Nurse June [Tier 3] (Patreon)

Absolutely nothing is different.

I push my shopping cart through the automated door that opens with the same robotic BRRRR that I remember it having when I was a kid. The store looks the same–no remodels or renovations. The store smells the same–a mix of overripe produce and cleaning chemicals. Even the white-haired woman working at the service desk looks like the woman I remembered sitting there years ago.

It’s a little comforting. Not everything around here has stayed static like this. My parents have an addition on their house now, and my boyhood bedroom has been converted into a craft room. Main Street now only allows traffic to move in one direction–eastbound traffic has to take Church Street now. Dion’s Sporting Goods, a fixture of my middle school soccer years, is now a mattress store.

But Valley Value, thank the stars, is exactly the same as it's always been.

All things considered, I haven’t been gone that long. Hell, I even make a trip back to my parents’ a few times a year. I suppose I just don’t come into town, itself, that often.

I had a feeling that I was dead last on the list of names that my mother was calling when they needed a housesitter. I don’t think it was that they didn’t trust me–they probably just assumed I wouldn’t be able to put down everything for a week like that. And, truthfully, my mother just caught me on the right day. Had she called a day earlier, or a day later, I probably would’ve made some excuse about being swamped at work–kind of true, though not as true as I would’ve pretended.

On the day she actually called, though, I was feeling a little burned out. A little exhausted. The timing of her call was actually so perfect that I assumed that it was fate telling me I had to take the opportunity.

And now I’m at the grocery store, buying myself some snacks and beer for the week.

I turn the corner, rolling my cart into the ‘snacks and chips’ aisle, when I see a familiar face looking back at me. She looks exactly the same as I remembered her looking in high school.

“M-Ms. Norton,” I say, smiling and waving. “It’s good to see you.”

She laughs and brushes her long strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder. “Nick, you’re no longer in high school. You don’t have to call me that.”

“I’m not sure I even know your first name.” This is a lie, of course.

“June,” she says. “And it’s very nice to see you again too.”

What’s the protocol for an encounter like this? Am I supposed to hug her? Shake her hand? I do neither and instead just push my cart a little closer to hers.

“How have you been?” she asks. “It’s been a few years since you graduated, yes?”

“Six, actually.”

“Wow. Time really flies. And what have you been doing with yourself?”

“Oh, well, I did the whole college-thing, you know? Studied programming. Graduated. Now I’m working at a startup over in Rockledge.”

“Rockledge? That’s a bit of a hike from here. What brings you back to the area?”

“Babysitting…er, housesitting,” I say, my cheeks warming at my stumble.

“Ah. Maybe that explains the…” She leans forward, peering into my cart. “Beer, hot dogs, and cheese curls?”

“It’s like a week-long vacation,” I shrug. “I figure I might as well do all the bad things I try to otherwise avoid.”

“Well that certainly sounds fun.”

“How have you been?’ I ask. “Are you still at the school?”

She smiles–that big warm smile that I remember so well. “Still there. The district has been talking about moving me across the county, though. A change of scenery probably wouldn’t be a bad thing–but I’m still crossing my fingers I can just stay where I am.”

“Of course,” I say. “Well, if it helps, I’ll cross my fingers too.”

“You’re too sweet,” she says. “You always have been.”

I feel my cheeks blushing again. I feel foolish. Worse, I feel like I’m suddenly 17 years old again.

“Hey,” she says, her tone a little softer now. “May I ask you a question?”

My heart is racing. I already know exactly what she’s going to ask before I even respond. Still, I go through the motions: “Uh, sure.”

“How are you? Are you still, uh, having…accidents?”

I bite my bottom lip and slowly glance to either side, looking to see if anyone else is in the aisle. There’s a curly-haired woman in a floral dress at the far end of the aisle, but she seems to be distracted by the back of a bag of turkey jerky. The coast seems clear enough.

“Not really,” I say. The truth is complicated–though she doesn’t need to know that. It actually feels very nice that she’s still concerned about me, all these years later.

“Good,” she says, nodding. “I’m glad to hear that.”

I pause for a moment–maybe a moment too long. It feels a little awkward now. “Y-yeah. It’s a very good thing.”

“I didn’t make the conversation weird, did I?” she asks.

“Oh, gosh. No, no, no. Not at all. Honestly, it’s very kind of you to ask. And, uh, look…since we’re here now, maybe I can say something that I wished I had said to you earlier: Thank you. You were so amazing and helpful to me and I’m not sure what I ever would’ve done without you.”

She laughs, her own cheeks getting a little rosier now. “I was just doing my job, Nick. The wellbeing of the students is my first priority. Such is the life of the school nurse.”

“Well, I’d say you went above and beyond.”

She shrugs sheepishly, that warm smile on her face again. “That means a lot.”

This feels like the end of the conversation. I get both hands on the handle of my cart and get ready to continue on my way. “It was so nice seeing you, Ms. Nor– Uhm, sorry…June.”

“Likewise,” she says. “I hope you have a wonderful week, Nick. Please take care of yourself.”

“I will,” I respond. “And I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

“You’re too sweet.”

We begin walking in our different directions. For a moment, I’m practically patting myself on the back for not making that any more awkward than it already was. But by the time I’ve tossed a bag of barbecue potato chips into my cart, I’m wondering if I hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

This moment right here–this is the scenario I’ve been imagining–fantasizing about–for the last six years of my life. And I’m just going to walk away from it?

I’m computing the worst case scenario in my head as I turn my cart around. Let’s say she shoots me down. Let’s say she laughs in my face. Then what? I get drunk at my parents’ house and then go back to Rockledge in a week and I never see her again. That doesn’t seem so bad.

“Hey, June?”

She turns around, looking surprised to see that I’m approaching her again. But she’s still smiling. “Hey, Nick.”

“Look, I know this is going to sound crazy but…uh, I don’t really know anybody in town anymore and it’s going to be a pretty long week if I don’t get to socialize at all. Maybe, if you’re free, you and I could, uh…”

“Nick Valicenti. Are you asking me out?”

“I didn’t mean like a, uh, date or anything. We can get some drinks or some food or we could just talk or…”

“That actually sounds pretty nice,” she shrugs.

It takes me a moment for her words to process. In the meantime, I’m still jabbering like I didn’t hear her: “...or we could even just go for a walk, if you like walks. And… Oh. Really?”

“We should catch up some more,” she says. “I’d like that.”

“Great. Do you want my number? You could just text me with what night might work best for you and…”

“I’m not doing anything tonight,” she says.

“Tonight?” I repeat the word back to her like I’ve never heard it before in my life. “I mean…yeah, that works for me.”

“If that’s too soon for you, we could always try…”

“No,” I say. “Tonight is perfect.”

I’m thinking about places that might still be in town where we could go. But not only do I have no idea what establishments are still open, but the version of town that I remember is through the lens of being a teenager. I have no idea what adults do for fun around here–and I sincerely doubt that she wants to hang out at the videogame shop.

“There’s a little pub over on Church Street,” she says. “Mallard’s. It’s pretty quiet on weeknights, so we’ll probably have the place mostly to ourselves.”

“That sounds great,” I say. “What time would you like to meet?”

She shrugs. “How does eight sound?”

“Works for me.”

“Perfect,” she says. “I’m looking forward to seeing you there.”

“Likewise,” I say. “Likewise.”

===

I take a shower and spend a good hour fretting over what I’m going to wear. I want to look nice, without looking like I’m trying too hard. I settle for a pair of khaki shorts and a plain black tee. Casual, but with a hint of sophistication. I think.

I look at myself in the mirror and wonder: Do I look like an adult?

I thought she looked as amazing as she ever did when I saw her at the store. If I was to guess, she was in her early-to-mid thirties now–still a decade older than I was, not that you could tell.

The more I think about it, the more surprised I am that she agreed to meet with me tonight. It almost feels wrong–like there’s an ethical line that we’d be crossing. Should she not be meeting with former students, even if they’re adults now? That seems preposterous to me, though. Maybe it’d be different if we had some sort of unethical relationship when I was a student–but that didn’t happen. I only fantasized about it happening.

I remind myself that she helped me through some tough times. She cared about me, and she still does now. I tell myself that it’s a testament to her good nature that she wants to meet for a drink and catch up now–she just wants to be certain that I’m in a better place.

And, yeah, I’m going to be thinking about kissing her lips the whole time. But that’s my problem.

I’m walking through the door of Mallard’s at 8:05. Truthfully, I was in the parking lot a few minutes early–but I decided to wait in the car for a few. I got it in my head that I would look desperate and pathetic if I was early. But I see that she’s already at a table, and that she got a head start on me with her half-finished pint glass.

“Hello, Nick.” She stands up from her chair and hugs me. This would not be the first time we ever hugged–though it’d be the first time we hugged while I wasn’t crying like a baby.

“It’s good to see you again,” I say as we take our seats. “I see you’re already started.”

She laughs and shrugs. “Well I couldn’t just sit in a bar without a drink, right?”

I order a pint for myself and another for her, as I see that she’s downing the last of hers.

I have no idea how to start. “So, uh… Wow. It’s been a while, huh? I’ve been trying to think of the last time I saw you before today, and I’m not even sure when that was.”

She laughs. “You don’t remember?”

“Uhm…I want to say it was graduation day, but…”

She shakes her head. Her voice is a little softer again. “No, it was in my office. You…had another accident.”

“Oh, right.” My cheeks warm considerably. Was the last time she saw me also the last time that she…

“But we don’t have to talk about that,” she says.

I’m momentarily overwhelmed by the return of this memory. I can recall it vividly now, and it's enough to make my cheeks flare even brighter. “Wow. And you still wanted to meet with me tonight?”

She laughs. “I’d like to think you’re more than just your…” She stops short of finishing that thought. I could probably guess what word was coming next, though.

This feels like my queue to try and change the subject. “Last I recall, you were engaged, right?”

But the second I ask this question, I realize that it might be yet another awkward conversation. There’s no ring on her finger.

“Ah, well…that didn’t really work out,” she says.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” she says. “Things happen for a reason. And I’m in a much better relationship now, as a result.”

It shouldn’t feel like a punch to the gut, and yet here we are. I know that I shouldn’t actually be upset by this. Did I really expect June to not only be single, but to have been waiting for me for six years? The odds were never in my favor to begin with.

“I’m really happy for you,” I say, as genuinely as I can.

“Thank you,” she says, her kind gaze still fixed on my face. “What about you? Anyone special in your life?”

“Oh, uh…not at the moment.” There really wasn’t that much more to say about it. I had a few casual flings and short-term relationships under my belt, but my dating history was mostly pretty bleak.

She shrugs. “You’re such a nice guy, Nick. I know you’ll find the right person eventually.”

I want to tell her that she is who I’d consider to be the ‘right person,’ but that seems like a terrible idea. What more, I’m fully aware of the fact that I don’t actually know that much about her. I’m not in love with her–I’m in love with the version of her that’s lived in my head for almost eight years now.

“I appreciate that,” I say.

“You know, I think about you a lot.”

“R-really?”

She nods, swallowing some more of her beer. “I’m in a strange position, I guess. I see students coming and going from the school every year, and I only ever get to know a handful of them. And, of those, there’s not many that I want to remember. But I’ve always been glad that I had the chance to get to know you. You were kind and polite. And, well, you were going through something real challenging, but you handled it gracefully.”

I have a brief flashback to me sitting on a cot in the nurse’s office, tears streaming down my face as she rubbed my back. “I don’t know if I was as graceful as I could’ve been…”

“You handled it as well as a teenager could be expected to. And, so far as I know, you managed to make it to graduation without any of that stuff being exposed to the rest of the student body, right?”

“That’s true,” I say. I still have no idea how I managed to make it through high school with my reputation unscathed. Had everyone else known, I’d have been torn apart. I wouldn’t be sitting at this table right now–I’d have never set foot in this town again.

Another round of drinks is ordered, and we spin our wheels for a few minutes. It’s idle smalltalk–softballs about topics that neither of us are really all that invested in. The weather. High school sports. Whereabouts of faculty members. Part of me is afraid that this is all our meeting is going to be, and that we don’t actually have any sort of connection. I’m not sure that’s the case, though. It feels like there’s some sort of tension just below the surface–some conversation that we both want to have, and neither of us are sure how to initiate it.

Halfway through my second beer, I’m thinking I might take a shot at it. I already know that she’s with another man. And my time in town is limited. If this doesn’t work out, the long term ramifications seem pretty nonexistent.

But she beats me to it: “So I, uhm, said that I think about you a lot. And, yeah, I do think you were a really good kid and I’ve always hoped that you were doing alright. But that’s not the only thing about you I think about.”

There’s a pause here–she wants me to ask what else she thinks about. But I already know what she thinks about. It’s probably the same thing that I think about.

So I just spit out the word: “Diapers?”

She chuckles and nods her head, her cheeks getting a little rosy again. “You know, when it’s all reduced to a single word like that…it sounds kind of silly.”

I’m blushing too. “A little.”

“Do you know why I broke it off with my fiance?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“He just wasn’t…open minded. Like, at all. He had no sense of adventure. I threw out some ideas and he gave me a stern ‘hell-no.’”

“What sort of ideas did you throw out?”

Her shoulders bob up and down in a playful shrug as she smiles. “Well, I asked him if he’d wear a diaper for me.”

I just about spit a mouthful of beer across the table–instead reducing the calamity to just a dribble that leaks out the side of my mouth. “Really?”

“I know, I know,” she says. “It’s pretty fucking weird, right? And I feel pretty guilty even mentioning this to you now. But…yeah.”

“I mean…let’s assume that he was actually willing to put one on for you? What would you even do with that?”

Her cheeks continue to glow a vibrant shade of pink, and I’m half-expecting her to bail on this conversation. She might even get up and leave the table altogether.

“I just…I always knew I didn’t want children. And I still don’t. But…oh jeez. Please don’t judge me for this…”

“I swear,” I say to her. “I won’t judge you.”

“Well, I think helping you with your, uh, diapers kind of triggered something for me. It wasn’t sexual–not at that time, at least. But I realized I had some, uh, maternal feelings. And after you graduated, I found myself with this gap in my life that I didn’t know how to fill. I didn’t want, like, an actual baby–but I wanted…something.”

“You wanted an adult that you could treat like a baby from time to time.”

She laughs and nods. “Wow, yeah. That’s exactly right.”

I can almost see how the scene played out between her and her fiance. She takes her time, slowly dropping suggestions and hints that she’s got a pretty far-out idea she wants to try in the bedroom. Finally, he bites, and he’s confronted by a giant disposable diaper. He rejects it. She tries to deal with that–pushing the feelings deep enough in her psyche that they never interfere with her pending marriage again. Except, no–she realizes that this is something she needs, and she’s not going to marry someone who can’t give it to her.

Or, something like that.

“So your current partner?” I ask. “He’s…”

She nods. “He’s open to it.”

“Get outta here. Are you serious?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that he’s back at home right now, wearing a diaper?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t believe that.”

She pulls her phone from her purse and proceeds to tap on the screen a few times before passing it across the table to me.

“Holy shit…”

There he is. A bigger fella with dark hair and beard. He’s sitting on a hardwood floor, looking up at the camera with a surprised look on his face–like he wasn’t expecting a camera’s flash to be going off. His blue t-shirt has been pulled up past his round belly, and he’s not wearing any pants. But what he is wearing is clearly a thick adult diaper. It looks nothing like the white drug-store diapers I had been reduced to buying in my teen years–this looks like an actual baby’s diaper, just on a larger scale. It even has a colorful print spanning across the front of it–though it’s hard to make out the details from this angle. There’s a plastic baby bottle sticking out of his left hand.

I hand the phone back to her. My heart is racing.

“I wasn’t lying,” she says.

I’m at a loss for words.

“Was that too much?” she asks. “Should I have not shown you that?”

“He lets you do that to him?” I ask.

“He likes it. We met online, you know. On a site that caters to such fantasies.”

I should probably find a better way to express myself, but I can’t help it. I open my mouth and just blurt out my feelings: “I wanted to be your baby.”

The table has fallen silent again. I’m thankful that the bar is just as quiet as she has promised it would be, as I probably said that a little louder than I meant to.

===

The first time it happened, I was in the backyard of my parents’ house. It was the summer before my junior year of high school, and I was trying to put a new chain on my bike.

Without any sort of warning, I felt an awkward pressure in my lower abdomen. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I correctly guessed that I was going to need a toilet immediately. I made it halfway across the yard when my bowels gave out, filling the back of my boxers with a humiliating disaster.

I cleaned myself up. I destroyed the evidence. I never told a soul.

I had no idea what actually happened, but I chalked it up to some sort of stomach bug or food poisoning.

And then it happened again two weeks later. This time I was in my bedroom, laying face down on my bed as I played some video games. That same feeling came over my abdomen again, somehow seeming even more immediate than it did the first time. I didn’t even get a chance to roll off of the couch before my bowels were again unleashed into my pants. Another pair of pants and boxers destroyed, never to be seen or mentioned again.

School suddenly seemed like the most terrifying place in the entire world. Every day, the fear of suddenly pooping my pants like a toddler hung over my head. If such a thing was to happen while at school–that’d just be the end of me. Trent Hull got a dribble of piss on his jeans once in 6th grade, and people were still calling him ‘piss-boy.’

But what else could I do? I didn’t want to talk to my mother about this, and I definitely didn’t want to talk to any doctors about it. The best solution I could come up with was just praying that it didn’t happen again–or at least not while I was in school.

For the first few days of school, I kept a change of pants in my locker. It was reassuring to know I had the spare, though it didn’t help to curb the deep anxiety I was feeling about the situation.

Disaster finally struck on a quiet Tuesday afternoon as I made my way down the hall towards the library. There was pretty minimal traffic in the hallway at this point, though the bell would be ringing any minute. I had just turned a corner when I felt that now-familiar pang in my insides. A bathroom was in view and I rushed towards it–but I didn’t make it more than three feet before I once again lost the battle.

My instinct was to rush back to my locker and get my pants, but there was no way I would be able to get there before the bell rang. And then…well, that would be the end of me.

And so what were my options? Hiding in the bathroom seemed like a decent enough plan. But I saw another option too–one that I had never considered before now: the nurse’s office.

I knew as much about the school nurse as everyone else did: She was young, pretty, and she seemed friendly enough. Exposing my poopy pants to her didn’t exactly sound like a fun time to me–but it was becoming clear that I needed help. And I’d trust someone looking out for the health of the student body over almost anyone else.

She was, in fact, everything I assumed she’d be: young, pretty, and exceptionally nice. She never so much as smirked when I came stumbling into her office, reeking like an infant. Instead, she locked the door and escorted me to her office’s bathroom. She told me to take all the time I needed to clean myself, and even pushed a package of unscented baby wipes into my hands.

When I told her that I had clean pants in my locker, she made the trip to fetch them for me.

“Does this sort of thing happen to you often?” she asked when I finally emerged from the bathroom–my soiled pants and boxers shoved into a garbage bag along with most of the wipes she had given me.

“Well…it’s happened a few times.”

“Have you seen a doctor about this? Talked to your parents?”

“Well…”

The answer to those questions wasn’t actually a concern of hers. Her only priority was my comfort and making sure that I was okay with leaving her office and going back out into the school again. Against all odds, I realized that I was glad that I had taken a chance on coming to her. She made me feel like a human again.

“But if I could make one suggestion?” she asked as I was about to finally leave the security of her locked office. “They make products. Like, uhm, incontinence briefs? You can get them at almost any store. I know it doesn’t sound like fun…but if it happens again, you might find that the cleanup is a little easier.”

I didn’t completely understand what she meant by ‘incontinence briefs’ until I explored my local grocery store later and found them on the shelf. Diapers. She had suggested that I start wearing diapers.

I wasn’t sure which was worse–being exposed as a pants-pooper, or being exposed for wearing diapers at school. And, I supposed that the diapers didn’t make me any less likely to poop my pants–they just made it a little easier to deal with when I did. And so I bought them.

From then on, I was wearing diapers to school.

===

The cat’s out of the bag. Well, one of them is. There’s still one more in the bag–and if she was surprised by the first one, the second one is going to be a doozy.

There’s another round of drinks coming. We need them–or at least I do.

“You could say that I found myself in a similar place as you,” I say. “All I wanted after I graduated was to meet someone with the same amount of patience and caring that you had.”

“You wanted someone who would change your diapers,” she replies.

“Y-yeah…”

“And how did that work out for you?”

“Not well.”

“Poor thing,” she coos. “You…could’ve contacted me.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Come on. What was I going to say? ‘Ms. Norton? It’s me, Nick. I know i’m not a student anymore, but I was hoping you might still want to wipe my ass for me?’”

“That might have worked better than you think,” she says. “I mean, it’s what I was looking for too.”

“And now you have a baby of your very own.” I’m certain that my bitterness is apparent in my tone.

“I didn’t come here to rub it in your face,” she sighs. “Honestly, I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again. And then…bam. We just run into each other at the supermarket.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve been dreaming of the day I see you again too. And here we are…and I’m whining to you like a…”

“...baby?”

I needed this laugh. “Does your, uh, boyfriend know you’re here?”

“He doesn’t right now,” she says. “But I’ll probably tell him eventually. Maybe during his diaper change, while he’s nice and distracted by me stroking his cock.”

‘Stroking his cock’ is certainly a phrase I never imagined coming from June’s mouth before. Well, that’s not entirely true. I might have had a daydream or two where she whispered words like that into my ear.

“Will he be upset?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I suppose I’ll find out. I feel a little guilty about it. But…I had to see you.”

It feels incredible to hear her say that.

“At the store,” she says, “you said you weren’t having your accidents anymore. Is that true?”

I nod.

“But you’re still into diapers?”

I nod again.

“Do you wear them often?”

“When I can,” I admit. It’s the most honest I think I’ve ever been about anything.

“Are you wearing one now?”

“N-no…”

She laughs. “That’s too bad. Why not?”

“I mean, for one, I had no idea that you were still changing diapers yourself.”

“That’s fair,” she smirks. “So, uh, did you ever get that problem of yours taken care of? Did you find out why you were having accidents in the first place?”

I shake my head. “They just…stopped. It’s probably the sort of thing I should see a doctor about but, you know, out of sight–out of mind.”

“When was the last time you had an actual accident?”

I draw in a deep breath. I had planned on saving this for later–if I even revealed it at all–but it seems like the right time to let the other cat out of the bag: “Oh…I think it was the very first time I was in your office. When you suggested I buy diapers.”

===

An interesting thing happened when I started wearing a diaper to school everyday: I stopped having accidents.

Days went by. Then weeks went by. And nothing. No sudden fluttering feelings in my abdomen. No sudden expulsion of my bowels. No ruined pants. No need to change my own diaper.

This had come, mostly, as a relief to me. Yet, I could sense the slightest bit of disappointment in the back of mind–though I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

That is, until Ms. Norton spotted me in the hallway one afternoon, and asked me to join her in her office.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she said. “So we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“O-of course, Ms. Norton.”

“Are you, uh, still having your accidents, Nick?”

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her that I hadn’t had one in a while. But I hesitated. I couldn’t say why it happened, but I just couldn’t get the words out of my mouth.

She seemed to have interpreted this hesitation as confirmation that it was still an issue I was having. “I see. Nick, that sounds like a very difficult thing to have to deal with. Is there anything I can do to help?”

I had no idea how to answer that question. I shifted in my seat a little, feeling my still-dry drugstore diaper crinkle a little in my jeans. “N-no, ma’am. I don’t think so.”

“Look, I’m not going to press any further here,” she said. “I just want to make sure you understand that my office door is always open to you, understand? If you should have another accident, you come right to me and I’ll take care of you.”

Up until this point, I derived no pleasure from diapers–neither wearing them, or the concept of them. I spent every day in school sweating my ass off as I wondered if I was going to suddenly poop my diapers in front of my entire school. But when I got home from school that day and I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought about what it might be like to have to return to the nurse’s office in a loaded diaper. Would she walk me to the bathroom again, closing me in with a package of baby wipes? Or…would she see the need to help this pathetic baby clean up after himself?

It was the first, but not the last, time I masturbated to the thought of Ms. Norton changing my diaper.

A few days later, an opportunity presented itself to me. I was in the hallways again while classes were in session. I was supposed to be doing some research in the computer lab, but I thought I’d bail a few minutes early and get something to drink from the soda machines in the cafeteria instead. Around the time I opened my can, I felt some mild cramping in my guts. These weren’t those dreaded rumblings that heralded an uncontrollable mess–these were just those everyday signs that it was probably time to head to the mens’ room.

Except…I didn’t need the men’s room, because I was wearing a toilet of my own. Of sorts. And, I even had a place to go after.

It was a plan so stupid that it could only have come from a confused teenager. I was literally going to squat in a quiet corner of the cafeteria, fill the back of my diaper, and then rush to the nurse’s office.

And I did it. It all happened so quickly, and so effortlessly, that it wasn’t until I was about to step into the nurse’s office that I realized how insane this plan was. I was literally standing in the hallway of my school, wearing a loaded and stinking diaper.

I was crying when I walked into her office. This was not part of any sort of scheme or plan. My pathetic crying was genuine–an expression of utter regret and humiliation.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, wrapping her arms around me to provide whatever comfort she could. “That’s why they’re called ‘accidents’ right? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I…I don’t know what I’m even doing,” I blubbered. I was, of course, referring to my half-assed attempt at realizing my weird fantasy. For her, she thought I was just unsure of how to deal with yet another accident.

“Come here,” she said, bringing me over to one of the cots. “Come lie down here.”

“I…I can’t,” I sobbed. “I pooped my diaper. I have to change and…”

“I know that,” she said. “But I’m going to take care of that for you.”

“Wh-what?”

“I don’t have to,” she said. “Not if you don’t want me to. But I can change your diaper for you, if you want.”

“But…”

“I won’t tell a soul,” she said. “Promise.”

All I wanted to do was tell her that there had been a huge misunderstanding. I didn’t need her to clean up after me, because I had done this to myself. On purpose.

And yet, there I was, lowering myself onto the cot. And she was helping to pull my pants down my legs. And then she was opening my diaper up so that she could help wipe away the mess I had created.

I wasn’t proud of myself. I was disgusted. I gave in to all of my worst impulses and I felt like I had taken advantage of a kind woman who was just trying to do her job. For a few days, I isolated myself and barely talked to anyone. I was wracked with guilt. I even stopped wearing diapers to school.

And then, about a week later, I was masturbating again–pleasuring myself to the memories of getting my diaper changed.

A week after that, I was returning to the nurse’s office with another soft mass in the back of my diaper that I hoped she’d help me with.

This would happen over and over again until I graduated. Every few weeks, I’d have another ‘accident’ that I’d need her assistance with. She’d always oblige. It had become such a common occurrence by the end that I’d sometimes forget that I was still manipulating her with my lies. There were moments when I actually believed I was the incontinent diaper-filler that I was posing as.

===

Once more, I’m unsure how to gauge her reactions. I don’t think she looks angry, though it occurs to me that I’ve never seen her angry before. But the smile on her face is gone, replaced with a more contemplative stare.

“That’s interesting,” she finally says, breaking the near-infinite silence at the table.

“I…I’m sorry,” I say. “For what it’s worth.”

“I should probably be pretty cross with you right now,” she sighs.

“You’re allowed to be.”

“What if others had found out that I was changing your diapers?” she asks. “Even if I thought I was doing the right thing for someone who I genuinely believed needed my help. It wouldn’t have mattered. I was putting my career on the line for you.”

“I…know that now, of course.”

She takes a deep breath, holds it, and slowly releases the air from her nostrils. “I’m not mad at you, Nick.”

“Y-you’re not?”

“If anything had happened differently…I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t have a diaper-wearing boyfriend waiting for me back at my house like I do now. And, speaking of…that dumb baby probably already has a diaper rash by now. Maybe I should head back.”

“Wait. I…” But I’m not sure what else I have left to say.

I believe her when she says she’s not angry, but when I look at her face, I still see disappointment.

I’m disappointed too. All I had ever dreamed about was a world where Nurse June and I met again, and she’d take me in as her baby. And, as it turned out, she did walk away from her time with me wanting to keep men in diapers–it just wasn’t me who got to benefit from that.

We settle the tab, collect our things and shuffle out from the bar. In the small parking lot behind the pub, we say our goodbyes and quickly embrace–but none of it feels as genuine as it did when we first got to the bar. It feels kind of hollow and performative.

“Take care of yourself, Nick,” she says. They sound like the words of someone who expects never to see me again.

“Y-yeah, of course. And you too. It was, uhm, really nice to see you again.”

She smiles and nods, but doesn’t seem to have anything else to say.

We turn away from each other and begin walking in different directions in the parking lot. I’m reminded of the moment we ran into each other in the supermarket earlier, and how I had to convince myself to go back and chase her down. I’m tempted, again, to turn on my heel and run after her. I have no idea what I’d say…but I just don’t think I’m ready for this to be how the night ends.

But I don’t. I’ve been selfish enough in my life, and if she wanted to spend anymore time with me, she’d have said as much.

“Nick?”

June’s voice is incredibly close. I spin around to find that she’s standing right behind me. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even hear her approach me.

“Uhm, hey, June.”

“You’re only in town for a week?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“And you’re not wearing a diaper?”

“Well, uh…”

She shakes her head, her lips morphed into a tight mock-frown. “You could be having an accident at any moment. You don’t want to ruin your pants, do you?”

“N-no…I…” I have no clue what’s happening.

“Do you see that car over there? The blue Jeep?”

I nod.

“That’s my car. I want you to follow me back to my place, okay?”

“I mean, sure. But…why?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t be silly. We need to get you into a diaper. And, lucky for you, I have plenty.”

“But…I thought…”

“Nick, do you want to come with me and be put into a diaper, or not?”

“Y-yes. Of course I do.”

“Then let’s go.”

===

For a moment, I think that she’s playing a trick on me–like, this may be her revenge for my admission that the diapers she had changed years ago weren’t from actual accidents. Because I’m following her car, and we’re heading right back into my own neighborhood.

“I was just kidding,” she’d say to me. “Just go home. And never talk to me again.”

To my surprise, she pulls into a driveway just a block short of my parents’ house. I can literally see their house from here. It’s unbelievable, really. Had she moved here recently, or had she always been so close my entire life?

Her house? I know this house. I was childhood friends with Tim Greane who lives next door. I used to pick blackberries behind this house.

“Welcome to my home,” she says as we both step out of our vehicles at the same time.

“This is…yours?”

“All mine,” she says. “Well, it is now. It used to belong to my parents, but my mother moved to Florida a few years ago after my father passed. I bought it off of her.”

“Uh, well…” I point down the street to my parents’ house. “That’s where I live. Well, where my parents live. It’s where I’m staying this week.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Well isn’t that something. You know, I remember the little boys that used to run around this street when I was a teenager. You were probably one of them.”

“Probably,” I shrug. Was she the girl whose underpants Tim and I stole from the clothesline? Or was she the one who called us ‘fucking parasites’ everytime we rode past on our bikes?

“The baby doesn’t know we’re expecting a guest,” she says as she starts walking up the sidewalk to the front door. “He’ll probably be a little bashful at first, but I imagine he’ll warm up to you when he sees that you belong in a diaper yourself.”

“Look, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable…”

She laughs. “I have a hunch that it’s not his comfort you need to be thinking about.”

I’m unsure what this means, until she opens the front door and I follow her inside. Almost immediately, I pick up on a dank odor–one that is a little more familiar to me than I’d care to admit. It’s obviously a dirty diaper–one that’s long overdue for a change. I follow June through a doorway to the left and the scent gets even stronger.

It’s not hard to detect the source–there’s a man sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out. He’s wearing a bright green onesie with a cartoon dinosaur on the front of it. I can’t see his actual diaper–but I don’t need to to know it’s there. The big bulge between his legs–just about busting through the snaps of his onesie–couldn’t possibly be anything else.

“Uh oh,” June says, waving her hand in front of her face as she smiles. “Smells like someone made a big stinky, hmm?”

“M-mommy,” the man says, his voice limp with fear. “Who is that?”

“Ah, he’s a special friend of mine,” she says. “Nick, this is my baby–Jeremy. Jeremy? This is my friend Nick. You two will have plenty of time to get acquainted this week. First thing’s first. I think we need to do something about the swampy diaper.”

“B-but…”

“Tut tut, little boy. Changies first. Then we’ll chat.”

He moves like someone who has done this a thousand times. His body rolls forward and he crawls across the living room, back towards the foyer we had entered from. His ripe diaper sways behind him, spreading another invisible stench cloud in his wake.

“Are you coming?” June asks me.

“I don’t want to intrude if you’re going to be, uh, changing him.” Never in my life would I imagine being in a situation where I had to say that.

“Come with us. I insist. You can see the nursery for yourself. And when I’m finished with him, maybe we can get you into a diaper too?”

“A nursery?”

She nods. “You’re going to love it, Nick.”

The nursery is every bit as astonishing as I hope it would be. It’s a surreal oasis of stuffed animals and stacks of diapers that just so happens to be down the street from the house I grew up in. The centerpiece of the room is the changing table–a solid-looking structure that almost has to have been custom-built.

Baby Jeremy shoots me one more suspicious glance before hoisting himself up onto the table, rolling onto this back with his legs open. June is positioned at the end of the table, a leg on either side of her, as she begins unsnapping the bottom of the onesie–releasing the loaded diaper from its captivity.

“Does this remind you of your visits to my office?” she asks me. “When you would lie on one of the cots and I’d change your diaper?”

“It does,” I say. I never saw it from this angle, of course. But I can certainly imagine myself in Jeremy’s place.

“Did you ever wonder what a dirty diaper looked like from my perspective?” she asks.

I shake my head, already disgusted by the expanse of smeared brown in his diaper as she pulls it open.

“That’s why you and Jeremy are so alike,” she shrugs. “You’ll both always be the babies–leaving the cleanup to someone else.”

“You like this?” I ask, pointing to the inside of Jeremy’s filthy thighs.

“Very much. And it’s funny how this works out, isn’t it? Because I don’t think I’d get very much pleasure out of pooping my own pants and then sitting in the mess.”

I watch as she tucks the front of his diaper over the bulk of the mess before methodically cleaning away the rest of it from his skin one little area at a time with the wipes. It seems daunting, but she seems to quickly cruise through the process. By the time his skin is completely clean, I expect an hour to have passed–but it’s only been a few minutes.

“Next comes his favorite part of the diaper change, of course,” she says.

As if knowing it’s being summoned, his shriveled dick begins to come to life. It’s funny–I haven’t even thought about his limp cock just sitting there in eyesight, or about how all her touching and cleaning hasn’t stiffened it sooner. But Baby Jeremy seems to know when his reward is coming, and he’s at attention for it.

“I wouldn’t do this for just anyone,” she says, her fingers wrapping around his cock. “For example, I’d never do such a thing if a young man stumbled into my office at the school because he made an embarrassing mess of his pants.”

I feel my cheeks warming.

“But,” she continues, “if you’re a good boy and make all your little poopies in your diaper while you’re in my home, you’ll get rewarded with this.” Her hand slides up and down Jeremy’s shaft–his back arching as he moans. Whatever humiliation he was feeling by my presence seems to have been overridden by his pleasure.

“This won’t take long,” she shrugs. “Do you want to see what will make it go even quicker?”

I’m tempted to answer, but I correctly suspect that she’s going to show me anyway. While one hand pumps away at his dick, the other pushes an outstretched finger into his ass, letting it slip inside of his backdoor.

He moans even louder, and soon those moans become primal grunts. And then, as promised, he erupts like a volcano, his milky excretions rolling down his shaft and her knuckles. Her response to this is to just pull another moist wipe from its package and nonchalantly wipe her hand and his now-softening cock clean, like it was just another part of the job.

“See?” she asks, looking back at me. “Easy as pie. After I get him into a fresh diaper, how about we get you up here?”

There’s a sound from the other end of the changing table where Jeremy’s head is. Some sort of mutter or disapproving groan. He might have even said a word or two, though I can’t make out what it is.

“Don’t be jealous,” she responds–apparently able to communicate with the oversized baby in the same way that everyone can with R2-D2. “If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on my changing table right now. I probably wouldn’t even have a changing table.”

Jeremy sighs as his bottom is lifted up from the table’s surface and a new diaper is slid beneath him. When I think back to the memories I have of her changing my diapers in high school, it felt like it took hours to go through the whole process. Now, it’s done in a split-second.

“Why don’t you go crawl back to the other room,” she says. “Watch some cartoons.”

“But…”

“Go,” she says, her voice a little sterner. “Or do I need to get Mr. Ouchie?”

He nods and quickly scurries out of the room on his hands and knees–a diapered puppy.

“Mr. Ouchie?” I ask.

“I can introduce him to you, if you’d like,” she says. “But it’s usually a bad thing if the two of you meet.”

I can only assume it’s a paddle of some sort…but then again, it might be something else entirely. It seems best not to get acquainted with him for now.

“I think I’m good,” I shrug.

“I almost think you’ve earned yourself a session with him,” she says. “Considering the deceit our relationship is based on.”

Relationship. That’s a funny word to describe our connection. I’m not sure it’d be the first one I’d use, but it makes sense.

“I…can’t apologize enough,” I say, my head slumping down to stare at my feet.

“Stop,” she says, her hand on my shoulder. “It’s hard to get upset about something that ended up leading me to the best version of my life.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “And now, I’m thinking I’d like to share that with you. Well, a week’s worth, anyways.”

I laugh, almost about to admit that if she’s just across the street from my parents, I’m tempted to quit my job and move back home.

Instead: “I’d like that. A lot.”

“I thought you would,” she says. “But…I think my tastes have evolved a bit since the last time you were in my office, Nick. I’m not interested in just changing your diapers.”

“Like, do you mean…”

“If you’re getting the diapers,” she says, plucking a thick and colorful folded diaper off a shelf, “you’re getting everything.”

“Like…Jeremy?”

She nods. “Like Jeremy.”

I’m not oblivious to the ‘baby’ part of ‘adult baby,’ it’s just a path I’ve never gone down myself. For me, it’s always been about the diapers themselves. The contrast of being a supposed adult–out and about in the world while a diaper hides beneath my pants–waiting to catch whatever ‘accident’ it needs to.

But I look around and see the stuffed animals. The diapers. The assorted wipes, creams and lotions. Baby bottles and pacifiers. Coloring books. I see June’s smiling face–really, that’s all I need to see. Had I met June again any sooner, perhaps even before she met Jeremy, this would’ve been my life now anyway.

We both know what I’m going to say, but I say it anyway: “Give it to me. Give me everything.”

===

Housesitting is a silly thing. Well, when it comes to my parents’ house, at least. My mother really thought that watering a few plants, bringing in the mail, and putting cat food in a bowl once a day was really worth having me come over? Any neighbor could have done this. It takes less than ten minutes each day to take care of the things my mother wanted me to.

That gives me a lot of time for other things.

Like being spoon-fed mushy food from a jar. Getting bathed. Watching cartoons. Holding a big bottle up to my lips with both hands so that I can drink everything inside of it. Coloring. Holy cow, I had forgotten how much fun it is to lay on the floor with a box of crayons.

And using my diaper. I go through a lot of diapers. Once I got the hang of my new–albeit temporary–baby lifestyle, it becomes a little too easy to just start emptying myself into them whenever I feel the first urge in my bladder or bowels. By the fourth day, I’m barely even thinking about it as I squat and push a load into my pants.

“You’re a natural pooper,” June says as she changes me.

Probably true. But also, I think the little ‘reward’ she offers at the end of each change is enough of an incentive to keep me happily using my diapers.

I only sleep at my parents’ house once–that first night, after June put a diaper on me for the first time in six years. Every night after is spent at her house. The first night over, I’m allowed to sleep in her bed with her, just cuddling. Every night after, I’m given the crib to sleep in–initially a point of contention with Baby Jeremy, though he is compensated with a night or two in June’s bed as well. A perk he doesn’t normally get, it seems.

And when it’s time to say goodbye, she fills my suitcase with fresh diapers. She also throws away my underwear–though I wouldn’t realize that for a few days.

“You’ll come back, right?” she asks as we stand in the foyer on my last day.

“Of course.”

“When?”

“Well…I have some vacation time that I could use after I get through a few big projects at work. Maybe I could move some stuff around and be back, like, next month?”

“That seems like a long time for a baby to go without his mommy.”

She’s right about that. “I’ll see what I can do. But…actually…”

“Yes?” Her eyes light up. It’s an exciting thing to see–usually I’m the one hanging on her every word.

“Well, I have to go to the airport and pick up my folks. And then I’m supposed to go and get dinner with them before I head back to Rockledge. But I don’t have to be back at the office until Monday, so…”

“You could always just come back here for another night.”

“We couldn’t let my parents see my car in your driveway…”

“Do you know what I keep in the garage?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“More diapers. I can move them if you want to park in there when you come back.”

I hug her again–and much like the first time I ever hugged her, when I was in high school–I’m crying. They’re tears of happiness, this time.

===

Absolutely nothing is different.

Rockledge is the same city it was when I left it a week ago. I suppose it’d be asking a lot to expect it to change much–or at all–in just a week. But I’m changed.

I’m wearing a diaper under my slacks as I walk through the office. I’ve never done this before–always finding the risk to be a little much. It’s still risky, but I’m just not sure I’m able to go a whole day without my diaper yet.

Shortly after a meeting in the conference room, I take a little detour on my way back to my desk and swing by the lunchroom to see if anyone’s left some snacks out–as it happens from time to time. Just a basket of apples. Oh, and some bags of pretzels! Perfect.

But as I reach out to grab for a bag, I feel a sudden–and vaguely familiar–ache in my lower abdomen. Pure instinct kicks in, and I decide that I need to get myself to a bathroom immediately.

I don’t even make it out of the lunchroom before the back of my diaper suddenly expands with an enormous mass of soft mush.

Here we go again.