The Accident

Amber Fountaine stories contain sexually explicit descriptions of consensual sexual activity and are not suitable for reading by anyone under the age of 18, or anyone offended by reading such material. These acts include gay and bisexual activity as well as any combination of piss play, diapers, cross-dressing and other fetishes and perversions that may please the author's whims. The characters in these stories are fictional, but are based on the author's true experiences, as well as the experiences of others he has met.

The following is based on another of those experiences that was passed on to me recently by a reader that had read one of my stories and decided to share his. Of course the names, locations, etc. have been changed. So who knows? Maybe this really happened in your town and the next time you're at the store, the guy in front of you in puffy pants might be our friend Ron!

The Accident

(Bisexual, Urination)

by Amber Fountaine

I guess for most of my 42 years I'd heard the stories about how accidents come in threes, or if you have one, it's the start of a string of accidents. I'd never paid any attention to any of it. I busted up a motorcycle and my body pretty good in college and never had another accident - not even a cut finger - for several years. I think the closest I ever came to having one accident lead into another was eight or ten years ago when I twisted an ankle playing softball and then cut my lip on a beer can a few minutes later. It wasn't my first beer and I think that contributed greatly to both accidents.

The point is, that I've never considered myself to be accident prone, or superstitious, or anything along those lines. But there's another kind of 'accident', as my mother used to call it, which has recurred thousands of times in my life, mostly because it was never an accident to begin with. As far back into my childhood as I can remember, I've enjoyed pissing in my pants - or bed - or diaper - or all three. I view piss as a precious product too important to waste on our sewer systems. I've found all sorts of fun ways to enjoy piss and it doesn't have to be mine. I'll get into that in a bit.

In my childhood, my mom played hell getting me out of diapers. My little sister was completely potty trained by the time she was three. I was seven at the time and still in diapers every night. It never occurred to my mom that I was wetting them and my bed on purpose so that she'd keep me in diapers at night until I was in my teens. I might have done it even longer, since my mom divorced my dad when I was ten and he was the only one that complained about my bedwetting. But when I was around the age of fourteen, she was dating a guy that guessed what I was up to and I was afraid he'd give me away. He told me he used to do the same thing when he was a kid, wet his diapers and jack off in them, and that it was our secret. I suppose he was telling the truth, as easy as it was for him to figure out what I was doing. The problem was that I knew my mom wasn't all that interested in him and I was afraid that if he got mad at my mom for breaking up with him, he'd spill the beans on me.

So all of a sudden, about the time I was going to start high school, I quit wetting the bed at night and my mom finally could quit buying diapers for me. As a reward, she gave me extra money in my allowance from the money that she'd been spending on diapers. Kind of funny I guess because I used some of the money to buy diapers of my own and kept them hidden. By then I was old enough to jack off too and about once a week, would dig out a diaper, put it on, and jack off after the diaper was wet. I did that all through high school and college. Not all the time, but I never went more than a month without spending at least one night in a wet diaper or wet bed or both.

Then around the age of twenty-five, I quit all that piss pants stuff. I can't remember why I decided to do that, but I do remember that one night when I was going to wear a diaper, I discovered I was out of them, decided I wasn't going to buy any more, pissed in the toilet instead, and moved on.

A year or so later, I got married, then had two kids, and for seven years had what I thought was a perfect marriage. But apparently my wife wasn't as happy. I came home one day to find the house gutted and while I'm on the phone, screaming at the police that burglars have stolen everything in my home, a deputy shows up at the door to serve me divorce papers. I thought it was just the furniture, TV, stereo and stuff from the living room and den that were gone. As soon as I'd seen that all of that stuff was missing, I'd gone straight to the phone. But after the deputy gave me the papers, I looked and discovered the dishes were gone from the kitchen and all of the kids clothes and their furniture was gone too. She even took the lawn mower out of the garage and that didn't make a lick of sense. She couldn't start it and had never used it. But anyone that's gotten a divorce knows that there are a lot of things that happen that make no sense at all.

I think I called in sick and stayed drunk for three or four days and somewhere during that time, I wet my bed. To this day I couldn't tell you for sure if I did it on purpose or if it was a drunken accident. I do know I was sober when I woke up, and when I realized what I'd done, got the hardest dick I'd had in years, which I took care of myself while laying in those wet sheets. It felt so good I had to wonder why I'd ever quit.

As it turned out, my wife had met a guy at work and had fallen wildly in love with the man she was sure was destined to be her life long soul mate. Unfortunately for her, he didn't feel the same way and when she divorced me so they could have more time together, he put in for a transfer to Phoenix, which was as far away as he could get and still work for the same company.

By the time reality set in for her and she wanted to come crawling back to me, I had sold the house and moved into a one bedroom apartment, had found a boyfriend of my own, and was wetting the bed again every night. Actually, I was wearing a diaper again and usually didn't let it leak. But sometimes, like on weekends, I'd soak the diaper and the sheets. I didn't try to explain all that, I just told her no.

The boyfriend's name was Don and that is a story in itself. The short story is that no one where we worked, including me, suspected Don was gay. He told me later that he'd had his eye on me for some time and after my wife and I separated, he made his move. We became drinking buddies. One night when he was too drunk to drive home, I put him to bed on the couch and then went to my room. I was pretty damn drunk too and needed to pee. Thinking (as if I could in that condition) that Don was passed out for the night, I got into a diaper, wet it good, and went to bed. When I woke up, my diaper was wet, the bed was wet, and Don was wet too and laying next to me, playing with my cock. He'd gotten up in the middle of the night to pee and saw that I'd left the package of diapers sitting out in the bathroom. He'd tiptoed into my room to see if I was really wearing one and when he saw that I was, and felt the plastic cover on my mattress, had climbed into bed with me and wet me, him, and the bed.

I couldn't believe there was another man in the whole world that could possibly enjoy pee play, but when he took my cock in his mouth and asked to drink my morning pee, I had to assume there was at least one more. That was around ten years ago, and up to then, in spite of all the times and ways I'd enjoyed playing with my pee, I'd never thought to try drinking it. As wet as my diaper and the bed was, I'm sure he didn't get much, but he sure seemed to enjoy it. So naturally, I asked to taste his.

You might say it was love at first taste. For the next year, Don and I all but lived together. We maintained separate residences, but seldom slept apart. If he didn't spend the night in my bed, I spent the night in his. And we seldom slept dry. Then one night he got a little too wet, in more ways than one.

His drinking was a problem that he would admit, but did nothing about. One night he left his favorite gay bar, driving when he shouldn't have been, took a wrong turn, and drove off the end of a short dock. It took two days before anyone figured out what had happened and found his car with him still in it. He must have been so drunk that he never figured out what had occurred or what he needed to do to survive. The police said he must have put the car in Park and turned on the windshield wipers after the car settled on the lake bottom, which was only about fifteen feet deep where he landed. He never loosened his seat belt or tried to get out. It was like he thought he could just wait until the water went down and he'd try to restart the car. I quit drinking the day of his funeral.

In that year with Don, he had shown me a side of myself and a world that I hadn't known existed. I'd had a jack-off buddy as a teen, but we'd never so much as fondled each other and I can't remember that I even thought about it. What Don taught me was that sex with a man was every bit as much fun as sex with a woman. Once I moved past the social stigma of being a cocksucker, I discovered I liked - no loved being a cocksucker. It was every bit as much fun to please a man orally as it was a woman and with a man, you didn't have to wonder if he was faking it. There's no way you can fake a mouthful of cum.

I also discovered that if you ask a man to piss in your mouth, even if he's not into it, he'll probably shrug, say why not, and empty his bladder for you. The first time I asked a woman to do that, she was out of my apartment so fast she forgot her panties. And that's another story, although there's some connection.

But let me get to the accident I had about a year ago, and the events that followed, which is what this story is really all about.

It started as a simple fender bender on the expressway on the way home one night. A guy was coming up the entrance ramp when a lady in front of him decided to stop and see if there was any traffic. He was speeding up, looking for a hole to slide into and turned back to see she had stopped for no damn reason. He couldn't stop and tried to squeeze around her instead and that's when we scraped against each other. So we pulled over to the side as soon as we could, about a quarter of a mile up the road. In the meantime, two other cars had a wreck on the entrance ramp because of the woman, who eventually puttered off up the road to cause more mayhem on another day.

That second accident was also a minor one, but then a woman driving down the expressway with a cell phone in her hand saw the second wreck occur and decided to call it in. While busy punching numbers at sixty miles per hour, she ran into the first accident, ours, killing herself and critically injuring me and the guy that had sideswiped me originally. I was parked behind the other car and had gotten back in my seat after exchanging info, though I hadn't had time to fasten my seat belt. The other guy was still standing next to his car and was knocked out into the traffic lanes and then hit by another vehicle. How he survived is a miracle. That blocked the expressway and caused another major wreck and a few minor ones.

As a result of that one woman stopping on an entrance ramp, there were seven separate accidents, two fatalities, nine people hospitalized, and the lady that caused it all drove off and is probably bragging to her friends about her perfect driving record and how she's never had an accident.

Anyway, my car got crushed and I got crushed with it. That made it the third accident of the seven and the fourth, for me and this story, occurred while I was in the hospital. I was unconscious until the following morning and woke to find tubes stuck in me everywhere, including a catheter in my dick. Aside from a concussion and bruised ribs, the only broken bone was the big toe of my left foot. Considering the other guy was in critical care for a week and had half his body in a cast the last time I saw him, and the woman that hit us was in the morgue, I thought I was pretty damn lucky.

The medical staff was more concerned about the concussion than anything else. After I was out of the ICU, they kept me in observation for three days. Once they were sure there was no blood in my urine and that I was processing fluids correctly, the nurse removed most of the monitors and tubes, including the catheter, telling me I might leak a little for a couple of days. I was so happy to be alive, everything else considered, that I was a little flippant about it and told her that if she knew I was going to leak, she ought to put a diaper on me. I didn't know if she knew I was joking and went along with it or if that's something they do for people that have been catheterized. One way or the other, smiling like a kid at Christmas, she came back about 30 minutes later with a diaper and put it on me.

As she was putting it in place, I started getting a hard on and she joked about me enjoying it a little too much. For some reason, it wasn't until after she began putting the diaper on that I began to wonder about what had become of the clothes I'd been wearing and asked.

"I believe your sister took most of them to be washed. But I'll check," she told me.

A few minutes later, she was back, holding a plastic bag containing a pair of panties. "I forgot about these. Most of your stuff your sister took to wash. ER sent these up separate with a note to check and see if they were yours." Then she added with a devilish grin and a wink, "They seem to have been peed in so they just might be."

How could I have forgotten about that? I remembered being conscious for a few minutes after the wreck; long enough to realize I'd peed in my pants. I could remember all the blood and thinking I was dying and wondering if they'd bury me in the pissy wet panties. then I'd passé out. But there was no way I was going to tell the nurse all that. Just as I was about to deny owning or wearing a pair of panties, she checked to see if the guy in the next bed was asleep, stepped closer to the bed and put the bag in my hand.

"Your sister said they were probably yours, but we should ask you. I'd say from the look on your face that we've found the right owner." Then she looked at the machine I was still wired up to, gave me a smile and assurance that I was doing fine, and left me to think about what had just happened.

Thirty minutes later, she was back for something else for the guy in the next bed and when she finished with him, asked me, "Where'd you put that bag?"

Since the guy in the next bed was obviously awake now, I appreciated her discretion. Silently I dug the bag out from under my pillow. She took the garment into the bathroom, rinsed it out by hand, and then hung the panties to dry on the head of my bed. They were still there drying when the next shift began and the nurse that came on saw the panties and smiled, but never said a thing. I'm sure she had already gotten all the details at the nurses station before she ever came to my room. As it turned out, she was the nurse on duty when I had my fourth accident. I woke up in the middle of the night in a very soggy diaper and wet bed.

After years of wetting on purpose when I had a diaper on, I guess subconsciously or something I gave myself permission to wet. I was embarrassed all to hell, especially when the nurses insisted I be kept in diapers for the rest of my stay. The second night I managed to stay dry and after thinking about it the next morning, decided under the circumstances, that was stupid. So that night I wet myself before I went to sleep and convinced the night nurse, when she came on, that I wasn't wet enough to worry about it yet. She just giggled, promised to change me later, and told me to enjoy myself. I loved her attitude!

I was discharged early the next morning and my sister came to pick me up. She raised an eyebrow when they told her they'd have me ready, "just as soon as his diaper's changed." But she didn't say anything. My sister had considered me a bit strange since the day she caught me playing with myself while wearing her clothes. She was in high school by then and I was in college. I was so happy she hadn't caught me in diapers or pissing in my pants that her finding out I liked to wear her lingerie didn't bother me at all. That's why she'd told the nurse the panties were probably mine and didn't ask about the diapers. She didn't want confirmation that I was even weirder than she thought.

That brings us up to Molly and Melinda and the whole reason for this story. About two weeks after I got out of the hospital, I finally ventured out of the house. I had the car rental company drop off the car the insurance company had promised me and went to the grocery store to stock up. I was out of just about every other thing. Like I had cereal, but no milk. I had pasta, but no sauce. I had meat, but no vegetables. I think you get the picture. So there I was in the checkout line with a basket heaped full of groceries and all of a sudden someone pats me on the ass. An ass that was, by the way, in a very thick and very wet diaper.

I was sure it was one of the guys from work or something and before turning, was thinking about how I'd explain the diaper if he'd felt it. I had on baggy shorts, hoping the diaper wouldn't be obvious, but I couldn't be sure. Most of the people at work had never seen me in shorts and I was hoping I wasn't leaking too badly. I'd taken the week of sick leave I had coming, along with a week of vacation and hadn't been back to work yet. So if they did notice, I was going to use the accident as an excuse somehow.

I was frantically working all that out in my mind, hadn't turned yet, and wasn't at all prepared for the soft, friendly, feminine voice that asked, "You wear 'em cause you like to or have to?"

The only female I could possibly imagine asking that question was my sister and it wasn't her voice. I turned to see a woman that at first glance appeared to be a little shorter, a little heavier, and a little older - and someone that I'd never seen before in my life. She wasn't beautiful, but she was cute as a kitten and had the most contagious smile I'd ever seen. I guess that's why I told her, "Both. I like to wear 'em so much I feel like I have to."

She continued to smile and stare into my eyes as she told me, "Thought so. Looks like you're leaking a little bit."

"Probably," I answered, holding her gaze. Then to be sure she understood how much of a piss pants I was, I added, almost challenging her to comment, "That's when they feel the best - when they're nice and soggy."

She grinned and nodded, but didn't respond verbally, so we sort of ran out of things to say for a moment. I still had no idea who she was, had never seen her before that I could remember, and was sure I'd never see her again after that last bit of over the top honesty. In fact, I was sort of surprised that she didn't take off for another checkout line or tell the management that there was a pervert loose in their store. Normally I would have introduced myself to her at that point but everything considered, I thought that was futile. I couldn't imagine her or any woman wanting to have anything to do with a pee freak.

As I began to unload my basket on the checkout belt, she broke the silence by asking, "You don't remember me do you?"

"No I don't," I admitted, shaking my head. I'd been trying to think, if and where I might have seen her before, but had drawn a blank.

"Lutheran Hospital - emergency room."

Talk about feeling dumb. I'd been so busy looking her in the eye that I hadn't noticed she was wearing scrubs. That still didn't help, but it should have been a helluva clue. "Sorry," I told her, trying to make a joke of it. "Last time I was there I sort of slept through it all."

"Yeah, that's right. You were still unconscious when we sent you up to ICU." She had me back in that big, grinning, eye lock when she asked, "Did you get your panties back?"

If she was determined to get me embarrassed, she was doing a great job. By now we were close enough that the lady at the register could hear our conversation and a quick glance in her direction established that she was smiling too. So I changed the conversation with the first thing that came to mind. "On your way to work?"

"On the way home. Are you supposed to be walking on that?" she asked, pointing at the contraption on my foot. "As I recall your foot was crushed."

"Just my big toe. And what they told me was, 'essential walking only' for the next two weeks. It's been two weeks and eating is pretty damn essential."

She laughed and patted my ass again. "Did they also tell you, 'drink lots of liquids' or was that your idea."

"I'll take credit for that one," I told her, beginning to enjoy our bizarre conversation. I was amazed that she wasn't put off by my soggy condition or that I admitted that I liked the condition I was in.

We traded a few more teasing remarks while the cashier did her thing, fighting to keep a straight face, and when she'd finished and I'd paid, the woman behind me, whose name I still didn't know, told me, "I don't have near as much in my basket and I'm not through with you. Wait for me at the door."

For some reason, I never gave a thought to doing anything but what she'd told me. I pushed my basket to the door, stopped, turned around, and waited.

In the parking lot, she finally gave me her name. "I'm Molly," she told me.

"Ron," I said, sticking out my hand. "You could have told me that inside."

She gave me that look again and asked, "Could I have offered to change your diaper inside?"

I was astonished. "You're joking, right?" I gasped. I'm surprised my chin didn't drop so hard and fast that it hit the handle of the grocery cart.

"I AM a nurse, you know. It's not like I haven't ever done something like that." She gave me a moment to let that sink in and then with a wink and grin added, "And you seemed to enjoy it when my sister did it."

That gave me a pause. There'd been a few guys that had gotten into pee play and diapers and that sort of thing with me, but before I'd gone in the hospital, no woman, other than my mom, had ever changed my diapers. Of the seven nurses that I could remember, three had been men. One of the men and two of the women had changed me during my stay and of the two women, none of them had resembled Molly at all.

Molly misunderstood my silence. "I guess Jimi was right. You'd rather have a man do it."

That interrupted my chain of thought. "Is Jimi your sister?"

She laughed at that. "There are a few that might agree to that. Jimi is a man - sort of. Away from work he's more apt to be dressed as a woman. But at the hospital, he's the best damn ER nurse I've ever seen. When they brought you in and we undressed you, we saw you had on panties. Jimi thought maybe you were a guy he'd seen at one of the bars he goes to along Detroit."

"I've been to a few," I admitted. I knew she was making reference to some of Cleveland's gay bars in that area. "But I quit drinking altogether several years back. Bars can be pretty boring if you don't drink."

Her smile was fading as she got impatient. "But you do like to drink lots of liquids and wet yourself, right?"

"Yeah, that's right. I'm a piss freak," I admitted.

"That's what I was hoping," she told me, the smile returning. "If you like baseball, you might be perfect."

Now I was standing in the parking lot, having loaded the groceries in my trunk, with my mouth hanging open; partly because of the heat and partly because by now I was totally confused. How did baseball make me the perfect piss freak? There had to be a purpose for her starting this conversation, but so far it hadn't gotten any clearer than mud.

She continued. "You're not married, right?"

I nodded. "Used to be. Not now."

"Do you live with someone?"

"No," I told her. "I live by myself."

"That's what we figured. Melinda said you had two guys visit you that said they worked with you and the only woman that was on your list was your sister. So between that, and what Jimi had said, and Melinda's report, we thought you might be a good candidate and we were thinking about calling you. Then, when I recognized you in the store and I could tell you had on a diaper, I figured this was perfect timing. Running into you by accident had to be fate."

"If that was supposed to explain everything," I told her. "You missed by a mile. Who is Melinda and what am I a candidate for? I can tell you right now that I hate politics."

She laughed, that great smile returning to her face and told me, "Look. I don't have anything in my basket that needs to be refrigerated right away, but you do. How about I ride home with you and you get your things put away and while we're doing that, I can explain everything. Then, if you want me to change your diaper, I will. And if you want to come to my place, you can. And if you just want to bring me back here and drop me off at my car and tell us, 'No thank you,' that's okay too."

"Yeah, okay," I told her. She definitely had my interest piqued. After two solid weeks of moving from the bed to the bathroom to the couch, with occasional stops in the kitchen, and all the TV and book reading I could handle, almost anything was bound to be an improvement. I definitely had cabin fever. Just getting the rent car and driving to the store had seemed like an adventure. And I did need to get my groceries put away, and I did need to get my diaper changed, and truth be told, Molly was looking better to me all the time!

In the store, the lighting had made her look sort of pasty. But outside, I could tell she wasn't as old or as heavy as I'd assumed and was just light complected, which sort of went with the reddish hair and freckles that I could see in the sunlight. And the scrubs she had on did nothing to hide the fact that she was braless and had big, erect nipples. When I opened the door for her, she bent to put her grocery bags on the back floorboard, giving me a good look down her top, and I discovered those freckles ran all the way down to her nipples - and probably further. I hadn't been with a woman in years and maybe that's why she caught me staring down her blouse as I fantasized about playing 'follow the dots' with the tip of my tongue.

I was still holding the door for her as she settled in the front seat. She reached out with her right hand to pat my shorts, the front this time, right where the bulge was most obvious, and making fun of the way my tongue was hanging out, told me with a wink, "You better get in out of that sun. You're starting to pant."

I wasn't the only one fantasizing, as she explained briefly during the short ride to my place. She stunned me when she explained that I might be the perfect guy to fulfill the fantasies of three people, and Jimi wasn't one of them, as I'd assumed. She promised me a short explanation, but we were done putting my groceries away before she finished.

To begin with, she and her sister, Melinda, weren't really sisters - they were cousins that had been raised together. The loss of her parents in an accident was assumed to be the cause for Melinda being a bedwetter well into her teens. In an effort to keep Melinda from feeling bad about it, Molly would often sleep with Melinda and wet herself too and with her mom's approval.

But around fifteen, her mom figured out the girls were now making a game of diapering each other and seeing who could get the wettest and called a halt to all of it. By then, the girls had discovered sex with each other and had found additional ways to enjoy each other's pee as well. So the loss of the diapers was no big thing. For the next fifteen years, the girls had shared everything. They decided to go into nursing after high school, got an apartment together, and shared or swapped boyfriends depending on their mood. And if there wasn't a boyfriend available to share, they were more than happy to share the same bed.

Then Melinda met and fell madly in love with an ex-ballplayer turned fireman named Bob.

Bob was originally from a town west of Cleveland and had been elated when he was drafted out of college to play for the Indian's organization. He discovered several things about himself while in minor league baseball.

The one that would carry with him the longest was that his brief sexual affair with a teammate in college had not been a fluke. He had another opportunity his first year in the minors and had jumped at the chance. He was definitely bisexual. He had an occasional appetite that could only be sated by a mouthful of cock and cum.

He also discovered that while he'd been a better hitter than anyone else on his college team, it got a lot harder as he moved up each rung. Then he messed up his shoulder sliding headfirst into 2nd base and he was never the same again. He finished the year not hitting his weight and had been released. He tried the indy leagues for a couple of years and the best thing to come of that was the advice he got from one of his roommates that became his best friend.

Tucker Wilson told him he should never get married; that his cock was too good to give to only one person and should be shared. The fact that they were naked in bed together swapping blowjobs at the time might have influenced Tuck's opinion. Tuck also told him that he was quitting baseball at the end of the season, going back to his hometown where they had a major league team, get a job as a fireman where he had regular days off, and split the cost of season tickets with another fireman on a different work schedule. Then he was going to sit in the stands and enjoy the game because he could yell whatever he wanted at the umpires without being thrown out of the game and best of all, wouldn't have to worry about finding a note in his locker, telling him to talk to the manager.

That fall, when the season was over, Bob did exactly what Tucker had suggested. He'd never given much thought to what he'd do with his life after baseball and Tuck's plan made a lot of sense. By the following spring, he had a job with the Cleveland Fire Department, was part owner of a season ticket pool to the Indian's games, and had an offer from Tuck to visit him in Cincinnati any time he got too horny. Bob made Tuck the same offer and the two of them got to know IH 71 very well over the next few years.

It was yet another accident that caused the meeting of Melinda and Bob. At least this one didn't involve any physical injury. The guy that was responsible for splitting up the four season tickets to the Indian's games made a mistake. As a result, Molly and Melinda, ardent Indian's fans that normally had seats that alternated with Bob's, got the other pair of tickets for the same day instead. Bob and Tuck sat next to the pair of ladies and wound up taking them out for drinks and then dinner after the game. While Tuck and Molly didn't hit it off that well, for Bob and Melinda, a romance blossomed before they were hardly out of Jacobs Field.

Within a year they were married. Bob caught some teasing from some of his firemen friends about his new wife insisting that her sister live with them after they were married, but he ignored it. He might have told his buddies that he was sleeping with both women, making the guys jealous, but thought it best to keep that to himself. Melinda had claimed him exclusively for the first month they dated, and after that Molly had been invited to join them at her discretion. And when the ladies had shown Bob how they loved to love each other, Bob had reciprocated the following week, inviting Tuck to stay overnight so they could put on a cocksucking demonstration for Melinda and Molly.

Life was great until Tuck heard about a job with a government contractor that paid awesome wages for work overseas. He left to become a civilian fireman at an air base in the Middle East. Bob missed their bimonthly bisexual activities more than the girls did. The ladies had him and each other but poor Bob didn't have another man to play with when the mood hit him and his resultant moodiness became apparent. Melinda urged him to hit some of the local bars to find a man if he wanted, but bar hopping wasn't something Bob liked.

Molly tried to do her part by occasionally bringing home a man they might all enjoy. As you might expect from a luck of the draw situation, some worked out great and others were dismal failures. So in spite of her sincere efforts, that wasn't too successful either. And then it got worse - or better, depending on what you used to measure.

During a rescue operation at work, Bob hurt his back. The injury required an operation on the small of his back that damn near made him a cripple for six months. With two nurses in the house, his recovery and convalescence should have been easy, yet things that should be easy often have a way of not working out that way.

The women had always worked the same shift so that they had the same time off. They asked for one to be assigned a different shift temporarily so that there was someone home with Bob, and St. John, the hospital where they were working at the time, wouldn't allow that. One hospital's inflexibility resulted in another hospital getting two very good, experienced nurses on their staff. In more ways than one, their problem produced a happy consequence. Not only did the ladies get a raise, but during Bob's convalescence they discovered he was amenable to an old favorite activity of the ladies - diapers and pee play.

Bob had made several remarks about the bedpan being embarrassing and Molly had only been jesting when she told him, "Well we could always put you in diapers. How embarrassing would that be?" When Bob responded, grumbling that he didn't think it would be as bad, the ladies, remembering the fun they'd had in their teens, decided to get some diapers from the hospital and if Bob didn't use them, maybe they would. As it turned out, by the time Bob could get out of bed to go pee, he often didn't want to, preferring instead to wet his diaper just like his wife and her sister were doing. By the time Bob was back up and on his feet, all three were hooked on wet beds, diapers and piss play.

And that led to Molly and Melinda discovering a patient named Ron with what appeared to be all the qualifications to fill the void in their lives that had been left when Tuck had departed.

I'd gotten home, unloaded my car, and had the groceries all put away by the time Molly finished with what was supposed to be a short story. Her sudden silence, along with my very soggy diaper and the need to pee, let me know that it was decision time. "So that's what you meant by me being a candidate," I told her, sort of thinking aloud. "You're looking for a bisexual piss pants for an occasional orgy."

"Well that's not exactly how I'd word it if I was going to advertise for one, but yes, you could put it that way - and you might like us as friends too."

I was liking Molly more with each passing moment and wondered about the rest of her troupe. "I still can't figure out which of the nurses was your sister Melinda." I was guessing it was the nurse that had been so quick to diaper me the first time, but hoped it might be the brunette that had let me keep a wet diaper on all night and told me to enjoy it. She didn't look at all like Molly either, but then, none of them did.

"We're really cousins, remember? She's taller and has dark hair." Then she reached for her purse and dug out a picture of her, Melinda, and Bob together at Jacobs Field.

Of the two nurses I'd narrowed it down to, I was hoping it would be the brunette and the picture confirmed that it was. But that left another huge question. "Why me?" I asked, still amazed that they'd considered looking for me. "Just because I enjoy wearing diapers? Wouldn't it be easier to find a guy you like and introduce him to the joy of pants pissing or diapers or whatever?"

"We thought so - didn't work out. The guy might be great in every other respect, but as soon as one of us would start wetting something or each other, he'd be heading for the door. I guess pee play is too kinky for most guys."

"Straight guys maybe. But there's a lot of it among gay guys."

"That's what Jimi said. So between that and the panties and the diaper rash, we thought you were worth checking out."

I'd totally forgotten about the diaper rash. The accident happened after a three-day weekend that I'd spent experimenting with thick cloth diapers. I had loved the way they felt so much that I'd worn them too thick and too wet for too long. When I'd realized the insides of my legs were getting chaffed, I'd switched to the panties and had gone to the store after some ointment. On the way back to my apartment, the accident had occurred.

Her telling me about guys running out the door had reminded me about the lady that had run off without her panties and how that had led to me wearing lingerie when I wasn't diapered. So I told Molly that story and then explained about the diaper rash. Then she told me how she had arranged for me to be on her sister's ward after I got out of ICU. I think we were both talking to keep from doing anything else and I really did need a change, no matter what else might happen.

"One of us has to change my diaper," I told her. Then I mimicked the way she'd made her offer in the parking lot. "You can do it, you can help me do it, or you can wait here while I do it myself."

What followed, after she followed me to my room, was the greatest sex I'd ever had with a woman. I'd given up hope and quit fantasizing that sex with a woman could ever be that wet and wild. Molly changed my perspective completely. She went after a piss flavored cock with as much gusto as Don had shown and after confirming that I had a plastic cover on my mattress, she drenched me with her pee when I asked for it. And when we fucked - not once, but twice - it . . . was . . . awesome!

And that was just the beginning. She insisted we shower together, and then on diapering me in one of the thick cloth diapers and plastic pants that I'd recently bought, and then we went to her place. I'm not sure when or where she sneaked in the call on her cell phone, but Bob and Melinda met us at the door wearing nothing but smiles and very wet diapers and knew exactly why Molly was so late getting home with the groceries.

And since I mentioned food, it might be a good time to tell you that Bob offered me the tastiest cock, the sweetest, creamiest cum, and the hottest, tangiest piss that any man had ever fed me. We hit it off from the moment we shook hands and after we got in each other's diapers, it just kept getting better.

So take your pick as to which 'accident' you think was the most important or influential. Obviously, the traffic accident that put me in the hospital was very important. I'm reluctant to say, 'critical'. Yet while that probably started it all as far as us meeting, there are so many other circumstances involved. For instance, normally I would have been sent to a different hospital, but since I wasn't deemed to be as critical as some of the others, they sent me to the one where Molly happened to be on shift. Had the accident occurred a few minutes earlier, I'd have already been sent upstairs to the ICU before Molly came on duty. Had that happened, she wouldn't have been able to have her sister follow up on me and they'd have never know about me at all.

And who knows for sure that it would have worked out if they'd called me out of the blue and explained what they wanted. I might have thought it a prank call and not responded at all. So Molly accidentally running into me in the store and then telling me in person was also important.

For that matter, Bob's accident equally important. If he hadn't hurt his back, he might never have discovered diapers and pee play, and Molly and Melinda would still be working at their former jobs at another hospital.

So call it fate, or karma or just a silly string of accidents; the end result was the start of a new and wonderful life for all of us. You see, Molly became my wife about six months ago! And the four of us, me, Molly, Melinda and Bob, have just bought a house in the suburbs of Cleveland where we have the privacy to dress as we please. Or not.

I think the builder is still wondering why we insisted we didn't want rugs on any of the floors!

Comments appreciated: amber_fountaine@hotmail.com