All My Mother's Rules (Chapter 36 - 3/21/21)

Hey everyone. New member here, though I’ve occasionally stopped by over the years to read stories. Got into writing some of my own stuff cause of the downtime caused by Covid-19.

I have posted this story on another site (username and story title is the same). I figured it wouldn’t hurt to share the story here as well. I’m sure there’s not a complete overlap between the sites. That said, if you’ve read this before, no spoilers please. I’ve currently written 28 chapters. I’ll probably end up posting a couple a day here until I’m caught up. Feedback is welcome.

Chapter 1: Crime and Punishment

Christmas is my mother’s favorite time of the year. Can’t say the same for myself. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like Christmas as much as any other kid. Racing down the stairs at the crack of dawn to get the first glimpse of the surprises beneath the tree. Decorating cookies. And candy canes. I absolutely love candy canes.

But mom takes it to the extreme. And by extreme, I mean that I’ve just stepped off the bus to the sight of her at the top of a ladder stringing lights across the front of the house. It is the first week of October.

I do my best to keep a straight face despite the giggles coming from my friends Desi and Samantha. They know the drill, but it doesn’t make the situation any less funny to them. At least this year mom is not putting up Christmas themed Halloween decorations. Skeleton Santa anybody? Yeah, no thanks.

I try not to make eye contact with mom. I swear she is always trying to come up with new ways to embarrass me. She has on the absolute worst Christmas sweater, which is saying a lot because she’s got a closet full of them. It’s an unusually chilly for a fall day in New Mexico, and any excuse to wear a sweater is a good one for her. Walking quietly up the driveway, I nearly reach the front door – Christmas wreath on it and all – without catching her eye. Like I’ve ever gotten away with that.

“Sarah,” mom yelled. “Make sure to check up on your sister before you start your homework. It’s been about thirty minutes.”

“Sure thing Mom,” I reply, followed by a sigh that is too small for her to notice.

I might be turning fifteen soon, but any noticeable back-talk or back-anything meant risking some hard swats to my bottom.

Having been an only child for the first eleven years of my existence I was so thrilled when Emilia was born three-and-a-half years ago. I had helped decorate Emilia’s nursery, picking out all the colors and accessories. I even arrived at the hospital all proud with by big sister shirt on. That thrill had lasted all of three weeks until I graduated from adoring older sister to unpaid baby-sitter. And don’t tell me it builds character. I’ve heard that cliché more than enough.

I open the door to the sound of “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas” serenading through the house, followed by the pitter-patter of bare feet scrambling across the wood floor.

“You’re home! You’re home,” Emilia yells as she rushes around the corner and gives me a hug around my waist. I mean, of course I’m home. Not like mom usually lets me go anywhere else after school is out. Fourteen might be old enough to babysit my sister, but mom didn’t think it was old enough to do things like sleepovers.

Emilia is dressed in a pink, Minnie Mouse t-shirt with a matching pink, Minnie Mouse pull-up. If you are wondering what Mom had asked me to check, let’s just say my latest responsibility was being conscripted into the great potty-training war. This our third attempt. Unfortunately, Mom hadn’t found my jokes about “World War Pee” to be particularly funny.

We had made two heroic attempts at potty-training already: Once when Emilia had turned two and again after her third birthday. We tried every tactic we could think of. Stickers, charts, rewards, special “big-girl” panties, potty-training toilets in every room of the house. There was a week where we had let Emilia just run around naked. That was such a mess. Mom had even half-joked about having me wear pull-ups to model good potty-training behavior for Emilia. I’m so glad she didn’t go through with that.

This time around though we needed to succeed. There weren’t any other options. Emilia would be kicked out of her preschool if she wasn’t toilet trained by her fourth birthday. Mom threw a fuss with the daycare, but I don’t blame them. Who wants to be changing a four-year-old’s dirty diaper? I sure as heck don’t.

Our most recent strategy is for Emilia to be wearing a special potty-training watch that goes off every thirty minutes to remind her to go to the toilet. We’ve given up on those plastic potty-chairs – such a pain to clear up after – and had instead settled for a toddler seat that could be quickly placed on the toilet in our lone bathroom.

“Guess what? Guess What?” Emilia clamored while giggling. “I’ve been dry all day.”

I’m a bit skeptical of that statement. Emilia isn’t very good at noticing her accidents. What was that phrase Mr. Higgins had taught us from that president recently in history class? Oh yeah, “Trust, but verify.”

Emilia smells good at least, so she hasn’t done a number two. That is a relief. The last thing I needed right now was a poopy pull-up to change. I checked the front of her pull-up as well, and the wetness indicators were, surprisingly enough, all still unchanged. Guess she is dry after all. At home, mom never let Emilia wear anything to cover her pull-up. She wanted to always be able to know right away whether it was dry, wet, or messy.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

Well, mom was right about the timer needing to go off.

“Come on kiddo, it’s time to get you on the potty,” I said, grabbing Emilia by the hand.

This was followed by her usual, drawn-out protestations: “I don’t have to go. I don’t. I don’t have to. I… I don’t.”

Then she stomped her feet and started to pout. Emilia wouldn’t have dared to do that with mom, but I’m the good cop after all. On other days I might have attempted to gently cajole her into cooperation. Today I was wasn’t having any of it. I grabbed her under the armpits with both hands and hauled her off to the bathroom with her whining all the way. A few minutes later it turned out that she had needed to pee after all.

With the potty-training out of the way – for half-an-hour at least – I raced off to the kitchen to get an after-school snack. A few minutes of looking through the cupboards, fridge, and pantry left me feeling less hungry. There isn’t junk food of any type in sight. Mom has been on a health binge recently. I settle for a bag of veggie chips instead.

I take a look at my own watch. Thankfully, it didn’t come with a timer telling me when I have to go to the bathroom. But I had to start doing homework at 4:30 p.m. That’s another one of mom’s rules. So that gives me just about twenty minutes or so to relax.

I wasn’t the only one getting a break. Mom is in the living room as well, showing Emilia how to put together a simple puzzle – of Minnie Mouse no less, cause that’s my sister’s thing right now. I had barely been on the couch for just a couple seconds when mom interrupted me.

“Did you wash your hands before you started eating, young lady?” she asked.

Mom has certain ways of saying things. Young lady means she knows full well what the truthful answer is. Any attempt to fib your way out of the situation would be futile.

“I’ll do it right now,” I replied. I didn’t want to outright admit how close I had come to breaking one of her rules.

“Remember, twenty seconds,” mom yelled after I had already headed off to the bathroom sink.

When I came back to the living room, I wanted to take over the TV. There had to be something entertaining on. But I knew better than to interrupt what mom was watching – home videos of our previous Christmas mornings. Look, most families videotape their Christmas mornings, and then that’s the end of it. They might upload it to YouTube or let the tapes collect dust in a cardboard box in the basement. But my mom, she loves to go back and watch them. It gets her in the Christmas spirit.

I grabbed a library book instead and picked up from where I had left my last bookmark.

“Why is Sarah wearing a pull-up,” Emilia interjected suddenly.

I was confused at first. I mean, I had panties on after all. Then it dawned on me. Bless young children and their questions. I looked up from my book to the video playing on the TV. The slightly grainy footage must have been about six years old. But there I was, clear as day, opening presents next to the Christmas tree while wearing no clothing other than a pull-up adorned with a colorful assortment of flowers and butterflies. The pull-up was sagging between my legs and clearly soaked. I looked at the screen awkwardly for a few more seconds as felt my face go flush red before turning back to intently looking at my book.

Yes, I used to be a bedwetter, and my mom has ample evidence of it for all posterity. That was not something I liked being reminded about, and was certainly not a subject I cared for my blabbermouth of a sister to be aware of.

OK, this is too embarrassing. I hopped off the couch, tossed my empty bowl into the sink and walked toward my bedroom. Getting an early start on homework was better than watching videos of myself in pull-ups.

By my room I really meant our room. Cause three people in a two bed-room house means someone ends up sharing. Which is why I’m stuck in a room with my little sister.

Sharing a room with a baby, or for that matter, a toddler that isn’t toilet trained, sucks. There is always that lingering, hard to describe diaper smell that seems to persist despite the mighty powers of the Febreze can I keep in the top drawer of my dresser. I opened my backpack and pulled out the new book we are studying in my AP Literature class, “Crime and Punishment.”

Earlier today I had struggled not to laugh when Mrs. Whittleworth passed out copies of the Dostoevsky novel. Crime and punishment. That is the story of my life if there ever was one. Mom is big on rules. That is kind of her thing. And not just the normal rules a kid might have, like “no curse words” or “eat your veggies before your dessert.” My life is highly regulated. If I ever get a grade on any school assignment that is less than an “A.” Well, that’s a spanking. My butt still hurts when I think about the one time I got a “D” on a test.

With rules, come punishments, and I’ve experienced every one known to childkind. Time-outs. Getting grounded. Having my mouth washed out with soap. And spankings. That was mom’s favorite. She cherishes her grandfather’s wooden paddle like it is an actual family heirloom.

Once I logged into the computer at my desk, I made sure not to go to any sites that weren’t educational. Yes, mom tracks where I go online, and, yes, if I waste time watching cat videos on YouTube I’ll likely not be allowed to touch the computer for the rest of the week. I logged into the website our school uses to let us track homework assignments and grades.

“Shit!” I said.

I didn’t like what I saw, and I was glad mom was far enough away not to hear me. Stupid Mr. Higgins had given me a “C” on that quiz on President Reagan from earlier this week. What could I have gotten wrong? Getting a “B” wasn’t too bad, especially if it was a “B+.” But a “C?” That wasn’t going to make things fun tonight.

I do, however, have something going for me. Mom has one means of grace. If I’ve broken a rule, and I tell her rather than try to hide it or make her wait and find out herself, the punishment is usually a lot less. Mom does check my grades every couple weeks, but I would have heard it from her already if she’d seen it. I’d gotten better at avoiding spankings recently, but I don’t think I could get mom in a good enough mood to talk her out of them for that bad of a grade on an assignment.

But I didn’t have to decide immediately. There’s not any chance she checks my grades from the living room couch. Instead, I grabbed “Crime and Punishment” and jumped onto my bed only to be greeted with a loud, crinkling sound. So irritating.

Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention to the crinkle coming from the plastic mattress cover on my bed. But after the video, it was just another awkward reminder of my bedwetting phase that I’d really rather put behind me. It wasn’t that mom had been mean or strict about it, but it had still just been such a humiliating experience.

What was funny about the bedwetting was that Mom was nicer, a little, about nighttime accidents. I’ve heard that the condition – I forget the medical name for it – is hereditary, but no way would I every ask her about it.

I had wet the bed nearly every night until I was about nine. Mom never made too much of a fuss about it, besides making me wear pull-ups every night and keeping a plastic cover on my mattress. I had to stay dry a whole month before I was allowed to stop with the pull-ups, but no matter how hard I asked the plastic sheet was there to stay. That, and the reminders every night that I go potty before bed, you know, just in case, like I wasn’t a fully toilet trained teenager.

The rules mom was more stringent on were the ones about daytime potty-training. It almost made me feel bad for my bratty sister. Almost, but not really. The potty-training rules are as follows:

  • No big girl panties unless you’ve gone seven straight days with no accidents
  • Any accident, no matter the reason, meant you were back in pull-ups
  • If you had two accidents in the same day, you’d be back in diapers for all of the next day
  • Once every thirty minutes, you had to sit on the potty for three minutes
  • No lying about whether you’ve had an accident

Yeah, it’s strict, but I mean, I was potty-trained during the day before I turned two, according to my mom. And Desi and Samantha’s younger siblings, who I think are around the same age as Emilia, all are perfectly capable of using the toilet on their own. Who knows what is wrong with Emilia.

I flipped through the first few pages of the book. I hated AP Lit. This book is going to be the death of me. I’ve only got five weeks to read and then write a report on it. Maybe I’ll ask Desi for help, at least she can get onto CliffsNotes without her parents caring or noticing. As I read through the opening chapter, I couldn’t help going back to think about my own impending punishment. After fifteen minutes and only three pages, I decided that I may as well get it over with. I set the book down and headed back toward the living room.

I tried to be calm as I walked into the room. I really did. But mom must have some sort of sixth sense, cause she caught on right away that I was apprehensive about something.

“Sweetie, what is wrong,” mom asked.

Sweetie, now that’s another one of my mom’s key words. She does that when she suspects I’ve done something wrong but doesn’t know what. I could still back out now, tell her that everything is OK and hold off for another day. But though I had walked into the room determined to get the spanking over with, the words just stayed stuck in my mouth, refusing to come out. Mom gets what is going on.

“Do you have something you need to tell me,” she asked.

I nod, and walk up to her. I know the drill. This scene has played out hundreds of times before in my life. I could recite it as well as any of the lines from my school play. But just like in real life, when it comes time to go before an audience, I always muck it up.

“Mom, I broke your rule about getting good school grades,” I spat out, garbling all the words together.

“No, say that slower and enunciate your words.”

“I got a ‘C’ on a quiz in my American History class,” I said crisply and clearly, with my eyes pointing down at my feet.

“No, young lady, you look me in the eye while I’m talking to you.”

I matched my mom’s eye and felt my face go full red. Oh I hated how I had no control over my blushing. It just always seemed to amply the shame that I felt. I repeated again about how I had gotten a ‘C’ on the quiz.

“And why was it wrong for you to get that grade?”

“Because I need to be an ‘A’ student so I can get a good scholarship and go to college.”

“And what is the punishment for getting a ‘C’ on an assignment?”

This was trickier, you see, while my mom had punishments, they weren’t always consistent. Make it too easier, and she might go a lot harder on you. But if you gave yourself too much of a punishment, well, you were stuck with that as well. I decided to play it cautiously.

“A spanking.”

Mom gave me that look. And I knew right away I had given the wrong answer.

“And just how many spankings is that punishment going to be,” she said.

I hesitated, which was bad. I’m always bad at thinking on my feet. I spit out the first number that comes to mind.


Bad, bad, bad idea Sarah. Twenty was more than I’d gotten when I’d burnt dinner and set off the fire alarm. I probably could have gotten away with just five. But mom didn’t object, didn’t say that seems like a bit much. She just gave a soft smile and stood up from the couch. It was so unfair.

“Hold still and lift up your shirt a little,” mom said.

I complied without saying a word. The shock of impending spankings was still fresh. Why, why, why did I have to suggest twenty of them. I pulled my shirt up just enough to reveal the top of my jeans and my belt. I felt mom’s hands as she undid my belt buckle and then pulled the entire belt loose. Next, she unbuttoned my jeans, pulled them off my hips and let them fall down.

Mom sat back down on the couch. She didn’t have to say what I was to do next. I already knew. I stepped out of the jeans, leaving them in a pile in front of the couch and carefully lay on the couch facedown so that my bottom was directly on my mom’s lap. My head was facing the TV, which only added to the humiliation. The video was paused right at an angle where you could fully see how wet the pull-up was. Yellow and saggy. Why couldn’t mom have changed me out of it before opening presents.

Emilia had stopped building her puzzle, which was about halfway done, a look of puzzlement on her face. It has been a while since I’ve been spanked. Who knows, maybe she doesn’t even remember having witnessed it before. I sure as heck didn’t want an audience for this.

“Emilia,” mom said. “Go get the black bag that is in mommy’s closet.”

I should have known I wasn’t going to get away with her not using a paddle. We live in a small house, it shouldn’t have taken even Emilia more than a minute to grab the bag. But it felt like an eternity. Why did I have to get a stupid “C” on that quiz anyway. All I had wanted was to get the spanking done and over with quickly, but it kept getting drawn out.

The pitter-patter of Emilia’s feet signaled that she had at last come back to the room. The plain, black gym bag was what mom used to keep all her disciplinary supplies in. Several types of paddles. Non-toxic soap to wash out mouths. Lotions and ointments for treatment after a spanking. The next choice mom makes would greatly determine my level of discomfort. Please, please, please don’t use the wooden paddle, I prayed silently.

After mom had finished rustling through the bag, I saw Emilia come back into view, sitting on the floor next to the coffee table where she had been working on her puzzle. But she hadn’t gone back to playing. She was facing me with a curious look on her eyes. My face was burning now. Why couldn’t mom just send her away.

Without any warning, mom pulled down my panties to expose my bare bottom. Oh great, this is it. She held the paddle against my bottom to line it up. And she had chosen the wooden one. I’d gone a year without getting a wooden paddle spanking.

Smack. The first whack knocked the breath out of me. I was barely able to squelch a sob. The strikes proceeded likely clockwork every five seconds. One after another. Left. Right. Left. Right. I was able to hold out for the first few swats. But the tears and cries of pain were inevitable.

Emilia watched the entire time. And that brat even started giggling. Suddenly, as quickly as they had started, the spankings came to a stop. The only sound in the room was my heavy breath and receding sobs. A cool sensation covered my bottom as mom rubbed a lotion into my skin. Despite the relief it was giving I knew sitting would be a pain in the you know what for the next week.

Mom pulled my underwear back up and helped me sit on her lap. Her hand took a firm grip of my chin as she held my face steady with hers.

“There, there,” she said. “Now what lesson have you learned from this?”

“I’ll study harder and get good grades. I promise.”

I couldn’t help it. All the pent-up emotion, pain and tension had to come loose again. The floodgates burst open, and I cried and cried and cried into mom’s shoulder as she rubbed my back. It was over. Thank goodness it was over.

Another beeping found filled the house. But it wasn’t Emilia’s watch. Mom quickly set me down on the couch.

“Put your jeans back on and help your sister clean up her toys while I get the casserole out of the oven,” she said.

Just the effort of sitting up and pulling on my jeans was enough to remind me of how sore I was going to be. As I finished pulling on my jeans, the sight of Emilia sitting in front of me gave me an idea about how to teach that brat that it is not nice to laugh when your sister is getting spanked.

I reached down and ever so gently gave her the slightest of tickles, enough for her to feel my touch, but hopefully not enough to blame me for what was about to happen. If there is one way in which my sister and I are most alike is that we are super ticklish at even the slightest touch. I know all her weak spots.

The result was exactly what I had hoped for. Emilia jumped up with a little squeal and placed both hands on the front of her pull-up. I didn’t even need to look at the wetness indicator to know what had just happened.

“Mom,” I yelled, doing my best to keep the satisfaction out of my voice. “Emilia just had an accident.”

Karma may not be a bitch, but It certainly is a wet pull-up.


Oh, hey, welcome.
I’ve been following this and your other story over at DD.

Nice to see you posting it here too.

Thanks, should have both stories posted here in the next couple days. It’s giving me a chance to read through them and make any edits that may have gotten overlooked.

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Chapter 2: Guilty Conscience

The downside to making Emilia pee herself was that I was the one stuck changing her wet pull-up. Mom hates changing diapers or pull-ups. So guess who’s gotten to do that a couple thousand times over the past several years? Yes, yours truly.

In truth, I didn’t mind it too much. A wet pull-up isn’t that big of a deal to change, and, thankfully, going number two in the toilet was the one part of potty training that Emilia had nearly managed to master.

Emilia cried all the way to the bedroom. She wants to be a big girl so badly. During this latest attempt at potty training, her failure to learn how to properly use the toilet hasn’t been due to a lack of trying. She even managed to reach the big girl panties stage twice, only to be delegated back to pull-ups as the result of accidents.

Our bedroom was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. The only furniture was my bed, her crib, a pair of dressers, and a tiny desk just big enough for my computer monitor. In our old house we all had our separate rooms with enough space for changing tables and playpens. As I sifted through the drawer looking at Emilia’s collection of pull-ups and diapers, the one thing that struck me about her pull-ups is that they are so darn adorable with all of the cute cartoon characters on them: Minnie Mouse, Elsa, Ariel, and every other Disney princess imaginable.

My unpaid baby-sitter duties extended beyond just changing diapers and potty training. Having good manners was another rule mom heavily enforced, and, again, the responsibility of teaching that to Emilia fell to me. “Please” and “thank-you” were the focus right now, but getting her to do either still required quite a bit of prompting.

After grabbing a fresh pull-up from the drawer, I turned back around to face Emilia.

“And what do you need to tell me now?” I asked.

“I need my pull-up changed,” she whined.

I sighed. Emilia really did know better. Even if she was only three.

“And what do you say when you need your pull-up changed?”

“Can you change my pull-up?”

“Sis, you’re forgetting the magic word.”

“Please,” she said finally.

With that, I rolled out a changing mat onto my bed and plopped Emilia onto it. I was glad we were past her terrible twos when diaper changes had been an absolute nightmare. She laid on the bed complacently – I suppose it did feel good to be changed into a dry pull-up – lifting her legs up when I needed to wipe and not struggling even a little as I replaced her wet pull-up with fresh one, this time with a picture of Ariel on the front. I placed the wet pull-up in the diaper bin and then made a mark on the potty-training calendar to note that she’d had an accident.

I gave Emilia a hug as I set her back down on the floor.

“And what do you say now?” I asked Emilia.


“Thank-you for what?”

“Thank-you for changing my pull-up.”

You’re welcome, but you need to keep Ariel dry for the rest of today or it’s back to diapers, you understand?”

Emilia nodded back at me solemnly.

“I will. I will,” she said.

Dinner, even if it is just meatball casserole, has its own sets of rules. All the silverware has to be in exactly the right place. No eating before we had a chance to bow our heads and say grace. No spilling any food. No talking with your mouth full. And, most importantly, you had to eat every last bite of food that mom put on your plate. You weren’t leaving the table until you were completely done.

I gingerly lowered myself into a chair at the dinner table. Of course it had to be a wood chair. My butt hurt so much. I had no idea how I was going to get through school tomorrow if this is how it was going to feel.

Mom placed Emilia in a high-chair next to herself. Emilia really was too old for it, but mom was determined that if Emilia wasn’t wearing panties like a big girl then she wouldn’t be treated like a big girl either. That meant Emilia also was wearing a bib and had to drink out of a sippy cup.

I was apprehensive as I held up my plate for mom to scoop out a serving. I really hoped she wouldn’t put too much on my plate. Let’s just say I don’t share her affinity for casserole. Disgusting stuff, but I knew better than to voice that opinion out loud. Thankfully, her scoop wasn’t too big. I could manage. I just wanted to finish eating as quickly as possible so I could get my butt onto a much more comfortable surface.

Mom hadn’t mentioned anything about the spanking earlier today. She never does. It happens. Then it is over. She moves on without a second thought. I would rather eat in silence, but mom always makes sure there is plenty of conversation when we are together at the table.

“How did the cheer-leading tryout go?” mom asked.

I started to answer with a mouthful of food, but then paused until I had finished chewing. Close call.

“Good,” I replied.

Please, just let me eat so my butt can stop hurting.

I hadn’t wanted to be a cheerleader at all. Or do any after school activities of any sort. Couldn’t I just spend my time after school reading or playing video games? But mom was insistent that I had to have a ton of extra-curricular activities since apparently colleges care about that stuff when you apply. Getting on the cheer team as a freshman isn’t exactly easy. I’d come close to making the team at the beginning of the school year. However, my best friend Desi had gotten the spot instead. It had actually been a bit of a relief.

I thought I was out of the woods until last week, when Desi had taken a tough fall and torn her ACL. With her out for the season, they had an emergency try-out for a replacement. If only mom hadn’t gotten wind of it. But she did, and I aced the try-out.

“So when do you start?”

“Tomorrow. Practice goes until 5 p.m.”

Just less time to be doing the things I want to. And no more bus rides home with Desi and Samantha. Mom would have to be picking me up from school every day now.

I made sure to thank mom for the dinner as I stood up from the table.

“Remember, you need to finish your homework before you play any video games,” she said.

I’d just gotten through the first chapter of “Crime and Punishment” when mom opened the door to my room. Without knocking I might add. She doesn’t believe in privacy, or at least that I should have any.

“I’m going on a walk,” mom said. “You’ll need to do your homework in the living room and keep an eye on Emilia. I’ll be about an hour.”

The Fitbit was another part of mom’s health binge. She had to get her 10,000 steps every day after all. Good thing she didn’t have to pay for a baby-sitter. Emilia was playing make-believe with a pair of hand-me-down Barbie dolls on a rug on the living room floor. Ugh, this book was hard enough to get through without also having to ignore her incessant chattering. After fifteen minutes I had barely managed to get through a handful of pages when I felt the call of nature.

“You behave yourself. I’ll be back from the potty in a little bit,” I told Emilia.

The toilet seat wasn’t any more comfortable to sit on than the dining room chair, but when you gotta go you gotta go. I was nearly ready to flush when Emilia began to whine on the other side of the door. I couldn’t believe my luck.

“Sarah,” she whimpered. “Hurry. I need to potty. Please.”

Normally, I’d be happy to quickly finish up with my business and let her onto the toilet, but my still-stinging butt and the memory of her laughing during the spanking were too fresh in my head. Plus, with mom gone there wasn’t any way Emilia could force me off the toilet.

“Sis, you’re going to have to wait a few minutes. Can you be a big girl and do that for me?”

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t,” Emilia whined again. “I don’t wanna wear a diaper.”

If she was worried about being made to wear a diaper, that meant she was close to having an accident. It had been nearly thirty minutes since her last trip to the toilet.

I could hear her feet patter on the other side of the door. I suppressed a laugh at the mental image of the potty dance she must be doing. And since she’d already had one accident today, another one meant she’d have to be put back in diapers for a whole day. I’d be changing them, of course, but the feeling of schadenfreude was more than making up for it. I ripped off some toilet paper and pretended to still be cleaning myself off. Emilia wasn’t good at holding it at all. When she needed to go, she needed to go now. All I needed was to stall for a few more minutes.

“Emilia, big girls can hold their pee in for a few minutes. You’re going to have to do that for me if you want to prove that you are a big girl.”

After a couple of minutes, I heard Emilia’s prancing feet come to a sudden stop. There was a moment of silence – a rarity with her – followed by a steady stream of quiet sobs. Mission accomplished. In the great potty-training war I’d just turned into a double agent. I finished with pretending to clean myself up. Another minute wouldn’t hurt now that the damage was done. At last, I flushed the toilet and opened the bathroom door to a very sorry sight.

Emilia was sitting down on the floor with her hands covering her face, both legs splayed out in front of her, giving me a perfect view of a completely soaked pull-up. There wasn’t a single wetness indicator remaining.

“Come on. Time to get on the potty,” I said, pretending not to notice her accident.

“I don’t wanna go potty,” she said. “Don’t need to.”

“Oh, it’s OK,” I cooed at her. “Did my baby sister have an accident.”

“I’m not a baby,” she shouted. “I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

Emilia crossed her legs and tugged her shirt so that I could no longer see the pull-up. I really don’t know what was making me feel so vindictive today, but I wasn’t going to waste any chance to rub the accident in her face. I placed the potty-training cushion on top of the toilet seat, and then motioned for her to stand up.

“Come on, pull your pull-ups down and sit on the potty. Three minutes.”

The pull-ups fell to the floor with a squishy thud. I took a peek down at them to see the yellow, soaked insides. The next three minutes passed into total silence. There wasn’t any more pee that needed to come out.

“OK, time to put your pull-ups back on.”


“No buts.”

I reached down and grabbed the pull-up that was hanging around Emilia’s feet on the floor. It was warm and squishy to the touch. A twinge of guilt began to form in the back of my mind. I remembered how it felt to be forced to wear a wet pull-up waiting for mom to change me. Having to deal with the uncomfortable feeling of something warm and squishy being held tight again my skin with no control over when I would get cleaned up. All the same, I pulled it back up over her waist.

The rules were the rules. Two accidents today meant that I needed to put Emilia in a diaper once I’d gotten her cleaned up. I don’t normally question mom’s rules, but in this instance a bit of doubt was gradually beginning to creep in. After all, both of Emilia’s accidents today were my fault. She hadn’t done anything to deserve having to be put back into diapers.

Without saying anything further, I picked Emilia up and carried her the short way to the bedroom. The changing mat was still there from the pre-dinner accident. As I lay her down onto the mat, tears were rolling down her face and onto the bed, but Emilia didn’t put up any resistance. I ran my hand gently along the back of her head and placed a pacifier in her mouth to sooth her.

“Hey, it’s OK, you’ll feel so much better once I’ve gotten you all cleaned up.”

I had a choice to make when I opened the top drawer of Emilia’s dresser. I should’ve grabbed the diaper decorated with the Sesame Street characters, but the part of my conscience that was feeling bad for Emilia had won me over. I picked out another pull-up – making sure it was another Ariel one so mom wouldn’t think anything was amiss – and grabbed the wipes and powder.

I ripped off the tearaway sides of the wet pull-up and proceeded to thoroughly wipe her clean. I added just a smidgen of baby powder after that. I don’t use nearly as much as mom does as I can’t stand the smell.

The look of surprise on Emilia’s face when she realized I was putting another pull-up on her instead of a diaper was immensely gratifying. The tears stopped flowing, and a cautious smile was spread across her face. I lifted her bottom up and made sure the new pull-up was fit snugly around her waist.

As I tossed the used pull-up into the diaper pail, I made sure to conceal it underneath some wipes. Not that mom was likely to go looking in there anyways. As I helped Emilia off the bed, she began to say something, but I quickly interrupted her.

“This is going to be our secret, OK? Pinky promise”

“Pinky promise,” Emilia replied.


Chapter 3: New Leverage

“Sarah, Sarah, wake up.”

I never needed an alarm clock in the morning. Being the responsible student that I am, my clock is set to loudly and rudely wake me up at 6:45 a.m. every school morning so that I can get ready in time before the bus leaves.

But rather than waking to the buzz, buzz, buzz of the alarm, my morning usually begins with Emilia tugging at my blanket. I rolled over to my side a took a peek at the alarm clock – 4:37 a.m. Even this was earlier than usual for her.

“Sweetie,” I yawned. “It’s much too early. Go back to bed.”

I couldn’t wait until she was old enough to understand how to use a clock. I tugged the covers back over my head and rolled over to the side facing the wall. I got a few moments of reprieve until I felt Emilia tugging at my blankets a bit harder than before. Life had been so much better before we had lowered one of the sides of her crib, which let Emilia get out whenever she pleased.

“Sarah, can you change me? I’m wet. Please.”

I really didn’t want to get out of bed, but at least she was remembering her manners this morning.

Emilia still wet the bed every night, and, if she took after me, she’d continue doing so for another five or six years. I knew she wouldn’t stop bothering me unless I got her cleaned up. I begrudgingly slipped out of bed and winced as I turned our bedroom light on. Much too bright for this early in the morning. I straightened out my covers to make room for the changing mat and Emilia crawled up onto it. I pulled her pink and blue Elsa nightgown up above her waist to reveal a soggy diaper. We still used diapers at night for her because the potty-training pull-ups would leak and she wasn’t big enough yet to fit into the nighttime pull-ups that I had once worn as a bedwetter myself.

I made quick work of the diaper change. I was tired and wanted nothing more than to get back into bed. But when I was done changing Emilia, she didn’t go back to her crib.

“Please,” she said. “Can I sleep with you?”

That’s another bad habit she’s been getting into. I swear, it’s been nearly every other night when I’ve woken up to find her in my bed cuddling next to me unannounced. I give Emilia a stern look, hoping to dissuade her.

“But please. I had a scary dream.”

I relent. I’d get back to sleep quicker if I just let Emilia into my bed than if I spent the next ten minutes arguing with her. And if we make too much noise, we’d wake up mom and that was just asking for trouble. I gave Emilia a clean pacifier, lifted up the covers, and let her crawl in. I slipped into bed and cuddled behind her. I was asleep again before I knew it.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

Ahh. Really. I slammed my hand against the alarm clock to put it into snooze. While I was wide-eyed and awake, Emilia was still asleep in bed. The pacifier wasn’t in her mouth anymore. It must have fallen behind the bed. I reached under Emilia’s nightgown to feel her diaper. Wet again. Not much, but still, how much could one kid pee at night anyways? I decided to let her sleep some more, while I hopped in the shower.

Emilia looked to still be fast asleep when I returned to the bedroom. Good. I always preferred dressing while she was asleep. Now, what to wear, what to wear. My options were pretty limited considering the large stack of laundry that I had put off doing. Mom always makes me do my own laundry, and I’ll admit that I’ve been procrastinating on it. I’m not much of a girly girl. Jeans paired with a hoodie or a t-shirt is my normal style. I grabbed an unused Fortnite hoodie from a closet hanger and checked the jeans I had worn yesterday. No stains, so I could get away with wearing them again.

That was another thing I was dreading about cheer-leading. The outfit for that – a mini-skirt and short-cut top – was just not my style. I didn’t care for the idea of accidentally exposing my panties to anyone. Well, I’d just have to see how that new outfit looks on me later today. Coach said she’d have a uniform all set to go after school. I packed my gym bag with a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for practice, and made a mental note to make sure to grab a water bottle from the kitchen before getting on the bus.

Unlike most of the students in my class, I also had the added responsibility of getting my sister ready for the day as well. Thankfully, that didn’t mean doing much other than changing Emilia into a pull-up and t-shirt and then ushering her into the kitchen for breakfast. Mom would take care of getting Emilia dressed for preschool and then drop her off on her way in to work.

I gave Emilia a little nudge on her shoulder. She wiggled a little too much. That brat was just pretending to be asleep.

“If you don’t get up, the tickle monster is going to get you.”

That got her attention. Emilia jolted up.

“What pull-ups do you want to wear today?” I asked her.

“Minnie Mouse!”

I should have known. That’s been her answer every morning the past several days. I sifted through the pull-up drawer. Good, there are still a couple Minnie Mouse pull-ups left. I grabbed yet another Minnie Mouse t-shirt from the closet to go with it. I couldn’t wait for the Minnie Mouse phase to be over.

I had been sitting on the curb for about five minutes before the school bus arrived. Typical. The only time the bus was on time was when I was running late. Desi and Samantha were sitting in opposite seats in the row behind the driver. Normally, we would choose something closer to the back, but with Desi needing crutches cause of the cast on her ankle that was the best location for us.

Samantha was taking up an entire seat to herself, with a whole bunch of her Algebra 1 homework spread out next to her. She had headphones in both ears and didn’t appear to notice that the bus had arrived at my stop. I took a look at the assignment Samantha was working on. She was ever the procrastinator. Mom had made me do those same problems over the weekend.

Desi re-adjusted her crutches to make room on her seat for me. Sitting down on the bus seat wasn’t as bad as the dinner table, but it was a close second. I must have made a weird face when I sat down, because Desi certainly took notice.

“Are you not feeling well?” she asked.

“I think I’ve just got some sore muscles from the try-out yesterday.”

No way was I going to bring up that mom had given me a spanking. I don’t know why, but it just felt wrong talking about mom’s punishments with someone outside of my family. It wasn’t exactly as if mom went around bragging about how she spanked me. Desi and Samantha knowing about it would just add to the humiliation.

Desi chuckled.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. My ass was so damn sore that first week. It hurt like a fucking bitch until I got in shape,” she said.

Yeah, mom doesn’t like that I’m friends with Desi. Thinks she is a bad influence on me. Of course, overhearing Desi drop an f-bomb the only time they met might have had something to do about it, especially since we had only been in third grade at the time. I sighed. I’d had enough of potty mouths and potty training.

“I feel so out of shape. The try-out left me exhausted.”

“Don’t worry. It gets easier. Coach just makes the try-outs harder than regular practices so she knows that you’ve got what it takes to be on the squad.”

That was Desi for you, a bit crude on the outside, but beneath the rough edges she was compassionate and understanding.

“Samantha and I are trying to plan another sleepover soon. You’re always welcome to come.”

I appreciated that she always tries to invite me. When I was younger, the thought of a sleepover had been terrifying. No way was I going to risk letting my best friends find out that I wet the bed. So when mom told other parents that she just didn’t allow sleepovers as my age, I didn’t throw a fuss at all. I had been so excited when the nighttime accidents had stopped. In my mind, that was all that had been holding me back from being able to spend a night at a friend’s house. But mom had kept on adding excuses for why I wasn’t allowed to, and despite all my efforts she hadn’t relented.

“Desi, you know mom doesn’t let me go to sleepovers. She’ll never change her mind about it.”

“You’ll be turning fifteen in what, a couple of weeks or so?”


“Look, I know your mom is an overprotective bitch and all, but you’re still turning fifteen. That’s old enough to start driving a car. There’s no reason you can’t spend the night at Samantha’s house.”

“OK, OK, I’ll ask mom about the sleepover, but don’t be surprised if she says no.”

Samantha finally noticed that I was sitting on the bus. Only took her like five minutes.

“Morning,” Samantha said. “You’ve finished the Algebra assignment, right? Can I check my answers against yours to see how I did?”

I knew that “check” was just a euphemism for “let me copy all your answers because I’m terrible at math,” but I owed her a favor. Samantha and Desi were the only reason I’d managed to get through my AP Lit class without any grades less than an “A” so far this semester. I grabbed the assignment from my backpack and discreetly passed it to her.

Desi, Samantha, and I had all managed to get the exact same class schedule. I don’t know how we would have survived the first semester of high school otherwise. We made the perfect study group as our different academic strengths balanced each other out.

Bump. I winced as the bus hit rough patch of pavement causing the pain in my butt to flair up again. This was going to be a long day.

I did everything I could to keep from fidgeting during our last class of the day. My butt had just gotten more and more sore throughout the day no matter what positions I contorted myself into. While Mr. Higgins was droning on about the Cold War, my mind kept trying to drift off into daydream land, but after getting a “C” on that last quiz I was determined to make sure I was taking copious notes.

The one thing you didn’t do in Mr. Higgins class was interrupt him. He didn’t do questions except for when he asked if anyone had questions to ask, so it was a bit of a surprise when a girl sitting to my left in the back row – I think her name was Liz, or maybe Lisa – raised her hand. Mr. Higgins ignored it and continued talking. The girl began to wave her hand, at first just a little, but then more urgently.

“Put your hand down. You can save your question for later, Ms. Erickson,” Mr. Higgins snapped.

“But can you please excuse me from the class,” the girl interjected. “I need to go to the bathroom. Like really bad.”

That drew a couple laughs from the class, including from me. I mean, this is high school, shouldn’t you be potty trained enough to be able to holder your bladder for forty-five minutes?

“Then you should have gone during the break between periods,” Mr. Higgins said. “You can go leave when the pass is returned.”

Our high school had strict rules about when you could leave during a class. Every classroom has two hall passes – one for the guys and one for the girls – and you were allowed to be gone for no more than eight minutes – enough time to get to the bathroom, do your business quick, and get back. If one of the hall passes was already in use, you just had to wait your turn.

I’d developed a bladder of steel ever since my bedwetting had ended. I could go the entire school day without stepping foot in the bathroom if I really needed to. As much as I knew I should be paying attention to the lecture, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the girl with the small bladder, making quick glances to my left as discreetly as I could. She was in my AP Lit class as well, but we’d never spoken. She seemed to keep to herself, the few times I’d seen her in the massive cafeteria she had been seated alone.

After about five minutes of squirming she froze still, and then after another fifteen seconds moved just a little more to re-adjust how she was sitting. As soon as the pass was returned, she grabbed it and walked slowly out of the room.

Toward the end of the class, Mr. Higgins went row to row, handing back assignments he had graded. I already knew what my grade was, but I needed to know what questions I had missed. I still couldn’t believe I had gotten enough wrong to get a “C.” I eagerly reached for the quiz sheet when he handed it back to me.

10/10. I was shocked. The school website had said I’d missed three questions. I scanned over the assignment thoroughly. Yep, that was my and handwriting. My name was on the top, and those were the answers I knew I had put down. Desi leaned over to look at my quiz.

“What are you shocked about miss smarty pants? You got an ‘A.’ Like always.”

I couldn’t suppress a grin.

“They must have entered in the grades wrong online. Mom gave me hell cause she thought I had gotten a ‘C.’”

The bell rang, calling an end to the class period. Just as I was about to head out the door, I realized there was one more thing that I needed. Mom would want additional proof that the online grade had been correct. Maybe I could get a note from Mr. Higgins.

As I walked toward his desk at the front of the classroom. I saw that the girl who had been in such a rush to get to the bathroom was at his desk, returning the hall pass. As I got closer I overheard the end of their conversation.

“Why couldn’t you have just let me go to the bathroom when I needed to?” the girl asked Mr. Higgins.

“Lisa, I can’t treat you differently than any of my other students. This is high school. You can wait like anyone else.” Mr. Higgins paused. “Or you could have peed yourself.”

Gross. I couldn’t believe Mr. Higgins would suggest something like that. That would be such a mess to clean up. Not to mention unsanitary.

“But I d…,” Lisa began to say, before turning to see me standing behind her.

“I’ve got to go,” Lisa stammered before making a beeline for the door.

Well, that was awkward. I stood in front of the history teacher’s desk, not sure of what to say. He broke the ice first.

“Sorry about my niece,” Mr. Higgins said. “She’s had a rough time of things lately. She moved in with my wife and I this summer after her parents passed away.”

Now that was mood killer.

Mr. Higgins apologized emphatically when I showed him that my online grades had gotten messed up. He even wrote up a quick note for my mom without asking any other questions. I made sure the quiz and Mr. Higgins’ note were securely tucked away in my backpack. I couldn’t wait to show them to mom. I now had an idea about how I might be able to convince her to let me have a sleepover.

I just had to survive my first cheerleading practice.


Chapter 4: Accidents

I entered the locker room with a queasy feeling in my stomach. I had rarely felt so out of place in my life.

At exactly five feet and ninety-four pounds, I was small even for my age. During the physical exam I had taken as a requirement to be allowed to try-out for the cheerleading team, the doctor had told me that I was in about the 25th percentile. I’m not quite sure how the knowledge that a quarter of the girls my age are smaller than me was supposed to cheer me up. It sure didn’t feel that way when I looked at the rest of the freshman class at River Valley High School. Visits to the doctor were a rarity for me.

I stood awkwardly inside the entrance to the locker room just taking in the bustle of girls changing from school to workout clothes. Communal dressing, just another item to add to the list of why I was going to hate cheerleading. An upper-classman I hadn’t seen before came running up to greet me.

“You’re Sarah, right?”

I nodded affirmatively.

“I’m Sasha, one of the team captains. I’m sorry I missed your try-out the other day. Heard you were splendid though. Coach Addison is running late so she asked me give you a quick tour.”

Sasha led me on a brief lap around the cheerleading section of the locker room and introduced me to the other eighteen members of the team. She pointed me to my locker, which was next to Claire, the only other freshman on the squad. We began to say “hi,” but were interrupted.

“Come on girls. Cut the chit chat. We need to be in the gym in three minutes. It’s an indoor practice today because the field is taken,” Sasha yelled.

I stripped off my jeans and hoodie and changed into shorts and a t-shirt, careful to keep my back to the locker. I didn’t care to show off the bruises that I imagined must still be emblazoned on my bottom from yesterday’s spanking.

Just like any sports team, everyone on the cheerleading squad has their own role to play. In this case, my smaller stature had been a huge benefit when trying out for the team. After all, it’s a lot easier to have someone stand at the top of a human pyramid or be tossed in the air if they don’t happen to weigh a lot.

We spread out in a big circle in the middle of the gym as the captains led the team through a series of stretches. OK, this hurts. I’m definitely out of shape, no matter what Desi says. We spent most of the afternoon learning some new cheers for the upcoming football game – there goes more of my evening free time. But the end of the practice was the part that I had been dreading more than anything else.­

“Don’t worry about it,” Sasha said. “You’ve got the easy part. Just need to hold still as we toss you in the air and then gravity does the rest.”

“Have you… Have you ever dropped anyone before?”

Sasha rolled her eyes.

“You think they’d make me captain if I was in the habit of dropping people?”

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Just make sure to waive to the crowd while you’re in the air and fall with your back to the ground so that we can catch you.”

This was utterly terrifying, but I’d come too far to back down now. A group of six teammates including Sasha gathered around to lift me up.

“One. Two. Three.”

I let out a slight scream as I was tossed up into the air, but I did make sure to wave my pompoms before falling back into their arms. The adrenaline rush swept away all of my fear. That was exciting. Never mind earlier, I might actually like cheerleading after all. We practiced the routine several more times without a hitch. I was really getting into the swing of it.

“OK, girls. Once more and we can call it good for the day,” Addison said, taking a seat in the bleachers in front of us.

At the count of three they flung me into the air one last time. I gave an enthusiastic wave to the imaginary crowd in the bleachers before leaning back to fall into what I thought would be my teammates’ embrace. I felt myself slip through their arms and twist before landing on my side on the hardwood floor. The pain that shot through my body was unlike anything I had felt before. I lay on the ground gasping for breath. It hurt too much to even scream.

Coach Addison was by my side almost instantaneously, her hand feeling up and down the side where I had fallen. I guess she was checking for broken bones.

“Relax, she’s OK,” Addison said. “She’d be in a lot more pain if she’d actually broken any bones. Sasha, grab some ice wraps from the freezer.”

Was it possible to be in more pain than this? This was bad enough as it is. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Not even last night’s spanking – the worst I’d ever gotten – was as bad as what I was feeling right now. A couple of the girls grabbed me under my shoulders and helped me hobble to the bleachers. I spent the remainder of the practice holding an ice pack firmly against my hip. After giving a stern lecture to the girls who had dropped me, Coach Addison made them run a bunch of sprints back and forth across the gym. The swelling on my hip began to go down, but I was still left with an ugly, purplish bruise.

Back in the locker room, Coach Addison approached me as I was gingerly changing out of my workout cloths.

“Sorry you had such a rough first day with that accident. How’s your hip holding up?”

“A lot better after I iced it.”

“I almost forgot, but this is for you,” Addison said, holding out a cheerleading uniform in a plastic wrap.

I gave the uniform a quizzical look. Remind me again about how wearing this is supposed to increase my odds of getting into a good college? Coach must have misread the expression on my face.

“I know. but it’s the smallest size we’ve got,” she said. “Don’t worry. Desi fit into that same size just fine and you and she have about the same build. It’s typical to move up a couple sizes between your freshman and senior years.”

While the pain in my hip had subsided for the most part, my body still felt a bit off since the fall, though I couldn’t pinpoint what the issue was as I carefully walked out the locker room door.

Mom was already waiting for me in the parking lot when I stepped outside. I tossed my backpack and gym bag in the trunk before sitting down in the passenger seat.

“How was practice?”


I decided not to mention the fall I had taken. No need to give mom something else to worry about. The note about the error in the history quiz grade was something I was going to save for a more opportune moment. I couldn’t dare waste my one golden shot at being allowed to have a sleepover.

“Drink that,” mom said, pointing to a thermos in the cup tray that was filled with a thick, green liquid.

What is mom trying to feed me, pond scum? Mom glared at me after seeing my look of disgust.

“It’s a kale smoothie. Don’t give me that face. It’s got banana, pineapple and lime in it too. Make sure you finish it before we get home.”

Mom’s health-nut phase hadn’t been such a big deal when it had been focused on making us eat veggies or avoid junk food, but this was just too much.

I had just about fifteen minutes until we were back home so picking up the cup with a bit of trepidation, I slowly raised the glass to my lips. Hmm. Not as bad as I thought. Sweet, with just a little bit of a bitter aftertaste. I gradually finished the smoothie in tiny sips. I didn’t want to give mom the satisfaction of knowing that she was right about the taste. Who knows what other crazy ideas she might come up with.

Emilia was strapped into a car-seat in the middle of the back row. Her hair was in pigtails with rainbow beads at the end. She was wearing denim overalls, but the watch on her arm was missing. That wasn’t her typical outfit. Mom was discreet about pull-ups when we were out and about. She didn’t care to show the whole world that a daughter that old still wasn’t toilet trained, but usually the clothing was something that could be removed with ease in case the need to go to the bathroom arose. Emilia’s eyes were a bit puffy as well. Guess I wasn’t the only one who had a bad day.

“Emilia had a couple of accidents at daycare, so we’re going to take a rest from potty training for a bit,” mom said nonchalantly.

Drat. Emilia had been making so much progress up until yesterday. And even then, those accidents had really been my fault. Being back in diapers meant Emilia wasn’t allowed to use the toilet at all, so I might be stuck with a messy diaper or two to change before she was back in pull-ups. I tried to give Emilia a sympathetic look. What in the world was going wrong with her?

I finished the smoothie well in advance before we pulled into the driveway. I wasn’t taking any chances with getting on mom’s bad side. I needed to rinse my mouth out as well, because while the smoothie hadn’t tasted too bad while I was drinking it, as soon as it was finished a nasty aftertaste had clung to my mouth and wouldn’t go away. A couple Amazon packages along with a large cardboard box of pull-ups were sitting on the front porch. Mom preferred to do almost all her shopping online.

“Sarah, take Emilia’s pull-ups to your room and unpack them. Also, you need to hop in the shower before you do homework. You really should have done that in the locker room after practice.”

I could get used to communal dressing, but I really was going to draw the line at communal showers. No way I was going to do that. But I would save that battle with mom for another day.

I grabbed the box of pull-ups. Size 4T-5T, 38-50 pounds. Emilia was on the small end of that range. I was familiar with the marketing jingle, “I’m a big kid now,” but even then, the size range was a bit ridiculous. I was skinny enough that they probably would fit me if I ever cared to try. Thankfully, the Minnie Mouse designs were still in vogue. It wouldn’t be good if Emilia were to throw a fit at not being able to have them.

After getting cleaned up, I marched into the living room, all prepared to give the speech I had practiced in the shower about how I had been wrongfully punished and that mom should make it up to me by allowing me to go to a sleepover. Mom was sitting on the couch, cradling Emilia’s head in her lap. She was holding a bottle with a green liquid – I could only assume it was the kale smoothie – up to Emilia’s mouth.

My sister looked miserable. I don’t blame her. Being stuck in diapers was bad enough, but that also meant that mom was going to completely baby her until tomorrow night. Emilia wouldn’t be allowed to do anything for herself, so no feeding, dressing or using the potty while she was at home.

I took a deep breath to begin my speech, but mom got the first word.

“Sarah, there you are. It’s about time. You shouldn’t be so wasteful with those long showers. Can you finish feeding Sarah and then get her changed? I’ve got to get started on dinner.”

That has to be one of mom’s favorite excuses for handing Emilia off to me. I take mom’s place on the couch. Only about a third of the bottle is remaining.

“I’m not thirsty,” Emilia said. “I don’t wanna. Yucky.”

I looked over my shoulder. Mom was already out of sight and out of hearing range in the kitchen. I twisted off the lid of the bottle and chugged the remaining smoothie in a single gulp.

I replaced the empty bottle in Emilia’s mouth with a pacifier. Toddler Emilia just used a pacifier at night, but baby Emilia had to have it in all the time. I could feel something squish when I put my hand underneath Emilia’s bottom to carry her to the bedroom. No wonder mom wanted to hand her off to me. I did my best to clean up the messy diaper quickly. Thank goodness it hadn’t been a blowout.

With the dirty diaper safely in the bin, I picked Emilia up, settled her on my lap, and gave her a big hug.

“I’m sorry mom had to put you back in diapers, sis.”

“I hate diapers.”

I squeezed Emilia even tighter as I felt her tears roll onto my shoulder. Taking a fresh wipe, I cleared the tears off her face.

“You just make it through tomorrow, and we’ll work extra hard on getting you potty trained after that. You can do it. I believe in you.”

Once Emilia had crawled back to the living room – babies aren’t allowed to walk – I moved to my desk, opened Chrome and went to Google. We’d tried all the traditional potty-training methods, so maybe it was time to do something a little different. I wonder what I can find. I typed “3-year-old can’t potty train” into the search bar and began going through the results – mostly links to parenting forums – one by one I clicked on the links and searched through the suggestions. I sighed. It was just more of the same. Reward charts. Potty training schedules. Laxatives. Wait, laxatives, what are those?

Another Google search gave me an answer. Well, this would be an interesting conversation with mom when she checks my internet history. A lot of the forum members seemed adamant that their child’s potty-training problem was the result of backed-up bowels.

I looked at the potty-training chart for the past month. Sure enough, Emilia was only making two or three bowel movements a week. I felt bad at the idea of making her take laxatives, that was bound to be a messy experience, but if it resulted in getting her fully potty-trained it would be so worth it.

I was busy with my research when I was struck with an immediate, burning urge to pee. I stoop up instinctively and made it halfway to the bedroom door before I began to lose control. The sudden sensation of the warm urine spreading through my panties and jeans was so foreign to me. I squeezed my legs together as tight as I could. I got the flow to come to a stop after a couple seconds, but not before the damage had already been done. A large wet spot was still gradually expanding around my crotch, and a small puddle had formed on the floor beneath my legs.

I stripped off my jeans and panties, using them to soak up the puddle on the floor and wipe myself down before burying them in my hamper. Never before have I been so grateful that mom makes me do my own laundry. I grabbed a pair of jeans that most closely resembled the ones I had wet – hopefully mom won’t notice that change – and got cleaned up before mom or Emilia had a chance to enter the room. I peed myself. Like. I actually just peed my pants. My brain was working in overdrive trying to process what had just happened.

My mind was still aflutter as I finished doing my business on the toilet. What in the world is going on? I had never had any trouble holding my bladder. My friends all joked that I must have a bladder of steel, yet the urge to pee had come on so suddenly and strongly that I hadn’t been able to do anything about it.

As I hauled my hamper off to the living room, I made sure mom saw what I was up to. Doing laundry unprompted couldn’t hurt in my attempts to get her into a good mood. I still needed to ask her about the sleepover later tonight, after all.

I emptied out the contents of the hamper into the washing machine, added a little more detergent than usual – just in case – and turned it all the way up to the deep clean setting. I stayed to watch as the machine filled with water, soaking all of the clothes and removing any last evidence of the accident.


Chapter 5: Eureka

Mom was the only one of us enjoying dinner. I unenthusiastic poked away at the taco casserole – is mom really capable of making anything other than casserole? Despite the heavy workout from earlier today, I just wasn’t feeling all that hungry. Mom’s constant babying of Emilia was getting on my already stressed out nerves. I had been potty-trained young enough that I had no recollection of ever wetting myself during the day. I was both relieved that I’d managed to avoid Emilia or mom noticing and perturbed that it had even happened.

“Choo choo! The spoon train is coming through,” mom cooed at Emilia, who is sitting in a highchair with a bib around her neck.

I caught myself just as I was starting to roll my eyes. It’s a spoon, not an airplane, train, or boat.

Mom slid a spoonful of casserole into Emilia’s mouth, wiping it against the top of her lip as she pulled the spoon out. Since my three-and-a-half-year-old sister is back in diapers for the time being – most likely through tomorrow night – she isn’t allowed to do anything herself. I’d already had to endure ten minutes of mom making cutesy faces and noises as she coaxed Emilia into eating her supper.

I didn’t get the point of what mom was doing. So what if Emilia had a couple of accidents at preschool today, putting her back in diapers and treating her like a baby was still interrupting the progress we had been making toward potty-training. There had been a couple times in the past few weeks where it felt like we might be on the verge of a breakthrough. Now, I worried that Emilia might become too discouraged to even try.

At the beginning of dinner, Emilia had thrown a tantrum about being fed like this, but the threat of another spanking, which would be her second for the day, was now keeping her in line. I watched as Emilia squirmed in her seat. Though I’d changed her less than an hour ago, the diaper was almost certainly wet again, at least a little. Even while potty-training she’d only be able to last about a half-hour before needing to go. But while in diapers, Emilia was only getting changed about every two hours, which at this point meant she’d remain in the same diaper until her pre-bedtime bath.

As mom laughed while feeding Emilia, she seemed genuinely happy with babying arrangement. With mom in as good of a mood as I’d seen her be in the past week, now was my time to strike. The revelation that I hadn’t actually deserved the spanking I’d received last night would hopefully be enough to get mom to do me a favor and allow me to go on my first ever sleepover.

“Mr. Higgins handed back our history quiz grades today. I found out I actually had gotten a perfect grade on that quiz I told you about last night. He told me that he’d just made a mistake when he had posted the results online.”


That’s all she had to say? Not, “I’m sorry I gave you the worst spanking of your life.” Not, “What can I do to make it up for you?” This was not getting off to a promising start.

“So… I was thinking you might be able to make it up to me by letting me go to a sleepover at Samantha’s place.”

Desi would be there as well, but mom viewed Desi as a bad influence, so having mom know about that wouldn’t increase my odds of success.

“It’s not my fault you told me right away about the grade rather than checking with Mr. Higgins first. You need to be more careful next time. And I’ll let you go to a sleepover when you are old enough to, not any sooner.”

“But he’d never posted my grades wrong before. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t right?”

“And he’d never given you a ‘C’ before. That should have made you want to double check.”

Mom wasn’t budging. Every last one of my arguments were defeated. I had gone into battle with the perfect plan and couldn’t stomach the thought that I would be forced into a retreat.

I’m not usually one for thinking quick on my feet, after all, that’s what had gotten me into that mess last night in the first place, but if there ever a time to say that a metaphorical lightbulb had gone off in my head this was it. I’ve stumbled across the magic phrase that could make mom do a complete turnaround of her opinion. If this doesn’t work, I swear I’ll give up at any hope of ever going on a sleepover.

“How am I supposed to survive living in a college dorm if I’ve never had any experience with being away from home?”

Bingo. After all these years I’d finally stumbled across the argument that might convince her to let me go to a sleepover. One of my mom’s biggest obsessions was that I be able to go to a good college. That’s why she hounded me about my grades and administered strict discipline when the scores weren’t perfect. I’d just pitted mom’s hopes for my future against her desire for control and watched as her face transitioned from disapproving scowl to something close to approval. I knew right then that it was only a matter of time before I’d get a sleepover.

“Mom, I’ve never spent a night away from home ever in my life. I’m going to have to learn how to do it sometime.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m glad you’re wanting to prepare for college, but you’re still only a freshman.”

I’d hoped for a “Yes,” but that was still preferable to “No.” Well, I’d better be on my best behavior the next couple of days so that she makes the right decision.

I texted Samantha and Desi the news about the sleepover request – minus the part about yesterday’s spanking. There was so much that we needed to get planned. What snacks to eat. What movies to watch. Maybe we could do each other’s hair and make-up. Their parents gave them much more leeway with that than mom did.

Emilia usually goes to bed about two hours before me, which means I’m then kicked out of the bedroom until it is my turn to go to sleep. With mom currently giving Emilia her bath, judging from the faint splashing noises from the bathroom that I could just make out, that leaves me with about thirty minutes until I have to relocate to the living room. With all my homework assignments done for the night – and double and triple checked to make sure they were done correctly – I had just enough time for one round of Fortnite. I couldn’t quite figure out how I’d gotten mom to allow me to play it. She normally is pretty opposed to any kind of violent video games.

I signed into my account – dragongirl27972 – and jumped in the queue for a solo round. I’d rather do duo or squads, but finding good people to play with online is hard, and I didn’t want a random teammate to ruin my one game of the evening. I had tried a while back to get to get Desi and Samantha to join in on Fortnite. That had been an utter failure.

The game began. 100 players. It’s a fight to the death. Last one standing wins. I preferred to wait as long as I could before jumping off the bus to a potential landing spot. I surveyed my possible destinations: “Craggy Cliffs” or “Steamy Stacks.” The power plant was too enticing to pass up, even if it looked like a lot of players were also gliding that way. It was a risky, but potentially rewarding situation. After I landed, I raced my character from room to room. I wouldn’t survive if I wasn’t able to get some weapons to arm myself. Finally, I found a chest at the bottom of a stairwell and opened it to reveal a couple of rare guns.

Bam, bam, bam. Shotgunned in the back. Game over. 87th place. The game wasn’t nearly as easy as the YouTubers I like to watch made it seem like. I’d had a streak of bad luck recently too. Maybe I should just stick to Minecraft.

Mom carried Emilia, who was just wrapped in a towel, into the bedroom and got her diapered and dressed for bed while I closed out a much more peaceful game of Minecraft. I wish mom had gotten me a laptop rather than a desktop, so I could continue my games once Emilia was asleep. After placing Emilia in the crib, mom raised the lowered bar to its normal height. That would prevent Emilia from making any of her normal nighttime excursions. At least I’ll be able to sleep soundly tonight without her trying to crawl into my bed.

Mom began to read Emilia a bedtime story – something about a hungry caterpillar – when I got up from my desk and started to make my way to the living room. As I stepped into the hallway, I felt another sudden urge come from my bladder. The pressure to go wasn’t nearly as strong as when I’d wet my pants before dinner, but still was urgent enough that I rushed to the toilet as fast as I could. Normally, I’d only feel this way if I’d skipped going to the bathroom at school altogether.

This is so strange. I usually only go to the bathroom a couple of times a day, but this is the third time I’ve had to go already since coming home from school, and I still have two hours until bedtime. The trickle that I managed to pee out didn’t seem to match the intensity of feeling that I had to go.

I waited in the living room until mom had finished wrapping up with Emilia’s bedtime routine. I needed to find a way to get my sister potty-trained. I explained to mom what I’d learned in the potty-training research I’d done before dinner. Mom didn’t seem too interested with the idea of laxatives.

“There’s no excuse for a three-year-old not to be potty-trained. She’s just being lazy. Your sister needs the right motivation. I hope this punishment reminds her that wearing diapers and being a baby isn’t as fun as being a big girl.”

I recalled how upset Emilia gets when she has an accident. I didn’t think she wasn’t trying hard to potty-train.

“Did I give you any trouble during potty-training?”

“Not a bit. We went to the store, picked out your big girl panties, and, besides from at night, you never had a single accident since.”

If only she knew. I untangled some headphones I’d pulled from my pocket and turned on Spotify. I had no interest in any of the soap operas that mom liked to watch once Emilia was asleep. I read a book for about two hours, slipping away in the middle once again to go to the bathroom. I’d like to stay up later, but if it was time for mom to go to bed then it was time for me to do so as well.

“Make sure to go to the toilet before you get in bed,” mom shouted behind me as I left the living room.

What was it, like five years since I had last wet the bed?

With my back toward her, I safely rolled my eyes. I might have stopped to use the bathroom if mom hadn’t reminded me to. Going to the toilet last thing before bed was a well-ingrained habit. But having mom remind me to go to the toilet – Hello, I’m fourteen – rubbed me the wrong way.

I didn’t feel the need to go at the moment anyway so I bypassed the bathroom. I changed into my pajamas – a pair a shorts and a tank-top – in the dark with the help of a nightlight so as not to wake Emilia and climbed into bed. I laid down on my stomach as my butt was still too sore to allow me to sleep on my back and drifted off to sleep, hopeful that tomorrow’s cheerleading practice would go better than the first one.


this is a good story, I like it.

Chapter 6: Bad Dreams

I dreamed a distorted conglomeration of the previous days’ events. In history class, Mr. Higgins was again denying a student her God-given right to go to the bathroom. But instead of Lisa, this time it was me. Both hall passes were gone as I begged him continuously to leave. I wiggled constantly in my seat as I tried to calm my bladder, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Just pee yourself,” he said.

“Just pee yourself, pee yourself, pee yourself,” the class chanted back at me.

Tears in my eyes, I hobbled toward the door with my knees clenched together.

“Oh, come on, just pee yourself,” Lisa shouted after me.

Samantha and Desi laughed as I fumbled to get the door open.

My dreamed turned me back to my bedroom. Then the urge to pee struck harder, just like it had yesterday evening. I turned to leave my bedroom and get to the toilet, but Emilia was already in the bathroom. I knocked and knocked and she wouldn’t open the door.

“Just pee yourself,” Emilia shouted at me through the door. You can just go in your pull-ups.

“I’m fourteen. I don’t wear pull-ups.”

But I looked down and my pajama shorts had been replaced with my sister’s pull-ups. They somehow fit. Minnie Mouse was grinning up at me. I swear she winked.

I went back out to the hallway, but instead of my home I was again back at school in my cheerleading outfit. I was running through the school hallways, but I kept finding that each bathroom door was locked shut.

The echoes of my classmates’ chants just wouldn’t stop.

“Just pee yourself, pee yourself, pee yourself.”

At last, I made it to the locker room, which, surprisingly enough, was unlocked. I raced to the toilets, relief was in sight. Then the tiles beneath my feet turned into the hands of the girls on my cheerleading squad. Those hands gave way and I was falling, falling, falling, falling. No end in sight.

“Just pee yourself, pee yourself, pee yourself.”

I continued falling. The urge to pee was no longer present. I landed awake in my bed.

The nightmare over, I looked up groggily at my alarm clock – 6:37 a.m. – couldn’t I have gotten another seven minutes of sleep. I rubbed my eyes open. That was such as strange dream. I felt something heavy against my back. Oh great, Emilia is in bed with me. Mom isn’t going to be pleased. As I tried to move into a more comfortable position in which to spend my last few minutes asleep, I felt a wet and slightly warm sensation. Emilia’s diaper must have leaked all over me. Yuck. Now I had to do laundry as well before getting ready for school. May as well just get on with it.

I pulled the cover and sheets back to reveal a much larger wet spot than I had expected to find. I examined the bed. There was no question as to what had just happened. The wet spot was directly beneath me and covered way more of the bed than a diaper leak could possibly have done. I gave Emilia’s bottom a quick pat. Yep, her diaper was still on. That meant only one thing. I had just wet the bed. I had actually wet the bed. What in the world?

The urge to pee hadn’t just been a dream. Those dreams about needing to pee were the ones I had always had when I was younger. Back when I had been a bedwetter. How did this happen? I remembered last night. I had chosen not to go to the bathroom before getting into bed. I guess going over five years without any nighttime accidents has made me a bit careless. Well, I won’t be making that mistake again.

I gave Emilia a slight nudge. Still asleep, she didn’t stir at all. That gives me some time to figure out how to extricate my self from this predicament. What to do? What to do? I couldn’t dare let mom find out. If she discovered that I’d wet the bed that would be the perfect excuse for her to forbid me from ever going on a sleepover ever again. Why hadn’t I just gone to the toilet last night like I normally did? I could have avoided all this trouble if I’d just done that. Whatever I did I wanted to do it quickly. The sensation of the wet clothing sticking against my skin was becoming uncomfortable as it cooled.

The fact that Emilia had snuck into bed was my saving grace. I could just tell mom that Emilia’s diaper had leaked and that would be the end of it. Emilia’s nightgown had gotten wet enough on the outside that it would be a believable excuse. Over for me at least. Mom wasn’t going to be happy with Emilia.

I didn’t want Emilia to get in trouble, but in this case it wasn’t going to be avoidable. Normally, if she had crawled in my bed when she had been told not to leave the crib I might admonish her gently, but I would still put her back in the crib without telling mom what happened. Of course, that’s what probably lead her to believe she could get away with it again tonight. I wondered what mom would do when she finds out. Probably a spanking. Hopefully, mom won’t be too hard on her.

I gave Emilia a gentle shake until she at last opened her eyes.

“Come on sis. We need to get you up. Your diaper leaked. You got me and the bed all wet.”

I didn’t bother changing Emilia into a clean diaper and outfit yet. I needed to make sure mom saw the evidence.

“You know what mom said about staying in your crib.”

“But I had a scary dream. Mommy never stopped making me wear diapers.”

I hugged Emilia as she began to cry. Potty training is getting on her nerves as much as it has been getting on mine.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you potty trained. But you’ve got to obey mom as well. We’ll need to go tell her what you did.”

“Please don’t tell. Please.”

“But Emilia, your diaper leaked. How am I supposed to explain to mom that my bed is all wet? I’m too old to do that anymore.”

Well, until this morning I was, but Emilia didn’t need to know that. She started to walk toward the kitchen with a resigned look on her face. My little sister just couldn’t avoid getting herself in trouble.

“Emilia, you know mom’s rules. Babies don’t walk. They have to crawl.”

Emilia got on the floor without protesting, but from her pouting face I could tell she was unhappy with me. Whatever. I’d just saved her from the additional punishment that she would have gotten had she gone walking into the kitchen out of line with mom’s rules.

“All I want for Christmas is…”

It’s not even 7 a.m. yet, and that’s what mom has playing on the speakers as she’s cutting up grapefruit for breakfast. All I wanted was for mom to forgot about Christmas. At least until November.

At the sight of Emilia and her wet nightgown, Mom accepted my explanation for the wet bed without any questioning. I hurried to take the sheets to the washing machine before mom had a chance to realize that the wet spot was far larger than what would have come from a leaky diaper.

The morning shower felt better than normal. It feels so good to get clean. Even with the water rushing down on top of me in the shower, I could still make out Emilia’s crying as mom administered a spanking. I felt bad for Emilia, but at least this would teach her to stay in her crib for a while. I’m looking forward to the idea of having a few nights in bed to myself.

The fact that I had to start my school day with my least favorite class sucked. AP Lit was a bore. The only redeeming factor was that Mrs. Whittleworth was incredibly easygoing and lenient. Not nearly as bad as the horror stories I’d heard about other teachers for advanced placement classes. If only the material was as easy.

I sat in the front of the class with Desi and Samantha. We’d spent the whole bus ride to school planning out every detail of the coming sleepover. It was going to be awesome. I’d told them that nothing was set in stone yet, but they assured me that they would be flexible to host whenever mom was OK with allowing me to come. I was hopeful that I’d have a decision by tonight.

The urge to urinate began growing about halfway through the first period. Good grief. I’d only had a glass of orange juice and half a grapefruit for breakfast, nothing different than usual. It’s OK, only twenty-five more minutes left. No reason I can’t make it that long. The clock at the front of the class moved at an agonizingly slow pace. Tick. Tick. Tick. This was Samantha’s favorite class, so of course she had to insist that we sit in the front row. If I left now to go to the bathroom everyone would see me. So embarrassing.

I wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of a daytime accident had it not been for what had happened yesterday evening, when I had wet myself in my room. I would have just continued to sit in my seat and hold it in, confident that my bladder of steel would hold out until the bell rung.

But now there was doubt creeping in. Having experienced a moment where I had lost control, I couldn’t be completely sure it wouldn’t happen again. Wetting myself? In front of my friends and the class? That would be worse, so much worse than the awkwardness of leaving to go to the toilet for a few minutes.

Twenty minutes till the class is over. Has it only been five minutes? That isn’t possible. I took a glance back at the hooks next to the door. Both hall passes were still hanging there. Mrs. Whittleworth continued to prattle on about “Crime and Punishment.” Couldn’t I just read for fun? Why did every single detail have to have meaning?

Ugh, I bet everyone can see how I’m squirming trying to keep my bladder from exploding. I didn’t have a choice but to get up and go to the bathroom. An accident in school would be the end of me. Desi gave me a quizzical look as I stood up and walked by her desk. I fought the urge to run and walked with a steady pace toward the door. The girl’s hall pass was still there. Thank goodness.

Lisa was sitting in her normal seat in the desk closest to the door. She had almost started to get out of her seat. Did she want the hall pass as well? Too bad.

I couldn’t help but recall how my dream had interrupted what Mr. Higgins had said to her the other day.

“Just pee yourself, just pee yourself, just pee yourself.”

No. I’m fourteen. And I’m not going to pee my pants.

I stepped out into the hallway and glanced both directions. No one was there. The coast is clear. I did a quiet, semi-sprint down the hallway to the bathrooms. Getting up and running had only hastened the urge to go, as if my bladder knew the moment of relief was approaching quickly. The bathroom doors weren’t locked. I pulled down my pants and underwear and collapsed onto the toilet seat in a single motion. It turned out that I hadn’t given myself a moment to spare. A second later and I would have had a wet pair of pants that would be extremely difficult to explain.

I didn’t hurry back to the classroom immediately. I mean, if I’m going to go to the trouble of taking a hall pass to leave AP Lit, I may as well get the full eight minutes out of it.

I was just about to pull the bathroom door open when someone on the other side pushed the door open hard and knocked me onto the floor. Ouch, my butt was still too sore for that.

It was Lisa. Mrs. Whittleworth had let her out? Without a hall pass?

“Sorry. Sorry,” Lisa said, stepping by me.

Lisa hurried into an empty stall without so much as stopping to help me up.

I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go.


Chapter 7: Drastic Measures

I sat on the toilet for what was now the fourth time today at school. I’d had a couple of close calls, but nothing nearly as bad as what had happened in first period. There had at least been time to go to the bathroom between classes without the embarrassment of having to grab a hall pass in front of everyone again. This must be how Emilia feels needing to go every thirty minutes.

There wasn’t any way that Desi and Samantha could have failed to notice all my runs to the bathroom, but if they thought something was off, they hadn’t mentioned it to me yet.

After first period I was much more careful. I limited myself to taking just a handful of sips from the drinking fountain and hadn’t touched the water jug I always carried with me in my backpack. My mouth was beginning to feel dry. I didn’t like the thought of trying to make it through cheerleading practice while being this dehydrated, but I could always wait and drink up right before it starts.

I had expected the lack of fluids to cut off any need to go, but if anything, the urge to urinate was stronger, even if I was only making small trickles of pee into the toilet. I squeezed out every last drop that I could before pulling my pants up again. I wasn’t taking any chances in history class. Not with that sadist Mr. Higgins. Who tells teenagers to pee their pants anyway?

My friends were already in their seats waiting for me in the back row of the class. Lisa was again sitting in the chair to my left, chewing on her nails while busy playing a game on her phone.

“Have you been feeling OK?” Samantha asked as I sat down. “That’s like only your fifth bathroom trip today.”

“My fourth, but, yeah, I’m doing OK.”

She gave me a sly look. I’m a bad liar. I knew she didn’t believe me.

“I saw this on the wall. Thought it might cheer you up.”

Samantha handed me a flyer with the school logo on it. Fortnite? As a new school sports team? No way.

“Apparently, it’s a big thing now,” Samantha continued. “Didn’t you hear, there was a kid who’d won like a million bucks or something in a tournament.”

I laughed. The winner of that massive tournament had actually come away with three million dollars. And yes, I’d watched the matches live.

“Nah, I’m not nearly that good.”

“They are going to have girls and boys teams. You know, Title 9 and all. You should give that a shot.”

I was a bit skeptical, but wait. If I did make it on the Fortnite team, wouldn’t that require mom to let me “practice?” That might be worth a shot after all, even if my chances might be slim.

“Um, excuse me… could I, maybe, see that flyer?”

I turned to see Lisa leaning over, taking a look at the Fortnite flyer I was holding. I guess she’d been eavesdropping on our conversation.

“You play?”

“Yeah, a little.”

With a long-sleeved, flower-patterned dress – I can’t recall ever seeing Lisa wearing pants – she didn’t fit exactly with the image of a stereotypical gamer-girl. Not that that was a look I tried to go for myself. I handed the flyer over to her.

Mr. Higgins stepped to the front of the classroom.

“Settle down everyone. Settle down. Back row. Cut the chatter. Thank-you.”

The class passed by without incident. I was much less stressed out. Going to the bathroom beforehand had been a good idea. Like yesterday, Lisa slipped out in the middle of the class to go the bathroom. Only this time a hall pass was readily available for her.

After class, Desi and Samantha tagged along as I walked toward the locker room for cheerleading process.

“Lisa is such a weirdo. Imagine getting stuck on a team with her,” Samantha said.

Tactful isn’t exactly a word anyone would use to describe Samantha.

“What?” I replied.

“She’s such a loner. I swear, I hadn’t heard her speak to anyone besides a teacher until today.”

“So? Mr. Higgins told me her parents had passed away over the summer. I’m sure she has a lot on her mind.”

“Did he tell you what happened to them?” Samantha asked, a little too eagerly.

“No. Why?”

Samantha is always fascinated by crime dramas. Her mother is an assistant county prosecutor after all. Death. Crime. Murder. Mystery. She lives for that kind of stuff.

“I overheard mom mentioning something about them in passing. No details about what happened. Just that it was pretty messed up. Mom wouldn’t even tell me anymore when I asked about it.”

That’s good for Lisa, because Samantha would then have been blabbing it all over the school.

“Exactly, now don’t be so mean,” Desi said.

Lisa came running up behind us. The flyer waving in her hand. I hoped she hadn’t overheard anything from our conversation.

“Here’s the flyer. Sorry, I had forgotten to give it back to you,” Lisa said, handing the paper to me.

“You going to try out for the team?”

“I think so, if Uncle Higgins lets me.”

“That will be fun. Maybe we’ll both get on it together.”

Coach Addison looked relieved when I entered the locker room. Did she think I’d gotten scared off? While the fall had been a little frightening, I was certainly more scared of what mom would do were I to quit the team than of what would happen if I were to have another nasty fall. That would be the mother-of-all-spankings.

I’d given myself more time to get dressed than yesterday. As I discreetly switched into my cheerleading outfit for the first time, a couple of teammates took a look at the bruise on my hip. They were pretty impressed. It had just begun to fade, but probably wouldn’t fully go away for at least a couple of weeks. The cheerleading outfit wasn’t as bad as I had feared. The fit was just a little loose, but much more discreet than I had thought it would be. No chance of me flashing my panties at anyone.

The only person who didn’t seem happy to see me was Claire, the other freshman on the squad. She gave me a frosty hello when I arrived at the locker next to her. What was her deal about?

I made sure to take several large gulps from my water jug. Having had almost next to nothing to drink since breakfast, the water felt so good. With cheerleading practice being twice as long as any of my classes, I slipped off to the toilet – now for the fifth time at school – before heading out with the team to the field.

If anything, the second day of cheerleading practice was worse than the first. My legs ached. My butt ached. Every muscle in my body ached. Even the ones I couldn’t name. Especially the ones I couldn’t name. Life would have been so much better had I just intentionally flunked the tryout, no matter how unhappy that would have made mom.

For this practice, what we were focusing on was practicing our intro for the football game. There was a hoop with streamers strung all a crossed it that we had to jump and somersault through. The first couple of tries were a bit rough, but by the third time through I was getting the hang of it.

I was running toward the hoop, ready to tumble through, when my foot got tangled with the leg of one of the girls who was holding it, Claire. I managed to make it through the hoop, but tripped afterword and landed on my face. At least this time I was falling on grass and not a hard surface.

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” Claire said, reaching down to offer me a hand.

The look on her face – a smug smile that she couldn’t quite hide – didn’t make it seem like she is sorry at all. What’s her deal?

That was the only mishap at practice, which, I guess, when compared to yesterday wasn’t bad at all. With practice nearly over, I realized that the sensation to pee hadn’t come even a little. There were some porta potties at the edge of the field that I could have gone to in an emergency, but I was glad I hadn’t had to use them. I’d sweat so much during practice that I guess there wasn’t anything left to come out. Back in the locker room, I chugged down some more water. The workout had made me even thirstier.

I watched as most of the other girls ran off to the showers. I knew mom wasn’t going to be happy if I waited to shower at home, but it was going to be probably another day or two until it was safe to show my butt in public, and even without that concern, I just didn’t like the idea of being nude around so many other people. I’d just have to risk whatever punishment mom gave me.

“But I was going to shower once I got home.”

“No buts, young lady. You do remember what I told you?”

Now that was a trick question if there ever was one. Saying you forgot a rule was just as bad as remembering the rule and choosing not to follow it.

“Yes,” I answered. There wasn’t any getting out of this.

“Tomorrow you’ll shower in the locker room like everyone else, but since you don’t seem to want to keep yourself clean, I’m going to get you cleaned up before dinner. Until then, you are going to stand in the corner until I say you can move.”

I was really needing to begin to pee. It felt as if the water I had drunk at the end of practice had already raced down to my bladder, but I couldn’t tell that to mom. She’d probably just extend the punishment rather than shortening it. I heard mom walk off toward the bathroom, followed by the sound of the tub filling up with water. I relaxed. Making me take a bath was not near as bad a punishment as getting spanked or grounded. I did my best to refrain from any sort of potty dance. With my face to the corner I couldn’t tell if mom or Emilia was watching me.

At last, the sound of the water rushing out of the faucet stopped and mom called me into the bathroom. The tub was filled with pink bubbles. Well, as long as it isn’t too hot or cold I can deal with a bubble bath.

I started to undress myself when mom slapped at my wrist to stop me.

“No, keep your hands still. You’re not bathing yourself. I am doing it for you.”

As mom put her thumbs under the edge of my shirt, getting ready to pull it off over my head, I realized something I had forgotten. The bruise! How on earth was I going to explain that to her without causing even more trouble? I angled myself away from her slightly so she wouldn’t see the bruise right way.

Mom pulled off my shirt and bra, followed by my shorts and underwear and tossed them in a heap in the corner. I shivered. The room was cold without any clothing on. I wanted to get in the water so badly, but I knew better than to do anything before mom told me to do it.

“Get in.”

I stepped toward the tub, exposing the bruised side despite my best efforts to keep it out of mom’s sight.

“My goodness! What happened?”

I did my best to sidestep the question.

“Mom, cheerleading is a sport. It can be dangerous. Remember, you had to sign the safety waiver? Coach checked me out. I’m fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. Besides, everyone ends up taking a tumble at one point or another. I just happened to get it out of the way at the start.”

Mom looked over the bruise for a couple more seconds, then reached out her hand to feel it. That hurt. The spot was still tender, but I gritted my teeth to avoid making any noises. She didn’t need to know how bad it was.

“Next time, you need to tell me right away if you get hurt at all during practice.”

“Yes, mom.”

“Get in the water.”

I dipped my toe in the water. Warm. Bordering on hot, but not too much that I couldn’t bear it. I sat down in the water, letting the bubbles cover my body. I had thought they were childish at first, but now I was grateful for the amount of privacy the bubbles were providing for me. I could feel my muscles began to relax. It had been a couple of years since my last bath. Why didn’t I do this more often?

In my concern about my bruise, I had temporarily forgotten that I had the need to pee. I hoped mom got over with the bath soon so I could get to the toilet.

The rest of the bath was miserable. Mom’s hands roughly sudsed my shoulder-length hair with shampoo, kneading through it painfully. After getting my hair rinsed, she wasn’t any gentler with the shower sponge, scrubbing painful against my skin.

I giggled as mom scrubbed my armpits. I’m ticklish in a lot of places, but that is the worst. Then I gasped, I was certain I had just peed myself, but beneath the bubbles and soapy water there wasn’t any way to ascertain what had happened.

“What was that noise about?”

“Nothing, it just hurt a little, that’s all.”

I remained silent and compliant as mom finished washing me.

Alone in my room, with dinner and homework both done, I recounted the past day. I’d peed myself three times. Once in my bedroom. Once while I was asleep. And once during the bath. Besides that I’d had a number of super close calls. Something is seriously wrong with me, but what? I couldn’t tell mom. Disciplinarian is her only mode. I shuddered to think at what punishments she’d come up with if she’d known about all those accidents.

I doubted she would take me to the hospital. The only times I’d ever gone were for school-mandated vaccinations or physicals. Mom had hemmed and hawed at the physical I had to do before being allowed to participate in the cheerleading tryout, but in the end she had relented. Whatever fix mom was sure to try and implement on her own wouldn’t be pleasant.

But I’ve got no room for error. One slip up. One pair of wet pants at the wrong place and the wrong time and I’m done for. At the rate I’m going it’s bound to happen sooner rather than later. I’ve been super lucky to have avoided any of my accidents being discovered.

Mom had just started Emilia’s bath. She would bring a book to read while Emilia splashed, played, and eventually got all washed and scrubbed. That usually took about thirty minutes, certainly not less than twenty. Mom would never leave Emilia alone by herself in the tub, which gave me plenty of time for what I was about to do.

I had an idea. A crazy, stupid, embarrassing, reckless idea. But if I could pull it off, it might just buy me time to figure out how to get back to using the toilet like normal.

I pulled open the top drawer of Emilia’s dresser with trepidation. With the box that had come in yesterday, it was packed completely with pull-ups and diapers. Do I really want to go through with this? What if someone notices? But peeing my pants would be even more noticeable. If tomorrow was anything like today, I didn’t like my odds of avoiding an accident.

I skimmed through the myriad of pull-up designs. May as well take one that Emilia is less likely to want to use. I settled on a classic: Ariel. I wasn’t big on Disney, but “The Little Mermaid” was one of my favorites. I picked up the pull-up and gave the sides a gentle stretch. They pulled apart further than I thought they could and didn’t show any signs of ripping. OK, OK. I took a deep breath. This might actually work. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The design is actually quite adorable. I wouldn’t mind the look if it were panties. But despite whatever the ads wanted to say, a pull-up is still a diaper, just one that is disguised for big girls.

I pulled off my jeans and paused. I didn’t want to go through with this. I really, really didn’t. But I couldn’t see any other choice. All the alternatives were far worse. I removed my panties as well and then slid the pull-up up my legs.

The pull-up fit well enough. It felt somewhat restraining, but the sides hadn’t ripped. I was a bit relieved. It was not much different than if I’d had an overly large pad strapped between my legs. However, I didn’t dare turn and look myself in the mirror. I didn’t want to see how it looked on me. Not yet.

I moved and walked around the room. Spun around in a circle. Stretched. Did a couple of jumping jacks. The pull-up remained snug around my hips. But there was one more question that needed answering, and I couldn’t risk waiting until I was stuck in class without the ability to go to the bathroom to find out. I had reached the point of desperation that I was willing to try almost anything.

Peeing had come so easily the past day that it caught me by surprise that I was having any problems doing so right now. Despite a slight feeling of needing to go, it still took a minute before the first trickle of pee came out and turned into a steady stream.

“Just pee yourself, pee yourself, pee yourself.”

I could feel the absorbent material in the pull-up swell and expand against my legs. The wetness indicator was long gone, replaced with a yellow hue. Of all the things that had happened to me in the last twenty-four hours this was, by far, the worst. No amount of humiliation could match how I was feeling right now. Not the spanking in front of my sister. Not the fall during the first cheerleading practice. Not wetting the bed for the first time in five years.

I’m fourteen. I just peed in a pull-up. I wanted to cry.


Chapter 8: Just My Secret

After several moments of silence, I turned, at last, to face myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. My plain, pale-blue t-shirt hung down to my waist, fully exposing the now-sagging pull-up. I could feel how much heavier it had become. I was a sorry sight. I stood still, not moving a muscle, continuing to stare back at my reflection, which now felt better than looking down directly at the pull-up itself, as if doing so provided some distance from what had happened.

What have I done? I’d just peed myself. Like, on purpose. And into a pull-up no less. I felt so gross and disgusting. I’m fourteen. What the hell is wrong with me? There could be no turning back at this point. I’d already committed myself. I couldn’t let my wetting accidents be exposed, and this was the only way I could think of to hide them.

At last, I lowered my eyes and peeked down at floor. Complete dry. The idea had worked at least. The puddle of urine that should have resulted from peeing myself had instead been absorbed by the pull-up. That was all that mattered right now. At least I knew that if I were to have an accident in public, I would be able to escape without anyone noticing it.

The feel of the urine-soaked pull-up against my skin was somehow even more uncomfortable than how I had felt when I had wet my bed last night. I tossed the soaked pull-up in the diaper disposal bin and cleaned myself up with some of Emilia’s wipes. I could hear the sound of mom bathing Emilia coming from the bathroom. The splashes let me know that I still had time to get myself cleaned up.

My panties and jeans lay in a pile on the floor. I could still go back to them. It would only take a few seconds to put them on. I could pretend this hadn’t happened. Pretend that everything is OK. Pretend that I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl who somehow keeps on peeing herself. But I couldn’t. Unless this issue stops as suddenly as it started, I eventually am going to have more accidents. And one those one of those accidents is bound to happen when I am around other people. What then? The sleepover would definitely be a no go. And who at school would want to be friends with someone who pees herself? And Mom? I didn’t want to think about what she would do.

Sometimes you must do the thing you don’t want to do because you realize that the alternative is even worse.

I rubbed a just tiny amount of baby powder around my legs. I knew I needed to avoid any chaffing, but I didn’t want to go around smelling like a baby, either. I slipped a fresh pull-up on – another Ariel. At least it looked cute on me. I pulled my panties over the pull-up. I didn’t need the panties, and they didn’t do much to conceal the pull-up, but I felt better wearing them. I couldn’t bring myself to part with that vestige of being grown up.

That lead to a wry thought about one of mom’s rules for Emilia – just keep your pull-ups dry for seven days and you can wear panties. I hope my luck with that is better than Emilia’s has been.

What to wear to bed? I may as well get my pajamas on now while I have the privacy to change by myself. I didn’t want to risk wearing the shorts I often used at night. They didn’t go up very high on my waist and I was worried they might accidentally expose the pull-up if I were to lean over.

Instead, I opted for a pair of pajama pants and a nightgown that nearly came down to my knees. I gave myself a thorough look-over in the mirror. There was no way anyone could tell that I had a pull-up on. If I listened extremely closely, I could pick up the slightest of rustling sounds while I walked, but I was certain no one would hear, or, if they did, connect the dots to realize I was wearing a pull-up.

With the bath sounding like it was over, I slipped off to the living room so that mom could have the room to herself to get Emilia ready for bed. Even though no one was watching me, I tugged at my pajamas and adjusted them all the way down the hallway, worried that they might somehow expose the pull-up.

I felt so self-conscious when mom entered the room and looked at me. I knew she couldn’t see the pull-ups. She had no reason at all to suspect that I was wearing them. Moms might be able to see out of back of their heads, but their superpowers don’t extend to x-ray vision. I gradually relaxed as it became clear she was none the wiser about my predicament.

I tossed and turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. The feel of the pull-up’s padding between my legs was just enough of a nuisance that I couldn’t get my mind off of it. If the pull-ups weren’t absorbent enough to hold Emilia’s nighttime accidents, I was skeptical they would be any better if I were to wet the bed again. But I wasn’t planning on doing that. I had taken my last drink of water at 7 p.m., three hours before going to bed. When mom reminded me to go to the toilet, I made sure to do so without complaint. I’d learned my lesson with that last night.

Then why was I wearing the pull-up to bed? If I had an accident, it wouldn’t do me much good. And an accident isn’t likely, given all the precautions I’m taking. So why not at least let myself wear panties tonight and worry about the pull-ups tomorrow?

The reality is that I’m scared. Something that had been a certainty in my life – the ability to go to the bathroom when, where and how I wanted – doesn’t exist for the moment. The pull-ups could help me take back a semblance of that control. If I can’t control my accidents, at least I can control who sees them. With those last thoughts I drifted off to sleep.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

I woke up abruptly from a dreamless night.

At least I’d slept until the alarm clock this time. As I jumped up to hit the snooze button, I realized that I had the bed to myself for the first time in a while. Guess the spanking had been good enough motivation for Emilia to stay in her crib for once.

Today’s going to be a good day. I’m going to ask mom about the sleepover. I’ve got another cheerleading practice. I’ll practice some for the Fortnite tryout. My sheets are dry.

The importance of that last detail didn’t stand out to me immediately as I stared down at my sheets – not a wet spot in sight. Then all the memories from yesterday came back in one big rush as I felt a pit grow in my stomach. Had I really had all those accidents? I couldn’t have possibly wet a pull-up? Did I? Could it all have been just one bad dream?

I slid my hand beneath my pajama pants and my heart sank at the obvious evidence. The pull-up was there, but at least it had stayed dry. The momentary relief of not having wet the bed was soon replaced with the dread of the day to come. I am going to wear a pull-up to school today.

Having recently done a fresh load of laundry, I had as many choices as I could want for what to wear. I grabbed my largest hoodie, which would help keep the pull-up out of sight, as well as a looser pair of jeans. I didn’t want anything tight that could expose the outline of the pull-up. I normally would go back to my room to dress after a shower, but instead I brought all my clothing with me to the bathroom to avoid any risk of Emilia waking to the sight of me putting on a pull-up

I inspected the pull-up I had worn all night more carefully after removing my pajamas. Dry, just like I had thought after feeling it in bed. No sign of even a tiny accident overnight. No way was I going to wear this for a week. If I can manage to get through today without any issues I’ll go back to panties.

I checked myself over again after showering and dressing. The pull-up was invisible under my jeans. Seeing how easily I could hide the pull-up made me feel much better about how the school day is going to go.

Emilia was at the edge of her crib, ready to get out, when I returned to the bedroom. She started jumping eagerly when she saw me.

“Sarah! Sarah! Guess what?”

She looked really proud of herself. What’s got her in such a good mood?

“What is it?”

“I’m dry. I didn’t potty all night.”

I needed proof before I’d believe that. I’ve heard her make that claim a few times when actually she just couldn’t feel that the diaper had been wet. I picked her up and set her down on the changing mat on the bed before pulling back her nightgown. Wow, the diaper is dry.

“Ahh. Good job. Now you just need to start staying dry during the day and you’ll be in big girl panties in no time.”

With Emilia’s punishment for having too many accidents now over. I grabbed a pull-up with Ariel on it. I know that’s not the one Emilia wants, but the thought of us having matching pull-ups while re-starting potty training is a bit amusing. I’d have called the situation ironic, except, as I’d recently learned in AP Lit, coincidences don’t count.

I gave Emilia a pat on her pull-up as I sent her off to get whatever mom was making for breakfast. With her out of the way, I had one more thing to do to get ready for school. I grabbed three more pull-ups from Emilia’s dresser – two with Minnie Mouse and one with a children’s cartoon character I didn’t know the name of – to tuck at the bottom of the backpack. I had no plans on using the pull-up I had on – accidentally or otherwise – but that didn’t mean I was going to take the risk of not having a backup.

The scent of something cooking on the stove began to make its way to the bedroom. Pancakes for breakfast? On a school day? That meant only one thing. Mom must be in a really good mood this morning.

I made sure to pour my own glass of orange juice, taking care that mom didn’t notice as I filled it only halfway this time. I wasn’t interested in having to rush out of AP Lit with a hall pass again. I didn’t want to drink less liquids, just spread them out so that I’m not filling my bladder up too much at once.

It had been over a day since I’d asked mom about the sleepover. She seemed to have acquiesced to the idea but had still said she wanted more time to think about it. I was growing impatient. If I didn’t follow up she’d probably wait a week or two before finally remembering to tell me her decision.

“So, did you think about the sleepover?”


I’d asked the wrong question. Just like mom to avoid me with a literal answer.

“You will let me go on one? Please?”

“Yes, but…”

I didn’t think I was going to like what she was going to say after that.

“… not until you turn fifteen, and I’ll need to speak with your friend’s parents first.”

That wasn’t as bad as I feared. My birthday was coming up in a little over a week, and Samantha’s parents are really chill, so I doubted they would give mom any reason to back out of a sleepover. Plus, my birthday is on a Saturday this year, so the timing will be perfect.

Mom had never been big on birthday parties. No relatives to invite over to celebrate. Never any friends over, either. Having anyone over to our house was an absolute, non-negotiable “no.” Any time spent hanging out with my friends was usually done at Samantha’s place.

My first sleepover, and my first birthday party with my friends. I could scarcely believe my luck .I gave a squeal and jumped up to hug mom.

“Thank-you. Thank-you.”

The school bus is late again, leaving me to sit impatiently on the curb. In all the craziness yesterday, I had completely forgotten about the Fortnite team that was forming school. I pulled out the flyer that I had left in my backpack and looked over the details carefully. There are six spots available on the team. Practices would be in the evening and could be done from home. Games would be every Saturday, though you had to come into school to the computer lab for them.

The tryout is scheduled for a week from Saturday – my birthday. I had to figure out a way to get to the school for the tryout. Wasn’t sure how mom is going to feel about it. She is always pushing me to take part in extracurricular activities, but I’m certain this isn’t exactly what she had in mind.

I jumped to my feet and tucked the flyer into my backpack as the bus pulled up at last. I grabbed a seat next to Samantha. Sitting down delivered a reminder of what I had been dreading about today.

In my excitement about my birthday, the sleepover and the Fortnite tryout I’d completely forgotten about the pull-up I’m wearing. I could feel the padding pressing up against my skin as I sat. I wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Was it going to be like this the whole day?

“The sleepover is a go,” I said excitedly to Desi and Samantha.

“Great, let’s do it this weekend,” Samantha said.

“Can’t. We’ve got to wait a week. Mom says I have to be fifteen first.”

“Why’s that the magic number?” Desi asked.

“No idea. You know how mom is. Once she gets it in her head that things ought to be a certain way that just ends up being how it is. Anyways, it’s only a week from Saturday.”

“That will work,” Samantha said. “I’ll need to check with mom, but she never says no to having friends over.”

I filled Desi and Samantha in on the details from yesterday’s cheerleading practice.

“What’s the deal with Claire, anyway?” I said. “She tripped me in practice yesterday. I swear she did that on purpose. That bitch.”

“Hey! Language,” Desi said.

We all laughed. That was a bit rich, coming from her.

“Claire really is a bit stuck-up though,” Desi said. “Thinks she is better than everyone else. She always goes into one of the bathroom stalls to dress. Won’t do it around anybody.”

I hadn’t noticed, but Claire had also always been in the locker room before me those first two practices.

“Anyway,” Desi continued. “I think Claire was looking to take my role, with all the acrobatics. When I got hurt, she didn’t seem all that upset. Just shed a couple crocodile tears. Bet she is jealous because coach gave that role to you rather than her. I’d keep my eye on her if I were you.”

As I walked off the bus, I had to mentally resist the urge to pull my hoodie down to better cover my butt and to tug up my pants. I knew, objectively and certainly, that no one could possibly tell that I was wearing one of my sister’s pull-ups, but I couldn’t help but be self-conscious. It felt as if the eyes of everyone passing by in the hallway were aimed squarely at my crotch or butt, as if at any moment someone would gasp and point out the pull-up.

But there were no gasps, or laughs, or pointing fingers. No one paid me a second glance. Why would they? Nothing about my appearance would be any different to their eyes. All they see is the jeans, hoodie and backpack. With all of the accidents and the decision to wear a pull-up, it had felt as if my entire world had been turned upside down. In some sense, it had. But otherwise, my world had kept moving on unchanged. Homework. School. Sports practices. Sleepovers. All of it continued moving on indifferent and unaware of my recent bladder struggles.

It came as a relief to realize that the accidents and pull-ups are my secret and not anyone else’s. Now I just needed to keep it that way.


Chapter 9: That Bitch

I started the school day with a clear plan of action on how to avoid any further accidents.

Having been working to potty train Emilia for the past year-and-a-half, I had a pretty good sense of all the different strategies and techniques for getting someone to relieve themselves on a toilet rather than in their pants. I didn’t really want to think of what I was trying to do with myself as potty-training – that term just feels demeaning when used with someone older than a toddler – but that is technically what I’m trying to accomplish. I also didn’t really want to think about the fact that my potty-training attempts with Emilia had been, well, rather less than successful.

While the day began with apprehension over wearing a pull-up to school, I had grown more confident in my plan once I realized that everyone around me was completely and fully oblivious to the fact that I was wearing it. My racing heart calmed down and in my mind I was again going through the plan I had formulated for the day and the rules of my own that I intended to follow.

First, I am going to use the bathroom on a set schedule. I don’t have a potty-training watch, like the one Emilia wears that reminds her to go to the bathroom every thirty minutes. However, my class schedule is a good enough substitute.

As much as I might like to go to the bathroom after every fifty-minute class period, I didn’t care for the considerable attention that would draw from my friends. I need to get back to the point where holding off on going to the toilet isn’t going to be a big deal. If I could try and use the bathroom at the start of school and then after every other period, that gives me enough bathroom breaks without appearing that something is off. I might break that schedule in an emergency, but I am going to do my best to follow it. I’m not going to allow myself to use a hall pass to leave class early to go to the bathroom, either.

Next, I need to control what I drink. I still have to stay hydrated, especially with cheerleading, but drinking too much at any one time would be bad. That means I instead need to drink lots of small amounts of water throughout the day, so I can be hydrated without overwhelming my bladder all at once.

The last part of the plan is the one I’m most uncomfortable about. That’s the pull-up I’m wearing. After the trio of accidents and many other close calls over the past two days, I can’t risk anyone noticing if I do have an accident, especially at school.

However, I’m not going to use the pull-ups on purpose again. Once was more than enough. The purpose of wearing the pull-up is that it gives me leeway to try and hold my bladder during class without running off to the bathroom, since if I don’t succeed the pull-up will conceal my accident.

I began my plan with a stop at the bathroom before the start of our first class. Samantha, who is stuck as being one of the first students picked up by the bus, also needed to go to the bathroom, and Desi, who didn’t need to go, hobbled to the bathroom with her crutches in an act of solidarity. I managed to get a decent amount of pee out, which made my odds of surviving until second period was over without an accident rather promising.

So far so good. Until today, the phrase “relieving yourself” had never quite made sense to me, but as I sat on the toilet following the end of fourth period, relief is a fully accurate description of how I’m feeling.

It’s strange, sitting in the bathroom stall, using the toilet while staring down into the pull-up hanging between my legs. I’d tucked it down into my jeans, since I didn’t even want to chance that someone might get a glimpse of my pull-up through the gap between the wall and the bathroom stall door.

The interior padding of the pull-up remained white. I’d not even let a drop of pee escape my bladder so far during the first half of the school day. Had I not been wearing the pull-up, I’d probably have used the hall pass at least twice already, having lost confidence in my bladder’s abilities to make it through to the end of a class.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was glad I had chosen to wear the pull-up. Feeling an urgent need to pee during class was much less stressful now that I knew an accident wouldn’t be the end of me.

With fourth period over, it’s now time for lunch. I grabbed my lunchbox from my locker and then staked out a spot to sit in the back of the cafeteria while Samantha and Desi went through the line to get a school-cooked meal.

Mom always packed a lunch for me. She said she didn’t approve of the “garbage” being served in the school cafeteria. Whatever high school mom had gone to must have served her terrible food for lunch, but the pepperoni pizza and French Fries on Samantha’s tray and the lasagna and salad that Desi was eating appeared far more appetizing than my ham and mayonnaise sandwich with a yogurt cup and a bag of veggie chips on the side. I hate mayonnaise, but mom never made my sandwiches with butter, like I always requested.

We had grabbed a table in our usual spot, a four-seater near the corner window overlooking the school entrance. Desi had one side to herself, so she could keep her injured leg elevated, while Samantha and I sat opposite her. The success I’d had so far with avoiding any accidents had me in an upbeat mood. I wasn’t going to let that get ruined by a lousy meal. Still, Samantha must have noticed how I was picking at my food.

“I’ll trade you my fries for the rest of those…”

“Veggies chips,” I said, helpfully finishing Samantha’s sentence.

“Yeah, whatever those are. I’ll trade you the rest of my fries for them.”

What would I do but for the charity of my friends? Samantha had most of her fries remaining, so I gladly turned over the uneaten bag of veggie chips to her.

Samantha turned and chucked the bag of veggie chips into a garbage bin about ten feet away, narrating the shot.

“She shoots. She scores. Nothing but net.”

“Hey! You didn’t need to do that.”

“Come on,” Samantha replied. “It’s not like you were going to eat them either.”


Behind Desi, I could see Claire was walking toward our section of the cafeteria with a couple of upper-classmen girls I didn’t know.

“She’s too good for us freshies,” Samantha mused with an exaggerated eye roll.

Claire’s posse had several unused tables to choose from, as this end of the cafeteria usually stayed fairly empty. Instead, they came to a stop at a table a few rows down where Lisa was seated by herself. With a couple of power outlets, it was a prime spot if you had something you needed to charge. It looked like Lisa was keeping her phone charged as she listened to a video on it through her headphones.

Claire tapped her hand on the table to get Lisa’s attention. Lisa removed her headphones to respond to Claire, but I couldn’t make out the beginning of the conversation. Lisa pointed at a couple of the empty tables nearby and then to the five extra seats at the circular table she was seated at herself. Claire’s such an entitled bully. Couldn’t she find her own spot to sit? It was obvious she was trying to chase Lisa off. From the tears beginning to form on Lisa’s face, I could tell that the confrontation had upset her.

I was able to catch the end of the conversation when Claire raised her voice.

“Ahh. Sad baby. Do you miss your mommy and daddy?”

Claire rubbed her eyes with her knuckles in a mock cry. That was so low of her. My jaw dropped.

“See, I told you she’s a bitch,” Desi muttered angrily.

I didn’t doubt for a second that if Desi hadn’t had the cast on her ankle that she would have marched right over to Claire and put the brat in her place, but with her crutches all she could do was sit at the table and scowl.

If I had been in Lisa’s place, I’d have hit Claire right across that smug face, but Lisa just unplugged her phone charger and headphones and tucked them into her backpack. She grabbed her mostly empty tray of food and started to take a step backwards when her foot caught on one of the legs of the table, sending her falling backwards. Lisa landed directly on her bottom with a thump. Her backpack and lunch tray dropped to the floor with a clatter and her dress – blue with white polka dots – flew over her knees.

Lisa scrambled to straighten out her dress and then picked up her backpack, leaving the remains of her lunch scattered across the floor. Claire had doubled over as she and her friends had a laugh at Lisa’s expense. Despite the commotion, since we were tucked into the corner of a loud cafeteria no one really had appeared to have paid notice to Lisa’s fall.

I’d had more than enough of that bitch, Claire. I started to step up from the table. Samantha gave me one of her what are you doing looks, but Desi just nodded. Claire and her gang were too busy laughing at Lisa to notice as I walked stiffly right up to Claire. Right as I got up to her she turned and looked at me, surprised.

This better be worth the trouble I’m going to get into.

I slapped her right across he left cheek, taking care to avoid digging my fingernails into her face.

She looked at me in stunned silence. Yep, totally worth it.

“Find someone else to pick on,” I said. “Actually don’t. Don’t you dare do this to anyone else.”

Claire recovered from her shock on to leer at me threateningly.

“You’re so fucked when the principal finds out.”

“Sure I am, and we’ll tell him how you were bullying Lisa. Who knows? Maybe we could spend detention together.”

With the threat volleyed back to her, Claire sulked away with her friends. Evidently, she doesn’t have a thing for mutually assured destruction. I turned to see Lisa squatted down on the floor doing her best to get her spilled lunch cleaned up.

“You don’t’ have to do that,” I said. “Just leave it. The janitor will take care of it for you once lunch period is over.”

Lisa stood up awkwardly, keeping her dress straightened out. It became clear that she didn’t know what to say.

I turned to look back at Desi and Samantha.

“Leave that weirdo alone,” Samantha mouthed inaudibly at me.

Samantha, Desi, and I had been friends since the first day of kindergarten where we met each other while we were lined up outside out classroom. Samantha had resisted any attempt at expanding our friend group ever since. I weighed my options. Getting one-up on Claire by helping out Lisa was worth making Samantha a little uncomfortable.

I introduce Lisa to everyone at the table.

“This is Samantha, never call her Sam. And this is Desi. Don’t ask her what it’s short for.”

Lisa gave a limp wave to them. Desi took her leg off of the extra chair and offered it to Lisa, who eased herself really gently onto the chair.

“Are you still hungry?” Desi asked. “I know Sarah would love to offer you the other half of her ham sandwich, but feeding that to a kid might qualify as child abuse.”

All of us but Lisa laughed. She just kind of sat there quietly, her eyes moving back and forth between us.

Desi finally made another attempt to break the ice.

“Your butt OK? You fell hard there?”

“I’m fine,” Lisa said. “It really didn’t hurt that much.”

“Bet it left a bruise though,” Desi said. “Sarah could show you the nasty one she got on her side in cheerleading practice.”

I shook my head. No way was I going to lift up my hoodie. I was sure the pull-up was hidden by the jeans, but I wasn’t going to take that chance.

“So. You and Claire. Did you both to go Desert View?” Desi asked Lisa.

Desi, Samantha, and I had all gone to Arden Grove, one of the two middle schools in town that fed into River Valley High School. Claire had gone to Desert View, and we hadn’t had much of anything to do with her until high school. Thank goodness.

Lisa waited a moment, looking like she wanted to do anything but answer that question.

“No,” she replied at last. “My parents had homeschooled me. Until…”

Her voice trailed off to a garbled whisper, but we understood what had been left unsaid about her parents. That led to another understandable, but uncomfortable, silence. We needed to find something else to talk about. I thought back to yesterday when she had asked to see the Fortnite flyer.

“Are you planning on trying out for the Fortnite team?”

“Yeah,” Lisa replied with a nod. “So are you… is everyone… trying out as well?”

“Just me,” I said. “I’m the only nerd here.”

“And somehow we still love her,” Samantha said, laughing.

“Only because I do your Algebra homework.”

“So. I’ve written two English papers for you this semester,” Samantha shot back.

Lisa had both her hands over her mouth in shock. Guess you don’t have any classmates to cheat off of when you’re homeschooled.

“Guys,” Desi said, in mock alarm. “Her uncle is a teacher.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured a still-shocked Lisa. “We’d never cheat in Mr. Higgins class.”

Lisa still looked she could be on the verge of tears.

“Hey,” I said. “You shouldn’t let that bitch Claire get the best of you.”

“We’ve had nothing but trouble with her,” Desi added.

Even Samantha nodded in agreement. A bit of a smile crept onto Lisa’s face.

Nothing unifies a group of girls more than having someone to bitch about.

Even in my seventh and final class of the day, I still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling of the pull-up underneath me as I sat my desk. Sure, the padding had remained soft, but it still felt odd sitting on since it didn’t cover my entire bottom. The day had gone well so far. I’d avoided any accidents, and while it had at times been tough to hold it in, I had managed to wait until I got to the toilet every time.

Lisa was again seated to the left of me in History class. She hadn’t said anything to us since lunch, but she had also just barely managed to get to class on time. It was still hard to believe that Higgins is Lisa’s uncle. That had to be so strange taking a class from one of your relatives and to have him grade your work. I wonder how the school ended up allowing that.

The class got to about half-way through when the urge to pee began coming on, similar to how the rest of the day had been. I checked the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes remained in the period. I was already feeling uncomfortable, but I can make it. I tried to focus on my note taking in order to keep my mind off my bladder.

Twenty minutes remaining. The girls hall pass is still hanging by the door. I could grab it now, slip off to the bathroom and have a shot at going an entire day without peeing myself. But it was just twenty minutes left. I’d been able to hold it through every other class so far today. I shrugged off the desire to go to the bathroom. I could hold it in it this time as well.

Time never passes slower than when you are holding your bladder and waiting to go to the bathroom. I felt myself beginning to squirm involuntarily, as my body fought to retain control over my bladder. I’m so thankful that I’m in the back row so that this miniature potty dance isn’t on display for everyone to see. I felt like if I stopped moving, even for a couple seconds, that I would completely lose control of my bladder.

Ten minutes remaining. My goal had been to go the whole day without using a hall-pass, but in the moment of truth, where I might actually wet myself in class, I wanted to chicken out. But I couldn’t. The hall pass that I had declined to grab five minutes ago was no longer there. I had been so focused my bladder that I hadn’t noticed when Lisa had gotten up and taken it.

The pain in my bladder eventually reached a breaking point. I could force myself to pee my pants or have the pee be forced out of me. I couldn’t decide which was worse. Then my body made the decision for me.

The experience of peeing while sitting down was so much different than doing so standing up. With the pull-up forced directly against my skin, I felt the urine stream down and then pool in the pull-up before being absorbed. It was all I could manage to keep the discomfort I was feeling from showing on my face.

It may have just been my imagination, but I could have sworn I could hear myself peeing. But, as far as I could tell, no heads turned in my direction. No one looked up to see what was happening.

I took as casual of a glance as I could at my crotch. There is a slightest of bulges, possibly from where the pull-up had swelled up. Not something anyone would notice unless they already knew I was wearing the pull-up. I hadn’t imagined how uncomfortable it would be to be forced to sit in my own urine. I fidgeted a little, but that only made it worse as I could feel the wet pull-up pressing further against my skin. I forced myself to remain completely still, eyes directed forward at Mr. Higgins and the chalkboard.

The bell rung and the class came to an end at last. I casually tugged my hoodie down as I eased myself out of the chair, just to make sure that any potential outline of the pull-up is covered as much as it can be. I was so embarrassed. I was sure my face had gone red. I waved a brief goodbye to Samantha and Desi. I just wanted to change out of the wet pull-up as soon as possible.

Even after just a couple months at the high school, I had quickly figured out which bathrooms were the ones to use and which were the ones to avoid. The one near the history classroom was one of my least favorites, but I didn’t want to spend any more time wearing a wet pull-up than I had to. With every step I took I had to suppress the urge to waddle as the absorbent material in the pull-up kept pushing my legs apart. It was all I could do to keep from looking like a penguin.

Once inside, the bathroom was busier than I would have liked it to be. There were plenty of other girls taking a bathroom break after class, but I had to change so I didn’t have a choice. I needed to pick the most private spot I could find. The stalls at the far end of the bathroom afforded the most privacy, but they also were typically the ones most likely to be dirty or defaced with graffiti. When I walked into the stall I could see that my expectations were on point.

I sat indecisively on the toilet for several minutes. My emotions were a mess. A mixture of relief, shame, and embarrassment. I was so glad my accident had gone undetected, but still shocked that it had happened in the first place.The way the pull-up rustled every time I touched it seemed way more noticeable than before. I was certain whoever was in the stall next to me would be able to hear everything I was doing. I wanted nothing more than to rip the sides of the pull-up, chuck it in the trash, and then be done with it. Instead, I slowly and quietly slid off my jeans and panties before at last removing the soggy pull-up. I gently placed it into the garbage bin embedded into the side of the stall and then covered the pull-u with toilet paper so that it wouldn’t raise any questions with the next person to use this stall.

The one part of my plan I hadn’t thought through well enough was what I was going to do for cheerleading practice. I couldn’t get away with changing before and after practice, as well as showering, without anyone noticing a pull-up. There wasn’t even the slightest chance of that happening. Despite all the bladder problems I’d had the past two days, I’d made it through cheerleading practice both times without any issues. I had no choice but to chance it again today.

I pulled up my panties. The cotton against my skin felt so good and unrestrictive. I’m glad to be a big kid again, if just for a couple hours.


Chapter 10: Not a Perfect Plan

The feeling of walking down the school hallway wearing my panties instead of a pull-up was both freeing and unnerving.

I’d been wearing a pull-up for less than twenty-four hours, yet I now felt almost naked without it, like something was missing. I was surprised at how quickly I’d grown accustomed to the snug fit of the pull-up’s elastic sides around my waist and the soft padding between my legs, as well as the assurance that I’d be protected in case any accident did happen.

At the same time, I didn’t understand why I was feeling nervous. Despite the four accidents I’d had over the past couple of days, none of them had taken place during cheerleading practice. Besides, a communal locker room isn’t going to provide me with the privacy to wear a pull-up like I had been all day up until now. All I needed to do was to pay extra attention to my bladder, and, if the urge to go did strike, make sure to run off to use the toilet in time. Nothing different than what I’d done since I was first potty trained at the age of two. How did going to the toilet become so complicated?

Today is a practice run for tomorrow’s football game, my very first as a cheerleader. I was prepared to be bored out of my mind. I didn’t care one bit for sports – don’t ask me what the difference is between a fullback and a nickelback – and being stuck at the entire game isn’t going to be fun. Coach Addison believes that rehearsals don’t mean anything if you also aren’t dressed up for it, so instead of our normal casual workout clothes, we were all to be wearing our cheerleading uniforms.

I had tried on the uniform once before at home to make sure it fit properly, which it had, but this was my first time wearing it around other people and I felt a tad conspicuous even though everyone else was going to have the same outfit on. The two-piece uniform is a dark blue polyester miniskirt combined with a dark-blue and lime-green top that intentionally didn’t go all the way down to my waist. I’d practically be showing more skin with this than I would in my bathing suit. The bluish bruise on my hip, which thankfully was beginning to look slightly better, was peaking out over the top of the mini-skirt. At least it matches one of the school colors.

The uniform was the antithesis of my normal style, given how I’d prefer to go to school with jeans paired with either a hoodie or a graphic t-shirt. The only redeeming part of the outfit is that while it doesn’t cover much, the parts it covers it does cover well. That is to say, I wasn’t going to be flashing anybody while wearing it.

Claire strutted into the locker room while I was finishing getting the top tugged over my head. I could still make out the slight mark on her face from where I had slapped her during lunch when she had been bullying Lisa. I’d nearly forgotten about that spat, but I suppose the fact that I made it to cheerleading practice without a visit to the principal’s office signified that that Claire had determined that tattling on me wasn’t worth the risk of getting into trouble herself. Still, I couldn’t help but suspect that that she was entertaining thoughts of revenge.

Claire didn’t deem me worthy of even a frosty “hello” as she silently grabbed her gym bag from the locker next to me and proceeded to one of the empty toilet stalls to get dressed in privacy. She’s so stuck up. Too good to hang out with students in her own grade. Too good to dress in the locker room like the rest of us. How in the world am I supposed to deal with her for four more years of cheerleading?

After changing into my cheerleading outfit, I took another stop at the toilet. I didn’t have any urge to pee. I’d already empty my bladder when I wet the pull-up in class about twenty minutes ago. Still, since I would be going back to panties for the hour-and-a-half practice, I figured it was prudent to leave as little room for error as possible when it came to my bladder.

The only remaining stall was next to the one Claire had gone into to change. As much as I tried to go, I couldn’t get any urine to come out. Not a drop. This was awkward. In the stall next to me I heard Claire’s clothing rustle as she changed into her cheerleading outfit. I remembered Desi’s advice that I needed to watch my back around her and how Claire and tripped me yesterday in practice. Following that advice would be more important than ever given the stunt I’d pulled with Claire at lunch. Out of habit, I flushed the toilet before I left the stall, even though it was completely unnecessary.

Practice always began with a warm-up jog and stretches. The past two days, we had stood around in a circle and done individual stretches for our legs and arms. Those stretches were beginning to get less painful as my body acclimated to the increased physical activity. Give it a few weeks and practice would soon become a breeze, I hope.

“Now, everyone pair up with someone in your class,” Coach Addison said. “It’s time to do some buddy stretches.”

Someone from my class? Oh, great. That leaves me stuck with Claire, who was standing nearly opposite of me in the circle. At least she doesn’t look as if she is any happier with this than I am. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds without moving. I wasn’t in any hurry to do anything with her.

“Come on girls. Get moving,” coach said, clapping her hands a couple of times.

We didn’t have a choice. I took the initiative and walked over to where Claire was standing. We still didn’t say anything as all of the other girls on the team got paired up as well.

“These stretches are going to be done with one person laying down and the other person standing and assisting them. Whoever is youngest can start on the ground.”

“I’m fifteen,” Claire said bluntly.

My birthday isn’t for another week, so I laid down in the short-cut grass. The sensation on my skin was somewhere been an itch or a tickle, and it wasn’t pleasant. I stared up at the cloudless sky waiting for the next part of coach’s instructions, doing my best not to look up into Claire’s face.

“Now,” coach began, talking to the girls who were still standing. “For this first stretch, you are going to take one of your teammates legs in your arm and you are slowly going to move it up till it is perpendicular to the ground. Keep another hand on the knee so the leg stays straight. Don’t let it bend.”

Claire was neither gentle nor slow.

“Ow! Ow! Stop,” I said, nearly screeching as I twisted my leg out of Claire’s grip.

I so wanted to “accidentally” kick her.

Claire turned on a look of contrition in a flash as coach turned to glare at us.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Claire, be careful. You can hurt someone if stretches aren’t done right,” coach said.

I’m pretty certain Claire had already known that.

“Water break!” Coach shouted.

After an hour of practice, we all ran to where we had left our water bottles on the sideline. I nearly collapsed onto the first row of the bleachers, so exhausted I can hardly think. I had been wrong about how easy practice had been getting, as this had easily been the most tiring practice that we had gone through yet. I was winded enough that I didn’t mind sitting on the cold metal surface. Anything was better than standing and doing more jumps, sprints and cheers.

As I took a larger drink of water than I probably should have, I realized that the bustle of practice had managed to do something that my classes hadn’t managed to do, which is to take my mind off of my bladder. That wasn’t a good thing.

Nature’s call was here, and it was demanding an answer right now. The porta potties weren’t far off, just about sixty yards or so down the sideline. I prayed so hard that no one was in them.

I knew that no one likely cared a bit if I was going off for a quick pee during one of our brief breaks as I’d seen others do so a few times, but I still felt as if each and every one of my teammates eyes were gazing directly at my back and judging me as I began walking toward the porta potties.

I wanted to run so badly. The pressuring on my bladder was growing exponentially to the point that I felt as though I would pee myself if I didn’t pick up the pace. But I couldn’t run. Not in front of everyone like this where my whole team could see my embarrassment of struggling to hold my bladder. I regretted not finding a way to wear the pull-up to practice.

As I got closer both porta potties appeared to be open. I fumbled with the door of the first one I got to. My hands were shaking so much that I couldn’t get the door to open. The green sign said “Available.” Why wouldn’t it open? After several panicky seconds I at last figured out the proper way to twist the handle. I swung the door open and slammed it shut behind me. But I was too late. My bladder got the better of me and I began to pee uncontrollably.

I spread my feet out as wide as I could to prevent the stream of pee from splattering onto my shoes as it ran down through my panties and the bottom of the mini-skirt straight to the floor of the porta potty. It went on for so long. I didn’t have that much to drink. Did I? I felt helpless without the ability to stop peeing. The rapid tapping splatter of the urine on the plastic floor of the porta potty was way too loud. I hoped no one was waiting outside. At least the porta potty was in a sorry enough state that a puddle of pee on the floor didn’t make much of a difference to its overall condition. The condition of my panties and mini-skirt were a much bigger concern.

I didn’t get it. I couldn’t go an hour without wearing a pull-up before I peed myself. How am I supposed to make it through the rest of the cheerleading practice, let alone the season, with this issue? I was miss bladder of steel. The girl who could go the entire day at school without darkening the doorway of a bathroom.

I inspected my skirt and was relieved to find that the only wet spot was directly between my legs. The spot was dark enough that it was barely noticeable. I pulled out a ton of toilet paper and just dropped it on the floor to absorb the urine. I didn’t bother picking it up. With some additional toilet paper, I attempted to dry the wet spot on panties and skirt. It was still damp enough that I would feel it, but the wet spot was gone enough that if anyone saw it hopefully it would just appear like I had been sweating a lot.

The only thing going for me at the moment is that there is only about thirty minutes left in the practice. Surely I can go that long without peeing myself.

I actually did manage to get through the remainder of cheerleading practice without peeing myself, and with no one giving any indication that they suspected I had an accident, I was in the clear.

Showering in the locker room after practice was awkward – no curtains divided the shower heads to offer any privacy – but it was still preferable to having mom bathe me like a baby. I kept my eyes focused directly on the wall in front of me as I got myself cleaned up, as if avoiding eye contact with everyone else somehow made me less naked.

The bruises on my butt from the spanking earlier this week had faded to almost nothing, but even if one of my teammates noticed them, I doubted they would think much of it. After all, with all the tumbles and falls I had taken during the first three days of practice I had less bruises than one might expect to see.

I still didn’t know what to do about the accident. I toyed with the idea of quitting the team. I had no idea how bad mom’s punishment would be, but whatever she chose, I couldn’t imagine it being anything worse than wetting myself in front of all my teammates, or worse, in front of a whole stadium full of people. No way they would keep me on the team anyways if they found out about my accidents.

While on the way from the locker room to the parking lot where mom was waiting to pick me up, I stopped into a completely empty bathroom. The two additional accidents I that had happened today had left me with no other choice. With the whole bathroom to myself, I quickly swapped my panties for one of the extra pull-ups I had brought with me in my backpack.

I’d arrived at school this morning with what I had thought was a perfect plan to get my accidents to stop. By the time I left for home, I couldn’t see how I was ever going to get back to being potty trained.


So I hopped over to the other site your story is on and got all caught up is there plans to continue the story over there/here. By the way the story is great I have really enjoyed it so far and can’t wait to see to develop further you have done an awesome job! :slight_smile: I do have some idea to possibly mix into the story of your interested but yeah loved it so far

Yep, plan is to continue it. I’ve just been working on getting my other story, Diapers Never Lie, wrapped up. That only has one chapter left so I’ll have more time to focus on this one going forward. And I’ll post new chapters the same time on both sites.

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Chapter 11: Discovery

I have never been more attuned to my bodily functions than in the past week. Every waking moment has been spent trying to decipher what my bladder is trying to tell me. Is it time to pee? Already? Again? Can I hold off for a little bit longer or do I need to sprint to the toilet right now?

At this point I’d have better luck trying to understand Chinese than whatever messages my bladder is sending. It has been a little over a week since my disastrous attempt at wearing panties during cheerleading practice and the ensuing accident in the porta potty. I’ve had a pull-up on almost every moment since. And I need the pull-ups I’m taking from my little sister. There is no more room whatsoever for denial about what is happening with my body. Not a single school day has passed without me wetting myself, including one more time during cheerleading practice. The only thing standing between me and everyone knowing about the wetting issue has been the pull-ups.

I feel like a secret agent in a spy film every time I disguise my pull-up for cheerleading practice. I keep whatever clothing I’m going to wear for the practice in my backpack. Then, after my last class, I change into those clothes with a dry pull-up in a restroom before heading to the locker room ready to begin practice. Once it’s over, I go to one of the toilet stalls in the locker room, take off the pull-up, and bury it in the trash before going to shower. I have panties on for the briefest time after showering, but I use an empty restroom to change back into a pull-up before mom picks me up to go home. The process was exhausting, but I wasn’t taking any chances with my bladder.

At home I’ve been having much better luck with avoiding accidents, thanks in part to the continuing efforts to potty train Emilia. I’m still taking her to the toilet every thirty minutes when the potty-training alarm goes off on her watch. I let her do her business, and as soon as I send her back to play, I hop on the toilet myself. The routine is humiliating, but it is better than peeing myself. That isn’t to say I haven’t wet a pull-up a couple of times at home, but not nearly as often as I’ve done at school.

I’m trying to avoid going through too many pull-ups, which isn’t that hard since Mom rarely changes Emilia. Since I’m the one who does the changing, I’m responsible for telling mom when it is time to order another box of pull-ups from Amazon, and I don’t want her to get suspicious if we start to go through them way too fast.

The only area of success with my potty training has been at night. I’ve managed to avoid a repeat of my lone bedwetting accident by rigorously monitoring how much I drink in the evening, making sure to cut off my liquids early, and using the toilet immediately before getting in bed. While I’ve woken up in a dry bed and pull-up every night, there have been a couple of times where the urge to pee has gotten me out of bed and in search of the toilet in the wee hours of the morning.

I wish that I could say that potty training is going better for Emilia than it has been for me, but that isn’t the case. She’s not had a single dry day either, and she’s woken up with a soaked diaper each morning. In just the last week, mom has had to put her back in diapers on two separate occasions during the day. Like me, I feel as though my sister is also giving up on potty training. It’s all I can do to keep from blushing when mom tells Emilia that she needs to be a big girl and use the potty like her older sister. And now I had a sleepover to worry about.

“I still can’t believe your mom is really letting you come over for a sleepover,” Samantha said as she took a seat at our table in the cafeteria.

Our moms had talked the night before. Mom had been insistent that she get to know Samantha’s parents at least a little bit before finally signing off on the sleepover at their place. The fact that Samantha’s mom is a well-respected lawyer gave her an advantage in assuring mom that I’d be taken care of just fine while spending the night at their house. The sleepover is officially official. I’ll be going over to Samantha’s house tomorrow night after the Fortnite team tryout that I’d convinced mom to let me take part in.

I truly wanted to be enthusiastic about the sleepover. I’d begged and begged and begged mom to let me go on one for years without getting her to budge on it, and it was just last week that I’d finally found the right argument to persuade her. The week leading up to the sleepover should have been one of the best of my life as I plotted all the things I would do with Desi and Samantha.

But I’m terrified out of my mind. I can’t wear a pull-up to Samantha’s house. How would I manage to throw it away if I did have an accident? But if I wear panties instead, that is just inviting trouble. If I pee my pants at her house I’d never live it down. They’d never invite me over there again. I had hoped that I’d be able to regain some measure of control over my bladder in the past week, but instead of making progress it feels like I’ve been backsliding.

I’d considered going to see the school nurse, but I knew the first call she’d make after my visit would be to my mother, and everything I was doing now was for the purpose of keeping mom from finding out about my accidents. Even now, with my friends, I felt completely alone as there wasn’t anybody I could confide in about what I’m going through.

Desi, Samantha, and I were at our usual lunch table again. They had just returned to the table with hamburgers and fries on their trays while I ate the supposedly healthier meal mom had packed for me.

Samantha snapped her fingers in front of my face to get my attention.

“Earth to Sarah. Earth to Sarah. You need to stop daydreaming. I’m talking to you about the sleepover.”

“Oh. Yeah,” I replied, shocked that I had zoned out so easily. “It still doesn’t seem real that it’s happening. The whole thing is surreal.”

“We still need to decide on a movie,” Desi interjected.

I liked superhero and sci-fi movies. They were both into rom coms. So that means we are going to watch a rom com.

“I’m outvoted so you guys are going to have to settle on one,” I said, resigned to my fate.

I could feel the urge to pee growing in my bladder again, but there aren’t any bathrooms close by to this side of the cafeteria. I didn’t feel like spending ten minutes of my precious lunch break time in the bathroom, but I also didn’t like my odds of holding it in until my bathroom break before the next class period starts.

What does it matter anyways? I gave up trying to hold it in and let the pee soak into the pull-up. After a week of using the pull-ups, the feeling of wetting one wasn’t nearly as jarring of an experience, and sitting in a wet pull-up wasn’t as bad as enduring increasingly painful urges to pee. I didn’t even bother looking down at my pants to make sure there hadn’t been any leaks. The pull-ups hadn’t given me any trouble so far in that regard.

My bladder now relieved, I was able to focus on the sleepover planning without any distractions. We – and again by we I mean Desi and Samantha – settled on “Crazy Rich Asians” as the movie to watch. Even if the movie choice was meh in my opinion, I still was excited about our other plans. For one, I couldn’t wait to try on some of Samantha’s makeup. With the lunch period now nearly over, I needed to make a break for the bathroom to get cleaned up.

“I’ll join you guys in class, I just need to use the bathroom quick,” I said to Desi and Claire as I stood up a few minutes early from the lunch table.

It wasn’t technically a lie. I did need to use the bathroom, just not for the reason they would be thinking of.

I had again chosen a stall at the far corner of the bathroom. Its walls were adorned with messages about who was screwing who and some slightly witty ditties about disliked teachers. The privacy is worth it though. No one is likely to walk in front of the stall and accidentally get a tiny glimpse of me changing into a dry pull-up. I untied and removed my shoes and then slid off my jeans and panties – I still was wearing those on top of the pull-ups – and hung them up quietly on a small hanger on the stall door. That left just the pull-up, and there was no doubt as to its condition.

I’d brought baby wipes in my backpack along with the extra pull-ups, but I had skipped on the baby powder, I couldn’t risk smelling like that in class. I slid the pull-up down my legs like I had with my jeans and panties, as ripping the sides open would have been too noisy with the possibility of several other girls still being in the bathroom. Getting the wet pull-up off my skin was such as relief.

I cleaned myself up with the wipes before tossing them in the trash. The first time I’d worn a pull-up to school I’d tried to clean myself up with toilet paper. That had been a mistake.

Rip. Rip. That was the noise coming from one of the stalls toward the entrance to the bathroom. The sound was so out of place that it took me a while to realize where I’d heard it before. It sounded just like the noise Emilia’s pull-ups made when I changed her as I ripped them open on their tear-off sides. But that didn’t make any sense. Someone else at school wearing a pull-up? Would someone risk making that much noise? Maybe I’d been quiet enough that she thought that she had the bathroom to herself.

Unfortunately, being in the stall at the very end of the bathroom, I didn’t have a way to ascertain who the potential pull-up wearer was. The stall walls went nearly to the floor so I couldn’t peak my head down beneath them. And being at the end she wouldn’t pass me on her way out of the bathroom, either.

I sat as completely still as I could on the toilet seat, not daring to even reach for the fresh pull-up in my backpack that I had been about to put on. I strained my ears. I could make out some faint noises coming from the other end of the bathroom. I thought I could perhaps hear the faint crinkle of a pull-up being put on, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

Waiting like this would make me late for class, and Mr. Adams was not one to approve of that, but I simply had to know. While it was likely that I had just been imagining things, the thought would eat away at me all day if I didn’t wait until the girl was done to be able to check out the stall. I waited until I heard the sound of a toilet flush, followed by the sound of a stall door opening and water pouring out the faucet. With that background noise started, I raced to put the pull-up on and get dressed, but by the time I was finished buckling my belt the faucet had stopped and the bathroom door been had opened and then slammed shut.

I checked each stall as I walked by them. They were all empty. I had the room to myself. I peered into the stall closest to the bathroom entrance, where I had been sure the sounds had been coming from. I knew I should just go to class. This wasn’t any of my business, after all. But my curiosity beat out my better judgement.

I walked into the stall and closed the door behind me. The small trash bin appeared full, but it was topped with quite a few wads of loose, clean toilet paper, much like how I also was hiding my used pull-ups in the garbage.

This wasn’t going to be sanitary, but I needed to know. I carefully pulled the loose toilet paper at the top of the garbage bin aside to reveal a pull-up unlike any I had seen before. Emilia’s pull-ups all featured a cartoon character prominently, and the pull-ups I had worn back when I had been wetting the bed had all been decorated with a plethora of colorful, girly designs. The pull-up sitting in the trash is completely different. It is almost completely white, with some clinical markings on it, and the stretchy mesh-like material on its sides is not the same as the pull-up I have on. The pull-up was also clearly larger than Emilia’s, so that could only mean it was for one of the students at the school.

There was one last thing I needed to be sure of. I gently pressed the back of my hand against the pull-up. I really shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t leave the bathroom without knowing. Yes, it is still warm. Someone had just been wearing it. But who?


Chapter 12: Fortnite

It’s only shortly after noon on Saturday, and I am already dying of thirst.

I’ve not had anything to drink since taking a sip of water when I first woke up this morning. Without any cheerleading events this weekend and therefor no physical activities I need to be hydrated for, I’ve decided to extremely limit my fluids in preparation for tonight’s sleepover. I tried to swallow some spit, as if that would make a difference, but it only exacerbated the dryness in my mouth. The feeling was simply unbearable, but the thought of peeing my pants at Samantha’s house later tonight was the only thing I could think of that would be worse.

Later today mom is going to drop me off at the school for the Fortnite tryout. Getting mom to give the go-ahead for the tryout had ended up going much more smoothly than I had expected, especially after I pointed out how colleges now days are starting to give out E-Sports scholarships. I neglected to tell mom that there is absolutely no way I would be good enough to qualify for something like that. But I got her approval, and mom even said that she was happy I was being so outgoing to start my high school career.

Yesterday’s discovery of the pull-up in the restroom was still weighing on me. It boggled my mind that I wasn’t the only girl at the high school who has issues with her bladder. I had spent the remainder of the school day trying hard not to look at people’s butts. I mean, I’d taken a peek at a cute guy’s rear end before, but I hadn’t ever been trying to figure what was underneath someone’s pants. But try as I might, nothing I saw gave any indication of someone who is also wearing a pull-up to school. Of course, no one – at least as far as I knew – had ever noticed my pull-ups, so what were the odds that I’d be able to see that someone else is wearing them?

I only had about an hour before we are going to leave for the school for the tryout. Mom is going to drop me off, and then Samantha’s mom will pick me up at the school and then get Desi on the way back to their house. I ran through my mental checklist of everything I was putting into my overnight bag. I had all my toiletries, pajamas, a fresh set of clothes for tomorrow, and some candy mom had given me to share with my friends as we watched movies tonight.

I took out the extra pull-ups I had gotten into the habit of keeping in the bottom of my backpack and placed them carefully back into Emilia’s dresser. I couldn’t risk having those with me at Samantha’s house. As I pulled my water bottle out of my backpack, I had to struggle to resist the urge to take a drink of water. At this point, even lukewarm water is becoming appealing to me.

I considered taking off the pull-up I’m wearing before heading out for the tryout, but I didn’t want to risk it. I could always take it off in the bathroom afterward before Samantha’s mom picks me up. I had still kept wearing my panties over the pull-ups, so I’d be able to swap over to just wearing those without a hassle.

While I was continuing to review what I had packed, Emilia came crawling into the room. She had on a pair of denim overalls on top of a onesie. The choice of clothes may have been intended to disguise the diaper my little sister is wearing as punishment for the two accidents that she had yesterday, but the outfit instead highlighted the diaper bulging around her crotch and butt. It probably was wet, but I didn’t bother to check. Mom kept to a strict schedule of changing wet diapers every two hours so it didn’t matter if Emilia had wet the diaper or not.

“It’s lunch time. Come on. Come on,” she said.

A pizza lunch on Saturday was one of our many family traditions, and mom always insisted that we eat all of our meals together. I picked Emilia up to carry her to the kitchen. I felt bad that mom had made her crawl along the wood floor to our room to let me know it was time for lunch.

A frozen pizza mom had cooked was sitting in the middle of the kitchen table on a cutting board. The pepperoni pizza – not one of my favorites – had been cut into eight slices. What didn’t make sense was the three small candles that had been stuck into the pizza. What in the world?

Then mom began singing the Happy Birthday song and Emilia joined in. I’d been so focused on the fact that today was my first sleepover that I’d forgotten completely that it is also my birthday. No cake, but we didn’t always do cake so that wasn’t much of a surprise.

“I’ve got your present saved for after you are back from the sleepover tomorrow,” Mom said, code for her not having gone to buy my present yet.

Mom had filled a sippy cup with Cool-Aid for Emilia and had set aside two large glasses – already filled to the brim – for myself and her. My decision to avoid drinking lots of liquids is going to get tested.

I placed Emilia into a highchair, sat down in the chair beside her, and waited for mom to quickly say grace before beginning to eat. I helped myself to two smaller slices that hadn’t been poked with a candle, while mom was busy cutting up one of the pieces into smaller bits for Emilia. I didn’t like pepperoni that much and was glad to avoid the larger slices mom might have stuck me with had I waited for her to dish the pizza onto my plate.

More concerning than the pizza was the large glass of Cool-Aid. The pale blue liquid wasn’t appealing, but it was usually mom’s go-to fun drink when we weren’t having milk, water, or juice. Mom had never been big on letting me drink soda – and Emilia was too young to ever have tried any – a holdover from when doctors had advised her to have me avoid sugar and caffeine when she had been trying to limit my bedwetting. Wild Blue is the flavor on the Cool-Aid container, but I don’t think that counts as a flavor, despite whatever marketing companies might think. I took a small sip. Blueberry. Maybe.

I scarfed the pizza down while mom was busy feeding Emilia by sticking the small bits of pizza into her mouth with a plastic fork. I was grateful for the distraction of mom babying my sister. If I could get up from the table without her noticing, perhaps I could quietly empty my Cool-Aid into the sink and avoid drinking it.

I stood up from the table with my empty plate and full glass in hand just as mom was putting another bite into Emilia’s mouth, but mom turned around just as I took my first step toward the sink.

“Sarah, you know better than that. Finish your drink young lady. You need to be setting a good example for your little sister.”

I didn’t have a choice, so I broke my liquid fast and chugged down the Cool-Aid in a series of rapid gulps. I shuddered both at the taste and as to what this is going to do to my bladder.

I had gone to the bathroom to pee right before getting in the car for mom to drive me to the high school, and I had again stopped at the bathroom and tried my best to empty my bladder before going to the computer lab.

Even with my trip to the bathroom, I had still gotten to the tryout about fifteen minutes early. As I walked into the computer lab only the coach of the Fortnite team – Mr. Olson, who also teaches chemistry – and Lisa were present. Lisa looked up for a brief second when I entered the room, but then refocused on the computer monitor in front of her. We hadn’t spoken to each other since the incident with Claire last week.

Had there been other girls present, I’m not sure I would have chosen to sit next to her. However, since it was just the two of us, it would have been awkward – and maybe a bit rude – to not take a seat at the computer next to hers.

I greeted Lisa as I sat down and received a meek “hi” in response from her. I really didn’t expect much conversation-wise from her. I turned on the computer and logged in with my school password to see that Fortnite had already been installed.

“You can go ahead and turn on the game and make sure the settings and controls are all set up the way that you like,” Mr. Olson said as he walked over to me.

As I made sure all the key bindings were set to my liking, four other girls made there way into the room. I’d seen a couple of them before but hadn’t met any of them. They were all upperclassmen, leaving me and Lisa as the only freshmen for the tryout.

Mr. Olson surveyed the room once the clock hit 2 p.m. and it was time to begin the tryout.

“Congratulations,” he said with a laugh. “We have six spots, so you are all on the team, as long as you are sure that is what you want to do.”

“So, do we actually need a tryout then?” asked Amanda, the senior who had taken the seat to my right.

“Of course, we will. We still have to determine who the starters and reserves are. It’s no different from any other sports team. The first half of the tryout will be having you play three individual games while I watch and see how you do. Afterword, I’ll divide you up into teams to see how well you perform as a group with some Duo games.”

I decided I was fine being a reserve as long as it got mom to let me practice playing Fortnite at home, but my hopes of being a starter increased as the first two games went along well. I finished in the top fifteen players each time and managed to score several kills in both games, but by the middle of the third and final solo game, all the Cool-Aid mom had made me drink earlier was beginning to irritate my bladder. I hadn’t had that much liquid all at once in more than a week, and my bladder was not in any way prepared to handle it.

In the past week I had gotten a good sense for whether I could make it to a toilet or if the urges would end up with an embarrassing accident and this situation felt much more like the latter option.

I toyed with the idea of trying to lose on purpose. Maybe I would be allowed to go to the bathroom with my last game over. I could make my character run from the hiding place I had chosen in hope of finding an opponent that could kill me and end the game. But I couldn’t do that. I had played so well during the tryout up until now and I didn’t want to make a bad impression with the coach.

I needed to move, if I could just to squirm a little in my seat I would be fine. Once I got to this level of urgency in my bladder, holding still would ensure that I would lose control, but I had to hold still to keep my focus on the game. I pressed my feet firmly against the ground, stilled my body, and let the inevitable take place.

As I finished emptying my bladder into the pull-up, in my peripheral vision it felt as if some of the other girls had turned to look at me. I tried not to panic. Had they heard me peeing? What if the pull-up had leaked?

I peaked to my right. Amanda was focused on her game. I then looked to my left and Lisa’s eyes rose to meet mine for just the briefest moment before we turned back to looking at our own screens. Had she been looking down at my waist? What for?

In my concern during the aftermath of my accident, I had gotten distracted from the Fortnite game and hadn’t noticed the sound of the footsteps coming from behind me. I heard the bang and saw my character’s health meter drop dramatically. I turned the character around and tried to build some walls to protect myself, but after another shot my character was dead. A message on the screen flashed to let me know that I had finished in sixth place. The best result I had achieved so far in the tryout, but still disappointing given how well I had been doing.

With my three rounds over, I turned to look at the rest of the girls in the room. Everyone but Lisa appeared to have wrapped up. After a glimpse at my pants which confirmed that the pull-up had handled my accident without a leak, I scooted my chair slightly over to behind Lisa’s and watched as she deftly moved her character in the game on the way to a first place finish. We jumped up and cheered as she got the final kill. Lisa acted like the win was normal and didn’t say anything, but her face blushed once she turned around and saw that we all had been watching her.

“Mr. Olson, can we take a bathroom break now before the next game?” asked one of the girls at the far end of the computer lab.

“Sure, anyone who needs to can go. Be back in five minutes.”

I doubted there was much more pee remaining in my bladder, but I wanted a chance to remove the wet pull-up. I was dismayed when I saw that everyone but Lisa get up to go to the bathroom. I had hoped to have some privacy.

“You OK with not going to the bathroom, Lisa,” Olson asked. “There won’t be another break till the tryout is done.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, giving her dress a tug as she shifted in her seat.

On the way to the closest bathroom we chatted about how our first three games had gone. I was surprised to find out that I had done the best out of all of them. Once in the bathroom, I took my normal spot at the very back. While it was such a relief to slide the wet pull-up off of my butt and down to my legs, with someone sitting in the stall next to me I was too nervous to remove my pants to get the pull-up off. There was no way I was going to go the quicker, yet nosier, route of ripping the pull-ups sides to remove it.

I managed to pee a little. Hopefully that is the rest of the Cool-Aid. As much as I wanted to get the soaked pull-up off for good, I couldn’t find a way do it discreetly during the five minutes that coach had allotted to us for the bathroom break. I flushed the toilet around the same time that everyone else was and slid the wet pull-up back up till it was snug across my waist. The urine-soaked material had cooled in the few minutes the pull-up had been off of my skin and the colder, clammy feeling was so uncomfortable as my jeans pressed the pull-up against me.

Upon my return to the computer lab, I gradually eased myself back into my chair in anticipating of how the pull-up was going to squish against me.

“Listen up,” Mr. Olson said once everyone was in their seats again. “We’re going to break into three pairs. You’re going to be matched with a teammate with similar skills.”

As Mr. Olson read off the first two pairings, I realized that he hadn’t included my name. What does that mean?

“… And for our final group. Lisa and Sarah,” he said.

“I’ll try not to hold you back,” I said, turning to look at Lisa.

She widened her lips slightly to give me a small smile back, opened her mouth as if to say something and then didn’t as she instead stuttered and turned back to look intently at her monitor. This might be tough.

As I followed Lisa’s character in the game it became clear that she was on a whole different level of ability than me. She started right off with a raid on one of the secret agent bases to load up on weapons and supplies. Risky, but she had the whole route memorized, knowing exactly where each chest of items was. I simply followed her lead, so engrossed in the game that I’d completely forgotten about the wet pull-up I was wearing. Lisa barely said anything to me as we played. I ended up doing most of the talking and she would just nod in response.

We finished our three games with first, second, and fifth place finishes – better by far than any of the other teams – and the tryout came to a close with Mr. Olson announcing that Lisa and I would be two of the starters. I thanked Mr. Olson for that decision, but by the time I had turned to look for Lisa – I’d wanted to compliment her on how well she had played – she was gone with all of her things. I liked having her as a teammate, but It was going to be hard if we didn’t communicate at all.

Once in the bathroom by myself, I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I ripped the pull-up off. Sitting in it for the past hour had been so gross. I did my best to clean myself up with toilet paper as I hadn’t brought the baby wipes in the backpack, but I couldn’t get the gross feeling entirely off of my skin.

I left the pull-up hidden in the trash. I’d taken to burying it much further after the one I had found. The feel of the panties against my skin was so wonderful. I remembered how my last outing in panties had ended in failure inside a porta potty. I wasn’t at all confident I could succeed until I returned home tomorrow, but I didn’t have any choice in the matter. Today I’m fifteen, and I’m going on my first sleepover.


Chapter 13: The Bedwetter (The Sleepover: Part 1)

The first thing I did when I got to Samantha’s house was to make sure I knew where all of the bathrooms were.

That might seem as if it would be a simple task, but Samantha’s maze of a house is massive. I’d only been there a couple of times before, so I wasn’t too familiar with the layout, but it had four bathrooms. Four. It is hard to imagine compared to the single-bathroom house my mom, sister, and I live in. Given the likelihood that I’d use each bathroom at least once before tomorrow morning I made sure I knew exactly where each one was.

I took a bathroom break as soon as I arrived at the house. My bladder had gotten close to bursting on the car ride over. Since I’d be staying the night this time around, Samantha gave me the whole tour. They had four bedrooms and two bathrooms alone on the second floor of the house, which I hadn’t been to before. That mean that Samantha along with her younger siblings – Tommy and Lilian – each had their own bedrooms. So unfair. I was jealous. However, we’d be spending most of the night in the basement game room with a massive TV and big, comfy couches to lounge on.

We sat down on some waist-high stools around the island piece in the kitchen and snacked on some potato chips while trading gossip about how the week had went. I’d been to Samantha’s house before, but this time just felt so different. The fact that I was really able to stay here all night hadn’t sunk in yet.

I watched Lilian run by the kitchen toward the bathroom with a bit of jealousy. The toddler was six months younger than Emilia, and she’d already been potty trained for nearly a year. I wish it could have been that easy with my younger sister. How could Lilian get potty trained so fast when it was such a struggle for Emilia?

Samantha had noticed me watching her younger sister. I’d complained enough about Emilia’s potty-training woes that Samantha managed to guess what I was thinking about.

“Still having trouble with Emilia?” Samantha asked.

“Yep, I’m stuck on diaper and pull-up changing duty twenty-four-seven. I’m glad to finally get a break from it today.”

“Gross,” Samantha said, but her expression of curiosity didn’t match what she was saying.

If anything, she was quite interested in the status of Emilia’s potty-training. I was just happy to have someone to vent to.

“It isn’t too bad. She’s at least gotten the hang of doing number two in the toilet, so I don’t have many messy cleanups to do. Still, she won’t stop wetting herself, even with taking her to the toilet every thirty minutes.”

I neglected to mention how mom had been forcing Emilia to wear diapers as a punishment. I didn’t want to admit that the potty training had been going that badly.

“How old is she again?” Samantha asked.

“Three-and-a-half. So six months older than Lilian.”

“They should meet sometimes. I bet they could become best friends. Just like us.”

“That might be good. I would just hope that Lilian’s potty-training skills might rub off on Emilia.”

“Does Emilia still even fit in pull-ups with how old she is now?”

I had to suppress a laugh at that question. If only she knew that I could even squeeze into the pull-ups without much of an issue.

“Not yet, she’s on the biggest size of the pull-ups we use during the day and the diapers we use at night.”

This discussion about potty training made me realized I hadn’t told my friends about the pull-up I had found in the high school bathroom stall. Two weeks ago, before any of my wetting accidents had started and I had begun wearing my sister’s pull-ups, I would have considered that a juicy bit of gossip to share, and no doubt we would have spent a bunch of time speculating about who the pull-up might have belonged to, but now I hesitated to share the story, even though this is an otherwise perfect time to bring it up. If I had my friends looking intentionally for signs that someone was wearing a pull-up that might inadvertently lead them in my direction.

I wanted to be able to confide to my friends about what I had been going through with the bladder issues. I thought Desi might be understanding, but it could be hard to judge how Samantha might respond. She was a loyal friend, but she could be judgmental of people outside our friend group – especially if they were different in some way. Maybe if we got into some deep, late-night discussion I might be able to gradually introduce them to what I had been going to them to gauge how they might respond. Our conversation shifted to how the Fortnite tryout had gone earlier today.

“Did that weirdo still show up to the try-out?” Samantha asked.

“You need to stop calling her that,” I said. “Yeah, Lisa is a bit awkward, but it isn’t her fault that she was homeschooled.”

Samantha simply rolled her eyes.

“How did the tryout go?” Desi asked.

I explained how Lisa and I had been the two best players and that we had both been picked as starters. My detailed description of the Fortnite games wasn’t nearly as exciting to them as it was to me. Their boredom at being forced to listen to my tale was interrupted when Samantha’s mom entered the room with the pizzas she had gone to pick up. Pizza twice in a day? I guess it is a lucky day for me after all.

“What kind of soda do you want with the pizza?” Samantha asked.

I didn’t want any kind of soda, but I couldn’t think of a polite way to decline the offer. You were supposed to eat junk food during a sleepover, after all.

“I don’t know. Pick one for me.”

Mom rarely let me drink soda, so I didn’t have much of a preference as to what flavor I would like. Samantha returned to the table with three cold cans of Mountain Dew that she had grabbed from the fridge. I didn’t want to even begin to guess how much sugar and caffeine must be in them. Samantha made a show of chugging the entire can of Mountain Dew in just a few seconds.

“Show-off,” Desi muttered.

“Well, can either of you do better,” Samantha retorted.

Desi chugged her can of soda nearly as quickly as Samantha had, without spilling even a single drop. They both turned to look at me.

“Chug it! Chug it! Chug it!” they chanted in unison.

I had no desire to drink the soda. I had hoped to get away with just a few sips. I popped the can open and started to pour the soda into my mouth. I gagged at the burning feeling of the carbonation. This was the first time I’d had any soda in at least three or four months, and I was not at all prepared for how it would taste or feel in my mouth. Desi jokingly patted me on the back as I finished coughing.

“Maybe I’ll save this to drink sometime later,” I said, hoping that later would end up turning into never.

“You can’t do that. It will go flat. Just drink it now,” Samantha said.

I looked back down at the still mostly full can of soda. I couldn’t think of a good excuse to avoid drinking it, but the possibility of wetting myself would be much higher if I did.

“Come on Sarah,” Samantha said. “It’s just soda. You’re supposed to like drinking it.”

I slowly sipped from the can until I had completely drained it, careful to avoid the reaction I had gotten when I had tried to drink it much quicker. I knew liquids didn’t immediately go to my bladder, but no sooner had I finished drinking the soda than I felt the urge to pee coming on again. This is going to be a long evening.

I returned from the bathroom to find Samantha and Desi debating what activity we should start with for the sleepover. I was eager to try on some makeup, but they had different plans on their minds.

“What should we do before we watch movies tonight?” Desi asked.

“We can swim in the pool,” Samantha said.

“Swim? It’s way too cold for that today,” I said. “Plus, you didn’t tell me anything about us doing that. I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

“I’m sorry, I should have mentioned it. Desi just always brings one when we do a sleepover. You can wear a swimsuit that I’ve outgrown,” said Samantha, who has several inches on me. “I’m sure it will fit you just fine.”

Desi grabbed her bag and went to a bathroom to change into her swimsuit. She had just gotten the cast off of her foot earlier today so she was free to join in on the swimming as well. Samantha led me upstairs to her bedroom. She pulled out a hanger from the closet with the old swimsuit attached. I looked at the two-piece swimsuit a bit awkwardly. I recognized it from when we had gone to the water park together a summer ago. It may have been a perfectly normal piece of swimwear, but mom had derided it as indecent when she had seen Samantha wearing it. Mom only allowed me to wear one-piece swimsuits.

“Oh, come on,” Samantha said. “Your mom isn’t going to find out, and it’s not like any of our neighbors can see the pool through the fence anyways.”

I relented, stripped off my clothes, and tried the swimsuit on. The fit was tight, which I suppose was better than it being loose. I felt naked, even though everything that needed to be covered was covered. I nearly jumped when Samantha returned to the room, instinctively crossing my arms across my body.

“Stop being so prude,” Samantha said. “Hurry up. We’ve only got an hour or so of daylight left.”

I shivered as I stepped out into Samantha’s backyard in just a swimsuit. Samantha and Desi both went ahead of me and jumped eagerly in the pool. I stepped back to avoid getting splashed. Goose bumps began sprouting on my arms as I remained on the stone patio.

“Jump in. The water is heated,” Samantha said.

I tip-toed up to the edge of the pool and dipped my foot into the water. Not as warm as I had expected, but it was still better than the cold swimming pools I was accustomed to at the local YMCA and definitely better than standing out of the water shivering. I made a cannonball jump into the pool, splashing both Desi and Samantha. The pool was only four feet deep, but for me, that meant I had to stand up on my toes to keep the water from splashing into my mouth.

We splashed around on several inflatable pool toys, trying to knock each other off their float while staying on our own. After that, we settled into a game of tag. I was the best swimmer of the group, and I had no problem swimming rapidly toward one of my friends to tap them and then getting away before they could swipe back at me. I was chasing down Samantha at the moment, and I had her boxed into one of the corners.

She dove underwater, trying to get down past me, but I took a deep breath and dived down after her as well and tapped her firmly on the back with my hand. I kicked off the wall and began swimming toward the other end of the pool before coming to a stop a ways away from her. As my toes made contact with the bottom of the pool, the water around my waist began to feel warmer, and I realized I was in the middle of peeing. Given that I was already completely wet, the sensation of urinating hadn’t been as immediately noticeable as the other accidents I’d had in a pull-up.

I couldn’t remain in that spot for long. Samantha was now chasing after me, wanting to get me back for tagging her. I began moving toward the opposite side of the pool, but when I turned back to see what Samantha was doing, I saw that she was stopped right where I had just had the accident, her face showing an expression of disgust as she began to walk backwards from that spot where she must have noticed the unusual warmth.

“Sarah! Did you just pee in the pool?” Samantha shouted at me.

Desi turned to stare at me as well. I couldn’t admit that I had an accident, but with Samantha adamant that she could tell that someone had peed in the pool, I couldn’t deny having done so. My only option was to pretend that I had done it on purpose

“Yes,” I replied curtly.

“Gross!” Desi shrieked, scrambling to get out of the pool.

“Relax, the chlorine gets rid of it,” I said, and then turned to Samantha. “There is chlorine in the water, right?”

“Of course there is, but that doesn’t mean you can just pee wherever you feel like it,” Samantha said. “Just gross.”

Desi would have nothing to do with getting back into the pool so that meant it was time to head back inside. She shot me another look of disgust as we dried ourselves off with towels on the patio. After we had finished changing into our pajamas in Samantha’s room, we went to the basement to get started with a movie, but Tommy was already there, playing a video game on the TV.

“Mom, can you make Tommy get off of his game?” Samantha yelled up the stairs, trying to get her mother’s attention.

“No, I told him he could play for a bit before going to bed,” her mom replied back. “You know he goes to bed early so you’ll have plenty of time once he is done.”

“Whatever,” Samantha muttered loudly, stalking away with a pouting face.

I couldn’t believe the things Samantha could get away with. If I’d dared to behave like that, I’d wind up bent over mom’s legs on the receiving end of a spanking.

“You girls just head upstairs and find another game to play until you can start your movie,” Samantha’s mom said, ignoring her daughter’s outburst.

“What game should we play,” Desi asked.

“Didn’t you tell me that you always play Truth or Dare?” I said, eager to give that game a try.

“Of course,” Samantha said. “Have you ever played it?”


“Do you know the rules?”

“Truth means you have to answer a question with complete honesty. Dare means you have to complete the task that you are given.”

The three of us went back up to Samantha’s room and sat down on blankets in a circle on the floor.

“It’s your first time, so you are going to have to start,” Samantha said to me. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” I said without any hesitation.

Samantha and Desi shared a glance and then whispered quietly between each other, trying to decide what question to ask me.

“Have you ever kissed a boy,” Desi asked.

Of course she’d ask something like that.

“No,” I replied.

“What about kissing a girl,” Samantha interjected.

I gasped. That was a rather scandalous question in a conservative community like ours. Besides, they were only supposed to ask one question.

“No!” I replied loudly.

“I’d never want to,” I added, just to be clear.

We stuck to truths for the first several rounds, with no one quite having the nerve to go for a dare. I learned that Samantha had once gotten three “Fs” on a report card and Desi had first said a curse word in front of her mom at the age of three, while I was forced to tell them that I’d eaten a booger before. The truths part was getting boring. I wanted to get on to the exciting stuff.

“Truth or Dare?” Samantha asked me when my turn came around again.

“Dare!” I said.

“I think I have one,” Samantha said before Desi could say anything.

“I dare you to pants my brother,” Samantha said.

“Do what?” I replied.

I didn’t understand what she was asking me to do. Samantha rolled her eyes at me.

“It just means that you pull down someone pants by surprise. Just their pants of course, you don’t want them to be naked.”

I was surprised by Samantha’s request. It was a strange dare, but not something that should be too difficult or embarrassing for me to do.

Tommy was standing in front of the TV downstairs wearing basketball shorts and t-shirt, jumping up and down and waving his arms in response to some sort of motion sensing game he was playing on the TV. As far as dares went, I felt like I had lucked out with being given an easy one. Instead of making a show of sneaking behind Tommy, which I felt was more likely to be noticed, I walked confidently up to the couch behind him like I was up to my own business. Samantha followed behind me holding her phone up as if she was recording the dare.

I walked all the way past Tommy. He didn’t pay any attention to me; he was too absorbed in the game to care one bit about what I was doing. I doubled back, this time intent on carrying out the dare. I came to a stop directly behind Tommy, kneeling down so my hands could reach his pants. In one motion, I got a firm grip on either side of his shorts and tugged them all the way to the floor. I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see.

I hadn’t given much thought as to what was going to happen after I pulled Tommy’s pants down, but I had figured I would see either underwear or maybe boxers, likely decorated with cartoon characters or superheroes. Instead, Tommy was wearing a pull-up. The sides of the pull-up were a solid blue, with the main design being a series of horizontal blue lines. It was the last thing I had expected to see.

I don’t think Tommy immediately realized what had happened. He at first tried to reach down and grab his pants, but his hands weren’t able to reach all the way to his feet. Tommy then turned around and placed both his hands on the front of the pull-up, trying unsuccessfully hiding it from view. Tears began to form around his eyes. I stepped back and sat on the couch, embarrassed at the secret I had unwittingly revealed. However, Samantha wasn’t surprised at all.

“Aww, does baby have his diapie on for bedtime already,” Samantha said mockingly to her younger brother.

Tommy started to run off. Samantha handed the phone to Desi and chased him down. She grabbed Tommy and then turned him around so he was facing us with his hands held above his head and the dry pull-up fully exposed.

“Desi, come show Tommy the video,” Samantha said

Desi walked over to wear Samantha was holding Tommy in place and then played the video for all of us to see. The images in the video were crystal clear, leaving no doubt that Tommy was wearing a pull-up. Even more tears streamed down Tommy’s face as he watched it silently.

“Tommy, do you want your friends to know that you are a baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” he protested weakly, not a particularly effective argument when one is wearing a pull-up.

“Big kids don’t wear diapies,” Samantha said, ignoring Tommy’s protestations. “If you don’t want your friends to see this video, you are going to do as we say and be a good baby boy and you aren’t going to tell mommy about any of this. Do you understand?”

Tommy remained silent except for his quiet sobbing.

“Do you understand,” Samantha said, more firmly this time around.

Tommy nodded his head.

“Come on baby, hold up your shirt and show off your diapie,” Samantha said to Tommy, as she grabbed her phone and started another recording.

“Why don’t you tell everyone what you are wearing,” Samantha said.

Tommy muttered something that we couldn’t hear.

“Say it louder for the camera.”

“A pull-up.”

“And why are you wearing the pull-up?”

Tommy started to say something, but hesitated stuttered and then fell silent. Samantha pressed on with her interrogation.

“What do you do every night when you are asleep?”

“I wet the bed.”

I was aghast at the whole sequence of events. I knew Samantha could sometimes be a bit stuck up, and maybe even mean on occasion, but it had always seemed lighthearted compared to how cruel she was being to her brother. The whole situation reminded me vividly of how mom treats Emilia. I was so thankful I had chosen to not wear a pull-up or bring any in my backpack as backup. What if they had pantsed me instead?

I had thought – in hindsight quite foolishly – that perhaps I could confide in my friends about all the struggles I had been going through with my bladder and wetting accidents. Carrying the burden of that secret all to myself the past week had caused no small amount of stress.

Samantha snatched Tommy’s shorts off the ground before he could grab them.

“You aren’t going to be needed these,” Samantha said, giving Tommy a pat on his bottom as she led Desi and I back upstairs to continue the game of Truth or Dare.


Chapter 14: Double Dare (The Sleepover: Part 2)

Desi and I walked up the stairs in silence behind Samantha. I still couldn’t believe what she’d just done. To leave Tommy downstairs without anything to wear over the pull-up? I felt guilty about not speaking up to stop her in the middle of it, like I was just as complicit in how Samantha had humiliated her younger brother.

“Are you really going to leave Tommy down there without his shorts?” I asked finally when we got to the top of the stairs.

Samantha paused and looked down at the basketball shorts she was still holding in her hand, but she didn’t immediately respond to my question.

“Look, it was funny and all, but you probably went too far this time,” Desi added.

I was relieved that Desi agreed with me and was standing up for Tommy as well.

“Fine. I’ll give him his pants back. I’m sure the brat has learned his lesson by now,” Samantha said, heading back down the stairs.

“What’s her deal with Tommy?” I asked Desi in a hushed tone as soon as Samantha was out of earshot.

I knew that the two siblings had never gotten along all that well, but I’d never gotten any hint that the situation was this acrimonious.

“Well, it is true that Tommy has been a bit of a brat lately, always trying to get Samantha in trouble.”

“But to blackmail him?”

“I know. Maybe we can talk to her later about deleting the video.”

Samantha arrived back upstairs, and the game resumed where it had left off. Since I had done a dare, I could in turn choose the next dare that one of my friends did. That gave me an idea. Samantha’s behavior had increased the urgency that I not have a noticeable accident in front of her, but with how they had been pressuring me to drink soda I could no longer be sure that I could avoid a bedwetting incident if I fell asleep. I hadn’t brought any pull-ups with me. However, I could take one of Tommy’s, but I’d need to know where his pull-ups were kept.

We returned to Samantha’s room to resume the game of Truth or Dare. It was Samantha’s turn, and with myself having just done a dare there wasn’t much choice as to what option she had to choose.

“A dare,” Samantha said, after I asked her what her choice would be.

“I’ve got one. I’ve got one,” I said, before Desi could get a word in.

This was my chance. I wasn’t going to pass it up. I had something I needed to find out, and I could get some justice for Tommy along the way.

“I dare you to wear one of Tommy’s pull-ups…”

The look on Samantha’s face as I paused was worth it. Shock and then a little bit of embarrassment as she soaked in what I was asking.

“… on your head,” I finished.

I think she would have refused if I had dared her to put on the pull-ups like you would wear panties, but a silly request – wearing them on your head – was too reasonable of a dare to be refused.

Desi burst out laughing.

“Damn girl. You know what you’re doing. You sure you haven’t played before?”

I chuckled. Even Samantha had to show a small grin on her face. She knew she’d been played.

“Well?” I said.

“Of course, I’ll do it,” Samantha said in a huff.

Samantha led us into the bedroom next to hers. This was what I needed to see. Samantha flipped the light switch on and then slid open the door to one of the closets in Tommy’s room. Sitting on a shelf in plain view was a large box that I instantly recognized. It was the boy version of the pull-ups I had once worn as a bedwetter myself. The size said it was extra-large, and fit kids from 65 to 125 pounds. I wouldn’t have any trouble wearing them. Samantha grabbed a pull-up out of the box and slid it on over her head so that her ears stuck out of the leg openings. She spun around in a silly dance before taking the pull-up off and tossing it on the floor.

I now knew everything I needed to know. I just had to wait until everyone was asleep and then I could slip into Tommy’s room and get myself a pull-up to wear after all.

Desi was last to receive a dare. After what Samantha and I had done it was hard to know what could be chosen to top it. Samantha had a glimmer in her eye. I don’t think she had liked how Desi had laughed at my pull-up dare.

“I get to call this dare, but I need a minute to think about it,” Samantha said.

Samantha let the full minute pass by in suspense while Desi awaited her fate. Given that each of the last two dares had involved Tommy’s pull-ups, I suspected that was the direction she was planning on going, but if Samantha had already made a decision, she didn’t give a hint of it. At last, a big grin spread across her face.

“Oh, get it over with Samantha,” Desi said.

Samantha just laughed and then stood up with a flourish to make a show of announcing the dare.

“Desi, I dare you to wear one of Tommy’s pull-ups and pee in it.”

Desi sat speechless on her blanket. Her silence was astonishing in and of itself. Samantha looked way too pleased with herself. I just sat on the floor with my mouth gaping open. Really?

“Damn, I do know how to play this game,” Samantha said mockingly, before running out of the room, presumably to get one of Tommy’s pull-ups.

“Samantha’s not serious, is she?” I said, turning to Desi with a look of bewilderment on my face.

“Nah,” Desi replied. “She’s just being dramatic to scare me. There’s no way she’d have me piss in a pull-up.”

Samantha arrived back in the room breathless, a smile on her face and a blue pull-up clutched tightly in her hand. Samantha tossed the pull-up onto Desi’s lap. Desi dropped it as if she were playing a game of hot potato.

“There,” Samantha announced with an air of finality.

“I’m not doing it,” Desi said, crossing her arms.

That wiped the smile off of Samantha’s face.

“Yes, you are. That’s the rule of the game. You asked for a dare and I gave you one. Now you have to do it.”

Samantha and Desi both stared at each other. Neither one seemed like they wanted to budge off their demands.

“Fine,” Desi said at last, grabbing the pull-up of the floor and marching off to the bathroom to put it on.

She returned a minute later, wearing just her hoodie and the pull-up. Desi’s slim figure is similar to mine, and the pull-up clearly was the right size for her. The pull-up was also clearly still dry, which meant Desi hadn’t yet fulfilled her end of the dare. The design was different than the one Tommy was wearing, as the space-themed pull-up was covered with planets and stars.

I glanced back and forth between my two friends. Desi was again glaring at Samantha, clearly unhappy with being pressured into this ridiculous dare. I thought Samantha might be taken aback at her friend’s unhappiness, but instead, she had a bit of a smug, satisfied look on her face as she glanced down at the pull-up Desi was wearing.

Desi pulled up her sweatpants until the pull-up was fully concealed.

“You can’t do that,” Samantha said. “We have to see whether you’ve peed in it. Take your sweats off.”

“Your dare said I had to wear the stupid pull-up and pee in it. I didn’t hear nothing about having to show it off to everybody.”

“But…” Samantha said, starting to object.

“You can’t change the rules of the dare once it’s started,” I said in Desi’s defense.

I didn’t want to spend the next couple hours watching Desi walk around in a pull-up. The dare was mean enough without making her do that, and my experiences with pull-ups the past week made it feel even more awkward

“I don’t need to pee now anyways,” Desi said. “I’ll show you when I’m ready to do that.”

We returned to the basement after stopping at the kitchen to get some snacks – Samantha had insisted on getting more soda – to find Tommy turning off the video game. Like Samantha had said, her brother did have his shorts back on, covering the pull-up he was wearing. I would have had no idea he was wearing them if Samantha hadn’t dared me to pull his shorts down earlier in the evening.

We settled into our spots on the couch and Samantha turned on the movie – Crazy Rich Asians – and handed Desi and I another soda and a large bowl of popcorn. I hated turning things down when they were offered to me, especially when I was a guest at someone else’s house. Plus, there were pull-ups I could nab later to provide some extra security. I cracked open the soda and took a sip. The carbonation didn’t hit me as bad as the soda I’d had during dinner.

I did end up having to ask Samantha to pause the movie three times so I could get up to go to the bathroom. I was heading to the toilet whenever I began to get the slightest urges in my bladder, not taking any chances of risking an accident.

The movie wasn’t my style, but I did have to admit that it had its funny moments. As the closing credits scrawled across the TV, Samantha slid over to where Desi was sitting on the couch and reached her hand toward the top of Desi’s sweats. Desi slapped Samantha’s hand away with a look of annoyance.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Chill,” Samantha said. “I just wanted to check and see if you’d used the pull-up.”

“Look, it’s dry still. I don’t need to pee.”

I wasn’t too sure of that statement myself, given how much soda we’d all had this evening, but I wasn’t about to call Desi out on it.

“I just can’t do it,” Desi said.

“Can’t do what?” Samantha asked.

“I can’t pee in a motherfucking pull-up. I just can’t make myself do it.”

Desi wanted out of the dare. I didn’t blame her one bit for it. But a dare was a dare; it had to be completed.

“You should have dared Sarah to pee in the pull-up,” Desi said. “She’s the one who’s had to go to the bathroom so often tonight.”

I blushed and looked down at my feet.

“It’s all the caffeine. Mom never lets me have this much, so I’m not used to it.”

Pull-ups and my bathroom habits were the two last things I wanted to be talking about right now. I tried to change the subject.

“Samantha, you promised I’d get to try out some of your makeup. Let’s do that before we begin the next movie,” I said.

Samantha took the bait with that distraction, and with that we went back upstairs to her room.

I barely recognized myself when I looked in the mirror. I had sat still – or at least as still as my anxious bladder would let me – for thirty minutes while Samantha and Desi put a full set of make-up on my face. I let out an audible gasp upon seeing my reflection. It definitely had the effect of making me look older and much more mature. I wished that I could do this at home, but my mom had strictly forbidden make-up until I turned sixteen.

“What do you think?” Samantha asked.

“It looks so amazing!” I said. “Thank-you.”

I excused myself to go to the bathroom for what felt like the umpteenth time this evening as Desi and Samantha proceeded to do each other’s makeup. Just like I had expected, I had now used each of the four bathrooms in Samantha’s house. I’d avoided having an accident, but I was still embarrassed about how often I had to dash away to the bathroom in front of my friends. They hadn’t teased me too much over it, but I was still worried about what they were thinking of me.

Desi and Samantha hadn’t done their own makeup quiet as extravagantly as mine, but they both still looked nice. We posed together for a couple of selfies. I was thankful mom didn’t follow my friends on social media. I’d have a lot of explaining to do if she saw those pictures.

I had hoped that after getting distracted with another activity that Samantha would forget about the dare she had given to Desi, or maybe even agree to let it slide, but as soon as we had gotten our makeup on she was again pressing Desi about whether she needed to pee. Desi relented at last. She sighed, loosened the drawstring of her sweatpants, and let them fall to the floor.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she said.

Desi’s face changed as she closed her eyes, squeezed her lips together, and gave a small grunt. I really didn’t want to watch this. I’m sure my cheeks were burning red from the second-hand embarrassment I was feeling. Nothing changed immediately with the pull-up, it looked as dry as when Desi had first put it on a couple of hours ago. Samantha still stared eagerly at the pull-up, like she was trying to will it to become wet.

After about thirty seconds of waiting, I heard the slightest of hissing sounds, and then a small, yellowish circle appeared at the bottom of the pull-up. In a matter of seconds, that circle expanded rapidly until nearly the entire pull-up was soaked and sagging down from her crotch. It’s one thing to wet a pull-up yourself and an entirely different thing to see someone else do it. I felt disgusted. Is that what is looks like when I have an accident?

Desi opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Her jaw dropped as she looked down at the pull-up to see the result of what she had just done. She twisted and turned in place, unable to find a comfortable way to stand with the wet pull-up sagging between her legs.

“Yuck,” Desi exclaimed. “This is so gross.”

Desi ripped off sides of the pull-up right in front of us without bothering to get any privacy, rolled the used pull-up into a ball, and tossed it right at Samantha, who stepped aside and let the pull-up land with a splat on the floor.

“There. I did the dare. Happy now?”

Samantha blushed slightly. At least she felt a little shame over what she had made her friend do. She picked up the pull-up and went over to Tommy’s room to toss it in the trash can while Desi put her panties and sweats back on.

“That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done,” Desi said, as Samantha left the room.

“Yeah, that must have been really weird,” I replied, trying hard not to show my familiarity with how wetting a pull-up feels like.

“All I know is Samantha better watch out the next time we play Truth or Dare,” Desi said, raising her voice enough that Samantha likely could hear her from her brother’s room. “I’ve got some ideas.”

At 3 a.m. I was finally certain that Samantha and Desi were both sound asleep. I had thought it would never happen. We’d stayed up and watched two more movies, before removing our makeup and settling into a trio of sleeping bags in the basement. I could hear Desi snoring, and Samantha had been motionless the past thirty minutes as they lay sound asleep in their sleeping bags. I’d never stayed awake this long before, but the caffeine combined with my frequent urges to pee and my fear of what would happen were I to sleep and wet myself was more than enough to keep me awake till now.

However, with at least another five hours or so to go, I wasn’t sure I could stay awake the entire night. I wasn’t drinking any more caffeine and the effect of what I had drunk earlier was bound to wear off sooner or later. I thought about my plan to get the pull-up from Tommy’s room. It was risky, but not as risky as accidentally falling asleep and waking up with my sleeping bag all wet.

I arranged my sleeping bag so that in the dark it might look like someone was still curled up inside it. The basement was pitch dark with no windows or lights, so I doubted anyone would be able to notice that I had slipped away. Even so, I crawled toward the stairs as stealthily as I could and walked up to the second floor of the house. Tommy’s door had been left open, with some bluish light coming into the hallway from the nightlight inside the bedroom. I peeked just my head past the door to see that Tommy was completely covered beneath his blankets.

I tip-toed over to the closet and grabbed a pull-up out of the box. I felt really guilty over stealing it. It was one thing to take them from my sister, and an entirely different thing to take them from someone else. But it was technically Samantha’s fault that I needed them, I rationalized. After all, she was the one who had pressured me into drinking so much soda. Just as I was getting ready to walk out of the closet. I heard the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway. Oh great. Had someone heard me after all? I stepped completely into the closet and pulled the sliding door until it was nearly shut. I had left Tommy’s door mostly shut as a precaution, and now it gave a brief creaking noise as someone pushed it open from the hallway.

I wanted to peak out and see who had walked in, but I didn’t dare do so. From the sound of the footsteps, whoever had entered the room had stopped next to Tommy’s bed. A minute passed in silence. Then two. Then three. At last I peeked through the gap between the closet door and the wall. With the nightlight to help me peer through the darkness, I could see Samantha kneeling to the side of Tommy’s bed. In one hand, she was holding a shallow, flat dish of water. Her other hand was on Tommy’s wrist, holding his hand into the water.

I may have been a novice to sleepover pranks, but I didn’t need anyone to tell me the purpose of what Samantha was doing. She was attempting to make him wet the bed, or rather – given how her brother was dressed – his pull-ups. Why was she doing this to him? I had never gotten the impression that Samantha disliked her younger brother. In fact, she had been so doting on him when he had been a baby. Seeing how she had cared for him had made me want a younger sibling of my own.

After several more minutes, Samantha placed the dish on the floor. She lifted up a corner of the covers and pulled down Tommy’s pajamas slightly to reveal the pull-up. Samantha must have been satisfied that she’d been successful in getting him to have an accident, because she tugged his pajamas and blanket back in place, picked up the water dish, and left to return to the basement.

I felt much more guilty at what I had seen than I had over the thought of taking one of the pull-ups. I remembered how humiliated I had been with my own bedwetting, and my mom had never made a big deal over it. How much worse would it have been to go through that while having an older sister and her friends torment me about it? I should have confronted her. It was one thing to tease her brother over bedwetting, it was completely different to do that while being the one to cause him to be a bedwetter in the first place. But I couldn’t say anything. There was no good explanation for why I was hiding in Tommy’s closet.

After giving Samantha several minutes to get back to her sleeping bag. I made it down to the first floor bathroom without waking anyone in the house, which gave me my first chance to examine the pull-up, which I wanted to do even though I’d gotten good glimpses of it on both Tommy and Desi. The pull-up was clearly a size bigger than what Emilia wore, though it still wasn’t as thick as the one I had uncovered in the school bathroom stall. While the pattern was the same on both sides, one of them had a small marking on it to indicate it was the back.

As I slid the pull-up up till it reached my waist, it was clear how much better it felt. The sides weren’t nearly as tight as Emilia’s pull-up, but they were still snug, and I didn’t have any concern about them sliding down on their own. I could tell just by the feel between my legs that this pull-up had even more padding than the ones my sister wore.

I’d gotten the boring pattern, rather than the space one, not that it mattered much. Disney characters are much more fun, but I was relieved that I had some protection against potentially being outed as a bedwetter in front of Samantha. I pulled up my pajama bottoms, making certain to tie the drawstrings tight. No one was going to pantsed me.

I cautiously walked down the stairs. There wasn’t a bathroom in the basement, so I did have an excuse for having gone upstairs if Samantha noticed me, but I’d rather avoid having that conversation. I managed to get back into my sleeping bag seemingly without anyone noticing me, and like before, Samantha appeared to be sound asleep.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. Even though I trusted the pull-up to hold an accident should I have one in my sleep, I no longer trusted Samantha to not accidentally discover my secret. And, if she were to discover it, I didn’t trust her not to spread the secret to everyone at school or hold it over my head as some unspoken threat. I got up to pee several more times over the course of the night. The need to go was urgent each time, but except for the first overnight trip to the toilet, I didn’t end up peeing much.

I pretended to be asleep when I heard Desi at last stop snoring and begin to stir in her sleeping bag. My eyes hurt like hell. I hadn’t managed to get any sleep.

“Good morning,” I said, with an unsuccessful attempt at stifling a large yawn.

Desi yawned right back at me. If she noticed how tired I looked she didn’t mention it. Samantha stretched out her arms and peeked out of her sleeping bag as well. I pulled out my phone to see that it was just after 9 a.m., I couldn’t believe my friends were up already having gone to sleep as late as they did.

I don’t know how Samantha’s mom guessed that we were awake, but she yelled from the top of the stairs that it was time to get some breakfast. We ran upstairs in our pajamas, not bothering to change our clothes. As we sat at the kitchen table eating a breakfast of blueberry pancakes, fruit, and orange juice, we didn’t make any mention of last night’s game of Truth or Dare, as if it had never even happened.

Tommy joined us for breakfast at the table. He was still in his pajamas from last night. It may just have been my imagination, but I thought I could see the bulge from the wet pull-up underneath his shorts. I couldn’t believe Samantha was torturing her brother like that. At least Samantha had given no indication that she was aware of my own nighttime excursion.

Tommy’s mom must have noticed the fact that he hadn’t changed out of the wet pull-up as well. While she didn’t say anything directly about it, she shot him a look that had him run upstairs and come down in a new set of clothes.

“Did you sleep at all last night,” Desi asked as I struggled to hold me head up at the table.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it was very restful,” I replied. “I’m not used to sleeping on the floor.”

The rest of the morning passed by in a blur. Desi and Samantha may have gotten more sleep than me, but they were still too tired to do much as well. I was so relieved when I heard mom’s car pull up in the driveway.

I could barely keep my eyes open as mom drove me home. I kept drifting off into a state of being half asleep only to be jolted awake at every bump or turn in the road.

“Didn’t you sleep at all last night?” mom asked.

“No, I couldn’t fall asleep.”

Mom shook her head.

“Sleepovers are for sleeping,” Mom said, scolding me. “Sleep. It’s part of the name.”

“I know. I know,” I said, releasing a large yawn that I’d been unable to hold in. “I just couldn’t”

Once home, I stumbled into the house in a zombie-like state. I walked past the kitchen and into the living room, set my backpack onto the ground and then collapsed onto the couch. I was asleep the moment my body landed on the cushions.


Chapter 15: Pinkie Promise

My dreams were filled with variations of all my fears from the past few days. I was standing in front of the TV in Samantha’s basement trying to play the same videogame Tommy had been playing. I was concentrating so hard on it that I was completely oblivious to my surroundings. I felt a pull on my pants as they got tugged down to the floor.

The pull-up I was wearing was now fully exposed, but it wasn’t one of the blue ones that Tommy had been wearing or my sister’s pull-ups with the Disney characters on them. It wasn’t even one of the plain white ones like I had found in the school bathroom. No, the floral design was that of the pull-ups I had worn as a bedwetter myself when I was Tommy’s age.

I turned around and Samantha and Desi were staring at me.

“Aww, baby has a diaper on,” they said, laughing.

“I’m not a baby,” I shouted back at them.

I reached down to pick up my pants, but they had disappeared. Desi and Samantha just laughed even harder, holding their phones up to videotape me. I tried to cover the pull-up with my hands, but that was pointless.

I turned and ran up the stairs in only a pull-up and t-shirt. As I came to the top of the stairs, the dream shifted, and I was no longer in Samantha’s house but at school. I found myself a bathroom stall. I had my clothes back at least. My pants and pull-up were draped around my ankles as I kept trying unsuccessfully to pee. The stall door swung open to reveal Claire, who stood looking down at my pull-up.

“Aww, baby has a diaper on,” she said in a mocking, sing-song tone.

I slammed the door to the bathroom stall shut in her face. I closed my eyes. I wanted to be anywhere but in the bathroom stall with my nemesis waiting outside for me. I was now back in my own house, laying face-down in my bed. I felt a sensation beginning on my hand, like it was in a bowl of warm water. The sensation spread to the rest of my body, and I felt myself begin to relax.

“Sarah. Sarah!” someone yelled at me; the voice came from outside the dream.

I woke up incredibly confused. Where am I? What? I’m on the couch? My hand was dry, but my bladder felt like it was on the verge of giving up. I jolted into an upright position, jumped off the couch, and started to run for the bathroom. But it was too late. I began to pee. The flow of urine was too strong to stop. I halted at the edge of the living room and the hallway, unable to run and pee at the same time.

I was still so tired that my mind wasn’t thinking straight. I turned back toward the living room to see mom staring at me. Oh no! She’s watching me pee myself. I looked down at my pants to see there wasn’t a wet spot in sight. Everything from the previous day came back all at once. The sleepover. The game of Truth and Dare. Tommy’s pull-ups. Samantha making him wet the bed. I was still wearing one of Tommy’s pull-ups. I could feel now feel how full it had become. I hope it isn’t showing beneath my pants.

“It’s about time you’re awake, Sarah,” mom said tartly, her arms held across her body and a look of disapproval on her face. “What startled you so much?”

“Nothing. Nothing. You woke me in the middle of a bad dream,” I stammered. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

I skipped the bathroom and into my bedroom. Thankfully, Emilia wasn’t in there. I changed myself into a clean pull-up. I wanted to lay in bed and cry. Why? Why am I wetting myself like this? I couldn’t understand how my body had decided to betray me the past couple of weeks. My heart was still racing from the moment of terror in which I had thought that I’d peed myself in front of mom. I felt better after taking several deep breaths to steady myself.

I hurried back to the living room, not wanting mom to notice that I hadn’t gone to the bathroom when I had said I would. A growl from my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.

“I’m starving. What’s for lunch?”

“Nothing. We’re having pasta for dinner in thirty minutes.”


I couldn’t believe I’d slept that long, but I pulled out my phone to see that it was indeed nearly 6 p.m. already.

“Next time you have a sleepover you need to sleep, young lady. You were completely out of it from the moment you collapsed on the couch.”

I didn’t want to ruin my chances for another sleepover. I needed to change the subject to something more positive.

“I made the Fortnite team, and I’m one of the starters,” I said, neglecting to add that there hadn’t been much of a competition for it.

“Will the schedule overlap at all with your cheerleading?”

“Not too much, but we have alternates, and coach is OK with that plan because then it gives everyone a chance to be involved.”

“That reminds me. I think you need to open your birthday present.”

Mom went off to her bedroom and returned with a small, wrapped box. Moving my fingers as rapidly as I could, I tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a wireless gaming headphone. This would be perfect if I wanted to practice remotely with any of my teammates.

“Oh my goodness! Thank-you!”

I gave mom a long hug.

Dinner was a weird pasta with broccoli and tomatoes in it. Not many meals made me long for one of mom’s casseroles, but this one was bad enough to do that trick. I was not alone in picking at my food. My little sister was doing the same thing. She’d only taken a couple of bites at most and was absentmindedly poking the pile of pasta with a fork despite mom’s exhortations that she needed to eat her dinner.

“Mommy! I need to go potty,” Emilia whined.

“You can go potty when you’re done eating, sweetie. You can’t skip your dinner.”

“Mommy!” She whined, squirming in her booster seat.

“Quiet. Eat your food.”

“Mom, it would only take a few minutes for me to take her to the bathroom. Emilia can finish her dinner after that.”

“No. There’s no point in potty training if she can’t learn how to hold her bladder for more than a couple minutes.”

Ugh, why does mom have to make this so hard? Emilia is only three. Let her go to the bathroom. I wish mom was the one changing Emilia’s pull-ups and diapers all the time. Maybe she’d take a different view of making Emilia wet herself. Mom’s refusal to let Emilia go to the bathroom did speed up the urgency with which Emilia was eating, but since Emilia had barely gotten started on her meal, there wasn’t nearly enough time for her to finish and get to the bathroom.

Emilia started to cry. I leaned over her chair and looked down at the pull-up to see that it was wet. Great, another pull-up that I need to change. Thanks mom. We both finished our meal at about the same time. With the pull-up already wet, Emilia wasn’t in any hurry to eat her meal. Mom and I had to constantly prod her to keep taking her next bite.

I grabbed Emilia underneath her arms and lifted her out of the booster seat and onto the ground. I held her hand as I led her to the bedroom to get changed. The only redeeming factor was that this was her first accident of the day so at least I’d be putting her into another pull-up rather than a diaper.

Emilia sniffled as I picked her up and plopped her onto the changing mat I had laid on my bed.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said.

“I know sis. That’s why it’s called an accident.”

I ripped the sides of the pull-up and proceed to thoroughly wipe her down. I tried to be both gentle and quick about changing her. Emilia had recently been getting much more sensitive about her potty-training struggles. If only I could find a way to channel that into getting her to become better at using the toilet.

“I know you can do better. Besides, you don’t want to still be wearing a pull-up when you are old enough to go to school.”

With Emilia cleaned up, I slid the fresh pull-up up her legs. I felt like such a hypocrite. Here I was reprimanding Emilia for wetting herself when I had been doing so secretly for the past couple of weeks. The urge to pee began to come as I was finishing with putting the fresh pull-up on Emilia. I couldn’t leave her on the bed to dash off to the bathroom. I might be able to hold my bladder for several minutes until I could have a chance to go to the bathroom, but that would be rather uncomfortable.

Whatever, I thought, as I relaxed my bladder and felt the urine begin to flow into the pull-up. What different does it make at this point? I felt the usual sensation of the pull-up expanding and sagging against my skin. I’d done it enough now that it no longer felt gross or odd to wet a pull-up. But this time I felt something else: a warm trickle running down my legs that quickly grew into a larger stream of warm liquid.

Drip. Drip. Drip. I stepped back from the bed and looked down to see a wet spot spreading out from my crotch and a puddle of urine collecting on the floor beneath me. Emilia leaned up from the changing pad, her eyes wide at the sight of her older sister having peed herself.

How? I’d tested the pull-ups. They’d never leaked before. I stood paralyzed. I was at a complete loss as to what I should do. The trickle of pee came to a stop. How in the world am I going to explain this?

Emilia jumped off the bed before I could grab her, giving her a full view of the accident. She stared at me without saying anything. I have to stop her from telling mom about this. How can I convince her to stay quiet?

“Pinkie promise,” I said, holding out my hand to hers. “You won’t tell mom. Please. Please?”

Her eyes still wide open, Emilia shook her head back and forth. A second, smaller stream of pee escaped from my bladder and more drops of pee begin splattering on the floor as the pull-up had completely lost its ability to absorb any more.

“Please, Emilia,” I said, practically begging. “Just promise you won’t tell her. OK?”

I’d kept so many of her secrets. Couldn’t she now keep one of mine?

I stood between Emilia and the bedroom door. Emilia started to dash for the door. I reached out to grab her, but she slipped between my arms and darted out into the hallway before I could get a hold of her. Oh that brat. I nearly wanted to strangle her.

A few short seconds later I heard Emilia’s voice all the way from the kitchen.

“Mommy! Sarah peed her pants.”