Cloth Diapers & Panties

Thank You CDfm! Tommy does not fully realize his „problem“.  In his perception, these are isolated incidents. He immediately represses and shakes off every accident. Otherwise, he couldn't bear the shame. Tommy wants to be an adult Tom. Tom is intellectually far ahead of his classmates... In his perception, his bedwetting doesn't fit in with this…..  

Wow you write like the wind! The girls are overreacting much about peeing in the pool, it isn't a nice gesture, but It's not that bad either.   I mean, you have it in your hands  

Chapter Forty-Nine: Regression, like any other treatment, came with side effects. Nobody had written this one on a consent form. Paul woke out of a dream that wasn’t a dream so much as a feeling—floating, held, lavender in his lungs and someone’s lullaby still humming under his skin. For a few hazy seconds the world stayed soft: sleep sack snug around him like a hug, foam mattress cradling every inch of him, pacifier resting easy in the corner of his mouth. Then his stomach seized. The cramp tore through him so fast it stole his breath. A white-hot fist clenched low in his gut, twisting, wringing, as if someone had reached in and grabbed hold of every bad decision he’d made in the last twenty-four hours and started squeezing. His eyes flew open into the dim of the nursery. Then the second cramp hit. This one was worse—deeper, more insistent, a wave that rolled through his intestines and promised it was only the beginning. Oh God. He swallowed hard around the pacifier. The taste of silicone and dried salt hit his tongue; his throat tried to close. He knew this feeling. Not the mild discomfort of needing to pee, not the vague ache of hunger. This was urgent. This was his body saying now in a language that left no room for negotiation. He needed a toilet. He tried to sit up, only to remember—too late—what he was wrapped in. The sleep sack that had felt like a weighted blanket when Kim zipped it around him now felt like a trap. His arms were snugged down along his sides, hands pinned; the bottom tapered to his ankles, his feet held together inside the padded tube. The zipper lay flat along his chest, utterly out of reach. Warmth that had been comforting an hour ago turned suffocating. He jerked his shoulders, testing the give. The fabric resisted. He twisted his hips, tried to wedge an elbow up, to slide one arm higher, anything—but the design was solid. No slack, no gap, no opening. The next cramp rolled in, harder. His abdomen spasmed; a cold sweat broke out along his hairline. Okay. Okay. It’s fine. You can hold it. You’ve held worse. You just… breathe. Breathe and wait and— His body answered with another violent clench. He gasped against the pacifier, breath coming in sharp, shallow pants. The peaceful fog from earlier was gone, burned away by adrenaline. His mind snapped back to full adult consciousness with a cruel click, and with it came everything he’d been blissfully without for a few hours: fear, shame, catastrophic what-ifs. This isn’t happening. Not here. Not like this. I’m eighteen. I don’t— He bucked his shoulders again, a bad imitation of a magician trying to break out of a straightjacket. The sleep sack didn’t budge. It held him firm, stubborn as a promise. Another cramp. His entire body curled instinctively, muscles clamping down, trying to dam a river that was already cresting. Pride lasted exactly three more seconds. He spat the pacifier out, gagging on his own breath as it bounced off his chest and landed somewhere near his chin. “Mama Kim!” The words tore out of him, hoarse, too loud for the quiet room. “M–Mama—Kim—please—” His voice cracked on the last word. He didn’t care. He turned his head toward the shelf above his bed, toward the little red eye of the camera. It blinked once as it adjusted, the only sign of life. “Kim!” he shouted again. “Mama, I need—please, I need help—” Another cramp cut him off, folding him around the pain. He whimpered, a sound that didn’t match the age on his ID at all.   Minutes stretched, warped by panic. It felt like he’d been calling for hours. In reality, thirty seconds hadn’t even passed. The house stayed still around him—no footsteps in the hall, no door creaking open, no soothing Southern drawl cutting through the dark. His mind started to sprint through options, wild and useless. If I can get upright—if I can throw myself over the rail—I can crawl. I’ll find the door, I’ll— He pushed, levering his bound legs under him, managing to rock himself up into a half-kneel. The sleep sack tightened around his calves, unbalanced him. The railing loomed higher than it had before. From his new angle, it wasn’t a low barrier he could easily swing his legs over; it was a fence. And even if he managed it—if he somehow toppled his whole torso over and hit the floor—then what? He couldn’t walk. The sack pinned his feet too close together to stand, let alone run. The room was dim; he had no idea how many steps to the bathroom, no idea what he’d hit on the way. He’d be blind, bound, crawling on his stomach through a stranger’s house, racing his own body. The reality hit him like a slap. There was no escape route. No clever workaround. No adult solution that didn’t involve someone else unzipping him. Another cramp surged, cruel and final. He fell onto his side with a muffled thud, curling reflexively into a fetal position. His body knew what to do when a threat couldn’t be outrun: protect the vital parts. He arched his hips back, instinctively angle his bottom away, as if that tiny adjustment could somehow limit the damage. His eyes stung. Panic scrambled up his throat. He tried one last time, voice raw and desperate. “Mommy—” The word shocked him even as it left his mouth. What made it out was older, deeper, reaching for someone who wasn’t here to answer. And then his body stopped asking for permission. There was a terrible, inevitable letting go—a surrender he hadn’t chosen and couldn’t take back. Muscles unclenched in a way that wasn’t relief so much as mechanical necessity. The diaper that had been a soft, distant presence all evening suddenly wasn’t distant at all. He didn’t need details to understand exactly what had just happened. He knew. A hot, leaden awareness settled in his gut, heavier than anything trapped under the plastic. Whatever fragile sense of control he’d found in lavender and lullabies shattered around him, leaving him alone in the dark, swaddled tight, breathing hard, the truth of his new reality pressing in from every side.   A soft chime from the nursery cam app, glowing on the nightstand beside Kim’s bed. She didn’t wake gracefully. She never did anymore. Her hand flailed from under silk-satin sheets, slapping at the nightstand once, twice, before fingers finally found the iPad. She shoved her sleep mask up onto her forehead, blinking blearily at the twin feeds on the screen. “William?” Her voice was gravel and honey, barely above a murmur. The toddler’s room showed nothing but the rise and fall of a tiny pajama-clad back, star projector casting slow-moving constellations across his ceiling. Out cold. She frowned—then tapped over to the other feed. The nursery camera came into focus: dim lavender light, the low rails of the floor bed, the bundled shape in the sleep sack turned on its side. Paul. At first glance, he was just… still. Too still. Kim squinted, thumb sliding along the scrub bar at the bottom of the feed. Time rewound in jittery reverse: Paul’s body jerked from kneeling to lying down, lips forming words backward, the red recording indicator ticking back, back, back until— There it was. His mouth open in a silent shout. His whole body bowing with the effort. The way his hips jerked, then stilled; the way his eyes went wide and empty, staring at something she couldn’t see. Kim exhaled slowly, the sound halfway between a sigh and a prayer. “Oh, baby,” she whispered to the glass. “You poor thing.” She didn’t bother with the lamp. She swung her legs out of bed, the cool of the hardwood kissing her soles for a second before they slipped into soft pink house shoes. Her nightgown—silky, sleeveless, a tasteful middle ground between old-South modesty and modern comfort—whispered around her calves as she moved. The master bedroom sat at the back of the main floor; from there, she knew every creak in the estate by heart. She eased the door open, glided down the shadowed hallway past family portraits and carefully curated oil paintings, then took the staircase with practiced lightness, one hand on the smooth rail. Upstairs, the air felt cooler. Quieter. She padded down the hallway toward the nursery, the glow from the tablet in her hand painting her face in soft, shifting colors. The house was still, save for the faint hum of the HVAC and the distant, white-noise hush of the ocean beyond the tree line. When she stepped into the nursery, the first thing she noticed was the sound. Not crying. Not anymore. Just quiet, ragged breaths. The tiny, wet hiccup of someone who had already run out of tears. “Paul,” she said, just above a whisper. No answer. She moved closer, her slippered feet silent on the foam mats. When she reached the edge of the bed, her stomach pinched. He was locked into himself like a statue. Curled slightly on his side, sleep sack wrapped snug around him, hips angled back. His bottom was pushed out in an unconscious attempt at relief, and his face— His face hurt to look at. His eyes were open, staring at the wall with a flat, glassy focus like he wasn’t really seeing it. His jaw was taut. Every muscle around his mouth and brow looked carved in shock, frozen halfway between horror and numbness. Kim’s heart squeezed. “Sweetheart,” she murmured, lowering herself to her knees beside the bed. “It’s Mama Kim.” No response. She reached out and stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers, slow and feather-light. His skin was clammy, the faintest tremor under the surface. “Paul, baby. I’m here to help you, okay?” Her drawl was softer than silk, but even that didn’t seem to land. His gaze stayed fixed. He was breathing, chest lifting and falling in short, shallow pulls, but the rest of him… might as well have been carved from stone. Lights on. Nobody home. Kim swallowed past the tightness in her throat and let her hand slide down, resting for a second on his shoulder through the sleep sack. She knew that this was shock—emotional as much as physical. It didn’t matter how old you were; humiliation this big could short-circuit anyone. “Alright,” she murmured, voice thinner but still steady. “Let Mama do the thinking for a minute, hmm?” She slipped one hand— Kim, just check first—around behind him, gently patting his padded rear. Her palm sank more than she expected. Not the firm, uniform bulk of a fully saturated diaper. This was heavier, uneven, the fill squishing unevenly under her touch. The faint warmth coming through the plastic told her everything she needed to know. Not just wet. Messy. Properly. Kim closed her eyes for half a second. Of course it is. Poor baby’s been living on nerves and air, then bourbon and fiber like it’s a cleanse… and now his system finally decided to file a complaint. This wasn’t a simple “oops” or the kind of gradual acceptance she’d anticipated—where, over time, he might feel safe enough to let go in a controlled way. This was his body staging a coup while his mind was still asleep. This wasn’t a choice. It was fallout. “Okay,” she breathed. “We’re gonna need more than a wipe or two.” She leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to his temple. His eyes didn’t flicker, but his breathing hitched once—tiny, almost imperceptible. “Lay still for Mama, baby,” she told him gently. “I’ll be back in just a jiffy and we’ll get you all cleaned up, good as new.” She stood carefully, making sure the shift in the mattress didn’t jostle him more than necessary. Then she slipped out of the nursery, closing the door to a bare crack behind her to keep the light from spilling in. The upstairs laundry room doubled as a linen and utility closet. Kim moved through it on autopilot, hands grabbing what decades of mothering told her she’d need: disposable gloves, the oldest towel in the stack, a big black trash bag, the large enamel bowl from the shelf, a washcloth. She turned the tap, let warm water run until the steam kissed her wrist, then filled the bowl and swirled in a bit of baby-safe soap until the surface shimmered. She carried the bowl and cloth back first, setting them carefully beside the floor bed. Then she made a second trip—this time to the changing supplies: the remaining bag of wipes, the tub of rash cream, the powder, and one of the precious Safari-print briefs pulled from the half-empty package. She lined everything up within arm’s reach, the practiced choreography of someone who’d done this a thousand times, but rarely for someone this big—or this fragile. Now came the hard part. Getting him out of the bed without making everything worse. She picked up his pacifier from where it had landed on the mattress and brushed it lightly against his bottom lip. “Open up for me, sugar,” she crooned. His mouth parted on reflex, trained by years of bottle and habit; she settled the paci back in place, the rubber bulb seating gently against his tongue. “Good boy,” she soothed. “That’s it. Just breathe for Mama, alright?” She shifted, one hand smoothing his hair back from his forehead, the other resting over his sternum through the sleep sack, feeling the staccato rhythm of his heart. “Listen to me, Paul,” she said, voice low and steady, every word an anchor. “You’re safe. You’re not alone. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you while you’re with me. You had an accident—just an accident. Bodies do that sometimes, especially when they’ve been through the wringer like yours has. It doesn’t make you bad. It doesn’t make you broken. It just means you need help.” His lashes flickered. “Can you help me help you, baby?” she went on, keeping the stream of reassurance unbroken. “Can you wiggle just a little, let Mama move you to this towel so we don’t make a mess of the bed? You were so brave for me earlier, remember? I know you can do it again.” For a few seconds, nothing. Then, slowly, his eyes blinked. Not fully back—his gaze was still fogged, unfocused—but something in him stirred. The pacifier bobbed once as his jaw clenched and released. His shoulders twitched under her palm. “That’s it,” she encouraged softly, a smile touching her voice. “There he is. There’s my strong boy.” He never spoke, but after another heartbeat he gave the smallest nod—the kind you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. Kim seized the opening. “Alright, sweetheart. I’m gonna help you up on your knees, okay? I’ve got you. You just follow my voice.” She slid one arm under his chest, the other bracing his hips, guiding him slowly from his side up into a kneel. The sleep sack made his movements clumsy, limited, but together they managed to shuffle him forward onto the sacrificial towel she’d laid out on the foam. The shift released a faint, sour smell into the air. Kim’s nose wrinkled for a microsecond; then she smoothed her expression, letting only warmth show as she rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades. “This is gonna feel yucky for just a little bit,” she murmured, more to acknowledge his reality than anything. “But then it’s gonna feel so much better. You’re doing so good.” Inside the sack, Paul stayed quiet. His adult mind, though, had crawled back to the surface enough to understand exactly how far he’d fallen. He could feel the heaviness at his backside, the foreign, shameful weight of it. He could smell it now that he’d been moved, the air shifting around him. If he let himself think about it too hard, he knew he’d bolt straight over the edge into hysteria. So he didn’t think. He stared at the patterns in the foam mat. He counted the breaths he took around the pacifier, tried to focus on the steady rhythm of Kim’s hand on his back instead of the mess under him. Maybe, if he was very lucky, he told himself dimly, this would calcify into one of those memories his brain hid from him. One long, dark blur he’d never have to replay. Kim eased him down onto his back on the towel, moving slow enough to keep things from shifting more than they already had. The sleep sack zipper whispered as she drew it down, peeling the thick fabric away until his torso and legs lay exposed in the dim room—plastic pants still gleaming faintly over the bloated bulk beneath. “Well,” she said under her breath, more to herself than to him, “thank the Lord for good elastic.” The plastic pants had done their job; there wasn’t a mark on the bed. She slid them down with care, folding them back on themselves and setting them aside for a deep clean later. Even without the light fully up, she could see the darker swell at the back of the diaper, the way it sagged slightly under its own weight. Kim slipped on a pair of gloves with a soft snap, her heart squeezing again as she glanced up at Paul’s face. He was staring at the ceiling now, cheeks damp, jaw tight around the pacifier. But he wasn’t flinching. He wasn’t fighting. He was just… letting her do what needed to be done. Like a child too tired to protest. “You’re doing amazing, baby,” she murmured, reaching down to lay her fingers gently against his hip, grounding him before she moved further. “I know this is a lot. We’re almost through the worst of it.” She opened the trash bag and fanned it once, then slid it carefully up under the loaded diaper, shimmying it until half the bulk rested inside the crinkling black plastic. A neat containment field. She’d used this trick on toddlers, on assisting other mommies and daddies with their littles, on one very sheepish college kid who’d trusted the wrong “cleanse” before play. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept the mess where it belonged. “See?” she cooed softly, more for his benefit than her own. “We’re keeping it all nice and tidy. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just laundry and trash, like anything else.” The tapes came free with a dull rip. She didn’t dwell on what lay inside. She folded, contained, wiped in careful, efficient motions, half the packet of baby wipes disappearing into the bag by the time she’d finished the first pass. To Paul, the details were a blur of sensation: the coolness of air hitting skin that had been sealed away, the drag of soft cloth across too-sensitive places, the faint squeak of plastic and rustle of trash bag. His face burned hotter with every wipe, but behind the mortification, something else coiled— Relief. He’d been trapped in his own body for what felt like an eternity. Each stroke of the wipe, each gentle lift of his hips, each quiet, nonsense reassurance from Kim pulled him a little further from the edge. He focused on her voice more than anything. “There we are… that’s my brave boy. You’re okay. You’re safe. Mama’s got you. Oh, look at that, clean as a whistle already… you’re making this so easy for me…” By the time she sealed the trash bag with a practiced twist and tie, his shoulders had unclenched a fraction. His hands, still bound inside the sleep sack loose around his elbows, no longer strained against the fabric. Kim peeled off the gloves, dropping them into the bag, then reached for the bowl of warm, soapy water. “This part’s just for you,” she said, dipping the washcloth and wringing it out until it steamed in the cool air. “Not even about the mess. This is about your skin, sugar. We want it happy, don’t we?” The cloth was warmer than he expected when it touched his hip. She moved with slow, deliberate care, cleaning the same areas again—not because they needed it, but because the warmth and gentleness soothed inflamed skin and rattled nerves alike. Small circles, no rush, no flinch. Paul turned his head, eyes tracking up past the ceiling to her face. In the low light, with her hair tousled from sleep and her nightgown slipping slightly at one shoulder, she looked different than she did in the bright kitchen or the sharp lines of the car. Softer. Tired, but unhurried. Completely present. How can she just… do this? he thought, humiliation and awe tangling in his chest. How can she touch me like this isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me? His lip trembled around the pacifier. Kim caught his gaze and smiled, small and real. “There you are,” she whispered. “There’s my Paul.” She reached up with her free hand and brushed her thumb along his cheekbone, catching the lingering dampness there. On instinct, she gave his chin a tiny tickle, the way she did with William when she wanted to coax a giggle instead of a tear. To her astonishment—and his—he let out a tiny, choked laugh. Just a puff of air, really, but it was something bright in the storm. “That’s it,” she breathed, heart swelling. “Look at you. Still got sunshine left in you after all that.” She finished the warm-water wipe-down, patted him dry with the edge of the towel, then reached for the rash cream. “Extra protection,” she said conversationally as she uncapped the tube, more to keep him informed than anything. “Your skin’s been through enough. We’re not adding a rash to the list, no ma’am.” A thin, cool layer, spread with practiced fingers; powder after that, the familiar, faintly sweet smell settling over them both like a strange kind of incense. By the time she slid a fresh Safari-print brief under him and snugged it up into place, tapping the tapes closed one by one, his body had gone from rigid to pliant. Exhausted, but not brittle. “There,” she announced softly, smoothing her hands along the front once to check the fit. “That’s better, isn’t it?” She tugged a clean pair of plastic pants up over the new diaper, the elastic hugging his hips with a soft, reassuring snap. She couldn’t resist giving his padded backside one light pat, more rhythm than emphasis. “There’s a clean and happy boy,” she sang under her breath. “All ready to get back to night-night.” He didn’t argue. She guided him gently back into the sleep sack, sliding his legs down, positioning his arms just where they’d been before. The zipper whispered up, enclosing him once more—but this time, the warmth felt less like a trap and more like a cocoon. Kim gathered the worst of the supplies—the trash bag, the used towel—and set the rest  by the door for later. Then she leaned back over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, sugar,” she murmured. “You did so, so good. We’ll talk when the sun’s up and the world looks kinder.” He stared into the dark, the pacifier once again seated between his lips, breath slowly evening out. His adult mind hadn’t retreated. It sat just behind his eyes, wide awake, playing the last ten minutes on loop. Every word he’d shouted. Every humiliating second of helplessness. Every gentle, unapologetic movement of Kim’s hands as she’d cleaned him like it was the most normal thing in the world. How am I supposed to look at her tomorrow? he thought, throat tight, eyes burning again. How do you stand in front of someone who’s… seen that… and not just disappear? No answer came. Only the soft sound of the door easing closed and the faintest creak of her slippers fading down the hall. Her Apple Watch buzzed quietly on her wrist when she checked it in the upstairs hallway: 4:15 a.m. “Well,” she sighed, padding toward the laundry room trash to deposit the sealed bag, “there goes the beauty sleep.” It was too early for breakfast, too late for any real rest. By the time she made it back to her bedroom, the adrenaline had settled into a tired hum under her skin; she knew if she lay down, she’d only toss and turn, replaying the night like a bad home movie. So she didn’t. A few minutes later, she stepped back out into the dim glow of the hallway in a lavender LuluLemon yoga set, hair pulled back, Skechers slip-ins hugging her feet. A cold bottle of coconut water sweated lightly in her hand as she crossed the kitchen and pushed open the door to the screened-in sun porch. The porch felt like a room from another life. String lights coasted along the ceiling beams, dimmed to a soft amber glow. Wicker furniture, all weather-treated and topped with plush cushions in muted blues and creams, sat arranged in conversational circles. A low table held a stack of design magazines, a ceramic bowl full of shells, and a single half-burned candle that still smelled faintly of sea salt and sage. No toys. No sippy cups. No evidence of toddlers or teenagers, just the clean, curated peace of an adult sanctuary. Kim rolled out her yoga mat in the center of the space, the rubber thumping quietly against the painted floor. She set her tablet and water bottle on the small accent table in front of her and tapped the screen awake. Lilly’s face smiled back at her from the home page—thumbnail for a “Rise & Restore” flow posted just yesterday, all gloss and good lighting and perfect athleisure. “That girl is gonna work herself right into the grave,” Kim muttered fondly, tapping the video. “But at least I get free classes out of it.” As the opening music swelled—soft bells and ocean sounds over a gentle beat—Kim moved through the familiar shapes. Forward fold. Half lift. Cat. Cow. Downward dog. Her thoughts drifted, as they always did when her body knew the routine. Savannah’s face floated up first. The way her daughter’s eyes had lit on the nursery feed, not with horror or disgust, but with something hungry and unsure—something that looked a little too much like recognition. Kim cycled into warrior two, arms outstretched, breath deep. That girl had sworn, after Derrick, that she’d never let anyone put her in ruffles and ribbons again. That she didn’t want  anything to do with the cribs and cuddles world. And yet. There she’d been in the kitchen, glued to the tablet, watching Paul play. There she’d been in the nursery, hands steady, voice sweet, calling herself “Sissy” and checking diapers like she’d been doing it for years. Kim flowed into triangle, feeling the stretch along her side. Maybe she’s more my daughter than she realizes, she thought, not without a flash of guilt. Maybe she likes the idea of being the one who holds the broken pieces together… a little too much. Her mind hopped to Charles next—his text from the day before about Key West, about a weekend away just the two of them, no kids, no clients, just the two of them. Simpler and passionate times, though she would never admit they were the best of the best times.  She smiled despite herself, shifting into tree pose, one foot braced at her calf. A sunburn, a frozen daiquiri, his hand at the small of her back… it sounded like paradise. If they ever actually got there before someone called with an emergency. The flow wound down. Lilly’s recorded voice finished with a breathy, “Namaste, everyone,” and Kim snorted, swiping to pause before the next video autoplayed. She sank into the big wicker chair that dominated the corner of the porch—high-backed and throne-like, draped in a polynesian-print throw. For a minute, she just… sat. The yard beyond the screened panels was still black, but a faint bruise of gray-blue was starting to creep along the horizon. The palms were silhouettes; the Spanish moss hung like soft shadows. Inevitably, her mind found its way back upstairs. To the boy swaddled in a sleep sack, clean now but changed in ways no wipe could fix. She sipped her coconut water, thumb drifting over to the Amazon app on reflex. His care was becoming… more. Nothing she couldn’t handle, but more than she’d anticipated when she’d first offered Lilly a weekend of “extra support.” And if she was honest, the line between “temporary regression for rest” and “this is who he is at heart” was blurring. He wasn’t William. She refused to conflate a toddler with a teenager. But in the softest, most unguarded moments, the way he clung to his pacifier, the way his body relaxed under a firm hand and a lullaby… There was a little there. Her gut told her that pretending otherwise would be cruel. She flicked through her Amazon cart. Here current order— home supplies, protein lime and chili chips (Savannah) and then the extra toys—still sat marked “Not shipped yet, can still add items.” She backed out, opened the Rearz storefront, and without overthinking it, added another bag of Safari briefs to her cart. Then a matching changing mat. A bib in the same print. An adult-sized sippy cup and bottle with the same cheerful jungle design. “Just in case,” she murmured, more to the air than to herself. Lilly could squawk about the expense later. Kim would send the receipt with a smile and a note: Consider it an investment in both your futures. At the checkout screen, the delivery estimate flashed: Arrives before 1:00 p.m. today. She smiled, feeling something in her chest loosen. “Good,” she said quietly, watching the first thin rays of sunlight slip between the trees. “We’re gonna need ‘em.” Cinnamon rolls came to mind—gooey, warm, iced to perfection. Overnight oats, already waiting in the fridge. A bright little fruit salad. Enough comfort on a plate to make a hard night feel like a bad dream with a soft landing. She stood, joints popping softly, and stretched once more toward the softening sky. It was going to be a good day.

10   "I know it's early but I've told you the reason why, please stop arguing with me!" Jenny put her hands under Jake's arm's and lifted him up. He had sourly cut his bath short, his mind not into it. He was really not looking forward to tonight and wasn't about to give up yet! "But I meant, yesterday was an exception! Can you not be back in time?" "Roll over please" finished with his backside Jenny made quick work of oiling his front. "I told you I won't be, expect it to be late" 'But then he'll see me! ........ with ..............." Jenny rested her hand on Jake's buttock's, holding his legs firmly folded with her left. She sighed. "For the last time, Jake, we've gone over this multiple times now. It's either me who gets your diaper on or mstr. Henry...............No? .............thought so............. Now you can stop or I can forget you had your spanking today already and start coloring your behind again..........right now..........in this position. She gave a slight slap right on the center of his behind to enhance her argument. "But Mrs. Miller........... please! Slap again a bit more forceful this time. "Yes or no?" Seeing she really wasn't going to relent and started looking a bit angry at him Jake sagged back on the mattress of the dresser and let Jenny finish with powdering him. She pinned his diaper on in a whiff. Not taking her time or engaging in smalltalk and sometimes a pinch or small tickle, like he sometimes got her to the last day's. It was all businesslike and all he could do was looking glum when they finished with his pajamas. Jenny saw his disheartenedness and tried to cheer him up one last time. "Ow Jake, Henry is a very good friend of me. You'll like him, I'm sure. Really really really! And I told, you.... he knows all about the reason you're having to wear a diaper under your pajama. He won't tease you, - well maybe a little, he teases me and everyone all the time- but really, he understands you very well, all your secrets are very safe with him. He'll never let you down!" Just then the air filled with the raucous sound of a heavy bike nearing Jenny's house. "There he is, now scoot, let's go greet him" She helped him move with a playful pat this time on his bulging bottom.   "And who have we here? Heya big fellow, I'm Henry. Hi Jen!" Jake sat at the kitchen table when Henry barged in. His eyes turning wide at the sight of this big man with the menacing appearance. "Oh got a bit of a fright eh? Don't worry, looks are deceiving, I'm really as soft as a kitten....You can ask everyone around..... I hear you're a great buff at building things, like to see that. Could use someone handy in the house." Henry chatted away, succeeding in putting Jake at ease again, and followed up with the direct talk Jenny recognized so well. So much like him to put matters out of the way as quickly as possible. "Hey, Mrs. Jenny told me all about you so don't be ashamed of anything. I see you have your diapers on yet." Jake blushed at the remark. "You, know. I think it's very good of you to agree with that. A very mature decision. You know what, you can tell me always if someone pesters or bullies you about it. I'll get the little prick for you,.... ride him over with my bike." Jake grinned while Henry bent to him in a conspiring way. "Had your spanking already? Yes? Ah....... what a pity.” Henry made an excessive show of being greatly disappointed. “I was really looking so forward to.... " Jake couldn't help laughing at this theater. Melting at his frolic of words that took the sting out of this delicate subject but startled, straitened in his chair and bit his lip at Henry's next: "Say,...what if you nicked something of Mrs. Jenny's stuff,... then I could.." rubbing his hands together in playful anticipation but halting as he noticed the abrupt change in atmosphere, both in Jake and Jenny. "Oh...I see, hit a sensitive spot here..." Looking at them both. Jenny broke the awkward silence. "I won't tell him Jake. But I know Mstr. Henry, he'll find out anyway. But it's your decision." Jake sagged in his chair and looked down. As usual, Henry was quick to save the situation. "Tell you what big man, I'm sorry for making that bad joke. Me with my big mouth... I won't ask, promise. I've forgotten already. Let's just have a nice evening together and let Jenny here go without having her worry about anything. Want to show me those sticks?" Henry looked at Jenny mouthing silently. "He'll be alright, trust me, go!" "I'll be leaving then, I'm late already." She stroked Jake's shoulder reassuringly on her way out.   ----------- Jenny had to admit to herself she was feeling much better after talking to Helen. They sat in her living, lights dimmed, both in a deep soft chair with steaming mugs of tea. The candles on the table spread a soothing fragrance and flickered with a mesmerizing rhythm. Surprisingly, she had felt it easy to talk, staring at the flames. Helen had been very patient, letting her tell the whole story stumbling and jumping again, mostly not interrupting, although she knew the general history from their time working together. Helen only asked specifically about her feelings once in a while. Her approach even caused Jenny to cry a couple of times. Helen just whisked a great box of tissues on the table, and waited. Quite a bit of used ones lay in Jenny's lap in a resulting long but comforting silence. "Thank you very much for telling me all this, Jen. You know I knew a bit of it but never the whole story....or some important details. Maybe it helps if I break this down to couple of central themes, Alright with you?"  Jenny nodded. "OK, first. Your meeting with Jake has triggered these flashbacks, as you well know of course. You remember all the good times you had with Liam and Jason but instead of liking these times you're also hating them. I think the reason you're having trouble with sorting them out is the accident. The strong emotions coming with the remembrance of the accident itself combined with your strong feelings of guild is a great blockade that's keeping you away from accepting all the other memories with fondness, and integrating them as base for your further life. The good news is I think I can help you there, by reliving the most painful parts of the accident and at the same time removing the guild and emotions attached, guiding you through." Helen explained a bit of the method she had in mind. "You'll hardly believe it, but it'll take a couple of sessions only I think. Though it isn't easy, it takes a lot of guts to confront it. I have done it with some pupils who had trouble coming to grips to the more serious crimes they committed, after they had really come to accept their deeds of course and were almost drowning in their shame, not really wanting to live anymore. Want to give it a try?" "Have I got a choice?" "You have, but I really think you should do it. Not only for your own sanity, but also regarding your future with Jake." "What do you mean?" "Brings me to point two. From what I hear and see, you two fit. I think you know it to, although you are denying it at the moment and say you're keeping distance; which I believe you won't be able to hold that stance for long by the way. seeing how it's eating you. I don't know how we get to realize it, but that is beside the point. Your flashback's put you up thinking that caring for Jake is pushing Liam and Jason away definitely. Leaving, betraying them. Adding to your feelings of guild again. It's putting you in a kind of conflict of loyalties. Keeping your distance, hurting Jake's feelings because you don't want to hurt Liam's and Jason's. Now I think you're able to resolve this issue by yourself, you'll find a good way. But it can only happen if you can accept your memories of them as happy memories again, reverting me to the importance of point one." Jenny saw the logic behind Helen's words. "Think about what a great future it could be Jen. Past and present integrated, could be like having three boys, I would like you so much allowing yourself to that! Jenny sighed, and nodded again. That would be something indeed. "Ï see, you're warming up to it, Jen. Now let me just give a few thoughts on point three: Jake himself. From what you've been telling me, Jake's reactions to your taking charge, with the rules, the caring: washing and diapering and that kind of stuff. I think you're right. Probably he's unconsciously very relieved at not having to make decisions, not needing to pretend he's bigger than he is. I also think that he's taking it a bit further than his age. Regressing to a somewhat younger version of himself. Being at the daycare, with all the little one's around him, is enhancing this, hence his wetting his trousers again, maybe trying to make up for times he missed in the past. It seems like an understandable reaction from him. If you ask my advise, I shouldn't worry about it. It's not unheard of. Give him time to be a bit little again, just make it practical." Helen giggled. "I don't know if you should make him waddle around in those diapers at daycare, no, but I see no problem with cuddling him all you want at home in the mornings and evenings. You'll see he'll start growing again in no time." Jenny chuckled at the picture in her mind. "You know, I should have done this a long time ago. You can't imagine how I feel now, Helen, after talking to you. Thanks.” Helen just smiled knowingly, "Oh, I know dear, they all say that."   It was very late when Jenny returned to her home to find Henry reading on her sofa. On the ground was an enormous building made from the wooden blocks cleverly combined with the other building materials Liam had so loved playing with. It looked like a cathedral, with pillars and bows and even bridges. "Wow! That looks amazing!' "Yeah, he's very proud of it, asked if it could stay here, to show you, I know you're neat and all but couldn't resist." "Oh no, its fine" Jenny waved the remark away. "That's really wonderful isn't it." "You told me he was good, but not this good.... how was your evening?" Jenny told Henry the gist of what happened between her and Helen. "We'll start tomorrow with the first session, I agreed, best to meet it heads on." She yawned "Must admit these nights are killing me..... So how was your's?" "Oh, you know me,” Henry answered, very pleased with himself. “I get along with even the hardest pimpled adolescents. And Jake was an angel. He's really a funny likable little guy you know, crawling around the floor with his bottom sticking out. Had a good laugh about it with him.... I really don't understand why you keep your reserve around him.... Joke, Jen....No need to ruffle your feathers.... We made it a bit late tough, finishing this. I read him a couple of page's from the book he choose in his bed. And then we just talked a bit........" Henry let the last words hang in the air, waiting for Jenny to take the bait. "And?" "Ah, you know what it is with little boys and guilty feelings. He just had to have it of his chest. Was glad he told me, held nothing back. You really got to him this time, didn't you?" Jenny nodded. "I was so angry, nearly lost my temper. Remembered what you said today, Almost took it out on him." "No need feeling guilty, Jen. Would have done the same. Interesting reaction though don't you think?" Henry started laughing. "He showed me your handywork. Nice glow coming through all that shiny powder!" He rose from the sofa and started to the door. "Now. I'm off. Lets skip tomorrow's walk Jen. I've a busy schedule, and maybe you two could benefit from a little extra sleep. Nothing important tomorrow." Jenny walked him out into the quiet night. "Thanks again Henry, could you do one thing more please?" "What?" "Keep the gas-handle low will you, you'll wake up the whole neighborhood."     ======================= Well, this will have to do for a couple of day's. I have the finish of this story ready but am working on the road to get there. Harder than I thought. have you all found the teapot yet 😉?

Rei fidgeted with her fingers and nodded her head “Yes.. I don’t want to be a big girl anymore.”