Developmental Biology

Preface

I’ve been publishing this story on omorashi.org for a while. I thought I’d try and post it here too. That forum is a lot more focused on the sexual side of things. I understand this one is supposed to be more innocent and nonsexual. This story contains some sexual material, but I’ll try to post only the nonsexual, or at least not overtly sexual parts. Please know that I don’t intend to break the rules, but I’m not sure what you count as “hardcore” or “vulgar.” If anything I post is deemed as such, please don’t discount the whole story. Those parts can be removed, and I’ll do my best to self-moderate on that point. The whole story can be read here.

This story exists in a world where the nerves between girls’ bladders and their brains mature much slower than in boys (hence developmental biology). Thus girls potty train in their teens, while boys potty train as in our world. That’s the only premise that departs from our world, but the story explores the consequences of this change.

This is really several stories set in the same universe. There are traditional narrative fiction parts, as well as fictional nonfiction like newspaper editorials and scientific papers.

Reading it over again, I see that most of the more innocent stuff is contained in the “nonfiction” parts; the other parts allude to other parts of adolescence/teenage like falling in love and exploring your sexuality, although I don’t think in a very vulgar manner. If anyone wants to look the original story over, and tell me if there are any parts you feel are appropriate to post here and which aren’t, that’d be swell. I understand if you don’t have the time though. Without further ado, part one.


Yellow Pages: How one teenager’s potty-training blog became an internet phenomenon.

Newspaper clipping from The New York Times, May 9, 2014, by Lila Wu

Andrea Anderson is sixteen, she goes to a high school in an ordinary Midwestern town, and, like other girls her age, she is trying to “get dry.” There is nothing in particular that stands out about Andrea, but her blog, which she launched two years ago at the age of fourteen, has become an internet phenomenon after being featured on influential websites like BuzzFeed.com and The Huffington Post. “It just kind of exploded out of nowhere, and suddenly my traffic spiked from hundreds of views per day to tens of thousands,” says Andrea. The website is laid out like any other blog, but across the top runs a long row with narrow columns. The columns represent days and nights, with moon and sun symbols above them. Every column is colored white for dry, or yellow for wet. Andrea updates the blog every day, and on yellow days, the entire background of the site turns yellow. “For me, it was like, just a record for my own purposes in the beginning. But then a few people started commenting, and I thought, ‘Hey, this might be something other people have an interest in.’”

Andrea says that she wants to lift the taboo on something that is a normal part of growing up as a teenage girl. “Many people have told me how brave I am to be putting this up publicly. In the beginning it wasn’t so scary, because only my closest friends knew about it and we were all supporting each other, all going through the same thing. But when I became aware that there was a growing audience, it felt a little humiliating. I never lie. If I have an accident, even to this day, it’s there on the website the same day. But I think it shouldn’t be embarrassing. Every great man, every world leader, all of them were born incontinent. It’s totally normal. Just because girls take a longer time to stay dry shouldn’t mean we should have to feel embarrassed by it.”

Andrea’s mother, Patricia Anderson, says she couldn’t be more proud of her daughter. “She’s always been like this. She has a natural confidence and she doesn’t shy away from potentially embarrassing herself. My hope as a parent is that I’ve taught my children how to be comfortable in their own skin, no matter who they are. You shouldn’t have to be ashamed of what you are as long as you don’t harm anyone. And Andrea is just a regular girl going through the same things you and I went through at her age.” Andrea’s older brother, who declined an interview, is openly gay. Patricia says they knew from a young age that he was different from the other boys, and when they found out why, they embraced it and encouraged him not to let himself be picked on for being open about his sexual orientation. “Openness runs in the family,” Anderson says.

The website was featured on several popular blogs and websites in January, and by February it had spread through social media and become a phenomenon. Andrea changed the title from the personal “Andrea’s Diary” to AlltheDaysandNights.com, and opened a web forum for other teen girls going through continence training to discuss their challenges, their victories and defeats, or just chat about anything in the “Off Topic” section. “I realized a lot of girls have a need to talk to peers about these things, but it may be too much for them to do so with people they know. Allowing them to discuss it on their own terms without revealing their real names, I think, has helped a lot of girls.”

We corresponded with several forum members via e-mail, and they all spoke warmly about the site, and told anecdotes about how the support they’d received online had helped them deal with their own accidents. In addition, they said, they could share tips on how to get dry, or what brands of protection to wear, or just chat about anything. The forum, which opened in February, now boasts an impressive 40,000 members.

“I think Andrea’s initiative is fantastic, but the humiliation girls feel about accidents is often stronger in their heads than in everyone else’s,” said Adam Jamesmith, Professor of Child Psychology at the University of Columbia. “We’ve done research, surveys, interviews with common people, and all this data indicates that most people have a neutral or sympathetic stand when it comes to diapers, accidents and the potentially humiliating situations that can arise when girls are learning to stay dry. Nevertheless, I think anything that helps spread awareness and understanding directly to the girls is a good thing. Those who have an especially rough time can set themselves up for future psychological issues if they don’t find someone, anyone who is understanding, to talk to about these things.”

For her part, Andrea says, “I’m just happy that out of the 28 days and nights that appear at the top of my site, there are 55 white squares. I’m not happy, but honest enough to admit there is one yellow night.” She says that once she is done with accidents for good, she will continue to maintain the on-line community she has built into adulthood.


Raining in a summer dress

By Andrea, posted in Andrea’s Diary on August 5, 2013 at 10:09 PM

The background today tells it all. I wet myself today. It’s been a while since I had a daywetting accident and I kinda hoped it had gone away, but you can never count out my own stupidity.

Today was a warm day, and I picked out a flowery summer dress I put on and went to the park with a few of my friends, and with a couple of boys. One of them is very cute, but I won’t say which of them, because I know he might read this blog. Just food for thought, you two, haha. I love teasing boys like that, but I really wish cutie would ask me out. On the other hand I don’t even know if he likes me so I’m too afraid to flirt too much with him. You’d think I wouldn’t have any embarrassment left after telling the entire world, potentially, every time I have an accident, but I still get shy around boys and afraid they’ll reject me and that would be so humiliating. Everyone would know that Andrea got rejected by so-and-so by the next school day, and that’s more humiliating than everyone knowing that today, Andrea had an accident. After all most of my friends still aren’t completely dry, so who are they to make fun, and as for the boys, if they want any chance of getting with the girls they like, they better know when to keep their mouths shut.

Anyway, we went to the park and had a little picnic. I brought two large bottles of water, but still I was sweating like mad in the sun, and we were like playing with frisbees and the guys strung a tightrope between two trees and tried to teach us how to walk it, but all of us just fell of into the grass and laughed. Needless to say, I was thirsty all day and so constantly sipping on some drink. There was an ice cream vendor there as well and all of us bought ice cream. It was really lovely. I had so much fun I totally forgot my #1 principle for not having an accident: if you feel that little twinge in your stomach, start looking for bathrooms. There were no public bathrooms in the park (they’re usually disgusting anyway), but I didn’t even think about it, I just kept drinking. My friend Kayla fell off the tightrope and started laughed so much she said she’d pee herself, but she didn’t.

When we’d been there for some hours, a few clouds came over the sun and it got a little colder. We’ve been spoiled by good weather so we all felt like it was cold even though it was still warm according to the temperature, so we decided to head home. We parted ways with the boys and me and two girlfriends sat out for the bus station, where we’d catch our bus. So when I got there I realized that my bladder was uncomfortably full, and I saw there was a bathroom about fifty feet away, but just then a bus pulled in and we’d have to wait another fifteen minutes if we didn’t get on. Stupid me didn’t ask my friends to wait fifteen short minutes so that I could go pee in a toilet, instead of my panties. So we got on the bus, and as soon as I got in my seat, I started squirming. I just couldn’t sit still. I tried to hide it, but my friends aren’t exactly unfamiliar with the signs of a girl in need of a pee, so there was no fooling them. “Andrea, do you need to pee?” One of them asked, and I just nodded and put my hand in my lap. She said she had to pee a little bit too, but I didn’t think she was as bad off as me. The bus trudged along, and at every damn stop, someone was either getting on or off. If the bus drove straight it would be a fifteen minute journey, but instead it was more like twenty-five. Well, I thought, I can do this easily. It’s less than half an hour, and then a short walk to my house. I’m too old to pee my panties.

When we were approaching my stop, it was clear it was gonna be a close call. I had to sneak my hand under my dress, shooting an apologetic look at my friend in the seat beside me. She understood. She couldn’t sit still either. I felt like there was an ocean inside me, and my muscles were really hanging on for dear life. I hadn’t been since this morning.

Finally, we got to my stop and my friend and I got off the bus. Walking was painful. Every step felt like a sledgehammer was bearing down on my poor little bladder. It’s not even a very small bladder, I was just stupid enough not to empty it all day. So we were walking carefully to my house, and I was stopping every now and then to cross my legs. My friend was also doing a little pee-pee dance and asking me to please hurry up, so she could pee at my house. We got to my street and I live at the end of one of those dead ends with a little square for cars to turn around. I was very close now, both to my house and to an accident. I tried to speed up a bit. My friend followed. Then I felt a little leak. I felt it wet my panties, and a few drops slid down my leg. It wasn’t visible on my dress yet. I walked on. I could see my house, and I was sure I was gonna make it. Then I felt a little leak again, and I thought if I just stop and clench, this will be the last of it and I’ll make it. But when I stopped, I couldn’t hold it. I couldn’t stop the leak. The pee just kept pouring out, into my panties, and then started dripping down on the concrete. I had no control whatsoever, and, blushing, I just spread my legs so my summer dress wouldn’t get wet. And peed.

“Oh my god,” said my friend. She was standing there crossing her legs and holding the crotch of her jeans shorts while I peed. I didn’t really say anything or try to hold on at that point, I had lost. I peed so much I had to squat down wide and hold my dress up like a little girl so it wouldn’t go in my shoes. Picture that: a fifteen-year-old girl squatting in the middle of the street, with a pee puddle below her, peeing her heart out with her wet panties on display for all the neighbors. It was so embarrassing. But the point of this site is that it shouldn’t be. I mean, at the time I felt humiliated, but I know it’s normal. It could happen to anybody. Writing this now, I’m not ashamed.

So I finally finished, and my friend begged me to run with her to my house before she had an accident too. I won’t describe the feeling of those wet panties clinging to my privates as I walked in detail, because I know some of you pervy boys at school would enjoy that too much. You can fap to someone else, guys! Except for… No, I’m not even going there. Cute boy I hung out with today, it’s up to you if you wanna date the girl who sat like a toddler and peed in her driveway today.

I walked calmly to my front door, cheeks flushed, while my friend was squirming around as she followed. Luckily, nothing showed on my dress, but there was a trail of drops after me and my legs were wet. We walked in the front door and I said to my friend, “At least one of us made it.” I went to my room for a change while she ran to the bathroom. She was in there for a long time. Finally I knocked on the door and asked if I could come in and clean myself up. She said the door was unlocked. My friend was sitting on the toilet, with her shorts and panties down. Her eyes were puffy like she’d been crying. She was looking down, and I looked down and saw that her pink thong was wet, and there was a little puddle around her shorts, right there in front of the toilet bowl. “I couldn’t get them down in time,” she said. She was sniveling. I gave her a hug and told her what I just did was much more embarrassing. I think we both cried, it was just a very emotional scene. Damn hormones.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I was going to throw away the pull-ups for good if I could go a month without an accident. Today was day 29.” I told her if it happens once a month, so what? You don’t need protection for that. Soon enough it’s going to be once every other month, and then it’s going to stop happening at all. I was sort of hormonal, you know that time of the month, so of course we both got very emotional, but eventually we sorted it out. We were both going to shower (SEPERATELY!!! Don’t think dirty boys!) and then she could borrow some dry clothes from me.

So we did and hung out together for the rest of the day, watching tv and chatting and drinking ice tea (which reminds me, I have to be careful to go before bed tonight) until now, when I’m writing this. I went out and looked and my puddle had dried off in the sun. The dress and panties are in the washer. My mom doesn’t know yet but I’m sure she’ll read this. She likes to snoop and I admit I’m making it way too easy for her with this blog.

Until next time, stay dry girls,
Andrea

Re: Developmental Biology

That’s the absolute most innocent I have. But really, there’s nothing too raunchy. I’m just a lil’ apprehensive because this forum seems rather strict. Anyway! Here’s the start of an actual narrative arc.


2014.

Steven was idly zapping through the channels. His thoughts were not on the television, but on his date later that night, and eventually he settled for a random channel. Commercials. A car commercial, tooth paste… Nothing really brought him out of his reverie until a pair of tits bounced across the screen. He hated himself, but he always fell for it. What is a virile twenty-year-old guy to do? A young woman in a pink top and yoga pants was doing a series of exercises apparently designed to show off every favorable angle of her body, except the butt. ‘At sixteen, fifty percent of girls are dry during the day. But for the ones who aren’t quite there yet…’ The girl did a piruette off the screen, giving just a tiny glimpse of a waistband stretching above the top of her pants. Then a brand name flashed past the screen, but Steven’s mind was already back to Nina.

Mutual friends had set them up. They had one class together, and although she wasn’t the first girl he noticed when he walked in the room, there was something magic about her the moment she started talking. Alternatively shy and boisterous in the manner some coy girls have perfected, she was just what he was looking for. And pretty, too, a brunette taller than him in high heels. At least he thought she was what he was looking for. Steven’s philosophy, at least when he wasn’t utterly infatuated, was to attempt to let the girl prove herself to him just as much as he was proving himself to her. He had to remind himself to be just eager enough: that was key. Signal interest, not desperation. Everyone wants to be wanted, but specifically, for being them, not generically, for having tits.

Later that night, they were going out for drinks, and reliable sources—his wingwoman of choice, Anette, who also kind of had a thing about girls, but only certain girls, doing certain things, the particulars of which Steven had yet to figure out—had assured him his chances at something more were quite good. Anette was great to have around because neither of them was interested in the other in that way, but she was always up for talking him up to prospects, so long as he occasionally returned the favor. With other guys; one time, with another girl.

Zoning out in front of the telly wouldn’t do. Steven resolved to strap on his shoes and go for a run—nothing like it to get the testosterone pumping before a date.


2006.

The family piled out of the car and into the hotel lobby, suitcases in hand.

‘Bathroom—quick—where?’ Jenny yelled at the receptionist, who pointed in the vaguest possible direction. The last thirty minutes of the road had been agony, and now she would have to run into a hallway that forked in two directions, either of which could be the road to porcelain salvation. Luckily, there was a sign, and she hurried down the right hallway and into what looked to be a bathroom. It was a closet. She quickly eyed a large washbucket, but resolved to retain a modicum of dignity and take her chances. The next door down turned out to really be a ladies’ room, and she sat down just in time.

Jenny hated family road trips. Next summer, when she would be seventeen, she would ditch her family and go abroad with her friend. She was well on her way to saving up the money, and she was sure that with a little nudging, her mom and dad would let her go. She had discussed it with them, she just hadn’t specified exactly how far she intended on going yet.

Back in the lobby, Steven was being his usual bratty self, demanding everything at once while their parents were trying to get checked in. Did the hotel have a pool? Yes, but they were only staying for the night and driving on the next morning, and it was already closed for the night. Could he have ice cream for breakfast then? No, he could not, and besides that, isn’t twelve a little too old to be asking such silly questions?

They had a two-bedroom suite with a shared bathroom. Dad’s treat. Maybe he sensed that Jenny wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about visiting granny when she could be sunbathing with her friends at home. Jenny and Steven wouldn’t have to share a bed.

‘Hun, there’s something dad and I have to talk to you about,’ her mother said. Jenny didn’t like that tone. Could they have figured out her ‘little vacation trip’ was really a trans-continental? Or about what she did at a party last spring with a boy whose name they couldn’t possibly know? Something was up.

‘Dad talked to the receptionist…’ she began. Was it really just about her being a little rude when she was desperate for a piss? No, there must be something more. ‘And you know this is an expensive hotel, these are expensive beds you and Steven will be sleeping in.’ Where was this going? ‘And, well… She told him how much it would cost to replace a mattress.’

‘What?’

‘Your mom can’t just come out and say it,’ her father blurted out. ‘What she really means is we aren’t going to tell our sixteen year old daughter to wear a diaper to bed, but we sure as hell aren’t paying for it if she ruins her mattress.’ There it was. A slap in the face. Jenny hadn’t worn a diaper to bed in two years. Like most girls her age, she occasionally dribbled a little at night, but nothing major.

‘I’m not gonna piss the bed!’

‘Oh, honey, I know you won’t. But just in case… I know you’ve been saving for that trip.’

Jenny felt like choking her mother and crying at the same time. It was an impossible dilemma. Steven would never let her hear the end of it if she said yes, and if she gambled and lost… All her hard-earned money and her vacation was gone just like that. Meekly, she tried to find some acceptable, discreet compromise. ‘Can’t I, like, just sleep on a towel or something?’

‘Oh, honey, you’ve been known for quite the gusher…’ As soon as she said it, her mother put her hand in front of her mouth, but it was too loud and too late. Her comment elicited a loud laughter from her little brother.

‘What about Steven then?’ Jenny tried, knowing that was no retort.

‘Honey, we’ve talked about this. Boys and girls develop at different rates. You know that. It’s not your fault your nerves and your bladder aren’t quite in synch yet.’

It was worth a final shot: ‘Okay, fine, I’d do it. But we didn’t bring any stupid diapers.’

Of course it was futile. It’s quite surprising what a hotel can procure for its guests. Her mother produced a large, baby-style nappy from her purse—not even the dignity of a panty-style pullup. ‘Would you like me to help you put it on?’

She would goddamn well do it herself. Dejected, she headed straight for the bathroom. The tapes were more finicky than she would have thought, but she would not make the humiliation complete by admitting defeat. Finally, the damn thing was on. It was so thick she had to waddle, clearly designed for a firehose, not the small drop she sometimes let slip after one too many glass of water at dinner. To make matters worse, she hadn’t brought any pyjamas—she usually slept in her panties and a nightshirt, and the shirt wouldn’t cover the diaper, so she was forced to waddle out with her shame in plain sight.

Their parents decided to have a drink in the hotel bar before bed, so Jenny settled in for an hour of mockery by her little brother. ‘Say, pissy-pants, how much you wanna bet you’re dry in the morning?’ She blushed, but said nothing. After five different jeers had failed to elicit a response from her, Steven finally turned around and went to sleep.

She couldn’t, though. She had to find a way to get back at her brother, otherwise he’d be liable to bring up this night at her goddamn wedding, should she ever get married. But how? Her one advantage was that Steven slept like a rock. Once he was asleep, he would sleep until he was no longer tired, come hell or high water. And since they had a separate room, she had all night.

Finally, she resolved to give him a taste of his own medicine. Steven, who had not wet the bed since kindergarten, would wet the bed. Of course, she couldn’t really make him. And she couldn’t risk damaging the mattress either. But perhaps… Silently, she slipped out of bed. Crinkle. Goddamn. There is no silently slipping out of bed in a baby diaper. At least she knew Steven was asleep, otherwise he’d have commented the noise. On the nightstand, Jenny found a glass, which she filled with lukewarm water in the sink. Then she snuck—for very crinkly values of ‘snuck’—up to Steven’s bed and gently lifted the cover. Her brother didn’t even stir. Gingerly, she squirted a little bit of water on his boxers, carefully making sure none of it got on the bed. No reaction. A little more. Still no reaction. Finally, she poured the entire glass onto Steven’s groin and stomach, careful to minimize spillage onto the mattress. Satisfied, she tucked him back in and fell asleep in her own bed.


2014.

Nina was every bit as lovely one-on-one as she was in class, and Steven’s chances with her had been even better than Anette had hinted at. Before they finished their first drink, she was on his lap—if only briefly—and by the second, they had their first kiss. Now they were ambling their way arm-in-arm towards Steven’s place. Implicitly, she was staying over; otherwise, why follow him in the opposite direction of her own place late at night?

‘So you have an older sister,’ she was saying, ‘and I have an older brother. Isn’t that perfect!’

Well, when you think about it, what did that have to do with anything? But Steven played along. It was just the way it worked: if two people like each other, anything they said to each other made sense, and if there was no mutual attraction, nothing either said seemed to slot into the conversation.

As they neared his place, he seemed to notice her getting a little antsier, but he didn’t know if it was the anticipation or something else that had her on edge. Hopefully the former. Outwardly, she was as chatty as ever—telling him about her vacation last summer, about how she liked older guys (she was eighteen), hinting at the maturity she looked for in men. (Steven’s maturity extended to a five-o’clock shadow.)

As soon as the door was closed behind them, he spun her around and pushed her back toward the wall, initiating a makeout. It was only an illusion of force—in fact, he had merely put his hand gently on her chest and she had leaned backward as if it were a superman punch. Just another step in the mating dance: Steven liked being dominant, but he was no rapist. He suggested roughness, but every step of the way, she could easily resist. If it turned out she was into it, he amped up the heat; if not, he backed out. Nina seemed to like it. He put his hands under her bum and she wrapped her legs around his chest, clasping perhaps a little harder together than would be absolutely necessary—then he simply carried her over to his bedroom. ‘I want you,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘I want you too.’ It was on.

After their session was over, they lay there for a while just enjoying each other’s presence, and before Steven knew it, she was asleep on his arm.

Now, however, came a dilemma: on the way over, Nina’s fidgetiness could be mistaken for anticipation or plain horniness—hey, girls get horny too. But now, thinking it over, she’d had quite a bit to drink, and she hadn’t been to the bathroom all evening. Above all: she was only eighteen after all, and Steven didn’t know if she was all dry. He recalled the commercial he’d seen that evening: one in two at sixteen aren’t. And that was during the day. Should he wake her up? No, that would totally ruin the moment. Besides, despite his readiness to play the dominant part, he could hardly go around commanding a grown woman to go to the bathroom as if she were a toddler.

Steven fell asleep.


2006.

She could hear the shower running. Early morning light streaming through the blinds. Jenny sat up in bed and instinctively felt her padded crotch—dry. But the infinite droplets falling from the showerhead were rapidly intermingling in her mind with the infinite droplets about to fall from her bladder. To say she had to pee was the understatement of the century. Jenny sprang out of bed and pounded on the bathroom door.

‘Oh, honey, it’s just your father in the shower,’ said her mother, who had appeared in the doorway separating the two bedrooms.

‘Please, I really, really need to pee…’ Jenny said, jamming her hand in between her legs, which were proving to be impossible to cross properly on account of the padding.

‘I’m sure your dad will be out in just a minute,’ said her mother.

‘I… don’t have a minute!’ She was now dancing up and down on her toes. In only a night shirt and a baby diaper.

‘Oh honey,’ her mother said, in the tone she used whenever Jenny’d been a little unlucky. ‘You’re wearing protection.’

A tiny trickle was now escaping.

Could there be anything more embarrassing than to be forced to wet yourself in a diaper at sixteen, in front of your own mother?

‘I can’t believe you’re forcing me to…’ she began. Her legs went weak, and as they did, she started to audibly hiss into her padding. Jenny closed her eyes and tried to think of anything—a tropical island, a lollipop, her precious vacation—but the yellowing of her expanding nappy. She was sixteen, and she was having an accident just outside the bathroom door. As the stream drew to a close, as if to punctuate her embarrassment with a grand finale, a tiny rivulet broke lose and ran down her leg.

At that moment, Steven woke up.


2014.

Steven woke up hard. She was still asleep, legs wrapped around his. He felt her groin. Yep. The smell of urine wafted from under the covers, and her side of the bed was soaked. A little bit had gotten on him, too.

Steven was confused. On the one hand, he was used to morning wood. On the other, there was something strangely arousing about his girl there beside him, sleeping like a princess, helpless to control her own bodily urges. Last night she had to have him, and she had him. This morning she had to pee, and she peed. Quickly, though, the cold, clammy, wet reality of the situation set in. His date had pissed the bed and he was lying there partially covered in someone else’s urine, and he had to clean his sheets, and what if his mattress was ruined, and would she ever want to see him again after this embarrassment…

Rather than prolong the inevitable, he shook her awake. ‘Honey?’

‘Huh?’ She had that morning voice that sounds gruff in men, with their deeper voices, but which is irresistibly cute in certain women, to certain men. Clearly the situation hadn’t quite dawned on her.

‘You wet the bed.’

She jolted up, quickly felt under the covers, and then covered her face with her hands.

‘Ohmygod—I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize…’

Two years ago, he would have probably told all his friends the story and they would have all laughed, and none of his boys would ever look at Nina the same again. Or maybe he would have said nothing, simply sent her off in her wet clothes and never called again. But perhaps he had matured in those two years at university. Or perhaps he simply recalled one fateful morning, many years ago…

Whatever the reason, he did none of those things. He simply removed her hands from her face, revealing eyes starting to well up above blushing cheeks, and told her, ‘Honey, it’s going to be okay…’


2014.

Nothing had ever happened between Steven and Anette. They had slept together twice, but never had sex. It was a concept that, to Anette, seemed perfectly reasonable; to Steven, however, it was apparently a major faux pas to cuddle with a girl but not fuck her. Anette had that dirty-blond, blue-eyed girl next door look that half of people seemed to find plain and forgettable, and the other half found almost irresistible. She knew she was desired. Anette didn’t understand it, but according to Steven, if it ever became known that he, a male with a functional penis, had slept in the same bed as her, a female with attractive proportions and a functioning vagina, while not even making a pass at something more than friendship, well, that would be ‘gay,’ and among young men of a certain disposition, to be ‘gay,’ even if one has no sexual attraction to men, is to lose all respect among your peers. She didn’t understand it, but that was how Steven had explained it to her.

Anette was a dry girl. She had potty trained early: by ten, her diapers were so dry they became redundant, and by eleven, she had rid herself of them even at night. Anette was the last person to ask for a break, a rest stop, a visit to the bushes on a hike; that was just how it was. She had only had one accident since she was eleven, and that one had not been quite unplanned. Annette knew that if she didn’t visit the bathroom before bed, she would probably wake up damp; she also knew that if she did visit the bathroom, she could sleep twenty hours and still be dry upon waking. But she had a curiosity bordering on the dirty, the naughty, the forbidden, and one night she gave in to the impulse: she had a big cup of tea before bed and then didn’t go.

Sure enough, in the morning, she woke up with an unfamiliar, damp feeling between her legs: a small crescent moon on her white panties, specially selected for the occasion. The spot was sufficiently yellow to show off her deed to anyone who cared to look, and there was a small spot on the sheets, too. But years of potty training had not been completely undone in a night: she had not released fully. It was early morning, and she still had to pee really badly. Now came the most important step in this experiment in sexual chemistry: the revelation to her boyfriend at the time, Leon. Annette’s bed was so narrow that it only served two if they stacked on top; in other words, it was good for sleeping together, but afterwards, her lovers had either to leave or to sleep in her chair. Now Anette, in revealingly wet underwear, would have to pass by, and probably wake, her boyfriend. This was the real test.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go as she had hoped. Leon had seen her accident and not taken it kindly; he was not in the least attracted to babies, he told her, and he preferred dating women, not girls who wet their beds. That right there was pretty much the end of that relationship.

Even more unfortunately, that had been the most important part of the experiment. It wasn’t the naughtiness of the act itself that was arousing, although there was, at the time, an impulse to stroke herself through her wet panties and come just thinking about the sheer naughtiness of her deed. No, Anette was not exactly into wetting her panties: she didn’t like how it put her at the mercy of others. If her boyfriend had accepted her wetting as sexy, all would have been well, but when he reacted badly, there was hardly anything she could do or say, standing there in soaking underwear with hands clutching to hold back the flood, that would not put her in an inferior or submissive position. Anette liked being an equal partner; she even liked to be the dominant partner, sometimes, taking charge of what went on in bed. But wetting herself, when not seen as sexy, had made her a submissive little girl and nothing she could do in that situation would come off as anything but childish, dependent, or humiliating.

No, Anette’s secret was darker than that: she didn’t get off on pissing her panties, she got off on other girls having accidents. She had hoped that her boyfriend, who had expressed quite an open attitude to sexual deviations—by that she suspected he meant mainly anal, not something that would stimulate her fantasies—would be open to possibly bringing in another girl who was prone to accidents. Anette didn’t see herself as lesbian or bi: she couldn’t get off on the thought of other girls, their bodies, their breasts, their cunts, their eyes or any of the movements that one girl could use to stimulate another. It was purely this fantasy of desperation, of losing control that aroused her.

That was the second night she had slept in Steven’s bed. Some of her female friends could not understand how she could love Steven as a friend: he was an asshole, a lot of the time, and he was also toned and handsome; you either had to fuck him or hate him, pretty much. But Anette did neither, and this night was the perfect illustration of why she kept him around. Steven had broken the bro code. Bros before hoes. Anette had told him, in vague terms, that Leon, a mutual friend, had not treated her well and that was why they broke up; since then, Steven had broken off all contact with Leon. It was apparently unheard of in his circle to choose a girl over a bro, especially a girl you weren’t even sleeping with, but Steven had done it. Perhaps Anette had become a ‘bro,’ too. Although she had no attraction to Steven, that night if he had made a pass at her she would have given herself to him. But he did not, he simply held her until she fell asleep. She woke up dry and happy.

That was several months ago. She had not entirely given up on the idea of finding another girl who was prone to accidents. After all, statistically speaking, there were quite a few of them around her age. It was just a question of finding the right one, the one who would see it as something sexier than an embarrassment or a medical condition. Steven, with whom she had set up and been set up with a number of prospective partners, was her best hope, but she hadn’t found the courage to admit her fetish to him. Not until the perfect opportunity presented itself to her.

Sunday mornings were their usual debriefings: they’d meet up for coffee and discuss the week’s exploits, both personal, educational and sexual. For some reason, Steven had an easy-going tone that made it possible for her to explicitly tell, and be told, of sexual exploits with him. Perhaps it was simply his general attitude of not giving a fuck; an attitude that sometimes extended to rudeness towards strangers, but among friends meant an attitude that whatever was said, he wouldn’t be too judgmental, because fuck it, you live your life, not anyone else’s—something along those lines was what he had said, one time when they were both drunk and talking abstractly and philosophically about life on the grand scale.

This particular Sunday, she had nothing to share on her own, but she was eager to hear how Steven’s date with Nina had gone.

‘So, spill it,’ she said, sipping her coffee and, incidentally, not minding her bladder at all.

‘She’s great,’ Steven said, and smiled in that way of his… What was the word for it—enigmatic? Charismatically mystical? Certainly it said a whole lot without really saying anything at all, so she she had to be blunt.

‘Did you or did you not get it on?’

Steven blushed, which was unlike him. Usually he was the kind to talk loudly in a crowded café about eating out a girl, not minding any curious listeners at all. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘We did, and it was great, but… There’s a but and you have to promise not to tell anyone.’

She had no clue what it might be, but curiosity made her instinctively swear eternal secrecy. ‘Just tell me already, I won’t tell a living soul!’

‘She wet the bed. She pissed all over it, in fact, and she wasn’t blackout drunk either.’

At that moment, everything changed for Anette. Here was her ultimate fantasy, almost in the living flesh: well, through the proxy of her best friend, anyway. But she still didn’t know how Steven felt about it. The possibilities were endless, but only if he was more accepting than Leon…

‘So… What did you do? Will you see her again?’

‘She was so upset, of course. And to be honest, I dunno how I’m feeling about it. I was kind of disgusted at first, but then again I woke up harder than steel. There was something cute about her, too, so helpless and wet. I thought about sending her home, you know, I gotta do laundry, air the mattress, do all this shit just because my date pissed the bed… Do I wanna deal with this shit, should I just tell her to fuck off you know, thanks for pissing my bed, you fucking…’

He trailed off. Anette was on the brink of insanity. She was horny, frightened, curious: whatever came next would be momentous.

‘But then I remembered my sister. You know my sister Jenny? Well, she had her accidents like all girls. And this one time, she must have been like sixteen, we were in an expensive hotel, and my parents made her wear a diaper in case she ruined the bed. It was so embarrassing for her, she was almost an adult and had to waddle around like a toddler, and I had so much fun with it; I hated being the little one, you know, and mocking her for being a baby was so much fun. And she wet the diaper, too: but that wasn’t it. That night I pissed the bed. And after that I could never make fun of her again for her accidents.’

Anette was speechless.

‘So I remembered that, and I remembered my morning wood, and so I held Nina and told her it would be okay. So we got her cleaned up in the shower, put her wet clothes in the washer and I walked her home, dressing her in my old gym outfit. I’m definitely seeing her again. Right now I’m playing the waiting game… How long should I wait to text, to call, so I seem eager but not desperate?’

This opened up a number of possibilities in Anette’s mind. At the same time, she noticed for the first time that she had to pee. The urge had been the kind to build up so slowly she hadn’t even noticed, but now it was there, it was nearing urgency. Not pissing your pants urgency, but priority numero uno is finding a restroom urgency, certainly. In high school biology she had learned that sometimes, that is how girls’ nervous systems work: for some reason, some evolutionary quirk, the nerves between bladder and brain mature more slowly and unevenly in girls than in boys.

There was bound to be a bathroom in this café. It was their usual hangout spot, but with Anette’s strong bladder, she’d never had any use of it and so never learned where it was. She could definitely go right now and ask someone who worked there and the problem would be solved in two minutes. But she didn’t want to end this conversation with Steven, she wanted it to lead in the right direction—the direction that would make her fantasies true. She wasn’t really into holding her pee; it was seeing others do it that did it for her. But in her aroused and confused state, an imp on her shoulder whispered: it’s now or never. If you want your fantasy, you need to show Steven the way. He’s on the fence: he thinks it’s cute and disgusting at the same time. You need to do a bold move if you want him to lean over towards sexy.

Anette rose from her chair, jolting her bladder so much it sent chills down her spine. She made her way to Steven’s side of the table and leaned over conspiratorially: ‘You need to find me a bathroom quick, or I’m going to…’ she couldn’t bring herself to say the word, but it was heavily implied.

Steven looked confused. ‘There’s one right down that hall, I think, just ask the staff…’

Anette scrunched up her face and put on her most babyish pout: ‘But I don’t like going so publicly, it makes me so uncomfortable to know there’s strangers right next to me when I pee…’ This was a blatant lie, and both knew it. Anette had no shy bladder, and when her large bladder needed emptying, she’d go just about anywhere. This had been a bold move on her part: in essence, she had introduced an improvised, sexual roleplay, and now she needed Steven to bite. ‘Yes and,’ never ‘no, but…’ is the main rule in improv, after all. This was the moment of truth: would he yes and, would he go for it, or would he tell his friend to stop being such a klutz and go piss already?

‘Oh… Anette…’ Score. It was the tone he used with girls when he started taking charge and being dominant. As much as she disliked playing the submissive role, if ever she would get the opportunity to live out her fantasy on the dominant side, perhaps she needed to show Steven how much fun it could be.

He took her hand and led her quickly to the counter to pay for their coffees, each step reminding her that, unlike in outer space, here on Terra Mater gravity will exert an almost irresistible force on everything towards its gravitational core. In her case, it meant all the urine in her bladder was being pushed downwards, with each step, towards molten lava, but more immediately towards her lace panties and her tight, white jeans. She could feel the waistband on her pants dig into her bladder; she felt like new muscles were growing inside her with each step, muscles intent on pushing this liquid waste material out of her right now. Steven held her hand like a child while he paid for them both. He never paid for them both, and they only held hands when drunk.

Outside the café, there were no natural places to go. They were on a big public plaza: all around were stores, eateries, hotels, a few business complexes, surely a public bathroom somewhere, but they had already established that those were not an option. They needed to find somewhere secluded, preferably a private home, but both of them lived thirty minutes by bus from here. What had been a fun game in the spur of the moment was rapidly becoming reality: Anette, who was the first in her class to potty train, who had been dry since eleven, might not have thirty minutes left in her.

She didn’t want to be too obvious about her need, but it was necessary to fidget a little to avoid leaks. She realized, too, that she must give Steven a show; after all, that was the purpose of this little game she had deviced. She briefly put her hand on her crotch as a particularly strong pulse ravaged her lower body, and Steven clutched her hand more tightly. ‘We’ll figure it out,’ he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was getting any enjoyment out of this at all.

Not knowing what to do, they started idly walking towards the nearest bus stop. At a street corner, Anette suddenly had to stop and cross her legs, then carefully uncross them to prevent disaster. This reminded her of every leak she ever had since getting dry, the ones no one could call real accidents. In order from least to most embarrassing: twelve years old, forgot to go before school, small spot on her panties while walking towards the restroom between first and second period (dry before she was home); thirteen, family road trip, slight leak towards the tail end of a stretch without rest stops, possible yellowing of the panty crotch but her mother never said anything about the laundry; fifteen, overestimating her iron bladder at the movies and ending up actually squirting in the seat, but she was wearing a skirt (her friend commented that she must have spilled some of her soda); seventeen, skiing trip, heavy snow gear, tough to remove (her mother had hinted that she might have noticed a strange smell at the campfire before Anette finally gave in and ran to yellow the snow); and finally, twenty, when she wet the bed and Leon broke up with her.

This reminiscing did nothing to help her current situation. When they finally got to the bus stop, she was tipping over towards actually, genuinely desperate. Desperate in the sense that she thought she might not make it; desperate in a way she had not intended. She hadn’t really planned this out. Why didn’t she just go at the café? She really didn’t want to wet herself, only give Steven a taste of desperation play. And was he even getting into it? Only one way to find out.

Anette leaned into him, hand in her crotch, and whispered: ‘I think I’m about to have an accident.’ She blushed as she said it. She hadn’t said those words in ten years. She could even recall the exact occasion, although she really didn’t want to right now.

Pressing herself into him more like a lover than a friend—now incredibly turned on by the whole situation, but also incredibly afraid of the consequences, and also confused because where could she direct all this arousal, surely not at her friend whom she had established was purely platonic and also was just getting into a relationship with another girl, a wetter nonetheless—she got confirmation. Voluntary or not, Steven was hard.

‘That’s it,’ he said firmly. ‘We’re going back to that café and you’re going to make it.’

As Anette released her grip on him, she squirted. It was a single spasm and a single ejection of fluid, full velocity towards her underwear; it had such force that the panties could not fully absorb it, and a small flower bloomed between her jeans legs. She was officially having an accident, if only a small one. Yet.

Steven saw it. He was the one guy she knew who always kept his looks at eye level with her; ass, boob or crotch never entered the equation with him. But now he was openly staring at the point between her legs where she had leaked. If this damn show didn’t turn him over to the dark side of wetting, nothing would. She was playing her part perfectly, way too perfectly for her own taste.

Taking her hand, he started striding towards the café as if he had seven-mile boots. She was gonna make it, and he was gonna make her make it. But Anette’s bladder had a mind of its own. Or rather, it had no mind: it had stopped communicating with her brain some time ago, and was now simply a physiological balloon ready to burst in a reaction Anette could neither predict nor control. This was the female evolutionary curse in action as Anette had never experienced it. She was the dry girl, she was the buddy younger girls looked to when setting bathroom schedules and taking their first step out of diapers. Now she was about to be the wet girl.

A stone’s throw before the café, she had an accident. She felt her crotch warm, her jeans start to cling to her inner thighs, her need to go lessen at the same rate as her dignity. Powerless to stop it, she counted in her head: thousand-and-one, thousand-and-two, thousand-and-three, and then it was over. She was back in the driver’s seat again, at least for the moment, but now her accident was undeniable: anyone within a hundred meters could see that she had a wet, semi-transparent streak from a certain private area down her leg halfway to her knee. And still she had to pee, perhaps not as urgently as before, but urgent enough.

‘Oh, Anette,’ Steven said when he saw her accident.

At the doorsteps to the café, another accident. Thousand-and-one, thousand-and-two, thousand-and-three… Thousand-and-eight. Her right leg was now wet to the knee, and still she wasn’t done. After all, she could hold a lot. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been since last night. It wasn’t bladder size that was girls’ problem; it was nerves.

Steven hurriedly led her by the hand past waiters and patrons towards the back, where mercifully there was one bathroom, unisex. He pushed her inside, then stole a quick look to see no one was watching and entered himself.

There it was. Salvation. A toilet. Steven put his hands around her waist and started to undo her jeans buttons. Then it happened. Thousand-and-one… Her last strength leaving her, she started forcefully hissing into her jeans. A trickle reached the floor via her inner thigh and leg; then a waterfall developed between her legs, and it started puddling around her legs so much Steven had to take a step back. Anette wasn’t into wetting; this wasn’t supposed to happen; she wanted it to happen to someone else; she wanted to cry. She was aroused beyond belief.

When she was done, she bowed her head in shame and said: ‘I need a little time alone.’ Steven unlocked the door and promised to stand vigil outside. As soon as the door was closed, Anette sat down on the toilet lid and put her hands down her pants.

When she had come and done, exhausted, she buttoned up her now soaked white jeans and exited. This wasn’t the plan; she had no change of clothes; what should she do?

Steven said the exact words she had hoped to hear: ‘That… That was incredibly hot. I’m so sorry.’

Re: Developmental Biology

I started this story a year and a half ago, so I have several story arcs already finished.

2010.

Nina was full of nervous energy. Today would be her first day at school in proper panties. At fifteen, she was a little behind most of her clique of friends, who had abandoned their pullups a year or two before. For a while hardly a week went by without at least one of them having an unlucky spot on their pants. Nina was the only one whose pants were always dry: the same could hardly be said for her underwear. Her friends never bothered her about it, but now her mom had asked her to start paying for her own day protection when she turned sixteen, and she’d decided on her own it was time to take the plunge. She was a little worried, though: her strategy had always been to release a little to avoid a flood, and now she lacked that option. Her friends were all pretty much over this stage. Not that all of them could say they were never going to be unlucky again, with the natural certainty boys usually could by the time they entered school. And she knew many of them still wore at night. But what would they say if she had a full-on accident? At the same time, this was a big day for her. A final goodbye to childhood. Although she had developed breasts, wider hips, although she had her period, barring sex, of course, this was the one thing that separated a girl from a woman in her mind.

She glanced through the bus window: nothing had changed. It was the same route, the same old houses, the same little jam at the intersection that took a good five minutes to resolve, so regular it was factored into the bus schedule. But she was changed. Although it was chilly out, she wore low-rise jeans and a top that showed off her navel. It wasn’t her style, a little too loose, but she was so proud there was nothing sticking up above her waistband she wanted it to be known. As the bus pulled into school, she knew it: there was no going back now. Her mom and friends had been notified; an emergency change of clothes had been stuffed (in the bottom, discreetly) in her backpack; she was in panties and had dutifully emptied out before getting on the bus. The nervous energy was turning to excitement. Today was going to be a great day!


2014.

The cleanup had not been fun. After the initial rush, the embarrassment had come back in full force. Anette had soaked her pants in a crowded café. She had no escape plan. It had been a spur of the moment decision that had gone further than anticipated. Further than she could ever imagine. But Steven had clearly enjoyed the show. She’d been too embarrassed to reveal her fetish to him in private, so she’d staged a public spectacle instead. How dumb was that? She was reminded of the old adage: I’ve written you a longer letter, because I didn’t have time to write you a short one. Or in her case, she didn’t have the nerve.

Steven, however, was very good at improvising. As her pants started to cool off, Anette dropped the roleplay and they became equal partners in crime. Their mission: to get away with a public soaking. Witnesses had to be distracted while Anette slipped out the back door. She didn’t know what Steven had done, but apparently it had caused quite a ruckus inside, and she was sure they’d have to find a new hangout spot. Once out, he strolled into the nearest department store and got her a cheap pair of sweatpants, and she changed in the nearest public bathroom. She still smelled like pee, she was still shivering and still confused, about her arousal, about whether she was attracted to Steven, about everything, but he tried to make it a game, to comfort her by playing it off like they were getting away with some daring caper.

The dynamic of their relationship had clearly changed. Neither of them knew quite what to make of it, but both agreed it had been an amazing experience. He took her home.

‘I knew there was a reason you wanted me to talk to that chick for you,’ Steven said, as she came out of the shower all toweled up and mercifully free of piss. ‘At that party, she was really needing to go, wasn’t she?’ She had been.

‘Steven,’ she said seriously. He was still in that goofy mode of his, perhaps because he himself was confused, perhaps to spare her further embarrassment. But she wanted to make certain things clear.

‘You and me,’ she said. ‘You know what we are. Right?’ He nodded. ‘And you know you had the chance that night I slept here, and didn’t take it.’

‘I wasn’t into you like that. And you weren’t into me like that.’

‘But…’ Now for the elephant in the room. ‘I want it to stay that way. But will you share this with me, anyway? What I did today… I’ve never done it before. I wanted to show you how much fun it is. I don’t want it to be me, I want it to be someone else…’ She trailed off.

He had understood. Somehow, it got across.


2010.

Third period. Nina was staring impatiently at the clock as her biology teacher droned on. Not that she had to go, really. She was just bored. She’d dutifully gone after first period: she knew she could last, if not all day, at least half of a day. That was usually when a little leak might warn her it was time to go. She couldn’t leak today, though, so she resolved to go after class anyway, as a precaution.

Her attire had certainly attracted attention. She’d seen a couple guys check her out, and her friend Mia had whispered several names to her that she knew, she said, were really digging her new look. You know, with all that implied. She liked the attention, certainly; at the same time, it felt a little like being hunted, like she was a lamb surrounded by lions. She was ready to be out of diapers and into womanhood, but perhaps she wasn’t ready to date yet. Nina turned and caught a glimpse of the new guy; he’d just transferred from another school, was sitting in the back row by himself, and yet somehow exuded an air of confidence. She felt a tingling down there: did she have to go after all, or was it something else?

Finally biology was over. She looked down at her desk: she hadn’t taken a single note. Someone had asked the obligatory question: ‘Is this going to be on the test?’ Yes indeed. That was the last thing the teacher had said. There’s a test coming up next Wednesday, and you’ll be expected to have learned all this. Shit. There was a reason he droned on: he’d covered thirty pages of the textbook in the space of an hour, and she hadn’t paid attention at all. Now Mia swept her away, gossiping wildly about everything—she really was the spider at the center of the social web, and nothing went on that she didn’t know about except possibly some nerdy Dungeons and Dragons club that she deemed unworthy even of minor scandal—and before Nina knew it, she was in her next class and hadn’t gone to the bathroom.

Next time, she thought.


2014.

Steven had resolved to be practical. Although the scheme was, in essence, manipulative, at least it was straightforward. In her hurry to get home and forget her accident, Nina had forgotten her soiled clothes in Steven’s care. She had his gym clothes, too, but he’d lent old clothes to girls he’d slept with before not expecting to get them in return, and seldom did. Rather than set up another date, Steven simply called Nina up and matter-of-factly said she should come by the next morning to pick up her clothes. He made no mention of the accident, or of the sex, or anything: just come pick up the clothes tomorrow, and if you could return mine it’d be great.

It was a gamble. She might have been too embarrassed or turned off or ashamed to ever meet him. But it paid off. Early next morning she was buzzing at the door. That was when the real plan sprung into action.

‘Hey!’ He hugged her at the door. She stood there a little awkwardly, receiving the hug but not really returning it, until Steven leaned in and whispered in her ear: ‘You look lovely today.’ At that, she released his embrace and kissed him on the mouth. Score.

‘You should meet my friend Anette! She just popped by with this great idea and I really want you to come along!’ Anette hadn’t really popped by randomly, of course. Nina stood there a little bewildered: she was here to pick up the clothes she had pissed in, and now she was expected to meet his friends already? A combination of embarrassment and confusion. At least that’s what Steven calculated was going through her mind.

Anette stepped into the room and greeted Nina enthusiastically. ‘Hey! Steven told me about you! I think we talked a little in one of our classes, didn’t we? I’m Anette!’ Although Steven knew she wasn’t a big hugger, Annette stepped forward and embraced Nina like an old friend. It was vital she played her part.

‘I… I have something for you, and I think you have something for me…’ Nina stammered. She had a plastic bag, probably with the old gym clothes, and she was trying to talk around the specifics of what she was there to pick up.

Anette stepped in at just the right moment. She put her arm around Nina and guided her from the front hall into the living room, leaving Steven behind. He could just make out what she was whispering if he strained to hear.

‘I’m so sorry… I heard about what happened to you. But honey…’ This was sleazy as fuck, he thought. But if it worked, they wouldn’t have to be sleazy at all. The rest of the plan involved improv, no manipulation whatsoever. ‘Honey… Steven told me, but only to cheer me up. He shouldn’t have, but you see, we were at this café and I left it too late… I was wet all over and everyone saw, I was so scared. He was just trying to comfort me, but don’t be embarrassed, it’s okay, it happens to big girls too…’

Steven went into the bathroom for a couple minutes to let them have a little chat, then he came back with the bag of clothes. The two girls were sitting on his run-down, second hand couch, talking like sisters. It had worked. Steven handed Nina her clothes and she actually smiled; all awkwardness was defused. Anette was talking enthusiastically about something.

‘So I was thinking we should go to this zoo, it’s just on the outskirts of town, not really a zoo, it’s indoors but they have like an aquarium and exotic animals and stuff and I think it sounds really great!’

That was it: they wanted Nina to come with them on a public outing. Hopefully, her wetting the bed was no fluke; if she was prone to that kind of thing, they might get a show that would turn both of them on, and then Steven would take Nina home. Hopefully, again, because it was all fantasy at this point, she would eventually learn to enjoy the role they’d assigned her in their little ménage à trois—even though Anette had agreed she would never join them in bed, she’d take care of her own business after witnessing the first act. That was it. They weren’t going to force or encourage her to drink too much or miss the bathroom, they just wanted—he just wanted, because he, as a guy, could never fully understand Anette’s intentions—to see what would happen. If nothing else they’d have a fun day at the aquarium or whatever it was Anette had dug up for them to go see.

Nina agreed. She’d pick up the clothes later.

‘I’m just gonna go pee before we hop on the bus!’ Anette said. Nina was already clothed for the outdoors and ready to go, so Steven led her out of the apartment building and left the key to Anette.


2010.

She downed the milk as usual. It was lunch, after all, and she was thirsty. There was a bathroom right by the cafeteria, and she was about to go as a precaution—she did feel a little pressure even if it wasn’t vital—but then the talk around the table turned to the mystery boy, the new guy on the back row, and she couldn’t miss it. Before she knew it, lunch was over and it was time for the highlight of her day: P.E.

In normal clothes you could probably hide it well enough, but in gym shorts or yoga pants, it was impossible to miss who was padded. The numbers were steadily dwindling, and soon enough, she felt, it would start to become shameful. But not today! No more! She was free of that shackle and she was gonna show it off.

Today they were playing dodgeball. Nina ran straight out. Her tight shorts were showing off no protection at all, and this was her favorite game.

Someone had misplaced the foam balls. One of the guys picked up a handball instead and started a game before the teacher could say anything, and soon they were going at it. Nina focused on the game, dodging, jumping, catching the ball and throwing it with intensity. In the few moments were there was a lull in the action, she noticed several guys checking her out. She was definitely the girl of the day.

Then the ball hit her hard in the stomach. A foam ball doesn’t hurt at all, but a handball? Full force. She winced in pain, fell down on her knees and clutched her abdomen. Her bladder contracted. Hard. The force of the ball upon that lunchtime milk was almost too much. Luckily, she was attentive and managed to control it. It was her first day unprotected, after all: any other day it would have been a certain leak. Mia ran over to check on her, but the pain subsided quickly and so did her need. She got up and smiled: she was just fine! Dry and not really needing to go for some time. Soon enough she was in the game again.


2014.

Nina shrieked. ‘Please!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Anette said. ‘Let’s go somewhere else. I didn’t know.’

Apparently, spiders were scary. It wasn’t intentional at all, but holding up an arachnophobic at a display of tarantulas wasn’t the best idea, so they quickly proceeded. Reptiles were fine, apparently. Nina walked in front, anxious to get past those eight-legged monsters. For a moment, she stopped, and Anette saw a shiver rack through her body, like a chilly gust of wind had just passed by, but they were indoors. Anette caught up with her and whispered: ‘Honey, do you… Like, do you need to go?’

‘No, no. I was just shuddering at those nasty spiders! Let’s go on,’ Nina said.

Score. That’s what Steven used to say, and she’d picked it up from him. Whenever he correctly predicted a social interaction would turn in his favor, which was often, it was a score. And Nina was either really shy about peeing or she was one of those girls who just leave it really late, and either was fine with Anette. They’d had some soda at the little café by the reception area before going in, but no one had promped Nina to drink. If she was reaching dangerous territory, it was her own doing, and that was exactly what Anette wanted. She wanted it to happen naturally, a situation emerging spontaneously, not some nefarious plot: that was her fantasy, for it to just happen in real life with no planning it. She’d seen videos on the internet that catered to her fetish, but most of the professional ones looked too planned, lacked that spontaneity and that element of self-made disaster that so turned her on.

Steven had been admiring the spiders. Apparently they were more fascinating than the girl with them who clearly was in need of a pee and clearly denying herself relief despite the nearby restrooms. When he caught up with her, Anette nudged him, and together they watched as Nina walked. Every few steps, she would nudge one leg slightly towards the other, not quite crossing them, just tightening the grip, so to speak. Then she stopped for a moment and stood completely still and moved her hand downwards, but they couldn’t see where she was touching from the back. Anette caught up with Nina and took her arm, denying her ability to fidget discreetly. She had every opportunity to end this charade; just as they passed a glowing RESTROOMS sign, she stopped and seemed to steel herself, then walked on as if restrooms were not even in the same universe as her, no concern at all. Anette noticed the feel of her own panties touching her womanhood; their state was indicative of her excitement, even if she didn’t have to pee at all.


2010.

Nina remembered Mia’s last accident, a year ago when her crowd were still all in the phase she was now just entering, getting used to the lack of protection. Just like Nina now, Mia had been standing at the bus stop waiting to get home when she’d exploded. In five seconds, the front of her capris was soaked. She stood silently in one of the standing spots the entire way home, because the bus driver noticed the obvious and asked her not to wet any seats.

Nina had to pee, but she was determined to make it home. She couldn’t fail on her first day. She hadn’t been since the break between first and second period, and a series of distractions had kept her from committing to the toilet regime she had devised together with her friends when she’d told them she was ready to give up the padding for good. They’d been very helpful in sharing their own experiences, how frequently she ought to be going, how she should progress from frequent breaks to less frequent, more mature periods between each pee. But when she took the plunge, none of them reminded or urged her to go. She supposed they thought she was old enough to stick to the schedule by herself. And apparently, she wasn’t. As she stepped onto the bus, her heavy bladder sagged and the contents felt like they were splashing against the walls. Mia and a few others from her crew were also there, but at this point Nina had retreated into herself, into a struggle against time, and didn’t say much. She sat down together with a blonde girl she sort of knew but whose name she’d forgotten, just because she felt she ought to sit together with someone. Even if she longed to be alone, so she could dance in her seat. That was the primary objective right now: not to reveal her desperate state.

Her compromise was a rhythmic wiggling of her butt and rubbing of her legs together, not quite a potty dance, but close enough. Her crotch was on fire, and when the bus halted at the dreaded intersection, she knew she was near disaster. Five minutes was the usual holdup here in the morning. In the afternoon, it could be anywhere from ten to twenty. If it was twenty, she couldn’t make it. No, she reminded herself, mind over body! She could make it through thirty, she decided, not quite convincing herself. Slowly, the bus inched its way forward, and Nina felt her hand inch its way towards her crotch. She couldn’t help herself. Her lower body wasn’t strong enough, so her hand would have to do its share. Now it must be obvious she was desperate, but it was less embarrassing to be desperate than to be wet.

‘I saw you today in gym!’ said the blonde girl suddenly. ‘All the guys were checking you out… There’s something different about you.’ Then she noticed Nina’s hand in her lap. ‘Do you need to pee?’

‘It’s my first day… Please don’t tell anyone.’

The blonde girl leaned forward slightly. Her jacket, sweater and shirt rode up, revealing that she was protected. ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘You’re going to make it. I’m not brave enough to do what you’re doing, but you’ll make it.’

Finally the bus passed the intersection, and from there on, the bus ride was a blur. She was wiggling, holding, clutching, praying to gods she didn’t even believe in that she’d be able to hold on. When they reached her stop, she thanked the blonde girl for her support while simultaneously wrestling her backpack out and running out the doors. The impact of stepping a foot down from the bus to the ground nearly did her in, but she was still dry. Her house was just by the bus stop, and she wiggle-walked her way there with hands in her crotch.

The door was unlocked; her mother was home early. Nina stepped in without removing her shoes, as her mother had taught her long ago to do in private homes, and ran upstairs to the bathroom. Imagine at this moment the many-world theory of quantum mechanics: imagine that every coin flip can go either way, that there is a world in which it is tails and a world in which it’s heads. Tails, her mom has to pee two seconds longer and is still in there when Nina reaches the door. Puddle on the floor, tears flowing. Luck on her side, this version of Nina lived in the heads world: her mom was just leaving the bathroom as Nina stormed in, yanked down her pants and released the floodgates. She had made it through her first day. As she peed, she shuddered. It was a violent shudder, her whole body possessed by it. And she liked it, oh how she liked that shudder. She had never experienced it before, never with her slow leaks in her pull-ups and then her piddles in the bathroom. This time, releasing the flood, her whole body shook with pleasure.


2014.

By the time they were closing in on the last exhibit, Nina’s need must surely be reaching desperation mode. She was bravely hiding it, but her frequent stops, shudders, shuffles of the feet, stopping to look at a boring sign just so she could cross her legs as if that was just a natural position to be standing it—all of it revealed her state plainly to anyone who was attentive. At this point, Anette felt sorry for the girl. Her own panties were now almost as wet as if she’d leaked but not a drop of it was pee, and yet she felt she needed to give Nina one more chance if it really was shyness and not some, dare she say it, perverse habit that was causing her to deny herself the bathroom.

She siddled up to Nina, took her arm and said, ‘Nina, honey, I feel like visiting the restroom…’ She chose a euphemism in order to minimize any embarrassment in case even saying it out loud was too scary for this girl. ‘Would you like to come?’

‘Sure,’ she said. Anette was a little disappointed, but after all, she didn’t want to force anything. Her fantasy was absolute spontaneity: a series of events not in any way pushed on the girl who lost control. They left Steven behind and entered the nearest Ladies’. Once inside, Anette entered a stall and produced a little tinkle. She didn’t really need to pee. Nina, though, still stood by the mirror when Anette came out of the stall, obviously dancing on the spot but pretending to fix her hair. When she saw Nina in the mirror, she straightened herself up, turned around and smiled. ‘Feel better?’ she asked, as if it was Anette who’d been in dire need of a pee.

Anette nodded. She supposed this was not a score, since it was the opposite of what she’d expected. But fuck it: score. Nina would still be holding, and there was no way she could say she hadn’t had the opportunity to go. As they were leaving, Anette even added, ‘You know, the evening buses are never on schedule. I hate having to sit there and wait when I need to go, you know, and I’ve calculated the time but it’s not on schedule. So that’s why I went now. Precaution.’

Nina just nodded and followed her out of the restroom, still holding. Motherfucking score.

Steven was waiting outside, looking at his watch. Who wears a watch anymore? Everyone’s got a cellphone in their pocket. But Steven wore a wristwatch, a statement maybe. ‘We should be going, maybe,’ he said. ‘I’ve checked the bus schedule, if we go now we can reach one that goes in fifteen minutes. I think I’ve seen everything cool there’s to see here.’

Nina lit up. Clearly she was keen on the idea of getting out of there.

‘Are we all agreed?’ Anette asked. Nina nodded, so they headed out.

Outside, it had gotten dark and the temperature had dropped considerably. The cold, Anette remembered, had been the culprit of many an accident. Anything that could be held an hour inside would come out in half an hour in the cold outdoors. She blushed as she remembered that time when she was seventeen on the ski trip with her family. Those big snowpants to remove, baring her butt in the double-digit celsius negative cold—it wasn’t something she wanted to do, so she held her morning coffe and the hot chocolate all day. Cross-country skiing and then hotdogs on a campfire in the freezing cold: her family sure knew how to have fun. But even in the snowpants with her hands in her lap, the cold crept into her bladder, and it contracted, and she leaked, maybe it was even a stream, but it was only a second. Enough for her to feel warm around her crotch. She continued to hold, hands in her lap as if casually but really as a last bulwark against disaster, until her mother sniffed in the air and declared something smelled funny. Her mom directed her gaze towards the younger neighbor girl whom they’d invited along, and that was when Anette knew she had to yield. While her mom walked over to check with the neighbor girl, Lily was her name and she must have been about fourteen, Anette snuck off, found the nearest three, then struggled off with every layer of clothing and finally peed in the snow.

That was the effect of cold, and it must be what was happening to Nina now. Although the temperature was nowhere near that ski trip, it was still exponentially harder to hold when you were already shivering from temperature alone, on top of the bladder contractions. Nina sat on the edge of the bus shelter seat with her hands firmly buried in her lap, staring straight ahead with a pale look. Occasionally her whole body shivered and she buried her hands even deeper. Both Steven and Anette asked her if something was wrong, and each time, she assured them she was just cold. ‘Fucking weather, shoulda brought a warmer jacket,’ she added. It was the first time Anette had heard her swear.

The bus didn’t arrive on time. Steven glanced at his clock and sighed. ‘As per usual,’ he said. ‘Politicians, they want the respect of the people, but they can’t even keep the buses running on time. How do they expect us to trust them with the entire country, the entire world?’ Just as he finised his little tirade, the bus rolled to a halt in front of them. Imagine the quantum coin flip again. Another passenger who was too late for the bus in this world makes it in time in that world, and so the bus is delayed by a minute, and the cold is merciless, and maybe in that world Nina is pissing the bus bench. Butterfly effects, Schrödinger’s cats. But in reality, the bus was there and they got on it, all three seating themselves in the back together, and a window seat saved Nina from the cold.

Anette was impressed with her poise. How on Earth could she not be doing the potty dance? Every sign pointed to nine point nine on the scale of desperation, yet she sat there casually resting her hands in her lap, not even moving. Was she… Could she be wearing protection? Was that it? Anette glanced over, but she could see no sign of it. She remembered it well enough; there were certain tell-tale signs that show up on any jeans under which the wearer has anything that can contain even a partial flood.

Steven shot her a mischievous smile. They hadn’t really spoken much after Nina arrived; Anette had been too focused on Nina, and she imagined Steven had been too. But that look meant something. They were in the final stage and Steven wanted to ramp up the heat.

‘Man, I gotta piss. Haven’t been all day. Alright if I call dibs on the toilet when we get back?’

Anette was disappointed in him. She thought the understanding was they weren’t going to do anything at all to encourage an accident; they were just going to observe, to hope events would develop by themselves. But then Nina turned around: ‘Actually, I could use a bathroom myself. Will you let me go first?’ This was the first time she’d acknowledged her need.

Steven nodded, then turned to Anette and smiled.

As the bus ride progressed, Nina’s poise deteriorated. First it seemed like her body tensed; she had been maintaining a relaxed posture, but now it was like every muscle was strained. Then her hands, which had been so casually placed in her lap, started actually kneading down there. Then, finally, her whole body was shivering and she was bouncing slightly up and down in her seat, shifting her weight from one butt cheek to the next, staring out the window in an attempt to hide her red cheeks. Anette touched her own crotch. She shivered. This was almost too much. It was playing out better than she could have ever hoped, and she could barely contain herself. Nina turned her body away from them, unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and actually put her hands down her pants in an attempt to hold, while simultaneously trying to pretend like it was no big deal, a little pee she could always wait to release. That act was wearing thin. Anette longed to follow suit, for different reasons. Steven was sporting a raging hard-on, by the looks of his strained pants crotch.

They arrived at their stop and got off. Nina zipped and buttoned up quickly and followed them off. It was only a five minute walk to Steven’s apartment, but right now five minutes could mean the world. Nina was walking, stopping, crossing her legs, shuffling her way forward. She might as well be carrying saying I’M ABOUT TO WET MYSELF, but as far as Anette could tell she was still dry. On the steps up to the front door of Steven’s apartment building, Nina abruptly stopped. She stood there cross-legged for a good twenty seconds all tensed up, and Anette thought she might have leaked, but nothing showed on her jeans yet.

The last hurdle were the stairs up to the third floor. At every landing, Nina stopped to cross her legs and bury her hands in her crotch, but still she appeared to be maintaining control. Anette, horny beyond belief, was following her closely, eyes fixated on Nina’s ass—she supposed, if she were a man, she’d be an ‘ass man,’ because this view, this angle from which to look out for wetness was irresistibly erotic. Finally they made it to Steven’s front door. He unlocked it and they huddled into his small front hall. Although aroused enough that a single touch down there might make her come, Anette was disappointed. Steven’s bathroom was adjacent to the hall. Nina was going to make it.

The memory will be imprinted forever in Anette: Nina’s light gray jeans butt, fingers slightly visible between her legs as she opens the door and shuffles towards the toilet, and then a dark spot appears, and with her eyes Anette follows a little streak towards the floor, and she looks up, and Nina stops two steps in front of the toilet and says simply: ‘I can’t.’ And then the flood, all of it, her ass, her legs dripping wet, it’s like she’s put a water hose down her pants and it’s all soaking her panties, soaking her butt, her gray jeans are black, Anette stops looking for wet spots and starts searching for dry ones. And she just continues going there in front of the toilet, Anette vaguely noticing a bulging Steven watching beside her, and then hearing a little heave, a sound like a muffled sob, like someone trying heavily to contain tears.

She’d promised herself and Steven that if things happened like they hoped might happen, she’d watch, then go home and let Steven take care of it, let him and his girlfriend have their fun—hopefully it’d develop into fun—for themselves. But that heave, that muffled sob, that puddle on the floor, that wet ass, those shiny dark thighs and those slender shoulders shaking. She had to go in, stepping in the puddle and putting her arms around Nina’s shoulders.

‘It’s going to be alright. Everything is fine. It happens. It’s going to be alright.’

Re: Developmental Biology

Thankfully this forum isn’t as prudish as I’d feared. It just gave that impression initially. Trucking along at a quick pace, because I’m not writing these as we go. Pace will slow down a lot as we come closer to the end of the thread on omo.org

Summer, 2014.

Jenny had to smile at Steven and his girls. Just looking at how the touched them and talked to them, she couldn’t tell which was supposed to be his girlfriend and who was just a friend. Knowing Steven, she wouldn’t be surprised if it were both. They seemed to be young and in love, anyway, and that was after all the important thing. Twenty was an excellent time to be a little confused and tangled—she certainly had been—and they looked so happy. The younger one, the girlfriend, she supposed, seemed so innocent. And the older one, Anette, she seemed like she was Steven in female form, like they formed two parts of a whole. When he talked to her, he touched her shoulders, took her hand and swung her around to show her something, then he’d switch it up and take the younger girl, Nina, for a piggyback ride. It was all so sweet, almost like watching first graders at a playground. It was in the air: summer. She was only 24, but she was newly married, and she and Mark were already talking about maybe buying a house in the countryside, about having children. He was thirty, after all, but still he was jumping from job to job and seemed to enjoy it.

Steven had always been the one to embarrass her. She enjoyed playing the part of grownup now, even if strictly all of them were adults, at least in the eyes of the law. They were going on a camping trip just outside the city. Mark didn’t own an apartment, but he had a camper van. She and Mark would be sleeping in it while Steven and the girls would attempt—she knew she’d enjoy watching Steven struggle here—to sleep in a tent. Two, three nights was the plan, weather pending. On the drive out there, all of them trapped in the RV and so unable to escape if someone brought up something embarrassing, she decided she wanted to shock her brother. Or at least show a wilder side of herself that he wasn’t familiar with.

‘You know I worked a lot of random retail jobs before I got my new job, my first real job in the bank I’m working now?’

Steven nodded, curious.

‘Well, there was a lot. Just supermarkets, clothing stores, part timing here and there to keep it up and bring in the money. And then I found this job in a sex store.’

Steven leaned forward. Clearly he was intrigued.

‘It was funny, when they interviewed me, the guy was trying to say, I think, that he was looking for pretty young girls who weren’t sluts. But he couldn’t say it outright, so it went more like this: "You know, many of our customers feel like perverts. You’d be surprised how many people get off on being naughty, but they don’t want to feel like pervs when they buy their toys. So we want our staff to be young, and well put together, so they can see that it’s perfectly normal what they’re doing. Of course some of the stuff we sell is bordering on the sick, but you can never let that on. Always pretend you’ve got one at home and you’re puttin’ it to work, whatever it is. But don’t give the impression you’re loose, either." So I got the job.’

Everyone in the van was all ears, even Mark, who knew the story as well as herself.

‘We sold all sorts of stuff. But mostly it was soft, mainstream, vibrators and lube and a little light bondage stuff. Some customers didn’t get it, they thought we were like the front for a porn studio or something and came here asking to buy used panties and such, it was really icky. One even asked me to sell my own panties, and I had to have my male colleague show him out. The weirdest was the guy who wanted panties that schoolgirls had peed in. I told him straight out, we’re not a pedo shop, you know. But he insisted, no, adult schoolgirls, like play acting. Still, it was too weird for us, it wasn’t the kind of stuff we sold. Anyway, that shop was where I met Mark.’

The youngest girl blushed. Nina, was it?

‘You told me at the wedding you met through friends at a party,’ Steven interjected.

‘We did,’ said Mark. ‘But we couldn’t tell everyone where we first met. It’s true. I was just browsing idly, you know I was curious, just passed by and saw the shop. And then I saw the most beautiful girl behind the counter, but I couldn’t hit on her in a porn shop, it would be too creepy. I was a little bummed, but then it turns out we had mutual friends and I met her again at a party a few weeks later.’

That was her secret. She was the well put together, adult, twenty-four-year-old with a good job who met her husband behind the counter of a porn shop.


The campsite was at the end of a dirt trail wide enough for the camper to drive all the way. There was a little space for making a campfire, a bench, and a trail leading into the forest. The deal was there was only one real toilet, the one in the RV, which was functional. Other than that, there was mother nature. That was their only real option once Jenny and Mark shut the door of the camper at night. They could knock loudly, of course, but it would be a big inconvenience, so they’d have to go outside. Or hold it.

So much had happened in the past six months. Steven was so confused about himself, about Anette, about Nina, but so long as everyone enjoyed whatever it was they had going, they would continue with it. Recently they’d all gotten a two-bedroom apartment together. He knew Anette had been with one other guy since that day in café, that day when she shared her kink with him and showed him it was his kink, too. He had never penetrated her, but in the course of their play they’d done pretty much everything else—he’d say washing her off until she got off was about as intimate as it gets—and of course there was Nina.

She’d been so good to her, to Nina, Anette had been. That day after the aquarium when she nearly made it and had an accident in his bathroom. Anette had stepped into the puddle and hugged Nina, and assured her it was all okay, and told her she and Steven loved her whether she had an accident or not. It was a girl thing, perhaps: she could say she loved another girl, a friend she had just met for the first time that day, not counting a casual conversation in class, and the ‘we love you’ was just a casual thing. Whereas if he, a guy, told a girl he loved her, or worse, that he said the same thing to a male friend, it would be a huge deal even if it was a statement of friendship, not sexual intimacy.

He didn’t know what they’d whispered about in there. He stood there, bulging, horny as fuck yet restraining himself to let the girls sort it out. If he was ever going to sleep with Nina again, he sensed, she needed to get through this experience with dignity. Finally the excitement of the moment dissipated, the reality of the wet floor materialized, and he disappeared into another room to let them have some space. After a while, Anette had invited him in. Nina was sitting on the toilet lid, naked except for a shroud of towels, hair just out of the shower dripping down on the toilet, forming a small pool under her again, under the toilet bowl, mimicking her accident maybe an hour earlier.

‘Nina has something she’d like to tell you,’ Anette said. ‘But only if you’ll be fully accepting whatever it is. Like if she tells you she killed a guy, you say how can I help hide the body, understand?’

Score? Steven sensed this was sort of an act Anette was putting on. He sensed, he hoped whatever Nina was going to say was gonna tie into his kink, and of course that was exactly what he wanted. And Anette knew it, so if that was it, this whole thing about being accepting was not a promise he was making so much as an assurance for Nina. He nodded.

‘So…’ Nina blushed. ‘So I like the feeling. I like the feeling… Of letting go. But I don’t like having an accident like a little girl. I wanted to do it in the toilet, I was sure I was gonna make it, I’m so terribly sorry…’ she trailed off.

Steven took a step towards her with open arms, as if he was going to hug her. She reached up to hug back, and he grabbed her towels. Slowly, to give her a chance to say no, he removed the towels, undressing her to nudity. She made no move to resist, so he hugged her, him fully clothed and her nude. She could feel his bulge through his pants, and he kissed her on the forehead. ‘Honey,’ he said, ‘that’s almost the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. Tell me more.’

She stood up on her toes so their eyes were level. 'It’s the only way—it ‘s the only way I’ve come.’

Then there was Anette in the mix. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. And Steven sensed their private conversation had been building up to this pivotal moment, the climax. ‘I’m sorry, but your accident is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s my thing. Girls having accidents.’ She blushed. ‘And that day I told you about when I had the accident with Steven, it was sort of… Kind of on purpose, to see if Steven was into it, and it went too far and I did wet in that café even though I didn’t plan to. And it turned out he was into it.’

Since then, they’d played a lot. The boundaries in their trio were loose and in flux. It was understood that this thing was something they all shared, and within that frame, each was free to do what they wanted to one another, as long as the other agreed; but vanilla sex was different, it was something Steven and Nina had to themselves, and Anette turned elsewhere to fill her needs. This camping trip, they were all prepared to make it a shared experience, exploring the limits of their courage and their kinks. The exciting thing was they had to hide it all from Jenny and Mark. Jenny’d let it slip, in her sex shop story—which for all he knew could even be true, although he had suspicions otherwise—that she found pee and sex together to be icky. She was his sister and of course he didn’t want to involve her in his sex life in any way, but she clearly knew he had one; it was just a matter of hiding the particulars of it, for the purposes of decency and family harmony.

Mark had the build and beard of a lumberjack, he was ten years older than Steven, and he was working the circuit in the party district, alternatively working the door or behind the bar. Steven had that protective instinct that any brother has for her sister, but if Mark didn’t treat her well, Steven was chanceless. Well, this being modern society and all he could always bring in various authorities, but out here in the forest, it felt like modernity was scaled back and raw animal power was stronger, and in that department Steven was an absolute wuss. He didn’t even know how to properly put up a tent, not having done it since a trip with his dad when he was fourteen. Luckily for him, Mark appeared to be a good guy. As Steven struggled with the tent, Mark kept a casual conversation going, slyly giving him hints about the tent when the girls weren’t paying attention. Steven was able to retain his honor as a man, if he ever had one, by putting up the damn telt by himself, but without the whispers of Mark he didn’t know if he’d have managed it.

Mark told him about working the door at an upscale club. ‘You see, the line is almost all internet millionaires with fancy watches—’ here Steven glanced at his own wristwatch, which was decidedly not fancy— 'and they think they’re not nerds from the basement anymore ‘cause they got suits and bling. And then there are the girls, half of them have trust funds and the other half have rich sugar daddies, dressed to the nines for a night of having free drinks given to them, compliments paid, and then after all is said and done they go home with the guy they picked before the night began. But it’s so funny to see some of these girls fidget in the line. Even if you’re a fucking ten, you still go in the line. So some of them have had a little too much to drink before they got here, and they have to take off their pretty heels and run off into an alley to piss. Hilarious, I tell ya. Even seen one who pissed in the line once, there was a long stream going down the street and the line parted like the piss was fucking Moses on the Red Sea.’

The girls had been holding since they first got in the RV to drive out here. Closing in on seven hours now, as it was beginning to get dark. Jenny was the first to give in, but she had no reason not to. To her, it was just business as normal and she went about it in the RV toilet. But Anette and Nina had both promised to hold until morning. An impossible task, surely, but they were going to attempt it. Steven had convinced them both to wear small pads for damage control, and they dutifully did so, but both had sworn they’d make it at least until they were alone in the tent at night.

‘How you holding up?’ he asked Anette, who was trying to get a fire going before dark. It was a hot summer day, Anette in a short top and cut-off jeans shorts that shaped her ass, showed it off, but there was a little chilly wind and it kept blowing out her matches.

‘I’m sure I’ll get this fire going soon,’ she said.

‘You know that’s not what I meant.’ She was sitting on her knees, legs close together, but otherwise showing no signs of desperation at all. Her own desperation wasn’t quite her thing, but in sharing it with Nina, in feeling the same as her at the same time, she had found a new kink. She wanted to see the humiliating loss of control: to be on the verge of it herself when it happened to someone else simply brought her over the edge, and she barely had to touch herself to come. And that was when she was most vulnerable to having an accident herself, because otherwise her iron bladder would hold up much longer than Nina’s. That was his understanding of it, anyway. He didn’t need to understand her motivation fully to enjoy what she was doing, what they were sharing together.

‘I’m alright. But I think you should check on Nina, I think she’s having more problems than me.’

Nina was walking around the periphery of the campsite itself, which aside from the path further into the forest was surrounded by waist-high grass. Every few steps she’d give a little nervous skip, as if she were a nymph skipping over stones in a river, but more likely because she was a girl in serious need of a bathroom break. ‘Will you make it till dark?’ he asked, plainly.

She was a little startled by his question. ‘Of course I will. I’m a big girl. You know that, dear, that’s why you love me.’

‘Oh, Nina,’ he said. He was going to take charge. ‘You know I love you when you’re a little girl, too.’ This word, love, hadn’t been in his vocabulary before, but in the past month or two it had crept in unnoticed. ‘And I think my little girl needs a little protection if she doesn’t want to embarrass herself in front of her boyfriend’s sister and brother-in-law.’ He took her by the hand and led her into the tent. They’d brought supplies: both incontinence pads, pull-ups in the girls’ sizes (but with pretty flowers on them, not the plain ones marketed for older girls), and even heavier, night-time tape-on diapers. How they were going to dispose of them if they were used and stinky was an open question, given the lack of any waste container outside the RV, but they’d deal with it later. He didn’t want to throw ‘em in nature, that seemed like a big shame, but he might have to if the girls’ honor was at stake. Somehow, it felt like being exposed to his sister and her husband as a trio of horny fetishists seemed like something that would degrade anyone’s honor, and none of them were into public humiliation. Private humiliation was another matter, and one he’d attend to right now.

‘You’re not protected. That pad contains nothing of what you got in your belly, what’s trickling into your bladder as we speak. Lay down!’

‘But I don’t wanna!’ She was in that mode again, and he took charge.

‘I said lay down, or do you wanna piss your pants in front of my sister and her big bouncer husband?’ She laid down immediately, spreading her feet. Steven quickly reached under the hem of her summer dress, pulled down her cotton panties with their dry panty liner, then pulled the diaper on her. ‘There you go! Now we can go out and you can be a big girl again and if it happens, you’ll get a warning window where you can run to the RV and do it in the toilet.’ She smiled and hugged him, and he knew he’d done the right thing. The pull-up would hardly be visible under the dress, which wasn’t translucent at all.

As it got dark, they cooked a stew over the fire Anette had finally got going. Anette was not the type he could or would boss around; she’d attend to her need her own way. After they’d all eaten—his girls little, even though it had been half a day since their last meal—he could see Anette fidgeting a little in her place, shifting around, finally settling in a position sitting on her heel with her hands resting casually in her lap. Like everyone, she’d had a lot of water and iced tea to drink. It was, after all, a warm summer day, though overcast. Given the circumstances, she was hiding her desperation rather well. Steven went to water some bushes himself, and by the time he got back, Mark had gotten out his guitar. It was rather cozy, all five of them together. For a while he forgot the desperation, having taken care of his own need, and caught up with his sister and what was going on in her life, her new job, how married life was, even her plans—hush, hush, Mark could hear—to be pregnant by Spring, if only Mark would commit to it. At one time, he saw Nina walking into the RV. Was she giving up? After a while she came back, and whispered in Steven’s ear: ‘I didn’t go, I swear. A tiny bit came out, so I went in there to hold myself and dance around a little and now I got it under control.’

‘Good girl.’

Nearing midnight, all dark except for the dying embers of their fire, Mark rose and took Jenny by her hand. ‘I think Jenny and I are going to call it a night.’ She smiled and nodded, with those half-closed night eyes you get when your only thought is of a bed. ‘Anyone want to go to the bathroom before we close up for the night?’ He looked around. Nobody volunteered. ‘Anette,’ he said, and she started, then rose quickly from the position she’d been sitting in all evening. ‘I don’t think you’ve been all day, wanna make a quick visit before the night?’

‘I…’ she hadn’t expected to be called out, evidently. And even as she stood there, legs tight together, fingers intertwined in front of her shorts, she shook. There were oceans in that girl and they wanted out, but she had promised Steven to last all night. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Went in the bushes a while ago. I’m just glad you didn’t notice.’

Mark seemed satisfied, so he and Jenny closed up and left Steven alone with the girls. His girls. His desperate girls who hadn’t been since early afternoon, and they’d been sipping drinks all the time. They needed to get into the safety of the tent fast.

‘I’m so close…’ said Nina. ‘But I’m gonna be a good girl and wait for you…’ She beamed at her, then winked at Anette. ‘… Wait so that when the moment comes, so do I!’ She’d been getting progressively braver, more open about her own sexuality as their games became more intimate, as they touched each other more. In the beginning, it had been private, they’d satisfied themselves, but now all three were ready to touch and be touched, it felt like. It was a delicate situation, certainly, and one wrong move by Steven could ruin the mood. ‘I don’t wanna wear this anymore!’ Nina wriggled out of her pull-up. They had a small electric lamp in the tent and Steven had a flashlight, and using it he could confirm that it hadn’t been just a little that had come out. It was quite a lot, certainly enough to show on her dress if she’d been sitting without the protection. No wonder she wanted it off; it must be getting stinky, clammy and cold.

Instead, she grabbed the cotton panties he’d taken off her earlier. ‘I’m gonna be a big girl and hold it all night for you!’ She said, although she must know it was a lie. Nevertheless, she settled into her sleeping bag completely unprotected, hands down the bag to hold herself and wriggle back and forth.

Anette, meanwhile, was also getting antsy in her own sleeping bag. She was trying to lie on her back turned towards them in a position to talk, but kept getting interrupted by shivers down her spine that required rhytmic pee-pee dancing to control. She was also on the verge, although to Steven it was hard to tell which girl would break first. The only certainty was that both would, and soon.

‘You know you’ll never make it through the night! At least you need to be fully protected.’ He started rummaging through his bag for the well-hidden stash of big, tape-on diapers capable of a flood. Diapers were a new element in their play: it was purely damage control. Steven didn’t feel particularly turned on by the idea of a girl in a diaper; it was merely a practical necessity if they wanted to get more daring in public without humiliating the girls completely, like Anette in the café. Though she snuck out the back door, at least two dozen people must have seen her in flooded jeans and known she was an adult and had an accident. Steven knew she was still ashamed, at the same time as she was aroused by the memory, and none of them, especially Nina, wanted a repeat.

‘I’m fine,’ Nina insisted, but by the time he’d found a couple diapers, she was not. ‘Nooo,’ she was saying, crawling out of the sleeping bag as quick as if there’d been a scorpion at her feet. ‘I’m losing it… I’m going to wait a bit longer, just give it to me, just in the worst case… I can make it, I swear, just in case, help me put it on…’

Anette was now frantic. She no longer pretended to lie still to talk, but instead sat up in her sleeping bag, holding her hands down her panties, almost trying to plug the hole with her fingers like a leaky faucet. Had she leaked yet? Steven handed her a diaper—she could put it on herself.

‘Fuck off!’ she said.

‘Excuse me?’ Steven had not expected that at all.

‘I’m sorry,’ Anette said. She was clearly in pain and her words were strained. ‘It’s just that… I’m a grown woman and I don’t sleep in a baby diaper. I will go to sleep now and go in the morning, if I feel like it. I haven’t pissed a diaper since I was ten!’ Well, with Steven she’d certainly pissed everything else, but never a diaper.

He let her sit there wriggling, dressed in her shirt and panties in her sleeping bag, while he folded out the diaper for Nina to wear. She slipped off her panties again, now with a noticeable wet spot, and held up her hem. He had a clear look at everything down there, shaved and smooth like a baby. And rhythmically contracting, like she was about to give birth. ‘Noo… No… Please…’ And he put the diaper under her bottom. That was it: ‘Not… I can hold it… I’m a big…’ And one more contraction, and she started peeing into the padding under her, Steven still with a full view of her pussy, everything, the stream first rhytmic, a push, golden stream arcing to discolor the padding below, hold again, a pull back, straining to retain the flood, then another push, another golden stream, another pull back… And then her muscles could take no more, and she was peeing full on, more than a minute, just emptying herself into the padding as he held it close to her. No time to tape the diapers here.

‘I’m so sorry… I thought I could make it…’ She was blushing, but this time there were no tears. She was in the game: she was as horny as him. He’d been sporting a boner since they entered the telt; he was going to take care of that once he’d taken care of her. When she finished, he grabbed a tissue and began rubbing her down, starting around the middle, working inwards, then the outer lips, working further inwards with his fingers, and soon enough her body was shivering and a little leak escaped into the sleeping bag as she came.

At the same time, Anette was unbearably aroused by the whole scenario unfolding beside her: she had to give up, for a time, her desperate fight with her own bladder, just so she could touch herself in that pleasurable way for a moment. A moment was enough. She was so focused on coming, when she did, she peed; and she peed a lot. Through her panties, soaking her sleeping bag with more than twelve hours of pent-up liquid. There were no leaks, only a break in the dam. All was out soon enough, and she sat there recovering from a thunderous orgasm in a wet, stinking, pissy sleeping bag, in a pool of her own rapidly cooling pee. Ashamed and aroused that she couldn’t make it.

In the end, they decided to sneak out and air Anette’s sleeping bag outside, hidden in the tall grass so they could secretly retrieve it later without betraying the reason for its soppy state. The dirtied diapers went the same way, a little further out into the grass; hopefully nobody’d notice the stank, and somehow they could find a way to dispose of them discreetly the next day.

After all their primal needs were taken care of, and taken care of once again, both girls wanted to cuddle. Good thing Steven bought the widest sleeping bag he could find.

Re: Developmental Biology

2014.

Anette woke with a start. An image formed in her mind: she was pissing her panties in the sleeping bag, while shaking from orgasm. The memory made her blush. Her emotions were all jumbled and confused, like a bunch of toddlers in a playroom crawling all over each other. One moment, the memory made her horny; the next, she was ashamed. She was a grown woman, and she’d simply lost control. But more than that, she was confused by what had happened after. She and Nina and Steven had done… things which in the moment felt right, but which in the light of early morning seemed wrong, or shameful, or improper. No one had done anything the others didn’t want, but it had been what they wanted then, and she was unsure if she regretted it or not. The most important and confused emotion, though, came when she remembered the look they’d shared when she had looked into Steven’s eyes as he was inside her. It had been so electric it still hung onto the backside of her eyelids as she closed her eyes. Could it be? Did she love Steven? Did he love her? And if so, could she share him with Nina? To close friends, she’d admitted that she and Steven had a friends with benefits situation. Yeah, she’d say, more casually than it really was, we’re just friends. And fuckbuddies. He has a serious girlfriend and she’s cool with him, but there’s no emotions. There hadn’t been. She and Steven were either platonic or sexual: the emotional middle-ground was romantic, and that is what he and Nina shared and from which she was excluded. The little gestures, the dinners with candlelights—she knew Steven wasn’t the movie-guy romantic type, but he’d acquiesced to some of Nina’s freshly-in-love Disney fantasies—those weren’t hers to share. Either she and Steven were talking normally, like friends, or someone was wetting their pants and she was on his dick, or he on her slit. She and him weren’t romantic. But that look… It made her wonder.

What had jolted her awake, however, was not romance but something more quotidian: she really, really needed to pee. It was too early to go in the RV. And she was naked, anyway. Steven had insisted on diapering her, as he’d diapered Nina, but she’d resisted. She was a big girl, a grown woman, and his pleas that her bladder must be weakened by the long hold were ignored. They’d all fallen asleep in Steven’s oversize sleeping bag, but even that was too small for three, so they were all tangled into each other, a physical manifestation of her emotional confusion. She was almost trapped, in fact: Steven’s arm was over her chest, and her feet were tangled between his and Nina’s, all of them together like the roots of one, big, fetishistic sex tree. When she snuck away from Steven’s arm and began climbing out of the sleeping bag, her hand wandered, looking for a point to steady herself on. She found one in Nina’s diapered crotch, and as she pushed herself out of the sleeping bag, she knew she was wet. Steven had made a good call. Now she just needed to make good on her own promise. No more accidents. Her bladder contracted, and a tiny droplet slid out, hanging onto her exposed crotch tightly. She didn’t have much time, and she was naked. Luckily, she spied Nina’s summer dress: it was sure to be too small, but it was the closest at hand, and she quickly pulled it on, covering her nudity, barely. Anette ran out of the tent, dress flapping and occasionally exposing her to any onlookers—thankfully, no one was up yet. Her aim was to go in the tall grass, but when she came to the back of the tent, she simply collapsed on her knees, and nature took its course. The pleasure of relief was immense, as a flood watered the earth behind her, flowing under her dress—she had to hold it up to avoid wetting it—and before she knew it, thinking about last night, she was on the verge, and she couldn’t resist touching herself to bring herself all the way there.


There was something missing when Steven woke up. He lay there in the sleeping bag, Nina on his arm, and found that his other flank was empty. Anette was gone. He searched the tent with his eyes, but couldn’t find her. As he sat up, the tent flaps opened and Anette climbed in, flushed cheeks. She appeared not to notice him at first, and then when she did, she froze. Anette was wearing Nina’s summer dress, which was all too short for her, and when she moved she’d expose either her breasts or her crotch. ‘Um… hi, good morning,’ she said.

Good morning indeed. Steven still had last night fresh in memory. He knew it was one of those once-in-a-lifetime things. They had all done… everything to each other, the girls losing all inhibitions about engaging and playing with each other, and with him. It was the sort of fantasy a million adolescent boys jerk off to, and hundreds of people make up and put on the internet. But it was real, it had happened. There were the two wet girls, and him hard, and it simply went from there. Nina was his girlfriend; he’d slept with her before; and yet last night, he’d been more interested in Anette. He didn’t really know where they stood: they were simply friends, friends who might occasionally engage in sexual activities, centered more around the holding, the wetting, the fetishistic foreplay which Anette and Nina had introduced him to—a fantasy he didn’t know he had until it was real in front of him, and which now had him in its grip so tightly that he found it hard to fantasize about vanilla sex. They’d made it clear there were no romantic feelings involved. And yet last night, they’d shared something. Something perhaps deeper than what he shared with Nina, and yet he’d told her the same night that he loved her, and meant it.

Nina stirred and woke. ‘Morning,’ she said to him, through half-open morning eyes, leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips, and he remembered why he’d meant what he said. He remembered something else, too. She was quicker, taking his hand and leading it between her legs, where the padding was. ‘Check for me,’ she said seductively, and he pressed through the padding, and she shook. ‘Ah, don’t tickle!’

‘You’re wet, sweetie,’ Steven said. It was an understatement.

While he’d been away in fantasies, dreaming about last night, Anette had gotten dressed in her own light blue jeans, a white bra and a white tank top. Steven thought about all they’d done to and with each other the night before, and he remembered the curious tension that had been between them before, the reluctance between the two girls. He sensed that it was starting to return, and he wanted to encourage them to be comfortable with each other. Until he could solve his emotional riddle, this trio solution was the best he had, and he’d feel bad for both girls, and for himself—no playtime for him if either girl objects—if they weren’t comfortable with each other. But he had an idea. Nina seemed to be in the same submissive mood she was the day before, and he knew Anette liked to play the grownup she was.

‘Anette, our little friend has wet her diaper. Would you change her?’

She appeared a bit startled by the suggestion. Nina had already laid down, dressed only in her formerly white diaper, pretty, little, firm breasts on display. She had assumed the position and accepted the role: would Anette do the same?

A moment passed, and then she appeared to have made up her mind. ‘Into… diapers or panties?’

‘You decide.’ Score.

Anette accepted his offering (a pack of wet wipes) and approached Nina, who immediately spread her legs. She had her eyes toward the ceiling of the tent, apparently far away in thought.

‘Are you going to be a big girl today, Nina?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Panties it was. Although she was a little unsure of herself, Anette opened the tapes and removed the diaper from Nina, revealing the volume within. Then she took a wipe and wiped down Nina’s private area, taking special care of the center. ‘Uh, it tickles, Anette, stop that!’ Nina was giggling and didn’t appear to want anything but for it to continue. Anette stopped, and Nina wriggled her body and said: ‘Uh… I mean sorry, could you do that again?’ Anette continued the wipedown, and Nina giggled and wriggled all the way. Finally, Anette took the panties Steven had found, a cute red little thing in cotton with a heart over the ass, almost leading the way to treasure if you were entering from behind, and pulled it up on Nina.

‘There you go, Princess,’ she said. ‘Princess Pee.’ Nina giggled.


2011.

Mia felt a little self-conscious as she settled on her bus seat. The usual sparkle on the face beneath her auburn hair—ponytail, by the way—wasn’t quite there. She felt like everyone could see what was under her skirt, even though no one appeared to be glancing in her direction. It had taken her all of three seconds this morning to go from excited about the school excursion to terrified. Her butt was cold, as was the crotch of her pajamas. It had been three months. She swung out of bed and ripped off the blanket in one motion, facing her terror head on. On her bed was a dark, wet shade the size of her tummy. She glanced at the digital clock on the drawer beside her bed. 06:27. Her mom would still be in bed, so she ripped off the sheets and, instead of springing to action—which was her usual move in any situation requiring rapid resolution—she trudged downed the hall and knocked. When she opened the door, her mother was already crawling out of bed, hair in every direction. ‘What is it, honey?’

‘Mom, I had an accident.’ Mia was afraid her mom would punish her, but she didn’t. She never did. Mia’s mom had that air of strictness about her, but she didn’t appear to believe in punishment of any sort unless the situation absolutely required it. Instead of saying another word, her mother had simply hugged Mia, then taken care of the sheets. But at breakfast, her mother had gently suggested she might want to wear some protection today. Feeling defeated, Mia had followed her well-meaning advice, but she’d been out of pull-ups so long all there was left in the house were her old, heavy diapers meant for night-time use. The ones she’d grown out of, she thought, but she was sixteen and had to admit she was still a bedwetter.

‘Heeey, sunshine!’ Nina siddled up alongside her on the bus, clearly sensing something was up and trying to make up for it with that excessive cheerfulness Mia both loved and hated her for. Mia had expected her, of all people, to take precautions today. Nina had been so proud when she finally got into panties, long after Mia and the rest of their friends, and they’d all had to coach and cheer and cuddle her through the inevitable period of wet spots and teary eyes and it could happen to anyone, but it was still embarrassing when it happened to you. But no: one glance at those jeans shorts and it was clear she wasn’t wearing any protection. Certainly a bold gambit. That only made Mia’s own situation that much worse.

‘So,’ Nina whispered. ‘I noticed at least a couple of girls taking precautions.’ Perhaps she was trying to draw Mia into a little conspiratorial bubble to get her mind off whatever was bothering her, but it was precisely the thing Nina was gossiping about that worried her. When she said nothing, Nina took one look at her. ‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Look, it’s no big deal, okay?’ Mia shot back. ‘My mom forced me.’ That wasn’t exactly true, but would have to do. ‘What do I need this thing for? Do you peg me for someone who needs it?’

‘Nooo,’ Nina cooed. ‘Please. Your mom is such a bitch. I mean, sorry, I meant that in a loving way.’

The myths spun by older girls about this particular school trip and the sorts of things went on during it were many. In plain fact, it was a three-hour bus drive each way, but when they got there, it was the beach all day, largely unsupervised. Girls and boys sneaking off and fucking was the common refrain, although Mia couldn’t really believe anyone would have the guts and gusto to pull that off on a school trip. But also, it was considered the ultimate test for dry girls. If they could make it through this, they could make it through anything. She had a much easier time believing that a few girls had accidents every year. The bus made no stops, barring emergencies which could not be attributed to bodily functions. That was why a few of her classmates who were otherwise dry were wearing protection today. She’d been accident free for so long—nights didn’t count—that it was a defeat to be one of them.

Still, summer vacation was almost there, they were going to the beach, she had a guy in her thoughts, there were a million things to talk about, and soon her mind was off her underwear. When she checked her phone to see how long was left, they’d been on the bus for two hours already. She didn’t need to pee at all. Stupid diaper. It was getting hot outside and hotter inside, and she was already getting slightly itchy under her skirt. The worst of it was that when she did have to pee, she’d have to find somewhere discreet to slip it off and put on a new. Mia glanced over to her friend and discovered that Nina was worse off. She was trying to hide it, but she was getting restless in her seat.

‘Ohmygood, this trip is dragging on,’ Nina said.

‘Do you need to pee?’

Nina blushed. ‘Shush, don’t make a fuzz about it. How’d you know?’

Mia always knew. Body language was her specialty, and she was especially attuned to Nina’s. For a while she’d almost made a sport of secretly predicting when her friend would make it and when she wouldn’t, although deep down she hoped—of course—that she would even when her instincts told her otherwise. Right now, calculating another hour of driving, things weren’t looking up.

‘Did you go this morning?’

‘I forgot.’

Half an hour later, Nina appeared to have forgotten everything else. The beach, the boys, the bus, even Mia. She was sitting on her heel, staring vacantly into space. Occasionally she’d wiggle in place, but she said nothing.

Time passed slowly, as time tends to do on a bus. Mia found herself daydreaming about nothing in particular, just one random thought chained after the other. She needed some friendly banter pretty much all day or she’d be bored out of her skull, and she was desperately trying to think of something to occupy her mind, anything, when Nina gave a little squeak, already putting her head down and her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound as Mia looked over.

‘I’m not going to make it,’ Nina whispered. She removed her hand from her lap for a moment to replace it, revealing to Mia a shiny little spot on her crotch. Above it she was wearing a short-cut top that completed a cycle of small circles down her body: belly button, jeans button, button-sized pee spot just south of it.

‘Come on, girl,’ Mia said, trying to encourage her friend. She couldn’t keep herself from looking to see if the spot would grow, hidden there beneath Nina’s hands. Nina was now jiggling frantically in her seat. Her hands were worming their way around her crotch, then she balled them up to fists as if to steel herself into control, but soon they were clutching again.

‘Oh god,’ Nina said. Mia looked over to see a little trickle break through the fabric, this time below the wet spot, and then expanding to join the two little lakes on the map of her crotch into one, and then it was over, but the little lapse in control had left a clearly visible piece of evidence of the accident in progress in the form of a baseball-sized spot between her friend’s legs. ‘Everyone’s going to see,’ Nina was saying, and she was clearly losing control of her emotions as much as her bladder, sheer desperation in her voice, but just then the bus pulled into the parking lot, and a vista of great sand beaches and sparkling clear, still water was on their horizon. Luckily, they were far back, and Mia put a hand on her friend’s shoulder to stop her from disembarking just yet. She had an inkling of an idea that she—they—might just get away with it, with a little patience. Nina wanted nothing more than to run out those doors to find a bush to go behind before she disgraced herself completely, but Mia whispered for her to hold on just a minute.

In the front of the bus, there was a commotion. People were getting anxious to get off, but one of their chaperones was leading a girl to the front. Just like Mia had suspected.

‘Hold on tight, pretty,’ Mia whispered. ‘Everyone’s going to be watching blondie up front, so I bet you can get away with it if you can wait a teeny tiny bit longer.’

The blonde girl being led by a teacher was wearing a tan skirt that was so soaked it was dripping. All eyes would be on her ass. A pretty ass, Mia supposed, although she wasn’t into girls. She was definitely not into pissy girls. She’d helped take care of a few of her friends after they’d been unlucky, and she’d had to take care of herself on occasion, especially after getting up early and wet, early because wet, and she was simply repulsed by the whole thing. She hid it well enough when Nina was wet and in need of assistance, and she was even a little bit fascinated with the loss of control, but the physical realities of it—the urine itself, that filthy liquid, the smell and sight of it—it was gross, perhaps because it reminded her of human frailty the same way blood did—when she was eleven she’d fainted when she cut herself on paper and saw the red droplets drip down on the white sheet—or perhaps simply because it was filthy. That was why she had shamefully offloaded this morning’s accident on her mom for her to clean it up. But right now it served its purpose well enough: distraction.

‘I know her,’ Nina said. ‘That’s Veronica. I feel so bad for her, she’s always been nice to me.’

‘You should count your lucky stars someone else, um, broke first,’ Mia said. As Veronica and her chaperone exited the bus, the rest of the class made a run for the door. Some, surely, to take a leak, the rest simply to escape the smelly metal box they’d been trapped and slowly cooked in all morning.

Mia and Nina were able to sneak off accident unseen, but Nina was in the last throes of her fight. A hundred yards from the bus were a set of public toilets. ‘I… don’t think I’ll make it,’ Nina said.

‘It’s okay. You can go behind the bus and then just run into the sea with your shorts still on before anyone notices.’

‘It’s not okay! I’m sixteen and I’m pissing my pants and oh my god I won’t even be able to open the button…’

Mia resolutely took her friend’s hand and led her to the other side of the bus, shielding them from the rest of the class, who were busy staging a reverse Normandy on the beach, taking it from the land side and claiming it as rightfully theirs. ‘Just relax, Nina, it does happen, you just saw it happen to someone else. Just relax, don’t fight it. I’ll help you.’ She let go of Nina’s hand and started working on the gnarly button. Just as she was getting it open, Nina let go or lost control or both, and started peeing full force in her shorts. Some of it got on Mia’s hands, and she winced, but continued working the shorts down Nina’s hips.

Nina had her eyes closed, and appeared to exist on another plane. Shorts around her ankles, she was letting all go through her white bikini panties and splattering on the ground. Soon they were stained and Mia could see the outline of her friend’s pussy through yellow fabric and felt as if this was somehow different from all those other times she’d seen it while showering after gym. She had someone else’s pee on her hands. She had a diaper between her legs. At this one moment in time, her existence was reduced to piss, or pissed panties, or the effort to prevent them. The look on Nina’s face spoke of pleasure, ecstasy even. She was even shaking as she opened her eyes, smiled, more cheerful now, and thanked Mia through tearful eyes for being such a good, no, best friend.

After, she pulled on her wet shorts and ran into the water, just as Mia had suggested. She was left on the shore, not swimming because she was in a dry diaper. Her classmates were hot on Nina’s heels, and Mia watched walked to the waterfront to wash her friend’s pee off her hand and get a closer look at the boys.


2014.

Anette realized she would have to make a bold move. They were packing up, and her feelings were packing up too. She didn’t know what to do, or what she wanted to be done, but she couldn’t live in uncertainty anymore. Those looks of his were enough. Action would force reaction, and one way or another, she would have her answer.

Taking care of Nina that morning had stirred something in her. The girl was still a child. She was an adult, but she had not reached the kind of mental maturity Anette desired for herself. Not because Nina enjoyed being submissive in bed. Anette had figured there was a certain kind of empowerment to that, because the submissive was being served by the other as much as the other was dominating her. She was, in a way, taking charge by having others take care of her on her own terms; the act of submitting to a diaper change was, in a way, as much about being served—she was having her pee cleaned off her pussy, for fuck sake, talk about being service minded—as it was of being a servant. No, it was more her whole frame of mind, her age and the way she so perfectly acted it, still only one year removed from high school and less mature than some with one year left of it. Steven, on the other hand, was a man. He joked around, and he could be an immature dick at times, but he was a man, and she was a woman, and perhaps she wanted him to be her man, and for her to be his woman. Either that, or cut off their whole trio altogether. Only see him without her, outside of bed. The situation was driving her crazy. Perhaps a man could be happy with two women forever, but how could a woman ever be happy with a man and then another woman involved? She certainly could not.

Anette couldn’t make up her mind what to do, and she had given up on thinking Steven might pick up her little hints, so she had to do something, anything, and now felt like her last chance before it was too late.

Before taking the tent apart, Steven took a short walk into the woods, and she followed him. Sneakily, even. From behind she saw him zip down and start to pee. She heard the sound she had come to associate with sex, although usually it wasn’t coming from him. As he finished and started shaking off, she made the one play she didn’t think she dared, precisely for that reason: the dick play.

Anette walked up behind him, not making sound until it was too late for him to turn around, and then grabbed his shoulder with one hand and his dick with the other, gently. She whispered into his ear: ‘I want you. No peeing, no Nina, I just want you.’

Just as gently as she’d grabbed it, he removed her hand from his dick, then spun her around so they were facing. They were so close she was watching his eyes through the reflection of her own eyes in his, infinitely; when he pursed his lips to speak, they grazed hers.

‘I’m going to have to make a choice, aren’t I?’


2011.

By the time they were on their way back, Nina’s shorts had dried in the sun and Mia’d had too much fun to dwell on the events on the way there.

By the time they were halfway back, however, Nina was restless again. More importantly, so was Mia. She hadn’t been all day, dreading the diaper change, and in the heat she’d had plenty to drink. She doubted she could make it home. The thought had her strangely calm: she felt like she already passed the test, even if there was no test. She had the choice to go before getting back on the bus and chose not to, precisely because she was padded; if she hadn’t been, she would have gone and there would have been no need for the padding. By this logic, then, it was almost okay for her to have an accident on the way back. Her mother might inquire how the day went, but she wasn’t obliged to answer questions about the state of her underwear at sixteen and she was planning to dispose of the evidence anyway. Still, she was putting off the actual moment as long as possible, clinging onto a sliver of hope, because she hated the feeling of it pooling between her legs and fouling and debasing herself so, and having to dispose of it afterwards would be so much easier if it was dry except for sweat.

A hiss brought her eyes to Nina’s lap for the second time today, and she saw a small five-second stream develop and cascade onto the seat. ‘My goodness, girl, are you going to have another accident?’

Nina’s cheeks flushed. Perhaps she thought she could get away with it?

‘I just had to let out a little,’ she whispered. They were again strategically positioned far back in the bus. 'People will think it’s ‘cause I was in the water earlier and I hope it dries before we get off and I think I can make it home now.’

‘And you’re okay with that? Just letting go in your pants like that?’

‘I already had an accident today. I’m all over the embarrassment now. What difference does it make? I already pissed my pants. I already cried.’

It did make a difference to Mia though. She had made it through the day and now she was getting desperate, and the padding between her legs was paradoxically making her less safe because she couldn’t properly cross her legs or hold herself down there to relieve some pressure. The diaper was meant for night-time. It was meant to absorb the big kind of mess she’d made on her mattress sometime this morning before she woke up, so it had to be big. She blushed.

‘What, do you have to go too?’

Mia nodded and wriggled in her seat.

‘Is it bad? Aren’t you wearing?’

‘Yes, it’s bad,’ Mia whispered bad. ‘Yes, I’m wearing. But I really, really, like really don’t want to have an accident and prove my mother right.’

‘Right on, girlfriend. Stick it to tha powwah!’ Nina made a face at her and smiled. Then she got serious. ‘You’re right, though. You have to make it or she might think it wasn’t such a wild idea for you to be wearing again after all. She might even think you’re not fully potty trained. Like… like me, evidently,’ and she blushed.

‘It wasn’t such a wild idea, though,’ Mia admitted, and a cramp hit her, and she had to push the padding into her pussy to prevent the fall from grace. ‘I, like, massively peed the bed this morning. That’s why she suggested it. She didn’t even force me, she was just trying to be helpful.’

‘Oh.’ Nina said. Then: ‘Don’t worry. I, uh, don’t tell anyone…’ she laughed, as what she was going to reveal was probably assumed by every single one of her classmates already, and it wasn’t all that uncommon at her age: ‘I still wet the bed as well.’ She chuckled. ‘I kind of leaked tonight as well, and I guess my mom should have been more like yours and put me in a diaper after all.’

By the clock, which has its own ways, they were two hours in. At this point, Mia had to constantly tense her muscles to avoid total loss of control. Even grinding her padding wasn’t enough, so she had to resort to kneading herself through it, but she had to stop when it became a little too pleasurable and she was starting to flush and realized as she opened them her eyes had been closed, and if anyone had looked, they would have assumed she’d been masturbating, so she let go entirely of her crotch and then leaked a tiny bit into her diaper and had to resume holding, this time more discreetly under her skirt.

Nina was holding herself too, and looking forward, by the looks of it, so were several other girls. Not a single fuck had been given that day, by any girl or boy, as far as she knew, so that part must be hearsay, or perhaps her own classmates were more timid than the year above them—but the part about this trip being a test of who’s dry and who’s not was certainly true. She was losing. Another tiny leak. She could hardly feel it, so absorbent was her diaper, but it still felt like a loss. But she wasn’t giving in.

With half an hour left, Nina gave in. She simply removed her hands from her crotch, closed her eyes, and peed herself. When she was done, she opened her eyes and started talking normally, and Mia sensed she didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Nina was the most accident prone girl Mia knew. She was no stranger to this sort of thing. Her mom would understand. But would Mia’s, if she had an accident?

‘Talk to me, please,’ she said, fifteen minutes now, maybe twenty, and then a five minute walk to her house. ‘Tell me something to help me hold on.’ Waves were rolling in, her muscles rippling, and she was pushing against the current as hard as if she’d been adrift above the Niagara falls. Nina whispering soothingly to her. The things she said made no sense, but the way she said them expressed faith in her, and she managed to hold on until their stop. Mia and Nina and two other girls—one of them also had a spot on her pants—and a guy they didn’t really talk to named something M like maybe Michael got off, and thankfully, the others took off and left them alone. The girl with the wet spot sprinted.

‘Thanks for today,’ said Nina, and hugged her. As she did so, Mia lost control, and started uncontrollably wetting her diaper. She could feel it expanding and sagging under her butt, and hoped that it wouldn’t be visible below the hem of her skirt. ‘You’ll make it. I believe in you,’ Nina said, and then she walked off in the direction of her home, leaving Mia to finish off her accident while staring at Nina’s wet butt recede into the distance.


2014.

All good things must come to an end.

‘I choose you,’ Steven said. He didn’t know quite what it meant, how he was going to handle Nina, what they were going to do about their living arrangements, anything. But he knew then, looking into her eyes, that he chose Anette. Then he couldn’t help himself, and added: ‘I choose you. Pikachu!’ And he grabbed her nose. But then he let go, closed his eyes, and kissed her with passion and without pee.

Thus concludes the first story arc. There are more, set in the same universe but with different characters.

Re: Developmental Biology

Yeh that was pretty cool. Character driven and it works so well. Switching between the years was such a great way to give background, and even though there were 3 or 4 time periods you could tell how it all linked and the individual stories complemented the overall arc, and the just flowed together seamlessly

I desperately want to know what happens next to Anette, Steven and Nina, but I can’t wait for more from this universe.

This is a GREAT story!!

Re: Developmental Biology

:slight_smile: more please!

Re: Developmental Biology

INTERLUDE

Female Developmental Enuresis

Excerpt from Raising Your Daughter: a Human and Scientific Guide, by A. and J. Connor

Enuresis is the medical term usually applied to incontinence in children, adolescents, and sometimes even adults after the age at which they would be expected to have reached continence. Nocturnal enuresis is bedwetting, and diurnal enuresis is wetting during the day. When it comes to the issue of potty training, things are quite different for girls and boys. Girls naturally develop urinary continence much more slowly than boys, which we will expand on below. This is a delicate subject, but since it is a universal component of growing up as a girl, incontinence extending up to and sometimes far into puberty is understandable and relatable, so you shouldn’t worry about your daughter being mocked, even though incontinence in adults and in boys is a source of embarrassment. If you are a mom, you will be intimately familiar with this process already.

In boys, potty training can begin as early as at eighteen months, and aside from the occasional accident, diurnal enuresis or day-wetting can be expected to be a non-issue by age two or three. Nocturnal enuresis will not uncommonly occur in boys until the age of five or six, but in girls, it is a different matter. As such, potty training your daughter is very different from potty training your son.

Daywetting

Diurnal urinary enuresis will be a staple of any girl’s childhood, and you should not try to encourage your daughter to potty train before the age of ten unless she is unusually precocious in this regard. The nerves connecting the bladder, the spinal cord and the brain simply do not develop to the same degree as in a boy until this age. An average eight-year-old girl will normally not have much more control over her urination than an infant boy. Therefore, it is imperative that you do not push too hard or scold her for wetting: this is a completely normal part of female development. She will not be aware that she needs to go until she starts peeing, and even then, familiarity with the wet diaper, especially since she may at times be required to go for a while before a change is convenient, may prevent her from even realizing. The bladder and sphincter generally develop at the same rate as boys’, however, so older girls will go longer between peeing. Make sure she changes regularly after wettings, to prevent infections or diaper rashes, but also make sure to be subtle in your reminders or check-ups, to avoid embarrassment.

Messages from the bladder are sent via nerves to the brainstem and coordinated with the forebrain via two centers: the Pontine micturition center (PMC, or Barrington’s Nucleus), and the periaqueductal gray (PAG), which is also a general center for relaying painful sensations. The science of micturition (peeing) is unclear, but we know the communication between these two areas and the higher parts of the brain, such as the medial frontal cortex, the insular cortex, and the hypothalamus, is underdeveloped in females before puberty. In early childhood, your daughter will rely on primitive reflexes for voiding, and as she grows older, she will slowly develop increasing conscious control over when and where she pees, but the relays between the higher brain functions which produce conscious awareness and the lower nerve centers that receive information about bladder fullness are still underdeveloped. As such, your daughter will slowly develop the ability to restrain the reflex to pee, but she will still be less aware of her bladder’s state until these nerve relays are fully developed. Generally, a girl will fully catch up with a boy in ‘bladder awareness’ no earlier than age twelve, at the onset of puberty, and for many full development will not be reached until well into her teens. Thus, we recommend you keep your eight-year-old in age-appropriate full diapers, as she is as incontinent as a boy at the start of potty training. By age ten, however, she will generally have developed some awareness of her bladder state and some conscious control over her bladder, but will still frequently find she realizes her need too late to make it to a bathroom on time. We recommend gradually moving to smaller diapers or pull-ups, which are more discreet, as she gains the ability to notice that she needs to go, even if only when it is urgent and hard to make it in time, and as she develops the ability to halt the flow even when she starts to have an accident.

The development of continence varies individually between girls, and you will generally understand when it is time to make the first attempts at toilet training. As a general guideline, by age ten her body will be mature enough that you should be encouraging her to go to the bathroom when she feels the need, while still keeping her padded until the accidents become rare, and remaining understanding and cognizant of the fact that she will likely be wetting daily even when she starts making it to the bathroom dry. Do not in any way think that your daughter is mentally impaired because of her developmental enuresis: in fact, girls mentally mature faster than boys. Don’t make her feel as if she is a child even if her daywetting continues into puberty: understand that this is normal, does not reflect on her emotional or mental capacities, and that going dry by day will vary from one daughter to the next, some achieving it as early as age twelve, others still having accidents at sixteen. Since your daughter will be an adolescent by the time she achieves continence, you will not be ‘potty training’ her as you would your son, and we recommend you take every measure not to make her feel as if that’s what you’re doing. Your infant son is being potty trained; your daughter, guided to full continence through a process where she must make her own mistakes and learn, and you as a mother or father will simply encourage her, praise her, guide her, but never punish her for what is a natural part of her bodily development. We recommend that fathers take a step back and allow mothers to do most of this guiding, just as we would when it comes to menstruation: it is a shared experience and a touchy subject, so once your daughter reaches puberty, dads, leave the toilet training—a phrase you should never use, although technically accurate, as your daughter may very well feel infantilized and embarrased by such blunt language—to the mother.

Just as you progress from diapers to pull-ups, from checking on her to subtly reminding her, you progress from pull-ups to short stretches of time in adult underwear, preferably inside your home where a change of clothes and a toilet is nearby. From there, you can progress to panties in the park, at school, or other places outside the home, and for longer periods of time.

Naturally you will feel when the point comes that you no longer feel comfortable bathing your child or helping her clean herself: that is the point at which you should consider teaching her to change her own diapers, even if you may provide assistance beyond that point. For most girls, changing herself will feel like a step towards maturation and being changed, as humiliating, making her feel patronized. For a few girls, being changed is a coping mechanism, a way of relieving stress by being taken care of by mom, and while less common, how you respond to this is a personal matter, so long as it does not interfere with your daughter’s road to continence.

Nocturnal urinary enuresis

Regular bedwetting will naturally continue, as a general rule, for at least a year or two after your daughter has stopped wetting regularly in the day. It is not inappropriate for your fourteen-year-old to wear panties in the day and diapers at night. Make sure she understands that this is not a step back from her daytime progress. The occasional bedwetting may happen even as late as eighteen; only if the problem persists beyond her teens does it go from normal variation of the regular development of her continence to a medical issue. We do not as a general rule recommend medical measures to cope with bedwetting in teen girls, as the occasional wet bed is more common than not even at age fifteen; we do not consider it a medical issue and as such, diapers and mattress protectors, a staple of childhood for girls, should do. It is important for your daughter’s self-esteem that she does not perceive her accidents as being unusual, that she not feel uniquely incompetent at recognizing her need to relieve herself; to raise a confident teen girl, make sure she is met with understanding, not scolding, and knows that what she is experiencing is the same as her mom experienced, and as many of her classmates and friends are experiencing, even if they may be unwilling to admit it. Accidents in your teens will be embarrassing, but the embarrassment can be minimized by educating her on the normal development of the female body, and reminding her how common accidents in girls are even as late as age sixteen. If she would rather you ignore her accidents and let her deal with them on her own, she will make it clear, and you should do so unless they are frequent or increasing in frequency (this may be a sign of psychological distress, and stress-induced betwetting can occur even in teen boys). We recommend that your daughter keep a spare change of clothes at school, sleepovers and during longer outings until she is close to completely dry.

Fecal enuresis

Girls generally develop the ability to control their bowel movements at the same rate as boys, and so potty training her at a young age, in the sense of teaching her to go to the bathroom when she needs to go number two, should occur at a similar age and in a similar manner to boys’ potty training, even if she will continue to be urinary incontinent for years to come. At a young age, teach her to signal to an adult, if she has not learned how to take off and put on her diapers herself yet. But otherwise, toilet train your daughter for number two as if she were a boy.

Physiologically, your daughter will have the same control over her bowels as her male peers. However, the psychological effect of wearing a diaper all day may affect the pace at which she learns to go to the potty when she needs to poop. Perhaps with the added security of a diaper, she will put it off a bit too long; but generally, the smell will give it away, and she will soon learn to adapt. However, paradoxically, as she grows older, she will start to feel the pressure of a full bladder, and for a period of time, the signals may be confusing: she may feel the urge to void, but she may have a hard time differentiating between fecal and urinary voiding. This paradox comes about as she may be unused to the sensations of a full bladder, and the feeling of discomfort and urgency may be confusingly similar to the familiar feeling of having to defecate. She may feel as though she has to poop when she has to pee; and upon finding the opposite, she may sometimes confuse the feeling of having to poop with a need to pee. Therefore, although less common, it can be expected that, in some girls, there will be a period where she will sometimes dismiss the urge to defecate as the feeling of a filling bladder, and thus rare messy accidents may occur, although generally not after daywetting has become a less than daily occurence. This is not common, but far from a medical extreme, and must be treated with delicacy, even if as a parent you might have to mask your disgust. Know that she is most likely going through a transitory confused phase. We have no specific advice regarding this possibility; we can only state that rare regressions from fecal continence may occur in some girls, for short periods of time or as one-off events, and that as always, when you are confused or exasperated, the solution must come from a place of love and caring.

We have assisted many parents to help them raise confident, healthy, socially conscious girls, and as in previous chapters, with permission, we will share a few examples of how to apply these principles in practice. All names have been anonymized.

One couple told us a story that made us so mad we had a hard time keeping our heads cool. Their fifteen-year-old daughter, Faye, was mostly dry by day, and slept with only a mattress protector in case of night-time wettings. Nevertheless, they thought it best to keep her in pull-ups on longer trips where bathrooms may be far and few between, and after an embarrassing accident, Faye had agreed. She wore slim pull-ups that were easy to hide under her skirt, and on one hot summer day, she accompanied her parents for a longer road trip. Faye was a bright, outgoing girl, and when she wasn’t texting her friends, she was keeping up a running commentary about her friends, her future plans, or whatever else popped into her head. Her parents confessed they were getting tired of her chattiness, and that may have contributed to a foul mood they attempted to mask for the sake of keeping a nice family trip just that. They stopped at a roadside restaurant and Faye ate a hearty meal with plenty to drink on the side; her parents did not recall if she visited the bathroom before they left the restaurant, and did not think she needed to be reminded. About an hour later, they were on the highway, and Faye’s chatter ground to a halt. At first, her parents enjoyed the respite from their teenage daughter’s stream of words, which even to us can admittedly be tiring. After about twenty minutes of silence, save for the radio, Faye signalled to her parents that she needed to pee. However, there were no suitable places to stop in sight. They told her to hold on and promised to stop at the first convenience. After another fifteen minutes, Faye inquired how long her mother thought it would be until they found a rest stop. Her mother responded that she didn’t know, but it might not be for another hour. Faye confessed that she doubted she could make it that long.

At that point, her parents reminded her that she was wearing protection just for such an occasion, and encouraged her to hold on. They ensured her that they would not be mad if she had a little accident, and she could change discreetly as soon as they found a rest stop if she didn’t make it.

Faye grew silent, although her parents could observe her squirming in the rear-view mirror. After a little while, Faye began to cry. Her parents asked her if she had an accident, and she affirmed it. They told her it was all right, and promised they were not mad and would find a suitable place to stop soon. Five minutes later, a foul odour reached the front seats. As the smell intensified, the couple realized the magnitude and nature of Faye’s accident. Faye began sobbing loudly. Her father uttered a string of words not suitable for print, but it amounted to an angry accusation: had she really pooped herself? Faye did not respond, but continued to cry. The smell lingered until, fifteen minutes later, they found a rest stop. Faye was marched out of the car, where her mother promptly walked up and, in full view of a couple having lunch at a nearby table, lifted her daughter’s skirt up to confirm: below hung a sodden, heavy diaper streaked with brown. The pull-up was not designed to hold such a mess, and some of it now spilled out on the sides and slid down Faye’s legs. She regressed into infantile sobbing as her mother let her skirt fall down to hide the evidence, and her father ordered her to lean against the car as he delivered five slaps onto her messy bottom, before she was marched into the restroom to change.

This is an example of how not to raise a confident, self-assured daughter. We had to restrain ourselves as we explained to the couple that occasionally, abdominal pressure of another kind can be confused for a simple need to pee. We further explained that their daughter had given indication of her need in good time, and even stressed its urgency. We expressed our understanding at their frustration, and the discomfort of sitting in a smelly car and worrying about fouled car seats; at the same time, we sternly told them that we do not believe their reaction was warranted, that their love for their daughter was overshadowed by their disgust. Public shaming has no place in child-rearing. We do not believe spanking is ever appropriate, as inflicting physical pain on your child does not come from a place of love, but especially so in public, and considering the age of their daughter, and in circumstances where it accomplishes little more than demeaning your child, blaming her for circumstances only partially in her control, and further making a mess of an already messy situation.

The couple was at first taken aback by our words. They had come to us for help with their daughter’s ‘attitude problems,’ and this incident was in their opinion an expression of her toxic attitude. In our opinion, it was rather the cause; her parents were inconsiderate of her needs, publicly shamed her, and did not offer a word of comfort in what was already punishment enough: a messy accident at fifteen is an incredibly embarrassing situation, for a boy or a girl. Apparently, Faye peed her pants the next day, and wet the bed every night that week; her parents thought she did it out of spite, although we consider it more likely it was induced by psychological stress. Eventually, after we explained our reasoning, the couple were able to see the situation with an outsider’s eyes. When we asked them if they would think their handling of the situation appropriate if they witnessed another couple inflict it upon their daughter, the mother became visibly upset. With our guidance, they re-adjusted their approach, and Faye’s accidents dried up. After they apologized for their handling of the situation, Faye’s ‘attitude problems’ disappeared. Today, Faye is a completely continent, happy, confident college senior.

Another couple came to us with a success story. Their daughter Dawn was sixteen, and still a heavy bed-wetter. Her parents had assumed that she was too embarrassed about the situation to talk about it, and so had simply continued to supply her with night-time diapers. During the day, Dawn had been dry, apart from one incident, for the last two-and-a-half years.

One day, this one also a hot summer day, the family, which also consisted of an eight-year-old daughter fully diapered and an eleven-year-old boy, went to the beach. As it was a hot day, everyone was consuming a lot of water and soda from a cooler. Dawn wore a bikini fit for a grown woman, and her parents could not overlook the attention she got, dirty blond hair and a woman’s curves, from the adolescent boys at the beach. Their daughter swam in the water and played with a beach ball with her younger siblings; then she took her younger sister to change into a swim diaper and attempted to teach her how to swim. As the sun started becoming uncomfortably hot, the sand burning their bare feet, they retreated to their beach towels under a parasol. Dawn put on sunscreen and lay down partially shaded by the parasol to sunbathe. After a while, she raised her knees, still laying on her back, and squirmed. Her parents thought nothing of it. After a while, Dawn turned over onto her stomach and unclasped her bra. She lay there for a while as her parents attended to her siblings, although in hindsight, they noted that her squirming had become more obvious. The family had set up camp near a little cluster of trees, which the father had already watered once, and once followed his son to do the same. Since there were no proper facilities at the beach, and a long way to the car, after a quick check-up, the mother decided to take her younger daughter to the little woods to help her get changed. The father was preoccupied by a newspaper, while keeping an eye on his son, who was wading nearby.

After a while, the son returned from the water and began towelling off. Then there was a muffled gasp from Dawn, and the son pointed and yelled: ‘Look, Dawn is peeing herself!’ The father turned his eye from the newspaper to see that, between his daughter’s legs, emerging in a stream from her light blue bikini bottoms, was a little trickle of pee. The trickle soon intensified into a river, as pee began pouring unrestrained through the bikini and onto the towel, hissing audibly. The sodden towel soon could not take it, and Dawn continued wetting herself through her bikini, through the towel, onto the sand below. She must have had a lot to drink, as the urine was clear as water and continued for some time to pour out of her, helplessly. When she finished her accident, Dawn sprang up, not even bothering to put on her bikini top, and ran topless into the woods with speed. Her father was left looking at a thoroughly soaked towel, scratching his beard. Between the trees, Dawn ran into her mother and younger sister, who were just done with the diaper change. At this point, Dawn was visibly upset, and the cause was obvious to both mother and sister. This was the first time in years that her parents had directly addressed Dawn’s accidents. Her mother comforted her, and then asked her what happened. Dawn explained that she had felt the need for some time, but was enjoying sunbathing and thought she could always hold on a little longer. Then suddenly she had felt a little bit slip out and had been unable to stop the flood, which had left visible droplefts on her thighs and lower stomach, shiny in the sun. After her mother had sent away her younger daughter to join her brother and father, Dawn privately confessed that she had been hiding several daytime accidents from her parents, including a close call when a very wet pair of jeans had nearly been discovered in the laundry bin. Her daughter felt considerable guilt over hiding this fact, and anxiety over possibly being discovered; she was worried about disappointing her parents. Dawn had a strong bladder, a trait inherited from her mother, as evidenced by long car trips during which she had gone for many hours without using a restroom and stayed dry. Dawn explained that her accidents had been the result of miscalculation: she had thought that once she was dry, and since she could go for hours between recognizing a need and having to visit the bathroom, she would simply not have an accident, so she was content to put it off if she was busy or enjoying herself with some activity. And that had come to cost her a few times, because every bladder has its limits, especially a teenage girl’s.

After her mother had calmed her down, and explained to her that she should not feel guilty over her accidents, nor be afraid to admit to her parents that she was not invincible, just a normal girl going through puberty, that she was proud of her daughter for all her accomplishments in life, and that she was not disappointed if Dawn had an accident, the two had embraced, Dawn still dripping urine down her legs. Dawn had put on her bikini top and washed off in the sea, and then the family wrapped the trip up. Her father had instructed her younger siblings to be supportive, and his son had even told Dawn, with no prompting, that he was sorry she had an accident, but he wasn’t going to tease her about it and promised not to tell anyone what had happened. The day after, mother and daughter had a talk, in which the mother shared some of her own accident stories, and they both agreed that even adults have their limits, so it would be wise to go once the need to pee reaches a certain urgency. Dawn had one more accident during the day since: an instance of functional incontinence, in which there was genuinely no suitable place for her to relieve herself in time. Except for that one instance, Dawn learned not to put off her need excessively, and stayed dry. Once the anxiety over her secret wettings subsided, Dawn’s bedtime wettings decreased, and within three months she was completely dry by night. One of us personally spoke to Dawn to get her permission to print her story under a different name, and she told us this one experience was the catalyst both to her continence and to better familial relations.

This story illustrates the main point of the previous chapter: the importance of open communication between you as a parent and your daughter. We mentioned earlier that some girls may feel too embarrassed or simply desire to be self-sufficient and want to deal with their accidents on their own terms, and to the extent possible, once the child grows to be a teenager, parents should allow their daughter to handle this issue on her own if she wishes. But we also mentioned that frequent accidents can be a sign of psychological distress; in this case, especially with Dawn having been dry for so long during the day, perhaps addressing the issue sooner might have helped. A sixteen-year-old is closer to an adult than to a child in many ways, but she is still in many ways a child, and she will always, even as she becomes legally adult, be your daughter. The issue need not be addressed in a manner that embarrasses the child, but can be approached indirectly: as a parent, if you are concerned about your teenager’s accidents, you may raise the issue indirectly. You may mention that you sense there is something bothering your daughter, and that you will always be her mother or her father, and that as a parent you will not judge her, but always try to help her, and take anything she says seriously and in confidence. There are many ways to allow her to open up or to question her without embarrassing or interrogating her. We will not print detailed examples, but have heard from several families that once they found a way to earn their daughter’s trust, and assure her in turn of their trust in her, she would open up about issues underlying her accidents, and they were able to work out solutions together without judgment or undue embarrassment. As stressed earlier in this chapter, developmental enuresis is a normal part of female development, and ingraining this fact in your daughter while instilling the good habits necessary to gain and sustain continence is paramount.

As open and liberal as we are, and as we as authors of this book feel every parent should be, we must also set boundaries. Lily was twelve and would still refuse to change her own diapers, and pout or cry if her mother refused. She would even go so far as to intentionally hide her accidents until her diapers overflowed, sometimes in public places to great embarrassment, in order to force her mother to pander to her wishes. Lily was using regression as a coping mechanism to deal with stress; when we talked to her, years later, she told us she never felt as safe and loved as when her mother would carefully remove her wet diaper, clean her and put a new one on her just like she had done when Lily was little. These moments allowed Lily to forget anxieties and stress factors in her life. But at twelve years old, it is no longer appropriate for a mother to personally baby and diaper her daughter, wash her privates and tuck her in. Her mother didn’t know what to do: we advised her to put her foot down and tell Lily that she was too old to have her mother change her diapers, and that her mother couldn’t always be around anyway. But setting boundaries also relies on two-way trust: we advised that the mother open a dialog with her daughter about why she so desperately wanted to be pampered, what she was getting out of it, and to ensure they could find ways together for Lily to cope with whatever issues she was dealing with, while at the same time learning to care for herself. After a few long talks with her daughter, the mother reported back: they had found a number of alternative ways for Lily to cope with her anxieties. She didn’t need a psychiatrist: she needed an outlet and sources of comfort she could use in private. Lily enrolled in boxing classes and got to take out her anger, confusion and anxiety on punching bags, and went on to become a skilled martial artist, a hobby she enjoys to this day, she told us when she spoke to us. She also got a cuddle blanket that she was allowed to use whenever she changed herself; that way, she could care for herself in public, but still regress a little, harmlessly, in private. Her mother encouraged her gently to find some new friends, as it became clear that loneliness was an issue she struggled with; through her boxing club and after-school activities, Lily was able to make friends to confide with and, as she told us, take the step out of diapers together with. Lily’s group of friends supported each other through wet and dry, and she learned she wasn’t alone in her struggles with wetting in the day at her age.

Finally, we will touch upon a touchy subject we will revisit in the next chapter. The delicate issue of sexual development. A father was exasperated when he accidentally stumbled upon his teenage daughter sitting in drenched jeans, ammonia pool on the floor, hands down her pants audibly pleasuring herself. He had always seen himself as a liberal, hands-off kind of father, but this was more than he could handle. He disclipined his daughter verbally, but later he came to us for advice, feeling he had not handled the situation correctly. We must stress that as open, accepting people, just as we accept people who deviate from the majority of society when it comes to sexual preference and identity, such as lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transsexuals, we must accept people who have fetishistic impulses. Most girls will not be fully dry before they start exploring sexuality; it seems an inevitability that some girls will experience their first orgasms while wet, and may come to associate wetting and sexual arousal. There is no research on the subject, but we speculate that other genetic or environmental factors may also come into play. This particular girl told us that she had been fascinated by, maybe even aroused by other girls’ accidents since before she reached puberty. She was turned on by accidents, and enjoyed the feeling of desperation that lead up to an accident, all the way to the involuntary release and had even had spontaneous orgasms while wetting herself.

We advised that, so long as it was kept in private, and didn’t interfere with her normal road to continence, the girl should be able to explore her sexual kinks within reasonable boundaries. She shouldn’t subject her parents to indecent behavior, but she had not intentionally done so either; she had thought she was alone, and didn’t want her parents to find out about her fetish. Her father, too, wished nothing to do with it; we confessed to him that as parents, we, too, have at times had trouble accepting that our children have grown up and become sexual beings, a process that starts years before a girl is mature enough to actually have sex with another person; but we must accept it for what it is. As long as the girl stayed continent and happy, and kept her private pleasures private, she was allowed to continue without her parents’ interference. She agreed to do the laundry.

And on that note, we shall conclude this chapter.

Re: Developmental Biology

2014, summer.

Hannah’s parents were so overprotective. She was sixteen, yet expected to be home by ten p.m. even on weekends. Her mom insisted on driving her around everywhere after dark, even if she could just bike a couple of blocks over in the suburbs. Her dad? He insisted that he didn’t think she was quite ‘ready’ for driving lessons, whatever that meant. How could she learn to drive without lessons, and what could she possibly do to prove her readiness? And worst of all, her parents didn’t trust her to go further than the mailbox without wearing protection. She could wear panties inside the house, but she couldn’t go anywhere without putting away the big girl underwear. At least she had negotiated an agreement: as long as her parents were making her wear diapers, they would pay for them. Wasn’t there a law against making underwear decisions for your children after a certain age? Apparently not, as long as she was living under their roof and under eighteen. Not that Hannah had much of a rebellious streak in her, even if she had been to a couple of parties she wasn’t supposed to go to.

She barely even had any accidents anymore. Most of the time, the diapers became a self-fulfilling prophesy. Since she was wearing them, she could always wait a little longer even when she had signaled that she had to go; after all, if she did tinkle a little, it was no disaster, right? That’s what she was in diapers for. And if she had a full-on accident, she clearly should have chosen a more opportune moment to go, rather than waiting until it would mildly inconvenience other people for her to find a bathroom she would almost certainly make it to well and dry. It doesn’t work like that. It’s so unfair. Am I going to have to become a camel to prove I’m ready for panties?

But things were looking up. Her older sister was getting married, and she was going to be a bridesmaid. She’d chosen a beautiful dress to wear, and she’d be allowed to stay until the party was over with all the other grown-up wedding guests. A party where older men from the groom’s family would be present, some sure to be attractive, and alcohol, and probably some quirky uncle or aunt who’d allow her to taste it behind her parents’ back, if only a little. The wedding was to be held a day’s drive away, and she had weaseled her way out of a long drive with her younger brothers and parents; instead, she would ride with her cousin Lucy. Lucy was eighteen and daughter of one of those quirky aunts on whom Hannah had pinned her hopes of tasting some alcohol; she certainly hadn’t had the same sheltered upbringing as Hannah. Of course, Hannah’s parents had made sure she was in diapers for the ride, and made her double-check she had enough padding for the rest of their stay as well. This had been extremely hard to swallow for Hannah: they were going to a church for an hour, then they were going to be staying at a venue with plenty of toilets for the rest of the night. She hadn’t picked out a dress with the idea that she was going to have to hide a diaper under there, like almost all the other clothes she owned, and now her figure, which had blossomed in the past year and would be done proper justice by a woman’s dress, would be ruined by her padded butt. Still, her parents wouldn’t budge, so she had to figure something out later, and for now, just look forward to getting to stay with the adults for the party.

That’s what she was thinking as she loaded her bag into Lucy’s trunk and took a seat. How she’d have to be a little rebellious and play up her cleavage or something to take attention off her butt. ‘Hey,’ she said as Lucy pulled out, ‘do you think maybe you could help me with my makeup for the wedding reception?’

‘Sure,’ Lucy said, eyes on the road. ‘Why? Your parents not even letting you wear makeup until your sister’s big day?’

‘No, they do. But I want to look more adult. More… sexy.’

A mischievious smile grew on Lucy’s lips. ‘I see your parents haven’t managed to completely turn you into an android,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure about spending a whole day trapped in a car with you, was afraid you were going to insist on kumbaya and Bible readings, but I think you and I will get along just fine.’

‘My parents… We’re not religious.’

‘I know,’ Lucy said. ‘Just teasing. Here, I bought us coffee.’ She handed a large cup of coffee to Hannah, before taking a sip of her own. Hannah didn’t drink coffee, but she took it anyway. The liquid was way too hot and once the feeling of her throat being on fire went away, she felt the bitter taste and scrunched up her face. Lucy looked over and laughed. ‘You don’t normally drink coffee, do you?’

Hannah shook her head.

‘Then you’re going to be super hyped up from that big cup. Fight through the bitterness and you’ll learn to like it in no time. I didn’t like it the first time I tasted coffee either, or wine, or beer. But now I enjoy all three.’

And true enough, once she had finished the coffee—a little too quickly, to get it over with—the first few hours of the trip flew by. Lucy had all kinds of interesting stories to tell, and the caffeine-naive Hannah’s usual reserve was replaced by a chatterbox. In fact, Hannah could hardly remember the last time she had so much fun just conversing. There were no uncomfortable lulls or awkward pauses, no need to turn on the radio. She was infinitely fascinated by Lucy and all the antics she seemed to pull, all the ways in which she was freer than Hannah, but to her surprise, Lucy also seemed genuinely interested in Hannah’s perspective on things. She had friends who would listen, of course, but to have a bona fide adult do the same in the manner of a girlfriend was exciting. Before she knew it, it was past noon and Lucy pulled into a roadside diner for lunch. Stepping out of the car, Hannah’s diaper made a slight crinkle, briefly snapping her back to reality, back to girlhood, but Lucy carried on the conversation as if nothing had happened.

The two girls took a seat in the back of the room, even though there were only two other patrons. ‘This way we get some privacy,’ Lucy said. ‘We have very important, very secret business to discuss.’

‘What?’

‘How to make you into the next sexiest woman at the wedding, after me, of course. Screw the bride. Actually, she’s getting screwed by the groom anyway, she’ll have plenty of time to demonstrate her sexiness.’

Hannah couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Yeah, I mean…’ She looked over at her cousin, who sat with her dirty blonde hair falling loose to her shoulders, in a casual white top and unremarkable blue jeans, and still looked like she could turn heads at a wedding reception for all the right reasons. ‘Sure…’

Lucy smiled. ‘Relax. I’m sure with your parents watching over you at all times, you haven’t had sex yet?’

Hannah shook her head. ‘I’m only sixteen.’

‘Sure. I was sixteen the first time. But don’t worry. You can look sexy without having sex. It’s like, the law.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t buy into that, oh, she was begging for it, she was dressed so hot bullshit. Teasing is a fine art. And you don’t have any moral objections to stealing a kiss, do you? Oh my god, have you even had a kiss?’

She had not.

‘Well, I’m sure something can be arranged. Oh, hey,’ she said, turning to a middle-aged woman who had finally managed to drag her butt from behind the counter. ‘We’ll have two chicken salads, please. And two glasses of water.’ The woman noted their orders without looking up and went back behind the counter, jiggling entirely too much weight on entirely too short legs. Thankfully, she was quicker about it when she first got started, and it didn’t take long before the food was on the table. Hannah realized she was starving as she took the first bite, and she was quite thirsty, too. She filled up on a second glass of water and ate so fast she got hiccups.

‘Girl, you got an appetite,’ said Lucy, chuckling. ‘The cutesy hiccuping though, hahaha. Sorry.’ She was barely finished with half her lunch. Soon enough, though, they were ready to continue. ‘We’ve got some miles to cover, better get to it,’ said Lucy.

They were now entering a rather lonely stretch of road, alternating between plains with the occasional farm and woodland, houses few and far between. The girls picked their conversation back up, however, and before Hannah knew it, it was past two and they’d been driving for over an hour. That’s when the first signals made it clear to her that it would have been wise to visit the restroom back at the diner. Neither girl had gone. She definitely needed to pee, but at the same time, she could definitely hold it a while longer. It didn’t seem worth it to bother Lucy about it just yet. After all, she’d been very determined to cover ground once they were done with lunch. It wasn’t like there were any places to go around here, either. Maybe she could go in the woods somewhere, but she really didn’t want to. After a while, the need to pee started to distract her from conversation. Although she wasn’t desperate yet, she was getting uncomfortable. Subtly she shifted her weight in the seat, which seemed to ease the pressure somewhat, and she was able to resume conversation. Hannah knew she shouldn’t drink more until she’d peed, but at the same time, she found herself wishing she had another coffee. She’d been up early to pack, and now she was getting sleepy. If she fell asleep now, she would probably have an accident. Hannah was mostly dry by night—which didn’t stop her parents from making her wear to bed, even after a day spent at home in panties, of course—but she knew she couldn’t go to bed with a full bladder. When she was younger her mother had put a note on the bathroom mirror reminding her to pee before bed, but when Hannah heard that her parents were making her wear to the wedding reception, she’d torn it down. The next day, she forgot to pee before bed and so peed in bed. Her night-time diaper was soaked, and she even leaked a little down her leg when she stood up, but her sheets remained dry, so she managed to hide the accident from her parents.

Hannah yawned.

‘Getting tired?’

She nodded.

‘It’s okay to nap in the car, you know. As long as you’re not behind the wheel. I won’t mind.’

She shook her head. ‘No, I think I’d like to stay awake.’ Hannah didn’t explain why. If only she could pee first, she’d happily sleep through the rest of the journey. As fun as it had been, she was tired, the excitement had caught up to her, and she’d get to see plenty more of Lucy later.

Half an hour later, it was getting hard to sit still. Hannah kept repositioning the seat belt, trying to find the position that would put least pressure on her bladder. Luckily, a sign announcing a gas station two miles down the road came up. At this point, Hannah gave in. ‘Hey, can you stop real quick at that gas station, I need to pee,’ she said.

‘I’d love to, but we’ve got so many more miles to cover,’ said Lucy.

‘That might be the last restroom in, like, forever!’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to mention it, but you’re wearing a diaper, aren’t you?’ Here we go again. Lucy had been so sympathetic, they’d gone from being cousins who just barely talked at family gatherings to being good friends in the space of a few hours, and now she was turning out to be exactly the same as every other adult in her family. Still, she couldn’t argue with facts. Underneath her blue shorts—a size too big if she was wearing panties—she was indeed padded. She always hoped it wasn’t noticeable, but she knew it must be. The consolation was that she was hardly the only one at her age that still wore—but that only meant people were all the more aware what to look for. Nobody commented on it, since she wasn’t lagging that far behind her peers, and could probably pass for anything between fifteen (not at all an inappropriate age to wear still on an outing) and seventeen (towards the age where most of her peers would be dry, barring the occasional incident, closing in on the time when doctors would start classifying you not as ‘still in puberty’ but either as ‘anatomically underdeveloped’ or, worse, ‘medically incontinent’). But the fantasy that nobody knew was all too comforting. Shattering the illusion made her feel little, and unsure if she could make it.

‘Yes, as you so astutely pointed out,’ Hannah said, putting an emphasis on the phrase, ‘I am indeed wearing.’ Nobody liked to say ‘diaper’ after middle school. It was always ‘I’m wearing,’ or ‘protection,’ or ‘padding,’ or another euphemism. ‘But I’d like to pee in a toilet, please.’

‘Hold on a little longer, and you won’t have to wet your diaper,’ said Lucy.

This is so unfair. How can I ever prove to an adult that I don’t need to be in diapers anymore? Either you don’t tell them you have to go, and then you have an accident and they’re like, see, that’s why you need diapers, or you do, and they go, oh, that’s inconvenient, but you’re wearing a diaper so that’s fine. So then you have an accident anyway and that just perpetuates the cycle. And should there ever be a tiny spot on your panties in the laundry basket, oh boy, that just proves you can’t even hold it inside the house. I mean, what teenage girl doesn’t occasionally leak?

They passed the gas station, her last hope in god knows how long, and she gave her crotch a squeeze in plain view. She wasn’t giving up, but now she had been denied a reasonable request for a bathroom that any adult would be granted without question. If her mom needed to pee, no problem, the next rest stop it is. Hannah had something to prove, so she always tried to conceal her desperation until the last moment. She didn’t want to appear like a child doing the potty dance. But now that the power was taken out of her hands, now that an authority beyond her control had taken away from her the chance to actually pee in a toilet, it wasn’t her weakness and childishness that made her squirm. Lucy didn’t comment as Hannah’s legs became increasingly restless, as her hands started grabbing at her crotch more frequently and intensely. She’d put her in this situation, so what could she possibly say? That it was indecent? Hannah was angry, and she’d prepared a few choice words for that occasion, but it never came up. Instead, she decided to change tack. Lucy had attempted to cover the strained silence with gossip about the guests who would be attending the wedding, but Hannah cut her off.

‘When did you stop wearing?’

Lucy seemed taken aback by the question. Perhaps she had grown so accustomed to panties that she’d forgotten what it was like not to wear them, but she couldn’t possibly be that many years removed from padding, could she? ‘Oh,’ Lucy said, after a moment’s thought, ‘I think maybe fourteen? Fifteen? Yeah, I think fourteen on normal days, and maybe I wore a few times at fifteen if I was going to be away from a bathroom for a long time.’

‘At night as well?’

Lucy blushed.

‘Oh my god,’ said Hannah, ‘you aren’t still wearing at night?’

‘No,’ Lucy said after a beat, ‘not anymore. I… don’t remember actually. When I stopped, I mean. A little bit after I quit during the day, I guess?’ Hannah wasn’t so sure, but decided not to press the issue. She had to give herself another squeeze and reposition to prevent a leak, bladder throbbing, and the moment passed. She was happy enough to have caught her cousin off guard. Hannah hadn’t even considered the possibility that Lucy might still be wetting the bed. She seemed so mature, but after all there were only two years between them. Hannah had learned in biology that bedwetting in girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty was not considered a medical problem, merely a little older than the norm. It wasn’t until your twenties that there was cause for concern, the teacher had assured them, even if everyone knew it would be embarrassing to be bringing night-time protection to college.

Hannah peered over at her cousin, and when she did, she noticed something else: Lucy seemed to have trouble finding a comfortable way to sit. She hadn’t been all day either, had she? Surely she must be feeling the pressure in her bladder as well. That gave Hannah some hope as she was wracked by a wave of pressure, pee washing against her sphincter and pushed back by fatiguing muscle and pushing fingers. Hannah now had to resort to unbuttoning her shorts and pushing directly against the padding, now in plain view. Hopefully there would be a rest stop soon and Lucy would pull in so both girls could pee without any accidents.

‘Well,’ Hannah said, continuing their conversation even as she fought the urge to just let go in her padding, ‘when you were trying to get into panties’—she almost said potty training but didn’t want to think of herself as going through the same process as little boys who were two or three years old—‘would you like it if you could make it to the bathroom, but your mom refused to pull into the gas station because you were in diapers?’

Lucy’s face seemed rather pained. Every so often, she would lift her butt an inch off the seat, then sit back down again. ‘Look, can we not talk about this right now?’

Hannah spasmed and leaned forward, feeling like she was going to pop, but she did not. ‘Why? Do you need to pee?’ It had now been close to an hour since they passed the gas station. No rest stops or other places that could conceivably contain a bathroom had come up. Hannah was amazed that she’d made it this far without a leak.

‘A little bit, yeah,’ said Lucy. Admitting to it seemed to take a load off her shoulders. She could now be a little more obvious about her need, but still played it off like she could wait just fine. Hannah wasn’t so sure. Watching her cousin squirm, unable to go to the extreme measures Hannah was to maintain her dryness since she was driving, Lucy didn’t look like she could last much longer without at least a leak, either. Still, they were on a stretch of road too remote for any bathrooms and yet too exposed to just stop by the side of the road. What if some farmer sticks his head out of a field and sees two young women, one with a diaper down her legs and the other with panties, bare asses exposed, peeing a waterfall?

Hannah couldn’t help but be fascinated by Lucy’s plight. She had seen plenty of girls desperate, and plenty of girls have accidents. It was unavoidable, really. A normal part of growing up as a girl. But it was something else when it was someone nominally adult. Someone who had been in panties for years and should be able to control herself. Lucy was biting her lip, staring straight ahead, iron grip on the wheel, while her bum was moving about and she attempted to bring her knees together without letting go of the pedals. Hannah had never reflected on how hard it must be to hold it while driving a car. She had an entire arsenal of tricks, some of them subtle, some of them, like her now frantic crotch-grabbing, dancing in place, completely obvious. But most of them required at least some freedom of movement. I wonder if I can outlast her. I mean, I can’t possibly keep from leaking much longer, but she will never know. She can’t see it until my padding really starts sagging and I need to change it. Surely, if we don’t both make it to a bathroom soon, I can get away with some dignity. If there’s a spot between her legs as well, what can she say? Even thinking about the possibility of her cousin having an accident excited her. If nothing else, she’d have to be much nicer about bathroom breaks. Lucy would have to apologize for not stopping when she had the chance if she herself couldn’t hold it until the next restroom!

Another wave. Hannah had to take her eyes off her cousin to attend to her own needs. A powerful wave broke against her muscles, and she fought it off. Following it was another wave, a little weaker. Hannah held on a little less frantically, and still no leak. This cost her, as a third wave, more powerful than the first, made her contract and there was nothing she could do to prevent a few drops seeping through. Just enough for her to normally think she was officially having an accident, in which case she’d usually just give up. Why prolong the pain when there is nowhere to go and you’re stuck in a diaper anyway? But this time, she was determined. She looked over at her cousin, who was now breathing heavily. Her cheeks were flushed, and her entire body seemed to be shivering. If she didn’t know better, Hannah would have thought there was something entirely different going on in Lucy’s nether regions. After the first leak, there seemed to be a lull, although Hannah could feel stronger waves on the horizon. She now had her fingers pressed—as best she could through the padding—directly against her peehole. Her cousin, on the other hand, couldn’t even begin to touch herself down there.

Hannah’s gaze strafed from Lucy’s face down her torso to the spot between her legs where any evidence would accrue. Hannah had to bend over to hold it, but damn it, Lucy wasn’t much better off. She was certain of it. Lucy was too focused on the road and her own needs to notice her cousin intensely staring at her crotch. Which, in any other situation, would be entirely inappropriate. A minute passed. Hannah felt a few more drops slip past. Then, as if by a miracle, two events occurred in rapid succession. First, a small wet spot appeared between Lucy’s legs. Hannah looked up to see her face turn tomato. She looked down again to see the spot expand to almost double size. Lucy could still hide it, maybe, but to anyone really looking, they’d know what she’d done. Hannah completely opened up the front of her shorts, her white diaper now very obvious. Then she happened to glance in the side mirror to see a sign they’d just passed—REST STOP, 4 MILES. ‘Lucy, look, there’s a rest stop four miles up!’ She yelled.

Lucy seemed startled by the raised voice. She peed a little more, and now, the afternoon light was highlighting the glistening between her legs. ‘Thank god,’ Lucy said.

Hannah leaked again. She could now feel the wetness of the padding against her pussy clearly, but didn’t think it would be noticeable on the outside yet. Lucy sped up, trying to outrace her own bladder. She managed to reach the next road sign—REST STOP, 1 MILE—without any more leaks, and both girls were now entering the home stretch. Hannah was frantic, but in all her desperation, she couldn’t keep her eyes off Lucy’s stain. As they were nearing the rest stop, Hannah spurted again. She’d definitely have to change her diaper now. But that didn’t matter. Lucy would have to change her pants. They could now see the rest stop at the other end of a long, straight stretch of road, but Lucy’s bladder seemed to be taking matters into its own hands. She released a continuous, three-second stream into her pants, a little spilling onto the seat, at the same time giving a muffled cry. ‘God no,’ Lucy said. ‘No, no, no.’ Hannah lost a second of pee in pure sympathy. ‘No, please,’ said Lucy, as she slowed down to pull over. She spurted again, and again, and the wet spot was now the size of a saucer. Hannah looked out the window: disaster. There was a camper van parked already, and what looked to be a father stood impatiently outside the restroom door, while two young kids were running around. They were in the middle of nowhere! Why would there be other people? Murphy’s law, that’s why.

Hannah buttoned her shorts up over the now wet diaper. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this desperate. Usually by this point, if she was in a diaper with no bathroom available, she would have given up. Lucy quickly pulled to a stop and opened the door, almost before she could shuck off her seat belt. Hannah could see that there was a sizeable stain on her butt. There was no way Lucy was getting past Camper Van Family without revealing her accident. But still, the restroom was clearly occupied. As much as she longed to run to the door, Hannah remained seated, merely removing the seatbelt. Now she could squirm a bit more. Even if she lost it right then, there was no risk to the seats. Lucy’s seat had a noticeable stain. Good luck explaining that to your mom. For your sake let’s hope it dries up and isn’t permanent. Hannah watched as Lucy bent over, just outside the car, both hands buried in her crotch. Her butt was sticking out, curving up, clearly displaying a wet spot between her legs, a bit up between her butt cheeks, and a few inches down each inner leg. Then she lost it. Pee simply started pouring out, breaking into two streams, and Lucy stood there, legs pulled tightly together, which only ensured more of the accident would follow a path down her legs and seep into her clothes rather than fall between her legs onto the ground, only wetting her crotch. Mental note: in times of accident, spread legs. Hannah lost control for a second, but Lucy had no control at all. A large stream was coming out of her pants legs, some pooling in her running shoes, some puddling on the ground. Hannah looked up to see that Camper Van Dad had entered the restroom. With some pain, she exited the car and walked to the trunk. She had a plan.

As Lucy finished wetting herself, now fully soaked all down her legs and in an arc cresting at her waistband, Hannah—fighting her own urge to fully let go—opened up the trunk, located Lucy’s bag, then, without asking for permission, started rummaging about. The first item she found was a vibrator. She put it back in, then located clean pants, panties—a thong much sexier than any Hannah owned—and socks for Lucy. Satisfied, she walked up front—Lucy still stood awkwardly frozen, the occasional afterquake sending a few droplets to the earth—and pulled a fresh diaper out of her handbag. She took the clean clothes, the bag, and the diaper and started walking towards the restroom. With each step, she spurted. It didn’t matter. She was mere yards away and still hadn’t expelled the majority of her bladder. ‘Lucy, come on, do you want to stand there in wet clothes all day?’ She yelled. Lucy looked up, a bit dazed, but she followed.

Just as they were approaching the restroom, Camper Van Dad emerged. What he saw was a young woman in a shirt and shorts—not at-a-glance obviously wearing protection—and a very, very wet, slightly older girl right behind. Neither could be older than eighteen. The older girl could hardly hide the fact that she’d just had a major accident. Her jeans were positively glistening, and a bit of the lower portion of her top had gotten wet, too. The slightly younger of the two girls was proudly holding a white diaper in her hand along with a handbag, while the older girl followed behind dejectedly. Camper Van Dad exchanged a knowing look with the younger girl. What he thought, no one will ever know, but with any luck, Hannah thought, he’ll think the diaper’s for her, not me. After all, unless he really looks me over, which he’s unlikely to do when there’s a sopping wet distraction right over my shoulder, he won’t know I’m wearing. I can come out of this with some dignity after all. He’ll think she’s just another girl who thought she was old enough for big girl panties, and turns out, she wasn’t.

Hannah entered the restroom, now cramping constantly, and waited for Lucy, who didn’t follow her in until Hannah motioned for her. As Hannah locked the door, her last reserves were shot. She took a wider stance as she felt the brain-bladder connection shut off, and started hissing full-on into her diaper. It shot forwards and backwards, warming her butt and her pussy in an oddly comforting way, maybe because as she peed the pain subsided.

‘Is… is that for me?’ Lucy asked, motioning towards the diaper.

‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘It’s for me. I clearly need it. Look. I just had a huge accident in my diaper. I should have gone when we stopped at that gas station a ways back, not put it off and had an accident. So if you don’t mind, once I’m finished wetting myself, I’m going to change out of my wet diaper and into this dry one. That is, unless you want it?’

Such a complete burst coupled with the fact that she’d tried to choose a somewhat discreet brand meant she was nearing capacity before she was empty, so Hannah hobbled over to the toilet, lowered her shorts, struggled to shut off the stream, quickly removed her diaper (impressively soggy, yellow all over the front) and finished in the toilet.

The relief was immense. Almost as good as the look, that knowing look she had shared with Camper Van Dad out there. That alone was worth having an accident.

Re: Developmental Biology

2006, summer.

‘See that’s what I don’t agree with,’ Todd said. He was still leaning his back on the tree, smoldering joint in hand, but he’d moved a little bit away from Jane. ‘I think it’s just society coddling girls. Or not trusting them enough with responsibility. Girls are treated like these delicate things, so, like, they can’t even be expected to make it.’

‘So it’s my fault?’ Why was he saying such mean things? Jane’s fit of laughter had died down, and her voice was so hoarse it hurt to speak. It wasn’t funny anymore, and all she was left with was a very wet lap. Her pink shorts had a stain spreading from her lap up the sides of her thighs, and she could feel the wet soil clinging to her butt. The thought that this was all on her, that she was an irresponsible little girl, was almost too much to bear. She could feel her eyes welling up, and turned her face away from Todd. Todd, whom she’d known since kindergarten. Todd, whom she’d had on-and-off crushes on for years, and sometimes she couldn’t really tell if she was in a face where she loved him just as a friend or as something more. He, of all people, should understand. Her heart was pounding. It was getting hard to breathe. Jane didn’t know what to do, and she started breathing even faster to counter her breathlessness. Breathe. Breathe. Don’t cry. Don’t cry! Please don’t cry but give me some air dammit and why is the world suddenly going to end and I’ll die and…

She could see Todd’s concerned look out of the corner of her eye, but it was hard to overpower the feeling of dying, this was it, this was when and where she was going to die, in a puddle of pee, like a little girl.

Suddenly she was in the air, and just as suddenly, she was pressed against a human cage, and all she could hear was heartbeats, some quick and irregular, some steady like a Swiss watch. She tried to fight it, to get away, but instead she was held stronger. ‘Hey,’ said a voice, far away. ‘Hey,’ and the voice seemed to get slightly closer, as one of the two sets of heartbeats slowed down a little bit, and then a third ‘Hey,’ and she felt herself returning to reality, slowly. The feeling of impending doom seemed to dissipate, and she could hear the sounds of the forest again, the chirping of birds, she could smell grass, she could see the leaves waving kindly in the breeze again, and she could feel the wetness between her thighs, the way her shorts now clung tightly and insistently to her body. She was still embarrassed, but once her breaths and her heartbeats approached the normal range, Jane could also feel the upbeat mood that’d had her in such irresistible laughter come bubbling up to the surface again, and when she tasted salt, so silly, that such a taste could bring it all back, but when she tasted salt she felt a smile form on her lips.

Todd had picked her up and placed her wet butt on his lap, and he’d held her even as she fought it, and he’d continued to state soothing monosyllables until she calmed down. She’d never been on his lap before; she’d crushed on him, then become hooked on other boys, or simply forgotten all about boys for a while, then again felt butterflies in her tummy at the sight of him, but she’d never known if he ever felt the same. Although looking back, perhaps they had each been in love, separately, just never quite at the same time.

‘Are you fine now?’ Todd asked casually. His soothing nursery voice was gone, although he still sounded concerned. Jane nodded. ‘I think you just had a panic attack,’ he said. ‘I actually know what it’s like.’

‘You do?’

‘Sure. I get them, sometimes. Or I used to. But then it kind of went away. But you never forget, because it literally feels like you’re going to die, although really you’re just worked up. You can’t die from a panic attack, unless you’re like, ninety-five and have had four heart attacks already.’

‘I’ve never felt like that before.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Todd said. He still hadn’t motioned for her to leave his lap, which she was no doubt staining with her soaked shorts, but she didn’t quite feel like it, either.

‘All right,’ Todd said. ‘You’re safe. So don’t take what I say too seriously. I’m pretty stoned and one time I smoked so much I almost believed in the Illuminati secretly orchestrating 9/11 and the Munich Olympics, for a bit. So I’m not the most reliable source. But will you hear me out?’

She leaned into him slightly. He seemed to take that for a yes.

‘Okay, so you said you couldn’t help it because you’re a girl. Like, girls can’t hold their pee until they’re all grown up, right? That’s what everyone thinks. Biology, like. But I don’t buy it. I think actually mothers and fathers just baby their daughters a bit too much. Society produces diapers for teens and then treats it like it’s a common household commodity, not some specialist stuff for the unfortunate few with medical problems. Schools have diaper pails in girls’ bathrooms. Girls are taught to carry spare underwear until they’re well into their teens. Moms get all… Wait, am I droning on?’ He was, and she was still hurt that he blamed her, that he could be so cold about something so common, but at the same time, she wanted to hear him out.

‘So anyway… Moms get all up in arms if their teenage daughters bring a girlfriend for a sleepover and she doesn’t carry night-time protection. I once saw a mother publicly check on her daughter’s diaper, right there in a store. She must have been thirteen! What the actual fuck is wrong with people?’

Jane wasn’t quite following along. She wanted an answer to a simple question: ‘So you do think it’s my fault.’ Her lap was not getting colder and itchier. She’d have to change soon. But then she’d have to leave Todd’s lap.

‘No, Janey. Yes and no. I think you’re a victim of a society that treats young women like little girls. You can’t be expected to learn what has never been taught to you. I mean, you’ve actively been taught not to learn it. You’ve been taught that it’s expected of you to pee your pants. And for the longest while, you were kept artificially isolated from any worry about needing the bathroom, or the consequences of not making it. It’s actually a wonder girls can make it for number two, the way society is set up.’ Todd had a habit of going on these rants sometimes when they smoked.

Jane punched him in the leg. It was hard enough to elicit a little ‘ow,’ but soft enough to be in the zone where it could still be construed as playful. And she wasn’t sure which it was. ‘You’re fucking surprised I don’t poop myself?!’

‘I’m not judging you, like, at all. I was trying to make a sociological observation, but instead I just hurt you. I’m a jerk and I apologize.’

Jane wasn’t entirely satisfied, but she had to forgive him. He had been kind enough to endure her piss-soaked ass on his crotch for at least a good fifteen minutes now, and he had saved her from what was, or at least felt like a near-death experience.

‘I actually know a girl who sometimes… makes a bit of a mess in her diaper.’

‘Gross.’

‘Agreed. I’m pinky sworn to secrecy though, but anyway I don’t want to get into it. It’s seriously disgusting.’

‘So,’ Todd said. ‘What are we going to do about your current situation?’

Jane knew it must come up eventually. And now her cheeks flushed again, thinking about Todd’s pants all wet with her accident. She began to rise, and he helped her up. What a gentleman. First induce a panic attack in a girl, then hold her and whisper sweet things and let her sit all soaked on his lap, and then help her up like she was a damn princess. Of pee.

‘I don’t have another pair of shorts, but I guess I still have my swimming suit? But that won’t do,’ Jane said. She picked up her purse from the forest floor, carelessly thrown among some bushes. Then she removed a plain white pull-up and held it out for Todd to see. ‘This won’t fit under it. It’ll be all bulky and awkward.’

Todd’s eyes shone with surprise. ‘You’re going to put that thing on again? Haven’t you been out of those for a while?’

Again, Jane’s heart stuttered, but she told herself it was just her mind playing tricks. Hold. Slowly breathe in, breathe out. Then she was fine again. ‘I keep them around and put them on if I… When I have accidents. Like, big ones. I don’t have big ones very often anymore, just a little dribble on occasion. It’s just, I don’t feel safe when it happens, so I wear one for a little until I feel confident again. Just the one, then I’m done.’

Todd shook his head, his long hair waving about. That was one thing she didn’t like about him: his goddamn hairstyle. But he was her best friend, so she never mentioned it. Just like he never mentioned any of her accidents. ‘No, no. I mean. What if you didn’t?’

‘What if I didn’t what?’

‘What if, instead of succumbing to the sensation—and I understand why, I really do—but what if instead of giving in to the sensation of safety, you trusted yourself this time?’

I don’t know if you’re aware, she thought, but it’s pretty hard to trust your ability to hold your pee when you’re standing around in cold, wet underwear. ‘Uh,’ she said. ‘I think I’d be more comfortable if I put it on. Maybe I should just go home. I need a change of clothes, I feel bad already, I wet your lap, I’m so sorry…’

‘Please,’ Todd said. ‘At least stay until you’re sobered up, unless you want to reveal our little extracurricular activity to both our moms. Why don’t we do this. You can borrow a change of clothes from me. I don’t have any pretty panties or skirts, but I probably have some pants that’d fit you and we’ll figure out something about underwear.’ Todd’s house was situated so that his backyard merged at some invisible property line with the forest, and the tree they were secretly smoking weed behind was just a hundred yards from his door. But still. ‘And,’ Todd continued, ‘I promise I’ll help you stay dry. See, you were going to use a passive receptacle as a safety, and here you get a live, sentient being!’ He laughed.

She had to laugh, too. The whole thing was pretty ridiculous, and silly situations are always sillier while high. ‘But how are you going to do that? Are you gonna install a tap on me and twist it shut?’

The light was fading, and it was getting colder. Especially around her middle area, where she could now feel every molecule in the air as it passed through her wetness. ‘No,’ Todd said. ‘I’m going to remind you to go if I think you need it. Right? I know you can hold it a few hours, and we can be careful about liquids. You just went. So unless you start chugging beer right now, you can make it at least a few hours, right?’

He was right. And then, inexplicably, he was right in front of her. Then she felt him touch her wet patch, and she recoiled. If it had been anyone else, she would have yelled, Get your hands off me, you perv! But it wasn’t anyone else. ‘Janey, your wet crotch was pressed against my lap for like, half an hour. If I was gonna cop a feel for the sake of it, I had plenty of opportunity.’

She was confused. Why, then, was he touching her down there? Was this… it? The move he had been waiting to make for however many years they’d been friends? ‘Boy, you’re soaked. We’ll have to run you a bath, don’t you think?’ That did seem nice. ‘Tell me one thing, honestly: do you always feel it when you—how’d you put it—when you dribble a little?’ Jane was a bit taken aback by the question. She did, didn’t she? But thinking back, she couldn’t be quite sure, the times she’d suddenly had to go and leaked a bit, if she’d always known when the first leak came.

‘Well,’ said Todd, ‘just for tonight, because you’re my best girlfriend, even if you’re not my girlfriend-girlfriend, I’m going to check on you. To help you feel safe and stay dry.’

‘What? No. I’m going home. You’re not going to be touching my private parts anytime you feel like it just because I had an accident. I’m gonna—I’m gonna put on the pull-up and go home and I don’t give a fuck if both our moms find out we smoke weed, I mean who cares, half the school does anyway. I’m going. I’m…’ She was out of breath. And confused. Mostly she was tired of being wet and wanted to resolve the matter as swiftly as possible, but she was also angry, and embarrassed, and confused because she couldn’t deny that on some level it had felt sort of nice, maybe, when Todd held her, and even when he touched her down there, although it wasn’t like she was turned on or anything. Was she?

‘Janey, tell me, didn’t it feel good when I held you? Didn’t you feel safe?’

‘This… This is just like that girl in the store you told me about! You said it was ridiculous and society was mad that her mom would check on her like that, and she was much younger than me! What you’re suggesting is, like, twice as fucked up!’

But then again, she couldn’t deny that there was something about wearing protection that felt nice. She didn’t like it, and couldn’t wait until she finally outgrew it for good, but at the same time, she was loaded down with school, with soon leaving her home town for university, with not knowing which romantic prospects to pursue, with her parents’ expectations… And on top of that, she had to accustom herself to always being aware of the state of her bladder, of being more cautious, of not having a safety net to fall back on if she cut it too close. And the protection gave her a sense of security and innocence she missed. And just maybe, for one night, an actual person could give her that same feeling. Like a short vacation from adult responsibilities. Well, just one of them.

‘Jane, Jane… I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re in a vulnerable spot. I’ll leave you to deal with it your own way. Sorry for being so forward.’

Hearing him say that made up her mind. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, it’s okay. But only for tonight, okay? And only in private. Don’t be getting any ideas that it’s okay for you to go around touching me all the time.’ Todd smiled. Was he into her or was he just trying, in his odd way, to be a good friend? ‘If I’m staying the night, there’s only one problem.’

‘Relax, my parents and yours know we’ve been friends forever. None of them will mind, but if it’d been a different girl maybe…’

‘No, I mean, I didn’t bring my night protection.’

‘You still wear to bed? Well, it’s okay. I’ll make sure you stay dry all night.’

‘I never do… Well, recently maybe. But it happens quite often.’

‘Trust me. And if something should happen, I’ll get rid of the evidence. Hell, I’ll even take the blame myself. Say I raided my parents’ liquor cabinet, got shitfaced and pissed the bed.’

‘You ever do that?’

‘Raid the liquor cabinet? Did once. Refilled the bottles with water. Piss the bed? Not since I can remember.’

Now she was really cold. She never stayed wet this long. Well, one time on a road trip. But she really wanted to get clean. As if nothing could have been more natural—and it really wasn’t, because they never did—their hands found each others’, and they headed together back to Todd’s house. Both in wet pants, although hers certainly wetter than his.

Todd expertly smuggled her into the bathroom unseen by parents or siblings. There he left her alone with some sweatpants and a pair of his boxers that he said he’d outgrown, which would have to do, she guessed. Getting out of her wet clothes and into hot water was heavenly. Once she was all dried off, she took one longing look at the pull-up in her purse, then decided to double down and get on with it.

Todd brought them some lasagna his mom had made, and they ate it in his room. Jane always had to smile a little when she was in Todd’s room. It was like a microcosm of what he was, and all he’d ever been. Almost every inch of wall space was covered in posters, ranging from comic book characters he’d long outgrown to Jimi Hendrix and half-naked ladies ripped from the middle of Playboy, probably. She didn’t get why he never removed anything, just plastered something on top of something else, like his walls were a palimpsest of his childhood and adolescence, but then again Todd was a bit of a messy person. His clothes were not in his closet, but littered about the room. And this boy-man was who she’d trusted to keep her dry through the night. His pleasant company was all that kept her from running away. She never understood quite why he wasn’t more popular with the ladies, but perhaps his long hair and messiness was part of it. At least he smelled nice, even though his room was leaning towards the hobo side of the scale.

They sat for some time playing cards and sipping lemonade. Then Todd put on a DVD, some action film, and naturally they gravitated towards each other. Todd had no couch in his room, so they sat in his bed. At times, she tested leaning her head on his shoulder, just to see what it felt like. It felt nice. He didn’t seem to mind. She let herself sit like that and just forget all about her accident and their agreement and even their so-called platonic relationship. Now the weed had worn off too, but she still felt hazy, for different reasons. The movie went on, bad guys got shot, good guys got shot—there was a lot of shooting and explosions, which Todd no doubt enjoyed more than she did. They didn’t say much, but the silence spoke for them.

As the movie ended, she felt his hand on her thigh. He left it there for a moment, and then he said: ‘Janey, I’m going to do what we agreed I was going to do. Okay?’

‘It’s not that it’s not okay, it’s just I’m not…’ His hand moved up to her waistband, and down her pants, and before she could finish her sentence, she felt his fingers grace her labia through her panties. That moment lasted. He didn’t grope, he simply touched, but it was an enjoyable touch. And then… She felt something.

‘Janey, honey—’ when did he start using that word with her, anyway—‘are you positive you don’t need to pee?’

As he pressed a bit harder, still gentle and nice, she felt that she was a little bit wet. Just a tiny bit. But she didn’t feel like she had to pee. Had she really leaked without even noticing? Was it even pee? But if it wasn’t, she certainly couldn’t tell Todd that. But then again having leaked without knowing was also embarrassing. She blushed, and he seemed to take it as an admission of guilt. ‘Maybe you should go, just to be sure?’ He suggested. She got up and walked over to the bathroom—where, she noticed, Todd had at some point thrown her drenched clothes into the washer, disguised among some other random stuff, mostly Todd’s tennis socks—and sat on the toilet. She peed a bit more than she thought she would, but she was still sure it hadn’t been an emergency. She rarely went from one to one hundred on the scale in the blink of an eye. It was more like she had to pee a little bit, forgot, and then she had to pee a lot. But now she hadn’t even noticed, which meant… Possibly something else.

She returned to Todd’s bed, and he gave her a patronizing pat on the back—she shot him an angry look in return—and then they just sat down again, she again leaning on him on the bed, and talked for a good while. About all sorts of things, none of them pee related. Eventually, Jane’s eyelids grew heavy, and Todd suggested they go to sleep. Before that, though, he made sure she went to the bathroom once more, where, once more, she produced a mere trickle.

‘Good night,’ she said, settling under the covers. There was no question they’d share the bed. ‘Night,’ he said, and shut off the light. They fell asleep spooning.

Jane’s dreams never made any sense. There was a raven, a garden, a joint, a waterfall, a lighthouse, someone who looked like her little sister Hannah, a tiny tropical island surrounded by open sea… She woke with a jolt. Todd was shaking her. ‘Jane, Jane, wake up!’ She sat up and good god, she had to pee. She really had to pee. Todd’s boxers around her waist had already received a little trickle, and she felt so, so heavy.

‘Please help me out of bed,’ Jane managed. Todd took her hand and helped her out. She had to pee. Todd led her ‘round the bed. She had to pee. It was like every thought in her head was interrupted by the sensation of muscles pushing at her bladder, and other, weaker muscles pushing against the impending flood. Each step sent a jolt to her bladder and a chill up her spine. Todd continued leading her by the end, edging her along when all she wanted was to double over, cross her legs and clench at her crotch with all her might. It must be the middle of the night, judging by the darkness outside, and anyway she was too desperate to care if someone in the hallway saw her in her underwear, just a bra and boys’ underpants.

The bathroom was at the end of the hall. Just one more step. Spasm. She felt a little leak. Todd edged her on. He let go of her hand to open the bathroom door for her, and she took the opportunity to bend over and hold herself. Opening a door doesn’t take long, however, and she was once again ushered along by Todd. He’d taken it upon himself to keep her dry for the night, and he took that responsibility seriously, although at this point the pain was so strong Jane just wanted to give up. If she was padded she’d have given up as soon as she woke up. But she was going to make it. Todd took her hand again and led her over the doorstep, and then she took another step, and fought off a spasm, and could almost smell victory. The toilet was a mere two steps away. Then, without warning, she burst. Holding Todd’s hand still, she felt a jet of heat spurt into her boxers, and then another, and then a continuous stream of pee down her legs. She was defeated. She was wetting herself. Her second accident of the day. She was wetting, and then it was over.

She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. Jane just didn’t know what to say to Todd. She noticed his feet were in her puddle. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I wet the bed. But wasn’t that what I said was going to happen?’

‘No,’ said Todd. ‘I’m sorry. I should have—I don’t know—I should have kept my end of the promise, somehow. But you didn’t wet the bed. All right? Not a spot on the sheets. You. Did. Not. Wet. The. Bed. Agreed?’

Standing there in soaked pants for the second time today, it seemed like a cheap technicality. What did it matter? Arguably it was worse to wet while awake. But still. If she had been padded, and Todd hadn’t been there, she would never have woken up until morning, she wouldn’t even have attempted to make it, she wouldn’t have come even close, and she would have woken up cold and clammy.

‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ said Todd, and started running the bath.

‘Sorry you had to stand in my pee. You should clean up yourself first.’ For some reason, despite her embarrassment, Jane felt a degree of excitement. Without overthinking it, she began undressing in front of Todd. Todd, for his part, scampered to lock the door, wearing a ‘what the hell are you doing’ look on his face. Jane dropped her bra, then her wet boxers, and got in the bath. She shot him an expectant look.

Todd undressed and joined her.

Re: Developmental Biology

This is certainly an interesting premise, and I’ve been enjoying it. I look forward to seeing where this goes.

Re: Developmental Biology

2014.

Sarah lounged in bed. She was sharing it with her cousin, Hannah, who was four years older than her. But a lithe twelve-year-old knows how to hog space. Where Hannah was not, Sarah was, so Hannah had to move, freeing even more space for Sarah, which she had no intentions of giving up. By now, Hannah was on the edge of the bed, about to fall over, and Sarah took pity on her. It was still early morning, and her cousin was still asleep. Sarah’s sister had pulled seniority and occupied the single-bed, so she and Hannah had to share not quite a double. Besides, her sister had insisted not to wear any protection to bed, unlike her sister and cousin. That was fine with Sarah: she didn’t want to find herself on the bed end of someone else’s accident.

Beside Sarah, Hannah shifted uncomfortably, crinkling slightly under the sheets. Sarah needed to pee, as well. She felt a pressure building, but she could never tell just how urgent it was. Instead, she focused on the warm sunrise through the curtains, on how wonderful it was to feel those first rays on her belly when she raised the cover and got into just the right position. Sarah was quite the contortionist: in a different life, she might have been a circus performer.

The wedding was the big thing in Sarah’s mind. She’d never been to one, but in her imagination it was like a ball dance out of a fairytale, every woman dressed in extravagant, beautiful dresses, and every man in tailor-made suits, while music so old and so boring that it could only be played at a fairytale wedding served as background accompaniment, and everyone danced. Sarah stretched out as far as the bed allowed her to imitate a kind of horizontal ballerina stance. As she did, her damp padding crinkled, and when she went to change pose—a sort of hypnagogic imitation of ballroom—she felt the pressure in her abdomen mount, and then she was beginning to get wet down there. The pee filled the seat of her diaper, pushed up against the leak guards, pooled all the way up her butt crack, and in her current outstretched pose she was threatening to leak on the bed, but it didn’t matter to Sarah. She fell back against the bed, blissfully considering whether she should wear ribbons in her hair for the ceremony. The accident continued to puff up her diaper until she had to part her legs. It felt heavy, but she could simply lay there until morning and then change. The warmth around her bum was just another layer of coziness between the soft sheets and her body, and above that, the duvet and the sun through the curtains. Sarah closed her eyes and hoped to dream of the prince that would sweep her off her feet at the wedding dance.

Her bliss was broken by a sharp knock on the door. ‘Hannah, you awake? Get up, I have a busy schedule planned for us!’ Lucy appeared in the doorway with a bright smile on her lips. ‘This is no time for heavy sleepers! Oh, morning, Sarah,’ she added as an afterthought. Hannah stirred beside Sarah, and when she attempted to sit up, she nearly toppled over the edge. Sarah caught her by the arm, and together with Lucy, they managed to get the sleep-monster upright and out from under the covers. Hannah stood only in a white nightshirt and her equally bright night diaper hugging her hips. Sarah had to admire her: last time they met, Hannah had seemed a bit uptight, conservative, but there was nothing conservative about the arced back and padded butt she was facing now.Next wedding, that’s going to be me, Sarah decided.

‘Is it morning already?’ Hannah spoke shoftly, shifting her weight from toe to toe.

‘You bet it is, and what a morning! Come along. I promised I’d make you sexy for the wedding and I keep my word!’ Lucy led Hannah by the arm.

Sarah jumped out of bed, and immediately felt a chill up her spine as she transitioned from the warm covers to the cold room. ‘What about me? Can I come along too? I need a change.’

‘Ask mom and dad,’ Sarah responded. Lucy led Hannah out in the hall, and Sarah trailed along behind. She could see from behind that Hannah clearly was uncomfortable. The way she walked, legs tightly together, and the uncertainty in her step belied what happens to a girl during a long sleep.

‘I, uh, kinda need the toilet first,’ Hannah said.

‘Then you better bring these,’ Lucy said, handing over something black. Sarah caught up to them to see what it was: a black pair of low-rise panties, covered in sparkly velvet, and when Hannah turned it around, Sarah could see the back was cut-out with a mesh bow that would reveal half someone’s ass. Good thing it was underwear. But since when did Hannah wear panties?

Sarah hurried past them, already feeling a little more pressure in her abdomen. Her naked feet made soft noises along the hallway—her padding a heavy pendulum between her legs—in search of her parents’ bedroom. She knocked, and when no one answered, she entered. Her mother was already out of bed, preoccupied by something, while her step-father appeared to be asleep. ‘Mom, I need a change,’ Sarah said.

‘Can’t it wait a little longer? I’m sorry, honey, mom’s kind of in the middle of something here.’ Sarah couldn’t see what this something was behind her mother’s back.

‘I need to go again,’ Sarah pleaded.

‘Then go, and I promise we’ll get it sorted in five minutes,’ her mother replied.

But the odd pressure in Sarah’s belly felt different. ‘I don’t think it’s pee, mom,’ she said. This brought her mother’s attention. ‘Oh, honey,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to have a mishap. Let me see what I can do.’ Her mother rummaged through her things, which were strewn all around the room, and finally located Sarah’s diaper bag. ‘There you go, honey. You can change in the en-suite bathroom.’ Sarah accepted the bag and, pressure mounting, made it to the bathroom. She quickly undid the tapes of her soggy diaper, which fell to the floor between her feet with a thud, and did her business in the toilet. There was no diaper pail, she noticed, so she resorted to dropping the balled-up diaper in the regular trash and hoped that would suffice. ‘It’s going to be a long day, make sure you don’t take those skimpy things you wear to school,’ her mother admonished. So Sarah found some padding a little lighter than her night-time protection, a little heavier than her slim pullups. She always found it easier to change while laying down, so she found a towel and laid it on the floor. But the floor was ice cold. ‘Mom, may I please change on the bed?’ Through the door, she heard a sigh.

‘All right, come on out.’

Sarah shyly emerged from the bathroom, hiding her privates with the towel. ‘Turn around,’ she ordered her mother, who complied. Her step-father had apparently gotten up and gone somewhere else, so the two of them were alone in the room. Sarah laid down on the towel, applied some lotion, then adjusted her protection beneath her butt. Once the tapes were more or less fastened, her mother turned around again and helped her adjust the tapes. There! Once that business was taken care of, Sarah was free again to think about the big event of the day: the wedding!


Lucy followed Hannah into the bathroom before she could even get the door shut. ‘What do you think?’ Lucy asked, expectantly eyeing Hannah, who was holding the sexiest pair of panties she’d ever seen.

‘Where did you even get this?’

‘I got them for myself. I’m giving them to you. It’s about time you owned something that’d wow any man who snuck a peek beneath your dress. Just make sure to keep them dry.’

Hannah undid her night-time diaper, which had stayed dry until now, and threw it at Lucy’s face. ‘I seem to recall someone else who couldn’t keep her panties dry on the way down here.’ As she said it, she started releasing her morning pee into the toilet. It went on, and on.

‘God, please don’t remind me,’ Lucy said, blushing. ‘That guy with the camper looked at me like I was six. If you weren’t there, I would have died of embarrassment.’ After Lucy’s accident, the their friendship seemed to have matured from a few hours to years. That kind of intense vulnerability tends to do that to a relationship: either it separates you to opposite ends of the world, or it brings you close enough to embrace. Lucy was still the older, more mature one, trying to bring Hannah into the world of adulthood, but the two were now, in a sense, equals. Hannah’s diapers were no longer an insurmountable obstacle between the two.

‘So am I really doing this?’ Hannah asked. ‘Just going in this?’

‘I’m with you. Put it on, let me see.’ Hannah obliged. She would normally be apprehensive about getting undressed like this—not like at the gym showers, but only the two of them—but their shared experience had blasted through most of her modesty. Hannah stepped into the panties and pulled them up to her hips, before letting her nightshirt fall, exposing her breasts.

‘Holy shit,’ Lucy said. ‘You’re definitely going like this. Your big sister’s got nothing on you. Now, have you showered? No? Go do that and meet me in my room. I’ve arranged for someone to do your hair, but we’ve got to get going.’


Already showered, Lucy sat on the edge of her bed, waiting. In her hands was a Goodnite for Girls 16-18 that she’d been denying herself lately. She was trying to keep the facade up: she was the easy-going university student who was past potty training. But her accident on the drive down there had been so sudden and so embarrassing that she’d begun to doubt her ability to stay dry. This was going to be a long day, and an important one. She couldnotrisk another incident. Could she just put one on before church, and then slip into some lingerie for the party after? Lucy hadn’t worn padding in the day for years, and it had been months since the last time she wore to bed (her friend had insisted, as they were both drunk, and she was right).

Just then there was a knock on the door, and Sarah peeked in the doorway. Luckily, Sarah was shy enough that by the time she could see everything, Lucy had hidden the pull-up. ‘Lucy, can I come in?’ Her sister was still clad in her nightclothes: she had put on a pair of pyjama pants over the diaper, but the waistband was clearly visible. Lucy really didn’t have time for this. She and Hannah had a busy schedule. She couldn’t be expected to babysit her twelve-year-old sister all day.Isn’t that what parents are for? But then again, I was kind of cold to her this morning. I know she really wanted to go with us on the trip down here and I just let her sit there too shy to say anything.Lucy patted the bed beside her. ‘What up, sis?’ Her tone was too gangsta to convey the proper amount of concern. Clearly something was on Sarah’s mind.

Sarah bent her head down and wouldn’t meet Lucy’s eyes. ‘It’s just, I’m scared,’ she said.

‘Scared of what?’

‘There’s going to be so many people I don’t know and I don’t know how to behave… This morning I woke up thinking about fairytale weddings and how wonderful it was going to be, but then I realized those are just fantasies.’ Sarah laid her head to rest on Lucy’s shoulder.

‘Don’t be silly, Sarah. Look at me.’ Sarah had moist eyes. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you. We’re here to celebrate Jane, right? All that’s going to happen is we’ll go to church and the priest will say a few words, and then the bride and groom will kiss, and then there’ll be a party. It’s going to be so much fun! You get to wear your prettiest dress, and everyone’s happy, and if you run out of things to say you can always say how beautiful the bride is.’ Sarah’s shy smile graced her lips again.

‘But—it’s kind of a dumb question—but will there be changing rooms there? There was nowhere to dispose of girls’ protection in mom and dad’s room.’ The last word stung a bit: Lucy and Sarah’s father died young, and their mother quickly remarried. Lucy loved the guy like a father, he’d raised her as his daughter, but she still couldn’t bring herself to call him by anything but his given name. Lucy was young enough for him to be dad, not Raymond. Now it was time Sarah got rid of some of that innocence. She was about to be a teenager.

‘Sure, sweetheart, there’ll be changing rooms. Are you wet right now?’

Sarah held her hands in her lap. ‘I just went not too long ago,’ she said.

‘Well, I think it’s time you learned how to change yourself. I know you do, but you’re always messing with the tapes and that’s why you keep leaking.’ Sarah blushed. ‘You’ll be in panties in no time. In the meantime, let me show you how to do it properly.’ Lucy led the way to her bathroom—this stinking motel only had en-suite bathrooms for half of their rooms—and as she crossed over the doorstep, Sarah grabbed her hand.

‘This really isn’t necessary. I mean, thanks for helping me, but I know how to do this. I don’t run to mommy every time I need a change.’ Lucy had already laid a towel over the tiled floor.

‘I know. But lay down, please. I promise it’ll feel better afterwards.’ Lucy had changed her sister many times. One thing was sure: she was never working in a kindergarten or primary school. She couldn’t stand being around pee. But this was a lesson in self-sufficiently. Sarah did as she was told, and without prompting undid her pants. The wetness indicator on her diaper had only reached about one-fifth of the way to the max, but she was definitely not dry. ‘Don’t be shy, sis, I’ve been changing you since beforeIwas out of diapers. You haven’t got anything down there I haven’t.’ Lucy instructed her sister on how to remove the diaper and ball it up safely, without getting any bodily fluids on your hands, and then she demonstrated how to correctly place the fresh padding against her body and how to apply powder. Finally, she fastened the tapes one by one, holding up a mirror for Sarah to see just how it was done. ‘Have you showered yet?’ Sarah inquired. The younger girl shook her head. ‘Great! If you’re quick about it, you can get another go at changing yourselfthe proper way, like I taught you, and then you can tag along with me and Hannah as we get pretty for the wedding.’

Why did she invite Sarah along? She was always such a drag. But the genuine smile on her face when Lucy said those words must be part of it. Sarah had two defining qualities: her shyness and her dog-like loyalty. Both made her submissive in a way that Lucy definitely wasn’t. Sarah was either too shy or too loyal to speak up against authority, quite unlike Lucy. But the two were sisters after all, and their shared bloodline meant they had a lot in common. Like that genuine smile, seldom seen in Lucy, more often in Sarah, which cut through sarcasm like a knife through butter. In a different life, the two sisters could have been best friends.

As soon as Sarah locked the bathroom door, Lucy slipped on the pullup under a pair of jeans. And not a moment too soon: as the showerhead went on, Hannah emerged in the doorway. ‘Just a moment, cuz, we’re getting company,’ Lucy said.


Who knew doing your hair and makeup could take so long? Perhaps that was the ugly backside ofsexy. Hannah, Sarah and Lucy piled in and headed down to the only hair salon in town that was open this early. Lucy had already booked a full makeover for Hannah, which was a little more than she’d asked for. She did feel a hint of pride when some lady who apparently owned a clothing store nearby took her measurements, hips unhindered by diapers. The woman gave a smile when she glimpsed Hannah’s panties. 'You go get ‘em, girl,’ her look seemed to say, as she calculated what could be done to Hannah’s dress that would both improve it and be done by noon.

‘Needs more cleavage,’ Lucy said playfully. ‘Seriously, your boobs make me jealous and you go around covering them up.’ Sarah sat on a chair, saying very little. She was short enough to dangle her feet off the edge. ‘Come on Sarah, I’m sure we can fit a little trim of your locks into our timetable here,’ Lucy said. Sarah had medium-short auburn hair, to match her eyes, with bangs that fell past her eyes.

‘We definitely need to be able to see those charming eyes of yours,’ the clothing store owner commented.

For Hannah, the problem was of a different kind. She and Lucy had grabbed coffees on the way out, while Sarah got a can of soda. After all the measurements were done, Hannah was now stuck in a chair for god knows how long, and already she felt the presence of her bladder. To make matters worse, she was sweating so much the hairdresser decided to douse her in perfume. This, of course, necessitated further refreshments. So Hannah sat there like a doll, a team of competent women making her into a princess for the ball, and she was getting increasingly restless. At this time she’d usually be going in her padding, but not today. She couldn’t let down Lucy. The panties were a gift, and it would be a shame if she wet them.

Lucy seemed restless as well. She kept glancing at the clock, in-between sips of tea. This beauty salon really knew how to make green tea. When Sarah grew restless, Lucy gave her some pocket change and sent her across the street for ice cream. It was going to be a long, hot day. And the ceremony started at noon, which meant they were in a hurry if they wanted to get done in time. Hannah hadn’t even seen her sister in months, and now she’d have no time to wish her luck before she was striding down the aisle. She didn’t really know the groom, either.Fidget. ‘Please sit still, or I’ll end up giving you an accidental acupuncture.’ Jane, her sister, spoke really well of him, though.Squirm. He must be a good guy. ‘Please don’t cross your legs, miss, it makes it hard for me to get at the right spots.’ Lucy looked at the watch again and mouthed a silent ‘hurry up!’ to Hannah.

There was nothing Hannah wanted more than for this whole thing to be over with. But Hannah had never gone to a stylish hair salon before. Apparently things took time. The stylist was putting stripes in Hannah’s hair, and while she sat waiting for it to set in, she had trouble sitting still. In Hannah’s experience, the morning pee was the one that broke the seal. More than once, she’d peed upon waking and been desperate again half an hour later.

When the stylist washed Hannah’s hair, Hannah had to put a hand in her lap. Meanwhile, Sarah and even Lucy were getting fidgety. They didn’t have much time before the reception, and they still all had to get their makeup done and dresses on.


‘Annie, do we really have to go through with this again?’ Robert was a reasonable man. He’d picked a reasonable-priced, reasonably fashionable suit to wear to his daughter’s wedding. Certainly, seeing your daughter get married to a good man must be one of the highlights of a man’s life. Although he would never admit it to his wife, inwardly, he might be even more excited about his daughter’s wedding than he was at his own. To see your own offspring take her first steps into adult life; it lies in a man’s nature to derive satisfaction from having produced a living, breathing thing, to have raised this precious little thing into such a great young woman. She’d continue his evolutionary line, perhaps—perhaps that was the primal reason behind his satisfaction.

But Robert was concerned about his youngest daughter. His boys were fine, but Hannah might be lagging behind. The way he and Annie treated her wasn’t right. She was old enough to take her own first steps into adult life.And that starts with her underwear. It’s not our business anymore: she’s sixteen, for god’s sake.His wife, however, wasn’t having it.

‘Do this again? You mean the padding?’

‘Just come right out and say it.’ Robert adjusted his tie. As he looked at his wife through the mirror, he sighed. ‘We’re making our sixteen-year-old daughter wear diapers to a wedding. It’s ridiculous.’

‘Oh, don’t start with that,’ Annie said. ‘You know it’s a common problem for girls her age.’

‘No,’ Robert said. ‘I’m sure her peers are all into panties by now, or at least trying. We’re going to a venue where there’s going to be plenty of opportunities for her to relieve herself.’

Annie took a long look at her husband. She had on a conservative, stylish beige dress, her makeup was done, and it didn’t look like she was ready to have this conversation right now.But it’s a necessary one. I raised one daughter well: I don’t want to do my other daughter an injustice.

‘Robert,’ Annie said. ‘Remember that morning, oh, maybe three months ago?’

He didn’t. Usually he grabbed a quick breakfast while skimming today’s newspaper, then he was out the door.

‘Well, let me refresh it for you. Hannah walks into the kitchen. I was making pancakes for breakfast. You were probably too busy with the Wall Street Journal to notice anything, as usual. Or were you thinking about that hot new secretary of yours?’

That again? Woman, we’ve been together long enough for you to trust me. I’ve earned that trust.Never once had Robert been unfaithful. ‘No, Annie, please don’t start with that again. She’s just my assistant, nothing more.’

‘Well, anyway, Hannah sits down at the table. I hand her a plate of pancakes and ask her how her sleep went. ‘I’m dry, mom, just like last night,’ she says. So she starts eating, and I’m not paying attention. She’s still in her pyjamas. When I turn back around, I see she’s got a wet spot on her crotch. She didn’t even notice until I pointed it out. Robert, if she can’t keep dry inside her own house, fifteen steps from the toilet, it’s for her own damn good that she wears to the wedding. I don’t want her to embarrass herself in front of the whole family. This is Jane’s big day. Let’s not make it about Hannah.’

This wasn’t a fight Robert could win. And neither did he have time to finish it. ‘I still think it’s wrong,’ he said. ‘But we don’t have time to finish it right now. Let’s go pick up the boys, and hope their aunt has them all dressed up and ready to go.’


Jane had her wedding dress on, she had her makeup, she was ready to go. Her maid of honor, her best friend, Julie, had made sure of it. The last few days had been a rush. She’d hardly had any time to consider the implication of what was about to happen.Till death do us apart. She’d been so excited ever since the engagement, but now, when it came to it, she was having second thoughts. Gabe was a great guy, no doubt, but was he the man in her life, forever? She couldn’t stop thinking about how things ended with Todd. He’d be present at the wedding too, of course. Her lifelong friend. But how would he handle seeing her wed to another man? And how would she handle it? She still remembered their days together fondly. Todd had been so lovely. He’d been her first sexual experience. He’d been the one who encouraged her to get into panties for good. He’d helped her move. He’d always been there for her, and never demanded anything unreasonable in return.

Could she say the same about Gabe? Their courtship had been quick, love almost at first sight. But things had been moving so fast, and now Jane was feeling a delayed vertigo.

‘Time to saddle up and go, or you’re gonna miss your own wedding,’ Julie said.

Love triangles notwithstanding, Jane had a more immediate problem.How the hell am I gonna pee in this stupid dress? It looks gorgeous, but the woman who designed it must have been thinking about camels, because this is gonna be a struggle to get out of.


Hannah, Lucy, and Sarah had finally gotten ready, and were now en route to church. Hannah had to hand it to Lucy: the makeover she’d arranged and paid for had done wonders. She looked like a princess. If she were wearing a wedding dress, she might even outshine the bride. ‘You’re gonna get lots of boy attention,’ Lucy had said. ‘Just remember it’s always okay to say no.’

Hannah twisted her legs. There had been no time for the bathroom once the stylist was done. Now she’d have to endure an hour-long ceremony, and possibly a half-hour of photos and then another half-hour of a drive to the party venue before she could reasonably sneak away for a quick pee.

Sarah had her hands in her lap. ‘Sis, put your hands away,’ Lucy said.

‘I can’t,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m gonna go.’

‘Then you’ll just have to hold it.’

Sarah’s cheeks flushed. She removed her hands from her lap and closed her eyes. For a moment, her expression said nothing at all. It was as if she was in a different world. ‘I went,’ she said finally.

‘God,’ Lucy said. ‘All right, hold on then and we’ll get you changed after the ceremony.’

They were late, and folks were already piling into the church. Lucy and Hannah headed for the front row, their place as maids. Soon enough, the groom, Gabe, appeared, in a dark, tailor-fitted suit. Hannah could certainly see what had attracted Jane. Gabe had handsome features: high cheekbones, a stocky body with little hint of excess fat. He fit his suit well and carried himself like a man who knows he’s worth something.

After the groom came Julie, Jane’s maid of honor, in her own pretty dress.God, let’s get started, I gotta go. Then, finally, the organist started playing, and Hannah’s father emerged, leading his daughter to the altar. Hannah followed her sister’s eyes, and when Robert handed her over to her groom, she detected a glimmer of doubt.Surely that’s just a mirage. I know they love each other.

The ceremony proceeded too slowly for Hannah’s liking. She was holding a bouquet of flowers, so she couldn’t use her hands to relieve her need. Instead, she had to stand with her feet planted well together, trying to hold on. Finally, it became time for the bride and groom to kiss, and it was all over. Jane and Gabe were now a married couple. The procession proceeded back down the aisle, Hannah now on very unsteady feet, still holding the flowers, and even Lucy appeared to be jumpy. Hannah knew from their road trip together that even she, at eighteen, didn’t have an unending well of a bladder.

Outside, a photographer lined up some family shots in the garden adjoining the church. First he arranged the bride’s family together. Hannah joined her brothers, her mom, her dad and Jane by a large oak tree. At this point, she was desperate.Please, let me hold it a little longer. I don’t want to make a mess out my new panties. But the photography seemed to last forever. The photographer was apparently a friend of the groom’s, and though he had the equipment, he didn’t seem to be too well acquainted with how to use it. It took him five whole minutes just to get the tripod set up. Then there were endless pictures. This guy seemed to take the shotgun approach to photography: shoot a thousand photos and then hope to find a gem somewhere in there. Jane smiled prettily, and Hannah attempted to do so as well, although her mind was firmly set on her bladder. By the time the whole, new family, Gabe’s and Jane’s, were to be photographed together, Hannah was fighting constant contractions.Please be over. Please just let me last five minutes more, then I’ll run to the church and pee, whether it looks silly or not. As the photographer finished up, a massive contraction wracked Hannah. She almost doubled over, but managed to right herself up. The effort cost her: she felt a few drops leak into her underwear.

Finally. The photography was over. The photographer was directing the bride and groom a little further into the garden for some official wedding shots of just them together. Hannah ran for the church. Along the way, she lost a short spurt.Please let me just make it inside.


Lucy was wet. She could no longer deny it. She hadn’t worn a pull-up in years, but it had proven a wise decision. On the way down the aisle after the ceremony, she’d started losing it. As she put on her most charming smile for the photographer, she began slipping up, bit by bit, until her padding had swelled to a double size. She’d almost emptied her entire bladder, and the flimsy padding was threatening to leak. Now she had to find some way to get rid of the evidence and slip on the panties she’d chosen for the party.

Lucy chose a route through the garden she thought would be discreet. She was just gonna pop into the church real quick and change, and then they’d be on their way to the party, with all the speeches, the food, the drink and the dance. There was nothing suspicious about a bathroom break, she supposed, but she felt ashamed to be wearing at her age. The night she woke up with a little spot on her underwear at university was still fresh in her mind. And then, of course, there was the road trip.Why didn’t I listen to Hannah? We could have made a quick stop and I wouldn’t have embarrassed myself.The look the camper dude gave her as she walked into the rest stop toilet in dripping jeans, Hannah brandishing a white, dry diaper, must be on her top three list of the most embarrassing momens in her life.He must have thought Hannah was going to diaper me. He must have thought I was just a little girl still, still struggling to learn how to control basic bodily functions.Was she still a little girl?

Preoccupied as she was, Lucy almost crashed into Hannah as they both attempted to enter the church’s one toilet. Hannah looked just as miserable as Lucy. Hannah leaned in close to Lucy and whispered: 'I’m sorry, I didn’t make it. The panties you gave me are gonna be ruined.'As if my own problems weren’t enough. Nothing was showing on Hannah’s dress, though.

‘Is it bad?’ Lucy whispered back.

‘About to be,’ Hannah said.

‘Well, then, run in quick and finish up, then we’ll take a look at it. But be quick, I have to pee too.’ The last part wasn’t entirely true. Lucy had already peed, and now she was just hoping her padding would hold up. Hannah darted into the bathroom, and after a good five minutes, she knocked on the door.

‘Can you come in?’

Lucy entered and locked the door. Hannah was standing by the sink, pantyhose and panties in her hands. ‘Let me have a look,’ Lucy said. The panties were definitely wet. There was a spot in the middle, and a bit of the back was damp as well. ‘I think we can salvage this,’ Lucy said.Let’s just solve her problem quick, so I can get to mine,Lucy thought, eyeing the diaper pail in the corner. She held the panties over the hand dryer for a minute, and by then, they were noticeable less damp. Unless you looked at them in just the right light, you’d never notice someone’d had an accident in them. Lucy opened her purse, careful not to show off the panties she’d stashed, and found a little bottle of perfume. ‘Here,’ she said, handing the perfume to Hannah. ‘Just give them a tiny dash to hide the smell, and I think you can wear them to the party. Just don’t overdo it, you don’t want guys to be sniffing your crotch like dogs all night.’ She had to laugh at the thought. Hannah was a pretty girl, once she’d gotten rid of her parents’ conservative wardrobe, and she could just imagine all the men at the reception cornering her like a pack of dogs. Lucy turned her back and let Hannah put on her underwear. When she turned back around, Hannah had a big smile on her face.

‘It feels like nothing happened at all! Thank you so much!’ Lucy was overwhelmed by Hannah’s hug, and then she was out.Finally. Now let’s get rid of my dirty undies and put on the real ones.

After she was done changing, another thought occurred to her:What about Sarah? Is she carrying any spares in her purse?The purse Lucy had taught her to wear anywhere she went. It was about time.


1987, fall.

The room was dark. Annie could barely make out anything until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She lay in a small room, bunched together with another man. Robert. They’d been eyeing one another for a while, but this was the first time they’d ended up in bed together, after an evening of drinks. Annie could just about make out a poster hanging opposite the wall. Some band she didn’t know.Roxette. Her senses reoriented from sleep, she became aware that her side of the bed was cold. Then she became aware of something else. She was wet. Not flood-like wet, but there was definitely a spot beneath her butt that should have been dry.

What would Robert say? Would this be the end of them? She really liked him. She could see them going places. Not as far as holy matrimony, exactly, but she was very keen on another date. Had her drinking the night before undid all the rapport and sexual tension they’d built up? Robert stirred alongside her. Then he opened his eyes and sat up against the bedrest. ‘Morning, sweetie,’ he said. Robert still had that charming bedroom voice of his, the one he hadn’t revealed until the clothes came off. The one that had turned her so much on the night before. Annie was sweating. Her heart was thumping. Had her little accident spilled over to his side?Oh god, is he sitting in my pee right now and just wondering how he’s gonna throw me out?If not, how could she break it to him? Obviously he’d find out. But Annie was worried about what came after. How could he love her after this?

Robert seemed to sense something was up. ‘Annie, what is it? Didn’t you enjoy it last night?’

Annie cast her eyes downwards. ‘Robert, I did, really. But… there’s something I have to tell you.’

Robert leaned over. His expression seemed to change. His love eyes were gone.Oh god, now he’s definitely sitting in my pee. He must be so disgusted. ‘Annie, what did you want to tell me?’

This was it. There was no way to put it off any longer. This might be the defining, the ending moment of their budding relationship. ‘Robert, I… I wet the bed.’

Robert jumped out of bed and walked over to her side. ‘Oh, Annie,’ he said. ‘Is it bad?’

Annie wanted to disappear into a hole and be gone. Instead, she raised the covers. Here is what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall: a young woman in a tall, eighties hairdo messed up by sleep, sitting with her bare legs apart. Her breasts faintly visible through her shirt. Between her legs, a pair of panties with an obvious wet spot originating around her pee-hole, hidden beneath the cotton. Surrounding her butt, a dinner-plate sized wet spot on the sheets. Her face looked conflicted: alternating between a kind of forced stubborn acceptance of the whole situation, on the one hand; on the other, fighting tears.

‘Annie, that’s not so bad,’ Robert said. Those were not the words Annie had expected to hear. ‘Look, I’ve got a mattress protector on. We’ll just wash the sheets. I don’t know about your clothes. I understand you’re embarrassed?’ She nodded. How could she not be? She peed her date’s bed. ‘I understand if you just want to go home. But if you want, I can help get your clothes sorted out.’ Annie fell into his arms. Robert held her tightly and whispered: ‘Shush, shush. It’s gonna be all right.’

From that night on, Annie pretty much moved in at Robert’s. Things moved fast, but she felt it was right. Not long after—although she couldn’t know it at the time—Annie would be pregnant with a baby girl. When, a little while after this particular night, she finds out, there will be two thoughts on her mind. One is:Robert and I are going to be together forever. The other is perhaps more prosaic:And if it’s a girl, I’m going to make damn sure she never finds herself in a wet, embarrassing situation.

Re: Developmental Biology

2014.

Something was wrong. ‘Morning, sunshine. Get out of bed, you don’t want to miss your brother’s wedding!’ Amelia’s father was clearly one coffee into the morning already, and in a glowing mood. She knew he’d been worried that Gabe would never find a steady relationship, and now he was getting married. But Amalia was about to disappoint him. She dragged the covers up over her head and hid. ‘Come out!’ She carefully peeked above the covers. Her father’s stubbles and smiling eyes were right in her face. ‘I’ll turn around and give you some privacy, but only if you promise to get up. Amalia, I’ve got loads of stuff on my plate right now. Please don’t be difficult.’ His voice was still kind, and he was still smiling. How can I get out of this? Amalia couldn’t think of a plan.


2011.

‘Morning, sis.’ Gabe was sitting at the breakfast table, eating a sandwhich. ‘Want some?’

Amalia was still in her pyjamas and nightshirt, a tiny goodnite waistband resting beneath her navel. She was in a glowing mood. As she sat down at the table, her father sat down with his coffee and newspaper. ‘Dry again!’ Amalia said, smiling. She’d already texted her best friend.

Her father lit up. ‘That’s, what, a week? Congratulations.’

‘More like a month,’ Amalia said. At twelve, she was an early bloomer. ‘That time last week doesn’t count. It was barely nothing.’

‘So,’ said her father. ‘What do you want to do?’

Gabe shook his head. Why his father took such an interest in his daugher’s potty training was probably beyond his understanding. Girls usually kept that among himself. ‘Isn’t it obvious,’ Amalia said. ‘I’m done. Over them. Throw away the last package.’

Her father laughed. ‘Well, calm down there, cowgirl. Let’s keep them around in the basement. But it’s your choice: if you think you’re all right at night, you don’t need them anymore.’ Amalia took a bite of her sandwich. Best damn sandwich ever. She was the first dry girl in her class.


2014.

Amalia’s father wasn’t giving up. There was no way she could explain it away. The cold, clingy feeling in her panties. The spot on the sheets. She’d woken up and panicked. Three years.

‘Honey, what is it?’ Her dad was nothing if not persistent.

Amalia hid under the covers again. In her little cave, it smelled of stale urine. ‘Dad, I wet the bed,’ she mumbled. The sound was muffled by the covers.

‘What, honey? I can’t hear you from under there.’

She finally gained the courage to lift her covers slightly. ‘Dad, I wet the bed.’

His expression changed instantly. He’d been so proud of her when she graduated to panties. ‘Honey, what happened?’

Amalia hadn’t expected this. She just woke up wet. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. Her cheeks reddened. ‘I just woke up.’ She hid under the covers again. Her father quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her upright. Great. Now I have to sit in my puddle.

‘You don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘Did you go before bed?’ She shyly shook her own head. She never did.

‘Amalia, again?’

‘That was different. I wasn’t asleep.’

His expression changed. ‘You need to change your attitude,’ he said. ‘You can’t go all day and expect not to have an accident. That’s two times the last two months.’

It had been at school. She didn’t go when she woke up. Amalia rarely did. She didn’t feel like going to the toilet all the time. She could hold it. By lunch, she was twisting her legs. But Amalia was the first girl in her class to get dry. She could hold it till lunch. Her friends grabbed her, and they found a table in the cafeteria. As she was about to sit down, Amalia’s knees went weak. It felt like her entire abdomen dropped down on her bladder. It wasn’t a leak. It began as a trickle, which developed into a stream down her left leg, pooling on the floor. Her friends couldn’t believe it, and neither could she. Some of them were still in protection. Amalia had been the girl her friends went to when they wanted advice on how to get over padding. In the middle of the cafeteria, she had completely and accidentally peed herself. To complete the humiliation, she had no spare clothes at all—unlike most of the girls at school, who still kept emergency spares in their lockers. She had to walk to the nurse’s offices in pissy jeans and explain she had an accident, and then she was handed a school-issue pair of sweatpants and a large, puffy diaper to serve as underwear. Amalia threw away the diaper and went commando for the rest of the day. But everyone knew what those sweatpants meant. No one wore that style unless they’d had an unfortunate appointment at the nurse’s office.

‘Young lady, you need to stop putting it off.’

Amalia pouted. She was Amalia! The girl who didn’t leak once on a ten-hour road trip. The first dry girl in her year, and the second if you counted the year above. ‘I do what I want,’ she said. It was a meant to be assertive, but came out muffled and pathetic. Don’t cry. Don’t cry in front of dad. ‘I’m fifteen. It’s been three years. I know when I have to go.’

Her father seemed to give up. He had more important things on his mind, apparently.

‘Clearly not this time,’ he said. ‘Is it bad?’

Amalia rose from the covers. Her panties had a heart-shaped flower of a pee on them, a little bit of her shirt was wet, and there was a rather large spot on the bed. Amalia’s dad sighed. ‘Let’s just get this cleaned up and then we can get to the wedding. I’m just so excited for Gabe, I can’t deal with this right now. But we need to have a talk. You need to stop putting it off, Amalia. I know you do.’

Amalia walked into the bathroom, a few drops trailing, eyes puffy. She wasn’t going to listen to her dad. She hated her accident, she hated that it had to happen today, but she was a big girl. No adult was going to tell her when to go to the bathroom, ever again. And those goodnites, if they still existed in some basement storage room—those were getting burned. But first she needed to get out of her peed clothes and shower. Her brother was getting married in a few hours.


The dinner lasted forever. There were speeches, toasts, good food. Hannah was placed alongside a girl she didn’t know. Apparently she was the groom’s little sister, about Hannah’s age. Hannah’s bladder kept filling, and she kept twisting her legs under the table, and all ideas of sneaking some alcohol from a quirky aunt was gone. Just let me go to the bathroom discreetly, then I can get back to having fun. She made small talk with the girl, but her mind was elsewhere.

After the formal dinner was the dance. That was her chance to be sexy and find some cool guy to dance with, maybe even give him a peek of her sexy loungerie. But first she had to get through dinner dry. If she left now to go, all eyes would be on her.


Amelia was enjoying dancing with Calum, a tall boy, maybe a year older than her. He was close to her, arms around her back, and the song was a slow one. The movement and the pressure as his abdomen rubbed hers was making it hard to hold it in without getting too squirmy. Every other step, she had to bend her knees a little more than the dance required. Calum was getting closer. Now he had his cheek against hers. He leaned in and whispered: ‘I think I know a girl who’s gonna need a little diaper change soon.’ His hand was inching its way beyond the hem of her dress.

‘I think you have me confused with someone else,’ she whispered back. God, if he hadn’t said that, she thought. Then she could have gone for the bathroom once the song ended. Now she had to hold on a little longer. Everything she’d had to drink all day was sloshing around down there, prying for a way out. She hadn’t gone since that night. In a toilet, not since last afternoon. The song continued on, and on, and Amelia had trouble following the rhythm.

‘Not such a steady dancer, are you?’ Normally I am. He’d deftly moved them towards the darker end of the hall, and now his hand was well above her hemline, up her thigh. He must be expecting to encounter some padding soon. Maybe he even expected it to be wet. She halted his advance up with her hand. He still held her close, and those steps were still hard to follow when her mind was on holding it, but they danced on, and she was still dry. ‘Are you uncomfortable with my hand,’ he asked, ‘or with what I’m about to find up there?’ God, this guy is really having fun with the situation, isn’t he? He was handsome, and she enjoyed being held. But she didn’t know how long she could put up with his teasing.

‘Is that your idea of flirting?’

Callum missed a step. She must have hit a nerve of her own. Amelia felt her bladder contract, and her grip tightened as she fought back. The song was mercifully grinding to a halt. She could leave for the bathroom now, but not with her dignity intact. He’d think she’d wet herself. He’d think she was still a little girl in diapers. They stood there for a moment, silent. Then he leaned in again: ‘I just don’t want my dancing partner to embarrass herself.’ The next song came on. It was much more energetic. As if things weren’t bad enough. She had to rub her legs together before picking up the rhythm, accidentally rubbing up on his, too. Things were moving faster now, which meant that every movement jolted her bladder even more. Every few steps, she felt a chill move up her spine. She remembered, for the first time in years, what it used to feel like just before she had an accident. Amelia’s accidental rub had seemed to encourage Calum, and once again, he was exploring her thigh. Then came a very fast movement—one which neither of them, it seemed, had expected of the other—and she slipped in something on the floor. Amelia lost her balance completely and tumbled down, caught just short of the ground by Calum’s hand. The bladder jolt sent waves of chills, radiating in every direction, and for a moment it felt like she had lost it. Once they were both upright again, however, she knew her panties were still dry. Callum was in her ear again: ‘Amelia? What did you just slip on?’ Does he think I peed? His hand was now up to where, on the girl he expected her to be, he should be feeling contact with padding.

‘I don’t know. Someone probably spilled something on the floor.’

‘Amelia, don’t be shy. I think it’s time you and I headed to…’

‘I like this song.’ Usually, she did. Right now, every movement was torture. She had to clench by muscle power alone, fighting every dance move with a counter-move from her bladder muscles in order to avoid disaster. But she wasn’t having a boy take her to the bathroom to—what—to change her diaper? Was that what he had in mind? She slowed down slightly and held his wandering hand. Then she led it, slowly, each inch torture as his fingers tickled her skin, up until he could feel her panties. Just for a moment, then she let his hand fall. Amelia tried to continue the dance, which at this point was probably a terrible idea, but Callum didn’t follow.

‘You’re not wearing? Did you run out of spares?’

‘I’m not wearing because I haven’t for three years, asshole,’ she hissed back. Then she made a move to walk away, but he grabbed her arm. Another jolt, another wave of urine washing against her defenses. It hurt. He spun her around and kissed her. She kissed him back, for a moment, and then a momentous spasm hit her, and she had to break it off. This time, she really was heading to the bathrooms.

Those were on the other side of the hall, however, and Amelia had to maneuver herself through the dance floor, bumping her bladder into people left and right. More chills. As a child… it wasn’t too long ago, but it was three years.

She had been on a hike with her family. Amelia was in panties during the day already. They’d been hiking all day through the forest, stopping for lunch in a clearing. As usual, she hadn’t been all day. By now, she was feeling a curious pressure in her tummy, but she ignored it. They were just walking up a little slope towards a lookout point. It was getting late, and they’d be heading back soon. The summer air was getting chillier. Amelia was wearing overalls cut-off at the knees, with suspenders. A childish outfit, when she thought back on it. She had flowers in her hair; her mother had braided them for her earlier. Birds were chirping. The sky overhead was clear blue, although the sun was far beyond zenith. As they were ascending the slope, Amelia suddenly felt a sharp chill travel up her spine. She stopped, her body shook, and the curious pressure in her tummy dissipated in an instant. In its place, she felt a warm flow through her new panties, soaking into the denim and running down her legs. She didn’t even feel her muscles working against the flow, she only felt the pressure vanish and the stream begin. Amelia stood dumbfounded, peeing herself, looking down to see her stream find a natural path down the slope. Her parents and little sister noticed her stopping and turned to look. What they saw was a flower-crowned princess in denim overalls with a flowery design on the buttons, peeing a river down her legs and further down the slope. Amelia had no words. She wasn’t even capable of processing the moment far enough to be embarrassed. She simply stood still, feeling the pee soak through her clothes, drops drip down her legs, some flow into her sneakers, watching the flow go down, and down, and down.
That was the kind of chill she felt as she bumped into people on the dancefloor, and she knew, even three years later, this was a very bad sign. When she reached the toilets, she saw she wasn’t alone. The girl from dinner, Hannah, was standing in front of an obviously locked door, cross-legged. Great. The chills were bad enough that, if she couldn’t get things under control soon, Amelia would have to start grabbing herself.

They hadn’t even packed any spare underwear, that time in the woods. Amelia had been dry in the day for a while, and it wasn’t long since her mother had taken her shopping for panties. As her stream finished up, her little sister piped up: ‘Mom, Amelia had an accident!’ As if it wasn’t obvious. Her sister was eight, and didn’t even know when she was wet. Of course they’d packed spares for her, but they would never fit Amelia. And what would they do about her overalls? Worse yet, Amelia realized the pressure was back, and she would need to find a toilet to do other business.

‘Amelia, honey, why didn’t you say you had to go?’ Her mother had asked. She hadn’t known what to say. She’d ignored the pressure, because it usually went away. They simply had to head back. But not before her parents decided it was wise to do a check on Amelia’s sister, and of course she was wet, so of course they had to change her first. Then there was at least an hour until they got to their car, and another on the drive home, and Amelia just had to hope the pressure would go away and she wouldn’t really embarrass herself that day. To pee yourself at twelve is normal for a girl: the other side, it’s as bad as if it were a twelve-year-old boy pissing himself. It was a long, cold walk in wet clothes.

That’s what Amelia thought about as she twisted her legs in line behind Hannah. Those shivers. That day. The horrible car drive, when she had to sit on a towel and still hold it. The tears in her room after, when it finally sunk in how far she’d come and how far she still had to go. Of course, that was her last accident in the past three years or so, barring recent developments.

Amelia wasn’t in the mood to speak, but she could see the girl in front of her was in a bad way. ‘Hannah, right?’


Hannah was startled by a voice behind her. The shock of it made her lose a drop into her panties. She turned around to see the girl from dinner. Amelìe, like the French movie? No. ‘Amelia?’ The girl was clearly also desperate. She was dancing from foot to foot, grabbing at herself, and wasn’t even making an attempt at hiding it. The girl nodded. Just then, the toilet door opened, and an elderly woman caned her way out. Hannah started for the door, but took compassion on the poor girl and dragged her inside as well. Better to be two steps closer to the toilet, if disaster should strike. Hannah sat down on the toilet and lowered her panties just in time for the flood. She closed her eyes at the ecstasy of release. It went on and on, and Hannah didn’t even offer a thought to the effect her deluge must have on the poor girl waiting for her until she opened her eyes again. If that was me, listening to that pee, I’d have had an accident right then and there. But Amelia still stood cross-legged.

Hannah hadn’t been so lucky. Although the brunt of her pee had fallen into the toilet, she’d leaked a good deal on the way there. When she put dragged her panties up her hips, they were seriously wet.

‘I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t wear those again tonight,’ said the girl, Amelia. She was right. The panties were ruined. Soaked. The sexy panties Lucy had given her to impress the boys. There was a little path of trickles leading all the way to the toilet bowl. ‘I think those are yours,’ said Amelia, pointing to the wet spots on the floor. Hannah blushed.

Just then, there was a series of rapid knocks on the door. ‘Please,’ said the one voice on the other side. ‘Get on with it, I need to deal with my daughter.’ Shit. Amelia, still cross-legged in desperation, awkwardly grabbed a roll of toilet paper and let it unroll on the floor, covering Hannah’s tracks. ‘What are we going to do?’ Hannah whispered.

‘I really, really need to pee,’ whispered Amelia. She looked to be on the verge of an accident.

‘Sheila, use your staff’s key,’ the voice said.

‘Please don’t make me do this.’

Amelia doubled over in pain again.

Just as Hannah managed to throw her dirty panties behind the trash bin, the door unlocked. Amelia straightened up immediately, although her face betrayed the tremendous effort it must have taken. In the doorway stood a girl about Hannah’s age. She was wearing the same elegant business pants as the rest of the caterers and the other staff someone—probably the groom’s family—had hired to make everything run smoothly. Over them she had a white blouse and a neutral blazer, but what drew the eye was her crotch: a large patch of pee spread across her lap and down one of her thighs. She looked like she was about to cry. Behind the unlucky girl stood a middle-aged woman with her hands on her hips, fuming. Thinking on her feet, Hannah, now unburdened by a full bladder, dragged the girl inside and slammed the door shut before the mother could enter. The girl had tears in her eyes, and seemed about to break down completely. Her eyes were a thousand miles in the distance, like a soldier who’s seen too many bad things to process it. The girl limply walked over to a corner and sunk down until she was sitting on the floor, biting her lip. Amelia had already spied the unoccupied toilet and taken seat, and when she did, Hannah couldn’t help but be impressed by the ensuing torrent. Outside the door, the mother yelled a few obscenities and then went silent.

As Amelia’s pee started taking force, the girl, Sheila, began whimpering. She looked like a baby fresh from the crib, completely overtaken by emotion. Tears rolled down her face and her body shook as she cried. Her crotch started to glisten again, and emerging from beneath her butt was a puddle of pee stretching out of the corner, towards Hannah. The girl bit down on her thumb, apparently to stop herself from crying too loudly, and when that didn’t work, she put her entire thumb in her mouth.

Sheila was a pretty girl, with auburn hair in a ponytail, an attractive face and a slim, but noticeably feminine figure. Now, though, she was reduced to a functional baby, crying and peeing herself and held up from the fetal position only by the corner of the walls. Her pee ended before Amelia’s, but her will had broken long before that. Hannah approached her cautiously. She’d seen many girls in need of help after an accident—including Lucy, but usually not herself anymore, since her parents made her wear protection—but this girl had broken down on a whole other level. They couldn’t just leave her here like this: it was practically child abandonment, although the girl must be of an age with Hannah and Amelia. Hannah sat down on her haunches, facing the girl, who was now sucking on her thumb and turning her face away. ‘Sheila, was it?’ No response. ‘Sheila? Is that your name?’ Still the girl wouldn’t acknowledge her, she simply continued to cry and suck on her thumb. Her eyes were red and puffy, and Hannah couldn’t see any spark in them. As Amelia finally finished her business in the toilet—the only one of the three to make it—Hannah decided that if this girl was going to act like a toddler, she would have to treat her like one. She put her finger to Sheila’s face and wiped away a tear. Then Hannah gently placed a hand on one side of Sheila’s face and turned it towards her. Sheila passively followed the motion, but her eyes darted away. Hannah heard Amelia finish washing her hands and approach her from behind.

‘I think this girl must be psychologically damaged or something,’ Hannah whispered. ‘Look at her. She’s a mess. And I don’t mean her pants.’

Amelia shook her head. She seemed eager to get out of there, but Hannah grabbed her hand. ‘Will you help me help her?’

Amelia seemed to waver, but then she leaned in and whispered in Hannah’s ears: ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t give me a bad conscience. The girl is acting like a baby, literally.’

‘That’s why we can’t just leave her.’

‘All right, then. We need to smuggle her out of here. But where?’

‘My room is upstairs.’ The venue was part of a large hotel.

‘Then you need to make contact, because we can’t carry her wet ass up there, while I figure out a way to exit as stealthily as possible.’

Hannah turned to Sheila. She was still catatonic, only moving her eyes to look away from Hannah. Hannah put one hand on either side of her face and held tightly enough that she couldn’t move away. Finally, she had Sheila’s gaze, although she was staring through Hannah. Her eyes were dead. ‘Sheila,’ Hannah said. ‘I don’t know if that’s your name, but that’s what I’m going to call you. Sheila, it’s going to be fine. Don’t be upset. My friend and I are going to help you. Would you like that?’ There was no response, although it appeared she had finally breached. Sheila was definitely looking her in the eyes now, although she kept trying to move her eyes away. ‘Sheila, honey, we need you to speak. We can’t just read your mind.’

‘Quickly,’ Amelia said, ‘give me her keys. Just hand them to me.’ Hannah picked up the keys, which had fallen to the floor as Sheila’s hand went limp, and gave them to her. What’s she going to do with them? ‘Sheila, you can’t speak with your thumb in your mouth.’ Sheila removed her thumb, but said nothing. Hannah leaned in closer, slowly, as if not to spook a deer, held her tight—shit, now my dress will get all wet as well—and rubbed her shoulders. She then stood up and grabbed Sheila’s hand, lifting her to up from the corner.

‘I found something,’ Amelia said. ‘There was a locked closet with towels. And if we’re lucky, this staff key might open the staff elevator. Is there anyone outside?’

Hannah briefly left Sheila, stood looking down at her puddle, and cracked the door open slightly. There was no one outside. What a break.

‘All right, we need to make a run for it, then,’ said Amelia. She threw Hannah the towel, which she tied around Sheila’s waist. ‘Let’s go.’

Quickly, and hopefully unseen by too many guests, the trio of girls made their way out of the bathroom, then quickly scanned the place for elevators. ‘Is there a staff elevator?’ Hannah whispered to Sheila. Sheila lifted her hand slightly in one direction. It was the first active gesture she had made since she broke down. The elevator was right down a side hall, and it took them right to Hannah’s doorstep. Sheila walked too slow for comfort, but at least she was following along, hand in Hannah’s.

‘She needs a shower,’ Amelia said.

‘No,’ said Hannah, ‘I think she needs to lie down. She can barely stand.’

‘She’s going to wet your bed.’

‘I have a diaper for her,’ said Hannah, blushing slightly as she referred bluntly to the thing as a diaper, not as padding or protection. She found one of the night-time, thick diapers her mother had made her bring, and handed it to Sheila. ‘Put this on,’ said Hannah. Sheila just sat stood there with the diaper hanging over the towel, the towel covering her wet crotch, silent.

‘I have to get back to the party,’ said Amelia.

‘Please don’t leave us,’ said Hannah. ‘I could really use some help here. I want to be at the reception too, but I can’t just leave this poor girl alone. She’s practically a baby right now. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.’

Amelia sighed. ‘Here’s my number,’ she said. ‘Call only in an emergency. I think you can handle this. I want to experience my big brother’s wedding, if you don’t mind.’ Amelia walked out the door, leaving the two of them alone. The mute, and Hannah. They must be the same age, but from the way they were acting, they could be mother and newborn.

‘Sheila, honey, I need you to take off your clothes and put on the diaper.’ Sheila did nothing. No, please no. Hannah was conflicted. It seemed like she needed to take charge and do everything for this girl. She was sixteen, or thereabouts, for god’s sake. She should be able to handle herself. Accidents happen to everyone. Hannah had seen many girls cry over spilled urine, but never had she seen anyone break down completely. There might be whispering, but most people knew the routine. Once you turn fourteen, or thereabouts, if you’re a girl, you’re going to be trying out panties. Some a little earlier, some a little later. But everyone has to make that transition, and accidents were inevitable. Hannah had seen all her girlfriends—none of them had been forced by their parents to remain padded—have accidents. It was a part of growing up, and while embarrassing, no one could whisper too much about it because it was a shared experience. And the boys? They couldn’t gossip too much, either, if they ever wanted to kiss any of those girls who sometimes had accidents—which was pretty much all of them. The prettiest girl at school—by popular consensus, anyway, as far as Hannah could tell—went on dates with jocks in short skirts and padding underneath. Maybe she even had sex with them in her diaper. Hannah had no idea. She was just getting to that stage where sex was something that was on her mind. There had been cute boys, of course, but none she had wanted to bone. This event was the first one where she had decided, consciously, that she wanted to be desired, that she wanted to be sexy. But what do I do about Sheila?

‘If you’re not going to do it by yourself, I’ll have to do it for you,’ Hannah said. ‘You can’t stay like this.’ Sheila briefly caught her eye, and then nodded. Hannah put the towel on the bed, and began dragging the wet pants off Sheila. She’d been to girl’s locker rooms enough to have seen plenty of girls undressed, or even nude, but this felt odd. To be undressing another girl. Sheila’s panties had once been plain and white, but now they were discolored and translucent. Hannah tried to avert her eyes from Sheila’s crotch as she removed her jacket, then her blouse, revealing a white bra that held onto a pair of well-developed breasts. Then came the final part. The panties. They had to go, but Hannah didn’t want to do it.

‘If I turn around, can you put on the diaper?’

Sheila started crying again. Then she shook her head.

Hannah reluctantly touched the damp, cold panties—and uncomfortable combination of a weird sort of exhilaration, thinking back to how she took care of Lucy, and the inherent discomfort of touching someone else’s urine—and dragged them down. Then she instructed Sheila to lie down, and she immediately assumed a toddler’s diaper-change position. Doing her best not to look at Sheila’s—her cunt—she wiped her down with a towel and fastened the diaper on her. What was left was a teary, puffy-eyed adolescent girl—no, her body was that of a lithe adult, a short frame but definite curves—sitting only in a white bra and a large night-time diaper whose waistline stopped right below her belly button. A cute little belly button. No.

Hannah had thrown away her wet panties, and she had none with her, so she decided, much as she didn’t want to, to change into some padding. She quickly instructed Sheila to wait right there, then she went into the bathroom, quickly washed some pee off her private areas and her legs, removed her wet pantyhose, and put on one of the small pull-ups she’d planned to hide under her dress. Sheila was waiting just as Hannah had left her. Hannah had to lift her under the covers, then joined her. She held Sheila tight, and Sheila took hold of her. For the first time, she was actually doing something on her own accord.

‘You have to talk to me,’ Hannah whispered. ‘You can’t stay mute like a baby.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sheila whispered. They lay there for a moment, embraced and entangled, both diapered. Then Sheila leaned in and looked Hannah in the eyes, this time all her attention focused on eye contact. She moved her face closer to Hannah’s. Butterflies. Sheila closed her eyes and moved further, and Hannah found herself closing hers involuntarily, and she felt Sheila’s soft lips touch hers, first for a second, then she pulled away, and then she moved in again at a different angle and held them there, against hers, for a few seconds. Hannah didn’t know what to do or feel or say, so she laughed. More of a giggle, really. She pulled back.

‘That’s not how you kiss a girl, silly,’ she said. ‘You can kiss me on the cheek.’

Sheila pulled at Hannah’s arms until Hannah was practically on top of her. ‘But I like your lips,’ she said. Hannah had never kissed a boy before. Is this what it’s like? I came here to find a boy to kiss, and now I’ve got a baby girl on top of me. What in the world is happening? Yet she couldn’t help but feels something, a sort of maternal feeling perhaps, or perhaps something else, a kind of excitement.

‘Sheila,’ she said. ‘It is Sheila, right? Sheila, can you talk now? Are you with me?’

They sat up in bed. Sheila closed her eyes and, instinctually, Hannah let a hand wander to Sheila’s diaper, which was unmistakably puffing up a bit.

‘Thank you,’ Sheila repeated. ‘I… I think I’m out of it. I don’t know what happened.’

‘You had an accident. Accidents happen. I also have accidents. Everyone has accidents. But most people don’t go into a coma when they have one.’

Sheila smiled. Well, her lips curled slightly upwards, and her eyes smiled. ‘I don’t know what happened. I was just swamped with work. My dad got me this job. A little extra spending money. I was going to buy a dress. I didn’t have time to go to the bathroom. And then—and then I just couldn’t hold it anymore, and I had an accident in the middle of the room, carrying a tray. Everyone saw. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘She’s not even my real mother. She’s just some woman my dad’s been dating. I called her because I didn’t even know who to call. But she got all hysterical. She’s probably going all ballistic right now, looking for me all over.’

‘You should text her that you’re OK and a friend is helping you out.’

‘You know what, that sounds like a good idea.’ Sheila found her jacket and her phone, and sent a quick text. ‘I think that bought us maybe an hour or two, then she’s going to go ballistic again and call my father, my real dad, and then things are gonna get ugly. But we have a little time.’

‘You don’t wear normally?’

‘Not since last year. This is the first time since I got into panties I had a real bad accident.’

Sheila cuddled up to Hannah. She closed her eyes, and slowly, her body relaxed.

‘You can’t sleep here,’ Hannah said, but Sheila was already asleep.

Hannah looked at the girl who was now cuddled up to her in bed in a damp diaper, and who had given Hannah her first real kiss just a few minutes ago. This wasn’t what I came here for, Hannah thought. But it felt nice, in an odd way. To be so close to someone else, and to have them be so close to you.

Re: Developmental Biology

2014, summer.

Standing by the altar, Jane was having serious doubts. Beside her stood Gabe, her future husband, certainly a handsome man, and occasionally kind. He had that spirit of wild adventure that had swept her up and she’d been trying to tame it ever since. She could see Todd in the crowd. Of course she had to invite him, and of course he would show up. It would be easier for both of them if he hadn’t. Jane didn’t know if Todd ever really got over her, despite his relationships since, but more importantly, now, on the most important day of her life, she felt her chest thumping, her forehead beading in sweat, and realized suddenly that her excitement about the wedding had turned into a frightening anxiety, at the flip of a coin. Her nagging doubts, which she had so cursorily dismissed as normal wedding nerves, were now presented to her in the flesh: she didn’t know if she ever really got over Todd.

Todd and Jane had dated for two years, after that one evening when she laughed so much she peed her pants while smoking in the woods behind Todd’s house. Todd had been her rock to lean on, but more importantly, she had seen him as vulnerable as he had seen her, and they shared that bond of traversing the bumpy border between childhood and adulthood together. She recalled the words of an Ellie Goulding song, an odd song to have stuck looping in your head as you’re about to be wed to another man: We’re under the sheets and you’re killing me, in our house made of paper, your words all over me, we’re under the sheets and you’re killing me, I’ve seen you in a fight you lost. When you swept aside the emotional rollercoaster she and Gabe had been riding on, looking at their short life together, she could find nothing particular that bonded them emotionally. It was all lust and happy adventures, and on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, as Jane smiled, behind her mask she found herself missing rainy days where she would cry or he would cry and they would lean on each other and afterwards they would both be fine. Jane couldn’t recall if she had ever seen Gabe vulnerable, although she’d seen him angry. This worried her. She said ‘I do’ and he kissed her and she was momentarily in love with him, and then their lips unlocked and it was all like a wave riding on a still lake, crashing onto the shore, and then the lake was still again and she felt nothing. Gabe was very good at that, of stirring up the lake of emotions, but it felt like he was never beneath the surface if not just so he could thunder upwards and splash emotions onto her. Jane and Todd swam in that adolescent lake of emotion for two years together, explored the lakebed and kissed both beneath and above the surface, and she found herself missing that, the depth of it. She recalled Todd’s stoned theory of why girls take longer than boys to potty train, and although he was dead wrong, Gabe would never smoke a joint, let alone come up with any sort of deep critique of society.

As they walked down the aisle to applause from the guests, Jane knew she needed to pee, as well. Great. Another problem for the newlywed. Whoever said this is the happiest day of your life was a lying…. She didn’t even get to finish her thought until she was guided into a long series of group photographs, and with each click of the shutter she felt her bladder shudder. It had been a while since the last time Jane really needed to pee but was inconvenienced by the lack of a bathroom. She was usually going just in case when she anticipated a lack of facilities, and at home or in the office she was only a few steps from the bathroom at all times. Now she was having to hold it in and smile through muscle power alone, while trapped in a beautiful dress she probably couldn’t get off alone without ruining it if she was in a hurry, and if she was truly in a hurry she might end up ruining it before she even got it off. The flash was relentless, and the stream of relatives and friends, all expressing their sincere congratulations, no less so. At last, before the final pictures of just her and Gabe, she insisted on a picture together with Todd, without Gabe. ‘He’s my best friend since we were little kids, Gabe,’ she said, as he tried to brush off the suggestion or insist he be part of the picture. In the end he stood aside, just out of the frame, watching her like she were the royal regalia and Todd a convicted burglar. Jane didn’t think Gabe had any suspicions about her feelings for Todd—her urgent need pumping up her whole body so much even her emotions seemed heightened, and she had to admit to herself finally that they were real—he was just that kind of guy. This was his marriage, this was his newly minted wife, all men who were not blood relatives were potential burglars. She froze up for a moment at the thought, a terrifying thought of being held prisoner in love for the rest of her life; she almost peed a little into her panties, but regained her composure by reminding herself that Gabe was a good guy, trying to cling to their happy memories together and let her worry sail by as irrational. She wouldn’t marry a jealous son-of-a-bitch, would she? Have I?

Todd, she noted, was dressed in the finest suit at the wedding. It stood out to her for its elegant simplicity, tailored to his body, and his haircut was just modest enough to suit him, but still reminded her of his teenaged rebel without a fight style. As they stood close and held each others’ backs tightly for the photographer, smiling into the camera instead of into each other, a wave of pressure hit her bladder and a wave of memories, her brain.

She recalled one rainy afternoon when she and Todd lay spooning in her bed, whispering to each other, speaking through their bodies more than their words, when suddenly he grew silent, and then he got up quickly and began pacing the room, and then he laid down on her bed again and started crying, shaking, grabbing at the sheets. She remembered how he calmed her down after she peed herself and panicked, and held him tight, and he continued to cry for a while until he grew silent, and then they embraced. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. There he lay stripped of all masculinity, of all his rebellious poise and his grown-up mannerisms, a naked soul in the grips of a panic attack. ‘I’m sorry,’ he had said, and she had told him he had nothing to be sorry about, and now, years later, she saw in that vulnerability a real man: someone who is able to break down and then get back up on his feet like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It was him in a rare moment of frailty, like delicate porcelain showing a crack, and it was her being with him then, and it was about them overcoming it together. ‘It’s been years since I had a panic attack,’ he said. ‘I just suddenly felt like the world was going to end and everything was like, attacking me at once from unseen angles, it’s kind of hard to explain.’

‘I think you were just very, very afraid,’ she said, and he nodded. ‘Don’t be afraid to be afraid around me. It’s okay. I still love you.’ And those were some of the same words he had said many times over, when Jane had accidents. He had promised to teach her how to be dry, and she had struggled for three months, maybe four, maybe five. They would sleep together in the same bed and he would wake her up in the middle of the night to inform her she wet the bed; the first times, she was mortified, but each and every time he said the same thing to her: ‘Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable around me. I love you.’ And he would help her clean herself up, and sometimes it would lead to the hottest sex she ever had. They were both fumbling teenagers, but that emotional bond made up for the lack of sophisticated technique. After a while she would start waking up just as she started going, and rush to the bathroom damp; and then after a while longer, she would wake up bursting and make it on time. And then, when she was seventeen, she no longer peed her pants.

One time the two of them went on an impromptu picnic, just drove away in a random direction in search of a nice, secluded spot to sip lemonade on a blanket and fool around. On the way there, Jane started to get antsy, and then she was desperate, and she told Todd she wasn’t going to make it, she’d pee her jeans any minute, and then he said something odd: ‘Just pee yourself, then. If you’re not going to make it, pee your pants. I won’t be mad.’ She was on the verge of wetting, and it sent her over the edge: she could no longer stand to hold it, so she tried to relax her muscles and let go. But she found she was unable to pee. ‘Did you have an accident?’ Todd asked casually, a few minutes later.

‘No,’ she said.

‘There you go. See? You’re not going to pee yourself. I’m pulling over here, this spot looks nice, and then you can go in the bushes.’ As she exited the car, Jane squirted a bit in her panties, but she made it to a bush, got her jeans and panties down and when she pulled her pants back up they were still dry.

All those memories flooded over her, and she knew at once two things: I’ve got to find a way to talk to Todd alone tonight. I need to sort this out if I’m going to be married to another man. And also: I’ve got to find my way out of this dress soon or I’ll piss all over myself.

The official wedding photograph of her and Gabe was pure torture. The photographer kept fussing about the light, the scenery in the background had to be just right, and Gabe agreed; he needed his perfect wedding to be memorialized in a perfect photograph, apparently oblivious to the fact that he may soon be memorializing a scene from the Hell Screen: his wife peeing her wedding dress, staining the sparkling white with yellow. Finally it was all over, and Jane cut off Gabe mid-sentence to go find Julie. As maid of honor, she’d be handed the honor of undressing the bride before the groom got a chance, purely in the service of avoiding an accident.

‘Jeeze, that took forever!’ Julie said. She was fidgeting on the spot. ‘I really need to pee. I’ve got to run to the church, like, right now.’

‘Too bad,’ Jane said. Her voice trembled. ‘Believe it or not, I’m even more desperate than you and you’ve gotta save me from this damn dress before I piss myself.’ The look on Julie’s face was a mixture of bewilderment and terror. Together, they made their way back to the church, passing by Hannah, her beloved sister, without more than a nod. Jane was in dire straits and knew it. Julie was openly holding her crotch. The pair made their way into the bathroom and began the process of removing Jane’s gown, which had clearly been designed with aesthetics, not urination in mind. It took them even longer than it should have because they were constantly having to stop so Jane could squeeze her crotch, or so Julie could squeeze hers, or so both could dance together asynchrously to contain their bladders. Finally the infernal gown was off, or as close to off as it got, and Jane was able to get her pantyhose and panties down and sit on the toilet bown just in the nick of time, as her bladder pulsed, pushed, pushed, and with a final swoop her butt was firmly seated, her gown clear from the unsanitary toilet ring, and she felt a push and gave in. Jane gasped as she started to pee, and the pressure seemed to mount for a moment before it subsided as she let her pee fall freely into the toilet, splattering against the sides.

‘Oh god,’ said Julie. ‘No!’ She crossed her legs and squeezed at her own dress, but then she tensed for a moment and let go. ‘No, god no, this can’t be happening,’ she said, and then she let go of her dress and spread her legs as a trickle fell from beneath the hem of her dress to the floor. ‘I’m really peeing myself,’ she said. ‘God, I’m peeing myself,’ she repeated, and Jane had to remind her to keep quiet, snap out of the ecstasy of release for a moment to remind her friend that maybe announcing her accident so loudly would attract unwanted attention. Jane watched with curiosity as Julie’s stream grew to a waterfall, and Julie had to adjust her stance even wider to avoid getting her pretty high heels in the puddle. She kept on peeing like that for a minute, a look of shock plastered over her face. Luckily, nothing showed on her dress. ‘Oh my god,’ she said at last, as the final droplets left her pee-hole and dripped into her puddle.

Jane put on her underwear and shoes and stepped off the toilet. Julie seemed too shocked to speak. Finally, she said: ‘I haven’t done that since I was a little girl. I haven’t had one accident in years. Not even when we go out drinking.’

‘How bad is it?’ Jane felt so sorry for her friend. She realized it had been an impossible dilemma: two desperate girls, one toilet. One of them would have ended up wet however it went, and Julie had taken one for the team. For the sake of Jane. For the sake of her dream wedding. My dream wedding to a guy who might not be the man of my dreams, and she wet herself for me.

‘Well,’ Julie said, composing herself. She always had a gallows humor, one of her more endearing qualities. ‘My panties and pantyhose are ruined. The inside of my dress is a little wet, but I don’t think anything shows on the outside. But my life is still intact. I don’t think my heart or bones suffered any injuries, only my dignity. Guess I should have worn those stupid wedding diapers after all?’

‘The what?’

‘Haven’t you seen? Pampers is marketing a special line of adult diapers, designed for brides to be. Let your happiest moment in your prettiest gown be a dry moment, something like that. I thought it was moronic, but here I am, standing in my own piss. I’ve almost forgotten how unpleasant, gross, ugly it feels to be in wet underwear.’

Todd would have a field day with that. At least stoned teenage Todd would have. He would have come up with a conspiracy theory about how diaper companies are conspiring together to infantilize women, one situation at a time, bringing diapers for young women into the mainstream, then marketing them to older women, all the way to the nursing home where they already hold a firm grip on the market. Making women incontinent permanently, pushing the idea of potty training out of femininity, until they’re raking in the cash because they’ve created an artificial market by subliminally inducing incontinence in adult women. God, I’m even starting to think like him, and I’m not even stoned.

‘We’re going to get this sorted out. I’m so sorry.’ Jane had no idea how to sort this out, presently, or how to make it up to Julie in the future. ‘You really saved me there. If it hadn’t been you, it would be me.’

‘Well we can’t have the prettiest bride in the universe wetting her wedding gown, now can we?’ Julie was really putting on a brave face.

‘I’ll… I’ll pay for a cab for you and you can get to the hotel to change and be back before dinner, it’s probably going to be delayed, weddings are always like that. Can you manage?’

Now that the shock of it all was over, and the disgust-with-yourself phase was fading, Julie seemed to brighten up. ‘Girlfriend, I’ve got two more dresses, I just couldn’t decide between them because I was so excited to be your maid of honor and I wanted to look the prettiest, to complement the prettiest bride, but I just couldn’t decide so I brought them all. I’ll come in and outshine you on the dancefloor in one of my backup dresses—come to think of it, I like the other one I had in mind better than this one. Just, like, get me out of here before someone sees the mess and I promise I won’t spoil your wedding by being all, woe is me, I had an accident. It happened. It’s over. Now let’s fucking party!’


Throughout dinner, the pressure mounted in Sarah’s abdomen. The toasts were endless, and there were speeches, and several courses. She drank sparkly, pale soda from a wine glass, a tasty beverage made to look like the grown-ups’ wine, and she clinked her glass happily after each toast and swallowed more sugary stuff. Sarah was seated beside her sister, Lucy, and she could see Hannah in the distance, far off at another table, talking to some girl she didn’t know. After a while Lucy began to stumble over her words. Is she drunk? ‘Lucy, how much alcohol is in that?’ she asked. ‘Sarah, there’s barely anything,’ Lucy said, and crossed her legs. The pressure built and Sarah felt herself begin spurting into her padding. It absorbed and swelled, pushing up against her girl parts warm and snug, but then it cooled off and became uncomfortable. They continued eating and talking, although Lucy seemed oddly silent. Sarah didn’t know her sister to be this quiet, especially not at a party. Sarah felt the last filling of soda reach her bladder and this time there was a continuous stream, swelling her protection up to twice its size, really filling it. She sat in her warm pee and continued talking for a couple of minutes, not really minding it—she barely registered a routine accident until it became uncomfortable, usually—until Lucy asked: ‘Sarah, uh, do you need to go to the bathroom?’

She had to think it over. Now the padding felt cold and began to be uncomfortably full. She could probably use a change. ‘I went. I may need a change.’

‘I’ll take you,’ Lucy said quickly, and grabbed her hand.

‘Mom has my spares in her purse,’ Sarah said.

Lucy frowned. ‘Didn’t I tell you to keep them in your own purse, so you could take care of yourself?’

Sarah blushed. Stupid. I’m so stupid. ‘Sorry. I forgot.’

Lucy mumbled something under her breath and dragged Sarah along, looking for their parents, who had been seated far away from them, somewhere. Sarah now felt her swollen padding move like a pendulum between her legs, and she was forced to walk a little bow-legged: exactly like a little girl with a wet diaper. Suddenly she felt self-conscious. It was an odd feeling, to be so anxious that someone might notice her predicament: she was so used to wetting her diapers, she never paid any mind to it or to anyone else’s reactions, but now she felt a little ashamed. She had been taught never to be ashamed of it, she had been taught that it was natural and would go away on its own, and that there was no one who would judge her for it, and she had believed it. But now, for the first time, in the company of so many adults, Sarah felt like maybe she should be ashamed. The padding was cold and itchy and heavy between her legs. Finally, they located their parents. ‘Mom,’ Sarah said, patting her on her back. She was trying to be a little subtle. ‘Mom, I need a spare,’ she whispered.

‘Not now honey, I’m in the middle of a very nice conversation,’ said her mother.

Lucy broke in, clearly agitated: ‘Mom, Lucy needs a change right now.’

Their mother turned around. ‘Lucy, please don’t make a scene.’

‘Just give me the diapers and I’ll take her,’ Lucy said. Her mom seemed to be ashamed by Lucy’s bluntness, but it worked: she produced a little bag from within her purse, containing several spares; then she shooed them away, to get back to her grown-up world. God, when I’m a mom I’m never going to be like that, Sarah thought. She never thought about actually having a child and all that it brought, but she always thought about the ways she would raise a child—which was, to be frank, often just a stand-in for herself—differently.

Lucy took the diaper bag and walked quickly towards one of the bathrooms. Sarah had a hard time keeping up, waddling with her sodden padding cling to her bum and spreading her legs. ‘Lucy!’ she called out, several times. ‘Lucy, please don’t walk so fast. I can’t keep up.’

‘Shit,’ Lucy mumbled. She seemed agitated. ‘Don’t get too mad at mom,’ Sarah said, trying to calm down her sister.

‘I’m not,’ she hissed. Is she mad at me? For forgetting the diapers? For even being in diapers? For the accident? Sarah stopped in her tracks. She felt a lump in her throat. ‘Lucy?’ she asked. Her voice was weak. It gave out on the last syllable: Loo-seeee? Sarah stood in the middle of the room and felt like all eyes were on her. Lucy turned around to see her sister on the verge of tears.

Sarah managed to find her voice again: ‘Lucy, please don’t be mad at me.’

‘Oh,’ Lucy said. Her frown mellowed for a moment. She mumbled something that sounded like an expletive under her breath, while dancing from one foot to the other. ‘Sis, I’m not mad at you. I’m just a little impatient. I’m sorry. Don’t get upset. I just want to get this over with so that… so that you can go back and enjoy yourself with the other guests again! You’ll be so much more comfortable when you’re dry, just keep pace with me!’

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone’s eyes were directed in other directions again. Whoever Lucy was mad at, at least it wasn’t her. At least I’m not such a burden to her that she gets angry. She peed a little more and the padding was threatening to leak. Nevertheless, Sarah made a valiant effort to keep up with her sister, who was almost sprinting to the bathroom. Once outside the door, Sarah handed her a spare. ‘Remember what I taught you this morning?’ Sarah nodded. ‘Think you can manage it standing up?’ I hope so. She nodded. ‘Then get on with it, I promise you’ll feel a lot better!’

Sarah locked the door, pulled down her pantyhose, and began undoing the tapes of her protection. Once it was freed from her hips, it felt heavy in her hand; she could see the yellow stain inside, the swollen outside, and she attempted to ball it up correctly so it wouldn’t stink or leak, before disposing of it in the diaper pail. Sarah washed herself off, and immediately felt cleaner in both mind and body. She then spent the next ten minutes trying to diaper herself. She was determined to do it right: she had learned it well enough, but usually she was too busy and cheated with the tapes, and then she stood the risk of the tapes coming loose, and then she might leak. Lucy had taught her a fool-proof method, but it was a lot harder to do it right standing up. She couldn’t risk a leak during a wedding, so she had to do it perfectly. Lucy knocked loudly on the door several times, urging her to get on with it. ‘I’m trying! Really, I’m doing exactly like you showed me, it’s just hard!’ Finally, she was done and could put on the rest of her clothing and come out. Now the anxiety was gone. Sarah was excited to meet some new friends, and it seemed like people had started mingling about the tables.

Lucy stood with her fists balled up and her legs twisted when Sarah emerged, but she straightened up when she saw Sarah. ‘Great job!’ She said before rushing into the bathroom, but a sentence that started out sounding genuinely encouraging puttered out into something that sounded caustic. Is she mocking me? Sarah put the thought out of her mind and decided to rejoin the party, now in clean underwear and no longer in need of a pee.


‘I need to pee,’ Jane whispered to her husband, who was showing her off to everyone by slow-dancing her around the floor. It was a lie. She had just spied her chance to see Todd in private, as he seemed to be heading outside for a smoke or just some fresh air. She broke away from Gabe before he could protest and walked towards the bathrooms, only to duck out a side entrance when he turned his back. There he was. On the steps outside, she could see Todd’s back, and the lit cigarette in his hand. She tried to approach him carefully, but the sound of her heels on the stone must have given her away. Jane put a hand on his shoulder, and he let his cigarette slip. He turned to face her, and because of the way she had approached, they were already within kissing range. Too familiar. It had been too long since she was this close to this man. As she saw him, she knew she could never let him go. But I have to let him go. He’ll understand. He’s over me. He’ll say a few wise-crack words and I’ll be over him, and then I can go on honeymoon with my husband. These thoughts were going through her head, but at the same time, old emotions swelled up, and she ended up saying something diametrically opposite: ‘You have to get me out of here.’ No pleasantries, just those words.

‘What?’ They had remained good friends, but good friends can drift apart in busy adult lives. That was the first real word she’d heard from him in five months, although they’d exchanged a couple emails about the wedding in very shallow terms. ‘You’re crazy. Get in there with your husband before someone sees us.’

Instinctually, she closed the gap between them and attacked his lips with hers. At first, he took a step back, but she followed him like a predator, and when she locked on, his tense muscles relaxed, and for a moment they were both lost in each other, just like they would get lost in each other for hours as lovers, all those years ago. This is madness, she thought. When their lip-lock broke, he said, ‘This is madness.’ We really do think alike. She put on a coy smile. How she managed that while trying to suppress and wanting to submerge herself in a sea of buried emotions was beyond her, but she stayed composed, seductive. ‘But that’s what you love, isn’t it? You always liked to skirt madness. That’s why you love me.’

He seemed taken aback. ‘I love you?’

‘I love you,’ she said, and kissed him again. He broke away.

‘You know,’ he said, and Jane could she in this man in his stylish suit something of the boy on that bed, crying, and also the boy in those woods, holding her while she was wet and crying, and beyond that, the boy and the man whom she had made love to for the first time and so many times since. ‘You know, this isn’t how weddings are supposed to go.’

‘Remember when we used to smoke pot and you used to tell me how marriage is a fake institution made to imprison free love?’

‘I forgot. I smoked a lot of pot and said a lot of stupid things. I was just a teenager and I thought I had it all figured out.’

‘You were right.’

He was silent.

‘Do you love me still?’ she asked. It was the most important, pivotal question. The one that would change her life, whether he said yes or no.

After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed hold of her and kissed her deeply. ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ he used to say. ‘Do you love me?’ she repeated. She wanted him to say it. Or say he didn’t. Either way, she wanted him to decide for her.

‘I love you, Janey,’ he said. Not even her parents called her that anymore. Her friends stopped calling her pet names when she was fourteen. Only Todd called her Janey, and only Todd was allowed.

‘Then you’ve got to get me out of here, right now.’


2015, winter.

On a branch of a tree outside a small log cabin out in the middle of nowhere, snowed in on three sides, a mound of snow marking what might be a truck that has gone unused for at least a week, sits a little bird, watching through a window. The branch scrapes the window, allowing the bird a good view. Inside, beside a log fire sending steam and the smell of burning pine up the chimney, on a broken-down couch, a couple lies. He is propped up against a pillow, and she is leaning her back on his chest, eyes closed. Beneath them is a rugged sheep skin. He is moving his lips as if whispering, and she is whispering back in return. She is wearing loose-fitting jeans, and her knitted sweater rides up to expose a small patch of her tummy and a hint of woolen underwear underneath her pants. They are holding hands, caressing each others’ palms, and then he runs his hand down her side and puts it on her upper thigh. A small, dark spot appears on her crotch. He speaks up louder, and the window vibrates, carrying waves of sound the bird is not equipped to understand: ‘Janey babe, you’re a little bit wet, aren’t you?’ She blushes.

‘Mmhh,’ she mumbles.

‘Honey, go to the bathroom.’

‘But it’s so warm and cozy in here and so cold out there.’ There is a small path cleared of snow leading to an outhouse a good thirty yards out back of the cabin, and the snow in the air is slowly blanketing the bare path.

‘Maybe we can lie here for another five minutes, and then you have to go,’ he says.

The wet patch on her crotch expands, and she readjusts herself, somehow nestles herself deeper into him. He puts his hand on her wetness and lets it rest for a moment, massages her gently throug her pants. She opens her mouth in a wide O, and closes it. The wet spot expands, and she is peeing onto the sheepskin; it is already yellowed, old, worn, and now it soaks up more, and she keeps peeing. The pee flows up towards her upper thighs and then down onto the sheepskin, and onto him, and he rubs her more fiercely. Her back arches as she lets go completely, soaking herself, her woolen underwear and her loose jeans, and soaking him. He rubs her more, then he lifts her up, still dripping. She lets him turn her around, and she helps him remove her wet pants, exposing her sodden woolen underwear, and he removes that too, to uncover light pink cotton panties that have now become see-through, exposing her soaking lips. She lifts her sweater over her head and tosses it onto a pile of firewood in an iron bucket sat in a corner, then he helps her lift her shirt off, too; there is no bra underneath, and she is now, partially obscured from the bird’s view by his back, nude except for her pissy panties, nipples stiff and all her curves showing. He rubs her through her panties, playfully inserts a finger through the panties, then she almost rips them in half trying to get them down her thighs, which are shiny when the light from the flames catch the pee at the right angle. She quickly unbuckles his belt, and drags down his wet pants—the pants she just accidentally, or perhaps purposefully accidentally, peed on—and his boxers; she screams out as she helps him enter her and this scares away the bird, and with it, she scares away our point of view, as the bird flies to a safer haven, safe from orgasmic shrieks, safe from sound-waves it finds threatening, that reminds it instinctually of predators; with the bird flies our point of view, allowing private pleasures to remain private.

(That concludes the current story arc, folks. Hope it was a satisfying ending.)

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