The Life and Humiliations of Lavender Fairchild, or A Tale of Diapers and Doctorates (Ch 12 and 13 posted)

Hi all! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a story here and even longer since I actually wrote anything, but I’ve decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year and, well, this is the result!

I won’t say too much about the story lest I give away too much, but I do hope you all enjoy this story. Of course, any and all feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated! I’m only posting the first few chapters today, but I have about 25k words already written, so more will follow shortly.

Without further ado, I present The Life and Humiliations of Lavender Fairchild, or A Tale of Diapers and Doctorates.

Chapter One

I checked my eyeliner in the rearview mirror for what must have been at least the tenth time that night, but it was, just like the ninth time, flawless. I’d gone for a much more toned down look this evening than I was used to, trading my usual razor-sharp wings for a simple black lining and keeping my purple eyeshadow modest. I had even resisted the temptation to add any of my usual glitter or other embellishements—at least, I had mostly resisted: there was a single star drawn in black eyeliner just below the outside corner of my right eye, perfectly framed against my eye by my glasses. My eyes might have been all flawless simplicity, but my lipstick was a different story; nervously chewing my bottom lip on the drive here had left it in bad need of a touch up. I smeared more dark red across my lips, wiped the red off my teeth, and suddenly found myself lacking a single reason to continue lingering in my car.

Lingering. What a polite word for procrastinating. Cowering even.

Come on, get your shit together, there’s nothing to be nervous about.

But…isn’t there? This is a big night; it’s really important I don’t screw this up or do anything stupid.

It’s just a friendly dinner; there’s nothing more to it and thinking it might be is how you’ll end up doing something stupid.

But she’s been so…she’s been flirting with me lately, I’m sure of it!

Flirting? With you? She’s just being nice; there’s no way she sees you that way. You’re deluding yourself and going to end up doing something stupid.

You know that, right?

I…yes, of course I know that, but I want to impress her anyway.

Then get your shit together! Keep your head on straight! Come the fuck on!

I was right, I had to get my shit together, and that started with me getting out of my car. I took a deep breath, checked my make up for the eleventh time, and stepped out of my car. I was parked in front of a three-story brick house with an elegant but unadorned façade nestled squarely in the middle of a block of five equally large houses. I checked the house number and compared it to the one in the email she had sent me. A small spike of panic rose in my throat as I confirmed it was the right house—and there I had been, just sitting in my car for the past ten minutes, what if she had seen me? I swallowed hard to push the panic down, put my phone in my purse, and forced myself to walk up to the front door.

The doorbell chimed deep within the brick house, and I waited awkwardly on the front step, suddenly unsure what normal people did with their hands. After cycling through various options, I settled on holding them behind my back just in time for the door to open. I swallowed hard, partly out of nerves and partly because…

Jesus fuck she’s gorgeous.

“Lavender!” She exclaimed brightly from the doorway. She had raven black and wavy hair with hints of grey that made her look as distinguished as her career and wore a tight black dress that clung to her curves with a pink belt that matched her short nails cinched around her waist, translucent black hose, and simple black heels. She opened the screen door for me and gestured for me to enter, “please come in! I’m so glad you could make it; how are you this evening?”

“I’m good, thank you,” I said a little breathlessly as I stepped past her and into the front hallway. I looked around, taking in her home; it was all polished wood, plush area rugs, and books—there were bookcases packed with books along every wall in sight and stray books on almost every surface, including a small stack of three on the fourth step of the staircase leading upstairs.

Ask her how she is, you idiot!

“And, um, how are you, Professor Devereux?”

“Please,” she said with a smile and a light touch on my shoulder, “call me Vivian. My undergrads call me Professor Devereux; we’re colleagues and friends, right?”

“Right,” I gave her a weak smiled and tried to breath out some of the tension that had suddenly wormed its way into my body, “sorry, Pro…uh, Vivian.”

She smiled in a way that made me feel…electric and led me deeper into the house. “Dinner isn’t quite done,” she said as we walked, “but I just need a few more minutes! I do hope you like beef wellington.”

“I, uh, I’ve never had it,” I barely knew what it was except that it was far fancier than what I could afford on the meager stipend I get from my stipend.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll love it; I’m told my beef wellington is to die for.” Professor Devereux…that is, Vivian led me into a room just off the front hallway that appeared to be her living room. There was a plush looking couch with immaculately placed throw pillows in front of a dark wood coffee table covered with papers and, of course, more bookshelves all around the room. “Pardon the mess,” she said, gesturing to the papers, “I was grading papers in front of the TV earlier,” she lowered her voice as she said it as though she were admitting something shameful. “May I offer you a drink? A Martini? A glass of wine?”

“Some wine would be lovely,” I replied.

Just one glass, okay? Enough to calm your nerves but not enough that you’ll do something stupid.

“Excellent,” she said as she walked across the room to a small liquor cabinet nestled between the bookcases, “I have a wonderful pinot noir that will pair excellently with the beef wellington.”

Pinot noir was red, I knew that. Right?

“Thank you, that would be lovely.”

She pulled a wine glass out of the cabinet and popped the cork off a bottle that was already open, “I hope you don’t mind,” she said as she poured, “I’ve already had a glass myself.”

“Not at all, thank you,” I took the glass she offered me (I was right, it was red) and took a sip. It tasted like every other red wine I had ever had, which is to say bitter and dry, but I smiled and nodded when she asked if I liked it. At least I wouldn’t be tempted to drink more than I needed to settle my nerves.

“Well,” she said as she smoothed her dress after a small but awkward silence, “I should go get dinner finished, is there anything I can get you?”

“No, I’m good thank you,” gods I was already being awkward, I had no idea what to say.

“Right then,” she stood there for a moment, as if uncertain whether she should go or not, “I guess…just,” she gestured to the room around us, “make yourself at home, it’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” I smiled and looked around, “I’ll just…”

Just what? Oh, gods, she’s looking at you, waiting for you to finish, you’ll just what?

“You know,” I said with a breathy laugh, “I have to admit I’m dying with curiosity to see what you keep on your bookshelves.”

Yes, books! That’s your common ground!

Her face broke into a grin, and she chuckled, “please, sate your curiosity! I think that shelf will be particularly interesting to you!” And with another assurance that she would be just a few minutes, she disappeared back through the door we had entered from.

Taking another sip of my wine, I walked up to the bookcase she had motioned towards. I couldn’t help but smile—displayed right in the center of the bookcase was the Nebula Award for best fantasy novel that she had won for A Restoration of Rainbows, the concluding entry in her bestselling Blood and Pride trilogy. The shelf below showcased the Lambda Literary Awards she had won for A Restoration of Rainbows and the second entry, A Founding of Family. Staring at her awards, I couldn’t help but feel a bit…fangirl-y.

The truth was, even after working with Professor Devereux—er, Vivian for a year, she still made me feel a little star struck. But Vivian wasn’t just a great author, though she was that, she was also a brilliant academic. I loved her novels, and it was certainly a treat to work so closely with an author I respected so much, but it wasn’t why I was working with her. When it came time to pick an advisor to help me write my doctoral dissertation, I picked Vivian for her literary criticism and theory. Vivian had written her own dissertation on misogynistic tropes in fantasy that would go on to be regarded as a seminal text on the subject and since then made a name for herself in academia for her brilliant analyses of gender and sexuality in popular fantasy. Her work had been indispensable and highly influential on my master’s thesis, so to work with her now on my dissertation was nothing short of a dream come true.

And it has nothing to do with how hot she is.

It does have nothing to do with that! I’m a doctoral student who deeply respects the brilliance of her advisor and mentor, not some middle school girl with a crush on her teacher.

But you do have a crush on her.

She’s objectively attractive; I can’t help that I notice that, but I do not have a crush on her!

You’re blushing just thinking about it!

My cheeks were oddly warm, but surely that was just the wine. When had I finished my glass? I still felt anxious, maybe another glass wouldn’t hurt? I was eyeing the bottle on the liquor cabinet shelf, considering whether or not it would be rude to pour myself another glass, when the door to the living room opened.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Vivian’s lips shined a vibrant red that hadn’t been there before, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes linger on how soft they looked. She walked across the room as I assured her it was no problem and grabbed the bottle of wine I had just been eyeing. Without so much as a question, she once again popped the cork and filled my glass. “Well, dinner is served,” she smiled and led me through the second door in the room and into a large dining room. The large, rectangular table in the center of the room had twelve chairs circling it, one at each end and five along each side, but she had set our plates right across from each other in the middle of each side.

“Please,” she said as she set the bottle of wine on the table and pulled out the chair for me, “have a seat.”

Blushing only a little, I thanked her and took the chair, allowing her to push it in for me.

This feels like a date.

Don’t start, this isn’t a date.

It feels like a date!

It’s not a date, you absolute idiot!

“I’m so glad you agreed to join me for dinner,” Vivian said as she walked around the table. “It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to talk in depth about your dissertation, and I’m so looking forward to hearing about what you’ve been working on.”

See? Not a date.

“Thank you so much for inviting me; everything looks absolutely delicious,” and it did. Beef wellington, roasted potatoes with some kind of herbs, and sauteed broccolini studded with big chunks of garlic. My mouth was watering. “I didn’t know you were such a good cook.”

“Well, I love to entertain,” she explained as she sat down and topped off her wine glass, “and cooking the meals myself is so much more…intimate that hiring a caterer.” The way she said “intimate” made the word hang heavily in the air. I took another sip of wine to hide the warmth in my cheeks.

“It looks delicious,” I repeated a little weakly, at a loss for what else to say.

She smiled and took a sip of her own wine, her freshly painted lips leaving dark red prints on the rim of her glass. “So,” she said as she picked up her utensils, “tell me all about your dissertation.”

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Chapter Two

“What I do find really interesting,” I paused to take another gulp of my wine—gods, why was my mouth so dry? “is that the books sometimes seem to be critical of gender essentialism and strict gender roles, like when Nynaeve complains that men always think violence is the answer and then immediately wishes she could beat some sense into them, like it seems very self-aware in these moments, but ultimately the text is…well, you know,” another gulp, “the lore and the world-building and are all so embroiled in the dichotomy of the gender binary that it was the act of trying to find a form of magic that transcended the gender binary that caused the breaking of the world, suggesting that the dichotomy and male and female is not just an innate part of nature but a necessary part, that it holds the world together, you know?” I raised my wine glass to my lips to take another drink and was shocked to find it empty. The shock interrupted my train of thought, and I stared down at my empty glass for a long moment.

“More wine?” Vivian was still sitting across the dining room table from me, smiling with her whole face. It suddenly occurred to me that these were the first words she had said for…gods, how long had I been rambling on?

Great, you drank too much and now you’re blathering on like an idiot and embarrassing yourself.

I blushed and set my wine glass down, “no, thank you, I think I’ve had enough. I get a little…verbose when I drink, I’m sorry.”

Vivian laughed gently, “it’s quite alright, I invited you over for dinner to hear all about your dissertation and that’s what we are doing! Besides, I’m riveted, you’re quite a brilliant little scholar.”

My cheeks absolutely burned. “Thank you,” I managed to murmur.

“I mean it,” she said, picking up the bottle of wine (was it still the second bottle? Or had she opened a third? I wasn’t sure) and began filling my glass, “so please, have some more wine and continue.”

I licked my lips; I wanted the wine, but my head was swimming already. “Thank you but I’ve really had too much already, I still have to drive…” my voice got quieter as I approached the end of my sentence and eventually trailed off. Even as I said it, I knew I had already gone past the point of being able to drive home, I’d have to take a Lyft and come back for my car tomorrow.

“Nonsense,” Vivian said matter-of-factly, “you don’t have to do any such thing. In fact, I’d be beyond irresponsible to even think about letting you get behind the wheel tonight, you’ll stay in the guest room.”

“I…” was tempted, Lyft’s weren’t cheap and my stipend didn’t exactly leave me with a lot of expendable income, but even so “…couldn’t impose like that.”

“I insist,” she said firmly, “and it’s the least I can do after pouring your wine all night.”

I sighed and picked up my newly refilled wine glass, “I suppose…if you insist…then it would be rude for me not to accept the offer, thank you.”

“You can thank me,” Vivian said as she topped off her own wine glass before setting the bottle back on the table, “by continuing what you were saying.”

Something about the way she was looking at me sent tingles down my spine and made unconsciously chew my lower lip. I was just imagining it though, right? I was just tipsy and projecting what I secretly wanted onto her professional interest. Right?

Told you that you have a crush, like a lovestruck middle school girl.

Shut up.

I took a sip of my wine and gave Vivian an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, I seem to have forgotten what I was saying.”

“Well, tell me, Lavender,” the way she said my name made my stomach flutter, “what do you think of the non-normative sexuality inherent in the relationships between sul’dam and damane?”

I felt my cheeks go red just thinking about the question, but I took another gulp of wine to push past my embarrassment and managed to give an answer that didn’t include my how often their non-normative sexuality influenced my own sexual fantasies.

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Chapter Three

I didn’t remember going to bed that night—the evening got pretty fuzzy after Vivian opened the fourth bottle of wine—but I’d never forget waking up the next morning.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was how dry my mouth was, then the pounding in my too heavy head. Gods, how did I go from promising myself I’d only have one glass to helping Vivian polish off four bottles of wine so easily?

Stupid, stupid girl.

I opened my eyes and blearily look around the room. The bed I was laying in was massive, piled with pillows and plush blankets, and surrounded by four polished wooden posts that held up a translucent pink canopy. It was gorgeous and probably the most comfortable bed I had ever slept it. It wasn’t until I sat up in bed to get a better look at the rest of the room that I noticed something else about the bed: it was wet and cold. I froze, panic rising in my chest, and threw back the covers to confirm what I already knew—I had wet the bed.

What the fuck did you do?!

Oh gods, what had I done? And more importantly, what the fuck was I supposed to do about it? There was no way I could keep Vivian from finding out; she was going to lose all respect for me, and she certainly wouldn’t be interested in me now…

Really? That’s what you’re worried about right now? She was never interested in you in the first place, you idiot!

Tears welled up behind my eyes, threatening to cascade down my cheeks, but I fought them until my eyes burned. I wouldn’t cry; I refused to let myself.

Just sneak out before Vivian wakes up. You’ll have to drop out of the program, of course, there’s no way you can ever face her again after this.

How had this even happened? I hadn’t wet the bed since I was a kid! Sure, I had a lot of wine…

A lot of wine…

…but it wasn’t like this was the first time I’d gotten that drunk, and this had never happened before!

Who knows how long I might have sat there in a puddle of my own pee paralyzed by panic and dread if not for the light knock on the door that broke me out of stasis. As the doorknob turned, I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing I could do, and threw the blankets back over myself, covering my accident.

“Morning, Lavender,” Vivian said she poked her head through the crack in the door, “did you sleep okay?”

My cheeks burned so hot I thought for sure my face would spontaneously combust, but, unfortunately, it did no such thing. I opened my mouth to say something, I’m not even sure what, but no sound came out. So much for my paralysis being broken.

“Lavender?” A note of concern crept into Vivian’s voice, “is everything okay?”

I shook my head: no, no everything was not okay.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her voice gentle, as she stepped into the room fully. “Did you get sick? You poor thing, I guess I got carried away with pouring wine, didn’t I?”

I shook my head again, though the churning in my stomach made me uncertain whether I’d be able to say that for much longer.

“No? Then what’s wrong?” She took a few steps into the room and towards the bed and paused; Vivian sniffed gently at the air and a sudden look of understanding dawned on her face. “Did…Lavender, did you have…an accident?”

The condescending sympathy in her voice was too much; the dam broke and tears spilled down my cheeks in racking sobs.

You’re so pathetic; you pissed the bed and now you’re sobbing like a child in front of your professor, in front of this gorgeous woman you’ve completely ruined your chances with, not that you ever had a chance in the first place, she could never be interested in a freak like you.

“Hey, now,” Vivian said softly as she sat on the edge of the bed and put a comforting hand on my back, rubbing small circles as she spoke, “it’s okay, I promise, everything is okay, I’m not mad, I promise! These things happen, it’s really no big deal, we’ll take care of it and get you all cleaned up, okay?” She continued to say soothing things and reassure me as she rubbed my back. With her free hand, she grabbed some tissues off the nightstand and gently wiped my cheeks and nose. Before long, and with the help of Vivian’s comforting, my sobs subsided into whimpers and gentle crying, and as they did Vivian wrapped one arm around me, pulled me close to her chest, and held me while making soothing sounds and gently rocking me back and forth.

“There we go,” Vivian said as she let go of me once my crying had dried up, “much calmer now, yeah? Sometimes feelings are just too big and we have to cry,” she grabbed another handful of tissues and set to work wiping my face. “Blow,” she said as she held a tissue to my nose.

I should have been too embarrassed, I should have hesitated at least a little bit, but I blew without a second thought. Humiliation seared into my soul, and I felt distant from my body. But despite everything, electricity still crackled through my body from the excitement of Vivian’s embrace, and her gentle words made warmth bloom in my chest. I just wanted her to keep holding me and tell me everything was okay.

“Feeling better, Lavender?” She smiled oh so warmly and oh so prettily and I nodded my head—and I was feeling better too, even if part of me still wanted to run out of the room, drop out of my program, and disappear off the face of the earth. “Well, let’s see what the damage is and we can get everything taken care of, okay?” Vivian grabbed the blankets and began to pull them off me but paused and made eye contact with me, as if checking to make sure I was okay with her pulling them off. The thought of Vivian, Professor Devereux, my advisor, my mentor, my role model seeing me sitting in my own pee made me stomach do flips; I gave her a quick nod and looked away.

The cold hit me like a train as Vivian pulled away the blankets. I was still wearing the black skater skirt I had worn to dinner, but it was bunched up around my waist, leaving my purple lace-trimmed panties and the tell-tale wet stain on full display. The white, floral print sheets were stained a mild yellow in a puddle that expanded out around me. And then there was the smell of pee that had given me away, suddenly so much stronger with the blanket removed.

“You poor thing,” Vivian said sympathetically, “now I understand why you were so hesitant to spend the night!”

Wait, what does she mean by that?

“I promise, this will be our little secret, okay?” Vivian stood up and took me by the wrist, “now, come on, let me show you to the bathroom, I’m sure you’ll want to take a bath.”

The mention of a bath made all my other thoughts fly from my head; a bath was exactly what I needed, not just to clean my body but to clear my head and gain some separation from the knot of emotions this whole incident had left sitting in my stomach. I let her help me out of bed and smoothed my skirt down as if there was any chance of regaining my dignity after sitting in my own piss with my wet panties on full display.

Neither of us said a word as Vivian led me out of the room and down the hallway. My cheeks burned once again as the wet fabric of my skirt rubbed against the back of my legs and the wet fabric of my panties rubbed against…other things. I followed Vivian into a spacious bathroom with a huge claw-footed tub and stood awkwardly in the center of the room as Vivian turned on the faucet and checked the temperature of the water, making a few adjustments until she was satisfied.

“There,” she said when she had finally found the perfect temperature and plugged the bathtub. She lingered for a moment, long enough for me to wonder if she was expecting me to undress in front of her, but finally she cleared her throat and made her way to the door. “Just leave your wet clothes on the floor outside the bathroom and I’ll collect them after I strip the bed and throw them in the laundry for you. There are towels just in there,” she gestured towards a closet just inside the bathroom, “as well as a robe you can use when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” I muttered weakly, fully aware that it seemed to be too weak of a sentiment for the occasion.

“You’re quite welcome,” she said as she stepped out into the hallway and gently closed the door behind her.

I took a deep breath and exhaled long and hard. I walked over to the sink and leaned over it, taking in my image in the mirror. My face was puffy and red from crying, my flawless make up smeared and ruined, and my blue hair a mess of tangles.

You really fucked up.

I know, I know.

Like, really fucked up.

I was right, but what was I supposed to do about it? The worst part was…no, I didn’t want to think about that, I was humiliated enough without acknowledging the whole…that.

Fuck me.

I shook myself out of my pity party and stripped out of my wet clothes, cracking open the bathroom door just enough to set them in a neat pile right outside the door. By then the tub was full; I turned off the water and stepped in. The water was a little warmer than I would have liked it, but my muscles immediately began to release their tension as I lowered myself into the water.

Well…fuck.

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I literally made this account just to say how happy I am that you’re back :sob: There’s not a lot of lesbian content for these types of things, so I’m glad you write really good lesbian stories. You’re an amazing writer and I enjoy your work :hugs: I’m glad you’re back

omg that’s so nice of you to say! I’m so touched and so glad you’re enjoying the story!

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Amazing start. Bravo :clap:

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Only one new chapter today, but I think it’s a really good one! The plot thickens and things get a little steamy for our heroine :wink:
I’ll probably be waiting longer between updates in the future, but I’m just really excited to share more with yall! In particular, I’m dedicating this chapter to @lesbianshenjin because I’m just so incredibly flattered to have an actual fan of my writing XD
I hope yall enjoy and, as always, your comments and feedback are welcomed and greatly appreciated!

Chapter Four

The rest of the morning of my morning with Vivian went…I’m hesitant to use the word “well” since the morning very clearly did not go well, but it went about as well as it could have after its initial crisis. By the time I got out of the bath, Vivian had my clothes in the laundry and breakfast—toast and jam, eggs, and bacon—on the table. We made polite if strained conversation as we ate; I could tell Vivian was trying to not let things be awkward, but how could they not be?

Words alone could never be sufficient to express my relief when my clothes were finally out of the laundry. I changed as quickly as I could, said my goodbyes to Vivian (throwing in more than a few apologies and words of appreciation), and did my walk of shame back to my car.

Maybe I’m misusing the phrase “walk of shame,” but what else could I call it?

“Elyse?” I called out for my roommate as I walked through the front door of my apartment, “Are you here?”

Nothing. The apartment was dead silent.

“Elyse?” I called again, louder this time, as I set my purse down on our small dining room table—big enough for four people, but not big enough to fit four people entirely comfortably—but still nothing.

I had met Elyse about a year ago, when we both first started in our doctoral program and been paired up as roommates by the graduate housing department. The apartment we shared wasn’t huge, but it was better than the dorms I had lived in as an undergraduate and while working on my master’s degree. It was also much nicer than anything else my meager stipend could afford. The apartment consisted of a large central area—which served as the living room, kitchen, and dining room—and, on either side of the central area, Elyse and mine’s bedrooms, both of which consisted of walk-in closets and private bathrooms. Like I said, much better than the dorms, and it afforded me more privacy than I had ever had while living anywhere else, a feature I had taken full advantage of over the past year—and it was exactly that privacy that I needed now.

“Elyse? Are you home?” I called out one last time, this time while lightly rapping my knuckles against her door. I waited outside her bedroom door long enough for it to become awkward, but there was no answer. I was alone.

Thank the fucking gods.

I walked away from Elyse’s door and into the living room, where I flopped haphazardly onto our couch. The confirmation that I was well and truly alone was exactly what I needed. Sure, I had privacy, but there was something about being actually alone that simple privacy couldn’t account for. I breathed a deep sigh of relief, and it felt like exhaling after I had been holding my breath for hours. I could finally relax, and, after the stress of last night and the horror of this morning, gods did I need it.

Last night was actually really fun though, despite how nervous you were. You were charming and funny and brilliant; you really seemed to impress Vivian.

Yeah! Yeah, I did!

Until you pissed the bed and ruined everything.

Don’t remind me.

As if you need reminding! How could you possibly forget sitting there with your piss-soaked panties on full display for Vivian to see?

I can’t! I can’t ever forget that, it was so…so…

Humiliating? Shameful? Mortifying? Disgraceful? Degrading?

Yes, yes, all of that, stop listing synonyms, it’s not helpful.

Hot?

…that’s not helpful either.

But it was.

I bit my lip, sucking in a sharp breath as I flashed back to sitting on that soaked bed—Vivian holding me, Vivian seeing my shame as plain as day.

It was. Only now in the privacy of my apartment could I risk acknowledging that. In the moment, I had to keep that thought far away and compartmentalized, but here, alone, I could let it creep back in. Here, I could let it take root; I could…indulge it.

I peeled myself off the couch and made my way to my bedroom, conjuring this morning’s scene in my head as I did.

“You poor thing,” Vivian was saying in my head, “another accident?”

I opened my closet door and stepped in, flipping the light on as I did. In my head, I imagined myself sniffling and nodding, too embarrassed to admit to my shame verbally.

“Maybe you’re just not ready for big girl panties at night, huh?” Vivian’s voice in my head sent shivers down my spine. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault you can’t hold it all night, you’re just too little.”

Chewing my bottom lip absently as Vivian’s voice echoed in my head, repeating variations on the same sentiment, I knelt down at the back of my closet and pulled out a small chest I had found at a thrift store. The chest was locked with a combination lock; distracted as I was, it took me three tries to get the combination right. The hinges creaked as I pushed open the top and exposed all the accoutrements of my secret shame, my secret joy, my secretest of secrets.

“Maybe we should go back to pull-ups at night until you’re a bit bigger,” Vivian said lovingly, without judgement, as I ran my fingers against the plastic of the bag of goodnites sitting on top of everything else in the trunk. “Ah ah, no fussing dear, if you can’t hold it all night then this is the only solution!”

In my imagination, I did fuss. I whined and told Vivian I didn’t want to wear pull-ups, I wanted to keep wearing my big girl panties because I was a big girl. Vivian shushed my protests, gently but firmly, and left me sitting on the bed while she went the dresser and began digging in one of the drawers.

In real life, I was still chewing my lip as I slide one of the goodnites out of it’s package, noting somewhere deep in my brain that I would need to buy more soon. I stood up, pull-up in hand, and began to walk out of my closet when I stopped, looked back to the chest still sitting open, and doubled back. I reached down, grabbed one of my many pacifiers, this one a plain black, popped it in my mouth, and left my closet.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t fret,” Vivian said as she turned away from the dresser and back towards me; she was holding a pull up in one hand and a pacifier in the other. “You know I know what’s best for you, don’t you? And don’t you want to be a good girl for Miss Vivian and let her take care of you?”

I nodded my head, in my imagination and in real life, as I crawled into bed.

“That’s Miss Vivian’s good girl,” she smiled that smile that made me feel electric and walked over to the bed, popping the pacifier she held into my mouth. “Now let’s get you up and changed into something more appropriate for a girl your age, okay?”

Wait, why is she putting you in pull-ups now if they are for bedwetting?

Shut up, I’m not exactly worried about the plot making sense right now.

I shook the momentary intrusion away and closed my eyes. Vivian helped me out of bed and then knelt in front of me. “You got your skirt all wet too,” she said, “I guess we’ll just have to take that off too.” My skirt flew across my room in roughly the direction of my laundry basket as Vivian unzipped it and gently lowered it, once again exposing my piss-soaked panties. I lifted my hips off my bed and slid my panties off, imaging how Vivian’s hands would feel against my bare thighs as I did. “You won’t be needing these yucky things for a while, isn’t that right, my little Lavender?”

I reached for the pull-up and shook it out as Vivian did the same. We pulled the rustling garment up my legs, settling it around my hips, and gave the crotch a few solid pats once it was in place.

“There we go,” Vivian stood up and I reached over to my nightstand, fishing my vibrator out of the top drawer. “Isn’t that so much better?”

I nodded, and a whimper escaped my throat as I placed the head of the vibrator against my pull-up and hit the power button. Even on it’s lowest setting, the vibrations spread through the absorbent padding; it was like a switchboard lighting up in my brain. I pressed the button again and the vibrator kicked into the next gear; the gasp that jerked out of my throat almost made my pacifier tumble out of my mouth, but I clamped down on it and sucked hard and fast, in time with the little thrusts my hips involuntarily pushed against the vibrator with.

“Such a good girl in her pull-ups for Miss Vivian,” she was pressing her hand against the crotch of my pull-up, rubbing it against me. “And you’ll be Miss Vivian’s little girl forever, won’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Vivian,” I muttered around my pacifier.

“Good girl,” She purred, I moaned, and, before long at all, my mind burst into sparkling colors and all of my muscles tightened, tightened, and tightened more until they released, all at once, and my whole body shook with absolute pleasure. It was too much, the pacifier fell from my mouth as I cried out, tears squeezing out of my tightly shut eyes. It seemed like it would never end—I didn’t want it to end, but I didn’t think I could take much more. My body would tear itself apart if it didn’t stop, but gods what a way to die.

But, eventually, it subsided, and I was left whole and intact. Physically anyway.

Gasping for breath, the fog of pleasure slowly lifted from my brain. I found my pacifier in my sheets and slid it back into my mouth, slowly sucking as the occasional aftershock sent shudders through my body. Warmth began to slowly fill my pull-up as I released my bladder.

Hey, you’re supposed to pee after sex, don’t judge me!

There I was again, lying in bed after pissing myself for the second time that day. I pulled my comforter over me, sighed contentedly from behind my pacifier, and drifted off to sleep.

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I have no idea if my comments got approved or not, since I don’t see them anymore D: I’m super sorry for the late response too, I was at the mall for most of my day ^^;

BUT, TYSM FOR THE DEDICATED TO PART. I REALLY APPRECIATE IT AND I’M VERY THANKFUL THAT YOU EVEN ACKNOWLEDGED MY COMMENT. I was very surprised and in shock when I read the dedicated to part :heart:. I’m a fan of your works and thank you again ^^:heart:

Please do not post in all caps, and in future if you have an issue with Moderation please PM @staff

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Actually it should be @moderators not @staff

The latter spams the legal team as well as the moderators, the former just the moderators. :slight_smile:

@lesbianshenjin Sorry about the delay. Right now there are only two moderators, @BrownOwl and myself.

During April, July, and November my paid job has to take priority and I don’t have a lot of free time to deal with other forums during that time so I catch up here when I have a moment to spare.

And I’m still sick although i no longer have COVID… Sorry @lesbianshenjin could’ve sworn i PMed about the no caps rule

You could not have been more surprised and shocked than I was by your kind words! I’m really glad you’re enjoying this new story; it’s been so long since I’ve done creative fiction that I was worried I was rusty! Keep your eyes out for an update tomorrow or Wednesday!

I’ve got two more chapters for yall today! Though, admittedly, one is pretty short XD
Enjoy!

Chapter Five

“You didn’t come home last night,” Elyse said matter-of-factly as I emerged from my room. She was sitting on the couch with her laptop in her lap and some show on TV.

Is she accusing you of something?

No, of course not, what would she be accusing me of? She has no idea what happened! She couldn’t!

But there was a trace of judgement on her face. Was she accusing me of something?

“Yeah,” I gave her a guilty smile, “I had too much wine at Vi…Professor Devereux’s house.” I glanced back to my room to make sure I hadn’t left anything out in view before heading to the kitchen.

“You were drinking wine with Professor Devereux?” Elyse’s eyes tightened at that. “What were you two doing?”

“Just talking,” I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, cracked the cap open, and downed half of it in one go. “She made us dinner, and we talked about my dissertation,” I said a little breathlessly after wiping some stray water from my lips. “It was really no big deal.”

“No big deal,” Elyse chirped sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.

Then it hit me: Elyse was jealous. Of course she was. I had known for a long time that Elyse was jealous of me for getting to work so closely with Vivian…I mean, Professor Devereux.

You can still call her Vivian in your head, you dummy.

Elyse will get suspicious if she hears me calling Vivian by her first name.

Suspicious of what? Nothing happened…except for you peeing the bed.

My cheeks got a few degrees warmer.

“Whatever,” Elyse said, breaking me out of my own thoughts. “I hope you didn’t do anything too embarrass yourself if you were drinking that much.”

More embarrassing than you’ll ever know.

“I didn’t drink that much,” I lied, matching Elyse’s emphasis on ‘that.’ “Just…too much to drive home. Besides, Professor Devereux insisted I stay the night, she said it was the least she could do after pouring me so much wine over dinner.”

“Whatever,” Elyse closed her laptop and got up from the couch, “must be nice to be teacher’s pet.”

“I’m not!” I forced my voice to stay mild. “It was just dinner! We talked about my dissertation!”

“No one else is having dinner and wine with their advisor, Lavender,” she said condescendingly, as if I wasn’t seeing something that was obvious to everyone else, and began walking to her room. “At least when we get our doctorates, we’ll know we really earned them,” she slammed her bedroom door to punctuate her sentence.

“I am earning it!” I told her closed door through gritted teeth.

I did my best not to stomp as I walked over to the couch and, for the second time that day, flung myself on it. I had woken up from my nap in such a good mood too; now it was ruined.

I had liked Elyse when we first met, but ever since Vivian agreed to be my dissertation advisor, she had been getting more and more bitchy towards me, she had never been so direct about it before. I could understand jealousy, but I couldn’t understand why she took it out on me.

If only she knew what really happened.

I’d rather she think I slept with Vivian. Better she thinks I’m sleeping my way through my doctorate than to know just how badly I humiliated myself in front of Vivian.

Chapter Six

“I was hoping I could use you as a…sounding board for some ideas I have for my next book,” Vivian had said to me from across her cluttered but neatly organized desk in her campus office, “over dinner, of course. My house this Friday?”

And that was how, two weeks after I had peed all over Vivian’s guest room bed, I ended up back at her house, despite my best judgement.

“Again?” Elyse had blurted out when she heard. “Jesus, Lavender, I would think you two would want to be subtle at least.”

“Of course,” I imagined Vivian saying as she poured my fourth glass of wine and I pressed my vibrator against my pull-up, “we’ll have to dress you properly for bed so we don’t have any more accidents.”

And so it was with a tempest of swirling emotions sweeping through my brain that I once again drove to Vivian’s home.

Just like before, I parked on the street, right in front of Vivian’s house, and checked my make-up in the rearview mirror. I was, at first, going to stick with the more conservative and mature look I had worn last time, but at the last minute decided that changing my appearance to try to appeal more to Vivian would only give fuel to Elyse’s suspicions. Tonight, I wore big, razor-sharp eyeliner wings with perfectly blended red and purple eyeshadow. Red glitter sparkled under my eyes and little x’s drawn in eyeliner high on my cheekbones just under the outer corners of my eyes embellished the look. Finally, a set of three eyeliner hearts drawn on the inside curve of my right eyebrow made sure people’s attention was drawn to my green-blue eyes. Blush highlighted my cheeks and the tip of my nose, and my lips were painted a deep blue.

“So, Professor Devereux likes this whole…Hot Topic reject look?” Elyse had said flatly earlier that night while leaning against the frame of my bathroom door as I put the finishing touches on my make-up, proving that she would find a way to be suspicious no matter how I dressed.

I like it,” I had replied, “it’s not for Professor Devereux.” I decided not to take umbrage at her description of my ‘look,’ and not just because I bought most of my clothes and make up from Hot Topic.

“Uh huh,” Elyse had responded with a roll of her eyes, “and can I expect you home tonight?”

“I slept in her guest room, Elyse,” I had responded, avoiding giving an actual answer. Surely, Vivian wouldn’t invite me to spend the night again…would she? Surely, I wouldn’t accept if she did, right?

It’s not like you’d wet the bed a second time, right?

“That’s not an answer,” Elyse had stated matter-of-factly before giving me a lingering accusatorial look and walking away.

I pushed Elyse and her accusations out of my mind as I stepped out of my car. I was determined to have a good time and make a good impression; I felt like I had to prove I wasn’t some bedwetting dolt. Not that Vivian had treated me any differently since that morning; it was as if, to her, the whole incident had never happened.

And she’s still flirting with you.

I think we can now determine that she definitely was not ever flirting with me. There’s no way Vivian would keep flirting with me after I pissed all over her guest bed.

Why not? Don’t you want someone who will flirt with you precisely because you pissed the bed?

…shut up.

I walked up the short flight of stairs to her front door, rang the bell, and waited.

“Lavender, so lovely to see you,” Vivian’s melodic voice greeted me as she opened the door, “and you do look quite lovely tonight, dear! Please, come in.”

“Thank you,” I blushed as I walked past her, “you look…”

Hot as fuck.

“…really lovely too.” And in her black pencil skirt and low-cut red silk top, she really did look lovely.

And hot as fuck.

Yes, and hot as fuck.

“Thank you, dear,” she replied with a light touch on my arm that sent jolts of electricity through my body. “Come into the parlor, Lavender, let me pour you a drink.”

“Oh, no,” I protested even as I followed her into the same room she had taken me to before, “I really shouldn’t drink.”

“Nonsense,” she said as she pulled a wine glass out of her liquor cabinet and began to fill it from a bottle of white wine she had sitting in a bucket of ice. “This Riesling will perfectly complement the chicken marsala I made; it really won’t be the same meal without it.”

I licked my lips and looked at the glass she was holding out to me. It seemed rude to say no; it seemed dangerous to say yes. But a glass of wine was exactly what I needed to take the edge off my nerves. But maybe my nerves wouldn’t be so…sharp if I hadn’t drank so much last time. But one glass wouldn’t hurt; I could even still drive home after one glass.

You said one glass last time.

And this time I mean it.

“Oh, all right,” I said as I took the glass from her hand, “if you insist.”

“And I do,” Vivian replied, “I’ve very much been looking forward to our evening together, Lavender.”

She’s definitely flirting with you.

“Oh,” I felt my cheeks turn red, “I, um, have been too, I’m really looking forward to hearing about your new work.”

Vivian smirked as she poured herself a glass of wine, “ah, well, Lavender, I must admit that was…mostly a pretense.”

I nearly choked on the sip of wine I was taking.

Holy shit.

“Not entirely, you see,” she continued after a small but intense silence, “there is, in fact, a piece I’m working on that I had hoped you could help me with, but more importantly I wanted to get to know you better. After all, we work so closely with each other, why not know each other a bit more personally. Of course, if you’d prefer our relationship stay more strictly professional…”

No!

“No!” I said, too quickly and too strongly. “I mean,” I tried to reel myself back in, “that sounds…pleasant; I’d like that very much.”

Vivian smiled; electricity shot through my body.

“Oh, I am so glad to hear that, Lavender. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of advising a student so brilliant and, quite frankly, fascinating.”

Fuck, she really is flirting with you.

She really is. Fuck me.

She’s gonna.

“Thank you so much,” my cheeks felt like fire, “that means a lot…coming from you…”

“Nothing but the truth, my dear,” she took a sip of wine, her eyes sparkling at me over the rim of the glass. “Shall I serve dinner, or shall we have a seat and chat a little before dinner?”

I glanced at the couch she was gesturing at, and suddenly my stomach twisted with anxiety. I thought about sitting on that couch together, close enough to touch each other, and my nerves began to shake. I took a big gulp of my wine to calm them, “let’s sit.”

“Fantastic,” Vivian grabbed the bottle of wine and took it with her as she made her way to the couch. “So, tell me, Lavender,” she sat on the couch and patted the spot next to her as her way of inviting me to sit down, “what do you like to do in your free time?”

Wear pull-ups and fantasize about you.

“Free time?” I said with a nervous laugh, “I’m afraid I don’t have much of that these days.”

“Oh, I’m sure, your studies must keep you very busy; I remember well what it’s like to be a doctoral student! But you must make time for a little pleasure, Lavender, or you’ll simply burn yourself out.”

Oh, you make plenty of time for pleasure.

I took another sip of wine, “well, mostly I read to relax, but I suppose you could probably guess that.”

“Lavender,” Vivian said with a hint of disappointment in her voice and a shake of her head, “you’re a doctoral student in literature, of course you read, but if that’s all you do to relax, you don’t really have a difference in your work versus your leisure, now do you?”

“I…suppose not,” I chose not to mention that what I read for leisure was a far cry from what I read for work. A very far cry. “I…” was suddenly at a loss from what my hobbies were, “…watch a lot of horror movies?”

“Oh, excellent!” Vivian exclaimed, “I love a good horror film myself. Have you seen It Lingers?”

The next thing I knew, nearly half an hour had passed while Vivian and I shared thoughts on some of our favorite horror movies. Unsurprisingly, she had incredible tastes.

“Have you seen,” Vivian asked as she picked up the bottle of wine and refilled her glass, “Shack in the Forest? It’s an excellent deconstruction of the genre!”

“I have! It’s one of my favorites actually; I really like—” but I quickly cut myself off as the bottle in Vivian’s hand drifted towards my glass, “oh, no, thank you, but I really should stick to one glass tonight.”

“Come now, dear,” Vivian gave me a wounded look, “we haven’t even started dinner yet, and there is always the guest room,” she gave me a small smile as she said it.

Has she just completely forgotten what happened last time?

I’m sure she just knows it was a fluke; I’m not a bedwetter!

Or maybe…

Don’t even go there.

“I…shouldn’t…”

But you want to.

“Well, surely one more glass to have with dinner won’t hurt, will it? And if you should change your mind…” she made a vague waving gesture with the hand not holding the bottle of wine and gave me a smile that looked almost mischievous, “…well, let’s just say I made sure I’m well-prepared, just in case.” She placed a strange emphasis on the “well-prepared” that left me puzzled.

What on earth does she mean?

She was looking at me expectantly with the bottle of wine hovering over my glass. One more glass wouldn’t hurt, she was right about that. And it would be rude to turn it down since she specifically said she wanted me to have a glass with dinner.

You’re doing it again.

“One more glass,” I said with a weak smile, betraying my better judgement.

“Perfect,” Vivian poured the glass and then stood up, “why don’t I go get dinner on the table?”

5 Likes

Another chapter to kick off the weekend! I think y’all will enjoy this one :wink:

Chapter Seven

Saying no to Vivian was…difficult; mostly because I really wanted to say yes. So, I did. Over and over. A second glass with dinner turned to three turned to four and, before I knew it, we ended up back on the parlor couch drinking after dinner cocktails. Needless to say, it was a foregone conclusion by then that I would be staying in the guest room. It wasn’t like I would wet the bed again, right?

Maybe you want to.

Of course not, why would I want that?

So Vivian will comfort you and hold you again? For the rush of the humiliation? So Vivian will know you’re a little piss baby?

Shut up, I’m trying to listen to Vivian.

Don’t you mean “Miss Vivian”?

Miss Vivian.

I shuddered.

“Oh, dear, are you cold?” Vivian had been telling me some anecdotes from her time as an undergraduate, but she interrupted herself when she saw me shudder. “I can start a fire, if you’d like,” she offered as she gestured to the fireplace.

Ask her to hold you instead.

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” my cheeks were certainly warm. I took another sip of my drink—a Manhattan strong enough to warm the rest of me—and settled myself deeper into the plush couch…and closer to Vivian.

A silence stretched out between us, interrupted only be the occasional tinkling of ice against our glasses as we nursed our cocktails. I couldn’t help but look at her glossy red lips and think about what they’d feel like pressed against mine; I couldn’t help but imagine myself purring out her name—Miss Vivian—while she gently touched me. Worse, the alcohol was doing what alcohol was wont to do: my head was fuzzy, my judgement less than stellar, and I was…well, there was no word for it but horny. The latter wasn’t helped by the fourth effect of the alcohol: I had to pee—badly at that. But my impaired judgement kept me there, not just because I was enraptured by Vivian, but because the pain in my bladder fed my horniness and sent my imagination running. It was a vicious cycle of poor judgement, horniness, and urinary distress.

“You know, Lavender,” Vivian finally broke the silence, “I’ve always loved your hair.” She reached out and ran her fingers through a chunk of my blue hair. At least, right now it was blue. In the time I had known Vivian it had been pink, purple, green, and now blue. “Your whole aesthetic, really. So many doctoral students are so concerned about professionalism and respectability politics; they try to blend into what they think that have to be to be taken seriously in academia. But you, Lavender, aren’t afraid to be who you are, to express yourself, to be a little…bold.”

Now my cheeks were really burning.

Still think she isn’t flirting with you?

She’s definitely flirting with me.

I swallowed hard. “Thank you…Vivian…” I managed to get out in just above a whisper. She was still playing with my hair; the sensation make it hard to think clearly.

“I’m so glad you agreed to spend the evening with me,” she smiled and took a sip of her drink. For the first time it occurred to me that Vivian was probably just as inebriated as I was. “I was afraid you wouldn’t after…well, after last time.”

Is she talking about you pissing the bed?

I bit my lip and looked away. My face was hot. My bladder ached.

Piss yourself, blame it on the alcohol.

And completely ruin this moment?

Wouldn’t this moment be so much better if Miss Vivian was comforting you? Maybe she’ll take you upstairs and put you in a pull up after getting you all cleaned up.

My face was on fire.

“I’m so sorry,” Vivian said, surely picking up on my shame and misattributing it to what she had said, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“No, it’s okay,” I tried to turn my face back to her but found I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. “I’m just…so sorry about that…”

I wanted to change the subject.

Is that why you’re pressing your thighs together right now? Is that why your panties are starting to feel damp? Or did you piss yourself a little bit?

Vivian smiled and ran her fingers gently through my hair. “You poor thing, it must have been so hard hiding it from your roommates in the dorms.”

Hiding what? My kinks? A small speck of panic bloomed in my chest; how did she even know?

“Do you have a roommate now, Lavender?”

I nodded my head weakly. “Elyse,” I said flatly, “we live in graduate housing.”

“Poor thing,” she repeated, “have you managed to keep it a secret from her?”

I nodded. The panic grew. How could she know? Why was she bringing it up? Did she think I had wet the bed on purpose?

“Oh, Lavender,” Vivian set her drink on the table and took my hand, “it’s really okay! I promise, I’m not judging or trying to make you feel bad. I certainly don’t think any less of you because of it!”

I sniffled, “really?”

“Really! It’s just part of who you are, Lavender,” she let get of my hand, reached out to place one gentle finger under my chin, and lifted my face to meet hers, “and I think who you are is pretty wonderful.”

My chest felt so full of emotions that I thought I would surely explode. I could scarcely believe what was happening.

Vivian leaned in, I closed my eyes, she cupped my cheek with her hand. our lips met, lights exploded against the back of my eyelids, a small whimper escaped my throat. She tasted like cherries and bourbon.

And then I was laying back on the couch, Vivian over top of me, her hair draped around my face as our lips moved against each other. One of my hands was on her hip, the other on her lower rib cage, working up the courage to cup her breast.

I couldn’t believe it: I was making out with Dr. Vivian Devereux. Not only that, she had just told me she accepted me for my unusual kinks; even if I had no idea how she had found out. I kissed her deeply and allowed my mind to wander to my secret fantasies.

“Come now,” Miss Vivian would say as she took my hand, “it’s time to get my little girl all ready for bed.”

I would nod and smile behind my pacifier, letting her lead me upstairs to the guest room, which in my fantasy had been converted to something much more appropriate for a little girl. Once we were there, Miss Vivian would let go of my hand, and spread out my changing mat on the bed. “Hop on up,” she would say before helping me get myself situated on the mat. She would smile and hum as she lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties…no, my pull-up. “I’m so proud of my little girl for staying dry tonight, even after having so many big girl drinks!” I would giggle and blush, hiding my face behind my hands.

And then Miss Vivian would be there above me, unfolding my…my diaper…

My cheeks went crimson, and a moan escaped my throat. Vivian made a sound of pleasure back and kissed me harder.

“Lift up,” Miss Vivian would say, tapping my hips, and then slide the diaper under my raised butt. “Now down; good girl!”

I moaned again, and Vivian shifted her weight so she could place one of her hands on my thighs, just below the hem of my skirt. Jolts of excitement shot through my body, but so did a very specific kind of pain: Vivian’s body was pressed down on mine, and I suddenly remembered just how badly I had to pee.

She knows about your kinks, she accepts you for them, just piss yourself.

Just because she accepts me for them, doesn’t mean she would be okay with me peeing all over her furniture.

Again.

Again!

And then it hit me.

She was talking about you wetting the bed; she hasn’t the slightest clue about your kink.

She just thinks I’m a bedwetter.

Vivian’s hand inched up my leg before I could follow that thought further, I shuddered, my muscles convulsing slightly, and a small bit of warmth filled my panties.

Fuck.

“Vivian,” I said breathlessly, suddenly panicking over how badly I had misread the situation. Worse, I had let my misunderstanding back me into a corner.

“Mm?” Vivian made a questioning sound but made no move to stop or get off me.

“Vivian, please,” I gently but firmly pushed her away from me as panic started to fill me and another bit of pee escaped into my panties.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, immediately stopping. Her lipstick was smeared across her face, “are you okay, Lavender?”

“I, um,” I bit my lip and looked away, why as this so embarrassing all of the sudden? “I need to use the restroom.”

Vivian looked at me blankly for a second, as if it was taking her a moment to process what I said, then understanding visibly dawned on her. “Oh! Oh, yes, I’m so sorry, you remember where it is?” She climbed off me, accidentally pressing down on my bladder as she did, pushing out more pee that spread out through my panties.

I scrambled off the couch, “yes, I’ll just be right-”

I froze three steps from the couch as a rivulet of pee escaped down my leg, soaking into the tops of my thigh high socks. I pressed my thighs together as tightly as I could and pressed my hands into my crotch through my skirt.

“Oh, Lavender,” Vivian said sympathetically, but clearly at a loss for what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” I squeaked out as I stood in her parlor nearly doubled over from the effort of not pissing myself all over her floor. How did this happen?

Just let it go; she already knows you’re a piss baby.

Tears were forming behind my eyes, and pee was soaking through my skirt under my hands.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Vivian said as she placed a hand on my back, “I promise everything is okay.”

It was too much. The pain in my bladder, the absolute shame over what was happening, Vivian’s understanding and sympathy…it was all too much. Tears started falling down my cheeks as pee started flowing down my thighs. It soaked the front of my skirt and flowed through my fingers. It ran down my thigh high socks and into my black doc martens. It dripped and ran off me in rivers, and a puddle began to spread across the hardwood floor under me.

I had just pissed myself in front of Vivian.

6 Likes

Sorry to keep y’all waiting for so long between chapters, so here’s two more! The next few updates will probably be slow as well, so I apologize for that in advance!

Now, when we last left our heroine, she had just wet herself right in front of Vivian…

Chapter Eight

The room was so quiet, you could hear the falling drops of piss splash into the puddle at my feet.

Did…did that just fucking happen?

I genuinely couldn’t even begin to guess how long Vivian and I just stood there in absolute silence. I couldn’t remember the last time I had wet myself—well, I couldn’t remember the last time I had accidentally wet myself—not counting wetting the bed two weeks ago, anyway.

That’s a lot of caveats.

Tears were silently falling down my cheeks; part of me felt like I should be sobbing in humiliation, but I was too stunned. Part of me was terrified of what Vivian would say; part of me was screaming in horror and shame. Some deep part of my brain couldn’t help but buzz with…

Arousal, say it.

Yes, okay, arousal. But I pushed down hard on that; the alcohol made it heard to ignore that buzzing, but now was not the time.

We can think about this later.

Yes, but not now.

Now…now we…had to…right now, we had to…

Do what?

Fuck, I have no idea. I had just pissed my pants in my professor’s parlor with her right there. Her hand is on my back. Oh god, the tip of her high heel is touching my pee. We were just making out—we were making out for fuck’s sake—and now I’m standing here in my own piss. She’ll never want me like that again; I just ruined my chances. She probably just thinks I’m some immature kid that can’t hold their alcohol. She’s probably so grossed out! She…wait, is she saying something?

“…does that sound nice, Lavender?”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, my paralysis suddenly broken. I wanted to stand up, but staying bent over was the best way to hide the worst of the pee stains. “I just…I don’t know…and then…” tears were starting to come harder.

“Shh, shh,” Vivian shushed me gently, lovingly, while rubbing my back, “it’s okay, Lavender, I’m not upset, no one is mad at you, it was just an accident! These things happen, and I promise I don’t think any less of you, okay?”

How could she not think less of you? You just pissed yourself like a toddler right in front of her.

“I’m just so…” my brain searched for the right word—admittedly, there were a lot that could complete the sentence, but I finally settled on “humiliated.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” even now, even under these circumstances, her calling me ‘sweetheart’ make my heart skip a beat, “it’s really okay. This isn’t your fault, okay? And just like last time, it’s going to stay our little secret, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied with a tearful sniffle and forced a weak smile.

“Okay, there we go, that’s a little better already, huh?” She smiled softly at me and gave my cheek a single, soft stroke. “Why don’t we get you upstairs and into the bath, does that sound nice?”

“Yes,” I sniffled again and nodded, “yes, please, I’m so sorry, I’ll clean all this up too.”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Vivian rebuffed me firmly, “I’ll take care of everything; you’re going through enough. Now let’s get you upstairs and into the tub.”

Vivian took my hand softly and led me out of the room and towards the stairs, but hesitated before the first step. She looked at the stairs, then down at my feet, then up to my face, “I’m so sorry, dear, but could you…” she gestured towards my feet.

I looked down at my feet in confusion, then to the stairs. The carpeted stairs. “Oh,” I said with a blush as it dawned on me: she didn’t want me to track pee on the carpet. “Of course, I’m sorry,” I knelt down and began to untie my shoes, thankful for how it hid my bright red cheeks.

“I’ll just get a towel to wipe your feet and legs off before you come upstairs,” she said, quickly disappearing up the stairs. By the time I had taken my shoes off and peeled my soaked socks off my legs, Vivian was back with a hand towel, damn with warm water.

I reached out to take the towel, but Vivian was already kneeling in front of me. “I hope you’re not too ticklish,” she smiled up with me as she grabbed my ankle and gently lifted one foot. I placed my hand on the wall for balance as she wiped the residual pee off my foot and lower leg, and again as she repeated the process on the other one. “There we go, all done,” she stood up and took my hand again, “now come on, I started the bath while I was up there.”

Vivian led me back to the same bathroom she had taken me to last time I was here after I had wet the bed. She had already laid out a towel and a robe. “I added some bubbles to the bath,” she said, gesturing to the growing mountains of bubbles in the tub, “I thought they’d help you to relax.”

“Thank you, Vivian,” I said sincerely and softly, “I…can’t believe this happened…I’m just so…ashamed…and I ruined everything, and—”

But Vivian cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense,” she said firmly, “you’ve ruined nothing, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you, Lavender, and I never want to do anything that makes it worse for you, only what I can do to make it better. Speaking of, is there anything else I can do? I’ll wash your clothes for you, of course, but is there anything else?”

“No,” I shook my head and fought back tears—of gratitude this time. “Thank you so much, Vivian; I’m just…so grateful for your kindness and understanding. I just…I swear I don’t…this doesn’t…” I was trying to explain how much of a freak accident this was, but it felt like lame excuses—not to mention there was something fundamentally humiliating about trying to convince your mentor that you really don’t piss yourself on a regular basis, despite having a zero for two track record for staying dry at her home.

“I understand,” Vivian placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder and put me out of my misery, “and it’s okay.” We locked eyes and exchanged a long, meaningful look. At least, it felt meaningful; the problem was that I wasn’t sure what it meant. When we finally broke eye contact, Vivian walked to the bathtub, her heels clicking on the bathroom tiles, and turned the water off. “There, that should be good for you.”

“Thank you again,” I said with my eyes downcast while I waited for her to leave so I could get undressed, but she lingered. I chewed my lip. She looked at me, almost like she was assessing me. I fidgeted under her gaze.

“Lavender,” Vivian said at last, “I…well, I hate to ask, I certainly don’t want to embarrass you further, but…” it was rare that I saw Vivian seem unsure of herself, and it made me nervous—my mind was racing trying to figure out what she might be trying to say, and most of my options were not good. “What I’m trying to ask,” she started over, “is…did you come…prepared?”

That wasn’t an option I thought of.

What does she even mean?

Prepared for what? For a bath?

“I mean,” she went on, picking up on my confusing, “did you come prepared for…bed? It’s okay if you didn’t!” She added the last part quickly before hurriedly continuing, “I know you said you weren’t planning on spending the night, so I understand if you didn’t, and it’s absolutely okay if that’s the case, but I thought I should ask, if…you know…you brought…protection?”

Prepared…for bed? Protection? What in the fuck?

She thinks you’re a bedwetter.

The realization from earlier hit me all over again.

She doesn’t realize last time was a one-time incident or think it was the alcohol; she thinks you’re a bedwetter!

She…thinks I wet the bed?

She’s asking if you brought diapers!

My cheeks turned the brightest crimson ever recorded.

“Oh, dear,” Vivian said, clearly noticing my intense blushing, “I can see I’ve embarrassed you. I’m so sorry, Lavender, I shouldn’t have said anything!”

“No!” I said, a bit too quickly, especially since I wasn’t sure what to follow it up with, and I suddenly realized it might seem like I was mad she had asked and agreeing that she shouldn’t have said anything. “I mean,” I scrambled to recover, to explain that I wasn’t mad, to find a way to explain that I wasn’t a bedwetter, “it’s not that! Like, it’s okay that you asked, I just…you know…it’s just that, I don’t…” I wrung my hands, why was it so hard to say I wasn’t a bedwetter? What I finally managed to get out was, “I’m really not…I didn’t…I’m sorry…” which didn’t really explain my sentiment at all.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Vivian said softly and stroke my shoulder, “I understand, don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything, okay? Just relax in the tub,” she gave me a reassuring smile and kissed my forehead gently, “and don’t forget to put your clothes in a pile outside the door so I can get them washed,” she added before leaving.

Things just keep getting worse, don’t they?

Chapter Nine

She thinks you wet the bed.

She thinks I wet the bed.

It doesn’t help that you couldn’t even manage to dissuade her of that fact.

I tried!

How hard is it to say, “I don’t wet the bed,” huh?

I tried! It’s harder than it seems, I guess.

What do you think she meant when she said she’ll take care of everything?

I assume she meant cleaning up my puddle of piss.

Puddle of Piss would be a good band name.

Not helpful.

More helpful than you were at explaining to Vivian that you don’t wet the bed.

I can’t believe this. How did I even get into this situation in the first place? I shouldn’t have held it as long as I did; I knew how badly I needed to pee and I ignored it, all because I was tipsy and horny. Fuck. I really fucked up.

Did you though?

Of course I did?

Think about it though, Vivian thought you were a bedwetter before you wet yourself tonight.

I flashed back to her reaction when she found me in a wet bed two weeks ago, when she had said that must be why I was so timid to spend the night. Then back to the conversation we were having just before she kissed me, when I thought she knew about my kinks. I was right, she suspected it before the kiss.

But okay, so what?

Sooo…she kissed you, made out with you even, thinking you were a bedwetter. She even brought it up right before kissing you, so you know it was fresh in her mind. It’s not a deal breaker for her; maybe it’s even—

Don’t even go there; only disappointment lays that way. But…maybe…maybe she really doesn’t mind that I’m a bedwetter. Or, I guess, wouldn’t mind it if I was…

So…why can’t you just be one?

I can’t just be a bedwetter. Remember how many times I used to wish I was when I was younger?

Back then you lived with family; back then you couldn’t just buy your own pull-ups; back then you couldn’t just be a bedwetter; but this isn’t back then, is it? If Vivian already thinks you’re a bedwetter and still wants you, what’s the harm in letting her continue to think that?

What was the harm? But could I really let her continue to think that of me?

In a sense, I had been given a gift; here was this woman, this amazing, gorgeous, absolutely brilliant woman that I adored and respected, who was into me, though I would never understand why, and not just into me, but into me despite the fact that she thinks I’m a bedwetter. I’d spent my whole life struggling with and feeling guilt and shame over my kinks, terrified I’d never find love with a partner who could accept that part of me, and here was a chance. It wouldn’t be entirely honest; it would require committing to the lie for as long as we were together. Could I really mislead Vivian like that?

Remember, she doesn’t just think you’re a bedwetter.

She had seen me have an accident while wide awake too. But surely, she knew that was the alcohol, right?

But what if you did it again? You could make sure she thinks you have daytime accidents too, then you could practice your kinks with impunity.

I’d be taking advantage of her understanding and good nature, wouldn’t I? And if she ever found out about my kinks, she’d immediately know I had tricked her.

Then don’t let her find out. Are you saying you wouldn’t be content to play the bedwetter who has occasional daytime accidents for the rest of your life? Are you saying it wouldn’t thrill you to know Vivian thinks you can’t help but wet yourself? It doesn’t make you hot to know that Vivian knows you’re just too little to keep your clothes dry?

I bit my lip and sunk deeper into the bath water. My brain was suddenly filled with thoughts of a life with Vivian in which she kept me in diapers at night and pull-ups during the day. A life in which Vivian knew she couldn’t trust me in big girl panties yet. The mortification of earlier fueled my thoughts, and under the water my hand—

A soft knock at the door brought me rudely back to reality.

“Everything okay, Lavender? Do you need anything?” Vivian’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Everything is fine!” I replied quickly, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt, “I was just about to get out!”

But those thoughts would just have to wait.

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Very interesting path the story is going down, I’m hooked!

1 Like

Just one chapter today, but it’s a long one at least! I hope y’all enjoy it!

Chapter Ten

Vivian was waiting for me in the guest room when I finally emerged from my bath.

“Feel better?” She asked as she finished turning down the bed.

“Much,” I sighed, “Vivian, I’m just…so sorry and—”

Vivian interrupted me with a wave of her hand, “Don’t even mention it!” She smoothed a stray wrinkle from the sheet, fluffed a pillow, and turned to face me, “Really, Lavender, these things happen.”

Do they really though?

“And I promise,” she continued, “I don’t think any less of you; you’re still the brilliant and passionate student I was so excited to work with.”

“You were…excited to work with me?” My heart fluttered, the embarrassment of current events momentarily forgotten. Vivian had never been withholding of praise towards my work, but this was the first time she had ever made it so…personal; the first time she had ever hinted that my excitement to work with her was reciprocated.

“Of course, dear,” she smiled and took a small step closer to me, “your work is absolutely brilliant, and I couldn’t wait to see how you would grow and blossom as a scholar.”

My heart fell through the floor. So, it was just professional?

“And since then, I’ve come to know you as a kind, witty, and frankly amazing person that I admire very much,” my heart slingshot itself up into my throat, “and all this changes nothing about how I feel about you.” She reached out a tentative hand and pushed a stray hair back behind my ear. “And, I think, you feel the same.”

Klaxon sirens were going off in my head. Red lights as bright as my cheeks and warning signs that flashed “GAY PANIC” filled my brain. I swallowed hard and forced myself to nod.

She smiled and leaned in, “I’m quite smitten with you, my little Lavender,” she whispered, her lips so close to mine I could feel her breath, and then they were pressed against mine. Her tongue slipped past my lips, and I moaned softly and melted into her.

A long moment later, Vivian broke off from the kiss and took a step back. I shyly looked down and bit my lip. I didn’t know what to say or where to go from here. My professor had just proclaimed her feelings for me, proclaimed them in spite of a wetting problem she perceived me to have, and then kissed me deeply and passionately. What was I supposed to say now?

Maybe “oh, by the way, I’m not a bedwetter?”

That did seem like a good place to start.

Vivian cleared her throat before I could begin to formulate that thought. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I do need to go take care of something, just really quickly, okay?”

I nodded and Vivian walked past me, brushing her hand along my hip as she did, and out of the room.

Awkwardly standing alone in the guest room, it suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t sure what Vivian expected me to sleep in. My clothes were, after all, currently being washed. Vivian was a few inches taller than me, but maybe she would have some pajamas I could borrow.

Would you lend your pajamas to a bedwetter?

I mean, it wouldn’t necessarily bother me…

Of course it wouldn’t bother you; you’re a bedwetter, after all.

I groaned internally. I really had to clear this up with Vivian. I couldn’t let her keep thinking I was a bedwetter. Besides, what was I going to do? Purposely piss all over Vivian’s guest bed again?

With that thought, I sat down hard on the bed, and immediately froze. Was that…what I thought it was? I lifted myself up just a little before letting myself fall back down. A plastic sheet crinkled under me.

Well, let’s just say I made sure I’m well-prepared, just in case.

That’s what Vivian had said about the prospect of me spending the night again. She was “well-prepared.” She expected me to piss all over her guest bed again.

As I was still trying to process this new information, Vivian came back in the room carrying a plain, brown paper bag in one hand and a pair of pajamas in the other. “Here you go,” she said as she set the pajamas down on the bed next to me, “I think these should fit you!”

Well, that answered that. “Thank you so much, Vivian,” I said as I picked up the pajamas. They were a set of plain, pale purple pajamas with a set of shorts and a button-up shirt with a soft collar; the leg and arm holes ended in juvenile-looking ruffles. I had to admit, they were kind of cute, but not exactly what most girls my age would wear to bed.

Pretty close to what you wear to bed sometimes though.

They were shockingly similar to a pair I had in my locked chest at home. They had less frills and lacked the repeating pattern of teddy bears, pacifiers, and baby bottles, but otherwise…

“I…do hope they are okay,” Vivian said, sounding uncharacteristically timid.

“They’re great, thank you so much,” I smiled, then remembered the paper bag in her other hand and eyed it cautiously. What else could she possibly have?

“Oh,” Vivian noticed me staring at the bag and cleared her throat, “yes, I…well, I hope you don’t mind…maybe this is presumptuous of me…” she suddenly seemed flustered, perhaps even embarrassed. “I just thought that…well…” she sighed and handed me the bag, “here, I had a delivery service make a trip to the pharmacy for me.”

My heart was beating fast; my mind racing with suspicions of what was in the bag. Nervously and with no small amount of anticipation, I peered inside the bag and was greeted by a familiar sight: a bag of Goodnites.

“I’m sorry if this is rude,” she blurted out as I was still trying to process the shock of this new development. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable if…and I don’t know what you use at home, but this…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“No, no, this was…” was what? What was I supposed to say in this circumstance?

How about “I don’t wet the bed, last time was just a freak accident caused by drinking too much?”

“…thoughtful,” was what I finally came up with. “But, Vivian, I…Vivian, I really appreciate this and how kind you’ve been and just everything but, to be completely honest, I…I don’t…”

I don’t wet the bed, say it.

“…don’t usually…”

Wet the bed! I don’t usually wet the bed! Or ever!

“…wear…”

Wait, what? That’s not where you’re supposed to be going with this! It’s okay, it’s okay, “wear diapers to bed because I’m not a bedwetter,” just say that, okay?

But I didn’t. I let myself trail off there without finishing my sentence.

What is wrong with you?

“Oh,” Vivian replied after a short silence, “I see…I mean, of course you don’t…I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable, Lavender,” she cast her eyes downward, clearly feeling awkward and embarrassed. “I really did think I was helping.”

Sympathetic pain shot through my chest; she was just trying to help. Vivian had no way of knowing that she was feeding into my own kinky daydreams, no way of knowing that she was leading me astray down a path of my own lies.

And suddenly I found myself at a crossroads.

I could tell Vivian the truth, dissuade her of the notion that I was a bedwetter, tell her that it was just the alcohol—she’d probably feel awful for making assumptions and even worse about buying these stupid Goodnites, but she’d get over it. We would move on, and, in time, this could just be a funny story. And, hell, maybe the fact that she’s so open-minded about the erroneous assumption that I’m a bedwetter is a good indicator that she’ll be open-minded about my kink—whenever I work up the nerve to tell her. OR…or, I could lie. I could put on the pull-up, let her think I’m a bedwetter, and play the role. It’s not like I wouldn’t enjoy it, but it felt so incredibly wrong.

But you’d be sparing her feelings!

No, I couldn’t rationalize this like that; I couldn’t pretend sparing her feelings justified the lie.

Then don’t lie. She’s the one who assumed you’re a bedwetter, you never told her you were. She’s the one who took it upon herself to buy you pull-ups, you’d just be a good guest by wearing them considering what happened last time. You have had a few drinks, after all.

Not nearly as many as last time.

And? So? You did wet the bed last time you stayed, and now your host is asking you to wear “protection” so that you don’t again. And maybe you wake up wet again because that’s what you do in pull-ups and if she takes that as confirmation of her assumption, is that really your fault?

“Well,” Vivian’s voice brought me back to reality, and I suddenly became aware of the fact that we had been standing there in awkward silence for far too long. “I guess I’ll just,” she reached for the bag, “get rid of these, then…”

“No!” I snapped instinctively, holding the bag tightly to my chest.

Now or never, which is it?

“That is,” I continued, “well…maybe…maybe I should…”

Vivian smiled and sat down on the bed next to me, making the plastic sheet crinkle again. “Lavender,” she began as she put one arm around me and set her other hand gently on my knee, “is this…” she paused for entirely too long “…new to you?”

Are you new to being a bedwetter?

I nodded. Technically, it was true.

“That must be scary,” she said, rubbing my back, “but I can be here for you, if you’d like that.”

I nodded again.

What are you doing?!

“Well,” she said as she gently took the bag from me and set it on the ground, “just know that I won’t judge you no matter what you chose and that either way it doesn’t affect how I feel about you or what I think of you, okay? But, well, maybe you’d sleep better if you did…” she gestured to the bag, “you know…”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

“At the very least, you probably won’t wake up feeling so gross.”

You might feel gross for other reasons when you wake up if you do this.

I felt impossibly conflicted. I was being given exactly what I’ve always wanted on a silver platter, but I’d have to lie to Vivian to get it. Was it worth it? Could I forgive myself? Would Vivian ever forgive me if she found out?

“I’ll tell you what,” Vivian said as she stood up, “why don’t I just leave them in here with you, and you can make whatever decision you’d like to make, okay?” She stroked my cheek once, then began walking towards the door. “But it’s late,” she stated, “and we’ve both had more than a few drinks and have had a pretty…eventful evening. Maybe it’s best we both retire for the night, don’t you think?”

I nodded my agreement, my eyes transfixed to the brown paper bag.

“Good night, Lavender, sleep well.”

And with that, Vivian left me alone with the bag of Goodnites.

You already know what you want to do; just do it.

I stood up on shaky legs, crossed the short span between me and the bag, and pulled them out. The bag was identical to the one I had at home. I ripped open the packaging and pulled one out.

Are you sure this is what you want to do? There’s no coming back from this.

Wasn’t there, though? I could call it a temporary issue caused by the stress of school—that was a thing, wasn’t it?

Or have you just read too many diaper stories?

I was pretty sure it was a real thing. I set the pull-up on the bed and untied my robe. I had come this far, after all.

This is a bad idea.

I picked up the pull-up and ran my hand across the outside, taking in the rustling sound that was oh so familiar and oh so intoxicating. I shook it out like I had so many pull-ups before it, and imagined it was Vivian holding it open for me.

“Just like big girl panties, right sweetie?” She would smile as I placed first one leg and then the other inside the garment. “There’s my good girl,” she pulled it up my legs and kissed my forehead as she settled it into place. “Does that feel good?” She asked, patting the front and running her fingers along the leak guards.

I nodded, “Thank you, Miss Vivian.”

“Now, let’s get you into bed, little girl.”

I climbed into the bed, the plastic sheet crinkling under every movement, and, propping the pillows up against the headboard so I could sit up, settled down into bed. Suddenly missing my pacifier, I slipped my thumb into my mouth even while my other hand found its way under the covers. My fingertips ran along the soft, almost paper-y outside of the pull up, rubbing back and forth, increasing in pressure until I couldn’t help but gasp behind my thumb.

My pacifier wasn’t the only thing I was missing.

I imagined Vivian coming to wake me up in the morning, pulling my covers back as I squirmed sleepily. “Good morning, my little Lavender,” she would whisper, using the same endearment she had earlier that had made me melt, “did we sleep well?” Miss Vivian would kiss my forehead even as her fingers slipped past the leg bands of my pull-up to give me my morning check.

I would just nod, smiling up at her from behind my thumb.

“My little girl is quite soaked,” she would say with love, “we’re going to have to think about diapers for night if you keep wetting this heavily, now won’t we?”

“Yes, Miss Vivian,” I would agree with a blush, my words muffled and distorted by my thumb.

In my mind, I watched Miss Vivian help me out of bed, me never taking my thumb from my mouth, and ripping the sides of my pull-up, gently teasing me about how soaked it was as she did.

“Now, Lavender,” she would say as she walked to the dresser, “are we going to be a big girl today and not have any accidents? Or should we keep you in your pull-ups in case you can’t stay dry today?”

I would smile shyly from behind my thumb and lower my gaze to stare at my feet, too embarrassed to give her an honest answer.

“That’s what I thought,” she would smirk and turn back to me with a pull-up in her hand, “you’re just my little Lavender, after all; how could one possibly expect you to keep your panties dry, right?” She would gently push me back so that I was sitting on the bed and kneel in front of me, grabbing one foot and working it into the pull-up. “It’s almost like you don’t even want to stay dry," she would tease as she moved on to the second foot, “but, surely, that can’t be it, right sweetie? Up now, sweetie,” she instructed, and I obeyed, standing up from the bed so she could slide the pull-up all the way up.

And then it was her hand against the outside of my pull-up, rubbing and pressing the padding against my most sensitive parts, sending waves of pleasure radiating through my body. “Surely, my little Lavender wants to be a big girl, right? There’s no way she’s having accidents on purpose so she can stay Miss Vivian’s little girl, right?”

I whimpered and shook my head.

“Of course not, because if she were doing that,” she leaned in to whisper in my ear, her breath hot on my face, “we’d have to put her back in big, fluffy diapers, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Miss Vivian,” I murmured from behind my thumb.

“What was that, darling girl?” She teasingly asked as she pulled my thumb out of my mouth, “I couldn’t hear you with your thumb in your mouth like a little baby. What did you say?”

“Yes, Miss Vivian,” I repeated.

“Yes, what? What’s going to happen if you keep wetting your pull-ups because you want to stay Miss Vivian’s little girl? Tell me exactly.” She pushed aside the padding of my pull-up, and I gasped and moaned as her fingers touched my flesh.

“Y-you’ll p-p-put me b-back,” I stammered, struggling to form words, “in d-diapers.”

“Yes, I will, big, fluffy ones that will make you waddle like the little baby you are, and you’ll love it, won’t you? You’ll love every humiliating moment of it, isn’t that right, my little Lavender?”

I shoved my thumb back in my mouth and bit down so hard I was surprised I didn’t break skin, but it was all I could do to keep from crying out as my body vibrated with muscles spasms. My back arched off the bed and then crashed back down, absolutely racked with pleasure.

Moments later, I laid on Vivian’s guest bed, my eyes half closed and my chest rising and falling slowly. I was barely even aware of my thumb slipping back into my mouth. What I was very aware of was the warmth that began to spread out through my pull-up. I made a quiet sound of pleasure in my throat, snuggled into the covers, and quickly drifted into sleep.

4 Likes

New chapters! Two of 'em!

If you recall, this was my NaNoWriMo project, so with November basically over, allow me to say…I did not hit my goal XD In case you don’t know, the goal of NaNoWriMo is to write 50k words in a month, and I fell short by about 10k. This story is currently about 40k words long, about half of which have been posted as of this update. But no fear! NaNoWriMo may be over, but The Life and Humiliations of Lavender Fairchild, or A Tale of Diapers and Doctorates will continue.

This is all to say, thank you to those who have been reading along, and a special thank you to those that have commented and shared their thoughts. I don’t wanna say I do it for the accolades, but, hey, they help! And they certainly mean a lot to me.

But now, without further ado…

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, I found Vivian eating breakfast in the breakfast nook nestled in the corner of her kitchen.

“Good morning, Lavender,” Vivian chirped cheerfully as I walked through the door.

“Good morning,” I mumbled back from the doorway. I stood there for a long moment picking at my hands; I was suddenly overcome with awkwardness over the disparity of our appearances. Vivian in her black silk pajamas with matching robe, looking every bit the mature and dignified academic she was even first thing in the morning, and me in my pale purple, ruffled pajamas…not to even mention the sodden pull-up underneath them.

“Please,” Vivian gestured to the spread of fresh fruit, English muffins, and jams on the table, “do help yourself, darling.”

I shuffled over to the table, extremely aware and very self-conscious about the rustling noise coming from under my pajamas. Briefly, I wondered if Vivian could tell how heavily the pull-up sagged between my legs, but quickly pushed the thought away before it could set my cheeks ablaze. I took a seat on the bench across from Vivian, my pull-up squishing under me as I did.

Why didn’t you just take off the pull-up?

I…didn’t know what to do with it…

You’re sure it’s not just because you wanted to savor the feeling? Or maybe because being in a wet pull-up in front of Vivian was…thrilling?

“Did you sleep well, Lavender?” Vivian asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I couldn’t help but blush at her question, feeling an unsaid question underneath it: did you have an accident? But, of course, Vivian meant the question at face value…right? Helping myself to an English muffin and some sliced strawberries, I nodded, “I slept wonderfully, thank you.”

Vivian smiled and took a bite of her own English muffin, smeared with what looked like blackberry jam. “Did you have pleasant dreams?” She asked when she was done chewing.

“Not that I recall,” I lied with a small, forced laugh even as I flashed back to the dreams I’d had that had picked up where my fantasies had ended. Dreams in which Vivian peeled off my wet pull-ups and put me in thick diapers, just as she had promised. “What about you?”

Vivian smirked, “nothing interesting,” and took a sip of her coffee. “Oh, may I offer you some coffee?” She asked as she set her cup down, “or maybe some juice? I have orange juice, but only with pulp.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” and it did—most people thought I was weird for it, but orange juice without pulp never tastes as good.

“You know,” Vivian got up and set about making me a glass of orange juice, “the topic of pulp tends to be divisive amongst orange juice drinkers, but I’ve always thought the stuff without pulp tastes…artificial, if that makes sense.”

“It does!” I exclaimed with a genuine laugh, “I absolutely agree.”

“A girl after my own tastes,” Vivian said as she set the glass down in front of me, “but now for another divisive question: crunchy or creamy peanut butter?”

“Oh, crunchy, one-hundred percent.”

“One-hundred percent!” Vivian agreed.

“Pineapple on pizza?” I asked as I smeared some of the blackberry jam on my muffin.

“Yes, but only if there’s something spicy on the pizza to balance out the sweetness.”

“Like…pepperoni, pineapple, and jalapenos?” I offered.

“Sounds lovely,” Vivian smiled and reached across the table to gently take the hand I wasn’t using to eat in her own, “just like you.”

I blushed and tried to hide my utter speechlessness with a gulp of orange juice.

I wonder if she’d still be saying you’re lovely if she knew you’re still wearing your soaked pull-up.

“What about,” I said, trying to keep the conversation moving, “the crust? Thick crust or thin?”

“I see that someone isn’t very good at taking compliments,” Vivian smiled and squeezed my hand, “when someone calls you lovely, you say thank you, isn’t that right?” Her voice took on a tone of gentle condescension that—quite frankly—clouded my brain with thoughts I would’ve rather not been having at breakfast with Vivian. My wet pull-up didn’t help.

“Yes,” I nodded with my eyes downcast like a penitent child, “that’s right.”

“So?” Vivian said expectantly.

“Thank you, Vivian,” I was all too aware of the conscious effort it took not to slip a ‘Miss’ in before her name.

“There we go,” she exclaimed warmly, “and you are quite welcome, my dear.”

We spent the rest of breakfast discussing our food preferences, which were often nearly perfectly in line, though Vivian definitely had a more…well, let’s call it a more refined palette than me. In other words, I was quite a bit pickier about food than she was.

“Well then,” Vivian said after I had admitted that, most of the time, I’d rather have chicken tenders or pizza over a fancy meal, “perhaps I should start serving more simple foods when we have dinner.”

“No, no,” I tried to backpedal quickly, “both of the dinners you’ve made me have been excellent, I promise!” And they were! But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have preferred a plate of chicken tenders.

“I’m so glad you think so, but maybe next time I’ll prepare something off the kids’ menu,” she smiled to show she was teasing. “Homemade chicken tenders with mashed potatoes and maybe some zucchini, something nice and simple, how does that sound?”

I couldn’t help but blush and bit my lower lip, “next time?”

It was Vivian’s turn to blush, “well, I had hoped…if it’s not so presumptuous, that is…”

“I’d love to,” I interjected, “and that sounds delicious.”

“Really, Lavender,” Vivian continued, her confidence seemingly restored, “I was actually hoping we could maybe…make this a weekly thing from now on? I have so enjoyed having you for dinner; I’ve even enjoyed our mornings together.”

“Vivian, about last night…” I began, suddenly overcome with humiliation over everything that had happened.

“Oh,” Vivian said when I didn’t continue for a long moment, “unless, of course, you have regrets or second thoughts about…what we did last night.”

“What we did?”

“The…you know…in the parlor?”

“Oh!” My face got hot thinking about Vivian on top of me, her lips locked with mine. I had been so busy thinking about everything that had happened after that that I had nearly completely forgotten that we had made out. “No, no, no regrets, that was…” I bit my lower lip, “magnificent.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” Vivian said, visibly relieved. “What did you want to talk about then?”

“Well, it’s just…about the rest of it…like, what happened after that…”

Vivian waved her hand in the air dismissively, “There’s really no need to mention it, Lavender. I told you, I don’t think any less of you, and the whole thing will be our little secret. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, and I only want to do whatever I can to help and support you. I never want to make you feel bad for anything, and definitely not this.”

She’s only saying that because she thinks you have a bladder problem; she’s only saying that because you’re lying to her.

I’m not…exactly lying…

You aren’t exactly telling the truth either.

I knew this was my last chance to come clean; if I didn’t do it now, I’d quickly find myself in too deep with no way back.

Or was I already in too deep? I thought about the wet pull-up I was wearing and how hard it would be to explain why I had worn it—and, more importantly, why I had wet it—if I came clean now.

“Thank you, Vivian,” I said after a long silence, “that really means a lot to me.”

So you’re really doing this? Committing to letting Vivian think you have a bladder problem?

But what else could I do?

She smiled warmly, “and did…they help?” She asked a little hesitantly.

My face was burning as I nodded my head.

“Good,” she said matter-of-factly, “I’ll make sure to have some on hand for you when you stay over from now on, so there’s no need to feel shy about sleeping here.”

The topic was, thankfully, quickly dropped and conversation moved on to less mortifying subjects. The morning quickly passed and it was early afternoon by the time I changed out of the pajamas Vivian had lent me and back into the now-freshly-laundered clothes I had been wearing the night before. My sodden pull-up went into the bathroom trash can, covered with a layer of toilet paper out of some weird sense of trying to maintain a little dignity.

“Next week, then?” Vivian asked as we stood by the front door.

“It’s a date,” I replied, then immediately began second guessing my choice of words, but Vivian just smiled, seemingly unfazed. Instead, she cupped one hand on my cheek and leaned in for a long, slow kiss.

“I’m very much looking forward to it.”

It wasn’t until I got to my car and went to fish out my keys that I noticed something strange in my purse: three pull-ups and a handwritten note. I unlocked my car and climbed inside before opening the note.

“Lavender,” it began, “I hope you don’t find this presumptuous or overbearing, but I figured you might want some for home until you can get some more.” It was signed, “with love, Vivian.”

I smiled, suddenly giddy, and drove home. The whole way there, I prayed Elyse would be out of the apartment.

Chapter Twelve

Of course, in my experience, prayers rarely get answered.

As I walked into the apartment I shared with Elyse, I could immediately here the sounds of my roommate in the kitchen.

“Hi, Elyse,” I tried to sound as casual as possible—in other words, trying not to bring attention to the fact that I was, once again, returning from Vivian’s house after spending the night—as I set my bag down, doubling checking to make sure the bag was zipped and the pull-ups within safely hidden.

“Another night with Professor Devereux?” Elyse immediately asked. She was standing by out coffee maker as it released a steady stream of steaming black liquid into a travel mug.

So much for not bringing attention to it.

“I told you last time,” I explained, trying not to sound flustered or guilty, despite being very guilty, “I had too many drinks and spent the night in her guest room.”

“You realize that doesn’t really sound much better, right?”

Tell her you peed your pants and had to spend the night so you clothes could be washed.

I’m sure that will fix everything.

“Nothing happened, Elyse,” I insisted before deciding to shift to the offensive, “and besides, what business is it of yours?”

“None,” she admitted, much to my surprise. A silence filled the small kitchen as Elyse pulled a bottle of creamer from the fridge and added a more than generous splash to her travel mug. “But,” she finally continued as she put the creamer back, “if anyone else finds out? You and Professor Devereux are going to be in serious trouble.”

“There’s nothing to find out about!” Except the kissing…not to mention the wettings and pull-ups. I wasn’t sure which secret I’d prefer to get out. Let’s go with neither.

“You might get kicked out, Lavender,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “Professor Devereux has tenure so she might be fine, but that’s a big might. She might not get fired, but they certainly won’t just slap her on the wrist. How hard have you worked to get here, Lavender? You have a fully-paid fellowship, and you’re risking it all to have a fling with your professor? You should be focusing on your dissertation; fuck whoever you want after you graduate.”

By the time Elyse was done with her short berating, I felt well and truly small and awful. I was staring at the ground with tears forming behind my eyes while I played nervously with my hair. “I’m not fucking her,” I protested weakly.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Elyse grabbed the lid to her travel mug and slammed it on a little harder than necessary, “I hope you’re enjoying it, because whatever it is looks suspicious, and it’s only a matter of time before other people start noticing.”

Elyse stomped off to her room, leaving me standing there in quite thought. I knew she was right; we could get in serious trouble for what we were doing.

But you’re not really doing anything, right?

We made out. Vivian definitely made it clear she has feelings for me. Then there’s the…rest of it…

No one knows about your kink; they can prove that’s inappropriate without that information.

Maybe…it’s still going to raise a lot of questions though…gods I hope no one finds out about that part of it all.

“I’m going to the library,” Elyse said, breaking me out of my own head, as she came back out of her room with her backpack.

“Are…are you going to tell anyone?” I asked cautiously, fully aware that I was, essentially, admitting at least some small amount of guilt.

Elyse sighed as she grabbed her coffee. “No,” she said at last, “but I’m also not going to lie and stick my neck out to save yours, so be careful , got it?”

I nodded, “thank you,” I said sincerely as Elyse made her way to the front door.

“I hope she’s worth it,” Elyse said skeptically and slammed the door behind her just a little too hard.

At least now I was alone, but now I wasn’t so much in the mood for the solitary activities I had wanted to partake in. I picked up my bag and headed to my room to put the pull-ups away with everything else.

I had only begun filling my little chest of secrets in the past year since I had moved into this apartment. I’d always had more than a passing interest in pull-ups, wetting myself, and other toddler things, but had always lacked the privacy necessary to indulge. It was easy to remember how excited I had been by my first bag of pull-ups; it was just as easy to remember how nerve-racking the experience of buying them at the local pharmacy had been. Now I bought them from the internet—a much less mortifying experience, even if I still worried Elyse might get curious about the packages I receive. Not that you could tell how anxious I was by the contents of the chest, most of which had been ordered from the internet.

Double checking to make sure my bedroom door was locked despite the empty apartment, I pulled my little chest out of its hiding spot, spun the combination into the lock, and lifted the lid to expose my treasure trove.

Right on top was an almost empty bag of Goodnites; I pulled the ones Vivian had given me out of my purse and slid them in the bag, making a mental note to order more soon. Setting the bag of pull-ups aside, I peered into my chest. Sometimes it was nice to just take stock of all the toddler things I had accrued. One of the many things I had been collecting over the past year were clothes that made me feel and look a little more toddler-like, and while some of my more discreet clothing options, that is, clothing I could get away with wearing in public without raising eyebrows, hung up with the rest of my everyday clothes, the chest was where I kept my more overtly toddler clothing pieces. Numerous onesies, a rainbow tulle skirt, some frilly bloomers, and a few other articles of clothing with overtly babyish designs and patterns took up a large chunk of the space in the chest. Then, of course, there were the two bibs, the bonnet that looked so cute but made me feel a little silly, a pair of mittens, a baby bottle, two sippy cups, about a dozen pacifier clips, and at least twice as many pacifiers (some of which were plain, but most were decorated).

A pretty good collection, if I said so myself.

And still you want more .

I did. But, maybe more so, I wanted to be able to share this side of myself with Vivian. I didn’t want to lie to her, I didn’t want to deceive her, but how else could I ever let her know about this part of me? I wanted Vivian passionately, both intellectually and sexually; I wanted to drink wine with her and have deep conversations about books and movies and everything else just as much as I wanted her to touch me, to kiss me, to rail me even. Yes, I wanted all of that, but I also wanted Vivian to treat me like a toddler, and how could I ever have all three?

You could just…tell her the truth?

But that, of course, was off the table. Especially now that I had gone past the point of no return with my lies. That only left leaning further in.

Right now, though, what I needed was to feel the kind of comfort that only the contents of my chest could provide.

Vivian could provide it.

Maybe, but that wasn’t an option right now.

As I stripped off the clothes that I had worn to Vivian’s the night before, I mused on what more I wanted. There were things I wanted that couldn’t fit into my chest—I often fantasized about being fed in a highchair or put down for a nap in a crib—but then there were other things that would easily fit that I had just been too timid to buy thus far. Namely, diapers.

Pull-ups were wonderful, don’t get me wrong; I’d happily wear pull-ups every day for the rest of my life if I could have. But diapers? I’d wanted to try them for as long as I could remember, but they seemed…daunting. Pull-ups I could hide; I rarely did, but I could wear a pull-up under jeans or even a skirt with a thick pair of leggings and have no one be the wiser. The same couldn’t be said about diapers. Not to mention, I wasn’t sure I could put a diaper on by myself. Oh, sure, I had read plenty of tutorials online and even watched a few videos, but it seemed like something that looked a lot easier than it was. But everything about them just made me feel…electric.

It didn’t help that ever since that first night at Vivian’s they had been increasingly taking a central role in my fantasies.

I shut my closet door and looked at myself in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the door. Grinning back at me was a little girl, maybe three or four, wearing a short-sleeved, black onesie with cute little ghosts all over it—my favorite onesie in my collection. The snap-crotch slightly bulged over the pull-up underneath. Clipped to my collar was a pacifier clip that matched the onesie; a pink pacifier hung at the end. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I popped the pacifier in my mouth and put my hair into pigtails.

What would Vivian say if she saw you dressed like this?

“Aww, what a cute little girl,” maybe? Or “isn’t my little Lavender just the cutest little girl,” maybe?

Or maybe “Lavender, you look absolutely ridiculous.”

I pouted. That didn’t sound like something Miss Vivian would say. Miss Vivian was always kind and gentle and loving.

Grabbing my phone from my bag, a sippy cup from the chest, and a robe to throw over my outfit, I quickly headed back to the kitchen to fill my sippy with apple juice before retreating back to my room, locking the door behind me, and ditching the robe. Sucking gently on my pacifier, I climbed into bed with my sippy and grabbed my favorite stuffed animal, Penelope the otter, off my pillow, cuddling her tightly to my chest as I snuggled into my blankets and pillows.

A few minutes later, I had ordered my pull-ups from Amazon and moved on to browsing diapers on various kink sites as I imagined what it would be like to have Vivian put me in them.

Maybe if she thought you really needed them…

Like…maybe if she thought pull-ups weren’t enough protection at night?

Or maybe if you kept peeing your pants during the day…

She was pretty quick to suggest pull-ups to bed…

Maybe next week, the pull-up leaks?

What if she just gets mad? What if she thinks I’m gross for wetting the bed?

She already knows you wet the bed. Why would she react differently to you wetting the bed more?

“My poor little Lavender,” I imagined her saying as I looked up at her from the bed, my pajamas and sheets just as wet as my pull-up, “I guess you’re too little for pull-ups even, isn’t that right?”

It would be easy, wet the pull-up before going to sleep and again when you wake up and…

…and more lies.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I’m not sure that applies here. But…

But…?

Who am I really hurting? It’s not like I’m forcing Vivian to do anything…

Aside from cleaning up after your accidents…

…but that’s what the diapers are for!

I couldn’t help but start to feel…aroused as I fell down this rabbit hole, my imagination running away with me as my arousal grew. I once again found my head full of fantasies of a life with Vivian in which she kept me in diapers at night and pull-ups during the day.

You’ll have to pee your pants in front of Vivian at least a few more times before she puts you in pull-ups.

Or…I could just start wearing them around her?

But that’s not as much fun.

It’s also not as dishonest.

And yet, I had to admit, looking back on the accident I’d had in front of Vivian, separated now by enough to feel the impact of the mortification a little less, it had been…kind of…very…hot…

“Again, Lavender?” I imagined Miss Vivian saying in equal parts exasperation and sympathy as pee ran down my legs. “I guess you just aren’t ready for big girl panties,” she’d hug me softly to let me know she wasn’t mad before taking me by the hand, “come on, let’s get you cleaned up and into a nice pull-up, okay?”

It was such a nice fantasy, but could I really go through with it?

I took a deep breath and added the diapers to my cart.

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Chapter Thirteen

Weeks passed by and before I knew it the end of the semester was just around the corner.

Vivian and I continued to see each other every Friday night…and every Saturday morning, for that matter. Despite ample fantasies to the contrary, I kept my pants dry during our time together—during the daytime, anyway. Come Saturday morning, I would always shuffle my way to breakfast in a soaked pull-up. If Vivian ever noticed that I wore my sodden undergarments to breakfast, she never said anything about it. In fact, she said very little about my accidents at all, though she did remind me to wear my pull-up most night, and a few times she had even…politely suggested I use the bathroom.

Of course, she never phrased it so directly. “Why don’t you go visit the little girls’ room and wash up while I clean up after dinner?” She might suggest; subtle, but enough to make my cheeks a little warm.

All-in-all, my time with Vivian was a small taste of bliss every week, and barely a day would pass that I didn’t find myself deep in my daydreams fantasizing about Vivian…but mostly about Miss Vivian.

It was not, however, all sunshine and rainbows. Vivian and I never discussed it, but we both knew our relationship, such as it were, existed under the sword of Damocles. We knew our relationship was wrong, or at least ethically suspect; we knew the trouble we could get in if the director of our department or other administration discovered it. If nothing else, Elyse’s words and warnings lived rent free in my head, but I didn’t care, and Vivian never showed any sign that she did. And after all, was what we were doing so wrong? We were both consenting adults, and I was still doing the work. But the reality was what it was, and nothing Vivian or I could do would change that, so we made sure to keep our relationship under wraps. In public, on campus, we maintained a façade of professionalism in all of our interactions.

However, that didn’t mean I didn’t catch Elyse glaring at us from across the room on more than a couple of occasions.

Speaking of Elyse, after our second confrontation regarding the time I was spending with Vivian, she kept her mouth shut on the matter, which was a win at least.

Outside of my relationship with Vivian, I kept myself busy with my schoolwork. The end of the semester was always a busy time, and this semester was no exception. In fact, I spent the vast majority of the time I wasn’t with Vivian with either my nose stuck in a book or my head stuck in a fantasy about Vivian.

Oh, and, as for the diapers I bought…well…I was right, they proved much harder to put on in practice than the tutorials I had read and watched made it seem. I ruined the first one I tried to put on by ripping the tapes and plastic from so many attempts at readjusting the thing. At first, I thought I did a better job with the second, but after just a few moments of wearing it, I began to suspect I had done a poorer job than I realized. What was snug and comfy in some places was loose and scratchy in others, and when the padding leaked all over my bed when I first tried to wet it, my suspicions were confirmed.

Since then, the opened bag of diapers, too large to fit in my chest, had lived in my closet hidden out of sight just next to the chest of secrets. Leaving it out like that made me nervous at first, but I quickly realized that all my security measures were a little on the paranoid side. After all, it wasn’t like Elyse was going to go digging around my closet.

All-in-all, the last few weeks of the semester passed in a pleasant blur.

There was, however, one thing about Vivian and mine’s relationship that left me uneasy.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Vivian whispered in my ear, “we should both probably get ready for bed.”

I made a sound of weak protest in my throat, “just a few more minutes?”

“In just a few more minutes, you’ll be fast asleep, and we can’t have that yet, now can we? Come on, sleepy girl, go get ready for bed.”

“I won’t fall asleep, I promise,” I said even as I shifted around in bed to get in a more comfortable position. We were laying in Vivian’s bed together, both of us naked, having just thoroughly celebrated the end of the semester together. Summer stretched out ahead of us, and with less work for both of us and many of the students, including Elyse, and some of the faculty going out of town for portions of if not the entire summer, we’d have much more time to spend together.

“You will,” she chided gently and with enough jovialness to know she was being playful, “and you know what will happen if you fall asleep before you…get ready .”

I pouted, knowing exactly what she meant. “Okay,” I finally agreed, sitting up in bed, “but you have to give me a kiss first.”

Vivian smiled and complied, “now,” she said as she got out of bed with me, “you go get ready for bed, and I’ll go turn down the bed in the guest room for you.”

I pouted again, this time behind Vivian’s back. The guest bed. We’d been doing this for quite a few weeks at this point, Vivian and I were having sex, but I was still sleeping in the guest bed? It didn’t seem fair, but I also knew it was likely because Vivian didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with a bedwetter. She said she was fine with it and didn’t think any less of me, but was that really the case? Perhaps more importantly, could I really keep this up if it barred me from a bit of much craved intimacy?

Later that night, curled up in the guest bed, I pondered this problem further. Of course, I’d never asked Vivian if I could sleep with her, so maybe she just didn’t realize that was something I wanted. But the bedwetting was certainly the more likely answer.

But…maybe…there was a way to find out…

Invite her to have dinner at your apartment next week, she’ll have to sleep in bed with you then, and if she won’t stay the night, you’ll know it’s because of your bedwetting.

I could never, not with Elyse in the apartment.

Elyse won’t be there, remember?

That was right, Elyse had left earlier that day to spend the summer with her family—I had the apartment to myself until mid-August.

And so I resolved to invite Vivian to spend an evening, and hopefully a night, at my apartment. What I didn’t know then was how this seemingly innocuous act would set into motion events that I would only ever have had the nerve to fantasize about.

Chapter Fourteen

“Vivian!” It was my turn to exclaim her name as I opened the front door of my apartment, “I’m so glad you agreed to let me host you tonight!”

“I’ll admit, I was curious to see where you live,” she replied as she looked around the small apartment.

“It’s not much,” I explained, “but it’s home, and since my roommate is out of town for the summer, I figured it would be nice to play hostess for once. May I offer you a drink? I’m afraid I don’t have the selection you do, but I have beer and wine and I make a mean rum and coke!” I was already beginning to regret this; there was a reason Vivian hosted aside from privacy. I was secretly hoping Vivian wouldn’t ask for the wine; I was suddenly embarrassed to serve her the cheap wine I had after spending weeks drinking her fancy wine.

“Well,” she replied with an amused grin, “I suppose I’ll have to try the house specialty, a rum and coke it is.”

“Great,” I smiled back and headed into the kitchen, “why don’t you take a seat on the couch, and I’ll be right over with drinks.”

As I set to making us both a rum and coke, Vivian began slowly walking towards the couch, taking in the apartment as she did. “So, you live here with Elyse?” Vivian knew Elyse, of course, but they didn’t work as closely as Vivian and I did—which is to say, their relationship was nothing more than most professor and student relationships. “How is that?”

“Pretty good,” I replied as I generously poured rum into two glasses, “I mean, you know, I’d rather have a place to myself, I like to have my privacy, but she’s a better roommate than the girl I lived with during my MA program…and a lot better than the roommates I had in undergrad.”

“Roommates can be…difficult,” Vivian empathized, “and I’m sure especially so when you’re as concerned about…privacy as I imagine you are. Have you had any problems with Elyse and your…privacy?”

It took me a moment to catch Vivian’s meaning, but I was glad I was looking away from her when I did—my face must have gone bright red.

Has Elyse discovered your wetting problem?

“Um, no,” I replied, dropping ice cubes into the glasses, “no problems there.”

“Good, good,” Vivian said as she finally settled down on the couch. “I have to admit, I worry sometimes, not everyone is as…understanding as I am. I’d hate to find out someone was making you feel bad about it or that you weren’t properly taking care of yourself.”

I was still blushing as I put the ice cube trays back and began pouring coke into the glasses. It wasn’t like Vivian to talk about my wetting problems so openly; I couldn’t help but wonder where it was coming from. And wanting to make sure I’m properly taking care of myself? What does she mean by that?

Make sure you wear your protection at night? Make sure you’re using the potty regularly during the day? Not spending too long in your wet padding in the morning? Maybe she’s noticed you come to breakfast in a wet pull-up and worries you do the same around Elyse.

Yeah, okay, maybe I’ve given her plenty of reasons to worry, but why is she bringing it up now?

“Well, um,” I said awkwardly as I walked into the living room and handed Vivian her glass, “thank you, I appreciate your concern.”

“Thank you, dear,” Vivian said as she took the glass from my hand and sipped it. “You were right, you do make a mean rum and coke, it’s very lovely.”

I beamed at the compliment. It was such a small and silly thing, but any kind of praise from Vivian made my heart flutter.

“So,” she said, changing the subject, “what’s for dinner?”

It was, once again, time for me to blush, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about my hosting choices. “Well,” I started nervously, “I spent all week trying to decide what to cook for you, but the truth is…I can’t…really cook, so…I thought we could order take-out? I know a really good Thai place…?”

Vivian grinned, “that sounds lovely, Lavender.” She took another sip of her drink and chuckled, “although, I suppose I’ll have to teach you to cook. Maybe next week, you can be my little kitchen helper, and I can teach you some cooking skills.”

Miss Vivian’s little kitchen helper!

It was all I could do to not show how excited I was about that prospect. “That sounds really lovely,” I said evenly, already fantasizing about trying to be a big girl and helping Miss Vivian in the kitchen.

Before long, we had ordered dinner. Despite that, as I mentioned multiple times, I was the one hosting her for dinner, Vivian insisted on paying, and all my protests did nothing to dissuade her from her decision. As I was placing the order, Vivian, rum and coke in hand, drifted over to my bookcases and began perusing them.

“You’ve got quite the collection here,” Vivian said as I finished putting in our order.

“Well, it’s nowhere near as large as yours,” I replied humbly, “and some of them are Elyse’s.”

“I’ve had a lot more time to collect them,” she countered, “but the quality of your collection is very good.”

“Thanks, but…it’s a pretty curated collection,” I admitted with a laugh, “I keep all my impressive academic books out here, and the trashy fantasy books in my room.”

Vivian turned and smiled at me, “may I?”

You can’t let her in your room, what if you left something out?

For a moment, panic built in my chest; had I left out any stuff that would hint at my proclivities? Had I left a pacifier out on my nightstand? Were all my onesies and other little clothes properly hidden? However, the panic dissipated almost as quickly as it formed. After all, I had been planning on Vivian spending the night in my bedroom; I had triple-checked to make sure everything was in order.

“Um, sure, this way,” still, I was nervous as I led Vivian into my bedroom. After all, I could make sure all my pull-ups, pacifiers, onesies, and other incriminating items were put away, but my bedroom still very much looked like that of a young adult still clinging to their childhood. Fairy lights and other purple string lights were my bedroom’s primary source of light, my desk was littered with small toys and Legos that I fidgeted with while I was working, and there were stuffed animals almost everywhere.

“Aww, and who is this?” Vivian asked as she immediately went to my bed and scooped up the plush otter that was waiting for me on my pillow. She managed to ask in a tone not dissimilar to the one you would use to ask a toddler about their stuffies without sounding like she was mocking me or being condescending.

“That’s Penelope,” I replied with a blush, gently taking her from Vivian—I didn’t like other people holding Penelope.

“She’s adorable,” Vivian handed her over to me with a smile before gently stroking my cheek, “just like you. Do you sleep with Penelope?”

I nodded but said nothing, suddenly uncomfortable with how Vivian’s words and demeanor were making me slip down into little space. I suppressed the urge to tell Vivian all about my stuffed animals and instead set Penelope back on the bed, “um, my bookshelves are just right there,” I re-directed.

“Sorry,” Vivian said as she sauntered over to the bookcases, “your bedroom is just so adorable, I couldn’t help it.”

“Oh, you’re fine, it’s just…”

It’s just that talking to you like that makes your brain go into toddler mode.

True, but I couldn’t say that.

“…well, thank you,” I said, unable to finish the thought I had started. “I’m glad you like it. I know it’s not quite what you’re used to, but I hope you’ll be comfortable sleeping in here,” I hadn’t been planning on addressing that matter just yet, but the opportunity seemed to be presenting itself.

“Oh,” Vivian said simply as she looked over the books on my shelf, “I took a Lyft here so I could just do the same home, no worries, darling.”

“Oh,” it was my turn to say, though mine was quite a bit more dejected than hers. She wasn’t willing to sleep with a bedwetter after all. I sat down heavily on the edge of my bed.

“But,” Vivian continued, clearly picking up on my crestfallen expression, “I can see that’s not quite what you were imagining.” Vivian sat down next to me and took one of my hands in both of hers. “Were you hoping I would stay with you?”

I nodded.

“Mm, I see,” Vivian said softly. “And you were hoping I’d sleep in here with you?”

I nodded again, trying not to indulge the tears I felt forming behind my eyes.

“Darling,” she said, pushing some stray hairs behind my ears, “why didn’t you just say so?”

I laughed weakly, feeling stupid, “this was me trying to say something,” I explained, “but I guess you don’t want to spend the night in the same bed as me.” Vivian opened her mouth to say something, but I plowed forward without giving her a chance, “I always sleep in the guest bed at your house, but I figured if we had dinner here, you’d have to sleep in the same bed as me, but I guess you just don’t want to spend the night in the same bed as me because of…the…you know…” I trailed off, still holding back my tears. I felt so dumb; I had ruined everything just because I couldn’t come clean and tell her I wasn’t a bedwetter when I still had a chance.

“Darling, sweetheart, my little Lavender,” Vivian said softly, lovingly, as she began rubbing my back when my little tirade was over, “that’s not the case at all. I want you to spend the night with me, too, I was just trying to…respect your privacy, that’s all.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, really!” Vivian laughed softly, “Really, truly. I’m sorry, Lavender, I shouldn’t have just assumed, but I did; I assumed you would be too embarrassed about your…well, your you know …”

I threw my arms around Vivian just as I felt a tear finally escape and roll down my cheek. “Spend the night with me?” I asked, “Spend the night in this bed with me? Please?”

“Of course, my little Lavender, I’d love to.”

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