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freswith

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About freswith

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  • Birthday 09/22/1949

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    The Lilypad, St James Park Lake, London SW1
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    64

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  1. I have just posted a new chapter of Amelia's Story in "Phone Conversation."  Enjoy!

  2. freswith

    Phone Conversation

    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.
  3. freswith

    Onesie - Snap Crotch or Snap Front

    I didn't much like the traditional onesie, partly because the snaps in the crotch dug into my thighs, and partly because they always seemed too tight. I created my own idea for a onesie by making some snap-side pants and attaching them to a T-shirt, like this:-
  4. freswith

    Student group dons diapers in protest

    Oh Dear! A storm in a sippy cup! Students do this kind of theing. They are not to be taken seriously.
  5. freswith

    BD Diaper Wraps 5/1

    If they are being shipped directly from China to the UK, then its a good price because they ship very cheaply, otherwise US shipping to the UK will kill it.
  6. freswith

    Phone Conversation

    Thank you. The intention was to show that the girls were developing a DL streak as well. I think the next episode should show Amelia getting a bit worried about it. Being twins, the girls will be inclined to conspire, but Amelia has been there and knows what can happen. She might wish to try to counter the developing fetish. Now I just have to put it into words!
  7. freswith

    Close call

    The drum on my washing machine jammed almost solid, so I called a repairman. While waiting, I got the machine out, and also cleared the house of anything which might be embarrassing. I was missing one pair of Euroflex panties, and realised they might have got in the wash, which had been unusually full that week. I pulled the washing machine out, and found the belt had come off the back. On working the drum to and fro a bit I heard a distinctive noise. My missing panties had got themselves between the drum and the casing. I promptly cancelled the repairman - I wasn't going to have him extract a large pair of plastic pants followed by a very awkward silence. Better to scrap the washing machine, but before I did I had one last try. I laid the machine on its face, and wiggled the drum to and fro for some time, then I delved into the front and saw a little bit of waist elastic. I managed to pull it out a bit with a screwdriver, get a hold of it and gently pull the remainder of the pants out. Amazingly they were undamaged. I even managed to get the machine back together. Moral: Handwash your plastic pants!
  8. freswith

    Cuddlz shipping costs to the U.S. is insane

    It's the same shipping from the US to the UK. Staggeringly expensive, and yet from China they seem to be able to ship for free. I wonder how much business they are getting from us because of it. I would like to buy some Euroflex pants from Plastic Pants. Their prices are high, but their postage is ridiculous. We used to have a UK supplier who handled them, but he has given up. There's a market opening there for someone.
  9. freswith

    Wearing nappies

    Agreed - they are very for chilling out. How do you manage to keep your cloth nappies a secret? Do your parents know or suspect?
  10. freswith

    Phone Conversation

    The Shoot. The big day came. Kate and Liz were up before me, which was unusual, and were chattering nineteen to the dozen when I went into their room. They were already half-dressed and in deep discussion about the other halves. I managed to add some professional advice; it didn't matter how fashionable you looked when arriving at the studio, as long as it was clean. Better to take things that could be taken off and replaced easily, because you would be changing as soon as you got there, and have to dress before you returned. Better to take something that would withstand the various cosmetics which would be applied, although as I said it I bit my lip - I wasn't going to have my kids sexualised with a load of make-up, they were too young for that. Underwear must be plain, and spotlessly clean. Shoes should be slip-on, and quickly removable. The twins listened avidly; they didn't appreciate just how much hard work they were letting themselves in for. I checked the nappy pail before I left, but made no comment - if the girls had been dry, they would have wasted no time in telling me, and if they had been wet then I wouldn't remark on it. It was just part of the deal. For a moment I assessed the distance we had to drive, but concluded it was much too short to qualify as a Nappy Trip, and so made no demands in that respect. It was to be the girls' day. I had told Julian about Helen's offer and his eyes had gleamed. I managed to keep him from applying the full contractual arrangements, but an exchange of letters had laid out the ground rules, and avoided a few pitfalls. The girls were going to model Helen's creations for advertising purposes, and were to receive some payment and a few clothes in return. I didn't want the girls to be commercialised or sexualised, I just wanted to help my friend and let the girls have some fun. With the girls safely in their seats, and chattering away, I navigated the early morning London traffic to the studio. It was only when I got there that I realised I had forgotten the changing bag - usually an essential for a long day out. Never mind - the girls could manage school without accidents, and I would just have to remind them to go every hour or so. Not a problem. Not having had all that much to do with Helen's firm for some years, I was expecting a semi-amateurish back-street studio with an informal make-do-and-mend approach, but I was mistaken; Helen had prospered in those years and now demanded a high standard, so the studio was large, well equipped and professionally staffed. The girls were swept away by hairdressers and makeup artists and duly returned looking exactly like my daughters - only much more so. I fluttered uselessly behind the camera as the photographer gave them his expert direction and the girls lapped it up. I would have liked to assume that they had got it from me, but then realised that they had studied me much more intensely than I ever thought possible. The day went with a swing, and Helen's new range of children's clothing was modelled and photographed from every angle and in every way possible. There's nothing like a pair of identical twins, and twovery pretty girls at that, to make a good product photograph. In late afternoon the photography backup staff began to disappear, and it was up to a handful of us to get to the final set of clothing. This was the bit I had been dreading, and I suspect Helen had known it might be so and had left to the last - if there was a scene, then it was best had at the end of the day than at the beginning. Helen, an enthusiastic Greenie, had spotted a hole in the market for older children who suffered from the same problem as my daughters did, and had developed a range of PUL washable nappies to fill that hole. I had argued that the market sector was very small, but she said she though tit was worth exploiting, and small runs of specialist clothes were where she made her money. I shrugged and agreed. I was fearing a strong reaction from my girls, who were easy to reason with, but sheer hell in an argument. They would stand up for each other and defend their ground to the bitter end, in a manner which would have won the approval of their piratical Sinclair ancestors, but could be a bit much in the family home. It was with great trepidation when Helen produced the nappies and explained what they were and why she was producing them. I braced myself for the explosion, but was amazed when the girls examined the garments with enthusiasm, and began to ask technical questions. Helen had to explain that treating the nappies in a tumble drier could seal the needle holes from the stitching, and that the cloth outers were just that - real cloth, and could be made in bright colours and patterns. I was further astonished when Liz and Kate both changed themselves into them without help or prompting and began to parade and pose in them with hoots of laughter. Helen certainly hadn't spared the soakers and there was obviously plenty of absorbency there to pad them out. I felt a twinge of nostalgia for the well-rounded bottoms, so different from the clinical squares of disposable nappies, and my feelings were reinforced by the pronounced waddle which was induced by the thickness of the soakers between their legs. I admit that from time to time, when I had put the girls to bed well padded-out in terry nappies, I had found the sight of the big thickly-nappied bottoms had been quite delightful. The difficulty of walking when so thickly nappied had the additional advantage of keeping them abed when necessary. Now, it seemed, Kate and Liz were actively playing it up, striking "Grecian bend" poses and even doing a certain amount of twerking - although where they had learned that I shuddered to think. As I watched my daughters playing in their nappies without a care in the world, I began to envy them. I recalled the days when I was in nappies, and playing in the garden at Pembroke, feeling the pillow between my legs and grateful for the security it offered. I no longer had to fear the sudden urgent pangs that would come uninvited, I no longer had to remember the quick route to the toilet, or make sudden excuses; I was in nappies, and was expected to wet them at some point during the afternoon, and I knew nothing would be said. When it came, it came, and I would carry on playing without interruption, enjoying the relief as the warm wetness trickled down between my legs and puddled underneath me. My nappy would be checked from time to time, and if it was wet, I would be changed then and there on the lawn; clean dry nappies and pants were always to hand in the laundry room. No one minded that I was still in nappies at eight years old and should have known better, no one commented on the fact that I went to school without nappies and had to visit the toilets between each class. This was the weekend, it was summer, and I was allowed to relax and enjoy myself in Granma's very private garden, wearing just a T-shirt to cover my top, and a nappy and pants on my bottom, although Granma preferred me to wear sundress with frilly over pants, or at least a romper, which allowed me to play on the slide or swing without any fear of my nappy coming down or my plastic pants wearing through. Sometimes I would wake from an afternoon nap on the garden sofa to find a clean dry nappy laying ready-folded beside me in mute accusation. I didn't even realise I was wet, but Granma had just expected it. I would lie there, yawning and stretching while my nappy was changed; I would lift my bottom on command, but I was not supposed to meddle with my nappy as she wrapped it around me and pinned it. Once changed I was free to run - as best as I could - and play freely again. Tea-time would be heralded by Granma appearing with a fresh nappy and pants for me so I would be comfortable at the meal. I never told her that I was quite comfortable in my wet nappy and, even if I protested there was no real need, she would change me anyway, so I would be comfortable during the meal and able to enjoy the cakes that she had cooked. Those were the days! The photographer was obviously enjoying having two pretty kids who were keen to pose and preen for him - they had certainly got the hang of it, and the session overran by a good hour. When we finally finished I took a look out of the studio's only window and was horrified to see that it had started to snow heavily. It wasn't such a problem for me, as we had the big Range Rover and it could cope, but the rush hour was upon us and that would mean traffic chaos as so many inexperienced drivers would grind though the snow at the lowest possible speed and hold everybody up. I shooed the girls back the changing room and told them to be as quick as possible. Once their overcoats were on, I shepherded the girls out of the studio and through the thin snow back to the car. I let them strap themselves into their seats in the back while I involved myself with the heating and demisting, not even listening to their chatter as they replayed every scene and every outfit. The traffic was as dreadful as I had feared it would be; snow is quite rare in England, and we never seem to be prepared, although I was well experienced in driving on it from our skiing trips, and had little patience for the exaggerated timidity of the other drivers. We managed, after much creeping and crawling, to get onto the motorway and pick up some speed, but suddenly there was a flare of brake lights ahead, and all the lanes rapidly came to a stop. I sat there, muttering at the traffic, and watching the blue lights coming up the hard shoulder from behind. Police, Ambulance, Fire Brigade, it was obvious that somebody had seriously lost it up ahead, and I switched the engine off. We might be here for some time. I checked the girls. They were enjoying the snow, and tackling one of the great philosophical questions of the time; "How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" I left them to it, and tried to plot a diversion that would take me around the jam. There were simply no options. The motorway was banked and ditched, and we were boxed in by traffic, so we had no option but to wait and watch the snow getting deeper and deeper. Something was missing. It had gone very quiet in the car. Then a still small voice came from behind me. "Muumm?" "Yes Liz." I replied, dreading the next words, "What do you want?" "Muuumm, is there a toilet anywhere near?" I looked around. Nothing. Just a snowy embankment leading down to a water-filled ditch, then a hawthorn hedge and empty, snow covered fields stretching as far as I could see in the blizzard. About a hundred yards. The rest was a solid bank of cars, full of people looking out miserably. No toilet, no hope. "No dear, I don't think so. Can't you hold it?" No reply. I thought it through. An accident on the leather upholstery of our new car. Those child seats wouldn't contain it. Matt would be livid. We would have a major cleaning job, and would probably never get rid of the smell. Worse still, the thought had set something off in me, and I wanted to go. It had always been my weakness, and now it was asserting itself. I looked out again. There was nowhere, and if I went in public everybody would see and they all had mobiles with cameras. It would be all over the internet. Either that, or all over the car. I was getting desperate. I looked in the side pocket to see if there were any plastic bags tucked in there, but the car was new and none had accumulated. This was getting desperate. On the brink of panic I saw brake lights coming on again ahead, and car exhausts began emitting smoke. The traffic was beginning to move again, and there was just a chance of some kind of relief ahead. We crept past the wrecks of two cars and a lorry, and began to accelerate again. I glanced in the mirror and spoke to the girls. "Can you hold on a bit longer, we'll soon be there!". Silence. "Are you alright back there, we'll soon find a toilet!" Finally a reply came, quietly, from Kate. "Don't worry Mum, it doesn't matter any more." "Oh God! Have you had an accident in the seat." "No, Mum. I did it in my nappy." "What nappy?" "The ones we were wearing at the shoot. I asked Helen if we could keep them, and she said Yes, so we kept them on." I felt my jaw drop. It was quite improper to take the clothes home. Even if it was allowed it was quite ridiculous for the girls to select the nappies to take; there had been so many beautiful clothes there that they had modelled. It made no sense. With trepidation I asked Liz. "And what have you done, Liz?" "I've wet my nappy too, Mum, it seemed like the best thing to do." That left me. I found that the sense of urgency had declined sharply, but when I thought of the girls and their solution I couldn't help thinking I would have liked to be able to do the same. As it was, I gritted my teeth and headed for home. Matt was waiting at the door. Unusually he had got home first and had been quite worried by the weather and the radio reporting the crash on the motorway. I gave him a brief kiss, and brushed quickly past to the toilet. He had known me long enough to understand. My next job should have been to change the twins, but I decided to call Helen first. I was worried that the girls had taken the nappies without permission. I managed to get through on her mobile, and found she too was stuck in a traffic jam. She out my mind at rest by telling me she had indeed given the girls permission to keep the nappies, but had been surprised when they decided to wear them home. I told her they had been useful, if not to say essential, and we both had a good laugh over it. I told her that I could have done with one myself , and she laughed again and then said "Why not?". I thought for a moment. She knew me very well indeed, and she was right - the temptation was severe. There was an awkward silence. Oscar Wilde said that he only way to get rid of a temptation was to give in to it. "Why not indeed?" I replied, "I really liked that maroon colour..."
  11. freswith

    Phone Conversation

    Thank you - I was wondering where it had gone to. I've got a chapter outlined, and I'll get on with it.
  12. freswith

    Hitler rant - diapers

    A little odd, but an interesting diaper reference about two minutes in. The mind boggles. Oddly, having been in that situation, I almost feel sorry for him.
  13. I have just posted a new episode on "Phone Conversation".  Enjoy!

  14. freswith

    Phone Conversation

    Helen Makes a Sale It was time I got back into touch with Helen. Too much work had kept us apart for too long, and now my model agency, "Grace", was running nicely I had the time to look around and explore some possibilities. One was to rejuvenate my association with Helen's now well-established fashion house. Helen was also my oldest friend and had been my closest confidante - one of the very few people who knew my secret. However, examination of our busy appointments diaries left very few chances for lunch in the City, so it ended up as a quiet meal at my home on the nanny's evening off, when I could inflict my cooking on Helen for the first time since our flat-mate days, and we could both inflict ourselves on the wine cellar. Helen lived only just down the road, so it was easy. Matt was bust at some professional function, so I had to I break off my efforts in the kitchen to herd my two impossible twins up to bath and bed - also my duty on Nanny's evening off. What was supposed to be a rapid well-drilled procedure was extended by the twins playing up, and I had just finished nappying Liz when the doorbell rang and I went to let Helen in. Naturally, we ended up having dinner in the kitchen with a couple of bottles of wine, just like the old days, while we caught up with the news. We were much too old friends to suffer any formality, as it would only get in the way of a good natter. Retiring to the lounge I was surprised, and a little annoyed to find my daughters still there - they were supposed to have been in bed at least an hour ago, but they protested they really wanted to meet Helen. I was surprised they knew who she was, but apparently they followed the whole fashion scene - not just my part of it. Helen, in turn was delighted to meet them, as she hadn't really done so since they were babies. I could hardly chastise them in front of Helen, so I had to content myself with a scowl and a mild scolding, and an injunction to stay no longer than ten minutes as there was school tomorrow. I was promptly corrected - it was half-term - so I lost that one. The two of them plagued Helen with questions, and to be honest I was quite impressed with the knowledge of the industry which they showed. Helen, in turn, asked them all the usual things one asks a nearly-nine-year old child, except the obvious one: why were they still in nappies? It was unavoidable; their pyjama bottoms were a bit too tight and the outlines of their nappies showed through quite plainly. Instead, she asked me. "Still the same old problem, then, Amelia? Any progress yet?" "Not really," I replied, "we get the odd dry night, but the nappies are still essential." That put the girls on the back foot; they had forgotten they were nappied in the presence of a stranger. "We don't really need them," protested a slightly reddened Kate, "Only Mum insists that we wear them." "Wet five mornings last week." I corrected, "I counted them." Getting the girls up and off to school was usually my job. "Mum!" protested Liz, cuddling a cushion to her tummy in a futile and tardy attempt to conceal the evidence. "Don't be shy," said Helen in conciliation, "I knew your Mum when she had to wear them. Every night, and sometimes during the day, too." The girls perked up. This was something they had been told many times in order to sweeten the bitter pill of still being in nappies and still having accidents, but this was a new witness to cross-examine, and further evidence of Mum's sometime weakness. I let them continue; I wasn't going to rise to the bait. Helen continued, "I even had to wear them myself at one time when I had a period of bedwetting." I could have kissed her. The girls were now all ears; a fellow sufferer was always balm to their injured pride. "My Mum borrowed some from Amelia's mum." That sunk in. "Were they cloth ones, then?" Kate had it figured out. "You can't very well borrow disposables." "Well, yes, replied Helen, " It was only for a few nights. Then Mum got a packet of nappies that would fit me, and I used them until I stopped bedwetting. It was only a phase. Then they went back to Amelia." "Was she still in them?" uttered Liz. Not that she didn't know, but she was obviously gleefully determined to rub my face in it. Helen just nodded. "How old were you when you finally stopped?" Helen asked me. My turn to blush. "Eleven." I had to reply. I knew what was in my daughters' minds; Two More Years! - Unless we can beat her! "She looked so cute in them." Careful Helen - you can go too far along this line... "Did she wear cloth ones all the time?" Kate asked. I nodded. . "Whyyy?" demanded Liz, "We have to wear disposables! They're hot a clammy compared to cloth ones." "You don't have to wash them!" I interjected. The girls shrugged in unison. "You objected at Christmas when we were at Pembroke." Which was true - Clare had strong opinions about the Earth and landfill. "We got to like them, though." threw in Kate, "They were much comfier." "And they didn't leak." added Liz. It was true; when they shared a bed the girls preferred to sleep on their sides, and disposables couldn't handle it so well. Another good reason why I put them in cloth nappies when we went to Pembroke. Aunt Clare had the opinions; Aunt Clare could do the laundry. "There wouldn't be room in those pyjamas for terry nappies and pants." I reminded the girls. "You would have to wear just nappies on your bottom half in bed." Kate and Liz stopped for a moment. The nights were cold at this time of year. "And pants." said Kate. "You mean those plastic baby pants" I interjected, "The ones you said were so hot and sweaty." "Those new ones we had at Aunty Clare's weren't sweaty" said Liz, "They were made of something else. Poly you-something. They were nice!" "Polyurethane" I added for Helen's information. She now had two small children of her own, who were still at that stage. "What do yours wear?" I asked. "All-in-ones" she replied, "I made them myself. Easy to wash. No waste. Look better, too." "How better?" I asked. Nappies are seldom a fashion item. "Less mechanical, more rounded. Less transparent. More like pants. Less babyish." Helen replied . "Come in pretty colours and patterns too. My daughter wears them with just a little shorty nighty. Very pretty. And easy to change - when we get to toilet training she can pull them down and up to use the toilet by herself." Helen was a brilliant salesperson, and my daughters were hanging on every word. It was always a bone of contention - the twins had always complained that it was just too much hassle to handle the tapes on a disposable nappy on the rare occasions they had bothered to get up and use the toilet in the night. That was the perennial excuse for the "my nappy just came off" syndrome - and its invariably disastrous result. My daughters seemed to wet themselves several times each night - pull-ups had shown themselves unable to cope and experiments had always ended up in reverting to the full traditional nappies, whether cloth or disposable. Now it seemed there might be a third option. The girls were completely sold on the idea, but I still had my reservations. "What a pity, they won't be available in your size," I remarked, quietly trying to quash the issue. "Is that the only problem?" asked Helen, her eyebrows raised to invite an "yes" answer. By now I was too befuddled to recognise this old salesman's trick. Overcoming objections. Helen was indeed and experienced salesperson. I had fallen for it and answered "yes" before I knew it, and Helen proceeded to meet my objection and close the sale. "No Problem", she intoned, "I made them for my children, and I can easily scale them up a little to fit Kate and Liz. What colours would you like?" Closed on a minor point, I had to let Kate and Liz make their preferences felt. I tried one last time. "We really can't put you to all that trouble Helen, I mean, you've got more than enough to do. "No Trouble!" replied Helen smoothly, "I'm launching a range of children's wear, under another label, and I can get them made up however you like. Easy. How would you girls like to do some modelling for me?" Shrieks of approval, and my last line of defence was overwhelmed. I was very reluctant to have my girls under the spotlight despite their incessant demands, because I didn't want them to grow up too fast or be sexualised - there was also the risk of kidnap and ransom in there, but now I had been outflanked. I gave in. Helen consolidated the sale. We would visit her studio shortly to view her designs and choose the materials. The girls would model the new fashions, and after I threatened Helen with a contract from Grace, drafted by the avaricious Julian, she agreed that I would have a selection of the clothes and a supply of the all-in-one nappies in payment. The twins were then hustled up to bed and, after quick nappy checks, bedded down for the night. I went downstairs with Helen musing on the excellence of her salesmanship, and even pulled her leg a little about it. Sometime later, after Port and coffee, and a more mature conversation about husbands and housekeeping and other difficult things, I escorted Helen to the door as her taxi arrived. Just as I was about to open the door, she remarked, "I could make them in your size as well, you know. Very discretely." I froze in my tracks, and quickly checked the stairs for the presence of eavesdropping children. Helen was a close confidante, and knew my little peccadilloes. I did some hard, quick thinking. I hadn't indulged that one for many years; the realities of two little girls in nappies had satisfied that need, but nothing had quite erased it. "Maybe." I replied, "When the kids are a bit older - and drier, and we have a larger house, I just might get back into that."