Empty Nest (was:"Title TBD by JustForFun")

[justforfun]

Chapter 10: The Game
 
Five nights. Five nights of pretending. The insistent chirping of a cricket out in the October darkness mocked my own internal struggle. Each night, I'd woken with that familiar pressure, the urge to let go, to surrender to the warmth and security I craved. But I'd resisted, trudging to the bathroom like a dutiful adult, playing the role Emily expected. Tonight, though, the pull-up felt different - less like a barrier, more like a promise. I took a deep breath, the rustle beneath my pajamas voicing a quiet invitation. Tonight, I decided, I wouldn’t resist.
 
With a deep breath, I let go. Relief washed over me, but then the wetness spreading beneath my back brought a jolt of something more than just shame -  a confusing mix of guilt and... excitement. "Shit," I muttered, the scent of urine stinging my nostrils. The pull-up, a flimsy shield against the flood, had failed. I lay there for a moment, the dampness clinging to my skin, a tangible reminder of my transgression. But as exhaustion crept back in, I pushed the guilt aside. It was Friday night. I’d had a few beers with Kevin before dinner - a fact Emily didn't know, and didn't need to know. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with the cleanup. I drifted back to sleep, the wet pull-up a strange, secret comfort against my skin.
 
The next morning, the consequences of my actions became clear as Emily found me struggling with the washing machine.  Again.  I had changed into a pair of sweats, my wet pajamas and the sheets in the washer as I again tried to find the right sequence of buttons.
 
Without saying anything, Emily pushed two buttons and the washer played its little musical ditty before starting. She turned to me, her eyes meeting mine, a flicker of something crossing her features before it was quickly masked by concern. She kissed me on the forehead and gave me a hug.  I could smell the faint scent of her lavender lotion, a mix of comfort and something… more.  Her hand lingering on my lower back. Her touch was gentle, but the clear intention of the check she made as her fingers traced the waistband of my pants caused my heart to skip a beat.
 
Taking my hand, she led me to the kitchen where she had already started a pot of coffee, enough for two. The aroma filled the air, a comforting scent that did little to ease the tension I felt.
 
Emily placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You okay?" she asked, her voice caring and calm.
 
I nodded.   
 
Emily’s eyes met mine across the kitchen table, a mix of concern and something else I couldn’t quite place swirling in their depths. “It seems those pull-ups aren’t quite doing the trick, are they, honey?” She took a slow sip of her coffee, her gaze lingering on my face. “I’ve been looking, and there are a lot of other options out there that we can try.”
 
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.  
 
"I can do some more research online and order something," she offered, her gaze fixed on the coffee pot. "I've already been talking to Sarah about it, but if you want, we can take a trip back to the doctor." She looked up, her eyes meeting mine, a hint of mischief in their depths. "I'm sure she'd be happy to see you again. What do you think?" She took a sip of coffee, her gaze lingering on my face.
 
I swallowed, my throat still dry despite the coffee. "No, I trust you, Em," I replied, eager to avoid having to see Sarah again. “Whatever you think is best."
   
"OK."  She nodded.  "I'll look into it."  She paused.  "And honey, it's OK.  I don't mind doing this for you.  I just want to help get you back on track, OK?"
 
And that was that.  I felt a little relief that it was out of my hands.  While I was sort of surprised that Emily was as accepting as she was of this, it was also the kind of thing that she thrived on- fixing problems.   Even if I had created the problem, it was still a challenge for her to fix that could bring us back together.  I poured a full cup of coffee for each of us now that the brewing had completed, and the day went on.
 
Later that day, I sat across from Emily at our dining room table, the aroma of her homemade lasagna filling the air.  Emily took a sip of her water, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of determination and compassion. "Greg," she began, her voice soft but firm, "I've been thinking.  I think we need to talk about establishing some structure. Some boundaries.  Like we talked about."
 
Despite the delicious meal before me, my appetite vanished. The tension between us became palpable, a stark reminder of the elephant in the room - or rather, the wet sheets in Abby's bedroom.
 
I winced. Boundaries. It sounded so clinical, so formal. “Boundaries?” I echoed, my throat tightening.
 
 "Greg," she began, her voice softening, “I know this isn’t easy, but I think it’s important that we're both on the same page. Guidelines to help us navigate this together?”
 
“Guidelines, like the Pirate’s Code?” I asked, trying and failing to inject humor into a conversation that Emily was trying to keep serious.
 
“Well, okay, rules then,” she said with a smirk she tried to suppress.  
 
Emily waited for my nod of acceptance before continuing, her voice showing her confidence.  "Here's what I'm thinking.  First, I want to propose that all… rules… apply to both of us, and we both have to agree on them."
 
"Both of us?" I raised an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on my lips. “Em, I appreciate the solidarity, but I think we both know who these are really for.”
 
Emily laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, you’re probably right,” she conceded. “But if I start sneaking extra cookies before bed, you have my full permission to lay down the law.  These rules," Emily continued, "can be changed as needed, as long as we both agree. We're not locking ourselves into anything permanent here. Our needs might change, and we need to be able to adapt."
 
"Flexible rules for a fluid situation. I can work with that," I said, finally earning a small smile from Emily.
 
"So for the first rule." Emily said, her tone growing more serious. "We need to address your alcohol consumption."
 
I stiffened.  Now we were getting to the part I had expected.
 
She held up a hand, her expression gentle but firm. "Hear me out, Greg.  I don’t want to be your mother, but it's not hard to draw a correlation between your drinking and the bedwetting incidents.  Even the doctor pointed it out.  I'm not saying you have a problem, but I think limiting alcohol could really help. What if we agree to one drink per day, and no more than two drinks per week?"
 
I wanted to argue, to point out that the alcohol wasn’t the real culprit. But the truth was, I’d been using beer as a crutch for weeks now, a way to numb the anxiety of this whole situation. “Alright,” I conceded. “One drink a day, max. Two a week.  Can I have one now?"
 
Emily smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Thank you, Greg. I know this isn't easy.  And no."
 
I squeezed back. "What's next?" I asked, bracing myself.
 
“This one’s important,” she began her caring smile returning.  “Here’s the deal. I’m going to take care of everything. The diapers, the laundry, the changes. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just… let me take care of you. Okay?”
 
I blinked in surprise. "You'd do that?  I don’t need to clean up after an accident?"  
 
“I’ll take care of the laundry, of course,” Emily said, her voice firm, but her eyes twinkling. “But if I’m the one washing your pants, I get to choose what goes in them, right?”
 
“So… you’ll…” I thought I knew what she meant, but I wanted her to say it.
 
“I’ll choose what diaper you wear.”  Her statement was a statement of fact, not a question.
 
I felt a surge of emotions - embarrassment, gratitude, and a touch of indignation. But as I thought about it, I had to admit it made sense. "That's... actually pretty fair," I conceded.  I realized that it also made the choice of my protection her choice, so she couldn't be upset with me for wearing what she chose.  I felt the opportunity for the mountain of guilt to melt away.
 
Emily's face lit up with surprise. "Really? You're okay with that?"
 
I shrugged, trying to appear more nonchalant than I felt. "Well, you're the one who'll be dealing with the aftermath. If this makes it easier for you, then I can live with it."
 
Emily reached out, taking both of my hands in hers. "Thank you, Greg.
 
“So," she said, her voice softening, "here's my last suggestion. Let's try wearing protection for two weeks after each… incident. Just to be safe. We don't want any more surprises, do we?” Her smile was tentative, seeking my approval.
 
“Two weeks?" I protested, trying to sound indignant, but the words felt hollow even to my own ears.
 
"It's not a punishment, Greg," she said softly. "It’s just… a precaution. Like when Abby would have a dry streak… we always thought it was over, but then…” She trailed off, her gaze distant. "I don’t want us to go back to square one, Greg. Do you?"
 
I shook my head, a wave of guilt washing over me. I was the one who kept resetting the clock, who kept pulling us back into this world of diapers and secrets.  I managed a small smile, squeezing her hands. "We're in this together, right?"
 
"Always," she affirmed.  Emily thought for a moment. "And one more thing. If we both consistently follow the rules for a month, we reward ourselves with a special date night.  How does that sound?"
 
She had thought a lot about this.  A small smile crept onto my face despite my reluctance. "That... actually sounds nice. But what if I don't make it dry for a month?"
 
"If you have an accident it doesn't break the rules, Greg.  The rules are just about how we're dealing with it.  If you wet, no big deal. That's why I'm going to help you find something that works.  If we keep breaking the rules, though, then we sit down and have a serious discussion about why we're struggling and how we can do better," Emily said firmly. "This is about supporting each other, Greg. And sometimes, support means... accepting each other's needs, even if they're a little unconventional."
 
I nodded, a grudging appreciation for Emily's care and determination added to the mix of emotions I already felt. "Okay, Em. You win. We'll do it your way.  Although it seems like most of the penalties are for me."
 
She smiled. "Well, the alcohol rule is for both of us.  And if I start wetting the bed, you can put me in a diaper, okay?"  Her statement gave me a curious little flutter down below, but I knew that would never happen, so I agreed, and had another swig of water.
 
As we resumed eating, the mix of emotions swirled inside me. The embarrassment, though, was giving way to relief. We had a plan now, a structure. I knew the guidelines, and my hidden search for comfort was not only being allowed, it was being enabled.
 
"So," I said, attempting to lighten the mood, "any chance the next rule involves you making this lasagna more often?"
 
Emily laughed, the sound breaking through the last of the tension. As we resumed eating, I felt a knot of guilt tightening in my stomach. Had I gone too far? Emily’s dedication, her willingness to embrace this new reality, was touching. But I was the one pulling the strings, orchestrating this whole charade. And I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking a dangerous tightrope, one that could snap at any moment, leaving us both hurt and broken.  
 
The next morning, I found Emily’s "rules" neatly typed and posted on the refrigerator, next to a calendar marked with frowny faces for each of my “accidents.” Yesterday’s frowny face had a new annotation: "P/U Leaked." I stared at the calendar, a knot of guilt tightening in my stomach. She was so organized, so dedicated to… fixing this. And I was the one who kept breaking her system. The guilt was overwhelming, yet… a thrill of anticipation coursed through me. How far would Emily go to help me? And how far was I willing to take this?

--

This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun.  It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

[Babypants]

Got a suggestion for you.  If you are not familiar with the term, search "latchkey incontinence."  Greg is old enough that he should be experiencing this problem,  It hits people in their forties and fifties who avoid public restrooms and hold it until they get home.  A dribble here, often when standing at the toilet and frantically racing to unzip, then a true wetting there.  When Emily finds him on his knees wiping his pee off the bathroom floor, she'll know that he's having daytime accidents, and needs "protection" 24/7.

My wife is 63, and I open the door from the garage and get out of the way.  The race is on! 

[justforfun]

4 hours ago, Babypants said:

Got a suggestion for you.  If you are not familiar with the term, search "latchkey incontinence."  Greg is old enough that he should be experiencing this problem,  It hits people in their forties and fifties who avoid public restrooms and hold it until they get home.  A dribble here, often when standing at the toilet and frantically racing to unzip, then a true wetting there.  When Emily finds him on his knees wiping his pee off the bathroom floor, she'll know that he's having daytime accidents, and needs "protection" 24/7.

My wife is 63, and I open the door from the garage and get out of the way.  The race is on! 

For Greg, everything that has happened is emphatically in his control.  He is choosing to wet at night.  He has perfect control during the day.  This isn't a creeping physical issue.  This is a conscious choice on his part, and in his mind he is in perfect control of the situation.

The fact that Emily is overreacting to it is, of course, just because her problem-solving nature, and  her experience with Abby.

[Babypants]

32 minutes ago, justforfun said:

n his mind he is in perfect control of the situation.

Greg is definitely in control, but we have yet to learn whether he will stop at night, or at some point choose to move on to daytime issues.  Nor do we know yet how Emily wants to play this long term.  If the character is in his mid-forties, latchkey incontinence would be an easy sell on a return visit to the Doctor.  If you are not familiar with it, latchkey is very common because it is a conditioned response that builds up over a long period of time, but only tends to become obvious when it has run its full course.  Another face of it is feeling an urge to pee when you hear running water, or are doing the dishes.  In any event, I'm enjoying this story-- but then, I like stories that take their time.

[wetdiaper55]

I like the story

[justforfun]

Thanks for the comments.  I really appreciate them!

 

Chapter 11: Physical Graffiti
The crisp air of early October carried the scent of fallen leaves as Emily and I prepared dinner together. Guilt at the laundry I had been causing Emily meant that a happy face adorned the last few days on the calendar, promising a relaxed Sunday evening. Throughout the day, Emily had been dropping less and less subtle hints about some "fun time" later, keeping me on edge with anticipation.
 
I stirred the couscous, the repetitive motion a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in my head. My gaze kept returning to Emily, drawn to the subtle sway of her hips as she moved about the kitchen. Her thin t-shirt clung to her curves, the fabric stretched taut across her breasts, her nipples visibly erect in the cool autumn air. They seemed to beckon me, a silent invitation to a dance.
 
Each time she brushed past me – a fleeting touch of a breast against my back, the whisper of a nipple against my cheek – a jolt of electricity shot through me. Accidental touches, perhaps. But the quick glances she threw my way, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, made me wonder if she was deliberately testing the waters, gauging my reaction. I fumbled with the couscous, the simple task suddenly overwhelming. The proportions—one part couscous, two parts water—escaped me, replaced by an all-consuming focus on the tantalizing topography shaping the threadbare tapestry, mixed with a gnawing sense of inadequacy.
 
For twenty excruciating minutes, I tried to maintain my composure. But the growing tent in my sweatpants and the saliva pooling in my mouth betrayed my aroused state. It had been a while since we'd been intimate, and a primal need was rapidly overtaking my higher brain functions.

"Um, Em, what's..." I started, my voice husky with barely contained desire.

Emily turned to face me, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Something you'd like?" she asked, her tone teasing and suggestive.
 
I could only nod. Her breasts, firm and enticing, were mere inches from my face. The fabric of her shirt did nothing to conceal their perfect shape. In that moment, I was acutely aware of how lucky I was - a short, scrawny guy like me with this absolutely amazing woman. The contrast between her confidence and my own awkwardness, between her alluring curves and my own less-than-impressive physique, made me feel both grateful and strangely inadequate.
 
"Is the couscous done?" Emily's voice a gentle reminder of the mundane task I’d abandoned.
 
I glanced at the pot, barely registering its contents. There was, indeed, water and couscous in it. "Uh huh," I muttered, trying and failing to keep my eyes off her chest as I turned off the burner.
 
Emily turned, a strand of hair falling across her cheek. "Do you want to help me with something?" The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.  
 
I nodded as my gaze drifted to the swell of her breasts beneath her t-shirt as she took a breath.  
 
"I’d like…" she paused, a playful glint in her eye, "…to see how something feels. Would you get one of your pull-ups on? For me?"
 
I paused.  That was not at all what I was expecting, but in my haste I simply answered, "I'll be right back."  I saw Emily turning off the burner she had been using as I quickly left on the assigned quest.
 
Stripping off my sweatpants, the cool air a shock against my skin, I fumbled with the pull-up. The soft, crinkly material felt strangely… comforting. A wave of shame washed over me, quickly followed by a thrill of anticipation. This was… different. Wrong, somehow. And yet… the thought of Emily’s hands on me, even with this childish barrier between us… I pulled the pull-up on, my heart pounding against my ribs.  I paused just long enough to throw my sweatpants back on.  No need to be traipsing around the house in just a pull-up, even if I didn't plan on wearing it for very long.
 
Back in the living room, Emily patted the cushion beside her on the couch. As I sat down, she gently guided me to lie down, my head resting in her lap. She positioned one of her nipples at my mouth, her fingers toying with the waistband of my sweatpants. I looked up at her, my eyes questioning. I knew she really liked having her nipples sucked on, having extensively explored each other’s erogenous zones over years of marriage, but I looked at her with questioning eyes. This felt… surreal. The intimacy of the moment, juxtaposed with the childish pull-up I wore, created a dissonance that rattled me.
 
"Shh..." she said.  "Just relax.  Let's see how this feels, OK?  For me?"   
 
The warmth of her skin radiated through the thin fabric of her shirt, a brand against my lips. She gently lifted her t-shirt, setting the warm fabric on the side of my face.  As she guided my head closer, the scent of her perfume, a familiar mix of vanilla and something musky, filled my senses. Then, the soft, yielding pressure of her nipple against my tongue. I suckled instinctively, the taste surprisingly sweet, a hint of saltiness clinging to the edges. I felt her breath hitch, a small tremor running through her body.  I could feel the texture of her skin against my tongue, the slight bumps of her areola contrasting with the smoothness of her nipple.  I felt a rush of conflicting emotions. Excitement at the prospect of this intimate act, confusion about the role of the pull-up, and a twinge of shame at the childishness of my attire.   
 
I felt her breathe in, her arm cradling my head closer, settling me into the perfect place, her other hand resting on my groin.  As she rubbed me through the pullup, I followed her lead, softer and harder, as I sucked on her nipple.  My hand not trapped against her body went to her breast and I gently massaged it.  Already excited, it didn't take long to ramp up even more.  Soon, though, I realized that Emily's gentle kneading had slowed down and become more rhythmic, and I had followed without thinking, my sucking becoming slower, deeper, more- well, more intimate.  I relaxed.  Her heartbeat thumped reassuringly in my ear as I rested on her chest.   

As I suckled, I felt Emily's breath catch. Her hand, resting on my groin, trembled slightly. Was she as affected by this as I was? Her other hand cradled my head closer, her fingers woven into my hair in a way that felt both maternal and possessive.

The tension built slowly, a warm pressure coiling tighter and tighter in my core. When I finally reached my peak, it was like a wave of pleasure crashing over me, radiating from my center to the tips of my fingers and toes. I shuddered against Emily, my mouth still latched onto her breast, as the intensity of the sensation overwhelmed me.

Emily held me tightly for a few minutes, rocking gently until I recovered.  She kissed my forehead.  "You good, babe?" she asked, her voice steady and assured. There was a new confidence in her tone, as if she'd discovered a power she hadn't known she possessed.

I nodded my head, still nestled comfortably at her breast.

"Dinner time?"
 
I nodded again, resting my head on her chest. As she gently helped me sit up the scent of Emily's skin lingered on my face, a faint trace of her essence clinging to my lips. The taste of her nipple still danced on my tongue, a sweet reminder of our intimate moment.
 
As I stood, the pull-up rustled softly, bringing me back to reality. I started towards Abby's room, intending to change, but Emily caught my hand. She pulled me into the kitchen, giving me a playful pat on the butt and a kiss on the cheek. "Leave it on for now," she whispered. "For me."
 
As we collected the prepared food and sat down, we made small talk.  At some point, though, when the smalltalk died down, I just said, "Thank you.  But..."
 
Emily smiled, knowing what I was talking about, of course.  "Don't worry.  I got what I needed today.  It was nice."
 
"Em, but why the pull-up during... you know?"  In the post-orgasmic let-down what had happened seemed wrong.  I mean, I certainly enjoyed her breasts.  That wasn't a problem.  But having her... do that... to me... in a pull-up... it had felt great in the moment, but now I was feeling guilt, and shame, and a host of other emotions that left me unsure if it had been worth it.  I could even feel that the deeper need lurking under the surface of my consciousness had receded, not fulfilled, even repulsed, by the events.
 
She laughed gently.  "Easier cleanup!  No muss, no fuss.  You've got 'em, and they obviously don't work for your bed-wetting, so you might as well use them for something, right?"  She paused and looked at me, a curious look on her face.  "And I wanted to see if it was... something you'd like."  She paused, her warm loving eyes looking into my soul.  "Did you like it?"
 
My voice caught in my throat, the words tangled with shame and confusion. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, how much I needed her, but the memory of that moment, of myself lying there in that stupid pull-up, choked the words back.
 
"It felt good," I admitted, hating how weak my voice sounded. "But… also wrong, somehow. I felt… Like I wasn’t a man anymore.  I mean, I always love being close to you. It was just... different."  My eyes went to her chest.  Still braless, my eyes beheld a wonderful sight.  "But really I was thinking about other things..."  Her smile and kiss on my cheek let me know that she appreciated the attention and, well, my fixation on her.
 
"I’m glad you enjoyed it, Greg," Emily said, her voice soft but with an underlying current of something I couldn’t quite place. It was like she was testing me, pushing my boundaries, seeing how far she could take this. "We’ll explore this more, I promise."
 
She stood, smoothing down her t-shirt, her nipples still clearly visible beneath the thin fabric. The sight sent a jolt through me, but the shame lingered, a heavy weight in my gut. "Em…" I began, my voice hesitant. The words "I love you" hovered on my lips, but I couldn't bring myself to say them. Not yet. Instead, I blurted out, "When can I sleep in your bed again?"
 
Her smile faded slightly as she sat back down. "That's a good question."  She was back to business.  "First, we need to find something for you to wear that works and doesn't leak. I really don't want to be peed on. It's gross."
 
I couldn't help but recall the uncomfortable sensation of waking up swaddled in wet sheets. The cold, clammy feeling against my skin, the acrid smell of urine, and the sound of the plastic mattress cover crinkling beneath me - all vivid reminders of why this conversation was necessary.  Not something I'd wish on her.
 
"But," I protested, "what if I stop wetting?"
 
Emily sighed, her expression a mix of amusement, sympathy, and determination. "Honey, if you can't control it, how can you know when you've stopped?"
 
The reality of my situation began to sink in. I had created a problem I couldn't easily solve without admitting my deception. "So... how do we know when something won't leak?"
 
"I'll decide," Emily said firmly, "when you've had enough accidents in them that I'm sure you won't leak on me. I’m getting some options for better protection for you, and I’ll go with what works best."
 
I felt my face flush hot, the blood rushing to my cheeks. The idea of wearing something more substantial, more babyish, sent a confusing mix of shame and excitement coursing through me. I imagined the thick, crinkly bulk of a real diaper hugging my hips, the soft inner lining nestled against my most intimate areas. The thought was both terrifying and strangely comforting.
 
"Don't I get a say?" I asked, a note of desperation creeping into my voice.
 
Emily's eyes met mine, her gaze unwavering. "Do you want to get back into my bed?"
 
I nodded with a sigh, defeated. "Okay, sure. Please get whatever you think will work."
 
Later that night, as I lay on the crinkly mattress in Abby's room wearing a probably pointless pullup the full weight of what I'd agreed to hit me. If I didn't have accidents, Emily wouldn't know if a solution was working. If my 'problem' didn't get worse, it might be a long time before I made it back into her bed.
 
I groaned softly, the realization washing over me. I had dug myself into a hole, and the only way out seemed to be to dig deeper. The thought filled me with a confusing mix of dread and anticipation. Was I really willing to go that far? To potentially humiliate myself further in pursuit of this secret desire?
 
I stared at the glowing stars on the ceiling, knowing the answer was yes. The pull of that deep-seated need was too strong to ignore, no matter the cost. I was trapped, caught between my need to be seen as a man and my desire to recapture the security and comfort of a child. And as I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if those two desires might be irreconcilable.

--

This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun.  It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

[littlebopeeper]

10 hours ago, justforfun said:

This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun.  It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

This is not the title.

[justforfun]

12 hours ago, littlebopeeper said:

This is not the title.

You know, I hadn't even noticed my typo!  Ooops...  but at least one person seemed to like the 'Empty Next' title! 

It was supposed to be 'Empty Nest', but 'Empty Next' is accidentally pretty good too.... Hmmmm.... which should I keep?

[Bel George]

34 minutes ago, justforfun said:

It was supposed to be 'Empty Nest', but 'Empty Next' is accidentally pretty good too.... Hmmmm.... which should I keep?

I suggest you change the title to what was the intention.  It will help people that haven't discovered the story yet to determine if this is something they want to know moer about. 

If they are like me, they will be intrigued. Sooner rather than later my family will also be confronted with the empty nest, now that the children are all 20 and older. This story brings inspiration about how life can possibly change. And while I do not plan on drinking excessive amounts of alcohol, occasionally wetting the bed is perhaps a possibility.

[Babypants]

44 minutes ago, justforfun said:

which should I keep?

Don't think you can write a story under one title, and copyright it under another.

[justforfun]

1 hour ago, Bel George said:

I suggest you change the title to what was the intention.

Yeah, I agree... so I did that.

1 hour ago, Babypants said:

Don't think you can write a story under one title, and copyright it under another.

Copyright has nothing to do with the title; the copyright actually covers the original creative content of the work itself.  The copyright notification does not, itself, give any legal protection; copyright protections are granted as of the "fixing" (writing) of the work and happens automatically.  The copyright notification, and registration of the copyright, are entirely optional, and just serve as 'markers' to make subsequent legal claims against others using the material a little easier; they do not, themselves, establish or confer any rights.

https://copyrightalliance.org/education/copyright-law-explained/

[Babypants]

1 hour ago, justforfun said:

Copyright has nothing to do with the title; the copyright actually covers the original creative content of the work itself.  The copyright notification does not, itself, give any legal protection; copyright protections are granted as of the "fixing" (writing) of the work and happens automatically.  The copyright notification, and registration of the copyright, are entirely optional, and just serve as 'markers' to make subsequent legal claims against others using the material a little easier; they do not, themselves, establish or confer any rights.

If you have not already done so, you should take a look at section 411(a) of the United States Copyright Act.

[Toet]

5 hours ago, justforfun said:

but at least one person seemed to like the 'Empty Next' title! 

Actually, On the moment I made the comment, I hadn't saw the typo and read 'Empty Nest' but was to late when I saw it was a typo to delete my comment. 🫣 But both 'Empty Next' and 'Empty Nest' are good titles for me.

[justforfun]

6 hours ago, Babypants said:

If you have not already done so, you should take a look at section 411(a) of the United States Copyright Act.

When my story "The Trainer" was stolen, I spent a fair amount of time researching this, including talking to an actual copyright/IP lawyer in my state. 

While registration is necessary before a legal suit can be initiated, it is not in any way required to establish the fact of copyright, and registration can be done anytime in the future until the expiration of the copyright, which for a work created by an individual author is the life of the author plus 70 years.  You just need to be able to 1) Prove the idea is yours and 2) Prove when it was 'fixed' (i.e., written).  Both of those are quite easy, particularly when the store was written on Google Docs, for instance, although it's pretty much a "because I said so" if you do it within 5 years of first publication.  Then you can actually file lawsuit papers.

I'm going on about this a little both because I'm sensitive (and still pissed off) about the theft of my story, and because other writers should be educated as to what their rights and protections are when they are publishing stories on this site and others.

[Babypants]

1 hour ago, justforfun said:

I'm going on about this a little both because I'm sensitive (and still pissed off) about the theft of my story, and because other writers should be educated as to what their rights and protections are when they are publishing stories on this site and others.

My purpose as well.  Yours is a good, clear explication of fact.

[justforfun]

Chapter 12: Help!

As I sat on the toilet doing my normal morning routine, I was a little disappointed.  My internet searches weren't finding all that many reasons why an otherwise healthy forty-something guy would (re-)start wetting the bed.  Sure, stress, anxiety, and alcohol might contribute, as the doctor had said, but I settled on an enlarged prostate as the symptoms I wanted to latch on to.  It seemed to make sense... I was already waking up several times a night to pee, and my not-great bladder range, while not truly a problem, had always been a point of some ribbing from the seemingly iron-bladdered women in my life.  
 
So, all I needed to do was to start peeing more often during the day.  Show urgency.  Then perhaps an increase in night-time wettings wouldn't be completely unexpected.  I had already gotten the clean bill of health from the doctors, so no one should make too big a deal of it.  Everyone knows that it's something that happens when you get older, right?
 
After dinner that evening it was time to confront the item that had been sitting on Abby's bed since Emily had run out to do some errands in the morning.  The plastic packaging didn't show a happy man wearing underwear.  It pictured what looked more like a baby's diaper, open to show the inner details, lacking only the wearer to fill out the picture.  It was the drug-store brand, which seemed to eschew the feel-good happy-looking men and focus-group-tested euphemisms of expensive brands in favor of straight-to-the-point marketing, proudly proclaiming "ADULT DIAPERS - NIGHT ABSORBENCY" in bright white letters on the sea-foam green of the pharmacy's corporate branding scheme.
 
I pulled one out, the thin material crinkling like tissue paper. It felt flimsy, almost... pathetic. This was supposed to be my armor, my shield against the shame of wet sheets. But holding it in my hands, I felt a surge of disappointment. This wasn't the comforting bulk, the secure embrace I remembered from my childhood. This was... nothing.
 
On the one hand, the idea of wearing a real diaper again was definitely an exciting fantasy, but the reality of walking to the bathroom carrying a diaper that my wife had bought for my 'bedwetting' was... well, I had to admit it wasn't quite delivering the comfort I had been hoping for when I started this exercise.  I walked quickly, furtively tucking the diaper under my shirt as I hoped that Emily wouldn't appear to see my walk of shame.
 
As I tried to figure out how to put it on, I quickly realized I was in over my head. There was a single large tab on each side that needed to be unfolded and in my frustration I accidentally tore the sides. "Dammit," I groaned, louder than I'd intended.   
 
"Greg? Everything okay in there?" Emily's voice came through the door, laced with concern.

My heart raced. I didn't want her to see me like this, but it didn't look like I had many options. "Not really," I admitted, hating how strained my voice sounded. "These new... things... that you got... I can't seem to get it on."
 
"Do you need a hand, sweetie?" she asked, a playful lilt in her voice, as if she were indulging a child's game.  
 
My stomach clenched. The thought of Emily seeing me struggle with this was mortifying. But what choice did I have? "I... yeah, maybe that would be good," I finally managed to say.
 
As Emily entered the bathroom, I felt my face burn with shame. I couldn't meet her eyes, instead focusing on the torn brief in my hands.
 
"Oh. Wow," Emily said, looking at the pieces of the brief I held.  She made a quick trip back to Abby's room to grab the bag of briefs.   Pulling out a new diaper, she examined it.  "These are a lot thinner than I thought they'd be. I hope they work better than the pull-ups."
 
I nodded, still avoiding her gaze. "Yeah, me too. Maybe I could just wear a trash bag," I joked weakly, trying to lighten the mood.
 
Emily chuckled softly. "Well, maybe.  But maybe these will work better than they look. Here, let me help you with this one."
 
I watched as Emily unfolded the diaper, her brow furrowing in concentration. She seemed just as unsure as I was, which oddly made me feel a bit better.
 
"Okay, these tabs are kind of weird.  So I think... this part goes in front?" she said, more of a question than a statement.
 
"Your guess is as good as mine," I replied, managing a small smile. "Maybe we should've watched some YouTube tutorials first."
 
Emily laughed, the tension in the room easing slightly. "Who knew I'd have to read the instructions on how to put a diaper on you?"
 
As Emily tried to position the brief between my legs, her hands trembled slightly. I could tell she was nervous too, probably worried about hurting my feelings or making me uncomfortable.
 
"You know," I said, trying to keep my voice light, "when I imagined you taking off my underwear, this isn't quite what I had in mind."   
 
Emily snorted, shaking her head. "Greg!"
 
"What? Just trying to keep things romantic," I quipped, feeling some of my anxiety dissipate.  I tried to help by holding the front and back of the diaper while Emily carefully pulled the stretchy tabs around my side and tried to get the hook-and-loop tab to adhere.  Eventually it was staying up on its own.  Sort of.
 
I took a few tentative steps, and immediately felt the brief shifting uncomfortably. Emily must have noticed my grimace because she frowned, her eyes darting to my midsection.
 
 "Hmm, something's not quite right here," she mused, her fingers tracing the outline of the diaper with a touch of amusement. "Maybe we need a different... approach."
 
I sighed, feeling the brief slowly sliding down. "Yeah, I think you're right. This isn't going to work."
 
We stood there for a moment, the awkwardness palpable. I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated and embarrassed. "Maybe this was a bad idea. I should just"
 
"No," Emily interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. "We can figure this out."  Emily bit her lip. "I think... this would be easier with you laying down, rather than standing?"
 
The suggestion made my cheeks burn. I stood there, trying to figure out if my embarrassment was in reaction to Emily suggesting that I lay down to be diapered like a child, or was in reaction to liking that idea?   But as I felt the brief slipping further, I realized we didn't have many options.
 
"Okay," I said quietly. "Let's try it."
 
We made our way to Abby's bedroom, each step reminding me of how poorly the diaper fit. Emily quickly spread a towel on the bed, then looked at me expectantly.
 
I hesitated for a moment before lying down, feeling more vulnerable than I had in years as the mattress protector crinkled under me even louder than the brief around my waist.  "Well, this is dignified," I muttered, trying to mask my discomfort with humor.
 
Emily smiled softly. "Hey, at least you don't have to worry about me dropping you like we did with Abby that one time."  
 
I couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. "Small mercies, I suppose."
 
As Emily began adjusting the brief, I found myself staring at the ceiling, trying to detach from the situation. But her gentle touch and careful movements kept pulling me back to the present.
 
"Okay, I think I see the problem now," Emily said, her voice taking on a more confident tone. She bit her lower lip in concentration, a habit I'd always found endearing. "Hmm... let me just... there we go."
 
"What are you doing?"
 
"Just adjusting the tabs. I think they need to be tighter."
 
I winced slightly as she tugged on the tabs. "Whoa, easy there. I still need to breathe, you know."
 
Emily chuckled, her hands pausing for a moment. "Sorry, honey. Too tight?"
 
"No, it's fine," I assured her, settling back down. "Just... different."
 
As Emily worked, I noticed her brow furrowing slightly. "You okay?" I asked, reaching out to touch her arm.   
 
She nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah, just... never thought I'd be doing this, you know?" Her hands stilled after a moment, resting on my hip.  "There," she said finally. "I think that's much better. How does it feel?"  She ran her fingers through my crotch, pulling out the leg gathers as I shivered a little at her intimate touch.
 
I sat up slowly, surprised at how much better the brief hugged me now. "It's... actually pretty good," I admitted, standing up to test it.  "Thanks for... you know, not making this even weirder than it is."  I took a few experimental steps, a soft crinkling sound following my movements.
 
Emily stepped closer, wrapping her arms around me. "Greg, you were there when I pushed a human out of my vagina, a compound broken leg, and that time you got food poisoning in Mexico. I think we're past 'weird' at this point."  
 
I laughed, pulling her closer. "Fair point. Still, I appreciate it."
 
Emily pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting mine. "Look, Greg, I won't lie. This isn't easy for me. I never thought I'd be diapering my husband." She paused, taking a deep breath. "But after everything we went through with Abby, and knowing your history... I want to be here for you. I want you to be comfortable.  So..." Emily said, stepping back a little more to look at me, her tone becoming more upbeat. "Now that we've got that sorted, what do you say we head downstairs and watch a movie? I'll even let you pick. Just promise me you won't fall asleep and leave me watching one of your sci-fi snooze-fests alone."
 
I smiled, grateful for the return to what passed for normal these days. "Deal. How about a comedy instead?"
 
Emily nodded, linking her arm through mine. "Perfect. Let's go, my padded prince."  After our awkward but successful attempt at diapering, we headed downstairs for some much-needed normalcy.
 
The next few nights were an exercise in frustration. Each evening, as I prepared for bed, I found myself dreading the moment I'd have to put on one of those flimsy drugstore diapers. They crinkled softly as Emily unfolded one, a sound that should have been comforting but instead filled me with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.  She continued to be the one to put it on me, her hands pulling the diaper between my legs and increasingly quickly getting the tapes properly positioned and fixed in place as I lay there.
 
The first night, I woke up dry, the flimsy diaper unused. The second night, however, was a different story.
 
I woke in the early hours needing to pee.  Deciding it was time to give the flimsy diaper a test I relaxed, a familiar warmth spreading beneath me. For a moment, I felt a surge of relief as I thought the diaper was working. But that relief quickly turned to dismay as I felt the wetness seeping through, soaking into the sheets.
 
"Dammit," I muttered, fumbling in the dark to assess the damage. The diaper had failed spectacularly, leaving me in a puddle of my own making, a stark indication that it was no more effective than the gray pullups we had tried. As I struggled to sit up, the sodden garment sagged heavily.
 
The fifth morning, Emily didn't even try to hide her frustration. She yanked the wet sheets from the bed, the force of her movements making the mattress protector crinkle like thunder. "This is ridiculous, Greg," she said, her voice tight. "I'm spending more time doing laundry than anything else."
 
"Em," I started, my voice hesitant, "maybe we should look into something... more substantial?"
 
She turned to me, her eyes tired but determined. "I've actually been doing some research," she said, reaching for her phone. "There are some medical-grade options we could try. They're quite a bit more expensive, but if they work..."
 
As she scrolled through the options, showing me pictures and reviews, I felt a mix of emotions churning inside me. Part of me was excited at the prospect of wearing something more effective, more like I remembered from my childhood. But another part recoiled at being perceived by Emily as actually needing these infantile garments.
 
"What do you think?" Emily asked, her finger hovering over the 'Add to Cart' button for a product called "MegaDry Overnight".  "Rush Ship" was selected, the promise of dry sheets in a hurry.
 
I swallowed hard, nodding. "If you think it'll help, let's give it a try."
 
Three mornings later, the doorbell rang as the SMS notification dinged Emily's phone that a delivery had been made. We exchanged glances, a mix of anticipation and trepidation in our eyes. "Shall we see what the diaper fairy has brought us?" I asked, only half-joking.
 
We made our way to the front door, where a large brown box sat innocuously on our porch. It was as if it was trying to blend in, pretending it didn't contain what we both knew it did.
 
"Ladies and gentlemen," I announced in my best game show host voice as we carried the box inside, "it's time for 'Let's Make a Diaper Deal'! What mysteries lie within this unassuming cardboard container?"
 
Emily rolled her eyes, but I could see the amusement dancing in them. "Alright, Bob Barker, let's see what we've got."
 
I lifted the box cutter, slicing through the packing tape with a satisfying shhhk. Inside, nestled amongst layers of crumpled brown paper, lay the promise of... something. I reached in, my fingers brushing against the smooth, cool plastic.  I lifted the package of diapers out of the box, immediately faced with the proud proclamation of "Diaper Style With Tabs!" and "Extreme Absorbency, For Even the Heaviest Control Problems."  It clearly wasn't intended to be subtle.
 
Opening the package I extracted one of the MegaDry Overnight diapers, its weight a surprise in my hands. This wasn't the flimsy, crackling ghost of the drugstore brand. This was... substance. Weight. Like holding a brick wrapped in velvet. Something flickered in my chest.
 
I unfolded the diaper, the crinkling of the plastic loud and reassuring in the quiet room. It was thick, almost obscenely so. The quilted lining felt soft against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the scratchy, paper-thin material of the others. I ran my hand over the absorbent padding, the thick, plush layers a world away from the flimsy, almost nonexistent protection we'd tried before. This... this felt real. This felt... close. Close to the feeling, the memory, the deep-seated need that had driven me after being awakened. I held it up to the light, the white plastic gleaming like a beacon in the light of the living room. Could this be it? The key to unlocking... something?
 
My gaze met Emily's. She was watching me, her expression unreadable. A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "Well," I said, trying for a lightness I didn't feel, "This definitely looks... absorbent."
 
Emily nodded, examining the product closely. "I know, right? But hey, if it addresses your problem..."
 
I agreed, though I couldn't hide my nervousness. Or was it anticipation? "Yeah, I guess. Just hope I don't waddle too much. Although, if I do, maybe I can market myself as the world's first human penguin hybrid."
 
Emily chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, Mr. Penguin, let's save your debut for tonight. For now, why don't we put these away and grab some lunch?"
 
As we stored the new diapers in the dresser in Abby's room, I couldn't help but feel like we were crossing a threshold. Whether it was a step forward or backward, I wasn't sure.  
 
That night, as I prepared for bed, I couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions as I went to lay down on Abby's bed.  Anticipation. Trepidation. A strange, almost childlike excitement. Emily had entered to assist, as she had the previous nights with the crappy drug store briefs, and offered to help with the new diaper as she placed a towel on the bed.   
 
With me laying on the bed, Emily pulled one of the diapers from the package.  She looked at me with a smile.  "This time I watched Youtube.  I've been studying."  She stretched the diaper out and folded it lengthwise, twisting it back and forth.  When she was done it seemed to have doubled in thickness.
 
Emily's hands were surprisingly firm as she positioned the MegaDry beneath me. I lifted my hips, the mattress protector crinkling beneath me, a sound that was almost drowned out by the louder crinkle of the diaper against my skin. I felt her fingers brushing against my inner thighs as she adjusted the padding, the touch sending a shiver down my spine. The tapes ripped open with a satisfying rrrrip, each one followed by the crinkle of plastic against plastic as she secured them in place. She tugged, adjusted, smoothed, her touch both clinical and... intimate. And as I lay there, encased in the thick, comforting bulk of the MegaDry, I felt a wave of something wash over me- relief, security, and a surprising surge of... arousal. This wasn't just a diaper; it was... an experience.
 
The diaper felt firm, supporting. It was noticeably thicker and larger than anything I'd worn before, the front up to my belly button, and well up my back.  I felt the substantial bulk between my thighs, keeping my legs slightly spread.  She tugged, adjusted, smoothed, her fingers lingering for a moment on the thick padding that now encased me. I could feel her through the thick diaper, her touch and pressure an almost electric current, her warm hand cupping my groin and butt as she adjusted the position one final time, making sure I was encased and secured.
 
"How's that feel?" she asked, her voice low, her breath warm against my ear.
 
I thought about it, sampling the feelings.  "Different," trying to keep my voice steady. "It's bulkier, for sure. But also... I don't know, more secure? Like it might actually work." They certainly felt more like the feeling from my childhood. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I couldn't help it.  Most importantly, maybe they were the ticket back into Emily's bed.   
 
Emily gave me an encouraging smile. "That's a good sign. Let's hope it does the trick."
 
As I drifted off to sleep, enveloped in the thick, comforting embrace of the MegaDry, a wave of memories washed over me. I was a child again, lying in my bed as my mother put me in my night diaper. Her touch had been... perfunctory. Detached. A chore to be completed quickly, efficiently, with a minimum of fuss. Her hands had been cool, her movements brisk, almost... impatient. "There," she'd say, her voice tight, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Try to stay dry tonight, Greg." And then she'd be gone, leaving me alone in the darkness with the lingering scent of baby powder and the cold, empty feeling in my chest.
 
But Emily... Emily's touch was different. Gentle. Caring. Almost... loving. Her fingers lingered on my skin, a warm caress against the cool plastic of the diaper. She smoothed the fabric, adjusted the tapes, her movements slow, deliberate, almost... reverent. And as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, whispering, "All done, honey. Sweet dreams," I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the diaper and everything to do with... love. Acceptance.  
 
My mind drifted to Abby, our daughter, and how differently Emily had handled her bedwetting. She had been supportive, helping her get what she needed, never making her feel ashamed. I had stood on the sidelines, especially as Abby was older, not wanting the misery I was left with as a bedwetter to infect her.   
 
Now, as an adult, the MegaDry brought back that long-forgotten feeling of security. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. More than that, it was like finding a missing piece of myself, a piece I hadn't realized had been lost. The diaper centered me, grounded me, enveloped me in a cocoon of comfort I hadn't known I craved. I fell into an easy sleep, a deep, dreamless sleep I hadn't experienced in... well, maybe ever. I woke only once, the familiar pressure in my bladder a distant hum, easily quelled by the soft, reassuring give of the diaper beneath me. I let go, the warmth spreading through the thick padding, a comforting weight against my skin. And then, back to sleep, cradled in a blissful, dreamless slumber.
 
The next morning, I woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains, a warmth that mirrored the strange contentment that bloomed in my chest. I felt... different. Good. Damp, yes, but the bed beneath me was dry. I reached down, my fingers exploring the heavy, swollen bulk between my legs. No cold, clammy sheets. Just the soft, comforting give of the MegaDry, a warm, secure presence against my skin. It had worked.
 
A grin stretched across my face, so wide it hurt. "Emily!" I called out, the excitement bubbling up, spilling over. "Emily, come here!"
 
She appeared in the doorway, her face a mixture of sleep-softened concern and anticipation. "What is it? Everything okay?"
 
"Look!" I said, throwing back the covers with a flourish, a magician revealing his greatest trick. Ta-da! A giant, wet diaper.
 
Emily's concern melted away, replaced by a slow, knowing smile. "Oh, Greg," she murmured, her eyes sparkling. "That's... impressive."
 
I preened under her gaze, ridiculously proud of my... accomplishment. I pulled down my pajama bottoms to fully expose the diaper, the thick, wet padding and prominent blue stripe a badge of honor.
 
Emily's gaze lingered on the damp bulk, a flicker of something hot and unreadable in her eyes. "Amazing," she whispered, stepping closer. "You seem... very comfortable this morning."
 
"Yeah," I said, the grin still plastered across my face. "It seems weird to be happy about wearing a wet diaper, but it's so much better than waking in wet sheets..."
 
Emily's eyes sparkled as she reached out, her hand resting gently on the warm, damp bulk of the diaper. Her touch was hesitant at first, then more confident, her fingers probing, exploring. "Fantastic," she murmured, her voice a low rumble. "I'm so glad these seem to work for you."
 
"Yeah," I said, the grin still plastered across my face. "It seems weird to be happy about wearing a wet diaper, but..."
 
Emily leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. "Not weird at all," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "Let's celebrate a morning where you're wet, but I didn't have to do laundry."
 
As she headed downstairs to start the coffee, I made my way to the bathroom, the heavy, swollen diaper giving me a distinct waddle. I caught my reflection in the mirror the unmistakable silhouette from mornings in my youth, complete with a bulging midsection. A wave of shame washed over me, a cold splash against the warm glow of contentment I'd been basking in. This was... wrong. Infantile. Pathetic. And yet... I couldn't deny the comfort, the security, the deep sense of... rightness that settled over me like a warm blanket.
 
I glanced down at the diaper, the thick padding now a tangible symbol of Emily's care, of her unwavering support. And that's when the guilt twisted in my gut, sharp and unrelenting. I'd manipulated her, hadn't I? Used her love and concern to fulfill my own... needs. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow, a dark stain spreading through the bright joy of the morning. I loved her. And I'd lied to her.
 
I stood there for a long moment, the weight of my deception pressing down on me, threatening to crush the fragile happiness I'd found. I was caught in a web of my own making, and as I looked at my reflection in the mirror a grown man, a husband, a father, standing there in a wet diaper I knew that I couldn't keep this up. I couldn't keep lying. I had to tell her the truth.
 
But as I turned away from the mirror, the warmth of the diaper against my skin, the memory of Emily's touch, the knowledge that she was downstairs, waiting for me... The fear tightened its grip, whispering insidious doubts in my ear. What if she leaves you? What if this is the one thing she can't accept? The thought was a cold fist clenching around my heart, squeezing the hope, the resolve, out of me.
 
I sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. I'd tell her. Soon. I just... needed a little more time. A little more... comfort. A little more... her.

--

This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun.  It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

 

[Babypants]

Well done.

[wetdiaper55]

Good chapter

[justforfun]

Chapter 13: Dial M for Movie Night
 
As we finished clearing the dinner dishes, Emily turned to me with a smile. "Hey, how about we curl up on the couch and watch a movie tonight?"  
 
I nodded, always grateful for the chance to spend some quality time with her. "Sounds great. What did you have in mind?"  
 
Emily bit her lip, her eyes darting to the side before meeting mine. "Hey, um... before we start the movie, do you think maybe you should... you know..." She gestured vaguely towards my midsection.
 
"What do you mean..."  Emily lifted an eyebrow and I caught on. I felt my cheeks flush, a mix of embarrassment and indignation washing over me. "What? No, Em, come on. I'm not a child."  
 
Emily's voice was gentle but firm. "I'm just thinking ahead. What if you fall asleep?"
 
I crossed my arms, feeling defensive. "I haven't had any daytime accidents. What if someone came over? What would they think?"  
 
Emily rolled her eyes. "Greg, it's just us tonight, and you have been having a lot of wet nights. No one else is coming over. And even if they did, they wouldn't know unless you told them.  So let’s not chance it on the couch."
 
As we argued, a vivid memory suddenly flooded back to me, transporting me to a moment from my childhood. I was about seven years old, and the excitement in our household was palpable. It was a rare treat - my father had rented a VHS tape of a popular movie, promising a special family movie night.  
 
My mother's voice rang out, clear and authoritative: "Everyone needs to be ready for bed before the movie starts. Pajamas on, teeth brushed!" Eager to comply and not miss a moment of the film, I raced to my room. I quickly changed into my favorite pajamas - soft flannel adorned with cartoon characters - and vigorously brushed my teeth. The minty taste still lingered in my mouth as I prepared to dash back to the living room. However, my mother intercepted me in the hallway. "And you," she said, pointing directly at me, "need a diaper on."
 
My "problem" wasn't a secret in our family, but having it announced so openly stung. I caught the smug looks from my brothers, particularly my youngest brother who had recently achieved nighttime dryness. Their smirks made my cheeks burn with embarrassment.  
 
With heavy steps, I followed my mother back to the bedroom.  As I sat on my bed, the crinkle of my bed echoed the crinkle of the diaper as she pulled it from the large blue box, a smiling baby on the front, proudly proclaiming "Luvs Super Baby Pants - Extra Large Size".  As she lifted my feet, slid the diaper under me, and then gently let me down on the thick diaper, I felt a mix of emotions. The shame of needing this protection warred with the relief of knowing I wouldn't wake up in a cold, wet bed. She quickly did up the tapes, sealing me in.  "These are getting pretty small on you," Mom said with a sigh, not really talking to me, "If you keep this up we're going to need to find something bigger."
 
When we finally emerged from the bedroom, I was acutely aware of the diaper's presence.  It felt enormous under my pajamas, and I was certain everyone could hear the telltale crinkle with each step I took. Wearing a diaper outside my bedroom was rare for me, and as I got older it became rarer and rarer, especially now that I was alone in wearing them.  The walk to the living room felt like an eternity, my shame growing with each passing second.
 
Back in the present, I shook my head, trying to dispel the memory.  "Let's just wait until we go to bed.  I don't want to walk around like that."  
 
Emily sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Greg, I understand this is difficult for you, but please try to work with me. It's just a precaution."  
 
We went back and forth for several minutes, my stubbornness matched only by Emily's persistence. Finally, exhausted by the argument and seeing the determination in Emily's eyes, I relented. "Fine," I grumbled, my voice laced with frustration. "I'll wear the stupid diaper. But I'm not happy about this."  
 
Emily's expression softened. "I know, honey. Thank you for understanding. Do you want me to help you put it on?"  
 
I was about to snap back with a sarcastic remark, but something in her tone made me pause. There was no judgment in her voice, only care, and the reality was that she had been helping me put it on every night so far, so it wasn't exactly a new thing.
 
Reluctantly, with a sigh, I nodded. "I... I guess that would be helpful." We made our way upstairs, and Emily pulled one of the MegaDry diapers from the package. As she positioned it under me, drew it up between my legs, and adjusted the position, her movements were gentle and efficient.  
 
Emily smoothed down the front of the diaper, her touch gentle. "There we go. How's that feel, honey? Comfy? Not pinching anywhere?"  
 
"It's fine," I admitted, my voice softer now. "Thanks, Em. I'm sorry for being so difficult about this."
 
Emily stood up and gave me a hug.  She handed me my pajama bottoms and I slipped them on before heading back downstairs, the noise of my diaper barely dampened by the pajamas over it. As we walked, I couldn't help but feel self-conscious. "Em," I said quietly, "do you think it's... noticeable?"
 
Emily glanced at me, her eyes scanning my appearance. "Eh, not really. The pajamas hide it well. No one would know unless they were looking for it."
 
Her words provided some comfort, but I still felt exposed as we made our way to the living room. The bulk between my legs was a constant reminder of my situation, and I found myself walking a bit awkwardly, trying to minimize the sound and movement.
 
We settled onto the couch, Emily snuggling up against me. The thick diaper between my legs was a constant presence, but as Emily started the movie and rested her head on my shoulder, I found myself focusing more on the warmth of her body and the comfort of our closeness. "Do you mind if we watch this?" she asked, gesturing to the TV where she had queued up a movie.
 
I didn't even look, it didn't matter right now.  "Sure, sounds good, honey."  A movie started, a RomCom that she had been talking about.  I tried to focus on the movie, but my mind kept wandering.  As I shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable with the bulky diaper between my legs, Emily gently guided my head to her lap.
 
I felt Emily's fingers running through my hair, her touch soothing and familiar.  I felt my eyelids growing heavy as the movie's dialogue faded into background noise. The warm thud-thud of her heartbeat and the soft, secure feeling of the diaper combined to create a cocoon of comfort that I hadn't realized I'd been craving.
 
As I dozed, my mind wandered through the events of the past few weeks. I was surprised by how quickly things had escalated, from my initial "accident" to now wearing diapers regularly. Part of me felt guilty for the deception, for allowing Emily to believe this was a medical issue rather than... well, whatever it actually was. But another part of me reveled in the care and attention.  Emily had been so  accepting of my situation. She seemed to be taking my supposed accidents in stride, even if she was going a bit overboard in protecting herself from being peed on. Which, of course, meant that she had actually insisted on the diaper I currently wore.
 
It was a strange turn of events, but one that was allowing me to explore that deep-rooted feeling I'd buried for so long. And I was doing it without facing the disgust she had shown years ago when I'd mentioned wearing a diaper by choice. It was a convoluted path, but somehow, it was working.
 
I knew I'd have to come clean eventually. The guilt of my deception nagged at me, even as I reveled in the comfort and care Emily was providing. But for now, as sleep began to claim me, I allowed myself to simply enjoy the moment. The gentle rise and fall of Emily's breathing, her fingers still absently running through my hair, and the snug embrace of the diaper all combined to lull me into a peaceful slumber.
 
At some point, the movie over, Emily roused me gently and helped me upstairs.  I went sleepily into Abby's room and lay on the bed. Emily's hand moved across my midsection, her fingers tracing the outline of the diaper. I kept my eyes closed, torn between embarrassment and an unexpected comfort. The gentle pressure as she checked for wetness sent a shiver through me. It was oddly reminiscent of how she used to check on Abby, and I found myself longing for that same care and attention..
 
As Emily's fingers carefully prodded and assessed the diaper's state, memories of her caring for Abby flooded my mind. I recalled the tenderness in her voice as she'd ask, "Do you need a change, sweetie?" The gentleness of her touch as she'd check, always making sure Abby felt safe and cared for, never shamed.
 
Now, feeling that same touch on me, I was struck by a confusing mix of emotions. Part of me felt infantilized, reduced to the state of a child needing their diaper to be checked on. But another part - a part I was almost afraid to acknowledge - felt deeply comforted by Emily's care. The warmth of her lap beneath my head, the soothing rhythm of her fingers in my hair, and now this intimate check - it all combined to create a cocoon of safety I hadn't realized I'd been craving.
 
As Emily's hand retreated, apparently satisfied that the diaper was still dry, I felt a fleeting sense of loss. But then her fingers resumed their gentle stroking of my hair, and I allowed myself to sink deeper into the comfort of the moment. My last coherent thought before sleep fully claimed me was a mix of gratitude and wonder at how understanding and supportive Emily had been through all of this. Despite the awkwardness and embarrassment, I felt closer to her than I had in years. And as I drifted off, I hoped she felt the same.

--

This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun.  It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

[Anton]

Beautiful

[wetdiaper55]

I am enjoying the story .

[Babypants]

The poor guy has painted himself into a corner, and the longer he lies to his wife, the more she is going to feel manipulated and betrayed if she learns the truth.  That's the question, isn't it?  Does he tell the truth and risk irreparable damage to his marriage, or go on living a lie?  There's an object lesson here that some people visiting this site should take to heart.  Very well done.

[zzzz50]

Remember the beginning of the story when Emily made the  discovery of the old diapers? Since the author has cleverly disguised the timeline of when this happened it could be that she has been manipulating her husband because she realizes that deep down he is enjoying going back to diapers. My guess/hope is that she will continue to find circumstances like movie night to press the diaper wearing to see if he eventually breaks down or how far she can push the humiliation as he becomes more dependent and also more loving while needing diapers. I am really enjoying the writing and storyline.

[justforfun]

Chapter 14: Permanent Waves
 
Several days had passed since that night on the couch, each one bringing new adjustments to our routine. The diapers had become a nightly fixture, a silent reminder of our evolving dynamic. It was on one such evening that I woke with a start, momentarily disoriented. The living room was dark, the TV playing some random late-night show that had come on after the baseball game I'd been watching. Glancing at the clock on the cable box - 10:47 PM - I could hear Emily's voice drifting down from upstairs, punctuated by occasional laughter.
 
As I made my way up the stairs, her voice grew clearer. I paused outside our bedroom door, Emily's muffled voice filtering through the wood. Curiosity, and a prickle of unease, made me press my ear against the door.
 
"...driving me crazy, Mom," Emily's voice, tight with frustration, reached me. I strained to hear the response, but only caught a low murmur.
 
"No, not Abby... although who knows if her 'accidents' when she was younger would have gotten worse if we hadn't, you know, helped her take charge of the situation... but I really thought he'd be better by now."
 
A longer pause, then a sigh. "... the doctor just says it's stress, that there's nothing physically wrong with him. But it's every single night, Mom. And those MegaDry... they're so expensive."
 
My heart thudded against my ribs. So, she was complaining to her mother about me. My ears warmed as I realized my mother-in-law knew I was wearing diapers.
 
"I know, I know, you keep saying cloth diapers... but seriously, Mom, I can barely keep up as it is! And how would I even...?"
 
My heart skipped a beat as a vivid memory flooded my senses.  It was Christmas morning at my parents' house, the air thick with the scent of pine needles and cinnamon rolls. My younger cousin, Tommy, came toddling into the living room, a bright red fire truck emblazoned on his pajama top. But it was what was beneath the pajamas that caught my attention a thick, white cloth diaper, encased in plastic pants that peeked out from beneath his waistband, crinkling as he walked.
 
The diaper, enormous and undeniably infantile, forced his legs apart in an awkward waddle. I remember thinking how huge it looked, how soft and pillowy, how warm, how protective. A pang of longing, sharp and unexpected, had pierced through the forced cheer of that Christmas morning. I was cold then, shivering even though I had changed from my wet pajamas after my mother had, in her infinite wisdom, decided I was too old for such "infantile" things some months ago. Tommy, oblivious to my envious gaze, waddled happily towards the tree, the crinkle of his diaper a cheerful soundtrack to my own shame-filled morning.  I wondered then, as now, if the warm comfort such protection provided would be worth the jeers and heckling heaped on the wearer of such an infantile garment.  Even then, I think, some part of me envied him, envied the unquestioned acceptance of his need.
 
I imagined Linda leaning back in her chair, a knowing smile on her face as she skillfully steered the conversation.
 
Emily's tone shifted, becoming more thoughtful. "Well... you said they worked for... well, with me... and Greg would look cute..."
 
A nervous laugh, then a sigh. "... True, it would be cheaper in the long run. You always said I should be more environmentally conscious. But so much work!"
 
A pause. "... Yeah, that is true, especially if this is going to be a long-term thing. It's been three months so far... what if this is just how things are now? And what if he really doesn't like them? ... True, and I bet I could get a lot of them free or used..."
 
I pressed harder against the door, desperate to hear more, but Linda's response was lost in a jumble of indistinct sounds.
 
"Okay, Mom," Emily's voice echoed clearly in the empty stairwell. "I'll talk to Sarah again. Maybe she knows someone who can... help me get started."
 
Then, a change in her tone, a lowering of her voice that made my stomach clench. "...daytime, too. He's always running to the bathroom, even at home. It's like he can't hold it for more than an hour."
 
My blood ran cold. Daytime issues. That hadn't been part of the plan. The small bladder act was supposed to be confined to the bedroom, a private performance for Emily's benefit to justify my nightime wetting. The thought of extending the charade into daylight hours, into the public sphere... it filled me with a mix of dread and a strange, unwelcome excitement.
 
Emily continued, her voice a mix of concern and exasperation. "...It's getting ridiculous, Mom. I can barely get him out the door without him needing to stop halfway there. I feel like I'm constantly hovering, waiting for the next emergency... we may just need to be prepared, in case we can't leave in a few weeks."
 
More muffled words from Linda, then Emily again, her voice resigned. "You're right, I should probably prepare for that possibility... maybe something discreet... Maybe Sarah knows where to get those..."
 
I stepped back from the door, my mind racing. Cloth diapers? Daytime issues? The conversation had taken a darker turn, one I hadn't anticipated. And Linda's influence was clear, a subtle undercurrent that had shifted the narrative from nighttime accidents to the potential for full-time dependence.
 
As I made my way back to Abby's room, my mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The guilt of my deception weighed heavily on me, yet I couldn't deny the thrill that ran through me.  Annoyance that Emily was discussing such private matters with her mother. Embarrassment at the thought of Emily finding me "cute" in a puffy diaper.  
 
As I stood in front of the dresser, staring at the package of MegaDry diapers, I found myself at a crossroads. Part of me wanted to toss the diapers in the trash and never put another one on again. To march over and tell Emily the truth, consequences be damned. But another part of me, the part that had started this whole charade, whispered that I was finally getting what I'd always wanted. The care, the attention, the freedom to find comfort without judgment. The conflict tore at me, leaving me feeling both exhilarated and terrified.
 
With a sigh, I reached for a fresh diaper. I knew I should wear one. After all, that was the whole point of this, wasn't it? But as I held the thick, white garment in my hands, I felt a surge of resentment. Towards Emily, for talking about me behind my back. Towards myself, for putting us in this situation. Towards the diaper itself, for being a symbol of both my desires and my shame.
 
As I held the diaper in my hands, the soft, crinkly material a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within me, a childish urge to rebel surged through me. Cloth diapers? Daytime issues? Is this what I'm reduced to? A topic of hushed phone calls between Emily and her mother? The thought stung, a bitter mix of shame and resentment. If she's going to talk about me like a child, then fine. I'll act like one. The rational part of my brain screamed in protest. This was stupid, I knew. I knew this would only give her more ammunition. But the desire to assert some control, any control, to push back against the tightening grip of her care, overwhelmed my better judgment. It was a petty, childish act of defiance, and I knew it. But in that moment, I didn't care.
 
I flung the diaper onto the bed, not with Emily's usual gentle placement, but with a careless toss that made the plastic crinkle loudly in the quiet room. See? I can do this myself. I don't need your help. The thought was a childish taunt, directed as much at myself as at Emily.
 
As I positioned myself over it, I deliberately hiked it up way too high on my back, the waistband practically under my armpits, and twisted it slightly, ensuring it wouldn't sit properly. Take that, perfect diaper placement. I pulled the front panel loosely up between my legs, leaving one side bunched and folded, a deliberate act of sabotage.  
 
When it came time to fasten the tapes, I ignored Emily's meticulous method. The bottom tapes I slapped on haphazardly, barely catching the edge of the front waistband, creating gaping holes at my thighs. The top tapes were yanked down at odd angles, criss crossing each other, further contorting the diaper into a grotesque parody of its intended form. As I pulled one of the bottom tapes off to reposition it - because even in my rebellion, some part of me still craved the rightness of her touch - the plastic backing of the diaper ripped, a long tear mocking my half-hearted attempt at competence. The tape, its adhesive now useless against the torn plastic, dangled uselessly, a testament to my failure. The top of the diaper was ripped and so low in front that it was almost scandalous. Perfect, I thought, a bitter satisfaction twisting in my gut. A masterpiece of incompetence. It was guaranteed to leak at the slightest provocation. A wave of self-sabotage, a desperate attempt to reclaim some sense of agency in this increasingly controlled life, washed over me. I knew, with a certainty that both terrified and exhilarated me, that this act of rebellion would have consequences.  
 
Standing up, I could feel the diaper sagging awkwardly, the absorbent core bunched uncomfortably between my legs. The three tapes that held it on were criss-crossed, the fourth dangling uselessly, a piece of the ripped plastic diaper clinging to it.  The top of the diaper was ripped, and was so low in front that it was almost scandalous.  It was a masterpiece of incompetence, guaranteed to leak at the slightest provocation.  But as I climbed into bed, the mangled diaper a crinkling monument to my defiance, I couldn't bring myself to care. I had made a choice, however small, however self-destructive. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like my choice.
 
A part of me wanted to take it off and do it properly, but stubbornness won out.  I could still hear the faint sound of Emily's voice. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the discomfort of my poorly fitted diaper. I tried to untangle the knot of emotions in my chest. I wanted her attention, her care, her love. But I also wanted control, autonomy, a sense of self that wasn't defined by diapers. The two desires seemed to war within me, each pulling me in opposite directions, leaving me feeling torn and confused.  It was a long time before sleep finally claimed me.
 
In the early hours of the morning, I woke to the familiar pressure in my bladder. Half-asleep and disoriented, I released without thinking. The warm flood quickly overwhelmed the misaligned diaper, seeping out at the legs and waist.
 
I woke in the morning to the acrid smell of urine and the familiar feeling of a wet and chilly bed, my hand instinctively reaching down to feel the sheets. Wet. Of course. I let out a frustrated groan, realizing my petty act of defiance had backfired spectacularly.
 
"Shit," I muttered, the full impact of my childish decision hitting me. I lay there, miserable and wet, dreading the moment Emily would discover what I'd done.  I didn't have to wait long.
 
Emily appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting from sleepy confusion to a look of barely concealed annoyance as she took in the obviously wet sheets. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and I braced myself for the inevitable lecture. But instead, she simply shook her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Another leak?" she asked, though we both knew the answer.
 
I nodded, shame burning my cheeks. "I'm... I'm sorry about the mess," I mumbled, unable to meet her eyes.
 
She crossed the room, her hand reaching out to gently touch my arm. "It's okay, Greg," she said, her voice laced with a tenderness that made my chest ache. "I'm just... well, these diapers had been working so well.  Let's get you cleaned up."
 
I could feel her gaze on me as I pulled the soaked pajamas away, revealing the disastrous state of the diaper. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of her soft, even breathing.
 
I felt a wave of shame wash over me as I looked down, unable to meet Emily's gaze.  "I... I tried to put it on myself last night," I mumbled.
 
Emily was quiet for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "Well, maybe it wasn't the diaper's fault?" Her tone was gentle, amused.  Emily's face softened as she took in the scene, her expression shifting from annoyance to something... else. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of her lips before she smoothed it into a look of gentle concern. But her eyes... her eyes held a spark of something I couldn't quite decipher. "Oh, Greg," she sighed, her voice a mix of exasperation and tenderness. "What are we going to do with you?"    
 
She didn't wait for an answer. Her hand reached out, lifting the ripped tape of the mangled diaper. "Well," she said, her voice soft but firm, "I guess this settles it, doesn't it?  I know you want to do this yourself, to be independent,"  she continued, her voice soft but firm, "But... I think we need to reconsider things." she continued, her gaze holding mine.
 
I stayed silent, not sure where this was going.
 
"You know," Emily said after a moment, her voice thoughtful, "this reminds me of something that happened with Abby." She paused, seeming to consider her words carefully. "Do you remember when she was going through her independent phase?""
 
I looked up, surprised. "Which of her independent phases?" I asked with a slight smile as memories of Abby's many independent phases crossed my mind.
 
She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "When Abby had outgrown the pullups and we just had gone back to using diapers, we had a similar incident. She insisted that since she could put on her own pull-up, she could just as well manage her own diaper one night, and..."
 
I felt a twinge of embarrassment at being compared to our often rebellious teenage daughter, but I remained silent, listening.
 
"That incident taught me something important," Emily continued. "While being calm and supportive and letting her have some control was good, I realized I still needed to be more hands-on in making sure Abby was wearing what she was supposed to, and wearing it correctly."
 
I felt a mix of emotions - embarrassment, gratitude, and a strange sense of relief. My mind was still on Tommy, on the comfort he seemed to exude in that diaper. "So... what are you saying?" I asked, my voice strained with the weight of my internal conflict.
 
Emily squeezed my arm gently. "I'm saying that from now on, I'll be making sure you're properly diapered. You're not alone in this, Greg. We're in this together. It's not just about the laundry, it's about your comfort. And my peace of mind.  You're going to wear what I choose, and I'll make sure it's put on properly. Understood?"
 
Her voice left no room for argument, sending a unexpected thrill through me. I felt my cheeks flush, not just with embarrassment, but with a heat that spread lower, settling in my groin. I swallowed hard, my voice a strained whisper.. "I... I guess that makes sense."
 
"Good," Emily said, standing up. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, and then we'll deal with the bed. And from now on, I'll make sure you're properly diapered. No arguments."
 
As Emily's words sank in, I realized the full impact of my childish rebellion. In trying to assert some control, I had inadvertently given Emily even more reason to treat me like a child. The irony wasn't lost on me - my attempt at defiance had only served to deepen our roles in this strange dynamic. I felt a mix of regret and excitement, wondering how far down this rabbit hole we would go.   
 
So, why not dig deeper?  "Emily," I started, my voice hesitant. "I... I heard you talking to your mom last night."
 
Emily's eyes widened, and she bit her lip. "Oh, Greg," she sighed, her hand reaching out to touch my arm. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have..."
 
"It's okay," I interrupted, forcing a casual shrug, "I just... cloth diapers? Really?" My voice was meant to convey skepticism, but even to my own ears it sounded a little too high-pitched. The thought of those bulky, infantile garments sent a shiver down my spine. But there was something about the image, the idea of being completely enveloped, that stirred a strange excitement deep within me.
 
"It's an option," she said, her eyes locked onto mine, a questioning in their depths. "I think it's a more sustainable solution. But I'd never force you into something you're not comfortable with."
 
"Cloth diapers?" I repeated, my voice catching in my throat.  My mind kept drifting back to that Christmas morning. The memory of Tommy's bulky diaper, the way it crinkled and swayed with each step, the way his mother had grabbed him as he ran past, one hand checking his diaper while he was wrapped in a hug being kissed and cuddled, was still vivid in my mind.
 
"Em, isn't that a bit... much? I mean, what if this... what if it's just a phase?" I forced a laugh, but the nervous fear in my voice was palpable. "I don't think we should... rush into anything. Maybe we should see how things go with the disposables for a while longer."
 
"I understand, honey," Emily said, her voice soft, but her gaze unwavering. "But I think... I think we both know this isn't going away anytime soon." She paused, her fingers gently tracing the outline of my arm, dropping down to land on the wet soggy mess of the front of my diaper.  "And honestly, Greg, I think you'd be more comfortable in cloth. They're so much more absorbent, and I can pin them to make sure they fit perfectly. No more leaks, no more discomfort."  
 
"I... I don't know, Em," I stammered, my voice betraying my uncertainty. "It's just... a big step, you know?" But even as I spoke, I couldn't shake the image of Tommy's thick cloth diaper. The memory of the comfort it seemed to provide, the security it represented, was both alluring and terrifying. A thought, unbidden and overwhelming, rose in my mind: Cloth diapers weren't a temporary solution; they meant commitment. Cloth diapers meant it was permanent.
 
"It is." she agreed, her voice soft but firm, her eyes acknowledging the magnitude of the statement.  
 
Emily pulled me into a hug, careful to avoid the wet parts of my pajamas as she guided my head to her chest, her arms warm around my back. Her fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down my back, lingering for a moment on the damp, bunched plastic of my diaper.  "We don't have to hurry on the cloth diapers, okay?  And from now on, I'll make sure you're properly taken care of each night, just like I did with Abby, for as long as she needed it."
 
As I hugged her back, my cheek against her soft breasts through her pajamas, I felt a mix of emotions swirling inside me. The guilt of my deception was a bitter pill, but the warmth of her embrace, the knowledge that she was always there for me, was intoxicating. I felt a strange, unbidden tingle in my groin, a physical response to her tenderness, that both surprised and excited me.
 
She kissed my forehead, a tender gesture that comforted and unnerved me. We sat there for a long moment, lost in the silence of our unspoken desires. When she finally released me, I stood, the diaper falling to the floor with a soft thud. I glanced at it, then at Emily, a blush creeping up my neck. She just smiled, a knowing smile that made my heart race.
 
"Go get cleaned up, honey," she said, her voice a husky whisper. "I'll take care of... everything else."
 
As I headed for the shower, I couldn't help but wonder what that "everything else" entailed. And as the warm water cascaded over my skin, washing away the remnants of the night, I felt a strange sense of anticipation. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: I was on a path I couldn't turn back from, a path that led me deeper into Emily's care, into her control, into a world where my needs, my desires, were no longer mine alone.

 

--

This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun.  It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

 

[Babypants]

Great chapter.  It looks like Greg is headed for 24/7, but Emily is wrong about the cost.  Quality adult cloth diapers do not come cheap, and you can only get so much use out of them before they head for the rag pile (100 times through the machine is about normal).  The vinyl pants are also costly, and also have to be periodically replaced.  Her machine will not be able to handle more than seven at a time, and I guarantee you that their water bill will go up 50 bucks a month.  The life expectancy of the washer and dryer will shrink.  Make no mistake about it, this is not a more cost effective solution over the long haul, nor is it environmentally more friendly because that detergent laden water has to be treated somewhere.  Sorry, Mom.

She is also wrong about the level of protection.  High end disposables wick much more effectively than cloth.  You can compensate for the difference by using baby diapers as stuffers, but this means running the diaper pail through the machines every five days.

Even if this remains just a nighttime issue, it will still not be cost effective.  You can't let cloth diapers mold in a pail without running a significant risk of contracting a yeast rash.  Believe me, you do not want to go through this.

I like cloth diapers, but then I'm old enough to have worn them for fully 35 years before Attends hit the marketplace in 1981.  I finally gave them up when high quality disposables came along.  For purposes of the story, I expect Greg and Emily to try them, though the doctor should discourage it.  Just temper your enthusiasm with a little hard-edged realism.