Mondays this year started with double Math, a subject Lee found inutterably dull. In kindergarten and in first and second grade Math had seemed practical, with an emphasis on working out change while buying, settling bills, etc. Now in fourth grade it seemed to have wandered off in a world on its own with long division and the incomprehensible necessity of 'finding x'. Fifty minutes in, Lee felt the familiar heavy sensation on his bladder.
He knew, of course, the theory of keeping dry; how you tensed certain muscles and not others and thus held the moisture in. He tried it now, willing his sphincter to close in a watertight seal. Mr Pauls, the stern, grey-haired gentleman who taught the subject, evidently took Lee's discomfort for intense effort in solving the problem before him, for he called out 'It'll come eventually, Cross." That was what Lee was worried about. Despite his best efforts he could feel the first dribbles working their way down.
Although diaper-wearing might have become more acceptable, wetting or soiling yourself in class was still something you were taught to feel humiliated about - and the teachers didn't mask their disdain for the new regime largely being foisted on them by parents and child development academics. Lee put his hand up as he felt the first drops making their way out of his penis.
"Yes, Cross?"
"Please may I be excused, sir?"
Titters from the class - everyone knew what that meant - though rather less, and rather more subdued than they might have been. After all, many of his classmates were in the same boat.
Mr Pauls frowned, adjusting his spectacles. He was a strict teachers' union man who had opposed the introduction of the changing stations, arguing that it was the parents' problem and students who failed to display proper toilet training progress should be treated as special cases, if not excluded until they were properly trained.
"I think, Mr Cross, that it's high time you learned some self-control. You can finish that problem you were agonising about, and then you can go."
Some whispers from the class. This wouldn't have been on even before the current trend of later training; students wearing diapers themselves anxiously checked their spares and wondered how they were going to make it through the year with four periods of Mr Pauls a week.
"Sir, I really need to go now." Lee felt the drops become a trickle. Not for the first time he blamed his parents for their attempts to wean him off diapers by buying the cheapest, least absorbent variety in his size possible.
"I think you want to skive off my lesson and blame poor bladder control. Some of us had the good grace not to use that excuse in our own education. Well, I won't tolerate it this year. Mr Cross, you'll remain in this class until I see a complete, correct Question Four."
Murmurs now from the class. The trickle in Lee's diapers became a dribble. The techniques he'd picked up from the Government PSAs they put on between almost every Saturday morning cartoon were completely useless; if anything they seemed to be making things worse. Lee's face was bright red. This was worse than being the one kid in class who couldn't control their bladder - now teachers like Mr Pauls saw it as an act of war. No doubt he'd seen the other kids who were back in diapers and was determined to make an example.
The dribble became a stream, and the stream became a flood. He felt warm wetness spreading out from his crotch, and knew within minutes it would have seeped through the useless cheap diapers and down his legs or spot his trousers. Even with Carmen at his side he didn't think he could go the rest of the day with urine stains visible to all on his trousers. This was a nightmare.
Finally, with nerveless fingers, he put what he thought was the answer to the question and fumbled as he scooped it up and took it over to Mr Cross, bending at the middle as he went in an attempt to keep the wetness contained in the diaper.
"Thank you," said Mr Cross, and Lee felt a moment of relief. Now he would be allowed to change into his spare and clean himself up before third period. "Unfortunately, it's not right. Please return to your desk and try again. Try re-ordering the question first so x is the subject." Some laughter as Lee returned to his desk, but also low, angry muttering.
"Please quieten yourselves and concentrate on your work," admonished Mr Cross.
Lee sat, twitching fingers making chicken-scratch marks on the paper as he tried to unravel the absurdity of algebra, feeling wet rivulets finally breaking through the edge of the thin, unabsorbent diapers and trickling down his leg.