Always Mommy's GirlI was trying to picture what it would be like if my biologically-male girlfriend’s (“Brianna”) mom smelled pee in her bedroom. Although Brianna is actually several years older than I am, I picture her as being the tender age of eighteen and already living as a girl at this point. Also, she had a very normal childhood in reality, with her parents never knowing she was transgendered (although her mom knows today and is okay with it.) Everything I’ve written here is fiction and has no basis in reality; it is just a fantasy that Brianna and I share. Also, I would NEVER subject my own child(ren) (if/when I ever have any) to these practices, as that would be abusive. This is just a fun, stimulating story of feminization, which I, too, would long for if I wasn’t already FEMALE! (LOL.) I sometimes like to imagine I am Brianna’s mom and I have no clue that she was having wetting accidents, but that I do have her living as a girl. I had no idea that she really was becoming incontinent, though…
The first time I really began to suspect something was wrong was when I walked into her room one morning, sniffed the air and said (with a very concerned, sympathetic look in my eye) "Brianna, Honey, do you smell urine?"
She looked terrified, then ashamed as she hung her head and refused to make eye contact. She mumbled something about forgetting to flush the toilet.
I was able to tell by the look on her face and the intensity of the odor that something was wrong. As I approached her where she was sitting at her desk, the smell got even stronger. Looking down, I saw that her silky, cream-colored nighty was drenched with pee!
"Sweetheart, did you wet yourself last night?" I asked. A tear traced its way down the side of her face, but she quickly swiped it away as she no doubt told herself that big girls don't cry.
I went and felt her mattress, but even before my hand touched it, the level of saturation was beyond obvious! The yellow stain had seeped in deep and a visible depression was present on the surface of her bed.
"Oh, Brianna, Honey…what happened?" I asked as I walked back over to her.
But she could no longer hold back the tears, and they overflowed as she apologized repeatedly, saying "I'm so sorry, Mummy!"
" Aww, it's okay Baby Girl; don't feel like you need to apologize for something you couldn't help. Is this the first time you've had such a serious accident, Sweetie?"
"No, Mummy. I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid you would be disappointed or angry with me. But it's been going on awhile, and it seems to be getting worse. I keep waking up in a wet bed, but this is the wettest it's ever been. I'm so scared! I’ve been soaking the pee out of my panties in the sink and hiding my sheets in the closet so you wouldn’t find out. I somehow thought that I could get this under control myself and that you wouldn’t ever find out. But, now you have.” She kept sobbing, so I knelt beside her and embraced her quaking body. The smell of urine was overpowering that close to the source, and I could see that she really had lost all control of her bladder.
“Brianna, Sweetie, it’s going to be okay. How long have you been having this problem?”
“Almost six months.”
“I suppose that’s why you seem to be running out of bed clothes, because you’ve been hiding them all. Honey, we need to get them out and wash them, including the ones on your bed now. The next thing we need to do is get a protective mattress cover for your bed. I’m going to schedule an appointment with a urologist so we can figure out what is going on with your bladder.”
She still seemed so worried, even though her crying had slowed. I held onto her for a while and comforted her, rubbing her back until she calmed down a bit. Afterwards while she showered, I ******** her bed and noticed the multiple stains on her mattress in varying shades of yellow. The mattress was obviously ruined, and I knew she would need a new one. I opened her walk-in closet and could see all of the large black garbage bags piled in the back and marked with write-on adhesive labels, which identified them as “Brianna’s Stuff. Do Not Touch!!!” I disobeyed the labels and opened up the bags. The scent of stale pee hit me like a ton of bricks, and even made me gag. The sheets I pulled out of the bags were stiff in places where the urine had gradually dried. I was certain that several of the linens were beyond salvaging they were so stained! I carried several loads down to the laundry room and started the washer. Once that was done, I logged onto the internet and looked up listings for urologists in our area and researched patient reviews until I was able to decide on one that was repeatedly touted as reputable. I called and made an appointment for Brianna for later that afternoon.
By this time, Brianna had finished showering. I went upstairs to check on her, where she was sitting in her desk chair in just a top. She had no panties on but instead was sitting on a towel, crying once again.
“Brianna, Baby, what is it? Did you have another accident?” I asked as I approached and embraced her again.
“No, Mummy. Not yet, but I know I will because I’ve had so many lately. There’s really no point in putting panties on because I will just end up wetting them again.”
“Sweetheart, why don’t you put on one of my super plus absorbency maxi pads until we can get you to your doctor appointment, okay? Maybe at that time we can find out what is going on with your bladder and we will know what we can do about it.”
Brianna dejectedly agreed to wear one of my pads. Since my eighteen-year-old daughter is biologically male, she has never had to wear any kind of period protection, although she has shown some interest in doing so on a few occasions. I could tell by her facial ex
For the rest of that morning and throughout lunch, Brianna was very quiet. She seemed distracted and emitted an aura of shame. She made multiple trips to the bathroom as well, and made sure to bring her purse with her, which I had put some extra maxi pads in so she could keep changed and as dry as possible.
In the doctor’s office waiting room later that afternoon, I braced myself for the questions that would certainly come when the doctor discovered Brianna’s male anatomy. I had always used a network of doctors that were familiar with Brianna’s transgender condition and didn’t question her lifestyle. However, as she needed more than an ordinary checkup, it was necessary for me to branch out to other physicians to get help for my daughter’s bladder control issues.
Sure enough, the urologist, Dr. Dwagell, uttered surprise when he learned that Brianna lives in a male body. I had to take him aside and explain to him Brianna’s transgendered state before he got a look at her under her paper exam gown and made a big deal out of what he discovered under there. After all, I always mark “female” on any forms I fill out for Brianna, just as I have been doing since I began feminizing her when she was seven years old. Of course, I got her into therapy when I realized something wasn’t right with my little “boy.” Her therapist and I worked together to get her gender legally changed to female, and this is also when I officially changed her name from Brian to Brianna. Even with all of the necessary legal documentation filled out by the therapist, Brianna, and myself, no doctor would agree to administer female hormone therapy to her or remove her penis and testicles and create a vagina and clitoris for her because of her age. At that time, she was afraid of the surgeries anyway, but I knew in my heart that she needed all of those male organs removed and female organs left in their place. The needed female hormones would have allowed her to develop wider hips, softer skin and hair, and more feminine proportions, not to mention breasts like any other girl. Instead, she has to wear a double mastectomy bra with breast forms 24 hours a day, even while sleeping (but not in the shower, obviously.) This is important for her well-being as well as maintaining her female body image. We decided she should “develop” at the age of 15, and that is when I got her her first bras and breast forms. It was during the summer, so she could make a fresh start the upcoming school year while appearing to have developed naturally, like her peers. She was so happy on that day that she cried! I was overjoyed to see my sweet girl happy for the first time in years, for ever since her voice deepened and she had to start shaving her face and having her body hair waxed, Brianna had become very depressed and even began to question her femaleness. She even suggested that she might want to try living as a male because she wasn’t sure she really was a girl on the inside at that point, but I assured her that she was DEFINITELY a girl and needed to continue living as one. I insisted she stay in panties and girls’ clothing and wore her bra and breast forms every hour of the day minus showering. My cousin is a music instructor and I was able to get her to give Brianna voice lessons so she could curb the deepening of her voice and continue to sound like a woman, and this did seem to help reassure Brianna that she really is female and that these hormonal obstacles can be easily overcome with a little hard work. I also wax her legs, back, chest, and arms, which hurts her terribly, but I just give her some of the pain pills prescribed to me for my back pain beforehand, and Brianna is comfortably drowsy during her monthly waxing. She always bleeds a little, and we joke that that is her “period,” complete with the pain. The first few times I waxed her, she cried and tried to protest, claiming once again that she wanted to try to live as a male because it would be easier and more “natural.” Once again, I convinced her that she WAS going to continue to live as a female, for her own good. As her mother, I know precisely what she needs for her well-being, and she needs to be feminized and live as a woman permanently. When I started giving her the pain medication, which I don’t even really need myself, she began to passively give into the monthly waxings like a good girl. It’s as I told her- she’s a young lady and ladies don’t assert themselves unless it is absolutely necessary!
Of course, I didn’t give Dr. Dwagell all of this information, but I did divulge what I felt was necessary for him to know, including showing him copies of the paperwork from Brianna’s therapist that officially identified Brianna as a transgendered female. Once all of that was done and the doctor seemed satisfied with my explanations and was willing to respect my wish that my daughter be treated as the female she is inside, I allowed him to examine Brianna.
The examination took a little bit longer than I expected, likely because I wasn’t allowed to remain in the exam room while Brianna was being evaluated. Ever since she turned eighteen last May, things like doctor’s appointments have become more complicated for us to manage. However, I have insisted she stay with me so I can take care of her by providing a supportive environment for her femininity while she attends a nearby community college. Brianna is a fragile young woman due to the traumatic condition of being trapped in a male body. There have been so many times she has doubted her femaleness and tried to protest her lifestyle. She continues to see her therapist, who helps to keep her straightened out and in the mindset of a girl/young woman. Most of the time, Brianna is happy to be a young lady. I’ve always tried to give her everything a young lady should have. She was only three years old when I noticed that she would always play with her female cousin Kayla’s Barbies and try to wear her clothes whenever they were at her cousins’ house, and several times my sister caught Brianna wearing Kayla’s shoes and hair bows. I was concerned, but, if I may be brutally honest, also overjoyed that my son was really my daughter, for I had ALWAYS longed for a little girl. I told myself when the ultrasound showed a little male baby inside of me that I would love him with all my heart, even though in the back of my mind that heart was heavy with disappointment. There would be no tea-parties, no elaborate doll houses, no mother-daughter shopping dates, and no sweet sixteen celebration. I had to let all of those dreams go, but I did so slowly and by degrees. Right after Brian was born, he was wrapped in a blue receiving blanket and had a little blue hat placed on his head. I cried when the nurse put him in my arms for the first time, both tears of joy for my precious new baby boy but also tears of sadness as I mourned the little girl I hadn’t brought into the world. As soon as I was home alone with him and his father (who I was still married to at the time) was at work, I would secretly put him in little dresses and cuddle him in pink blankets. He had pink pacifiers to suck, soft rag dolls to cuddle, and bibs and burp cloths that read “Mommy’s Little Girl” and other similar baby girl-themed phrases. I found I loved nursing him when he was dressed as a girl. I always produced rivers of warm milk for my little “girl” and was filled with blissful contentment as I looked into “her” big greenish-brown eyes as “she” drank it down hungrily into “her” tiny tummy. When I had company or Brianna’s father was home, I would be forced to change my baby girl back into boy’s clothes and wrap him in blue or unisex-patterned blankets. I would then have to carefully hide all of the baby girl things so no one would discover them. I never seemed to be able to let down much milk for Brianna when she was dressed like this, so I would pump while she napped and save the milk in the fridge in order to bottle feed it to her during the times when she was dressed as a boy.
Oh, and the diaper changes and bath times…well, let’s just say that I developed selective vision and pretended those male genitals weren’t even there! I would clean them off to be sure, but in my mind I was seeing a little vagina down there and nothing more. I got so good at this selective visualization technique that before long, I really DIDN’T notice the penis and scrotum anymore, which was such a relief!
I also started talking to him as if he were a girl. I would call her my little girl and use the name “Brianna” at times when speaking to her. I allowed her to play with “girl” toys when it was just the two of us. Unfortunately, I had to put those toys away when in the company of others and bring out the toy trucks, boats, and other “boy” toys. She had to be changed into boys’ clothing before her father came home each evening from work, as well as all weekend long when we couldn’t be alone together. A few times, I slipped up and called her “Brianna” in front of Mike (her father,) which Mike didn’t appreciate.
As Brianna grew from infant to toddler and then from toddler to preschooler, our mother-daughter time began to diminish, giving way to the characteristic rough-and-tumble play of a little boy. I had to let my Brianna become Brian once again, otherwise there would be repercussions and possible trouble with Child Protective Services (so many people are so shallow-minded and hung-up on the “right” and “normal” way to raise a child that it is ridiculous!) Still, a glimmer of hope would shine bright in my heart on the random, widely-scattered instances when I would catch Brianna showing feminine traits or mannerisms or engaging in female role-play. I was especially fond of taking her to her cousins’ house to let them play together. She and Kayla are only four months apart, with Kayla being the oldest. As such, Brianna would try to imitate her when they played, and Kayla liked to play all sorts of “girl” games and with “girl” toys. Unlike Kayla’s older brother, Jake, who would refuse to play with Kayla or any other girls, Brianna would at times choose to play with Kayla instead of Jake, although she played “boy” games with him, too (unfortunately.)
After we had left my sister and brother-in-law’s house, I would talk to Brianna about her playtime with Kayla and/or Jake. I would always encourage her to engage with the former and not so much with the latter. I praised her for playing Barbies with her cousin, as well as playing house in the daughter or mother role. I loved it when she played with baby dolls and even when she and Kayla colored together in her My Little Pony, Strawberry Shortcake, and Disney Princesses coloring books. Hearing about their tea parties inspired me, so much so that when Brianna first told me about one she and Kayla had just enjoyed that morning, I took her to the toy store and bought her the most elaborate tea set I could find, plus her very own Barbie doll. I heaped on ample praise for the times when she made use of these toys as well, but made no positive comments in response to her play with “boy” toys. I would have started culling all of them much sooner, but with Mike and a whole host of other judgmental people still in the picture then, I had to make sure Brianna’s “boy” toys were most visible to outsiders, while concealing her ever-expanding collection of “girl” toys. I would also more than happily play tea party with Brianna and interact with her in other ways while she played as the girl I knew she was. When playing with ‘”boy” toys and in characteristically masculine ways, she received little praise and attention, but only encouragement to play with her “better” (”girl”) toys.
All of my hard work paid off, just as I knew it would. Once she was in school, Brianna would often spend more time associating with the girls and trying to play like them. Unfortunately, she was teased about this, and the balance of the criticism was from the school staff- not just the other kids! Her preschool teacher tried to get her to interact with the boys rather than the girls, which confused and upset her, as she had historically been told to do just the opposite when at home with me. At some point not far into the school year, I was called in to a parent-teacher conference because Brianna’s teacher was “concerned” about “his” psychological development. The woman had the gall to suggest that I take my daughter (who for all outward appearances was still my son at that time) to a therapist to straighten out “his” confusion regarding the differences between how little girls and little boys should behave. I was incensed! I let the woman have a piece of my mind when I told her that my child had a right to act however he wanted to, as long as he wasn’t hurting anybody. The witch disagreed with (phony) respectfulness and informed me that she was referring Brian to the school psychologist who would decide if I would be obligated to seek treatment for my child. Well, I took my daughter out of that school THAT VERY AFTERNOON. It was time to homeschool from there on out!
Of course, Mike was extremely displeased with what had been going on at Brianna’s school. As luck would (not) have it, the teacher had called him, too, and explained the situation. Mike demanded to know why I had failed to take the teacher’s advice. I informed him that I didn’t like the attitude of the woman and that there was nothing wrong with our child playing with and acting like a little girl. Naturally, Mike disagreed with me. But, thankfully, my sweet little angel told him with her own lips that she was a girl. My eyes flooded with tears and I scooped Brianna up into my arms and told her how much I loved her. Mike was utterly horrified, but not just with me. He was ashamed of his child who, while being biologically male on the outside, was really and truly female through and through. I hate to admit it, but I was glad that Brianna stood her ground on the issue whenever her father tried to get her to act like a little boy. This was likely because Mike was always working (he’s a workaholic) and as such has never really spent all that much quality time with Brianna. I, on the other hand, have given her much attention and affection throughout her life, so it was easy to see why she and I were so close. In fact, when Mike and I divorced just over a year after the preschool incident I just described, neither he nor Brianna cared that I was awarded sole custody of our child. Mike had been so distant before the divorce and was so bitter about our home life that he had already moved on emotionally. He even told me when we briefly discussed custody arrangements that he “didn’t have a son” when referring to Brianna. How true! Still, I hate that Mike had to be such a jerk about his daughter’s condition. Nevertheless, it could have been so much worse if Mike had been the fatherly type and was dead set on drawing Brianna into his clutches in order to take over her life and try to brainwash her into believing that she is a boy, as her anatomy would mistakenly suggest.
To date, I haven’t seen or heard from Mike in several years. The important thing is that he continued to pay child support and still pays alimony, thus enabling me to work part-time while helping Brianna succeed in being the young woman I know she is. Even though there were times in years past when she would try to fight me by rebelling against her femaleness, I made sure to put my foot down and continue to insist and demand that Brianna live, act, and dress like a girl. When I enrolled her in public school again in the second grade, we were making a fresh start. I had the paperwork to prove she is female, so there were no questions about that. To my knowledge, not a single person discovered Brianna’s condition and she fit in beautifully with the other girls, even to the point of being invited to their birthday parties and sleepovers. Interestingly, she found herself attracted to other girls romantically starting around the age of 13. She once had a huge crush on a girl in her class named Samantha. Brianna was a little embarrassed to tell me that she is a lesbian, even though I assured her there was nothing wrong with this. What DID concern me around this time was Brianna’s cracking voice, sudden growth spurts including broadening of her shoulders and chest, and the coarse hair growing on her upper lip, jaw and other various places on her body. I was very upset about these things and knew they were the result of the horrible testicles buried inside of that ugly lump of skin in her crotch, secreting their poisons like twin tumors. Her behavior was almost as equally distressing, because at this point, she began to become more argumentative and question my authority and- once again- her femaleness. I had to take her out of school again and home school her. She tried to run away twice, but I caught her just in time. Because of all her shenanigans, I barred her from getting her driver’s license or going anywhere without me. I had to lock her in her bedroom when I went to work. Over the windows of her living area I had security bars installed to keep her from escaping that way. As her room was originally designed to be an in-law suite when the house was built, she has her own bathroom and kitchenette, so she had plenty of food and water and access to a toilet, plus all of her video games and computer (but no internet access during this punishment phase.)
After a couple of months spent pouting and hating me, she finally came to the conclusion (once again) that she is female and needs to live as such. Her concerns were caused by the changes in her body that were making it harder to pass as a girl. Luckily, I was able to get voice lessons for her, wax her body hair, and alter her wardrobe slightly to make her appear more feminine. We worked on binding her crotch so she would look nice and smooth under her panties. And, of course, once she got her breasts that helped a great deal, also, and allowed her to return to public school once again. She was to the point where she was begging me for hormones and surgery, much to my delight. She was tired of having to struggle with her gender identity, and wanted the decision to be made for her once and for all. I tried with all my might to find a doctor who would prescribe her some much-needed female hormones and prepare her to have her male genitals removed, as this is what she, too, longed for. She would often say such things as, “I just want to wake up a girl one day. I don’t want to have to worry about what is between my legs anymore, and I don’t want to have breasts that come off with my bra. I just want to wake up with a vagina in me, no penis or balls, and I want boobs growing from my chest, just like a real girl!” I would hold my little girl and comfort her as she cried on me, so filled with distress and even some degree of bitterness as a result of this dream not coming to fruition soon enough for us.
Things seemed to have stabilized for us as she approached young adulthood. We are continuing the process of seeking out a doctor to finally put her on hormones and get her ready for surgery at some point down the road. But then, here was this new problem with her bladder, and it was all such a mystery to me, especially when Dr. Dwagell finally finished his thorough examination of my daughter, whereupon the three of us sat down together in his office.
Brianna was back in her clothes, but was sitting in a rather unladylike fashion, which is unusual for her these days. Her legs weren’t crossed, and they were even spayed slightly. I was soon to find out why.
“Mrs. Cartwright, I have examined Brianna thoroughly and run every possible test I am capable of conducting at this clinic. She has filled out a questionnaire, which she and I have gone over together. It appears there is nothing physiologically wrong with her bladder or urethra. I can’t find any reason for her incontinence, but as she is still having leakage even at this time, I feel that it is likely a psycho-somatic condition. We have discussed her hatred of her male anatomy, and the possibility that the incontinence is the result of her tricking her mind into believing that her penis isn’t there. In essence, I suspect that she has lost a great deal of sensation in this part of her body by subconsciously training her brain to reject it. My recommendation is for her to discuss this issue with her therapist, because there is nothing I can do for her at this point. In the meantime, she needs the highest available absorbency of incontinence protection, since she really is unable to control her bladder. I have her in an incontinence brief, and I feel it would be best to keep her in these briefs and to supplement the protection with booster pads and under pads during the night. She did mention that you had suggested getting a waterproof mattress protector for her bed, and I agree that this is a good idea. She may be incontinent for a while or even permanently; it all depends on how resistant her brain is to retraining itself to recognize her bladder, urethra, and penis. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Ms, Cartwright, Mrs. Cartwright.” Dr. Dwagell apologized.
I felt numb as we mechanically finished off the conversation with niceties, shook hands with the doctor, and then left. Once we were in the car, Brianna burst into tears and began sobbing into her hands.
“Oh Baby…Honey..shhh.” I soothed, leaning over and taking her in my arms.
“I don’t want to wear a diaper! Babies wear diapers! I am a grown woman! Gosh, it is embarrassing enough to be a freak stuck in a male body, and now this. It’s all my fault! The doctor even said so!” She lamented.
“No, Brianna, Honey. It’s not your fault at all. If it is anyone’s fault, it is all of these other doctors who wouldn’t start you on hormones and get rid of all of that male garbage between your legs so you can have a pretty vagina of your own to bring you into harmony with the woman you are on the inside. This isn’t your fault, Baby Girl, not at all. You can’t help it.” I assured her.
“But, Mummy, I don’t want to be incontinent and helplessly wet myself all day and all night so that I need diapers and all of these other embarrassing supplies because of my worthless penis! Gosh, I hate that thing SO much! It’s SO ugly; I just wish someone would cut it off and the testicles, too, and tuck and stitch everything else up into a nice vagina. Why does it have to be so hard? Maybe I need to start living as a male after all. Maybe that is the only way to make peace with what I am stuck with between my legs, that way I won’t be bladder incontinent anymore. I think I should at least give this a try.”
I jerked back from our hug and looked Brianna square in the eye. “No, Brianna, Honey. You most certainly should NOT give that a try. You are a young woman and you will be a woman for your entire life. One day, someday soon hopefully, we will get you on your female hormones and block that poison from that lump between your legs, and then, before you know it, you will have all of that ugliness removed and a vagina and clitoris left in its place, and they will look so natural and beautiful that you will be ecstatically amazed. Your breasts will also start to develop on the hormones and you will no longer need your breast forms and the special bras. Just think, Sweetie; your very own breasts! You can’t give up now!”
“But I don’t want to be incontinent! I am so helpless when I am like this, and I can’t wear my cutest outfits anymore as long as I am in a bulky diaper; you can already see the outline of it under my skirt, and it makes me walk funny and it is also harder to keep my legs crossed, like you’ve always taught me to do. If I accept my penis, then it might start to work again and I can control my bladder. I won’t need diapers then, and I also won’t have to be waxed and go through all of the discomfort of being a woman. I hate having to leave my femininity behind, but I have a male body, and it will never be totally feminized, not even with surgery, and you know it too, Mummy.”
I was shaking my head in horror. Why did my daughter have to go through these phases of thinking she wanted to embrace the incorrectness and mistake of her anatomy? It had been a couple of years since her last episode of rebellion against her feminization, so it was no surprise that we were here again, even though I had hoped that with maturity she would leave these uncertainties behind. I had to switch to my serious, no-nonsense voice as I laid down the law once again.
“Brianna Michelle Cartwright, you listen to me. You are NOT going to abandon your femininity. You never have, and you never will. If you need to be in diapers, even if it is for the rest of your life, you will be in them. I don’t want you to be bladder incontinent, either, but if that is what it takes for you to be the woman we both know you are, then so be it. And as for the surgery, I am still saving up for you to have your genitals corrected, yes, but you will also have as much of your face and body fixed and altered to appear more feminine as possible. These surgeries will be hard on your body and will cause you to need a lot of recovery time, but that’s okay because you will continue to live with me and I will take care of you during those recoveries. We are also getting all of your body hair permanently lasered off, so the waxing won’t last forever. Let’s try not to lose our focus. In the meantime, we’re going by the drug store to get you some more diapers, booster pads, under pads and a protective plastic mattress cover for your bed.”
“I’m NOT wearing diapers, Mum. It’s just NOT going to happen! I’ll just **** my panties and never leave the house if it comes down to it.”
“Young Lady, don’t be silly. That’s ridiculous! You know you are unable to hold even the smallest amount of urine in your bladder, so you would end up being so wet that you would be miserable while smelling like urine all of the time and you would ruin all of your furniture, if you haven’t already. You are going to be in diapers from now on, and there is no sense in arguing about it. I’m just going to pick up a couple of packs of extra-absorbency adult briefs for you today, but then I will place an order online for your diapers and other protection that will automatically renew after a set amount of time so you will never run out of diapers or supplies, as it looks like you may be incontinent for a while, and possibly forever, since you will remain female and live as a woman even if that does make you incontinent. End of discussion! Now, put on your seat belt. We’re going to the drug store.”
“No! Mum, I won’t do it! I won’t wear a diaper! It’s humiliating!” And with that, Brianna squirmed in her seat, pulled up her skirt, and untaped the four tabs on the front of her diaper, lifted her bottom up slightly, and yanked the already wet brief from underneath her, throwing it on the floor in the process.
Without thinking about it, I slapped her across the face, but then regretted it. Brianna screamed, though, and went to open her door. I threw myself on her and embraced her with all my might, even though I hit my thigh against the console between our seats as I did so, which caused intense pain to blossom in my hip.
Brianna began crying again and thankfully quit trying to fight me or get away.
“Honey, I’m sorry for slapping you. That wasn’t very nice. But the only reason I am keeping you in diapers is for your own good. No matter the reason, you are fully bladder incontinent, and you know you don’t want to sit around in wet panties and live like a hermit. I’m going to get your diapers today, and we will put you in a fresh one as soon as we get home. Got it?”
Brianna was still crying and only nodded her head in defeat. I picked her moderately wet diaper up out of the foot well and helped her back onto it. She squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back as she continued to cry while I folded the front of the diaper over her crotch (all the while ignoring what I saw down there) and then taped her up snuggly. Her mascara was streaking down her face in little black rivers, and her hair was plastered to her cheeks from all of the tears and saliva shed during her weeping. I made sure her diaper was secure and that the elastic leg gathers were flush against her skin to trap in potential leaks. I then lowered her brown skirt over her diaper and smoothed it down, although Brianna was correct in pointing out that the bulge of the diaper under her skirt was quite obvious. I knew we would have to get her new clothes to conceal her diapers, but at the moment I had to get her incontinence supplies and get her home so I could put her in a fresh diaper and put her to bed. She truly was exhausted and overwhelmed emotionally, and I knew she would need even more support than she was already getting from me. In the back of my mind I reminded myself to give her therapist a call, hoping that it would finally be easier to get the process of her transformation started with this new condition presenting itself as a direct result of her having that hated male anatomy still in place and no external feminine traits to at least partially balance it out. I’ve always known that I know what is best for my Baby Girl, in spite of what society tries to tell me. My poor daughter’s suffering was THEIR fault, and I was going to start pushing harder to make it right!