It has been almost a year to the day and I’m back in court. The difference is this time I’m clean, sober, smiling and the judge may allow me to leave the program and live on my own. Oh, I’m also in diapers by court order. Odd as it is, it has worked for myself and most of the women in the program but I’m getting ahead of myself.
I hope the judge is impressed with my accomplishments and renders a favorable decision. I’ve tried to be a model member of the rehab program I was ordered into twelve months ago. I feel better about myself and my job is going well.
It wasn’t that way a year ago. It was a different matter all together. I was mad at the world and busted yet again. My naturally black hair was streaked red and blond. I wore it very short and used lots of makeup to try lightening my complexion. Now it was about to my shoulder blades and naturally black. I wear very little makeup and I’m proud of my heritage.
While I’m waiting for my turn with the judge I’ll try to explain how things work around here. You see, when I was arrested for the fifth time on prostitution and possession of a controlled substance. I was looking at three to five in the state correctional facility and they had me dead to rights. The video of me trying to solicit an undercover officer was pretty damning. When they took me in, I also had quite a bit of cocaine in my purse. My zebra print skirt was barely covering my behind and the stained white halter top left nothing to the imagination.
My lawyer usually had me out and back on the street by morning but this time the judge asked to see me in her chambers before the arraignment. It had never gone like this before. My lawyer protested but I agreed because I thought the judge might go easy on me if I cooperated. Did I mention my lawyer was also my, uhm, agent?
“Miss Littlebear,” said the judge looking up at me, “You’ve been in my court twice before and I see from your record you are in no way going to get help on your own.”
I quietly nodded, “It is hard, your honor. So much money and so easy.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she looked back down at her papers, “The folks in Washington, D.C. have decided to test a new rehabilitation program in our fair city and I’ve been selected as one of the judges to participate. It is my opinion that you would benefit from participating in the program. Should you decline, you will face the charges against you now and proceed as normal.”
“Yes, your honor,” I meekly said.
“However, if you agree to the court ordered rehabilitation program I’m about to describe to you, you will be allowed a second chance to join society as a productive member.”
“What exactly is the court ordered rehabilitation?” I asked, “Will I be in jail?”
“Miss Littlebear,” she looked me straight in the eye as she spoke, “You will be moved to a half way house and after a period of adjustment, you will be helped finding and holding a suitable job. For a period of one year, you will live in the half way house with other such women. You will be fitted with certain things to guarantee your cooperation. You will also be taught a skill, given education opportunities and generally learn to deal with society in a way that does not include seedy motels and HIV tests.”
“What kind of things will be fitted? Like an ankle bracelet?” I wondered.
“Something like that,” answered the judge, “but it will be around your waist and it will make sure you don’t take up any old habits. One year and you’ll back in my court and if you’ve satisfactorily completed the program, your records will be sealed. What do you say?”
One year ago it sounded too good to be true. Little did I know how hard it was going to be and the measures they would resort to in order to keep myself and the other women in the project on track.
As you can already guess, I did agree to it but it wasn’t without some problems. When I was back in open court and my lawyer was present, the bailiff called my name.
“Grace Littlebear,” he said loudly.
My lawyer and I walked to the defendants table and he said, “Your honor, I must protest the manner in which this case has been handled.”
“Silence, Mr Willsworth,” said the judge, “You are well known in the court system and that is why Miss Littlebear was selected. You have far from represented her best interests and she has already agreed to a court ordered rehabilitation plea bargain. Advise her otherwise and I’ll site you for contempt.”
That shut Bobby up in a hurry. He didn’t mind his girls being in jail but he avoided it like the plague. That wasn’t the last time I saw Bobby but I wished it had been. Getting him out of my life and into the program was the best thing the judge ever did for me.
That day I and about a dozen other women left the court room in a white van with tinted windows. We had nothing with us but the clothes we wore and the purse or bag we were arrested with, minus anything like a cell phone or a knife.
The driver was an older lady of about 40. She was blond, stocky and strong but not overweight. It was a quiet ride as none of us had any idea where we were going. Janet, the driver turned the interior lights on so we couldn’t really tell where we were going. She laughed to herself. We had no idea what we were getting into.
I couldn’t help but notice that we were an eclectic mix. I was the only Native American but there were two Asians, three Blacks, two Whites, two Latinos, an Arab and an Indian that I later discovered was actually a Pakistani. We weren’t in handcuffs or anything and the driver seemed unworried about her cargo despite the lack of restraints or separation from her.
She drove the van into an attached basement garage and parked. We exited the van and she pointed toward the steps leading to the door into the house. It looked like a well maintained, older home in a residential area from what little I could see out the open door.
“Ladies,” she boomed like a drill sergeant, “Welcome to your home for the next year unless you screw up so bad that even I can’t fix it. I am Janet and I’m going to be living here with you. I’m a counselor, one of three, you can talk to us about anything. We are here to make you a success. The next three days will be the hardest for you. After that, you’ll be assigned skills to master and your search for a job will begin. Any questions? Good, inside!”
Well, that was to the point. She didn’t give anyone a chance to even speak, let alone ask a question. We followed her inside like baby ducks in a row and into the great room. This place looked like a frat house I used to party at in my early years, only much cleaner. All bedrooms, we were told, were on the second floor. The counselors and common areas were all downstairs. Janet’s room, we later learned, was right by the only stairs. What they didn’t tell us was where the bathrooms were located.
Next came the real shocker. To a one, none of us in the program had a clue what we were really in for. Janet introduced the other two counselors, Kelly and Diane. Kelly was a woman not much older than most of us, which is to say she was maybe 30. Her hair was long, brunette and her figure was lean. Diane, on the other hand was a redhead, shorter and curvier with prefect teeth.
Kelly addressed us next with a most authoritative tone, “Ladies, and I intend for you all to become ladies over the next year, we are going to teach you how to be able to earn a living without a needle in your arm or spreading your legs. It will not be easy and it will not work for all of you. Statistics show that at least one of you will fail. We hope to beat those odds.”
Diane continued, “Over the next three days you’ll become intimately acquainted with the rules and procedures of the program as well as those of your counselors. It has been designed so that you have no choice but to succeed and virtually guarantees your cooperation.”
Janet called our names and assigned us a room. Each of us had a private room which I thought was pretty nice. Then they told us to wait in the great room as each of us was escorted to our room for the first phase of our orientation. I was not in the first of second group and had time to browse a magazine. None of the girls came back down the stairs so they must still be in their rooms.
When it was my turn, Diane led me up the stairs and listed a few rules on the way, “There will be zero tolerance for alcohol or tobacco in the house under any circumstances so don’t bring any in when you start working. Also, there will be no visitors, ever.”
I quietly nodded as Diane opened the door to my room and motioned me inside. It looked like a dorm room with a built in bed, desk and drawers. There was a window but it did not open and it was frosted security glass. The closet was empty save for a sheet, pillow and blanket on the top shelf. A bible, dictionary, thesaurus and computer were setup on the desk.
“There is no internet service yet. You will have to earn that and that starts now. You can, however, start a journal if you so chose,” said Diane, “Please make your bed and disrobe down to your bra and panties by the time I return which will be in about 30 minutes.”
“Disrobe?” I puzzled, “Why on earth?”
“This is all part of the program, Grace. This is the hard three days mentioned,” she said, “Once we have this preliminary part out of the way, we can begin to make progress. If it helps, just imagine it as only 364 days to go.”
She left and I heard the door lock behind her. I tested the handle to be sure. So, I wasn’t going any where until she returned. I did my best to make the bed. The mattress was covered in some sort of odd plastic material that crinkled when I made the bed. I sat at the desk in my underwear, a pink thong and push up bra, until Diane returned. My legs got clammy on the plastic covered cushion.
Diane returned, opened the door with her key and carried in a box with my first name on it. One year later, I still would never have guessed what was in the box. I’m all too familiar with the contents now but on that day, I was too stunned to speak.
“This is the training belt,” she said as she pulled out a three inch wide, black belt from the box, “It contains a battery powered GPS locater and bluetooth equipment. You must know that you cannot run away and you cannot hide. This belt cannot be removed without the special tool and once it is on the special tool will not reside in this house. If you try to remove it, you will only hurt yourself.”
She called it a training belt but it looked more like an industrial strength garter belt, made of heavy, stiff synthetic material. She fastened it around my pantied waist and latched it from behind, adjusted the tension and sealed it with the previously mentioned tool. It looked like a pair of odd-jawed pliers but I couldn’t figure out how it worked from just a glimpse. She tugged on the belt and it was firmly attached. It wasn’t uncomfortable but I knew it was there.
“This belt won’t be coming off for a year so you’d best pull your panties off now and get ready for the rest of it,” said Diane.
I kicked them off, like I’d done thousands of times for johns, unsure what was in store for me now. Diane fastened leg bands around my upper thighs. When she was done, it was the thick black belt around my waist and one around each leg, joined along my front and back hip by four of the same material detachable straps. It looked kind of kinky until she pulled the next item out of the box. It slowly dawned on me she what she was unfolding. It was an adult diaper and she was intent on me wearing it.
“No way!” I yelled, “I’m not wearing no diaper! HELP! SOMEBODY!”
“Relax,” the rooms are sound proof," she laughed, “You didn’t hear any of the other girls did you? They all screamed, too. And they are all wearing this very same thing or soon will be. Now, lay on the bed and don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
I was determined to resist and started to swing at Diane but she quickly out maneuvered me and had me face down on the bed before I was even aware I’d missed, “That’s one and you only get one. The next one will cost you.”
I reluctantly lay quietly on the bed, shaking, as she put a plain white disposable adult diaper on me. It crinkled as she positioned it and the tapes made a distinct sound. The straps were detached so that when the diaper was on, they were reattached over the outside. I could still get it off easily and the straps would prevent nothing, or so I thought.
Then Diane produced another item from the box, “These are over pants. They are waterproof should anything escape the diaper. They are made of a material that can’t be torn or easily cut. There is a thin wire within the fabric that will break if you attempt to cut or remove them. That wire, once broken, will set off the GPS alarm and you will be caught. It could end your opportunity and you will go to jail. Period.”
I nodded in agreement as she pulled them on over my feet and up my legs. I lifted my behind up as she slipped the panties up over my diaper. The waist belt pulled down and covered the top band while the bottom belts secured over the leg bands. Then she fastened the straps that would keep it all in place. It pretty effectively secured me in the diaper. Next, Diane stood me up and let me look at myself in the mirror. It was a horrifying experience, to see my form secured in a white diaper, held on by a permanent black garter belt.
“What have you done to me?” I yelled, “What have you done?”
Diane was quiet and calming, “It has been done to all the girls here. We will explain everything once you are all downstairs. You will grow accustomed to it in due time.”
She pulled the last thing from the box and handed it to me. It was pair of scrubs like they wear in hospitals. I put the top on over my bra and the bottom on over my puffier, diapered rear. It made horrific noise with every move. I followed her down stairs, rustling all the way with the telltale sounds of a diaper under my scrubs. I was mortified as I walked down the steps. All the girls already assembled watched me as I shuffled across the floor to an empty chair, crinkling with every step.
I sat in a chair, trying to minimize any undue noise. I was next to one of the Latino girls, her name was Maria. It felt odd to sit on a padded behind with the feeling of such bulk between my legs. I just wanted to forget about it.
Maria, on the other hand, was not shy about discussing the situation. I, however, did not want to admit anything and sat quietly. It was then I noticed that the chairs were covered in plastic, just like the one in my room. It was not just the chairs but the couch and anything a person could sit on was covered in plastic. My head started to swim and I began to hope this was just a bad dream.
“Grace! We are all wearing diapers. Everyone of us,” said Maria, “Don’t be all acting like you ain’t. I had a john that was into this kind of kinky shit once. At least I ain’t getting smacked around any more.”
She had a point. Diapers or a beating. I guess I really had already made my choice at that point. No matter what else happened, surely this was the low point.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, all the girls were down stairs. Everyone after me made the same scrunchy sounds as they walked down the steps behind a counselor. To anyone that was looking, it was obvious we were all sporting well padded behinds. Each one that came down the steps had that dazed and confused look as she found an open seat and crinkled down on to it. The counselors addressed us as a group. They explained the situation in great detail now that we were all unable to protest.
Janet spoke first while Diane and Kelly looked on with smiles, “You have been fitted with a very sophisticated deterrent device. In medieval times, it might have been an iron and leather chastity belt. In our technologically advanced age, this is more humane. Every single one of you has at least one solicitation and one drug charge against you. The absorbent brief and securing panties serve two main purposes. One, you can’t have vaginal or anal sex if you can’t expose your genitals. Two, the fitted briefs will be tested daily for illicit drug use.”
Kelly spoke next, “This program will get you clean, keep you clean and make you proud of the woman you will become. We will enforce the rules to make you successful. The fitted brief…”
“It is a diaper, fool!” said one of the Asian girls, “Call it that!”
Kelly continued, “Very well, the diaper you are wearing is like what can be bought many places on the internet but we mark each one so you cannot remove it and put another one on. Each of you will be permitted four diaper changes a day, one of which is a 20 minute undiapered break inside the bathrooms to shower and use the toilet if you can. You can request a change at any time but there will be only four in any 24 hour period and there must be one hour between changes. The morning shower change is mandatory. The training belt’s electronics will not allow an additional release or any release within an hour of the last one. You may, however, trade them if you find yourself with a spare one at the end of the day. The belt keeps track of them.”
Then Diane addressed us, “Your belt contains a battery powered bluetooth device and a GPS locater. You will be issued a cell phone that is bluetooth enabled. Should the phone and belt be separated by more than 15 feet, you will feel a vibration in your waist. Should the distance increase to greater than 30 feet, you will receive a shock. You will also receive a shock should you attempt to circumvent the overpanty’s purpose. Breaking the fine wire filaments also sets off the GPS locater. The belt and phone are quite sophisticated and flexible. The phone will only dial our preprogrammed numbers and 911 so don’t be thinking you can call your sugar daddy to come pick you up. The phone is how you can send or receive extra diaper changes. We may also award or remove diaper changes as rewards and punishments.”
Janet finished, “If you cooperate and do as your told, life here will be a breeze and a year will pass in no time. If you fight us, you will suffer from your own making. Any questions?”
Maria raised her hand, “Damn, I pee more than four times a day. What’s up with just four changes?”
Kelly replied, “It is a diaper, after all. Use it as such. We have observed that it will hold three to five average wettings before needing a change. In time you will become accustomed to the feeling. That is why there is an adjustment period before we start the main part of the program.”
The Pakistani girl spoke up, we called her Turi because we couldn’t pronounce her full name, “My digestive system is not good. I am afraid I will have worse things to worry about more than the allowable times a day.”
Diane addressed this, “I understand what you are saying but we will be dealing with all aspects of your life. Many of you have had, among other things, poor diets. We will be working with you on proper nutrition as well. Once you have started eating properly, I believe your issues will self resolve.”
I asked my question, “If I’m going to be heavily diapered for a year, how am I going to be able to hold down a job? This seems impossible!”
Kelly answered, “You will be working in a place that is aware of your special needs situation and there will be a facility on-site to accomodate you. Some of you may be permitted to change your own diapers once you have demonstrated your willingness to cooperate in the program. Don’t even ask for the first 90 days.”
Maria asked another question, “So, what about the bulge in my clothes? I’ve already got a lot of junk in my trunk.”
Janet answered, “Nobody will know unless you tell them. I’ll prove it to you with a bit of our own personal information. Which one of us, your three counselors, do you think is wearing a diaper right now?”