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Understanding I wriggled under the warm and comforting duvet. I knew it was time to get up but was so content I hoped a few more minutes would be granted before mum came in and insisted I rise and get ready for school. I yawned and stretched my five feet, eight inch frame then cuddled myself more deeply in the folds of my comfy duvet hoping against hope that she’d just forget this morning I had an exam in, I looked over at the bedside clock, an hour and twenty-two minutes. Plenty of time but not if I fell back to sleep. Meanwhile, Bruce, our cross-terrier dog, who more often than not sleeps in my room, was up and wagging his tail telling me he wanted to be let out to relieve himself. “John, c’mon, get up... you need to be up and on the ball...” Mum shouted from the other side of my bedroom door having knocked heavily so there was no chance of pretending I’d not got the call. The dog gave a little growl but I’m not sure if it was against mum making a noise or in agreement to get up and take him out. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I mumbled reluctant to move but knowing I had little choice. I threw back the duvet and felt an immediate chill as the cool air from the slightly open window attacked my lovely warm body. I shivered slightly before making sure everything was in order. I mean, I’m no Greek God but my body is nice and firm (in places) and although not very muscular and certainly not a gym bunny, I feel I’m getting by. Bruce took the opportunity to jump onto the bed, lick my face and get quite excited that I was now awake and able to give him a rub. I gave him a thorough morning “Who’s a good boy then” rub. Then he went and stood by the door, looking hopefully back at me really wanting that morning pee. With my feet on the thick carpet I stretched once more then stood up. Bruce came over again so gave him another cursory stroke, which had him wagging his tail with enthusiasm. Meanwhile, I did another shake to make sure all my limbs were working and moving and knew that was about as much exercise they’d be getting. I rubbed the fading goose pimples and checked my all but naked body. All seemed in order and correct. Alas, another wet nappy was hanging heavy behind my recently acquired plastic pants. So, heaving a sigh of inevitability, made my way to the bathroom. “Mum,” I shouted as Bruce ran past and down the stairs to get to the front door, “can you let Bruce out I think he’s bursting.” It was maybe strange that the dog could hold itself until it was outside for a pee, yet I couldn’t hold it during the night. I wonder if the dog had any thoughts on that little nugget. # ‘Nappies and plastic pants?’ Okay, so that bit might have caught your eye... that a schoolboy (sixteen if you don’t mind) is wearing a nappy and the aforementioned plastic pants to bed? (I’m still a schoolboy because I’m a boy and still at school. Over the years we’ve all tried to change the terms of reference; sixth former, pupil, undergrad, student... well, you get the idea but the one that has stuck (and there’s no shaking this), if a boy is still at school then the majority of people will still refer to him as just that – a schoolboy). Glad that’s off my chest. Now, where were we? Ah yes - nappies and plastic pants - I’m not keen on them but, with recent developments, it has seemed prudent to both mum and me, sorry, mother and I, that such protection was valid until I get rid of this drippy penis I seem to have acquired. It started a few weeks ago with just damp underpants that I couldn’t explain. I had no idea I was dribbling into them but that dribble became a flow when I went to sleep. Several mornings of distressingly wet jammies and sheets meant action had to be taken. To be honest, I was very embarrassed about bringing it up with my parents. I mean sixteen and having that kind of wayward willy was pretty awkward to explain but, as mum had fitted mattress protectors to all our beds, damage was kept to a minimum. Well, that’s what I thought until she came up with a better minimum and that was that I should wear protection until whatever ails me clears up. Then, of course, it would be just me that was wet, so laundry and disruption was all kept to that minimum she was so keen on. Mini mum... now that’s funny if you knew how tall she is... ha! The past few weeks have been really hectic due to exams, which everyone emphasized were extremely important, so there was a lot of pressure. Honestly, the entire year has felt stressful because we knew these last weeks would require us to put everything we’d learned into practice. Now that I’ve finished some of the papers, I think the first few subjects went well, although beforehand I was incredibly nervous. I only have a couple left, and with summer break just around the corner, I’m looking forward to forgetting about school for a bit—and I really hope my anxiety-related wetting stops as well. I’m quite a practical chap and understand that wearing some form of protection at night would just be until this, whatever it was, passed. No one but the family would know and it did seem a sensible thing to do, so although I had a few misgivings, agreed. I was surprised at just how quickly mum had got the fabric nappies organised. So wasn’t quite expecting, on arriving home, to find my bed with one laid out, barrier cream, talcum powder and everything prepared for when I retired later that night. Now, mum (Susan) is the driving force in the family. Dad works in his family business, which he’s turned around since taking over its management, but at home, he always agrees with any and all mum’s decisions. Not because it’s easier but because she is without doubt, always right. We’re a tight threesome, foursome if you count Bruce (and who wouldn’t?) and even though I should be a stroppy teenager, so far that has passed me by, though I like to feel I am an independent spirit. However, mum had said that before I put the nappy on she wanted to check I wasn’t getting a rash. Actually, I was because I’d spent far too much time at school scratching my bollocks. Nonetheless, I lied and said I was fine whilst grimacing at the term ‘nappy’, I would have preferred her to call it, erm, adult protection. However, my little lie didn’t play well when she saw me surreptitiously scratting away at my privates during dinner so insisted that she check properly. The fact I was sixteen meant nothing to her she simply played the ‘mum card’ “You’ve nothing I haven’t seen before” and “I’m your mother and what I say goes” difficult to argue against that sort of reasoning. There wasn’t a chance in hell of me going against mum’s directive. I wasn’t like that... and she’d never put up with it... so, best do as I’m told when I’m told. Now before you start about being all ‘In yer face mum’ or ‘I’d never put up with such a decision’ ‘Where’s the teenage rebellion?’ let me tell you about me – I’M NOT LIKE THAT. # John’s mother and father, Susan and David, had met at university. One lunch time he’d wandered into the library and noticed that the debating forum was in full swing. He’d watched entranced as a small but sprightly young woman, in tight fitting jeans and sloppy angora jumper all but destroyed the arguments of the opposing team. The following week, he once again ‘stumbled’ on the debating team and once again was impressed by this clever fellow student who argued strongly for the return to the full power of the Monarchy. On this occasion she was dressed in similar jeans but a purple t-shirt that had YES written on the front and NO written on the back. No ambiguity there he thought but there was no getting away from the fact that his heart and mind were besotted by this incredible young presence at her challenging best. From then on he saw her around campus and eventually, after weeks of procrastination picked up the courage to speak. He would never have the courage to debate, not being one for any form of confrontation, but loved the spirit of this small woman (he being over six feet tall), and the energy she brought with her. She loved his shy, almost boyish interest and enjoyed being in his company but kept him at arms-length until they both graduated. To celebrate he wanted them to go on holiday together but she was reluctant to give herself to this keen but undynamic man. However, what she did see in him was a kind, sweet, generous, understanding young man unlike most of his follow graduates. He had qualities she quite admired but thought a heavy relationship would be detrimental to her career. So, they remained friends as she pursued her path to work in Government and he slipped happily into the family printing firm. In a very short time Susan had become disillusioned with ‘Big Government’ and decided to look elsewhere. However, circumstances changed and after a particularly romantic vacation in Sardinia, which both felt they needed, friendship changed to something more and after the first consummation of their relationship, David proposed and she accepted. As it was... perhaps just as well because on that first proper sexual encounter (which was far more exciting and prolonged than Susan ever thought possible) the seeds of a baby were... sown. Nine months later, and to Mr and Mrs Benedict’s excitement, young John Francis Benedict took his first breath. Susan discovered just what a wonderful and devoted husband David was; diligent in his work and social life and a loving father... and an absolute bull in bed. However, for biological reasons, John had been the only result of their hectic sex-life and both parents doted on him. Nonetheless, he wasn’t a spoiled boy, he wasn’t overly indulged and they brought him up to know right from wrong. He wasn’t necessarily a pushover but was taught that winning at all costs was not the goal in everything. Sometimes it was best to just hold back and see what develops. However, what had developed were wet pants and a wet bed so, they also brought him up to understand that what parents say goes. He’d learned fairly early on that arguing with a ‘professional’ debater (his mum) was a useless tactic. # Standing naked as mum inspected my ‘equipment’ was quite awkward, she looked professional, whilst I squirmed under her scrutiny. “Well love, you are quite flaky in places, which can’t be very pleasant for you so, this bush will have to go whilst you wear a nappy, otherwise it’s just a breeding ground for all sorts.” She wasn’t specific but I was rather proud of my bush - thick and wiry - so didn’t really want to lose it. It is amazing at what you become proud of in the changing rooms after games or gym. “But mum, I don’t want to be the only lad in gym without pubes they’ll all have a go...” “Just tell them that your girlfriend prefers to see you that way...” “But I don’t have a girlfriend except Jenny and she’s just a friend and...” “Use your imagination son, if they think you have a girlfriend who prefers to see you shaved,” she emphasised the word. “What else does she like (?) because it means she’s seen you naked. The other boys will be sick with jealousy.” I was quite astounded at mum’s easy knowledge of how teenage boys think, so, the thought of losing my pubes didn’t seem so bad. Then of course, there’d only be the padding to find an excuse for. Perhaps I can say she prefers to see me in them rather than my CKs... this pretend girlfriend? Well, that might be one way of explaining it but maybe I’ll just not tell anyone and hope I can negotiate only wearing a nappy, erm, adult protection, at night and find something less obvious to capture my constantly leaking cock. Yes, I know I should see a doctor, and an appointment has been made, but with non-emergencies in the NHS there’s almost a month to wait to get one so hopefully it will be over long before then. Meanwhile, I’ll ask at the pharmacy to come up with something. Well, I won’t because that would be embarrassing but I’m sure mum will have no such qualms. # Mum was just as quick with the shaving business. Insisting that I got on with removing my pubic bush as soon as possible, which I assumed was so I didn’t overthink its removal; I was still pretty keen on keeping it. However, I’d started occasionally shaving my face, though that was only like once every two weeks, but my hairy pubes had been with me for a couple years and that’s why I didn’t want to lose them. Mum had everything I’d need prepared just as I was about to take a shower. “Don’t procrastinate you need to clean that area,” she pointed to my crotch. “Now then love, you need to be careful but thorough.” I didn’t need being told that... careful, hell, I didn’t want to put a sharp object anywhere near my cock and balls. I sighed as I was almost convinced she was going to join me in the shower and make sure I did it properly. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?” (See what I mean?) “No mum,” I said more than a little annoyed. This daily bed-wetting lark was getting too much but, as I’d woken up to another pair of damp undies (adult protection), it was difficult to play the put upon son AND, it was getting pretty itchy ‘down there’. “Just be thorough and, John, I don’t like that attitude if you don’t mind.... all this is for your benefit, no one else gains anything from it, so... think on.” I sighed, “Yes mum, sorry mum.” “Look, make sure you’re thoroughly wet but I suggest you clip the hair down as short as possible before you start otherwise...” “Yes, yes, yes...” I needed peace and a steady hand but thankfully she’d left a pair of scissors out that I hoped would do the job as directed. “Don’t be afraid to call me if you need any help.” “Yes mum, can you please go so I can get on with it?” “Alright but be careful...” she sounded really concerned - as if she didn’t trust me to do the job properly. I harrumphed again but she had left me with scissors, shaving foam, a Gillette Slalom II razor and a flannel. From behind the door I heard her repeat the words “Be careful love” but that only set my nerves on edge. Perhaps that might explain why the hand gripping the scissors was shaking as I made the first snip. # Little by little I carefully pruned and threw the wiry hair into the toilet bowl to get flushed away. On me it seemed loads but floating in the water my pride and joy didn’t look that impressive. I foamed up what was left around my groin and realised that I couldn’t actually see the skin to be sure I was doing it correctly. My breathing had become erratic as I held the razor when taking that first stroke into the unknown. I started just below my naval and slowly (and carefully) manoeuvred bit by bit down that little trail to the main event around my shaft, which was dangling afraid to get too perky. I grabbed my soapy balls and tugged them tightly and ran the blade along the soft skin and hoped I wasn’t digging in too deep. I was pleased to see the pale skin underneath and no bloody mess, which was a relief. There were moments when I just didn’t inhale or exhale at all as I carefully slid the razor between my legs and shaved a little of that bit between cock and bum. I was surprised at how much hair was gathered there (and around my bumhole) but eventually I was done and the entire area had escaped any cuts and looked pretty pristine. It seemed strange inspecting myself that closely and looking at it all from a weird close-up angle - I had no idea my bumhole looked like that - the end of a fastened balloon. I’d never taken such care over anything in my life and although the area was now nude and very pale compared with the rest of my skin, apart from a couple of red blotches which I presumed were from so much scratching, I thought I’d done a pretty good job. Mum had told me, once I’d showered and cleaned the area up not to forget to apply an aftershave balm. Unfortunately, I splashed on some aftershave cologne by mistake, which had me hopping around and squealing like a madman. I washed that off as quickly as I could but felt the burn for quite some time after, even with a coating of the proper soothing balm mum had left out for me I could still feel that blunder. I didn’t tell her about that mishap; I wasn’t sure whether she’d be sympathetic or burst into hysterics. I kept that to myself. However, I stood in front of the mirror and examined the new nude state of my genitals and thought although they normally hid behind that bush, now, on their own, they drooped and to me at least, looked a little larger than usual, hmmm? The other thing was that as I fondled the smoothness there were certain sensations that I could appreciate and felt it was time to explore them. Perhaps shaven dangly bits would have some pleasant advantages? At sixteen I have the same physical drives that any lad my age has, so that means, I have a very good friend that I like to play with regularly. I don’t mean to be rude but it would be silly to try and pretend otherwise and I think this ‘nightly need’ has spurred mum to come up with nappies as a solution. I mean, I know I need one for wetting but I think she sees it as a way to prevent any other bedding (pyjamas, undies, socks and the like) from being a ‘recipient’. Yes, I think that’s the term. No, we’ve never spoken about it, nor have we acknowledged that a boy my age has these urges it’s just sort of accepted. But I can tell that mum is pretty happy - if that isn’t the completely wrong term - that my nocturnal activity now has another form of, erm, depository. # Anyway, mum had a word with the pharmacist and although there were warning devises and plenty of complementary or alternative treatments like - medicinal plants, chiropractic treatment, homeopathy, hypnosis and acupuncture, she was of the opinion that a good quality fabric nappy was, as the timeline of the problem was unknown, the best ‘alternative’ way to go. It was re-usable, so that was good for the planet, and avoided landfill sites. Apparently, in their discussion, and I only found this out later, they also thought how much more adorable a teen must look when he (or she) has to wear a thick nappy. Apparently, for mum that was the clincher and she bought a few large fabric nappies to be sure she had me covered for all eventualities. She said that she hoped I didn’t mind her turning me into a cute nappied eco-warrior... and then giggled. Now, bear with me, I don’t know about you but seeing mum giggle was an amazing sight. Despite the news of nappies she’d just delivered, all that was forgotten when she laughed the way she did. I mean, of course, mum laughs a lot but seeing and hearing that girlishly coy giggle, well that was something else and seemed to take a good ten years off straight away. The thought of being put into nappies should have held terrors for me (or at least some resentment) but that eco-warrior giggle put things into perspective. Mum appeared to be genuinely making the best of my situation, embracing the inevitability of my ‘drippy willy’ without any hint of malice or vindictiveness. Rather than letting embarrassment or frustration take hold, she seemed to find humour in the predicament, which brought a certain warmth to the entire experience. Not wanting to dampen her spirits, I decided it was best to follow her lead. By adopting Mum’s attitude and treating the issue as something amusing and not dwelling on the negatives, I found it easier to accept and even find some lightness in what might otherwise have been an awkward problem. # Anyway, that first night in a nappy was an odd affair. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement but as I’d agreed I couldn’t back out. First mum said she’d do it, and then dad joined in and said he should do it... I didn’t particularly want either to do it. Nonetheless, I tried to pin myself in and it was a disaster; it just kept falling down I couldn’t get the tension right. So, in the end, and after a great deal of joking and cajoling, mum did it for me. It was chance for mum to inspect what I’d done. NO, I didn’t want her to but she insisted and no matter how embarrassing it was for me... she was going to check... and check she did. My cock, balls and bumhole all got a very close inspection and, after a few finishing little scrapes with the razor at any wayward hair, she slapped on some extra cream and rubbed it everywhere around that area. She was very thorough, as you might expect, but a finger and warm hands slipping around in certain places you really don’t want it to be your mum doing it. Meanwhile, as mum reassembled the fabric into a nappy shape, dad stood at the door grinning and revelling in my embarrassment. After a liberal sprinkling of talc it was all fitted (pins and all), and mum had made a big deal about kissing me goodnight. Dad came over, said very seriously that I was doing the right thing and shouldn’t be ashamed or embarrassed by wearing a nappy. I was pleased he was taking it seriously and not out to make a joke. Nonetheless, then he added “However, you do look adorable.” There was never any malice in what dad said but that cheeky smile as he exited made both mum and me chuckle. Dad’s a lovely man and me and mum (sorry, mother and I) are very lucky to have him. He works full time in the printing firm and has had to adapt new ideas as the printing business in general is on a downward spiral in many ways. However, he invested in new equipment and set up an ‘independent’ publisher, so people could self-publish, design their own cards, posters, invitations etc as well as exploiting the demand for A.I. produced material. The business that was failing now produces a nice, though not substantial, profit thanks to dad’s forward thinking. Meanwhile, I turned on my side and tried to relax with this huge piece of material now joining me in my sleeping arrangements and hoped I’d be able to drop off. Bruce was already curled up at the foot of the bed, not on it because mum said he shouldn’t be allowed under the covers. Having said that, of course he joined me when he felt like it not when I said it was okay. Bruce had a mind of his own and wasn’t going to let me dictate where he should sleep. In the morning my new ‘protection’ was soaked but I had slept like a baby. No, I don’t mean I woke up every couple of hours crying to be fed so you can get that image out of your head straight away. I slept soundly and innocently, and with Bruce curled up beside me as the ideal bed companion, I easily forgot about the uncomfortable, damp weight covering my groin. # Anyway, the thick padding hadn’t been leak-proof enough for such a deluge so mum returned to the pharmacy where once again she chatted with the lady behind the counter who suggested a range of thick vinyl pants. Apparently, as you will see, she liked chatting to mum about my problems, who said it was ‘refreshing to find a parent who was so open and honest about such a thing’. Anyway, they got on well and I think mum now has a new friend she’ll be hanging around with. So, I now have to sleep not only in a nap.. erm... adult protection... but with that material protected by a vinyl covering, which I have to say I hated the thought of to begin with (too babyish). In fact, I said “No” straight away when she produced the first slinky pair; they were transparent and crinkled quite loudly before I put them on. Anyway, mum was insistent so was left with no option, but, surprise-surprise, once they were on and I was in bed, they felt quite nice to wriggle around in. I didn’t know if this was the ‘normal’ reaction but it was really quite a weird though satisfying sensation. Okay, so between the pharmacist and mum they’d got me back into wearing plastic pants over nappies.. erm I mean adult protection (Oh god this is getting silly I might as well stick to calling them nappies as I’m calling them that anyway) and although I felt as guilty as hell, as I say I was enjoying the sensation more than I let on. Anyway, it’s been a few days now and I understand this is all for my own good. Of course mum had explained the ‘laundry rules’ whereby wetting anything other than the nappy was a no-no and a dry bed was the ultimate aim. I’d also been instructed in how to put it on properly and efficiently so I was the master of my own night time arrangements. Mum and I had different ‘ultimate aims’ but hers were instant, practical and workable - whereas mine were merely hopeful. Hoping my problem would soon pass. This brings me to the present moment. Having just taken a shower, my mind occupied with numbers, formulas, angles, and algebra because I have a mathematics paper in approximately an hour. Therefore, I must get a move on if I’m not to be late. # When I got back to my room mum had left out a soak pad next to my y-fronts and a pair of sleek soft white vinyl pants. As we’d talked about it earlier she knew my reluctance to wear a nappy to school so we’d come up with this alternative. With the addition of the plastic pants as security she was convinced that a thick pad resting in my white briefs would be sufficient to soak up any dribbles that might occur... and give me time to get to the ‘little boys room’ (mum’s words) where I could change, if and when it happened. “Slip the pad in your undies love and don’t forget to wear the plastic pants over the top... it should keep everything to the minimum embarrassment should you pee...” There she goes again mini mum – ha-ha. I could have guessed that but I suppose it’s just as well she was on the ball because I would have said “I know” in a belittling voice because I’m a little stressed. In this house mum knows everything. Whatever question I, or come to think of it dad has, she knows the answer. Dad: “Where’s my blue shirt?” “Hung up in the airing cupboard.” Dad: “Have you seen my keys?” “In the kitchen next to the biscuit jar.” Dad: “Have we paid the electric bill?” “Yes, that’s just to let you know how much... it’s not a request for payment.” “Oh, Okay.” Me: “Mum do you know what x is if y over z equals 17?” “Erm, ask your father.” So, perhaps she doesn’t know everything. Anyway, I did as suggested and once I’d put my grey school trousers on it felt a bit tight but otherwise I didn’t think it looked too bad. I was sure no one else would notice especially if I wore my jacket most of the time. However, our classrooms can get quite warm so I might have to be a little more cautious around others. Still, the morning is going to be spent in exams so few will have time to be bothered about what I’m wearing, if they even notice. Of course, after the exam, which I think went okay, my best mate Terry sidled up and patted my bum. Terry is my age and although he’s my bestie we are completely different, he’s very sporty, rugged and about three inches taller than me. He has a group of mates that he’s always with (and of which I am just an occasional member) and seems to attract the girls like he was some kind of pop star. I’m not jealous, just, well, glad he’s my mate. “You’ve got some explaining to do mate...” and left it at that as he disappeared with a group of other lads down the hall and out into the yard to get some air. I didn’t get a chance to say anything but was glad he was giving me time to come up with an excuse. I don’t know how he could tell but somehow he could. Should I run with the girlfriend excuse or should I tell him the truth? He knew I didn’t have a girlfriend so that wouldn’t wash, but should I be truthful with my best mate... did he need to know? # Actually, there was a load more going on in my head and in my pants. I’d just been sitting in a Maths exam and although hoped I’d done quite well I had a bit of a distraction. As I arrived a little later than I normally would have I hadn’t followed the first rule of ‘exam taking’ and that is – make sure you don’t need to use the toilet - empty bladder and bowel BEFORE entering the room and not like I’d done, during. Not the bowel part, that was something I didn’t need but my bladder was being very insistent so, about halfway through and, knowing I had a slight advantage over anyone else with my soaker pad lying discreetly in my underpants, gently (although not easily) let the build-up flow. It was a peculiar, warming experience. I suppose it was the situation and circumstances that made it feel different but I can’t deny that I felt a little bit of daring and pleasure in being able to do what I did. Although later, when the questions on the page seemed to be even harder, sitting in a soggy pad for the rest of the exam period became quite uncomfortable. Thankfully, mum’s special vinyl pants kept everything tidy and prevented any leakage (I checked before I left my seat in the exam room) for which I was grateful. So, when Terry patted me on what I assumed was my expanded bum and said those words, I knew my secret was over but I’d have to trust him to keep it to himself. # Before I joined him and the rest of our mates I slipped along to the one handicapped toilet to change. The soaked padding wouldn’t have lasted much longer and I needed to get the twisted wet thing from around my genitals. Mum had put a couple more soaker pads in my backpack as well as a disposable (she said for emergencies). So, once I had my pants down and the soggy material in my hand it was decision time – pad or disposable? Mum didn’t like me using disposables because of the ‘eco’ aspect to them but knew, in an emergency, it might well be needed. However, the pad, once wet, had ridden up and twisted in my briefs to become uncomfortable. Although that was probably more to do with my wriggling about as I tried to solve the various problems and equations. Anyway, I had ‘normal school’ in the afternoon so thought a disposable would fit better and not ride up. Besides, my undies were already soaked so didn’t want to sit around in them even with a fresh pad in place. The disposable was very comfortable in comparison. # Okay, with Terry saying what he said I assumed he knew about my padding. I’d not told anyone about my ‘dribble’ problem and as far as I knew only mum, dad and the pharmacist were in the know. However, Terry is my best mate so I suppose he notices more than others if I’m looking or acting differently, even if I’m not aware of doing so. All this was going through my head when I eventually caught up with him in the break room. As usual he was surrounded by our friends so had to wait for a moment when it was just the two of us to explain what was happening to me. “How did you know?” I asked cautiously. He looked coy “Know what?” “Well you know... about me needing padding?” I hoped no one else was near enough to hear as I took a furtive look around. He stared at me for a moment and then asked what the hell I was talking about. “You said I needed to explain... so... ummm...” but he was looking a bit vacant and suddenly realised perhaps he was talking about something else. “Oh, never mind I’m thinking of something else...” I tried to look like I was doing just that but couldn’t think of why I’d tell him I needed padding. “You didn’t join us online last night,” that’s what I was referring to. “Jim, Hills and Graham... we were well into... wait... what do you mean you need padding?” Oh shit, now he’d grasped something was up I knew he wouldn’t let it go so had to make my mind up pretty quickly as to whether I was going the whole hog and tell him about my little problem. Yes, despite revising like mad it was deemed necessary for us to take a break and I’d reluctantly made arrangements to join in the team game we’d been playing online. What had become more important - my bollock-shaving regime and one thing led to another so had completely forgotten about killing a few mutants. I felt a chill run through my body and at the same time I blushed wondering just how much to say. Furthermore, the abrupt rise in anxiety resulted in an unproductive reaction towards my disposable. I discreetly guided him aside, away from the hearing range of the others. “Erm, when you patted my bum as we left the exam room I thought you must have noticed I was wearing...” He was looking at me with interest and I was finding it hard to say the exact words. I needed to make it seem that it wasn’t a big thing but of course, a lad of sixteen wetting his knickers* is quite a big thing. * Briefs, trunks, in fact underpants in general were often referred to as ‘knickers’ by the rest of the lads if they were taking the piss out of someone in gym or games. Because it was a ‘girlie’ term it was a way of having a go though I’d say there was very rarely any maliciousness to the comment. I was just wishing that he’d break into a smile, say he knew exactly what I was talking about, it was no big deal and we could get on as if nothing had been said. Alas no. “What, you’re telling me that you’re wearing a nappy?” He looked incredulously at me. “No, no... erm... well...” “Bloody hell John,” he looked like I’d just told him I’d killed a man, “why are you telling me this?” He looked around to make sure no one was listening. “A nappy?” he whispered incredulously. I wasn’t sure if I should continue or not but now I’d started it seemed a bit redundant to pretend I hadn’t said anything. I can’t say I was encouraged by the recent warm glow down there but it made it more difficult to ignore. But he continued. “Why would I want to know that?” He looked most uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I thought that’s what you were referring to and, as you’re my best mate, thought I’d level with you that’s all. I mean...” “But now I know I can’t un-know...” “Well true... that’s how I feel as well.” I shrugged and again whispered that I was sorry and it took a few minutes of silence between us before any conversation started again. “So, you say you’re not wearing a nappy, or are you?” “Look, I’ve been wearing a soaker pad in my briefs and plastic pants to stop any leakage because I’m having trouble with my bladder.” He looked shocked but as was usual with him, he liked information so, as this was personal and about me, he was interested. “But suspect from that you’re only telling me half the story...” he replied and I nodded. “Yes because I have to wear a nap... erm... adult protection at night because I pee the bed if I don’t.” “Christ John, what the hell have you done to your bladder?” “I don’t know. It started leaking a while back and has just got worse.” “What’s the doctor said?” Surprisingly he seemed to actually be taking a real interest. “I’m still waiting to get in and see him... in the meantime mum insists that the easiest precaution... and to keep laundry to a minimum (ha-ha) I have to wear, you know, stuff... at night.” I shrugged as if to say I don’t understand it either but it may not have come over that way. He nodded as if this was the best advice anyone had ever been given. He then smiled. “You do know that from now on I’ll simply regard you as my baby brother?” He said whilst ruffling my hair. “Oh, well, thanks for your sympathy and support.” I said a little annoyed in the direction this conversation had veered. “Now, now,” he said as if talking to a little kid “don’t get your knickers, I mean nappy, in a twist” and tried to hold back a huge laugh I could see building inside him. I didn’t know what I was expecting from this revelation but assumed Terry would be okay with it but, well, now... “You know, when you pout like that,” he chuckled, “you remind me of my four year old cousin.” I looked at him hoping for something positive, “But there again, he’s out of nappies now so...” and burst into a gale of laughter. “So glad this amuses you,” I said resentfully. “Yes, that’s it, that’s the sulk,” he laughed harder and pointed, “just like my little cousin.” Although it was a put down I didn’t feel there was any malice in his observation. Unfortunately, the laugh had attracted attention from our other mates and they wanted to know what the joke was. Terry covered for me. “No joke, just a silly observation John made about Mrs Twistleton as she supervised his Maths exam. She stood next to McAvoy longer than anyone else and ‘accidently’ brushed up against him, so, was wondering if the rumours were true.” Everyone knew the school (well pupil) gossip that he was shagging the teacher so each knew what I was getting at and burst into laughter along with me and Terry. The thing was, as I wriggled down in my seat under the obvious amusement of this situation, it was the damp disposable that seemed to wrap itself around my nude cock and balls and offered a feeling of comfort and support. How weird is that? # tbc #

Chapter 1 I met Damien on the first day of my second year of medical school. The day started like most of my lecture days did: with me getting there early. As a wheelchair user, that was usually the safest option. If I arrived before everyone else, I could get into the lecture hall without fighting through backpacks and knees and people who somehow forgot that aisles were not personal storage space. Dr. Harvosen, my pathophysiology professor, had been kind to me since first year. He always made sure to unlock the room early so I could get my usual spot in the front row before someone dumped their laptop and iced coffee there like they were claiming territory in a war. Then he’d usually go and grab a coffee before class, and I’d get half an hour of quiet. Sometimes I used it to scroll on my phone. Sometimes I hydrated, took my meds, and closed my eyes for a bit. It was a pretty good arrangement, actually. Studying medicine with a disability like mine wasn’t easy. I have mitochondrial disease, which basically means my cells don’t make enough energy to be useful. It affects my whole body. I get fatigued easily. I deal with a lot of muscle weakness and autonomic dysfunction, hence the manual wheelchair. I faint often enough that it’s more annoying than surprising. Part of my digestive system stopped working properly when I was a teenager, so these days I mostly survive on a liquid diet. I’m fully incontinent too, which means diapers full-time. It was a lot. Obviously. But the university was good about accommodations, and I was good at keeping up with the course load. That had to count for something. “Morning, Quincy.” Dr. Harvosen opened the lecture hall door for me. “Come on in.” We exchanged our usual pleasantries, and I wheeled down to my spot at the front. As expected for an eight a.m. lecture, nobody else was there yet. The room was quiet, still half-dim and smelling faintly of whiteboard markers and old carpet. I took the opportunity to drink some water, take my meds, and let my eyes close for a few moments. I was just starting to relax when the door creaked open again. I glanced up, expecting Dr. Harvosen back with his coffee. Instead, it was a guy I didn’t recognise. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Messy dark hair, like he’d run his hands through it too many times on the way over. He was attractive in that very obvious, stereotypical way — fit body, nice outfit, brown eyes catching the early light through the lecture hall windows. My heart did one stupid little kick against my ribs. I immediately told it to calm down. The guy paused in the doorway, scanning the empty lecture hall. Then his eyes landed on me, and a small, surprised smile tugged at his mouth. “Morning,” he said, voice low, like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet. “Am I in the right place for Dr. Harvosen’s pathophys?” “Yeah, come on in.” I nodded toward the mostly empty room. “You’re a bit early. Harvosen just went for coffee. He’ll be back in a minute.” The guy smiled properly then, teeth straight and white like they had never personally experienced a cavity. “Oh, cool. I’m Damien.” “Quincy.” I shifted slightly in my chair, adjusting my posture as best I could under the harness. “Are you new?” “Nah, just starting in-person this semester.” Damien made his way over and dropped into the chair beside me. “I did online last year so I could keep up with work. But obviously this year’s more involved, so I figured I should probably show my face.” I nodded, trying to keep my expression casual even as my pulse did that annoying fluttery thing it sometimes did around people I found attractive. “Smart move. In-person hits different. Especially with labs and group stuff.” “Yeah, I’m realising that already.” Damien leaned back in his seat, stretching his long legs out under the desk. “I’ve been staring at diagrams on a screen for so long I forgot what it feels like to actually sit in a lecture hall. You’ve been here since first year?” “Yep. Local kid, more or less.” I tapped the armrest of my wheelchair lightly. “It’s good, though. Our cohort’s pretty friendly. There’s a tight crew. You’ll fit in once you get to know everyone.” “Oh, good to know.” He smiled. My heart did that stupid badum-badum thing again. It was dumb. Of course it was dumb. Damien had just shown up at an eight a.m. lecture looking like that, and I very quickly reminded myself of what I looked like. Short stature. Blonde curls like some knockoff Shirley Temple. Very obvious wheelchair situation. AFOs supporting my feet. A four-point harness across my chest so if I fainted, I wouldn’t fall forward out of my chair. Then there was the whole strawberry cardigan and white pants thing. And the diapers, obviously, if none of the rest of the list had been enough of a dealbreaker. Guys like Damien absolutely did not like guys like me. That was the end of the story, and I tried to force my heart to remember it. “So, what do you do for work?” I asked, partly to keep the conversation going and partly so I didn’t sit there staring at his face like an idiot. “Aged care.” Damien shrugged. “It’s good, actually. You learn a lot about the residents’ lives, and they get excited to see you every day.” His gaze flicked briefly over my chair, not pitying, just curious. “Gotta say, though, some of the ladies in my ward would kill for your pink chair, Quincy.” Heat rushed into my cheeks as I rested my hands on the pushrims. “Her name is Valerie.” Damien blinked. For half a second, I braced myself for the usual reaction. The laugh. The awkward pause. The oh, sorry, I didn’t realise we were naming mobility aids kind of face people made when they couldn’t tell whether I was joking. But Damien’s mouth just curved. “Valerie,” he repeated, like he was testing the name properly. “That’s a strong name.” “She’s a strong woman.” “She looks it.” He leaned slightly to the side, studying my chair with genuine interest rather than that awful pity-curiosity blend people sometimes had. “Pink frame, white wheels, floral spoke guards. Very classy. Bit intimidating.” “She has a reputation.” “I can see that.” Damien nodded seriously. “I’ll make sure not to get on her bad side.” I hated how quickly that made me smile. It wasn’t even that funny. It was barely a joke. But something about the way he said it — like the chair wasn’t an awkward thing to tiptoe around, but just an ordinary part of the room with an ordinary name and an ordinary personality — made something in my chest loosen. Most people either ignored Valerie completely, like acknowledging the wheelchair would break some unspoken rule, or they got weirdly fascinated by her. They asked how fast she went. They asked if they could push me. They asked if I’d ever done a wheelie. One guy in first year had asked if he could “take it for a spin,” as if Valerie was a go-kart and not, you know, my legs. Damien just accepted that she had a name. That was dangerous. I could not afford to find that charming. “So,” he said, leaning back again. “What do you do when you’re not being the unofficial pathophys welcoming committee?” I snorted. “Sleep, mostly.” “Fair.” “Study. Sleep. Complain about studying. Pretend I’m going to meal prep and then drink the same vanilla nutrition shake I always drink because chewing is fake and I don’t believe in it.” Damien gave a small laugh, but it wasn’t sharp. “Chewing is overrated.” “Exactly. Thank you.” “I mean, I personally enjoy it, but I support your stance.” “Wow. Allyship.” He grinned, and there it was again. That stupid, unfair face. The kind of face that made a person want to say funnier things than they were capable of saying at eight in the morning with autonomic dysfunction and a resting heart rate that had decided to behave like a trapped bird. I looked away first, busying myself with the cap of my water bottle. Bad idea. The whole thing was a bad idea. Attractive guy. Nice guy. Apparently not weird about wheelchairs. Worked in aged care, which meant he was probably one of those people who could talk casually about medication rounds and body fluids and wound dressings without flinching. That did not mean anything. It did not mean he would look at me as anything more than the small disabled guy in the front row who gave him directions on his first day in person. People could be kind without being interested. I knew that. I was a medical student. I could interpret data. I could recognise patterns. I could take one look at Damien and understand that the available evidence pointed very clearly toward do not get a crush on this man unless you want to ruin your semester. Then Damien looked at me and smiled again, and my brain threw the data directly into the bin. “So how did you find your first year?” He asked. I made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “That good, huh?” “It was good,” I said. “Mostly. Just… a lot.” Damien nodded like he understood that there were about eight different meanings packed into those two words. “It’s weird,” I continued, because apparently I had decided to keep talking. “Everyone tells you med school is hard, right? Like, they warn you. They say the workload is intense and you’ll be tired all the time and your life will become flashcards and caffeine. And then you get here, and it’s still somehow worse than they said.” “Encouraging.” “Deeply. Welcome.” He laughed, and I found myself smiling again despite every sensible part of me objecting. “But I liked it,” I admitted. “I mean, I hated parts of it. Obviously. Anatomy practicals were a sensory nightmare. The timetable was designed by someone who has clearly never met a disabled person. And if one more person told me I was ‘inspiring’ for attending a lecture while visibly unwell, I was going to start biting.” Damien’s mouth twitched. “Do you have a warning system for that?” “Yes. Valerie’s floral spoke guards turn red.” “Good to know.” “But overall, I liked it. I like medicine. I like understanding what’s happening inside people, even when the answer is terrible. I like that it’s complicated. I like that there’s always another layer.” Damien looked at me properly then, not in the chair way or the medical curiosity way, but like he was actually interested in the answer. That was also dangerous. “Did the uni treat you okay?” He asked, suddenly sounding deeply serious. The question caught me off guard. Not because it was strange. It was actually a pretty reasonable follow-up, considering I had just casually implied that the entire timetable had been designed by an able-bodied villain with access to Microsoft Excel. But people didn’t usually ask it like that. They asked if I had “support.” They asked if the uni was “helpful.” They asked if it was “hard,” in the same tone people used when they were already preparing to call me brave. Damien asked like he actually wanted to know if they had treated me properly. “Better than I expected, to be honest.” I answered after a moment. “They’ve been really flexible. Accommodations, accessible room allocations, attendance flexibility, extensions when my body decides cellular respiration is a hobby rather than a job. It’s been… not too bad. I haven’t had an issue yet.” Damien nodded, seemingly backing down from a fight he had already decided was worth getting involved in. “Well, that’s good to hear, at least.” I didn’t know what to do with that. It was one thing for someone to be polite. It was another thing entirely for someone I had known for approximately twelve minutes to look like he was ready to take on the university administration if I gave him a reason. That was not normal behaviour. Or maybe it was normal behaviour for Damien, which was worse. The lecture hall door opened again, and the quiet began to fracture as students trickled in—then poured in—voices layering over each other, backpacks thumping onto desks, the soft chaos of a room waking up around us. I watched it happen out of habit, tracking movement, mapping space, grounding myself in the familiar rhythm of it. And then I felt it. Not obvious. Not intrusive. Just… there. I turned slightly. Damien was looking at me. Not in that quick, polite way people did when they were checking if you were following along. Not the flicker of attention that came and went without meaning anything. He was actually looking. At my face. His gaze wasn’t fixed on my chair, or my hands, or the harness, or any of the things people usually noticed first. It was steady, thoughtful, like he was trying to understand something—not in a clinical way, not dissecting, just… taking me in. When he realised I’d caught him, he didn’t jerk away like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He just smiled. Small. Easy. Like it wasn’t a big deal. "I think," He said, stretching the syllables out. "I'd like to get to know you a bit more, Quincy." I was going to have to transfer universities. Possibly interstate. Somewhere cold, maybe. Somewhere with fewer attractive men and more reliable lifts. “W-What?” My mouth stuttered before my brain could process what was happening. Damien’s smile softened. Not in a smug way. Not like he knew he had just taken a baseball bat to my central nervous system and was pleased with the damage. Just gentle. Patient. Like he had said something completely normal and was waiting for me to catch up. “I said I’d like to get to know you more.” “Yes, I heard that part.” “Then why did you say what?” “Because people say a lot of things and sometimes I need clarification on whether they mean them.” Damien’s eyebrows lifted slightly. I regretted speaking immediately. “That sounded less intense in my head,” I added. “It’s okay.” “It’s not. I’ve made it weird.” “You haven’t.” “I definitely have.” “You really haven’t.” I stared at him, deeply suspicious of his calm. The lecture hall was filling faster now. The quiet little bubble we’d been sitting in was dissolving under the noise of early morning conversation and chair legs scraping against the floor. People were arriving in clusters, calling out to friends, complaining about the hour, dropping bags onto desks with the heavy resignation of second-year medical students who had already lost the will to live and it was only week one. And Damien was still looking at me. “What about coffee?” He offered. “After class. We can head out to the cafe near the study garden. Would you come?” There were a million ways I could have answered. Flat out denied to protect my own feelings. Could have told him that I lived on a liquid diet of sadness that didn’t let me drink coffee. Could have told him that my autonomic dysfunction and hot sunlight didn’t normally blend well. But of course, when a man of this stature invited you on what was essentially a date, I found myself nodding before I even realised I was doing so. Damien’s smile widened. Not dramatically. Not in a way that suggested he had won. Just… pleased. Warm. Like my answer had actually mattered. “Yeah?” he asked. My brain finally caught up with my neck. Terrible timing, neck. “Apparently,” I said, because that was the best I could do while my nervous system was actively betraying me. “Cool.” Cool. He said it like this was all cool. Like he had not just asked me to coffee. Like I had not just agreed to coffee. Like my entire life had not just veered sharply off its planned academic trajectory and into whatever this was. “Just so you know,” I said, because panic made me informative, “I don’t really drink coffee.” Damien blinked. “Okay.” “I mean, I can go to a café. I just mostly do liquid nutrition and electrolyte drinks and things that taste like someone tried to describe vanilla to a protein factory.” “Okay,” he said again. No weird face. No awkward little flicker. No quick retreat into oh, never mind then, because apparently he had invited me to coffee for the outrageous reason of wanting to spend time with me, not because he had strong feelings about espresso. “They’ll probably have something you can drink,” he said. “Or you can bring whatever works for you. I mostly meant the sitting together part.” Oh. Right. The sitting together part. My fingers tightened around the cap of my water bottle. “Right,” I said, aiming for normal and landing somewhere near medically sedated. “Yes. Sitting. I can do sitting.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to vanish. Damien’s mouth twitched. “Good skill.” “I’ve practiced.” “I can tell.” I looked down at Valerie’s frame. “Don’t flirt with me before pathophys. It’s unethical.” Damien went still for half a second. Then his eyebrows rose. Then, slowly, his smile turned into something unbearably delighted. Oh no. I had said that out loud. I had said flirt with me out loud. This was how I died. Not from mitochondrial disease. Not from dysautonomia. Not from the long-term consequences of my body treating ATP production like an optional group project. From opening my mouth near a handsome man. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Damien said, voice very carefully even. I closed my eyes. “Forget I said that.” “No.” “Damien.” “I think I’m going to remember it.” Chapter 2 The café was out by the study garden, tucked between a line of jacarandas and a low brick wall covered in climbing jasmine. It was one of those campus places that pretended to be relaxing despite being full of medical students actively speed-running caffeine dependency. There was a small kiosk for ordering, a scattering of outdoor tables, and just enough greenery to make everyone feel like they were touching grass without actually having to abandon their laptops. Damien walked beside me from the lecture theatre, matching Valerie’s pace like he had done it before. Not slowing down with exaggerated patience. Not drifting ahead and then awkwardly stopping. Just staying there, shoulder level with mine, as if my speed had become the default. I noticed. Unfortunately. I was trying very hard not to notice things about Damien. His hands. His shoulders. The way he ducked his head slightly when he listened, like he was giving the answer his full attention. The fact that he had invited me to coffee after knowing me for one lecture and had done it with the terrifying calm of a man who did not appear to be joking. Coffee. Except I didn’t drink coffee. So technically, this was sitting near coffee. A subtle but important distinction. The path from the lecture theatre to the garden was mostly smooth, but the joins in the concrete still travelled up through Valerie’s frame, little bumps that clicked through the footplate and into my AFOs. The plastic shells held my ankles in place beneath the hem of my trousers, firm against the bones, the Velcro straps snug enough that I was aware of them every time my feet shifted. Not painful. Just present. One of those constant background sensations my brain filed under necessary and ignored until I was tired. The harness was the same. The webbing crossed my chest beneath the strawberry cardigan, its pressure familiar over my sternum and shoulders, the buckle resting just low enough that I could feel it whenever I breathed too deeply. It made me look more secured than seated. More strapped in than relaxed. I had spent years pretending I did not notice that. I noticed. “Where do you usually sit?” Damien asked. I glanced toward the tables, already doing my usual scan. Shade. Space. Surface level. Distance from the kiosk. Nearest accessible bathroom. Sun movement. Number of people likely to bash into my wheels with tote bags. Whether I could reverse out without clipping the garden bed. Whether there was enough room if I needed to recline. Whether I looked too obvious planning an escape route for a coffee date that was not a coffee date. “There’s a table under that tree,” I said, nodding toward one near the garden bed. “If no one takes it before we get there.” Damien looked. “The one with the space on the left?” I blinked. “Yeah.” He started that way without making a thing of it. That was beginning to annoy me. Not because it was bad. Because it was good in a way I did not know what to do with. When we reached the table, he moved one of the chairs aside before I had to ask. No announcement. No self-congratulatory little smile. He just cleared the space, pushed the chair neatly out of the way, and stepped back. “That work?” I stared at him for half a second too long. “Yes,” I said, then busied myself with positioning Valerie at the table so I would not have to think about how easily he had done that. “Thanks.” I nudged forward, then back, then forward again until my footplate sat neatly under the table’s edge. The movement shifted the bulk at my hips, the soft padding of my diaper settling with a faint, private rustle beneath my clothes. It was one of those sounds no one else probably heard but that I heard loudly anyway, because bodies had a way of making you fluent in your own humiliations. The waistband sat warm against my skin, barrier cream faintly tacky from the morning routine, and I felt the familiar irrational urge to check that nothing showed even though I knew it didn’t. Damien sat opposite me. Not beside me, where he could loom. Not halfway around the table like he was unsure whether distance had legal implications. Opposite. Like we were two normal people having a normal drink after a normal lecture, and one of us was not actively wondering whether interstate transfers were still open. He pulled his phone out and scanned the QR code stuck to the metal table. “What can I get you?” “I brought my own,” I said, reaching into Valerie’s side bag. “The café tragically refuses to stock prescription vanilla sludge.” “Short-sighted business model.” “Deeply. They’re missing out on a very niche market.” I unzipped the side bag and dug past the usual inventory: electrolyte sachets, spare gloves, medication case, wipes in their crinkly packet, a folded changing mat, an emergency diaper sealed in plastic, a pulse oximeter, two syringes still in their sterile wrappers, and a tangle of tubing I had shoved in there badly that morning because I had been running late and optimistic, which was always a mistake. The medical smell puffed out faintly when I opened the bag. Plastic. Alcohol wipes. The powdery-clean scent of disposable supplies. Not strong enough for anyone else to comment on, probably, but enough for me to feel like I had brought a tiny pharmacy to a garden café. I pulled out my formula bottle and set it on the table. Damien’s gaze flicked to it, then returned to my face. Quick. Neutral. Not pretending he hadn’t seen, but not making it an event. “What are the tasting notes?” he asked. I paused with my hand on the cap. “Of this?” “Mm.” “Vanilla, chalk, despair, and mild institutional optimism.” His mouth curved. “Sounds exclusive.” “Prescription only.” “Very fancy.” “It’s practically champagne.” “Then I’ll get something appropriately inferior.” He looked down at the menu on his phone. “Iced coffee. Basic, but dependable.” “You say that like dependable is a bad thing.” “It isn’t.” “No?” His eyes lifted to mine. “I like dependable.” The sentence should not have done anything to me. It did. I looked down and twisted the cap off my bottle, because apparently my entire survival strategy around Damien involved avoiding eye contact and hoping my autonomic nervous system did not file a complaint. Damien ordered quickly, then set his phone screen-down on the table. That made me nervous. People who put their phones away during conversation were dangerous. It meant they intended to listen. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed but focused, and looked at me like he had settled in. “So,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.” I stared at him. Nobody ever meant that question. Not really. Tell me about yourself usually meant tell me something tidy. A hobby. A hometown. A favourite movie. Something appropriately charming and easy to file away. It did not mean explain the complete operational manual of your highly unreliable body before this attractive man can develop the wrong impression and make your inevitable disappointment worse. “About myself,” I repeated. “Yeah.” “That’s broad.” “I know.” “You’ll need to narrow the question.” Damien’s mouth twitched. “All right. Start with what you’d want me to know if I was going to keep sitting with you.” Oh. That was worse. That was much worse. I looked at my formula bottle. The condensation had already started collecting on the plastic, a cold ring beginning to form on the table beneath it. I shifted slightly, and the harness tightened across my chest with the movement, holding me in its firm X of webbing. My AFOs kept my feet neatly aligned on the footplate below, heels cupped, toes pointed where they were supposed to point. My bag sat heavy against Valerie’s side, full of everything I might need if my body decided to become a situation before clinical skills. I could tell him normal things. I liked pathology. I had a small group of friends. I watched terrible cooking videos even though my digestive system had declared war on solids. I owned three versions of the same cardigan in different colours because soft clothes were one of the few joys left in this collapsing society. But Damien was watching me too directly for an easy answer. Not demanding. Just waiting. “I have mitochondrial disease,” I said eventually. He nodded once. “You mentioned that before.” “Right. Well. It’s not just a wheelchair thing.” I tapped my fingers against the bottle, then stopped when I realised I was doing it. “People see Valerie and assume legs. Which is fair, because she is very visible and very pink. But mito affects everything. My cells don’t make energy properly, and apparently every part of my body took that personally.” Damien’s expression stayed open. Interested, but not clinical in the cold way. He was listening like I was telling him about my life, not presenting a case study. “Fatigue is the big one,” I continued. “And muscle weakness. My legs are unreliable, but so are my arms if I overdo it. Sitting upright takes energy. Pushing takes energy. Thinking takes energy, which is unfortunate, given the whole medical school situation.” “Very inconsiderate timing.” “Exactly. I’ve given my mitochondria feedback. They refuse to engage.” His smile appeared, but he did not interrupt. “I can technically walk a little,” I said. “Transfers. A few steps on a good day with AFOs. But it costs too much and I fall too much, so Valerie is full-time. People sometimes get weird about that. They think if you can take three steps, using a wheelchair is somehow dishonest.” I glanced down automatically, though my braces were mostly hidden under my trousers. I could feel them anyway: the hard plastic along my calves, the straps pressing through my socks, the way they kept my feet from folding in on themselves when my muscles got tired. They were not dramatic. They were not visible enough for strangers to make inspiring comments about. They were just there, quietly doing their job, like so much of my gear. Damien’s jaw tightened slightly. “That’s ridiculous.” “It is. But people are very committed to misunderstanding mobility aids.” I glanced down at Valerie’s frame. “She’s freedom. That’s the important part. She means I can get to class, live independently, do more than move from bed to couch and call that a life.” Damien looked at Valerie properly then, with the same serious respect he had given her in the lecture theatre. “Then I’m glad you have her.” The words hit me so unexpectedly that I had to look away. People usually said they were sorry. Sorry I needed the chair. Sorry things were hard. Sorry, in the vague, helpless way that turned my whole existence into something unfortunate. Damien said he was glad. That was dangerous. “Careful,” I said, aiming for dry and landing somewhere softer. “Valerie gets very smug when praised.” “She deserves to be smug.” “She does, actually.” His coffee order buzzed through on his phone, but he ignored it for a moment, eyes still on me. “Keep going.” I blinked. “What?” “You stopped.” His voice was calm. Not forceful, exactly, but there was a steadiness to it that made my pulse trip. “I asked to know you. Don’t shrink halfway through telling me.” I stared at him. There it was. The thing about Damien that was beginning to feel especially hazardous. He wasn’t pushy. If I said stop, I suspected he would. But if I gave him an answer, he expected me not to apologise for it. There was something quietly dominant in that. Something confident. Like he was perfectly willing to hold the conversation steady if I started trying to wriggle out of it. My mouth went dry. “I’m not shrinking,” I said. His eyebrows lifted. “I’m pausing dramatically.” “Of course.” “For narrative effect.” “Then continue the narrative.” Oh, absolutely not. He could not say things like that. I took a sip of formula to give myself a second. It tasted exactly like chemical vanilla, which was grounding in the most depressing way possible. The cold bottle left a damp line against my palm, and the cap clicked faintly when I set it down beside the straw. My body liked routine. Familiar tastes. Familiar pressures. The strap across my chest. The braces on my legs. The quiet security of knowing Valerie’s side bag was full of things I hated needing but would panic without. “My autonomic nervous system is also a disaster,” I said. “Dysautonomia. Heart rate, blood pressure, temperature regulation. Heat is bad. Standing is bad. Existing is sometimes bad if my body is feeling theatrical. I faint a lot.” Damien’s gaze flicked briefly to the harness across my chest. “That’s what the straps are for?” “Yeah. Four-point harness. Keeps me from falling forward if I pass out in the chair. Very race car. Very toddler. Extremely stylish.” The words came out flippant, but my fingers had already found the edge of the lower strap, rubbing at the ribbed texture of the webbing through the cardigan. The harness held me with the kind of firm, practical intimacy I had long ago stopped resenting and never quite stopped being embarrassed by. On hot days, the straps trapped warmth. On long days, they left faint pressure marks. On bad days, they were the difference between slumping safely and waking up with my face on concrete. “You don’t look like a toddler.” My face warmed immediately. That was not the tone I expected. He did not say it like reassurance. He said it like correction. Firm. Direct. Almost offended by the idea. “I didn’t mean literally,” I said. “I know.” There was a small silence. I looked at him, and Damien looked back like he had no intention of letting me laugh my way past it. “You look like an adult man in a strawberry cardigan and a harness,” he said. “And for the record, it works.” My brain stopped. Completely. It works. What did that mean? No. I knew what that meant. That was the problem. Damien was not saying it with plausible deniability. He was not giving me room to pretend he meant my outfit was academically appropriate or visually cohesive. He meant attractive. He meant he was attracted. To me. Sitting there with formula and a harness and AFOs under the table and a diaper under my soft trousers and a body that required more management than some hospital wards. “You can’t flirt with the harness,” I said weakly. “I’m flirting with you.” He stood, finally glancing toward the kiosk. “And I can multitask.” Then he walked away to collect his coffee like he had not just derailed my entire cardiovascular system. I sat there in the shade, staring after him. This was terrible. I was enjoying it. That was worse. Damien returned with his iced coffee and one napkin. He placed the napkin under my formula bottle without comment, then sat down again. I looked at the napkin. “For condensation,” he said. I stared at it a little longer. Thoughtful napkin. Very dangerous artefact. Potentially cursed. “You’re doing a lot,” I said. His mouth curved. “Getting a napkin?” “Not making things weird.” “Do you want me to make things weird?” “No.” “Then I won’t.” “That’s not how people work.” “It’s how I’m trying to work.” I had to look away again. He was not allowed to be that good at things. “The fainting,” he said after a moment. “Do you usually know before it happens?” “Usually. Not always. Grey vision, ears ringing, sudden nausea, light-headedness. Sometimes I get enough warning to recline or get somewhere safe. Sometimes I just wake up confused and annoyed.” “What should someone do?” I looked up. There was no hesitation in his face. No dramatics. No panic. Just practical interest. “If I say I’m dizzy, get me out of heat if we’re in it. Don’t crowd me. Ask simple questions. Electrolytes help. Don’t unclip the harness unless I’m vomiting, not breathing properly, or in danger. It’s doing its job.” He nodded once, taking it in. The fact that he did not look down at the buckle again made it easier to breathe. He knew it was there. He knew what it was for. He did not need to study it like a puzzle. “If I’m on the floor, recovery position if I’m breathing normally. Time it. If it’s more than five minutes, I hit my head, breathing is weird, seizure activity, or something seems very different, then ambulance. Otherwise, don’t let random people panic-call one because they saw a disabled person do a known disabled person thing.” His mouth tightened. “That happens?” “Yes.” “People are exhausting.” “That’s why I sleep so much.” He laughed quietly, but his eyes stayed serious. I appreciated that more than I wanted to. “My digestive system is also useless,” I said, lifting the formula bottle slightly. “Hence this. Gastroparesis, dysmotility, general GI betrayal. Solid food is complicated. Sometimes I can eat tiny amounts. Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes tube feeds enter the chat. It depends.” “Do you miss eating?” The question was quiet. Careful. I looked toward the kiosk display. Muffins. Banana bread. Something lemony dusted with icing sugar. The smell of coffee was everywhere, bitter and warm, cut through by sugar and toasted bread. My stomach gave a dull, uninterested twist, less hunger than memory. “Sometimes. Mostly I miss not having to think about it. I miss the social part. Sharing chips. Cake at birthdays. Ordering something without making it a whole medical explanation.” I shrugged, and the harness resisted the movement slightly. “But it’s not the end of the world. It’s just annoying.” Damien watched me for a moment over his iced coffee. “What would you pick?” “What?” “If it wasn’t complicated. If your body gave you a day off. What would you pick?” I stared at him. Nobody asked it like that. People asked if I missed food in a way that made me feel like a charity advertisement. Damien asked like he was collecting a preference. “Lemon tart,” I said before I could overthink it. His eyes flicked to the display cabinet. “And hot chips,” I added. “The beach kind. Too salty. Wrapped in paper.” “Good choice.” “And mango.” “Very Queensland.” “I contain multitudes.” “You do.” He said it softly enough that the words sank under my skin. I looked down at my bottle. “And strawberries?” he asked. I glanced up. His gaze had dropped to the embroidered cuffs of my cardigan. My face went hot again. “Obviously,” I said. “Obviously,” he echoed, smiling. I hated how much I liked that. The conversation could have stayed there. It could have remained safely on lemon tart and hot chips and the tragedy of chemical vanilla. But Damien had asked to know me, and I had apparently decided to be reckless with the truth. “I’m also incontinent,” I said. The words came out blunt. Too blunt, probably. There was a small pause. I kept my gaze fixed on the bottle because looking at him felt impossible. “Bladder and bowel. Full-time diapers. Supplies in Valerie’s bag. Very glamorous. Very much not first coffee material, but if we’re doing the whole tell me about yourself thing, there it is.” The air seemed to get louder in the second afterward. The hiss of the coffee machine. A burst of laughter from another table. The plastic crackle of my side bag shifting against Valerie’s frame as the breeze nudged the strap. I could feel everything at once: the diaper’s warm padding between me and the seat cushion, the faint ridge of the waistband beneath my shirt, the harness buckle against my ribs, the AFO straps holding my feet still under the table. All of it suddenly felt visible, even though none of it was. Damien did not answer immediately. That scared me. Then his voice came, steady and close. “Look at me.” My heart kicked hard. I did. Slowly. His expression was calm, but there was something firm underneath it. Not cold. Not controlling in a way that made me feel trapped. Just grounded. Like he was not going to let me throw the fact at his feet and then stare at the table while I waited for disgust. “I’m not bothered,” he said. “You don’t have to say that.” “I know. I’m saying it because it’s true.” “It’s different when it’s not work.” “Yes,” he said, and the quick agreement surprised me. “It is. I work in aged care, but this isn’t work. You’re not a task. You’re not a resident. You’re a man I asked to sit with me because I wanted to know him.” My throat tightened. Damien leaned forward slightly. His voice lowered, not enough to become secretive, but enough that the words were clearly for me. “Bodies need things, Quincy. Yours needs more planning than some. That doesn’t make you less attractive. It doesn’t make you less adult. And it definitely doesn’t make me less interested.” I forgot how to breathe. Again. A common theme. “You barely know me,” I whispered. “I know.” His gaze stayed steady. “I’m not pretending this is everything. I’m saying I’m not scared off by the information.” “You should be.” “No.” The word was quiet, but absolute. I stared at him. He stared back. “No?” I repeated. “No,” he said again. “You don’t get to decide for me that I should be scared.” My mouth closed. There was something deeply unfair about that. The confidence of it. The way he said it without raising his voice. The way he made no sound like a full sentence. “You’re very direct,” I said. “I know.” “Has that ever caused problems for you?” “Sometimes.” “And yet?” His smile returned, small and dangerous. “I’m direct when I want something.” My pulse stumbled. “And you want something?” “Yes.” The café noise blurred a little. “What?” Damien’s eyes did not move from my face. “Right now? I want you to stop listing parts of yourself like warnings.” My fingers tightened around the formula bottle. “I want you to tell me things because you want me to know them, not because you’re trying to talk me out of being interested.” His voice stayed even, almost gentle, but there was no softness in the certainty. “And I want you to believe me when I say I am interested.” Oh, that was too much. Entirely too much. My body, traitorous and dramatic, responded by sending a rush of heat up my neck. My blood pressure gave one unhelpful wobble, not enough for actual danger, but enough to remind me that I was strapped into Valerie for good reason. The harness took the tiny slump before it could become anything else, webbing pulling firm across my shoulders. Damien noticed. Of course he noticed. His expression softened without losing that steady focus. “Too much?” That was the worst part. He could push, then stop. He could be bold and still leave the door open. I swallowed. “No.” His smile was slow. “No?” “No,” I repeated, quieter. “Just… effective.” He looked pleased. Very pleased. “Effective,” he echoed. “Don’t make me regret that.” “I won’t.” “You look like you will.” “I’m enjoying it.” “I can tell.” “I like making you blush.” “It’s autonomic dysfunction.” “It’s adorable.” “Damien.” “I know what I said.” I pressed the cool bottle against my cheek. “You are medically irresponsible.” “I’m willing to be supervised.” “That somehow made it worse.” His laugh was low and warm. I looked away, but I was smiling before I could stop myself. For a few moments, we let the conversation breathe. Damien drank his coffee. I drank the chemical vanilla. The magpie beneath the neighbouring table successfully stole a piece of pastry and strutted away like it had achieved tenure. Somewhere under the table, my right foot shifted half a centimetre inside its brace, plastic creaking softly against the strap, and the ordinary little sound grounded me more than I wanted to admit. “So,” Damien said, a smile biting behind his lips. “Tell me the haircare routine.” I stared at him. Of all the questions I had expected, that was not one of them. “Sorry?” “The curls,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward my head with his coffee cup. “I’m assuming they don’t just happen like that.” I stared at him because, out of every possible follow-up question to the complete medical inventory I had just given him, that was not the one I had prepared for. I had braced myself for something practical or uncomfortable. Did I need help transferring? How often did the incontinence happen? Was mitochondrial disease progressive? Did I have a normal life expectancy? I had answers for those. I had tidy versions and blunt versions and versions polished smooth by years of watching people decide how sad to be. I did not, however, have a prepared response for a very attractive man leaning across a café table and asking about my hair like it was a point of personal interest. “They mostly happen like this,” I said, which was not strictly true but felt safer than admitting I had a whole routine. “My hair has strong opinions.” Damien’s gaze lingered near my temple, where one curl had escaped the rest and was hanging too close to my glasses. The look was not clinical. It was not that detached, observational thing med students did when they were trying to identify a rash without appearing to identify a rash. It was warmer than that. Slower. Appreciative in a way that made my skin prickle under the soft collar of my cardigan and along the edges of the harness straps beneath it. “I can tell,” he said. “They suit you.” I made the mistake of looking directly at him. Damien had this way of saying things like he had already decided they were true and was simply letting me catch up. Not careless confidence. Not arrogance. Just certainty. It settled over the table with the same weight as his earlier no, and I found myself gripping my formula bottle with both hands, as if chemical vanilla could anchor me to the earth. “You’ve moved from medical disclosure to hair compliments very quickly,” I said. “That’s a dangerous conversational pivot.” “It seemed like the right time.” “The right time?” “You looked like you needed to stop trying to scare me away.” My mouth closed around the reply I had been building. The air under the tree shifted softly, carrying the smell of coffee and damp soil and jasmine from the wall behind us. Damien’s iced coffee sat near his wrist, condensation sliding down the plastic cup onto the table, but he did not reach for the napkin this time. His attention was all on me, and there was something almost unnerving about being looked at by someone who seemed to notice both the things I offered and the things I tried to hide behind them. “I wasn’t trying to scare you away,” I said, even though the lie was weak enough to need mobility support of its own. Damien’s mouth curved, but he did not argue. He only leaned back a little, giving the silence room to expose me properly. That was becoming another problem. He did not rush to fill spaces. He let them sit there until I had to decide whether I was brave enough to step into them. “I was providing relevant information,” I corrected. “Mm,” he said. “Relevant information like your cells being dramatic, Valerie having management energy, and your hair forming a union.” “All essential.” “Very.” His eyes dropped again, not to the bottle or the harness, but to the loose curl brushing my cheek. “Especially the hair.” It was completely unfair how a person could make especially the hair sound like something that belonged in a dimly lit restaurant and not outside a university café while a pastry-thieving magpie conducted organised crime three metres away. My face warmed. I knew it did because Damien’s expression shifted minutely, pleasure flickering across it before he controlled it. Not smugness, exactly. Worse. Satisfaction. Like he enjoyed affecting me and was disciplined enough not to pounce on it unless I gave him room. “You’re enjoying this too much,” I muttered. “I am,” he admitted. “You make it very easy.” “My autonomic nervous system makes it easy. I’m mostly a bystander.” “I don’t think you’re ever mostly a bystander.” That should not have hit the way it did. It was not even overtly flirtatious. It was worse than flirtatious. It sounded like he had formed an opinion about me from the way I talked, the way I joked, the way I admitted humiliating things at a café table and tried to make them sound like footnotes. It sounded like he had seen agency in a body most people interpreted as limitation. My throat tightened, so I looked down at the napkin under my formula bottle and pretended the tiny spreading ring of condensation required study. Damien shifted forward. The movement was small, but my whole body noticed. My hands tightened instinctively around the bottle, and his gaze flicked to them, then back to my face. He did not reach immediately. He lifted his hand slowly enough that I had time to understand the intention before it happened, slowly enough that I could have moved away. His voice, when it came, was quiet and maddeningly steady. “You’ve got a curl in your eyes.” I stopped breathing properly. The curl was not in my eyes. It was near my eyes. Adjacent, maybe. A mild visual inconvenience at most. But Damien was looking at it with such focused intent that I could not make myself correct him. He reached across the table, his hand broad and warm-looking, and for one suspended second his fingers hovered near my cheek. I should have said something. Anything. A joke, preferably. Something about workplace rights for politically ambitious curls. Something about professional boundaries and hair-based interventions. Instead, I sat absolutely still as Damien tucked the curl behind my ear with a touch so careful it felt indecent. Not indecent in the crude way. Nothing about it was crude. That was the problem. His fingertips brushed the side of my face, barely there, and the contact was so gentle it went straight through every defence I had carefully built over twenty-two years of being handled by necessity. Doctors touched me to assess. Nurses touched me to treat. Physios touched me to position. Support workers touched me to help. People touched my chair without asking, touched my shoulder to get my attention, touched my life with their assumptions and called it kindness. Damien touched me like he wanted to. Like he had chosen the smallest possible gesture and still meant every second of it. I melted. There was no dignified word for it. I simply lost structural integrity. My shoulders softened against the harness, the straps catching me before the movement turned into a slump, my fingers loosened on the bottle, and my entire face went hot with a speed that was, even for me, clinically impressive. The curl stayed tucked behind my ear. Damien’s hand lingered for half a breath longer than necessary, his thumb passing once, almost accidentally, near the curve of my cheekbone before he withdrew. By the time he sat back, I had forgotten every language I knew, including English and the formal academic dialect required for tutorial participation. Damien looked at me over his coffee, and the expression on his face was not triumphant. It was worse. It was tenderly amused, like he knew exactly what he had done to me and was pleased, but not because he had won anything. Because he had been allowed. “You okay there?” he asked. That was a cruel question, given the circumstances. I was clearly not okay. I was a pile of medical symptoms and strawberry-coloured feelings held upright by a four-point harness, rigid ankle braces, and the sheer grace of Valerie’s engineering. I opened my mouth and produced no sound whatsoever. Damien’s smile deepened. “Quincy.” Using my name like that should also have been illegal. He did not say it sharply. He said it like an instruction wrapped in velvet. Like he expected me to come back to myself because he had called me. I did, unfortunately. “That was not medically responsible,” I managed. “No?” “No. You can’t just reach across a table and—” I stopped because describing it would require admitting that the curl tuck had almost ended me. “And what?” I glared at him, or tried to. “You know what.” His eyes warmed. “I do.” “Then why ask?” “Because I like hearing you say things.” I made a faint, wounded noise and pressed the cool side of the formula bottle against my cheek. It did almost nothing. Damien watched this with visible enjoyment, and I was horrified to discover that I did not want him to stop. Being wanted by him in this gentle, deliberate, unembarrassed way was doing something catastrophic to my sense of self-preservation. “You’re very pretty,” Damien said. The words were quiet enough not to carry beyond the table, but they landed with the force of a dropped textbook. I stared at him. My brain tried to reject the statement on technical grounds. Pretty was a word for other people. For people who could sit at cafés without calculating bathroom distance. For people who did not have to plan their outfits around braces, straps, pressure points, absorbency, temperature regulation, and easy access to medical supplies. Pretty was for people whose bag did not smell faintly like antiseptic and vanilla formula. Pretty was for people who did not come with explanations. Damien looked at me as if he heard every one of those objections before I made them. “You don’t have to argue,” he said. “I wasn’t going to.” “You were preparing to.” “I was collecting evidence.” “Against me?” “Against your eyesight.” His smile flickered. “My eyesight is fine.” “You’ve had it checked recently?” “Quincy.” “What? I’m concerned about clinical accuracy.” “You’re deflecting.” “Obviously.” “Don’t.” Again, there it was. Not a request exactly, and not an order in any frightening sense. Just a firm hand on the runaway trolley of my panic. Damien’s voice stayed calm, but it carried enough authority that I stopped. I hated how effective it was. I hated how much some part of me wanted to be stopped before I could turn myself into a joke and disappear inside it. He leaned forward, forearms on the table, gaze steady on mine. “You told me a lot about your body because you thought the information would change how I looked at you. It did.” My stomach dropped. Damien held up a hand slightly, stopping my panic before it could fully launch. “Not like that.” I swallowed hard. “It changed how I looked at you because now I know more,” he said. “I know Valerie means freedom. I know the harness keeps you safe. I know the formula isn’t just a drink, it’s how you get through the day. I know the braces under the table are part of how you make transfers possible. I know you carry supplies and instructions and contingency plans everywhere you go because your body makes you. I know some of that hurts and some of it is boring and some of it is humiliating because people have taught you it should be.” My eyes stung. I looked away, but Damien’s voice followed, steady and low. “And I still think you’re pretty,” he said. “I still think your curls are distracting. I still think the cardigan is adorable. I still want to sit here and learn what makes you laugh. None of the information made me want you less.” I could not look at him after that. Looking at him would be fatal, or at least deeply compromising. I stared at the tabletop until the little wet ring under my bottle blurred slightly, and I blinked hard because absolutely not. I was not going to cry over a curl being tucked behind my ear and a man with a dangerous voice saying he still wanted to sit with me. Damien did not call attention to it. He did not soften into pity. He did not apologise for being kind, which was good because I might actually have died if he had. He only nudged the napkin a fraction further under my bottle when the condensation threatened to creep past it. The napkin. Again with the napkin. “You’re doing it again,” I said, voice embarrassingly rough. “Doing what?” “Being… effective.” His smile was audible before I was brave enough to see it. “That’s still the word we’re using?” “It’s medically precise.” “I like it.” “You would.” When I finally looked back at him, Damien’s expression was open and warm, but there was still that controlled edge beneath it. The quiet confidence. The sense that he knew exactly what he wanted and was allowing me the time to believe it without ever pretending he was uncertain. It should have scared me more than it did. The curl he had tucked behind my ear slipped free again almost immediately, because my hair was treacherous and had apparently chosen chaos. Damien noticed. His eyes flicked to it, then to me. “No,” I said. He raised one eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were about to.” “I was considering my options.” “Your options are limited.” “Are they?” “Yes.” “What if I asked this time?” My face went hot again, which was deeply unfair because I had not yet recovered from the first incident. Damien’s mouth twitched, but he waited. Patient. Watchful. A menace with excellent boundaries. The curl brushed my cheek. I could have tucked it back myself. Easily. I had hands, mostly functional ones, and a lifetime of managing my own hair when it became politically active. But Damien was looking at me like the choice belonged to me, and the terrible truth was that I wanted him to do it again. Possibly I was dying. Possibly this was what dying felt like. “Fine,” I said, barely above a mutter. “But don’t look so pleased about it.” Damien’s smile turned slow enough to be classified as severe flirtation. “I’m going to look pleased.” “You’re impossible.” “I know.” This time, when he reached over, I knew it was coming. That did not help. If anything, it made it worse. His fingers brushed my temple, warm and careful, catching the curl and guiding it behind my ear with deliberate softness. My eyes nearly closed on their own, which was humiliating and also completely beyond my control. The touch lingered for one breath, and when he drew back, his gaze stayed on my face like he had found something he intended to remember. “There,” he said, voice low. “Better.” I sat there, utterly ruined. The magpie stole another crumb from under a chair. The coffee machine hissed from the kiosk. Somewhere nearby, a student complained about renal physiology. Life continued with astonishing disrespect for the fact that I had just been reduced to a faint blush and a half-empty bottle of prescription vanilla. “I need you to understand,” I said, after several seconds of trying to reassemble myself, “that I am going to be useless in clinical skills now.” Damien laughed, and the sound was soft enough to make me smile despite myself. “Because of the curl?” “Because of your criminal conduct.” “I asked the second time.” “The first offence still counts.” “I’ll accept a warning.” “You’re on probation.” His eyes warmed. “Does probation involve seeing you again?” I stared at him, and for once I did not have a quick enough joke. Damien’s smile gentled. “That wasn’t rhetorical.” My hands shifted in my lap, fingers brushing the hem of my cardigan, then the edge of the lower harness strap beneath it. The webbing was solid under my touch. Real. So were the braces against my calves, the diaper beneath my clothes, the bottle on the table, the bag full of supplies at my side. So was Damien, sitting across from all of it after everything I had told him, looking at me like I had not become less possible. It would have been easy to retreat into sarcasm. Easier still to tell him that this was too fast, too strange, too unlikely. But the curl was still tucked behind my ear, my cheek still remembered the brush of his fingers, and Damien was sitting there looking at me like my maybe would matter. “Maybe,” I said. It was the smallest answer. Cowardly, almost. But it was real. Damien accepted it like I had handed him something precious. “Maybe is enough for now.” I looked down before my face could betray me further, but the smile came anyway, helpless and shy and far too honest for a person who had been trying to maintain a safe emotional distance. “Don’t be smug,” I said. “I’m not.” I glanced up. He was absolutely smug. But underneath it, he looked happy. That was what got me. Not the confidence, not the flirting, not even the curl tuck that had temporarily destroyed my motor planning. It was the happiness. The fact that my maybe had mattered to him. I took another sip of chemical vanilla and tried to pretend my whole world had not just tilted two degrees toward Damien. It had. Unfortunately. And when his eyes dropped once more to the curl behind my ear, his expression soft and unapologetically pleased, I realised with a sickening amount of warmth that I was probably going to let it. Chapter 3 I expected Damien to become a one-day phenomenon. That sounded dramatic, but I had evidence. Very attractive people had a habit of appearing briefly in my life, saying one or two things that rewired my nervous system, and then returning to whatever higher plane of existence produced jawlines like that. It was the natural order of things. They passed through. They were charming. They made eye contact for a medically inadvisable length of time. Then they disappeared into friendship groups full of other symmetrical people who could eat sushi without consulting a gastrointestinal management plan. Damien did not disappear. In fact, he did the opposite, which was much worse. He showed up. The next lecture, he arrived eight minutes after me and twenty minutes before everyone else, carrying an iced coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He came down the aisle without hesitation, took the seat beside me like it had already become habit, and placed the paper bag on the desk between us. “For the magpie,” he said. I looked at the bag. “You brought tribute?” “Insurance.” “That magpie stole twice from the café yesterday.” “Exactly. I respect strategy.” I stared at him for a moment, then at the paper bag, then back at his face. He looked entirely serious, which was a devastating choice on his part. Damien’s seriousness could be funny in a way that made me forget to protect myself. He had a talent for delivering nonsense as if it belonged in a patient handover. “The magpie isn’t here,” I said. “Not yet.” “It’s a lecture theatre.” “Ambitious birds go where the opportunity is.” I should not have laughed. Laughing encouraged him. Unfortunately, my body had not received the memo about emotional restraint, and the sound escaped before I could make it smaller. It bounced softly in the empty room, startlingly bright against the dull smell of carpet and disinfectant and morning marker fumes. Damien smiled like he had been aiming for it. That was another thing I was beginning to learn about him. Damien liked making me laugh, but not in the noisy way some people did, all performance and demand. He did not throw jokes at me and wait for applause. He just placed small ridiculous things in my path and watched to see whether I picked them up. I did. Often. It was becoming a concern. “What’s actually in the bag?” I asked. “A blueberry muffin.” “For you or the hypothetical lecture theatre magpie?” “For me. But I’m open to negotiation if the bird union escalates.” “Wise.” He opened the bag, and the sweet smell of baked sugar and warm berries drifted out, mingling with the sharper scent of his coffee. My stomach twisted with an old, pointless kind of recognition. Not hunger exactly. It was never that simple anymore. More like memory. Blueberry muffins were soft and crumbly and used to leave purple stains on fingertips. I remembered eating them in high school, back when I still thought digestive issues were temporary plot devices and not a long-term structural feature of my life. Damien glanced at me, just once. He noticed. Of course he did. Damien noticed everything in a way that was starting to feel less alarming and more… careful. He did not apologise. He did not hide the muffin like food had become morally offensive in my presence. He just tore a small piece off, ate it, and nudged his coffee a little further away from my notes so the condensation would not spread. I hated how much that mattered. The room was still mostly empty. Outside the high windows, the morning light lay pale and flat across the campus buildings, catching on wet leaves left over from overnight rain. My hands rested on Valerie’s pushrims, thumbs tucked against the smooth metal, the familiar coolness grounding me. The footplate hummed faintly under my shoes whenever someone walked past the back of the lecture hall. My AFOs held my ankles in their usual firm grip, plastic cupping bone and muscle, Velcro straps snug beneath the hems of my trousers. The harness crossed my chest in its steady X, warm already under my cardigan despite the air-conditioning. I had chosen a pale yellow cardigan today. Lemons embroidered on the cuffs. Damien noticed that too. His eyes dipped to my sleeve. “New cardigan?” “No.” “New to me, then.” “That is not the same thing.” “It is from my perspective.” “You’ve known me for one day. Everything is new to you.” “Not everything.” I looked at him suspiciously. “What does that mean?” Damien leaned back in his seat, the morning light catching on the side of his face. “Valerie has a reputation. You have strong feelings about chemical vanilla. Your hair gets political when unattended. You use sarcasm when you’re nervous, which seems to be most of the time around me.” My face heated instantly. “There it is,” he said, far too pleased. “It’s dysautonomia.” “It’s still cute.” “It is medically mediated.” “And cute.” “Stop diagnosing me with cute.” “I’m not diagnosing. I’m observing.” I opened my mouth to argue, but Dr. Harvosen walked in then with his coffee and a stack of notes tucked under one arm, sparing me from whatever foolish thing my panic was about to produce. Damien looked forward, smiling into his coffee like he knew exactly how lucky I had just been. I spent the lecture learning two things. The first was about inflammatory pathways in chronic disease, which was academically relevant and probably examinable. The second was that Damien had very neat handwriting for someone with hands that large. That was not academically relevant at all, and yet my brain recorded it with distressing commitment. He wrote in dark blue pen, not black. His notes were tidy but not decorative, with little arrows linking concepts and the occasional underlined phrase when Harvosen said something in his this-will-be-on-the-exam voice. He leaned forward when he concentrated, one elbow on the desk, fingers curled loosely around his pen. Every now and then, when Harvosen changed slides too quickly, Damien made a quiet noise of irritation under his breath. By the third time, I had to press my lips together to avoid smiling. Halfway through the lecture, my right hand started to tremble. It was small at first. A flutter through my fingers, annoying more than anything. Then it deepened, enough that my pen tapped irregularly against my notebook. Tick. Tick-tick. Tick. The sound seemed very loud to me, though it was probably swallowed by the room full of keyboards and shuffling paper. I set the pen down and flexed my fingers against my palm. Damien’s gaze flicked over. Not to my face first. To my hand. Then to my notes. Then back to the slide. He did not say anything. For one awful second, I expected the usual. Do you need help? Are you okay? Should I get someone? The whispered concern that somehow managed to make a lecture hall feel like a stage. Instead, Damien turned his own notebook slightly, sliding it a fraction closer to the edge of his desk. Not toward me in a grand gesture. Not dramatically. Just enough that if I glanced over, I could see the sentence he had just written. I looked. He kept writing. His notes were clear. Better than mine would have been, actually, because mine tended to collapse into medical hieroglyphics after the first hour. I swallowed. It was such a small accommodation that it barely qualified as one. No fuss. No permission slip. No moment that made me feel like I had become a problem for him to solve. He simply noticed that I could not write for a bit and made the information available without making me ask. Dangerous. All of him was dangerous. After class, the cohort erupted into motion around us. People stood, stretched, complained, compared notes, made plans for coffee, groaned about the lab later. I stayed where I was until the aisle cleared enough for Valerie to move without performing vehicular manslaughter. Damien packed slowly. I noticed that too. He did not hover. He did not look like he was waiting for me in a way that made me feel guilty. He just took an unreasonable amount of time putting one notebook and one pen into his backpack. Finally, when the aisle was clear, he stood and slung his bag over one shoulder. “Clinical skills?” he asked. “Unfortunately.” “You say that like you don’t enjoy being academically judged under fluorescent lighting.” “It’s one of my great passions.” We headed out together. Together was also becoming a concern. Damien walked beside me like he had the day before, matching Valerie’s pace without theatrics. The corridor outside the lecture hall smelled faintly of rain-wet shoes and burnt coffee from someone’s travel mug. Students moved around us in loose clusters, their bags knocking against hips and walls, their voices bright with the manic energy of people pretending week one had not already taken something from them. The floor changed near the exit from carpet to polished concrete, and the sound changed with it. Valerie’s wheels rolled more sharply, pushrims cool under my palms. Each join in the concrete clicked up through the frame and into my legs, where the AFOs held everything neatly in place. The harness tugged against my shoulders whenever I pushed a little harder, reminding me to stay upright, reminding me that gravity had never been on my side. Damien held the door open at the end of the corridor, stepping aside before I reached him. “Thanks,” I said. “No worries.” He did not touch Valerie. He had not touched Valerie once without asking. It was such a low bar, and yet there he was, clearing it with the ease of an Olympic athlete. Outside, the air was damp and bright. Overnight rain had left the campus washed clean, every path shining under the sun. The jacarandas dripped from their leaves. The smell of wet bark and warm concrete rose around us, thick enough that I could taste it at the back of my throat. My body immediately disliked the humidity. Of course it did. A flush crept under my collar, trapped beneath the cardigan and the harness straps. Heat gathered at the back of my neck. My pulse, always overdramatic in warm weather, started to climb in that unpleasant way that made every heartbeat feel too close to the surface. Damien glanced at me. “Shade route?” I looked up, startled. He nodded toward the covered walkway that curved around the garden rather than cutting across the open courtyard. It was longer by maybe two minutes. Cooler by significantly more. I wanted to say I was fine. I said, “Yeah. Shade route.” Damien’s expression did not change, but something in him seemed pleased. Not smug. Not triumphant. Just glad I had answered honestly. That was another new thing between us. Honesty, apparently. Very inconvenient. We moved under the covered path, where the air cooled at once and the light softened against the concrete pillars. The relief was immediate. My shoulders dropped before I could stop them, the harness catching the shift. Damien noticed that too, but all he said was, “Better?” “Unfortunately, yes.” “Why unfortunately?” “Because it means you were right.” “Ah.” He took a sip of coffee. “A difficult day for you.” “You have no idea.” “I could pretend I was wrong.” “No, you couldn’t.” “No,” he agreed. “I’d be bad at it.” The clinical skills building sat at the far end of campus, all glass and pale walls and artificially cheerful signage about professionalism. I usually liked clinical skills, in theory. In practice, it was a lot of positioning and reaching and pretending my body was not quietly plotting against me while I learned how to examine everyone else’s. That day, we were doing cardiovascular examination. Of course we were. There were few things more personally offensive than sitting in a harness with a heart rate that behaved like a small dog during fireworks while someone explained how to assess pulse rhythm. Our tutor, Dr. Singh, divided us into small groups. Damien ended up in mine, because apparently the universe had committed to this bit. Also in the group were Priya, who had immaculate eyeliner and frighteningly organised notes; Mateo, who wore novelty socks to every lab; and Jess, who had been in my anatomy group last year and had the rare gift of being able to complain without lowering morale. Damien fit in quickly. That should not have surprised me. He had the kind of presence that made people relax. Not because he was loud. He was not. If anything, he was quieter in groups than he was with me. But he listened well, laughed at the right moments, and did not try to dominate the conversation even though he could have. When Priya corrected his hand placement for palpating an apex beat, he thanked her with such genuine focus that she blinked, visibly recalibrated, and then corrected him again with even more confidence. I watched that happen with reluctant admiration. Attractive and teachable. Horrible combination. When it was my turn to practise, I positioned Valerie beside the examination couch and assessed my options. The couch was too high, because of course it was. The adjustable mechanism had been broken since last semester, which the university had acknowledged via email in the same tone people used to express regret about delayed parcel delivery. I could do the exam from my chair. It was fine. Mostly. Not ideal, but fine. Damien’s gaze moved from the couch to me. He did not speak. I braced myself, pushed up slightly against my armrests, adjusted my hips against the cushion, and felt the diaper shift beneath me with a soft, private compression. Heat rose in my face, irrational and immediate. Nobody had heard it. Nobody was paying attention. Priya was arguing with Mateo about whether he had found the correct intercostal space. Jess was sanitising her hands with the grim determination of a surgeon entering battle. Damien was looking at the model poster on the wall with great, deliberate interest. Deliberate. My chest loosened a fraction. When I glanced at him, his eyes flicked back to mine, calm and steady. He had heard. He had chosen not to make that my problem. I hated how close I came to liking him more in that moment than during all the flirting. The actual practice went reasonably well. I examined Mateo, who declared that he had “a magnificent thoracic cavity” and made Jess threaten to leave the profession. Damien watched me work with quiet focus, his arms folded loosely, his mouth neutral. I was used to people watching my hands during skills practice with a certain anxiety, as if weakness might leap out and ruin the learning environment. Damien watched like he expected competence and saw it. When I finished, he said, “You explain things well.” I looked up from sanitising my hands. “That sounded dangerously sincere.” “It was.” “Be careful. You’ll damage your brand.” “What’s my brand?” “Unfairly handsome menace with good door etiquette.” Priya coughed into her sleeve. Jess looked between us like she had just discovered a new species of entertainment. Damien, to his credit or perhaps his guilt, only smiled. “Good door etiquette is important.” “Foundational,” Jess said solemnly. I regretted every decision that had brought me to that room. The rest of the morning passed in a blur of radial pulses, stethoscope bells, and Damien’s shoulder brushing mine once when he leaned in to see a diagram. Not touching exactly. Almost touching. Somehow worse. By the time clinical skills ended, my body was flagging in the slow, creeping way it did when adrenaline had carried me further than energy actually allowed. My arms felt heavy. My neck ached from staying upright. The straps of the harness had started to feel more present, pressing warm lines through the soft layers of my clothes. My AFOs were doing their job quietly, but my legs still buzzed with fatigue inside them, muscles twitching against plastic they could not overpower. I should have gone home. Instead, when Damien asked if I wanted to study for a bit in the library, I said yes. This was because I was intelligent in an academic sense only. The library was cool and dim, smelling of paper, carpet, and the faint metallic dust of old air-conditioning vents. We found a table near the back where the lights were softer and there was enough room for Valerie to sit without blocking the aisle. Damien moved a chair out of the way, then stopped with his hand still on the back of it. “Still okay if I do that?” he asked. The question took a second to land. The chair. The space. Yesterday he had moved one automatically because it had been obviously necessary. Today he was asking because we were no longer at a café table and he had realised automatic help could become assumption if repeated too easily. My throat did something inconvenient. “Yes,” I said. “Still okay.” He nodded and moved the chair. I settled at the table and let out a breath that felt like it had been waiting all morning. The library’s cool air slipped under the edge of my cardigan, calming the heat trapped beneath the harness. I unclipped the top of my side bag and retrieved my formula bottle, electrolyte drink, medication case, and the small fabric pouch where I kept spare pens and lip balm and the tiny strawberry-shaped hand sanitiser my friend had given me as a joke. Damien sat opposite me, pulling out his notes. For nearly forty minutes, we studied. Actually studied. That was the strangest part. Damien flirted like it was a hobby, but he worked like it mattered. He asked good questions. He did not pretend to know things he did not know. He had a careful way of circling back to concepts until they clicked, drawing little diagrams in the margins of his paper. When he explained something, he used his hands without seeming to realise it, palms turning, fingers shaping invisible anatomy in the air between us. We’d been sitting in the library, comparing anatomy notes at one of the long tables near the windows, when a dark patch started to bloom on my jeans. My diaper had been fairly wet by that point, as it often was during these sorts of study sessions. Most of the time I didn’t mind a wet diaper - I had a fairly good skincare situation happening, and the warm wetness could feel kinda nice sometimes (not that I’d ever admit it). I knew I was due for a change soon, but I didn’t realise to what extent until Damien lightly tapped my arm. Not my shoulder, which would have made me jump. Not the table, which would have made me look up too publicly. My arm. Two fingers, brief and careful against the soft sleeve of my cardigan. When I looked at him, he did not glance down in the obvious way. He did not widen his eyes. He did not make the face people made when they realised something private had become visible and were already trying to decide how loudly to pretend they had not seen it. His expression stayed the same, calm and focused, except for the tiny change at the corner of his mouth, not amusement, not pity, just concentration. “Quince,” he said quietly, low enough that the girl across the table kept typing with her headphones in and the guy beside the stacks kept highlighting his textbook in violent yellow. “Do you want your bag?” My stomach dropped before I understood why. Then I looked down. The first feeling was not embarrassment, oddly. It was disbelief, sharp and stupid, because part of me saw the dark patch spreading over the denim at the top of my thigh and thought, no, surely not, as if my body was the kind of institution that responded to formal complaints. Then the heat arrived, horrible and immediate, rushing up my neck and into my face while the rest of me went cold. The fabric clung damply where my jeans pressed against the padding underneath. The chair cushion beneath me felt too warm, too known, too suddenly part of the problem. My harness straps seemed to tighten all at once, holding me upright in the precise posture of someone whose dignity had quietly left the building. I froze. That was my least helpful response and my most reliable one. Damien’s gaze stayed on my face. Not the patch. My face. “You’re okay,” he said, and somehow he made the words sound less like reassurance and more like instruction, like my body had not just betrayed me in the middle of the medical library while three future doctors and a potted fern witnessed my undoing. “We’re going to move.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I could hear everything suddenly. The whisper of pages turning. The soft clack of laptop keys. The air-conditioning vent above us breathing cold air down the back of my neck. Somewhere nearby, someone unwrapped a muesli bar, and the crinkle of plastic sounded obscene. My side bag hung from Valerie’s frame, just out of easy reach, full of everything I needed and everything I hated needing: wipes, gloves, spare diaper, change mat, barrier cream, disposal bags, a clean pair of soft cream joggers folded so tightly they looked like an apology. Damien closed my anatomy notes with one hand, not rushing, not slamming them shut, just gathering the papers into a neat stack like we had simply finished studying. “Bathroom?” he asked. I managed a tiny nod. He stood first, and because he stood first, he became the thing people noticed before they noticed me. It was not dramatic. He did not throw himself between me and the library like a bodyguard in a terrible romance film, though honestly by that point I might have appreciated the commitment. He simply moved with purpose, broad shoulders blocking the sightline from the nearest table while he lifted my bag from the back of Valerie and settled it carefully into my lap. The weight of it was grounding and humiliating. It landed against my thighs, pressing the damp denim harder against my skin, and I flinched before I could stop myself. Damien saw that too. Of course he did. “Do you want my jacket over your lap?” he asked, already reaching for the black zip-up hoodie hanging over the back of his chair, but not putting it there yet, not assuming, not covering me like an accident scene. The answer should have been no, because no was automatic, no was independence, no was the tiny brittle shield I held up whenever my body became too visible, but the library was full and the accessible bathroom was past the printers, past the group study rooms, past a corridor where people liked to stand and chat as if loitering was a credited elective. “Yeah,” I whispered. He placed the hoodie over my lap so carefully that it almost made things worse, because there was nothing careless in the gesture, no awkward dumping of fabric, no frantic attempt to erase what had happened. He laid it across me like it belonged there, adjusting one sleeve so it covered the worst of the stain without catching on Valerie’s wheels, and then he picked up his tablet and my notes with one hand while the other hovered near my push handles. “Can I?” My throat was too tight for words, so I nodded again. Only then did his hands settle on Valerie. The movement out of the library felt endless. Every small vibration of the wheels over the carpet tiles travelled up through the footplate into my braced ankles. My AFOs held my feet in their usual neat position, almost absurdly tidy while the rest of me felt like a disaster. The hoodie was warm over my lap, smelling faintly like Damien’s soap and rain and whatever deodorant he used, which was unfair, because I was having one of the most humiliating moments of my university career and still some traitorous part of me noticed that he smelled good. We made it to the accessible bathroom, and Damien gently brought the chair to a stop inside the door. “Would you like me to wait outside?” The tears were already starting to gather on my eyelids as I shook my head. “I m-might need a hand-” He helped. Not with fanfare, not with hesitation that would have made it worse. Damien simply stepped inside, closed the door behind us with a soft click, and locked it. The accessible bathroom was mercifully large—enough room for Valerie to turn, for him to move around me without crowding. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, clinical and unforgiving, but his presence somehow softened the edges of it. I couldn’t look at him. My hands were shaking too badly to manage the brakes properly, so he did that too, crouching briefly to set them. When he straightened, his voice was low and steady. “Tell me what you need, Quince. Step by step.” That helped more than anything. The specificity. The lack of pity. I swallowed hard. “Bag. There’s a change mat in the side pocket. And… wipes. Gloves if you want them. Clean clothes at the bottom.” He moved efficiently, unpacking with the same calm focus he used in practical labs. The mat unfolded across the wide bench beside the sink. He laid out supplies in a neat row like he’d done this before, though I knew he hadn’t. Not with me. Not like this. When everything was ready, he came back to Valerie. “I’m going to lift you to the bench. Okay?” I could have said no. I could have told him that I could manage the transfer in wet jeans and began the process of dragging myself over. But in that moment, where my own self pity had all but swallowed me whole, the softness of being cared for was overwhelming. I nodded. He was strong. I already knew that from the way he casually shifted heavy lab equipment or carried both our bags without comment, but feeling it—his arms sliding under my thighs and around my back, supporting my weight so my harness didn’t dig in—was different. He lifted me like I wasn’t a logistical problem. Like I was simply his to hold for a moment. My head tucked briefly against his shoulder before he settled me on the mat, and I caught that same clean scent again, stronger now. The wet denim clung coldly as he eased my jeans down. The soaked diaper sagged heavily between my legs, the leak having spread further than I’d realised. Humiliation burned through me again, sharp enough to make my eyes sting. “Hey,” Damien said quietly. He was kneeling now, eye-level with me even though I was on the bench. One hand rested lightly on my knee, above the brace. “Still with me?” I managed a shaky breath. “This is so fucking mortifying.” “It’s a diaper leak. Not a war crime.” His thumb brushed once, soothing. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” “Yeah, b-but, I should’ve sorted it.” I could feel my bottom lip trembling. “I knew I was wet- I knew it needed changing- I just didn’t wanna- I liked the way it felt and then it just-” The words tumbled out, raw and unstoppable. I squeezed my eyes shut, cheeks flaming hotter than the leak itself. I had never said that out loud to anyone. Not even in the safety of my own flat, whispering it into the dark like a shameful secret. Damien’s hands paused on the tapes of the sodden diaper. For a terrible second I thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he peeled it open carefully, the cool air hitting my skin as he began the thorough wipe-down. His voice stayed even, almost thoughtful. “So it feels good sometimes,” he said. Not a question. Not disgust. Just quiet acknowledgment. “Warm. Heavy. Intimate. Like it’s holding you.” I let out a broken sound—half sob, half laugh—and nodded jerkily. His gloved fingers worked gently between my legs, cleaning every fold with clinical care that still somehow felt tender. “That’s not a crime either, Quince. Bodies are complicated. Yours has a lot to deal with. If a wet diaper feels nice until it doesn’t… then it does. Simple as that.” He applied the barrier cream with slow, warm strokes, making sure the sensitive skin was protected. The touch lingered just enough to make my breath hitch, but never crossed into anything I wasn’t ready for. When he slid the fresh diaper underneath me and brought it up snug between my thighs, taping it securely, I finally dared to open my eyes. Damien was watching my face again, not the process. Always my face. “You don’t have to explain or apologise for what your body likes,” he continued, voice low. “Not to me. If you want to stay in it longer next time, tell me. I’ll help you time it right so it doesn’t leak. Or I’ll help you change sooner if you decide you’re done. Whatever you need.” He pulled my clean joggers up my legs, easing the soft fabric over the bulky padding and around the AFOs with practiced care, making sure the cuffs didn’t catch on the Velcro or twist around my ankles. He adjusted the waistband so it sat comfortably beneath my shirt and not directly under the harness buckle, smoothing one small fold at my hip only after I gave a tiny nod. “I like taking care of you,” he said simply. “All of you. The parts that are easy and the parts that aren’t. Including this.” For a few seconds, I could not answer. Not because I did not understand him. That might have been easier. If Damien had said something vague or clumsy or painfully noble, I could have corrected him, mocked him, turned the whole thing into a joke sharp enough to keep my dignity standing. But he had said it plainly. Like it was allowed to be true. Like care was not automatically pity, and need was not automatically debt, and my body was not a collection of unfortunate exceptions to the person he was trying to know. The bathroom hummed around us. Fluorescent lights. Air vent. The faint chemical smell of hand soap and disinfectant. Rain ticking somewhere beyond the frosted window in soft, irregular taps. My clean joggers were warm from his hands where he had eased them over my legs, the fresh padding beneath them dry and secure, bulky in the familiar way that made my hips settle differently against the bench. My AFOs held my ankles with their usual firm certainty. The harness still crossed my chest, one strap twisted slightly from the transfer, pressing at an angle against my cardigan. Damien noticed that too. Of course he did. “May I fix that?” he asked, nodding toward the strap. My throat felt scraped raw. I nodded. He adjusted it gently, fingers careful at my shoulder, smoothing the webbing back into place so it sat flat and even. It was the least intimate part of the entire last ten minutes, probably, and somehow the one that nearly undid me. The strap settled properly over my chest, no longer biting, just holding. Damien checked the buckle without tugging too hard, then stepped back. “There,” he said. “Better?” I gave a small nod. He did not push for words. He turned away to gather the used supplies into a disposal bag, tying it off with neat, practical motions. There was nothing theatrical about it. No scrunched-up face. No heroic efficiency. No heavy silence. He simply dealt with things because they needed dealing with, the same way he had moved the chair in the café, the same way he had slid his notes into view during the lecture, the same way he had chosen the shade route and then allowed me to pretend I had done it for strategic reasons. My eyes burned again. This time I did not have the energy to stop it. A tear slipped down my cheek before I could catch it. Then another. I turned my face away quickly, staring at the soap dispenser mounted to the wall like it might contain answers if I read the ingredients hard enough. Damien’s movements slowed. “Quince,” he said softly. “Don’t.” He crossed the bathroom and knelt in front of my chair, gently reaching a hand up to cup my cheek. With a gentle caress of his thumb, he wiped the stray tears away, and hummed softly. “I think,” He said slowly, “That you haven’t been taken care of in the way that you deserve.” I didn’t know what to do with that sentence. It sat between us like a scalpel—clean, precise, and capable of cutting straight through every defense I’d spent years sharpening. Damien’s thumb brushed my cheek again, slow and deliberate, catching another tear before it could fall. His hand was warm, slightly calloused from whatever he did outside of lectures and labs. I leaned into it before I could stop myself. Just a fraction. Just enough to feel the solid reality of him. “You don’t know that,” I whispered. My voice cracked on the last word. “I’m starting to.” He didn’t pull away. Didn’t rush to fill the silence with reassurances that would feel like wallpaper over cracks. “The way you freeze when someone offers help. The way you brace for pity every single time your body does something it’s entitled to do. Someone taught you— or life taught you—that needing anything makes you less. I don’t believe that. And I’m not going to let you keep believing it if I can help it.” The tears came faster now. Quiet ones. The kind that didn’t sob, just leaked out like my body had finally found a leak it was allowed to have. Damien stayed right there on his knees in front of Valerie, one hand on my cheek, the other resting lightly on my thigh just above the knee brace. Steady. Present. Not crowding. I hated how safe it felt. How much I wanted to stay in this stupid accessible bathroom forever, where no one else could see me falling apart and where Damien kept looking at me like I was worth the mess. Eventually the tears slowed. I sniffed, ugly and ungraceful, and he reached for the paper towel dispenser without being asked. He tore off a few sheets, folded them neatly, and offered them to me. I took them with shaking hands. “Thank you,” I managed. “You’re welcome.” He smiled, small and crooked. “For the towels. For the rest… you don’t have to thank me. But you can. If it helps.” I wiped my face, then balled the paper in my fist. “I liked it,” I said suddenly, the confession spilling out before I could cage it again. “The wet diaper. The warmth. The way it feels… private. Like something soft is holding me when everything else is loud. I know it’s weird. I know it’s—” “Not weird to me,” he interrupted gently. “Different, maybe. But not weird. And not shameful.” His fingers traced the seam of my joggers where they covered the fresh padding. Not pressing, not groping. Just acknowledging. “If it feels good for a while, we work with that. If it stops feeling good, we change it. Simple. No performance. No judgment.” We. The word lodged itself somewhere behind my ribs and refused to leave. Damien rose to his feet, but didn’t step back. Instead he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead—light, almost chaste, but it lingered long enough for me to feel his breath against my skin. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark and serious in a way that made heat pool low in my belly, separate from any diaper or harness or brace. “Alright, sweetheart. Ready to get out of here?” The endearment landed softly, like a blanket thrown over my shoulders on a cold morning. I hadn’t expected it. It should have felt too soon, too much, but coming from Damien in that low, steady voice—still kneeling in front of me, eyes patient—it simply felt right. Like he’d already decided I was worth the softness. I swallowed, nodded once. “Yeah. Ready.” He stood, gathered the disposal bag and my side bag, then took the handles of Valerie with quiet permission. The walk back through the library was easier this time. The hoodie stayed over my lap until we were clear of the main seating area, then he folded it neatly and tucked it into his own bag. No one stared. No one whispered. The potted fern by the exit still looked unimpressed, but that was probably just its personality. Outside, the air had cooled further. The post-rain dampness clung to everything, but it no longer made my body rebel quite so viciously. Damien matched Valerie’s pace without comment, one hand occasionally brushing my shoulder or the back of my chair in a silent check-in. We didn’t go back to the table. Instead, he guided us toward a quieter corner of the library grounds—an alcove with a bench under a wide overhang, shielded from the main paths. He parked Valerie beside it, dropped his bag, and sat facing me so our knees nearly touched. “You don’t have to keep studying if you’re not up for it,” he said. “We can just sit. Or I can walk you home. Whatever you need right now.” I looked down at my hands, still trembling faintly from the adrenaline dump. The embroidered lemons on my cuffs stared back at me, cheerful and absurd after everything. “I don’t want to go home yet,” I admitted. “I… I don’t want to be alone with my brain right now.” Damien nodded like that made perfect sense. He reached over and gently took one of my hands, lacing our fingers together on top of the hoodie still draped across my lap. His thumb stroked slow circles over my knuckles. “Then we stay. And when you’re ready to move, we move.” We sat like that for a long time. The campus sounds drifted around us—distant laughter, the whirr of bicycle wheels on wet paths, someone calling out about a group project. Inside our little alcove it felt separate. Safer. Damien didn’t fill the silence with questions or fixes. He just held my hand and let me exist in the aftermath.

This will be my first story that I have written on DailyDiapers. I don't consider myself a writer and most of my writing experience over the last ten years has been scientific papers. I welcome any constructive criticism and feedback to make the story better. This story is something that I have been thinking about writing for around a year and I think I have all of the major plot points down with an ending planned and epilogue. I don't know exactly how long this story will be but it will be a novel length. I plan on averaging a chapter a week at this point. The story will center around our main character William Gauss, who is an applied math graduate student at Arizona State University. The story is centered around an illness that Will gets in the beginning. This story will be a slow burn in the beginning, as far as ABDL content goes, but if you stick with the story, our main character will be in the deep in of diapers soon enough. Since I am new to writing, I did base all my characters off of people in my life but all the names and relationship types are changed. I also am trying to make this story as realistic as possible, so I will use real places in the US. I plan to draw a lot from my own experiences for this story, but I have never lived in the places or attended the universities in this story. The only science fiction of this story will be Will's illness, but I will do my best to make it as realistic as possible from a medical standpoint. Saving Grace Chapter One I leaned back into my chair, stretching my arms above my head. It was getting close to 5 pm and after a long afternoon of grading 60 calculus II student's homework, I had finally finished for the day. Shutting my eyes for a second, I contemplated the lowly life of an applied mathematics Ph.D. student and Teaching Assistant. Don't get me wrong, I love the classes I am taking, and I discovered that I love teaching the calculus recitation classes and working at the tutoring center. Even my students tell me that I make a great teacher. But out of all my responsibilities, there is one thing that I have the hardest time motivating myself to do; grading 4 to 8 hours a week. With 60 students, it can be very mind-numbing. I open my eyes and look around my small office. I share this office with two other Ph.D. students, but unlike them, I use our office. They like to do most of their work at home if they can and I usually only see them briefly a few times a week. Not that I don't mind, it's nice to pretty much have my own office. I shut my laptop and stuffed it into my backpack and grabbed my bike that was leaning against the wall opposite of my desk. Opening my office door and pushing my bike out, I turn around and lock my door for the day. Pushing my bike down the corridor, I make my way to the elevator. As I get halfway there I hear someone behind me shout out, ``Hey Will.'' I turn around to see it is one of my friends and fellow grad students Steven walking down the corridor toward me. Steven is a guy of average height, maybe a little shorter, with an average build. He has shaggy black hair, a full beard that is kept neat and trimmed, and brown eyes behind a pair of glasses. We have been friends since starting at Arizona State University almost two years ago. We met at in-service week, the week before classes started. As he made his way to me, I said, "What's up, Steven.'' "Getting ready to leave for the day; have you started on the Abstract Algebra homework yet? I am stuck on the proof dealing with factor rings,'' Steven told me. I said, "I started all the proofs for each problem but have not really delved into trying to solve them yet. I plan on spending a few hours tomorrow trying to get the homework done.'' "Cool, hit me up tomorrow when you get done with classes and we can meet up and work on the homework together,'' he said. "Will do, I will shoot you a text when I am walking out of my last class tomorrow. See you tomorrow.'' I made my way to the elevator and hit the call button. The doors open up to reveal no one inside, so I push my bike into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. After a short ride, the doors open up and I push my bike towards the exit. Hitting the handicap button by one of the exit doors. I push my bike through the exit and say a silent prayer to myself, thanking God for the Americans with Disabilities Act, or it would be a hassle getting my bike in and out of the building. Walking out of the Wexler Building, the eight-story building that has been my home during the day since moving here, I push my bike to the end of the sidewalk. I hop on my bike and begin my two-mile daily commute to my apartment just off campus. It is early March and even though I am in the desert climate of Tempe, Arizona, just outside Phoenix. The temperature can still get chilly and thankfully, I have my hoodie on to protect me from the slight chill in the air on my bike ride home. As I am riding my bike through campus, I think to myself how different Arizona is compared to my home state of Georgia. The place I called home until moving here a little over 18 months ago. The high temperatures never bothered me too much because of the lack of humidity, but the lack of humidity did take me some time to get used to. I definitely had to start using lotion and lip balm regularly to keep my skin from peeling off my body. Looking off into the distance, I can make out one of the sights that make me love this place, the mountains that surround a third of the city. After a short 10-minute bike ride, I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex, passing by my parked silver 2011 Toyota 4-runner that I rarely drive during the week. My apartment building is a two-story building, with a stucco exterior with multiple light colors adorning the walls. I hop off my bike at one of the stairwells that lead to my apartment on the second floor. Hoisting my bike over one of my shoulders, I make my way up the stairs and down the catwalk that runs along the front doors to all the apartments. Standing at the door of my home, I unlock the door and push my bike inside. Walking into my one-bedroom apartment, I lean my bike against one of the chairs of my dining room table. My home is not the most luxurious, but as a single student in my twenties, I made it a very cozy place for me. Furnish by mostly thrift stores and use items off Facebook. The main open floor plan of my apartment has a desk on one side of the front door facing the window, made using two old filing cabinets with a one-inch thick piece of stained hardwood to form the top of the desk. Beside my desk is a large whiteboard mounted on the wall for writing reminders and working on homework. My office area is complete with a nice leather chair. Beside my office area is my living room area complete with a cloth couch with two end tables on either side with lamps and family pictures on top of the tables. In front of my couch is a nice used area rug with a hardwood coffee table stained a dark brown. On the wall opposite my desk is my large flat-screen TV. mounted on the wall itself. On the other side of my front door is the dining area with a white wooden table and four white chairs with wicker seats. The kitchen area consists of a large island with a stove in its center, and cabinets below the counter, and a breakfast bar on the other side. There are three hanging light fixtures above the island. Running along the wall are floor-to-ceiling cabinets with counters and a sink, dishwasher, and refrigerator. The walls are painted off-white with an accent light green painted on the kitchen wall and island. The floors are a composite light wood pattern that runs throughout the apartment. There is an alcove behind the kitchen that leads to the bathroom and the bedroom. I kick my shoes off by the door and I am greeted with the smell of pot roast that has been cooking in the crock-pot all day while I was at school. I walk through the kitchen into my bedroom. My bedroom consists of a queen-sized bed in its center with a nightstand on one side with a lamp and my wireless phone charger sitting on top. To my right is a large dresser with a lamp and a middle-size flat-screen TV. on top. All the furniture is made of hardwood and stained dark brown to match. Beside the doorway is a closet that runs the length of the wall with large light green sliding doors. Tucked away on one side of the closet is a washer/dryer combo. Walking to my dresser, I pull out one of the drawers to grab a pair of gray sweats and a white tee shirt. I strip my clothes off from the day and throw them into the hamper beside my dresser. Quickly slipping on my sweats and tee shirt, I can now put the long day behind me. Walking back into my kitchen, I take a small pot from one of the cabinets by my stove and set it on the stovetop. Turning around I reach into my pantry cabinet and grab the half-empty large bag of white rice. Turning the stove on, I mix enough rice and water into the pot to make 4 cups of rice. With twenty minutes to spare, I walk over and collapse on the couch, and grab the remote to turn on Netflix. Flipping through Netflix for about 10 minutes, I could not make up my mind and decided to re-watch Taylor Thomson's latest special. A few minutes into the show, my rice is now done and I get a bowl out of the cabinet by the sink and a fork out of the drawer next to the sink. I serve myself half the cooked rice and take the lid off my crock pot to ladle in a big helping of pot roast with potatoes and carrots. I sit back down on my couch with my dinner and a can of sparkling water and continue watching my show. I take a bite and savor the flavor of the roast and how tender it is after slow cooking all day. I may not be a chef, but when I set my mind to it, I can always put together a good home-cooked meal. After finishing the bowl and taking a few sips from my beverage, I decide on seconds and finish off the rest of the rice with another helping out of the crock-pot. With my stomach full and my show wrapping up, I go to the sink to rinse out my bowl, and the pot and load them into the dishwasher. Turning my attention to my pot roast, I slid the pot with the lid out of the crock-pot and set it into the refrigerator to heat up and eat off later this week. With it only being 8 pm I lay back down on the couch and turn on Shane Gillis' latest special. As I lay there watching t.v., I notice that I am getting tired and having a hard time keeping my eyes open. I think to myself, that the day must have taken more out of me than I thought. Deciding to call it an early day, I turn off the TV, throwing the now empty can in the trash, and walk into my bathroom to get ready for bed. Walking into my small bathroom, with a small white vanity with a sink and a cabinet mounted on the wall above with a built-in mirror, a toilet right beside it, and a bathtub/shower along the wall opposite the door. The bathroom is completed with white walls and light brown tile for flooring. I look into the mirror and see a young man looking back. I am tall, at 6 feet even, with a slim build. I have dark brown hair, a full beard that is kept neatly trimmed, and hazel eyes that seem to change from an almost brown to an almost green color depending on the lighting. I begin my short nightly routine by brushing my teeth and rinsing my mouth out with mouthwash. After spitting a couple of mouthfuls of water from the sink faucet, I look back into the mirror, taking note that my hair is starting to get shaggy. I make a mental note to get a haircut this weekend. I take a pit-stop over to the toilet to empty my bladder and with a quick wash of my hands I move towards my bedroom. Crawling into bed under the covers, I set my alarm for the morning, noting that it was only 9:30 pm, and set it on the charger. Turning over in bed it only takes me a few minutes to succumb to sleep. I wake in the middle of the night from a dead sleep, with the immediate need to throw up and throw up now! I bolt from my bed and rush to the bathroom. I make it over the toilet just in time to projectile vomit all over the bowl. My stomach is twisted in knots and feels like it is turning inside out as I throw up the contents of my stomach. When I finally stopped, I took some toilet paper to wipe my mouth with and flushed the toilet. Before the toilet could finish flushing, I was hit with another immediate need. I need to poop and I need to poop now! Turning around and jerking my sweat pants and boxer briefs down, I plant my butt on the toilet seat in time for a massive wave of semi-solid poop to exit my rear. After sitting on the toilet for a few minutes, I can finally take stock of what is going on. I notice that all my joints ache and I feel like I am coming down with either the flu or a stomach virus. After wiping, I turn around to flush and notice that I pooped a lot. The amount suggests that I have not gone in a few days, even though I had a normal bowel movement the morning before like I do every morning. Stepping over to the sink I wash my hands and wash my mouth out with mouthwash. I step into the kitchen and grab a glass of water to sip on. I walk back to my bedroom with the glass of water. Looking at my phone, the time is shortly after 1 am. I hope to myself that I feel better by tomorrow morning. I crawl back into bed and as soon as my head hits the pillow I pass out. Waking again, I notice that it is still dark outside and I feel nauseous and I have to poop again. I jump out of bed, run to the bathroom, and sit on the toilet to have my bowels explode into the toilet. As I sit there, I get more nauseated and I have to lean over to the bathtub to throw up what consists of stomach bile into it. Again, my joints ache, and I now have a headache to add to the list. I sit for a moment to collect myself. I wipe, flush, and rinse the tub out. I go to the sink to wash my hands and mouth out and go back to bed. As I am lying in bed, I think to myself that I am glad I don't have any teaching responsibilities tomorrow, I will definitely need to stay home from school. No less than 5 minutes later I fall back to sleep.

Normally I write my own stuff but playing around with AI I've been able to easily flesh out some ideas. Would love feedback. Chapter One: First Taste of Phase 3 The leather of the thigh spreader creaked as Sophie shifted on the padded examination table. A single sound, small and almost swallowed by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead, but it might as well have been a scream. Nurse Lang's gloved hand paused mid-motion above the tray of polished steel instruments. Her eyes—gray, clinical, utterly unmoved—flicked to Sophie's face. "Did I say you could move?" Sophie's throat worked. "No, Nurse." "No, Nurse," Lang repeated, the words flat. She lifted a speculum from the tray, held it to the light, and ran her thumb along its smooth bill. "And yet you moved. We talked about this yesterday, didn't we? About how every movement you make without permission is a choice to delay your progress." "My leg cramped," Sophie whispered. The word hung in the sterile air. Lang set the speculum down with a deliberate click and walked to the head of the table. Rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the linoleum. Sophie tracked her approach by the shift in shadow, by the faint scent of antiseptic soap, by the way her own heartbeat seemed to press against her ribs from the inside. "Your leg," Lang said, "cramped." She leaned down until her face was inches from Sophie's. "Your body does not belong to you anymore. It hasn't for six weeks. The sooner your muscles understand that, the sooner we can move you to Phase Three." A pause. "Do you want Phase Three?" Sophie's breath caught. Phase Three meant the hood. Phase Three meant the suit that zipped from ankle to crown with only small openings for breathing and—as Nurse Patel had explained with unsettling cheerfulness—for catheter access. Phase Three meant she would become, officially, a vessel. But Phase Three also meant she would be allowed to come. Six weeks. The chastity belt—a curved plate of surgical steel lined with a thin strip of silicone—had been locked around her hips within two hours of her arrival at the St. Margaret Institute for Reproductive Conditioning. She had not been permitted an orgasm since the night her owner had signed the transfer papers, had bent her over his desk and— No. She couldn't think about that. Thinking about that made the belt feel tighter. Made the dull, constant ache between her legs sharpen into something unbearable. "Yes," Sophie breathed. "I want Phase Three." "I know you do." Lang straightened. She had the kind of face that looked carved from soapstone—pale, smooth, almost waxy. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that the skin at her temples seemed stretched. "But wanting isn't enough, is it? You're here because your owner wants something specific. Something you can't give him yet." She returned to the tray. The speculum had been replaced by something else now—a plug, Sophie saw, her stomach dropping. Wider than the ones they'd used before. The base flared dramatically, and two thin wires trailed from its end to a small control box that Nurse Patel was plugging into the wall outlet. "You've done well with the eighteen-millimeter," Lang said, holding the new plug up. "No leaks during yesterday's four-hour hold. Patel was impressed." "Thank you, Nurse." "But 'well' isn't finished." Lang ran a gloved finger around the plug's circumference. "Today we move to twenty-four millimeters. This one also has a new feature." She nodded toward the control box. "Mild electrical stimulation. Nothing that will cause tissue damage. The current is calibrated to target the nerve pathways that control your pelvic floor. Specifically, the nerves that tell your sphincters when to contract and when to release." Sophie's mouth went dry. "You're going to shock me." "We're going to teach you." Lang's tone suggested the distinction mattered. "Currently, your body associates continence with control and incontinence with failure. We need to reverse that association. Each time the plug detects a contraction—each time you try to hold it in—you'll receive a pulse. Not painful, at first. Just... uncomfortable. But when you relax? When you let go?" Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "When you let go, the current will shift. It'll become something you'll want more of." She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to. Sophie had been told about the conditioning protocols during intake—had signed the consent forms, had repeated the verbal agreement while a camera recorded her face. I, Sophie Laurent, hereby relinquish all rights to my bodily autonomy for the duration of my stay at St. Margaret Institute. Her owner's hand had rested on the back of her neck the whole time, heavy and warm and impossibly reassuring. The thigh spreader creaked again, but this time Sophie hadn't moved. Nurse Patel had reached beneath the table and adjusted something, and now the bars separated further, drawing Sophie's legs wider until she could feel the stretch in her inner thighs, could feel cool air against the single opening in the chastity belt—a slit just large enough for the plug they were about to insert. "Breathe," Lang said. Sophie breathed. The lubricant was cold. The plug was colder. Lang worked slowly, twisting the device as she pressed it home, and Sophie felt her body resist—felt the ring of muscle clench in automatic, unthinking rejection—and then the control box beeped and a sharp, humming jolt radiated through her pelvis. She gasped. Her hands—strapped to the table's rails by padded leather cuffs—clenched into fists. "There," Lang said, still pressing, still twisting. "That was a level two pulse. You contracted, and your body learned. Now relax." "I can't." "You can." Another twist. Another half-inch of silicone stretching her open. "Think about what you want. Think about the hood. Think about the suit. Think about being so full and so helpless that you can't remember what it felt like to be anything else." Sophie's vision blurred. The fluorescent lights above her seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. She forced herself to exhale, to let her shoulders drop, to deliberately unclench every muscle from her abdomen down. The control box chimed. Not a beep this time—a chime, musical and soft. And instead of a jolt, warmth spread through her. Not heat exactly, but something like the deep, liquid relaxation that follows a first sip of wine. Something that made her toes curl and her breath catch for an entirely different reason. "Oh," she heard herself say. "There we go." Lang withdrew her fingers. The plug stayed, its flared base pressed snug against the opening in Sophie's belt. "Twenty-four millimeters, fully seated. How does it feel?" Full. The word surfaced, then sank. Sophie's tongue felt thick. The warmth from the plug's reward pulse hadn't faded—had settled into her bones, into the space behind her navel, into the place the chastity belt's steel plate kept sealed away from touch. She was aware of her own pulse in a way she normally wasn't, could feel it beating in distant synchronicity with the small, nearly imperceptible vibration she now realized was coming from the plug itself. "Heavy," she managed. "Good." Lang was making notes on a tablet. "Patel, start the timer. Four-hour hold with increasing fill. I want her at seventy-five percent capacity before we begin the first series." "Seventy-five percent capacity of what?" Sophie asked, but neither nurse answered. She found out six minutes later. A new sensation joined the fullness—a gradual, creeping pressure deep inside that had nothing to do with the plug's size. Liquid, she realized. Something was being pumped into her through the plug's hollow core, warm and thick and utterly foreign. Saline, maybe. Or something else. Something designed to mimic the weight and urgency of a full bladder, a full bowel, but without any of the body's natural ability to absorb or process it. "First infusion is fifty milliliters," Patel announced. She was younger than Lang, with round cheeks and a perpetual expression of mild curiosity. "We'll add fifty more every fifteen minutes." "You can't—" Sophie's protest died as the plug buzzed, a warning pulse that wasn't unpleasant but promised escalation. She'd clenched without meaning to again. "Every time you try to hold it," Lang reminded her, "you'll be corrected. Every time you relax and accept it, you'll be rewarded. This isn't complicated, Sophie. Stop treating your body like it belongs to you." The next hour was a lesson in surrender. Sophie had always prided herself on control. Even before her owner—especially before her owner—she had been the kind of person who made lists, kept schedules, and found comfort in structure. Her body had been the same. Predictable. Manageable. It ate when she told it to eat. It slept when she told it to sleep. It certainly didn't leak, didn't fail, didn't slowly and inexorably lose the ability to contain what had been put inside it. But the infusion kept coming. Fifty milliliters, then a hundred, then a hundred and fifty. The pressure built from a whisper to a demand, and every time Sophie tried to resist—every time her muscles tightened in that ancient, automatic response—the plug corrected her with a pulse that grew sharper each time. And every time she relaxed, every time she let the pressure exist without fighting it, the reward was sweeter. By the second hour, Sophie was trembling. Not from pain—the corrections weren't painful, not exactly. But the combination of the fullness, the vibration, the warmth of the reward pulses, and the six-week denial of the chastity belt had turned her body into something she barely recognized. Her hips kept making small, involuntary circles against the padded table. Her breathing had gone shallow and ragged. The steel plate of the belt pressed against her clit with every shift of her pelvis, but it was a pressure without friction, a promise without delivery, and the frustration of it was driving her slowly and completely insane. "Please," she whispered, during a moment when neither nurse was speaking. Lang looked up from her tablet. "Please what?" "Please let me..." Sophie couldn't finish. The word stuck in her throat. Come. Please let me come. I'll do anything. I'll be good. I'll be so good. But she knew the answer. She'd known the answer since the moment she'd arrived, since the moment the belt had clicked shut and Lang had pocketed the key. "You'll come when you reach Phase Three," Lang said. "And you'll reach Phase Three when you've demonstrated complete loss of voluntary control. That means no more 'please.' No more 'I can't.' No more treating your body like something you can bargain with." She set the tablet aside. "Patel, increase the fill rate. Let's see if we can't push her to two hundred milliliters before the third hour." The next infusion came faster. The pressure built sharper. And Sophie—Sophie stopped fighting. Not gracefully. Not with the serene acceptance the nurses seemed to expect. But the corrections were getting harder to endure, and the rewards were getting longer, deeper, more insistent. The plug's vibration had shifted, somehow, into a frequency that seemed designed to resonate with the steel plate of the chastity belt, and the combination of internal fullness and external denial was rewriting something fundamental in her hindbrain. Let go, the warmth seemed to say. Let go and it'll feel even better. She let go. Not all at once—just a fraction, just a tiny loosening of muscles she'd been holding clenched since the procedure started. The control box chimed its reward chime, and that liquid heat flooded through her pelvis again, and Sophie heard herself make a sound she'd never made before. A sob, but not of pain. A moan, but not of pleasure. Something caught between the two, something that made Nurse Lang pause in her note-taking and look up with real interest. "There," Lang said. "There it is. Do you feel that, Sophie? That's your body learning what it's for." Sophie's answer was lost in the chime of another reward pulse as something inside her gave way completely. Warmth spread beneath her—not the internal warmth of the plug's reward, but actual, physical wetness against her thighs, against the leather of the table padding. The infusion had leaked out. Not all of it, but some. Enough that she could feel it pooling, could smell the faint medical scent of whatever they'd been pumping inside her. "Oh god," she breathed. "Good girl," Lang said. "That's very good. Patel, mark her chart. First involuntary release at two hours, forty-three minutes." Patel made a note. "Better than projected." "Much better." Lang set her tablet aside and walked to Sophie's head. One gloved hand stroked the sweat-damp hair back from Sophie's forehead—the first gesture of anything approaching gentleness since the procedure had begun. "You're going to make your owner very happy, Sophie. Do you want to know what Phase Three entails?" Sophie's voice came out hoarse. "Yes, Nurse." "The hood is called a Ganzfeld inducer. It's made of four layers of medical latex with a sensory-deprivation inner lining. Once it's zipped on, you won't see anything. You won't hear anything except a white noise generator that we'll use to administer audio cues. You won't taste or smell anything except the filtered air from the breathing tube. The only sensations you'll have are internal—the plugs, the catheters, the electrodes—and the pressure of the suit itself, which is designed to mimic the sensation of being held. Being contained. Being owned." Sophie's hips twitched. The plug rewarded her with another pulse of warmth. "You'll be in the suit for twenty-three hours a day," Lang continued, her voice perfectly level. "During which time we'll continue the electrical conditioning at increasing intensities. By the end of Phase Three, you won't just be incontinent—you'll be incapable of distinguishing between the sensation of release and the sensation of orgasm. Your owner will be able to trigger either one with a remote control. He could make you come on the bus, in a restaurant, during a business meeting, and you won't be able to stop it. You won't want to stop it. You'll be exactly what he paid for." The words should have horrified her. Sophie knew that intellectually, the way she knew that she'd once had a job and an apartment and a name that appeared on a lease instead of a consent form. But her body—her body was humming with a need so profound that Lang's description sounded less like a threat and more like the only thing she'd ever wanted. "When?" The word came out cracked. "Soon." Lang withdrew her hand. "But first, we need to get you out of the belt for your next examination. You've earned a small reward—nothing too intense, just a reduction in pressure while we measure your progress. Patel, prepare the adult diaper and the restraint for the transfer." The word "diaper" should have landed like a slap. It should have flooded her with shame, with the memory of everything she'd been before her owner had chosen her. But the plug was still humming its low, satisfied hum against the walls of her stretched and yielding body, and Sophie couldn't find the shame anymore. Couldn't find anything except the ache between her legs and the knowledge that soon—soon—she would be allowed to feel more. The thigh spreader released with a hydraulic hiss. "Don't try to stand," Lang said. "You won't be able to. Your muscles need to relearn their relationship with gravity. Patel will transfer you to the changing station." Patel's hands were smaller than Lang's, her touch lighter. She unhooked Sophie's wrists from the table rails one at a time, guiding each arm to a position across her chest, securing them there with a single wide strap of soft leather that wrapped from shoulder to hip like a bandage. "Up," Patel said, and a motor whirred somewhere beneath the table. The padded surface tilted, lifted, rotated until Sophie was upright but supported, her weight distributed across the table's angled surface. She could see the room properly now for the first time—the white walls, the stainless steel cabinets, the shelf of plugs arranged by size like a display of ritual objects, the changing station in the corner with its stacks of thick white padding. The diapers weren't the medical kind Sophie had seen in drugstores. These were custom-made, visibly thick, with multiple layers of absorbent material and a lining that gleamed faintly under the lights. The waistbands were high and wide, designed to be visible above the waist of whatever she wore. Designed to announce what she was. "Beautiful, aren't they?" Lang had followed her gaze. "Your owner commissioned them from a specialty manufacturer in Germany. They're rated for twelve hours of continuous use. By the time you're released from here, you'll need them for every waking moment." She crossed to the changing station and lifted one of the diapers, holding it up so Sophie could see the way it was shaped—contoured, almost sculptural, with reinforced leg gathers and a crotch wide enough to accommodate whatever bulk Sophie's conditioning required. "This particular model," Lang continued, "has a conductive lining. Once you're fitted with your permanent electrodes in Phase Four, the diaper will be able to deliver stimulation directly. Imagine it—the warmth spreading through the padding, the vibration against your most sensitive areas, and no way to remove it. No way to stop it. Just the sensation, hour after hour, until your owner decides you've had enough." Sophie's breath was coming in short, sharp gasps now. The ache beneath the chastity belt had become a physical presence, a weight that pressed outward against the steel. She could feel the plug still inside her, still humming, and the wetness of the leaked infusion was cooling on her thighs. "Please," she said again, and this time she didn't care what she was asking for. Lang smiled. It was the first real smile Sophie had seen from her—thin and sharp and absolutely terrifying. "Patel," she said, "remove the belt. Let's see how our patient responds to direct stimulation after six weeks of denial." Patel produced a key from her pocket. It glinted under the lights, small and silver and impossibly significant. She knelt before Sophie's tilted body and reached between the spread thighs, and Sophie heard the lock mechanism disengage with a click that seemed to echo through her bones. The steel plate lifted away. Cool air touched her for the first time in six weeks, and Sophie sobbed with a relief so profound it was indistinguishable from grief. Then Patel's gloved fingers found her clit, and the world went white.

Warning As with my previous stories, this one contains several elements inherent to the pre-established 'Diaper Dimension.' These include, but are not limited to: Diapers and their usage for their intended purpose Breastfeeding Non-consensual mental regression through various means (Including possible drugs, hypnosis, and/or surgery) References to surgery to achieve various nefarious goals Humiliation Giants, aka, Amazons or Bigs Predominantly female domination (some male) Babying of adults (perceived or otherwise) Experimentation on humans Kidnapping Coerced or manipulated actions through possible means of white lies, gas lighting, or incentives Mild language or use of explitives Depictions of death, illness, or handicaps Graphic imagery associated with any of these warnings Corruption, abuse of power, and shady dealings This story has not been labeled as mature, however, due to a lack of specific references to anything overtly sexual, but this warning serves as a 'turn back' point for any readers who do not wish to read about the previous warnings. Lastly, this list is subject to change during the course of writing this story. While most of the plot is ironed out, more warnings may be added if needed. Previously... Before we begin, I just wanted to add this little blurb. For those interested, the first installment of this trilogy can be located in the link after, but for those who just want a quick refresher, I have the following: https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/topic/88699-a-walk-into-the-unknown-a-diaper-dimension-story-chapter-25-complete/ In a bargain with Psyche New Beginnings, a subsidiary of Oasis Opportunities and Juventas, Patrick Henderson traveled to the so-called Diaper Dimension. In exchange for five years living under an Amazon, or more commonly known as a ‘Big,’ through the advanced medical research and knowledge of the other dimension, they would reverse his paralyzed legs condition, a result of a guilt-laden drive that forced him into a wheelchair five years prior and claimed the life of his mother as well. Under the loving guidance of Nurse Addy Pepperidge, Patrick interviewed several Big candidates to be his caregiver while he attended therapy to ease his guilt and help him walk again. Over the course of three months, he began to walk again and though dodging many unsavory potential caregivers and an evil scientist, he soon found himself embroiled in a plot to force him into an unwilling permanent babyhood. Through the shady and underground dealings of the facility, Patrick was able to be rescued, though in the end with the loss of some of his maturity and nearly all the maturity of his similarly captured friend. Electing another two caregivers with his friend, however, Patrick learned self-acceptance of his current life and even served as ring bearer on the day his two new caregivers were eventually married. Now, faced with a new candidate, Nurse Addy Pepperidge strives to find her own Little as she balances her needs after losing a previous Little, Mindy, the needs of Psyche New Beginnings, and the sinister underhanded plot growing ever so steadily from behind closed doors. Hey everyone! Happy New Year and welcome back! At the beginning of this story, I just want to note that as likely you see below, I’m dividing this story up into sections, three to be exact. Part of this is simply due to the story structure and a little bit as an homage to the first story in this trilogy, but I also want to do something different this time. Instead of barreling through this story all at once, at the end of each section (so two times), I will be taking at least a week-long break. I hope this will prevent the burnout, frustration, and the overwhelming pressure I put on myself normally, as well as a chance to catch up on future chapters, plot points, and ensure that the story is going where I want it to. Considering there are three sections and right now at least ten chapters per section, I think this will be a good thing. So… at the end of each section, I will give you all a more definitive date when the next section will be posted. Next, despite my hesitation from my last story, I’m still willing to put up a poll for my next story at least. I might rethink that after this one depending on how this story is received/how I feel about it, but for now, be on the lookout for a poll come the next chapter or so. I’m still debating which stories I should place in the poll this time, so if anyone has a specific request, please let me know. EDIT: Future me here... I did end up putting a poll in for my next story for you all to choose once again. The link after will be the one directly after here, but for full story descriptions of the three potentials, go to page 3 within this thread and under the beginning of chapter 14. https://strawpoll.com/wAg3Qk2xOy8 Also, for anyone continuing off my last story might recall, or for anyone new to this one, I am debating whether or not I should create a wiki of sorts for the Diaper Dimension. There’s frankly a lot of information out there, which makes sense considering it’s a whole other world, but things are getting hard to keep up with, and while I love my reference guide, I know it can be a bit tricky looking things up from my own personal experience these days. So… I basically want to use a pretty basic wiki-like site where you can navigate through these various aspects. I think it could also help with some of the maps I’ve created, and as a bonus, most anyone signed in can edit the pages, so for new writings, they can be added quickly. But… it is a bit of a lift, so, if no one actually wants this, I want to know first before I dive into yet another project. As such, linked below, I have a poll with different options you can select with the add-on this time of comments being possible as well. https://strawpoll.com/poy9kDaNpgJ Now… last but not least and as usual, I hope everyone enjoys this first chapter of my new story! Part 1: New Beginnings, Same Story Chapter 1: A Familiar Path… Sometimes Addy sat at her desk by her window and looked out over the horizon, hoping for a new chance… a new possibility to find happiness here. She always felt that way on move-in day and thought that feeling would never go away working here at Psyche New Beginnings. A nurse that had graduated at the top of her class and already had a number of years under her belt here and with connections on the board, she was dedicated to Psyche New Beginnings, Juventas, and their purposeful mission here. She wasn’t one of the more fair-weather nurses coming in here to solely find their Little and blow out of here just as quickly as they had arrived. But she was a Big, and simply put, Bigs wanted a Little in their life. It was biological… something deep in all Bigs when it came to Littles… doubly so when it came to portal Littles. Maybe it was the fact that they all seemed so helpless on their less advanced and comparatively dirty Earth, but each portal Little was essentially catnip to any Big they came across over here. Most Bigs could control it, but for others… Addy shook her head and looked back out her window. Those types of Bigs… the ones that go overboard and hurt their Little to ensure their compliance… she just never could stand them. She was a nurse after all and felt strongly there was just something wrong about hurting Littles to make them the ‘perfect Little.’ Working here was a fine line for sure, but her charges never left broken or upset if she could help it. And that was the other part of all this. She was a nurse and she wanted to help them. There was a noble service to all this, and while there will always be that one tough case, seeing all the Littles choose their caregivers on selection day is a scene that one would have to see to believe. No disease or dismemberment… just smiles and hugs… and all that starts from day one, aka, move-in day. So, when she looked out and saw the bus pull up once more to the gate in the distance, she practically jumped out of her seat to see her new arrivals as they came. Checking her files once more, she couldn’t wait to meet either of the two assigned to her. Excited and taking the time to have vetted them personally, she knew just about everything there was to know about her two new patients. Even after weeks of combing over their files, seeing their names still caused a little flutter to arise in her heart. ‘Franklin and Mindy…’ Dashing downstairs, she stopped right at the entrance and adjusted her scrubs and made sure she didn’t have a single hair out of place. The first day was always plain scrubs and her pink set had become a sort of tradition after wearing the same after her last four patients. “Good arrivals this time, Addy?” Penny questioned Addy while adjusting her bracelet once more. “I think so. Always hard to tell the ins and out, you know?” Addy sighed, remembering back to a few of her more unsavory patients since she had come here. They were rare and they still left happy… but the journey to get them there hadn’t exactly been easy. “I always just hope for two happy Littles by the end. You?” “Oh, I go in for something a little different…” Penny mused, now applying some last-minute touch-ups to her makeup. “I kind of like seeing the little one’s regress and all. Bigger they are… the harder they fall. Always love seeing those first moments when they lose control…” Addy didn’t want to raise a stink… especially with the Littles arriving any second now, but it didn’t prevent a slight scowl from forming over her face either. She managed to hide it before Penny could see, but a distaste still lingered in her mind about her coworker. Littles were lost and scared and weak and confused… but for her, that just meant they needed more care… more love… more patience. Not everyone believed the same she knew… but a fellow nurse loving when a Little regressed just felt wrong to her. Still, sighing a little, the final nurse soon joined just as the shuttle from the portal hub screeched to a halt outside. “Okay ladies…” Dr. Halgen noted, her eyes scanning each of her nurses carefully. “I want this batch tended to and toured before dinner. Keep it simple and show them the ropes and nothing more. They’re here for three months and details can be touched later. Understood?” “Yes, ma’am!” they all chanted in unison. Satisfied, Dr. Halgen let out a little smirk and nodded curtly before disappearing back into her office… now awaiting each new Little to be briefed about all the finer details of the contract they all signed willingly. Through the glass, Addy could see the Littles already disembarking. As Dr. Halgen readied her performance of intimidation for the new Littles behind her closing door to her office, Addy elected to prep her cheeriness and smile for her new arrivals. Justifying it to herself over and over, she felt that she and whatever cure they were offering the littles here were the metaphorical carrots to this place while all the other regressions, punishments, intimidations, and tiny points of fear were most definitely the sticks. So, if she was going to be the carrot to these poor fragile Littles, she felt it was best to be the best carrot she could. Just as the lift could be heard outside, the nurses began filing out one at a time to greet their Littles. Taking a breath, Addy followed right behind and soon began to search for the memorized faces of her two new charges. The first she found was Franklin. Late-stage AIDS, he was a holdout from another time on Earth. With most diseases now cured and that disease nearly eradicated, Franklin got the short end of the stick when it turned out he was highly allergic to the cure that Earth currently possessed. His gaunt form and lesions were a testament to another time and Addy made sure to shake his hand carefully as he shuffled over to her and the other nurses. “Franklin…” she said, coming up to him. “I’m Addy. I’m going to be your nurse while you’re here. It’s good to finally meet you.” He coughed for a second and then shakily held his hand out to greet her back. “Good… to meet you… Addy…” She smiled and gladly shook his outstretched hand. “Perfect. In a second, I’ll get you inside, give you a tour… show you around and then you can meet with our director here for a little orientation. Sound good?” Struggling to say anything without coughing, Franklin eventually just nodded. Addy’s heart went out to him, and she quickly made a mental note to adjust his environmental controls and priorities of treatment here to fix his breathing. Problems there could mean problems down the line and prevention of him from having fun while the others zoomed around him on the playground in the second and third month here. After a moment, as the others began to filter into the facility, Addy began to look around for her second Little… Mindy. “Hmmm… wonder where she is…” “Oh… the other girl? Wheelchair?” Franklin quickly managed to ask before coughing once more. “I think so.” Addy got a lot about them, but seating arrangements on the shuttle were usually random, as well as the order in which they got off… unless they were wheelchair-bound. “Oh… there she is.” The last one off, the dark-haired Little slowly was pushed over to Franklin and her by the bus driver. Only nodding before getting back on his bus, Addy could only gawk at the Little now before her and the two sides she was now seeing. One was why she was here… wheelchair, IV bag, gaunt, pale… a stiff breeze looked like it could knock her down. The other though, shone out against all that. Colorful clothing, little stickers, wide eyes, and a big bright green beanie in the shape of a frog complete with two eyes sticking out at the top. In one word… adorable. “H… hi…” the Little managed to squeak out. Addy almost had to slap herself to not just go over and hug the Little right away. Instead, she remembered her training and smiled wide. “Hello there. And you must be Mindy…” * * * “Mindy!” Addy awoke back in her room in her rocking chair, apparently having fallen asleep around midday in a nap of some kind. Wanting to distance herself from this place after her last patients a little, she had taken a long vacation and saw several countries and relaxed on multiple beaches… and endured one long flight back just a few days ago. She never could shake off jet lag… And frankly, between that and knowing what was ahead of her today, she almost didn’t want to be here now. It’s probably why she was thinking of Mindy… once again. Back then, she was full of hope and optimism. She had her heart broken a few times before then for sure, but after Mindy and Patrick and Cara and at least a half dozen others she had truly bonded with… it was hard to feel that way anymore. Looking outside, the weather almost seemed to mimic her own dour attitude today. With the way these things moved, she had skipped a month and was now back… but in January and at the start of a new year. A little over a week ago, she was just leaving one of the beaches in Itali to meet with her dad for Christmas. It was worth it to see him again… but now in the state of Crescentia in the winter. Well, the weather left a lot to be desired… Getting out of her chair, she stretched wide and looked around, choosing to focus on her wall of success. Each Little there was another life she had helped guide from whatever state they were in and into the arms of a loving Big. By now, a few of their contracts had finished and they were back on Earth. A few, like Patrick, were still here, and after seeing him, Cara, Lloyd, and Sam all together as one family… she honestly had doubts he would be leaving after five years. For her, it didn’t matter whether they returned to Earth though… just that they were happy. “I guess just not me though…” She sighed and seeing the time, she knew she needed to review her files and checklist once more. Going back over to her desk, she tenderly stroked the tiny picture of Mindy that she kept as a reminder of her. Not a failure in the sense of a dropout of the program, but definitely not a success to the ache of her heart, she held a special place still. In essence, she was a constant reminder of the stakes of this place and why every Little needed her full attention and care. Sometimes, that didn’t always work out… but Addy knew she always had to try… always had to be vigilant. Looking back down, first up… Katrina McLane. Addy sighed and still had several questions about her and some of what she had seen in her file. “Stage 2 bone cancer… eager… potentially ideal candidate for program.” She had seen it before. After all, anyone being told they were sick or hurt and finding out they could be fixed… cured… whatever they wanted to call it, there was no surprise they would be so happy. But for Katrina… the oddity came with her item to be helped here. Yes, it was cancer, and yes, it still wasn’t even something they could joke about or brush off in this dimension… but on Earth, there was a definite and affordable cure. It wasn’t a red flag for Addy necessarily… just a question she would keep tucked in the back of her mind when meeting her and assessing the candidates that Kelsey… Dr. Halgen set up for her. ‘Need to get back in the habit of calling her that in front of the other Littles right now. I know she definitely still wants to be viewed as the stern one around here…’ She knew better of her friend and her big heart though… she was still the boss however and that came with certain expectations. Here, with the board, or even the antique government regulations… Shaking her head of that nonsense, she moved to her next charge… one who’s file raised even more eyebrows as he was officially announced as the next candidate for the program. “Oliver Maxson… stage 4 skin cancer… sufferer of anxiety and PTSD likely linked to former career at DEA.” Those were the basics for him… but a lot of the other stuff was now blacked out. She had seen his file before, the night of her last choosing ceremony back in November where Patrick had elected Sam and Lloyd and had gone off with Cara as well… but now it looked like a toddler had decided to have fun with a black marker all over his file. Several sections had been redacted and now contained only a handful of words, no doubt a cover-up of some kind from his government back on Earth. ‘Curious… concerning, but curious… Just what did you do, Oliver?’ Addy made a mental note of asking Dr. Halgen about him more in-depth later when they both had a free moment. “Wonder when…” Suddenly, a flock of birds sprang from the distant trees and headed back toward the local town just beyond the borders of their facility here. From seeing it several other times before, Addy stood up... knowing full well that they would only fly away like that for one reason… the front gate had just opened. The new patients were arriving… Sighing, she moved from her two files to the checklist she always made sure to go through before anyone arrived. “Let’s see… already got on the phone with the ordering company to ensure I had the training pants, pull-ups, and diapers already on standby. Last time, I had to fight with Penny for who got the only box of diapers left in the house…” She momentarily shuddered at the thought. “It’s one thing to put a Little in diapers… would be quite something else if we suddenly ran out.” Her eyes then continued to scan the list, going through all the variables she could at least control for now. There were a lot of things to be determined once she met with the Littles and they were able to perform their own scans once in house. Earth machines were notoriously unreliable with the types of data they needed for their own treatments, and they could always uncover something more or something complicated that they weren’t initially anticipating. Like with what happened with Mindy… Finally, though, pointing down her list, everything seemed to be done… except one. “Drats! Room check. Always forget to do that.” She stood up and made sure her wristband was firmly attached to her wrist. “Just never know with our contractors. Reliable nearly always… but I don’t want some Little to smell baby powder on their first day here in their room. My job is usually hard enough without them freaking out over a smell…” Addy quickly looked in the mirror, adjusted a few strands of her hair back into place and quickly took off downstairs, being sure to swiftly check that the two rooms were all ready for her new charges to check off the last item on her to do list. Having only emptied yesterday, the workers made quick work of transforming the rooms back into the previously drab spaces… instead of the basically nurseries they had been at the end of a patient’s three months here. Stepping inside, she made sure to knock on the hidden compartment to ensure it remained closed… now all stocked up and ready for the next patient’s use of what was inside. She then sniffed… only new paint and some lemon. ‘Good. No need to scare the Littles off by smelling dirty diapers, baby powder, or anything else from whoever was in here last.’ Ensuring everything was clean and all prepared, and doing the same for the other, Addy stepped back out and closed the door of each room her Little patients would soon occupy. Nodding, she headed back downstairs. This time, only Erin was there. “Oh? Look who decided to rejoin us,” she said jokingly. “Decided that Itali was just so horrible at last that coming back to tantrums, dirty diapers, and vomit was the life for you?” Addy smirked and gave her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you too, Erin. Heard you took a month off as well.” Erin nodded and grinned widely. “Yep! Was a little more local than you, but I finally got to see the forests up in Oreneron and Columbia. You know that there’s some local trying to use the DNA resurfacing project to introduce an actual Big Foot up there?” Addy shook her head. “No… I didn’t actually.” She then could plainly see the bus stop in front of the entrance and took a deep breath. “So, you ready?” As the last nurse filed down the stairs, Erin looked a little apprehensive but still nodded. “Yeah… never know with these Littles though, right?” Addy thought back to her own… to Mindy and quickly nodded… right as the third nurse joined her to the left. “Hey, you two!” she quickly greeted. “Sorry for rushing. I’ve got two hot ones coming in. Halgen says they’re a handful… even now. Can you imagine that? How about your alls?” Erin leaned over and gave a little wave. “Hey Cassandra…” “Cassie,” she quickly interrupted. “Please… the Littles can’t say my name worth a darn in it’s fullest by the end half the time. Just got used to the short and simple version. Faster for everyone, you know?” Erin and Addy both nodded. “Right… interesting cases for me as well,” Addy confirmed, reflecting on her own name of Addison never being used around here for the same reason. “Same…” Erin joined as well. “Wonder if this round is going for a record or something…” The shuttle from the portal depot at last began to unload as Cassie shook her head. “No… I think it’s the new year or something. Psyche and Juventas and Oasis and all want to start off the new year with strong numbers, I think. It’s this way for most years when I’ve been on this shift. But hey… I heard your Little is a jumper. Is that right?” Addy nodded, the term was a little distasteful but not altogether inaccurate either. “Yeah… I was supposed to get him right after my last candidates went out… but I guess the Little got scared or unnerved or something right before he left for the portal facility. Not sure really, but the company went with another at the last minute to meet their quota and I decided it was a sign to get out and take my vacation at last. Yolanda ended up covering for me and sent me a few updates while I was away.” “Just between us nurses… that was probably for the best,” Cassie chuckled. “I heard with the last batch that two have washed out already. Got booted from the program and everything! I thought that only happened with the ones assigned to me!” “Tough cases all around,” Dr. Halgen interjected, briefly coming out from her office and stopping their conversation cold. “Addy… Cassie… Erin…” She nodded to each of her nurses for this next batch and took a deep breath. “You three know the drill. Tours and orientation with me. Try to make these Littles feel at home though… as you all have seen from the files I gave you; this class might be… interesting. Still… stay vigilant, tough, and…” She looked out the window as a few of the Littles began making their way to the entrance. “And good luck!” She then closed her double doors, and Addy and the others were left nearly speechless. Dr. Halgen was normally somber about this whole thing, but now… she almost seemed cheery. Not a bad thing… just different to see so publicly. Before any of them could ask each other about her though, the screech and momentary grinding of the wheelchair platform lowering quickly alerted them back to their main priority. So, nodding to each other, one by one, each exited the home to greet their newly arrived Littles. The chilly January air greeted each of them along with the sickly, unamused, or nearly catatonic Littles in front of them. Having done this several times by now, there was still a part of Addy’s heart that broke just a little bit on the first day. While each represented an opportunity for fun and learning and healing… each also came to them on the brink of death or disable or with some sort of disablement or disease. Tiny, fragile, and looking steps from death or even with a few shivering from the cold or just their nerves… Addy wanted nothing more than to go to each and hug them until they were okay. But her training was thorough and the more rational part of her mind knew that doing something like that on today of all days was just a plain bad idea. Unlike the other two batches of Littles from the previous two groups already inside, these Littles weren’t ready for that sort of interaction… yet. They needed to be coddled and cared for absolutely, but that would take time. Even without the small quantities of drugs slipped into their meals or the little notes of subliminal hypnosis at night however, Addy knew completely that they would all get their eventually. Pushing through the wandering Littles, as Erin and Cassie quickly found their Littles, Addy had to search for hers. The other four newly arrived Littles were morose, upset, brooding, or just nearly slumped over or dragging themselves to move an inch. As Addy made her way over to the bus, however, a quick wave alerted her to the bus. “Over here! Over here!” one of the Littles shouted, Addy quickly recognizing her as the curious Katrina. “We need help! Lift got stuck!” Looking further, Addy quickly made out the bus driver fiddling with a nearby lever to the platform, where a frail but clearly unamused Little sat in their wheelchair. Bundled up like he was, it was harder to tell who was being lowered down, unlike the boisterous Katrina… but squinting just a bit, even with the gauntness of his disease changing his looks a little, Addy knew who it was. ‘Oliver…’ Hurrying over, the bus driver quickly spotted Addy. “Hey you! I need a hand here!” Nodding, Addy came over and after giving a tiny wave to both Oliver and Katrina looked back at the bus driver. ‘Definitely not how I would want to meet my next to charges here…’ She sighed and waited for the bus driver to tell her what needed to be done. “Lousy old mechanics…” He groaned and shook his head. “Okay… I got the mechanics working again, but I need just an extra pair of hands to wrench this lever down for the hydraulics to kick in. Think you can help?” he questioned, wiping his forehead for a minute. ‘So that’s why the bus took so long out here… I thought I was going to be late seeing everyone…’ Addy looked at the offered lever and nodded. “Yep. No problem. Just tell me when to yank.” The bus driver stepped aside a little and gripped the lever low and let Addy take the high spot. Taking a deep breath in, he looked back at Addy. “Now!” Addy pulled down with all her might and the lever finally dropped down fully. Finally, the platform screeched and it lowered down fully. A few of the others looking on started to clap. “Need any help over there?” Erin asked, her timing impeccable as always. “Or do you all have it?” Addy wiped her hands off and shook her head. “No. It’s all good now. You all go inside and start your tours and orientation. I’ll go last this time.” Seeing a nod from both Erin and Cassie, they and their Littles soon disappeared inside. She normally liked going first but seeing the oddly chipper Katrina and the dour Oliver… taking a second might be better. With the platform lowered, Addy raced to get behind Oliver… but he rushed away before she could grip the handlebars behind him to be pushed by. “I’ve got it…” he said coldly before wheeling up to the front entrance. Addy froze for just a moment. ‘Okay… stubborn Little. Something about him though… Why do I feel I’m going to find a crack in that built-up armor of his before too long?’ Sighing, she looked over at Katrina. “Hey there. Sorry about all that…” The driver didn’t even bother saying anything else and quickly retracted the platform, causing the Little and Big to jump out of the way. Katrina blinked at the scene and jumped further away when the shuttle skidded off back down the hill, but recovering, she then warmly smiled back at Addy. “Well, that was interesting… but I’m Katrina.” Her hand nearly shot from her side like a cannon had suddenly launched it away. Addy looked down at the offered gesture and shook it back quickly. “Very good to meet you, Katrina. I’m Nurse Addy… but plain old Addy works just fine.” Seeing the Little shiver in the cold, Addy gestured back to the house. “How about we get inside out of this weather and then we can talk more?” Her eyes drifted over to a slightly struggling Oliver as he attempted to make his way up the ramp provided and into the house. “Him as well…” “Oh… don’t mind him,” Katrina said with a sigh. “Nothing against you, I think. Seems a bit of a loner. I don’t think he said one word on the bus the whole way over.” “Hmmm… guess we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?” Addy noted, much to sheepish grin of Katrina. Smiling as well, the two joined Oliver and quickly sat in the main room. What followed was likely some of the most disjointed and lopsided introductory events that Addy had ever experienced as a nurse on move-in day here. Katrina was bubbly, outgoing, and seemed eager to learn about everything. The trio’s conversation in the front living room went nicely with her and Addy learned all sort of random things about her ranging that she grew up all over, moving from state to state… all the way to the fact that she could tie a cherry with her tongue. She was an oddity compared to the rest… but also likely an easy candidate here. Oliver though… was difficult. Questioning him was like pulling teeth in the extreme. Each answer he gave was either one or two words at best… a grunt at worse, and all followed or proceeded by an angry or dismissive glare. His tour was quiet and resigned… and Dr. Halgen even looked worried when he rolled out of her office himself afterward. “Everything okay with him?” Addy questioned as she watched him head off into the elevator alone after he had dismissed her completely from helping him out. Dr. Halgen sighed but nodded. “Yes. Our office back on Earth vetted him fully. See his file?” “Yes, but…” She recalled all the pages in it, but all the redactions as well. “Kind of empty now. Doesn’t look like the same Little you showed me last time.” Dr. Halgen stretched back and drummed her fingers for a moment. “Well… that file got pulled the morning after. Apparently, his government didn’t like everything contained in it. I’m pushing to get more released to us, but… for the moment, you’re going to have to go in a little blind while digging deep with him as well.” “I figured…” she admitted. “Guys like him in this program always take a second.” “True… but I also think that this could be from what I briefly read in his file.” She looked around for a moment and lowered her voice a little bit before leaning forward, something Addy reciprocated. “The anxiety and PTSD… not sure what it’s about, but something’s also telling me that after being alone with all what happened, he’s built layers of protection around himself against others.” In one of the few spots not redacted, Addy remembered that at least. “His file did mention that…” “Yes, and as I said, I’m looking to pull more, but from what I remember when his file first came across my desk…” She then stretched and looked behind Addy as if to check if anyone was listening before looking back at her seriously. “I don’t remember everything all this time later… but make sure you have a monitor in his room at night…” Addy’s brows furrowed and she tried to figure out what Dr. Halgen seemed to be implying. “A mon…?” “Dr. Halgen!” Federica, the facility cook called out, running in her office like her hair was on fire. “Xander is in my kitchen! He has a knife and I can’t get it back from him, and Cassie is with Robin in the bathroom!” She then stops and sees Addy. “Oh… hey Addy…” Dr. Halgen bolted out of her seat right away but kept her outer calm demeanor except now broiling over with authority. “Keep him calm and away from the others, Federica. Go now.” Federica nodded to both and ran back out of the office and to the kitchen… where Addy could now hear the faintest of someone shouting. Sighing, Dr. Halgen returned her gaze back to Addy. “For now… I suggest patience.” She began to walk over and out of the room, gesturing for Addy to follow her as well. Just as the two made it to close her doors, however, Dr. Halgen stopped and looked Added dead in the eye. “Tonight. Come to my office. Alone. We need to talk…” Before Addy could even slip another question or comment, Dr. Halgen had already hurried away. For the next few hours, uncertainty and chaos reigned supreme in the facility. Xander, suffering heavily from Alzheimer’s, was finally taken down and calmed to the point where he didn’t say a word for the rest of the night. Addy suspected drugs were involved somehow… but regardless of his demeanor, his actions set the whole house on edge. The other nurses, like Yolanda and Penny, managed to keep the spirits of their Littles up and keep them away from most of chaos… but a show like Adventure Sam could only keep them occupied for so long. Seeing all the Littles, most of which have already started to descend into childish notions and some form of protective undergarment and sport some kind of childish clothing… were a sight to behold. Addy couldn’t help but feel her heart soaring just a little as she looked at them while Oliver and Katrina picked over their food silently. Each of the more progressed Littles were like a balm for her worries over the current batch that had just arrived today. She felt more than up to the task, but there was still something bothering her about even her relatively calm Littles. They weren’t wielding a knife, yes… but there was still something about them she couldn’t quite shake. Which is probably why when she made sure to tuck each of her charges in, she made sure that she had a monitor in both of their rooms. Katrina was first and went along willingly with most everything. Curiously, if there was ever a decision to be made by her, she always seemed to lean toward the option that she would suspect more from a second or even third month Little here… not someone on their first day. That being said, as she entered Oliver’s room, she almost wished that he would already be a little more like her. “I see you’re almost all ready to hit the hay. Need anything from me before I head up as well?” she questioned, hoping for more than a one-word answer from her new patient. “No.” He then took a breath… but this time it wasn’t to sigh or to get ready to groan or outright dismiss her like he had done for the rest of the day so far. Instead, this was more like he had something else he wanted to say… something pressing and clearly worrying him. Nerves or pride though… he ultimately stayed quiet. So, standing there in his minimalistic furnished room, Addy couldn’t decide what to do. On one hand, he had been crabby all day and pushing him now could only potentially make that worse, end his day poorly, and put them both off to a rocky start on this journey of theirs. On the other hand, though, his little hesitation wasn’t much, but it was something, and Addy couldn’t help but view it as a little spark. Barely anything, but maybe just the thing she needed to fan a bit to get a fire going between them. Instead of either option though, she went in the safer direction and held her position rather than overcrowding the Little. “You know… I know this place can be a lot, and I know I might represent everything you fear from this dimension, but… I would like to be your friend… or at least your nurse here. I’ve seen your medical file, so I know you need at least a little bit of help here. I’ll make sure you get your treatments to get better, but… if you ever need or even just want something more from me… just ask. No annoyance or judgement… just me helping where I can…” Not expecting any acknowledgement, with a little sag in her soul, she turned around. “Thank you…” It was small, fuzzy, barely above a whisper… but definitely present. Turning back around, Addy smiled at her new charge, still sitting up in his bed and ready to go to sleep. It was just for a moment, but she could see a fleck of vulnerability… of need. Thinking back to what Dr. Halgen remembered, maybe it was the night… or maybe it was just him being courteous. But either way, she made sure to keep up her end of manners if nothing else. “You’re very welcome…” With one breath, she then flicked off his lights and walked out without saying another word. As she closed his door though, she blinked and whispered. “Goodnight, Oliver… sweet dreams…” No one heard her today or any of the other first days she had here, but it was just the tiniest little thing she did with all her Littles. Of the dozens of Littles that she had helped in one way or another by now, she surmised only a handful could hear that sentiment on their first day in person. She almost told it to Katrina if she hadn’t almost immediately laid down in bed and shut her eyes earlier. Most, however, simply weren’t ready for that level of affection. ‘Soon… always soon…’ Resolved that both were tucked in at least for the standards that Psyche New Beginnings wanted them to follow, Addy soon ventured back over to the stairs, passing both Erin and Cassie as they tucked in their own Littles. With the severity and variety of their own Littles this round, their nightly ministrations took a little longer. So, taking advantage of their distraction, she made her way downstairs and made sure to softly knock on Dr. Halgen’s door. “Enter…” her soft voice came from inside. Opening up her doors, Addy entered quietly and made sure to shut them right away. Based on her tone earlier, Addy knew that something was up. “You still wanted to see me tonight?” Dr. Halgen sighed and swiveled over in her chair and nodded silently before gesturing to the two chair she had by her now roaring fireplace. The room was dark, somber, but exuded a specific warmth in certain places. Sighing though, Dr. Halgen sat in her chair first and Addy quickly followed in the opposite one. There was a moment of silence, and even after, Dr. Halgen only took a deep sip of her drink. Based on her little quiver after, Addy suspected there was some kind of liquor in it. “So… how are your new charges shaping up? Not too difficult I take it?” Addy shook her head. “No… at least not like Cassie’s or Erin’s this round. Tough diagnoses and based on earlier… I think it might be an interesting three months for them.” “Yes…” Dr. Halgen agreed before pressing more. “But your candidates… honest assessment after your first day with them. Last time, you nailed Cara and Patrick to a tee. How about this batch?” “Well…” Addy formulated a quick but political yet truthful notation about both in her head. “I need to keep an eye on Katrina. Something feels… off about her. Not bad… just different. And Oliver…” If Oliver hadn’t said thank you just before she left, her evaluation of him might have been very different. “A tough case but I think I can help him. Another ‘wait and see’ I think, but not unreachable.” “Good, good. Very good,” Dr. Halgen commended. “Never doubted you for a moment, but…” She shifted her mouth slightly and Addy knew right away she had something else up her sleeve for her. “I gave you those two candidates for a reason. Katrina should be a snap for someone like you and Oliver… more patience, but I think he could be useful…” Addy waited for Dr. Halgen continue, but when she didn’t, she took the initiative instead. “And…?” Dr. Halgen grinned but remained just as serious otherwise. “And I have another assignment I would like you to consider. You remember Cara, right?” A tiny needle entered Addy’s heart. She knew… everyone in town knew by now. Happy to be with Patrick, Sam, and Lloyd in their new living situation from what she saw when she visited them last week… but not even close to the woman or even Little she used to be. “Yes…” “Well, she’s still struggling… a lot actually,” Dr. Halgen revealed. “Sam is trying her best to be her new mommy, but… there’s only so much she can do while still working and caring for Patrick as well. So… now that you’re back…” Dr. Halgen left her insinuation up in the air, but it didn’t take Addy a second to know what she was digging at. “You want me to look in on her… help her. Is that it?” “Would you?” Dr. Halgen questioned, quickly looking relieved. “I will. Tough with two charges here, but… I think I can make it work.” There was hesitation in her voice, but that had only come from years of experience here and even with her undergrad work with broken Littles. Bigs were still cruel, but when the willing Littles ran out… they got downright nasty. Some Littles were still butchered from that time and Addy had made her bones by getting them to rehab. It was a tough lesson learned, but even then… some Littles just couldn’t be helped… Addy sighed and focused on the upside of this potential arrangement. “Maybe even a future playdate with Katrina and Oliver… when they’re all ready for that though. I need to assess Cara’s progress before I can make any promises. Deal?” Dr. Halgen reached over and shook Addy’s hand right away. “Deal.” She then leaned back and tapped her glass a few times before drinking a large swig of it. “Speaking of the chaos from November…” But Dr. Halgen just stopped cold and didn’t say a word, now seemingly lost in her thoughts. “Dr. Halgen… Kelsey…” Addy began after a moment of silence. “Is there someth…?” Dr. Halgen quickly stopped her with a single finger over her lips before producing a small device that she quickly opened and put on the side table right behind her drink, a little red dot blinking and then holding after a moment. Once it stopped, Dr. Halgen looked back at Addy. “Okay… we can talk freely now about… other things.” Addy blinked a few times and the tiny device. She had seen it only on TV or in the news… usually followed by a story of death or treason. “Is that… is that a…?” Dr. Halgen nodded. “Anti-listening device… just in case. Emily… Sergent Emily gave this to me last week before telling me what I’m about to tell you… It’s normally illegal to possess, blocking all signals in a 15-foot radius and all… but things might just about to be get serious.” She then took another long sip from her drink. “I take it you remember Britney and Redge from when you were last here?” Addy had to fight every urge she had not to grimace outwardly over their names. “Yes… former potential caregiver of Patrick and former employee of Juventas, respectively. After they kidnapped Patrick and Cara, they were caught after hurting Cara with the machine she stole from Juventas, I think, and both were sentenced to Dark Cliff for life.” Addy paused and stared back at Dr. Halgen. “What of them?” Dr. Halgen sighed. “Well… as you know, their punishment was more than a little unusual there.” Addy opened her mouth to ask but was quickly cut off… and Dr. Halgen saw. “No. Just… no. And before you ask, yes, I know, but trust me… you don’t want to. You might find out one day, but right now… their punishment is classified. To know it could put your life in danger, so for now… just know it’s not good.” Addy’s mind had been scrambling to find an answer ever since she heard about it, and especially once she saw Patrick’s face after he heard about their mysterious punishment. Considering the deal she had just made and what she saw last week, Cara was still struggling daily and there seemed to be little justice for her, or even Esther or Nancy, two of their other victims. “However…” Dr. Halgen bit her lip, almost as if she didn’t even want to say the next part. “Needless to say, both were devastated with their punishment and have been looking for ways to make deals ever since they stepped foot in Dark Cliff. As such… we’ve found some information out… information that could help our little plan out back here…” Addy leaned forward. Ever since she had been brought in, it had become only the third of her three priorities beyond helping Littles as a nurse here and finding a Little of her own. So far, things had only been simmering with their plot. “You found something?” Dr. Halgen leaned forward as well. “Yes… Penny… our nurse, Penny… she was the rat that allowed Redge and Britney the access and knowledge of our facility and Patrick and Cara on the day they were kidnapped.” Addy’s eyes widened and her knuckles cracked. She shot out of her seat and nearly got to the double doors… hell-bent on throttling Penny upstairs. “Hold it right there!” Dr. Halgen commanded, standing from her seat as well, just in time before Addy touched the doorknob. Seeing her stop, Dr. Halgen breathed a sigh of relief. “Now… come back over here and sit down.” When Addy remained frozen in place, her brow wrinkled slightly. “Now.” Her mouth twitching from the sheer amount of willpower it took within her to turn away and stop enacting her vengeance out, Addy wheeled around and sat once more along with Dr. Halgen. Breathing out, Dr. Halgen quickly patted her knee. “Thank you, Addy. I know that had to be tough to do. Trust me… that little b… witch would be six feet under already if I had any say in the matter… or didn’t see the larger picture.” Addy looked up at her friend and boss with a speck of hope somewhere deep down… hope of a plan. “So, there is a reason she’s still working here… that… traitor.” Addy ground her teeth and couldn’t believe that she was still allowed to interact with Littles. Dr. Halgen nodded. “That’s right. We know her secret… so that means we have leverage over her. Sergeant Emily agrees with me… Penny could just be a minion in all this, but… she might also know more key players in this. As a former employee, we can’t just ignore the connection between Britney and Juventas. Problem is… we just don’t know enough… except the aftermath of their corruption.” “You don’t need to tell me twice…” Addy nearly shuddered at all the evidence of the brutal outcomes from their own parent company here at Psyche New Beginnings. Juventas funded all this… but their methods were turning cold and hard for any Little. In truth, it was starting to feel like the old days of barbarism against Littles once more. “Maybe I do…” Dr. Halgen looked distant for a moment. “You’ve seen this batch. And the one before it was just as bad. Two already gone… It’s like Juventas wants us to activate our security protocols and forcibly break the Littles because of the danger they may pose to society. I mean… we have a known criminal this time. Ten years ago… they would have never even been let in the front door!” “I noticed…” But with her connections with the company and her years of service, a part of Addy still wanted to remain loyal. “But maybe they just want to help everyone.” “Maybe… but how about this then?” She then reached down and pulled out a letter from the board. “Came in this morning. Could barely believe it’s the same company I first came to work for…” Addy took the note and looked at it carefully before her heart fell from its contents. “The board voted down the resolution to remove the drugs in the Little’s food…” Dr. Halgen nodded and stood up before going over to her window, though not too far over to still stay withing the sphere of the anti-listening device. “There’s something rotten here, Addy… You know it and I know it.” Sighing, she turned around and headed right to Addy. “I know Penny should be punished… and she will be, but for now… if you are still willing to help us, I want you to tail her… talk to her. Learn what you can and report back to me and Sergeant Emily. Is that something you can do?” Addy just opened her mouth when Dr. Halgen stopped her. “Before you say yes or no though… just know that this assignment is going to take patience, time, and some major efforts on everyone’s part… starting with you. Sometimes, it’s going to mean getting dirty with others… sometimes doing things you would have never considered before.” She paused. “But also… if we’re successful, think about how many Littles we could be helping… saving, Addy. Think of that and just how much better this place could be…” Addy swished the two conflicting notions around in her head a few times. It was a lot to ask anyone, especially the part about getting to be all buddy-buddy with Penny once more. A friend, but now someone she knew was dirty and at the very least who caused the kidnapping of two Littles and the butchering of one of their brains… the other only being saved from that at the last minute by some quick decisions and great detective work. But all that would have to be put aside. She loved this place and loved Juventas. They did so much good, but now… all that seemed to be slipping away. Thinking back to Mindy, part of the reason for her happiness was being a part of this place. A company born to cure the incurable diseases after the last great war… they now seemed lower than the low and bent on regressing every Little they came across, no matter the cost. It was likely going to be dangerous and messy, but Patrick and Cara and now even Katrina and Oliver… they all deserved better. Juventas had a sickness and as a nurse, Addy felt she needed to cure them of that disease. Now, no matter how, she knew they had to be stopped… Taking a deep breath, Addy looked back at the eager Dr Halgen and nodded. “I’m in.” Dr. Halgen smiled back at her and despite her own convictions, Addy couldn’t help but hear her heart thud aimlessly and deep in anticipation and nervous over what was to come.

Hi guys, i just wanna share my most recent journey. I didn't have any DL friend around for me to express the emotions upon situation that I've got into. I just want to ask for input. Any input that could be useful for me going forward. Recently I've been diagnosed with Slipped Disk (herniated spinal disk). It just happened. One day, i woke with sharp pain in my calf. It feels like the tendons were shredded with the knife. I just thought that it just a muscle cramp and do some stretching and move on. Being a blue collar worker, you learn it yourself to ignore kind of things like that. You only thought about what to bring to your table back home for your family, there is still someones depending on you. I still considering myself lucky since i still got my parents living with at my house. I Always thought that it was a blessing for me having them around me. The next day, the pain spread to the thighs and my face started to show that I've struggled to handle the pain. Ive managed to continue the day with some muscle patch and painkillers. The problem comes with notice, it's just me that decided to ignored it. I can't even lift my feet the next day. Even moving it a bit hurts like hell. Now, my back feels like someone been gouging it with pry bar and just left it like that. There is tear coming out my eye. I couldn't handle the pain anymore. I chuck some painkiller until i feels the pain lessen a bit. Started my car and head for the ER. The 10 mins drive feels like eternity. I don't know what kind of shot that I've get at the ER, it feels numb and and I've started to relax a bit. I got admitted to the hospital. Later got scanned and been told that my L4-L5-S1 spinal disk is slipped and surgery is needed. I've been informed by the doc about the possibility that could happen during and after surgery, unable to move your lower body, incontinence ect. I've acknowledge it all. Being a DL, i got no problem about that. After the surgery, the recovery went pretty well. Even though the hospital prepared some diaper for me during my almost 2 week recovery . I ordered 2 pack of lunar cub that I've always wanted to try and got it send to me at the hospital. It's always a new experienced that makes me feels excited but not in a sexual way. Sometimes, the nurses asked if i needed a change. Sometimes it's just changed, woke up to a fresh diaper for some reason. I declined the offer to get changed because i want to put on the lunar cub after showering. I Spread some baby powder inside the diaper, wears it myself and put on the hospital gown. As im walking around, i could hear the nurses 'i smell baby powder' i just ignore it and walk to the physio center. During the transdermal lazer session, the staff noticed that the diaper that im wearing is not the hospital issued and told me that he didn't knew that there's a sky blue diaper in the market it's looks thick too, nowadays newer diaper were thinner. I just told her that it's a new design and just wanted to try it. During the session lying down I wet the diaper 3-4 times and it all accumulated at front of the diaper. After the session, i walked back to my room and it crinkle all the way back. As soon as im there, i took my meds, drink lots of water and took some naps and wakes up hours later in a DRY DIAPER... MOTHERFK.... I got changed by the nurse and now she knew about the lunar cub obviously cuz i got changed to a fresh one. Suddenly the nurse get in my room to take my blood pressure, while smiling she says 'cute diaper'. My face redden and im stuttering either to thanks her or plead her to keep it as a secret. The told me that it's ok, there's nothing to be shy and scared for. She's already seen everything, she's know everything about me. That statement calms me down. She tells me that, It's hospital policy to use patient personal diaper if they brought them self, so it's not a problem. She jokingly tells me that it's kinda boring to see just plain white diaper anyway. She also remind me to not change the diaper in the shower/toilet due to falling risk and always asked the nurses for help. Now the problem is, couple days before i got discharged from the hospital i really lose my bladder control. I've consult my doctor and he reminds me about the possibility that could happen even after surgery. I accepted the condition and he asked to keep trying and don't lose spirit recovery is a long journey. He also tells me that he is always ready to help when help is needed. I actually Didn't know how to react. Being a DL, i love being in one, got no problem but the longest 24/7 I've been in a diaper is a week. Now, This could possibly be my entire life... I got no problem with people around me seeing me in a diaper. But could i handle it financially?..... Diaper are surely not cheap, especially one that could go for long hr I don't know..... Sometimes i just thought it was my karma... Lets just hope someday i could find a way Thanks for giving me a chance to banter around

I'm about to do some research. I'm trying to find out which plastic backed medical diapers are worth it. I've contacted LL Medico, Healthwick, and Carewell asking what they carry. The list is: Tranquility ATN Tranquility Slimline NorthShore MegaMax, Lite, and Supreme Abena Abriform L4 BetterDry Mega Inspire+ InControl BeDry Premium Seni Super Quatro Wellness (the NASA brief) Of these, I've used recently the NorthShore brands. In the past I've used the Tranquility ATN, tried the SlimLine, Wellness, and used Abenas. I think I have tried the BetterDry too. I'm pretty sure I have not used the Senior, InControl or Mega Inspire. I'm sure that there are others, Forsite for example (which I've also tried). Does anyone have any further suggestions, for either retailers or plastic medical diapers, please no AB diapers? It's kind of sad the list is so short.

This story is a translation from an unfinished story I wrote in French a few years back. I've changed up a few little things, but it's still mostly the same. I'm translating it in small bits at a time, but I'm also planning to keep going once I reach the end of what I originally wrote. Hopefully you guys enjoy it! The Awakening Chapter 1: A brutal awakening Everything is foggy. I’m trying to wake up. I feel like I’m trying to swim up from the depths of the ocean. Darkness turns to gray, then to blinding light. I’ve opened my eyes. It takes a few attempts until I’m able to keep them open for more than a second or two. I think I also dozed off in between those attempts. I’m not really sure. Eventually though, it seems like I’m able to keep them open. Where am I? My vision is very clouded, but I can see I’m lying in a bed. I think it’s a hospital bed : the room does look a lot like a hospital room. I’m covered with a very light sheet. I feel so weak, I can barely lift my head. There’s a pole next to me, with a bag of solute hung onto it and a tube goes from it straight into my arm. I feel like I’ve been asleep for months. But as much as I try, I can’t remember being in any sort of accident or anything that might lead to me being hospitalized. How long have I been here? My vision is awful, but as I look around me, I don’t notice any flowers, cards or any of the kind of stuff you would typically expect if I had been in a hospital and I had been visited by friends and family. Either it hasn’t been long enough for that to happen, or, and it makes me shudder to think, I've been there for so long that this kind of “get well” stuff has been removed and not replaced. That or maybe movies have been lying to me all my life about how these things go. This thought is enough to make me smile weakly. On that thought, I also realize that this hospital is weirdly silent. If this were really a hospital, wouldn’t there be nurses and people walking about everywhere? But I can’t hear anyone, as if I were completely alone. This thought wakes me up a little bit more, and I’m starting to feel tinges of panic making its way across the thick fog of my mind. With great pain, I try to move my arms, but try as I might, I feel like my arms have been replaced by wet spaghetti. With great effort, I move my head to look at them through my foggy vision. It’s hard to be sure, but from what I can see it seems like my arms are extremely skinny. I’ve never been fat, but those arms look like what you’d see in an african famine documentary! My heart starts beating faster as panic once again creeps into me. How long have I been here? I feel a piece of rubber near my hand. Moving my fingers to touch it, I think it’s another tube, and I think it’s going under the sheets. The discomfort I feel around my privates confirms that this must be a catheter. In fact, this piece of tube going inside me is so uncomfortable I wonder how I didn’t notice it before, though I’m still so numb to everything that maybe it isn’t all that surprising. For the first time the thought truly crosses my mind : I was in a coma. And looking at my arms, it seems obvious that I’ve been in that state for at least some time. Immediately I start thinking of those stories where people awaken after years in a coma and struggle to get back to their old life because it’s been so long. How long would it take for me to lose as much weight as I did? I try to remember how old I am. How.. old? I… I can’t remember. A vague memory of entering a brand new apartment flashes in my mind. And entering university? So I’m.. college aged? I try to reason. At most, I must have been asleep a couple weeks, maybe a few months at the max. People who wake up from a coma after years are extremely rare, and when they do they’re basically vegetables, unable to do anything for themselves. Vegetable. That word makes me feel a deep pit in my stomach. The silence of the room becomes suffocating. I don't understand why I haven’t seen a nurse yet. Shouldn’t I be hooked up to a machine that would warn them if I woke up, or something like that? I try to scream, but the only sound I’m able to produce is a pathetic moan. This attempt at screaming sends a wave of deep nausea across my body. It feels like I haven’t moved a muscle in years. A fresh wave of nausea mixed in with panic besieges me at the thought that this might actually be the case. I keep moaning, with barely enough strength to do it. Suddenly, I hear a door open, and can see the silhouette approaching. It’s speaking to me, but all I can make out is complete gibberish. I try moving my limbs, but once again, I can barely move any muscle in my body. Suddenly, through the gibberish, I can hear my name: “Miss Filion”. This woman’s voice knows my name. I’m actually in a hospital. They’re gonna help me. I’m gonna get better. Relieved that I am safe, but mostly because of exhaustion, I sink back into a deep slumber. I awaken once more, this time to a male voice. The owner of that voice flashes a huge smile upon seeing my eyes open. More gibberish follows: “Miss Filion! Welcome back among us, my dear one! I am doctor Brodeur. I’m the one who took care of your case since you’ve arrived here. - Oh, we have retinal reflex! She can even follow with her eyes!” As he was speaking his incoherent words, he pointed a small light in my eyes, and was waving it left and right in front of them. With great pain, I followed that light, having some vague idea that this is what I was supposed to do. I can hear how delighted he sounds after I do that, and it makes me weirdly proud. It’s weird, I feel like I should understand the words he’s saying, but somehow they’re all scrambled when I hear them. At least I can recognize the emotions in them. I attempt a weak smile to show the doctor I’m aware. I can feel spit dripping from the side of my mouth. “Miss, can you tell me what your name is?” I can hear his voice. I can hear that he’s asking me a question. I can even recognize that he’s speaking English. But I just can’t make out the meaning of what he’s saying. My pride turns to distress. I can’t understand him. I’m a vegetable. Fuck no no no no no! It seems that he’s noticed how agitated I’ve become. “Calm down, calm down! Everything is ok! You’ve been in a coma for a long time. You need to be patient!” A single word makes its way through to my broken brain: Coma. In a coma. I try to repeat the word: “aaaaaaaaah”. I’m pathetic. I can’t speak anymore. I forgot how to. I truly am a vegetable! But I did hear the word. Coma. And I am thinking to myself, speaking to myself using words in my head. Maybe I’m not completely a vegetable. I’m here. I am here. The doctor, seemingly in reaction to my attempt at vocalizing, speaks what I suppose are encouraging words. I don’t know what he’s saying, and I once again feel myself drifting off to sleep.

Hi all. Well since I had bladder Botox in March my urologist has found out since I do not have the ability to fully empty my bladder so I have had to have a full time Folley catheter since June as in between the time I had a period after Botox and when I had a colonoscopy (issues with bleeding hemeroids) due to spinal issues so had to wear full briefs regardless (due to blood and occasional leaks due to severe constipation?) as my body type doesn’t support pull-up types and medically allergic to cloth backed(hives increased sweating etc). I have since been permanently Catherised with leg bag until recently as I was having too many issues with leg bag slipping (to the point it was happeneing in public and people commenting as wearing shorts as heating up in Australia so my support worker and I spoke to my urologist (head of urology and a professor). He agreed since I had issues with leg bags as well as my bladder can not handle pressure if I have a closed valve (issues with pain when in hospital) they decided to have me have an open valve leak directly into a pad (taped product) as apparently no medical issues (and I asked them several times if issues with UTI they said no) with it as well as I see them on a monthly basis (urologist nurse at the hospital) for monthly foley changes as no funding for a community nurse and I do not have the coordination (autistic, adhd and essential tremors in hands and bending issues). Wear would be the best place to position the foley in the pad for a male to get full use? In middle of the middle so the middle gets it rather just the front? Also I will finally work with a nurse practitioner to work on my disability needs incl fluid intake (as been dehydrating myself since 2009 since sipinal issue course the continence issues but since now the foley disabled the bladder I can drink water as before it was playing hetic on my bladder but now starting to drink mostly water as well as continence care timed changes, looking at current products if still fulfills my needs (well night time I now have to wear a booster in a bambino until I find something more effective (as government pays for all my disability and continence needs) unfortunately there are only 2 suppliers in Australia that does plastic backed diapers. Which are ABDL focus companies https://au.abuniverse.com/ https://littlesdownunder.com.au/ I currently wear these https://littlesdownunder.com.au/shop/bloomeez-adult-nappy/ I have had to change from bambino ultra stretch to bambino magnifico due to supply and discontinue issues as downundeecare/littlesdownunder (same company is the only distributor of bambino in Australia and well I have become fully urinary incontinent recently and just starting to learn. I am after a plastic backed diaper larger capacity than the bloomeez for bed time and perhaps smaller capacity with indicator during the day as I wet a lot due to nocturna and severe sleep apnea (treated with cpap) and on seroquel and melatonin (for sleep) bipolar and Autism. I don’t care if they have designs or white as no one will see them even if they ride up as I weather a crutch snapped onesie to keep everything in place as well as to help my lower spine in cold winds. No this is not a fetish post Many thanks

As a result of multiple surgeries and underlying medical conditions my wife has had to start wearing fecal incontinence pads: https://amzn.eu/d/092bg8Le The problem she is having (other than the obvious) is finding underwear that will accommodate and support these pads. Right now the only ones she can use are specialist medical ones that come up high and have solid support. She needs more but unfortunately they are around £40 a pair and she needs a few. I was wondering if anyone knew of a cheaper alternative? They need to be big and the supports are a must. She wears a size 16 (UK). We live in the UK so need to be available over here. Thank you in advance for any help or suggestions.

A/N: I know, I’ve posted again!! I’m currently sick with Bronchitis and have nothing better to do than write all day (just kidding, I could do all my missing college work) but I prefer to write this!! It’s a six part story, already fully written so I’ll post two parts together every few days! I am also still working on my other story: Babydola so if you haven’t read that, go check it out!! Enjoy for now! Synopsis: At the House of Strange Entities, nothing is normal, even seemingly lonely old Mrs. Fox. If only Clara had realized that sooner… ooOoo Part 1: The Arrival The House of Strange Entities was a very strange place indeed. The young woman had stopped for a bathroom break, spotting an exit sign for the pink one-story building a few miles back traveling down interstate-145. Filled with miscellaneous objects, each room was a different discovery yet there was one common denominator: vintage Everyone had their interests and Clara was the last to judge but there was just something… off. Though in the beginning, She hadn’t been able to put her finger on it. Now, she wished she had. But it was too late. The owner of the museum, Mrs. Fox seemed surprised when the blonde appeared. She said they didn’t get many visitors. “Yes, well I thought it best to use the bathroom,” Clara’s cheeks flushed pink. “I’ve still got another few hours to drive.” “Where are you headed? I can tell you're not from around here.” Her voice was delicate and soft, reminding the nineteen year old of her grandmother. She must have been in her mid sixties, possibly even early seventies from the wrinkles just beginning to show on her aging skin and salt and peppered hair. Dressed in a yellow floral print knee length dress, white cardigan and a string of pearls around her neck, the older woman certainly did have style. Clara knew the importance of stranger safety but this woman didn’t seem capable of hurting a fly much less a five foot four, one-hundred twenty pound girl. “I’m from Massachusetts, actually. My cousin’s getting married in the Finger Lakes Region.” she admitted. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” the woman exclaimed. “I lived up there for many years. What a beautiful place. I must say though, you seem awfully young to be traveling this far on your own…” “Well, I'm nineteen,” the young girl shrugged. “My family wanted to come up earlier and I was still finishing my college exams. I’m joining them now though.” “Hmm…” the woman smiled, eyes glued to her face. She gulped, shifting back and forth on her feet, unsure how to respond. It was the same as when she met someone and they said, “oh I knew you as a baby!” Like oh! Ok! That’s Interesting? Wearing a sundress she wasn’t cold but her arms wrapped around herself, feeling the slightest chill despite the humid air. Brushing it off, she turned back to peer out the window, her car parked right out front. The sun was lower than before, she noticed and if Clara was going to make the trip before sundown, she’d have to leave soon. “Oh, do you have to leave? I was going to offer you a tour!” “A tour?” She said turning back, head cocked to the side. “Yes! I’ve got quite the collection of old items around here. Antique rooms from way back when. I usually charge a small fee but I’ll show you for free!” Her lips pursed, unsure whether to take up the offer. Instead, she apologized, “I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s going to start getting dark soon and-“ “Oh, it’s just a straight drive pretty much from here,” the woman waved her hand like it was nothing. “Where are you going, Ithaca? Geneva? It’s a Wednesday afternoon, there’ll be hardly any traffic. Stay for a bit longer, it’s only a few rooms. Besides, it’s nice to have company. Not many people come around.” Ok, now she just felt guilty. The woman seemed genuine and Clara would hate it if her own grandma hardly had any company like this. She’d want someone to stay for her. Sighing, reluctantly, she agreed knowing how much one small act could mean to another. A half hour couldn’t kill and then she could get back on the road. “Oh this is just splendid! You won’t regret this, trust me!” She hoped not. Walking behind, Clara couldn’t help but shiver at the breeze that followed. ooOoo Part 2: The Cooking Station She’d lead her through another door, entering a 1950s style kitchen. While black and white tiles lined the ground, the cabinets were a striking pop of turquoise blue compared to the brightly colored red table. Staring in surprise, It’s like she’d taken a step back in time. “Welcome to the cooking station, dear. It’s not just any regular old kitchen.” Oh she could see that. Lined on the table were an antique china set of plates, priceless just buy the look of them while the cabinets were full of unrecognizable gadgets she could not name for the life of her. There were little place cards , she didn’t bother to read, gazing around the room in great interest. “I was always quite the collector and I knew, even way back then, that these items may be of value some day,” the woman explained, standing by the stove, mixing something in a steaming pot. Had that been on this entire time? Clara tried to look closer only for the woman to shoo her away. “Each room is interactive, you know. You go through it as if you are a part of it! Sit down dear, you’re too skinny. This’ll be sure help!” Cracking a smile, Clara couldn’t help but obey. Settling down at the table, undoing the lacy cloth in her lap, she was hungry now that she came to think of it. Being the broke college student she was as well, never would she deny free food. “So this is part of the experience?” “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Fox replied as she scooped out what looked to be mash potatoes into a bowl and poured a glass of steaming milk. Setting down the dishes, Mrs.Fox sat across with none for herself but staring with a questioning glance, she felt it best not to ask. “Everyone once in a while a larger group will come and I’ll have many more dishes. People have always loved to fantasize about the past so I thought why not bring it to them in a different way!” It was smart, the young girl had to admit as she took a spoonful from the small dish. “What you’re eating there is Morning Glory Mash. It was a common dish back in the day. My mama used to feed it to me and I bet if you ask your mama, she’d know exactly what you’re talking about. The black bits in there are the seeds and give great nutritious value. Great for getting your tummy grumbling as well when you need to go number two.” Ewww. The young girl grimaced slightly, not wanting to think about taking a shit. However, at the woman’s hopeful glance, she continued to eat, forgetting about it. She could defiantly taste the seeds, biting into them. They had a certain bitterness that canceled out nicely the saltiness of the potatoes. It only took a few moments to finish as she ate bite after bite until the bowl was empty. She’d have to remember to ask her parents about this. “The milk now has just a touch of sugar,” the woman said, pointing at the glass. “It’s another staple with any meal or if you have an upset stomach.” Clara didn’t think much of it, gulping down the creamy sweet deliciousness until the last few drops and her stomach was full and bloated. “Good?” The woman smiled, nodding toward the empty dishes. “You’re a great cook!” she said, patting the cloth to the corners of her mouth. “It’s almost as if people get to physically taste the past! It’s a nice change from the normal history museums, just looking through a glass case-” “Yes, well food is the key to anyone’s heart!” They both let out a laugh, knowing oh how true that was. “Shall we move onto the next room? I think you’ll find each one a little different.” Without a thought she agreed, following behind the shuffling woman in absolute naivety. Ignoring her previous reservations, Clara realized she had been silly. There was no danger here. OoOoo A/N: Thanks for reading! Two more parts will come in a few days (or if I decide just to post early) I love reviews also so please tell me what your thoughts are! I’d love to hear them!!

“Is my little girl excited for her visit to the doctor?” Mommy said as she looked back at me in the rear view mirror. “Yeah, super excited” I told her, the sarcasm practically dripping off of my words as they came out of my mouth. “Is my baby being sassy?” She looked back at me in the mirror with one eyebrow up. I immediately knew that she meant business. All I could see was her dirt brown hair tied into a ponytail, her right eye, and that eyebrow positioned in the last place it wanted it to be. “Of course not mommy. It’s just...who really LIKES going to the doctor?” “When I was a kid, I did” mommy told me with that matter of fact tone in her voice. “In fact, I remember a time when I was around 7. I wanted to go to the doctor’s office so badly I took a red marker and drew red dots all over myself. I wanted my mom to think I had chicken pox so she would take me to see doctor Shelly. I think I liked it so much because she was such a nice lady and I felt special every time I went there. Either that or the lollipop at the end” she said with a small laugh. As we took a left, a smile emerged on her face as she saw the front of the building. “Look sweetie, we’re here” she told me in a sing-song voice as she pulled into the parking lot. As I got a look at the building, it just looked like any normal store she would see on any road in any city in America. All I knew is that mommy paid a lot of money to get this “special” visit to the doctor to happen. She had to actually buy the building as well as all the stuff inside. I thought she was crazy when she told me a couple weeks ago, but she told me it was going to be used more than just a doctor’s office. She even added in a wink to make me wonder even more. When you are a lawyer, however, you are able to spend money on stuff like that. Include my big girl job of a veterinarian and we live pretty comfortably. The rear driver’s side door opening up brought me back to the present. Mommy showed me a huge smile, no doubt very excited to show her little one all the work she had put in just for her. “Are you ready to go princess? If you want to, you can take Charlie with” my lovely girlfriend told me as she unbuckled me and helped me out of the sedan. Of course I was going to take Charlie with me, what kind of a question was that? I took him with me everywhere I went. The teddy bear’s soft fur was something that calmed me down regardless of the situation. Everything from cuddling with him during playtime to having to deal with the mean owner of one of my patients, I knew that Charlie would be there to comfort me. As they walked up the concrete walkway towards the front door, mommy’s hand in my right hand and Charlie bear in my left, I was glad I picked a short sleeve shirt on such a warm day. To be fair, it was a short sleeve onesie, but only me and mommy knew that. No patterns or anything, just a light pink color. I wasn’t sure where this place was located, so I wanted to make sure that I was as low key as possible with my little side. The onesie was tucked into a pair of tight blue jeans. I often went for a pair of sweatpants when wearing a onesie, but I know mommy loved the way my butt looked in these jeans and I wanted to make her happy. She did something nice for me, so I was going to do something nice for her. Once we reached the door, she smiled down at me. She was naturally 3 inches taller than me, never mind the heels she was currently wearing. They looked amazing combined with the black dress she was sporting. “She looks like she is ready fora night at the opera as opposed to taking her baby girl to a doctor’s appointment” I thought. She did, however, look sexy as hell. Once we got home, I was going to rip the dress off… “Are you ready baby?” She asked, more of a rhetorical question than anything, as she opened the door to the building. Mommy knew I was still a little apprehensive, so she went in first and let me follow. Once I got a view of the inside, I was blown away: I looked exactly like the waiting room of a real doctor’s office. Chairs lined the white walls. There were even toys on the floor for the little ones to play with as they waited. The last thing I saw was the front desk, completely with a very beautiful woman in her mid 20s smiling back at us. “Welcome” she announced with a syrupy sweet tone as we walked up to the desk. “How are you doing today?” she asked mommy, almost ignoring me. I looked at the name tag she was wearing. Kayla. What a pretty name. “We are doing great. We are here for our appointment” Mommy answered her with almost the same tone that made my little side go wild. All I wanted to do was cuddle Charlie to calm me down. “Ok, You must be Kelsey Anderson” Kayla said, flashing a big smile at mommy. She nodded back at the lady. I couldn’t remember the last time I was allowed to call mommy Kelsey. When we were at home, it was only mommy. Any mention of her real name would end in a spanking. I learned pretty quickly it was mommy or nothing at all. “Which means this little sweetheart must be Katie” Kayla’s attention shot down at me as she gave me that wave that all adults gave to kids: the one where they just wave their fingers. “Yup, this is my little Katie. Why don’t you say hi princess?” Mommy pulled me in front of her. Great, now there was nowhere to hide. I couldn’t even hide behind mommy. Looks like I have no choice. “Hi…” was all I could muster. When I am in little space, I am incredibly shy. Mommy was the only one who could coax anything more than two words out of me. “Hi there Katie. Can I tell you a secret?” Of course you can, who doesn’t love secrets? All that I could respond with, however, was a slight nod of my head. “When you are done seeing the doctor, why don’t you come back to see me before you leave and I will give you a little something for being such a brave girl?” My head nodded much faster and I even let a smile show at that remark. I wonder what it could be. Candy? A huge stuffed animal? A unicorn?!?! The possibilities were endless. “Prefect! You two can take a seat while I let the doctor know you have arrived” the nice lady told us as she motioned us towards the waiting room. Mommy thanked her as we walked over. While mommy found a seat on one of the chairs, I walked over to the toys on the floor and immediately began playing. “This might not be as bad as I thought” I whispered to Charlie. He was my favorite stuffed animal, so I told him all my secrets. I sat him down between my legs as I poured the puzzle I found out of the box. “Look Charlie: Pooh Bear!” I showed him the box. Just as I got all the pieces flipped over, I heard a voice from the other side of the room. “Katie and Kelsey. The doctor is ready for you.”

Elizabeth's Behavioral Modifications (Rewrite) Edited and Updated 11-18 Chapters 1-4 https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/326758372-elizabeths-behavioral-modification Plea For Help Greetings, I am Dr. Anna Christenson; I want to introduce myself and my finding on you to the Board and my Peers regarding the revolutionary behavioral modification program my team, and I have developed for unruly Individuals who tend to misbehave. We begin with our most recent case study. The patient was presented to us by her so loving husband, who contacted us on her behalf regarding her poor behavior. He described her behavior as an out-of-control teenager with the mouth of a sailor. I explained to Ryan that our behavioral Program is considered experimental at best as we are still collecting long-term data, and we couldn't charge him for services. Ryan understood these conditions and asked if we could set an appointment to discuss this further. I was initially hesitant, but something in his voice sounded desperate. I agreed and got his contact information for our intake coordinator to contact him with the pre-physiological questionnaire. Good Morning; I see everyone has gotten their coffee and treats. Let's discuss our caseloads and possibly new candidates. Let's start with a quick update on patients; Alisson's responded after looking at her notes. Adma is doing great with his continued hormone the virtual environment therapy sessions; Greg and Sarah have been transitioned to the daycare program while their caregiver is at work with private one-on-one sessions with you, Dr. Christenson. Melissa, how are you coming along with the maintenance dosages for behavior control? Making excellent progress, Dr. Christenson. I'll have a new formula ready for clinical trials by next week, which should prove more robust and resilient. Ok, on to new business. In your folders, I present you with a 26-year-old female who shows signs of verbal abuse towards others while acting immaturely. Her husband has hired four life coaches to date. The first three quit, and the other was put into the hospital. The patient threw a vase at her. Her husband also says she has a mouth of a sailor. Please Let me hear your opinions. Can we help this young lady learn to act appropriately? Dr. Greg smirks; it sounds like she needs a good spanking and a bar of soap in her mouth for that kind of language; nurse Heart says, we all know you'd enjoy that way too much, Doctor, but I think she will be a good fit for phase three trials. After a few more comments, everyone agreed they had their next candidate, willing or unwilling. Alison, will you contact Ryan and set up an appointment for the first available in my calendar? Yes, Doctor. I'll make the call and get everything in motion for her. Good Moring, is this Ryan? Dr. Christenson asked to call you to make arrangements for you and Elizabeth to come into our office for an intake appointment this coming Monday at 7 am if that could work for you. Please, pack Elizabeth a bag of clothes for her trip home. We'll have you done here in about 2 hours. We are sorry to admit that you must wait about an hour Before meeting the Doctor. This is entirely for Elizabeth's benefit, though. Ryan and Elizabeth arrived at the clinic with the ruse of them participating in marriage counseling. Ryan and Elizabeth buzzed into the waiting room, where the receptionist had already set out some breakfast pastries and drinks. Elizabeth jumped at the opportunity for free food and proceeded to have several cups of expensive coffee and pastries. Ryan just sipped a cup of coffee while reading an article on his phone. Elizabeth whined to Ryan that she forgot to charge her phone and was about to die and he should let her use his work phone to play games on. After an hour of waiting, Elizabeth was bored, and her whining turned into insults and profanity about Ryan being inconsiderate for not letting her have a new phone. Elizabeth demanded that the receptionist get off her lazy ass and get the Shrink so they could get this over with. The receptionist typed into her computer, "The Patient is ready. "Exactly 5 minutes later, Heart walks into the waiting area and Says," Good Morning; you must be Elizabeth and Ryan; please follow me to the therapy room. Nurse heart pulls out her access card and passes it in front of the card reader, unlocking the door to a hallway; as she escorts the couple down the hallway to a beautifully decorated office; The Doctor will be with you in a moment. I'll be back a bit when it's time for her physical exam. A moment later, A knock on the door; opens with a tall, slender woman entering who is wearing a lab coat. Good Morning you must be Ryan. It's a pleasure to meet you in person finally. I'm Dr. Anna Christensen, Head Psychologist, and you must be Elizabeth Ryan has told me so much about you and how much he loves and cares for you. Now Elizabeth and Ryan, what brings you into couples therapy? Elizabeth goes first, proclaiming her worthless husband will not provide for her and is neglecting her needs, thinking he should do more to help out at home once he gets home from work. After Elizabeth finished berating Ryan, I messaged The Nurse to come to get Elizabeth for her Physical so that Ryan and I could speak privately. A moment later, a knock on my door Nurse Heart entered the room with a clipboard telling Elizabeth it was her turn to take her vitals. After Elizabeth leaves the room, I ask Ryan what the real story is; Ryan begins with I am sorry for my wife's horrid behavior. As you can see, she has no respect for anyone and believes the world revolves around her. Elizabeth refused to work at home or find a paying job out in the town; as I told you on the phone, Elizabeth injured the last life coach I hired. She feels work is beneath her, so I am forced to come home, cook dinner, and do the housework before I get any free time. It is like living with a helpless child; I have to tell her to shower half the time because she smells horrible and is still wearing the same clothes from 3 days ago. I'm sorry, Doctor, for ranting like this, but I am desperate. Can you help us? I am so sorry, Ryan, that you have endured this, and why haven't you left Elizabeth? You have only been married for five short years. Ryan responds, stating he still deeply loves his wife and believes she can do better with some counseling. Ryan, this Program is an intensive program. We start with a five days inpatient program that will use medication and hypnosis to curve the destructive behaviors. At first, there might not be many new changes, but gradually over time, she will change and have those more desirable and appropriate behaviors. Now I do have to warn you that we have had some behavioral regression in this Program. The reversal does have the advantage that the patients are more docile and cooperative, and there have been cases of even infantile behaviors. Rayan Infantile behaviors! Like what? Well, Ryan, in all our cases, all the patients have regressed to the state of a small child. This state can last for as little as a few weeks while we work through her childhood traumas, so please don't be surprised if she has a few accidents. You did say you were taking care of a bratty child. How about a polite child? Ryan sat there listening to every detail, almost unsure how to respond. A moment later, Ryan calmly says, ok, but just one question, will I be washing her bedding more than the 2 or 3 times a week she is peeing in her bed? No, Ryan, we'll send her home with some appropriate nighttime attire for that issue. Ok, Ryan says what do I need to do to make this all happen? Nothing at all, Dr. Christensen says it began. My nurse or I will call to keep you updated on her progress this week, and you will take her home Friday on your way home from work. The Exam Meanwhile, Nurse Heart was getting Elizabeth's height and weight back in the clinic. While Elizabeth was taking her blood pressure, she began nervously shifting in her seat, asking the Nurse to hurry up because she needed to use the bathroom. Nurse Heart told her she would be done sooner if she could sit still to get an accurate reading. Elizabeth was dam near dancing in her seat when the Nurse took her blood pressure cuff off and then proceeded to have her put the thermometer in her mouth. Elizabeth was almost begging to be finished because she had to pee so badly. All done, the Nurse proclaimed. Elizabeth ran down the hall, trying to remember the direction that had come to find her way back to the bathroom. The nurse Heart followed, telling her they needed a urine sample. Still, it was too late as Elizabeth rounded the corner finding the bathroom just as she began losing control busting into the bathroom, ripped off her tight jeans, jerked her panties down in one motion, and sat on the toilet. While sitting in the bathroom, Elizabeth surveys her wet clothes to see how wet they are and convinces herself they'll be okay till she gets home in an hour. A moment later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Nurse Heart asked Elizabeth are you alright? Is there anything you need? A few moments later, Elizabeth emerges from the bathroom and greets by the waiting Nurse Heart; Elizabeth, all done? May we finish with our tests before returning you to your husband? Elizabeth nods and" says yes, Nurse." Now let's get you down to the exam room so one of our fine resident doctors can do a quick physical on you to make sure you qualify for this Program. Elizabeth questions the Nurse what about Ryan? Oh, don't worry, Honey; Nurse Megan is taking excellent care of Ryan as he is having the same test down and some blood tests to check his testosterone levels, just in case. Hello, you must be Elizabeth; I'm Dr. Miller. I am here to give you a quick physical. Please take a seat at the exam table. The Doctor quickly checks her heart, asking her all the routine questions, asking when her last period was and if she has had recent issues with her bladder. Elizabeth answered that she had just finished her period and had no bladder issues since she was a teen. Dr. Milles asked her if he could do a quick OB exam. Elizabeth, now panicking, asked the Doctor if this was necessary. It's just marriage counseling. Dr miller responded yes; it is essential because there might be the need for medication to help her feel happier if the Dr orders it. We want to make sure there will be no unforeseen issues. Reluctantly Elizabeth lies back on the exam table, allowing the Doctor to remove her black sweatpants, revealing her white-soaked panties. Excuse me, Nurse, can you make a notation in her chart that our little patient has had an incontinence episode so that Dr. Christensen is aware of her minor issues? Elizabeth, did you have an accident? You just told me you don't have any bladder control issues. Did you lie to me? Trying to avoid making eye contact, Elizabeth said, "no, Dr, I'm a big girl only children pee their pants." You are correct, Elizabeth. Only children who can't control themselves wet their panties, the Doctor responds condescendingly. Nurse, can you get her some dry clothes and appropriate panties for her to wear, please? Yes, Dr, please excuse me. I'll be right back, Elizabeth; one last question has you got this year's flu shot? Elizabeth Answers no, Doctor, I have been too busy to make the time. Okay, thank you, Elizabeth. Would it be okay if I gave you your flu shot? You aren't scared of needles, are you? No, I'm not afraid I'm a big girl, and yes, you can give me whatever shots I need so that we get this dam appointment over soon. Okay, I understand, but language like that is inappropriate and will not be tolerated here, especially with Dr. Christensen. He disapproves of little girls using foul language like this. OH, I'm glad you're back, Nurse. I explained to our little patient that her potty mouth was not appreciated and not allowed in our offices. A moment later, Nurse Hearth returns with what appears to be a pair of sweatpants and a clean pair of panties for Elizabeth to wear, handing them to Dr. Miller while she walks over to the tall glass cabinet and retrieves three vials. Elizabeth is already lying on the exam table, and she instructed her to lift her legs up and then lift her butt so Dr. Miller can slide her pants on so they can see Ryan. Elizabeth hardly noticed as she was paying close attention to the Nurse's Heart, filling three syringes with clear liquids. Dr. Miller announces there all done. Elizabeth's attention snaps back to Dr mill just as he fishes, pulling up the sweatpants and what feels like some very bulky granny panties, not her bikini-cut panties. Elizabeth is confused as she begins to reach down her pant to feel her underwear just as the Nurse comes over to the exam table with the syringes in hand. Okay, Elizabeth, I have three-shot for you as Dr. Miller has requested, and you also agreed to know with these three shots, some of our patients might get a little sleepy, but it's okay and will pass quickly. Okay, here is the flu shot, your B12 shot, and lastly, some Ativan to help you calm down and help you act your appropriate age. Elizabeth begins to tense up as the user gives her shots, thinking how much she hates needles. As Elizabeth becomes very relaxed and begins nodding off, Nurse Heart steps out of the exam room and promptly returns with a wheelchair. The Nurse and the Doctor transfer her to the waiting wheelchair securing her with a butterfly harness. The Nurse comments to the Doctor, "I hope she can stay dry till Doctor Christensen is all ready for her" Therapy Hello, Doctor Miller. Is our little patient ready for her therapy session? Yes, Doctor, she is already wearing a pair of training pants because she already peed all over our guest bathroom earlier. Nurse Heart, can you please assist Doctor Miller with setting up treatment room 3 and go ahead and top off the diaper cart with some extra supplies for our little patient? Doctor Miller started her IV, so she is well hydrated. Nurse Heart, can you get her wired to EEG, EKG, and bladder pressure sensor? Nurse Heart, you perform a "DRE" Digital Rectal Exam on her, please? Doctor, It feels like she is slightly impacted. Would up like me to insert a suppository or give a micro enema now or wait, Dr. Christensen? No, we can work on that in our therapy session today. Okay, Doctor Karen, send her in! Start the dosing of Lysergic acid diethylamide -25 very light we want her to be open to new suggestions from the hypnosis script and let the drip go for 30 or 40 mins for that to take full effect. Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Honey, can you hear me? Yes. And do you know where you're at today? Yes, and where is that? At School. What are you doing at school today? Swinging. Are your panties still dry? Yes, teacher. Thank you, Elizabeth. Nurse Heart, can you note on her chart that she regresses to about a 5-year-old level with our initial induction? Okay, let's begin again, a little light up and the IVs. We want her to be more aware and responsive. Elizabeth, can you hear me? It's your teacher Mrs. Christensen. Yes, teacher, Elizabeth responds. Are you being a good Girl today? Yes, teacher, I am a good girl... That's right; you are a good girl! Do good girls say bad words? No teacher. That's right, Elizabeth, a good girl, uses nice words. What happens if you use naughty words? Elizabeth responds by shaking her head NO. Elizabeth... Bad girls who use naughty words get spanked, and Bad Girls who miss behaving are sent to the corner for timeout... Do you like time out? NO Elizabeth responds Nurse Heart, go ahead and put the VR Headset on her and let's start the program one day 1, please. And we'll let her sleep while we eat our lunch here and let nature take its course, which shouldn't be much longer with all the high-fiber food she ate this morning. As everyone was finishing their lunch, they heard the familiar gurgling sound coming from Elizabeth's direction then the smell filled the room. Doctors, why must we use cloth training pants on the patients if we intend for them to make messes in their panties? Because Nurse Heart is part of the reinforcement program, they are not big girls/boys; only toddlers and babies mess and wet their panties. Okay, back to work, guys; I'll get the diaper cart while you Doctors do your doctor thing for her. Okay, Christensen was ready. I've stopped her IV, and there she goes peeing her already poopie patties like the baby she is. Doctor Christensen removes her headphone and stops the music. He calls Elizabeth, Elizabeth; what did I say about being a good girl at recess? Elizabeth shakes her head and says I was good, I promise. Elizabeth, did you have an accident again? No, teacher, I didn't have another accident. I'm a big girl! I see. Let me check your pants then and see if my nose is lying. You should be ashamed of yourself, and you said you're a big girl. Do big girls wet and mess in their big girl panties? No teacher. Elizabeth, can you tell me who pees and poops their panties? Little girls? Wet and mess up their panties. And what do little girls like you wear, Elizabeth? Diapers, "Elizabeth responds," Do little girls get to wear pretty panties? No teacher. Little Girls wear diapers. Okay, Honey, let's take you to the Nurses office so she can clean you up. Alright, Nurse Heart, your turn. Let's get her cleaned up and into something more appropriate. Okay, Doctor, give me one minute to finish up her notes. Did you ask her daddy if he wanted cloth diapers or disposables for her? We need to know by Wednesday so that I can submit the requisition order to the diaper delivery service with her measurements. for her diapers, rubber panties, and onesies. Okay, back to the business at hand. Elizabeth, still under the effects of the chemical cocktail Hurse Heart, "I thought you were a big girl; I was mistaken. You are just a little girl, aren't you? Elizabeth," making a pouty face, Nurse Heart says firmly, you are a preschooler; only preschooler make wet and mess their pretty panties as you did. That's not being a good girl. Now is it Elizabeth? It's okay, baby. The Nurse responds, let's get you cleaned up. There you go, all cleaned up; let's get you into these pretty diapers for the rest of the day. I know, Honey, these aren't your panties. You soiled your backup panties, so all we have is emergency diapers for you till your daddy picks you up with clean clothes. It's okay; I'll tell you, daddy, it was an accident. Why don't you lie here in my office and take a nap till it is time for your daddy to get you? Okay, Doctor, your turn. Okay, let's take her down to level 2. Do 2 hours of subliminal messages following up with 1 hour of post-hypnotic trigger words. The Alarm will sound if she wets her diaper and will record how much pressure is in her bladder so we can work on those levels later this week. The Nurse Heart, please let Megan on the Teen floor know that we have a new tween for her coming up at the end of the day. A short time later, an alarm begins to sound from the therapy room as Nurse Heart pushes around a cart of supplies filling the cabinet before she goes home for the evening. Nurse Heart coos to Elizabeth while checking her IV to see if it is empty yet, who is still wearing the headphones, that she is such a good girl and you deserve a special reward for being a good girl. Nurse Heart walks over to a metal two-door cabinet and gathers the supplies needed to change Elizabeth's diaper and a new in-the-box magic wand vibrator. She begins by removing her headphone so Elizabeth can see her Nurse. Nurse Heart unpins her wet diaper and pulls the front down, exposing her cleanly shaven Vulva. Only good little girls who use their diapers get this reward. Nurse Hart applies the now pulsating vibrator to her Vulva and gently moves it in a circular motion as she gradually increases the power and speed of the vibrator until Elizabeth's Heart is pounding and she is breathing quite heavily. As Elizabeth's breathing slows and her body relaxes, Nurse Heart Turns off the vibrator, places it back into the box, and changes Elizabeth into a clean diaper. The Nurse places the headphone back on Elizabeth's head and allows her to nap until Megan calls down from the teen floor, saying her room is ready for her. A short time later, Elizabeth is wheeled up to the 3rd floor to a nearly empty secure ward that is brightly colored like a juvenile teenager's room. Nurse heart presses the call button when a heavy-set brunette woman wearing a lab coat approaches the door and buzzes her in. Hey Alison (Nurse Heart), how is our little Princess doing tonight? She had a fantastic first day, with about 8 hours of therapy so she might act a little bratty we're focusing on the usual week one phrase, "Elizabeth is a good girl," "Elizabeth is a bad girl," and if you need to put her in her place tell her is an "Elizabeth is being a brat," be warned she'll probably wet and mess with this phrase and embarrass the hell out of her with any luck. She is in a daytime diaper, but it's up to you now if you want to treat her as you did Sarah. With training pants till she loses her potty privileges, then heavy diapers. Go ahead and do the usual nighttime diaper for bed tonight. She is on diuretics and laxatives. Here is her medication box for dinner and bedtime. Her meds are to be crushed and served in a baby bottle or sippy cup with either juice or milk; Her med dosing is on the high si, so that it might help her in the morning with behavioral issues. We'll see. If she misbehaves, Doc said level one punishment, so Corner time and spanking if she pushes the matter. Typical age-appropriate bedtime pajamas for her and whatever you see fit for the rest of the night for clothing for her The Teen Floor Gradually Elizabeth is awoken by the sound of voices or a TV. She groggily gets out of bed to tell Ryan to turn the fucking TV down so she can sleep off her hangover. As she walks out of her room and yells and swears to turn the TV down, she stops mid-sentence as everyone looks and starts at her with their mouths wide open in shock. A Heavyset Woman wearing a white nurse's uniform gets up from a rocking chair and says it's okay. Let me get you straightened out. Jimmy, Why don't you let someone else have a turn at Mario? Hello, Elizabeth. I am Nurse Megan, and you are on the Adolescent floor for the night. Wheres Ryan? Ryan is probably at home after a long workday relaxing, and you are here at the clinic still. But I was just at the clinic for marriage counseling. I know, honey, But the doctor said your behavior is way out of control, and you need some more therapy to help you and Ryan get along better. Now sobbing and unsure of what to do next, Elizabeth is shocked when she hears Nurse Megan Say," Elizabeth is a good girl" and should come with her to the bathroom to get her wet panties changed for the evening. Elizabeth nods and responds, Yes, Nurse and follows Megan down the hall past several other bedrooms to a communal bathroom. Let's get you up on the changing table so we can clean you up now. Nurse Megan lifts Elizabeth's legs in motion, pulling down her wet sweatpants and exposing her soaked diaper. Elizabeth is almost in a daze and suddenly realizes she is not wearing panties. Still, she is wearing a diaper, not the panties that she was wearing this morning, or even the fucking panties she had to wear after the dam nurse didn't let her go to the bathroom in time, causing her to pee herself. What the hell? Why am I wearing a Fucking diaper? Elizabeth expresses. Excuse me, young lady, Elizabeth, that is being a bad girl; that is not how you speak to a caregiver, now is it? Nurse Megen lifted her legs even higher, exposing her butt to the air in one motion slapping it? Use this as your only warning if you use foul language here, you will be spanked with my paddle. Do I make myself clear young lady? Or do you need a handprint on that pretty butt of yours? NO! Nurse Megan! I'll be good. Now let's find you some age-appropriate panties. Let's see; I have little girl's diapers and preschool panties, Elizabeth cries, begging Megan for adult panties, not those ugly baby ones, and trying to convince Nurse Megan that she is a big girl and wears panties. Megan responded by saying according to what the nurses have said, there were several accidents today, including peeing all over our lovely guest bathroom and them messing in both of your big girl training panties during your therapy today; maybe I should keep you in a diaper like a little girl. Elizabeth was half sobbing and crying, begging not to wear diapers like a baby. Megan says big girls wear pretty panties, not little girls who poop in their panties. Elisabeth, what do little girls wear who wet their panties? Diapers Nurse Megan. And if I let you try wearing big girl panties, that's a big IF, and if you wet those panties tonight, does that mean you are a little girl? NO! I am a big girl. I don't pee my panties on purpose. Okay, Nurse Megan responds I'll give you a chance tonight to wear big girl panties till bedtime, but at bedtime, you will wear a diaper like the other kids here. Elizabeth Nods her head in understanding. If you argue at bedtime, I'll have to introduce my spanking paddle to your bare butt. Now young lady, about the mouth of yours, you used a bad word when you came out in the day room. I will give you A choice. Now you walk back out there and say you are sorry for saying bad words, or you can choose to take a time out in the time-out chair over by my desk, and if you continue to use bad words, I will spank that bottom of yours. Not what is your decision will you go? Say you're sorry for talking rudely or take a time-out. Looking confused and not remembering using any bad words, she told Megan she would be nice and say sorry. Elizabeth shuffled her feet back to the day room where the others were the kids playing the Mario cart and said in an obnoxious tone; I am sorry for being inappropriate. Megan flops on a couch by herself, pouting and watching the others play the stupid game. Elizabeth is more aware of her surroundings and notices that everyone in this room is an adult but acts like a kid. She also noticed a horrific smell from the man playing the game on the couch. At about the same time, Nurse Megan approaches, pushing a metal cart and asking who is ready for snacks. Everyone jumps up and grabs a cup with a straw or what looks like a giant sippy cup Megan hand Elizabeth a cut with a straw and a few containers of animal cookies and goldfish crackers. When the man so smelled walked up to get his snack Megan announced, Hold it right there, mister, I think we need to change your poopy butt first. Elizabeth ripped open her snack because she hadn't had anything since breakfast, and she was starving; throwing her trash on the couch next to her, and then proceeded to suck down her cup of apple juice. A moment later, a young girl looking about Elizabeth's age came bouncing in from another part of the room, still sucking what looked like a giant sippy cup. Hi, I'm Sofia. What's your name? Elizabeth responds, saying hi, to Sofia. I'm Elizabeth. Say you want to go and help me do a puzzle till they let us have a turn playing Mario. The boys always hog the Nintendo after school. Elizabeth having nothing better to do, says sure, gets up, leaves her trash on the sofa, and goes into another part of the room as Sophia takes her trash and now empty sippy cup to the bins over by Nurse Megan's desk. A short time later, the boys come running back into the room, crashing back on the couch, yelling it's my turn now, Sophia, oh that's Jimmy, and he's a big poopy pants. Suddenly Sophia looked up behind Elizabeth and said hi, Nurse Megan; I was making a new friend. Well, that's nice of you, Sophia, but Elizabeth left her trash on the sofa and needs to go pick it up and be a good girl. Now Elizabeth! Please clean up your mess and do like the other kids did and put your trash in the garbage and your sippy in the dirty dish bin. Elizabeth lets out a grown, rolling her eyes, gets up from the puzzle, pushes past another kid, and throws her cup and trash in the garbage in front of Nurse Megan. No, Elizabeth, you didn't listen, did you? I said the cup goes in the bin with the dirty dishes, and the trash goes in the garbage can. Now fix it, or I'll send you to the time-out corner. Elizabeth's mouth lights up without thinking again, "What the Hell? I am the adult here. Why are you treating me like a child?" you have no right to tell me what to do. Now pissed off! She grabbed the cup from the trash, threw it in the dish bin with a loud crash, and walked by Nurse Megan, muttering that she was bitch under her breath. Megan gasps well, "I guess time-out will not work for a mouth like that now, will it." Megan reaches over at lightning speed and proceeds to grab Elizabeth by the ear and a wooden object from the top of her desk, all while dragging Elizabeth down the hall, screaming and swearing toward her room. Once in her room, Megan told her to stand in the corner while getting ready for her spanking. A moment later, Nurse Megan ordered Elizabeth to come and lay across her lap. Now I am going to spank you for being a bad little girl. Pulling down her sweatpants and training panties, exposing her bare butt while keeping her panties in place, I am going to give you ten swats for using such naughty words, young lady. Elizabeth begins kicking and screaming NO, NO, you can't spank me. I'm too old to be spanked. Oh, I see, and what happens to little girls who use bad words? Elizabeth is still struggling. Elizabeth responds that bad girls get spankings. And is Elizabeth being good right now? No, Nurse Megan. Hold still while you get this spanking; smacks her butt with the paddle and says one out loud Elizabeth screams in pain with Megan, conveying now count 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10. Okay, now that's over; let's change your panties; you are wet. Look like your sweats are still dry here. Let's put these on now. Please be a good girl tonight, so I don't need to spank you again. Megan begins to walk back to the day room. She notices her panties are thicker than she had a moment ago. Nurse Megan the panties feel weird. Those panties are our preschooler training panties. Let's see if you can keep those dry for the rest of the evening. If you have an accident, they should be okay and not leak. Nurse Megan tells Elizabeth to be a good girl and find Sophia so they can play Mario together and play Legos until cleanup. Elizabeth walked over to the couch and took the controller from the boy's. This game is stupid, and I could be home watching reality TV shows. Hey Sophia, can we watch TV instead of playing these silly games? No, we can't watch real TV here. We only get to watch movies here. A little while later, Nurse Megan came around again, passing big cups of juice this time as if I wanted apple juice or grape juice; I picked an apple juice. Nurse Megan said she didn't have any clean straw cups left for the night, so everyone got sippy cups and no complaining, warning us it was almost cleanup time. Nurse Megan disappeared again, probably going to bug the boys; thank God I was trying to win this race until Megan yelled clean up time. After cleaning up, everyone must go potty and wash their hands before dinner. I didn't want to stop. I was having fun for once; Nurse Megan walked over to Sophia and asked her if she was dry. While dodging her head around, Sophia was trying to see the TV, so she didn't crash in the race. Nurse Megan responds no; you're wet; you need to sit on the potty, change your pull-up, and take Elizabeth with you. She probably needs to go potty anyways. Elisabeth proudly says no, I am a big girl, and I'm still dry, unlike baby pee pee pants over here. Nurse Megan Says, "Elisabeth, you're being a brat, that was means," Sofia groans. It's okay, as she crashed her car in the game with Megan turning the TV off. Let's go potty, Elizabeth, before we get into trouble, as you did earlier today. As Elisabeth and Sophia walked towards the bathroom, Elizabeth suddenly needed potty because she had to pee and make poopies and began yelling she needed to go potty; Elizabeth tried running but just froze as she wet and messed in her preschool training pants. Nurse Megan comes over to Elizabeth, asking if Elizabeth is still a big girl and if she is acting like a little girl. Elizabeth, now standing with a yellow and brown puddle crying meekly, said I'm a little girl. Okay, let's get you changed; Sophia flies by, running to the potty and sitting on the potty. Moments later, Sophia, when you are done on the potty, you may pick out any pair of preschool training pants you would like to wear. Would you also please get a pair for Elizabeth while I find her some clean clothes? Nurse Megan says Sophia comes and picks out two pairs of princess-printed training pants and transparent rubber panties for them, about the same as Nurse Megan, returns from the lines cart one last pair of preschool pants and onesie for the evening. Elizabeth was less than thrilled by the attire. Once all dressed, Nurse Megan helped her off the changing table. Sophia took Elizabeth by the hand back to the day room to help set the table as instructed by Nurse Megan. A woman wearing a kitchen apron set out dinner trays and filled our sippy cups with more juice. Everyone was excited to see we were having chicken nuggets and pizza bites for dinner with steamed vegetables and rice. Nurse Megan said if everyone eats all our dinner, we could watch a movie and have popcorn before bed tonight. We were allowed seconds on the nuggets until they were all gone and all the juices we wanted to drink. After everyone had been excused from the table and cleared their plates to the dirty dish bin, we ran to the couches. We waited for Nurse Megan put a movie on. Okay, Sophia, you get to pick a movie while I take Elizabeth to her room to help her get her Pajamas on before the movie starts. Nurse Melisa and I walk back to my bedroom. Now Elizabeth is a good girl. Let's get you ready for bed so you can watch the movie. She then proceeded to undress and change my wet training pants into a thick cloth nighttime diaper and a pair of onesie-style pajamas that zippered in the back with a loud-click sound. After she finished, she told me I was a good girl and told me to tell Sophia it was her turn and to wait on the couch till the movie started. After everyone was in their nighttime diapers and pajamas, Nurse Megan put in the movie Sofia had selected: The "Little Mermaid." I didn't complain about the movie. It was okay, and Sophia seemed to be enjoying it. Nurse Megan joined us on the couches, sitting with us girls, bringing over a bowl of popcorn that we all devoured and sippy cups for the boys and me. As the movie continued, Sophia whispered something to Nurse Megan. Sophia, "Are you ready for your baba?" Nurse Megan asks. Sophia nodded yes. Sophia scooches into nurse Megan's lap. As Nurse Megan reaches over to the tray, picks up a full bottle of milk, and then placing into Sophia's waiting mouth, letting her snuggle until her bottle was all gone. As the movie ended, two boys and I were sound asleep, and Sofia was fighting to stay awake till the movie was finished. Nurse Megan told us it was time for all of us to go to bed, and she would be in to give us night time loves and to tuck us in momentarily; then we needed to be quiet while she did her paperwork and had coffee with Nurse Kathy when she came on shift. The Night Shift How did your evening go with the children tonight, Megan, " it was ok, Kathy, fairly routine we got a new one. She is still in the adult brat stage so she might be an issue come morning time. I had to lite her butt up once tonight. She seemed to have made new friends with baby Sofia. Oh, that reminds me, we need to adjust Sophia's bedtime program to level 3 tonight and that she has a pacifier tonight. How did the boys do tonight? Let's see, Jimmy and Stevie are on week one of level 3. They just had their hormone shots yesterday, so they are a little whiney; watch out for Stevie. He has been tugging at his cage, and it looked red when I changed him tonight. I'll have Dr. Milling check it during morning rounds to ensure it is not too tight. Adam did great tonight. He played with the boys most of the evening. He did ask if his mama would come to visit, but I think she had errands to run after she left for work, so she'll probably check in on him in the morning while he is down at the daycare. Adam stays at level 3 for another week until he starts sucking his thumb more often. At least there were no new notes in his chart about adjusting his program tonight. All their Bottles and headphones are on the cart, along with four new pacifiers. Ok, Great, thank you, Megan; kiss your princess on the head for me when you get home. Kathy poured herself a warm cup of coffee and set off on her rounds, taking care of the boys first with a quick diaper change and placing each of their headphones on their heads for some soft, soothing music for the evening. Jimmy and Stevie were sound asleep, both sucking their thumbs, and Kathy replaced the thumbs for milk bottles with their nighttime medications. On the other hand, Stevie was sucking on the corner of his blanket. Kathy made quick work of him, stopping ever so briefly to appreciate how baby-smooth his pubic region was. On to the girl's room, slipping into Sophia's room and slipping the bottle in her waiting mouth, and placing her headphone on was a piece of cake. Kathy slips into Elizabeth's room to find her sleeping facing the wall and glides her hand down to the hidden crotch zipper; she unzips the sleeper enough to slide her hand in to feel her warm diaper. She is not too wet and will be fine for a little bit. Her favorite part of the job was the week one babies, who are still adjusting. Not sure if Elizabeth would be willing to take her bottle yet, Kathy decided some snuggle time was to ensure she drank all her bottle with the nighttime medication in it; Kathy Slips into her bed and under the warm heavy blankets, allowing Elizabeth to roll over and snuggle her naturally. Kathy gently guided Elizabeth's head to rest on her chest, allowing Kathy to feed her the bottle and rub her back simultaneously. With a bit of rubbing of her lips, her mouth opens, and she begins to suck the bottle slowly, but she is doing well. Kathy eventually stops snuggling, whispering in her ear that she is a very good girl, and slips a pacifier into her mouth before adjusting her headphones for the night. Kathy does the same with the rest of the children swapping their bottles with pacifiers and whispering to each one in their ears what good boys and girls they are. Returning to her desk, Kathy types on the keyboard and, with a mouse click, turn on soothing music for each child. Making a mental note to probably change Elizabeth in an hour once the laxatives work their way threw her. Floating on Clouds Elizabeth walks back to her bedroom with everyone else. She is not sure what to think of her situation. If she argues or uses terrible words, Nurse Melisa will spank her again, but if she acts like everyone else, it is not so bad except for the wetting my panties thing. I had never peed my panties like this before, except for the occasional accident. Nurse Melissa shouts. "Ok, kids, lights out. I'll be around a bit to tuck you all in and give you bedtime, loves." A few minutes later, Nurse Malisa comes in, pulls up a thick heavy comforter, and tucks me in, kissing my forehead, telling me to be a good girl and sweet dreams, princess. Elizabeth, oh Elizabeth, where are you, silly? I hear a familiar voice calling, but I don't see who calls me by name. All I see are other kids playing at a park. All I desire is to play; then I hear the voice again saying good girls get to play with their friends. As I run off to the swingset, my tummy starts to hurt, so I stop running; then I hear the voice again say, Good Girls, make poopies in their diapers; play with your friends. So I run off to play on the swing set. I swing for what feels like forever, going higher and higher until I feel like flying through the clouds. I fly through clouds with a blue waterfall flowing from cloud to cloud. I hear a woman yell snack time, so I fly back to the park, where a bright blanket is lying on the soft green grass. I join several other exciting children for snack time. As I am eating a snack, I hear Honey, you must be thirsty; let's get you a nice bottle of juice to drink. The woman tells me, good girls, drink their bottle till it's all gone, she reaches into a bag, pulls out my bottle of juice, guides the nipple into my mouth, and gently lays me back till my head is resting in her lap as I lay there slowly sucking and enjoying the sun shining down on my body, feeling all warm and tingly. I hear the voice again say it's time to get you changed. I lay there sucking my baba while she unsnaps my Jumper and unpins my wet, messy diaper. "I should give you a big reward for being such a good girl," The woman says as she pours lotion into her hand and slowly works it into my diaper area. I like this a lot. I spread my legs wide and let the woman's fingers work. A few moments later, I felt pulses of electrical shocks racing through me as the woman announced she was all done, closed up my diaper and rubber panties, and pulled her Jumper; ok, you can play some more till nap time. Rounds Nurse Kathy checks her watch, lays down her book that she has been reading out of boredom, and glances over at her security monitors, checking on all of her babies and making sure everyone is sound asleep for the night; their movie-time bottles should ensure that they all stay asleep for the evening. She puts down the terribly written romance novel one of the other nurses left for her to read. Getting up and stepping into her supply room, she emerges with her stocked diaper-changing cart and heads down the hallway with the cart in tow. Starting with her poopy boys, expertly, she unlocks and unzips the legs of each sleeper and removes their soiled diapers. Then uses her pocket lite and inspects each chastity cage. Making sure there was no poop anywhere on the cage, she removed their cages and put clean ones on them. When she was cleaning Jimmy's cage, she noticed how small he was now; she remembered when he first arrived, Jimmy was above average size, but now he was no bigger than 3 inches. Oh, Jimmy, you have been such a good boy, I hear. It would be best if you were rewarded. Kathy reached into her cart, pulled out a bin with Jimmy's name on it, and retrieved a rectal massager slipping a condom over it and slipping into his now lubed bottom. she then proceeded to do quick work of bringing jimmy to an orgasm and obtain semen sample for the lab. In contrast, jimmy lay there sucking on his pacifier. She gives him his reward as she brings him to another orgasm, making sure he is adequately drained of semen, and he slows his sucking. Kathy takes a baby wipe and cleans him up, applying a heavy coat of barrier cream and powder, then locking him back up in a new clean chastity cage and pinning him back into a thick nighttime diaper. Kathy makes her way to Sophia's room; she notes in Jimmy's chart about her rewarding him and producing a semen sample for the lab. Kathy quickly changes Sophia and rescues her stuffed doggy that had fallen to the floor. Her final stop of the night was Elizabeth's room. She turned on a small night light, adjusting it so as not to bother her while she unlocked her sleeper and pulled down her very wet and stinky diaper. She quickly cleans her up, tossing everything into the attached diaper bin on the cart. As Kathy glances at her chart, it doesn't say I can't reward you for the rest of the night. Maybe it will help you sleep better. Kathy reaches into a drawer in the cart and pulls out a small pink device designed for encouraging positive behavior. Kathy applied a liberal amount of lubricant and slipped it into her vagina with a moisture sensor wire sticking out into her diaper. Kathy then programs the device with her tablet to activate when the moisture sensor reaches 98-96 degrees with a ramped program until Elizabeth orgasms; then, the device turns off till it's activated again. Kathy could also manually control them from her tablet anywhere on the floor. After pinning the clean diaper back and snapping on clean rubber panties, she zipped and locked the sleeper back up. Kathy went into the bathroom, pulled out the now full diaper pail, and placed it by the main hallway door for the night crew to pick up when they drop off clean diapers and linens. After she finishes her rounds, Kathy goes into the small kitchen area and fixes herself a meal and a fresh cup of coffee. While eating, she pulls out her cell phone, opens her nursery cam app, and spies on her baby, who is sound asleep at home. Kathy sat back at the desk with her coffee and continued reading her book, tapping a button on her desk to reactivate the motion sensors in case someone tried to get out of bed like last night, glancing at the security monitors every once in a while. A while later, the alarm went off, indicating one of the kids was moving a lot. She mutes the alarm and looks at her security monitors. Seeing that Elizabeth had just rolled over to her stomach, Kathy turned her tablet back on and looked at the app for the vibrator, indicating it had just activated and turned itself off within 5 minutes. This process happened a few more times before the kids were gotten up. Morning Routine At 6 am, the door alarm sounded. Kathy was delighted to see it was her long-time friend Ruth, who had come in an hour early to visit before Ruth started her day shift on the floor. She pushed in two large hampers of clean diapers and another card full of linens and children's clothes. There were five shelves on the tall cart, each labeled with a child's name and containing clean clothing and bedding. Oh good, you found a cleaJumperer for Sophia. She was upset she didn't have one to wear for school yesterday, and I figure she and Elizabeth can share till Elizabeth's clothing order arrives. Over the next hour, Kathy and Ruth worked together to get the ward cleaned up and ready for the day's activities. Shortly after breakfast and the morning rounds, the caregivers from the school program would arrive to collect the children for the day's therapy and learning activities. The two nurses worked quickly to get the kids up from bed. The first began with the three boys taking them to the shower room and stripping them out of their heavy soiled overnight diapers. The Nurses strapped each child into a tilting shower chair with a locking butterfly harness and wrist straps, preventing little hands from wandering while they worked. They then rolled them into the large oversized shower, where the nurse made quick work washing them down and doing a quick shave off any excess facial hair; since the Hormones and laser hair removal treatment last week, the boys now lacked any form of pubic hair making it easy for the nurses to perform their morning duties. Each of the boys was washed and then dressed in clean diapers and secure locking onesies before being allowed to choose their clothes for the day. After the boys were ready for the day, they were sent off to the playroom until breakfast. Next were the girls; the Nurses usually took extra time getting them all pretty for the day. Kathy woke Elizabeth up, removing her headphone and placing them on the nightstand in their charger for later use. Surprisingly Elizabeth was still sucking on her pacifier this morning, so she opted to let her keep it for the time being to see how long till she didn't want it anymore as a way to judge her age level today. If the smell in the room was not telling enough, the vast brown and yellow stain rubber was a sure sign that she was in a very heavily soiled diaper. Still groggy, Kathy helped Elizabeth out of her locking sleeper into the waiting shower chair, where Kathy secured her with a locking neoprene butterfly harness to prevent her from falling out and hurting herself. Once they were in the shower room, she removed the heavily stained diaper. At that moment, Elizabeth begins to moan through her pacifier, breathing heavily as a stream of pee through the over-saturated diaper onto the floor. Kathy noticing that she is peeing, immediately begins to praise her telling her what a good girl she is and that a good girl gets rewards. Let's give you a break as Kathy removes the vibrator from her and places it into the bin to be cleaned later. Kathy went to work scrubbing her down in the warm steamy shower. Elizabeth waking up from her groggy sleepiness, is enjoying the ever-so-gentle touch and soothing lullaby that nurse Kathy is signing. At about the same time, Nurse Ruth entered Sophia's room to discover that she was awake already, having removed her headphone and placed them neatly on her nightstand, which was still happily snuggling her stuffed doggy while sucking her pacifier. Nurse Ruth reaches out her hand to try to steal her precious passy was meant with a blocking hand and her head shaking NO. It's mine in a baby voice. Ok, princess, hop up into the shower chair and let got get your princess parts squeaky clean Ruth helped Sophia into the waiting shower chair and strapped her in with a locking butterfly vest. Sophia loved her morning shower time, especially with Ruth, who knew how to make her feel special. As the hot water sprays over Sophia, she begins to relax as Ruth expertly scrubs every inch of her body, paying extra attention to her princess parts, letting her finger wander into Sophia's now waiting vagina, asking Sophia if she was a good girl last night for Nurse Kathy. Sophia spread her legs wider as the pressure began to build until there was an explosion of sensation and warmth. as Ruth removed her figure, a gush of pee poured out of Sophia onto the shower floor with nurse ruth telling her she was such a good girl as Ruth finishing up washing Sophia's hair as she is making a muffled whining sound though her pacifier that she needed to make poopies without missing a beat, Nurse Ruth whispered in her ear Good Girls don't need the potty to make Make poopies. Soon Sophia was grunting and pushing out a load of poop in the shower while Ruth told her she was a very good girl and would get a treat this morning. The Nurses took each girl into the adjacent dressing room, where brightly colored jumpers with matching tights and diaper covers were on the changing table. Now girls announce Nurse Kathy. Are you big girls today or princesses? Kathy approaches Sophia and asks if princess Sophia is a big girl because if she is a big girl, she could wear those great sweats pants and sweatshirt with training pants, or if she is a beautiful princess, she could wear this beautiful Jumper and matching tights. Sophia almost spat out her pacifier, announcing she was a princess and wanted the pretty clothes. Kathy approaches Elizabeth, still contently sucking on her pacifier and staring at the brightly colored Jumper. Elizabeth, you know good girls wear Jumpers and tight, right? Only big girls wear ugly clothes with yukky training panties; you know you want to be a princess today, don't you? You did not like those yukky cold wet training panties yesterday! Elizabeth is now screaming in her mind that she is a big girl. Still, while staring at that beautiful Jumpers, she slowly nodded her head yes and pointed to the Brightly colored Jumpers for her clothing choice today. Elizabeth, that's a good girl. You make good choices. Nurse Ruth and Kathy do quick work dressing the girls and combing their hair into ponytails for the day. Kathy reaches into a bin under the changing table, finding matching pacifier clips for each girl. Before helping them down to the floor and escorting them into the playroom until breakfast time.

Hey everyone, finally getting the time to write again. This is a commissioned short story, though as discussions continue in the background, the plot is getting deeper and more complex than our originally planned 10 chapters will allow for, so who knows when it’ll be done. Insert obligatory mention of my Patreon here… Anyway, have fun with this one. There’s a little inspiration coming from The Handmaid’s Tale, except without all the rapey murdery stuff. Fear gripped Penelope Russo as she stared at the paper on the wall. Seven years she worked at Donatello, never missing a shift, always coming in to cover other people, and her name wasn’t even on the new schedule for next week. Since the day she graduated high school, she’d waited tables there, while other girls came and went. How could this even be happening?! “Tony wants to see you in his office, Penny.” Jacky Phillips tapped her on the shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The girl was barely twenty, but they became fast friends when Jacky started working there. Well, more than friends on occasion… friends with benefits? But that was behind tightly closed doors, not spoken of at work or anywhere else. The look on Jacky’s face confirmed what Penny already feared; this wasn’t going to be a good conversation. Jacky gave her a quick hug. “Good luck, hun.” “Yeah, thanks.” Dejected, she walked through the kitchen, up the stairs, and knocked on the general manager’s door. “Come in!” the low voice boomed behind the door, with that signature Jersey-Italian accent thick through it. She opened the door and stepped inside. “Penny.” He shook his head. “Penny, Penny, Penny, what am I gonna do wit’ you?” “Tony, please, you can’t…” “Look, you’re a hard worker. You’re polite. You make sure everyone’s drink is full and their food gets out hot. But I’ve told you over and over, the guys have expectations. Parents bring their boys in here looking to get them hooked up. You know this. I know this. And the big boss knows it too, and he says I gotta let you go, because you won’t do it.” “But Tony!” “You need a man, Penny. You need to be home making babies for your man. Not here turning into an old spinster. The customers complain, they want their waitresses to be friendly. And young. And the girls, they flirt until they find a guy that clicks, and boom, I’m hiring a new one because she went off and got hitched.” “Spinster, Tony! I’m twenty five, not fifty!” “When did I hire you, Penny? You were eighteen. Most of these girls that I hire, they’re fifteen, sixteen. That’s what the customers want to see, young girls they can pair up with their teenage sons to make grandchildren for them.” “But Tony…” “Penny, look, I know what you are. Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. But it’s not my world, Penny. I just gotta live in it. Back in my grandfather’s day, no one would even blink over someone like you, but since the religious kooks took over, I mean, what’re you gonna do?” Penny struggled not to cry as Tony’s words cut through her. All throughout school, she and every other girl was drilled about how the most noble profession and honorable profession for women was being a mother and wife. Only the Barren went to work, because the fertile were needed to keep the population growing. But as much as she tried to like boys, or at least to tolerate them, she lusted after other girls. Boys, they just wanted to squash her tits with their meat-hooks and then hump her like a dog until they were spent. Girls went out of their way to make her feel good, touch all her special places the way she’d touch herself when she thought about them. The dirty, dirty thoughts she had. And she hated herself for it. “I just… what am I gonna do, Tony? As long as I’m making eggs, they won’t let me work in the factories or go to college or anything! This is all I got!” “I wish it didn’t have to be like this, Penny. Maybe try being nicer to the boys at another place? Maybe suck it up and get hitched what they expect of you? I don’t know. Maybe…” He leaned over and got much, much quieter. “Maybe I know a guy. Maybe he can get you some of those sticks, you know what I’m saying? Maybe you make a phone call or somethin’.” He slid a piece of paper across the desk with a phone number on it. Penny shuddered, but took the piece of paper and slipped it into her purse. One of her “girlfriends” in high school tried to get hold of the “egg-breaker sticks” - injections you could take that would turn you up as infertile when you went to the clinic to get harvested every month. But they were as illegal as heroin and cocaine. A cop showed up for her at school not long after that, and no one ever saw her again. “Th… thanks Tony.” She hung her head, and he stood up. “I wish you luck Penny. You’re a good kid. Take care of yourself, huh?” She stood up as well, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it weakly. “I’ll have your last check ready for you on Friday, okay?” “Sure.” “Hey. Maybe… maybe in a few months, I might be needing a front of the house manager, eh?” Her mind reeling, Penny trudged back down the steps and out the back door, speaking to no one on the way. Tony’s words burned at the back of her brain. Why? Why’d she have to like girls? Why couldn’t she just be normal and find a husband and have a happy life surrounded by kids? It would have been so much easier than what she’d been through since high school. She thought about the phone number he gave her. God, if she got caught, she’d wind up disappeared like that kid Sarah! But if she didn’t get caught, that was her golden ticket! All she needed was to turn up empty at the fertility clinic three months in a row, and she’d be reclassified as a Barren. No more pressure to get married, no more being a waitress and getting groped by horny teenage boys while their parents laughed about it. She and her little circle of special friends would still have to keep quiet about their little get-togethers, but no one really cared about what Barrens did with their free time. It was only illegal for boys - If a man lie with a man as a woman, it is an abomination, was how the verse went. Girls, well, society thought it was shameful, but the Coalition couldn’t find any biblical justification to outlaw it. But first she had to at least try to find another job. Even if she could get the sticks, she had to keep her rent up long enough to make it three months…

I could write a novel about yesterday, but I will try to make this as brief as possible. I ended up seeing a urologist yesterday for incontinence. That was not the plan when I woke up yesterday. I had a scheduled appointment with a different specialist for an unrelated issue and incontinence came up and that doc referred me to urology. Incontinence was already in my chart and I previously declined urology referrals, but this was the second time so I figured I will keep getting referred until I go, so I agreed. As it just so happens, there was an an opening that day. So I get to the urologist office. They take me back almost right away. First they had me pee in a cup, which normally I wouldn't be able to do on command. Though as luck would have it, I felt my bladder getting full and and I was able give a sample with relative ease. Next the assistant had me raise my shirt and pull down my pants exposing my soaked diaper and she did a quick bladder scan. I was feeling self conscious about how wet I was and so asked if I could change my diaper when she was done. She suggested I wait until after the doctor is done because he will want to do a male exam. Though she did ask if I needed a brief, but when she came back with a flimsy pull-up I told her I'm fine using one of my own diapers. It was weird to discuss it so matter of factly with a medical person who didn't know me. Though I figured it's urology and the appointment was specifically for incontinence. The urologist came in after that. He was a nice guy, though rather plain spoken and blunt. He asked a bunch of questions about my incontinence. There was no use in lying to him and I didn't really have time to think about what to say. So I told him the truth which was that even when I was fully toilet trained, I didn't feel comfortable with it and by the time I was a teenagerI made my way back to diapers. Since then my bladder control has plummeted which is fine by me since I don't mind wearing diapers. (I did leave out the ABDL and unpotty training stuff as that wasn't pertinent). He kind of shrugged and said to each their own. I asked him to use discretion in charting and he looked at me like a 3-headed alien and kept on going. He then had me take off my diaper and did his exam and he suggested further bladder studies should I be interested in treatment, and then he sent me on my way. Afterwards I read the treatment note he wrote on my online medical chart. To my dismay, he wrote that I prefer to wear diapers and don't want my incontinence treated. It's not a lie, but it was not particularly flattering to see it in writing in my chart for any other provider to see. I suppose I could ask him to remove it, though at this point I’m just going let this one go It wasn't until late in the evening after the panic attacks fizzled out that I felt a wave of relief and perhaps even joy. I realized that I never, ever have to worry about wearing a diaper in a medical setting again, for the rest of my life!! From now on if anyone asks me why I have a diaper on, I just tell them it's in my chart and I've already seen a urologist for it. I also realized that if I ever get hospitalized, I don't have to feel self conscious about asking to use a diaper instead of a bedside commode or worse, being catheterized. I also don't have to worry if I get a UTI or bad diaper rash that needs treatment. Frankly it's a huge RELIEF. Plus the whole experience was strangely validating. Even though my incontinence is psychological in origin, I didn't get any impression that that made it less legitimate. I keep thinking about how I took off my diaper for the physical exam the doc threw a towel under me to catch any leaks, which I imagine he would've done for any patient he saw with bladder control issues. In fact I was low key relieved he put a towel under me to catch leaks. TL;DR - For better or for worse, it's now in my chart that I prefer to wear diapers to manage my incontinence. Though mostly for better.

Hi all! Currently, I am in search of cheaper diapers to flesh out my padding stash. I am not too much worried about them having top notch absorbency either. It's somewhat preferable to me that I can actually use them up before needing a change! I've been looking at the tena ultra briefs so far, but the only medical brand diapers I've really tried have been the Northshores. I love Northshore, but I'm moreso in search of something "light" and that I can have MORE of for the price. Okay, with all that being said, they still need to be functional beyond 1 go. Those of you that have tried them, are Tenas worth the purchase? Do you have any other recommendations I could look into? Thanks for your time in advance! -Mew.

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

Characters: Jessica, Age 32, Six Foot 2, Red Curly Hair, Hour glass figure with FF-Cup Breasts, College professor, Initially discharged on parental leave but lost her child in birth. Months later, shes been prescribed some anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, but is still at a loss Until she notices one of her old students, Anastasia, walking home in the rain. Within a week, she decides to make her her own, which leads us to the fateful day....

Hello Everyone: Well, I have been trying to figure out why I cannot stop this ridiculous COUGHING FIT that I have had since January - it gets so bad some nights that I sit BOLT UPRIGHT in bed, and I feel like I am either gonna cough up my lung, or that my airway will close up. I think it may be due to my allergies or something in my environment, or due to severe bouts of bronchitis. Usually, when I get the bronchitis, the doctor gives me some prednizone to help me open things up so I can get rid of whatever it is. This year however, I have been coughing like crazy, and with my asthma, I have my inhalers and such, and he knows that a nebulizer helps me to get the rest of whatever it is out of my system - However, they want me to have the Pulmonary Function Test. I have to see the Pulmonologist on Tuesday, and then HOPEFULLY, when this COVID-19 thing is over, I can get the test they want me to have. It has been a nightmare sometimes, because it feels like I am unable to breathe. This sucks guys and girls - Hopefully they can help me get whatever is causing this under control - I continue to use the nebulizer with the duoneb med mix - It helps, but I would like to be able to get to to the bottom of this! Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I work through this with my medical team Thanks, Brian

The first 100 people to use this coupon code ( VY46X ) between now and the end of Black Friday will receive a free copy of my latest book, Test Subjects Wanted. You will have to create an account but the book is free after registering. This is a story about Thomas, a bright young man with a limited career path at his present place of employment. A chance look at a help wanted ad was about to change his life. He didn't know what he would be doing but he knew the money was a lot better than his entry-level tech support job at the electronics store. What amount of cash would it take for him to commit a significant amount of his life to something he would never want anyone else to find out about? Something that left no permanent effects and would ultimately help humanity as a whole but required a significant personal sacrifice by him? Follow Thomas as he makes a better life for himself and the world but at what cost to his dignity? This documents his participation in a medical research study, one where all of the test subjects are diapered and force-fed for the duration of the project. With the procedures the doctors have performed on the subjects, they have no choice but to use the diapers they are locked into. At least he will have company. Available ebook formats: epub mobi pdf lrf pdb txt html

Changing Roles Chapter 1 Chris sat miserably silent in the passenger seat of the car as his wife chatted to the couple standing outside in the mall carpark. The couple were Dave and Anna. Anna was a firm friend of Chris’s wife Sue and Chris had teamed up with Dave on the golf course a few times. At least they said hello to me, thought Chris unhappily. Since Chris had been ill he’d become used to the type of awkward greeting he had just received as both Anna and Dave had ducked their heads down and said hello. They said it with the usual look of concern, and as usual they waited until Chris had returned their greeting in the halting, stuttering manner which was now the best he could manage. Their faces had then gone back out of Chris’s sight, probably with relief, Chris thought. There wasn’t much they could say to each other since Chris’s problems had begun. Conversation was as difficult for them as it was for Chris. ‘We’ve been looking at a new driver for Dave,’ Chris heard Anna say before returning to his jumbled thoughts. ‘Just a bit of shopping,’ he heard his wife reply a moment later, and he felt a jolt of despair. Sue had been buying diapers for Chris. He was wetting every night now, and the doctor had recommended a thicker diaper from the medical supply firm next to the mall. Dave and Anna were looking for a golf club for Dave, and Sue was buying diapers for Chris. As if to underline Chris’s new needs, he felt another jolt, this time from his lower body. He turned to say something to Sue, but couldn’t get the words out. He put his hand on her thigh, and gave it a squeeze. Sue turned to him, and saw the look on his face. ‘Well,’ she said to the two torsos Chris could see next to the driver’s window. ‘We’d better get home.’ ‘OK,’ Chris heard Anna say. ‘Good to see you. Bye Chris,’ she added with another quick look inside the car. ‘Yeah, see ya Chris,’ he heard Dave say. As they drove out of the carpark, Sue turned again to Chris. ‘Are you OK, honey?’ she asked. Chris nodded, but Sue could see that he wasn’t comfortable. She guessed the reason. ‘Honey, we’re going straight home. I asked you if you needed to wee in the mall. Why didn’t you say so then?’ she said. ‘It’s OK,’ Chris stammered. Sue turned out onto the main road, then reached across and put her hand to Chris’s crotch. ‘Oh, it’s not OK, honey. You’re wet again,’ she said. Chris looked down at the crotch of his chinos. It was soaked. He hadn’t been aware of peeing. ‘Honestly, Chris…’ she began, but was interrupted by Chris’s tears. Sue took a deep breath. ‘Chris, please, it’s not the end of the world. Just be thankful it didn’t…’ ‘They were buying golf clubs for Dave,’ Chris blurted out, managing to string all the words together without stalling. He took a breath. ‘And we were, you were, buying, d, d, diapers for m, m, me,’ said as his tears overwhelmed him. Sue loved Chris deeply, and her caring instincts welled up. Chris often cried now. The doctor said it was a result of his lowered ability to cope with his emotions. ‘Honey, we’ll just get you home, then we can fix you up, OK?’ said Sue. Chris nodded through his tears. Neither spoke as they drove on. Chris was worrying that his problems were taking over more of his life, while Sue was thinking this meant another discussion about daytime protection. She decided she would be much firmer with Chris this time. After all, the doctor had said that it would be better for both of them if she took a firm hand with Chris. ‘Whether you like it or not, Sue, your roles have changed. You need to take charge of the situation a little more. He needs that, and it’s better for both of you,’ she had told Sue. She was thinking about the doctor’s words as she looked across at her unhappy husband. ‘I love you, sweetie,’ she said. Chris returned her words with gratitude in his eyes. He was trying to say something. ‘It’s ok,’ Sue said. ‘We’ll be home soon.’ To be continued.

Hello everyone! I have been wearing 24/7 straight without cheating for about 2 weeks and have been essentially reverse kegaling to weaken my bladder muscles. At this point (depending on my hydration level) I don't feel any urge except RIGHT before my urine exits my urethra and it's too late to stop it and I don't dare try(!!). Occasional little "twitches" are felt inside my bladder which I believe could be tiny spasms but they are few and far between and I barely notice them. Recently, however (and first few days into diaper training) I have had this slight "discomfort" about halfway down my urethra (tube which urine travels through the penis to exit the body). It's not painful and it's very tolerable per se but it's just annoying enough to get my attention. I've noticed that it happens most often during "dry spells" when my muscles are relaxed but no urine is leaking out. Sometimes it is irritating enough that it can keep me from going to sleep...like I said an annoyance. My urine is clear or slightly yellow (aka..healthy) and I'm drinking ~80 oz of water and have about 5 cups of black coffee a day along with cranberry juice here and there. I realize that muscles can weaken along the urethra and that signs of atrophy are pain/discomfort from non-use but I wanted to throw this out there and see if anyone else had similar instances during their diaper training journey. Basically is this progress and an expected change in my body as I progress and will it go away? Thanks for reading and I hope to hear back from someone soon.

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I am disabled, I have Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified with traits of Aspergers Syndrome, Epilepsy and multiple learning Difficulties. What does that mean ? I have autism, while I am generally High functioning, I also have traits of low functioning autism as well, sensory issues, communication difficulties and stimming One problem I have with sensory processing disorder, is that I am hypo-tactile, meaning I don't get the same stimulation from something touching me as you would. Because of this I have always enjoyed the sensation of a poopy diaper, as it is kind of a sensory input for me. Being epileptic when I have a seizure (between 1 and 3 times a month) I am usually incontinent. Aside from that I have full control over my bladder and bowel The problem I have is because I am mostly High Functioning, I am overly smart, I can talk about all kinds of things, from Integral and Differential Calculus to Philosophy, from Material Science to Sociology, and I am a Computer Geek and a science nerd. I hate being so intelligent, and such a know it all, because it makes it hard to find friends with similar interests. I honestly wish I was Severely Disabled, and functioned on the cognitive level of a 2 year old, so I wouldn't know any better, and could be looked after 24/7 Knowledge is scary, and it can be used as a weapon as well as a tool.

I apologize in advance, you're in for a heck of a read. When I finished part one, I found that I had typed 11 pages! Yes, 11 pages in 12pt font in a text editor! Yikes. Please enjoy, I'm hoping to make two future chapters (assuming I don't hit burnout) Or at very least, some illustrations of the project. Based on the story "Diapered Gals" by Lady Daisy on Literotica. The inspiration to write a story like this is based on my personal DL (diaper lover) lifestyle. For me, diapers aren't a sexual outlet, but a lot of online stories go straight in that direction. I also enjoy seeing stories that don't evolve AB's (adult babies) as that too isn't part of my lifestyle. Enough about that- Enjoy! T oday was the day. I was moving house, from a small apartment on the west end to a house of my own in a quiet unassuming suburb. Michelle, one of my best friends, was at the apartment with me packing up the last of my things into her car, while I made the last checks around the empty building. "Bedroom? Check. Kitchen? Check. Bathroom? Check." "Who are you talking to?" Michelle's soft voice piped from the doorway, as she entered and looked at me walking about in circles. Michelle was a complete sweetheart of a best friend, average height and build with adorable dimples on each of her rosy cheeks. Her short brown hair was tied back into a small ponytail to keep out of her equally brown eyes while we packed, and like myself, was dressed casually in jeans and a black graphic tee. "Well?" She said, as clearly I didn't respond quickly enough to her; lost in my own little world. "If we don't get going soon Andrea, we're never going to get everything unloaded by nightfall!" She was right of course, as it was already one in the afternoon and we had about an hour's drive ahead of us. I gave her a knowing nod before playfully motioning her out the door as I walked after her. "Yeah, lets hit the road before I regret this whole moving idea, and all the work that goes into it." I said, locking the apartment behind me and heading towards my own car, which was equally full, if not a bit smaller than hers. I looked back one last time with a knowing smile that this look at my old apartment would be my last. Michelle climbed into her SUV, the main reason I had asked her to help, as I got into my tiny red sedan. I adjusted the mirror, ensuring that she was ready to follow, before revving up the engine and heading onto the city streets. I was ready to start my new life somewhere a little more comfortable. *** It was about a half hour into our drive, and the roads had opened up considerably. Where we started driving through crowded streets, we now found ourselves traversing an open highway where there was open space for miles around. Few other cars and trucks dotted the landscape, the occasional person passing on this non-divided highway, but nothing to be excited about. They had their destination, and I had mine. That was, until it hit me. Out of the blue, a black sports car drove straight for me, straight across the yellow line into my lane. I looked in horror, as there was nothing I could do before the driver plowed straight into my car. I braced for impact as our two cars spun straight across the other lane, off the highway. When we hit the trees, everything went black. *** A beeping, quiet at first, but nagging and annoying is the next thing I could process. I felt like everything around me was in a haze, like I was looking through a fogged over window. Instinctively I pulled my hand up to my head, feeling as though I was dragging a cord behind it. "She's awake!" A mystery voice proclaimed. It wasn't Michelle's, in fact it wasn't feminine at all. As my vision started to focus, I saw where I was. In front of me stood a young hospital nurse, dressed in blue scrubs with cute black and blue polka-dot pants and matching bandana atop his head. He was a tall black man, a bit on the heavier side, with dark eyes that looked like deep blue pools of water. He smiled at me as my eyes focused on him, and this time he addressed me personally. "Good morning Miss Verblau, it's good to see you awake. I'm Dave. Do you know where you are?" He asked before taking a small flashlight from his pocket and checking on my eyes. I shook my head at him and he spoke up again. "I'm not surprised, you were in quite a wreck yesterday. You were admitted to Sacred Heart Hospital yesterday afternoon, do you remember anything from your past? Your name perhaps?" As soon as he finished his sentence, he looked over his paperwork, and everything I couldn't explain suddenly made sense. I must have blacked out when that car hit me! But what of Michelle? She was driving behind me, was she okay? And my car, loaded full of half my life, where was it? I looked back up at him inquisitively and spoke up. "I...have a lot of questions." I said, plainly and simply. He looked down at me knowingly, like this is a statement he had had often before. "Your friend Michelle, the one who phoned in the accident is in the waiting area. Now that you're awake and out of intensive care, I'll get her back in here and we'll do an evaluation. It's sometimes best to have a friendly face to jog a patient's memory." I nodded at him before he could even finish his sentence, and Dave quickly left the room. While he stepped out, I had a better look at my surroundings. It was a traditional hospital room in most ways. The walls were painted a sky blue, with the usual hospital materials littered about the walls. The bed was also a soft blue color, the warm blankets wrapped over my lower body, and what looked to be an iv drip alongside the bed. I could assume it was antibiotics and saline, as well as few other monitors hooked up for my heart rate and oxygen levels. For now, I was in a room by myself, which considering I was unconscious, was likely not abnormal. No sooner did Dave leave and he was back with Michelle at his side. She looked relieved, and not worse for wear. It appears that if she was involved in the accident, she was out unscathed. She smiled widely at me in relief, as though she expected me to not yet be awake. Dave quickly took his assessment, then took his leave after bringing Michelle in, and I struggled to find the words. "How are you feeling?" Michelle asked first. She saw my struggle to say much of anything, and like always, knew exactly what to do. "I....I'm fine." I stammered, taking a deep breath from the oxygen tubes in my nose. "My car, the other car-" I didn't get far into the next sentence before Michelle took my hand in hers and calmed me. "It's going to be okay." She said with a relaxed smile, before continuing her explanation. "The damage is bad, and your car will be totaled, but right now it's in a junking lot until you're better. All your stuff is safe. As for the other car..." Her voice trailed off as she started the second part of her tale, starting the next sentence more sternly and solemnly. "The other driver is dead. No official word yet, but the officers said he looked like he was potentially on some pretty strong drugs." "Dead..." My voice trailed off a bit. I felt terrible for what happened, even if it wasn't my fault. I was the lucky one; I would be able to go home soon. All things considered, my body felt fine and I didn't feel any indicators of broken bones. Though I did have a few itchy bandages, one on my leg which felt saturated. I put aside my concerns about the other driver and pulled up the blankets briefly to look at the damage, but quickly fluffed them back down and turned a few shades of red. Michelle immediately recognized my discomfort. "Was it something I said?" She asked, though she pointedly looked down at the blankets that I had pulled tighter around myself. I refused to let her see what I had just seen, but perhaps the nurse from before could shed some light on the situation. "Michelle?" I asked, "Would you mind getting the nurse back here?" She didn't wait for a moment before stepping out of the room to find Dave, or one of the other nurses of the floor. While I was alone again, I pulled up the blankets to get a better look at what I thought I saw. I know that when in the hospital, patents are generally removed from their personal clothing, and given hospital gowns and shoes for the duration of their stay. However, usually in a situation like this, patients either have no undergarments or some sort of cath. That was not the case. These undergarments were far too purple for my tastes. Before I could think on it a moment more, Dave's voice returned to my ears, the nurse closing the door behind him, leaving Michelle in the halls while I spoke to him privately. "Andrea, I see you're in a bit of discomfort." He picks up the clipboard on my bed as he continues explaining the situation, reading over the clipboard for any additional details. "In the accident, you were mildly injured. I know you don't feel it, but you've suffered minor whiplash and damage to a few of your vertebra. Now, fortunately we've been able to pin the damaged vertebra back together, but the nerve damage isn't something we can reverse. We're assuming from a medical standpoint that it will recover, but it will take awhile as well. The bleeding has been controlled, and you have a few stitches from the initial incision-" "So what I'm wearing..." I interrupted, Dave responding in kind. "Ah, you're more interested in that. What you're wearing is a medical diaper. Molicare Super Plus if you'd like me to be exact with the branding. The nerve damage means that you have temporarily have spasms all through your lower body, including your bladder, hence the diaper. We discussed different options, but this is the least invasive method due to its temporary nature. When feeling and sensitivity comes back in those areas, you can retrain your body to become continent again, which according to patients that have gone through similar cases, is not as complicated as you may believe." I didn't respond to that. All I could do was look down over myself. I looked fine. I looked normal. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that I was laying in a hospital bed in a hospital gown, it didn't look like anything was wrong with me. Most importantly, I felt perfectly fine, other than the fact that I was in a hospital wearing a gown and a diaper. The reality of what had happened to me had just started to hit home. I didn't cry, nor scream, nor run out of the room, even though everything in my being wanted me to. Instead, all I could do was look back up at Dave and ask one simple question. "Dave? How long until I can go home?" I plainly asked. Somehow, I felt like leaving this hospital would put everything behind me. "Well," Dave responded, as though he seemed like he didn't want to give an exact date or time without a doctor by his side. "I'll have to check with the staff, but you'll be free to leave almost any time. The only thing of importance is that with the grafted bones in your spine, you should avoid staircases for awhile, and we'll only be able to send you home with a few basics, so we'll give you a short list of medical items to purchase before you leave, or on your way out. Is there anything else I can help you with?" I shook my head. There was in fact one more thing on my mind, but Dave was a nice young man, and I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of him. I didn't know the first thing about diapers, and quite frankly, didn't want to ask. But as he left, I wish that I had. It was an unfamiliar sensation, a bit of a strange uncontrollable tingle, like the sensation that your foot makes when its asleep. But at the same time, it was kind of numb; likely from the aforementioned nerve damage. I had no control over the sensation, nor the experience that was to follow. I felt my body completely let go and pee at full force. My vagina was entirely soaked in a warm rush of urine, which thanks to gravity, rushed into any space it could find down my buttocks. It was there that I felt the liquid pool inside the diaper between its fibrous insides and my soft skin, before quickly being wicked away into its filling. Soon, all that I was left with was a warm, damp sensation, much like a hot towel, caressing my backside. Much to my relief, the diaper did its job and my hospital gown and bedding were dry. I was relieved, and it wasn't as horrific as I had expected, though maybe part of it was due to the fact that half my sensation was temporarily gone from the area. Moments after Dave left, Michelle returned. "The doctors told me they're going to clear you to leave soon." She said, a smile upon her face at the very thought. "Yeah," I responded. "I'd like to be out of here and recovering in my own bed quite frankly." Michelle looked a bit concerned and pressed her finger against her lip before responding. "Err...Well Andrea...I'm not sure if you remember, I mean it all really did happen fast, we were moving you across the state. There isn't really a bed for you to go home and relax in." I had forgotten! The move! My whole life was packed up in those two cars, and I didn't have anything unpacked in the new place yet. Then again, most of my things were also inside my impounded car. If I was recommended not to use stairs, I'm sure I would also be recommended not to life heavy objects. Clearly my expression spoke for me, as Michelle piped up again, a smile back on her face. "But you know," Michelle began, with a familiar smile. I knew that expression; it meant she already had everything figured out. "I have the office with the spare bed where my sister stays between semesters in college. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you borrowed it until you got back on your feet." "I would really appreciate it." I smiled back, looking up at Michelle and saying the next thought on my mind with renewed energy. "When are we leaving?" "I'll get it figured out with the doctors, but not until tomorrow at least. I didn't empty the car yet, and I'll need to do a quick cleanup on the office before moving you in. I'll see you tomorrow, as soon as I can." She waved at me, and I waved back as she scurried out of the room. If I remember anything about the office from the last time I visited, the office desk and nearby tables were usually littered with coffee cups and empty takeout trays. Best friend or not, Michelle wasn't really the neatest person. It wasn't long after she left that another guest came to my room, closing the door behind them as they entered. Damn, I see why patients in hospitals never sleep! This time it was a woman. A long black-haired woman of what I believed to be some kind of Asian descent. Her eyes were narrow, with decorative black and green makeup, matching her shining green eyes. She too was dressed in traditional scrubs, a plain pink top and argyle pink, black, and white pants. She was of average height, I could tell by her height relation to the sanitizer and latex gloves she put on before approaching me. She approached me and opened a drawer at my bedside before speaking to me. "Hello Andrea, I'm nurse Sabrina. I know Dave was just here, but because you're female, I've been sent to get you cleaned up a bit. Have you been comfortable?" She asked me with a smile similar to a motherly figure. I nodded my head in both understanding and agreement as I looked down to get a glimpse inside the drawer. From where I lay, all I could see was a stack of purple diapers in the drawer, and nothing else. I sighed as I had a feeling where this was going. "I assure you Andrea, I plan to make this as quick and comfortable as possible, and not in the least bit embarrassing, okay? Remember, I'm a medical professional, and my job is to make sure you leave here healthy and infection free, not cause you unneeded embarrassment." I nodded again at her as she pulled closed the curtain around the bed. Even though I was in a private room, it was another level of privacy. She pulled the blankets off to the side and pulled my hospital gown up, leaving my half-naked body exposed, wearing nothing but gray hospital issued socks and a soggy purple diaper. She looked over it for a moment, though at the time, I wasn't sure quite at what. She returned to the drawer for a moment, pulling out a few supplies and setting them aside. The first appeared to be some form of body powder, I didn't recognize the brand. The second was a large jar of Balmex, which I could tell immediately from the smell. I never liked that smell. The third was a large package of adult wipes, and finally she set out a clean Molicare diaper. Like an expert, she popped the four tapes open and carefully rolled me onto my side. She lifted one leg using her shoulder and wiped my buttocks and privates completely clean. The wipes were a bit chill, but the clean sensation felt nice over my half-numb body. She then opened up the jar and applied a healthy layer of Balmex to my skin, followed by a light powdering. She then expertly lay down the diaper and gently rolled my bare body back onto it, snuggly wrapping the diaper along my hips, taping it back shut. All in all, it really was like getting cleaned after a refreshing bath. "There." She said, smiling at me as she was proud of her work. She nimbly rolled up the used items and tossed them in the biohazard bin near the door, putting the diapering supplies back into the drawer before throwing the gloves away. "Thanks." I said, uncertain of what reaction most people gave the men and women who changed diapers for others. The last time I had worn diapers I couldn't have been older than two, and certainly I didn't thank anyone then. She smiled back at me in response. "Of course, it's all to keep you comfortable and from developing any kind of infections. If you have any questions, or you think you need another cleanup before myself or one of my coworkers comes, just call, okay?" I nodded and thanked her again as she took her leave. I looked over at the clock, and though it was early in the afternoon, I had nothing better to do but close my eyes and return to sleep. * * * The day had arrived. Two days after the accident, the hospital had cleared me to go home. I was given my own clothes back, but I wore of Michelle's old college lounge pants. Unfortunately my jeans were far too tight to fit much less hide the shape of the diapers I was now wearing, so I had them stuffed into a bag. At least once I got back to Michelle's, I could just wear pajama pants without question. Dave had me set up in a wheelchair, standard hospital procedure for discharge patients. He had rolled the of us down into the main room, where we waited for Michelle on the other side of a large glass window. The hotel always had a very classy waiting room, spacious and surrounded on two sides with massive glass windows. The floor was a sparkling black tile with white flecks, and the furniture matched that. Black countertops and table tops for the reception area, and navy blue padded couches in the waiting areas. We needn't wait long before I pointed out Michelle's SUV. Like I assumed, the SUV looked just as perfect as when we had left my old apartment. It looked as though Michelle cleared out some of my boxes, which she likely stored in her garage. She stepped out of the car as Dave pushed me out to meet her. The three of us politely said our goodbyes and thank yous, and off we went. Fortunately, Michelle lived near the hospital and, much to my relief, we didn't need to take any major highways. We didn't talk much on the ride; she had nothing to say, and I didn't mind the silent trip for once. It wasn't more than a half hour before her little blue house came into view. Michelle lived in a small middle-class neighborhood in a semi-rural subdivision. Like many of the homes in the area, they're small little one floor homes. We always assumed the entire subdivision was made up of small pre-fabricated homes, but over the past fifty years, some were demolished, others renovated, and others left perfectly as is. Michelle lived in one of the updated ones, where the size of the home was still the same, but everything on the outside and inside was updated into the modern generation. She pulled into the driveway of the little house, parking just outside her garage. The garden full of ornate copper sculptures and well-trimmed bushes, coupled with freshly mowed grass like a traditional well-kept suburban home. She opened up the car door and helped me to my feet, leading me up the short cement walk into the front door. The home was cleaner than I remembered seeing it last. Michelle must have worked night and day to get it back to this level. Like I said before, she's known to be quite a bit of a slob. Her living room was relatively neat, save for the piles of pillows and blankets that covered her favorite easy chair. The mossy green carpet was free of stains and complimented the warm brown walls. I walked past the couch and coffee table as Michelle led me down the hall to the left. She stepped ahead of me before stopping and pushing open the door to one of the rooms. "Well, this is the place! What do you think?" She said excitedly as she stepped back and gave me space to look over the room. The office was nicely renovated from a bedroom into a small spare room and office hybrid. The walls were a nice shade of mint green, complimenting the dark green carpet, and dark brown blackout-shade curtains covering the large single window. To the right of the room sat a black computer desk, complete with desktop and printer, also well cleaned, though the ringed stains of coffee mugs were distinctly burned into the tabletop forever. To the left was the twin sized bed and nightstand, a matching black coloration with another shade of green on its leaf printed comforter. Everything seemed pretty normal until I continued looking around the room and spotted the dresser to my direct left. On top of it sat an open case of diapers, with a variety of creams, powders, and wipes by brands I had never heard of before. Clearly, Michelle had done her homework before I got here. "It's wonderful Michelle, you've more than outdone yourself." I told her, smiling as I turned around and gave her a hug. She smiled back at me, squeezing me tightly for a moment before letting go. "I'll go get the two boxes of clothes I put in the garage, okay?" I nodded in agreement and sat myself down on the bed as she left. I kicked back and relaxed for a moment as she brought the boxes inside. As before, I thanked Michelle for her help as she plopped them down. "Really, it isn't any trouble." She said. "I know if it was the other way around, you'd do the same for me." She was right of course; if she was in an accident, I'd more than happily house her until she could get back on her feet "In that case." I began, "Would you mind handing me some of my clothes? The doctors didn't want me lifting or bending like that with my damaged spine. You know, the whole lack of pain sensitivity thing." "Stay where you are!" She said, nearly interrupting me with her enthusiasm. "I've got you covered, I'll pass em up." She finished as she kneeled on the floor alongside me, opening up the boxes, and handing out shirts, one by one. Around then, it hit me again. I hadn't thought about it much since I completely voided my bladder at the hospital, but suddenly I felt the urge to pee. It came on quickly, and I realized the sensation, but by the time I did it was too late. There was no way in hell I would have been able to make it to a toilet in time, much less stop myself. Every effort I tried to slow or stop the stream did nothing. It rushed out quickly like a faucet, dousing my entire diaper in warm water. The warmth spread from between my legs up the front and back as it pooled inside my diaper. But then the unthinkable happened. I started to feel the warm liquid stream down one of my legs. I looked down in horror and was completely mortified. It wasn't bad enough that I was wetting my pants without realizing it, nor was it bad enough that I was wearing a diaper to keep others from knowing I was wetting my pants, but the diaper leaaked and now my urine was making a dark spot on the crotch of my pants as well as down the leg. I froze in horror and must have turned a dozen shades darker as I looked down at Michelle. She knew. "Stay right there Andrea, I know what to do." Michelle said, surprisingly calm about the situation as she got up and walked out of the room. How did she know what to do? She acted like this wasn't a first for her. Michelle didn't have kids, and I couldn't think of any ageing family memebers she would have taken care of. Michelle came back into the room with a towel over her arm, and some kind of large navy-blue pad in the other. She lay the pad down on the floor and set the towel underneath me. "Now slowly and carefully...lay down here, okay?" Michelle said, motioning towards the pad as she got back to her feet. She took my hands to help me move and position myself, and I followed her words, the embarrassment stuck to my face as I looked over towards her. I am so so sorry..." I said, looking a bit frustrated at her, but all Michelle did was smile. "It's okay." She assured me. "This isn't my first go around if you haven't guessed." She responded. I didn't completely understand what she meant, but I assumed that maybe there was another friend or family member that had a similar situation in the past. "Did the staff teach you how to properly change yourself? I think that's why it leaked." She asked me extremely plainly and a bit bluntly, though considering the situation that just unfolded, it was quite appropriate. "No," I responded. "Not really anyways. I clearly don't think I have a good handle on it." That was putting it simply. By my flushed cheeks and soaked pants, saying I didn't have a handle on it was a serious understatement. But Michelle didn't pry much farther before taking charge a bit. "In that case, she responded, let me show you how it's done." She stood up for a moment, grabbing an armful of products off the dresser. She carefully peeled off my wet pants, balling them up and throwing them to the side. I turned more shades of red, not because I was exposed around Michelle, she had seen me naked before, but instead because I was laying on her floor in a drenched and leaking diaper. She smiled at me before speaking again. "You don't have to watch if it make you uncomfortable, but I want to do it right for you, okay?" I didn't really know how to respond at the time, though I decided I should watch her to learn how it was done. She carefully peeled open the tabs of the diaper and lifted my legs up to pull the diaper out. My spine didn't seem to mind the motion, so I didn't stop her. She didn't stop there, taking a few wipes and cleaning off all my skin, from my buttocks and vaginal areas, to down my thigh and leg where I had initially leaked. She unfolded a brand new Molicare and slipped it in place where she removed the last diaper from, if not a bit higher. She then used a different set of lotions and powders, as these distinctly smelled of soft cocoa butter, nothing like that strong disgusting Destin from the hospital. Confident of her work, she lay my legs back down, split around the diaper and folded the plastic material over my waist, fastening it much tighter and better fitting than I had. "And that Andrea, is how it's done." She said proudly, and without another word, picked up my balled up pants and the dirty diaper and walked away. She left my laying on her floor in nothing but a diaper, a tee shirt, and a pair of striped socks. I sat up trying to comprehend that as well. It didn't feel right, but also didn't feel wrong. At least, it didn't feel wrong until my uncontrollable bladder felt that it wasn't done with its previous actions, and gave me another warm, yet small squirt into the crotch of my new diaper. Great. I sat up at that point and found a new pair of pants to wear, carefully pulling them on. They didn't fit quite right, but at least I could close the button in the front. Unlike the lounge pants that I had ruined, these pants did nothing to hide the massive bulge I felt between my legs and over my backside. I also couldn't pull these pants any higher, the top lip of my diaper peeking over my pants with no way to push it back in. "We might need to get you some new pants for a little while." I looked back towards the door and saw Michelle leaning against the door frame, shaking her head at me. It was time I asked. "Alright, I'll bite. Michelle, how do you know so much about diapers and how to take care of someone wearing them? I wanted to ask before, but it just kind of caught me completely off guard." I asked her, giving her a curious expression as she walked into the room and sat down on the desk chair. "Well," She began, as though she was about to tell a story. Her voice trailed off and instead of continuing, she unbuttoned her high-waisted pants and worked off her belt. She pulled her shirt upwards slightly to reveal just how high her pants sit on her hips and started to slide her pants off, revealing something that I didn't expect. Instead of the undergarments one would expect to see on a person taking off their pants, Michelle sat in front of me with her pants around her knees and a white diaper with blue tapes around her waist. It sagged very slightly on her hips with a yellow stripe that was starting to turn a distinct shade of blue "It never came up." She continued. "I've been incontinent most of my life, but it's sometimes controllable. I wear swim diapers, and sometimes pull up pants that look like briefs if we're going out somewhere awesome, but if I know I'm not going to be able to reach a bathroom in a reasonable time, diapers it is." She didn't seem in the least bit embarrassed by her predicament and smiles at me. "I don't think any less of you, and I hope you don't think any less of me either." Michelle finished off as she stood back up and started to work her pants back on. Admittedly, I was a bit jealous. She knew just what to wear to make me none the wiser to her diaper wearing. "No! Of course not!" I said quickly as I started to feel better. "Michelle, you're my best friend. What you wear under your clothes doesn't make you any less my friend. And...well, it is super helpful that someone knows how to put one of these on." I patted my backside, indicating the diapers on my hip. "You know what that means, right?" Michelle excitedly asked as she stood back up and took both my hands in hers. A wide smile spread across her face as she pulled me back up onto my own feet. "What?" "It's time to go shopping!" Michelle grinned excitedly and pulled the both of us to the door.