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All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 70 & Epilogue - 2/13/24)


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Chapter 5: Eureka

Mom was the only one of us enjoying dinner. I unenthusiastically poked away at the taco casserole. Was Mom really capable of making anything other than casserole? Despite the heavy workout from earlier today, I just wasn’t feeling all that hungry. Mom’s constant babying of Emilia was getting on my already stressed out nerves. I had been potty-trained young enough that I had no recollection of ever wetting myself during the day. I was both relieved that I’d managed to avoid Emilia or Mom noticing and perturbed that it had even happened.

“Choo choo! The spoon train was coming through,” Mom cooed at Emilia, who was sitting in a highchair with a bib around her neck.

I caught myself just as I was starting to roll my eyes. It’s a spoon, not an airplane, train, or boat.

Mom slid a spoonful of casserole into Emilia’s mouth, wiping it against the top of her lip as she pulled the spoon out. Since my three-and-a-half-year-old sister was back in diapers for the time being – most likely through tomorrow night – she wasn’t allowed to do anything herself. I’d already had to endure ten minutes of Mom making cutesy faces and noises as she coaxed Emilia into eating her supper.

I didn’t get the point of what Mom was doing. So what if Emilia had a couple of accidents at preschool today? Putting her back in diapers and treating her like a baby was still interrupting the progress we had been making toward potty-training. There had been a couple times in the past few weeks where it felt like we might be on the verge of a breakthrough. Now, I worried that Emilia might become too discouraged to even try.

At the beginning of dinner, Emilia had thrown a tantrum about being fed like this, but the threat of another spanking, which would be her second for the day, was now keeping her in line. I watched as Emilia squirmed in her seat. Though I’d changed her less than an hour ago, the diaper was almost certainly wet again, at least a little. Even while potty-training, she’d only been able to last about a half-hour before needing to go. But while in diapers, Emilia was only getting changed about every two hours, which at this point meant she’d remain in the same diaper until her pre-bedtime bath.

As Mom laughed while feeding Emilia, she seemed genuinely happy with babying arrangement. With Mom in as good of a mood as I’d seen her be in the past week, now was my time to strike. The revelation that I hadn’t actually deserved the spanking I’d received last night would hopefully be enough to get Mom to do me a favor and allow me to go on my first ever sleepover.

“Mr. Higgins handed back our history quiz grades today. I found out I actually had gotten a perfect grade on that quiz I told you about last night. He told me that he’d just made a mistake when he had posted the results online.”

“So?”

That’s all she had to say? Not, “I’m sorry I gave you the worst spanking of your life.” Not, “What can I do to make it up for you?” This was not getting off to a promising start.

“So... I was thinking you might be able to make it up to me by letting me go to a sleepover at Samantha’s place.”

Desi would be there as well, but Mom viewed Desi as a bad influence, so having Mom know about that wouldn’t increase my odds of success.

“It’s not my fault you told me right away about the grade rather than checking with Mr. Higgins first. You need to be more careful next time. And I’ll let you go to a sleepover when you were old enough to, not any sooner.”

“But he’d never posted my grades wrong before. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t right?”

“And he’d never given you a ‘C’ before. That should have made you want to double check.”

Mom wasn’t budging. Every last one of my arguments was defeated. I had gone into battle with the perfect plan and couldn’t stomach the thought that I would be forced into a retreat.

I’m not usually one for thinking quick on my feet, after all, that’s what had gotten me into that mess last night in the first place, but if there ever a time to say that a metaphorical lightbulb had gone off in my head this was it. I’d stumbled across the magic phrase that could make Mom do a complete turnaround of her opinion. If this doesn’t work, I swear I’ll give up at any hope of ever going on a sleepover.

“How am I supposed to survive living in a college dorm if I’d never had any experience being away from home?”

Bingo. After all these years I’d finally stumbled across the argument that might convince her to let me go to a sleepover. One of my mom’s biggest obsessions was that I be able to go to a good college. That’s why she hounded me about my grades and administered strict discipline when the scores weren’t perfect. I’d just pitted Mom’s hopes for my future against her desire for control and watched as her face transitioned from disapproving scowl to something close to approval. I knew right then that it was only a matter of time before I’d get a sleepover.

“Mom, I’d never spent a night away from home ever in my life. I’m going to have to learn how to do it sometime.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m glad you’re wanting to prepare for college, but you’re still only a freshman.”

I’d hoped for a “Yes,” but that was still preferable to “No.” Well, I’d better be on my best behavior the next couple of days so that she would make the right decision.

---

I texted Samantha and Desi the news about the sleepover request – minus the part about yesterday’s spanking. There was so much that we needed to get planned. What snacks to eat. What movies to watch. Maybe we could do each other’s hair and make-up. Their parents gave them much more leeway with that than Mom did.

Emilia usually went to bed about two hours before me, which meant I was then kicked out of the bedroom until it was my turn to go to sleep. With Mom currently giving Emilia her bath, judging from the faint splashing noises from the bathroom that I could just make out, that left me with about thirty minutes until I had to relocate to the living room. With all my homework assignments done for the night – and double and triple checked to make sure they were done correctly – I had just enough time for one round of Fortnite. I couldn’t quite figure out how I’d gotten Mom to allow me to play it. She normally was pretty opposed to any kind of violent video games.

I signed into my account – dragongirl27972 – and jumped in the queue for a solo round. I’d rather do duo or squads, but finding good people to play with online was hard, and I didn’t want a random teammate to ruin my one game of the evening. I had tried a while back to get to get Desi and Samantha to join in on Fortnite. That had been an utter failure.

The game began. 100 players. It’s a fight to the death. Last one standing wins. I preferred to wait as long as I could before jumping off the bus to a potential landing spot. I surveyed my possible destinations: “Craggy Cliffs” or “Steamy Stacks.” The power plant was too enticing to pass up, even if it looked like a lot of players were also gliding that way. It was a risky, but potentially rewarding situation. After I landed, I raced my character from room to room. I wouldn’t survive if I wasn’t able to get some weapons to arm myself. Finally, I found a chest at the bottom of a stairwell and opened it to reveal a couple of rare guns.

Bam, bam, bam. Shotgunned in the back. Game over. 87th place. The game wasn’t nearly as easy as the YouTubers I like to watch made it seem like. I’d had a streak of bad luck recently too. Maybe I should just stick to Minecraft.

---

Mom carried Emilia, who was just wrapped in a towel, into the bedroom and got her diapered and dressed for bed while I closed out a much more peaceful game of Minecraft. I wish Mom had gotten me a laptop rather than a desktop, so I could continue my games once Emilia was asleep. After placing Emilia in the crib, Mom raised the lowered bar to its normal height. That would prevent Emilia from making any of her normal nighttime excursions. At least I’ll be able to sleep soundly tonight without her trying to crawl into my bed.

Mom began to read Emilia a bedtime story – something about a hungry caterpillar – when I got up from my desk and started to make my way to the living room. As I stepped into the hallway, I felt another sudden urge come from my bladder. The pressure to go wasn’t nearly as strong as when I’d wet my pants before dinner, but still was urgent enough that I rushed to the toilet as fast as I could. Normally, I’d only feel this way if I’d skipped going to the bathroom at school altogether.

This was so strange. I usually only go to the bathroom a couple of times a day, but this was the third time I’d had to go already since coming home from school, and I still had two hours until bedtime. The trickle that I managed to pee out didn’t seem to match the intensity of the feeling that I had to go.

I waited in the living room until Mom had finished wrapping up with Emilia’s bedtime routine. I needed to find a way to get my sister potty-trained. I explained to Mom what I’d learned in the potty-training research I’d done before dinner. Mom didn’t seem too interested in the idea of laxatives.

“There’s no excuse for a three-year-old not to be potty-trained. She’s just being lazy. Your sister needs the right motivation. I hope this punishment reminds her that wearing diapers and being a baby isn’t as fun as being a big girl.”

I recalled how upset Emilia gets when she had an accident. I didn’t think she wasn’t trying hard to potty-train.

“Did I give you any trouble during potty-training?”

“Not a bit. We went to the store, picked out your big girl panties, and, besides from at night, you never had a single accident since.”

If only she knew. I untangled some headphones I’d pulled from my pocket and turned on Spotify. I had no interest in any of the soap operas that Mom liked to watch once Emilia was asleep. I read a book for about two hours, slipping away in the middle once again to go to the bathroom. I’d like to stay up later, but if it was time for Mom to go to bed, then it was time for me to do so as well.

“Make sure to go to the toilet before you get in bed,” Mom shouted behind me as I left the living room.

What was it, like five years since I had last wet the bed?

With my back toward her, I safely rolled my eyes. I might have stopped to use the bathroom if Mom hadn’t reminded me to. Going to the toilet last thing before bed was a well-ingrained habit. But having Mom remind me to go to the toilet – Hello, I’m fourteen – rubbed me the wrong way.

I didn’t feel the need to go at the moment anyway, so I bypassed the bathroom. I changed into my pajamas – a pair a shorts and a tank-top – in the dark with the help of a nightlight so as not to wake Emilia and climbed into bed. I laid down on my stomach as my butt was still too sore to allow me to sleep on my back and drifted off to sleep, hopeful that tomorrow’s cheerleading practice would go better than the first one.

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  • MinnesotaWriter changed the title to All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 5 --- 4/02/20)
6 hours ago, Jayme said:

Hmm I think someone is gonna wake up wet...

The real question is if, after the ineluctable accident waiting for her, she will be able to conceal the evidence or instead will be caught by mommy and “all her rules”.

 

The latter option is likely to be game over for her hopes of sleepover, so I really hope for the former.

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49 minutes ago, thedman said:

Noooo, she made the first mistake in a diaper story. Never forget to go to the bathroom before bed!

Reminds me of the "If you're in a horror movie, you make poor decisions" GEICO commercial... Let's hide behind the chainsaws...

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I'm definitely enjoying this story.   As we get deeper into this story- mom seems more of a sadist, who enjoys controlling those around her

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3 hours ago, spark said:

I'm definitely enjoying this story.   As we get deeper into this story- mom seems more of a sadist, who enjoys controlling those around her

Yes, the mom is definitely the villain of this story. Not going to the toilet before bed is probably a major mistake our hero of the story made. We’ll see where this leads to. I definitely wait for the next installment. Thank you @MinnesotaWriter for this effort!

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Chapter 6: Bad Dreams

I dreamed a distorted conglomeration of the previous days’ events. In history class, Mr. Higgins again denied a student her God-given right to go to the bathroom. But instead of Lisa, this time it was me. Both hall passes were gone as I begged him continuously to leave. I wiggled constantly in my seat as I tried to calm my bladder, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Just pee yourself,” he said.

“Just pee yourself, pee yourself, pee yourself,” the class chanted back at me.

Tears in my eyes, I hobbled toward the door with my knees clenched together.

“Oh, come on, just pee yourself,” Lisa shouted after me.

Samantha and Desi laughed as I fumbled to get the door open.

My dreamed turned me back to my bedroom. Then the urge to pee struck harder, just like it had yesterday evening. I turned to leave my bedroom and get to the toilet, but Emilia was already in the bathroom. I knocked and knocked and she wouldn’t open the door.

“Just pee yourself,” Emilia shouted at me through the door. You can just go in your pull-ups.

“I’m fourteen. I don’t wear pull-ups.”

But I looked down and my pajama shorts had been replaced with my sister’s pull-ups. They somehow fit. Minnie Mouse was grinning up at me. I swear she winked.

I went back out to the hallway, but instead of my home I was again back at school in my cheerleading outfit. I was running through the school hallways, but I kept finding that each bathroom door was locked shut.

The echoes of my classmates’ chants just wouldn’t stop.

“Just pee yourself, pee yourself, pee yourself.”

At last, I made it to the locker room, which, surprisingly enough, was unlocked. I raced to the toilets. Relief was in sight. Then the tiles beneath my feet turned into the hands of the girls on my cheerleading squad. Those hands gave way, and I was falling, falling, falling, falling. No end in sight.

“Just pee yourself, pee yourself, pee yourself.”

I continued falling. The urge to pee was no longer present. I landed awake in my bed.

The nightmare over, I looked up groggily at my alarm clock – 6:37 a.m. – couldn’t I have gotten another seven minutes of sleep. I rubbed my eyes open. That was such a strange dream. I felt something heavy against my back. Oh great, Emilia was in bed with me. Mom isn’t going to be pleased. As I tried to move into a more comfortable position in which to spend my last few minutes asleep, I felt a wet and slightly warm sensation. Emilia’s diaper must have leaked all over me. Yuck. Now I had to do laundry as well before getting ready for school. May as well just get on with it.

I pulled the cover and sheets back to reveal a much larger wet spot than I had expected to find. I examined the bed. There was no question as to what had just happened. The wet spot was directly beneath me and covered way more of the bed than a diaper leak could possibly have done. I gave Emilia’s bottom a quick pat. Yep, her diaper was still on. That meant only one thing. I had just wet the bed. I had actually wet the bed. What in the world?

The urge to pee hadn’t just been a dream. Those dreams about needing to pee were the ones I had always had when I was younger. Back when I had been a bedwetter. How did this happen? I remembered last night. I had chosen not to go to the bathroom before getting into bed. I guess going over five years without any nighttime accidents had made me a bit careless. Well, I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

I gave Emilia a slight nudge. Still asleep, she didn’t stir at all. That gave me some time to figure out how to extricate myself from this predicament. What to do? What to do? I couldn’t dare let Mom find out. If she discovered that I’d wet the bed that would be the perfect excuse for her to forbid me from ever going on a sleepover ever again. Why hadn’t I just gone to the toilet last night like I normally did? I could have avoided all this trouble if I’d just done that. Whatever I did, I wanted to do it quickly. The sensation of the wet clothing sticking against my skin was becoming uncomfortable as it cooled.

The fact that Emilia had snuck into bed was my saving grace. I could just tell Mom that Emilia’s diaper had leaked and that would be the end of it. Emilia’s nightgown had gotten wet enough on the outside that it would be a believable excuse. For me, at least. Mom wasn’t going to be happy with Emilia.

I didn’t want Emilia to get in trouble, but in this case, it wasn’t going to be avoidable. Normally, if she had crawled into my bed when she had been told not to leave the crib, I might admonish her gently, but I would still put her back in the crib without telling Mom what happened. Of course, that’s what probably lead her to believe she could get away with it again tonight. I wondered what Mom would do when she found out. Probably a spanking. Hopefully, Mom wouldn’t be too hard on her.

I gave Emilia a gentle shake until she at last opened her eyes.

“Come on sis. We need to get you up. Your diaper leaked. You got me and the bed all wet.”

I didn’t bother changing Emilia into a clean diaper and outfit yet. I needed to make sure Mom saw the evidence.

“You know what Mom said about staying in your crib.”

“But I had a scary dream. Mommy never stopped making me wear diapers.”

I hugged Emilia as she began to cry. Potty training was getting on her nerves as much as it had been getting on mine.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you potty trained. But you’ve got to obey Mom as well. We’ll need to go tell her what you did.”

“Please don’t tell. Please.”

“But Emilia, your diaper leaked. How am I supposed to explain to Mom that my bed was all wet? I’m too old to do that anymore.”

Well, until this morning I was, but Emilia didn’t need to know that. She started to walk toward the kitchen with a resigned look on her face. My little sister just couldn’t avoid getting herself in trouble.

“Emilia, you know Mom’s rules. Babies don’t walk. They have to crawl.”

Emilia got on the floor without protesting, but from her pouting face I could tell she was unhappy with me. Whatever. I’d just saved her from the additional punishment that she would have gotten had she gone walking into the kitchen out of line with Mom’s rules.

“All I want for Christmas was...”

It’s not even 7 a.m. yet, and that’s what Mom had playing on the speakers as she was cutting up grapefruit for breakfast. All I wanted was for Mom to forgot about Christmas. At least until November.

At the sight of Emilia and her wet nightgown, Mom accepted my explanation for the wet bed without any questioning. I hurried to take the sheets to the washing machine before Mom had a chance to realize that the wet spot was far larger than what would have come from a leaky diaper.

The morning shower felt better than normal. It felt so good to get clean. Even with the water rushing down on top of me in the shower, I could still make out Emilia’s crying as Mom administered a spanking. I felt bad for Emilia, but at least this would teach her to stay in her crib for a while. I was looking forward to the idea of having a few nights in bed to myself.

---

The fact that I had to start my school day with my least favorite class sucked. AP Lit was a bore. The only redeeming factor was that Mrs. Whittleworth was incredibly easygoing and lenient. Not nearly as bad as the horror stories I’d heard about other teachers for advanced placement classes. If only the material were as easy.

I sat in the front of the class with Desi and Samantha. We’d spent the whole bus ride to school planning out every detail of the coming sleepover. It was going to be awesome. I’d told them that nothing was set in stone yet, but they assured me that they would be flexible to host whenever Mom was OK with allowing me to come. I was hopeful that I’d have a decision by tonight.

The urge to urinate began growing about halfway through the first period. Good grief. I’d only had a glass of orange juice and half a grapefruit for breakfast, nothing different from the usual. It’s OK, only twenty-five more minutes left. No reason I can’t make it that long. The clock at the front of the class moved at an agonizingly slow pace. Tick. Tick. Tick. This was Samantha’s favorite class, so of course she had to insist that we sit in the front row. If I left now to go to the bathroom, everyone would see me. So embarrassing.

I wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of a daytime accident had it not been for what had happened yesterday evening, when I had wet myself in my room. I would have just continued to sit in my seat and hold it in, confident that my bladder of steel would hold out until the bell rung.

But now there was doubt creeping in. Having experienced a moment where I had lost control, I couldn’t be completely sure it wouldn’t happen again. Wetting myself? In front of my friends and the class? That would be worse, so much worse than the awkwardness of leaving to go to the toilet for a few minutes.

Twenty minutes till the class was over. Has it only been five minutes? That isn’t possible. I took a glance back at the hooks next to the door. Both hall passes were still hanging there. Mrs. Whittleworth continued to prattle on about “Crime and Punishment.” Couldn’t I just read for fun? Why did every single detail have to have meaning?

Ugh, I bet everyone can see how I’m squirming trying to keep my bladder from exploding. I didn’t have a choice but to get up and go to the bathroom. An accident in school would be the end of me. Desi gave me a quizzical look as I stood up and walked by her desk. I fought the urge to run and walked at a steady pace toward the door. The girl’s hall pass was still there. Thank goodness.

Lisa was sitting in her normal seat in the desk closest to the door. She had almost started to get out of her seat. Did she want the hall pass as well? Too bad.

I couldn’t help but recall how my dream had interrupted what Mr. Higgins had said to her the other day.

“Just pee yourself, just pee yourself, just pee yourself.”

No. I’m fourteen. And I’m not going to pee my pants.

I stepped out into the hallway and glanced both directions. No one was there. The coast was clear. I did a quiet semi-sprint down the hallway to the bathrooms. Getting up and running had only hastened the urge to go, as if my bladder knew the moment of relief was approaching quickly. The bathroom doors weren’t locked. I pulled down my pants and underwear and collapsed onto the toilet seat in a single motion. It turned out that I hadn’t given myself a moment to spare. A second later and I would have had a wet pair of pants that would be extremely difficult to explain.

I didn’t hurry back to the classroom immediately. I mean, if I was going to go to the trouble of taking a hall pass to leave AP Lit, I may as well get the full eight minutes out of it.

I was just about to pull the bathroom door open when someone on the other side pushed the door open hard and knocked me onto the floor. Ouch, my butt was still too sore for that.

It was Lisa. Mrs. Whittleworth had let her out? Without a hall pass?

“Sorry. Sorry,” Lisa said, stepping by me.

Lisa hurried into an empty stall without so much as stopping to help me up.

I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go.

 

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  • MinnesotaWriter changed the title to All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 6 --- 4/06/20)
20 hours ago, GQLF said:

great. but I do not think sister's selfish, hope to retribution into after school.

If mother found to wets Mattress.

 

 The mattress should be fine. It's a good thing mom made sure to keep a plastic sheet on the bed, ?

On 3/27/2020 at 12:02 PM, MinnesotaWriter said:

I had to stay dry a whole month before I was allowed to stop with the pull-ups, but no matter how hard I asked the plastic sheet was there to stay. That, and the reminders every night that I go potty before bed, you know, just in case, like I wasn’t a fully toilet trained teenager.

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On 4/6/2020 at 8:46 PM, MinnesotaWriter said:

...someone on the other side pushed the door open hard and nearly knocked me onto the floor.

Lisa hurried into an empty stall without so much as stopping to help me up.

I'm a little confused by this sequence, though... 

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Oops, nice catch. I fixed it.

On 4/6/2020 at 7:46 PM, MinnesotaWriter said:

I was just about to pull the bathroom door open when someone on the other side pushed the door open hard and knocked me onto the floor. Ouch, my butt was still too sore for that.

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Chapter 7: Drastic Measures

I sat on the toilet for what was now the fourth time today at school. I’d had a couple of close calls, but nothing nearly as bad as what had happened in first period. There had at least been time to go to the bathroom between classes without the embarrassment of having to grab a hall pass in front of everyone again. This must be how Emilia feels, needing to go every thirty minutes.

There wasn’t any way that Desi and Samantha could have failed to notice all my runs to the bathroom, but if they thought something was off, they hadn’t mentioned it to me yet.

After first period, I was much more careful. I limited myself to taking just a handful of sips from the drinking fountain and hadn’t touched the water jug I always carried with me in my backpack. My mouth was beginning to feel dry. I didn’t like the thought of trying to make it through cheerleading practice while being this dehydrated, but I could always wait and drink up right before it starts.

I had expected the lack of fluids to cut off any need to go, but if anything, the urge to urinate was stronger, even if I was only making small trickles of pee into the toilet. I squeezed out every last drop that I could before pulling my pants up again. I wasn’t taking any chances in history class. Not with that sadist, Mr. Higgins. Who tells teenagers to pee their pants, anyway?

My friends were already in their seats waiting for me in the back row of the class. Lisa was again sitting in the chair to my left, chewing on her nails while busy playing a game on her phone.

“Have you been feeling OK?” Samantha asked as I sat down. “That’s like only your fifth bathroom trip today.”

“My fourth, but, yeah, I’m doing OK.”

She gave me a sly look. I was a bad liar. I knew she didn’t believe me.

“I saw this on the wall. Thought it might cheer you up.”

Samantha handed me a flyer with the school logo on it. Fortnite? As a new school sports team? No way.

“Apparently, it’s a big thing now,” Samantha continued. “Didn’t you hear? There was a kid who’d won like a million bucks or something in a tournament.”

I laughed. The winner of that massive tournament had actually come away with three million dollars. And yes, I’d watched the matches live.

“Nah, I’m not nearly that good.”

“They are going to have girls and boys teams. You know, Title 9 and all. You should give that a shot.”

I was a bit skeptical, but wait. If I did make it on the Fortnite team, wouldn’t that require Mom to let me “practice?” That might be worth a shot after all, even if my chances might be slim.

“Um, excuse me... could I, maybe, see that flyer?”

I turned to see Lisa leaning over, taking a look at the Fortnite flyer I was holding. I guess she’d been eavesdropping on our conversation.

“You play?”

“Yeah, a little.”

With a long-sleeved, flower-patterned dress – I can’t recall ever seeing Lisa wearing pants – she didn’t fit exactly with the image of a stereotypical gamer-girl. Not that that was a look I tried to go for myself. I handed the flyer over to her.

Mr. Higgins stepped to the front of the classroom.

“Settle down everyone. Settle down. Back row. Cut the chatter. Thank-you.”

The class passed by without incident. I was much less stressed out. Going to the bathroom beforehand had been a good idea. Like yesterday, Lisa slipped out in the middle of the class to go the bathroom. Only this time a hall pass was readily available for her.

After class, Desi and Samantha tagged along as I walked toward the locker room for cheerleading process.

“Lisa was such a weirdo. Imagine getting stuck on a team with her,” Samantha said.

Tactful isn’t exactly a word anyone would use to describe Samantha.

“What?” I replied.

“She’s such a loner. I swear, I hadn’t heard her speak to anyone besides a teacher until today.”

“So? Mr. Higgins told me her parents had passed away over the summer. I was sure she had a lot on her mind.”

“Did he tell you what happened to them?” Samantha asked, a little too eagerly.

“No. Why?”

Samantha was always fascinated by crime dramas. Her mother was an assistant county prosecutor after all. Death. Crime. Murder. Mystery. She lived for that kind of stuff.

“I overheard Mom mentioning something about them in passing. No details about what happened. Just that it was pretty messed up. Mom wouldn’t even tell me anymore when I asked about it.”

That was good for Lisa, because Samantha would then have been blabbing it all over the school.

“Exactly. Now didn’t be so mean,” Desi said.

Lisa came running up behind us. The flyer waving in her hand. I hoped she hadn’t overheard anything from our conversation.

“Here’s the flyer. Sorry, I had forgotten to give it back to you,” Lisa said, handing the paper to me.

“You going to try out for the team?”

“I think so, if Uncle Higgins lets me.”

“That will be fun. Maybe we’ll both get on it together.”

---

Coach Addison looked relieved when I entered the locker room. Did she think I’d gotten scared off? While the fall had been a little frightening, I was certainly more scared of what Mom would do were I to quit the team than of what would happen if I were to have another nasty fall. That would be the mother-of-all-spankings.

I’d given myself more time to get dressed than yesterday. As I discreetly switched into my cheerleading outfit for the first time, a couple of teammates took a look at the bruise on my hip. They were pretty impressed. It had just begun to fade, but probably wouldn’t fully go away for at least a couple of weeks. The cheerleading outfit wasn’t as bad as I had feared. The fit was just a little loose, but much more discreet than I had thought it would be. No chance of me flashing my panties at anyone.

The only person who didn’t seem happy to see me was Claire, the other freshman on the squad. She gave me a frosty hello when I arrived at the locker next to her. What was her deal?

I made sure to take several large gulps from my water jug. Having had almost next to nothing to drink since breakfast, the water felt so good. With cheerleading practice being twice as long as any of my classes, I slipped off to the toilet – now for the fifth time at school – before heading out with the team to the field.

If anything, the second day of cheerleading practice was worse than the first. My legs ached. My butt ached. Every muscle in my body ached. Even the ones I couldn’t name. Especially the ones I couldn’t name. Life would have been so much better had I just intentionally flunked the tryout, no matter how unhappy that would have made Mom.

For this practice, what we were focusing on was practicing our intro for the football game. There was a hoop with streamers strung all a crossed it that we had to jump and somersault through. The first couple of tries were a bit rough, but by the third time through I was getting the hang of it.

I was running toward the hoop, ready to tumble through, when my foot got tangled with the leg of one of the girls who was holding it, Claire. I managed to make it through the hoop, but tripped afterword and landed on my face. At least this time I was falling on grass and not a hard surface.

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” Claire said, reaching down to offer me a hand.

The look on her face – a smug smile that she couldn’t quite hide – didn’t make it seem like she was sorry at all. What’s her deal?

That was the only mishap at practice, which, I guess, when compared to yesterday wasn’t bad at all. With practice nearly over, I realized that the sensation to pee hadn’t come even a little. There were some porta potties at the edge of the field that I could have gone to in an emergency, but I was glad I hadn’t had to use them. I’d sweat so much during practice that I guess there wasn’t anything left to come out. Back in the locker room, I chugged down some more water. The workout had made me even thirstier.

I watched as most of the other girls ran off to the showers. I knew Mom wasn’t going to be happy if I waited to shower at home, but it was going to be probably another day or two until it was safe to show my butt in public, and even without that concern, I just didn’t like the idea of being nude around so many other people. I’d just have to risk whatever punishment Mom gave me.

---

“But I was going to shower once I got home.”

“No buts, young lady. You do remember what I told you?”

Now that was a trick question if there ever was one. Saying you forgot a rule was just as bad as remembering the rule and choosing not to follow it.

“Yes,” I answered. There wasn’t any getting out of this.

“Tomorrow you’ll shower in the locker room like everyone else, but since you don’t seem to want to keep yourself clean, I’m going to get you cleaned up before dinner. Until then, you were going to stand in the corner until I say you can move.”

I was really needing to begin to pee. It felt as if the water I had drunk at the end of practice had already raced down to my bladder, but I couldn’t tell that to Mom. She’d probably just extend the punishment rather than shortening it. I heard Mom walk off toward the bathroom, followed by the sound of the tub filling up with water. I relaxed. Making me take a bath was not near as bad a punishment as getting spanked or grounded. I did my best to refrain from any sort of potty dance. With my face to the corner I couldn’t tell if Mom or Emilia was watching me.

At last, the sound of the water rushing out of the faucet stopped and Mom called me into the bathroom. The tub was filled with pink bubbles. Well, as long as it isn’t too hot or cold I can deal with a bubble bath.

I started to undress myself when Mom slapped at my wrist to stop me.

“No, keep your hands still. You’re not bathing yourself. I am doing it for you.”

As Mom put her thumbs under the edge of my shirt, getting ready to pull it off over my head, I realized something I had forgotten. The bruise! How on earth was I going to explain that to her without causing even more trouble? I angled myself away from her slightly so she wouldn’t see the bruise right way.

Mom pulled off my shirt and bra, followed by my shorts and underwear and tossed them in a heap in the corner. I shivered. The room was cold without any clothing on. I wanted to get in the water so badly, but I knew better than to do anything before Mom told me to do it.

“Get in.”

I stepped toward the tub, exposing the bruised side despite my best efforts to keep it out of Mom’s sight.

“My goodness! What happened?”

I did my best to sidestep the question.

“Mom, cheerleading was a sport. It can be dangerous. Remember, you had to sign the safety waiver? Coach checked me out. I was fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. Besides, everyone ends up taking a tumble at one point or another. I just happened to get it out of the way at the start.”

Mom looked over the bruise for a couple more seconds, then reached out her hand to feel it. That hurt. The spot was still tender, but I gritted my teeth to avoid making any noises. She didn’t need to know how bad it was.

“Next time, you need to tell me right away if you get hurt at all during practice.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Get in the water.”

I dipped my toe in the water. Warm. Bordering on hot, but not too much that I couldn’t bear it. I sat down in the water, letting the bubbles cover my body. I had thought they were childish at first, but now I was grateful for the amount of privacy the bubbles were providing for me. I could feel my muscles began to relax. It had been a couple of years since my last bath. Why didn’t I do this more often?

In my concern about my bruise, I had temporarily forgotten that I had the need to pee. I hoped Mom got over with the bath soon so I could get to the toilet.

The rest of the bath was miserable. Mom’s hands roughly sudsed my shoulder-length hair with shampoo, kneading through it painfully. After getting my hair rinsed, she wasn’t any gentler with the shower sponge, scrubbing painful against my skin.

I giggled as Mom scrubbed my armpits. I was ticklish in a lot of places, but that was the worst. Then I gasped, I was certain I had just peed myself, but beneath the bubbles and soapy water there wasn’t any way to ascertain what had happened.

“What was that noise about?”

“Nothing, it just hurt a little, that’s all.”

I remained silent and compliant as Mom finished washing me.

---

Alone in my room, with dinner and homework both done, I recounted the past day. I’d peed myself three times. Once in my bedroom. Once while I was asleep. And once during the bath. Besides that, I’d had a number of super close calls. Something was seriously wrong with me, but what? I couldn’t tell Mom. Disciplinarian was her only mode. I shuddered to think at what punishments she’d come up with if she’d known about all those accidents.

I doubted she would take me to the hospital. The only times I’d ever gone were for school-mandated vaccinations or physicals. Mom had hemmed and hawed at the physical I had to do before being allowed to participate in the cheerleading tryout, but in the end she had relented. Whatever fix Mom was sure to try and implement on her own wouldn’t be pleasant.

But I’d got no room for error. One slip up. One pair of wet pants at the wrong place and the wrong time and I was done for. At the rate it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. I’d been super lucky to have avoided any of my accidents being discovered.

Mom had just started Emilia’s bath. She would bring a book to read while Emilia splashed, played, and eventually got all washed and scrubbed. That usually took about thirty minutes, certainly not less than twenty. Mom would never leave Emilia alone by herself in the tub, which gave me plenty of time for what I was about to do.

I had an idea. A crazy, stupid, embarrassing, reckless idea. But if I could pull it off, it might just buy me time to figure out how to get back to using the toilet like normal.

I pulled open the top drawer of Emilia’s dresser with trepidation. With the box that had come in yesterday, it was packed completely with pull-ups and diapers. Did I really want to go through with this? What if someone notices? But peeing my pants would be even more noticeable. If tomorrow was anything like today, I didn’t like my odds of avoiding an accident.

I skimmed through the myriad of pull-up designs. May as well take one that Emilia was less likely to want to use. I settled on a classic: Ariel. I wasn’t big on Disney, but “The Little Mermaid” was one of my favorites. I picked up the pull-up and gave the sides a gentle stretch. They pulled apart further than I thought they could and didn’t show any signs of ripping. OK, OK. I took a deep breath. This might actually work. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The design was actually quite adorable. I wouldn’t mind the look if it were panties. But despite whatever the ads wanted to say, a pull-up was still a diaper, just one that was disguised for big girls.

I pulled off my jeans and paused. I didn’t want to go through with this. I really, really didn’t. But I couldn’t see any other choice. All the alternatives were far worse. I removed my panties as well and then slid the pull-up up my legs.

The pull-up fit well enough. It felt somewhat restraining, but the sides hadn’t ripped. I was a bit relieved. It was not much different than if I’d had an overly large pad strapped between my legs. However, I didn’t dare turn and look myself in the mirror. I didn’t want to see how it looked on me. Not yet.

I moved and walked around the room. Spun around in a circle. Stretched. Did a couple of jumping jacks. The pull-up remained snug around my hips. But there was one more question that needed answering, and I couldn’t risk waiting until I was stuck in class without the ability to go to the bathroom to find out. I had reached the point of desperation that I was willing to try almost anything.

Peeing had come so easily the past day that it caught me by surprise that I was having any problems doing so right now. Despite a slight feeling of needing to go, it still took a minute before the first trickle of pee came out and turned into a steady stream.

“Just pee yourself, pee yourself, pee yourself.”

I could feel the absorbent material in the pull-up swell and expand against my legs. The wetness indicator was long gone, replaced with a yellow hue. Of all the things that had happened to me in the last twenty-four hours this was, by far, the worst. No amount of humiliation could match how I was feeling right now. Not the spanking in front of my sister. Not the fall during the first cheerleading practice. Not wetting the bed for the first time in five years.

I was fourteen. I just peed in a pull-up. On purpose. I wanted to cry.

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  • MinnesotaWriter changed the title to All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 7 --- 4/08/20)

You surely know how to build tension. I’m also interested in how you will develop the side plots you have foreshadowed (the Fortnite tournament with Lisa and the rivalry with Nicole).

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Chapter 8: Just My Secret

After several moments of silence, I turned, at last, to face myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. My plain, pale-blue t-shirt hung down to my waist, fully exposing the now-sagging pull-up. I could feel how much heavier it had become. I was a sorry sight. I stood still, not moving a muscle, continuing to stare back at my reflection, which now felt better than looking down directly at the pull-up itself, as if doing so provided some distance from what had happened.

What have I done? I’d just peed myself. Like, on purpose. And into a pull-up no less. I felt so gross and disgusting. I was fourteen. What the hell was wrong with me? There could be no turning back at this point. I’d already committed myself. I couldn’t let my wetting accidents be exposed, and this was the only way I could think of to hide them.

At last, I lowered my eyes and peeked down at floor. Complete dry. The idea had worked at least. The puddle of urine that should have resulted from peeing myself had instead been absorbed by the pull-up. That was all that mattered right now. At least I knew that if I were to have an accident in public, I would be able to escape without anyone noticing it.

The feel of the urine-soaked pull-up against my skin was somehow even more uncomfortable than how I had felt when I had wet my bed last night. I tossed the soaked pull-up in the diaper disposal bin and cleaned myself up with some of Emilia’s wipes. I could hear the sound of Mom bathing Emilia coming from the bathroom. The splashes let me know that I still had time to get myself cleaned up.

My panties and jeans lay in a pile on the floor. I could still go back to them. It would only take a few seconds to put them on. I could pretend this hadn’t happened. Pretend that everything was OK. Pretend that I was not a fourteen-year-old girl who somehow keeps on peeing herself. But I couldn’t. Unless this issue stopped as suddenly as it started, I eventually was going to have more accidents. And one those one of those accidents was bound to happen when I was around other people. What then? The sleepover would definitely be a no go. And who at school would want to be friends with someone who pees herself? And Mom? I didn’t want to think about what she would do.

Sometimes you must do the thing you don’t want to do because you realize that the alternative is even worse.

I rubbed a just tiny amount of baby powder around my legs. I knew I needed to avoid any chaffing, but I didn’t want to go around smelling like a baby, either. I slipped a fresh pull-up on – another Ariel. At least it looked cute on me. I pulled my panties over the pull-up. I didn’t need the panties, and they didn’t do much to conceal the pull-up, but I felt better wearing them. I couldn’t bring myself to part with that vestige of being grown up.

That lead to a wry thought about one of Mom’s rules for Emilia – just keep your pull-ups dry for seven days and you can wear panties. I hope my luck with that was better than Emilia’s had been.

What to wear to bed? I may as well get my pajamas on now while I have the privacy to change by myself. I didn’t want to risk wearing the shorts I often used at night. They didn’t go up very high on my waist and I was worried they might accidentally expose the pull-up if I were to lean over.

Instead, I opted for a pair of pajama pants and a nightgown that nearly came down to my knees. I gave myself a thorough look-over in the mirror. There was no way anyone could tell that I had a pull-up on. If I listened extremely closely, I could pick up the slightest of rustling sounds while I walked, but I was certain no one would hear, or, if they did, connect the dots to realize I was wearing a pull-up.

With the bath sounding like it was over, I slipped off to the living room so that Mom could have the room to herself to get Emilia ready for bed. Even though no one was watching me, I tugged at my pajamas and adjusted them all the way down the hallway, worried that they might somehow expose the pull-up.

I felt so self-conscious when Mom entered the room and looked at me. I knew she couldn’t see the pull-ups. She had no reason at all to suspect that I was wearing them. Moms might be able to see out of back of their heads, but their superpowers didn’t extend to x-ray vision. I gradually relaxed as it became clear she was none the wiser about my predicament.

---

I tossed and turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. The feel of the pull-up’s padding between my legs was just enough of a nuisance that I couldn’t get my mind off of it. If the pull-ups weren’t absorbent enough to hold Emilia’s nighttime accidents, I was skeptical they would be any better if I were to wet the bed again. But I wasn’t planning on doing that. I had taken my last drink of water at 7 p.m., three hours before going to bed. When Mom reminded me to go to the toilet, I made sure to do so without complaint. I’d learned my lesson with that last night.

Then why was I wearing the pull-up to bed? If I had an accident, it wouldn’t do me much good. And an accident isn’t likely, given all the precautions I was taking. So why not at least let myself wear panties tonight and worry about the pull-ups tomorrow?

The reality was that I was scared. Something that had been a certainty in my life – the ability to go to the bathroom when, where and how I wanted – didn’t exist for the moment. The pull-ups could help me take back a semblance of that control. If I can’t control my accidents, at least I can control who sees them. With those last thoughts I drifted off to sleep.

---

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

I woke up abruptly from a dreamless night.

At least I’d slept until the alarm clock this time. As I jumped up to hit the snooze button, I realized that I had the bed to myself for the first time in a while. Guess the spanking had been good enough motivation for Emilia to stay in her crib for once.

Today’s going to be a good day. I was going to ask Mom about the sleepover. I’d got another cheerleading practice. I’ll practice some for the Fortnite tryout. My sheets were dry.

The importance of that last detail didn’t stand out to me immediately as I stared down at my sheets – not a wet spot in sight. Then all the memories from yesterday came back in one big rush as I felt a pit grow in my stomach. Had I really had all those accidents? I couldn’t have possibly wet a pull-up? Did I? Could it all have been just one bad dream?

I slid my hand beneath my pajama pants and my heart sank at the obvious evidence. The pull-up was there, but at least it had stayed dry. The momentary relief of not having wet the bed was soon replaced with the dread of the day to come. I was going to wear a pull-up to school today.

Having recently done a fresh load of laundry, I had as many choices as I could want for what to wear. I grabbed my largest hoodie, which would help keep the pull-up out of sight, as well as a looser pair of jeans. I didn’t want anything tight that could expose the outline of the pull-up. I normally would go back to my room to dress after a shower, but instead I brought all my clothing with me to the bathroom to avoid any risk of Emilia waking to the sight of me putting on a pull-up.

I inspected the pull-up I had worn all night more carefully after removing my pajamas. Dry, just like I had thought after feeling it in bed. No sign of even a tiny accident overnight. No way was I going to wear this for a week. If I could manage to get through today without any issues, I’d go back to panties.

I checked myself over again after showering and dressing. The pull-up was invisible under my jeans. Seeing how easily I could hide the pull-up made me feel much better about how the school day was going to go.

Emilia was at the edge of her crib, ready to get out, when I returned to the bedroom. She started jumping eagerly when she saw me.

“Sarah! Sarah! Guess what?”

She looked really proud of herself. What had her in such a good mood?

“What was it?”

“I’m dry. I didn’t potty all night.”

I needed proof before I’d believe that. I’d heard her make that claim a few times when actually she just couldn’t feel that the diaper had been wet. I picked her up and set her down on the changing mat on the bed before pulling back her nightgown. Wow, the diaper was dry.

“Ahh. Good job. Now you just need to start staying dry during the day and you’ll be in big girl panties in no time.”

With Emilia’s punishment for having too many accidents now over. I grabbed a pull-up with Ariel on it. I knew that’s not the one Emilia wanted, but the thought of us having matching pull-ups while re-starting potty training was a bit amusing. I’d have called the situation ironic, except, as I’d recently learned in AP Lit, coincidences didn’t count.

I gave Emilia a pat on her pull-up as I sent her off to get whatever Mom was making for breakfast. With her out of the way, I had one more thing to do to get ready for school. I grabbed three more pull-ups from Emilia’s dresser – two with Minnie Mouse and one with a children’s cartoon character I didn’t know the name of – to tuck at the bottom of the backpack. I had no plans on using the pull-up I had on – accidentally or otherwise – but that didn’t mean I was going to take the risk of not having a backup.

The scent of something cooking on the stove began to make its way to the bedroom. Pancakes for breakfast? On a school day? That meant only one thing. Mom must be in a really good mood this morning.

I made sure to pour my own glass of orange juice, taking care that Mom didn’t notice as I filled it only halfway this time. I wasn’t interested in having to rush out of AP Lit with a hall pass again. I didn’t want to drink less liquids, just spread them out so that I was not filling my bladder up too much at once.

It had been over a day since I’d asked Mom about the sleepover. She seemed to have acquiesced to the idea but had still said she wanted more time to think about it. I was growing impatient. If I didn’t follow up she’d probably wait a week or two before finally remembering to tell me her decision.

“So, did you think about the sleepover?”

“Yes.”

I’d asked the wrong question. Just like Mom to avoid me with a literal answer.

“You will let me go on one? Please?”

“Yes, but...”

I didn’t think I was going to like what she was going to say after that.

“... not until you turn fifteen, and I’ll need to speak with your friend’s parents first.”

That wasn’t as bad as I feared. My birthday was coming up in a little over a week, and Samantha’s parents were really chill, so I doubted they would give Mom any reason to back out of a sleepover. Plus, my birthday was on a Saturday this year, so the timing will be perfect.

Mom had never been big on birthday parties. No relatives to invite over to celebrate. Never any friends over, either. Having anyone over to our house was an absolute, non-negotiable “no.” Any time spent hanging out with my friends was usually done at Samantha’s place.

My first sleepover, and my first birthday party with my friends. I could scarcely believe my luck. I gave a squeal and jumped up to hug Mom.

“Thank-you. Thank-you.”

---

The school bus was late again, leaving me to sit impatiently on the curb. In all the craziness yesterday, I had completely forgotten about the Fortnite team that was forming at school. I pulled out the flyer that I had left in my backpack and looked over the details carefully. There were six spots available on the team. Practices would be in the evening and could be done from home. Games would be every Saturday, though you had to come into school to the computer lab for them.

The tryout was scheduled for a week from Saturday – my birthday. I had to figure out a way to get to the school for the tryout. Wasn’t sure how Mom was going to feel about it. She was always pushing me to take part in extracurricular activities, but I was certain this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

I jumped to my feet and tucked the flyer into my backpack as the bus pulled up at last. I grabbed a seat next to Samantha. Sitting down delivered a reminder of what I had been dreading about today.

In my excitement about my birthday, the sleepover and the Fortnite tryout, I’d completely forgotten about the pull-up I was wearing. I could feel the padding pressing up against my skin as I sat. I wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Was it going to be like this the whole day?

“The sleepover was a go,” I said excitedly to Desi and Samantha.

“Great, let’s do it this weekend,” Samantha said.

“Can’t. We’ve got to wait a week. Mom says I have to be fifteen first.”

“Why’s that the magic number?” Desi asked.

“No idea. You know how Mom was. Once she gets it in her head that things ought to be a certain way that just ends up being how it was. Anyway, it is only a week from Saturday.”

“That will work,” Samantha said. “I’ll need to check with Mom, but she never says no to having friends over.”

I filled Desi and Samantha in on the details from yesterday’s cheerleading practice.

“What’s the deal with Claire, anyway?” I said. “She tripped me in practice yesterday. I swear she did that on purpose. That bitch.”

“Hey! Language,” Desi said.

We all laughed. That was a bit rich, coming from her.

“Claire really was a bit stuck-up though,” Desi said. “Thinks she was better than everyone else. She always goes into one of the bathroom stalls to dress. Won’t do it around anybody.”

I hadn’t noticed, but Claire had also always been in the locker room before me those first two practices.

“Anyway,” Desi continued. “I think Claire was looking to take my role, with all the acrobatics. When I got hurt, she didn’t seem all that upset. Just shed a couple of crocodile tears. Bet she was jealous because coach gave that role to you rather than her. I’d keep my eye on her if I were you.”

As I walked off the bus, I had to mentally resist the urge to pull my hoodie down to better cover my butt and to tug up my pants. I knew, objectively and certainly, that no one could tell that I was wearing one of my sister’s pull-ups, but I couldn’t help but be self-conscious. It felt as if the eyes of everyone passing by in the hallway were aimed squarely at my crotch or butt, as if at any moment someone would gasp and point out the pull-up.

But there were no gasps, or laughs, or pointing fingers. No one paid me a second glance. Why would they? Nothing about my appearance would be any different to their eyes. All they see was the jeans, hoodie and backpack. With all the accidents and the decision to wear a pull-up, it had felt as if my entire world had been turned upside down. In some sense, it had. But otherwise, my world had kept moving on unchanged. Homework. School. Sports practices. Sleepovers. All of it continued moving on, indifferent and unaware of my recent bladder struggles.

It came as a relief to realize that the accidents and pull-ups were my secret and not anyone else’s. Now I just needed to keep it that way.

 

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  • MinnesotaWriter changed the title to All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 8 --- 4/12/20)

Chapter 9: That Bully

I started the school day with a clear plan of action on how to avoid any further accidents.

Having been working to potty train Emilia for the past year-and-a-half, I had a pretty good sense of all the different strategies and techniques for getting someone to relieve themselves on a toilet rather than in their pants. I didn’t really want to think of what I was trying to do with myself as potty-training – that term just felt demeaning when used with someone older than a toddler – but that was technically what I was trying to accomplish. I also didn’t really want to think about the fact that my potty-training attempts with Emilia had been, well, rather less than successful.

While the day began with apprehension over wearing a pull-up to school, I had grown more confident in my plan once I realized that everyone around me was completely and fully oblivious to the fact that I was wearing it. My racing heart calmed down and in my mind I was again going through the plan I had formulated for the day and the rules of my own that I intended to follow.

First, I was going to use the bathroom on a set schedule. I didn’t have a potty-training watch, like the one Emilia wears that reminds her to go to the bathroom every thirty minutes. However, my class schedule was a good enough substitute.

As much as I might like to go to the bathroom after every fifty-minute class period, I didn’t care for the considerable attention that would draw from my friends. I needed to get back to the point where holding off on going to the toilet wasn’t going to be a big deal. If I could try and use the bathroom at the start of school and then after every other period, that gives me enough bathroom breaks without appearing that something was off. I might break that schedule in an emergency, but I was going to do my best to follow it. I was not going to allow myself to use a hall pass to leave class early to go to the bathroom, either.

Next, I needed to control what I drank. I still had to stay hydrated, especially with cheerleading, but drinking too much at any one time would be bad. That meant I instead needed to drink lots of small amounts of water throughout the day, so I could be hydrated without overwhelming my bladder all at once.

The last part of the plan was the one I was most uncomfortable about. That’s the pull-up I was wearing. After the trio of accidents and many other close calls over the past two days, I couldn’t risk anyone noticing if I did have an accident, especially at school.

However, I was not going to use the pull-ups on purpose again. Once was more than enough. The purpose of wearing the pull-up was that it gave me leeway to try to hold my bladder during class without running off to the bathroom, since if I didn’t succeed the pull-up would conceal my accident.

I began my plan with a stop at the bathroom before the start of our first class. Samantha, who was stuck as being one of the first students picked up by the bus, also needed to go to the bathroom, and Desi, who didn’t need to go, hobbled to the bathroom with her crutches in an act of solidarity. I managed to get a decent amount of pee out, which made my odds of surviving until second period was over without an accident rather promising.

---

So far so good. Until today, the phrase “relieving yourself” had never quite made sense to me, but as I sat on the toilet following the end of fourth period, relief was a fully accurate description of how I was feeling.

It was strange, sitting in the bathroom stall, using the toilet while staring down into the pull-up hanging between my legs. I’d tucked it down into my jeans, since I didn’t even want to chance that someone might get a glimpse of my pull-up through the gap between the wall and the bathroom stall door.

The interior padding of the pull-up remained white. I’d not even let a drop of pee escape my bladder so far during the first half of the school day. Had I not been wearing the pull-up, I’d probably have used the hall pass at least twice already, having lost confidence in my bladder’s abilities to make it through to the end of a class.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was glad I had chosen to wear the pull-up. Feeling an urgent need to pee during class was much less stressful now that I knew an accident wouldn’t be the end of me.

With fourth period over, it was now time for lunch. I grabbed my lunchbox from my locker and then staked out a spot to sit in the back of the cafeteria while Samantha and Desi went through the line to get a school-cooked meal.

Mom always packed a lunch for me. She said she didn’t approve of the “garbage” being served in the school cafeteria. Whatever high school Mom had gone to must have served her terrible food for lunch, but the pepperoni pizza and French Fries on Samantha’s tray and the lasagna and salad that Desi was eating appeared far more appetizing than my ham and mayonnaise sandwich with a yogurt cup and a bag of veggie chips on the side. I hated mayonnaise, but Mom never made my sandwiches with butter, like I always requested.

We had grabbed a table in our usual spot, a four-seater near the corner window overlooking the school entrance. Desi had one side to herself, so she could keep her injured leg elevated, while Samantha and I sat opposite her. The success I’d had so far with avoiding any accidents had me in an upbeat mood. I wasn’t going to let that get ruined by a lousy meal. Still, Samantha must have noticed how I was picking at my food.

“I’ll trade you my fries for the rest of those...”

“Veggies chips,” I said, helpfully finishing Samantha’s sentence.

“Yeah, whatever those were. I’ll trade you the rest of my fries for them.”

What would I do but for the charity of my friends? Samantha had most of her fries remaining, so I gladly turned over the uneaten bag of veggie chips to her.

Samantha turned and chucked the bag of veggie chips into a garbage bin about ten feet away, narrating the shot.

“She shoots. She scores. Nothing but net.”

“Hey! You didn’t need to do that.”

“Come on,” Samantha replied. “It’s not like you were going to eat them either.”

“Touché.”

Behind Desi, I could see Claire was walking toward our section of the cafeteria with a couple of upper-classmen girls I didn’t know.

“She’s too good for us freshies,” Samantha mused with an exaggerated eye roll.

Claire’s posse had several unused tables to choose from, as this end of the cafeteria usually stayed fairly empty. Instead, they came to a stop at a table a few rows down where Lisa was seated by herself. With a couple of power outlets, it was a prime spot if you had something you needed to charge. It looked like Lisa was keeping her phone charged as she listened to a video on it through her headphones.

Claire tapped her hand on the table to get Lisa’s attention. Lisa removed her headphones to respond to Claire, but I couldn’t make out the beginning of the conversation. Lisa pointed at a couple of the empty tables nearby and then to the five extra seats at the circular table she was seated at herself. Claire’s such an entitled bully. Couldn’t she find her own spot to sit? It was obvious she was trying to chase Lisa off. From the tears beginning to form on Lisa’s face, I could tell that the confrontation had upset her.

I was able to catch the end of the conversation when Claire raised her voice.

“Ahh. Sad baby. Do you miss your mommy and daddy?”

Claire rubbed her eyes with her knuckles in a mock cry. That was so low of her. My jaw dropped.

“See, I told you she’s a bully” Desi muttered angrily.

I didn’t doubt for a second that if Desi hadn’t had the cast on her ankle that she would have marched right over to Claire and put the brat in her place, but with her crutches all she could do was sit at the table and scowl.

If I had been in Lisa’s place, I’d have hit Claire right across that smug face, but Lisa just unplugged her phone charger and headphones and tucked them into her backpack. She grabbed her mostly empty tray of food and started to take a step backwards when her foot caught on one of the legs of the table, sending her falling backwards. Lisa landed directly on her bottom with a thump. Her backpack and lunch tray dropped to the floor with a clatter and her dress – blue with white polka dots – flew over her knees.

Lisa scrambled to straighten out her dress and then picked up her backpack, leaving the remains of her lunch scattered across the floor. Claire had doubled over as she and her friends had a laugh at Lisa’s expense. Despite the commotion, since we were tucked into the corner of a loud cafeteria no one really had appeared to have paid notice to Lisa’s fall.

I’d had more than enough of Claire. I started to step up from the table. Samantha gave me one of her what were you doing looks, but Desi just nodded. Claire and her gang were too busy laughing at Lisa to notice as I walked stiffly right up to Claire. Right as I got up to her she turned and looked at me, surprised.

This better be worth the trouble I was going to get into.

I slapped her right across her left cheek, taking care to avoid digging my fingernails into her face.

She looked at me in stunned silence. Yep, totally worth it.

“Find someone else to pick on,” I said. “Actually don’t. Don’t you dare do this to anyone else.”

Claire recovered from her shock on to leer at me threateningly.

“You’re so fucked when the principal finds out.”

“Sure I am, and we’ll tell him how you were bullying Lisa. Who knows? Maybe we could spend detention together.”

With the threat volleyed back to her, Claire sulked away with her friends. Evidently, she doesn’t have a thing for mutually assured destruction. I turned to see Lisa squatted down on the floor, doing her best to get her spilled lunch cleaned up.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “Just leave it. The janitor will take care of it for you once lunch period was over.”

Lisa stood up awkwardly, keeping her dress straightened out. It became clear that she didn’t know what to say.

I turned to look back at Desi and Samantha.

“Leave that weirdo alone,” Samantha mouthed inaudibly at me.

Samantha, Desi, and I had been friends since the first day of kindergarten where we met each other while we were lined up outside out classroom. Samantha had resisted any attempt at expanding our friend group ever since. I weighed my options. Getting one-up on Claire by helping out Lisa was worth making Samantha a little uncomfortable.

I introduced Lisa to everyone at the table.

“This is Samantha, never call her Sam. And this is Desi. Don’t ask her what it’s short for.”

Lisa gave a limp wave to them. Desi took her leg off of the extra chair and offered it to Lisa, who eased herself really gently onto the chair.

“Are you still hungry?” Desi asked. “I know Sarah would love to offer you the other half of her ham sandwich, but feeding that to a kid might qualify as child abuse.”

All of us but Lisa laughed. She just kind of sat there quietly, her eyes moving back and forth between us.

Desi finally made another attempt to break the ice.

“Your butt OK? You fell hard there?”

“I was fine,” Lisa said. “It really didn’t hurt that much.”

“Bet it left a bruise though,” Desi said. “Sarah could show you the nasty one she got on her side in cheerleading practice.”

I shook my head. No way was I going to lift up my hoodie. I was sure the pull-up was hidden by the jeans, but I wasn’t going to take that chance.

“So. You and Claire. Did you both to go Desert View?” Desi asked Lisa.

Desi, Samantha, and I had all gone to Arden Grove, one of the two middle schools in town that fed into River Valley High School. Claire had gone to Desert View, and we hadn’t had much of anything to do with her until high school. Thank goodness.

Lisa waited a moment, looking like she wanted to do anything but answer that question.

“No,” she replied at last. “My parents had homeschooled me. Until...”

Her voice trailed off to a garbled whisper, but we understood what had been left unsaid about her parents. That led to another understandable, but uncomfortable, silence. We needed to find something else to talk about. I thought back to yesterday when she had asked to see the Fortnite flyer.

“Are you planning on trying out for the Fortnite team?”

“Yeah,” Lisa replied with a nod. “So are you... is everyone... trying out as well?”

“Just me,” I said. “I’m the only nerd here.”

“And somehow we still love her,” Samantha said, laughing.

“Only because I do your Algebra homework.”

“So. I’ve written two English papers for you this semester,” Samantha shot back.

Lisa had both her hands over her mouth in shock. Guess you don’t have any classmates to cheat off of when you’re homeschooled.

“Guys,” Desi said, in mock alarm. “Her uncle is a teacher.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured a still-shocked Lisa. “We’d never cheat in Mr. Higgins class.”

Lisa still looked she could be on the verge of tears.

“Hey,” I said. “You shouldn’t let Claire get the best of you.”

“We’ve had nothing but trouble with her,” Desi added.

Even Samantha nodded in agreement. A bit of a smile crept onto Lisa’s face.

Nothing unifies a group of girls more than having someone to complain about.

---

Even in my seventh and final class of the day, I still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling of the pull-up underneath me as I sat my desk. Sure, the padding had remained soft, but it still felt odd sitting on since it didn’t cover my entire bottom. The day had gone well so far. I’d avoided any accidents, and while it had at times been tough to hold it in, I had managed to wait until I got to the toilet every time.

Lisa was again seated to the left of me in history class. She hadn’t said anything to us since lunch, but she had also just barely managed to get to class on time. It was still hard to believe that Higgins was Lisa’s uncle. That had to be so strange taking a class from one of your relatives and to have him grade your work. I wonder how the school ended up allowing that.

The class got to about half-way through when the urge to pee began coming on, similar to how the rest of the day had been. I checked the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes remained in the period. I was already feeling uncomfortable, but I could make it. I tried to focus on my note taking in order to keep my mind off my bladder.

Twenty minutes remaining. The girls hall pass was still hanging by the door. I could grab it now, slip off to the bathroom and have a shot at going an entire day without peeing myself. But it was just twenty minutes left. I’d been able to hold it through every other class so far today. I shrugged off the desire to go to the bathroom. I could hold it in it this time as well.

Time never passes slower than when you were holding your bladder and waiting to go to the bathroom. I felt myself beginning to squirm involuntarily, as my body fought to retain control over my bladder. I was so thankful that I was in the back row so that this miniature potty dance wasn’t on display for everyone to see. I felt like if I stopped moving, even for a couple seconds, that I would completely lose control of my bladder.

Ten minutes remaining. My goal had been to go the whole day without using a hall-pass, but in the moment of truth, where I might actually wet myself in class, I wanted to chicken out. But I couldn’t. The hall pass that I had declined to grab five minutes ago was no longer there. I had been so focused my bladder that I hadn’t noticed when Lisa had gotten up and taken it.

The pain in my bladder eventually reached a breaking point. I could force myself to pee my pants or have the pee be forced out of me. I couldn’t decide which was worse. Then my body made the decision for me.

The experience of peeing while sitting down was so much different than doing so standing up. With the pull-up forced directly against my skin, I felt the urine stream down and then pool in the pull-up before being absorbed. It was all I could manage to keep the discomfort I was feeling from showing on my face.

It may have just been my imagination, but I could have sworn I could hear myself peeing. But, as far as I could tell, no heads turned in my direction. No one looked up to see what was happening.

I took as casual of a glance as I could at my crotch. There was a slightest of bulges, possibly from where the pull-up had swelled up. Not something anyone would notice unless they already knew I was wearing the pull-up. I hadn’t imagined how uncomfortable it would be to be forced to sit in my own urine. I fidgeted a little, but that only made it worse as I could feel the wet pull-up pressing further against my skin. I forced myself to remain completely still, eyes directed forward at Mr. Higgins and the chalkboard.

The bell rung and the class came to an end at last. I casually tugged my hoodie down as I eased myself out of the chair, just to make sure that any potential outline of the pull-up was covered as much as it can be. I was so embarrassed. I was sure my face had gone red. I waved a brief goodbye to Samantha and Desi. I just wanted to change out of the wet pull-up as soon as possible.

Even after just a couple months at the high school, I had quickly figured out which bathrooms were the ones to use and which were the ones to avoid. The one near the history classroom was one of my least favorites, but I didn’t want to spend any more time wearing a wet pull-up than I had to. With every step I took I had to suppress the urge to waddle as the absorbent material in the pull-up kept pushing my legs apart. It was all I could do to keep from looking like a penguin.

Once inside, the bathroom was busier than I would have liked it to be. There were plenty of other girls taking a bathroom break after class, but I had to change, so I didn’t have a choice. I needed to pick the most private spot I could find. The stalls at the far end of the bathroom afforded the most privacy, but they also were typically the ones most likely to be dirty or defaced with graffiti. When I walked into the stall, I could see that my expectations were on point.

I sat indecisively on the toilet for several minutes. My emotions were a mess. A mixture of relief, shame, and embarrassment. I was so glad my accident had gone undetected, but still shocked that it had happened in the first place.The way the pull-up rustled every time I touched it seemed way more noticeable than before. I was certain whoever was in the stall next to me would be able to hear everything I was doing. I wanted nothing more than to rip the sides of the pull-up, chuck it in the trash, and then be done with it. Instead, I slowly and quietly slid off my jeans and panties before at last removing the soggy pull-up. I gently placed it into the garbage bin embedded into the side of the stall and then covered the pull-u with toilet paper so that it wouldn’t raise any questions with the next person to use this stall.

The one part of my plan I hadn’t thought through well enough was what I was going to do for cheerleading practice. I couldn’t get away with changing before and after practice, as well as showering, without anyone noticing a pull-up. There wasn’t even the slightest chance of that happening. Despite all the bladder problems I’d had the past two days, I’d made it through cheerleading practice both times without any issues. I had no choice but to chance it again today.

I pulled up my panties. The cotton against my skin felt so good and unrestrictive. I was glad to be a big kid again, if just for a couple of hours.

 

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  • MinnesotaWriter changed the title to All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 9 --- 4/14/20)

I have my theories about Lisa. If I am right I am really enjoying the slow burn approach that you are taking with the eventual reveal. Either way, this is turning out to be a fantastic story, and I am eager for your next installment. Thank-you. 

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  • MinnesotaWriter changed the title to All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 70 & Epilogue - 2/13/24)

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