A Thirst for More - Chapter Six (Silver+ Exclusive)

"No. No! No, there has to be another way-"

Mrs. Fenoli is regarding me with a sympathetic smile, but right now I'm simply too frustrated and angry to care. She's literally just told me that she wants me to wear a diaper – me, a nineteen-year-old college student! And all because of her own stupid insistence on making me drink so much...

"Look, I'm, I'm not-" I give a short, forced chuckle of disbelief. "You can't be serious. I'm a grown adult, I'm perfectly capable of-" "Of what, deah?" she asks mildly. "No one is sayin' yoah not an adult, Adrian. No one's sayin' that." She sighed softly. "Needin' a bit of help foah the bathroom doesn't mean yoah a child. But we both know yoah not gettin' up and down those staiyahs by yoahself..."

"Yeah, all because of my damned ankle! And you want to know how I broke it? While getting up in the middle of the night to pee because of all the water you want me to drink!" There are warning bells, red lights flashing in my mind as the hot words spill out, but at this point I'm past caring. "I'd never have ended up in the hospital if it hadn't been for that! And now you think you can just treat me like- like a baby? Just put a freaking diaper on me and pretend like it'll be okay?!"

And then the world is blurring as hot tears fill my eyes and drip silently to the coverlet below. "Hey, hey now," Mrs. Fenoli murmurs, and I feel her hand slip onto my shoulder. "You've been through a lot today, now. It's okay." I wipe fitfully at my eyes as I feel the anger draining from my being. "I- I just don't want- to be a freak-" I manage. "Not more than I already am..."

"Yah no freak, love," Mrs. Fenoli consoles me, her voice strong and sure. "Come on, now! Yoah a smaht, kind, hahd-workin' person. Yoah smahtah than me, I'm shouah, and I bet yah fit in right theah on campus with all those other smaht kids." Her hand is massaging my shoulder rhythmically as she speaks, and I blow my nose noisily. "Now, listen, Adrian. I got a story tah tell yah. I don' know if it'll help yah fahgive what happened today, but I should tell yah anyways..."

I draw a shaky breath, glad for once to let her do the talking... so I don't need to.

"Yah know I was married, of coase," she sighs, with a wry smile. "Had two lovely dwaghtahs, yah know. I already told you about them, yeah. But I don' think I've said much about Jerry." I shake my head mutely. "He and I- well," she sighs, and gazes reflectively out the window. "We had a good life, the two of us. I still remembah the night he first asked me out, yah know. Walking 'long the hahbah, workin' up the courage to – yah know, oh my gawd – hold hands..."

She chuckles softly. "He wa'nt puhfect, of coase. The man did love his football. Couldn't go anyweah on weekends when the Pats'd be playin'..." I nod, my tears forgotten. She's getting on in years, but even now I can see what she must have been years before: a blunt, good-natured, vivacious young woman... "Yeah?"

She sighs once more and lets her gaze drop to my quilt-covered legs. "It's foah yeahs now since he passed," she murmurs. "Oh, it's okay. I get on all right. But it was the time befoah that that- well, it hurts." She pauses, but being at a loss for what to say, I remain quiet. Best to keep your mouth shut and be thought an idiot-

"Damned kidney stones," she finally blurts. "There were nights that- well, I don't like the think 'bout 'em, they hurt so. Jerry was hurting so, so bad. He was on the floor, begging- crying- screaming like he'd been shot-" Her voice cracks with emotion. "An' the doctahs said he'd just hafta put up with it 'til they came out. Said he shoulda been drinkin' moah. Said he shoulda been eatin' bettah-"

She draws a deep breath to steady herself. "Yeah, well. Coase in the end it was his heart that took him away. But it'll always be those damned kidney stones that I think about, yah know? There's just nobody- nobody – who deserves that kind o' pain, Adrian. No one. I don' want that fah me, I don' want that fah you. And I guess-" and here she chuckles at last. "Maybe I'm a bit crazy 'bout the watah, yeah. But if I can keep yah from dealin' with what my poah Jerry went through-"

I find my hand reaching out, patting her leg in awkward consolation. "I- I'm sorry, Mrs. Fenoli-" I mutter. "I'm sorry. I didn't know..." She raises her head and flashes me a watery smile. "Oh, sweethaht - of coase you didn't! It's not yah fault." She dabs at her eyes, then clears her throat. "Well, well. Enough of that. All that to say, deah-"

"It's okay," I find myself saying, much to my own surprise. "I get it. And you're right – I do need something for, you know, when I can't get to the bathroom." She smiles and shrugs. "That's real matuah of yah, Adrian. Jus' so yah know, my own Jerry had tah use some help for awhile theah too. Oh, he kicked up a fuss fah shuah. But whaddya gonna do, hey? Everybody's gotta pee, yah know. And if yah can't get aroun' or keep it in, it just makes sense..."

And so it happens that I find myself, scarcely an hour later, eyeing a large, white-and-blue package on my bed: a package of what, delicate labeling notwithstanding, can only be described as adult diapers. Mercifully, I'm still able to get on my knees and maneuver myself in bed enough to convince Mrs. Fenoli that I don't need her assistance to actually, you know, put one on. "Theah pretty simple," she's explained, unfolding the first and laying the crinkling thing out before me. "Just lays undah yah like that, and then up an' aroun' like that, and these heah are the tapes that pull it all togethah..."

It's an odd feeling, to be sure – laying the thing down on the bed, wriggling my bare-assed self over it, and pulling the thing up and around my junk. I'm sure it's done badly and all. I'm sure if there are some sort of weird professional adult diaper experts out there in the world, they'd say I've done an awful job. But it does seem to stay on, and once I've tugged my sweatpants up and over the crinkling thing and tucked myself back under the covers, I can almost pretend like it isn't even there...

Until I have to actually use it, of course.

It's late at night. I've had my supper, and true to form Mrs. Fenoli has brought me my customary pitcher of water, which I've obediently downed. Just relax, I scold myself as the pressure in my bladder rises to almost painful levels. It's too late to even think of asking Mrs. Fenoli to get out of bed and help you downstairs. That's the whole reason she got you those diapers in the first place.

Waterfalls... Flooded creeks... Summer thunderstorms... Rain streaming down the gutters and splashing out the downspouts... Puddles trickling, pooling, spreading across the yard...

It's still a shock, though, when the first little dribble finally escapes my bladder. I clench involuntarily, those years of potty-training screaming at me not to whiz in my pants. But that little spurt has disappeared into the padding beneath me with scarcely a trace, and I draw a deep, albeit shaky, breath. More of that. Yes. And then I can turn out the lamp, and slip under the covers, and let these painkillers wash me away into sleep...

The next spurts come more easily, and before it's done I'm actually streaming pretty nicely and steadily into my diaper. Like I should be proud of that, I muse sarcastically, timidly pulling down my pants and poking gingerly at the padding between my legs. The strip of color has turned from yellow to blue, but other than the soft squish and the warmth, it feels like all is contained. Thank god! Now, to try to get to sleep like this-

Fortunately, those painkillers are pretty good at putting you to sleep. Within minutes I'm out – just as if I'm not lying in bed in a wet diaper, like some overgrown toddler...

(To be continued!)