to stay on my waist. I silently prayed that no one would notice. We packed our things and were out of the hotel room by 10. We stopped for breakfast on the way to the airport, which was across the street. We took our time since we had our own private plane to take us to Panjeah. One of the perks of Dad working for the government. I tried not to eat too much because flying didn’t agree with me. It was never take off, or when we were at cruising altitude. It was whenever there was turbulence or landing. I hated carrying my used motion sickness bags but Dad didn’t want anyone else dealing with that. He had spent years in the service industry before landing his government job, so he didn’t want to inconvenience anyone else with my problems. After we ate we walked over and checked in with security. Dad had both our tickets and passports. There wasn’t much of a line, nor many families. Most of Dad’s coworkers were single or didn’t have kids. Dad always commented on how much fun they were missing out on. I stayed close as we boarded. Once I put my bag under my seat, I pulled out my large puzzle book to help me keep my mind away from my surroundings. I was busy with a complicated word search when the plane rushed down the runway. We took to the cloudless skies. “How long is the flight?” I looked up after I finished my search. “Little over four hours.” Dad was listening to a news podcast. I pulled out my blankie from my bag and curled up in my seat. Dad draped an arm over my shoulder as I closed my eyes. I imagined myself on the start of an epic journey, a quest to find ancient treasure. Bullies from my previous school morphed into monsters for me to slay. My old school became a treacherous swamp. As a knight of the realm, I travelled far and wide in long expansive battles. Sadly, my adventure faded from my mind as I fell into a dreamless sleep. Dad shook me awake a few hours later. “We’re here.” I looked out the window to find the plane rolling up to the small terminal. “Are you sure you didn’t drug my orange juice this morning?” “I swear. I’m as surprised as you are.” “First time I slept through a landing.” I gathered my things. I glanced out the window as I put my blankie back in my backpack. “Why isn’t there a gate?” “Panjeah only has a small airport. There’s only a handful of flights in or out.” We exited the plane and walked down the offered stairs. The smell of the ocean assaulted my nostrils. Followed by the crashing waves. Palm trees waved in the breeze. I held my hand in front of my eyes to shield them from the afternoon glare. A small entourage awaited us in the small terminal. Most of the adults were dressed just like Dad in business casual clothing. I noticed a few children following their parents. Each had a tell-tale waddle as well as a bulge around their waist. Even the teenagers weren’t exempt. Dad walked up to a large brown skinned muscular man. “Katoa! Good to finally meet you in person!” “Likewise, Derrick! And who do we have here?” I hid behind my Dad as my nerves got the better of me. “This is my son, Dustin. Don’t mind him, he’s shy around new people.” Katoa knelt in front of me so we saw eye to eye. “Pleased to meet you, little man.” “Hi.” I didn’t feel like talking. We walked out to the tiny parking lot where a small car was waiting for the three of us. Dad and I didn’t check any luggage since most of our things would arrive by ship in a couple of days. Dad and Katoa chatted about important details: getting his office up and running, vehicle options, and getting groceries. I perked up when they talked about my schooling. “So I’ll be attending the local school here?” I inquired. “Indeed, little man. I’m sure you’ll be quite the catch.” Katoa replied. He wasn’t kidding. Most Panjeese had tanned leathery skin, long black hair, and even blacker eyes. I doubt they’d seen a kid with fire engine hair and eyes the color of the ocean. “We’ll need to get you fitted for your school uniform tomorrow.” Dad informed me. “Has school started yet?” “Next week. Maybe you’ll have a chance to run into my kids.” Katoa grinned at me. We arrived at the small flat. It was a single story abode that rested over a bluff overlooking the ocean. Volcanic rock bricks covered the outside. Dad admired the spacious living room and kitchen. My room was twice the size of my old one. There was only one bathroom, but I had a little side room that was fully stocked with a large changing table, cream, powder, and plenty of diapers. But the best part? I had my own sink and shower! I have craved it since Dad and I had to share in our small condo. Maybe not having access to a toilet wasn’t so bad at all. A question popped into my head as I waved good bye to Katoa and the driver. “Dad? Who’s gonna be here when I get off from school?” “There’ll be plenty of activities to keep you busy once school is out. Didn’t you say you wanted to try out for the soccer team?” “Can I?” I begged. “Of course!” He laughed. “That and study hall should keep you busy until I’m finished with work.” “I’d love it if you could pick me up.” “No promises.” “Oh, and Dad?” “Yes?” “Could I get a change?” “Sure thing.” He ruffled my hair. *** That night we slept on just the mattresses. I don’t know how Dad could afford them. Not that he’d tell me if I asked him. I was just glad that Dad and I could use this to start over. We both needed a fresh start after the large trial we endured. I was so comfy that I had trouble getting up, though I think the time change had something to do with it. Dad had to pry me out of bed and carry me to my changing table. Soon I was in a fresh Dino diaper and being carried into the kitchen. “Do you want to sit in the high chair? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” I didn’t see it the first tour of the condo. But there it was, up against the table in the center of the kitchen. I was still struggling to wake up so I simply shrugged. Dad plopped me in and set the tray in front. Soon I was watching him cook. Something he hasn’t done in quite a while. Dad loved cooking and was quite good at it. I loved to help him mix ingredients while he would man the stove. Or when he’d pick me up so I could reach the stove timer in order to set it. Mom would always be his go to assistant, and both of them would juggle meats, vegetables and make all kinds of dishes. When Mom got sick he started cooking less and less. Soon I was having microwaved meals more often than not. When she left us, I feared he would never cook because the memories we made would be too painful. I brushed my memories aside as Dad plopped a plate full of French toast in front of me. Along with an egg on the side. Neither of us said much, letting the amazing food do the talking. I made sure to lick the plate clean of maple syrup. “All done!” I announced. Dad unbuckled me from my high chair and I weaseled my way to the floor. “Hurry and get dressed, we have a busy day today.” I put on yesterday’s jeans and my favorite rock band t-shirt. Soon there was a honk in the driveway. I made my way out to the living room to find Dad and Katoa chatting. We piled into the car and drove into the nearby village. Dad told me that Katoa was simply dropping off the car, and it was ours to drive. “Do you work with my Dad?” I asked him. “Of course. I translate for him.” “Don’t most Panjeese speak English?” “Most of the kids do. As well as those in the big cities. Not so much out in the countryside.” We pulled up in front of an old stone building. Numerous paintings greeted us as we walked in. Mannequins were everywhere, dressed in fancy attire. Racks of dress clothing lined the walls. A tall skinny man in slacks and a vest came from the back room. “Welcome, welcome! I see you are here to get the little one fitted?” “Yup.” “Well then, come over here.” The tailor beckoned me to a small stool. “Now, please strip down to your diaper so I can get your measurements.” My face turned white. “Uh, Dad?” “Relax, Dustin. I’m sure he’s seen dozens of boys in just their diapers.” He reassured me. “Do you have soccer gear as well?” “I do indeed. Does your son intend to try out for the school team?” “You bet I do!” I answered enthusiastically before Dad could say anything. I had desperately wanted to try out for sports, but Mom’s sickness never gave me the chance. “Good! My son had mentioned rumors that there might not be a team this year because there wasn’t enough support. What position did you want to play?” “Goalie.” “Maybe if you’re a good boy for your father and me, I’ll let you try on the gear? Even though I’m supposed to wait for tryouts.” The tailor winked at Dad. In a flash I had stripped off my t-shirt and jeans and was standing on the stool with my hands behind my back. The tailor chuckled as he brought out the measuring tape. He wrapped it around my waist, then had me stretch it along my arms. Humming to himself, the tailor walked back to the racks and returned with a polo shirt onesie with the school emblem on the right breast. “Hold up your arms.” I obediently raised them, having been familiar with this routine. The tailor expertly pulled the onesie over my head and onto my body. He knelt as he did the snaps around my crotch. Next came the elastic short shorts. Oh Lord they were short! Most of my thighs were showing! I would have wagered that they were the same length of my old boxer briefs. Lastly were the knee high socks and shoes. “You look great.” Dad gave me a thumbs up. He glanced at the tailor. “We’ll take four sets.” The tailor nodded as he disrobed me. He piled the clothes onto the seat next to Dad. Mumbling to himself, he meandered to the back of his shop and returned with several soccer jerseys, shoes, shin guards, and gloves. “Where are the shorts?” I asked. The tailor exchanged a large grin with Katoa. “You don’t play with any on. It’s tradition.” Katoa tried not to laugh. “You’ll be issued a plastic diaper cover by your team which will have your number on your rear end.” I was speechless. I knew this country was different, but I wasn’t expecting this! “He’s only joking. Give me a moment.” The tailor went back and rummaged around until he found a pair of elastic short shorts in the school’s colors. They were the exact same length and material of my school shorts. The tailor helped me strap on my gear. Katoa pulled a soccer ball from the trunk of the car. We went outside for a little practice at the park across the street. “I’ll also take what he’s wearing as well.” Dad handed the tailor a wad of cash. “Keep the change.” “You are most gracious, sir. You and your son are welcome here anytime.” Dad took his time loading my school clothes into the back of the car, as he wanted to watch me and Katoa play. Several children had noticed our playing and soon the ball was being kicked around by a group of kids. To Be Continued

*** disclaimer English is not my first language so pls forgive my mistakes Chapter 1 I m sitting on a marvelous couch in a 10 million or probably more dollars house in L.A.. Should be enjoying life right? Well if this were a year ago I would. My brother is set to come home any minute which is actually a good thing cause even though we technically don't share a dad and have a huge age gap , we get along great. We never really lived together much as he was older than me by 1.5 decades almost and started off his quite successful acting carrier early on meaning he is off in distant location filming his next film. So like I said if this were a year ago , I'd be thrilled to be hanging at Chris's place with him, But a lot happens in a year... Let me go back a little ... So I was young and stupid . It was about 8 months ago. Trying to impress some chick I met the night before. I m not even sure what made me get on that motorbike. Most of the events after that are a blur. Even the first days or maybe weeks kinda hard to tell in the hospital are nothing but hazy memories . Some memories are clearer than others. To cut it short I fractured bones, busted my right knee , got a concussion and to top it off a spine injury. I should make a pretty close to full recovery . That's what all the experts said. It will take months of rehabilitation and basically the least fun year of my life. Espcially as I just turned 21. Well I was kicked out of college 2 years earlier and my dad suddenly died 6 months after that so I guess I could say that my past few years weren't too much fun. Maybe that's why I was trying to impress girls so much . But back to the story - I did recover. Well almost completely . Thats the thing . Fractures healed. Concussion is gone. My knee is quite okay. But my spine injury left something behind. At first it wasn't obvious. Well at first I was bed bound for months basically . And I had a catheter. If you are lucky enough not knowing what that is its a tube going up to your bladder and draining your urine into a sack. Constantly with no control. Now that's the thing - the control. I thought it was temporary . So everyone said . But as time went by I had to realize that though most of the time I was fine it was not all the time. I started to wet the bed, not that it never happened before but most definetly not in the last 7-8 years. If that wasn't embarrassing enough - wetting my bed at the age of 21 at a rehabilitation facility where of course I was surrounded by young hot nurses... Well wetting during the night wasn't the only thing. As much as I didn't want to admit it I have "accidents" during the day. What do I mean by that ? Is that I could be chilling on the couch like am right now, have a sudden urge to pee and basically I can barely get to a tiolet which is right in the next door before bum I m standing in a puddle . The doctors still say it is likely to get better and I need to be patient. So now here comes the thing. Almost 2 months ago I was set to be released from the rehabilitation center. I'd be thrilled right . Just that I didn't exactly have a place to go to. As I said before I was young and stupid . No steady job no place of my own ( I rented but after the accident of course I couldn't pay rent) so it seemed like my only choice was moving back home with my mom. Don't get me wrong I love mom she is great . The thing is no one knows about these accidents. I mean of course my doctors and the nurses knew but not my family. I m the youngest of 3 and I grew up known as the baby of the family . And In certain ways I was always treated like that especially by my mom and sister. My dad never babied me but that's an other story . Chris was I guess as the eldest just protective , and in the past years he started treating me with much more respect . So moving back with my mom seemed like the logical thing to do however there are 2 buts. 1 as I said before she always treated me as her baby if she found out about my accidents especially with my sister around I'd never live it down. 2 she just got her first serious new relationship after my dad. So I wouldn't just have to hide my secret from her but from some guy I don't really know living there now. So when Chris offered that I could "crash" at his place and watch it for him while works while I get back on my feet was a god send. It made it easier to hide the fact that now I wear protection basically all the time . There is no one in the house now but Martha the house keeper. Luckily most of the protection I wear is quite discreet of course not the night ones nor the fact that one drawer of my dresser is filled with them rather than with underwear. But only Martha comes in to my bedroom from time to time and I made sure not to leave anything out in the open for her to see. We don't interact much. With Chris gone she doesn't have too much to do and as she is middle aged we don't have too much in common , and mostly cause the easiest way I know to keep things hidden is by avoiding having to interact with people for too long we pretty much stayed out of each others way. I m kind of paranoid that somehow people will know I m wearing protective underwear though to be honest it does look pretty normal and not very obvious . I should be really gretaful to Annie , 1 of the nurses who cared for me. She is maybe a year older than I m so having her changing my wet sheets or even worse taking my wet pants to wash was humiliating beyond words . She was the 1 who suggested I try absorbent briefs for men. During the day anyway. Night is a humiliation of another type. I m still not ready to use the d word. But she was quite good at making brand suggestions and it does so me to be quite doable to hide. So with all of this, accidents which luckily stayed hidden by my protection and things went fine. But now Chris is coming home. And he will be staying . Exactly how long I m not sure. Sometimes he is only here for a few days sometimes he takes a job in a series and stays for months . I m hoping he will be working most of the time. Cause as I said no one in my family knows, and if he stays for long it will be hard work keeping this secret.

Preamble My name now is Samantha Smith; could you think of a less inspired name to give someone living in the suburbs? I mean seriously, what were they thinking? It was not the name I was born with, but it was the name I was given when I came to this country in 1996. Prior to that I was Biserka Kasun. Now, I am Sam. I don’t like to remember my life prior to living here, it makes me sad; and I remember bad things. I choose not to remember as often as I can, but sometimes the memories are like water in a cup, they runneth over and I can’t help but remember, and that makes me sad. My Mum is very good at helping me with my memories, we have all sorts of techniques to drive them and the ghosts they summon away. We use a method called memory substitution, which means that when I begin to remember the bad times, I actively steer my brain into remembering something else. My doctor says that it is like driving a car; and swerving to avoid a hazard in the road. It works okay, but sometimes I can’t, and I remember. Maybe someday, I will be able to remember with out being sad, but now it is easier to avoid it. What I am about to write today is as much for me as it is for you, I am going to tell you about myself as much as I feel comfortable doing. Hopefully it will tell you about what I am able to do, and what I am able to overcome. I came to this country in 1996, I was a broken creature, I didn’t speak English, and I was scared. I was adopted by my Mum, Doreen Smith. She moved Heaven and earth to bring me here, and although I was not grateful then, I am more than grateful now. I was adopted out of a Red Cross orphanage when I was 14 years old. It was 1996 and the war had just ended. It was awful, my world as I had known it was shattered. I woke up in hospital, I didn’t know what happened to my family, I didn’t know where my village was, I didn’t know where I was. All I did know is that I was lost, and I was alone. Chapter 1 I awoke to babble, complete and total nonsensical babble, later I was to learn this babble, but for now it was babble. There were people walking around, people shouting, people crying, it looked like utter chaos. After what seemed like an eternity, a woman walked up to my bed and spoke to me in a language I understood. “Како се осећаш?" How are you feeling? In fairness I hadn’t been giving that any attention, now that I thought about it, I hurt. It was an everything all-over hurt. The kind you get when you combine years of living rough, not enough food, and an explosion. There was kindness in her eyes, but I had seen kind eyes turn to razors before, I did not trust her. “Добро...” Okay… (For ease of writing I am now going to switch over entirely to English) She appeared surprised by my calm answer, she pressed on. “Do you hurt anywhere? You very hurt when you were brought in to us, we had to fight to keep you alive.” “What…what happened?” “There was an explosion, you were caught in the blast and you must’ve hit your head, you have been in and out of consciousness for a week, we had to do emergency surgery when you were brought in, you had severe internal injuries, and have several broken bones.” I remember the explosion, or rather I remember the moment of the explosion, we were celebrating a victory. “Where am I?” She was speaking, but not like a native, like someone who learned how to speak, as an adult, her phrasing was clumsy, although her words were correct, they were wrong at the same time. “You are at the Red Cross hospital in Sarajevo” Sarajevo!? This was the land of the enemy, of the hated Bosnian. I guess I was starting to look agitated, because the woman was telling me to calm down. I decided to obey, I needed to plan my escape back, to continue the fight. I needed to heal, and make good my escape, playing a docile patient seemed like a good way. “Okay” I said as meek as you please, “I’ll calm down”. “Good, now I have some questions for you, if you feel up to it.” I didn’t, but playing along would help me build trust. “Okay” She started out simple, name (I lied), place of birth (I lied) age… “I am 13” “Your family?” “They are all gone” “Oh… everyone?” “Yes” I turned on the waterworks a bit here to sink the point home. She stopped her questioning at my tears, and looked at me. I looked back, she was looking at me like she knew something, something about me. We held this standoff until she finally broke the stillness. “We are well aware of who you are Biserka, we know where you came from, and we know what you have done.” It was at this point I realised that I must have hit my head harder than I thought, because we were not speaking Serbian my native tounge, we were speaking Bosnian. I must have had a stunned look on my bruised face, I mean I followed the steps I was trained to follow, I told them the lies I recited, I followed my training exactly! It was not enough. I moved my right arm, and noticed that I was attached to the bed, I was in handcuffs, the game was over. My name is Biserka Kasun, I am 13 years old and I am a war criminal. Prior to this, I was a successful soldier, my doe eyes, small figure, and skills with language made me a skilled infiltrator. I spoke Bosnian, I spoke Croation, and of course I spoke Serbian. I would walk around, and look at stuff. Sometime I would leave them a grenade. It depended on the day. That was when I was a child. Now that I am older, I am given more responsibility. I was given training on how to shoot, and shoot I did. But not the UN men at first, first it was just the dirty Bosnians. They were not people, they were less. I had been taught this, and I was a very good student. So, I shoot. Men mostly, sometimes women, sometimes children. It doesn’t matter, what does matter is that I am doing a good job, and that my Papa is proud of me. Then it all changed. The UN men were advancing, the Bosians were advancing, we Serbs, we proud Serbs were retreating. We made them pay for the ground with blood. They payed us back, with mortars. Sometime during our long retreat I became famous, my name was known and spoken of with equal parts fear and disgust. I was able to stay, stay behind and hold ground to cover the retreat of my Papa and his men. I fired upon the column of UN men. Their blue hats sure are easy to spot. Some of them fall by my hand. Then warmth a warmth blossomed in front of me and blackness surrounds. I awoke to babble. Chapter Two After a positive identity had been made of me, things started to move rather quickly. I was going to be in recovery for some time. The extent of my internal damage was not yet totally known. They knew that they had stopped the haemorrhaging, but they were unsure of any long-term prognosis. What was known for certain, is that I was going to remain in custody. I was wanted by the Hague, and they are not an organization that hold or releases people on a whim. It takes some serious doing to get any traction with them. So, that is that. I am in custody, and I am still recovering. The Red Cross doctors and nurses, will have my undying gratitude. Yes, I was a war criminal, but to their credit, I was like any of the scores of wounded people around me. Just a person needing care. I am not going to bore you with the details of my care under the Red Cross. Suffice to say, that they took care of me and helped me heal. What I will talk about is what happened after I was discharged from hospital and taken for questioning. Once again the U.N. forces are to be commended on my treatment, I was not abused, even though as a de-facto terrorist, I had no legitimate legal standing under the Geneva convention. I was well treated, my ongoing medical needs were met promptly, I had access to facilities to bathe, I had (for the first time in many, many years) a bed. It was like Heaven. I am not trying to make it sound like it was all sunshine and rainbows, I was still a detainee after all. I was handcuffed for transports, I was supervised at all times, but it was a very comfy detainment. During this time, I was healing, I was being (as I would later learn) deprogrammed from the doctrine of hate. Hate that had been drilled into me by my Father and all his cronies. I learned that I was the monster, I was the subhuman, not because of my race or my religion, but because of my actions. It was a terrifying conclusion to reach about myself. It was the true beginning of my mental healing. Several months after being wounded, I am left with several grim reminders of the war and the explosion that ended my war. I have some scarring on my ribs from shrapnel, a milky weal of a burn on my upper arm, some lash marks between my shoulder blades (my Father gave me those), and a bullet scar under my right collar bone (I don’t know where that came from, but it is there). Not to mention the scars from the surgeries -which are extensive- but not as fun to talk about. The only lingering side-effects from being blown up are all minor, all save one. I have post concussion disorder, means I get wicked bad headaches from time to time. They can be triggered by bright lights, or sustained high Hz noises. I have some minor nerve damage which causes me to have a pronounced limp. The big one, the one that is not at all a gentle minor reminder of my dance with an exothermic reaction is that I am incontinent. For those of you who are not aware of that incontinence is let me explain. Incontinence is the inability of one to control the flow of urine or faeces. Put in the crudest terms I can think of: I piss and shit myself on the regular. It sucks. I mean, I am not missing a limb (which is more debilitating in my mind), but needing to wear diapers again carries with it a stigma, a shame. I am unable to feel myself urinating, it just happens. The only hint I get that I have peed is I feel the blossoming of warmth in my diaper. Messing is a bit different, I can’t control it, but I at least know that it is coming. It is unpleasant, but it is a reality that I have learned to cope with. But back to the story: I was a detainee, it sucked learning about my conditions, and the limitations that they imposed on me, but I was alive. I was questioned, frequently, over and over, again and again. One day the interviewer said something that will forever stick in my mind. “What are you doing still playing defence for your Father, if he truly cared about you and your well-being, he would never had subjected you to such rigorous indoctrination. Your Father is a monster, he took his daughter, and created a weapon in her place.” Maybe I was worn down after all the interviews, maybe I was being manipulated yet again, what ever it was his statement struck a chord in me. He was right, after all of the deprogramming, I had to come to grips with the fact that I was alone, and I was a prisoner. He had left me there, left me there to hold the line so he could make good his escape. It was at that moment I decided to tell all. No more stonewalling, no more deflecting, no more bullshit. I told. The results from my tell-all were revolutionary to the interviewer. I told them everything, from tactics (which they knew anyway), to weapons caches, to what I new of future plans. Suffice to say it was earth shattering for the intelligence people to have such knowledge come from a broken damaged little girl. When the time for my tribunal was upon me, I was nervous. Here I am, a 13 year-old girl in diapers, on trial for war crimes. My defence counsel was on my side the whole way, I cooperated with authorities, and the information I had given up led to seizures, arrests and a reduction in harm to all concerned parties. A deal was struck, and I was released. Now released is a bit of a misnomer in this case, I was still a minor, what to do with me? There was talk of repatriation, but that was swiftly shut down. I had informed. If my Father or any of his ilk were to gain knowledge of my whereabouts, I was dead. It was decided that I would be adopted out to a Western family. That was a hard sell, I am damaged goods, plus I wanted to stay. My opinion was to let me go and be done with me, but as a minor my words on my future were given very little weight. Then my rescuer appeared, she was a Red Cross nurse who had worked in the refugee camps. She spoke my language, and she spoke English. A story was concocted that I was an orphan from said camps, and the she took pity on me and decided to take me home with her. Blah blah, emotional tripe. Summed up, she adopted me and brought me with her back to Canada. A country I had no heard of before, to a town I had not heard of, speaking a language I did not know. At the time I hated her, I wanted to go home. Many years later, I now feel gratitude and appreciation for what she did. Chapter 3 I arrived in what was to be my new country feeling a feeling that I had long thought lost to me; fear. I was not alone, my new mother Doreen was with me. In the orphanage, I had turned 14. Although I was now a teenager good and proper, I felt like a scared little girl. The flight was my first experience on a plane, my first airport, my first time going anywhere outside of my country (at least while conscious). I had been practicing my English, and although I was not fluent, I was able to make my needs known. Thankfully Doreen spoke Serbian, and we mainly conversed in my mother tongue. Deplaning, we made our way out into the concourse, while walking Doreen asked me in English. “How are you doing?” I, misunderstanding her question answered in a flurry of Serbian. “How should I be doing?? I have been taken from my home into a country that is not my own, with a person who is no kin to me, authored by an organization that I do not trust? Really you dare ask me that!?” Her eyes got sad, and she answered in English. “That is not what I was talking about.” Switching to Serbian “I was trying to be discreet, but how is your diaper? Do you need to change?” I am sure I blushed a million shades of red at that point. Truth be known, I was not sure how my diaper was, being unaware of when I go does not make me a good arbiter of the state of my diapers. I gave my crotch a cup, in a very unladylike fashion I must say. “I am pretty wet, I think. I should change.” The method I used to check my diaper was not at all subtle and had people been looking at me I am sure would have caused a scene. But Doreen to her credit did not chide me for my obvious diaper check, she just nodded and led me by the hand to the lady’s washroom. “Do you need a hand, or do you think you can manage it on your own?” The words slipped from her mouth, and I am very glad that they were not said in English, all the same I am sure I blushed beetroot. “I can manage it, I think.” I walked into the open stall and closed the door behind me. Lowering my pants, I assessed the extent of the damage. My diaper was swollen, and after unsnapping the onesie I wore, it sagged pretty much down to my knees. I looked at my diaper, and I was saddened that this had become my life. But, this was no time to reflect on my situation, I got down to the business of changing. There are certain noises that wearing and changing a diaper makes, rustling, etc. The worst sound, the sound that announces to the entire world what I am doing is the sound of tapes being removed, and replaced. Any women who has changed a diaper can recognize that sound from a mile off. I removed my sodden diaper, grateful that it was only wet. That will change soon enough I guess, but as it is a public change, I am just glad that I didn’t stink. Having done that I wiped myself down, and got my new underwear ready to go. A few well-placed Serbian curses later, I was changed, and feeling dry. I balled up the old diaper, and replaced my pants. Exiting the stall, I saw a woman about the same age as Doreen give me a funny look. I just looked back at her, hard. It is none of her business what I was doing, and she should not concern herself with it. It is an attitude I cultivated in the orphanage, and it is the attitude I practice to this day. Yes, I was changing my diaper, and no I am not ashamed by that. It keeps me as positive as I can be about the whole situation. Leaving the bathroom, I spot Doreen and I rejoin her, we make our way out of the terminal, and get into a taxi. Soon we are on our way to Doreen’s (and now my) house. Arriving at a rural road crossing we get out of the cab at Doreen’s suggestion to walk the rest of the way. I acquiesce, after all this sitting it will be nice to stretch my legs.

Hello all hope your are all well.Ive signed up today to share my story. Recently I have had a life changing incident. I was hit by a car whilst riding my motorbike quite badly and am now a decent amount paraplegic and have become incontinent. im still in rehabilitation wearing permanent bladder drainages and am in a wheelchair permanently.Prior to the accident i was a closet ABDL and my partner nor anyone ever knew. i would wear abdl type diapers as often as i could and had trained myself to wet them. Id wear them under clothing and go out and enjoy the thrill of wearing secretly in public. I would also make effort to meet other people with similar interests.Now i feel lost. I no longer have the freedom to be how i once was. In almost half a year I have not worn a diaper except for once in the hospital until they stopped that because its apparently bad for my skin and put me on a drainage bag.. I know its a pretty complex question, but does anyone have any advice or maybe experience that could help me in my abdl life? Anyone in or have been in a similar situation

Nancy Joyrides Chapter 01 By Nancy E as told to Angela Bauer On Thursday, 18 October 2018 Nancy E saw a story on ABC TV News about a mother in El Paso, Texas who spanked her 14 year-old son with a belt after she caught the lad joyriding in her new car. That inspired Nancy E to tell me about a similar experience when she was nearly 16. I am rushing this to Daily Diapers. I would love to see comments. It is now April of 1999. My name is Nancy Cooper. I will turn 16 in a few weeks. I have passed my California written driver’s test and I have a student license so I can take driving lessons. I am just finishing Tenth Grade at Polytechnic Prep School in Pasadena, California where I live as an only child with my Mom (Megan) and my Dad (Kent). Oh, yes, incidentally, I have lost all my bladder control, meaning I always wear some kind of diaper. My folks have promised that as soon as I have my first driver’s license for several months I will be allowed to use a family car only when one of them accompanies me. Once they are convinced that I am a responsible driver I will be allowed to drive alone or with someone over 18 with a driver’s license until I turn 18 myself. That is when I will be allowed to have my own car. Then I will pay for my auto insurance, but they will give me the car and pay for gas and maintenance. I am happy with that deal. Sometimes I chafe not being able to drive friends my age or younger. It does not seem fair. My driving instructors say I am ready to take my behind-the-wheel driving test now, but I have to wait until I turn 16. Life sucks! For as long as I can remember my Dad has driven a Bentley. He is a name partner in an important law firm founded by his grandfather. His father just retired from the firm. Dad specializes in corporate civil litigation. He feels entitled to own a Bentley. Mom has always driven SUVs. Currently that is a Cadillac Escalade. I have never been allowed to even sit behind the wheel of Dad’s Bentley. I doubt that Mom has ever driven it. I practice driving in a dual control car from my driving school or with Mom in her Escalade. A couple of weeks ago Mom bought a new Mercedes as her second car. Fortunately our home has a four-car garage. I assume one space is reserved for my future car. Anyway, recently I have taken to driving Mom’s new car up and down our driveway, when she is away, of course. I know that is against the rules set by my folks. Yesterday I did a very naughty thing. I am sure my Mom totally over-reacted. All I did was ‘forget’ to turn on the home security system when I was alone and had permission to walk or ride my bike away from home. I feel I am too old to ride a bike for transportation like a little kid. I mean, it is bad enough that during the day when I’m not in school my diaper is a Size 6 Pampers. For school their rules require me to wear a less comfortable Attends Adult Breathable Small. The school feels less absorbent diapers will leak during class. That is also unfair! When not in school I frequently wear a Pampers for over 4 hours without ever leaking. At school I never wear the same Attends as long as 4 hours, so they get wasted. At least the school nurse finally has allowed me to change my own Attends. In frustration, after I turned our security system off, I took the spare key I had made a couple of weeks ago and started Mom’s new car. I decided to drive it around the block, which is over a mile. That was so much fun! As I was approaching our driveway I decided to drive around three blocks. As I was turning a corner to return home on the street to our north I saw my friend Karen walking by herself. I stopped and offered her a lift. She never asked if I suddenly was allowed to drive. She is only 14 and is not in a hurry to start driving. What I did not know was that Karen’s mother saw her get into an unfamiliar auto. She could not see who was driving so she was worried for Karen. I also did not realize that each time I use my code to turn off our security system, the operator contacts Mom or Dad. Mom had assumed I would stay at home on a beautiful spring day. She asked the operator to send a security officer to our home to double check that everything was okay, especially that I was home, and so was her car. A few minutes later a security officer phoned Mom to say I was not home and neither was her car. Mom instructed the security officer to activate the Lojack in her car and to inform the police that her car had been stolen. There I was driving without a care in the world. When I saw a police car approaching in the opposite direction I casually waved at the female officer. I had dressed up for my drive, wearing my bright red lipstick, eye makeup, thigh-high stockings and 3” stilettos. My skirt was barely long enough to hide my diaper or the tops of my stockings. My blouse was form-fitting and décolleté. I felt sure I looked mature enough to be driving that car. Apparently the female cop learned Mom’s car was reported stolen. I did not see her make a U-turn. Karen and I were talking. Suddenly behind me I could hear a siren. I pulled as far as I could to the right to let the siren pass. Karen turned in her seat and told me a police car with flashing lights was behind us. Seconds later I could hear a female voice over a loudspeaker ordering me to stop my car and shut off the engine. When I stopped the loudspeaker ordered me to roll down both front windows, for me to throw out the keys and for both of us to stick our arms out our respective windows. Nothing happened until two other police cars arrived, one with two officers. Turning I could see every police officer had a gun, three pistols and a shotgun. I peed; fortunately I was diapered. Karen also peed; unfortunately she was not diapered. I was ordered to slowly get out of the car, turn with my back to the officers and lift the hem of my blouse. Then I was ordered to lay prone in the street. I complained I did not want to get my clothing dirty. The answer was getting dirty was just too darn bad! Karen was told to do the same. She was wearing slacks. One of the officers shouted, “The passenger wet her pants!” Very soon I was handcuffed and lifted to my feet so I could be searched. I told the female officer that I was wearing a diaper. I was not allowed to talk to Karen. Each of us was put in the back of a different police car. I noticed that an officer had taken a piece of plastic sheet to protect the back seat of Karen’s car. The officer with 3 stripes on his sleeves told the others that both of our mothers were headed to the police station. The officer without his own car picked up my key and would drive Mom’s car to the police station. I told the officers that my diaper bag was behind the driver’s seat and that I would need a change as soon as we reached the police station. The driver of my police car put my diaper bag in the trunk of his car. At the station Karen and I were taken to separate interview rooms. A different female police officer wearing plain clothes brought my diaper bag into the room. She asked what I needed from the bag. I told her just a Pampers and the baby wipes. She must have been surprised to see how I had modified Pampers with packing tape. It turned out she was a detective with a 4-year-old daughter who still sometimes needed diapers during the day and always at night. By way of conversation I told her that I wore gauze diapers to bed, Attends to school and Pampers as often as possible to save money and because they were more comfortable. My handcuffs were removed. I removed my skirt. The detective said she had never seen a gal my age wearing a Pampers before, especially one that wet. I asked her for one of the plastic shopping bags from my bag to hold the wet diaper and wipes. She put the shopping bag on the table along with the wipes and a fresh modified Pampers. I removed and folded the wet Pampers, using the packing tape to hold it folded. Then I wiped myself clean. Finally I put on my dry Pampers. The detective told me she had spoken to my Mom. Her instruction was that I was to leave off my skirt, but that I could put on my blouse. I was told that Karen’s mother would be driving my Mom so that Mom could drive her new car home. After what seemed like forever, Mom appeared at the door of my interview room. She wanted the diaper bag, saying, “Karen will be going home in a diaper, after her spanking. As for you, Young Lady, I’ll remove your diaper when the time is right!” Soon, even with the door closed the detective and I could hear Karen wailing during her intense spanking. I know that in the past Karen was routinely spanked. We had compared ‘war stories’ about getting spanked. Eventually Mom appeared in my interview room, holding a Mason Pearson hairbrush. The detective got up from her chair. Mom undressed me, finally removing my diaper. From my bag she removed a changing pad which she used to protect her lap after sitting down in the armless chair. I assumed the position of shame without instruction, my head to Mom’s left. I tried to be stoic, but soon I was sobbing and yelping. The detective was so impressed she asked where she could get a similar hairbrush, explaining, “My eight and nine year-old daughters now need more than hand spanking.” When I was limp and sore, Mom pointed out how she had concentrated on my spank spots: “My Young Lady will feel her spanking for hours. No worries, tomorrow I’ll give her another spanking, and keep that up until I am sure she will never think about joyriding in the future!” So saying Mom presented her Mason Pearson to the detective. “Please don’t worry; I have a spare hairbrush in reserve at home.” Only after my tears stopped and I was allowed up from Mom’s lap did I realize several female officers, as well as Karen and her Mom, had been watching my spanking. They also saw Mom re-using my still dry Pampers. At least I was allowed to wear my hose, skirt and blouse home. However, Mom had brought me a pair of flat slippers: “My Young Lady will be grounded from high heels and makeup for a long time. She will have no further driving lessons until she is seventeen and might not get her license until she is 18.” Both of us thanked all the police officers. I never had to go to court about my joyride. My parents had to pay the cost of the police response, a few thousand dollars. My allowance was docked to cover the cost, I did learn my lesson. Our mothers made sure every student at our school and all of our friends learned about our spankings at the police station. I was teased about that until I graduat Nancy Joyrides DD edit 01.docx

Hello all! I apologize if I'm posting in the wrong place but I was hoping to get some help from the forum. A year, maybe two ago (maybe longer :s), I purchased a case of adult pull-ups that were pink and in support of breast cancer. Tired of the beige and white pull-ups I've been using lately I was looking to find these and have been striking out. I can't remember the manufacturer or where I purchased from, or if the product was a limited time thing. If anyone has information on if/where these are still available that'd be appreciated. Thank you

Hey I was wondering if there are other incontinent desiring video gamers out there that have found they have issues letting go while playing video games. For me I find I get very tense while I play games and I end up clenching all my muscles making it hard to pee. I was wondering if this has been an issue to anyone one else and if anyone has any suggestions in how to stay calm and relaxed while playing a fast passed action game? Bye and hope you all have a great day

For awhile now, I've been increasingly losing interest in wearing AB style diapers. I'm still a DL and will never stop being one. I'll probably wear diapers for the rest of my life. Guess I'm just distancing myself from being an AB. Maybe it's because I'm getting older. I'd rather wear diapers like they sell at NorthShore or other online incontinence suppliers. I think it has to do with age. It's like the taboo is gone and I've accepted this as a part of my life. Also, sometimes I need protection when I'm out for extended periods of time. It has gotten harder to "hold the flow". So, I just discreetly wear protection inside my underwear. Maybe it's just a phase I'm experiencing. Any others going or have gone through this?

I wrote this a while ago, and posted it elsewhere previously. Anyway, enjoy, and let me know if you like it, or would like more. I slipped my shoes on and grabbed my jacket. To be honest, I probably didn’t need it, summer had hit full force, and I was already sweating in just my t-shirt, but I liked to have it with me, just in case the weather took an unexpected turn. Just as I was about to head out the door, Sir grabbed my arm, spinning me around to look into his eyes. Before I knew what was happening, he had undone my belt, and pulled my pants and boxers down a few inches, and cupped his hand around the front of my diaper. Not entirely satisfied with the squeeze test, he tugged my pants down a little further, and slipped his finger into the leg hole. He discovered exactly what I would have told him had he simply asked - I was bone dry. Of course, this was only part one. In one fluid movement, he spun me back around, and pulled back the top of my diaper. “I could have sworn I smelled something” he said. “Not from me”, I offered, “Clean and dry”. “We’ll I’ll change you into a thick one when we get to the theatre anyway, so if you need to go in the car, don’t hold it”. I nodded. The instruction to not hold it was part of our little game, but it was based on something very real. While not exactly incontinent, I had begun having a few issues with with my ability to hold on for very long. If I felt the urge, I’d need to reach the bathroom pretty swiftly, or I’d be soggy. Or worse. Under the circumstances, padding was just a sensible precaution. Given that diapers were already part of our play, and that trying to stay clean and dry was usually an exercise in painful futility, Sir quickly decided to work a rule against holding into the mix. With the diaper check complete, and my pants back around my waist, I grabbed my change bag and headed to Sir’s truck. The ride to the movie theatre was pretty swift, and with the hot weather I really didn’t need to pee at all, but as we pulled into the parking lot I knew Sir would expect me to have used the diaper a little, so I bore down on my bladder and forced out enough pee to avoid a punishment later. Apart from a handful of staff on duty,.the foyer of the theatre was almost completely empty. That was a mixed blessing. Although there weren’t loads of people there to witness sir lead me into the disabled bathroom, the few people who were there definitely saw. I was a little concerned they would think we were going in there for some sort of lewd purpose. Evidently so was sir. His solution to this was to add a stuffer to the already thick diaper he’d planned for me to wear, so that it was abundantly clear we’d gone in the bathroom to change me. As I came out the bulge was pretty apparent, but even more of a giveaway was the used diaper Sir had me carry to the trash can. To make up for my improptu and unintended humiliation, Sir offered to pay for snacks. Which is how I ended up with a hotdog, nachos, ice cream and a big ass drink. Given how thick it was, I was certain the diaper could take it. It actually took me two trips to carry my haul in. Fortunately we had the screen to ourselves, so there was no one to witness my gluttony. Particularly fortunate as I’d polished off the hot dog and half the ice cream before the end of the trailers. The film was OK, but halfway through , I started to feel all that food, as well as the big breakfast I’d had before I left, take its toll. I squirmed in my seat, squishing against the already damp padding around my butt. This caught Sir’s attention and he started rubbing my back. “Do you need to potty?” I shook my head, “I’m fine. Just a little numb-bum from the seat” Sir didn’t believe me “Just use your diaper, that’s what it’s there for” I shook my head again, slightly more vigorously than I had intended as my fight to hold onto my bowels continued. Sir took my hand in his, and started rubbing it, “If you keep holding, it’ll start to hurt” I grimmaced, “I really don’t want to have an accident now.” “It’s fine, we’re the only people in here” he reassured me, I don’t know if it was him calming me down, or just the sheer pressure, but at that point I lost my battle, and Iet out an awkward fart as my poop splorched out into my diaper.I’d barely had a chance to lift myself off the seat, so the load found itself channeled throughout the padding, up my back and right to the edges of the thighs. Throughout all this, sir kept watching me, and rubbing my hand.. “Feeling better?” I nodded, staying stiff for fear of a blow out. Sir noticed this too. He stayed seated, while he lifted my hand and ushered me up. With my butt right at the height of his face, he took a quick sniff. There was no mistaking what I’d just done for a fart, I stank. “Undo your belt please” I did as I was told, and Sir pulled my pants down slightly. He stood, tugged back the waistband, and inspected the damage. Satisfied the back was survivable, he tugged my pants down further, and inspected the butt area, as well as the leg bands. While he’d been doing this, I’d stayed focused on the movie. Partly because it was good, but mostly to avoid acknowledging that I was in a public movie theatre - albeit a deserted one - having my messy diaper checked like a toddler. Whether Sir realised what my reasoning for watching the movie was I didn’t know, but after he pulled my pants back up he lowered me back into my seat, “I’ll probably have to wash your jeans, but don’t worry, you won’t have to miss any of the movie”. He was definitely right about washing the jeans. As my butt came to rest on the seat cushion, I felt the leg bands of the diaper give way, and spent the remaining 30 minutes of the movie feeling the poop squelch all over my butt. I still had to poop a little more and although the urge was minimal, it kept making me fart. Every time that happened, the air would ripple through the semi-solid poop that filled my diaper, like I was sitting in a volcanic mud pool. Eventually, the film came to an end, and Sir lead me out of the screen. He had originally intended to change me in the same disabled bathroom we used when we came in, but as we emerged into the foyer, it had gone from empty to packed. Seeing the look of panic on my face, Sir had led me through the crowd, into the parking lot, and straight to his truck, Where once again I had to sit down, and once again, the mess did it’s very best to escape my padding. I should have felt humiliated walking through all those people, and certainly as the smell began to fill up the cab of Sir’s truck, but sir kept hold of my hand, and kept telling me that he was proud of me for doing as he’d told me without any hesitation. Somehow, in spite of my state, his constant reinforcement really did make me feel a little hint of pride. We pulled onto the driveway, and stopped in front of the garage door. It took a moment before the remote worked, and in that time my heart sank as I imagined Sir was going to make me get out of the truck, into the street where we lived, with a full diaper. To say that I was relieved when the door began to slide up and the truck pulled inside would be a serious understatement. It was, I suspect, that final rush of adrenalin that sent me over the edge. Up until now I’d been fully aware of events, but as we pulled into the garage, I started to disappear into a world of my own. So much so that it wasn’t until Sir opened my door and helped me out that I realised the car had stopped. As he raised me out of the seat, I looked down. There were two half-moon-shaped damp patches on the seat. Fortunately it was wipe clean leather, but there was no mistaking how the back of my jeans would look. I wasn’t that bad in the theatre. I had obviously peed myself in the car without realising. Clearly this realisation was playing on my face, as Sir asked, “what’s wrong?” “Nothing, Sir. I just think I peed myself.” Sir looked down at my butt, a degree of incredulity in his eyes.”Not just peed yourself”. “No, I mean without realising”. Sir shrugged. “Well, that’s what you’re wearing padding for” he began leading me out of the garage and into the hallway, “now come on, young man, your messy butt is starting to stink up the house”. I didn’t move. “What’s wrong?” I snapped my hand away from his, “What’s wrong is that I just peed myself, and all you can do is shrug.” Sir stood his ground, as I began to lose my temper at him. “For fuck’s sake, I shit myself in a movie theatre, and you’re perfectly cool with it. What’s wrong with you?” Sir smiled and gently shook his head, “Nothing is wrong with me. I just honestly don’t care what underwear you’re wearing, or what state it’s in.” Almost instantly, his calm manner calmed me down too. “To be honest, son, I find you particularly cute when you’re like this.” I hung my head, suddenly ashamed at my outburst. Sir held out his arms and I came in for a hug. “Now, I was going to change you, but after that little show, I think you need to be reminded of how this works.” Sir said, once again taking my hand in his. He walked briskly, and I had trouble keeping up with him because I was waddling so badly. That, and I knew where he was leading me, and didn’t really want to go. Unfortunately, the house isn’t that big, so within moments Sir opened the door to the punishment room, and led me inside. Surveying the implements, my eyes went wide. It wasn’t that I was unfamiliar with the room, far from it, but it was rare I was in here in quite this state. I seemed to have caught Sir’s eye, as he smiled at me, “don’t worry, we won’t be doing anything too strenuous”, he reassured me. He draped me over a spanking bench, and secured my hands in place. Then he went into the bathroom and grabbed a brought out a bar of soap. Even the sight of it made me retch as my sense filled with the memory of the last time I’d been made to suck on it. I began to shake my head, “No, no no….” Once again, Sir smiled. He placed the soap down just in front of my face. “Now you remember why you shouldn’t say naughty words then?” I nodded. “OK, well I won’t make you put it in your mouth. It can stay there as a reminder”. For at least the third time today, an enormous sense of relief came over me. That lasted for all of a few seconds, as Sir began to rain blows down against my butt. It wasn’t painful. Not exactly, anyway; the padding and the mess formed a pretty good barrier against the sharp force of the spanking, but the sense of humiliation I felt as each blow landed, sending a dull thudding sensation into my butt cheeks and forward, toward my genitals, was wonderful. It was fortunate Sir hadn’t asked me to count the blows, I’d have had no chance. I began to drift off somewhere between agony, humiliation and ecstasy. By the time Sir unstrapped me from the bench, I was a wreck. “You took your punishment very well. I think I should reward you”, At some point, between the spanking and the release, Sir had laid a changing mat down on the floor. He lowered me down onto it, and instinctively I spread my legs, ready for my change. Sir knelt down infront of me, but rather than undoing the tapes of my diaper, he began to rub the front. I smiled in gratitude, “You did well, young man”, he said, as he produced the magic wand and started vibrating the front of my diaper. I was in heaven. He moved the wand down towards my anus, the vibrations sent shivers up my spine. “Please sir, may I cum?” He nodded. “You may.”. I let the orgasm overtake me, and shuddered as I released yet another fluid into my already wrecked diaper. As I lay on my back in post orgasmic reverie, Sir set to work on the unenviable task of changing my diaper. I kept my eyes closed, and enjoyed the sensations as he cleaned me up. By the time Sir took my hand and helped me stand back up, I was clean, dry, and comfortable, and very pleased that I’d followed Sir’s advice and had an accident on our trip out.

“Are you sure?” Sarah asked. I nodded my head once again, gritting my teeth a little as I did. “When I need to go, I’ll go. You don’t need to remind me”. She didn’t look convinced. Which, I suppose, was fair. Much as I didn’t like to admit it, I’d had more than a few wet patches and skid marks recently. It wasn’t like there was anything medically wrong, I just sometimes held it a little too long. Well, a lot too long, really. At first Sarah hadn’t noticed the accidents. Or at least, she hadn’t mentioned them, but then there was the night when I was undressing for bed and as soon as I took my jeans off she noticed a smell. I was oblivious to it, so when she asked me to turn around I didn’t think much of it. Until she came up behind me and pulled my boxers down. We were a pretty kinky couple, and we often switched roles between top and bottom. And it wasn’t unusual for us to start a scene spontaneously, but even still, it was a bit of a surprise when she bent me over and gave me ten hard swats on my butt. “What was that for?” I asked, with a slightly more whiny tone than I’d intended. “If you’re going to stain your underwear like a child,” she chided me, “then you’ll be punished like one”. She took my hand tightly and dragged me to the bathroom, where she had me grab my ankles while she wiped my butt, scolding me all the while. After that night our relationship changed a little. Most of the time we were like an ordinary couple, but she was hyper alert to every sign I needed the bathroom, and would remind me to go like I was a toddler. Similarly she would make snap inspections of my underwear, and any marks or stains were met with spankings. It was about two weeks into this new regime when the first proper accident happened. We’d booked a weekend at a hotel on the coast, and it was a couple of hours drive away. She’d made me go to the bathroom before we left, even going so far as to stand over me while I sat on the toilet, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t go. After several minutes of sitting there I eventually squeezed out enough pee to turn the water yellow, and she let me get up, but she gave me a stern warning to tell her in plenty of time if I needed to go to the bathroom on the journey. We’d just passed a sign for the rest stop when the urge hit me. I felt my bladder twinge, and considered telling her that I needed to pull over to pee. The thing was, we were making good time. We’d be there in twenty minutes, and I assumed I could easily hold it until then. I’d like to pretend the reason I failed was because we got caught in a traffic jam, or the car broke down, but the truth is, I was just terrible at guessing how long I could go without peeing. I realised there was going to be a problem just as we sped past the turn off for the rest stop. Within a couple of minutes I was stretching my toes and fingers, trying to distract from the burning in my bladder. It wasn’t long after that that the squirming began in earnest. Of course my girlfriend noticed. “Why didn’t you tell me you need to go when you saw the sign for the rest stop?” “I didn’t need to go then.” I snapped back. “Really? You’re about to piss your pants in my car and you’re getting snippy with me?” “I’m sorry” I tried to placate her, but it was too late. “Apology accepted, but your attitude just earned you a punishment when we get to the hotel” “A spanking?” I ventured. “A punishment, not a funishment. It’s not going to be something you’ll enjoy”. I was too busy trying to hold my bladder to consider what the punishment would be. I pulled my phone out and checked Google Maps. Five minutes to the hotel. I watched as the little dot followed the path… four minutes… three minutes. Then, without warning, the car stopped. “What’s happening? Why’d you stop?” My sense of panic was obvious in my voice. “I told you you weren’t going to like your punishment. Nothing else I’m doing is teaching you a lesson, so now you’re going to have to suffer some real consequences”. My eyes went wide. “The hotel is about a mile away. It’ll take you about twenty minutes to get there. If you’re lucky you might find somewhere en route that’ll let you use their bathroom.” I didn’t move. “Get going, you’re wasting time here. I’ll meet you at the hotel.” Not quite believing what was going on, I eased myself out of the car, careful not to lose control as I did so. Sarah kept the car stationary as she watched me stagger stiff-legged for a few steps, before stopping dead in my tracks and absolutely soaking myself. She pulled forward a little, wound the window down. “I’ll see you at the hotel, honey. I love you”. With that she drove off, leaving me to walk through the town with piss-drenched pants on display for the world. The walk was more tolerable than I’d expected. I only passed a handful of people, but although each one gave me a very strange look it wasn’t as humiliating as I’d expected. That wasn’t the case when I reached the hotel. Sarah clearly thought the walk wasn’t bad enough, and had decided to up the ante. She was waiting for me as I got to the front door, cases beside her, and a shopping bag in her hand. When she saw me she exclaimed so loud people in the next town could likely have heard it, “Oh honey, you wet yourself again. I’m so sorry. Is it just wet or did you mess yourself too?” Without giving me time to answer, she reached into the bag and handed my a package of Tena adult pull ups, “Here you go. These should make it easier to hide your next little accident”. I turned a deep shade of crimson as I took the package from her. I should have been furious, but somewhere between the humiliation and the fact that it was genuinely quite funny, I went with it. After that weekend, she tended to keep me in pull ups most of the time. Every so often I’d be trusted with underwear, but as they were always dirty or damp by the pre-bed check, I’d be back to pull ups the following day. For a brief while that led to a kind of calm equilibrium between us - if I had an accident it was relatively easy to just put a clean pull up on, so although I still got spanked for having an them, she eased off on reminding me to use the bathroom. The problem was, that meant I put off going even longer, and so the accidents not only got more frequent, but worse. The wet spots turned to floodings, and the skid marks turned into full on messings, and more often than not both kinds of accident led to leaks. Things changed with the restaurant incident. We’d both had a busy week, and decided to treat ourselves to a meal out. Nothing grandiose, just a chinese at the local buffet. As usual, I was in a pull up, and as usual I was far more bothered about things going on around me than I was about using the bathroom. I was aware of a rumbling in my belly, but I was also in line for the desert station, and I didn’t want to lose out on a slice of cake just because I’d had to poop. Besides, I’d already soaked one pull up today, which meant a spanking this evening, so I didn’t think a few skid marks would really matter in the grand scheme of things. As I got a slice of cake for each of us, my tummy gave a deep rumble, and I let out a silent but very smelly fart. I was going to have to drop the cake at the table and head straight to the bathroom. I crept across the room, desperate to hold on, but I was less than half-way to the table when my sphincter gave out, and I crapped my pull up. It wasn’t a huge mess, but I was definitely aware of it, and it felt like clean up would be tricky. That left me with a decision to make: I could drop the cakes with Sarah and head to the bathroom to try to clean up, I could tell her what had happened and we could pay up and go, or I could carry on as if nothing had happened and hope she didn’t notice I’d pooped myself until after we’d left the restaurant. True to form, I went with option three. I sat back down at the table, set the cakes in front of us, and began to eat. At first Sarah did the same, but then she paused, taking a sniff of the air. “Ew, can you smell that?” she asked. I thought best to play along, I sniffed the air, “It smells like the drains are backed up, probably the glass washer or something”. She glanced over toward the bar. It was the other side of the room. She shook her head, then locked eyes with me, “It only started when you came back…” She trailed off a little as she realized what had happened, “Oh. My. God. You messed yourself here?!” “I’m sorry,” I squeaked as my eyes fell down to the table, although not before I’d caught the genuine fury in her eyes. “It’s one thing that you shit your pants”, she seethed, as people at the tables around us caught notice of what was going on, “but then you didn’t even try to deal with it? Really?!” I don’t know why exactly, but I began to shake. She caught my eye once again, and calmed down almost instantly, “I know you’re upset. I know it’s not your fault, but I also know that you knew full well what had happened, and when it does happen you need to tell me. Straight away. OK?” I nodded, “We may as well finish this, then you can wait in the car while I pay”. As soon as we got home, I got the spanking of my life, still in my messy pull up. After that we had a talk. She knew I hated being humiliated, and that it really was an accident, but she also made it clear that we couldn’t go on like this. It was the first time diapers were discussed, and the ultimatum was clear, the next time I left anything other than skid marks in my pull up, or I had a serious wetting accident, I’d be wearing diapers until she said otherwise. Since then she’s been super hot on reminding me to go to the bathroom, and for the last six weeks that’s meant that although I’ve had skidmarks and wet patches, she hasn’t had to go through with the threat of diapers. The thing is, I’ve been kind of a brat about it, and have begun snapping at her for nagging me. I know she’s helping, but it kind of makes me feel like a child. Which brings us up to now, and the moment I pushed her too far. “You don’t need to remind me” “But I do, don’t I? Or else you end up holding until you have an accident.” “I haven’t had one for six weeks” “Because I’ve been making sure you go to the bathroom” “Yeah, the second I need to go, like I can’t hold on for five minutes” For a moment she just stared at me, saying nothing. Finally, after a deep breath, she continued, “You think you’re good to hold it? Fine. Come with me.” She took me by the hand and led me into the bathroom. “I’m going to set you a little challenge. You succeed, and I’ll stop nagging you. You can have whatever accidents you like, embarrass yourself however you want, and I won’t say a thing. Fail, and you’ll be back in diapers.” I nodded my head. “Pull your pants down and bend over the bathtub please” I did as she instructed. “When we’re done here I want you to drive to the store in town, when you get there you’re going to buy a cake for us to share, then you’re going to come back and give it to me. Do you understand?” I nodded my head, “I think I can do that”. “Good job.” I felt her finger rubbing around my butt hole. “What’s happening?” “I’m going to make your little shopping trip a bit more exciting” That was when she slipped the suppository inside me. I gave a little involuntary yelp. I’d done anal play before, but this was a surprise. “What was that?” “A suppository. You think you’re so good at holding, now you have something to try to hold.” I made a slight groaning noise, as her finger slid back out. “I’d hurry up if I were you, you’ve got about ten minutes before it takes full effect.” I didn’t need to be told twice. Within two minutes my pull up and pants were back round my waist and I was out the door. Within six minutes I was pulling up to the store. As I got out the car I could feel it churning away, making my belly and my sphincter tingle. I gritted my teeth and headed into the store. The tingling got more apparent with every step I took, and as I reached the cake aisle my belly began to rumble. I reached over to grab the cake off the shelf, and in doing so I stopped concentrating on holding my bowels. I felt something very runny slip past my sphincter, immediately braced myself, trying to hold off the inevitable. I squeezed my butt cheeks together hard, and waddled to the checkout. It only took me a few moments to pay, but every single second was agony. I fumbled as I tried to get my money out, then fumbled with my change when the cashier gave it back to me. By the time she’d given me my receipt, I was sweating, tripping over my feet, and had couldn’t stop passing gas. Never mind not making it back home without an accident, I wasn’t going to make it out of the store. As I stumbled away from the checkout I felt like my whole body was on fire. I was fighting to avoid an accident with every fibre of my being, but no matter how hard I fought I was losing, and losing badly. With each step I took I felt my control slipping. I had terrible wind, and the farts felt lumpy. I finally lost it completely just as I walked out of the store. In full view of everyone, inside and out, I doubled over and filled my pull up. I felt the sludge trying to escape the leg bands as I struggled to my car, finally pushing past them as I sat down. I managed to drive home, but the smell and the sense of humiliation were overwhelming. I don’t remember getting out of the car, or ringing the doorbell, but I remember the look on Sarah’s face as she opened the door and saw me. And smelled me. She ushered me inside, straight to the bathroom, and had me stand in the shower as she stripped off all my clothes. “Well, this is horrific” she muttered, glancing at my stained jeans and the overflowing pull-up. I didn’t respond. Instead I just stared straight ahead. “I think the suppository might have been a mistake. I’m sorry I put you through this” I managed a little nod of my head in acknowledgement. “We can stop doing this if you like,” she continued, “After I clean you up, you can just go back to underwear.” I shook my head, squeaked out a “no.” She seemed surprised. I continued, “Please... “ I began to stutter, “I… I… want the the diapers, please.” She got the shower head down and used it to wash the poop off of me. As the water, then her hands, caressed my thighs I couldn't hold back a smile. “Are you enjoying this?” I nodded, a little shy. My thumb slipped into my mouth. “You little pervert” she grinned. “Let’s get you dried off and in your diaper then” She led me to the bed and laid me on the fluffy, thick diaper. It was far from discrete and there’d be no hiding the fact that I was padded like a toddler. “You’re not going to have to worry about me reminding you to use the bathroom now”, she said, smiling at me. “I suppose not,” I replied, relieved at the thought. “Although I will be checking your diapers.” she said, taping the diaper shut, “And as you’ve proved you can’t be trusted to make decisions about when to use the bathroom, from now on I’m taking that out of your hands.” I had figured this would be the case. I smiled back at her, “Thank you. I love you.” “I love you too, stinky butt” she said, as she leaned down to kiss me.

The Problem With Mikey Mikey was very excited. Tomorrow his father had promised him that he’d be wearing his trainer pants instead of the diaper he always wore. This was a huge event for the 14 year-old, it was in recognition that he’d gone three months without any kind of accident in his pants and was now on the verge of becoming a ‘big boy’. He’d tried trainer pants before. When he was three, and after a great deal of effort, the potty training had eventually succeeded and his parents, with a huge sigh of relief, had hoped that their son would finally be able to negotiate its use, as well as know when to use it properly. Alas, the training pants had made the boy confident he was becoming a ‘big boy’ (growing up in fact) but, alas, that info had not been delivered to his bowel and bladder. Time after time what looked like success was soon followed by the messy failure contained in his briefs. Diapers were the only solution as pull-ups just weren’t absorbent enough for Mikey’s random but full scale incontinence assault. # His younger brother and sister were both potty trained and had no such problem but Mikey continued to wear diapers and thick plastic pants 24/7, it was the only way to ensure that there was no embarrassment for him and no mess for others to experience. At first he’d disliked having to wear them to school but, after some very messy events in class and in public, the solution was obvious – to be on the safe side he needed constant protection. His school mates had long since run out of comments, and those that did still make them got no response from Mikey and worse, no response from their peers. What was the point of trying to embarrassing someone if they weren’t embarrassed and your audience weren’t party to the supposed ridicule? Besides, if he did the deed whilst in class, he was always allowed to go immediately to the nurse to be changed. He’d put up his hand and, no questions asked, he was excused because in truth, no one really wanted a damp or smelly kid sitting next to them. Had he been brighter then no doubt he could have turned this ‘inconvenience’ to his advantage but Mikey wasn’t like that, he didn’t plot, scheme or tell lies. # As mentioned, Mikey wasn’t the brightest boy in class, in fact it could be said that he was a bit slow. To some this totally explained why he was incontinent, while others just thought he was lazy and just couldn’t be bothered. The difficulty he had was that his younger siblings, 12 year-old Peter and 10 year-old Mary, were both very bright. They were in their top stream at school, were always reading, asking questions and doing things, whereas Mikey often had no idea what was going on around him. He’d happily sit all day in front of the TV watching cartoons and the only books he was interested in were those he could colour or were full of pictures. His choice of bedroom furniture was that of a toddler. Where other boys his age would have cars, spaceships, models, pop stars etc all over their walls, Mikey liked animals, he especially liked cartoon animals and those were what greeted you when you entered. He also had a vast array of stuffed and cuddly animals on display. Despite this he was very loving and loyal to everyone. Loved his parents, always happy to play with his brother and sister and was usually welcome in neighbour’s homes, liked by his friends (although often the butt of jokes he didn’t really understand) and could regularly be seen taking the family dog out for a run… he was a normal 14 year-old who mentally could at times quite easily pass as a toddler. In spite of his cumbersome diaper and rubber pants Mikey was happy. He understood that all this extra ‘attention’ was needed so as not to be a burden on others who had to clean up after him. Sometimes, when the family were all going out together, or he’d gone some period of time with no mess, he was allowed to wear disposables (with tight-fitting plastic pants) which didn’t feel as chunky or as restricting as the thick cloth diapers he usually wore. When this happened he was happy because he hoped that it signalled he was growing up, a ‘big boy’, and overcoming his problem. Unfortunately, as soon as he was home and getting ready for bed the heavy stuff would come out and he was wrapped in a thick, thick diaper and thick rubber pants. He never argued or complained about this return to the ‘normaility’ but, inside, he was a little crushed that he couldn’t sustain his brief ‘big boy’ status. His mattress had been covered in a waterproof sheet since he had made the transition from a crib to a single bed, so he’d always been used to the distinct smell and texture of his rubberised sleeping arrangements. His parents had tried to make this a fun time and not a punishment but, as slow as Mikey was, he knew it was something he should be over by his age but he just couldn’t help himself. Doctors, medicine and psychiatrists had all been involved in an attempt to ‘cure’ Mikey, as well as many articles read to try and alleviate his unfortunate disposition. When small victories had been attained, a setback was nearly always close behind and a sorrowful and apologetic Mikey would be sobbing as he sat in his messy diaper with the hope his mother or someone would come and change him. Now the family was used to it there was no trauma involved it was just simply acknowledging the situation and getting Mikey as dry and clean as soon as possible. Sometimes he’d go days, sometimes over a week, without any accidents and everyone would get hopeful but, sad to say, it never lasted. # However, he’d gone three months now without any real dramatic accidents. With an unbelievable effort on his part he’d been able to recognise when he needed to go and had been able to get to the toilet in good time… more often than not. So, training pants were going to be tried for the second time in his turbulent toilet-training life and everyone hoped this would signal an end to his problem. His father had bought some layered, brightly coloured pants that looked almost the same as a boy’s regular pair of briefs only slightly thicker. Mikey couldn’t wait to get up, get out of his night time diaper, take a shower and try on his new pants. Now, without either of his parents fastening him into a thick disposable, he was able to pull on the pants himself… and he loved the independence and sense of achievement this small act gave him. He even paraded himself in front of the mirror and enjoyed the look of the brightly coloured pants (with the waterproof interior) hugging his boy bits. Where once there was an obvious diaper, he now wore his new underwear with pride. His confidence grew and, although whilst playing with Peter and Mary he found himself having to constantly tell himself to go to the toilet, the weekend was a relative success. Even at night, as an experiment, he was allowed to wear just a pair of pull-ups under his training pants and Mikey couldn’t get over how different it felt to go to bed without his heavy protection. To be truthful, he didn’t sleep very well. He was constantly making trips, unnecessary trips at that, to the bathroom and somehow, the nightly hug his previous bulky protection had given him had made sleep easier and instant. However, snuggled under his mouse, rabbit and teddy bear decorated duvet cover he tried his best to get the rest his parents said a growing boy needed. # Monday morning arrived and he got himself up and ready for school. He wore a different pair of the special trainer pants under his jeans and, like always, looked forward to another day in class with all his friends. Just as he stepped out the door to go and catch the school bus he suddenly felt strange. It was like some kind of fear gripped his tummy and he felt sick, at the same instant his bladder gave way, which was quickly followed by the seat of his pants filling up with a dirty brown liquid. Unfortunately, his training pants, as good as they were, could not contain the elements that were so forcefully dumped in them, and soon his jeans and shirt appeared to be absorbing all that his pants couldn’t. A tearful Mikey stood in the doorway unable to move. He was overcome with both the debris of his body and with the shock to his system. It had all been going so well and this was a tremendous setback for all concerned. After taking care of her sorrowful son, Mikey’s worried mother called the school and then the doctor. After a long chat and a desperate plea for some further help, he recommended she try and get an appointment with a Doctor Mark Thompson, a man who was said to be having huge success in his field of Child Psychology, especially with those who had a similar problem to Mikey. Back in ultra-thick diapers and rubber pants Mikey and his anxious mother were in the Doctor’s office awaiting their appointment. Without any fuss Mikey had accepted his situation and was actually playing with another, but much younger, child on the floor as they battled with a couple of dinosaurs. Mikey’s mother, although desperate for her eldest son to grow up and enjoy the things that any teenage boy should be doing, still loved seeing the innocent way he played and interacted with others. The fact that he was most content when doing childish things didn’t seem to matter she just wanted him to be happy and hoped the Doctor had an amicable solution. # Doctor Mark Thompson’s reputation and accomplishments in dealing with the child psyche had come on in leaps and bounds over the past couple of years: Anger, violence, fear, timidity, self-loathing, self-harm… indeed, the entire panoply of youthful psychoses had been diagnosed and treated by this eminent man with extensive and successful results in this particular field. Please see ref: https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/topic/60763-never-more-content-part-1-5-end/ # Doctor Thompson read Mikey’s file and after a brief interview with his mother asked if it would be OK to chat with the patient on his own. She would have liked to have stayed but the Doctor said that he often got more information if the subject didn’t have any distractions. He explained to her that to begin with he would just talk with Mikey but that eventually, he would like to hypnotise him and see if he could regress him back to the part in his life when the ‘problem’ started. This, he pointed out, was often the trigger to where many children develop their fixation, phobia or obsession and, if this can be identified, it offers a starting point to possibly finding an antidote. Once Mikey’s mother was back in the waiting room the Doctor arranged groups of toys around the room and asked his new (and it had to be said, cute) patient what he’d like to play with. As the boy chose from the selection the Doctor couldn’t get over the bulky bulge under his trousers but that this rather sweet boy appeared to have no hang-ups about his situation. It may have caused him to waddle slightly but he was definitely not a baby and had managed to come to terms with his situation and deal with its awkward presence. Mikey settled on the floor surrounded by a selection of soft toys, dolls and a colourful kiddie’s jigsaw. The Doctor got down on the carpet with him and together they began to play and chat… and as they played the Doctor slipped in some questions. He found the boy a joy to talk with. No side to him, no hiding his feelings, in fact, no pretence of any kind. Obviously the boy had some kind of baggage, otherwise he wouldn’t still be messing himself, but other than that the Doctor loved the openness and innocence of the lad. After their session was over the Doctor took Mikey’s mother aside and suggested that if they could afford it, he would like to have her son as a patient at his clinic. This would mean that the boy would be away from home for a week or so but with him being close on hand he could give him regular and continuous attention and assessment, which he hoped would speed the process of solving Mikey’s problem. Two weeks later, and after 14 days of mess, Mikey’s mother delivered him to Doctor Mark Thompson and the treatment could begin. # Dressed only in his diaper and plastic pants Mikey was allowed to play with all the other similarly dressed kids, who were also the Doctor’s patients. Observing how they all interacted gave him a keen insight into many of their underlying problems. Individually, each child was then given one to one psychotherapy, whilst some were hypnotised so the therapist could dig deeper. The Doctor loved seeing his charges playing in only their protection. He found that without their normal clothing his young patients strangely appeared less inhibited and he enjoyed the spectacle of their colorful, padded bottoms in simple and pure interaction. There was no denying his success with the therapy he used even if some might see it as diametrically opposed to the norm. However, the effectiveness and success of his procedure was the main criteria and he was way ahead of anyone else in this area of psychoanalysis on these important counts. Under hypnosis the Doctor regressed Mikey through various stages of his life. He was a dream patient; quick to put under, willing to reveal all, no sense of anger, betrayal or thankfully any indication of sexual abuse. Indeed, as Mikey lay on the sofa wearing his ultra-thick padding, he looked as innocent, happy and relaxed as any toddler might who’d just been put down for his afternoon nap. It wasn’t long or difficult to get to the bottom of Mikey’s trouble, the only thing was, how to fix it? # Mikey’s voice got quieter and more childish the further the Doctor delved, this was normal and it was when he was three that something happened. As Mikey explained the Doctor wondered if such a rather small and in general, insignificant event could be the root to his dilemma. Mikey explained in his own childish way: He was standing in his room. He was wearing only a soggy diaper and looking at his reflection in the mirror when his mother came in and announced that he was going to have a baby brother. As she was changing him she was telling him that now he would have to be a ‘big boy’ and help look after the new baby who would soon be arriving. She emphasised that his diaper days should soon be behind him and he would be both a ‘big boy’ and a ‘big brother’ and would be responsible in helping look after the new arrival. The Doctor realised that the young Mikey just wasn’t prepared for such an obligation and was instantly scared at the prospect of having to be so responsible. That image of the soggy diaper stuck in his mind as the last link to him being treated special as from then on, his little baby brother would hold that position. Three year-olds can and do take in an awful lot that parents don’t necessarily understand or comprehend. Some can take it in their stride as they grow up, some relish the responsibility, while others, like Mikey, dread being told he was expected to act in a certain way. # Reluctantly, over the next few days, the good Doctor slowly coaxed Mikey away from his childish dependency. He wished he could have taken the lovely lad away and, like his own teen-toddler Little Robbie, let him enjoy being a tot permanently. However, Mikey was no cast-off or neglected child, he was a precious and loved member of the family despite his problem and so he saw it as his duty to try and help the loving family as much as he could. When Mikey’s mum came to collect him on his final day, he was no longer in thick diapers, plastic pants or any protection at all. Mikey was no more intelligent but he was now able to go to the toilet when he needed to and understand that he no longer needed a diaper. He was proud of his cartoon briefs and wore them with confidence. However, the Doctor did tell his mother the reason for her son’s dependence on diapers (even if the boy was unaware of the cause) and that occasionally, and in future moments when things feel like they might get on top of him, he may crave the security of his diapers. He suggested that they keep a supply handy more for that reason than the fact that he’d start wetting again. ++ TBC ++

Hello all! ^^ I would like to take the time and tell you a little about myself. I am a 34 y/o healthy, continent male (no history of bladder/bowel issues) that has had an interest in diapers from a very early age. I was around 7 years old when I “borrowed” a plastic backed Pampers diaper from my 2 year old cousin’s diaper bag. The babysitter was my aunt; who is the coolest person ever and knows about my “interests” in diapers. I unfolded it and put it in my underwear. I walked around in it and heard the crinkle and wished I could wear diapers all the time as well instead of my “big boy” undies. Of course, there is a whole lot more to my story but this is a very brief summary to keep from boring you all. I’ve had 24/7 stretches (for up to 6 months) in the past but had to stop due to financial/personal reasons when I was in college. Now, here I am at 34 years old and still wanting to be back in diapers for good. The desire isn’t going away and I’m tired of fighting it. It’s what makes me whole so that’s just the way it is and is going to be for now on. Over the years, my desire to become diaper dependent has not waned in the slightest and no matter how many times I place it on the back burner - they’ve always been there. So I’ve decided to go through with this. I also have a girlfriend, who I love with all my heart who completely supports me in becoming diaper dependent and she actually prefers me in them! I call her “mommy” most of the time which she loves. Having said all of this, she was vaguely familiar with the AB/DL community before we started dating ~7 mo ago. She supports me and loves me for who I am. This is very hard to come by especially since there’s no clear cut answer as to why someone would have the desire to become incontinent and how much our community is misunderstood. I have slight AB tendencies, but I’m not an exhibitionist or advertise the fact I wear diapers out in public. That’s not for me and please DO NOT post anything about ‘showing your diaper off’ etc. I have a very respectful job and conduct myself in a very professional manner dealing with well over 50 clients on average per day in a clinical setting. The bottom line: I value discretion and privacy to maintain my dignity. If (inevitably) my diaper rides up the back exposing it a bit, then 99% of people will assume it's a medical condition and mind their own business. The other 1% can ....well you get the point. **I have a onesie so I will wear it often at work** Reading the other forum posts has given me a lot of insight and motivation to push forward in my journey to diaper dependence. For now, I am only untraining my bladder, so I will try to retain my bowel control. From what I’ve read, some people have experienced a decline in their bowel control during their bladder untraining adventures. This makes perfect sense considering the nerves that are responsible for both bladder and bowel control are interlinked. ie; if you weaken one neural pathway, then there is a natural weakening/desensitization of the other. I will, of course document and report any changes in both my bladder and bowel control. Another thing of note is masturbation. I’m abstaining from it due to risk of exercising the muscles by accident. I have also fallen victim to the feeling you get after you’ve “done the deed” and don’t want to put another diaper on. It’s just not worth it and the fact that it increases DHT in men is more than enough to keep me from doing it. I have a full head of hair and plan to keep it! ^^ I will keep my diaper area shaved clean at all times for obvious reasons. My Current Continence Level A brief note about my current continence level. I am currently completely continent in both bladder and bowels. I wake up completely dry every night, but I love wetting my diaper prior to bed and sleeping in it overnight and waking up pretending I soaked it in my sleep. Eventually, I hope this will happen for real! ^^ If there is any advantage I have coming into this journey, I would have to say that from years of wearing diapers often and the 24/7 stretches in the past - that I notice once I have a diaper on, that I can wet anywhere at anytime with very minimal effort or thought at the slightest urge. Along with many other people and I’m no exception, the hardest position for me to initiate wetting is in a position when my urethra is kinked - esp while driving. It’s weird because in the past, I had “good” days and “bad” days. If I was fluid-loaded, I clenched up and/or it was hard to start peeing. If I sipped fluids throughout the day (3 big gulps of water in 10-15 min intervals) along with practicing the “reverse kegel” of keeping the bladder muscles relaxed as much as possible; then I’ll go immediately without issue. I’ve noticed if I’ve worn 24/7 for a brief period of time (like 1-2 days) and haven't exercised control of my bladder muscles - that I get frequent urges throughout the day (about every 30 min - 1 hr) and will continue for 4-5 days afterwards. This is good news in my book because it means that the muscles are weakening faster than they can gain strength back. ^^ IMO, these constant urges that come about of being out of diapers after a 24/7 shift is enough to motivate me to put a diaper back on. No having to rush to the restroom and interrupt my day at work (medical setting). My current stock of diapers are 2 cases of the Abena M4’s Plastic Backed and one case of the Tena Active Fit Maxi (great discreet daytime diaper!). I plan to keep at least an extra case on hand at all times for those instances when I slack off in ordering diapers, which is few and far between but it happens. To sum all this up: -I’m always diapered 24/7 from this point onward -Keep the bladder muscles relaxed and practice reverse kegeling after I wet -Stay well hydrated throughout the day to practice uncontrolled wetting and 16 oz of water before bed -Keeping bed adequately protected with quality mattress protector and trust my diapers -Listen to hypnosis recording; preferably before bed (this is optional and to help my subconscious adjust) -Expect WEEKLY UPDATES from here on out documenting any changes I experience in my continence, unless I come up with something to mention or ask about that pertains to my personal situation. So that’s it for my gameplan. If anyone has any questions, suggestions, or anything you feel I left out; please feel free to ask them here! I will try my best to answer in a timely manner as I work full time and life just gets in the way. Thank you very much for reading my post and here’s to a new life of being padded 24/7! ^^

As I’ve written of elsewhere, since last summer, when I returned to wearing diapers and reconnected here, I’ve been wrestling emotionally with my relationship with diapers. Like the swings of Hegel’s Dialectic, I starting wearing diapers every day, then pushed them to the back of my cupboard (years ago, I learned that disposing of diapers was nothing but a terrible expense and mistake—the absence of diapers didn’t deter me in the way I wished and it was then necessary to expend more money when the compulsion to be in diapers reasserted itself) and denied that I needed diapers. The swings became wider, the compulsion returned. I would spend hours in the chat, then days away from it while ‘not diapered’. In fact my life was divided between ‘being diapered’ and ‘not diapered’. I’ve worn diapers since 1996. I started in part because of need and most definitely also for sexual pleasure. It was a tortuous path. As a form of sexual excitement, I would imagine myself slipping into, or being forced into, incontinence. Then, it nearly happened. My work keep me in a car for stretches of 5-6, even 8 hours sometimes.. Type A, I would resist pee stops for as long as possible—somtimes hours until extremis. Then, one day I stopped at a rest stop—aching to pee—releived myself and climbed back into the car. As I returned onto the highway, I wet myself. I had, the urologist said, an distended bladder. I wasn’t getting the necessary signal from a full bladder and still had essentially a full bladder after relieving myself. I took to wearing diapers and just wetting in the car. A workable solution it seemed. The urologist was furious. This, he said, would lead to incontinence—permanent incontinence. Over the years, I played with that notion. Why being incontinent held appeal I just don’t know. But, the idea of slipping into incontinence enticed me. In her last year of life, my mother asked if I would return home, live with her and take care of her. She wanted to pass away at home, in her own bed. She knew my siblings wouldn’t allow it. I promised her. At the same time, I was taking finally after years of hormone therapy begining my life publically as a woman. Suddenly, as a woman I was battling with my siblings to protect my mother’s wises, and justifying who I had become. I became incontinent at night, regressing into infancy to protect myself. My psychologist put me into the disability healthcare plan where I’ve remained. Continence did return. After gender reassignment surgery (I have the most beautiful vagina now) another issue presented—the susceptibility to UTIs. When that happened I was again incontinent. The disability program did cover the cost of diapers and the counsellor gave me the forms to apply. I was simply too embarassed, and, true be known ashamed because I felt so excited by the prospect. Which brings me to the present and the issue I face today. I love being in diapers—I don’t know why. In the period since last summer, I again requested the forms for my healthcare to cover the cost of diapers. You have to personally request the forms. I did. They said on my desk for months. The forms require a doctor’s verification of need. I got a UTI, another of many, at least 3 or 4 a year which I get and when to the doctor’s for antibiotics. Although, with me, in my purse, I didn’t have the nerve to ask. ”Well, we’re done, Is there anything else?” ”I have forms here that will provide diapers for me while incontinent. Will you sign them?” He took the forms and read them. “This is for fulltime permanent incontinence. Is that what you need?”” ”Well, I’m already wearing diapers a lot, so it’s just easier to wear them all the time.” ”Are you sure?” ”Yes... I like wearing diapers.” He excused himself to consult another doctor. He returned with the forms signed. “I’ll chart you as permanently incontinent. Certainly, you’re not quite there, but I suspect that you will become incontinent with time, given that you’re already in diapers.” I took the signed form. I had become “permanently incontinent”. My stomach was in knots. The forms sat on my desk for a week. I chatted here. I fretted. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? I was both scared and so excited. Finally, I sent the forms in to my counsellor for approval. My counsellor now had in writing that I was “permanently incontinent”. A day passed and I finally phoned a supplier. She was ever so kind and arranged to send sample diapers and connect with my counsellor. Diapers would come every month, enough pull-ups for 5 changes during the day and a proper diaper for each night. These would arrive each month, and my face flushed as I realized just how big the boxes would be. “We have you as a client now.” I’m now “permanently incontinent”. In the next week, as I wait for the first shipment, I’m wearing cloth diapers and plastic panties. I’ve started wearing full-time. I sense when I’m about to wet, then it just happens. Yesterday, regret and shame came over me and I changed into panties. Do I want this to happen? Can I slow the drift into incontinence? The afternoon in panties became uncomfortable. There wasn’t a moment I didn’t feel the need to pee. I began to fret. Finally, in the everting, I diapered. As I made a sandwich in the kitchen not 10 minutes later, I only realized that I was wetting by the wet warmth and changing weight of my diaper. My heart and stomach lurched. Could I get through the night, now? At bedtime, I spread out a diaper pad for security. Could I go the night without a diaper? Can this actually happen this fast? It’s not possible, I knew but put on a diaper. I didn’t have the courage not to wear a diaper. Is that how incontinence takes hold? Not by actual need but because your confidence slips away and once in diapers, your body simply decides not to care. Today, I tried the same thing. Waking in a wet diaper, I bathed and diapered. I wet every few minutes, small amounts. I changed after the 3rd wetting. At lunch, I bathed and put on panties. I tried to do some housework, some reading, to be busy. There was no moment that I didn’t feel that I was about to wet myself. It was so tiring. I decided to walk the dog but stood conflicted at the door in panties: “What if I wet myself on the walk?” I changed into a diaper. I wet myself on the walk. I did sense it, but to hold until I was home would be a strain. I relaxed... and pooped as I wet. I’ve had a bath and put on a diaper wash. I had dinner without having a diaper on. I read a bit lying on the couch. With a diaper sheet under me. I decided to write this and put on a diaper. And as I’ve written, I’ve wet myself. I’m not trying to be incontinent, but I am surely allowing it to happen. For my counsellor and doctor and a supplier I am “permanently incontinent”. A few days ago, I told my best friend that I wore diapers at night. Her initial reaction with sympathy, but I told her that I liked being in diapers. To my surprise, the next day, she hugged me and said she felt ‘so special’ that I had shared wearing diapers with her and allowed that as a mother of two she was also challenged with wetting herself during the day. For her a change of panties and a pad was sufficient. Expense was always the impediment to me just allowing myself to slip into incontinence. I’ve yet to figure out why I wish this. I’m certainly concerned about the implications of incontinence. I’m 64 and live with a roommate, with whom I share my house. She is a minister. I have recently told her that I wear diapers—a bit late probably because she’s seen my cloth diapers and plastic panties in the dryer or clean laundry hamper. I’m writing this as much for myself as you. It’s just minutes from 7:00pm. I’m diapered and wet. In just days, if I put on a diaper, it seems that I just wet; if I don’t wear a diaper, I fret. If I have to take the bus, will I now be too afraid to go undiapered. If I want to walk my dog will I now be too afraid to wear just panties? Am I suddenly “permanently incontinent”.