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