Despite what some would consider (and I myself considered) wonderful news about Molly, the incessant "what if" scenarios flooded my thoughts. They affected my sleep pattern, made me lose focus whenever I tried doing something productive, and made me wonder if what Molly and I agreed upon was such a good idea.

What if she laughed? Or what if she changed her mind at the last minute? What if I changed mine at the last minute? Would I choke under the pressure? Would I bring my guard up and get all moody around Molly? Would we argue? Would this experience end it between us? See what I mean? Sometimes my brain doesn't know when to shut off.

I won't lie; I'm a bit of a pessimist when it comes to sharing this lifestyle with people. I partially blame my last girlfriend for how she treated me when I mustered up the courage to tell her, but I also blame (or blamed) Molly's initial reaction on how I anticipated the whole thing would go down. In fact, I never even thought I'd have a girlfriend after what happened between me and Emily, and yet, there I was with Molly. I had two weeks to change my attitude about the whole thing, and I did my best to stay in a positive mindset about it.

Was I successful? In most cases, I handle high amounts of pressure pretty well. In this particular case, my nerves were shot. Molly and I would hang out every few days when she wasn't working and when I wasn't talking to my lawyer about going after the doofus who rammed me with his car. Each time, she'd ask with pure sincerity, "Are you still okay with our little agreement?" I'm not sure if she knew I was nervous, because I'd usually reply with a seemingly confident, "You bet I am!" and would even ask if she was also still okay with it. She was. I know, I should've been excited, right? And yet, part of me was almost hoping that she'd change her mind, just so I would stop being so scared!

There were quite a few times I'd even try to "practice" a bit by putting on a diaper, standing in front of a mirror, and playing through the various scenarios I thought could happen. In some scenarios, I'd stand tall, give a confident smile, and say, "Yep, Molly, I'm wearing a diaper," then I'd quickly roll my eyes and tell myself to stop being an idiot. In others, I'd play the more natural role I was used to whenever I wore a diaper; shy, quiet, blushing, telling Molly, "I understand if you want me to change back into my normal outfit."

No matter how good or bad the scenarios I envisioned were, I constantly wound up on both ends of the "I can do this" and "There's no way in hell I can do this" spectrum. Still, Molly did tell me I could just wear something over it. Hell, maybe she wouldn't even bring anything up about it. Maybe she'd forget after a while. Maybe it'd just be normal for me to wear a diaper around her that I merely wasted all that time worrying. But"¦I didn't just want her to be okay with it. I didn't just want her to tolerate my lifestyle. In all honesty, I wanted her to someday, when she was ready, to have an open enough mind to be comfortable with me when I was in my most vulnerable state of mind. OF course, I hadn't told her that at the time because I was a shy fool, but something told me she had an idea of what I wanted. I just wasn't sure if it was something she eventually wanted or would be okay with.

I prayed the time before heading over to Molly's would go by quickly and without further anxiety. My prayers were unanswered, and the pressure only worsened. The last week needed to be over with, and quick!

* * *

Sometimes I wonder if the cat was always killed by curiosity. Sometimes, I wonder if it's the stress (good or bad) that derives from the curiosity that kills the cat. The anticipation, the fear, the excitement, all rolled up into a whirlwind of mixed feelings, making one wonder what the final result will be. Why did I ask Luke to wait so long before coming over with a diaper on? I mean, sure, we probably could've planned it sooner, what with my dad working a lot of night shifts at that time. There were quite a few times when I came close to asking Luke if he wanted to push the date ahead of schedule, but I stopped myself. Not only did I not want to make Luke think I was looking forward to seeing him in one (just in case I had a change of heart when I actually did see him), but I also wanted to give myself more time to mentally prepare for it.

When I wasn't working and when Luke and I weren't spending time with each other, I'd browse through the files he had once more, doing whatever I could to get a clear image of what Luke would look like in a diaper. Sure, nothing beats the real thing, but at that time, I didn't know what else to do. In fact, during one browsing session, I even tried using my photo-editing software to place a diaper on some old pictures I had of Luke and I together. Obviously, it looked horrible, but I'll admit I couldn't help but become more intrigued. What was he like when he was diapered? He was always horribly nervous when we'd even talk about it, and even though he'd told me quite a bit about the ins and outs of what he was into, part of me knew I had to see it for myself.

It's not usually easy for me to admit when I'm scared (or when I'm wrong), but I was a bi t uneasy in the coming weeks before my dinner date with Luke. I had no intention of backing out of our agreement, but I wondered what would happen if I simply couldn't handle him wearing a diaper or him wanting to be cared for. Or, if I could handle it, how far I'd be able to go if our relationship went any further. I don't normally envy other people, but I was definitely jealous of the people who had open minds and could just roll with whatever they were presented with. Why was I so fickle? Was Luke just as bad as I was? He seemed to be fine every time I'd ask him if he still wanted to go through with it. Was he faking it?

As if all the questions weren't bad enough, something else started coming to light throughout the weeks leading to our event: that secret of my own. It started resurfacing, clawing its way out of the deepest part of me that locked it away as Luke and I saw each other more. I never told Luke about it before, and my dad was the only person who ever found out about it. Before Luke, every relationship I'd get into would go south within a matter of months. Despite my sexual innuendos and inappropriate joking with Luke and everyone else I knew, I was never actually fully intimate with anyone. Sure, we'd get pretty damn close, but there was a reason I was so hesitant, and just when things would spice up, I'd back out and get defensive. Soon after, I'd break up with the guy and never talk to them again.

Luke was different, and I'm not saying that just because of what he's into. I knew from the beginning that he wasn't like other guys, and I knew that if our relationship were to work out, he'd eventually have to know what I was hiding. I promised myself I'd tell him. Maybe on the night he came over with his diapers, maybe not. I didn't know. I'd see how the night went first, then I'd make my decision.

The last few days before Luke came over flew right by, and my eagerness to satisfy my curiosity was overwhelming! Would he back out? I wouldn't have been mad if he did, but I'd certainly be disappointed. What if he only brought the diaper he was wearing? I'd be okay with that, too. I remember texting him an hour before he showed up to my house.

"You ready for tonight? I can't wait to see what you're cooking for us!" I messaged him.

"I was born ready!" he replied with a smiley.

Before I knew it, the hour was up, and from my front porch window, I could see Luke making his way up the street and into my driveway. He was wearing pretty baggy jeans and a shirt that was bigger than usual. A backpack was slung over his shoulder, and in his left hand was a pretty large cooler, which I assumed was filled with what he was making for dinner. Every few steps, he'd carefully look around, making sure nobody was watching or following him, and there was the slightest look of fear in his face. That changed as soon as he saw me in the window, though, and he gave me that picture-perfect smile, waving as he found his way to my backdoor.

I know I said I wouldn't laugh at him for wearing a diaper, but I couldn't help but let out a small giggle to myself, because as he walked down my driveway, I couldn't help but notice the slightest of waddles with each step he took. This wasn't from his injuries, either, because those steps were more of hobble than anything else.

With a deep breath, I opened the door and smiled when I saw Luke, greeting him with a kiss before taking his cooler and letting him into the foyer. Our night was about to begin.