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Welcome to "Winter Break on Wet Alert" – A Ski Trip with No Emergency Brake A ski holiday in St. Anton with the family's best friends should be a dream come true. Especially when you are 17, finally allowed to drink wine with the adults, and the girl you've been in love with since kindergarten is sleeping in the loft right next to you. It is the recipe for the perfect "coming-of-age" romance. But for Liam, it is the recipe for a social nightmare. He is fighting a secret that doesn't fit into the cool after-ski lifestyle: A body that fails him, and a bladder that lives a life of its own at night. What starts as a practical challenge involving discreet night diapers hidden in a gym bag, quickly spirals into an avalanche of control, lies, and humiliating revelations as the facade begins to crack. This is more than a story about an accident, I try to make it a "slow-burn" psychological thriller about power, helplessness, and the desperate struggle to maintain one's dignity while slowly being wrapped in cotton wool – and plastic. Meet the Families: Liam (17): The protagonist of the story. He is a typical teenager attempting to navigate the awkwardness of a family vacation while trying to appear independent and cool. He often hides inside his hoodie or behind a beanie and is currently balancing the tension of sharing a cabin with Mathilde, whom he has known since childhood and has secretly had a crush on since he was twelve. Sophie (17): The childhood friend Liam has secretly been in love with since he was twelve. She has grown from a playmate into a stunning young woman with messy blonde hair, often seen wearing oversized wool sweaters that make her look effortlessly cool. She shares the open loft space with Liam, sleeping on the mattress just a few feet away. Grace: Liam’s mother. She runs the family—and the vacation packing—with efficiency and a calm, controlled voice that leaves very little room for discussion. She is organized, persistent, and keeps a sharp eye on the logistics of the trip to ensure everything goes according to plan. James: Liam’s father. He is a somewhat conflict-avoidant man who prefers focusing on the skiing conditions or staring into his coffee cup rather than dealing with tension. He generally steps back and leaves the hard decisions and organization to Hanne. Claire: Sophie’s mother. She is practical, cheerful, and deeply involved in the domestic side of the cabin life, often found stirring a pot of stew or knitting in the sofa corner with Hanne. She has a direct, practical manner and treats all the "kids" with equal familiarity. Rob: Sophie’s father and the loud, wine-loving patriarch of the host family. He dominates the room with boisterous laughter and "alpha" energy, often walking around in boxers and a t-shirt in the mornings. He treats Liam with a mix of loud camaraderie and fatherly teasing. The Format: The story is planned as a long serial of approximately 50-60 chapters. Although the plot only spans a single, intense week in Austria, we get up close and personal. Every chapter dives deep into the details, the dialogue, and the small, claustrophobic moments where the balance of power tips. Expect a pace that allows room for both the romantic tension and the creeping horror of losing control over your own life. Sit back, put on a dry diaper (just for safety's sake), and enjoy the ride down the black slope. Prologue is coming up... __________________________________ Prologue: War Council at the Dining Table The sound of a zip being pulled up cut through the silence in the living room like a tear in the fabric. It was a sharp, metallic sound signalling an end, but for Liam, it sounded like the beginning of the end. The large black Nike holdall stood open on the dining table. Surrounding it were piles of wool jumpers, ski socks, and thermal long johns in neat stacks. But it wasn’t the clothes that caught the eye. It was the package lying isolated next to the bag. A square, soft package in dark blue plastic with the words DryNites printed across the front and a picture of a cartoon skater boy who looked far too cool to represent the contents. "We have to be realistic, Liam," said Grace. Her voice was calm, controlled—the voice she used when presenting unpleasant facts that were not up for discussion. She stood at the end of the table with her arms crossed, her gaze resting heavily on the package. "We can’t take the waterproof sheet. It’s out of the question." Liam sat on the chair opposite. He rocked on the back legs, a nervous tic he couldn’t stop. He had his hoodie pulled up around his ears, as if he could hide inside the fabric. "Why not?" he asked, hating how whiny his voice sounded. "That’s what we use at home. It works fine. I put it under the sheet, no one sees it." "At home, you sleep in your owace, taking a step forward. She placed her hand on the blue package. "We’ve been through this for four months now. Four months where the bed has been wet four out of seven days on average. You know the doctor said your body must be 'overloaded' and that you sleep so deeply the signal doesn’t get through. That’s fine. It’s a physiological condition. But we can’t ignore the statistics." She paused, and her gaze softened but became more insistent. "What is the scenario if we don’t take anything? What happens if you fall asleep after a long day of skiing, exhausted, maybe after a glass of wine, and then you wake up at three in the morning and the mattress is soaked? Right next to Sophie? What do you do then? Do you wake her? Do you carry the mattress down through the living room? How do you explain the smell in that small space?" Liam closed his eyes. The image was so clear and terrifying it made him nauseous. He saw Sophie waking up from the heat or the smell. He saw her face. "I’ll wake up," he said stubbornly, but without conviction. "I’ll set an alarm on my phone. Every three hours." "And wake up the whole chalet?" James shook his head. "That won’t work, Liam. Rob wakes up if a mouse farts in the basement. If your alarm goes off three times a night, it’ll be a holiday in hell for everyone." "Therefore," said Grace, sliding the package of DryNites across the tabletop towards him. "This is the only solution. It’s discreet. They’re silent under pyjamas. And they guarantee that the mattress—and your dignity—survives if an accident happens." Liam looked at the package as if it were radioactive. "I can’t wear them, Mum," he whispered. "Not up there. She’s lying right next to me. Imagine if she sees them? They’re... they’re night pants for kids, it’s a fucking diaper!" "It’s protection for young men who have a temporary problem," Grace corrected. "And we’ve practised this. We pack them. Right at the bottom of the bag. You put it on under the duvet when the lights are out. Or in the bathroom, if you can sneak out there. I really want to help you, you know? It requires planning, I know that. But the alternative is Russian roulette with a full bladder." Liam felt a familiar anger bubbling in his stomach. Anger at his own body. It had started in the autumn. First just once after a party. Then again. And suddenly it had become a thing. A secret that required washing machines running at night and strange, clinical conversations with a doctor who just talked about "immature nervous systems" and "deep REM sleep". They had tried fluid restrictions after 6 PM. They had tried voiding schedules. Nothing helped once he was asleep. And now this defective body had to go on holiday with the girl he had been in love with since they were in kindergarten. "I’ll take them," he said quietly, grabbing the package. He squeezed it hard, making the plastic yield. "But I’ll only put them on if I feel it’s absolutely necessary. If I’ve had a lot to drink. Or if I’m really tired." Grace and James exchanged a look. One of those parental looks that communicate volumes of worry in a split second. "Liam," said Grace gently. "The deal is that you wear them every night. We can’t take the chance with someone else’s mattress." "I said I’ll take them!" Liam snapped, standing up so quickly the chair scraped against the floor. "I’m packing them. Right at the bottom. I’ll hide them in a towel so no one can see what they are. Is that not enough?" Grace hesitated. She assessed him. She could see the desperation in his eyes. She knew that if she pushed him any further now, he might refuse to go. "Fine," she said slowly. "You pack them. Well hidden. But then you promise me one thing: If you feel the slightest uncertainty... if you are in the slightest doubt... then you use them. for my sake. For your dad’s sake. We don’t want to be explaining to Rob and Claire why their chalet smells of pee." "I’ve got it under control," Liam lied. He took the package. He walked over to the bag. He lifted the stack of hoodies. He placed the blue package right at the bottom, into the corner. He found a dark towel and wrapped it tightly around it so it looked like a washbag or a pair of shoes. Then he put the wool jumpers on top. The salopettes. The thermal underwear. Layer upon layer of normality burying the shame. He zipped up the bag. The sound was final this time. "There," he said, lifting the bag. It was heavy. Heavier than it should be. "Now we’re ready." James cleared his throat and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "It’ll be a good trip, lad. You’ll see, the fresh air will do you good. Maybe the problem will disappear on its own up there." Liam nodded stiffly. He knew better. The problem wouldn’t disappear. It was packed at the bottom of his bag, and it would travel with him all the way to Austria, like a ticking time bomb under the seat. "I’m going to bed," he said. He walked out of the living room without looking back. Grace remained standing by the table, staring at the spot where the bag had stood. "Do you think he’ll wear them when we get there?" asked James quietly. "No," said Grace, turning off the light over the dining table. "Or well, I don’t know... He’s so proud. So I think I’ll have to check every morning while we’re there, and then we just have to hope he soon puts a cork in that night bladder." Chapter 1: The Winter Palace The car's tyres crunched heavily against the packed snow as they rolled the final stretch up the steep driveway. The engine was cut, and a sudden, deafening silence settled over the cabin. It was that particular, muffled tranquillity found only in the Austrian Alps, where the snow swallows every sound. Liam sat in the back seat, leaning his forehead against the cold glass. Outside, the world was bathed in the blue-violet light of twilight. The chalet ahead of them wasn’t just a cabin; it was a massive two-storey log structure with large panoramic windows, where yellow light was already spilling out, landing in soft squares on the snow. The Thompson family had already arrived. Their black Audi was parked next to them, and smoke rose lazily from the chimney. "Here we are, chaps," said his dad, James, tapping the steering wheel with a gloved hand. "St. Anton. The adventure begins." Liam felt a lurch in his stomach. It was a mixture of expectant joy and that underlying, cold knot he had carried around the entire journey. He adjusted his beanie in the rear-view mirror, checked that the stubble on his chin looked right, and took a deep breath. You are here to ski. You are here to have a good time. You are 17 years old. Relax. He opened the car door, and the freezing mountain air hit him in the face like a wet towel. It smelled of pine needles and frost. He stepped out and stretched his legs while the cold nipped at his cheeks. "Liam, are you grabbing your own bag?" shouted his mum, Grace, from the boot. She was already organising the unpacking with the military efficiency she was known for. "And mind your back, it looks heavy." Liam walked round to the boot. His large, black Nike holdall was wedged in behind crates of food supplies. He gripped the handle and hoisted it out. It was heavy. Not just because of the ski boots and thick jumpers, but because of what lay right at the bottom, wrapped in an opaque bag and rolled tightly inside a towel. His secret cargo. His safety net. He swung the bag over his shoulder and straightened his back. As long as the bag was zipped shut, he was just Liam. The door to the chalet opened, and the sound of voices and laughter streamed out into the cold. "Is that the lost travellers?" Sophie stood in the doorway. Liam's heart skipped a beat, as it always did when he saw her. She had grown even more beautiful since the summer holidays. She was wearing a large, white wool jumper that made her look small and cosy, paired with tight black leggings. Her blonde hair was gathered in a messy bun, and she held a wine glass in her hand—probably just elderflower cordial, but the way she held it made it look elegant. "Hey Sophie," Liam said, flashing his best, crooked smile as he walked up the steps to the veranda. He tried to walk casually, even though the strap dug into his shoulder. "We just took the scenic route. You have to enjoy the view, right?" Sophie rolled her eyes but smiled broadly. "Classic James tactics. Come inside, it’s freezing." She stepped aside, and Liam walked into the warmth. The chalet smelled of woodsmoke and red wine sauce. The adults were already in full swing, hugging and exchanging stories about the drive in the hallway. It was chaos in a good way. Boots were kicked off, coats hung up. Liam and Sophie stood a little on the outskirts of the commotion. "So," Sophie said, sizing him up. Her gaze was direct, curious. "Are you ready to be left in the dust tomorrow? I’ve heard the pistes are absolutely perfect this year." "Left in the dust?" Liam laughed huskily. "You’ll be lucky if you see anything other than the spray from my skis when I fly past you." "We’ll see," she said, nudging his shoulder lightly. The touch burned through his jacket. "But seriously, it’s going to be brilliant. The oldies have taken the rooms on the ground floor, so we have the entire top floor to ourselves. Or, well, the loft." "The loft?" Liam repeated. "Yeah, come on. I’ll show you." She turned and started walking up the steep wooden staircase leading to the upper floor. Liam followed, bag still over his shoulder. He didn't dare put it down yet. Not until he knew where he was sleeping. Not until he had secured the territory. The loft had a low ceiling and was incredibly cosy. Sloping walls of light timber, a small round window in the gable looking out over the valley, and thick rugs on the floor. But what caught Liam's attention were the sleeping arrangements. There were two wide mattresses on the floor. They lay at opposite ends of the room, separated by a small communal area with a low sofa and a table, but there were no doors. No walls. It was one large room. "I’ve taken the one by the window," Sophie said, hopping onto one of the mattresses, which was already made up with a duvet and pillows. Her bag stood open next to it, with clothes strewn about a bit. "So you can have the den over there." She pointed towards the mattress at the opposite end, nestled under the lowest part of the sloping roof. It was a cosy nook, but it also felt... exposed. "Fine," said Liam. He walked over to his mattress and set the bag down. He did it carefully, terrified that something might clink or rattle, even though there were only soft parcels inside. "It looks... cosy." "Doesn't it?" Sophie leaned back on her elbows and looked at him. "No parents. No big sisters. Just us." Liam nodded and started taking off his jacket. He could feel sweat trickling down his back. The heat from the wood-burning stove downstairs was rising to the ceiling. "Are you planning on standing there sweating in full gear, or are you going to unpack?" she asked teasingly. Liam hesitated. He looked at his bag. The zip was closed. He knew exactly where the package was. At the bottom. Under three hoodies and his thermal long johns. If he opened the bag now, while she lay there watching, would she be able to see it? No, it was wrapped up. But just the thought of moving things around while she observed him made his stomach turn. On the other hand, it would seem odd if he didn't unpack. They were staying here for a week. "I’ll unpack later," he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Right now, I just need to sit down. The drive was long." "Fair enough." Sophie stood up and walked over to the small window. "Come and have a look. You can see the lights from the après-ski bars over there." Liam stood up and walked over to her. They stood side by side, looking out into the darkness where the floodlit pistes glowed like golden scars on the mountainside. He could smell her perfume—vanilla and something fresh. She stood close to him. So close that their arms almost touched. "It’s going to be a good week, Liam," she said softly, without looking at him. "Yeah," he replied, daring to relax his shoulders a tiny bit for the first time. "It really is." From downstairs came the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. His mother’s voice cut through. "Liam! Sophie! There’s hot chocolate and scones if you’re hungry!" Sophie sighed theatrically but smiled. "Duty calls. Shall we go down and be social before they think we’re up to no good?" Liam smiled back. For a moment, everything felt normal. He was just a guy on a ski holiday with a cute girl. The bag lay on the bed behind him, zipped and safe. "After you," he said. Chapter 2: Adults in the Snow The smell of slow-cooked stew had spread throughout the chalet, mingling with the dry heat from the wood-burning stove. It was a heavy, spiced scent of beef, red wine, and juniper berries that Sophie’s mum, Claire, had left simmering in a pot for most of the afternoon before they arrived. Liam sat at the end of the long plank table. He had been given the seat next to Sophie. On the other side sat his dad, James, who was already flushed in the cheeks after two glasses of Amarone and the heat from the fire. "Cheers to the chalet!" James exclaimed, raising his glass. "And cheers to getting the roof box on without scratching the paintwork this year!" A cheerful laugh went around the table. Liam grabbed his own glass. There was red wine in it. It was one of those unspoken transitions; on previous holidays, he and Sophie had been given Coke while the adults drank wine. This year, they had just been poured a glass without question. A silent rite of passage. He was one of them now. He clinked glasses with Sophie. The glass made a clear, singing sound. "Cheers," she said, smiling over the rim of her glass. Her eyes caught the light from the candles on the table. "Do you think you can handle it? Amarone is heavy fuel for tomorrow." "I run better on premium unleaded," Liam replied cheekily and took a sip. The wine was heavy, warm, and slightly astringent in his mouth. He didn't actually like red wine all that much, but he loved the feeling of sitting here, glass in hand, being part of this. He took another sip, a slightly larger one this time. In the back of his mind, right at the back of his lizard brain, a small red warning light blinked. Fluid. Alcohol. Bedtime. He knew the rules. He knew he should be drinking water, and preferably stop drinking altogether now; it was past eight o'clock. But he couldn't sit here sipping tap water while Sophie teased him and the adults told tall tales. It would be checking out. It would be being a child. "Liam, pass the potatoes, would you?" asked Grace. Liam shook the thoughts away and passed the dish. His mum sat opposite him. She ate calmly, listening to Claire’s story about a colleague who had had a breakdown from stress, nodding sympathetically. She seemed completely normal. Not like a guard, not like an "inspector". Just a mum on holiday. But then he caught her eye as she took the dish. It was fleeting. She looked at his wine glass, then at him, and then back at her plate. She said nothing. She didn't raise an eyebrow. But Liam heard it anyway. Is that wise, Liam? He felt an urge to put the glass down, but defiance flared up in him. He wouldn't be controlled by her gaze. He wouldn't be the patient at this table. He demonstratively took a large bite of the meat and smiled at Sophie. "So, Sophie," said Rob, Sophie’s dad, leaning back. "Have you told Liam about your big plan?" Sophie blushed slightly—a becoming colour on her pale cheeks. "Dad, stop it." "What plan?" asked Liam curiously. "She wants to do a season next year," Rob rumbled proudly. "Austria. The whole winter. She’s been saving up for two years." Liam looked at her with new respect. "Seriously? That’s... actually pretty cool." "It’s just an idea," she said quickly, but he could see the glint in her eyes. "I thought... well, if I don’t know what I want to do after sixth form anyway, I might as well ski and make some money doing it." "Sounds like the dream," said Liam. And he meant it. But at the same time, a cold, heavy realisation hit him right in the solar plexus. A whole season in Austria? Sleeping in dorms, sharing rooms with strangers, drinking beer every night, no privacy? For Sophie, it was a dream. For him, it would be a logistical hell. An impossibility. He suddenly felt like a fraud. He sat here looking like someone who could go with her. Someone who fit into that dream. But beneath the surface, and at the bottom of that Nike bag up in the loft, reality lay waiting. "You could come too," Sophie said suddenly, nudging him under the table with her knee. "You’re good enough on skis. We could be instructor buddies." Liam laughed, but the laughter didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, definitely. That would be sick." "It just requires being able to get up early," Grace interjected. Her voice was mild, conversational. "And being able to fend for yourself. It’s hard work, you know. No 'room service' from Mum." It was an innocent comment to everyone else. A joke about teenagers who can't do laundry. But to Liam, it was a precise, surgical reminder. You can't fend for yourself. You need me. The mood shifted as the plates were cleared, and the board game Ludo was brought out. It was a tradition. Liam and Sophie against the dads. The mums preferred to sit on the sofa with a cup of tea (and more wine) and talk. The game was intense. Liam was good at the tactical side. He and Sophie had a natural rhythm; they understood each other without words, trading glances and blocking their fathers with delightful malice. "You’re evil, Liam!" shouted James as Liam knocked his piece home just before the finish line. "It’s called strategy, old man," Liam replied, giving Sophie a high-five. Her hand was warm and soft against his. It was nearing half-past eleven when the game finished (with a crushing victory for the youth). Fatigue began to set in within the chalet. The fire in the stove had burned down to embers. "Right, I give up," said Rob, stretching until his joints cracked. "I need to be fresh for the slopes. Night, kids. Night, darling." "Night," the group mumbled in chorus. There was that break-up atmosphere where people look for their phones and glasses need to go in the dishwasher. Liam stood up. The heat and the wine made him a little dizzy. Reality returned like a cold breath. Up in the loft, the bag still stood unopened. He hadn't set out his "safety net". He hadn't found a place to change. And Sophie was going up there. Right now. "I think I’ll head up too," said Sophie, rubbing her eyes. She looked sleepy and soft. "Are you brushing your teeth first, Liam, or shall I grab the bathroom?" Liam looked at his watch, then at the bathroom door, and then at his mum, who was busy blowing out the candles. If he let Sophie go to the bathroom first, he would be alone in the loft for maybe ten minutes. Ten minutes to open the bag, find the package, and... do what? Hide it under the pillow? Put it on? No, not up there. But if he took the bathroom first, he would have to take his things out there. What if she saw? "You just take it," he said quickly. "I just need to... I just need to find my charger in my bag first." "Cool. See you up there." She smiled, grabbed her washbag, and disappeared into the bathroom, humming. Liam was left standing in the living room. His mum blew out the last candle and turned to him. In the semi-darkness, her face was hard to read. "Liam," she said quietly. The others had gone into their rooms. They were alone. "You drank quite a lot at dinner." "It was two glasses, Mum. Relax." "And Coke," she added. "I’m just saying. You know what that means for the night. Have you got it under control? Do you want me to come up and help you get the 'bed ready' once Sophie is asleep?" The offer hung in the air. It was a lifebuoy, but it was made of lead. If he said yes, he accepted that she would creep around up there in the dark while he lay there like a child. If he said no, he was on his own with a bladder full of liquid and a bag full of secrets. "I’ll do it myself," he replied. "Okay, fair enough," said his mum, stroking his arm. "Sleep tight." Chapter 3: Under the Duvet Liam lay completely still. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but it didn't help much. The loft was a black box, broken only by the faint blue glow of the moon filtering through the small round window, tracing a square on the floor between the two mattresses. Three metres away lay Sophie. Her breathing had become heavy and regular. A faint, rhythmic sound that should have been soothing, but to Liam, it sounded like the countdown on a bomb. Every time she inhaled, he froze. Every time she exhaled, he relaxed a millimetre. He took a deep breath through his nose and gently lifted the duvet a fraction with his left hand to create a small tent. The air inside was warm and heavy with his own body heat. He grabbed the DryNites diaper that lay next to his pillow. The material felt foreign against his fingers. It was dry, papery, and thick. A sharp contrast to the soft cotton sheet. He squeezed it. It made a sound. Crr-rritch. The sound wave cut through the silence like a whip crack. Liam stiffened, his heart hammering against his ribs. He stared over at Sophie’s mattress. She stirred. An arm slid out from under her duvet, and she mumbled something unintelligible before turning onto her side. Facing him. Liam held his breath until his lungs burned. She slept on. Okay. Slowly. Ultra-slowly. He pushed the diaper down along his body, under the duvet, until it reached his hips. Now came the hardest part. The logistics. He was wearing jeans. Tight, black jeans. And because the diaper was a pull-up—a pair of "pyjama pants"—he had to have everything off from the waist down to put them on. He couldn't just pull his trousers down to his ankles; he needed his feet free. He bent his legs up under him so his knees pointed towards the ceiling and lifted the duvet. He grabbed the waistband of his jeans. The button was easy enough. The zip was the problem. He gripped the small metal tab of the zip with two fingers and began to pull it down, millimetre by millimetre. Zzz... Pause. Zzz... Pause. It felt like it took an hour. When the zip was finally down, he started wiggling his hips from side to side to shimmy the trousers down over his backside. The friction between the denim and the mattress made a dragging, whispering sound. He got the trousers down to his knees. Then to his ankles. Now he lay tangled in a knot of duvet, jeans, and his own legs. He needed to get his feet out of the trouser legs. He kicked gently with his right foot. His heel caught on the hem. He kicked again, a little harder. His foot broke free and hit the guard rail with a dull thud. "Mmm...?" The sound came from Sophie. Liam froze in an absurd position: One foot in the air, the other still trapped in his trousers, half-naked under the duvet, bathed in sweat. "Liam?" Her voice was thick with sleep, husky. "Yeah?" he whispered back. His voice cracked. "Are you okay? You’re making noise..." "Sorry," he whispered quickly. "I... I just turned over. Hit my foot. Go back to sleep." There was silence for five seconds. Five eternities. "Okay... night..." she mumbled, pulling the duvet up around her ears again. Liam lay completely still for two minutes while sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down into his eyes. He was so close to being exposed. If she turned on the light now... if she sat up to see what he was doing... He waited until her breathing became deep again. Then he finished the manoeuvre. He freed his left foot. He pushed the jeans all the way down to the foot of the bed with his toes. Then he pulled off his boxers. Now he lay naked under the duvet. Vulnerable. The warm air suddenly felt cold. He fumbled in the dark for the diaper. He found it. He opened it up, stuck his feet through the leg holes. And then he pulled up. The sensation was the worst part. The moment the soft, padded material slid up over his thighs and enclosed his groin. It was the feeling of defeat. It was the feeling of stepping out of the role of a 17-year-old guy and into the role of... something else. He pulled it all the way up over his hips. The elastic sides tightened around his waist. It sat high, much higher than his boxers. The thick, absorbent core pressed against his crotch and filled the space between his legs. It felt enormous. As if he had a cushion between his legs. He lay down again and stretched out his legs. Crinkle. Crunch. The sound came from him. From the diaper. Every time he moved his thighs against each other, the plastic outer layer made a faint, rustling sound. He lay stiff as a board. He was wearing the "armour" now. He was safe. If he wet himself in his sleep, the bed would remain dry. But the price was that he now lay next to the girl he was in love with, wearing a diaper. He rummaged around at the foot of the bed with his toes until he got hold of his boxers. He pulled them up over the diaper along with his pyjama bottoms and checked his phone before sliding it back under his pillow. He left the jeans in a pile at the bottom of the bed. He closed his eyes. Exhaustion was threatening to overpower him, but the awareness of the thick padding between his legs kept him awake. He was safe. But he wasn't free. He turned carefully onto his side, facing away from Sophie, and pulled the duvet all the way up over his ears to muffle the sound of crinkling plastic. Outside, the snow was still falling. Inside, Liam fell asleep to the sound of his own breathing and the feeling of being wrapped in secrets.

1 In the middle of the living room, Daniela stared at the blank, empty canvas. She was waiting for the spark that would set the next phase of her creative process in motion. On the coffee table next to her, countless sheets with drawings of people, landscapes, and objects formed what she liked to call her essence: the ordinary chaos of everyday life. She grabbed a pencil, then scanned the sheets. The profile of a dark-skinned woman with a stern and focused expression led the pile of sketches. Size, colors, and angles. A nice challenge. So, she made a long series of gentle strokes left and right. She had formed a first version of the head, a diamond shape with round cheeks. She couldn’t wait to build that face. Next, she drew curved lines: one horizontal and one vertical, dividing the first into two. This was where the forehead, eyes, nose, right cheek, and mouth would fit. From top to bottom, the same order she studied her subjects before starting to ink them on paper. A few minutes later, the woman’s face was outlined with a black pen. A broad forehead with some wrinkles, half-closed eyes, an aquiline nose, and finally, thin but prominent lips. Daniela smiled broadly. This version was better, a worthy evolution of the one from the pile of sheets. "Who is that lady, Mom?" asked a sleepy voice from behind her. She turned toward the child, her little troublemaker. "Good morning to you too, honey. Did you sleep well?" Willy rubbed his eyes with one hand. He squinted toward the painting of his mother. Uncertain, he said aloud, "She looks like a bad person." He moved closer to get a better look. Daniela let out a delighted laugh. The child might be right; after all, it was just a drawing with no information about who the person was. The possibilities of giving an identity to that face were endless, and without a bit of imagination, it would remain just a face without a story. "She might also be a good person," she said cheerfully. "I just finished outlining the face. I’ll color it soon. Until then, I’m open to any ideas." Willy turned his head toward the sheets stacked on the coffee table. Curious to see his mom’s work, the boy tried to get closer. He rarely saw her sketches, partly because she kept them sealed in her office, the only room in the house he couldn’t enter. This was his chance to see one up close. "Stay right where you are, Willy!" she called, pulling at the back of his pajamas. She then lifted him in her arms and headed upstairs. "Did you think I’d forgotten about your little friend between your legs?" Little friend. How he hated that word! Yet, it wasn’t his friend. Why did she call it that? "Mom, can’t you change me after breakfast?" he complained irritably. "Please!" "No, because after breakfast, you’ll surely go to the bathroom. So, it’s better to do it now than later." He sulked. He found this new part of his routine unfair. The first thing you did when you woke up was have breakfast, not go back to the bedroom and let your mom do the things that moms had to do! Once in his room, His mom laid him on the drawer of clothes. She removed his shorts and, without warning, ripped the two tabs of the diaper. The intense, penetrating smell of urine filled the air. Instinctively, his cheeks turned as red as a tomato, and he covered his nose with both hands. She didn’t say anything, just smiled in her usual sweet way. With one hand, she grabbed his legs and lifted them into the air. With the other, she removed the dirty diaper from his private parts and bottom. Then, she let his legs fall back. She wiped him with a wet wipe both front and back, then applied some moisturizing cream. She didn’t want an irritation to develop in his most delicate areas. Finally, she slid a clean diaper under him and fastened it. Willy lifted his head slightly and stared at it reluctantly. The feeling of freshness and softness on his skin was reassuring and nice, but he sensed that something was wrong. So, he asked his mom, "Do I have to wear it during the day too?" "Isn’t that what you want?" she replied nervously and confused. "Would you rather I take it off?" He sat up. The diaper made everything more comfortable, as well as safer and cleaner. He wanted that feeling of well-being to never end. "No... It’s just that... It feels all wrong. Maybe... It was a bad idea, Mom..." "Willy, I know it’s a big change, but don’t let your insecurity stop you from being happy. Do you like wearing the diaper, even though you’re a big boy? I’ll put it on you and support you without a second thought." "And what if someone finds out?" He squeezed his hands between his legs, and his voice turned into a whisper. "I’m scared of being teased by anyone." "As long as you wear your clothes, no one will find out." His mom hugged him. "And if someone does find out, it doesn’t matter. We’ll say you had an accident, and the doctor told you to wear it. We’ll make up excuses. It’s not a big deal." The nine-year-old boy became restless. He furrowed his brow in a genuine expression of displeasure. "We don’t lie, Mom! I don’t want to lie!" "Unfortunately, you’ll have to, Willy. Otherwise, no diaper." At what seemed like a threat, the boy stood firm in his position. "I don’t want to lie... why do I have to?" Daniela felt her heart tighten. "Sometimes, people don’t understand other people’s uniqueness. They tend to... become mean and nasty. That’s why I’m asking you to lie. I won’t punish you for doing it. Just be honest with me. No matter what happens, you have to tell me. Understood?" Willy nodded solemnly. He didn’t want to be left alone without friends to play with and have fun. He ended the conversation with a question: "Can I go have breakfast now?"

MOMMY.EXE INRODUCTION I Patti was, truly, the vitruvian female. Perfectly proportioned; an hourglass figure. She was busty, and blonde. With piercing green eyes. She was the head cheerleader, and Jeff was the quarter back. They were from a small farm town. Let’s be honest. They were destined to be together. And they were. They had a son together, shortly after graduation. Chris. Jeff joined the service, to care for his new family. First as, a mechanic. Eventually an engineer. And, finally, a hero. Patti was 25, Chris was 8. When Jeff passed. She invested wisely, afterwards. Herself, and Chris never wanted for anything. She devoted her life in him. Defined herself, by being his mother. Her coping mechanism, was to coddle the boy. It’s no wonder the boy ended up with a diaper fetish… II Chris was old enough, when his father passed, to take an interest in his work. Patti, never let that dream die. She carted him around the country, to science fairs. He could code by the time he was 12. And with his mother’s help, he started his first “software firm” at 14. Before graduating high school, Chris revived honors at both the Intel International Science and engineering Fair, and Google science fair. When Chris headed off, to University, to nobody’s surprise, it was on a full ride. Even for MIT, he was above the grade. During his freshmen year, he was take graduate courses. He had access to some of the most cutting edge technology on the planet, and all he could think to do with it all was make a device that forced women to treat him like a baby. Over the years, his plan manifested. In guise, and essence - it was a virtual reality game. Programmed with top of the line A.I. Capable of improvising, and adapting to evolving situations. When executed, it induced a hypnotic state. The victim was helpless, but to play out the plotted scenario. Seemingly, of their own free will. Even after removing the hardware. Until the program was terminated. He also developed a program for himself. As a means to delve deeper into his role. It didn’t erase his memory. It did, however, impair his motor functions, and left him fully incontinent. Chris spent so much time on it, that he neglected much of his actual curriculum. Mid semester, his junior year, he flunked out of college. At that point, however, he had squandered enough of mommy’s money. Not to mention exhausting the universities resources. Servers, hardware, programs and codes. Patti tried to be tough on Chris, after he moved back home. He kept reciting all the cliché excuses… “I wasn’t challenged enough.” “The Professors had it out for me.” ”They were threatened by my intellect.” And, she ate it up. Like Thanksgiving diner. With little more persuasion Patti agreed to fund Chris’s new “business venture”. In what seemed like no time, he had his own lab. Servers, computers, and 3-D printers. All of it, of course, was another front. Another step towards actualizing his most perverse fantasies. One of which was being treated like a baby, and diapered, by his own mother… CHAPTER ONE Chris worked tirelessly on his new scenario. One were Patti would regress him to an infantile state. the more he, himself, acted the part. He didn’t have to wait long for a chance to use it. Memorial Day was right around the corner, and Patti was getting a long weekend. Chris decided to seize the opportunity. He woke up early the first day of his mother’s vacation, and had everything set up by the time she woke up. “Morning Mom.”, he greeted Patti. When she finally came out of her bedroom. “I just finished my game. Do you want to try it out?” “Sure Hun”, Patti said through a yawn. “Let me get some coffee first, though. Ill be right back”. A few minutes later she was settling into the couch next to her son. “I’m so excited. I cant wait”, she said. “How do we play?” “Just hold still”, Chris said as he stood up, and fit the headset to his mother. “I just have to load the game up now, It will only take a moment”, He added as he fastened his own headset. “OH! I see it”! Patti shouted when the loading screen appeared. Chris could hear his mother clapping, as she bounced in her seat. She counted down the last few percent, “97, 98, 99”… “LOAD COMPLETE”, chimed a voice from inside the headset. There was a series of bright flashes. Green, and Red. Then white. “REMOVE HEADSETS”, chimed the voice, again. “How was it”? Chris asked, as he removed his mothers headset. “It was great baby, I loved it!” Patti said, with a wide smile. “I’m going to go water the plants, and then I’ll make lunch. You can keep playing”. When Patti left the room Chris jumped off the couch, and prodded his crotch through pants. “I wonder how long before I wet myself?”, he thought. A question that wasn’t left unanswered for long. Chris heard Patti in the kitchen, and decided to join her. Patti was almost done making lunch when it happened. Patti tuned around to find her son peeing his pants in the middle of the kitchen. Chris looked down as the warm dark spot grew, and moved down his tight blue jeans. Dripping, and pooling on the floor under him. There was a pause, and a look of Shock on Patties face. Chris’s heart stopped. ”Was this all a coincidence, is the program not running?” So many questions raced through his mind. All silenced the second his mother finally spoke. ”Oh honey, It’s okay. You just still aren’t ready for big boy underwear yet. Go, get cleaned up. and then come down for lunch.” she said. Reaching for a plastic bag, and handing it to Chris. “Just put those wet clothes in here. Mommy will come get them, and leave some dry ones out, for you”. Patti made her way upstairs, to where Chris was taking a shower. ”I’m Going to get these wet clothes, in the wash. I left your dry ones on the counter. Mommy wants you to put them on without a fuss, mister”. Adding, “ We can try again in a few days”. Before heading back downstairs to clean up the mess in the kitchen. When Chris got out of the shower, he found what Patti left for him. Only a pastel blue t-shirt, a diaper, and some baby powder. The diaper was extra thick, and crinkly. With little rattles, bottles, and pacifiers printed on the front. He grabbed it all, beaming with excitement, and ran to his room. Chris spread the diaper out on his bed, and laid down. He proceeded to powder himself…poorly. He got it everywhere. Then, he wrapped the diaper around his waist. He, purposefully, made sure it fit very loosely when taping himself in. He pulled the shirt over his head, and waddled off to find Patti. His diaper was so loose he had to hold it up, as he made his way downstairs. In the kitchen, after getting Patti’s attention, he let his poorly fastened diaper drop to his feet. Exclaiming, “I can’t get it to stay up”. Patti blushed at the sight of her naked son. “Oh dear!”, she exclaimed. “Don’t worry, mommy will help you”. Patti led him by the hand to the living room. There was already a large baby blanket spread out on the floor. Chris sat down on the blanket, As she retrieved a large diaper bag. Chris had ordered all of these things days ago. The baby stuff, and the diapers. He had hid them in his lab, until this morning. “Alright, lay down sweetie”, she said. Pulling a diaper out from the bag. She poked fun at what a bad job Chris had done putting his on, as she unfolded a new one. “Buns up”. She instructed - sliding the diaper underneath Chris. Snugly finishing the job she patted his crotch, and cooed, “See, that isn’t so hard. Let’s go eat Lunch”. Chris fell asleep on the living room floor, after lunch. Patti had turned Cartoons on for him. She sat on the couch fiddling with her I-Pad. He woke up a few hours later. Patti had a firm grasp on his diapered crotch. Prodding, and exclaiming, “Did someone have another accident? That’s alright, nap times over baby. If you sleep any longer, you’ll never go to bed tonight.” Chris groggily squirmed, and stretched. Relishing in every moment he felt her hand pressed against his, soaking wet, diaper. A soaking wet diaper, he didn’t have to purposely soil. The incontinence program Chris had ran on himself was obviously working flawlessly. After changing his diaper again, they played all afternoon. Hide and seek, tickle monster, and peek a boo. Soon enough it was dinner time. After dinner Patti sat on the couch and motioned for Chris to come lay next to her. She pulled him close, and rested his head in her bosom. Telling him, “It’s almost bedtime, baby”. “But it’s only eight o’clock”… Chris whimply protested. ”Okay, Baby, you can come with mommy when she gets ready for bed” Patti said, “but, after that it’s bed time. No if’s, and’s or butt’s.” Chris was led by his mother to her bedroom, and then to the master bathroom. Patti sat him down, on the floor, and insisted that, “He was to be a good boy, while mommy gets ready for bed”. To Chris’s surprise, his mother began to run a shower, and strip, naked. Right in front of him. This was weird, even for him. And, his program. For that matter… These, however, were the furthest thoughts from his mind. With little interaction with the fairer sex, Chris was mesmerized by the beautiful naked women in front of him. Although he wasn’t engaged sexually with his mother in the fantasy, the situation was extremely erotic to him. Although she was programmed not to notice it, Chris was ashamed of the erection growing inside his diaper. The shower was over soon enough. Chris barely had time to process it all. He was just relieved to see Patti’s arm reach out, from behind the curtain. Pulling her towel in, before stepping out. As mesmerizing as she was, Chris wasn’t ready to see his mother naked. Again. “All ready!” She exclaimed. Wrapped in a towel, they headed back into her bedroom. Chris turned around when he was sure she had changed. Patti’s nighttime attire was limited to a certain style. Short. Why she had to choose the black, and pink nightgown, that fit like a corset, though, was beyond him. That confusing erection he had just gotten rid of, started growing again. He followed his mother, crawling on all fours. His eyes, inescapably, and shamefully fixated on her butt. From his angle, little was left to the imagination. He watched it bounce back and forth the whole way to his bedroom. Patti tucked him in, and kissed him goodnight. “Sleep tight, tomorrow is a big day. Mommy has a surprise for you”, she said as she closed the door behind her. Chris experienced ecstasy like never before that night. Pleasuring himself through his diaper as he drifted off to sleep.