Baby Talk

Understanding I wriggled under the warm and comforting duvet. I knew it was time to get up but was so content I hoped a few more minutes would be granted before mum came in and insisted I rise and get ready for school. I yawned and stretched my five feet, eight inch frame then cuddled myself more deeply in the folds of my comfy duvet hoping against hope that she’d just forget this morning I had an exam in, I looked over at the bedside clock, an hour and twenty-two minutes. Plenty of time but not if I fell back to sleep. Meanwhile, Bruce, our cross-terrier dog, who more often than not sleeps in my room, was up and wagging his tail telling me he wanted to be let out to relieve himself. “John, c’mon, get up... you need to be up and on the ball...” Mum shouted from the other side of my bedroom door having knocked heavily so there was no chance of pretending I’d not got the call. The dog gave a little growl but I’m not sure if it was against mum making a noise or in agreement to get up and take him out. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I mumbled reluctant to move but knowing I had little choice. I threw back the duvet and felt an immediate chill as the cool air from the slightly open window attacked my lovely warm body. I shivered slightly before making sure everything was in order. I mean, I’m no Greek God but my body is nice and firm (in places) and although not very muscular and certainly not a gym bunny, I feel I’m getting by. Bruce took the opportunity to jump onto the bed, lick my face and get quite excited that I was now awake and able to give him a rub. I gave him a thorough morning “Who’s a good boy then” rub. Then he went and stood by the door, looking hopefully back at me really wanting that morning pee. With my feet on the thick carpet I stretched once more then stood up. Bruce came over again so gave him another cursory stroke, which had him wagging his tail with enthusiasm. Meanwhile, I did another shake to make sure all my limbs were working and moving and knew that was about as much exercise they’d be getting. I rubbed the fading goose pimples and checked my all but naked body. All seemed in order and correct. Alas, another wet nappy was hanging heavy behind my recently acquired plastic pants. So, heaving a sigh of inevitability, made my way to the bathroom. “Mum,” I shouted as Bruce ran past and down the stairs to get to the front door, “can you let Bruce out I think he’s bursting.” It was maybe strange that the dog could hold itself until it was outside for a pee, yet I couldn’t hold it during the night. I wonder if the dog had any thoughts on that little nugget. # ‘Nappies and plastic pants?’ Okay, so that bit might have caught your eye... that a schoolboy (sixteen if you don’t mind) is wearing a nappy and the aforementioned plastic pants to bed? (I’m still a schoolboy because I’m a boy and still at school. Over the years we’ve all tried to change the terms of reference; sixth former, pupil, undergrad, student... well, you get the idea but the one that has stuck (and there’s no shaking this), if a boy is still at school then the majority of people will still refer to him as just that – a schoolboy). Glad that’s off my chest. Now, where were we? Ah yes - nappies and plastic pants - I’m not keen on them but, with recent developments, it has seemed prudent to both mum and me, sorry, mother and I, that such protection was valid until I get rid of this drippy penis I seem to have acquired. It started a few weeks ago with just damp underpants that I couldn’t explain. I had no idea I was dribbling into them but that dribble became a flow when I went to sleep. Several mornings of distressingly wet jammies and sheets meant action had to be taken. To be honest, I was very embarrassed about bringing it up with my parents. I mean sixteen and having that kind of wayward willy was pretty awkward to explain but, as mum had fitted mattress protectors to all our beds, damage was kept to a minimum. Well, that’s what I thought until she came up with a better minimum and that was that I should wear protection until whatever ails me clears up. Then, of course, it would be just me that was wet, so laundry and disruption was all kept to that minimum she was so keen on. Mini mum... now that’s funny if you knew how tall she is... ha! The past few weeks have been really hectic due to exams, which everyone emphasized were extremely important, so there was a lot of pressure. Honestly, the entire year has felt stressful because we knew these last weeks would require us to put everything we’d learned into practice. Now that I’ve finished some of the papers, I think the first few subjects went well, although beforehand I was incredibly nervous. I only have a couple left, and with summer break just around the corner, I’m looking forward to forgetting about school for a bit—and I really hope my anxiety-related wetting stops as well. I’m quite a practical chap and understand that wearing some form of protection at night would just be until this, whatever it was, passed. No one but the family would know and it did seem a sensible thing to do, so although I had a few misgivings, agreed. I was surprised at just how quickly mum had got the fabric nappies organised. So wasn’t quite expecting, on arriving home, to find my bed with one laid out, barrier cream, talcum powder and everything prepared for when I retired later that night. Now, mum (Susan) is the driving force in the family. Dad works in his family business, which he’s turned around since taking over its management, but at home, he always agrees with any and all mum’s decisions. Not because it’s easier but because she is without doubt, always right. We’re a tight threesome, foursome if you count Bruce (and who wouldn’t?) and even though I should be a stroppy teenager, so far that has passed me by, though I like to feel I am an independent spirit. However, mum had said that before I put the nappy on she wanted to check I wasn’t getting a rash. Actually, I was because I’d spent far too much time at school scratching my bollocks. Nonetheless, I lied and said I was fine whilst grimacing at the term ‘nappy’, I would have preferred her to call it, erm, adult protection. However, my little lie didn’t play well when she saw me surreptitiously scratting away at my privates during dinner so insisted that she check properly. The fact I was sixteen meant nothing to her she simply played the ‘mum card’ “You’ve nothing I haven’t seen before” and “I’m your mother and what I say goes” difficult to argue against that sort of reasoning. There wasn’t a chance in hell of me going against mum’s directive. I wasn’t like that... and she’d never put up with it... so, best do as I’m told when I’m told. Now before you start about being all ‘In yer face mum’ or ‘I’d never put up with such a decision’ ‘Where’s the teenage rebellion?’ let me tell you about me – I’M NOT LIKE THAT. # John’s mother and father, Susan and David, had met at university. One lunch time he’d wandered into the library and noticed that the debating forum was in full swing. He’d watched entranced as a small but sprightly young woman, in tight fitting jeans and sloppy angora jumper all but destroyed the arguments of the opposing team. The following week, he once again ‘stumbled’ on the debating team and once again was impressed by this clever fellow student who argued strongly for the return to the full power of the Monarchy. On this occasion she was dressed in similar jeans but a purple t-shirt that had YES written on the front and NO written on the back. No ambiguity there he thought but there was no getting away from the fact that his heart and mind were besotted by this incredible young presence at her challenging best. From then on he saw her around campus and eventually, after weeks of procrastination picked up the courage to speak. He would never have the courage to debate, not being one for any form of confrontation, but loved the spirit of this small woman (he being over six feet tall), and the energy she brought with her. She loved his shy, almost boyish interest and enjoyed being in his company but kept him at arms-length until they both graduated. To celebrate he wanted them to go on holiday together but she was reluctant to give herself to this keen but undynamic man. However, what she did see in him was a kind, sweet, generous, understanding young man unlike most of his follow graduates. He had qualities she quite admired but thought a heavy relationship would be detrimental to her career. So, they remained friends as she pursued her path to work in Government and he slipped happily into the family printing firm. In a very short time Susan had become disillusioned with ‘Big Government’ and decided to look elsewhere. However, circumstances changed and after a particularly romantic vacation in Sardinia, which both felt they needed, friendship changed to something more and after the first consummation of their relationship, David proposed and she accepted. As it was... perhaps just as well because on that first proper sexual encounter (which was far more exciting and prolonged than Susan ever thought possible) the seeds of a baby were... sown. Nine months later, and to Mr and Mrs Benedict’s excitement, young John Francis Benedict took his first breath. Susan discovered just what a wonderful and devoted husband David was; diligent in his work and social life and a loving father... and an absolute bull in bed. However, for biological reasons, John had been the only result of their hectic sex-life and both parents doted on him. Nonetheless, he wasn’t a spoiled boy, he wasn’t overly indulged and they brought him up to know right from wrong. He wasn’t necessarily a pushover but was taught that winning at all costs was not the goal in everything. Sometimes it was best to just hold back and see what develops. However, what had developed were wet pants and a wet bed so, they also brought him up to understand that what parents say goes. He’d learned fairly early on that arguing with a ‘professional’ debater (his mum) was a useless tactic. # Standing naked as mum inspected my ‘equipment’ was quite awkward, she looked professional, whilst I squirmed under her scrutiny. “Well love, you are quite flaky in places, which can’t be very pleasant for you so, this bush will have to go whilst you wear a nappy, otherwise it’s just a breeding ground for all sorts.” She wasn’t specific but I was rather proud of my bush - thick and wiry - so didn’t really want to lose it. It is amazing at what you become proud of in the changing rooms after games or gym. “But mum, I don’t want to be the only lad in gym without pubes they’ll all have a go...” “Just tell them that your girlfriend prefers to see you that way...” “But I don’t have a girlfriend except Jenny and she’s just a friend and...” “Use your imagination son, if they think you have a girlfriend who prefers to see you shaved,” she emphasised the word. “What else is does she like (?) because it means she’s seen you naked. The other boys will be sick with jealousy.” I was quite astounded at mum’s easy knowledge of how teenage boys think, so, the thought of losing my pubes didn’t seem so bad. Then of course, there’d only be the padding to find an excuse for. Perhaps I can say she prefers to see me in them than my CKs... this pretend girlfriend? Well, that might be one way of explaining it but maybe I’ll just not tell anyone and hope I can negotiate only wearing a nappy, erm, adult protection, at night and find something less obvious to capture my constantly leaking cock. Yes, I know I should see a doctor, and an appointment has been made, but with non-emergencies in the NHS there’s almost a month to wait to get one so hopefully it will be over long before then. Meanwhile, I’ll ask at the pharmacy to come up with something. Well, I won’t because that would be embarrassing but I’m sure mum will have no such qualms. # Mum was just as quick with the shaving business. Insisting that I got on with removing my pubic bush as soon as possible, which I assumed was so I didn’t overthink its removal; I was still pretty keen on keeping it. However, I’d started occasionally shaving my face, though that was only like once every two weeks, but my hairy pubes had been with me for a couple years and that’s why I didn’t want to lose them.  Mum had everything I’d need prepared just as I was about to take a shower. “Don’t procrastinate you need to clean that area,” she pointed to my crotch. “Now then love, you need to be careful but thorough.” I didn’t need being told that... careful, hell, I didn’t want to put a sharp object anywhere near my cock and balls. I sighed as I was almost convinced she was going to join me in the shower and make sure I did it properly. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?” (See what I mean?) “No mum,” I said more than a little annoyed. This daily bed-wetting lark was getting too much but, as I’d woken up to another pair of damp undies (adult protection), it was difficult to play the put upon son AND, it was getting pretty itchy ‘down there’. “Just be thorough and, John, I don’t like that attitude if you don’t mind.... all this is for your benefit, no one else gains anything from it, so... think on.” I sighed, “Yes mum, sorry mum.” “Look, make sure you’re thoroughly wet but I suggest you clip the hair down as short as possible before you start otherwise...” “Yes, yes, yes...” I needed peace and a steady hand but thankfully she’d left a pair of scissors out that I hoped would do the job as directed. “Don’t be afraid to call me if you need any help.” “Yes mum, can you please go so I can get on with it?” “Alright but be careful...” she sounded really concerned - as if she didn’t trust me to do the job properly. I harrumphed again but she had left me with scissors, shaving foam, a Gillette Slalom II razor and a flannel. From behind the door I heard her repeat the words “Be careful love” but that only set my nerves on edge. Perhaps that might explain why the hand gripping the scissors was shaking as I made the first snip. # Little by little I carefully pruned and threw the wiry hair into the toilet bowl to get flushed away. On me it seemed loads but floating in the water my pride and joy didn’t look that impressive. I foamed up what was left around my groin and realised that I couldn’t actually see the skin to be sure I was doing it correctly. My breathing had become erratic as I held the razor when taking that first stroke into the unknown. I started just below my naval and slowly (and carefully) manoeuvred bit by bit down that little trail to the main event around my shaft, which was dangling afraid to get too perky. I grabbed my soapy balls and tugged them tightly and ran the blade along the soft skin and hoped I wasn’t digging in too deep. I was pleased to see the pale skin underneath and no bloody mess, which was a relief. There were moments when I just didn’t inhale or exhale at all as I carefully slid the razor between my legs and shaved a little of that bit between cock and bum. I was surprised at how much hair was gathered there (and around my bumhole) but eventually I was done and the entire area had escaped any cuts and looked pretty pristine. It seemed strange inspecting myself that closely and looking at it all from a weird close-up angle - I had no idea my bumhole looked like that - the end of a fastened balloon. I’d never taken such care over anything in my life and although the area was now nude and very pale compared with the rest of my skin, apart from a couple of red blotches which I presumed were from so much scratching, I thought I’d done a pretty good job. Mum had told me, once I’d showered and cleaned the area up not to forget to apply an aftershave balm. Unfortunately, I splashed on some aftershave cologne by mistake, which had me hopping around and squealing like a madman. I washed that off as quickly as I could but felt the burn for quite some time after, even with a coating of the proper soothing balm mum had left out for me I could still feel that blunder. I didn’t tell her about that mishap; I wasn’t sure whether she’d be sympathetic or burst into hysterics. I kept that to myself. However, I stood in front of the mirror and examined the new nude state of my genitals and thought although they normally hid behind that bush, now, on their own, they drooped and to me at least, looked a little larger than usual, hmmm? The other thing was that as I fondled the smoothness there were certain sensations that I could appreciate and felt it was time to explore them. Perhaps shaven dangly bits would have some pleasant advantages? At sixteen I have the same physical drives that any lad my age has, so that means, I have a very good friend that I like to play with regularly. I don’t mean to be rude but it would be silly to try and pretend otherwise and I think this ‘nightly need’ has spurred mum to come up with nappies as a solution. I mean, I know I need one for wetting but I think she sees it as a way to prevent any other bedding (pyjamas, undies, socks and the like) from being a ‘recipient’. Yes, I think that’s the term. No, we’ve never spoken about it, nor have we acknowledged that a boy my age has these urges it’s just sort of accepted. But I can tell that mum is pretty happy - if that isn’t the completely wrong term - that my nocturnal activity now has another form of, erm, depository. # Anyway, mum had a word with the pharmacist and although there were warning devises and plenty of complementary or alternative treatments like - medicinal plants, chiropractic treatment, homeopathy, hypnosis and acupuncture, she was of the opinion that a good quality fabric nappy was, as the timeline of the problem was unknown, the best ‘alternative’ way to go. It was re-usable, so that was good for the planet, and avoided landfill sites. Apparently, in their discussion, and I only found this out later, they also thought how much more adorable a teen must look when he (or she) has to wear a thick nappy. Apparently, for mum that was the clincher and she bought a few large fabric nappies to be sure she had me covered for all eventualities. She said that she hoped I didn’t mind her turning me into a cute nappied eco-warrior... and then giggled. Now, bear with me, I don’t know about you but seeing mum giggle was an amazing sight. Despite the news of nappies she’d just delivered, all that was forgotten when she laughed the way she did. I mean, of course, mum laughs a lot but seeing and hearing that girlishly coy giggle, well that was something else and seemed to take a good ten years off straight away. The thought of being put into nappies should have held terrors for me (or at least some resentment) but that eco-warrior giggle put things into perspective. Mum appeared to be genuinely making the best of my situation, embracing the inevitability of my ‘drippy willy’ without any hint of malice or vindictiveness. Rather than letting embarrassment or frustration take hold, she seemed to find humour in the predicament, which brought a certain warmth to the entire experience. Not wanting to dampen her spirits, I decided it was best to follow her lead. By adopting Mum’s attitude and treating the issue as something amusing and not dwelling on the negatives, I found it easier to accept and even find some lightness in what might otherwise have been an awkward problem. # Anyway, that first night in a nappy was an odd affair. To say I was reluctant would be an understatement but as I’d agreed I couldn’t back out. First mum said she’d do it, and then dad joined in and said he should do it... I didn’t particularly want either to do it. Nonetheless, I tried to pin myself in and it was a disaster; it just kept falling down I couldn’t get the tension right. So, in the end, and after a great deal of joking and cajoling, mum did it for me. It was chance for mum to inspect what I’d done. NO, I didn’t want her to but she insisted and no matter how embarrassing it was for me... she was going to check... and check she did. My cock, balls and bumhole all got a very close inspection and, after a few finishing little scrapes with the razor at any wayward hair, she slapped on some extra cream and rubbed it everywhere around that area. She was very thorough, as you might expect, but a finger and warm hands slipping around in certain places you really don’t want it to be your mum doing it. Meanwhile, as mum reassembled the fabric into a nappy shape, dad stood at the door grinning and revelling in my embarrassment. After a liberal sprinkling of talc it was all fitted (pins and all), and mum had made a big deal about kissing me goodnight. Dad came over, said very seriously that I was doing the right thing and shouldn’t be ashamed or embarrassed by wearing a nappy. I was pleased he was taking it seriously and not out to make a joke. Nonetheless, then he added “However, you do look adorable.” There was never any malice in what dad said but that cheeky smile as he exited made both mum and me chuckle. Dad’s a lovely man and me and mum (sorry, mother and I) are very lucky to have him. He works full time in the printing firm and has had to adapt new ideas as the printing business in general is on a downward spiral in many ways. However, he invested in new equipment and set up an ‘independent’ publisher, so people could self-publish, design their own cards, posters, invitations etc as well as exploiting the demand for A.I. produced material. The business that was failing now produces a nice, though not substantial, profit thanks to dad’s forward thinking. Meanwhile, I turned on my side and tried to relax with this huge piece of material now joining me in my sleeping arrangements and hoped I’d be able to drop off. Bruce was already curled up at the foot of the bed, not on it because mum said he shouldn’t be allowed under the covers. Having said that, of course he joined me when he felt like it not when I said it was okay. Bruce had a mind of his own and wasn’t going to let me dictate where he should sleep. In the morning my new ‘protection’ was soaked but I had slept like a baby. No, I don’t mean I woke up every couple of hours crying to be fed so you can get that image out of your head straight away.   I slept soundly and innocently, and with Bruce curled up beside me as the ideal bed companion, I easily forgot about the uncomfortable, damp weight covering my groin. # Anyway, the thick padding hadn’t been leak-proof enough for such a deluge so mum returned to the pharmacy where once again she chatted with the lady behind the counter who suggested a range of thick vinyl pants. Apparently, as you will see, she liked chatting to mum about my problems, who said it was ‘refreshing to find a parent who was so open and honest about such a thing’. Anyway, they got on well and I think mum now has a new friend she’ll be hanging around with. So, I now have to sleep not only in a nap.. erm... adult protection... but with that material protected by a vinyl covering, which I have to say I hated the thought of to begin with (too babyish). In fact, I said “No” straight away when she produced the first slinky pair; they were transparent and crinkled quite loudly before I put them on. Anyway, mum was insistent so was left with no option, but, surprise-surprise, once they were on and I was in bed, they felt quite nice to wriggle around in. I didn’t know if this was the ‘normal’ reaction but it was really quite a weird though satisfying sensation. Okay, so between the pharmacist and mum they’d got me back into wearing plastic pants over nappies.. erm I mean adult protection (Oh god this is getting silly I might as well stick to calling them nappies as I’m calling them that anyway) and although I felt as guilty as hell, as I say I was enjoying the sensation more than I let on. Anyway, it’s been a few days now and I understand this is all for my own good. Of course mum had explained the ‘laundry rules’ whereby wetting anything other than the nappy was a no-no and a dry bed was the ultimate aim. I’d also been instructed in how to put it on properly and efficiently so I was the master of my own night time arrangements. Mum and I had different ‘ultimate aims’ but hers were instant, practical and workable - whereas mine were merely hopeful. Hoping my problem would soon pass. This brings me to the present moment. Having just taken a shower, my mind occupied with numbers, formulas, angles, and algebra because I have a mathematics paper in approximately an hour. Therefore, I must get a move on if I’m not to be late. # When I got back to my room mum had left out a soak pad next to my y-fronts and a pair of sleek soft white vinyl pants. As we’d talked about it earlier she knew my reluctance to wear a nappy to school so we’d come up with this alternative. With the addition of the plastic pants as security she was convinced that a thick pad resting in my white briefs would be sufficient to soak up any dribbles that might occur... and give me time to get to the ‘little boys room’ (mum’s words) where I could change, if and when it happened. “Slip the pad in your undies love and don’t forget to wear the plastic pants over the top... it should keep everything to the minimum embarrassment should you pee...” There she goes again mini mum – ha-ha. I could have guessed that but I suppose it’s just as well she was on the ball because I would have said “I know” in a belittling voice because I’m a little stressed. In this house mum knows everything. Whatever question I, or come to think of it dad has, she knows the answer.  Dad: “Where’s my blue shirt?”   “Hung up in the airing cupboard.” Dad: “Have you seen my keys?” “In the kitchen next to the biscuit jar.” Dad: “Have we paid the electric bill?” “Yes, that’s just to let you know how much... it’s not a request for payment.” “Oh, Okay.” Me: “Mum do you know what x is if y over z equals 17?” “Erm, ask your father.” So, perhaps she doesn’t know everything. Anyway, I did as suggested and once I’d put my grey school trousers on it felt a bit tight but otherwise I didn’t think it looked too bad. I was sure no one else would notice especially if I wore my jacket most of the time. However, our classrooms can get quite warm so I might have to be a little more cautious around others. Still, the morning is going to be spent in exams so few will have time to be bothered about what I’m wearing, if they even notice. Of course, after the exam, which I think went okay, my best mate Terry sidled up and patted my bum. Terry is my age and although he’s my bestie we are completely different, he’s very sporty, rugged and about three inches taller than me. He has a group of mates that he’s always with (and of which I am just an occasional member) and seems to attract the girls like he was some kind of pop star. I’m not jealous, just, well, glad he’s my mate. “You’ve got some explaining to do mate...” and left it at that as he disappeared with a group of other lads down the hall and out into the yard to get some air. I didn’t get a chance to say anything but was glad he was giving me time to come up with an excuse. I don’t know how he could tell but somehow he could. Should I run with the girlfriend excuse or should I tell him the truth? He knew I didn’t have a girlfriend so that wouldn’t wash, but should I be truthful with my best mate... did he need to know? # Actually, there was a load more going on in my head and in my pants. I’d just been sitting in a Maths exam and although hoped I’d done quite well I had a bit of a distraction. As I arrived a little later than I normally would have I hadn’t followed the first rule of ‘exam taking’ and that is – make sure you don’t need to use the toilet - empty bladder and bowel BEFORE entering the room and not like I’d done, during. Not the bowel part, that was something I didn’t need but my bladder was being very insistent so, about halfway through and, knowing I had a slight advantage over anyone else with my soaker pad lying discreetly in my underpants, gently (although not easily) let the build-up flow. It was a peculiar, warming experience. I suppose it was the situation and circumstances that made it feel different but I can’t deny that I felt a little bit of daring and pleasure in being able to do what I did. Although later, when the questions on the page seemed to be even harder, sitting in a soggy pad for the rest of the exam period became quite uncomfortable. Thankfully, mum’s special vinyl pants kept everything tidy and prevented any leakage (I checked before I left my seat in the exam room) for which I was grateful. So, when Terry patted me on what I assumed was my expanded bum and said those words, I knew my secret was over but I’d have to trust him to keep it to himself. # Before I joined him and the rest of our mates I slipped along to the one handicapped toilet to change. The soaked padding wouldn’t have lasted much longer and I needed to get the twisted wet thing from around my genitals. Mum had put a couple more soaker pads in my backpack as well as a disposable (she said for emergencies). So, once I had my pants down and the soggy material in my hand it was decision time – pad or disposable? Mum didn’t like me using disposables because of the ‘eco’ aspect to them but knew, in an emergency, it might well be needed. However, the pad, once wet, had ridden up and twisted in my briefs to become uncomfortable. Although that was probably more to do with my wriggling about as I tried to solve the various problems and equations. Anyway, I had ‘normal school’ in the afternoon so thought a disposable would fit better and not ride up. Besides, my undies were already soaked so didn’t want to sit around in them even with a fresh pad in place. The disposable was very comfortable in comparison. # Okay, with Terry saying what he said I assumed he knew about my padding. I’d not told anyone about my ‘dribble’ problem and as far as I knew only mum, dad and the pharmacist were in the know. However, Terry is my best mate so I suppose he notices more than others if I’m looking or acting differently, even if I’m not aware of doing so. All this was going through my head when I eventually caught up with him in the break room. As usual he was surrounded by our friends so had to wait for a moment when it was just the two of us to explain what was happening to me. “How did you know?” I asked cautiously. He looked coy “Know what?” “Well you know... about me needing padding?” I hoped no one else was near enough to hear as I took a furtive look around. He stared at me for a moment and then asked what the hell I was talking about. “You said I needed to explain... so... ummm...” but he was looking a bit vacant and suddenly realised perhaps he was talking about something else. “Oh, never mind I’m thinking of something else...” I tried to look like I was doing just that but couldn’t think of why I’d tell him I needed padding. “You didn’t join us online last night,” that’s what I was referring to. “Jim, Hills and Graham... we were well into... wait... what do you mean you need padding?” Oh shit, now he’d grasped something was up I knew he wouldn’t let it go so had to make my mind up pretty quickly as to whether I was going the whole hog and tell him about my little problem. Yes, despite revising like mad it was deemed necessary for us to take a break and I’d reluctantly made arrangements to join in the team game we’d been playing online. What had become more important - my bollock-shaving regime and one thing led to another so had completely forgotten about killing a few mutants. I felt a chill run through my body and at the same time I blushed wondering just how much to say. Furthermore, the abrupt rise in anxiety resulted in an unproductive reaction towards my disposable. I discreetly guided him aside, away from the hearing range of the others. “Erm, when you patted my bum as we left the exam room I thought you must have noticed I was wearing...” He was looking at me with interest and I was finding it hard to say the exact words. I needed to make it seem that it wasn’t a big thing but of course, a lad of sixteen wetting his knickers* is quite a big thing. * Briefs, trunks, in fact underpants in general were often referred to as ‘knickers’ by the rest of the lads if they were taking the piss out of someone in gym or games. Because it was a ‘girlie’ term it was a way of having a go though I’d say there was very rarely any maliciousness to the comment. I was just wishing that he’d break into a smile, say he knew exactly what I was talking about, it was no big deal and we could get on as if nothing had been said. Alas no. “What, you’re telling me that you’re wearing a nappy?” He looked incredulously at me. “No, no... erm... well...” “Bloody hell John,” he looked like I’d just told him I’d killed a man, “why are you telling me this?” He looked around to make sure no one was listening. “A nappy?” he whispered incredulously. I wasn’t sure if I should continue or not but now I’d started it seemed a bit redundant to pretend I hadn’t said anything. I can’t say I was encouraged by the recent warm glow down there but it made it more difficult to ignore. But he continued. “Why would I want to know that?” He looked most uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I thought that’s what you were referring to and, as you’re my best mate, thought I’d level with you that’s all. I mean...” “But now I know I can’t un-know...” “Well true... that’s how I feel as well.” I shrugged and again whispered that I was sorry and it took a few minutes of silence between us before any conversation started again. “So, you say you’re not wearing a nappy, or are you?” “Look, I’ve been wearing a soaker pad in my briefs and plastic pants to stop any leakage because I’m having trouble with my bladder.” He looked shocked but as was usual with him, he liked information so, as this was personal and about me, he was interested. “But suspect from that you’re only telling me half the story...” he replied and I nodded. “Yes because I have to wear a nap... erm... adult protection at night because I pee the bed if I don’t.” “Christ John, what the hell have you done to your bladder?” “I don’t know. It started leaking a while back and has just got worse.” “What’s the doctor said?” Surprisingly he seemed to actually be taking a real interest. “I’m still waiting to get in and see him... in the meantime mum insists that the easiest precaution... and to keep laundry to a minimum (ha-ha) I have to wear, you know, stuff... at night.” I shrugged as if to say I don’t understand it either but it may not have come over that way. He nodded as if this was the best advice anyone had ever been given. He then smiled. “You do know that from now on I’ll simply regard you as my baby brother?” He said whilst ruffling my hair. “Oh, well, thanks for your sympathy and support.” I said a little annoyed in the direction this conversation had veered. “Now, now,” he said as if talking to a little kid “don’t get your knickers, I mean nappy, in a twist” and tried to hold back a huge laugh I could see building inside him. I didn’t know what I was expecting from this revelation but assumed Terry would be okay with it but, well, now... “You know, when you pout like that,” he chuckled, “you remind me of my four year old cousin.” I looked at him hoping for something positive, “But there again, he’s out of nappies now so...” and burst into a gale of laughter. “So glad this amuses you,” I said resentfully. “Yes, that’s it, that’s the sulk,” he laughed harder and pointed, “just like my little cousin.” Although it was a put down I didn’t feel there was any malice in his observation. Unfortunately, the laugh had attracted attention from our other mates and they wanted to know what the joke was. Terry covered for me. “No joke, just a silly observation John made about Mrs Twistleton as she supervised his Maths exam. She stood next to McAvoy longer than anyone else and ‘accidently’ brushed up against him, so, was wondering if the rumours were true.” Everyone knew the school (well pupil) gossip that he was shagging the teacher so each knew what I was getting at and burst into laughter along with me and Terry. The thing was, as I wriggled down in my seat under the obvious amusement of this situation, it was the damp disposable that seemed to wrap itself around my nude cock and balls and offered a feeling of comfort and support. How weird is that? # tbc #

I had on a Detective Marty earlier. I put it on to go for my walk early Monday morning. (Sleeting) I wore it to bed, but did not use it.

Stirred.

F****ing hotel radio. They must have sent a new disc recently.

Irritated desk clerk win. I can hear it now. "Your website didn't mention that you weren't pet friendly."