On Monday, about two days and four diapers later, Doug was watching TV before bed, undiapered. He'd just finished a day of reviewing for his test on Saturday. He was bright, and the studying wasn't too hard, so it actually left him with a lot of free time compared to his usual lab schedule. This was why he'd gone out for a new supply of diapers for this week: he had plenty of time to play. And though he didn't like to wear diapers constantly, he was enjoying wearing a one or two a day. His stressful trip to that drugstore had turned out to be worth it, he thought now. He'd just put his books away for the rest of the evening when his phone rang. He answered it.

"Is this Doug?" The woman's voice was vaguely familiar, but Doug couldn't place it. The other day's incident at the drugstore was the last thing on his mind. "This is Mrs. Sheffield, from the drugstore? I helped you with your incontinence products the several days ago, remember?"

He nearly dropped the phone. His mind went blank and his fingers started tingling. Even though he was seated, he felt faint. "Uh, yes, ma'am, I remember." His mind slowly started to crank out questions: how had she found him? Why could she be calling?

"Well, it's nice to talk to you again. I'm calling to find out how your briefs have been doing since Monday."

His mouth was dry, which made it difficult to speak. "Oh," he croaked. "Just fine." He was speaking on autopilot now, trying to figure out how he'd been so foolish as to leave his phone number with her. But he hadn't! He was sure. How had she tracked him down?

Mrs. Sheffield could hear the anxiety in his voice, and knew she'd have to calm him down if her approach was to work. "I hope you don't mind me calling. Ordinarily I ask before I contact clients at home, but I forgot this time. All I want to do, though, is a little product survey, if you don't mind. Your opinions regarding our products are very important to us, and will be used to modify our product lines and what we carry. So, I'm sorry for the intrusion but I just have a couple of questions, and the answers from you, in particular, will be very valuable."

A product survey? he thought. That sounded interesting, and didn't seem very threatening. In fact, he thought, as he began touching his stiffening penis through his pajamas, this could be fun. After all, he was tucked away safely in the privacy of his own home, far away from this scary lady. And this conversation again had tremendous fantasy potential for him. In addition, maybe he really could influence what diapers were made or carried. That alone was worth a little effort. But why him? This bothered him, so he asked.

"Well, actually," she replied, "you are important because of the nature of the problem you have. You see, we don't have too many totally incontinent clients out there who can talk and who are active." She was lying, she knew, but it was excusable because she was trying to help him. Then she thought: Oops! She'd forgotten and used the big words again. "What I mean is, we don't have too many customers who poop in their pants. Now, it's nothing to be ashamed of, of course, since you can't help it. But since it's not very common, we'd like to know how our diapers, I mean, our briefs, work for you. Maybe we can use this information to help other people."

He was only half listening by the end. He was too

fascinated by the opportunity he had been given. He'd always felt that adult diapers were woefully inadequate in many ways that were important to the adult baby: not bulky enough, not noisy enough, not absorbant enough, and pathetic at containing bowel movements. He knew that the majority of adult diaper-wearers didn't want these obtrusive, humiliating qualities in their diapers, but wouldn't it be great if there was at least ONE brand that was closer to the ideal? This might be the one chance he had to help all of adult babyhood attain what most thought was unattainable. He had to give a plug for a humiliating, babyish diaper.

But he couldn't make it sound too ludicrous. His mind was working overtime trying to anticipate questions and phrase his answers with subtlety and skill. She was just finishing some comment: "So, do you think you could just answer a few questions for me?"

"Of course I could," he answered confidently, but not wanting to sound too eager. "I'd be glad to help if I can."

She heard the change in his voice and wondered briefly what it meant. But it didn't matter to her. He was obviously willing to cooperate, which meant her job here would be that much easier. She was sorry she had to mislead him here, but, after all, it was for his benefit, and they would indeed use the information he gave her! "Oh, that's wonderful," she said out loud. "Could you start by telling me how many dia-, uh, briefs, you use in a day?" Time to check compliance.

Fine, he thought, a usage question. He expected that. But he had to guess, since he was certainly not a full-time user! He didn't want to be; part-time fantasy was enough. "About seven, I'd say."

That sounded right, but any idiot could guess. She'd slip in a couple more compliance questions later. "Okay, and of those, how many are messy and not just wet?"

That was probably easy to estimate. "Well, one or two, I suppose."

Still okay, but these were the easy questions. "Uh-huh, fine. Now, I've seen how these diapers fit: pretty well, I think, but how do they feel? Are they comfortable? Scratchy? Sticky even when fresh? Do they chaff?"

He actually hadn't had a complaint over the perhaps six hours he'd worn them over two days. "Oh, they're very comfortable. No problems."

"That's good to hear. Do you have anyone at home to help change you?"

That would be great! he thought wistfully, though only halfheartedly. He didn't really think he wanted diapers to become that central to his life. "No, I live alone," he said out loud.

Good, Mrs. Sheffield thought. That simplifies things considerably. "Okay, well, let's talk about wetness. How absorbant do they seem? Do you have problems with leaking with very wet diapers?" She didn't even notice she was using the "d" word.

He didn't either. He was too involved in the "survey." "Oh, yes, all the time, " he replied honestly. "I have trouble with that with nearly every diaper. That's a serious problem for me." He was finding it difficult not to rub his hard penis. This was really turning him on. He had to keep it going.

"Oh, dear," she said. "That's a shame. Of course, it probably comes from all your activity, compared to my older clients. How long after you wet do you change yourself into a dry diaper?"

OK, now try to make this believable. "Well, I don't like changing, and it's often very inconvenient, so I try to make each diaper last as long as possible. So I guess I wait at least two hours after wetting before a change."

"Oh, my," she exclaimed. "Isn't that uncomfortable?"

"No, not at all," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "Until they're VERY wet, I can't tell they're damp without looking. By the time I can feel it, I've usually leaked."

"Well, I'm not sure any other brand would have more capacity..." she mused to herself. "Usually it's adequate, but you are more active. The best option for you may be to add one or more pads inside the diaper, but we don't like to do that because that makes the diaper even more bulky and noticeable than it already is."

Whoa! he thought. This is his big chance. He snorted derisively. "I'd rather have bulky than leaky."

"Really? But you don't think they are already too bulky between your legs?"

"No, not really," he said, hoping she believed him. "I mean, I hardly even know they're there. I don't have to walk funny like you said. I'm sure I wouldn't even notice another pad, or even two." He was lying now, and thoroughly enjoying it. This could be the perfect infantilist diaper!

"Well, but it certainly must be obvious to other people."

"Gosh, I don't think so. It's certainly not a problem now. I wear baggy clothes, and I don't think anyone at all has noticed. I don't see why they should."

This was excellent news for Mrs. Sheffield. He didn't care about bulk, and wasn't aware of others' reactions to him, which she was sure must be occurring despite his ignorance. Well, that was good. Often, this seemed to be a stumbling block with potential clients; without it, he should fit easily into the program.

Doug noticed her pause and assumed she was having a little trouble believing that he wanted MORE bulk. He said a silent apology to all diaper-wearers who DIDN'T want people to notice, but he really hoped his cry for thicker, more babyish diapers was getting though. As if in answer, he heard her say,

"OK, more bulky and absorbant so you don't have to change as often and won't leak. Now, are the diapers too noisy for you, or are they okay? Do people notice?"

"Nah, they're fine," he answered gleefully. She was buying the whole thing. For a moment, though, a frightening thought flew through his mind. How truly terrifying and humiliating it would be to be stuck in diapers like the ones he was imagining. What if he were doomed to this fantasy he had always played out in his head and was now having fun pretending was real? To be locked, for instance, in huge, noisy, bulky diapers in public, to be noticed by everyone: it would suck to HAVE to wear what he was telling her he thought diapers should be. But that was what fantasy was all about, he told himself. Reality wasn't relevant, he thought.

"Well, that's very enlightening," Mrs. Sheffield was saying. "Most people's are actually asking for less obtrusive, quieter diapers, but perhaps we should rethink creating a different line of products... Anyway, if you don't mind, let's move on to bowel movement control. I'm sorry, I mean, messy diapers. Have you had any problems with leakage from your messy diapers?"

"I'll say. Even worse than with the wet ones," he said, fully within his fantasy and not feeling any embarrassment. "And, obviously, that's a worse problem."

"Obviously," she agreed. "And do you always wear messy diapers for two hours before changing?"

"Not always," he answered, "but sometimes I can't help it. Messy diapers are much more difficult to change, especially in public. I have to wait until I get home, and sometimes that takes a while."

"I see. So once again, your lifestyle conflicts with your diaper needs. Now, you do seem to be out and around a lot. Is this true? Are you out of your home most days?"

"Well, usually, though this week I'm actually spending at home studying all day..." he started before he realized he'd crossed over into reality. He didn't really want her to know anything about him. Was she probing?

"So you ARE very active," she said, and he relaxed. It had just been an innocent question, he thought incorrectly. "Well, the only suggestion I have is to wear some sort of incontinent plastic training panty over your diaper. Do you have any of those?"

Surprised, he answered honestly. "Yes, two or three." And then he remembered he was supposed to be new to this "incontinence." How could he explain why he had plastic panties? "The, uh, doctor gave them to me to try, but I thought they were just for cloth diapers."

"In general they are, but in your case, it sounds like you could use the extra protection."

"Sounds like a good idea," he said, not really caring. It didn't matter what he did or didn't promise to do.

She asked several more quesitons he found less interesting, regarding tapes and other mundane aspects of the diapers. Finally, she asked him about the wetness indicator, another of her compliance questions.

He said he liked it and that he used it often, since he wasn't always aware of when he peed.

"Hmmm," she said. "We're doing some research on how many little stripes an indicator should have. I've fogotten: how many stripes does your diaper's indicator have? Could you look down at your diaper and tell me?"

He felt a brief moment of panic. He, of course, was not wearing a diaper, which he thought she must not know. And he couldn't really remember how many stripes there were, since he'd tried many different types of diapers, and each of them seemed to have a different number. But he relaxed as he realized that if she'd forgotten, it didn't matter what he said, as long as it was reasonable.

"Um, it looks like four," he said, going with the number he thought was most common.

"Four? Okay, that's exactly what I thought," Mrs. Sheffield said with a definite air of satisfaction. Doug was happy he'd guessed right. In fact, he'd guessed wrong, and this mistake was the one Mrs. Sheffield had been looking for. It tole her Doug wasn't really wearing his diapers like he should and was therefore a definite compliance risk. That sealed it. She would definitely put him in the program. He clearly needed the little push that Mrs. Sheffield's friend Mrs. Warren could give. Otherwise he risked having accidents.

"Okay, Doug, just a few more questions. You've been extremely helpful. I think I know about all I need to know. But tell me, is cost an issue for you? Do you think the disposables on the market are too expensive?"

What a great question. Did he EVER. He had trouble buying diapers even occasionally, and he shuddered to think what it must cost to keep someone in them full-time. On the other hand, he wasn't really as turned on by the cloth diapers, so for him it was worth it. To her, he said, "Yes, ma'am, especially on a student's budget." Whoops. Another slight slip, mentioning something personal. But again, she seemed not to notice or care.

"That's what I thought. What if I offered you products that would cost a lot less? I've calculated your approximate cost as about $250 per month right now. What if I could offer you the same diapers for about $80 per month? Would you be interested?"

That was great! He was excited, for his comments really seemed to be getting somewhere! He was striking a blow for infantilists everywhere! "Wow! Of course! That would be a lot better. But can you do that?"

"Well, this is just hypothetical, of course, but, yes. Now, how many briefs do you have left?"

He paused. How many SHOULD he have left? Quick arithmetic gave him his answer. "About five, I think."

"Uh-huh. So when can I expect you into the store to restock?"

Whoa. Here's where he got off the fantasy train. He couldn't make a commitment, he knew, or this could escalate to something he couldn't afford or keep up with. "Well, I don't know..."

"Sounds like you'd better get in here tommorow, or you'll be right where you were before, trying to get by with your underpants and a prayer. Right?"

"Well, uh, yes, but..." He tried to think of how to get out of this easily. She was making it tough.

Mrs. Sheffield decided it was time to come clean and reel him in. She knew what she needed to know. "Doug, you had no plans to come in, did you?"

"...Not really, no." It felt better to tell the truth. And she seemed like that might be okay with her.

"And you're not wearing a diaper now, are you?"

Yikes! She was sharper than he'd given her credit for. "Well, I, um..." He was shocked, but he didn't want to admit that he wasn't wearing a diaper now. She might not use his survey information. He didn't know it, but he had a more important issue he should have been worrying about.

"That's what I thought. By the way, when you do look at your diaper, you'll notice three indicator stripes." She took a deep breath. "Now, you need to listen to me. I may have told you that I was in the business of assessing and providing for my clients needs. Well, it goes a little bit beyond just helping them find a product on the shelf."

Doug didn't like the sound of this at all. She was no longer surveying. And she didn't know it was only a fantasy.

"What I actually do is run a business for people like you who are incontinent. Sorry, who pee and poop in their pants. I help them find what they need, and make sure they use it, by organizing ICP's, which stands for Incontinence Control Programs, for them. I have a lot of clients like you who don't seem to be able to look after themselves like they should. I worry that they'll end up having accidents, and then lots of things in your life can go wrong."

Doug's stomach had started churning. He had started to realize that perhaps he'd sold his story too well.

"I've decided that you need some help with your diapers. I think we'll need to enroll you into our program so that you can get the help you need. I work with another woman, Mrs. Warren, who actually runs the day-to-day end of things, and we'll help keep you supplied, keep you wearing the diapers, and keep you well-behaved. And it's all for that price I was telling you about. What do you think?"

Doug knew what he thought. He thought he'd better do some confessing, or he'd find himself in far deeper than he'd thought possible. He didn't know that it was already way too late.