Thursday. So I gotta fly to Wick. at the very north of Scotland for a meeting tomorrow. Tiny turbo prop airplanes, and I’m scared as hell in Jumbo jets! So I take precautions, put on an Attend and my heavy nite-time plastic panties under a long, loose skirt. I rustle a bit, but I’ve long since learned that if folks notice they assume it’s sanitary protection. I just hope I don’t get body searched!

First flight is to Inverness. Not too bad, small British Airways plane, but at least it’s a jet. I sit rigid at take-off, then relax a little as we level off. There’s a family on board, little girl of five, boy of seven, taking the whole thing in their stride, not worried at all. I think how silly I am, a grown woman in a diaper, making a fuss where little kids take it all so calmly. I can’t explain it. I’m terrified. Landing. The little girl smiles at me. I try to smile back, can’t let the terror show, mustn’t burst into tears or suck my thumb. The plane touches down, smooth as silk. I realise I haven’t needed to pee at all for the entire trip. Unusual. Must’ve been cos I was concentrating on looking calm. Inverness airport is always a noisy place, crowds of oilmen just off the rigs, weeks of no alcohol or women and they’re making up for it. I don’t mind the whistles or the comments at all. The very best person I know is an oilman, and I got real sympathy with the guys. Also, a girl is absolutely safe with forty half-cut oilmen flirting with her. Peer pressure will stop anyone getting obstreperous, but I wonder how they would react if one of them did get a hand up my skirt! I book in with Gill Airlines. Nothing against the company at all, in fact they were real nice the one time I saturated a seat. It ain’t their fault that twelve seater turbo-props are my worst nitemare. Take off. I’m holding on so hard my knuckles are white. Funny, still no need to use my diaper. I know I should, much better to wet slowly rather than let your bladder fill up, and a little wet would calm me down. I push, but nothing happens.

Guy beside me on the seat asks if I’m OK. He’s about fifty, grey hair, a bit overweight, kindly face. I don’t think he’s trying anything on. He tells me he has a daughter my age and she’s scared in planes too. Sweet of him! We chat, and I feel much better. He even unwraps the in-flight cookie for me cos my hands are trembling.

We come into land. I hold this guy’s arm so hard I just about cut off circulation, but I don’t scream or cry. Nor do I experience any desire to wet myself. Maybe I’m learning to fly at last. My friend’s going on to Orkney, and I take a cab to my hotel.

Ain’t it weird in the 1990s that receptionists in country hotels still think a woman on her own is up to no good. Hell, I ain’t even dressed tarty, but she seems to think I’m up there whoring. If I was wearing panties I’d puddle her carpet.

Suddenly I feel a familiar warm wetness. Can’t be! I grab my key and walk as fast as I dare to my room. Into the john and drop my skirt. There’s a puddle of pee caught in my plastic panties, and my Attend is absolutely saturated! I got no idea when I wet it. On the plane to Inverness, flirting with the roustabouts, landing at Wick?

I burst into tears. This might seem odd to those of a genuine Adult Baby persuasion, but I don’t want to loose control or become diaper dependent. I get my kicks wetting deliberately. Sometimes, like when I’m really concentrating or scared I’ve wet myself involuntarily, but there’s always been some feeling. Judging from my diaper, I’ve been wetting constantly for about four hours without realising it. I calm down, change, go for a meal, and am relieved to find myself needing to go to the john and knowing that I do. I do not wet my panties.

Friday. I’ve got several meetings and I wear a real neat trouser suit, nicely tailored. I decide panty lines would spoil it, and underneath I put on a real filmy black nylon g-string. No protection there at all, so I’d better be careful. The day goes on and on. Suddenly I realise I’m late for my plane! Cab gets there just in time, I check in my trunk and board. Made it! Oh dear....

I haven’t had a chance to change out of my business clothes. My diapers are in my trunk, and I won’t get to it until I reach my final destination! I grit my teeth, survive take-off, no darkening of the crotch. Scared to death as I am, I still take off my seatbelt and visit the john, try to squeeze my bladder dry, refuse a coffee in spite of a dehydration headache. Landing. I push my thighs hard together, keep my thumb well away from my mouth, grit my teeth. Made it. I find I’m trembling, almost rigid with fear. The stewardess is real sweet and helps me to my feet. She wouldn’t have been so nice if I’d flooded the passageway!

In the airport john I check my panties, a little damp, as is the crotch of my pants, but hardly noticeable. I got a spare pair in my purse and I change. My flight’s called and I make sure my bladder is totally empty.

This flight’s nowhere near as scary, and I cope, even having a coffee. As we land I feel a familiar rush, but force my thighs together and manage to control it. Feel quite proud, until I remember that most girls learn to do that when they’re about three!

I get my trunk. No need to diaper now, cabs don’t scare me a bit. Mind you, maybe I should’ve gone to the restroom before calling one. I bite my lip. Surely I’m not about to stay dry on two airplanes then puddle in a cab. Home at last. I pay the cab and stand on the sidewalk with my trunk.

No urgency now. Plenty of time to make it upstairs. But why should I? I open my legs and quite deliberately soak pants and panties, watching the puddle grow between my feet. Folks walk by, looking interested or shocked. I smile serenely at them before wiggling my wet ass upstairs. I don’t really like accidents, but deliberates do turn me on.

Michelle