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Chapter 3.  Potty-Training

“Hi honey!” Courtney called when she arrived at Kyle’s place that evening. “How was the game?” Then she smelled the wafting aroma.

She found Kyle in the kitchen, a goofy grin across his face. “You didn’t watch it, did you? Never even planned to. You cooked for me instead!” She kissed him on the cheek. “What’s gotten into you, lately?”

Dinner was exquisite; he even served wine. Then one thing led to another, and Courtney soon found herself in just her bra and diaper, lying against his chest.

“Cute set,” he said. “I love that shade of pink on you.”

She felt his hand on her back and then her bra come loose. “Then why do you take it off so soon?” she teased.

“Well, I love this shade of pink, too.” He brought his fingers to the bullseye surrounding her nipple.

Courtney gasped. Then he climbed on top of her, cupping her breasts while kissing her neck.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” Courtney panted.

He straightened out the protective towel beneath her, then traced his hands along the lace trim of her diaper. He cupped her sex and tickled the fabric with his fingers, but she couldn’t feel much through the padding.

“You can take it off now…if you’re ready, too,” she whispered.

Kyle undid the tapes, and Courtney lifted her hips to allow him to slide her diaper off. She felt the rush that always came from baring her vulva—at once both delicious and terrifying. He touched her there, and then again, and again. She sure could feel his fingers now. Her legs spread of their own volition, and a moan escaped her lips.

And then she felt something else. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh…get off, quick!” She practically pushed Kyle onto the bed and clutched the towel against her groin. “Ohhh, nooo,” she whimpered, as pee splattered against the towel, soaking it thoroughly. When it finally stopped, she just lay there, her hand glued between her legs, exasperation plastered on her face.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Kyle hugged her from the side. Then he motioned at the towel. “Is it…that bad?”

Courtney let the towel fall away, revealing a crotch so wet it still dripped in places.

“Another towel,” they said in unison. Kyle grabbed one from the bathroom, which Courtney used to pat dry her butt and thighs. He also brought a glass of water to calm her nerves.

She thanked him and took a few sips. “This is so embarrassing… Did any get on the sheets?” She climbed off the bed, revealing a very large wet spot on the original towel.

“Doesn’t look like it,” said Kyle, feeling underneath. “The plastic lining seemed to do the trick.”

Courtney set her empty glass on the nightstand. “I’ll wash them for you, anyway. It’s the least I can do.” She wrapped the new towel around and between her legs like a makeshift diaper, as insurance on the way to the shower. Before stepping in, she grabbed an overnight from her stash and placed it just outside. Then she turned the nozzle and rinsed off all the pee.

Kyle smiled as she emerged from the bathroom in just her overnight diaper. “Hi, cutie,” he called.

“In this?” They tried to make them cute, with little moons or some such pattern, but their true function was still embarrassingly obvious. Tight elastic at the thighs and waist created a watertight seal, with thick, thick padding in between that covered every inch of Courtney’s butt and groin.

“In anything. Hey, I can only imagine how you must feel, but you know I really don’t mind. Accidents happen, right sweetheart?”

She curled up next to him, and he kissed her goodnight.

* * *

By the time Monday arrived, Courtney just wanted this stupid presentation to be over. She had conducted all the research, prepared the slides, and now her boss would be stealing the credit—all because of some lame excuse that she couldn’t “make it through the meeting.” She stood at the conference table, serving coffee to all their best clients while they waited for Mr. Mills to arrive.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said as he entered. “I think you’ll be very excited by this new line in women’s athleticwear. And here to present it is Miss Courtney Clark.” He winked at her.

Courtney’s heart did a somersault. Well, that was unexpected! She straightened her skirt and strolled to the front of the room. “Thank you, Mr. Mills,” she said slowly. Then she read from the notes she had so carefully prepared. At the fifth slide, several clients clapped with excitement. She was nailing this! She began to move beyond her notes, adding embellishments from her vast base of knowledge.

And then she felt it, a cool breeze under her skirt where insulating padding should have been. Had she forgotten to put on a diaper?

“Is everything okay, Miss Clark?” asked her boss.

“Um, y-yes, now as you can see…” She resumed reading verbatim from her notes. But wait, she wasn’t naked beneath her skirt. Something frilly was there, thin and delicate…like that female underwear from the video? She stumbled through the next two slides, smiling nervously at the now deadpan audience.

“So, in conclusion, this new product line…” A pressure filled her groin and then receded, leaving moisture in its wake. Her eyes darted downward. Nothing showing through, thank goodness. “This new product line…” The pressure came again, much stronger. She pressed her thighs together in a meek attempt to block the impending tidal wave. “This new…product—” The wave crashed, soaking whatever undergarment she wore. Warm pee streamed down both legs, splattering audibly on the floor.

“Courtney…” said Mr. Mills, staring at the growing puddle beneath her.

~ ~

“Courtney…” said Kyle, his hand on her shoulder, “are you alright?”

She wiped her eyes. What a nightmare! Then she noticed Kyle staring at the mattress. She propped up on her elbows and peered down. The sheets were in a tussle—she probably kicked them off while dreaming—and poking out from under them was a huge wet stain. She checked her overnight diaper, waterlogged and misaligned. A trail of pee along her inner thigh marked where the leak had occurred.

“Ohmygosh, Kyle, I’m so sorry! You just changed these sheets last night.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not your fault.” He brushed his hand tenderly down her arm. “It’s actually kind of…cute.”

* * *

When Courtney arrived home that morning, she had already made up her mind—the night’s events confirmed it. She would train herself to pee in the toilet, like the women in Dr. Wolcott’s experiment.

The question was how. She sat at her computer, searching for advice. The terms “adult female toilet-training” or any variation pulled up nothing. Finally she clicked on a parent’s guide for potty-training a male toddler. The site gave several useful ideas, like keeping the potty close at hand and recording in a journal any successes or failures at using it. She didn’t own one, obviously, but the bathroom was only fifteen feet from her desk—close enough, she hoped.

Courtney removed her wet diaper and stared at the toilet. Wow, she was really doing this. She touched the white porcelain bowl, cold and intimidating. She had used one before, of course—but peeing in it? All her life, the world assumed her incapable of that. To do so now felt like transgressing into a forbidden land.

She knew that men used it standing, facing forward like she was now, but as she peered down at the slit nestled between her legs, she questioned whether that would work for her. So she stepped forward and straddled the bowl, but that felt awkward and uncomfortable. Finally she turned and sat.

And sat and sat. She spread her legs open and closed, trying to work out which muscles would cause herself to pee voluntarily. She could not recall the last time she attempted this—maybe before a family road trip? Soon it was clear nothing was happening. She vaguely remembered wetting just now on the way home—maybe that was why?

Her eye then fell on the large cabinet that stored her diapers, and she pondered the next question: Should she put a new one on or try this cold-turkey? The site suggested leaving it off, to keep the toddler (or her, in this case) from mindlessly peeing in it. She gazed again at the orifice that refused to obey her commands. To leave it naked frightened her, especially after last night. She would play it safe, for now. So she fastened a diaper with nothing on over it, to simplify the steps involved in peeing.

Then she sat at her desk, resolving to try going again in a little while. She opened a new file and wrote:

“10:12 AM – Toilet attempt, unsuccessful.”

Now what? To pass the time, she resumed her search for anything more about the mysterious Dr. Wolcott. The first hit was a new video from the same cable channel as before.

~ ~

“We end tonight with letters from you, our viewers,” said the balding announcer. “Many of you wrote in about Kate’s interview with Jane Wolcott.

“Emily from Dallas writes, ‘I would love to believe her, but the evidence is not in her favor. Our two sons both toilet-trained as toddlers, but their younger sister—now in her teens—wears diapers 24/7 out of necessity. The few times she rebelled ended in very wet clothes. Don’t be filling her head with crazy ideas!’

“And Alexa from Kansas writes, ‘What’s next? Will women start ditching their bras?’

“Read more on our website. Good night to you all.”

~ ~

A URL popped onto the screen as the video ended, leading to the channel’s homepage. Dozens of dismissive comments filled the screen, some bordering on ridicule. Then, at the very bottom, was one from Allison Diaz: “I studied with Dr. Wolcott before practicing urology. Her views have merit—I do not believe women are necessarily incontinent from birth.”

Several replies followed, starting with Big Johnson: “Come test your theory in my bed, and I’ll lick up the mess!”

Courtney stopped reading there. She was about to enter Diaz’s name into the search bar when she felt her diaper grow warm. Darn it, this was not starting well! She clicked on her new file and wrote:

“10:48 AM – Diaper wetting.”

Then she trudged to the bathroom to reset and try again. Propped up against the pillows at the head of the changing table, she peered yet again at the problematic area. Out of habit, she had already placed a new diaper there between her legs, lest she wet herself while cleaning off. She took a deep breath. Maybe the parent’s guide had it right… She refolded the diaper and returned it to the stack. Then she walked back to her desk, naked from the waist down, resisting the urge to slip her hand between her legs on the off-chance she leaked. Don’t be silly, Courtney, you just went! She spread out a towel on her chair and sat.

Courtney typed in “Allison Diaz urologist,” the first hit sending her to a clinic homepage. Then she did a double-take. Dr. Diaz practiced in the next town over, just twenty minutes away! Courtney took a screenshot and planned to call during business hours.

When no other leads came up, she sighed and opened the slides for work. Maybe her boss would let her answer a client question tomorrow? Unlikely, but still better to prepare. After a while, she glanced at her phone: Nearly an hour had gone by. She peered down. Did she feel anything yet? What was it even supposed to feel like? To be safe, she marched back to the toilet but produced not a drop. Maybe I’m dehydrated, she thought. She filled a glass at the sink and gulped it down.

“11:43 AM – Toilet attempt, unsuccessful.”

Courtney then returned to her slides. Maybe Mr. Mills would call in sick. She imagined herself prancing into the conference room. “Good morning, gentlemen. I’ll be giving the presentation today. I think you’ll love this new line of women’s athleticwear!” At the fifth slide, the room burst into applause, just like in her dream. She smoothed out her slick business suit, the one that so perfectly camouflaged her diaper lines. Her diaper—ohmygosh!

Courtney’s eyes shot open, as her hand flew to her crotch. Ohmygosh, ohmygosh! She rose on unsteady feet and hobbled towards the bathroom. Almost there, you can do this, girl… But she couldn’t. The stream began just as she passed through the doorway, spraying wildly with each step. By the time she reached the toilet, it had already slowed to a trickle. She sat down, hearing a few satisfying drops land in the bowl. Count that as a small victory? Maybe?

She lay back on the changing table and wiped down her legs. Then she instinctively reached for a diaper. Wait, no. She would not give up just yet. Hands on her hips, she marched off to the closet, unprotected, to retrieve a mop. The cool breeze between her legs still felt unnerving, but perhaps a bit less so than before. Once satisfied with the cleanliness of the tile floor, she pondered what to write in her log. Finally she entered “11:58 PM. Floor wetting”—unsure how else to phrase it.

Courtney gazed at the first four entries. Clearly this wasn’t working—either she tried peeing too early or else waited too long—it was so hard to predict! She returned to the parents’ guide for advice.

“A potty timer can help remind the forgetful or distracted child to go at regular intervals.”

A timer—of course! She remembered Dr. Wolcott mentioning that as well. She set the one on her phone for an hour—no, better make it 45 minutes. Then she settled down on her bed for some Netflix.

“Hah!” she shouted when the timer buzzed. The towel beneath her was dry as a bone. She walked to the toilet again and sat. Her smiled soon faded, though. Ugh, what was she doing wrong? After several minutes of producing nothing, she returned to the bedroom and flicked on the news.

~ ~

“More protests downtown yesterday,” said the young male anchor. “The cause? Gender equity in parks and theatres. Activists want more changing tables installed. They claim the lines are too long to make it in and out during intermission.

“We spoke to Miss Callie Peterson, who attended the rally: ‘It just takes us longer—wiping off and such. Plus there’s like, twice as many urinals in the guys’ room as there are changing tables in ours. That’s probably why the lines are so much longer. You see it and you’re like, “I’d miss the whole second half!” So you end up sitting through it wet.’

“But the Parks Department is refusing to budge. A spokesman said, ‘We support equitable facilities. But should your tax dollars go towards fancy changing rooms when women are already wearing protection? Here’s a cheaper solution: buy thicker diapers.’”

~ ~

Just then, Courtney felt warm liquid puddling beneath her. Jeez, no warning at all this time? She glanced at her phone: Not ten minutes had elapsed. Why couldn’t she go on the toilet just now?

After several more accidents, Courtney had had enough. How was this even possible if her bladder gave so little warning—and if when she did feel it coming, she had no ability to stop it? She fastened a diaper around her hips in defeat.

* * *

On Monday morning, Courtney stood at the conference table, serving coffee to all their best clients while everyone waited for Mr. Mills to arrive.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said as he entered. “I think you’ll be very excited by this new line of women’s athleticwear…”

Of course he didn’t ask her to give the presentation. He would never show her that kind of respect. She settled in at the far end of the table, sipping coffee while her boss presented her slides as his own. By the midway mark, she noticed her cup was empty. Coffee was never a girl’s best friend, but the soothing taste helped alleviate her frustration. She poured herself another.

As she watched the hot liquid fill the cup, her bladder released a long, heavy stream into her diaper, quite nearly filling it. Fantastic. Now she’d have to sit through the rest of the meeting with a wet bottom. Discreetly as she could, she reached under the table and felt around. No leaks, thank goodness. See? She could have “made it through.” What were diapers for, anyway?

The presentation marched on. “And so,” Mr. Mills concluded, “with this new line, we can expect vast new streams of revenue. Thank you for joining us.”

The room erupted in applause, and Courtney felt another sharp pressure in her groin. Oh, not again! But she could do nothing to prevent her diaper from filling even further.

“Courtney, do you have anything to add?” asked Mr. Mills.

“Hmm?” She peered up from her empty coffee mug, trying to form a sentence, but all she could think of was whether her diaper had just leaked all over her skirt. “Uhh…I think you covered everything.” Great, now she sounded like an airhead.

Mr. Mills led the clients to the lobby for wine and cheese, but Courtney stayed plastered to her seat. She noticed one client hang back, the sole woman in the crowd.

“Are you alright, miss?” The lady asked when everyone else was gone.

Courtney lifted her butt off the chair and glanced beneath. Sure enough, a small puddle had formed. “Um, no…not really,” she muttered.

“Here’s some paper towel,” the lady said, handing Courtney a wad.

“Thank you,” she Courtney, her face flush.

“Leather is magic, see? The chair looks good as new.”

“I wish the same could be said of my skirt.” Courtney managed half a smile.

“We’ve all been there, hon. Do you have a change of clothes?”

Courtney sighed. “Nope, but the office girls keep a blow dryer in the changing room. Think I could…?”

“Honestly, it’s not that visible. Black is also magic. I’m sure you could make it there undetected.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“Want my advice? Lay off the coffee, girl.”

Courtney shuffled off to the changing room, careful so as not to drip on the floor. She passed a few coworkers, but none seemed to notice her calamity—or so she prayed. At last, she opened the door to see Krystal at the sink in only a blouse and diaper, blow drying her designer slacks.

“Stupid, cheap-ass diaper…” Krystal muttered. “Oh, hey! How’d the presentation go?”

Courtney frowned.

“That bad, huh? Um, do these look okay to you? I think they’re finally dry.”

Courtney nodded. Then she stammered, “Hey, can I use that when you’re done?”

* * *

Late that afternoon, Courtney sat at her computer, feeling dejected. Her quest for bladder independence had hit an insurmountable wall. Yesterday she couldn’t make it fifteen feet to the toilet. Today she couldn’t even sit through a client presentation without wetting her clothes. Mr. Mills was probably wise to present it himself.

She Googled “female bladder control” and clicked on the top hit.

“Managing Female Incontinence: A Guide for Parents and Daughters, by Andrew Young, M.D.”

Intrigued, Courtney read on.

“By his third or fourth year, a young boy will have mastered the use of the toilet. He will know when he needs to go and can hold it until he gets there. A girl, on the other hand, will never master this seemingly simple task, for her gender lacks the necessary bladder awareness and control. She will remain incontinent for her entire life.

“Parents should therefore never expect more than their daughter can realistically achieve. If she pees on the floor before bath time, do not scold her for it; leave her diaper on longer before placing her in the tub. If she attempts to copy how her older brother pees in the toilet, gently reminder her that little girls use diapers instead. Most important, never ever attempt to potty-train her, as her inevitable failure will only magnify her feelings of inadequacy.

“As she grows older, her dependence on diapers may embarrass or frustrate her. Boys may tease her for it. She may fear longer outings with limited opportunities to change. Kindly reassure her that she has nothing to be ashamed of, and help her remember to keep plenty of supplies at hand. That said, accidents are bound to happen. Her diaper may leak—at night or even in the daytime. Or she may find herself without protection and wet her clothes. In these scary moments, show her kindness, never consternation, and help her problem-solve to avoid a repeat incident.

“By adolescence, most girls will have accepted their incontinence as a fact of life and learned to deal with it. Yet they will also encounter new challenges. As her urinary system matures, a teenaged girl will start to wet more frequently, especially during physical activity. A sports diaper can help in this regard, but she still may shy away from athletics around this time. She might also recoil from activities like debate club or student government, for fear of leaking at a public event. Be sympathetic to her reasons, and never push her beyond her comfort level.

“In summary, a girl can enjoy a comfortable and fulfilling life, albeit one in diapers. With proper guidance and support, she can learn to manage her incontinence.”

As she finished reading, Courtney’s life flashed through her mind. She could see herself in every one of those paragraphs—the little girl scolded for ever removing her diaper, the schoolgirl teased by boys on the playground, the high schooler too scared of leaking to join the show choir, despite her gorgeous voice.

And now here she was, the talented market researcher afraid of confronting her sexist boss, but even more afraid of what would happen if he said yes. She glanced at her expensive skirt, hanging in the bathroom after she had rinsed it out. She gazed at the deep creases that her diaper formed in the fabric of her leggings, the ones she’d slid on after finally getting to shower.

To hell with Andrew Young. To hell with “managing” her incontinence. She clutched her phone and dialed the number for Dr. Allison Diaz.

Edited by brucejedi (see edit history)
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  • 3 weeks later...

Chapter 4.  A Prophecy Foretold

Courtney placed her toilet aspirations on hold while she awaited the doctor’s advice. On Sunday, Kyle had checked the sheets and announced condescendingly, “All dry this morning—nice, sweetie!” To her, he had almost seemed disappointed. Well, he better get used to it.

Now she sat waiting in the examination room, staring at all the scary equipment. Most of it looked similar to the gynecologist’s, with stirrups and a swiveling funnel and—she averted her eyes.

At last the door swung open, and in walked a tall blonde lady in a white lab coat. “Allison Diaz,” she said, extending her hand. “So what can I help you with today, Courtney?”

“Um…with my incontinence?”

“Okay…what about it, specifically?” asked the doctor.

Maybe she should have planned this better. “Well…” Courtney began, “I had three accidents last week. One during sex, one at night, and one at an important work meeting.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Accidents can be unnerving.”

“I mean, my boyfriend understands, and I hid it well at work, so it wasn’t, like, catastrophic or anything. But it’s still kind of humiliating. Is there…anything you can recommend?”

Diaz answered as if on autopilot: “Complete urinary incontinence is the norm for women and has no medically proven treatment. Have you considered investing in better diapers? Our office has several brands we recommend.”

“I already spend a fortune on diapers. The ones I wear get good reviews online and work about as well as can be expected. I just don’t…want to have to wear them.” There, she said it.

Diaz sighed. “None of us do, I suppose. So, is there anything else I can help you with?”

Courtney shook her head, feeling foolish for wasting the doctor’s time. And she practically had to beg Mr. Mills for the morning off—all for nothing, apparently. Dr. Diaz smiled warmly and started walking towards the door.

“Wait,” said Courtney. “Did you study with Dr. Jane Wolcott?”

The doctor froze. “Where did you hear that name?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“From an article she wrote—‘A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy.’ I only saw the title—the full-text was restricted for some reason. But I found an interview she did on TV, and then I saw your comment on the discussion board.”

“Hmm, sounds like the cat’s out of the bag. Can you keep a secret, Courtney?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Allison Diaz sat down next to her. “Jane was my doctoral advisor. When I arrived at the university, she was still an assistant professor, chasing corporate dollars. She assigned me to a project on diaper absorbency. Even then, she was trying to improve the lives of women. If they had more confidence in the effectiveness of their diapers, Jane thought they might have more confidence in themselves.”

Courtney nodded.

“But it soon grew clear that our corporate sponsors had no interest in improving their products. They just wanted our research to show they outperformed other brands. Think about it, do companies really want to design a longer-lasting daytime diaper? No, they want women changing as often as possible, to maximize sales. But Jane put on a face and brought in tons of grant money.

“When the university awarded her tenure, everything changed. She dropped her corporate sponsors and began asking more fundamental questions about female incontinence. It started small: Jane thought if women could direct at least some of their urine into the toilet, then maybe their diapers would stay dryer for longer. We began a proof-of-concept study, but our participants struggled—many had never tried to pee voluntarily before, ever.”

“Ohmygosh, that’s what happened to me!” Courtney blurted out.

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, uh…maybe I should have told you this sooner. I tried using a potty timer last week, but I couldn’t make it work.”

“You tried to toilet-train?”

“Briefly, yes, after watching Jane’s interview.”

“But it didn’t go so well?”

“There was a lot of…mopping involved.” Courtney frowned. “So what happened with your experiment?”

“Some of the women made progress, others didn’t. The biggest outcome was to whet Jane’s appetite. She started searching for anything she could find on female incontinence. But search after search turned up empty. Apparently, either no one finds it worth studying, or no one’s willing to fund it.”

“Or some combination,” Courtney added.

“Exactly. But her exhaustive review led to one crucial finding: that the standard account lacks evidence behind it. It’s more myth than science. One day Jane looked up from her screen, turned to me, and asked, ‘Could women learn to direct all of their urine into the toilet? Could they ditch their diapers altogether?’ The next few months were a flurry of activity—writing grant proposals, recruiting participants, and conducting the first-ever study of female toilet-training.”

“Jane mentioned that in the video,” said Courtney, “but she said the funding dried up.”

“Well, that’s half true. In fact, it was the human subjects board that pulled the plug. They claimed the study was causing the participants undo stress, with too small a chance of long-term benefit. Jane appealed, but she lost her case, and the study ended with no definitive results. Since then, no funding agency has been willing to touch the topic.”

“So that’s it? We’ll never know?”

“That was the end of Jane’s research, but not of the story, itself. Based on her notes and preliminary findings, she published the speculative article you saw. It sparked a torrent of interest, especially among female urologists. Even a few local news channels picked up the story. Then came the hate mail. The lewd, demeaning comments on discussion boards. Rightwing groups demanding that Jane be fired. And then the journal editors informed us that they were rescinding her article, on the grounds that it ‘lacked substantiated evidence.’ After that, Jane’s work was purged from all the major databases. No one will ever see it online again.”

“That’s so awful,” said Courtney.

“Thankfully, tenure protected Jane from being fired. But the university bowed to the rightwing media and refused to defend her work. As the hate mail accumulated, Jane began to fear for her personal safety. She stopped taking interviews. She withdrew from public life. Jane confided that she thought the diaper industry had orchestrated her downfall. But I’m not so sure. The motive for keeping women in diapers extends far beyond just those who sell them. It’s the lynchpin of our patriarchal society. The world isn’t ready to listen to Jane Wolcott.”

Courtney struggled to take all this in. “So the self-fulfilling prophecy is true, then?”

“Truth is a complicated word in science. Suffice it to say that the standard explanation stands on flimsy ground. Whether Jane’s theory is any better remains to be seen.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“Personally, I believe her.”

“I wish I could have read the essay before it got taken offline,” Courtney mused.

Allison smiled. She unlocked the top drawer of her desk and said, “Remember this stuff? It’s called ‘paper.’” She handed Courtney a stapled pamphlet.

Courtney read the title out loud: “A self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“Happy reading,” said the doctor. “In the meantime, how about that urological exam?”

“Oh yeah, that.” Courtney glanced back at the scary equipment. “Maybe we could skip that part?”

Allison laughed. “Come on, let’s see what we’re up against. Is your diaper dry?”

“I changed it before you came in.”

“Great. And how long before that did you wet it?”

“Um, I don’t remember?” It wasn’t something she normally thought about.

“Alright. Here, drink this bottle of lemonade. I’d like to test your bladder function.”

Courtney gulped it down.

“Ready?” The doctor beckoned at the examination chair.

Courtney took a deep breath. She removed her skirt, walked over, and placed her legs in the stirrups.

“Okay, shall we remove your diaper now?”

Courtney nodded hesitantly. She undid the tapes and lifted her hips to allow Dr. Diaz to slide it off. She felt a rush of fear, and then relief as the doctor positioned the swiveling funnel against her vulva. She felt a strap tighten around her waist, and another high-up around each thigh, holding her tight against the funnel.

“How does that feel? Secure enough against your skin?” Allison asked.

“I guess so?”

“Well, it won’t catch every drip—but neither does a diaper, right?”

Courtney half-smiled.

“I saw you get nervous when we removed yours.”

“Yeah,” said Courtney.

“So answer me this: If you went without protection with a toilet close by, how confident are you that you could avoid an accident—very confident, somewhat confident, or not confident at all?”

“Um, not confident at all.”

“How many diapers do you go through in a day?”

“Like five or six?”

“And how often do you leak when you sneeze, cough, or exert yourself physically—very often, somewhat often, rarely, or never?”

“Um, very often,” said Courtney.

Diaz jotted down some notes. “Okay, let’s test this funnel out. Can you cough for me?”

Courtney coughed. Normally she would feel moisture in her diaper from that, but without one she couldn’t tell. “Did I…?”

“Yup, you leaked some into the funnel. Okay, now I’m going to swivel this down for your examination. If you feel yourself starting to go, just holler and we’ll swivel it right back up.”

“Okay,” said Courtney, feeling nervous again as cool air graced her vulva.

“This might hurt just a bit,” said Allison. Courtney felt something slide inside her. “We’re going to measure the strength of your pelvic floor muscles. Can you clench against this diode I just inserted?”

“Like this?” Courtney asked, pressing her thighs together as best she could in the stirrups.

“No, not with your legs. Internally, I mean.”

Courtney felt around down there with her mind. “Um, how?”

“Not happening, hmm?”

“Is that bad?”

“Well, you’re not alone—trust me. Answer me this: How much advanced warning do you get before you urinate—a whole lot, some, or hardly any?”

“Hardly any at all.”

“And can you ever delay or prevent urination?”

“No, I can’t—ohmygosh!”

Quick as a fox, Allison slid the instrument out and flipped the funnel back into place. “Okay, Courtney, try to hold it back as long as you can for me, alright?”

“Okay—ooh, ooohhh.” Courtney heard pee splatter against the funnel.

“Well, that confirms what you said just now. Here’s a wet-wipe.” The doctor flipped the funnel back down to let Courtney clean herself off.

After she finished, Courtney asked, “Can you flip it back up? I can’t reach it.”

“Sure,” said the doctor.

Courtney collected herself. “So what’s your diagnosis?”

“Well, severe mixed incontinence. But that sounds worse than it is, considering every woman I’ve examined presents the same way. Jane would say that your urethral sphincter has become paralyzed from lack of use. That’s why the potty timer didn’t work.”

“So…I’m worse off than a three-year-old toddler?”

Allison looked straight at Courtney. “Essentially, yes. But I wouldn’t give up hope just yet. We can try to rehabilitate your sphincter. If you can build back enough strength, then it becomes a matter of learning to heed your body’s signals—and remembering to go.”

“Okay,” Courtney said slowly. All this sounded really difficult. “Do you…know my chances of success?”

“Let’s just hope for the best.”

* * *

Courtney arrived home from work that day jittery with excitement. She checked her diaper: damp but not truly wet—that in-between state where changing it felt like wasting money. She glanced at the package Allison had given her. She was too eager to open it to change now, anyway.

Courtney lifted the lid and peered inside. Dominating the space was a stack of women’s pull-ups in various colors, just like the ones from Jane’s video. It made sense, given the package was originally intended for participants in the toilet-training experiment. Courtney examined one, noting how thin the padding felt.

As she lifted the next item from the bag, a broad grin crossed her face. This had no padding at all, just delicate nylon with touches of lace around the edges and cotton lining the gusset. There were three—a black one, a white one, and this one in a rosy pink—three pairs of women’s underwear.

She locked the bedroom door—not that she was expecting anyone, but because this had the naughty feel of trying on items from a sex shop. She lay back on her bed and removed her skirt and diaper. After dabbing herself clean, she slid the underwear up her legs till they rested snugly around her hips. Then she stood at the full-length mirror.

The top she wore obscured the garment slightly, so she stripped down to just her bra and…panties. She borrowed the word the newscaster had used, as “underwear” felt too stuffy. She turned in the mirror, admiring the smooth lines of her silhouette. Without external padding, her curvy hips and rear looked more in proportion, like she had just lost five pounds. The lace pattern didn’t match her bra as well as her diapers did, but the colors aligned well enough. Overall, she felt gorgeous.

Then her gaze fell to her groin, covered in nothing but the thinnest cotton. And with that, her fantasy bubble burst, leaving her shy and exposed, like a girl caught raiding her mother’s lingerie chest. She shouldn’t be wearing these; she could wet them at any moment. Her hand cupped her crotch protectively as she retreated to the bed where her diaper lay.

Her fingers recoiled, though, when she touched the damp padding, grown ice-cold from the bedroom air. She must have wet it worse than she thought. She was about to retrieve another when the final item in the package caught her eye: a long, white object like the one Allison had slipped inside her. Courtney switched it on, half expecting it to vibrate, but instead the word “Ready” displayed in glowing letters.

Courtney knew what to do next. Lying atop an absorbent towel, she removed the panties and spread her legs wide. Then she pushed the long, rounded end inside. She shut her eyes and tried with all her might to squeeze her pelvic floor. She tried again, and again, but nothing happened. Finally she removed the object and gazed dejectedly at the number “0” on the screen. Sighing, she removed a diaper from the drawer of her nightstand. Well, she had gone nearly ten minutes unprotected without causing a mess. That was something, right?

She retrieved the pamphlet Allison had given her and snuggled under the covers for some bedtime reading.

* * *

Wolcott, J. (2020). A self-fulfilling prophecy? An environmental theory of female urinary incontinence

Most people believe that incontinence in women derives from the lack of a penis. Popular culture promotes this myth; even school health textbooks promote it. The reality, of course, is more complicated. As a man’s bladder fills, messages are sent to his brain indicating a growing need to urinate. Yet he can still keep the valve closed without much effort. If he wishes to pee, he relaxes his urethral sphincter, which signals the bladder to contract, forcing the urine out. Otherwise, he simply holds on till a convenient time. Only when his bladder approaches very high capacity does he begin to feel more desperate—and even then, he almost never voids involuntarily. He finds an acceptable place and urinates there.

The picture is quite different for women. The same nerves surrounding the bladder are present, but the signals they send get interpreted differently, or perhaps not at all. When asked, the typical man can gauge his bladder’s fullness; a woman typically has no idea. Furthermore, although a woman’s sphincter holds her urethra closed at most times, these muscles are smaller and much weaker than a man’s. When prompted, most women cannot flex them, and when stimulated artificially, they produce only the faintest contraction.

Thus, women do not sense the need to urinate, nor can they delay its occurrence. When a woman’s bladder fills to a certain point, her sphincter opens and her bladder empties, causing a wetting. Women often report feeling a mounting pressure just beforehand, but rarely more than a few seconds—hardly enough time to reach a toilet or even to remove her clothes. This is called urgency incontinence and explains her reliance on diapers.

The flaccid state of the female sphincter also explains the common leaks she experiences when anything presses against her bladder—a cough, a laugh, vigorous exercise, all push out small amounts of urine. This is called stress incontinence and contributes to her need for constant protection.

Finally, the female bladder, itself, is smaller and less elastic. Whereas a man’s can hold several hours’ worth of urine, a woman’s fills within an hour or two. If she changed after each daytime wetting, she might go through 8–12 diapers a day. Of course, most find it inconvenient (or too expensive) to change that often, and so wear the same diaper for longer before changing it. As adult wettings tend to be small, this practice will not overflow most brands; it does, however, condition women to near constant moisture, decreasing their awareness of stress-induced leaks.

It is these factors combined, and not the lack of a penis, that produce the severe form of mixed incontinence seen in all adult women.

The question is, why do these sex-based differences exist? Canonical science assumes them to be innate. But if that were so, certain developmental observations are hard to explain. For example, bladder size in male and female infants is virtually identical, and expands in both genders through age 10. A girl that age can often stay dry for three or four hours, during which time her mother might wet twice or more.

In adolescence, male capacity continues to expand, but, oddly, female capacity declines. By the age of 16, a girl might find herself unable to last more than a couple hours between wettings. This helps explain the frequent stories of teenage girls running out of supplies and thinking they can make it home or to the store without protection, only to experience an embarrassing accident. Many don’t realize just how much their bladder capacity has diminished since childhood.

Furthermore, young girls seem more cognizant of the state of their bladders than adult women are. They may claim, “Mom, I need to pee, but my diaper’s already full.” Or they even ask to try using the toilet (e.g., after watching a male sibling do so). It is unknown whether prepubescent girls can shut their sphincter voluntarily, but anecdotal evidence suggests they can. Very young ones have been known run around the house naked without causing a mess, while a girl as old as 12 might strut about in only a towel after bathing, confident she could retrieve a diaper—or even run to the toilet—if she felt a sudden urge.

We also know that stress incontinence, as a rule, does not arrive until puberty. In popular culture, the onset of these leaks marks a sign of maturity, like a girl’s first bra or period. She will notice she now gets wetter more quickly during exercise and will purchase athletic diapers to compensate. (It’s no accident that free samples come packaged with teen-style sports bras.) She will notice that exhilarating or stressful experiences now cause wetness—chalked up by popular culture as the result of raging hormones.

The medical establishment assumes these changes to be perfectly normal—that the onset of female puberty stimulates the development of the “mature” urinary system. But why would girls naturally become more incontinent as they grow older? What could possibly be the evolutionary advantage? Here I advance an alternative, environmental theory.

Consider children’s early upbringing. Parents will potty-train their son at 2 or 3, while they keep their same-aged daughter in diapers. As her capacity and control naturally increase, her efforts to choose when and where to pee are met with dismissal, even ridicule. Many a loving and devoted mother, knowing their own degree of incontinence, will try to dissuade their daughters from ever attempting to pee in the toilet, so as not to build up false hope. When a little boy has an accident, he gets encouragement and a pat on the back; when a girl has one, it confirms her need for diapers in the eyes of the world.

These environmental factors produce, first psychological effects, and then physical ones. With no reason to monitor the state of her bladder, a girl’s ability to do so plateaus. At age ten, she might physically be capable of walking to the toilet, sitting down, and peeing in it, but psychologically, she cannot do this consistently. Girls this age are known to try it—e.g., to challenge parental expectations—but often they wet themselves before realizing they had to go. Like a male toddler in pull-ups, her mind forgets to heed her bladder’s warnings.

Because girls’ incontinence is primarily psychological at this stage, established methods of toilet-training could quite possibly correct it—e.g. use of a “potty timer,” or keeping a potty, itself, close at hand. I see no reason why such techniques would be any less effective with girls than they are with young boys.

The social reality, though, is that girls are not encouraged to toilet-train; they are actively discouraged from even trying. This leads us to the final chapter in our story. “Use it or lose it,” the saying goes—and nowhere is this truer than with the female urinary system. Notwithstanding the occasional act of experimentation, a young girl in diapers has little cause to squeeze shut her urethral sphincter to delay a wetting. After years of disuse, these muscles begin to atrophy, causing wettings to feel more sudden and unpreventable, and setting a vicious cycle in motion.

The onset of stress incontinence marks the next step in this downward spiral. As noted above, these leaks typically begin in early adolescence and worsen over time. As a girl’s physical ability to hold in urine diminishes, she grows ever more reliant on external protection. A day comes when she cannot remember the last time she registered an impending need to urinate; wettings now happen randomly without warning.

In males, longer periods of holding—particularly at night—help maintain the bladder’s elasticity. In teenage girls, the sphincter has grown too weak to prevent the bladder from emptying prematurely. At night, for example, they may wet three times or more. This lack of “exercise,” if you will, explains the decline in female bladder capacity seen in adolescence, and the smaller, more frequent wettings that result.

These psychological and physical changes plot the course towards “mature” female incontinence. By way of example, in her late teens a girl will experience her first accident on the way from the shower to the changing table. After that, she will start placing a spare diaper outside the shower that she can fasten immediately after bathing. A bit later, she will suffer her first accident in the midst of changing, and will start laying a new diaper beneath her on the changing pad before removing her old one. This way, she avoids even a few moments without protection. By age twenty, most women shudder at the thought of going unprotected for any length of time at all.

In sum, female urinary incontinence may truly be a self-fulfilling prophecy: What began with her unnecessary relegation to diapers ends with her total dependence on them.

Looking forward, this means that toilet-training will be far more difficult for a grown woman than it would have been as a child. She would have to retrain her urethral sphincter to contract on demand, and build back enough muscle tone to prevent both leaks and full-on wettings. She would have to relearn to gauge the state of her bladder. Strategies such as a voiding diary or timed urination might then help her transition from wetting her diaper to peeing in a toilet. No one knows if this is achievable, but we never will unless we try.

* * *

Courtney set the article down, her mind ablaze. It all made sense now: wetting the bed more often, leaking during exercise, feeling her control gradually slip away. None of it was inevitable, after all. She felt profoundly cheated, but at the same time, hopeful. She removed her diaper (still dry!) and inserted the instrument once again…

After several minutes, she squealed in frustration. Okay, Courtney, concentrate. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Still nothing. She tried moving the object around—maybe she had it in the wrong spot?

And then she felt it: a slight, involuntary spasm like what might occur during sex. She removed the instrument and grinned with satisfaction at the screen that read “1.”

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  • 2 weeks later...

Chapter 5.  Potty-Training, Take Two

Each night, Courtney practiced her pelvic floor exercises. By week’s end, she could reproduce Monday’s result with some consistency, but voluntary contraction still eluded her. That part of her body felt so disconnected from her mind that she might as easily lifted a spoon through telekinesis.

Until one day, it happened—at work of all places. She’d been practicing behind her desk, searching and searching for that lost neural connection—when, miraculously, it fired. The faintest tremor, but she felt it plain and clear.

“Got all that, Courtney? On my desk by 10:00 tomorrow.”

“Hmm? Oh…of course, sir.” She tried squeezing again, but now it escaped her. Darn it!

At home that night, though, she hit upon it again, and then a third time shortly after. She had it cornered now, exposed with nowhere to hide. She squeezed again, more meekly this time, as her muscles had grown fatigued. No matter—now she could exercise them whenever she liked. By Friday, the instrument displayed a “2” for the first time, and she called Allison with the exciting news.

“That’s fantastic, Courtney! It’s still a very weak reading, but it should improve if you keep at it. In the meantime, I feel you’re ready for the next step.”

“Pull-ups?”

“Exactly. Set a timer like you did before, and be sure to sit on the toilet even if you feel no urge to go.”

“Okay.”

“And if you feel the urge when you’re not sitting on it, use those muscles to hold on as long as you can. Even if it’s just for a few seconds, that’s progress.”

“Right.”

“I know you’ll do great, Courtney! Talk soon, okay?”

“Wait—I have a question.” She thought of her first failed attempt at this.

“Yes?”

“How do I…pee on the toilet?”

* * *

Courtney drank a tall glass of water like Allison had suggested. Then she pranced to the bathroom cabinet where she had stashed the pull-ups. She picked out a white one and lay back on the changing table to remove her newly wet diaper. There she paused. How would she manage this in front of Kyle? He was coming by for dinner in an hour.

The unspoken rules of diaper etiquette flashed through her mind, ingrained through her years of growing up female:

  • A lady never lets her diaper show. Everyone knows you’re wearing one, but don’t make it obvious. Disguise diaper lines with a flowy skirt, dark colors, or structured denim.
  • A lady never lets anyone know. When you wet, be discrete about it, and don’t let it distract you from what you were saying or doing. Carry on as if nothing occurred.
  • A lady always waits her turn. Never change when it would inconvenience others. Wait till the end of a meal or show—and in the case of a single facility, let men go first.

The rules seemed silly sometimes, but when everyone around you followed them and expected you to as well, flouting them wasn’t so easy.

Well, the first caused no issue for Courtney. The pull-ups were thinner than any pair of diapers she owned and would hardly show through. As for the second rule, she had long since trained herself to wet discreetly. To do so in a pull-up seemed no different than in a diaper. The third rule proved trickier, as her timer would surely go off during dinner.

Maybe she should wait to try this when Kyle wasn’t around? They usually spent the weekends together, though—her only real opportunity to practice. Perhaps she should just tell him the truth. He would understand, wouldn’t he? So she slid on the pull-up and set her timer for 45 minutes. Then she set to work in the kitchen.

Courtney mixed together a salad and fried some potatoes. She was about to put the lambchops in the oven when her timer buzzed. Well, that’s inconvenient. She would have to drop what she was doing just to go pee? She considered waiting until she had finished cooking. No, better not push her luck. Who knew how much longer she would stay dry?

At the toilet, she hiked up her skirt and slid the pull-up down her thighs. Wow, so much easier than fiddling with the tapes on a diaper! Then she sat down and tried to relax. She pictured a garden sprinkler, water filling the bath, and the rest of Allison’s suggestions, but nothing worked. Come on, Courtney, pee now or you’ll flood your pull-up at dinner…and with that thought, a small tinkle sounded. Holy cow, she actually did it!

When the trickle ceased, she stood and reached for her pull-up, but felt a drip grace her hand. Now exposed to the cool bathroom air, her entire vulva and parts of her fanny felt wet. Did guys have to wipe after peeing in the toilet? She did, apparently. Oh well, it was still simpler than cleaning up after a wet diaper.

* * *

“Hello, beautiful,” said Kyle as she opened the door. He hugged her tight, his hand trailing down below her waist as it often did, causing a slight crinkle.

Courtney wondered if the pull-up sounded any different than a diaper. “I made lambchops,” she announced.

“They smell amazing. Here, we’ll have them with this.” He held up a bottle of wine.

“Yay! I’ll go chill it. Hey, I need to tell you something before we eat.”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Courtney gazed into his pretty eyes. “I…uh…am so excited about our dinner together!”

He smiled. “Me too! Shall we?” He beckoned towards the kitchen.

Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t be telling him quite yet. Reaching into her pocket, she switched her phone to vibrate.

They sat down at the table and started enjoying the meal. A few minutes into it, Kyle smiled and said, “These lambchops are amazing. What did you put on them?”

“Rosemary.” Just then Courtney’s hip vibrated. “Sorry, will you excuse me for a minute?”

Kyle looked at her quizzically. “Uh, sure.”

She headed to the bathroom and sat on the toilet once again. She checked her pull-up: still dry. A minute passed, but nothing happened. How long did it normally take to change? Not much longer than this, she imagined. She tried for another minute, but she could think only of Kyle waiting out there impatiently, which made it even harder to pee. Finally she gave up.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” she said, returning to the table.

“Oh…no problem.”

The meal continued. Soon Kyle began describing an issue he encountered at work. “We ended up having to reboot the whole system…”

At that moment, Courtney felt a strong pressure build. Here it comes. For the first time in recent memory, she pushed back against it deliberately. She actually felt the muscles clench—she was doing this!

“…turns out it was a hardware problem all along…”

Courtney nodded. But the pressure continued to mount, exerting unbearable force against her quickly tiring muscles.

“…we tried rewiring the thing, but that didn’t work either. Courtney, are you even listening?”

“Mm hmm.” Her efforts collapsed, and she felt her pull-up grow warm. She tried her best to hide the look of relief that crossed her face.

“So that’s where it stands,” said Kyle. “I’ll troubleshoot it again on Monday.”

“That’s crazy,” said Courtney, feigning comprehension. “So, ready for dessert?”

“You baked?”

“Nah.” She walked to the refrigerator, her saturated pull-up squishing between her thighs. “I bought these, though!” She placed a white box on the table.

“Éclairs? No way!”

“Way.”

Kyle poured them another glass of wine. Courtney sipped it slowly as she ate, conscious of the state of her pull-up. Finally her hip vibrated again.

“Did you enjoy the meal?” she asked.

“Loved it.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Courtney managed to squirt a tiny bit more into the toilet, her pull-up having absorbed the vast majority. She cleaned herself thoroughly, then pondered what to wear next. A diaper felt like regression, but at least it would arouse no suspicion. Besides, she wanted to look sexy for him. The plain white pull-up looked drab compared to the frilly diaper that matched the bra she was wearing.

“Cute set,” Kyle said later that evening, as he finished removing her skirt.

Courtney smiled.

“So was it the wine, sweetie?”

“Hmm?”

“Lots of changing this evening.” He unhooked her bra.

“Oh—yeah, must have been the wine. I, uh…didn’t want to take any chances.” She would fill him in tomorrow. Right now, she would simply enjoy what he was doing to her breasts.

* * *

The weekend was a flurry of activity, with clothes shopping, a movie date with Kyle, and two trips to the gym inspired by the shopping trip. Courtney remained in diapers the whole time, afraid of navigating pull-ups and a potty timer outside her home. She finally slipped one on after work on Monday, her face brimming with excitement as she tossed her soggy diaper in the trash.

Ooh, first I better try peeing, she realized. She sat on the toilet for a bit, but apparently she had wet too recently—maybe on the drive home? The memory was foggy. She set her timer for a safe 45 minutes, then pondered what to make for dinner. In the end, she stuck to a salad—appropriate, given how her ass had looked in designer jeans, her diaper forming obnoxious patterns in the denim. She refused to go up another pant size.

“Have you had a diaper fitting recently?” the salesgirl had asked.

“Uh…yes,” Courtney lied. The thought of the perky coed stretching a tape measure around her softened hips made her cringe.

To make the salad more palatable, Courtney doused it in French dressing and poured a glass of diet Coke to go with. Then she sat at the table, enjoying the feel of her thin pull-up beneath her flowy skirt. She flicked on the television. Earlier that day, her boss had berated her for missing an imaginary deadline, so a bit of reality TV felt well-deserved.

Before she knew it, her timer sounded. Time to pee already? Her show wasn’t even over. Reluctantly, she stood up from the table and sat again on the toilet. After a minute or so, a trickled emerge, building to a stream that split in two and ran across each butt cheek. Was there a tidier way to do this? she wondered, unrolling a wad of toilet paper. She reset her timer for an hour.

Still hungry, Courtney microwaved popcorn and resumed her show. The cold diet soda complimented the buttery taste so well—she poured herself another. When the episode ended, she stretched out on the couch and began the next one. Soon her cares drifted away, unmoored by the inane plot. Would Savannah choose Ted or Henry? Both were so good-looking. Personally, Courtney preferred Albert, but he had already been voted off.

A pressure formed at Courtney’s groin, barely registered. Then warmth spread between her thighs. I guess I’m wetting now… Wait—I’m wetting? Her eyes flashed wide—she wasn’t supposed to do that! How long had it been? Her phone said 48 minutes. Courtney sighed. She was supposed go in the toilet, or at least practice holding for a few seconds, not just mindlessly wet herself. She resolved to be more conscientious.

* * *

A couple weeks later, Kyle kissed Courtney goodbye after a leisurely Saturday breakfast,. “Tell the girls I say hi, okay?”

“You bet.”

As soon as the door shut, she hurried to the bathroom to try to pee. Krystal would be here any minute to drive to the train station, where Jenny would be arriving from the city. Then it was back to Krystal’s for Netflix and drinks. To Courtney’s delight, a decent amount sprayed into the bowl, though some trailed down her thigh. Maybe I’m finally getting the hang of this? She wiped herself and set her timer for an hour.

“Honk, honk!”

“One sec,” Courtney texted.

She yanked up her pull-up and jeans, grabbed her bag, and descended the stairs, her heart aflutter. At the front door, she gripped the knob with a sweaty palm. Each day this week, she had intended to wear a pull-up to work…but how would she explain her zillion trips to the office bathroom? So instead she had practiced holding in her diaper. Five seconds was her best so far—when she remembered to try, that is. So unaccustomed to monitoring her bladder’s behavior, she tended to pee absentmindedly—or worse, find her diaper wet with no memory of how it got that way. Needless to say, this morning marked her first time venturing out in a pull-up. She took a deep breath and turned the latch.

Jenny gave her a huge hug when they arrived at the station. “How’s my skinny, childless girlfriend?”

“You look great, too!” said Courtney.

“Yeah, lots of healthy meat on these bones.”

“Oh, stop,” Courtney retorted, though Jenny’s baby weight was plenty evident. Courtney almost did feel skinny in comparison. “You remember Krystal, don’t you?”

“Hot blond receptionist? Of course!”

“So nice to see you again,” said Krystal. Her blue eyes and flowing curls looked striking as always, her slight tummy well camouflaged by her generous bust—much like Jenny before her pregnancy.

“Shot gun!” Jenny yelled, as she tossed her bag in the trunk.

Courtney settled into the back seat and checked her phone: twenty-five minutes left on the timer. She should be safe for a while, hopefully.

“How’s that boy Kyle?” asked Jenny.

“They’re in looove,” Krystal sang out.

“Oh my gosh, is it true?”

“Kind of?” said Courtney. “He’s super sweet.”

“But you haven’t said it yet,” said Jenny.

“Well, not out loud.”

“Just say it,” said Krystal.

“Not before he does!” Courtney objected.

“Definitely not,” Jenny agreed. “So, whereto for lunch?”

Hopefully somewhere close, thought Courtney, as her potty timer buzzed. Using it was proving tricky when out and about.

Finally they pulled into a ’50s-style diner.

“Anyone need a change?” asked Krystal on the way in.

Jenny shook her head.

“I’ll go with,” Courtney offered. “Jenny, we’ll come find you after.”

Inside the women’s room, Krystal set her purse down on a changing table, while Courtney headed for the stall.

“Don’t tell me you’re still trying this,” Krystal called over the divider.

“My pull-up is still dry. Can you believe it?”

“A pull-up? Seriously?”

“They’re super comfy. You should try one.”

“Dry for how long?”

“Over two hours—though I peed in the toilet halfway through.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I’m using a timer. When it goes off, I try to go.”

“And that actually works?”

“Sometimes it does.” Courtney conjured a raging waterfall in her mind, but still nothing happened.

“Sometimes I think you’re nuts,” said Krystal, starting the faucet to wash her hands.

The sound provided the inspiration Courtney needed. Yes! Twice in a row!

* * *

At lunch, she and Jenny exchanged stories of old times.

“Tell me a really embarrassing one about Courtney,” Krystal begged.

“Hmm,” said Jenny. “Well, there was a certain game of Truth or Dare…”

“Ugh, can we forget that ever happened?” Courtney pleaded.

Jenny told it anyway.

When she reached the climax, Krystal exclaimed, “Oh, you poor thing!”

“Well, I blame Jenny for letting the dare stand.”

“Me? But I even got you the towel and everything!”

Courtney laughed out loud.

Whoops. She managed to squeeze her urethra shut, but not before dampening her pull-up. A minor leak, but it could foretell something worse. She checked her phone: just twelve minutes left on the timer. The safest option would be to try going now, but she didn’t want to be rude. I’ll at least wait till it buzzes, she reasoned—but when it did, the meal still seemed far from over. She tried to assess her state of urgency, but of course she felt nothing. She pressed snooze and hoped for the best.

“What about you, Krystal?” Jenny asked. “You must have stories from work.”

“Well, Courtney is always saying our boss is a misogynist twat, which he kind of is. But whenever he’s around, she’s always like, ‘Yes, Mr. Mills! Of course, Mr. Mills!’”

“Sounds like the girl I remember.”

“Hey!” Courtney objected. Then her eyes went wide. She squeezed things shut as hard as she could and started counting in her head. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one—ohmygosh! She felt her pull-up inflate, while her heart did the opposite. She scolded herself for not going earlier.

“Wow, I can’t believe I ate that much food,” said Jenny. “That’s like, a week’s worth of visits to the gym.”

“Tell me about it,” said Courtney, composing herself.

“Oh shush. What are you, like still a size small?”

“I wish!”

“Let’s work it off over Netflix and booze,” Krystal suggested.

“My kind of girl.” Jenny stood and started heading towards the exit.

This meant there would be no second trip to the changing room, as Krystal had already used it. Courtney was not about to inconvenience everyone with another request. Her soggy pull-up squished against her in the car seat. She prayed it would hold up until Krystal’s.

* * *

Thank goodness! Courtney whispered in the bathroom when she could find no wet spots on her jeans. A close call, though, considering how little padding the pull-up possessed. She felt around absentmindedly for the tapes. Duh! These don’t have them. So she was forced to remove her socks, shoes, and jeans just to slide the thing off—careful as to keep the pee-soaked padding clear of her legs. She cleaned herself up and slid on another. Then she joined her friends on the couch, where Jenny and Krystal were already curled up, imbibing popcorn and vodka tonics.

They watched two episodes of their favorite romantic comedy. When Krystal went to mix more drinks, Courtney escaped to the bathroom and managed to pee a little. A couple episodes later, her hip vibrated again. “Hey, excuse me for a minute,” she said. Feeling self-conscious, she added, “Start the next one without me if you want.”

This time only the tiniest tinkle sounded in the bowl, scant output given the volume of alcohol she’d consumed. That did not bode well. She inspected her pull-up, grown damp from intermittent leaks. Still wearable, though.

“Everything okay, hon?” Jenny asked when Courtney returned.

“Hmm?”

“Haven’t you changed, like, three times since we’ve been here?”

“Oh, that...uh…”

“She’s potty-training,” said Krystal. Then she covered her mouth. “Oops, was I not supposed to say?”

“She’s doing what?”

Courtney took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, Krystal. I would have told her eventually.”

“But…how?” asked Jenny.

“Ladies, this will blow you mind…” Courtney retold the entire story, from Jane Wolcott’s interview, to the experiments with Allison Diaz, to the self-fulfilling prophecy, itself.

“So now Courtney’s trying pull-ups and a potty timer,” Krystal added.

Jenny, who had been silent through all of this, suddenly burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but it’s too much! A potty timer? We use one with my three-year-old son!”

Courtney gazed towards the floor. Of all people, she thought Jenny would understand. “You know, it’s actually working—kind of,” she muttered.

“Hey, girl,” said Jenny, suddenly serious again. She lifted Courtney’s chin back up. “It’s working for my toddler son, too. Who’s to say, right?”

“Yeah, who’s to say?” Krystal chimed in.

A slight grin formed on Courtney’s face. “I’ve got tons of pull-ups. Want to try, too, Jenny?”

“Heck no! For one, my fat ass would never fit into them. But…we’ve got your back, cool?”

“Yeah, whatever we can do,” said Krystal.

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you,” said Courtney. “Ready to watch the next one? There’s still seventeen left in this season.”

“I have a question, first,” said Jenny. “What happens…in between when the timer goes off? Like, can you actually…feel the need and make it to—”

“—Still working on that.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I haven’t made it…yet. I don’t get much advanced warning—or…any, really.”

“If it happens,” said Krystal, “we could pause the show and help.”

“Absolutely we can!” Jenny added.

“Um, okay,” said Courtney. “Thanks.”

They started the next episode. When it finished, Jenny looked at Courtney as if waiting for a cue.

“What?”

“I didn’t know if you needed to…”

Courtney looked up from her phone. “What are you, my mother? I’m fine. Start the next one.”

Krystal pressed play, and the episode meandered towards its climactic scene.

~ ~

“Jack! You flew home from Paris?”

“Oui Madame.” He grinned broadly, then pulled her close. “Alyssa, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

She swiped his hand off the hem of her skirt. “Please, let me change first.”

As she shut the bathroom door after her, George emerged from behind the shower curtain. “Are you actually wet?” he whispered.

“Not that I can tell.”

“In that case…” He unzipped her skirt, revealing a red lace diaper beneath.

“George,” she whispered. “He’s right outside!”

“I know. It makes it so much hotter.” He kissed her square on the lips.

~ ~

“Ohmygosh!” Courtney squealed, as her hand flew to her groin.

“Pause it, quick!” said Krystal.

“With me, okay?” Jenny offered, extending an arm.

Courtney took it, her other hand still wedged between her trembling legs. “I’ll never make it. I’ll just…go right here.”

“No you won’t. Up, we go. Toilet’s right over there.”

Courtney took a few faltering steps while hanging onto Jenny for support. “Yeah, I got this, I—ohmygosh!” Her eyes glazed over as her bladder released.

“That’s farther than I would have made it,” Krystal remarked.

“Same,” Jenny agreed.

Courtney sighed. “Guess I should have gone when the last one ended.”

“Mm hmm,” said Jenny.

“Well…since it’s already paused, I’m-a go change out of this soggy thing. They don’t hold much.”

* * *

Several hours later, Jenny stood and dusted the pizza crumbs from her bust. “Krystal, want to flick the TV off? Time to get ready.”

“Sure you don’t want to finish the season?” Courtney asked.

“We should go out—hic—show Jenny the local scene.” Krystal set down her drink.

“Might wanna sober up some before then,” Jenny suggested.

Krystal stood up. “I’m good, see? Not even wobbly.” She trudged off to the bedroom.

Oh well, thought Courtney. The Netflix marathon offered a predictable rhythm: two episodes, then the toilet, rinse and repeat—like a built-in potty timer, keeping her mostly dry. Navigating a bar felt daunting in comparison.

“Courtney—off the couch, now!” Jenny then explained, “I never get to do this. When you have a kid, you’ll see.”

Courtney sat to pee before joining her friends in the bedroom. She watched Krystal emerge from the closet with an outfit picked out. Her friend tossed everything on the bed, minus a sky-blue diaper, and ducked into the bathroom to change into it. Meanwhile, Jenny and Courtney fished their dresses from their bags and smoothed them out.

Krystal soon returned in just her t-shirt and diaper. She turned her back and removed her shirt. Courtney caught herself staring as her friend unhooked her bra, her large breasts sagging downwards, visible even from this angle. Krystal leaned forward to hook a new one in place, then turned to face her friends. Courtney looked on with envy at Krystal’s gorgeous curves, clad in the sky-blue matching set. The bra gave perfect shape to her prodigious chest, while the lace-trimmed diaper hugged her supple hips and thighs alluringly.

Jenny was next. As she removed her clothes, the weight she carried grew more evident, her fleshly hips protruding outwards and her bra band creasing her sides. Her large diaper stretched to accommodate her wide bottom. She turned to Courtney. “Not the figure you remember from senior prom?”

Courtney gazed at her exaggerated curves—chest on par with Krystal’s, belly straining against her diaper’s waistband. Yet somehow, Jenny made it work—her posture proud, her hip cocked outwards in all its rounded glory. She shimmied her dress up and Courtney helped zip it—tight and red and beautiful.

The show over, Courtney slipped out of her own clothes, revealing her jutting hips and slender curves up top, clad in a plain beige bra and pull-up chosen to hide well under clothes. In high school, she had waited patiently for her chest to finish filling out, especially compared to Jenny. When it finally had, she appreciated the result—any more might prove a hindrance. Yet standing now next to the two of them, she felt her adolescent insecurities return. She had on a boring pull-up, no less.

“So that’s what they look like,” said Krystal, zipping her skirt. “Somehow, I expected more.”

“Like what, a cute little fly or something?” Courtney slid on her low-cut lavender dress. After glancing at Krystal’s endless cleavage, she peaked down, adjusted her bra, and tugged the neckline even lower.

* * *

As they entered the bar, several heads turned to gaze at the three young women in tight clothes and heels. Jenny ordered drinks while Courtney snagged a booth. It quickly grew apparent, though, what had drawn the room’s attention: not the three of them, per se—all eyes were on Krystal.

Courtney watched the demure receptionist spread her wings and fluttered about the room, the eager men jostling for position to hit on her. Everything was relative, of course. Normally, Courtney could hold her own in this regard, and Jenny too—but not with Krystal there. Still, it was nice to see her in her element.

When Courtney’s phone vibrated, she invited Jenny to the changing room.

“You can sit there and pee on purpose?” Jenny asked.

Courtney heard the telltale sound of Velcro tapes. “Sometimes. Hey, when you’re done, do you mind running the faucet?”

“Ha ha, sure. I have another question, though.”

“Shoot.” Maybe Jenny was curious about trying this?

“Just wondering, was the blond butterfly there when you met Kyle?”

Ah well, not about potty-training. “She was, actually. He played wingman while his friend came on to her.”

“That worked out well for you. Hey, how’s this, inspiring enough?”

As the water sprayed in the sink, Courtney sprayed in the bowl.

Sometime later, a rugged man approached her at the bar. “Cute shoes you’re wearing,” he remarked. “They bring out the green in your eyes.”

Courtney smirked. “How could shoes do anything for my eyes? They’re way down there!”

He took a long sip from his mug.

“I’m Courtney,” she said, extending her hand.

“Will,” he replied. “I guess I need a new pickup line.”

“Worked well enough, apparently.” She smiled, happy finally to receive attention. “So what brings you out tonight?”

“Just here with a buddy. My wife stayed home.”

“So did my boyfriend,” Courtney quickly retorted.

“Actually, he asked a favor. Would you mind divulging your blond friend’s favorite drink?”

So that’s what this was about. “Brandy Old Fashioned, semisweet.”

“Thanks a million.”

Not long after, Courtney and Jenny sat chatting in their booth when Krystal plopped down across from them with a hot man in tow.

“This is Joe.” Krystal giggled.

“Hi Joe,” said Courtney.

“Another Old Fashioned?” Joe asked.

“Yes please!” Krystal touched his shoulder.

He waved his hand in the air. “Waitress?”

Just then, Courtney felt a pressure build but was too tipsy to mount a response. Her pull-up grew warm beneath her dress. Had her timer gone off? She fished it from her purse: 25 minutes ago, apparently—while she was chatting with the rugged guy. In that moment, her bladder had been the last thing on her mind.

Joe turned to Krystal. “Should you be changing before that next drink?”

“Oh you’re right, I guess I should! I’ve had quite a few by now.” She stood and headed for the ladies’ room, her full diaper pressing out her skirt.

“Wait!” Courtney called. “I’ll go with.”

They lay on adjacent benches. As Courtney removed her sopping wet pull-up, she heard Krystal undo her tapes while humming the tune from outside.

Courtney marveled at her friend. Krystal embraced this world and her place within it, answering the phones and serving coffee by day, asserting herself only in nighttime venues like this one. She even seemed to embrace her incontinence as an intricate part of the deal. And her body…mirrored that persona: feminine and voluptuous, with Krystal perfectly content with that. Perhaps that’s why Courtney had been drawn to it earlier, not out of jealousy. What was it like to inhabit that body? To feel the tug of those breasts and not resent their encumbrance, or the lewd way men stared? To casually wet herself and not resent that either?

No matter how friendly they became, a distance stood between them, far greater than the thin divider separating their two benches now. Krystal seemed a soul content, while Courtney wanted more. And the first step was to stop ending up on a changing table.

A high, sweet voice interrupted Courtney’s reverie. “If I leave with Joe, can you and Jenny find your way back home?”

“Sure, hon. Hey, watch yourself tonight.”

* * *

Jenny gave Courtney a huge hug as her train arrived the next morning. “Keep me posted,” she said. “I want stories of Kyle seeing you in underwear.”

“Will do,” Courtney laughed. “Bye, bye!”

Judging by how things were going, though, she wondered if that would ever happen. If she couldn’t keep her pull-up dry, how could she possibly graduate to panties?

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Chapter 6.  Birthday Adventures

Over time, Courtney improved at peeing on cue. Certain techniques helped, such as running the faucet or picturing Niagara Falls. At times, though, her body still refused to cooperate—and she would emerge from the bathroom anxious and distracted. If circumstance allowed it, she would restart her timer and try again every 20 minutes until she managed to pee. More typically, though, she’d be out and about, or Kyle would be around, leaving her no option but to nervously await the impending flood.

Every so often, she would gaze at a pair of panties and muse about wearing them. By now, she could stay dry for a few hours when fortunes aligned—long enough to try, at least.

“I think you should,” said Allison on the phone.

“I don’t know,” Courtney replied. “The thought of it makes me nervous.”

“Well, it’s an important hurdle to cross.”

“What if I coughed or something? I’d leak right though them.”

“The pads I sent should help with that.”

“I saw them—thanks! But…those won’t contain a full-on accident, will they?”

Allison was silent for a moment. “Still not feeling any warning signs?”

“Nothing.”

That was the crux of the problem. After weeks of trying, Courtney could stay dry only by strictly regimenting her urination. If she missed a scheduled session for any reason, she might last another hour, or flood her pull-up ten minutes later—her body gave no indication either way.

“When you feel yourself starting to go,” Allison asked, “has your holding time improved at all?”

“A little, but…I still can’t reach the toilet.”

Sometimes in the evenings, she would turn her timer off just to see. Then she would start some mindless activity that would allow her to concentrate on her bladder—like folding laundry. When the urge came on, she would hurry towards the bathroom. Occasionally she would even make it through the door, but never all the way to the toilet. At times she’d flood her pull-up in the act of standing up.

“I’ll send something that could help,” said Allison, “—though, I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

Soon after the call ended, Courtney’s phone chimed with its incessant reminder to pee. She faced the toilet and gazed down, thinking of how her errant stream splashed her butt and thighs in her customary seated position. In a stroke of daring, she dropped her pants to her knees and aimed her vulva at the toilet. She had already proven women could pee into it—so why not standing like a man? It might even be less messy this way.

She waited, peering past her sloping breasts at the furry mound that curved out of view. Relaxing the muscles down there felt different from this position. Yet, eventually the stream began—if you could call it that. More a wild spray veering this way and that, splashing her thighs, feet, butt—all over the floor, her pants and pull-up, the seat she’d forgotten to raise—everywhere but into the bowl, itself. Well, that was a total disaster. She peeled off her soaking wet clothes. Apparently, wetting her bottom while seated was her best option.

* * *

After mopping and showering, Courtney pondered how long to reset her timer for. One hour, 45 minutes from when it sounded? No, her usual hour-and-a-half was already a stretch. At least she had progressed somewhat in that regard. As Allison had predicted, the urge came less frequently now that Courtney’s inner muscles were stronger. If only she could pass the two-hour mark, pull-ups at work might be within reason. Leaving her desk to “change” that often wouldn’t be too abnormal.

Until then, she was still trapped in diapers from 9 to 5. She would sit anxiously at her desk, the clock on her screen giving clear warning—but if she made a move for the toilet, she knew what her boss would say.

“Another break? Courtney, there’s work to be done.”

She knew this because he had already said as much, the one time she did venture to work in a pull-up. That morning she had peed twice already in the office toilet, proud for staying dry for so long. But then Mr. Mills called her in.

“Enough with the bathroom breaks, Courtney.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Um, yes…it won’t happen again.”

Men could head to the restroom whenever they liked, but if a woman did so too often, that’s how people reacted. After all, you were wearing protection, weren’t you? So Courtney returned to her desk with no option but to count the minutes until her bladder exploded. She squirmed a bit when the moment arrived, the hot liquid saturating her pull-up. She used to pay so little attention to such things, but after toilet-training all this time, the sensation was starting to bother her.

* * *

Eventually the package from Allison arrived. Curious what it contained, Courtney opened it immediately—but then gasped. How had Allison even found one large enough for an adult? The pull-ups she had Courtney using were discreet, and mimicked the diapers everyone else wore. This, though, was big and blue and obvious, advertising that Courtney wished to pee in a grown-up toilet but couldn’t make it there in time—so instead had to use this actual potty. Allison’s instructions were to carry it around the apartment wherever she went.

Courtney cautiously tried sitting in it. It felt bizarre—so low to the ground that her knees bent sharply. She tried spreading her thighs, which allowed her legs to extend more comfortably—but a pull-up stretched between them would surely prohibit that. So she pulled everything down just to see, her bare bottom now planted on the plastic rim. Then she felt her bladder contract—perhaps confusing this for a real toilet. Instead of a tinkle, she heard the sharp sound of pee hitting plastic, tiny droplets ricocheting back against her bottom. When it finished, she glanced around for toilet paper—but of course there was none.

On subsequent evenings, she would place a roll beside the potty and switch her timer off. At some point, she would feel a sudden urge and frantically remove her clothes, then maneuver her rear onto the potty while holding back her stream for dear life. Often it would start before her butt hit plastic and splatter the rim or the floor. A few times she sprayed into her pull-up as she yanked it down, soaking her thighs and skirt. But gradually her holding time improved—or perhaps she grew better at hurriedly undressing. Either way, using the potty became a neater affair.

* * *

One Friday evening, Courtney gazed across the room at the childish receptacle. The past couple weeks she had been placing it farther and farther away—3 ft., 5 ft., 7 ft.—but this felt way too far, especially still wearing her diaper from work, more finicky to pull down. She moved to bring the potty closer—before remembering what day it was: Kyle would be here any minute. So instead she hid it away in her closet, mortified of him seeing it.

Courtney still had yet to tell him anything. She had exhausted all excuses for using the bathroom so often—fixing her makeup, “that time” of the month, changing into something more comfortable. By now, he surely must suspect something. On her way home each Friday, she would plan out how to explain the truth—but when she greeted him, the words would never come. What if he laughed at her for trying to toilet-train? What if he found it unattractive, as if she refused to shave her legs?

Today, though, she was determined. When the doorbell sounded, she mouthed the memorized lines. I have something to tell you, Kyle. I—

“Happy birthday!” he beamed, handing her a present.

The plan forgotten, Courtney unwrapped the box. “It’s beautiful, honey!” She held the slinky grey-and-white dress to her body.

“We have dinner reservations for 6:00. Will you wear it?”

“Of course!”

Courtney whisked off to the bedroom to change. Then she glanced at the tag. Ugh. Keep dreaming, Kyle… I haven’t worn a size six since college. She undressed down to her diaper. Then she stepped into the dress and tugged at the zipper, watching creases form around her hips. After finally clearing that hurdle, it was easier going.

She gazed in the mirror. The dress looked fantastic from the waist up, perfectly framing her breasts. But it was so tight in the rear that every ruffle of her diaper was on full display. Would a pull-up look any better? Unlikely. Suddenly a naughty idea entered her brain.

Courtney walked to the bathroom and carefully locked the door. Then she reached underneath the tall stack of pull-ups to retrieve one of her three pairs of actual underwear. She fingered the delicate fabric.

Lying back on the changing table, she hiked up her dress and removed her diaper. Really? When did I wet this? She tossed it in the trash and cleaned herself up. Then she slipped on the pink panties for the second time ever, her pulse quickening with nervous excitement.

She kicked on a pair of heels and sauntered back to the full-length bedroom mirror. Wow, that looked so much better! No creases, no diaper lines, not a ruffle to be seen. Of course, she could never leave the house like this. She turned towards the bathroom, her game of dress-up over.

Just then the bedroom door flew open. “Darling, we’ll be late! Are you ready?”

“Ack! Sorry, let me use the bathroom real quick.”

“Come on, this place is super strict with reservations. You can change when we get there.”

“But—” Kyle grabbed her arm and practically dragged her through the apartment. Her next phase of toilet-training would be starting now, it looked like. “Wait, one more thing!” She grabbed a stylish purse from the front closet that paired well with the dress.

“Okay, come on, let’s go!” Kyle urged.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting in his car with nothing but two thin layers of fabric between her and the fine leather seat. Her heart raced. Come on, Courtney, it’s only a short ride. You can do this, she tried to convince herself.

“Beautiful evening,” said Kyle.

“What? Oh, yeah, it’s gorgeous.”

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Courtney took a deep, calming breath. “Yes. Sweetheart, thank you for planning such a wonderful birthday. I’m excited about this place! Is it fancy?”

“I’d say you’re appropriately dressed.”

You sure about that, buster? She pressed her thighs together. Without the customary padding between them, she felt practically naked.

* * *

Finally the car pulled into the lot. “I’ll come find you afterwards, okay?” said Courtney, rushing towards the restroom as quickly as her heels would allow. She felt his eyes on her rear. Can he tell what I’m not wearing? she wondered. It must be obvious.

She exhaled deeply as she leaned back against the changing room door. I made it, holy cow. Was that skill, or am I just very lucky? Either way, it was past time for this experiment to end. She lay down and hiked up her dress, feeling around for any leaks. Incredibly, the panties were still dry.

She reached into her purse…but all she encountered was a tube of lipstick and some eyeliner. Ohmygosh, I never transferred any to this bag! She glanced at the dispenser. “Empty,” read the display. Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh! She sat up on the bench, her heart doing somersaults. Maybe I can borrow one from another gal? She headed to the stall to wait for someone to enter. In her nervous state, though, she couldn’t manage to pee. No one came to her rescue, either. Finally she stuffed a wad of toilet paper between her legs in the hopes it could absorb at least something, but her skimpy underwear couldn’t prevent it dislodging and falling to the floor. Out of options, Courtney ventured back out into the world.

“Changing room’s out of supplies,” she muttered to a waitress she passed.

“I’ll tell the manager. He keeps forgetting to order them.”

“Wait, do you—” But the waitress hurried off.

Kyle was perusing the menu when Courtney sat down. “Look, they have roast duck, your favorite!”

“Let’s get it,” she said, her eyes scanning the room. Out of politeness, most women would wait till the end of dinner to change. But maybe someone would need to earlier? Then Courtney could just follow her in. It was worth a shot—the place was packed.

“A pint of lager for the gentleman and a glass of merlot for the birthday girl,” said a waiter approaching their table.

“Hope you don’t mind that I ordered you a drink,” Kyle said. “Bottoms up!”

Courtney smiled nervously and took a sip. Careful, girl, that will go straight to your bladder. They ordered their food and engaged in small talk. Eventually he looked at her glass, still nearly full. “Drink up, birthday girl! This is your special night.”

“I’m sorry…I got too distracted by the conversation.” She took another sip, then another so as not to draw suspicion. Mmm, this was high-quality wine.

Finally another lady moved in the direction of the restrooms. “Excuse me, Kyle, I’ll be back in a moment.”

He clutched her hand. “Look, our food is here! Let’s enjoy it while it’s hot. You just changed, didn’t you?”

“Okay, honey.” Courtney took another long sip of wine to calm her nerves. A few minutes later, the lady returned from the restroom, dry ruffles crinkling beneath her skirt. Courtney gazed on longingly.

“Can I taste your duck?” Kyle asked.

“Sure.”

“Wow, that’s delicious! Hey, sorry I didn’t say this on our rush out the door, but you look gorgeous tonight.” She felt his warm hand on her thigh.

“Aww, thanks, sweetheart.” And then Courtney felt another source of warmth between her legs. Oh no, oh no!

As quickly as it started, it stopped, turning cold and clammy. This felt nothing like wetting a diaper; the dampness hugged her skin—more personal, and a thousand times more frightening. She tried to compose herself. It was only a small leak—maybe it didn’t even soak through? She managed a smile as she pushed Kyle’s hand off her thigh. “Let’s enjoy the food for now.” Then she added softly, “Plenty of time for that later, right?”

He winked, and Courtney took another large sip of wine, parting her legs slightly to help things dry.

Soon another woman stood and moved towards the restroom. Courtney nearly rushed in after to beg for a spare diaper, but one look at Kyle convinced her otherwise. She’d acted distracted all evening, and he seemed to notice. Maybe that one leak was enough to hold her through dinner?

They chatted some more. Then Kyle leaned in close. “Watcha wearing under there? Something sexy for later?”

Oh no, he must know! She tried to stall. “Um, nothing up top…just the dress.”

“That’s hot, and your diaper?”

“Um, what?”

“What style is it? I want to paint a picture in my mind.”

“Oh—” He doesn’t know, after all. “Pink, with the crisscross straps.”

“Even hotter.” Then he leaned in closer still. “How badly have you wet it?”

“Kyle,” Courtney whispered. “Do we have to talk about this at a fancy restaurant?”

“No,” he whispered back, “we can talk about totally boring unsexy things. That’s totally fine by me.”

She giggled out loud—causing her to squirt another hot jet into her underwear. This one was worse than the first, the wetness spreading down towards her butt.

Kyle drew out his joke. “How do you think the weather will be tomorrow?” he asked in monotone.

“Cloudy, I’d say,” she responded in kind. Her bottom felt very damp, pressed against the chair with no padding in between. She squirmed a bit, picturing the dark spot that had surely formed on her dress. I’ll just say my diaper leaked. But then she felt something of far greater concern—a dull pressure building, like a distant train approaching. She glanced down at her wineglass, practically empty. Oh no.

“Rain, you think, as well?” asked Kyle.

No, dry weather. Think dry weather, Courtney. She tried every trick she knew: pressing her thighs together, rocking from side to side, even shoving her hand between her legs. But the pressure continued to build.

“Everything okay, Courtney?”

“Um…um…” She felt her face grow flush. She fought to clench the nascent muscles in her groin, but the train sped towards her unabated. “Excuse me, Kyle.” She stood in her heels, trembling, her thighs still clenched together like a vice.

As she stumbled towards the restroom, more pee escaped, seeping through the panties and trickling down her leg. She picked up speed, nearly tripping in her heels, but she managed to catch herself on the handle to the changing room door. Another strong jet shot into her panties, thoroughly wetting her bottom. Then, miraculously, it stopped. She pushed open the door and fixed on the lone stall in the corner. Careful so as not to trip again, she sauntered towards it, a smile growing that she’d avoided a full-on accident.

Before she could lift the latch, though, the pressure returned with a vengeance. She cried out as the train crashed into her, smashing open the floodgate. Pee gushed into her panties, streaming down both legs and onto the floor. She had no ability to stop it; she could only lift her dress up to avoid soaking it even worse. Soon the torrent slowed to a trickle and then stopped. Courtney stared down at the puddle she had produced, wondering how she could exit this bathroom with her dignity intact.

Suddenly the door swung open and a young waitress burst in. “Everything okay, ma’am? You ran in here awfully quick, and I thought it might be a diaper incident. Is there anything I can—oh my, you poor thing!”

Courtney racked her brain for excuses. That she peed herself while changing? But then why would she be over here by the stall? That she forgot to stock her purse? True enough, but what girl would sit through all of dinner with no protection? Only you, Courtney. All she could think to say was the truth.

So she waddled over to the changing table, still holding up her dress. “I’m sorry I made such a giant mess. I was wearing…this worthless thing.” She slithered the sopping wet panties down her legs, then sat her wet butt down on the changing pad to remove them the rest of the way. They continued to drip as she held them up.

“What are those?” asked the waitress.

“Women’s underwear.”

“But, how are they even supposed to work?”

“You’re not supposed to wet them. They’re for women who are toilet-trained.”

“Huh? But that’s not possible…”

“There’s a theory out there that it is. I’ve been trying—clearly not very successfully.” Courtney grabbed a handful of wipes and started mopping the pee off her legs. The waitress stared at her incredulously. “Actually, I wasn’t even planning to wear these here. You see—”

“—I’ll go get a mop and a towel. In the meantime, I think you better put this on.” She tossed Courtney a diaper from her purse before sauntering out the door.

Courtney fastened it carefully, feeling foolish for going without one for so long. Then she turned in the mirror to survey the damage. Dark streaks ran every which way down the skirt of the dress. How could she possibly explain this to Kyle? As she pondered this, she rinsed out the panties in the sink, wrapped them in toilet paper, and stuffed them in her purse.

Just then the waitress returned. “Here, wrap yourself in this. If anyone asks, tell them your diaper leaked badly.”

“Thank you,” said Courtney, taking the towel. “I’m really sorry this happened.”

“If you want my advice, forget this potty-training thing, or you’ll end up soaking everything you own.” With that, she started mopping up the yellow puddle.

When Kyle saw Courtney emerge wrapped in the towel, he hugged her profusely. “I’m so sorry, love, I should have let you change sooner. I guess that style’s not very absorbent.”

“No, it’s not that… A whole lot worse, actually…” she struggled for words. She couldn’t spill the truth now, not with a sopping wet skirt. “I, um…peed myself while changing, and I got it all over the beautiful dress you bought me. Kyle, I’m so embarrassed!”

“Oh, sweetie that’s terrible.” He placed an arm around her as he walked her to the car. “It must be hard being so dependent on diapers. Like you said that night…you go without one even for a moment, and disaster can strike. But I guess that’s part of being female, huh?”

A hundred thoughts raced through Courtney’s head. Actually, I managed to pee in the toilet earlier today… If we were encouraged to do that as little girls… But it was far easier just to say, “Yeah, diapers are a fact of life for us. It’s scary ever to go without.”

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Chapter 7.  Intimate Confessions

A thick silence loomed over breakfast the next morning. Whenever Kyle looked at Courtney, she would avert her gaze, and when she looked back at him, he would avert his. She shifted in her seat. For the first time in weeks, she hadn’t even tried to pee this morning. She’d simply swapped her overnight for a dry diaper, resigned to her need to wear it—as last night had made so painfully clear.

Then they both began talking at once.

“You go first,” said Courtney.

“No, you.”

“I’m really sorry about the dress,” was all she managed to say.

“We’ll dry-clean it, good as new.”

Courtney nodded, then resumed eating her pancakes in silence. Soon she felt herself begin to wet. She considered holding it back, but what was the point? As the spray commenced, she wondered if she would ever succeed at toilet-training.

“Come on, what’s really bothering you?” Kyle asked.

“Nothing.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about the dress.”

“It’s not the dress, okay!” Courtney stomped off to her room.

* * *

An hour later, she still lay with her face buried behind her laptop. I should tell him. Then he could support me like Jenny and Krystal have. But what if he finds it ridiculous, like that waitress did? Doesn’t matter, I’m through with trying, anyhow. I’m hopeless at it. I should go change this wet diaper.

Just then, Kyle burst into the room, grinning broadly. “Hi sweetheart…”

“Hmm?”

“Want to tell me what these are?” He dangled the pink panties between his hands.

Courtney’s eyes grew round, as she remembered leaving them drying on the showerhead like an idiot. “Um, they’re…um…”

“A sex toy, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“—For couples into wetting. That’s why you’re so quiet this morning—trying to act coy…”

Courtney just stared.

“Here I was, worried that I came on too strong with that diaper comment last night, but you were already planning this—oh no, I ruined your surprise, didn’t I? You were going to emerge from your shower wearing them—”

Suddenly Courtney burst out laughing. “Come here, Kyle.” He lay down next her, and she rested her head on his chest. “They’re not a sex toy.”

“They’re not?”

“I know you’re into me wetting, but I’m not. Quite the opposite, actually…” She took a deep breath. “You know the conversation we had a couple months ago, when you wouldn’t give back my diaper?”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know it would—”

“—No, no, it’s fine. But it got me thinking…especially after my accident the following night. I guess…I’m tired of being stuck in diapers.”

“It must be difficult.”

“Yeah, so…I met with this urologist, and she’s been helping me…toilet-train.”

Kyle stared at her. “But…you’re a girl. Doesn’t that make you incapable—”

“—Actually, no one knows for sure.”

“Who exactly is this urologist?”

“Well, she studied with this woman—look, it’s not important. The point is…I just…” her voice grew soft. “I wanted to try it.”

Kyle stared for another moment, then broke into a smile. “Well, then I think you should!”

She kissed him on the cheek. “I knew you’d understand, sweetheart!” She felt a weight lift from her chest. With Kyle on board, she was ready to charge on ahead. “So here’s the deal: I’m gonna go change into a pull-up.”

“You mean like what a little boy might…”

Courtney nodded.

“I knew something seemed different when I touched you there recently.”

She rolled her eyes. Touching a girlfriend’s diaper, even through clothes, was considered taboo. “Yeah, well these…” she held up the panties “…are the next step beyond pull-ups.”

“Ohhh,” said Kyle.

“But—obviously—I’m not ready for them.” She left to go change. Soon she returned to find Kyle fingering the silken panties. “Cute, huh?”

“You wore them last night…”

Courtney slowly nodded. “I never meant to—it all happened so fast.” Kyle seemed to understand. “Listen,” she said, “when this timer goes off, I need to step out for a minute. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“And if I need to step out—at another time—don’t think it rude, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiled. “This sounds fun, almost like a dare.”

“Something like that,” said Courtney.

* * *

That afternoon, she agreed to go for a hike in the woods.

“Don’t you just love it out here?” said Kyle.

“It’s wonderful.” Courtney thought of all their Saturdays spent cooped up indoors. For weeks, she had refused to go anywhere far from a toilet, claiming it was still “too cold out” or “too rainy.” It felt nice to catch at least the tail end of spring.

“Shall we take this other loop?” Kyle proposed. “Still plenty of daylight left.”

“How long is it?”

He studied the map. “Just a mile or so.”

“You’re sure, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You know why.”

“Ohhh. How much time is left?”

Courtney checked her phone. “Twenty-eight minutes.”

Kyle grabbed her hand. “Well come on, let’s go then!”

They walked through a grove of pine trees, then across a quaint bridge over a stream.

“Excuse me for a minute,” said Kyle.

Courtney watched as he walked a few yards from the trail, unzipped, and watered a tree. Just as he returned, her timer sounded.

“Maybe you better go, too,” he said.

“Maybe we better head to the porta-potties at the trailhead, as fast as possible.”

“Well let’s go, then!”

Ten minutes later, the trailhead was nowhere in sight.

“I thought you said it was only a mile,” Courtney muttered.

“A mile—or so. And I was assuming a faster pace.”

“You’re like half a foot taller than me! I’ve taken way more steps than you have.”

Kyle shrugged. After another ten minutes, he turned to Courtney. “Are you sure you’ll make it?”

“No.” Her bladder told her nothing, but she was long overdue.

“I think you should try going in the woods.”

“Um, how?” Courtney had never seen or heard of a woman doing it. Why would they, wearing diapers?

“Drop your jeans and aim for a tree?”

“Very funny. I have nothing to aim with, remember?”

“Hmm, good point… Worth a try, though, maybe.”

“Oh, I’ve tried—facing the toilet, standing. It goes everywhere—off to one side, backwards, down my legs…”

“Interesting,” said Kyle. He thought for a moment. “So then, how do you—”

“I have to sit. See the problem?” She considered just waiting till she wet herself, but then what would Kyle think? She wanted him to believe in her. “I could try squatting, I suppose… Will you keep a lookout, please?”

So Courtney dodged around bushes and weeds until she judged herself sufficiently far from the path. She glanced around nervously before sliding her pull-up and jeans down her thighs. Then she crouched down and spread her legs as far as her clothes would allow, her right hand pressing against the ground for balance. She thought of Kyle effortlessly unzipping in front of a tree. So unfair.

Courtney peered down. Ugh. The band of her jeans seemed in the direct line of fire. With her free hand, she pulled them forwards as far as they would stretch. Then she waited…and waited. She tried picturing the rushing stream beneath the bridge, but instead she kept imagining hikers passing by, seeing her in this compromising position. No respectable lady would ever do this—they would pee discreetly in their diaper.

With that thought, the first drops emerged, building to a spray that nearly splashed her jeans. She listened to the pitter-patter of pee against dirt. Then she heard something else.

“Howdy, mates,” came Kyle’s voice.

“Good afternoon.”

Courtney looked up. The hikers’ forms were only partly obscured—and if she could see them, surely they could see her. She wiggled her bottom, searching for an angle that muffled the hissing sound. Don’t be ridiculous—they can’t hear that! Just stay still. She glanced back down at the puddle spreading beneath her. Quietly as possible, she scooched her feet even farther apart to spare her shoes. Oh, why couldn’t she just be happy wetting her diaper like a normal girl?

Finally the flow receded until all she felt were droplets running down her butt cheeks. She heard the hikers walking away and breathed a sigh of relief. Now, what she wouldn’t give for some toilet paper? She shook her fanny as best she could; her pull-up would have to absorb the rest.

“I don’t think they saw you,” said Kyle, as she emerged from the weeds. “I distracted them pretty well.”

“By saying, ‘Howdy, mates?’”

“Brilliant, right? So how did it…go, back there?”

“Sometimes, I wish I were a guy.”

* * *

That evening, Courtney showed off her pull-up to Kyle. “See? Still dry.” Minus a few drops here and there.

“Wow, Courtney!”

“Sorry, I know it’s kind of plain-looking. I’ll be right back, okay?” She soon reemerged in a much frillier diaper.

“Quite frankly, I’m amazed,” said Kyle, resting his hands on her ruffled hips.

“Oh really?”

“Sure. Until today, I didn’t think a girl could even pee in the toilet, let alone crouched in the woods.”

“Amazed, hmm?”

He slid off her shirt to reveal her matching bra. Courtney’s eyes fell closed as his fingers danced along her inner thighs…

Sometime later, Courtney opened her eyes and sat up. “That felt lovely,” she said, still catching her breath. “Can you hand me my diaper?”

Kyle held it up. Then he grinned and placed it on the far side of the bed.

Courtney crossed her arms below her breasts.

“I’m just kidding. You can have it.”

“Actually…let’s leave it off for a bit. I need to work at being less nervous about it. I mean, I just peed like half-an-hour ago.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” Kyle scooched around behind her, his legs on either side. “So you could make it to toilet now, if it came to it?”

“Um, doubtful…but getting closer.”

“Hmm, care to elaborate?” He slid his hands along her waist.

“Well, before, wettings would just happen whenever, and I had no control over it.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s like…a sudden pressure that builds, and I press back against it.” She paused, deciding whether to indulge him. “Sometimes the pressure subsides…but then it returns seconds later, even stronger. I squeeze with all my strength, but it keeps building and building until the muscles down there go numb. And then I feel my pull-up inflate.”

Kyle stroked her hips. “Maybe you shouldn’t let it get to that point. Try going earlier.”

“Right. That’s what the timer’s for.”

“No, not with the timer. I mean, go before it starts feeling so urgent.”

“But how would I know when? I don’t feel…anything…until—”

“—Until you’re about to wet yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how will you ever move out of diapers?”

* * *

“It’s a valid question to raise,” said Allison. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d feel something by now.”

“Well—I do, just before I go.”

“That’s urine pressing against your sphincter as your bladder contracts. You need to feel it grow full enough to want to contract, but before it happens.”

“So why don’t I?”

“Jane thought the brain forgets how to interpret the signals—that it’s a matter of learning to hear them again.”

“You sound skeptical.”

“Well, it could be that the signals just aren’t getting sent.”

“At all? Why not?”

“Think about it. A man feels nothing, either, until his bladder fills to a certain level. Yours empties long before that, and you lack the strength to prevent it.”

“But I’ve made so much progress.”

“Your best reading is a 4. Courtney, normal continence is probably upwards of a 9 or 10.”

“Oh.”

“Normal continence—for a man, that is. Even shy of that, you might still be free from diapers—just needing the toilet more often than average.”

Courtney thought for a moment. “By your theory, how strong would I need to be to start feeling warning signs in advance?”

“Before you can delay urination long enough for the nerves to fire? That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

* * *

So Courtney redoubled her efforts. In the meantime, Kyle gradually took on a new role. On their way out the door, he would ask, “Wait, are you forgetting something?” Or more blatantly, “Do you need the toilet before we go?” Sometimes it annoyed her. She was a grown woman, not some toddler. She could remind herself! But in truth, she often did forget. And when her potty timer proved inadequate—at predicting the length of a car ride or a movie, for example—Kyle provided a helpful supplement.

One day he suggested they leave it turned off.

Courtney blinked. “Uh, how would that work, exactly?”

“You can’t rely on it forever. I’ll help, okay?”

Reluctantly, she gave it a try. And almost like clockwork, he reminded her just when to go.

“Again already?” she asked when he admonished her after lunch. “But I just went.”

“That was forty-five minutes ago, before drinking two glasses of water.”

“Oh, I guess you’re right.” It seemed so obvious now that he said it.

That evening when it came time to change into her overnight, Courtney’s pull-up was still dry.

“How’d I do?” Kyle asked.

She smiled at him. “Quite frankly, I’m amazed.”

* * *

After that, they would often leave the timer off when together. Courtney made note of his suggestions and slowly grew more attuned to her bladder’s rhythms. His reminders continued to annoy her, but no more so than her own tendency to forget.

“Courtney?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes stayed glued to her screen.

“Courtney?”

“Five more minutes—this episode’s about to end.”

“Courtney? You said that half-an-hour ago, but did you actually—”

“—Fine, I’ll go!” She slammed closed her laptop. Then she whispered, “Whoops.”

Kyles placed his hands on his hips. “How bad?”

“Moderate-sized leak… Oh wait—” A new pressure built, far stronger than what had just slipped through. In that moment, the bathroom seemed so very far away and her bed so very comfortable.

“You’re peeing, aren’t you?” There was no hiding it; these days, he always seemed to know. “Courtney, Courtney, Courtney,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Had her potty been nearby, she might have reached it in time—but the thought of him seeing her use it still embarrassed her. Of course she’d been wetting in public all her life, but to do so audibly, nakedly in front of him, felt different. So the potty remained hidden away.

Courtney rose from the bed. “I don’t think you realize how difficult this is. Is it unreasonable not to want to obsess over the state of my bladder every single second?”

“It’s perfectly reasonable…” His hand traced the curve of her hip. “What if you’d been in panties, though?”

She removed his hand. “But I’m not. I’m in a pull-up.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Deep down, Courtney knew he was right. If she wanted to succeed at this, she needed to stay dry, not just some of the time, but always—and that was a tall order indeed. Kyle could not be around all the time. Without him or the timer to guide her, Courtney felt in over her head.

That evening she confided in Jenny.

“Hey girl, where’s that pretty face?”

Courtney adjusted her video settings. “That better?”

“Reddish brown locks, piercing green eyes—yes, much! So, how’s the potty-training going?”

“Trying not to call it that. Sounds a bit degrading, doesn’t it?”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s going okay.”

“Still using the potty ti—I mean, toilet timer?”

“Not anymore. Now mostly Kyle reminds me.”

“Sounds irritating.”

“Yeah, I often want to strangle him, but…remembering on my own is way harder.”

“I bet.”

“There’s how much water I drank recently, and how long it’s been since I last used the toilet, and how long before I’ll get to go again—and I have to feed all that into a giant equation and decide whether I need to go right now or can wait ten minutes till the show ends—hold Krystal up with yet another trip to the bathroom or just get in the car. And if I pause the show or make her wait…half the time I sit there and nothing happens. It’s a huge guessing game with no rules.”

“Like playing Russian roulette with your bladder.”

“Yes…yes! Finally someone who understands.”

“Sounds like how my 3-year-old must feel.”

Was it? “Physically, maybe…but I bet he’s far less terrified of screwing up.”

“I take it you haven’t made it into panties, then.”

Courtney sighed. “No, still in pull-ups. Not much better than diapers, really. They both imply I’m incontinent.”

“And I wear diapers every day, without thinking anything of it.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” said Courtney.

“Well, do you think you’re ready?”

“For ‘adult underwear?’ Kyle keeps badgering me to try them, but the one time I did…” her voice trailed off.

“You’ll get there! Soon you’ll be perched on the porcelain throne, sliding them down your thighs like a queen.”

“And all my royal subjects will bow to my cooch, begging for wisdom on how I pee on the throne and not down my dress.” They broke into hysterics.

Eventually Jenny’s smiled faded. “Maybe you could share that wisdom with me someday.”

“Better talk to my cooch… Honestly, Jenny, I don’t know what to do at this point.”

“I think you do know.”

“See, that’s why I called you! You’re right…I guess I do. I’m just so afraid to take that step.”

* * *

It turned out Kyle knew as well.

“What are you doing?” Courtney asked.

“Providing motivation.” He finished removing her pull-up. Then he slid the white pair of panties up her legs.

“Kyle, I’ll just wet them.”

“Come on, when’s the last time you wet your pull-up on my watch?”

“Um, last Saturday?”

“On the super-long car ride, when you refused to pull off the highway?”

“I’m sorry, gas station toilets are disgusting.”

“More so than sitting in your own pee?”

“Better that than sitting in someone else’s.”

“Look, it’s irrelevant. We’ll be home the whole time, just steps away from the pristine bathroom I just cleaned.”

“Yeah…pristine for how long? These won’t protect the floor or my skirt.” She slid her hand along the paper-thin fabric.

“Believe in yourself, Courtney.” He pulled her skirt up over the panties.

“Fine, but I’m still taking extra precautions…” She trudged to the bathroom to insert one of the pads Allison had sent. Self-adhesive held it snug within her underwear, but it seemed worrisomely thin. A backup measure was needed—one far less discrete, unfortunately. With a deep breath, she retrieved it from the closet.

“Woah, what’s that?” Kyle asked.

Courtney gazed towards her navel. “You know what it is.”

“A potty? Do you…use it often?”

“Um…when nobody’s around.” She placed it on the floor beside her. Honestly, Jenny had been spot on: To call this anything other than potty-training was disingenuous.

All that afternoon, memories of the restaurant haunted Courtney’s mind. Each time she laughed or cleared her throat, and felt her pad grow damp, she imagined the dam bursting open.

“Still your move,” said Kyle, tapping the scrabble board.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

“You just went twenty minutes ago. Did none come out?”

“No, some did.”

“Then relax—you’re good for now. You’ve hardly drunk anything all day.”

Regardless, Courtney kept shifting her legs back and forth, unnerved by the lack of padding in between. Kyle spelled long words like “xylophone,” but she could only think of ones like “drip” or “wet.”

“That’s all you got?”

“No, wait—here’s a better one.” She laid out “puddle” on a triple word score.

And then the dam burst.

“Kyle, ohmygosh, ohmygosh!” She clenched her thighs together

“Potty’s right there. You got this.”

Courtney rose on unsteady legs. Despite all her practice in pull-ups, she fumbled at removing her underwear while lifting her skirt. “Ack—cover your eyes, please!” An errant spurt splashed her thigh. She sat down heavily, and her spray shot forth into the plastic bowl. “And your ears, too…” She gazed up at him, calm and composed on the couch, while she sat desperately peeing, just inches off the floor.

Kyle commended her accomplishment. “Wow, sweetheart. You did it!”

After catching her breath, Courtney glanced all around. “Ugh. Would you mind grabbing me some toilet paper?”

* * *

The hurdle finally crossed, Courtney resumed her nightly practice sessions with the potty—only now in panties. Though the stakes were higher, the steps were the same—stand up, walk/run, undress, sit and release. Having it close by made wearing underwear less nerve-racking.

“Dinner’s ready!” Kyle called.

Courtney emerged from the bedroom in stylish clothes, her hair done up, and the potty under her arm. She placed it beside her chair, then forced a smile. “Smells delicious!”

Kyle dished out the spaghetti. As they ate, they took turns glancing at her plastic toilet.

“It’s okay, darling. Don’t be embarrassed by it.”

“Oh, I’m not,” she lied. At least diapers were worn under clothes—not sitting out, staring you in the face during dinner.

“So, convinced any friends to try yet?”

“Well, Krystal’s a lost cause. She seems to enjoy wearing diapers, even.”

“And Jenny?”

“Jury’s still out. I think she’s watching how I do, first.”

“Ah, so you’re the guinea pig.”

“Pretty much.”

“Headline: Can women learn to pee in the toilet? All eyes follow Miss Courtney Clark.”

“—Who still brings a potty on dinner dates.” She twirled spaghetti around her fork.

Kyle stared at her intently. Then he stood up and lifted the potty off the floor.

“What are you doing?” Courtney asked.

“Stowing this back in the closet.”

“But I’m wearing panties…”

“Yes I know. There’s your incentive.” She watched him take away her final crutch.

Courtney’s heart beat fast, a disaster reel flashing through her mind—Jenny’s swim party, Truth or Dare all those years ago, wetting the bed before sex, wetting her birthday dress. She gazed at the archway to the hall, the bathroom just beyond it—not 15 ft. away, but it felt like miles.

Soon Kyle returned. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Um, sure… What’s for dessert?”

“Ice cream.”

“Will you excuse me for a minute, first?”

“Courtney—let’s finish the meal together.” Then he added, “You might surprise yourself.”

She took a deep breath and focused on enjoying the ice cream.

And then it struck. “Ohmygosh, Kyle!” She took a few halting steps before shoving both hands between her legs. “Ooh, it’s coming right now!”

“Nope, you’re going in the toilet, not here.”

“Okay…ack!” A bit escaped, but she pressed back with all her might.

“Left foot, right food… Come on, Courtney, carrying you would be cheating.”

She stumbled forward, her groin on fire. Another squirt escaped as she entered the bathroom, but the dam still held. The changing table beckoned as she passed it, harkening back to a simpler time.

“Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh!” She raised her skirt and yanked down her panties just as the stream erupted, splattering the toilet seat—but she plopped down upon it before much damage was done. Then she listened with satisfaction to the audible hiss of pee hitting water.

“You did it,” said Kyle.

“I can’t believe it. See, look! My skirt’s totally dry.”

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Chapter 8.  Raising the Bar, part 1

Courtney and Kyle lay in bed, basking in the morning sun that pierced the windows.

“So, should I?” she asked.

“Do you wanna?” he replied.

“Okay…what color?”

“I say, pink.”

Courtney went to shower and soon reemerged in a robe. “Are you ready?”

Kyle nodded.

“Ta da!” She parted the flaps, revealing pink panties and a floral lace bra to match.  “See how slim my hips looks?” She spun in front of him, the robe dropping to the floor.

“Hmm, let me inspect.” He brought his hand to her rear and squeezed the softly yielding flesh.

“Hey!” Courtney squealed.

“No diaper there. What’s to worry about?” He grinned.

It still felt novel to have her bottom this exposed, with no padding there save her own—but in this moment, she rather appreciated it. They lay on the bed with Courtney facing him, her hand resting on her curvy hip.

Kyle fingered the hem of her underwear. “You know, I used to think these looked odd—like they weren’t even clothes. But I appreciate them now.”

“Yeah,” Courtney added, “sort of an au naturel look.”

“How do they feel to wear?”

“Different. Kind of like—if a diaper were a padded underwire bra, these would be a wireless sheer one.”

“Do they still make you nervous?”

Of course he would ask. “Yeah…they do. I mean, I just peed, but…”

“Really? Funny I heard no flush.”

“Um…in the shower, actually.”

“You pee in the shower?”

“I imagine all women do. Kind of hard to avoid…”

Kyle’s fingers grew more adventurous, gracing her inner thighs and her underwear in between. Her eyelids drooped, and her legs parted to grant him better access. She felt him slide the panties down.

With that, Courtney brought her legs together and removed his hand. “Kind of defeats the purpose if we take them off, don’t you think?”

Kyle nodded reluctantly.

She smiled, whispering, “Plenty of time for that later…” Then she stood and walked to her dresser, settling on a fitted tee and powder-blue leggings. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“How about a stroll around the block?”

“Kyle…”

“Come on, it would only be for a few minutes. Didn’t you just go?”

“Alright, fine.”

As they descended the steps, the cool breeze reminded her again what was lacking. She had spent quite a bit of time with him in panties recently, but never since her birthday outside their respective apartments. She squeezed Kyle’s hand. “Just around the block, okay? No ‘extra loops’ this time.”

“Okay,” he laughed.

As they walked, he seemed to sense her lingering anxiety and placed an arm around her. She welcomed it graciously.

On the final stretch, he called, “Tag, you’re it!” and sprinted up ahead.

Courtney ran after him, tagging him back once he slowed down to let her. “Great, now my pad’s wet.”

“Did you know your breasts bounce when you run?”

“Yes, Kyle. That’s why we wear sports bras—unless, of course, we’re tricked into running.”

“It’s cute.”

“Cute and annoying.”

Back inside, Kyle served them freshly squeezed lemonade.

Courtney took a deep sip and asked, “Why do we even bother with the store-bought brand?”

“Easier, I guess.”

She thought for a moment. “Kind of like diapers.”

“Hmm?”

“Easier than what I’m trying, but far less satisfying.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

Courtney finished her lemonade. I should probably try using the—

“—Is it time yet?” Kyle asked. “Because your curves look…irresistible in that outfit.” He lifted her off her seat.

“Yay, piggyback ride!”

He laid her on the bed.

“Irresistible, hmm? Which curves, exactly?”

“These…” he cupped her hips through the stretchy blue fabric. “And these…” he squeezed her thighs.

“What about these?” she pulled off her shirt, revealing her breasts clad in the floral bra.

“Those cute, annoying ones?”

“Only thing annoying me now are these…tight straps…” she flicked one off her shoulder.

“Oh but without those, you’d be jiggling uncomfortably,” he teased. “Better leave them fastened.”

“Then I’m taking these off…” she unzipped his jeans. “Buuut—first I’m running to the toilet!” She scooched off the bed and ran awkwardly down the hall, one hand pressed between her legs while the other clutched her chest—her bra less effective with the strap dangling. Little squirts of pee had already begun wetting her pad.

Courtney nearly made it—but as she burst through the bathroom door, a torrent erupted in her panties, negating all chance of safely reaching the toilet. As Kyle came running, she stood with her knees bent and her butt thrust back, striving to regain control as pee streamed down her thighs, darkening her leggings. Finally she turned to face him, her arm still crossing her chest as if the stray bra strap were the extent of her troubles.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” was all he said.

Soon her wet clothes lay in a heap, while hot water beat down upon her and washed away the pee, if not her shame.

Kyle poked his head in. “Mind if I join you?”

Courtney smiled at his muscled body—a small consolation, she supposed. “You could have reminded me to go, earlier,” she mumbled.

“And that’s my responsibility?”

“Well, no.”

He hugged her tight, causing her naked chest to press into his. She wished she could stay there forever in his arms, under the steamy spray. She could even pee all she wanted, and no one would know or care, not even him.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle said at last. “I should have reminded you after all that lemonade.”

“I should have reminded myself.”

“Well…maybe it’s time to raise the bar higher—keep you more on your toes.”

“Higher than the prospect of soaking my leggings?”

He nodded.

What could he have in mind?

* * *

A few weeks later, Courtney stood at her dresser, picking out clothes.

“How about these?” Kyle held up a racy black diaper.

“Oh, I should at least wear a pull-up. I’ll be fine in one.”

“You’ll be drinking, though. Don’t you want a night to relax?”

“Relaxing doesn’t have to mean wetting myself. Why don’t you try going clubbing in a diaper—see how it feels?”

“Should I wear a bra, too?”

Courtney smirked. “Only if it matches.”

Kyle moved in close. “Wear it for me, so I can picture how it looks under your dress.” He slid his hand up the back of her thigh.

Honestly, a night not worrying about her bladder felt long overdue. Since the leggings incident, she had scrambled to the toilet half-a-dozen times, but also failed just as often. All three panties needed washing on multiple occasions. Meanwhile, Kyle kept coaxing her forward—quick runs to the store, fast food joints, brunch places, all with her in underwear. She was in the big leagues now, yearning for a timeout.

And yet, she felt silly wearing a ruffly diaper to a bar, of all places. Well, she could treat it the same as a pull-up, she supposed, despite it being more cumbersome to slide off and on. She slipped it between her legs and did up the tapes. Then she touched Kyle’s cheek. “I expect ample reward after we come home.”

After packing her purse with the same style of diaper, Courtney placed it by the door and went to finish her hair and makeup. She peed in the toilet, and they were off.

“Kyle!” she said upon opening the car door. “This is a fancy outing—you couldn’t at least clean this out?” With her foot, she pushed his collection of fast-food wrappers and cups a safe distance from where her party dress would drape.

“Uh…sorry,” he replied.

On the ride downtown, she thought of their recent trip to the grocery store…

~ ~

As soon as they entered, Courtney had insisted they scout the location of the restrooms.

Kyle leaned over and whispered, “Feeling anxious?”

“At home is one thing—this is totally different.”

“No, only different in your mind.”

“Okay, Yoda. What if this ends like on my birthday?”

“I promise you, it won’t.”

They strolled through the produce aisle, gathering fixings for a salad.

“Are those jeans too tight?” Kyle asked.

“Do they look too tight?”

“No, but you keep readjusting them.”

Had she been? “They feel weird without padding, like their gripping my tush.”

“Ah,” said Kyle.

“I dug these out of my closet. My newer ones are too loose over just panties.”

“Ah,” he said again.

They continued shopping.

“If you think you should go, then go,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“You keep glancing towards the restrooms.”

Had she been doing that, too? “How long has it been?” she asked.

“Half-an-hour, maybe.”

“Since we left home, or since we’ve been here?”

“Just go already!”

Courtney reemerged from the bathroom even more distressed. “Kyle, I couldn’t go.”

“At all?”

She shook her head. “I’m getting really nervous.”

“You went before we left, correct?”

“Mm hmm.”

“You should be fine for a while longer.”

They finished filling the cart and headed towards the checkout lanes. Then Courtney’s heart sank.

“You’d think they’d open more lanes,” Kyle observed.

They chose what seemed the shortest, but the lady working it moved at a snail’s pace. With every passing minute, Courtney’s anxiety ticked up another notch. Was this what he meant by raising the bar? That’s high enough, thank you.

“Kyle,” she finally said, “I better try again.”

She weaved through the paper aisle, past a large display of women’s diapers. Her favorite brand was on sale—a multicolor pack of gorgeous, flowery pastels—but she resisted the urge to grab one for immediate use. Upon entering the changing room, her heat sank again—the single stall was occupied. She gazed at the three changing tables that nearly filled the room. The world simply wasn’t designed for women who peed in the toilet. Why would it be?

Unwilling to wait, Courtney wandered back up front, but Kyle was nowhere to be seen. She started to panic—she last peed more than an hour ago. “Kyle? Kyle!”

“Over here, honey!” He waved from near the door, the groceries bagged and paid for.

She ran to him. “There was a woman in the stall, taking a really long time.”

“There’s only one stall? In ours, there’s always at least a couple urinals.”

“Yeah, we don’t have those.”

“So you didn’t go?”

She shook her head, as she fingered the front of her jeans.

“Do you need to?”

“Probably? I can’t tell.”

As they drove home, Courtney’s heart thumped in her chest. “I’m gonna wet your nice leather seat—I just know I will. Can you pull over so I can grab the emergency towel to sit on?” She had stashed one in the trunk.

“You’re not gonna wet. In five minutes, you’ll pee in the toilet at home.”

And that is exactly what she did.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” Kyle said, kissing her on the cheek.

~ ~

After excursions like that one, wearing a diaper tonight felt as calming as a warm blanket. But I still mustn’t wet it, Courtney reminded herself. I should treat it like a pull-up.

Soon they arrived at the club, one of many in the district. The plan was to hit several before the night was done.

“This place is nuts,” said Kyle.

“You’ve never been here? Each floor has a different theme.”

“Which is your favorite?” he asked.

“Well, the third floor has ’80s music.”

“Let’s go, then!”

“Not yet, silly. Gotta be at least a wee bit drunk for that.”

So they hit the bar on the techno floor. In her low-cut dress, Courtney quickly drew the server’s attention.

“That was fast,” Kyle observed.

“Being female has at least some advantages.”

As the place was still filling up, they managed to snag a small table.

“I don’t blame the bartender,” he said, “you look hot tonight.”

Courtney smiled.

“Does it feel nice to let your guard down, after our other outings?”

She sipped her Gin n’ Tonic. “Honestly, I’m surprised by the night off.”

“Well, you’ve earned it.” He raised his beer mug, and they clinked glasses.

Soon they ditched their empty drinks and ventured onto the dance floor. As they twisted and grooved, Courtney’s mind replayed their recent brunch together…

~ ~

“So, does it feel empowering?” Kyle had asked once they were seated.

“To be in underwear? Quite the opposite. You’ve seen what often happens at home.”

“Well, I have confidence in you.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

He perused the menu while Courtney fidgeted with her napkin. “You’re not even gonna look at it?” he asked.

“You order.” She left for the bathroom. There she checked the toilet paper supply, the latch on the stall, the cleanliness of the seat—all satisfactory. She even practiced pulling her skirt up high enough to sit. She didn’t bother trying to pee, though—still way too early.

Kyle grinned when she returned. “How’s the toilet look? Any traps or explosives to watch out for?”

“You mean aside from the tiger guarding it? Nope, all clear.”

They chatted some more, but she remained distracted. Several times, she reached for her water glass and set it down without drinking any. “I thought you said the service was fast.”

“Fast—ish.”

Finally she said, “I should use the ladies’ room”—but then their food arrived. Courtney glanced around. In a classy place like this, few women would leave mid-meal to change.

Kyle sensed her hesitation. “How much longer can you last?”

“I haven’t a clue,” she muttered. “My bladder tells me nothing till the last possible second.”

“Still?”

“Yes, still.”

“Better go then, to be safe.”

Courtney scooted her chair out.

“Unless…you thought you could make it through the meal.”

Courtney froze. The whole meal? “Kyle, I can’t.”

“Try it.”

The gauntlet had been thrown. She gathered her courage and scooted her chair back in.

They ate mostly in silence, with Courtney too preoccupied to put together a sentence. She checked the time. Ninety minutes had passed, longer than she had ever worn panties without peeing. She reached for her water again, her mouth dry from her eggs benedict, but Kyle covered it with his hand.

“Careful with that,” he said.

She stared at her plate. Still plenty of food left to fill her appetite—her anxiety compounding her hunger.

“How are you feeling, honey?” Kyle asked.

“Like any second I’ll wet my skirt.”

“Did I ever tell you, you’re cute when you’re nervous?”

“I wish I’d worn a pull-up,” Courtney muttered.

“No you don’t. Think how proud you’ll be when you succeed.”

She resumed eating, until at last her plate was empty…and her skirt still dry.

“Congratulations,” said Kyle.

Courtney didn’t answer. Instead, her hand flew to her chest, and she gasped. One one-thousand, two one-thousand… With rapids breaths, she rose from the table and powerwalked down the aisle, striving in vain to appear nonchalant. Three one-thousand, four one-thousand, five one-thousand. At the door to the bathroom, a spurt escaped, dampening her pad. She paused to contain it. Six one-thousand. Then she pushed open the door. Seven one-thousand. She sauntered to the stall and lifted the latch. Eight one-thousand, nine one-thousand. She hiked up her skirt like she had practiced, and slipped off her panties. Ten one-thousand. Her butt touched porcelain. Hissss.

Courtney emerged from the ladies’ room beaming.

“See? I told you you could do it,” said Kyle. He then calmly strode into the men’s room.

~ ~

The brunch outing capped a string of excursions with Courtney wearing panties and returning home dry. It almost made her wonder why tonight he wanted her in diapers. Who knows—Kyle could be weird sometimes.

“Come on,” she urged. “let’s try the hip-hop floor.”

As they ascended the stairs, a nagging voice sounded in her head. Normally he would remind her to try the toilet at this time. She cringed, though, when she saw the line twisting out the door. In the diaper she wore, she felt confident waiting till the logjam cleared. She turned to her boyfriend. “I’m having such a nice time, Kyle. A night off was a great idea.”

His credit card in hand, she secured them another round of drinks. By then, the place had grown too crowded to find a table, so they stood and watched the dancers.

“Let’s play Wet or Dry,” Kyle proposed.

“You’re asking a girl to play that? I thought it was only for bachelor’s parties and sausage fests.”

“We can’t have all the fun.”

“Okay, you go first.”

“Alright, let’s see…the blond in the white skirt: dry.”

“Really? Why?”

“The lines across her butt are smooth and subtle. If she were wet, they’d be bulging and misshapen.”

“Shut up, you can’t tell from that! Every diaper style’s different.” At least, she hoped you couldn’t.

“Your turn.”

Courtney looked around. “The brunette over there, dancing with her friends—she’s quite wet.”

“How do you know?”

“She keeps checking her movements, afraid to let loose—afraid of leaking.”

“Wait, I see what you mean.”

The girl said something to her friends, then strolled towards the restrooms.

“See? Told you.”

Kyle nodded. “Okay, that redhead with the bountiful chest: wet.”

“Reason?”

“Intuition. Look—you can see it in her eyes.”

“No you can’t! You just like picturing curvy redheads soaking wet.”

“Your turn again.”

Courtney scanned the dancefloor. “See that twerking girl with the skimpy top? Her partner has planted his hand on her ass.”

Kyle grinned. “The great thing about clubbing—nowhere else could he get away with that.”

“Well, she’s dry. Otherwise, she’d have slapped his hand away.”

“Wow, you’re good. I’m taking notes.”

Courtney set down her empty glass. “Come on, let’s dance!”

The swirling lights flashed around them. Sweaty bodies twisted and turned. As Courtney moved her hips to the beat, she felt Kyle’s hand drift around behind. He pulled her close until her soft chest began to glide against his abs. She gazed into his hungry eyes, as the booze worked through her brain. And in that moment, all her struggles were forgotten.

A ping between her legs implored her to abandon this revery and run right quick to the nearest toilet. She turned her head and saw that the line had grown even longer. Then she turned back to Kyle…and wet herself in his arms. She exhaled deeply, then again, unit her diaper felt warm and full beneath her dress. All the while, her eyes remained locked on his, signaling her almost orgasmic release.

When this new reality dawned on her, she gripped his hand and removed it from her rear. Though Kyle said nothing, she was sure he knew why. They danced a few more songs, but the spell was broken. She could now think only of the dampness cooling rapidly between her legs, and the shame that it brought. She was supposed to treat this diaper as a pull-up and keep it dry.

“Will you excuse me, Kyle?” She trudged off to stand in line.

* * *

Some ten minutes later, Courtney finally entered the lady’s room. Filling her view were more than a dozen changing tables spaced evenly along the wall, with low dividers in front and in between. In each, a woman lay fumbling through her purse, or wiping her bottom, or fastening tapes, their diapers designed more for fashion than function, demanding frequent replacement. All these women who had wet themselves sometime ago, just as she had—only, they believed they could do no better, whereas Courtney knew she could. She wanted no part of any of it.

Was it the alcohol? The music? The dancing? Or the fact that she wore a frilly diaper whose primary purpose was to get wet? She wished she’d insisted on a pull-up.

“If you’re not gonna claim that stall that just emptied, I will,” said the lady behind her.

Courtney walked over, hiked up her dress, and lay down. Then she fished around inside her purse…but the stack of spares was gone, replaced by a black pair of panties.

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Chapter 9.  Raising the Bar, part 2

So that’s why Kyle wanted her in a diaper. If she had kept her pull-up dry all night, Courtney never would have needed to change into this. The bastard must have known all the dispensers would be empty in a jam-packed club. No matter, she would just ask a stranger for a spare. She began to mouth the request, but then paused.

A moment ago, this whole diaper scene disgusted her, and now she was stooping further below that—to be the girl incapable even of managing her own supply? She shoved her feet through the leg-holes in defiance.

Yet as she slid the panties up, her confidence evaporated with each passing inch, until she paused mid-thigh. She fingered the silky fabric stretched between her legs, that her pee would surely soak right through. She’d felt it happen many times, though never since her birthday out in public. That streak could end tonight with countless people watching. For this was no small grocery store or brunch place with bathrooms close at hand, but a crowded club, and she’d been drinking. She gazed at her naked crotch, impulsive and unpredictable.

She shut her eyes. You can do this, Courtney, she tried to convince herself. She slid the panties up until they rested snug against her. Next she retrieved a padded liner, finding them sitting atop toilet paper that Kyle had oddly placed inside her purse. Did he think the stalls might be out? How very considerate of him. She slipped the pad into place and smoothed out her dress.

At the door, Courtney turned and stared a final time at the room full of incontinent women. Then she gripped the latch with trembling hands…and pushed it open. As she made her way back to Kyle, everyone carried on as if she were still the confident, carefree girl in a diaper—but to her, that girl was gone.

“I thought I was getting the night off,” she grumbled at Kyle.

“You said it yourself—you’d rather not wet yourself while clubbing. Now you have motivation not to.”

“Or motivation to slap you.” She readied her hand and he winced. “A pull-up would have been fine, thank you.”

He lowered her hand. “Unless you got lazy and peed in it, like you did in your diaper just now.”

She had no response to that.

“You don’t need a pull-up. It’s time for big-girl underwear at a bar.”

They wandered up to the ’80s floor, but Courtney didn’t feel like dancing.

“Would you like another drink?” Kyle asked.

“You know I can’t—not in this.”

“I think I’d like one. Could you help me out with that?”

“Sorry, my cleavage is off duty at the moment.” She turned away and pressed her legs together. How could he do this to her?

He touched the small of her back and peered over her shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Courtney grabbed his hand and spun back around. “Couldn’t you have warned me, at least? Or argued against buying that second drink? Or maybe, maybe…asked me, first?” Then her voice grew softer. “You have no idea what it’s like to be so in the dark—to have no sense of when I might pee.”

“You have more control than that.”

“Not much more.” Her fingers graced the front of her skirt. “Maybe we should just go home.”

“You’re right,” Kyle admitted, “I don’t know what it’s like. But I believe in you, honey, and I’ll help however I can.”

“How, by bringing me a towel…or a mop?” She half-smiled.

Kyle smiled back in full. Then, out of the blue, he said, “You are the most beautiful thing,” just as “Dancing Queen” began playing. He held out his hand, and she took it. They danced the whole song with Courtney wrapped in his arms, still trembling.

“Kyle, how will this work?” she asked when the song ended. “Have you seen the lines for the changing rooms? I’ll spend the whole night standing in them.”

“They can’t all be using the toilets. Can’t you cut straight to there?”

“It doesn’t work like that. When it’s so crowded, people flip the toilet lids down to use as extra changing tables. There’s no separate line.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “You could use the men’s.”

“What?”

“I’m serious. I’ll make sure the coast is clear. If someone enters when you’re in the stall, they’ll never know it’s a girl. Guys mostly just use the urinals, anyway.”

“Forget it. I’ll go ask another gal for a spare.”

“Some random gal at the bar, whom you’ve never met?”

He had her there. It was bad enough asking in a changing room, let alone out in public. She doubted she could bring herself to do it. “Fine,” she muttered, “I’ll use the men’s room like some tramp.”

* * *

They danced some more, but Courtney found herself holding back—almost like that woman from the game of Wet or Dry. If the urge came on, what could she do? Run past all the women lined up? Charge into the men’s? “Sorry, gentlemen, but I’m about to spray all over the floor unless you let me into one of your stalls.” Maybe soon the line would dwindle…but how much longer could she last? She searched her bladder for a sign—any sign—but there was none. All she felt was her pad grown damp.

“Kyle,” she mumbled, “I think the men’s room is free.”

They walked there, and he peeked inside. “All clear,” he said.

Courtney glanced around. Praying no one was looking, she leaned against the heavy wooden door just long enough to slip inside. Kyle followed her in. Her eyes then scanned the strange surroundings. No changing tables at all, just—so that’s what a urinal looked like.

Kyle noticed her staring. “Want to try one? It’s fast and convenient.”

“Very funny,” said Courtney. She crossed the room to the stalls.

Choosing the cleanest one, she carefully locked herself inside. Here things looked more familiar—no box for disposing of tampons, or lid to sit on while fastening a diaper—but otherwise, a toilet was a toilet. She removed her panties and sat. Before long, a hiss emanated from the bowl. When it finished, she reached for some toilet paper.

Then she heard a new sound—Kyle, using the urinal just outside. She listened to his tinkle, nothing like the high-pitched hiss she had produced.

“Fast and convenient,” he said again. “Hey, that sound you make, is it because your stream comes out more like a spray?”

“I guess so? Kyle, can we discuss this someplace other than the men’s public restroom?”

“Sure, hon, I’ll go scout the doorway.”

Soon Courtney reentered the world, still wearing no protection aside from the tiny pad. Her mouth felt dry from the alcohol, but she resisted the urge for water. Better dehydrated than wetting her clothes.

“S’up, Courtney?” Jenny texted.

“Clubbing…” She replied.

“Fun!”

“…in panties.”

“Ooh.”

“Was tricked into it…long story.”

“You okay?”

“Kind of freaking out. I don’t recommend this.”

“Still dry, at least?”

“Y”

“Remind your cooch: On the throne, not down your dress.”

Courtney laughed out loud, and felt a sizable squirt dampen her pad. Fantastic.

“Who are you texting?” Kyle asked.

She closed her phone. “Just Jenny.”

Courtney gazed at the frolicking women on the dancefloor, their diapers forming creases in their tight clothes, advertising to everyone that they wore them. The back of her own dress must look far sleeker. Normally she appreciated how her subtle panty-lines showcased the natural curves of her rear—but now it made her self-conscious, like she wasn’t fully dressed.

“Watcha thinking about?” Kyle asked.

“That my pad’s already wet, and could soon get a whole lot wetter.”

“Sweetheart, you just peed. I heard it with my own ears. Could you at least…try to have fun?”

She looked at him. “How do you do it—so calmly and neatly?”

“Well, I do have a—”

“—Shots! Who wants shots?”

They both turned to see a young woman in a bra top balancing a tray, her shorts so tiny that a fair bit of her diaper sat exposed.

“Could help you relax,” Kyle said.

“And hardly any liquid in them…” Courtney agreed.

“Cheers,” they said in unison, as they downed a pair of Kahlua shots.

Just then, “Don’t Stop Believin’” started playing. Courtney grabbed Kyle’s hand and led him onto the dancefloor. The rush from the shot soon overtook her, and her attention finally strayed beyond her underwear.

Five songs later, they were still dancing.

* * *

“Alright, coast is clear,” Kyle said.

“But it’s Madonna!”

“Courtney…”

“Fine, you’re right.” She snuck back into the men’s room and locked herself in a stall. There she sat waiting for things to get started, when she heard the door creak open.

“Howdy, mate,” said Kyle, alerting her to the clear and present danger.

The other man said nothing, or maybe he nodded. All she heard was the now familiar sound of male pee hitting porcelain. She glanced at her sparkly shoes and prayed he didn’t notice them beneath the divider. She tried to stay quiet, but her legs were already spread in the most faciliatory pose for peeing. That, combined with the tinkling coming from the urinal, called her bladder to attention, and she felt herself starting to go.

Oh no…oh no! Her feminine hiss grew louder by the second. The stream too powerful now to stop, she tried tilting up to aim above the water line—but that only resulted in splattering her thighs, while the majority still hissed loudly into the pool. Then in a stroke of genius, she gripped the lever behind her and flushed, then flushed again. Soon she heard the sink running and the door creak open and shut.

“He’s gone, sweetheart,” Kyle said. “Nice move by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“Flushing to mask your sound. I doubt he suspected a thing.”

When they were safe outside, Courtney turned to him. “I’m ready to go home. Are you?” This adventure was beginning to exhaust her nerves.

“Now? I thought we were bar hopping tonight.”

“Hopping? We’ve been at the same place for over two hours.”

“Well, we have until 4 AM…and you’re doing so well,” he added slyly.

“Uh huh. Kyle, I’ll be standing in a puddle by then—or have died of thirst.”

“You haven’t had any water, after three drinks and all that dancing?”

“I’m scared to.”

“A little won’t hurt. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Fine, just a little.”

She adjusted her dress so that her bra was slightly visible when leaning forward, then returned with two tall glasses of water.

“Bottom’s up,” said Kyle, downing his glass.

Courtney drank way more of hers than she intended.

* * *

Soon they were out the door on their way to the next venue.

“This is the last stop, right? Then we go home, and I put on a nice, thick overnight.”

“You still need those?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah.” It was another hurdle to cross, along with stress leaking, and—one thing at a time. “So where we headed?”

“This chill place around the corner—total opposite of where we just were. I think you’ll love it.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, his hand resting on the sloping flesh above her hip. As they walked, it slipped down inch-by-inch. “Still dry,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Otherwise, you’d have slapped my hand away.”

“I should hope so. Cuz if not, I’d—oh no…!”

“Uh oh,” Kyle said.

“There’re no bathrooms…anywhere!” She started to panic.

He looked around. “What about there?” He pointed to an alley up ahead.

“You can’t be serious…” A squirt escaped, thoroughly soaking her pad. It was the alley or her dress.

Kyle stood watch while Courtney ducked into the shadows. She glanced in all directions. Hordes of people were in the street, but the alley was dark. Perhaps no one would notice a desperate girl spreading her legs and peeing here on the ground. She leaned back against the side of a building and dropped her panties to her knees. Then she lifted her dress and released her aching bladder. Some ricocheted off the wall, splattering the backs of her legs, but most formed a growing puddle beneath her. She closed her eyes in shame. And to think, just hours ago she was safe and secure in a puffy diaper.

Suddenly she heard a ruffling sound, and her eyes shot open. She peered down the ally, and there emerged a small dog. Thinking nothing of it, the animal lifted her leg (clearly a girl) and peed on the ground next to Courtney. Their streams both ceased around the same time. The dog then scurried off.

Courtney waddled awkwardly forward till her fancy shoes cleared the twin puddles, which had started to merge into one. Then she reached into her purse to retrieve the sheets of toilet paper Kyle had provided, using them to dab off her legs, crotch, and rear. So that’s why he put it there—for moments like this. What a thoughtful man.

* * *

Courtney yanked on Kyle’s arm as they continued on. “We’re seriously still going to another bar, after—”

“—Just come and see it, that’s all I’m asking.”

Kyle proved correct—the place he chose was truly nothing like the multistory club. Crammed between two larger establishments, there wasn’t much room inside—just a few oak tables and a foosball one in the back. Nineties alt rock played overhead, not too quiet, not too loud.

“Love it,” Courtney said. “Now can we go?”

“Without a game of foosball?”

Well, the music was fantastic… She followed him through the bar.

Not even Nirvana, though, could quell her persisting insecurity. Despite her alley detour, she imagined all the liquid she’d consumed that night filtering through her system, preparing for another exit. So she went to scout the facilities. A short hallway contained doors to the two restrooms. She peeked inside the women’s: two changing tables and a stall, all unoccupied. She could work with that. She sat on the toilet, but the attempt proved premature.

When she rejoined Kyle, he was already practicing his shot. “Shall we?” he said.

Courtney gripped the five- and three-man. “Alright, you’re on.”

Kyle won the foos, so she switched to defense and blocked two of his shots. Then she got lucky when he lost control, setting up her five-man for an easy goal.

“Wow, where’d you learn to play this?” he asked.

“Frat down the street from my sorority.”

Kyle turned up the heat after hearing that, scoring twice.

Then Courtney’s hand moved from the foosball handle to the front of her dress. She took one look at Kyle and darted to the ladies’ room…only now, it was no longer empty. Three women were chatting across the dividers—a group of friends changing their diapers together, one using toilet stall for that purpose. Courtney stared for the briefest moment, then ducked back into the empty hall.

She felt her pad dampen, signaling an increasingly dire situation. She glanced around, then peeked inside the men’s. Empty. Her hand now firmly planted between her legs, she charged across the room and lifted the latch to the stall.

“Just a second,” said a low, gruffly voice. The sound made Courtney jump, and another powerful spurt shot into her pad. She doubted it could hold much more. So this was how the night would end, with her wetting all over the men’s room floor. Fitting, after tempting fate this long.

Yet then her eye fell upon the urinals, white and glistening along the wall. She stepped up to one and touched the cold porcelain. Could a girl even use one without making a giant mess? She thought of when she had tried the toilet standing—not pretty. But her bladder now left little choice.

Her heart thumping loudly, she lifted her dress and slid her underwear down. Then she spread her legs as wide as her panties would allow and arched her pelvis forward, her other hand still resting on the urinal for support. She gazed down between the swell of her breasts, but her bunched-up dress obscured all view of her vulva. She could only trust it was far enough over the bowl. She released and hoped for the best.

A spurt shot out, then another, and Courtney felt pee running down her legs. The angle was all wrong. In triage, she removed her supporting hand and pressed her thighs against the urinal for balance. Then she reached down and stretched her labia upwards. Her spray followed suit, still splattering her legs but, miraculously, landing mostly in the bowl. She glanced towards the occupied stall and wondered if she sounded to him anything like a man peeing.

Just then the hallway door opened, and Kyle emerged. He stared at Courtney perched awkwardly with her dress hiked up, splattering into the urinal. Gradually the stream diminished, the final portion missing the bowl entirely and trickling down her thighs.

She glanced around for toilet paper, but of course there was none—only a paper towel dispenser near the sink. As she waddled backwards to retrieve some, she saw before her a fair-sized puddle on the floor—more had missed than she thought. The urinal, too, was speckled everywhere with yellow droplets, many of which remained after it flushed.

Courtney then turned to see Kyle’s hand extended, offering paper towels. She used them to wipe her legs from ankle to thigh and around her butt cheeks, while Kyle held her skirt out of the way. Finally she pulled up her panties, splattered here and there with pee but still wearable—nothing compared to a wet diaper. A dry pad she inserted helped too. She reached for more paper towel to clean the floor with, but then she heard the toilet flush, announcing her queue to exit. Oh well, maybe drunk guys had just as poor aim?

Safe at last in the hallway, she stopped to catch her breath.

Kyle looked at her and asked, “Fast and convenient?”

“Not so much.”

“Next time, you could try sitting on it.”

Why didn’t she think of that?

They returned to the main room, and he placed his hands on the foosball rods as if nothing had happened. “So, shall we finish our game?”

“Kyle, can we please go home?”

* * *

The two of them walked back towards the car, past the alley where Courtney had peed, and into the multistory garage attached to the club. She cringed again when she saw the cups and food wrappers in the car, next to where her pretty shoes would rest.

“You’re not worried about the car seat?” she asked.

“Nah, it’s only a 20-minute drive.”

She fingered her skirt again. “But I’ve gone twice in the past hour. All I drank tonight just keeps flowing through me, right down to…you know where.”

“Would you feel better sitting on a towel?”

“Yeah, actually I would.” She removed the one from the trunk and laid it across the passenger seat. It seemed an imperfect solution—with no plastic lining, her pee would soak right through it.

They rode for a while, mostly in silence. Courtney was feeling a swirl of emotions that she couldn’t sort out.

Finally Kyle said, “Well, you did it.”

“Hmm?”

“Made it through a night out clubbing with nothing but underwear under your dress.”

Her fingers gripped the towel spread beneath her. “Not out of the woods yet…”

“Next exit is ours. I think we can start celebrating.”

Then Courtney’s eyes grew wide. “Pull over, pull over!”

“On the highway? Too dangerous.”

“But…” she pointed between her legs.

He glanced around. “Here,” he said, picking a McDonalds cup off the floor. “Go in this.”

“What?!!”

“Do you have a choice?”

No, not unless she wanted to soak his leather seat. She was plenty mad at him, but not quite as mad as that. She took the cup. “You better not look.”

She undid her seatbelt. For the umpteenth time that evening, she pulled her dress up past her hips and her panties down. Then she scooched forward till her crotch hung over the seat, her knees spread at an awkward angle. She gazed down past her cleavage and positioned the cup where she thought it should go.

“Could you lay the towel out around the cup in case you miss?” Kyle asked.

“You’re not supposed to be looking!”

“Just guessing you didn’t do that.”

She did as he requested. Then she held the cup back up to her vulva, just as her bladder released. Pee shot forward, past the lip and into the towel. She raised the cup, but then the spray inched sideways, missing it again. “Ack!” she shrieked. “My aim is terrible.”

“Not what I want to hear.”

“Oh yeah? Then don’t make me—ack!—wear these stupid panties next time.” She finally got the cup well positioned, but then they hit a bump, and her pee shot up and over it again. “I do think the towel was a good idea, though.” Finally the spay slowed to a dribble and then ceased. She wiped herself off with the towel, including her hand that she’d sprayed. Once properly dressed, she said, “Okay, I’m finished.”

“Well done, “ said Kyle.

“Um, what do I do with this?” she held up the cup of warm yellow liquid.

“Toss it out the window?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Then better save it till we get home. Can you find a lid anywhere?”

“This is so gross,” she mumbled, attaching the matching lid and setting the cup in a holder.

* * *

When they arrived home, Courtney ran straight to the bathroom—this time not to pee, but to shower off the remains of the evening and wrap herself snuggly in an overnight. Soon she was clean and well protected, and her anxiety finally subsided. She emerged wearing pajamas over the thick diaper. Her butt look enormous in them, but at this point she didn’t care.

Now congratulations are in order,” said Kyle from his spot on the bed.

She looked at him quizzically. “For what, exactly?”

“For making it home dry—for crossing that hurdle.”

“Congratulations for using the men’s room twice and almost getting caught? Or for peeing in an alley like some stray animal—in fact, literally right next to one? For peeing in a urinal and a cup—and missing badly? This has been one of the most degrading nights of my life. You should not have tricked me into wearing panties.”

Kyle was silent for a moment. “You could have easily borrowed a diaper from someone in the restroom. Why didn’t you?”

“Because all the women there were…changing their diapers like toddlers, and I—”

“You wanted no part of it.”

Courtney pouted. “I intended to wear a pull-up tonight in case of an accident, and not to have to change it.”

“But…you’d have still needed the men’s room, or been standing in line all night. And…wearing a pull-up, would you have peed in the urinal or the cup? No, you’d have wet yourself, just like all those women.”

Now Courtney was silent.

“Sounds to me like you’re angry over how you had to deal with the situation, not about the cause.”

Deep down, she hated that he was right.

“I placed those panties in your purse because I thought you were ready for them—and you were, kind of—though too afraid to realize it.”

Courtney still stared, her anger turning to insight. “You raised the bar—just as you said you would.”

“And you rose to meet it. Once in panties, you peed in lots of novel places, buy never down your skirt. You shouldn’t be ashamed, but proud of yourself—I know I am.”

“I have two things to say to you. Number one: Never. Do that. Again. And number two: Thank you for believing in me, sweetheart—even more so than I believe in myself.”

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Chapter 10.  Lovers’ Quarrels

Courtney lay naked from the waist down, her thighs spread and strapped into stirrups, a pee funnel encircling her vulva.

Alison spoke. “Let’s run a few tests while that lemonade works through your system. Can you cough for me?”

Courtney heard a slight splashing sound as she did.

“Any improvement with the stress leaking?”

“A little,” said Courtney.

“And any improvement at night?”

“A little.”

“Well, it’s great news about your daytime wettings. You’ve managed to cut those down considerably?”

“If I’m super diligent. But…I don’t know, I thought toilet-training would feel different than this.”

“How do you mean?”

Courtney tried to explain. “The other day, I was at brunch with my boyfriend, wearing no protection other than a pad, and I made it through the whole meal before rushing to the toilet and peeing in it successfully.”

“That’s great, Courtney!”

“I thought so, too. But then afterwards, Kyle went himself, like it was child’s play.”

“Well, he’s been doing that all his life.”

“It’s maddening. He struts about, and when has to pee, he just goes and does it—while for me, making it fifteen feet from the couch to the toilet is a major victory.” She paused to reflect. “I read this article one time called ‘Managing Female Incontinence’—

“—by Andrew Young?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I feel like that’s all I’m doing—managing it. I’ve trained myself to remember to pee at regular intervals, watch how much I drink, make sure I’m always near a toilet. That’s the only way I can stay dry, not because I’ve learned to control my bladder. Maybe I’ve toilet-trained my brain—but physically, I’ve been stuck in the same place for weeks. Just last Friday, I wore panties out clubbing and nearly flooded them.”

“But you didn’t?”

“Nope, and Kyle commended me for it. But honestly, that I avoided doing so was a miracle.”

Alison nodded slowly. “Let’s finish the exam and then talk some more, okay?”

“Alright.”

“These days, how long you can prevent urination?”

Courtney reflected for a moment. “Maybe thirty seconds, tops.”

“And right now, how close are you to needing to pee?”

“How long has it been since I drank the lemonade?”

“Don’t go by that. What does your body tell you?”

“It never tells me anything.”

Allison nodded again.

“I have this distant memory…of sensing an impending need when I was much younger—but now, I couldn’t tell you what it felt like. I can’t even reproduce the sensation in my mind.”

“Maybe soon.” Allison finished recording Courtney’s answers. “Alright, let’s try the diode test. I’ll flip this down now, okay?”

Courtney felt the funnel slide away, replaced by a cold object pressed deep inside. She squeezed as hard as she could.

“Four. Nice job!”

“May I try again? I can do better than that.” Courtney squeezed a second time.

“Five, that time. Alright, last try.”

Courtney squeezed until her muscles gave out from exhaustion.

“Four again. We have to use the average of the three.” Allison removed the diode and repositioned the funnel.

No improvement in three months. “At least I don’t freak out anymore when you swivel that thing down,” Courtney quipped. Then her smiled faded. “Why is this all so hard?”

“Well, you read Jane’s article.” Allison pointed to a diagram on the wall. “This shows the female urinary tract. When I first saw you, you had no voluntary control over these muscles here. Urination for you had reverted back to the reflex pattern of infancy. That you’ve regained any functionality at all is something to celebrate—and it flies in the face of quack theories like Dr. Young’s.”

At that moment, Courtney felt a pressure mount. Strapped in the stirrups, she couldn’t clench her legs together as she normally would, nor could she press her hand there with the funnel in the way—though, it was unclear much those measures helped. She shut her eyes and focused all attention on the one place that could withstand this onslaught, her only bastion of defense.

“Good, Courtney!” Allison encouraged.

But the pressure built stronger and stronger, like a lance piercing through her. She fought against it until her efforts collapsed, and pee went splattering down the funnel.

“Twenty-three seconds,” Allison announced. “That’s really good.”

Not nearly good enough. Courtney gazed at the diagram of her dysfunctional urinary tract. Apparently, her urethra was not even two inches long—this tiny bit of tubing that if she could only hold shut, would mean a lifetime free of diapers. But to do so was beyond her. “Can you tell me,” she asked, “how many women have actually succeeded at this? How many have you helped toilet-train?”

“To full continence?” Allison was silent for a moment. “You would be the first, Courtney.”

* * *

A few weeks later, Courtney lay sprawled on her bed in a red lace bra and diaper, while Kyle kissed her all over. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Soon he reached for her tapes.

“Wow, sex with my bra still on? That’s new for us. Less bouncy, I suppose.”

“Who says we’re having sex right now?”

“Well, I just assumed—”

“—I’m a lucky man, Courtney. Who else on this Earth gets sustained access to his girl’s vagina? Your newfound bladder control opens a whole world of possibility.”

“Hmm, like what…? Holy mother!”

“Should I stop?”

“No, no…keep doing it, keep doing it!” Courtney’s eyelids drifted closed as Kyle danced his tongue across her labia…

“Sweetheart?” he said at last.

“Why are you stopping” she asked. Moments ago, she’d been so close.

“Um, shouldn’t you go pee, real quick?”

Urrrgh. Since the night out clubbing, his reminders had seemed to multiply, coming always at the most inconvenient times. She glanced at the clock. “Ack! Kyle, of course I should go. And then we have to get ready. Aren’t they arriving at six?”

“That’s in forty-five minutes. Go pee, and then we can remove your bra and finally—”

“—Not till after the movie, Kyle. I still have to shower, do my hair and makeup…”

“Alright,” he muttered.

* * *

Before long, the doorbell rang.

“They’re here!” Kyle called.

“Almost ready!” Courtney turned in the mirror. Her black skirt, unworn since college, gripped her hips alluringly—the perfect contrast to her flowy purple top.

“You look stunning,” Krystal said as Courtney made her appearance.

“You too, hon—I love that dress!”

“Not too tight for mixed company?” asked Krystal’s date.

Krystal spun around. Her dress stretched taught across her shapely rear and the fluffy padding that encased it, but the fit seemed fine.

“I wouldn’t say so, Joe,” Courtney replied.

“Shall we?” Kyle cut in. “Movie starts at 8:00.”

On their way to the car, the girls let the guys walk on ahead.

“How’d you get your skirt to look like that?” Krystal whispered.

“No diaper lines, you mean?”

“Wait, don’t tell me…”

“Kyle talked me into it. Think it’s a bad idea?”

“Of course it is.” Krystal knew all about Courtney’s misadventure clubbing.

Soon they approached the car, and Kyle said in a fake British accent, “After you, darling.”

“Thank you, sir,” Courtney responded in kind. The two of them scooted into the back seat.

As the car pulled from the lot, he whispered, “You remembered to go, before, right?”

She glared at him. “Yes…before getting ready.”

“How’s work, Kyle?” Joe asked.

“Same old. Reboot, reformat, repeat.”

“Ah. Well, I just got promoted.”

“Wow, congratulations!” Courtney cheered. She pressed her legs together. Sitting in the firm car seat still felt odd with no padding.

“Assistant manager now.”

“Not assistant to the manager?” Kyle chuckled.

Krystal suppressed a giggle.

As Joe explained his new role, Courtney continued to fidget in her seat. What if her friend was right—that wearing panties out again was a terrible mistake? Her mind conjured memories of streaks down a dress, a splattered urinal, puddles in an alley. She thought, too, of what Allison had said. Not a single woman had succeeded at this. And yet, that thought propelled her forward. If she could be the first, then others might follow. The fate of her gender rode on her shoulders—or as Jenny might say, on her cooch.

When Joe finished, Courtney said, “I have work news, as well.”

“Yeah, she just took on this big new marketing project,” Krystal added.

“That’s cool,” said Joe. No one asked anything more.

* * *

Soon they arrived at the theatre.

“Ice cream, anyone?” asked Krystal. Joe looked at her, and she shrugged.

“Sure, plenty of time,” said Kyle. Then he nudged Courtney and whispered, “Shouldn’t you—”

“—I know!” she whispered back. She turned to Krystal. “Need a change?”

“Let’s go. Joe, order me a chocolate cookie sundae, okay?”

In the ladies room, Krystal lay back on a padded bench. “Good timing,” she murmured. “Holy cow this thing is soaked—and to think how cute it looked when I first fastened it.”

“Better thank Kyle and his ‘handy reminders.’” Courtney shut the door to the stall. “Hey, how many dates is this now with Joe?”

“I’ve lost track. It’s becoming a thing.”

“That’s awesome, Krystal.” Courtney flushed, concerned by the scant volume she’d produced. She might need to slip out again before the movie.

“Are you sure you don’t want a diaper? I have tons of spares.”

Ooh, it was tempting…then she could stop feeling anxious and simply enjoy the evening. But Kyle would notice for sure—with all his subtle feels and glances. Plus, she doubted her tight skirt even left room for one. “I want to try this again,” she said haltingly. “I think I’m ready.”

Ice cream awaited them when they emerged, a cherry sundae for Courtney and a small chocolate cone for Krystal. As they took their seats, Joe turned to his date and whispered, “No leaks, right?”—plenty loud enough for everyone to hear.

Krystal shook her head demurely.

Kyle wrapped an arm around Courtney’s waist. “Warm enough, sweetheart?”

“For now. Let’s see after this sundae.” She felt his hand drop to where her diaper should have been, his fingers caressing the all-natural padding at her hip. She loved that she could wear this skirt again, without even losing a pound. It made it easier to enjoy the ice cream.

Krystal finished her tiny cone and said, “Joe—always looking out for my figure!” She yanked at her top until it exposed a bit less of her bulging cleavage.

What was Krystal talking about? Courtney wondered. So what if she wasn’t rail thin? The woman was gorgeous.

Joe rattled off another work story, with Kyle feigning interest as he fiddled with the hem of Courtney’s skirt. Krystal took a large swig from her water bottle while she waited for everyone else to finish.

“Careful, honey,” said Joe. “It’s a long movie.”

Krystal set down the bottle.

“That’s very true,” said Kyle, glancing Courtney’s way, “and it’s starting soon…”

She mouthed back the words, “Will you stop it?” Then she stood and grabbed Krystal’s hand. “Please excuse us,” she said aloud.

For the second time that hour, the two of them stole away to the changing room. “Uh, what’s with Joe tonight?” Courtney asked from the stall.

“I don’t know…he wasn’t like that when we first met. He used to compliment my chest. Now he chides me about my waistline.”

“Well, does he want you curvy or slim? Can’t have it both ways.”

Krystal laughed. Then her voice grew softer. “Plus, sometimes I feel like a child when I’m around him.”

“I can relate,” said Courtney.

“But you’re out in public with no protection… Kyle has reason for concern—Joe doesn’t. I can manage my own diaper—I’ve worn them for how long?”

“That’s so true,” said Courtney. Maybe she should apologize for mouthing Kyle off. “Well, I hope you can work it out—he’s super good looking.”

“I know, right?”

Courtney stood and peered at the crystal-clear water in the bowl. No matter—doubtless, Kyle would badger her to go again partway through the film.

* * *

As they waited for the show to begin, Courtney leaned over to Kyle. “Sorry I snapped at you, honey.”

“Shh, I’m watching the previews,” he replied.

So Courtney turned and chatted with Krystal while sharing her popcorn. Krystal hadn’t ordered any herself.

When the movie started, Courtney tried her best to stay focused on the plot. Her pantyliner, already damp from intermittent leaks, felt cold as the air-conditioned breeze blew right through it. She reached under the seat and pulled Kyle’s coat up around herself. Should she flee to the bathroom again? Not yet—the show had only just begun, and it was so nice and warm under the coat. She took another handful of popcorn. So salty and delicious.

After a slow start, the plot began to pick up. “Who’s that, again?” Courtney whispered to Kyle. She wished she had paid closer attention earlier.

“Shh.”

Forget Kyle. He was obviously mad at her. “Krystal,” she whispered, “who’s that man in black?”

Krystal explained as best she could. Then she reached for Courtney’s popcorn, but Joe slapped her hand away. Wow, this guy was a piece of work.

Courtney pursed her lips, her mouth dry from all the salt. She looked around. Krystal had stowed her water bottle under the seat, purposefully out of reach. So Courtney gulped down a third of Kyle’s cherry soda. Alright, how long had it been so far? She had forgotten to mark the time when the show began. She had better go—just as soon as this scene ended.

~ ~

A giant robot marched onto the screen, raising a sort of laser at the protagonist and his newfound girlfriend. She clutched at him in fear, as the robot said, “I have you now!”

“No you don’t!” screamed the mysterious man in black, jumping onscreen. Was he an F.B.I. agent? A Russian spy? His accent was hard to place.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” bellowed the evil robot, swiping the man to the ground. The robot trained his laser at the girlfriend’s chest, barely contained in her top.

“Oh, I’m gonna wet my diaper!” She buried her face in her boyfriend’s arms.

The camera then panned to three other robots sprinting forward. This truly marked the end for the hero and his girl. But then Joe and Kyle started cheering. Wait, these must be good robots! Couldn’t they color-code them or something?

A loud battle ensued, with such a dizzying succession of cuts that Courtney couldn’t tell which side was winning. Every so often, the camera would pan back to the cowering girlfriend, her cleavage even more exposed than Krystal’s.

~ ~

A sudden pressure jolted Courtney back to reality, emanating from deep between her legs. She glanced at Kyle, too engrossed in the film to notice the terror in her eyes. The toilet was so, so far. Why hadn’t he reminded her earlier? She rose abruptly, crossing past Krystal and Joe on the way to the aisle.

The door opened again behind her as she exited the cinema. “Courtney, are you alright?” asked Krystal. “You left so awfully fast.”

Courtney shook her head frantically. She walked a few more feet, holding her thighs together in a fashion that caused her hips to sashay. A squirt escaped, and she paused to contain it before continuing on. Why hadn’t Kyle reminded her to go? Because she had snapped at him earlier, that’s why.

“You’re halfway there, hon,” Krystal encouraged.

Again Courtney paused, but her efforts this time were less effective. She could feel the pad starting to fail, warm droplets escaping out the sides. She resumed her journey, nearly jogging now with knees still pressed together.

And then, “Ohmygosh…ohh noo!” Courtney leaned back against the wall as her bladder let go, spraying pee into her underwear and all down her legs. She watched her puddle form patterns along the tile floor. When it was over, Courtney looked up, tears forming.

“Courtney, spin around,” Krystal instructed.

“What?”

“Just do it… See? The black skirt conceals it really well. I say we make a break for it.”

Courtney wiped a tear away.

Krystal grabbed her friend’s hand and headed for the exit down the hall. As they walked, Courtney felt drips still running down her legs. They pushed through the door out to the parking lot.

“Good thing Joe lent me his spare key.” Krystal reached into her purse, and the car doors chirped.

“Just a minute, ladies!”

They turned to see a man in glasses flanked by two security guards.

“I think you better come with us.”

* * *

“Is this you?” asked the manager in glasses. They sat in his office, viewing security camera footage.

“Um, no?” said Courtney. She watched herself squatting against the wall, pee splashing onto the floor. Reliving it in third person was as traumatic as experiencing it firsthand.

“You must have us…confused?” stammered Krystal.

The film then showed them marching down the hall, drops of pee forming a trail behind. On a second screen, they could be seen approaching the exit, their faces clearly discernable.

“Fine, it’s us. I’m…sorry my diaper leaked all over your nice floor. We should have stayed to clean it up. I was just…really embarrassed.” Courtney shifted in her seat. By now her legs had mostly dried, but her soaking wet underwear lay glued to her rear.

Just then the door behind them swung open. “I think they’re back here,” said a female voice that Courtney vaguely recognized.

“Sweetheart, we’ve been looking all over for you!” said Kyle. Then he saw the footage. “Come on, man, she’s humiliated enough as it is. Can I please just take her home?”

Joe cut in. “Sir, the movie was three hours long, and a diaper can only hold so much. I implored them to monitor their water intake, but they didn’t listen.”

With that, demure Krystal turned and shouted, “Joe, you’re a pompous ass!”

“She’s not wearing one…” said the familiar voice.

“What?” said Joe.

Courtney looked up to see the waitress who had lent her the towel on her birthday. Apparently, she worked Saturday nights at the theatre.

“I thought I recognized her boyfriend. When they ate at the restaurant where I waitress, something similar happened. Seems they like to play sex games that involve her wetting underwear made for girls. She claimed she was ‘toilet-training,’ but obviously that makes no sense. I spent a good part of my shift cleaning up her mess.”

“Is it true?” asked the manager. “You came to my theatre with no diaper on?”

“What? No!”

“Care to prove it?”

“I’m not lifting my skirt for you, you perv.”

“Hmm, then I’ll stick by what our trusted employee says. Frankly, I’ve never seen a diaper leak so badly. I highly doubt you’re wearing one.”

“Are you aware of section 16 of the county sanitation code, ma’am?” asked a security guard. He read from his phone. “‘Females shall wear proper urinary protection at all public pools and beaches, entertainment venues, and places of business. Violation is subject to fine not to exceed $500.’”

“Thank you, officer,” said the manager. “Ma’am, you’re lucky we’re not pressing charges. Don’t bother coming back to my theatre, though. Take your kinky sex games someplace else.”

* * *

At home that night, Courtney sat sobbing against Kyle’s shoulder. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m hopeless at it.”

“Let’s sleep on it, honey. You’ve had a rough night.”

“Why didn’t I go earlier? There were so many opportunities.”

“It’s my fault. I should have reminded you.”

“Your fault that I peed all over the floor?”

Kyle sighed. “Something like this was bound to happen eventually.”

Courtney sat up straight. “Wait, what do you mean?”

He looked into her eyes. “Do you feel anything at all, before the final 30 seconds?”

Courtney didn’t answer.

“Tell me truthfully.”

“I feel nothing.”

“And it’s been like that for how many weeks?”

“What are you implying?”

“Come on, Courtney. What’s more likely—that every woman on earth, except you, has been made to believe they’re incontinent, or that it’s you who’s deluded.”

“Deluded? But…then why did you support me?”

“You seemed to care so much about it. I wanted you to succeed.”

Courtney stared for a moment. “It’s no secret that I’d like to lose five pounds. But whenever I try dieting, you pay no regard. I’d like to be more assertive at work, but you ignore my efforts there, as well. So why this? Why are you so committed to my toilet-training, if all along you figured I’d fail at it? Unless…”

“I wanted to help you try, at least.”

“…you wanted to watch me flounder. To see me wet my clothes—”

“—No.”

“—because it turns you on.”

The look on his face said it all.

Courtney pointed to the door. “Get. Out!”

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  • 3 weeks later...

Thank you to all who commented. After mulling over the feedback offered here and elsewhere, I've created revised versions of each of the chapters. As the editing time limit has expired, I've begun posting them in a new thread.

Most of the changes are minor--corrected spelling, improved wording, etc. In later chapters, I did try to emphasize her desperation a bit more--allowing her to struggle before her bladder lets go. That felt more realistic to me. Relatedly, after timing myself walking between different rooms in my home, I realized I needed to increase her holding times to match the distances I say she's traveling.

Chapter 10 contains the biggest change, with a new holding scene added at the beginning that helps set up the narrative arc for that chapter. There are also two final chapters I'll be posting shortly that complete the story.

After that, I'll request the chapter posts in this original thread to be hidden, so as not to confuse people. Again, here's the link to the updated version.

 

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