Les Lea

Danni – Part 8 – Birthday Surprises The morning of my birthday I woke up very excited and, to Julie’s obvious pleasure, completely soaked. She unzipped and let me out of my onesie but left me in my soggy nappy whilst she went off to get something. She’d been doing this a few times now and I hadn’t realised what was going on. However, I now noticed that when she left mum would come in, see the drooping nappy, look sympathetically at me but it would also confirm all that my sister had been telling her about her continually wetting little baby brother. Then we’d cuddle, she’d murmur some soothing words, while I felt like a guilty little toddler who’d let her down. Julie would then breeze back in armed with whatever she’d decided I was to wear, whilst I would be too embarrassed to protest and mum would leave her to get me ready for the day ahead. It wasn’t really surprising that I was waking up wet more and more often as Julie had been feeding me warm drinks last thing at night whilst she told me stories. I have to admit that this was one of the things I really did enjoy, when she made up stories that had me in the starring role. I’d be enthralled but she would say that I had to finish my drink if I wanted her to continue and, before I knew it vast amounts of some wonderfully flavoured liquid would have been consumed. My bedtime was seven o’clock, this was one of my sister’s rulings, as she decreed little boys need their sleep and, because I nearly always got a story and something sweet to drink, I was happy to comply. Mum would often stand at the doorway and listen to the tales that Julie told and she’d see me in my bed, smiling and enthusing about some aspect of the story, so she witnessed herself that all was well. I think it was at these moments when, whatever doubts she might have had about me being in anyway unhappy about my ‘situation’, they were alleviated by what she saw as the ‘wonderful and loving’ interaction between her daughter and her obviously consenting son. There was undoubtedly more times than not when I thought Julie was the cleverest and most thoughtful person in the world and these especially were just such times when I loved my sister. I also loved Saturday mornings when my favourite TV programme was on, a cartoon about Greek heroes, which I found really fascinating. I was so keen on these historical adventures that Julie had been able to adapt some of them in her stories so that Hercules and I could battle together, or I’d be part of Jason and the Argonauts crew. She was very good at getting me participating, and being a major force, in these myths and legends. I was often so engrossed in what was on the screen that I regularly ended up watching in just a damp nappy before being dressed appropriately. On that point I have to say it was not an issue any more - I was used to it, mum was used to it and Julie made sure I didn’t make a mess or act-up (and repeatedly said that it was ‘it's just the way he is’ to mum). Not that I would dare to act-up because just one of her ‘looks’ would have had me shrinking from any form of argument. Having said that, it all became natural and normal, what was expected so how could I object to it anyway? It was just the way it was in our house, much the same as it was for whatever way Julie decided to have me dressed. Even on this day as an 8 year-old (yeah my birthday), I was left to run around the house wearing only my thick pull-ups with the cartoon princess on the front. Mum said I could open my cards and presents that had already been delivered before my party got underway later in the afternoon. Earlier in the week mum had asked if I wanted anything special and, as I’d been playing around on the piano at school during choir practice, I asked for a little keyboard. After breakfast I rushed from the kitchen into the living room where mum’s present was. The place was full of balloons wishing me a Happy Birthday and there were some cards waiting, a few wrapped gifts but the main one was surrounded by a huge gold bow. Excitedly I pulled at the wonderful decoration, which revealed a small, but expensive looking, electric piano. I couldn’t believe that mum had got me such a fine instrument and couldn’t wait to try it out. We plugged it in and I promptly played a few bars from a song we’d been learning in class. Mum was amazed at how well I could play. In fact, it was something I’d only recently found out myself… that I could pick out notes on the piano then Miss Simms showed me the chords. Pretty soon, once I’d heard a tune or song, I could pick it up very quickly and loved being able to do so. I didn’t realise that I had a talent as it was something that just came naturally. I hugged mum with thanks - I was so happy I wriggled joyfully in her embrace as she patted my padded bum and kissed the top of my head. Julie said that I wasn’t going to get her present until the party, which I thought was typical of her, keeping me on the verge of excitement, wondering what it could be. She didn’t let on. About noon the caterers came to set up for the party. Mum and Julie had been planning a Superheroes theme (although I didn’t know that at the time) and my organising sister had been on the phone almost permanently sorting things out. I’d heard clips of conversation but as soon as she saw that I was in earshot she whispered so I couldn‘t hear or hung up. It was all very secretive and I was getting very excited indeed. After watching my TV programme (about Zeus) I played on my new piano and was surprised at being able to make stuff up that sounded, to me at least, quite good. As the caterers began to set out the tables under an awning in the garden Julie ushered me upstairs out of the way. She ran a bath and filled it full of bubbles. Now, ever since I was a baby I have just loved bubbles and enjoyed hiding and playing in amongst them whilst I was bathed by either her or mum. Even if I was in the park and another kid was blowing bubbles you’d find me chasing after them, popping each as I tried to capture them. It was one of those things that Julie always knew to do if I was in a mood (which was rarely) or wanted to keep me entertained. Yeah Bubbles! She helped me out of my surprisingly damp pull-ups and lifted me into the foam. I sat in the bath and I piled bubbles all over my head, made beards, pretended it was thick fog and my toy boats had to manoeuvre their way through the ‘mists’ and ‘icebergs’. I was having fun and must have been in there for quite some time as it was relatively cool when eventually Julie, who had left me to it whilst she went off to ‘supervise’ (her word) the caterers, returned with a thick towel. Although I was quite capable of doing things for myself, if she was around, then she was in charge and I acquiesced and let her get on with it. She thoroughly rubbed me dry, covered me in lotion and massaged it in and then finally added a comprehensive sprinkling of powder to all my ‘boy’ parts. She wrapped me in the towel and I was guided to my room where she had prepared a surprise. “Happy Birthday,” she sang as I became aware of just what she’d done. Laid out on my bed was a short tunic with gold braid. I was flabbergasted. I couldn’t believe it. She continued, “This is my present,” she looked at my awestruck expression, “I know how much you like this stuff… so I thought I’d get you something special.” I hugged my sister so tightly and I have to say there were tears of joy in my eyes as I thanked her but I was speechless. She held me until she thought I’d calmed down a bit then suggested that I try it on and get ready to receive my guests. I was spellbound. First she fastened me firmly into a white disposable, which I never gave a second thought about, then over that she pulled a shiny gold coloured nappy cover and checked that it fit nice and snug. Next she fitted the little white silky tunic around my waist and fed my arm through a shoulder strap. The material was soft and shiny with loads of pleats making it look like a short kilt. There was gold braiding along the edges, which appeared to match my new ‘underwear’. It made me feel really very special. I looked in the mirror once she’d finished checking that everything was in order and couldn’t believe it – I was dressed just like my hero Jason from the TV programme. She’d even got me a pair of gold sandals that fastened up my legs and to top it off, she added a gold laurel wreath for my hair. I’d been transformed from me… into a real Greek hero and I just could not believe how proud and courageous I felt. As I hugged and thanked my thoughtful sister again and again, she just gleefully patted my nicely padded bottom and said she was so glad I liked it and was what I deserved for being “…the best little baby brother in the world.” She’d also thoughtfully found a huge poster of Jason and the Argonauts from the TV series, which she said she’d hang up for me later, and who, apart from a small sword hanging from his waist, was dressed exactly like me. I twirled in front of the mirror. The gold sparkled, the shiny material glistened and even the new gold ‘protection’ shimmered and complemented the mythical look. The final thing was a little gold rope sash that was tightened around my waist, I thought I looked as good as Jason and wished I could join him and his men on one of their fantastic journeys. Julie nodded her approval as I spun and danced with joy. My party was in full swing. Nearly all my class mates, both boys and girls had come, as well as Julie’s girlfriends who after all I’d known all my life. It was these older girls who organised and supervised the games, the music and the fun. Most of the boys who came wore some form of fancy dress; super-heroes, cowboys, robots etc, whilst a few of the girls had also dressed as cartoon characters or animals. We all looked fantastic as we charged around the garden and I loved the way my costume hung from my shoulder, the material soft and looking completely unique. I was enjoying having something so special that had been made especially for me and was constantly imagining myself back in mythological times and being the favourite of one of the Athenian gods. One of the last people to arrive was Simon. At first I didn’t recognise him as he stood at the door gripping his mother’s hand. In fact, it was only because I recognised Mrs McKay that it quickly dawned on me who this nervous little girl was who held on to her so tightly. His hair was so much longer, he kept his eyes cast down in a shy, nervous kind of way and tried not to look at me. Mrs McKay was all smiles, “Wish Danni a Happy Birthday poppet.” He wriggled uncertainly as he clutched his mum with one hand and held a gift in the other. “Happy Birthday,” she continued before he son could say anything. “My you do look pretty Danni, is that a special birthday outfit you’re wearing?” I nodded as I took in the way Simon was dressed, he looked like a little girl. His jumper was pink with a large blue and pink butterfly on the front. His shorts were pale pink and covered in a blue and yellow butterfly design, which were held up with two matching straps over his shoulders that crossed at the back. His pink socks had ruffles at the ankle and he wore pink plastic sandals, which he nervously scuffed along the floor. I took all this in as he timidly whispered his “Happy Birthday” and offered me his gift. “Hello Si… erm…” I wasn’t sure what to call him but I went ahead anyway. “Hello Simon I’m so glad you could make it.” He looked up hesitantly and there was a fleeting smile. I held out my hand for him to take. “C’mon let’s get to the party.” He checked with his mother to make sure it was OK. She released his hand. “Enjoy yourself poppet… try not to make a mess of your clothes… go and join your friends.” Simon was definitely not the boisterous little lad who had played with me on that sunny weekend all those weeks ago. He walked slowly and hesitantly into the crowd and seemed relieved that none of his former school friends appeared to recognise him. He stuck close to me throughout the party but didn’t join in any of the games. It was strange that all the other boys ignored him but the girls wanted him to be in their group. He looked quite fearful when Julie and her friends came over to say ‘hello’. “Hello Simone,” they chorused. “You do look pretty.” “Love the butterflies.” “What lovely hair” and a host of similar comments interspersed with giggles. He had shut his eyes to what was being said and looked like he was on the verge of tears. I took him away from everyone and asked him what was wrong. “Mum likes me better as a girl,” he sobbed. “Since Julie and her friends dressed me up,” he paused as he wiped the snot from his nose, “mum won’t let me be a boy. I have to wear girl’s clothes” I tried to calm him but I didn’t have much to say. He looked at the shiny tunic I was wearing and said. “She’s done it to you as well…” At no point had I thought what I was wearing was anything but heroic. Jason and loads of Greek heroes wore similar things but his comment jolted my image of myself. He put his hand on my padded bum. “I have to wear knickers now… and… and…” He was still trying to get it out between sobs, “and sleep in a… a nappy and… a… a… nightie.” He buried his face in the crook of his arm and tried to hold back more tears. It was obviously upsetting the poor boy but alas to me none of this seemed a hardship as I’d been living like that all my life. However, I could see he was distressed so I hugged him close. Then in the quietest of voices he confessed he hadn’t wanted to come as he was scared of Julie and her friends and what they might do or say. However, his mum thought it was time he should be out and about (whether he wanted to or not) and had insisted he came. He said he was glad to see me again. He pulled at his tight-fitting butterfly shorts and said he wished he could wear his old briefs as the lacy ones he had to wear rode up and were so uncomfortable. I had liked it when I first met Simon and we’d charged around in just our shorts and had water-pistol fights and got ourselves thoroughly wet through, but I liked him now as well, it made no difference to me how he dressed and I told him so. I said I thought he looked nice. There was a faint smile from him and he seemed to become a bit more confident as we looked each other over. He rubbed the front of my shiny golden nappy and whispered that he thought I looked like “that Greek hero off the TV”, which brought a huge grin and a twirl from me. # to be continued...

Jayme, what can I say but many thanks. It means a great deal when a story by me (and I suspect everyone) gets such a wonderful positive response... it gives the writer goosebumps. So, many thanks is probably not quite enough but I'll give you a few smily faces as well and hope that covers my appreciation ... a bit at least.

Danni – Part 7 – Julie’s Power There was no doubt about it, Julie had me cowed and I was at her bidding no matter what. She encouraged me to sing in the choir but warned me against Miss Simms placing too much pressure on me (she had said it was the pressure to perform that had made me wet myself, and I believed her). She told me that boys would only take advantage of my sweet temperament (her words) so basically the only person who was looking out for me was her. She kept going on about when I was a baby how much fun I was, how much I enjoyed the games we played and how much I liked being looked after. She thought because of all the ‘trauma’ of growing up and the ‘problems’ it was causing, she should let me be a “baby” again. It was a time she said I was happiest. I somehow knew that all the ‘trauma’ and ‘problems’ were as a result of the way she treated me but I wasn’t able to offer much in the way of resistance and that meant I was back to being her baby… her toy. I was wearing nappies or pull-ups permanently – for bed, for school, for trips, for, well everything. I had given up fighting Julie she was a force I could not defeat and I wasn’t equipped for battle, I just gave in and did what she wanted. After all, I had no real say in what was going on, it kept her in a good mood and mum seemed happy that my ‘problem’ was now well contained. I was so compliant, and mum so comfortable with the way things currently existed, she even patted my well-padded bottom before we went anywhere and smiled contentedly that everything was ‘okay’. I took it as natural; this was how it was meant to be even if all the other kids in my class didn’t wear nappies and such. Julie said that the reason I did was because I was ‘special’, that I was better than any of the other kids because I had a loving sister who only wanted the very best for her sweet little baby brother. In my own small way I did try to rebel because I didn’t like to wear a wet nappy. When she wasn’t around I always made it to the bathroom in time by sliding my hand up my shorts, struggling valiantly with the padding before pulling out my willy and doing what I had to do in the toilet. Not having a wet nappy when she checked me was a small victory but I think it annoyed her slightly. However, one day we were playing in the park and I needed to go so I suggested a game of hide and seek. The idea was that I would hide first; she would count to 50 and then attempt to find me. Cleverly, I thought, I could quickly hide behind a bush, release my willy and do it before she came and found where I was hiding. Alas, I struggled longer than I thought with the tight fitting nappy and as I nervously peed into the bushes she came up behind me “You naughty, dirty boy,” she screamed… and I froze in mid flow. “In public, how disgusting.” She grabbed my arm, pulled down my pants and nappy and spanked me hard on my bare bottom. This time it did hurt and my pleading and screaming I was sorry was having no effect as she reddened my bum cheeks. It was all over in a matter of seconds but I was crying for real and she had managed to make me feel terribly ashamed of myself. I was still crying as she removed my t-shirt and I was led naked back to our blanket on the ground where we’d been picnicking. People were looking but no one said anything as she lay me out and re-fitted the old disposable I had been wearing. She pulled it tight and taped me firmly in place then she did something I will never forget – she poured a whole can of fizzy orange juice down the front. I couldn’t stop her and as the nappy absorbed the liquid, the thing expanded and changed from white to a very obvious pale orange. It felt massive between my legs - it was also cold, sticky, wet and it set me off crying even more. “You’ve been a very dirty… naughty… disgusting boy.” She threatened as I sat wondering what I was going to do. “This will be your punishment until we get home so everyone can see just what a naughty, dirty little baby brother I have.” I was both ashamed and inconsolable because she’d made me feel that it was my fault that I had made her do what she’d done and that of course, it was for my own good. I had to learn to be “a good obedient little boy”. Walking the half mile or so home she wouldn’t let me wear anything but the messy orange nappy. It wasn’t very nice to walk in and of course I was waddling trying to keep up as she all but dragged me home. At the door she told me in no uncertain terms that mum would be furious about my shameful peeing in public and that she wouldn’t be at all surprised if she also spanked me. I was terrified of entering my own home. Of course I had to promise to be good, do exactly as I was told and, more importantly, use the nappy when I needed to go. She said she wouldn’t tell mum about what I’d done if I agreed and ‘swore an oath.’ I wasn’t sure what that was but as she said it was the most solemn promise, that even God would punish me if I broke, it was the only thing she said that would stop her from telling mum. Of course I agreed and repeated the oath that Julie made me swear ‘on my life’ to uphold. Once through the door mum wondered why I’d been crying and why was I only wearing a very soggy nappy. Julie looked down at me and said it was another one of my ‘accidents’ and that she didn’t have a spare disposable to change me and she didn’t want all my other clothes to get messy. Mum looked pitifully at me and I saw sympathy in her eyes. “You poor little thing.” She hugged me tightly. “Never mind, you're home now… I’ll take care of you.” Julie tried to intervene. “It’s OK mum, I’ll see to him,” she seemed a little worried that her orange scam might be found out. “I have a fresh nappy in my room for him…” “You do enough Julie,” mum said taking hold of my hand and leading me upstairs. “I think I’ll change my sweet boy.” Julie was left to worry about any possible outcome but she should have been confident in her powers and influence over me as I never said a word against her as mum cleaned me up. As my room was now, thanks to Julie, more or less a nursery, all there was lying around were pull-ups or disposables (my thick cloth nappies Julie always kept in my underwear draw - or what had once been my underwear draw). So mum, still thinking I had a wetting problem, cleaned me up, powdered me and fitted me into a clean and tight disposable, and asked if I was okay. My tears had stopped but my bottom still smarted from Julie smacks so I just nodded. She wondered if I wanted to take a nap as I looked worn out. I wasn’t tired but I thought it might be best if I hid myself away for a little while so as mum tucked me in I gave her a kiss and said I was sorry. “It’s OK sweetheart,” she whispered back, “It’s not your fault, accidents happen. You just have a nap and then things won’t seem so bad.” Everything seemed nice when mum was like this but I still couldn’t tell her anything, after all, I'd just sworn an oath, on pain of my death, if I revealed just what had actually happened. No Julie had me and I was now, if I was in any doubt, completely under her control. Over the next few weeks Julie upped her game. Her idea for my clothing was a thick nappy, pink or blue plastic pants and tiny shorts that gave no hiding place for my protection. For bed she had me thickly nappied, often wearing a footed onesie that had a zip up the back (so I couldn’t remove it even if I’d wanted to), which had been a surprising addition to my wardrobe, as had a short onesie that fastened with press studs between my legs. Where these items had appeared from I didn’t know but I had expertly been returned to my infanthood even though my eighth birthday was rapidly approaching. My loving sister had got me all excited about my birthday. She said she had planned a party for me and wondered if there was anyone special who I’d like to invite. I told her Simon if she could get an invitation to him. She enthused back that she was positive he’d love to come and she’d make an extra effort to ensure he received his invite. She even had me write a special ‘please come’ on the bottom of his card, which I then watched her drop in the post box. # to be continued...

Danni – Part 6 – Crime and Punishment Being brought up by Julie had made me the boy I was. I wasn’t one for games, in fact, other than with Simon I had hardly played with any other boys of my age. They scared me and with Julie’s protection, I’d never needed to toughen up. Some might say I was lucky to have such a sister, and indeed, I never thought anything other than that but, as we both got older it was as if she didn’t want me to grow up. She was making things up that I did or didn’t do when she spoke to mum, and mum, being mum, believed everything she said or suggested. It wasn’t that mum wasn’t bothered it was just that she’d left me in Julie’s hands for so long, she had no idea how I should be. If I complained to her about having to wear something she always made me remember how much I’d enjoyed dressing up before. When I think about it, I always did have a smile on my face as me and Julie had played her dressing-up games. I didn’t know any better but mum now saw it as “Just the way you are”. I think she thought it was what I wanted and I liked all that kind of thing; being dressed as a girl or being babied by all her friends. In many ways I suppose I did, or at least it never worried me but, I’d begun to want the same as what the boys at school had. At school I was introduced to the choir and found that I loved singing in assembly as much as I’d enjoyed singing in front of Julie and her chums. The teachers thought I was very good and began to offer me more and more songs to take the lead on. I was very nervous about being pushed forward but Miss Simms, the music teacher gently coaxed me and, perhaps because she was a woman, I did as I was told. It was OK if I was surrounded by the rest of the choir and I was just one amongst a group but when I had my solo I became quite scared. I’m not sure why but it was worse if mum or Julie were watching and on one occasion I peed my pants centre stage. Julie saw what I’d done and because of the sudden appearance of a wet spot on the front of my shorts she leapt into action. Even before Miss Simms could come to my assistance Julie was up on the stage and gently leading me off, her words full of sympathy, but her firm grip telling me otherwise. How she knew what would happen I do not know but I was led to a classroom, my shorts and briefs taken down and she rummaged in her schoolbag and produced a disposable nappy. She had no powder or lotions this time but just wrapped me in it, pulled it up between my legs, fastened the sticky tabs in place and yanked me to my feet. A few fellow pupils had gathered in the doorway to watch the proceedings and Miss Simms was trying to get through the cordon. I could see the sympathy in her eyes but Julie just said that she wasn’t to worry, no one blamed her for my distress and that she was sure no real harm was done. Miss Simms was taken aback at this slight but as Julie had already grabbed my hand and was ushering me away from the cluster of kids (and associated parents) she hadn’t formulated a response as Julie hurried me to mother’s car waiting to pick us up. It was my moment of achievement… something I’d done without Julie… or mum and I’d wet myself. I was crying as we got into the car and mum was wondering what had happened. A very empathetic Julie explained how I was ‘brilliant’ and was singing ‘beautifully’, when I just peed myself. Again, all the words she said sounded like she was so sorry for me but I knew that she loved every minute of my humiliation. As I sat down she even apologised to mum that she hadn’t got any plastic pants for me to wear to protect the car seat… and suggested that in future we should all carry a spare pair for just such emergencies. Mum just nodded to Julie, tried to cheer me up with the offer of ice cream, tickled me under the chin and told me that I was her ‘special little boy’. I was sobbing quietly in the back seat with Julie gently stroking my hand and telling me not to worry, and that lots of boys my age had these accidents. Fine soothing words for her but quite terrifying for me as it gave her another excuse to keep me in nappies. It also meant that from that moment on Julie would insist that I wear protection for school, as, she explained to mum, she didn’t see why the teachers should have to deal with my ‘damp spells’. Again mum nodded in agreement and Julie suggested that we call in and get some suitable protection on the way home. As we pulled into the shopping centre car park I didn’t want to get out but both mum and Julie were adamant I couldn’t sit there alone. I weepily suggested that Julie stayed with me but she said that she had things she wanted to buy. There was no way round it… I walked into the pharmacy and to the nappy section wearing my bright and dry disposable. There was absolutely no doubt as to what we were there to buy. Julie found a huge case of pull-ups about my size and took them over to mum. She also found some cloth nappies, pins and a couple of pairs of colourful plastic pants. She added tubs of baby powder and lotion. I was filled with embarrassment and had my eyes glued to the ground throughout the entire proceedings. Even at the cash desk, as mum paid and Julie held all the products, I couldn’t look at the teenage lad who was on check out as I was certain he would be laughing at me. Just before he rang through the pull-ups he asked mum if she wanted to change them as they were for young girls, they had cartoon princesses all over them, apparently, there were some with cars on for little boys. But an exasperated sound came from Julie who was already on her way out with the rest of the stuff so mum just shrugged and the lad beeped them through. Mum had said that we were going to get ice cream but I hadn’t thought she meant in a public place and as we drove into the café that was my favourite location because of its selection of flavours I began to cry again saying I didn’t now want any ice cream. Mum was about to turn around but Julie said that even if I didn’t she would like some and also implied I was lying and that I was just being silly. “What little boy didn’t want ice cream?” The fact was I did but not dressed as I was. Julie was very quick. “Is it because you’re only wearing a disposable?” I nodded. “Would you be OK if we put you in something else?” Again I nodded almost beginning to cheer up at the prospect of the big sundae I was planning on treating myself to. “OK then, that’s what we’ll do.” So as mum went off to order our tasty treats Julie set about changing me in the back of the car. I was relieved when the disposable came off and she wiped me dry with some of the wipes we’d just bought. She powdered me and was all ‘loving’ and ‘sweet’ as she massaged it in, then she delved into the case of pull-ups and unfurled it. At that moment I wasn’t thinking about the image on it, all I knew was that it was more like wearing underpants than a nappy, but once I was in them she opened the door and dragged me out. I was standing wearing just a pair of princess pull-ups and a white school polo shirt. “There,” she said triumphantly, “fit for a… prince… ess” and led me to the café. She gave me that grip and a very stern warning not to upset mum by acting up or crying and said that if I did she would spank me herself when we got home… and… she inferred… after today’s performance and the expense and the embarrassment to her and mum… no doubt mum would spank me too. The café was full of kids all enjoying their selection of fruity flavours and I was just another tasty morsel that they could enjoy by laughing and tittering as I walked by. It was the worst, and longest, ice cream I’d ever had and I did cry and… wet myself. Needless to say, Julie pointed this out to mum and, as I was bawling my eyes out, it was agreed that I was getting worse and perhaps stronger protection may be needed. The princesses, not able to withstand my soggy torrent, meant I had to ride back home in a very wet pull-up. # to be continued...

Danni – Part 5 – Return of the boy toy I didn’t see Simon again, the teacher said that his mum was now home-schooling him, which greatly upset me. I still found it difficult to make friends with others in class so I immersed myself in painting and music. I tried to learn to play the recorder, which Julie said was an instrument of torture when I tried to practice in my bedroom. Often, if she was around, she would distract me with one of her games and even though I was getting older, she still had me dressed either in some of her old clothes or in a nappy so she and her friends could practice changing me and in so doing become ‘good mummies’ for when they had babies of their own. My rebellious streak had disappeared as quickly as Simon and my ‘big boy briefs’ and it was back to normal in our household. Julie redoubled her insistence that at night I was to wear protection. She even doubled the thickness of my nappy and I found bedtime a bit of an ordeal but she wouldn’t let me wear pyjamas; a thick nappy and plastic pants were all I was allowed with an occasional t-shirt if I was lucky. In retrospect I was being punished but of course, all the ‘love’ and ‘attention’ she was lavishing on me was for her benefit. She even told mum that I’d begun to wet the bed again, “No doubt caused by the stress of school”, she added sympathetically, so my dear mother didn’t object to me being put to bed dressed the way I was. She believed anything that Julie said, and why shouldn’t she, her daughter had more of less brought me up so why would she possibly lie. One night I did wet myself, having been given a huge glass of cola just before I went to bed. Julie had come into my room, checked on my nappy, felt that I was wet and had slipped away pretending she didn’t know. Somehow she’d managed to get mum to check on me so she was able to discover for herself why her son needed to keep his protection on at night. I couldn’t deny I had wet myself, so I couldn’t fight what was coming next. Mum, Julie and I went shopping for new summer clothes. I was quite excited as I thought I’d get to choose a new outfit and I’d seen some of the boys in class wearing t-shirts with action figures on that I liked. In fact, the film that the characters were from had spawned a huge range of clothing for boys and girls and I hoped that mum would buy me some. Julie had got me ready and insisted that I now wear a nappy when we were out, as she said, “Just to be on the safe side.” I was relieved that she hadn’t made me wear a dress but there was absolutely no doubt what I had on under my shorts. The bulge and the fact that my shorts were very short so my nappy and plastic pants could easily be seen broadcast to everyone who was interested that I was a seven year-old (almost 8) who still wet himself. We visited a big, out-of-town mall so that mum could do all her shopping in one place. I stayed with mum as she looked around for clothes to buy for herself and no matter how much I tried to ask for things, the answer was always “Later” or “Maybe” or “Let’s wait for Julie”. Meanwhile, Julie was secretly buying stuff for me. She just filled up the trolley with the items she wanted, no matter what it was, and mum would just pay for it, such was the trust mum had with her. At one point I think mum got so fed up with me whinging on about a new t-shirt with the film character on it, she relented and bought it for me. I was so excited and grateful I didn’t complain for the rest of the visit. The mall was quite busy and we were there for a long time. I noticed other kids sniggering and pointing to my nappy hanging down from my shorts but there was nothing I could do about it and I noticed Julie was smiling at every comment. When I asked mum if I could go to the toilet she said it was miles away from where we were so, why didn’t I use the nappy as that’s what it was designed for. I was shocked at such an idea but Julie was in agreement with mum and after trying to keep it in for ages, in the end I just couldn’t any longer. I was waiting in line at the cash register when I felt the first involuntary spurt but once it started I couldn’t hold back and I flooded my nappy, which seemed to swell in my shorts. Thankfully, the plastic pants seemed to act as a barrier and my shorts gave no indication of what I’d done. However, once we’d passed the checkout Julie noticed I was walking differently and without asking, she pulled down my shorts and checked my nappy. “Ughhh, Danni’s wet himself again,” she said. “Don’t worry I’ll change him.” Mum smiled her thanks and Julie gripped my hand, grabbed one of the bags and dragged me to a toilet opposite where we were. If I’d know I could have easily made it that far but I didn’t and now it was just too convenient for Julie. There was a baby’s changing room attached and there were two or three mothers in their taking care of their young off-spring. They were babies or toddlers and I was by far the eldest but that didn’t stop Julie picking me up, despite my protest, and laying me out on the plastic foam table. I was telling her it could wait until we got home but she was adamant that I was to be changed there and then. Of course, stupidly I had thought that we hadn’t brought any extra nappies with us, and of course we hadn’t, but she had been busy buying and I now found out what was in the bags. I was acting up and the fact that there was an audience didn’t stop me shouting that I didn’t want to be changed. I saw the sympathy on the faces of the other mother’s as this ‘poor young girl’ had to deal with this objectionable, noisy, belligerent boy… who she was only trying to clean-up and make dry. However, when Julie said that I’d get smacked if I didn’t calm down and let her get on with it, I could tell from the way she was looking at me that I’d better not push her. The defiance left me as her determined face left me in no doubt that any more disruption, argument or noise would result in a smack. The second I gave in she whipped off my shorts, pulled down the plastic pants and released my soaked nappy. The cool air rushing about my boyish ‘willy’ felt peculiar after the warm embrace of my pee-filled protection, however, as she opened a carton of wet-wipes and proceeded to clean me - front and back she was not interested in my obvious humiliation. Julie realised she had no powder and asked a nearby lady, who was just finishing sprinkling some over her baby girl, if she could spare some. The woman smiled and handed it to her, which was followed by a few of the other women offering help. Lotion, oil and extra padding were all offered and she happily took the lot. Thanking everyone and saying how kind they all were, helping her and her ‘unfortunate incontinent brother’. I didn’t know at the time what the word meant but the women’s look of pity on my sister told me I’d either been very naughty, or they thought she was some kind of martyr. Some of the mothers had left but one or two hung around just in case she needed any further help. However, she couldn’t have planned it better as she pulled out a huge terry nappy, folded it into a triangle and placed it under my well powdered bottom. Then seeing that she had two thick absorbent pads that had been given to her by the mums still milling around she folded them into the nappy and pulled the entire thing up between my legs. It was huge and spread my legs far apart but she wasn’t finished. The plastic pants were retrieved from the soggy pile and, with some difficulty, pulled into place. Then she pulled off my top and fed my arms into a new, clean t-shirt she produced from her bag. She pulled it down and only when it was in place did I notice the childish images of animals all over it. I was about to protest but I noticed that look in her eye and held my tongue. Suddenly she was fastening some press-studs between my legs and I was wearing, what looked to me when I saw my reflection in the mirror, like a large baby-grow. This was too much and I started screaming and shouting at her. There was only one mum left and she was exiting as I started acting up. With a look of absolute malice Julie threw my soggy nappy and shorts into the bin, dragged me to my feet, spanked my padded bum and in no uncertain terms told me to behave. Although it didn’t hurt I was in shock, in all the time we’d been brother and sister she had hardly so much as raised her voice to me. This sudden turn of events cowed me completely and I meekly did what she wanted. She told me to agree with anything she said to mum or she’d spank my bare bottom when we got home. So, there I was, in a mall, in a thick, thick nappy and looking more babyish than I ever remember when I was a baby and my sister was looking pleased with herself. She told my mother that there had been loads of mothers changing their children in the room and things had got misplaced or taken in the confusion. My shorts and top had gone missing but thankfully a couple of the women had helped and offered some items they had… so that was how I ended up looking the way I did. The way Julie told the tale it all sounded so plausible. I’m not sure how much, or if indeed any of it she believed, but mum said she was just thankful that I’d been dressed in something. However, I was led through the mall, waddling with difficulty in my extremely bulky nappy and wearing baby clothes. Julie was holding tightly onto my hand and occasionally whispering threats to me if I didn’t stop looking so miserable. It was difficult to be cheerful and I suppose, not surprisingly, I started to sob. I think this little touch added to my babyishness and was the cherry on the cake for Julie. # To be continued...

Danni - Part 4 – All change for Simon The journey home for Simon hadn’t gone too well. His mum had decided to call in at the supermarket for a few items and despite his protestation she had insisted that he accompany her as she had no intention of leaving him alone in the car. In the store, his young petulance and frustrations led to him being noisy and defiant to his mum’s request for him to behave. His bad behaviour only ended when his mum, who had never done it before, slapped his well-padded bottom and told him to be a good boy. Up until that moment the rest of the shoppers had just thought that the poor frustrated and uptight lady had a misbehaving little daughter to contend with, now they realised ‘she’ was an annoying and disruptive little boy. With the eyes of all the shoppers now on him, Simon was in floods of embarrassed tears, especially when he was gawped at by a bunch of kids his own age who were all laughing at him and pointing at his obvious nappy, which was showing beneath his dress. Mrs McKay was still a bit angry with her son but finished her shopping with a thoroughly chastised and sobbing, though acquiescent, little boy in a dress following her around. She pointed out to him that if he hadn’t been acting up no one would have been any the wiser. Unfortunately for Simon the humiliation didn’t stop once they left the store, his mother had decided to go directly to visit her sister Jean so her son was even more horrified when they pulled up outside her house. Once again, he sulkily refused to leave the car but his mother, in a tone that was in no way ambiguous, told him that she’d make him wear girl’s clothes all the time if he started acting up again. The weeping Simon was almost dragged out of the car and into his auntie’s home where he sat sullenly while his mum and her sister caught up on all the gossip. His thick nappy and plastic pants were difficult to hide as his dress rode up and he shuffled around in his seat impatiently hoping for a quick end to this visit. Aunty Jean herself was a bit shocked to begin with but after her sister had told her what had happened she simply said that her nephew ‘looked very nice’. She was very encouraging and in fact, she wondered if this wasn’t an opportunity for her sister to have the daughter she always wanted – even if only for just a short time. The sister’s were on the same wave-length because that was exactly what his mother thought and was determined to have her ‘little girl’ for as long as she could. Strange that it had never occurred to her before to simply dress her son up but now, thanks to Simon’s friend Danni, who appeared to enjoy dressing that way, she might be able to dress him herself… when she felt the need to have a ‘daughter’ around. She appreciated that he would take quite a bit of training to achieve that but, it looked like a start had been made and was sure that with time she could mould her son into occasionally being the daughter she’d always wanted. The trip to the supermarket had been the beginning as she'd bought a whole batch of disposable nappies and protecting pants. She also found some sweet girlie clothes and pyjamas that she thought would look really nice on him. Simon’s young life changed on that day and Mrs McKay… well she’d never been happier. After initial tears, tantrums and childish defiance was met by a far more steely and authorative attitude from his mother, Simon soon learned that disobedience was a painful option and meant longer dressed as a little girl in a nappy so eventually, because it made his mother less angry, he did as he was told. Unfortunately, for Simon/Simone the periods of time as a girl quickly got longer and longer as his wardrobe of pretty clothes his mother enjoyed buying got larger and larger. As all the boyish things; his clothes and toys, got replaced it soon became apparent to Mrs McKay that she couldn’t keep her son at the same school so, decided to teach him herself. From that moment on it was Simone, her daughter, who played with other little girls in the garden. No boys allowed, not even young Danni, which she regretted but thought that he held too many memories for her son… now that he was ‘happy’ as a girl. # to be continued...

Great start and looking forward to more Just a thought.... about Steven in para 11 ???

Danni - Part 3 - Simon One weekend I asked if Simon could come and stay over and mum said that was a terrific idea and that she’d make some cakes (well she actually bought them) and that we’d have a lovely time. We did but on the Sunday mum was called into her office for an emergency meeting and left Julie as usual in charge. It was a lovely warm day and Simon and I had been playing out in the garden. We’d been in and out of a little paddling pool, shooting our water pistols and running around laughing and screaming like lads do when Julie called for us to come in and get ready, as she’d planned a party. We were both dressed only in our shorts, which were sodden because of all the water fun we’d been having so we needed to change. Some of her girlfriends had arrived and it looked like it was going to be a big party as we saw the table being set with loads and loads of scrummy food. As we rushed upstairs to grab a towel and dry off, the girls followed us up to my room. There, laid out on my bed were girl’s clothes. Before either Simon or I knew it, we were being stripped out of our wet shorts and dressed up as I had been when I was younger. I really didn’t mind as it never occurred to me that anything was wrong but Simon fought and kicked. He screamed and cried as he was forced into his disposable nappy and plastic pants but as I didn’t see what the fuss was I allowed myself to be clothed in that fashion. However, it wouldn’t have mattered as the girls were so much bigger and we both ended up dressed as little girls going to a party. Julie had gone to a lot of trouble to have an absolute feast ready, which I loved, but Simon complained and wasn’t going to be “nice” as Julie and her friends put it. However, once he saw that I wasn’t causing an argument he calmed down a bit to snaffle the sandwiches, buns, jelly and ice cream. Julie’s friends were all older now but still seemed to have enjoyed their fun in dressing up two little boys. They were all compliments and praise so before he knew it Simon had forgotten about what he was wearing, just enjoying the food and games that Julie and her chums had organised. The time passed quickly and we were all having fun but then a surprise came when there was a knock on the door - Simon’s mum had arrived early to pick him up. She was shocked to see the type of games we played with him dressed in a girl’s pretty party dress, a bit of make-up, wearing girl’s shoes and socks… and not forgetting a thick nappy and matching plastic pants. Mrs McKay initially appeared speechless as Julie welcomed her in and told her what a delight her son was to have as a guest in her (yes her) house and how he’d been such a good sport joining in my (yes my) dressing up game. There were other parts of the conversation between the two I didn’t quite catch as I went over to Simon initially to take him back up to my room to change. Simon was horrified, standing in the hallway almost scared to say or do anything. He was so shocked that his mother should have seen him dressed as he was he didn’t know what to do or where to put himself. But she was a smart woman and said something to the effect that he looked lovely but there was no time for him to change as they had to get home. Julie handed his mum his rucksack that he’d come with and told her that he’d been playing in the pool and all his clothes were wet. However, she suggested, that if Mrs McKay was in a rush she could take him as he was and return the clothes he was wearing later. She took about 10 seconds to respond and then said “Come on Poppet, we have to be at your Aunty Jean’s later… so we’d better get you home and ready.” A very shy and embarrassed boy dressed in a pink and blue party dress, with matching nappy and frilly plastic pants - Julie was a stickler for making sure everything was co-ordinated - was dumbstruck as his mother held out her hand and gestured they were leaving. He never said any goodbyes, just slowly walked as if he was being led out to the executioner. He was sobbing and reticent to go but his mum gently took his hand and eased him out to the car. We all stood and waved him off and, now in retrospect, I suspect that there was an air of triumph about Julie, a sort of getting back at the boy who had replaced her as the most important person in my life. As I say, I wasn’t aware of such a thought at the time but once Simon was gone I wasn’t in much of a mood to continue playing games but of course Julie and her friends were and insisted that I join in. I was no match on my own to a bunch of demanding, older girls so I complied… like I always did. For me the dressing up game continued as I was stripped and re-clothed in different outfits that the girls had brought along. They thought it great fun to get me to wear items that they had worn at my age… the game went on for hours. Mum didn’t get home until late that night and I ended up going to bed wearing a pale blue, satin, baby-doll nightie one of the girls had brought and a very thick nappy, which seemed to emphasise the billowing nature of the fabric. I was just too shattered to do anything but submit to Julie and her friend’s wishes. They said I looked ‘lovely’ and in all honesty, I wasn’t bothered what I wore so, after kissing and thanking everyone for coming (Julie was a stickler for manners) I said my good nights and toddled off to bed; the girls saying how nice my silky pale blue knickers looked over my nappy as I climbed the stairs. I think I was a glutton for compliments because I slowed my climb so I could hear more of their praise for how good I looked. Julie came and tucked me in and told me what a nice boy Simon was and how much she liked him and hoped we’d be seeing him again. I fell asleep hugging my teddy bear, thinking about Simon and how good he looked as we’d run around the garden in just our shorts. I couldn’t wait to see him at school the following morning. # to be continued...

Danni - Part 2 – Scary boys As I got older all my playmates were Julie’s friends and they were all girls. Up until I went to nursery I’m not sure if I ever had any boys as friends and when I did meet them I was very nervous and scared of their rough ways. I cried an awful lot as a child when I wasn’t at home or with Julie, she was both my friend and protector and I loved her. Whatever she asked me to do I did without question because I knew that Julie was always right and was only thinking of me. At the nursery when I was four she once pushed one of the boys in the paddling pool after I told her he’d made me cry by grabbing a doll I wanted to play with. He was the one wet and crying after that and I never had any trouble with him taking my toys again... Julie was fantastic. I didn’t realise that Julie keeping me in nappies until I was six was anything different to anyone else. I wasn’t only a brother to her I was a real live doll who she loved to wash and change and dress up. She was the one who decided my bed times and was brilliant at reading me a story; some she often made up that featured either her or me in heroic situations. Even though I was toilet trained, Julie saw to that, I was regularly still put into nappies and plastic pants. This was partly my fault as at nursery, after lunch we had to have nap-time. All the children lay on little cots with a blanket and told to rest and go to sleep. I was one of half a dozen kids who were so afraid of getting up at these times, so ended up wetting themselves. My shorts and undies would be taken off and put over the radiators or hung out to dry and I was put into a pair of pull-ups or disposable until ready to return home. Even when mum arrived home with some boy’s briefs she’d just bought and told me what a big boy I now was (I was at nursery after all) and that I’d be wearing them from that moment on, it didn’t happen. The following morning the briefs had gone and Julie had found some of her old childhood knickers, which she proceeded to dress me in. I didn’t care; it was all the same to me. I was glad to be out of my nappy as I was the last kid at the nursery still wearing one, but briefs or knickers, it made no difference to me as they were all the same. When I got home from nursery Julie would put me back into a nappy and plastic pants for the night “Just to be safe” she would say although I can never remember having any night time accidents. Although, perhaps I did but just can’t remember. Only once at school did I pee my pants in public and again it was when a boy pushed me over. I cried and pee’d myself at the same time. I didn’t like boys they were always making me cry. Most of my early life was being thankful to be home from school and back with Julie and her friends. They were always nice to me, dressing me up, telling me how sweet I was, and encouraging me to perform for them. Every time I learned anything at school I couldn’t wait to get home and show off. Whether it was a new word, a poem or some fact, I was always so excited to tell my audience of one, Julie, or all her friends if they were around. They always said how clever I was and I loved the fact that they loved and encouraged me so much. On the first day of a new school term I met a boy who I liked. We were both seven and the reason we sort of clicked was because we were both dressed the same. The school didn’t have a uniform as such but, where the other boys were in trousers or jeans, we were the only two boys in grey shorts and we were both wearing yellow polo shirts. We were so alike, even our hairstyles were almost the same that people thought we must be brothers. He said ‘Snap’ to me and I nervously smiled back. He then seemed to stick to me for the rest of the day and we chatted and, for the first time ever, I spent the entire day in another boy’s company and not with the girls. We played together and he wasn’t as rough as I found other boys. He seemed to like the same things I did but had a different way with going about it, whether that was at play or in class. He was definitely the leader of our small group of two and I was happy to follow that lead. By the end of the school day it was weird, all the way home all I could think about was the next day and being with Simon… Simon McKay. That feeling continued every school-day and even at weekend, although I was with Julie and her friends, I kept thinking about Simon and what we’d be doing on Monday… and I couldn’t wait. I became less and less interested in being dressed up. When we did P.E. in class I noticed, when we were changing, that Simon wore different underwear to me. Whereas mine was silky and often flowery, his were just cotton, often with a cartoon picture on the front and I wanted some like him. After a bit of pestering mum eventually bought me some and, as Julie wasn’t around at that moment, she gave them straight to me. It was a moment I treasured because from then on they were the only thing I wanted to wear and for the first time in my young life I refused to wear what Julie had organised for me. Often she got my clothes ready for school and she’d put out what she thought I should wear but now I argued and stamped my foot and cried to mum if I couldn’t wear my boy’s cotton underpants. Mum thought I should and I thought I should, it was only Julie that balked against it but she was loosing her influence and from then on, I wore my Simon influenced pants to school every day. I hadn’t fallen out with Julie it was just I didn’t join in her, or her friends, games any more and she was growing up too, she was now 12, and didn’t need to be looking after her little brother as much. ### to be continued...

Danni – My life as a living boy doll Part 1 My older sister has been dressing me up since I was a baby. Shortly after I was born, Julie, who was 5 at the time, took it upon her young shoulders to look after her baby brother and make sure no harm came to him. Apparently, even at her early age, she was the one who washed and changed me and made sure I was clean and tidy at all times. She chose and fitted the nappy I was to wear, the plastic pants, the romper outfit, the clothes, she bottle fed me, winded me and choose my dummy…every decision seemed to be down to her. My mum would go shopping but it was always Julie who decided on the clothes she thought I should wear and, as it took a great deal of stress away from my mum, who had other things to think about, like running her own business, I was more or less brought up by my loving and attentive older sister. My mother, a ‘peppy’ Californian girl had arrived in England desperate to get bedded by the lead singer of one of the world’s top rock bands. She followed them on tour but the closest she ever got to having her way with the singer, was to be part of an orgy that the bass guitarist held in his hotel room. It was after that dispiriting experience she decided she needed to find something else to occupy her time. From being a trainee at a London advertising agency, she quickly rose up through the ranks and within two years was heading her own creative department. A year later and she went solo, taking a whole host of the firm’s client base with her and making an absolute fortune in a very short time. She spent all her time working and had little time for relationships. Julie was the result of her first failed marriage to the boss of the original agency she had worked for – it had lasted 22 months and was a messy divorce. I think the fact she took so many of his clients with her hadn’t helped in the settlement. Her husband, Julie’s father, had wanted nothing to do with his young offspring when the divorce was finalised, so mum was left to bring her up on her own. From an early age Julie was encouraged to be her own person and mum saw her young but determined daughter flourish when given responsibility. On the other hand I was the product of her getting shagged by a young sexy intern. I gather I was created over her office desk by an 18 year-old who, I understood, had just left a local art college. Apparently, mum had taken to him from the moment of his interview. His fine bone structure, his soft flowing blond locks, a gentleness and soft speech that set him apart from all the other young go-getters, really appealed to her. After the experience with her much older first husband, she set her sights on good-looking young men who would satisfy her occasional sexual cravings… and, she being who she was… the boss, got into his pants at the first available opportunity. Mum may have been 15 years older than her sex toy but she was (and is) a fantastic looking woman so I suppose it wasn’t that much of an ordeal for him. I must have been conceived on that very first occasion, mum obviously not taking the correct precautions because, two months later, when she realised she was pregnant, the young intern disappeared from the company pretty quickly. Mum told me many years later that he was a terrific, gentle lover and would have been a fine father, but at his age she knew he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, face such responsibilities and her guilt about using him had made it so he would simply slip into the annuls of history without the knowledge he was a father. His name was Daniel and that is what mum called me. Perhaps another thing you might be interested in knowing is that I was a ‘star’ baby. Mum, always keen to keep an eye on her projects, had bundled me up a few weeks after my birth and had taken me along to an important client’s photo shoot. The photographer thought I was there for the scene and used me instead of the baby who’d been booked for the part. Apparently, even just weeks old, I was a very cheerful and passive baby who seemed to smile and gurgle all the time. I was adorable - according to both my mum and that original photographer. From then on I appeared in TV commercials, my naked bum being lathered with baby oil, wearing the latest disposable nappy or having me sucking in the latest milky formula… I was much in demand. Indeed, up until I was 2 years old I was used to sell every conceivable product for babies and toddlers. I was also the face for a range of baby food and milk products and according to my mum, I was on TV and posters right around the world. Alas, my career was over by the age of two when I was just too overused and a new face was needed. I can’t say it worried me one way or the other. Evidently, I’d been a baby boy or girl, depending on what sex the client wanted, and my sweet cute ‘none-specific gender’ looks meant I was the right image for whatever product they wanted to promote. As a baby I was often mistaken for a girl. People would come up to the pram and goo-goo at my cuteness and say what a gorgeous little girl I was. My blond curly hair not adding much to the image of being a boy and the clothes, all pastel colours, lace and ruffles, contributing to the gender confusion. Although my name was Daniel, ever since I was a baby, Julie always called me Danni (with the emphasis on the ‘a’) and it seems that everyone else followed suit. In fact, I’m told that Julie would correct anyone, even family members, who called me Daniel insisting that I prefer Danni, the truth is I never had a say in anything. My life was pretty much organised by my sister, and to a lesser extent, my mother, so very little male influence ever entered my life. I suppose I was dressed more often as a girl than a boy because Julie was in charge of my wardrobe, so whether it was shorts or a skirt, it was all the same to me as I never knew if one was for a boy or girl. Even my mum’s occasional boyfriends weren’t really bothered, I think all they saw were two young children - both of whom were girls. I remember one of her boyfriends, as always he was young but a bit rougher than her usual ‘type’, who used to ask me to dance for him. Although I was quite shy I had been encouraged to dance by Julie from a very early age, so thought nothing about such a request and I was hoping to please this new man in my mother’s life. He obviously thought of me as a little girl as every time he’d seen me Julie would have me dressed in a rather feminine way. On this one occasion I was about to attend a party organised by my sister, which included her friends and various dolls. I was dressed in a peach coloured satin dress and matching peach ruffled knickers that she had worn to parties when she was my age and thought the ensemble was the perfect festive wear. To me it was all the same, I wore what I was told and at 5 years old, it made no difference to me as I’d been wearing such stuff all my childhood. However, dressed as I was, and dancing up close to my mother’s boyfriend, he grabbed me and pulled me close up between his legs telling me what a clever little girl I was and how pretty I looked and what a terrific dancer I was. Meanwhile, as I partly danced and partly squirmed about in his ‘loving’ embrace he was tickling me and trying to make me giggle, which I did. Unfortunately, as we were both laughing and ‘enjoying’ the moment I felt myself release a bit of pee. As the tickling continued it was pretty soon a flood and my satin peach-coloured ruffled panties became sopping wet through. Mum came in wondering what all the laughter was about and saw me wet and wriggling in pure delight. “He’s always doing that. He loves to play dress up with his sister but…” She noticed I had a damp stain. “Poor boy has got over excited. Come on sweetheart let’s get you sorted out.” As I left I looked back and he looked stunned. I think it was the first time he knew I was a boy. When Julie saw the mess on my stained underwear she whisked me away to be changed. This time, and even at 5 years-old, I was nappied and returned to the party in a new clean outfit that barely concealed my new protective plastic pants that rustled noisily as I moved. Again everything matched; they were lace trimmed, like the new blue frilly dress I was wearing (another set of Julie’s old clothes that had never been thrown out and that I now struggled to fit into). Once I was looking pretty and dressed accordingly I was finally allowed back into the fun with her friends where we all sat down to fairy cakes, ice cream and juice… Julie always threw a terrific party. ### to be continued....

Part 2 “The Guardians Will Keep You Safe” logo had become something of a joke, though not a joke anyone was laughing at. The all-encompassing power of the entire new breed of Guardians had meant that even in private, nothing was private and nothing was safe. Any sense or action that the Guardian’s authority was being challenged meant an immediate visit to the ExecProtexCreche for that challenger… and that often included family and friends. However, this action was proving quite expensive and, as ‘termination’ wasn’t an option for those who rebelled against the Guardian’s authority, new ‘homes’ for the transgressors were eagerly sought. Drool Time® was a no nonsense facility that had its own agenda and was happy, for a fee, to take any ‘miscreants’ as long as their future was left entirely at the disposal of the company. The Drool Time® business made no secret that their main criteria was regressing their ‘inmates’ back to a point in their life when they posed the least threat. So, each and every one who came under their ‘guidance’ was subjected to being returned to a shitting, pissing, thumb-sucking baby whose mental development was never going to be over that of a one year-old. No matter what age they came in as, they were quickly (and it has to be said efficiently) turned into crawling, crying, diaper-wearing babies. # Like all the subsidiary businesses from the Guardian franchise their influence and size grew in every country of the world. There wasn’t a major city that didn’t possess at least one of these grand ‘help and education’ centres. Governments, despots, dictatorships, even democracies all had access to, and full use of, these awesome facilities. There were times, especially in this technological era, when even the most liberal of communities saw the need to keep certain members of that community, state or country, under strict supervision. Drool Time® was the inexpensive answer to that problem. Meanwhile, the major growth area had been in baby products and those companies, who were in at the beginning, Drool Time® being a prime example, had become mega industries wiping the floor(as well as millions of bottoms) with many of the technical companies that had seen a downturn in their profits (and some would say use). The efficient Guardians had reigned supreme, and to a certain extent, still did but they answered now to the subsidiaries who were making the mega-bucks. It was their profit levels that motivated all future development and Diaper Companies sat at the top of every worldwide financial market and investment portfolio. Drool Time® were a quick thinking, opportunity led business and it wasn’t long before they adapted the technology of The Guardians to something more basic, simple, cheap but highly sellable. They introduced the School Drool Box, (Scroolbox®) a portable and easily maintained piece of apparatus that every educational (and indeed firm) could afford. Naughty boys and girls were who were acting up in the classroom, or anywhere else for that matter, could be deprogrammed and a new, more juvenile, existence would be theirs. The idea was to keep them reliant on diapers but function at a basic but profitable level. The manufacturers made sure that each student or employee would then become dependent on Drool Times® other products; diapers, plastic pants, baby powder, oils, creams, ointments, unguents and specialist clothing. The clever programming also meant that the regressed individual would cry, scream and have a tantrum if they didn’t actually get their specifically desired objects - Drool Time® merchandise. At any one time most public schools would have nearly a third of their students in remedial class wearing diapers and playing with toys. Those that didn’t had the threat hanging over them so became very industrious and knuckled down to their studies. With further modification to the Scroolbox®, this happy, though mindless, generation of people became a workforce to be harnessed and used as seen fit by those in power. A cheap and almost inexhaustible supply of labour that had, with a steady supply of Drool Time Din-Dins® and Drinky-Winkies®, no thought other than making sure their diapers were clean and dry. Megacorp Drool Time® had seen the future and decided to amend, bend and influence it in any way it could. Their workforce was available for hire with all fees accrued to the company who paid their employees with cheap and inferior items from the Drool Time® range. As they didn’t have the minds to know anything better, they were convinced by the Scroolbox® that they were content… as long as they had access to all the stuff a happy baby needed. The problem was that everyone who didn’t wear diapers was now paranoid that at any moment a faux-friend, competing colleague or ambitious rival might, at any time, regress them and they would never be aware of what happened. Super-hackers targeted these people. Like the Guardians before them, this new breed of righteous individuals brought justice to an abused, shameful and decaying system. Reversing the numbers of regressed people was impossible but these ‘saviours’ had found a way to terrorise those who had terrorised an entire population. Diaper time under the Guardians had, to begin with, been seen as progress in a battle against crime. Now, because of the abuse that power had engendered, it had been turned against the CEOs and management of these major companies who had appropriated it for their own ends. Technological developments ended. The entire management of ExecProtex, ExecProtexCreche ,InfantileInc, PaddedBottoms’R’us, Drool Time and a host of other similar companies and conglomerates joined the diaper-wearers and a new breed of benevolent administration was installed. They were called ‘The Caretakers’ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Boss’s Bizarre Justice 3 I averted my eyes like I normally did as the boss checked me out. He pulled down the back of my diaper and inspected the effects of the previous days caning. The ‘mmm’ sound he made I guess meant he thought it was all good but all I could remember were the twenty painful strikes that had left me sobbing. I got a lump in my throat as I recalled how abjectly I had cried but knew I deserved it. I caught Mrs Phanasious looking on with interest and concern so, as he pulled up my diaper after finishing his assessment, I was wondering why this lady had come to my protection and saved me from a probable criminal record… and prison? I stood there under the gaze of my boss and his wife in just my thick diaper and crinkly plastic pants but I dare not, at least without permission, retrieve my trousers. At that moment his intercom buzzed and Mrs Parker, his secretary, announced that there was someone else to see him. He left the room and I was left with Mrs Phanasious who gave no indication I should pull up my pants so I remained standing as I was… embarrassed but determined not to rock the boat in any way. “Georgie,” she said in a quiet voice. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you that but… you… do look so cute and boyish dressed as you are.” I tried to hide the fact that I was uncomfortable with the entire scene. I shrugged my shoulders and muttered some sounds that I hoped meant I wasn’t concerned. She continued her strange and unusual stare as if she was appraising me and then spoke. “My husband spoke about you when he first employed you.” I stood in my diaper but realized just how badly I needed to piss. I hoped this chat wasn’t going to last too long. “He mentioned that he’d just taken on a very young, very bright new employee who he was convinced would lead the company into a new era of financial stability.” She waited for her words to sink in. “You can imagine how disappointed he was to eventually find that almost immediately the person he had put so much faith in had tried to rip him, and the company, off.” I think she was waiting for some reaction but in truth I didn’t know how to react. “He knew the company was losing money from somewhere but never expected it was down to you, and I suspect, he would never have checked on your involvement.” I wriggled noisily in my discomfort and her friendly tone changed ever so slightly. “The fact that you were so brazen and hardly covered your tracks hit him hard.” She appeared both calm and angry at the same time and I could tell that she was fighting another emotion as she went on. “My husband is very perceptive, he knows a wrong one when he sees one… but he didn’t see you. The fact that you cared so little after he put so much trust in you… he questioned his faith in people and his ability to spot and develop real talent,” she shook her head, “and even when the paper-trail led inevitably to you… he wouldn’t believe it.” I wriggled even more uncomfortably, the guilt hitting home. “The rest of the staff who would have to forego any bonuses… the possibilities of laying people, good hard working people, off… hit him badly. My involvement in this crime, which, I had thought was all about money but was now shown to be about a whole lot more made me feel a complete loser. “Several times he’d picked up the phone to call the police but hoped for a different solution… he could see no way around getting the authorities involved and you being put away for your crime.” The realization I’d let so many people down made my heart beat faster and swallowing was becoming more difficult. Not just at this company but my parents, my sister, the other places where I worked. I had constantly under achieved any expectations; lied and cheated in the pursuit of money and things for my own stupid gratification and the weight of that guilt transformed into tears. Not only that but as I fell to the floor bawling my eyes out my bladder gave way and I began to fill my diaper. I was no longer in control of any of my waterworks so just curled up into the foetal position and let out the pent up flood of piss and emotion Mrs Phanasious came over and offered a few soothing words and stroked my padded bottom. She gave me time to calm down but in many ways I was just too ashamed to want to move at all. Even though I was wet, the fact that I was wearing my protection was offering me some strange and inexplicable comfort. I hugged myself into a tight ball, the slippery plastic and bulky diaper the only things I was really aware of. I wanted to hide, to sleep, to escape from this awful thing I’d done so I closed my eyes tightly and hoped it would all go away. Eventually my tears subsided and I found myself being comforted in the arms of the woman whose husband I’d let down so badly. She was soothing me as she might have a baby or a toddler who’d just gone through some kind of trauma. I felt safe and relaxed and had no real idea how long I’d been there. Although my diaper felt cold and clammy and I knew I needed to change. Meanwhile, I had no recollection of taking my shirt and tie off, or my shoes and socks or losing my trousers because I was being held naked apart from my diaper. “Georgie. Georgie.” She was whispering trying to bring me back into the real world. I was in no rush to return. I snuggled down. I didn’t want to face any responsibilities and it felt safe where I was. “Georgie, I’m an Occupational Psychologist. I suggested that, if he still thought you were worth the effort, he might try a different strategy.” Her fingers stroking my head were gentle and caring. “I don’t know what your childhood was like but I thought perhaps you might want to start over again. My husband wondered about some kind of punishment, he didn’t want you thinking you could just do what you did with no consequences so…” I was listening and shivering at the same time. My body shook with tension at what she might say next. “I came up with this idea of… rehabilitation.” My head was spinning. Rehabilitation? Surely she meant punishment… a punishment that I had no alternative but to accept. The corporal punishment, the diapers… this wasn’t rehabilitation it was torture… and she had dreamt it up? I could feel anger and resentment growing in my stomach. I wanted to respond; shout, scream, reject all the accusations but her soft stroking of my hair and the gentle patting of my crinkly soaked diaper reminded me that I had done something wrong and deserved to be punished. “Because my husband thought you held so much promise we thought this alternative offered you a chance, one that was up to you to take or refuse. It might not have seemed so at the time, or perhaps since, but you chose correctly, I’m not sure jail would have been the best place for someone of your… sensitivities.” I couldn’t disagree and eventually I unfurled myself from her comforting touch. “Why the cane? Why the diapers? Was it just to humiliate me?” She shook her head. “You need to know that bad deeds need to be punished. Jail may have been the answer but I was hoping for something you might want to change yourself. The cane was to direct your thoughts, the diaper was to keep those thoughts in your head… and… if what my husband says is true… you have gone a long way yourself to make sure these simple… ideas… have worked.” I looked in both disbelief and relief that she was right. I’d come to the same conclusion myself only the previous night but I’d arrived at it from a different perspective. However, Mrs Phanasious added something more. “You appear to be on the right lines, going in the right direction but we don’t want you to falter. Too many people would be let down and needless to say, you would let down yourself.” I have always hated preachy people, people who think they know best, people who think they know better than I do what’s right for me… and I’ve always gone out of my way to prove those people wrong. It came as a bit of a shocker to realize that perhaps it was me who was wrong. In fact, now as I lay there in my diapered protection there was no ‘perhaps’ about it. I didn’t know everything, I wasn’t always right and I did need guidance, the type of guidance I’d rejected for most of my life. Her fingers strayed under the plastic pants and she could feel the wetness. “You need changing.” I didn’t do anything but lay there as she went and retrieved a fresh clean disposable. Like any good mother she removed the sodden mass, wiped the area dry, added some baby powder (I had no idea where that came from) and proceeded to fit me tightly into a diaper that felt soft and comfortable to wear. I was past any kind of embarrassment and just let her get on with it, which she was so much better at doing than either her husband or myself. I started giggling. My body shook with the tremors of deep throbbing laughter and I looked up at Mrs Phanasious with tears of joy running down my face. I was laughing at my own ‘preachy’ thoughts, my own abject realization of my worth… nothing. She smiled understandingly “The diapers are really just the symbol of a restart. As a child grows and learns, well, they are just a symbol of offering you the same opportunity, to start afresh. The fact that you have taken to them so well is very positive.” And then she hugged me. “Put you clothes back on and get back to work.” It felt like she was jovially reprimanding a child. Noisily I moved to redress and I smiled in acknowledgement of the rustling that accompanied every little movement. The diaper and plastic pants had become part of my ‘rehabilitation’ and I was in no hurry to discard them. In fact, I thought of them as a badge of honour, one that I’d had to earn to get back some kind of self-respect. They were now a very important part of who I was and what I wanted to become. I held my boss and his thoughtful wife in high regard for seeing something in me that needed help, direction and a future. They had done their bit in making me realize I might have more potential than I’d offered to anyone before but now, with my diaper firmly in place, I was going to try and be the best. “Thank you Mrs Phanasious,” I could hear the crackle as I moved towards the door, “Thank you… I won’t let you or Mr Phanasious down”. She smiled and nodded as I closed the door. “Good luck Georgie.” # Mrs Phanasious sighed with relief. She was glad the way things were turning out but her husband would need a keen eye kept on his progress. Nothing else about his ‘rehabilitation’ (the protection or the caning) would change immediately because it appeared to be working and she was just glad that, for the moment anyway, he was onboard with the program. She was also very glad that the alternative, the Plan B, had he not been so compliant, didn’t have to be used; another paper-trail of misappropriation that would have led straight back to him… and a definite long prison sentence. The End #######

Part 4 PARENTS OUT OF CONTROL - TEENAGER RETURNED TO BABYHOOD Not quite true but the large banner headline led to a three page feature with editorial comments on page seven. Ostensibly it was an attack in general on parents who subject their children to draconian and malicious punishment, deriding the use of humiliation as a tool to improve behaviour. There were quotes from psychiatrists and paediatricians decrying the practice and with plenty of ‘discussion’ areas for the reader to get involved in the process. There was even a ‘for and against’ vote line for readers to call. Not that the article was biased but, as the main characters had refused to be interviewed, the reporter put together her piece from tittle-tattle, opposing ‘spokes-persons’, ‘leaders of the community’ and just about anyone from whom she could garner a quote. Also, because she hadn’t acquired the ‘star’ interview, there was a great deal of her own vitriol hidden behind a ‘compassionate’ veneer. The report carried a main photograph of Caleb standing alone wearing his shorts and the obvious padding, although the image had been doctored to reveal more of the diaper than was actually visible. The caption underneath, and the accompanying description of the ‘distressed’ teen, making it appear he was a sad boy alone in a judgmental world inflicted on him by uncaring parents. His ‘crime’ was gone into in great detail, thanks to Mrs Rendle. A photograph of her and her ‘traumatised’ kids showed there was a reason for his punishment. So, although it gave the impression the newspaper cared, it was an attack on both parents and today’s unthinking youth. In print at least the reporter seemed happy to play each side off against the other. The background to the page was the washing line full of windblown fabric diapers and the implication at how cruel the parents must be to make their teenage son wear such babyish items to school. With the washing line full (it did include the twin’s diapers after all), it looked like poor Caleb was compelled to wear, and use, his diapers all the time to add to his humiliation. This wasn’t the case but the journalist was happy to insinuate as much, after all, she didn’t want the truth getting in the way of a good story. The reporter speculated about how he might have been further punished but only the Jefferson’s knew what had really happened and they weren’t talking to anyone about the incident. However, uninformed assumptions were made, and then reported as fact – ‘…a disgusting violation by his ‘god-fearing’, ‘church-going’ parent’s’ the paper proclaimed. The journo had taken quotes from the Reverend saying how religious the Jefferson’s were but used that information to attack them for their ‘unchristian’ style of punishment, which, as far as the newspaper was concerned (read the editorial on Page 7), amounted to nothing less than abuse. When a local politician was asked for his opinion, and seeing an election on the horizon, he sided with the parents who, according to his statement “Had a difficult tight rope to walk when disciplining a child but, all in all, and with everything considered, they were doing the best they could.” Now a politician had stuck his nose into the debate the press wires became intense and suddenly, what had started as a drunken dare and subsequent punishment for a child, became a national ‘outrage’. It was an ‘outrage’ depending on which side you were on. # By week’s end the madness had grown out of all proportion and life was getting very difficult for the Jefferson’s. All the news networks had picked up on the story and were running with their own features and opinions. National politicians, children’s authors, social commentators, religious leaders, psychologists and psychoanalysts were happy to share their ‘learned’ thoughts on the subject. Punishment became the main topic in the media. They scrambled for stories where some poor kid had been embarrassed by some form of discipline. Not all of the outlandish stories were true but the thirst for these horrendous accounts meant that some people were doing very well out of it all. Still the Jefferson’s refused to comment… other than “No comment”, but the pressure on them was mounting. Although others were happy to talk (complain) about their experiences, the fact that the family had remained silent had made them even more desirable as ‘guests’. The producers of top-rated chat shows arrogantly thought that although the family may not wish to chat to mere news outlets, they would no doubt jump at the chance to be interviewed (sympathetically of course) in a cosy studio by one of their ‘superstar’ celebrities. Alas, money, cars, would be agents, celebrity, flights to the capital, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago… in fact, to everywhere, the offers were met with a resounding “No comment”. Neither Thomas nor Emily had ever put great store in wealth so weren’t tempted by any of the fantastic propositions. Hebrews 13:5 Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” In all this clutter things got worse for Caleb. The focus of attention had made it impossible for him to continue being a normal schoolboy. His brief period of getting back into pants instead of shorts hadn’t been the success his parents had hoped for. He was being ridiculed by some of his fellow students for not wearing his shorts and being proud of having to wear a diaper. The fact that he was now using diapers as a safety precaution was never mentioned. His smooth, naked cock and balls were no longer of any interest to him as he felt that in some way, his enjoyment of them was adding to his sins, and the fact he was wetting more was the proof. He kept his hand well away from that part of his anatomy but continued to saturate his diapers. The thick cotton fabric doing its best to soak it all up but mercifully the plastic pants were the real saviours in preventing accidental spillage. Further incidents ensued that frightened Caleb. On a visit to the boy’s room he was followed by some older boys who attacked him. They didn’t beat him up or anything they just held him down, stripped him out of his chinos, and took photographs of him wearing only his diaper and plastic pants. They even thanked him before giving them back saying that they could sell the photos and make a fortune. Whether they had or not he didn’t know but the event left him shaking in fear. Only a few hours later, he was almost home when a police officer stopped him and said he had to accompany him to headquarters. By now he was suspicious of being approached by anyone he didn’t know so told the cop he’d have to speak with his parents first. When the officer said that wouldn’t be necessary because he’d already spoken to them and they said it was OK, he knew it was a lie and ran home. He wasn’t pursued. Every day there seemed to be another piece of video of Caleb walking somewhere, the wobbly camerawork desperate to get a close up of the offending item. He was cornered by fellow classmates as well as news crews and on several occasions the pressure got to him and he’d fill his diaper. At those moments he was so glad his mama had fitted him securely into rubber pants. Caleb had come to rely on his waterproof covering to stop any leaks because he was wetting himself on a regular basis. In many ways he felt more secure now he had that vinyl shield around to protect him. He didn’t want to give the terrors he was living through any more credibility with a display of wet pants. After a few days of this total madness his parents decided he should stay home, hoping that with Caleb not being at school the media would go away. Unfortunately, they were besieged by an ever demanding, sneaky and invasive press. The phone had been unplugged, the curtains drawn, the family couldn’t go anywhere without being overwhelmed by ‘interested parties’. Thomas was finding it difficult to go to work and Emily couldn’t hang out washing without a barrage of photographers covering her every step. The pressure to speak was becoming intense and more than one of the congregation was offered money if they could convince the family to be interviewed. The media went into exclusive mode. The amount of money offered to procure the family for a prime time interview was simply incredible. Dollar signs appeared in everyone’s eyes (except for the Jefferson’s), as pressure was put upon the family to speak once and for all. Even the Reverend had been tempted to try and coerce Thomas to relent his stance. The standard, “No comment”, which was always followed by a smile and a wave from Thomas was really annoying the media. They were used to being able to get anyone to give a statement, be interviewed or pass their personal opinions without any trouble. However, they hadn’t bargained for a close family like the Jefferson’s and were at a loss on how to take things further. The local ‘non-story’ had escalated out of all proportion and become a major issue. Questions were being asked by serious politicians and debated on the floor of the house. Rumour had it that the Jefferson’s would be indicted to appear before a children’s court. This self-perpetuating business of news needed the main protagonists and they were refusing to speak. All the boys were under great duress, even the twins were finding the situation difficult because they couldn’t go out to play or see their friends. The house began to take on an odour of pee as none of them appeared to have any control and the stress levels continued to rise. Mrs Jefferson could no longer wash and dry the diapers in her usual way so had to resort to airing them over radiators or as best she could. If she ventured down to the store to buy anything there would be a crowd gather, inspecting and gossiping on the items in her basket. Another strange occurrence was that the store, and in fact most of the stores in the town, needed a continual supply of diapers, disposables , powders and baby cream as they were regularly selling out. It would appear that either by choice, or by disciplinarian parents, diapers were being used by more and more of the town’s population. Somehow, someone had got a message to Caleb, offering him a staggering amount if he’d ‘blow the lid’ on his parents cruelty. He passed the message straight to his father who simply shook his head in bewilderment. His father just didn’t understand why money seemed so important. Timothy 6:7-8 For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. Representatives from the top-rated TV chat shows offered huge incentives to try and get the family to appear. Even when two competing ‘celebrities’ arrived at the Jefferson’s door within moments of each other, they were both stunned to be turned away without being allowed to put their offers. “No comment but thank you for coming” was the only response they got. Thomas and Emily were subject to a stream of abuse from some quarters, whilst in other areas there were nods of approval. So, even though everyone had more or less made up their minds, they still wanted to hear the facts from these two. Although the Jefferson’s thought the outcry and clamour were ridiculous, it was now having such a detrimental effect on family life a decision was made that, for the sake of their children, they would speak. Thomas sorted through the list of offers that had been made and settled on one from a news channel with a very senior and respected reporter. Although this journalist had covered wars and famine, had been decorated and won innumerable awards, he knew that this human interest story was a good one. However, as Thomas Jefferson had said - he was the only person on TV he trusted, it was his exclusive or nothing. Arrangements were made and the family, under cover of night, were picked up and transported to a secret location for the interview. The twins weren’t going to be featured but Caleb and his parents were. None of the family was looking forward to it but saw they had very few alternatives because not being involved just made them more of a target for gossip and threats. It was going to be a live interview. Thomas insisted he wouldn’t be recorded as he didn’t want what he said to be edited, he was very suspicious of how TV worked. ‘Morals and Punishment’ was its working title and as they sat around for the red ‘live’ light to come on, the Jefferson’s were most uncomfortable. In fact, Caleb had been so anxious all day he was already filling his third diaper. The crew had asked Caleb to wear his shorts and padding for the show and although Thomas had said his son didn’t have to if he didn’t want, the teen agreed to the producer’s request. Throughout the day the crew had been very attentive but with only a couple of hours to go before they went live there was a bit of disruption. The family were left as -the crew all disappeared into a meeting and with less than an hour to go, the entire interview was called off. The news story that knocked the Jefferson off the front page was the fact that a senior politician had been found and filmed with his mistress, a Russian spy. That became the main story and only feature for that night’s show so the Jefferson segment was bumped. The live interview wasn’t even taped for future transmission because the senior reporter, sensing a much more significant revelation, was already on his way to interview the shamed Politician. Strange how fickle news can be because on the same day a ‘Senior White House Official’ was found to be supplying drugs and, to top off what had been a couple of very ‘slow news’ weeks, Beijing had hacked the Kremlin and the world situation was deteriorating rapidly. # The Jefferson’s were completely forgotten and things in their home town swiftly got back to normal. For Caleb it was a different story. Now every morning he woke up soaked. His sleep was disturbed by nightmares and he didn’t trust anyone but his family. Although his return to school was greeted well, he never felt comfortable there any more. He continued to wear diapers day and night because he could no longer guarantee not having an accident. In fact, he’d pee in his diaper and not realise until after the event. Caleb became one very sad teenager and really didn’t understand why his body was letting him down on a daily basis. Thomas, saw his son’s distress. After the news ‘silly season’ they’d all been subjected to he realised what happened in his son’s life was down to him and wasn’t sure how to make amends. He read the Bible looking for inspiration. He rescinded the diaper wearing and visibility rule. He desperately wanted everything to get back to normal, as did Caleb, but unfortunately the boy still wet on a regular basis. “Forgive me son, for I have sinned.” Thomas hugged his son tightly. “I have let my obsession for keeping my children on the right path obscure their own needs and desires… and as a result have subjected you to the horrors of an uncaring world. I’m so very sorry for putting you through all that.” A tear ran down his cheek. “I want to be proud of my sons. I want to guide them in the way of the Lord but I feel I may have damaged you in the process… and that is…” “Papa, I did wrong.” It was reassuring to see Caleb jump to his father’s defence and not lay blame. “I needed to be punished… it hurt but… I thought you did the right thing. It made me understand…” Now Caleb was holding onto tears. He didn’t like to think his papa was ever wrong. He needed him to always care and to look out for them all. “You made me realise how stupid I’d been. I needed that guidance papa…” He felt the thick padding in his pants. “I’m sure this will pass but… please papa… don’t blame yourself for the way things turned out.” Now his mother joined in the hug. “I will never disobey you again papa, mama… you have shown me what can happen when I stray from the rules you and the Lord lay down. I am the one asking for forgiveness.” Luke 9:42 While he was still approaching, the demon slammed him to the ground and threw him into a convulsion. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, and healed the boy and gave him back to his father. # Mama opened the front door to let in the fresh morning light. A gentle warming gust flooded the house and set the atmosphere in a pleasant swirl. Soon, all the windows and doors were open letting air circulate for the first time in what felt like weeks but had only been a few days. There was no one hanging around; the press and TV crews had departed so the coast was clear, Emily sighed in relief as she checked in on her boys. As he was being changed into a dry morning diaper Caleb asked his mother if, because he was wetting every night, it was retribution from God. “I don’t think so sweetheart.” She tried to take the solemn look off his face and make him feel better. “You’ve been under a great deal of strain… and… under such circumstances it’s not unusual for that anxiety to reveal itself in different ways.” She smiled a comforting smile. “God likes to see people repent when they’ve done something wrong… and loves you even more because of that… but maybe… he just likes to see one of his favourites in diapers because you look so cute.” She tickled his tummy. This was not how his mother normally spoke to him and her smile, as well as being described as ‘cute’, made him laugh at such a silly (though heart-warming) suggestion. # Emily was relieved to see her son, who had gotten so serious, laugh. It had been a while since the joy he usually brought to the house had been seen because the past few days had weighed so heavily on his slim shoulders. She was also in no rush for him to escape his diapers; she’d loved the closeness and reliance they had engendered. The cream she spread around his genitals gave him that familiar glow before the powder and final pins made him ready for the day. He confidently stepped into his now familiar vinyl pants and pulled them up over the fresh bulk. And, thanks to his mother, happy in the knowledge that God was not angry with him. His parents recognised that their teenage son had been under extreme pressure and weren’t surprised that, as they made him wear diapers, he’d begun to use them. He’d never been a particularly outgoing or confident boy and his experience over the past few days had added a shattering level of anxiety. Presently the boy’s diapers and plastic pants were once again fluttering in the warm sun and gentle breeze, whilst the twins were able to play in the garden with their older brother. Here Caleb felt safe and was in the ideal place to deal with what had happened. The madness of the last few days had impacted badly on Caleb. He hadn’t enjoyed being the centre of attention and didn’t enjoy the fact that for some reason his night time diaper continued to be soaked, although he felt better about that now. Playing with his noisy, but always entertaining, younger brothers took his mind off the fact that it was his confession about wearing diapers that started all the fuss in the first place. The way that admission led to a desperate need to be accepted by his judgemental friends and then the subsequent stupid dare… he hadn’t needed that form of approval. Now he had to wear protection all the time for safety reasons it didn’t seem at all babyish, it made him feel secure. The incident had brought him closer to his parents and the rebel he’d briefly entertained completely disappeared like the bruise on his bottom. # With the departure of the media things quickly resumed as normal. Soon, as peace returned, it was as if their little town hadn’t been at the centre of such a national frenzy. Well, that isn’t quite true. The thing is, the publicity made quite a number of people start to wonder. They wondered what it would be like to have to wear diapers all the time. It may have surprised Caleb, and his parents, to know just how many town’s folk wore and loved the snuggly comfort of the thing that had been the centre of much ridicule not so long ago. Diapers, in certain quarters of that town, were back in fashion... for pleasure as well as punishment. So, although it may take some time for Caleb to be able to go without his crinkly plastic protection, he wasn’t going to be doing it alone… even if he didn’t know it. ### THE END

The Guardians When the Guardians first came onto the scene the joke was they were a cross between Robocop and Mary Poppins… the joke wasn’t far from the truth, being a biological/technical/mechanical mix designed for the public’s protection. However, the efficient way they were programmed and went about their business was chilling. These Cyborgs were the law; the judge and jury who carried out the sentence with detached efficiency – no appeal, their verdict was FINAL – a sort of Judge Dredd but with the ability to alter a person rather than just obliterate them. The jokes and comical way in which this new service was introduced is no longer a laughing matter. The design, originally from the workshop and laboratories of ExecProtex, and with the tag-line - “The Guardians Will Keep You Safe”, complete with an image of a Guardian looking more like an angel with wings that surrounded a group of children - had been lampooned by every comedian, left-wing politician and religious leader as morally inept and unworkable. How wrong they all were; each and every one of the cynics and critics now reduced to sucking their toes and shitting in their diapers. # The Guardians were, and continue to be, a huge success: Employed by police and anti-crime firms around the world, their unique, special ability to locate, deep in the recesses of the human psyche, the moment that turned someone from the path to do right in the opposite direction is impressive. Their success rate is phenomenal. Once they had tracked their felon, detection by AGC - atmospheric gene recognition - much like a dog uses the scent of a criminal to track them, the villain is quickly brought to justice. The Guardians can ‘read’ every thought, detect every influence, navigate every nuance that the human mind tries to hide and then come up with an appropriate sentence. The result is labour-saving, instant and effective. Crime rates have fallen across the globe as criminals are quickly brought to book and their sentence instantly applied so, no costly, on-going justice system. The Guardian’s job is ‘intelligent analysis’ but the term covers a broad range of themes which are quite menacing. Whilst scanning the offender’s mind they locate the instant in their life that changed their consciousness, that precise motivation that made them act against the law. Not just the law they’ve broken because the scan looks much deeper to identify the influences that led to such an action. Often it is something that has its roots when the criminal was young. It’s then that the Guardian delivering the sentence can erase the offender’s mind and return them mentally back to that instant. From that point they are given the opportunity to change their decision and relive their lives from that regressed state, making them ‘happy’ and law abiding citizen as they grow up all over again. For some this doesn’t work; there are people who are bad through and through but still the Guardians give them a second chance. They are reduced to the mental age of a new born and allowed to start their lives once more. This relies on someone being there to see to an adult/baby who is no longer capable of looking after them self, which of course means a whole new business has grown up around such a service. However, if that isn’t an option, the lawbreaker can be terminated. Termination is a last resort but accepted as a final solution to any completely lawless individual… the Guardian’s job is to protect and where needed to make that final judgement. # ExecProtex has quickly become a very rich and powerful company. Unfortunately for them, their success means there are fewer and fewer criminals to process, so they have had to come up with alternatives. Various subsidiaries and affiliated supply companies grow day by day to meet the demand for their skills. To feed that challenge Guardians, in a slightly ‘altered’ version, are made available to companies who need (or want) to keep their workforce in check. These ‘Harmony Guardians’ as they are known, also find their way into the hands of families who are also keen on keeping a tight rein on the people around them. Even the most trivial act of lawlessness, like littering or speeding, is under the scrutiny of the ‘HGs’. Children of the rich and powerful are under constant surveillance and any transgression has an immediate impact on their lives. Hacking into the HGs has become a past time for some who hate these featureless upholders of the law, a law that is at the whim of whoever controls the Guardian. Any transgression is punished; so children, friends, acquaintances or even business competitors have resulted in their mental age being returned to childhood. There seems to be an abundance of CEOs who want to keep their progeny under such a tight leash and maintaining a teenager in diapers is thought a good solution to them growing up and becoming independent of thought. Life under the Guardians has changed the world, less crime but much more authoritarian. The fact that most people are regressed and not ‘dispatched’ is seen as the positive, humanitarian action of a more compassionate society. However, those who control the Guardians make the laws and, with certain ‘legal’ technical patches, can also alter the Cyborgs initial intent. They certainly don’t want a new, younger breed coming through with liberal ideas or programmes intent on dismantling the current status quo. Those who seem to possess such thoughts are dealt with. The ExecProtexCreche is designed for just such a purpose… and its juvenile residents increase daily. However, there are other companies offering a similar, if less expensive service, which enjoy an equally successful, if different, business plan. So, whilst the ExecProtexCreche is doing well for one section of the community - InfantileInc, PaddedBottomsRus and the scarily named Drool Time are seeing business explode as the Guardians are put to use servicing another industry altogether. #### To be continued…

The Boss’s Bizarre Justice - 2 Mr. Phanasious keeps an ever watchful eye on everything that I do. I suppose I can’t blame him but I really feel he needn’t bother, I am a reformed character. He’s made sure of that. However, over the past few weeks things have changed a tad. The daily ‘six-of-the-best’ with the cane has given way to twenty on one day of the week after work. He doesn’t tell me which day so that keeps me both on my toes and pretty apprehensive, meanwhile, the diapers are getting slightly bulkier and plastic pants definitely noisier. He called me into his office late one Monday afternoon and told me of the alterations to my punishment. It was obvious that this change of play wasn’t open for discussion and that what he’d decided went. However, he did say that he had noticed a vast improvement in my attitude to work and was impressed by this dramatic change… then, as everyone else had gone home, delivered the twenty swats to my naked behind. Once they were over (and I’m afraid to admit it but I was crying like a baby) he re-taped my disposable, added another and pulled a pair of thick, clear but very crinkly plastic pants out of his draw to drag over them. “You appear to have got too used to the diaper, perhaps you are liking the situation?” Said with his slight Greek accent it felt more like an accusation. He looked at me for a reaction and I was desperate not to give anything away. Thankfully I was still wiping the tears from my eyes so I think I avoided any sign that he might be correct. “You need to know that you did wrong. Every minute of every day that you are at this company… you need to know you did wrong and that such deeds do not go unpunished.” He was being firm but I’d got used to this form of lecturing and wasn’t going to risk either the job or my freedom by answering back or disagreeing. “Yes sir, sorry sir.” I looked at him as miserably as I could and I suppose my wet and tear-stained face helped me sell the point. “I try to do better. Every day I try… to thank you for your… er… erm… understanding. I appreciate all that you are doing and have done for me and I am… very… very grateful.” With a noise which seemed to fill his office he pulled me to my feet. The plastic pants sounded as if they had a crackling life of their own as I went to put on my trousers. It was difficult; the bulkiness of the thicker diaper and the chunky plastic pants making it almost impossible for them to fasten… not to mention my blistered butt. I left his office for home still gripping my pants together. It was a long journey and one that drew attention to my unwieldy panty line. There was no way that anyone who might have been interested couldn’t have determined what my problem was but, although I got plenty of people looking (and I think smiling), no one said a word to my face. Once I got through my front door I gladly let go of my pants and as they dropped to the floor I felt relief flood through me and, I have no idea why, I pissed myself. This was stupid because I was only feet away from my own bathroom but, nonetheless I did and my diaper expanded under the torrent. I waddled to my bedroom and gazed in the mirror at what I’d become. The shiny see-thru plastic noisily accompanied each step but, and this was the strange part for me, I didn’t dislike the image I saw staring back. I pulled off my shirt and tie, kicked off my shoes and socks and stood naked apart from my ‘punishment’ looking in the mirror. My body looked OK, it wouldn’t win any Mr Universe title but I wasn’t carrying too much extra weight. My hair was short but natural, not filled with product. I kept my face clean shaven so I still had a sort of boyish quality, which only now, wearing a thick diaper and plastic pants, I was beginning to appreciate. Becoming the company ‘baby’ (along with the cane) had been a revelation. It had opened up thoughts, feelings and possibilities that I’d never imagined. That big baby looking back was, I had begun to realize, having the most productive time of his life. Yes, even with the cane making me cry like a kid again, I had never been better or felt that I could attain anything if I wanted. What Mr. Phanasious may or may not have realized was that this ‘baby thing’ was like a rebirth and I could start my life all over again. If this is what it took to make me better, to give my life a complete overhaul and simply be a fuller, more responsive human being, then it was worth it. I hadn’t been bullshitting the boss, I really was only just beginning to comprehend that what I said to him I’d meant. I was trying hard and, with the thick diaper between my legs and the sensation of it every time I walked or moved or sat down, made me appreciate that unexpected new development in my personality. Yes, that big wet baby staring back at me needed to be seen for what he was… and in truth… I loved what he was and what he might become. I spent the rest of the evening wearing just that noisy, squishy outfit and thanked my lucky stars I’d been given this extra chance. Even once I’d gone to bed I let myself fill the diaper even more and by the morning, the thing had expanded so much that the plastic pants were stretched to such a capacity that they looked like I was wearing an immense shiny, slippery balloon. I’d bought the same brand of disposables that the boss used so I had a ready supply of my own and once I was showered I slipped into exactly the same as he’d dressed me in. It did feel strange. After a night of thick, wet diapers, wearing clean dry ones just wasn’t the same. I wondered if I should add a third to make them reach a similar bulk as the ones I’d just taken off, but I was going to be inspected as soon as I got into work so it was up to Mr. Phanasious to make any such decisions. I loved the crinkle, rustling noise I made as I walked or sat on the bus. I wasn’t sure how many people could hear it but to me it was loud and obvious. A woman who sat next to me smiled as I moved over slightly to give her more room and I detected an expression of crinkle recognition as she cheekily looked down at my crotch before quickly resuming her forward stare. She did have a smile on her face for the rest of the journey before I had to get off. That smooth bulge down the front of my trousers wasn't a morning stiffy, just the trademark of a well-diapered baby. Even then, as I excused myself and she moved her legs for me to pass, the rustling was even more apparent (and now directly in her face) I saw her hand waiver for a brief moment… I think she almost patted my padded bottom as I went by. I turned to thank her and we were both grinning and that set me up for the day. Another, unexpected triumph, I’d made someone I didn’t know smile For a brief moment I thought about my girlfriend, well, my ex-girlfriend who, as soon as the money had dried up suddenly found an excuse to leave. No gifts, no sex. No money, no girlfriend. At the time I was devastated at how easy it had been for her to use me and then discard me but eventually I began to realize that she was treating me the same way I treated my ill-gotten gains. They were useful and convenient but ultimately I didn’t need them. She must have felt the same way. I suppose, the fact that I now had no distractions to my life was a mixed blessing, and I certainly don’t know what she’d have thought about my striped bum and diapers. Thankfully I only had myself to worry about on that score and I’d decided that I wouldn’t pursue the couple of work colleagues that I quite fancied. I arrived at the boss’s door ready for my morning inspection. His secretary, who I wasn’t sure how much she knew, if anything, smiled and waved me through because I was expected. In his office there was a visitor. “Good morning,” he looked at me with those steely eyes, “I’d like to introduce you to my wife.” I was surprised at this level of familiarity, meeting his missus was a huge deal and I thought how strange it was that she should want to meet me. “Good morning Mrs Phanasious,” with a slight bow I shook her hand, “a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled a very winning smile. She was about ten years younger than her husband, very feminine and beautifully made-up and surprisingly her hand shake wasn’t some feeble limp grip… she was definitely a force in her own right. “The pleasure’s all mine Georgie.” It was an unexpected response. In the office they called me George, or Mr Miller, no one had ever called me Georgie, well apart from my mother when I was a child. I was a little bit discomforted by this over-friendliness and immediately I felt a cold shiver run through my body and, at the same time, very uncomfortable standing there in my diapers. Before I had chance to respond Mr Phanasious continued. “My wife is the reason I didn’t call the police when we discovered the amount of money you… ‘borrowed’…from the company.” That cold uneasy feeling was now changing to a hot flush covering my body and I could feel the sweat flooding from every one of my pores. “It was she who convinced me to give you a second chance.” He kept that stare on me as I avoided my eyes meeting hers. I didn’t want to see if there was any expression of triumph or superiority or… The boss continued, “She came up with your rehabilitation - firm but fair.” My diaper was getting hot and I wriggled uncomfortably in it aware that they both would notice my discomfort. “I’ve been telling her about your fantastic progress,” He seemed genuinely pleased about my attitude change and how well I was doing at work. “She wanted to meet you herself.” I plucked up the courage to look at her directly. “Er… thank you.” That didn’t really sound enough, so I repeated myself. “Thank you.” She smiled but I couldn’t quite decipher what that meant. I really was feeling most awkward and my anxiety level had risen considerably. Neither of which were helped when Mr Phanasious said. “OK, drop your trousers let me inspect the stripes and your diaper.” I looked aghast at him and then across to her but he simply repeated his instruction and I could do nothing but reluctantly let my pants fall to the floor. ### To be continued…