You think to yourself, â€œWell I suppose this isnâ€™t too badâ€¦â€ as you get used to the feeling of a diaper encapsulating your derriÃ¨re, your weewee. You think back as to how you came to be in this predicamentâ€¦
You remember the look of exasperation on my face as I chastise you for the latest offense among a long list of past transgressions.Â You remember how my face transformed from one of furry to one of almost sadistic satisfaction.Â You thought I was joking when I had said that if you were going to act like a child, then you were going to be treated like a child.Â You thought that I couldnâ€™t possibly be serious when I pulled out an adult diaper and ordered you to lie down so I could diaper and powder your bottom; that I must be playing some sort of game of â€˜chickenâ€™ and I would halt my commands as soon as you plead â€˜uncleâ€™.
But you were wrong.Â Looking down at yourself, sitting in just a thick adult diaper on the floor, you can attest to that little factoid. You realize the need to relieve yourself is growing exponentially, and that you can no longer wait.
You try and get up to make your way to the bathroom, but I stop you immediately, asking you, â€œWhere do you think you are going young man?â€
When you try and stutter out a weak â€œbathroomâ€ I tell you, â€œOh no, youâ€™re not ready for potty training â€“ besides, you have a perfectly good diaper onâ€.Â You look down at your diaper as my meaning dawns on you,Â and as you look up at me with pleading eyes, I say,
â€œOh sweetie, didnâ€™t you know?Â If you wear it, you must use itâ€