The Diaper Whisperer

A series with a dark, mysterious twist. The supernatural investigator Dick Faraldo takes on three separate cases involving the strange entity known as the Diaper Whisperer. (This story has very little fap content. If that’s what you came for, I suggest you leave.)

(Still a work-in-progress)


INTRO

There are those who speculate about the existence of supernatural beings that walk among the mortals of Earth. The tales are vast in quantity, and vary greatly in detail. Some describe the spirits of those who have passed on, still communicating with their living brethren. Others tell of demons of an evil sort, which seek to possess or corrupt those with whom they come into contact. If such stories cause you discomfort, it is advised that you not subject yourself to the following passages. Should you choose to continue, you will read a series of accounts that detail the interventions of a mysterious figure. Nobody is sure of the origin of this specter, nor the purpose behind its odd nature. The only thing certain is that this being has but a singular goal: inflicting the desire to wear diapers. It is for this reason that many have taken to calling this entity the Diaper Whisperer.


It was about 8:00 PM when I began my walk down to the building. It was a chilly September evening, the setting sun glistening against the grey cityscape like some kind of mystical portal to another world. The brown trench coat into which I dug my hands blew softly with the biting wind that ever so slightly slowed my progress. There were others who walked with me, though I didn’t know them. Just strangers, headed to their homes after a long day of work. But my work was just beginning.

I reached the building after the hour-long trek from my apartment. By now, darkness was beginning to shroud the city, and the last of the strangers were filing into the doors of the surrounding apartment complexes. I glanced at the crude sign on the dirty window - Dick Faraldo’s Supernatural Investigation - before pushing open the single door that led inside.

A bell rang, indicating my presence. My associate, Johnny Riccheti, walked into the small entrance room from a door at the back left. His tie was undone, his hair disheveled, and there were bags forming underneath his eyes. This profession had aged him quickly: though he was only in his early thirties, the wrinkles lining his forehead and the silver streaks of hair indicated he wasn’t a day under forty. He was holding a clipboard with uneven papers - the files for tonight’s cases.

“Hey Johnny, how ya doin’,” I grunted quickly while taking the papers from his tired grip.

“You know Dick, you ask me the same question every night even though you don’t give a damn about the answer,” he accused me.

“It’s called a formality, wise guy,” I told him, flipping through the papers. “Quite common in today’s society. Just be grateful I care enough to even give you that.” I continued looking at the papers on the clipboard, and started mumbling some of the lines to myself. “Strange man… appearing out of nowhere… returns to victim several times…” So far, nothing I hadn’t read before. But one line made me do a double-take with my eyes, and I reread it just to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. What I read was pretty unusual, even for this line of work. I looked up at Johnny and raised an eyebrow. “Causes desire to wear diapers?” I asked skeptically.

My partner shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently. I don’t understand it myself. I’ve heard of spirits doing a lot of things, but that’s certainly one for the books. They call him the Diaper Whisperer.”

“Oh come on now,” I told him, waving the papers in front of me. “You can’t actually be buying this shit? This is all just another practical joke that those fuckin’ frat boys are trying to pull on us.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you. But they’ve got the um…” He chose his next word carefully. “…‘evidence’ to back it up.”

My mouth hung open as I absorbed the meaning of his words. “You can’t possibly mean…”

Johnny nodded his head in confirmation. “These people are legitimately wearing diapers as we speak. One of them even excused herself to change out of it.”

The thought of full-grown, healthy adults in diapers caused me mild disgust. But more than anything, I was curious. What kind of supernatural being would make people want to wear and use diapers? What could possibly be its intentions? And what were its methods to make these people give in?

“Well ain’t that somethin’,” I finally said after some silence had passed between us. I removed my coat and put it on the hanger next to the door. “Well, lemme go take a piss like a normal human being before getting started on these, ehh… adult babies, I guess you’d call 'em.”

I walked to the door on my right and entered the single-person restroom to relieve myself. When I was done, I turned on the sink and splashed some water in my face. After drying off, I looked myself over real quick. I didn’t look nearly as old as Johnny, although we were the same age. My slick, black hair would have made me actually look younger than I am, were it not for my scruffy five o’clock shadow. My brown eyes had some red streaks from lack of sleep, but that was the only physical indication of the toll this profession had had on me. I straightened my red tie and adjusted the collar of my white shirt real quick, then prepared myself to meet the victims of the alleged Diaper Whisperer.

Re: The Diaper Whisperer

CASE 1: TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS

As I approached the door, I could hear frantic talking coming from the other side. I turned the knob and was greeted with a blast of loud, fast words coming from the suited businessman. He was pacing the room and apparently talking to someone on his obviously-expensive earpiece.

“I don’t care what public relations thinks! This advertisement needs to go through if we want to see any increase in revenue!… Then make it less violent!… No, you explain to those idiots in the creative department that audiences don’t want to see that shit on their televisions and make them fix it!”

I tried to intervene and get the guy’s attention. During one of his pauses I said, “Sir…”

“Is that a fucking joke?! What, you wanna just name the company Geico while we’re at it?”

“Sir.”

“I am telling you that angle has already been taken. Tell them to come up with an original fucking idea or so help me God-”

“Would you please hang up the God damn phone!” I finally yelled.

This seemed to catch his attention. His glaring eyes focused on me, and he finally silenced himself. “I’ll call you back later, Julie,” he said, pressing down on the earpiece and finally ending the call. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He pointed at me accusingly. “I was in the middle of a very important call and you can’t just-!”

“For the love of God, will ya sit down and shut up?” I said, referencing the table with two chairs situated across from one another.

The man was silent for a second, his eyes still piercing me like he was ready to pounce at any second. But he obeyed, and slowly lowered into one of the chairs. I listened closely, and heard the telltale rustle of a diaper which, had I not known he was wearing it, would have escaped my ears. His square jaw clenched in frustration as the wrinkles imprinted on his forehead deepened. “Let’s just get this the hell over with,” he said deeply.

I sat across from him and looked at the files, pretty uncomfortable that I was currently in the presence of a diapered, 40-something man. “Let’s see… Ted Kappel, I presume?”

“That’s my name, yes,” he nodded.

“And some recent encounters caused you to want to wear… diapers.”

Noticeably just a bit shaken by the word, Ted responded, “I prefer the term ‘adult undergarments,’ but yes, that is correct.”

A hilarious thought entered my mind. I smirked, “Would it be alright if I call you ‘Teddy Bear?’”

The man slammed his hands on the table and shot up. “I don’t have to sit here and take this shit,” he growled angrily. He started heading quickly for the door, but I stopped him in his tracks.

“Woah woah woah, now.” I blocked the doorway. “Take it easy, it was just a little joke. C’mon, have a sense of humor.”

The man’s stern face looked down at me, blistering red. “Fine.” He waggled his finger at me, speaking menacingly. “But one more crack like that and I’ll be out that door faster than you slithered out of the hole your mother had you in. Have some damn respect, you little prick.” With that, he turned around and resumed his seat.

I followed, picking up the clipboard once more. “So. Mr. Kappel.” He nodded in approval. “You’re here because of a report that a mysterious man enticed you into wearing di- uh, adult undergarments,” I corrected myself.

I was about to continue, but he cut me off. “No, I’m here because my bitch wife sent me with the threat of otherwise putting me in a mental institution.”

We were both silent for a second. “May I continue?” I asked politely as possible.

“Yeah, like I said hurry this up,” he said quickly, waving me on.

“Alright.” I stood up and began drifting slowly to the back of the room, still looking at the clipboard. I turned around to face him again: the look on his face displayed obvious impatience with me. So I cut to the chase. I said, “Why don’t you tell me when this whole… ‘situation’ began?”

“There was a guy, we talked a few times, and eventually I started wearing these undergarments. Happy now?” He rolled his eyes while saying this.

Without looking up, I told him, “You know you’re not getting out of here until you give me every last detail.”

I heard him groan loudly. “Alright, fine.” I started scribbling notes as he began his story.


I was in my office building, on the tenth floor of the Truman’s Insurance headquarters. I was talking with my secretary, Julie, who was telling me about the day’s schedule, what was and wasn’t done yet, etcetera etcetera. Meanwhile I was writing up a report for our advertising campaign, which the CEO had put me in charge of specifically. It’s a lot of fucking work, lemme tell you, but it pays good.

Anyway, one of my underlings walked in and handed me a phone. “Sir, the creative department is on the phone for you,” he told me.

“Put 'em on hold for a while,” I said. “I gotta take a leak.”

“Sir,” he insisted, “it’s urgent.”

So I said, “God damn it, gimme the phone,” and yanked it from his scrawny little hand. Putting it up to my ear, I said, “Make this quick, I’m very busy.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kappel,” the lady on the other line tells me. “Henry called in sick; we won’t be able to do the pitch today.”

I rubbed my forehead in irritation. “You gotta be shittin’ me,” I said. Meanwhile, my bladder is pretty much screaming for relief at this point. I’d been holding it all day, and it was 4:00. But I stayed on the line. “I’ll reschedule the damn thing. Tell Henry that if he misses another god damn day he’s fired.”

“Sir, the next date we can possibly do the pitch is three weeks from now. Mr. Truman expects an idea by the end of this week.”

“FUCK!” I yelled. I was so pissed off at this point, but that only made my desperation worse. I had to go, badly. So calming down, I said, “Fine, uhh… I’ll- I’ll figure something out. In the meantime just get back to the drawing board.”

“Very good, sir,” she said. Then she hung up. I stood up quickly and felt the full weight of my bladder pressing down. Shit, I thought. I’m gonna leak again if I don’t hurry. Unfortunately for me, the nearest bathroom was all the way across the damn building, two floors down. So I speed walked the two minutes through the hallway, and waited another three just for the elevator to come up to my floor. I was bouncing anxiously at this point; my mind was trying to focus on just holding it, but I kept thinking about all the work I still had to do, which made it even harder.

The elevator finally hit the eight floor. And I mean “hit.” Some piss dribbled out and soaked into my clothes, and I just prayed to God that nobody noticed. It’s one of the reasons I’d taken to wearing black pants every day.

So anyway, I finally made it to the bathroom and unzipped myself to start pissing. It felt good to finally let it go, but I couldn’t be too happy; I was wasting another three or four minutes just standing there in front of the urinal. I really gotta get back, I thought. But then, I also had to wipe off the wet spot on my pants. Remembering this made me groan. Why can’t there be an easier way? I thought desperately.

“But there is.” A soft voice said behind me. I turn my head to look, and there was this guy standing there. Looked to be about twenty, maybe twenty-two, wearing a suit kinda like mine, just smilin’ and whatnot.

Confused, I finished my business before responding. “The fuck did you just say?” I asked as I turned all the way around. This time, i noticed a really weird, red glint in his eyes. Couldn’t explain it to you if I tried.

“You don’t have to keep interrupting your work to make pit stops, you know,” he told me.

This guy was obviously trying to get my attention, but I wasn’t having it. “I don’t got time for your fucking games, kid. I gotta get back to work,” I told him.

I was at the door when he said, “You’re not gonna take care of that spot on your pants first?”

I stopped. This last attempt had worked. How the hell did he know that I had a wet spot on my pants? I looked down and I could barely see it; the pants were pitch black. I let go of the door and turned around, reaching for a paper towel and not taking my eyes off of the guy. “Alright, what’s this all about?” I said, starting to wipe the spot dry.

“Oh, nothing,” he told me. I wished he’d just get to the point; that fucking smile of his was starting to piss me off. He brushed his long, black hair out of his eyes real quick and continued. “It’s just that these bathroom breaks of yours seem to be getting rather… inconvenient.”

Still wiping my pants off, I said, “Yeah, a little bit. Where you going with this? I gotta get back to work.” Finished wiping myself, I stood there and waited impatiently for his response.

“You don’t have to settle for rushing down here every few hours, you know,” he told me in a salesman-like tone. “There are some… alternatives you might consider.”

I crossed my arms and scoffed. “Alternative like what, getting an office closer to the damn bathroom? I’ve been working in the same office for five years, buddy. Ain’t no way that’s gonna change just because I gotta take a piss once in a while.”

“I realize that. I was actually suggesting you find an alternative for restroom trips altogether. Even if there were a restroom on your floor, you’d still be interrupting your work to use it, wouldn’t you?”

Okay, this guy had a point. Bathroom breaks were just annoying in general when there’s so much else to get done. “Yes, I suppose,” I told him after a moment of thought. “It would be nice if I didn’t have to go to the bathroom all the time.” I turned around to throw away the balled up paper towel. Turning back to look at him I began, “But that’s kind of unavoid…a…ble…” I trailed off when I realized he was nowhere to be seen. I looked around, confused. What the fuck? I thought.

But I didn’t have time to think about it. I looked at my watch and suddenly realized I’d wasted a full ten minutes in the bathroom. “Damn it,” I muttered, running back to the elevator.

So the rest of they day was pretty uneventful. I managed to get that whole situation worked out with the CEO and we agreed on another date for the pitch, but that’s about it.

I came home about 8:00 like always. My wife Helen was on the computer, looking at some stupid blog shit. She greeted me as I walked in and asked how my day was.

“Great, great,” I responded unenthusiastically. “My pitch guy called in sick and we had to reschedule the whole damn thing.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said sweetly, rubbing my shoulders. “Anything else?”

I thought, and remembered the little scenario in the bathroom. “Well, there was this oddball in the bathroom who was talking about seeking ‘alternatives’ to making a bathroom trip every hour of the day, whatever the hell that means.”

She giggled. “What, you mean like diapers?”

That made me pause. “Diapers?” I hadn’t yet thought specifically of what the guy might have meant. Hell, I’d forgotten the whole thing up until that point, I’d been so busy. “Don’t be ridiculous. Only babies wear diapers; that can’t be what he meant.”

She stood in front of me now, an amused grin on her face. “They do make adult diapers, you know. My grandma wears them.”

Oh yeah, I thought. Old people wear them too, I guess. “Well, it’s still a stupid idea,” I said. “And I still doubt that’s what he meant.”

“Well,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I can’t think of any other ‘alternatives’ to the bathroom.”

“That guy was a goofball,” I said, sorry I’d ever brought up the topic. “Looked like a god damn teenager. Probably just messing with me.”

“If you say so,” she told me, letting go of my shoulders. She leaned in close and asked, “So… You ready for a little fun?”

Well, sex sounded good, don’t get me wrong, but I was too damn tired. “Not tonight honey,” I said. “Long day at work. I’m exhausted.” So I ate dinner and went straight to bed.

Well, lo and behold I woke up in the middle of the night. I looked at my clock: 3:30 AM and I had to piss.

“God fuck,” I said under my breath. So I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. And in the middle of my piss I hear this voice.

“Still a slave to the toilet, I see.”

Well that about scared the living shit outta me, so I turned my head to look and sure enough, there’s that douche with the black hair and the red eyes, still wearing his suit.

I hadn’t even pulled my pants up over my junk before I had him against the wall by his tie. “How the FUCK did you get into my house, you little bastard?!”

That damn smile. I swear it was super glued to his face by the devil himself. “Relax, Ted,” he told me. “I’m just here to talk.”

I still didn’t let him go. “How do you know my name?” I demanded. “You some kinda stalker or something?”

“I wouldn’t go by that term, no,” he said smugly. “But I know a couple things about you, Ted. For instance, going to the bathroom is really getting in the way of your work. Don’t you have to wake up in the morning?”

My grip softened as I started realizing he didn’t mean me any harm. Fine, I thought, I’ll humor this jackass and call the police afterward. “Yeah, I do. What of it?”

I finally let him go, and he took a step away from the wall. Brushing his tie straight, he continued. “Wouldn’t it be nice if you didn’t have to wake up to go to the bathroom?”

“Hey,” I said, pulling up my underwear, “I don’t do this every night. I just forgot to go before I went to bed is all.”

“Suppose it happens again, maybe the night before a very important day. What then? You wanna walk around tired the rest of the day because you didn’t pee before bed?”

That made me think. It was true that my whole day would suck tomorrow just because I had to piss in the middle of the night. But I still didn’t know what he was getting at. I thought back to what my wife said. It seemed like the only thing he could be talking about, but there was just no way.

So, to test the waters a bit, I said, “This ‘alternative’ you mentioned. My wife interpreted it as you suggesting I wear…” I waited to see if he would finish my sentence, but he just stared at me expectantly. So I said it. “…diapers?”

He pinched his chin as if thinking. “Hmm. Diapers, huh?” he said, interested. “Yes, that would be one alternative, wouldn’t it? What do you think about that, Ted?”

I wasn’t expecting the question, so I collected my thoughts real quick before answering. "Well, I think it’s absolutely ridiculous. What kind of self-respecting businessman would waltz around his office in diapers?

He started pacing slowly, back and forth, his hands now behind his back as he spoke. “Is it really?” he asked me. “Why do you say that? Because babies wear them? Is it just simply not ‘proper attire’ for someone of your position?”

He had pretty much hit the mark, so I said, “Well, yeah.” I added, after some thought, “Not to mention it’s highly unsanitary. There’s no way the health code would allow it.”

He kept pacing, the devilish smile still on his face. “Have you ever read the health code, Ted? Because I’m fairly certain that as long as none of your…” he cleared his throat. “…‘waste’ actually touches anything, then you’re perfectly within its boundaries. As for the attire situation, what if you just hide it well enough that nobody can see it? Out of sight, out of mind, right?”

Well, that did kinda make sense. A diaper is meant to keep everything contained, after all. Plus, how hard could it be to keep it hidden under my pants? But it still didn’t seem right to me.

He must have noticed my continuing apprehension, so he kept going. “Look, I’m not trying to make you do anything. Like I told you before, I’m just trying to help. If, on the off chance, you did decide to wear diapers, I think it would solve your restroom problem without a hitch. Just imagine the convenience of not having to make those daunting trips anymore!”

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Wearing diapers would save me those trips, which in turn meant that I could get so much more work done. It definitely seemed like the efficient way to go. But there were still a few problems I could think of.

Before I could mention them, the door to the bathroom suddenly opened. I jerked my head to see Helen standing there, and she flipped the light switch on. “Ted?” she yawned. “Who’re you talking to?”

I pointed in front of me, about to reference the young man, but he was gone. Damn, just like earlier, I thought. What is with this guy?

“Ted?”

I decided to answer my wife. I shook my head, saying, “I’m sorry. I just had to go to the bathroom and I could’ve sworn I saw that guy again.”

“Oh, really?” A look of both interest and concern flashed across her face. “Well where is he now?”

“I have no idea,” I said, looking around the room again. “It’s like… he just disappeared.”

“Did he say anything to you?” she asked me.

I hesitated. “Well… I brought up what you said about the diapers… And he said it was a good idea.” I shrugged as it it were nothing.

Obviously, Helen thought it was something. Her mouth opened slightly in disbelief. “So this guy just appears to you, tells you to wear diapers and then leaves?”

Wow, did that sound stupid. I stood there like an idiot for a good ten seconds before finally shaking my head. “It’s nothing,” I said, turning on the sink to wash my hands. “I had a really long day at work and my mind must be playing tricks on me.” I turned off the faucet and walked past my wife, whose worried gaze followed me to the bed. After a minute, she turned off the bathroom light and lied down next to me.

“I’m a little worried about all this,” she told me.

Irritated and just trying to get to sleep I said, “I told you it’s fine. Now just let me get some sleep, okay?”

“Fine,” she responded, “but you’d better tell me if this happens again.”

So the next day I woke up before Helen, as usual. I made some coffee to take with me, then was out the door in about thirty minutes. While driving I realized that the coffee had gone right through me, and the urge to piss suddenly started growing. And of course I was stuck behind a whole line of traffic, so I wouldn’t be to work for at least another twenty minutes.

I started tapping the steering wheel nervously as thoughts of that mysterious man ran through my head. I still wasn’t totally desperate but, much as I hated to admit it, a diaper would’ve been pretty nice right then and there.

“Stuck in traffic?” The voice came from my right. My heart nearly shot out of my chest as I jerked my head to see the that the man had appeared in the passenger seat next to me. Still happy and smiley as ever.

“How the- Wha- How did you get in my car?” I kept looking from him to the road and back to him, once again shocked at his sudden appearance.

He just looked ahead this time, his red eyes fixed on the road. “Just thought I’d hitch a ride with you, Ted. Is there a problem with that?”

I was still pretty shaken, but at the same time I couldn’t help but feel almost glad that he was there. I still had questions about this whole diaper nonsense he was talking about.

“Well, I… I guess not,” I muttered uncomfortably.

“So. Have you thought about our little talk at all?” he asked casually.

So I told him, “Uh, kinda. You’re actually making some sense, but I can still see some problems with what you’re suggesting-”

He stopped me as he turned his head to look at me. “What I’m suggesting?” He put his hand on his chest for emphasis. “But Ted, you’re the one who brought up the idea to ME. I just thought it was a good one, and I’m trying to help you see that.”

“But there are so many things wrong with it!” I told him. “Like, what if someone smells me after I… you know. And when am I supposed to change out of it? You don’t expect me to sit in the same one all day, do you? And lastly, let’s remember what we’re talking about: fucking diapers. Diapers!” I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. “Something babies wear to catch their shit because they’re not developed enough to hold it! And you’re telling me I should wear them??”

The guy’s eyes turned back to the road, across which we were still inching painfully slowly. He seemed to think about something, then he said, “So… you’re still concerned with the whole pretense that only babies wear diapers?”

“Yes,” I told him. But after remembering what my wife had told me the day before, I added, “Well, and I guess some old people, too.”

He seemed to cling on this as his eyes lit up. “Exactly!” he exclaimed excitedly, turning back to face me. “Older people have to wear diapers, too. Except they’re not called ‘diapers.’ People refer to them as ‘briefs’ or ‘adult undergarments.’”

That caught my interest. “Really?” I said. “Well, that does sound a bit more dignified than ‘diapers.’”

“Then call them that!” he told me. “They’re not diapers, they’re adult undergarments. And they’re to help you get more work done during the day. And as for the smell, it’s really hard for people to smell pee underneath the outer plastic material. The only time you’ll really need to worry is when you go number two, but there are plenty of supplements that can help to counteract that, or you can just do it at home. Changing? Just do it after you clock out. You’ll only be in the same diaper for a couple of hours, and the undergarments are built to keep the moisture off your skin. So as long as you watch your liquid intake, you’ll be fine!”

Well, that guy was quite the salesman. He had answered pretty much every question I’d still had; presented every bit of his case in the most logical and cohesive way possible. But it still didn’t feel right; imagining myself wearing adult undergarments still made me uncomfortable.

I hadn’t realized the line of traffic had moved considerably, and the guy behind me beeped his horn. I swiveled my head around to look behind me, then looked back at the road, and started driving. And when I looked back to my right, he was gone. Again.

When I finally made it to work I rushed into the bathroom, as at this point I really had to go. The entire drive all I could think about were the guy’s words, and still I thought of them, trying to come up with another point to counter him; some other fact that could bring the logic of it all crashing down. But I came up empty.

As I washed my hands, I looked at myself in the mirror. Are you really considering this? I thought to myself. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw his reflection. He was standing some distance behind me, his eyes seeming to glow and his smile growing larger. But when I turned around, he wasn’t there at all.

I shook my head as I walked back to my office, very confused with all this. Hours went by and I continued working, but this guy was always there in the back of my mind. Finally, I gave in. Using the computer on my desk, I searched “adult undergarments.” Several products came up, all designed for adults, varying in size and absorbency. I clicked through some of the links and stopped on one that seemed both effective and somewhat cheap: Attends Extended Wear, twenty dollars. I added it to the cart and went to the checkout, my heart racing as I thought of what I was actually doing. I entered all my information: my name, address, and credit card number. I hesitated for a minute before clicking the checkout button. This was it, my last chance to turn back. But some force took hold of me, and I quickly pressed the left mouse button.

“Thank you for your purchase!”


I had been listening to Ted’s story intently, jotting down notes about this mysterious person, including his physical description and the things he had said.

Ted continued on: “So the undergarments came a couple days later. Helen obviously saw them and knew I had been talking to that guy again, so she sent me to a doctor, which was no help. After some research, she found a couple stories and myths about this ‘Diaper Whisperer’ guy, who had apparently been the one appearing to me. Some kind of supernatural being, I guess. And that’s when she sent me to you guys. ‘You talk to them, or you can talk to the warden of a mental institution,’ she told me.”

I looked over my notes. “So,” I began, “you think this ‘guy’ who kept appearing to you was the Diaper Whisperer?”

“Hell if I know,” he said, throwing up his arms. “Sure didn’t seem like any ordinary fellow, that’s for sure.”

“And this all occurred over the course of… two days?”

He looked to the ceiling in thought. “Up until I actually bought any, yeah it was about two days.”

Wow, I thought, astounded. This thing works fast. I jotted down “2 days” on the paper, then asked him one last question. “How do you feel now about your… undergarments?”

“Well, I feel pretty good,” he said, nodding. “Like the guy said: much more efficient than restroom breaks. Change once in the morning, once at night. Haven’t interrupted my work or sleep schedule once for the damn toilet. And quite frankly…” He looked toward his waist, smiling slightly. “…they’re pretty comfortable.”

I wrote down “happy with life changes” on the paper. Finally, I looked up at him, looking him over one last time.

“Well?” he asked expectantly. “Are we finished here or what?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Yeah, you can go.” We both stood up, and I reached my hand out for him to shake. “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Kappel. Your story will help tremendously with our studies.”

He almost returned the shake, but his earpiece began ringing. “Oh shit, I gotta take this,” he said, walking past me as he answered the call.

I followed him out the door and back into the main entrance room, catching a whiff of something quite unpleasant as I went. I wrinkled my nose as I watched him walk out the door, talking to his earpiece.

Johnny appeared next to me. “So how’d it go with diaper boy?” he asked.

I gave him my notes, which he began looking over. “This thing is a fast worker,” I said. “Two days and he had this guy in diapers, or ‘adult undergarments’ as he calls 'em.” I air-quoted “adult undergarments,” speaking in an exaggerated version of Ted’s business-like approach.

“Yeah…” he kept flipping the pages. “…But from what I can tell, it seemed like he was kind of predisposed to this happening. I mean, just look at all this.” He listed through the notes. “Holding for long periods of time, stains on pants, complains about restroom breaks…”

I looked at him curiously. “What’re you saying?”

“Well, like you said. It only took two days for this specter to do its work. I think it picks out the easy targets; the ones he knows are already leaning toward something like this.”

“Hmm…” I thought for a moment. “You may be onto something there.” I looked down the hall at the rooms in which the other victims were waiting. “But we still got two more cases to go through, so let’s not make any hasty speculations.”

Re: The Diaper Whisperer

CASE 2: SCARRED FOR LIFE

Opening the door to the next room revealed an African-American woman, perhaps somewhere in her early thirties. Sitting at the table, her face was concentrated on the laptop in front of her, her fingers working quickly to make the letters appear on the screen.

She stopped typing and brushed a strand of straight, black hair out of her face to acknowledge my entrance. “Hello,” she said politely, giving me a smile.

I smiled back, happy to be in the presence of someone a bit more agreeable. She stood up and extended her hand as I walked toward her and said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs….”

“Moxley. Ms. Julia Moxley.” She stressed the “Ms.” almost unnecessarily. Her soft hand made contact with mine and she shook firmly, yet somehow gently. Her dark brown eyes had a unique shine to them, and though her face displayed soft wrinkles, it seemed to radiate an inexplicable elegance. Her outfit was nothing special: a casual, short-sleeved white top and a knee-long, black skirt. But on her, it might as well have been a flowing regal gown.

“Ms. Moxley,” I said in a delighted tone. “What a beautiful name.”

Her perfectly-manicured hand reached up to gently touch her smiling red lips as she received the compliment. Placing her hand back down she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Faraldo.”

“Please,” I responded, “call me Dick.” I walked her back over to the table and she sat down, closing her laptop as she did so. I listened closely, and heard the same crinkle that had given away what Ted had been wearing. She lifted one leg to cross over the other, and it was all I could do to prevent myself from sneaking a glance underneath her skirt. Maintaining my polite composure, I took out my pen and looked at my clipboard.

“So, Ms. Moxley…” I began.

“You can call me Julia, if you’d like,” she said. My heart fluttered at the suggestion, and my eyes looked up to meet hers. I couldn’t look for long, however; those glittering orbs threatened to hypnotize me. I quickly glanced to the side and then back down to the clipboard, where my gaze remained.

“Julia, then,” I said, savoring the taste of the name. “I understand you’ve had some recent encounters that have caused you to, ah…” I trailed off, afraid of offending her by finishing the sentence.

“…wear diapers?” she finished for me. She phrased it as a question, as if unsure about why I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

I gathered myself and responded, “Yes, sorry.” Remembering Ted’s disdain at my use of the word “diaper” I added, “I didn’t know the, uh… proper terminology.”

“Yes, I wear diapers,” she said, as if discussing the weather. “It’s basically a medical necessity at this point.”

This caught my attention. I risked looking at her again. “Really?” I asked, feeling her eyes overtake me. “Why is that?”


I was sitting in my house one day late in the summer. School was about to start and, since I’m a teacher, I was looking over and revising my syllabus. I suddenly felt the need to use the restroom, so I went real quick. But wouldn’t you know it, not thirty minutes later I had to go again. I thought it was weird, but tried to forget about it. Until about twenty minutes later, when it happened again.

By this point I was starting to get worried. I had been sipping water occasionally, but by no means did I have enough to make me need to urinate three times in in an hour. Over the next few hours I had made about ten trips to the restroom. To add to that, I could feel a burning sensation in my lower abdomen every time I had to go. Confused and concerned, I called my doctor to make an appointment for the next day.

I went to bed at about ten o’clock, but woke up three times during the night needing the restroom. It was the oddest thing. Morning seemed to take forever to come, and I was relieved when it finally did. I was just ready to get this thing taken care of.

I finally pulled in the parking lot and had to rush to the restroom, despite the fact that I had gone just before I left and it was only a thirty-minute drive.

“Julia Moxley?” I heard a lady’s voice ask as I finished washing my hands. I opened the restroom door and walked over to where the lady was standing. I followed her back into a room, where she took my weight, height, and blood pressure. Then she sat me down at the exam table and began asking me the usual questions - why I had come in, whether I was feeling any pain, if I’d been on medications - and filled in my answers on her computer. She finished typing and walked to the door.

“Dr. Martin will be right with you,” she promised.

I gave her a nod and a quick “thank you” as she walked out of the room. My belly began slightly burning again, and I put my hand over it to try to relieve the pain. What is causing this? I thought. I tried to think of what I’d eaten the day before: a little cereal, some salad, a bowl of pasta. Nothing out of the ordinary. I thought of the possibility of it being a sexual thing. I hadn’t had intercourse in the few months since I’d broken up with my boyfriend, but I knew that diseases could pop up at random times. I just prayed that that wasn’t the case.

I grew anxious as I continued waiting for the doctor. What was taking so long? I looked at the clock. 9:06. It had only been five minutes since I’d sat down in the room, but it felt like hours had passed. The pain in my gut was dull but persistent.

Dr. Martin finally walked in about a minute later. “Good morning, Julia!” he greeted me cheerfully. “What brings you here today?” He got on the computer and began scrolling through some things as I answered him.

“Well,” I said, wanting to get it out as quickly as possible, “yesterday, out of nowhere, I just started going to the restroom an awful lot. I think I went about ten times in four hours.” He nodded and pinched the stubble on his chin as I spoke. “There’s also this burning in my belly every time I need to go.”

He looked at the computer and started typing some things. “Are you sexually active?” he asked, still typing.

“No, not for about six months,” I responded.

“Have you had any recent changes in diet?”

“No.”

He scrolled down on his screen. “Okay, so no drugs, no change in diet…” He kept scrolling, seeming to look for some missing piece of information. “And you say this was a sudden onset?”

“Yes. I hadn’t had any complications prior to yesterday.”

He typed some more. “Well…” He finally looked back at me. “All the symptoms seem to point toward urinary tract infection. Have you ever had a UTI before?”

It took only a moment for me to remember the time when I was fourteen, and I had gone swimming all day in a lake with my friends. Apparently, the water had been contaminated. I went home that day feeling fine, but the next day I had to pee about twice every hour, and it burned every time. The doctor diagnosed me with a UTI and gave me some antibiotics, and I was cured in about a week.

But this felt different. First of all, it didn’t burn to pee; if anything, it helped to relieve the pain I had in my belly. Second, I was going even more frequently than I had at the time I was diagnosed with the UTI. But I supposed it was possible that not all UTIs felt the same.

“Yes,” I answered the doctor. “When I was fourteen.”

He typed this into his computer. “Well, it’s quite common for UTI’s to recur in people who have been diagnosed with them in the past. I’ll prescribe you some antibiotics and aspirin and we’ll see how that works for you, okay?”

“Alright,” I said reluctantly. I just had a bad feeling that something wasn’t right.

I started taking my medication at lunch time that day and took it again at night. I was still having to pee every thirty or so minutes, but I just figured that the antibiotics would take time to kick in. But after a couple days, there was no change. I was still making at least thirty bathroom trips throughout the day.

So I called my doctor back and he brought me back in for another examination. This time, he took a urine sample to check for bacterial manifestation. He was surprised when it came back clean. He started asking me more questions, specifically about the pain I’d been experiencing. Although the aspirin was helping, I told him that it got worse as I waited longer to use the restroom. After typing a few more things into his computer, he told me that I may have what’s known as interstitial cystitis. It’s basically an inflammation of the muscle tissue inside the bladder, and when the inflamed cells make contact with urine, it causes burning and urgency.

Dr. Martin told me that nobody is completely sure what causes this disorder, although it has been linked to sexual activity and genetic predisposition. He went on to say that there is no known cure for it, although some treatments have reduced the symptoms. He prescribed me Elmiron, which supposedly reduces the symptoms overtime, and told me that I should begin seeing slight improvement in a few weeks, then a more significant improvement after a few months.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a few weeks for the meds to kick in. School started Monday, and it was Saturday. One day wasn’t nearly enough time for my symptoms to get better, and I worried about what I would do if I had to go during class.

When Monday came, I arrived at school at 7:00 AM having already used the restroom twice in the last hour. The class would be in session for about an hour before the kids switched to their music class, so it would definitely be a stretch.

The fourth-graders began pouring into the room from the buses just before 8:00. I assigned the seats in alphabetical order and took attendance, then passed out copies of the syllabus and started reading it aloud.

“Welcome to the class! My name is Ms. Moxley, and I will be your homeroom teacher. You will come to this class every morning at 8:00, so be sure to remember the room number! Your student number is written on your desk in the top right corner. It will be used to identify which cubby hole outside the classroom belongs to you. You can use these cubby holes to store anything you do not need for class….”

I glanced up at the clock. 8:06. I was still feeling fine, so I continued, glancing up at the class every once in a while. Some of the students looked quite bored; others were trying to sneakily converse with each other while I spoke. One student had his attention fixed on me and seemed to cling to every word I spoke. Well, I thought, at least there will be one attentive student this year.

I finished reading the syllabus and began a greeting game which would allow the students to learn each other’s names. There were giggles as some of the names were mispronounced, and the kids seemed to be having fun. Then, in the middle of it all, I felt the now-familiar pain begin to take hold of me. I looked at the clock again. 8:25. I still had another thirty-five minutes, but I needed relief now. I forced the smile to remain stuck to my face as I rubbed my hand on my belly in an attempt to relieve the pain. But it was no use. Another two minutes and I was doubled over with desperation.

“Okay, everyone!” I yelled. The room was immediately silenced as the children shot their gazes at me. I hesitated; I couldn’t just blurt out that I needed to go to the toilet. So I simply said, “I need to leave the room for just a few minutes, so everyone remain seated and be quiet until I come back.” The children watched silently and intently as I exited the room, and as I closed the door, there was a burst of chatter, just like I figured there would be.

But I had more pressing matters to deal with. I rushed to the restroom across the hall and sighed with relief as I finally released the pressure on my bladder. The pain subsided, and I washed my hands and quickly returned to the class as the clock turned to 8:28.

I began an introduction on some of the math concepts the students would be learning this year and handed out a pretest for them to take. Not graded, of course, just to get an idea of what they know already. I felt the pain in my gut again when there was only 8 minutes left of class, and I tried my best to make it but I just couldn’t. The pain and pressure were just too much, and I quietly left while the class continued working on their pretest. When I came back for the second time, I saw that the one boy I mentioned earlier had been watching me. Drew Paresia, as I had learned during our name game. I could have sworn his eyes glowed red as he watched me resume my seat at the desk in front of the room. I didn’t think much of it though; he had probably just finished his pretest and was waiting for everyone else.

Nine o’clock finally hit and a bell rang over the intercom, signalling everyone to switch classes. I watched the students as they placed their tests on my desk, Drew being the last in line. He remained behind and looked up at me with a questioningly.

“Ms. Moxley?” His voice was soft and innocent, and it nearly made my heart rise out of my chest just listening to it. His hands were placed behind his back while he swiveled his slim shoulders back and forth, causing the long black hair on his head to wave slightly.

“Yes?” I answered. I squatted down to get on his speaking level.

“Where did you go when you left the room those two times?”

It seemed like an innocent enough question. “I just had to use the restroom, honey,” I answered him.

“But you went two times,” he said confusedly. “Hasn’t it only been an hour?”

“Well, yes,” I said. I hesitated to tell him the next bit. “I just have some… medical issues I’m dealing with.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do to make it easier?” he asked. He certainly was a curious child.

Not wanting to leave him completely in the dark, I informed him, “I’m taking some medicine right now, sweetie. I should be all better in a few months.”

“A few months?!” Drew seemed incredulous. His eyes opened wide and seemed to nearly bulge out of his head. “That’s a really long time. Like, that’s how long it will take for Christmas to come!”

Well that certainly made me think. A few months doesn’t sound very long when you just say it, but by no means did Christmas feel like it was just around the corner. How would I manage until then? Surely I couldn’t be rushing to the restroom every half hour; I had a responsibility to these students.

I looked up at the clock and realized that five more minutes had passed. “Uh oh, you’re late for music class. Here, I’ll write you a late slip.” I pulled out a bright orange post-it note and scribbled down that I had been talking to Drew after class, then signed my name. I handed him the slip and he accepted it gently.

“Thank you, Ms. Moxley,” he said sweetly. “I hope you figure out your bathroom problem.”

I couldn’t help but grin slightly as he exited the class. Such a sweet child, I thought.

The rest of the day followed as normal, besides my constant restroom breaks. It really was getting in the way of my teaching more than I had thought it would. There was no way I could keep that up for even a week, let alone the next three months. I decided that little Drew was right: I had to figure something out.

At home I decided to look up relatively quick solutions for frequent urination. It seemed like everything I found involved either some kind of drug or a surgical procedure. I was apprehensive to take anything in addition to the medication I was already on, and surgeries would definitely put me out of work for a while. The only solution that seemed quick and reasonable was a catheter.

I looked at the Wiki page on catheters, where I discovered that it’s usually something done by medical professionals and has to be taught to patients. That was pretty off-putting to begin with, but then I read something about how it causes “excruciating pain” for some patients when they insert and remove it. That put a knot in my stomach; there was no way I would be able to handle that much pain every time I had to insert or remove that thing, which I found out is usually four to six times a day. Disheartened by what seemed to be my only alternative to using the restroom twice every hour, I decided to give the search a break. After all, I had quizzes to correct.

I had gotten through about six of the quizzes when I felt the telltale pain in my belly. Feelings of irritation and defeat filled my tired head as I left my seat to succumbed to my bodily urges. When I came back, I groggily looked down at the next paper I had to correct. That’s when I saw something strange written at the top in a child’s handwriting.

“Wear Diapers.”

I squinted my eyes to be sure I was seeing it right. “Wear Diapers?” Which of my students would write such a thing? Still not willing to believe what I was reading, I rubbed my eyes with my palms and looked down again. “Drew Paresia.” I sighed heavily and nearly laughed at myself. Boy, was I tired. I looked over his paper and found that there were no mistakes. For the first time, one of my students got 100% on the pretest. I was astounded, to say the least. How could a fourth grader already perfectly understand concepts like long multiplication and division? I suspected him of cheating, and decided that I would certainly have to have a talk with him.

I graded the rest of the papers, still amused by the fact that I had read “Wear Diapers” on Drew’s paper. It kept me entertained as my pen slid across the paper left and right. But the more I thought about the words, the more I started to think of their meaning. “Wear Diapers?” What had made me see that on the paper?

As I finished with the last quiz and started getting ready for bed, I was able to contemplate more deeply on this matter. “Wear Diapers…” The first thought that I associated with this was an image of babies crawling around in their diapers. But then I thought about the whole reason babies wear diapers in the first place: they have no control. Whenever they have to go, they just go. I thought about how nice it would be, to be able to let go when I needed to, not having to worry about rushing to the restroom every thirty minutes, just to relax and let nature take its course…

I snapped back to reality when a steady dribble of toothpaste began making its way down my chin. I finished brushing and washed my face, shaking my head at my own ridiculous thoughts. What was I thinking? I’m a teacher of an elementary school and I want to wear diapers? What a silly idea.

I woke up three times over the course of the night, each time thinking about how I was going to fix this problem. The diapers kept popping into my head, but were quickly shoved away. The catheter, unappealing as it might have been, seemed more realistic and dignified for my situation.

The next day I passed back the quizzes to the cheering and jeering students. I paid careful attention to Drew’s face: he didn’t seem at all concerned with his grade. His eyes simply glanced over the paper, then focused directly back to me with a hint of curiosity.

I wasn’t sure what to make of this reaction. Why was he not happy like the other students who had scored well? Was it because he cheated, or because he realized it didn’t count toward his grade?

In any case, I called him up to my desk at the end of the period. “Have a seat, Drew.”

Those innocent eyes looked through mine. “Yes, Ms. Moxley?”

That light, feathery voice cautioned me not to be too harsh with my words. “Drew,” I began, “You scored 100% on the pretest. Never in my seven years of teaching have I seen a student that already knows all the math.” I paused to let him absorb this. His expression remained unchanged. “So, I feel that I must ask you this…” I inhaled deeply as the words escaped my lips. “Did you cheat?”

These words had a monumental effect on the boy. His eyes went wide and he inhaled deeply as if suddenly wounded. His shoulders suddenly tensed and he gripped the seat of the chair with both hands so tightly that his knuckles went white.

“NO!” he shouted in protest. “Please don’t think I cheated! I’m sorry if I did something wrong but I swear I didn’t cheat! I was home schooled before this year and my mom already taught me all of this so I know it really well and I know you may not believe that but-”

I immediately regretted what I had said. Guilt struck me like a brick watching the poor, fragile child ramble on in self-defense. I put up a hand to stop him. “Okay!” I said over him. “Okay. I’m sorry for accusing you of such a thing. It wasn’t right of me.”

His demeanor slowly began to relax. His shoulders dropped and the color in his hands and face began to return as his grip on the chair released. His breathing, while heavy, was returning to its normal pace. After about a minute he managed, “So I’m not in trouble?”

Those eyes pierced me yet again, and his high voice made my heart ache with compassion for him. “No,” I responded gently, “you’re not in trouble. I just…” I looked at the paper in his hand. “I’ve never had one of my students get a perfect score before. It was just strange and new to me is all.”

Drew’s eyes suddenly grew worried again. “You mean in a bad way?”

“No, no!” I stopped him, before he got worked up again. “In a good way. ‘Strange and new’ doesn’t have to mean bad, it’s just… different.”

He nodded his head in understanding. “Okay,” he said.

Still feeling guilty for causing that sudden episode I asked, “Is there anything else you’d like to talk about, honey?”

His eyes looked to the ceiling as he thought. A light bulb seemed to go off in his head. “Yeah, actually,” he said. His expression turned inquisitive. “Have you figured anything out for your problem yet? You had to go three times today.”

This much was true; for some reason the pain in my bladder was much more active today. I was a bit taken aback by the question, but I answered nonetheless. “I think so,” I told him. “I looked online yesterday and I think I may get a catheter.”

“What’s a catheter?” he asked, tilting his head.

I had said too much; I was discussing my personal health with a fourth grader, and was about to explain was a catheter was. But it was too late now. I would just have to explain it in the most subtle way possible. “A catheter…” I searched for the right words. “…is a tube that collects all the… urine from my system.”

His eyes went wide again. “You mean, like, a tube that goes INSIDE you? That sounds like it would hurt!”

That knot in my stomach from the day before returned now as I thought about this. “Yes, it may hurt a bit,” I answered. “But that’s okay.”

“Have you ever thought about diapers?”

His choice of words shocked me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I recalled thinking about diapers just the day before. I had never really considered it an option; after all, diapers are for babies, right?

“Um…” I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“My mommy says there’s nothing wrong with wearing diapers if you need them,” he told me with a grin. “My grandma has a weak bladder and she wears them all the time. It’s just kind of a normal thing for her.”

All this talk of diapers was making me incredibly nervous. Such a discussion with a fourth grade student of mine was not warranted. But at the same time, I was intrigued. True, old people did wear diapers, which meant that diapers were made in adult sizes. And my bladder was certainly weak due to its condition. Could this be a possible alternative…?

Once again, I shook my head. “No,” I said, “this isn’t right.” I knew I had to wrap this discussion up quickly; what would happen to me if the board found out I’d had this discussion? “Diapers are not for someone my age. That’s just a strange thought.”

His ears seemed to perk at this. “But I thought you said ‘strange and new’ doesn’t have to be bad. Couldn’t this be strange in a good way?”

I had no idea what was even happening anymore. A student was sitting here turning my own words against me in an attempt to get me to wear diapers? Still, it was hard to argue with his logic. Was I just being resilient because of the idea that diapers weren’t for someone my age?

Suddenly, I remembered that Drew had a class to be in. Ten whole minutes had gone by, and he would certainly be late. “Oh my goodness, look at the time!” I said. I quickly pulled out a post-it note as I did the day before and wrote him an excuse for being late. “You certainly know how to get out of class, don’t you young man?”

I handed it to him as his red eyes looked into mine from underneath his long, black hair. “I just want you to feel okay,” he said. God, that voice. It made me want to cry right then and there.

The rest of the day I couldn’t stop thinking about diapers. I caught myself nearly saying the word a couple times during class. Every time I had to go to the restroom I imagined just being able to relieve myself on the spot. True, I could do that with a tube shoved up my urinary tract, but a nice, soft padding between my thighs somehow felt more comforting.

School finally ended, and I had made up my mind. I drove to Walgreens feeling quite nervous, unsure of whether or not I had made the right decision. As I stared at that green package of Depends on the shelf, it seemed to look back, longing to be in my arms. With butterflies in my stomach, I finally took the dive. I looked around to make sure nobody was watching, snatched the pack, paid the cashier and was out the door in less than a minute.

When I arrived home, I used the restroom as normal in response to my bladder crying for relief. Then, I sat on my couch and simply stared at the package. On the front, a tan colored, thick garment was displayed in the bottom right corner. It seemed to be calling for me to open it; to just try one on. After a few minutes I ripped open the pink plastic covering and pulled out one of the folded pull-ups. I unfolded it and looked it over: the inside, the outside, the waistband. It still felt weird, knowing that what I held in my hand was no less than a diaper made for adults. At long last, I slipped down my pants and underwear and kicked them to the side, slowly stepping one leg into the pull-up, then the other. I pulled it all the way up over my waist and immediately noticed the thickness between my thighs. I rubbed my hand over the padding, realizing that it was made to catch my urine and let me go on about my normal business. Apprehensive as I had been before, wearing one actually felt empowering. For the first time since this ordeal had begun, I felt like I finally had control over my life again, like I was no longer a slave to my condition. It just felt… right.


I clung on to every word that flowed from those gorgeous lips. I wrote down some of the more important bits - descriptions and the like - but for the most part just let myself melt into those sparkling eyes as I entered into her world.

“Eventually I found out that Depends really aren’t as dependable as they claim to be, and found some wonderful brands online that will last way longer. At first I only used them for urinating. But eventually I decided that, at least in the privacy of my own home, it would be more convenient to just use them for defecating as well. I’m officially wearing 24/7 now, and the transition has just been… life altering. I can’t even imagine what my life would have been like had I chosen to go with a catheter.”

I scribbled down that the change seemed to have been a positive one. I had to admit that even I was convinced she had made the right choice. This demon certainly was a crafty one.

“What ever happened to little Drew?” I asked. “Is he still in your class?”

“Oh, no,” Ms. Moxley responded. Her eyes filled with wonder as she spoke. “It was the strangest thing. The next day I walked into class and he just wasn’t in his seat. But that’s not all: the students had readjusted themselves so that it seemed like he was never there in the first place. I marked him down as absent for the next few days and eventually asked the principal if he had received any word on why he hadn’t been at school. But when he went to look for Drew in the computer system, he wasn’t there. It was as if he had never been inside the school at all. That’s when I knew that Drew was not any ordinary child, and shortly thereafter I decided to contact you.”

I made sure to write this down. This was an obvious sign of supernatural interference: sudden and unexplained disappearance.

She continued with a lighter tone, “But I’ll never forget little Drew Paresia. I only knew him for two days, but he was such a sweet little angel. If it weren’t for him I’d probably have a nasty tube stuck inside me right now.”

We both stood up as she finished speaking and shook hands once more. “It was very nice to meet you, Dick,” she said suavely.

I swallowed as I again stared into those beautiful brown eyes. “Nice to meet you too, Julia. It was a pleasure working with you.” I felt a small piece of paper find a resting place in my hand as she released her grip. I looked down: an orange post-it note with seven numbers written on it.

“Just in case you need more info,” she answered my questioning face. “Or, you know, wanna talk or something.” She flipped her hair and strode smoothly out of the room, with just the slightest hint of a crinkle being audible with each step. Even despite the fact that she was a grown woman in diapers, I was blown away by her absolute grace and elegance. I pocketed the post-it note, wondering if I would ever work up the guts to dial the number.

I walked out of the room with the clipboard in hand. Johnny came strolling up to me as I exited into the hallway and took the clipboard from my hand.

“She certainly was a foxy one, wasn’t she,” he commented, flipping the pages.

“You know, Johnny…” I began as I scratched the back of my head. “I’ve been thinking. I know we’re supposed to be investigating this Diaper Whisperer and all, but it seems like he’s made some pretty positive changes in those people’s lives.”

He looked at me skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “What’re you saying, Dick?”

I felt the need to defend my position. “I’m just saying, look at those people! It may seem strange, but wearing diapers has only made their lives better. I’m just not seeing the downside to any of this.”

He let the pages on the clipboard rest without taking his eyes off of me. Shoving it back into my chest he said, “We’ll see if you say that about this next case. I’ll just warn you upfront: she’s kind of a mess, Dick.” He walked over to where his coat was hanging next to mine, picked it up, and wrapped it around himself. “At any rate, I gotta get going. Family’s going on vacation tomorrow and I need to get some sleep. Gnight.”

“Yeah, see ya Johnny,” I yelled out after him as the door shut. My focus shifted to the final door, the one at the end of the hall. I started to feel uneasy as I began to inch closer. Wrapping my hand around the doorknob, I twisted it, and I could hardly believe the sight that beheld my eyes.

inserted after original post

Re: The Diaper Whisperer

Fascinating…

I have nothing critical to offer here - the story is flawlessly executed to this point. You’re just goddamned good at this, that’s all there is to be said.

Looking forward to the next installment.

Re: The Diaper Whisperer

Thank you very much. But while I appreciate the compliment, I must point out that my 12:00 AM fatigue caused me to miss a somewhat important point in the story. I inserted a section about the meds that Julia is taking, enclosed in **.

Re: The Diaper Whisperer

I don’t see where it added anything. In fact, his lack of response to that statement (skipping straight ahead to the shaking of hands) felt a bit odd, because you found it important enough to mention but not important enough for him to react to it.

Re: The Diaper Whisperer

I put in a small line where he responds. Let me know if it improved the flow.

Re: The Diaper Whisperer

It still feels weird there, like, well, like you put it in as an afterthought. If anything, it’d probably fit better as a question he thinks of after she leaves - like “Gee, I wonder what she’s going to do when the medication starts working…”

Re: The Diaper Whisperer

Well you seemed to like it a lot better when it wasn’t there at all. I just thought it left kind of a whole in the story. It is kind of awkward though. Maybe I’ll just take it out and leave it that way…