Chapter Twelve

Of course, in my experience, prayers rarely get answered.

As I walked into the apartment I shared with Elyse, I could immediately here the sounds of my roommate in the kitchen.

“Hi, Elyse,” I tried to sound as casual as possible—in other words, trying not to bring attention to the fact that I was, once again, returning from Vivian’s house after spending the night—as I set my bag down, doubling checking to make sure the bag was zipped and the pull-ups within safely hidden.

“Another night with Professor Devereux?” Elyse immediately asked. She was standing by out coffee maker as it released a steady stream of steaming black liquid into a travel mug.

So much for not bringing attention to it.

“I told you last time,” I explained, trying not to sound flustered or guilty, despite being very guilty, “I had too many drinks and spent the night in her guest room.”

“You realize that doesn’t really sound much better, right?”

Tell her you peed your pants and had to spend the night so you clothes could be washed.

I’m sure that will fix everything.

“Nothing happened, Elyse,” I insisted before deciding to shift to the offensive, “and besides, what business is it of yours?”

“None,” she admitted, much to my surprise. A silence filled the small kitchen as Elyse pulled a bottle of creamer from the fridge and added a more than generous splash to her travel mug. “But,” she finally continued as she put the creamer back, “if anyone else finds out? You and Professor Devereux are going to be in serious trouble.”

“There’s nothing to find out about!” Except the kissing…not to mention the wettings and pull-ups. I wasn’t sure which secret I’d prefer to get out. Let’s go with neither.

“You might get kicked out, Lavender,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “Professor Devereux has tenure so she might be fine, but that’s a big might. She might not get fired, but they certainly won’t just slap her on the wrist. How hard have you worked to get here, Lavender? You have a fully-paid fellowship, and you’re risking it all to have a fling with your professor? You should be focusing on your dissertation; fuck whoever you want after you graduate.”

By the time Elyse was done with her short berating, I felt well and truly small and awful. I was staring at the ground with tears forming behind my eyes while I played nervously with my hair. “I’m not fucking her,” I protested weakly.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Elyse grabbed the lid to her travel mug and slammed it on a little harder than necessary, “I hope you’re enjoying it, because whatever it is looks suspicious, and it’s only a matter of time before other people start noticing.”

Elyse stomped off to her room, leaving me standing there in quite thought. I knew she was right; we could get in serious trouble for what we were doing.

But you’re not really doing anything, right?

We made out. Vivian definitely made it clear she has feelings for me. Then there’s the…rest of it…

No one knows about your kink; they can prove that’s inappropriate without that information.

Maybe…it’s still going to raise a lot of questions though…gods I hope no one finds out about that part of it all.

“I’m going to the library,” Elyse said, breaking me out of my own head, as she came back out of her room with her backpack.

“Are…are you going to tell anyone?” I asked cautiously, fully aware that I was, essentially, admitting at least some small amount of guilt.

Elyse sighed as she grabbed her coffee. “No,” she said at last, “but I’m also not going to lie and stick my neck out to save yours, so be careful, got it?”

I nodded, “thank you,” I said sincerely as Elyse made her way to the front door.

“I hope she’s worth it,” Elyse said skeptically and slammed the door behind her just a little too hard.

At least now I was alone, but now I wasn’t so much in the mood for the solitary activities I had wanted to partake in. I picked up my bag and headed to my room to put the pull-ups away with everything else.

I had only begun filling my little chest of secrets in the past year since I had moved into this apartment. I’d always had more than a passing interest in pull-ups, wetting myself, and other toddler things, but had always lacked the privacy necessary to indulge. It was easy to remember how excited I had been by my first bag of pull-ups; it was just as easy to remember how nerve-racking the experience of buying them at the local pharmacy had been. Now I bought them from the internet—a much less mortifying experience, even if I still worried Elyse might get curious about the packages I receive. Not that you could tell how anxious I was by the contents of the chest, most of which had been ordered from the internet.

Double checking to make sure my bedroom door was locked despite the empty apartment, I pulled my little chest out of its hiding spot, spun the combination into the lock, and lifted the lid to expose my treasure trove.

Right on top was an almost empty bag of Goodnites; I pulled the ones Vivian had given me out of my purse and slid them in the bag, making a mental note to order more soon. Setting the bag of pull-ups aside, I peered into my chest. Sometimes it was nice to just take stock of all the toddler things I had accrued. One of the many things I had been collecting over the past year were clothes that made me feel and look a little more toddler-like, and while some of my more discreet clothing options, that is, clothing I could get away with wearing in public without raising eyebrows, hung up with the rest of my everyday clothes, the chest was where I kept my more overtly toddler clothing pieces. Numerous onesies, a rainbow tulle skirt, some frilly bloomers, and a few other articles of clothing with overtly babyish designs and patterns took up a large chunk of the space in the chest. Then, of course, there were the two bibs, the bonnet that looked so cute but made me feel a little silly, a pair of mittens, a baby bottle, two sippy cups, about a dozen pacifier clips, and at least twice as many pacifiers (some of which were plain, but most were decorated).

A pretty good collection, if I said so myself.

And still you want more.

I did. But, maybe more so, I wanted to be able to share this side of myself with Vivian. I didn’t want to lie to her, I didn’t want to deceive her, but how else could I ever let her know about this part of me? I wanted Vivian passionately, both intellectually and sexually; I wanted to drink wine with her and have deep conversations about books and movies and everything else just as much as I wanted her to touch me, to kiss me, to rail me even. Yes, I wanted all of that, but I also wanted Vivian to treat me like a toddler, and how could I ever have all three?

You could just…tell her the truth?

But that, of course, was off the table. Especially now that I had gone past the point of no return with my lies. That only left leaning further in.

Right now, though, what I needed was to feel the kind of comfort that only the contents of my chest could provide.

Vivian could provide it.

Maybe, but that wasn’t an option right now.

As I stripped off the clothes that I had worn to Vivian’s the night before, I mused on what more I wanted. There were things I wanted that couldn’t fit into my chest—I often fantasized about being fed in a highchair or put down for a nap in a crib—but then there were other things that would easily fit that I had just been too timid to buy thus far. Namely, diapers.

Pull-ups were wonderful, don’t get me wrong; I’d happily wear pull-ups every day for the rest of my life if I could have. But diapers? I’d wanted to try them for as long as I could remember, but they seemed…daunting. Pull-ups I could hide; I rarely did, but I could wear a pull-up under jeans or even a skirt with a thick pair of leggings and have no one be the wiser. The same couldn’t be said about diapers. Not to mention, I wasn’t sure I could put a diaper on by myself. Oh, sure, I had read plenty of tutorials online and even watched a few videos, but it seemed like something that looked a lot easier than it was. But everything about them just made me feel…electric.

It didn’t help that ever since that first night at Vivian’s they had been increasingly taking a central role in my fantasies.

I shut my closet door and looked at myself in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the door. Grinning back at me was a little girl, maybe three or four, wearing a short-sleeved, black onesie with cute little ghosts all over it—my favorite onesie in my collection. The snap-crotch slightly bulged over the pull-up underneath. Clipped to my collar was a pacifier clip that matched the onesie; a pink pacifier hung at the end. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I popped the pacifier in my mouth and put my hair into pigtails.

What would Vivian say if she saw you dressed like this?

“Aww, what a cute little girl,” maybe? Or “isn’t my little Lavender just the cutest little girl,” maybe?

Or maybe “Lavender, you look absolutely ridiculous.”

I pouted. That didn’t sound like something Miss Vivian would say. Miss Vivian was always kind and gentle and loving.

Grabbing my phone from my bag, a sippy cup from the chest, and a robe to throw over my outfit, I quickly headed back to the kitchen to fill my sippy with apple juice before retreating back to my room, locking the door behind me, and ditching the robe. Sucking gently on my pacifier, I climbed into bed with my sippy and grabbed my favorite stuffed animal, Penelope the otter, off my pillow, cuddling her tightly to my chest as I snuggled into my blankets and pillows.

A few minutes later, I had ordered my pull-ups from Amazon and moved on to browsing diapers on various kink sites as I imagined what it would be like to have Vivian put me in them.

Maybe if she thought you really needed them…

Like…maybe if she thought pull-ups weren’t enough protection at night?

Or maybe if you kept peeing your pants during the day…

She was pretty quick to suggest pull-ups to bed…

Maybe next week, the pull-up leaks?

What if she just gets mad? What if she thinks I’m gross for wetting the bed?

She already knows you wet the bed. Why would she react differently to you wetting the bed more?

“My poor little Lavender,” I imagined her saying as I looked up at her from the bed, my pajamas and sheets just as wet as my pull-up, “I guess you’re too little for pull-ups even, isn’t that right?”

It would be easy, wet the pull-up before going to sleep and again when you wake up and…

…and more lies.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I’m not sure that applies here. But…

But…?

Who am I really hurting? It’s not like I’m forcing Vivian to do anything…

Aside from cleaning up after your accidents…

…but that’s what the diapers are for!

I couldn’t help but start to feel…aroused as I fell down this rabbit hole, my imagination running away with me as my arousal grew. I once again found my head full of fantasies of a life with Vivian in which she kept me in diapers at night and pull-ups during the day.

You’ll have to pee your pants in front of Vivian at least a few more times before she puts you in pull-ups.

Or…I could just start wearing them around her?

But that’s not as much fun.

It’s also not as dishonest.

And yet, I had to admit, looking back on the accident I’d had in front of Vivian, separated now by enough to feel the impact of the mortification a little less, it had been…kind of…very…hot…

“Again, Lavender?” I imagined Miss Vivian saying in equal parts exasperation and sympathy as pee ran down my legs. “I guess you just aren’t ready for big girl panties,” she’d hug me softly to let me know she wasn’t mad before taking me by the hand, “come on, let’s get you cleaned up and into a nice pull-up, okay?”

It was such a nice fantasy, but could I really go through with it?

I took a deep breath and added the diapers to my cart.