It was another second before he realized that he'd better start explaining fast, or within about two minutes she'd probably expect him to be wearing one of the infantile gifts she'd brought. He rushed out the door and out to the pink and blue diaper van. She was around back, opening the rear doors.

As he reached her she was examining a clipboard and appearing to compare it to contents in the back of the truck. He looked inside and got distracted by her cargo. Her van was literally crammed full of packages of disposable and cloth diapers. In addition there were smaller packages of plastic and other (rubber?) panties, bottles of powder, oil, vaseline, lotion, and lots of other nondescipt items he thought must be pads and soakers. There were also many items he could not identify: jugs of liquid, assorted clothing. Half of him wanted to go through it all and see what he liked, but the rational half of him realized he'd find out all too soon if he didn't start talking now.

"Um, Mrs. Warren?" he started hesitantly. When she didn't answer or even look up, he just went on. "We REALLY need to talk."

She half snorted derisively in response but didn't otherwise say anything. He realized he'd better just spit out the essentials.

"There has been a huge, embarrassing mistake. You see, in real life, I don't NEED to wear diapers at all. I'm totally continent. This is all a big mixup because, um, well..." He stalled out, summoning the courage to tell someone the truth for the first time ever. "I, um, sometimes like to, you know, wear diapers, just as a kind of fantasy. But it's just a funny little thing, it has nothing to do with reality..." He was watching her face, which never changed expression. She just kept checking over her list. Finally, as he trailed off, unsure of what to say next, she smiled slightly, and though her eyes never left her clipboard, she murmured,"

"Well, your fantasy is about to become your reality, little boy."

That was NOT the response he expected. He started to panic a little. She wasn't listening or didn't get it. He grabbed her elbow frantically and said, "No, you don't understand. I DO NOT need diapers. I am completely continent."

THAT moved her eyes to him, and the fierceness with which she glared at him startled him. He let go of her elbow.

Her eyes narrowed, and after a long pause, she said slowly and distinctly, "I think I just heard you ask for a continence test."

He just stared blankly at her. The words made no sense to him.

"Is that true?" she demanded.

"I...I don't know," he stammered. "What is it?"

"Just what it sounds like. It's how we find out who can and can't control their bladder and bowels. Sounds like you're claiming to be continent. I can't accept that claim unless you can back it up by passing a continence test. That's only fair, right?"

He absorbed this. "You mean you want proof?"

She nodded, her eyes penetrating into his. "Better believe it. You wouldn't believe the number of my clients who try to avoid wearing the diapers they so obviously need. This test is simply a reliable way of telling who does and who doesn't need my...services. Now, I'm sure you would never try to mislead me," she said rather sarcastically, "so you can just consider this test as a formality."

"Well, I don't know. What would I have to do?" he asked uncertainly.

"Oh, it's easy," she replied, "If you're continent. Just keep your pants all clean and dry for three hours after you drink a glass of Gatorade."

That didn't sound so bad. "That's it?"

"That's it. But it's not so easy if you're at all incontinent. And judging by your pants, I don't know how you'd do."

He followed her gaze down to the spot on his crotch from the bathroom. He blushed heavily, cursing himself for his poor timing. Nice way to make an impression, he thought. "Oh, that's nothing, just an accident."

She smiled. "They all are." She went on: "But if you want to try to stay dry for three hours, that's fine. I'll give you an excellent chance to prove to me that you don't need to wear diapers. Otherwise, you can help me carry in your things now." She pointed to a pile of disposable diapers.

He stared at them, wishing he could have them and use them on his own terms, at his convenience. It was tragic to be confronted by this opportunity and not use it. But he couldn't. This situation was way too threatening.

"I guess I'll do the test." There didn't seem to be much of a choice. She wanted proof. He could certainly provide that, and three hours seemed like a worthwhile time investment if he could nip this whole diaper debacle in the bud. "What do I have to do again?"

She smiled. This would be fun. "As I mentioned, it's very easy. You drink a glass of Gatorade and sit in the bathtub for three hours."

"The bathtub?" Didn't sound too comfortable.

"Yep. It's easier to clean up puddles and messes that way. Also, in case you do have a problem, I'll have you wear older clothes. That should be fine," she said, indicating the jeans and old tennis shoes he was wearing from last night. Mrs. Warren slammed shut the rear doors of the van and went up to the front end, where she retrieved from the passenger side a small sack of heavy black cloth.

"Oh, yes," she said, smiling at him, "I ought to tell you, just so you won't be shocked when we get upstairs. Since I won't be there to watch you during your test, I need some way to secure you there in the tub so I know you didn't cheat. That's the reason for these." And she held up the bag for him to see the contents.

He peered in curiously and saw several well-worn leather straps and cuffs in a tangled bunch. A chill ran down his spine. "You mean you expect me to let you tie me up?" That didn't seem wise at all. She was a stranger, and a weird one at that. He'd heard stories about poeple who got themselves into S and M situations and never gotten out. "No offense, but I don't know you at all! Why should I trust you?" His imagination started working as he remembered how she wanted to spank him earlier, and his anxiety level jumped a notch. (Sure, he'd fantasized about spankings, but fantasies were pleasurable, and he'd always been unsure of how it would translate into reality. Maybe someday he'd try it, but now, with an angry stranger, was definitely not that time. Plus, there was a lot on the line here.)

But she shook her head. "Don't worry. I won't physically harm you. I know I could, but the purpose is just to make sure you don't use the toilet if I'm not there."

She pulled out a piece of paper that look like a legal document. "Here, look. This is a binding promise I'll sign stating that I will not physically abuse you while you're tied up. It will protect your rights, and you can hide it somewhere for use later if necessary. Or complain to the store. You're protected in a number of ways."

This "promise" was a scam she'd only recently started, and it seemed to work well. She had to be careful of the promises she made, but of course most of it was true. She wouldn't actively harm the boy, but she would use the situation that developed to her advantage. Anyway, the form was bogus. It just looked good, and most people didn't know the difference. It was simply useful to reassure her brand new clients that they would be safe. And they would: in several hours, they'd be safely in a nice, clean diaper.

She had other ruses to use if this didn't work, but this boy seemed relieved when he saw the "document," so she didn't go any further. He was sadly naive, this one. That made it easier, but no less fun. Mrs. Warren made a big show of signing the document, giving it to him, and telling him to hide it somewhere safe.

Then she told him to go upstairs and sit on the edge of the bathtub and wait for her. She saw him swallow hard, nod, and turn to go inside.

She smiled again. He would be fun.