A Quiet Decision – Chapter One – The Pharmacy Visit
The sliding doors of the pharmacy whispered open with a soft whoosh as Alex stepped inside, heart already pounding in his chest. The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, making the world feel both overexposed and strangely artificial. It smelled like antiseptic and scented laundry detergent—clean, neutral, impersonal. Comforting, on most days.
But not tonight.
His fingers fidgeted inside the sleeves of his hoodie as he paused just past the entrance, pretending to study the seasonal aisle display of vitamins and foot massagers. His mind raced.
You don’t have to do this, it whispered. You could order online. No faces. No shame.
He had thought about that. In fact, he’d nearly gone through with it last week, only to close the tab at the last moment. But something about it didn’t feel the same. Too easy. Too far removed. Too much like avoiding the truth.
No. He needed this—to cross that threshold. To stop hiding from something that had quietly shaped the corners of his identity for as long as he could remember.
The idea of being padded. Comforted. Small. It had never gone away.
He made a slow loop through the store, pretending to browse. Vitamins. Snacks. Shampoo. All distractions. He caught his reflection in the glass freezer doors—twenty-three years old, normal on the outside, but beneath it? Nervous, curious, aching to know what it felt like.
And scared out of his mind.
Finally, he stood at the edge of the Incontinence / Personal Care aisle. He glanced left, then right. No one.
He stepped in.
The packages looked bigger in person than they had online. Bulky plastic bags lined the shelves in neat, color-coded rows. Depend. TENA. Always. NorthShore. Some had smiling seniors on the front. Others looked more clinical, like medical supplies.
He hovered in front of the pull-up section, pretending to read the labels. Maximum Absorbency. For moderate to heavy leaks. Day and night protection.
The words made his stomach flutter.
He reached out and picked up a pack of Depend Real Fit briefs—medium size. Gray. Discreet. He’d read about them in forums. Good for beginners. Not too loud. A safe first try.
He clutched them awkwardly under his arm like he was holding a secret, and maybe he was. He turned to leave the aisle, but—
“Hey there,” said a soft voice behind him.
Alex nearly dropped the pack. He spun around, heart leaping into his throat.
A young woman in a blue vest stood a few feet away, arms casually folded, a friendly expression on her face. Early twenties, maybe. Brown ponytail. Name tag: Jenna.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, seeing his reaction. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just noticed you were looking around a bit—wasn’t sure if you needed help finding the right brand.”
His mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.
“I—I’m okay,” he stammered.
Jenna gave him a small smile. “Totally fair. Just figured I’d ask. It’s a lot to take in the first time. Honestly, we get that a lot more than people think.”
She stepped a little closer, her tone shifting from customer service chirpiness to something gentler. “Is it for you? Or someone else?”
Alex hesitated. His chest felt tight. But something about her tone—nonjudgmental, calm—nudged the truth out of him.
“…For me,” he said quietly.
She nodded like he’d just told her he liked tea instead of coffee. “Got it. Thanks for telling me. Okay, so those ones”—she gestured to the pack in his arms—“are a solid intro choice. Discreet, not super absorbent though. Okay for short stints, light leaks, or experimenting.”
Alex flushed, gripping the pack tighter. “I’m just trying them. Not sure how much… I need.”
Jenna crouched slightly to pull another package from a lower shelf. “These might interest you if you want to feel more protected. NorthShore pull-ons. A bit bulkier, but they hold a ton. Good for overnights or longer wear.”
She stood and handed the package to him. Their hands brushed. Alex took it slowly, unable to speak. The sound of the plastic crinkling between his fingers was deafening to him, though Jenna didn’t seem to notice.
“There’s no right place to start,” she said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “And no shame in exploring. We all have different needs.”
He gave a tiny nod.
“If you ever have questions, I’m usually working evenings. And don’t worry—your secret’s safe with me.”
She winked gently, then turned and walked away, leaving him frozen in place, cheeks burning but… strangely okay.
It was the first time someone had spoken to him about this without any hint of shame.
At the counter, the cashier barely glanced at his items.
“Need a bag?”
“Y-yeah.”
She slid the packages into a plain white plastic bag without flinching. No weird looks. No comments. Just another transaction.
Alex tapped his card, took the bag, and walked out into the cool night air.
The second the doors shut behind him, he felt it—that rush of adrenaline, embarrassment, disbelief.
I actually did it.
The drive home was a blur. He kept glancing at the bag on the passenger seat like it might disappear. The plastic rustled softly when he took a turn, and each time it did, his stomach did a flip.
When he finally shut the door of his apartment behind him, locking it twice, he let out a long, shuddering breath.
His fingers trembled as he carried the bag to his room.
He took out both packs and set them on the bed. Just looking at them felt surreal. The NorthShore one crinkled under his touch—sturdier, thicker. The Depend pack was softer, more discreet.
He opened the Depend one first.
The smell was clean. Faintly sweet. He ran his hands over the pull-up. The elastic waistband. The soft, papery outer layer. The leg gathers.
This is mine. I’m really going to wear this.
He stripped out of his jeans and boxers, heart pounding in his ears. His skin was flushed. Exposed.
Sitting down, he slowly stepped into the diaper.
It hugged his hips gently. Snug, not too tight. Soft between his legs. He stood and looked at himself in the mirror.
A padded boy stared back. Not a man. Not quite a child either. Something in between.
He shifted. The diaper rustled, soft and crinkly. He ran his hand down the front. It wasn’t bulky, but the padding was there. Comforting. Present.
Alex lay back on his bed, letting the diaper cradle him.
The ceiling blurred as his eyes prickled.
Not from shame. Not anymore.
From something else.
He felt… safe.
The kind of safe he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.
Wrapped in softness, heart finally still, he let himself breathe.
And smile.
The End of A Quiet Decision – Chapter One – The Pharmacy Visit
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