Chapter 43 — [Friday, May 17, 2002]
“How’s Daddy’s little girl this morning? Did she sleep good? I hope no scary dreams… Did Phunny keep you safe baby?” He nestled the soft stuffed elephant up close to her delicate cheek.
His blue eyes were soft, loving, and fully-present. She gazed up at him from her bed and felt safe and secure.
“Is my little girl all wet? Does she need a new diapee?” He reached down to pick her up.
Turning her head to the side, she didn’t respond verbally. In fact, she oddly didn’t feel like she could speak at all. She rolled the rest of her body to the side and was greeted by white vertical rails — she grasped them with chubby pinkish hands. At that moment, she felt Daddy’s own strong hands engulf her and pull her out of the guarded enclosure. She felt lifted to his chest with one arm around her back and the other crossing under her padded bum. She instinctively lay her head on his shoulder. She felt small — littler than she had in ages.
“Daddy’s gonna get you all cleaned up baby and then we gonna have some fun today ok?” He whispered as he gently bounced her and walked to the other side of the room.
She felt herself being laid down on a soft pad and then his hands were between her legs.
Pop. Pop. Pop. And she felt a gush of cool air. An old but familiar sensation flooded her body as his gentle hands peeled back the wet fabric of her onesie.
“Oh my, it looks like someone’s leaked…don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll get you all taken care of. Ok?”
The crackly swipes of velcro separating was unmistakable — one on each side — and then even more cold air between her legs before it was immediately warm again.
“Oh sweetie, guess you weren’t done yet huh?” He said.
The wipes were cold but comforting as her Daddy gently cleaned the mild and babyish mess. “That was easy wasn’t it darlin’?”
She felt her bare feet held high in the air, engulfed in a muscular hand. The smell of cream and powder filled the air. She felt soft and small and helpless and seen and cared for and safe. The new diaper was soft and snug and thick and dry.
“Almost done baby. Let’s get that wet shirt off.” As he helped sit her up, she could feel his hand on her back, spanning her shoulder blades, it’s protective warmth a shelter.
The cotton began to peel up her body and over her head — and just as the saturated bottom reached her face it seemed to stick in place. “Just a minute baby. I’ll get it off here…” The voice said. But the wet and smelly fabric just stayed there.
She began to struggle, but her little arms and legs were weak and soft.
The ammonia odor was strong. The damp and cold cotton fibers clung to her delicate skin. She fought to breathe.
Her hands began to flail.
His strong hands and gentle touch vanished. He was no longer with her.
The wet cotton tightened. She fought to push it off but the more she grappled, the more securely it held her. Gasping for air, she began to feel suffocated.
She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. It just filled with more urine-soaked cotton.
————
Jordan’s eyes bolted open in a near panic. Her heart raced.
A urine saturated sheet was tangled around her neck, across her chest and shoulders, and mouth. The odor was strong. She tried to sit up but as she did, part of the damp fabric tightened around her waist and left thigh, threatening to hold her in place. Wriggling her right arm free, she was able to peel away the sheet from her mouth and head, and with that complete, she eventually twisted out of the rest of her disgusting trap.
Safety and security were far away.
In the dimly lit bedroom, the tall lanky teenager with tangled hair surveyed the damage. Her diaper was ripped open on one side and part of its cottony and translucent pellets were spewed all over the bed. The sheets were a mess. She was missing her shirt. And the bed was SOAKED with aging and smelly pee.
The clock read 3:51.
She began to cry softly in self pity.
It was only a nightmare. It was only a nightmare. It was just a dream. She told herself as she groggily began the slow cleanup process.
But was it really a nightmare? She thought about the website she had stumbled across in her haphazard Yahoo search the day before. The intelligent but inexperienced young author had searched for terms like ‘adult diapers, liking wearing diapers, teens in diapers, teenagers who like to wear diapers, etc’ and had stumbled upon a colorful website with the acronym ABDL. Beyond just being about wearing diapers, this site featured adults who apparently acted and dressed up like full-blown babies. It was nothing she had ever heard of or considered; yet it somehow made sense given her experience that year. The site contained a store with various clothing items and related products, ads where adults that apparently liked diapers were trying to connect with other like-minded adults, pictures that were largely protected by a subscription (Jordan didn’t have a credit card of course), as well as stories. It seemed to suggest that there were dozens (if not hundreds) of people ‘out there’ who had a similar affinity for the childish garb. Jordan had been completely blown out of the water.
Do I somehow subconsciously want to be like those people on the diaper can website? Is that what that was all about? Am I really a complete freak of nature? The young teen’s mind reeled as the vivid details of her dream rapidly faded in her mind against her will.
Just as she was beginning to have more peace about her strange feelings, this new dream and associated input of possibilities threw her off and into a new state of confusion.
———————
“I’m not wanting to be blunt or disrespectful with you Ms. Cooper, I just need to understand exactly what happened. You yourself put a diaper on Jordan too?”
“Well…yeah…I did…one time…because she asked me to,” Melissa lied, “the night before she did it herself and it leaked. So the second night she asked for help. She didn’t want her Dad to do it, which seemed understandable to me.”
Emma Smart nodded and then peered up over her dark rimmed glasses. The two sat that Friday morning in a small reception area in the DSHS office in a strip mall off of I-5 near Northgate.
“Listen. The reason I called you people was because I was so disturbed by what I saw was happening with her. The whole thing was sprung on me. I didn’t have time to react. But the more I thought about it afterwards, the more it bothered me. That’s why I called.” She lied again. “Her mom is forcing her into those diapers I’m sure of it. She’s regressing her for her own gratification or something. It’s abuse and you need to do something about it…”
Seeing no response in the social worker’s affect, Melissa upped the ante, “You know, I knew this was gonna happen. I just knew I was gonna call and make this report and the fucking government was gonna screw it up. You always do that you know? You never can get it right….” Her tone changed to a self-muttering condescension, “Get the government involved and everything goes straight to hell. I tell you what. I should’ve expected this…”
The unemployed woman sounded more frantic and defensive the more she talked. Emma Smart continued to listen carefully. Soaking in as many details as possible, knowing that the investigation was still open — and that the motive of the one who had made the initial allegation was without a doubt not snow-white. Emma herself was a young social worker at 25 and this was one of the very first cases she had ever worked alone. She was anxious to get it right.
“Ms. Cooper, we are conducting a thorough investigation. If you have concerns about my integrity, please speak with my supervisor about that. But I have to tell you, your frantic and accusatory tone doesn’t add to your credibility; and while it is unusual for a twelve or thirteen year old to need (or to ask for) perineal care from her parent or caretaker, it also isn’t out of the realm of possibility. I’m not going to comment any further than that, but in general, I find your level of intensity about this to be surprising and confusing.” Waiting a beat as if to consider if she should say the next sentence, Emma added, “It’s as if you care more about destroying the girl’s mother than protecting the girl herself.”
At that, Melissa’s face turned nearly as red as her hair and her eyes grew wide, staring down the social working in attempted intimidation. But she truly had nothing to say to that — and Emma Smart’s confidence only grew. The two stared into each others eyes for a time before Melissa stood and silently walked out.
————
The knock on the door was unexpected.
Deliberate. Firm. Clear.
Sally looked at the clock. 6:22pm. Jo would’ve called before she just dropped by at this hour on a Friday night. She thought as Jordan walked from the couch to the door to answer it. Could it be Ted? No. He would’ve called too…Who then? Hmm…
In short order, she had an answer.
When Jordan opened the door, Emma Smart was unmistakable standing neatly dressed in a pant-suit with a nylon briefcase slung over her shoulder. She looked pleasant but also ready for business.
Ah shit, Sally thought, she can just show up at our house whenever I guess too then huh?
Fantastic.
———
After a terse confrontation with Sally at the door, an eventual tour of the home led by Mindi, and short conversations with she and Jen in their room, Emma Smart found herself on Jordan’s bed with the door sealed. Sally had voluntarily taken her two others for a quick run to the grocery store. The tall brunette sat uncomfortably slouching in her computer chair looking as though she had had a hundred other things she’d rather be spending her evening doing (which was true).
“So Jordan has your Mom talked with you at all about why I came to the school a few weeks ago? Do you know why I’m here tonight?” Emma asked.
“Um…no…didn’t you say some people were concerned about me and so they called you?” Jordan asked.
“Yes that’s correct. I’m just asking if your Mom filled you in on any additional details about it? You no doubt noticed tonight that I spent some time talking with your siblings right? And I had a look around your home?”
“Yeah…?” Jordan replied not really understanding where the social worker was headed.
“Well. I’m here tonight just to continue observing — to make sure everything is ok here… Remember when we were at school and we talked some about your bedwetting?”
A jolt of electricity shot through Jordan’s neck. Her brown eyes flashed open and she sat up a little more straight. What the hell is this lady’s problem? Why does she keep wanting to talk about that? She immediately felt afraid of her secret becoming known.
She nodded.
“Well to be a little more up front with you about that Jordan, the person who initially made the report was concerned that the way you’ve been wearing…um…diapers…for that has been abusive because it hasn’t been you taking care of it yourself.”
Jordan looked at the social worker in silence, still not grasping the implications of her statement.
“Jordan, did you ask your mom to change your diapers?” (Hearing it phrased that way was odd for Jordan) “What I mean is, you’re thirteen years old you know? You put all your other clothes on yourself right? Your mom doesn’t help you with your panties like she did when you were three. How did it end up like this?”
Why is she talking with me about this? I don’t understand. What does this have to do with anything? She wondered to herself as her mind churned, thinking about all the events of the past months. Just as had occurred in previous conversations with her Mom (and with Ms. Smart) about the subject, Jordan was dreadfully concerned about answering in such a way that would end up causing her to lose her diapers. The shameful secret was one she
After a moment, she opened her mouth and carefully formed her reply. “Well they were leaking…the pull on ones you know…? And then when I tried like…diaper diapers…like with tapes…they leaked again and so — she just started helping me so with them…and they didn’t leak anymore…”
Emma nodded patiently, jotting in her notebook.
“So you asked her for help then? Or did she suggest it?”
What the hell? Jordan thought, frowning and slightly bulging her eyes but still not expressing her true thoughts. Why does this matter!?
“If you put it that way I guess she suggested it but…” she exhaled her frustration.
“Jordan I’m sorry if this seems weird or unnecessary but really, I’m just trying to help. Ok?”
The teenager nodded.
“Were you alright with that? I mean, I can imagine it could’ve been kinda uncomfortable or embarrassing to have your mom do that for you…did you argue with her about it? Did you feel forced or coerced?”
Even more scared now of being twisted into revealing her secret, Jordan treaded softly with her answer. “Um…well…I…I guess…not really…no…I mean…It was embarrassing sure…but…the whole problem…was…you know? And…um…I guess I didn’t think of it as being that much of a difference…I mean I’m a teenager who wears diapers.” (Jordan’s shame stung a little to say that phrase out loud.) “Does it really add much more humiliation that I had to have them put on me vs. wearing them in the first place?”
“Hmm. Well. Maybe you have a point there.”
Jordan felt relieved that maybe the social worker was gonna drop it.
But Emma Smart went on, “Now — I have to ask you a couple other questions, and they might be really hard to answer, but I want you to try ok?”
Jordan nodded almost imperceptibly.
“When your mom changes your diapers, does she ever touch you — your privates — in ways that make you uncomfortable? It might be hard to tell since touching is probably a necessary aspect of it — but does she ever touch you in a way that might seem like it should be kept secret or that you feel ashamed of?”
“What?! No! I mean. What are you talking about?” Jordan exclaimed feeling repulsed.
“Sorry Jordan. I just…well…in the couple of conversations we’ve had, I’ve noticed that you’ve been reluctant to talk about this…and sometimes when adults do hurtful things to kids involving private parts, kids have a hard time saying so. If something happened that you didn’t like — that made you feel bad or that you didn’t like — it isn’t your fault Jordan. And you aren’t gonna get in trouble if you talk about it. I wanna make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Jordan still felt afraid and confused — especially given that from her perspective, nothing like that had taken place.
Has it? She questioned herself more honestly. I mean. I liked what mom had been doing right? I felt embarrassed at first but not like what this lady is saying right? Mom wasn’t doing something wrong was she? The young girl’s mind raced, all of a sudden confused about much of what had taken place between she and her mom and the diapers.
After a long pause, she finally responded. “Well. I honestly never…ever…felt the way you say about what my Mom was doing for me… Like…it was embarrassing at first…but…it wasn’t like bad…” she raised her eyebrow and looked Emma in the eye for confirmation. “But what you’re saying now is confusing me…”
Shit. She immediately thought to herself. I shouldn’t’ve said that.
“What do you mean confusing?” Emma asked.
“Just that — well I was embarrassed and at first I didn’t like it at all — like the whole thing” Jordan scrambled, sounding defensive, “but it wasn’t because of the way she touched me or something — it was that I had to wear a diaper and that I needed help and that I felt like a baby — and yeah…that felt bad. But like I never thought she was doing something wrong or bad or whatever…And so now what you were just saying was confusing me…”
“Ok. Hmm.” The young woman replied scrawling more notes on her paper. Looking up she then said, “Now — You said something a minute ago — that kind of alluded that your mom isn’t doing this for you anymore? Is that true?”
“Actually yeah. Ever since about spring break, I’ve been doing it myself…I had to…um…learn how,” she carefully chose her words as she explained, not wanting to have to tell the social worker about her actual affinity for diapers, “to put my diapers on for my trip to Washington DC. And so after that, my mom just told me she’s too busy and stressed to take all that time every night. So I just do it.” She looked up hopefully, feeling a little relieved with the answer.
Emma Smart accepted the answer and after a few more forays, turned the conversation in an unexpected direction for Jordan.
“So…your dad used to date a lady named Melissa right?”
“Um…well…yeah…” Jordan said raise the edge of her mouth and furrowing her brow, not liking the mention of that woman in her presence.
“Did you by chance ever ask her to put a diaper on you?”
Oh shit. Thought Jordan as she took a big breath and allowed anger to flash across her eyes.
Just thinking about about the now infamous night in December, took her straight back to that horrific experience. Emma noticed this distress immediately and over what remained of their conversation, the teenager recounted with great precision exactly what had happened. By the end of her detailed monologue, Emma was wide eyed.
She politely closed the more formal part of the conversation, thanked Jordan for being so thorough and open with her answers, and told her that she probably would see her once or twice more during the summer (if that). After a few niceties, Emma Smart left the Reynolds’ house feeling much clearer about the entire scenario and more confident about what most likely had been taking place there.
—————
[Sunday, May 19, 2002]
Hearing of TJ Yates’ blackmail attempt so many months after it had taken place was mind numbingly aggravating for the man who’s life seemed to have been so out of control over the same period. He had been outplayed by Melissa who had created the CPS crisis in his divorce case. He had had his career on the edge of extermination at Hope Seattle, only saved by what he initially credited to the beneficence of a kind benefactor. He had seen his marriage crumble at the hands of his unrestrained selfishness and lust. And he had witnessed his relationships with his children shrivel into virtually nothing because of his blind ambition. The revelation that there had indeed been another puppet master behind the strings controlling something else in his life (even if it was something that worked out for the best), was beyond him.
That Friday afternoon a couple weeks before, Ted came as close as he ever had to resorting to violence in response to his rage. Instead of beating TJ Yates however, he luckily only beat his apartment door from the inside until his neighbors came and knocked from the outside to ensure that all was alright. The unit was located on Capital Hill and he shortly learned that the building’s inhabitants were rather tightly knit as a community. This worked in his favor when it became clear that his right hand bore the brunt of the episode and a man in his mid 40’s offered to drive Ted to the hospital for X-rays.
So there he sat, still in his splint and ace wrap, overlooking Lake Washington from his new therapists’ office and processing those very events from the past months. It was Ted’s Dad who had finally convinced him that maybe a professional would be helpful. This second appointment of what would eventually become a weekly ritual had focused on the way Ted treated himself.
“Listen Ted. You’re your own number one critic here. If you can’t come to grips with treating yourself with a little bit of respect, or it’s only gonna get worse. You’re not perfect Ted. Quit expecting it from yourself.”
The man in his mid 60’s stared Ted down with his blue eyes.
“As long as you require perfection from yourself Ted, you’re never gonna get over this anger. Listen man. It’s one thing to have high expectations…it’s another thing to never allow yourself anything less. Everyone screws up. Everyone makes mistakes. The thing that sets the best apart is their ability to see their worst nature, give themselves grace, shake it off, learn from it, and get back up and be better person for it. You have the capacity for that Ted. Your life isn’t over here.”
Ted nodded slowly processing and internalizing the words of the man who was slowly becoming a sage to him.
“So are you trying to tell me that part of why I’m so mad at TJ is because I’m really just mad at myself? Like…I haven’t dealt with giving myself a break for all the ways I’ve fucked up my own life and my whole family and pretty much everything…?” Ted Asked.
“I couldn’t have said it better brother.” The old man replied placing his hand on Ted’s knee. “We project all kinds of bullshit all the time. This is hard work what you’re doing here — taking responsibility for your life. But it will pay off in spades.”
As Ted thought about the conversations he had had with his oldest daughter over the past week or two, he couldn’t help but feel hope about his life having at least a minor turnaround.
