🎢 Mathilda at Europa-Park
Part 5: Journey to Europa-Park
⚠️ This is a work of fiction
⚠️ Reproduction and distribution prohibited
My urge to pee intensifies as we drive along. I glance at my cousin, and she doesn't seem to have the same need.
It feels like we haven't been on the road for very long, so I hesitate to ask my aunt to stop at a highway rest area.
"Do you need to go, too?" Faustine asks me softly.
"Yeah, a little, but I'll hold it."
"Mathilda, ask Mom to stop; she'll do it."
"But we're already behind schedule, and a stop will make us lose even more time. Please don't say anything."
I say this because I don't want everyone to lose time on the journey because of me, but I'm not feeling great. My bladder reminds me constantly. I know I shouldn't be doing this.
The atmosphere in the car is still good. Mom and aunt share childhood memories, making us laugh.
Every laugh is a challenge for me as I have to concentrate to avoid a pee accident. Moreover, it's aunt's car, and I doubt she'd be pleased if I peed on her seat.
I tell myself I need to ask to stop; if I wait any longer, it will be a disaster for sure.
"Mom, can we stop, please? I need to pee."
Surprisingly, it's not me who said that but Faustine.
"Already?" her mom replies. "Sure, no problem. I'll stop as soon as I can."
I look at my cousin, and she smiles at me. No doubt she understood that I couldn't hold it any longer, so she made the request for me.
I realize once again that she is much more mature than me. She's the one wearing diapers, but I'm the baby...
"Thanks, Faustine," I say quietly.
"I just saw a sign saying it's another 15 km," aunt says. "Can you hold it?"
"Yes, Mom, I'll be fine," Faustine replies.
Mom turns around, and our eyes meet. I wonder if she understands what's going on. In any case, my legs are bent; it feels like it's preventing my pee from coming out. I hope that by straightening them when I get out of the car, I won't release everything at that moment.
These two family days at Europa-Park would start off badly if I were to have an accident less than an hour after leaving. I did go to the bathroom before getting in the car, so I wonder if stress is causing this urgent need.
These 15 km pass quite quickly, thankfully. The car slows down, and my aunt finally parks. We're not very close to the gas station toilets, but at least they're real toilets, as Mom would say.
"Come on, let's all take advantage and go," Mom announces.
I only think about how Mom and aunt watch me get out of the car; they understand that the urgent need to pee is mine, not Faustine's.
Walking towards the restroom is a challenge. I take tiny steps, hoping to hold it in. I also hope there won't be a line for the bathroom.
I should have asked Mom for a towel this morning, but I didn't think of it; it could have helped relieve some pressure. Anyway, it's too late now.
We enter the gas station building where the toilets are located. With a quick glance, I spot the area. I immediately see the symbol indicating the women's toilets.
A small stress hit me; there are people waiting to get in. Adults and children wait in a more or less orderly fashion.
The men's toilets are accessible, and there's no one waiting. I'd like to go there, but I already know Mom's response: "Absolutely not, it's dirty, and there might be strange men."
However, I really need to use the restroom, and quickly, very quickly. I won't be able to hold on much longer. Both of my hands are on my crotch, and the pain is becoming intense.
"I can't hold it anymore, Mom," I say in a desperate voice.
It's true that seeing the wait prolong for the women's restroom isn't helping me much.
"Oh, look," Faustine says, pointing to a door, "the baby changing room just became available."
Indeed, a little girl about 8 years old and her mom come out. I think many of us are watching them leave, but Mom grabs my arm and pulls me inside.
I barely have time to see that the little girl coming out is wearing a diaper peeking out from her leggings. Even though we're not the same age, I can't help but think that could be me.
"I figured there would be toilets for little ones in this room, and there are. That's good," Mom says, locking the door behind us.
And I never imagined ending up here this morning when I woke up! My eyes wander over all the elements in this room.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Mom asks. "Hurry up, pull down your leggings, and pee."
It’s true that I always want it, very much want it even. And so I look at this little toilet, it must have already been too small for the little girl who has just come out, and is therefore even more so for me!
“But I can't pee here mom, the seat is too small.”
“Look, it's certainly a little small, but it will do the job very well!”
Mom doesn't wait for my response and even less for me to react. She walks towards me, grabs me under the arms, and carries me to the front of the toilet. She then suddenly pulls me down, and my leggings and my panties, and makes me sit on the seat.
It's not very comfortable, I can feel that my buttocks are overflowing a little on each side, but instinctively my bladder starts to open the floodgates and my pee starts to come out. How good does that feel.
Meanwhile, Mom got up and inspected the room herself. While still peeing, I did the same and noticed some kind of dispenser. Mom looked at it too. There were drawings of... diapers on it.
Oh yes, that's it, it's a diaper dispenser, and Mom is examining it carefully while I'm peeing in 2-year-old children's toilets. From what I can see where I am, there are different types of diapers, some that pull up and others with Velcro, and in each type, there are different sizes.
I'm afraid of what I'm imagining... No, it's not possible that Mom could be thinking of making me wear a diaper. The situation is already humiliating enough.
Finally, my pee is over, and I wipe myself with paper before standing up. As I go to pull up my panties and leggings, I see Mom looking at me. Or rather, it's not me she's looking at but my panties.
I do the same and notice that they are a little wet.
"What do we do?" Mom asks me, looking me straight in the eyes. "Didn't you feel that you had an accident?"
"No, I think I just really had to go, and a little pee came out."
"We'll have to find a solution, Mathilda..."
"No diaper, Mom," I say, also looking her straight in the eyes while pulling up my panties.
I'm really scared of what she might make me do, and I feel like I could start crying fairly quickly.
I feel my wet panties, and it's not pleasant. Now I pull up my leggings, and I can see that they too are slightly damp. What a shame for me if someone sees me like this, whether it's strangers or even Aunt and Faustine.
Mom seems to be thinking.
"You'd be more comfortable, you know," she adds.
"Please, Mom, don't make me. I'm not a baby; it was just an accident. If there hadn't been so many people waiting for the bathroom, it wouldn't have happened."
"But look at your cousin; she's wearing one, and she's not a baby, just as a precaution."
Mom says something that makes sense, I know. If I had accepted Faustine's offer to wear a DryNites this morning, I wouldn't have wet my things.
There's nothing to say, and I lower my head, breaking eye contact with Mom. She moves closer to the dispenser and examines it more closely.
I feel uneasy and walk towards her. I need her comfort. After a few steps, I find myself right next to her, but she doesn't pay attention to me.
As I raise my head to see hers, I can now get a closer look at the images on this diaper dispenser.
"I have the impression that some of these diapers would fit you, especially these Ninjamas," Mom says while pointing to the diapers she's talking about, and I see four different kinds. Mom is reading while I look at the drawings. I can see that there are two girls' models and two boys' models. Among the girls' models, I try to find the difference between the two, but Mom explains it to me:
"Oh, there are two different sizes, one for 4-7 years old, and another version for 8-12 years old."
"Mom, I'm not going to wear that, am I? Look, it's meant to be worn under pajamas!"
"But that's just the packaging; it's because kids wear these diapers when they pee in bed, but it works the same way during the day, you know."
Well... I'm still not convinced by what Mom is saying. And even if I were, I don't want to wear diapers during the day.
"Mathilda," Mom says, squatting down to my height, "I know it's not easy for you, but this solution is probably the best while we're in this amusement park."
"But Mom..."
"Let me finish, please. Look at Faustine; she's wearing one. She won't make fun of you, and neither will your aunt. As for the people we'll encounter, I guarantee they won't see anything at all. And even if it were to happen, these are people you'll never see again in your life."
I listen to Mom, and deep down, I know that her solution is probably the best, as she says, but it's hard to resign myself to accepting it.
"Are you okay to try? We'll see how it goes throughout the day, okay?"
"Okay, Mom, I'll give it a try."
Well, after all, no one should know or almost no one. In the end, it's just my self-esteem that takes a hit.
"You're making the right decision, Mathilda," Mom replies while standing up and taking a two-euro coin from her bag.
I see her insert the coin into the dispenser and press the button below the drawing of the desired diaper model.
While a mechanical noise is heard, and the receiving hatch lights up, my body goes into a trance. My mind goes into a safety mode in the face of danger and disconnects. I am unable to move, unable to think, my five senses no longer capture any information.
Time seems to freeze, and when I come to myself, Mom is in front of me. I can't say how much time has passed.
"Are you okay, Mathilda? It looked like you had, like, a... absence!"
Even though I understand what Mom just said, I am still unable to respond.
"Oh, Mathilda, you had another accident!"
Wait, what is she talking about? It's only when I feel dampness at my crotch that I understand. It's only after lowering my gaze that I realize... I peed myself, or more precisely, in the diaper that Mom must have put on me during that moment of absence because I don't remember anything.
"Well, fortunately, I put it on you," she says while squatting in front of me again.
I feel my heart racing, and its beats seem so strong that they could be heard from outside the room. My face goes from the pale complexion of a girl who doesn't get enough sun to a scarlet red. I'm hot, very, very hot.
I peed standing up, in broad daylight, in front of Mom. I wish I were a little mouse, running to hide in a small hole, and never come out again, ever.
"Calm down, Mathilda, it's not a big deal, everything's fine."
Mom hugs me, and gradually, I calm down. I feel Mom's arms hugging me in the upper back but finally descending to my lower back, resting on my diaper. Now I feel her hands lightly pressing my diaper, as if checking its condition, whether it's a small pee or a bigger one, maybe even checking if it's a bowel movement.
"It's quite wet; I think it's better to change it now rather than waiting for another accident."
How is it possible to have peed in this diaper to the point that it needs to be changed already, when I just peed in those tiny toilets just a few seconds ago? And Mom is already talking about another accident. That's two already today; I really hope there won't be any more!
"Fortunately, the dispenser gave me two," Mom says while tearing one side of the diaper. I only had one coin in my wallet.
Mom now tears the other side. I let her do it, but unlike earlier, I am fully aware of everything that is happening.
I'm actually surprised not to feel embarrassed. The situation is quite awkward: a girl my age is getting her diaper changed by her mom at a highway rest area. If classmates saw this, I'd be the laughingstock for days, maybe even for years.
Mom now removes the diaper from between my legs and throws it into the bin right next to us. I can see that this bin has already been used a lot, as many diapers are already in it. There are ones with various colors and different patterns, but on top is seemingly the same one that Mom just took off me.
I immediately think of the little girl who was coming out of these toilets before Mom and I rushed in so I could pee.
I had noticed as we entered that she was wearing one because it peeked out from under her leggings. She probably changed to a clean one.
I don't have time to dwell on that thought as Mom then presents the second diaper in front of me. I instinctively put one foot in the opening, then the other. Mom pulls the diaper up to my knees and continues to the top of my thighs.
It's like I'm going back in time, no longer 9 years old but 2, and learning daytime potty training. I feel like a little girl again, but it's not unpleasant, just embarrassing.
Mom now pulls the diaper up over my buttocks, covering them completely. I have to admit it's comfortable, even though I find myself somewhat ridiculous when I look at myself.
Just when I thought Mom was done, she checks that the elastics are well-positioned and for that, makes me turn around.
"Perfect," she finally says. "I'll pull up your panties over it; they're a bit damp, but you shouldn't feel anything with your diaper."
As she speaks, she does just that, pulling up my panties and doing the same with my leggings.
I see the damp spot at the crotch, but I don't feel anything thanks to this diaper. Normally, a diaper is designed to keep urine away from clothes, and here it's the opposite, which feels strange.
Then I think about Aunt and Faustine. Will they notice my change of condition? Will they see that I've gone from being a young girl to a baby wearing a diaper?
Mom is observing me now that I'm dressed again, and I feel like she can see what I'm wearing underneath.
"If someone knows, they might have doubts about what you're wearing under your leggings," she tells me. "But rest assured, no one will know, so don't worry and just act normal. Take a few steps."
And there it is, from the first step, I realize that it's not the thickness I have to fear but the sound. Even if it's not very loud, I clearly hear a slight rustling sound of plastic when I move forward.
"Once again, Mathilda, don't worry. Yes, your diaper makes a little noise, but it's very faint, and no one will hear it. There are always ambient noises around us, and you'd have to have your ear glued to you to detect the sound of your diaper among all the others."
Mom is probably right; it is indeed very faint. However, what is certain is that this diaper makes its presence felt with each of my steps. I feel it rubbing against my thighs, and its thickness is substantial, much more than one of Mom's sanitary napkins.
"Shall we go out, sweetheart? Aunt and Faustine must be really wondering what we're doing."
Mom called me "sweetheart." It's been years since she said that. Without saying anything, I join her near the door, and Mom opens it.
There's still a long line to get into the women's toilets, maybe even longer now. At first glance, I don't see Faustine or Aunt. Mom seems to be looking for them too.
"I don't see them," she says. "Can you stay alone while I go pee too?"
"Yes, Mom, go ahead."
While Mom gets in line, I start to observe people. First, to try to find my cousin but also to see if anyone is looking at me.
At first glance, no one pays attention to me, and I gain a bit of confidence.
"I'll check the shop to see if they're there," I tell Mom as we move away from each other.
"Don't go too far and don't go outside," she replies.
Like earlier, I feel my diaper between my legs, but I try not to pay too much attention to it. I then remember that my leggings are wet, and as I lean slightly forward to check, I find that they still are. The stain is visible, and I blush in fear that someone will see me like this.
So, I decide not to stay in the middle of everyone and move closer to the walls. That's how I enter the shop and start looking around.
Failing to find Faustine or Aunt, I find all sorts of goodies that I crave: cereal bars, biscuits, drinks, magazines, sandwiches.
Suddenly, I come face to face with the mom and her little girl who were coming out of the toilets. It's this girl that I suspect is wearing the same diaper as me. My gaze automatically goes to her shorts, and I think I can indeed see that there's a diaper underneath.
When I lift my head, I see that she is also observing me. Her gaze, just like mine a few seconds ago, is directed towards her crotch, but the difference is that my leggings are wet.
When her head finally rises, her eyes meet mine. I know she saw that I peed myself, but I don't know if she understood that I'm wearing a diaper.
"Amélie," the woman next to her says, "it's this package here!"
Amélie, that's her name, and this woman is most likely her mom.
It's surprising, by the way, we're in Germany, and they're speaking French. All around me, people are speaking German, and I don't understand much. Yet, the two people I spotted are speaking French.
In her mom's hands, I can see a package, and it says: "Ninjamas 8 - 12 years old." No doubt now that she also wears a diaper.
Amélie turns her gaze away to see what her mom is showing her. I can sense her embarrassment as her face turns bright red when she sees the package. I would be the same if Mom held a package of diapers meant for me in her hands, especially in front of other people.
That's when Amélie's mom sees me, and her eyes immediately focus on my wet crotch.
"Oh my, have you had a little accident?" she says.
I'm in a panic, and this is exactly the kind of situation I dislike. The attention is on me, and I am, how should I put it, in a delicate position because of my wet leggings.
"Oh, but you probably don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?" she adds. "And I don't speak German!"
Now I understand that she thinks I'm German and don't speak French.
"Oh, but everything is fine," she continues after seeing my distress. "Where are your parents?"
Without really thinking that I could provide an answer, she looks around the shop to try to find people who might be looking for me.
I'm completely unable to respond, too embarrassed by what is happening.
"Look," Amélie suddenly says, "I wear a diaper, it prevents accidents."
And as she says that, she shows me the top of her diaper. She probably says this out of kindness, but it reminds me of my new condition as a diaper wearer despite being 9 years old. Amélie talks to me too, thinking that I don't understand her.
"I don't see anyone who seems to be looking for you," her mom says, bending down. "Don't be afraid; I'm not mean, and you can trust me."
I still don't know what to do or say, too ashamed to be in this situation. I imagine that Mom will still take a while in the toilet, and only Aunt and Faustine could get me out of this.
If I speak and she understands that I also speak French, she will likely ask questions and won't understand if I don't respond. So, for now, I prefer to decide not to say anything.
I see this mom becoming more interested in me, and I'm not sure how to tell her, or rather make her understand, that I don't need help.
"I'll stay with you until we find your parents, I prefer that. As for your accident, can I take a look?"
Before I can answer, she's already placing a hand on my diaper.
"Oh, but you're wearing a diaper too. It has a leak, though. I can give you a clean one if you want; we'll buy a new pack for Amélie. Stay with us; we'll go to the checkout to pay, and then we'll wait for your mom."
But no, my diaper doesn't have a leak, and no, I don't need help. If I weren't so shy and stressed, I could tell her what really happened. I feel like she imagines I could be her daughter, alone in a highway rest area, and she would like a mom to take care of her while waiting for her to arrive.
"But tell me, what's your name? I'm Agathe, and my daughter is Amélie."
While saying this, she points to herself and then to Amélie.
"Mathilda," I say.
"It's a very nice name; I love it," she responds. "In any case, even if we can't talk, at least we know each other's names."
The three of us head towards the checkouts, with Amélie's mom holding a pack of diapers. I didn't really have a choice. When she started walking, she put her hand on my back to make me move forward.
Certainly! Here is the translation:
As we stand in line to pay, I notice my aunt a little further away, and she seems to be looking for someone, probably my mom or me.
"Don't worry, Mathilda," says Amélie's mom, "I'm sure we'll quickly find your mom."
"I see my aunt over there, should I point her out? I'll go join her," I say.
"Well, that's good, but wait, do you speak French?"
"Yes," I reply timidly.
"You could have told me, little rascal," she says with a smile. "Alright, I'll pay, and then I'll come with you to see her."
Quickly, the purchase is made, and the three of us head towards my aunt, whom I haven't taken my eyes off during this time.
"Ah, there you are, Mathilda," she says upon seeing me approach. "Faustine and I were starting to worry. Where is your mom?"
"She's still in the restroom, I think," I say.
Faustine is with her and looks at me. Just like Amélie and her mom, she notices that my leggings are wet, but it seems that my aunt hasn't seen it yet.
"Hello, ma'am," says Amélie's mom. "I apologize for interrupting. I found Mathilda alone in the shop, and I preferred to keep her with me until we found someone from her family."
“Good morning, ma'am, that's kind of you, thank you.”
“Oh, but it's normal. I imagined that it was my daughter, and I would have wanted someone to stay with her until we found each other. I wanted to tell you that Mathilda had a little accident. Her diaper leaked, and she needs to be changed. If you want a clean one, I can give you one; I just bought some for my daughter.”
That's when my aunt looks at me more attentively.
“But Mathilda doesn't wear diapers, my aunt responds.”
While saying this, my aunt bends down to be at my height and feels my crotch and my buttocks.
“But Mathilda, you are wet, and you have a diaper on? How long have you been wearing it?”
Well, I no longer have a choice, I have to explain. And then I begin to recount the different events that have taken place since we were in the motorway rest area: the line for the toilet, my accident, the purchase of diapers, putting them on, my wait for mother in the store and meeting Amélie and her mother.
Everyone listens to me, without interrupting me. It's not a very glorious story to tell, but at this point I have nothing left to hide. Besides, mother arrived towards the end of my story and therefore also met Amélie and her mother.
“Thank you for taking care of my daughter, she said rightly when I finished.”
“As I told your sister, it's completely normal.”
“Can I offer you a coffee?”
“Why not, yes, with pleasure.”
“Girls, adds mom, you can go play, but don't move away, okay?”
All three of us nod but, as we were about to move away a little, mom calls out to me.
“Mathilda, come closer to me please, I want to check something.”
I had barely gotten closer to her when mom, in turn, felt my buttocks.
“But tell me, haven't you already had another accident?”
“No mom, I answer honestly, but also embarrassed to be asked that in front of everyone.”
Without warning me, or even asking my opinion, mom pulls down the front of my leggings which are still wet. With her free hand, she presses the diaper to my crotch. I'm ashamed, and I think I'm blushing like I've never blushed before.
Without warning, or even asking for my opinion, Mom lowers the front of my wet leggings. With her free hand, she presses the diaper to my crotch. I feel embarrassed, and I think I'm blushing like never before.
“I think I did the right thing by insisting a bit to make you wear this diaper, she says quite loudly, it's wet. It doesn't seem like it needs to be changed right away, though; we'll do another check before getting in the car.“
On this remark, Faustine, Amélie, and I move away.
“I wouldn't have liked to be in your place, says Amélie.“
“Me neither, adds Faustine. But tell me, didn't you realize you had peed in your diaper?“
“I didn't feel anything, I say a little embarrassed.“
While chatting, I glance from the corner of my eye at mom and aunt talking to Amélie's mom. I can see that mom has the package of diapers bought for Amélie in her hands. No doubt she's also talking about me.
“Usually, I say, when I'm stressed, I pee in my panties, and I feel it right away, but this time I didn't feel anything with the diaper.“
“It's made for that, you know, says Amélie. I wear them very often during trips or in places where I might not be able to go to the bathroom quickly, and it has regularly saved me from an accident in public.“
“I'm like you, says Faustine in turn, except that I also wear them at night because I wet the bed.“
I listen to the two of them talk, and they have similarities. Amélie wet the bed for a long time but stopped less than a year ago. Both of them are not too worried about what others might say if they see what kind of underwear they're wearing.
Time passes, and we start discussing various things. That's when our moms come over.
“It's time to go, girls, Mom tells us.“
“We have to go too, Amélie's mom says to her daughter. Say goodbye, Amélie?“
“Goodbye, everyone.“
“Goodbye, Amélie, Faustine and I say to her.“
And it is while looking at her slightly rounded buttocks that I see Amélie leaving. This reminds me that I also wear a diaper, and that I peed in it without realizing it earlier. Mechanically I move my hand to my crotch and press lightly.
“Oh yes, it’s true, mom said to me, I had almost forgotten your accident. Follow me Mathilda.”
Without immediately understanding what Mom wants to do, I follow her while looking at Faustine and my aunt.
Mom heads towards the store, and it's in the aisle where I met Amélie that I understand what Mom is up to: getting a pack of diapers, the same as Amélie's.
So, with a pack of diapers in hand, Mom and I head towards the checkout. I look around to see if anyone is watching us.
There's this boy at the checkout in front of us. He must be a little older than me judging by his height. He looks at Mom, the pack of diapers, and then at me and my wet leggings.
His little smile makes me understand that he gets it. Initially embarrassed and worried, I thought he was making fun of me, but upon further thought and looking at him again, I understand that it's a compassionate smile. He's not making fun of me at all; quite the opposite. His smile is like comforting words, and it makes me feel better. It's as if I realize that not everyone is there to judge me or laugh at the situation.
In return, I smile at him, and I see him happy. He's probably German, and we'll probably never see each other again. These few seconds have reassured me, and it's without hesitation that I accompany Mom once again into the baby section.
Mom then helps me undress and remove the wet diaper to put on a clean one.
Not a word is exchanged between Mom and me until I'm dressed again. I feel serene, and I think Mom is too.
It's her who hugs me first before leaving, and if she hadn't done it, I would have.
"I'm glad it went like this," she says while still holding me in her arms.
"Me too, Mom."
And so, wearing a diaper under my slightly wet leggings and with an opened pack of diapers, we return to the car.
This stop at that German highway rest area was like a revelation for me, and I think I'll remember it for a long time.
Why reject the idea that wearing a diaper might be a simple solution to my bedwetting issue? After all, what do I have to lose by trying, as Mom said.
The car is moving again, and a few minutes later, Faustine calls out to me:
"Something has changed in you."
"I think I'm starting to understand," I tell her with a wink.
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