Next door? Right next door? Granted, I did not go out often. I worked from home, did not party or almost never go to sporting events. But how did I miss knowing my new pharmacist lived right next door?

Well, sure, since you’re right next door.” With luck her husband would be home to keep conversation away from personally embarrassing things. Like the fact that I needed to wear a diaper for a week or two.

“Oh, don’t worry, Michael,” she said with a chuckle. “My daughter will be there, and she’s about your age, so you won’t have to listen to doddery old lady all night.”

“Your husband, too? I’d really like to meet him.”

“No, Michael, he passed away a number of years ago, so it will just be you and two lonely women.” Her voice said more than her words.

But I had to PEE!

“Well, then, seven it is.” And I started closing the door.

Mrs. Watkins hesitated and the damn burst. Hot urine flooded the diaper I wore, and the soft warmth caressed my genitals. My face burned, possible even glowed.

“Are you alright, Michael?” Genuine concern, I thought.

“It’s nothing. I, I just need to take care of some personal business,” I said pushing on the door.

“Do you need help, baby?”

“N, no,” I argued petulantly. “I’m OK, I just have to go. Please.”

“All right, Michael, but remember what a hash you made of it the first time. Are you sure you can take care of it yourself?”

“I’m sure, Mrs. Watkins. Now please,” I whined.

“Well, all right, baby, but you’d better hurry before that wet spot gets any bigger.”

I closed the door behind her and could have sworn I hear her laugh but was too busy being embarrassed to be sure. And, yes, there as a nice dark wet spot in my jeans just to the left of the bottom of the zipper. That damn diaper had leaked! And Mrs. Watkins had seen the evidence.

I just let it flow and hoped it would not leak anymore. I did not want to be cleaning up my own piss between here and the bathroom. The doctor had said nothing about this happening, just the occasionally dribble. Hopefully, I had just drunk too much water today.

A hot shower resolved most of my embarrassments. I felt clean, again, but was, still, confronted with applying a fresh diaper. I cringed.

The process, though daunting, seemed straight forward if I laid down to do it. I chose the package with the same brand brief Mrs. Watkins had helped me with in the private room of her pharmacy. The packaging held the diapers tightly together, but I finally pried one out, unfolded it then, and laid it out on the bed. I considered just forgetting the diapers but did not want a repeat of earlier. I am an adult, and adults deal with medical issues all the time – right? I can handle this.

I plopped my bottom about in the middle of the diaper then pulled the bottom portion between my thighs and laid back. A lot of wiggling later and the device was situated with the waist at the back about equal with the waist in front. Now, for me, came the hardest part of the process, taping the sides into place. I closed my eyes to recall how Mrs. Watkins had done it. Pull the right side over the front and place the bottom tape facing up and pointing towards the left side top. Repeat the process on the left side. Now the tapes formed the bottom half of an X.

OK, two more tapes and I’m done. I pulled the left side tape from its landing pad and pulled that part of the diaper over the front and tried to place it point in the general direction of the lower right tape. Good thing I was not directing artillery fire. Two more attempts and the tape finally pulled the plastic of the front of the diaper away making a hole. Damn! OK, we can do this. Pull the right side over the front, and very carefully practice placing the tape pointing towards the lower left tape. Finally, satisfied it would work I pulled the tape from its landing pad and ever-so-gently pressed it against the plastic front of the diaper and quickly pulled it away. Aimed again, figured it was good enough, and pressed the tape down. Success! Of a sort.

After clumsily sitting up while holding the damn medical device in place I managed to move my feet over the edge of the bed and stand. Now what? I doubted my trousers would hold the diaper up even dry, so several minutes later an idea flashed – tape.

Waddling as fast as I could holding the edge of the diaper to keep it from sliding down my legs and tripping me, I made my way to my office and sat at my desk. Instead of grabbing the mouse I snatched the tape dispenser and pulled off a healthy strip which I applied to the left side of the diaper. It held, but I doubted the lightweight cellophane would hold up for long, so I taped and taped and taped.

I stood up then gingerly walked around my office. The tape held. Feeling better I sat back down to work on my current project after setting an alarm. What the heck, dinner with a friendly face couldn’t hurt.

When the alarm reminded me to dress for dinner, I left my office and dressed. Gingerly pulling my slacks over the diaper to keep from disturbing my temporary fix, I then buckled my belt, pulled on a polo style shirt and was ready to go.

Concern did not set in until I had stepped outside and locked my front door. Just dinner or something else? Mrs. Watkins’ business card did not have her home phone number, so I shrugged my shoulders and lugged a bottle of really nice wine to her front door.

After ringing the video doorbell and waiting about 10 seconds, her voice told me the door was not locked and to come in, which I did. The entry and living room were…sumptuous. Not ostentations, but more than one might expect in this neighborhood. Burgundies, blues, and yellows as accents. A large flower bouquet on a small table, a sofa, and a wing back chair upholstered alike with what could have been velvet. No table lamps, just recessed lighting that slowly shifted hues. Frankly, it brought whore house to mind. I quickly stifled a chuckle.

Good thing, because Mrs. Watkins walked in wearing a very conservative black dress, long sleeves with white lace trim that matched the collar. Matronly flashed through my mind.

We spoke simultaneously, then laughed. I kept my greeting to myself and waited for her to go first.

“Welcome to your neighbor’s home, Michael,” she said.

I chuckled at the well-deserved dig.

“And to my home, as well. Thank you for being so punctual, Michael.” Her smile was full and friendly, so I suspected nothing untoward.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Watkins,” I managed to say without any of the nervousness I felt. Handing her the bottle of wine I said, “Some wine to accompany what I’m certain is a superb dinner.”

“Thank you, Michael. Dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes, so why don’t you sit down and relax. I have to leave you alone for a minute while I tend the fish, but Nala, my daughter, will be down in just a minute.”

Oh, Mama, don’t be such a fuss budget. I’ll introduce myself while you slave away in the kitchen.”

Turning to me as she stepped off the staircase, Nala held out her right hand and said, simply, “Hi. I’m Nala.”

Nala’s name, I found out later, meant Queen or Lioness, and she was the most regal woman I had ever seen. Tall, well over six feet, which made me feel even smaller than my modest 5’ 9”. Her hair, worn in a wild Afro style reminded me of pictures I had seen of Hippies in the 1960’s. You could tell she was her mother’s daughter, but her skin was much darker than her mother’s, so black that blue hints were visible in the right light.

“Nice to meet you, Nala,” I said and shook her hand. She was surprisingly strong for such a thin woman.

Nala refused to release my hand as she stepped closer to me, bent at the waist, and kissed my cheek. Unaccustomed to personal intimacies like this, I blushed and considered begging off the dinner, but the words she whispered made up my mind for me.

“Either your diaper is full, or you didn’t get it on right, sweetie. Whichever reason, it is sagging badly.” I stepped back thinking my face was going to explode.

“I think I’d better go home,” I stuttered.

Turning towards the door, I was ready to make a run for it, but Nala still held my hand and did not permit my exit.

“Oh, come on, Michael. Oh, can I call you Mike? It’s not as bad as that. Use the bathroom to check yourself,” she said pulling me along behind her like a toddler. “Here we are.” We stopped in the middle of the hallway in front of a closed door, which Nala opened for me, then pushed me inside. “I’ll wait outside, so just give the door a knock if you need some help.”

When the door closed behind me, I exhaled a sigh of relief. Wait. Help? Help what? I could tell it was going to be one of those nights I had never before experienced and was fairly sure I didn’t want to experience the first one.

The room was large, exceptionally large. Rather than take time to examine the over-sized shower or the floor to ceiling mirror, I just unfastened my slacks and found my tape job had failed. I did my best to re-stick the tape, but the adhesive had failed, so all I could really do was pull it up and hope my belt could hold it up along with my slacks. I made a mental not to decline all dinner invitations until my medical issues were resolved. When I was finally ready emotionally as well as physically, I turned the doorknob. Rather, I tried to turn it. No luck. Why was the door locked? I knocked twice on the door and the knob immediately turned and the door pushed open a couple of inches.

All, done, Mike?” As pleasant as Nala’s voice was, it still sent chills down my back. “Or do you need help?” What’s with this family and their ‘help’?

“No, no help needed. Just ready to come out.”

The door moved again, and I stepped back so it didn’t hit me. It swung all the way open so I could see Nala standing right where she said she would be. I had trouble not staring at her. She reached out, took my hand, and, again, led me down the hallway. Her hand wasn’t just strong, it was warm, almost comforting, so rather than fight it, I went ahead and allowed her to lead me. A strange sensation, too be sure, but not as embarrassing as a beautiful woman pointing out that my diaper was sagging.

“Just in time, Mike, dinner is ready, and Molly is finishing the table,” Nala said, still leading me to another part of the house.

The dining room was as sumptuous as the living room. The table could easily seat a dozen with plenty of elbow room, but three places had been set at one end. Mrs. Watkins was already seated at the head of the table and a striking red-haired woman was transferring the contents of a tray near her. The maid picked up the empty tray and actually curtsied. Mrs. Watkins nodded.

“Thank you, Molly, that will be all for this evening.” Looking at me with a smile, she patted the table to her right and said, “Come, Michael, sit down so we can begin.”

Nala refused to release my hand and led me to the chair at Mrs. Watkins’ right, pulled it out and then waited for me to sit down. I hesitated for several seconds then, as I sat, Nala moved the chair so that I sat squarely in the middle of the seat.

“Isn’t man supposed to hold the chair for the lady?” I asked after Nala took her seat on the other side of the table.

Mrs. Watkins patted my hand and said, “Under normal circumstances, yes, but you are not just our honored guest, Michael, you seem a bit disoriented by what the day has dealt you. So, we, Nala and I, decided to pamper you a little until you get your bearings.”

Pampered? Because I have a medical condition? I did not understand the concept, but chose the political expedient course and said nothing.

Dinner improved with the food, and the conversation followed suit. No more comments or questions about my adult brief, but both women shared a lot about themselves. Debbie had a Doctorate in pharmacology and Nala was doing post-graduate studies in phsychology and child development. The former head of the house had died proudly serving his country when Nala was only three, so she remembered little about him. By the time desert was served, I felt comfortable with Mother and Daughter. It didn’t hurt that both were in the upper 1% of attractive women around the world.

Together we decided to have an after-dinner cordial in the living room. Debbie took the only chair and while Nala poured, I sat gingerly on the sofa. To be honest, I was so nervous about sitting hip to hip with Debbie’s daughter on a sofa, that might be more accurately described as an oversized chair, my stomach grumbled. After handing her mother a glass, Nala handed me one and asked, “Did someone have too much dinner?”

She laughed quietly then said, “Don’t worry, Michael, everybody overeats once in a while” She sipped her brandy and a terrible thought flashed through my mind while I watched her lips part. “That’s what an aperitif is for, to settle one’s stomach after.”

“I certainly did not mean to eat too much, but you’re right, I did eat more than should have.” I took a sip from my glass and noticed both women looking at me with something I could describe only as hunger. Definitely time to say good night, before I said or did something exceedingly foolish.

This time it was more than a grumble. My intestines rumbled from right to left. I had not eaten that much. Then a wave of nausea swept through me. Managing to keep everything down I stood up, but before I could speak, I had to cover my mouth with my hand. Another rumble through my belly woke the dead.