Sarabeth wasn’t sure what possessed her to venture down the diaper aisle that day. It was a pretty routine trip to Walmart with Desmond, her little brother. He was after some new game or another for his PS4, and as he was only fifteen, Sarabeth was his unofficial chauffeur. It was a pretty even arrangement, so she couldn’t grumble; their parents paid for her car insurance and gas in return for her carting him all across the small town of Waldron, Ohio. And Desmond was actually pretty great, as far as little brothers went. He was still such a guy sometimes, but he was a real sweetie, and as lame as it sounded, Sarabeth considered him her best friend. Still, she couldn’t understand his obsession with video games sometimes, preferring a good book or a blank page in her sketchbook to sink hours into. Usually, when Desmond immersed himself in the electronics section of the store, she found her way over to the art supplies, just past the baby supplies.
For whatever reason, today she had made a little right.
Maybe it was the sign advertising a new line of Pampers called Pampers Growers. A nice cardboard display of the product in question bore a life-size picture of a girl about Desmond’s age wearing a pink sundress and smiling brightly. A slogan next to her read ‘For kids that are having some trouble growing up!’ Next to the slogan a little diagram showed what looks for all intents and purposes to be children’s diapers, complete with childish Disney designs and kitten patterns and whatnot, but if the little annotations next to them were to be believed, these diapers were meant for older kids, all the way up to teenagers. Well past the age of toilet-training.
Tearing her eyes away from the display, Sarabeth continued her path to the arts and crafts section. She needed a new sketchbook, not a package of diapers. Even entertaining such a thought was humiliating, given past events.
Sarabeth had always been a heavy sleeper, to the point that she had to set a whole sound system as her alarm clock because the tinny beeping of normal alarms just never woke her. The doctors had once diagnosed her with a mild sleep disorder, but it was nothing life-threatening, just mildly inconvenient. At night, if the need to pee ever arose, she often didn’t wake up until her bladder was aching with a need for release, sending her hurrying to the bathroom down the hall.
This had all come to a head during her first and only sleepover, when she had been twelve. Awakening to an unfamiliar darkened room and desperately needing to relieve herself, she hadn’t quite made it to the bathroom and wet herself in the hallway. Heather Mitchell’s mother had still been awake and helped spare her the social suicide of wetting herself at a middle-school slumber party, but ever since then, Sarabeth had rather distanced herself from her friends, and anyone, really. She still had school acquaintances, but the only person she was really close to otherwise was her brother.
She reached the arts and crafts section, making the trek down the familiar aisle to the section with her favored choice of sketchbook. Mom and Dad were fairly well off, even if it meant spending most of their time tending to their travel agency. At least Sarabeth and Desmond never had to worry about spending money, as long as they didn’t try to drop several hundred dollars in one sitting or something.
Snatching up a sketchbook and some new pencils, she tucked them under her arm, her hand clumsily knocking over a little decorative mirror as she did. She picked it up and replaced it, sticking her tongue out at her reflection as she did. Dark hair to her shoulders, dark eyes, pale skin, and a somewhat prominent nose courtesy of Jewish ancestry on her mom’s side. Sarabeth didn’t consider herself a looker, but she also didn’t think she was hideous. She’d even been asked out a couple of times, but she just didn’t really have the desire for a boyfriend most girls her age did. She was about to go into her senior year in high school in September; she had bigger things to focus on.
She found her way to the registers, choosing a self-checkout simply to speed things up. Passing by a cooler full of Gatorade, she slid the door open and pulled a blue cherry out, and in minutes, she was rung up. She popped the lid on the Gatorade as she headed from the store, stepping out into the balmy afternoon. It was an Ohio summer, which meant humidity and the constant threat of either a horrific storm system or a weeks-long drought.
Those were the only two options.
Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her exercise pants, a relic of her short-lived membership to the track team, and she pulled it out, seeing a text from her brother.
‘Checking out now, where r u?’
Tapping out a reply, she told him that she would wait in the car for him, crossing the warm parking lot to do just that as she pulled a key from her pocket. Sarabeth’s parents updated their vehicles every few years, and they were well-off enough that Sarabeth had been given a hand-me-down for her sixteenth birthday. Thus, she was the envy of a few kids at school when she drove up in a 2010 Passat station wagon. Sure, it was a station wagon, but it was a nice-looking one, and it sat like eight people, meaning lunchtime runs to Taco Bell were usually conducted in her car.
At least she never had to pay.
Shutting the door with a clunk, she turned on the engine and quickly set the air-conditioning to full blast against the wave of humidity, plugging her phone in and opening up Spotify. An Indie-Folk mix filled the air, and she had to turn the volume up extra high against the rushing sound of the air vents spilling out cool air.
As Sarabeth relaxed, unbidden, the image of the Pampers Growers display came to mind. The happy, smiling girl in her pink sundress. Under such an innocuous garment, something hid that was at odds with how old the model was. Sarabeth couldn’t believe that someone her age would voluntarily go back to diapers, and if they did, how they could smile so beatifically. She would be so embarrassed, she wouldn’t be able to set foot outside.
Well…okay, she couldn’t deny that there would be some utility to wearing them at night. She often ended up sprinting for the bathroom, as heavily as she slept. A diaper would take the edge of panic off of the trip. Heck, she wouldn’t even have to get out of bed, really. She could just let go.
She shook herself, taking a drink of her Gatorade. There was no sense to be thinking like that; she was seventeen and certainly not any sort of incontinent. Her morbid fascination was just due to how strange such a new thing was.
The rear hatch opened, startling her from her musings, and Desmond tossed his purchases into the back of the car.
“Hey, girl,” he said, his trademark greeting.
“Sup,” Sarabeth said in her deepest toughest voice, which was neither, really. Grinning, Desmond shut the hatch with enough force to gently rock the car, hurrying to climb in.
Tall and gangly, Desmond was only imposing as far as he was tall. Both siblings were on the scrawny side, though Sarabeth had at least filled out a bit over puberty. Desmond was fast going the way of their father, doomed to be a bean pole with little in the way of definition. It didn’t help that he wasn’t involved in any sort of sports, preferring going straight home and sinking hours into his video games. He matched Sarabeth’s dark hair and pale complexion, though he’d been blessed with their grandmother’s bright green eyes, a fact he was rather proud of.
“Let’s get the hell home, it’s fucking sweltering out there,” he griped, reaching for Sarabeth’s phone with obvious intent to change the music, but she slapped his hand.
“Nuh-uh,” she said sternly. “My car, my phone, my music.”
“Aw, c’mooon,” he groaned. “I can’t stand this mopey indie bullshit.”
“I have to suffer your classic rock blasting through the wall while you play your video games at full-blast all the time,” Sarabeth said as she pulled out of the parking lot, not looking away from the road as she held a finger up at him. “Let me at least have the car ride.”
Desmond chuckled, and she could tell he was rolling his eyes, but he leaned back in his seat with a theatrical sigh.
“Alright, fine,” he said in a long-suffering voice. “My dear little sister wins again. I spoil you, you know.”
“Excuse me, which one of us is driving the other around because he’s too young?” Sarabeth asked, earning another chuckle from him. “Just because you shot up like a weed.”
“Yo, speaking of which,” he said. “Stuart’s gonna be stopping by with some supplies tomorrow. If you still wanna have plausible deniability, maybe stay upstairs or something.”
“You hippie,” Sarabeth smirked back at him, pulling to a stop. “You better hope Dad doesn’t find your stash.”
“You kidding?” Desmond asked with a snort. “I’m pretty sure he borrows from it sometimes.”
“Why don’t we just move to Colorado?” Sarabeth mused with a shake of her head, and Desmond cackled.
The two reached home in about ten minutes, pulling into Ironwood Estates, the gated community the Paxton family called home. It was a nice enough place, and a beautiful neighborhood, but Sarabeth sometimes found the neighbors to be a bit snobbish. A lot of these people were from old farming families or doctors carrying on the family business. Old money. Desmond and Sarabeth’s grandparents, on the contrary, had been military members that had socked away every penny to put their father through business school, and he had put his education to good use, starting a travel agency that made enough money to let his whole family live comfortably. Their mother only worked at the travel agency as Dad’s secretary to spend more time with him, lest his business become his “other lady”. This left the two kids alone with each other a lot, but they were long used to it.
Pulling into the small turnaround that had been appropriated as her parking spot, Sarabeth killed the engine and climbed out, leaving her empty Gatorade bottle behind to worry about later. Snickering, Desmond simply grabbed it and toted it along.
“Lazy,” he teased her, and she simply stuck her tongue out at him as she hurried for the house, keen to be back in the air-conditioned interior. “Yo, pop the hatch!”
Huffing, Sarabeth held the key fob up and held the hatchback button, waiting until she heard the distant clunk of the release before hurrying in the door. She heaved a happy sigh as the chilled air washed over her, making her shiver in delight. Kicking off her shoes she made her way to the living room and flumped onto the huge curved sofa, sinking into the huge cushions and reaching for the remote to turn on their sixty-inch TV.
Yeah, she was privileged and she knew it.
She heard Desmond coming in and making his way upstairs, but she was already browsing Netflix, settling on watching Parks and Recreation for the twentieth time while she broke in her new sketchbook. As the lovely theme tune filled the room, contending valiantly against the boom of Desmond’s stereo from upstairs, she started to scrawl out a drawing of a character she had dreamed up after reading The Hobbit and binging on the entire Lord of the Rings anthology. Were she not so comfy, she would probably get up and put The Fellowship of the Ring in, but she was already settled in. Netflix needed to get those movies already. Settled into a nice comfy couch with a good show on and the distraction of drawing, she soon relaxed, her eyelids getting heavy….
When Sarabeth awoke, she became aware of a few things at once.
First, she’d been asleep for an hour or so, as evidenced by how low the sun was in the sky. Her parents were even home; she could hear her mother in the kitchen, unpacking groceries.
Second, she needed to pee, rather badly. The Gatorade she’d had earlier was now fully digested and pushing insistently against her bladder.
And finally, something was…off, between her legs. There was a heavy thickness, like a small pillow had been pressed between them, wrapping up over her abdomen and encasing her butt in thick softness. It crinkled softly as she sat up, and she was momentarily distracted from the fullness of her bladder long enough to pull up the waistband of her pants, gasping and feeling her face flush at what she saw.
She was wearing a diaper. Rather than the blue thong she’d started the day with, it had been replaced with a fluffy pink Pampers Grower, and most embarrassingly, it was Frozen-patterned. It was secretly one of her favorite movies, and that meant that there was only one person who could have done this.
“Desmond!” she shouted, standing and fixing her shirt. The diaper made it feel strange to walk, and it crinkled quietly with every step she took. She stalked for the stairs, seeing her mom peek out from the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she said with a smile. “I think your brother is in the bathroom, sweetie.”
Uh-oh. That did it. Even mentioning the bathroom brought Sarabeth’s attention back to her full bladder, but she fought it, hurrying past the stairs to the downstairs bathroom. She rapped her knuckles sharply on the door, trying the knob but finding it locked.
“Desmond Allen Paxton, get out of there,” she said in a voice loud enough for only him to hear. “What the hell is this?”
In response, all she heard was the flush of the toilet, and the sound only intensified the push on her bladder, a dribble sneaking out and soaking into the padding. She stood there, legs pressed together and squirming, until she finally couldn’t stand it. Seizing a longshot, she hurried away, intending to hobble upstairs and use that bathroom, but she realized that Dad always showered right after work. She could even hear the distant sound of it from here. Not that it would have been any use.
She wouldn’t have made it.
“Oh…” she gasped out, slumping against the wall as she felt her bladder giving in and releasing. For a long moment, she just stood there, feeling the rush of urine pouring forth, at odds with her current location, the hallway outside the bathroom. She wasn’t even sitting down, just standing there, feeling warm wetness pooling between her legs as the padding swelled up a bit. “Oh, man….”
She heard the bathroom door open, and Desmond stepped out with a little smile at her. It wasn’t a mocking smirk or laughter, just a warm, genuine smile. He moved closer and wrapped her up in a hug, resting his chin on top of her head. Why did he have to be so much taller than her!? His hand came up and gently rubbed circles on her back as he spoke softly in her ear.
“All finished?” he asked, and she shook her head, feeling her eyes water with embarrassment. “You’re fine, alright?”
“Why did you – “
“Let’s talk later,” he said as the flow of urine finally tapered off, leaving Sarabeth a little frightened. She had just wet herself, and it was difficult to reconcile to herself that she was wearing a diaper, so it was okay. She was safe.
She felt really safe, actually.
“But I – “
“Later,” he said. “Let’s get some food, alright? You hungry?”
She nodded, feeling herself hunch shyly.
“All done?” he asked with a light tap to the front of her diaper, causing her to blush darkly as she nodded again.
“I can’t go in there like this,” she said. “Mom’ll notice.”
“No she won’t,” Desmond insisted, taking her hand. “C’mon, you don’t trust me?”
“You think about what you just did to me and ask that question again,” Sarabeth challenged him, and he snickered.
“Fair point,” he said. “Look, I swear I have an explanation for this, and I’ll tell you when we get upstairs. Okay?”
He pulled her along, and she sighed, letting him lead her into the kitchen, a large affair with top-of-the-line appliances and a curved island bar in the middle. Mom was standing there, opening the oven and reaching in with a mitted hand to pull out a Stouffer’s lasagna. Five cheese, Sarabeth’s favorite. She allowed herself a small moment of delight at the surprise before going back to terrified. Here she was, standing in the kitchen like it was the most normal thing ever, like she wasn’t wearing a used diaper, one that she herself had used. The diaper felt even thicker and heavier between Sarabeth’s legs now that she had wet it, and it crinkled ever so softly as she walked. She looked down, wondering if there was an obvious bulge, but the athletic pants she wore were loose-fitting enough that she couldn’t even tell at a glance what strange manner of underwear she had on.
“There you are,” Mom said, sticking a spatula into the lasagna and serving them both up a heaping plateful. Mom was the spitting image of Sarabeth plus about twenty years. Sarabeth took comfort in the fact that she would at least age gracefully, if her mother was any kind of evidence. She had the same brown eyes, the same dark hair, and only faint laugh lines around her mouth signified that she was nearing forty. “So, how was your day? Did you get that game?”
“Yes, and I already kick ass at it,” Desmond said, setting his plate on the kitchen island and cutting a bite while he smiled up at their mother. She smiled back but raised her spatula threateningly.
“Watch your language around your mother,” she said with a rueful smile.
“Yes, Mom,” Desmond replied with a roll of his eyes, taking a bite of the lasagna. “Mm! This is some of the best frozen lasagna you’ve ever made, Mom. You’ve really outdone yourself.”
“You are cruising,” Mom said as Sarabeth took a bite of her own lasagna, moving over to scoot onto a stool at the bar. Her diaper crinkled softly as she settled onto the padding, her own personal wearable cushion. She could feel the warmth of the soaked padding still drying under her, could faintly smell a tinge of diaper rash ointment and baby powder. Thankfully, it seemed only she could smell it over the delicious aroma of lasagna.
Sarabeth ate quickly, trying not to make it apparent that she was rushing through her meal. At least she could disguise her eagerness to be out of here as enjoyment of the lasagna. Her mom grilled them about their day, but Desmond fielded most of the questions, as he tended to. Desmond was the outspoken sibling, the spoiled younger brother that was the apple of their parents’ eye. Sarabeth didn’t even have the honor of being a daddy’s girl; their father was distant, often lost in his work or wishing to be left alone after a rough day at the office.
“Boy, you really inhaled that,” Mom said with a smile. “Is my cooking that good?”
“Delicious,” Sarabeth said, passing her plate to Mom and climbing to her feet. “I’m off to my room. Thanks, Mom.”
As Mom turned and headed for the dishwasher, Desmond took hold of Sarabeth’s wrist, leaning down to mutter into her ear.
“Just leave it on for now, okay?” he asked, and Sarabeth shook her head vehemently.
“I’m taking it off – “
“C’mon,” he said. “Just for two seconds, think about it without getting all wrapped up in how embarrassing it is or whatever. You’re safe.”
She shivered a bit at that, huffing and hurrying from the kitchen. Her diaper crinkled a bit with each step as walked, feeling the thick padding clinging tightly to her. As she reached the stairs, she saw her father walking down, wearing sweats and a t-shirt. His blonde hair was still wet from the shower, his perfectly-trimmed circle goatee hiding the way his chin looked a little too small for his face.
“Hey, pumpkin,” he said, and as usual, Sarabeth fought back a grimace; she hated pet names, and Dad called her almost exclusively by them. “Did you eat already?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m gonna go draw in my room.”
“Have fun,” Dad told her, patting her head and strolling off to the kitchen. Sarabeth hurried up the stairs to her room, shutting the door and locking it before yanking her pants off. Standing there with just her diaper and shirt on, she stared at her reflection in the mirror on the back of her door, holding her shirt up to get a better look at her padding. It was a soft, pale blue-gray with pink and purple snowflake designs and an image of a smiling Elsa and Anna. It felt strange, knowing Desmond probably picked out these for her because she was a fan of Frozen. That she could have a preferred diaper design just seemed…weird for a girl her age.
And really, what was he thinking? Just because she’d had one honest accident as a result of her heavy sleeping, now she belonged in diapers? That had been years ago. Why was he suddenly all about this now?
She knew she probably should have just ripped this thing off already, told Desmond firmly that she wouldn’t be buying into whatever weird game he was playing, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the moment her bladder had given in, when she had reached the end of her ability to hold it in and wet herself out of pure desperation. It had brought back fresh waves of humiliation, vivid memories of that night at Heather Mitchell’s. Normally, wetting herself meant cleanup, it meant laundry, ruined panties, maybe even mopping up the floor if it was a big enough deal. Thanks to this thing, she had wet herself and simply continued about her day, gone and eaten dinner.
It had made her feel safe.
A soft knock came from her door, and she jumped, hurrying over and placing her hand on the knob.
“It’s me,” Desmond said. “You left your sketchbook in the living room.”
Sarabeth sighed and opened the door, stepping back to let him in and quickly shutting it. Desmond smiled at her, tossing her sketchbook onto her bed and turning to gently pat her swollen diaper, making her squeak when he pulled the waistband away from her back to peer down at her butt.
“What are you doing?” she asked, scandalized.
“Checking to see if you need a change,” he said as though it were the most obvious and normal thing in the world. “You’re good for now, though.”
“Why are you doing this?” Sarabeth asked, stepping away and placing her hands on her hips resolutely. Desmond nodded at the sketchbook on her bed.
“Who’s the hobbit?” he asked. “Her name is Aria?”
“She—I wanted to make my own hobbit,” Sarabeth said. “She’s the daughter of an apple farmer, Farmer Macintosh. Why are – “
“Does she go on adventures like Bilbo?” Desmond asked, making his way over and sitting next to the sketchbook, picking it up and peering at it. Sarabeth hurried over and snagged it away from him, plunking down next to him. “Or is she just a simple farmer?”
“She wants to go on adventures,” Sarabeth said, peering down at the page. “But she’s the only child of her family, and her mom can’t have any more babies. So her dad wants her to marry a nice man that can help take over the family business. She wants to run away, but she’d feel so guilty if she did, so she’s stuck.”
“Living a life she doesn’t want to,” Desmond said, rubbing her back. Sarabeth felt the mattress shifting under her, and she looked over to see him reaching for a hairbrush on her dresser. Soon, she felt the gentle scrape of the bristles along her scalp, sending relaxing tingles up her spine. “So, if she was an adventurer, what would she do? Does she know any magic?”
“She wants to be a wizard,” Sarabeth said in a soft voice, disarmed by his gentle brushing. She could feel the beginnings of an insistent push of the second half of that Gatorade bottle making itself known on her bladder. Tilting her head down to let Desmond have better access for brushing, she couldn’t help but notice her bare legs and her diaper. She could just hear Elsa’s words in her head.
“Let it go, let it go….”
Not exactly the intended message of the song, but she didn’t want to spoil this relaxing moment either. Sighing, she let herself relax, and the flow began, wet warmth pooling under her as she soaked her diaper. She couldn’t believe she was voluntarily using it, but Desmond was actually being sort of sweet, brushing her hair and talking to her about her fantasy character.
Sort of like a big brother would….
“What kind of magic would she use?” Desmond asked, and Sarabeth gave the tiniest of shrugs, still peeing a bit before it tapered off to a little dribble. “I bet she would use conjuration. Like, summoning elementals and stuff. Just this big monster made of dirt running around beating things up for her.”
“That would be pretty cool,” Sarabeth admitted. “Oh! And she could give them all really girly sounding names, like this big stone monster, and she calls it Pebbles, or an ice troll named Snowball!”
“I love this character,” Desmond said with a grin. “Aria Macintosh, the Halfling wizard that loves summoning huge monsters and giving them adorable pet names.”
Sarabeth giggled softly, her eyes fluttering shut as he continued his gentle brushing motion.
“And she actually hates apples!” she said, the idea suddenly occurring to her. “She loves…mangoes. And oranges and citrus fruits. If that ever got out, she would be disgraced and exiled!”
Desmond chuckled at that, shaking his head and setting the brush aside. As he stood, Sarabeth pouted up at him.
“Where are you going?” she asked, and he turned, quirking an eyebrow at her.
“I just got a new video game,” he said, “and I’ve only spent an hour playing it so far.”
“Of course,” Sarabeth muttered. “How could I forget?”
He reached out and gently tousled her hair, smiling warmly at her.
“Wanna come with?” he asked. “I’ll try to keep the volume down, and you can draw while I play, hm?”
Mulling it over for a moment, Sarabeth stood, hearing a soft crinkle as she reached down to pick up her pants, pulling them on and hiding her diaper away. It was even heavier now, sagging a bit with the weight of her pee, but Desmond apparently thought she could go a bit longer, and for some reason, she felt reluctant to just yank it away. She didn’t want to disappoint her brother when he was being so sweet. She trotted along behind Desmond with her sketchbook clutched against her chest, peering up at him. He was so tall now, and he was being so kind. Not that he wasn’t always, but something had changed in his demeanor. Instead of acting like her dorky little brother, it was almost like he was trying to play the part of indulgent older brother.
It was sort of nice.
Both Desmond’s and Sarabeth’s rooms had televisions in them, and they both had full-size beds, all the better to sprawl on when they slept. That was where the similarities ended, however; while Sarabeth’s room had an artist’s table stocked with all kinds of pencils and whatnot, as well as a seldom-used computer, a Roku for the sake of Netflix, the aforementioned alarm clock/sound system, and a few well-stocked bookshelves, Desmond’s room was a teen gamer’s paradise. He had one of those ridiculously-expensive gaming chairs that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, an Alienware computer (whatever that meant) and a Playstation 4 hooked up to his television along with a surround sound system consisting of no less than eight speakers and a subwoofer. He adamantly refused to get an Xbox One, apparently calling himself a “loyalist”. He also had a set of shelves, but rather than books, it was stacked with sci-fi and fantasy figurines, as well as some paraphernalia from the numerous Collector’s Editions he bought of his video games. It was a cozy room with lots of personality, and Sarabeth felt immediately at ease.
“Wanna drink?” Desmond asked, ducking into a mini fridge and emerging with a Dr. Pepper, Sarabeth’s favorite. He tossed it to her, and she popped the top as she crawled onto his bed, opening her sketchbook to a blank page. She was dimly aware of Desmond starting his game back up, hearing the generic din of video game sounds, shooting, blasting, magic, whatever. She was focused on the page, however, sketching out a new design of Aria, this time flanked by a frost troll and a large rock monster.
She lost track of time, but by the time the bottle of Dr. Pepper was empty, she was nearly finished with the drawing, and the sun was down. Knuckling back a yawn despite the caffeine of the drink, she nestled into the huge pillow on Desmond’s bed, and just as she decided to maybe add a third minion, perhaps a fire tiger named Sparky, her eyelids were already drooping.