Double Vision [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

It was love at first sight.

She, in her faded blue jeans with the tattered knees. She, with her loose-fitting plaid button-up, arms rolled up to almost her shoulders–the front unbuttoned just enough to hide her breasts, which seemed barely contained by the blank tank underneath. She, who was batting her eyes at me from the other side of the concert venue’s bar.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.

I rarely approached women at concerts. Or anywhere, really. I was of the mindset that they don’t want to be bothered any more than I do. The last thing I wanted to be was one of those guys who barges into someone else’s fun night for a chance at some pussy. But the way I saw it, she was inviting me with her eyes. I wouldn’t have gone over to her if I wasn’t sure–and I was very sure.

“Well, I have one already,” she answered, holding up a tall can of IPA. “But thanks for offering.”

“Excited for the show?” I asked.

“Should be good. I’ve seen them three times, and they never disappoint. You?”

“First time,” I said, nodding. “But I’m psyched as hell. Hoping they play some stuff from the first album.”

“They usually do. Though sometimes not until the encore.”

“I’m Red.” I thrust my hand out towards her.

“I don’t get it,” she said. “You’re red?”

“No…like, my name? It’s Red.”

She laughed, grasping my hand with both of hers, jostling it up and down. “God, I’m dumb, sorry. I’m Jeanie.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. It actually happens all the time. I really should make it more clear that my name is Red.”

“Honestly? What kind of name is ‘Red’ anyway?”

“Does it make it any better if I say that it’s short for Redmond?”

She laughed again. “Not at all. I think the problem is that you don’t look like a Red.”

“Have you seen a lot of Reds?”

“I’m not sure if I’ve ever met a Red before,” she said, scratching her chin. “But if I had to picture a Red…”

“All I need to know is if your imagined version of Red is better looking than me or not.”

“He’s good looking,” she shrugged. “Just in a different way.”

“So, I’m…”

“Good looking? Don’t get too cocky, Red.”

I cleared my throat, ready to nudge this conversation into the next stage. “So, the show’s about to start. Are you here with anyone? Because if you’re by yourself, I was going to head up to the balcony and I was wondering if you’d like to come with?”

“That’s who I came with,” she said, pointing to a small alcove about ten feet away. Two men had their arms wrapped around each other, making out like the apocalypse was coming.

“Which one? Both of them?”

“One of them,” Jeanie shrugged. “I have no fucking clue who the other is. So, yes, I think I’ll be joining you. If you don’t mind.”

“I invited you.”

“I’m not going to get slapped by some angry girlfriend?”

“Oh I left her in the car,” I joked. “But don’t worry. I rolled down the window a little and left her a bottle of water.”

“Wow,” she said, feigning delight. “Maybe one day I could be so lucky to find a guy like you?”

I shrugged. “You never know.”

___

The front doors of the venue exploded outwards, and the exhausted audience spilled into the late night. I was somewhere in the middle of that sea of people, my hand tightly gripping Jeanie’s so that I wouldn’t lose her.

We weren’t completely inebriated, but I wouldn’t have said we were sober either. We were boozed up enough to ramp up our shared attraction, while giving everything else a nice foggy sheen.

I knew what I wanted to do, but I didn’t know where I’d do it. I pulled her to a nearby alley, only to find two men already rolling their way down the wall together, their faces connected at the lips.

“Isn’t that your friend?” I asked.

“It is,” she laughed. “I’m happy for him. But this should’ve been our alley.”

“We can find another.”

“With this kind of ambience?” she teased. “Look at that stack of boxes. God, how romantic.”

One of the men released his lips’ grip on the other and turned to us. “Jeanie, please shut the fuck up and find somewhere else to makeout with a stranger.”

We giggled, and practically skipped down the street as we looked for somewhere else with a modicum of privacy. These were completely unknown waters for me. I’d never been so enthralled with someone so quickly. And, given the nervous smiles I kept glimpsing on her face, I suspected she might have felt the same way.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” Jeanie asked as we darted into an unoccupied parking lot behind some buildings.

“If I was, I probably wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair,” she said. “Obviously, then, I’d need to kill you first.”

“Or? You could just kiss me instead. Personally, I think the kissing idea is better.”

She agreed.

___

I woke the next day, half-expecting to have realized that my entire encounter with Jeanie had been a dream. Worse, maybe I was more intoxicated than I thought I was, and had vastly misunderstood the situation between the two of us.

There was a text message waiting for me on my phone, however. “I had a good time with you last night. Let’s get together again soon.”

This sort of thing had never happened before. And if someone would’ve asked if I was even capable of picking up a cute girl like that at a concert, I’d have laughed and shook my head.

It was the boost in confidence I had needed. The last few months had found my life in a bit of a downturn. Therese and I finally broke up after seemingly months of talking about it. I’d heard second-hand that she was already shacking up with a guy she worked with–the same guy she swore to me she wasn’t sleeping with while we were together. Things hadn’t been going as great at work either, as I had not only been passed over for the promotion I was gunning for, but the position was given to someone who had been with the company for less time than I had. Hell, I had trained that person.

I needed a win, and this felt like a win. It didn’t matter if Jeanie and I were together forever or just long enough for us to roll around in a bed once or twice. Just the fact that this was happening at all felt like a sign that things were looking up for me.

We texted back and forth, mostly working out the logistics of when we could meet again. I had work and a weekly tabletop RPG group to schedule around–though I just called the latter ‘getting dinner with friends.’ She had two part-time jobs and part-time college classes to consider. We’d eventually settle on the next Thursday night.

I had hoped that we’d use texts to get to know each other a little more as we waited for Thursday to come, but the conversations never really happened. Either she was too busy or just not the type to text all that much. And I, unable to guess which, was hesitant to try and force a thread that bored her before we even met. So, the silence was fine. At least we had a date planned.

But then the plans changed a few times. We were going to get dinner at this place on Cherry St, but then her work schedule changed and she wouldn’t be close enough for it to make sense to meet me there. She suggested a bar on 14th, but the place was closed for renovations. I suggested another restaurant on Adams, but she claimed to have gotten food poisoning from there once and vowed never to return.

“You know what?” she texted me, finally. “Fuck it. Why don’t you just come over to my place?”

This plan stuck. And thank goodness, as it was the best one.

___

“Alright, don’t hate me,” Jeanie’s text read. “But some shit came up at work and I’m probably going to be late tonight. We might need to reschedule.”

Of course, by the time I realized I had missed that message, I was already knocking on her door.

To my surprise, the door opened, and there was Jeanie. She looked just as cute as I remembered her looking at the concert.

“Oh, I guess you got out of work sooner than you expected?”

She laughed and nodded. “Looks like it. Come on in.”

I would’ve been happy to see Jeanie again even if we agreed to meet in a dumpster. Thankfully, her place seemed to be anything but. It was my kind of oasis–a sprawling collection of well-stocked bookshelves, piles of records, and vintage posters for bands I didn’t think anyone liked except for me.

“Wow,” I said. “This is incredible. And this is all yours?”

“Mine and my sister’s,” she said with a shrug.

“Oh, I didn’t know that you had a…”

“Don’t worry, she’s not going to be here tonight,” Jeanie said. “It’s just you and me.”

“So,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

“I thought it was too soon for me to show off my horrible cooking skills,” she said, holding up a thick stack of folded pieces of paper. “But I’ve got plenty of takeout menus. Any preferences?”

“Not really.”

“Excellent,” she said. “This is the part where we play menu-roulette. Pick a menu, any menu.”

It was Chinese, a choice that we both seemed pretty happy with.

The time flew by. My biggest fear about the evening was that we were going to realize that we had nothing in common and we had already peaked when we flirted at the venue’s bar. Yet that didn’t seem to be the case at all. The conversation felt effortless and we jumped from topic to topic with reckless abandon. One minute we were ranking our favorite New Order albums, and the next we were debating whether or not a Wes Anderson film ever had a chance of winning Best Picture.

It had been a long time since I clicked with someone so well–it was chemistry that I didn’t even think I shared with some of my closest friends. It was like Jeanie and I had known each other for years, not hours.

“I have a weird question to ask you,” she said later, pushing away the last few bites of chow-mein that she couldn’t bring herself to finish.

I laughed, curious what sort of question required a disclaimer. “What if I just said ‘no thanks?’”

She laughed too. “I guess that would be that, then.”

“I’m way too curious to actually say that, though. What’s the question?”

“Do you have any, like, weird kinks or fetishes?”

“Wow, really? You’re just gonna throw a question like that out there on the first date?”

“It’s important,” she said. “Don’t you think? What if one of us has a weird desire that’s just completely incompatible with the other? I think it’s better that we know now.”

I could see her logic, though it felt like a lot of information to divulge to someone I didn’t know as well as I’d have liked if we were going to have this conversation at all.

“I guess I’m up first, eh?” I asked.

“Well I did ask you first.”

“Honestly, I wished I had something real juicy to tell you. I consider myself a pretty open-minded guy about kink, but I haven’t experienced all that much of it for myself. I guess I like…spanking?”

“Spanking someone else?” she asked, a smile on her face. “Or being spanked yourself?”

“Oh, uh… I guess I’ve only ever been the spanker. I suppose being the spankee could be fun too.”

“Kinda vanilla,” she said, shrugging. “No offense.”

I laughed. “None taken. Though, I’m now realizing that this whole conversation is probably setting me up for you to review whatever crazy-ass thing gets you off.”

“Good work, detective. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I like boys in diapers.”

I winced a little.

“No, no,” she said, laughing. “Sorry, I didn’t think about how that would sound when I said it aloud.”

“How else was it supposed to sound?” I asked, wondering if I should be planning an escape from her apartment.

“Let me start over again: I like making men–grown men–wear diapers, and then treating them like babies.”

“Huh.”

I wasn’t completely in the dark about this sort of thing. I had seen mentions of it before–usually as the butt of jokes within internet culture. I supposed I didn’t really have an opinion about it one way or another.

“Pretty weird, right?” she asked. “I told you.”

“It’s weird, yeah.”

“Too weird? See, this is why I wanted to bring it up now. It’s not too late to run for the hills.”

“It’s different. But…here I am, still sitting here. I’m certainly curious about it.”

“Yeah?” she asked, her face lighting up. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” I said, laughing. “But let’s start with the basics. What do you like about it? What does seeing a guy in a diaper do for you?”

“That’s a good question. It’s about, you know, vulnerability. Humiliation. How would you feel if I asked you to take off all of your clothing so that I could put you in a nice thick diaper?”

“Uhm…I…” I felt my cheeks reddening as I stammered. The very idea of being made to wear a diaper was certainly embarrassing, though I wasn’t sure that I liked it.

“I mean, I could show you what I like about it, if you want.” She slid her body a little closer to mine on the couch.

“You mean, like, here? Now?”

“Why not?” she shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“You’re serious?” I asked–a variation on the questions I had already asked.

“I’m just saying. If you want to see why it appeals to me, maybe you ought to try it for yourself.” She looked at her smartwatch and shrugged. “We have plenty of time.”

She already knew she had me, I was sure of it. I wasn’t going to get up and leave. I liked her too much. I was far too curious. She could’ve told me that she wanted to dunk me in a vat of tomato soup and I’d still have just shrugged and been like ‘Okay, let’s do it.’

I took a deep breath and said the words: “Okay, fine. Let’s do it.”

“R-really?” she seemed just as surprised as me.

I shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is the sort of thing we need to figure out here and now. I like you a lot and…I dunno. I’m feeling crazy right now. If you’re serious about it, then I am too.”

“Wow, okay. Well…to be honest, I wasn’t really expecting you to be willing. I was…” She stopped herself, took a beat to think about it, and then started over: “I wasn’t ready for this. I don’t actually have, uhm, diapers on hand?”

“Oh. Where do you, uh, get those? Because I assume we’re not talking about baby diapers.”

She laughed and nodded. “You’re right. And I get them online. I, uh, actually have a new idea. It’s a little crazy but…I feel like you might be the guy for this.”

I wanted to be ‘the guy.’ I didn’t know who ‘the guy’ was or what made him ‘the guy,’ but if she needed him, then I wanted to be him.

“Okay? Let’s hear about this crazy new idea of yours.”

“Get some diapers. Just order some online and have them sent to your home, right? And then, next time we go out, I want you to wear one under your clothes.”

“Like…in public?”

“I promise, nobody will know,” she said. “And it’ll be fun, because I won’t know if you’re wearing them or not. And then, later in the date–assuming things are going well–I’ll, uh, discover them.”

The idea was a little titillating. A shameful secret hidden from view. A guessing game as to whether or not I was wearing the diaper. And then, as she put it, discovery.

“What then?” I asked. “After the discovery?”

“That depends on whether or not you’ve been a naughty boy.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew that I liked it.

I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you might have sold me on this.”

“Honestly? Me neither.” She put her hand on my thigh, squeezing it gently. “I can’t wait.”

“Y-yeah?” Her excitement was exciting me.

“Just the thought of us at some bar or restaurant, and you’re in some diapers. And, I dunno, maybe you’ll…wet yourself?”

I felt my cheeks warm again. “You’d, uh, like that?”

This got a very big nod from her. “Very much so. All those people around and nobody knows that you’re just a little diaper, making pee-pees in your pants.”

The concept was starting to gel with me. Humiliation. Doing these naughty things that nobody would know about except us. There was something here that I wished I had known about sooner.

“Is peeing my diaper considered ‘naughty?’” I asked.

She shrugged. “It might be. Little boys are supposed to use their diapers. But…you’d also be a dirty little boy sitting in a wet diaper. It could go either way.”

“And what sort of reward does a good boy get?”

“A diaper change,” Jeanie said. “Maybe a little extra depending on Mommy’s mood.”

“And a naughty boy?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I should tell you or not,” she said, her lips curling into a wry grin. “Because I think you might like it.”

I could guess. “It’s a spanking, isn’t it?”

“What a smart little baby.”

I had yet to wear a diaper. Yet to even fully commit to this scenario of hers. And yet I felt like I was already wrapped around her finger. I wanted to play this game. I wanted to see what it felt like. I wanted to see if I ended up being a good boy or a naughty one. And, most of all, I wanted her to keep calling me a baby.

My lips were on hers again. I wasn’t sure which of us initiated it, or if we both went for it at the same time. Suddenly, we were a tangle of limbs, rolling around on the couch as our lips smacked passionately.

I had thought about that night at the concert venue everyday since, and I swore I remembered what kissing her had felt like. But at this moment, it felt completely new to me. It was like I was kissing someone else entirely. I wasn’t complaining–this felt good. There was fire. Passion. Maybe it was the revelation that we had so much chemistry. Maybe it was the fact that all I could think about was wetting a diaper for her.

Things continued to escalate, and my hands got a little braver–pawing at her breasts and the waistband of her pants. She moaned with approval, as her own hands stroked my firm cock through the front of my pants.

I had enough, and decided to take a chance. I made a motion to try and unbutton her pants, but this only seemed to halt everything.

“Sorry, baby,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m saving those treats for good little boys who do what they’re supposed to in their diapers.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh? So if I wet my diaper, I might get rewarded with getting into your pants?”

“Wetting your diaper will get you into my pants,” she said, nodding. “But if you want to get into my panties…”

I laughed again, even louder this time. “Are you for real right now? What other hurdle would you expect to leap through to get into your panties?”

“You’re a smart baby,” she said, shrugging. “What else would you do with a diaper besides wet in it?”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me right now.” I wasn’t actually upset, just that deep in disbelief. “Do you really think I’m going to, what, poop my pants? In a diaper? In public?”

“You want to fuck me, don’t you, baby?”

With that mischievous grin on her face, it occurred to me that she was probably joking. Her sudden burst of laughter sealed it.

“Jesus,” she said. “The look on your face! I really wish I had filmed that first.”

“You had me there,” I said, shaking my head.

“I was just about convinced that I was going to have to shit myself.”

“Well, give it a try next time we’re out,” she said. “See what happens.”

___

Later that night, after I got home, I got a text message from Jeanie. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

All I could do was laugh. I appreciated the gesture, but no apology was needed. If anything, I felt I needed to thank her. My mind had been spinning since I left her place, thoughts of pissy diapers and spankings taking up all available real estate. By the time I got her text, I had just about convinced myself that the path of humiliation she had introduced to me was one of the best things to have happened to me in a while.

“Honestly, don’t worry about it,” I texted back. “Looking forward to seeing you again soon.”

First, she sent a string of smiling emojis. Then: “Can’t wait to finally see you again.”

Her message was slightly confusing to me. Hadn’t she just seen me? But, sure, maybe I felt the same way–after the excitement of tonight, any amount of waiting felt like it was too long.

___

Jeanie and I didn’t have much to say to each other following that night. Once again, we took a few stabs at making plans, but it was proving hard to get our schedules to sync. I tried not to stress about it too much–we both clearly wanted to see each other again, so I knew it would happen eventually.

In the meantime, I found myself thinking about diapers a lot. I kept feeling the temptation to casually reference them in our brief conversations about meeting up again. Something like: How do you feel about seeing a big baby on Tuesday? But it always seemed like it would be too awkward. And, too, she wasn’t bringing them up either.

I wondered if this was intentional. Maybe this was all a part of the little fantasy she shared with me at her place the other night: On our next date, she wanted no clue as to whether or not I was actually wearing them.

Or, maybe she forgot that we had that conversation?

Or, we didn’t actually have that conversation at all, and it was all some sort of weird fever dream brought on by bad chinese food?

Or, she had just been joking. I wasn’t supposed to have taken it seriously.

No, I trusted my memory of that night. I distinctly remember the sexual energy in her living room as we talked about men being made to wear diapers and use them like a baby. I felt pretty confident that it wasn’t a joke.

Since the night I came home from Jeanie’s, there was a tab open on my laptop’s browser that had a package of adult diapers put in the cart and ready to order. I probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was to find that there was an entire world of options out there for adults who wanted to dress like babies. Diapers in all colors and designs. Clothing. Toys–both the innocent and the not-so. As tempting as it was to jump right into the deep end with diapers that featured a bold cartoonish print on them, I had selected something simple and white for the first time. Assuming that I’d eventually pull the trigger and finalize the purchase.

And then, the next Saturday morning, I discovered that the decision had been made for me–the night prior, under the influence of a few Friday night beers, I had decided to slap that ‘PURCHASE NOW’ button. A confirmation email from some diaper supplier called Bottoms Up was now in my inbox, advising that my package of diapers would be arriving in 4-6 business days.

I was a little nervous that the planets would align and Jeanie and I would end up making plans to get together sooner than when the diapers would arrive. But, not to worry, she seemed plenty unavailable for the next week.

As if fate required me to receive my diapers before anything else could happen, the same day my large box arrived at the doorstep was the same day that Jeanie reached out to me, ready to finally commit to some plans.

“I loosened up my workload a little and one of my classes just wrapped up,” she texted. “If you’re still down to get together sometime soon, I’d love to make that happen.”

We quickly made plans for the next night at a bar that was equidistant between us–giving me less than 24 hours to decide whether or not I’d be donning a diaper for our rendezvous.

If I was actually going to go through with that plan, I supposed, I thought it would be beneficial to give the diapers a bit of a…test run. An opportunity to get a feel for them while I was by myself–as opposed to experiencing them for the first time whilst navigating a date. In public.

Plus, of course, I was just curious to see what wearing a diaper as an adult felt like.

I felt like a fool, searching for videos online that would show me how to even put a diaper on. It occurred to me that this was a skill that very few adults ever needed to possess–in most circumstances, someone else would be doing that part for you. I found the information I needed, and I thought I did an at least passable job in getting myself diapered.

Wow. There I was, just an adult guy wearing nothing except a diaper. I was expecting this to be the part where I realized that this was an incredibly silly thing to have done. I’d realize that this wasn’t actually something I was into and that I shouldn’t have been so desperate to win Jeanie’s attraction.

Except…

Well, the diaper didn’t feel all that bad. In fact, it felt kind of nice. Like a big puffy pillow wrapped around my midsection–but with the added thrill of the taboo. I wasn’t supposed to like this. Diapers were a necessity–not a pleasure.

But the more I walked around in them, feeling the bulky padding shift and crinkle between my legs, the more I could see myself getting sucked into this world.

The last few months had emasculated me some. Therese had chosen another man over me. My job had chosen someone newer and younger over me. My instinct was to try and stand taller, acting like those things hadn’t actually hurt that much. I was still a man.

The comfort and excitement I felt for the diaper, however, suggested that I had been wrong about trying to double down on my manhood the last few months.

I wasn’t a man. I was a little boy. A pathetic little creature who needed a good cry, his chin wiped, and his diaper checked.

What if, I thought, just for the sake of saying I tried it–just for the sake of science–I wet my diaper? Like a baby would. Like a diaper is intended to be wet.

With my legs split apart and bent into a slight squat, I coaxed myself into peeing. It was harder than I thought it’d be–years of using toilets and urinals had trained my body when it was acceptable to pee and when it wasn’t. But eventually a little trickle made its way out, and that quickly grew into a heavy and forceful stream. I could actually hear myself pissing inside of the diaper–a long and steady fsssssssshhhhh. And when it was done, the garment felt completely transformed. What was once soft and fluffy was now soggy and mushy. It hung off me like a heavy sack and gently swayed to and fro between my legs.

Isolated in my apartment, free from the judgmental eyes of anyone else in the world, I wasn’t afraid to admit to myself that I rather liked what I was experiencing. Shame. Humiliation. I felt those things–and I also was starting to understand how someone could actually love these things. With my agency depleted, and power handed to someone else who knew I wore diapers…yes, I could see how this would be quite nice.

And so it was decided. I’d be wearing diapers out on my date with Jeanie.

___

“Redwood, as I live and breathe.”

“Redmond,” I said, correcting her.

She smiled and shrugged, making me feel a little silly for correcting her obvious tease. I blamed the diaper. The thick padding was making my already-tight jeans fit a little differently than they usually did, and every movement I made felt like it was trying to compensate for the added bulk.

“It’s really good to see you again,” I said, hugging her and giving her a peck on the cheek.

“It’s certainly been a while, hasn’t it?” she asked. “I was beginning to think that we’d never get together again.”

“You work too much,” I said. “That’s the problem.”

“I quit one of my part-time jobs,” she said.

“Just so that you could spend more time with me?” I asked. I was tempted to have said something like “...with a baby like me” instead, but I held back. I’d probably need a drink or two in me before I started throwing out quips like that.

“Yup,” she replied, laughing. “I sure do like making big decisions in consideration of men I’ve only hung out with once.”

Twice, I thought, though I bit my tongue. Maybe the first time, at the venue, didn’t actually count?

We slipped into the bar, securing seats at the far end of the counter where there weren’t many other patrons within earshot. If we were going to eventually slip into diaper-talk, this seemed to be for the best. Drinks were ordered, and we were left sitting face-to-face.

“So catch me up,” she said. “What have you been up to since the concert?”

“Oh jeez,” I replied. The most interesting things that had happened to me since were her convincing me to wear diapers, and then me actually trying diapers. It still didn’t feel like the time to talk about that, yet. “Well, I decided to try non-dairy ice cream. Made from almond milk?”

“Hrm. And what’s the verdict on that?”

“It didn’t taste right. It tasted…nutty? And, like, I don’t know if that’s just because I see the words ‘almond milk’ on the container and it gets in my head, or if it does actually taste like almonds.”

“What flavor was the ice cream supposed to be?” she asked. “I feel like that’s an important detail.”

“Salted caramel. So you’d think it’d be vanilla ice cream and caramel.”

“Did you taste caramel?”

“I mean, I saw caramel swirled in the ice cream. But all I tasted was nuts.”

She laughed. “What made you decide to even go the non-dairy route in the first place?”

“Look, I love dairy,” I said, once more fighting off the temptation to make another baby-related quip. “But it doesn’t always love me, if you know what I mean.”

“I certainly understand that,” she said, laughing more. “But if I can’t have the real thing, then I just don’t think I’d want it at all. None of that fat-free shit. No sugar-free. No dairy-free. I want straight-up ice cream. Full fat. Full sugar. Hell, if they made extra-fat ice cream, I’d probably eat that too.”

“That’s just putting an extra scoop into your bowl, I think.”

“Bowl? You don’t eat it out of the carton?”

I really liked Jeanie. In every conversation we had, we just seemed to riff off each other so well. Talking about ice cream got us talking about farms, which got us talking about heavy machinery, which got us talking about the worst jobs we’ve ever had, which got us talking about bad experiences with cars, which somehow got us talking about vacations we took with our family when we were younger. We could do this all night.

“Actually, on that note,” I said, finishing my second cocktail–an especially strong sazerac. “You said you live with your sister? What’s she like?”

She shot me a curious smile. “My sister? Did I mention her?”

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “Just in passing.”

“Huh. Well, do you have siblings?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” she said. “Gwen drives me crazy sometimes. But she’d probably say the same thing about me. We’re always talking about getting our own apartments. But in this fucking economy? We’ll probably live with each other until we’re dead.”

“I dunno,” I said. “It sounds kind of nice. I always wondered what having siblings was like. Sure, maybe there’s a chance you get a shitty older brother who wants to punch you all the time. But the best case scenario–a best friend that you love and trust–doesn’t sound that bad to me.”

“Well if you want a sister, I’ve got one you can have,” she said.

Somewhere around that point in the conversation, my cocktails–and the bottle of water I chugged on my way to the bar–started catching up with me. On any other night, this would be the part of the date that I excused myself to use the restroom. Tonight, I was wearing my restroom.

It occurred to me that she hadn’t mentioned diapers or babyish things at all. No hints or teases. Not even a wink. It was one of two possibilities, I thought–either she was trying to keep a straight face until I revealed that I was diapered, or she just didn’t think I was actually going to do it. I wasn’t sure which it was, but I couldn’t wait to see her face when it finally came time to show her what I was packing.

It wasn’t as easy to piss myself there in the bar as it was when I was home the night before. Being in public, sitting next to Jeanie–hell, just the act of sitting alone seemed to make it harder. I tried to push on my bladder, hoping I could force it out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Are you alright?” Jeanie asked.

“Huh?”

“You just seem…distracted? Squirmy?”

“Oh, I’m, uh, fine.”

“Too much dairy?” she asked, laughing to herself.

“That’s probably it,” I said, laughing along with her. I briefly wondered if this was a good opportunity to tell her about the diapers, though I still held off.

But her observation did have an unexpected side-effect. Her query seemed to make it easier for my bladder to unlock itself. I wondered if she had asked if I needed to use my diaper, I would’ve? This newfound urge to be humiliated seemed capable of overriding any other instinct in my body.

I took a deep breath and just let it happen. Fwwwsshh. I couldn’t hear it, I didn’t think, but the feeling of the stream erupting into my padding sent little vibrations through my body that might as well have been the same thing.

“I don’t even know what you do for work,” she said, jumping into a new conversation. “Let me guess…something with computers?”

I laughed, still a little distracted by the deluge of urine filling my diaper. “Do I look like someone who uses a computer?”

“Well you don’t look like someone who operates a crane.”

“Very specific,” I said. “But also, there’s millions of jobs that use computers, so…”

“I was just joking,” she said, shrugging.

“Data analytics,” I said.

“Ugh,” she groaned, mockingly. “The most computer-job.”

“Now, now. Maybe we could do our job with a ream of printouts and an abacus, if we really had to.”

My brain was on autopilot, doing its best to keep up with the conversation while the rest of my consciousness was fixated on the swollen soggy mess between my legs. I still couldn’t get over how good it felt to be unable to fully close my legs. Or the fact that I was just sitting there on a barstool in a wet diaper–people all around us who had no idea.

Did Jeanie know? Had she suspected what I had done? Was she hoping I had already wet myself?

“And you?” I asked, trying to put a little soul back into my conversation. “I know you work a lot, but what sorts of things are you doing?”

“Well there’s school,” she said, sighing. “That’s like a job in itself, you know? I just quit my job waiting tables at this restaurant. The money was alright, but the hours fucking sucked. Right now, I’m just working part time at the library. Mostly just sorting through books and putting things on shelves. It doesn’t pay all that great, but at least the hours let me have a little bit of a social life again.”

Admittedly, I wasn’t completely paying attention again. I could hear her words, and I had a vague sense of what she was saying, but most of the details were going in one ear and coming out the other. I was thinking about my diaper again. I found that when I rocked my body forward–even just a little bit–the way the soaked mush of the diaper felt against my semi-erect cock was heavenly. And so there I was, swaying back and forth in my swampy diaper, getting harder and harder.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she said. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re, like, moving around a lot.”

Alright, fine. In a perfect world, we’d have left the bar and would be somewhere more private when she discovered my diaper, and how wet it was. I didn’t want to just tell her about it here at the bar, but maybe this wasn’t a bad thing. I’d drop the truth, and then we could plan the rest of the night around whatever she wanted to do about it.

“So…remember the other night?” I asked.

She laughed, shrugging. “Maybe? What about it?”

“You were, y’know, telling me about the things you liked? Like, uhm, kinks and stuff?”

She laughed again. The look on her face was not the one that I expected. She didn’t look upset, but she didn’t look happy either. She looked…legitimately baffled.

“I know I had a few beers at the concert,” she said, “but I’m almost positive that we did not talk about…kinks.”

“No, no,” I said. My heart was racing. How could she not remember? Surely she was pulling my chain. This was just a joke or more of her teasing. “Not at the concert. At your place. We were sitting there in the living room, remember?”

Up until this point, she had at least been smiling–as if she thought I was joking, even if she didn’t really understand the joke. But that smile was gone now. She looked serious, and quite possibly concerned.

“Red…we didn’t hang out at my place. The only time I ever saw you was at the concert. We were supposed to hang out that one night, but then I had to work and…” Her voice trailed off as I could almost watch a lightbulb go off over her head. “Did you say that you were at my place?”

“Yeah. And…you were there too. Or so I thought.”

She sighed–an epically long exhalation from her nostrils as she stared down at the empty glass in her hands.

“My sister,” she said.

“What about her?”

“She’s my twin.”

“Okay?” I shrugged. “I don’t really get what that has to do with anything.”

“My…identical twin?”

Even then, it didn’t immediately dawn on me what she was saying. A light bulb of my own suddenly clicked on above my noggin. I was starting to see where this was going.

“Wait. Are you saying that…when I went to your house, I wasn’t hanging out with you?”

“I was working,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t have been there. But Gwen…she was home. And, you know, she looks like me and you didn’t know any better…”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, starting to wonder if she was playing me. “Why would your sister pretend to be you?”

“Because that’s what we do,” she answered, rubbing her face with her hand. “We’re always doing this shit to each other. Pretending to be the other. Fucking with each other.”

“So that was really your sister?” I asked. “Like, seriously?”

“What did she say to you?” Jeanie asked.

“Well…we just…”

“What kinks did she tell you I had?”

My heart was pounding. The color depleted from my skin. I was feeling clammy. I had no idea how to answer her question.”

“Please?” she asked. “I’m not mad at you. I just want to know what stupid bullshit she told you.”

“Uh…diapers?”

She actually laughed. “I’m sorry. Did you just say diapers?”

“Y-yeah…”

“What about them?”

“She just said that she–er…you, I guess–liked when men wore…diapers.”

“The fuck? That’s ridiculous,” she spat. “To be perfectly clear, I don’t have a fetish for men in diapers.”

“No, of course,” I said, casually shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Jesus. I can’t believe Gwen pulled this shit with you. You guys, like, hung out?”

I was almost afraid to admit the truth, but I saw no point in hiding it. If she didn’t get the information from me, she’d probably get it from her sister later.

“Yeah. For, like, hours.”

“Holy fuck. And you didn’t know that it wasn’t me?”

“I mean…I barely know you. I see this girl who looks identical to you–and I have no idea that you have a twin sister–and…well, what am I supposed to think?”

She sighed again–maybe there was no arguing with that logic. “But…why didn’t you tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…when I apologized for not being able to hang out that night?”

“No…you weren’t apologizing for that…” I stopped myself, realizing that we had two completely different perspectives on that conversation. “I thought you were apologizing for talking about…diapers.”

“Diapers,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I can’t believe she tried to pretend that I liked diapers, of all the damn things. And she fucking pulled it off! She’s never going to let me live that down, you know?”

“She…certainly had me fooled.”

“So what did you do when she told you about the diapers? I mean, I would think that you’d have run away as fast as you can. But…you’re still here. Gotta say–I’m a little curious about that.”

“Maybe I was, uh, willing to overlook your strange kinks because I liked you?”

I could feel my cheeks warming. And judging by the way she smiled at me, she noticed my blushing too.

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe you liked what you heard.”

“N-no…”

“Are you into diapers, Red?”

“Well…”

“Oh my god. You totally are into diapers! I can see it on your face!”

“Now, hold on. I’ve never thought about diapers before I met, er, Gwen.”

“Right. But she–pretending to be me–started talking about diapers, and it triggered something in you, didn’t it?”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you…”

“I don’t want to, like, make fun of you. I’m just curious.”

I didn’t entirely believe that to be true. Considering the disbelief she had over Gwen’s use of diapers in her trickery, I was certain that Jeanie was already judging me. I was quickly feeling backed into a corner. It didn’t look like there was any way out of tonight with my dignity intact. My hopes of starting a relationship with Jeanie already felt squashed.

And so, I thought, why not just be honest? What more did I have to lose?

“Yeah, I guess I was a little curious myself,” I said, shrugging. “I like you…or whoever it was that I thought was you. And if someone as cool as you was into something as weird as that, I just thought…maybe I’d at least be open minded.”

“Alright,” she said. “Admittedly, that’s kind of sweet. But hold on. I’ve got to give Gwen some hell for a second here…”

She pulled her phone out from her purse and her fingers went into a frenzy–tip-tapping away a series of messages for her sister. I had no idea what Jeanie was texting, but given the frustrated expression on her face, I could at least guess the tone.

Bwoop. Bwoop. Bwoop. Just as fast as Jeanie had sent her messages, her phone was vibrating and beeping as the responses came rolling in. Again, all I could do was watch Jeanie’s face as she analyzed the texts. But I was observing a strange metamorphosis of her expression–while she initially looked frustrated and angry, she gradually began to look more…amused?

“So, uhm, Red?”

“Yeah…?”

“Gwen seems to think she made a pretty convincing argument for you to wear a diaper here tonight on our date?”

“That’s…ridiculous. I didn’t wear a diaper…”

Jeanie slid her phone back into her purse and smiled at me. “So if I asked you to prove it to me, you wouldn’t have any problem with that?”

“Well…I mean, c’mon. I can’t pull my pants down in the middle of a bar. You can’t just take my word that I’m not wearing a diaper? I mean, what does Gwen know?”

“I’ll deal with Gwen later,” she said. “Right now we’re talking about you. I want to know if you’re wearing a diaper or not.”

“I’m not!”

“So then you’ll prove it, right?”

“I…I don’t have to prove anything.”

“So says the guy who might be hiding a diaper from me.”

I had no idea what the right move was. If she stuck to her guns, and I eventually showed her what was in my pants, she’d call my bluff. But if I shut down the conversation, or just left, she’d probably just assume I was wearing one anyway.

“Check please,” she said to the bartender. She had a credit card in her hand.

“Oh, can we at least split that?” I asked.

“My sister played a nasty trick on you and I feel bad,” she said. “Let me take care of the bill, okay?”

“Uh, sure.”

“But as soon as I pay, we’re going outside. And if you ever want to hang out with me again, I’m going to need you to show me what’s in your pants.”

___

While we were still in the bar, I imagined the parking lot to be dimly lit. Just dark enough that, perhaps, I could get away with showing her my diaper and having her mistake it for a pair of simple white underpants. Wishful thinking, I was sure, but I was grasping for straws.

The reality of the parking lot was the opposite of what I had imagined. The plentiful street lights illuminated the parking lot perfectly.

“Well?” she asked as we stood near my car. “Let’s see.”

There was little traffic in this area. I could probably get away with quickly pulling down my pants without anyone else seeing–though it wasn’t anyone else’s reaction that I was worried about. It was Jeanie’s.

With my hands on my belt buckle, I had one last debate with myself about how to proceed. I could show her my diaper and hope for the best–though there was almost no way that she’d ever see it as anything other than a diaper. Or…I could tell her the truth?

Again, what more could I lose?

“Alright, alright,” I said. “Look…you…or Gwen, or whoever, convinced me that you’d like it if I wore a diaper on our date tonight. And I just wanted to impress you. I feel really stupid and embarrassed about it now so if we could just forget this ever happened…”

“I want to see it,” she said.

“What? But I…”

“Show me your diaper, Red.”

And so I did. I quickly unfastened my belt, opened my pants, and pushed them down to mid-thigh level, fully exposing my brilliant-white diaper. It somehow seemed extra white and vibrant in the artificial light of the parking lot.

“Holy shit,” she said, shaking her head. “You really did wear a diaper, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, sighing. “Sure did.”

“And…wait, is that…?”

She leaned further in towards my diaper to get a look at the padding. For a moment I wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but then I remembered. I had pissed myself in the bar. It was probably obvious. I quickly pulled my pants back up over my diaper, but it was too late. She had already seen far too much.

“Oh my god,” she said, wide grin on her face. “You pissed yourself?”

“Well…uhm… See, Gwen had said that…”

“You fucking pissed your diaper? Like a fucking baby?”

“I just thought that you…” My voice trailed off as I tried to find my footing in this conversation. “Gwen told me that…”

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” she said, laughing now. “Should I check the back of your diapers too? Did baby make a little poopy in his pants too?”

“No, Jeanie, I didn’t…”

“I’m pretty annoyed with Gwen right now,” she said, shaking her head. “But maybe I should actually be thanking her. I thought you were a man–not some pathetic little toddler in pissy pants.”

I opened my mouth, but I had nothing to say. There went the last of my dignity.

“I’m going to get going,” she said. “And you should probably go home too. You know, before you get a fucking diaper rash.”

__

Later that night, in my bed, I let my hand run up and down the shape of my shaft through the front of my diaper–the same wet diaper I wore to my date with Jeanie. In my head, I replayed the things she had said to me–the things she had called me.

Baby.

Pathetic little toddler.

Did baby make a little poopy in his pants too?

It didn’t take too long for me to start spurting into the diaper as I moaned, my body tensing briefly.

The damage was done, it seemed. I had lost my chance with Jeanie and I had somehow walked away from this surreal experience with a diaper fetish of my own.

Even later, I’d get a text message from an unknown number. “Jeanie told me about what happened. I’ve got to say, I’m pretty impressed you actually went through with it.”

“Who is this?” I texted back.

“You can probably guess. Here’s a hint: It’s not Jeanie. Look, if you’re feeling the whole diaper thing, you should give me a call sometime.”

“Yeah?” I answered.

“I won’t lie, I’m going to make fun of you and humiliate the hell out of you. But you’ll like it, and I’ll probably like it too.”

“You’ll definitely be hearing from me.”

---

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