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As I look back on the last few months, I can’t help but realize all over again that every thing we do, every step, every action we take, all leads us towards our future, inexorably, irrevocably. Miss one turn on that road, and your future shall be entirely different. The stone in the pond ripple effect is alive and well. But I digress, perhaps I should tell you about a few of those life building events in my recent life.
I shall skip the usual kid growing up and other teenage woes. I shall skip the series of more or less successful, or outright disastrous relationships. Let’s just say, I enjoyed wearing and wetting diapers. One might have chosen to delve into the deeper reasons for such a “kink”. It was enough for me to know that I felt very comfortable and at peace while diapered. Or rather, more comfortable and at peace than I was when going “naked” (a term I used to describe to myself my diaper-less state).
Time seems to be filled with momentous events at various rates throughout one’s life. Sometimes, there is so much happening one has a difficult time cataloguing it all and keeping track. At other times, life is but a long desert of sleep, eat, work, or “Métro, boulot, dodo” as the French say. This past year was one such so filled with incidents that it was like the meat between the boring years of white sliced bread. The sandwich of life. . .
I guess what marked the beginning of this “meat year” was the sudden death of my spouse. Not much to say here, except perhaps that my partner didn’t have a problem with me wearing diapers. It wasn’t my spouse’s thing, but he didn’t mind it. Once, when I worried about the cost of diapers, I was told that I shouldn’t worry too much about it, it was relatively inexpensive. I could be a smoker and spend several hundreds a month.
So here I was, left alone, grieving and generally miserable. Even wearing diapers was no big help. I was feeling a certain level of helplessness in my life. I had to be in control of my life, “get a grip”, while I had just learned the hard way that there is no real control in life, not for the important things.
But the appeal of truly having no control over my bladder was more and more appealing. Some people might think me sick, I know not. It just felt right. Delusion, deviance, psychosis, or simple kink, it matters not. In the end, “normal” is just a cycle on the washing machine.
Being relatively shy and not all that good about meeting new people (not when potential relationship were a desired result anyway), I spent a lot of time in chat rooms, where I could safely be myself, and hang around places where being myself wasn’t a problem. Ahhh, teased by friends and relatives, they told me I should spend my time with “real” people. Little did they realise that my online community of friend often meant more to me than some of my “real life” friends. Where do you meet like-minded people? Even in a town of several million people, it is more difficult to meet people that share your kinks than it is online.
Of course, the inherent dangers of meeting people online, particularly when you consider meeting them in real life later, are not insignificant. And so one meets people and shares some really deep and significant information about themselves, but not important “details” such as a real name, or a proper location, let alone a phone number that can be traced to an address. Beware psycho-net-stalkers!
Despite that, I met a few people that became close friends. Hell, we even met and became real life friends. Friendships which, in most cases, last after years. One such friend became my current partner. She gave me much, in ways that are hard to relate. I’d never considered being involved with a woman before, but as we got to know one another, I fell in love with the person. It was easy to forget her gender, after all we spent so many hours pouring our souls out to one another online, chat sessions going well into the night. I remember a few times seeing the sunrise after another marathon session.
But once I realised how close we’d become, it was important that we meet. Nay, forget important, it was vital that we meet. I still had no idea that we’d become an item, though I knew she preferred women to guys. In truth, I’d never considered it, one way or another. And after months of talking online, followed by phone calls, we arranged to meet.
I was nervous, very nervous. And anxious. Yet, looking forward to it so much I wasn’t able to concentrate at work. People asked what was wrong, or just chucked it to me still being a grieving widow. If they only knew. . .
Catherine knew about my diapers. Of course she knew. It was one of the first things I’d shared with her. She had never met anyone who wore diapers for “recreation”, but didn’t see much problem with that, as long as it was kept clean. And she had a problem with voiding solids. She most definitely wasn’t into scat, she told me early on. Which was fine, as neither was I.
In fact, she did tell me to make sure to bring diapers as she’d like me to wear them throughout the weekend. She said she wanted me to be as comfortable as possible. Ahhh, in retrospect, she was really gearing up to seduce me and “convert” me (which, I must admit, she did with gusto and subtlety).
The first time we met, we both travelled to a city about midway between us. I shan’t bore you with the details of our first encounter. We met, had a good time, spent some time in public parks, talking. We went to see a couple movies. We enjoyed some outstanding cuisine. We hugged and cuddled, but no more than that (so get your mind out of the gutter, you voyeur, you. . .)
It was several more weeks before we both could fit it in our schedule to get together again, but we had a very good time the first time ‘round, so we knew we’d do it as soon as possible. Catherine showed more and more of her dominant nature. Nothing à la Dominatrix, but she liked taking charge. This suited me fine, as it was good to relinquish the so-called control I had. So she started making strong suggestions about what I should have for dinner, or when I should finally get my butt to bed, along with the rest of myself.
When we met again, Catherine continued to gently take charge, and it was good. We rented only one hotel room this time, with two beds. She suggested it didn’t make sense to pay for two rooms when we were such good friends anyway. I smile at how blind I was to her true intentions. I don’t begrudge her those intentions one bit however.
The first night saw us rent movies and order in pizza (no onions, as they make my tummy thoroughly unhappy). Lots of beer too. We cuddled side-by-side on the bed facing the telly. It was so good to have human contact again. I’d missed that very much after my spouse passed away. Relaxed, warmed up by food, beer and a good friend, it wasn’t long before I actually turned my head to her and kissed her.
Ohhh, it wasn’t much of a kiss, just a quick peck on the lips, almost furtive. I wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into me. She didn’t pursue, she just smiled. And got me drunk. The rest, I’m sure you can guess.
Or perhaps you can’t! I wasn’t so drunk I was out of control, but I was nicely buzzed and my inhibitions had somewhat taken a long jump off a short pier. And my bladder didn’t have time to get full, I just let go as it filled up any. Cath had suggested I wear diapers full time all that week before the weekend. As typically happens when I wear them long time, I don’t really think about holding it in, it just flows in bits and trickles. I’m far from incontinent, it just is that easy to let go.
A full diaper, a warm-fuzzy feeling, when she pulled me close to her and gave me a real strong passionate kiss, I could only respond in one way: I gave myself to her completely.
We didn’t leave the hotel much that weekend. And we promised each other to do it again as soon as possible. It was less than a month before we could meet again. This time, she came to visit me at my house. I was nervous about having her in my territory. I was still wondering if that weekend had been real, if I’d spent two days in bed with a naked woman making love to me, making me feel things I hadn’t felt before.
She did come and the weekend was magical, again. We were getting to know one another better all the time. It had now been nearly 9 months of intense getting to know each other online, and I defy anyone to argue you can know someone better by casually dating them in real life for nine months than you can by talking openly and honestly online. I smiled, 9 months, gestation time for babies, and for our relationship.
After she went home, we started planning our next meeting again. This time, Catherine suggested I come to her, and plan to take my vacation days. She said I should take off as long as I could from work. She said it would be a bit of a test. We could see if we were compatible to spent some time together.
I liked the idea very much. And since I’d been working so much, I had a fair bit of time accumulated (despite taking a big chunk of my available time after my husband died). A quick calculation showed that I had 13 days owed in vacation, and another 5 days in lieu. If we timed things right, with long weekends, I could conceivably spend a whole month with her!
And so it was that I would spend all of March with her. That took a little bit more planning than our previous weekends, but we did it. The end of February approached, and I packed my bags for a month, including some diapers, of course, and away I went!
Catherine had a surprise for me, a rather big surprise. I hadn’t even been at her place for 15 minutes that she asked me to change into something really dressy as we were expected to go out for drinks and a dinner with friends of hers at the *in* restaurant. It wasn’t quite meeting the parents, but I felt it was a little quick, I wanted to be with Catherine and her alone. But it wasn’t to be.
I met two of her friends: Tammy and Peggy. They were, I learned a couple of long duration. I also learned it was rare for lesbians to have a really solid long lasting relationship, but those two had been an item since college. After college, Tammy went for a nursing degree, Peggy became a surgeon. They were apparently successful and well off, and they picked the tab. Considering the prices on the menu, I wasn’t unhappy about that. It must have cost an arm and a leg.
The meal had been fantastic, the service outstanding, and the drinks flowing. I didn’t think I’d been drinking that much, but I was really feeling woozy. And had a hard time standing up. Catherine and Tammy helped me up discreetly. I vaguely recollect getting in Catherine’s car, and nothing else until I woke up, with a deep achy and burning sensations in my “nether region”.
As it turns out, Catherine told me it was late Saturday when I woke up. I couldn’t comprehend how I’d missed a whole day, but Catherine explained. She told me that the surprise wasn’t so much going to dinner with her friends, as much as what followed. She said she hoped I’d forgive her for imposing something on me without telling me about it, but she felt confident that I would come to love and enjoy it.
I was still rather groggy from sleeping so long, I didn’t know what was going on.
“See, we had to drug your drink”, Cath explained, “for the rest of my plan to work well. Peggy did some minor surgery on you, with the assistance of Tammy, in her private clinic. Now, don’t panic, it’s fully reversible with very little trouble, so if you don’t like it, they can put you back as you were in no time”.
I was flabbergasted. I went under the knife without my knowledge, nor my consent. . . I was agitated at the idea, and at the same time, my trust in Catherine was strong enough that I decided to wait and see what else she’d tell me.
“What they did,” she continued, “was really fairly simple. They put in a bladder shunt. This means your urethra cannot close and pee will go out whether you want it or not. You are truly incontinent now, without control over it”.
I was floored. I was apprehensive. I was intrigued. Part of me was telling me that I should be angry, and demand reversal, and go back home and never see her again. Another part of me felt it was so right I wanted to cry.
We talked a long time that evening, holding hands. Talked about fears and hopes, joys and sadness, strengths and vulnerabilities.
I very quickly accepted the idea that I truly had no control over this. Or rather, I had no control over my bladder, but complete control about keeping the shunt or not. And I liked the idea to voluntarily relinquish the control. I liked the idea that Catherine would lead me.
I was very sore for the next few days, but bounced back rather quickly all things considered. I was diapered day and night, otherwise I would dribble down my leg, or on the couch, or in bed. I spent a lot of time those first two weeks examining what was going on, being very conscious of my total inability to void.
In the past, I had had the problem that every time I peed, there would be a certain amount of liquid and the diaper couldn’t always absorb it all in one go. But now, there was no accumulation, things went out as it came. The diapers were slowly getting soaked, but surely getting so.
It was good for me to be able to relinquish control that way. Somehow, it was relaxing. Catherine was also asserting herself as the dominant part in the relationship, and I had no problem with that. In fact, it was very good for me.
It’s not that I was not making any decisions, or wasn’t my own person. Far from it. I was freed in ways I didn’t think were possible before. Towards the end of March, we talked about future plans. We both agreed we didn’t want to have a long distance relationship. But who’d move where was the question. We both held jobs we liked, that paid enough if not well. We both had friends and a good network in our home area.
In the end though, we decided I’d move to be with her rather than the other way around. Too many reasons to list here, it just made sense.
So, here I am, my resignation has been handed in, the moving company is packing the items that haven’t been sold off or given away. In less than a week, I’ll move in with my girlfriend, and continue living dependent on diapers for as long as I want to keep the shunt in (or at least as long as it’s reasonably healthy to do so).
So many things happened this year, and while there was a disaster that started it up, it led to many good things. One never knows what the future holds.
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