It had seemed like an ideal situation: reasonable rent, near the campus, well-furnished. It had only a few drawbacks, including a relative lack of privacy, since it was just a room in some lady's house, and the fact that the lady seemed a bit odd. She was in her late fifties, he thought, and there wasn't anything he could put his finger on, but her whole attitude seemed just a little off-kilter, as though she was concerned about things most people quietly ignored. Near the end of his first visit, for example, she had asked, out of the blue and suspiciously, if he wet the bed. Shocked and a little insulted, he stammered a denial. But she'd just looked at him, as though she didn't quite believe him. And she'd said that she wouldn't rent to a bedwetter, and she showed him a clause in the lease to prove it. He wasn't worried, as he'd never wet his bed that he could remember, but he certainly thought it strange.

Everything else about the room, he decided, however, was pretty good, and with such a housing shortage in this small college town, he was happy to find an opening on such short notice. The deal included no meals, although he was invited to cook for himself, and he agreed to some nominal chores around the house. As he signed the lease, he thought about the upcoming year, hoping it would be everything he'd expected.

Even into the second week of classes his decision seemed wise. No one other than the lady lived there, and since he spent most of his time at class or in his room, he didn't run into the lady too much. She didn't work outside the home, but she apparently had an odd schedule. He never knew when she might be home, but this didn't bother him. He was happy for a quiet place to live and study.

One day near the end of the second week he came home from classes to find her in his bedroom, pulling the sheets off of his bed. He knocked quietly on the open door to let her know he was there. "I didn't know laundry service was included," he said, putting his books on a chair.

She whirled around to face him. He stepped back, a bit alarmed at her sudden movement. "I thought you said you weren't a bedwetter," she snapped.

"I'm not," he said. He had never wet his bed.

"Look at these sheets. What do you call that?" She held up a sopping wet sheet. He moved closer, not accepting her accusation. But as he leaned over he could see that, yes, there was certainly a large yellowish stain that smelled of urine. While he tried to recall having wet the bed the previous night, she kept talking.

"Do you have any idea how much a mattress costs?" she asked rhetorically. "I should have known: you *look* like a bedwetter, that's what the neighbors said. I should never have let you stay here. Oh, dear! I hope the waterproofing held!" She pulled back the wet sheet to reveal the mattress, which, indeed, was not wet. "Oh, thank goodness. It held this time." She turned back to him. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I...I...don't remember doing that," he murmured, intensely embarrassed about the whole incident and the fuss she was making. He had racked his brain, but could not remember anything about it. Yet he could hardly deny those sheets; he couldn't explain it other than that he must have blocked it out of his memory. "But I'm really sorry."

"Don't forget that this was a condition of the lease!" she told him, shaking her finger. "I should throw you out of here right now. But I'll give you a choice," she said, appearing to calm down. She rolled the sheet up and set it on the floor by the door, then sat on the bed.

"There are two ways to resolve this. Once, you pack up and get out right this minute. But the problem with that is that you'll have trouble getting another room with the poor referral I'll have to give you. In this small town, leaving my house might very well be the same as leaving college; I can't think of any openings at all, much less for a bedwetter. No one wants to open their home up to that kind of abuse."

He started to panic as he realized she was probably right. It had been luck, he thought, to stumble on this nice place. Since the college had underestimated acceptances, the dorms were full and every house in town was occupied. What could he do?

"Or two," she continued with a hint of a smile, "we do things Mama's way."

This made him slightly uncomfortable. Again he thought, she sure is weird. But he didn't really have much of a choice. He at least had to hear her out.

So he, too, sat down. "And what would that be?"

"I want you to be able to stay here, but I also want to be able to make sure the bed stays completely dry. How does that sound to you?"

He wasn't sure. "Okay, I guess," he replied hesitantly.

She paused. "Good. Then you'll see the wisdom in wearing some protection. You see, we could protect the bed itself with a plastic or rubber sheet, but then we still have the sheets with which to deal. No, this is really the only way."

He didn't have any idea what she was talking about. Protection? At first he'd thought she'd meant wearing a condom, but that didn't seem to make sense...

When he didn't say anything, she continued. "It'll only be when you sleep in your bed, of course, and you might find it embarrassing, but you could also see it as very appropriate to use an infantile solution for an infantile problem," she rambled on, and he began to get the picture. She saw a look of horror pass over his face, and knew he'd caught on.

Her tone of voice told him she wasn't kidding, but he couldn't believe she was suggesting what he thought she was.

"You can't mean..."

She nodded, her face serious as stone. "Yes. It's your choice: you can wear diapers to bed, or you can try to find another landlord's bed to soil. You pick."

He stared at the floor, stunned at her absurd proposal. Would she really toss him out? A quick glance at her face was enough to convince him that she would, probably in a heartbeat. And then what would he do? He hardly knew this small town...

He felt his face flush red as he realized he'd have to take her up on her offer. He cleared his throat nervously and looked up toward her, though he couldn't meet her stare.

"How, uh, long would...*this* go on?" he asked her without emotion, trying to remain distant and seem unaffected.

"Forever, of course," she said. And then quickly, "While you're in *this* house, I mean. You think about it, but if you're still here tonight, I'll take that as an agreement to stay. In that case, come tell me when you're ready to go to bed, and we'll get you all set up." She smiled and stood, then turned back before she felt. "Otherwise, feel free to use my yellow pages to book a hotel room, which is probably all you could find. Don't really know what you'd do with your stuff, though. Well, that's not my problem. Either way, get those smelly wet sheets in the washer immediately, or all bets are off and I confiscate your deposit." She left.

He spent a little while sitting in silence as he stared at the bed. How could he live with himself for doing such a silly thing? It was embarrassing enough to have wet the bed, but then to be caught and have to be diapered was even worse. How grown-up he'd thought he was coming to college! And then this, the most infantile, embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him. But what choice did he have now? He'd paid rent for this month, and he hardly had cash to be throwing around, even if he could find another place that would allow a "bedwetter," since it appeared that this was what he was. No, he'd have to sleep in this bed for a while, at least until the end of the month, when his rent was due. Perhaps by then he could find another place.

He washed his sheets, the whole time trying in vain to remember when he'd wet his bed. He must have repressed it, he thought. And the whole thing must have been due to the stress of starting college. Damnedest luck, though, to start wetting his bed now, in this woman's house, of all places. Now he had to go through this embarrassing ordeal.

After dinner and studying, he nervously approached her as she sat reading. "I'm, um, ready to go to bed now."

"Ah," she said, getting up. "You'll want your diaper then, right?"

"Right," he murmured, blushing. She disappeared into her bedroom, and he heard the sound of a package being ripped open. She returned not long thereafter carrying a large, white, disposable diaper, which she extended to him and which he hesitantly took.

She indicated the bathroom, saying, "You may change in there; for now we'll see how you do by yourself. I've left some baby powder by the sink for your comfort, and I'd advise you to use it, since it can get pretty hot under the plastic of your diaper. I'll also tell you now that I've left some baby wipes for your use in the morning if you should need them. One more thing: be sure to use the toilet before you put the diaper on. For reasons which will become obvious, you won't be able to use the toilet again until the morning. Come out when you've finished and we'll take it from there. And just yell if you need help in there," she said, smiling.

He turned without saying a word, since he could think of nothing appropriate to say. He entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him, immediately setting down his diaper and then eading for and using the toilet. What was that all about, he wondered as he urinated. Bathroom "restriction" hadn't been part of the bargain. He could understand the necessity of the diaper, but how did it help for him not to use the bathroom? He'd obviously have to ask about that in a minute.

He returned to the sink near the door, picked up his diaper, and briefly considered using the powder before he rejected this idea. It smelled like babies, and he didn't want to be reminded of how infantile this whole thing was every time he took a breath. So next he took off his shoes, undid and removed his jeans, and pulled his boxers down and off. He was ready, he guessed.

He stared at the diaper on the sink counter, then picked it up and tried to discern how it was supposed to be put on. He hadn't ever babysat, had no younger siblings, and couldn't remember his own diaper usage from his childhood, so he was working entirely from scratch. He opened it up, correctly surmised the purpose of the tapes, but saw that the tapes could be fastened either in the front or the back. He tried to slip it through his legs as he stood there in front of the mirror, but, he had no luck. It was only once he'd sat down on it that he realized the tapes had to fasten in front for him to put it on himself at all, since he couldn't reach the back like that. He actually managed to get it on properly, and after he stood up, he readjusted the tapes so the diaper wouldn't slide back down his legs.

He looked at himself in the mirror now, standing there in his t-shirt and diaper, and was so embarrassed for having to go through this. Imagine him, having wet his bed! He wouldn't have believed it had he not seen the spot on the sheets. Facing this "solution" was far harder than any of his classes.

He put his pants back on, not wanting her to see him like this. It was bad enough she'd know he was wearing the diaper at all. He gathered his shoes and underwear and walked to the bathroom door, hearing for the first time the rustle of the plastic of the diaper under his jeans. It made him cringe.

When he reentered the hallway, she was waiting right where he'd left her, and her expression as he approached seemed odd. Her eyes gleamed, and her face radiated happiness, as if she actually enjoyed seeing him in a diaper. Well, he thought, she is protecting her mattress and keeping a tenant; she ought to be somewhat satisfied.

"Alright," he said to the floor. "I'm all set. I'm going to bed."

"Not yet," she told him cheerfully. "First I need you to take those silly pants off and let me see just how well you did with the diaper. It doesn't help at all if it's not on properly," she explained as he stared at her incredulously.

His face flushed deep red as he accommodated her, his hands slowly undoing his buckle and zipper and letting his jeans drop to the ground in front of her.

"You can just step out of those," she said quickly. "You shan't need them around here at night, after all."

His face aflame, he did so, deciding already that he would never be able to tell anybody, not even his family, about this humiliating experience. He'd come to college to grow up, but now look at him!

She knelt in front of him, her face uncomfortably close to his diaper as she inspected his handiwork. He nearly fainted as she reached out and retaped two of the tapes, and he bit his lip when her fingers tugged at the leg elastic and gently pulled the waist up befor deciding she was satisfied.

"Not too bad, for your first time. It'll get easier, I'm sure. You'll be allowed to continue diapering yourself for now, unless I notice you having any difficulty with the job." He couldn't imagine her putting his diaper on for him; it was bad enough that he had to do it at all.

"Now stand there for just another moment, please," she instructed him before disappearing back inside her bedroom and reappearing with what looked to him like a huge pair of plastic underwear. She couldn't mean...

"These are plastic pants, for you to wear over your diaper," she explained, holding them down to the floor, obviously meaning for him to step into them.

"Hold on," he said, getting a little overwhelmed. "I didn't agree to this."

"But they're totally necessary," she said. "All diapers leak, especially at night, and then all of our efforts will be for nothing. Come on, you're already wearing the diaper; these are hardly any worse."

He sighed and stepped into the legs of the plastic pants, which she expertly tugged up his legs. "Wait," he protested. "They don't fit. They're way too tight."

"No, no," she said, snapping the waistband up above his diaper. "That's how they prevent leaks." She spun him around to inspect the rear. He felt a slight tug at the waistband, but didn't suspect anything unusual until he heard the distinct clicking of a lock snapping shut.

"Hey! What's that?" he cried, craning his neck around to see what had just been done to him.

"Don't worry," she cooed to him. "It's just a little lock. I have to know you won't take all of this off during the night. You might not even mean to, but things could get dislodged as you toss and turn in your sleep, and my mattress could end up getting wet. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

He tested the waist of the plastic pants. It was not uncomfortably tight, but would not give at all. "Well, no, of course not," he said uncertainly. This was more than he'd bargained for, but what could he do?

"This is why I made sure you used the bathroom. I didn't want to surprise you, you see. Of course, if you still need to go during the night, it wouldn't be unheard-of actually to use these things; that's what they were meant for.

"Now, they shouldn't be uncomfortable, just a little inconvenient, but I have to be able to keep an eye on my little bedwetter, don't I? I have the key, of course, and in the morning I'll be more than willing to unlock you so you can get ready for school. And don't worry, you'll get used to all this; in a couple of weeks, it'll all be second nature to come to me each night for a fresh diaper and your plastic panties. It may seem odd now, but it all makes perfect sense, and you'll get used to it.

"Now let's get some sleep, okay?" And with that, he watched her disappear into her bedroom and close the door.

He stood there in the hall for a moment, trying to absorb his present situation, but he couldn't. He wandered back in to the bathroom, noting that the crinkly sound from the diaper was slightly muted now, and he stared at himself again in the mirror. Now he stared at the balloon-like plastic pants he wore, the white tranlucent material still affording him a view of his diaper. He could see the lock on the back now, but couldn't reach it, nor did he have the key. He wondered where it was, but only idly, since he guessed that letting himself out would be construed as bad faith, and he would be tossed out the door. Indeed, the only shred of dignity to which he clung was the fact that he had managed to keep himself off the street tonight. Ah, well. His ego would heal itself in time, and this was only a very temporary situation.

He headed back to his bedroom, and thought wryly about her invitation to use the diaper for its intended purpose. Right. How embarrassing would that be, to face her in the morning not only in a diaper but in a *used* diaper? He couldn't be *paid* to submit himself to such humiliation. And how comfortable could it be? So although he was a little worried about his nightly habit of using the toilet in the middle of the night, he still resolved not to use his diaper. He'd simply have to train himself out of that habit for a while.

He wasn't surprised to find that he didn't sleep too well that night. The diaper and plastic pants were too new and strange as sensations: bulky yet tight, and warmer than he'd expected. He saw, by the morning, why the powder had been recommended. And he really ended up missing his midnight bathroom trip. By the time his alarm went off in the morning his bladder felt very full, and he eagerly sought out the lady, who was in the kitchen, to unlock him. She did so, and had him remove his plastic pants and give them to her before giving him leave to run to the bathroom. As he struggled out of his plastic pants, she glanced at the indicator strip on the diaper.

"Didn't use it? You might as well, you know: you'd never be able to tell yourself, it's such a good diaper these days. And think how much more comfortable you'd be during the night, especially toward morning. Anyway, you're free to change yourself now. Just bring me the diaper when you're through, and I'll show you what to do with it."

He half-grunted a reply as he dashed off to the bathroom, where he quickly ripped off the diaper and relieved himself in the toilet. He also had his morning bowel movement, an event so regular it had been a joke at home throughout his life. Every morning, without fail, sometimes before, often during, and if not, then immediately after breakfast each and every morning. His family at homne had literally set their clocks by it.

After a shower, he dressed and headed back out to the kitchen, carrying his diaper with him. She was cleaning her breakfast dishes at the sink, and he cleared his throat to tell her he was back.

He held the used diaper awkwardly toward her; she showed him how to wrap it up in itself, and a special little diaper pail in the kitchen where he was to deposit the previous night's diaper when he had removed it. He was to wrap the diaper in front of her and deposit it there each morning.

"But you don't really have to throw it away," he protested. "I didn't use it, you know."

"You let me worry about that," she chided. "I don't like my boys to wear the same diaper two nights in a row, regardless of whether or not they used it. It just isn't right."

He was late for classes, so he just shrugged and left. On his way to campus, though, he wondered about her comment. "Her boys?" What did that mean? There wasn't anyone else in that house, he knew. She must have had some sons when she was younger. Great, he thought. I get to be lumped in with diaper-wearing toddlers just because I wet the bed.

That night went much the same as the previous night: he went to her when he was ready for bed, he received a diaper, went into the bathroom and peed. This night, though, he put a small amount of the baby powder on his inner thighs to cut down on the sweating he did the night before, and was surprised to experience a flood of remote feelings from his childhood return as he inhaled that infantile perfume. Weird, he thought. He managed to put the diaper on a little more quickly tonight, then went out into the hall to have the diaper adjusted and to have his plastic pants put on and locked. Tonight she complimented him on how nice he smelled, causing him to blush; apparently the powder brought back memories for her as well, he thought. She wished him good night and he went to bed. Again he had trouble sleeping, although he had to admit the powder helped. But his bladder was so uncomfortable as the night went on, and he tossed and turned as morning approached.

When she unlocked him that morning, her comments returned to the subject of using the diaper. "I don't understand why you don't just use the diaper instead of being uncomfortable. It doesn't matter, since we always throw the diaper away anyway, no matter whether you use it or not. Yes, I want to see your diaper in the morning as you dispose of it, but *I* certainly don't care whether it's used or not. Oh, well, no sense arguing: it's *you* that's uncomfortable."

After a week of wearing the diapers at night, he began to get more comfortable with them, managing to sleep fairly well, at least in the beginning of the night. He'd used more and more powder each night, as he discovered how nice it felt, and he began not to notice the smell as much. He was even starting to retrain his body not to need the midnight bathroom trip anymore, mostly by restricting fluids after dinner. That way, he wasn't tempted to use the diaper, and he felt slightly less embarrassed about his diaper-wearing that way. He noted the fact that he hadn't wet the bed since that one night, which reinforced his impression that it must have been a fluke.

On Friday of that week, he was invited to a party on campus by several of his second-year classmates. He was happy about this opportunity to get his social life in gear, and about the prospect of drinking, which he had done only sporadically in high school and in minimal amounts. He politely informed his landlord, who simply asked him to keep things quiet upon his return that night. She told him to wake her, if she was asleep, for his diaper; she didn't mind, she said.

So he went off and happily found that beer was readily accessible in the fraternities, even to underage guys like himself. His inexperience, however, led to the consumption of a bit too much alcohol, and after several beers, he couldn't remember why drinking so much was a bad idea. He walked home at one, and was surprised to find the lady still up, reading.

He was afraid she'd make a big deal about smelling like beer, but she said nothing, handing him his diaper as usual. His foremost thought, as he went through the motions of peeing and then putting his diaper on, was that he'd gotten too buzzed. Not being an experienced drinker, he was nervous about having a hangover tomorrow; he'd asked a friend how to prevent post- party headaches, and the friend had advised him to replace fluids, since dehydration led to many of the hangover symptoms. So once he had his diaper on, he drank deeply from the bathroom tap, until he was satisfied that he'd done all that he could.

The lady smiled as she handed him his plastic pants, but she still didn't say anything. She'd smelled the beer, and heard the water, and she suspected that tonight would be a special night for him. But he still hadn't figured out why the beer and water might have been a bad idea.

When he awoke at about three, however, his bladder ready to burst, he quickly realized his mistake. It was actually painful, and much as he tried, he couldn't drift off back to sleep again. Fully awake, he thought about what he could do about his problem. He could try to hold out until morning, which seemed impossible at this moment. He could wake up the lady and beg for use of the bathroom, but considering all of her urging to use the diaper, he (correctly) thought that she wouldn't be pleased to be awakened for such a reason. No, he knew his fate was decided, and his face burned with embarrassment even thinking about it. For the first time since he was a baby, he was going to have to "use" a diaper.

The pain convinced him to do it sooner rather than later, so he took a deep breath and pushed his diaphragm down, forcing the urine in his bladder out his urethra into the waiting diaper. He felt a warmth spread between his legs, and was surprised when it didn't really feel that bad. It spread through his whole diaper area, to his bottom and to the front. Before he knew it, the pain was gone, and the warmth sent him drifting back to sleep...

He woke up at eight thirty that morning, his bladder once again full. By this time, however, his diaper *was* not feeling very comfortable, now being rather cold and damp. He gingerly got out of bed, noting thankfully that the plastic pants had done their job. He felt the wet disposable diaper cling to his skin, and he made his way as quickly as possible to the kitchen, where he knew he'd find the lady.

She was indeed there, and as she caught sight of him waddling in with a saggy, boggy diaper, she let out what was apparently a shriek of joy. He suddenly regained his self-consciousness, which had been momentarily suppressed by his discomfort. He realized he was there in front of her with a visibly wet diaper! How embarrassing. And she was anything but discrete about it.

"Well, well," she chirped happily. "Finally getting some good use out of those, I see. Glad to know I'm not wasting my time and money. Wow, and a thorough job, too, she said as she unlocked him. "It's not that bad, is it? Well, congratulations."

He said nothing, but scurried away to the bathroom to make himself more comfortable. He could think of nothing but his embarrassment at having been seen in a wet diaper. It took some courage after he had showered and dressed to return to the kitchen for breakfast. But he discovered, when he did, that she had prepared a huge meal for him, the first time she had ever done such a thing. He was surprised and pleased, but felt sheepish about handing over his heavy wet diaper to her. He was also embarrassed to have to ask his next question:

"How do I, um, clean those plastic pants? They, uh, got a little wet, too."

But she sang, "Oh, never mind them. Just leave them in the bathroom and I'll make sure they're cleaned. Don't give them another thought: it's not at all a big deal."

And, happy not to have to deal with them, he sat down for his breakfast.

Her special hospitality that day didn't end there. She cooked the other meals for him and did his laundry, and he really had to admit that he liked the help and attention.

That night, of course, he did not wet his diaper, and the next day she hardly spoke to him at all. The difference in her attitude was obvious, and he thought it odd. She clearly wanted him to wet his diaper at night, but *why* would she want that? The best answer that he could come up with, considering her frugal nature, was that if he wet at night, then she wasn't "wasting" her money on diapers that weren't used. He had to admit that as weird as she was, he did like her, and he certainly did appreciate her help with chores, which left him more time to study and relax. So...what would be the harm in indulging her a little? She'd already seen him in a wet diaper, and she didn't mind. Plus, without his midnight bathroom break he did get uncomfortable toward morning. Why not take advantage?

He therefore began presenting a wet diaper to the lady every morning, and every morning she would coo and fuss, and that evening he'd have a good dinner and help with favors and chores. This went on for several weeks, and just as wetting a diaper every night seemed more and more routine, so, too, did he forget about finding a new place to live. She made the rest of his life so pleasant that he almost didn't mind the weird diaper thing, which to him grew less and less weird as time went on. He got to where he wouldn't even pause before peeing in his diaper if he woke during the night, and even found himself thankful for the diaper, since he didn't have to get out of bed to use the bathroom.