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So, I didn't want to get up in the middle of watching a YouTube video, and now I have to do laundry... You won't tell anyone, right? I almost made it though. oopsies.mp4

Sneezing Pad Leaks So there's something in the air this week that's been making me sneeze. As a result I’ve taken up my long-standing practice of wearing pads regularly. Yesterday, I wore a simply panty liner in my gray panties, and was lucky that it held one large squirt when I sneezed while working at my desk. If you look closely you can see that the pad was already quite sticky for other reasons, as I slipped this pad into my panties after my hubby and I had a lunch time quickie. This sneeze happened when my bladder was maybe 1/3 full, so it was only a little squirt. As you can see, my panties were kept dry. And the pad was only wet but not sodden. A couple of days ago I wore a thicker pad, and not one well-designed for pee pee leaks. It was taking up space in my bathroom cabinet, and y’all know that I do enjoy experimenting with pads. Well, I stuck this thick pad into my dinosaur panties after breakfast, anticipating possible sneezing during the day. Things were going well until after I had finished my second mug of tea, around 10:30. My bladder was quite full, and I was just wrapping up some work before nipping off to the loo when I felt a sneeze building. I decided I’d let the pad capture it, rather than trying to minimize things by crossing my legs. I was shook by three sneezes and felt moderate squirts of pee flood into my underwear and pad with each sneeze. After the third one I reached down to feel the damage. My panties were dry but a little pee had flooded out the sides and there were little wet patches on the inside of my PJ bottoms. I hurried to the washroom to pee, and snapped additional pictures of the damage. I then put a Goodnite on so I wouldn’t have to worry and went about my day. And yes, for those who are wondering, I did change out of the Goodnite in the afternoon. It was wet from a couple of additional leaks, and I took the liberty of soaking it after lunch. And here it is: Hope you are having a great week, Rachel

Just Soaking a Pullup A while back I wrote about buying a pack of pull-ups when I was caught short without a change of undies: And I still have a good number of these pull-ups left from this pack – they don’t fit and all I can basically do with them is open the sides and wear them like pads inside a tight pair of panties or use them as boosters in other much larger diapers. I do like having them in their pack, just sitting around. Whenever I open my closet and I spot a pack of diapers it gives me a little thrill, I’m not sure why. Perhaps because someone else could see them, or maybe just I really love looking at packs of diapers. Anyhow, I currently have a little bag of ‘diaper’s that are far too small for Rachel to wear and they will never fit her’ in my closet. I don’t play with these all that often, though there are still a couple of lovely adorable Hello Kitty pull-ups in there, like these ones: The other day I had a busy morning and drank a bunch of tea. I was bursting, like at a 9 on the scale, which is a risky place to be when it’s starting to be allergy season and a sneeze could result in a soaked chair and bottoms. It’s also a silly place to be as I work from home, and apart from the odd Zoom call where I’m leading and need to be present the whole time, I have no excuse not to use the toilet whenever I feel the need. However, earlier on in the morning, when I felt the urge to pee building, I decided to have a little fun and hold on for a while. When the pressure reached a 9 I got up and made my way to the bathroom, but I wanted to do something else. Simply peeing in the toilet wasn’t going to satisfy me this morning. I contemplated wetting my pants (PJ bottoms which I’ve been wearing almost daily), but thought against it as I was planning on wearing them for another few days and it was definitely not laundry day. I thought about peeing my panties (cute little pink and red striped shimapan) but wasn’t quite feeling that either. So wiggling with desperation, I popped my head into my closet and got that little whooshing feeling that comes with spotting a half-used pack of pull-ups and was like, yes, this will be my morning omorashi entertainment. I pulled out an adorable and deceptively thin Minnie Mouse pullup, briefly lamented that these kinds of adorable pull-ups don’t fit me (#WomanlyHips), and brought them into the bathroom with me. I opened up the sides of the pullup and adjusted the double gathers so they were standing up. I then pulled down my PJ bottoms (while still wiggling with desperation), pulled my panties down to mid-thigh, inspected the gusset of my panties (only a little damp spot, not from pee…), decided to pull my panties off completely, and then stood in the shower holding the pullup in place – that is, firmly against my diaper section. The instant I was in position my body knew to release, or it began releasing and I’m just giving it the right kind of credit and not blaming it for giving up. I could hear my pee hissing into the diaper and after about 30 seconds, I tried to bear down to make the flow stop. As you will know, I’m terrible at this, and gave up after about 10 second of straining, all the while peeing freely into the pullup. I wished I’d stood at an angle where I could see myself in the mirror, as I would have loved to see the little picture that is the wetness indicator disappear, but I was more worried about leaks. I held the diaper in place and only gradually let if down from my body as it grew in weight. I thought that any moment I’d hear the tell-tale tinkle of a leak but the diaper held. As I felt myself dribbling to an end of peeing, I lowered the diaper and inspected it. It was full of pee. And I mean full, I could see my pee almost at the top of the gathers, but they were holding up to their job. Like I was cradling I delicate baby sleeping squirrel in a hammock, I moved the pullup away from my body and inspected it more. Yes, I breathed in the delicious smell of my pee, which was… delicious and intoxicating. I heard a couple of dribbles hit the bathtub. Because it looked like it needed some help distributing the pee to the edges of the pullup, I moved it back in forth in such a way as to better distribute the pee. I could have waited and watched but I was getting a little tired of standing there without bottoms, with my pee-spoaked labia dribbling in the breeze so to speak. Once I was sure the pee was as effectively spread as it was going to spread I hopped out of the bathtub, wiped myself, pulled my panties and PJ bottoms back on, and then lay the pullup down for a picture. As you can see, it is absolutely sodden. But you can’t see just how sodden it is until I lay it down and lightly depressed it to see how well the absorbent core was doing with my massive pee. It turns out it was not doing all the good of a job, and a bunch of still warm pee leaked out onto the floor. I pressed a little harder and still more pee oozed out. I really liked how the soaked diaper looked sitting there on the floor with its own little puddle, so I took a few more shots, before picking it up, squeezing it out over the toilet, thoroughly wiping down my floor, bundling up the Pullup, and heading by out to get on with my day. Now I was only slightly distracted by my little adventure and throbbing ever so slightly. I took care of this issue at lunch. One of the perks of working from home…

Question of the day! If you were to have an accident unplanned or not. How would you want to have it. I myself would possibly want to have an accident at the beach. Purposely waiting to go into the water until I was already wet(: for me I wouldn't want to have an accident where people might easily notice. Or that someone else would have to clean up. Let me know what your perfect accident would be!

Okay, so here is the second occasion in my life where I've 'nearly' pissed myself. Whether or not this is a formal accident is up to you, but my lord was it close to being a far bigger deal.... I have at least one more story that involves me wetting my pants a bit on accident, though it's a little different. I'll share it a bit later if there is interest in it. If you want to read the first account I posted, there is a link to it a couple paragraphs down. This is the second story of when I almost pissed myself as a kid. It happened a few years after the first one. I was in either the 6th or 7th grade, so I imagine I was 12-14 at the time. It all happened in band class, during one of our after school performances. I had a close friend in band at the time, so I caught a ride with him. I remember being mildly uncomfortable that day, since we had to wear 'dress clothes,' something I was entirely unused to. Black trousers, a white, hot, long-sleeved dress shirt, a tie, and even this strange device called a 'cummerbund.' Why that was required of a middle school band class I'll never know. I'm pretty careful with my bladder, and I was a 100 times more careful in those days. I was sure to piss before I left, and I didn't drink anything that would cause me problems. Of course, I was a 13 year old boy, and it's not hard to make a kid forget about the gritty details, especially when his class is right across from the bathroom. When I arrived at the band room for our last rehearsals, there were snacks—and among those snacks the culprit of my last near accident: soda. Now, I'd learned from my previous soaked pair of briefs that soda was a drink of moderation, so I only had one.... At first. I was talking, we were doing rehearsals, and we were all there pretty early. So, I had another. Not a problem, though, the bathroom was right across the hall. By the time we were all making sure our ties and cummerbunds were on, I had to pee. I went into the bathroom with a ton of other boys and adjusted my clothes. The only problem was I wasn't the only boy there drinking soda. Every time a urinal opened up, it was taken by somebody. Had there been a line, I'd have joined it, but there wasn't a line. You had to assert yourself there when it opened. I was a bit shy, especially about bathroom related things, and I didn't have to go super bad at the time. It didn't help that far too many of us hadn't come dressed, so all the stalls were taken up with kids changing, and the band director was outside telling us to hurry so we had more time to practice our songs. So I returned to the band room and sat down. I sat there for quite awhile waiting for all the kids. Wave after wave of boys returned in their full outfits, while my urge was getting worse. Had I just waited in the bathroom, I'd have been able to go. I could have asked the band director, but surely I'd have a chance to go before we got on stage—and plus, he was... a little intimidating lol. Soooo, I held it. I played baritone and did my best like a good boy, though going through our set of three songs took some time—time that we did not have considering how close our stage time was. We were rushing through the last song, replaying hard parts instead of doing the entire thing at this point. Meanwhile, soda was rushing through my body. Not only could I feel my bladder now, but my piss was just... hard to hold. I'd deliberately avoided water to keep from needing to piss, and because of that, I had nothing but caffeine and soda in my body. It was a disproportionately bad urge. But no big deal, right? I'd have time to nip into the bathroom before getting on stage. When it came time to finally go, I remember being super frustrated with the band teacher. He was getting all anxious and pressing our rehearsal to the last possible moment. We were already a few minutes late by the time we were leaving the classroom with our instruments and chairs and music stands in tow. The stage was right across from us, literally a twenty second walk, but the bathroom was right there, in the hallway between the cafeteria and the band room, a 5 second detour.... But there was no time. I had to bring my own chair and music stand and promptly sit down. This is where things got difficult. My bladder was kinda full, but the real problem was the soda. I was having a really hard time keeping it in. It kinda felt like a bladder infection, but instead of pain, there was a constant nagging feeling in the tip of my penis. I kept telling myself I'd felt it many times before and it would be fine, that I wouldn't have an accident on stage—one of my absolute greatest fears—but this felt worse than usual. After all, I'd had two sodas after avoiding water.... Now let me spoil it for you right now: I didn't piss my pants on stage. If I had, this would be a far more embarrassing story to relate. But what did happen both surprised and terrified me. Sometime around the second song, I leaked. I actually, legitimately peed for a second. It was only a few drops, but it was a few drops. It happened on stage in front of like 100 people. And worse yet, I was trapped there, not sure if more was going to come out. Considering the circumstances, I think I managed to hold things together fairly well for the end of that song, and for the third song, which was by far the longest. When the third song ended and we were told to grab our stuff and bring it back to the band room, I whipped around to look at my seat. Much to my horror, it was wet. Then I patted my butt, which seemed.... dry. I took a moment to thank God it was just sweat. I grabbed my stuff and followed everyone else to the band room. Now that I was standing and walking, the urge was far easier to manage, but I still glanced at the bathroom with some longing as we passed it. Back in the band room, things took awhile to situate, but I can't imagine anything notable happened, since I don't remember this brief time well at all. There is a possibility I drank more soda with the thought in mind I was in the clear and had not peed my pants, but looking back at the event, I doubt it. However, what I did do was drink a ton of water. I'd wanted very badly to use the toilet, but some idiot had locked the bathroom door. I could have gotten the band director to use his key to unlock it, but my friend's mom was waiting on us... and really, the problem wasn't a full bladder. It was full. I mean, it was very full, but I lived like five minutes away from the school. I could hold it. The problem was my dehydration. So I drank more at every water fountain on the way, forcing myself not to pee dance whenever we stopped. I don't remember exactly why, but leaving took some time. I believe my friend's parents were chatting it up with the band director and what not, and I think my friend's sister might have been there talking to her old teachers. In any case, it took a bit of time, just long enough for that water from before to start making it's way through me. By the time we reached the car, it took just about everything I had not to show how badly I had to piss. I mean, I was 13, I wasn't going to piss myself or anything, but I did really, really, really, have to go. Whenever I felt like nobody was looking, a squirmed a bit. Not quite a pee dance—I refused to do something that embarrassing—but it was definitely getting difficult to stay still. My pee wanted to come out, and soon. When I finally sat down in the back of my friend's mom's minivan, my bladder was about to pop. The shock of the new position made me jolt. I sat there for the whole, thankfully short, drive with my legs close together, trying not to move too suddenly and trying to keep my very tentative control intact. We had a series of yuge speed bumps outside the school, and I remember tensing up with each one. I thanked God when we hit the last one. Piss felt like it was in my genitals, like it was right at the edge, ready to just start spraying everywhere. Had there been another speed bump, there's a strong chance I'd have pissed—my boxers felt a tiny bit damp after the final one, but I hadn't felt anything come out. Not a good sign. I honed in on the sensation of wet fabric on the way back. I squirmed a little, which mostly consisted as shaking my leg very lightly for a second, since I was too scared to do anything else. The whole ride I was praying that his mom would hurry. I was barely holding on, and it wouldn't have done any good to have told them. I mean, it might have, actually, but in my 13 year old, shy brain, I didn't want anyone to know I had to piss. I didn't want them thinking about it. We arrived at my house soon. I casually got out of the van and said bye, and walked to the door. My stomach started to tighten, just like it had at camp. His mom stayed in the driveway until I got the door open, and made it safely inside, so I still could not dance, and the stakes were higher than ever not to start pissing, since I had a pair of headlights shining directly on me. Even from the side in black pants it would be hard to hide a sudden waterfall of liquid running down my legs and possibly cascading forward or backward. I opened the door and walked inside. Normally I”d have gone to talk to my mom but there was absolutely no time left. I had to piss so bad it was all I could think about, and to make matters worse, my stomach muscles were tightening even more. I dropped my baritone on the floor and powerwalked toward the bathroom. Any normal kid would have ran, but I was too shy for anyone to see me doing that. I remember praying no one was in the bathroom, and even wondering for a split second what I would do if someone was. When I asked my brain, there was a blank spot as an answer. 'I would just go pee outside' appeared in my mind for a moment, even though I knew deep down there wouldn't be time for all that. There was only one possibility if that door was closed. I would stop in front of it and start squirting piss into my boxers, and I'd likely lose control within seconds. So I walked faster, my bladder muscles getting tighter and tighter, my lower body starting to push against my weakening muscles. I was thinking this was impossible, that is couldn't be happening. I was still in pants, not even in the bathroom yet, and I could barely hold it. I was seriously about to start pissing all over my pants and the floor just like when I was 5. My actual best case scenario was just making it. Thankfully (or sadly considering this forum lol), the bathroom was free. I rushed in, ignoring mom who immediately asked me how it went from her room directly across. I closed the door, embarrassingly slamming it a bit in my rush. It was the camp experience all over again. My stomach was getting tighter, piss was dribbling into my underwear as I struggled to undo my belt. Thank God the cummerbund has been removed and forgotten at school. I didn't even have time to lift up the toilet seat. The moment I got my belt undone, my bladder released. It took only a heartbeat for my piss to accelerate into a full speed stream. My eyes widened with utter shock. It was happening; I was pissing my pants. I undid the button with Apollonian speed and slipped my already pissing member out, trailing piss against my boxers and getting some on the front of my pants as I did it. I aimed straight in the middle of the bowl, driblets of piss splashing up onto the seat from the ocean surging out of me I felt a droplet of piss running down my leg. It was only one leg, thank god, but it was not at the thigh, it was all the way down by my calf. While pissing, after I'd gotten over the orgasmic pleasure of relief, I looked down. The crotch and a bit of the side of the thigh area of the thankfully black pants twinkled in the light, but other than that, the accident was hidden. When I finished, I looked down into my boxers and saw a dark patch extending down my leg. What I did next I can't remember exactly. I either left the bathroom and went to talk to my mom, which in retrospect is a pretty embarrassing, because while it didn't occur to me at the time, she had to have known I'd had an accident, or least that I'd leaked a bit. She'd seen me rush into that bathroom, and worse yet had probably heard my fire hydrant style piss a millisecond after I closed the door—notably without the build up that usually happens when you don't start off in your pants. So if I did stand there and talk, she had to have known I was doing it after having wet myself a bit. The other possibility is that I shrugged her off somehow and retreated to my room. In any case, when I was alone I promptly removed my wet trousers and tossed them to the floor. I inspected my dark blue patterned boxers closely, and found a dark spot spread wide across the left half, extending down to the thigh, and then reaching a bit further down the side. The damage to my pants was minimal, but the same could not be said of my boxers. Those were soaked. I took them off and tossed them to the floor with the trousers, hoping they dried by the morning. In any case, my mom never mentioned it to me.

I might've pottied on the floor today... .-. Just a little bit though! And I cleaned up all by myself. Wondering if anybody else is having bad luck with their pullups too.

Changed Pad While Jogging This happened to me yesterday, and I’m not going to make it one of my long epic stories, but I thought some of you would appreciate this little kinky adventure I had. So, as many of you will know, I will have the occasional stress-induced leak. These happen when I’m sneezing, laughing, or working out hard, and if I know these things are likely to occur I’ll slip a pad into my panties. So if I’m going to a comedy club, or its allergy season, or I’m helping a friend move boxes, or I’m running stairs, I’ll wear a pad, and it’s usually called on to do it job. Yesterday, I wasn’t planning a long or rigorous run, it had been another grind of a day, sitting working at my desk (I wore a huge diaper and soaked it over the course of 7 hours, more on this another time). So I was clearly in the mood for some kinky activity, but I also needed to get some exercise and leave the apartment. I changed into my black running skort, pulling it on over a pair of gray panties with coloured stars on them (adorable panties I got from the Gap), on top I wore a running bra, and moisture wicking top, and a wind breaker. My bladder felt a little full as I was getting dressed, and normally I would pee before running, as a full or mostly full bladder is much more likely to leak (and more significantly) than an empty bladder. But today I was feeling naughty, so I decided to leave the house with a half-full bladder that was still filling up, knowing that I would likely have to find a spot to pee while out, or leak, or both. As a side note, the running skort is fantastic for covering up leaks. It is a little quick dry skirt with built in shorts of the same material (hence the portmanteau). It dries quickly and also the black material hides wet spots, and the skirt portion hides damp crotches even more. So it’s the perfect accessory for leaky runners. Before running out the door, I decided to slip a pad into my panties, just in case I lost my kinky urge while running and for some additional fun. I headed out, music blaring and headed for one of the larger natural parks near us. I jogged for a little while, and then reached one of the hills the must be navigated before reaching the park. As I went down the hill, the concussion of my feet on the pavement jarred my quite full bladder and I could feel a number of small spurts escape. I’m quite used to this, running fast downhill does cause me to leak, and I just kept going, confident in both the pad and skort combo. When I stopped at some lights at the bottom of the hill, I could feel the wetness of the pad and a little dampness on my right inner thigh. It seemed as though the leaks had been a little more serious than I had initially thought. I shrugged it off and made my way to the park. When I arrived, my panties felt a little clammy and wet, but I was getting an uncomfortable feeling in my belly. Running with a full bladder isn’t fun, and I had apparently filled up more than I had anticipated. I hit the trail and mulled over my options while I jogged. I wasn’t going to visit a public washroom, as I didn’t have a clear idea where they were located (I could have easily looked this up on my phone…), and also I wasn’t sure if they were open during COVID19 and I wasn’t a big fan of using them. I could hold it, but this would result in more leaks, which was less of a concern than the discomfort I was feeling as the liquid in my bladder jarred with each stride. The decision was made for me when I hit a small decline and continued down with speed. The pressure from my heavy footfalls resulted in additional leaks and I by the time I reached the bottom of the hill I could feel that the inner portion of the short portion of my bottoms was quite wet. The pad had held up valiantly, but was not made for this amount of liquid. Actually, reflecting on the kind of pad I grabbed before leaving the house, it wasn’t made for this kind of liquid either, as I had grabbed a period pad with wings, rather than one for incontinence. I stopped at the bottom of the hill, and bore down to stem the small rivulet that was running down my inner thigh. I wiped this away, drying my hand on the outside of my skort, and decided I needed to pee if I was going to keep running. Heck, I’d have to pee even if I was planning on walking, as the urge became more apparent now that I was standing still. I continued along the path for a little ways, looking for a small side path, the kind that are not the official trail, but which seem to branch off of every trail every now and then. As I was looking, I passed the first person, heading in the opposite direction. We exchanged pleasantries while keeping our distance. Around the next bend I saw the perfect path, one that led into a somewhat thick stand of trees. I was about to take it when I spotted, hidden among the trees, a tent and small camp. Folks without homes have had a rough go with COVID and many are camping out in parks like this one. Not wanting to disturb them, and to have them see me pop a squat, I continued on for a little while until I found a branching path in another direction and nipped off the path. I wandered down the path a little ways until I found decent cover, invisible from the main path, all the while, looking around to see that I was alone. I’m familiar with a little mild exhibitionism, but I wasn’t feeling that today. I found a small space beside a tree, and pulled down my skort. One of the drawbacks of the skort is that unlike a skirt and panties, you can’t just pull down the panties, the whole thing has to come down. I squatted, and held this position, still not peeing. While squatting, I inspected the pad in my panties, currently held between my knees. The pad was soaked and the panties were a little damp as well. Rather than pulling up the panties with an already soaked pad affixed to them, I decided to take the pad out. Removing the pad revealed a moderate sized dry spot. Actually, the pad had done a pretty good job keeping my underwear dry, there were only some wet spots on the inner gusset, and towards the front. I placed the dripping pad on a small stump/branch beside me, and relaxed. The hissing of my pee filled the little grove I was in, and I enjoyed the sound of my pee hitting the leaves on the forest floor. I wiggle dried myself, and then pulled up my panties a skort. Feeling naughty, I snapped a picture of the pad on the stump beside me. As you can see, it was quite wet. To the left of the pad you can also see the wet puddle I made on the forest floor. Here are some better close ups of the pad. Where you can almost make out the droplets. Not wanting to litter, I rolled up the pad and squeezed it out. A considerable amount of pee splashed out onto the ground. I then slipped it into the little pocket at the back of my skort (for tennis balls and other such things). I brushed myself off, and continued on with my jog. The rest of the jog was largely uneventful. Despite a mostly full bladder, I did have a couple of additional small leaks as I was getting closer to home, but nothing serious. I try to push myself if I’ve got a little energy left at the end of a run. I got home just as it was starting to rain and headed into the shower. When I pulled off my skort and inspected myself in the mirror. I had made the following wet spot on the gusset of my panties. The gray fabric shows off wet spots quite spectacularly. It wasn’t too bad, but I could definitely feel the wetness as I ran. I slipped off the panties, stripped, and headed into the shower. I’ll recount my protracted diaper wetting another time. I hope you enjoyed this experience. More to follow. And as always, if you like my work and want to show appreciation, check out my website where you can buy my dirty panties, or just get my a gift: https://rachelkirwan.wixsite.com/panties Rachel

I have long coveted Hello Kitty pull-ups. They are adorable and I wish they came in my size. I know they do not come in my size (or I can’t get the big ones in my country) because I bought the largest ones I could find one time on a whim and they definitely don’t fit. I couldn’t even get them up my legs. I tried this once. Played with the stickers inside the pack, and then stuffed the pack into the back of my diaper stash, waiting for a rainy day. Fast forward to COVID-19, where our heroine is working from home. Every day. And the work is pretty stressful. I’ve found myself turning to diapers (and wetting, but to a much larger extent diapers) to manage my stress. I know I’m not the only one who does this. It’s very comforting when things get super stressful, to tape or pull on a comfortable diaper that will keep you dry and safe, and if the mood strikes you, warm and squishy, and if the mood strikes your further, as a fun thing to masturbate in. Now I’ve got a pretty extensive diaper stash, with a bunch of fun Rearz diapers I’ve been saving for a full day marathon diaper wearing/wetting, and some comfortable Molicare, piles of Goodnites, some special occasion only vintage and diapers from overseas, and a bunch of other diaper odds and ends. I thought that since I have all this time working from home, I could experiment with diapers, but I also don’t want to deplete my stash too much with this diaper wetting shenanigans. I’m loath to order new diapers as I know there are a lot of people out there who need them and the system is stressed as it is. I don’t really need diapers, apart from Goodnites for evenings when I’m going to be drinking or smoking pot, so I thought I’d experiment with the ‘dregs’ of my diaper collection as much as possible in the coming weeks. Enter, the pack of Hello Kitty pull-ups stashed in the back of my diaper collection. Like I said, I love their look. They have adorable little bows that disappear when they get wet, a cute Hello Kitty pattern on the waistband, with rainbows as well. They are also high cut and quite absorbent with good gathers. A great diaper, if only they made them in Rachel sizes. So the other day, I wandered into the bathroom and slid off my cute black and white polka dot panties. Please excuse the stain, my girl parts have been up in arms due to the chaos of life these days and unpredictably staining my panties. But for those who are into this sort of thing, and I know many of you here, here are my panties at about 1 pm after half a days work: Now just because I can’t get these pull-ups up my legs, doesn’t mean I can’t have fun with them. Step one, I tore the sides of the pull-up, and fit it into my panties, like a pad. I’ve done this with diapers before, and honestly, tabbed baby diapers work better than pull-ups, at least for getting them into your panties, because you can use the tabs to hold the diaper in place. So the picture doesn’t quite do the set up justice, and I did totally reposition the pull-up once I got my panties back on. ------ The next step involved me continuing my day. I made a pot of tea, and sat at my computer for the next 2 hours working through a backlog of messages. I should also add that I planned ahead and put down an absorbent pad on my office chair. I wasn’t sure how well the pull-up/pad would work and I was pretty sure that even if it worked well, that it wouldn’t hold an entire full Rachel bladder’s worth of pee. It’s also worth noting that I was wearing a professional looking blouse on my top (for Zoom calls) and PJ bottoms on the bottom over top of my panties and the pull-ups. About an hour after drinking a mug and a bit of tea I felt quite full. Not entirely full, or anywhere near squirming in my chair, but that comfortable full feeling you get after drinking a bunch of green tea. I decided to release my bladder and give the pull-up pad a test drive in the sitting position. Pausing between paragraphs in an email, therefore, I relaxed and felt the warmth of pee flooding between my legs. That delicious warm wetness running down my lips and slowly spreading around my bum. I felt deliciously tingly. After about 30 seconds of peeing, I also felt the pull-up leaking. One of the gathers was overwhelmed and slightly cooled pee was dribbling out the side. I felt the inside of my thigh get wet, along with the fabric of my PJ bottoms. I could feel a small pool of rapidly cooling pee spreading around my bottom, but it didn’t feel that large. I decided to complete the email I was working through, and spent the next 15 minutes on this, all the while conscious of the thick wet pull-up between my legs. I was a little surprised at how it changed shape was it expanded with my pee. Most diapers swell. Ok, almost all. The one that I’ve experienced that didn’t swell was the swim diapers I bought, as they only absorb a tiny amount of pee, but are designed for #2 accidents in the pool. But these pull-ups seemed to swell differently. Rather than simply expanding along the gusset and up the back – more so than the front as I was sitting down when I peed and my girl bits tend to funnel things down towards the back rather than the front, or at least they did this time, the pull-up did the same but also seemed to want to get … flatter, for lack of a better word. That is, I could reel the thing trying to open itself up flat. It’s hard to explain, so I’ll just show some pictures. After completing the email I was in the middle of, I got up and checked my bum. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t dripping as I made my way to the loo to change, and also to feel the moderate-sized wet spot I’d created. The pull-up had done a pretty good job absorbing everything, and there was perhaps a CD-sized wet spot on the pad I’d put down, and a slightly larger wet spot on by PJ bottoms. I forgot to take a picture of these, mostly because as soon as I stood up, I could feel the pull-up spreading out. Like a banana uncurling, pressing against the front and back of my panties, trying to lay flat, rather than against my body. I was quite fascinated by this, and I semi-waddled my way into the washroom. When I pulled down my wet PJ bottoms I could see a significant bulge caused by the swollen pull-up. I checked this out in the mirror for a little while, along with the subtle wet spot on the fabric of my white cotton polka dot panties. Then I pulled them down and lay them on the floor of my bathroom. Once removed from the confines of my damp panties, the pull-up went into a flat position. And I had to purposefully fold it to get this picture (mostly because I wanted a shot with Hello Kitty in it): As you can see, I did still make my panties wet, though not as much in the bum portion of the panties as I would have thought, apparently the leak was restricted to the gusset. Apart from the softer portions of the waistband, the pull-up had turned into a thick, squishy, pad. The absorbent portion of the pull-up was flat, and seemed to be in three significant sections. Like three hotdogs in a package. You can see what I mean when I flipped the thing over: Also, apparently I was wrong about the little bows, they don’t disappear when you wet, at least not on these ones. It’s interesting that the inner absorbent core of the diaper really tries to flatten itself out when it’s soaked, and how it arranges itself into three segments like this. I can’t say I’ve ever seen this in an adult diaper but if they built one like this, I’d love to try it out. Does anyone know about why these kinds of pull-ups do this? Anyhow, I thought I’d take a few more shots of my wet panties because they looked gorgeous with their little wet spot and stain: Here they are close up: Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed my little adventure. Hopefully I’ve got more to come in the near future. I’ll definitely be having more wetting and diaper adventures in the next few weeks, and I’ll try to write about them, time permitting. Also, I’m still selling my dirty panties, so if you are at home and looking for some delightful dirty panties, let me know. Best, Rachel

I'm sure some of you will remember this experience I posted: Which was all about the time I accidentally wore and wet a pullup while teaching a seminar. Well, a few years ago, when I was still doing custom videos, a customer asked me to recreate this, and while I'm not going to share the video here, I recently stumbled across stills from it, and well, I thought they were pretty hot and that people here would appreciate them. So... here's the description of my re-creating this accident, with some stills thrown in for fun! Enjoy! Rachel p.s. I'm still selling my panties and have a wish list in case anyone appreciates my content or wants a souvenir https://rachelkirwan.wixsite.com/panties ________ I tried to replicate as much of it as possible (baring the trousers which did not come over the Atlantic from the UK). Anyhow so you can see I've got a pair of youth pants on inside out at the beginning of the video. I picked these ones a) because they are cute white pullups, and b) because they have the blue 'pee landing strip' so you can tell they are inside out. So I slip on my jeans and wiggle about a little while, and then pull on my cardigan. I love how you can see the waistband here, the jeans and the tank top together were just the right length! Then after a while, I let out a good bit of pee. I'm not so good at stopping mid-way, but I managed to after really clamping down. You can see me feeling for leaks. I kept expecting it to show up and I kept looking on the camera, but nothing! I could feel the pee sloshing about and just like last time, I felt wet but not in the traditional wet diaper sense. This particular diaper seemed to have really good gathers even when inside out, and it didn’t leak very much at all. There was a tiny leak in my crotch and I don’t know if you can see it. After a little while longer I let out a much larger leak (maybe 10 seconds) and this left a bigger amount of pee in the gusset of the inside-out diaper, but still nothing on the jeans. I could feel it sloshing about, like a big bubble of pee moving about front to back all across my diaper area. You can see me feeling it moving about while I pat the front and the back. I could feel it in there (and it felt very good by the way), but it wasn’t leaking that much at all, though I kept expecting it to! Ok, this time I meant business. I let out everything I had in me! That was a lot of pee! Now the pee bubble was huge and I continued to play with it. Pushing it back and forth, you can totally see when I do this a couple times. Eventually it sloshed out in a nice spurt in the front: And again from the front: And then more in the bum: Another view of the bum as the leak continued: It felt amazing, strange, but amazing. Still there was tons left in the bubble, but I had wiggled about long enough! After a short while tied my cardigan around my waist, just like the last time and actually this one covered my accident pretty good. I was originally planning on running off camera once I got the cardigan on, but well, I was worried that all the pee would sploosh out and onto the floor (I had down a waterproof pad but it didn’t cover the whole floor). I pulled the jeans down for a couple of after pictures. When I did so, it leaked some more down the back and I felt like I was in crisis ‘it’s leaking’ mode. Well I pulled the jeans back on and hurried to the washroom after the video ended, and while running I could feel it soaking into the jeans. When I pulled off my jeans and then the diaper in the bathtub, the pee splashed out all over my feet in one spectacular falling blob/puddle of pee! It was funny (imagine me saying that in a "little" voice). Best, Rachel

View File Fucking Machine Causes Leaks The title kind of gives you everything you need on this one... Enjoy, Rach Submitter rachelkirwan Submitted 04/09/2020 Category Female  

I asked my pad boy to wee in his pad mid-day before changing it, and thought that I'd better do the same. As you can see, period pads, even really thick ones, are not perfectly suited to moderate wetting accidents. This pad managed to keep my panties mostly dry, though I did have a little wet spot on the inside of the gusset. Here's the photo-essay Panties are available to a good home! Let me know if you are interested! Rachel

Thought about this the last time i wet my self (as i wen't through several leaks and loss of control) but at what point do you see it as you've "wet yourself?" for me it's when the wet patch starts reaching down your knees cause it's pretty obvious what's happened even tho you're desperately still trying to prevent a full blown accident. Suppose you could argue that the second you leak that's an accident but on a different level being that you've had a "small accident", "decent size accident", "substantial accident" or a full on wetting. But if we're judging by the "wet patch" what would you consider for your self and others? Curious to hear your definition of an accident :)

For those of you who don’t remember or are new, Meredith, or Mary, was a 27 year old mother of 2. She was recently divorced, as she married the father of her children thinking she had to, not because she loved him. This story takes place a year before Mary’s incident at the shopping center, before she was... “officially” divorced. As I stated in my first story, Meredith married someone she was not in love with, but felt she had no choice. Now, at 26, with two kids under two, she had finally worked up the courage to begin to discuss leaving. In fact, she was already seeing someone. And why not? Even with two young kids and a job keeping her up all day and most of the night, she was still a beautiful girl. She had sandy blonde hair that came down a little past her shoulders, and she had a very big butt, always her best feature, even with her 36 D boobs and a hairless vagina. She had just gotten her hair done and she was feeling and looking beautiful. She wore a low cut blue shirt that showed off her rack, a little pink thong from Victoria Secret, and a tight pair of little khaki shorts She had told her husband she was going out for a well earned night out with her girlfriends. Which was true, but what she did not mention, the guy she’d been seeing would be there too. The group was Mary’s best friends Emily and Cori, their husbands Mark and AJ and their mutual friend William. Mary had known William since school days. They dated briefly during Fall of their junior years, and had remained good friends over the years. Then, about 2 months prior to tonight, Mary had seen William at the wedding of Cori and AJ. William had just gotten out of a two year relationship, Mary felt trapped in her marriage and was ready to get out of it. Naturally, it didn’t take long after some catching up, for the two to grab a room in the hotel and hook up. It was the most loving and passionate sex Mary had had in years! It was the first time she’d felt loved. Hell it was the first time someone had gone down on her since before she had kids!! Ever since then, Mary and William had been seeing each other more and more often and having lots of fun together. Tonight, the friends were going to a few bars and unwind. Soon, the gang had settled in and were starting to get pretty drunk. Mary was thankful for her new man. After playing a few games of pool with her friends, when her and Emily had to pee “I’ve been holding it and I’ve gotta piss bad” Emily announced. “Me too” said Mary “That pool game distracted me but I gotta go!” To the girls annoyance, they found a small line. “Fuck this isn’t good” Emily said The girls stood in silence for about a minute. “Please hurry!” Mary asked politely. “I’m like trying to not make it obvious that I’m grabbing my crotch” Mary said “Yeah I’m afraid if I uncross my legs I’m gonna pee my pants” Emily said. Finally, a flush. Emily ran in and instantly let out a sigh of relief. Mary on the other hand was literally dancing in place. At long last, after what felt like and hour, a flush came and Mary sprinted in. She had made it. After another few hours of drinks and fun, the clock was nearing midnight, and the taxi had arrived. The group of friends pulled in. With one too many, Mary sat on Williams lap. Their two would be the last stops, anyways. First was Emily and Marks house, only about a 5 minute drive from the bar. “I should have peed before I left” Mary said to her man. “Well we are going through Taco Bell” Cori announced. “I’ll pay for the ride but I’m getting food” As they sat in line, Mary began shifting her legs. Her need growing worse. “This was the last thing my bladder needs” Mary said after a short make out with William. “I just had my second kid 4 months ago my bladder is small!” “It was small before that” Emily retorted. Finally Cori and AJ got their food and the taxi dropped Emily and Mark off. Now it was to Cori and AJ’s. Which was good news and bad news for Mary. Cori’s house was only 2 minutes away from Mary, but it was another 15 minutes from Emily’s! Mary was beginning to feel like she wouldn’t make it. “Oh my god” she said “I feel like I can’t even move. Like my eyes are watering” “Well you still look beautiful” William said with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen ya wet your pants” he said with a smile “You can say that again!” Cori said “Remember in class when you laughed so hard you peed? You had to wear your gym clothes” William remembered “Yeah we were also in 8th grade” she said. “9th grade.” Cori corrected “Whatever” “Then there was the football game” AJ said. “Me and William were dating then and he got the game winning interception. If I’d had went pee I would have missed it so it was worth it” Mary said “Your sisters bachelorette party like 2 years ago you peed the bed and your pants all on the same trip!” Cori reminded “Yeah that one I can’t defend” Mary laughed. “Can we stop talking about all the times I’ve pissed myself please? I’m about to do it again” Suddenly Mary felt a quick jolt as William, in a way of flirting, briefly tickled her. Mary laughed and felt a small spurt jet out of her and into the light fabric of her thong. “Do you want me to pee on you?” Mary laughed “I’m not kidding tickle me again and you will have piss all over your lap and I’ll just say I told ya!” “I’m not paying the extra fee to clean it up so you two keep your hands off each other long enough to get home” Cori demanded. Soon they pulled into the driveway of Coris house. Finally, the home stretch for Mary. She now had both hands firmly pressed against her pussy lips to try and keep from wetting herself. “Oh my god I’m gonna pee my pants” Mary said out loud “I’m gonna wet myself all over this taxi and pay to clean it up” William assures her “we are only two blocks away. A few minutes later, the taxi pulled up to her house. “Hey” William said as she want to get up, pulling her back close to him “I just wanted to let you know I had a blast with you tonight. I want to keep doing this” “I had an amazing time with you tonight. You make me feel like myself again” Mary said back, briefly forgetting her urgent need to piss. “I think I’m kinda starting to fall for you a bit, you know that?” William told Mary “I like being with you” Mary said. “Can I give you a good night kiss?” He asked her. Mary’s response was to sit back on to his lap and begin making out. But soon, the desperate need to piss snapped her out of her romantic daze. “I’ve got to go. I need to peeeeee!” Mary said. Hopping out of the taxi, Mary ran towards the front door when she felt a small leak. “Oh fuck. Please be unlocked” Mary said out loud to herself. Sure enough, her husband had locked the door. “That mother fucker! He knew I was coming home!” Mary stated “Hey asshole! I told you to leave the door unlocked for me remember?” Mary then felt another shot of pee leak out of her worn down bladder. This time she could not stop it without her hands. Out of time, she raced around to the back door. There was a code the get in the back gate. 1615” Mary punched in. Shit! Wrong number! Now she had to wait 15 seconds to type in the right code of 1616. Those 15 seconds was all it took, a simple slip of the finger had cost her. Mary started to leak more uncontrollably, the stream getting heavier and heavier as her piss flowed out of her vagina, completely soaking through her pink thong and creating an unmistakable, giant wet spot all over her cute, tan shorts. Mary had no choice now. She stood there frozen for the next minute or so as her bladder emptied. Running down the insides of both her sexy legs, getting into her shoes, and forming a large, undeniable puddle on the ground. Her piss trickled to a stop, finally. Mary stood there wet, humiliated, relieved and mad! She punched in the correct code and walked gingerly inside to the mud room where she began to take off her wet shoes and socks. “Mary?” A voice boomed from the top of the stairs. “Thanks for leaving the door unlocked for me” Mary zinged sarcastically. “Why are you all wet?” Her husband Chet asked. “Fuck you” Mary said of his questioning. “Why are you all wet?” Chet repeated “did you piss yourself?” He asked “What does it look like!” Mary shouted. “You got that drunk that you fucking just wet your pants?” Chet assumed “No, I didn’t.” Mary said angrily as she walked past him towards the bathroom. She took off her shirt first. “I was holding it in the taxi and went to the front door where I found out my husband locked me out of the fucking house” she stated as she peeled off her soaking wet shorts. She was now standing only in her saturated wet pink thong. “This is your fault” Mary said as she stripped of the remains of her wet clothes. “Oh bullshit. Maybe next time you’ll spend a little less time with your new boyfriend and a little more time making sure you use the bathroom” Chet replied. “Go fuck yourself” Mary said “I’m done with you” She closed the door, and stepped in to the shower. She knew, this was the final straw. Chet didn’t even care if she came home or not. And that helped make her have an embarrassing accident. Besides, she had someone who she loved and who loved her back. “Wait until I tell them I fucking pissed myself again” she thought to herself with a smile.

Wow, I haven’t written about an experience in a while. Sorry about that, life’s been pretty busy I guess. Well, I’ve got a couple of longer ones, but here’s a shorter thing that happened to me today! So there’s a bad flu going around and I think I caught it this week. Or at least, I’ve got some kind of cough. It developed a couple of days ago, and has been getting worse. In addition to feeling stuffy, I’ve also been leaking basically every time I cough! This has led to a good number of leaks over the course of the past few days. It’s worse when I’m standing up, and I can reduce the damage if I’m sitting with my legs crossed firmly. If I happen to be caught standing up when I feel a cough coming on, I quick cross of the legs sometimes helps, but not always. And I’ve also noticed that it doesn’t seem to matter if my bladder is full or if I just went pee, I am still leaking a decent sized squirt into my panties with every cough. Now most of you will know I run a side business where I sell my dirty panties online, and it’s been a busy month with lots of orders. This means that I can’t always just slap a pad into my panties and go about my day with protection on, as otherwise I’d have some unhappy customers. Earlier in the week I was wearing a pair of panties for a customer and ended up soaking them pretty good while padding about the house in my gray tights. Fortunately the customer wanted the panties wet, and I was at home. Today, I was finally done prepping panties for customers, so I could wear a pad. I’m glad I did. The coughing has got a little worse (but otherwise I’m feeling ok), and I had already soaked the pad I was wearing before I left the SkyTrain to get to work. By noon I had already changed my pad 3 times (basically after every two coughing fits), and I was starting to run low on pads. I rationed myself in the afternoon and only changed my pad once, but it was my last one. I pulled it out before leaving for the day, as it was rather saddened, and braved going pad-less on the way home. I was wearing dark trousers and it was pouring rain, so I thought I’d be ok. I was doing pretty good actually, until I left the SkyTrain for my walk home. I had just left the station when a wave of coughs caught up with me, and I didn’t cross my legs. The result was a very tangible squirt of pee soaking my panties. I used my purse to cover my crotch and surreptitiously felt if it had gone through my trousers. It had not, and I hurried home to change. This was the result: Anyhow, more stories to come, and to all my Canadian friends, don’t forget to vote! Best, Rach p.s. If you want to order your own pair, here's my website and you know how to get in touch! https://rachelkirwan.wixsite.com/panties

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve shared an experience, and also, I wanted to share something pretty special, as I noticed I was getting very close to my 8000th post! This is quite a milestone and well, I hope you will all celebrate with me, by sharing more sexy wetting content and if you are interested, buying a pair of my dirty panties! I’m going to do a couple of posts and a video dump to celebrate, so here is my experience. I’ve had a couple of very hard months at work; a bunch of volunteers left and I’ve been scrambling to fill their roles. As such, I’ve been pretty busy and haven’t had much time for fun kinky stuff. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still had some sexy times with the hubby, and certainly watched some porn and masturbated with toys and all that, but I haven’t had a chance to do elaborate or public. Well, the other day I finally had some time off, and decided to go shopping at MetroTown. This is a big mall complex not too far from our place. I also decided to have a little bit of desperation fun while I was doing it, or rather, I kind of decided to have some desperation fun mid-way through running errands. Here’s what happened. It’s been getting chillier here, so I’ve started wearing trousers a lot more. But this day, it was bright and sunny out, which offered the perfect, and perhaps the last, opportunity to wear a nice skirt (without leggings). After lounging around the flat for a while and doing some house work, I decided to head out and deal with the growing list of small errands. I pulled on a cute dark grey pleated skirt,, the white cotton panties I’d been wearing under my PJs all morning. I buttoned up a lavender blouse, threw on a cardigan, and picked up a larger backpack to accommodate my shopping. I pulled my wallet out of my purse, grabbed a couple of items that were piled up by the door, threw in a couple of cloth shopping bags, and wandered off to the Skytrain to hop down to MetroTown. It was about 11 am by the time I arrived at the mall (it’s huge by the way), and I headed off to the washroom, as I’d forgotten to go before leaving my flat. I used the one nearest the Skytrain, which I always find the yuckiest, but it was close, and I kind of had to go. Hovering over the toilet, I noticed that my panties were already a little dirty/sticky from the trip over and the mornings activities. I love how white cotton shows every little stain. I then headed up to the second level to return a sports bra to the sporting goods store. My sister had bought it for me and well, she wasn’t aware that my breasts have grown since going on birth control (a long time ago), and she still apparently bought me a bra using my size from like more than a decade ago. I wasn’t impressed with their sports bras, and so I wandered around the mall, visiting a couple of shops until I found something really comfy and supportive from Lululemon. This took more than an hour, and so rather than getting into some serious shopping, I headed off to Blenz coffee on the main floor. I grabbed a big matcha late, and sat down, drinking the whole thing and watching people bustling by. Sometimes it’s fun to just sit and watch the world go by, and it certainly is when doing so is a luxury. During this time, my mind wandered, and I had a few naughty thoughts. Completely filled up on green tea, I headed out once more. I probably should have planned out my trip a little better, as I ended up wandering all over the mall, grabbing items off my list and doing a little browsing. Half an hour after leaving the coffee shop, I could feel myself filling up. I could have easily ducked into one of the many washrooms around the mall, but I was starting to feel a little naughty. I was at about a 6 on the desperation scale, the point where I would normally always head straight to the washroom, but decided to have a little bit of public desperation fun. It sort of flowed on from the things I had been contemplating at the coffee shop. I didn’t have a concrete plan, but I did feel like getting up to some naughty mischief. Maybe just some desperation perhaps? I continued browsing through some shops and felt myself getting increasingly desperate. I headed into Chapters and looked through some of the new arrivals and non-fictions sections. By the time I was checking out the always poorly populated philosophy section, I was at a 7. I played up my desperation, allowing myself to display my need to pee in subtle, mildly exhibitionistic ways. A little foot jiggle here, tightly crossed legs when I paused to look at a book, that sort of thing. To the keen observer, I would have likely appeared to be an antsy book browser. The problem is of course that browsing for books is certainly the kind of thing that you can just stop doing and use the washroom, so I decided to get back onto my pre-schedule list of errands. I headed over to T&T, the huge Asian food supermarket, and began filling a basket with items off my list. Having an almost-full basket of things is a great reason not to use the toilet. I worked my way methodically through the store, my desperation mounting to a solid 8 by the time I reached the tea section. I was playing up my desperation beyond an 8 though, for effect, and because of the little thrill of excitement that I got from knowing that other people around me in the shop could see that I had to pee. My actions were less subtle at this point, given my mounting real desperation. I was not at the point of holding myself, but I would twist my legs together whenever I stopped to look for something, and this was often followed by dancing on the spot. I spotted the sidelong glances of other patrons around me when I jiggle about. My basket was mostly full and I only had a couple more items to purchase by the time I made it to the noodle isle. I was still at a solid 8 on the desperation scale, but acting like I was a 9.5. I put down my basket, crossed my legs, and did slip my hand firmly between my thighs as I pondered the noodle selection. There are so many options and the packaging is always confusing (and it’s typically not in English, so you really have to look at the ingredients if you are looking for something specific. I found a couple that I was looking for, and put them, one-handed, into my basket, all the while holding myself firmly. A younger Asian man came around the corner as I was depositing the final pack of noodles into my basket, curtsey-style, so as not to put too much pressure on my bladder, or flash my panties at anyone. As soon as I saw him I whipped my hand out from between my legs, though I could tell from his look that he had noticed. I quickly retrieved my basket and hurried off, flushing a little and too embarrassed to look back to see if he was watching me. I still had a couple of items on the list, but my feigned extreme desperation was kind of getting to my head (and bladder), and I was at that ‘find a bathroom now!’ stage of desperation. I went to get the final item on my list – dumpling wrappers in case you care – before heading to the checkout. There was of course a line, though not a very long one and I wiggled and crossed my legs with increasingly real desperation (about an 8.5) as I waited for the two people ahead of me to check out. After the first person wrapped up, which seemed like it took far too long, I was able to unload my basket on to the little conveyor belt. This done, I could hold the empty basket in one hand in front of my crotch, to cover up the fact that my second hand had snaked its way between my thighs and was once again pressing the thick fabric of my skirt into my vagina. The additional pressure didn’t seem to help too much, and I was still very rapidly wiggling my thighs and legs. While I tried not to make eye contact with the people around me, I was acutely aware of their looks. My heart rate increased and I had those sexy and fluttery little butterfly feelings that I love and hate so much about embarrassing public situations. The person in front of me was a middle-aged woman, and she had a full shopping cart. I had noticed her giving me a sympathetic look when she began unloading her cart a little while ago. I think out of solidarity with me and my obvious desperate plight, she hurried along her interaction. The checkout person was a teen or university student, and she also gave me a sympathetic look. This made me blush even more and look away, concentrating on carefully arranging my items on the conveyor belt to maximize how fast I could load my backpack. I did not notice the two other people who had lined up behind me, only that they were there, boxing me in, preventing my dashing off and simply abandoning my groceries. As the woman ahead of me fumbled in her purse for her credit card, I switched from holding myself (which was really not as discreet as I had thought), to using both hands to prep my backpack and doing a little pee pee dance. I was so caught up with my own predicament – no longer feigned – that I didn’t notice the man behind me asking for a little grocery divider, and instead, the checkout girl had to give him one. I noticed too late and in classic Canadian style apologized, mumbling something like, ‘ah sorry.’ He said ‘no worries’ and went about pretending to ignore the fact that I was wiggling about in front of him in the checkout line, desperate to pee. The woman ahead of me finally completed her transaction and headed on her way, with one last sympathetic look over her shoulder at me. I reached the checkout girl. I had already removed my wallet from my backpack to speed up the interaction. “Hello, how is your day going?” I asked in a meek kind of voice. “Not bad, thanks.” She replied curtly, and began rapidly scanning my items. I prayed that nothing would need a price check or any such complication. “How about yours?” She responded. “Oh not so bad…” I replied vaguely. “Did you find everything you needed?” She inquired. I nodded, not wanting to have to concentrate on a conversation, and my mounting desperation. I let her get on with her job, not wanting to slow her down for any reason. “These ones are one sale if you wanted a second one half off.” She observed at one point, holding up a package of noodles. I must have not noticed when I was picking them out, or forgotten to pick up a second pack, which was understandable, given my predicament. “Oh, that’s ok.” I added quickly. I began packing the scanned items into my backpack as quickly as possible. She scanned the final items, and at this point, I transitioned from almost comical pee pee dance, to crossed legs. It had been over an hour since I downed the very large green tea and I had reached a real 9 on the desperation scale. I hadn’t quite planned this out. Usually when I plan to get up to some desperation, pee, or diaper fun in public, I plan things out, but today was more spontaneous, and I was reaching a point of real and serious desperation. The kind of point where you are in real risk of a very public accident. I don’t have the kind of bladder which allows me to let out little leaks to relieve the pressure. I have been practicing, and can sometimes let out a little if I really concentrate and also if I’m absolutely desperate. These little leaks do sometimes happen without my control, but are very often followed by a rather longer release of pee. I really didn’t want that to here in the narrow checkout isle of the T&T Supermarket in front of a group of strangers. The thought of it made my heart race, and my pulse quicken, but also terrified me. Maybe I did want to have a little accident? I mused a little, about the possibility of relaxing, just a little bit, to let out a drop into my panties. I immediately decided against it, as I didn’t want to make a mess and involve the people around me. I clenched down with my PC muscles, removed the hand which was once again pressed between my legs (I had not even been conscious of having done so), and packed the last few items into my bag. “Debit please.” I said, anticipating her question, and she punched a bunch of buttons on the till. She indicated that I could use the machine and I punched in my pin. “Would you like a receipt?” She inquired. “Yes please.” I muttered, replacing my debit card into my wallet and stuffing it into my mostly full backpack. The machine seemed to take forever to print. She tore receipt from the machine and handed it to me. “Just outside the doors in the parking lot, turn left, and then take another left.” She said, cryptically. I hastily put my backpack on, while still doing a pee pee dance, with as much discretion as I could muster. “Huh?” I inquired, not sure what she was talking about, though it should have been obvious. “If you need a washroom, they are just around the corner from the exit.” She clarified. I immediately felt my face flush with warmth. “Oh.” I replied, dumbly. “Thank you.” I had clearly been quite obvious. The fact that a stranger had pointed me in the direction of the washrooms without my having to ask was acutely embarrassing, though I had of course been asking for this kind of treatment. Still lacking decorum, I decided to make a dash for the toilets. Now I can usually make it to the washroom with a bladder at a ‘comfortable’ 9, I have in the past. The trick is to be close to the washroom and to not run or jostle too much. I knew where the washroom was and I could probably make it at a good walking speed. However, still play acting just a little, I rushed out of the exit. The parking lot outside of the exit was busy, with shoppers milling about, cars driving past, and people randomly standing about checking their phones. I zigged and zagged between them at a brisk pace, but still not a jog. I found the main hallway and took a left and there was the sign and hallway leading to the washrooms. It was then when my slightly foggy, desperation confused, brain made a naughty decision; Rather than continuing my brisk pace and hurrying into the washroom, I decided to make a sprint for it. I gripped the straps of my backpack with both hands and took off at a good pace down the hallway towards the washrooms. This was of course a bad idea, if I was hoping to keep my panties dry. While I’m not very good at intentionally letting out little leaks when I’m desperate (and instead tend to just lose control as I mentioned), I am particularly known for leaking when working out. The increased pressure from my running footfalls jostled my bladder, and I could feel a little leak with each running step as I approached the ladies room. Coming around the corner of the entrance of the washroom, I almost collided with a middle-aged woman, and I was forced to slow my pace. Bearing down hard on my PC muscles, to stop the leaking. I hoped that I could find a free stall. Fortunately, Metrotown has well-provisioned washrooms, so that when I entered the relatively crowded washroom, I was quickly able to locate an empty stall. Down at the end, it was sitting with its door ajar. Now, safely inside the washroom, I slowed my pace, weary of slipping on the wet floor, or bumping into one of the many women dotted along the long line of sinks to my side. No longer running, I quickly let go of my backpack strap with my right hand, and, reaching up under my skirt so as not to press is fabric into my damp panties, I held myself tightly. I was largely oblivious to the fact that I was holding myself in a very undignified fashion, and in such a way as to reveal a flash of white cotton to the other women in the washroom. My face burned with warmth as a hastily walked past various women at the sink. Out of the corner of my eye I could see one of them turn to stare at me as she caught my reflection in the mirror. Finally, heart pounding, I reached the empty stall, hand still pressed firmly between my very public, and very wet panties. I pushed the door close, and fumbled with the lock with my left hand. I felt a jet of warmth strike the hand between my legs. I gave up on the lock, removed my wet hand, and used it to yank down my panties, all the while stepping back and spreading my legs. My wet panties were stretched between my thighs as I sort of squatted over the toilet (my backpack and discomfort with sitting on unwiped public toilets preventing me from sitting down). My panties were barely at my thighs when my body released, splashing furiously into the toilet with a loud hiss. As the pressure subsided, I angled my legs more, to prevent splashing and stop the little dribble I felt running down one leg. I peed for a good minute, and possibly a little longer. This is the maximum duration of a Rachel bladder, and I was awash with a wave of relief once I reached the dribbling conclusion of my pee. It took several wadded up balls of toilet paper to dry my sex, legs, and the toilet seat. My panties were another matter. They were rather wet, and I used even more toilet paper to dab them. All the while I had been peeing, I was paranoid that someone would burst in on me, and see my drenched panties spread between my thighs. I was lucky, I suppose, having chosen a stall further from the entrance. As soon as I had stopped peeing, I latched to door, to give me added privacy as I dried myself off. I was careful to inspect my skirt, which had avoided getting wet, which was great, given the embarrassing and revealing steps I’d taken to keep it that way. There may have been a couple of little damp spots on the inside, but the fabric of this particular skirt is pretty thick. Now, as most of you will know by now, I have long carried a spare pair of panties in my purse. This is a habit that comes from long experience with my bladder, its foibles, and also my sometimes intentional wet fun times. While I dried myself off, I came to the realization that I did not have my purse, but rather, I had removed my wallet from my purse before leaving home, and had instead brought a backpack. While the backpack is a large one, capable of holding all of my groceries, it is not as well provisioned as my purse – it lacks a spare pair of panties, pads, makeup and the usually stuff that accumulates in ones purse. I thought about my options. I had largely completed my important errands (I only had to pick up some stamps), and so I could head directly home in my very wet panties, enjoying the cold wetness of them against my skin, and possibly leaving a little wet patch on the seat of the Skytrain. But it was a long walk home, and I still wasn’t quite done with other optional errands (for example, popping over to the library and doing some more window shopping). I wasn’t quite ready to go home, but I was not up for wandering about the mall and area in rather wet panties. I could of course remove my panties and go ‘comando’ but this was not a very good idea. While I’m known for my mild exhibitionism, and get very excited at the prospect of playing up my desperation for a couple of strangers, or flashing my panties at a washroom full of other women (or some of my other adventures), wearing a relatively short skirt without panties is a little too much for me. I would have to navigate the very steep, upskirt inducing, stairs at the Skytrain station, as well as escalators and open areas in Metrotown, where people beneath me could spy my shaved girl parts. I decided that I had been a bad girl, and as such, I would have to wear my wet panties a little longer, but that I would need some other stopgap to get me home. I wadded up a little toilet paper, making a small pad, and pressed this between my legs before hiking up my wet panties once more. The paper would keep my skin dry for a little while, and also reminded me of previous accidents when I was younger, and some of the steps I’d taken after these. My heart was still pounding when I flushed and headed out of the stall to wash my hands. I didn’t recognize any of the women at the sinks from when I had dashed in, not that I would have likely been able to. I dried my hands and headed out, acutely aware of the dampness of the edges of the gusset of my panties, touching my inner thighs, despite the wad of toilet paper. I had a couple of options, and mulled them over in my head. I could go and buy some new panties, I always love new panties, and the packs of cotton girl’s panties that I wear are not that expensive. I was certainly not going to buy something fancy from La Senza or La Vie En Rose, girls who wet their panties are clearly not ready for big girl lingerie. Given my cheap taste for cute cotton little girls panties, I headed all the way across the mall to Walmart. Rather than going straight for the girls isle, I opted to wander about a little. As I have often done, I found myself wandering down the diaper isle, ogling the packages. I’m sure any diaper lovers out there have done the same. Like a moth to the flame, I hovered about the isle, looking for new arrivals, and seeing what I could find. I stared at the packaging of the Goodnites (no change there) still my favorite go to diaper (so cute, so nostalgic), and then worked my way along to the Pull-ups. Now I’ve not worn Pull-ups for many years, and I’m almost certain they don’t fit all that well. I do, after all, wear the L/XL sized Goodnites, and despite these fitting well, I have my doubts about going down to the 4t-5t sized Pull-ups. But right then and there, I decided to try. So I mulled over my options, looking at the feel and learn, night time, and other options available. I finally, after some serious mulling over, decided to pick an adorable pair of regular girls Pull-ups with learning designs, of the largest size I could find. I was excited at the prospect, and even if they didn’t fit all that well, I could still enjoy the stickers that they promised to have inside. I carried these to the checkout as my single item, and paid. I’m at the age where I could have legitimately been buying Pull-ups for my kid, and as I’ve bought Goodnites on many occasions in person, I didn’t get that excited rush that sometimes accompanies buying incontinence products in public. No one knew that I was buying these pull-ups because I’d had an accident, but I knew, and this gave me a naughty little secret which did get my heart pounding just a little bit harder. I got a bag for my item, and headed out, making my way straight for the washrooms. They were easy to find and I didn’t need any help. This time, I headed to the family washroom, and found it open. Feeling a little sneaky, being bereft of a family, I smuggled my way inside, and locked the door. The first thing that I did was open the pack of Pull-ups and give it a big smell, appreciating the new diaper scent. I had pulled out one with a lady doctor character on them. I appreciated them from various angles, taking in the ‘learning designs’ and colours. I also felt them and they felt considerably thinner than Goodnites, which I suppose makes sense, given that these are supposed to be training pants, and not designed to take a full night time bladder’s worth. I did worry that they would leak if I released a very full bladder into them, my Goodnites do this when I wear them (usually when I’m laying down). I pulled down my panties and removed the toilet paper, which was damp. I then pulled down the changing table and finally remembered to take a couple of photos for your perverts. I set up a little still life with wet panties and shameful pull-ups. I then patted myself dry, again, with some toilet paper, as I had become a little damp in the intervening shopping time – both from my panties, and from my natural juices due to all the excitement. I pre-stretched the Pull-ups, a technique I’ve used on smaller pull-ups before, and then slowly shimmied them up my hips. They fit surprisingly well, but were still tight. I gave my legs a couple of practice steps to test out whether or not the sides would hold, and they seemed to do their job. I supposed that they would hold, as long as I didn’t like do any squat thrusts, or similar moves. I did worry for a second that if they didn’t fit, they could tear and fall down while I was wearing them! Or one side would tear, and I would face the awkward situation of a diaper hanging half-attached, under a rather short skirt. I then pondered my options once more. I could pull my panties over the Pull-up, keeping it in place, like a pad. This would work, but also I’d still get the wet clammy feeling of wet panty gusset against my legs. The whole point of the Pull-ups was to wear something dry (and also protective, after all, I’d had am embarrassing bathroom accident in my big girl panties, I told myself, excited by the inner dialogue). The other option was just to risk it, and avoid hip-spreading activities, and hope for the best. I opted for this choice, as putting wet panties over top of a dry clean diaper is just not something a good girl does. I balled up my wet panties so that the dry bits covered the wet and stuffed them into my backpack. There was insufficient room in my backpack for the opened diapers, so I pulled out a cloth bag and put the pack in this. I then headed out into the world. I then went for a rather longer walk all the way to the public library, which is on the other side of the mall and through a lovely little park. There I dropped off a book and picked up a couple of holds I had, stuffing these into the bag with the pull-ups. I spent some time browsing the shelves. It had been a good while since I had peed and while I did this, I felt the urge to pee growing. I was also careful to hold the back of my skirt when walking up the stairs at the library, nervous about flashing my Pull-ups at a library denizen. I was at a very comfortable 4 or 5 when I finally left the library (with a couple additional books and a documentary) and headed back to the mall. I had some time to kill and was keen crack into one of my new books, so I located a cool bench in the park, arranged myself so that I was not sitting on my skirt, and pulled out one of the holds that I have been dying to read. I ploughed through a couple of chapters before I registered that I needed to pee again, properly this time. A good solid 6. Not wanting to get up and abandon my book, and also, still suffused with naughty thoughts, I closed my eyes, and released. I could feel warmth suffuse my girl parts and the diaper filling up. The peed flowed differently inside the Pull-up than it does in a Goodnite. I find Goodnites a little more thirsty, so the pee doesn’t run as much, but rather gets absorbed. In a Pull-up, the pee sort of ran all over getting my bum wet quickly. I bore down after a good 30 seconds (as soon as I was able), worried about leaks. I listened for the tell tale patter of droplets hitting the cement beneath me, indicating that the diaper had leaked, but I heard nothing. While there were no passersby, I reached my hand between my legs and felt for wetness. The Pull-up felt squishy and warm but I didn’t feel any leaks. I read more of my book, all the while enjoying the warm squishy feeling of the wet diaper between my legs. After a couple more chapters, I was starting to get chilly and decided to get up and head back to the mall to get changed before heading home. I hoisted my heavy backpack, picked up my bag, and headed back to the mall. The wet diaper under my skirt felt heavy and rubbed against my thighs subtly. I navigated my way into the mall and found the nearest washroom. Once again, I surreptitiously made my way into the family washroom and barred the door. Because I had in no way emptied my bladder earlier, I wiped off the toilet seat, pulled down my Pull-ups, and peed. I tore the sides of the diaper pretty badly yanking them down, and I tore them off completely while I was peeing. I inspected the gathers and cute designs on the Pull-ups and noticed that I had made the ‘learning designs’ thoroughly disappear. It looked like I needed some more time to learn. After wiping myself, and snapping some pics of the wet Pull-up for all you perverts, I rummaged in my bag and found another diaper. This one I tore badly trying to pre-stretch it, so I stuffed it back in the bag (even torn diapers can be fun, but at home), and pre-stretched another. I carefully shimmied this one up, checked myself in the mirror, washed my hands, and then headed off into the mall once more. I was all excited at having changed myself in a public washroom, and rethinking the whole adventure on my head as I walked to the SkyTrain. I was feeling very naughty by the time I arrived, and as I was on the ground floor, I was less than careful with holding the back of my skirt as I made my way up the steep stairs to the platform. Did I flash a tight pair of Pull-ups to a pervy stranger beneath me? Possibly. But even the prospect of doing this quickened my pulse. I sat on the SkyTrain most ladylike, thank you very much, my adventures with subtle exhibitionism only go so far, and I texted my hubby to see if he was home, he was, and I let him know that he should be ready for a very horny Rachel when I got home. I was throbbing by the time I reached my stop (which isn’t many stops), and I hurried home. My husband didn’t say anything when I got in the door, pushed him into the bedroom and removed my clothes, revealing a brand of diaper that we don’t normally have in the house. It didn’t stay on long however, and I got myself good and satisfied. Well, I hope you enjoyed my adventure, I will share some more soon of course. If you appreciate my work, do please consider buying a pair of my panties or just getting me something off my wishlist, the more fun things I have to wear and play with, the more stories I can share! http://rachelkirwan.wixsite.com/panties Here’s to the next 8000…. Rachel

I went to the massage parlour today. As of late, I’ve been having urge incontinence issues, which mean I have sudden urges that can lead to some big leaks. I wear Poise Thin Maximum pads durning the day and Always Discreet underwear at night, though there have been bigger leaks that have been testing or defeating my protection. Like someone who is not willing to admit they have a bigger problem, I wore a pad to my massage session. I also decided to not go pee before my session. About 40 minutes in, a sudden urge hit me. I needed a toilet immediately. The issue was that I was lying face down on the table while my masseuse was working on my arm. In the time it took me to say “I have to go to the bathroom,” my time was up. I stared leaking full force onto the table. ”Oh my god. No...” She dropped my arm and asked, “Are you going?” ”...yup...” The worst part was that I leaked for like 7 seconds and was completely unable to stop it. It felt good in the release, as warmth spread out from my crotch and soaked through my jeans. Moments like this can be both arousing and horribly embarrasssing. I wrapped the blanket around me, as I was topless, and moved to sitting position, red faced and teary eyed. My middle was completely soaked, my pad was filled, and the sheets and padding on the table were also wet. ”It’s okay. The table is water proof.” But my freaking clothes weren’t! I was soaked to the point that there was no hiding my shame. I had a dry pair of panties and an extra pads, but that didn’t dry my jeans. I apologized profusely and might have cried a little, but my masseuse said that she’s had other clients have accidents during sessions and leaned in close to let me know that she had issues sometimes too. I wore a long jacket today so I was able to wrap myself up to dash for the toilet. However, someone was just leaving, so I had to keep my eyes away as I hurried in to try and dry off. My masseuse knocked and had brought me a towel (which was awesome of her). I dried as much as I could and went to leave. There is a check-out process and I was leaving 5 minutes before my session was supposed to end (in wet, peed in jeans). I did the check out and the lady up front asked if I was okay. I was again saved by my stellar masseuse, who came out and played along like everything was cool. She patted my back and said everything was good. I scheduled for next month, left a 30$ tip, and hurried home. I was too mortified to consider taking pictures. Yes, diaper wearing friends, you told me so...

This story is based on true events with my ex-girlfriend. I only added and changed parts that she did not tell me about. For example, her taking the garbage to the curb. When I was told she was taking out the garbage, she didn't specify exactly what she was doing, so I had to improvise in some minor respect for consistency. The outcome was not changed. Please inform of any errors. Thank you! When we got together, I remember wondering how I ended up with someone so beautiful. She had dark hazel eyes, long black hair, and a button-like smile. She was not out of shape, but she had a small pudge on her stomach and hips a bit wider than she liked. Her face was always decorated with a soft, vulnerable expression, no matter how she felt. She had the features of a well-off Hispanic girl, but with misleading, milky-white skin. She tanned easily, but it never seemed to stay. She didn't share my fetish, but she did care enough about me to do little things. She would gladly tell me of the many times she had found herself desperate or leaking and she always kept me updated. I think towards the latter half of our relationship some of the moments were staged, but not quite faked. I believe she would put off going to the bathroom or drink just a little more than was needed so she would find herself in a position of dancing and shuffling - sometimes in public, sometimes not. The times she was most susceptible to leaking - or as it seemed to me - was when she went out running. She didn't involuntarily leak very often; it normally only happened when she lost control, but was close enough to the toilet to prevent an accident. Of course, like most things in life, there are exceptions. One of the most erotic things that I can remember was on Valentine's day, during one of those infamous runs. If memory serves, it was a Sunday. She woke up in the late morning, sometime around 10:00 or 11:00. She laid for about twenty minutes before sitting up, letting her eyes adjust to the soft light which poured in her window. She uncovered herself when she sat up, exposing her naked body (she always slept in the nude). She stood up and yawned. Her bare breasts contorted and giggled as she rose both arms in the air and stretched. She walked over to the light-blue shorts and the dark-green, cotton t-shirt that sat on the ground and put them on. The shirt went over her head and concealed everything down to her belly-button, stopping right above the pelvic area. The shorts then covered the rest of her nudity, not going lower than her delicious, Greek thighs. Without any underwear, her nipples were constantly visible through the thin-fabric, and in the right position, the loose-fitting shorts could easily compromise her lower parts. She left the room and headed straight for the bathroom. She urinated for a some time before pulling up her shorts and washing her hands. She enjoyed breakfast, drinking down a full glass of orange juice at its end - a Floridian cliche. As she washed her dishes, she planned her next action. She wanted to see me, but it was still early and there were other things that needed to be done. It made more sense to get them out of the way first, lest they interrupt our time together. She thought about grabbing a shower, but it made more sense to go running first. The hot, Miami sun was bound to leave her in need of a shower. The cotton shirt and the loose shorts were replaced with a high-cut, black bra, some snug, faded-black shorts, and a black t-shirt. Then, she thought about me: she drank another glass of water before slipping on a pair of black, bikini-style panties. I've never been good with materials, but I believe they were some blend of nylon; they were softer than cotton, but not quite as elegant as silk. It was rare that she wore panties. She usually only did it during her "time of the month," but she knew that I loved them, and she figured that a little extra protection during the run couldn't hurt. After putting her shorts back on, she grabbed her keys and left the house. Sitting down in her car, she could already feel the liquid filling her bladder. It was not at all bad, but she knew that by the time she was done running, she would be in more than a hurry to get home. Not wasting anytime, she drove to the park; it was maybe ten minutes away with Miami traffic. When she got there, the urge had increased slightly. It wasn't enough to make her outwardly desperate, but it was enough to constantly remind her of her state. After each lap she completed, she would find herself back at the car, taking a drink from her water bottle. It only took one lap for her to notice a surprisingly large change in her need. Her legs started to gravitate toward one another, and there was a slight, bittersweet pang of desperation constantly being emitted from her upper pelvic area. As she went for another lap, she started to regret her brashness. It was rare for her to drink so much before running, and she could remember occasions where she had drank far less and just barely made it to the toilet. Would she make it home? Yes, she would make it home - she had too - but it wouldn't be the first time she would have to leave early and possibly make a mad-dash for the commode. It didn't matter, though. Regret was pointless; what's done is done, and as long as she made it home in time, it didn't make a difference. By the end of the second lap, she stood at her car, clutching her water bottle, wondering if she could take any more of the liquid. She didn't dare spread her legs standing still, and performing any act of desperation would have been too embarrassing - despite her shamelessness. She considered getting in the car and leaving. She was confident she could make it home in time, but that was too easy. She had come with the intention of gaining a story she could tell me, and she wanted it to be a good one. She knew that running one more lap would take about fifteen minutes. With a notable lack of confidence, she figured she could make it all the way around dry, but the ride back might get her. She ultimately decided on doing one more lap. Once she finished, she would get in the car, speed home, and pray she made it to the toilet. The run itself left her with mixed feelings. Part of her was glad that she had decided to do it, knowing that the story would bring me a lot of pleasure, but another part of her second-guessed it. Each step sent made her bladder clench and brought her urine just a little bit closer to spilling out without control. She originally thought the beginning steps of her third lap would be the worst of it, but she was mistaken. As the minutes ticked on, each impact of her foot with the ground left her a little closer to losing control. Every jolt brought her pee a little closer to escape. It eventually got to the point that she was waiting - almost expecting - to leak. The urine was at the very bottom of her system and making a little release involuntarily would have been no great feat. After roughly seven minutes into the third lap, she started to feel waves of desperation wash over her. Each one seemed to whisper into her ear for release. It told her to go for just a second, that she would feel better and that I would love to hear about it; but her social instincts prevented the shameful act. The waves got progressively stronger, and when the run was almost over, she was met by one more intense than any before it. She instantly knew this one was different, and any normal person would have slowed down, if not stopped and resorted to holding themselves. She, however, kept running; almost through pure stubbornness and willpower. But her efforts were in vain: a bit of urine forced its way out. She was surprised by the sudden dampness of her underwear. She hadn't faltered for a second, yet the fresh pee dripping from her womanhood begged to differ. She wanted to know what had happened, but there was no time to consider the matter. Another surprise was already in the works. She felt - just for the slightest of seconds - her muscles contract. A quick burst of urine was released, soaking the underwear and possibly leaking through. This time she looked down at the shorts, but quickly returned to looking straight ahead. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself or her possibly wet shorts. Before she could completely regain control of herself, another, smaller burst of urine left her. She felt two streams run down her left leg as she continued to run. It was apparent that her panties were now dripping wet and her shorts were at least dampened. The release in urine had helped dissipate her desperation slightly, but each step was still a trial against her willpower. The bottom of her shorts were wet and she could feel the moistened fabric rub against her leg. Her cheeks were a bit flushed and she had begun shaking. She managed to hold it all in until she made it to her car. When she sat down she exhaled heavily and examined her shorts. They were definitely wet, but it didn't seem too visible. It was likely no one had noticed. This had relieved her, but she was still a bit hyped up on adrenaline, and her urge to urinate was still remarkable. She drove off, shifting frequently in her seat and keeping her free-hand mashed into her crotch. The ride home was about ten minutes, and despite the fact she was no longer running, there were more than a couple of moments where she almost lost control. When she pulled up to her house, she noticed her dad's car was currently in the driveway. She couldn't block him in, so she had to park by the curb, go inside, get the keys from her mom, move his vehicle, park her vehicle where his was, and then park his directly behind it.. This was all done while she was not only trying to hide her desperation from her mom and anyone who could have been watching, but also while she was trying to keep from wetting herself. Fortunately, the urge had temporarily subsided; and while it was not enough to keep her from cramming her hand inbetween her legs when she was in a car or from performing quick dances when she was out, it was, however, just enough to give her a bit of false-confidence. When she got both the cars in the driveway successfully, she scrambled out and headed for the bathroom. Before she could get into the sanctuary to relieve herself, she was stopped by her mom. The garbage needed to be taken out. She could have gone to the toilet first. Certainly it wouldn't have been an issue. But she thought of me and she thought of how she wanted to go the whole nine-yards. She had done so much; why stop before the story was complete? She soon started to wonder if she had made the right decision. Her bladder ached and her desperation was growing exponentially fast. Suddenly, she wasn't sure if she would even make it. She quickly brought the bag of garbage to the curb, still aware of the moistness of her shorts. She was experiencing another wave of desperation, but this one, much like the one that inspired her leak, felt different. It felt as though it were less merciless, less forgiving. When she stopped at the curb, she shuffled her feet back and forth; when she discarded the bag, both of her hands pressed into her crotch. It was a last ditch effort to prevent an accident. She no longer cared if someone saw her desperate; it was better than them seeing her have an accident. She walked as quickly as she could to the front door of her house. She thought about dropping her pants behind a bush and just letting loose, but she was too close to the toilet to resort to such a thing. As she walked in the house, her mom looked at her with mild amusement and skeptism: her daughter clutching at herself, desperately trying to reach the toilet. It didn't matter, though. She instinctively knew that soaking her pants and making a mess on the floor was far more embarrassing and troublesome than putting on a display. So she ignored her laughter and kept on toward the toilet. The door to the bathroom was almost in sight, but she didn't know where her dad was. She knew that if he was in the bathroom, even if it was only for a few seconds, it would be all over. She would stand in front of the door wetting all over the place, drenching her shorts and panties. Fortunately for her, he was not. She flew in the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. She flicked on the light and darted towards the toilet. She could feel her urine about to shoot out, not caring whether or not her pants were at her ankles or that her butt was on the seat. When her pants had reached her upper thighs and her butt was just above the toilet seat, she lost it. If she had been delayed for even a second she would have added to the wetness in her clothes, and a few seconds would have been an accident. She spent the next minute peeing quickly and heavily, reflecting on how close she had come to peeing herself not only in public, but in front of her parents.

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

So I don't know if anyone else had to do this as a child, but for a number of months, my mother was convinced that the pullups I was wearing to bed to keep my bed dry were preventing me from learning to not wet the bed. Rather than go without protection, and thereby imperiling my bedding, she 'encouraged' me to wear panties underneath my Goodnites, so that I would feel them when they got wet, and wake up, thereby learning to wake up in the middle of the night to pee, rather than wet my bed. This didn't work, and this practice was abandoned after a couple of months, and many pairs of wet panties. It turned out that the panties still cause the Goodnites to leak, because they reduce the effectiveness of the gathers. In a fit of nostalgia, I recreated the days of old, and I wore panties under my Goodnites, resulting in a predictable puddle. I just made this video available through my website, so please get in touch if you are interested in a copy! http://rachelkirwan.wixsite.com/panties/wetting-videos