Phone Conversation

[fyunch]

The suspense is killing me.

[fyunch]

Please sir I want some more.

[freswith]

OK - I'm writing!

[warpiper]

Come back, Freswith! Come back! We miss you so!

[freswith]

Thank you - I'm still here, but I've just been busy.

[Sarah Penguin]

Thank you - I'm still here, but I've just been busy.

[freswith]

Dreams

I had broken my resolution to stay out of the nursery at Pembroke over Christmas - it was just the place where, at bath-time and bedtime, everything went on and I was needed there.  This was a "sleepover" for the children, and allowed them a rare chance to have one - it ws normally ruled out by the "special needs" of the girls, and it also allowed their parents to socialise later in the evening.  It was already far later than the children's usual bedtimes, and there were signs of them becoming overtired and tetchy.

While Juliet was bathing Holly, I had the job of trying to keep young Jack from badgering his cousin Alice as she was engaged on the changing-table.  Jack was the last person on earth to appreciate that although Alice was a remarkably sensible, even-tempered child, she had her limits.  It's one thing to be laughed at for playing with dollies, but it's quite another to be taunted about still being a baby and having to wear nappies while you are obliged to lie splay-legged on the changing table as your private parts are being anointed.  Alice kept trying to pull the front of her nappy up to cover herself while her tired and distracted mother kept pulling it down to apply the ointment.  Eventually Alice won her dignity and held her nappy up firmly while it was being pinned on each side.  I managed to get in between Jack and Alice  as her pants were being pulled up, as she would then be freed of the changing table and able to murder her slightly smaller cousin. 

Jack realised the danger he was in and started his retreat.  By the time Alice's sleeper had been snapped shut between her legs Jack had a sufficient head start to make his getaway from the infuriated but awkwardly waddling Alice.  Unfortunately he tried to run out of the door just as William and Viola were entering, and he was skilfully fielded by the Leading Child.  Viola gently restrained her little sister  before she got her hands onto Jack and the rest of us just stood and laughed.  At that moment Juliet appeared from the bathroom with a freshly-bathed Holly and enquired what the disturbance was all about.  She was told that Jack had been teasing Alice about her having to wear nappies, and there was an expectant silence as the children waited for justice to be done.  It was a serious offence; family tradition demanded that girls should never be tormented by anyone for their particular shortcoming, and it was reinforced by all the other females of the family.   We looked to Juliet for the necessary judgement and punishment of her child.  Jack looked back at her fearlessly, his lower lip pursed in defiance, and it was obviously going to be difficult, particularly as he faced a full coven of us women who had all - except Clare - suffered the same humiliation at one time or another.  Juliet asked Jack why he had been doing it.

"Only babies wear nappies!" he retorted.  "Alice wears nappies, so she's a baby.  A baby girl.  I don't, I'm a boy and I've grown up.  I don't have to wear nappies anymore.  They're for babies!"  He looked for support towards the William, the Leading Child and the only other male in the room apart from the infant Hal,  .  "Isn't that true, William?"

William slowly drew breath, and looked at Viola.  It occurred to me that he seemed to be much closer to Viola than he had ever been before, and he was obviously weighing up his answer carefully.  Viola still wore nappies to bed, indeed she had been wearing one all that long Christmas day, and it had been needed, too.  Now he faced decision time; whether to back his fellow boy-child, who was only speaking the plain unvarnished truth, or whether he would protect the feelings of his - well, it must be said - new girlfriend.  At that moment he chose to cross the Rubicon into adulthood

"You shouldn't say those things, Jack, Alice can't help it and she needs them at night.  You shouldn't tease her about things she cannot help, it's rude, it hurts her and it doesn't make you look any better.  How would you feel if you had to wear them and people taunted you for it?"

The fight went out of Jack and he seemed to shrink.  He was hopelessly outnumbered by superior forces.

Juliet took her cue.  She took a fresh nappy off the shelf beneath the changing table, and slowly kite-folded it on the top.  She added a pair of baby pants, carefully checking them for size, and then she beckoned to Jack, who stood paralysed with horror at her obvious intent.  William put his hand behind Jack's shoulders and nudged the little boy towards the changing table like a felon being dragged to execution.  The rest of the room was a frozen tableau as the tears could be seen welling up in Jack's eyes.  I was caught in two minds; in one I could see myself being dragged to that table.  It had happened, and there had been a dreadful scene, floods of tears, a terrible indignity, and eventual submission, and it horrified me.  The other was feeling was of more recent origins.  On occasion I had been dragged to the bed by Matt and forcibly - well, to be honest, not so much forcibly as quite willingly - nappied as the start of a long sex game.  I felt myself licking my lips at the thought of it, and that was quite wrong.  As Jack started to cry I managed to stir myself, and found my voice.  As the chief of the Vestal Virgins there present I realised I had the power to pardon, to cut the halter that had dragged justice into the mud of law, and to heal the wounds.

"Enough!  It's Christmas!" I said, "This is wrong!"  Then, turning to Jack, I said "Jack, say you're sorry to Alice, and promise not to do that again!"

Jack, now utterly contrite, grasped at the unexpected straw.  Half-blubbing, he managed to make a sincere apology to Alice and I could see her ruffled feathers relaxing.  The tension evaporated and the crisis was over.  Claire and Juliet made much of their children and then separated them by putting them into their beds.  Holly, temporarily forgotten, wandered over and took station by the changing table where her nappy awaited her ready-folded.  There were to be no compromises this night - the children had been well-fed all day and there had been no cautionary restrictions on what they could eat or drink.  As a result the nappies were very much for use rather than for precaution, and nobody expected them to be dry in the morning.

Juliet finished settling Jack into his bed and turned her attention to Holly.  Juliet looked at Holly in quiet consideration, then she added a booster and a muslin liner to the nappy on the table.  Holly's shoulders sagged slightly; that bulk of nappy would spread her legs and oblige her to sleep on her back, one leg akimbo, at least until the nappy was well saturated and I knew that Holly preferred to sleep on her side.  Juliet was obviously taking no chances tonight, and didn't want to be wakened for a large change in the small hours.  The muslin liner also implied an insult; Holly was never dirty, but the liner, really meant to avoid any chafing, suggested that she might be tonight.  Juliet gestured her daughter to take her accustomed place in the middle of the mountain of towelling, which, after shrugging off her bathrobe, Holly reluctantly did.  Jack watched, but remained silent as his big sister was carefully and properly nappied for what promised to be a long wet night.  Juliet knew her business, and no towelling was left poking out of Holly's plastic pants to wick moisture into the bed sheets.  Eventually Holly was escorted by her mother and bedded down in the spare bed in Viola's room.  Of Viola and William there was no sign, and Viola's nappy was left folded ready for her on the changing table.  Although she was normally allowed to look after herself in this respect, Clare was determined to keep an eye on her daughter and ensure there was no absentmindedness or forgetfulness in this respect.  Viola would be reluctant to be exposed on the changing table if William was anywhere around; puberty had plainly raised its ugly head there.

I couldn't sleep.  Christmas had been just too much, and my mind kept churning over all that I had seen and heard.  Vickie's admission that she was in the family way had provoked a brief flurry of alarm, swiftly damped down by Granpa and Granma who laid down the official Pembroke Line with a firm authority: Vickie and Simon were to be married as soon as possible, and that was that.  The Cambridge academic career that Vickie's father had so carefully prepared for her was consigned to the breaker's yard, and, as far as I could see, no one was more relieved than Vickie; she had finally escaped her over-controlling parents.

Simon had been welcomed into the breast of the family, and had had his first exposure to the family secret.  He wasn't formally told, but he must have realised that all the young girls in the family were wearing nappies, and yet he made no remark at all, and I assumed he had been briefed beforehand.  Simon was very obviously a gentleman to the core and naturally no gentleman would ever comment on such a thing.

I had managed to have a little chat to Vickie in private, and after expressing my relief and congratulations, I had managed to oil my way out of being a bridesmaid, on the grounds that having a supermodel as a bridesmaid would expose her to the risk of being upstaged at her own wedding.  I would be there of course, my contractual obligations permitting, but strictly in the background.  She wouldn't lack for pageboys and bridesmaids, and William, as Leading Child, would make a good job of keeping them in order.

What was bothering me was not Vickie's problems, or what was now her lack of problems, it was my own relationship with Matt.  I just wanted to be with him, but he had his practice in the middle of Devon, and I was based in London and New York for just too much of the time.  I was successful, and making a vast amount of money, but what appeared to be a glamorous life was in fact very hard work, and I really needed more time for myself - and for Matt.  I thought of Vickie with her peaceful domesticity and I envied her.  I thought of her baby-to-come and I envied her even more.  My lifestyle may be "fabulous", to use that much-overworked word, but it was really painfully shallow and unfulfilling, and I felt it was time to make some changes, to get my priorities right.

I thought of what life might be like if I lived with Matt in Devon, and commuted to London.  That would be hard work - it's a hell of a drive, particularly as Lucy is not really the best car for that sort of thing.  I also thought of Matt - I knew he was not very happy about his choice of practice down there - he didn't get on with the senior partners and they didn't get on with him.  I wondered if he could find a job in London, or even to take over his father's practice when he retired.  I had, half-jokingly, promised to marry him if he joined the Navy, and had been quite pleasantly surprised by the speed with which he accepted.  I am sure he could put up with that, but whether I could make the necessary sacrifices to be a service wife was quite another question.  Besides, I wanted the full proposal, down on one knee, diamond ring in the little box, the works.  My status as a supermodel demanded it.

I thought of what life might be like married to Matt with children at my knee.  Somewhere nice.  Even Matt's practice in remotest Devon sounded nice.  Cream teas, little girls in sundresses, and Oh God! Nappies because they were incontinent.  Changing my little girl on the lawn, soggy wet nappies ruining the afternoon.  Bugger.  Another dream shattered.  Perhaps I would have a little boy whom I could toilet train.  Like little Jack.....  Little Horror!  Frogs and wasps!...  Screams and tantrums...Sunburn...  Oh Lord, give me motherhood - but not just yet....

A warm hand slid around my waist and caressed my stomach, and I returned to the present in time and place.  To the king-size bed in my mews house in London, to the large man lying behind me, to the sex games we had enjoyed, unencumbered by having parents or children in the next room.  The hand moved downwards until it met the top of my plastic pants.  This time and place was very nice, and perhaps it should be enjoyed whatever the future might hold.  It was time Matt was allowed to unwrap his Christmas present, and so I rolled over towards him and reached around him and squeezed.  I would make the very most of this night.

 

[derj]

YEAH! A new chapter!

[Sarah Penguin]

Good as always

[freswith]

The Beach.

I hunkered down between Juliet and Vickie, making full use of the concealment offered by their distended abdomens, torn between envy of their impending motherhoods and smug admiration of my flat, toned stomach and bikini bridge.  It had been a hectic few months, not just job-wise - I was in huge demand - but also on the family side, and I was now catching up.  The first surprise came with an email from Mother informing me that Juliet was expecting another baby, and it was due close to the same time as Vickie's.  I was to be a maiden aunt yet again, and I wondered if I should buy myself a pair of reading-glasses as a prop.  The next, nasty surprise came when Peter and Simon's squadron received orders for Afghanistan.  I hadn't realised the Navy would be involved in all that, but their Lordships of the Admiralty obviously had, and both Peter and Simon were over the hills and far away. - The Queen Commands and We Obey!  This had flung the family into something of a crisis, and everyone was drafted in to provide moral support for the two abandoned expectant mothers.  Dad's holiday cottage, a couple of hundred yards from Peter's and Juliet's home, was in almost continuous occupation as one after another of us came down to visit Juliet and Vickie.

Vickie in particular needed support.  Just nineteen, newly married, and with a baby on the way it had been particularly cruel of their Lordships to send her new husband to war.  Her parents had done everything they could to persuade her to come home so they could look after her, but Vickie was determined to keep house for her absent husband, and to wait there for him. In fact she was enjoying her freedom, and certainly didn't want to have to return to the over-protective, smothering hot-house which her home had become.  She had moved on.  Her wedding had gone very well.  Simon was very popular on the Squadron, and there had been a large turnout for the rapidly-organised nuptials.  Vickie had looked simply gorgeous, and when I showed the pictures to my manager Julian he fumed and gnashed his teeth and chided me again for not getting her on the books of Marguerite's model agency, where there was so much money she could have made - but there it was.  She had chosen her own way.  I had helped her plan the wedding whenever I had the time, and had helped with things like the dress, and doing a very professional job on her make-up, but I need not have feared that I would outshine her - she had positively glowed.

Another surprise had come from the grandchildren.  The girls had engaged in a ferocious challenge and had actually succeeded in getting themselves dry - a feat which had taken everyone by surprise.  It had been the first family wedding I had ever been to where there were no changing-bags tucked into a pew somewhere - even little Alice had achieved it, beating her sister by a couple of weeks, although she had remained nappied at night to let her big sister preserve face.  Fortunately it all came off without accident, to the great relief of William, who as Leading Child had the organisation of the bevy of bridesmaids at his sister's wedding as his huge responsibility.  Three doubtful bladders had been a sizeable worry to him, and his hesitant suggestion that some protection might be a good idea caused an immediate savage revolt.  As it turned out, all had gone well although Viola had announced that she was no longer on speaking terms with William.  The end result had been a burgeoning of self-confidence amongst the three children that was glorious to see.

The sun was too hot on my front, so I rolled over onto my stomach to even out the tan - tan lines were the curse of my profession. The talk drifted on, for some reason to tattoos.  Juliet inspected my back and asked me if I had ever thought of getting one, as they were rather fashionable.  I thought of the fouled anchor that adorned Granpa's hairy arm and was repelled.  I was also mindful of the tattoo I had seen on another model during a shoot in Thailand, a pretty butterfly in the nape of her neck, and had thought it very graceful, offset with a line of Thai script which she told me was a saying from the Buddha.  Shortly afterwards one of the Thai waiters told me that what it actually said was "Open Other End".  I had been put off yet again.

Jack was busy making a sand castle that would repel all invaders until the tide came in and overwhelmed it, and Holly was nominally helping him, while taking time off to frown at the noisy youths playing football a little further down the beach.  She obviously disapproved of their brash and rowdy play, but I noticed that she still kept looking at them just the same, although trying very hard not to show it.  I found myself smiling. The chemistry had evidently started and the wheel of life was turning.  That brought me back to the present situation: the expected babies.  I asked if the scans had shown if they would be boys or girls.

There was a sudden silence.  "Girl!" came the reply from both simultaneously.  I replied with approval, but it sounded hollow.  I well knew that Juliet had spent most of her life either wearing or changing nappies, and was now facing another decade or so if the rogue gene reappeared in her new daughter, and Vickie could well face the same situation.  I realised how lucky I was.  I only wore when I wanted to, or judiciously after I had been drinking too much, but recently I had been so busy that it had, sort of, slipped my mind.  Now that Matt was away on a course, and I was otherwise unoccupied, the memories came back with a rush.  The memories of being changed by Peter - swiftly suppressed in the presence of his wife - the safety, comfort, and the feelings of being pampered and loved that had accompanied them.  Matt knew this very well, and played up to me, and it was one reason why I loved him and had eyes for no other man.  I remained lying on my front where my reactions were much harder to read.

The same thought had obviously occurred to Juliet.  "I'm kicking myself for getting rid of all Holly's stuff." she said. "I thought I was finally done with all that.  There was some good stuff there too, still plenty of life left in those cloth ones." 

Holly plainly overheard her, and in embarrassment shuffled a few yards further away from us, and towards the boys and their football game.  Juliet's eyes followed, noted, and then returned to us. "Mind you, I'm sure Peter won't mind forking out for a new lot."  I quietly agreed with her.  I had long suspected that Peter had thoroughly enjoyed changing me in the years that I had worn them for real.  I had always loved the moment when he ran his fingers around the leg elastics of my plastic pants, pushing them up under my freshly-changed nappy, tucking them in to prevent leaks.  I found myself doing the same now, although my bikini bottom hardly represented baby pants.  I had chosen a bikini with the fuller rear as being more suitable for Porthleven than Copacabana, but for a moment it was Peter's fingers, and plastic rather then Lycra.  Then for another, longer moment, it was Matt's fingers....

"What does Peter think about it?" asked Vickie carefully.

"Oh I don't think he'll mind." came the reply, "Changing a baby is changing a baby, isn't it?  He changed Holly, he changed Jack, he'll change the next one just the same.  He used to change you, Amelia, didn't he?  He did it very well, in fact I think you quite enjoyed it."  I caught the tease in Juliet's voice.  It was time to enter the conversation before she goaded further.  I rolled onto my back, and checked the position of Holly.  Before going into battle it would be desirable to ensure that non-combatants were out of earshot.

"Not as much as Peter used to enjoy it!" I retorted sweetly.  There was a moment's silence as the shot went home.  "It was so easy.  Whenever I wanted a bit of attention, all I had to do was pee myself and Peter would come running to change me."  Granpa, when telling us one of his stories, would say that you could tell when a ship was hard hit when a puff of smoke was driven from its funnel; I saw the equivalent in Juliet's face.  I had gone too far and it was time to withdraw.

"Do you mean you wet your nappy deliberately?" came Holly's shocked voice.  I hadn't seen her creep back to rejoin us behind me. I was in too deep now to back out. Wetting deliberately had always been the ultimate crime. I simply nodded.

"Holly, didn't you ever do it? Be frank now, you wake up wet and it's hours before you are due to be changed and you are busting to go.  You are not allowed to take your nappy off until your mother comes in.  What did you do?"  Holly reddened, looked sideways rapidly, and hesitated.

Juliet chuckled. "If you didn't let it go into your nappy, you are the only person who didn't.  Oh, the relief! Oh, the pleasure of being able to get back to sleep!  Who ever cared or knew if the nappy had been wet already."  Holly giggled and blushed even more; she had joined a grown-up conversation and had learned there can be a cost in doing so.

Vickie nodded quietly. "If you've got a nice big soft nappy on and it's already wet, what's the difference?" she said. "Better that than getting up, waking Mum, and being told off and changed.  And there was always the danger you might wet a second one before morning.  The only problem came if you had mistaken the dampness of perspiration and condensation for pee.  I did that several times, but then, who noticed?  As long as I kept quiet about it nobody knew or complained.  However, I never wet in order to get someone to change me, although, when I think about it, the idea has its attractions..."

The baton passed back to me.  Confession time again - cap my own story or withdraw.

"There are even times today." I said, "The bathroom in my house is downstairs and it's a long traipse at three in the morning.  There are times when I could do with a nappy."

There was a brief, strained silence.

"On a long drive..." replied Juliet.

"At the cinema..." murmured Vickie.

"At school, during double Maths..." added Holly.

The problems of having undersized bladders were all too obviously hereditary.

[WBDaddy]

Wonderful!

[derj]

[fyunch]

You rule, Freswith.

[freswith]

Thank you, fans - here's another one....

The Call

I wasn't in a hurry;  I let it ring.  I had a few more days down here with Matt before the Fashion Weeks' circus started again and I would be off on the circuit - London, Milan, Paris, New York.  Like a gipsy I would be cursed with never sleeping in the same bed twice, or crossing the same river twice in the year.  At least in London I would be able to use my own little house, and in New York I could use Marguerite's lovely flat by Central Park, but the rest of it would be hotels, and whatever I try to do, I cannot quite relax in a hotel, however fine it might be.  In particular I cannot indulge my other little hobby, which requires a great deal of privacy.  At least Matt was understanding of it, and indulged me accordingly.  This morning, before leaving for surgery he had put me in my nappy, and left me with strict instructions not to take it off by myself, but to wait until he returned.  I obeyed, of course.  That way I could keep part of Matt with me while he went about his doctoring duties, although, alas, I would have to stay indoors on this wonderful August day.  I couldn't really fit my jeans over my nappy in such a way as to conceal it, and it was far too hot to be seen wearing a long coat outside, so I had to make do.  Nappy, T-shirt, jeans, and long housecoat.  Scruffiness at its worst, but the warm soft bulk between my thighs, and the resultant sense of comfort and safety made it worthwhile.  It was such a hard life being Matt's little girl!

Eventually I rolled over and reached for the phone.  If it was one of those Indian call centres trying to sell me something, I would roast their ears.  It wasn't.  It was Granpa.  Instinctively I stood up smartly; Admiral Sir Jack Tarr required due respect for his signals, and I realised that he would not call me just for a chat - that was Granma's job.  The decks were about to be cleared for action.

"Ah!" he said, "Got you at last! There's trouble!"

"What is it, Granpa?" I replied, instantly worried "It's not Granma is it?"  Such is always the worry with the older generation.

"No.  It's Peter.  He's been wounded in Afghanistan.  Seriously." He said.  I was instantly fully attentive.  "His helicopter was shot down, and he's been badly injured."

"Christ!" I replied, forgetting for a moment that Granpa had strict rules on blasphemy.  He let it pass.

"Juliet's in a panic, and we're all very worried about her.  You are nearest.  Can you help?"

I thought of poor Juliet.  Nine months gone, baby due any day now, two small children already and effectively alone down there.  "Chr...  I'll do what I can!  I can get down there by tea time if I fly."

"Splendid!  Your parents are preparing to go, but it will be a couple of days before they can make it.  Car in for service or something.  Can you hold the fort until then?"

It wasn't a question.  It was an order.  "Yes, Granpa!"

I grabbed my windcheater and  threw some things in my bag,  mostly cosmetics - that's a habit for a model - added a few pairs of knickers and bits, tucked my hair up under a cap, and darted for the door.

Shit!  I must tell Matt!  Damn it! it was almost like being married - then for a moment I thought it WAS like being married.  I had someone to care for me, to look after me, to worry about me, and to support me in an emergency, and it felt very good.  I held the idea for a few seconds, taking comfort from it, and then phoned the surgery.  When I finally got through, Matt was busy, and so I had to leave a message with the receptionist.  I had to repeat it slowly before she understood that this was a purely private emergency and I didn't require an ambulance to be sent to Bagram Base.  Then I grabbed my handbag, and went for the door.

I was ten miles down the road before I remembered that there was a certain bulkiness between my thighs which really shouldn't be there, but by then it was too late to turn back.  That would have been disastrous, and worse it would have destroyed the splendid drama I was acting out.  I was still thinking through this new problem when the Tamar bridge flashed by and I was in Cornwall.  I soared past Launceston and up over Bodmin Moor - always the best bit of the journey - and was coming down the other side when the amber light came on.  Lucy the Lotus was running out of juice and something had to be done to feed her.  That meant stopping at a filling station.  Another problem.  My jeans were very tight, but the line of my nappy would be visible across my buttocks; and my little pink Lotus was very much my trademark.  I was seen in public wearing a nappy it would be all over the papers tomorrow.  I'd have to do something.  Then it occurred to me.  I was busting for a pee, so I could fill up, use the toilet, and get rid of my nappy. 

I pulled into the service area at Goss Moor, and pulled my windcheater down as far as possible.  I filled Lucy brim full and went over to the paydesk.  Bugger! There was a queue.  I felt eyes scanning me.  As I said, Lucy was always a give-away and at nearly six feet in my heels, there was no way I could hide.  I could feel eyes boring into me from a couple of unsavoury types, and I could sense them running their gaze over my body.  Sooner or later they could well query the unusual bulk of my rear, and start to speculate.  I had to do something to distract them, so I did the thing that will always get attention - I took my cap off and shook out my hair.  That brought their eyes up, and I gave them a nice big smile.  Not too much, but they stopped leering at my body for those few vital seconds.  That gave me time enough to pay for the petrol and  scuttle out of the door back to my car.  To my horror the layabouts started to follow me, so I got under way as fast as I could and left them in a cloud of rubber smoke.  I was well clear of the service area before I realised I had forgotten the other purpose of my visit.  As if on cue, my "bladder full" light started to flash.  I didn't dare stop, since I thought those two layabouts could well be trying to follow me, so I really had only one choice.  I relaxed and let it flow, and was comforted and relieved by the spread of warmth between my legs and under my backside.

I checked my mirror carefully for any suspicious vehicles that might be following me, both before and after the turn to Truro, and began to relax a little.  A car stuck its nose out of a side turning and nearly gave me a heart attack, so I eased off the throttle a bit and breathed deeply.  I had a sudden vision of being taken into casualty on a trolley, and being divested of my well-soaked nappy, and frankly the idea of the resultant questions didn't appeal at all, so I slowed down a little more.  Eventually I reached Dad's cottage without further incident and let myself in.  In ten minutes I had divested myself of my sodden nappy, dragged my hair into some sense of order, refreshed my make-up, and cool, calm Saint Amelia could complete  the short journey to poor Juliet's house to soothe the fevered brows and bring order from chaos.

I found that Juliet had already brought order from chaos and put the kettle on, but I was still very welcome.

[derj]

Thank you for the new chapter. Where thinking on the story to day.

[Sarah Penguin]

More fun stuff, thanks for sharing it

[fyunch]

I'm suffering withdrawal pains ...

[freswith]

OK, thanks for your support, I'll get on with it.

[freswith]

My Cover Is Blown

Juliet was very quiet during the journey.  I could hardly blame her; Peter had been wounded in Afghanistan and was on the way to the hospital in Birmingham where all the casualties were being treated.  I had offered to take Juliet up from deepest Cornwall to see him.  She had had only the barest details of the extent of his injuries, and had an awful lot to think about.  Added to that, the journey up from Helston to Winkleigh in my Lotus would be enough to worry anyone; not that I drive too fast (by my own reckoning) but the sensation of being so close to the ground makes it feel much faster.  We were both relieved when we reached Matt's cottage and were able to switch to his much more sedate and respectable Audi.  I was also much relieved to have Matt in attendance to look after the immensely pregnant Juliet.

Now we were on the second leg of our journey to Birmingham.  Matt had managed to arrange time off from his practice, even though the senior partner cared nothing about our servicemen, wounded or not, and sniffed at the idea. I watched the hackles rising on Matt, who had long been at odds with her intensely liberal views, but he kept his temper.  Now we had a long, boring journey ahead of us to what might be a very unpleasant scene at the end, and I felt I had to distract and entertain my sister as best as I could.  I asked after her children, always a safe subject with a mother, and discovered another situation I didn't want.

"Holly wet the bed." Juliet said, "Not that I can really blame her - the poor child was terribly overwrought by hearing about her father- but it was her reaction to it which worried me.  I played the whole wetting thing down, of course, but she took it much to heart.  She actually asked me if she could wear a nappy, and in my surprise I said "Yes, but we don't have any.""

"What did you do?" I replied, keeping the conversation going, and off the subject of Peter.

"She said she knew where there were some, and she was right. There was a small pile of them in the bottom of her wardrobe.  Heaven knows how I'd missed them; I'd made a big thing of chucking them all out when she was finally taken out of nappies earlier in the year, but I've no idea how I managed to miss those, and Holly hadn't remarked on them."

I digested the information; that certainly opened a door on Holly to an area I had never expected.  I thought I had been unique in enjoying wearing nappies, and I had hidden a stash of them in the roof space of my doll's house long after I had been formally declared dry at night.  Holly's stash had obviously been found, and I awaited Juliet's next remark with some apprehension.  I desperately wanted to know. Eventually I prompted.  "So did you put one on her?".

"In a moment of weakness, I did.  Not that I want to start all that again, but her own bed was stripped, and rather than go through all the bother of remaking it at that hour of night, I simply put one of the nappies on her, and took her into my own bed.  I was glad of the warmth of human company, and finally managed to get some sleep."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"It was.  She needed it."

"Oh Dear!  What will happen tonight?"

"That will be up to Mum - you know what grandparents can be like."

I sucked my teeth. I did.  In honesty it could go either way, and I decided to find out somehow.  "What would you suggest?"

There were a few moments of silence.  Then Juliet said: "I think I'd offer her one, but not force it on her.  She must have kept those few nappies deliberately, the same way you used to keep a few in the roof of your doll's house.  For comfort, for security, for re-assurance."

One of my most cherished illusions fell onto the soft carpeting of the car, and shattered silently into a million pieces.  I thought I had been so clever in my choice of hiding place, so cunning in keeping secret my fascination with nappies, yet I had just discovered that my big sister had known about it all the time.  I felt my blush running up my neck, behind my ears, and across my cheeks.  My cover had been well and truly blown.  My mouth was moving in denial, but no sound came out.  I looked at Matt for support, but he was quietly smirking, and his shoulders were shaking; he was laughing at me.  I prodded him in the ribs as hard as I dared - he was driving, after all.

"It was probably Peter's fault," continued Juliet, " I never should have let him change you, but he would persist, and it was obvious you were enjoying it."

Another illusion fell onto the carpet and shattered.  Juliet had seen straight through all my acting, my wriggling and kicking (carefully so as not to tear the nappy or injure Peter) and my protests.  It was true - horribly true - and I had enjoyed every minute.  I had enjoyed Peter's strong hands about my loins, I had loved the moment he drew the front of the nappy up between my legs, and I had loved the way he taped me in firmly.  Above all I had loved the feeling of him controlling me, and I exulted in how it gave me ultimate control over him - every time I wanted to, I just "had an accident" and he changed me - bang on cue.  I realised that it was what held me so closely to Matt, and his big hands, and his masterful manner - and to know all the time I was actually in control of him.  There is no more intimate way of controlling someone than putting them in nappies - it was not as good as sex, but it lasted longer and was effective even in the absence of the lover. It was what gave me the self-confidence to go out there on the catwalk, in front of all those people, wearing almost nothing - I was controlling them, holding them, the centre of their attention.  It was what made me pose and writhe and vamp for the photographer - I was controlling him, too.

Unfortunately it was the kind of revelation that should come about three-quarters of the way down a bottle of good wine, not on a motorway three-quarters of the way across the Somerset Levels.

I had to get at least one shot in before every one of my childhood secrets was laid bare in front of my lover.  "Did Peter ever get to change you?" I asked, in my best faux-innocent voice, and I waited.  Juliet couldn't deny that she still had to wear nappies when she first met Peter - she had told me that herself, many times.  I always wondered how Peter had felt about that, and now was the perfect opportunity to find out.  It was Juliet's turn to redden.

"No, not... not as such."

"But he knew you had to wear them?"

"I could hardly hide it.  When first we met I was sitting by the pond in just my blouse and nappy.  I thought the garden at Pembroke was so private that nobody could see in, but I hadn't counted on a boy who liked climbing trees.  To make it worse, I'd just wet myself and it was all sodden and swelling."

"Didn't he remark on it?"

"He just said it was cool."

Both of us went silent for a moment letting the implications settle in.  "Do you think he...?"

"Probably." said Juliet eventually. "It was unusual.  I was expecting to be laughed at or leered at, but, even then, Peter was a perfect gentleman.  What surprised me was that he came back.  I even had to wear a nappy under my jeans when we went to the zoo, and he didn't bat an eyelid."

"He sounds like a man in a million." I said, then remembered I was trying to keep her mind off Peter if I possibly could, but Juliet's mind was plainly elsewhere and she was staring into the distance, recalling some very personal memories.

"I was actually wearing a nappy when he kissed me for the first time." she continued, "And a good thing it was too...I had a little accident, but of course it didn't show under my shorts.  That was just before you turned up and spoiled everything by falling in the pond and Peter had to rescue you."

"Sorry, I don't remember that happening, but I've been told about it so many times."

"You were a right little pest, you were, but Peter always loved you."

That surprised me, and warmed me through and through.  I had had the usual little-girl-crush on Peter - he was the only young man around - but had imagined it to be a great secret when it must have been obvious to half the world.  It was the first time I realised that Peter must have loved me in order to put up with it all - it must have been very embarrassing for him.  I now felt rather guilty about getting him to change me whenever I could, even though I had loved him doing it at the time.  That kicked off other memories, of cosy nights and soggy mornings, of being cared for, of being warm and secure.  To think that I gave all that up for the Order of the Midnight Trudge!

Juliet seemed to be enjoying recalling her memories of Peter; perhaps she was counting her blessings, all the happy times she had shared with him, but it made me a little bit uncomfortable, and I was happy when we finally arrived at the hospital.  Juliet was by now desperate to get to Peter and make sure he was still alive; she had been assured that he was not considered critical, but she did not know the extent of his injuries.  When she finally reached the ward to find Peter propped up in bed and talking to his mother, Emma, her relief was palpable.  I hung back a little so as not to get in the way of their greetings, and found myself to be at something of a loose end.  While Juliet and Emma were making much of Peter, Matt introduced himself to the medics, and was briefed with Peter's condition, and, crowded out, I looked for somewhere to stash myself.  I noticed the lad in the next bed was looking at me wide-eyed, so I went to talk to him, and then to the next patient, and so on as the word went around that Amelia Grace the supermodel was on the ward.  I started to enjoy it, posing for selfies, autographing plasters, flattering, comforting, gently flirting (very carefully when their wives and girlfriends were present!) and spreading the charm.  Not so very different from my normal job, in fact.

Eventually, in the corner of the dayroom, there was one last figure who almost seemed to be avoiding me.  I looked around the wings of his armchair and recognised a familiar face.

"Simon, what the hell are you doing here?  We all thought you were still in Afghanistan."

He looked up at me sheepishly and said "The surgeon at Helmand took a long look at the little graze on my arm, and when I told her that my tour was almost over, she decided that I wouldn't be fit to fly for a couple of weeks, that there was some danger of infection and she might send me home.  I mentioned that I didn't want Vickie to know that I been wounded as the shock might have affected the baby she was carrying, blah, blah, blah, and she promptly put me on the flight back home.  I caught it at the last possible minute."

"Does Vickie know you are here?"

"I wanted to surprise her."

"Surprise?  Oh, Simon! She knows you've been wounded but she doesn't know how badly.  She's half out of her mind with worry. You've got to tell her straight away."

Simon nodded.  "You're right.  I'll do it now. Do you have a 'phone - mine's gone flat."

"Come on, it's over by Peter's bed.  The whole damn family is gathering there.  You are going to call Vickie and put her mind at rest, then we'll decide what to do with you."  I grabbed Simon by his good arm and marched him back to Peter's bed to retrieve my mobile 'phone.  After the briefest explanation I dialled Vickie's number myself, then when it started to ring, I passed it to Simon's good arm and withdrew.

The journey back to Devon was much easier.  Juliet would be staying at Emma's flat, quite close to the hospital, and Simon would be discharged to convalesce at home as soon as they were happy with him.  Mum and Dad were looking after Juliet's children.  That left Matt and me to our own devices.  We were both rather quiet at first, and I was turning the last couple of days over and over in my mind.  The family had co-operated like a well-oiled machine to cope with the emergency, and I realised again just how valuable those relationships were.  In two days time I would have to return to London and start preparing for the autumn season of Fashion weeks; New York, London, Paris and Rome.  I wouldn't have a day to spare for the next month at least, and I would be entirely on my own for most of the time.  I looked across at Matt, drinking in his face as the lights played across his features, making the most of his presence.  I would come back to Matt, eventually, but it seemed an age away, and I was going to miss him dreadfully.  Just at this moment I needed him, I wanted him, not just for his big hands and broad shoulders, but for the emotional support he gave me.  I could barely face a few weeks of separation from him; he was now an integral part of my life in a way Spike had never been.

Matt as the first to break the silence.  He had spent a lot of the time with his fellow doctors, and had had a long look at the work they were doing, and was hugely impressed.  He was very tired of his practice in rural Devon, handing out aspirins and endlessly trying to explain that antibiotics wouldn't cure colds; he had not gone into medicine for that.  He wanted to do something that mattered, that made a difference, and at the hospital he had seen people doing just the kind of things he wanted to do.  He had talked to the Senior Medical Officer at Culdrose, Doc Martin, and had been attracted by the life he led and the opportunities it presented, and was of a mind to take up his invitation to join the Navy.  That way he felt he would also fit in with Peter and Simon and the rest.

He then reminded me of my offer to marry him if he did.  He I knew I had made it in a light-hearted way, but the idea had taken root with him.  He asked me if I still meant it.  It was my turn to be silent for a bit.  It chimed with my thoughts exactly.  I replied that I would marry him if he whatever he chose to do, whether a country doctor in the back of beyond, or a naval surgeon, or anything.

[D503]

Thanks for the update - I love the moment our original protagonist reveals

[freswith]

Thank you -it's actually easier writing conversations as they flow maturally - the straight prose has to be woven together carefully to give continuity.

[WBDaddy]

Thank you -it's actually easier writing conversations as they flow naturally - the straight prose has to be woven together carefully to give continuity.

[warpiper]

How's the next chapter coming? I can't wait!

[freswith]

Thank you - I have it composed in my head, so all I need to do it write it.

[freswith]

Mister Tom

My euphoria lasted until I had crossed the M25 back into London.  The traffic damped me down, and the prospect of going back to work tomorrow brought me back to reality.  It had been a wonderful holiday, despite the crisis with Peter being wounded.  Matt and I had held off the announcement of our engagement until Peter was out of danger, not least because I didn't want to be upstaged: an instinctive reaction for the supermodel and businesswoman I had become.  The announcement had been greeted with unreserved delight from the family, and we had been ordered to report to Pembroke at the earliest opportunity for appropriate celebration, but now a bit of a reaction was setting in.  We hadn't been able to resolve Matt's future as we should have done; if he joined the Navy he could be posted anywhere, and while his present location in Devon was barely practical, the Navy still possessed many postings that were not;  I could expect to have to do a lot of travelling.

I was also feeling a little doubtful about what they might think at work. My job was London-based, but involved quite a lot of travelling as well as socialising - an essential part of keeping my face before the public.  Julian, my manager, had been delighted at the coverage that I received after visiting the hospital where Peter was being treated.  Many of the soldier's selfies had been published, showing me leaning over while comforting the wounded man, and I was worried that my neckline had plunged a bit too much.  Then I resolved that next time it would plunge a little more.

As I turned into my garage in the mews, another thought struck me. If I had to sell my little house, then that wretched mural on the garage wall would have to go.  Spike's art was now fetching silly prices, and the mural was probably worth as much as the rest of the house; it would be criminal to destroy it, but it was on a main supporting wall, and moving it undamaged would be almost impossible.  I couldn't even risk the publicity - a major work of art showing me wearing a nappy and a romper would cause a huge amount of ridicule, even if I put it down to being one of Spike's silly fetishes - some of it would stick, and my success had made me some enemies.  If  I sold the house I would have to paint it over - perhaps leave it for another generation to discover.  After the garage door closed I went to the curtain over the end wall and drew it back. My own eyes met me, staring out from the portrait, bringing back feelings about Spike, but I noticed those memories were softening with time.  He'd had a huge talent and a great sense of humour, but he lived too hard to last.  I looked over the rest of the portrait and wondered if the yellow romper could be scraped off, or even just over-painted, but I baulked at either idea. Both would involve highly skilled work, and that would mean another person who was in on my secret, and that was a risk I didn't care to take.  Perhaps I should discuss it with Julian, my manager, whom I could trust, and who not only knew my secret, but also purchased disposable nappies for me from time to time to keep my name from any suppliers.  Outside my family, only he, and Helen, my old school-friend, knew about it, and she had made some things for me, in particular the yellow romper that Spike had so lovingly painted.  I ran my fingers over the picture, one part of me wondering just how thick the paint was, and another wondering just how thick the nappy was that was bulging between my legs, and even poking out of the leg elastic at one point:  typical of Spike to record that little detail.

I went through to the kitchen and remembered there was no fresh milk in the fridge.  I didn't care for green tea, but I noticed a bottle of red wine poking shyly out from behind the bread bin.  I resisted the temptation, and went instead to the freezer as I had no fresh food in the house and would have to make do with a meal-for-one.  As it hummed in the microwave I again resisted the temptation to open the bottle of wine, congratulating myself on my strength of will. Eventually, with the meal steaming on the plate, I decided that, in the absence of better refreshment I could reward myself for my magnificent resistance to temptation, and I reached for the corkscrew.

Twenty minutes later ,ensconced in my big leather armchair with the empty plate pushed aside, I phoned Matt, ostensibly to tell him I was safely home, but really just to hear his voice.  We talked for quite a while, even by our standards, and after all that talking I poured another glass to keep me going.  The bottle was getting suspiciously light, and I realised that I was over my prudent limit. No Problem. It was, however, time to take the necessary precaution, so I managed to get my legs back into function, and went on all fours up the steep staircase to my little attic room.  Here I hit another problem; I had taken the last pack of disposables down to Devon with me, and the cubby-hole in the changer was empty.  After a moment of rather woolly thought, I shrugged; after all that's what cloth nappies are for, so I removed one, shook it out on the big cot at the end of the room, and kite-folded it. After another short thinking-session I added a booster.  Then, I thought, I could finish the wine and retire with no worries about the old problem resurfacing during the night.  I lay down on the resultant heap, murmuring mother's old formula to myself, as I'd heard her explain to whoever had come up to watch "...as long as she's properly nappied..." as she brought the front up between my legs.  I would cease to wriggle at this point, there was just no further need, and she would bring the sides round one by one, "...see her though the whole night..." as she pushed the pins through, and snapped the heads down, "...whatever she does in them..." I would  raise my legs for her as she tucked the excess towelling in, and then held them out as she reached for the baby pants, "...she'll soak her nappies of course, she always does..."  she would crumple the pants up. "...but she'll not fill them enough to leak..."  she slipped her hands through the leg holes of the plastic pants, and after grabbing my waving feet, slipped the pants over my ankles,  "...and be happy as a sand boy until morning..." I heard my own little thin voice replying: "I'll try my best to stay dry Mummy, I promise", and her gentle reply: "Of course you will, darling, it's just that you're wet almost every night, and we don't want a nasty wet bed, do we?". "No Mummy, I don't want that." and I would take comfort in being securely wrapped in warm soft towelling. I could sleep in a wet nappy, no problem, but I knew a wet bed would keep me awake.  Then she would take my hands and pull me to my feet before pulling the slippery pants slowly up my legs until I felt the elastics start to grip my thighs then finally they would be pulled gently up over the bulk of my nappy, and Mummy would run her fingers around the elastic to see that it was all tucked in."...There's a Good Girl..." and I felt safe and snug, but shifted my weight from leg to leg to loosen the fit just a little, and fingered the elastics.  It was the only time I was allowed to put my hand inside my panties to adjust them or my nappy.  I held my face up for the kiss, but none was forthcoming so I returned reluctantly to the present.  There was no Mum to cuddle me, no Matt to hug me, so I opened my eyes, patted myself on the bottom, and tried to walk.  Nope: just a waddle, and the threat of a sagging nappy.  Sigh. I really needed Matt at this time; it was never the same doing it by myself.

I staggered over to my changer; this was no model's catwalk, crossing the feet over so as to swing my hips and accentuate the curve of my thighs, this was the old penguin waddle with my thighs spread by the cool plastic pillow between them.  I took a sleeper from the cubby-hole, stepped into it and zipped it up.  That would keep my nappy up so there was no danger of it slipping off in the night, or of it being removed by a naughty little Amelia.  I looked for something to complete the ensemble - always accessorise; part of the model's creed, - and chose the big pink dummy/pacifier on its ribbon, and Mister Tom, my big teddy bear; If I couldn't have Matt, Mister Tom would have to do.  Now I was all ready for bed,  but just then the phone rang.

I staggered carefully down the narrow stairs, and sat myself in my big armchair with my legs akimbo to accommodate the wedge of nappy before I answered the infernal device.  Then I removed the dummy from my mouth and answered it properly. It was Helen.  She had heard about my engagement to Matt, and it was all round the village.  This was going to take some time, so I refilled my glass as we discussed the matter at great length. I even offered Mister Tom a sip, but he didn't seem interested. Yes, she could design my wedding dress - I had made a point of appearing in Helen's creations as she was still struggling to make a name for herself in the industry - and yes Of Course she would be invited to the wedding; Someone would have to prink and twitch my dress into order at the church door; even if it didn't need it, it was the done thing, and that person had to be the designer.

When Helen and I had finally exhausted all the details, I reached again for the bottle, but it was empty.  I looked down the neck just to make sure there was no more wine hiding down there, but it just stared back at me in monocular approbation; it had given its all in my service and was now resigned to join its fellows, splashing into the wake of life.  I muttered a brief goodbye, and put my dummy back in.  Then I realised that I could never make it back up the stairs to my cot, so I pulled myself to my feet and staggered in to the next room to my bed and collapsed into it as the room span gently around me.  I turned off the light, curled myself up around Mister Tom, and gave myself up to the forces of darkness.

All night long I dreamed of the wedding, of standing before the altar in just a nappy and hearing Matt promise to love me and honour me and change me 'til death do us part, until a rogue sunbeam traversed my bedroom, reached my eyes, and brought me back to consciousness.  I rolled onto my back, and felt that old, familiar feeling under my backside and between my legs; my precaution had indeed been necessary.  I lay there for a while until a matter of some urgency came to my attention. "Why not?" I thought, and so I just relaxed and let it go, just like I used to do in the old days.

Three hours later, Miss Amelia Grace, the supermodel (sometimes called "The Ice Maiden") immaculately dressed in every detail, entered the splendid offices of Marguerite's, London's top model agency, and acknowledged the respectful greetings of the staff.  No sign of the desperate salvage job that had been done on her eyes and hair, or the red lines left around her thighs by her plastic pants, but only a slight pink rash in a very private place, which would fade inside a few hours under the influence of fresh air and zinc ointment.

I have a picture of Amelia in my mind's eye.  Since my brain doesn;t connect too well to the computer, this is about as close as I can get to how I see her.