Karen laid down in her bathtub and stroked her clitoris until she reached climax. Moments after climax Karen felt a twinge of guilt. She always felt guilt at this time. It seemed like a routine with her with diapers. She’d always wet them until the leaked, masturbate, and then feel guilty about what she had done. She felt guilty just like when her mom yelled at her. Or maybe it was different. She felt guilty like she did when her friend Summer wet her sleeping bag. It was a detached guilt, a combination of empathy and guilt all at the same time.

It was an emotion she could feel no other way. It was fun in a way; it was a novelty; but it certainly wasn’t satisfying. It wasn’t the same as snuggling with someone on the couch or cooking dinner from someone you love. Karen knew this. She knew diapers couldn’t make her happy. But she still felt attracted to the diapers.

Why? Why do I do this? Karen asked herself. Partly she knew the answer, partly she didn’t.

Maybe it was because her first sexual experience was with Summer in high school. Karen and Summer had been drinking. Well, that’s an understatement. Karen and Summer were drunk. Karen’s parents were out of town and they had each downed 3 wine coolers. (This may not seem like a lot, but when you never drink and you drink 3 wine coolers in 2 hours, well let’s just say you get drunker than you think you are.)

Summer and Karen were sitting on Karen’s double bed and Summer asked Karen if she had ever masturbated. Karen said she didn’t know how. The truth was, Karen didn’t dare think about it. Her mom had told her many times that masturbation was a sin, but here was Summer, drunk on her bed, sliding off her panties. Summer proceeded to masturbate and then fell asleep. Karen was fascinated and still a little drunk. Karen lay down next to Summer’s sleeping body and slid her hand into her own panties. Karen tried to find her clitoris but it was hiding. Possibly because she was drunk, possibly because she wasn’t remotely horny, she couldn’t seem to work up the urge to masturbate, even if she had known what she was doing.

So Karen laid there and stared at Summer sleeping next to her. She remembered the night when Summer wet her sleeping bag. She kept picturing Summer standing their with wet pajama bottoms and the thought of the wetness finally turned her on. And then Karen masturbated for the first time. The next night, (this time by herself), Karen masturbated again to the thought of Summer wetting her sleeping bag. She equated Summer not being able to holder her bladder with her own inability to hold back an orgasm.

And from then on, Karen just associated orgasm with the thought of wetting. It didn’t make a lot of sense. It didn’t even explain all her feelings. But Summer rarely was able to climax without thinking about some sort of wetting accident.

Despite her encounter with Summer, Karen didn’t consider herself to be a lesbian. But the thought of being a little girl in wet pants turned her on far more than any sexual encounter with a man. Yes, she’d had sex before a few times. (Don’t get any ideas. She dated one boy for a long time in college and they were committed to each other. It just didn’t work out.) But she didn’t really find intercourse to feel that good. In fact, the only time she really orgasmed from sex was one time when she started on the pill and her boyfriend didn’t wear a condom. After sex, she felt the sperm running down her leg and it really turned her on. (Sadly, they broke up when he took a job in another state.)

So part of Karen’s love of diapers and wetting was sexual, but part of it wasn’t. Part of it was the adrenaline rush. Part of it was the risk of doing something wrong and getting away with it. And as Karen lay there in her leaking purple-trimmed underjams, she wondered how she could get that part back. How could she feel the risk she once felt when she first wore a diaper in public? Where was the adrenaline rush?