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Found 13 results

  1. Wet the Bed Friday night, my husband and I decided that we would go out with some friends for drinks after work. So we met up with them at a lovely trendy craft beer place, and ordered flight after flight of tasters. I ended up trying a ton of different beers – some good, some clearly trying too hard, but that’s how it goes with craft beer. I was still in my work clothes (in this case a black pencil skirt, cotton panties, and a purple blouse) and was getting pretty sloppy. For those of you who will know me, I’ve got a tendency to be a slightly sloppy drunk. Well, we were 4 (or maybe 5) flights in, and my hubby wrapped things up and called us a cab (an hour long Skytrain ride would have resulted in me getting up to some bad behaviour on the train, I’m sure, or having a public accident. My husband is well aware of my sloppy drunken tendencies, and often takes care of me in these situations, making sure I don’t have more, and helping me get ready for bed (which if I’ve been drinking means getting me into a diaper). Well tonight, he was about as drunk as I was, it was a long week for him and he was helping to finish off the stronger beers, and some of those craft beers are pretty strong (one particular imperial IPA comes to mind... sort of). Anyhow, he had it together to get us a cab and home, but once we were home, we were both pretty wired, so we ended up making a couple of gin and tonics, and watching Netflix on the couch. At some god awful hour, we decided to head to be, though I have only vague recollections of this. Before this fateful time, we decided to have another gin and tonic, and my hubby, being British, made them strong. I don’t know what being British has to do with it, but he insists it’s some sort of national thing, particularly after a couple. We went to bed and I remember stripping naked, and possibly mumbling something like “Hun, I’m a bedwetting risk tonight, I should probably wear something.” And him brushing it off or I’m not sure what. Anyhow, I just crawled into bed and was out like a light. Not only did I not put on a diaper, but I also didn’t even go to the bathroom before crashing. I remember waking up, and feeling completely soaked, both the bedding underneath me, and my thighs and sex. I felt about and my inner thighs were very wet, like I had woken up while still peeing or having just finished. I still felt like I needed to pee urgently, and I remember staggering up, dripping everywhere, and peeing in the washroom. Slightly drunken and sleepy Rachel came back from the bathroom with a towel, and I put this down to lie on, and I went back to sleep. I don’t know how long I was out for, but I woke up some time later feeling wet again, either the pee from the bed had soaked through the towel, or, which was much more likely, I had wet the bed again. I was feeling sticky, and hot, and wet, and not a little surprised, as usually I sleep through these sorts of things and just wake up in the morning in a puddle. I should point out that on both of these occasions, my husband just lay next to me, snoring, oblivious. Also, on neither occasion had my wet spot reached him, or so it seemed. Anyhow, my bladder was empty, and I was sober. Mostly. I just wanted to get some sleep, but didn’t want a hangover and didn’t want to lay in a puddle. So I got up, had two moderate-sized glass of water, and put down my Peepod mat, something I should have done initially, and slid a Goodnite up my sticky legs. I then crashed out and slept the rest of the night. We ended up sleeping in to about 11 am, which was lovely, though every time my husband tried to cuddle, I kept him away, worried he’d roll into my puddle. When I say we slept in to 11am, I should note that I woke up again at about 9 am and found my Goodnite wet and my legs still sticky and uncomfortable. I opted to just leave it on, and roll over, already a mess. When we finally did get up, my husband was almost oblivious to the fact that I’d had a major bedwetting accident beside him. Even after I said that I was going to do the laundry apologetically, he didn’t clue in. It was only after he had woken up a little, rolled over and felt me on the dry, Peepod pad, that he remembered that my wetting the bed might have been a worry, and then he only realized that the Peepod was concealing a large puddle, after I told him apologetically. I got up and stripped the bed, still wearing my wet Goodnite. I enjoyed the feeling of shame that is associated with stripping a wet bed in the morning, magnified by my being in a wet Goodnite. It was only after all the wet sheets, the towel, the Peepod pad and the ‘waterproof’ mattress cover were stripped did I realize that the mattress cover had failed to do its job and that the mattress was wet. As you can see from these pictures I snapped during the process, this was certainly not the first time that I have wet our bed, and that when my bedwetting issues cropped up again, that we had trouble finding a good mattress cover. Anyhow, still wearing nothing but a wet Goodnite, I made my way to the bathroom to shower. My legs were sticky with sweat (as it had been a hot night), and pee (as I’d wet the bed three times). The good news was that the water seemed to have helped and I was not hung over. Or at least not all that much. I showered off, had some breakfast and tea. Thinking about the evening, my feelings of shame waking up in the morning, and all the complicated emotions that I have around bedwetting made me very aroused and I will admit to bringing myself to orgasm while ridding my hung-over husband, who needed some coaxing, given his hangover. I’ve not wet the bed unintentionally in a while, I thought I’d share. Rach
  2. BlueWetter

    Wet, warm afternoon

    Hi everyone! I have had a long and semi stressful last couple of days.. I found just the solution.. I got home, stripped down and put on a goodnite under gym shorts.. I then layed in bed and slowly soaked myself..
  3. Version

    675 downloads

    Kitty from WetSet wets, messes, and changes her Goodnite. Throughout the video, she talks about how much she loves her diaper, farts a lot, and wishes you were there to change her.

    Free

  4. As most of you will know by now, I’ve had a recent resurgence of my overactive bladder (OAB) over the past few months. As a result, I’ve been having significantly more accidents than normal. For the past three years, any wetting accidents (other than ones planned and for fun), have been largely limited to: Stress leaks, as a result of big sneezes, working out hard, jumping and landing too hard, all on a full or mostly full bladder. I’ve had these all my life and they are entirely manageable, as I can pretty much predict them and take countermeasures. For example, I’ll wear a pad all the time during that one month in Vancouver when I’m suddenly allergic to something in the air and suffer from lots of sneezes. If I’m going for a jog, I always wear black running shorts (or tights) which conceal accidents and leaks very effectively, and if I’m doing some serious impact stuff (and lazy Rachel hasn’t for a while now), then I’ll pop a pad in my panties. I’m also going to invest in a cute running skirt, as this will cover up leaks even better and I loved a tennis skirt I recently got to wear and wet for a customer. Despite these measures I do have the occasional unpredicted leak, caused by a hearty laugh, an unexpected impact, sneeze or that sort of thing. Fortunately, unless my bladder is bursting, these accidents typically only result in a large wet spot on my panties, which seldom shows through my clothes. I’ve learned to live with these very occasional occurrences by always packing a spare pair of panties in a Ziploc baggie in my purse, and not getting in the habit of wandering about, far from washrooms, with a super full bladder. I can still trigger one of these accidents, rather easily it would appear (given the fun I’ve been having with pads lately), and they are pretty similar. I should point out that on a super full bladder, the accident can be more serious, as I have difficulty stopping once I start, and once triggered by a stressor, my bladder can release a decent amount when full. Fortunately I’ve not had one of these accident in many year (though I came close on Black Friday…) Very rare bedwetting incidents. Prior to November, I had maybe two or three of these a year and they were all triggered by my going to bed with a pretty full bladder after drinking wine (or other booze). I’ve been adulting a lot lately, and not had occasions to do a lot of heavy student-like drinking, and as a result, my bed (and husband) were keeping dry. Even when I had been drinking, I would almost always put on protection before going to bed (almost always a Goodnite) and if I was too forgone to remember, my loving husband would often help me out. Up until November, these were the only issues I had to worry about, and they were not serious. However, in November, I wet the bed, on a random and non-party night, and then started getting more OAB symptoms. These included more wet nights, even after countermeasures (like reducing fluids, double voiding, avoiding some foods and that sort of thing), as well as some key-in-latch leaks and more serious accidents, and surprise urges that would cause me to need to rush to the bathroom ‘right now!’ some of which have resulted in those key-in-latch accidents. I grew up with these symptoms, and am very familiar with them. Growing up, we tried all sorts of things, so many that I won’t go into the list. I also think my mind fetishized wetting and diapers as a partial coping mechanism, though I’m sure there’s some more complicated psychology going on behind the scenes as well. Nothing much worked, apart from one medication, which I only used when I was travelling due to uncomfortable side effects, and which only really reduced the size of my night time accidents and the number of random urges I’ll got during the day. Then, when I was just graduating as an undergraduate, a new treatment emerged, which uses Botox injections into the overactive bladder muscles, thereby calming them down (to use totally non-technical terms). Well, we tried this, and after a really uncomfortable and embarrassing procedure, and a couple of weeks, it worked! I can’t say how happy I was! I went off to grad school, lost my virginity, slept over with boys, travelled around the world, had my heart broken, got married, and all sorts of things. Things I would have never done if I’d been wetting the bed each night, and having daytime urge issues. Well, the treatment is only expected to last 3 years or so. The Botox only calms the muscles down for so long. Well more than three years ago, I was in the early stages of my relationship with my husband (who was then my like 4th boyfriend), and the symptoms came back. I won’t rehash what happened, as it’s covered here (First diaper cuddle), but to summarize, Rachel had to make the decision to either come out to her boyfriend and tell him about her bedwetting issues, or find a new boyfriend (or more likely be single until I could get another treatment). Well Rachel gritted her teeth and steeled her strength, and spent her first night laying next to her now husband, wearing a diaper. Anyhow that was well over three years ago, and I was getting happy with having a pretty typical bladder again (a very high number of women have some stress incontinence issues, so even this is pretty typical). November, though I should have been expecting it, kind of came as a surprise. Because I know the deal by now, I scheduled an appointment with my urologist after my 3rd wet night. Since my unexpected wet night, I’ve wet the bed at least twice a week, and over the past two weeks, I’ve been wet three to four times. I’ve been wearing Goodnites to bed every night, and these have been keeping my bed (and husband) dry. The new Goodnites will hold an entire Rachel bladder, unless she is bursting, in which case, they leak a tiny amount, but these little spots are almost always dry by morning. I’ve been doing all the necessary lifestyle stuff I mentioned before bed as well. During the day I’ve re-established my using the bathroom ‘just in case’ policy more often, and in the most recent weeks, I’ve been wearing pads regularly. As a result, I’ve had few serious daytime incidents, though I have had a good number of leaks necessitating panty changes and pad replacements, and a few bigger accidents (which I’ll tell you about, or already have). This is also a little annoying because I’ve been selling my used panties to customers and not all of them want panties which have been peed in, accidents have required me to wash the panties and start wearing them all over again. All of this hasn’t stopped me from enjoying my fetish, and as I’m using them more often, I’ve been on a bit of a pad binge lately. I’ve kind of been enjoying wearing protection to bed and cuddling the hubby. It’s winter and often chilly at night, and cuddling in a diaper is a lovely feeling. Waking up wet it much less enjoyable, but the Goodnite makes it as manageable as possible. Oh and on a random note, I’ve also been leaking a lot more during sex, meaning that we’ve been going through a decent amount of towels on a good week. So this has been the past two months for me, and the OAB issues have been getting gradually a little worse, despite the precautions I’ve been taking. I’ve been waiting for my urologist appointment for quite some time, and it’s the first step I need to take in order to get a referral for the Botox treatment. The waiting list to see my urologist is longer than the list to get the Botox treatment, so my hope has been to get the old bladder working before the end of February. In anticipation of the appointment, I’ve been keeping a voiding diary (and actually I’ve been using an App on my phone, which is more geared towards kids, but kinda fun. DryDawn lets me print off reports for my urologist and is kinda cute). Well this past Friday I finally went in to see my urologist. Now in the past, when I was visiting my urologist more often, I would often experiment, just a little. In the UK my urologist would make you do a flow test and ultrasound every appointment, even if they were only 3 months apart, so I started experimenting a little. This included wearing a diaper to one appointment, and even ‘planning’ an accident at another. It is wrong to include others non-consensually in your kink, but I felt like in this case it wasn’t the same, as these were things I would actually do normally. For example, the ‘planned ultrasound accident’ was really a recreation of a real accident I had had at an appointment when I was in high school. I don’t see my Canadian urologist nearly as often, and so the redundant ultrasounds and flow tests don’t happen. I considered planning another accident, as I recall the emotions associated with this accident a lot still when I’m masturbating and they very often push me over the edge. But I have already done this, and besides, due to the increased inconvenience of my recent wettings, and the rarity with which I see my urologist, I felt like this might be a distraction. Also, given my current bladder situation, I don’t think I could hold nearly as much liquid, and I would almost certainly lose control of the situation very quickly. So this urologist appointment was going to be all business, or mostly business. Leading up to the appointment I was concerned about leaks and real accidents. To do an ultrasound (and flow test) you are asked to arrive with a ‘comfortably full bladder.’ Now because, as I’ve noted above, a full bladder puts me at considerable risk of having a real accident when my OAB symptoms kick in, I struggled to come up with just what a ‘comfortably full bladder’ would feel like for me. These days, a full bladder might be physically comfortable, but leave me super nervous about accidents. I settled on the solution of wearing protection to the appointment, and to add a little thrill to the experience, I would wear a Goodnite, rather than a more mature-looking Always or Depends pullup, or a more discreet pad. Now I’ve worn protection to numerous appointments in the past. My history of having real accidents when wandering about with a full bladder, or when a doctor pressed a freezing cold ultrasound wand on my distended bladder, has taught me to do this. In the past I’ve worn bulky incontinence pads to appointments, and these have often necessitated changing afterwards. One I have worn a Goodnite to an appointment, and the technician did not bat an eyelid at them when they pulled down the front of my pants to do the ultrasound. But this was only once, and my heart was pounding the whole time. So, for Friday’s appointment, I decided that once again, I would wear a Goodnite to the appointment, and see what happened. I woke up wet and therefore started my day with a shower. So in preparation for the 1:40 appointment I kept well hydrated all morning and used the washroom several times. My morning two mugs of green tea went through me like a flood. I printed off my voiding diary and bladder stats, and checked some emails. At 11 am I got ready to leave, the appointment was across town and required some complicated use of buses and the Skytrain, and I didn’t want to arrive late. My plan was to arrive early and read a book in a nearby café before heading over to the office. Before I left, I changed out of the PJs I was wearing around the house, and into one of the owl-print Goodnites I love so much. Overtop I pulled a pair of my Little Mermaid boy-short panties (my cute green ones). I typically always wear panties overtop of diapers when I’m wearing out in public, this makes changing easier as you can just tear off the Goodnite, and also cuts down on noise. The panty waistband can also offer some added discretion if the panties are sufficiently large. I then pulled on a pair of light jeans. If I did have an accident, the Goodnites would almost certainly catch everything, however they leaked, I didn’t want to make things easier for me. I put a tank top over my bra, buttoned up a blouse and put on a nice jumper over top. I put on some makeup and grabbed my book, purse and phone, and headed out into the world around 11:30. Not bad prep time actually ;) I did have pads and my usual spare pair of panties in my purse, but did not bring a larger bag with say a change of pants. I used the washroom right before leaving the house, as I’d filled up during my preparations. I brought a small water bottle and some snacks as well. I therefore left the house in my Goodnite, I was filled with mixed and complicated emotions. I read my book in transit and was acutely aware of the diaper I was wearing. I’ve worn out in public tons of times, both for fun and out of need. Sometimes this seems like a normal thing and I quickly almost forget about the protection I’m wearing. Other times I’ll we aware of it all the time, and worry about leaks or peeks. Today, given what was going to transpire in the early afternoon, I was very aware of the protection I was wearing and made sure my larger jumper covered the waistband of my jeans when I moved about. The transit gods smiled on me, and I arrived at the general vicinity of the urologist’s office with lots of time to spare, it was about 1 pm when I arrived, and so I headed over to a small independent café across the street and ordered a large tea. My water bottle was empty at this point and I could feel myself filling up. I was at about a 4 on the old desperation scale; the point where I was comfortable, and would likely not use the washroom just in case, unless I was about to depart on a long car ride, or that sort of thing. I settled down and read my book for half an hour. At about 1:20 pm, I felt like I was would not be full enough for the appointment, and since I’d already finished my tea, I had a glass of water and I filled my water bottle from the water jug as well. I downed this, and was feeling to be about a 6 or a 7 when I got up at 1:30 pm and wandered over to the office to check in. Now the reason I didn’t fill up to the point of jumping about and/or needing to hold myself, was that despite the fact that I was schedule for 1:40 pm, I’ve almost never been to an appointment with a urologist that wasn’t running behind. It has something to do with the tests they do and other factors, but they never seem to be on time. My UK clinic had a sign that said “if your appointment is 45 minutes late, see the nurses at the front,” largely because people are regularly arriving with full bladders and 45 minutes was a typical, albeit horribly long, wait for the office. I signed in and the friendly woman at the front desk, who was about my age, maybe a little older, but who was wearing far too much makeup, confirmed my address, and asked me if I needed to pee. It’s always a little embarrassing to have a stranger ask you this, and I must have blushed a little because she broke eye contact, but I confirmed that yes, I did have to go. “We are running about 15 minutes late, will you be ok?” she asked. I thought about it for a little bit, but given my current situation, another 15 or 20 minutes seemed reasonable. I was feeling a little brave as well, and I thought downing my water bottle over this time as well. I confirmed that I would be ok, still blushing, and she directed me to take a seat. The waiting room was small and cramped. It constituted about 8 chairs around a small alcove (three on each side and two on the back), with a table strewn with magazines, OAB leaflets, and other brochures. There was a sad looking fake plant in the corner, and a water cooler near the entrance with little paper cups. The alcove is off to the right when you come in the entrance of the office, but no immediately to the right, this is the washroom, marked with a generic sign. The nurses/receptionist desk is off to the left with a hall leading into the examination rooms beside it. The reception desk is not too far from the waiting alcove and I nervously thought that everyone in the waiting room could hear our conversation, despite my hushed tone. I took off my jacket and grabbed a seat between two people. I looked around the waiting room, and there were a number of other people there. I don’t really recall all the details, but it was sufficiently crowded that I needed to take a seat between two people. I chose the seat in the corner on the right hand side, next to the sad-looking plant. To my left was an elderly woman sitting next to an elderly man. I assumed they were a couple, as they exchanged quiet words from time to time. To my right was a 40-something woman with who I assume was her daughter of 13 or 14 sitting beside her. Sitting across from me was an older man, maybe in his 50s or 60s, who was sitting in the middle of the three seats on this side. I felt more comfortable sitting between the two women. Walking in I smiled awkwardly at the other people in the waiting room but didn’t get much of a response. The young girl was playing on her phone (or some device), her mother was reading a magazine. The man across from me was sitting there waiting quietly, and the couple to my left were similarly waiting, though every so often one of them would explore the materials on the table. Everyone looked relatively relaxed, and by this I mean no one was sitting on their heel, bouncing up and down, or holding themselves. I opened my bag and removed my book, and continued reading. Every so often I would look up, distracted by a movement from a fellow patient. I deduced that the woman in the couple next to me was likely the patient, and that her husband was there for support. It was also not hard to deduce that the young girl was the patient brought by her mother (as otherwise she would have been in school). I commiserated with her, as I’ve been in her exact place before. I continued to read but was becoming increasingly full. Again feeling a little exhibitionistic, I decided that I would play at being a little more desperate than I actually was. I crossed my legs, and wiggled my foot. After about 5 minutes a woman in a long coat walked out from the examination room hallway, exchanged a few words with the woman at the reception, and headed out. A few minutes later a female nurse in her 40s walked out and spoke with the receptionist, and then called a name. The older man across from me stood up and followed her inside. I was now at about an 8 on the desperation scale and beginning to worry, just a little. It was a only 1:45pm, but given the number of people in the waiting room, I was expecting a longer than 15 minute wait. I was most worried about having a bladder spasm, as I was pretty sure I could last at least another 20 minutes without too much difficulty, and perhaps longer if need be, but if my bladder decided to send me an urge spasm, I was at the point now where I would likely only barely make it to the nearby washroom, if at all. I was also super nervous, my heart was pounding in time with my jiggling foot, and I noticed I wasn’t making much progress on my book. I bookmarked my spot, and decided to abandon my reading. I squeezed my legs together more tightly, and reminded myself that I was wearing reliable protection, and that I could always get up and ask to use the washroom ‘to relieve pressure’ if I absolutely had to. But this didn’t quite comfort me, I suppose my intentional desperate body language was tricking my brain into thinking I was more desperate than I was. The young girl tugged on her mother’s sleeve and whispered something in her ear, and her mother responded quietly back. The older couple sat in amiable silence. And I sat there, legs tightly twisted together, jiggling my foot desperately. This tableau continued for some time, until about 1:55pm (I checked my phone), when a different middle-aged female nurse came out and called another name. This time the older couple got up, and, after taking some time gathering their things, they followed the nurse in. As the waiting room emptied, I could feel eyes on me. I looked up and could see the receptionist looking my way, inquisitively. Glancing about I also briefly saw the eyes of the young girl staring at me, before they were quickly averted. I was still at about an 8.5 but my desperation was increasing significantly. I had to decide if I was going to hold myself or sit on my heel. I opted for holding myself, because if I did have a leak while sitting on my heel there was a very good chance that the Goodnite might leak. I carefully uncrossed my legs and keeping them tightly squeezed together. I was no longer play-acting desperate body language, I was honestly desperate. It was 2:00 pm and my appointment was nowhere in sight. I moved my purse to my lap to provide cover, and once it was there, I carefully moved my hand underneath and pressed two fingers between my legs. All the while, I could not keep my foot from jiggling. At about this time, another patient came in through the office door and checked in with the receptionist. This time it was an older man, probably in his 60s, and after speaking with the receptionist, he moved to assume the spot across from me. He smiled as he came into the waiting area, and made some comment about the weather. The woman and her daughter ignored him and had another whispered exchange. As a result, I felt like the comment was directed at me and that social pressure dictate that I respond (I was no longer reading after all). Not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to have a lengthy conversation, lest my desperation be audible in the sound of my voice, I gave a non-committal answer. He tried for conversation a second time, and this time cheerfully asked something like: “You been here before?” I wasn’t going to escape from this conversation that easily, and so, hand still surreptitiously holding myself under my purse, I made light conversation, or tried to. My foot was wiggling uncontrollably now, and I my legs were shaking a little. I responded something like “Yes, this is my first time to this doctor.” This is a new urologist for me, I’m relatively new to the city and I’ve usually gone to a clinic near our flat when I need medication or for general checkups. I went there in November to get a referral to a urologist, it’s really hard to find a family doctor in Vancouver, but the local clinic knows me pretty well. I feel more comfortable once I’ve had the same doctor a couple of times, I am always embarrassed by raised eye brows and probing questions from new doctors reading my file for the first time. The older man was giving off the vibe of someone who does not quite pick up on subtle social cues, like the curt answer I had just delivered, or perhaps he was super desperate and talking took his mind off of it. Either way, he pressed on. “I’m here because of the old prostate, never been to this kinda doctor before.” I’ve tried to capture his friendly but colloquial manner, also this is sort of an approximation of the conversation, it’s surprisingly hard to remember things when you are bursting. “So your first time too then.” He finished, which was not quite a question. I felt compelled to answer him, rather than give a non-committal ‘uh huh,’ but also not wanting to give this man my life story coupled with my medical history. “No, I’ve had a number of doctors, this is just my first time here.” I clarified. Now don’t forget, I was edging towards a 9 on the desperation scale, though I was still holding on at an 8.5, my hand offering whatever support it could between my legs, hopefully shielded from view by my purse. The padding of the combination of my jeans and the diaper I was wearing made my two fingers not as effective as if I’d been wearing a thin dress… or if my hand were inside my Goodnite. Unfortunately this would have been wildly inappropriate, but a girl can dream. At the edge of my vision I could see the girl and her mother exchanging more whispers. I was very preoccupied with my own situation, but I think I could see clear signs of desperation in the girl. “Oh,” he intoned, perhaps now picking up on my flat disengaging tone. But no, he pressed on. Who makes idle conversation in a doctors waiting room? “You been waiting long?” He asked, thankfully steering the conversation in another direction. “Um,” using this opportunity to press my thighs together more closely, which was hard given that my legs were shaking. I know that sitting sort of hunched over in this fashion is not the most effective way to hold your pee when you are super desperate, but it was the only position I could take given the type of chairs and my need to hold myself. Checking my phone required an awkward one armed maneuver into my purse. I looked at my phone and it said 2:08 pm. “Um not too long, maybe half an hour.” I replied vaguely, slipping my phone back into my bag. Fool! I should have pretended to check a message or something to escape the conversation. “Oh, that long huh? Well, you look like you need to go badly.” He observed in a tone that implied that he commiserated with my situation. I could feel my face burn as I blushed crimson. I was horrified. He must have noticed, as he let the conversation thankfully trail off at this point. I was pretty desperate, and I’m sure it was rather obvious, but there is something utterly embarrassing about a stranger noticing and pointing out these signs. I had the fleeting desire to deny the need to go, like a child caught holding themselves and bouncing about might do when confronted by an adult and asked if the needed to go. But I was too embarrassed, and still thinking clearly used this awkward moment to try to extricate myself from the conversation. At this point the girl whispered something else to her mother, who stood up, and made her way to the receptionist, where she asked a question. Probably the question we were all wondering. The receptionist responded in a voice that carried over into the waiting room, something along the lines of “It should not be much longer, no more than 10 minutes.” And then she said something else in a quieter tone and had a short, hushed conversation with the woman. My mind did some quick math and thinking. So 15 minutes, who did that apply to? Was it the estimate for the young girl and mother, and who was first? If I was first, and the receptionist was predicting 15 minutes, then I was likely going to be seen right away. But if they were going to be seen first, then did I have to wait another 20 to 25 minutes? How many technicians were they operating? If it was just one then it might take longer. If it was two, then surely I’d be seen shortly. My mind raced and this was nice, as it sort of took my mind off my growing desperation. I did take a moment to contemplate just going in my Goodnite, this was one of the reasons I had chosen to wear it, in case there were delays, in case I had a bad urge and couldn’t make it to the washroom on time, and also for the little thrill of wearing it in a situation where it would be seen. But I also was not sure about my ability to stop after having initiated a flow. And while the new Goodnites are pretty good and do hold almost a full Rachel bladder, I definitely had a full Rachel bladder at this point. It would likely leak. Plus sitting down makes leaks unpredictable. Not only this, but you are supposed to have a full bladder for these tests, and if I emptied my bladder into the diaper (or in the washroom literally next to me), I would have to wait for it to refill. Yes, there was the option of trying to half empty my bladder in either the toilet or my Goodnite, but I really didn’t think I could stop the flow mid-way through, it would be more like at the last quarter if I was luck. While all this was racing through my head, the man, perhaps realizing his social faux pas was rummaging around on the table for a magazine, and the mother and daughter were exchanging words in very hushed tones. I didn’t catch much at all, only a few snippets. But after a few more words, the girl handed her phone to her mother and walked around the corner to the washroom. I’m pretty sure I know what had been discussed. Clinics will always let you use the washroom if you are desperate to go, and they ask you to just release a little, to remove the pressure. As I was just discussing, this isn’t really an option available to me, but it is very common. Worst case of course you empty your whole bladder and then have to sit there for however long it takes to refill it using the little paper cups from the water cooler. It was 2:11 pm. With only three of us in the waiting area, and my inclination leaning towards jumping in the loo as soon as the girl returned, I finally spotted the first nurse walking to the receptionist. They spoke very briefly and there was a point. Then I heard my name. “Kirwan? Kirwan?” I pulled my hand out from between my legs and jumped up. This was perhaps ill-advised as it sent shocks of desperation through my abdomen. I hurried over, forgetting my jacket in the waiting room. “Yes, that’s me.” I gasped. “Ready?” Ask the kindly looking nurse. Like I mentioned, she was in her 40s, and had long black hair. She was a little over weight, but in a way that indicated that she’d likely had a couple of children. I nodded vigorously, and followed her down the hall. She made small talk as we walked. “Sorry we were running a little late… Would you like to use the washroom before we do the ultrasound? Just to let off a little pressure?” She asked kindly. “Better not,” I replied. Walking seemed to have reduced my acute desperation for the time being, and I felt like I had settled in to an 8.5. And then, feeling like some explanation was needed, and blushing a little, I added “It’s hard for me to stop once I get going.” “Oh that’s ok, we’ll be super quick.” She replied. “That’s the washroom for after.” She gestured towards a clearly marked door on our right. “And we will be in here.” She gestured to a room almost across the hall from the washroom to the left. The hallway continued along a ways and I noticed other doors and trolleys and baskets along the sides of the hallway out of the corner of my eye as we turned into the room. “So you’ve done this before?” The nurse asked. For some reason the rooms where they do ultrasounds always seem darker than they should, it’s a little strange. Anyhow, I was in no condition to observe the room too closely. The abatement to my desperation due to walking was gone, and I was at a 9. It wasn’t a ‘the pee is coming now’ kind of 9, but it was certainly a ‘you need to find a washroom in the next two minutes or it’s going to happen’ kind of 9. I concentrated hard on controlling my bladder. “Yeah, a couple of times.” I replied, almost not hearing her answer. “You can put your purse here if you like,” said the nurse, helpfully gesturing to a couple of chairs to the right of the door. I did so, and then hurried to the table. Knowing the process by this point, I undid the top button of my jeans. I lay on my back and rolled up my tops, revealing my naked belly. “Ok, so I’ll only scan your bladder now, then you can use the washroom, it’s all set up for your flow test. When you come back, I’ll scan for residual and do your kidneys, sound good?” She asked, while rolling the ultrasound machine over to the side of the table. “I really have to go.” I admitted a little panicky, and blushing just a little. For some reasons it’s easier to tell a medical practitioner these things, rather than say a random guy. “Don’t worry I’ll be quick.” She replied. “Would you mind undoing those a little?” She gestured towards my jeans. While I had undone the button, I had no touched the fly at all. They need to scan your full bladder for these kinds of ultrasounds, and this usually involves them having to pull down the waistband of your trousers. I am fully aware of this, having done a dozen or so ultrasounds in my day, and as I mentioned, would almost always wear a pad to these tests, and a pair of panties which look dignified, so not my adorable little mermaid panties. Today I had broken both of these practices, and was wearing green Little Mermaid panties overtop of a Goodnite. Not quite caring at this point, but also getting a secret exhibitionistic rush, I undid my fly, and pulled it all the way down. And for good measure (and to avoid getting the ultrasound goo on my jeans), I shimmied my pants down a little, wiggling my bum. In so doing I revealed the top inch of the waistband of the Goodnites, and the top portion of my panties. The Little Mermaid emblem is on the bum of the panties, so this was not visible, and they would appear to the casual observing nurse, to be a normal pair of green panties. My desperation was a powerful all-consuming force at this point, and I considered just releasing. Wetting a Goodnite while laying on your back is one of the safer positions in which to flood it. It is when you lay on your side that you have to worry about leaks. I decided to hold on until after the test, as I could make it, if it happened now. The nurse pulled out a piece of thin paper and, pulling the waistband of my diaper and panties down a little ways, tucked it in, she tucked in a second piece of paper next to it. “This will keep your …” She paused, and then quickly re-phrased, “This will stop the gel from getting on your clothes.” I was blushing in the low light of the room. My heart was pounding and I could feel my adrenaline rising. This was that exquisite exhibitionistic thrill suffuses my body in panicky energy. My diaper was obvious. She has clearly seen the upper purple waistband of the Goodnite, and had been about to say something like ‘keep your underwear or clothes dry’ or something like that, but had quickly stopped herself. I was not imagining things. I couldn’t help but close my eyes for a moment. And I only opened them when I felt the warm gel being rubbed all over my belly. I remember when the gel was cold, but at some point in my lifetime of bladder issues, a genius had added a gel warmer to the ultrasound trolley. I, and probably millions of women (and men) are thankful for this, I’m sure. The nurse pressed the want into my bulging bladder. It was clearly visible protruding right above the thin paper, which covered my Goodnite, a round softball, crying out for release. I watched her move the wand around my belly, looking at the screen to her left as she did so. She pressed firmly with the wand, and I could not resist letting out a little gasp. Did I let out a few drops as well? I wasn’t sure. “It’s ok, almost done.” She intoned, sensing my growing desperation. The wand moved about over my stretched skin. Over and around my bulging bladder. The pressure from the wand was considerable, and pushed me into the 9.5-10 level of desperation. I don’t know if others have shared this experience with me, but at this point, when your body is ready to override you mental commands and release your bladder, you sometimes have difficulty actually peeing? Well this was what happened to me now. I felt an acute sharpness in my bladder and then, in a millisecond of panic, I relaxed my sphincter mentally. But it did not respond right away. It was as if it wanted to take some sort of victory lap after the impressive accomplishment of keeping me from an accident for so long. “All done.” The nurse said, whipping the gel off my belly with a scratchy piece of paper towel. As she removed the two pieces of paper from my waistband, I could feel a tiny amount of pee escaping into the Goodnite. Not a spurt, but a steady flow, only it was very thin, as though all of the effort in holding back my pee had really tightened up my urethra, turning my normal wide flow into a thin jet. I gasped a little, or moaned, I’m not sure which, but I made some kind of vocalization, and I’m not sure if it gave away my predicament. “Ok, I’ll get the commode set up for your flow test, can you wait another few seconds?” She ask. “I just need to push on button.” She added, moving over to the door and opened it. Had she closed it when we came in? She must have, but I didn’t remember. I didn’t bother to do up my button or pull down my sweater. I was tempted to hold myself to provide a final bit of support as I made my way to the toilet, now within my view. But I held off, this would only make pulling down my bottoms all the more difficult. Instead, I used one of my hands to hold my pants up, and followed her out across the hall into the washroom. All the while my bladder slowly released. She fiddled with the buttons attached to the commode for what seemed like ages, though it was probably only a second or two. The commodes that they use for these kinds of flow tests are like normal toilets with raised seats. Inside the toilet bowl is a sensor which detects how fast your flow is, and if there are any disruptions or that sort of thing. As I stepped into the washroom and with the toilet in sight I could feel the flow of pee jetting into my Goodnite widen just a little bit. Could I almost make out a faint hiss of pee hitting the material of the diaper? I was standing there staring at the toilet, my way barred by a friendly and helpful nurse. I blushing furiously, thinking she could hear me peeing myself. Stopping was not an option at this point. Though the flow seemed to be slower than normal. I still felt like my urethra was narrower than normal – letting out a thinner-than-normal jet of pee, though a jet of pee none the less. I was also thinking feverishly; trying to decide whether I should pull down everything, and risk getting my jeans wet, or whether I should just worry about the jeans and panties and fishing sitting on the toilet in my Goodnites, with the toilet catching the overflow (because this Goodnite was going to over flow, I could just feel it). I decided, and felt around with the fingers of each of my hands, feeling for the waistband of my panties. The toilet beeped. “Ok, all set,” The nurse stepped away from the toilet. Only a couple of seconds had passed. I was at the toilet in an instant. Still freely peeing into my Goodnite, in a fluid motion I pulled my jeans and underwear down, turned, and plunked myself down on the toilet. My body released and I flooded the Goodnite, suffusing my labia a hot wetness. “Come back over when you are done.” The nurse intoned from the door of the washroom. When she said this I was jarred from my reverie of relief and looked up to see her standing at the bathroom door. In my haste to get onto the toilet, I’d forgotten about privacy. I’d not given her time to exit the washroom before I yanked down my jeans and panties. She quickly turned and closed the door behind her. I was awash in emotions: The sense of blissful relief resulting from finally getting to pee. Pride, in having held on for so long, and for having made what I think was a good choice about not pulling down the pullup. And horrifying embarrassment at having pulled down my pants in front of the nurse, magnified because I had done so wearing a cute owl print Goodnite diaper. My heart was pounding as though I’d just done wind sprints or stairs, and my system was suffused with adrenaline. My original plan had been to get a little thrill of excitement from having a stranger see the waistband of my Goodnites, and also the fun of public desperation in a safe setting. I had not planned for the nurse to see my entire diapered bottom half, or to release right before reaching the washroom. I suppose if I’d thought through my plan, and given the current behaviour of my bladder these past few months, that a key-in-latch leak was likely, but I suppose I underplayed this. Or slightly miscalculated my fluids. Or the wait was longer than I had planned. Maybe I should have tried to release while back in the waiting room. That felt like hours ago. I could hear the tinkling sound of pee overflowing the Goodnite and dripping into the toilet. I reached down and pulled down on the gusset to allow pee to escape there. The tinkle was replaced with a brief fwoosh, and then resumed, as pee simply rolled off the Goodnites gusset and into the toilet. If I don’t do this, the seal of the gathers on the new Goodnites is so good that sometimes the pee will overflow up the back or up the front and escape along the upper sides of the absorbent section or even the top (if I’m laying down for example). I was not keen on getting my cloths wet, or having to wipe down the floor. The pee was warm against my fingers. I could hear the hiss of my pee as it overwhelmed the diaper. It is hard to recall just how long I peed for, given the strange stilted start, but it was certainly a good minute, probably a little longer. As I was finishing, I was rocked with another wave of panic. Remember a few moments ago when I had a vague sense of pride at having correctly decided that I should leave the Goodnites up to protect my clothes? Well I had forgotten that I was supposed to be doing a flow test. The whole reason the nurse had been in the washroom at all was to turn the machine one. Despite the fact that a decent amount of pee was dripping into the toilet from the overwhelmed Goodnite, I was not doing the test correctly. Most of the pee, had been absorbed into the Goodnite. At this point I was pretty overwhelmed by everything and gave a couple of large panicky breaths. I worked at calming myself down, still sitting on the toilet wearing the bloated and wet Goodnite. I hastily tore the sides of the Goodnite and carefully pulled it up the front. If you let the front flop down, it risks spilling unabsorbed pee everywhere, and I had not come this far to get my panties and jeans (still around my ankles) wet. Some additional pee dripped into the commode. I rolled the wet diaper up and put it on the ground beside me. It dripped a little. I reached for the toilet paper and carefully wiped and dried myself. This took several wads. I also used one to wipe my eyes. At some point a couple of tears had escaped. My heart was still pounding, and I was almost shaking from the adrenalin. Fully dry, I pulled up my panties and jeans, did them up, and then picked up the wet Goodnite and deposited it in the garbage which had been just out of reach when I was sitting on the toilet. Heavy with pee, it sunk into the paper towel there. I washed my hands and added another few flowers of paper on top of it. I wet down a wad of paper towel with cool water and held it over my face to cool it, as it felt like it was on fire. There was a knock. “Everything ok?” I heard the nurse inquire through the door. “Yes, thank you” I stammered, my voice breaking. I heard a shuffling on the other side, and moved to lock the door. I then spent a couple of minutes composing myself and taking deep breaths. I looked around the washroom finally. Apart from the usual stuff, there was the commode, and beside it a urinal. The top of the commode had a panel with buttons and a piece of paper, that looked a lot like a receipt from the grocery story, had been spit out. I’ve seen these before. The machine spits out a paper copy of your flow. I asked one of my old urologists about the purpose of the flow test many exams ago, and the answer is that they are looking for irregularities. People with prostate issues will start and stop and create peaks and valleys on the sheet. Those with trouble starting will have a certain kind of line. I looked at my sheet of paper, and saw a couple of little bumps and then a big hump, followed by a low and bumpy line. This would be wholly useless as a diagnostic tool for my urologist, not that I’ve ever had issues with flow. I wasn’t concerned about the diagnostic implications of what had happened, but I still could not think of a way to explain it to the nurse without dying of embarrassment. I had been in the washroom for about 8 minutes when I realized that I had filled up a little. In the past, when I’ve done these tests, if they test you and find that you still have more than a couple of mils of residual they ask for you to try again. Hoping to avoid this, I pulled my jeans and panties back down and peed for another dribbling ten seconds on the commode. I wiped and washed my hands. I knew I could not remain in the washroom for much longer without worrying the nurse, and still with no idea about what I would say, I took the little piece of paper with further evidence of my shame, unlocked the bathroom door, and walked across the hall to the ultrasound room. I saw the nurse down the hall as I did so. It looked as though she was talking to the receptionist. I entered the empty room and sat in the chair next to my purse. I heard the nurse walking down the hall, arrive at the intersection of the examination room and washroom and turn into the washroom. She moved around in there for a short while and then returned to the examination room. “Everything ok?” She inquired, even toned and professional but with a hint of genuine concern. “I… Um…” I was still not sure exactly how to explain what had happened. And opening my mouth didn’t seem to help. She quickly saved me the trouble by interrupting my stammering. “Don’t worry, the flow test isn’t necessary, it’s ok.” The nurse said comfortingly, reaching down and removing the piece of paper which I was clutching between two fingers. “I can take this.” I was grateful that she had cut me off before I began to explain. I’m still not exactly sure what I would have said. However, her cutting me off in this way indicated to me that she knew exactly what had happened (or close enough to it), having seen the first part and extrapolated. “All right, let’s scan you now that you are empty, can you hop back up on the table please?” She asked politely in a chipper tone. I stood up, a little apprehensive and once again undid my jeans button. I also unzipped them and shimmied them down a little before I crawled back up on the examination table. In case it wasn’t obvious to her before, it was clear that I had wet my Goodnite, or at least removed it. This time she slipped the two pieces of thin paper underneath the waistband of my panties, and went about slathering on the ultrasound gel. I made eye contact with her for a minute and she smiled politely and reassuringly, as only a good professional nurse can do. The second part of the test took considerably longer than the first part. She once again scanned my bladder, saying something like, “Good, residual is only Xmls.” Feeling like I had to chime in at this point, I gathered up my courage and added “I used the toilet a second time.” Though I could have provided more detail, I couldn’t bring myself to. “Oh that’s good,” she replied. I was then instructed to roll onto each of my sides so that she could scan each of my kidneys. She was very thorough. I lay there, heart still pounding but slowing a little, as she rolled the wet gel-covered ultrasound probe over my lower body. The kidney scan takes considerably longer, as they always look for issues and stones and the like, and I was grateful that this was (and typically is) done after you’ve had the chance to empty your bladder. She finished and wiped the gel off my sides. “Ok, I’ll just put all of this in your file and show you to the consultation room, Dr. Y will be with your shortly.” She informed me. The test over, I sat up from the bed, and hopped off. I pulled up and then did up my jeans, and went over to the chair by the door where I had deposited my purse. While I was doing this the nurse jotted some notes down in my file, and then stapled the little slip of paper from my ‘failed’ flow test into the coloured folder. I waited politely by the down, face downcast for a few moments while she completed her notes. She then got up from the little wheelie stool that she had been sitting on in order to do the test, and headed out of the room. “Just this way.” I followed her out and to the left down the hall. We turned once and then she showed me into a typical consultation room. “Just have a seat and Dr. Y will be with you shortly.” She informed me again, smiling at me kindly. I opted to sit in one of the chairs in the room, rather than the examination table, as I wasn’t expecting any kind of medical exam at this point. This was generally the part of the appointment where I simply talk to the doctor. In the past, when my doctor was familiar with my case and myself they would ask about my progress or success with a different medication we were trying, or an update. As this was a new doctor, I was expecting to have to rehash my medical (and more bladder) history with them. I had brought notes as I tend to forget the names of the different medications I’ve tried and significant dates and the like, and I had also brought my voiding diary (printed off from the helpful App.). I won’t recount the 20 minute consultation I had with the urologist, as I’ve actually rehashed most of my relevant medical history above, but I’ll add that the nurse and doctor did have a muted conversation just outside of earshot down the hallway before the doctor came in, and this made me blush a little. I was a little flustered all the same and the 10 minutes wait for the urologist to come to see me only permitted me to regain my composure to an extent. I was glad that I had brought my notes. Apart from a surprise question about UTIs which got me a little flustered for reasons I won’t go into, the conversation was pretty typical. I’m please to say that the urologist did give me a referral for another round of Botox treatment, and I am just waiting for this appointment, it should be in early March. I’ll report back on how this goes for those who are interested. After I got my referral, as well as a repeat of some advice about lifestyle changes I could make to reduce my symptoms, and a prescription for the medication I will occasionally take to reduce my symptoms further, the doctor walked me out into the reception area. I thanked them and smiled awkwardly at the receptionist whose expression I could not read, and I headed towards the door. Just as I was about to leave the receptionist called my name. “Ms. Kirwan?” She called after me. I froze, one hand on the door, not sure what would happen next. “Is that your coat?” She asked. I turned around and did an awkward arm gesture, in which I suppose I was feeling for the coat I was not wearing, realized I did not have it, walked back to the waiting room, and found my coast still on the back of my chair where I had left it hours(?) ago. I retrieved it, not really paying any attention to the three people in the waiting too, except to notice that the man and the woman and her child were no longer there. I thanked the receptionist, slipped into my jacket, and beat a retreat back to the SkyTrain. Outside the office I texted my husband to let him know that everything had gone ok, neglecting to tell him about some, or rather most, of the actual things that transpired at the urologists office. I think sending him this much writing in a single text might challenge his appreciation for smart phone technology, and well while I’m open about my medical issues and kinks with him, this isn’t exactly something I think either of us are comfortable discussing. I decided to treat myself to some food, as I’d not had much before the appointment. I found a nice place nearby, and as I worked my way through some sushi, my heart rate reached a normal rate. The complicated maelstrom of emotions associated with these kinds of embarrassing incidents began to roil inside of me. It would take a while for me to process all the emotions from today’s misadventure, to isolate the exciting ones from the terrifying ones. But what was clear was that I had some writing to do when I got home. Thanks for sticking out to the end of this, I realize that 17 pages is actually quite a lot of writing to tell a story that could have been told in a couple of paragraphs, but I suppose that it is cathartic to write this stuff down. I’ve got a whole folder of experiences I’ve had, with half-completed one dominating at this point, and it’s interesting to go through them and re-read some of the strange, embarrassing, funny, and exciting things I’ve got up to. Stay tuned for another update. Hugs, Rach
  5. futures

    My Diaper Videos

    Version

    45 downloads

    Hello everyone! These are 3 videos I made about 2 years ago. 2 messings and 1 wetting all in Goodnites! Uploaded because I figured someone would enjoy these! Wanting to get more into the lifestyle so who knows send me a request and I may be able to fulfill it!

    Free

  6. View File My Diaper Videos Hello everyone! These are 3 videos I made about 2 years ago. 2 messings and 1 wetting all in Goodnites! Uploaded because I figured someone would enjoy these! Wanting to get more into the lifestyle so who knows send me a request and I may be able to fulfill it! Submitter futures Submitted 06/09/2014 Category Male Diaper Play & Wetting  
  7. From the album: OverFlo207 - 2016

    Ha! 2 for the price of one...I have a lot of work to do so I may not release anything next week, but let us worry about later, later on. For now let us enjoy the fact that even through my anger and depression, and my insane workload, I still released artwork, even though I wasn’t planning on releasing anything through the month of February. And these 2 art masterpieces, they both go hand in hand. Red Jazmine and Blue Nowi, was it intentional, or am I just a genius? Are video games art? Who cares…Are dirty diaper drawings art? HELL YEAH!!! I also noticed that aside from “Dat Ass” drawing I did last week, all the rest of the drawings I drew this month were of little girls…I swear it wasn’t intentional, they just happen to be the cutest, easiest, quickest and most satisfying to draw...especially when they're drawn taking a dump. The humiliating feeling of being incredibly adorable and having forced out a very embarrassingly un-lady-like shit in her diaper (in Jazmine's case) is insanely gratifying to behold. I’m surrounded by lots of little brats at my house and my neighborhood, and they all think they’re so pwecious. Well they’re not, they’re obnoxious little brats…except for these 2 cuties…I guess that’s why I put so much effort into diapering them. Heres the clean version: http://overflo207.de...10%3A1456696336
  8. Version 1.0.0

    162 downloads

    First video of me wetting a diaper. I did this on an IPod and have never done anything like this before .Any criticism is appreciated.

    Free

  9. WetSetKitty Messing Goodnite View File Kitty from WetSet wets, messes, and changes her Goodnite. Throughout the video, she talks about how much she loves her diaper, farts a lot, and wishes you were there to change her. Submitter diaperfun Submitted 07/13/2014 Category Female Diaper Play & Wetting  
  10. So, I was in some bushes the other day, trying to track down a coyote for, you know, reasons.. As you might imagine, I crossed all kinds of country in my quest to catch my canid quarry. But all sights seen were of little interest to me, until I sighted one thing strange. As I passed a shrub, I noticed that there was a hollow within. Not a den, where one might track a coyote to (This I know because that darn coyote wasn't there) but rather the bush was in the shape of a capital letter "C" as viewed from above. I stood at the opening and peered inside. The clearing was small, not but a few feet across, and all seemed pretty normal, except for the object in the center, one with which I am personally familiar. It was a Goodnite. I didn't stay to look long, being both not alone and also quite covert about my kinks, but I had seen all I needed to see. It was blue, one of the ones with the camouflage print on the core. It was torn at the sides, as if it were removed in a hurry, and not replaced with another. But most subtly and perhaps most intriguingly, It was wet, very wet. That much was easy to see, by the way it was puffed up and slouching over itself, but also by the color. Any of us could spot that prefect pigmentation from a mile away. It was the one all of us see in our dreams, the one that sits somewhere between white and yellow and can be found so often found under (or on) the clothes of our community. Someone had fun on that spot, someone other than me. This thought stuck with me the most; "Someone other than me". That sodden diaper was not mine; It belonged to someone else. This of course means for certain that there is, in that area, someone else to own it. I had set out to find coyote tracks, but found ABDL tracks instead! Now, I have been using for nearly 10 years, and I knew even before then that I wasn't alone in my persuasion, but I thought for sure I was alone within my geographical area. My discovery happened in a bush, by the secluded parking lot of a golf course on a hill, in a town with a water park. If you can name the town and the golf course, I'd love to meet you! --Gadget By the way, I never did find the coyote. TL;DR I found a wet goodnite and got excited because it meant that there is another ABDL in my area. If it's you, send me a message.
  11. Ameture wetting video View File First video of me wetting a diaper. I did this on an IPod and have never done anything like this before .Any criticism is appreciated. Submitter doc133 Submitted 06/02/2018 Category Diapers and ageplay  
  12. So as many of you will know, my OAB has been acting up again. This has resulted in a higher-than-normal number of daytime leaks, some more significant key-in-latch leaks and accidents, and wet beds. This is a description of one of those wet beds from this past Friday. I’m scheduled to see my urologist in the news year so that I can get scheduled for another round of Botox injections, which have been very successful at significantly reducing these issues in the past. In the meantime, I’m taking precautions which generally include wearing pads during the day and Goodnites at night. I’m also keeping a voiding diary for my urologist (I know the drill by now, believe me), and I’m recording about 2 wet beds a week in it. The good news is that I still fit Goodnites and that the new ones hardly ever leak for me, even with a full bladder. As an aside, one of my coping mechanisms for my OAB growing up, or perhaps just a link between it and my discovering and exploring my budding sexuality, was experimenting with wetting, desperation, and diapers, as well as pads. Wearing pads every day has also got me playing about with pads, you may have seen some of my write ups of my ‘experiments’ with pads: Anyhow, I’ve also been taking regular lifestyle precautions to reduce my OAB symptoms, you would be surprised what kinds of foods and drinks can exacerbate the matter. So I’ve cut out spicy foods and I’m trying to reduce my caffeine intake (particularly in the evenings), and you know, the regular stuff like reducing fluids in the evening, double voiding, staying hydrated, and that sort of thing. Things I did all the time when I had more serious OAB symptoms. So my evening routine is generally to stop fluids at least 2 hours before going to bed, try to pee at least twice before going to bed, and pulling on a Goodnite. This has resulted in only two wettings a night, which is much improved from back in the day. I can usually tell if it’s going to be a wet night (or morning rather) because I don’t follow this routine closely, or I don’t void my bladder completely, that sort of thing, not always, but usually. Following all of these routines closely can be a little difficult when your schedule gets messed up, and nothing messes up your schedule more than the holiday season. So, the background aside, this Friday there was an after work holiday drinks and cookies party at my husband’s lab. So after work, rather than heading home for a quiet evening (I’m not a party animal, most evenings you will find me at home curled up on the couch with a good book, a warm hubby, and/or the TV), I grabbed the Skytrain to meet up with my husband and his work crew. Now his work friends are an interesting bunch of scientists, computer people, and all around geeks, and normally their gatherings are pretty tame. I love these people, they are my people, so I love doing things with them. On this night, there was a ton of cookies, a gingerbread computer (several gingerbread kits remodeled into a vintage desktop, with jujube and icing keyboard), and wine, lots of wine. Warm delicious mulled wine, cold white wine, and a rich red wine. Here was a wide-eyed, tired Rachel (scheduling shifts for volunteers over the holidays is a huge pain and has been driving me mad all week), who was in need of a drink, or maybe 3 or 5. So I broke several of the rules I’ve been trying to follow for the past month and a bit, I drank alcohol before bed, I drank quite a bit of it, and a lot of that alcohol was sugary, warm and spiced! As many of you will know, I’m a pretty messy drunk, and while I don’t get drunk all that often, this Friday I let loose. My husband’s work was providing cab vouchers, there was tons of wine and lovely geeks, and I was in my drunken element. I did pace myself, but as the evening progressed I got pretty sloppy. I made it to the toilet often, and only had to change the larger Always Discreet pad I was wearing twice (more because I got silly and faffed about in the washroom when I went to pee, rather than on account of any stress leaks or bladder spasms). Things wrapped up about half-past midnight, and we grabbed a cab home. Once home, we did not head to bed. Instead we made salty snacks (there were way too many sweet things at the party), which I think included very simple buttery pasta and crackers? Then we lounged about on the couch and watched something. I honestly can’t remember what it was, I was intent on making out with my husband like a drunken teenager, and was getting all frisky with him. After a while I got the idea into my head that I’d go slip into something sexy, and I headed off to the bedroom. I removed all my clothes, and put on an old nighty of mine. It’s not particularly sexy, rather it’s white and has spaghetti straps which are a little annoying when you are trying to sleep. I’ve also had it for years and in this time it’s accumulated a number of random stains. However, I got it into my head that I wanted to wear this night (and only this night, Rachel wasn’t even wearing panties at this point), and then have my husband tear it off me and then have his way with me. A super sexy fantasy, bodice-ripper style! I returned to the living, pretty toasted, and resumed heavy patting my husband on the couch. I pulled his hand up under my nighty so he could feel I was not wearing panties, I rubbed nibbled all over him. He was certainly enjoying himself and the TV program was quickly forgotten. Did I mention I was pretty drunk? Well I asked him to take me in the bedroom – and I should add that I mentioned about the nighty tearing off part, and he seemed a little apprehensive. Some guys are just too nice and don’t like the idea of being rough with a lady, and my hubby is one of these guys. We have done rough stuff in the past, but never drunk, and he articulated to me that this probably wasn’t a good idea. I agreed and rather than continue things, we both ended up heading back to the bedroom and almost immediately falling asleep. Now normally when we have party nights, and even before my OAB was acting up, my husband or I would remember to put Rachel in protection for the night. Even when my OAB was tamed by Botox, I would still occasionally wet the bed after an evening of drinking, just the way my body processes and then immediately releases, alcohol. There have been some night when I didn’t remember doing it, but woke up in a not-so tidily taped Molicare or a Goodnite, and was glad of the protection they afforded my bed. But on this night, we both forgot. All amorous intent evaporated the second we reached the bedroom, and we were both out like lights. The next morning I woke up, earlier than I would have liked, cold and wet. I was laying in soaked nighty, which was only partly covering my body. The purple sheets around me we soaked, and one of the straps of the nighty had come off my shoulder, moving the whole thing down, and resulting in the nighty getting soaked all the way down its side. My husband was still asleep but the cold wetness of the morning scared away my morning grogginess very quickly. I nudged my husband awake and shamefacedly told him that I’d wet the bed. He was hung-over and groggy and in no mood to be awake. I felt over on his side of the bed to see if he’d got wet, but it seemed as though the puddle was restricted to my side. I then got up, the cold wetness of the nighty coming into contact with more of my body made me gasp, and I shepherded him into the living room. I set him up on the couch with a pillow and blanket, so he could go back to sleep, and set about cleaning up the wet sheets. I wasn’t too asleep or hung-over to not snap a few pictures for you all, so here they are, my soaked nighty, sheets and the mattress cover that fortunately protected my bed. My nighty got soaked all the way up to the strap! After balling up all the sheets and wiping myself down with a towel, I slipped into a Goodnite and nested on the naked mattress for a couple more hours of sleep. Anyhow, I thought I’d share this experience with you all, as it was one of my most recent actual bedwetting incidents, since I had this accident: As I've been wearing protection to bed every night since. At the time (and for most of the weekend), I was embarrassed by the accident, but well now, those feelings of embarrassment have changed and taken on a sexy character, and for those who were worried, Rachel definitely got herself laid a couple of times over the weekend ;) Happy Holidays everyone! Rachel
  13. From the album: OverFlo207 - 2015

    Aww poor MayZ (my favorite OC), we ran out of adult diapers and I forgot to tell her that Goodnites aren't really the best at holding large amounts of defecation (I know from experience). That's the brand that I normally wear. And though MayZ may look like a cute bunny-slut, she's actually more fucked up and perverted than I (Flo), which I will go more into detail down the road. She's a total sexual tyrannosaurus...like me, with bigger perverted diaper desires, stretching into the further regions of experience. She has a hormonal imbalance, which may have caused her breasts to grow a bit larger than she'd like (she hates it when they lactate). She also has penis envy, and fantasizes about being a boy. She loves her strapon that she's named Gerard. She's a chronic masturbator, and would miss fondling her boobs if she were to get a sex-change. She wears boxing gloves with a special gelatin inside to keep her hands soft for a variety of wrong reasons...however, she really is just a sex-slave to her own desires, but still has a heart of gold, no matter how corroded it may be.