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brucejedi

Damp Member
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About brucejedi

  • Rank
    Damp

Personal Information

  • My pronouns are..
    he/him

My Kinks

  • I'm into..
    Bedwetting
    Diapers
    Bondage
    Gender bender
    Humiliation
    Hypnosis

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  1. Thank you for posting these stories. While the whole situation seems ethically problematic and I feel bad for these women, I still find the stories incredibly hot. Here's a link to a somewhat analogous fictional account:
  2. I, for one, would love to read a story like that--especially if it dealt not just with desperation but with the actual act of peeing as the opposite sex. Scenes where for whatever reason, the characters found themselves in situations that highlighted the new challenges (e.g., for the transformed woman, in the woods, in a bathroom with only urinals, having to pee in a cup, etc.--and for the transformed man, enjoying the newfound freedoms for the most part but struggling with aim, social etiquette, etc.)
  3. For me personally, DesperateJill hit the nail on the head. While in real life I’d consider myself a feminist, in this secret fantasy world the unfairness really does have appeal. Women pee more often, take longer to do so, and cannot (easily) use urinals, which take up less wall space. This means that to achieve “potty parity,” buildings would need more than twice the receptacles for women as for men, and perhaps three times the physical space. As others have pointed out, most times this does not pose a problem, but sometimes it does (e.g., intermission for a play, a crowded club). That, on top of the fact that women must expose themselves more to pee outside, need toilet paper on hand to do so neatly, etc. While I can understand that hearing this point brought up again and again will annoy some people, I cannot deny its role in the kink for me. I think this may derive from the added humiliation of realizing during an accident, “were I not female, this would not be happening.” The fantasy is akin to another personal favorite where a woman tries to pee like a man (e.g., standing, into a urinal) and fails at it—or perhaps is even forced to do so and fails (i.e. makes a mess). To each his own, I guess—but it’s interesting that both a straight male (myself) and a lesbian female (the OP), as well as many others (see the poll) seem to enjoy this particular aspect of the kink.
  4. Hi all, I’ve replaced my post above with this one that includes updated assumptions. (You can find the original post in the hidden text at the end of this message). Guiding assumptions: Women on average take twice as long to pee as men do (see https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0038012118300521). For our model, assume men pee in 1 minute, women in 2 minutes. Women on average pee 14% more often than men do (8 times per day versus 7 times; see https://www.auajournals.org/doi/10.1097/01.ju.0000149947.28100.cd). Toilet stalls take up 50% more space than urinals (size ratio = 3:2). This is based on a non-scientific analysis of bathroom floor plans. Scenario 1: Let’s assume two equal-sized bathrooms, the men’s with 6 urinals and 2 stalls, and the women’s with 6 stalls. (In the women’s, four stalls take the place of six urinals, 2:3 ratio.) Thus the men’s room can accommodate 8 male pee-ers per minute, while the women’s room can accommodate just 3 female pee-ers per minute. Now let’s assume a situation between college classes where there are, realistically, 8 minutes available to pee without being late to the next class. In the first two minutes: 16 men approach the restroom, and all 16 are served. Line = 0 18 women approach the restroom, and just 6 are served. Line = 12 In the second two minutes: 8 more men approach, and all are served. Line = 0 9 more women approach, and 6 from ahead in line are served. Line = 12 – 6 + 9 = 15 In the third two minutes: 4 more men approach, and all are served. Line = 0 5 more women approach, and 6 from ahead in line are served. Line = 15 – 6 + 5 = 14 In the final two minutes: 2 more men approach, and both are served. Line = 0 2 more women approach, and 6 from ahead in line are served. Line = 14 – 6 + 2 = 10 The next class then starts: 16 + 8 + 4 + 2 = 30 men in total got to pee 6 + 6 + 6 + 6 = 24 women in total got to pee; 10 did not get to pee (Note that the total number of women [34] who tried to pee was 13.3% more than the total number of men [30] who tried, which fits our assumptions.) Average line length: Men’s = 0 Women’s = (12 + 15 + 14 + 10) / 4 = 12.75 Some observations: The women’s line was nearly 13 spots longer, caused by a per-minute bathroom peeing capacity that was 63% smaller (3:8). The men’s room had excess capacity after the first two-minute period, quite a bit actually. So suppose we resize the bathrooms, and exchange 3 men’s urinals for 2 women’s toilets. Scenario 2: The men’s room (3 urinals, 2 toilets) can now accommodate 5 pee-ers per minute, while the women’s (8 toilets) can accommodate 4 pee-ers. Let’s redo our experiment. First two minutes: 16 men approach, 10 served. Line = 6 18 women approach, 8 served. Line = 10 Second two minutes: 8 men approach, 6 from line + 4 new served. Line = 6 – 6 + 4 = 4 9 women approach, 8 from line served. Line = 10 – 8 + 9 = 11 Third two minutes: 4 men approach, 4 from line + 4 new served. Line = 0 5 women approach, 8 from line served. Line = 11 – 8 + 5 = 8 Fourth two minutes: 2 men approach, 2 served. Line = 0 2 women approach, 8 from line served. Line = 8 – 8 + 2 = 2 Next class starts: 10 + 10 + 8 + 2 = 30 men in total got to pee 8 + 8 + 8 + 8 = 32 women in total got to pee; 2 did not get to pee Average line length: Men’s = (6 + 4 + 0 + 0) / 4 = 2.5 Women’s = (10 + 11 + 8 + 2) / 4 = 7.75 We haven’t gone quite far enough, so let’s try swapping a male toilet for a female one. Scenario 3: The men’s room (3 urinals, 1 toilet) can now accommodate 4 pee-ers per minute, while the women’s (9 toilets) can accommodate 4.5 pee-ers. First two minutes: 16 men approach, 8 served. Line = 8 18 women approach, 9 served. Line = 9 Second two minutes: 8 men approach, 8 from line served. Line = 8 – 8 + 8 = 8 9 women approach, 9 from line served. Line = 9 – 9 + 9 = 9 Third two minutes: 4 men approach, 8 from line served. Line = 8 – 8 + 4 = 4 5 women approach, 9 from line served. Line = 9 – 9 + 5 = 5 Fourth two minutes: 2 men approach, 4 from line + 2 new served. Line = 0 2 women approach, 5 from line + 2 new served. Line = 0 Next class starts: 8 + 8 + 8 + 6 = 30 men in total got to pee 9 + 9 + 9 + 7 = 34 women in total got to pee Average line length: Men’s = (8 + 8 + 4 + 0) / 4 = 5 Women’s = (9 + 9 + 5 + 0) / 4 = 5.75 Men probably don’t want just one toilet in their bathroom, so we would probably want to find space to convert one of their three urinals to a second toilet. They would need to put up with standing in line between class, but with the understanding that there will be time for all of them to pee. Women also would still need to stand in line, but they too would eventually all get to pee before the next class. Thus it seems that by reapportioning male restroom space to female (and marginally increasing space overall), parity could be achieved. For new construction, this seems reasonable, so long as men are willing to wait in line a bit (a tall order!). For existing construction, the cost may be prohibitive. Hidden text from original post:
  5. This may not be exactly what you're after, but the following stories feature adult characters who never learned to recognize or respond to a full bladder, and later struggle to do so: A Inconvenient Entanglement - Omorashi & peeing fiction - OmoOrg WO 113: Continence managment (A world where women aren't potty trained) - Omorashi & peeing fiction - OmoOrg AU Where Women Aren't Potty Trained And It's A Hot Button Feminist Issue - Diapered & ABDL fiction - OmoOrg (omorashi.org) A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy (complete and revised) - Omorashi & peeing fiction - OmoOrg
  6. I have listened to my wife pee, and sometimes she sounds more-or-less like I do, only somewhat quieter I imagine. Other times, though, she produces a sound like few cis guys would every produce. I have heard it start off fairly nondescript but then build up (presumably as the force increases) to emit both a hiss and a spray, as if her stream had fanned out in many directions. To answer your question--if I heard that sound in a men's room, I very well might think someone with a vulva as opposed to a penis was using the toilet.
  7. For a woman (with a vulva) to pee standing through the fly of her jeans may be the “holy grail” of transgressive peeing. To do so neatly, though, seems damn near impossible. After countless searching, I have come across not a single example in video or descriptive form. Usually her jeans end up soaked. One commentator on another board argued that the problem lies, not with female anatomy, but with clothing design: the zipper ends way to high to allow for a clear shot. Naturally, that led me to wonder, what if the zipper were longer—like, a lot longer. Turns out, a tailor-made fly of this kind exists: https://ziphers.com (see also https://sheflyapparel.com, but the dual-zipper design does no favors here). Zip Hers is intended for squatting in the woods, but could it be re-purposed for a standing pee—into a toilet or urinal, even? Chime in, ladies. Have any of you ever tried this? Did it work? And if you haven’t, do you think it could, or would random spray or dribbles wet the pants regardless? My inquiring mind is dying to know.
  8. Thank you, Wrakkar, for starting this thread! Great question and great answers. Did you ever happen to write the story this was for? Sounds like something I’d like to read.
  9. Interesting concept. I’d also love to read a story that takes the opposite approach: A guy wakes up female but still identifies as male, and tries to rebel against the biological changes. The story would involve lots of unsuccessful attempts to pee standing up, into a urinal, through a fly, etc., as well as detailed descriptions of what it’s like to pee as a woman for the first time.
  10. Hi everyone! Does anyone know of any stories where a female character is rendered incontinent but does not become an adult baby? Some examples would be: as punishment for a crime afflicted by a curse, disease, or injury hypnosis experiment gone wrong This would then lead to various embarrassing moments, such as when she first realizes her new problem, has to buy diapers, has them leak, vainly attempts to reach the toilet or to “potty train”, vainly tries to go unprotected, etc. The best example I know is Botox’s “The Best Parking Spaces.” (That story contains messing, which I’m not into, but it had enough awesome elements that I still loved it.) Admittedly, there is a darker / nonconsensual component here that I’m sure not everyone is into. But stories of this genre could still obtain an upbeat tone, with the main character persevering / acclimating / adapting, or even meeting someone who appreciates in her new condition. It seems like stories of this type must exist somewhere, but after much searching, I have yet to find hardly any.
  11. Chapter 12. A Prophecy Fulfilled? One year later… Courtney stood behind her podium in the auditorium full of teenage girls. She felt nervous in front of the crowd, but at least her nether regions were shielded from view, lest she fail to “make it through” her presentation. She waited for the room to quiet down and then began. “Did you know that boys’ and girls’ urinary tracts are virtually identical at birth, save for the final portion?” A hand shot up immediately. “So then, why are we naturally incontinent?” “That’s just it,” Courtney replied. “I’m not sure we are.” She continued echoing Jane’s interview. “We possess all the necessary anatomy—the urethral sphincter, nerves around the bladder. We just need to learn to use it all. I see no reason why females cannot toilet-train like males can.” “Ha, like you’ve ever tried it,” laughed a tall girl on the right. “As a matter of fact, I have…” Courtney took a deep breath as she transitioned from Jane’s words to her own. “I used to be sitting where you all are, in a wet diaper begging to be changed.” A few girls snickered at that. “I assumed I’d be wearing them all my life, and for good reason. I could control my bladder no better than a newborn infant. I wet myself repeatedly each day, even my clothes if I wasn’t careful.” The audience grew silent as Courtney told her story—and theirs. “At night I slept on plastic sheets, in case my overnight diaper leaked all over the bed. I was afraid to bare myself even for an instant, for there was no telling when my bladder might release.” A young woman in the third row raised her hand. “It sounds bad when you put it like that, but…diapers also can be fun. They look cute—make you feel attractive.” Another hand flew up. “I totally agree. And, like, we’re dependent on bras too—at least most of us are.” Giggles broke out. “But no one thinks anything bad about that.” Courtney nodded—prepared for this comparison. “Think about it this way. How many of you would ditch your breasts—off the soccer field, that is?” More giggles, but no one raised their hand. “Now, how many of you would choose to be continent?” Half the hands in the room shot up. “You could still wear cute undies and not wet them,” said a girl on the left. “I’m sorry, it’s just so weird to think about. Peeing in a toilet? That would be like, having a penis or something.” Raucous laughter erupted. “Quiet down, ladies,” said Courtney. A new girl spoke. “It’s annoying having to worry about leaks and stuff. But wetting a diaper feels, I don’t know—girly—like wearing makeup or a dress, or like that other girl said, a bra.” “Plus, we don’t have to drop what we’re doing to run to the bathroom. We can just—go.” “I hear what you all are saying,” said a girl with red hair and freckles, “but if I could press a button and suddenly be continent, I would.” “So would I.” “What happened when you tried to toilet-train?” asked the tall girl. “Before sharing that, let me tell you why I did…” Courtney described her struggles at the workplace, her embarrassing accidents, the nagging sense that her bladder was more capable than anyone assumed. She recounted the moment she first encountered Jane’s ideas, and the flood of questions it spawned. Then she told of her vain attempt to toilet-train without professional guidance. At this last part, hands shot up. “I tried the toilet once, and it ended just as badly.” “Yeah, me too.” “That’s the insidious nature of it,” Courtney replied. “Just when you’re old enough to question the world around you, your incontinence has progressed to the point where rebelling against it does little good. A couple humiliating accidents convince you never to try again.” “So it’s too late for us?” asked the freckled girl. “No one knows the answer to that. But as most of you have probably realized, our bladder control worsens as we age. That’s why my friend Jenny runs a group for new and expectant moms.” “Is it working for the toddler girls?” “Too soon to tell.” Courtney displayed a slide. “This is the female urinary tract…” She summarized Jane’s theory in language her teenage audience could understand, focusing on the “use it or lose it” hypothesis. Then she switched to a slide showing a diaper, a pull-up, and a panty. She recounted the first time she managed to pee in the toilet, her first day in pull-ups, her first time staying dry without protection. “What’s it like to wear underpants?” the tall girl asked. “Panties, you mean? Liberating, but also nerve-racking.” “Did you have any embarrassing moments?” The crowd was a mature one—all high-school juniors or older—so Courtney shared a few misadventures, including the fateful trip with Kyle to the restaurant. She omitted the night out clubbing, though; some stories were better left untold. She ended the presentation with her revelations about Wolcott’s failed experiment, for she felt it important that her audience hear both sides. “And that’s how it stands,” Courtney concluded. “Where we adults have failed, we look to you, the younger generation. You never know what’s possible until you try.” The audience erupted into applause. The girl with freckles then raised her hand again. “You can’t be that old… Did you make it out of diapers in the end?” Behind the podium, Courtney’s hand graced the front of her skirt. Of course they’d want to know what she was wearing under there. She thought of all that had transpired in the past year… ~ ~ After Jane had left, Courtney sat pondering what the good doctor had said. The longer we wear diapers, the harder reversing it becomes. Maybe Courtney simply hadn’t tried for long enough? Perhaps if she recommitted herself— —Nothing more than speculative fancy, Dr. Peters’ voice interjected. Courtney touched her diaper, wet since some unspecified time. The weekend had felt so relaxing, never having to remember to try the toilet. Maybe she just needed a break for a few days, after obsessing over her bladder for so long. She deserved one by now, did she not? Yet the days expanded to a week, then two weeks, then a month, and Courtney remained in diapers. At first she felt guilty wetting them without even trying to prevent it. When the urge came on, she would glance toward the nearest bathroom wondering if she could make it. But then she’d recall Krystal’s words: Easier just to go randomly in your diaper, since you’re wearing one anyway. Courtney’s eyes would drift closed as she let things flow. Relax, she would tell herself, you’re on vacation. Life had grown so stressful, with Kyle gone and Mr. Flanders bossing her around at work. Diapers were calming. A logical way to accommodate your gender’s natural limitations, as her ex-boyfriend put it. A reckoning arrived when she ran low on supplies. Six weeks earlier, she was barely making a dent in her stack—but now she was back up to five or more per day. Courtney gazed in the mirror dejectedly. The one she wore cut deep into the flesh that had been accumulating on her hips recently, even with the tapes at their widest setting. She should really get refitted—but why bother if tomorrow she was starting back at the gym? (Or maybe Monday after work.) She filled out an online order for her normal size. Then she stared at the total—she had forgotten how expensive diapers were. What are you doing, Courtney? Cancel the order. Her finger hovered over her mouse… You came to my theatre with no diaper on? She had, and promptly peed all over the floor—on camera. After six months of trying, she could barely keep her clothes dry. Clearly she needed to wear these; she had better stock up. * * * A couple months later, Courtney emerged from the shower and toweled off. While toilet-training, she had grown accustomed to going nude for short periods—from the bed to the toilet after sex (back when she was having sex), or like now, from the shower to the changing table. If she felt an urge, the toilet was well within reach. Only today, it wasn’t. Her hot spray began without warning, splashing across her legs as she stumbled back towards the shower. Courtney gazed down at the trail of pee, her heart racing. After cleaning up, she spread a plastic-lined towel across her bed and inserted the cold, white diode, unused for weeks. But as she lay with her legs parted, she could barely find which muscles to squeeze. Finally she produced a small contraction, but the diode only registered a 2. This vacation ends NOW, she murmured. She marched to the cabinet for a set of panties. Those? asked the voice in her head. You’ll end up making puddles on the floor. So Courtney reached for a pull-up instead, frowning at the way it squeezed her hips. Then she sat down to dinner, staring across at the empty chair that Kyle used to occupy. She reached down to unbutton her skirt, too tight to eat in otherwise. Her vacation from the gym needed to end now too. After finishing her macaroni and cheese, she sank onto the couch for some reality television, her thighs spreading out lazily against the cushions. Soon her cares slipped away as the frivolous characters fought over each other’s boyfriends. And then she felt warmth flooding her pull-up. Courtney slapped her forehead. How had she forgotten so easily? Because she’d been mindlessly wetting herself for weeks, that’s why. She knew what must be done: reraise the bar. Voices be damned, she dug out her pink underwear from the bottom of the drawer and shimmied them up until they hugged her waist far tighter than they used to. Alright, now what? Part of her wanted to jumpstart her workout routine right then, but in panties that was out of the question. Her pad would be soaked in no time. So instead she opened her laptop and stared at the task Mr. Flanders had assigned her: convincing women that skintight office skirts were the wave of the future. After weeks of meekly obeying his directives, she could bear it no longer. She began composing an email that explained how she truly felt. Dear Mr. Flanders, I think we need to be more realistic about how women view their own bodies. We’re self-conscious enough about our diapers, with the constant threat of leaks and all. Why compound that with clothes so tight that any onlooker could see that her diaper’s full from the shape of it under her skirt? Speaking from personal experience, I just don’t think these products will sell, no matter how sexy we make them seem. Sincerely, Courtney She read the message over carefully…but couldn’t quite bring herself to send it. As she clicked to save a draft, she felt a sudden pressure between her legs. Courtney stood and aimed for the bathroom, embarking on that short journey she’d completed so many times before. Only today it felt different, the control nurtured over all those months strangely absent. Pee escaped almost immediately, soaking her pad and then some. She barely managed to force it back. After a few hobbling steps, it burst forth again, gushing into her underwear, down her legs, and onto the living room floor. She stood there in shock, till her bare feet sat in a quarter inch of pee. Underwear for girls? asked the waitress. Obviously that makes no sense. But Jane said— —Hogwash. No sensible urologist buys into any of it. Courtney hung her wet skirt up to dry. Then she toweled off and cleaned up the puddle, thankful for living in an old building with hardwood floors. After showering, she pondered her options. At this point only one remained. Resigned, she fastened a diaper around her hips. You will never be capable of making it to the toilet, her mother scolded. Don’t embarrass yourself by trying. In the months since then, she never did again. ~ ~ From behind the podium, Courtney turned to the girl with freckles. “I wish my answer were different, but after half a year I still couldn’t trust myself in just underwear. So in my case—no, I never made it out of diapers. Perhaps ten years ago I could have. That’s why I’m telling you: Start today.” “So that’s it? You’re just gonna give up?” asked the tall girl. “How messed up is that? Some role model you are.” Courtney half-expected this. “It’s a personal choice we all need to make. Don’t think I took the decision lightly.” “I want to try it,” said the girl with freckles. “Yeah, me too. How do I…go about it?” “We have a program designed by Dr. Wolcott, herself. You start with pelvic floor exercises, then move to pull-ups, and finally to girl’s underwear. It’s all explained in this booklet.” Courtney held one up as she scanned the audience. “Well, if there are no more questions—” “What about that boy Kyle you mentioned? He seemed sweet—are you still together?” Courtney demurred. “Now, now. That’s a bit off-topic, isn’t it?” “Please?” said another girl. “We really want to know.” “That’s my main hang-up,” the tall girl admitted. “Would my boyfriend still be attracted to a girl that peed in the toilet?” Good question, thought Courtney… ~ ~ When supplies ran low again, Courtney had invited Krystal out shopping. Staying in denial wasn’t helping matters—she needed clothes that actually fit. “I can’t believe these concept drawings,” Krystal said, scanning through Courtney’s phone. “That skirt’s so tight her diaper’s plainly visible.” Courtney stuck a fork in her food-court salad. “I don’t get it, either. Why would a woman want her ruffles on display at work?” “Does look cute, though.” “Krystal…” “You’re right, you’re right—I would never wear that to the office…unless I was crushing on a coworker or something.” Courtney rolled her eyes. “Ready to hit the shops?” Krystal asked. “Not really.” “Come on—you’ll feel way better once you try a few things on.” “Yeah, in what size?” All Courtney’s prior insecurities with her weight paled compared to this. Krystal stood up and dragged her through the mall. “We’re starting here?” Courtney stared at the sparkly sign: Victoria’s Secret – Bra and Diaper Shop. “Gotta build your wardrobe from the inside out. It’s the only way.” Soon they stood in a fitting room with their clothes in a pile. The slender salesgirl asked, “Can you undo the tapes so I can get an accurate hip measurement?” Courtney folded the top of her diaper down while holding the bottom part to her groin. “Is that a 38 you have on?” “Yeah.” “You need a 40. It’ll provide better coverage and prevent more leaks.” “Ohmygosh!” Courtney exclaimed. “It’s just one size up.” “Um—it’s not that, is it…” said Krystal. “Don’t look. Oh, this is so embarrassing!” The salesgirl’s eyes went wide. Both she and Krystal turned away, just as Courtney sprayed into her diaper—or at least, the part still in place. A little got on her hand. “Don’t worry, hon. You’re not the first to have that happen. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” “Here’s a wipe,” Krystal offered. Once Courtney was clean and dry, the salesgirl returned with a few samples. Courtney thought fondly back to her teenage years when she and her friends would use this trick to snag free diapers. Now, the cause was more sobering. “That looks cute on you,” said Krystal while modeling a lavender bra. Courtney gazed in the mirror at the flowery diaper enveloping her wide hips and bottom. “Uh huh, and I thought I looked plump in a 38.” “Hey!” Krystal objected. “I wear 38s.” “Yeah, but you have the chest to offset it. What’s that, a double-D cup?” “Mm hmm.” “I’m like two sizes smaller…even after gaining all this weight.” Krystal touched Courtney’s shoulder, bare aside from her bra strap. “We’ll hit the gym tomorrow, okay? No more excuses.” Courtney ended up investing in several packs of diapers and a few clothes in the larger size. A depressing afternoon—but motivation to turn things around, at least. “Have you spoken to Kyle at all?” Krystal asked as they sat down to dinner. “Not a word.” “Aren’t you curious how he’s doing?” “Hah!” “Be honest.” Courtney breathed in deep. “I’ve written so many texts. I just…can’t bring myself to send them.” “What do they say?” “Sometimes a causal, ‘Hope you’re doing well…’ Other times, ‘How about dinner and a movie?’” She sighed. “He’s probably with someone else by now, anyway.” Krystal shrugged. “You never know… Honestly, I still don’t understand why you ended it.” “He lied, Krystal—said he believed in me, when really he enjoyed watching me fail.” “Is that so wrong of him?” “What?” Of course it was. “Courtney, sometimes I hate being a girl. I wish I were taller, stronger, less in need of a bra. But every guy I’ve dated seems to love those feminine traits—even my dependence on diapers. Think of it this way: If I tried running braless, guys would be all over that—in fact, several have requested I do it in front of them.” “Did you?” “Heck no. Hurts even thinking about it.” Courtney smirked. “Kyle commented on that once. Said my jiggling was cute.” “See? That’s what I mean. They’re attracted to our bodies’…feminine flaws, you might call them.” “Well, I don’t mind if he ogles my chest, or finds it cute that I hand him jars to open. But this was on a whole other level… Krystal, he kept convincing me to wear panties, figuring I’d wet them and he’d get to watch.” “When you put it that way, it does seem wrong.” Courtney crossed her arms. “Yeah.” “But…he never pressured you or anything. Even that time at the club, you could have borrowed a diaper from another gal. Seems like…he was having fun with an opportunity you placed in his lap. What guy wouldn’t kill for the chance to watch his girlfriend fail at toilet-training?” * * * A few weeks later, Courtney finally found the courage to ask Kyle out to dinner. “How’s work going?” he asked when they were seated. “Just awful. Mr. Flanders listens to me talk and says, ‘Very interesting point—I’ll think on that,’ but then disregards everything I said.” Kyle nodded. “At least Mr. Mills valued your ideas, even if he did take credit for all of them.” Courtney laughed. “That’s a fine way to put it.” A long silence followed. “Courtney, I’m so very sorry for how I acted. I was out of line.” She shrugged. “Hopefully you’ve applied the lessons learned when dating other women.” He shook his head slowly. “There’s been no one. All I can think of…is you.” Courtney reached out and touched his hand. “I’m not saying you’re blameless, but…I think I’m ready to forgive.” “You’re sure? You seemed pretty upset that day.” “I believe a lot of that stemmed from my own frustration with myself. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t grasp this simple thing you mastered when you were three. All the resentment I felt for being so incapable, I transferred onto you.” He nodded in understanding. “So, have you made any progress since—" “—I’m back in diapers, Kyle.” He squeezed her hand in his. “I’m so sorry.” Courtney gazed at him affectionately. “Will you walk me home later?” That night they stayed up talking for hours. As the morning sun began to rise, he finally reached for the hem of her shirt. She clutched his hand. “Um…” “It’s alright, we can take it slow for now.” “No, it’s not that. I’ve, um…put on weight since you last saw me.” “Oh, that’s what you’re worried about?” “Mm hmm…like, ten pounds or so. I’ve been eating for comfort.” “Aww, cuz you missed me?” Courtney smiled. “Well, I could sort of already tell. I still think you’re beautiful.” He lifted her shirt over her head, revealing her softened torso. Immediately, Courtney felt self-conscious of how her bra pinched her sides. She hoped he would remove it soon. Instead, he kissed between her breasts, then inched lower across her tummy. His lips felt so delicious that the extra flesh there bothered her less than it probably should have. He paused to remove his shirt, his body still as hard as ever. Then he found the zipper of her skirt and slid it down, exposing Courtney’s brand-new diaper. She had chosen it carefully—light pink lace to contrast with her dark grey bra. She knew just how it looked, stretching full and proud across her spacious hips—having studied it carefully in the mirror. “Too much for a first date?” she asked. Kyle grinned. “Not at all.” He traced her diaper’s seams, tickled her supple thighs where the tight elastic ended. Then she felt his fingers at the tapes. “Wait—can we leave it on for now?” “Hmm?” With her bra still fastened, she knew he wasn’t ready yet for sex. He must have other plans beforehand. “My diaper,” she said, “I’m scared to remove it.” “Really? I thought you love it when I—” “—I do. But…my control has gotten really bad again lately.” She felt something press against her thigh. Interesting… “How bad are we talking?” She thought of Jane’s words: I wish my husband relished my need for diapers. And she thought of Krystal’s: They’re attracted to our bodies’ feminine flaws. Maybe she’d have some fun with this? “If I felt anything start to happen,” she said, “I highly doubt I could make it to the toilet.” “Even just across the hall?” “I probably wouldn’t make it off the bed without splashing it.” She watched his hardness pulse and grow. Kyle caressed her thigh. “What happened in the past eight months?” “Well…earlier tonight, remember how I said that Jane’s experiment actually failed? After learning that, the path forward seemed so dim—I just gave up. Then I guess my bladder reverted back to what it knew. Kyle, I toilet-trained for six months…after 27 years in diapers.” “And you’re okay with this?” “No.” Courtney smoothed the elastic on hers. “Eight months ago, all I could think of was how poor my control still was after trying so long to improve it. Now, I’d pray to have even that small bit back. It may not seem so to you, but there’s a palpable difference between knowing I might make it to the toilet and knowing I don’t have a chance.” “If you ever try toilet-training again, I promise I won’t interfere… Or have you decided it’s impossible?” “Honestly, I don’t know what to believe anymore. But the thought of struggling though it again—fighting with my impetuous bladder, facing the world without the security of a diaper—is too much to stomach.” She gazed at him, before asking with a smirk, “Do you have any more questions?” “Um…why are you smiling?” “Because you’re cute when you’re excited.” He seemed to blush. “Silly boy, it’s right there.” She pointed between his legs. “You can’t deny this topic turns you on.” “That’s how I got into trouble.” “It’s okay—I’m past that now.” She touched where she had pointed. “So why does it?” “Turn me on? I think just the idea that you could lose control at any moment, and have no ability to stop it.” “And you like the thought of that?” He nodded as she stroked him. Then her hand fell to her lap and her eyes grew wide. “Are you—” “Yes…” she whispered, as she wet her pink lace diaper with her boyfriend staring. When it ended, she smiled sheepishly. “Now imagine that happening at a really important work meeting, and you can grasp some sense of what it’s like…and why I tried to—” “—Courtney, I love you.” He kissed her in the early morning light. “I love you too,” she said, her diaper warm and full between her thighs. ~ ~ The memory brought a smile to Courtney’s lips. She raised her hand from behind the podium to show off her diamond ring. “He proposed?” the freckled girl asked. “Just last month,” said Courtney, beaming. She turned to the tall girl as the crowd cheered. “To speak to your concern about your boyfriend: I can’t say what Kyle would have thought had I succeeded at toilet-training, but he sure loved helping me try.” “Hand me a pamphlet,” the girl responded. “I’m gonna do this.” “Yeah, me too!” said another. “Y’all are nuts!” said a third. “Ms. Clark?” said the girl with freckles. “I think you should keep on trying. Six months isn’t that long. It was years before I could perform a Triple Lutz.” Courtney considered the idea, as she had so many times before… ~ ~ Jenny was the first person Courtney had told about Kyle’s proposal. “I’m so excited for you!” Her friend clapped over FaceTime. “I knew he was a keeper.” “I had to dump him first to realize it… So how are you feeling, Jen?” “Fat as a cow. But at least now I have good reason.” “How many months left—just two, right?” “I can feel her kicking.” “Her…” “It’s a girl, Courtney! The results came back today.” “Oh, I’m so excited for you too! It’s what you always wanted.” “Well, the potty-training’s half as hard. Just teach her not to dirty her diaper, and then—well, you know the rest.” And then she’ll keep wetting them her whole life. Another innocent girl starting down that road. “You could…try the other half and see what happens,” Courtney suggested. “To be honest, I’ve considered it. Have you heard from Allison at all? “Not since she lost her medical license. Busy rebuilding her life, I’m sure.” “It seems almost cruel to set my baby daughter up for failure—like Allison did to you.” “Or for a lifetime without leaks or rashes.” Jenny smiled but said nothing. “So will you keep working?” Courtney asked, changing the subject. “We’ll see. I finally have some excuse to quit that hellhole.” Courtney grinned while shaking her head. “I wish I had that option.” “You would if you moved in with Kyle.” “After he burned his entire savings on the ring…? Come on, Jen, you know I’m more of a ‘suffer the slings and arrows’ type of girl.” “Are you?” Jenny asked. * * * The next morning, Courtney fought with her tight skirt. Since getting back with Kyle, she had managed to shed some of the pounds she’d put on, but not all of them. Her clothes from before were only just beginning to fit. Mr. Flanders greeted her as always, with a subtle scan of her body. “Morning, Courtney. That marketing plan finally ready?” “Could we talk through it later?” “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to see it—on my desk.” “Of course, sir.” “By lunchtime.” So Courtney sat at her computer, staring at the blank page that the marketing plan was supposed to fill. She sipped nervously from her coffee mug, trying for the umpteenth time even to begin the impossible task Flanders had assigned her. The matter finally came to a head at lunch. “Alright, let’s see it,” said Flanders. “It’s, um, not ready yet.” “Why not?” he demanded. Because the clothes he hoped to sell had less appeal than…women’s underwear, even. Not a soul on earth would buy them, no matter how Courtney spun it. “Can I have one more day?” she pleaded. Flanders opened his phone. “Mr. Mills? Could you come down to the conference room, please?” Soon her boss arrived with Krystal in tow. Courtney stood to greet them while Flanders remained seated. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding,” Mr. Mills began. “Courtney is impeccable with deadlines—isn’t that right, Krystal?” The receptionist nodded rapidly. “Coffee, anyone?” she asked. “I shouldn’t,” said Courtney. “I should think not,” said Flanders, glancing at Courtney’s tight skirt in a creepy way. Did he really just say that? “So what’s the deal with this report?” Mr. Mills asked. Courtney took a deep breath and pointed at the concept drawings sprawled across the table. “Sir, I can’t write it…because these products aren’t marketable. Look, that blouse barely covers the poor woman’s bra, and the skirt’s so thin and stretchy that her diaper shows right through. I wouldn’t wear that—would you, Krystal?” Her eyes darted from person to person. “Um…well, no…but—” Mr. Mills gestured at Flanders. “I’ve been saying all along: Bring those necklines higher.” In a stroke of daring, Courtney blurted out, “No you haven’t. I’m the one who proposed that.” The room was silent. Finally Flanders spoke. “Look down, Courtney…” He sat there with his phone out, as if her objection mattered so little that he couldn’t bother to listen. “What?” “Apparently you would wear it—your tight skirt hides things just as poorly. It’s quite obvious what you have on underneath.” Courtney’ jaw dropped open, her mind racing to respond but hitting only dead-ends. What could she say, that it fit looser before her ass took on this extra weight? That a thinner pull-up—or (god forbid) a panty—would show through less, if only girls were allowed to toilet-train? Yet before she could assemble even a jumbled retort, her bladder took matters into its own hands. As she stood there in front of all of them, pee sprayed hard and fast into her diaper, inflating it to the point where her ruffles must have shown even worse than before. Then her heart sank even lower as she felt some trickle down the back of her thigh, wetting her skirt in Flanders’ direct field of view. Courtney heard a click. “Did you just snap a photo?” she asked. “Um…n-n-no.” “But I heard it snap,” said Krystal. Flanders mumbled something about needing to keep his phone silenced. Courtney tried to process this sudden turn of events. Had anyone else realized what the photo was of? Krystal must have read her face, for her friend rushed over and peered at the back of her skirt. “Here, hon,” Krystal said, offering a paper napkin. “Uh, I think you better delete that photo,” said Mr. Mills. “That’s it?” Courtney asked, recovering from her shock. “That’s all you’ll say about it?” “We’ll have HR look into it… In the meantime, Jim, probably worth taking our suggestions about thicker, looser skirts, given what just—well, you know.” “They’re my suggestions, not ours.” Then Courtney’s pent-up rage finally burst free. “You know what? Too hell with this. I quit!” She pressed the paper napkin to her backside and stormed out the door. * * * That night, Courtney sat pondering what to do with herself now, having just cut ties with the only marketing firm in town. In frustration, she swept her arm across her desk, sending her scattered work papers fluttering to the floor. There beneath the stack, a familiar title caught her eye: “Wolcott, J. (2020). A self-fulfilling prophecy? An environmental theory of female urinary incontinence.” Courtney dusted off the cover. Then she turned the page and read from start to finish, for the first time in over a year. She shut her eyes. Was Jane for real? Or just some crazy lunatic? Maybe Kyle, Krystal, and everyone else was dead wrong, and another path did exist—if not for herself, then at least for someone. Life must have more to offer women than lewd photos taken of their wet fannies. Truly there was only one way to know. Toilet-training for girls: Why not market that? She clutched her phone. “Jenny? I have a business proposition for you…” ~ ~ Courtney stared out at her eager audience. Since that day at the office, the hush money from HR had made moving in with Kyle feel less intrusive, and her numerous talks with Jane had prepared her well for today’s presentation, the first of a dozen scheduled. So far, the rightwing press had left her alone; perhaps her young, attractive visage was too sympathetic a target. Overall, she felt more confident in herself than ever in her life. All except that one area, hidden behind the podium. You should keep on trying, the freckled girl had said. As Courtney considered how to respond, her bladder caught her unawares. Warm pee filled her diaper, while she fought to contain her look of surprise. At times like this, continence seemed utterly unattainable—her bladder dysfunction past the point of no return. Maybe the prophecy was only a myth, and all these young, impressionable girls would suffer the same crushing defeat that she had. Yet still they looked to her for inspiration. Should she try again? Courtney adjusted her sagging diaper. “Maybe I will, ladies. We’ll see.” ~ Finis ~
  12. Chapter 11. Revelations The next morning, Kyle and Courtney sat in her living room, by her invitation. She shared a story. “When I was thirteen years old, Jenny slept over. We talked late into the night, mostly about boys. But at one point I left to change my diaper, and when I returned, she asked, ‘Have you ever tried the toilet instead?’ I told her, ‘Here or there in an emergency—never on purpose,’ and with a gleam in her eye, she said, ‘We should try it!’ So we made a pact that the next day we’d attempt to pee only on the toilet and never in our diapers.” “I always wondered what girls did at slumber parties,” Kyle observed. “Yeah, so the next morning I peed in the shower—which Jenny said was cheating, but whatever. Then I joined my family and her for breakfast. Eventually I felt something—I mean, I actually felt it—maybe because I was paying far more attention than I normally would. I asked to be excused, and then I whispered to Jenny, ‘Time to pee…’ She grinned—you know like she still does, ear to ear—and I guess my mom saw or heard or something. “Moments later, I was facing the toilet with my diaper pulled down, trying to figure out the next step, when the door flew open, and my mom said, ‘What are you doing, young lady?’ I replied, ‘Um, peeing?’ and she said, ‘Not in there, you’re not,’ and she literally demanded that I pull my diaper back up, even knowing I was about to wet it. I still remember her exact words: ‘You will never be capable of making it to the toilet, Courtney. Don’t embarrass yourself by trying.’ And that was the last time I ever did, until this year.” “How did Jenny do?” “Made it there once, maybe? But here’s the thing, Kyle. That morning I had felt the urge to go, and I wasn’t nearly desperate.” “An ex told me something similar,” he said. “So doesn’t that prove we are capable?” “Of what, exactly? Back then, could you pee in the toilet consistently?” “Well, if I’d been encouraged to…” “I’ll believe it when I see it.” “I’m just saying, the longer I wore diapers, the more incontinent I became. So it’s environmental, not innate.” “Courtney, diapers are a modern invention.” Kyle assumed an authoritative tone. “Evolutionarily, women were usually outdoors. A lead-time of a minute or so is all they would have needed. I’m guessing that’s all the control you had when you were little…and all you’ll ever reattain.” His words stung. “So why do men have more?” “Peeing might disturb the hunt for animals. Plus, we have muscles down there used for sex, so it’s natural we’d repurpose them for holding urine.” “What’s your point, Kyle?” “That granted, wearing diapers might lead to dependence, or loss of control or whatever—but they’re also a logical way to accommodate your gender’s natural limitations, in a world where you can’t pee just anywhere. Seriously, what’s the alternative?” Courtney said nothing. “And we haven’t begun to address that you still leak when you laugh, or sneeze, or stand up too quickly, or that your overnight is soaking wet every morning.” “Are you finished?” she asked. Kyle nodded. “And that’s how you’ve felt all along—that my toilet-training is a fool’s errand?” “More like—came to believe so, the longer you struggled at it.” “But you still got off by seeing me humiliate myself?” “Uh…” “Tell the truth.” “I never wanted you to suffer. But…yes, I find your accidents sexy.” “I’m sorry, Kyle. I just don’t think we can be together.” * * * That evening, Krystal and Courtney sat sprawled on the couch, each with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. “Ice cream is so much better braless,” Krystal mused. “You’re not left wondering whether it’ll still fit in a week.” “I wish I had that problem,” said Courtney. “For me it’s best in sweatpants—for similar reasons.” “In sweatpants too—I totally agree.” It was heartbreaking to see Krystal in such a state, normally so put together. Upon arriving, she had gazed up at Courtney with watery eyes, her round face flush from crying. The effect was jarring—Krystal wore heels so often that Courtney had forgotten her friend was actually shorter than she was. On the couch now, Krystal’s heavy chest sagged within her shirt, causing it to ride up slightly and reveal the small tummy role that her leggings had created. The floral trim of her diaper even sat exposed. Of course, Courtney probably looked no better. “I’m sorry about Joe,” she said. “He was such a jerk. Why do I keep dating guys like that?” Courtney often wondered the same thing. Krystal had so much to offer—why had she so little confidence? “So who’s right,” Courtney asked, “Kyle or Allison?” Krystal shrugged. “Who’s to say?” “If you had to guess.” “Well, you’ve taught me I could probably be less incontinent than I am.” “But…?” “Well…what’s the point, really? That if I worked at it incessantly, I could make it to the toilet some of the time? That I could stay dry for a few hours by repeatedly reminding myself to go? Even then, I’d be too scared to try underwear. So isn’t it easier just to go randomly in my diaper, since I’d be wearing one anyway?” Krystal glanced down, made a face, and tugged her shirt lower to cover everything up. Courtney realized then that Krystal wasn’t just upset about Joe. She could snag a new boyfriend in a heartbeat. Without makeup to conceal it, her angelic face betrayed a far deeper regret…over the life she had forged—a life of serving coffee, getting hit on, and wetting her diaper. Yet Krystal would never try to recast it, for she knew no other. Who knows, maybe there was none? Finally Courtney spoke. “So you agree with Kyle.” “I’m sorry, Courtney, but how long has it been?” “Since I started toilet-training? Half a year.” “And you’re still in the same place you were three months ago?” “Sensation-wise, yeah. Control-wise, more or less. Though, I’ve gotten better at remembering to go.” “That’s something, I suppose.” “But you think I’m pretty much stuck where I am.” Krystal looked at her and shrugged. * * * On Monday, Courtney called Allison’s clinic. The doctor wasn’t in, so she scheduled an appointment with the receptionist. Courtney wanted answers. Why had no woman before her succeeded at toilet-training? Why was she failing at it too? Her boss strolled calmly past her desk on the way to the restroom. Minutes later he returned. “Courtney, would you join me in my office, please?” She smoothed her skirt out over her ruffles and followed him in. “I’ve reviewed your work on the women’s office-wear project. It’s quite good.” “Thank you, sir.” “However, I’m putting Jim in charge for the next phase.” “The…new hire?” Courtney choked on her words. “He’s a local expert on women’s apparel—and a trusted friend. Look at these magnificent concept drawings he produced.” She stared at the pictures of dolled-up office ladies in skirts so tight their diapers showed right through. She began to form a response, but a twinge between her legs grabbed her attention. “I…I don’t…” “Yes, Courtney?” The bathroom was within range, adjacent to the one her boss had just used without even a thought. All she need do was excuse herself and hurry down the hall, but that simply wasn’t done. “I don’t…know about those drawings,” she stuttered while trying to hold on. “Do you…really think that’s what women want to wear to work?” “Take that up with Jim—or Mr. Flanders you should call him now.” A torrent of objections flooded Courtney’s brain, but she voiced none of them. Instead, she flooded her diaper in front of her boss, her eyes doing their best to conceal it. When it finished, she said softly, “Is that all, Mr. Mills?” He smiled at her condescendingly. “Hang in there, toots. Your time will come.” * * * Thursday afternoon, Courtney left work early for her urology appointment. In the examination room, she changed into a dry pull-up and waited for the doctor to arrive. Finally the door opened, and a middle-aged man in a white coat entered. “Dr. Peters,” he said, extending his hand. “Um, where’s Allison?” “Diaz? She no longer works here.” “Wait, what?” “Courtney, correct? May I ask what that is you’re wearing?” “The pull-up? It’s from Allison.” “I figured. And I suppose she has you futilely attempting to potty-train?” “Um, well—” “Had much luck with that?” The doctor snickered. “What happened to Dr. Diaz? I’d like to speak with her.” “Her position was terminated. Her contract stated very clearly that under no condition was she to pursue the debunked work of her doctoral advisor.” “Jane Wolcott…” Courtney murmured. “How much did Diaz tell you?” “Enough…to know the truth.” “Did she? I’ve reviewed your file. You still lack functional bladder awareness or control after six months of treatment. Even now, seems you can barely keep your clothes dry. The truth, Courtney, is that you’re incontinent and always will be, just like all women.” “But…the prophecy—” “Wolcott’s redacted paper? Hogwash. No sensible urologist buys into any of it.” She stared at the doctor, incredulous. “Prophecies are the stuff of religion, Courtney, not science. Wolcott advanced a provocative theory—but without evidence, it’s nothing more than speculative fancy.” “But the university pulled the plug too early—prevented enough evidence from accumulating.” “Is that what Diaz said? And did she mention why they pulled the plug?” Courtney waited. “The participants revolted. They issued a formal complaint to the dean of the med school that their involvement felt pointless and humiliating. Don’t believe me? Here, see for yourself the results of Wolcott’s famous experiment.” He handed her a slip of paper. “Use these login credentials on Reddit. Any further questions, I’m happy to answer them… And in the meantime, wearing a full-absorbency diaper would be a whole lot safer than that flimsy thing you have on.” * * * Courtney rushed home and opened her laptop. The credentials the doctor provided brought her to a secret Reddit group called “Diaperless Divas.” The description on the right read, “This group is for the participants in Dr. Wolcott’s experimental trial #2574 to share experiences and tips in their quest for diaper independence. Happy peeing (in the toilet, that is)!” Several topics filled the screen, from tips for staying dry, to dealing with skeptical partners, to fashion advice sans diaper. Pinned at the top, though, was the longest thread of all, entitled “This actually working for anyone?” Courtney clicked there and scrolled down the page. “I did everything the research assistant suggested—using a timer, practicing with the diode, etc. Nothing worked. Five months in and I still feel nothing till the last possible moment.” “I can’t feel anything, either. Does anyone?” “I don’t.” “Anyone here actually LIKE peeing in a diaper? I miss it.” “Tried wearing a pull-up today. Gosh, these don’t hold much, do they?” “The RA recommended spending a day in underwear. I ended up making puddles on the floor.” “Her name is Allison, by the way. She’s nice, but clueless. She keeps saying, ‘Making progress, making progress,’ but I can only stay dry by preemptively peeing like ALL THE TIME. It’s not practical.” “Continent would mean (a) knowing when you have to go and (b) ability to hold for long periods (e.g., >30 min). Anyone have those yet?” “I don’t.” “Nope.” “Eight months in, and I’ve reached neither of those.” “I’ve soaked more clothes than I can count. I’m done.” The thread continued like that for pages—with no one indicating an inkling of success beyond what Courtney had experienced. At the very bottom, the discussion turned in a new direction. “Spoke to the dean today. He expressed surprise that the study was allowed to go forward at all. He suggested filing a formal complaint with the human subjects board.” “Are you going to?” “I’m willing—anyone want to join?” “Count me in.” “Just show me where to sign.” The final entry read: “Dear participants, by now you should have received notice that this study is officially suspended. Consequently, this subreddit is closed to future comments. Please direct any further questions to the human subjects office.” Courtney paged back through the thread, her anger brewing. Why didn’t Allison tell her? She had set Courtney up for failure—convinced her to believe in a pipe dream. Allison was no better than Kyle. At least he had a semi-valid reason—he was turned on by it. Courtney removed her soggy pull-up and sat her wet butt on the toilet. On the way home, the urge had struck at a red light, and she had glanced around frantically for some magical receptacle to appear. Looking now at her skirt, she noticed dark patches where her output had overwhelmed the pull-up’s small capacity. Had she been wearing panties, the car seat would have been soaked. How could she have been so naïve? She was a marketing researcher, for crying out loud. She should recognize being taken for a ride. Courtney sat for a few minutes, but no tinkle emerged. Fantastic—now she’d be returning here every twenty minutes until she managed to go. What a lovely way to spend an evening—unless… She wiped off and peered inside the cabinet: pull-ups on the right, diapers on the left. Krystal’s words rang in her head: What’s the point, really? Courtney reached left and fastened a diaper around her hips. Just then, her phone received a call from an unlisted number. “Hello?” she asked. “Courtney?” came Allison’s voice. “You knew…” “Courtney, I—” “—that the experiment was a failure. Why didn’t you tell me?” “I told you the human subjects board pulled the plug, and I told you why.” “You didn’t say the board was right.” “Were they?” “It sure seems so. I’ve seen the Reddit board. And you know—I can relate.” “You’re right. I could have been more upfront about your chances for success, given prior participants’ experiences.” “So why weren’t you?” “To keep you on the path. You had a drive I’d never seen before, and I thought you might succeed where the others had failed. You were my star student…like I was Jane’s.” Courtney covered her mouth in surprise. “You tried, yourself. Of course—why wouldn’t you?” “For months and months, I did. I never regained bladder awareness or a functional hold time. Eventually, I gave up.” “And now?” “Now I wear diapers again, as you soon will.” Courtney’s hand drifted to her ruffled bottom. “Wait, what do you mean?” “You’re giving up too, aren’t you—after deciding it’s impossible?” “Allison, do you have any idea what I’ve been through? I’ve had to pee in a urinal—not very successfully, I might add. I’ve peed in an alley next to a stray dog, down my skirt in a fancy restaurant, and finally on the tile floor of a movie theatre and nearly got arrested. And for what? A couple minutes of holding time gained over six months. What’s the practical benefit of that? None that I can see.” “Those discriminatory sanitation laws should be abolished,” said Allison. “Laws or no laws, I never want to be in that situation again.” Then Courtney asked, “So why did you call, anyhow?” “To apologize…for any trouble I may have caused.” “Well I’m sorry too, that you lost your job on account of me.” “I knew the risks. The choice was mine.” “So what’s next for you?” Courtney asked. “They’ll hold a hearing to determine if my medical license is revoked.” “I hope it goes well.” “And for you? Will you give up or not?” She thought for a moment and then replied, “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” * * * On Sunday morning, Courtney sat at her computer, Zooming with Jenny. “Well, I admire your tenacity,” said her friend. “More like stupidity. So many warning signs that panties are beyond me—I had to pee once in a McDonalds cup, for Christ’s sake—but I kept on wearing them anyway.” “Yeah, I wondered about that—but hey, when you’re on a mission, let nothing stop you.” “Except almost getting arrested. Since then, I pick up a pair and can’t bring myself to slide them on. And after seeing that Reddit board, I don’t know if I ever will again. Heck, I haven’t even worn a pull-up all weekend.” Jenny nodded understandingly. “Of course,” Courtney sighed, “you never believed in the prophecy anyhow.” “Honey, I certainly wanted to. You think I enjoy walking around with a wet fanny half the time?” “Well, looks like wet fannies are what we’re stuck with…” Just then her unit’s buzzer sounded. “Hey, I hear the doorbell. Talk later, okay?” “Later, hon.” It must be Kyle. He had some nerve coming here, after she ignored all his texts. She marched to the door, ready to shut it in his face—but as she peered through the peephole, she saw not him but a short, aging woman with thick glasses. Courtney opened the door a crack. “Are you Courtney?” She nodded. “Jane Wolcott,” the lady said, extending her hand. * * * “How did you find me?” Courtney asked over tea. Dr. Wolcott sipped from her cup. “Allison tends to ignore various protocols—for example, patient confidentiality. I imagine she gets that from me. In short, I’ve heard quite a lot about you.” “Then you must know I’ve let you down. I couldn’t make it out of diapers.” “It’s alright, Courtney. You’re not the first.” “But I am the last—aren’t I?” “With me in hiding, and Allison out of work? Perhaps you are, perhaps not.” “Who else is there?” “Do you think no other female on this planet has wondered whether she can learn to pee in the toilet?” “Wondered, perhaps—maybe even tried it—but actually succeeded? Jane, I’m glad you proposed your theory; it had the potential to change many lives. But based on my own experience—and the results of your own study—I think you’re simply wrong. Our gender is incontinent, plain and simple.” Jane seemed to smile, then gazed toward the ceiling. “To quote another famous tutor, ‘A prophecy that misread could have been.’” “Ugh, my ex-boyfriend made me watch that movie.” “Kyle, his name was?” Courtney cringed. “It makes no difference now—it’s over between us.” “Because he fetishized your incontinence?” Allison told her that too? “To put it bluntly, yes. One time he even tricked me into wearing panties out clubbing, so that he could watch me have to pee in embarrassing places.” Jane raised a bushy eyebrow. “I wish my husband relished my need for diapers like that. It might make the whole affair less aggravating.” Really? She hadn’t thought of it that way before. Courtney quickly changed the subject. “What did you mean by ‘misread?’” Jane set down her cup. “Blindfold a rat in its first weeks of life, and it never learns to see. Deprive a child of language in his first two years, and he never learns to speak. Keep a girl in diapers for too long, and she may never learn to pee in the toilet.” “A self-fulfilling prophecy.” “Indeed. The trouble is, no review board has approved a study with female toddlers—and believe me, I’ve tried. Too vulnerable a population, they claim. Whatever. And neither Allison nor I have a daughter of our own to try it with. What does seem clear is that our bladder function continues to degrade even after puberty. The longer we wear diapers, the harder reversing it becomes.” “Which would explain why I made better progress than Allison.” “And why I made worse.” Of course Jane had tried too. It went without saying. “You really think that continence is achievable for our gender?” “You’re asking the wrong person,” Jane replied. “The real question is, do you?”
  13. I'm surprised no one responded to this thoughtful post. I'm in a similar boat, albeit even less far along than you. I had been spending good amounts of time in the evenings writing the story I posted on here, to the point where I eventually needed to tell my wife what I was doing. She knew I was into writing fetish stories but not on this topic. So several weeks ago I divulged my interest in omo with her and learned (as expected) that she doesn't share it. I haven't really brought it up with her since. She has indulged other kinks of mine but, like you, I never felt totally comfortably because I knew it didn't really interest her (although she did enjoy getting me turned on). I have not brought up the omo thing again since then. I'd love to watch her pee, and in particular to try peeing standing, but I don't want to push it. Sorry I don't have more advice, but I guess sometimes commiseration is the next best thing.
  14. Chapter 10. Lovers’ Quarrels Courtney continued to mull over her night out with Kyle. Though she hated to admit it, his scheming had revealed a degree of control she hadn’t known she possessed. She stood reminded that learning to ride a bicycle required ditching the training wheels and climbing on, despite the fear of falling. That night, though, had also brought her face-to-face with the jagged pavement. What if there were no alley, no urinal, no cup—nothing but her clothes to absorb the hot mess, as the whole room looked on? While she appreciated the sentiment, Kyle’s confidence in her seemed so misplaced. True, her bladder had pulled through for her that night, but it often still betrayed her. One time she was up late completing a project for work when the urge came on, seemingly containable. She finished recording her train of thought before hurrying to the toilet—too late to avoid soaking her underwear. Another time, she burst out laughing at something Kyle said at dinner, and she felt her pad grow damp, then damper still—until she looked down to see herself sitting in a puddle. She wondered why such incidents never seemed to faze him. As she emerged from the shower, he would simply hold out a clean set of underwear, a sympathetic smile on his face. She wore them often now—her stock of three grown to twelve in rainbow colors, thanks to Allison. How else could Courtney prove to the world that she had moved beyond diapers? How else could she prove it to herself? “Ready to go?” Kyle asked one morning. “Looks windy out—let me tie my hair.” She pulled it back in a high ponytail and tucked the loose strands behind her ear. Then they set out on a neighborhood stroll. “Breeze feels great, huh?” “Sure does—whoops! Maybe shorts would have been wiser.” “Don’t worry,” Kyle smirked. “No one saw your purple underwear.” “I sure hope not.” As they continued chatting, Courtney nearly managed to forget what lay beneath her skirt. Lots of people were out this Sunday—she no different from any of them. “Let’s cut back through the park,” Kyle suggested. “A bit out of the way, but—” “Ooh, let’s go! I bet the roses are still in bloom.” They crossed two streets and ambled past the ballfield. Up ahead, a group of women had assembled near the central fountain, holding signs that read: “Close the gender toilet gap” “Free diapers = A women’s health issue” “No subsidy, no pees!” A woman began speaking into a megaphone: “Our taxes pay for public toilets. Every school, every museum, every park offers them free of charge. But for whom? Men primarily. Aside from the obvious, what use are they to women—bolted to the floor and forever out of reach? The only toilet a woman can count on is one wrapped between her legs. Five or more a day she goes through, costing over $100 a month…and she pays every cent of it!” The protesters booed and hollered. “All we’re asking,” the speaker continued, “is that the state chip in a mere twenty percent. That’s what Proposition 47 would do. Look, people—whether we want to be or not, women are in diapers. It’s time our elected leaders acknowledge that—and start treating us fairly.” The small crowd cheered. Then they started chanting, “What do we want? Diaper support! When do we want it? Now!” All around, people turned to watch the spectacle. Many of the protesters wore skintight leggings that highlighted the ruffled padding beneath. A few even had diapers on over their jeans. “Wow,” said Kyle. “Quit staring, honey,” Courtney chided. Then a man yelled, “Sure, have the government pay for my boxer shorts too. Y’all are crazy!” A protester approached Courtney and handed her a pamphlet. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She took Kyle’s hand and retreated from the square. “What do you think?” he asked. “Should Uncle Sam pay for your diapers?” “Ah, but I’m not wearing one,” she retorted. “Touché.” Feeling anxious all of a sudden, Courtney scanned the area. Every park has toilets but this one, apparently. She took a deep breath. “Personally, I think those ladies have it all wrong. They should be asking why we’re in diapers to begin with.” Kyle laughed. “Isn’t it obvious why? Not everyone shares your skills, remember.” “Right—maybe because we have no opportunity to develop any. Given the dreadful alternative, of course we wear them…but it’s still humiliating.” “Huh—and I figured girls felt sexy in diapers.” “Well sure, but…you’re peeing in them, multiple times per day. Afterwards you’re soaking wet till you finally get to change. Until you’ve experienced it, I’m not sure you can judge.” “Does sound fairly annoying.” “Mm hmm. Also just the way you’re treated because of it.” “Like, how so?” “Like at work, never getting to present to clients.” “And you’re hoping underwear could change all that?” “If we could learn to keep them dry—yeah, maybe we’d gain more respect. Remember that article I showed you? Jane Wolcott thinks we’re plenty capable, and that no one should be assuming otherwise. That’s what the protest should be about.” Kyle gazed at her. “Well, I support you 100%.” Then he pointed up ahead. “Look! You were right.” Courtney’s eyes lit up. “Roses in bloom—so gorgeous!” They sat on a park bench to take in the splendor. Kyle leaned over and whispered, “Not so gorgeous as you.” He wrapped his arm around her. Courtney rested her head on his shoulder, any recent reservations about him drifting away. Would he finally say the words? She waited patiently. “Courtney, I—” “—Ohmygosh!” She sat up straight and glanced around. “No bathrooms here, are there?” “None but nature’s own.” He pointed to the bushes. “Don’t be ridiculous—there’s people everywhere.” She wished she could replay the last twenty seconds, only this time wearing a diaper. Without a care, she would fill it while Kyle spoke the lines—even though that went against everything she’d just said. “You didn’t go before we left?” She thought for a moment. “Can’t remember.” “Can you make it home?” “Um—maybe?” The situation within her underwear felt more manageable than some, but home was two whole blocks away. Maybe just pee herself right here, and Kyle fetch a towel? “You got this, hon. Easy-peasy, right?” He helped her up from the bench. “Uh huh.” Courtney clung to him as she walked, her balance compromised by the crossing of her legs. She wondered how she must look to everyone around them. “Just one more block.” A whole one, still? The fire in her groin kept giving off sparks, but she contained it well enough…until the bark of a dog stole her concentration. She froze in place and struggled to seal off the leak, her hand clenched tight around Kyle’s. Courtney looked around her. Happy couples were milling about in the sunshine. Children were flying kites, carefree and joyous—while she stood pressing her thighs together for dear life. And Kyle didn’t find this concerning? “Ready to go on?” he asked. She nodded. “There’s home.” He pointed down the block. “Easy-peasy.” By the time they reached the front door, Courtney was in agony. “I don’t think I’ll—ooh—make it up both flights.” “You’ve lasted three whole minutes. What’s thirty seconds more?” Three minutes, that was it? “But it’s stairs, Kyle. Stairs are—ooh!” A violent spurt escaped, and it took every ounce of concentration to prevent it from erupting into something more. As she climbed the steps, the fire within swelled to an inferno. Kyle ran ahead to get the door. Courtney charged past him towards the single pool of water that could douse this flame. She yanked down her underwear and landed hard on the seat. Then she shut her eyes and listened to the cool refreshing sound of pee splashing into the basin. “Easy-peasy,” said Kyle from the doorway. She smiled at him—but inwardly she wondered how he could say that, when it obviously wasn’t true. * * * Later that week, Courtney lay naked from the waist down, her thighs spread and strapped into stirrups, a pee funnel encircling her vulva. Alison spoke. “Let’s run a few tests while that lemonade works through your system. Can you cough for me?” Courtney heard a slight splashing sound as she did. “Any improvement with the stress leaking?” “A little,” said Courtney. “And any improvement at night?” “A little.” “Well, it’s great news about your daytime wettings. You’ve managed to cut those down considerably?” “If I’m super diligent. But…I don’t know, I thought toilet-training would feel different than this.” “How do you mean?” Courtney tried to explain. “The other day, I was at brunch with my boyfriend, wearing no protection other than a pad, and I made it through the whole meal before rushing to the toilet and peeing in it successfully.” “That’s great, Courtney!” “I thought so too. But then afterwards, Kyle went himself, like it was child’s play.” “Well, he’s been doing that all his life.” “It’s maddening. He struts about, and when has to pee, he just goes and does it—while for me, making it fifteen feet from the couch to the toilet is a major victory.” She paused to reflect. “I read this article one time called ‘Managing Female Incontinence’— “—by Andrew Young?” “Yeah, that’s the one. I feel like that’s all I’m doing—managing it. I’ve trained myself to remember to pee at regular intervals, watch how much I drink, never stray far from a toilet. That’s the only way I can stay dry, not because I’ve learned to control my bladder. Maybe I’ve toilet-trained my brain—but physically, I’m getting nowhere fast. Sunday I wore panties for a short stroll around the neighborhood and nearly flooded them.” “But you didn’t?” “Nope, and Kyle commended me for it. Yet honestly, that I avoided doing so was a miracle. I just don’t understand how he can be so blasé about the whole affair. It’s almost like…he enjoys watching me struggle.” Courtney fell silent, surprised at what she heard herself say. Alison nodded slowly. “Let’s finish the exam and then talk some more, okay?” “Alright.” “These days, how long you can prevent urination?” “A few minutes, tops—other times way less than that. It’s so unpredictable.” “I understand. And right now, do you need to pee?” “Um…” Courtney struggled to provide an answer. “How long has it been since I drank the lemonade?” “Don’t go by that. What does your body tell you?” “It never tells me anything.” Allison nodded again. “I have this distant memory…of sensing an impending need when I was much younger—but now I couldn’t tell you what it felt like. I can’t even reproduce the sensation in my mind. These days, all I feel is sudden desperation.” “That could still change.” Allison finished recording Courtney’s answers. “Alright, let’s try the diode test. I’ll flip this down now, okay?” Courtney felt the funnel slide away, replaced by a cold object pressed deep inside. She squeezed as hard as she could. “Four. Nice job!” “May I try again? I can do better than that.” She squeezed a second time. “Five, that time. Alright, last try.” Courtney squeezed until her muscles gave out from exhaustion. “Four again. We have to use the average of the three.” Allison removed the diode and repositioned the funnel. Virtually no improvement in three months. “At least I don’t freak out anymore when you swivel that thing down,” Courtney quipped. But then her smiled faded. “Why is this all so hard?” “Well, you read Jane’s article.” Allison pointed to a diagram on the wall. “This shows the female urinary tract. When I first saw you, you had zero voluntary control over these muscles here. Voiding for you had reverted back to the reflex pattern of infancy. That you’ve regained any functionality at all is something to celebrate—and it flies in the face of quack theories like Dr. Young’s.” At that moment, Courtney felt a pressure mount. Strapped in the stirrups, she couldn’t clench her legs together as she normally would, nor could she wedge her hand there with the funnel in the way—though, it was unclear how much those measures actually helped. She shut her eyes and focused all attention on the one place that could withstand this onslaught, her only bastion of defense. “Good, Courtney!” Allison encouraged. But the pressure grew stronger and stronger, like a lance piercing through her. She fought against it until her efforts collapsed, and pee went splattering down the funnel. “One minute, twenty-six seconds,” Allison announced. “That’s really good.” Not nearly good enough. Courtney gazed at the diagram of her dysfunctional urinary tract. Apparently, her urethra was not even two inches long—this tiny bit of tubing that if she could only hold shut, would mean a lifetime free of diapers. But to do so was beyond her. “Can you tell me,” she asked, “how many women have actually succeeded at this? How many have you helped toilet-train?” “To full continence?” Allison was silent for a moment. “You would be the first, Courtney.” * * * That Saturday, Courtney lay sprawled on her bed in a red lace bra and panties while Kyle kissed her all over. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon. Soon he reached for her underwear. “Wow, sex with my bra still on? That’s new for us. Less bouncy, I suppose.” “Who says we’re having sex right now?” He slid her panties off. “Well, I just assumed—” “—I’m a lucky man, Courtney. Who else on this Earth gets sustained access to his girl’s pussy? Your newfound bladder control opens a world of possibility.” “Hmm, like what…? Holy mother!” “Should I stop?” “No, no…keep doing it, keep doing it!” Courtney’s eyelids drifted closed as Kyle’s tongue danced across her labia… “Sweetheart?” he said at last. “Why are you stopping?” Moments ago, she’d been so close. “Um, shouldn’t you go pee really quick?” Urgh. Since the near disaster on Sunday, his reminders had seemed to multiply, coming always at the most inconvenient times. She glanced at the clock. “Ack! Kyle, of course I should go. And then we have to get ready. Aren’t they arriving at six?” “That’s in forty-five minutes. Go and pee, and then we can remove your bra and finally—” “—Not till after the movie, Kyle. I still have to shower, do my hair and makeup…” “Alright,” he muttered. * * * Before long the doorbell rang. “They’re here!” Kyle called. “Almost ready!” Courtney turned in the mirror. Her black skirt, unworn since college, gripped her hips alluringly—the perfect contrast to her flowy purple top. “You look stunning,” Krystal said as Courtney made her appearance. “You too, hon—I love that dress!” “Not too tight for mixed company?” asked Krystal’s date. Krystal spun around. Her dress stretched taught across her shapely rear and the fluffy padding that encased it, but the fit seemed fine. “I wouldn’t say so, Joe,” Courtney replied. “Shall we?” Kyle cut in. “Movie starts at 8:00.” On their way to the car, the girls let the guys walk on ahead. “How’d you get your skirt to look like that?” Krystal whispered. “No diaper lines, you mean?” “Wait, don’t tell me…” “Kyle talked me into it. Think it’s a bad idea?” “Of course it is.” Krystal knew all about Courtney’s misadventure clubbing. At the car, Kyle said in a fake British accent, “After you, darling.” “Thank you, sir,” Courtney responded in kind. The two of them scooted into the back seat. As the car pulled from the lot, he whispered, “You remembered to go, before, right?” She glared at him. “Yes…before getting ready.” “Kyle, how’s work?” Joe asked. “Same old. Reboot, reformat, repeat.” “Ah. Well, I just got promoted.” “Wow, congratulations!” Courtney cheered. She adjusted her skirt. Sitting on the firm car seat still felt odd with no padding. “Assistant manager now.” “Not assistant to the manager?” Kyle chuckled. Krystal suppressed a giggle. As Joe explained his new role, Courtney continued to fidget in her seat. What if her friend was right—that wearing panties to a full-length movie was a terrible mistake? Her mind conjured memories of streaks down a dress, a splattered urinal, puddles in an alley. She thought, too, of Allison’s words. Not a single woman had succeeded at this. And yet, that notion propelled her forward. If she could be the first, then others might follow. The fate of her gender rode on her shoulders—or as Jenny might say, on her cooch. When Joe finished, Courtney said, “I have work news, as well.” “Yeah, she just took on this big new marketing project,” Krystal added. “That’s cool,” said Joe. No one asked anything more. * * * Soon they arrived at the theatre. “Ice cream, anyone?” Krystal proposed. Joe looked at her, and she shrugged. “Sure, plenty of time,” said Kyle. Then he nudged Courtney and whispered, “Shouldn’t you—” “—I know!” she whispered back. She turned to Krystal. “Shall we take a little walk?” “Okay. Joe, please order me a chocolate cookie sundae.” In the ladies room, Krystal peaked down her skirt to check her indicator. “Still dry,” she announced. “Just here to keep you company.” “Thanks, hon.” Courtney shut herself inside the stall. “So how many dates is this now with Joe?” “I’ve lost track. It’s becoming a thing.” “That’s awesome, Krystal.” Courtney flushed, concerned by the scant volume she’d produced. She might need to slip out again before the movie. “Sure you don’t want a diaper? I have plenty of spares.” Ooh, it was tempting… Then she could stop feeling anxious and simply enjoy the evening. But Kyle would notice for sure—with all his subtle feels and glances. Plus, she doubted her tight skirt even left room for one. “I want to keep trying this,” she said haltingly. Ice cream awaited them when they returned, a cherry sundae for Courtney and a small chocolate cone for Krystal. As they took their seats, Joe turned to his date and whispered, “No leaks, right?”—plenty loud enough for everyone to hear. Krystal shook her head demurely. Kyle wrapped an arm around Courtney’s waist. “Warm enough, sweetheart?” “For now. Let’s see after this sundae.” She felt his hand drop to where her diaper should have been, his fingers caressing the all-natural padding at her hip. She loved that she could wear this skirt again without even losing a pound. It made it that much easier to enjoy the ice cream. Krystal finished her tiny cone and said, “Joe—always looking out for my figure!” She yanked at her top until it exposed a bit less of her bulging cleavage. What was Krystal talking about? So what if she wasn’t rail thin? The woman was gorgeous. Joe rattled off another work story, with Kyle feigning interest as he fiddled with the hem of Courtney’s skirt. Krystal took a large swig from her water bottle while she waited for everyone else to finish. “Careful, honey,” said Joe. “It’s a long movie.” Krystal set down the bottle. She looked as though she might say something, but then her face grew still. Had she just— “That’s very true,” Kyle added, glancing Courtney’s way, “and it’s starting soon…” She mouthed back, “Will you stop it?” Then she stood and grabbed her friend’s hand. “Please excuse us,” she said aloud. For the second time that hour, the two of them stole away to the changing room. Inside, Krystal headed straight for a padded bench and lay down. “Good timing,” she murmured. “Holy cow this thing is soaked—and to think how cute it looked when I first fastened it.” Courtney lifted the toilet lid and sat. “Thank Kyle and his ‘handy reminders.’ Speaking of which, what’s with Joe tonight?” “I don’t know…he wasn’t like that when we first met. He used to compliment my chest. Now he chides me about my waistline.” “Well, does he want you curvy or slim? Can’t have it both ways.” Krystal laughed. Then her voice grew softer. “Plus, sometimes I feel like a child when I’m around him.” “I can relate,” said Courtney. “But you’re out in public with no protection… Kyle has reason for concern—Joe doesn’t. I can manage my own diaper—I’ve worn them for how long?” “That’s so true,” said Courtney. Maybe she should apologize for mouthing Kyle off. “Well, I hope you two can work it out—he’s super good looking.” “I know, right?” Courtney stood and peered at the crystal-clear water in the bowl. No matter—doubtless, Kyle would badger her to go again partway through the film. “Positive you don’t want one?” Krystal asked, holding up her purse. * * * As they waited for the show to begin, Courtney leaned over to Kyle. “Sorry I snapped at you, honey.” “Shh, I’m watching the previews,” he replied. So Courtney turned and chatted with Krystal while sharing her popcorn. Krystal hadn’t ordered any herself. When the movie started, Courtney tried her best to stay focused on the plot. Her pantyliner, already damp from intermittent leaks, felt cold as the air-conditioned breeze blew right through it. She reached under the seat and pulled Kyle’s coat up around herself. Should she flee to the bathroom again? Not yet—the show had only just begun, and it was so nice and warm under the coat. She grabbed another handful of popcorn. So salty and delicious. After a slow start, the plot began to pick up. “Who’s that, again?” Courtney whispered to Kyle. She wished she’d paid closer attention earlier. “Shh.” Forget Kyle. He was obviously mad at her. “Krystal,” she whispered, “who’s that man in black?” Krystal explained as best she could. Then she reached for Courtney’s popcorn, but Joe slapped her hand away. Wow, this guy was a piece of work. Courtney pursed her lips, her mouth dry from all the salt. She looked around. Krystal had stowed her water bottle under the seat, purposefully out of reach—so Courtney gulped down a third of Kyle’s cherry soda. Alright, how long had it been so far? She had forgotten to mark the time when the show began. She had better go—just as soon as this scene ended. ~ ~ A giant robot marched onto the screen, raising a sort of laser at the protagonist and his newfound girl. She clutched at him in fear, as the robot said, “I have you now!” “No you don’t!” yelled the mysterious man in black, jumping onscreen. Was he an F.B.I. agent? A Russian spy? His accent was hard to place. “Ha, ha, ha, ha!” bellowed the evil robot, swiping the man to the ground. The robot trained his laser at the trembling girlfriend’s chest, barely contained in her top. “Oh, I’m gonna wet my diaper!” She buried her face in her boyfriend’s arms. The camera then panned to three other robots sprinting forward. This truly marked the end for the hero and his girl. But then Joe and Kyle started cheering. Wait, these must be good robots! Couldn’t they color-code them or something? A loud battle ensued, with such a dizzying succession of cuts that Courtney couldn’t tell which side was winning. Every so often, the camera would pan back to the cowering girlfriend, her cleavage even more exposed than Krystal’s. ~ ~ A fierce pressure jolted Courtney back to reality, emanating from deep between her legs. She glanced at Kyle, too engrossed in the film to notice the terror in her eyes. This one felt particularly urgent, and the toilet was so, so far. Why hadn’t he reminded her earlier? She rose abruptly, crossing past Krystal and Joe on the way to the aisle. The door opened again behind her as she exited the cinema. “Courtney, are you alright?” Krystal called. “You left so awfully fast.” Courtney shook her head frantically. She walked a few more feet, holding her thighs together in a fashion that caused her hips to sashay. A squirt escaped, and she struggled to contain it before continuing on. Why hadn’t Kyle reminded her to go? Because she had snapped at him earlier, that’s why. “You’re halfway there, hon,” Krystal encouraged. Again Courtney paused, but her efforts this time were less effective. She could feel the pad starting to fail, warm droplets escaping out the sides. She resumed her journey, nearly jogging now with knees still pressed together. And then, “Ohmygosh…ohh noo!” Courtney leaned back against the wall as her bladder let go, spraying pee into her underwear and all down her legs. She watched her puddle form patterns along the tile floor. When the flow finally ceased, Courtney looked up, tears forming. “Courtney, spin around,” Krystal instructed. “What?” “Just do it… See? The black skirt conceals it really well. I say we make a break for it.” Courtney wiped a tear away. Krystal grabbed her friend’s hand and headed for the exit at the end of the hall. As they walked, Courtney still felt drips running down her legs. They pushed through the door out to the parking lot. “Good thing Joe lent me his spare key.” Krystal reached into her purse, and the car doors chirped. “Just a minute, ladies!” They turned to see a man in glasses flanked by two security guards. “I think you better come with us.” * * * “Is this you?” asked the manager in glasses. They sat in his office, viewing security camera footage. “Um, no?” said Courtney. She watched herself propped against the wall, pee splashing onto the floor. Reliving it in third person was as traumatic as experiencing it firsthand. “You must have us…confused?” stammered Krystal. The film then showed them marching down the hall, drops of pee forming a trail behind. On a second screen, they could be seen approaching the exit, their faces clearly discernable. “Fine, it’s us. I’m…sorry my diaper leaked all over your tile floor. We should have stayed to clean it up. I was just…really embarrassed.” Courtney shifted in her seat. By now her legs had mostly dried, but her wet underwear lay glued to her rear. Just then the door behind them flew open. “I think they’re back here,” said a female voice that Courtney vaguely recognized. “Sweetheart, we’ve been looking all over for you!” said Kyle. Then he saw the footage. “Come on, man, she’s humiliated enough as it is. Can I please just take her home?” Joe cut in. “Sir, the movie was three hours long, and a diaper can only hold so much. I implored them to monitor their water intake, but they didn’t listen.” With that, demure Krystal turned and shouted, “Joe, you’re a pompous ass!” “She’s not wearing one…” said the familiar voice. “What?” said Joe. Courtney looked up to see the waitress who had lent her the towel on her birthday. Apparently, she worked Saturday nights at the theatre. “I thought I recognized her boyfriend. When they ate at the restaurant I work at, something similar happened. Seems they like to play sex games that involve her wetting underwear made for girls. She claimed she was ‘toilet-training,’ but obviously that makes no sense. I spent a good part of my shift cleaning up the mess she made.” “Is it true?” asked the manager. “You came to my theatre with no diaper on?” “What? No!” “Care to prove it?” “I’m not lifting my skirt for you, you perv.” “Hmm, then I’ll stick by what our trusted employee says. Frankly, I’ve never seen a diaper leak so badly. I highly doubt you’re wearing one.” “Are you aware of section 16 of the county sanitation code, ma’am?” asked a security guard. He read from his phone. “‘Females shall wear proper urinary protection at all public pools and beaches, entertainment venues, and places of business. Violation is subject to fine not to exceed $300.’” “Thank you, officer,” said the manager. “Ma’am, you’re lucky we’re not pressing charges. Don’t bother coming back to my theatre, though. Take your sex games someplace else.” * * * At home that night, Courtney sat sobbing against Kyle’s shoulder. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m hopeless at it.” “Let’s sleep on it, honey. You’ve had a rough night.” “Why didn’t I go earlier?” “It’s my fault. I should have reminded you.” “Your fault that I peed all over the floor?” Kyle sighed. “Something like this was bound to happen eventually.” Courtney sat up straight. “Wait, what do you mean?” He looked into her eyes. “Do you feel anything at all, before the final minute or so?” Courtney didn’t answer. “Tell me truthfully.” “I feel nothing.” “And it’s been like that for how many weeks?” “What are you implying?” “Come on, Courtney. What’s more likely—that every woman on earth has been made to believe they’re incontinent, or that it’s you who’s deluded.” “Deluded? But…then why did you support me?” “You seemed to care so much about it. I wanted you to succeed.” Courtney stared for a moment. “It’s no secret that I’d like to lose five pounds. But whenever I try dieting, you pay no regard. I’d like to be more assertive at work, but you ignore my efforts there, as well. So why this? Why are you so committed to my toilet-training, if all along you figured I’d fail at it? Unless…” “I wanted to help you try, at least.” “…you wanted to watch me flounder. To see me wet my clothes—” “—No.” “—because it turns you on.” The look on his face said it all. Courtney pointed to the door. “Get. Out!”
  15. Chapter 9. Raising the Bar, part 2 So that’s why Kyle wanted her in a diaper. If she had kept her pull-up dry all night, Courtney never would have needed to change into this. The bastard must have known all the dispensers would be empty in a jam-packed club. No matter, she would just ask a stranger for a spare. She began to mouth the request, but then paused. A moment ago, this whole diaper scene disgusted her, and now she was stooping further below that—to be the girl incapable even of managing her own supply? She shoved her feet through the panty’s leg-holes in defiance. Yet as she slid them up, her confidence evaporated with each passing inch, until she paused mid-thigh. She fingered the silky fabric stretched between her legs, that her pee would surely soak right through. She’d felt it happen many times, though never since her birthday out in public. That streak could end tonight with countless people watching—for this was no small grocery store or brunch place with bathrooms close at hand, but a crowded club, and she’d been drinking. She gazed at her naked crotch, impulsive and unpredictable. She shut her eyes. You can do this, Courtney, she tried to convince herself. She slid the panties up until they rested snug against her. Then she reached for a padded liner, finding them sitting atop toilet paper that Kyle had oddly placed inside her purse. Did he think the stalls might be out? How very considerate of him. She slipped the pad into place and smoothed out her dress. At the door, Courtney turned and stared a final time at the room full of incontinent women. Then she gripped the latch with trembling hands…and pushed it open. As she made her way back to Kyle, everyone carried on as if she were still the confident, carefree girl in a diaper—but to her, that girl was gone. “I thought I was getting the night off,” she grumbled at her boyfriend. “You said it yourself—you’d rather not wet yourself while clubbing. Now you have motivation not to.” “Or motivation to slap you.” She readied her hand and he winced. “A pull-up would have been fine, thank you.” He lowered her hand. “Unless you got lazy and peed in it, like you did in your diaper just now.” She had no response to that. “You don’t need a pull-up. It’s time for big-girl underwear at a bar.” They wandered up to the ’80s floor, but Courtney didn’t feel like dancing. “Would you like another drink?” Kyle asked. “You know I can’t—not wearing this.” “I think I’d like one. Could you help me out with that?” “Sorry, my cleavage is off-duty at the moment.” She turned away and pressed her legs together. How could he do this to her? Kyle touched the small of her back and peered over her shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart.” Courtney grabbed his hand and spun back around. “Couldn’t you have warned me, at least? Or argued against buying that second drink? Or maybe, maybe…asked me, first?” Then her voice grew softer. “You don’t know what it’s like, Kyle…to have no clue when I might drench my clothes.” “You have more control than that.” “Not much more.” Her fingers graced the front of her skirt. “Maybe we should just go home.” “You’re right,” he admitted, “I don’t know what it’s like. But I believe in you, honey, and I’ll help however I can.” “How, by bringing me a towel…or a mop?” She half-smiled. Kyle smiled back in full. Then, out of the blue, he said, “You are the most beautiful thing,” just as “Dancing Queen” began playing. He held out his hand, and she took it. They danced the whole song with Courtney wrapped in his arms, still trembling. “Kyle, how will this work?” she asked when the song ended. “Have you seen the lines for the changing rooms? I’ll spend the whole night standing in them.” “Most girls won’t be using the toilets. Can’t you cut straight to there?” “You would think, but no. When it’s so crowded, they flip the toilet lids down to use as extra changing tables. There’s no separate line.” Kyle raised an eyebrow. “You could use the men’s.” “What?” “I’m serious. I’ll make sure the coast is clear. If someone enters when you’re in the stall, they’ll never know it’s a girl. Guys mostly just use the urinals, anyway.” “Forget it. I’ll go ask another gal for a spare.” “Some random gal at the bar, whom you’ve never met?” He had her there. It was bad enough asking in a changing room, let alone out in public. She doubted she could bring herself to do it. “Fine,” she muttered, “I’ll use the men’s room like some tramp.” * * * They danced some more, yet Courtney found herself holding back—almost like that woman from the game of Wet or Dry. If the urge came on, what could she do? Run past all the women lined up? Charge into the men’s? “Sorry, gentlemen, but I’m about to spray all over the floor unless you let me into one of your stalls.” Maybe soon the lines would dwindle…but how much longer could she last? She searched her bladder for a sign—any sign—but there was none. All she felt was her pad grown damp. “Kyle,” she mumbled, “I think the men’s room is free.” They walked there, and he peeked inside. “All clear,” he said. Courtney glanced around. Praying no one was looking, she leaned against the heavy wooden door just long enough to slip inside. Kyle followed her in. Her eyes then scanned the strange surroundings. No changing tables at all, just—so that’s what a urinal looked like. Kyle noticed her staring. “Want to try one? It’s fast and convenient.” “Very funny,” said Courtney. She crossed the room to the stalls. Choosing the cleanest one, she carefully locked herself inside. Here things looked more familiar—no box for disposing of tampons, or lid to sit on while fastening a diaper—but otherwise, a toilet was a toilet. She removed her panties and sat. Before long, her customary high-pitched hiss emanated from the bowl. When it finished, she reached for some toilet paper. Then she heard a new sound—Kyle, using the urinal just outside. She listened to his tinkle, nothing like hers. “Fast and convenient,” he said again. “Hey, that sound you make, is it because your stream comes out more like a spray?” “I guess so? Kyle, can we discuss this someplace other than the men’s public restroom?” “Sure, hon, I’ll go scout the doorway.” Soon Courtney reentered the club, still wearing no protection aside from the thin pad. Her mouth felt dry from the alcohol, but she refused to drink any water. Better dehydrated than face the alternative. “S’up, Courtney?” Jenny texted. “Clubbing…” She replied. “Fun!” “…in panties.” “Ooh.” “Was tricked into it…long story.” “You okay?” “Kind of freaking out. I don’t recommend this.” “Still dry, at least?” “Y” “Remind your cooch: On the throne, not down your dress.” Courtney laughed out loud…and felt a sizable squirt dampen her pad. Fantastic. “Who are you texting?” Kyle asked. She closed her phone. “Just Jenny.” Courtney gazed at the frolicking women on the dancefloor, their diapers forming creases in their tight clothes, advertising to anyone and everyone that they wore them. The back of her own dress must look far sleeker. Normally she appreciated how her subtle panty-lines showcased the natural curves of her rear—but now it made her self-conscious, like she wasn’t fully dressed. “Watcha thinking?” Kyle asked. “That my pad’s already wet, and could soon get a whole lot wetter.” “Sweetheart, you just peed. I heard it with my own ears. Could you at least…try to have fun?” She looked at him. “How do you do it—so calmly and neatly?” “Well, I do have a—” “—Shots! Who wants shots?” They both turned to see a young woman in a bra-top balancing a tray, her shorts so tiny that a fair bit of her diaper sat exposed. “Could help you relax,” Kyle said. “And hardly any liquid in them…” Courtney agreed. “Cheers,” they said in unison, as they downed a pair of Kahlua shots. Just then, “Don’t Stop Believin’” started playing. Courtney grabbed Kyle’s hand and led him onto the dancefloor. The rush from the shot soon overtook her, and her attention finally strayed beyond her underwear. Five songs later, they were still dancing. * * * “Alright, coast is clear,” Kyle said. “But it’s Madonna!” “Courtney…” “Fine, you’re right.” She snuck back into the men’s room and locked herself in a stall. There she sat waiting for things to get started, when she heard the door creak open. “Howdy, mate,” said Kyle, alerting her to the clear and present danger. The other man said nothing, or maybe he nodded. All she heard was the sound of male pee hitting porcelain. She glanced down at her sparkly shoes and prayed he didn’t notice them beneath the divider. She tried to stay silent, but her legs were already spread in the most faciliatory pose for peeing. That, combined with the tinkling coming from the urinal, called her bladder to attention, and she felt herself starting to go. Oh no…oh no! Her feminine hiss grew louder by the second. The stream too powerful now to stop, she tried tilting up to aim above the water line—but that only resulted in splattering her thighs, while the majority still hissed loudly into the pool. Then, in a stroke of genius, she gripped the lever behind her and flushed, then flushed again. Soon she heard the sink running and the door creak open and shut. “He’s gone, sweetie,” Kyle said. “Nice move, by the way.” “Hmm?” “Flushing to mask your sound. I doubt he suspected a thing.” When they were safe outside, Courtney turned to him. “I think I’m ready to go home. Are you?” This adventure was beginning to exhaust her nerves. “Now? I thought we were bar hopping tonight.” “Hopping? We’ve been at the same place for over three hours.” “Well, we have until 4 AM…and you’re doing so well,” he added slyly. “Uh huh. Kyle, I’ll be standing in a puddle by then—or have died of thirst.” “You haven’t had any water, after three drinks and all that dancing?” “I’m scared to.” “A little won’t hurt. I don’t want you getting sick.” “Fine, just a little.” She adjusted her dress so that her bra was slightly visible when leaning forward, then returned with two tall glasses of water. “Bottom’s up,” said Kyle, downing his. Courtney drank way more of hers than she intended. * * * Soon they were out the door on their way to the next venue. “This is the last stop, right? Then we go home, and I put on a nice thick overnight.” “Still need those, huh?” Kyle asked. “Yeah.” It was another hurdle to cross, along with stress leaking, and—one thing at a time. “So where’re we headed?” “This chill place around the corner—total opposite of where we just were. I think you’ll love it.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, his hand resting on the sloping flesh above her hip. As they walked, it slipped down inch-by-inch. “Still dry,” he said. “Hmm?” “Otherwise, you’d have slapped my hand away.” Courtney chuckled. “I should hope so. Cuz if not, I’d—oh god…” She brought her legs together. “Uh oh,” Kyle said. “There’re no bathrooms…anywhere!” She started to panic. He looked around. “What about there?” He pointed to an alley up ahead. “You can’t be serious…” She pleaded with her bladder to wait, but instead it shot a warning volley straight into her underwear. The choice was clear: the alley or her dress. So Kyle stood watch while Courtney ducked into the shadows. She glanced in all directions. Hordes of people were in the street, but the alley was dark. Perhaps no one would notice a desperate girl spreading her legs and peeing here on the ground. She squatted down against the side of a building and dropped her panties to her knees. Then she lifted her dress and released her aching bladder. Some ricocheted off the wall, splattering the backs of her legs, but most formed a growing puddle beneath her. She closed her eyes in shame. And to think, just hours ago she was safe and secure in a puffy diaper. Presently she heard a ruffling sound, and her eyes shot open. She peered down the alley, and there emerged a small dog. Thinking nothing of it, the animal lifted her leg (clearly a girl) and peed on the pavement next to Courtney. Their streams both ceased around the same time. The dog then scurried off. Courtney tried not to read too much into it. Still holding up her dress, she waddled awkwardly forward till her fancy shoes cleared the twin puddles, which had started to merge into one. Then she reached into her purse to retrieve the sheets of toilet paper Kyle had provided, using them to dab off her legs, crotch, and rear. So that’s why he put it there—for moments like this. What a thoughtful man. * * * Courtney yanked on Kyle’s arm as they continued on. “We’re seriously still going to another bar, after—” “—Just come and see it, that’s all I’m asking.” Kyle proved correct—the place he chose was truly nothing like the multistory club. Crammed between two larger establishments, there wasn’t much room inside—just a few oak tables and a foosball one in the back. Nineties alt rock played overhead, not too quiet, not too loud. “Love it,” Courtney said. “Now can we go?” “Without a game of foosball?” Well, the music was fantastic… She followed him through the bar. Not even Nirvana, though, could quell her persisting insecurity. Despite her alley detour, she imagined all the liquid she consumed that night filtering through her system, preparing for another exit. So she went to scout the facilities. A short hallway contained doors to the two restrooms. She peeked inside the women’s: a pair of changing tables and a stall, all unoccupied. She could work with that. She sat on the toilet, but the attempt proved premature. When she rejoined Kyle, he was already practicing his shot. “Shall we?” he said. Courtney gripped the five- and three-man. “Alright, you’re on.” Kyle won the foos, so she switched to defense and blocked two of his shots. Then she got lucky when he lost control, setting up her five-man for an easy goal. “Wow, where’d you learn to play this?” he asked. “Frat down the street from my sorority.” Kyle turned up the heat after hearing that, scoring twice. Courtney’s hand then moved from the foosball handle to the front of her dress. She took one look at Kyle and darted to the ladies’ room…only now, it was no longer empty. Three women were chatting across the dividers—a group of friends changing their diapers together, one using the toilet stall for that purpose. Courtney stared for the briefest moment, then ducked back into the hallway. She felt her pad dampen, signaling an increasingly dire situation. She glanced around, then peeked inside the men’s. Empty. Her hand now firmly planted between her legs, she charged across the restroom and lifted the latch to the stall. “Just a second,” said a low, gruffly voice. The sound made Courtney jump, and another powerful spurt shot into her pad. She doubted it could hold much more. So this was how the night would end, with her wetting all over the men’s room floor. Fitting, after tempting fate this long. Yet then her eye fell upon the urinals, white and glistening along the wall. She stepped up to one and touched the cold porcelain. Could a girl even use one without making a giant mess? She thought of when she had tried the toilet standing—not pretty. But her bladder now left little choice. Her heart thumping loudly, she lifted her dress and slid her underwear down. Then she spread her legs as wide as her panties would allow and arched her pelvis forward, her other hand clutching the urinal for support. She gazed down between the swell of her breasts, but her bunched-up dress obscured all view of her vulva. She could only trust it was far enough over the basin. She released and hoped for the best. A spurt shot out, then another, and Courtney felt pee running down her legs. The angle was all wrong. In triage, she removed her supporting hand and pressed her thighs against the urinal for balance. Then she reached down and stretched her labia upwards. Her spray followed suit, still splattering her legs but, miraculously, landing mostly in the bowl. She glanced at the occupied stall and wondered if she sounded anything like a man peeing. Just then the hallway door swung open, and Kyle emerged. He stared at Courtney perched awkwardly with her dress hiked up, splattering into the urinal. Gradually the stream diminished, the final portion missing the basin entirely and trickling down her thighs. She glanced around for toilet paper, but of course there was none—only a paper towel dispenser near the sink. As she waddled backwards to retrieve some, she saw before her a fair-sized puddle on the floor—more had missed than she thought. The urinal, too, was speckled everywhere with yellow droplets, many of which remained after it flushed. Courtney then turned to see Kyle’s hand extended, offering paper towels. She used them to wipe her legs from ankle to thigh and around her butt cheeks, while Kyle held her skirt out of the way. Finally she pulled up her panties, splattered here and there with pee, but still wearable—nothing compared to a wet diaper. A dry pad she inserted helped too. She reached for more paper towel to clean the floor with, but then she heard the toilet flush, announcing her queue to exit. Oh well, maybe drunk guys had just as poor aim? Safe at last in the hallway, she stopped to catch her breath. Kyle looked at her and asked, “Fast and convenient?” “Not so much.” “Next time, you could try sitting on it.” Why didn’t she think of that? They returned to the main room, and he placed his hands on the foosball rods as if nothing had happened. “So, shall we finish our game?” “Kyle, can we please go home?” * * * The two of them walked back towards the car, past the alley where Courtney had peed, and into the multistory garage attached to the club. She cringed again when she saw the cups and food wrappers strewn about the passenger side, right where her pretty shoes would rest. “You’re not worried about the car seat?” she asked. “Nah, it’s only a 20-minute drive.” She fingered her skirt again. “But I’ve had to go twice in the past hour. All I drank tonight keeps flowing through me, right down to…you know where.” “Would you feel better sitting on a towel?” “Yeah, actually I would.” She removed the one from the trunk and laid it across the seat. It seemed an imperfect solution; with no plastic lining, her pee would easily soak through it. They rode for a while in silence. Courtney was feeling a swirl of emotions that she couldn’t sort out. Finally Kyle said, “Well, you did it.” “Hmm?” “Made it through a night out clubbing with nothing but panties under your dress.” Her fingers gripped the towel spread beneath her. “Not out of the woods yet…” “Next exit is ours. I think we can start celebrating.” Then Courtney’s eyes grew wide. “Pull over, pull over!” “On the highway? Too dangerous.” “But…” she pointed between her legs. “Can you hold it for five minutes till we get home?” Courtney closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. “Doing great, hon,” Kyle encouraged. She lasted for another moment before a spike in pressure made her jump. Her pad now wet, she sealed things shut again but only just. She turned to Kyle. “I won’t…make it.” He glanced around. “Here,” he said, fetching a McDonalds cup from the floor. “Go in this.” “What?!!” “Do you have a choice?” No, not unless she wanted to soak his leather seat. She was plenty mad at him, but not quite as mad as that. She took the cup and loosened her seatbelt. “You better not look.” For the umpteenth time that evening, she pulled her dress up past her hips and her panties down. Then she scooched forward till her crotch hung over the seat, her knees spread at an awkward angle. She gazed down past her cleavage and positioned the cup where she thought it should go—all while desperately holding on. “Could you lay the towel out around the cup in case you miss?” Kyle asked. “You’re not supposed to be looking!” “Just guessing you didn’t do that.” She did as he requested. Then she held the cup back up to her vulva, just as her bladder released of its own accord. Pee shot forward, past the lip and into the towel. She raised the cup, but then the spray inched sideways, missing again. “Ack! My aim is terrible.” “Not what I want to hear.” “Oh yeah? Then don’t make me—ack!—wear these stupid panties next time.” She finally got the cup well positioned, but then they hit a bump, and her pee shot up and over it again. “I do think the towel was a good idea, though.” Finally her erratic stream slowed to a dribble and then ceased. She wiped herself off with the towel, including her hand that she’d sprayed. Once properly dressed, she said, “Okay, I’m finished.” “Well done, “ said Kyle. “Um, what do I do with this?” She held up the cup of warm yellow liquid. “Toss it out the window?” “That’s disgusting.” “Then better save it till we get home. Can you find a lid anywhere?” “This is so gross.” She attached the matching lid and set the cup in a holder. * * * When they arrived home, Courtney ran straight to the bathroom—this time not to pee, but to shower off the remains of the evening and wrap herself snuggly in an overnight. Soon she was clean and well protected, and her anxiety finally subsided. She emerged wearing pajamas over the thick diaper. Her butt looked enormous in them, but at this point she didn’t care. “Now congratulations are in order,” said Kyle from his spot on the bed. She looked at him quizzically. “For what, exactly?” “For making it home dry—for crossing that hurdle.” “Congratulations for using the men’s room and almost getting caught? Or for peeing in an alley like some stray animal—in fact, literally right next to one? For peeing in a urinal and a cup—and missing both targets? This has been one of the most degrading nights of my life. You should not have tricked me into wearing panties.” Kyle was silent for a moment. “You could have easily borrowed a diaper from someone in the bathroom. Why didn’t you?” “Because all the women there were…changing their diapers like toddlers, and I—” “You wanted no part of it.” Courtney pouted. “I intended to wear a pull-up tonight in case of an accident, and not to have to change it.” “But…you’d have still needed the men’s room, or been standing in line all night. And…wearing a pull-up, would you have peed in the alley or the cup? No, you’d have simply wet yourself, just like all those women.” Now Courtney was silent. “Sounds to me like you’re angry over how you had to deal with the situation, not over the cause.” Deep down, she hated that he was right. “I placed those panties in your purse because I thought you were ready for them—and you were, kind of—though too afraid to realize it.” Courtney still stared, her anger turning to insight. “You raised the bar…just as you said you would.” “And you rose to meet it. Up till now, the longest you held on was, what, thirty seconds? You lasted three times that before using the urinal. Once in panties tonight, you peed in lots of novel places but never down your skirt. You shouldn’t be ashamed, but proud of yourself—I know I am.” “I have two things to say to you. Number one: Never. Do that. Again. And number two: Thank you for believing in me, sweetheart—even more so than I believe in myself.”
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