Oliver's Diapered Summer

Chapter One: The Incident That Started it All

They were eating dinner when it happened. Father had made them breakfast for dinner, Oliver's favorite, and Mother had prepared classic southern sweet tea a few days before that the family was trying to finish off. Oliver adored his mother's tea recipe, and had drained his whole glass pretty quickly. Not only was it delicious, but he hadn't had much to drink before dinner, and was feeling dehydrated. "How was school today, hun?"

Mother asked Oliver's little sister, Amanda fondly. She had just started kindergarten at the beginning of the year. (Although now, Summer was nearing closer and closer.) "It was fun!" Amanda squeaked. "We learned five plus five and how to spell colors' names." Oliver was swallowing a bite of pancake, which weighed down his stomach. I need something to drink, He thought, glancing regretfully at his empty glass. "May I be excused? I want to get more tea," Oliver asked, looking at his parents. It was his father who responded, "Of course, son." Oliver dipped his head a bit in thanks and grabbed his glass before heading to the fridge. He poured more tea into his glass and returned to the table, already taking a sip.

When I'm old enough to move out, I gotta get that tea recipe, He told himself.  I have to know her secret ingredient that makes this stuff so irresistible. By the time dinner finished, Oliver had downed his second glass. The bad thing was, his bladder was painfully full. Tea always did that to him. He supposed dinner would be over soon, however, as everyone had finished eating, and he was oddly pee-shy, not wanting to announce his bladder state to the whole family, so he held it. Oliver's family was weird, though. Unlike most other southern families, they said grace after eating.

Although not too uncommon, it was a tradition from his mother's side. She said it made more sense to thank God after dinner, because you don't say thank you before you get something. Oliver didn't usually care when they said grace, but this time he really did. He had been having such trouble containing the contents of his bladder recently, and found at this point of having to pee he had to hold it in by covering it with his hands. He knew if he removed his hands to hold hands and say grace, he might lose control. Just like always, Mother announced it was time to say grace, and Father and Amanda joined hands with her. When Oliver hesitated, his mom looked to him, a bit confused. "You gonna join us, Oliver? Is anything thing matter?" Oliver shook his head, forcing a grin and grabbed his sister's and (reaching across the table) his father's hand.

Mother's molasses-like southern drawl didn't help, as she said the prayer quite slowly. Oliver was struggling seriously now. He felt his bladder, painfully swollen against his urethra. It wouldn't be long before he simply couldn't hold it anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and hoped he could ride it out then rush to the bathroom. Just as his mother drew to the end of the prayer, Oliver's urethral muscles were exhausting. He knew if he didn't get to a toilet right now, there would be dire consequences. But before he could say or do anything, the floodgates started to leak.

Not thinking anymore, Oliver rushed his hands back down, desperately trying to do damage control, but the leak turned into a small stream. He tried to stem the flow just as his mother said "Amen", aware that he was being stared at now. The stream got faster, filling his trousers with a warm sensation and spewing onto the fabric seat of his chair. He felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. This was the last thing he wanted to happen in front of his family. His legs and pants were soaked now, and the stream was weakening.

"What's wrong, Olive?" He heard his father ask good-naturedly. Oliver, not sure how to respond, decided simply not to at all. The stream of pee finally ceased, and though his bladder certainly felt better, Oliver was humiliated. He sat there silently until his mother asked, "Are you feeling alright?" Oliver coughed awkwardly, which sent a last jet of urine out. "Yes, I'm just gonna go to my room."

Before anyone could say anything else, Oliver rushed out of the dining room, thanking God his seat was darkly colored already, and closest to the exit. He also kind of prayed that despite the short time it took him to bolt out, no one noticed his soaked trousers. I hope this doesn't become a trend... He thought, blinking tears from his eyes. I'm not a toddler. I do not piss myself and then cry about it. Unfortunately for him, we can't all get what we ask for.