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Room and Board

It had seemed like an ideal situation: reasonable rent, near the campus, well-furnished. It had only a few drawbacks, including a relative lack of privacy, since it was just a room in some lady's house, and the fact that the lady seemed a bit odd. She was in her late fifties, he thought, and there wasn't anything he could put his finger on, but her whole attitude seemed just a little off-kilter, as though she was concerned about things most people quietly ignored. Near the end of his first visit, for example, she had asked, out of the blue and suspiciously, if he wet the bed. Shocked and a little insulted, he stammered a denial.

But she'd just looked at him, as though she didn't quite believe him. And she'd said that she wouldn't rent to a bedwetter, and she showed him a clause in the lease to prove it. He wasn't worried, as he'd never wet his bed that he could remember, but he certainly thought it strange.

Everything else about the room, he decided, however, was pretty good, and with such a housing shortage in this small college town, he was happy to find an opening on such short notice.

The deal included no meals, although he was invited to cook for himself, and he agreed to some nominal chores around the house.

As he signed the lease, he thought about the upcoming year, hoping it would be everything he'd expected.

Even into the second week of classes his decision seemed wise. No one other than the lady lived there, and since he spent most of his time at class or in his room, he didn't run into the lady too much. She didn't work outside the home, but she apparently had an odd schedule. He never knew when she might be home, but this didn't bother him. He was happy for a quiet place to live and study.

One day near the end of the second week he came home from classes to find her in his bedroom, pulling the sheets off of his bed. He knocked quietly on the open door to let her know he was there.

"I didn't know laundry service was included," he said, putting his books on a chair.

She whirled around to face him. He stepped back, a bit alarmed at her sudden movement.

"I thought you said you weren't a bedwetter," she snapped.

"I'm not," he said. He had never wet his bed.

"Look at these sheets. What do you call that?" She held up a sopping wet sheet. He moved closer, not accepting her accusation. But as he leaned over he could see that, yes, there was certainly a large yellowish stain that smelled of urine. While he tried to recall having wet the bed the previous night, she kept talking.

"Do you have any idea how much a mattress costs?" she asked rhetorically.

"I should have known: you *look* like a bedwetter, that's what the neighbors said. I should never have let you stay here. Oh, dear! I hope the waterproofing held!" She pulled back the wet sheet to reveal the mattress, which, indeed, was not wet.

"Oh, thank goodness. It held this time." She turned back to him.

"What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I...I...don't remember doing that," he murmured, intensely embarrassed about the whole incident and the fuss she was making. He had racked his brain, but could not remember anything about it. Yet he could hardly deny those sheets; he couldn't explain it other than that he must have blocked it out of his memory.

"But I'm really sorry."

"Don't forget that this was a condition of the lease!" she told him, shaking her finger.

"I should throw you out of here right now. But I'll give you a choice," she said, appearing to calm down. She rolled the sheet up and set it on the floor by the door, then sat on the bed.

"There are two ways to resolve this. Once, you pack up and get out right this minute. But the problem with that is that you'll have trouble getting another room with the poor referral I'll have to give you. In this small town, leaving my house might very well be the same as leaving college; I can't think of any openings at all, much less for a bedwetter.

No one wants to open their home up to that kind of abuse." He started to panic as he realized she was probably right. It had been luck, he thought, to stumble on this nice place. Since the college had underestimated acceptances, the dorms were full and every house in town was occupied. What could he do? "Or two," she continued with a hint of a smile, "we do things Mama's way." This made him slightly uncomfortable. Again he thought, she sure is weird. But he didn't really have much of a choice. He at least had to hear her out.

So he, too, sat down.

"And what would that be?"

"I want you to be able to stay here, but I also want to be able to make sure the bed stays completely dry. How does that sound to you?" He wasn't sure.

"Okay, I guess," he replied hesitantly.

She paused.

"Good. Then you'll see the wisdom in wearing some protection. You see, we could protect the bed itself with a plastic or rubber sheet, but then we still have the sheets with which to deal.

No, this is really the only way." He didn't have any idea what she was talking about. Protection? At first he'd thought she'd meant wearing a condom, but that didn't seem to make sense...

When he didn't say anything, she continued.

"It'll only be when you sleep in your bed, of course, and you might find it embarrassing, but you could also see it as very appropriate to use an infantile solution for an infantile problem," she rambled on, and he began to get the picture. She saw a look of horror pass over his face, and knew he'd caught on.

Her tone of voice told him she wasn't kidding, but he couldn't believe she was suggesting what he thought she was.

"You can't mean..." She nodded, her face serious as stone.

"Yes. It's your choice: you can wear diapers to bed, or you can try to find another landlord's bed to soil. You pick." He stared at the floor, stunned at her absurd proposal. Would she really toss him out? A quick glance at her face was enough to convince him that she would, probably in a heartbeat. And then what would he do? He hardly knew this small town... He felt his face flush red as he realized he'd have to take her up on her offer. He cleared his throat nervously and looked up toward her, though he couldn't meet her stare.

"How, uh, long would...*this* go on?" he asked her without emotion, trying to remain distant and seem unaffected.

"Forever, of course," she said. And then quickly, "While you're in *this* house, I mean. You think about it, but if you're still here tonight, I'll take that as an agreement to stay. In that case, come tell me when you're ready to go to bed, and we'll get you all set up." She smiled and stood, then turned back before she felt.

"Otherwise, feel free to use my yellow pages to book a hotel room, which is probably all you could find.

Don't really know what you'd do with your stuff, though. Well, that's not my problem. Either way, get those smelly wet sheets in the washer immediately, or all bets are off and I confiscate your deposit." She left.

He spent a little while sitting in silence as he stared at the bed.

How could he live with himself for doing such a silly thing? It was embarrassing enough to have wet the bed, but then to be caught and have to be diapered was even worse. How grown-up he'd thought he was coming to college! And then this, the most infantile, embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him. But what choice did he have now? He'd paid rent for this month, and he hardly had cash to be throwing around, even if he could find another place that would allow a "bedwetter," since it appeared that this was what he was. No, he'd have to sleep in this bed for a while, at least until the end of the month, when his rent was due.

Perhaps by then he could find another place.

He washed his sheets, the whole time trying in vain to remember when he'd wet his bed. He must have repressed it, he thought. And the whole thing must have been due to the stress of starting college. Damnedest luck, though, to start wetting his bed now, in this woman's house, of all places. Now he had to go through this embarrassing ordeal.

After dinner and studying, he nervously approached her as she sat reading.

"I'm, um, ready to go to bed now."

"Ah," she said, getting up.

"You'll want your diaper then, right?"

"Right," he murmured, blushing. She disappeared into her bedroom, and he heard the sound of a package being ripped open. She returned not long thereafter carrying a large, white, disposable diaper, which she extended to him and which he hesitantly took.

She indicated the bathroom, saying, "You may change in there; for now we'll see how you do by yourself. I've left some baby powder by the sink for your comfort, and I'd advise you to use it, since it can get pretty hot under the plastic of your diaper. I'll also tell you now that I've left some baby wipes for your use in the morning if you should need them.

One more thing: be sure to use the toilet before you put the diaper on.

For reasons which will become obvious, you won't be able to use the toilet again until the morning. Come out when you've finished and we'll take it from there. And just yell if you need help in there," she said, smiling.

He turned without saying a word, since he could think of nothing appropriate to say. He entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him, immediately setting down his diaper and then eading for and using the toilet. What was that all about, he wondered as he urinated. Bathroom "restriction" hadn't been part of the bargain. He could understand the necessity of the diaper, but how did it help for him not to use the bathroom? He'd obviously have to ask about that in a minute.

He returned to the sink near the door, picked up his diaper, and briefly considered using the powder before he rejected this idea. It smelled like babies, and he didn't want to be reminded of how infantile this whole thing was every time he took a breath. So next he took off his shoes, undid and removed his jeans, and pulled his boxers down and off.

He was ready, he guessed.

He stared at the diaper on the sink counter, then picked it up and tried to discern how it was supposed to be put on. He hadn't ever babysat, had no younger siblings, and couldn't remember his own diaper usage from his childhood, so he was working entirely from scratch. He opened it up, correctly surmised the purpose of the tapes, but saw that the tapes could be fastened either in the front or the back. He tried to slip it through his legs as he stood there in front of the mirror, but, he had no luck. It was only once he'd sat down on it that he realized the tapes had to fasten in front for him to put it on himself at all, since he couldn't reach the back like that. He actually managed to get it on properly, and after he stood up, he readjusted the tapes so the diaper wouldn't slide back down his legs. He looked at himself in the mirror now, standing there in his t-shirt and diaper, and was so embarrassed for having to go through this. Imagine him, having wet his bed! He wouldn't have believed it had he not seen the spot on the sheets.

Facing this "solution" was far harder than any of his classes.

He put his pants back on, not wanting her to see him like this. It was bad enough she'd know he was wearing the diaper at all. He gathered his shoes and underwear and walked to the bathroom door, hearing for the first time the rustle of the plastic of the diaper under his jeans. It made him cringe.

When he reentered the hallway, she was waiting right where he'd left her, and her expression as he approached seemed odd. Her eyes gleamed, and her face radiated happiness, as if she actually enjoyed seeing him in a diaper. Well, he thought, she is protecting her mattress and keeping a tenant; she ought to be somewhat satisfied.

"Alright," he said to the floor.

"I'm all set. I'm going to bed."

"Not yet," she told him cheerfully.

"First I need you to take those silly pants off and let me see just how well you did with the diaper. It doesn't help at all if it's not on properly," she explained as he stared at her incredulously.

His face flushed deep red as he accommodated her, his hands slowly undoing his buckle and zipper and letting his jeans drop to the ground in front of her.

"You can just step out of those," she said quickly.

"You shan't need them around here at night, after all." His face aflame, he did so, deciding already that he would never be able to tell anybody, not even his family, about this humiliating experience. He'd come to college to grow up, but now look at him! She knelt in front of him, her face uncomfortably close to his diaper as she inspected his handiwork. He nearly fainted as she reached out and retaped two of the tapes, and he bit his lip when her fingers tugged at the leg elastic and gently pulled the waist up befor deciding she was satisfied.

"Not too bad, for your first time. It'll get easier, I'm sure.

You'll be allowed to continue diapering yourself for now, unless I notice you having any difficulty with the job." He couldn't imagine her putting his diaper on for him; it was bad enough that he had to do it at all.

"Now stand there for just another moment, please," she instructed him before disappearing back inside her bedroom and reappearing with what looked to him like a huge pair of plastic underwear. She couldn't mean...

"These are plastic pants, for you to wear over your diaper," she explained, holding them down to the floor, obviously meaning for him to step into them.

"Hold on," he said, getting a little overwhelmed.

"I didn't agree to this."

"But they're totally necessary," she said.

"All diapers leak, especially at night, and then all of our efforts will be for nothing.

Come on, you're already wearing the diaper; these are hardly any worse." He sighed and stepped into the legs of the plastic pants, which she expertly tugged up his legs.

"Wait," he protested.

"They don't fit.

They're way too tight."

"No, no," she said, snapping the waistband up above his diaper.

"That's how they prevent leaks." She spun him around to inspect the rear.

He felt a slight tug at the waistband, but didn't suspect anything unusual until he heard the distinct clicking of a lock snapping shut.

"Hey! What's that?" he cried, craning his neck around to see what had just been done to him.

"Don't worry," she cooed to him.

"It's just a little lock. I have to know you won't take all of this off during the night. You might not even mean to, but things could get dislodged as you toss and turn in your sleep, and my mattress could end up getting wet. You wouldn't want that, would you?" He tested the waist of the plastic pants. It was not uncomfortably tight, but would not give at all.

"Well, no, of course not," he said uncertainly. This was more than he'd bargained for, but what could he do? "This is why I made sure you used the bathroom. I didn't want to surprise you, you see. Of course, if you still need to go during the night, it wouldn't be unheard-of actually to use these things; that's what they were meant for.

"Now, they shouldn't be uncomfortable, just a little inconvenient, but I have to be able to keep an eye on my little bedwetter, don't I? I have the key, of course, and in the morning I'll be more than willing to unlock you so you can get ready for school. And don't worry, you'll get used to all this; in a couple of weeks, it'll all be second nature to come to me each night for a fresh diaper and your plastic panties. It may seem odd now, but it all makes perfect sense, and you'll get used to it.

"Now let's get some sleep, okay?" And with that, he watched her disappear into her bedroom and close the door.

He stood there in the hall for a moment, trying to absorb his present situation, but he couldn't. He wandered back in to the bathroom, noting that the crinkly sound from the diaper was slightly muted now, and he stared at himself again in the mirror. Now he stared at the balloon-like plastic pants he wore, the white tranlucent material still affording him a view of his diaper. He could see the lock on the back now, but couldn't reach it, nor did he have the key. He wondered where it was, but only idly, since he guessed that letting himself out would be construed as bad faith, and he would be tossed out the door. Indeed, the only shred of dignity to which he clung was the fact that he had managed to keep himself off the street tonight. Ah, well. His ego would heal itself in time, and this was only a very temporary situation.

He headed back to his bedroom, and thought wryly about her invitation to use the diaper for its intended purpose. Right. How embarrassing would that be, to face her in the morning not only in a diaper but in a *used* diaper? He couldn't be *paid* to submit himself to such humiliation. And how comfortable could it be? So although he was a little worried about his nightly habit of using the toilet in the middle of the night, he still resolved not to use his diaper. He'd simply have to train himself out of that habit for a while.

He wasn't surprised to find that he didn't sleep too well that night.

The diaper and plastic pants were too new and strange as sensations: bulky yet tight, and warmer than he'd expected. He saw, by the morning, why the powder had been recommended. And he really ended up missing his midnight bathroom trip. By the time his alarm went off in the morning his bladder felt very full, and he eagerly sought out the lady, who was in the kitchen, to unlock him. She did so, and had him remove his plastic pants and give them to her before giving him leave to run to the bathroom. As he struggled out of his plastic pants, she glanced at the indicator strip on the diaper.

"Didn't use it? You might as well, you know: you'd never be able to tell yourself, it's such a good diaper these days. And think how much more comfortable you'd be during the night, especially toward morning. Anyway, you're free to change yourself now. Just bring me the diaper when you're through, and I'll show you what to do with it." He half-grunted a reply as he dashed off to the bathroom, where he quickly ripped off the diaper and relieved himself in the toilet. He also had his morning bowel movement, an event so regular it had been a joke at home throughout his life. Every morning, without fail, sometimes before, often during, and if not, then immediately after breakfast each and every morning. His family at homne had literally set their clocks by it.

After a shower, he dressed and headed back out to the kitchen, carrying his diaper with him. She was cleaning her breakfast dishes at the sink, and he cleared his throat to tell her he was back.

He held the used diaper awkwardly toward her; she showed him how to wrap it up in itself, and a special little diaper pail in the kitchen where he was to deposit the previous night's diaper when he had removed it. He was to wrap the diaper in front of her and deposit it there each morning.

"But you don't really have to throw it away," he protested.

"I didn't use it, you know."

"You let me worry about that," she chided.

"I don't like my boys to wear the same diaper two nights in a row, regardless of whether or not they used it. It just isn't right." He was late for classes, so he just shrugged and left. On his way to campus, though, he wondered about her comment.

"Her boys?" What did that mean? There wasn't anyone else in that house, he knew. She must have had some sons when she was younger. Great, he thought. I get to be lumped in with diaper-wearing toddlers just because I wet the bed. That night went much the same as the previous night: he went to her when he was ready for bed, he received a diaper, went into the bathroom and peed.

This night, though, he put a small amount of the baby powder on his inner thighs to cut down on the sweating he did the night before, and was surprised to experience a flood of remote feelings from his childhood return as he inhaled that infantile perfume. Weird, he thought. He managed to put the diaper on a little more quickly tonight, then went out into the hall to have the diaper adjusted and to have his plastic pants put on and locked. Tonight she complimented him on how nice he smelled, causing him to blush; apparently the powder brought back memories for her as well, he thought. She wished him good night and he went to bed. Again he had trouble sleeping, although he had to admit the powder helped. But his bladder was so uncomfortable as the night went on, and he tossed and turned as morning approached. When she unlocked him that morning, her comments returned to the subject of using the diaper.

"I don't understand why you don't just use the diaper instead of being uncomfortable. It doesn't matter, since we always throw the diaper away anyway, no matter whether you use it or not. Yes, I want to see your diaper in the morning as you dispose of it, but *I* certainly don't care whether it's used or not. Oh, well, no sense arguing: it's *you* that's uncomfortable." After a week of wearing the diapers at night, he began to get more comfortable with them, managing to sleep fairly well, at least in the beginning of the night. He'd used more and more powder each night, as he discovered how nice it felt, and he began not to notice the smell as much.

He was even starting to retrain his body not to need the midnight bathroom trip anymore, mostly by restricting fluids after dinner. That way, he wasn't tempted to use the diaper, and he felt slightly less embarrassed about his diaper-wearing that way. He noted the fact that he hadn't wet the bed since that one night, which reinforced his impression that it must have been a fluke.

On Friday of that week, he was invited to a party on campus by several of his second-year classmates. He was happy about this opportunity to get his social life in gear, and about the prospect of drinking, which he had done only sporadically in high school and in minimal amounts. He politely informed his landlord, who simply asked him to keep things quiet upon his return that night. She told him to wake her, if she was asleep, for his diaper; she didn't mind, she said.

So he went off and happily found that beer was readily accessible in the fraternities, even to underage guys like himself. His inexperience, however, led to the consumption of a bit too much alcohol, and after several beers, he couldn't remember why drinking so much was a bad idea.

He walked home at one, and was surprised to find the lady still up, reading. He was afraid she'd make a big deal about smelling like beer, but she said nothing, handing him his diaper as usual. His foremost thought, as he went through the motions of peeing and then putting his diaper on, was that he'd gotten too buzzed. Not being an experienced drinker, he was nervous about having a hangover tomorrow; he'd asked a friend how to prevent post- party headaches, and the friend had advised him to replace fluids, since dehydration led to many of the hangover symptoms. So once he had his diaper on, he drank deeply from the bathroom tap, until he was satisfied that he'd done all that he could. The lady smiled as she handed him his plastic pants, but she still didn't say anything. She'd smelled the beer, and heard the water, and she suspected that tonight would be a special night for him. But he still hadn't figured out why the beer and water might have been a bad idea.

When he awoke at about three, however, his bladder ready to burst, he quickly realized his mistake. It was actually painful, and much as he tried, he couldn't drift off back to sleep again. Fully awake, he thought about what he could do about his problem. He could try to hold out until morning, which seemed impossible at this moment. He could wake up the lady and beg for use of the bathroom, but considering all of her urging to use the diaper, he (correctly) thought that she wouldn't be pleased to be awakened for such a reason. No, he knew his fate was decided, and his face burned with embarrassment even thinking about it. For the first time since he was a baby, he was going to have to "use" a diaper.

The pain convinced him to do it sooner rather than later, so he took a deep breath and pushed his diaphragm down, forcing the urine in his bladder out his urethra into the waiting diaper. He felt a warmth spread between his legs, and was surprised when it didn't really feel that bad.

It spread through his whole diaper area, to his bottom and to the front.

Before he knew it, the pain was gone, and the warmth sent him drifting back to sleep...

He woke up at eight thirty that morning, his bladder once again full.

By this time, however, his diaper *was* not feeling very comfortable, now being rather cold and damp. He gingerly got out of bed, noting thankfully that the plastic pants had done their job. He felt the wet disposable diaper cling to his skin, and he made his way as quickly as possible to the kitchen, where he knew he'd find the lady.

She was indeed there, and as she caught sight of him waddling in with a saggy, boggy diaper, she let out what was apparently a shriek of joy.

He suddenly regained his self-consciousness, which had been momentarily suppressed by his discomfort. He realized he was there in front of her with a visibly wet diaper! How embarrassing. And she was anything but discrete about it.

"Well, well," she chirped happily.

"Finally getting some good use out of those, I see. Glad to know I'm not wasting my time and money.

Wow, and a thorough job, too, she said as she unlocked him.

"It's not that bad, is it? Well, congratulations." He said nothing, but scurried away to the bathroom to make himself more comfortable. He could think of nothing but his embarrassment at having been seen in a wet diaper. It took some courage after he had showered and dressed to return to the kitchen for breakfast. But he discovered, when he did, that she had prepared a huge meal for him, the first time she had ever done such a thing. He was surprised and pleased, but felt sheepish about handing over his heavy wet diaper to her. He was also embarrassed to have to ask his next question: "How do I, um, clean those plastic pants? They, uh, got a little wet, too." But she sang, "Oh, never mind them. Just leave them in the bathroom and I'll make sure they're cleaned. Don't give them another thought: it's not at all a big deal." And, happy not to have to deal with them, he sat down for his breakfast.

Her special hospitality that day didn't end there. She cooked the other meals for him and did his laundry, and he really had to admit that he liked the help and attention.

That night, of course, he did not wet his diaper, and the next day she hardly spoke to him at all. The difference in her attitude was obvious, and he thought it odd. She clearly wanted him to wet his diaper at night, but *why* would she want that? The best answer that he could come up with, considering her frugal nature, was that if he wet at night, then she wasn't "wasting" her money on diapers that weren't used. He had to admit that as weird as she was, he did like her, and he certainly did appreciate her help with chores, which left him more time to study and relax. So...what would be the harm in indulging her a little? She'd already seen him in a wet diaper, and she didn't mind. Plus, without his midnight bathroom break he did get uncomfortable toward morning. Why not take advantage? He therefore began presenting a wet diaper to the lady every morning, and every morning she would coo and fuss, and that evening he'd have a good dinner and help with favors and chores. This went on for several weeks, and just as wetting a diaper every night seemed more and more routine, so, too, did he forget about finding a new place to live. She made the rest of his life so pleasant that he almost didn't mind the weird diaper thing, which to him grew less and less weird as time went on. He got to where he wouldn't even pause before peeing in his diaper if he woke during the night, and even found himself thankful for the diaper, since he didn't have to get out of bed to use the bathroom.

Part2 Room and Board One morning, after he'd been wearing diapers at night for a month, he woke up with a modestly wet diaper, and sleepily went off looking for the lady to unlock him. When he couldn't find her in the kitchen or den, he stumbled back to her bedroom, where the door was shut. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He wandered out into the living room and wondered what to do, and his eye drifted outside to the empty space in her driveway. She was gone! This was a little upsetting, since he had to get ready and leave for class soon, but he trusted that she'd be back soon. For now, though, he was annoyed at having to rearrange his morning routine, since he couldn't shower right away like he usually did.

And he had to pee. Luckily, *that* wasn't a problem, though, he smiled to himself as he released his urine into his damp diaper. It warmed comfortably, and he didn't notice himself enjoying the feeling. The diaper was now sagging pretty seriously, though, and he suspected that it might be close to its saturation point. He hoped she came home soon.

Deciding he needed to do something productive or he would be late for class, he sat down in his wet diaper and ate a bowl of cereal, consciously missing a cooked meal. As he ate he thought about the day ahead. It was an important day for one of his classes, a seminar that started at nine and lasted all morning. Today they would receive midterm paper topics and exam instructions for the midterm test in a couple weeks. He couldn't miss today.

He finished his cereal and, since there was still no sign of her, began to worry in earnest. He had to get to class! And soon, he knew, he'd have another big problem. His morning bowel movement, regular as clockwork, often hit him with an urge that was strong enough to make him run to the bathroom in the middle of breakfast (a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the landlady). The idea of using his diaper for that revolted him. and this was a possibility he did not want to face. He knew such a thing had to smell horrendously, be very uncomfortable, and be far too embarrassing to let *her* see or smell. No, that was a bridge he couldn't, and wouldn't, cross, today or ever.

He got up and went back into the living room, staring out the picture window toward the street, wishing her home. Suddenly that urge hit. And true to form, it hit hard. He looked around, panicked. He tugged at his chained waist. And then he knew. He was going to have an accident. Only he wasn't sure if it could be called an "accident" if he was wearing a diaper. He shuddered at the thought.

The urge got worse. He'd never tried waiting and seeing if it went away; he wondered if it would. But it didn't now. It worsened until he had to concentrate on *not* relieving his bowels. He wondered again what a messy diaper would feel like. For how long could he last, after all? Not four hours like this! He wouldn't even be able to walk to class like this. And it worsened still.

He managed to walk slowly back to the lady's bedroom. Surely she'd forgive him if he found the key to his panties and unlocked himself just this once. He tried the door, but it was locked. And heavy: he couldn't break it down even if he had wanted to., He didn't want to try, though, for he had a hunch that so much effort might very well make him fill his diaper.

His watch said eight forty-five now. This was terrible. He'd never felt as uncomfortable and miserable as he did now. He looked for her car again. No luck. The feeling hadn't eased a bit. It was no use, he knew.

A little voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like the lady's, told him to do the logical thing and mess his diaper. It was a diaper, after all. Another voice chimed in that the lady wouldn't mind if he did; she was odd enough that she would probably even like it, and who knew what she'd cook for him then? In response he allowed himself the small luxury of relaxing his sphincter just a little to see what it felt like, and before he could stop what was happening (he realized it was all over now) his bowel movement pushed its way out into his diaper. The first moments felt heavenly, he thought, as the pressure inside was released, but then as he felt the mess collect and push itself around in the seat of his diaper, felt his diaper fill and pull slightly, felt the warm mushy heat surround his buttocks, it started to dawn on him what he had just done.

He'd just deliberately messed his diaper. And now that the initial relief had passed, he began to be utterly disgusted with the sensations from within the diaper. How could he have done such a thing? He waddled out to the front room carefully, so as not to force the load in his diaper into motion, but was disappointed to see that the lady's car was still missing.

A wave of horror washed over him as he realized that he still *had* to go to class, and that now he would have to walk around, talk to classmates and professors, and sit in this sopping, messy diaper he'd created. What if someone saw it? Smelled it? Heard it? And sitting in it for several hours was not something he looked forward to. He cursed, loudly and repeatedly, but that didn't help much.

And he had to leave right away, or he'd be late, on top of everything else. Walking in late, with everyone's attention on him, was just the initial impression he didn't want to make, so he tried to hurry. He waddled into his room, feeling his diaper's load shift with every step.

As he put his jeans on and bent over to pull them up, his BM smoothly spread itself out over his cheeks and between his legs. He grimaced, knowing that this feeling was only the beginning. He finished dressing and waddled to class as normally and as quickly as he could. He was not late, but was not early enough that he felt obligated to talk to anyone.

He just chose a seat in the back, and silently endured the three hour seminar, trying not to move or draw attention to himself. He was miserable and humiliated as he counted the minutes to the end of class.

He nearly cried twice. At the end, he sprinted from the class back home, ignoring the discomfort this caused him, just wanting to get home and changed as soon as possible.

He felt relieved, angry, and embarrassed when he saw her car in the driveway. He tried to picture how she'd react, and he almost dreaded the possibility that she wouldn't be grossed out, or might actually be happy at his predicament. She was making lunch when he waddled in silently. He needed to be unlocked, but he was so angry and embarrassed about his condition that he didn't know how to start a conversation. She heard him enter, though, and greeted him. A moment later she sniffed the air and asked if he smelled anything strange. He nodded slightly and looked away.

She came over to him and took one of his hands.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked him tenderly, sensing he was upset.

That maternal action muddled up his emotions, and he inadvertantly released his frustration in a flood of tears.

"Where *were* you this morning?" he choked. He was pissed off at himself for crying, but couldn't help it.

The day had been so bad.

She sat him down and pulled him close.

"Oh, my little boy, it's alright. I'm here now. What happened this morning? Did you have a little accident?" He sniffed and nodded into her arms, letting her sleeves soak up his tears.

"It's okay. Everybody has accidents, and everybody has a messy diaper once in a while. It's no big deal. I'm here now. It's alright." She kept cooing to him and stroking his hair until he stopped crying.

"Is it uncomfortable?" she asked sympathetically. He nodded.

"And smelly?" He nodded again, aware that he had regressed for a few minutes, but feeling that it was appropriate under these circumstances.

It felt so nice to be cared for.

"But you don't need to be embarrassed, okay? Because everybody has dirty diapers once in a while, right? Okay. Don't worry about it. Let's just get you changed, okay?" He nodded, but looked at her reluctantly.

"What? Do you need me to help, or can you do it yourself? It can be a big job, you know." He finally found his voice.

"No, no, it's okay. I'll do it."

"Fine. As you know, the wipes are in the bathroom. Use as many as you need to to get yourself clean. And be thorough, okay? Messes can lead to a rash pretty quickly." He nodded, embarrassed.

"And just bring me your diaper and your baby pants afterward. Now let's get you unlocked.

I've got the key right here." He took off his shoes, then undid his jeans and removed them. He saw that his disposable had leaked badly into the plastic pants, allowing a brownish fluid to accumulate in them, and he knew she could see this as well. But she didn't mention it. She just unlocked his pants and patted him gently on the bottom. He then went into the bathroom to spend ten of the most disgusting minutes of his life removing the diaper and its contents from his bottom and legs. He used dozens of baby wipes as well as toilet paper, and afterward he showered, thoroughly washing his diaper area as she had said. After he dressed, he brought out the disgusting diaper to the kitchen, where the lady had him put it in a ziplock baggie and deposit it into the trash. She smilingly told him that once again, she'd take care of his "baby pants," a term she'd started using so gradually that he hadn't even noticed it.

He was feeling much better about life since he had showered, and when he caught sight of the meal she'd prepared for him, he was genuinely elated. It was great! He was grateful to her for making such a bad situation turn out so well; she was a good mom, he thought to himself before he could stop himself. Landlady, he corrected himself. Or friend, or whatever. Anyway, she was nice.

And her kindness took another noticeable step up in intensity after this incident, he noticed. She now cooked all of his meals, drove him wherever he needed to go, did all the housekeeping chores, and even rented movies she thought he'd like on the weekends. He refused to think of it as a reward for having messed his diaper; that was an absurd explanation.

She was probably just recognizing that the incident had brought them closer together. And he liked the new benefits, so he didn't think about it too critically.

It was just a few days later (after several uneventful, wet nights) when he found himself talking to a classmate, a sophomore girl (who naturally intimidated him). The subject of housing came up. She asked him where he lived, and, wanting to make a good impression, he tried to describe the location of the house. She looked confused, and said, "Not in the baby house, though, right?" A little chill went down his spine.

"What do you mean?" She told him that there was an older woman in one of those houses on Oak Street who, every year, tried to snare a freshman boy, turning him into her "baby."

"It's pretty freaky, I've got to say, although for all I know it's just a rumor. But the rumor is that she puts the guy into baby diapers, baby clothes, makes him sleep in a crib, eat baby food, everything. Supposedly once a guy gets caught by her, he's hers until he graduates. It hasn't happened for a year or two, so I haven't seen it, only heard about it from upperclassmen. But can you imagine? Apparently they get sucked in during freshman year before they know better, and somehow get trapped. I don't really understand why they don't walk away.

Maybe they like it, but I can't imagine why. I'd bet they'd get teased, you know? Anyway, it's weird. I'd watch out," she laughed playfully, obviously either not taking the rumors seriously, or not suspecting him of being in that house.

He laughed, too, trying to cover up his anxiety. He thought she must be talking about his landlady. Later, he thought about it carefully.

Could the rumors be true? They had to be talking about her; how many other women on his street put their boarders in diapers? But he only wore the diapers at night, and none of the other stuff was true. The stories were too fantastic to be true, he thought. What had happened to him had probably happened to someone else at some point in the past, and someone had found out and blown the whole thing out of proportion. It was probably like a typical game of "telephone", when rumors get exaggerated naturally. Besides, this lady was nice. A little eccentric, but not wacko. The two of them had a very nice relationship, and he trusted her, so he didn't see a reason to panic and move out. At the most he'd just keep his eyes open.

And for the next week, the last week before midterms, everything was, indeed, as "normal" as ever: he put on a clean diaper at night, and would present her with a wet one the next morning. His nervousness about midterms, his first college tests, was growing, and he was glad to learn that a big bash was scheduled for the weekend before midterms started, the traditional way on campus to blow off steam before exams. He went, of course, and unfortunately had his first real experience with out-of-control drinking. By the time he stumbled home at two in the morning, he could hardly balance himself. He pushed his way along walls, received his diaper from a rather alarmed landlady, and fell into the bathroom to pee and put his diaper on.

He peed, and peed a great amount, but in a very inaccurate way. Then he slumped down on the bathroom floor to try to put his diaper on. He fumbled with the diaper, getting lots of powder on the tapes so that they wouldn't stick. And in his intoxicated state, he couldn't figure out what to do about it, so he did the best he could.

He stood up, and it was on backwards, and the tapes wouldn't stick, and he basically had to hold the diaper up with his hands. But he didn't care: he had to get to bed to stop the world from spinning. He managed to stumble out into the hall to face the lady. She said something about his diaper and he said he *couldn't* do it right and didn't want to try and could she please just give him the goddamned pants so he could go to the fucking bed. He just watched as the expression on her face changed, and he was led back into the bathroom and seated on the floor. The lady disappeared for a moment, and when she returned she had another diaper.

She pushed him back down to the floor, and he just let her do it: it felt nice to lie down, and he was just barely aware of the fact that she removed the bad diaper, put the new one under his bottom, spread lots of powder all over and drew the diaper up between his legs and taped it.

With some difficulty she got him standing and retaped the diaper properly, then got him into his baby pants. She looked toward the toilet and said something about his peeing on the floor, but he was too out of it to understand. She said something else and then led him to his bed, where he immediately went to sleep.

He awoke the next morning with a very wet diaper and muddled memories of the night before. He had a bad headache, and he took two aspirins before heading to the kitchen to get the old lady to unlock him. He immediately saw that she was not in a good mood; this was not something he needed this morning. He brusquely asked her to unlock him so he could change, but she said they needed to talk.

Once they were both seated she looked at him sadly.

"Do you even know what happened last night?" He shook his head, as it was slightly easier than talking.

"Well, I'd better tell you, because we have to deal with it somehow, I'm afraid." He was getting the same feeling he used to get when his mother punished him as a little boy, an ominous, foreboding sense that he had been bad but hadn't even known it.

"I'm assuming you may have been a little drunk last night?" He nodded.

"Well, you peed all over my bathroom, I'm afraid. It's still there if you want to go look." He stared at his feet, not wanting to go look at that piece of handiwork. He was sure she was right, for that sounded slightly familiar.

"Not only that, but you cursed several times at me. And you were completely unable to put your diaper on by yourself, which, of course, I had to remedy. Do you remember any of this?" He did, slightly, to his humiliation. She had seen him naked, and had put his diaper on for him. Oh, boy. He nodded.

"Well, there are two issues here. One is the fact that you said earlier that you would be responsible for putting on your own diapers.

Suddenly you're shirking that responsibility, and that's a big problem. I have to know that you're wearing that diaper each and every night, and that you're wearing it properly. Leaks don't help us at all, you know.

So if you can't be trusted with that responsibility, I'm afraid I'll just have to assume it." He tried to say something, anything to protest, but she went on.

"Let me finish. The second issue is one of being allowed to use the toilet. As you know, toilet usage is a privilege, not a right. I'd have thought you of all people would have known that," she said, looking pointedly at his diaper.

"You have to earn that privilege, and I'm not sure that you should be allowed in my bathrooms anymore. Normally, that would create quite a problem for a tenant, but in your situation, it would seem as though we have a clear and established alternative available." Again she glanced at his diaper.

"My point is that I'm afraid we need to deal with these issues right away to assure that last night's fiasco cannot ever be repeated. As I see it, there are two straightforward solutions. First, I change your diaper from now on. It's easier for you and I don't mind, especially since I have the extra piece of mind knowing it's done right every time. Second, you make the small step of going from wearing diapers at night to wearing them all the time whenever you're in my house. We do both of these and we're completely covered." She paused.

"The trouble is, I know it might be difficult for a boy like you to get used to these ideas, and I haven't yet made up my mind what to do. What do *you* think?" He sat with his mouth open. He certainly hadn't expected anything like this, and he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You can't be serious," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Of course I am," she replied.

"But you're obviously a little in shock, and I can appreciate that. I'm not unreasonable. I'm going to offer you, therefore, that we do only *one* of those two things.

Furthermore, to make it easier for you, you get to pick which one. Okay?" He was still staring into space.

"Now look at it from my perspective. I have to know my bathroom won't get abused and that my bed doesn't get damaged, right?" He nodded, conceding this point.

"And something has to be done in the wake of last night, don't you agree?" He admitted to himself, with some shame, that it had been quite a performance. He nodded again to her. Something probably needed to be done. But this? "Now, it is my house, and I make the rules. If you can't follow them, you can always leave, as we've discussed. But I like you, and I think you've enjoyed living here. I'd like to work this out, if possible.

Because otherwise you're a good tenant, and I'd like you to stay. So take a look at those two options and try to pick one. I'll give you some time to decide. Until you decide, though, of course, I'll need to keep you in this diaper, since the result of your decision will dictate how and into what you will be changed. So you go think about it, and tell me when you've decided." She left him sitting at the kitchen table. He put his throbbing head down on the table. She'd done it to him again, he realized. She'd sprung something so absurd at him, so suddenly (and right before midterms), that he didn't have any options. He had to study full-time; he had no time to apartment-hunt. He couldn't afford to be homeless right now, so he knew he had to play her game. But she couldn't have planned it this way, right? She was odd, but not devious; he thought he knew that. But the timing was certainly uncanny.

So he went back to his room, sat on his bed, and tried to decide which of the two choices was less heinous. He thought about what it would be like for her to change all of his diapers. Pretty big intrusion into his privacy! But then, she'd already done it once. Of course, he'd been drunk and hadn't been that aware of the experience. If he wore a diaper only at night, it would just be clean and wet diapers she'd deal with, not the really embarrassing messy ones. What about the other option? It was absolutely unthinkable. He'd gotten so he didn't mind the night diapers, but that was because they were only partially functional, and then only by choice. Wearing diapers all the time had the air of being totally reduced to baby status, which was too much. He had no interest in having to "earn" toilet privileges. Plus it would obviously mean one or more dirty diapers a day, and a high likelihood of having to wear them out and around again (because what were the odds of her being home every single time he went out?). Furthermore, he knew either of these choices would be embarrassing, but the former choice would be over after several minutes each day and would be confined to night usage, while the latter would obviously be humiliating all the time. So he decided to go with option number one, while telling himself it would only last a week or at most two weeks, until midterms were over and he could find a new place to live. He liked the house and the lady, but things were getting a bit weird. Still, he could put up with anything for a week or two.

He waddled out in his wet diaper and told her he wanted the diaper changing option. She sighed contentedly and said, "I'm so happy you'll be staying. I didn't want to drive you away, but I felt something had to be done. And it won't be *that* bad, will it? Sometimes it's nice to sit back and let someone else do the work. Right?" He nodded sullenly. His hangover had not been helped by this. He felt a little numbed by the whole experience; it seemed surreal. She, on the other hand, seemed elated that the issue had been settled. She hugged him; he responded only minimally.

"Whoops!" she exclaimed.

"I'd better get that wet diaper off of you!" She strode to the other end of the house; he followed tentatively.

He felt uncomfortable about the whole thing, assuming this new, passive role. But *she* apparently felt totally comfortable with her new role, and waited for him in the bathroom. He stepped into the room, and she unlocked his pants. He started to pull the baby pants down but she playfully slapped his hands away and did it for him.

"Okay, just sit down on the floor while I get out your baby wipes."

"You know, I can do this," he said, embarrassed to be so obviously treated like a baby, even as he obeyed her instructions.

"I know, but we made a deal. Now lay back and pull your knees up." He sighed and did so, staring off into space, trying to pretend he wasn't there. What would his family think of this? Humming, she leaned over and untaped his wet diaper and pulled it down through his legs, exposing him.

She whistled at how wet his diaper was as she opened the baby wipes and pulled one out.

"Um, you really don't need to do that," he said anxiously.

"I'm just going to shower."

"Well, I feel like it's my responsibility," she said, looking at his face through his knees.

"I want to leave you as clean after the diapers as you were before. Or even cleaner. Besides, I've *got* all those baby wipes; I may as well use them." And she started at his waist, firmly and quicly covering his skin and gently scrubbing away the remains of the wetness and powder. She did his thighs, his penis, scrotum, and then set that wipe aside.

"Okay, now spread some more and lift your knees all the way to your face, please," she directed as she prepared another wipe.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked, dreading her next actions.

"Yes," she said rather shortly. So he did it, exposing the rest of his most private areas to her. She wiped down his hips and worked her way into his crack, which she held open with one hand and cleaned with the other. She'd finished, he thought, and paused, before suddenly poking a wipe- covered finger up his tight anus, twisting and pulling it out. He caught his breath, shocked and surprised by her actions.

"Hey," he exclaimed.

"Do you need to do that?" She didn't reply immediately, and he saw that she was looking at the intrusive wipe. Finally she said, "Yes, it would appear that I did need to do that. See if you can keep your bottom a little cleaner, okay? And until I'm satisfied, I'll be doing *that* every day." He rolled his eyes but she didn't see him, as she was pulling the wet diaper out from under him and replacing it with a clean towel. He dropped his legs instinctively. She picked up the wet diaper and folded it up, saying, "There. That was easy, right? A lot less for you to worry about. We'll be doing this twice a day." She looked thoughtful.

"It's so uncomfortable and cold down here on the floor. I wonder if I could find some sort of table that is more appropriate. Perhaps there are yard sales somewhere today." She started to walk out, but then stopped and turned back to him.

"One other thing. For now, I think this will work out fine," she told the naked boy on the bathroom floor (who was trying to hide his genitalia and look dignified).

"But anymore slip-ups with the toilet and I'll really have to enforce the other rule as well. Understand? Good.

And finally, I *do* need that floor and toilet cleaned before lunch today.

Now why don't you shower and I'll make some breakfast." She disappeared with the wet diaper, and he was left on the floor to ponder his new living situation. But it was too bizarre. He couldn't really accept it. He tried to see it as a necessary evil during exams, to be remedied later. In fact, he decided to put it out of his mind altogether, and not to let it bother him. He'd ignore it and bear the burden for a week or two, and then move. He had mixed feelings about moving, surprisingly, because of his affection for the landlady. But there were limits to how weird he'd let things get. He shook his head, showered, and got to work studying in his room after an elaborate breakfast. He noticed that the lady's mood was now bordering on mania, and eventually her high spirits brought him around, too (or perhaps it was the aspirin finally kicking in). He knew she wanted him to be happy, and it took a while, but he obliged eventually.

And now for Part III of Room and Board Later in the day he heard some loud noises, like furniture being moved, and heemerged from his room to discover that the landlady had somehow brought a large table-like thing into the third, yet-unused bedroom. It looked like an examination table, four feet high and about three and a half wide by six feet long. Covered with a brownish vinyl material, it had several drawers on the side facing away from the wall.

She saw him step closer to look, and she beamed with pride.

"Pretty good for a garage sale, huh?" she asked, obviously excited and pleased.

"Yeah, I guess. It's in good shape....but what *is* it?" he asked, confused.

She laughed.

"I guess if you don't know, you'll have to wait until bedtime tonight to find out. But it's warmer than the floor!" Then he realized. It was an adult-sized changing table, for him. As she stood next to it he could see it was the perfect height for her to work on him. His first reaction was, strangely, one of shared happiness: yes, this *would* make things easier and more comfortable for both of them. But it also embarrassed him, that he would require such furniture for his diapering needs. He shook his head and decided he needed to get back to studying. His preoccupation with his work must have been what prevented him from seeing this table as the permanization of his new, more infantile status. That realization wouldn't come until later.

The week was difficult, but passed, of course. His exams were tough, but his landlady's help allowed him to study a lot, since he didn't have to concentrate on chores or meals. And while, by the end of the week, he wasn't excited about the diaper changings with the lady, he now tolerated the routine, and his embarrassment about the whole thing had lessened somewhat. (He had found himself paying more attention to wiping himself on the toilet, and to his mixed relief and embarrassment, the lady had noticed. She never failed to comment one way or the other on his hygienic state: "Much better tonight!" she'd coo, or "Is *this* the way we clean our bottom?" But her reminders, as humiliating as they were, worked, and by the end of the week, she was complimenting him more often than not.) She clearly looked forward to the changing sessions, cooing and humming throughout them. They would also talk, and during this busy and stressful time, it might be the only talking they did, which was a nice change of scenery for him. So it became more tolerable for him, if not downright enjoyable.

His last exam was Friday morning, and he had had to study most of the night for it. When it was over, he was exhausted from the lack of sleep and the cumulative effects of the week. On his way back home, he could think of nothing better than taking a long afternoon nap, and when he got home, that's exactly what he did. It was a glorious nap, and didn't end until about four that afternoon, when he became aware of someone looking at him as he slept. He opened his eyes with alarm, jerking awake to the sight of the lady. She was sitting in his desk chair, staring at him intently. When she saw him awaken she shook her head sadly. He correctly took this as a bad omen, and sat up, worried.

"You scared me to death! What's wrong? What are you doing?" he asked, still drowsy and confused.

She kept shaking her head, saying, "I really am sorry it came to this, because I really liked you, and I know it's been hard for you getting used to the diapers." He was now wide awake.

"I wish rules weren't rules, but..." She trailed off.

"What? What?!" he said, sensing something bad was happening. He searched his tired brain for something he had done wrong. He couldn't think of anything.

"Before we get to that, did you finish your exams? Good.

Congratulations. So I'm betting you were tired, and had a nap? Great, I hope it was nice..." She was rambling slightly. He asked again what was wrong.

"Well, let's see if you can figure this out. Where are you now?"

"Right here."

"Right. But specifically?"

"On my bed, talking to you."

"And were you just sleeping in your bed?"

"Yeah. You saw me."

"Yes, I did. Does anything strike you funny about the way you napped in this bed?" He thought for a moment, playing her little game. Knowing her, it probably had to do with diapers. She couldn't mean that he should have been wearing one for his nap? Yes, he thought: that's exactly what she meant. She saw him figure it out, and nodded.

"But you said that I only had to wear a diaper at night!" he objected.

"No, I certainly did not. *We* agreed that you would wear a diaper *in bed.* And I don't think I'm getting technical here: we only want to prevent you from wetting the bed. That's a definite possibility any time you are asleep in that bed. Right? Look at me. Right?"

"But it was a nap," he whined.

"Oh, come on. You can do better than that." She was right. He was behaving like a child. He paused as he thought about how to approach this problem like an adult.

"Okay. You're right. I'm sorry. Now I know. It won't happen again." She looked at him and smiled appreciatively at his attempt.

"I know that, but unfortunately that's not enough. We need to decide together on a fair punishment." He groaned. He could have expected this.

"Such as?" She paused.

"I think we both know what needs to be done. I let you off the hook before, but now I don't think there's any way around it," she said sadly.

He shook his head.

"I will *not* wear diapers all the time. That's too much," he said, looking straight into her eyes.

"You ask me to do that forever, and I'm out of here."

"Well, I don't want you to leave," she conceded.

"So I guess we'll have to compromise. Wearing diapers all the time would be an excellent way to prevent any accidents in bed at all hours of the day and night.

And I think it's very important that you experience what that would be like, wearing diapers all the time, so that you try very hard not to make any more mistakes. But I'm willing to have you do it for only a limited amount of time, such as for one week. How does that sound?"

"A week?" he asked.

"I don't know..." he said doubtfully. He'd promised himself a week ago he wouldn't allow this to happen. But he'd also said that he could stand anything for a week.

"Oh, come on," she coaxed.

"You don't even know that you'd dislike it."

"Of course I would," he snorted.

"Now listen to me," she snapped.

"You came into this house with only one rule, which you promptly broke. We fixed that with the addition of one more rule, which you have now broken *twice* in the space of one week, so far without any real punishment. Is that justice? I don't think so, and I think you know that, too. Now, own up to your mistake and take the punishment like a man, so that we can get back to some peace and quiet.

It's just for one week, for God's sake. Don't be such a baby." He absorbed this tirade quietly and knew that in some ways she was right: he had broken a rule several times and endangered her precious bed. Maybe it was time to accept a little punishment and go on. It was just a week. And he'd need at least that long to find a new place to stay. He couldn't move out today, but if he agreed to this, he could start looking and perhaps move out before the week was up. It was sneaky, but it was his only chance of sleeping in a bed tonight and not being entirely humiliated by a whole week in diapers. He nodded his head and looked at the floor.

"Okay, you win." She came over and sat on his bed.

"It's just a couple diapers a day, not much more than now. It might seem hard, but I need to know I can trust you around the house. Okay?"


"Okay. I respect you for doing this." She patted his leg.

"Now we need to discuss details. Obviously, no bathroom use for a week. I'll just keep it locked so you're not tempted, and that way we won't have to worry about using those nasty plastic panties. I'll unlock the bathroom once a day, in the morning for you to shower, but the door stays propped open so I nknow you're not cheating. You can brush your teeth at the kitchen sink. And, of course, according to our earlier agreement, I'll be changing the diapers for you. Any questions?" He hadn't thought of this last point. It brought up an embarrassing issue.

"Yes, um, can I be allowed to change the, uh, messy ones?"

"No, I'll do it," she offered generously.

"I don't mind, really. It comes with the territory, of course." She smiled at him, and he smiled very weakly back.

"Now, I have one more question for you," she said, turning more serious. He looked up at her, curious.

"Are you still thinking of moving out after this week?" There was silence as he discovered that he was not as sneaky as he might think. But might as well be honest; she deserved that.

"I'd thought about that, yes," he answered.

"I'd like to ask a little favor," she said quietly.

"I understand about wanting to leave. I do. And that's fine. It's your right, and I understand that my rules, though simple, are sometimes demanding for certain types of boys. But could you please wait for one week before you start looking? Just a week, that's all I ask." She was pushing him again. He'd just promised himself he wouldn't stay the whole week, and she was asking him to break that promise. But he made the mistake of looking into her lonely, seeking eyes.


"Because you might change your mind, and I just want there to be a chance. We'll talk about it next week. You can pretend you're giving notice at a job, because there are some similarities. After all, I'm not sure how long it'll take to fill your room. I need a little time to put an ad in the paper, things like that. And then next week if you still feel like moving out, I won't argue. Okay?" He felt himself caving. He nodded to her. Like a few days would make any difference. But he wished he had a spine.

"Thanks." She rose.

"I guess we'd better get started." He swallowed, not expecting that things would begin so soon.

"Um, can I at least use the bathroom one last time?" he asked plaintively.

"I don't think so," she said.

"I believe in swift sentencing." She smiled.

He sighed. She led him into the third bedroom, where the changing table lived. He took off his shoes and socks, and turned away from her involuntarily as he lowered his pants. He hopped up on the changing table, pulled up his shirt, and laid back. He'd done this enough with her he already knew the routine. He pulled his knees up a little as she opened a drawer and pulled out a disposable diaper and some baby powder.

He helped her as she pulled down his underpants and slipped them off his legs.

"After we do this," she said casually, "why don't you collect the rest of these big boy underpants and bring them to me for safe keeping during the week. You certainly won't be needing them, you know." Already terribly embarrassed, he didn't want to argue. He just nodded and stared at the ceiling as she had him lift his legs.

She slid the diaper under his bottom and powdered him heavily all over. then, as she had for a week, she deftly pulled the diaper up and taped it, had him hop down, and readjusted them slightly for a good standing fit.

"Okay, all set. Now if you're wet or dirty, you just need to come to me, tell me what's wrong, and ask to be changed. And I will change you just as soon as I can. I'll try to do it immediately, but that may not always be possible, of course. But I imagine you'll be able to wait a bit if necessary; the diaper's not going anywhere, is it?" she laughed. He didn't.

"You don't have any classes this week, do you?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"It's fall break. I was going to go home, but I decided not to when I found out my parents were traveling to New Jersey to visit relatives. At that point, I thought I'd rather stay here; now I'm not so sure," he said glumly.

"Oh, we'll do fine all week. The fact that you don't have classes will make things easier, of course. We'll negotiate outings as they come up. But when you're here in the house, and don't have any company, I need to be able to see your diaper at all times, not only to make sure you're wearing it, but also to see when you need to be changed. So, no pants in the house, okay? I'll keep the heat up so you're not cold. Okay?" He drew in his breath. Another little surprise. How humiliating that would be, to walk around the house wearing only a diaper, and sometimes a wet or messy diaper at that. But like she said, it was her house, and she made the rules, and if she didn't mind seeing the diaper, then he'd have to cope. He would start looking for a place next week for sure.

"So we'll end in a week...well, it would certainly be silly to get you out of diapers right before bed on Friday, so we'll call this thing over on Saturday morning, okay? That's it. See you in an hour for dinner; how's scallops?" Scallops were great, as it turned out, but he was thinking more about his predicament than the food. He sat on his bed after dinner, in his slightly wet disposable diaper, and had a moment of insight. He saw himself as he was, and eighteen-year-old young man willingly waddling around a woman's house in nothing but a diaper, allowing a woman to change him whenever he got wet or dirty. How bizarre and disgusting it seemed! Yet he'd agreed to it. He thought again about what that sophomore girl had said and now could see that this was obviously the same house to which she'd referred. And to a certain extent, he'd been taken in just as she'd said. He knew now why the other boys hadn't "just run away." It had snuck up on them, like it had on him, one weird little thing at a time, until she was changing his diaper twenty-four hours a day. The good thing, though, was that he now could see clearly what was happening, and even knew, through that girl, where it might all head if he weren't careful. He had insight, and that protected him, he thought. True, what had happened so far was strange, but he was going to catch it before it went too far. He wasn't being held captive, and he would leave in one week's time (or whenever he could find a new place to stay). He was also protected by the fact that he had such a good relationship with this lady; they could talk, and she had already accepted the fact that he was moving out. So the babifying process would undoubtedly end here. He almost laughed about it now, how silly he'd been to have come even this far. But thank goodness he'd realized the mistake in time.

Buoyed by his new confidence about the situation, he tried to relax and enjoy the lady's company, as they still got along well despite the "punishment." In fact, she seemed even happier than usual, which didn't surprise him, but he was content to take advantage of it. They watched TV all evening, and periodically he would go out to the kitchen to be alone for a moment so he could pee in private. Soon his diaper became quite boggy, and though he wanted to keep the number of changes down to a minimum, he couldn't keep her from noticing the diaper's sag.

"Looks like there's a little boy with wet pants," she said cheerfully, making him blush.

"Come on, let's go change that wet diaper." During the diaper change, she mentioned that as long as he was in diapers, it didn't hurt to take advantage of them.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, one of the best parts about wearing a diaper is that you don't have to worry about sphincter tone, which takes more concentration than you realize."

"No, it doesn't. It's easy."

"Oh, yeah?" she challenged.

"Then try to keep it relaxed for a while. Heck, try it all week. See how nice it is not to worry about it.

See how relaxed you can be; you might as well, because you'll never again get the opportunity. It's interesting to see what the body normally does that you're not even aware of. Test the limits of your consciousness this week; see how aware you are and if you can change it." Science had always attracted him, and this little experiment sounded interesting. He hardly saw the harm in it; it was just a week, after all, and it was a unique challenge. So after he was changed, he started trying to relax completely, and began to train the appropriate muscles to relax more often. It might keep the week interesting.

The following morning was something he knew in advance he would *not* enjoy, as he was sure it would be the occasion of his regular bowel movement. And sure enough, right after a breakfast of pancakes, he felt the abdominal rumblings, and he excused himself to his bedroom, where at least he could have some privacy. He found he needed to squat to get it out, and as he did so, he remembered the displeasure he'd felt the first time. This time, too, the sensations that he felt were disgusting to him, utterly gross and uncomfortable. After he was done, and his diaper was full, he stood for a second trying to decide what to do now. Embarrassing as it would be to face the lady with his messy diaper, he knew she expected it, and the sooner he was changed (and the less he moved around) the more comfortable and easier it would all be. It might be possible to get changed before his mess got all squished into his diaper. From his perspective, the easier the cleanup, the better.

So he waddled into the kitchen, careful not to move his diaper's contents around too much, but he was dismayed, when he reached the kitchen, to find the lady on the phone. He caught her attention and looked at her questioningly while pointing to his diaper. She nodded, put her hand over the phone, and whispered, "I'll probably be a little while.

Why don't you go sit down in the living room and I'll come change you in a few minutes?" His spirits sank. He hadn't considered having to wait. What terible luck. He walked carefully into the den, and, not wanting to sit, stood in front of the TV, watching disinterestedly. After several minutes, he got tired of the odors wafting up toward his face, and impatient with the lady, and he wandered back to the kitchen, again standing in front of her.

She looked up, and smiled indulgently.

"It's okay," she whispered.

"I'm not done yet. Go sit down. I'm sure that diaper will still be there in a few minutes." And then she gently turned him toward the den and patted his rear end condescendingly, inadvertantly spreading his mess around a little. He grimaced at that sensation, and, exasperated, he slowly walked back to the den and stood for several more minutes before giving up. He went to the couch and gingerly sat down. He was immediately unhappy he had done so, for he exquisitely felt his bowel movement compress and expand across his bottom, the warmth spreading between his legs. He nearly gagged as he tried to picture what was happening. Fifteen minutes later his landlady strolled in and asked if he was wet.

"No...It's, well, the other thing."

"Ohhhh, does my little boy have a poopy diaper?" she asked in baby talk. He blushed as she held out her hand for him to take, and he self- consciously let her lead him into the changing room, where he gingerly hopped up onto the table. She saw his expression as he gently lowered himself back into his mess, and she laughed.

"Relax," she teased.

"There's nothing in there that will break." He couldn't laugh with her, for he felt that at the moment his ego was fairly fragile.

He laid down, and nearly choked at the smell released by his actions.

She, however, seemed not to notice. She lifted his legs and carefully undid his diaper. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend he wasn't there.

But she wouldn't let him.

"Whoa!" she exclaimed.

"You were busy, weren't you? But, then, you're a big boy, and I guess big babies have big poops." She continued talking about his bowel movement, and he continued to try to ignore her as she busied herself with her task of cleaning him. In less time than he would have imagined, she was already powdering him and taping a clean diaper on.

"Now that was a lot easier than having to do it yourself, wasn't it? Don't you feel better?" He had to admit that yes it was, and yes it did.

And with that initiation behind him, things went more smoothly. He spent his time that week catching up on sleep, watching football on TV, reading novels. She cooked and cleaned for him, and other than the obvious embarrassment, which he found was beginning slowly to diminish, they enjoyed each other's company. He didn't go out very much, mostly to rent movies for the two of them to watch, since it was a pain to get ready to go, and since he was terrified of being found to wear diapers.

Several things began to happen that week. One was that he became, if not comfortable, then at least relatively resigned to the diapers and being changed by his landlady. He had to admit it was nice not to worry about the bathroom, and he tried not to think that much about it.

Consequently, the second thing that happened was that he was pretty successful training himself to relax over the course of the week. He felt secure about his diaper's ability to contain whatever he could dish out, and he began hardly to notice peeing in them. He decided that despite his complaining, the diapers *were* pretty comfortable, after all. The bowel movements were not pleasant, but they were necessary, and he decided to bear that burden as admirably as he could. Complaining wouldn't help. He just counted the days until he could do it in private again.

And by the following Friday, he was wetting freely and without inhibition; there had even been many times that he'd had to have the lady tell him he was wet, since he had not noticed his own peeing. So all in all, he spent the week relatively happy, rested, and carefree, though he was certainly ready for Saturday morning when it came. It had been interesting, but he was ready to get back to life as usual. And after the embarrassment of the whole thing, he was still definitely ready to move out.

Saturday morning found him laying on the changing table having a wet diaper removed for what he was sure would the last time. He thanked her for releasing him from his disposable confines, and headed off to the shower, where he began to think about how he was going to approach his search for a new apartment. He had kept his word, and hadn't looked yet, but today was definitely the day. In his mind he made a list of areas he wanted to check out. Surely someone had a room they could rent him, and not everyone was a diaper freak, right? As he dried himself off he thought of what he might say if they asked where he had been living and for references. He knew she liked him but he didn't know whether she'd feel compelled to mention to potential landlords the bedwetting incident, or the toilet incident, and he was afraid of how embarrassing that could be if word of the whole thing got out. Somehow, he'd have to swear her to secrecy, or this attempt to move out would fail.

He went to his room to dress and was as pleased not to be wearing a diaper as he was disturbed that he hadn't received his underpants back yet. He dressed without them, meaning to ask her about them later. He went to the kitchen for breakfast. They ate waffles in silence, and as they finished, he cleared his throat.

"I've decided to go ahead and look for a new place," he said.

"It's nothing personal, but the whole diaper situation has some serious drawbacks when it comes to socializing, you know. I've thought a lot about this, and although I like you and everything, I think I need a change." She smiled at this.

"You just had one." Then she nodded seriously and asked, "What will you do about your bedwetting problem? You think that will stop just because you move or stop wearing diapers?" He hadn't thought about that. He stood and took his dishes to the sink as he said, "I don't know. But I do know it never happened once before I moved in, so I think it was just a fluke, or maybe related to stress. I've just got to trust that since I'm an adult, that kind of babyish thing won't happen again." As he finished speaking he glanced at her but saw that she wasn't looking at his face; her eyes were directed just above his knees. And then he felt it: a familiar warmth spreading through his crotch.

But then he felt an unfamiliar, colder wetness spreading too.

He looked down and realized in horror that he was wetting his pants! He hadn't even noticed. He gasped in shock and embarrassment, and tried to stop, but had some trouble. By the time he clamped down enough, dark streaks ran down his legs, and his shoes were wet. He couldn't do anything but stare at what he'd just done, something that hadn't happened since the first grade.

He heard her say, "Looks like you've got more of a problem than you thought."

"Oh, no. I...I guess it's from this week, when I tried not to hold it. Oh, shit. I trained myself to do this whenever I had to.

Damn. How long will it take to train myself back? Excuse me, I've got to go..."

"I think you can wait a moment," she interrupted.

"The damage appears to be done, and we've got some talking to do." He shifted weight, very uncomfortably, looking down. His legs were getting very cold. Suddenly a light flashed, and he jerked his head up.

He couldn't believe it. She'd just taken a picture of him in his wet pants! He stared, dumbfounded, no longer sure of what was going on or who was in charge anymore. She smiled at him, which didn't help his confidence.

"I also think we both know you're not really moving out." He tried to reassert his control over the situation. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"But I am. I'm going out looking today."

"In wet pants? That'll go over big. I don't think a lot of landlords are going to be interested in a bedwetter, much less one who pees in his pants." She looked again pointedly at his crotch, which he could feel getting still colder and less comfortable. He caught himself thinking that at least when he wore diapers it felt warm and nice. He shook his head.

"But I never used to do this. I don't ever remember this happening before now."

"You'd have trouble convincing me of that," she laughed.

"And who do you think they'd believe? Me or you?" He gasped. His mouth dropped open.

"You wouldn't tell them, would you?" She paused; his heart beat wildly.

"Well, you have to understand that we landlords are a closeknit bunch in this little town. We have many similar interests, financial and otherwise. I have a responsibility to share with the others any information I think they need to know. And you already know how I feel about bedwetting. So though I like you a lot, I'm afraid that's something they'd need to know." His strength waned, and he felt weak in his knees. This was disastrous. He needed her help, or at least her silence, to get a good place. Last week, that seemed likely, when she'd seemed resigned to his leaving. But this week she seemed determined to force him to stay. But she couldn't stop him if she didn't know he was trying to move out, he thought slyly. He quickly murmured something about her being right, and that he wouldn't leave, and then he tried to shuffle out of the kitchen to his room. He could sneak out and find a room before she knew it. But as he walked past, she froze him with her next revelation.

"That won't work either, I'm afraid. It's too late for covert operations. You see, I asked you to wait a week before looking around not because I thought you might change your mind, but because I needed time to notify all the other landlords in town about your little problem. I finished that yesterday. And just as I thought, all agreed that it would be `an insurmountable barrier' to a lease. And that was before I knew about your daytime wetting problem." She shook her head.

"Can you imagine what they'd say if they knew that?" He was stunned. Absolutely stunned. He knew she wanted him to stay, but he hadn't suspected that she'd lie to him and blackmail him to convince him. He didn't know whether she was telling the truth now or not, but he didn't really want to find out. To be turned down because of wetting himself would be humiliating beyond his wildest dreams. He was screwed, completely. He staggered back into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, not wanting to sit down in his wet pants. He was silent for a moment as he made the decision, finally, to confront her.

"Why in the world are you doing this to me? What kind of a crazy old woman are you? You want to ruin my life? Well, you're doing a pretty good job. What did I ever do to earn this? Why do you want to hurt me like this?" He was nearly crying now.

"I don't want to hurt you," she said soothingly.

"Bullshit!" he yelled.

"I've talked to other people. You do this every year to someone. You've got some weird thing about diapers and making people into babies. I've heard about you, you bitch. You can't deny it." She shook her head.

"Those are rumors. If you'll calm down a moment, I'll tell you the truth." He stood, arms folded, waiting. Would this be another lie, or the real thing? "The truth is that I care deeply about the students that end up living here. They come into my home and become special to me. They pay the rent; in return I try to satisfy some of their needs while protecting my property like any landlord. Many of the boys I have are bedwetters, and the others I kind of `help' along one way or another. How I do that is a secret, of course." He looked confused. She'd fabricated the bedwetting incident? How? She smiled at him.

"Because whether you know it or not, you all have the same problem, which, of course, is that you're away from your mommy for the first time and need, on some level, to be babied a little. I know what you kids need, probably better than you, because I've seen your kind before, and I know. If they wet the bed, fine. If they don't, I find an excuse to treat them as if they did." She smiled happily at him.

"I don't tell them right away what I'm doing, because I know they'd object to this kind of help if it was offered to them all at once at the beginning. So I phase it in slowly, and when I feel that they're ready for it all, *then* I tell them what's going on." With a proud smile, she said, "And now it's your turn."

"Turn for what? I don't need any help," he asked angrily.

"Well, the fact of the matter is," she began slowly, staring straight into his flushed and angry face, "that you're going to be my baby for a while, and I'll serve as your mommy in this town, until I feel that you've adjusted enough to this college atmosphere that you don't need my help anymore. I'll be honest: that could be several weeks, or it could last the whole time you're here at school. I can't tell at this point."

"Are you insane?" he asked incredulously.

"What makes you think I want this or will let this happen?"

"It's pretty simple," she said calmly.

"Everything we've done up to this point, the diapers, the changings, everything, has just been practice. Sort of an orientation for what lies ahead. Most boys have the most problem with the diapers, so I tried to phase them in gradually. And you willingly accepted them at every stage, even up through last week, when you wore them all the time, like you will from now on." She paused and then answered his question.

"You see, I'm sure this is what's right for you, so I made sure that it didn't really matter *how* you felt, or if you wanted to do it. It doesn't matter at all what you want. We've come this far, and I won't let all that time and energy be wasted. There is no turning back now. When you gave me your underpants last week, I took them all to the Salvation Army," she told him.

"It's all over, and, in fact, it has been all over since you signed your lease."

"Wanna bet?" he challenged.

"You're crazy, and I'm getting out of here. I don't care what you're told the other landlords. When I explain to them what happened, they'll understand. It'll be a little embarrassing, but nothing compared to what happens if I stay with you! See ya." And he stormed quickly from the room.

She caught up with him in his room as he was getting out some clean jeans and socks.

"I understand how you feel," she said, "but I still don't think you'll leave. I don't think you want me posting these fliers all over campus." She handed him a page that said: "LOST!! This year's baby from 1169 Oak St.! May be seen wearing diapers, plastic training pants, which may be wet or dirty. If found, please return to his mommy. He's been very bad, and he needs a spanking!" And under the words were a picture of him in a diaper and the plastic pants, apparently taken when he was asleep, with his name and physical description. He grabbed it angrily, tore it into as many pieces as he could, and threw it onto the floor.

"I've got lots more," she said quietly.

With a wave of despair he realized she'd won. He couldn't leave, not without sacrificing his friends, shelter, and dignity. He thought briefly about leaving college, but the thought of that was even more absurd.

Where would he go? His cold, wet pants only added to his misery.

He sat down on his desk chair with an uncomfortable squish, and asked through tears, "Why do you hate me?" He thought about the past several months, when he had trusted her, thinking she was just a little weird, thinking he was really *choosing* to play her game for a while, when all the time she was deceiving and manipulating him, trapping and humiliating him.

She stood next to him and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Oh, sweetie, I don't hate you. On the contrary, I care very much about you.

But I had to do this to you because it's so obviously what you need, what will be good for you. Someday I'm sure you'll thank me, but you've just got to trust me for now. It won't be so bad, you'll see. You've already gotten through most of the worst, I promise. And once you accept it, it'll make it a lot easier, too." She talked softly to him, comforting him with a maternal flair that was honed by years of practice.

He'd stopped crying by now.

"How long do I have to wear diapers *this* time?" he asked sadly.

"Like I told you, I'm not sure. At least through the end of this semester, but probably longer. There's a good chance you'll wear them for your whole four years here. We'll just have to take it a day at a time." He sat in silence for a moment, shaking his head slowly and trying to let his situation sink in.

"I can't believe I have to wear diapers again." She nodded sympathetically.

"Most boys think that they're worse than the other stuff, but you'll get used to it all." He looked at her, worried.

"What other stuff?"

"Oh, do you want to go over it now?" she asked.

"Well, I guess we should."

"*What* other stuff? There's more?!" he asked unhappily. He'd missed this point somehow.

"Oh, yes, sweetie. Diapers are only one part of being a baby," she laughed.

"For starters, I don't know if you noticed the attachments on the bed for railings, but it's a pretty secure crib when we get it put together. Then there are the clothes, which are just darling. They were made by some of my retired friends, who love to see them modeled each year; they've been dying to meet you, but, of course, I've had to wait to introduce you until after today. I've also got some lovely footed sleepers with wrist ties, some toddler pants complete with'll love them. I've also got a nice high chair we need to bring down from the attic, where I stored your changing table, and some pretty bibs. We'll need to get those cupboard locks back out, because you may not like your new diet, which will change kind of drastically. And the bathrooms will stay locked, of course, but that won't be a problem, since you won't have to bathe yourself anymore. You'll love some of the toys I've accumulated; you'll spend countless hours playing with them in your playpen, I'm sure." She smiled at him as he sat in shock.

"I know it's a lot to take in, but if you got through the diapers, you should get through this eventually." He just sat there, in shock, his world spinning around him. What would that sophomore girl say? Somehow he didn't think he stood much of a chance to date her now. And his parents and friends: how could he keep this a secret? "Well, let's get those wet pants off of you. She led him into the changing room and helped him remove the sopping jeans. She used baby wipes to dry him as he stood there, overwhelmed with shame at not having noticed his babification over the past several months. How could this have happened? How would he ever endure? She interrupted his musings as she sat on the edge of the room's only chair, saying: "One more thing. You've said several naughty words recently, and you tried to lie to me about not moving out a little while ago, so I think it's time you got acquainted with an important concept in a baby's life: discipline." She sat on the chair and patted her knees expectantly, indicating that he take the appropriate position over them. He shook his head sadly and his eyes teared up as he slowly walked over to her.

The End

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