Chapter Ten
Vivian was waiting for me in the guest room when I finally emerged from my bath.
“Feel better?” She asked as she finished turning down the bed.
“Much,” I sighed, “Vivian, I’m just…so sorry and—”
Vivian interrupted me with a wave of her hand, “Don’t even mention it!” She smoothed a stray wrinkle from the sheet, fluffed a pillow, and turned to face me, “Really, Lavender, these things happen.”
Do they really though?
“And I promise,” she continued, “I don’t think any less of you; you’re still the brilliant and passionate student I was so excited to work with.”
“You were…excited to work with me?” My heart fluttered, the embarrassment of current events momentarily forgotten. Vivian had never been withholding of praise towards my work, but this was the first time she had ever made it so…personal; the first time she had ever hinted that my excitement to work with her was reciprocated.
“Of course, dear,” she smiled and took a small step closer to me, “your work is absolutely brilliant, and I couldn’t wait to see how you would grow and blossom as a scholar.”
My heart fell through the floor. So, it was just professional?
“And since then, I’ve come to know you as a kind, witty, and frankly amazing person that I admire very much,” my heart slingshot itself up into my throat, “and all this changes nothing about how I feel about you.” She reached out a tentative hand and pushed a stray hair back behind my ear. “And, I think, you feel the same.”
Klaxon sirens were going off in my head. Red lights as bright as my cheeks and warning signs that flashed “GAY PANIC” filled my brain. I swallowed hard and forced myself to nod.
She smiled and leaned in, “I’m quite smitten with you, my little Lavender,” she whispered, her lips so close to mine I could feel her breath, and then they were pressed against mine. Her tongue slipped past my lips, and I moaned softly and melted into her.
A long moment later, Vivian broke off from the kiss and took a step back. I shyly looked down and bit my lip. I didn’t know what to say or where to go from here. My professor had just proclaimed her feelings for me, proclaimed them in spite of a wetting problem she perceived me to have, and then kissed me deeply and passionately. What was I supposed to say now?
Maybe “oh, by the way, I’m not a bedwetter?”
That did seem like a good place to start.
Vivian cleared her throat before I could begin to formulate that thought. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I do need to go take care of something, just really quickly, okay?”
I nodded and Vivian walked past me, brushing her hand along my hip as she did, and out of the room.
Awkwardly standing alone in the guest room, it suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t sure what Vivian expected me to sleep in. My clothes were, after all, currently being washed. Vivian was a few inches taller than me, but maybe she would have some pajamas I could borrow.
Would you lend your pajamas to a bedwetter?
I mean, it wouldn’t necessarily bother me…
Of course it wouldn’t bother you; you’re a bedwetter, after all.
I groaned internally. I really had to clear this up with Vivian. I couldn’t let her keep thinking I was a bedwetter. Besides, what was I going to do? Purposely piss all over Vivian’s guest bed again?
With that thought, I sat down hard on the bed, and immediately froze. Was that…what I thought it was? I lifted myself up just a little before letting myself fall back down. A plastic sheet crinkled under me.
Well, let’s just say I made sure I’m well-prepared, just in case.
That’s what Vivian had said about the prospect of me spending the night again. She was “well-prepared.” She expected me to piss all over her guest bed again.
As I was still trying to process this new information, Vivian came back in the room carrying a plain, brown paper bag in one hand and a pair of pajamas in the other. “Here you go,” she said as she set the pajamas down on the bed next to me, “I think these should fit you!”
Well, that answered that. “Thank you so much, Vivian,” I said as I picked up the pajamas. They were a set of plain, pale purple pajamas with a set of shorts and a button-up shirt with a soft collar; the leg and arm holes ended in juvenile-looking ruffles. I had to admit, they were kind of cute, but not exactly what most girls my age would wear to bed.
Pretty close to what you wear to bed sometimes though.
They were shockingly similar to a pair I had in my locked chest at home. They had less frills and lacked the repeating pattern of teddy bears, pacifiers, and baby bottles, but otherwise…
“I…do hope they are okay,” Vivian said, sounding uncharacteristically timid.
“They’re great, thank you so much,” I smiled, then remembered the paper bag in her other hand and eyed it cautiously. What else could she possibly have?
“Oh,” Vivian noticed me staring at the bag and cleared her throat, “yes, I…well, I hope you don’t mind…maybe this is presumptuous of me…” she suddenly seemed flustered, perhaps even embarrassed. “I just thought that…well…” she sighed and handed me the bag, “here, I had a delivery service make a trip to the pharmacy for me.”
My heart was beating fast; my mind racing with suspicions of what was in the bag. Nervously and with no small amount of anticipation, I peered inside the bag and was greeted by a familiar site: a bag of Goodnites.
“I’m sorry if this is rude,” she blurted out as I was still trying to process the shock of this new development. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable if…and I don’t know what you use at home, but this…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
“No, no, this was…” was what? What was I supposed to say in this circumstance?
How about “I don’t wet the bed, last time was just a freak accident caused by drinking too much?”
“…thoughtful,” was what I finally came up with. “But, Vivian, I…Vivian, I really appreciate this and how kind you’ve been and just everything but, to be completely honest, I…I don’t…”
I don’t wet the bed, say it.
“…don’t usually…”
Wet the bed! I don’t usually wet the bed! Or ever!
“…wear…”
Wait, what? That’s not where you’re supposed to be going with this! It’s okay, it’s okay, “wear diapers to bed because I’m not a bedwetter,” just say that, okay?
But I didn’t. I let myself trail off there without finishing my sentence.
What is wrong with you?
“Oh,” Vivian replied after a short silence, “I see…I mean, of course you don’t…I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable, Lavender,” she cast her eyes downward, clearly feeling awkward and embarrassed. “I really did think I was helping.”
Sympathetic pain shot through my chest; she was just trying to help. Vivian had no way of knowing that she was feeding into my own kinky daydreams, no way of knowing that she was leading me astray down a path of my own lies.
And suddenly I found myself at a crossroads.
I could tell Vivian the truth, dissuade her of the notion that I was a bedwetter, tell her that it was just the alcohol—she’d probably feel awful for making assumptions and even worse about buying these stupid Goodnites, but she’d get over it. We would move on, and, in time, this could just be a funny story. And, hell, maybe the fact that she’s so open-minded about the erroneous assumption that I’m a bedwetter is a good indicator that she’ll be open-minded about my kink—whenever I work up the nerve to tell her. OR…or, I could lie. I could put on the pull-up, let her think I’m a bedwetter, and play the role. It’s not like I wouldn’t enjoy it, but it felt so incredibly wrong.
But you’d be sparing her feelings!
No, I couldn’t rationalize this like that; I couldn’t pretend sparing her feelings justified the lie.
Then don’t lie. She’s the one who assumed you’re a bedwetter, you never told her you were. She’s the one who took it upon herself to buy you pull-ups, you’d just be a good guest by wearing them considering what happened last time. You have had a few drinks, after all.
Not nearly as many as last time.
And? So? You did wet the bed last time you stayed, and now your host is asking you to wear “protection” so that you don’t again. And maybe you wake up wet again because that’s what you do in pull-ups and if she takes that as confirmation of her assumption, is that really your fault?
“Well,” Vivian’s voice brought me back to reality, and I suddenly became aware of the fact that we had been standing there in awkward silence for far too long. “I guess I’ll just,” she reached for the bag, “get rid of these, then…”
“No!” I snapped instinctively, holding the bag tightly to my chest.
Now or never, which is it?
“That is,” I continued, “well…maybe…maybe I should…”
Vivian smiled and sat down on the bed next to me, making the plastic sheet crinkle again. “Lavender,” she began as she put one arm around me and set her other hand gently on my knee, “is this…new to you?”
Are you new to being a bedwetter?
I nodded. Technically, it was true.
“That must be scary,” she said, rubbing my back, “but I can be here for you, if you’d like that.”
I nodded again.
What are you doing?!
“Well,” she said as she gently took the bag from me and set it on the ground, “just know that I won’t judge you no matter what you chose and that either way it doesn’t affect how I feel about you or what I think of you, okay? But, well, maybe you’d sleep better if you did…” she gestured to the bag, “you know…”
“Maybe,” I agreed.
“At the very least, you probably won’t wake up feeling so gross.”
You might feel gross for other reasons when you wake up if you do this.
I felt impossibly conflicted. I was being given exactly what I’ve always wanted on a silver platter, but I’d have to lie to Vivian to get it. Was it worth it? Could I forgive myself? Would Vivian ever forgive me if she found out?
“I’ll tell you what,” Vivian said as she stood up, “why don’t I just leave them in here with you, and you can make whatever decision you’d like to make, okay?” She stroked my cheek once, then began walking towards the door. “But it’s late,” she stated, “and we’ve both had more than a few drinks and have had a pretty…eventful evening. Maybe it’s best we both retire for the night, don’t you think?”
I nodded my agreement, my eyes transfixed to the brown paper bag.
“Good night, Lavender, sleep well.”
And with that, Vivian left me alone with the bag of Goodnites.
You already know what you want to do; just do it.
I stood up on shaky legs, crossed the short span between me and the bag, and pulled them out. The bag was identical to the one I had at home. I ripped open the packaging and pulled one out.
Are you sure this is what you want to do? There’s no coming back from this.
Wasn’t there, though? I could call it a temporary issue caused by the stress of school—that was a thing, wasn’t it?
Or have you just read too many diaper stories?
I was pretty sure it was a real thing. I set the pull-up on the bed and untied my robe. I had come this far, after all.
This is a bad idea.
I picked up the pull-up and ran my hand across the outside, taking in the rustling sound that was oh so familiar and oh so intoxicating. I shook it out like I had so many pull-ups before it, and imagined it was Vivian holding it open for me.
“Just like big girl panties, right sweetie?” She would smile as I placed first one leg and then the other inside the garment. “There’s my good girl,” she pulled it up my legs and kissed my forehead as she settled it into place. “Does that feel good?” She asked, patting the front and running her fingers along the leak guards.
I nodded, “Thank you, Miss Vivian.”
“Now, let’s get you into bed, little girl.”
I climbed into the bed, the plastic sheet crinkling under every movement, and, propping the pillows up against the headboard so I could sit up, settled down into bed. Suddenly missing my pacifier, I slipped my thumb into my mouth even while my other hand found it’s way under the covers. My fingertips ran along the soft, almost paper-y outside of the pull up, rubbing back and forth, increasing in pressure until I couldn’t help but gasp behind my thumb.
My pacifier wasn’t the only thing I was missing.
I imagined Vivian coming to wake me up in the morning, pulling my covers back as I squirmed sleepily. “Good morning, my little Lavender,” she would whisper, using the same endearment she had earlier that had made me melt, “did we sleep well?” Miss Vivian would kiss my forehead even as her fingers slipped past the leg bands of my pull-up to give me my morning check.
I would just nod, smiling up at her from behind my thumb.
“My little girl is quite soaked,” she would say with love, “we’re going to have to think about diapers for night if you keep wetting this heavily, now won’t we?”
“Yes, Miss Vivian,” I would agree with a blush, my words muffled and distorted by my thumb.
In my mind, I watched Miss Vivian help me out of bed, me never taking my thumb from my mouth, and ripping the sides of my pull-up, gently teasing me about how soaked it was as she did.
“Now, Lavender,” she would say as she walked to the dresser, “are we going to be a big girl today and not have any accidents? Or should we keep you in your pull-ups in case you can’t stay dry today?”
I would smile shyly from behind my thumb and lower my gaze to stare at my feet, too embarrassed to give her an honest answer.
“That’s what I thought,” she would smirk and turn back to me with a pull-up in her hand, “you’re just my little Lavender, after all; how could one possibly expect you to keep your panties dry, right?” She would gently push me back so that I was sitting on the bed and kneel in front of me, grabbing one foot and working it into the pull-up. “It’s almost like you don’t even want to stay dry," she would tease as she moved on to the second foot, “but, surely, that can’t be it, right sweetie? Up now, sweetie,” she instructed, and I obeyed, standing up from the bed so she could slide the pull-up all the way up.
And then it was her hand against the outside of my pull-up, rubbing and pressing the padding against my most sensitive parts, sending waves of pleasure radiating through my body. “Surely, my little Lavender wants to be a big girl, right? There’s no way she’s having accidents on purpose so she can stay Miss Vivian’s little girl, right?”
I whimpered and shook my head.
“Of course not, because if she were doing that,” she leaned in to whisper in my ear, her breath hot on my face, “we’d have to put her back in big, fluffy diapers, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Miss Vivian,” I murmured from behind my thumb.
“What was that, darling girl?” She teasingly asked as she pulled my thumb out of my mouth, “I couldn’t hear you with your thumb in your mouth like a little baby. What did you say?”
“Yes, Miss Vivian,” I repeated.
“Yes, what? What’s going to happen if you keep wetting your pull-ups because you want to stay Miss Vivian’s little girl? Tell me exactly.” She pushed aside the padding of my pull-up, and I gasped and moaned as her fingers touched my flesh.
“Y-you’ll p-p-put me b-back,” I stammered, struggling to form words, “in d-diapers.”
“Yes, I will, big, fluffy ones that will make you waddle like the little baby you are, and you’ll love it, won’t you? You’ll love every humiliating moment of it, isn’t that right, my little Lavender?”
I shoved my thumb back in my mouth and bit down so hard I was surprised I didn’t break skin, but it was all I could do to keep from crying out as my body vibrated with muscles spasms. My back arched off the bed and then crashed back down, absolutely racked with pleasure.
Moments later, I laid on Vivian’s guest bed, my eyes half closed and my chest rising and falling slowly. I was barely even aware of my thumb slipping back into my mouth. What I was very aware of was the warmth that began to spread out through my pull-up. I made a quiet sound of pleasure in my throat, snuggled into the covers, and quickly drifted into sleep.