The Best of Intentions, Chapter 1 (Patreon)

**Disclaimer** 

I trust that you, my adult reader, knows the difference between a fictional story and the consequences of reality. While most erotica distorts the lines between fantasy and reality, some stories are especially best left as fantasy. This being one of them. 

I’ll be honest with you right off the bat: I have never needed diapers as an adult. I’ve never been incontinent. 

Here’s something else I’ll tell you right now: I’m an asshole.

I was 23, and while the world should have been this big wide-open oyster for me, I was getting my ass kicked daily by life. I had moved across the country for a big fancy tech-job - the kind that I’d spend nights bragging about in my hometown bar in the weeks leading up to my move. “Y’all keep an eye on Wired,” I remember saying. “You’re going to want my autograph when I make the cover.”

The job lasted 6 months before our company was bought out by a bigger company with bigger teeth. I couldn’t afford my lease, and I pretty much couldn’t afford my life. All signs pointed to returning to home, tail between my legs, and with a years ahead of me of people asking if I could sign their copies of Wired yet.

At the last possible moment, the clouds parted just enough for a single ray of sunshine to burst through. I landed a job at another startup - it paid less, and there wasn’t much of a chance of moving up the ladder anytime soon. But it was a job. What more, I managed to secure a room for rent from another young struggling human.

Her name was Gabby, a hyperactive go-getter who somehow managed to work two jobs with the time to spare for her rather robust social life.

I found myself attracted to her almost immediately. Foolishly attracted. Like, that sort of head-over-heels attraction where you not only make bad decisions, but that you don’t even know they’re bad decisions. I was a puppy dog, eagerly waiting for her to shower me with even a single drop of attention. When she was around, I found myself sequestering myself in my bedroom alone so that I didn’t just gawk at her. Or worse - say something stupid.

“Stephen,” she said to me as I came in through the door one afternoon - the way she said my name making my heart flutter, “a package came to the door today for you. I put it on your bed.”

“Thank you.”

I didn’t think much of that immediately. It was common for either, or even both, of us to have packages waiting at the door, and we typically just brought them in and left them on the kitchen counter. Slowly, a series of questions and realizations hit me.

Why would she put the package on my bed instead of on the counter?

What did I recently order?

Oh...I ordered some…

I’m walking briskly down the hall now, towards my bedroom. My cheeks are blushing, though hopefully I was out of her line of sight by this time.

But they should have been shipped in a nondescript box, right? There’s no way that she would know that they were…

I burst into my bedroom, and sure enough, my package was sitting atop my bed. Diapers. Adult diapers. The distributor had simply slapped a shipping label onto the diaper package and shipped it out. No box. No discretion. I cringed, imagining the chain of people involved in the package getting to my apartment. The person loading this onto a truck. The person delivering this to the door. Gabby. All of them saw exactly what this was.

It bears repeating: I am not incontinent.

I weighed my options. I could play it off as a mistake. I didn’t actually order these diapers! They were sent to me by mistake! I ordered...a...well, I could think of something more face-saving than diapers later.

I could just hide the diapers and pretend that nothing ever happened. I’d never mention it. She’d never mention it, out of politeness, and one day we’d move away from each other. Then, one day, we’d die, and we’d have successfully avoided talking about it. This was a particularly enticing idea, especially in how easy it would be to execute. Except...for the rest of the time I knew her, she’d always be thinking in the back of her mind about how I had diapers delivered to the apartment that one time.

I needed to save face. I needed to address it somehow. I needed to let her know that I didn’t need the diapers. More importantly, I needed to let her know that I wasn’t the diaper-loving freak that I was.

For now, until I decided what to say, ignorance would be the key. I wouldn’t bring it up. She wouldn’t bring it up. And until I figured out the magical excuse that would exempt me from being seen as a freak, this would have to work.

That lasted two hours.

Somewhere in the middle of watching TV together while we shoveled Chinese takeout into our mouths, she muted the sound for a moment and looked at me with the most sincere and sympathetic face.

“We...don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Stephen. But...I saw the package that came today. Is...is everything okay?”

“Oh…” I said, caught completely off guard. She wasn’t supposed to say anything. She wasn’t supposed to ask. In all my worrying and stressing, I never imagined that she’d just bluntly ask about it.

“We don’t have to talk about it. I know it's not my business. I just...I have a little bit of experience with this myself. You know...if you want to talk about it.”

My mind was getting a little fuzzy and I had no idea what to say or do. Not only was she asking about it, but she was offering personal information about herself. There was no way I could tell her that I was wearing them for pleasure now. 

I rolled the roulette wheel in my mind, desperate for what the best response would be. At last I sighed, and offered:

“I...I’m incontinent,” I said with a pathetic shrug.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I...I had no idea at all! You’ve always done such an incredible job of hiding it!”

“Well...you know. You wear them for as long as I have, and you learn a thing or two about keeping it discrete.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” she said. 

“Oh, it’s okay,” I said with a weak smile. I was trying to convince her. I was trying to convince myself. “You said...you had experience with this?”

“Well not, like, me - personally. My younger brother wet the bed until he was a teenager. Quite a few accidents during the day too. I was usually on deck when Mom wasn’t around to clean him up.”

I don’t know what I had been hoping to hear, but my heart sank. I had thrown the incontinence excuse out there in the hopes that she’d admit to having some level of personal diaper experience herself. But her younger brother - who was an actual child at the time - only further reinforced my shame.

I had no idea what to do now. I couldn’t possibly tell her that I had been lying.

We ate the rest of dinner in silence, though I’d occasionally catch her sympathetic eyes glancing at me. She felt sorry for me. 

I wanted to tell her that I was an asshole. I didn’t - but maybe because I knew she’d figure it out for herself eventually.

The chapters in this story will be published weekly this month for Tier 2 and Tier 3 patrons. While Tier 1 patrons are getting this first chapter now - subsequent chapters will be Tier 2 & 3 exclusive for now.