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Watersports
Pee-play without the diapers!
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By Joanne_chan · Posted
It was although I believe the YouTube channel associated with appears to have been taken down. -
Maybe you could have Christina and/or his mom take pills to make one or both of them lactate and give them both a true baby experience. -
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I'm looking for two stories that I think are fairly well known. 1. The New Girl in School, by Jilly Poo. It used to be on DailyDiapers before the 2017 crash, and then it was on abdlstoryforum, but that's gone. 2. The Trying Policy (I think the author's name had Sea Otter, not sure though) Would anyone maybe have these, or know where they could be found? -
By Bel George · Posted
Chapter 22 — The Long Sail South The long sail south was shorter than the title suggests, one full day after the Cape and a last morning before we left the ship, but it felt long in the way certain days do when weather closes the world down around them. We had come back from North Cape after two in the morning, slept behind the curtains Ellen had pulled against the endless daylight, and woke so late on Tuesday that the breakfast staff had begun clearing the room around us. There was a late-honeymoon feeling between us that morning, the promise from the night before settled into the room without needing to be opened and inspected again over eggs. We were tired and pleased and inclined to find each other funnier than the evidence supported. Ellen told me that permanence did not entitle me to a second pastry. I told her the North Cape vow had contained no baked-goods schedule and that terms introduced after signature were unenforceable. We spent what remained of the morning walking the inside promenade, because the outside deck had already become too windy for pleasure and because neither of us had the energy for an organised activity. The ship moved through a long grey swell, rising with a slow confidence and then settling into the hollow beyond it, and the glasses in the bars had acquired folded cloths beneath them. Crew members appeared with the unobtrusive efficiency of people who had read a forecast the passengers had not, fastening doors, moving flower arrangements and distributing paper bags beside the lifts. I was enjoying it. I have never been particularly troubled by ships, and the movement felt to me like evidence that we were genuinely at sea rather than staying in a hotel that had made an administrative claim to navigation. Ellen said the distinction was idiotic, then yawned so widely she had to stop walking. The storm was not making her ill. The North Cape was making her tired. We had been awake until nearly three, after a day ashore and a night in the wind, and the woman who can ordinarily organize fatigue out of existence had reached the edge of what scheduling could do. Shortly before one, with lunch still ahead and my midday change due not long after, she admitted she wanted to lie down. Not sleep, she said, only close her eyes for twenty minutes while the ship did its unnecessary moving. "Wake me at half past," she told me as we entered the cabin. "I'll change you, then we'll have lunch." She put the cards on the bedside table for afterward, drew the curtains halfway and lay down on top of the duvet without even taking off her cardigan, which should have warned me that twenty minutes was an estimate produced without access to the relevant data. She was asleep before I had settled in the chair. Not drifting, not resting her eyes, but properly asleep, her breathing deep and even and one hand still resting where it had fallen beside her. I read until half past one. When the minute changed on the clock I put the book down, stood and went as far as the bed. Then I did not wake her. This requires some explanation, because it sounds at first like either disobedience or a very small act of revenge by a man who had spent a year being woken, checked, changed and redirected according to somebody else's clock. It was neither. I could see how tired she was. I could also feel the state of the Pampers beneath the bodysuit, knew when she had put it on me after breakfast and knew, from the flight out and the Tromsø day, that it was nowhere near its limit. The change was due because Ellen liked the day divided into secure intervals, not because a leak was approaching at half past one with an appointment. There was, however, a difference between deciding I could wait and doing anything about it myself. The zip still ended beyond my hands. I could not remove the bodysuit, could not reach the tapes and could not quietly change myself while Ellen slept, even if some ancient surviving piece of pride had proposed it. She was three metres away, fully capable of waking, and I was choosing not to wake her. At two I reconsidered. At half past two I reconsidered again, which is to say I stood in the bathroom, pressed a hand through the cotton at the front and performed the sort of approximate assessment Ellen would have dismissed as amateur work. The product was wet and heavier than it had been at half past one, but still comfortable and secure. If I became worried I could wake her. If I needed the whole arrangement to stop, the safeword existed for exactly the moments when ordinary authority and ordinary circumstances no longer fitted. Nothing prevented me from asking except the fact that I did not yet need to ask. So I let her sleep. I closed the curtains the rest of the way, turned the card on the door so Ari would not come in and went to the buffet while the corridors were quiet. I returned with sandwiches under covers, fruit, two bottles of water and tea I knew would be cold by the time she woke, because caring for someone often involves preparing the wrong temperature of beverage several hours in advance. I put the tray on the desk, wedged the bottles where the ship could not roll them away and left the cards unopened. The storm strengthened during the afternoon. Rain crossed the balcony glass almost horizontally, the cabin creaked in places we had not heard before and every so often something heavy shifted behind a wall with a sound that made me reconsider the engineering of ships in general. Ellen slept through all of it. I read, watched the clock and listened to her breathe, and somewhere in the third hour my concern changed direction. I was no longer wondering how long my Pampers could wait. I was wondering how long she had been carrying the accumulated tiredness of the cruise without letting it show. That was the care I could give her then: not medicine, not rescue, not even a particularly useful sandwich, but three uninterrupted hours in which nobody needed anything from her. I was included in nobody. The practical need had not disappeared, and I had not become magically independent because my wife closed her eyes. I had simply judged, as an adult and as her husband, that it could wait while she could not. Ellen woke a little after four and looked first at the curtains, then at me, then at the clock. I watched the facts arrange themselves behind her eyes. "You were supposed to wake me." I told her she had needed the sleep. "You were due at half past one." I knew. I had watched half past one arrive and deliberately allowed it to pass. Her hand went to the front of the bodysuit before she was fully sitting up. The check was as deliberate as an over-cotton check could be and less conclusive than she would have preferred, but it supplied enough information to remove alarm from her face. "Fuller than I would have left you," she said. I pointed out that it was not close to leaking. "No." The word cost her something. Ellen dislikes agreeing with a decision she did not make, especially when the decision concerns a schedule she did. "No, not close." I had laid out the mat and a fresh Pampers while she slept. She noticed that, and the untouched sandwiches, and the water beside the bed, and I saw her understand that I had not forgotten the routine or rejected it. I had held it for her. There is a difference, and because of what we had said at the Cape she was obliged to let the difference exist. She called it a dangerous precedent. I called it a contained exception. "One time," she said. I suggested we reserve judgment until the next time she needed three hours' sleep. She gave me a look that postponed the argument rather than conceding it, then stood, opened the zip and changed me. The fitting itself was ordinary, competent and perhaps a little more deliberate than usual, as if she were re-establishing the precision the afternoon had disturbed. When the fresh tapes were closed she pressed them flat and said, "For the record, you should have woken me." Afterward we ate the sandwiches at the desk while the ship continued to roll. The tea was indeed cold. Ellen drank it anyway and said nothing about the temperature, which was as close to gratitude as the circumstances required. Then we put the discard pile in a shallow box so it would not travel across the bed and played cards through the last of the bad weather, Ellen newly rested, me newly changed and both of us pretending the afternoon had not adjusted something small and useful between us. She won. This was not unusual, but she used it to argue that the three-hour nap had been a strategic delegation of operations rather than an accidental collapse of command. If you asked which of us had looked after the other that afternoon, the answer would depend on which hour you meant. She had dressed me in the morning and changed me after she woke. I had protected the sleep between those acts and carried the knowledge that I could wake her if waiting ceased to be sensible. Nothing reversed. Nothing needed to. The promise at North Cape had not made us equal by making us identical; it had left us enough room to be useful to each other in different ways on the same rough day. The storm eased enough for us to join Paul and Rita at the final dinner. Ellen arrived looking considerably more rested than she had at breakfast and denied that this proved anything. Paul said he had served in rougher seas, and Rita reminded him that he had never served at sea. "I crossed the Channel in 1989." "You complained before Dover." Marriage, around that table, was well represented. We had eaten together throughout the voyage and knew surprisingly little about one another in the formal sense. I could not have told you Paul's occupation before retirement without guessing, and Rita remained vague about which town they lived near, but we knew how Paul took his coffee, which foods Rita avoided, when her medication alarm sounded and the exact expression Ellen used when I reached for bread she had not allocated. A temporary society had formed over eight dinners, held together by table number and repeated habits, and that final evening its ending felt real. Paul proposed a toast to dry land. Rita corrected him. "To looking after each other," she said, raising her glass. "It isn't what you do around a marriage. It is the marriage." She did not look knowingly at me or turn the words into a private endorsement of anything she thought she had noticed. She included Paul, with his imaginary naval service, and Ellen, who had slept through lunch, and herself. We drank, exchanged addresses and promised to write. Paul and Rita have kept that promise with the methodical reliability of people who maintain both a Christmas-card list and a medication schedule. Across the lounge afterward we saw the man from the Geiranger coach and his wife dancing carefully and a little badly. When they noticed us, his wife raised one hand and Ellen waved back. A Christmas card arrived from them that winter with a photograph taken on another ship somewhere warm, the two of them still travelling. The sea had cleared by morning. We woke to the low industrial view of the disembarkation quay, luggage moving below and announcements beginning in the corridor, the ordinary machinery by which a holiday is returned to land. Our cases stood outside except for the supply bag and the things Ellen did not trust to strangers, a category broad enough to include passports, medication, binoculars and me. We tipped Ari with an envelope and thanked him for eight days of discretion and twice-daily bins. He accepted it, shook my hand and wished us a safe journey. He had treated us all week as ordinary guests with an ordinary need, and in doing so had given us exactly the service Ellen had asked for on the first afternoon. Then we went down the gangway and into the terminal, where the ordinary world resumed in luggage trolleys, shuttle signs and a queue for the airport hotel bus. Ellen kept the supply bag under her arm. The cruise was over. Her calculations were not.
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