Clinical Regression (Prologue)
#1 of Clinical Regression
Even as I write, my mind floods with idealistic deviance. I'd just changed into an adult-sized overnight diaper (it wasn't that I needed it per se; rather, it simply felt "right"), as I started getting ready for bed tonight. But I'm getting ahead of myself.... My story begins one unassuming Friday, and like any story worth telling, it all started with a simple misunderstanding....
Tick, tick, tick... As the overhead clock clicked to 11:45 AM, a sudden urge made my whole body squirm. I knew I shouldn't have drank that 2 1/2 cups of coffee this morning; as a result, they were currently going at it with my gut. Raising my hand, I struggle to get my teacher's attention.
"... And so, if we separate the areas into 'chunks'... Yes, Daniel; I'm trying to teach a class, so this better be important...." I start to shake, visably losing control.
"C-could I g-go use th-the --" Too late! Releasing my muscles a second too early, I feel my crotch flood with cold. My silent pleas spoke volumes as a nearby classmate ("Krystal", I think her name was) turned to me.
"Uhmm, Dan... I think you..." Nodding toward my shorts, she offered me a sympathetic hand. "Ms. Jacobs, there's, uh, been an accident... We'll... be right back..." As we exit the classroom, Krystal leads me toward the nurse's office.
"Don't worry, I used to have accidents too, y'know." I stop, staring at her. What the hell was she talking about?!
"What are you--_No! _ I didn't have an 'accident', okay? I just... had too much to drink during breakfast, is all." It was weird talking about my "accident" as if we were two very old friends catching up on old times. Still, being around her made me feel somehow calmer about the whole situation....
"Hey, it's okay if you're embarassed about it. Come on, we're almost there." I blink; embarassed?!
"Wait a minute, I thought I just told you; I didn't have an 'accident'! Why am I even talking about this?!" Stopping at a wooden door, Krystal knocks.
"Hi Mrs. Erickson... umm... there's been an accident in Ms. Jacobs' class... Okay, I'll send him in. She's all your's. Don't worry, she'll take care of you." I sigh; what a morning. Muttering my sarcastic thanks, I enter. Glancing around the cramped office, I immediately notice a brown plastic bag, a change of shorts, and the one thing that nearly made my heart stop.
"Um... Nurse Erickson?" A tall woman motions to a nearby cot.
"Have a seat, dear. I understand there was an --" I cut her off.
"There was not an 'accident', okay?! I just had too much to drink with breakfast!" The nurse stares calmly into my olive eyes.
"I'm sure you did, but the fact still remains, you had an accident, and those," she nods at my shorts, "will have to come off. I've also taken the liberty of providing some temporary 'underwear ' for you...." I shake my head incredulously. Was she serious?!
"Uhh... I think there's been a mistake... I'm a bit... old for that," I motion toward the 'underwear' she held up.
"I'm sure you are," she says knowingly, "but I'm afraid there isn't any other option. Granted, I can let you use the bathroom to change, but other than that...." I frown at the so-called 'underwear'; either way, I'd be stuck in it, but I wasn't about to give up. Not yet, anyway.
"Umm... What if I refuse?" I could just imagine her response. Unfortunately, I wasn't too far off.
"As I said, dear, I'm afraid there's really no other option. You're going to have to wear it one way or another, so what's it going to be? Are you old enough to clean yourself up, or will I have to do it for you?"
"No offense, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." Opening the bathroom door, I unbuckle my belted shorts.
"My offer still stands, dear; just say the word, and I'll come in and help," she says, holding the door open. I stare in silence as she sighs, "very well, I understand. You are, as you said, capable of taking care of yourself.... I just thought you'd be open to my help." A strange feeling wrenched my stomach.
"W-wait, please.... I-I'm sorry, it-it's just I'm not--" Erickson nods in understanding.
"-- Used to asking for help from anyone else," she finishes for me. I nod, silent tears grazing my cheeks. She'd nailed it. For most of my young adult life, I'd stubbornly refused anyone's help, maintaining the idea that to do so might be seen as "giving up". But now that I was older, that my life's choices had placed me in this current situation, I was stuck. I could ask for Erickson's help, thereby freeing myself from my self-destructive stubborness; then again, did I really want to be stuck in an adult diaper for God-knows-how long? Erickson hands me a tissue.
"I'm sorry... " The nurse dries my tears. Maybe I could let her into my heart... I step out of the bathroom, "C-could you... please h-help me?" The nurse nods.
"Of course, dear. Lay down, and I'll clean you up." Holding the diaper's front against my groin, she fit it loosely around my waist. Tightening the sides to match my body, Erickson helped me sit up.
"All done. That wasn't so bad, was it?" I stare at my new "underwear". True, it did feel... different, but at the same time, it felt safe, even "right". But I wasn't about to let her know that. Not yet.
"It-it's okay, I guess. Uhh, I only have to wear this until after lunch, right?" She smiled.
"As long as you don't have any more accidents, then yes, that should be fine." I nod, hesitating to ask my next question.
"Wh-what happens if I, y'know, do (gulp) wet?"
"Then you'll need to be changed", she says simply. I nod in silence. It was weird, talking about the obvious consequences with her, but somehow, I felt heartened. Handing me a small business card, Erickson proceeds to pack my wet clothes. Staring at the card, I see the phrase "ANIMAL REGRESSION CLINIC/CARE". Mouthing the words, I turn to Erickson.
"Mrs. Erickson--?" She waves a hand.
"Please, call me Sara; everyone does." I blink.
"Umm... Sara, what's this mean?" I point out the earlier phrase to her.
"Oh, nothing really, dear. I care for individuals just like you... only as animals." I understood exactly what she meant. What "Sara" was referring to was commonly known as "furrry fandom"... or so I thought.
"C-could I maybe -- ?" Sara smiles.
"Of course. As long as you agree to two terms: One, while in or around the clinic, you'll have to wear any 'protection' we provide; as we specialize in regressive therapy, some of our clients have been known to leave... surprises.... It's simply to ensure clients' safety." I nod; given the explaination as well as my own current state, it made perfect sense.
"... And the other?" I ask. Sara had me sit on the cot.