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Sixteen. When I solved the mystery of Madison Bell’s smile, it was an easy riddle made hard by the riddler. Any time I came close to figuring it out, she would pull away. She would get angry or apathetic. She would stop texting me. She would hide the clues so I could never solve it. But I did anyway. This was different. The mystery of Madison’s eyes was a hard riddle made easier. I thought after I mentioned her childishness that evening on her sofa that she would retreat from it, but it was the opposite. She fed into my toy store trips. She recommended kids’ movies all the time, in case there was one I hadn’t seen. When I’d tease her, she would smile a smile so warm it would color her cheeks. She was giving me literally every clue I could ask for, and still, I didn’t understand. “So she just likes to act like a kid?” Polly asked. “It feels like more than that,” I said. “It feels intimate.” “Sexy intimate?” “No,” I sighed. “It’s like when you’re playing hide-and-seek, and you pick the same hiding spot as somebody else, but the seeker finished counting and you both have to cram into the back of a closet together. It’s quiet, you can see each other perfectly, and neither of you says anything. Your fates are intertwined, and one wrong word or one wrong movement means you both get caught. It’s a secret. A silent, quiet, absent secret, so desperate and so important that neither of you can bring yourselves to even mention that it exists. But that light in her eyes… you know she won’t let you down…” Polly grabbed my wrist and it drew me out of my uncharacteristic stint of introspection. I looked up at the playground - there was one by Polly’s house and it was the first nice day of February. It seemed a waste not to sit on the swings. “Jamie. What is going on?” “What do you mean?” “I’ve never heard you talk like that. Ever.” I shrugged and kicked the wood chips under my feet. “Why is Sunshine so important to you?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But she is. I just feel like… I need to figure this out. Like I need to understand her.” “Why?” “Because I don't think anyone else does.” Polly spun around in her swing, tightening the chains around one another. Then she uncoiled and snapped back into place. “Well,” she finally said, “how can I help?” “This kid stuff.” “Ask her about it.” “I don’t want to scare her away,” I said under my breath. “I feel like she’s warming up to me or something.” “Then just test the waters. Treat her like a kid.” “I already do,” I sighed. “Push the envelope. Transcend the typical ‘childish teen’ trope and push into the ‘childish child’ one.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Look here,” Polly said, getting off the swing, “she likes this kid stuff. And you don’t think it’s weird, right?” “I don’t think it’s that weird.” “Then see how deep the rabbit hole goes. And when you have enough proof, so much that she can’t run away from it, talk to her.” Well, I hadn’t come up with any better ideas myself, had I? “Thanks.” “Yeah,” Polly dismissed. “That’s what friends are for.” The next Monday at school, the temperature was in the fifties. If I turned the heat on when I got home from school, the house would still be warm well into the night. Mom worked a late shift too, until eight. If there was any other time perfect for a night alone with Madison Bell, I wouldn’t know it. “Tonight. You. Me. We’re watching that movie with the cats you keep talking about.” “I don’t know if I can,” she said with a tiny smile. No Days had become slightly more pliable after that first break from the norm. Some days were still confident ‘No’s, and others, less certain. Today was a less certain one. It wasn’t that she “couldn’t” come over, but rather that she “didn’t know”. So I decided to sway the decision in my favor. “We could wear pajamas. I watched my neighbor’s dog over the weekend, so I’ve got snack money. What do you think? Junk food, chocolate, pajamas, and Disney movies?” You could see the brightness burning in the backs of her eyes. I’d won this battle. “I can’t stay the night,” she said. “I’ll take you home at ten. The pajamas are just for comfort.” “I have to call my mom and ask.” “Keep me posted.” Her mom always said yes. From what I understood of it, Madison cared more about asking to come over than her mom did. And sure enough, after lunch, I got a text message: >> Mom says its fine!! See you after school~ I waited by the side-doors to the parking lot, looking up at the warm blue sky. The sun was bright today. All the snow had melted. I thought about what Polly had said on Friday - about how deep the rabbit hole went - and as strange as it seemed, I was really excited to find the answer.

Chapter Ten A six A.M. board meeting was almost unheard of, and yet here they were. The Blue Witch of Apex was addressing them directly, in person. To say he was intimidating would be an understatement. "Last night at eleven p.m.," their CEO was saying, hands behind his back as he walked around the assembled Witches - this was all information they knew, but no one was going to interrupt His Grace, Marcel Dubois, the most powerful Witch in the world. "The Ivory Tower of Winchester collapsed. This is bad for us." He paused, resting his hands on Margot’s shoulders, leaning slightly on his Chief Security Officer. Marcel's skin was alabaster white, his fingernails black, and his eyes the deepest, darkest sapphire blue. In his jet black suit, his figure was striking, powerful. His silver hair was slicked back against his skull, his face deceptively youthful. Margot, by contrast, was dark-skinned with distressingly common brown-colored eyes. All of that was offset by her shock-white hair… which didn’t fit in with the Apex, but no one was going to give her trouble for it, no one would even mention it. "We have several objectives in dealing with this situation, our Q4 goals are going to be disrupted by this - this is okay. One, we need to find any survivors - Witch, Possessed, Familiar, anyone with Winchester ties - and kill them. If they regroup, they could be absorbed by another coven whole, if they scatter then several covens could have access to their magics. Neither of these is acceptable." "Sir," Sebastian, the Chief Financial Officer interjected, "Why not absorb those assets ourselves?" Marcel's eyes narrowed and everyone turned to Sebastian, waiting. "Apex is pure," Marcel countered. "Our line is pure and we don't need the Winchesters muddying it up. We're not the top coven because we whore out our bloodline to anyone who wants to join." "Their wind magic is-" "Trash," Marcel cut him off coldly, "Their wind magic is trash, let it be lost. Let it die. Our first goal is to hunt and kill every last Winchester, wherever they might run. I have gotten word that Elena Romano, their 'Underboss'," he said the word with distaste - his opinion that the "family" structure of the Winchester coven was absurd and stupid was well known, "was not at the Tower that night, and they have many field operatives. Find them and kill them." "Yes sir," Margot answered sharply. "Our second goal - which should be taken into account when executing the first - is to discover the source of the explosion. If the Winchesters were working on a new artifact, I want it. If anyone is going to have the kind of destructive magic that went off last night, it should be Apex. Our third goal is simply to continue with our Q3 objectives - I expect to see progress on the Transformation magic, we've almost got it so that Familiars can accept more powerful souls from the Other Place. We're close. But we have to deal with the Winchester problem first. "Any questions?" No one said a word - if there were questions not one of them was stupid enough to present them to Marcel himself. That's what his underlings were for. The Board filed out, leaving one young woman in an impeccable suit still sitting. Her lips were cherry-red, her eyes nearly as bright blue as Marcel's, and her expression was bland. "Cerise," Marcel said. "Do you have a question?" She blinked slowly at him, thick black lashes sliding down over that brilliant blue and then back up again. Her lips pursed. "I feel," she said seriously, "that you are in error." Her fingertips danced across the tabletop for a moment before dipping down, past the edge of the table and into the bag at her side. There she unerringly reached deep into her pack, her gaze not once leaving Marcel's, and she pulled out a file. "For you. As requested. From the greenies." So much drama. Marcel bared his teeth in a smile. "The prophecy reports are already in? This should be interesting." She didn't smile but, then again, Cerise never did. "They are," she assured him, setting it on the table and sliding it halfway between them. He picked up the file but kept moving forward, stopping at her side and resting a hip on the walnut table edge. "And how is your mother doing?" he asked, smirking. "Still into yoga and tantric chanting?" "She says her hellos and wants me to pass along that your mistress is screwing Sebastian. Or will be screwing Sebastian. You know how it is." Cerise slowly rose and presented her cheek. He kissed it gently. His daughter looked so much like her mother it was still disconcerting some days. "Have a productive day, Father." "I'll need your own Q3 estimates in by the end of the day," he reminded her. "It's August, we're going into the fourth quarter very soon. Don't disappoint me." There was a long pause and she nodded once. "I never do." Then, like a gazelle, she gracefully slipped from the room, leaving the scent of expensive perfume and incense behind. It was true, Cerise never disappointed. She was an exemplar of Apex virtues... as well as those of the Jade Mask. It was an open secret that Cerise was his... the identity of her mother was the real secret. Jana was a Seer in the Jade Mask coven, only a few steps down from the Green Witch herself. He knew their love was wrong, that's why it was secret - Witches didn't mate with each other, they always used humans to carry or sire their offspring. The child of two Witches often came out... wrong. He and Jana were beyond lucky that Cerise was relatively normal. A little emotionally stunted, a little unstable magically, but a brilliant child, and cunning. Just as Jana had seen it. Marcel sat in the chair at the head of the conference table, choosing to read the prophecy reports right there - this was not data he was supposed to have, it could mean war between the Jade Mask and Apex, which would be disastrous for both. But he wouldn't give up his forbidden love for anything... which is why he was especially wary of his Chief Officers. Any one of them could make a move against him, use his love against him... so he kept a tight rein on them. Marcel ruled the Apex coven with an iron fist and was personally responsible for their present day glory. And he didn't like what he read in the report. On a moonless night, the stolen child of the seven winged, the fruits of the labor of the zenith, will bring doom to the house of Blue. The rest of the report was the usual financial predictions, translated into tidy charts by his daughter, but this cryptic message had no figures, no use case... it was a warning. Their Transformation project was going to fail on the new moon. He had to postpone the testing. Shame, he was looking forward to a new Familiar. His own was beautiful, she was obedient and quiet, content to sit and play and look cute until he needed her... but she was a normal, unenhanced Familiar. It seemed a crime that Apex was the forefront of Familiar research and his own was so... plain. He tucked the folder under his arm and strode to his office. He had to hold his calls until he could talk with R&D and postpone the Transformation research - if Jana said it was going to bring doom, he wasn't going to tempt fate - she was rarely wrong, but she hadn't predicted the fall of Winchester Tower either. He needed to set up a meeting with her, something romantic. He needed to make sure his nanny picked up the dry cleaning. Then he had to have his mistress killed. Then perhaps lunch. After that, he had a call with the Mayor to hear the latest on the Winchester investigation from the public side. * * * Aurora stood at the entrance to the Thanatos Funeral Home - the Thanatos coven didn't bother to hide their shame, their necromancy. She looked down at her gloved hands, as obvious in this heat as if she weren't wearing them at all, any Witch would be able to tell she was Deathmarked. And she still hadn't been able to save her Familiar. Sleep had not been kind to Aurora the night before, Mia's mewling and coughs had haunted her dreams. Her precious Little, her beloved Familiar. She had only had the beautiful girl for a few years, it wasn't fair that she had been taken from her so soon. The Witch focused on the memory, the stolen glance in the firelight as she rushed toward the human medical vehicles... a woman, all in black, limping away from the wreckage of Winchester Tower with an unconscious Familiar on her back. She hadn't seen the woman, but Aurora knew every Familiar in the coven - she was very selective regarding who Mia got to play with - and she hadn't ever seen that blonde girl before, she was sure of it. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the tall, heavy door open and stepped into the funeral home's lobby. The Witch at the counter smiled at her, a cruel smile. Her light green hair fell over one eye in an unkempt style and the Deathmark was crawling up her neck and encroaching onto her face. This one had worked with a lot of life energy. "Well hello sister," the smiling Thanatos witch greeted her, beckoning her into the dimly lit room. She sat at a small desk, an array of bones laid before her. "We don't see many Witches in here. Mostly humans come to sell their dead." "I seek an audience with the Black Witch of Thanatos," Aurora thought she'd get straight to the point, sitting in a chair on the other side of the desk. The other Witch grinned her amusement. "And why would Her Grace want to see you? What coven are you here on behalf of?" "I am Anomic," the word stuck in Aurora's throat - the word for a coven-less Witch, an outcast. It was a shameful thing, that she had abandoned the ways of her people. She stripped off her gloves as she spoke, showing her own Deathmark. "Winchester coven is likely no more. The Ivory Tower is gone." "I heard," the Witch's smile was gone. "Her Grace is very concerned. Please sister, come with me. I will see if the Black Witch is taking visitors." She rose, a skeletal mouse scurrying from her lap up to her shoulder, perching there. Its pointed skull looked at her. Aurora hesitated, wondering if she was making the right decision. Maybe it would be better to be Anomic, after all. The Thanatos weren't known to keep Familiars, they made their own pets... and she missed Mia desperately. She wanted another Familiar to fill that hole. But she had information - she could have gone to Apex, but they wouldn't take her now, not with the Deathmark. It would have been worth it if the spell had worked, if Mia had been revived, but now she had nothing. No coven, no Familiar, no hope. No, Thanatos was her best bet. She rose, following the other Witch deeper into the Thanatos sanctum, down a long hall lit not with electric lights, but with candles held in severed human hands. This was their way - death dealers, life takers. Maybe it would be nice, to avoid the politics of the covens altogether... Thanatos lived on the fringe, content to study the magics that were forbidden, the ways of the lifeforce. "I am called Irina," the other Witch offered as she led Aurora down a flight of spiral stairs, to a basement made of rough hewn stone, blocks stacked atop one another like some medieval castle. "I am Aurora," she replied. "Well met, Irina." "Well met, Aurora," Irina echoed, smirking. Aurora knew her name would stand out here, it was a Winchester name, an old one, a proud one. She wouldn't be giving it up regardless. She looked at the tapestries as they walked, a zombie human dusting the old things depicting the Wars long ago. Thanatos had done well in the larger conflicts - the fallen became their troops, after all. The dead were everywhere down here, skeletons and zombies, ghouls and ghasts. Thanatos was a disturbing coven, and Aurora was unsettled as she was offered a chair in an antechamber, two Troll skeletons wielding ancient looking blades flanking the door. "Wait here, sister," Irina said, walking for the guarded door. She turned to Aurora again, pausing. "Were you at the Tower when it fell?" "I was," Aurora said gravely. Irina nodded, slipping through the door. Alone, in this place of death, Aurora waited, her heart aching. Mia should be in her arms right now, purring, pleased just to exist with her. She missed feeding the girl this morning, missed pulling her out of her crib, missed holding her close. The fleeing woman had something to do with the tower collapsing - a Witch-blooded servant from another coven, most likely. War was brewing and Winchester was the first casualty. Aurora wouldn't give in to despair - not while that woman ran free. She wanted vengeance. Her thoughts were interrupted by Irina, tapping her on the shoulder with her Deathmarked hands. Aurora's head snapped up - she hadn't even heard the door open again. "Her Grace, the Black Witch of Thanatos, will see you."

The five of them were all sitting together when Lady Oro arrived to announce dinner. Miyuki was still with that maniacal bitch, Surra, and Rain had been fretting over what Surra was possibly doing to her. The others wouldn't answer when she asked, so she eventually gave up. As the team walked to the only building in the camp, Rocco decided to test their host, who had yet to acknowledge his presence. Lady Oro moved at a rather slow pace, so Rocco positioned himself so that he was walking on front of her. “Hey granny! How do you like this, you old fossil?!” He cried, smacking his butt in front of her over and over. “Yeah, you like that don't you? I bet you haven’t seen this type of action since before the bombs fell.” It was a funny display, but to her amazement, the old woman showed not a single sign that she noticed. She just kept walking, seemingly oblivious. A number of the clan were out in the courtyard watching, some looking angry and insulted, others laughing in amusement. “Kiss my ass, old lady, kiss my ass!” Arax came out of the building to see the scene, instantly breaking into a smile. It was clear that this wasn’t the first time Rocco has done something like this. It was also clear that the rest of the tribe had no trouble in seeing Rocco, evil spirit or not. So it went for the whole walk to dinner. They followed the aged leader, who went right on ignoring the ghoul slapping his ass in front of her. The building was bigger inside than it looked from the outside. They moved to a side room that served as the dining hall. The entire tribe was there, so it was pretty packed. They sat at a large rectangular table. Lady Oro sat at the head, with Miles, Tali, Arax, and Hanno to the left. To her right sat Surra, Miyuki, and Gabe. Rocco sat further down, content to keep a distance between him and Lady Oro. Whatever they were cooking smelled amazing. She wasn’t surprised that the menu consisted mostly of meat, and while the smell alone made her mouth water, she couldn’t help but look at the food suspiciously. The Oro were known cannibals after all. The others dug in without any fuss, but Rain was paralyzed with indecision. The meat that had been put before her looked and smelled delicious, but the idea that she might be eating….someone else, made her sick. “It’s deathclaw, girl.” Lady Oro said, looking amused. “We have a special relationship with the creatures if you hadn’t noticed. Like us, they are tightly knit animals. Living in matriarchal packs. Not to mention how deadly they are.” Arax chuckled, still chewing. “She thinks it's a person. Don't worry so much, kid. That type of game is only for the tribe, and only for special occasions.” “What are you afraid of? The human heart is a delicious organ.” Surra smiled maliciously. “Perfect with the right seasoning.” Rain ignored the comment and focused on her meal. The meat was surprisingly flavorful, and more tender than she would have thought. It did have more of what she called a “radiation aftertaste”. Most food did, but it was stronger in some types of foods. For example, you could hardly taste it in Mirelurk meat or corn. In something like Sugar Bombs, it actually made the cereal taste better. Miles cleared his throat. “Lady Oro, how is your health? You look well.” She laughed ruefully. “I'm old, Miles. I'm alive today, and one day I'll be dead, and my granddaughter will lead the tribe. In the meantime, I know you're not happy to be here, so spare me your false concern.” Geez. So maybe that's where Surra’s fiery attitude came from. “So who leads if Surra dies? Do you have a daughter?” Rain asked before she could help herself. Miyuki winced. That was the first sign of trouble. The air had changed in some unsubtle way. “I hate kids.” Surra said. “I’m not interested in anchoring myself like that. I like my freedom.” Lady Oro shot her granddaughter a dark glare. “You have a responsibility, Surra. You will lead one day and like it or not, you need an heir. I told you the day your mother passed away, you are not free to do whatever you wish. The tribe comes first.” “Well…..I mean it's not for lack of trying.” Arax said smugly. “I mean, she spreads her legs for just about anyone willing.” Surra had leapt onto the table in an instant and before her brother could move, she had delivered a foot to his face. He fell backwards, laying prone for a moment before jumping onto the table himself. He dabbed at the blood coming from his nose, as his face got more and more red. “You dumb bitch!” He slugged her. Right in the face. She responded with another kick to his stomach. A wild smile was on her lips now. The two traded blows for a while. The others from the tribe cheered them on, while their grandmother continued eating impassively. Plates of food were sent flying as the fight continued, but aside from Rocco angrily rolling his eyes when his meal was lost, no one seemed to care. But Arax was fighting a losing battle. Surra was faster and more aggressive. Her blows rained down mercilessly, before an uppercut sent her brother flying off the table. Surra hopped down, still smiling wildly, ready to continue, but Hanno stepped in between them, raising a hand, his eyes pleading for understanding. “Baby bro, I love you to death, but if you don’t move, I'll make you sorry.” When he only shook his head, a softness slowly seemed to appear on her face. She touched his face gently. “Oh, alright. You win. Again.” Hanno smiled happily, that same goofy smile that seemed so infectious. He helped his brother off the floor, who glared at his sister but left well enough alone. “If you two are finished fooling around, maybe we can go ahead and fill our guests in on why we called them here.” Lady Oro said in a bored tone. She didn’t wait for an answer. “People have been disappearing. Slowly, over the last few months, but more are going missing every day.” “Any idea what’s causing it?” Tali asked. “I have suspicions, but I need someone to confirm it. That's why you're here. The beginning of all this seems to coincide with the arrival of a mysterious man known as the Good Priest. He arrived about six months ago and began preaching his strange religion. The number of his followers grew exponentially in a short time. They call themselves the Disciples.” “We don’t involve ourselves in religious fights.” Miles said gently. “You know that.” “We have never forced anyone to believe as we do. This seems more insidious. People who have spent their whole lives with a tribe, just got up and left to follow this man. Some were seen amongst his followers, but many were never seen again. This concerns not only the Oro, but all who look to us for protection.” “Have you sent anyone to check it out? Gabriel asked. “Just out of curiosity.” “We sent two scouts. Only one returned.” Surra said, having gone back to eating. Miyuki still sat close to her, head down meekly. “Would you like to meet him?” Lady Oro asked. “This is something better seen than explained.” They followed the royal family, as Rain called them, down a flight of stairs, into a darkened and narrow hallway. Rain could hear a muffled yelling from further down the hall, echoing endlessly as they approached. Arax pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a large, heavy looking, steel door. The room was small, and had what looked like couch cushions taped over the walls. A single man was bound inside, his arms trapped in a straitjacket, his mouth taped over several times with duct tape. He had a wild look in his eyes, as he struggled to his feet, still screaming through his gag. Miles looked disgusted, his eyes narrowing. “What is this?” “Why is he gagged?” Rain asked angrily. The man brought back unpleasant memories of her own bondage, so long ago. “He tried to bite off his own tongue, that's why.” Surra said, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “Ungag him. Let's hear what he has to say.” Arax cut the tape off and backed away. The scout began speaking as though he had never been impeded. “The Good Priest has the key! Only he can open the gate! The gate that's not a gate! The mist is the darkness, the darkness is the mist…..The Good Priest can open the gate! He has the key. Stay away from the mist!” “That's enough, Arax.” Lady Oro commanded. Arax gagged him again, but he was still trying to speak. Then he got to his feet and began running his head into the padded wall. It took both Arax and Hanno to force him back down. “How long has he been like this?” Miles asked. Lady Oro hesitated briefly. “Two weeks, give or take. This is serious Miles. I need to know if the rumors about this… Good Priest are true, if he really is up to something nefarious. If I sent Surra, there would be a bloodbath and heads would be taken. Since they are a religious group as you pointed out, I need to be sure before I incite violence. Many smaller tribes resent our authority, and I would not give them more reason to do so.” Miles was quiet for a time, his eyes focused on the deranged man bound before him. Finally, he let out a sigh and looked to the leader of the Oro. “Point us in the right direction. We'll leave first thing in the morning.” When they finally left the building, it was dark outside, and Rain was trying to subtly check her diaper for leaks. Tali nudged her and she looked up to see that Lady Oro was looking at her intently, seemingly amused. She blushed before a gnarled hand was extended to her. “Would you mind helping an old woman to her home? Walking gets tougher for me every day it seems. I know you're a…..battle hardened mercenary, surely this would be an easy task for you.” Rain didn’t know why she accepted, but she let the old woman lean on her arm. After a nod of farewell to the others they began walking. Rain knew the old woman was lying. She didn’t need any help getting around, but she was curious as to what she was after. Due to her unique insight, most people were pretty transparent, at least on a surface level. She knew when they felt angry, or scared, or happy. Aside from Rocco, Lady Oro was the only other person she couldn’t get a clear read on. There was a mystery to her, like she was more than what she seemed. A fragile old woman was but a façade that she wanted people to see. “Would it be rude to ask what a young girl like yourself is doing with Miles and his crew?” Ah, so that was it. She was curious too. “They uh….helped me out of a bad situation. After that I just sorta….stuck around. It's good to have a group to travel with.” “Miles was okay with that?” Lady Oro asked. “It’s a dangerous line of work to thrust upon a child.” Rain bit back her irritation. “I'm not a child. I've been trained and blooded just like anyone else. I'm not just some orphaned waste rat.” The words mirrored what Miyuki had called her back then, but she meant it. The old woman's eyes narrowed on her. “Orphan? Were your parents killed in this….bad situation you talked about?” “I….I don’t know. I lost my memory. I don’t remember anything about my childhood, or my parents. Nothing.” “I see. Very interesting. You're a mystery even to yourself. For what it's worth, I hope you find what you're looking for. You remind me of Surra, when she was younger. Tough, maybe not so wild, but certainly strong-willed.” Rain saw Hanno wandering around the camp as they walked. He didn’t seem to know exactly where he was going, nor did it seem like he cared. His eyes wandered vacantly as he shuffled along. Eventually, she saw him head for the front gate. “What about him? Rain asked. “He's…..different.” Lady Oro chuckled, her whole small frame shaking. “Hanno is different. He's suffered for it too. Let’s find a place to sit, and I'll tell you more. My home is close, and I need to rest these old bones.” * They reached the small hut and sat down in the cramped, but comfortable confines. There was little in way of decorations. Some colorful cloth hung from the rafters, and the were a few mementos laying around, but little else. “Would you care for some tea?” “Ummm…..sure. That sounds good.” Rain said, still aware of her perilous diapered state. The pink diapers were comfortable, but they held far less.” “Ah, excellent. You can make it then.” She pointed to the small fire in the center of the tent, before laying out the tea and two cups. “In the meantime, what were we discussing?” She was lying again. She knew what they had been talking about. Rain ignored it as she began stoking the fire. “Hanno. And why he's so weird.” “Ah, yes. Sweet natured Hanno. He was born four and a half minutes after Arax. It became apparent fairly quickly that he was different from other children. Surra was three years older and already wild for her age. Most children played pretty aggressive games, we're an aggressive people. Hanno…..He didn’t like to be touched. He seemed a bit slower as well, not just in the speech department. The other children could tell he was different. He was picked on rather mercilessly.” Rain took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the cooking tea. “No one did anything? He's practically royalty right? I can’t see Surra letting someone pick on her little brother.” Lady Oro’s feelings became clear for a moment, and there was a brief moment of sadness in her eyes. “My daughter, Lana, was a huge influence on her children, Surra especially. Lana knew her son was different….She hated that boy, and she made it no secret. He wasnt wild and reckless like Surra, or headstrong like Arax. Surra was young and impressionable, so she hated him too. Even I…..didn't treat him as I should have. He simply didn’t interest me.” “The boy was alone. Except for Arax. I don’t know if it's because they were twins, but Arax saw something more and protected his brother. Later, he would painstakingly train Hanno to defend himself, but it wasn’t easy. Teaching Hanno anything is taxing. They were hardly ever apart, and even though everyone else looked down on him, at least Hanno had his brother.” Rain had served the tea, but she had froze during the tale. She couldn’t imagine a mother hating her own child. Despite being odd, Hanno seemed nice enough, and capable. To face such hatred and contempt for being different. How horrible. “Lana was wounded in battle. Hanno and Arax were about eight if I remember correctly. Surra was eleven. Despite our best efforts, my daughter was dying. There was no hope for her. Such a time of weakness is shunned here, so she was placed in a room with a few attendants to wait for her end. I had been nearly retired when suddenly I needed to lead again, and more importantly, I needed to get Surra ready to lead.” “So she died alone?” Rain asked, drinking more of the tea. It was warm and tasted very good, although she couldn’t put her finger on the flavor. Lady Oro gulped her tea down before continuing. “As new responsibility was thrust on Surra, she had little time to visit her mother. Arax was uncomfortable seeing Lana so weak and avoided her. So in the end she only had Hanno, the child she scorned. That boy stayed with his mother to the very end, despite her curses and her anger. He brought cold rags when she was feverish, brought her food, anything else he could do. I passed by the door once before the end. He was laying next to her. I don’t know what she was saying to him, but he was smiling that silly smile of his, and she was crying. They had finally embraced each other. It's just a shame they didn't have more time." Rain was crying too, but she had turned away to hide it. Her tea had gone cold, and suddenly she wanted out of the tent. She wanted to be in the cool night air, away from all this. She also sorta wanted to give Hanno a hug. Lady Oro continued, her eyes glancing at nothing in particular. “That's when I saw what Arax had seen. Hanno was special, he was more than what I had seen before, be cause i never bothered to look past his flaws." She paused. “Look at this. The tea has gone cold. You should…..you should get some rest, young lady. I worry that tomorrow will be rough for everyone. I am....very tired now." Rain didn't need to be told twice. She thanked her for the tea and made a hasty retreat. She was eager to get back to Tali and the others. She felt her diaper again, grimacing at the wetness she felt on the plastic covering. She was leaking. She stopped at the gate before going to her tent, but Hanno wasn’t there. Once she was back in her own tent, she quickly laid down, grabbing her supplies and one of her regular diapers. After cleaning herself, she put some powder on herself before pulling the diaper up and taping in place. The extra thickness was both reassuring and annoying. She thought about searching for the others, but decided against it. She was tired from the journey and didn’t really feel like talking anymore, regardless of who it was. She fell asleep rather quickly once her head hit the pillow. * The morning came too soon as usual as the team busied themselves with preparations to leave. Rain was checking her weapons, while Tali was checking her medical supplies. She head Gabe outside, regaling some of the tribe with how he lost his eye. This time he claimed a Mirelurk had plucked it out when he was asleep. Miles stopped by, looking eager to leave and they followed him to the gate. Rocco and Happy were already there waiting. Miyuki was there too, looking happy to be leaving. However, Surra and her brothers were there too. Hanno smiled at her and Rain smiled sweetly back. “What's this?” Miles asked. “You're not gonna like it, captain.” Rocco said glumly. They turned as a cackling laugh sounded behind them. Lady Oro had come to see them off. “I told you I couldn’t send Surra on her own, but I never said she wouldn’t accompany you. This is Oro business, of course my grandchildren will go too, if only to ensure our interests.” Miyuki paled at the news. Rain once again spoke without thinking. “You can’t trust her on her own, so we have to babysit her?” Everyone turned to her, including Surra. The look in her eyes chilled Rain’s blood instantly. Surra strolled up, grabbing her hands in an iron grip, before tripping her to the ground. He’s skirt flew up, revealing her diaper. Arax had the decency to turn around, and Tali quickly helped her up. “A little girl in pretty pink diapers should really watch her words don’t you think? Children should be seen rather than heard.” Rain blushed, but couldn’t being herself to say anything, despite her anger. Happy was laughing merrily, from her humiliation or the fact that Surra and her brothers were coming too, she couldn’t say. “Surra, Arax, Hanno. You are to assist Miles and his crew in bringing this trouble to a close. Find this Good Priest and find out his intentions. If he means us harm, kill him.” Gabriel stepped up warily. “If they are coming with us, they need to be able to follow orders.” Arax grunted. Surra gave her best innocent look. “I'll be good….as long as it suites me.” She pulled Miyuki close to her, her hand reaching low and grasping the Asian’s bottom. Miyuki was blushing again, but didn’t fight the contact. Miles stared at the elderly leader, but he knew he had no choice. “Fine. If this man is innocent, just some religious leader, he will not be harmed. It's important that's agreed upon. We've had differences in opinion with employers before.” Lady Oro smiled widely. “We are in agreement. I don’t wish for blood unless it's needed. Surra will be the judge of that.” She paused, staring at Rain again. “Safe travels to you.” With that, their group of nine pulled up their bags and marched out the gate, heading east, where the mysterious Good Priest was supposed to be.

I really appreciate the feedback, however, I am headed back to the hospital this Friday for surgery, they need to remove my gallbladder and part of my liver, will try and get a few more chapters in till then, and hopefully, will be back writing within the next few weeks, once again, thank all of you for your support........Booboo/aka/Rob

Flicking through the newspaper I could feel myself getting even more frantic by the page, my internet job searches had drawn a blank and I decided that looking through the local publications job section might prove fruitful. It had been 3 months since I lost my position at Green Recruitment and the very megre redundancy money was running worryingly low. With no savings to speak of I was quite aware that I needed to make money fast or risk losing my flat and everything else I had worked so hard for. It was nt the first time in my 53 years that I had questioned where had I gone so wrong, most men of my age had a family, loving partner, a job and a savings account to fall back on, I had none of these. Over the years I’d had a number of opportunities to find ‘happiness’ with a partner but things never worked out. Looking back I always felt in the relationship that the woman I was with at the time was never right for me, my preference for a ‘strong’ woman was the main factor for all my relationships fading out. As I turned another page my eyes were drawn to a rather colorful advert in the sales positions section. ******* A small company require a sales manager to help launch new products on to the market. Benefits include a good commission system, paid holidays, private health care and a pension contribution. Leads given and the job will include seminars and sales trips around the Country. If interested please apply to salesstaff@LBU.co.uk ••••••• A quick internet search could nt find a company called LBU but that peaked my interest even further. In a positive frame of mind I quickly wrote a cover letter, popped that along with CV on an email to the address supplied and sent it off. A few days later whilst checking my emails I saw that I had got a reply from LBU and they had requested I attend an interview at an address in Watford, Herts, the following day. Whilst this was a bit further than I wanted to travel for work from my home in Kent it was the first positive reply I’d had from my numerous job applications in a while and I was desperate. So on Tuesday 4th at 2pm I found myself walking into a shared office block dressed in my best suit waiting to meet the interview team from LBU.. The receptionist had greeted me and asked me to sit down in the nearby chair and said the section manager would be down to meet me very soon. I looked around the reception area to see what sort of business LBU was, but all adverts and promotions seemed to be for a company called Little Uns and all featured images of babies and toddlers in nappies or just photos of the nappies. Distracted for a minute I had nt seen the stunning blonde woman walking towards me and offering her hand. “Ahem” she coughed to gain my attention. Looking up I apologised straight away “So sorry, I was miles away, I’m Dan” and I extended my hand to shake the lady’s hand. “Abby Jones” the blonde said betraying a strong Scottish accent. “I’m the manager of the companys new LBU section. Very pleased to meet you” I reciprocated and Abby asked me to follow her to her office where she would conduct the interview. I had the chance to study Abby on the short walk up the stairs and realised it had been a while since I’d been in the company of such a beauty. I estimated her age at around 40 years old, she had the confidence of someone who knew that their blue eyes and pretty features would appeal to most of the opposite sex and she carried her amazonesque frame with grandeur. It was nt until I was asked to sit down in the office we had entered that I managed to get my thoughts out of the gutter. “So, Dan, I’ve read your cv, and whilst you’re not experienced in the area we are looking for, your sales results seem to speak for there selves” “Thank you” I replied “I like to think that I can turn my hand to selling anything and will do everything in my power to make the sale” “Well let me start by telling you a little of what our company is about and what you’ll be selling in the new section” “Little Uns was founded by Mary Reeves in the early 80s and soon became the go to company for disposable nappies for babies, or rather their parents in the UK” “Over the years we have diversified into many areas of protective underwear and other baby paraphernalia and this year we are getting ready to launch our next product on to the market” “Little Big Uns is a disposable nappy range for adults, basically a larger version of our most popular baby product” I raised my eyebrows having never heard that adults needing nappies. Having seen my surprised look Abby continued. “The idea for an adult sized version came about after we increased the size of our largest toddler version” “It seemed that on our Little Uns website we were being continually asked if whether we could make an even bigger version to fit a fully grown adult” “Acting upon research that says due to an aging population the need for adult incontinence is an ever growing market we decided to launch LBU and see where we go” I nodded as Abby continued “So what I’m looking for is someone who can sell our new product direct to focus groups and then eventually supermarkets and department stores around the UK” In my most confident voice I repeated my earlier claim that I was sure that my sales technique would mean that I could sell anything. “Good” said Abby, “be aware though, to start with, the majority of the focus groups we will be visiting will be females” “Do have any issues with that?” “Absolutely none” I replied “And that the team here and on your sales trips are mainly women too” I shook my head again “Excellent”, “Well lets have a quick chat about you, discuss salary and benefits and all being okay I shall introduce you to the product you’ll be selling” During the next 20 minutes Abby grilled me about my previous occupations, personal life and ambitions and even clothes sizes. The salary was a little less than I was expecting but the commission on sales was very high and with every confidence in my own abilities to sell I gladly accepted the position when Abby offered it to me. We shook hands and I thought that was that. Abby excused herself and left the office for ten minutes, on her return she entered the room with a grin “Welcome aboard” Abby said “I’d like you to start on Friday, if you can arrive at 8.30am I’ll introduce you to the LBU team” “Great” I replied “I look forward to working here and making us both a lot of money” Abby smiled “Before you leave, please ask reception to give a sample packet. I’d like you to study the product completely before Friday and let me know your thoughts” “No worries” we shook hands again and Abby walked me to the reception area. Two hours later I was sitting back in my flat in Kent with the parcel I had collected from reception. I made myself a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa. Reaching for the brown package I ripped the protective paper of and pulled out the white object inside. As I opened up the large disposable nappy a note dropped out, but before reading it I studied the product. It was white, rather thick and made of a soft plastic. They was faint writing on the front saying LBU. To me it just looked like a larger sized nappy similar to the ones my nephew had worn as a baby. Two tapes on either side of the front, I did nt think there was too much to be learnt from the sample. Sipping my tea I reached for the note and read the hand written words Hi Dan, lI look forward to working with you. Please look at the sample of LBU. Try it on for size and test it. I expect a full report on Friday morning. Abby x

Does anyone remember that moment you knew you were attracted to diapers or into ABDL? I would love to hear others experiences and whether there was a particular event or trigger that got you to where you are today. For me, I remember a few experiences from childhood and as an adult that forged my journey into this lifestyle. My attraction to diapers goes back to my youth and the fact that I wore diapers late into childhood. I had mixed emotions about it, but do remember the very experience that flipped my feelings from one of diapers being a burden and source of embarrassment to one of feeling attached to them and never wanting to give them up. I was in nursery school and the oldest kid there still in diapers. I remember a particular day when one of the teachers came to me with a thick pamper in her hand to take me to the baby room for a diaper change and how special I felt at that very moment. I had all her attention and felt no judgement nor guilt about still being diapered when she asked me to follow her and took my hand. I don’t know why that event was so grounding, since this was a common occurrence at nursery, home and other places, but it must have been my age, self awareness and the teacher’s own treatment of me that day that completely changed my feelings toward diapers. Once I was eventually out of diapers, I was very sad to let them go and jealous of the other toddlers still in them. As for my experience into ABDL, I remember finding an old penthouse forum while in high school and reading an article about another adult into diapers and being a baby. It was fascinating to me that this type of lifestyle existed and that I was not the only one into diapers. I had secretly worn diapers up to that point and felt so different for my attraction to them. Once I discovered other adults enjoyed similar things, I sought out more abdl content and once the internet came about it was a going from a small creek into a big river with so much information and finding DFP as my first ABDL community. That forum article was my moment of discovery into ABDL and it was over 30 years ago. Please share.

Drinking before to sleep was useful the last night. While I was in the bed I fell the need to pee.Then I tried to relax as much as possible, I closed my eyes and I tried to imagine a newborn with a diaper.As soon as I heard the pee starting to come out gently I fell very relax, I fell at peace with my inner self.While the pee was coming out I saw this newborn who was wetting the diaper while he was sleeping but without realizing anything.I fell a real little child. Now I am a bedwetter but I hope to become real and total incontinent

I like to be spanked, diapered babied and humiliated. Not into one word reply, I like to put some thought into it. If interested message me I have some ideas and would be happy to hear yours as well. Thanks, K

38.) "You're in a good mood." Comparatively speaking - there was no such thing as happy Bess nowadays, but she semed less... sour. And they were eating together in a place that wasn't her dorm room, and Bess hadn't told Marnie she was awful at all. From across the diner table, Bess even stole a fry from her plate. "I am? I dunno. Maybe." I didn't really notice a shift in my mood, but I was getting my homework done a lot faster and classes were easier to pay attention to. It was Monday night and I still hadn't taken Adele up on her offer. Honestly... I wasn't really sure I could. Be alone with her again? Every time I thought about it, I wanted to throw up. "You still haven't mentioned anything about Adele." I shrugged. "I figured she would have come back by now." "Maybe." Marnie shrugged her shoulders, before continuing, "maybe it's like with ghosts, where she has to tend to unfinished business first? I don't know why you don't just give me the address and let me come with you, or at least you know... let me come hang out at a nearby coffee shop or something." Not that Marnie at all endorsed her best friend seeing Adele again, but there was pros and cons; maybe Adele wasn’t the only one with unfinished business. "I don't want to go back," I said plainly. Honestly. "I went there once. That was hard enough. Can't she just get over herself and go fix her fucking mistakes instead of hiding away in some back-alley bar?" My general disposition about the topic of Adele always shifted between bored and outright pissed. "I don't know, maybe you should ask her?" And then, uncharacteristic of Marnie, "I mean you improved a lot after giving her a piece of your mind, and maybe you'd never have progressed without that." Then again. "Maybe you're right, though, maybe she needs to just get over it. Kanna texted me, asked if I wanted to come to the club and hang out, but the idea of just her and me and nobody else... it seems so depressing." "I can go." I felt like the whole restaurant went silent, but it was just Marnie and me. I looked up from my phone at her, with her mouth agape. "What?" "You... want to go to the Lolita Club?" "Sure, why not?" Honestly, after seeing what a monster Adele was in her frilly little girl dresses, my association with weakness had completely broken. "Uh, okay." And then, as an afterthought, "Maybe you should let Adele know that, knowing you're at the club could get her out of her rut, you know? Not that I think you care, but you're a good person and maybe.... yeah, iono, forget it." Marnie rubbed the back of her hair sheepishly. "Adele can do whatever she wants. If she wants to sulk for the rest of her life, then she can go right ahead." That was the end of it. I didn’t have any pity for Adele. If anyone deserved to be pitied, it was me! I wasn’t going back to that apartment. It was... probably just too much for me. "I got class in the morning. I'll see you tomorrow at the club room then?" "See you there." Honestly, Marnie wasn't a part of the club anymore, but she still had some nice dresses, and maybe it would be nice to set some positive memories there, even if it was only her and Kanna and Bess and nobody else. Things were finally starting to feel normal-ish again. ----------- Thank you for reading! Please Like or Comment to show support! We also have a Patreon!

Onto Chapter 10 then. Things start to come to a head, revelations are disclosed, and all is not as it seems... Please provide your comments and feedback, as I really do appreciate them. ## Chapter 10 - Future Generations 1447p in the afternoon. This meant the sun was still high in the sky, but beginning its inevitable slide back towards the horizon, to set sometime after about 1815p. The forecast was for a cooling breeze to waft across the Hungerford Hill district, caressing the lake and forest trees down in the valley behind Mark Bradley's humble two storey abode, before rising up the slopes and over the Hill. Water vapour from the great lake was often dragged into the air by the sun's fierce rays where, to people in the valley, it was felt as humidity. As the sun's influence waned, the wind would often cause the humid air to travel upwards, causing it to condense. Given just the right conditions in the cool early afternoon and evening, Hungerford Hill would be surrounded by mist, swirling and dancing gracefully with the shifting air currents. It was not uncommon for wisps to float up in the afternoon change. Keith Bradley knew nothing of the building vapours though, as he was only intent on navigating to his son's two-storey residence. It looked, well, not quite out of place, set amongst simple multi-storey unit blocks and grand stately mansions a bit further up on the Hill. Mark had chosen well, when he bought the block of land. It had, at first glance, all the right ingredients, being a fairly flat block, nice frontage size, and a stunning view of the lake and forest down in the valley below. The house design was modern, blockey, lots of windows, a few balconies to take in that view, and two storeys tall. However, all around it were single storey older-style houses. Mark was banking on those properties being modernised, upgraded, appreciating in value. Then there were the three-storey unit blocks ringing the base of Hungerford Hill itself, and across the street from Mark's house. When Mark lodged plans with Council, some of his new neighbours complained that his house would remove their views. He was up to the challenge though, and eventually, the plans were approved. The house was getting close to two years old. Those around it were really starting to show their ages. From the main highway, 30 minutes from the centre of the City, there were a few side streets to navigate before the SUV turned into the road where the house stood. Directly in front of the house was a spot in the driveway, so he naturally kept his eyes on that spot. Sarah had been faithfully following her father's lead, surprised that they had decided to head to her brother's house, rather than head home, like that Mr Stowe guy suggested they do. Keith slowed the SUV to a crawl, indicator on, and stopped for a car travelling in the other direction, before idling the truck onto the driveway. "Keith?", Jenn questioned quietly. "Hmm?" "There's a cop car here", she pointed out. "Oh, that must be the protective detail" "Do we have to let them know we're here?" "Mark must have already told them, otherwise they would have stopped us". Jenn had sorta seen two occupants of the car, but the SUV turned into the driveway at that instant, and she paid them no further attention. She failed to notice anything amiss, like glass shards on the ground, or a hole in the drivers side window. Meredith was asleep and covered up in her rear-facing baby capsule, asleep mostly from boredom and being rocked around by the vehicle movements. "Where's that card that man gave us?", Keith asked towards his wife. Jenn reached into her handbag, pulled out what felt like a business card, and handed it over to Keith. He examined it for a sec, punched in some numbers, composed and sent off a message to that Stowe dude. [Keith Bradley]: We're at Mark's house, if you need to know. Mark's little has been injured. 1450p. After a few seconds of waiting for a response, there was no reply, so he put his phone into his shirt pocket, switched off the truck, and motioned for Jenn to hop out and fetch Meredith. Sarah parked half on the street and half on the driveway, directly behind the SUV, cutting off any opportunity for it to escape. "What gives?", she quizzically asked of Keith, as she hopped out of the vehicle. "I thought that guy said for us to head straight home to your place?" "Yeah, but Mark rang to say that Little Michael's been hurt, so we came here instead", Keith responded. "Oh, ok then, I guess!". She bent into the vehicle and plucked Annabelle out of her carseat, placing her on her hip. Annabelle was also mostly asleep, rubbing her eyes, looking back towards the police car across the road, as the family walked towards Mark's rather large front door. At the front entrance stood the main door, and a simple door bell button sitting just below a faintly glowing red light. Keith pushed it, heard the chime start playing a merry tune, and the dog barking out in the backyard, but there was nothing else amiss. What seemed minutes, but likely just a few seconds, Mark opened the door part way, with a smile, but otherwise panicked eyes. Seeing the entire family caused his legs to buckle, as he took a step back, composed himself, and motioned the family inside. Keith turned around as the door closed behind them, pushed not by Mark, but by someone else. "Don't you move a fucking muscle", growled a disheveled man, just as the door closed itself. With a final click, the guy reached over and locked the door, and stepped in front of it. All Keith could possibly see was the muzzle end of a silenced barrel, the pistol looking tiny in the man's hands. He gulped, took a few quick breaths, and slowly looked across to his son, Mark. "I had no choice, Dad, they were going to kill all of us if I didn't get you here", Mark pleaded. Tears started in his eyes, but he remained stoically upright. Keith looked back at the man holding the gun. "What do you want?", he quietly asked the barrel, and was rewarded with it being pushed into his forehead. "Move, into the dining room, GO!" The ladies both let out a scream, which woke Meredith up with a start, as they were ushered up the staircase to the top floor of the house, the floor which rose above the trees to soak in that opulent view. At the top of the stairs, the family turned left. Jenn opened the sliding frosted-glass doors to the dining room, to reveal the rest of Marks family, already sitting, gagged and restrained. "SIT", the gunman snapped loudly at the newcomers. Keith stole a few precious seconds to look around the room. In one corner, next to a grand window looking out over the lake was a middle-aged man, sitting in a recliner, a glass of brandy in one hand, a pistol resting in his lap. Beside him stood Michael, bound and gagged, tethered to the man by a short length of thin rope. Although his knees were wobbly, his eyes had long since dried of their tears. On the floor next to the man sat a briefcase. Mark's family were sitting at the dining table opposite the window, looking back towards the man. Sue, and the other two of Mark's children (Thomas and Kerry-Anne), were all bound and gagged. Tom was squirming around, but Kerry-Anne sat wide eyed and scared out of her nut like a stunned mullet. With a quiet thump, the gunman slid and locked the doors behind Keith once more. "Hello, you must be Mr Keith Bradley", the man sitting finally spoke. "And who are you?", Keith quietly responded. Keep it slow and non-threatening, he thought to himself. "You don't need to know my name, though I would have thought by now that you'd know who I work for. Ever heard of the Ramon Family?", the HoS replied quietly. "Yes". Fear. Keith instantly remembered that Don Ramon had murdered all of Little Michael's original family in cold blood, in a situation not unlike what they're facing right now. "I'm responsible for the security of the Family, and this boy here is a risk to that security". He took a swig of the brandy, relishing the intense but smooth flavours. "I have to say, Mark, this is darn good brandy!" Mark looked blankly back at his captor, wondering whether to thank the guy, or continue saying nothing. He sat at the end of the table, closest to the HoS. The HoS looked across the room towards his minion, and motioned with his brandy glass for the guy to do his work. "Sit", the gunman ordered Jenn, who immediately complied, taking a seat at the table next to Tom. The boy looked at his grandmother, seeking some emotional support, whilst watching the goon begin to tie her up. "Please, I need to keep a hold on my baby", Jenn cried towards the goon. He stopped and looked across to his boss. "Why, certainly, Maam", the HoS responded, "just so long as you keep it quiet, and you don't get up off your seat", he commanded. "I'm not a monster, unlike my Boss". The gunman shrugged his shoulders, then moved to seat Sarah, who continued to hold Annabelle. They were seated with their backs to the window, looking across the table at Jenn. Keith stood at the head of the table, as far away from the HoS as possible. "Search him", the HoS quietly stated towards his goon. After a pat down, and a search of his pockets, the goon only found the car keys, mobile, and wallet, which he placed on the table in front of Keith. The mobile silently flashed one message: [Unknown]: Do not approach the house! Too late for that now, Keith thought to himself. He watched the goon slowly walk around the room, glancing through the windows. The Dining Room in this place was stately, with windows looking out in three directions. The house fell silent, bar the odd sniffle, or muffled cry from the kids. Keith decided to take a leap of faith. After all, he was a negotiator from a long time ago. "So, what do you want?", he enquired softly, his hands flat on the table, palms up. The HoS twirled the glass of brandy in his hand, contemplating his position of power, and wondering what kind of man Mark's father was, to be so brash as to open discussions. He remained relaxed though, salivating at the thought of another sniff. "You know what I want, Mr Bradley", he formally spoke back. "I'm here for this little shit", tugging on the rope, causing Michael to stumble and fall to his knees. Michael shook his head slowly, sadly, mumbling from behind his gag. "Then you have him. Take him", Keith said whilst lifting his right hand off the table in a gesture towards Michael. "It's not that simple, and you know this", the HoS fired back, slightly angered. Keith stifled a giggle. Even the most powerful Mafia family had trouble breaking legal adoptions. There were ways, and willing experts, to track down snatched adopted kids. "You require Mark to give up his legal adoption of Michael then, is it?" "I can't do that, Dad!", Mark immediately yelled, pained, in tears. Adoption is such a formal concept, and especially so with Littles. This wasn't always the case though, not until the public were horrified by media reports of abductions of Littles, who were often never seen again, forcing the Government of the day to act in tightening Adoption laws. The papers signed by Adoptive Parents now were time-bound artifacts (evidenced by issuance of Adoption Certificates) - a minimum of two years before any formal change was allowed by the government. This was often enforced by the tag implanted into the adopted subject, a piece of nannite tech that bound itself to the subject so forcefully on first injection, that it caused irreparable damage to the subject if removal was attempted within the two years. Beyond two years, the nannites broke their bond, and could be removed or re-programmed if required, like with new Adopter details. But there were also clauses in the law dealing with Termination of the Adoption. On the death of the Parents, the subject could be legally adopted by a relative, in which case the tag was re-programmed by an authorised agent of the Family Court, using a special scanner which had encryption technology in it to unlock the nannites protecting it. However, Littles being Littles, even in a progressive State, another clause existed allowing a Little to be claimed by someone with physical possession of them, any surviving relatives be damned. Mark knew all this. He had to go through all the legalities when adopting Michael through Henderson Henderson & Stowe. Mark realised that the man simply couldn't just walk off with Michael. They might be able to escape to another continent, but Adoption Laws are recognised world-wide in this Dimension, even though they may not be the same from country to country. Which left the possibility of abducting the Little to the other Dimension through a Portal. With an adoption tag embedded into Michael, Mark thought that not even the Mafia could take Michael across dimensions. So they'd have to get rid of it before doing so, lest they alert the InterDim Border Protection Service. Keith also knew all this, because of Meredith. Remembering such, he looked across to his little baby girl, who was yawning herself awake, and beginning to look around at the turmoil unfolding within the room. Keith quickly understood that this left both sides in a pretty pickle. He looked down the table at his son, who looked defeated and broken. Mark was a geek, who had no fight in him to start with, so he certainly wasn't going to be able to put up a fight now if it came to that. He'd get no support from Mark. Keith looked down at his phone again, and had a thought. Maybe the Stowe guy could help us, but I'll need to stall this conversation, to give him time. He'll go to our house, find us not there, see we're at Mark's, and come here. He looked like he meant business. Why did I ignore his advice? How did these two get past the protective detail out front? Keith's eyebrows furrowed, worry lines spread across his forehead. He stole a glance at his wife, who looked back a bit puzzled. Stall for time, Keith. Make the guy talk. "Why do you want Michael anyway?" ---- I woke up, cradled in my mother's arms, face buried in her chest, and started listening to a conversation about Michael. I remembered overhearing in the car that Michael was injured. Looking around the room, my eyes focused on Michael, who was on his knees, bound and gagged, next to a scary-looking man with a gun on his lap. This is not good. Michael didn't seem to be otherwise injured. I tensed as I realised that phone call was just a ruse to get us all here. I felt a tightening hug, and a gentle kiss on my forehead. I rewarded Mum with a fresh stream of warm pee into my nappy, like I always seemed to always do after I woke up properly. She stopped patting my butt at that point. "Shhh...", she cooed at me. "Go back to sleep now, bubba." Looking across to Dad, he was busy in thought, stealing glances at me, at Mum, at the scary guy holding Michael, and at a guy wandering around the room, casually looking out through the windows. He also had a gun in his hand, keeping it at the ready, but held down low against his abdomen. Ok, so there were two bad guys here. The guy in the corner with Michael seemed to be the one in control, the guy wandering around just seemed to be a goon. "Do you know who Michael is?", the scary guy asked. "Of course I do, and I don't see why he's such a threat to the Ramon Family. He's just a Little", Dad replied. Keep the guy talking. Michael blushed, his cheeks going beetroot red. He hated being talked about so openly, like he was a nobody, just another stupid Little to these Amazons. The scary guy waved his glass of brandy about, emitting a faint chuckle. "Just a Little, hmm? My dear friend, you have obviously not been listening!" Dad seemed a tad surprised, looking across the table towards Michael, studying the boy for a period of time. "He's the heir to a multi-Billion dollar fortune", scary guy explained. "Oh that? Yeah, I knew that", Dad dismissed, with a slight wave of his hand. "Your boss caused that, so don't blame us." Pause, in thought, "What I still don't understand is why Michael would be a threat to you ... hmmm... Is it because money talks, perhaps?" "You are only partially correct" "What?", Dad was truly taken aback at that. Maybe Michael hadn't told the complete story? "Have you ever wondered what goes on in the InterDimensional Portal industry?" Dad's face was blank. I knew where this discussion was heading though, as a faint memory flashed into my consciousness about HH&S receiving intelligence a long time back about Little abductions, and them being transported through the Portal Network. Speaking to a few people in law enforcement circles caused leaks, the public got wind of it through the media, and all hell broke loose, politically. "We never really understood", Mark piped up. "We knew Michael had an inheritance, but not the true amounts, and certainly not the Portal business". He looked up to his wife, silently querying her. "Of course not, and I'm sure you all knew that Mr Stone himself was famous for those Portals." Both Dad and Mark nodded at that. "He never disclosed the business' major shareholder being a Little, through a Court-enforced inheritance. My Boss discovered that little gem." Dad seemed quite shocked. Poor Little Michael over there in the corner, cowering away, seemed to be not quite so innocent. "But I bet Michael never told you about his little side business, eh?" "Oh?", Mark responded, also a bit surprised now. "Michael here had been flashing a bit of cash around, on the quiet, developing a lucrative business in the medical line. Ever heard of Nano Augmentation?" My ears really pricked up. Wasn't I put through that process? It certainly seemed to be confirmed when Mum stiffened considerably, squeezing me quite tightly, forcing the air out of my lungs. Dad sat there poker-faced through. He was good at poker it seemed. He shot a steely-eyed nano-second glance towards Mum and I, then back at the scary man. "No, never heard of it", Dad responded. "The NAP is a medical procedure to transform Littles into baby Amazons. All well and good and all, but Michael here injected a logic bomb into the process". The scary man placed his brandy glass onto the table, and suddenly yanked the mouth gag free from Michael. "Explain away, my boy!" Michael coughed a few times to clear his throat, surprised he suddenly had a voice. "Umm... the Littles transformed by NAP kept their adult knowledge. In forty years or more, those Littles would be in Parliament, with retained knowledge of what being a Little was like, and thus able to legislate for Little rights and privileges. We'd be on equal footing with you Amazons within one or two generations!" "Noble, don't you think?", the scary man summarised, "... and the subjects quite out of reach of lucrative Littles trafficking". "I still don't get it?", Dad curiously queried, a bit confused by the revelation. "Money talks, Mr Bradley, and that confers power in the halls of Justice. But this isn't all, isn't it, son". "No, Sir. My dad, Mr Stone, knew of the NAP - he was the seed investor after all. I paid him back his seed capital, and he almost left the business to me, but he discovered that Littles could be snatched through the Portals by undergoing a modified NAP to kill the nannite adoption tag. I hated him for developing it, and sued his ass to get him out of the NAP program. But that bought attention to the NAP, so the Ramon Family wanted in, through a competitor Portal product. Dad had the other CEO murdered." "Michael here is a risk to a business model that is a major source of income to the Ramon Family. With the key that's in Michael's puny brain here, and the updated Portals, we can snatch Littles into the Black Market without a trace. Money, and power." I looked out a window, distracted by movement, and noticed the roof of what looked to be Stowe's battle wagon inch its way up the road. Inhaling at the shock of it, and salivating at the prospect of being saved by my hero, I looked up into Mum's face, and smiled, relaxing into her body. "Meredith?", she whispered back.

I am sorry to hear about your further health issues, Rob. I was hoping, as i'm certain were you, that they were behind you. I wish you well and hope all comes out well for you. i follow all of the stories I can find with your name so that I can enjoy fine writing and excellent development of character and storytelling. This tale is an example of the work I enjoy. Please on't forget or let this story die an ignoble death as so many stories do on the site. you are too good a writer to allow that to happen. Again, I wish you to get well soon and good luck

Hello and welcome. Yep, I certainly like to be diapered in this manner.

I now take the approach of I do not worry about it. My potty business is done in my diaper and I will change it when I have to. Who I am with or those around me have become irrelevant when it comes to them finding out if I wear diapers. If they find out I will deal with it then with confidence and continue on with my padded life. It is simply to much of a mental strain constantly worrying about those around you wondering if you wear diapers. I have enough going on in my own mind to worry about every little crinkle or diaper bulge.

Most times people do not notice you are wearing a diaper but close friends or people you see all the time can eventually find out no matter how carefull you are in hiding your diaper. Just explain you have a retention problem some times and need to wear protection incase you do not make it to the bathroom intime if the bathroom is not close at hand. Being in the golf course is a perfect example, most people drop the conversation when theres a valid reason for you having to be diapered you are not alone in having issues making it to the bathroom some times. It can be deamed a medical issue since you really have a slight retention problem friends will understand in most cases just make aure its a plain white diaper

Hi! ^^ It sounds like you've got a lot of internalized shame around your abdl side that you need to work through. I completely get it, I was there when I was 28 with all of my kinks and feeling like I was a compulsive sexual deviant too. Society and even a large swath of mainstream psychology tend to promote the idea that anything outside of monogamous heterosexual sex is deviant or paraphiliac, and we're surrounded with both overt and subversive messages that reinforce that every day. When you spend a lifetime absorbing that and, by no fault of your own, pick up an unusual kink your first instinct is usually to repress and deny, which only makes you want it even more. I think you'll find that if you exercise it in moderation (and there is ABSOLUTELY nothing wrong with wearing diapers to work, trust me) the compulsiveness of it will wear off. Like it or not, it's an emotional need that you'll need to fill, and not one that you'll ever be able to shame or executive control yourself out of. Happiness lies in embrace and acceptance, I promise. There are good therapists out there who understand and work with sexuality issues, and will help you come to a place of acceptance. I highly recommend looking for one. Mine is great, she didn't even flinch when I walked in and said "...oh, and I'm an abdl little now."

Not into pink at all as a colour (except pink guitars bizarrely, love them!) so most of the "girly" nappies don't appeal to me. Neither do the Abu lavenders. That said, something about frilly plastic pants does appeal. I used to wear cloth a good while back, would've loved to give these a go...

Babyish

My two cents? It sounds like you have chosen the wrong profession. If you are that miserable, look for a lower paying general job, working at WalMart, pumping gas, anything where you don't need a degree from a college, but realize the pay won't be good and you can end up even more miserable. Think of it like this. When you have a low end job that most people off the street can do, your importance to the company drops considerably. Your boss can ride you like a biker dude on a vintage Harley if he wants to knowing if you rebel he will fire you and hire some other guy off the street. Chances are, the boss himself is only one step above you with the company anyway with an I.Q. about the same as room tempreture on a cold day. If work was fun, they wouldn't have to pay anyone to do it. The other option is changing careers, finding something else you might like doing and going back to school. That takes time, money and how would you support yourself while doing it? I would hate being stuck in a job where I was miserable all the time. Every job I ever had I excelled and went straight to the top, but there are some jobs I had that I would never want to do again on a regular basis. By the way, I was never ever fired from any job I had. I just moved on to better jobs with higher pay. One option but I don't know how good the pay would be. Maybe be a personal care giver for someone in their home. Maybe that way it might be a bit more relaxed and maybe you wouldn't have to be changing diapers all the time, just once in a while?

At least in the US, there is a huge shortage of people in the lower medical professions and now it's reaching up to Doctor level. One university is even offering free tuition to get people involved. You can leverage that into cash if you want to as they will accept any reasonable terms to fill the positions. Something similar is happening with my business but I'm too old to take full advantage of it. I can set nearly any price I want on certain types of work because nobody else will take it on with so much easier-to-do work available to them. If you can tolerate the work, then take the money and run with it. Boom times don't last forever in any field of endeavor. Based on your synopsis of the definition, anyone who wears underwear every day must be addicted to it, because it is not necessary to wear it and many people don't. Ditto for those who hit Starbux every day. The key difference between an addiction versus a habit or filled desire is that addictions do some kind of definable harm of a significant nature. Whenever there is a vested interest in the person or group making a statement, they will always twist things to advocate their goals and Medicine is no different. To wit, I have a need to wear diapers. If I were trying my best to always stay dry I could manage some days with nothing or wear minimal protection. But I have an emotional need as well, which is every bit as legitimate, and that need is to be well-padded with no efforts made to maintain bladder control. Nobody comes to harm for me wearing, thus it isn't an addiction. If I don't wear I get so stressed out that I can't function well, similar to what a person going naked would feel  But deal with this as you wish, for it is your life and doing otherwise could be harmful to you more than wearing Your happiness and your betterment is what matters most of all, and we want you to have the best for you. Bettypooh

We are getting very close to the point where the original story left off and I for one am very excited at the prospect of seeing this story continued. I have reread the entire thing and am enjoying it like the first time I read it.

Thank you Fyunch - I've been busy. The Laundry Room A party at Pembroke with Percy and Clare was always a pleasure - and for Matt and me at least - it was a chance to get out of suburbia and make an easy journey up the motorway in time for lunch. Today was a bit special; it was Mum's birthday and her delight was to see her grandchildren scrubbed up and looking their best and hopefully on their best behaviour. My twin daughters were less enthusiastic; although the journey took less than an hour, it was still classed as a nappy trip, mostly in order to avoid having our very civilised afternoon spoilt by an avoidable accident - or two. To be fair, they were making some progress on that front. They could get through the school day without problems provided they remembered to go between each class, their bladders had learned to reflect the gentle rhythm of the school day, and I wondered if they now had a Pavlovian reaction to the sound of the electric bell. Weekends were another matter. I had given our nanny the weekend off in order to visit her parents and had looked forward to reconnecting with my daughters. So much for my motherly virtue signalling, they had lost no opportunity to play me up. Normally weekends were liberty hall, and the girls were expected to use the toilet like any other child; I didn't want to have to keep on at them to go, they were as entitled to relax just as we were. The cost might be the occasional accident, and they were usually wet in the mornings, but I felt it was worthwhile to see if they could control their bladders at least at weekends. As we were getting ready to leave, Kate and Liz made themselves scarce. I knew the ritual, they were hoping that we would end up in too much of a hurry to see they had their nappies on, it was a game they played quite regularly. I wasn't having it. Liz had had an accident while playing in the garden yesterday afternoon, and, as usual, Kate had "come out in sympathy". They had been in the doghouse ever since, and I was not in the mood to take any nonsense from them. I found them in their bedroom, on the floor on the far side of their beds, and keeping very quiet. They were indeed dressed ready to go; Parties at Pembroke always had a whiff of formality about them and so they were wearing summer dresses. I wasn't fooled for a moment. Although they could usually be trusted to put their own nappies on when needed, which had been Matt's innovation, it was a custom that was often honoured in the breach when they were in a fractious mood. A pat on Kate's bottom revealed the omission, and I didn't need to confirm it by lifting the hem of her dress. "All Right! Come On!" I ordered, and moved to the cupboard in corner where such things were stored out of sight of the casual guest. It was time for that old salesman's trick: the Alternative Close. "Which kind would you like this afternoon?" Liz rolled over her bed, heading for the door. I fielded her and led the reluctant child back to the cupboard. Kate took the hint. It was an old game, and it had its rituals. It had been used on me, too, in my time, and I never quite worked out if it was a privilege or a humiliation; it was a bit like choosing the method of your own execution, in the certain knowledge that, unless you were quick, the choice would be made for you and it would always be the least satisfactory option. I upped the ante. I drew out one of the large terry nappies which were usually reserved for night-time, and long winter nights at that. "Frilly pants?" I offered, and saw both the girls recoil. I couldn't blame them. Cute as hell under a short summer dress, but bulky and sweaty and impossible to conceal, the pillow dangling under the skirt hem and the frills at the back shouting "Baby in Nappies" to all around. Difficult to walk in, forcing a stagger and waddle which underlined the point, they were the safest option, and could take several wettings before the Dreaded Droop required the indignity and inconvenience of a change. Kate stepped forward, and indicated the pull-ups. I considered for a moment. Yes, they were easily concealed, which may or may not be a good thing. I knew that when we got there, if the eagle-eyed Aunt Clare couldn't see the girls were safely nappied, would ask the awkward question in fear of damage to her precious carpets and soft furnishings. A bit of a rustle or a waddle at the right moment could save a lot of embarrassment. Alas, pull-ups were only good for one small accident, and Clare's generosity with the lemonade was legendary, especially on warm summer afternoons in the garden. I pursed my lips and frowned - an expression which the photographers should never see, and mitigated my demand slightly. I put the terry nappy back and moved my hand to the disposable nappies. These were the bulkiest I could get - my girls were heavy wetters at night - but still covered with a babyish print of cuddly bunnies and teddy bears. It was the girls turn to frown. They were very bulky and they knew they would be waddling and have to sit with their legs splayed - not very grown up. There was also the custom that they stayed on until wet: waste not, want not. Although the tapes could be resealed, they were still not very satisfactory. They, too could be seen very clearly between the legs and if the girls bent down. It was their turn. Kate leaned over and indicated the PUL one-piece nappies that Helen had made. I gave what appeared to be a moment's consideration, then nodded. They were the closest thing to normal underwear, apart from the pull-ups, and were plain coloured, comfortable, and could be removed and replaced in the rare event that the girls remembered to go to the lavatory in time. They were also washable, which chimed with Aunt Clare's pronounced Greenie views. Then I played my hand. I fitted each one with two booster pads. I knew from experience that they would normally go the distance of the five or six hours that would pass before we returned home, and the need for changes would be minimised. There was also the point that they would be visible to Clare's trained eye and so no awkward questions would be asked. The girls frowned, but shrugged - it was too late now to object to the additional bulkiness, and I laid one open on each bed. Reluctantly the girls removed their underpants, hitched up their dresses and sat down in the appropriate places. I pulled the front up between Liz's legs and began to fasten the snaps. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Kate was putting her own nappy on, but I still made a point of checking it once she had finished; I wasn't going to risk any leaks. These were of course, "free ones"; I insisted they wear them, they agreed without demur, and if they wetted them there would be no repercussions, no scolding and above all, no sarcasm. Such was the Common Law of the family, set by long precedent and recognised by both sides as fair and just. As I ushered the girls out of the room, I scooped up a handful of PUL covers and pads, and slipped them in the changing bag - just in case. I knew my daughters, and it was going to be a long afternoon with plenty of refreshments. With the two girls' carrying the presents we walked out to the car, and I left it up to them to get into the back seats and strap themselves in safely. As we joined the motorway I looked back to check the girls were secure. They were both sitting splay legged in their seats, and their dresses had ridden up to show the pillow of nappies between their legs. Liz had her hand there, so I asked her if she needed the lavatory or if she was wet. She replied that she was all right but that these PUL nappies felt very nice - much better than plastic pants or disposables. She said she did mind wearing them and wished she could wear them at night too. I answered noncommittally; the girls were both inclined to sleep on their sides and unlike the traditional terries and pants they wore, there was almost no side protection against leakage. There was also the effect that the terry nappies were very bulky between their legs and encouraged them to sleep on their backs, in fact I knew that if they were on their sides it meant they had already wet their nappies and thus could close their legs more easily. Our welcome at Pembroke was, as usual kept fairly brief. The girls were ushered into the downstairs loo for the obligatory nappy check, which they both - sort of - passed. I found that the two boosters in each had somehow been transformed into one each. I couldn't blame them, but I couldn't figure out how it had been done. Then I remembered; getting out of Mother's sight and doing you own thing was one of the basic skills of childhood, and it was so much easier if you had a twin sister to provide a diversion for you. I tut-tutted and shrugged; this was not a moment to make a big thing of it. We rejoined the throng. Juliet and Peter were there with their youngest, Sally. Her two elder children, Holly and Jack, were both at college now and so eleven-year-old Sally was the only one at home to keep Juliet company when Peter was off somewhere on his duties. Fortunately that was a bit less often now - he had four rings on his sleeve and was tipped for a flag any day soon. Once the first flurry of gossip and news-swopping had died down and the men had drifted away to talk man-things, Juliet broached the perennial problem, beating me to it by a few seconds. Sally, it appeared was drying up nicely, although she was till subjected to Pembroke Rules, and resented it sharply. Juliet had expressed the hope this would be the last occasion, and Sally had tried to believe her. That would explain the long dress Sally was wearing, which was a bit too much for the heat of the day. My two were in short dresses, at nine years old they were getting a bit long in the tooth for them, but they were more appropriate for the weather, and made nappy-checks and changes that much easier. Juliet admired Liz's and Kate's all-in-ones which could occasionally be seen beneath the hems of their skirts, but confessed to me that she didn't think Sally would be needing them long enough for them to be a worthwhile investment. She was in pull-ups today, and damn Aunt Claire's Greenie views, but they were all that was needed to catch the small chance of an accident. Mum joined the conversation with the observation that nappies today were not what they had been when Juliet and I were small. Our sudden mutual silence didn't stop her, and she continued. She told us how they needed so much washing, but that it was worth it to see us safely nappied in thick, soft terry-towelling with white plastic pants giving us nice rounded bottoms and making us waddle so cutely, while ensuring we were going to be safe and dry and comfortable for the whole long night. Well, safe and comfortable anyway. I thought back for a moment. Yes, safe and sometimes difficult to realise I was wet until Mum pulled them down in the morning and the cold air hit my wet loins. Sometimes I still yearned for the soft bulk between my legs, the smooth plastic, and the knowledge that I wouldn't be in trouble if I wet my nappy. That was a part of the unspoken deal; I wouldn't object (very much) to having to wear them and in return she would never scold me for wetting them. Such are the little privileges of childhood that we give up in exchange for the imperative of growing up. I might sound a little crazy that two sisters should meet for the first time in months, and their subject of conversation should be their daughter's nappies, but then it was a rare problem, and we seldom had the chance to discuss it with someone "in the know", and it was good to get the general frustrations off our chests. At that moment Sally came wandering back in with Percy's son Haldane in tow. Hal was now thirteen, and just beginning to realise what girls were really for, a subject that was not yet entirely clear to Sally, but she was enjoying the attention just the same. Juliet rather abruptly asked if she had remembered to use the toilet, which got a frown from Sally and a slight smirk from Hal, who should have known better. I saw his mouth open to make some sarcastic comment to the fact that Sally's nappy was still dry, but I managed to silence him with a Number Three Frown, a useful attribute that I had learned in business. Sally didn't miss the exchange, and went on her way grinning. At that moment luncheon was called, so I called after Sally and asked her where my two had got to. She told me they were in the laundry room searching for Black Jack Sinclair's hidden treasure, a legend which had kept the children of the household enthralled for generations. That was not good news - the laundry room conjured memories - memories of heaps of terry nappies to wash, washed or drying, and all intended ultimately for my own bottom, not to mention rows of plastic pants pegged out where everybody could see them and not doubt their purpose. They would all be my intimate companions in the long watches of the night, spreading my legs and wrapping my bottom close and tight, giving me deep unworried sleep at the cost of a brief discomfort and humiliation when they were removed in the morning. The thought warmed me, and I went to recover my twins before they knocked the laundry room down. The Laundry room was separate from the main building, as it had been the original kitchen for the ancient house. It had long been used as a laundry room and store room, but the huge chimneybreast was still there at one end. It was there that I found my offspring. No dollies for them today, no princess dresses, no bows - they were up a stepladder thumping the walls of the chimneybreast. I called to them to come down immediately - they were getting dusty and dirty and would need cleaning up - and possibly changing - before they would be presentable at the luncheon table. "Mum!" We've found a hollow bit!" Liz protested, "It might be the treasure!" "Chimneys do tend to be hollow, dear, it helps the smoke go up!" "But Muuum!..." I wasn't having it. "Come on, lunchtime!" "But Muuuuum, It might be Black Jack's Treasure!" "Did you remember to go? Come on, let's have a look at you!" "They went." I hadn't noticed Alice, Claire's younger daughter, standing in the corner, arms folded and obviously enjoying the scene. "I made them. On the hour. Every hour." The ancient formula still held true. It kept them dry at school, but at weekends or playtime there was sometimes a lapse. I thanked Alice, and took a look at her. At eighteen she was the quiet sensible one, and in her quiet way, a beauty.. She had been through all of this, and was part of our sisterhood, and knew the hazards of concentrating too much on a really good game. I spared my daughters the indignity of a nappy check, and shepherded them out of the half-door and back up to the house. This was their grandmother's treat, and they were part of it.

I AM UNINVOLVED IN THIS PREDICAMENT BUT FELT LIKE YELLING SO NOW I AM YELLING!!!!

I can remember deliberately wetting my pants at around age 3 because I liked to do it (although I didn't do it very often). I can remember wetting my swimmers outside around 4 and imagining they were nappies. I think my first opportunity to revisit actually wearing nappies arose when I was around 11 or 12.

13. It started with wanting to wet my pants like a little boy. I hadn’t thought about diapers in years before that and certainly never about wearing them. But no-one gets to wet their pants as often as a baby, so being in diapers was suddenly Totally Fascinating.

I would have to pick two Ashlee Simpson and or Hillary Duff I hope I have them spelled rite