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female Paige: My Story About How I Became A Semi-Incontinent Bed Wetter Because Of Nappies.


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Paige: My Story About How I Became A Semi Incontinent Bed Wetter Because Of Nappies.    Chapter One.     Hi everyone! I’m Paige, and I figured that this was probably the best place

Chapter 37    After the cleanup, I smoked an illicit cigarette inside the van, sitting at the table with the window open. I smoked with my left hand, while my right hand did some serious exp

Sorry for the delay everyone, but it’s finally done. The final chapter!    There’s something very exciting in the pipeline too, so stay tuned…..   Chapter 39.     Talk ab

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14 hours ago, mikey mike said:

This really is  good Barry! Perhaps it would be good if you could elaborate a bit on how Paige became a nightly wetter.....

Ahhh....you need chapter four my friend! Chapter 3 is done. Only short, but sets it all up from there. Im working chapter four now, and believe me, it really takes off from there. 
I’m trying to keep one chapter in front, so once I’ve finished four, I’ll post three. 

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Chapter Six

 

The Idea Solidifies.

 

My first walk to the bathroom started off okay at least. It was around 7.30 am, the sun was up, the sky was clear, and it was cool. I was wearing my green crocs, (No socks. Even I have limits) an old pair of bikini cut blue cotton panties, complete with little pink roses, and an old period stain in them. (I have a collection of stained knickers that I wear to sleep in, exercise in, or hang around the house, but I always wear spotlessly clean ones to work or socialise. I have a LOT of knickers with permanent pee stains.) my baggy grey sweats, and the same sleeveless strappy yellow top from yesterday. I needed to pee, but not urgently, at least when I first stepped outside. 

 It was only a couple of dozen steps into my 200 metre trek before I started getting second thoughts. The morning breeze was cool against my bare shoulders and arms, and it seemed to accelerate my need to release my morning pee. I’d only reached the next row of vans when the idea of turning around and heading back to use the sink or plastic tub crossed my mind. Yesterday, it had seemed like a no-brainer, but today, in bright daylight and completely sober, the memories of what I’d done made me cringe. God knows what I’d been thinking at the time! 

 Still, though. The fact remained that wearing a diaper yesterday would’ve been a lot easier, I thought. Of that I had no doubt. 

 “Even now,” I thought, as I tried to pick at my crotch nonchalantly, hoping that nobody was looking. 

 The sink was looking better and better with every shaky step, but suddenly, I was halfway. We have a saying here, “Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” which kinda means “Whatever.” It doesn’t matter what you do, you have a 50-50 chance of winning or losing, so I kept walking, the toilet block now in sight, about 100 meters away. 

 It’s probably not the most exciting story, but I almost made it. Almost. But not quite. The “Six of one” rule fell against me. One thing worked in my favour though, I didn’t see another person during my desperate walk. I got into the toilet block, for the first time, but only took the barest opportunity to look around as I headed straight towards the stalls. It looked clean, modern, and as pleasant as a public toilet could be. 

 It looked like salvation. 

 My feet quickly took me towards the nearest cubicle. 

 I opened the door, saw the toilet.....and started wetting myself. 

 Something about the sight of salvation right in front of me made my tensed holding muscles relax, and once again, a big jet of pee shot out, making me act as before, bending over, crossing my legs and holding myself. 

 Again, my hand and leg detected warm wetness, and I clenched my muscles as tightly as I could, before managing to somehow close and lock the door, get both my sweats AND panties down, turn around, and sit down in almost one fluid movement. 

 I sighed with relief as my bladder emptied, then glanced nervously into my pants, that were puddled around my ankles. The crotch of my light blue panties was now dark blue, but even worse was the dark grey stain that covered the crotch and front of my baggy sweats. After I’d finished my wee, I stuck my legs out wide, and pulled my knickers aside to check the damage. It was significant. The immediate area between my legs was soaked, there was a tennis ball sized round wet patch on the front of them, making it look as though a boy had wet himself while wearing them. I slipped my feet out of my crocs, and pulled my sweats off, holding them up in front of my face, while I tried to keep my feet hovering above the tiled floor. I couldn’t, so I shuffled around a bit until I got my shoes on again. I sighed. My light grey baggy sweats had a big dark wet spot on the front, and the crotch was noticeably wet. There was a dark stripe a few inches long on the inner right leg. Suddenly, my stomach gurgled. Not surprising I suppose, as I hadn’t moved my bowels for nearly eighteen hours. Standing up quickly, I hung my sweats on the door hook, and sat back down again, my wet underwear already starting to feel cold and clammy around my ankles. I relaxed my bowels, and gave a gentle push, and was rewarded with the comforting feeling of voiding into the toilet. I was finishing up wiping myself, when I heard the bathroom door open, making me sigh soundlessly. I was now stuck. 

 It probably sounds weird, but I was a victim of my own shyness. I really didn’t want to draw any attention to the fact that I was hiding in a cubicle with wet pants. A similar situation had played itself out a few times at school, and it sucked. If only I’d been wearing a dress or skirt it would’ve been okay. I could’ve just left my saturated knickers on, or hid them in a pocket or something, but my visibly wet sweats were hanging right in front of my face, showing me exactly how noticeable my accident was. I couldn’t risk going outside and letting anyone see what had happened. 

 Footsteps headed into a cubicle a few doors down, and the door shut. I stood up as fast and silently as I could, pulled my panties up, scrunching my face at the feeling of cold wet cotton pressing on my girl bits, then slid my pants on again. I was about to flush the toilet and make a run for it. I’d wash my hands once I got back home, but just then the front door opened again, and the other toilet flushed. I sat down silently again, trying not to look inside the bowl. I didn’t want to flush yet, as that would tell anyone out there that I’d finished, and it would be super weird if I didn’t exit the stall straight away. 

 The lady came out of her stall, and said hello to the newcomer. Apparently they knew each other, and started talking, as I gritted my teeth in frustration. It was a bit stinky in there, and I just wanted to flush and leave. After a minute of mindless chit chat, a voice said “I’ve really got to go Penny. I’m about to wet myself,” and they both laughed, as I heard the exit door and a stall door open at the same time. 

 Here was my chance. I stood up, flushed, opened the door, and came face to face with a young girl of around eleven or twelve. She must’ve come in at the same time that “Penny’s Friend” had left. The girl gave me a shy smile, then her eyes fell to my crotch area, and then widened, before snapping towards my face again. I felt myself blushing brightly, but I managed a watery smile and a weak shrug, as I walked past her towards the sinks. As I washed my hands, I could see my own reflection staring back at me, complete with a resplendent wet patch the size of a mango on my pants, and that the kid had paused, and was looking at me as I washed.   I really wanted to yell “Yes! I pissed my pants! I had an accident, okay? Do you want to take a picture? It’ll last longer!” But of course I didn’t. I waited for her to turn towards the stalls, then I was out the door, just as Penny’s friend was emerging from her cubicle. 

 My shirt was too short to cover my shame, and there was no way to hide it, so I started off on a fast walk. I saw yet another lady approaching me from well beyond the other side of my van. 

 Fuck. Did every single female here all use the damn bathroom at the same time? 

 I started into a jog, and made it back inside before she got too close, although I have no idea whether or not she saw my pissy pants. After I locked the annex door, I stepped up into the van, and sat my wet arse onto the vinyl bench seat at the table, where my laptop was. 

 I was mad now. Like actually mad. 

 It wasn’t often that I felt anger towards my condition. I was too used to it. It wasn’t something that I usually dwelled upon as much as I had done over the past eighteen hours or so, as it was something that I was simply resigned to dealing with. It had been the hand of cards that life had dealt me. I was long past any type of “Woe Is Me” self pity kind of thing. I was young, fit, and healthy. I had a job I loved, and my first home was being built. I had friends, and money in the bank. Life was actually pretty good. My OAB wasn’t life threatening at all, and a quick look inside any hospital would certainly show that there were a hell of a lot of people who were worse off than I was. 

 But just at that moment, I allowed myself an ounce of self pity. 

 IT JUST WASN’T FAIR! 

 For fucks sake. All I wanted to do was go and use the toilet like a normal person. No sink, no towel, no buckets, and certainly no pants. I mean, it wasn’t even the fact that I’d wet myself again that upset me. It was the fact that I’d been seen wearing them afterwards that was maddening. I slammed my open palm down so hard on the laminex table that the loud sound made me jump. I was so over this. 

 Once my breathing was back under control, I walked into the kitchenette and re-heated the kettle again, adding my sweats and knickers into the building load of washing in the machine, all of it pee damaged stuff, and yet again I found myself naked apart from my strappy shirt. 

 I made a coffee. Although I don’t drink a lot of it, I needed to go for a run now, to clear my head if nothing else, and a coffee would help. I wouldn’t be gone too long, and besides, my pants would be at least a little bit damp after anyway. They always were after a run. 

 I dressed myself as I drank. My shirt was the first non-peed on thing that I added to the machine, and now totally naked, I went back into the van. Socks first. White ankle ones with a pink heel and toe. Fresh panties, cotton, bikini cut, pink, with a discolouration in the crotch from a pee accident months ago, where I’d taken them off wet at work, and hidden them in the trunk of my car, then forgot about them. I didn’t find them for a week, and by that stage they had dried with a permanent yellowish stain in them. As usual, I added an incontinence pad to them, and I knew it would be wet by the time I’d finished. 

My baggy black running shorts were next. They’re a loose fit with a drawstring waist, and a fairly high cut leg. Last item was my white Nike t-shirt. I did five minutes of stretches in the annex before slipping my running shoes on, and by that time, my mind was starting to function normally again as the first of the endorphins were released. It wasn’t that I actually liked running a lot, but I always found that it was useful when I needed to think about things. I never wore ear buds or listened to music, as my own thoughts were enough to keep me company, and running was a great way to work out problems or things that were bugging me. I’d solved quite a few plot lines and twists in my novel during my thrice weekly runs. 

 Today I wouldn’t be thinking about my novel, work, or my living situation. I was going to clear my head, and give some hard thought towards my diaper idea. Yesterday, after a few wines, I had been excited by the thought. Then today, it had seemed absolutely ridiculous at first, but my accident in the toilet had swung my thinking back to where it had been before. A doable idea. 

 It just seemed like such a drastic thing to do though. I’d (kind of) managed my OAB and minor incontinence problem reasonably well up till now. Did I really want to resort to wearing diapers? 

 I opened the door, and started jogging. It only took me a few minutes to make it to the park entrance, and by then my thoughts on the subject were taking shape. It’s always a source of wonder for me how running makes my thoughts clearer. I turned left, my plan was to circle the outside of the park in an anti-clockwise direction, plus a couple of blocks. This would lead me to a small cafe just to the right of the park entrance, and I estimated the total distance to be around three kilometres, which I could comfortably do in around thirty minutes or so, according to my Fitbit. 

 As it’s prone to do, my mind automatically started working through the issues that were troubling me, namely my nagging incontinence problem, and the possibility of a padded solution. Yesterday, my alcohol fuzzed brain had kept playing with it, but with no real focus, now however, I was able to consider things critically. 

 Item One: It appeared to me that I actually kind of liked the idea of wearing diapers at home, which was surprising. It had been suggested to me before by doctors and the faceless WWW, but I’d never really given it any serious thought. The idea had first popped into my head after wetting my pants and peeing in the sink, leading to my first proper research into the subject, even though I don’t reckon that I was really thinking about it seriously at first. It had become a serious thought only when I’d been faced with walking in the rain to the toilet, leading to my towel experiment. 

 I had to be honest with myself as well. During my internet searches, I’d stumbled across a LOT of stories and sites that featured grown adults who actually wore diapers for fun. Some liked to play as babies, others just liked to wear them, and although at first glance it appeared to be just another sexual kink, it didn’t have to be. Some just liked the feeling of wearing them, or for the convenience they provided. 

 I knew that I didn’t want to pretend to be a baby. That shit just seems a bit weird to me, but to each their own. 

 I could certainly make a case for using for convenience, especially after yesterday and then this morning’s little episode. A diaper would’ve saved me a lot of embarrassment an hour ago. 

 But, the embarrassing truth lay somewhere halfway between. Yes, the convenience side of wearing in my van was undeniable, but I also did feel a bit turned on by the thought of wearing them. 

 I’d been really aroused by some of the pictures I’d seen of grown adults like myself, looking very cute in diapers, especially the kids pull ups with the bright cartoon style prints, even more so when their little nappies looked wet and saggy. 

 I felt myself blushing a bit as I admitted to myself that I was turned on by the idea. 

 Item Two: Adult diapers. These sounded brilliant, especially the pull up ones. I didn’t want to use tape up ones. The grownup ones sounded seriously useful for my situation, more so than the kids ones did. It was very obvious from the stories and pictures that the kids ones would leak easily, especially dealing with a grownup bladder. But, the kids ones could be good to wear to work, just to stop the little occasional leaks or dribbles. They would certainly be better suited than my regular pads. 

 The big adult ones would be so super handy for days like yesterday when it was too cold or rainy to go to the bathroom, but they looked, well, so “medical.” Yeah yeah. I know. Dumb statement. They ARE medical. But it was like I’d be acknowledging my bladder problems as something more serious by resorting to those. They just didn’t look as cute, or as much fun. But, they would be absolutely perfect to wear to bed if I thought that a sleep wetting incident might occur, such as after an evening of drinking alcohol or something. Heck. I might actually be able to drink beer in the evening if I let myself wear one of those big, thick, fluffy white pull ups! 

 Item Three: Wearing in public. Would I? Could I? I don’t know. Perhaps. Maybe. At least the kids ones, if they were discreet enough. At work, I wore either a skirt or dress with pantyhose, or dress slacks. My slacks were a loose fit around my bum, and not clingy, so I didn’t think that they would be at all noticeable, but my natural shyness made me think that I’d never be brave enough to do that anyway. Although, if they worked? Maybe. I’d definitely be happy to try both sorts out in the safety and privacy of my van. 

 I thought of sitting there by myself, watching tv or writing, and wearing a big thick nappy, and just relaxing and using it, instead of going to the toilet, especially at night. Of course I could just as easily pee in the sink or tub, or maybe a bottle, but the thought of releasing my bladder deliberately into a nappy without caring was divine. I grinned to myself as a different sort of warm moisture graced the top of my pad, and my vaginal lips rubbed against each other easily thanks to their own natural lubricant. 

 Turning the third corner, and starting my return trip, I was able to put things into some sort of perspective at last. 

 1: I had some minor bladder control issues. 

2: There was a solution at hand to help me control it. 

3: I liked the idea of what the solution entailed. In fact I was turned on by it. 

4: The convenience factor. So what if I liked it? Wearing a diaper actually made a lot of sense, especially for bathroom breaks with any sort of urgency, like first thing in the morning, or on a rainy day or cold dark night. Christ. What about long car trips? The accident on the way to Kylie’s place a year ago still burned inside me. What about plane travel? If I flew back home to see my folks, I’d feel much safer with a big nappy under my dress. 

 I was approaching the cafe, and I made a snap decision. I was going to stop and have a cappuccino! Two coffees in a single morning was unheard of! It was just asking for trouble! But I didn’t care. I’d have a shower when I got home shortly, and make sure I peed a couple of times before leaving for the shops, which were only a short drive away, where I’d buy some diapers to try. 

 My mind made up, I turned my attention to the newspaper on the table, and sipped my cappuccino. As usual, the paper was filled with Covid news again. Where I live, we’re pretty lucky. It’s been controlled, and we haven’t done more than a couple of snap lockdowns, and wearing masks wasn’t compulsory. Yet. According to the newspaper, that might be about to change. It looked like another trip to the shops might be worth it, irrespective of any diaper purchases. It wouldn’t hurt to stock up on some canned and long life food. Shit. I really hoped another lockdown wasn’t going to happen. 

 As I read, I glanced around, making sure I was alone at my outside table, before slipping my right hand under the table, where I felt the gusset of my shorts. 

They were wet. 

 I slipped a couple of fingers up the inside leg of my shorts, and into my underpants. My pad was saturated, and my knickers were very wet as well. That’s the downside to jogging. I leak, and don’t feel myself doing so. At least my black shorts didn’t show it. 

 I finished my coffee, and the Covid doom and gloom news, then stood up and headed back to the park, walking now, and feeling the wetness between my legs. I knew that any wetness on my shorts was basically invisible, as they were just wet in the gusset, not between the legs, not against my crotch, and my legs and front were still dry, so I allowed myself to relax for a change, and not stress over it. I kind of ground my thighs together a couple of times, and I could just detect a cooling dampness against my sex, and I imagined that I was wearing a diaper right then. The toilet and shower blocks were coming up, and although I didn’t actually feel a need to go, and in fact I was planning on just grabbing a towel and a change of clothes before coming straight back here, I decided to err on the side of caution instead, so I went back to the ladies room. 

 It was empty this time, and I took a moment to stand in front of the mirror and look at my reflection, double checking that any wetness on my pants was invisible, and it was, even when I turned around, bent over, and wiggled my bum seductively at my reflection. 

 Safely inside a stall again, I pulled down my shorts and panties, then removed the soaked pad and disposed of it, just as an impulse hit me. 

 I pulled my damp panties back up, then sat on the toilet and relaxed, and within a few seconds I was peeing through them, just like I had done yesterday over the sink. The hot pee sort of bubbled out the front, then ran down the crotch towards my butt crack, where it formed a heavy stream that started splashing loudly into the bowl water, as my underpants wicked the pee up and around the front and back of my pink knickers, wetting them from just under the elastic waistband on the front, to halfway across my butt cheeks. I closed my eyes and sighed, aware that my toes were curled up inside my shoes. It felt divine. After I’d finished, I blotted them with toilet paper as best I could, leaving them on, before flushing and pulling my shorts back up. 

 This was a new experience for me. Not only had I deliberately wet myself in public, but I’d left my wet pants on as well, almost challenging life itself to turn this against me. My arse felt lovely and warm as I washed my hands, when the door suddenly opened behind me, and an older lady walked in. We made eye contact with each other in the mirror, and she smiled and nodded as she walked past, hurrying towards the stalls. 

 I gave this some thought as I wandered back to my van. I’d completely wet myself, at least my panties, and she hadn’t noticed it. The act of wetting myself had felt really nice, especially since it was in public. For the first time ever, I hadn’t tried to hide it or do anything about it, and it actually felt really good. 

 Would this be what wearing a diaper would feel like? 

 I fully intended to find out....

 

 

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Barry,  Yes. Definitely reading this.  If or when omorashi comes out of the closet, this would fit into a "Literature of Omorashi" class.  Most pieces on omorashi.org tell wetting-doll stories.  We know little about the characters other than the wetting situations.  Often the characters have occupations, identifying wardrobes, skills and even a quest.  We know them in the way we know game characters -- sort of Mario Cart with peeing.

But your characters reveal themselves in a deeper way.  They see to jump out of the screen and share their hearts with the readers. 

Edited by Stanley79
word usage (see edit history)
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15 minutes ago, Stanley79 said:

Barry,  Yes. Definitely reading this.  If or when omorashi comes out of the closet, this would fit into a "Literature of Omorashi" class.  Most pieces on omorashi.org tell wetting-doll stories.  We know little about the characters other than the wetting situations.  Often the characters have occupations, identifying wardrobes, skills and even a quest.  We know them in the way we know game characters -- sort of Mario Cart with peeing.

But your characters reveal themselves in a deeper way.  They see to jump out of the screen and share their hearts with the readers. 

Thanks mate. Really glad you’re enjoying it. I know you and @mikey mike are reading it at least! 
It just gets a bit annoying when you check in randomly, and see that people are looking at it, but it’s only a few of you guys that bother to comment, or even like it. 
Appreciate your comments buddy. 

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I'm enjoying it very much Barry and look forward to each new chapter! The problem for me at least Is that I don't know  how to say how much I approve of what you've written in a different way. The one thing I will say though is that I really do approve  of, is your decision to make it a mixture of pants and nappy wetting.

Please continue with this story but don't forger about D&A 😊

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