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The one thing Madelyn desires most in the world is to wear diapers again, and she is prepared to do anything to make that wish come true. As inexplicable as that desire is for a twelve-year-old girl, it is one she has obsessed over for the past three years. Ever since Madelyn tried on a pull-up that a distant cousin had used for bedwetting, the thought of what it would be like to forego her underwear for that padded, crinkling sensation between her legs has been a desire she has been unable to shake. Every other plan to get her hands on diapers or pull-ups has failed up to now. But this time it is going to be different. This time it is going to work. This time she isn’t going to back out at the last minute. The plan is simple. All Madelyn has to do is intentionally begin to wet the bed at night. Then, her parents will have no choice but to get her the diapers she so badly desires. What could possibly go wrong? Chapter 1: Daydreams in Class I will not chicken out this time. That was what I had told myself two days ago. That was also what I had told myself yesterday. Third time was the charm, right? It was easy to put a bold face to my latest harebrained scheme to acquire diapers from the safety of my daydreams. It was much harder when the time came to actually carry out the plan that had been brewing in the back of my mind for the past year – one I had finally decided to put into motion this week. Why would a 12-year-old girl want to wear diapers in the first place? I don’t know. All I know is that for the past three years, nothing I have done has been successful at getting this obsession out of my head. I certainly didn’t have any interest in being a baby. My younger brother, Jackson, is only six years old. I discovered where Mom kept all his old baby stuff long ago. I’ve tried his old pacifiers, bottles, and sippy cups. None of those items held any appeal for me. I can’t stand kids’ TV shows. I can’t color to save my life. And don’t get me started on dollhouses, barbies, and whatever other toys babies like to play with. In every aspect of my life other than this strange desire for diapers, I wanted to act my age. My latest plan all started a year ago with a magazine and a desire to procrastinate on my homework. There had to be some level of irony to the fact that this latest idea came about when I was seated on the porcelain throne. Mom had almost a dozen different magazines she subscribed to. Most of them found their way to the bathroom, which was also probably the only circumstance where I would have even considered reading them in the first place. I was already finished doing my business, but leaving the bathroom meant needing to continue a homework assignment I’d been slowly picking away at for the past hour. The only reason I even bothered to pick up a copy of the Reader’s Digest on that day about a year ago was for the few sections where it had funny jokes and stories. That, and I had left my smartphone in the bedroom. I really didn’t know how my parents managed when they were my age. I skimmed through the first section of jokes. Whoever had put together this edition of the magazine had totally mailed it in. There was a completely unoriginal one about redheads and souls that had me tempted to toss the magazine in the garbage. I mean, with how many magazines Mom had, would she even miss it? Redhead jokes get old really quick when you’ve had people telling you them your whole life. It has been forever since I’d been told one I hadn’t heard before. And even longer since I’ve been told one that was actually funny. Maybe I would have better luck with the second humor section toward the back of the magazine. I flipped through the pages casually when one of the advertisements caught my eye. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. There it was. Right on the page. An exact replicate of the pull-up I had briefly stolen from a cousin two years ago. But there was more. That pull-up from two years ago had been the boys’ designs. This ad showed that there were ones for girls as well. And even though I’d had a pretty good growth spurt in the past two years, the product info indicated that I wasn’t even close to being too big to wear them. I didn’t tuck the magazine in the trash, but I did take it with me from the bathroom, burying it deep inside my box of miscellaneous things in my bedroom. I’ve looked at that page at least once a day for the past year. “Earth to Maddy. Earth to Maddy. We’re calling in.” My head jerked upright from the hard wooden desk in my math classroom to the sound of laughter. “Here!” I called back to our math teacher. “Well, thank you for joining us again, Maddy. Now,” he said, pointing to a cluster of numbers, letters, and symbols on the whiteboard, “that we’ve isolated ‘x’ on this side of the equation. Can you tell us what it is?” I had enough trouble paying attention in classes that I liked. For ones I hated? The temptation to daydream was hard to resist. And I hated math class. It was hard enough when we were dealing with regular numbers. I would be lucky to scrape by with a “B-” on my report card. But now, with the end of the school year in sight, my math teacher had ever-so-helpfully decided to give us a sneak peek of some of the things we got to look forward to learning next year in eighth grade. I sucked at long division. But it at least made sense conceptually. The numbers were real, even if doing the work to get the answer was tedious. But now there was this thing the teacher called Algebra, where we were supposed to be adding up letters as well as numbers, which was beyond my ability to comprehend. Every “x” and “y” on the whiteboard seemed designed to taunt me. May as well put a “D” or a “C” on the board, as that was about what I could expect on my report card next year if this was what was in store for me. I stared blankly at the whiteboard with the sinking feeling that even if I had been paying attention for the past five minutes, I wouldn’t be any closer to understanding what was going on. “Um,” I said, picking at my nails while I continued to stare ahead. I had to at least give some kind of guess. But my brain and my mouth sometimes aren’t exactly in sync with one another. “The spot.” “I’m sorry. What was that?” Mr. Thompson asked. “You know, the spot. Like, ‘x’ marks the spot.” The classroom was full of laughter again. This time with me rather than at me. I made eye contact with one of my friends, Angie, who turned to look back at me from the front row. We shared a smirk at the joke. Mr. Thompson sighed. “Everyone settled down, please.” He gave me a look that suggested he might be once again telling my parents about how I had apparently been disruptive in class. “Now, Maddy, if you had been paying attention as we worked through this problem, you would know that the answer was actually…” I didn’t even manage to pay attention long enough to get to the answer to what ‘x’ happened to be or what sorcery had been used to arrive at that conclusion. I fixed my eyes on a spot on the whiteboard, a method I had mastered to trick teachers into thinking I was actually paying attention to their nonsense when I’d rather be daydreaming. My thoughts slipped back toward my plans for this evening. The third time had to be the charm, right? It wasn’t really my fault the first two attempts at wetting the bed had failed. The first night, I had simply been too tired. We’d had an exhausting soccer game that evening that had gone on to overtime, and we’d been shorthanded, so I hadn’t spent almost any time on the bench. I had fully intended to stay up past midnight but had used the excuse of being tired to back out of it. Instead, I let myself drift off to sleep without wetting the bed. During the second night, I’d managed to stay up until 1 a.m., but I had found it impossible to make myself pee. I simply hadn’t had enough to drink. I had considered simply pouring water on my bed, but I was worried that might not be convincing enough should my parents make a closer examination of my bedding. I could have snuck off for a glass of water in the kitchen and stayed up another hour, but again, I chickened out and pushed the plan off to another night. But tonight was going to be different. I was going to be drinking as much water as I could tonight, and I would skip going to the toilet before going to bed. Plus, tonight was Friday, which meant it was pizza night, so as long as I picked out a caffeinated soda, I should be able to keep myself up late enough for this plan to work. I realized that I was likely going to have to keep this up for multiple nights. One random night of bedwetting — after having never wet the bed since I had been potty trained at the age of two — wouldn’t be enough to convince my parents to take action. But if I could have the courage to keep it up long enough, they would have no choice but to purchase the pull-ups shown on the magazine page for me. I would make sure to leave that old magazine out in a way that would get Mom to see the advertisement. It was a desperate move, but I couldn’t wait any longer for the pull-ups. I knew from other advertisements I’d seen that these pull-ups were sold in stores. Had there been a store close by that I could bike to, I might have considered going out and purchasing some for myself on a day when I had been left at home on my own. But that wasn’t an option for me. I still had over three years to go before I would be old enough to get my own driver’s license. I had already waited three years for this. I couldn’t possibly wait three more. “Maddy. Earth to Maddy. Hey!” There was the sound of hands clapping together a single time. More laughter. I blinked rapidly, adjusting my gaze over to Mr. Thompson, where he was standing at the front of the classroom with his palms still pressed together from making the noise he had used to so rudely interrupt my daydreams. “Maddy, please just take one of the homework sheets and pass the rest behind you.” I looked straight ahead, where Chloe was holding a stack of papers with her arm stretched out toward me. She rolled her eyes at me as I grabbed them from her. In a rare moment of self-control, I did not stick my tongue out at her. I took one of the homework sheets and passed the remaining one behind me to where one of my two best friends was sitting. The three of us had initially been seated next to each other. But Mr. Thompson decided a few weeks into the school year that doing so was too much of a distraction. Emma, who had been seated to my right, was switched to the seat behind me. Angie, who had been on my left, had worse luck. Not only was she moved to the front of the class, but she had to sit next to Ryan, who had the disgusting habit of picking his nose in public. But that was OK. We’d have the whole weekend together. Tonight was the beginning of the playoffs for our U13 soccer team. We’d had a moderately successful season, meaning we’d managed to somehow win more games than we lost over the past several months. It was disappointing that the spring soccer season was so close to coming to an end, but we had the opportunity to keep it going this weekend if we could manage to string a few victories together. The bell rang as the final class of the week came to an end. Mr. Thompson belted out more instructions about the homework as I slid the piece of paper, with all its archaic symbols and equations, into my backpack. I’d just ask Angie and Emma later to see if there was something I’d missed in his instructions. I joined my two friends in the hallway. We all lived in the same neighborhood, so we rushed off to catch the bus together. They chatted excitedly about the game tonight, but I walked alongside them in silence. My thoughts were somewhere entirely else. My mind settled on the image of the pull-up I had held in my hand three years ago. The few minutes where I had examined it thoroughly, my fingers tracing over its whole surface. How it had felt to wear it for a couple of minutes before I was forced to set it aside, not knowing the opportunity was one I wouldn’t get again for years. Should everything go as planned, I would be wearing a pull-up again in less than a week. But to accomplish that, I needed to wet the bed tonight – on purpose. <><><> Three years ago If there was a single moment that perhaps best defined the last three years of my life, it was that day three years ago when it all began. The day I first laid eyes on a simple object that would become an obsession I would never be able to shake off. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I knew, intellectually, that this was what people were supposed to do. But even the sight of my aged great-grandfather lying in the open casket hadn’t moved me to tears. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t sad, but it was a more abstract kind of sadness. That kind that has someone thinking heavy thoughts about what happens after death, not that kind that leaves someone bawling on their knees. I had no memories of the man lying in the casket. My parents said I had met my great-grandfather three times. But I had been too young to have any memories of those visits. My older sister, Grace, on the other hand, was devastated. It was her first funeral as well. She had memories of her great-grandfather. The man in the casket was not an abstract concept to her, but the ghost of someone who had played with her and held her in his arms. Jackson cried as well, but that was just because he was a baby. You could never exactly tell what it was that they were upset about most of the time. The three-year-old boy likely just needed a nap. But the funeral home wasn’t where that pivotal event in my life transpired; it was merely marked the event that gave cause for all my distant relations – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins – to join together from where they were all scattered across the country. The reception after the funeral was where the fateful moment occurred. The adults ate, drank, and smoked while kids split into playing games with others of their age. There was a cohort of preschoolers huddled around a TV, watching stupid kids’ shows. On the other end of the spectrum was a collection of angsty teenagers Grace had abandoned me to hang out with. They weren’t particularly welcoming of youngsters, and my normally friendly sister had shooed me off after I attempted to tag along with her. Not that I cared that much. Other than my sister, teenagers made me a bit apprehensive. Besides, there were a half-dozen other kids my age to hang out with. My mom introduced me to two boys shortly after we arrived at the house for the reception. One of them, Alex, was eight. Though he made clear he would be nine in a few weeks, which would make him as old as me. His younger brother, Timothy, was seven. The boys were distant cousins from half-way across the country. There was some technical term Mom used for exactly what type of cousin they were to me — second cousins, twice removed. That didn’t mean anything to me. All that mattered was that they were my age and more than open to finding some way to play in order to pass the time while the adults did whatever adults did. We hit it off immediately. We did what kids that age normally do. We fell into the habit of playing simple games with each other as if we had been friends all of our lives. The two brothers were staying at the house where the reception was being hosted, so it was only fair that they gave me a tour of the massive building. We explored the expansive backyard, winding our way through the adults in the garden until we were shooed away. We played in the basement for a while, which had foosball and ping-pong tables before the teens decided that was where they wanted to be hanging out instead. But there was still plenty of house to explore. Alex and Timothy led me up a winding staircase to some rooms upstairs, where they had been sleeping while their family stayed with the relatives who were hosting the reception. That’s when I stumbled across a stunning revelation. One that would shape my life for the next three years. Haunt my dreams. Hound my thoughts. Practically drive me crazy as I was often left incapable of thinking of anything else. There was something out-of-place sitting in the corner of the room on top of a pile of discarded laundry. I tended to usually say the first thing that came to mind without regard to whether it was socially appropriate to do so. I wasn’t any better at that at the age of nine. I pointed at a blue undergarment in the corner that didn’t exactly look like a normal piece of underwear. It was not as though I didn’t have a good suspicion of what it was. But I wanted confirmation. “What is that?” Timothy walked casually over to the corner and picked it up. “Oh, that’s my pull-up.” I looked at the item in his hand. He was seven. That couldn’t possibly be his. I felt sure I was the subject of some kind of joke. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re too old to wear pull-ups.” “Older kids sometimes need to wear pull-ups,” he said, still holding the item in his hand. His defiance left me no less confused. I rolled my eyes. “I doubt that even fits you.” I hadn’t intended in any way to dare them to put the pull-up on. But that must be how that statement had come across. Alex snatched the pull-up out of his brother’s hand and tugged it on over his dress pants. “See,” he said. “It fits. We wear them ’cause we still wet the bed.” They were bedwetters. And they weren’t the least bit ashamed of it. That was at least a topic that I understood. I had no intention of teasing or bullying them. While neither my brother nor I were bedwetters, my older sister had wet the bed up until a year or so ago. Why hadn’t I put together a connection between pull-ups and bedwetting? Come to think of it. I wasn’t even sure if Grace had worn pull-ups during her bedwetting phase. She had her own room, which I was very much forbidden from going into, so if she had, there wasn’t any way I would have known about it. When I had first learned of my older sister’s predicament, my parents had sat down with me and calmly explained what bedwetting was and how I was to never shame or tease her about it. And given how privately they had handled her condition, and the fact that it hadn’t ever impacted my life at all, I truthfully hadn’t ever given her bedwetting much of a thought. Alex mistook my pensiveness while considering my sister’s bedwetting to mean that I was still confused about the topic. He launched into a long explanation with words like enuresis, explaining how bedwetting was just a medical condition that he and his brother would grow out of. “Do you wet the bed?” Timothy asked me. “No,” I replied. I came close to continuing my reply and accidentally outing my sister, but I would never do something that mean to her. Alex still had the pull-up around his waist, completely unconcerned with how silly it looked. The pull-up had a picture of Spiderman, my favorite superhero, on the front. I pointed that out, which led to another conversation about which Marvel superheroes we liked best. Timothy was big on Iron Man. But Alex insisted that Batman was better than any of them. My eyes kept glancing down at Alex’s waist. I found myself unable to look away from the pull-up for long. The sight of the pull-up around Alex’s waist raised another thought. That pull-up would fit me just as well. My distant cousin and I were both about the same size, after all. I didn’t question the desire to wear the pull-up. Once the impulse had taken hold of me, there was little else I could think of as I distractedly continued the conversation with my cousins. Our parents called us down for dinner. Alex ripped the pull-up off and tossed it back in the corner of the room before we retreated down the stairs. I was unable to concentrate during dinner. Alex and Timothy were across the table from me, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut about what I had just witnessed. I was filled to the brim with questions, most of which I would have to keep inside unless I were presented with another chance to have a private discussion with those two bedwetting cousins. But there was one question more important than any of them. One perhaps best answered on my own rather than by asking them. What did it feel like to wear a pull-up? While the adults were content to sit and chat around at the table long after their plates were clean, that wasn’t the case for us kids, and soon we were back to running around; Timothy, Alex, and I were joined by another four cousins. Big houses and hide and seek go hand in hand together. We agreed that hiding upstairs in the house was against the rules for the game of hide and seek. That meant that the upstairs room where the pull-ups were waiting for me was technically off-limits. But I didn’t care one bit about the game. Anyway, making the upstairs rooms off-limits had been my idea. An absolutely brilliant stroke of genius for a then nine-year-old girl. In one move, I’d ensured that no one would be up there when I went looking for the pull-up and that I would be safe from anyone following after me. I took quick glances in both directions as I stood at the base of the stairway. Perfect. There were no other kids in sight. I leaped up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time with each upward lunge until I was safely around the corner and out of sight. I encountered my first problem when I made it to the bedroom where Timothy and Alex had been sleeping. I had somehow assumed that the pull-up Alex had ripped off could be fixed. I seemed to recall that the pull-ups my brother had worn a year ago had Velcro sides. But that wasn’t the case with these bedwetting pull-ups for some reason. But there had to be additional pull-ups elsewhere. There couldn’t be any way that the boy’s parents would risk them peeing all over the bed while they were spending the night as guests. I didn’t have any luck in the first suitcase that I looked through, nor the second, but the third one was where I struck gold. There were more than a dozen pull-ups tucked into the side of the suitcase. Surely, they wouldn’t notice if one of them happened to go missing. I grabbed a pull-up and bundled the pull-up into a ball, tucking it into the waistband of my skirt. I was sure that was not nearly as discreet as I thought it was at the time. But, to my good fortune, I was able to make it to a nearby bathroom without being caught. The adults were busy downstairs, and my cousins, who were playing hide and seek, were doing a better job than I was at abiding by the rules. I locked the bathroom door behind me. I double and triple-checked to make sure the door was actually locked. I removed the pull-up from under my skirt and held it in my hands. I didn’t stop then to think through how bizarre the whole situation was at the time. I think I must have stood there looking at it for several minutes. Feeling how it crinkled beneath my touch, testing out the sides to see how far they could stretch, rubbing my fingers down the padded interior. I was completely and utterly fascinated by it. The desire was no more explainable than a moth being drawn to a flame, a kitten to catnip, or a raven to a shiny object. I cautiously slid my arms through the leg holes, stretching the pull-up out in front of me. Not only was it more than stretchy enough for me, but it could probably fit a kid twice as wide as I was. Now came the moment of truth. I removed my skirt and underwear. The pull-up had a side that was helpfully labeled as the back, so I knew which way to put it on. As I brought the pull-up into place around my waist, it was like sliding the final piece of a puzzle into place. I turned around so that I could look at my reflection in the mirror. I lifted up the front of my skirt so that the whole pull-up was in view. It practically came up all the way to my belly button. There was something about the way it hugged my sides, the way the soft padding pressed against my skin as I sat down on the toilet lid and the way it crinkled quietly as I paced across the bathroom that left me completely enamored. There was just one thing left to do. And I didn’t have much time before everyone noticed that I was missing. I lifted up the lid of the toilet seat and sat down while still wearing the pull-up. One of my deepest regrets was that I had went to go potty right before the game of hide and seek began, meaning there wasn’t anything waiting to come out of my bladder at the moment. I tried. I really did. I wanted to know. I had to know. What would it feel like to pee into a pull-up? It couldn’t be bad. Alex and Timothy hadn’t seemed to be put off at all by waking up in a wet pull-up every morning. But nothing happened. The timing was off. My bladder wouldn’t cooperate. And time was up. I needed to be out of the bathroom in a couple of minutes. I considered it a radical idea. What if I put my underwear and skirt over the top of the pull-up? I could continue to wear it until I actually needed to pee. I nearly did it. I really, truly, honestly nearly did it. But then I chickened out. The same way I would, time and time again for years afterward. It was too risky. A small trickle of shame was diluting my euphoria. I knew that despite how ecstatic I was at my discovery, the reality of anyone else discovering this secret — and the relentless shame and teasing that would follow — would be devastating. I wasn’t like Alex or Timothy. I didn’t have the veneer of bedwetting to hide behind as an excuse for wearing a pull-up. I slid the pull-up off of my legs. I intended to put it back in the suitcase. Then it would be like nothing had ever happened. That’s when I encountered a second problem. Apparently, I had gone potty in the pull-up after all. Not a lot, just the teensiest of tinkles. But it was enough to leave a tiny yellow patch the size of a quarter smack dab in the middle of the pull-up. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had even noticed it in the first place. That would have made for an awkward situation for Alex and Timothy had I put the pull-up back in the suitcase. I peered into the trash can. I was in luck. I could make out two pull-ups at the bottom of the small trash can. One had been turned inside out, the color of its interior leaving no doubt as to the truthfulness of Alex’s description of his and his brother’s bedwetting. I bunched up the pull-up and tossed it in the trash can. I didn’t think it was likely that anyone would be paying too much attention to notice the addition of one more pull-up in it. My curiosity sated, I returned to the game of hide and seek, pretending that I had been expertly moving in between hiding places to avoid being spotted. I didn’t think anymore about the pull-up until later that evening when we were lying in bed at the hotel. Jackson was little enough that he could sleep on a padded mat and sleeping bag on the floor while Grace and I shared a bed – an experience that hadn’t gone well the past couple of nights, as it had been interrupted by midnight accusation of blanket theft. If it had just been Grace and me in the room, if Mom, Dad, and Jackson hadn’t been around to overhear it, I might have worked up the courage to ask my older sister about her bedwetting. I wasn’t even sure if she knew that I knew about it. But I had to know. Had she worn the same pull-ups as Alex and Timothy? Was there perhaps a style that came in colors and designs for girls? But we weren’t alone, and those questions went unasked. The drive home wasn’t any easier. I didn’t touch my tablet, which had been my constant companion on the trip here. Instead, I stared out the window. But I wasn’t paying any attention to the passing cities and landscapes. Instead, my mind was replaying the events of the previous day, in particular, the few precious minutes when I had my hands on the pull-up. I was filled with a deep sense of longing and regret. Why had I thrown the pull-up in the trash? Why hadn’t I put it back on beneath my skirt? I would have had it with me now. I could have been wearing it now. Of course, I did know better. I would have had no issue wearing the pull-up out of the house, but once we had gotten to the hotel, there wouldn’t have been any realistic way for me to have kept it concealed. But the acknowledgment of that reality did nothing to lessen my longing for the pull-up. I had nothing but time as I began to scheme up all the different ways I could get my hands on another one, or better yet, an actual diaper. What would I have done if I had known the wait was to be measured in years rather than days, weeks, or months? --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/

Leslie: i am online and see a ad for a adoption of a adult baby thinking to myself i will finally be a mother John: i come into the home office and wait as you show me we type back that we would like to meet with you

Margaret or peggy for short is 25 years old and has always want to live the lifestyle of an adult baby in public. Instead of privately she has read online about a park where she can do that with others that are like her.

Let me tell you an almost true story! Me and my wife had been married for years. Our kids were all grown. We still loved each other but sex had gone out the window when the kids were growing up. Life happened you know busy, busy, busy! Oh I still worked out went to the gym even in my 50's, people thought I looked late 30's early 40's. My wife has always looked youthful she was only 2 years younger but I often got accused of robbing the cradle more than a hundred times it seemed like. Well getting older and trying to lift weights with the young ones doesn't mix! I developed a hernia. I thought I had appendicitis. Same spot as my appendix. I got the surgery got the mesh implanted. About a year or so later I would get pain where the surgery was. That is sometimes normal, but when I felt the pain I would sometimes wet my bed! That was embassing, to say the least I'm 50 something years old bedwetting is for kids and teens not a grown ass man like me! My wife was wonderful, I expected her to berate me, yell at me, whatever. I don't know if I would of been as kind if the tables had been turned. Fast forward a couple of years. It was getting so that if I had a major pain I was wet, even just a minor twinge where I had the surgery I would wake up wet. I started buying Abriform L4 they are pretty expensive I was diapering myself every night just in case. There were nights that I hadn't wet and basically wasted a diaper. As there were nights I slept dry and pulling the white tabs off the blue ones still tore the diaper a bit. The biggest nag I got from my wife was the nights I was dry and basically wasted a very expensive diaper from not using it. On days I would wake up dry I wet it on purpose just to justify the use. I guess I'm old school as that still felt like a waste to me. Along the way I found out I liked being a bedwetter, it was kind of a turn on for me. I thought I was nuts, what grown man likes to wet his bed. I started researching adult bedwetting and holy crap, I found out I'm not the only weird one! I'm not nuts after all. I wanted to be wet every night but it wasn't happening. I had another surgery on my shoulder torn rotator cuff. They catheterized me I was watching the bag fill and I wasn't even realizing I was loosing urine. Light Bulb! As Gru says. Why don't I just get a catheter and wet inside my diapers I mean I don't have to use the collection bag. Easier said than done I ran into you got a prescription for that? No. I was looking on Wish.com low and behold catheters. I started waiting for the little window to pop up asking for a perscription. There wasn't any and they arrived. Unfortunately, they didn't come with a syringe to pump the bladder ball. Tryed using them without and they kept sliding out. Disapointment! I ordered a syringe. 6 weeks later it arrived. I had my catheter in me and it was staying. I diapered myself and went to bed. I awoke in a puddle my diapers couldn't handle everything my bladder sent their way that and my junk had moved and was in the wrong direction. I started thinking. You know but it's weird woman's panties would keep my pee pee down. I bought my first nylon woman's panties. It kept it pointed in the right direction all right but I still was soaking my bed as I was totally wet! I started buying diaper doublers, plastic pants anything I could think of to contain my urine. My diapers made me waddle I was so thickly diapered. I was happy I was waking up soaked every day without having to worry about wasting diapers. My wife usually watched our neighbors kids at night at their house. My neighbors work overnights. I could indulge and not have to worry about my wife thinking I'm weird. My neighbor got sick and we were together as my neighbor was home with the kids and my wife was home with me. I was usually cathed and diapered before her coming to bed. My wife was still supportive she knew that I had a bedwetting problem and as long as I cared for it. She never said a negative word to me. One night in in the process of cateterizing myself. She walks in with my catheter half in and half out. "Whoops!" "What are you doing she asked?" "Uhmmmm, I came clean told her about the past few months how I had been cathetered and I have been wetting my bed without any type of recollection." She asked me "Why?" "I told her it makes me feel naughty." She thought about it for a moment. "Could you make me feel naughty?" I think the smile on my face said it all. I let her start the catheter as I didn't know what hole it went into. The next thing is she is spraying urine. I got a diaper and contained most of her urine. I said "You haven't gone potty have you?" "No she said I was going to go pee in a few moments that's why I came in was to go. She said it felt weird but I loved it it was like no control at all like when I was little." She had the catheter in her. I diapered her thickly like I was! We cuddled in bed for the first time in months. I felt her move and she was feeling the inside of her diaper. "I'm soaked she said with a smile I feel naughty! Just like I used to feel when I was a little girl of 5 and wet my bed still." "You never told me you used to wet your bed?" I said! "I didn't, I thought I did, why do you think I never threw a fit about your bedwetting? I did until 7 years old. I missed it sometimes I like feeling babyish, not having control like this. Do you understand?" "Perfectly!" l said! We went into the bathroom and started. Getting out of our wet diapers and when I got to my panties. "Wow she said I love you! Can we get me some whitie tighties! I've always wanted some." She blushed. "Of course we can get you anything you want!" After we were scrubbed, all disposables disposed of, washables washing, she led me to our bed naked we spent the morning making love to each other. If I had to admit it, I believe it was one of our best sessions in all our years of marriage. It Was great. That day we got her whitie tighties she got me some cotton panties. She told me "They turn a golden yellow from your pee especially the crotches! At least they did when I was a kid!" I was not surprised that night when she came and wanted a catheter, she said "I already went pee! This time I got her ready and she got me ready. While she was doing me she said "I can already feel my pads inside my boys undies getting wet!" I knew what she meant! The next morning she was all smiles! "Daddy I'm wet she said!" I felt my manhood come to life. "I said me to mommy!" I saw her shiver she was turned on. She got on line most of the day, I didn't know what she was doing she spent over $300 dollars on things, was all she would say. About 3 weeks later all kinds of packages arrived. It was mostly onesies. Pacifiers, baby bottles with nipples the size I've never seen before. Other things she didn't want me to see. That night she got me naked after I went pee. Now I'm not the biggest guy down there. Porn stars will never have to worry about me putting them out of a job. After my catheters was in I felt a cold band around my testicles, then something went over my penis she had to smash it to get it to fit, I looked and I had a metal contraption over my penis. "What's this?" I asked as I saw the tip of my catheter poking out around hole in the end. "It's called a chastity cage!" She said! "What for I asked, I've been faithful to you." "I know, I know but I want to have you wear it!" "That's fine, I said but.." "But what?" "It's made of metal and I have to pass through a metal detector every morning to get to my office!" I work in the courts system I'm a keeper. "Oh Pooh!" She said I seen it was important to her. "How about nights and weekends, vacations." The smile returned to her face! "Just not daytimes at work." "Deal!" I said! She said "I got something for you, for me. She brought out an egg looking thing she put some lubricant on it and stuck it in her kitty. She handed me a little thing that looked like a car alarm but had a display. She turned it on and said move that side up! I did as I was told and she looked like she wanted to collapse! "You okay?" I asked! I hadn't made the connection that the higher I moved the dial up the more distressed she looked. I saw her leaking fluids they were running down her legs and dripping on the floor. That's when I realized the egg was a vibrator! I quickly turned down the volume, intensity and she began to breath again. "Sorry! I said I didn't realize what it was at first. "Quite alright she said I kind of enjoyed it! Again?" She asked? I was more than happy to oblige I didn't go as high as last time I saw her shudder and knew she was having an orgasm! I turned the tone down she looked more comfortable. She said "You're no fun!" This time I moved the dial up quickly she leapt 6 inches in the air! A moan escaped her mouth. Slowly I moved the dial down as she came off her tippy toes. I turned it off and she pulled the string out which brought the egg out as well. She smiled "I love it!" She said! "Me too!" I said! I was ready for sex but with the cage on me that was out of the question. She put my panties on and gave my cage a little pat. Now you got a clit like me and your wearing panties woman's panties! She got me dressed in my diapers and pads. She put new pink plastic panties on with pink ruffles and I heard a click they locked. I was locked inside my plastic panties. I dressed her and she had dark blue plastic panties that had light blue ruffles. Hers locked as well. Then the Onesies came out the pink one that I thought was hers was mine and the blue one was hers. I was given a pink baby bottle with milk. It had been a while but soon I was suckling like an old pro. After that she stuck a pink pacifier in my mouth and clipped the pink to strap you my pink onesie. Hers was blue. Next day when I awoke I said "Morning!" "Morning who?" She asked? I was confused. "Morning Mommy!" She said! "Okay Morning Mommy!" "How is my little sissy this morning?" Sissy? I thought then yep I'm pretty in pink. I thought "I'm good Mommy!" I said in one of my best little girl voices. She gave me a smile. "Is my little girl as wet as her mommy?" "Yes mommy I am!" Another smile. She led me to our bathtub in the outer hall she removed everything. She undid my cage and slowly pulled out my catheter. Then relocked it. She ran some bathwater and but some bubble bath in the tub it was very effeminate smelling. She got me in and began scrubbing me like she would a child. She said "I got to clean your clitty." She washed around my cage cleaning my testicles. She said your clitty is all clean she got me out and dried me off after rinsing the excess suds of. She had me undress her and called me daddy to let me know I was in that role now I cleaned up my little girl. I was dressed in pink womans undies again these were the softest I had felt. She used garters and slipped up pink nylons then a pink dress and a blonde wig with pigtails. She put her boys undies they were green and had the incredible hulk on them then a blue shirt that said play ball and had a baseball on it. Then Levis and a Indians baseball cap. Other than her hair she looked like a teen boy! "Today I'm the man. And your the girl got it?" "Yeah I got it!" We spent all day just playing different roles it was an eye opener just to see how the other half lived. That night my princess dress was removed as well as my cage and I got to be the man again. She became my wife again we made love well into the night.

As a child, What were the rules in your family when you wet the bed? For me, I usually woke up after wetting, put a thick towel over the wet spot and put the wet pyjamas in the laundry. Then I went back to sleep.😴 In the morning I had to confess the „accident“ to my mother and latest at breakfast all family knew.😳 While I was at school, my mother washed everything and the mattress stood on the balcony to dry. In my room (I shared with my younger sister) usually I found my yellow plastic pants (snap on) on the blue mattress protector, with a pile of cloth diapers, waiting for my afternoon swaddling. 😔 This always was the worst moment. Being put back in diapers after I was „dry since months“ (usually it was maybe 4-6 weeks)🫣 🧏‍♀️First „rule“ I had to wear my diapers every night for a week. After dinner I had to leave before my siblings and follow my mother „to get my baby pants on“, as my sister usually said. I hated that and was ashamed. 🧏‍♀️Second „rule“ If the diaper was wet within the week, one week turned into two weeks in which I had to wake up dry to be allowed to sleep like a big boy again. 🧏‍♀️Third „rule“ I then had a plastic cover in my bed for two months. 🧏‍♀️Forth „rule“ If I was wet I had to wash out the diaper pants (plastic pants with buttons) after school and hang them up to dry with the diapers my mother had already washed. This usually was in the garden (summer) or in the hallway outside the bathroom (winter). That way, everyone knew: “Tom has wet his bed again”. In the evening, my mother would get the diapers again and change me. Sometimes if my parents where out for theatre or meeting friends, this happened even before dinner, before our babysitter arrived. I remember I had to help set the table in some PJs over my thick padded bum. And after dinner watching a film with my siblings and the babysitter and feeling the diaper in my crotch, poking out for everyone to see. Strictly speaking, it was not a “rule” but a “tradition” (introduced by my aunt who had some younger kids but also a boy two years older than me. She recommended this part of „potty training“ to my mother) Potty training worked for all children in such a way that if you were dry during the day, the diaper was soon left off at night as well. If the bed was wet, there was another week of diapers, or two if the diaper was wet. But the younger siblings were careful not to treat me any differently. Then my bed was often dry for two months and when it was wet I was given a diaper again. Later, when all the children were dry at night (I was already 12), it stayed that way for a year, or two for me. Did your family had rules for your Bedwetting?

IAN AND VICKIE JOIN FORCES WITH A HARD BOILED PRIVATE EYE TO FOIL A GANG OF DESPERATE DIAPER THIEVES! SPATS BELMONDO Holidays are bad for business, and Thanksgiving and Christmas are the worst of them all. Especially here in the Twin Cities. It's not enough that the serial adulterers who are the mainstay of our business, cursed with the occasional twinge of conscience, opt to stay home with their families over the holidays. No, at this time of the year we also have to contend with blizzards and snowdrifts, which really ruin a wayward doctor's day, not to mention his nights. I ask you … how is the jerk supposed to interview the cream of the latest nursing school crop at a sleazy airport hotel down on the 494 Strip if the road's impassable? And even if by some miracle the highway department deigns to roll with the plows, where's he supposed to park? Leave the Volvo on a city street during a snow emergency, and you get towed. Put the BMW in the motel parking lot, and there's a fighting chance it'll still be there when the snow starts to melt sometime in March, or maybe April. Minnesota winters are not exactly predictable. No, there's no doubt about it: holidays are bad for business. Year after year, Twinkletoes and her trusty Olympus 35mm camera with its handy dandy collection of lenses and filters go their separate ways in mid-November, not to be reunited again until New Year's Eve, when things will finally start to get back to normal around here. Come early January, aggrieved wives will be storming through the door, eager to get the goods on their wayward spouses en route to a big payday in divorce court. Our paydays are somewhat more modest. Twinkletoes will cost you seventy five bucks an hour, plus expenses. Pat and I charge three hundred an hour, and we bill in six minute increments. Get the picture? Anyway, on the plus side the two of us have six weeks a year to catch up on our reading. Pat favors Playboy and Hustler. My taste runs to crossword puzzles. Anybody know a five letter Zulu word for an eland? Oh, and as for Julia? What can I say? The week before Thanksgiving is when she renews her acquaintance with the kitchen. It's an annual tradition. For six weeks, she cooks up a storm, and we all loosen our belts another notch (it's the Minnesota way). In any event, Twinkletoes is married to this really nice guy, so we'll overlook the fact that Herb Canon is a cop with more than twenty years on the force. Alas, it's impossible to overlook their winsome daughter, Priscilla. Pris is also a cop, of the campus variety, and she packs a mean right. A guy in a bar up nordeast recently called her Prissy, and she laid him out with one punch. No one paid much attention, this being a cop bar and all, and to his credit the guy got up, rubbed his jaw, apologized, and then offered to buy her a drink. She accepted graciously, and all was forgiven. He was lucky that Pris didn't break a cue stick over his skull. So here we were, Thanksgiving looming on the horizon, and nary a client in sight. Still, there were pluses, and the three of us did have reasons to be thankful. For one thing, we didn't have to worry about paying the rent because we owned the building. Our office was on the top floor-- all right, already … a second floor walk-up-- and there was a very good delicatessen down below. We shared Two with a guy selling insurance, and he had a dry cleaner's underfoot. We all did well because we were directly across the street from one of the largest hospitals in the state. Desperate nurses made periodic forays to the deli, the weekly pastrami on rye an antidote to what passed for food in the hospital cafeteria. The dry cleaners specialized in blood, vomit and assorted gore. The insurance guy did a booming business writing policies for the boats tied up along the St. Croix, including the houseboats that a small troop of physicians used for extracurricular activities all year round. And of course the soon to be ex-wives, most of them nurses past and present, were the mainstay of our own thriving concern. Julia got the goods with her trusty Olympus, and we nailed the cheaters to the proverbial courthouse wall. Over the years, from Stillwater to Prescott, many a houseboat title had changed hands thanks to our diligent efforts. In our experience, long suffering wives definitely had a thing for houseboats. To make a long story short, we were just marking time when the door opened and the Incredible Hulk filled our line of sight. It took the Hulk a few moments to figure out that he needed to do the sideways shuffle, or remain forever condemned to stand in the hallway. The sharpest stick in the bunch the Hulk definitely was not, and his jacket was at least two sizes too small. Still, the cannon that he was packing in a shoulder holster looked like a good fit for his hulk like hands. The second guy through the door was a celebrity, although not one whom we had had the honor of representing in court. In fairness, though, Spats Belmondo tended to favor extralegal solutions for his more pressing problems. You could buy a lot of lead for three hundred bucks an hour. “You want I should frisk them, Boss? Maybe look for a wire?” “Fuhgeddaboudit, Walley; deese guys ain't wearing no wires … not in their own office. Besides, dey didn't know we was comin'.” “Right on both counts, Spats … right on both counts. But what gives with the muscle?” I was nodding at the Hulk; a third fellow was now standing just inside the door. Short and wiry, wearing a fedora with the brow too low, he was sporting a mustache that looked like an oil slick. The black shirt and white tie were straight out of Hollywood. The guy couldn't pull off Bogart, but maybe he was going for Alan Ladd. “I mean, seriously. You've got a walleye on the payroll? Since when did the gorillas get shoved to the curb?” “Ha, ha; very funny, shamus. I like your sense of humor.” Spats settled into a chair on the opposite side of the desk and crossed his right leg. He studied the shine on his shoe, pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and flicked an imaginary piece of dust aside. “Julia's the shamus, Spats; I'm a mouthpiece, and my esteemed associate here is a legal eagle.” Pat had set the latest issue of Hustler aside, reluctantly joining the conversation. “It speaks,” Spats laughed. “For a moment dere, I thought yous was a potted plant!” The two bodyguards laughed politely. “Twinkletoes I get,” Spats continued, “but what's with Aardvark and Platypus? Those your real names?” “Andrew Jones and Pat Smith at your service,” I said. “Aardvark puts us first in the phone book, and I have absolutely no idea how Platypus came about. Pat, you remember?” “I was drunk at the time. I don't remember a damned thing.” “Smith and Jones? Jeez … yous was right to scratch 'em off the list. Smith and Wesson? Yeah, now that I could see.” The Hulk and his oily friend once again laughed politely. “To business,” Spats announced as he slapped his hands firmly on my desk. “I wanna hire da Twinkie to help me out with a lidda problem.” “Seventy-five dollars an hour, plus expenses, with a retainer of five hundred samolies, payable in advance and in cash.” I was not big on beating around the bush. Spats snapped his fingers, and the oil can stepped forward. He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket, and handed it to the mobster. Spats casually threw it on the desk. “Dere's a G in dere; if the Twinkster needs more, have her call this number ...” Spats slid a business card across the desk. “Lullaby Adult Diaper Service?” I stared at him blankly. “One of my more profitable enterprises,” Spats smirked. “We supply all dah nursing homes in the Cities, and we even got regular joes as customers. Why, we even got us a university guy, a regular war hero who got shot to pieces over there.” Spats nodded vaguely in the general direction of the Pacific coast. “Makes us look real classy.” “You mean Viet Nam?” “Yeah … maybe … hell, I don't know. We're fightin' so many wars in so many places … who can keep track?” “You have a point. And with whom at your diaper service are we supposed to speak?” “My niece, Harriet. Nicolo's little girl, only she's all grown up now. She fronts dah whole operation, and she runs a real tight ship.” “Ah,” I said, the truth dawning as I looked more closely at the card. “Miss Harriet Belmondo.” Fingering the card, I leaned forward, just a fellow conspirator trying to get an update. “So, what's the play, Spats? How can we help?” “Somebody's stealing my diapers,” Spats growled. . . . . “No, Ian, really … there's no need to apologize. Many of our individual customers suspend service for a week or two, especially during the holidays. If you're going out of town for a family gathering, you can't very well carry a diaper pail on the plane with you.” Sitting at an adjoining desk, Francine Sullivan could hear the young professor's voice through the phone, but she could not make out what he was saying. Still, it was easy enough to fill in the blanks. “No, no, there's no inconvenience. Your service is on Wednesday; giving us notice two days in advance is more than enough time. Can you call Monday next to confirm resumption of service?" More mumbling on the line. “That's a good idea. Give me a number next Monday, and I'll adjust your order. No sense in paying for three dozen if you will only need two. How's your car doing? Still down for the count?” Mumble, mumble. “It must be so hard for you, this being your first winter. And I got used to you driving out here on Wednesday afternoons to process your order in person. Do you realize that you are the only customer I've ever met? Everybody else is just a name, address and telephone number in the files.” Mumble. “No! I appreciate how embarrassing it was for you to leave two bags of dirty diapers sitting in the hallway all day long when you left for work, where your neighbors couldn't help but see them. And then there's our brightly colored delivery truck pulling into the parking lot of an adults only complex. None of this could have been easy for you, so I was happy to help.” Ian started to mumble yet again, but Harriet cut him off. “No, Ian, it's never been an inconvenience, and please, stop apologizing for the day you came in just as we were closing. It's not every day that a guy apologizes for something so trivial by taking a hungry gal out to dinner! And my offer still stands. I can drive down on Wednesday nights after you get home from work, and do the pick up and drop off in person. I would be barely going out of my way, so it would really be no trouble at all. So, will you at least think about it?” One last mumble. “You will? That's great! Enjoy Thanksgiving!” Harriet hung up the phone with a long sigh. “Not going out of your way?' Francine had a very knowing grin. “Harry, you live on Lake Minnetonka, and he's down in Bloomington, which, the last time I looked, is half way to Iowa! The two of you are barely in the same time zone!” “I know, I know, but what can I say? He told my uncle that the tagliatelle was to die for, and the gnocchi the best he's ever eaten. He praised the wine list, raved about the Valpolicella … and he did all this in Italian so polished that my uncle mistook him for an aristocrat from Milan or the lake district. He even tore up the bill-- and Rudy never comps anybody for anything! It was the best date I've ever had!” “Someone's got a crush … nah de nah de nah nah,” Francine teased. “But he's not Italian, he's not Catholic, and he not only wears diapers and pees in them … he poops in them! Sorry, Harry, but this guy is definitely a no-no. Your uncle would have a fit if he found out about your date, and you can count your lucky stars that Rudy chose to keep his lip zipped.” “I know, Francie; I know. But a girl's entitled to the odd fantasy, isn't she? And you don't know what it's like! Every, single Sunday after Mass, Ariana rubs it in … 'you're twenty-six and still no husband? My Francesca is your age, and she's expecting her third bambino any day now'. I am so sick of it!” “Shitty diapers,” Francine countered. She knew that Harriet needed to get out more, but being a Belmondo was a social curse as well as a financial blessing. No one wanted to date a notorious gangster's favorite niece-- at least, no one respectable. “True, and believe me … I've peeked into his dirty diapers. Yuk!!! But you forgot something. Ian's a professore! Uncle Vinnie would kill to have a professor in the family!” . . . . “I can't believe how easy it is to rip these people off,” Cindy crowed. “I mean … seriously? The driver drops off bags of clean diapers at the front door, picks up the used and walks off. He doesn't even bother to ring the bell. Who are these morons, anyway?” “The gift that keeps on giving,” Melanie laughed. “Just think. A week's worth of adult diapers for one of their customers is enough to keep one of our pigeons in diapers for a week as well, and the baby diapers make wonderful stuffers! The photographs should be enough to keep them in line, but if need be, we can always up the ante by threatening to send them to class with a dozen baby diapers stuffed inside their already bulging pants!” “And I can't wait to track them down in the laundromat,” she added as she checked the mirror, making sure that one of their sisters in a trailing car would be stopping to execute the snatch and grab. “I'll be there offering to help them fold their nice, clean diapees! God, how I love humiliating these jerks!” “A pigeon here and a pigeon there,” Cindy hummed, “means easy A's in physics, chemistry, astronomy, calculus … am I leaving anything out?” “Why stop there? Beg, borrow and steal the diapers … invest a little of our own cash in lovely, pink baby pants … seduce the brainiac with a blow job, promise him real sex if he just indulges a teensy, weensy innocent little fantasy, click, click-- don't worry, dear, the photos are just to remember you by-- and then blackmail the twerp for four years to do all of our coursework! Our house ends up with the highest GPA on sorority row, and we get to spend four homework free years partying like there's no tomorrow. The frat boys will love us, especially if we get our pigeons to do their homework as well.” “And our misbegotten parents will be so thrilled when we all graduate Phi Beta Kappa!” “The ultimate bang for their tuition bucks,” Melanie concluded, watching the diaper delivery truck round the corner and ease to a stop at the next house on its route. . . . . “Give me the skinny, Spats. We looking at a B&E at the laundry? Or did somebody hijack one of your delivery trucks?” “Nah, nuttin like dat. It looks like somebody's tailing the driver. He makes the pick up an drop, an takes off. Before yous can say 'Frank sent me', somebody runs up and puts the snatch on my diapers. I want da Twinkster to find the guilty party, and den get back to me.” “No police involvement?” Spats gave me a sour look. It was eloquence itself. “Dey even ripped off Fredo's load. Can yous believe it? My brudder … my poor brudder … some asswipe stole his diapers right offa da front porch!” “How's Freddy doing these days? Getting any better?” “Nah. Dey held his head under water too long.” “Toothpick Charlie,” Pat suddenly exclaimed. “That's who he reminds me of,” he went on, nodding at the walking oil slick. “Toothpick Charlie!” “Yeah,” I said, snapping my fingers, “the resemblance is astonishing! And you, Spats; did anyone ever tell you that you look just like George Raft?” “Who?” “Spats Colombo … you know … the Windy City hood that got bumped off by Little Bonaparte down in Florida at the annual Friends of Italian Opera convention.” “I don't know nuttin bout dat. And da convention was in Vegas, not Florida. We ain't been to Florida since the Commies took Havana. Dat bearded guy ain't no friend of Italian opera.” “So, when did Fredo lose his diapees, anyway?” Spats turned to look over his shoulder. “Last Monday.” Toothpick Charlie's voice was as lugubrious as his mustache. “There has to be a gang of diaper thieves out there, because they followed the driver from stop to stop, and stole everything that wasn't nailed down.” “Dis here's Pauly, my Consigliere. He keeps an eye on things for me.” “Any chance that a rival gang is trying to muscle in on your territory, maybe another diaper service?” “Geesh! Come on guys, act yours age. If we was dealin' with a competitor, I wouldn't need da Twinkster, now would I? Geesh!” “Point well taken, Spats … point well taken.” “Wally rode shotgun on Tuesday and Wednesday.” The oil slick nodded at his companion the Hulk. Now that Spats had taken off his muzzle, Charlie seemed determined to talk us to death. “We knocked on doors, and if somebody answered, we delivered the diapers and best wishes for the holidays. But every drop where there was nobody home? On both days, they all went missing. The hit to our inventory, both baby and adult, has been significant. If we don't get our diapers back, service will be interrupted, and we'll lose customers. Can't have that, gentlemen; the diaper business is very profitable.” “What about the university guy? Was he condemned to spend Thanksgiving peeing in his pants?” “Nah. He called Harriet on Monday. He was goin' outta town or somethin', so he got no service. Unless somebody broke into his pad, his stash is safe.” “Good to know. Well, here's what we're going to do. I'll phone Julia and get her ass in gear. She'll start tomorrow. What time's your first truck roll?” “Eight sharp.” The Toothpick was obviously in command of the details. “Okay. Best guess is that she'll want to tail your driver, and see if she can spot somebody else clinging to his fender. However, at some point she'll want to drop by the shop and have a chat with Harriet. You know the drill, Spats … always look for an unhappy employee, or one down on his luck. Nine times out of ten, these capers turn out to be inside jobs.” “Good thinkin', Aardvark. I'll get Harriet on the blower, and let her know what's up. She's a good kid, and she's takin' this personally. She wants her diapers back, period, end of story.” Spats climbed to his feet, tipped his fedora, and strolled out of the room with the same casual grace that he had displayed entering it. His spats were spotless. . . . . So there we were, Pat and I, alone once more, but with an envelope stuffed with hundred dollar bills sitting quietly atop my desk. I looked over at Pat, wondering if he was also thinking that having Spats Belmondo for a client was about the stupidest thing we had ever done. Pat shrugged, picked up his copy of Hustler, and resumed reading, or looking at photos of naked ladies, whatever it was that Pat actually did when he opened the covers of one of his dirty magazines. I didn't really want to know, and so far had managed to refrain from finding out. Instead, I picked up the phone and dialed the Canon residence. It was time to let Twinkletoes know that we had a client who was rich and appreciative of her expertise. It remained to be seen whether she would be less than enthusiastic about solving the case of the missing diapers on behalf of the shadiest mobster in the Twin Cities. . . . . “We need more diapers,” Cindy summed up. “We simply do not have the resources with which to blackmail the braniacs who can make all of our academic problems go away, for the simple reason that the list of our academic shortcomings is inexhaustible. If we don't want to lose our charter, we need more diapers.” Cindy was addressing the sorority's brain trust. Trailing the diaper service truck for the first three days of Thanksgiving week had netted them a huge pile of baby diapers, but precious few of the adult variety. In fact, they only had enough to entrap three pigeons, which would nicely cover physics, chemistry and calculus, but the rest of the curriculum was a gigantic black hole eager to swallow the sorority whole. “We could all spend more time hitting the books,” Joyce suggested helpfully. “You know … reduce our exposure.” “Oh, please,” Melanie snorted. Joyce was only in the house because she was a legacy, and she was only on the Council because her older sister had been on the Council. In Melanie's opinion, Joyce Wiggins was proof positive that something had gone terribly wrong with the whole fraternity system. “Does anybody else have any bright ideas?” Cindy shared Melanie's opinion of both the fraternity system in general and Joyce Wiggins in particular. “I have a suggestion,” Tippi started to say. “Who the fuck let that cat in here,” Janis screamed. “Everybody in the house knows that I'm allergic to cat hair. And who the fuck would name a cat 'Blofeld' in the first place? That's just plain sick!” “As I was saying.” Tippi tried again. “Blofeld is an oriental shorthair, and they don't shed,” Melanie sniffed. “So, calm down, already.” “And what's with you and psychopaths, anyway? I mean, really … you boo Batman, and cheer for the Joker. You don't get Smart, but you write fan letters to Siegfried. And you name your fucking cat after the creepiest guy ever to crawl across the silver screen. And who put you in charge of this meeting, anyway?" “Actually, Cindy's in charge.” “Would anyone like to hear my idea,” Tippi asked yet again. A tall, slender, hauntingly beautiful nineteen year old blonde from New Ulm, Tippi rarely spoke up. In fact, she worked hard to stay out of the limelight. Tippi's parents had not done their daughter any favors when they named her for New Ulm's most famous export. From elementary school to university, every boy who crossed her path had asked her the same, dreary question. “Tippi has the floor,” Cindy proclaimed, pounding the table with her gavel in a bold attempt to restore order. “Laying low today was a good idea because we have to assume that whoever owns the diaper service will now have someone shadowing his delivery truck. For the same reason, we should back off tomorrow as well. Rather than trailing the truck, we should send a team to hang out at three different addresses on his route-- addresses widely spaced. If we spot one car at all three locations, we'll know what's what. Then, we get back to work on Wednesday, but we only target one drop … the large, adults only apartment complex down in Bloomington that he hit late in the afternoon two weeks ago. There'll be at least a week's worth of used diapers waiting outside somebody's door, which I am going to steal before the driver gets there. We'll stuff some dirty, old rags into the bag so that it looks and feels the same, and once he's gone, I'll also grab the clean diapers. We get two weeks worth of adult diapers in one go, and give these creeps the middle finger in the process. Then we give our pigeons enough diapers for three or four days, forcing them to visit the laundromat twice a week … for double the humiliation. We'll end up with maybe nine guys doing our coursework, and the Great Diaper Heist of 1979 will be just another unsolved crime.” “Any other ideas,” Cindy asked as she scanned the room. “No? Then we'll vote on Tippi's proposal in accordance with house rules. All in favor so signify by touching the tip of your nose with your right hand; all opposed so signify by grabbing your left ear lobe with your left hand.” Cindy once again scanned the room. “The ayes have it, and the vote is unanimous. Tippi and I will take care of business tomorrow, and on Wednesday. The rest of you get to work drawing up a target list. Finals are just a couple of weeks away, and some of us have term papers. We need to trap our pigeons this weekend, and have them in diapers by Monday next at the latest!”

These are the first three chapters of a story I'm writing. I have two more chapters planned, maybe more. I use AI to help with the writing and editing, but even then it is a lot of work to complete a chapter. I'd like to hear what you think of this story so far. Chapter 1: The Wet Roads to Wettle Farm “Are we there yet?” I asked, trying to elicit a reaction from the car’s occupants. Anything to break the monotony of this boring journey. We’d been driving all day, crawling through this dreary, rain-soaked countryside at a snail’s pace. The monotonous sound of the windscreen wipers and the rhythmic patter of raindrops on the windshield only amplified my restlessness. How much longer could this endless drive continue before something, anything, finally changed? I shifted in my seat, desperate for any sign that our arrival was finally near—anything to end this mind-numbing trek through nowhere. As the youngest child in the car, I played an important role in keeping up the traditional complaints. I, the smallest, was stuck in the middle seat, sandwiched between my two older sisters who looked at me with a mix of disbelief and amusement, silently questioning whether my childish remark was genuine or just a silly joke. “Soon, Lucas” my dad replied with a weary chuckle, taking the bait. “And by ‘soon,’ I mean before your next birthday,” Dad teased. He glanced at mom, Laura, who was gripping the steering wheel and squinting through the windshield at the road markings that were barely visible through the heavy rain. “We’re all ready to get out of this rolling torture chamber”, Laura just smiled and shook her head, her eyes never leaving the road. “That’s next year,” I said, indignantly, ignoring his last remark. I wouldn’t be eleven for a while yet. We were heading to my grandparents Betty and Robert’s farmhouse for our annual family reunion—a cherished tradition I looked forward to each year—gathering in October after the harvest, when everyone’s finally free. The Wettle family was a close family, and with my grandparents having four children, all married, with children of their own, there was no shortage of cousins. The reunions had become increasingly crowded, with cousins spilling into every corner, it only made the chaos feel more like a cosy hug—a lively tradition we all loved. As mom finally turned the car onto the stretched-out, muddy driveway that wound its way to the farm, dad leaned forward in his seat, his eyes scanning the fields around us. “Looks like the rain’s let up just in time,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and anticipation. “Betty and Robert must be excited to have the whole family together again.” The rain had mercifully stopped, leaving behind that fresh, earthy smell. I counted the cars already parked haphazardly near the old farmhouse. Three. We were the last family to arrive at another wonderfully chaotic Wettle reunion. “Last but not least,” dad said with a grin as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “You know what they say, save the best for last. Let’s not keep everyone waiting.” He flashed a wink at Lucas before opening the car door, the cool autumn air rushing in to meet us. I stared at the weathered camper parked beside the barn—that’s where the older boys always bunked together, and I desperately wanted to earn my place in that sacred brotherhood. I imagined them staying up all night telling ghost stories with flashlights under their chins, maybe even sneaking candy bars and trading Pokemon cards by lamplight. The cream-coloured camper with its rust-stained wheel wells and faded racing stripes looked like the coolest fort ever, complete with its own little windows glowing yellow against the gray October evening. As my mother eased our car into the last available spot, Uncle Richard’s familiar laugh boomed from the porch while cousin Alex bounded down the creaky steps, both ready to help us haul our weekend bags into the beautiful, chaotic warmth of another family reunion. Just as Alex reached for a particularly large duffel, Dad quickly intervened. “Whoa there, Alex,” he said with a chuckle, gently steering him away. “That one’s got Lucas’ and Lisa’s old clothes for the swap tomorrow. You know how your mom and Aunt Laura love that hand-me-down tradition. We’ll sort through all of that chaos tomorrow in the light of day.” I carried my own bag inside, surprised by how much heavier it felt than when I’d packed it this morning. Mom must have slipped in some extra things while I wasn’t looking—probably the usual “just in case” items she always packed for family trips, though I tried not to think too hard about what those might be. As I made my way through the bustling hallway, I spotted Grandma Betty wrapping my cousin Mark in one of her signature bear hugs. “Mark! Oh my stars, look how tall you’ve gotten!” Grandma Betty’s voice boomed through the hallway. “I swear you’ve grown a foot,” she continued, holding him at arm’s length to get a better look. “You’re going to be taller than your daddy before you know it. Are you eating your vegetables like I told you?” Mark grinned, still caught in her firm but loving grip. “Yes, Grandma. Mom makes me eat broccoli every night.” “Good boy. That’s what makes you grow big and strong.” She ruffled his hair affectionately. “You are bunking together in the little boys’ room upstairs with Lucas”, she said eyeing me, “go bring you bags up, and claim the beds, before your little Nephews do.” My heart sank at Grandma’s words. The little boys’ room? I’d been dreaming of earning my spot in that weathered camper with the older cousins all year long. Instead, I was being lumped together with Mark and the younger kids upstairs. I grabbed my bag with deflated enthusiasm, trudging toward the creaky wooden staircase. At least claiming the better bed might salvage some dignity from this disappointing room assignment. Maybe next year I’d finally be old enough for the coveted camper brotherhood. I grabbed the handle of my bag and started toward the wooden staircase, but the thing felt like it was stuffed with rocks. Mark was already bounding up the steps two at a time, his own bag swinging on his back, while was using my two hands to lift my bag. “Lucas! Oh my sweet boy!” Grandma Betty’s voice called out as she spotted me, defenceless, luggage in my arms, at the foot of the stairs. She hurried over, her arms already outstretched, and before I knew it she’d wrapped both me and my bag in one of her famous bear hugs, practically lifting me off the ground with bag and all. “Goodness gracious, what did your mother pack in here?” she chuckled, still holding me tight against her flour-dusted apron. “This bag weighs almost as much as you do, honey!” “I don’t know,” I mumbled into her shoulder, feeling both embarrassed about struggling with the bag and grateful for her warm embrace. “It wasn’t this heavy when I packed it.” “Well, mothers always know what their boys might need,” she said with a wink and a chuckle, finally releasing me but keeping one hand on my shoulder. “Your parents are always looking out for you, even when you don’t realize it. Now, better hustle upstairs and claim that bed before your cousin Mark beats you to the best spot, alright?” I dragged my bag upstairs, feeling the weight Throb with each step, the wooden stairs creaking softly beneath my feet. “Need a hand?” Mark yelled from the door of our room, his voice cheerful and eager. I ignored him—he was only seven. I didn’t need his help, not when I could do it all myself. On the door was a note in my grandma’s old-fashioned handwriting, the script slightly shaky but warm—”Lucas, Mark, Nathan, David.” The words made me pause for a moment, a little ache in my chest. I sighed, my gaze flickering to the window just beyond the staircase. Nathan and David, the smallest of the bunch, like little lost kittens, were probably still outside in the yard or in the house somewhere, happy to be out of sight. The house was a classic 1920’s farmhouse—white-painted walls with dark green shutters that looked slightly weathered but sturdy enough to hold in all the memories of generations. The creaking of the old floorboards under my feet echoed softly, whispering stories of long ago. As I entered the room, the smell of aged wood, faintly spiced with a hint of musty linen, filled the air—a comforting, familiar scent that clung to the house like a warm blanket. The walls were panelled with dark, polished pine, giving the room a cosy, slightly nostalgic feel. In the centre, two mattresses sat on the cracked hardwood floor, covered in faded bed linen. Nearby, Nathan and David’s bags—small duffels in bright, cheerful colours—rested on them, waiting for the boys to return. Thankfully, the young boys weren’t in sight, their tiny voices and giggles echoing faintly from somewhere downstairs or the yard, blending with the distant murmur of voices from the porch and the occasional clang from the kitchen. An open package of pull-up diapers was sitting at the head of one of the mattresses, the cartoon characters on the packaging grinning up at me mockingly. I wrinkled my nose and looked away quickly, my jaw tightening. Of course the “little boys’ room” would have baby stuff scattered around. It made the whole situation feel even more insulting—here I was, ten years old, lumped in with kids who still needed diapers. I noticed other telltale signs too: cartoon dinosaur sitting on the windowsill, and what looked like a small stuffed elephant peeking out from under one of the bags. The room suddenly felt more like a nursery than a place where I belonged. Mark, had already claimed the best bed—the snug, secluded spot tucked behind the door on the left. His face was lit up with a grin that stretched widely across his sunny face, eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement. “Hi!”, he said enthusiastically. I carefully placed my feet on the creaky floor, mindful not to step on the freshly made mattresses. I finally dropped my bag on the bed on the right, next to the door. With a soft creak the bed accepted the heavy bag. Mark suddenly bounced up from his bed, clutching something in his hands. As he approached, I could see it was a bright yellow Game Boy, the chunky plastic device looking almost new despite the worn sticker of Sonic the Hedgehog plastered on the back. “Lucas! Look what I got for my birthday!” Mark exclaimed, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. “It’s got Tetris AND Super Mario Land! Wanna play? We can take turns!” I couldn’t help but notice how much taller Mark had gotten since we last saw each other earlier this year. He was practically at eye level with me now, maybe only three or four centimetres shorter. It was weird—and honestly kind of annoying—how fast he was growing. Here I was, ten years old, and my seven-year-old cousin was catching up to me. “That’s... pretty cool,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed even though the bright screen was already drawing my attention. “Come on, you can go first!” Mark thrust the Game Boy toward me, his grin infectious. “I’ve been practising Tetris all week, but I bet you’re still better at it. You always were good at the puzzles.” My shoulders relaxed a little. “Well... I guess I could show you a few tricks,” I said, accepting the device. The familiar weight of it in my hands was satisfying. “Yes!” Mark plopped down on my bed next to me, bouncing slightly. “And then maybe we could see who can get the highest score? I brought extra batteries too, so we don’t have to worry about it dying.” “Alright,” I said, feeling my competitive spirit kick in. “But don’t cry when I beat your high score.” Mark laughed. “We’ll see about that! And hey, maybe later we could explore the attic? I heard Uncle Richard saying something about old board games up there.” My eyes widened and I sat up straighter on the bed. “Really? The attic?” I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think Grandma would let us go up there by ourselves?” “Probably better to ask Grandpa,” Mark whispered back, matching my tone. “Uncle Richard said there’s boxes and boxes of old stuff up there. And games from when our parents were kids!” I could feel my heart beating faster. “What kind of games? And what else is up there?” The Game Boy suddenly felt less important in my hands as I imagined dusty treasures hidden in the shadows above us. Mark’s grin grew even wider. “I don’t know. We could be like... like explorers or something. Finding lost treasure!” “Yeah!” I bounced slightly on the bed, then caught myself and glanced toward the door. “We’d have to be really quiet though. And bring a flashlight in case it’s too dark.” “I brought one!” Mark practically vibrated with excitement. “It’s in my bag. We could go after dinner when all the adults are talking downstairs.” Just then, heavy footsteps echoed on the creaky stairs, and Mark’s dad Michael appeared in the doorway with a large, unopened package of diapers tucked under his arm. The moment Mark spotted it, his entire body went rigid. His excited chatter about the attic died instantly, replaced by tense silence as his eyes tracked the package like a hawk watching prey. Huggies Overnites, the same thick nighttime diapers I’d worn when younger, before I’d mostly stopped wetting the bed. So Mark was still in diapers too. Mark’s jaw clenched as his dad walked over and set the package down beside his bed with a soft thud. Mark shot him a look that could have melted steel, his earlier enthusiasm completely evaporated, but he didn’t say a word. His hands fidgeted with the Game Boy, gripping it tighter. “You boys coming down?” Michael asked, glancing between us before his eyes settled on Mark’s tense posture. He stepped closer to his son, placing a gentle hand on Mark’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, champ,” he said softly, “we’ll get you all set for bed later, okay? You’re a Wettle—no need to worry about a little thing like that.” His words carrying a hint of humour. “Now, dinner’s almost ready. You two better hurry before all the good food’s gone!” Chapter 2: The Little Boys’ Room After dinner, the farmhouse living room buzzed with laughter and snippets of half-finished stories. I hovered just behind the arm of the sofa, peering toward Mom, who was sitting nearby and listening to Aunt Karen tell a story about preschool chaos. My shoulder pressed against the sofa’s soft cushion as I leaned more heavily into it, finding the perfect spot where I could rest without actually sitting down. Emily lounged on the rug nearby, her head nestled between two older girls, chattering softly about something I couldn’t hear. Mom caught my eye, then leaned over and gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Alright, kiddo,” she said, just loud enough for me to hear over the noise, “time for you to head up, okay? I’ve already put your mattress protector on; your pyjamas are folded on your pillow, and your toothbrush is upstairs in the bathroom.” “But Emily gets to stay down here.” I muttered, glancing at her absorbed in girl talk, with no mention of her bedtime. Mom lowered her voice and gave me a gentle smile. “You know Grandma—the little boys go first.” I sighed, casting an envious glance Emily’s way, but Mom just gave my shoulder another quick squeeze. Go on, sweetheart, brush your teeth. I’ll be up in a bit to check on you.” Behind me, Uncle Richard burst into laughter, his voice booming through the hallway, blending into the ambient hum of the family scene. The light dimmed behind me, casting shadows across the hallway, and the muffled voices of the party softened into silence as I climbed the creaky old staircase towards the sounds of chaos that were escaping from my assigned room. I waded into the room, which was stuffed with bags and beds. Nathan and David were already in their nightshirts and pull-ups, bouncing around. I kicked off my shoes and started peeling off my shirt, tossing them onto the floor beside my bed, along with my socks and underwear. The familiar routine felt automatic, providing a sense of normalcy in this cramped space. “Lucas! Lucas! Come play with us!” Nathan called out excitedly, waving some toy car in the air while David giggled and jumped on his mattress. I stood there awkwardly, butt naked, one leg in my pyjama pants like a flamingo, while they harassed me. Nothing says ‘join the fun’ like two toddlers in crinkly pull-ups staring at your bare butt like it’s the main attraction at a zoo. Here I was, ten years old, stuck in a room with kids who still needed diapers. Fortunately Mark appeared in the doorway just as I was pulling my pyjama shirt over my head, distracting them. I left the room to go and brush my teeth. In the bathroom I recognised the red and blue handle of my toothbrush with the web pattern details. It’s white bristles parted slightly. And started brushing my teeth, trying to ignore the ruckus coming from ‘my’ room. When I returned, Nathan and David had managed to involve Mark in their chaotic play. David was sprawled on his stomach, making elaborate crash sounds as he drove his toy car in circles around the room, while Nathan giggled and tried to build some kind of tower with blocks he’d pulled from god knows where. Mark sat cross-legged between them, smiling as David handed him a second car. “Actually, dinosaurs could run faster than some cars,” David declared confidently, making his toy car leap over Nathan’s makeshift tower, showing his vivid imagination. Nathan clapped his hands and immediately knocked the blocks down himself, sending them scattering across the cramped floor. “Why did you do that?” Mark asked, but he was already giggling as Nathan launched into an explanation that made no sense but involved a lot of hand gestures. I sighed heavily, sitting on my bed in my Spider-Man pyjamas, legs crossed, eyes tracing the chaos. They were completely oblivious to how irritating they were being, ransacking the room and making noise just when I wanted to sit quietly and sulk alone about being sent up here like a helpless kid. To add insult to injury, Mark was wearing the same Spiderman as I did. How alike Mark and I looked in our matching pyjamas, yet how worlds apart I felt. My attention snapped to Karen’s voice, cutting through the chaos like a referee’s whistle. “Nathan, David, it’s time to brush your teeth!” Karen announced softly, clapping her hands gently. The ransacking stopped abruptly as Nathan and David groaned in unison, their protests echoing off the walls. Mark shot me a look, as he too shuffled toward the door, following them to do the same. Within seconds, the room had emptied, leaving behind scattered toys, bags, clothes, and above all, a blessed silence. Finally, I could sulk properly without an audience witnessing my humiliation. I flopped back dramatically on my bed, staring up at the ceiling with its little cracks in the paint. This was so unfair. Emily got to stay downstairs with the teenagers, probably talking about makeup or whatever it was that older kids discussed when they thought they were so mature. Meanwhile, here I was, lumped in with a bunch of babies who couldn’t even keep their toys organised for five minutes without turning the place into a disaster zone. I rolled onto my side, glaring at the scattered blocks and toy cars littering the floor. Nathan was four—four!—and David wasn’t much better at five. And Mark, even though he was seven, might as well have been their age with how he’d gotten swept up in their ridiculous games. Ten years old should count for something. I could read chapter books, I knew my multiplication tables and I had been out of diapers for years now. I tried to remember when—I thought I was around Mark’s age when my bed-wetting got better and I stopped wearing them. But none of that mattered to Grandma’s room assignments. “Little boys go first,” Mom had said, like I was no different from my diaper wearing cousins who couldn’t even brush their own teeth. I grabbed my pillow and hugged it against my chest, feeling the sting of being treated like a baby when I was clearly so much more grown up than that. “But why do I have to wear this diaper?” Mark’s voice argued, while his dad gently pushed him into the room. “Lucas isn’t wearing one!” He gestured at me frantically, his eyes wide. “We’re even wearing the same Spiderman pyjamas! It’s not fair!” I pushed myself up, again aware of how similar we looked in our matching outfits. I sighed, I loved these pyjama’s, Spiderman was just the best, and that Mark though so too was just a coincidence. Hearing Mark argue like this, like a little child made my cheeks flush with secondhand embarrassment. “Mark please,” his dad sighed, pulling open the bag of Huggies Overnites diapers with a loud ripping sound that echoed through the room. “We’ve talked about this. Your pull-ups have been leaking a lot lately and we can’t have that happening here.” “But I don’t want Lucas to see them!” Mark’s voice cracked on my name, pleading his dad with his eyes. My stomach clenched with sympathy as I watched Mark struggle, unsure how to help him. Michael gently steered Mark toward the bed, gesturing for him to lie down. “Lucas understands, buddy. Don’t you, Lucas?” I nodded mutely as Mark reluctantly laid back on the mattress. “No! I can do it myself!”, Mark said, trying to grab the diaper, but his dad held it out of reach. “Mark, no, please,” Michael said firmly, the lines around his mouth tightening. “These are a little different than you pull-ups. I’ll show you how to put it on,” and then he added gently. “Otherwise you still wake up in a wet bed, and that’s not a nice feeling, isn’t it?” Mark tried to get up again, his jaw set in stubborn defiance. “Lucas isn’t wearing a diaper, and he’s only a little bigger than me!” I saw Michael’s patience fading, the white diaper clenched tightly in his fist. “That’s because Lucas doesn’t wet the bed anymore, Mark. Now, lift your hips, so I can get this on you.” I kept quiet, recalling my own embarrassing accident just a month ago. I had woken up slowly in the early morning, cocooned in my warm blanket, with the sound of rain pattering against the window. As I lay on my back, feeling like I was almost floating, I’d felt a light tingeing sensation in my groin. It’d felt pleasant, and incredibly relaxing. As a soothing warmth spread through my crotch, realisation crashed over me, the cosy feeling vanishing in an instant. I was peeing. I pulled back the covers, startled, to assess the situation. This was different from my occasional wetting accidents, this time I had been aware as it happened. I sat up. A large, dark, tell-tale wet spot, was starkly visible on the front of my red pyjama pants. I had stopped peeing. My bottom felt wet, but still warm, almost hot. My pyjama top was mostly dry. I got up and inspected the bed, noting the large wet spot where I’d been lying. What should I do? Normally, my parents would find me in the morning, or I would get up by myself and get dressed when I had wet the bed. However, it was still very early in the morning, and everyone else was still asleep. Should I wake them? My wet pyjama pants clung to my bottom as I walked to the bathroom. Looking around, undecided for a moment, I took my towel and still wearing my pyjama pants, started drying myself off, It sort of worked—my pyjama pants were still damp—but not as uncomfortable as before. I took another towel to address the wet spot on my bed. Back in my room, I started rubbing the wet spot in my bed vigorously, yet it persisted. Resigned, I spread the towel over the spot and climbed back into bed. Still bothered by the cold, wet fabric of pyjama pants, I stuffed the other towel into my pants to keep the damp fabric away from my skin. That made a big difference. Proud of myself for my inventiveness and knowing that everything would be dry by morning, I had soon fallen back asleep, snug and dry again. The thick, folded towel feeling strangely familiar against my skin, almost comforting. Mark and his father’s continued back and forth pulled me from my thoughts, back into the moment. “Mark, you can take off your diaper yourself in the morning,” his dad explained, “and if it’s wet, you take it off in the shower, just like at home.” I looked at Mark, who was now lying on his back, staring defiantly at the diaper. “Mark, please”, his father said. “It's the same thing you wear at home each night.” “Not. This one has tapes and is for stupid babies” His father’s patience finally snapped, and in one swift motion, he grabbed Mark by the ankles with one hand, lifting his legs while pulling down his pyjama bottoms with his other hand, still holding the diaper. He shoved the diaper under Mark, who stunned by the sudden action, was already lowered back onto the diaper before he realised what was happening. Mark cried out, his voice a mix of shock and protest. Ignoring Mark’s cry, his father pulled the front of the diaper up over his stomach, positioned it with few tugs and closed the tapes. The entire process took only a few seconds. “There,” his father said, his voice calm but firm. “All done. Now, let’s get your pyjamas back on so you can go to sleep.” Mark just lay there. “Are you going to pull up your pants yourself, or do you want me to do it?” his father asked him. Then as his father started pulling his pants back up, Mark grabbed them and helped the last bit. “I see you’re frustrated and tired, buddy, let’s go to sleep, okay? You’ll feel better in the morning” “I’m taking it off,” Mark said defiantly as his father started to move to the door. His father stopped, turning back to face Mark. “If you take that diaper off, you’re going to be in trouble, young man,” he warned, his voice stern. “I’m certainly not in the mood for dealing with a wet bed in this cramped house tonight.” His father then paused in the door frame, pondering for a bit before walking back into the room and taking a Huggies diaper out of the package. “Goodnight, boys,” he said, his voice sounding tired. “Sleep well.” With his father gone, the room turned silent. Mark rolled himself into his blanket, turning his back to the door. I watched him, feeling a mix of relief that the drama had ended and a twinge of sympathy for my cousin. It couldn’t be easy being the oldest of the little boys and still needing diapers at night. It had been awkward watching Mark have such a tantrum, just because he had to wear a different kind of diaper. I knew how much he looked up to me, wanting to be seen as more grown-up, but I didn’t fully understand why it bothered him so much. After all, he was still one of the little boys, even if he was the oldest among them. Karen slipped back into the room with Nathan and David right behind her, both still buzzing with energy despite the late hour. Nathan clutched his worn blue blanket, his brown hair a wild mess, while David bounced on his toes, ready to share a dinosaur fact. But Karen pressed a finger to her lips and whispered: “Mark’s asleep already, so quiet now.” The boys threw each other dramatic looks, but they didn’t argue for once. Nathan followed his older brother’s lead, trying to imitate the same hunched posture and high-knee steps, but his version looked more like a cat who’d just stepped in a puddle, lifting each foot like it was on fire. Sneaking with the stealth of would-be ninjas—if ninjas were prone to stifled giggles and occasional clumsy stumbles—they made their way to their beds. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at how easily the boys bought into Karen’s ruse. They silently crawled into their beds straight away. Karen leaned over my little cousins, hugging and kissing their foreheads. “Goodnight, my sweethearts,” she said, her voice soft in the darkness. I yawned deeply, my eyelids feeling heavy as the chaos finally subsided. The day had been long—driving, visiting, dinner, and then all the bedtime drama. My body felt like it was sinking into the mattress, and even the soft crinkle of the mattress protector underneath me as I moved seemed to somehow lull me to relaxation. Mom appeared in the doorway, her silhouette backlit by the hallway light. She stepped carefully around the scattered toys and came to my bed. “Hey there, sleepyhead,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. “I’m not sleepy,” I mumbled, a yawn escaping before I could stop it. Mom smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my forehead. “Uh-huh, sure you’re not.” Her hand felt cool and incredibly comforting against my skin. I wanted to argue, to point out Emily was still having fun downstairs, but my eyelids were already growing too heavy to fight. “Let’s get you under the covers, you’ll get cold just lying on top like that.” I shifted sluggishly under the blanket, feeling the familiar weight of it settling over me. She squeezed my shoulder gently, and I suddenly didn’t mind being tucked in at all. “Now, close your eyes and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another big day with everyone,” she added softly. The light from the hallway vanished, and as the door softly clicked shut, all I could hear was the far-off sound of voices and the steady beat of my own heart as the room faded away. Chapter 3: All Quiet on the Wettle Front After a day of wrangling kids in the car and navigating the familiar twists of rural roads to the farm, I’d finally let myself sink into one of Mom’s worn armchairs in the living room, the kind that swallowed you whole with its faded floral cushions. The shift from the kids’ endless energy upstairs to this sanctuary among adults felt like emerging from a storm. The room was chaotic still, but the kind I could handle. Up there, in that cramped little boys’ room, the boys were probably turning bedtime into a battlefield, but thank goodness Michael had volunteered to handle Mark tonight. I wasn’t built for that level of pandemonium; give me spreadsheets and schedules any day over wrestling a stubborn seven-year-old into pyjamas. Down here, the living room buzzed—that warm, overlapping chatter we always slid into at these reunions, everyone talking over someone else and no one minding. Dad nursed his single glass of red wine in his recliner, chuckling at some story Richard was spinning about their latest camping trip. Kevin, ever the quiet mediator, smoothed over some clumsy conversational overlap before reaching for one of the bottles and topping off Dad’s glass with a grin. “Can’t let the old man run dry—keeps the stories flowing,” he said, looping everyone back into an easy laugh. I took in the familiar smell of my parental home—a mix of wood polish, old cushions, and Mom’s lavender hand cream—and glanced at the bottles of wine on the coffee table. Nothing fancy, just the good stuff we’d all brought along with us. “Susan, pass the peanuts, would you?” Karen called from across the room. I smiled and handed her the bowl, catching Mom’s eye over the rim. Funny how quickly ‘Grandma Betty’ becomes just ‘Mom’ again once the kids are out of earshot. She sat on the sofa like always, sharp eyes scanning the room to make sure no one got too carried away. Spotting an open bottle Kevin must have left teetering too close to the table’s edge after topping off Laura’s glass, I reached over casually, corking it with a firm twist before sliding it to a safer spot near the coasters. A few drops had spilled onto the scarred oak surface, so I grabbed a napkin from the stack and dabbed them up, the motion automatic, satisfying. There, better. It was small things like that which kept the evening from tipping into a mess, and honestly, it just felt good to restore a little order. That’s when I glanced up and saw Michael descending the stairs, his face drawn, a fresh diaper clutched in his hand. I knew that look—something was up. “You didn’t diaper Mark?” I asked, leaning forward a little. “Yes, I did”, Michael said with a sigh, a weary look in his eyes as he sank into the armchair across from me, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Man, that kid’s got a stubborn streak,” he said, “I had to practically wrestle him into that diaper—lifted his legs and everything. He kept arguing about it and finally insisting he could do it himself, refusing to accept my help. And then he threatened to take it off the second I left the room.” I felt my mind flicking through contingencies before the rest of the room caught up. The room fell into a sympathetic hush for a beat, then Richard leaned forward, “Hey, we’ve all been there, Michael. Remember when Todd was that age? He’d hide his pull-ups under the bed like they were contraband. Kids test boundaries—it’s their job.” I nodded, forcing my shoulders to drop, and reached over to squeeze Michael’s knee. “You’re doing great, honey. Mark’s just at that age where everything’s a battle for independence. He’ll come around.” Kevin nodded along, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “Oh, I know that feeling.” Lucas pulled a similar stunt last month—wet the bed and tried to take care of it himself. Found him lying on a stack of towels like ‘The Princess and the Pea’ in the morning. He even had stuffed one in his pyjama pants. That sheepish grin on his face, gold. These kids keep us on our toes, but it’s all part of the fun.” Karen, ever the organised one, chimed in from her spot on the sofa, her voice taking on that warm, teacher-like tone she uses with her own boys. “Absolutely, Michael. And you know, when I tucked Nathan and David in just now, Mark was still looking pretty flustered under his blanket. Poor guy. But hey, at least the little ones crashed out quick after their ninja-sneak to bed. A little structure goes a long way, okay?” Just then, Laura slipped back into the room, her practical ponytail a bit askew from what must’ve been a drawn-out goodnight with Lucas. She grabbed her half-empty wine glass, its amber liquid catching the soft lamplight, and settled beside Dad—completing our intimate family circle. She announced to everyone, and to Kevin in particular, “All boys tucked in and fast asleep.” Richard came over with a clean glass and poured one for Michael, then topped up mine. ”Here you go, buddy,” Richard said, putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Some consolation from your old brother. It gets easier as they get older—Todd can take care of it himself now—soon you’ll forget this ever happened.” “Todd’s... ?” “Thirteen now”, Richard said. “Last one.” “Have you tried pull-ups for Mark?” Karin suggested, looking at the white folded rectangle that was now sitting next to me. “He might take those better, than a tape-on diaper that he needs help with.” “Yes,” I said, “they’ve been leaking a lot for him. That boy’s grown, and so has his bladder apparently.” Grandma Betty, who’d been quietly observing from her sofa throne, let out a chuckle that cut through the air like one of her old farm bells. “Oh, listen to you all fretting like it’s the end of the world. Back when you lot were little, Susan, you’d put up the same fuss—kicking and squirming while we’d put a fresh cloth diaper on you. We didn’t have that pull-up nonsense at the time. Remember that time you snuck out of yours and ended up soaking your bedding? Land’s sake, we had to air it out for days! But look at you now—all grown and handling your own brood. Puts it in perspective, doesn’t it? These phases pass, just like the rain outside.” Her stories sparked a ripple of laughter, and the mood shifted to that easy banter we always fall into at these reunions. As the clock ticked further past nine, we parents started to exchanged those knowing glances—the ones that said it was time to move on. It had been a gruelling day of travel for most of us, hauling kids and luggage across state lines to reach the farm, and the younger kid’s eyes were glazing over. Quietly we started sending them off to bed. The teenage boys got their marching orders to the old camper parked outside, with strict instructions not to make it too late. “Lights out by eleven, boys,” Richard called from his recliner. Brad, at seventeen, was dubbed the responsible ‘adult’ for the camper, which drew a round of chuckles—him puffing out his chest like he’d just been knighted. “Don’t burn the place down, your majesty,” Richard called after him, which earned an exaggerated royal wave in response. Richard turned to Todd, his youngest, with that fatherly mix of pride and prodding. “You can take care of it yourself, right, Todd? It wasn’t really a question, more of a gentle reminder, echoing the fuss we’d all just hashed out over bedtime routines, especially after Mark’s earlier antics. “Yeah,” Todd muttered, packing a whole monologue into that single word. His cheeks flushed just a touch, but he played it cool. With that, the kids scattered. Lisa paused for an extended goodnight hug from Laura and Kevin, who wrapped her up like she was still their little girl, even at fourteen—Laura murmuring something about sweet dreams while Kevin planted a kiss on her forehead. Todd, not to be outdone in the affection department, got pulled into a bear hug from Richard, who ruffled his hair and said, “Come here, big boy,” with a wink that made Todd squirm but smile despite himself. Watching them, my thoughts wandered to Lucas. Earlier in the evening, when Lucas had first learned that he wouldn’t be sleeping with the teenage boys in the old camper this year. He’d clearly been hoping Grandma Betty’s chart might put him there this time—but once she’s decided, there’s no appealing the verdict. No surprise he’d been assigned to the little boys’ room. Compared to Todd, Lucas' still a little boy, and he and Mark get along well. Lucas had tried to hide his disappointment, but his face reads like a book. “How old is Lucas again?” I asked. “Ten”, Laura and Kevin said almost simultaneously, trading an amused glance at their timing. “He’s ten already? He seems so small!” Karen mused, swirling her wine glass. “Yeah,” Laura replied with a laugh, “and the way Mark’s shooting up, soon Lucas will be wearing Mark’s hand-me-downs instead of the other way around.” “Small but mighty,” Kevin added with a grin, swivelling his wine glass idly between his palms. “My son’s got spirit, though—reminds me of myself at that age, always trying to prove something.” He chuckled quietly to himself, knowing Lucas was already out cold upstairs—probably curled up and dreaming big in a bed that still seemed too big for him. “He’ll handle the reunion chaos fine,” Kevin went on, “he just needs the right team in his corner—and he’s got that here.” As the laughter eased, Kevin’s eyes found Laura across the circle. It wasn’t a big gesture—just a shared, knowing look between two parents who understood their boy in ways no one else could. Most of us didn’t push it too late that night, even though the wine was flowing and the stories were getting better with every glass. Mom was the first one to call it a night, letting out a soft chuckle as she pushed up from her spot. “Well, you lot have more spark than this old gal can keep up with anymore. Land’s sake, I need my shut-eye before those grandbabies turn me into a zombie come mornin’. Goodnight, all.” We were all tempted to keep going, but reality lurked in the back of our minds, surfacing in those small, knowing glances passed around the room. It wasn’t just me feeling it—everyone’s eyes carried the same quiet concession, the same mental math about the coming day’s chaos. The little ones would be up early, and we’d need every ounce of energy to keep up with our own brood. So, just before eleven, we finally started calling it, trading half-reluctant “goodnights” that carried the comfort of routine—parents herding themselves off to bed as surely as we’d herded the kids earlier. I glanced at the spare diaper Michael had left earlier, a small memento of the last item on my checklist for tonight. “I’ll check on him,” I said to Michael. I straightened up, adjusted my grip on the crinkly bundle, and took a moment to steady myself, the wine buzzing warmly in my veins after such a long day. But I’m fine, I thought. A mom’s got to do what a mom’s got to do. I made my way upstairs. Michael’s earlier story about Mark’s little rebellion replaying like a loop in my mind: that stubborn threat to yank off his diaper the second the door closed. Kids and their independence phases—adorable in theory, exhausting in practice. As I slowly opened the door to the little boys’ room, the soft glow of the nightlight in the hallway cut through the shadows in the room. It was pitch black outside; the rain pattered steadily against the windows. Walking into the room was like wading though a minefield of bags and scattered toys. There was very little room between the mattresses on the floor where I could see the two small forms of Nathan and David fast asleep. Fortunately, I spotted my boy close by right away. His familiar form under the blanket, arm wrapped around his pillow, lying on his side, back towards me. There he was, fast asleep like nothing had happened. I leaned over carefully, slipping my hand under the blanket for a quick check. My heart skipped as I patted his bottom—no diaper! That little scoundrel had taken it off. I felt around a bit more, my fingers brushing the sheets, and breathed a sigh of relief: Not wet, yet... I really wanted to do this without causing a scene. Gently, I folded his blanket away and started pulling his pants down, trying not to wake him. He stirred, murmuring something sleepy and incoherent, his small body shifting as I worked his pants down further, lifting him at the hips. “Shh, sweetie, it’s okay,” I whispered, my voice soft and soothing, leaning in close. “Mommy’s got you,” my voice soft and soothing as I unfolded the diaper, its crinkle loud in the otherwise quiet room. I positioned it carefully, then rolled him onto his back, towards me, onto the fresh diaper. He stirred some more. “Mommy’s just putting a diaper on you, sweetie, so just lie still for me, okay,” I said, my voice gentle and reassuring. I pulled the front up between his legs, smoothing the soft material flat against his tummy. Then took each side flap, carefully positioning and pulling until each tiny buttock was snugly covered before pressing the adhesive tapes securely in place with a soft, muffled ‘snap’ sound. With the diaper now securely in place, I let out a soft sigh of relief. Now I only had to get his pants back on. “Can you lift your bottom for Mommy, sweetie?” Nothing happened; his body remained limp, still heavy with sleep. I put my hand under his lower back, guiding him to make the desired motion. “Lift your butt, sweetheart,” I asked again. And bless him, in his drowsy haze, he responded with a small, instinctive arch of his hips—just enough for me to work with, like his body remembered the routine even if his mind was still dreaming. I pulled up his pants, smoothed everything into place snugly, and put my hand on his belly, signalling that he could relax again. I let my hand rest there, feeling the sweet, soft curve of his belly as he drifted back into sleep, rising and falling with the gentle, steady rhythm of his breathing. I planted a kiss on his forehead and he settled right back into sleep, barely missing a beat. As I tucked him in, I couldn’t help noticing how the diaper had fit him perfectly, with little room to spare. These new diapers would barely keep up with how quickly he was growing. My boy was growing up too fast. Part of me wanted to freeze time, to keep him small and close just a little longer. I felt my shoulders drop as I tucked him in fully, letting that thought settle. Satisfied and wistful, I slipped out quietly, the door clicking shut behind me, and headed to bed with that warm glow of having mended one more thing in this chaotic world, treasuring the gift of these small, sacred moments.

TYME is on your side I’m standing at my bedroom window looking out at the view. Since we came here eight weeks ago I have to admit this place is completely different from our old apartment. Before my bedroom view overlooked a small communal garden (dumping ground) and into the back of a row of other apartments hardly fifty yards away. We lived on the third floor, in a five story block less than half a mile from the town centre. The neighbourhood was a bit on the rough side but I didn’t mind because that’s where I’d grown up and where all my friends are... were. The school was less than a ten minute walk away and I was a happy and popular kid in class. However, a few weeks ago both my parents got new jobs. I didn’t know they’d been looking for anything different so it came as a bit of a surprise when they announced one morning that in the school’s summer break, we’d be moving to a new location – miles and miles away I’d come to the end of 6th Grade and the following term, now I’m almost twelve (well in six months), I’d be moving up. I was looking forward to going with all my mates and because of that the thought of a new school wasn’t so scary. The announcement of the move had me worried and I cried that I didn’t want to leave, even having a hissy-fit, demanding that I be left with the neighbours so I could stay with all my buddies. Both my parents tried to soothe my stress and said that this was a terrific opportunity that they couldn’t afford to let pass, and it was a relatively new town in a wonderful part of the country. Everything, they emphasised, was geared for young families and we’d have a better house and a lot better standard of living. None of that meant anything to me if I wasn’t going to be with my friends. The start of the summer break was fantastic but at the back of my mind was the fact that we’d soon be moving and I’d probably never see these guys from the neighbourhood again. So when not out with them I was at home complaining about the up-coming move. I was adamant I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t know that it was a done deal and no amount of my protestations or grumpiness was going to alter the fact... we would be moving. We moved and that was six weeks ago. # Now, as I looked out from my bedroom over the fields and off into the countryside I had to admit that dad was correct - this part of the country is beautiful. Everything’s new and exciting, not least because I got my own bedroom and it was at least twice as large as my old one. Back at the old apartment I shared with my three year old brother Josh, which wasn’t ideal, what with there being such an age gap. He was still being potty trained so there was a constant odour of pee about the place, and the piles of diapers did nothing to make me feel in the least bit like a boy who was about to move up a level at school. Oh how things change in such a short time. As I look out of my window at this fine early morning it’s me standing wearing a wet diaper with plastic pants trying their best to hold it all up. I’m eleven and a half years old and surprisingly started waking up soaked on the first morning we arrived here and I don’t know why. I have to admit I was still not in the best mood and resented being taken away from all that I knew to somewhere strange and unknown. I didn’t like it and was still pouting even after I’d been shown my new room. In fact, compared to our old apartment the new house was unbelievable; all the latest mod-cons. Smart devices everywhere; you could command ‘Mimi’ do this that or the other; to turn lights on and off, play music or answer questions by simply asking. The house was large and every room spacious, it had a garden, as did all the houses on our street, that went back about thirty feet, which in turn led onto fields and had countryside in the distance. It was all so perfect but of course I was upset so stomped around behaving badly and generally being nasty to everyone about everything. I was completely disrespectful to my parents and poor little Joshy didn’t know why I wouldn’t play with him. I was getting on everyone’s nerves, which in truth was what I wanted in the hope they’d send me back to my buddies. However, when I woke up wet after that first night I was somewhat shocked and found it difficult to explain myself. Mom and dad deliberated on it and decided it was a mixture of nerves, anxiety, hormones and upset but that I should be over it in a matter of days. However, mom’s initial thought, I was just being difficult and trying to prove a point, made her attitude towards me harden. After the second and third night of it happening she insisted, despite my absolute refusal, I wear a diaper to sleep in from then on. “Until you’re over this little bit of trauma,” was the way she interpreted it but of course I made a big fuss about being treated like Josh. She was unsympathetic to my argument. “If you wet like Josh then you’ll be treated like Josh” was her assessment of the situation. She was taking no temper tantrum or dispute with what she’d decided and dad wasn’t a reliable ally as he’d once been. So, like my baby brother, I was made to wear a diaper at night. It didn’t sit well with me but at least it kept the laundry down to a minimum. I suppose mom must have spoken into ‘Mimi’ and ordered extra supplies of diapers for Josh and me because some arrived that evening right on cue for bedtime. Of course I made life as awkward as possible but mom wasn’t having it and said that if I didn’t wear one she’d just leave my smelly pee-soaked bed and I could lie in that for ever as far as she was concerned. Dad on the other-hand simply said if I didn’t wear one he’d spank my hide, something he’d never threatened before. He got my attention and that night mom fitted me, like she did Josh, into a soft fabric diaper and plastic pants. It was certainly the grumpiest bed time I’d ever had but my resentment was softened slightly by the fact that the diaper was incredibly soft... that was... to begin with. I also think there was a bit of punishment in there because they were both getting more than a little annoyed with my insolence and not giving the new place a chance. Unfortunately, with the threat of a spanking, which I’d never had in my life, ‘I’ decided to wear one at night... so that was another thing to hate this place about. That first night, despite the initial softness, I tossed and turned and wondered how Josh could sleep wearing such a mass around his little willy because I was as fidgety as hell. Of course it didn’t help that I woke up soaked, so mom had been correct in making sure I was well wrapped up for the night. However, it was becoming a regular occurrence and I was hoping to hide the fact from mom by getting to the bathroom first and changing before she could check. Unfortunately, she caught me sneaking there with wet PJs and carrying a sopping wet diaper so now insists that she sees me every morning to be inspected. I didn’t know why at that time she thought that was so important but was quite definite about it. I argued, blamed everyone but myself and absolutely refused to wear one in future but of course that amounted to nothing because when it came to night time she was there supervising making sure I did. However, that’s not why each morning I have to wait for mom to come and check my soggy diaper. So, that’s where you’ll find me most mornings, soaked and looking out of the window... waiting. # Nonetheless, despite my ‘troubles’ both parents were excited by all these new opportunities, “opportunities” they said would not be available back home. Everything was “better and brighter” here and even Josh loved that he had his own room and space to play outside. He soon had friends and our parents had loads of colleagues from work who they socialised with. They’d bring their kids over and although Josh settled in straight away, I hated these new people and either took myself off to my room or simply made life for our visitors uncomfortable. “Stop being so rude and join in.” Was my parent’s non-stop criticism about my behaviour. As I hadn’t had a choice I begrudged everything. Dad made it clear that he and mom weren’t going to put up with my dissent much longer and I’d just have to try and fit in - there was no going back because there was nothing to go back to. We had neighbours with kids my age but I hated that, despite them all being friendly enough, they weren’t Boogy, Sam, Tess, Adele, Smiffy, Amin... or indeed any of my friends from back home who I grew up with. Because everything was controlled by the smart hub, I couldn’t access any of the video games I liked to play. As there was a ‘TYME classification’ age restriction on most of those, the hub recognised my voice and limited access until an adult requested them, which they never did. Phone calls went through the hub and I wasn’t allowed to make calls again without adult supervision. So I just mooched around getting angrier and angrier. Mom and dad didn’t like what I was doing but thought I’d eventually come round and accept it all. I had other ideas... I’d simply hitch-hike home if I had to. # The town is called TYME, "TYME - is on your side" is the slogan as you entered the outskirts and which mom and dad thought set just the right tone for place. In fact, both had managed to find incredibly well-paid jobs at a new facility outside of town and if I was being honest the entire place seemed a huge step up from where we had lived and, if I hadn’t been so resentful, might have enjoyed being here. Joshy was in a huge pre-school play group every day, which a he loved. All the kids dressed in blue shorts and yellow and white t-shirts with a little emblem on the breast pocket indicating which year they were in. He went to that group every day and looked sweet and happy when they were all together. I envied Josh being able to adapt so easily but I was angry (and regarded myself as grown up) so had opinions of my own and being here wasn’t one of them. It had never even been discussed - I’d fume to myself at the injustice of it all. Meanwhile, I had yet to start at a new school, which I was dreading. The Academy, as it was called, was a huge structure that also incorporated the pre-school so all ages of kids from our section of town were together but in different parts of this enormous building. The playing fields stretched over several acres to encompass athletics and all the ball sports. Yes, the place was immense and “well-tended”, as mom enthused. Both her and dad loved how organised everything was and were passionate about their new jobs which, according to mom, were a damn sight better than anything back in our home town. I had no idea what it was they did when they got to work by 9am, but school was scheduled to start at 8.30am and finished at 4pm to fit in with company shifts. Mom was delighted that the shifts were geared so that if needed, a parent was always available to look after a young child. In fact, although the entire town was arranged to suit the needs of the company they saw that it was advantageous to look after its workforce. Family care was ‘top priority’ and well catered for with a calendar of regular fun social gatherings. As new-comers we were encouraged to meet our neighbours and make friends with a whole bunch of different folk. Josh and I were dragged along to these ‘get to know’ gatherings where it seemed everyone was keen to chat and be as amiable as possible. All the kids were well-dressed and lacked attitude, something that just wouldn’t have been acceptable at home, but were friendly enough. I hated it and kept myself away from any offer of friendship... I just didn’t want to know or get involved. I already had friends I didn’t need this lot. # Everything was in company colours - white, blue and yellow, and, as they built this town (or so I assumed) they got a say in whatever happened here. Even the police cars and emergency service vehicles were white, blue and yellow. All uniforms and official workwear was a combination of these colours. You’d find it difficult to find any other colours if you worked for the town or the company. Even the school uniform had the same colour code and again, that little emblem on the breast pocket indicated which class you were in. Most things were arranged; mom didn’t even need to wash Josh’s diapers because there was a collection service that did all that. It was the same for any family with toddlers and babies. The company was ‘green’ so diapers were made from recyclable fabrics and collected, washed and replaced weekly. Even Josh’s were in company colours, as were the plastic pants that accompanied them. Actually, now I’m wetting most nights mine come the same way but I’ve never discussed it with either parent it’s not something an eleven year old want to discuss with anyone. I explained to myself that of course I was having soggy nights because I’d been abducted from friends and neighbours I’d grown up with and knew. This was a terrible, stressful imposition so no wonder my body reacted in such a way. So, this wetness was entirely my parent’s fault and nothing to do with me... of that I was certain. Well, I say everything but the truth is, I hated waking up wet. I saw it as something else, like the move, I had no control over and that made me angry. Yet, despite my refusal to wear a diaper, I did so and could see the benefits of wearing one at night. I thought in some way at least this was something I could control, so accepted its use. Also that threat of a spanking if I didn’t made me a bit more amenable to that particular suggestion. Although my parents had never spanked me, I had noticed that their attitude towards my attitude had hardened a little so wasn’t sure if they would actually follow through with any threat. I think they thought I was coming round but I wasn’t, it was just easier and to my advantage to go along with night time diapers. I still didn’t mix and made it well known I wasn’t happy about being in this place. It was strange because each evening one of my parents had to fill in a household health report on the computer. I was told a smart hub (which ran throughout the entire house) was in everyone’s home and was explained as a way that the company could make sure shops were well stocked with what was needed. Power, water, food... everything all came under the scope of the smart monitoring gizmos everywhere. There was a small blue round hub in every room via which ‘Mimi’ would do your bidding. The powers that be said that the health and welfare of its citizens was of paramount importance so nothing, not even the slightest cough, should be left out of the daily statement. Mom said it was terrific because it took away any worries and if you needed help a touch on the computer screen and there was always someone on the other end to offer advice or solutions. # Unfortunately, my wetting continued right up to the first day of the new term and mum insisted that I wear a diaper under my uniform to make sure all went well. My uniform! Now that was a surprise as well as I only saw it on that first morning of school. At my old school it had been just normal clothes. Here it was dark blue shorts, yellow and blue polo shirt with matching blue, white and yellow striped blazer. I looked exactly like a larger version of those pre-schoolers. There was hardly any difference in what Josh and I wore, which I found insulting to my age. I complained about the shorts but mom said that all boys up to becoming teenagers wore them to school. Then, if grades were good, you got more and more independence and fewer restrictions. To me it sounded more like prison but I couldn’t get mom or dad to see that. They thought I was being silly and over dramatic and accused me of trying to make this ‘paradise’ into some kind of living hell. I hated having to wear shorts to school, even though all the others in my year wore them, it was just another thing that left me indignant. Although I’d had a couple of weeks now wearing a diaper at night, and the occasional wet day (which I didn’t tell anyone about though suspected mom had sussed), I didn’t want to wear one on that initial school day, it would have set a bad example should anyone find out. However, my no-nonsense mother put me in one first thing. She’d stripped me out of my soaked night diaper, cleaned me up and, without asking, simply put me in a new one. Needless to say I was furious but she gave me one of her looks that she wouldn’t put up with any disagreement, so that had the remarkable effect of keeping me silent. With only a few minutes to go before we had to leave I sneakily nipped back to the bathroom removed the damn thing and defiantly settled into a pair of white cotton briefs for the day instead. Getting ready for that first day I wasn’t feeling too confident because up until then I hadn’t made any new friends... so wearing briefs was a little confidence booster. There were plenty of kids around, all dressed the same, but I wasn’t interested, they weren’t MY friends and anyway, I was still hoping they’d get fed up with me and we’d all return home. Despite our neighbours on one side having kids my age, and on the other they had a couple of babies and a toddler like Joshy, I’d tried to avoid them as much as possible. As their parents also worked for the company, we all set off at the same time to school so it was a sea of blue and yellow walking down the street or disembarking from the school bus. Friends huddled in groups laughing or chatting but all seemed keen to be heading for a new term. There was a general aura of happiness about TYME, even the school kids appeared pleased to start a new term. I on the other hand, was nervous and alone and that made me feel really self-conscious. What I didn’t know was that my personal id was embedded in the school logo on my shirt pocket. With a sweep of a handheld scanner it made sure you were in the correct group but also flagged up any concerns anyone might have. So, on the first day of school the scan, despite the age group I was in, indicated to the teacher that I should be wearing protection as I was ‘incontinent’. I couldn’t believe that mom had let the powers that be know I wet... that was a breach of my privacy. The teacher with the scanner seemed a little perplexed and wondered first of all if I was in the correct class (had they got Josh and James mixed up somehow?) but then, after a few moments chat and deliberation with an unknown contact at the other end of the screen, in front of a line of girls and boys my own age, I was checked if I was wearing suitable protection. On finding I had briefs and not the required diaper I was told to report to the school nurse for ‘redressing’. I was so embarrassed and seething at such facts being made available to any person I upped and went home without going anywhere near the nurse’s office. I didn’t know that everyone’s medical and social records were stored and evaluated daily so any problems could be nipped in the bud. To me it was just another intrusion into my life, which I didn’t have back home. # My first day at school and my first bunking off... It was quite a walk but of course mom and dad had gone to work by the time I arrived at the house, Josh was at pre-school so I needed to get in. However, the door was locked and I didn’t have a key and my badge didn’t allow access. Thankfully, the weather was fine so I just went for a stroll through the woods expecting to be out and about in the fresh air for the rest of the day until 4:00pm, when I knew I’d be able to access the house. I walked out of our garden and into the back field intent on reaching the wooded area in the distance. It was whilst on this walk I hoped to formulate a plan to get away from this awful place and make my way back to a proper town... my home town. I knew it was going to be difficult. It had been quite a long drive to get here in the first place and I remember (as I was half asleep for most of the journey) that we turned off the main highway and drove for ages before we reached this place. The journey was up hills and down dales, through huge wooded areas and farming land before we got to a junction that pointed access to the town. TYME itself seemed quite a distance from any other civilization but, when we arrived, the bustling centre as far as I could see was new and just as busy as any other place I’d been to. Also, another surprise was that we had a coastline and the town, built on a hill, sloped down to beaches, harbour and small marina. As I thought about all this my mind was busy trying to calculate the distance I’d have to hitch-hike to even get to a main road. I came to the conclusion that perhaps a boat might be a possible solution except for one thing; I couldn’t sail or know which direction to go in. I’d have to try and find a map. Whilst all this was swirling around in my head I hadn’t noticed I was being followed by a man in a blue and yellow uniform (of course) on a quad-bike. “And where exactly are you going?” He demanded once I noticed him. “Just a walk around, I’m new here so just checking things out.” I replied but not very confidently. “Really,” He dismounted from his transport, “Well let me just check who I have here and where you should be.” He produced a scanner with a screen and held it over the logo on my shirt. “Mmm,” he read, “James Llewelyn, son of Anthony and Marion Llewelyn and, according to this, you should be in a history class back in school.” I was shocked he knew so much about me but of course, the scan this morning had told the teacher other stuff I didn’t want anyone else to know. Did this (I looked at his badge) Rural Deputy now have all that info on his device? “So, you shouldn’t be out here on your own without supervision but mainly... you should be in school. Your parents will be in trouble for this.” “Big deal,” I thought but didn’t say anything. “Come on, hop on I’ll give you a lift back.” “No, it’s OK, I’ll find my own way back thanks... I made it this far.” He looked at me as if he wasn’t used to anyone disagreeing with his directive. “I don’t think so James,” His tone was even but only just, “my job is to make sure you return to where you’re supposed to be... so, on you get.” He indicated the seat in front of him. “No, fuck off and leave me alone. I didn’t ask for you to be here and I don’t want to go anywhere with you... I don’t even know who you are and” I acted all stupidly coy, “mom says I shouldn’t accept lifts from strangers.” This showed a great deal of just how angry I was because I wouldn’t have had the nerve to say all this to either my parents or anyone, certainly a lawman, back home. “This isn’t a request sonny... on the bike NOW.” I took off into the woods as fast as I could. “This isn’t a game.” I heard him shout as he gunned the quad up but I’d left the track and was trying not to get entangled in the undergrowth. I battled through thick foliage, brambles and stinging nettles, which clawed at my bare legs leaving painful scratches and annoying welts. Unfortunately, he knew this area better than me and was waiting when I eventually broke ground and ended up in a little clearing. “That’s enough fun and games James... your parents have given me authorization to spank you if you don’t do exactly as I say immediately.” He was waving around his scanner and I had no doubt that it contained just such permission. # I hated the fact that I’d been foiled but the drive back, with me perched in front of him on the bike, was in silence. I felt like a recaptured prisoner of war I’d seen on TV. He drove up to my front door and there was my father looking exceptionally angry. “He should be in school,” the Deputy told dad as he set me down. “Make sure he’s there tomorrow sir, there will be a ‘clarification’ issued from Central Office.” “Yes, thank you officer, I’ll see to it and sorry for any inconvenience.” He held the door open for me to enter the house. Once the door was closed, in a surprisingly quick move, my shorts came down as did my briefs and he put me over his knee and gave me a thorough spanking. It was something I’d never experienced before and I didn’t like it one bit... as I screamed the place down. I’d never seen dad so angry or experienced anything so painful, the scratches on my legs from the brambles were now forgotten as I tried to be brave. I failed. Dad was letting my bare bottom know in no uncertain terms that I’d got things very wrong indeed. Despite begging for forgiveness and screaming I was sorry, he made sure I was in no doubt that my attitude would be curtailed. I couldn’t hold back the tears and for a moment, when there was a ‘ping’ on the hub screen dad stopped and took a look at what was written. “You swore at the Deputy?” He was even more incensed at my most recent display and my bottom felt the full force of his fury. Eventually he finished and I was left a sobbing wreck but made to stand in the corner, with my hands on my head, whilst he finished reading the message on screen. My bum was extremely red and very painful and I was still snivelling when he returned. He turned me round and I noticed that I’d wet down the front of his trousers whilst being spanked I was sure he was going to spank me again so cringed as he pulled me forward. “Well James it looks like you’ve made us the first family ever to get a warning. Your behaviour will not be tolerated by anyone...” “I just want to go back home.” I whined through the pain. “Well son, that’s not an option as we’ve made clear on every occasion you’ve brought it up. This place is clean, well run and safe. There are no gangs here, no crime from what we can see and if you give it a chance you’ll find it beneficial as you grow up.” He could see I didn’t want to hear any of this... I wanted my friends and thought it a horrible thing for a parent to do... take me away from all that I knew. “I’m sorry if you think we’ve made the wrong decision but it’s you that’s wrong. Mom, Josh and I all love this place and if you weren’t so destructive I think you’d find that it offered you a whole new set of friends...” “I just want to go home...” I pleaded. “You are home son and the sooner you realise that fact, and that nothing is going to change unless you do, you are going to have a very miserable life. The bottom line is you’ll only have yourself to blame.” Dad hugged me and told me he didn’t like to discipline me like he just had BUT, if that was the only way to get through then that’d be what would be on offer in future. He guided me upstairs and took me into the bathroom where I’d left the discarded diaper from this morning. He laid me out on the changing table and, having spread lotion and powder all over my red bum and willy, attended to the scratches on my legs and then fixed the diaper back where it started though added a pair of thick white plastic pants. “I think we need to keep you safe... and son... you’ll be wearing a diaper all the time from now on.” I was still worried about possibly getting another spanking at some point so missed the main thrust of what he’d just said. Thankfully, the fluffy thick material was kind and soft on my inflamed bottom. He lifted me from the changing area and stood me up. I felt too weak to do much so he took my hand and guided me, waddling slightly and slowly, down stairs and sat me on the sofa. It was too painful, so I crawled onto the floor. “Mimi, TV please, Channel 7.” Dad commanded and the screen burst into life with a cartoon. I was too scared to say anything as dad went off to do whatever it is grown-ups do when they’re angry. I saw him run his hands through his hair as he read the hub screen. He looked across at me and shook his head. I hated to think what the ‘warning’ the deputy had threatened actually said. I hated just how sore my bum was and how easy it had been for dad to punish me so hard. Just another thing that happened here that didn’t happen back in my home town. I hated this place even more. # tbc #

My Story. "How do I put this? I think I'm the most miserable man alive. I'm 60 years old, growing up I was a hard worker. I grew up in farming country. I hauled enough alfalfa bales, branded and castrated calves. Picked potatoes. Milked cows. Fixed miles of fencing, If it was farm-related I have done it. I was a garbage man, not one of those guys that drive up with a truck that automatically picks up the can and dumps it, oh no I rode on the back and another guy and I dumped your cans. I also did construction, building your houses. We were putting a wall up and it fell hitting me in the lower back. I also volunteered at my local fire department. I also rode rodeo in my younger days, I liked the saddle broncos. I stayed away from the bull riding. In my opinion, you have to have a few screws loose to ride a bull, that or a death wish! Anybody that will willingly get on a ton of animal with the intent of killing you isn't right in the head. The reason I tell you these things is that now that I'm 60, I've had surgeries to fix several things. I hurt from head to toe the doctors say its arthritis from all the crap I did when I was younger. It's in my ankles, knees my left knee is about twice the size of my right knee. Lower back combination of jumping off the garbage truck before it stopped, and I had a wall that fell on me. Shoulders injured the right when it came out of socket had it fixed once surgically only to have it tear again. Nothing left to work with to repair it again. The left one hurts now because of a ruptured rotator cuff tear. I've had 3 bones removed from it in a procedure called a Radical Row Carpectomy. They took out the carpal bones. That I'm sure is from my rodeo days. I also have had a hernia operation. This caused me to start to wet my bed when I sleep. This has baffled my doctors usually this doesn't cause Enuresis but it did on me. I wasn't a bedwetter growing up. Until I hit 56 years old and had the surgery to repair a hernia. I've been married 3 times the first wife, she divorced me saying I was too damn ornery to live with. We had a daughter togeter. #2 was on her way back from work one night and some asshole that had been drinking at the local bar all day thought he was in good enough condition to drive, he wasn't he hit Beth running her into the river. She died of not the accident but of hypothermia, it was December right before Christmas. Wife #3 died about 18 months ago she got Ovarian Cancer she was pretty much gone before it was diagnosed. Number 1 had taken my only daughter and left me divorcing me several years before she died!" This is where my life changed. After her death, her brother Rusty ( not Russell but Rusty), his wife had left him. Out of the blue, he called me and asked if he and his daughter Yvette could move in with me. Rusty had one of those jobs where he was gone a lot, oil rigs he was gone like two months at a time then home for 3 weeks. He needed a babysitter for Yvette. He was family and I was always taught you helped out family. They arrived I had forgotten Yvette was almost 18 years old. She looked like her mom. Blond, green-eyed and compact she was only 5 foot 1 or 2 but at 17 she had a rack. The last time I had seen her she was 9 or 10 years old. She had grown and filled out. You might be thinking what a pervert! It's just the radical change she had gone through I was 43 years older than her. Old enough to do anything about it and way too old to know better to try! Like I said after one of my surgeries, for my hernia. I started wetting my bed. It wasn't every night maybe once-twice a week sometimes three or four never more than six. I bought good diapers. I usually didn't have leaks maybe once a month. Tonight was that night. After waking at 0400 hours and finding myself and my sheets soaked, I let a few cuss words fly I got in and took a shower. Lets put it this way I was awake now. I then had to take my sodden linen to the basement where the washing machine was. I was trying to be very quiet as this was where Yvette's bedroom was, I didn't want her catching me washing my wet sheets and pj's. I had just gotten my sheets and things into the washer. I heard Yvette stirring and crying, she was letting loose similar language to what I had used. I heard her coming from her room still cussing about something. She had her sheets and from the looks of things they were in a similar state as the ones I had placed in the washer myself. She had wet her bed as well. Except when she shoved the pile into the washer she saw me and I saw the soaked goodnight she had on. Uhm she said when she saw me. Her shirt was wet as well that she still had on. I saw the trembling of her lower lip, I knew she was going to cry! I hate it when I'm right. "Hey, hey whats the matter?" I asked? "Now you know why my mom didn't want me I'm a bedwetter." 'So what I said I know lots of bedwetters!" "Who?" She asked through the tears? "You know that girl on the next block, Cathy or Cassie? The name escaped me at the moment." "Cassidy?" She offered? "Yeah, she used to run around every day with her shorts wet. In the crotch area. Her mom is a real witch about it I asked her one time about why she wet herself every day? She told me why not she still pisses her bed every night." The crying was growing fainter "Who, Who else she asked?" Did I dare tell her me? "How about me?" I asked? "You?" She said, all tears were stopped. "Look in the washer those sheets didn't wet themselves!" She looked in and for one of the first times saw my load and put hers in with mine then she did something that shocked the hell out of me, she took her wet tee shirt off and threw it in with my clothes and sheets. This girl was naked all except her wet goodnight. I looked her straight in the eyes that way I wouldn't stare at her bare chest. "Why don't you go get cleaned up?" I asked? "Okay, Uncle Eddy!" With that, she was off. I heard her turn the shower on in the bathroom in the basement. I put her wet sheets and clothing in with mine. When I heard her turn the shower off I started the washer. I went and started fixing breakfast. She came to the kitchen. She would look at me and when I would look at her she would look away. "Is there something wrong I asked her?" "Uhm, can I ask you a question?" I" think you just did!" I joked. "No, that's not it, she smiled. Uhm your bedwetting have you always...?" That's what her question was. "Wet my bed?" I finished? "Yeah!" She said relieved. "No, I had some surgery that caused it, I've only been wetting my bed about 4 years now, why?" "I never stopped she said. It used to piss my mom off something terrible, she yelled, spanked, restricted my fluids at night. But I still woke up wet the next morning. Even my dad doesn't like the fact that I'm old enough to drive, but I still can't sleep dry. You're the only adult that didn't have a cow when you found out I still wet my bed." "Probably because I understand what you go through every morning I said. By the way, we need to get you better protection at night, those goodnights are made cheap but expensive, per Cassidy 's mother. You feel like skipping school to go do some shopping?" I asked? "Is the Pope Catholic?" She responded? We visited the hospital supply store where I get my diapers from. I found they have the best choice of incontinent supplies in the city. She found some purple things she liked called Molicare. We were getting ready to leave when we heard a commotion. It was Cassidy and her mom. They were there to get diapers for Cassidy, Cassidy was fighting her mom at every step. Yvette and I were seen by Cassidy, she turned about seven shades of red at seeing us. She was embarrassed! Yvette went up and I saw her talk to Cassidy for a few seconds. I saw Cassidy calm down. I know Yvette had just admitted to Cassidy that she wet her bed as well. I saw Cassidy pick out the same purple diapers that Yvette had. Cassidy's mother was flabbergasted that it had been that easy. I knew Yvette had made a good friend in Cassidy. I still remember when she ran around with a wet crotch all the time. Yvette came and asked "Can Cassidy come home with her, her mom said it was okay!" Now I had two girls playing hooky from school!

Lisa is 14 years old and has a secret diaper fetish and decides to tell her parents that she wishes to become a teenage baby.

Diapers are great during bed time, but what do you like to wear during day? Occasionally I’ll wear girls pull-ups, but I also like to wear girls panty briefs. Girls size 16 fit well !! =)

It's been quite a while since I've written anything, and that's because I've been very busy, both with work and with this. Classified: A New Life, and Classified: Stellar Remnants were my proofs-of-concept for the idea that became this universe, so there will be a lot of familiar elements. However, after refining my worldbuilding, I've ended up with a lot more than I originally planned for, although it still takes place in an alternate/parallel universe. The worldbuilding document is almost 300 pages long, and includes everything from a creation myth and a religion with various sects and interpretations, to an explanation of medicines, disorders, law, and technology. The scope has expanded considerably, so there is a lot of room to play in the sandbox if anyone happens to be interested. I left many things deliberately ambiguous in the original works, both because I wanted to allow for creative freedom, and because I personally hadn't refined my ideas enough to avoid contradicting myself by accident. This is something I hope to be able to publish at some point in the future, but I must say that if you're looking for sexual elements, this probably isn't for you as I don't particularly enjoy writing about that sort of thing. Chrysalis in particular has changed a lot, and I hope you all enjoy the new changes. Things will be explained as we go along organically to the best of my ability. This is a rough draft, and I haven't finished writing it yet, but I'm reasonably far along. I hope you enjoy the story! EMRD (Energy Management/Regulation Disorder): Excessive worry and physiological anxiety responses; can also refer to metabolic energy regulation issues (context-dependent) Smartband: The universal communication and monitoring device worn by most people. It can be modified specifically for Littles ____________________________________ Maya Weston paws blindly at her left wrist, successfully silencing her alarm on the third try. She lets out a heavy sigh and forces herself out of bed, blearily scrolling on her Smartband to check the timetables for the autobus. The soft blue text displays: On-Time. Thank Esvyra for small mercies. Maya thinks, pulling on a well-loved sweater and her least-worn pair of jeans. It’s not business-casual, but it’s all she’s got. She heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth and does her best to make herself look presentable and professional. She thumbs on her aging holoscreen for background noise. Stat, her Smartband’s onboard AI recites the weather forecast. Maya is unsurprised at the varying forecast, given Southgate’s proximity to the mountains. Her thick brown hair is uncooperative as it usually is in the morning and she opts for a ponytail rather than taking the time to brush it out. Her next stop is the fridge, where finds a lone nutribar and the rest of last night’s vegetable wrap. Maya takes the nutribar and puts the wrap into her bag to have for lunch at work, planning to stop on the way home for some cheap noodles or some—ugh—a mystery wrap from the vendor if she’s desperate enough. This isn’t the life she would have imagined for herself, but after growing up as a Lightbearer...even this, even though it’s less-than-perfect, is better than living like that. For once, she’s grateful that she doesn’t have a smart-fridge—a smart anything really, other than her band—because at least then it can’t nag her to spend Coin she doesn’t have on food she can’t afford. She wolfs down the nutribar and washes down her EMRD medication with a swig of water before brushing her teeth and heading for the door. Maya checks her account as she locks up, seeing the notification on her Smartband tick over from Rent Due: 3 days remaining to Rent Due: 2 days remaining and, as if by some cruel irony, there’s still no paycheck. Her internship at BioHealth is the best job she’s ever had—or it would be, if they’d bothered to actually pay her like her contract had stated. At first, she’d thought that maybe it was just a clerical error, but her repeated attempts to reach HR to find out what’s been going on have been stymied. She’d tried submitting tickets, escalating those tickets, and even trying to schedule a meeting with HR in-person, but she hasn’t had any luck so far. She sighs and heads for the stairs, hoping no one creepy is at the autobus stop this morning. She barely notices the broken cleaning drone anymore as she passes by, it’s been at the end of the hallway, covered in dust and lilting in its charging cradle since she moved in. The security system doesn’t work, the building is falling apart, and in this neighborhood, expecting the police to do anything is a chanceroller at best. At the very least, her job at least gets her out of her tiny apartment. Anticipatory anxiety ties her stomach in an uncomfortable knot as she waits in the chilly morning air, the deserted autobus terminal lit only by the glow of the arrival and departure displays and a lone sodium streetlight. A discarded paper cup from some fast-food place tumbles along the sidewalk, fetching up against the overflowing and graffiti’d trash can. Maya breathes a sigh of relief the autobus rolls to a gentle stop in front of her, kneeling with a hiss of compressed air and emitting a pleasant: “Welcome aboard, please watch your step. Thank you for choosing Breezeway autobus services. Most anywhere, we’ll get you there.” Maya smiles softly, the little jingle they play has always been catchy. She holds her ID up to the reader and selects her destination, the fare automatically being deducted from her account’s already-meager funds. The air on the autobus is pleasant and refreshing, it smells faintly of leather and some kind of citrus-scented cleaning agent. It’s a nice change from the stale air that permeates the hallways of her apartment building. The buildings outside the window get progressively nicer as the autobus heads closer to downtown, the beating heart of Southgate’s financial and industrial districts. Bars and anti-theft mesh melt away into pristine glass windows, graffiti-free brick facades, and clean sidewalks. Clean, energy-efficient streetlamps light the autobus’ path, a welcome shift from the dull glow of the sodium lights in Northview. The BioHealth headquarters stands tall among the surrounding buildings, its polished glass exterior reflecting the early morning sun in a scintillating shade of vermillion. The fountain out front is intricate and impressive, with a beautiful urn sculpture in the center, depticting Esvyra tending Her garden. It’s something Maya has always found soothing and she’s glad the campus looks quiet this morning as the autobus pulls into the terminal across the street from the building. Maya exits the autobus, checking her Smartband for the time and she is pleased to see that she’s arrived twenty minutes early. Hopefully that will give her enough time to sort out the payroll issue before she’s due to start her shift in the Research and Development lab. BioHealth makes a variety of products for all Classifications, mostly medical supplies although Maya’s current project is a prototype from a client looking to start a line of premium diapers and clothes for Littles. Maya herself has always had very specific preferences about texture for her clothing, so it’s nice to be able to channel that into something meaningful. The lobby of BioHealth is enormous and refined, with an enormous wall fountain along the entire right side of the lobby. The golden plating behind the flowing water is inlaid with a beautifully intricate vine design, and the water circulates into planters that hold gorgeous red roses. The massive windows above the entrance are designed to let in natural light, making the lobby a beautiful and inviting place to be. Blinking, Maya turns her focus to the left side of the lobby, where the HR office is located. It’s dark right now, as they don’t normally come in until 09:00, but she heads over to the terminal anyway to check the status of her ticket about her pay. She swipes her badge to log in to the interface and frowns. Access denied. User credentials expired. Please contact your system administrator for reset. Maya swipes her badge again, her heart pounding. What did I do? I’ve never been late or reprimanded, or anything. Did they...did they fire me without notice? I didn’t do anything wrong...Her stomach churns, her Smartband feels like it weighs a ton as the memory of the notice from this morning plays again in her mind. Rent Due: 2 days remaining. Access Denied. User credentials expired. Please contact your system administrator for reset. Oh no...Maya takes a shaky breath, trying to both calm her racing heart and also not throw up on the nice lobby floor. “S-Simon? Are you there?” Maya says quietly, pressing the “help” button in the corner to summon the AI that handles HR requests when HR isn’t available. “Good morning, miss Weston. How may I help you?” The AI responds in a friendly voice, as a holographic display fades in behind the reception desk to display the AI’s avatar. “I’m locked out. Have—” Maya swallows hard, barely able to think the words, let alone to say them aloud. “have I been, um, terminated?” “Negative. Your credentials are expired, but your employment status is active with no pending disciplinary actions or performance reviews.” Simon replies helpfully. Maya braces herself against the reception desk to avoid collapsing when her knees threaten to give out from sheer relief. “Oh, good!” she gushes. “Um, can you fix my logins so I can see what tasks I have for the day? And has there been any response to my payroll request?” “Negative. I do not have access to those systems. My capabilities are limited to scheduling appointments and drafting emails or submitting tickets. My apologies. And I’m sorry to inform you that there has not been any response to your request.” Simon answers, helpful as always. “Is...Is Director Saphrin available? It’s really urgent.” Maya wonders, feeling a bit lightheaded at approaching Director Saphrin about, well, anything, but especially something that should technically be fixable without her help is more than a little daunting. But being homeless is considerably scarier... “She has a meeting that should be over shortly, but I’ve given you a temporary visitor’s pass so you may use the elevator to attempt to speak with her.” “Thank you, Simon.” Maya replies gratefully. “You’re most welcome. Goodbye for now!” Simon responds, and the avatar fades away as the AI...well...goes to do whatever it is that AIs do in their free time. Maya smooths her shirt and jeans as she steps into the elevator and presses the button for the executive suites. She forces herself to take deep breaths as her Smartband vibrates: elevated heart rate; elevated blood pressure “Thanks, Stat,” Maya grumbles. The elevator doors open to a reception area that seems almost...homey. The floor is carpeted by a plush material, and there’s a fish tank set into a smaller version of the vine fountain from downstairs in front of her. To her right is a desk, where a man in an immaculate suit with slicked back hair. A short black beard, dark skin, and a shaved head. His brown eyes are warm, but intense. “Good morning, Maya, what brings you up today?” he asks pleasantly. Maya blinks. “You know my name?” The man smiles. “Of course, Director Saphrin speaks very highly of your work. I’m Nick Farrel, but you can call me Nick.” “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Farrel,” Maya says with a strained kind of cheerfulness. “Um, to answer your question, I, uh, I’m locked out of the system. Simon says he can’t perform a reset, and HR doesn’t get in until 9...and there’s an issue with payroll that hasn’t been resolved in three weeks, and rent is due in two days and—” Maya stops herself, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m rambling.” Nick’s eyebrows draw together. “Three weeks? Have you not been paid at all in that time?” Maya shakes her head. “No, Mr. Farrel. I tried submitting tickets and setting appointments, but I haven’t gotten any responses...I was planning to check that this morning, but I can’t login to the system.” she explains. “I’m sure the Director will be more than happy to help you out. It sounds like several people are neglecting their duties. She should be wrapping up shortly, but I’ve sent her a message to let her know you’re waiting out here.” Nick gestures to a nearby sofa next to an oko machine. “We’ve got roasted oko and sweet oko if that’s more to your taste. It even makes whips and combiccinos.” Maya settles onto the couch to wait—it’s comfier than her bed—and folds her hands patiently in her lap. She makes herself a small cup of sweet oko, as the roasted kind has always been far too bitter for her taste. It’s rich and indulgent, and it fills her with a pleasant warmth as it settles in her stomach. No sooner has she finished her drink and disposed of the used cup than Director Saphrin’s door slides open. Director Saphrin is dressed in a deep blue pantsuit with a crisply-ironed white shirt beneath it and tasteful black shoes. She’s not one to wear much jewelry as far as Maya can tell from the few times she’s seen the woman around the building, and today is no different. Her jet black hair is pinned up in a tasteful bun, and the only jewelry she wears is her Smartband and a pair of diamond stud earrings. Her perfume drifts over, a gentle mix of mint and vanilla. “Good morning, Nick.” She says softly before turning her attention to Maya, her brown eyes attentive. “Good morning, Maya. Nick said you needed my help with something, would you like to step into my office for a bit so we can talk?” her voice is firm, but calm, with a softness that Maya has never known it to have. “Yes ma’am.” Maya answers, standing. “Thank you for the oko,” she says to Nick, who simply smiles. “Sure thing.” The Director’s office is luxurious, but not opulent, with a few live plants and a small wall fountain opposite the corner where the windows meet, overlooking the city. It’s tasteful but not gaudy, and the desk and chairs look comfortable, but not obscenely expensive. Still, the genuine hearthwood desk probably costs more per ounce than Maya makes in a month, she reflects... “Have a seat,” The Director says, settling easily into her own chair across the desk from Maya and waving away the holo-display. “What can I do for you?” “I, um, I’ve been locked out of the system, ma’am. I asked Simon for help downstairs, but he said he doesn’t have the ability to reset my credentials. He also said that I haven’t been flagged for any discipline or reviews.” “That’s...very strange. There’s no reason the system should have locked you out of anything, especially with no flags. That would have had to have been done manually. And please, when it’s just us, call me Meekah. Being called ‘ma’am’ makes me feel old.” Meekah says, smiling gently. “I can fix that right now, but I’ll be having a word with HR about this. Is there anything else you need?” “Well, I don’t mean to be a bother or anything, but I’ve tried talking to HR and I think they’re avoiding me...all the tickets I’ve submitted or appointments I’ve tried to make just get marked ‘resolved’ or canceled. My internship was supposed to be a paid position, but...I haven’t actually been paid at all yet. It’s been three weeks since I’ve started, and rent is due in two days and I know I’m not dressed appropriately for work but I promise I’ll—” “Maya.” Meekah says, her voice calm but firm. “Take a breath.” She waits patiently. Maya does, breathing out slowly and evenly, and then does it again. “Good. I’m really not concerned about your attire right now. Your clothes are clean and presentable and that’s good enough for the moment. What I am concerned about is the fact that you haven’t been paid. That’s absolutely inexcusable and there’s no reason whatsoever for that to have happened. I will be having a meeting with HR as soon as they arrive and you will have your back-pay before you leave to go home today.” Meekah taps a few things on her display and there’s a low hum, a click, and then Meekah is handing Maya a black and gold card. “Thank you so much for your help ma’am. I was so worried...” Maya gushes, feeling genuine relief for the first time that she can recall in recent memory. “What’s this?” Meekah smiles gently. “You don’t have to thank me, Maya. You’re entitled to your pay, that’s literally in the the contract you and my company signed, and I’m sorry that hasn’t been honored. There’s 5,000 Coin on that chip, separate from your pay from HR. Please consider it a bonus for all this inconvenience and use it for anything you need.” 5,000 Coin?! It’s more money than Maya has every seen in one place before, and Meekah’s just...handed it to her like it’s nothing. “This is too much! I can’t t take all of this...” Maya’s eyes well with tears; she’s completely overwhelmed by Meekah’s generosity. “You can. As a matter of fact, I insist that you do.” Meekah pauses to hand Maya a tissue. Maya blots at her face. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Maya. You were put in a terrible position as a direct result of my employees incompetence, at best and deliberate malice at worst. No one should have to deal with being treated that way. Please, just let me help, to put my own mind at ease if not for yourself. You’re an incredible employee, Maya. You’re an asset to the company, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not appreciated or valued. It’s been a privilege to be able to watch you develop, and I hope you’ll be able to look past this incident and continue working for us. I’d like to offer you a formal position as a Product Design Specialist. This situation should have never happened in the first place.” “I...I accept.” Maya says, barely able to speak past the lump in her throat. “Thank you, ma’am.” Maya says, her cheeks warming. “It’s alright, mistakes happen.” “It’s not alright, Maya. I’m impressed by your willingness to forgive, but personally I’m not willing to let something like this slide for any of my employees, least of all someone who does some of the best work at this company. And I promise I’ll make it right for you.” Meekah says earnestly. Maya doesn’t know what to say, so she just nods. “Thank you...so much.” she says finally. “I’ve reset your credentials, you’ll have to make a new password, but you shouldn’t have any more issues and I’ve locked your files so any changes to status will have to be approved by me first. You don’t need to worry about that ever happening again. And you’ll get an official offer letter to sign in your employee portal later, your new position comes with a substantial raise and profit sharing as well. In the meantime,” Meekah checks her Smartband. “I have a meeting to schedule with HR, and I believe you have some things to do as well. You can message me on the portal whenever you need something, but for now, I need to get this meeting set up.” Maya nods. “Of course, I understand. And thank you...for everything.” She says as she turns to leave, feeling something dangerously like hope building in her chest. Maybe for once, things will turn out okay. *** Or not. Maya’s absorbed in her work—Jenkins is a wizard with blends, but not proportions and the mix of synthetic to natural fabric is way too...wrong. It’s scratchy, but in a sticks-to-your-fingers-and-is-really-uncomfortable sort of way, not scratchy like rough, or even necessarily itchy either. She frowns and highlights the areas that need adjusting. There needs to be more room in the butt area, if the wearer has a thick diaper on or is wearing lots of layers, it’ll be stiff and too squeezy...Maya makes a face, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the idea of that sensation, even though she doesn’t wear diapers, clothes that are too tight feel kind of...suffocating. The straps of the overalls are also slightly too short, which would also make it the wrong kind of snug—comfy clothes should feel like being hugged, not squeezed so tightly you can’t breathe....And the elastic bands in the built-in diaper cover shouldn’t be that close together, it’ll be pinchy on the wearers thighs in an area that’s already really sensitive...Maybe we could just scrap that entirely? No need to make the Caregiver’s job any harder for changes, and it’s already got the mag-snaps, so everything’s discreet without the elastic... Maya frowns thoughtfully, making more annotations and manipulating the holographic model, and recommending a blend of extra-spun fleece and down for the inside. She pauses to go back and edit her notes to be more professional-sounding before sending them back to Jenkins for review. Personally, she doesn’t understand what’s wrong with using ‘pinchy’ or ‘squeezy’ to describe something, since that’s how it actually feels, but after more than one of the other design specialists have commented that her notes ‘sounded like something their kid sister would say’, maybe it’s better to jazz it up a bit. Why sounding like that is bad when it’s just notes, Maya can’t fathom, but being made fun of is kind of miserable if she’s being honest. Maya’s just finished her notes when her tablet chimes loudly, causing her to flinch. Thorns! I really need to change the alert tone... Maya thinks, before picking up the tablet and reading her messages. It’s Meekah, requesting her to come to the conference room for a meeting. She swallows hard, gathering her courage, and heads for the elevator. Maya’s heart drops into her stomach as she approaches the door to the conference room, Meekah sounds really upset... “Do not lecture me on procedure, Janit. Who do you think wrote the policy in the first place?” Meekah’s voice has a cold, venomous edge to it and it makes Maya hesitate before she pushes open the door. Meekah looks at her, eyes softening for a moment as she uses them to indicate Maya should sit next to her. Maya does, already feeling tense and nauseous. She can’t even bring herself to make eye contact with Janit, but she can feel the anger rolling off the woman in waves. The woman is dressed professionally, with too-much lipstick and her nails painted an awful, garish shade of red. Her earrings are too big and the wrong color to complement her fake tan, and her green eyes are cold as Maya inevitably looks at her. Maya sits down, trembling. “Thank you for joining us, Maya.” Meekah says. “I meant no offense. I was simply stating that when people don’t follow the proper procedure, it makes it very difficult to accomplish necessary tasks. Perhaps she just forgot?” “Excuse me? I had IT pull the logs Janit, don’t you dare—” And that’s all Maya hears of Meekah’s sentence before the ringing in her ears drowns the rest of it out. Maya is five years old again, tears dripping off her chin as the side of her face flares with pain, stinging and smarting from the slap she’s just received. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Maya!” Her mother shouts. Another slap. Maya whimpers. “And stop your crying! You just want me to feel bad for you so you can get out of trouble. Keep it up, and I’ll give you something to cry about! You know Esvyra wouldn’t like you getting involved in such selfish things. And now you’ve made her sad, and the other Lightbearer kids in your class saw too! Do you want the congregation to think you’re ‘corrupting association’? What about your father? Do you want him to have to stop being a Tender because you can’t be a good girl?” “No...” Maya says pitifully. “And you had an accident on top of it all! In first grade and still peeing your pants, unbelievable!” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Maya says honestly. “I don’t want to hear it.” Her mother replies. “Go take a bath and change your clothes. We’re having dinner soon. And you’d better pray and tell the Gods you’re sorry or they won’t want to be your friends anymore because you hurt their feelings by being bad. I love you, but you need to think about how things look to other people, and what the Gods want you to do.” “Okay...I love you too...” Maya turns heads to the stairs, looking back only once. I didn’t even want the cake that much...she thinks...I just didn’t want to be left out. I don’t like being made fun of ‘cause I’m different... “Hurry up please, Maya. I want us to all eat together.” Maya flinches, instinctively expecting another slap, even though her mother is across the room. “And don’t flinch like that. I’m not going to hurt you.” her mother says, like she’s being silly at a bad time. “Sorry. I’m going.” Maya says, and begins climbing the stairs, feeling confused, alone, and ashamed. “—unacceptable. I will not have my employees victimized by your lack of attention to your responsibilities, be it through negligence, incompetence, or malice. Let me be absolutely crystal clear, Janit. IT and myself will be reviewing all employee records from the last six months to ensure accuracy of payroll and benefits. Your access to employee files has been revoked, except for what you need to do your job. Until the audit is complete, all changes to payroll and employee credentials go through me, and me alone. If it is discovered that you or anyone else under your supervision purposefully altered credentials or withheld pay, this entire department will be restructured, and responsible parties will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.” Maya blinks, hoping her spacing out hasn’t been too obvious and trying to discreetly scrub at her eyes, her face damp. Meekah’s foot gently nudges against hers, grounding Maya in the present. “I understand.” Janit says, tight-lipped, glaring at Maya. “I shouldn’t have to remind someone in your position of this, but I expect that Maya will receive an appropriately contrite, sincere, and professional apology. And I’ll need your admin chip until the investigation is concluded.” Meekah says, and the grim set of her jaw is equal parts unyielding and predatory, like a lion cornering a wounded animal. Maya looks at the table, losing herself in the swirling patterns of the wood grains and wishing to be literally anywhere else. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I’m sure it was just a mistake—” she says, almost automatically, not looking up at either of the women in the room. “I understand that, Maya, and I appreciate you trying to be a team player and give the benefit of the doubt. I however, am not convinced this wasn’t done deliberately, so the investigation will proceed as planned. You come to work and do your job to the best of your ability every day, and it is only fair to hold others to the same standard. A mistake has been made that could easily have been avoided, and it’s important that we make sure that no one else has been dealing with similar issues. We all come to work to get paid, so I need to make sure that’s happening as it should.” Meekah says, her voice firm, but without the venomous edge. When she speaks again, it’s back. “Janit. Your chip.” Janit all but slams the small card on the table. She looks at Maya in a way that reminds Maya of her mother when she says: “My sincerest apologies for any inconvenience you may have been caused. It won’t happen again, Maya.” You don’t sound sorry...Maya thinks, feeling almost like she’s just been told to jump off a cliff instead of apologized to. She feels cold and looks back at Meekah, and then at the table. Meekah’s brows draw together, but she doesn’t comment on it other than to say: “That will be all. Nick will be in touch with next steps. You’re dismissed.” Janit stalks out of the room, staring Maya down the whole way, her green eyes cold and piercing. “Are you okay?” Meekah asks, once the door slides closed again. Maya’s eyes well with tears again. She feels drained and too hot and this is all her fault and— “Maya, honey—” “Don’t!” Maya says, in a voice that sounds like someone else’s, bitter and angry and sharp. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so upset. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry. I know you were just trying to be nice to me.” Maya says, more to the table than to Meekah. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Maya. Nothing, do you understand me? None of this is your fault, and I’m not upset with you at all. This was clearly very difficult for you and you did very well. You should be proud of yourself.” Meekah’s voice reminds Maya of herself when she’s trying not to cry. “Kind of? I don’t know. I don’t feel very good.” Maya admits, finally looking at Meekah, seeing a gaze that’s just a bit too shiny for just a moment before Meekah’s normal expression is back. “It’s okay to not know. Do you want to go home for the day? With pay, of course. I can tell this was a lot for you.” “I...I don’t want to go home...” Maya says, because that would mean being alone with her thoughts. “Okay. Why don’t you take a few minutes for yourself, okay? And if you change your mind about going home later it’s not a problem, just let me know. You did a good job, Maya. Really. I have to get to my next meeting, but you know how to reach me if you need anything.” Meekah says gently, lingering for a moment before leaving Maya alone with her thoughts. Maya collects herself for a few minutes, getting up only when she’s sure she isn’t going to be sick all over the super-expensive-looking carpet. She almost runs straight into Sydney on her way back to the lab, only half paying attention to where she’s going. “Oh, hey...Maya?” her friend's voice is full of concern, and she’s taking Maya by the shoulders and and guiding her into a side hallway. “Sweetie? What’s wrong? You look awful! What happened?” “I’m okay...I’m fine...I’m okay...” Maya replies, her cheeks wet before she can even really register that she’s crying, tears dripping off her chin in big, fat drops. She wants to throw up, her entire body shaking with the force of her sobs. Warm arms wrap around her, a gentle hand rubs her back while another gently presses her head into Sydney’s chest. “Oh, sweetheart...it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” Sydney’s voice is thick with emotion. Maya clings to Sydney, trembling, afraid of falling apart without her. Sydney is warm and safe and she smells like spice and clean laundry. “Shh...” Sydney whispers, swaying them gently. Maya can’t remember the last time anyone hugged her like this. She can’t remember the last time she was hugged at all.

Character list: Kayla (17) – a spoiled teenager. She is 5’4 120, has spiral permed blond hair, she’s hot and she knows it. Kayla is in her gang with Rachel and Debbie. They bully the other kids, and the teachers often report them. Fred (42) Kayla’s father - a busy company manager. He is the CEO of a biological research and development institute. Two years ago, he got divorced when his wife left him. Since then, he’s been raising Kayla alone. Kayla insisted on staying with him. She had much more freedom while her father was at work. Annie (32) – Fred’s girlfriend. She moved to him and Kayla shortly ago and noticed Kayla’s behavior and decided to teach her a lesson. Annie is a PE teacher and trainer, physically strong and muscular 6’1, 190, blonde hair and blue eyes. ------------ “Fred! Kayla definitely needs a lesson, read the letter from the headmaster,” Annie was sitting in the living room and reading the letter. Dear Mr. Woods, The behavior of your daughter Kayla is inacceptable. Her last mischief has crossed all lines. She and her schoolmates Rachel and Debbie forced a younger girl to dress like a baby and go to the class. The girl’s parents require an instant reaction. We consider expelling all three sinners unless proper corrective measures will be taken. Sincerely yours Samuel Raid, headmaster Fred took the letter and read it repeatedly. He realized he didn’t have time to tend to Kayla. “Annie, I’m sorry I’ve been busy all the time,” he sighed deeply. “If you don’t mind it, I have an idea,” Annie grinned; while reading the letter, she got that idea. They waited for Kayla until she arrived home. They guessed she was outside with Rachel and Debbie.

The beginning of this story talks about how I became a diaper lover. The second part of the story talks about how I met my wonderful wife. Part 1 Before I tell you how I met the woman who would become my wife—and yes, the one who proudly wears diapers—I want to share a glimpse into the world that shaped me, and how I came to find beauty and comfort in something most people wouldn’t expect. I grew up in a place that felt like it had been designed by a child’s imagination. Within half a mile of my house, there were two winding rivers that shimmered in the summer sun, twelve baseball fields that echoed with laughter and the crack of bats, four soccer fields, six basketball courts, seven tennis courts, and a sprawling park with a lake so wide it seemed to touch the sky. That lake was where I learned to swim—awkward strokes at first, then confident dives from the dock. In the summer, I’d float down one of the rivers two or three times a week, letting the current carry me past trees, rocks, and the occasional turtle sunning itself on a log. It was paradise. A place where imagination ran wild and every day felt like a new adventure. I spent more time outdoors than within four walls. By the time I was eight, I had the freedom to wander to the park alone, soaking in the quiet thrill of independence. At thirteen, I graduated to floating down the river solo—a rite of passage that came after my dad joined me for a cautious first run, making sure the currents hadn’t changed too much after winter’s thaw. It was in this world of play and freedom that I began to understand comfort—not just physical, but emotional. The feeling of being safe, accepted, and free to be myself. That sense of comfort would become a guiding thread in my life, even in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. When I turned thirteen, my uncle hired me to work at his custom homebuilding company. He only built four or five houses a year—not because demand was low, but because his reputation was so strong he could have easily built twenty. He simply believed that quality mattered more than quantity. His priority was making sure every client felt truly at home, with no lingering problems or regrets. That philosophy stuck with me: comfort isn’t just about the space we inhabit—it’s about the care we put into creating it. My job was to keep the worksite spotless—and I mean spotless. I spent my days picking up stray boards, sweeping sawdust, and clearing any debris left behind by the crew. If something was on the ground, it was my responsibility to make sure it wasn’t there for long. My uncle was meticulous about cleanliness. He believed a tidy site reflected a tidy mind—and that even the smallest details mattered when building someone’s dream home. While I was still in school, I would head to the job site right after class. My parents allowed me to work for one hour each day, as long as I kept my grades up. During summer break, I was able to work three days a week for six hours a day. They didn’t want me to miss out on enjoying my summer, so they made sure I still had time to relax and have fun. My uncle employed an architect who had his own dedicated trailer on the worksite. He was stationed there to quickly address any issues that might arise during construction, ensuring problems could be solved on the spot. Although his expertise wasn’t needed frequently, his presence provided peace of mind. When not troubleshooting on site, he spent most of his time drafting house plans for upcoming projects. I gradually became friends with him on the job site. Whenever I had downtime, I’d head over to his trailer and watch him sketch out designs for the new house. After about two months of me hanging around, he turned to me one day and asked, “Want to learn how to draw up house plans?” That simple question kicked off six months of hands-on learning. He patiently walked me through each step, pointing out what I got right and where I went off track. His guidance was steady, and I soaked up everything I could. Then one day, he looked at me and said, “It’s time. I want you to design a three-bedroom house.” I wanted so badly to prove to him that I could do the job—and do it right. For three months, I poured everything I had into the design, refining every detail until I finally felt ready to show it to him. He asked for a couple of days to review it. Three days later, we sat down together and went over the plans. He pointed out where I had made mistakes, but also acknowledged what I had done well. Then he handed the plans back to me and said, “Fix the errors and bring it back in two weeks.” I managed to correct most of the issues on my own, though I did have to ask him for guidance on a few tricky parts. When I brought the revised plans back to him, he looked them over carefully. After a moment, he said, “All the mistakes are fixed.” The next thing he asked me was what I planned to do with the house plans. I admitted I had no idea. That’s when he suggested I submit them to a magazine that publishes and sells architectural drawings—maybe they’d be interested in buying them. So I gave it a shot. About two months later, I got a response. They wanted to buy my design. I ended up making a decent amount of money from that first sale. After that, I started sending them a new plan every six weeks until I graduated high school. I saved every dollar I earned, and by the time I finished school, I had built up a solid little nest egg. Part 2 will be about my childhood.

A bit different, a quick bit of fun I need a mall day. I read the email from my supervisor: ///// “Cynthia, Your request for a half day off is approved. Tom P.S. Great job with the Hansen case BTW, they are very pleased.” ///// I smiled to myself… Dang right it was a good job. I worked my tail off finding those public records of that shit. Glad someone appreciates it. I grabbed my phone and called my BFF, Julie. We’ve known each other since college. Too bad she’s straight, maybe we could have been an item at one time. But now, it’s more like she’s the sister I never had… ///// “Hello?” “Hey Jule…. I got the afternoon off, let’s celebrate.” “Oh… hey Cindy… I can’t. I sort of promised Kathleen…” “Oh… dang.” “Well… it’s nothing major, maybe… maybe you can join us? We’re just going to have a wax party?” Aw sheesh… I would love that… but ever since I got drunk and made a pass at Kathleen… “Are you sure? I mean… you know how the last one ended….” “I’ll make a deal with you…. You do me and I’ll do Kathleen. And no wine this time…” “DEAL!! What time?” “She was coming over to my place about four, then we’d make an evening of it.” “I’ll bring some pizza!” “Great!! See you then.” ///// After I hung up I realized: Shit… that means Kathleen will be waxing me! Is that a good thing or a bad thing? The thought of her touching me down there…. But knowing her, after last time, she’d probably enjoy ripping my pubes off with warm wax!! … I arrived right on time with two medium pizzas. Julia answered the door, “Hey girl, come on in. Kathleen is pouring.” I carried the pizza to her kitchen counter where Kathleen was pouring a glass of wine. Now, don’t get me wrong, Julia is good looking. And as I said, we’ve been BFF’s since forever. But Kathleen…. Her blond tresses, those ample boobs… and those lips, when they touched that wine glass…. Shiver. She noticed me staring, “Julia says no wine for you tonight… right?” I blinked and shook my head a little, “Yeah… listen… I’m sorry about…” She shrugged, “Just remember…. It’s never going to happen. You’re nice Cindy, but I’m just not into girls.” Sigh… here I am with two women, and nothing is going to happen. Oh well… Julia came into the kitchen and opened a box of pizza as she said, “I’ve got the wax warming up in the living room, let’s eat while it’s getting ready.” … With Julia, the three of us slipped back into our comfortable selves. Julia and I have waxed each other’s legs since school. And when I asked her to start doing my kitty, she just shrugged and obliged. I offered to do hers once, but she declined. Then Julia invited Kathleen to one of our ‘wax parties’ a few months back. We always had a nice evening, until last month. That’s when I got too drunk. … Kathleen was on her third slice when she tossed her half-eaten slice back onto the lid of the box, “Ugh… I can’t eat another bite.” Julia picked the pepperoni slice from Kathleen’s discarded piece while I burped from the fizzy cola. My burp smelled of sausage. Julia licked her fingers and closed the lid of the pizza box, “Then let’s get started. Who wants to go first?” I jumped at the chance, “Let me do you first Julia… then I can have some wine.” She shrugged and we all headed to the living room. Now, the unwritten rule was, only one girl at a time gets undressed. Then they have to put their bottoms back on before doing the next girl. Before Kathleen joined our little parties, Julia said she wanted it that way because she sometimes got uncomfortable if I stared too much. Hey, I’m gay, what can I say? I sure as hell am not going to let some guy wax me, and on my salary, having a girlfriend do it is a lot cheaper! Since I asked to go first, Julia started by dropping her jeans. She left her panties on though, as I said, she’s not interested in going further than just her legs. I picked up a spreader stick as she sat on the designated hardwood chair. And I behaved myself, concentrating on the task at hand. Other than a couple of ‘yips’ from Julia, it went fine and soon she was pulling her jeans back up over perfectly smooth, hairless legs. As I got up from being on my knees, I mentioned, “Now for some of that wine….” Julia stopped me, “Maybe you should wait, just watch some tv or something while I do Kathleen.” I was a little miffed. I mean yeah, I know what happened last time, but the idea that I wasn’t able to control myself at all? Then Julia said gently, “Please?” “Oh all right… I’ll sit over at the table,” I capitulated. Julia was a good friend through thick and thin, and I didn’t want to make a scene. I pulled out my phone and played some silly game. I glanced up when I saw Katheen take her panties off. Going for the ‘landing strip’ look again I suppose. Now don’t stare…. When Julia dropped to her knees in front of Kathleen’s spread legs…. Nope nope nope!!! Don’t look, concentrate on your game!!! To her credit, Kathleen didn’t make a sound the entire time. When she called my name, I looked up and she was fastening her jeans, “Okay Cindy… you’re up.” I don’t wear jeans to work; the office has a ‘dress code’. As I walked over to ‘the chair’ I reached behind and unzipped my skirt and placed it on the back of the chair. Then in one quick swoosh, my panties went on top of my skirt. I watched those blond tresses of Kathleen swirling around as she knelt in front of me. Her hand reaching for the applicator, she asked, “The usual? Full Brazilian?” All the other times, I had no problems with Julia doing it. It was simple, just something we’d been doing for years. Like brushing your teeth, or going to the OB/GYN. You just spread your legs and…. But this time with Kathleen, I felt nervous, almost shy. “Well?” Kathleen asked, tapping her free hand on my knee. I spread and decided to look up, not at her. Then it began. She started at my ankles. Maybe she was as uncomfortable as I was about this. She knows I sort of have a thing for her… But she’s “not into girls” She didn’t say a word and Julia seemed to have left. Then I heard her in the kitchen, cleaning up, I guess. Kathleen was working up my legs methodically, soon it was time and I felt warmth over my pussy. Then… YEOW!!! That one hurt! What did she do, wax half my pussy at once!!! I jerked and looked down at her, she wasn’t looking up. I whispered, “Hey, easy…” She didn’t look at me as she started spreading wax again. She just replied, “Oh don’t be such a baby…. Oh wait… I forgot… you LIKE being a baby….” I tipped my head back and gritted my teeth. It’s true… I do that sometimes. That’s why I put up with this… I like being completely smooth… like a baby. And I’m still a bit upset that Julia told you that. “AHHH!!!! JESUS!!!” I swear, that time she almost tore off my labia! I jerked my head down to stare at her, but she was finished. I mumbled, “Julia does it in smaller patches… it hurts less…” Kathleen was standing up, “Well… it’s finished quicker this way.” I looked down and touched gingerly. Yeah, it was as bald as a baby’s… but it was also a bit red. I picked up my skirt and slipped it on, going commando. With the way she did it, I didn’t want to risk panties for a little while. I just tucked them in the waistband of my skirt and said, “Now for some of that wine.” Julia was walking back from the kitchen with a glass already poured and handed it to me. She simply said, “Here you go, this will help.” She’s right, being half drunk usually, it doesn’t seem to hurt as much. But this time, stone sober, and the massive size of the patches the way Kathleen did it…. I took a huge swig and drank half of it at one go. Kathleen had to leave soon, but I stayed back to help Julia clean up and put things away. Then we sat and gossiped for a while. Julia paused at one point and said, “I’m glad you and Kathleen worked things out. You both mean a lot to me, and when you two had that fight… Well I felt sad.” I nodded. Then I said, “Well, I think she got a little back at me tonight. Between being sober and the way she did me…. It HURT!!” Julia giggled, “Why do you think I don’t go that far?” I shrugged and finished my glass, “Yeah I know… but you know how I like the whole ‘baby girl’ thing.” She laughed, “Yeah… I know you. You’ll probably go home, put on a diaper and finger yourself to sleep.” That HAD been the plan, but now… the way it still stings. I squirmed a little and said, “I don’t think so tonight.” Then I punched her shoulder playfully, “And I’m STILL a bit miffed that you told her that about me!” She shrugged a little and apologized, “Yeah, I know. Sorry I did that, but we were drinking and she knew you were a lesbian and I think… I don’t know.” I leaned/ fell sideways a little and put my head on her shoulder, “I forgive you. Just try not to spread it around… Okay?” She reached her hand and patted my head, “Deal. Now, are you okay to drive? Or should I get you an Uber?” I sat up straight again, “I’ll be okay. I only had one glass this time.” She saw me to her door, gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. As she started to close the door, she winked and said, “Good night baby girl… sweet dreams.” … On the way home, I tried to understand it. She’s the one girl that just doesn’t… ‘do it’ for me. She’s more like a sister. And who wants to have sex with their own sister? Now Kathleen on the other hand… But after what she did tonight, I don’t know. I like the loving, caring, mommy-type. Kathleen showed me a bit of her mean side. I remembered afterwards, I wasn’t staring at her body any more. Maybe she did it on purpose… to discourage me. After I got home and undressed, I used the bathroom. It still stung when I wiped so I decided against anything below the waist and just snuggled into bed and fell asleep. … Over coffee and toast, I remembered what Julia said last night. “…probably put on a diaper and finger yourself…” Hmm… it DOES feel better this morning… But maybe… I grinned to myself as I hatched my plan. I put my cup in the sink and went into the bedroom, straight for my stash. Just the act of pulling the thin drug-store brand diaper up between my legs and I was gliding my fingers over the soft cover. No… not yet… Let’s do things right… I got up and found a camisole instead of one of my usual B-cup bras. Then my yellow sun dress. Perfect! THIS little girl is going shopping. Just be a good girl and don’t tinkle too much… these diapers don’t hold a lot. I was giddy with excitement as I got out of my car and walked into the mall. Granted, my outward appearance wasn’t strange at all. I had my yellow purse hanging from its shoulder strap and my dress was a respectable length. And between my camisole and didee… nothing would show through. Perfectly respectable… But I knew my little secret. I wandered past a few shop windows, although I did linger for an extra minute looking at the Victoria Secrets display. Sigh… don’t have the boobs for that. But if I had a mommy that dressed like that….purrrrr… It was getting close to lunch, so I wandered over to the food court and got a plate of Chinese. As I ate, I ‘people watched’. Aww.. there’s a mother with a little girl in a stroller. Look at the pretty booties she’s wearing. Do they come in my size? My eyes wandered, two teenage boys were checking me out. Forget about it guys… I tried boys… wham… bam… thank you ma’am… No thanks. Then I saw her sitting about ten yards away. Whoa… long blond hair?? Check… Big round boobs?? Check… Legs to die for??? Check… Her skirt wasn’t THAT short, but it was short enough and her legs were angled in my direction. I started imagining those legs wrapped around my head…. Then I noticed the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t crazy, but there was some nice soft boob showing…. Oh… I wonder what sort of nipples she has…. I was squirming in my chair a little now. And squeezing my legs together. One of the reason I like diapers… I can feel it pressing against me when I squeeze my legs like this. Holy SHIT!! She just winked at me?? Maybe?!?!?! My hopes rose, but then suddenly dashed when I saw a brunette bend down to give her a hug and sit down with her. Crap! Why are all the good ones taken. I kept staring though, I felt myself getting worked up over her body. But she seemed to be talking to her friend now. I hardly noticed the brunette. Seemed a bit older… jeans and a sweatshirt. Blondie… why don’t you ditch her and come check my diaper? Would you? Would you cuddle me against those boobs and let me suck on them?? Dream on girl… half the women I’ve been with were freaked out by my diapers, and the other half were BITCHES… But hey, I can dream can’t i?? I watched as Blondie got up and walked away, even her ass had a nice look. But then I realized she was alone. I glanced back at the table she was at just in time to see the brunette pick up her trash and walk in the opposite direction. I looked back towards Blondie just in time to see her disappear around a corner and she was gone. Dang… all worked up for nothing. I looked around a bit more, but nothing compared. But now I had a need between my legs and I didn’t want to go home yet. I picked up my tray and emptied it in the bin and walked out of the food court. Next to the food court was the multiplex theater and I had a thought. I stopped to study the movie posters of what was showing. Well… If I find one that’s not too full…. I’ve done it before. If the movie is nice and loud… I felt a little thrill at what I was contemplating as I walked over to the ticket counter. Then a quick stop for a box of candy and a soft drink. As I picked up the cold cup, I smiled to myself. Baby girl might have an accident on the way home…. Giggle It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but then I could tell. Only about six other people, and they were all sitting either in the middle, or down front. Perfect!! I headed for the far back, along the side, not in the middle. I chose next to the wall. Not a great view of the screen, but privacy was the deciding factor. I munched my candy waiting for the movie to start, sipping on my drink. I was watching carefully as a couple came in, but they saw me, so they sat on the opposite side, far away from me. They probably have the same idea, and don’t want anyone too close either. One more person, but they sat down towards the middle. Then the movie started as the lights dimmed. I honestly don’t know much about the movie, that wasn’t the point. I finished my candy and in the darkness; I lowered one hand between my legs. Partly the thrill of what I was about to do, partly thinking of Blondie… but I inhaled sharply when my fingers touched my inner thigh. Oh geez…. I need this… This is going to be good… Now… just let out a little pee…. Poor baby Cindy… can’t hold it can you…. Just a widdle baby…. When the hot urine splashed against my diaper and against my smooth labia… I knew I was going through with this, no matter who noticed. My fingers brushed the soft covering of my diaper and it felt like electricity against my kitty. I closed my eyes and started fantasizing… Baby Cindy needs diapers…. Baby needs her mommy… Suddenly I heard a noise next to me and a voice whispered , “Naughty girl…. ” My heart leapt into my throat as I jerked my hand away and sat up straight. I turned to look and said, “What the hell? You’ve got the whole theater…” It wasn’t Blondie… It was the brunette. I was pissed. Here I was, about to enjoy myself and this woman… She sat down and leaned over, whispering in my ear, “Hate to break it to ya… But she’s as straight as an arrow.” I was confused, “What? What are you… Who is straight???” I felt her breath in my ear, “My blond friend. I saw how you were checking her out. She’s straight as can be. Not at all like me…” I was flummoxed, I didn’t want to admit to this older woman anything. But in one sentence she had told me blondie was straight, and that she wasn’t. But I heard myself stammering a little as I tried to deny it, “I…I wasn’t checking her out….She… she…” I stopped when I felt her lips kissing my neck, whispering, “Don’t deny it, I saw how you were squirming and squeezing your legs together… I’m a woman, I know what that means.” “N…no… NO I wasn’t.. and why did you follow me?” I couldn’t help but tilt my head away, giving her easier access to my neck. I felt her lips on my ear, “I bet you twenty bucks your panties are wet. Care to prove me wrong?” I felt her hand on my knee and then between my thighs as she whispered, “Wet I win, dry I’ll leave…” Shit!! If I wasn’t already so worked up… but dang… those fingers are nice… But what is she going to do when… when she touches…. Then she did. Her fingers found the soft backing of my diaper and froze. For what seemed like hours, they just rested there. Then her voice in my ear, “… interesting…” I tried to make up some excuse, “It… it’s just …. Just protection…” I felt her fingers explore a little. One gently pulled at the elastic opening of my leg. Then her breath in my ear as she whispered, “Nuuu…. It’s a DI-PURRRRRR” Suddenly her hand pushed deep between my legs, reaching under and cupping my diaper directly against my kitty. Then she whispered, “Well it’s not wet panties… but it’s still WET!!! I WIN!!!” “P…please….” Her voice shifted a little as her hand squeezed again, “Please what? Do you need Mommy to change you sweetie? Did Mommy’s little girl tinkle in her DI-PURRRRRR” The way she emphasized that word, then she kissed my neck again and my legs just spread of their own account. God… this is… this is just what I’ve dreamed of…. “Say it sweetie… Tell Mommy you want your DI-PURR changed…” I scooted forward a little and rocked my hips a little against her hand. My voice was barely a whisper, “Yes Mommy…. Baby needs her… her diaper changed….” I whimpered when she took her hand away. I opened my eyes as she reached for my soft drink and said quietly, “Be a good girl and finish your drink. Then Mommy will change your diaper.” My hand trembled as I took the cup from her and sucked on the straw. As soon as she heard the slurp of the straw draining the cup she reached for it and put it in the cup holder. She stood up and reached for my hand, turning, “Come along baby… Mommy will take care of you.” I followed, holding her hand as we left the movie. The light was bright outside and I squinted, then sneezed once. In the movie lobby, instead of heading back into the mall, she led me through the outside doors to the parking lot. I was puzzled, “But the family restroom is back that way…” As we walked between the cars, she just said, “I know sweetie, but neither of us has a spare diaper. Mommy’s going to get you some.” We stopped by a late model red sports car. She opened the passenger side door. “What? You drive around with spare diapers in your car?” I asked. She took a deep breath, “Look, I know where I can get some. Then we’re going to my place where I’m going to change your diaper and you’re going to take a nap with Mommy. Understand? If you behave, I’ll let you suck my tits.” My mouth must have fallen open as I stared at her. Then she reached and hugged me tight, planting her mouth over mine. Right there in the parking lot she stuck her tongue down my throat and I moaned softly. I don’t even know your name? My car is over… Ooo god… her hand on my bottom… What the hell!!! I sat down and buckled as she shut the door and literally RAN around to the driver’s side to get in. We drove a few miles and she stopped at some shop. She shifted into park and said, “Mommy will be just a minute baby…. Behave yourself and no playing with your kitty while I’m gone.” Then she was out of the car and striding with determination into the shop. And here I was interested in Blondie, when this woman… Is she really going to change my diaper? Maybe I shouldn’t have left my car at the mall…. And what was that wisecrack about playing with my kitty??? Just then she reappeared, carrying a large blue and white package. She opened my door and set the package in my lap saying, “Hold these for Mommy.” As she walked around and got in again, I stared at the package. There was an image of an open diaper on it. Words jumped out at me, “Medium”, “Extra absorbent”, “10-hour Protection”, “For bowel and bladder…” SHIT!! Now THESE are DIAPERS!! Only 20 of them and it feels like 20 pounds!!! As she drove, I became curious, “Uh… I’ve never worn anything like these before…” She glanced at me as she drove, “Little girls that tinkle a lot need nice thick diapers. Trust Mommy.” I held them in my lap, reading and rereading the information. I turned the package around and there were some instructions. Mommy must have seen me reading, “Don’t worry, Mommy knows how to change little girls that still wear diapers.” I blushed again, but her words sent a thrill straight to my kitty. I found myself whispering, “Yes …M…mommy.” She gave me a quick smile and said gently, “That’s a good girl.” It turned out she didn’t live all that far from me. Another apartment complex that I often drive past. She parked and got out and came around to open my door. She took the diapers and then reached for my hand, “Come along baby… Second floor, number 2C.” She led me inside and put her purse on the small dining table, saying, “Leave your purse here sweetie… you won’t need it until after naptime.” As soon as I took my purse from my shoulder and laid it on the table next to hers, she reached for my hand, saying, “This way little one…” She led me to her bedroom and tossed the diapers on the bed. Then she turned me around and I felt her fingers pulling down the zipper of my dress, letting it fall to the floor. “EEEP!!!” I exclaimed as I turned to see her draping my dress over a bench tucked under a vanity. All she said was, “Can’t take a nap in such a pretty dress. Now lay down sweetie while I go get some baby wipes.” I stared at the bed where she had tossed the package of diapers. It’s all happening… like one of my fantasies… but those diapers…. They look so… ‘SWAT’ I felt a thump against my bottom as she returned and said, “I said lay down… now be a good girl, or Mommy might have to spank.” SPANK!?!?!?! Wait a minute…. ‘SWAT’ her voice raised a little, “Now sweetie… I mean it.” I did as she said and lay back on her bed. It was soft and had a faint smell, just like her perfume. She leaned over me and reached, “You really shouldn’t use these cheap drug-store ones sweetie. They leak.” I blushed a little when she tore open the sides and peeled down the front. She paused and smiled. Her voice was tender again, “Yes, just as I thought… a little baby girl with no hair. Don’t you worry… Mommy will take good care of your little kitty. Now lift….” I lifted and she tugged the soggy thing from under me. I watched as she popped a couple of wipes from the pack she had retrieved and shivered when I felt the cool touch between my thighs… I felt a hand on my ankle, accompanied by, “Can baby lift her legs for Mommy? We have to clean your bottom too.” It was a little awkward, but with her help I managed to get my legs pointing straight up in the air. Not good enough, Mommy pushed gently until my feet were above my eyes. All she said was, “That’s my baby girl… have to make sure you’re nice and clean…” Geez!!! She can see my ass, Oooph… She’s WIPING MY ASS?!?!?! When she said, “Tsk tsk… Baby needs to wipe better… or ask Mommy for help next time,” I blushed bright red. She let go of my ankles but said, “Now keep your legs just like that sweetie… “ I felt like I was completely on display, which is exactly what was happening. I heard a rip as she tore open the package of diapers. Then a slipping sound and a crinkling. Her voice explained, “These have a nice plastic backing, so they won’t leak little one. And they make a nice crinkle sound. Like diapers are supposed to.” I felt her slip it under me and then her hands gently guided my legs back down. But she didn’t pull it up between my legs. Instead, I felt a finger slowly trace up the fold between my right thigh and hip, then down the other fold, avoiding my kitty. She whispered, “Your little kitty looks a tiny bit sore sweetie…. Do you want Mommy to kiss it and make it feel better?” I heard my voice beg, “Yes Mommy…. PLEASE!!! PLEASE KISS IT AND MAKE IT BETTER….” I watched as she lowered herself between my legs, her voice was gentle. I could feel the warmth of her breath on my kitty as she whispered, “Shh…shh.. Mommy’s here… Mommy will make it all better….” Then her tongue touched me. My knees jerked upward and apart, presenting myself to her eagerly. I heard her whisper, “Such a wet little girl… no wonder you need diapers…” My hands slid under my camisole and gripped my small tits. Her hair may not be blonde, but oh GOD…. OH GOD!!!! I was shivering and lifting my hips towards her tongue. Then I felt her shift and two fingers entered me while her tongue danced over my clit. I was clenching against her fingers as I shivered, but she didn’t stop. My body shivered as I climaxed but she didn’t stop. She brought me right back to the edge and I felt myself rocking my hips, but she didn’t stop. Her fingers wiggled inside me for a second climax; only then did she finally stopped. I was out of breath, and my tits were feeling sore, I had pinched and squeezed them so hard. My knees flopped sideways, any modesty forgotten, as she used another baby wipe to clean my kitty again. My eyes were still closed when I felt her tugging the thick diaper between my legs and I heard the tapes being applied. I peeked when I heard her taking off her clothes; then she climbed in next to me, pulling a soft blanket over us. Her arm reached and pulled me to roll on my side facing her. At first, I was a little confused, she seemed to be laying a lot further up and I wanted to lay my head on her shoulder. Then I felt something against my lips as she whispered, “Here sweetie… Good little girls get to suck Mommy’s titties.” I mumbled, “Call me Cindy.” Then my lips latched on and I suckled. It was wonderful. I was floating on cloud nine, ready to take a nap when two things occurred to me. I let go of her nipple and said quietly, “I need to pee… I’ll be right back and then I’ll kiss Mommy’s kitty…” Her arms tightened around me and she kissed my head. Then she said, “Use your diaper sweetie… And don’t worry about me… just wet your diaper and suck on Mommy’s titty.” I blushed a little and latched back onto her nipple. It took a couple minutes, but I managed to pee in my diaper. I was surprised how quickly it absorbed every drop. Mommy must have known when I wet it because she patted my thickly diapered bottom and whispered, “Good girl….” And that’s the last I remember before falling asleep. The End???

Meta Moore By Sophie & Pudding *Author's Note: About 5 years ago, a woman named Mia Moore wrote the Academy Works series here on DailyDiapers. It is one of the worst-kept secrets that this was a pen name Pudding and I used, all so we could write THIS story! (Yeah, we really did write a seven-book series just to write a side-story.) And though you can find the whole story elsewhere on the internet, we think it's time to post it on DD as well. I'll be posting chapters in blocks so people have time to build a relationship with the characters and the narrative. ----------------------------------- At the time of this story's first chapter, Mia has written Academy I [Part 1], Academy B [Part 2], Academy T[Part 3], Academy K [Part 4], and the first six chapters of Academy A [Part 5]. Throughout this story, more chapters will be released (and clearly denoted). Though it isn't necessary to know anything about Academy Works to enjoy Mia's story, it might be fun to follow along as a fan of hers. In which case, we recommend you read *all four stories above and the first six chapters of the fifth story*. SPOILERS: This story contains spoilers for Academy Works up to and including Academy A - Chapter 6. ----------------------------------- Wednesday, October 5th 1.) I sunk down in my seat and rubbed my eyes under my glasses. The meet-up hadn't been a total disaster, but I didn't expect to run into someone I knew. Who drove two hours away to go to dinner, anyway? Me, I supposed. I took a deep breath. It felt like the first deep breath I'd taken since bumping into Blossom Brixley. Well, we didn't literally bump into each other; I saw her from across the room. I ducked out before finishing my pizza and hurried back to the train station. The truth was, she probably didn't even know who I was. Blossom Brixley was easy to spot from across a room. She was a tall girl with bottled-blonde hair, a slim, almost lanky frame, and a figure that people either wanted or wanted to have for themselves. She was the quintessential popular girl experience; cheerleader in high school, beloved by most, and - contrary to many snap-judgements - pretty clever. Good grades, good looks, and a smile that melted hearts the way summer melted ice cream. If life dealt hands, it was easy to presume that Blossom had been dealt a good one. Blossom Brixley was easy to spot from across a room, but the girl she followed onto the train was facing away from the door. Just as the train lurched forward, Blossom plopped down in the seat across from the girl, so the two were facing each other. Blossom read the name tag on the girl's shirt, only to confirm that it said what she thought it said. Mia Moore. She couldn't believe it… it was actually her. I just about jumped out of my skin when she sat down. It was like waking up from a nightmare just to see the thing you feared standing above you in your bed. And the train had started to move: I couldn't run again. My heart rate doubled. "Blossom..." I managed to eke out. Why was she on the train? She had a car; she sure talked about it enough in high school. But just because we were both on the train didn't mean she saw me at the munch. "Nice to, uh... see you." Had I ever said this many words to her before? Four years at the same high school, two years at the same college, seven classes together... actually we had one together right now. She was impossible to miss. I, on the other hand, was impossible to notice. "You're awfully jumpy!" Blossom laughed. She had done enough drugs to know what euphoria felt like. That was how she felt: euphoric, with a touch of anxiety. "I'm a girl, not a spider - nothing to be afraid of." A girl, not a spider. That definitely didn't align with my schema of Blossom. In high school, she was often cruel. She was popular, but she was also smart; that made it worse. Then I noticed her looking down at my chest, or rather, the nametag I was still wearing from the munch. I quickly tore it off and crumpled it into a ball. Was my face hot? I felt a little sick. "Well, it was nice seeing you," I said too quickly, pulling out my phone to pretend like I was replying to a text. For a girl who cheered in front of her whole school for years, Blossom found herself oddly awestruck. She didn't bother the girl as she played on her phone, instead choosing to gaze out the window as the city went by. Trees. Then houses. Then buildings. There was a while left on the route, and there weren't many other people in the carriage. It was now or never, wasn't it? "I've read your stuff, you know." "Uh..." She read my stuff? She meant that she read my stuff online. She read that particular kind of stuff. Because she saw my nametag, because she knew who I was. But she knew who I was! She wasn't supposed to know both of me, no one was! And without thinking it through, without thinking about how stupid it sounded, I did the first thing that came to mind: I lied. "I don't know what you're talking about." "I knew you were gonna say that," Blossom laughed. "I mean, that's what anyone would say, right? I think that's what I'd say too, 'cause I think we think all deniability is plausible until it isn't, and it definitely isn't right now." Blossom was rocking gently in her seat. Mia Moore was shorter than she was, enough so that even when sitting the difference was pretty clear. But even though she was taller, Blossom felt a lot like a kid on Christmas morning. Of all the munches in all the cities in all the world… had Blossom really been going to school with Mia Moore her whole damn life? "I'm so excited right now, I can't even. I mean, look - I'm shaking." She held up her hand to show her trembling fingers. I sunk further into my chair and felt my face get hot. No one was ever so excited to see me, and Blossom Brixley of all people... it was a dream. I was dreaming. Then a thought occurred to me, one that should have occurred to me a lot earlier. Why was Blossom at that munch anyway? And why did she know about my writing? There wasn't any chance that she... No, it was a prank. Ugh, this was so like her. Now what? She tells everyone in school about me? Her and her stupid sorority sisters laugh behind my back? The heat on my face became that of anger rather than that of embarrassment, and I balled my hands at my sides. "This isn't funny," I told her sharply, but tears were forming in my eyes. I always cried when I got angry. "Of course it's not funny, why would it be funny? I'm basically confessing a pretty personal thing about me to you, so I hope it's not funny..." Blossom had a legendary pout - it was a leftover from her mousey middle school days of frumpiness and unhappiness. On her current-day self, it was cute as heck and usually meant people let her have her way. Today, she pouted because meeting her literary hero was already a pretty stressful thing and... and oh no. "Oh no no, please don't cry! No no, I've got tissues in..." Her voice trailed off as she dug through her purse looking for the little pack of tissues. "...somewhere in here... I think? I think, I mean, I should..." "I'm not crying," I said under my breath, reaching up and rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands. When I was done, my glasses fell in place on my nose and I looked up at Blossom again. She looked... worried. Either I was barking up the wrong tree, or she was a very good actress. The actress thing was more likely. She passed me a tissue from her purse all the same and I took it. I held it idly in my lap. "Are you okay? I'm sorry I didn't mean to overwhelm you, or whatever; I was just super duper excited because I've been reading your stuff since last year, and I had no idea you were.. you know? You? I thought Mia Moore lived... well I dunno, but I didn't think I went to school with her. With you, I mean." The fact they were in public was no deterrence to Blossom; she had a pride and confidence that was unshakable in almost all situations. But meeting Mia Moore? It was apparently her kryptonite. "This is probably super duper weird and like... parasocial, for you, right? Sheesh, I'm sorry, I'm being a total dweeb." "No, I..." Damnit, she seemed so genuine. But I'd been fooled by that act before. She was friends with my neighbor - Diana - until she found out Diana still slept with her old baby blanket. Everyone at school teased Diana for months. If this was real, the poetic irony was too coincidental for me. Was all this too coincidental? Seeing her at that munch? Both of us taking the same train home? Her knowing I wrote stories online? And the content of those stories... it was a lot worse than a baby blanket. I was alight with anxiety. Adrenaline. A need to run. Or what if she was telling the truth? What if someone actually liked what I wrote? What if this wasn't a sick joke? What if Blossom was opening up to me? How naive would I have to be to believe that? How monstrous would I have to be to believe otherwise? I felt like I was going to pass out... "It's just... hard to believe," I admitted, telling the truth this time. "I mean, you're... you. I don't know why you would... I mean..." "Oh, I know, I know. People think just because I'm this tall blonde girl who dresses nice that the idea of me reading is just so wild, but lemme tell you this much, little miss: I didn't get a four-oh in college so far by not being a reader. I read a lot of stuff, although a lot of what people say is good writing is just awful. Like why do people get so hung up on Tolkien? Or Frank Herbert? It's so... boring. It's like they're freshmen just writing for a word count, you know?" Blossom definitely didn't expect to launch into a tangent on literature, but she was nervous. "Uh... I guess so." I think it was more a differentiation of period norms, but sure. I could see where she was coming from. Though that wasn't really the point I was trying to make. "I meant like... that you would read... uh... niche literature." Porn. I could just say porn. But that felt too direct. I still didn't trust her. Would I ever be able to trust her? "I mean, a lot of it is really bad… if I read another story about 'Oh no, my Mom caught me and now yadda yadda yadda' I think I might lose enough brain cells that I won't need to bleach my hair anymore. And yes, I know that's a bad stereotype but I'm allowed to make it because I'm basic." Blossom smiled, quite pleased with herself. If only she'd had a PSL in her hand. "But your stories are so smart! And like, your writing is legit good. Not even, it's legit amazing." "Uh... thank you..." How was I having this conversation with Blossom Brixley? What parallel dimension had I fallen into? Was a twelve-foot Amazon going to walk into our train car? And as with any dream, once I realized it was a dream, sometimes I didn't want to wake up. If this dream kept going like this, I didn't really want to wake up either. "So... you've read... all of them?" Was I testing her? "Which one is your favorite?" And why! And what parts did she like! And who was her favorite character! Ugh, the neediness of a writer... or was it a praise kink? Same thing, in my line of work. Oh! This was like one of those 'oh you like Star Wars? Name 9 movies then' tests! Blossom made it a point to know just a few choice pieces of obscure trivia because she liked to shut exclusionary boys down when they tried to gate-keep her friends, but this was the first time she'd actually been quizzed on something she was passionate about. "I'm up to date! I think T is my favorite because I love that 'other side of the fall' stuff and authors don't really cover that much. But I think B is definitely the hottest. Like the stuff with Bala - is that how you pronounce it? Bala? That's how I've been saying it. But when her dreams start to change... wow..." Blossom fanned herself with her hand and smiled, which only made her blush. Well, she clearly knew what she was talking about. She could have read through all my stuff just to torture me, but she would have had to know about it before the munch. There was no way she read through four and a half stories before the train came. I felt my muscles start to relax, in a 'less anxious' kind of way, not a 'start of a story' kind of way. "Yeah, I think T is a lot of people's favorite. It's very... wish fulfillment? I dunno." I looked around the train car; the evening sun had fallen behind the horizon and the lights on the ceiling were working harder than before. There were a few other groups of people nearby, but half of them were nodding off in their chairs. One kid was playing a game on his Nintendo Switch and an old guy in the back looked at his laptop screen through half-moon eyeglasses. For all intents and purposes, Blossom and I were alone... if we kept our voices down. "I think it's because it's like... okay, so at first it's this whole Stepford Wives thing, like a creepypasta or something, and then it's also got hints of a Dimension story in this whole 'normalized worldspace' thing." Blossom even made air-quotes when she said that. "At the start, Talita's still got this kind of resistance, but not really. And the idea of losing the ability to count or read? It's like that one post Daisy Fingers made when someone was like 'would you wanna be Bun?' and she's like 'sometimes, but then the idea of not actually being able to read or write or do basic things has a reality side that's actually pretty scary, so no'. That's basically how it is with T: it's wish fulfillment, but would I really want that?" Blossom paused, put one finger to her perfectly glossed lips in thought, and then nodded. "Yeah, probably," she laughed brightly. "Huh..." Yeah, Blossom had a point. Would I want that, if it was offered to me? Probably not. I sat up a little and pulled one foot up onto the chair with me, getting comfortable.

So, woke up only a little bit wet. (just one wetting). But life was in full force and I had to go out. So I took it off and wiped myself a bit, got dressed and headed out to do what I had to do. But when I got back in, I thought, "Hmm... it's not TOO bad...." So instead of putting a new diaper on, I dug that one out of the pail and... Well you get the idea I bet. And the second time I took it off, well it was a lot heavier. Anyone else ever 'reuse' like that? I mean, I don't mind the feeling of a wet diaper (obviously), and being a 'boomer', hate the thought of 'wasting' a half-used diaper. P.S. OBTW, no poo, except for a spot where I shouldn't have trusted a fart that much... lol.

Seventeen-year-old Avery Smith stripped the soaked sheets from her bed for the fourth morning in a row. She stood there, shoulders slumped, staring at the evidence of yet another accident. Why is this happening to me? Her mother, April, appeared in the doorway, watching quietly. “Did it happen again, honey?” Avery turned, her soaked pajamas clinging to her skin. “I don’t know why this keeps happening,” she said, voice cracking with frustration. April stepped into the room and gently placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world, sweetheart. We’ll get it sorted out at the doctor’s today. Why don’t you let me handle the sheets? Go take a bath and get ready.” Avery dropped the wet bundle onto the floor and started toward the bathroom, but April stopped her. “Wait a second. Let’s get these wet things off you first.” April lifted the bottom of Avery’s pajama top. “Arms up.” Avery reluctantly raised her arms, letting her mother pull the soaked shirt over her head. April tossed it onto the pile, then knelt and tugged down both the pajama pants and underwear in one motion. Avery stepped out of them, now completely naked in front of her mom. Embarrassed, she turned quickly and hurried into the bathroom. April watched her go, then gathered the laundry. When she reached the hamper, she decided to empty it too. As soon as she opened the lid, a strong, unmistakable smell hit her. She picked up a pair of jeans and immediately knew what had happened. With a quiet sigh, she carried everything downstairs to the washer. In the bathroom, Avery started running a bath. The old house didn’t have a shower in her bathroom, so she made do with the tub, occasionally sneaking into her mom’s room when she wanted a proper shower. She poured in some bubble bath and waited for the water to rise. Once she was in the tub, she replayed the last few days in her mind. She couldn’t understand it. She hadn’t been drinking much, and she’d made sure to use the bathroom before bed. Yet here she was again. April finished loading the washer and returned upstairs. She opened the bathroom door without knocking. “Mom! What are you doing?” Avery yelped, sinking lower in the bubbles. April lowered the toilet seat and sat down. “I need to ask you a few questions before we see the doctor, honey. It can’t wait.” Avery stared straight ahead, cheeks burning. “Can’t it wait until I’m out?” “I’m afraid not. Have you had any other problems this week besides the bedwetting?” “No,” Avery mumbled. April waited a beat. “Are you sure? We have to be honest with the doctor so she can figure this out.” Avery stayed silent. “Honey… I found the clothes in your hamper. Can you tell me what happened?” Avery closed her eyes tightly. “I was walking home from school and I couldn’t hold it. It was an accident. I’m sorry.” April stood up and knelt beside the tub on the bath mat. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m not mad. But you have to tell me when things like this happen. You shouldn’t have left wet clothes hidden like that.” “I didn’t want you to know,” Avery whispered. “I understand. But from now on, you come to me right away, okay?” Avery nodded, eyes still downcast. April gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll leave you to finish up. We need to leave in about an hour.” Before heading downstairs, April stepped into Avery’s room and opened the closet. She pulled out a purple sundress and hung it on the bathroom door knob. “Avery? I laid out a dress for you to wear to the doctor’s,” she called through the door. “I think it’ll be more comfortable than pants today.” Avery didn’t argue. After everything her mom had already seen, she wasn’t about to complain. They arrived at the doctor’s office just before 11 a.m. While April spoke with the receptionist, Avery noticed two young children playing with toys on the floor. Once her mom returned, they sat together in the waiting room. “Avery Smith?” the receptionist called. Avery stood, but April followed right behind her. “Mom, you don’t have to come in with me,” Avery said as they reached the exam room door. April placed a hand on her daughter’s back and gently guided her inside. “I want to hear what the doctor says.” The room was clearly designed for younger patients—brightly colored animal illustrations covered the walls, and the exam table had a crinkly disposable pad on it. Avery tried not to think about it. A tall nurse in scrubs entered. “Avery? Can you take your shoes off and come with me, please?” Avery slipped off her sandals and followed her to the scale. The nurse recorded her weight—97 pounds—and height—4’11”. Then she led Avery back to the room, lifted her onto the exam table without warning, and drew blood with surprising gentleness. “All done. Good job,” the nurse said with a smile. Avery managed a small smile in return. The nurse turned to April. “The doctor will need a urine sample. Did she use the potty before you left the house?” Avery blinked. Potty? April looked slightly surprised too but answered, “Yes, I believe she did.” The nurse nodded. “I’ll get her something to drink. You can wait in the waiting room, and just let the receptionist know when she’s ready to go.” A few minutes later, the nurse returned with a bright pink sippy cup with two handles and handed it to April. “Have her finish this. We’ll come get you when she needs to use the potty.” Avery stared at the cup in disbelief. “I’m not drinking out of that.” April took her hand. “Come on, let’s go back to the waiting room. I’ll take the lid off once we’re out there.” As they walked hand-in-hand down the hallway, Avery felt smaller than she had in years. April started to twist the lid off, but before she had it fully open, Avery snatched the cup and set it down on the small table beside her chair. “I’m not drinking out of a sippy cup, Mom. I’m seventeen.” April glanced around the waiting room, then lowered her voice. “I know, honey. But the nurse brought it for a reason. Just take a few sips so we can get the sample and go home. Please?” Avery crossed her arms, cheeks flushed. After a long moment, she reluctantly picked up the cup and took a few small sips. The juice was overly sweet, but she forced it down. They waited. Avery flipped through a worn children’s magazine without really seeing the pages. Twenty minutes later, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I… I think I need to go,” she whispered. April nodded and went to the receptionist. Within moments, the same nurse appeared with a friendly smile. “Ready for the potty, Avery?” Avery winced at the word but stood up anyway. The nurse led them back to the exam room area, this time stopping at a bathroom decorated with cartoon sea creatures. “Do you need help, or can you manage?” the nurse asked. “I can do it myself,” Avery muttered, stepping inside and closing the door quickly. She managed to fill the collection cup the nurse had left on the sink, then washed her hands and emerged, handing it over with embarrassment burning on her face. “Good girl,” the nurse said casually, sealing the sample. “The doctor will be in shortly.” Back in the exam room, Avery sat on the crinkly pad again, swinging her legs nervously. When the doctor finally entered—a kind-looking woman in her forties with a stethoscope around her neck—she reviewed the chart and smiled at both of them. “Hi Avery, I’m Dr. Patel. I understand you’ve been having some accidents at night… and maybe during the day too?” Avery nodded stiffly, staring at the floor. Dr. Patel asked a series of questions—how often it happened, how much she was drinking, any stress at school, any pain or other symptoms. April filled in details Avery was too humiliated to mention, including the wet jeans from the hamper. After the exam, Dr. Patel sat on a stool and spoke gently. “At your age, sudden onset bedwetting and daytime accidents can have several causes. We’ll test the urine, but I’d also like to rule out any infections, diabetes, or even emotional triggers. In the meantime, we should take some precautions so you’re more comfortable.” She turned to a cabinet and pulled out a small package, handing it to April. “These are pull-ups designed for older children and teens dealing with nighttime wetting. They’re discreet under clothes and will give Avery peace of mind.” Avery’s eyes widened. “I’m not wearing those.” “Honey…” April started. Dr. Patel continued calmly, “It’s just until we figure out what’s going on. No one at school needs to know. Think of it as temporary protection, like an insurance policy.” Avery felt tears prickling at her eyes but blinked them back. The appointment wrapped up with instructions for more tests and a follow-up visit. As they left the office, April carried a discreet bag containing the pull-ups and a few other supplies the doctor had recommended. The drive home was quiet. Avery stared out the window, the purple sundress suddenly feeling even more childish than before. When they got inside, April set the bag on the kitchen counter. “Why don’t you go change into something comfy? I’ll make us lunch.” Avery hesitated, then grabbed the bag and headed upstairs. In her room, she pulled out one of the pull-ups. It was soft, printed with faint stars, and looked exactly like something a much younger child would wear. She stood there for a long moment, torn between humiliation and the exhausting fear of another accident. Finally, she slipped it on under her dress. It crinkled softly with every movement. Downstairs, April pretended not to notice when Avery returned. But as they ate sandwiches together, she reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “We’re going to get through this, Avery. Together. Okay?” Avery nodded slowly, the crinkle of the pull-up a constant reminder with every shift in her chair. For the first time in days, though, she felt a tiny bit less afraid of what might happen that night. For the rest of the afternoon, Avery stayed in her room, alternating between homework and anxiously checking her phone. Every time she moved, the soft crinkle of the pull-up reminded her of its presence. It felt bulky and strange, yet strangely reassuring. She told herself it was only temporary—just until the test results came back. That evening, April made Avery’s favorite dinner: spaghetti and meatballs. They ate together at the kitchen table, the conversation carefully avoiding the elephant in the room. Afterward, April suggested a movie night. Avery agreed, mostly because she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. Halfway through the movie, Avery felt a familiar pressure building. She shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “Mom… I should go to the bathroom,” she mumbled, starting to get up. Before she could take two steps, a warm rush escaped. The pull-up absorbed it quickly, but the sudden warmth and faint crinkle as she moved made her freeze. April noticed immediately. “Did it happen, sweetie?” Avery’s face burned with shame. She nodded, unable to speak. “It’s okay,” April said softly, standing up. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” In the bathroom, April helped Avery out of the sundress and the used pull-up. She wiped her down gently with a warm washcloth, treating her with the same patient care she’d used when Avery was little. Avery stood there silently, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I feel so stupid,” she whispered. “You’re not stupid,” April replied, pulling her into a hug. “Your body is going through something we don’t understand yet. That’s why we’re seeing the doctor. For now, we manage it. No shame in that.” April helped her into a fresh pull-up and a soft pair of pajamas. They finished the movie cuddled on the couch, April gently rubbing Avery’s back until she relaxed. The next morning brought the same routine. Avery woke to damp warmth again. This time she didn’t try to hide it. She called out for her mom, who came in without hesitation, stripped the bed, and helped her wash up. By the third day of wearing protection, the embarrassment had dulled into reluctant acceptance. April even bought some more discreet pull-ups online—plain white ones that looked more like underwear. Avery wore them to school under her usual clothes, changing in a stall during lunch just in case. One afternoon after school, Avery made it all the way home but had another daytime accident on the front porch steps. She rushed inside, tears streaming, and found her mom in the kitchen. April didn’t scold. She simply guided Avery upstairs, helped her shower, and put her in fresh clothes. Then she sat on the edge of the bed while Avery cried. “I hate this,” Avery sobbed. “I feel like a baby.” “You’re still my strong, smart seventeen-year-old,” April said, brushing hair from her daughter’s face. “This doesn’t change that. We’ll keep working with the doctor. In the meantime, I’m here for all of it—the good days and the hard ones.” At the follow-up appointment a week later, Dr. Patel reviewed the test results. “Good news and not-so-good news. No infection or diabetes, which rules out some serious concerns. It looks like this may be stress-related or possibly a temporary regression of bladder control—sometimes triggered by anxiety or hormonal shifts. We’ll try some behavioral techniques and maybe medication if it persists.” She recommended a chart to track accidents, scheduled pelvic floor exercises, and suggested continuing with protection at night and during long school days. On the way home, Avery stared out the window. “I just want to be normal again.” “You will be,” April assured her. “And until then, we’ve got this.” That night, after Avery fell asleep in a fresh pull-up, April stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching her daughter sleep peacefully for the first time in weeks. She knew the road ahead might still be bumpy, but they were facing it together. Over the next two weeks, the accidents continued with frustrating regularity. Avery managed most school days without incident thanks to the discreet pull-ups, but nights were another story. She woke up wet almost every morning, and twice she had leaked through the pull-up onto the sheets. The daytime accident on the porch repeated itself once more when she got stuck talking to a neighbor. April grew increasingly concerned. One evening after another soaked pull-up and a tearful cleanup, she sat Avery down on the edge of the freshly made bed. “Honey, I think the pull-ups aren’t cutting it anymore,” April said gently but firmly. “You’re leaking through at night, and I hate seeing you so upset every morning. I ordered something that might work better. They arrived today.” Avery’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean ‘better’?” April went to her own room and returned with a large, unopened package. She set it on the bed and pulled out one of the new garments. It was thicker than the pull-ups—white with gentle pastel prints, clear tapes on the sides, and a noticeably more padded design. Real diapers. “No,” Avery whispered immediately, shaking her head. “Mom, those are… those are actual diapers. I’m not a baby.” “I know you’re not,” April replied, sitting beside her and taking her hand. “But you’re struggling, and I want you to be able to sleep through the night without waking up wet and embarrassed. These have much higher absorbency. The doctor even mentioned that overnight protection might need to be stepped up if the pull-ups weren’t enough. We can try them for a week or two and see how it goes.” Avery stared at the diaper in her mother’s hands, cheeks burning with humiliation. She wanted to argue, to refuse, but the memory of waking up in a soaked bed and leaking pull-up made her hesitate. April spoke softly. “Let me help you tonight. If you hate it, we’ll figure something else out. Okay?” After a long silence, Avery gave a tiny nod. April helped her change out of her clothes and into the diaper. The padding was thick and crinkly, forcing her legs slightly apart. It felt bulky and undeniably infantile, especially when April secured the tapes snugly around her waist. She then slipped a loose nightshirt over Avery’s head. “There. That should hold everything,” April said, smoothing the shirt down. “How does it feel?” “Horrible,” Avery mumbled, climbing under the covers. “I feel like I’m two years old again.” April leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re still my big girl. This is just protection so your body can rest. I love you, no matter what.” The next morning, Avery woke up dry for the first time in over two weeks. The diaper was heavy and warm, but it had done its job completely—no leaks, no wet sheets. She felt a confusing mix of relief and deep embarrassment when April came in to help change her. “See?” April said encouragingly as she untaped the used diaper and wiped Avery clean. “This is working better already. I think we should use these at night for now.” Avery didn’t argue. The dry sheets and full night’s sleep were too valuable to reject. Over the following days, the routine became normalized: diaper before bed, help changing in the morning, discreet pull-ups during the day. One afternoon, April even suggested Avery wear a diaper under her clothes for a long car trip to visit family. Avery protested at first but eventually agreed after her mom promised no one would know. The extra security gave her peace of mind during the three-hour drive, though the thick padding made her walk a little differently when they stopped for breaks. As the days passed, Avery’s resistance slowly softened. The diapers kept her dry and comfortable at night, and her mom’s calm, loving support made the humiliation easier to bear. April never teased or babied her beyond what was necessary for care—she simply provided quiet, matter-of-fact help. One night, as April finished taping a fresh diaper on her daughter, Avery whispered, “Mom… thank you for not making me feel worse about this.” April pulled her into a tight hug. “We’re a team, Avery. This is temporary, and we’ll keep working with the doctor until it stops. Until then, I’ve got you.” Avery nodded, the thick padding crinkling as she settled into bed. For the first time since the accidents started, she fell asleep feeling safe instead of scared. The new routine settled in over the next couple of weeks. Avery wore diapers every night, and April helped with changes in the morning without making a big deal of it. The daytime pull-ups stayed in rotation for school and longer outings, and Avery grew more accustomed to the extra bulk under her clothes. She even started keeping a small “just in case” bag in her backpack with wipes and a spare pull-up. One Friday evening, April came home from the store with another new package. “I’ve been thinking,” she said as they put away groceries. “Since the nighttime diapers are working so well, maybe we should use them during the day on weekends too. It would give you more freedom to relax without worrying every couple of hours.” Avery paused, a box of cereal in her hands. “Mom… I already feel like this is too much. Diapers during the day? What if someone sees?” “No one will see,” April reassured her. “It’s just us at home. You can wear loose clothes, and it’ll be more comfortable than constantly checking if you need the bathroom. Your body clearly needs the extra support right now.” After some gentle coaxing and a reminder of how peaceful the dry nights had been, Avery reluctantly agreed to try it for the weekend. Saturday morning, after her usual change out of the night diaper, April helped her into a fresh one. She chose a slightly thinner daytime version with a plain white exterior that looked less obviously babyish. Still, the thickness was unmistakable. Avery tugged on an oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants, and they spent the day doing quiet things around the house—baking cookies, watching shows, and folding laundry. By afternoon, Avery had used the diaper without even realizing it at first. When she noticed the warmth, she froze, but the lack of panic or mess was surprisingly calming. April changed her on her bed with the same patient efficiency, wiping her gently and powdering her skin before taping on a fresh one. “You’re doing great, honey,” April said softly. “I’m proud of you for trusting me with this.” That evening, Avery curled up on the couch in her nightshirt and diaper, head resting on her mom’s shoulder. The constant crinkle and bulk had become almost normal. Part of her still hated it—hated feeling so dependent and small—but another part felt deeply cared for in a way she hadn’t since she was much younger. The following Monday brought a check-in appointment with Dr. Patel. April insisted on coming into the room again. Avery sat on the exam table in her dress, the discreet pull-up hidden underneath. Dr. Patel reviewed her symptom log. “The protection seems to be helping with your quality of life. That’s important. We’ll continue the behavioral exercises and check in again in three weeks. If things haven’t improved significantly, we may explore other options like medication or specialist referrals.” On the drive home, Avery was quiet. “Mom… what if it never stops?” she asked eventually. “Then we adapt,” April said simply. “You’re still going to graduate, go to college if you want, and live your life. This doesn’t define you. And as long as you need help, I’m happy to give it.” That night, as April taped Avery into her bedtime diaper, she added a little extra baby powder and made sure the fit was snug and comfortable. Avery didn’t protest. She simply whispered, “Thanks, Mom,” before climbing under the covers. April smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Always, sweetheart. Get some good sleep.” As Avery drifted off, the thick padding cradling her, she felt a strange sense of security. The road to recovery might be longer than she hoped, but with her mom by her side—handling the changes, the laundry, the quiet reassurance—she no longer felt completely alone in it. A few weekends later, April announced that her sister, Aunt Karen, and her family were coming over for a barbecue. Karen was bringing her husband and their three-year-old daughter, Lily—the bubbly toddler Avery used to babysit. Avery immediately felt anxious. “Mom, what if something happens? I can’t wear a diaper around them!” “We’ll be careful,” April promised. “You can wear a pull-up under loose clothes. Just stay close to the house and let me know if you need help. It’ll be fine.” On the day of the visit, Avery chose her baggiest shorts and a long t-shirt. The pull-up was barely noticeable, and she tried to act normal when her aunt and uncle arrived. Lily ran straight to her, demanding to play dolls. Avery obliged, sitting on the floor with the little girl while the adults grilled outside. Everything went smoothly until mid-afternoon. While playing in the living room, Avery felt the familiar warm rush. She had been so focused on keeping Lily entertained that she hadn’t noticed the urge. The pull-up absorbed it, but it quickly reached its limit and leaked slightly onto the carpet. Avery froze in panic. Lily, oblivious, kept playing. April walked in from the kitchen and immediately read the situation on her daughter’s face. “Avery, why don’t we go get cleaned up?” Before Avery could respond, Aunt Karen followed April inside carrying a giggling Lily. “Looks like someone else needs a change too! Lily had a little accident in her pull-up.” Karen set her diaper bag on the couch and laid out a changing mat on the floor without hesitation. “I’ll take care of Lily right here. April, you can use the couch for Avery if you want.” Avery’s heart pounded. “Mom, please—not here,” she whispered desperately. But Lily was already on her back, kicking her legs while Karen untaped her soaked toddler pull-up. The scene was too public to escape. April gently guided Avery to the couch, speaking in a low, soothing voice. “It’s okay, honey. They’re family. No one’s going to make a big deal.” April helped Avery lie back beside Lily. The three-year-old turned her head and watched curiously as April untaped Avery’s wet pull-up, revealing her completely. Karen glanced over while efficiently changing her daughter and offered a sympathetic smile. “Oh sweetie,” Karen said kindly, not missing a beat. “These things happen. Lily’s been having accidents too since we started potty training. No shame here.” Avery wanted the floor to swallow her whole. She lay there, mortified, as her mom wiped her clean with baby wipes right next to her little cousin. The crinkle of the fresh protection filled the air as April slid a thick diaper under Avery and taped it snugly into place. Karen finished with Lily at almost the same time, powdering her bottom and fastening her new diaper with practiced ease. “There we go, all dry and happy,” Karen said, helping Lily up. The toddler clapped her hands, completely unbothered. April pulled Avery’s shorts back up and gave her a quick hug. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Let’s go back outside and enjoy the rest of the day.” Avery avoided eye contact with her aunt for the next hour, but Karen never brought it up again. She treated Avery exactly the same as before—warm, teasing, and loving. Later, while the men watched a game, Karen pulled April aside in the kitchen. “Poor thing,” she murmured. “If you need any advice on brands or routines, I’ve tried a bunch with Lily. Some of the overnight ones are fantastic.” April nodded gratefully. “Thanks, sis. We’re figuring it out day by day.” That night, after everyone had gone home, Avery lay in bed while April taped her into her bedtime diaper. She was still quiet and embarrassed. “I can’t believe Aunt Karen saw everything,” Avery whispered. April smoothed the tapes down gently. “She loves you, honey. And she understands more than you think. Families take care of each other through stuff like this. You’re not alone.” Avery nodded slowly, the thick padding between her legs a comforting weight. As humiliating as the afternoon had been, the open acceptance from her aunt somehow made the situation feel a little less isolating. She closed her eyes, letting her mom pull the blanket up over her. For the first time, the idea of wearing diapers didn’t feel quite so terrifying. A couple of weeks after the barbecue, Aunt Karen called April with an invitation. “Why don’t you two come over for dinner this Friday? The boys are away at a baseball game, so it’ll just be us girls—me, Lily, you, and Avery. Low-key, nothing fancy.” April accepted before Avery could protest. “It’ll be good for you to spend time with them again,” she told her daughter. “Karen already knows, and she’s been really supportive. No surprises this time.” Avery was nervous the entire drive over. She had insisted on a pull-up instead of a full diaper for the visit, but April had slipped a spare diaper and wipes into the bag “just in case.” Karen greeted them warmly at the door, Lily toddling behind her with a stuffed bunny. “There’s my favorite niece! Come on in. I made lasagna.” Dinner went smoothly. Avery relaxed a little as the conversation stayed on normal topics—school, summer plans, and Lily’s latest antics. But after the meal, while they were playing in Lily’s bedroom, Avery felt the pressure build again. She tried to hold it, but a sudden spasm caught her off guard. The pull-up took most of it, but she could feel some leakage starting. Her face went pale. Karen noticed right away. “Uh oh,” Karen said gently. “Someone needs a change, don’t you?” Avery froze. April stood up. “I’ve got it.” But Karen waved her off kindly. “Why don’t we do it together? Lily needs one too—she’s been holding it all evening trying to play. We can knock them both out at once.” Before Avery could object, Karen had already spread out the changing mat in the living room (the most private space away from windows). She laid Lily down first, then patted the spot beside her. “Come on, Avery. It’s quicker this way, and I promise it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” April gave her daughter an encouraging nod. With burning cheeks, Avery lay down on the mat next to her three-year-old cousin. The two changing sessions happened side by side again. Karen worked efficiently on Lily, untaping the toddler’s wet diaper and chatting casually. “These big accidents are tough, huh? Lily’s been doing so much better with the thicker nighttime ones. Have you tried the ones with the extra absorbency panels, April?” April nodded while wiping Avery clean. “Yes, those have been a lifesaver for nights.” Avery lay there silently, mortified as her aunt glanced over and offered a sympathetic smile. “You’re being so brave, Avery. I know it’s not easy at your age, but honestly? No one here is judging you. Lily doesn’t care one bit, and neither do I.” Lily, in fact, pointed at Avery’s diaper and giggled. “Avery di-dee too!” Karen laughed softly. “That’s right, sweetie. Big cousins need help sometimes too.” April finished taping a fresh diaper onto Avery—this time a full overnight one, since Karen had convinced them it was better to be safe for the rest of the evening. Avery’s shorts were loose enough to hide most of the bulk, but the padding was impossible to ignore when she stood up. The rest of the night passed with surprising normalcy. They watched a children’s movie with Lily cuddled between them. Avery eventually relaxed enough to enjoy it, though every crinkle when she shifted reminded her of her situation. Karen never brought it up again, treating her exactly like the seventeen-year-old she was—asking about her classes and teasing her about boys in the same lighthearted way she always had. On the drive home, Avery was quiet for a long time. “Still embarrassed?” April asked gently. “Yeah… but Aunt Karen was nice about it,” Avery admitted. “It’s just weird being changed like Lily.” “I know, honey.” April reached over and squeezed her hand. “But it’s also showing you that the people who love you will support you through anything. That’s pretty special.” That night, as April helped Avery into her bedtime diaper at home, the routine felt a little less humiliating. The family’s acceptance was slowly chipping away at Avery’s shame, even if the thick padding and tapes still made her blush. A month later, April’s side of the family planned a big summer gathering at Aunt Karen’s house to celebrate their grandmother’s 75th birthday. Cousins, aunts, uncles, and several younger kids would all be there. Avery begged to stay home, but April insisted it would be good for her to get out and be around family. “We’ll be prepared,” April promised. “I’ve already talked to Karen. She’s setting things up so you can be comfortable without drawing attention.” On the day of the party, April dressed Avery carefully: a loose, baby-doll style sundress that fell to mid-thigh (chosen because it hid the bulk better), paired with the thickest overnight diaper. To Avery’s horror, April also packed a large diaper bag with extra supplies, wipes, powder, and changes of clothes. When they arrived, the backyard was full of relatives. Lily ran up immediately, followed by two more young cousins around the same age. Karen greeted them with a warm hug and quietly showed April where the “changing station” had been set up in a spare bedroom. As the afternoon wore on and games were played, Avery felt herself slipping back into little-kid mode. She was having so much fun with the younger cousins that she missed the warning signs again. A warm, heavy accident filled her diaper during a backyard scavenger hunt. The thick padding held everything, but the sagging weight was unmistakable. April noticed her daughter’s stiff walk and pulled her aside. “Let’s get you changed, sweetie.” Karen joined them. “I’ll help. The little ones are all due for lunch anyway.” What Avery didn’t expect was the setup in the kitchen. Karen had brought out two highchairs—one for Lily and, to Avery’s utter shock, a larger one borrowed from a friend with a toddler who had outgrown it. A pastel bib with cartoon animals was already tied around Lily’s neck. Another larger bib—plain white with a subtle plastic backing—waited on the tray of the second chair. “Mom, no—” Avery whispered, eyes wide. “It’s just to keep your dress clean while you eat, honey,” April said gently but firmly. “You’re already wearing protection. This makes everything easier.” Before she could protest further, Avery found herself lifted into the oversized highchair. The tray clicked into place, locking her in. April tied the bib around her neck while Karen did the same for Lily right beside her. The two highchairs sat side by side at the end of the long picnic table where the rest of the family was gathering for lunch. Avery’s face burned crimson as relatives glanced over. Most smiled kindly or simply continued their conversations, but a few older cousins raised eyebrows. No one said anything outright—Karen had clearly spoken to the adults beforehand. Lunch was served: sandwiches, pasta salad, and cut-up fruit. April fed Avery small bites while she sat trapped in the highchair, the thick, obviously used diaper squishing beneath her with every shift. Lily happily banged her hands on her tray, babbling away. Avery wanted to sink into the ground, but the bib caught a few spills, and the highchair kept her secure and safe from any further accidents. After lunch, the adults moved the highchairs into the living room for naptime. Avery was changed first on the spare bed—right next to Lily’s changing mat—by both April and Karen working together. The family’s casual acceptance made the humiliation sting less sharply than before. No teasing, just matter-of-fact care. “You’re handling this so well,” Karen whispered while powdering Avery’s skin. “Lily looks up to you, you know. Even now.” Later that afternoon, as the party wound down, Avery sat on a blanket in the yard wearing a fresh diaper and a clean dress. She felt small, cared for, and strangely protected by the entire family’s quiet understanding. When it was time to leave, Grandmother pulled her into a long hug. “Family takes care of its own, no matter how old we get,” she said softly. “You’re doing just fine, sweetheart.” On the ride home, Avery leaned her head against the window, the thick diaper crinkling softly beneath her. “Was it awful?” April asked. Avery thought for a moment. “Embarrassing… but everyone was really nice about it. I didn’t expect that.” April smiled. “That’s what family is for.” A few days after the family gathering, Aunt Karen called April with an offer. “Why don’t you let Avery stay with us for the weekend? Mark’s away on a work trip, so it’ll be just me, Lily, and Avery. It might be good for her to have a change of scenery, and I can help with the routine so you get a little break.” April thought it over and agreed. Avery was nervous but also curious—spending the weekend with her aunt and little cousin felt both scary and strangely comforting after how understanding everyone had been. On Friday afternoon, April dropped her off with the familiar diaper bag packed full: nighttime diapers, pull-ups, wipes, powder, extra clothes, and a couple of Avery’s favorite snacks. Karen greeted them at the door with Lily in her arms. “Welcome! We’re going to have so much fun,” Karen said warmly. She hugged Avery tightly. “No pressure, sweetheart. Same rules as home—whatever you need, we’ve got you.” The first evening was relaxed. They ordered pizza, watched movies, and played with Lily. Avery wore a pull-up under her pajamas. When she had a small accident during the movie, Karen simply took her upstairs without comment, changed her into a thick nighttime diaper right next to Lily’s changing table, and put her in soft sleepers. Saturday morning, Avery woke up heavy and wet. Karen came in, opened the blinds, and helped her out of the soaked diaper with the same efficient, gentle care April used. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Let’s get you fresh before breakfast.” Breakfast was the first big adjustment. Karen lifted Avery into the oversized highchair beside Lily and tied on a bib for both girls. Avery sat there blushing deeply as Karen fed them oatmeal and fruit, wiping their faces with the bibs between bites. Lily giggled and made a mess; Avery ate quietly, hyper-aware of the thick diaper crinkling every time she moved. After breakfast, Karen changed both girls again on the side-by-side mats. “You two are my little team this weekend,” she said cheerfully while powdering Avery’s skin and taping a fresh daytime diaper snugly in place. She dressed Avery in one of Lily’s spare toddler-style sundresses that was large enough to fit—short, with ruffles and a snap-crotch for easy changes. The day was full of simple activities: playing in the backyard sprinkler (with the diaper hidden under a swim diaper), coloring, and naptime in the living room. Avery napped on a blanket next to Lily, her thumb unconsciously drifting toward her mouth. Karen didn’t stop her. That afternoon, while Karen prepared snacks, Avery had another accident. This time Karen handled the change alone. She laid Avery on the mat, lifted her legs, and cleaned her thoroughly, talking softly the whole time. “You’re being such a good girl about all of this,” Karen said. “I know it’s a lot at your age, but it’s okay to let us take care of you. Lily loves having her big cousin here.” By Sunday, the routine felt almost natural. Avery spent most of the day in diapers and easy-access clothes, eating in the highchair, getting changed alongside Lily, and even letting Karen rock her for a few minutes during a quiet moment. The constant care was embarrassing but also deeply relieving—no hiding, no panic, just acceptance. When April came to pick her up Sunday evening, Avery was wearing a clean diaper under a soft dress, hair in pigtails that Karen had playfully done earlier. “How was it?” April asked as they drove home. Avery was quiet for a moment, then said, “It was… different. But Aunt Karen was really nice. I didn’t have to worry about anything.” April smiled. “Good. She offered to have you stay over again whenever we need. Would you want that?” Avery hesitated, cheeks pink, but nodded slightly. “Maybe… sometimes.” Back home that night, as April taped her into her bedtime diaper, Avery felt a strange mix of emotions—humiliation, safety, and the growing realization that she was slowly surrendering to the care she needed. The weekend at her aunt’s had pushed her further into this new reality, and part of her was starting to accept it. After Avery’s weekend at Aunt Karen’s, April noticed how much calmer and more relaxed her daughter had seemed upon returning. The structured care, lack of constant worry, and open acceptance had clearly helped. A few days later, April made some online purchases while Avery was at school. When Avery got home that afternoon, she found two large boxes in the living room. April was unpacking them with a determined but gentle expression. “What is all this?” Avery asked, already feeling a knot in her stomach. April pulled out the first item and began assembling it. “I’ve been thinking about how much easier and safer things were for you at Aunt Karen’s. So I ordered a few things to make our routine smoother here at home too.” The first box revealed a sturdy, padded highchair—larger than a standard toddler one, with a wide seat, adjustable height, and a removable tray. The second box contained a large wooden playpen with soft padded flooring and high mesh sides, big enough for Avery to sit or lie in comfortably. Avery stared in disbelief. “Mom… a highchair? And a playpen? I’m not a baby!” “I know you’re not,” April said calmly, snapping the tray onto the highchair. “But you’ve been having accidents even with the pull-ups, and the diapers are clearly necessary. These will help contain things and give you a safe space when you need to rest or when I’m busy. It’s about making life easier for both of us.” That evening, April introduced them immediately. Dinner was served in the new highchair. Avery sat with her thick diaper crinkling against the padded seat while April tied a bib around her neck and fed her—small bites of chicken, vegetables, and mashed potatoes. The tray kept her hands from wandering too much, and the bib caught the inevitable spills. After dinner came the playpen. April guided Avery inside with some stuffed animals, a blanket, and a sippy cup of juice. “Just relax here for a bit while I clean up. You can watch TV or color.” Avery sat in the playpen, knees drawn up, feeling incredibly small. The mesh walls surrounded her, and the thick diaper forced her legs apart slightly. She wanted to protest, but the quiet safety of the enclosed space—and the relief of not having to constantly monitor herself—kept her from fighting too hard. Bedtime followed the same familiar ritual: highchair snack, change into a fresh nighttime diaper on her bed, and then April lifted her into the playpen for a few minutes of wind-down time before carrying her to bed. Over the following days, the new items became part of the daily routine. Mornings started with a diaper change, breakfast in the highchair, and playpen time while April got ready for work. After school, Avery would come home to the playpen already set up with activities. Evenings often ended with her in the highchair for dinner, bib on, being fed or supervised closely. One night, after a particularly heavy accident that leaked despite the diaper, April added a onesie-style onesie over the diaper to keep it secure. Avery stood in front of the mirror in just the onesie and thick diaper, tears in her eyes. “I look ridiculous,” she whispered. “You look cared for,” April corrected softly, pulling her into a hug. “And that’s what matters right now. We’ll keep working with the doctor, but until your body catches up, this is how we’re going to keep you safe and comfortable.” Avery eventually stopped fighting the highchair and playpen. There was something oddly soothing about surrendering control—sitting securely in the highchair while her mom handled everything, or curling up in the playpen with a blanket and her favorite show playing. The constant crinkle of her diapers and the gentle structure made the days feel less overwhelming. One evening, as April lifted her out of the playpen after a long day, Avery rested her head on her mom’s shoulder. “It’s still embarrassing… but I feel safer,” she admitted quietly. April kissed the top of her head. “That’s all I want for you, sweetheart. We’re in this together.” The highchair and playpen had become permanent fixtures in their home, another step deeper into the caregiving routine that was slowly reshaping Avery’s life at seventeen. A couple of weeks later, the family organized another gathering—this time a casual backyard potluck at Aunt Karen’s to celebrate Lily’s successful potty training. Karen had been proudly sharing updates: Lily was now fully day-trained and only occasionally needed pull-ups at night. The family was excited to celebrate the milestone. Avery dreaded the event. April had dressed her with extra care that morning: a very thick overnight diaper (since they’d be out for hours), covered by a snap-crotch onesie and a short, ruffled baby-doll dress in soft pastel pink that barely reached mid-thigh. The outfit screamed “little,” especially compared to her normal clothes. Avery’s hair was in pigtails with matching ribbons. When they arrived, Lily ran up proudly in big-girl panties under her sundress, showing off her new “big kid” status to everyone. The contrast hit Avery immediately—she was the only one still in diapers. During the gathering, it became painfully obvious. While the other young cousins ran around freely, Avery stayed close to her mom or aunt. Every movement made the thick diaper crinkle loudly and waddle her slightly. The short dress did little to hide the bulky outline. Lunch was the hardest part. Karen had set up the highchair for Avery beside Lily’s now-empty booster seat. Lily sat like a big girl at the table, while Avery was lifted into the highchair, tray locked in place, and a large bib tied around her neck. The family chatted and laughed as April fed her small bites, wiping her chin with the bib. A few relatives glanced over with sympathetic or curious expressions, but no one said anything unkind—Karen had prepared them. After lunch, Avery felt the inevitable warmth spreading in her diaper. She had wet heavily while sitting in the highchair. April noticed the sagging and quietly took her inside, with Karen joining to help. In the spare room, they laid Avery on the changing mat right next to where Lily sometimes still got changed. As April untaped the heavy, soaked diaper, Karen cooed encouragingly. “Lily’s doing so well with the potty,” Karen said while handing April the wipes, “but Avery still needs her diapers. That’s perfectly okay. Every kid is different.” Avery lay there, face burning with shame, legs in the air as her aunt and mom cleaned her thoroughly, powdered her generously, and taped on a fresh, even thicker diaper. They snapped the onesie back into place and smoothed down the short dress. When they returned outside, Lily proudly announced to a cousin, “Avery still wears di-dees like a baby!” A couple of the adults gently shushed Lily, but the words stung. Avery spent the rest of the afternoon in the playpen Karen had set up in the shade, surrounded by a few toys and blankets while the other kids played freely. She sat there in her babyish dress and obvious diaper, sucking on a sippy cup, feeling smaller than ever. On the drive home that evening, Avery was quiet for a long time. “Everyone saw,” she finally whispered. “I was the only one in diapers… and baby clothes.” April reached over and squeezed her hand. “And the family still loves you just as much. Lily’s growing up in her way, and you’re getting the support you need in yours. That’s what matters.” Back home, April lifted Avery straight into the highchair for a quick snack, then changed her into an extra-thick nighttime diaper before placing her in the playpen to unwind. Avery curled up with her blanket, the day’s humiliations still fresh, but the familiar security of her diapers and her mom’s care slowly easing the embarrassment. The contrast with Lily’s potty training milestone had made everything feel more real—and more permanent. A few days after the family gathering, Aunt Karen suggested a special outing. “The weather’s supposed to be perfect this weekend. Why don’t the four of us go to the amusement park? Lily’s been asking for it, and it might be nice for Avery to have a fun day out too.” April agreed enthusiastically. Avery was less sure, but the idea of rides and cotton candy tempted her enough to go along with it. On the morning of the trip, April dressed Avery in a very babyish outfit: a thick, high-capacity diaper, a onesie, and a short pastel romper with snap-crotch access and ruffles. Her hair was in pigtails with bows. April packed the large diaper bag and, to Avery’s horror, unfolded a sturdy adult-sized stroller she had ordered online—padded, with a large canopy, tray, and five-point harness. “Mom, I can walk!” Avery protested. “You’ll get tired, and this way you can rest whenever you need to,” April said firmly. “It’s safer and easier.” When they met Karen and Lily at the park entrance, Lily skipped along holding her mom’s hand in a cute sundress and big-girl panties. Avery, by contrast, was pushed in the stroller, the thick diaper forcing her legs apart and the harness securing her in place. The canopy shaded her flushed face as people occasionally glanced their way. The day started with gentler rides. April and Karen pushed the stroller together, chatting happily while Lily ran ahead. Avery felt incredibly small being wheeled around like a toddler, but the stroller gave her a strange sense of security—she didn’t have to worry about accidents or getting lost in the crowds. During lunch at one of the park cafés, they found a quiet table. April lifted Avery out of the stroller and into a booster seat at the table (the highchair equivalent they brought along). A bib went on, and April fed her chicken tenders and fries while Karen did the same for Lily. Passersby smiled at the “cute sisters” scene, unaware of Avery’s true age. Mid-afternoon, after a few more rides, Avery had a major accident in the stroller. The heavy diaper swelled noticeably between her legs, but it held. Karen noticed first and whispered to April. They found a family restroom with a large changing table. Inside, they lifted Avery onto the table. With Lily standing nearby watching curiously, April and Karen worked together to change her right there in the public restroom. The thick, soaked diaper was untaped, wiped clean, powdered, and replaced with a fresh one. The snap-crotch romper made it quick and easy. A few mothers with younger children in the restroom gave sympathetic nods but said nothing. Back in the stroller, Avery sat quietly, freshly diapered and secured under the canopy, sucking on a sippy cup of juice that Karen had handed her. Lily, proud of staying dry all day, chattered away about the next ride. By the time the sun began to set, Avery was exhausted. She fell asleep in the stroller on the way back to the car, head lolling against the padded side, pigtails messy, thick diaper on full display under the short romper whenever the breeze lifted the fabric. On the ride home, April glanced at her sleeping daughter in the backseat (stroller folded in the trunk) and smiled softly at Karen. “She had a good day,” April said. “She did,” Karen agreed. “And she’s adjusting better than I expected. You’re both doing great.” Avery woke up later that night at home as April carried her from the car to her room. After a quick diaper change into an extra-thick nighttime one, she was placed in the playpen for a few minutes of quiet time before bed. The amusement park had been both thrilling and deeply humiliating—but with her mom and aunt taking full care of her, Avery had managed to enjoy parts of it despite the constant baby treatment. After the amusement park trip, Aunt Karen made another offer: “Why don’t Avery stay with us for a full week? Mark’s still traveling, and it would give April some time to rest while I handle the routine. Lily would love having her big cousin around every day.” April thought it was a good idea, and Avery—though nervous—agreed. She packed (or rather, April packed) the large diaper bag with plenty of supplies, onesies, rompers, and the thicker nighttime diapers. On the first evening at Aunt Karen’s, the new items were introduced gently but firmly. After a change into a fresh diaper, Karen sat Avery in the highchair for dinner. Instead of a sippy cup, she brought out a large baby bottle filled with warm milk and a soft nipple. “You’ve been doing so well letting us take care of you,” Karen said as she tied on the bib. “This will help you relax more at night and during the day. No more worrying about holding cups or spilling.” Avery blushed deeply as Karen held the bottle to her lips. She resisted at first, but after some gentle encouragement from both Karen and Lily’s enthusiastic “Bottle time!”, she accepted it. The warm milk was soothing, and drinking while secured in the highchair felt oddly comforting after a long day. Later that night, after her diaper change, Karen slipped a soft pink pacifier into Avery’s mouth while tucking her into the guest room’s playpen setup (they had expanded it with extra blankets and stuffed animals). “This helps with any anxiety before sleep,” Karen explained. “Just suck on it and relax.” Avery fell asleep quickly, pacifier bobbing gently between her lips and thick diaper crinkling softly with every shift. The week settled into a deeply regressive but caring routine: Mornings: Wake-up diaper change (often heavy and soaked), followed by breakfast in the highchair with a baby bottle of milk or juice. Karen would feed her oatmeal or pancakes while Lily ate beside her as a “big girl.” Days: Avery spent much of her time in soft baby clothes—onesies, footed rompers, or short dresses. She was frequently pushed in the stroller during park walks or errands. Karen introduced the pacifier on a clip attached to her clothes, encouraging Avery to use it whenever she felt anxious or tired. Accidents were handled immediately on the changing table next to Lily’s (though Lily was now reliably potty-trained). Bottle feedings: Avery received multiple bottles throughout the day—mid-morning, afternoon, and before naps. She grew used to being held or sitting in the highchair while Karen or Lily’s toys kept her company. Naptime and bedtime: Long afternoon naps in the playpen with her pacifier and a bottle. Nighttime involved the thickest diapers, a onesie, and the pacifier clipped to her sleeper. Karen would rock her for a few minutes while she finished her bedtime bottle. Mid-week, during one particularly fussy afternoon, Karen changed Avery on the mat, powdered her generously, and then offered the pacifier while cradling her. Avery accepted it without protest, sucking quietly as Karen praised her for being “such a good baby girl this week.” By the end of the seven days, Avery had fully adapted to the bottles and pacifier. She no longer fought them. The constant sucking soothed her nerves, and the bottles made her feel small and cared for in a way that reduced her stress about accidents. When April came to pick her up on Sunday evening, Avery was sitting in the highchair finishing a bottle, pacifier clipped to her romper, thick diaper visible under the short hem. She looked up at her mom with a mix of embarrassment and quiet acceptance. Karen hugged April at the door. “She was wonderful. The bottles and paci really helped her relax. Feel free to keep using them at home.” On the drive back, April glanced over at Avery, who was sucking on her pacifier and holding an empty bottle in her lap. “Did you have a good week, sweetheart?” Avery nodded slowly, cheeks pink. “It was… different. But I didn’t have to worry about anything.” April smiled softly. “Good. We’ll keep the bottles and pacifier at home too. Whatever helps you feel safe.” Back home, the highchair, playpen, bottles, and pacifier became permanent parts of Avery’s daily life. The week at her aunt’s had deepened the regression, and Avery was slowly learning to accept the comfort it brought.

Yes, I have two Pokemon stories going today! This one has to do with AB, not AR like the other one. I don't know how far it's going to go (i.e., I'm still making the plot up as it goes along), and there might be a little bit of darkness (and I suppose maybe saving the Pokemon world? Don't worry; I'll warn you when the dark parts come up) but I promise that there's also going to be a lot of surprising wholesomeness for this story, even if there is humiliation when it goes public~ As content warnings: implied highly neglectful parents, being a closeted adult baby, and stress and anxiety resulting from that. As always, viewer discretion is advised. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. And now for the story: - Prologue: Stress Relief - Jade Bloodstone, a trainer from Pastoria City, Sinnoh, was readying her camp, waiting until her six Pokemon were asleep and in their balls before she could make her move. Her Pokemon were all female (with one in the lone normally masculine case being openly transfem) Hisuian Pokemon of some type, and having grown up with the Hisuian legends, she had made sure to find as many as she could and evolve them to their fullest forms to battle. Jade was actually quite attractive: she had pale olive skin, waist-length wavy caramel brown hair, hazel eyes that flickered with gold, a big bust for her size (around C-cup when she was 5’2”; never ask a lady her weight). She had won the prize for looks…but that bitch, Sorrel Curry won an even bigger lottery in every way: her rival was 5’5” and in shape, with tanned skin from life at Pacifidlog Town in Hoenn, voluminous honey brown hair falling to her hips, blue-and-silvery-gray eyes which changed colors in the light, and much larger breasts (D-cup), all of which made Jade immensely envious, even though she knew she was attractive, too. She was also a talented trainer, saying she was good would be modest, even though she downplayed it. She knew she was better than just “good”; she had won the Galarian interregional tournament with a flair for Dynamaxing, and had finished in the top sixteen in last year’s minor extraregional tournament, along with her bitterest rival. That bitch was also currently competing in the Team Star tournament in Paldea, a main stop before the Paldean interregional championship: necessary for a spot in Worlds, the biggest tournament only happening every three years in the Pokemon world, pitting the best against the very best. While Sorrel relied on Mega-evolution and her Key Stone (and tournaments were a little different than most normally thought: multiple Mega-evos were allowed if the person had more than one), Jade used Terastallization as the key to her victory (again, also very much legal to use on more than one Pokemon in a tournament, and she had the advanced Tera Orb to do so). Both of them had their share of wins and losses in their battles, and their trash talk against each other - more Sorrel than Jade - spurred a massive mutual grudge. Jade was currently in Tagtree Thicket, having visited the Navi Base competition area for the Star Championship (where challengers had to beat all five Team Star bases - from the Star grunts to the head of the base - to even enter that regional tournament) and won her fourth Star token. She and her Pokemon had fought hard against Atticus to prove themselves. It was tough with the Navi Base head’s poison-typed Pokemon having various attacks and shenanigans having to do with poisoning her Pokemon and taking advantage of it, but she had prevailed and was now one token away - with the fighting type specialist, Eri, and her Caph Base token the last one left - from being able to enter the tournament. But all of it was stressful. And of course, there was that little thing… She blushed before her mind figured that she could have a fair bit of time and space to destress herself; they were all the way in the middle of nowhere in Tagtree Thicket, a thick forested place, with even the wild Pokemon staying away because of her max repels, being able to set up a camp with the help of her Pokemon. Her Pokemon. She wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. The first was Garnet, the Hisuian Arcanine, a majestic and aloof, albeit mischievous dog-like Pokemon with a dark-gray spiked obsidian armor around her red fur with three of those obsidian pieces forming one large spike in the middle of the top of her head with two smaller points on the sides, her fiery red eyes lighting up like an inferno at the thought of dinner and dessert after the work. The fire/rock Pokemon was helping to dig - and eventually light - a firepit that would give them warmth and safety to the point where it wouldn’t spread. The second was Opal the Hisuian Braviary, a humble, if excitable, large eagle-like Pokemon capable of carrying a person. She was supposed to be male, as almost all Braviary were, but her gender identity was purely girl, and she was on estrogen (as estrogen and testosterone - in the cases of proven trans/enby Pokemon - were some of the only medicines that weren't banned by the league). She had a black underside with white wings, head feathers (with the exception of two light-purple protrusions above her black-and-green eyes that resembled aviator goggles), and her jet-like tail feathers. The psychic/flying Pokemon was currently using her psychic abilities to help put the tent up. The third was Peridot the Sneasler, a resolute type and determined to make things in her way go right. The weasel-like Pokemon’s dark-gray fur, the purple fur splattered on her face and on her mouth, and her lone black and red head feather were ruffled with the breeze, her somewhat cat-like face and red eyes full of concentration as the poison/fighting Pokemon carried a bunch of branches in her long arms and claws for the fire. The fourth was Topaz the Overqwil, a happy-go-lucky type with a surprisingly positive and insightful look on life. She looked like a pufferfish with lots of spikes that were color-coded to the part of her body halves they were on: black and purple on top, light yellow on her bottom with surprisingly cheerful yellow eyes. She was using her spinning body to clear the brush from the ground, surprisingly remaining upright; she had a mix between gills and lungs like any water Pokemon. It was a bit stunning for a fish Pokemon to be that confident outside of water, but not so much for a dark/poison fish. The fifth was Turquoise the Hisuian Zoroark, a shy and reserved, yet surprisingly calm and cool-headed personality. The foxlike Pokemon had light-gray fur, unlike the Unovan Zoroark’s black fur, a long white mane, all accented with the occasional light red, her eyes pure yellow in their sclera with the faintest trace of red pupils. The ghost/normal Pokemon was using her ghostly powers to nail the tent to the ground. Finally, there was Amethyst the Hisuian Ursaluna, a brave and nurturing bear-like Pokemon who never hesitated to make and own her decisions, good or bad. She had mostly dark-brown fur around her body with gray on her humped back, paws, and round tail and nine rectangular brown spikes on her back. The yellow full-moon pattern on her head and the yellow fur around her snout and mouth were caked with dirt, her gray-green eyes blinking as the ground/normal Pokemon was lifting large stones for the fire pit using her rare bipedal stance to carry the rocks. And Jade was in the midst of them, setting up the tent, carrying branches, her black T-shirt and tan capris drenched with sweat as she worked as she set the positive, caring example, as she had since her Pokemon were very young. With every muscle ache, she thought about the Pokemon she leveled up to evolution (Turquoise, Topaz, and Opal, the latter of whom took the longest) and the ones where she bought the rare evolutionary items (a fire stone for Garnet, a razor claw for Peridot, and a very rare peat block for Amethyst) to get them all to their final stages, working hard for specific Tera shards (selling the ones she didn’t need) to make their Tera types exactly right. She gave them legal items (like Opal's estrogen; not X-items, bitter herbs, medicinal wings, or vitamins, all of which were all considered cheating in every professional Pokemon tournament, no matter the type), including ones to hold in battle, she always had their favorite foods and berries, even let them free-roam outside of their pokeballs - even though, technically, they were kept in dusk balls - indoors and outdoors, wherever it was even remotely legal to have them out. Did she spoil her Pokemon? Probably. Was it expensive? Damn right it was. But for them? They were worth the world and anything and everything she did for them. But she had a secret that she wasn’t going to reveal to anyone. Not even them. “Hey, Jade?” She heard Amethyst’s concerned voice with the cybernetic ear implant from Paldea that she purchased a very long time ago, the Ursaluna’s mama bear personality coming to the forefront. “Are you okay?” “What?” It took all of her self-control not to flinch at the innocuous question. “You seem a bit…distracted,” Amethyst continued. “Yeah, no offense, Jade, but you do seem a bit…distant?” Peridot offered. “I’m fine, guys,” Jade answered. “You sure, Jade?” Topaz pressed. “Yeah, let’s just get the fire going, tent up, cook our meals, and get some shuteye.” You’re just lying to them. You’re not getting shuteye any time soon. Jade shook her head to clear the thought. She had hidden her secret from everyone thus far: her emotionally distant (pretty much to the point of absolutely neglectful) parents, the trainers she fought who wanted to be her friend, the ones who were rivals (especially Sorrel, that bitch), even her beloved Pokemon. Because they’d all either mock her, shame her, be disgusted or all of the above if they knew. The fire was set, the meals were cooked, and all of them ate in relative silence, making small talk at the most. For Jade, she had a ground beef - for regular animals existed in this world for food; the thought of humans eating sentient beings like Pokemon was despicable, even though some assholes still tried to practice it - foil pack with potatoes, carrots, and onions, along with a s’more for dessert. Her Pokemon had various protein-based meals, as all of them were carnivores, even though there was the occasional vegetable she mixed in with them and various berry concoctions for their desserts. After the group of seven had finished their meals, they killed the fire, so that there was no potential of it spreading in the forest. Besides, her Pokemon were supposed to be in their balls, and they were comfortable enough to sleep in. “Okay, let's get some shuteye,” Jade said with a yawn. “Time to return, everyone.” All of her Pokemon agreed…albeit with concerned tones. But she could deal with their concerns later. After her stress-relief. After her much needed and necessary stress relief. They returned to their dusk balls, their spherical homes. Jade looked around, and when she was certain nobody was watching, she took out a bag that she hadn’t shown anyone. It was hidden in the Cloud, the ethereal force that housed and allowed all of the Pokemon not in the six-party limit to converse and meet with the main party…but it could also be used for almost every item mankind could create. The good thing about the Cloud was that it wasn’t picky with the items it stored, didn’t cast judgment or express scorn with hers; it just…existed. Thank Arceus it does. I’d never have been able to hide for so long without it. Jade walked with the bag into the quietest place in the forest and used two max repels before she undressed herself. She didn’t count on her Pokemon doing the one thing she expressly forbade them to do. - Okay, there's a lot of Pokemon terms I'll have to cover that weren't in the story (otherwise, it would be far too cluttered). Here they are: Mega Evolution: Evolving certain Pokemon to another, more powerful "evolution" that only takes place in battle, gives them new abilities and increases - and occasionally lowers - stats, lasts until the Pokemon is knocked out, takes place in the sixth and third regions (but I'm saying it can happen anywhere). Mega-Evolution also requires a Key Stone to activate it. Terastallization: Changing a specific Pokemon's type to a single type (for defensive bonuses, or to get more power from the new/old type, lasts until the Pokemon is knocked out, only used in the ninth region (although I'm hand-waving it by saying this can be used anywhere). Terastallization requires a Tera Orb to use. Dynamax: Turning Pokemon kaiju-sized with a power source and a band with that power source, lasts only three turns, only used in the eighth region (and I'm not going to move it elsewhere except extraregional and worldwide tournaments because it needs certain power spots to work). Team Star: Designated "evil" (but not really evil, honestly) gang of Scarlet/Violet; doing this after they go straight, stop being school delinquents, and use their five bases to help train the Pokemon of fellow trainers. Aside from all of the Pokemon stuff, hope y'all enjoyed this chapter~

Yes, I have two Pokemon stories going today! This one has to do with AR, not AB like the other one. I know that I'm still winging it (i.e., I'm still making the plot up as it goes along, and not a lot is planned out.), and there might be a little bit of darkness (and I promise to warn you when they come up), but I promise that there's also going to be a lot (like, tons and tons) of fluff and wholesomeness~ As far as content warnings for this chapter go, they are as follows: authoritarian and narcissistic parents (to the point of abuse), depression, and an evil and manipulative coworker. As always, viewer discretion is advised. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. And now for the story: - Prologue: Raindrops and Spells - Luanna Whipple was feeling quite down on herself after being fired from her job as a low-level clerk at the Pokeball Factory in Laverre City. It was just one day after she had been kicked out of her apartment after a massive argument with the two people who paid for her small studio, kicking in effective immediately, barely having time to save the sentimental possessions. She had walked out of her former place of employment with her pink tote bag and hot pink backpack, not even having enough money to have a car (and gas, oil, and other maintenance) of her own, walked into the rainstorm, a common weather pattern that pierced even the city where almost all of the residents built their homes into the numerous trees. Her shoulders were slumped, her uniform - a white blouse and a black knee-length skirt - was drenched, her black flats squelching on the muddy grass sidewalk, and her mind was scarcely believing that her luck was really that bad. It wasn’t her fault, honestly! She had snapped at a bitch of a coworker (fuck Phyllis Joffre, for serious; she was an awful person, constantly taunting the younger clerk behind her back and being cruel after feigning kindness and getting all the info from the younger clerk that she needed to be hurtful), and all Luanna said were a bunch of curses. She even didn’t threaten Phyllis or anything like that; just called her a bunch of the names that she had more than earned, and it was after she went far too personal with her catty comments. My parents, Luanna thought bitterly as she walked through the rain to her destination, her curly, mousy-brown hair soaked in the downpour. Her parents, one of the massive problems in the twenty-nine-year-old woman’s life. They were almost - sadly, it was only almost - completely estranged, her mom and dad being extremely authoritarian and narcissistic, seeing her as an extension of themselves and nothing more, showing extreme disappointment at her choice of friends, raising her with fear and no warmth, having constricting rules, and awful punishments…including the metal end of a belt, if she was really bad when they deemed it. They were the ones who started the massive argument at her apartment, who nixed the agreement the apartment had with her, which caused her to be kicked out…and Phyllis had brought up that her parents saw her as a disappointment at best and a burden at worst. And they took a lot of the furniture from my apartment that I’m not getting back. Tears fell from Luanne’s chestnut brown eyes. She had nothing, really. Nothing except her lifelong friend, the only reason why she hadn’t just…ended it all. Desi…gods, I’m lucky to have her. While her parents had taken all of the furniture, Desdemona Gleason managed to salvage all of her clothes (including the prom dress Luanna could still fit in; having not grown past 5'3" with B-cup breasts), the eight plush Pokemon (all of the eight evolutions of Eevee: Sylveon, Umbreon, Espeon, Leafeon, Glaceon, Vaporeon, Jolteon, and Flareon; apparently, they had all come as part of a $400 package deal from Arceusazon) that Desi had given her as a present for one of the birthdays in her twenties after finding out that her parents never allowed her to purchase even one, had not even given her a single plush Pokemon when she was born. She managed to save the pillows, the blankets, the radio clock (that Luanna owned instead of a television), the mini fridge and the compact freezer, the food in both of them, and the countertop microwave. Desi even managed to scrounge up the heal balls that Luanna had bought with her own money. She had always wanted to fill those balls with Pokemon, wanted to be a good trainer like Desi - and maybe even Desi’s sister, Fiona - and travel, maybe, but she was too…well, not exactly poor, but was too strapped for cash to afford a Pokemon’s needs, and she was technically too old and inexperienced to really make any money as a trainer; most trainers started out at age ten and had their own Pokemon at an even younger age. I just wish I was a bit younger and wealthier, enough to make it as a trainer, maybe. Then I wouldn’t be stuck as a fired clerk… She got her Holocaster XY7 out, an older model of the holographic texting device, and called Desi. The hex maniac’s voice came on immediately along with her holographic appearance: pale skin, long, unkempt black hair, wide purple eyes, and a long black gothic dress. “Hey, Lulu,” Desdemona purred in a lazily seductive tone; Luanna knew that Desi preferred the company of women, to say it lightly. She was the only one Luanna allowed to use that nickname. Then her best friend asked, her voice serious, “You okay?” “Just got fired,” Luanna said, her voice depressed. “Oh, gods, girl…” Desdemona’s tone became empathic, her hand clapped to her mouth and her eyes growing a little wider. It wasn’t manufactured sympathy; Luanna knew that Desi had been fired from her fair number of jobs while being a trainer and working separate jobs, just for her appearance and “lifestyle”, so she really did understand. “You going to crash at my place?” “Sure. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to d-” She then let out a gasp of shock; some fancy car had splashed her with a giant rain puddle on the road, getting all of her body. Then she heard Phyllis’s snobby voice coming from the driver’s seat, turned to see the drop-dead gorgeous woman stop her car, with her permed blonde hair and cruel sky-blue eyes protected from the rain. “Sorry about that, Lulu,” she mockingly cooed, before turning up the window and driving off before the younger woman could do anything. “Fuck you!” Luanna screamed in rage, flipping off the car, knowing her makeup was long since ruined and running down her face and that her clothes were utterly drenched with the downpour of rain and now the puddle splashed on her. She just hoped that the items in her purse and backpack were safe. Thankfully, Holocasters were as durable as items came. “Hey, what-” Desi began in confusion, her eyes narrowed, before Luanna cut her off and said, “No, not you, Desi. Just…that fucking coworker, well, ex-coworker…” “Phyllis again?” her friend growled, her eyes now narrowed to slits of anger. The two had met once, and Desi had absolutely loathed her ever since. Luanna didn’t know what Phyllis had said or done, but it apparently wasn’t pretty. “I swear, I have no idea why that bitch hasn’t been fired for her shit…” “She’s sleeping with the founder, that’s why,” Luanna said bluntly. It wasn’t a secret that Phyllis had a relationship, maybe more, with the elderly company head because she was attractive. “Still, after the shit she pulled with you and me…” “It’s fine. I’m never going to see her again.” Luanna hoped she would never see Phyllis’s bitch ass ever again, but given how her luck was going, it seemed quite likely that she’d see Phyllis every day for the rest of her life. “Hang on, where are you?” Desi asked, her tone concerned. “It’s storming, and-” “I’m not far from your house. Just a couple more blocks.” A lie: she was about ten blocks from Desi’s single-story house. “Okay. You sure you don’t need me to pick you up?” “I’ll be fine.” “All right. I’ll see you when you get here. I’ll get some shit prepared.” “You don’t have to cook anything yet. I’ve got my lunch, haven’t gotten the chance to eat it yet.” “Nah, it’s…something else.” Luanna sighed. “Another spell?” she asked in annoyance. She didn’t really care for or about spells and magic. They weren't useful in the real world, so why bother? “Seriously, you might wanna check it out!” Desi’s voice was an excited chirp. “I think I’ve got a handle on a good one.” Luanna sighed. “Fine. I’m not getting involved, though. See you when I get there. Bye.” She hung up the Holocaster, seeing the hologram of Desi fade, hoping to the gods that this spell wasn’t going to involve her. Of course, she knew, even then: she was absolutely going to be involved. - Here's the Pokemon things that you may not know: Holocaster: An item used by people in Kalos to communicate with others, whether it's one, two, or pretty much everyone in the region. Pokeball Factory: A factory where pokeballs are made, based out of Laverre City. Hex Maniac: Pokemon trainer class, notable for their magical prowess, mystical sayings, and overall creepiness. As a note, Desdemona is a lot less creepy than most of them; still a bit odd, though. Anyway! Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter~

Little Bee: Chapter 1 Note: this story takes place in the world of “Classified: A New Life” as written by Brutal_Ink. I hope that I can do justice to their wonderfully creative work and compelling world setting. Credit as well to @destinedfordiaperstories on Tumblr for expanding the world with their phenomenal story “Sammy’s Little Problem” Classification Day. If there were two words that struck more dread into the heart of an 18 year old, nobody had spoken them yet. Classification Day, also known as the last day of Senior Year, was the day that every high school senior would find out what their future would look like. The graduating class received their test results today, and would be classified as Caregivers, Littles, or Neutrals based on a wide variety of testing of genetic markers, enzymes in the blood, and various other measurements, profiling, and characteristics, both biological and mental. The CGL Gene that was discovered after the evolutionary shift in humanity that had become known as the Great Mutation usually began to manifest after the age of 18, so the school year was scheduled to end shortly before graduating students would begin to see the changes their genetics would make to their bodies and minds, which is why test results were given out towards the end of the last day of school. Caregivers developed powerful instincts to care for those in need, as well as higher physical strength to aid them in this task. Caregivers often, but not always, adopted Littles and made sure they were happy and safe. Those that did not adopt always pursued careers that cared for and protected others. Littles were the opposite, they found themselves regressing to an earlier stage of childhood and losing varying degrees of muscle mass, motor skills, emotional regulatory abilities, and toileting skills as most found themselves effectively incontinent and irrevocably requiring diapers at all times. Level 1 Littles regressed the most, and were essentially infants. Level 2 Littles retained the vast majority of their motor skills and other faculties, their largest sectors of regression being a complete loss of potty training and significant reduction of their ability to keep their emotions under control. Tantrums were common among Level 2 Littles, and they all needed diapers as well. Level 3 Littles regressed the least, retaining much of their emotional control as well as their potty training in many cases. While some still needed diapers, many level 3 Littles needed only Pull Ups for the occasional accident, as well as nighttime, with some even being able to wear normal underwear. Neutrals saw no changes, and were essentially the same as Humans before the Great Mutation, accounting for slightly more than half of the total population. Jamie Holbrook stood in the school’s Common area, feeling a bit of trepidation. She was quite attractive, many would say cute. Petite, slender, and a Ginger, Jamie stood only 5 feet, 2 inches (157 cm) tall and weighed around 108 pounds (49 kg) if she were soaking wet and had a brick in her pocket. Jamie’s alabaster skin was dotted with freckles, and she wore her red hair in twin braids. Behind her oval-rimmed glasses, her green eyes were focused on the pristine white envelope she held. She was about to see what the future held when a piercing shriek resonated through the Commons. Apparently, Chelsea Taylor, known as the Queen of Mean, had received her results. Chelsea was one of those kids that had everything handed to them, and didn’t know what honest work even was. Chelsea’s family was wealthy, and she herself was stunningly beautiful. Tall and blonde, she knew how gorgeous she was, which was probably the root of her long list of character defects. She was an entitled, spoiled brat that thought she was better than everyone else and frequently asked if they knew who she was or who her father was and had tormented Jamie’s small circle of friends from as early as First Grade. Like Jamie, Chelsea came from a long line of Neutrals, so the results of her being a Neutral as well were all but guaranteed. Furious, she stomped up to the lab technicians that had been charged with distributing the test results. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? There is NO WAY this is right! Do you not even know how to run a blood test?” she demanded to a woman wearing a lab coat, her black hair in a tight bun. “I’m sorry, Miss…” “Taylor! CHELSEA TAYLOR! Do you know who I am?” This kind of scene was all too common on Classification Day. When someone couldn’t accept what their test results were, the responses were usually grief or extreme anger. One could teach a college level course on the Five Stages of Grief simply by observing students on Classification Day. Clearly, Chelsea was still in the first stage: Denial. The lab tech had seen this exact scene play out time and time again, a scene Jamie was watching. “No, Miss Taylor, I don’t know who you are. What seems to be the problem?” the tech asked, knowing perfectly well what the problem was. Right on cue, Chelsea moves into the second stage: Anger. “It’s these bullshit results! Level 1 Little? With all the Neutrals in my family? How could you get something so simple this wrong?” she shouted. Blinded by her anger, the Queen of Mean had no idea she had just spilled the most delicious tea that this class of Seniors had ever heard as she continued her tirade. Chelsea was one of those unpopular popular girls that was firmly entrenched in the top 5% of the social hierarchy, with the other 95% hating her due to her entitled attitude and Godzilla-sized superiority complex. Jamie noted that Chelsea had moved into the third stage: Bargaining. She was making good progress. If she had applied herself this much to her studies, the academic world would be losing quite the scholar with her soon transitioning into a Level 1 Little. “There…there has to be some mistake, right? This isn’t supposed to happen, maybe….maybe you could run the tests again?” The lab technician sighed heavily. This part was never easy. “Miss Taylor, I understand that these results are upsetting, it’s only natural. However, I can assure you that, as difficult as this is to hear, they are accurate. Our testing is exhaustive, the results triple-checked for accuracy. However….” the tech writes down a number on a sticky note and gives it to the fallen princess. “If you call this number you can request further review. For now, I suggest you report to the Nurse’s office, as you will need to be properly diapered before you leave here, you will begin to see changes very soon, so you had best be prepared. Good day.” Jamie couldn't believe what she had just witnessed. Where was this lab tech all her life to smack Chelsea down when she was….well, being Chelsea? The now-deposed Queen of Mean lowered her head for probably the first time in her life and shuffled by Jamie and a few other onlookers, having moved on to the fourth stage: Depression. All of them wore expressions of sympathy and pity. Chelsea was a bitch, sure, but nobody deserved this. Her life was essentially over, she would spend the rest of her days as a gurgling infant. The only upside being that she would more than likely no longer remember what she had lost as she endlessly emptied jars of baby food and filled her diapers. She glared at Jamie and hissed “I suppose you think that’s funny?” Before Jamie could respond with something even remotely decent, that any normal human with a shred of compassion or empathy would say, her best friend in the world, Leon, showed that he had woken up today and chosen violence. Leon Black was as nice a guy as you’d ever meet. A loyal and protective friend with long blonde hair and blue eyes, he was always trying to get Jamie to laugh. However, he had a tongue that could cut like a surgeon’s scalpel, and he wielded it with similar precision. He wasn’t one of the popular kids, which is why he and Jamie were friends. That said, nobody messed with him for fear of getting flayed to the bone by his lightning wit. By Sophomore year, he had turned so many of his classmates who had tested him into laughingstocks, the kids that liked to pick on others had decided it was best to just leave him alone. Leon was a wordsmith, and he did not hesitate to serve a plate of gourmet roast to people that clearly had it coming. The boy had simply never met a bear he didn’t want to poke with a sharp stick. Luckily, Leon could also fight, so his fists could cash the checks his mouth wrote. “Come on now, Chelsea, it’s not that bad! I mean, you’ve had people waiting on you hand and foot your whole life, what’s even gonna change,” Leon paused to take a sip of his soda, “besides your diapers, that is?” he said, the brazen teenager clearly getting payback for all these years of Chelsea making their lives tough. Chelsea couldn’t believe it, that this smartass…..NOBODY….would dare speak to HER like that. She opened her mouth to respond, but thought twice and instead launched a slap at Leon’s face. Unfortunately for Chelsea, Leon’s reflexes were almost as quick as his wit, and he swayed back out of range, the Queen of Mean’s attack completely missing him. “Hey! We don’t hit!” Leon shouted in the same tone a parent would use to admonish an unruly child. “Don’t worry Chelsea, no doubt Gucci makes some really cute onesies and frilly diaper covers. You’ll be just as fashionable as ever, I’m sure!” Rather than continue her fruitless battle against an unconquerable foe, Chelsea concedes defeat, but not before making one last attempt to save some of her soon-to-be nonexistent dignity, once her days became focused on bottles, burping, baths, and blowouts. “If someone like ME is Level 1,” she spat, “Then there is no way that a smart-mouthed, evolutionary dead end like you could possibly be anything else but Level 1 as well.” She then turned on her heel and stormed off towards the Nurse’s Office, where further humiliation in the form of a thick, fluffy diaper awaited her. “Aight, cool, see you at daycare!” Leon called after the departing Chelsea, who paused for a second, then continued on, having clearly entered into the final stage of grief: Acceptance. Jamie, who had been holding her laughter, immediately started in on Leon. She began playfully swatting at her razor-tongued best friend as she laughingly scolded him as she so often found herself doing. “You asshole….you unbelievable asshole,” she said, her voice a loud whisper mixed with laughter. “Chelsea’s as awful as they come, but not even she deserved that! What if YOU end up Level 1?” After parrying the last of Jamie’s assault, Leon grins and laughs before speaking. “Bitch please, I could be classed a Level -100, and revert to a sperm cell they have to inject back into my old man’s nutsack, and that would have still been worth it. If I’m a Level 1, I would meet my fate proudly, for I have at long last slain the Queen of Mean, and now I am awaited in Valhalla. I shall ride eternal, shiny and chrome.” Leon says while posing dramatically with his easy, warm laugh, referencing the film Mad Max: Fury Road. “WITNESS ME!” This is why Jamie loved Leon’s rogueish charm. He treated her as the little sister he never had, even though they were the same age. He always knew how to make her laugh. “You…are SUCH a prick.” Jamie retorted, letting some of her own laughter free of the pit she was forced to banish it to. “Don’t you know Little Abuse is illegal? Forget prison, you’re going to HELL, and I’m going with you for saying this, but that was awesome, Leon.” She couldn’t explain why, but she felt nervous today. At the start of the day, she wasn’t worried about her results. She came from a line of Neutrals even longer than Chelsea, but with what happened to her, a small seed of fear had crept into her heart. “You got your results?” she asked her friend. “Right here,” Leon said, holding up his white envelope. Leon’s family had a pretty good variety of Littles, Neutrals, and Caregivers, so there was a very real chance that he would end up in daycare with Chelsea. For all his cavalier attitude and jovial nature, Jamie knew her friend better than anyone. He was terrified, his joking and boasting a cover. Leon was no fool, he knew what was at stake here. He took a deep breath, and tore the envelope open. With shaking hands, he unfolded the sheet of paper. Leon read the document, his eyebrows raised, then furrowed. Jamie respected Leon’s privacy enough to refrain from trying to peek at the sheet he was reading, but the confusion he felt was unmistakable. “Dude….what the….what the hell?” he asked rhetorically. “Leon, what does it say, man? I know it doesn’t take that long to read one word and maybe a number,” Jamie said. In response, Leon flipped the paper around so Jamie could read it. Written plainly on the sheet was Leon’s Classification: BLACK, LEON JAMES: CAREGIVER. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jamie said, surprised but not that much. “I don’t get it,” Leon said, more confused than anything else. “I’m a soulless monster, not a Caregiver.” Jamie rolled her eyes and sighed, her frustration with her clueless friend peaking. “Dude, have you just not been paying attention for like, your ENTIRE life? Looking back, you’ve had Caregiver signs the whole time I’ve known you.” Jamie said. Leon’s confusion has not yet been pierced. “That’s crazy, what do you mean?” “Well, think about it, you’ve been looking out for me for as long as I’ve known you. When we were kids, and your mom would take us to the pool, who kept on me to keep applying sunscreen so my little Ginger ass wouldn’t get cooked? It was you, Leon. That time in 3rd grade when I forgot my lunch, you shared yours with me. When I stayed over at your house, and that big storm knocked out the power, and I was freaking out because I’m scared of the dark, who was there for me? You, stupid. When I broke my arm Freshman year, you carried my books. Who picks me up every morning for school because I don’t have a driver’s license? You.” “That’s because you’re my best friend, Jamie. You know I love you and I got your back, right?” Leon retorted. “It’s more than that man, you take care of EVERYONE. Yes, you’re an asshole with a smart mouth that I am REALLY surprised hasn’t gotten you killed at this point, but that’s just a front. I KNOW you, we can’t hide from each other. When it REALLY counts, when it REALLY matters, you come through 10 times out of 10. You’re a freakin’ rock, dude,” Jamie explains. Leon nods as he recalls all the moments Jamie reminded him of and realizes that she is right. “Yeah…you’re right, you’re SO right. I’ve always just wanted to help, I guess now I know why.” “Duh.” is all Jamie says. She hands her envelope to Leon. “Here, open that and tell me I’m a Neutral.” Leon takes the envelope and chuckles, “Yeah, right,” he says while opening Jamie’s envelope. After opening the sheet of paper containing the biggest non-spoiler in the history of Classification Day, Leon’s eyes widen for just a moment, then he gets a devilish grin on his face. “You want your results? Come get ‘em!” he says as he takes off down the hallway, away from the Commons. What Jamie doesn’t see are the tears in Leon’s eyes as she takes off after him, shouting “HEY! NO FAIR!” Leon leads Jamie to an empty part of the school hallways, not far from where their former lockers now stand empty, and comes to a stop. Jamie catches up, grinning, and punches him on the arm. “Dick,” she says with a laugh. She takes a moment to catch her breath, and notices that Leon isn’t laughing, he ALWAYS laughs his fool head off when teasing her like this. The seed of fear in Jamie’s heart has now taken root. “Hey man, what’s your problem, what’s….Leon…what’s going on?” she asks, worried. Jamie has known Leon long enough to where she knows when he is and is not messing with her, and the rogueish trickster’s demeanor is completely serious. He takes Jamie’s hand into his and looks into her green eyes. “Jamie, I brought you here because I didn’t want you to find out in the Commons and act up like Chelsea. You’re a Little,” he says, his heart breaking for the cute redheaded girl that has been his best friend from the time they met. They had never even considered dating, because they were too much like brother and sister and didn’t want to make it weird. “I’m sorry.” “What? That’s stupid, I’m gonna get you for screwing with me like this, and I’m ESPECIALLY gonna fuck you up for making me run, and…” Leon cuts Jamie off by simply shoving the piece of paper with her Classification into her hands so she can see for herself. There it was, in plain black and white, unmistakable and final: HOLBROOK, JAMIE LYNN: LEVEL 2/ LEVEL 3 HYBRID LITTLE What little color Jamie naturally possesses in her face vanishes, her features as pale as moonlight. She wasn’t going to shout and curse like Chelsea, but it still didn’t seem real. Her family had been “Oops, All Neutrals” for so long she had begun to question if she even HAD a CGL Gene. With all the subtlety of a haymaker to the face, Jamie now knows that she does, and she knows her CGL Gene’s plans for her future. As the inevitable tears begin to fall, Leon wraps his arms around the petite redhead. Standing at an even 6 feet tall, 10 inches taller than Jamie, he engulfs her in his arms and holds her head close to his chest. At this moment, Leon realizes that he truly is a Caregiver. His heart is torn to shreds for his friend, as he tries to remember lessons and protocol that he only half paid attention to in class. “It’s ok, Jamie, it’s ok, I’m here.” Leon didn’t know much about this whole Hybrid business, but what he DID know was that every Little was sent home in either a diaper or a Pull Up. Accidents were quite common, especially with the anxiety and heightened emotions the Classification of Little tended to cause. Leon knew that the Nurse’s Office was their next destination, before Jamie had an accident herself. Jamie had begun to panic, her breathing becoming shallow and ragged as tears continued to stream down her face. Her voice is meek and timid as she looks up to her friend that could continue to take his first steps into adulthood, while she would never get the chance. Instead, Jamie would be returning to the days of having her diaper changed and early bedtimes. “Leon…what am I gonna do? My dad…he….he HATES L-Littles. He’s a meanie, always…saying such awful things, and…and, there are no Caregivers in my f-f-family to…to take care of m-me. I don’t wanna wear a diaper….” Jamie says between her sobs, her last statement close to whining. Leon can’t explain it, but he KNOWS what to do. His instincts guide him, and he tightens his embrace on Jamie and softly reassures her while stroking the back of her head. “Shhhhhh…..it’s okay, I’ve got you, sweetie. Just listen to my heartbeat, ok? Maybe this Hybrid stuff means you won’t need diapers or something. There’s some Level 3 in your Classification too, you know? We can ask the School Nurse when we see her. Let’s catch our breath, and go there now, think you can do that for me?” he asks, his voice a gentle caress. It becomes clear to Leon from Jamie’s recent use of “no fair” and “meanie” that she is already showing signs of the early stages of her transition, and what she asks him next galvanizes his assessment. “Why?” she asks him timidly. “You know why, Jamie,” he responds. “She’s gonna want to DIAPER me, I don’t need it, I’m not a baby,” she says indignantly. “I know, but they won’t let you leave without protection. I know you don’t need it, but we have to see the nurse. Let’s see if we can get by with a Pull Up, ok?” Leon says to try and placate his friend. “No. I don’t want to. I don’t…” she begins before Leon cuts her off. “Jamie,” he says firmly, “this isn’t something you can refuse. Look, if you fight and try to delay, you’ll only be proving that you DO need to be in a diaper. However, if you play along and don’t fuss, I’ll bet you the Nurse will think a Pull Up is all you’ll need. Come on, honey, work with me here and let’s split the difference, ok?” Jamie hated this so much. She hated how scared and alone she felt, she hated that she had to impose on Leon like this, and most of all, she hated that he was right. She sniffled one last time as she somehow managed to bring her tears under control, and nodded in agreement. “You….you won’t tell anyone what I’m wearing, will you?” Jamie asks sadly. Taking Jamie by the hand and gently leading the stunned, unsteady girl towards the Nurse’s Office, Leon shakes his head. “Come on now, you have to know that I’d never do that to you. We’ve kept each other’s secrets for years, why would I stop now?” “It’s not gonna be a secret for long…” Jamie says, feeling a pout coming on. Leon nods. “Well, when you're right, you're right I suppose. We can deal with that later. For now, it IS still a secret from everyone except you, me, and pretty soon the nurse, so let’s take advantage of the distraction Chelsea so generously provided to make a clean getaway.” Jamie nods as the two friends approach the Nurse’s Office. Mercifully, it is nearly deserted, as all the other Littles have reported in and gone home. Jamie realizes that Leon’s little prank of running off with her Classification results wasn’t just to lure her away so she could hear the news privately. He did it to give the crowd of new Littles needing diapered time to thin out at the Nurse’s Office, so that Jamie could face this trial free of prying eyes and have just a few precious extra moments to prepare herself. Such a shame, she thought, that he wouldn’t be eligible to adopt a Little for several years. He was taking to the role wonderfully, even at this early stage. Still holding Jamie by the hand, who by now has assumed the timid demeanor of a child in trouble, Leon opens the door and gently guides her in. The school nurse, seated at her desk and tapping away at her computer, no doubt updating the student medical files with their new Classifications, looks up at the newcomers. “Well, I thought all the new Littles had already all been seen,” she says in a friendly manner as she gets up and approaches Leon and Jamie. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this over with as soon as possible. Can I please see your Classifications so I know what to get you?” Leon goes first, showing his Classification papers. “Uh, I’m just here to help. You know, support my best friend through a tough time?” he says. The nurse smiles warmly at the kindhearted (but acid-tongued) young man just beginning his journey. “I can already see that you’re going to be a wonderful Caregiver, Mr. Black. If you choose to adopt a Little when you’re able, it’s the most wonderful thing. It isn’t always easy, but it is very rewarding,” she says while Leon nods and subtly steps back while nudging Jamie forward. Figuring out that she’ll need to diaper Jamie, based on the crestfallen teenager’s silence and very noticeable desire to hide, she feels a great swell of pity for the cute redheaded girl. The nurse loved caring for Littles, but seeing them on Classification Day, when they had just had their entire lives upended and their futures rewritten, stolen, some would say, was the absolute worst part of the job. It killed Caregivers like herself to see these kids at this moment, when they needed a hug the most but were still too proud or angry to accept it. “Thank you, Mr. Black, I’ll take it from here. If you could wait outside and close the door, I’ll have your friend ready to go in no time at all. Isn’t that right, Ms…..” Jamie stood silently before realizing that was her cue to speak. “Oh...um…H-Holbrook. J-Jamie Holbrook” she says as she raises her arm to hand over her Classification paperwork. Jamie breaks down in tears and confesses “I’m a Little….” The Nurse’s Caregiver skills and instincts are so finely tuned she has Jamie wrapped in a hug before she can finish her statement, hoping to head off a major breakdown. Jamie does not resist, instead returning the Nurse’s gesture. “Hey, hey, it’s ok, sweetheart, it’s ok. I know everything seems so hard right now, and you may not believe me, but it does get better. It really does, I promise you.” The Nurse takes a look at the shaking, sobbing teenager’s paperwork while still holding on to her. She raises an eyebrow at the unusual Classification results. “A Hybrid? I’m sure that’s very confusing, but it’s not unheard of. Now, let’s get you all set, I imagine you’d like to get home and get some rest, hmm? It’s been a pretty big day after all, but it’s almost over. All the buses will have left by the time we’re done here, so do you have a way to get home safely?” the Nurse asks as she disengages the embrace and takes a step back to size up Jamie. She measures the new Little visually to see what size and style of diaper is right for her. Managing to bring her sobbing under control, Jamie answers the Nurse’s question. “Uh…yeah. M-my friend, Leon, he’s who I came in with. He…he picks me up for school and takes me home. He’s…he’s really good to me. I uh, I don’t have a driver’s license.” The Nurse steps over to a cabinet and opens it. Predictably, it is filled with various kinds of diapers in various sizes. She continues the conversation as she starts extracting various supplies. “Well, that’s for the best. All Littles have their driver’s licenses rescinded when they register as Littles, so that’s one less thing for you to worry about. Okay sweetheart, I need you to get your shoes and pants off, then hop up here so we can get this done” she says, patting the examination table and holding a plain white diaper that Jamie did not doubt would fit her perfectly. “FUCK! This is it!” Jamie thinks to herself as her fight or flight response chooses flight. She backs away from the table, stammering. “W-w-w-wait…just….just a minute…..” she squeaks out. They always did this, every one, every time. As soon as that diaper comes into play, the desperation kicks in. The Nurse sighs, her heart aching for this scared young girl. Still, she didn’t have time for this. “Jamie, honey, I know that this is really upsetting, but I also know that you know that this is going to happen, one way or another. Think of your friend, Leon. Do you really want to have an accident in his car while he’s taking you home, after he’s been so good to you and helped you get through today?” Jamie, threatened with the diaper, jumps at the Pull Up. “I know…it’s just….I’m not ready. I know everyone says that, but….can…can I have a Pull Up instead?” Jamie asks. “Jamie, your Classification is as a Level 2 and 3 Hybrid. We don’t know which aspects are going to be at what levels. It’s too early to say what kind of protection you’ll need, if any. I just want to play it safe, and start at the top. If it’s more than you need, you can step down to something lighter, and there won’t be any messes to clean up. Work with me here, sweetie. These are actually really soft and comfortable once you get used to them. I have to get SOMETHING on your bottom before you can go” the Nurse reasons, trying to lower Jamie’s anxiety before she suffers an embarrassing accident. “I know….I know, you’re right. It’s…just…can’t we go in the opposite direction? Start at the bottom with what goes on my bottom, and I can go up if I need it? I’ll clean up any messes, honest,” she pleads. The Nurse finds what Jamie says next absolutely soul crushing. “Please…please let me pretend I’m still a big girl for a little while longer…” The Nurse’s Caregiver instincts take over, seeing a way for Jamie to salvage at least some dignity from the situation while still getting the adequate protection the redheaded Little requires. “Ok Jamie, we’ll do things your way,” she says, seeing Jamie’s expression brighten just a little bit by the Nurse letting her have her way. “Here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to give you a Pull Up, and I want you to put it on. While you’re doing that, I’m going to put a little starter kit together for you. I’ll give you a few diapers, some Pull Ups, wipes, and powder. This will give you a better idea of what you’ll need when you go to the Little supply store. You can wear what you want, but promise me that if those Pull Ups aren’t enough, you’ll change into a diaper. Tonight, when you go to bed, I want you to strongly consider a diaper. Most Littles need more protection during the night, so please just work with me here, ok honey?” Jamie nods eagerly, ready to comply if it will keep her out of diapers for even a few more hours. She hops up on the examination table, and begins to untie her shoes. As she kicks off her sneakers, the Nurse wordlessly glides by and places an unfolded Pull Up on the table, remaining close in the event her aid is required. Jamie stands, and unbuttons her pants before sliding them down her legs, leaving her in just her t-shirt, socks, and panties. Jamie picks up the clean white Pull Up and examines it, but can’t quite figure out which side goes in the back. She looks to the Nurse, her expression asking for help. “It’s like this, this mark here on the waistband goes in the back, and the longer parts of the stretchy sides are also meant to go in the back, see?” She says before continuing her lesson on basic Pull Up features. “The seams on the side are tear-away, so it’s easy to take off once it gets wet.” She runs her hands up through the leg holes, and stretches the absorbent underpants out while kneeling down. “Now, take off your panties, and step in, please” Still preferring this to an outright diapering, Jamie slips her underwear down her legs and steps into the Pull Up. The Nurse slides it up her legs, and pulls it up tight against Jamie’s petite frame. She then shows the Ginger Little how to run her fingers along the leak guards to make sure those are sitting properly. Jamie is mortified, but complies nonetheless, knowing what the alternative is. “There we are, all snug and protected, as all Littles should be,” the Nurse says with a smile as Jamie bashfully examines her new underwear and moves to get accustomed to the feel. “Feels like…like a really big pad,” Jamie says, wincing. “Still, it’s not so bad. You were right, it does feel really soft.” “See? I told you it would be ok.” the Nurse says as Jamie pulls her jeans back on over the Pull Up and buttons her pants. She then picks her shoes up and finds a chair, and quickly slips them back on before tying the laces. As she is busy with her shoes, the Nurse comes over with a box. “4 Pull Ups and 4 diapers in your size, powder, and wipes. You will need to get to a Little supply store and get some diapers either tomorrow or the next day. I know this seems like a lot, but it can run out really fast if your potty control slips too far, and the Pull Ups aren’t enough. So once you have a general idea of what you need, get to the store, ok honey?” the Nurse tells a furiously blushing Jamie as she hands the box over. As Jamie turns to finally leave, the Nurse has one last thing for the new Little: a red lollipop. “Here, take this as a reward for not fussing too much, I promise it will make you feel better. You can even have it right now,” guessing from Jamie’s shy behavior that she will be the kind of Little that likes to be given permission. Jamie takes the lollipop and thanks the Nurse for her help. She’s still embarrassed to have been essentially diapered by the gentle Caregiver, but knows that in the back of her mind, in the places she rarely has the bravery to go, she’s right. She unwraps her reward and begins to suck on the sweet red candy, and in spite of herself, must admit that it is both very tasty and is already beginning to calm her frayed nerves as she moves to exit the office and rejoin Leon. What she does not know is that the candy is actually laced with a mild anti-anxiety medication meant to calm new Littles on this, the first day of their new lives, and make them better able to handle the difficult conversations and harsh truths that are to come.

Alive is 13 years old and is going to spend the summer with her grandmother.

I had just turned 18 years old. I was getting ready for my Freshman year of college. I was accepted at State University in Greenmore. It was a 3 1/2 drive there and back. I wasn't looking foreward to driving 7 hours a day, just to go to school. Mom's best friend Aunt Kathy, and Uncle John lived in Greenmore. They were not really my Aunt and Uncle. Mom and Kathy were best friends from Grade School through mom's Sophomore year at State. She met dad and the rest is history as the say, mom married dad the end of their Junior year. Aunt Kathy married Uncle John what would of been my mom's and her Senior year. Mom moved here and Aunt Kathy got a Masters Degree in Education. Mom had me, then about a year later, Aunt Kathy had Evelyn. Aunt Kathy about 9 months later had John Jr. John Jr. was a preemie, he had always been a sickly kid, his lungs never developed enough. As a kid he had the little oxygen maker that he wore over his shoulder, with a nasal cannula up his nose. Looked like one of those old guys with Emphysema. John Jr. never got to be a real kid. He never got to play football, play tag, do anything a real kid got to do. When we went there or they came here for a visit, I saw Evelyn, and John Jr. get diapers at night. I guess they both wet their beds, it was okay though, I had a huge crush on Evelyn! She had to be the most beautiful girl I knew. I was about 13 or 14 years old last we seen of each other. Aunt Kathy used to diaper them together, in the livingroom. Evelyn was my dream girl when I discovered masturbation she was the one that I imagined. I was going to move in with Aunt Kathy, Uncle John, and Evelyn. John Jr. had died about a year and a half ago. He got the Covid and as sickly as he was lasted about 3 days before it killed him. He was diagnosed on Friday afternoon and died early Monday morning. It was more than his poor little body could endure. I was offered his room to live in while I was going to school in Greenmore. Mom and dad were not rich, so living with Aunt Kathy, Uncle John and Evelyn was a God send! There was no way we could afford for me to stay at the dorms!

It’s A Family Affair Arthur Mitchell had known Betsy Allen since grade school. It was almost destined for them to get together as they were not only neighbors but we're the two in school every year that seemed to have the most wetting accidents. Well why not they were the kids that their parents seemed to have to wash wet sheets for every day because they couldn't seem to keep their's dry. Arthur's and Betsy's mother's were talking and found that both of their kids were nighttime wetters and either or both would almost daily come home from school wet or would be wet before supper. Both were happy to have a sympathetic ear to discuss the raising of bed wetters, and pants wetters. They had tried punishments, no liquids after 1800 hours or 6 pm, getting them up at different hours of the night to go potty, rewards, alarms, medications but nothing seemed to help. Betsy was even called Betsy Wetsy by the other kids and her siblings, that really didn't seem to bother her. Finally both mother's started to diaper their kids day and night which didn't cure them but helped them seem to fit in better at least the other kids quit calling Betsy; Betsy Wetsy other than her siblings who continued to call her that. About the time to start Junior High School both mothers took their child out of day time diapers, but both would either wet on the way home or later during play. But more often than not would be wet at school still so the diapers and plastic pants went back on until high school at least, both mother's thought that they would try it again then. Besides they were still wet at nights and between them both had not had more than a handful of dry nights since they were kids Since their mothers were so close Arthur would go over to Betsy's house with his mother or Betsy would go to Arthur's house with hers. They were left alone most times and the two mother's were oblivious to the budding romance between the two teenagers. Each knew the others secret of what they wore to bed and what they were wearing in the day because when the mothers talked it was as if the kids weren't right there so when the discussions for day wetting and bed wetting each child knew the other was in the same leaky boat so to speak.   This continued through Junior High School and when mom's took them out of diapers in Senior High School, the day wetting had improved but there were still accidents during school. But it was decided to let them stay out of day time diapers, nighttime was a other issue entirely. Neither showed any progress what so ever in that department. In fact, the only change had been the size of the diapers and plastic pants used meaning bigger sizes. Both Arthur and Betsy attended a local College because of their bed wetting decided campus life was not for them. During this time though they were dating and falling deeper and deeper in love with each other. They knew that each other still were bed wetters. Arthur had never called her Betsy Wetsy, telling her it would have made him a hypocrite of he had. Since they were both over 18 they planned on marring each other after college. Arthur got his degree in computer engineering while Betsy graduated with her degree in nursing. Arthur was about 5 foot 10 and was a redhead that bordered on orange he weighed about 135 he looked skinny but was pretty tough as his brothers used to tell him "I'd rather be dead than to wet my bed and be red in the head." After a few years his brothers never picked on him after he'd inflicted bloody noses, fat lips and a few black eyes. Wetting his bed had made him tougher he was sure of it. Betsy was a redhead but not orange like Artnur's, hers was more a copper color and people would say she was cute bordering on beautiful but she had an innocence about her that seemed to make her even more beautiful. When they told their parents that they planned on getting married their parents thought it was a joke. Both were still wetting their diapers at night and looked like they would forever. They brought up the point "that since they were still wetting at night how much luck do you think we would have if we were to date other non bed wetters?" "We would probably never marry and continue to live at home until we're your age!" Both sets of parents had never thought of it like that, but the more the kids talked it made sense. Besides the parents could see the love that they had for each other, and decided that they at least deserved a chance. They were married on Valentine’s day the following year.   About Christmas time Betsy informed Arthur that she was expecting their first child she was about 2 months along. Arthur couldn't have been happier as a matter of fact he was over the moon. When he remembered a statistic that if both parents were bed wetter there was a 70% chance that their kids would be, he wondered what the odds were if both parents were still active bed wetters. He brought this fact up to Betsy who said "if they do are we going to love them any less? Arthur said heck no! Betsy said "We will understand more of what their going through right?" Arthur could only agree. Betsy said "And If they don't have a problem we will teach them to not make fun of the ones who do, including us!" About 7 months later Betsy gave birth to a hefty 13 pound baby boy in mid July that they decided to call Christian after Arthur's grandfather, who went by Chris his whole life. Chris was always big from birth until, well just for ever! Of course he was a bed wetter, but that never stopped him he grew up played football and was a dang good linebacker. Went to college was drafted by the Raiders in the 2nd round had to wear diapers at night because he still wet his bed. No one ever made fun of him because he was so damn big. Some kid on an opposing team while playing football in high school said "I want you bed wetter!" Big mistake, too bad, Chris sacked his Quarterback twice. Once he pushed the guy into his own Quarterback making him trip his own guy for a loss No one ever called him that again. About 4 months after Chris was born Betsy informed Arthur that she was pregnant again and one more time Arthur couldn't have been happier and was still over the moon. She was was again about 2 months along and at the last of April gave birth to not one but two, a girl and a boy. They decided to name the girl Darla after Betsy s grandmother. The boy was a bit harder until Betsy noticed a pattern emerging we have an Arthur, a Betsy, Christian, Darla, so this has to start with E. They named him Ephraim. They got lucky Ephraim wasn't a bed wetter but Darla was not so lucky now they had 4 bed wetters and 1 that didn't. Betsy taught Ephraim that since he was the only child that didn't have problems with bed wetting that he shouldn't make fun of those that do. One night she heard Ephraim making fun of his twin sister Darla calling her ‘Pissy Darla’. Betsy took Ephraim and put a diaper on him and told him "This isn't coming from until morning, get used to it. Ephraim thought that it was a Joke so he wet it so mom would Take it off. “Look at me I'm Pissy Ephraim,” and asked mom to take it off. Mom said "No, I told you it isn't coming off until tomorrow morning!” Ephraim said “But mom I've already wet it to be Pissy Ephraim!” “That's too bad you can sleep in it and find out what it feels like to be real bed wetter like the rest of your family then.” Ephraim figured out that he had gone too far. Trying to sleep was almost impossible; the heat and sweat tended to make him more uncomfortable, so he wet it again and it felt somewhat better, not good. He woke up and went into the bathroom and turned on the light, the light hurt his eyes because he was used to the dark, ouch he said as his eyes started to adjust to the light. He lifted up the toilet seat and began to pee looking around he saw the clothes hamper, and the sink and tub, the shelving over the toilet. Dang this pee felt good, then he remembered that he had a diaper on, wait......! He woke up and the diaper was soaked and had leaked and there was a wet spot in the middle of his bed. That was just a dream, but it seemed so real the light hurt my eyes even. Then he really got worried I have to sleep in my bed and it's wet. Do Mommy and Daddy, And Chris and Darla go through this every night? It's harder to be a bed wetter than I thought, I'll never tease them again. After Darla and Ephraim were born Betsy did not get pregnant again for 2 years then she gave birth to triplets this time 2 girls 1 boy the oldest girl fell in line was named Frances, the boy was Gary, and the girl was named Hermione after a good friend of Betsy's growing up! Frances was the only one not to follow in her parents footsteps and wet her bed the other 2 again weren't so lucky.   With about 2/3 the family are bed wetters the Mitchell's got back to being a family. When Christian was a rookie for the Raiders he was drafted in the second round because the Raiders picked up a Quarterback from LSU in the first round. For some reason he had it in for Chris. When he found out that Chris was a bed wetter he got plain mean, hung Chris's wet diapers out the window on media day, for everyone to see. The QB thought that he was hot stuff, because he was a first rounder. He never missed a trick trying to humiliate Chris even as going as far as the old hand in the water, piss trick. Didn't take much for him to pee his diapers as he used his cell phone to tape it! What he didn't know was Chris may take a little ribbing about his bed wetting, but the QB was way out of line. The next day at scrimmage Chris wouldn't let him get a pass off sacked him three times, knocked down 4 passes and stuffed up the line on a QB sneak he couldn't get anywhere. On ESPN they started talking about what a bust the QB was for the Raiders, but how impressive their new inside linebacker, Chris Mitchell was the talk is they should of taken him first and let the QB fall to the third or fourth round and saved themselves a lot of money. Back to you Dan!

My work week just dragged on and on and on, like it would never end. But, finally, Friday was here and I was on my way home and ready for a weeks vacation. I was both extremely excited and nervous at the same time. This would be the first time ever trying something like this. An ABDL camp that offers just about everything someone could want. I stopped and gassed up my truck, grabbed a few bags of ice and headed home. I got home and backed up to my camper, put the truck in park and ran into the house and put on a Crinklz Astronaut diaper. I put some shorts on and headed back outside to get everything ready. I grabbed my RTIC cooler out of the shed and put it into the back of my pickup and then loaded the ice into it. Back into the house and I cracked open a beer and chugged it down. At the same time, I wet my diaper. It felt soo good. I went down the basement and grabbed a couple cases of beer out of the spare fridge and carried them outside and put them into the cooler. Back down to the basement and grabbed two more cases of beer and hauled them out to the cooler. One more trip for the last case of beer. Also grabbed a couple jars of shine and got everything loaded in the cooler. Then, back down the basement, I grabbed two packs of Rearz Daydreamer disposable diapers, two packs of ABU Tiny Tails disposable diapers and a package of Crinklz Astronaut diapers. I put them in a big cardboard box and hauled them out to the truck. Plenty of diapers, way more than I should need for a week at camp. The camp offers some skeet shooting and has a rifle range, so I grabbed some guns and plenty of ammo. Also grabbed my skeet vest. Then, I started to pack my suitcase. I went to put some underwear in there then thought, wait a minute, I'm not going to need these this week. I packed a few plastic pants, some socks, a few shirts and a pair of jeans. I also packed my big paddle, my hairbrush paddle and my giant wooden spoon. I started to get a little bit nervous about what my butt cheeks would be enduring this coming week. I cracked open another beer and took a big swig. I got my shave bag and my medicine and loaded that into my suitcase. I almost forgot about booster pads. I tossed a few into my suitcase and loaded it into the backseat of the truck. I paused a second and peed my diaper again. I loaded the ammo and gun cases into the back seat of my truck and locked it up. I took another swig of beer and then went back to the shed and got my fishing rods, tackle box and chairs and loaded them in the back of the truck and closed it up. I finished up my second beer and cracked open a third and took a big swig. Then I put the receiver hitch in my truck. I jumped in the truck and backed up the rest of the way to the camper and got it all hitched up. As I was hooking up the safety chains, I peed again and pooped in my diaper. It felt soo good. I really love the feeling of a messy diaper. I fired the truck back up checked the trailer lights. They were all good. I shut the truck off and locked it back up. All ready to go in the morning. I headed back into the house, grabbed another beer and sat down at the kitchen table and felt the load in my diaper squish all over my butt and up between my legs. I checked my phone for any new emails and then headed outside again. I got the mower out of the shed and mowed the lawn. My diaper felt soooo good walking back and forth with a big load in it and swelling up more and more while adding more pee to it. About half way through the yard, I stopped and grabbed another beer and then finished up the mowing. I put the mower away and headed back to the house. I lit the grill on my way in. My diaper was swelling up pretty big and I was wondering if any of the neighbors noticed my diaper bulge under my shorts. I washed my hands and then threw a few burgers on the grill for dinner. After I ate, and wet myself a few more times, I got an ABU Tiny Tails disposable diaper ready for bed with a thick Rearz booster pad in it. I took my shorts off and jumped into the shower and took my dirty diaper off and got cleaned all up and showered. I got out and dried off and put on my boosed Tiny Tails disposable diaper. I took a shot of Crown Royal, set my alarm for 3 am, wet my diaper and then went to bed early, ready for my big trip to my first time at a diaper camp.