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Part 2 Awkwardly, Supergirl shuffled over and obediently draped herself over the doctor's lap.  She flinched when she felt his hand adjusting her shapely bottom so that her backside was positioned perfectly over his knee. He reached into a drawer and took out a rubber glove and a jar of lubricant. Handing her the jar, he teased, "Could you could use your super-strength to open this?" She strained to open the jar, but, dangling over his knee, it was difficult to get any leverage. It didn't help any that the jar top was practically cemented on. "I...CAN'T...do it!" she finally gasped, straining with all of her diminished might. Why was it that her super-strength was always the last power to return, when it was the power she wanted the most? "You women can be so HELPLESS sometimes," he chided, running his hand over her shapely bottom.   "Beautiful to look at, fun to play with, but totally helpless without a big, strong man. That's what happens when you send a GIRL to do a MAN'S job!" Kara ground her teeth in frustration as she handed the chauvinist pig his stupid jar back. When her powers returned, she would show him who was helpless. She winced as he ground the jar down against her left bottom cheek and unscrewed the lid. "See, that wasn't so hard," he said in a patronizing voice. He smiled as he slowly ran his hand over the trembling heroine's bare backside.  She was in a perfect position for a lesson in humility. "Have you ever had an enema, Kara?" he asked. Of course not!" she replied, horrified at the thought. "There is something special about a girl's first enema," he said, wistfully. "I take my time and let the patient watch as I lay out the bag, the hook for the bag, the tubing, the lubricant, and finally the nozzle. The color always drains from her face when she sees that pointy nozzle and realizes where it's going to go," he chuckled. "I stand to one side at the sink so she can watch the bag slowly getting bigger...and bigger...and bigger. I love watching her fidget and squirm as she wonders how she's ever going to hold it all. "And I take my time greasing up the nozzle. Sometimes I even ask the patient to grease it for me, so she can run her fingers over the cold, hard plastic and imagine it sliding up her tiny rear port hole. It's amazing how much lubricant some women manage to stick on the nozzle. "Then I move her into position, with her knees drawn up to her chest and her cute little fanny poking up in the air, all pink and helpless."  He was obviously relishing the image. "She's usually fairly panicked by this point, so I take my time separating her cheeks and slowly working my greasy, gloved finger past her defenses. I work it in leisurely and wiggle it around slowly and deliberately, so that she knows her ass belongs to me." "After she's been lubed, I usually take a minute to let her catch her breath before we begin," he said, quietly.  "I take her hand, or stroke her hair, and comfort her the best I can. When she feels relaxed and safe, I smile, run my fingers gently through her hair, and then return to the table. The look on her face when I turn around and she sees me holding the nozzle in one hand and the bulging bag in the other is simply priceless." "She always looks over her shoulder as I hang the bag and toy with the release clamp," he said, savoring the look of anguished suspense on Kara's face as she imagined HER first enema. "Then I pick up the nozzle, wink at her, and order her to reach back and spread her cheeks. "I use a lot of lube, so there is never any pain," he explained.  "It is the sense of helpless violation that make an enema special. I treat the enema like it's a routine, trifling procedure, and always make a point of telling the patient that I've done this hundreds of times." He smiled benignly. "I want the patient to know she's no different from the rest."  "After the nozzle is inserted nice and deep, I pretend I'm being paged," he continued. "This allows me to make an imaginary call on my cell phone.  I leave the poor girl kneeling on the table with her butt in the air, watching anxiously as I toy with the release clamp. "She perspires, and bites her lips, and wiggles her buns as I hypnotize her with that shiny metal clamp.  Occasionally I'll give her a playful little slap on the butt and chide her to 'hold still' while I chat casually on the phone about my golf plans for the weekend. "When the woman is close to fainting, I hang up the phone. 'I'm sorry for the interruption, but that was important,' I'll say, once again emphasizing how insignificant her upcoming ordeal is to me.   Then I'll smile and take a moment to look deeply into her frightened eyes. Finally, I release the clamp." "I set up the stand so that the water trickles in slowly, and there is plenty of time for the water to expand her bladder as well as her bowels. I'll pretend not to watch her wiggling and fidgeting as I chatter on the phone about my many exciting social activities. My patients squirm while I lovingly describe my ski trips or the elegant restaurants I dine in, since it reminds them that THEIR pathetic lives are limited to the degrading 'treatments' I prescribe. "I hope that hearing about my tricks doesn't spoil the experience for you, dear," he said as he gently stroked her bare bottom.  "I'm betting your first enema will STILL be memorable!" She swallowed hard as she imagined the cold plastic tube relentlessly trickling water into her bowels. Listening to his enema procedural with her bare bottom sticking helplessly in the air was agonizing.  He snapped on the rubber glove and began to worm his finger in between her tightly clenched thighs. "Little pigs, little pigs, please let me in," he teased. "No!" she shrieked.  "Don't touch me there." "Now, Kara, don't be difficult," he said, in an exasperated voice. "Remember, you're just a mental patient now, and I have to make sure that you're not smuggling any narcotics into my fine institution. I don't like this any better than you do, but I need to give that cute blonde pussy of yours a THOROUGH and COMPLETE probing!" "No, I won't let you!" she said, wedging her thighs together even more tightly.  "I'm not some helpless little slut you can strip down and probe.  I'm Supergirl!  You can't do this to ME!" He shook his head sadly and then reached across his desk and picked up her golden belt.  He folded it in half and then playfully stroked it across her tender, defenseless bottom cheeks. "I do hate to do this, but someone really needs to do something about your ATTITUDE!  You're not in charge anymore. Indeed, everyone you meet from now on will have total authority over you.  That's a lesson you're going to have to learn, young lady, and you're going to have to learn it good!" She looked anxiously over her shoulder, and he continued to playfully measure out the strokes across her backside with the belt. He was pleased to see the helpless heroine was actually biting her lower lip in fear as he ran the belt over her trembling, twitching bottom cheeks. He decided to draw out her humiliation a bit further. "Belts are funny things," he said. "Men use them hold up their pants up. Supergirl used it as a stylish fashion accessory. As part of her uniform, it symbolized her power and control. "Of course, now that you're totally helpless, we'll have to find a more appropriate use for your belt. In fact, I think this belt is the perfect tool for teaching a sassy, smart-mouthed brat respect for her betters!" He whipped the belt over her bare bottom cheeks and chuckled as she let out a gasp.  He waited a few seconds for the pain to sink in. "Stop!" she cried.  "IT HURTS!  Don't spank me! Please!  I'll do what you say!" "I know you will, Kara," he replied, gently. "You'll do everything I say, and then beg for more.  But first, I need to teach you some manners." He laid another stroke across her bottom. He didn't hit her hard, because he knew that he didn't have to.  As a novice to pain, she would find even a mild spanking unbearable. "When naughty little girls get too big for their britches, I think a good fanny-tanning is the best way of bringing them back to earth!" he teased, bringing the belt down again. "Don't you agree?" "No!  It hurts!  It's...so HUMILIATING!"  He gave her a slightly harder stroke where her thighs and buttocks met. He wanted to make sure she would have something to think about the next time she sat down.  "It's supposed to be humiliating.  Humiliation and obedience are what you are here to learn.  So don't argue with me, Kara," he said, in a sad voice.  "All that does is convince me that you haven't learned your lesson yet.  "Now let me ask you something," he said.  "Are you really Supergirl?" He rubbed the belt playfully against her bare backside. "Yes, of course I...." He SLASHED! the belt against her bare bottom cheeks and shouted, "WRONG!" In a pleasanter tone, he said, "Let's try again."  Once again he teased her bottom with the belt. Are you Supergirl?" "No," she replied, softly. "That's right," he chuckled. "Tell me who you REALLY are." "I'm just...an empty headed, scatterbrained blonde with delusions of grandeur," she said, reluctantly. "What else are you, Kara?" he asked, rubbing the belt against her twitching bottom. "I'm a disrespectful, naughty girl who needs to learn respect for her betters...." "That's right," he said, putting the belt back on his desk. "That wasn't so hard, was it?  See how much easier it is when you cooperate?" She flinched as she once again felt his gloved fingers poking at the tops of her tightly clenched thighs. "Now spread those creamy thighs like an obedient, docile little slut, or I'll tan your fanny some more." Grinding her teeth in helpless frustration, she obeyed the humiliating command. "My, aren't we wet?" he said.  "Strip away all that bluster, and you are one hot little babe." He worked his finger in and out of her wet sex as he continued his humiliating commentary.  "Are you sure that "S" on your chest didn't stand for 'SLUT'?" he joked.  "But don't worry; I'll put a note in your file to have you shaved and diapered, so you won't get too messy down there." "You can't diaper me!" she cried. "I don't need a DIAPER!"  "Now, Kara, Doctor knows what's best!"  He gave her bottom a playful slap. Slowly working his fingers in and out of her sex, he continued to tease and torment the helpless woman wiggling over his knee.  "What does it feel like to be helpless?" he asked. "Most women spend their whole lives in fear.   They have to make sure they don't walk home alone at night, for example. "It is really very unfair. Women in our society are almost like prisoners, afraid to go out alone, afraid to be at home alone, or to walk down the street without a male escort.  It's simply disgraceful." Supergirl ground her teeth as she struggled against the growing excitement between her legs. Despite her humiliation, she had never been so excited in her life. "Of course, you've never had to face that fear, Kara," he said, massaging her closer to orgasm. "You were always the one in charge, the one in control.  What does it feel like to be stripped of all your powers?  What does it feel like to be totally at my mercy? "Matter of fact, now you're even more helpless than most women," he said, working his thumb around her love button. "Now you're just a lowly mental patient. You have no clothing, no identity, and no legal rights.  I've stripped you of everything. No one will believe anything you say. The janitors, the orderlies, and even the other patients can use you as they see fit, and no one will care. No one will help you, and no one will believe you. "Did you know that 70% of the shock treatment victims are women? He once again adopted a clinical tone.  "Feminists say that misogynist male doctors don't value female intelligence and use 'treatment' to punish women who refuse to conform.  It's really quite unfair, isn't it?" "Once word gets out among the orderlies about how wet your little honey pot is, your dance card is going to be filled every night.  Have you ever been gang banged while wearing a straitjacket, Kara? My female patients tell me that it's an unforgettable experience." Supergirl threw her head back and cried out as she experienced the most earth-shaking orgasm of her life.    The doctor laughed as he wiped his greasy glove on her long blonde hair. "You ARE a little whore, aren't you?  Before you get too hot, remember that you CAN get pregnant.  I'm not going to give you any birth control, no matter how many men you have to service.  I imagine that, when you regain your powers, it will be difficult for you to abort an invulnerable fetus. I'm sure your doctor will advise you to carry the little bastard to term." "Now, Kara, it's time for you to take your medicine." He eased the naked blonde off his knee and dumped her onto the floor. "Why don't you kneel in front of me and show me what a good, submissive little slut you can be.  I want a FULL Lewinsky, on the double!" Supergirl was glad to be off his lap, but she hated the idea of degrading herself by giving the lecherous pervert a blowjob.  Her super-hearing and her x-ray vision had returned fully, and, for a moment, she toyed with the idea of running out into the hallway and trying to prove that she WAS Supergirl.  But, as she imagined herself standing in the hallway stark naked telling the horny orderlies what color underwear they were wearing, she had second thoughts. She had to stall for more time. Supergirl, the most powerful female crime fighter the world had ever seen, reluctantly knelt down in front of the two-bit con artist and obediently unzipped his pants. Fighting back her feelings of disgust, she took his hardness in her mouth. As she ran her tongue over the bulbous head, Dr. Phony continued to taunt her.  "It's such a waste to use a mouth like yours for barking orders....  Ooh, that's good", he gasped.   "Flutter that little tongue of yours right under the head and get ready to swallow.  I'm going to give you a really good treat...." She sputtered as he shot his copious load into her mouth.  "'ATTA GIRL!" he said.  "You'll swallow all your MEDICINE if you know what's good for you." She obeyed and drank the noxious stuff while he stared down at her with an amused expression.  "What does female submission taste like, Kara?" he asked. "Does it taste bitter for you?  It's sweet for me.  I think that 'S' on your uniform must stand for 'SUCK'!" "Now get back over here," he said, patting his knee.  "It's time for more medicine." She hated the idea of going back over his lap, especially since her belt was still lying ominously on the desk.   But she knew better than to resist, and she obediently scampered over his knee. He reached into his drawer and took out the special suppository he had prepared when he had seen her in the admittance area. He had acquired some "gold" Kryptonite shortly after getting out of prison.  It was poor stuff, apparently synthetic, and much less powerful than the real stuff (or even the normal synthetic). But the memory of what she had done to him was still fresh in his mind. He hadn't known how he was going to use it, of course, and he didn't have much, but, now that she was his patient, he had the perfect opportunity.  Based on what he had read, he had enough to keep her powerless for about a week if he could expose her system to the dreadful poison on a regular basis.  And what better way to do that than by administering it through a 24-hour suppository? She tensed as he dipped two of his fingers back into the lubricant and held them up before her horror stricken face. "Now, just relax your cute little bottom while Doctor gives you your medicine." She winced as he slowly spread her bottom cheeks and insistently pushed his greasy fingers past her agonizingly tight sphincter.  He took almost a full two minutes to work them all the way up her chute as she twisted helplessly on his lap, grunting from the shame and pain of her predicament. She let out a sigh of relief when he finally pulled his fingers out with a large POP! But her relief was short-lived as she saw him re-grease the tips of his fingers and pick up the suppository. She tried to twist away as she felt the evil medicine push against her tight bottom hole, but the powerful doctor easily held her in place.  He took his time and used the slow insertion of the suppository as a way of letting his new patient know that HE was in charge.... As Kara got off of his lap, he handed her a neatly folded smock. "This is your new uniform," he said, playfully. "It's not as grand as your last one, of course, but then you're not so grand anymore either, are you?"  Supergirl was grateful for any covering, and she quickly put on the garment. To her dismay, it was so short it barely covered her crotch in front, and the back strings had been cut off at the bottom, so her shapely bare butt would hang out.  "I think your new crime fighting uniform is just cute as button, Super Sucker.  Just don't go chasing after villains on windy days!" Supergirl's hands formed helpless little fists of frustration as the grinning con man laughed at her in her short hospital gown.  If only she could get her old uniform back.... But, as she clenched her fists, she felt an unmistakable power surge. It wasn't at full strength yet, but her super-strength WAS returning. She smiled, reached down, and picked up the grinning doctor by the crotch. "Upsy-daisy, doctor," she said, her self-confidence and power returning.  "It's time for you to take YOUR medicine! Dr. Phony winced as she felt her tighten her grip around his sack and lift him off his feet. He hadn't got the suppository into her bottom in time. He was screwed. She turned him upside down and dropped him head first onto the floor.  "Now, as I remember, I broke your legs when I tossed you across the room. Are they still tender and sensitive?" she said, her voice oozing with mock sympathy. The enraged Supergirl quickly x-rayed his legs to locate the fracture point and put her foot right on it. "Since you think my helpless, dainty bare feet are such a turn on, you should enjoy this."  The doctor cried out in pain as she dug her toes into thigh. "Who is helpless now, doctor?  Is pain a new sensation for you?  What's it like to live in fear?" Supergirl had never purposely hurt anyone before, but his conduct had pushed her over the edge.  "Did you know that 100% of the female super-heroes beat the CRAP out of males that force them to swallow? Should I use my dainty yellow belt to 'teach you a lesson,' DOCTOR?  Or are you going to be obedient and submissive, just like criminal scum should be?" She picked the doctor up by hair and began dragging him towards the door. "Have you ever had an enema, Doctor?" she asked, sarcastically.  "If I can find a garden hose, you will. And, since you like playing with people's butt holes so much, I'll have a talk with the warden. I'm sure he can arrange some cellmates that will enjoy using your tight little bottom as much as you enjoyed using mine!" As she dragged the doctor towards the door, she felt herself starting to weaken.  Her activity caused the suppository in her bottom to melt, and, even now, the "gold" kryptonite was seeping into her veins. The doctor quickly became too heavy to drag, and she reluctantly released his hair. Kara looked down at her feet. "This floor feels strange," she said, nervously.  "Why is it so cold again?"The two titans who had injured her shoulder burst into the room, along with the craggy nurse. "We heard you screaming, doctor," the nurse said.  "Are you alright?" "She attacked me!" the doctor said, scrambling up.  "This little bitch waited until my back was turned, and then she attacked me.   I want her restrained immediately!" The nurse instantly produced a straitjacket. "He's lying!" Supergirl cried, as the orderlies effortlessly forced her to the ground and began fitting her with the horrible jacket. "I'm really Supergirl.  You've got to believe me!" "Take her down the hall to an examination room," Doctor Phony said. "I want her shaved and diapered."   He rubbed his sore leg. "You boys take your time with the job.  She's very...sensitive...down there, if you know what I mean.  We're going to keep her in a straitjacket and a padded cell...and she won't be given toilet privileges.  We'll begin electroshock therapy in the morning." "SHOCK TREATMENTS?" Supergirl screamed.  "Please, you HAVE to believe me!  I know I look like a mental patient!  But you can't do that to me -- I'm SUPERGIRL!" The doctor intended to give her the mildest shock possible: barely a jolt.  He wanted her mind sharp and clear, but he knew he would enjoy the wild, frenzied look in her desperate eyes as the orderlies greased up the sides of her lovely head and used the gauze tape to tie her mouth restraint into place.... From the terrified look on her face, he knew that she wouldn't be sleeping tonight.  She'd be too busy thinking about her upcoming "treatment." The two orderlies dragged the straitjacketed girl out the door and into the crowded hallway. Her struggles during her jacketing had caused her short gown to ride up in front and back, leaving her totally exposed. In addition to the humiliation of being restrained, she had to endure the lustful stares and lewd comments of the patients, interns, and hospital workers as she was dragged down the long corridor. The doctor looked on in satisfaction as she was dragged towards the public diapering table. He planned to flee the hospital before the Kryptonite ran out, but there was always the risk that she would find him some day. He was, however, determined to ensure that the next seven days were worth it.                                                                                                               The End

Well… at least you won't have to wait too long with this one. I'm pledging to post at least 2k words every day. Sometimes that might be a chapter from my current project (although that's coming on quite slowly), but if I don't have anything new to post you'll get a chapter of one of these two Thanks for the support. And I'd love to hear what you're expecting to happen, who's going to end up as whose baby, and all that. I live for the speculation

Part 9 For perhaps obvious reasons, my wetting had only worsened over the past few days. I was feeling fretful about everything, especially now that the police were involved, and I couldn't stop wondering what they'd think about my role in reviewing teen/baby items. The new pharmacy manager informed Mum (and, presumably, the police) that Avril appeared unreachable and she didn’t know how or where to contact her. In the meantime, as the police conducted their investigation, Dreamtime paused all product placement and research projects, including mine and, I assume, anyone else’s who was participating. However, a couple of packages containing disposables—apparently ordered for me—had arrived. So evidently this had been organised before the shutdown of the project. There was a note attached which Mum read John Benedict Over 5 Million on line views To show our appreciation Please accept these in thanks for a job well done Dreamtime Management Ever practical and despite her worries, Mum recognised I needed nappies and told the apprehensive new pharmacist that she’d ordered them herself and were nothing to do with Dreamtime, so simply took them and brought the bundle home. A few days later and the police hadn't provided any major updates—though they made the point that it was still early in their investigation. They were still trying to track down Avril and though they’d taken a load of my Dreamtime clothing for testing, not much progress had been made in that direction either. I also received a visit from Terry, who seemed unusually quiet and uncertain about what had happened when he came last. Despite his confused demeanour, I was both surprised and genuinely pleased to see him. Once again, he found me in my bedroom wearing a t-shirt, plus the now obligatory newly applied thick nappy and plastic pants that I’d just changed into. I heard a very subtle sigh as he plonked himself down on my bed so asked how he’d been over the last few days. “OK I guess,” was his almost non-committal answer. Of course I was desperate to know what had gone on with his mum and why she’d been keen to keep us apart but thought it was best not to rush things as Terry didn’t look at all himself. Eventually though, he clarified that my mum had done a fairly good job of explaining to his mother that he was only trying to help me come to terms with my ‘anxiety incontinence’ and that - Terry was no way into being babied or that she was keen on babying others so I wouldn’t be alone wearing a nappy. It was simply him being a good friend. The clarification wasn’t solid but at least it was just about plausible. It was simply something two good friends did to support each other but could see that perhaps we’d taken it a little too far. However, he confided, it hadn’t helped that he’d pissed in his pyjamas whilst he slept the following night though mercifully had woken up early enough to secretly sort himself out. He had to admit that he had no idea why he’d felt the need to join me in my nappied state. Although on that particular night he was dreaming he was wearing a nappy so pissing wasn’t going to be a problem. Unfortunately, dreams are completely different to reality and, in fact, he wasn’t wearing any protection at all. He woke up before wetting everything but it was still a shock to the system. I had to enlighten him to the events that had so recently come to light, which he listened to in disbelief, especially about what had been found in the dummies, though seemed relieved there was at least some reason for his actions. “We’d been drugged?” He said in disbelief, “Bloody hell, well, that might explain... erm...” He clammed up not knowing what else to add to what had happened. I also told him that it was now a police matter, which made him shudder with anxiety until I calmed him with the news that we hadn’t mentioned his name. He was very grateful about that because he inferred his mother would never have trusted any of us ever again if the cops had come a knocking on their door. He wondered, like we had all been doing, just why Dreamtime had become involved in drugged dummies and, was it possible to have impregnated all the stuff I had been reviewing with something similar. However, we also thought if this was a national scandal, how come we hadn’t heard about it on the news or in the papers? Maybe it was a national scandal but the police had to keep it secret for some reason. We tossed around our wild ideas and speculation which led to the wildest conspiracy theories, which in turn we hoped to get answers for pretty soon. Meanwhile, I still wet my thick padding at night and it appeared more so when I least expected it. I just sighed because it was something I’d gotten used to. Thankfully, Mum had seen to it that I had a ready supply of some of the best disposables around. # Bruce had come to join us wagging his tail being his usual excited self, which reminded me I still had to take him out so suggested that Terry join us if he had nothing better to do. He didn’t seem too enthusiastic and again, as I pulled on a pair of shorts to cover my bulky padding, I heard that same whimper and sigh. I hadn’t been mistaken; it came from Terry. I knew something was bothering him and I also recognised the fact that he was not really his usual bullish self. Normally he’d have had some humorous comment about me looking like a big kid or how much I reminded him of his little cousin but he just looked glum and seemed deep in thought about our conspiracy theories. As Bruce ran free in the woods I tried to get Terry to chat about anything. He just didn’t seem bothered about engaging in any gossip, music, TV, our other friends, holidays, family. Whatever subject I brought up it was just one syllable answers and yet more shrugs or sighs. In the end, and after Bruce had done what he’d come out to do, I sat both of them down (Bruce being a bit more animated than my friend) and made Terry tell me what was going on. He was very reluctant to say but then I asked why he'd come around if he didn't want to chat. “OK, I’ll go then,” he murmured but didn’t move. “Don’t be daft,” I tried to be light-hearted as this was a normal response when I knew he really wanted to say something. I heard a light grumble going on, as if he was psyching himself up for a fight or argument. “Look,” I said, “It’s obvious you’ve got something on your mind so... why not just say it and then it’s done and we can deal with it... whatever it is?” His eyes searched mine and I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at like that by anyone. “Can I trust you?” He whispered intensely. “Of course.” I didn’t want to elaborate as we’ve been friends for years and if he didn’t trust me by now he never would. He paused. “I have a, um, a confession,” he looked away and suddenly got distracted by Bruce who was nuzzling his hand. “OK, what?” “Erm...” there was an even longer pause (and pats to Bruce) before he got up the guts to spill them. And then, it all came out in a rush. “I enjoyed wearing nappies...” there was another sigh but this time one of relief. “I don’t know why or how but when I got home after our session, I was admiring myself in the bedroom mirror at how strange it looked but how comfy the whole thing felt, then mum came in. I just didn’t know what to say and I blurted out that your mum had put me in them...” To say I was shocked would be an understatement because like mum, I’d never have thought Terry was the type of lad who well... you know... would go for such a thing. I mean I was glad when he had but when thinking about it later, I had been surprised... but then I thought... “Yes” I interrupted, “but you were under the influence of whatever was in the dummy... weren’t you?” “I wish I could put it down to the drug, but, well, erm... a couple of times since... erm... like after a shower...erm...um... I’ve fastened the towel around me like you know, like a nappy around my cock and balls and... it... urrmm... felt like I wanted the real thing.” He sounded like he didn’t quite understand what was going on but there was a question and an appeal in his voice, although at the time I didn’t take in just what he wanted. I hoped I didn’t look shocked and I didn’t say anything negative I just put my hand on his shoulder and that was it. I hoped it looked like I was being supportive but in my head was wondering just what had I inadvertently let loose? I’d appreciated what we’d done together but this...? How come, what had started as a little bit of bedwetting had escalated to all this?   So many questions but absolutely no answers. # The thing is, although I was blaming myself at no point had I insisted he wear a nappy. Then I had another thought, which really knocked me sideways, I hadn’t wanted to wear a nappy either but circumstances had led to it and now, well, I couldn’t see myself without protection. Is that what happens to lads when they get to a certain age, they want the comfort and protection of a well-padded crotch? My head was spinning at all the thoughts as Terry was staring at my crotch because a large part of the plastic padding was on view down my right short’s leg. “Well?” he queried. “Well what?” “What do you think. I mean, you wear them all the time so...” “Yes, but I’m no expert. I have no idea what’s going on in your head but I can’t deny when we were playing together and dressed... you know... like we were... it felt fantastic.” I can’t say that the scene hadn’t been replayed again and again in my head since we’d done it... it was pretty fan-bloody-tastic. For the first time Terry’s face lit up. “I thought so too... and fun, and now, with a bit of distance, I’m wondering if we could, erm, you know, urm, try and do it again?” There was a hopeful edge to his restrained enquiry. There was a moment of complete silence. I was trying to take in what he’d just said and I think he was waiting for some kind of explosion from me. Neither happened because once I’d had time to think about it (just a few seconds as it turned out) I thought I’d better just check I heard him correctly. “What, you want us to act like little kids?” I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief. He gave me a curious, hopeful smile and nodded. “Are you sure this isn't just the drugs talking?” I continued, although I sincerely hoped he hadn’t been on any other medication lately. I couldn’t help but question where all this was coming from—after all, Mum always said Terry wasn’t ‘that type of lad’. In all our years together, this was out of character for him. Maybe a bit of soft fleecy comfort had revealed a side of Terry that even he didn’t know existed. Terry’s a big guy—bigger and more athletic than me—a real lad’s lad, if you know what I mean. It just didn’t fit. “Perhaps the drugs just opened my eyes a bit, let me experience something...” he murmured but I could see he meant what he was saying. The fact that I’d told him it was now all a police matter appeared not to have put him off the idea. I suppose because he hadn’t been linked in any way, but there again, it still felt weird. I mean, since stopping sucking on those rather special dummies I hadn’t thought to go back and play with my toys but, now he’d mentioned it, I was wondering... maybe it would be fun. Thoughts were zooming in and out of my brain - one second I was keen on the childish aspect, the next, dreading explaining it to his mum. Would we still want to do it without the effects of our FruitiZucker?  Was there some residual drug in our system or, had the drug already changed us? “Look,” I had my thinking head on, “do you only want to wear a nappy or is it the rest that you want... you know... the escape... the silliness? Are you sure that... “Yes, I’m sure.” He interrupted and seemed adamant. “Even without the drug induced euphoria?” “It’s been playing on my mind for days. Although I now know it was because of those nobbled suckers, when I didn’t know, I still had it in my head just how much fun we both had.” He was touching my shoulder and searching my eyes again. “A few things make more sense now but the simple fact is, since that happened, and although I could claim it had all been down to a drug induced incident, it’s all still in here.” He tapped his head, “and I don’t know if it will be a one off or, like for you, more.” He paused again as if he needed to say something else but wasn’t sure. “I need to get it out of my system or I’ll explode.” He mimed his head exploding. That was followed by a huge thank heaven I’ve got that off my chest sigh. He seemed to imply that there would be an unhappy end if I didn’t agree. “OK then,” I had no option, “when do you want to do it?” “As soon as possible but, I think, I’d rather no one else knew about it...” “So you don’t want mum or dad around?” “Not if we can avoid it.” “Well, I get the house to myself regularly so why don’t I call you the next time and you can come over or... perhaps like we did as kids... we can have a sleep over?” “Hmmm, that will still involve your mum and dad wont it?” “Yes, I suppose it would.” I gave it some further thought. “Look, it will have to be done on the spur of the moment when no one else is around so you’ll just have to leave it with me... okay?” “Sure,” he seemed to have got his excitement and enthusiasm back as he gave Bruce a fairly hefty rub. “In the meantime, can you lend me one of your nappies?” He caught me off guard but of course it was something I couldn’t refuse, “Sure”. # Terry was in a lot better mood as we headed back to my place. Telling me about his mum’s worry and although at first it was a bit terrifying trying to explain everything, after a day or two it all calmed down. “Though I’m still not certain she believes all she was told.” He rambled on, “I see her out the corner of my eye looking at me suspiciously.” He sighed again, “Can’t say I blame her.” “But you still want to take a nappy home?” “I know, stupid huh? But I just want to try sleeping wearing one of those lovely disposables because I have to tell you, the last time, it felt incredible.” Not a revelation for me but to hear him say it, well, that’s something else entirely. Meanwhile, Bruce had emptied his bowel in one large, coiled dump and I bent down to retrieve it in the little plastic bag. Christ I thought, I hope Terry doesn’t expect me to do this if he shits in his nappy. I chuckled to myself but didn’t tell him my thoughts. # When we got home we went up to my room and I let him chose which disposable he wanted (the new batch meant I still had quite a lot despite losing some to the cops). Once he’d decided, and as mum was in the kitchen, he slipped it under his jacket and headed home. I promised to let him know once I knew the house was going to be empty for a couple of hours. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be that long to wait as my parents often left me to my own devices. I am sixteen after all and quite capable of looking after myself. Terry looked like I’d given him an award or something he seemed so grateful and thanked me many times before he left. The transformation between his mood on arrival and his leaving temperament was incredible, he was like a completely different person. I went into the kitchen and found mum and dad in deep conversation. They were obviously talking about all that had been happening. “You know,” this was dad, “I just don’t understand what Avril or the Dreamtime company were getting out of this.” Mum shrugged because she was in at the beginning and it all seemed so legit. “The spiked dummies? I mean? Surely they must have known that they would be discovered...” “Maybe, they weren’t from the clothes company... perhaps that was another opportunist company... maybe...” but mum’s argument faltered on her lips. She just wasn’t sure of any of it any more. For a confident and sure person like mum, this sort of betrayal had come as quite a shock. “Despite everything,” dad was adding as he watched me pull up to the table because I saw biscuits available, “Johnny here has not had a dry day or night for ages and, if anything, he’s using nappies even more.” I wasn’t sure if they were offering sympathy or accusing me of something but dad wanted my input into the conversation. “What do you think?” “I don’t know dad,” I paused but of course I had been thinking about this enterprise myself and since the cops got involved have wondered what it was all in aid of. “Were there other pharmacists in town or around the country involved? The doctor mention he’d seen other teens in nappies but didn’t say how many or even if there was any link”. “True,” mum contributed, “Although Avril did say there were others and that our reviews were being collated somewhere... but I never asked where... even after the thank you bundle had arrived.” She shrugged. “I assume the police will have a team on this,” Dad was merely speculating, “I just hope they can come up with some answers quickly.” He looked across at me. “Although, I’m not sure how it will help if they do.” It was true, my nappy saturation had increased and I had no idea why. I had no excuse; exams were over so I couldn’t blame school (although still a little anxious about waiting on results). To be honest I had no excuse except my bladder had a mind of its own and didn’t let on until it was too late. “Well the doctor did say we should book him in for a session with a psychiatrist... see if we can get to the bottom of this wetting business.” Mum looked determined, “Maybe we should have got one involved a lot earlier.” Hindsight is a wonderful thing but doesn’t help so, as far as dad was concerned, we look to the future. He nodded, “The sooner the better.” With a slight feeling of guilt I made my way into the garden. Bruce, always intuitive, sensed I needed a bit of comfort and dashed after the ball I threw with renewed enthusiasm, barking as he skidded across the dewy grass. The air outside was brisk, but the freedom of being away from the endless debate inside felt like a relief. As I watched Bruce chase and return the ball, tail wagging furiously, I wondered if maybe he was offering up a solution in his own way—distraction, uncomplicated joy, and loyalty. Back in the house, mum and dad would still be worrying, discussing what steps to take next. Doctor Answah’s recommendation about a psychiatrist weighed heavily, but, for now, under the open sky and with Bruce beside me, the confusion and scrutiny faded away, leaving only the simple pleasure of fresh air and uncomplicated companionship. The moment was a small reprieve before whatever came next, and I found myself quietly grateful for it. However, I could feel my nappy warming as I unconsciously let loose yet another stream of seemingly unstoppable pee. There were occasions during this time when I experienced feelings reminiscent of childhood.  It wasn’t something conscious and at times I hardly noticed but at that moment, with a very soaked nappy, I wasn’t unhappy. These days (and mornings) a wet nappy gave me no cause for alarm. The soft absorbent fabric was doing what it was designed to do and doing it well. # Monday morning and dad was at work whilst mum, who was putting on her coat, said she was going to see a friend from her university days who had become a psychiatrist. She inferred that after she’d shopped they would be doing lunch adding that there was plenty in the fridge if I got hungry. With a sloppy goodbye kiss she was out the door and on her way. I had no idea who it was she was going to meet. However, now she’d gone it was time to act; I called Terry and asked if he was available to come around. “Bloody hell John, I thought you’d never call (it had been less than two days) I’ve made such a mess of this one I need something a bit more substantial. I’m on my way.” The phone clicked off and I didn’t get to say anything else. “Made a mess of this one”. Well, that image set things off in my head and not in a good way. As it was, I’d only just got up so my wet night time nappy was still in place, plastic pants as usual doing a fantastic job of stopping any leaks but poor Bruce was waiting to be taken out for his morning walk. I should have attended to all these tasks before I’d called Terry but I thought we’d chat and arrange things before he hung up with some urgency. Within three minutes he was banging on the front door. Still with a sopping wet nappy I answered and invited him in. Terry barely gave me a chance to speak before Bruce, ever the opportunist, bounded over for a quick pat. Terry took one look at me and couldn’t resist commenting, “Christ John, that nappy looks fit to burst... mind you... this total look really suits you.” He let out a hearty chuckle, clearly amused by the sight of me still wearing a droopy nappy behind a rather sagging pair of plastic pants. The front door was still open so Bruce seized his moment, darting out into the garden without hesitation. He seemed content as he sniffed around, eventually finding his favourite bush. With a sense of satisfaction, he lifted his leg and relieved himself, perfectly at ease in his own familiar territory. Had I become my dog? “Thanks mate,” I snarled at Terry’s jokey observation, but in fact I didn’t really mind. I’d gotten used to a heavy soaked nappy at various times and he’d seen me now on several occasions wearing one so it was like water off a ducks back. Although I pretended it was some kind of insult. He rushed up and enthusiastically rubbed the sides of my plastic pants with both his hands, whilst telling me what a good boy I was. It was like an adult greeting a baby and expecting a smile. “Who’s a good boy then, yes he is, yes he is... such a sweet nappy-clad baby all waiting for daddy to change ums.” This was delivered with such a fun, jokey flourish that it set me off giggling and before I was really aware, more pee had warmed the front and I actually did need a change before I started to leak. However, I got in a remark which I hoped would make him think. “Daddy? That’ll be the day!” Although we’d joked about this at school since I’d made my padded confession, and he said that as I reminded him of his little cousin, he would change my soggy nappy, it had never got further than a gag. The fact that it was him now asking me for a nappy also put a new perspective on it all. Not only that but my memory of us playing together, dressed in nappies and nothing else, and remembering, just how sweet and childlike he was, didn’t add up to him being a DADDY. All those thoughts passed through my mind when I’d said those words. “Daddy? That’ll be the day!”. He was still laughing at his observation and I could see him desperate for us to move things along so I pointed upstairs and we made our way to my bedroom where everything I had left was stashed. Because the Police had so much stuff I was depleted of some of my favourite items though thankfully I did have plenty of fabric nappies and disposables for us to enjoy. Terry wasted no time on checking each pile out but I saw him settle on the mound of thick fabric nappies and looked guiltily over at me. “Do you think I could try one of these...?” I saw the hopeful look on his face and there seemed a touch of desperation in his voice. I nodded and there was that little sigh I’d heard on a couple of occasions now. # Susan was pleased to reconnect with her university colleagues, particularly Laura Mohammad (formerly Asquith), who had pursued a degree in psychology and now operated her own practice. Laura's husband, Dr. Mandip Mohammad, serves as a consultant psychiatrist at the city's primary hospital; whilst being ten years her senior, they have two children and appear settled and content. Susan learned these details within minutes of meeting her friend while waiting for their table at a local bistro. After catching up with a glass of excellent chilled Chablis and ordering lunch, Susan brought up the issue that was troubling her. She described her son’s anxiety-related incontinence and the intense pressure he placed on himself to achieve high marks in his recent exams. As they enjoyed their starter—smoked trout pâté served with chunks of roasted, virgin olive oil infused sourdough bread—Susan transitioned the conversation to the deal involving the pharmacist, explaining how matters had deteriorated, particularly concerning John’s ongoing struggles with his daily soggy routine. Laura was used to people picking her brains for an insight into a ‘friends’ troubled mind. However, Susan had the good grace to inform her beforehand that she was looking for someone to send John to and hoped by discussing it, she’d see how much her bedwetting son needed help. Laura listened and was quite shocked just how far the pharmacist and Susan had gone before actually calling in ‘proper’ help. She was also enthralled at just how much John had enjoyed his job as guinea pig and at how easily he’d immersed himself in every aspect of the ‘research’. They were telling actions that she was surprised her friend hadn’t picked up on. Unknown to Susan her friend had made an early judgement but, without meeting John in person it was purely built on what his mother revealed. Nonetheless, there may have been other areas that needed investigating so a face to face was required. To Susan’s great relief Laura agreed for John to become a client and set aside an early, after-hours session, as a first step. Once that was settled the couple enjoyed the shared duck, shallot and stilton pasta and ordered a second bottle of their favourite tipple. The ‘girls’ were relishing a bit of gossip as they had an awful lot more to catch up on. Meanwhile, back at home John had a sudden awareness. # tbc #

70. My Oversight Saturday was mostly a day of relaxation. I asked Ffrances what Tess had talked to her about the day before, but it wasn’t something she wanted to share. She took client confidentiality very seriously, and that was something she brought home into her personal life as well. I could respect that, but I really wanted to know what I could best do to help my little to be happy. One thing she did share was that she would be doing at least two hypnosis sessions this week; making sure that Tess was ready for the Christmas party, as well as reinforcing the trigger so that she could have accidents when she wanted to. Their first session was the same afternoon. I said that I would be up in my office, as I needed to catch up on some paperwork before work on Monday. I didn’t want to disturb them, but I made sure to turn on my old laptop first. I’d set it up so I could use it as a baby monitor, using the webcam to watch what was happening while I was out of the house. I was sure that Ffrances would notice if I left it set up and pointing into the room when she was home, so I left it closed and leaning against the side of the sofa, where it wasn’t uncommon to find it if I’d walked away from whatever email I was typing for a moment. I had a desktop computer in my own room, so they wouldn’t comment on the computer being there. And even with the screen closed, if I was on a call with myself the laptop would remain awake and the mic active. It was hard to listen to Ffrances’s words without dropping into trance myself. She really was that good; but this time she was focusing on the techniquest that would work best for Tess. I shook my head and muted my headphones for a few minutes. I really did have some work stuff I could have been focusing on, if I were more inclined to work at the weekend. Even if it was just Klimt’s expense claims, which frequently showed double the creativity of his actual designs. I gave it ten minutes, and gave one of his ludicrous demands an official tick to recommend the accountants authorise it. Then I turned back to the baby monitor. Tess and Ffrances were still doing an induction. I could hear how sleepy the little was when Ffrances asked her to respond. Almost all the answers she gave were about wordless grunts, a happy “Mmmhmm” or similar. Ffrances talked her down, and then set about repeating the suggestions she had given before. She asked Tess to imagine someone she trusted speaking to her, like me, or like Ffrances herself. Someone she trusted to give her those kinds of instructions. And she asked her to imagine being told that she would have an accident. Just the same suggestions she had given before, but with more repetition than I could keep track of. I quickly lost count of the number of times she went over the same points – about making sure only trustworthy people could say the words – before I finally tuned out and concentrated on some dumb online card game for a few minutes while I waited for her to get to whatever was going to change. It was all the same as before, so far as I could tell. If we told her she wasn’t going to have an accident, she would take all necessary precautions to make sure it happened that way, without even being aware of it. If she tried to drink too much, to take diuretics, or “forgetting” to use the bathroom, she would thwart her own plans without realising it. And when she didn’t have an accident, she would find herself feeling proud like a small child, or like she was helpless to overrule the choices of the adults. Whatever would feel more pleasant for her. That made sense – Ffrances still thought that those suggestions were most likely to come in useful if Tess was making herself wet too often, so she would want to make it feel less like a punishment. Maybe that was the difference. Tess wanted to draw a hard line between hypnosis for her bedwetting problem, which she saw as a practical necessity, and hypnosis to lead her into littlespace, which was something she really craved. Separating them would have made it harder for me to regress her without her realising, I knew. So it was good that if that was her request, Ffrances hadn’t quite understood the point. They had been talking from opposite perspectives, so mistakes could easily have crept in without either of them noticing. Ffrances was just adding a choice, so she could choose if she wanted to feel little or not. And I guessed pretty quickly that Tess had asked for more control over how it felt when she was triggered, maybe hoping she could prevent herself being so childish when she just wanted to avoid wetting the bed. I tried to focus and take in every detail, now that Ffrances was adding options to the trigger. We could tell Tess now that she would be surprised not to have an accident; or that she had to have an accident. Telling her “be surprised” would mean she didn’t remember being triggered, or any conversation that had led up to it; while saying she “must” or “has to” stay dry would allow her to feel that we were taking control for her, so she would know why she is protected. I was glad to know that, because I’d have to be extra careful when telling her to have accidents in future. There were more options as well, but these were only briefly touched on. Enough to reinforce my suspicions about what Tess had asked for. We could tell her not to have an accident like a baby, or not to have an accident because she’s an adult. So that we would be able to choose whether the trigger would have the side effect of helping her into littlespace. I’d been glad to see that happening originally, and I hoped it would be a part of the other trigger too. There was a big difference between an accidental dip into her headspace as a side-effect, and it being a carefully crafted thing that the trigger was intended to do, which Ffrances spent a few minutes teaching Tess to imagine. She talked about the feeling of dropping into that place in her mind hard and fast, feeling so natural to act and feel like a child. That was exactly what I had hoped for, and I knew that Tess would be so grateful. After that, I was paying a lot more attention. So far, she had only mentioned the triggers to prevent Tess wetting herself, and I wanted to see whether the positive suggestions would have the same changes. It would be a big setback if I came to trigger her next time and found that the words to make sure she didn’t remember were different. I needed to make sure that I understood all of the changes. For this one, I could wait until the next time she asked; she was sure to tell me if she wanted a specific form. But for the positive trigger, she wasn’t going to ask me, so I needed to pay attention. Ffrances started counting down, telling Tess to let the suggestions she had imagined sink deeper into her subconscious mind and be left behind as she sank back to consciousness. I didn’t understand; was she missing out the other trigger entirely? I panicked for a second, wondering if between them they had worked out how I persuaded Tess to ask for those suggestions. Was all she wanted now a dry night? But a small turn of phrase halfway through the count reassured me. They were going to continue tomorrow, or later in the week. I glanced at the clock in the corner of my screen, and realised that it had been well over an hour already. I’d been so focused on the words, trying to take note of everything they were doing, that I’d barely noticed. It felt like it had only been a couple of minutes. Still, I could get a little comfort from that. She was going to build on those suggestions later; which meant there was more to come. I just had to put off triggering her again until I knew exactly what she was asking for. It might even give me some new ideas. But that was pretty much in line with what I had intended in any case. Tess was still sleeping in the nursery, and didn’t object to me calling her ‘baby’ at dinner time, or giving her a kid’s plastic tumbler while we had regular glasses. I didn’t push it too far, and she didn’t object. So for now, to stick with the plan, I could allow her to stay dry. Once we’d had time to clear out the spare room and move those boxes back into the nursery, that would be the acid test. Tess would wake up wet after her first night sleeping there, unless she was being extra childlike in the evening. I needed to reduce how often I used the trigger until then if I wanted her to realise that her bedwetting was caused by the repressed stress of having to be an adult. So having to restrain myself for a few days was just an encouragement to do what I had already decided on. I didn’t ask Ffrances for any details later. I did ask Tess over dinner if she was willing to tell me what she’d wanted, or if I could help. She thought, and said no, so I didn’t push it. She would tell me sooner or later. I didn’t push my girlfriend for information, as much as I wanted to, because I needed her to trust me. I couldn’t give her any sign that I was doing more than I had told her. Sunday was a relaxed day; staying inside the house because it was icy outside, and watching terrible movies. We had finished almost the whole collection based on MK’s works now, but we had enjoyed poking fun at the quality so much that I’d dug up a whole new batch of stuff to watch with a similar budget and era. And the day ended happily, with not a single protest from Tess about being an adult. Sunday was harder. When I gave the baby a childish cup with her breakfast, she stared at it for a few minutes and told me she didn’t want to be a baby today. I glanced over at Ffrances, and muttered some age-appropriate platitudes. I asked Tess if she was sure; if she didn’t feel safer with a cup that was harder to spill. She hesitated just a moment, and I wondered if I had gone too far. But I had assessed the situation properly. After a second Ffrances reminded her that it was a good idea to do what the grown-ups asked until she was an adult herself. Tess blushed, looked down at her hands, and then cleared her throat. “I’m an adult,” she said. “Okay,” I nodded, reached down, and picked up the plastic cup. I gave her the coffee I’d been pouring for myself instead; slightly sweeter than she usually took it, but nothing that anyone would object to. “No sense using extra dishes. That okay for you?” She sipped the drink before continuing, and I could tell it was a little too hot for her still. But she smiled. “Yeah, thanks. I didn’t know if you would…” “I take safewords very seriously,” I said. “You said you would say that phrase if you really wanted to act grown-up for a while, and I respect that. It must be a hard thing to ask for, so I have to make sure you’re comfortable. And it’s not like I’m going to be inconvenienced by having a different mug.” Tess smiled again, and tucked into her breakfast. She had things to do, and I didn’t want to pry. I wondered if they were going to do more hypnosis this afternoon, but didn’t want to be seen prying. That was between Tess and Ffrances, and I knew by now that neither of them would appreciate my curiosity. But Ffrances told me that she had to visit the office for some reason; I’d long-since given up trying to understand her rotas. Tess asked if she could get a lift with her, and Ffrances said that was fine. So there was a chance she would be getting some reinforcement, but I couldn’t see any reason they would need to hide it if there was another session planned. Still, that curiosity was an itch I had to scratch. “Are you going into Raybridge?” I asked. “Or Ashfields? I could take you, the Christmas Market is on today and I still need to get a few presents. Token gifts for coworkers, you know the kind of thing, so something local and handmade from one of these cheap craft stalls would be perfect. It’s not really on the way if you’re going to PRMCT.” “I’m fine,” Tess answered. “I wouldn’t want to be any trouble. And…” “She means she’s nervous about you meeting her friends after last time,” Ffrances translated, and I thought I could see a little more clearly now. There was something I had to say now, I’d been thinking about it for a couple of days, but it was still hard to make myself come out with the words. “You’re going to be spending time with that guy again, aren’t you?” I asked. I knew, of course. That was the obvious reason she would have wanted to pretend she’s an adult; to impress someone who only saw her as a sex object. And I could see the hint of defiance in her eyes, the need to tell me I was all wrong about the predator’s intentions. I glanced to one side and saw Ffrances leaving the room, getting her coat and shoes on. She could even do that aggressively; a sign that she thought I was being stubborn and she was no longer prepared to keep telling me the same pointless aphorisms. I hoped she would get over that, but for now it wasn’t a problem. If I could just say what I knew I needed to say. “Can you tell him I’m sorry for the way I reacted last time?” I asked Tess. “He’s not Kieran, I know that. And I do want to get to know the people who are important to you. Look, we’re going to be doing a roast chicken for dinner on Tuesday, they were on special at the farm shop, and there’s always a ton of leftovers. So you can tell your friend he’s welcome to join us, and I promise that Ffrances will be ready to interrupt if I say anything bad about his family.” She didn’t say anything, but made a show of finding her gloves. I hated that I’d said something like that, but I knew it was the right thing to do. If I pushed him away now, I would be the enemy. It had to be him who broke contact with her, so I would be someone she could turn to. And when she looked back, I could see a half smile. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll tell him. I’d like it if you guys could get on better.” “You can talk to Ffrances first if you want. She can keep me under control, but I hope it won’t be necessary. And I know you wouldn’t be seeing him without a good reason to trust him. I know already that you’re more mature than I was at your age. You’re going to be so surprised you have an accident if he tries to kiss you or gives a sign he’s interested in you sexually. So, do you want me to give you a lift? I can drop you at the end of his street, wherever it is.” “No, thanks,” she said. “Like you said, I’ll talk to Ffrances on the way. And make sure she’s okay with another evening making sure you don’t embarrass yourself.” She actually hugged, me, said thanks again, and then flashed a devilish grin as she added: “And if you can’t manage to be civil, I think it’ll be you being a baby once he’s gone.” With that she swept out of the room, joining Ffrances, and I could be confident that everything would go well. Probably.

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