Les Lea

Part 2 BBC Television Centre Studio 1: The Graham Norton Show The chat show host was out front, the studio audience lapping up his comic banter and getting excited at the week’s line-up. “Let’s get some guests on.” (applause) “He’s a young comedian currently touring the country with his one man show ‘Don’t Make Me Laff’ – Steven ‘Kipper’ Herring. (applause, cheers, welcome hugs) “My second guest is the first lady of ‘soaps’ and winner of the National Treasure Award – Dame Barbara Knox.” (applause, cheers, welcome kisses) “Tonight... please welcome Ghost Hunter and debonair man about... well... just the plain creepy... yes it’s Mr Scary himself –Stephan Saint Maarten.” (laughter, applause, cheers, smiles, welcome kisses) “So please... welcome my final guest... he’s the Top Gun on a Mission Impossible, the star who never stops running... and great friend of the show... Mr Tom Cruise.” (standing ovation, laughter, applause, cheers, smiles) Tom dashes on. (welcome hugs) # It was halfway through this very funny and lively show (Tom is always good value) when Stephan, mid-way through a description of meeting his weirdest spook... felt the atmosphere suddenly change. It wasn’t instantly obvious to the audience, the host or the other two guests but Tom picked up on the sudden look on Stephan’s ghostly face. A stream of hot piss (thanks to the copious amounts of white wine he’d enjoyed in the green room) filled Stephan’s underwear... thank God he never ventured out these days without protection. Two ominous white figures, in fact just heads as the bodies were simply an indistinguishable swirl of mist, floated across the studio and looked Stephan in the eye. The grimace on their faces was not that of a friendly greeting but a sneer that harboured ill intent. (The cameramen wondered why a sudden flare and sparkly glimmer appeared on their screen. There was no extraneous lighting that could have caused such a phenomena or reflection in the lens, it was weird. Something had ‘walked’ across the set but the effect was over before they had chance to react) The Ghost Hunter had been hunted and it didn’t bode well especially as he reached out to greet the eerie phantoms only for his hands to pass straight through the ethereal substance. # He had no idea if the studio was haunted or the spectral visit was purely for his benefit. The groping of thin air looked strange on camera as if he was having some kind of seizure but the host, who was lost in his own clever quips, didn’t notice what was happening because ‘Kipper’ was hogging the interview to tell a lame joke about ghosts. However, several ear-piercing shrieks meant something had been noticed by some of the six hundred strong audience. However, such was the timing that ‘Kipper’ was able to turn the reaction into a much better joke (In the control room the director wondered what was going on. He saw the flare on Camera 1 and noticed the reaction on Camera 3’s wide shot of the entire sofa. Camera 2 was still on the host giggling at the comedian’s joke but that wasn’t all) Tom also had senses that no one else knew about so had witnessed the same ghoulish apparitions as Stephan. He was stunned, and the camera picked up the look of wonder on his face. However, although the banter was awkward for a brief moment he soon picked up the thread as the host fed him a line. “So, I gather you collected another series of injuries on the latest shoot...” Tom launched into a description of one of his incredible stunts as Stephan recovered on the sofa, the others appeared completely unaware as to what had just taken place, although if pushed would admit to feeling a chill wind briefly pass through them. # The control room realising they had just witnessed something extraordinary pulled the ghostly image from the recording and, with the aid of a very well prepared publicity machine, had that image and a few words proclaiming a ‘live’ ghost guesting on the show to every media outlet in the country. As the show was recorded for transmission the following night, the publicity guaranteed the show tripled its previously best viewing figures. Some of the audience who had witnessed the event Tweeted about their own terror at seeing a phantom visit a chat show, which only added to the furore. In an interview that followed Stephan was only able to say that perhaps in a future series the team would look into BBC TV Centre’s own ghostly past. He couldn’t add anything further as there were no clues to a period in time the spectres came from as it was just the ‘scary’ faces he’d seen. Certain sections of the press regarded it all as nothing more than a publicity stunt to promote the third series of Manifestation but they were wrong... if they only knew that Stephan’s messed in nappy was proof of just what had taken place. ######## It was on the last day of the fourth series shoot after they’d filmed the intro and had recreated the... story so far. Clarkenwell Hall had proved a moody and atmospheric place, even the clouds had swirled around this part gothic, part reconstructed mansion, adding an impressive surreal aspect to the story of fire, death and betrayal. Ian was out with the drone doing a series of exterior shots of the building, flying the drone through the mist to reveal the striking and ominous building beneath. The little camera offering some wonderful birds-eye views so Ian was making the most of this eerie opportunity to gather as many different angles, pans and sweeps as he could. Meanwhile, Oskar and Shagufta were installing the sensors and remote cameras around the building, hoping that the story they’d come to investigate would prove to be as exciting as the legend offered. The eighteenth century mansion had originally been the family home of the Stewart-Lancing’s. Their wealth had come from the import business Theodore Stewart-Lancing had founded and had, over several generations proved financially sound. However, a lack of investment, financial foresight and a tropical storm that wiped out the entire fleet reduced the family to penniless vagabonds and Clarkenwell Hall fell into ruin. Decades later, Henry Cassell stumbled across the almost forgotten, but still impressive pile and through his own huge wealth, thanks to a brewery that had the royal seal of approval, decided to rebuild the place to be the home for his future wife and hoped for family. # Daisy Cassell was Henry’s second wife, his first wife Beatrice had died two years earlier. Her delicate body not able to withstand the rigors of a disease she contracted whilst they were out in India. They had a son Boris who had been sent away to boarding school so had missed the death of his mother, a circumstance that would play badly in the future of Clarkenwell Hall. Henry was forty when he married his second wife, twenty year-old Daisy Grantham. She came from a nice family but financially not in the same league as the Cassells. However, love grew between the two and eventually she agreed the wedding after being introduced to the splendid restored home her husband had in mind for their family. She loved the solitude of the place. The English countryside dazzling in early spring sunlight, which made the mansion radiate in total gothic splendour. She fell in love with the building and knew her happiness was intertwined with life there. # Boris was not keen on another woman coming in and taking his dead mother’s place. However, his public school upbringing meant that any emotion had been stoically stored away and a polite façade adopted at all times. He never got close to his stepmother or the children she rapidly produced, much to the happiness of his father. Henry, now well into his forties, saw his family grow, first with daughter Edith, then twins Catherine and Daisy, a son Duncan and finally a baby girl Dorothy. All, five children arrived within six years just as Boris was coming to the end of his private education. A nanny was installed so the parents had time to themselves but, thanks to Daisy refusing to let the children be sent away to be privately educated, a tutor was also installed at the house to oversee that side of the children’s development. However, Daisy was a very hands-on mother and often joined her children in the nursery to play and go on adventures, much to the hardly subdued disgust of tutor Miss Brannigan who thought children and parents should have minimal contact. Despite this attitude, she was a remarkably good teacher and although the children were a little scared of her, they did flourish under her guidance. Nanny’s eternal optimism and love for her young charges also meant that they had an equally loving influence on their lives. Nanny and Daisy would secretly come up with some adventure they would spring on the children who were suddenly swept up, taken out to awaiting carts and driven off to a picnic in the countryside. Miss Brannigan, who was full of admiration for the way Boris had been brought up, rarely agreed to join the youngsters on such occasions, seeing it as below her station to indulge in such fripperies. # The history as to the haunting of the mansion was down to what happened on the night of the 13th, which just happened to be a Friday one hundred and twenty years earlier. A fire swept through the upper parts of the building killing the entire family; parents, children, nanny and tutor in a massive inferno the rest of the servants were unable to subdue. The only survivor was Boris who, having been on a companion’s night out celebrating the end of University life was at the time staying with friends in another town. Sorting through the debris they also never found the body of the youngest Cassell, two year old Dorothy (or Dolly as she was known) fearing that such was the intensity of the inferno, her body might have been totally consumed by the blaze. To this day there had been reports of sightings of flames coming from the charred building but when fire crews arrived no hint of any recent combustion could be found. However, members of some of these crews reported hearing screams and the ghostly sounds of fire wreaking havoc but because they had no evidence to support these occurrences, they weren’t taken too seriously by the powers that be. However, local villagers and the occasional interested visitor maintained they had witnessed spectral fires and heard frightful screams together with the sound of some huge conflagration. Superstition added to eye-witness accounts... it was these claims that the Manifestation team were at the Hall to investigate. # Having finished their pre-planning and pre-filming and with all their scanners, recorders and night-vision devices in place the team were ready for the final investigation of the series. Other similar investigative shows had drawn what amounted to a blank at Clarkenwell Hall but this team of ghost hunters had undergone some very strange vibes and experienced some unexplainable events during the set up period. Out in the garden there was a crypt where the ashes of the family were kept, under which was where the body of the surviving son was buried after his strange death ten years to the day after the fire. He was the young owner of the flourishing brewery his father had built up but that particular night, whilst inspecting the premises, he was crushed when the wooden storage racks gave way and sent several large casks crashing down on him. He wasn’t killed but his broken body was eventually returned to Clarkenwell Hall for recuperation. The doctors and nurses who tended him said he complained bitterly about being plagued by visits from his family. He said they were tormenting him and kept opening up healing wounds and making them bleed. A year later, and in tremendous pain, he screamed at the attending nurse to “GET OUT’, although she said he wasn’t looking at her at the time, he seemed to be staring at something on his bed. When she returned with some soup ten minutes later, he was dead. His teeth set in a grimace and his fingers tightly clutching the bed sheets. # As the sun set behind the house (another fantastic opportunity for Ian to get moody shots) the building appeared to shrink as the shadows approached before then seemingly grow again once the darkness was complete. The place was wired for sound and vision as Oskar embedded himself behind his stack of technical gear – he knew that nothing would escape his ingenious, advanced, specialist paraphernalia. After all, he’d designed and made every single component and processing unit so knew what each was capable of. Shagufta armed everybody’s body-cams as they slowly made their way up the creaking spiral stairway towards the area that had once been the bedrooms. Ian was the first to feel sick in his stomach with each step, he made what he was feeling known to the others. Stephan and Shagufta had to agree that their stomachs were tightening, whilst their throats began to feel clogged and the smell of smoke became more pungent and choking with each step. They walked up the stairs slowly, the multi cameras capturing their halting, nervous, forward advance – there was definitely an ominous threat lingering. Back all those years ago the inferno had spread rapidly, engulfing the rooms they now sought to investigate but with each step a shiver of cold sweat dripped down their spines. The atmosphere was becoming both uncomfortable and chilling even though the choking aroma of smoke and the distant crackle of flames could be smelt and heard. # Stephan continued with his piece-to-camera as they approached that first door, explaining what the history books and folklore of the hall had described. Even though his body was freezing, he sweated in the intimidating environment. He realised that his protecting nappy was already full as it expanded with the volume that flowed unabated from his bladder. Where normally he would welcome the warm spread of urine it now felt cold and alarmingly hostile. Why his piss should feel that way he had no idea but it was a thought that raced across his mind as he nervously reached that first bedroom door. The smell of smoke intensified, as did the crackle and lamentation of whatever lay behind it. Stephan nervously reached for the brass doorknob but a sudden glow appeared around the doorframe. The fire had reached the access point. As the cameras and sound equipment rolled, screams and cries could be heard in the distance. The intense yellow around the door showed just how the inferno was swiftly penetrating the entire area. Although Stephen knew it was an illusion, he kept telling himself and to camera that it wasn’t real, except, everything that was happening was actually telling him otherwise. He knew whatever it was couldn’t harm him... it was all in his head... except it wasn’t. The cameras could see what he could see and hear what he could hear. This was the very proof the world had been denying the existence of for so long. There was death and destruction going on right behind that door. # Back at Oskar’s control point the sensors were peaking so high he couldn’t believe it. He could see on his monitors the paranormal influence spiking to unprecedented levels and even more disturbing his live TV monitors showed the very thing that Stephan was hoping to be a hallucination. Oskar checked and re-checked his equipment but now the choking smell of smoke enveloped the room. He could see the doorway glow getting brighter and he feared for his friends. He was well away from the drama that the rest of the crew were experiencing but a voice, an unfriendly voice, was yelling at him to GET OUUUUTTTT. The hair on the back of his neck had been rising for some time. The imminent threat had brought him out in a cold sweat and his heart-rate was at a dangerous level. He couldn’t be sure if that loud, threatening voice was real or in his head but he was convinced it meant business. Terror seized him as he choked in that smoky atmosphere... he had to get out. The locked off camera in the room captured the moment when Oskar shit himself. Never had the psychic, mystical and ghostly come together so obviously and revealed themselves. This was not a place to hang around so Oskar, still filling the seat of his pants, made a speedy and frightening exit from the hall. Once outside, and once he’d calmed down he’d never been more indebted to his protection. He could feel the turds sliding around his arse and groin but was just grateful to have escaped with his life. He turned back to look at the shadowy, gaunt building; a sliver of moon just breaking over the trees giving the place a silver glow. Everything looked so peaceful. From the outside there was no indication of the interior turmoil he’d just witnessed. # Stephan reached for the brass door knob, the camera caught fear in his eyes as he hesitated. The glow around the door intensified its radiance lighting up the corridor urging and yet scaring the presenter from continuing. He grasped the metal door knob but at the same time, a yell, a scream sent Stephan flying through the air to smash against the far wall and slip injured to the ground. The noise of the inferno, and the glow around the door disappeared in an instant. Ian and Shagufta ran to the prone body of Stephan who was clearly dazed. Although there were screams of panic and concern the camera kept turning and panned down to his hand. A clear vivid red burn mark showed that this was no ordinary encounter. A few seconds later and Stephan came round but yelled out in pain as he realised just how seared his hand really was. Eventually he got his senses back and tried to explain to camera what had just happened. “It was like a bolt of electricity surging through the handle...” He was still shaking but desperate to continue with his job. Ian was past worrying about filming, although it did continue, he was worried that his partner was badly injured. Stephan waved him and his concern away trying to capture his thoughts and the weird yet wonderful situation on camera. “Did you hear the voice?” He looked around at his colleagues to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. They agreed they heard ‘something’ but weren’t too sure what. The pain in his hand meant he was clutching it to his chest as he further explained that as he touched the door handle, he heard a malevolent voice... a voice so wrapped up in its own evil... screaming at him to leave... “GET OUT.” There were now tears in his eyes though not because of the pain... it was the trauma from the last few moments. He saw the glow disappear, the menacing crackle of the approaching fire, the screams of people as the flames engulfed those who were still alive when the fire struck... all was now enclosed in an eerie silence broken only by the voices of concern for his welfare. # tbc #

Manifestation · In the great tradition of late night scares - Manifestation is a UK based one hour TV show which takes a skewed look at all things paranormal · Journalist Stefan Saint Maarten, Cameraman/Producer Ian Wallace and their compact team research the truths, lies and speculation regarding things that do (or don’t) go bump in the night. · Ghosts, apparitions, fables, legends, folklore - Manifestation brings you a case by case study of ghouls in the house, nightmare scenes and chilling night-truths... just before bedtime. · Series 4 Manifestation coming soon on ITV. # Stefan looked at the TV listing one last time and wished he’d written it instead of some dullard at the broadcaster’s office. He’d have to have words with the commissioning editor and insist that his production company has to rubber stamp any future press release. However, he did like the phrase ‘chilling night-truths’ and hoped this up-coming series would have even more frightening moments than the last series. The way Manifestation approached its subject was as a news report. Stephan and his team would initially take the story and bring it ‘alive’ as if it was being reported on at the time of the incident. Ian, his business partner and husband, was very clever at reproducing a visual element to what happened perhaps hundreds of years previously. It was the hook that made their show different to all the others. Some stunts were staged as part of the ‘report’ but, as the crew found from the first series, thick padding and robust protection had to be worn when dealing with the paranormal because you just didn’t always know where that eerie creak or screech came from. # Twenty-eight year old Stephan (or Steve Martin as he was really called) and partner, twenty nine year old Ian Wallace, had come up with the idea for Manifestation whilst they both worked in the newsroom of a local TV company. They’d cleverly put together four ten minute ‘shorts’ about local spooky goings-on as a lead up to Halloween for local news. The programme’s senior editor had loved its quirky approach and suggested that it be put together as an hour special, which they would run late night on Halloween. It was a huge success and led to the duo being head-hunted by ITV to produce a paranormal series of its own. Steve and Ian set up a production company and a series of ten shows were immediately commissioned. There were already too many people called Steve Martin in the industry so, to give the new programme a more exotic flare, Steve used the name Stephan Saint Maarten and adopted a rather suave, trendy image. # Originally the show would follow the same format as their Halloween special, simply because the two main characters, Stephan and Ian, didn’t actually believe in ghosts... well, to begin with that is. They wanted a more formal approach and less night-vision cameras and dark corners. However, they loved the idea of scary stuff and knew that they could, with clever camera techniques and strange angles, present a spine-chilling show for their new bosses. At various pre-production meetings, ten ghost stories were agreed and the method of presentation discussed. However, Stephan knew from the many horror movies he’d been addicted to as a kid, just what the mind can do without the need for visuals. A hint here, a sound there, an ominous musical tone... he understood they could create a bloodcurdling account of whatever story they pursued. However, on their very first days shoot at Woldover Castle, the eerie and scary meant that none of them went home without stained underwear. They’d been terrified from start to finish by the unexpected turn of events and discovered that the strange acrid aroma that followed them everywhere... was in fact themselves. To say they were shit scared would have been an understatement, when the notorious ‘Green Lady’, the ghost of whom they’d come to de-bunk, whispered her greetings in the very first room they’d come to investigate. It took the small team by surprise. Stephan pissed his pants, as did Shagufta the researcher, Ian, carrying the camera was surprised to find a wet slimy mass trickling down the back of his legs. The shock encounter made them reassess the way to proceed and how they would prepare themselves for future shoots. The appearance of the apparition was so sudden the team hadn’t started recording. No cameras were switched on, although the fourth member of the team, technical wizard, Oskar Mahler, simply could not believe why his scanning and recording instruments, which were just being tested, went into melt down. Mercifully, he was the only one to save his underwear but because of his messy compatriots planned a complete upgrade to his scientific equipment and, on the advice of the others, to upgrade his ‘groin padding’ for future investigations. Added to the list of equipment were spare disposables, substantial rubber pants, wet-wipes and baby powder... enough padding for the entire shoot for four people, which they were thankful for on more occasions than they cared to admit. However, the public weren’t to know about the extra protection they now wore for each episode but the story of the ‘Green Lady’ was a lively and convincing start to the first series. Something else that became quite apparent... to Stephan at least... he had an affinity with the spirit world. Despite the fact that he started as a sceptic/non-believer he soon found his body would react when a ghost or some such entity was around. He pissed himself. That warming glow in his pants was a dead giveaway that the spirit world was more than just something for him to base a programme on. The apparitions he saw, the broken and confused spirits, the evil and vindictive souls, the harmless but inquisitive phantoms all made themselves known by making sure that Stephan had a soggy memory of their visit. # The first and subsequent series were a success because of their unique approach to ghost stories, which also meant that Stephan was in demand for conventions and paranormal events. He’d become a young, sexy, trendy expert on all things paranormal with a fan base growing with each show. He was a regular guest on chat shows and what had become remarkable was the bush of thick black hair he started with on that first episode about the Green Lady had turned almost white by the end of the first series filming. Perhaps annoyingly for other similar programmes, Manifestation was getting better results; less screaming and hysteria, more actual based evidence. The reliance on night shoots and night-vision cameras, which often distorted the light levels to give false imaging, was of secondary importance. By cleverly re-enacting the scene and giving a straight-to-camera description of events, followed by a re-telling of eye-witnesses accounts all helped create in the viewer a feeling of actually being there and observing each incident. Stephan was a master of delivery and Ian just brilliant at interpreting the event visually. It also appeared that ghosts and apparitions under investigation let themselves be known in different ways than just the occasionally unseen flying object or a clatter of some moved furniture. The Manifestation team got unbelievable first hand evidence from practically every subject; words, shadows and, yes, manifestations were captured on a variety of specialised equipment. So sophisticated was Oskar’s unique tech, that many claimed it had to be a con. The crew knew from the state of their underwear that the proof of these encounters... was deposited in their pants. The list of gear now included boxes of heavy duty disposables and thick rubber pants. # As they appeared to be the only such show that was getting such uncanny results it was up to the show’s frontman Stephan to dispel this negative publicity. Even his white hair was used as ‘proof’ that the team were out to deceive the public because he now used the fact it had gone white to adjust his image and present a more forceful and eccentric ‘investigator’. He’d coloured the side of his hair black so there was just a white shaft down the middle of his head, which gained him the sobriquet, Badger. Stephan and the team had no need to explain their success to each other. There was no denying the results as far as they were concerned, it appeared that the various entities liked how they did things. The other thing was that quite a lot of what the team knew and experienced happened off camera, when the ghosts seemed more able to communicate and make an appearance. Many times Stephan would be sat writing his script only to find an apparition watching over his shoulder. Of course not all encounters were such silent, friendly affairs, some of the spirits they happened across (not even being aware of their existence in the first place) had often left them scared and mentally drained. The rattling of windows, the screech of an unhinged door or the scream of a person in immense pain was all very chilling but what was worse... physically being thrown across a room or a menacing voice demanding they “GET OUT”. Although he tried to keep his own fears in check many times he felt the creeping anxiety that announced some kind of bizarre event. Stephan had a connection between this world and another but he didn’t know why. Sometimes his body would be badly bruised (all recorded on tape as evidence to what had just taken place) and proof of something though even he wasn’t too sure what. Often he’d strangle a scream only for it to escape in other ways. He never left a shoot without his preventative nappy being full to capacity. # He didn’t let the public know about this affect but he did find out from most of the other people who dealt with the supernatural also took similar precautions when out investigating. # The disbelievers continued to disbelieve but Manifestation was being watched by millions worldwide and had become ITV’s top rated show. One of the reasons for its success was the way Oskar had set up his equipment. He’d insisted that all members of the crew should wear body cameras, Stephan had two; one facing forward the other back, that way they always had a shot of the main camera that was following behind him. There were locked off cameras all around Oskar’s technical area where he could monitor the many sensors and video feeds. The screens were lit with a dull orange glow which gave way to Oskar being nicknamed – the Tangerine Ghost by his own rapidly growing number of fans. Shagufta had her own cult following. Twenty-one years old, demurely Asian, she appeared unflappable but had often thrown herself protectively at Stephan when he was being ‘attacked’ by some malevolent entity. Trying to pull him free from whatever struggle he was embroiled in... her fans called her the Nightmare Ninja. Cameraman Ian was perhaps the least happy with his nickname, The Screaming Eye as a result of one of the programme’s early episodes. He was so taken by surprise by a white shadow that walked right through him that he let out a chilling scream. The name stuck, much to his dismay. # Steve and Ian had been boyfriends since they were at University together. After graduation they both sought jobs in the Media and were lucky enough to be taken on by a local Television Station which was sourcing freelancers. They impressed from the word go and as they were a reporter and cameraman together were immediately set to work gathering local stories for the lunchtime and evening news programmes. The lively and youthful way these two presented their take on stories was appreciated by the young owners of the TV station so were given more and more projects to do in their unique style. They seemed to know exactly what was needed from each other all the time so that seamless connection was what made them partners in every way. # After the second successful series of Manifestation they took the plunge and married living together in an apartment over-looking the town square. However, since that first series of their show something else had become part of their relationship - their desire to wear nappies. Although that had become a real need when out filming the paranormal, it had also become normal for them to wear them away from the shoot. They both loved the thick, reassuring protection a bulging nappy and its comforting pleasure offered when they were together. When it was just the two of them in the apartment they would enjoy the freedom to parade around using the padding for what it had been created to do. Ian’s hirsute body and Stephan’s lack of body hair was a wonderful contrast, especially when set off by a thick white nappy and slinky, tight-fitting plastic pants. The guys enjoyed their new found interest. Not only that... the sex was wild and... different. They hadn’t noticed the subtle changes in their own make-up or how daring, kinky, exotic and carefree they’d both become. Where once there had been whispered endearments, soft caresses, long loving screws... this had been replaced by paraphernalia based erotic indulgences that lasted several days. Sex had gone from sweet vanilla licking to multi-flavoured poundings... with added crushed nuts. What they hadn’t realised was that some of the naughtier spirit ephemera from their investigations had got caught up in their heads and found a home there. The short-lived spectre had become more permanent and the soft, warm and often wet material made the perfect base to exist... in their heads and in their pants. The two lovers had no idea that their desire to wear nappies was driven by the needs of often ancient entities they knew nothing of but to a certain extent now ruled their lives. Nappies weren’t only for now... nappies were forever. # tbc #

My pleasure... it is always gratifying to know someone appreciates my efforts... so... thank you again.

Part 8 Mum had been quite incensed that Mr Blacklock had demanded that I see a school psychiatrist and, after a discussion with dad, had decided they would make a complaint to the local education authority about the school’s lack of control over bullying. Both my parents turned up at the Head’s office and told him of their plans. He dismissed them like he’d dismissed me and I think that was a mistake. Whilst he thought their ‘lackadaisical’ parenting was responsible for my wearing nappies to school, they pointed out it was fear on my part that made me do so. The Head was adamant there was no evidence and seemed to forget that the posters of me in a disposable, which had so recently been displayed around the school, should have been enough proof. He continued with the line there was no actual support to link Cudthorpe with it and, even with his bad reputation, suspicion wasn’t enough. Dad said it would have been at any other school and now he’d spoken to the Head himself, he realised “...what my son has to endure whilst under the jurisdiction of such an ineffectual Principal.” This didn’t go down well with the Head but at least mum and dad were on the same supportive page so when he got home (I’d enjoyed a day wearing a nappy and pottering around the house) dad apologised for even doubting me for a second. Although I’d confessed all to my brother I hadn’t done the same to my parents so, for the moment at least, I stayed schtum. # Cudthorpe didn’t know I had an older brother because Paul didn’t go to the same school; he’d passed an entrance exam and went to an Academy outside our catchment area. Cuddy had probably seen Helen and me arrive on the same bus, although she then went to the girl’s school opposite the one I went to. At my brother’s school Friday afternoon is given over to sport. Paul is a keen sportsman playing everything from rugby and football to swimming and wrestling. There are few sports events that don’t have my brother as part of the team and he excels in them all. I’m not sporty at all although I have attended a couple of finals when he’s been involved. When he walks around the house wearing just his rugby or football kit he looks so healthy and strong compared to his weakling little brother... me. Having said that, all I ever think about is my sweet brother who wouldn’t say boo to a goose and always treats me with love and affection. I wasn’t there but I am reliably informed by those who were that my brother, who must have given up his Friday afternoon of sport to get to the school for the last lesson, confronted my bully. Those who witnessed it said an unknown lad challenged Cuddy who took a swipe at him. Apparently his mates cheered him on until Paul whacked him twice in quick succession that sent him sprawling. Archie, ever the lieutenant, waded in only to find an elbow in his guts and a stomp on his right arm so it was useless. With Cuddy not knowing who this person was and wondering why he was being accosted lost it a little and started swearing and bragging about what would happen to his assailant when he recovered. Meanwhile, that very assailant told him that the thing about bullies was, there was always a bigger bully waiting in the wings... and he wasn’t easy to intimidate. # There were more threats and counter threats but with Cuddy surprised and immobile by his shock attacker, and his gang jeering but doing little else, realised that a real beating might not be too far away. It was the first time since being at our school that he’d been afraid and taken to task for the things he’d done. Having said that, he was no pussy and confident he could get the better of his assailant. He jumped up and delivered a forceful kick aimed at Paul’s genitals, which was skilfully blocked. However, my brother countered with a devastating punch to the throat that sent Cuddy down gasping for air. Oddly enough, where this fracas took place was out of sight from any adults. It was home time so the road and spare ground just contained loads of kids dispersing to the surrounding suburban areas. Paul had chosen his battle ground well so there was no one to intrude on what took place, well no adult anyway. Although if truth be known, my brother (he later confessed to me) had no real idea just how tough his opponent was going to be. However, he had something to do and he didn’t want a grown-up interfering. The big surprise was that whilst Cuddy was down and desperately gagging for air his unknown assailant announced to the gathering crowd that perhaps ‘the bully’ had a secret of his own. “Drop your pants.” The hurting victim stared in disbelief. He couldn’t let it happen, the revelation that was secret to all but he and his mother. The shameful occurrence that had been hushed up for the past five years, so wasn’t about to let that become general knowledge. Suddenly realising what was about to take place Cuddy snarled in defiance before attempting to squirm away. “Not so quick Cudthorpe.” Painfully and reluctantly he got to his feet and, hoping to catch his opponent unaware feigned compliance but launched himself at Paul. After many years of agilely dodging tackles in both rugby and football my brother anticipated this action and countered with a move of his own. A squealing Cuddy suddenly found a kick to his balls, followed by an arm forced up his back more agony than he wanted to endure. With a crowd of excited, if confused schoolboys looking on, Paul made his move. He gripped the now cowering bully (the rest of the gang proving to be ineffectual cowards when confronted by someone who could look after himself), yanked down his pants, as Cuddy had so often done to me, and exposed the fact that he wore protection himself. The protests and swearing, the anger and spite was suddenly transformed to a whimper as his obvious disposable and glossy white plastic pants shone in the sun for all to see. Despite his arm feeling on the verge of breaking he continued to struggle. His fight back proved useless as my brother held him immobile. The confident, swearing, loudmouth tried to prevent anyone from seeing his obvious padding. “As expected, you’re the pants-wetting baby in this school.” Paul announced. Apparently, there was a loud ‘Whoooaa’, the spectators obviously not believing what had just happened, or what their eyes were witnessing. Cuddy’s free hand tried to cover the crinkly evidence but Paul held him firm so all who wanted could see for themselves what their antagonist wore. Baby talk aimed at Cuddy suddenly sprang from some of the braver members of the audience and he was soundly whipped by the barbed and undisguised pleasure they were taking from this embarrassing, yet entertaining, exposé. # The mobiles were out taking photographs of this shattered bully as his secret was documented and shared in an instant. All over the city phones pinged with an incoming photo of a humiliated fifteen year old sobbing and wearing baby pants. Even those who had no idea who the subject was could enjoy the mortification on the boy’s face. For those who had been victims of the bully, it was a great day and one they would remember, and enjoy re-telling, for a long time to come. It became a very popular screen-saver around the school, where, even some teachers were known to ‘secretly’ have it on their computers and phones. “Pick on my brother or even mention my sister ever... and you’ll be wearing a fucking nappy for the rest of your life. Are we clear?” He made sure that anyone in earshot knew he was delivering a final warning. There were a few cheers of approval, a lot of grinning faces and visibly a few who didn’t quite believe what they’d just witnessed. Cuddy obviously had no idea who he was being attacked by until Paul whispered my name in his ear. The look of disbelief was followed by another whispered threat that had him instantly crawling away in fear and distress. He desperately tried to pull up his pants because the laughing and baying of the crowd was excruciating. His gang had magically dispersed and it appeared even Archie, nursing a possible broken wrist, was disgusted to see his cousin wearing a nappy. The school bully scurrying away and clutching his pants tightly around his waist was the last image many of the onlookers saw of Cuddy because he didn’t return to school. # I only found out about this a few days later, even mum and dad didn’t know about it and Paul asked me not to say anything when I told him I knew what had happened. All my parents knew was that the Head invited them in for a chat and an apology. He said that more facts had come to light and he was now convinced Cudthorpe had indeed been bullying me but, as he was now no longer a pupil at the school hoped everything could return to normal. The need for a psychiatrist report was to be forgotten. Apparently, the Head heard that a boy from another school had whipped Cudthorpe’s arse but no one knew who he was or where he was from. Of course the Head should have investigated the incident but as neither Cudthorpe nor his family got in touch, and the fact he didn’t return to school (much to the delight of everyone there), Mr Blacklock seemed more than happy with the outcome. # Back at the Cudthorpe residency all hell broke loose when a copy of that photograph reached the father. He had no idea his son wore any kind of protection and blamed his ‘airy-fairy’ wife for ‘fuckin’ babyfying’ their boy. He enjoyed the fact that the family was ‘feared’ in the community but THIS undermined everything. He was so disgusted with his son that he wouldn’t let him out of the house and as punishment (as well as a severe beating) was made to wear only his nappy and plastic pants. His father wanted him to be constantly reminded of just what he’d become. Alas, it didn’t end there because shortly after that people who would normally have run a mile rather than confront any of the Cudthorpes began to take the mickey. Even the hard Dylan Cudthorpe, leader of his band of vicious but small time criminals, was ridiculed and asked by the many cops he came into contact with if he still wore a nappy like his boy. The Cudthorpe legacy took a dramatic dive. # Mum and dad were surprised at this turn of events but thought it was due to their threat to reveal the Head as ineffectual; Paul wanted them to stay with that impression and desired no credit for the real reason. In fact, my ‘timid’ brother promised he’d change my nappies for me if I could keep it a secret. He didn’t need to make such an undertaking because I couldn’t believe my brother would do such a thing. Not that I didn’t think he was tough, I’d just never imagined him being THAT tough, he was always so gentle with me. I told him I’d keep his secret as long as mum and dad didn’t ask... I was afraid of lying to them. He agreed that would be okay and patted my plastic pants and said I really was the sweetest toddler around. He always knew what to say to cheer me up, even when I didn’t know I needed cheering up. I hugged my hero and kissed his cheek in thanks. However, dad agreed with the Head that there was now no excuse for me to wear a nappy to school and it was settled (reluctantly by me) that all my nappy wearing would be done outside of school hours. # When I got back to school, minus padding, Quentin, who apparently had witnessed the entire thing, was totally in awe of my brother. Other than the humiliation of being found out to be a pants-wetter (ha-ha), at the time we had no idea why Cuddy suddenly left school. Both of us noticed that the secondary bullying seemed to have lessened and people were being nice to us. Well, perhaps not nice but certainly not as nasty as it had once been. “Shame about the nappy,” Quentin offered his commiserations, “I know you liked the security but...” He shrugged. “It’s best to keep school and home separate... I hope your parents are still okay with you wearing...” “Mum, Paul and Helen are all fine, it’s just dad who’s not keen but hasn’t put a ban in place so...” “Well that’s good. I bet you look enchanting when you’re only wearing protection.” # I was a bit shocked. He’d never spoken like this before and I wriggled guiltily in my ‘normal’ underwear because I couldn’t now show him just how much I loved my padding. “When I’m home I can forget my school uniform and enjoy the soft fabrics I like to wear.” Quentin was letting me in on something very personal. “I do like a lot of girlie stuff... clothes, satin, lace, silk panties... and dolls,” he looked over at me, “even the occasional nappy. As long as the fabric is soft and fluffy... I like it.” His voice had changed from the confident one he used in class to a softer, more intimate one, like he was sharing something special... with someone special. Although everyone said he was the school sissy this was the only real acknowledgement that he was in any way effeminate... and he had no qualms about it. “Do you like to, erm, um, dress like a girl?” I cautiously asked. He whispered his reply. “Sometimes... but it’s mostly I just like the feel of girl’s clothes... they’re softer, not as rigid as boy’s clothes... though I’m not so much for painted nails and make-up... that type of thing.” He was letting that sink in. “I suppose I’m a boy but dressed in nice girlie stuff. Mummy and daddy have never pressured me to wear one thing over another... except for school... and I could see the sense in wearing a uniform like everyone else.” Then his voice went even softer as he let me in on one of his big secrets. “Sometimes, when we don’t have games or gym, I wear a nice frilly nylon pair of panties and, knowing I have them on, make me feel different all day.” I could relate to this because that’s exactly the way my nappy made me feel. It seemed strange that Quentin kept his secret whilst I wore mine so everyone could see. However, I realised I had a better excuse than he did and why I was able to get away with it... to some degree at least. I’m sure if the rest of the school knew what Quentin wore under his school trousers they would have made his life hell. He looked me in the eye. “And sometimes, like you, I just want to escape to being a kid again and a thick fluffy nappy and pair of slinky vinyl pants is ideal.” Quentin was sharing quite a bit and although I was stunned by his revelations, I liked the fact that he wasn’t ashamed to tell. The other thing he let me in on was he was perhaps one of them few people who knew it was my brother who had attacked Cuddy. He’d been near enough to hear the whispered name that Paul had said to him that made my persecutor confused and distressed. He didn’t tell his daddy who Cuddy’s assailant was though... all he said to me was he wished he had a brother who would protect him like that. I said we are already ‘brothers’ in so many ways. He appreciated that. # Apparently, at a very young age his mummy had discovered him wearing some of her clothes. She didn’t want to scare the boy so asked if he enjoyed dressing up. He told her he liked certain things and pointed to what those were. She bought him his own version and sizes and put them in his drawer so, when he wanted to, he could wear them without using hers. Over the years his desire for soft and silky things grew and so did his collection. It made him a very happy boy and without the pressure from his family to be anything other than himself, he was equally at home wearing boys or girls clothes. I discovered all this because, over the next few weeks, Quentin and I got quite close. We even had sleepovers at each other’s house and when he slept in my room he wore a nappy and when I was at his, well he liked me to wear a nappy, whilst he wore a lovely silky pair of pyjamas. I tried them, and whilst they were very nice I preferred my fabric nappy. I was a little nervous about meeting his parents but I needn’t have been. His mother was a very happy, jovial woman, who took great pride in her brilliant son’s abilities. His father was a surprise. I had expected him to be serious, tall and brooding, him being a high-ranking cop and all. He was nothing like the ones on TV; he was small, roly-poly, never stopped cracking jokes and loved his flamboyant boy. I was enthusiastically greeted and instantly made to feel very welcome. They knew about my nappy wearing but it didn’t bother them at all. Oh and something else, his room was twice the size of mine, didn’t smell of talc and was immaculate. His clothes were all neatly hung up or colour coded in his drawers and he had the most amazing collection of silks and satiny underwear, which I have to admit looked pretty good on him. In his bottom draw were pink ‘Princess’ style disposables and pink plastic panties, which I’ve seen him in and he looks fantastic. # I was incredibly pleased how quickly my family took to my guest. They knew he’d been my one support through the ‘crisis’ so that was already in his favour but, he was just so sweet I think they thought of him as like me – someone who was immature and needed looking after. He wasn’t immature but loved the way our family operated. This total acceptance was new to him even if his own mummy and daddy were okay with their sissy son, not all his family were of the same understanding. He tried to avoid situations where cousins, aunts and uncles were gathered because he just couldn’t be himself. He’d found a refuge at my home. There was something else that became apparent. Whereas my Baby Dick became public knowledge because people had seen it in the school changing room, Quentin’s penis was an unknown quantity. For some reason I just assumed he’d be like me... I was wrong... very wrong. His silky panties strained beyond belief trying to contain his monster. Cuddy and his mob would have found it very difficult to call him names as I’m sure he’d have put the lot to shame. It was terrific that we could both appreciate what the other found exhilarating by what we wore so I did try and get into what Quentin liked. There was no doubt that the fine material was very nice and sensual... and I suppose, at a push, I could have happily worn those silky briefs. But I’m afraid that the fact they looked more appropriate on me than him, what with barely a bulge to interrupt their silken flow around my groin, no, no, NO... I preferred that my bits were well covered. Once I’d seen his bulging out its glossy enclosure he observed the disbelieving look on my face and saw the shame I felt at being so small. I immediately thought ‘I must be a baby in his eyes... let alone half the school’ but he jumped in quickly. “I prefer yours.” He smiled. “Mine doesn’t look right on me....” he nodded towards my miniature equipment, “but it suits you.” I wondered if he had a cruel streak after all. Noticing my obvious upset he added with a smile. “Michael, you’re the complete package; a toddler in a nappy and you’re happy. It wouldn’t be right to have a large pee-pee... yours completes the perfect picture... which means my friend... you’re just perfect.” I could tell from the way he said it that he meant it as a compliment and like Paul, seemed to know what to say to make me feel good about myself. Quentin and I began to see a lot of one and other so now, having found a friend, we didn’t have to hide from anything or anyone. However, when he stayed at my house I noticed a very different Quentin if Paul was around. He was bashful, soft and hardly dared speak. I think, because of the dreamy way he looked at him, he saw my brother as some kind of god because he shyly agreed with everything Paul suggested. I knew he wished he had a similar relationship to him that I did. Thankfully, over the next few weeks he and Paul became friends. Paul couldn’t do enough for Quentin and the same seemed to be true. He made my friend feel welcome every visit and I often found them talking quietly, with Quentin hanging on his every word. I was pleased that my brother was as accepting of my friend’s eccentricities as he was mine - typical of my brother to make him feel special. # With my nappy wearing being confined to the house (most of the time) dad didn’t stop me from dressing how I liked. Thankfully, the rest of the family would secretly change and spoke to me like I was a little kid, which I loved. When Paul changed me it was always with such thought and tenderness, although the conversation usually got round to talking about Quentin. He’d seen him wearing his silky underwear and asked if I’d ever thought about trying that. I said I was more than happy in a nappy, which brought a smile to his face. However, I did agree that my friend certainly wore his glossy feminine clothes with a style that was very natural. My brother nodded in agreement. Despite, the soft fabrics he wore, there was no denying the fact that Quentin always looked like a boy. Even in his most girlie creation, he still looked like a boy in feminine clothes. His hair wasn’t long, he never bothered with make-up – there was a strangely steely determination to be a boy despite his girlish preferences. He saw absolutely no difference in a boy playing with dolls, as a boy playing with soldiers. On one sleepover, as we were getting ready for bed, he slipped into a pair of his well-padded pink princess style pull-ups with frilly plastic pants – he looked stunning. I know Paul thought so because an appreciative whistle escaped his lips. Quentin looked shyly back but didn’t try and hide away and my brother had the biggest smile on his face. # Talking of whom, I was never sure if my parents actually knew what happened at school but Paul kept up the pretence he knew nothing. However, he did keep a watchful eye by occasionally turning up at the school gates on a Friday. I’d find him deep in conversation with Quentin whilst he waited to accompany me home. I didn’t hear any more from the Head, I also didn’t get any further nonsense from any of the teachers. I suppose eventually Paul had been identified as my brother and a new respect or understanding was agreed in the teacher’s lounge. The two school sissies had a guardian angel that might swoop down at any moment and beat the living daylights out of anyone who gave us grief. It probably wasn’t true but was a theory I liked? Perhaps he didn’t know it but Paul had instantly become a legend for the many who had suffered at the hands of Cuddy and his kind. That incident was played over and over again by kids who hadn’t even witnessed it but told everyone - ‘they were there’. Meanwhile, at home I was happy to feel the warm wet material surrounding my little willy, it was a sensation I was beginning to enjoy more and more. Thankfully, that guardian angel changed my nappy when it was soaked and cosseted me in love on a daily basis. He even volunteered to do the same for my friend should he want it when he came to sleep over... an offer that Quentin timidly accepted. It’s heart-warming to see the affectionate way they each look at one and other when this happens. What a wonderful, understanding and loving brother I am blessed with. ################## fin ######################

Thank you sir..... I feel such a fool. You are quite correct and I shall cover myself in sackcloth and ashes.

Thanks for your comments as always, most grateful for them. Hope you caught the fact that Mikey's brother and Quentin were aiming to have a future together... eventually.

Hi CDfm Sorry to hear about the death in your family, hope you've come through it OK... you have my sympathies. Bullying is a terrible thing and I hate to see it in TV programmes and especially when directed at young kids who have no idea how to protect themselves. Of course that's just what a bully wants. However, things are going to happen in the final part and I sincerely hope you will be pleased with the outcome. Stay tuned and thanks again for your continued support of my efforts.

Part 7 Mum sat on the bed and cuddled me tightly. She rocked gently in an effort to help me calm down but felt so drained I could only whimper and not appreciate what she was doing for me. She slowly dried me and I shouldn’t have been happier except... I knew that something drastic had to change... and I also knew it would probably have to be me. Meanwhile, mum could see I’d been traumatised by the events of the day and to her credit had laid out a fresh nappy for me to wear. She made sure I was clean and dry before coating me in Vaseline and powder, then, adding a thick soaker pad, pulled up and pinned the fresh cloth nappy in place. At last I was clean and the soft white material felt wonderful as it slipped against my skin and gripped my waist. The friendly bulk made me bury my head in mum’s bosom in gratitude for what she’d just done. Despite everything, she knew what I needed at that moment. She pulled up a pair of thick vinyl pants and tucked everything away but she could see that I was scared and uncertain. “I think you should nap now... you’ve had a hell of a day so far and I think a rest is what’s needed.” She pulled back my sheets and I crawled in. Sleepily I asked if she believed me, I wasn’t a liar and I didn’t mess myself... She replied she’d always believe her sweet little baby, and that I shouldn’t worry, everything would be alright. Her smile made me trust her so turned onto my side and believe I was asleep before she’d even left the room. # Although it was only mid-afternoon I slept heavily but was plagued by unsettling dreams. Cuddy loomed large in all of them and I’d become a pet at his beck and call and made to perform the most appalling actions. There was nothing sexual, it was just constant humiliation where he’d demand I perform like a dog, or pig, or some wild animal. Parade around in a saggy, abused nappy for the amusement of his friends and at other times to crawl everywhere, through mud and worse. I couldn’t say ‘no’ or fight back. Throughout all this I was made to wear his messy nappy and my mess was constantly being added to it. The size of the nappy and plastic pants was huge as the build-up increased. I was struggling with the sheer volume and crying for it all to stop when eventually, the silky, smooth plastic balloon burst spraying the contents everywhere. It was then I woke up to find my own carefully applied protection had become loose – the result of which was now covering both me and the bed in a catastrophic sludge. I’d only been asleep for less than an hour but it looked like I’d deliberately smeared it over the bedding and myself – the smell was appalling. How I’d managed to get to such a state I didn’t know but all my previous denials about never messing myself had all but disappeared. I was crying for a good ten minutes, not knowing what to do or say, when Helen came into my room and stood aghast at the scene of devastation before her. She immediately called mum and soon I had the entire family looking horror-struck. “What the hell?” After what happened at school, and now this at home, I realised that my version of events was on very stony ground. “I hhhhad a ba bad dreammm.” I stammered. Somehow the protection had wriggled down to my knees so when my bowel did erupt there was very little to prevent it from spurting its liquid content everywhere. Also, it looked like I’d spent time rolling around in it. Dad rushed to open the windows, whilst Helen led me to the bathroom. Mum was stripping the bed and I saw a look of disgusted determination occupy my brother’s face. # I was desperate for a hug but of course was in no condition to expect anyone to cuddle me. Helen’s guiding hand helped strip off the little I was still wearing and supervised as I showered for the second time in just a couple of hours. “It was an accident, it was an accident...” was all I could gabble in my defence. I didn’t know it at the time but mum and dad had been discussing what had happened at school and that Mr Blacklock had given mum an ultimatum about my nappy wearing. The upshot was dad was determined I should discontinue with wearing nappies, whilst mum thought it probably the worst time for such action. To her, this current mess was proof that I needed them more than ever to cope with whatever was going on. The Head had pointed out to mum that for what I claimed to have happened would rely on too many coincidences and that my story hadn’t been consistent, citing my accusations of both his baby cousin and baby brother of supplying the contents of the nappy, neither of which Cuddy had. Although Mr Blacklock knew Cudworth was a bad apple, he had several people supporting his alibi, whilst I had no one. He did wonder why a tenth grader would chance walking around school with a messy disposable in his school bag on the off chance of making me wear it? It just didn’t seem feasible. Meanwhile, back at home and checking out the mess in my bedroom, dad I think wasn’t convinced I hadn’t done it on purpose. If not on purpose, then being a little lax at getting to the toilet... perhaps to prove my need to be babied. Mum won the argument because dad hadn’t been in the conversation with the Head and only third party to what actually had been going on but I could see in dad’s eyes he wasn’t happy. Meanwhile, she had a fresh clean nappy, with a huge amount of padding ready when I returned from the shower. “Don’t worry sweetheart,” Mum said as she coated me in lotion, “we all know you’ve been through hell and I’m not sure the Headmaster is on top of the situation at school.” She paused as she dragged the thick padding between my legs and pinned it into place. “So, for the moment, I’m keeping you at home.” She’d also found, from I don’t know where, a particularly thick pair of rubber pants to cover the entire thing. “Better safe than sorry,” she smiled. “An atomic blast wouldn’t get through this protection.” She stroked the large, smooth, bulky object gripping my groin. I knew she was trying to cheer me up but I was still unhappy about what had happened. My grin wasn’t sincere and I think she picked up on it. “Really Mikey, you mustn’t worry... we’ll get all this sorted.” What I didn’t know at the time was the Head had said that I wouldn’t be allowed back in class until I’d had a school psychiatrist report giving me a clean bill of health. # Tea was a sombre meal. I kept muttering ‘sorry’ and ‘it wasn’t my fault’ but dad said let’s just eat and we’ll sort it all out later. I’m not sure anyone knew what to say but I did detect an anger building in Paul’s eyes as he gazed at my huge silky padding and sad face. After just picking at the food, I wasn’t in much of a mood to eat, I went to my room to finish my homework and because I felt too guilty under dad’s disapproving gaze. Surprisingly, Paul came in and asked me to tell him exactly what had been happening since that first disposable attack. When I tried to wriggle from any explanation he threatened to tickle me until I complied. I don’t think Paul and I had ever had such an intense conversation, it was quite liberating for me to get so much I’d been holding in, out there. As I’ve said, as a family we’ve always been able to tell each other everything and I have to admit I hated keeping what was happening at school a secret, so I decided to tell him everything... and that included how I was quite enjoying being treated as little kid by Cuddy because I wasn’t receiving that at home. However, I hadn’t liked the nasty direction Cuddy had taken things. # Paul was petting me; his low voice, reassurance, soft but meaningful hugs and touches all made me confess everything. He patted and admired my thick padding and glossy rubber pants saying how much they made me look like a happy toddler. I knew he was just saying it to curry favour but I liked hearing the words and it never felt weird or devious - don’t forget, I loved my brother and he loved me. As I opened up I got more and more things off my chest. I told him about Cuddy’s gang but that it was Archie and he who were the main bullies; the others seemed to need strong leaders but on their own were pretty much ineffectual. However, that hadn’t stopped any of them from making the most of every opportunity to embarrass me. I confessed that them making me pee myself in the boy’s toilet was gross but I’d quite liked the feeling of a warm wet nappy. I told him how the school sissy was the only true friend who seemed to care what was happening to me. He was also the only one I could tell the truth to and regarded him as a real confidant. The fact that he was brighter than I was, had sharper instincts and said he knew how nice it was to wear a nappy, was just part of Quentin’s appeal. I even told Paul about Quentin’s theory that the disposables Cuddy used were for someone bigger than a baby and even bigger than me and he wondered if my tormentor had a secret of his own. Clever and astute Quentin thought it would explain everything about the bully. # A smile appeared on Paul’s face, I think he knew before I did how much I admired Quentin. “You should invite him over for a meal or to do homework together...” “He lives at the other side of town.” I answered innocently not knowing what my brother was getting at. “Well I’m sure we’d all like to meet him, the boy who doesn’t mind you wearing a nappy and who...” “Hold on, hold on.” I suddenly grasped where this was heading. “He’s just a friend.” “Makes no difference what he is... if he’s the one person who supports my kid brother then he’s OK by me... and I think the rest of us.” I’d gone bright red by then and changed the conversation back to Cuddy. Up until I mentioned Cuddy’s threat against Helen Paul seemed pretty understanding but there was a dramatic mood change when I told him of the bully’s comment. “OK, I think our ‘friend’ has just crossed one line too many...” He didn’t expand on it although I could tell there was something going on in his head but, as he was moulding my padded bottom and stroking my hair as I confessed all, I snuggled down happy to have things as they were. My brother was looking after his baby brother... and I loved it. # Mum was as good as her word and the following day I didn’t have to go to school, whilst my brother and sister did. She even changed my wet nappy in the morning before she had to go to work and told me that although she had to go, she’d be home early afternoon, so not to go out. Wearing only a fresh clean nappy and t-shirt I wasn’t planning on going anywhere and it was strange to have the house to myself, even for a short time. I loved being able to wander around dressed as I was. I know I did it anyway but on my own, I was able to act out a bit. I added booster pads to my nappy to make it bigger; the emphasised waddle was incredibly entertaining. I spoke to myself in baby talk. I hugged my teddy bear and took it everywhere I went. I set out all my nappies, plastic and rubber pants and matched them with what I thought were the most childish clothes I possessed. I didn’t have much but it was fun thinking how I’d adapt stuff to be onesies, footed sleepers or just something I thought was infantile. My imagination was having a great time, even when I played with my toys whilst sitting an extremely wet nappy. I made a fort out of the settee cushions, wrapped myself in fleecy blankets and pretended mum was still swaddling me and sucked on the dummy I’d been left by my ‘amusing’ school chums. I adapted a sports water bottle, filled it with milk and nursed on that. In the background the cartoon channel was on TV as I slipped into nap time and if it wasn’t for mum waking me up when she came home, I might have slept right through till tea time. # Mum and dad may have decided between them that I was to do all the baby stuff myself but I got the impression mum really liked it as I sleepily woke up from my nap all cosy, wet and in her words, “so damn cute”. She let me choose which vinyl pants I wanted to wear next and then set about changing me again, with a caution not to let dad know what she’d done. Of course she saw all my ‘baby’ clothes laid out and grabbed what she thought were appropriate and slipped me in them. I was now dressed as she wanted to see me and although I had a pair of very loose fitting shorts covering my protection; they hid very little. The padding between my legs was strangely comforting. It was like I was being gently held by some cushiony giant. I was strangely dangling between being a big toddler or a special needs teenager but I left teddy in the bedroom and went downstairs to help her get the evening meal ready. This was a completely different experience. At school I was always on edge or getting abused in one way or another but here, helping mum, wearing baby clothes... I was in heaven. I’m not sure if she was aware of it but she slipped into speaking to me in a way she’d normally talk to a toddler, she praised every little task I completed. In return I spent a lot of time hugging her legs like I used to when a toddler. It was an incredibly loving scene. This was what I wanted. This was what I’d hoped for. This was happening but for how long? I knew dad would have problems with this because the school was having problems with it but, at that moment, I didn’t care. With the thick, soft nappy surrounding me in fleecy comfort I loved my mummy and she loved her baby son. #tbc#

Always glad of your comments and I hope you'll like what is planned for a sweet but abused hero. There is a turn coming so I hope you'll stick with our Baby Dick until the end. Thanks again

Thank you very much

Part 6 “I’m really sorry about all this,” I apologised to Quentin. “'s okay, they need to learn maths more than I do.” He hardly broke a smile but I knew this was his humour. “No, I mean... the smell... the embarrassment... being seen with me...” “Is this more of Cuddy’s doing?” I wasn’t sure whether to tell him or not, it was all so disgusting. Perhaps it would be better people thinking I’d messed my own pants than admitting what actually happened. Besides, I had to protect Helen from the terror of Cuddy. He looked at me and saw me struggling. “More threats no doubt... he really is a piece of unpleasantness wrapped in nasty ... or simply... a cruel twat.” I burst out laughing. Yes, despite my appalling situation Quentin had made me forget for a moment my problems and see Cuddy for what he was. “Anyway, if I were you...” he looked at me straight in the eye, “I’d tell the Head exactly what's been going on... then tell your parents... keeping stuff to yourself will eventually make things worse...” I interrupted him. “But he’s threatened Helen.” “All the more reason to let people know what’s going on.” “I don’t know. People might get to know about my liking for nappies and...” “Look, and don’t take this the wrong way, but that boat has sailed. People know. Most don’t care and those that do... aren’t important.” I knew Quentin was a clever lad but I never thought of him as being so mature. I was listening but really quite in awe of him. To be honest, I’d rather seen him as the rest of the school did, a brainbox yes, but really just a big timid sissy who’d rather play with girls. “...the more you take on yourself the less control you have.” I looked at him as if I’d never really known him. “He’s relying on you to stay quiet so he and his mates can do and say what they like...” “But I’ve complained about him before and they say,” I nodded towards the Heads office, “they can’t do anything without proof... and I just haven’t had any witnesses.” “Yes,” he caught a whiff of the shitty nappy, “Ye gods.” He composed himself. “It doesn’t matter just tell everyone who will listen what’s going on. You’re still only a kid and this amounts to physical, emotional and mental abuse so stop being an idiot... and damn well fight back.” I was stunned at the passion in his voice. He was having a go at me for being the sissy in this relationship. I would have cowered down into my nappy if I couldn’t still feel all the crap clinging to my bits. The wait for the Head was taking ages so I went into great detail about what had happened. After a few “You’ve got to be joking”, “Yuks” and “Blluuurrrgggs” I finished the entire tale. “What a cunt.” Again, a word I never thought I’d hear from Quentin but one he seemed to think summed up Cuddy. (For Quentin the c-word he knew was the worst thing you could call someone although he didn’t know why or what it really meant. All he knew was that sometimes he’d heard the word shouted by older boys and grown-ups and it seemed a nasty thing to say. He thought it MUST apply to Cuddy and his gang.) “There’s no way you can keep this a secret.” He pointed to the top of the disposable that was peaking above my nappy “Besides, this...” I could see he was thinking. “Erm, did you say this was from his baby cousin? Quentin looked a little perplexed. “Yes he took great delight saying it was fresh from him this morning.” “But look, this is far too big for a baby... it’s even too big for you...” I didn’t quite see what he was getting at but he left some time for me to put two and two together. “So, you’re saying that this disposable has nothing to do with a baby... you think he bought them especially for me?” “Maybe, but, and this is what I’m putting out there, what if it’s one of his own. What if he’s needs them himself.... it would explain an awful lot.” He was smiling now. “What if... big hard Cuddy is nothing more than a big bed-wetter himself?” We both burst out laughing as I was called into the Head’s study and Quentin joyfully returned to his maths lesson. # “Think this is funny do you Smith?” The headmaster didn’t look happy with what was in front of him. “Messing you pants and talking like a baby...” “No sir.” My smile had rapidly disappeared once the stern features of Mr Blacklock confronted me. “For crying out loud Smith... you stink... what were you thinking?” “Sorry sir... but it wasn’t my fault.” “Really, so how come Mr Henderson said you’ve already admitted to doing it?” I had no idea how the two had managed to speak in the time I’d been waiting outside his office, although I did know there were two entrances to it. “I was under extreme duress.” This was one of the lines that Quentin had told me to use and I think it took the Head by surprise. “Are you having problems at home?” “No sir... I’m having problems with bullying in school.” I wasn’t as confident as Quentin when it came to speaking to adults, and especially figures of supreme authority, but I took my friend’s words to ‘Man Up’ to heart and tried my best. I think I took Mr Blacklock by surprise. I could see him climb down from his high horse a little because he’d heard my complaints before. “Is this about Cudthorpe in Year 10?” “Yes, he continues a reign of terror against me... and possibly others... and yet nothing is done...” “What has this to do with you messing your trousers?” He spoke sternly trying to knock me off my guard... or so I thought. “Because sir, he stripped me and put me in a messy nappy that he’d brought with him.” “I see. You’re telling me that Cudthorpe brought a particularly offensively smelling nappy to school with the sole intent of making you wear it?” “Erm... er... um... yes I...” “Do you realise how unbelievable that statement is... how preposterous...? You expect me to think that on the off chance he met up with you he’d be so organised as to have such an item with him?” He was completely sceptical about anything I said and as he continued with his line of reasoning I saw how thin my line of argument was. “This seems a very far-fetched story Smith and I have to say I’m not keen on people lying about things in an attempt to get others into trouble.” “But SIR, that’s unfair. I have complained about Cuddy before and the things he says and does to me but, well, I never have a witness but that isn’t to say it doesn’t happen.” “Indeed not Smith but do you know he and several of his friends have complained about you?” Cuddy had mentioned that so it looks like he’d thought ahead. “I know you and he have been at loggerheads for quite some time but this,” he spread his hands to take in my bulging and smelly padding, “is just too much. I’ll call you parents now and hope they can do something.” # I was excused and made to sit in the hallway still wearing Cuddy’s messy nappy. I hadn’t been offered the chance to change, or return to class and retrieve my bag which had fresh nappies, I’d been told by a very annoyed Headmaster to “WAIT”. As I sat pondering what would happen next I knew he was on the phone to my parents. They had already said that should they hear anything from school about nappies they wouldn’t let me wear them anymore. Meanwhile the Head had sent for Cuddy and it was with some surprise that I saw my nemesis walking up the hallway. “Christ Smith you stink, what have you done in your pants?” Although I was intimidated I needed to say something. “You know perfectly well... you... you... you did this to me.” “Smith, I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours but this constant blaming others for your babyish ways is not fair.” Not fair? NOT FAIR? I could have screamed as he sat down beside me and gave me that sly smile. “I hope your mummy will be here soon to take her baby away and change his stinky, smelly ...” He was whispering the words when the door opened and we were both beckoned back into the Heads office. “Cudthorpe.” “Yes sir... what can I do for you?” He was even slimy with the Head yet I already knew I had no chance. Mr Blacklock explained the charges against him and looked at times surprised, amused and hurt – god he should be on stage. He was appalled at the idea that anyone would bring in a dirty nappy, let alone put it on someone else. “Smith alleges that it’s from your baby cousin.” “Well, that’s a lie... I don’t have a baby cousin.” He reasoned with the Head. I butted in. “His baby brother, his baby brother, he’s always comparing me to his baby brother...” I was out of control and very angry. “But sir, this is yet another lie. I don’t have a baby brother. I think Smith should get his facts right before he spreads more malicious gossip and unfounded accusations...” The Head looked at me waiting for a response. “Well Smith?” The innocent look on Cuddy’s face was unbelievable. “Can I go now sir? Smith’s smelly nappy is quite overpowering...” I could see he was going to add something vindictive but thought better of it as the Head told him to return to his lessons. “Well Smith... it’s your word against his and I have to say... it doesn’t look good on your part. Anyway, your mother will be here soon...” he said distractedly as he returned to his desk and started sorting through some papers. “Can I get my school bag sir it has a change in...?” “You came prepared?” He enquired incredulously. He looked at me quite dismissively at that moment. “Wait outside for your mother...” I could hear him say “You’re a disgrace” under his breath. # Cuddy had made me look a liar and a not very good liar at that. He’d played the Head easily, although how much he believed him, compared to how much he disliked me, I wasn’t sure. However, I was sitting in a stinking and very uncomfortable disposable waiting for mum... I was sure she wouldn’t be too pleased about the state I was in. There was something else grinding away at the back of my mind and it was something Quentin had said. The disposables I’d been put in weren’t baby sized they were for someone a lot bigger, even bigger than me. Despite my discomfort I giggled at the idea it might be Cuddy’s own and then an awful thought crossed my mind – had I been wearing Cuddy’s own poop all this time. The idea made me want to throw up and I sat stock still desperately wanting not to spread the muck around further. Not only that but I felt totally devastated, humiliated and started to cry, it was then mum arrived. # I sat crying like the little kid I felt I was. I’d been totally destroyed by Cuddy, and I was quite possibly sat in his poop. I think mum could smell the problem well before she got to me but it was she who was disgusted. “Haven’t they let you change?” I simply hugged her and let out a cry that might just have woken a few of the school’s ancient spirits. At this Mr Blacklock opened his office door to greet mum. “Ahh Mrs Smith I...” Mum didn’t give him chance to speak she was on him in seconds demanding to know why I hadn’t been allowed to change. He looked a little surprised at this verbal assault but invited her into his inner-sanctum but left me snivelling out in the hallway. I could hear the Head trying to be reasonable but mum was not easily placated. However, the volume decreased and a more rational discussion took place. I heard the name Cudthorpe crop up time and time again. I also heard the terms protection, nappies, disposables, faeces, baby and psychiatrist being mentioned on a number of occasions. I was shivering in fear, guilt and shame as mum emerged, slightly downbeat but determined to sort her quaking messy boy out. “Come on Michael... let’s get you out of here.” She wasn’t angry but I could tell that the conversation hadn’t gone well for me. # I was tearful and fearful the short drive home. I just didn’t know what to say to mum or what had gone on between the headmaster and her... but I’d never felt more uncomfortable sitting in a messy nappy. We went up to the bathroom and she stripped me naked taking great care to not let the mess spread any further. I tried to tell her it wasn’t my fault, I hadn’t pooped in my nappy but she just gently shushed me and told me not to worry. She saw for herself that there was a disposable held within the confines of my fabric padded nappy so was able to see I wasn’t lying... but nothing was said. After an initial clean-up she aimed me towards the shower and told me to give myself a thorough scrubbing. I poured a load of shampoo on my head and lathered it up and let the torrent of bubbles cascade down my boyish frame; rubbing and scouring as the foam got to each part of my body. Of course I scrubbed hard at my groin and bum, the area that had so recently been possibly contaminated by Cuddy poo. My tiny cock and balls made my emotions sink as I rubbed and rubbed in an effort to get them permanently clean. Everything seemed to shrink to nothing and my eyes filled with tears again. Mum came in at that moment; it appeared she only ever saw me crying these days. “I’ll never be clean, I’ll never...” She stopped me from scrubbing myself raw, then wrapped me in a towel and guided me to my room. #tbc#

My pleasure, glad you liked it.

Part 5 Although Quentin had been the only person at school who offered any kind of support, real support that is, my best mate Kevin couldn’t quite get to grips with me wearing such a bulky item under my trousers. Of course I hadn’t told him about me wanting to be babied, though he understood that Cuddy and his gang were out to humiliate me as much as they could, he was drifting away and spending more time with other friends. Since that offer of support I’d nodded the occasional acknowledgement to Quentin but we’d not got close. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to support me further, although he did look down at my bulging groin, raised his eyebrows and pulled a slight grimace. I think he was feeling sorry for me yet I was desperate to say it wasn’t as bad as it looked. I thought I could trust Quentin with the news that all this ‘babying’ business and the forced nappy wearing was actually fun for me and that I was happy to use Cuddy and his gang of low-lives for my own benefit. The official excuse for me wearing a nappy - I was currently experiencing a period of incontinence (the reason was never explained). However, because everyone had seen the posters of me wearing just a disposable, and saw the bulk under my trousers, everyone knew I was wearing nappies now. Most believed it was down to Cuddy, a few bought the excuse but no one suspected that I was wearing because I wanted to. I was feeling very superior at that moment... but I desperately wanted to share this feeling with someone I thought might appreciate the irony. The school sissy was quite surprised when I sidled up and started making small talk with him. # Our strained conversation had only been going on for a few minutes when already we were hearing comments about “... the two sissies no doubt swapping recipes” or “deciding on which knickers to wear” or “dress” or... well, the chatter kept coming on what we would no doubt be talking about... and none of it either amusing or polite. It was like water of a duck’s back for Quentin; he’d heard it all before and didn’t rise to any of the effeminate digs that were being bandied about. “Aren’t you fed up with all this... and... these insults?” I felt sorry for him having had to put up with these constant put downs since he started at senior school. “To them I am effeminate, I don’t do or like the things they do but I don’t care. Mummy and daddy are happy with me being me rather than trying to be something I’m not... and I like being me.” Then he added with a dismissive shrug. “So stuff ‘em.” He saw my wry smile. I didn’t think the fact he still called his parents mummy and daddy particularly helped his case but he wasn’t bothered. “I’ll play with my dollies when I get home whether they like it or not.” I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not but I didn’t get a chance to pose the question as he changed the subject. “You wear a nappy now. Cuddy is forcing you to be something you’re not and...” He saw the look on my face change. “or... I could be mistaken.” He waited for me to say what was more obvious than I thought bubbling under the surface of our conversation. “Promise you won’t say anything to... anyone?” Quentin smiled. “Okay... but I think I know what you’re going to say.” I looked at him as if to say “I don’t think so” but he did. “You like to wear nappies?” # It was both a question and a statement and I suddenly wondered if everyone knew and wasn’t actually kidding anybody. “Ohhh God... how did you know... is it that obvious... does everyone else know?” I panicked. Quentin got on his superior high horse. “Don’t worry, these people are morons,” he pointed to a group from our class who were trying to come up with something funny to say about us two being together. “Not a single original thought in their stupid little heads... they wouldn’t catch a nuance if it smacked them in the face.” Of course, even though his words carried with them a certain anger; his voice was soft and gentle. Close up he was well-groomed, hair immaculate and his eyes sparkled with life. In class he was top in most subjects, always first with his hand up to answer a question and never cheated or copied. He was bullied for answers by bigger, more aggressive boys who tried to make him do their homework but he couldn’t be manipulated much to the frustration of the clods in class. He returned to the subject in hand. “I just didn’t see the anger one might expect when such embarrassing images have been exposed to everyone.” I turned red because he seemed to read me so easily. “Your secret’s safe with me but, don’t underestimate Cuddy, he may be a bully but he isn’t stupid...” I nodded in agreement. “He’ll have his eye on you...” “How do you escape his claws?” I hoped he had some secret info on him he would share. “Ohh, he’s tried many times, he’s even had me crying and running to teacher but then you came along and he seemed happier to torment Baby Dick than the school sissy. I still get shoved and mocked but a scream usually keeps them away because I go public when they start on me.” He looked around the playground and pointed to a couple in our class who had been more than happy to taunt me about wearing a nappy. “Most aren’t as tough as they pretend and Cuddy, who is very tough, can do without the aggro him picking on me can cause for his family... dad being a cop and all.” He didn’t say this with any pride it was all just so matter of fact. “Although I think it’s the screaming that scares them away.” He grinned and shrugged. We chatted for the rest of the break, occasionally being harassed by some senior numbskull who thought he’d get in on the act. By the end of the break I was quite in awe of the school sissy and how he’d got himself sorted at such a young age. He even let slip that he knew just how nice it was to wear a nappy and patted my padding as if to emphasise the point. However, he didn’t add anything further and as the school bell had rung, it was back to class. # Over the next few days nothing much changed. At home I was left to my own devices so I had to do everything concerned with my nappied life... no offers of help at all. Yet, at school, Cuddy and his mates kept up the daily humiliation of checking and making sure I was wandering around school in a pee-filled nappy. It was strange to see the absolute glee on their faces as they thought my shame was all because of them. I made the correct appeals to be left in peace and begging them to stop my ritual degradation but they seemed to get a kick out of probing down my pants, slipping past the plastic protection and groping the squishy fabric underneath. The tirade of disgust and comments of me being “Nothing but a fucking baby”, “a no dick nonce”, “a pissy little cunt”... the name calling was all part of their humiliation. It made me feel small and insignificant, as if I had no control over what happened and yet... and yet... I was getting a thrill from it all. # Quentin and I had become beleaguered friends and spent the occasional break in each other’s company. Normally he could be found playing and talking with groups of girls and I wasn’t invited into that set up but, when he was alone I sought him out... I liked his friendship. It also had a bonus effect when our ‘relationship’ (him being my sissy girlfriend and all) was also thrown back in my face by the gang as they pursued further ways to humiliate me. I was now branded as a ‘sissy baby’ a ‘no dick sissy baby’ and various versions on the same theme that were delivered with an elbow or trip by some Cuddy ‘wannabe’. I never mentioned any of this to my family. They thought I was being very daring in dealing with wearing a nappy to school but as there had been no complaints or letters home from any of the staff I was left alone nothing was said. I stuck to my duties of keeping my room and bedding clean. I’d thoroughly wash whatever I’d wet and pegged out, then the freshly laundered items would be collected nicely dry when I returned home from school. I’d become adept at adding soaker pads and pinning the fabric tightly. Once I added plastic pants I thought the silky bulge where once I had nothing to show, now showed I had something. The bulky bump was what occupied my mind almost 24/7... it was a complete experience. I loved wearing it, I loved touching it, it felt so good hugging my little genitals and though some mocked, I didn’t care. Often I couldn’t even feel my genitals but that obvious, large, smooth bump was still very gratifying. This huge lump had become my genitals. That was until one day I was dragged into the boy’s toilet by Archie and the entire gang was there. “Well Baby Dick,” Cuddy’s voice had a strange tone to it. “It appears that our wetting little baby seems happy to run around in his soaked nappy all day.” He looked happy about the situation and what he’d achieved but then changed tack. “So, it’s time he took the next step.” I wasn’t too sure what the next step was and he allowed me a minute for it to sink in just exactly what it was he wanted me to do. I stood there dumb (and shaking because I knew something was about to take place that I wasn’t going to like) but didn’t move. “Time our little Baby Dick took a dump in his nappy... don’t you think?” A supportive cheer went up from his gang. # I screamed “NO”. This wasn’t something I’d ever planned on doing. The idea of a messy nappy wasn’t on my radar and I’d avoided even doing it by accident by making sure I was in a regular routine and did it the moment I got up. However, hands were dragging down my trousers and plastic pants revealing my thick soaked fabric nappy. I’m sure to the half dozen onlookers I appeared nothing more than a baby about to be changed but Cuddy insisted. “Come on Baby Dick; fill your nappy like the little sissy I’ve heard you’ve become.” I shook my head and pleaded with him not to make me. Tears were rolling down my face but they were having no effect on the assembled gang. “Come on, force one out you big girl”, “...mess that nappy, you know you want to”. There were more comments and insults that I didn’t get as I cried to be let go. Cuddy was in his element. “There, there little one,” he soothed, “just squat down, like the little kiddie you are and crap your nappy... I’m sure you’ve done it many times... so come on... just for us.” “I can’t,” I screamed through tear-stained eyes, “I’ve been... already been... (hic) I can’t...” Fingers were pressing into my belly and squishing the double soaked nappy. The hubbub died down when Cuddy asked if I was sure I couldn’t manage it. “Nnnnoooo,” I stammered. “I’ve already been today.” “Okay, fair enough, if you can’t you can’t.” He seemed at ease with my explanation. “Perhaps another time?” He looked questioningly at me. # I stood there shaking wearing just a sopping wet nappy and with my trousers and plastic pants bunched around my feet. I was hoping the terror would end but I should have known better. “The little baby needs to poo and pee-pee in his nappy.” He was using baby talk now and I could feel the threat level rise. “So, I’ll give him a helping hand.” He produced a plastic bag and unfurled a shitty disposable. “A present from my baby cousin... a freshly messed in nappy, which I believe has your name on it.” I was shocked and drew back as he brought the stinking thing nearer. “Looks like our little baby is going to be wearing shit and piss in his nappy after all.” A cheer went up from the guys looking on as Cuddy gave them the order to hold me down. He dragged my nappy around my knees and then lay out the messy one from his cousin. “Lift up his arse.” Someone grabbed my tiny genitals and hoisted my bum off the floor. “God look at that tiny thing... I could hardly get hold of it...” I heard someone say. He quickly slipped the pungent thing under me, all the time I was crying and begging him to stop. I felt my moist bum make contact with the stinking yellowy brown mass and Cuddy wasted no time in pulling it up between my legs and taping it into place. He seemed to have no problem at all dealing with the smell or the revolting spectacle that he was inflicting on me. Most of the onlookers were laughing but I noticed one or two found the entire process gross. However, Cuddy pulled my nappy over the disposable, yanked up my plastic pants and smoothed it all out. I felt unclean and abused. I could feel the sticky mess sliding around my bum and ooze between my legs. He pulled up my trousers and dragged me to my feet. “There you are, not difficult at all... just what you’d expect, a baby in a shitty nappy.” I was horrified. This wasn’t part of my plan and in fact, a dirty nappy was never part of my plan. Cuddy had ruined everything and I hated him for it. “I’ll tell the Head just what you’ve done.” I threatened. He smiled that evil smile again, he wasn’t fazed by any threat I could make. “You’re a stinky little baby Smith, no one is going to believe you because everyone knows how much you love being a baby and wearing a nappy. Everyone knows that you and your sissy mate have been planning this for some time...” I tried to deny it but he just smiled. “Everyone here has heard what you and your ‘sissy girlfriend’ had in mind and that you were planning on blaming me.” He shrugged. “Some teachers are already aware of your plan... so I doubt if anyone is going to take your complaint very seriously.” I didn’t know if any of this was true but people will have seen Quentin and me huddled together so no doubt all manner of nasty rumours were circulating. “However, I do have a few words I want you to use when anyone asks about your ‘accident’. Here’s what you say.... in your best babyish voice ‘Please sir, I done a poo and a pee-pee in my nappy.’ Just so no one is in any doubt about you being a little baby... a shitty little baby at that.” “I won’t say that, I’ll, I’ll...” My threat was lost as I saw the entire group begin to pack up to leave. “On a different subject altogether.” Cuddy was in my face. “How’s that sister of yours... I bet she looks pretty hot in a nappy like her baby brother...?” “You leave Helen alone... you, you...” “I’ll be waiting on a report back on what words you used when asked about your shit-filled nappy. If it’s not as I’ve said, I’ll be paying a visit to... Helen is it?... and checking for myself.” This was a threat I couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t let my nappy wearing involve Helen, or any of the family in Cuddy’s spiteful little game. He knew he’d won and I’d do just as he demanded. I shuffled out of the boy’s toilet feeling the clammy, grainy residue invading into, across and against my body. I threw up as I made the playground. # “Smith stinks sir.” It was Harrison who was bringing it to Mr Henderson’s attention. Harrison was a Cuddy wannabe and no doubt had been put up to this. It was the beginning of a double maths period, a subject I was useless at so Mr Henderson was no great fan of mine. He already thought I was a waste of space and always looked disgusted when he noticed me wearing padding. “Shit yourself have you Smith?” He brought laughter to the rest of the class but I just shrunk into my seat unable to say anything I was just too distraught. “Yes he has.” Harrison and a couple of others agreed. “What?” Henderson had meant it as a bad joke but now the smell was getting to other people and they were moving away from my vicinity. “Oh, for crying out loud Smith... what’s happened?” This was the question I knew Cuddy had been hoping for and I also knew he had enough people who’d grass me up if I didn’t say the line. “I gone and done a poo and pee-pee in my nappy... sorry sir.” Mr Henderson looked at me in amazement whilst the rest of the class bust into fits of laughter. “You fuckin’ big baby Smith” “Shitty cunt” “Christ what a stink” “You’ll need a cartload of nappies...” Others simply held their noses, whilst other revelled in my baby voice. “Smith’s a fuckin’ baby, Smith’s a fuckin’ baby...” “Someone get him a dummy and a bottle” “Good God no, we don’t want him to shit anymore” Everyone had some comment and Mr Henderson was at a loss as to what to do. “Farron,” The class sissy looked my way but there was no judgement on his face. “Can you escort Mr Smith to the Head’s office?” He couldn’t help himself. “We don’t want our little stinker getting lost now do we?” Quentin was up and by my side almost immediately. The vile comments carried on, this time including those directed his way. Two sissy babies together was the general opinion, no doubt we’d be changing each other’s nappies as soon as we got out the door. Typical of Quentin he was more concerned about me than bothering to respond to a pack of jokers. Henderson called order and reluctantly, as we exited the school room, the name calling became silenced. “Can I open a window sir?” It was Harrison building his part, much to the appreciation of most of the class. “Mmmm, I think that might be a good idea.” The teacher shrugged as if he didn’t quite know what to make of what had just taken place. “Now, after that little break,” Mr Henderson got back to work. “As you can see... when x is the coefficient...” #tbc#

Part 18 My nightly routine had become just that, a routine. I sorted myself out and didn’t answer to anyone other than me. I kept up the regimen that mum and auntie had insisted upon; thorough cleaning followed by loads of creams and lotions. They’d also insisted that I kept the area clear of hair, which I did; mum had bought a special cream for that. Meanwhile, I’d become very adept at folding the fluffy material in just the ‘right’ way and pinning it into place. And, after smoothing the entire thing down, expelling the excess air, I proudly made sure everything was tucked within the plastic pants. Mum had come to some agreement with a supplier at her work so I was able to have access to both disposables, which I used infrequently, and fabric nappies with special insets and folds to contain any extra padding needed. All-in-all I was well provisioned and took it in my stride as more of my nappies got pegged out on the line each day. It told anyone who was interested that things weren’t getting any drier in our household. Although my parents were concerned about my continued incontinence, the doctors had assured them that it would just as easily stop, as it had started, with no particular reasoning behind it. However, now I could do the change myself, for me at least there was a feeling of utter contentment and reassurance. My thick nappy (those insets and folds proving their worth) seemed as much a part of my sleeping arrangements as anything else. # I spent many weekends with auntie and between us we redecorated the attic bedroom and re-sorted all the stuff she’d accumulated there. It was a project we both threw ourselves into and I’d never seen her happier than when the task was complete and celebrated with a huge cream cake at a job well done. While I didn’t realise it at the time, auntie was preparing a bolt-hole for me. Somewhere I’d be happy to be who I wanted to be, should I need it. We cleaned up and painted an old set of drawers, which was destined to hold all the nappies, plastic pants, lotions, creams and powder, as well as an assortment of fun items I didn’t yet possess, or know I wanted. Mrs Goodall became a regular visitor as she presented various new outfits that auntie suggested would be ideal for me. I acquired some of the cutest and snuggest designs from a woman whose imagination and sewing abilities left me speechless. She took the concept of the short onesie that fastened between my legs to a whole new dimension and created some pretty spectacular outfits. Although I normally now changed myself, I loved it when auntie took charge and did it for me. To a certain extent I knew I could hold my pee at times but, this freedom, to go where and when I wanted (not necessarily needed) was something I took great pleasure in. I think auntie had already realised this because at one point, when fluffing out a new, soft piece of fabric ready to slip under my well powdered bottom she said. “These days you’re a very happy boy... getting you out of nappies is going to be a difficulty...” She smiled knowingly but didn’t finish her train of thought... and I blushed tremendously. I knew I didn’t want to be babied, I never had, well I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I did love the smooth, taut, bulkiness that she always made sure surrounded my groin. I loved the love that went with it. When we went anywhere I always wore my suit with shorts. I’d grown to love the look and I could feel the padding being supported by the crotch, which in turn was supported by the braces. With each rustling step, and auntie’s constant pride in the way I wore it, I felt even happier than the boy in the advert had on his visit to Venice. # Back home mum and dad more or less left me to it and both my brothers didn’t seem all that bothered. However, they did comment if I began to smell of pee, but it was never in a nasty way, they just wanted me to be aware so that I didn’t make others too conscious of what I was wearing. I was a twelve year old in a nappy and although on our council estate this was something to be mocked, jeered and criticised by the other kids it didn’t bother me. This was simply because one week it was my turn, the next, the lad with ultra-thick glasses, or the cheap trainers or whose sister had just got pregnant. The neighbours had more going on than to think my protection was anything special. As the weather grew warmer I was wearing only protection and a thin t-shirt to sleep in. It felt wonderful slipping around the bed, the plastic pants sliding effortlessly over and between the sheets. This had become quite a game for me and a highlight of actually going to bed. The slippery action was quite a turn on as my burgeoning sexuality was testimony to. To be truthful, I had no idea that’s what it was, to me it was just something that felt good, and so continued to do. My nappy, especially my bulky night time nappy, had become fun and with all the creams, lotions and plastic I was also exposed to... I found I could entertain myself for hours simply getting ready before I went to sleep. At times I felt like a very naughty boy by enjoying my nappies and not resenting them. # Mostly I have dreamless nights though occasionally the TV sets off something in my head and my dreams include that subject. One night I’d seen another programme about fishermen and that night I’d struggled to get this one enormous lobster landed on board a very small trawler. At least this time it hadn’t tried to get inside my pants but the oilskins I wore glistened throughout the sea-tossed tussle. Those snapping claws ripping the glossy, slick material as I fought to get the beast under control. I woke up not only wet but with all the bedclothes strewn around the room as if there’d been some kind of titanic battle. When I had ‘normal’ dreams thankfully they weren’t about my brothers picking on me. In fact, since Geoff had been reprimanded neither had really mentioned much at all about my ‘problem’. No, my dreams often involved some of my school chums, Barnaby and nearly always other younger kids. We’d be off on some pleasant adventure and in rare cases I was leader of the gathering. Nappies didn’t play a major part but I got the impression we all wore them, though I couldn’t be sure. In the morning I’d wake up worn out but happy and the warm damp sagging material seemed even less bother than it once had. Twelve years old and still wearing a nappy should have troubled me, the whole idea of wetting myself and having all the hassle of changing into something dry, should have dragged me down… but it didn’t. I was feeling at ease with both my juvenile side and my student-at-grammar school side. I no longer had to prove I was grown-up by wearing long trousers because they meant very little now I’d come to accept shorts suited me and my situation better. To be honest, wearing thick protection under ‘adult’ long trousers just didn’t work. Although they hid the bulk pretty well, I was never convinced or happy with the result. I decided that without doubt a nappy should be worn with shorts. Like Barnaby’s questioning mind and little blue suit, my shorts and nappy had become my trademark, they set me apart from other boys my age and I quite liked this eccentricity. Mum had commented that I should spend more time with auntie because, after each visit, I returned with a completely new way dealing with things. Whatever auntie said had made the difference and she was pleased for me that I’d become “…more attentive at school.” In some ways I could see it, my attitude to school was definitely better. However, here was a dilemma; there was still an immature streak, which to me my nappy represented. There was certainly something other than protection going on when I wore one and I think it helped me identify with those who were younger… even if they weren’t wearing one as well. This was a wonderful insight. I no longer yearned to be accepted as something I so plainly wasn’t. I came to realise that a battle of sorts was going on inside me which I wasn’t sure I could control; my attitude flipped-flopped as one side gained advantage for a short while before the other took charge again. Auntie’s love and understanding brought out my more childish side. The suit and short pants, together with the nappies, epitomised everything about me; the side that loved to be looked after, the side that was desperate to please, the side that loved the attention and enjoyed a lack of restraint. Meanwhile, at home, a more serious side tried to dominate, although not very successfully, but that might have been down to my real desire to be a kid again. When I closed my eyes and went to sleep something told my brain (it had nothing to do with me, honest) that I had to prove I was still only a little kid. I suppose being able to wet myself when and where I wanted without anyone else necessarily being aware was quite liberating... and definitely regarded as quite childish. There were two Adams; one wanting to be thought of as a grown up enough to manage a senior school day, whilst the other, more fun and immature, who liked nothing more than being irresponsible, even if that meant wearing protection. # So, almost a year at grammar school and I was no longer bottom in class. In fact, my grades in the end of year exam had shown a remarkable improvement that my report card was bristling with positive comments. The headmaster’s final summation was very constructive. · “...although Adam has made incredible progress in the past year, we still see some lapses of maturity. However, as he moves up a year, I am hopeful he will apply himself totally to the opportunities school has to offer.” Mum and dad were content for me to stay at the school even though I was still wearing a nappy. They said if I could handle it, so could they and therefore, I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m almost certain auntie had something to do with that decision, although my better grades might have helped. I spent more time with auntie, we seemed to have a common connection that I didn’t have with my family even though they had been so supportive. We talked at length about Barnaby, the aristocratic boy, the kids at the aquarium and even the boy from the advert, all of whom auntie thought had helped me put things in perspective. I’d worn my nappy under the long trousers that went with the suit but... it never felt proper. Indeed, now I had a pair of long trousers of my own, they gave me an awkward feeling, my legs felt strangely trapped and my protection uncomfortable. I now had piles of nappies both at home and at aunties where there was never any doubt what I’d wear. Although I always felt like a kid when I wore them, I didn’t see this in a negative way at all - they had given me security and comfort from the first moment I wore them. The confidence I now radiated in both school work and play was down to them... and of course my protective plastic pants. My self-assurance had only started when I first wore auntie’s present. That confidence grew when I wore my Italian designed blue suit more often. The feeling of disappointment about it being for a child because of the short pants soon evaporated after all those early, positive comments. The praise from adults about the way I looked, the pleasure I experienced when I wore it whilst accompanying auntie anywhere, somehow that suit, together with the nappy underneath, gave me a belief in myself that up until then I hadn’t possessed. It was a surprising yet potent combination. It was with pride that I chose to wear shorts rather than the long trousers auntie had provided and where ever we went I thought I carried the stylish design with an elegance that made heads turn. My smartness was making me the centre of attention, whilst the nappy was a comfort and prevention from any mishaps... and I loved it. ### I love the time Adam spends with me but I see and understand more than he does. He’s still really only a little boy and isn’t aware exactly what is happening to him. I see his incontinence isn’t going to just disappear – he’s enjoying it too much. At the moment he may not be that aware but all the signs are there that this isn’t just a passing fancy. I also know that as he grows older things might become a little bit more awkward for him, at home and at school, and he’ll be forced into making some difficult decisions. I want him to know he always has a place to come, and an understanding person that will always be there to support him. As his auntie I hope that would go without saying but my sweet, childish, lovable nephew needs his nappies and I’ve made sure that he has plenty, along with the juvenile clothes I know he has an affinity for. He may be twelve now but what happens (and where would he go and who can he share his desire with) as he grows older? I want him to feel safe in my house. I want him to be happy with who he is. I want my innocent baby nephew to enjoy his childhood... no matter how long that lasts. #######FIN########

Part 4 In the morning I was extremely wet but realised I’d have to see to myself as no one had volunteered to change me. As I waddled to the bathroom mum noticed and said that it was fine for me to wear what I liked at home but suggested that for school I wear something more appropriate to my age. I hadn’t been planning on wearing a nappy to school, I thought it would be just too inconvenient, but with mum’s words ringing in my ears there was no doubt I’d be wearing my white briefs under my uniform... they were similar to what about 50% of the boys wore anyway. Once at school I was still getting comments but the novelty of the poster campaign, and the vigilance of the teachers, had calmed things down. It wasn’t until last period that, as I walked from one classroom to the next past the boy’s toilets, that I was accosted by Archie Simmons. Archie was one of Cuddy’s nastier henchmen, some sort of demented cousin who most teachers were scared of and who dragged me forcefully into the empty room. Toilets, especially boy’s toilets, have a particular smell and a foreboding atmosphere at the best of times but being held by the lapels by this brute really scared me and I knew any scream for help wouldn’t be answered. It was a generally known fact that if Cuddy and his gang was inside... the toilet was the last place you wanted to be so had the place to themself. Over some time Cuddy had managed to make the boy’s washroom a ‘no go’ area for teachers who used to check in on them to make sure there were no smokers or anything untoward going on. He’d complained about some innocent teachers hanging around the toilet and complained to the headmaster that he didn’t think it right that perverts should be employed by the school. The ructions that caused meant that he and his gang had free reign when it came to occupying the toilet block with little or no supervision from a patrolling teacher. He smiled a most cruel smile and with a cold stare that would instantly solidify steam he said that Cuddy had noticed I wasn’t wearing a nappy, even after he’d gone to such lengths to provide me with one. That kind of disrespect could only lead to some “...unpleasant consequences” (I thought Cuddy must have given him the line because I knew he wasn’t capable of coming up with such a phrase) and that in future I’d be expected, as per Cuddy’s instructions, to wear what a Baby Dick should wear in the company of grown-ups. “A fuckin’ nappy.” His threat was chilling but the fact that I didn’t get punched at the end of it (he just sort of rearranged my lapels as if he was doing me a favour smartening my clothes up) left me a jittering wreck. This was a new move; no violence just verbal menaces that left you in no doubt as to the consequences of inaction. However, I thought I’d got off pretty leniently because Archie had a reputation of hitting first and then not bothering to ask the question... that was until I felt the warm glow around my crotch and noticed the wet stain grow. I’d been so terrified my bladder had reacted to the threat. I couldn’t spend any more time in the toilet but splashed some water all down my front. It looked like I’d been caught in a rainstorm by the time I got to class but my excuse of a faulty tap was accepted by the teacher, although there were comments of disbelief from some of my classmates. “Looks like he really needs a nappy,” I heard being whispered between some of the lads. By the time I got home I was almost dry and as I stripped off in my room I saw that my pristine white briefs were now a mucky pale orangey colour. It was quite weird really because such a stain in my nappy never produced the disgust I felt at that moment... and I wondered how I’d get mum to let me wear nappies to school. Not that I was scared... I was terrified if I didn’t comply. I didn’t know what to do next, whether to try and find an alternative, use what had been left in my locker or beg mum to get me some disposables. I slipped into a pair of gym shorts and set about doing my homework. # I think mum sensed that something was wrong when she called me down for tea. I’d not spoken to anyone other than a grunt of acknowledgement when Helen asked if I was okay. However, mum came in and noticed my dirty briefs and guessed I’d had an accident. I didn’t tell her what really happened but said that I’d just left it too late to get to the loo and... I said I was sorry but she had a package with her and opening it up revealed she’d bought me several fabric nappies and plastic pants, plus all the creams and lotions that I associated with having to wear a nappy. “These,” she said displaying everything on my bed, “are for when you’re feeling little and need the comfort of a nappy.” She was very matter of fact. “I’ll help you put them on to begin with but you’ll have to learn yourself because I don’t intend on doing it forever.” I nodded. “If you feel the need tonight I’ll come up and supervise when you go to bed but for the moment, your gym shorts will do, so come down for tea.” I looked at the stuff she’d bought and I was very happy. Despite her saying she wasn’t delirious about me wanting to be little, mum realised that I needed something and if she could make me happy, then she would. “Mum, I want to wear protection at school.” I didn’t explain the most recent threat and she arched her eyebrows as if to say “Tell me why”. “I peed my pants today and... and it shocked me... because I didn’t know I was doing it.” It was a lame excuse and I’m not sure she believed me but I insisted. “Look, I think I can get to the boys room if and when I need to but... I like the idea of protection just in case I can’t. Today I had to pretend that a fast flow from the tap had taken me by surprise and soaked my pants, I don’t think that excuse would work again.” # In my head this all sounded convincing but mum looked at me wearily. “Well,” she eventually said, “it’s up to you. If you think you can cope with that and the comments from your classmates...” She changed tack. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through sweetheart? I’m not sure the teachers will be on-board with it.” “I’d rather folk didn’t know I’d wet my pants rather than worrying about anything else.” I whined in my best whiny voice. “Well okay then... it’s your school friends but if any teacher has reason to speak to me or your father... it has to come to a stop... okay?” What I didn’t know at the time was that dad and mum had already discussed all of this and dad was of the opinion that as soon as I had to do everything for myself (including washing nappies and plastic pants every morning) I’d soon tire of the entire thing and revert back to normality. I nodded my agreement because my spirits began to rise as I thought about the new stuff she’d bought I’d so soon get to wear. It was only later that it hit me that Cuddy and his mates would be on at me straight away and I’d have to prove I was wearing the ‘proper’ protection. # I didn’t sleep much and even the comfort of a thick disposable didn’t help. All I kept thinking about was Cuddy, and worse still, Archie setting about me because I was wearing the wrong thing. I thought about telling a teacher but knew in the past that they only reacted to something happening, not what a pupil ‘imagined’ might happen. In the meantime, I hoped that the nappy and plastic pants I’d decided to wear would be enough to stave off the humiliation I hoped to avoid but I hadn’t banked on how nasty (or cunning) Cuddy could be. # I got ready for school myself. I was apprehensive but knew I couldn’t escape what was to happen so hoped that by meeting it face on I’d be better prepared. What I had envisioned being a pleasurable experience, putting myself into thick protection, was a nervy experience. I couldn’t quite get the nappy to fold correctly or the pins to hold it firm, in the end I had to ask mum to come and help, which thankfully she did. However, she complained that I’d forgotten the golden rule and that was to use copious amounts of anti-rash cream and powder first off before the nappy was applied, which of course meant I smelled the part as well as looked it. Then she took fastidious care in how it was put on and showed me the secret of a tight fit; it was all down to the pinning. As promised mum had bought me some plastic pants and they were a thick, shiny white style that hugged everything in place. I was then ready for the rest of my uniform and I was surprised to see that the bulge wasn’t as evident as I thought it might have been. Strangely, that first day in a nappy at school, although anxious, it wasn’t Cuddy and his chums that noticed. In fact, they didn’t bother me at all and it was only Jeremy and his mates in my class that mentioned I looked like I was wearing a diaper (yes, they called it a diaper) and, like everyone I’ve ever known, continually patted my padding whenever they were in range. They weren’t nasty about it, just sort of acknowledging it was probably a sensible precaution with Cuddy on the warpath. No one was in any doubt that it had been Cuddy who had forced me into a disposable and taken those photos to embarrass me, but no one saw it happen so couldn’t come to my defence. Of course there were those who loved to see others in distress or being humiliated because it meant it wasn’t they who were on the end of such cruelty. They even cheered the demise of the weaker element and ganged up a bit themselves, safe in the knowledge that they were at least stronger than someone else. There is a lot of bullying goes on at all levels of education and it’s not always done by the pupils. # In fact, on the fourth day of my nappies-to-school regime I learned that Cubby and his mates had been suspended for a week owing to a ‘disagreement’ with one of the teachers. So, I hadn’t needed to wear them at all, which was a shame because, I could have enjoyed wearing them if I hadn’t been in constant fear about a sudden Cuddy confrontation. However, I was wearing them 24/7 and was getting used to the feeling they gave me. I’d taken on-board mum’s suggestions and process and found that it did leave me feeling very secure indeed. I was also getting used to wearing plastic pants over the nappy and thoroughly enjoyed that extra layer of protection. Dad was surprised at how easily (and well) I took to washing my own stuff, hanging it out to dry and wandering around the house wearing nothing else. My brother and sister smiled and patted my padded bum as I passed but no negativity... it was in its own way quite thrilling. At home I wasn’t on edge and my nappies gave me the feeling I thought I wanted. However, the fact that I wasn’t being treated as a toddler was frustrating and none of my family would play the game. The ridiculous thing; and it didn’t occur to me straight away, was that Cuddy and his mates were quite intent on treating me as a ‘no dick toddler’ and was so scared of what they might do... I neglected this important piece of data. # The following week Cuddy was back and just before the bell went at school on Monday morning, Archie cornered me and marched me into the boy’s urinals. There Cuddy stuck his hand down the back of my pants and was gratified to feel the silky rubber pants and padding. “Well there’s a good little Baby Dick.” His voice was slimy but he thought he’d won a victory over me and I’d had no alternative than to do as he commanded. I didn’t put him right. “Plastic pants as well... my baby brother wears these... you look pretty much alike.” He nodded to his friends as if he was in total control of the situation. “Okay Baby Dick... every morning there’ll be an inspection by one of us... so you’d better keep that baby padding on... or there’ll be trouble.” I think that last bit was for the benefit of his gang, just to make sure his threat was noted and of course to prove that all the kids in school were pretty terrorised by him. For the first time I relaxed a little because I had no intention of wearing anything else. He wasn’t to know I wore these at home and if he thought I was under his influence and so scared I would wear a nappy just because he said so, well, I, erm, um, well, I might be a little scared but I wore because I wanted to. I convinced myself of that. # Although I desperately wanted to pee in my nappy, at school I thought it better to rush to the boy’s toilets when I needed to go. Although it was a bit of a faff to wriggle my fingers up the leg hole and release my willy I thought it better than changing myself there. Despite the constant patting from Cuddy and his mates (and one or two others who knew) the system seemed to be working and for a week things were going as planned. The following Monday morning at my inspection Cuddy was very aggressive when he plunged his hand down the front of my trousers. He could feel the plastic pants and padding but there was something missing. “You’re not wet.” For the first time in over a week I got scared. “I gather you’ve been using the boy’s toilets,” he snarled in my face. “That’s not a place for little baby dicks like you. It’s out of bounds from now on...” he paused. “I have eyes everywhere so don’t think for a moment I won’t know if you try to change your new rule.” The smile returned to his face as he smirked his latest command. “From now on.... you’ll go in your nappy like the little baby dick you are.” He pulled down my pants to reveal me standing there in just my protection. “You’d better start now.” # I was flummoxed. I didn’t know how to respond except that I didn’t want to wet myself there and then. However, the decision wasn’t mine, he wanted me to pee my pants but I begged him not to make me. He threatened and smacked the back of my head and I knew his warning was about to take on a more physical stance. I willed myself to pee and after a few more smacks to my head I eventually squeezed out a spurt. “Ohh more than that baby,” he chuckled, “I want to see this thing filled.” He patted my padded bottom. Surprisingly, after that first laboured spurt, the rest flowed with no trouble and I could feel the warming glow as he squeezed my nappy and felt its growing sogginess. “That’s a good baby... now you’ll be checked more regularly and that nappy better be soaked every time or... I wouldn’t like to be you.” The threat was uncompromising and I felt tears spring to my eyes. He seemed satisfied he’d made me wet myself, his friends had witnessed the power he had and, to top it all, I’d cried. He swaggered off completely pleased with what he’d done and boasting to his mates that they should inspect my sopping padding at every opportunity. I’m not sure that anyone wanted that particular task but they did as Cuddy said... they didn’t want to be made to pee their own pants on demand. # I was left with my trousers around my ankles and a full and wet bloated nappy I now had to contend with. I knew with the departure of the gang that the braver elements of the school would soon be using the facility and I had to react quickly. I didn’t have anything to change into so, with the warmth still spreading around my genitals, I speedily hauled up my pants and got out as soon as I could. What I didn’t think about was there’d be an audience waiting to use the toilet, too scared to enter whilst Cuddy was conducting ‘business’ but a loud whisper began to circulate that I’d wet myself even though I didn’t think anyone could see. Perhaps I was naive enough to believe Cuddy and his mates would have kept my secret - alas, no. To begin with the plastic pants kept it all contained but as the day progressed, and more pee was added to the sodden material, so the seepage began. I arrived home and both the nappy and my trousers were wet through. I was embarrassed because so many people knew I wore a nappy... and still I wet my pants. I hid all this from my family. I thought I could deal with it myself and I didn’t want mum and dad creating at school. Dad had already said that if there was any comment from staff and it was brought to his attention ALL my nappy exploits would come to an end. # The following day I didn’t want to go to school but decided I’d double the thickness by inserting a soaker pad or two and wear the most robust rubber pants I had in my collection. The problem this caused was the bulk was now incredibly visible and there was no getting away from my pronounced waddle. A couple of teachers asked me about it but I said I was experiencing a bout of incontinence , so mum had insisted I wear proper protection... she didn’t want me to miss any classes. This seemed to allay any suspicions, which I was pleased about. Cuddy took it as a personal triumph that I now had to wear double thickness to collect a day’s pee and he and his mates took great delight in making sure I was wet all the time. When Archie got me alone one time he even insisted I filled my nappy just for him. This was one guy I didn’t dare refuse, which, judging by his maniacal laughter once I’d done so, was the correct decision. “You are such a fuckin’ baby aren’t you Smith?” I knew it was a rhetorical question but nodded anyway. “Wearing a nappy and fuckin’ pissin’ yerself... fuck... you should be in a toddler group not here.” I couldn’t have agreed more. The wet thickness of my nappy was testament to my juvenile status and it was only when Archie had said what he had that I realised that Cuddy and his gang were, perhaps without meaning to, giving me that babyish element I was missing. Outwardly I was being forced to do what I was doing yet inside... well... just let me say my feelings were a little more complex. #tbc#