🏹 Simon's holidays
Part 5: Registration for Youth Services
⚠️ This is a work of fiction
⚠️ Reproduction and distribution prohibited
The journey to the meeting place proceeds in silence. I am still very upset about what is happening. I blame Dad, for not allowing me to stay home alone and for his absurd idea of sending me to a daycare center.
When he parks the car, it's 1:55 PM, and we only have 5 minutes to find the location for the appointment. Dad then takes a folder he had placed on the front seat. It likely contains all the documents he was asked to bring. I also think about that medical certificate required to justify my incontinence. I wonder if Dad managed to obtain one and how.
Both of us get out of the car, heading towards a stone building. According to the GPS, it's right next to our current location, so it must be the place.
Once near the door, we can read on it: "Youth Service."
"This is it," says Dad, reassured, "and we're on time, perfect."
"I need to pee," I say just before entering.
"Oh no, Simon, this is not the time. Remember, you're supposed to be incontinent and unable to hold it, so you can't use their restroom."
"But what do I do then?"
"You hold it or... you do it in your diaper."
"You want me to wet myself? In front of you?"
"That's what it's for. Besides, you'll have to do it when you're at the center. So you do what you want today, I don't care, but you don't make us look like impostors, so you're not going to the bathroom."
I can tell that Dad is very upset, and I don't want to push him too far. There's no way I'm going to pee in my diaper, so I'll hold it.
Dad goes to the reception desk, and we're asked to wait a few minutes because the person we have the appointment with hasn't arrived yet.
I still need to pee, but for now, I can hold it. It's been about 15 minutes, and Dad is getting impatient, and the lady at the reception must see that.
"My colleague, the one you have an appointment with, just sent me a message saying she has a car problem. She's on her way and should be here in less than 10 minutes."
Dad thanks her and looks at me.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"Yeah, I'm okay," I say.
I understand that he's asking about my need to pee. It has increased in the last while, but it's still bearable. It's not easy to think that I can't go to the bathroom just because I'm supposed to act like I'm incontinent, especially since the restroom is right in front of me. The pictogram on the door reminds me every time I look at it that I need to go more and more.
"Try a little bit, just to see if you can," he whispers in my ear. "It will relieve you if you can."
I shake my head negatively. I don't want to use my diaper. I know I'll have to do it, but not here, not in front of a stranger, and not in front of him.
Shortly after, a lady arrives.
"I'm really sorry," she says, "my car wouldn't start, and I had to get a ride."
"No problem, it can happen to anyone, and we don't have an appointment after this."
"Yes, yes, I have an appointment with the bathroom!"
"What's your name, young man?" she asks, looking at me.
"My name is Simon."
"Nice to meet you, Simon. Will you both follow me? I'll take you to my office for the registration."
As I stand up, I realize my need to pee is getting worse. Normally, I would have already gone to the bathroom, and walking past it to follow the lady intensifies my urge even more.
After walking a few meters to follow this lady, we enter an office where she closes the door behind us. The room isn't very large and has only one window that looks out to a wall. I wouldn't want to work here.
"So, we're here for your registration, Simon," the lady says. "You already told me you're 11 years old, so no issues there."
While talking, the lady is typing on her computer.
"I need the various documents I asked for, please."
Dad places all the documents on the desk one by one as the lady requests them.
"Alright," she says. "Now, I need a medical certificate. Do you have it with you?"
"Yes, here it is," Dad says. "As I told you over the phone when you called me, this is one of the spots we reserve for children with disabilities. You told me Simon is incontinent, right?"
"Yes, that's correct. Here's the document."
"In that case, I can confirm that this spot is available for your son. It's quite rare for us to have a child claiming this spot; it's mostly 'vacant.' I can see from your document that the doctor did write it down. Thank you."
The lady then continues to type on her computer. I imagine she's recording my fake disability, and this information will be transmitted to the summer camp.
"I need a bit more information about Simon. My questions might seem somewhat personal, but it's important for the camp staff to know."
"Go ahead," Dad says.
"I noticed that Simon is wearing a diaper. Is it only for urinary incontinence or also for fecal incontinence?"
How did she even notice that? I lower my eyes and see that my sweatshirt indeed doesn't cover my lower belly very well, and a white strip is visible beneath my jogging. I quickly hide it.
"It's only for urinary incontinence," Dad responds.
I understand that Dad has informed her that I don't have to do the other "business" in my diaper, and I'm relieved. It's already hard for me to imagine having to pee in it, let alone the rest.
"Alright, I've noted that; it's important. Can I ask if this has been a lifelong issue? You don't have to answer if you don't want to; it's just curiosity."
"It's since his mother's passing a few months ago. The doctor thinks it was caused by an emotional shock."
"Sorry, excuse me, I shouldn't have brought it up. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for both of you. Let's move on. I think, from a medical perspective, I have the information I needed."
"I have a question about the diapers," Dad says. "Do I need to provide them? Should I bring a large supply or just daily?"
"You won't need to worry about the diapers, cleaning products, or food. Everything is provided by the summer camp. It's a good idea to have one on Simon when he arrives, but when he needs to be changed, one of the supervisors will have everything necessary. There are even spare clothes in case of leaks."
"Perfect," Dad says.
The lady doesn't say "if he needs to be changed" but "when he needs to be changed." It's hard to hear, and I recall what Dad said about how I'll have to purposely wet my diaper.
Speaking of all this, it gives me an idea.
"Since we're talking about this," I say, placing my hands on my stomach, "could I use the restroom, please? I really need to go, and..."
"Of course, Simon, go ahead. The restroom is right by the entrance where you were waiting. We're almost done here with your dad. I need to have him sign the contract and the code of conduct."
I don't wait and, locking eyes with Dad, I open the door and exit. I'm so happy I've come up with this idea! Why didn't I think of it sooner? I rush to the restroom, close the door behind me, and lower my jogging and boxer to my knees. Just as I would with regular underwear, I lower the front of my diaper and start peeing.
It takes several seconds, and I feel much better once I'm done. I pull my diaper, boxer, and jogging back up. I decide to stay in the restroom for a while so that it doesn't look too suspicious to return so quickly.
I wait for a good three minutes, flush the toilet, and then exit the restroom. Dad and the lady are in the entrance, chatting.
"We were waiting for you, Simon," the lady says. "We've completed your paperwork, and I was telling your dad not to worry. Everything will be fine. The camp counselors are used to children who wear diapers. However, I'm not allowed to address you by your name."
"Thank you for telling me that," I say honestly.
It is indeed reassuring to know this. Not being alone will provide me with support and someone who can understand. Although, if it's a 4-year-old child, I can't picture myself having a conversation with them about diapers.
Dad and I say our goodbyes and leave the building to get back to the car.
"You did well," Dad says. "But you can't pretend to have to go poop several times a day, right? If your diaper is dry, they'll get suspicious."
"Yes, I know, Dad."
"You'll have to try to pee in your diaper when we're at home."
Great... What a brilliant idea...
"By the way, where did you get the medical certificate?" Dad asks. "I asked your aunt Frédérique, who's a doctor..."
"My mom's sister?" I ask, surprised.
"Yes. I told her a little lie, saying it was for a discount because I didn't have much money right now, and she agreed."
Dad is quite crafty, but also a skilled liar. Between his lies to my aunt and those he made for my registration, I'm seeing a different side of him. I'll remember this when he reproaches me for lying.
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