Redemption 6


“Even when she diapered me in a playful continuation of our daily after-sex cuddling I resented it. Lying naked on the bed with my legs open, while she softly applied baby powder, calling me in a half-loving, half-mocking way, her little baby, I felt little, insignificant and dependent again. But she never noticed.”




You will find the preceding chapters of this story in “topics” under “Redemption”, with the different chapters in reversed order. To find the first chapter you just have to scroll down to the bottom.


Chapter 6



The shelter saved my life. Although it was not easy.


Problems started from the very first hour, when they showed me around and I realized I would have to sleep in a kind of dorm with 3 or 4 other woman. Ashamed, stumbling over my words, I told them about my “condition”. They gave me a strange look but told me not to worry and that evening gave me a pack of depends-type diapers to wear.  Everybody, including my “roommates”, was very nice about it.  Nevertheless I felt very bad. My shame of having fucked up my life, having to seek help from this organization, being dependent on volunteers, was confounded with my shame of having to wear diapers.


Of course the first thing they wanted was for me to get “clean”. They offered me a methadone based program but I preferred to go cold turkey. They were really very supportive in this choice, but told me they were not equipped for eventual consequences and preferred to transfer me to another facility. This facility was in another town what suited me very well as I wanted to get as far away as possible from my previous life and from Lewis, who was certainly looking for me all over the place.


In the new shelter the bedwetting problem repeated itself of course but here too the people were very nice about it. Beyond shame I had admitted of being semi-illiterate and they offered to teach me. And that is how I met Jenny. Jenny was a 24 year old student who volunteered as a teacher in the shelter.


The first meeting with Jenny went very bad. I was very much in need and veered between a sulking depressive mood and aggressive grand standing, not really prepared to meet  this preppy-girl, in designer jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo.  I don’t really remember this first encounter but afterwards Jenny would often tell me how I had tried to provoke her with sneering remarks about her not knowing how the real world worked. But my cynical sense of humor got to her.  She often repeated that she fell for me at our very first encounter.


Jenny was an intelligent person and immediately sensed how my self-destructiveness was caused by my complete lack of self-esteem. Very soon she revealed to me that she too had wet her bed until she was 15. I believed her and a large part of my defensive armor came down with that revelation, and we became friends.


After the initial weeks which I past in a kind of permanent haze I began to feel like this was a real knew beginning, that my life actually could get somewhere. The shelter found me some temporary jobs and I moved into my own flat. Jenny was tremendously supportive and soon I grew very fond of her. She came from serious money, her father being a senior partner in a big law firm and she had grown up in the better neighborhoods of town.

As I had almost nothing to wear she began to buy me clothes. The first time I opened a parcel I couldn’t suppress a smile: I would never have imagined that one day I would wear a Lacoste polo shirt over Johnny Hilfiger pants. But that was only the beginning of a complete make-over.


She would take me out on girly shopping trips and soon I had a complete wardrobe of preppy clothes. Of course gone were the piercings and the black make-up. I dyed my hair blond and grew it to shoulder length so that I could wear it with headbands or in a short pony tail. Walking hand in hand with my new friend, both dressed similarly in short pleaded skirts, I was happy for the first time in my life.


It took me some time to realize she was in love with me. That such a wonderful person could love me was beyond my comprehension. But one day after we had spent a day on the lake – she taught me to sail – and she was dropping me off at my flat, she sighted deeply and said she didn’t want to leave me. I had this sudden realization and, deeply moved, I turned towards her, put my arms around her and kissed her on the mouth. She was overwhelmed, and pressing me in her arms on her turn, she whispered in my ear that she loved me, repeating it over and over again, tears running down her cheeks. She told that she had been in love with me from the very beginning but feeling very guilty about it hadn’t been able to tell me. She felt doubly guilty: once for being attracted to another girl, and secondly for having fallen in love with a person that she was counseling, which she thought was professionally inadmissible.


I began crying too, telling her how happy I was she finally told me, that I didn’t deserve her love, but that I was going to love her for ever and ever. I think I really loved her. Although sometimes I wonder if I didn’t mistake gratefulness with love. Anyway it was a different love than the passionate, destructive way I had loved Lewis, gentler, more balanced.


From that day on Jenny and I lived in a kind of permanent silver bubble of happiness. I didn’t really understand what happened, and, conditioned by a whole life of feeling unworthy, I felt guilty for so much happiness coming my way. But not enough for preventing me to enjoy it.


For the first time in my life I looked at myself with a little bit of confidence, and began making plans for the future. Encouraged by Jenny I wanted to get my high school degree, which was quiet ambitious taking into consideration that only a few months earlier I could barely read, write or count.


Being loved and respected was a new feeling for me and I was happy for the first time since my father died. This doesn’t mean our relationship was one between equals. Jenny being the older and more instructed one always was in the lead, taking most of the decisions, even concerning me. As she had a very strong protective, motherly streak, she always took decisions with my best interest in mind and, as I had never been able to take my own decisions, her being in charge didn’t bother me at all. On the contrary, I trusted her and having her protecting me was part of my happiness.


In bed however the roles reversed. Except for a couple of highly unsatisfactory relationships in high school Jenny never had had sex. She was very uptight about it, and the first time I wanted to lick her pussy she got into a fit of hysterical laughter. Little by little I introduced her to different kinds of sex toys and games and giving her pleasure, hearing her sigh and even cry out in ecstasy, became a great source of pride and satisfaction for me. She had extremely strong feelings about hygiene and cleanliness – although always very supportive about “my little problem” she could never hide being annoyed when she found my wet pajama pants in the laundry – nevertheless after a while she would beg me to lick her. However I know she felt guilty about that and she never could bring it up to return me the favor. But we spend long sensual nights together which count amongst the best memories of my life.


Of course not everything was perfect. Jenny spent a lot of time with her family and friends. Although I felt lonely and abandoned at those moments I never made a remark. I considered that every moment Jenny spend with me was a present from heaven, so I was not going to complain. And little by little she introduced me into her circle of friends, a group of carefree students and young professionals, whose major preoccupations were where to spend the next skiing holiday or who was going to win the club tennis tournament. Being part of this privileged group was of course another joyful surprise. Although, when I say “being part of the group” I’m kind of lying. I have to admit that I never really was a part of it. Most of them had immediately sensed that I was different and kept their distance, accepting me only because I was Jenny’s friend. Some of them tried to get to know me but then it was me who kept them at a distance, always being very evasive when asked personal questions.

How could I have told them about my jobs as a factory girl, restaurant dishwasher or cleaning lady? Or about my mother renting me out as a child to old pedophiles? Or about my years as a whore attached with a chain to a pole? 


As for her family that was completely off limits. This hurt but again I didn’t complain. Even so Jenny would apologize, explaining that if her parents found out that she had a lesbian relationship they would completely freak out. I told her I understood and that is was alright.


I suppose our friends knew the true nature of our relationship but we never showed anything in public, or talked about it to anybody. It was a big taboo. So when Jenny proposed to go to California for a part of the summer, just the two of us, I was surprised and overwhelmed, hoping we would finally be able to show our happiness to the world.


But our trip turned into a disaster, becoming the beginning of the end. Jenny had booked a room in a small “bed and breakfast” accommodation. When we checked in the owner, a hippy type of middle aged lady, warmly welcomed us, giving us meaningful smiles and remarks, which amused me but irritated Jenny. And when we entered our room and she noticed it was equipped with a double bed, she freaked out. She turned to the owner and in a loud voice told her she had booked twin beds, that she couldn’t sleep in a double bed. The lady apologized telling her there was only one room with twin beds and that was occupied. When she made more veiled remarks about the nature of our relationship, saying that two good friends sharing the same bed was so much fun, Jenny became even angrier. For the first time I was so violently confronted with Jenny’s own insecurities, and for once taking the adult role, calmed her down.


It was a pretty, sunny room with all comfort one could want. There was even a kitchenette and we had planned to save money by cooking our meals ourselves, as. Jenny was paying for the whole trip. After a while Jenny apologized but her making a scene for having to share the bed with me had hurt me a lot.


We had rented a car and while we were driving to the supermarket to do the necessary shopping Jenny, who was driving as I hadn’t a license yet, looked several times in my direction, and I sensed she wanted to say something but was afraid of my reaction. And sure enough I was right.


She hesitantly suggested that maybe we should buy diapers. During that summer I was drier than I had ever been.   I didn’t keep a chart or anything like that but I knew I went for nearly a month without wetting my bed.  I really thought I was finally dry! I looked at her desperately but she didn’t seem to notice my desperation, going on how embarrassing it would be if our landlady would find wet sheets, and how unkind to give her the extra work. I feebly countered that I hadn’t wet in weeks, and that it was also going to be embarrassing if the landlady would find my used diapers. Jenny wouldn’t listen, saying we could take the diapers with us and throw them in public waste baskets. Tears in my eyes I gave in.


When Jenny put the diapers in the shopping basket I was mortified by shame. Everybody would see I was a bed wetter. Not a moment did it occur to me that people might think Jenny had a problem. I couldn’t bare the idea to stand at the check-out counter with the diapers on the belt. I told Jenny I wasn’t feeling well and would wait for her outside.


That night when we were ready to go to sleep and she took out a diaper and came over to my side of the bed I wanted to die. Jenny’s insistence on diapers was distressingly like childhood, and all the horrible memories of my mother diapering me every night came back.


Of course she went about it in a complete different way,  loving and playful, but still judgmental. I suspect she still had unresolved issue from her own late bedwetting and perhaps was transferring a bit of self-loathing about it. Yes it was humiliating! Even when she diapered me in a playful continuation of our daily after-sex cuddling I resented it. Lying naked on the bed with my legs open, while she softly applied baby powder, calling me in a half-loving, half-mocking way, her little baby, I felt little, insignificant and dependent again. But she never noticed.


And when in the morning she noticed my wet diapers she was visibly upset about it, looking at me almost with contempt. I often wonder if I did it on purpose but soon enough I was wetting on a daily basis. Having to smuggle the wet diapers out of the house was another source of frustration and humiliation, but when Jenny told me it was better than having to ask the landlady to change the sheets every day I had to admit she was right.

After a few days “my utter lack of personal hygiene” as Jenny called it, became a second source of tension. True enough I never was much of a washer but when Jenny found out that I didn’t’ taken a shower every night she freaked out. In her typical annoying, patronizing way she began to ask if I had already showered. Things got worse when she discovered that sometimes I would wear the same panties for 2 or 3 days in a row. She began asking if I had put on nice panties to what I would answer with an annoyed shrug that I had. She knew I was lying and made me lift my skirt to show my panties. That too became a daily thing.


The diapers and the patronizing attitude got to me in a big way. I began consciously to look for other ways to provoke my sweet lover. I deliberately began making food stains, knowing of course that stains were pure horror for her (later I would become as obsessed with cleanliness as she was but that was not the case yet). My stains became cause for a new series of deadly remarks: “Come on Katie, how do you it? Even if I tried to, I couldn’t be as clumsy as you!” Smiling defiantly I almost answered that it wasn’t easy for me either.


But still I hadn’t expected what she would do next. Close to our apartment there was a store with specialized medical equipment. One day passing in front of the shop there was something that seemed to attract Jenny’s attention, but after halting for a second she continued without giving any comment. I didn’t pay attention to it but that night she told me she had a surprise for me and would be back in a moment. Half an hour later she came back holding a small parcel in her hand, handing it to me saying it was a present. When I opened it I discovered it was one of those large bibs used for demented people. She gave it in a laughing, joking way, but nevertheless I got the message. Not giving up I insisted on wearing it for every meal from then on.  


Jenny obviously thought it was a game and instead of letting it irritate her even more she decided to go along and even encourage me on this dangerous slope. Knowing largely my life story she should have known better.

Instead of telling me it was time to take a shower she would take me by the hand and lead me to the bathroom where she then helped me undress and proceeded to wash me. In the morning she would give me the clothes to wear including nice panties. She even began spoon-feeding me, “to prevent me from making another mess”. And when she began taking me on her lap it felt as if I was back to square one. I underwent this treatment without any comment but, regressing completely, I stopped communicating. I had never told her about my life with Alistair, but still I think she should have known something was wrong.


One day when we were walking towards the beach we passed a clothing store which was holding a “summer sales” having put a couple of racks on the street. We stopped to have a look and my eyes fell on a denim jumper dress exactly as the ones my mother made me wear during my whole childhood. Memories flooded back but instead of running away I had an irresistible urge to buy the dress. I had told Jenny of those dresses and I think it was the first time she sensed danger. Telling me it was a children’s size in which I wouldn’t fit she wanted to continue, and began pulling me by the hand. Screaming very loudly I tore myself free and grabbing the dress I went inside to buy it. That evening when I tried it on I realized it was indeed much too small. I was still very skinny but nevertheless I had to wring myself in, could hardly fasten the braces to the bib and when I finally had it on I couldn’t close the buttons in the waist on either side. Nevertheless looking at myself in the mirror I looked into the eyes of the traumatized little girl I had been. I wore the dress the whole evening much to the dismay of Jenny, and the next day I threw it away. But I couldn’t stop sliding down the slope anymore.


Some days later we went for a long mountain biking trip. At one place we decided to take a cable car with our bikes to be able to have a long run downhill. Because of some technical incident we had to wait for a long time for the cable car to come and people were queuing up behind us. With my small bladder I have to go to the toilet frequently, to the constant irritation of Jenny. As the pressure was growing I told Jenny I had to go and look for a toilet, but annoyed, she stopped me saying she didn’t want to miss the next cable car and risk having to wait for another half hour. I didn’t dare to insist and by the time we finally entered the cable car I could hardly walk anymore. Half way up the cable car stopped again. A few minutes later I couldn’t hold out anymore and let go, wetting my shorts, the pee running down my legs to form a small puddle on the floor.  I don’t think anybody noticed but when we finally got out and, tears welling in my eyes, I told Jenny what had happened, I didn‘t get any sympathy. On the contrary, her sense of cleanliness being what it is, she began screaming that I was disgusting, and wanted to leave me alone. I began to cry and that made her relent. She told me to get on my bike to get home as soon as possible so that I could change, with her following all the time a few meters behind me hurrying me on. The trip back home took us more than 3 hours with Jenny refusing to stop even for a few seconds. And when I told her I was thirsty she refused to give me water, “Otherwise I would wet my pants even more”.


When we finally made it home she made me undress standing on the doormat, and then carry my wet shorts and panties in a plastic bag to the bathroom to rinse them out. It was a horribly humiliating experience, as bad as the things my mother used to make me do. Later that night when she walked up to the bed preparing to diaper me as she did every night it felt different. Lying on the bed, having to open my legs, and have her slip the diapers underneath, I didn’t see any of the flirting attitude she had used the previous weeks. All I could see was contempt, and I cried again.


The next day was the last day of our holidays. I was sad, but not because of the fact that the holidays were over, but because I knew something was broken. Jenny tried to cheer me up playing the usual games and being super nice. Bus as she washed, dressed and fed me I became sadder and sadder, convinced I would never be a normal, healthy, adult person. Towards the end of the afternoon we were sitting on our small private terrace and Jenny, not understanding what was going on, took me on her lap and apologized for what had happened the previous day. I still don’t know what went on in my head at that moment, but I opened the valves and peed all over her.


Jenny became completely hysterical. She slapped me in the face, had me undress on the terrace were I had to wait with my bare bottom while she went inside to wash and change. When she came back she looked worried but still didn’t ask me what was going on. I probably could not have given a sensible answer anyway but I still think that if she would have treated me as a normal, adult person I would have reacted well. Instead she took me by the hand, washed me, diapered me and dressed me. I didn’t react.


She had reserved a table in a nearby restaurant for a candle lid, romantic evening. Sitting in front of her wearing diapers underneath my long wide flowing white skirt destroyed the romance.


The next day I wore diapers on the plane home – I don’t even remember if she made me or if I asked for it. But when we got out of the plane my decision was made, and I told her we should better stop seeing each other for a while. That was the end of our relationship. Sometime later I moved and we never met again, although we still remain in contact occasionally.


In the end our relationship was another disappointment, but this doesn’t change that, besides the fact that those two years with her were the happiest I had had, it is thanks to Jenny that I am still around. She literally saved my live by pulling me out of my destructive self-loathing, although in the end she almost pushed me back into it. Finally I managed to pull myself away from the abyss all by myself and I am still proud for that.

Next chapter:

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s