The Greatest Milestone

Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at writing, and the idea is based on a dream I had this week. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that the greatest milestone in a teenager’s life is her transition from diapers to pull-ups.

This milestone happens a few years after we hit puberty. For most of us, that’s early high school, or even middle school if you’re really lucky.

Speaking of luck, it’s always the popular girls who toilet train first. Not only is that unfair, but it defies all reason. I mean, why would the girls who are already the prettiest and most well-liked suddenly get the gift of bladder control? A gift, mind you, that makes them more attractive and popular than they already are.

I still remember the day when one my my classmates graduated to pull-ups. It was homeroom on the first day of seventh grade, and Amber Postma raised her hand from the middle row.

Mrs. Gibson stopped talking and glanced in her direction. “Question, Amber?”

Amber cleared her throat and annunciated each word as she spoke. “May I use the bathroom, please?”

A brief silence followed, but there was no mistaking her words or the smugness in her voice. She hadn’t asked to go get changed. She’d asked to use the bathroom.

“Sure,” Mrs. Gibson said, “just let me get the hall pass.”

Clearly, our teacher was the only person in the room who didn’t let this revelation shock her. In hindsight, I can see why. She’d been a seventh grade teacher for ten years, so she must have seen hundreds of students pass this same milestone by now.

As for the rest of us, this was all new territory. Sure, I remember my older sister toilet training when she was about fourteen, but I’d only been ten back then. To me, using the bathroom had been this vague and mysterious thing. Like driving a car, or having my first kiss. I knew I’d develop the muscle strength to do it someday, but I hadn’t worried about it back then.

Amber rose from her chair, slow and deliberate. Long waves of blonde hair fell around her shoulders, and she stretched her arms above her head like a cat. This movement lifted the hem of her tank-top and revealed the pink pull-up sticking out from her denim shorts. It was a Victoria’s Secret pull-up. The sort of pull-up you might expect to see on high school seniors, paired with a lacy pushup bra. The sort of pull-up that offered basically no protection against a number two, and would probably leak under more than a single wetting. The sort of pull-up you wore “just in case”, but never expected to actually need.

The message was clear. Not only had Amber toilet trained over the summer, she had complete confidence in her bladder and bowel control. She strutted down the aisle as if she were going to accept an award. If this were a movie, her walk would have been in slow motion, and she would have smirked into the camera.

More than a few of the boys turned their heads to watch her leave. The girls watched her too, not bothering to hide their expressions. Some were jealous, but most gazed at her in awe and wide-eyed wonder.

I guess you could say I was one of those girls.

That was four years ago now. By the end of seventh grade, only about ten percent of my class was out of diapers. By the end of our freshman year, a full half of us were in pull-ups.

I don’t know the exact numbers in my junior year, but I would guess it’s well over 99%.

And this is why I hung my head low as I opened the doors to the girl’s diaper changing room. It was the first day of 11th grade, but unlike Amber Postma’s walk down the runway, mine was a walk of shame.

Several bright fluorescent lights flickered above the white tile floor. The room smelled like sanitizer, powder, and air freshener. Beneath those scents lingered some of the less pleasant aromas you might expect in a room like this.

Five changing stalls lined the wall to my left, and Abigail Collins sat behind the desk at my right. She knew my sister from Edgewater College down the street, and she’d taken the job of Changing Room Monitor to earn some money on the side. She even had a textbook open on the desk, so I guess she was allowed to study while she worked. That made sense. Unlike the elementary school monitors, the high school monitors weren’t expected to do much.

“Hi Claire,” she greeted me with a smile. “Have a good summer?”

“It was alright.” I tried to smile back, but that was no easy task at nine o’clock in the morning, especially on the first day of school. On top of that, it was downright weird to see one of my sister’s friends here in the changing room. If she didn’t know I was a late bloomer before, now she definitely did.

“That’s good,” Abigail replied. “All the stalls are full right now, but one should open up in a second.”

“Thanks.” I nodded and stepped to the side. Thankfully, my diaper was only wet, so waiting around could have been a lot worse. I’d gotten into the habit of drinking coffee before school. That usually helped me to go number two on the toilet and avoid any surprise messes in class. It was a common strategy among high schoolers. Unfortunately, the caffeine affected me more than most, and it flooded out of me by the end of first period.

The door squeaked, and a pair of freshman girls emerged from stalls four and five. They were shorter than me by almost a full head. Heat rose to my cheeks as they met my eyes.

Seriously, life had been so much easier in elementary school when everyone just wore the same thing. Even middle school wasn’t so bad. Sure, you had people like Amber Postma making us all feel inferior, but at least the rest of us felt inferior together.

These days, I felt like the only sixteen year old being made to sit at the kid’s table. That was the first analogy that came to mind, but it’s not nearly enough to do my situation justice.

I turned back to Abigail’s desk, picked up the pen, and signed my name in the book.

Claire Stewart. Stall 5.

I pulled out my phone to check the time, then wrote in the final column.


The whole ‘monitor and signup’ system was mostly a way to hold people accountable. Diaper changing can be a messy business, and teenagers aren’t the best at cleaning up after themselves. This way, it was easy to determine who left a mess behind.

I entered my stall, locked the door behind me and unzipped my backpack. Like all school backpacks, there was a pocket inside meant to hold spare diapers. I pulled one out and lay down on the changing table, pulling my black leggings and plaid skirt down to my ankles.

Skirts and leggings were my go-to combination at school. The same is probably true for most girls my age who are still in diapers full-time. The skirt hides the bulk, and the leggings muffle the sound. If I’m wearing a tank-top or an undershirt, I’ll also tuck that into my skirt so that no one gets a flash of white plastic when I bend over.

Of course, these precautions don’t make my diapers a secret. After all, if a girl is wearing black leggings and tucking in her shirt, she obviously has something to hide.

Meanwhile, the girls who wear pull-ups tend to wear more revealing things to show them off. Remember Amber with her skimpy shorts and crop top? Yeah, stuff like that. If you’re not willing to show off your pull-up, then you obviously have something more embarrassing to hide. Then there’s the locker rooms before gym class, and the fact that I’m in the changing room twice a day.

Still, a few precautions are better than nothing. Sometimes, I would daydream about our school getting a new student. Usually, this new student is a boy. He would be someone who didn’t pay attention to the gossip or the hidden meanings behind fashion.

Maybe, just maybe, this boy would assume I’m out of diapers, and look at me the way boys look at Amber Postma.

Anyway, back to the changing. I rolled up my shirt and tank top until they came up past my bra. The shirt was dark red, and dark colors didn’t mix well with powder.

If you’re one of my readers from the parallel universe, this might not seem like a big deal in your world. In your world, people might see some white powder and assume it’s something else like flour. Here, everyone knows . They know, because they’ve powdered their own diaper areas all though elementary school and middle school. Now they don’t do that anymore since the occasional accident won’t leave a rash. Naturally, this makes it funny that I still need it, and extra funny if I get some on my clothes.

Once everything was out of the way, I wiped myself down, applied some powder, and fastened a new diaper into place. The whole process took me less than a minute.

I hopped off the changing table and pulled on my skirt and my leggings. After that, I grabbed the spray bottle of sanitizer along with a few paper towels, and wiped down the table. I rarely make a mess when I change. Even so, school has ingrained this habit into us from a young age. By now, I’ve been changing my own diapers at school for well over ten years. Skipping this last step would feel as weird as not wearing a seatbelt in the car.

Finally, I disposed of my wet diaper in the trash can and stepped back into the main area where Abigail sat. I avoided eye contact with her since there’s nothing like a recent diaper change to plummet your self confidence.

After washing my hands in the sink, I checked myself in the mirror. No powder stains? Check. No exposed diaper? Check. No changing table hair? Check.

My reflection was tall and thin with brown hair that fell several inches passed my shoulders. The bright lights also reflected off my glasses, which made me look incredibly dorky. Oh well. I’ve even heard the popular girls complain about the lighting in the bathrooms. I swear I’m cute sometimes, even if that’s not the case in florescent lighting. Or anytime this early in the morning.

Abigail waved to me as I walked back out the door and into the hallway. This section of corridor had been deserted before, but now there were about twenty students lined up to enter the biology classroom across the hall. Joy . Like me, they were all juniors.

Some of the girls began whispering as they saw me. I couldn’t make out specifics, but I definitely heard the phrases, “late bloomer,” and “still in diapers.”

My cheeks flushed as I walked past the line to my next class. My diaper felt stiff between my legs, and I swear I could hear the crinkling. I’d spent a good portion of the summer trying to toilet train in pull-ups, so I wasn’t used to wearing these things except at night.

Other girls just shot me pitying looks, while a few shot me self-satisfied smiles. I didn’t fully understand the reasoning behind the latter, but I could guess. Maybe they’d had an accident recently, and seeing me made them feel better about themselves. Or maybe they still had frequent accidents and had to wear a more absorbent brand of pull-up rather than the thinner, sexier brands they might have preferred.

The boys barely spared me more than a glance, and this had nothing to do with the bad lighting. If you were still in diapers, you weren’t girlfriend material. Simple as that.

I sighed. It was going to be a very long year.



I think this is a nice concept and I think you’ve realised it well. I think that if continence was learned late and even then never fully, I could imagine this being what it would be like and I think you’ve captured the shame many feel during adolescence if they’re a late bloomer.

The only thing a touch jarring for me was the reference to the parallel dimension, it sort of removed me from the idea that this was the accepted reality. That’s probably just personal preference though.

Is this considered complete? If not I look forward to reading more.

1 Like

Thanks! I do have more!

Chapter 2

I was sitting at the dinner table when I felt a pressure on my bladder. It was a subtle thing at first. But once I noticed it, I realized it had been there for quite a while.

My fork clattered to my plate as I dropped it. My mom stopped talking mid-sentence, and she and Emily each turned to stare at me.

“Be right back,” I stammered as I pushed my chair away from the table.

The tingling sensation moved from my bladder to my urethra. Not good.

I moved quicker, my socks slipping against the hardwood floor as I rounded the corner. When I reached the bathroom door, the golden handle didn’t budge. Damn it. My brother had jumped in the shower after his rugby practice. The sound of clattering water reached my ears, and my urgency doubled.

No. I squeezed my legs together and bolted up the stairs to the master bathroom. A few drops rolled out of me with each step, but I held back the stream with all my might.

I reached the upstairs bathroom a second later and shut the door behind me. At this point, every inch of me wanted to squirm and dance. I faced the toilet and yanked off my shorts and pull-up.

Victory. I’d finally managed to…

The floodgates broke. The river ran down my legs, drenching my shorts, my pull-up, and my socks. I must have stood there in shock for a full five seconds before I finally gathered my wits and moved to sit down. That was another mistake. The stream painted the toilet seat yellow and I ended up sitting in the puddle.

“Damn it!” I cursed out loud

“Language, young lady.” That would be my mom’s voice from outside. I winced despite everything. I’d never sworn in front of her before. Not even a minor word like that.

By the time I was finally sitting, there was nothing left for my body to give. No satisfying sound of water against water.

The door opened with a creak, and my mom appeared on the other side. Like me, she had dark brown hair, but hers only reached her chin. She was also a couple inches shorter than me, and more on the curvy side.

My eyes misted as she entered the room, and a hot tear rolled down my cheek. One accident wasn’t usually enough to make me cry. Not even one like this. But it had been a long first day, and I’m practically the only junior in school who has to deal with this.

All my friends are in pull-ups. My older sister, Emily, was in pull-ups was she was fourteen, and she didn’t wear any protection by the time she was eighteen. It had been the same way for both my parents, and I’m sure my brother Alex would be toilet training any day now.

My mom moved forward as if to comfort me, then she saw the veritable ocean between us. Apparently she didn’t want to swim her way over.

“This sucks.” I moved my glasses aside and wiped my eyes dry.

“It’s alright honey,” Mom replied, but I could hear the frustration in her voice as she pulled out an old towel from the linen cabinet. This wasn’t the first time my toilet training had caused problems. Pull-ups were technically cheaper than diapers, but they needed to be changed a lot more often. I’d found that out the hard way too.

“Em,” she called for my sister.

“Yeah?” Emily’s voice sounded close. She must have already followed my mom up the stairs.

“Could you grab your sister a new diaper please?”

Her footsteps faded down the hall toward the room we shared.

“It’s only six o’clock,” I protested.

Mom gave me a sympathetic smile. “I think you’ve earned the right to relax for a while.”

“I have to keep practicing though. I was so close this time. If Alex hadn’t been in the shower, I would have made it for sure.”

“You can’t force these things,” Mom reminded me. “You remember what the doctor said? Some people don’t get full continence until they’re in their twenties. Just because you’re different doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you.”

Tell that to everyone at school. I loved my mother, but you’d think she’d never been sixteen before.

“Can’t I just put on another pull-up? I promise I won’t do this again.” I winced as the words left my mouth. I hated how much like a middle-schooler I sounded.

“It’s not just that,” Mom said. “How many pull-ups do you have left in that package?”

I bit my lip and looked away. “A few.” My parents had just bought me that package of fourteen on Friday, but I’d been wearing them all weekend before school started, hoping I’d have some sort of breakthrough. The truth was, they made me feel cute—like the sort of girl someone would actually want to date. I needed the confidence booster.

School wasn’t terrible . It’s not like I was bullied in a cliche-high-school-movie sort of way, but people still liked to have fun at my expense. Just little jokes and whispers here and there. But after a while, those so-called harmless comments piled up into a mountain. Today felt like standing out in the rain, watching the rest of the world go on behind a glass window.

I had to keep practicing. All I wanted was to be like everyone else.

“I think a diaper would be better for you tonight,” Mom said, oblivious to my thoughts. “You can still—”

“Can I please just wear one more pull-up?” At this point, I think I was just protesting on principle. The only thing worse then needing a diaper was being forced to wear one.

“I’ll tell you what…” My mom finished wiping up the floor, then pulled off the clothes I’d soaked. “You can wear whatever you want tonight, but then this will be your last package for a while.”

Emily appeared in the doorway a second later with her red hair and freckled cheeks. Mom traded her the fresh diaper for the bathroom mat and wet clothes. Emily accepted them and made her way back down the stairs, presumingly to throw everything in the washer.

I was still trying to process my mother’s words as my sister left, then I tried my hardest not to cry again. “I’m really sorry you had to clean up after me. I could have taken care of it.”

“This isn’t a punishment, honey.” Mom began wiping down my inner legs. “We talked about this before. Pull-ups are expensive, and they aren’t meant to be changed so many times. It’s okay to wear them sometimes, but I think you should limit yourself to one per day.”

“But how am I supposed to practice without them?”

“You can still practice in a diaper,” Mom said as she unfolded the crinkling white material and spread it on the changing bench. Reluctantly, I made my way over and lay down. This was far softer than the changing table at school, and also lower to the ground. Low enough for younger kids to diaper themselves.

“You can take this off if you need to,” Mom continued, “and you can still practice your kegel exercises, regardless of what you’re wearing.”

I lay my head back as she taped me up. Despite my decade of practice, I could never get the fit as perfect as she could. That was the thing about moms. No matter how much practice you had changing, they always had more.

Believe it or not, it had actually been a while since my mom changed me. The last time was my older cousin’s wedding about three months ago. During the reception, my other cousins and I had taken advantage of the open bar and had our first experience with alcohol. I’ll spare you the embarrassing details, but lets just say I was in no condition to change myself.

The time before that, I was sick with a stomach bug. Again, I’ll spare you the details, but my mother was a saint for dealing with me on both occasions.

“And remember,” Mom said as she fastened the last tab into place. “It’s okay to practice, but you should accept yourself as you are. Like I said, some things can’t be forced, and control will come with time.”

After we were done, I put on a dry pair of shorts and made my way back downstairs. This pair was obviously designed to be worn with pull-ups because my diaper stuck out a full two inches above the waist line.

Mom and Emily were already clearing the table when headed back downstairs, and Alex was still in the shower. Probably to avoid helping with the dishes.

I shuffled over to the sink and began washing the tomato sauce off the plates.

“Why’s it always the pretty girls who toilet train first?” I asked my mom and sister.

Mom rounded on me. “You are one of the pretty girls, Claire.”

“You know what I mean though. The girls like Amber Postma. The ones with perfect… everything.”

This time, it was Emily who answered. “Some of it has to do with hormones.”

I frowned in confusion, still holding the plate under the running water. Running streams of warm water weren’t my favorite thing right now.

“When you say pretty girls,” Emily began again, “you probably mean the ones who look more mature right?” She gestured to her breasts for emphasis.

“Sure.” I glanced at my own chest which was practically flat by comparison. “I guess that’s part of it.”

Emily nodded. “A more mature body means more estrogen for girls, and more testosterone for guys. These hormones tell your body it’s old enough to start reproducing.”

If you couldn’t tell by now, Emily likes biology. Even though she was a business major, her girlfriend was studying to be a nurse.

“Your bladder muscles take the hint,” Emily continued, and you start developing nerves to sense when you have to go. Then you get stronger muscles to control it. This takes a while though. For girls, it’s usually a few years after your first period."

Oh, joy. My first period was exactly six months ago. By Emily’s math, I could easily be a sophomore in college by the time I’m out of diapers.

Of course, Alex chose that exact moment to emerge from the bathroom, and the conversation shifted to less feminine topics.

Still, one thing bothered me. Emily had just hinted that we develop bladder control to become more attractive.

So, in other words… nature was literally conspiring to keep me from getting a boyfriend.


Chapter 3

The rest of the week was mostly uneventful. That is, until Language Arts class on Friday.

Miss Middleton was lecturing us on impromptu fiction writing. She believed many of her students overthought their projects, and this was the cause of their blank pages. She went on to talk about the Bronte sisters and how they used to write freely together without restraint or judgement. Apparently, this meant more practice overall, and more quality work in the long run.

“Am I making sense so far?” Miss Middleton asked.

I nodded along with the rest of the class, trying my best to look awake. It really was an interesting subject, but I always get antsy toward the end of the school week.

“Great.” She clapped her hands together. “Now everyone find a partner. We’re going to do some impromptu writing together.”

Oh, joy. Group assignments were never my favorite thing. I didn’t even bother looking for a partner. People always rushed to find their friends, and I didn’t have any friends in this particular class.

“Hey,” a male voice said from behind me.

My head pivoted around. There, sitting in the desk behind me, was the best looking boy I’d ever seen. He had an easy smile, with short black hair and bright blue eyes. I’d never seen someone with that combination before, and it made butterflies dance in my stomach.

In fact … wasn’t this was the fifth day of class? Why was I just now noticing him? Miss Middleton had us all standing up for ice-breakers on the first three days of class. I should have noticed him then.

“Wanna be partners?” he asked.

“I…” What was happening? Cute guys didn’t ask me to be partners.

Well don’t mess this up , I told myself. Say something.

“Sure.” I smiled back at him with casual shrug. As if this momentous occasion were nothing but a typical day in class. As if I talked to cute guys everyday.

“Cool,” he said. “I’m Nathan.”

“I’m Claire,” I replied. “Are you new here?”

“Yeah, my parents just moved here this week. I was supposed to start school on Monday, but things got delayed with the moving.”

I was about to ask where Nathan was from when our teacher spoke up. “Alright, looks like everybody has a partner. I’ve already written the rules on the whiteboard, so just let go over them really quick…”

The rules were pretty simple. Miss Middleton had a stopwatch, and she wanted us to take turns writing as much as we could in one minute intervals, then the other person took over the story.

She also suggested that each partner took the role of a different character, but it was only a suggestion. From what I could tell, the rules weren’t that serious, and we wouldn’t be sharing these out loud.

“Makes sense,” Nathan said as he spun his pencil between his fingers. He’d already opened a notebook between us. So prepared! Normally, it was me who had to explain assignments to my group. Either that, or I just did all the work as they talked.

He leaned forward, and his legs brushed mine under the desk. “Want me to start?”

“Sure.” I gave him a nervous smile, and my voice came out calm despite my racing heart. His leg was still grazing mine, but I didn’t move away. Not only did it feel nice, but I didn’t want him to hear my diaper when I shifted. If this was really his first day of school, he might not know my reputation.

Then again, I’d probably shifted or adjusted my waistband a dozen times over the course of the class. No one told there was a cute boy sitting right behind me, after all. But maybe he hadn’t noticed? Would he really ask to be my partner if he had?

The stopwatch rang, followed by Miss Middleton’s voice. “Switch.”

Nathan sat back and spun the notebook around to face me. I read over his work, and it was actually pretty good. He’d introduced a character named named Mark. Mark had lost an expensive Rolox watch in the parking lot, and he was looking for it.

I grinned and introduced a character of my own: Kate. Kate was a legendary jewel thief who frequented parking lots, hoping to find lost watches which she promptly fenced on the street for cash.

The stopwatch rang again. “Switch.”

When I turned the notebook back to Nathan, his eyebrows went up. “Well then,” he whispered, “I see how it is.”

Eventually, our characters met in the parking lot. Kate pretended to help Mark search, feigning concern to Mark’s face, while inwardly imagining how she would spend her money. Meanwhile, Mark innocently reminded Kate of how his mother had given him the watch on her death bed, and how only the most stone-hearted individual would consider selling it.

The stopwatch rang a final time, signaling an end to the session. We struggled to contain her laughter, and I wished the story could have gone on. I don’t normally warm up to strangers this fast, but this was different.

Miss Middleton used the last few minutes of class to go over the assignment and let us share our thoughts. Eventually, we all wrote our names at the tops of our pages and turned them in as we left.

“You’re pretty good,” Nathan said as we walked out. “Do you practice a lot?”

“Not really,” I replied, “but I used to role play a lot with my friend Britney. This back-and-forth writing felt kind of like that.”

I don’t know what possessed me to say I role played. Why couldn’t I just say that I read novels like a normal person? Nathan wouldn’t even know what roleplaying was. He’d probably ask, and then I would have to explain, at length, what a dork I am.

“No way,” he said. “I did that last summer on Darkstar Forums.”

Darkstar Forums was a pubic sci-fi message board where people role played in larger groups. It was different from what Britney and I did, but also similar.

Nathan paused in the hallway, then leaned down to tie his shoe.

As he did, I took casual step behind back. Hey, don’t judge me. You’d probably do the same if you were walking with a cute guy or girl.

My heart raced with anticipation as his shirt lifted. We already had role playing in common. Why not something else? What if he was a late bloomer who also wore diapers? That would make him more accepting of me, right?

My hopes faded as I caught a glimpse of his dark blue pull-up. I don’t know much about guys’ brands, but this was basically the male equivalent of what the popular girls wore. Even the pull-ups I wore around the house were plastic-backed with plenty of padding. Meanwhile, this was cloth-backed, with minimal absorbency. Popular kids wore these incase they lost a few drops here and there. Meanwhile, I would leak through this a single wetting,

In other words, he was on the top of the social totem poll, and I was on the bottom.

“I have Alegbra next.” Nathan said as he stood. “Room 203. What about you?”

“Same,” I replied. “I can show you the way if you…” I trailed off as I felt my diaper growing warm. I’d been so engaged in our conversation, I hadn’t even felt the urge coming on. The stream continued until the diaper started to swell between my legs.

Nathan stopped walking beside me. “Everything okay?”

I nodded. “I actually need to…”

Get changed. That’s what I should have said. After all, I’d been honest with him up to this point, and everything had gone so well. He was going to find out I wore diapers sooner or later.

But I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. I’d talked to boys before. But there’s talking, and then there’s talking . This was the start of something big. This conversation was the sort of thing that happened to other girls, but not me. These last few minutes had felt like a fairy tale, and wasn’t about to slam the book shut.

“…use the bathroom,” I finished after several long seconds.

“Oh, sure.” Nathan said with a nod. “I’ll see you in class then.”

“See you there,” I said. Then I turned to head down the staircase.

“Hey Claire?” Nathan said from behind me.

I turned around, and he gestured to the bathroom behind him. “There’s one on this floor.”

“Oh.” I’d almost forgotten. There was only one changing room on the first floor, but there were bathrooms on every floor. “Right. Thanks.”

My body made it’s way toward the door on its own. A freshman girl stepped out, and she held the door open for me as I shuffled inside. Three senior girls stood in front of the sink, doing their make-up and making subtle adjustments to their outfits.

I opened a stall door and awkwardly stood inside, waiting for them to leave.

They didn’t leave. They just kept talking and giggling.

Well, I couldn’t just stand in the stall. That would look weird. So I lowered my leggings and skirt to the floor, but kept my diaper on. I would have taken it off, but the tapes make too much noise.

Changing your diaper in the bathroom is against the rules. There are only so many stalls, and the school doesn’t want the freshmen (or late-blooming juniors) filling them up with lengthy changes. I understand the reasoning. If this wasn’t a rule, then every freshman would change in here, hoping to avoid the exact situation I’d found myself in yesterday morning.

And then there were the stalls themselves to deal with. Unlike the changing rooms which had real doors that extended all the way to the floor, there was basically no privacy in here. Anyone could walk by and see you through the crack in the door.

Technically, you weren’t even supposed to change wet pull-ups in here, but I knew people broke that rule all the time. Britney had even seen the popular girls do it.

Eventually, the second bell rang and the girls cleared out. They were going to be late, but not as late as me.

Way to go, Claire. Serves you right for stretching the truth.

I undid the tabs on my diaper one at a time. When I reached the last one, the front rolled free and almost splashed into the toilet. I caught it just in time. After that, I wiped myself down and pulled a fresh diaper from my backpack. Not trusting myself to change on the toilet, I unfolded the diaper, and stood with my backside against the stall’s wall.

Adrenaline raced through my veins as I worked, half-expecting someone to open the door and hear the crinkle of plastic.

When no one did, I took a few deep breaths and adjusted the tabs into a more comfortable position. Thankfully, this wasn’t my first time changing while standing up. While I’ve never been rebellious enough to do this in a school bathroom, I’ve experienced my share of bathrooms without changing tables. Almost every public place has one, but it’s not guaranteed.

I was almost ten minutes late when I walked into algebra class. Joy. Nathan would probably think I was constipated or something. Oh well. That was better than having him think I wore diapers because I messed myself. People always assumed that for some reason, even though my bowel control was as good as any high schooler.

I drew a few stares as I walked in , but the teacher didn’t say anything as I took the free seat in the front.

The rest of the class passed by uneventfully after that, but Nathan walked over after the last bell.

“Hey,” Nathan said. “I like the way you dress.”

“What?” I glanced down at my skirt and sweater. “Really?”

He nodded with the same easy smile as before. “The other girls are all just trying to show as much skin as possible, but you look more sophisticated.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. My hands looked for something to fidget with, and I ended up grabbing a strand of my own hair. He thought I was sophisticated! Me—the girl who was still in diapers. Well, this proved he didn’t know about that.

Idiot . He just complimented you! Say something back.

But what could I compliment? His eyes? His smile? His hair?

No. That was too much, too soon. I could compliment his outfit back, but that would look cheap. Like I’m just copy and pasting what he said.

“Well,” I finally replied. “You have excellent taste.” Half of me wanted to cringe, and the other half wanted to applaud myself. By some miracle, that actually came out sounding flirtatious.

“You’re also really cute,” he said. “And funny.”

My heart beat faster, and I’m sure my cheeks were bright red by now. No one had ever said anything like that to be before. I stared down at my black and white Converse shoes, unable to meet his eyes.

Still, I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips. I took a deep breath to summon my courage. “So you are.”

“If you’re not seeing anyone,” Nathan said, “Would you consider going on a date with me?”


Just an FYI, but I manually moved you to trust level one so the board should stop flagging your posts for moderation. :slight_smile:

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Thank you! I wondered how that worked. :slight_smile:

Chapter 4

“What did you say?” Britney asked as we pulled into her driveway. It was Friday night, and we already had a sleepover planned.

“I said yes.” The normal part of me couldn’t help but smiling. The anxious part was worried this was all some elaborate prank. I have no idea why my mind went there. After all, other girls went on dates all the time. Why not me?

“Ohhh!” Britney clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes. Like me, she had dark brown hair, but she wore a lot more makeup. I hardly wore any by contrast. Clear skin was the one way puberty had been kind to me. For now.

“Where are you going?” she asked as we stepped out of her car. It was past dinnertime and the sun was already setting.

“Mini-golfing,” I replied

“Really? That’s great!”

“It is?”

“Of course it is!” Britney said as we stepped through her front door. “Activity dates are always the best. You automatically have stuff to talk about. No awkward silences.”

“Hmm… I hadn’t thought of that.” In hindsight, that might be the reason Nathan had picked it. After all, our writing assignment had been activity. Without that, we might never have hit it off so well. “I’m more concerned about all the moving around.”

“What’s wrong with moving around?”

As a demonstration, I wiggled my backside so she could hear my diaper crinkling.

Britney just laughed as we walked up the stairs toward her bedroom.

“Plus,” I added, “there’s a lot of bending over in mini-golf.”

When we reached the top, she spun around and gave me a flat look. “Who cares what’s under your skirt?”

“Um … most high schoolers?”

“Well, yeah. But this boy obviously fancies you.”

Britney isn’t British, if that’s what you’re thinking. She just likes the word 'fancy."

“Besides,” she continued, “he’ll find out eventually. I know you’re new at the whole relationship thing. But usually, when you’re with a hot guy…”

"I know what people do!’ I covered my cheeks, rolling my eyes and laughing all at once.

“And for all you know,” she said, “he already knows you wear diapers. And since he asked you out, that means he’s cool with it. Speaking of which, I’m about to put my pajamas on.”

I sat on Britney’s bed as she began rummaging through her top dresser drawer. “Well, I may have hinted earlier today that I … wear pull-ups”

She looked over her shoulder to face me. “Hinted how?”

I shrugged. “I told him I had to go to the bathroom. But I didn’t. I really had to get changed.”

“Oh.” She waved that away. “You’re adorable.”

I frowned. “Explain?”

She turned all the way around and leaned against her dresser. “That’s the oldest trick in the book, my dear. Do you know how many high school girls ‘go to the bathroom’ just to change their soggy pull-ups?”

“Hmm… that makes sense I guess. But those girls actually wear pull-ups to back up their story. I don’t.”

Britney pulled out a pajama top and a night-time diaper, tossing both on her bed. Night-time diapers are one of those things that most teenagers wear, but few like to talk about. The fact is, no matter how rock-hard your daytime continence is, bedwetting is a whole different ballgame. You can’t flex your pelvic floor muscles and run to the bathroom when you’re sound asleep.

Even once you’re 100% toilet trained, it might take a few more years until you can wake up with a dry bed the way full-grown adults do.

So yes, even the Amber Postmas of the world—the girls who strut around school in their sexy, paper-thin pull-ups—probably wear something more durable to bed. In all likelihood, it’s an actual diaper, no different from the ones I wear.

Despite this fact, it’s still hilarious that I wear diapers during the day. In fact, I’d bet this is part of the problem. It’s like… the more these girls pick on me, the more they convince their friends that they never have accidents themselves. Not even in private, while they’re asleep.

Thankfully, Britney and I are closer than that. Even though she’s in pull-ups most of the time, she has no trouble changing into a diaper and relaxing in front of me. Meanwhile, the popular girls must always be on guard. My older sister, Emily, had gone to a few bigger sleepovers in when she was in high school. She’d claimed that while most of the girls wore pull-ups to bed, they practically avoided water all day—dehydrating themselves just to prove how cool they were.

I wouldn’t mind having a few more friends, but I wasn’t that desperate. I’d much rather be like Emily. She just wore regular diapers to bed back then, and no one picked on her for it. Then again, she’s probably the most confident person I know.

“Loosen up,” Britney said as lay on the bed beside me. She’d already taken off her jeans and pull-up. Now, she was pulling a fluffy pink diaper up between her legs. “You don’t need an invitation”

I grinned and pulled off my black leggings. I appreciated how these muffled the sound of my diaper, but they could also get pretty dang hot.

Britney exchanged her t-shirt for a pajama top next. Once it was clear she wasn’t wearing any bottoms, I took off my skirt too. It had been a long day, and it felt good to let things breathe down there.

“So what’s the plan?” Britney poked my padded behind. “Gonna tell Lover Boy the truth about your condition?”

I swatted her hand away with a laugh. “It’s not a condition! And I’d rather just make it through the first date without turning him off.” The last two hours of school had been like a dream come true. I’d rather not mess things up if I could help it.

“I still think you’re overthinking this,” she said.

I shrugged. “I can’t help but overthink. Got any advice?”


“Yeah, you said earlier that I used the oldest trick in the book. So what other tricks are in this book?”

“Alright.” Britney rolled over and hopped off the bed. “There are a couple things you can do.”

She slid open her top dresser drawer and held up a pink Victoria’s Secret pull-up. The sight of it was enough to turn my cheeks red.

“Do you actually wear those?” I blurted out. I’d seen these on the popular girls of course—usually in the locker rooms before gym class. There was fake lace along the sides and top, and the middle looked like it could barely hold a single wetting. Basically, these were the closest thing to women’s lingerie you could get as a high schooler.

“Not really,” Britney admitted. "At least not since I broke up with Jordan last year.

“Oh.” I looked at her, then back at the too-sexy pull-up. “You don’t expect me to wear that on my date, do you?”

“No, silly. You’re not gonna wear it. You’re just gonna let Lover Boy see it.”

I cleared my throat. “He has a name, you know.”

“Where’s your purse?” she asked.

I leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed it.

Britney immediately unzipped the top, followed by the diaper compartment. I only had two spare changes in there, along with my pack of wipes. If I needed another one tomorrow, I could always snag one off Britney.

She threw my spares over her shoulder unceremoniously, then stuck the Victoria’s Secret pull-up inside halfway. It looked like a budding flower. “See where I’m going with this?”

“No,” I admitted. “Nathan’s not going to go rummaging through my purse.”

“Of course not,” she said, “but picture this: the two of arrive at the mini-golf course. You walk up to the counter, unzip your purse, and offer to pay for yourself. Lover Boy will insist that he pays of course, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll have already seen your purse, and the oh-so-sexy pull-up within.”

“Ohhh.” I stared in wonder down at the Victoria’s Secret pull-up sticking out of my diaper pocket. Even the sight of it there made me feel more grown up. “That’s genius.”

“I know,” Britney said happily. “He’ll be so busy imagining you in this, he won’t notice you crinkling as you walk.”

“Ew, you make him sound like a creeper.” Then again, I’d definitely been imagining Nathan in just his pull-up today, so who was I to judge? I thought for a moment, then my shoulders slumped. “But wait, I need at least one back-up diaper in my purse.”

"I’ve got you covered. Britney ran back to her dresser and returned with a black carrying case. It was a thin, cloth material with a zipper on one side. “You’ll hide your real diaper in here.” To demonstrate, she stuck another Victoria’s Secret pull-up into the pocket and zipped it shut. “Then, you’ll stuff this in the bottom of your purse. Out of sight and out of minds.”

“You’re a genius,” I repeated. “Tell me more!”


Really a great plot. Congratulations :clap:

1 Like

Thank you!

Chapter 5

Britney and I woke the next morning to an amazing breakfast of eggs, sausage, and pancakes. My parents were great cooks, but they rarely went all out for breakfast the way Britney’s family did.

The only awkward part was eating in a wet diaper. Most nights, I’ll wet two or three times in my sleep which results in a lot of unwanted sagging between my legs. In a perfect world, I would jump in the shower within five minutes of waking up. That’s usually what I do at home. Every family does things differently though.

I didn’t wear any pajama bottoms to bed that night, but I definitely put on a pair before we headed downstairs. I don’t even like my own family seeing my diaper, much less someone else’s.

Britney, on the other hand, had no qualms about eating breakfast in just a diaper and a tank-top. Then again, she was an only child. And the floral designs on her diaper were only slightly faded which meant she hadn’t wet nearly as much as I did.

We took turns showering after breakfast, then I got ready for my date with Nathan.

I’d already decided on my outfit the night before: a knee-length red dress and a dark denim jacket. It was supposed to be warm today, so instead of leggings, I wore a pair of tight-fitting white shorts under my dress.

Personally, I thought leggings were far more subtle. Wearing shorts under a dress basically screamed, “I’m wearing a diaper under here, and I’m too embarrassed to let anyone see it.”

Sigh. I almost miss middle school. At least then, most of us wore the same thing, and no one cared who saw.

Britney and I hung out for another hour since the date wasn’t until eleven. I let her braid my hair, but I resisted all her attempts to put makeup on me. Clearly, Nathan already liked the way I looked, so I didn’t want to mess that up.

Afterward, Britney asked me if I knew the definition of irony, then proceeded to lecture me on how I shouldn’t go through with my plan. It had been her idea to put the pull-up in my purse, but she insisted it wasn’t necessary and that I should just be honest with him.

No way was I that brave.

Eleven o’clock took forever to arrive and butterflies danced around my stomach all morning. Finally, the time came, and Britney’s car pulled into the mini-golf course.

Nathan was already waiting outside the front door, wearing a pair of dark shorts and a long-sleeve button-up with the sleeves rolled up. I appreciated that he got here early. I’ve never been on a real date before, but I’ve always dreaded the idea of waiting around for the guy to show up.

“Is that him?” Britney asked.

“Mmhmm.” I sank deeper into my seat, feeling my cheeks get hot.

“He’s cute!” she announced.

“Really?” I’d already known this, of course, but it still felt good to hear. Some small, irrational part of me had worried that there was something wrong with Nathan. Like maybe I was the only person on earth who thought he was cute, and that was the reason he’d asked me out.

“Of course!” she said. “Just look at those forearms. I bet he works out. He’s pretty tall too. And those eyes…”

“Thanks for the ride,” I stammered as I undid my seatbelt. Better to get out of the car before he glanced over and saw us leering.

I closed my door and Britney pulled out . Nathan smiled at me when our eyes met, and the butterflies flew even faster in my stomach. Fortunately, I was able to relax as we started talking.

“I’m guessing you’ve been here before,” he said.

“A couple times with my family,” I said with a shrug. “I’m sure it will be more fun with you though.”

He opened the door for me, and I stepped inside. When I did, I felt an immediate pressure in my bowels.

Oh no.

I’d try to go number two several times that morning, but I’d been less successful without my morning coffee. For all their amazing breakfasts, Britney’s family didn’t drink coffee. Now it was all going to come out at once. One big explosion, courtesy of my nerves.

“I have to use the bathroom,” I told Nathan.

Without waiting for his reply, I power-walked ahead of him and pushed my way through the door. There were two stalls, and both of them were occupied. A chorus of giggles sounded from the other side, and I spotted at least six pairs of feet. Probably a squad of cheerleaders changing into their uniforms.

Damn it.

I tried my hardest to hold it in, but they just kept talking and giggling. A braver person would have knocked on the stall door and told them to hurry up. Unfortunately, that wasn’t me.

They’ll be done any second.

They continued giggling on the other side of the stall doors. I danced from one foot to the other, gritting my teeth. The pressure continued to build, like a cannon ready to fire.

Finally, the first stall door swung open.

I jumped and took an involuntary step back. At the same time, the pressure released and I felt a massive weight drop into the back of my diaper.

The cheerleaders who stepped out of the first stall were all shorter than me They looked like freshmen, or even middle schoolers.

“Ew!” one of the girls announced. With one hand, she held her nose. She made a fanning motion with the other. “Who pooped?”

She whirled around, looking at her friends. Finally, she turned around to face me.

“Oh.” Her smile faded, replaced with a look of pure pity. “Uh … sorry.”

I shuffled into the stall without saying a word. I kept my steps careful and deliberate, not wanting to smear any of the mess against my skin. It had been several months since I had an accident like this, but I was no stranger to them. I knew that changing was way easier if you did it quickly.

There was a changing table in here, but I didn’t lay down yet. Instead, I removed my jacket and pulled the skirt of my dress as high as it would go. Then I pulled off my shorts and undid the tapes of my diaper one at a time, lowering it to the floor.

Fortunately, the cheerleaders had left quickly so they couldn’t see, hear, or smell me.

After wiping myself clean and rolling up the diaper, I reached into the secret pocket of my purse, only to find the thin Victoria’s Secret pull-up sticking out like a pink flower.

For a moment, my blood froze, then I remembered the plan.

Right. My real diapers were in the secret bag at the bottom.

I pulled out Britney’s fabric case and undid the zipper. It felt too light in my hand, and my heart skipped several beats as the panic set in once again.

When I undid the zipper, I confirmed what I’d already feared.

The case was empty, and I’d just used my last diaper.