brucejedi

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.

“I have your height listed at 5’4”, weight: 135, age: 26. Sound correct?

“Mm hmm.”

“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.”

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 at will? 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—perhaps 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 again 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! She took a screenshot and planned to call during business hours.

When no other leads came up, Courtney 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,” said 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 teenage 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.

Chapter 2.  Saturday Memories

Courtney awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Kyle beamed, holding out a steaming plate.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” She wiped the sleep from her eyes.

“Want to eat in bed?” he asked.

“Um, let me change first.” Courtney peered under the covers and felt around. No leaks, thank goodness, but her overnight was plenty full. It felt cold and damp against her skin—not the most pleasant thing to wake up to. The plastic sheets squeaked a bit as she scooched off the bed.

A few minutes later, she was back under the covers, feeling dry and refreshed. “So, what are your Saturday plans?” she asked.

“Probably watch the game. You?”

Courtney swallowed a fork-full of scrambled egg. “Gym in the morning. Then lunch with Krystal.”

Kyle slid his foot past the divide between the cotton sheets on his side and the plastic ones on her side. She smiled as he tickled her toes with his. “Don’t those sheets get itchy?” he asked.

“You get used to it,” she said. “I’ve slept on ones like this since I was, like, twelve.”

“Why’d you start then?”

Courtney recalled the exact day, in fact…

~ ~

She’d woken up cold and wet that morning, and cringed when she saw the large puddle centered around her diaper. Maybe her parents were still asleep? After changing into something dry, she bundled her sheets up in a ball and crept to the washer.

“Doing some laundry?” asked her mother as Courtney passed by the kitchen.

“Um…all my bras are dirty.”

“Courtney, let me see those sheets.”

Soon they were headed off to the mall. “But mom,” Courtney complained, “I don’t even wet at night that often.”

“Maybe you didn’t used to. Be honest, sweetie, how many times this fall has your overnight diaper leaked? Three, four?”

“Four, I think,” she muttered.

“So you’re probably night-wetting several times a week, now, right?”

The look on Courtney’s face told the story.

“Well, it’s just going to get worse as you get older. You’ll be in plastic sheets sooner or later—might as well be now.”

~ ~

Courtney turned to Kyle as she bit off a piece of bacon. “It’s almost like a coming-of-age thing,” she explained. “A lot of my friends started using them around that time. It’s a lot safer.”

He smiled as he set his plate down on the nightside table. “See you tonight?”

“You bet.”

* * *

Courtney wasn’t much of a gym rat, but she did have a figure to maintain—and these breakfasts of Kyle’s weren’t helping. She waved at the guy behind the counter as she swiped herself in.

On the way to the locker room, she passed by a mom with two young children that looked to be twins—a boy and a girl.

“Freddie, do you need the toilet before we leave?” asked the mom.

“Umm…actually, yes!”

“Better go then, it’s a long car ride.”

“Okay.”

“Mom!” the girl cut in. “Can I try to go, too? I think I need to.”

“Silly girl, how would you know that?”

“But can I at least try?”

“She can’t. Right, mom?” said her brother.

“No, as a girl, Emma uses diapers, just like mommy. She could never learn to make it to the toilet like you and daddy.” Then the mom peaked down the girl’s skirt. “Well, still dry, for now. Freddie, can you pee while I take Emma into changing room with me?”

Courtney continued on to the locker room. She lay down on one of the changing benches and removed her wet diaper. After dabbing herself clean, she slid a new garment on. The padding on this one was thicker and spongier, and the outer layer smooth and stretchy like nylon—your typical sports diaper. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it could absorb plenty of moisture without flopping all around like a normal one would.

Courtney paused at the mirror. This gym session was definitely warranted. Now five years out of college, she was still slim up top, but her hips had begun to spread. In the padded diaper, she thought her butt looked too large for her frame. Well, that’s what the treadmill was for.

As Courtney jogged along, she felt invigorated—a welcome reprieve from all those hours cooped up behind a desk. She also felt the small annoyances that come with womanhood—the bob of her breasts, the quiver of her thighs, and the slow expansion of her diaper as she leaked here and there. Vigorous exercise wasn’t easy on a woman’s bladder…

~ ~

Freshman year of high school, she had considered trying out for softball. In the crisp fall evenings, she would practice with her dad in the back yard. But she started noticing that by the end of their sessions, her diaper would be sagging. “It’s getting late, dad,” she would say. “Let’s head in.”

“You sure? There’s still time before sundown.”

“I’m sure, dad.” She never knew if he understood why.

One day in October, she and three friends planned to get fitted for sports bras. Courtney barely needed one yet, but she tagged along for moral support.

“These things are super tight,” Courtney complained.

“That’s the point,” said Jenny.

“That style comes with a sample pack of sports diapers,” the saleslady explained. “It’s a great deal.”

Courtney tried on the matching set that evening. They looked cute, even with all the padding around her bottom.

“Ready for some batting practice?” her dad called through the door.

“Be out in a minute!” After experiencing the wonders of the sports diaper that evening, she never went back.

In the end, though, she never made the varsity team. That spring she sprained her ankle at tryouts, and by next year her leaking issue had worsened to the point where the athletic diaper helped only so much. Like many of her female friends, she began to shy away from organized sports, much to her dad’s chagrin.

~ ~

Courtney switched off the treadmill and moved on to weights and calisthenics. As she pranced around the mat, a man with a creepy goatee kept stealing glances her way. She tried giving off the best “I’m taken” vibe she could muster, to little avail. Finally she hid behind a row of machines for some sit-ups. Ugh, these were the worst—like repeatedly squeezing a lemon.

Her workout finally complete, Courtney wandered to the showers, anxious to remove her sopping wet sports diaper. The hot water felt exquisite, especially where the padding had been sticking to her skin. She rinsed out her shoulder-length, auburn hair and shut off the tap. Then she glanced at the bench and cursed under her breath. So flustered by the creepy goatee guy, she’d left her gym bag in her locker, and with it her whole supplies of diapers! The lockers were just on the far side of the changing room…but what if she wet herself on the way…?

~ ~

The summer before 11^th grade, Jenny hosted a massive pool party in her yard. Courtney wore a gorgeous red bikini—over a swim diaper, of course. After bathing all afternoon, she headed to the backyard changing room to don her evening outfit.

She slid off her bikini bottoms, followed by the waterproof liner that was supposed to separate the pool’s wetness from her own. No one knew if they really worked. When you took it off, the padding underneath was nearly always soaked—from the inside or the outside was anyone’s guess.

Today was no exception. Courtney tossed the soggy padded insert in the trash and rinsed off the bikini and liner in the shower. Then she looked around for her bag and realized her mistake. Stupidly, she’d left it back up at the house. She searched for something—anything—to use for protection, but there was nothing, not even paper towel. She could think of only one option: put the liner and bikini back on without any padding underneath.

At the time, Courtney wasn’t too concerned. At home, she would often roam around in just a towel after bathing, and never had it led to an accident. Once she did feel one coming on, but she ran to the toilet in time. She felt reasonably confident she could do that now if it came to it. So she exited the changing room and strolled across the lawn, her towel over her shoulder, hoping no one would notice the lack of padding around her butt.

She was nearly to the sliding backdoor when she felt it—a bursting pressure between her legs and then wetness flooding the liner, escaping out the sides, and trailing down her legs onto the grass. For a moment she stood frozen, hoping to disappear. Then she glanced around in terror—and by the grace of God, no one had seen.

“Oh, hi Courtney!” came Jenny’s voice, as the backdoor slid open.

The shock jolted Courtney’s brain back online. “S’up, Jenny?” She brought her towel down to her dripping wet legs. “Don’t wanna be getting any pool water on the carpet…”

Her friend just smiled.

Since then, Courtney’s bladder control had only gotten worse.

~ ~

These days, Courtney knew better than to trust herself even for a short trip across the locker room. But there weren’t many options for protection. The gym has skimped on the size of their towels, and when she tried tucking it between her legs, it kept slipping down and exposing her chest. Maybe a sock? Gross. Her hand? Even grosser, and not very effective. Ooh, how about her loofah? She squeezed the water out of it—it seemed pretty absorbent. So after tucking the towel around her bust, she reached beneath and pressed the loofah to her groin.

Courtney checked if the coast was clear. Seeing no one, she waddled quick as she could to the lockers, her heart beating fast. So far, so good. She swiveled the combination lock with one hand while still clutching the loofa to herself with the other. The locker opened. With her free hand, she grabbed her bag from inside and tossed it onto the bench. Then she yanked on the zipper—but alas, this proved too difficult onehanded. After considering for a moment, she crossed one leg over the other, trapping the loofah between her thighs. Then she hurriedly unzipped the bag and pulled out a diaper—such a welcome sight! She positioned it between her legs and plopped down on the bench. Success!

Courtney examined the loofah carefully. It looked damp, but that could be shower water, right? She washed it off just in case, thrilled she had avoided an accident.

* * *

The plan was then to meet Krystal at a café downtown.

“How was the gym?” Krystal asked after flagging Courtney down.

“Hardly adequate for the number of calories we’re about to consume. This place looks amazing!”

“Want to go change?” her friend asked after ordering.

“Definitely,” said Courtney. They made their way to the women’s room. “See? I even remembered my own this time.”

“Smart girl.” They returned to their seats and waited for their food. “Something on your mind?” Krystal soon asked. “You keep staring off into space.”

“I don’t know. This may seem crazy, but I need to ask you something.”

“What’s up?”

“Well…we wear diapers because we’re incontinent, right?”

“This again? Girl, you need to—”

“—What if we have it backwards? What if we’re incontinent because we wear diapers?”

“Not because we don’t have penises?”

“Nope, I looked it up. Men control their bladder with the sphincter muscle, which is not in their penis. And we have the exact same muscle.”

“So why do I have zero control, then?”

“You sure about that?” Courtney asked.

“Says the girl who just changed her sopping wet diaper.”

“I’m not saying I have much, either—well, any really, but… Listen, I watched this video last night of a scientist who believes girls could toilet-train just like boys do, if only we were encouraged to try.”

“So why aren’t we?”

“Patriarchy?”

“You think it’s some grand conspiracy?”

“I know, it sounds crazy. But don’t you remember having better control when you were a kid?”

“I guess so? I haven’t thought much about it. I mean, I’ve always been in diapers, so I just assumed—”

“—Since I saw that video, it’s all I can think about. What if this woman is right—that we could choose when and where we pee, but since no one expects us to, we forget how?”

“Hold on,” said Krystal. “Have you ever had a major accident? I mean like a really embarrassing one in front of people you know?”

“Of course,” said Courtney slowly. “What girl hasn’t…?”

~ ~

Several months after the swim party, Courtney and a few of her guy friends were at Jenny’s raiding the liquor cabinet.

“Courtney, truth or dare?” John asked.

“Mmm, dare.” She was feeling adventurous.

“What’ll it be, boys?”

“Have her take off her undies,” Tim suggested.

“For the next…three rounds,” Jason added.

Courtney smiled nervously. “Seriously, that’s your dare?”

John just grinned and nodded.

“You guys are crazy!” Courtney reached under her shirt and unclasped her bra. Then she slid the straps down her arms and pulled it off without showing anything. She placed it on the rug beside her and said, “Satisfied?”

“Diaper too,” John replied.

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“A dare’s a dare,” said Tim.

Courtney stared wide-eyed around the circle, but no one came to her rescue. Finally, Jenny went and retrieved a towel from the closet. “Sit on this, honey. It’s just for a few minutes.”

So Courtney reached under her skirt and confirmed that her diaper was dry. Nervously, she untaped it and placed it next to her bra. There she sat, her legs folded off to one side, her skirt covering her bare bottom that rested on nothing but the towel. “Jenny’s turn,” she muttered.

Tim selected Truth, but Courtney didn’t process what Jenny asked. Her arms shivered in fearful anticipation.

“Your turn, Courtney,” said Jason.

“Um, pass.” Courtney gazed down and noticed her hardened nipples poking through her shirt. She crossed her arms over her chest, still shivering.

Time seemed to stand still. Jason’s turn, then Tim’s, then John’s, and Jenny’s again. Courtney could only think of the terrifying nothingness hugging her crotch.

“Courtney?”

“Pass again.”

“I think she’s had enough,” said Jenny.

“A dare’s a dare,” said Tim.

Another half-round proceeded at a snail’s pace. And then Courtney felt the first signs of disaster. Should she make a run for it? The bathroom was only down the hall, but she risked peeing all over the carpet on the way, in front of everyone. Maybe better to go right here, under her skirt where no one could see? Too late, she was already going. The hot spray ricocheted off her leg and onto the towel. Courtney turned to Jenny with pleading eyes.

Her friend instantly knew. “You guys want to grab us some more beers?”

“I’ll go,” said Jason.

“I think you all should,” said Jenny.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“Come on, let’s go, buddy,” said John, grabbing Tim’s arm.

After the room emptied, Jenny asked, “How bad is it?”

“Worse than bad,” said Courtney, trembling.

“Run quick. The boys will return any minute.”

“But I’ll drip everywhere! This towel’s soaked through.”

“You gonna sit in your puddle all night? It’s now or never, hon.”

So Courtney reached under her skirt and brought the sole, dry end of the towel to her sopping wet legs.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” said Jenny.

Courtney just picked up her bra and diaper and trudged off to the bathroom. “Where’d Courtney go?” she heard Tim ask. She could only imagine the look of death Jenny shot him in return.

~ ~

“Well,” said Krystal, “the few times I can remember foregoing a diaper ended in disaster. I just don’t think it’s possible to learn to go without, not for me anyway. And I doubt I’m alone in that.”

Just then, a look of surprise crossed Krystal’s face. She exhaled slowly, her eyes still. She had hidden it well, but Courtney had been there too many times not to notice. Her friend had just wet herself under the table.

After lunch, the two women strolled down Main Street, peering in store windows. Courtney could only think, though, of Jane Wolcott and the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy. What if she hadn’t been kept in diapers as a girl—and instead been encouraged to develop the limited control she once had? Could she have graduated to girl’s underwear, like the ones in the video?

“Hey, check it out!” said Krystal, pointing to a glaring window display.

     Explore our new Diva collection!
     ~Feel sexy and secure from dawn till dusk~
     Underwire bra with matching diaper. Floral lace details.

     Bra – Lightly lined; available in push-up, demi, or full-cup             $29
     Matching diaper – Medium absorbency*; moisture indicator        $19 for 25
                                                                                                             $35 for 50
            *not intended for nighttime use.                                             $59 for 100

“That’s a great price for a bra,” said Courtney.

“That’s how they get you, right?” said Krystal.

“Yeah, they know you’ll spend a hundred times more on the diapers.” Courtney grinned at her friend. “You sure you don’t want to try toilet-training?”

Krystal smiled back. “Tell me how it goes. Fifty bucks says you repeatedly drench your clothes.”

And with that, it was Courtney’s turn to wet—her diaper her only defense against the sudden, uncontrollable mess. Who was she kidding? Krystal was probably right.

A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

by brucejedi

Numerous posts on omorashi.org inspired this story. The most immediate is Noface’s “An Inconvenient Entanglement” that imagines a world where all women are assumed incontinent. Readers will notice many similarities between his “green” world and mine, though also some important differences. A second inspiration comes from stories where girls must wait until adolescence to toilet-train, and thus experience it as a rite of passage. Satyr’s magnificent “Developmental Biology” is the best example I know. Both story types normalize female incontinence, allowing the characters to experience it without the customary stigmatization and without ABDL undertones. In that sense, the story I present here answers Tits’s call to combine omorashi and omutsu, where “a full-grown woman is…struggling with keeping her pants dry” and ends up “failing toilet-training”—or does she?

 

Chapter 1.  Diapers and Panties

Courtney hit the search button once again, not expecting much from the bizarre string of terms she’d entered. Her literature review on women’s athleticwear essentially complete, she was merely checking for anything she’d missed. She was about to close the program when a strange title caught her eye:

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

Intrigued, she clicked on the link.

<Access Denied>

Weird, Courtney thought, never had that happen before. The creak of her boss’s door shook her back to reality. She clicked off the window and looked up from her screen. “Good morning, Mr. Mills,” she said in her most cheerful voice. “How’s your work going?”

“Well enough. Did you finish the lit review?”

“Just now I did, yes. Shall I send it over?”

“Yeah, I’ll need it for my 10 o’clock.”

“Certainly, sir.” Courtney took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Now was her best chance. She’d rehearsed the words all morning, but still she felt her pulse quicken. “I also…wanted to ask you something?”

“Can you make it quick? My meeting’s in five.”

“I was wondering, do you think I could give Monday’s presentation myself?”

He seemed to consider it briefly but then said, “You know, Courtney, I better handle it.”

“But…I’ve worked so hard on all the prep, and I feel like I know it so well…”

The corner of his mouth turned upward. “I’m sure you do, but…could you make through the whole presentation?”

“Of course! I mean, I’d have the slides to fall back on, and—”

“—No, that’s not what I meant. Could you make it through?”

Courtney’s confidence deflated like a struck balloon. “I mean…I assume so…I—”

“—Right…but what if you couldn’t? What if you wet yourself in the middle of the presentation—in front of all our best clients?”

As if on cue, she felt warmth spread between her thighs. The image he conjured must have triggered something in her subconscious. Keep it together, Courtney. He can’t have noticed it. Did he notice? She scanned his face for a sign, then stuttered, “I mean…I’d be wearing protection…”

“Sorry, Courtney. Listen, you’re a fine research assistant, one of the best. But I think you can understand why the answer must be no. Have my slides ready by noon, okay?” And with that, he left for his 10 o’clock meeting.

“Kettle’s hot!” she called after him. Then she reached under her skirt to the symbol of her subservience. Her diaper was bulging badly, almost to the point of leaking. Like her boss said, maybe she was better off behind a desk.

* * *

As she entered the changing room, Courtney caught glimpse of her friend Krystal. The young receptionist was sprawled out on one of the padded benches, wet-wipes in hand. A low divider hid her naked crotch from view. “Oh, hi Courtney!” she said.

“Hi,” Courtney replied solemnly, lying back on the adjacent bench.

“Someone’s having a bad morning.”

Courtney hiked up her skirt and lifted her fanny. She undid the tapes and carefully folded her sopping wet diaper. She sighed a deep sigh.

“Your boss, again, huh?”

Courtney took a wet-wipe from her purse and began dabbing her crotch and butt. “Maybe it’s too much to ask,” she said, “but a teensy bit of respect would go a long way.”

“Tell me about it!” said Krystal.

Courtney fished around in her purse. “Crap!” she muttered.

Krystal looked over. “Oh no! All out? I’ve got plenty. You want pink or flowers?”

“Whichever is more absorbent. I almost overflooded mine just now—too much coffee.”

Krystal laughed. “Flowers, then. I love this brand—they’re almost like overnights.”

“Thanks,” said Courtney, fastening the thick diaper around her hips. It felt comforting, especially after the stressful morning.

“I’m sorry about Mr. Mills,” said Krystal. “He can be a real douchebag.”

Courtney glanced at the toilet stall in the corner, her mind flipping between the exchange with her boss and the strange title of that article. Out of the blue, she asked, “You think we’d gain more respect if we weren’t in diapers?”

“Wait, what?” Krystal looked confused. “How would wetting our clothes gain us respect?”

“No, silly. Like if we didn’t need diapers. Like if we had…control down there…like men do.”

“Oh, I see what you meant!” Krystal laughed. “Yeah, that would be awesome. Keep dreaming, right?”

Courtney sighed again.

“Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Krystal suppressed another giggle. “Didn’t you pay attention in health class? We don’t have penises, remember? Control isn’t possible without one—everyone knows that! Fun to imagine, though, huh?” Krystal touched up her makeup before waving goodbye.

* * *

That evening, Courtney sat at her laptop, entering in search after search, but nothing more than the mysterious title ever came up: “Self-fulfilling prophecy”—what could that mean?

A twinge between her legs caught her attention. Often she didn’t feel it coming, but this time she did. She rolled her hips around, hoping to maybe suppress it? But the feeling only intensified. She pressed her thighs together. Nope, that didn’t work either. A trickle emerged, erupting into a spray. Changing her diaper could wait, though. That was one nice thing, at least—using the bathroom at your own convenience, not when natured called.

She tried a new idea. “Wolcott, J.”—what could that stand for: John? Jake? James? Still no hits. Ah ha! How about this? She typed in, “Jane Wolcott female incontinence.”

And there it was, the top hit: A video of the woman being interviewed by some obscure local news channel. Courtney leaned back and clicked play.

~ ~

A balding newsman stared into the camera. “We end tonight with a heartwarming story about a medical researcher chasing women’s equality. Over to you, Kate.”

The screen switched to a young redhead with impeccable makeup. “Thanks, Bob. My guest tonight is Jane Wolcott, who believes she’s uncovered a vast conspiracy targeted at women. I know I’m all ears. So Miss Wolcott, can you tell us about your theory?”

“Thank you for having me. It’s Dr. Wolcott, by the way.” Kate the newscaster smiled politely as her guest continued: “Did you know that boys’ and girls’ urinary tracts are virtually identical at birth, save for the final portion?”

“I didn’t,” answered Kate, “that’s so interesting. So then, why are women naturally incontinent?”

“Well, that’s just it,” Jane replied, “I’m not sure we are. We possess all the necessary anatomy—the urethral sphincter, nerves around the bladder. We just need to learn to use it all. I see no reason why females cannot toilet-train like males can.”

“Wow,” said Kate, “you mean I could be saving a whole lot on diapers?”

Jane smiled. “And that’s not all. Think of it: Freed from diapers, women could finally gain equal status. A lot of the excuses for excluding us from sports leagues, leadership positions, and high-powered jobs, begin to melt away. No one could claim, ‘But what if your diaper leaks in the middle of [fill in the blank]?’”

“We’ve all heard that one!” laughed Kate. “So I hear you brought something to show us?”

Dr. Wolcott held up a strange garment, similar to men’s briefs but without a fly. A hint of lace adorned the waistline.

“Those are pretty,” said Kate. “What are they?”

“Female underwear, patent pending.”

Kate felt the fabric. “They’re so silky and delicate! I’d love to wear those—not that I could, but…”

“What makes you so sure? Like most women I’ve spoken with, I imagine you’ve never once tried to end your dependence on diapers.”

“Well,” said Kate, “there was that time in tenth grade. Vending machines were out, friends were out. It was the end of the school day, and I thought I could make it home in just a skirt. We’ve all been there, right?”

“Did you make it?”

“This may be TMI for cable television, but as I was walking home, I didn’t even feel it coming.” Kate laughed. “It went all down my legs. I can still remember the squishing sound my shoes made the rest of the way. When I got home, my little brother watched me flee to my room in a wet skirt. Since then, I’ve never been so careless.”

Jane nodded. “Every woman has a story like that. The level of self-doubt I see is enormous. But consider how young boys potty-train. It takes time and effort, with no shortage of mishaps. What if the same were expected of young girls?”

“Fun to imagine, isn’t it? In the meantime, is there any hope for the rest of us?”

“Well, that’s where my research comes in. The goal, of course, is to get to these”—Jane held up the silk underwear again—“but we start with these.” In her other hand, she displayed a slightly thicker pair, almost like a woman’s diaper with no tapes. They vaguely resembled something a little boy might wear. “The techniques we use would sound familiar to anyone with a male toddler—for example, setting a timer to remind yourself to try peeing on the toilet.”

“Wow,” said Kate. “Sounds really annoying and difficult. Had any success?”

“Well,” said Jane, “the results are still preliminary. But I’m quite confident that if—”

“—What do the results show?” Kate cut in.

“Unfortunately, the grant agencies haven’t funded a long enough trial. A few subjects start to show progress, but then the funds run dry. It’s quite frustrating.”

“Speaking of which, that’s all the time we have. Thank you for sharing your fascinating work, Miss Wolcott. To all the ladies out there, how would your life be different if you weren’t reliant on diapers? Share your thoughts on our website! Back to you, Bob.”

“Thanks, Kate,” the balding man replied. “It’s fun to hear divergent views, isn’t it—no matter how far-fetched. So Kate, would you wear those—what should I call them, ‘panties’ maybe?” He smirked.

“I’ll stick with diapers, thanks. I prefer my clothes to stay dry.”

“And there you’ve heard it from our very own Kate Kovac! Good night, everyone!”

~ ~

Courtney sat staring at the screen. “Crap!” she muttered, noticing the time. Her boyfriend would be home at any minute, and she hated greeting him with her diaper this wet. She retreated to the bathroom to change.

* * *

An hour later, Courtney lay naked next to her lover, a broad smile across her face. A plastic lined towel beneath her protected the sheets and mattress. “That felt awesome, babe,” she sighed. “Could you hand me my diaper? Don’t worry, it’s dry.”

“You mean this one?” Kyle dangled it just out of reach.

“Hey, stop! Can I have it, please?”

“Whoops!” He tossed it on the floor beside him.

“You’re mean,” Courtney said with a pout. She reached across him to grab it.

“Wait. What if you left it off for a bit?”

A chill ran through her. “You serious?”

“Like, how long do you think you could last?”

“Without making a mess? I have no idea—it’s totally random.”

He touched her arm gently. “Do you ever feel warning signs?”

“Sometimes.”

“Suppose you felt one right now. Think you could make it to the toilet?”

The thought scared her. She gazed down longingly at the diaper on the floor. “Why are you asking, sweetheart?”

“I’m curious.”

“Um…honestly, no, I don’t think I could.”

He hugged her from behind, clutching her naked chest in his arms. “What does it feel like when you wet?”

“Well, this is getting rather personal…” She glanced at her exposed crotch. “Are you sure you want me in your lap like this?”

He pulled the towel up around her bottom, shielding himself and the bed—but not her legs—from a possible accident. “How’s that, better?” He brought his hand down close to her sex. “So what’s it feel like?”

She considered the question. “A lot of times, like nothing. If it’s just a leak, I feel a bit of warmth in my diaper—that’s about it.”

“You don’t feel when it starts to come out?”

Courtney shook her head. “But if it’s a larger wetting, I do. A sudden pressure builds…and then releases.” As she spoke, something hard pressed against her back. “Oh my gosh, this is turning you on, isn’t it?” A lot of men had wetting fetishes, but she didn’t know that about Kyle. He seemed embarrassed, so she turned the conversation in a new direction. “What’s it feel like for you?”

“Hmm, I guess like that pressure you describe, but building much more slowly. I hardly think about it until I know I have to go.”

“How do you know?” Courtney asked with genuine curiosity.

“It’s instinctual, I guess. As a girl, I’m sure it’s hard for you to understand.” He retrieved her diaper from the floor and held it up. “I like the lace details on this style,” he said.

“Cute, right? Honey, I really need it back now. I’m getting nervous.”

He smiled and placed it in her lap. Relief washed over her as she fastened it. She had not yet had an accident in bed with him, and she intended to keep it that way.

On 10/20/2020 at 7:43 PM, Eliminature said:

First of all, "is my anatomy just not cut out for weeing standing up?" is not a mentality that will help at all. You need to completely disregard that notion and tell yourself that it is possible - you've managed it at least once after all.[...]

I wonder if in fact many, perhaps most, women will not master the art of peeing standing up, even with training. While there are plenty of videos illustrating success, perhaps they represent a skewed sample? People might be more apt to post their successful attempts over their unsuccessful ones, and folks that try and repeatedly fail might never post. Even some women quite devoted to this--Nerdy_Faery, for instance--seem to wet their clothes, their legs, or the floor more often than not (although in her case, doing so might be part of the fun, leading to less-than-whole-hearted attempts). Elsewhere I've read that variation in women's natural stream affects the difficulty level quite a bit, with a naturally forward-facing stream being easier to direct into a receptacle than a naturally downward-facing one (and the latter being much more common).

It also seems that nearly all women who do master it indicate they first need to shed all their clothes from the waist down, I assume because of stray drips. You can see such drips in the vast majority of clips posted (when the camera zooms in close enough to see). And in every clip I've seen where the woman attempts it in pulled-down jeans or through the fly of men's underwear, her clothes end up splattered, often soaked. All this leads me to wonder if the norm of women sitting down (or squatting) is not a cultural artifact, but derives rather from the extreme difficulty most women would experience in attempting to pee neatly while standing. In other words, I wonder if ukpeegirl86's situation is more the norm, even after training: a successful attempt only now and again. Consider an analogy: I cannot currently dunk a basketball--I'm too short. If I trained really hard, I might possibly manage to get the ball over the rim, sometimes, but I doubt I could do this consistently or gracefully.

This is not to discourage anyone from trying to master the art (or to imply any inherent inferiority). Perhaps Eliminature's advice is right on target: don't assume you're not cut out for peeing while standing until you've given it your all. But isn't it possible that for many, perhaps most women, it's not in the cards?