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Little Moments

Who doesn’t savor a slow, sensual diaper change? The thrill of getting a new box of diapers in the mail? The unexpected bottom-pat from a grinning partner?

These are moments we all love. But there are other moments that don’t get talked about as much, if at all. Special moments that only someone in diapers can appreciate. 

Sun-n-Fun. A bathing suit is the skimpiest thing most of us ever wear in public. Spending a toasty July day lounging at the lake or the ocean, soaking up the rays, $.47 of fabric covering your butt–it’s incredibly freeing. Then the sun dips below the horizon. The towels and sunscreen go back in the beach bag. You head home a bit damp, a bit sunburned. Some stubborn grains of sand chafe at spots you’d rather not mention. You’re done feeling free. Feeling exposed. You want to feel safe and secure. Comfortable and cared for. So off comes that slip of clammy fabric and on goes a thick, dry diaper. A warm, fluffy hug to help you relax in the cool dark of your home.  

Rise and Shine. Waking up in a wet diaper is a fantastic way to start the day. Your sheets are dry. Yay! You have a warm squish wrapped around your waist, hugging your parts. Double yay! And then there’s that special smell. The scent of a wet overnight diaper is just different than a wet diaper at any other time of the day. It’s a smell that says “I belong in diapers.” And you do, don’t you? You woke up soaked and squishy, after all. And even if you changed out of the diaper right now the smell would still linger on your skin. But you aren’t going to change out of it right now anyway. You’re gonna waddle downstairs, pour yourself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and watch cartoons. Then, when you’re good and ready, you’ll change your squishbutt.

Dresser Drawer. Slide open the top drawer of almost any dresser and you’re gonna see saggy boxers, boring briefs, or some humdrum panties. Maybe there’ll be a couple cute patterns or something lacey in the mix. But most everything is going to be as functional, as utilitarian, as unremarkable as an electric bill. Well, almostany dresser. That’s not what you see in yourdresser, is it? Your dresser is packed with soft, crinkly diapers. Neat stacks of fluffy goodness, each one a different color or design for a different day of the week, a different mood. Or maybe it’s a crisp row of white diapies, lined up on their sides, each one begging to be taken out, fluffed, and taped tightly. Every time you open that drawer it reminds you: This isn’t a temporary thing. This isn’t a phase. Diapers are your underwear. 

Before the Coffee. Nowhere are habits more important than the first shower of the day. When you’re still blinking sleep out of your eyes, it helps to have a set of steps you can follow before the first cup of coffee hits your system. For those of us in diapers, there are a couple of extra steps in that morning ritual. A few vital moments between toweling off and pulling on our jeans. You step out of the shower feeling fresh. Rejuvenated. Your skin is flushed and just a little damp. There’s a world of responsibilities outside that bathroom door, but you don’t need to worry about that right now. You’re in your own steamy little world. You might start with some lotion, working it into your thighs so everything stays silky soft. Then you sprinkle on the baby powder, dusting your private parts in scented goodness. Next comes the diaper. Perhaps you picked something with lions or giraffes or teddy bears or spaceships. Maybe a diaper as thick as a summertime rain cloud or discreet as a ninja’s wraps. You draw it all the way up to your belly button, a bit of powder puffing out of the waistband as you tape it on tight.  Whatever else happens during the day, you’ll remember this moment. How clean you felt. How soft and how little.  

Brush Those Toofers. You might not use the nasty potty anymore, but you still need to brush your teeth before bed. So you change yourself into one of your bulkiest nighttime diapers and toddle into the bathroom. Maybe you’re wearing your favorite Rugrats t-shirt, poofy-pampers-butt poking out below Tommy Pickles toes. Or maybe it’s a pair of slate-gray sweatpants or PJ bottoms with a papery waistband peeking over the top. As you stand there, looking at yourself in the mirror, you twirl a bit. Nothing else quite looks like a diaper, does it? There’s no hiding the bulk. The fluff. The layers of absorbent wonderfulness between your legs. The tapes applied firmly to plastic, keeping you where you belong. As you pose, checking yourself from every angle, the telltale crinkles echo on the tile. There’s definitely no hiding the sound, either. But who would want to hide it?  

Oasis. It’s freezing. Youare freezing. Every millimeter of skin that’s exposed to the frigid winter air cries out for relief. Your nose runs. The tips of your ears are numb and more than a bit tender. Every time the wind blows you retreat a bit further into your jacket, like a turtle in its shell. You might be snowboarding. Shoveling your driveway. Walking the dog. Or simply trudging back to your car after a long day at the office. Point is, the whole world is icy. Sterile. Not suited for human life. But then you feel it. That bit of pressure. The tiny tug inside your body reminding you of that second iced tea. You smile a little, relax, and it starts. A faint hissing sound that only you can hear, followed by a warm trickle of heat on your private bits. Your thighs. Your bottom. Warm wetness spreads and wraps around you, a tiny oasis of heat and life in a frozen wasteland. 

That Aisle. You know the one I’m talking about. Getting a prescription filled? Gotta go through thataisle to get there. Picking up Cinnamon Toast Crunch (you know you’re going to now) and a gallon of milk? Thataisle isn’t just the fastest way to get there–it’s the only way. And it doesn’t matter if you’ve never even been to this store before. You could be on vacation thousands of miles from home in some strange grocery store. You will find it. Or it will find you. The sweet smell of baby powder, Luvs, and scented wipes will draw you in. The colorful pacifiers, bibs, and stacking blocks will lead you onward. And maybe for a second, looking at all of those bright packages packed tight with diapers that promise comfort and absorbency and brand-name cartoon characters, you feel a bit bummed. They won’t fit you, after all, will they? You gave up your diapers a lifetime ago for some stickers on a chart; bribed with some M&Ms in a jar on the back of the potty. Then you remember: you don’t have to give anything up. You’re wearing a diaper right now, and no one can take that away from you ever again. 

Hustle and Bustle. Plenty of people take naps. Plenty of people climb into bed early after a long day of work or school. But doing it diapered is just different. Especially if the world is still going about its business all around you. Cars are honking. Dogs are yapping. Maybe your roommate or partner is washing dishes in the kitchen. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You’re snuggled up under the blankets with your favorite book. You have a warm bottle or your paci. Maybe a well-loved stuffy to keep you company. And of course, a diaper. Let everyone else hustle around, rushing and worrying. Trying to cram as much into the day as possible. You’re cozy. Safe. Right where you want to be. 

I’ll Never Tell. There’s the world you inhabit with everyone else. The “normal” world. The one that contains your cranky boss and your Aunt Margaret and the barista with the dolphin tattoo. Then there’s the world you only share with those who know. Your closest friend that you told over three-too-many Appletinis. Your loving partner, holding you on the couch as you spilled your guts. Or that person from a nearby city that you met online after months of chatting about board games and TV shows and, of course, diapers. When you’re with your special people–the ones who get you, who knowyou–the secret world is only ever just below the surface. The knowing look your BFF gives you when the Pampers ad comes on the TV. The way your partner wordlessly takes your hand to cross the parking lot. The chuckle your friend lets loose when you go glassy-eyed in the checkout line. In those moments, your secret world melds with the real world–just enough to make you feel whole and alive and integrated, but hidden enough to feel special and precious.

Did you enjoy this post? If so, check out my stories on Smashwords:https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/All4thedips

Baby’s First Birthday

Here’s a snippet from my new story: Baby’s First Birthday. You can read a longer sample or grab a copy of the full story here!

All around him, the others formed into a line like they’d done this a million times. A row of puffy white butts poking up in the air.  Nathan was left standing there, the women watching and waiting. He shuffled to the end of the line, next to Mark, and bent over to touch his toes. 

Paige walked around in front of them. “I want you all to keep your fingers on your toes. Or as close as you can get them, okay? No looking up.” 

Nathan’s heart thud-thud-thudded in his chest. The group of women had moved from the table and were now standing behind them. They spoke in hushed tones, interspersed with a giggle here and there. 

From the other end of the line, he heard the pop of a diaper tape, followed by a ‘just relax.’ A moment later, another popped tape. 

Paige walked back and forth down the line. When she was at the far end, Nathan turned his head as much as he dared. He caught a glimpse of one of the women standing behind one of the boys halfway down the line, but that was it. 

“What’s going on?” he asked Mark.

“Dunno.” 

“Hush, boys,” someone said behind him. 

He focused on his toes. On the grass. A tiny ant crawled through the green stalks. Someone stepped close. The sound of a popping tape. “Relax,” a woman’s voice said. 

Mark grunted his acknowledgment. 

Then a hand was on Nathan’s lower back, gently rubbing. It slipped down to his stomach and pulled back one of the diaper tapes. His diaper loosened around his waist, drooping lower. Soft fingers slipped into the waistband and drew the diaper down. Warm as the day was, the air felt cool on his exposed butt. Someone said something—was that Lauren? Then a bout of chuckles broke out. 

The hand slipped lower. “Just relax for me, little guy.” Was that Luciana?

Nathan tried to relax. But she might as well have requested he speak Chinese. Or ride a unicycle. Or wave his third arm. 

The hand was on his butt, a finger probing between his cheeks, gently forcing them apart. Then a bit of pressure and it withdrew. She patted his butt and then slipped around, retaping the diaper. 

“Okay boys, stand on up,” Paige called out. “Fantastic job, all of you.” She smiled at Nathan when she said it. “Now turn around for me.” 

Nathan turned in place along with the others. Two plastic mats were spread out on the grass. Twister. Down the line, someone groaned. 

The ladies chuckled. Paige walked around in front of them again. “I see some of you remember Twister.” 

“Divide up into a group of four, and a group of three, and each take a mat. We will call out a color and hand or foot. You will move your hand or foot to the color we state. If any other part of your body touches the mat, you are eliminated. Last player on the mat wins. Simple enough even a baby could understand it.” 

She smiled at the group. “One more thing. If you mess your diaper, you’re out.”

Check out the rest of the story on Smashwords!

Most of My Patients Call Them ‘Briefs’

The faint scent of pee drifts through the waiting room air. I think it’s coming from the blue-hair sitting directly across from me. She’s gone to the bathroom three times in the twenty minutes I’ve been sitting here. Every time she’s bolted out of her chair like there’s a tack in it, clutching her purse to her chest.

Or it could be the guy in Carhartt cutoffs and a Porter Concrete shirt. He’s wincing and shifting a lot. The bulge in his crotch looks suspicious. But it could just be the way his shorts are bunched up…

I lean forward a bit to get a closer look.

He clears his throat and glares at me.

I lean back in my chair and pretend to be engrossed in the People magazine draped across my lap. The last thing I need is some guy thinking I’m eyeing his junk. Explaining the truth probably wouldn’t help much, either.

I turn to Becca. She’s sitting with her hands folded in her lap, legs crossed. She’s not looking at her phone or a magazine or anything else.

“Can you believe this?” I say, showing her a photo of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston frolicking on some tropical beach. “This thing’s an antique. Could probably sell it down at the flea market as a collectible.”

I’m careful not to lift the magazine toohigh, as I still need it for cover. The jeans underneath bulge outwards. Not like Carhartt guy’s shorts, where it could just be the way they fold and wrinkle. And not like I’m some 80s rockstar packing a massive cock, either. If anything it’s the opposite–my manhood is entirely buried under a dome of soft padding.

Becca counters my grin with a frown. “Have you looked at the literature over there?”

Should’ve kept my mouth shut.

She nods at the plastic rack next to the receptionist’s desk. It’s the second time she’s mentioned it. I pretended I didn’t hear her the first time, when we walked past the rack. I really don’t want a stack of incriminating evidence in my lap. I mean sure, it’s a urologist’s office, but I’d prefer people think I’m here for my prostate or something. Hell, even ED might be better than the truth.

She stares at me like she’s waiting for me to come up to the white board and solve an equation.

I drop the magazine onto the table between us. Aside from some muted typing sounds in the receptionist’s alcove the room is silent.

I stand up carefully, my legs as far apart as I can reasonably manage. The more space in my jeans, the less room there is for things to rub and fold and collide and crinkle. Or at least that’s my theory. It’s part one of my two-part plan for stealthiness.

Part two involves scuffling my way across the room like an old geezer, dragging my sneakers across the mustard-colored carpet. It was a little trick I read about in a forum. It looks stupid, but it masks the worst of the rustling sound. Or maybe it just adds to it. I can’t really tell. But it feels like I’m doing something.

I feel better imagining that half the people here are wearing diapers too, and I haven’t heard them crinkling like a bag of last year’s Christmas wrapping paper. Then again, they probably wear those terrible cloth-backed medical things–the kind with “discreet” and “undergarment” all over the package. The kind that bend over backwards to convince you they aren’t actually diapers.

The phonebook-sized monstrosity I’m wearing harbors no such delusions. It knows what it is. And so do I. At least it’s plain white–that was the one saving grace of this whole thing. I can only imagine what Becca would have said if she’d found a bag of diapers with cartoon dinosaurs or something on them instead. Or the ones with teddy bears I bought last month. We might be talking to a divorce attorney today instead of a doctor.

I quickly snag a few brochures off the rack and scuttle my way back to the chair. Once I’m comfortably seated on my padded throne, People magazine back in place, I scan the room to see if anyone noticed. My heart beats far faster than it should. I’m not sure what I’ll do if anyone makes knowing eye contact with me. Luckily, blue-hair and Carhartt dude seem engrossed in their own little worlds.

Becca plucks one of the brochures off my lap. “Your body after pregnancy?”

“Must’ve picked it up by accident.”

“Why aren’t taking this seriously?” she says in her best disappointed voice. She’d used that voice a lot, lately.

I rapidly flip through the rest of the brochures: kidney stones, menopause, bladder cancer.

I hold up the last brochure like it’s a carnival prize. It has a black and white photo of an old couple holding hands on the beach, smiling. ‘Managing Incontinence’ it shouts in comic sans.

Becca looks at me and shakes her head.

“I am taking this seriously,” I tell her. I lean closer. “I just don’t want the whole friggin’ world to know about it too.”

Her eyes search mine for a full minute and a half.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Remember last year, when you broke your ankle skiing?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Were you embarrassed then?”

“No.”

“Or when you had strep three years ago? You begged me to drive you to the hospital and whined to everyone in the waiting room about how miserable you were.”

An all too familiar knot twists in my stomach. “This is just…different.”

“I know this is uncomfortable for you. Speaking of which…” she raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

She looks meaningfully at the old denim backpack in front of her chair. I’d never seen the stupid thing before today, probably because it’s too small to hold much of anything. But it is large enough to carry one item, I’d learned.

“Oh, no.” I glance around the room again to see if anyone was paying attention. I don’t know why she had to keep talking about this. We’d discussed the topic in excruciating detail this past week. How often did I wet? Was it better or worse at night? Did I do –ahem–anything else in my diapers?

I lied through all of them. Except the last one–messing wasn’t my thing. Never had been. Sure, I’d thought about it. I think we all do at some point. But the smell–and the thought of it mushed against my skin–was just too much.

“Are you wet?” she asks.

I feel a flush of heat in my cheeks. “No.”

She looks down at her phone. “It’s been at least two hours since we left home.”

“So wha–” I stop myself dead. Right. Two hours since I’d changed into this diaper. In my off-the-cuff brilliance, I’d told her that I was frequently wetting a little. Plus some random, more severe accidents. It was a stupid explanation for a bunch of reasons, not least of which it locked me into this situation. It beat telling her the truth, of course, but now if I didn’t wet every little bit she’d wonder what was up.

“Just a little,” I whisper.

Her expression softens. She slides the bag toward me with one foot.

I pick it up and eye the bathroom door. The tapes on these premium diapers are the size of an envelope and as sticky as Loctite. Pulling them off will sound like someone shooting off a pack of cherry bombs.

She just keeps staring.

I stand up and head towards the bathroom door to escape that gaze as much as anything.

“Grant Andresen?”

I stop halfway between my chair and the bathroom, frozen in place like I’m caught in the prison yard spotlight.

The nurse smiles at me from the hallway. She’s clutching a clipboard I’m sure is packed with embarrassing details about my little problem.

Becca hops up. “That’s us.” She gives my butt a gentle pat as she walks past.

Carhartt dude definitely smirks at me this time.

I hope the bastard’s prostate is the size of an overripe cantaloupe.

I follow Becca and the nurse down the hallway, holding back as far as I can and scuffing my feet the whole way. How anybody gets off on wearing these out in public I’ll never know. Every step feels like I’m waving a neon sign that says “hey, look at me and my big fat diaper.”

We step into the exam room and the nurse wheels over a stand with a laptop on it.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I tell Becca. I’ve told her that five times, at least, but she insists. She doesn’t say it, but she thinks I won’t listen to whatever the doctor says. And she’s right, because I’m not actually incontinent. This is a bit of theater to get her off my case. Answer some questions, discuss some options, and go home. In a few days, my little issue will magically clear up and that will be that. Diapers can go back into the closet until her next business trip.

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “It’s okay, I want to be here.”

“OK, Mr. Andresen. I’m going to step out of the room for a few minutes,” the nurse says. “There’s a gown on the exam table. Please strip down to your underwear.”

“I think there’s been a mixup.” I laugh nervously. “I’m just here for an initial consult.”

The corners of her mouth draw down slightly and she looks at her laptop again. “It says here that you’ve been experiencing bladder incontinence. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Both daytime and nighttime accidents?”

“Yes,” I croak out.

She gives me the self-satisfied smile of someone who does all of their tinkles in the potty. “Well then. Dr. Siegler will want to examine you. Standard procedure.” She closes the door behind herself.

I stare at the thin, baby blue gown sitting on the table.

“Do you want to change your diaper before the doctor gets here? I can ask them to wait,” Becca says.

“Why would I want to make any more of a production of this than I have to? It’s bad enough the doctor is going to see me sitting in a diaper.”

“I just thought you might want to be dry when you get examined,” she says.

“Oh, right.” Oh, shit! I’m supposed to be in a wet diaper. Becca would notice. She noticed everything. If I was sitting there in a dry, pristine diaper she would want to know why: why it was dry, why I lied in the waiting room, and so on. Why why why.

The problem is, I have a shy bladder. That went double when I was wearing a diaper. I’d spent the last seven years sneaking a diaper session here and there, when Becca was out of town or had a girl’s night out. It didn’t leave many opportunities to practice actually usinga diaper. It also didn’t help that I had a raging hard on most of the time when I was wearing one.

After an embarrassing event in a crowded movie theater restroom, I read up on a little technique for shy bladders. Push almost all of the air out of your lungs and then hold your breath. Thirty seconds or so later and the floodgates will open. A little fight-or-flight response that evolution probably didn’t intend for public diaper wetting, but hey, I’ll use what I can.

But Becca will notice if I’m standing here, red in the face.

“Can I have a little privacy to change?” I ask.

Becca sighs. “Grant…”

“What?” I glance up at the clock ticking away on the wall.

“This all started because you weren’t sharing things with me. I just think–”

“So what, now you’re going to follow me into the bathroom? Make sure I brush my teeth? Wipe my butt?”

She frowns. “Have you been having those kinds of accidents too? You know…number two?”

“Jesus. I told you no. I was just making a point.”

I hear footsteps in the hallway and I hold my breath.

They walk on past.

“I just want you to…” she shakes her head.

I don’t have time to ask her to continue that thought. I make a show of walking over to the counter and looking at the shelves above it. Really, I just need a little space between us.

I push the air out of my lungs.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I get up on my tiptoes to look at some stuff on the shelves. It occurs to me that pretending to look at my phone would have been a better option. Too late now. My lungs are starting to burn as my body tells me to dump the C02.

“Grant?”

Spots flit back and forth in my vision, but I keep holding it. I hope it comes soon or I might black out.

Then it happens–that warm, naughty trickle. More than a trickle, really. Two coffees worth, at least. The warm stream hits the front of the diaper and flows back and over my dick, then my balls, and finally into the seat of the diaper.

“Are you ok?” Becca is standing next to me now. She squeezes my arm.

I realize I have a stupid half-grin on my face and quickly clear it. “Yeah, just looking at what they have for, you know, diapers or whatever. In case the news today isn’t good.”

It was half a lie. I had a shameful, lifelong habit of looking at whatever stack of diapers they had on the shelves at the doctor’s office between the chux and bandages. Usually something ridiculously thin. Diapers had been a secret part of my life for so long–the stuff of late night internet sessions and the occasional indulgent weekend–that seeing them in the wild was a trip, like a lion walking down Main Street.

“Okay,” she says. She looks concerned.

I feel like a piece of shit for the hundredth time since she confronted me with the bag of diapers. She’s really worried about me and I just keep piling lie on lie. But if I can make it through just a few more, then we could put this behind us.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just not excited about the doctor seeing me in–”

There’s a knock on the door.

If I hadn’t just emptied my bladder I think I would have wet myself.

The door swings open and in walks Dr. Siegler. Call it misogyny. Call it whatever you want. I just assumed the doctor would be a balding old guy in horn-rimmed glasses. He’d be world-weary. Over it. He’d have seen it all before–including grown men in diapers.

This…this was more difficult. Prime universe Dr. Siegler is a woman. She looks like she can’t be more than a few years out of med school–tall, cute, and definitely not balding. She stands in the doorway, no doubt wondering why I’m examining a jar of cotton balls.

“I’m sorry. Debbie was supposed to give you a gown,” she says.

Yes, let her think it’s Debbie’s fault.

“She did,” Becca says.

Ugh. It was like she was trying to make all of this as difficult as possible.

Becca looks at me. “Grant just…”

“I, uh…I’m just a bit embarrassed Dr. Siegler,” I say.

“That’s not necessary.” Dr. Siegler smiles. “I’ve seen it all before. And you can call me Andrea.”

I sincerely doubted she’d encountered my exact situation before, but if I kept myself together she wouldn’t need to know that.

“I have some questions about these notes.” She looks down at the tablet in her hand and I see the hint of a frown. “Why don’t you change into the gown while I review them again.”

She doesn’t give me time to answer, but instead pulls a curtain along a track in the ceiling, closing off the exam table from the rest of the room. Becca, thank god, is on the outside. The last thing I need is to give her a little stripshow.

I have some questions about this file. That’s disconcerting. I hadn’t expected to get caught–no one does, I guess–so my explanation to Becca probably didn’t jive too well with real-world incontinence. I didn’t worry about it in the moment–it was all about steering the conversation away from the truth–but she obviously paid very close attention.

Now I’m standing in nothing but a diaper with a soggy, yellow splotch adorning the front. The diaper is still warm, which is a contrast with the cool air and downright chilly floor. Goosebumps break out across my arms.

I quickly slide the gown on and do my best to lace it up. As expected, my butt hangs out the back. What I didn’t expect was that it would look like I have a basketball tucked down the front. The gown hangs off the bulging diaper like a curtain.

My heart’s racing. I picture both women standing on the other side of the curtain, arms crossed, waiting for me to emerge.

I peek around the curtain. Becca’s eyes glance down at my bulbous midsection and then quickly back up. She gives me a smile I’m sure is supposed to be comforting, but comes across as pitying.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I say to the doctor.

She pulls back the curtain. I count to five in my head, giving her time to process the sight of me, then turn around.

Doctor Siegler’s eyes dart to my midsection, but they linger longer than Becca’s. “Please have a seat and we’ll get started,” she says.

I lower myself onto the exam table, the diaper crackling almost as much as the paper covering.

Doctor Siegler sits on a stool and wheels herself closer, her knees almost touching mine.

My heart thuds faster in my chest.

“So according to the notes you provided–”

“My wife provided,” I interject.

“Excuse me?” she says.

“My wife called.” Now that I say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous. Like I’m a child. “I’m not sure exactly what she told you.”

She looks down at her tablet. “Ah yes, it says here that your wife scheduled the appointment. I understand you were resistant to the idea?”

“Well, I–”

“He was,” Becca cut me off. “But I felt it was important.”

The doctor’s eyes travel back and forth between us, then she shrugs. “I understand incontinence is a challenging topic for many. There’s a social stigma attached. But you need to understand that it’s nothing to be ashamed about–you can’t control it, after all.” Her smile is warm and understanding.

I sink a bit deeper into the exam table. “You’re right.”

“So let’s talk about these symptoms. The notes say that you are leaking urine regularly throughout the day, but that you also sometimes experience stress incontinence?”

I nod. “Yeah, that sounds right. Things at work have been tough lately. I just got a new boss and–”

“Oh, no. Stress incontinence means you leak when you cough, or laugh, or engage in exercise.”

“OK.”

Her brow furrows. “So you’ve been experiencing stress incontinence?”

I nod, hoping that’s the right answer.

She taps some notes on her tablet. I try to see them, but I can’t make anything out.

“Is that…okay?” I ask.

She looks up and opens her mouth, pauses, then continues. “It’s not common in men your age. We most often see it after a man has had prostate surgery, or when there is some other underlying health issue.”

“I’m pretty healthy. I don’t floss as much as I’m supposed to, but otherwise…” I chuckle.

“Mmmmmhhhmmm.” She’s still staring at those notes.

“When did you first begin to experience incontinence?” she asks. “And did it begin with the overflow or stress incontinence?”

About a week ago, when Becca caught me red-handed. “It’s been a couple months now.”

“If I’d known, I would have brought him in sooner,” Becca says. “But he kept it secret.” I can hear the disapproval in her voice–like I’m some delinquent child who found an injured barn cat and decided to keep it as a secret closet pet.

“Mmmhmmm. And how have you been managing it?” the doctor asks.

She’s trying to be polite about the massive, plastic-backed elephant in the room, but in doing so is going to make me say the ‘D’ word out loud. “I’ve been wearing…diapers.”

She cocks her head to the side a little. “Diapers?”

I feel a flush of heat up my neck. I nod, afraid that if I say anything it will just come out as a squeak or a croak or some other unmanly sound.

“Most of my patients prefer to call them ‘briefs’ or ‘protection.’”

“Oh. Well, diapers are what they are, I guess. So…”

“If you feel more comfortable with ‘diaper,’ then that’s what you should call them.” She smiles at me again.

I wish we were here to deal with something easy, like a brain-eating amoeba.

“Now I’d like you to undo the laces on the back of the gown and recline on the table,” she says.

I reach back for the laces. The first knot comes apart easily, but my fingers are shaking and the second one is difficult. I twist and fumble awkwardly as the two women watch and wait.

“Here, let me help,” Becca says.

I immediately drop my hands and my eyes. Her soft fingers graze my back and a moment later the gown loosens.

“Thanks,” I mumble. I lie back on the cool table and stare at the tiled ceiling. I shift a little and get a whiff of urine–can’t blame that one on blue-hair, can we?

Doctor Siegler looms above me. “I’m going to move your gown aside and touch your abdomen. Is that okay?”

I nod, the paper covering crackling beneath me.

She gently moves aside the thin material and I’m fully exposed from the chest down. I don’t look at her, just at the ceiling. Her hands begin poking and prodding.

“Let me know if anything hurts,” she says.

“Okay.”

“I’m looking for any masses that could be impinging on the bladder,” she says. She’s turned to Becca.

I should be glad she’s ignoring me–the last thing I want right now is a conversation–but it feels condescending.

“Like cancer or…?” Becca asks.

“That’s a possibility, but I wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions. Even if there is a mass, it wouldn’t mean it’s cancerous.”

Her hands trace lower, poking and prodding. They’re dangerously close to the top of my diaper. Then she stops.

“Okay, you can sit up now, Grant. The good news is, I don’t feel anything abnormal.”

I sit up, shifting the gown back into place. Good thing you can’t feel fetishes with a medical exam.

“I’m happy to see you’re taking steps to manage your incontinence responsibly. You have no idea how many patients refuse to wear any kind of protection. It can really have a profoundly negative impact on their lives and relationships.”

I nod. Yeah, responsible patient of the year, right here.

“Did you buy these briefs–I’m sorry, diapers–at a medical supply store?”

“I, uh–”

“He purchased them from an internet drug store. Right, Grant?”

“Yeah, an internet drug store.” Two of those three words were the truth, at least.

“I’m going to write you a prescription for a more discrete product. You can purchase these at CVS, Walgreens–pretty much any pharmacy. In person or online.”

“A prescription?” I ask. “But can’t anyone just, you know, buy them?”

She chuckles. “Yes, but if you want your insurance to cover the cost, you’ll need a prescription.”

Insurance cover the cost… “That’s great!”

Becca frowns. Doctor Siegler purses her lips, her pen frozen above the prescription pad.

Fuck. That was not a normal reaction. “I mean, we pay so much in premiums, right Beccs? It will just be nice to actually get something for it, you know.”

“That’s a great attitude, Mr. Andresen,” Dr. Siegler says. “I wish everyone looked at it like that.”

She hands me a slip of paper. The golden ticket. Our godawful insurance company would be paying for my diapers from now. Better yet, I had cover–a piece of paper saying I neededto wear diapers. This was amazing.

“This will help you manage the issue until we get some additional testing,” Dr. Siegler continues.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to schedule you for a CT scan. Next week, if possible.”

“I, I–”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, it’s not painful. They will give you contrast liquid and then put you through a machine. The liquid makes you feel warm all over, like you might have wet your pants, but it’s not that bad.”

“Do you think that’s necessary?” I ask.

“Of course it’s necessary!” Becca says. “What if there’s a tumor?”

“Well, it seemed like–”

“Do you want to be wearing diapers your whole life?” She throws her hands up in the air.

Yes.

“No. You’re right. Let’s schedule it,” I say.

“There is an alternative to diapers,” Doctor Siegler adds. “I typically don’t recommend them, but for some patients they are the best option.”

“What would that be?” Becca asks.

“In-dwelling catheter. Also called a Foley catheter. They are sometimes recommended for patients with overflow incontinence.”

“That’s okay. I don’t think we need to explore–”

“Could we get some more info about that?” Becca cuts me off.

I turn around to face her. She’s staring at Doctor Siegler, pointedly ignoring me.

“Absolutely. I can provide some information for you two to go over together. They do come with a risk of infection. And they aren’t appropriate for all types of incontinence.”

Becca nods. “Thank you.”

Doctor Siegler nods. “The front desk will reach out to you for scheduling. Also–”

“Which kinds aren’t they appropriate for?” I ask.

“Excuse me?”

“Which kinds of incontinence aren’t they appropriate for?”

“We typically don’t use them for…”

I zone out as she begins her explanation. Whatever she says, I can’t change my story at this point to match it. It’s flimsy and inconsistent enough as it is.

Becca is listening to every word as if it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever heard.

A future of expensive medical exams and catheters for my nonexistent incontinence is sickening. A cruel, ironic joke. There is one option–one out. The trump card that will take catheters off the table. But I’m not sure I can do it.

I look down at the slip of paper in my hand. A doctor telling me to wear diapers–telling me that my insurance should pay for it. I’ll never get another opportunity like this.

I take a deep breath, bend my knees slightly, and bear down. For a second, it seems like it’s going to be difficult, but then the two coffees help things along. I feel the mess come out of me and push against the seat of the diaper. There’s resistance, so I bear down harder and the mush spreads throughout the diaper. There’s a lot–more than I could have imagined–but at least it’s quiet.

Then it’s done. There’s no going back. I burned the bridge and took a dump on the ashes.

Becca and Dr. Siegler are still talking, unaware of the war crime occurring a few feet away. How do you interrupt someone to tell them you filled your pants?

In unison, both of their noses twitch.

Then it hits me. It smells bad. Ismell bad. Awful, actually. Like a bag of trash left to bake in the summer sun. And with every passing second, it gets worse.

“Ummm…”

Becca turns to me. Her eyes go wide. “Grant…?”

“I’m sorry. I think I…”

“Oh,” Dr. Siegler says quietly. “That’s…not a problem. Let me get some wipes and a chux pad.”

Becca just stares at me, jaw slack. Her eyes dart from my face, down to the mess trapped around my waist, and then back again.

“I’ve put some supplies on the–”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Doctor Siegler says.

I’m not talking to her.

“Thank you, doctor,” Becca says.

“You have the room as long as you need,” Dr. Siegler says. “See the front desk when you are done. This indicates a more significant issue might be at play, so I want to get that CT scan scheduled soon, okay?” She gives me one last pitying look, then lets herself out.

Becca and I stand a few feet apart, staring at each other. The stench has filled the room now. I want to get this thing off me, but I don’t want to do it with her here.

Tears brim in the corners of her eyes.

“Beccs, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

She just shakes her head, then stares at the floor.

“I…” the elaborate story I’m about to spin collapses in my mind. “I don’t need to wear diapers.”

She looks up at me.

“This whole thing…it’s…I’ve been lying to you. I’m not incontinent. I haven’t been having accidents. There’s no tumor or anything else. I just…like to wear diapers.”

I brace for the response. Becca isn’t a screamer. At least I don’t think so. But I have no idea how she’ll react. Storm out and leave me stranded here? Melt into a puddle of tears and confusion? Demand a divorce?

“I know,” she says quietly.

“What!?”

She dabs the tears away with the back of her hand. “You forgot to clear your browser a couple months ago and I found…a lot. Everything. At least I hope it’s everything.”

The room is spinning. I sit back on the exam table to steady myself and immediately regret it as the mush squelches up my crack.

“You…then why?” I throw my hands up in the air. “Why all of this?”

“I wanted to give you a chance to be honest with me. To tell me the truth. Nothing was working, so… here we are.”

“You aren’t mad? Or grossed out?”

She laughs.

“What?”

“I mean, you shit your pants at the doctor’s office instead of telling your wife about your fetish. That’s pretty gross.”

“Sorry.” It sounded lame, even to my ears, but it was sincere.

She shrugs. “It’s okay. I don’t mind the diapers. I think I can get used to them, anyway.”

“Really?”

“Really. Just no more secrets, okay?”

I nod.

She wraps her arms around me. She’s warm and soft and smells like lavender and vanilla. Far too good for me, standing half-naked in a loaded diaper. But she doesn’t let go–she just keeps holding me. So I hold her too.

She steps back. She has that look again–a bit stern, a bit condescending. “Now get yourself cleaned up before they call in the hazmat team, okay?”

There are a million things I want to tell her. A million things I want to share about the little world I’ve been hiding from her for years. But there’s no rush–she isn’t going anywhere.

##

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18+ Only

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The doorbell surprised Mike. He was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, zoning out as Amanda watched a mindless house-flipping TV show.

“Is Vivienne home already?” he blurted out. She wasn’t supposed to be home for a couple more hours, at least. Midnight was what she said, but that usually meant 2 or 3 AM. Mike had stopped asking where she was and what she was doing - he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Amanda didn’t answer him. She jumped up and skipped over to the doorway.

Mike stood up, frowning.

Amanda threw open the door and in walked a man.

Mike immediately dropped onto the floor again, his diaper sending up a light *pfftt* of baby powder scent. Fuck! She wasn’t supposed to have anyone over. It was bad enough she’d seen him like this. But someone else? He peeked his head over the top of the couch, stealthy as a ninja, then dropped right back down again.

The guy was young, probably around Amanda’s age. Tall, handsome, imposing - everything Mike wasn’t, at least in his current state.  

“Hey, babe. Work kept me a bit late,” the man said.

“It’s good. You’re here now,” Amanda replied. Her voice was a bit muffled. “You ready to meet Mikey?”

“That little pantywaist you told me about?” the man asked.

Mike’s heart was thudding in his chest. Every fight-or-flight instinct in him was looking for some sort of escape. If he bolted across the room quickly, at ground-level, he just might make it to the hallway without them noticing. From there, his bedroom. But then what? Vivienne had removed the lock on his door, so it wasn’t like he could truly hide anyway. At least not for long.

His frantic scheming was interrupted by Amanda and the stranger walking into the living room. “No fucking shit! You weren’t kidding!” the guy said.

Amanda laughed. “Told ya. I couldn’t make this up if I tried. Kurt, meet Mikey.”

Mike looked up at them. He felt incredibly exposed, sitting in the middle of the living room in his diaper, looking up at these two.

“Mikey, if you’re gonna be rude, your mommy said I could spank you,” Amanda said.

Mike climbed to his feet, painfully aware of the crinkling of his diaper. “Hi,” he said.

Kurt burst out laughing and Mike felt his cheeks go fire-truck red from anger and embarrassment. Amanda chuckled. I guess you saved yourself from a spanking, diaperboy. At least for tonight. But…“ she said.

"But?” he asked. 

“But, I have another fun little toy for you.” She grinned wickedly.

Kurt looked at her questioningly and she ignored him too. “Yes, something to keep you occupied tonight, diaperboy.”

Mike, in spite of himself, had to speak up. “Um, what do you mean, exactly?”

“Mikey, hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s more powerful to show than it is to tell? I think we’re going to go in your nursery - Kurt will loooove to see that - and give you your other gift.”

She grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward the bedroom. As she did, Kurt gave him a smirk. Not a frown or even an arched brow - he didn’t see him as a man, much less a threat.

Mike followed along behind Amanda, aware of Kurt’s presence behind him. This would be the second person to see his nursery after Amanda. In some ways, it felt even worse - with Amanda, he’d embarrassed himself in front of someone who’d be a prospective lay in other circumstances. Being seen like this in front of Kurt, on the other hand, was shameful in a different way. He felt like he was about to be expelled from that 3 billion member club of men. That he was a joke and a fraud who’d finally been found out. 

When they stepped into the nursery, Mike saw it through fresh eyes. Somehow, he’d grown almost accustomed to the infantile accouterments. Now he saw it through Kurt’s eyes - eyes that were presumably not much different than his own a few months ago.

“Holy shit, dude. This is your room?” Kurt asked. He turned to Amanda who was clearly enjoying the moment. “This is his bedroom?”

“Yes, it is. Although I guess it’s more of a diaper changing room and a nursery than a bedroom, right Mikey?”

“Can we just do this? Whatever new torture you have for me? I’d like to get it over with,” he replied.

“Oh, fresh! But yes, I suppose so. Let me grab my purse - I’ll be right back.” With that she stepped out of the room and Mike was left there with Kurt, who was looking around as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Dude, what the fuck? What is wrong with you?” he asked Mike. He seemed genuinely confused.

“I, I…I’m not sure. I don’t know what happened. It started…different.” Mike replied. He shrugged, as if that could fill in the gaping holes in his explanation. The truth was, he didn’t know how it had gotten to this point.

“I’d never let this happen - not for any bitch,” Kurt said. A new expression dawned on his face and he looked at Mike intently. “Your old lady, she must be super fucking hot for you to put up with all of this, right?”

Mike grinned. “Yeah, she is. You oughta see-”

“You oughta see the ass that Mikey hasn’t touched in months,” Amanda said as she walked through the doorway, purse in hand.

“That’s not true!” Mike blurted out.

“Oh, isn’t it? I guess I could call Vivienne out at the club and ask her.”

Mike looked at the floor, hoping she wouldn’t do that.

“Or, you know, we could just look at the fact that you wear diapers and sleep in a nursery.”

Kurt snorted and shook his head. Amanda gestured to the changing table. 

Mike complied, climbing up and lying down. He wished it would just swallow him up. He’d sink down into it like Ewan McGregor’s character sunk into the floor in Trainspotting, the top closing in around him.

But it didn’t. Instead, he felt Amanda untape the diaper and pull down the front.

“Oh, a little wet, hhmmm? Looks like you have quite a bit left to go in this diaper though. Does your mommy keep baby oil in here somewhere?” She bent over and rummaged around through the drawers beneath his changing table. “Aha! I thought she might.” She produced a bottle.

“Can we just not do this? Don’t you think that, you know, your other gift was enough for tonight?” Mike asked her.

“Oh! That’s right! I didn’t even show Kurt the gift I got you. Kurt, come here.”

Kurt was looking at his phone, having lost interest in the situation. “Huh?”

“Come look at Mikey’s new present, baby,” Amanda said, gesturing to Mike’s chastity device.

Kurt walked over and looked down, a frown of disgust already on his face. An element of confusion was introduced. “I don’t get it. Is it, like, some doctor thing?”

A doctor thing? What a dunce, Mike though. Still, this man was sleeping with Amanda and presumably using the toilet, so who was the real fool?

“No, no that’s not it at all. It’s actually -” she paused and placed a finger to her lips dramatically - “actually, I think I’ll let Mikey explain this one to you. Mikey?”

He knew there was no escape from this - best to get it over with as quickly as possible. “It’s a chastity device.”

Amanda sighed. “And what does it dooooo?”

“It-” he started to say.

Amanda cut him off. “Don’t tell me, silly. I know. Tell Kurt.” She cocked her head in the big lunk’s direction.

“It locks my dick up,” Mike said to Kurt, then turned back to Amanda. “There, you happy?”

“Nope!” she said gleefully. “Explain why, Mikey.”

He turned back to Kurt, who looked as confused as ever. “It keeps me from getting an erection or cumming or whatever.”

“For real?” Kurt asked.

“Yes, for real.”

“That sucks,” he said.

Amanda reached over and grabbed at Kurt’s crotch. “Don’t you worry, big boy. I won’t ever lock this beast up.” Kurt grinned back at her, his place in the world reaffirmed.

Mike hated them both so much.

“But, back to the matter at hand,” Amanda said. She withdrew from her purse a big, black dildo.

Or almost a dildo, Mike thought. He’d seen some dildos before. A lot in porn, a few in person as Vivienne had sometimes indulged.This was almost like those, except it had a flared base, like it was meant to sit on a nightstand in place of a lamp.

Amanda squirted a wet glop of the baby oil into her hand and began applying it up and down the veiny shaft.

No. Oh no, no, no no, he thought. “Where is THAT, going!?” he asked in a panic.

“You know exactly where it’s going,” she replied. “I have a real man to fill me up. And Kurt? He doesn’t need a cock. So, that leaves you.” She smiled at him sweetly and brought the tip of the monster up to his tight hole.

“No way. I let you put that stupid thing on my dick, but this is too much. Not happening.” Mike crossed his arms across his chest before realizing how inane that looked with him lying on the changing table. 

Amanda eyes narrowed. “You LET me? I don’t think you understand this situation. At all. I am your babysitter, pissypants. Kurt,come hold this little brat down while I fill him up.”

##

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Jim turned slowly. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was, though – that voice was quite familiar. “Uh hey. Yeah. It’s me.”

The same vivid green eyes that had first drawn him across the bar months ago – sharp and coy - were now blown wide open in shock. “What’s going on here? And what did you do to the floor?”

“I. I…it was an accident. I’ve been–”

Jim was saved from further stammering when Jenny exited her fitting room and threw a hand over her mouth in surprise. “Jimmy! What happened here? Did you do this?” She shot him a quick wink and then turned to address the woman. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get this cleaned right up, Ms…?”

“Crawford. Lisa Crawford. What the hell is going on here? Jim, you said you’d stay away from me. And did you really just piss your pants in my store?” Her tone was shifting from pure shock to anger. Jim hadn’t even noticed she had a name tag until now – she worked here.

Jenny jumped right in and threw an around Jim’s shoulders. “Jimmy is going through a discipline program, at the behest of his wife. He’s been having some real issues acting like a responsible adult lately. It sounds like you two know each other?”

“Oh yes, we know each other. Met Jim here at a bar. No ring, nothing about being married. We…spent some time together over the next few weeks. Until…” She trailed off.

   “I see. Well, again, I’m so sorry about this mess. Can we take him into one of these fitting rooms to get him cleaned up?” Jenny asked.

   “Sure. Let me see if I can go find a towel for the floor.” The look she shot Jim before clicking off in her heels was one of utter hatred. 

Jenny led Jim, waddling and squishing the whole way, into a changing room. He had left a wet trail behind him. As he walked past Baby Huey, he was smiling – oblivious as ever – but HotTopic had a smirk on his face.  

“OK. Take off your pants and shoes and lie down on the floor here. I’m going to get Kim and the diaper bag.”

Jim took off his sopping wet shoes and socks, setting them aside, and then slid the shortalls off. Thank god he didn’t have his usual jeans on – peeling those off soaking wet would be no easy task.

Jenny slammed the door open. “Did I tell you to close this door?!”

“No, but–”

“You just don’t learn, do you? Jesus. Lie down.” She shook her head in disgust. “Kim, give me that bag and keep the door open. There’s not enough room, and besides, Jim has forfeited the adult right to privacy so, so many times over now.”

Jim gingerly lowered himself down onto the hard floor, feeling the enveloping wetness of the sopping wet diaper wrapped around him. Kim and Jenny were towering above him – Kim with a slight smile, Jenny a frown.

Jenny removed the tapes and pulled down the front of the diaper. Jim hadn’t realized how warm it had been in there until he felt the cool air on his body. He suddenly remembered the plug and cage, too. In his desperate attempt not to wet himself – and then the shame since he had – he’d forgotten all about them.

“A diaper? Are you kidding me?” Lisa had appeared again, this time with a coworker.  The colleague merely stood gaping, a stack of towels in hand.

“C'mon Tanya, let’s get this mess cleaned up,” Lisa said. “Jim, when this is done, I want you the hell out of my store and out of my life.” She clicked off, Tanya in tow.

Jenny removed a wipe from the container and began wiping Jim down. At some point during Lisa’s tirade, her frown had become a grin.

**************

The ride back to Nursery Space was uneventful. Jim sat silently in the back seat, sipping his soda dutifully. His shoes were still wet -stuffed with some napkins to absorb the worst of it – as were his shortalls. Jenny had supplied a pair of dry socks, at least. Along with a remark about always needing to be prepared for little guys to make messes.

His diaper was dry, too. At least so far. It felt safe, secure and wonderful after the soaking wet disaster. The accident had been the most humiliating experience of his life, and he had a feeling it wasn’t all a coincidence. As they pulled into the driveway of Nursery Space, Jim finally worked up the courage to ask.

“Miss Jenny? Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, Jimmy. What is it?” Her tone was all sweetness.

“Lisa being there today – the accident – it wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

“No, it was not. Unlike you, I don’t leave things up to chance. That’s not how adults live. Your wife filled me in on the situation with Lisa. I did some Googling – you’d be surprised what you learn about people online – and discovered that Lisa had recently started a new job at Sephina’s. And that was that.” She smiled at him as if made all the sense in the world.

“But how did you know I’d have an accident?” Jim asked.

“I knew from the moment you walked in the door of Nursery Space you’d be having an accident – I’ve seen that defiant look many times before. Isn’t that right, Aaron?” HotTopic dropped his gaze to the floor – obviously, the response Jenny was seeking. She continued. “And I’ve wiped that look off the face of every man who’s worn it. So, it was just a matter of where and when. But of course, if you’d listened to me when I told you not to hold, it all could have been avoided.”

Jim raged on the inside. She was right. If he’d  listened, it could have been avoided. He couldn’t just roll over and give in on every messed up thing they told him to do, but maybe he needed to at least think things through a bit more carefully.

   **************

“OK, bedtime, baby boys,” Jenny called out.

Jim was sitting on the floor with the other two, working on a puzzle. He’d been changed into fuzzy, baby blue footie pajamas, given a pacifier, and left alone while Jenny worked on some paperwork. At some point, Kim left for the day, but Jim had barely noticed, as he was engrossed in the puzzle.

“I can’t go to bed. It’s like six o'clock!” Jim blurted out and then immediately realized what he’d done. Aaron looked at him and winced.

“Well Jim, looks like you are first. Get over here. Now!” Jenny was standing by the changing table.

Jim stood up and padded over, crinkling the whole way and once again feeling ridiculously childish. Jenny brusquely unzipped his pajamas and slipped a finger inside the diaper, now slightly wet. She seemed pleased with what she found, but she zipped him up again without remark. “OK, let’s get you tucked into beddie by.”

The crib was enormous but otherwise identical to a baby’s crib. Well, almost identical. There were white straps at the corners and a black device hanging where the mobile usually would be. Jenny lowered the wooden slats on one side and patted her hand on the mattress. Jim climbed up and was surprised by how firm it was. There was the telltale crackle of a mattress protector underneath – a sound Jim hadn’t heard since he was a young bedwetter. He hadn’t missed that sound one bit in the last twenty-something years.

Jenny handed him a large bottle with what looked like milk inside. “Drink up. For talking back, that’s all the dinner you’ll be getting tonight.”

He didn’t even think to resist at this point. He was starved, and he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere to complain anyway. It took him a moment to get the hang of drinking from a bottle – a skill he’d long since forgotten. When he did, he found there was warm milk inside. There was a hint of something else there too, he thought, but couldn’t be sure. Probably something to help him sleep.

Jenny was busying herself with the mobile-like object, clipping in what appeared to be an Ipad. He was intrigued but knew better than to ask at this point, so he just sucked on the bottle instead. She then moved to his feet, running straps around his right ankle and then his left, cinching them tight. Jim wiggled a little. They weren’t uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t be getting out of them, either. For the first time since the mall disaster, a sense of panic began poking at the back of his mind.

Jenny strapped down his left hand, then took his bottle, half empty, and strapped down his right. He squirmed a little. Jenny looked down, a big smile on his face. “I know it can be tough to get a good night of sleep your first night in the crib when you have no book or phone or anything to send you off into dreamland. The half-full tummy can’t make that any easier, I’m sure. To help with the first, I’m setting up this Ipad. As for the second, there’s a little something in the milk that will help with your tummy. Oh, and here’s a paci for you.” She slipped a large blue pacifier into his mouth, clicked the Ipad into place, then pulled up the slat.” Nighty night!”

Jim relaxed his body and tried to settle in. The pacifier was oddly comforting, and he was glad he hadn’t followed his first instinct to spit it out. The Ipad began playing a video. The first scene looked vaguely familiar. A group of young people in a classroom setting. A bell rang. They all got up to leave, but then the teacher asked two of them to stay. Two beautiful young women in school girl outfits…it hit him in the gut. They had pulled this video from his browsing history.

As violating as it was to know that they’d pried into his personal life like this, Jim could barely be bothered to care at this point. He was taped into a diaper and strapped to a crib. He’d wet his pants at the mall, for the whole world to see. At this point, what did it matter? Besides, it might be kind of nice to have some of his favorite videos to watch, even if he couldn’t touch himself.

In the video, the two girls had stripped off the teacher’s pants. The blonde was deep-throating the middle-aged schlub while the brunette unbuttoned her shirt.

Jim started to get hard.

The girls continued undressing and sucking. Jim’s cock continued growing. Then the pleasant glow in his pants become tight. Uncomfortably so. He tried to push it away and focus on the video, but that made it worse.

The cage! He’d somehow forgotten about it earlier, but now it reminded him of its existence with an ever-growing sense of painful constriction. He shut his eyes and turned his head away from the video, but the unmistakable sounds of hot, rough sex only increased. He couldn’t block them out, couldn’t escape. His only hope was that they had only added this one video to the Ipad, and not the hours upon hours of content they must have found in his history.  

##

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“Hi, welcome to Nursery Space. I’m Jenny. How can I help you?” the petite blonde behind the desk asked with a big smile.

“Hello, Jenny. This is our first time at Nursery Space. I’m going out of town this weekend on a business trip and my husband Jim needs a place to stay. He’s not very good at looking out for himself and tends to get into trouble. Don’t you Jim?” She gave the man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, a patronizing look.

“Wonderful! You’ve come to the right place. We specialize in just that sort of thing. We’ve made it really easy too. Just fill out this form and sign at the bottom.”

Jim caught a glimpse of the sheet over his wife’s shoulder. It was three columns, with little check boxes next to each item. 

[ ]Gag

[ ] Pacifier

[ ] Nap Time

[ ] Mitts

He could see her checking off boxes, but not which ones. She signed and slid it back across the counter with a grin. Jenny ran her finger down the list. “Oh my. Wonderful selections. Your husband is in for a very…memorable weekend.”

Jim’s heart sank a little further. “Sweetie, please, can we talk about this? I told you last time was a mistake. Nothing actually happened between us. I won’t screw up again like that. Ever. Just let me go home,” Jim pleaded, almost in tears.

“Oh no, I’m afraid it will be a long time – if ever – before I can trust you like that again.”

“Then send me to your mother’s! You know I couldn’t get into any trouble if I tried.” Jim laughed nervously. He hated his mother in law; he saw in her many of the domineering traits his wife had started exhibiting in the last year. But still, putting up with her would be preferable to this.

Ignoring him completely, his wife gave him a little peck on the cheek. “Have fun, now. I’ll see you Sunday evening. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of adventures to update me on by then.” She winked and walked away, leaving Jim stammering in the doorway.

“Come on inside, Jim. Let me show you where you’ll be staying.” Jenny smiled at him, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. In spite of his surrounding, Jim couldn’t help but notice how good she looked in the crisp, white nurse’s uniform. Her round bottom swung back and forth slightly as she led him down a hallway and into an open room.

Jim audibly gasped when he stepped into the main Nursery Space room. Jenny laughed and he immediately regretted his outburst. He was vulnerable enough as it was, without wearing it on his sleeve. The room was an odd mixture of nursery and torture chamber. Along one wall, there were three large changing tables with diaper pails. Each was generously stacked with a variety of diapers, wipes, lotions and powders. In an alcove at the back were several massive cribs. They looked just like an infant’s crib, but larger and with a top – they also seemed to have locks on them, from what Jim could see.

And then there was the other wall. This held an assortment of paddles, whips, manacles, and some sort of cross. There was a long bench with eye rings and other implements and furniture Jim had never seen before. And then in the middle of the room were the other guests. One was sitting on the floor, playing with a pile of brightly colored blocks. He seemed lost in his own world. The other was bound in a straitjacket and writhing around on the floor; he looked a little like an off-white inchworm.

“OK Jim, time to start your program. You have a very busy day today. Before we begin, let me tell you the rules. They are very simple – we know naughty boys like you often end up here because they can’t pay attention to anything more complicated. The first rule is that you will always address me as Miss. The next rule is to do exactly what I say. If you deviate from that, I have full permission from your wife to punish you in any way I see fit. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Je – yes, Miss.” Jim hung his head. He wanted to resist, to at least complain, if only to salvage some bit of his ego, but Nancy had made it clear on the way over that if he didn’t do everything he was told, there would be severe consequences – administered by both the nursery, and then by her.  

“Right. Follow me, then.” She grabbed his hand like a two year old and brought him over to the dreaded left wall. “Remove all your clothes and then lie down with your chest on the bench. Do not move or speak until I tell you to.”

Jim began to slowly remove my clothes and drop them at his feet. Jenny was facing away from him, looking through the paddle collection. He had never felt more naked and exposed than he did now, in front of these three strangers – one of them a beautiful woman. The bench would be even worse, as his bottom would be up in the air. It was obvious he was going to get a spanking of some sort, but he was in no hurry. He began to fold his clothes.

“Jim! What did I tell you? We are minutes into the day and you have already disobeyed me,” Jenny said.

“I, I thought I’d fold my clothes. So you wouldn’t need to,” he stammered.

“The only thing – the only thing – I need from you is obedience. If I want you to do something, you better believe I will tell you. On the bench, now!”

Jim dropped his clothes and lay down on the bench without another word. Every hair on his arms and neck stood on end as he waited for the inevitable first impact. But then he felt a smooth sensation as Jenny ran what felt like leather over his cheeks, stroking almost lovingly. He exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath at all.

SMACK!

Jim cried out in spite of himself, and was rewarded with three more smacks in quick succession.

“Did I tell you you could speak, little boy? I don’t think so. Only here a few minutes and you are already proving why your wife couldn’t trust you alone for the weekend.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Jim bit down on his lip as the paddle continued to rain down. The brief interludes of stroking had become almost as unbearable, as they gave him a moment to reflect on the growing, pulsing heat in his backside and anticipate the next round of abuse.

“OK, done now. Flip over and follow me. And DO NOT touch yourself,” Jenny commanded.

Jim slid off the bench, slick with his sweat, and followed Jenny to the back wall, desperate to touch his fiery ass – not because he truly thought it would lessen the pain, but because he was willing to try anything that might help. As he passed the men on the floor, they looked up at him – a look of befuddled detachment on the face of the one playing with blocks, and of furious desperation on that of the other. Jim looked away, uncomfortable.

Jenny was standing next to one of the changing tables, hands on hips. Jim sped up, nearly tripping and falling. “Climb onto the table, Jim. Or perhaps considering what we will be doing next, ‘Jimmy’ might be more appropriate.”

Jim eased himself up onto the table, which had a baby blue changing mat on it. The pressure on his backside was almost unbearable – it took everything in him not to cry out. At least the mat felt cool to the touch, though most anything likely would in comparison. The table had no pillow, and he didn’t dare shift his position to get a better look, but Jim could see Jenny looking through several small boxes stored on a shelf under the table. She selected one and placed it on top of the table next to him.

“Now Jimmy, for this next part I want you to look me right in the eye. I am going to strip you of your manhood, you will watch me do it, and you won’t say a word.” She opened the top of the small, white cardboard box and removed a clear object. “This is a chastity device. Since fooling around with another woman is what sent you here in the first place, I was so happy to see your wife selected chastity as part of your stay with us.” She leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Truth is, even if she hadn’t, I’d probably have locked you up anyway, you little pervert. I’ve seen how you look at me.”

Jim wanted to scream 'No!’ to all of it, to jump off the table and run from the room. But he swallowed it down inside and continued to watch Jenny as she slid a ring behind his balls, drew three small white pins through another ring, and then slid the cage over his cock. Normally this kind of attention would elicit a powerful response, but instead his member had shriveled into a scared little lump of its usual self. It fit easily into the small chastity device. The lock was next – the click of it closing sounded to Jim like a gunshot. Thank god no one could see him like this.

“There! That’s much better. Now you’ll want to stay very still for this next part.” She squirted some lube onto a butt plug and then placed the cool metal against his opening, but didn’t push it in. “Now Jimmy, I want you to look me in the eye when I do this. I’ve taken your manhood, now I’m going to fill you up as a constant reminder that for the next two days I control every aspect of your being. This is going in one way or another, but it will be much easier if you relax.”

Jim nodded and focused on Jenny’s face as she worked the large head of the plug into him. He gasped as it finally slid into place. It was an odd and uncomfortable sensation he’d never experienced before. As he was processing that feeling, Jenny was readying a huge diaper. It was covered with pastel lions and bears.

“Now lift that butt of yours and settle onto what I’m sure will be the first of many diapers in your future.” Jim did as he was told and was surprised by how soft and thick the diaper was – it was a stark contrast with the cool changing mat. Jenny sprinkled some sweet-smelling powder all over his groin area and then brought the front up and pulled it tight, forcing his locked cock down. The crinkly material went almost to his belly button, and four tapes kept it wrapped tightly around him.

“There we go! Don’t you look cute. Hop up,” Jenny said cheerfully. Jim complied, sliding gingerly off the table, and Jenny gave his padded butt a friendly swat. He felt absolutely ridiculous. Never in the entirety of his life had he been more out of control of the most basic and personal functions of his body – he couldn’t touch his own genitals or relieve himself in private. His butt was filled with a large plug that shifted and rubbed as he moved. The diaper around his waist was thick, crinkly, and baby-ish. He wanted to scream. To cry. To do something to assert his autonomy.

  “OK, now let’s pick out some clothes for you. After all, we can’t take you in public looking like this, can we?”

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I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, check out my other tales of diapers and dominance on Smashwords!

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