For Her Good

Chapter 7: Diaper Days

Mari's fixation on her outing as a full-time baby was greatly overblown. Leggings and dresses hid diapers well. There was always time to take her diaper trash, which she mostly stored in her room, out to the dumpster downstairs when nobody was watching. She wasn't worried about her roommates smelling her overnight pee diapers, not even when she stumbled around the common spaces with compression pants over sweatpants. She wore sweatshirts that fell below her butt and reliably smudged her ballooning contours. She was worried about the sound and the bulge, yes, but that first weekend passed without Roseanna ever commenting on her 'Monster Mari' butt. Poopy time usually came for her second diaper of the day, when, during the week, Harriet and Roseanna were long gone. She only had to dodge Brianna. Mari did it in her room. She closed her work laptop (just to be sure the webcam there wasn't on), and squatted. She tried to change quickly, something she also did in her room, and tried to remove the ruined diaper from the apartment as soon as she could. Once, her phone lit up at the very moment she rose from her squat to begin the delicate process of lowering her newly messy diaper from around her waist. The phone had signaled a work emergency, and it wound up being two hours before she could open her box of wipes.

If Brianna smelled anything, she kept it to herself. Still, Mari bought candles and extra Febreze, just in case. She sprayed the air and lit fires after every dirty diaper, as if in vigil to the plastic-backed undergarment that had done its duty.

Their apartment was in a large building. The dumpster could be accessed by a trash chute just down the hall. She made at least two trips a day; one to get rid of her dirty diaper, and one around dinner time, for the Hefty bag holding the rest. The evidence of her babyishness slipped down the metal chute and out of sight. If there was a human trash sifter down there, finding her soiled diapers, he was earning his salary.

***

Long ago, Sir had helped her prepare for everything practical that came with being a helpless diapergirl.

Do you have a big bag, or something like that?

"I've never been a big purse girl, but I do."

You'll be served by a big tote, or something like that. I never want to hear that my Mari went out on errands with less than two spare diapers and supplies.

She'd bargained with Sir. If her outing was only a short walk around her neighborhood, to one of the coffee shops or bodegas, then no, she should be allowed to set out with a smaller bag and some wipes and just a single fresh diaper. If her outing was really short, say just an afternoon walk to clear her head, Mari argued that she ought to be allowed to leave her apartment with no supplies at all. Sir relented, so long as she always left the apartment as a dry girl.

You do not need to savor your diapers. You do not need to maximize their absorbency nor worry about wasting them. There will always be more boxes and you will have plenty of time to be squishy.

"I'm good. I'll always leave dry."

Mari wouldn't have made such a complete diapering arrangement with Sir if she was still wobbly on being diapered in public. Nonetheless, the totality of what she was going through generated new thrills when she was out and about. Take her trips to get the groceries. When in public during her prior, self-imposed stints at 24/7 diapering, she'd always at least peed herself. In her life, she couldn't count a time when she'd pull her diapers off to pee in a toilet. From the get go, she had always been gung-ho about getting full. But the fact that she now had to, that wherever she went, it would go in her pants, made even picking out carrots and cucumbers somehow erotic. She would pass others in the store. Seeing hot men and well-dressed women who seemed to have their shit together would emphasize the mass of suspended pee between her legs and the helpless certainty that her pissy days would continue.