Regressive Ad Campaign:Part 9



By Sage Ann

This story is set in the incredible world created by AlteredStates14. Her universe is brought to life not through traditional written narratives, but through a powerful collection of images—advertisements, media articles, and other visual artifacts—that vividly capture everyday life in her setting.
All images associated with this story are her original work. Please consider supporting her so we can continue to explore and enjoy more of this fascinating world.
You can find her work here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/alteredstates14
Another author has also written a story based in this universe from a different perspective. You can find it here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/fatherfish/art/Pampers-and-Propaganda-1028729633



Kalie woke to the distinct sensation of dampness. For a moment, she lay perfectly still, hoping it was just sweat or perhaps a spilled glass of water she didn't remember. But as full consciousness settled over her, the warm wetness between her legs told a different story. The pull-up, snug against her skin, had done its job—containing what would have been a mortifying accident. Instead, it had merely become a mortifying discovery.
She sat up slowly, pushing back her covers with trembling hands. The pull-up felt heavy, foreign against her skin. She pressed a palm against it through her pajama pants, feeling the squishy give of the saturated material. Her stomach clenched.
"This isn't happening," she whispered to her empty room. But it was. Somehow, after years of dry nights, she had wet herself in her sleep. Like a child. Like the thirty girls in her class whom she'd silently judged.
A knock startled her. "Kalie?" Her mother's voice was cheerful. "Time to get up. Breakfast in fifteen."
"I'm up," she called back, her voice cracking.
"How did you sleep?" The question hung there, innocuous but loaded.
Kalie hesitated. "Fine," she managed. "Be down soon."
Footsteps retreated, and she breathed again. With quick, efficient movements, she peeled off the wet pull-up, folding it tightly and burying it beneath tissues in her trash can. She showered quickly, scrubbing at her skin as if she could wash away the evidence, the shame.
When she finally made it downstairs, Mary was already at the table, spooning cereal into her mouth with her usual enthusiasm. Their mother stood at the counter, packing lunches.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Mary chirped, her green eyes bright. Then, leaning closer as Kalie sat down, she whispered, "Mom already changed my pull-up. I totally soaked it."
Kalie stared at her sister, the casual admission stunning her into silence. Mary continued eating, untroubled, while their mother hummed by the sink.
"Did you, um," their mother began, her tone carefully neutral, "need to change this morning, Kalie?"
The heat that rushed to Kalie's face felt like it might burn her alive. "I'm seventeen," she hissed. "This was just—it was a fluke. It won't happen again."
Her mother nodded, but her smile held something knowing that made Kalie's stomach twist. "Of course, honey. But you should take another pull-up for tonight, just in case."
"One accident doesn't mean I need diapers," Kalie insisted, the word 'diapers' feeling like a stone in her mouth.
"They're not diapers," Mary interjected, licking milk from her spoon. "They're protective undergarments."
"Whatever," Kalie muttered, her appetite vanishing. She pushed back from the table. "I'm going to be late."
---
The school day crawled by, each minute stretched into an eternity of self-consciousness. Kalie found herself counting again—not just the girls she knew were wearing protection, but everyone, wondering who else might be hiding the same secret she now carried. Was every trip to the bathroom a desperate scramble? Did everyone else feel this constant, nagging awareness of their bladder?
In fourth period, the pressure began—a subtle signal she would normally ignore until the next break. But today, each minute amplified the sensation until it dominated her thoughts entirely. By the time the bell rang, Kalie had broken into a cold sweat, her teeth clenched against the growing urgency.
She bolted from her seat, weaving through the sudden flood of students in the hallway, the bathroom seeming impossibly far away. Each step was a negotiation with her body—hold on, just a few more seconds, please, please, please.
The bathroom door swung open under her desperate push. A stall door, a fumbling with her jeans, and then—relief. She sagged against the wall, breathing heavily, her heart hammering in her chest. So close. Too close.
She washed her hands, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. What was happening to her? She'd never had trouble holding it before. Was it psychological, knowing she'd wet the bed? Or was something else going on?
The rest of the day, she found herself mapping the locations of every bathroom, calculating distances and timing her water intake with mathematical precision. By the final bell, exhaustion had settled over her like a heavy blanket.
---
On the bus ride home, she flipped through a magazine someone had left behind, desperate for distraction. Her eyes caught on a full-page advertisement: a smiling teenage girl in a stylish outfit, books clutched to her chest. "Freedom from Worry," the headline proclaimed. "Why more teens are choosing daytime protection."
The copy below was cheerful, matter-of-fact: "No more bathroom emergencies. No more anxiety during tests. No more embarrassing accidents. And the best part? No one but you and Mom have to know what's keeping you confident all day long."
Kalie stared at the page, her fingers numb against the glossy paper. The girl in the ad looked so normal, so unconcerned. Was it really that simple? Just give in, wear the pull-ups, and stop worrying?
She closed the magazine with a snap, shoving it away. No. She wasn't going to let one accident—two, if she counted last night—redefine her. She was seventeen, practically an adult. This was ridiculous.
The bus halted at her stop, and she stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. As she stepped down onto the sidewalk, a sudden, intense pressure gripped her bladder—the kind that admitted no negotiation, no delay. Kalie froze, a desperate gasp escaping her lips as warmth flooded her jeans, running down her legs in rivulets that darkened the fabric and pooled in her shoes.
Time seemed to stop. The bus pulled away. A few younger kids walked ahead, oblivious. And Kalie stood motionless, her body locked in shock as the last drops emptied from her bladder.
When she could move again, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely undo the arms of her sweatshirt from around her waist. She tied it low, the sleeves straining to encompass her hips, the material hanging just low enough to cover the worst of the evidence. With stiff, uncomfortable steps, she began the walk home, each movement a squelching reminder of her humiliation.
The house was mercifully empty when she arrived. She peeled off her sodden clothes, showered for the second time that day, and buried the jeans and underwear at the bottom of her hamper. She would wash them herself, she decided. No one needed to know.
But when she returned from dinner at her grandmother's that evening, her mother was sitting on her bed, the damp jeans folded beside her.
"I was sorting laundry," she said simply.
Kalie stood in the doorway, her body rigid with defensive anger. "I can explain—"
"You don't have to," her mother interrupted gently. "Honey, it's okay. These things happen."
"Not to seventeen-year-olds," Kalie's voice cracked. "Not twice in one day."
Her mother patted the space beside her. After a moment's hesitation, Kalie crossed the room and sat down, leaving a careful distance between them.
"What happened?" her mother asked.
The gentleness broke something in Kalie. She stared at her hands, which were numb, but she felt a warmth in her chest, an uncomfortable heat that she recognized as shame. "I almost didn't make it to the bathroom at school. And then, getting off the bus, I just... couldn't hold it. It happened so fast."
Her mother nodded, no judgment in her expression. "I think, maybe, it would be a good idea to wear the pull-ups during the day too. Just for a while."
"Even Mary doesn't have to wear them during the day," Kalie protested, the unfairness stinging.
"Everyone's different," her mother replied. "And Mary didn't have an accident today."
Kalie's eyes burned with unshed tears. "What if someone finds out?"
"The ad says no one has to know but us," her mother said, and Kalie realized she must have seen the magazine too. 
"You sound like a commercial," Kalie muttered.
Her mother laughed softly. "Maybe. But it's true. Your clothes will hide them. No one will hear them. And you won't have to worry about finding a bathroom in time."
The argument made a horrible kind of sense. The relief of not having to worry was tempting—seductively so. Kalie stared at the pattern on her bedspread, tracing it with her finger.
"Fine," she whispered finally. "But just until this... whatever it is... passes."
Her mother squeezed her hand. "Of course. Just until then."
But as her mother left the room, Kalie couldn't shake the feeling that she had just crossed some invisible line, and that returning to the other side might not be as simple as she hoped.