Les Lea

The Suit I just started grammar school; surprisingly passing the exams, which neither of my two older brothers did, so was regarded by my family as a bit of an oddity, but a good one. This was something special, for the first time ever, one of the family going to grammar school. Mum and dad said they were so proud of me. Had I peaked at eleven years old? We didn’t have much money but mum was so thrilled she couldn’t wait to take me to get my new school uniform. I already had grey shorts and socks but needed a new school blazer with the badge that meant so much, together with the correct school tie and cap. It came to a small fortune but mum and dad scraped the bottom of whatever barrels we had in order to pay for this fine achievement. Getting ready for my first day I was so nervous but mum said, as she passed me a freshly ironed shirt, she couldn’t believe her ‘little sweetheart’ was going to such a prestigious academy. She seemed more excited than I was as she added both her and dad couldn’t have been more delighted about my success because of what the future now held. They both firmly believed that this type of education was a guarantee of future accomplishment. # The housing estate we lived on was very working class and although there were bound to be others my age who had passed their exam, I didn’t know anyone. My brothers, and all their friends, went to the local secondary school so I was a bit of an anomaly. Most of the families were just about getting by, some a lot worse than we were, so I knew mum and dad were probably sacrificing quite a lot to let me go to this particular ‘elite’ place of education. # My first day at ‘big school’ was quite daunting. Most of my class were, like me, wearing shorts but a few eleven year olds had made the leap into long trousers. I was surprised as I thought we would all be wearing the same uniform. Mum had said that for the first couple of years, the rule was that ‘junior’ boys should wear shorts. Obviously this wasn’t true, and though it didn’t click in my mind at the time, the reason I stayed in shorts was simply because I was still growing and we hadn’t enough money to buy such ‘extras’. My older brothers at their school were wearing long trousers but, as they grew out of them, first Joe who then handed them down to Geoff, they were really in no fit state as hand-me-downs for me. However, like a lot of the kids on the estate, it’s how I ended up with most of my clothes. In fact, my new blazer, tie and cap were about the only new thing that I possessed that were mine alone. Their trousers with worn out knees through general wear and tear made them almost useless for anything other than cutting down and converting to ‘playing out’ shorts. Mum had gotten to be a dab hand at sewing and patching stuff up but even she couldn’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear, and certainly not for her boy in grammar school. Although only three and two years (respectively) older than me, my rough and tumble brothers, Joseph and Geoffrey, were big boys for their age, whereas I’d maintained a small stature like mum, they had gained dad’s genes and had grown a lot quicker than me. As a result, I had an abundance of shorts, which not surprising for my size always fit. I wasn’t going into long trousers for some time yet… not with money being at a premium and two brothers who also needed clothes for school as well as everything else. Whilst I was wearing shorts at least I looked as smart as any other new boy in class. Patched up long trousers just wouldn’t do. As there were others in the same boat as me, I wasn’t that bothered about wearing shorts. Because, when I’d arrive back home from school I always changed out of my uniform and into something more scruffy and relaxed, which generally meant a different pair of shorts and jumper. I was still the youngest (and smallest) of the family so got all my clothes from my older brothers. I was used to wearing hand-me-downs so it didn’t worry me. The thing was they were still growing teenagers whereas I seemed to have slowed down with my growth spurt so all new clothing was aimed at them. # However, on a different subject, with grammar school came homework, and proper homework, not like you’d get at junior school. I didn’t like it and found it difficult to sustain any interest in doing work away from class. Even when my older brothers tried to help me… I was hopeless. The teachers at the academy were a fierce bunch of old men in gowns who terrified me and my real ability became apparent, I lacked any great talent for learning. At my earlier schools the teachers had been friends and very supportive, but now, well it was down to me to work, and work hard, to produce results. Not that the teachers were bad, in fact, they were very good, it was just that you were left to prove, improve and motivate yourself. It just wasn’t me. I’m sure the teachers were encouraging in their own way but I suppose I just wasn’t ready for such a dramatic change in what was now expected of me. I guess I was just a bit lazy and had no idea how I came to pass the exam in the first place. There were around a hundred of us inducted that year and we were divided into Forms 1a, 1b and 1c, I wasn’t by any means the worst but I was left in the lower half of the class… and I was in the bottom section for my age. # About six months into term I woke up one Monday morning and I was wet through. I’d had a homework assignment over the weekend that I just couldn’t seem to get a handle on and I’d been dreaming about how my teachers would react to such a “stupid boy”. My night time worries had become very apparent as I gingerly got up and had to tell mum what had happened. When she saw me standing in the kitchen in soaked pyjamas and a very worried look on my face she seemed sympathetic but also a little saddened. She had hoped that I’d bloom at this school, which was very well regarded, but I really was in fear of the strict teachers even though, as yet, I’d not fallen foul of any of them. It was just the shear dread of what might happen rather than any actual experience. Although mum had to dash off to work she stripped my bed, turned the mattress and opened the windows to air things out. She said that she’d sort everything else out by the time I got home from school but in the meantime, just to do the best I could. She also insisted that I had a really good wash as she didn’t want me to go to school smelling of pee. # Mum worked part-time at Boots the Chemist, whilst dad worked as a warehouse stockman for one of the big supermarket chains. Neither were extravagantly paid jobs but they both worked hard to give us kids whatever they could. I may have dressed in old clothes but we never went hungry or shoeless… and I didn’t have parents who drank their way through any problems. # I pulled on my uniform, checked that my shoes were shiny; the school masters were very insistent that shoes should always gleam. We had regular inspections to make sure we kept up to a certain level of cleanliness, hairstyle, hygiene and our uniforms should be well maintained. If you faltered in any of these areas a terse and awkward letter from the headmaster would be sent to your parents – standards had to be upheld at all times - this included any time your wore the uniform whether in school time or not. All this ‘pressure’ was weighing heavily on my shoulders. Other kids at school seemed to revel in this new responsibility and not being treated as thoughtless adolescents, whilst it simply scared me. Meanwhile, after what appeared to have been only a few weeks, I was one of the few boys in my class still wearing shorts, which of course only added to the fact that I didn’t feel grown-up compared to those who were in long trousers. Out of the three classes, there were still less than twenty of us in our grey school shorts, the rest having ‘graduated’ into long trousers. We who were still wearing shorts felt under duress to conform but not all families (like mine) had the wherewithal to make that financial leap. Occasionally some of the older boys, and those in my class with self-confidence, commented on the fact that, being on the short side, I looked like I still belonged in junior school and hadn’t quite made the grade to senior level. With short grey school shorts revealing my hairless bare legs, slim diminutive figure, floppy dark brown hair and still quite babyish soft features, I probably did look exactly as they described. # At night, as I slept, whatever the reason, all this was getting to me in some way and I woke up soaked every morning. Thankfully, after that first wet night, mum had put a plastic sheet on my bed to protect the mattress. After my third wet night she’d managed to get a discount on nappies from her work place and after that, I spent every night tightly pinned into them as I slept. There were tears and I tried my best to reject the inevitable but both my parents said it was for the best, so that was me… sunk. This helped with the wet bed (though not soaked nappies) but did nothing for my self-esteem and my brothers, being brothers (Geoffrey 14, Joseph 15), took great delight in making sure that their ‘clever’ little brother knew he was nothing more than a dumb, pissy little baby. If they’d ever shown resentment at mum’s pride in my getting to grammar school that soon disappeared as they saw I was unable to cope and had become almost incontinent. They appeared almost gleeful in my decent into becoming a bed wetter. Mum had a catalogue from which she bought most of our clothes in instalments and they would often leave it open at the infants page, circling prams, onesies and baby’s plastic pants. As it was, thanks to her work at the chemist, mum had brought home a pack of twelve adolescent fabric nappies and a few pairs of very strong rubber pants that she’d been assured by the company were leak-proof and odour-free. These were to become the defence that kept my bed dry and the damp contained as I slept. They were smooth and glossy to the touch but gripped my waist and legs like a vice. They didn’t hurt, the thick rubber saw to that, but they were heavy and together with a well-padded nappy, were a force to be reckoned with. However, they did work very well and my small bedroom (my brothers shared a much larger bedroom) didn’t smell of pee. My nappies, plastic pants and various creams were kept away from their prying eyes, whilst mum and dad made sure I was well shielded every night in my heavy protection. As you can tell, things were getting worse and try as I might, my body was behaving badly and there seemed very little I could do to control it. # However, mum did tell me that soon I’d be getting my first suit. Not a hand-me-down, one that Auntie Annie, mum’s auntie, was getting made especially for me. She knew I was growing up and wanted to get something that was just for me… something to celebrate securing a place at grammar school. I was so excited I badgered mum to give me details. All she said was that I’d have it before my twelfth birthday and that auntie mentioned it was blue. So, despite having to wear nappies at night, I was finally going to be treated as a grown-up and have my own clothes. # Auntie Annie is my mother’s auntie who, together with her husband Bill, had taken in mum when she was a girl after her mother had died. Her father was a hopeless drunk and couldn’t cope with his young daughter’s grief along with his own, so Annie, his sister, had stepped in to help. Aunt Annie and Uncle Bill had all but adopted mum and she lived with them until she married and left home. I never knew Uncle Bill, he’d died long before I was born. However, Auntie Annie was my favourite relative and since being a little baby, I’d always spent time with her. Even as I got older and more independent, I would still visit her as often as I could… and sometimes stay over to keep her company. # Unfortunately, before the suit arrived I had an enormous set-back at school; I accidently wet my pants in the middle of a science lesson. Sorry to say, I drifted off as the teacher spoke about chemical symbols, and in that few moments of total relaxation my bladder gave way and a river of stored pee exited and covered the front of my shorts. Barry Turner, who I was sitting next to, couldn’t believe his eyes as the dark grey stain spread across my shorts and a trickle of pee ran down my leg. He was quick to notify everyone in class and the teacher, realising he had one very damp eleven year old, gave me permission to go and see the school matron. Now I’m not sure if this was something that regularly happened at the academy but judging by the verdict from my classmates, it was both a funny and diabolical thing to have happen. I slouched, undignified from the chemistry lab, down several flights of stairs to matron’s room. On the way I tried to conceal my obvious stain but it was too large for my tiny hand to completely hide. Two older boys I passed on the stairs smiled before I heard a huge guffaw once there were a couple of floors separating us. I couldn’t have been more embarrassed, well I thought not, until I knocked on matron’s door. # She looked aghast, shook her head and told me to take off my shorts. I was reluctant to do anything but too afraid of any form of authority in this place, and she was definitely scary, so I did what I always did when authority spoke, just as I was told. I stood there holding my wet grey school shorts and offered them to her. My sodden underpants sagged a little and she looked perplexed. “And those,” she said pointing to the droopy white cotton. She passed me a thin cotton towel and told me to dry myself, whilst she busied herself sorting stuff in a cupboard. I checked to make sure I hadn’t wet my shirt, although one of my socks was also soaked with pee, but I didn’t want to draw attention to that fact. Once relatively dry I stood waiting for whatever it was matron had decided I needed. She’d pulled out a few items, which I couldn’t quite make out what they were, and then went over to the phone on her desk and dialled a number. It was the contact number for mum and after a few intermediaries she eventually answered. Matron told her what had happened and asked if she could come and collect me. There was more of a conversation and I saw matron listening intently occasionally murmuring a “Yes “or an “I see” ending with a “Yes, please bring those”. # It felt strange standing all but naked in the middle of the office but after a couple of minutes (which seemed like an eternity) eventually she finished and confirmed that mum would pick me up shortly (45 minutes) and that in the meantime I’d have to wait with her. Matron checked I’d dried myself properly and then, much to my surprise, fluffed out a large disposable and told me to sit on her table so she could put me in it. My half-hearted protest was dismissed as she took complete charge and had efficiently taped me up in a matter of moments. “I can’t have you sitting around with no clothes on, and, as I don’t know if you might wet again, this is my solution.” She wasn’t being unkind but I was a little tearful that a boy my age (at grammar school no less), had been reduced to wearing a thick nappy. The fact that I was already regarded as a ‘little kid’ by some of my fellow students made my situation worse. Word would be all around the school about my wet incident and I could feel my standing in the school yard, although not great, would be taking a dive. She checked that the disposable fitted correctly and then pulled my shirt down as best she could to hide the bulky mass. She slipped my wet clothes into a plastic bag and handed them back. “Sorry about this, I know you’ll be feeling a little anxious but I don’t have…” She appeared to have an idea and went off to check on something else. The padding was pleasant and in all honesty I was quite grateful to be out of sopping pants, but, as I sat waiting for her return I was too embarrassed to admit to matron that I’d recently begun to wear a nappy at night… although in retrospect, perhaps mum had mentioned that fact in her brief conversation. She came back triumphantly holding a pair of white nylon gym shorts. “I thought there might be something in the lost property box… here… put these on.” I squeezed myself into them but it was difficult. They would probably fit had I not had such a cushion around my groin but with such thick padding I struggled. Matron looked on somewhat pleased with herself being able to find something to spare my blushes. However, she told me that under normal circumstances I’d be sent straight back to class but as this was an ‘exceptional’ event, I should sit in her outer office, read and wait for mum to arrive. # It wasn’t like a doctor’s waiting room with games for kids and out of date magazines for older folk, this one had two plastic chairs, wasn’t particularly warm and had glass windows where anyone walking down the corridor could look in. I sat slightly demoralised holding onto my plastic bag and wishing mum would hurry up. Matron must have taken sympathy on me as she came out of her office and handed me a very old copy of the Beano comic. For a couple of minutes it held my attention until the end of lesson bell rang and the entire school moved around to their next class. Several people walked or hurried down the corridor and past matron’s window. For those who had eyes to see, there I was, sat in the briefest of shorts, a disposable clearly jutting down the leg-holes and with me reading a particularly childish comic. Of course it only occurred to me how stupid I looked after everyone had gone to their respective classrooms and I took stock. I hadn’t quite realised how much of the nappy was visible as I’d been engrossed in the cartoon capers and shuffled around getting comfy on the plastic chair, my tight little shorts had become very revealing. A huge sigh escaped my lips as I wondered if anything worse could happen. # tbc #

Thanks really pleased you enjoyed it. Hope one or two of my others also hit the spot.

Thanks Sarah, I always appreciate a smiley face

Thanks fellow Yorkshireman glad you liked the story.

Glad you enjoyed the story Who knew that developing Xtreme nappies could lead to such disastrous consequences

Part 8 Jennifer was on the phone to her husband worried about the effects of the drug on Davey. She’d known about the constant endeavour for the company to come up with a product that fulfilled Grandfather Harry’s vision of the desire for “...protection that would last throughout a lifetime”. She also knew that it was only recently, with a new, younger design team, who had taken that concept much further. Meanwhile, the trials continued and it was young Davey who got to try out each prototype. She couldn’t complain as she’d let her son be the guinea pig all his life but this new incident was scary. “But one minute he’s acting normally and the next, almost within seconds, he’s like a toddler wanting to play with his toys.” She was explaining, as much as complaining to Gary about the drastic effects on their son. Gary had already taken this on board and had been discussing this glitch with his project chief, a thirty-five year old, super-smart chemist called Abraham Gunney. He’d nodded and shook his head as if it was nothing to be too concerned about. “The main thrust of this new disposable, the Xtreme, is to make people want to wear it, in fact, desire the object above all other options when it comes to underwear... correct?” He was in his bosses face to make sure he understood where he was coming from. Abraham was a man who was confident in his own abilities and proud of developing this brand new concept, which he’d predicted would make Prestige Pharmacists Products a world leader. The new Xtreme (he planned to change its name when released in the USA to DiapersXdream) was everything the old man could have hoped for; desirable, addictive and fashionable, his team had done a remarkable job. Although this was the aim, Gary was out of his depth as to the means. Although he knew all about the special infused drug that was released as the cleverly quilted disposable was used he had no real concept of the ultimate ingenious design that was worked to contain a day’s waste. The lace and filigree design, the special fabric coating, new multi-layered poly-carbon, poly-cotton derivatives and pseudo-silk materials that had been specifically conceived. It had all been a major development under the ingenious and inspirational drive of Abraham Gunney and his crew of nappy pioneers. Abe was intense, focused but with a short fuse, so, his social skills were few. However, his genius was obvious so allowances were made. He knew his development was working and hated interference... even from his boss. # Abraham Gunney was not new to the world of incontinence. His sister Florence had internal problems from birth and an operation when she was seven had made things worse. The poor girl was destined for a life of constant wetness. She hated the bags that were fitted and eventually settled on wearing a nappy to deal with her constant flow. Her brother, seeing her distress and occasional resentment, though making the best of it, spent his early years trying to find something to make her life that much better. At university he majored in physics, chemistry and biology and surprised his tutors by being extremely advanced in his ideas and techniques. Always with Florence at the forefront of his mind he set about developing a nappy that would add to her pleasure rather than deal with her bitterness. Whilst at Uni he experimented with drugs and saw the positive side of some of their effects. He postulated his own theory but needed a breakthrough system to deliver the results. So, when an opportunity arose at Prestige Pharmacists Products, a completely new and technological advance was needed he pulled together a team of young visionaries to do just that. # Abraham dismissed Gary’s concern for his son as something that would soon pass; a mere hitch in an otherwise brilliant piece of engineering. “We’ll just have to regulate the barrier cream, the anti-rash cream, and the soaker pads that should help neutralise the effects, a little more.” The thick nappy with the extra (special) soaker pads that Davey had been put into after he’d worn the Xtreme were meant to help counterbalance any of the drug effects was Abraham’s answer. They were impregnated with a special agent to diffuse such an effect but it hadn’t worked. Unknown to Gary, whilst he was using his son to gauge new products, Abraham was trying out each development on his sister. There he was getting nothing but positive results from a woman of thirty three, unfortunately, Davey’s teenage metabolism couldn’t cope with the severe changes. Abraham was dismissive of the boy’s results and regarded them as minor setbacks taking more notice of Florence’s reactions than David’s. Gary understood these points but he hadn’t witnessed what Jennifer had, the complete regression of Davey from a lively teenager to a weepy toddler... and in such a dramatic fashion. Abraham was definite that with just a few tweaks and a couple more tests, they should soon have the levels correct and could then launch their unbelievable addictive product on the masses. # There was a moment when I was playing when I realised what I was doing. Why on earth should I, a teenager, be running toy cars up a pile of nappies, sucking on a dummy and talking to Mr Teddy? This may have been okay in a dream but (I pinched myself) this wasn’t a dream. Mum had even spoken to me as if I was a toddler and... and... Bbbrrrmmmm, bruuummm... screech... (suck, suck, suck)... # Jennifer had been appeased by her husband’s conviction that what was happening to Davey was merely a temporary set-back and that he’d be “as right as rain” very shortly. She poked her head around Davey’s bedroom door and saw him laid out on his front, plastic pants bulging under the sheer volume that his thick, soaker-filled nappy had contained and reckoned it was way past the time for a change. Davey was deep in his game, shoving cars around and making appropriate noises as they tore around a make-believe track. When she called him he didn’t respond although a wriggle and a crinkle told her it was definitely time for a change. Whilst he continued to play she went to the closet and got all the bits necessary; more super-soakers to fit into his fleecy fabric nappy and a pair of extremely thick white rubber pants to hold the bulk in. She’d been told the soakers contained a neutraliser so was determined to get whatever was coursing around his system out and hoped he wouldn’t argue about her unwieldly decision. Of course, he very rarely argued about anything regarding his nappies but as she approached she noticed the faraway look in his eyes. “Okay sweetheart, let’s get you into something a bit drier shall we?” Panic ran through her body when she realised that he had no idea who she was. There was no recognition at all. # The boss of Prestige Pharmacists Products had no idea that Abraham was running his own trial with his sister. He’d never even mentioned he had a sister and kept that side of his life very separate. Gary had no idea that the pile of soaker pads he took home was in fact a specially impregnated batch aimed at giving Florence a sensation of complete and utter euphoria. She had gotten to like the new protection her brother was bringing home and urged him to develop even more extremes – it had given her a new lease of life and a desire for protection which gave her more than just a buzz between her legs. This new, infused compound, which wasn’t illegal as no one knew about it, was proving quite toxic to Davey. Jenny didn’t know that she was making it worse by wrapping him in such thick protection, having no idea they weren’t what Gary had told her about. As it was, she got a totally vacant looking Davey into a new, ultra-thick nappy but he couldn’t focus, eat or do anything but dribble and appear mystified by everything around him. She even had to resort to feeding him, which wasn’t very successful but thankfully, his co-ordination for nursing on a bottle was still there so he managed some nourishment. Jenny was really worried that the constant testing of products on her son had inevitably led to such consequences. Eyes that looked but didn’t see - the total absence of any response - Davey’s wobbly head and non-existent verbal skills were increasing his mother’s anxiety. Of course, up until now all had been going well, her son had accepted his role and wore what they’d told him but now, with this new product, what had gone so drastically wrong? Jenny took her fears out on her husband who wanted answers and, after denials and obfuscation, had eventually got the truth from Abraham. He confessed about the super –soaker pads meant for his sister and Jenny was quickly informed to get Davey out of all his current nappies and protection and urgently replace it with his old thick terry nappies. Aware now of the problem Jenny speedily ripped off her son’s drug-infused nappy, wiped him clean and applied coating after coating of neutralising balm and hoped for the best. Throughout this her fifteen year old son just looked glassy-eyed and unable to coordinate anything. Again she slipped a bottle of formula between his lips and at least his compulsion to suck was still there. He was now more baby than he had been when he was a baby. # Abraham explained to his boss that the reason the company had been able to make such huge strides toward getting their new product up and running was thanks to the responses from his sister and latterly Davey. The product itself was well-liked - in fact both test subjects had responded very positively to it. Xtreme worked and worked unbelievably well, yet despite this current set-back, its success should be applauded. Abraham was not so much dismissive of Davey’s problem he was more excited by the way Xtreme could be marketed. He promised that Gary’s son would be ‘tickety-boo’ in a day or so and to stop worrying, all their efforts, he argued, should now be focused on getting the brand known and into the appropriate outlets. Gary was angry but also knew that he had pushed and pushed for this new product and it had fulfilled all expectations. In fact, his son had been only too keen to wear the new Xtreme permanently if he could. The soaker pads were a mix-up, a mistake that could easily happen in a busy environment like the development lab. Gary had to take as much responsibility as Abraham... and he wasn’t worried at all; even when, after three days, Davey had shown no signs of improvement. # Meanwhile, Xtreme was being worn by all the development staff, Gary included. It was true; it did give the wearer an incredible feeling. The new designed fabric, the cleverness of its intricacies, its ability to store waste and the exotic colours it went through – was spectacular. The final colour was changed to black when the disposable was at capacity. Everyone reported back that as soon as they changed out of their filled Xtreme the only alternative they wanted was the finesse and comfort of another Xtreme – normal underwear was discarded like last year’s fashion. The team knew they had created the very thing that Harry Harrison had hoped for – except a thousand times better than he could have dreamed. # Over the next few months a subtle advertising campaign was launched. Word spread amongst those celebrities who’d tried out the Xtreme and the desire to own such an item became ‘the thing’. Fashion and celebrity bloggers were ecstatic claiming a major shift when it came to ‘usage und style’. Prestige Pharmacists Products (now Prestige Xtreme) was catapulted into the big time. Everyone wanted their wonderful new and exciting invention and, with a price designed to keep elite customers coming back, they soon had an influential clique clambering at their door. It had been Abraham’s idea to keep the product exclusive, thus keeping it as a premium brand. They allowed a similar brand, PowerXtreme without the full ‘ecstasy’ drug quotient but still maintaining the rest of Xtreme capabilities, to be available to the masses. Underwear companies were playing catch-up and desperate to find something to compete but without success – soon anyone who was anyone only wore Power or PrestigeXtreme (or in the USA DiaperXdream). The concept had been an unbelievable success and even when questions were raised by health and government bodies, the clamour from the public meant the cases were never tested or got to court. Gary’s company quickly became an industry leader thanks to Abraham and the young team of innovators who had made everyone involved incredibly wealthy. Their success inspired them to create more and more incredible products and develop the ultimate indispensable disposable. underwear that care Life is a dream in Xtreme Supreme Now available at only the best pharmaceutical outlets. # The Harrison family had riches beyond their wildest imagining and Gary had fulfilled his grandfather’s vision of the firm’s desirability of its ‘products for all generations’ but their only son would never appreciate or inherit what they’d built up. They were able to afford the very best of everything but for him his future was a life of baby’s bottles, prams, dribbles and soaked nappies. Davey could only gurgle at his parents, even if he no longer knew who they were. He was given the very best to make life better but, his life would never get better. The company had developed a ‘forever’ nappy for someone who now needed one permanently. Davey sat drooling in his crib wearing the latest colourful creation... he was the only casualty in the product’s development but after all the years of being told “because we say so” now it was because he had to. ### ---------The End---------

Thanks babycheryl for your continued support... the final chapter should be added next week.

Part 7 I’d never worn anything like them before. I’d never had such unbelievable sensations being sent through my body and which settled in my head. I can’t remember ever being so content, and at the same time, flabbergasted with what occupied my groin. I was in awe of what had been produced and, now wrapped in a thick fluffy nappy, missed the serenity that new disposable had bestowed. Whilst this feeling of wellbeing buzzed happily in my head I found myself unexpectedly searching in the cupboards for something, I wasn’t sure what. I leafed through the piles and piles of fabric squares, disposables, vinyl pants and every other piece of apparatus designed for my ‘comfort’ but I just couldn’t find what I was searching for. It didn’t help that I had no idea what it was; I just had this urge to discover. I was looking for something to compliment my thick, thick nappy and eventually, what entered my head was an idea from my earlier dream – I needed a stuffed animal to hug and some toys to play with. I’m a teenager, so knew all my kid’s stuff had been either packed or given away, yet the impulse to find a teddy bear to cuddle was becoming the most important of tasks. I could even hear myself whimpering because of my lack of success and tears were forming in my eyes. I threw myself onto the bed and roared in frustration, shouting for mummy and feeling little. It seemed like I was two years old again and, just like the dream, needed to be surrounded by my things from that time. As I rolled around in despair my plastic pants crinkled and slid around the sheets. The thick bulk a comfort but not as much as the fantastic new disposable had been. I was crying because I wanted to be put back in one of those as much as I wanted a teddy to hug. Mum came in and stroked my padded bottom. “There, there sweetheart.” She seemed to sense, or perhaps she already knew, what ailed me as I tried between huge sobbing gulps to get the words out, I couldn’t find Mr Teddy. She stroked my naked back and then my head. “Don’t worry little fella, I’ll find him for you... I know where he is... you just relax and let mummy sort it out.” With a final stroke of my head and a caress of my silky cushioned bottom, she went off somewhere. She was only gone moments when I felt a nice soft fluffy object being pressed into my arms. “Yay, Mr Teddy” I screamed in delight. My tears had all but stopped by then but I was sucking on my thumb. Her hand searched down the front and back of my protection but I was still dry. She smiled. “I’ll bring some toys for you to play with in a little while but I want my sweet baby to have a little rest now and mummy will be back soon with some nice num-nums. In the meantime Little Davey, let’s lose this soggy thumb... and my sweet boy can suck on this.” Where she’d got it from, or how long she’d had it, I have no idea but replacing my wet digit with a clear plastic dummy, which tasted of caramel, soon had me sucking joyously on this new addition to my ensemble. Was Tasty Teats a new product from the workshop? I no longer felt I was a teen; I was where I needed to be – being looked after by my mummy and feeling all the love and comfort she always offered. I hugged Mr Teddy tightly and rolled over onto my side. The constant crinkle with each movement made it like teddy was chatting to me. We had a terrific conversation before mummy came back with a bottle. # Although initially taken by surprise by such a staggering regression, Jennifer had been warned by her husband that the new style disposable could have some significant side effects. She was warned to be prepared for all occasions and that might just mean some very childish behaviour. Of course this was nothing new. Over the years that David had been wearing such things Prestige Pharmacists Products had been trying to develop structures that offered more than just protection. For instance; this new fabric was made up of many layers of specially treated material, bonded by a coating of a new synthetic compound, which released pleasure pheromones and a blissful elixir to be absorbed through the skin and eventually find itself into the wearer’s brain. The chemical formula was not much different to that of the party and ‘feel-good’ social drug, Ecstasy. As the disposable was used... more of the drug was released, whilst the cunning weave of the fabric held the contents in place. Meanwhile, Davey might show some puzzling signs, or experience some changes to his mental state, but these should be very brief interludes. Jennifer simply had to just play along with whatever his mind conjures up - in this case, his desire to be a two year old. The new range of Tasty Teats was aimed primarily at those who needed instant childish gratification. The chemical ‘palate receptor’ was made in various essences depending on what the subject’s favourite flavour was. The sucking action filled the mouth and mind with a pleasing process that transported the person to a period in their life where this simple act was all they were required to do. With his temporary blissful mental state David’s mind took him to a place where cares and worry didn’t exist for him. As a toddler his world was just play, eat and poop, where everything was taken care of and his only worry was if he couldn’t find Mr Teddy. Both his parents stood at their son’s bedroom door and watched as he gleefully sucked down the huge bottle of warm milk; in between he continued to speak in baby talk to Mr Teddy as he played. His thick nappy crinkled loudly which indicated that, for the time being at least, he was relatively dry. He seemed happy that his entire world revolved around the area of his mattress and appeared unable to move past the edges because of the perceived long drop to the floor. In his head David and Mr Teddy were having a wonderful time as long as they stayed on their cosy island. He was scared of what lay below but his stuffed bear was very comforting on the matter. Later mum brought in more toys and lifted her son off the bed and onto the floor reassuring him that all was well and he needn’t be worried as all the scary stuff had been banished from the area. She gave him another bottle, which he snaffled down with equal speed as he’d done the first one, the chemicals in his system making him very thirsty indeed. He eagerly played for over two hours pushing his toy cars all over his carpet and making cities and mountains from boxes, cushions and piles of fresh nappies. Later, exhausted, he fell asleep propped up against the bottom of his bed, which is where is mother found him soaked and fast asleep. She woke him up. # I couldn’t believe the dream I’d just had but as I opened my eyes and looked around the room at the toys, my old teddy, the bottle and my mum’s smiling face, I realised it wasn’t a dream. “Hi sweetie, you’re really soaked but, for the moment at least, I want you to wear it a little longer and see if you can add to it.” I was still coming round but this was a strange request, normally I’m changed immediately after I wet. Mum was inspecting the saturated fabric through the see-thru plastic pants and nodding saying yes there was more soakability yet. Soakability? Why was she talking to me like I was a child? Mum had got me thinking about something other than the fact I was surrounded by the debris of a toddler, which incidentally was what I’d been ‘dreaming’ about, so I was distracted from what my main question was. “Mum it doesn’t feel so nice.” I said as I pushed at the front of my soaked nappy. I was actually comparing my sopping protection to the wonderful disposable I’d worn so recently. She stopped and stared at me for a few seconds and I wondered if I’d done something wrong. “Yes, I know Pumpkin but your father has asked for you to wear that until he comes home. Perhaps he’ll have another of those new nappies for you to wear then.” A shudder of anticipation ran through my body at the very mention of wearing one of those new-fangled disposables. Strangely, this quietened me down and all questions were immediately silenced at the prospect of a new ‘super disposable’. I didn’t want to harm my chances of getting into another as soon as possible so; a wet nappy for a few hours wasn’t going to interfere with such an opportunity. # Never before had I longed to wear a new nappy so much. I was always pleased when I was changed, a fresh, clean and dry nappy for me at least was far better than a soggy one. However, with this distinct prospect a tingle of expectation and desire surged through my body culminating in a surge of pee flooding my drenched nappy even more. It didn’t matter in the slightest. A sudden compulsion to go and play some more with teddy and the toys also coursed through my nervous system but each movement was met with a squishy accompaniment that made me think twice. I suddenly realised I was fifteen and not a two year old, even if I was wearing an incredibly wet nappy. Having said that, I was now so hyped up about receiving and wearing a new disposable I hugged teddy very tightly, sharing my excitement with my furry friend. I was aware of my childish enthusiasm for the new disposable and asked mummy when she thought daddy would be home. I wriggled against my furry teddy putting on my most appealing and cute look hoping that would make it all happen quicker. Again, for a second, I got that slightly confused look from mum. “I’m sure daddy won’t be long sweetie-pie but your nappy is certainly sagging so let’s hope he’ll be home sooner rather than later.” “Yay.” I slipped my thumb between my lips but mum saw this and immediately fed me my tasty new dummy. Mum tousled my hair and hugged me close. “Who’s a good boy then?” I looked up at her and felt like a shy two year old and smiled around my dummy. “Yes... Davey’s a good boy.” I could hear her words and under normal circumstances I would have objected, or more to the point, mum would never say such juvenile stuff to me. However, there was no denying that I liked what I heard and even the heavy wet nappy, which hung dragging even the plastic pants down a little, I hoped mummy would soon change... though I knew it wasn’t my decision. She’d change me when she was good and ready. # I squished over to the pile of nappies that I’d built up to run my toy cars around and over like I was racing them in the snowy white mountains. Whilst I crawled from one play-zone to the next my legs were pushed further apart as the soggy nappy slipped around my crotch. At one point I began to fret about something (though I’ve no idea what) and called out for mummy. She’d left the room by then and I whimpered for no apparent reason. Actually, I think I was crying because I was wet and a damp itchiness was all I could feel. “MUMMY.” “Mumm... mummy...” I was engulfed in tears. #tbc#

Thanks for the comments and you're correct, the nappy is going to be playing a very significant role in future chapters

Part 6 Normally, when I went to bed my nappy was clean and dry. This was used, and well used at that, but it didn’t feel discomforting, well not to wear at least. Often, some of the other nappies and disposables I’ve worn would bunch up and be slightly annoying until I’d gotten used to them… these were not in the least like that. These didn’t bunch at all, in fact, they felt like I was wearing a padded pair of pants, they moulded themselves to my anatomy and hugged me in a pleasant, reassuring way. Although the leg and waist gripped me firmly, it didn’t feel that tight. In fact, the soft lacy fabric seemed to caress my thighs and waist, adding a pleasant tingle I’d never experienced before. I spent the night squirming, wriggling, touching – I simply could not believe the sensations I was experiencing. When I was not in complete physical pleasure, I was smiling because it felt so good. I’d never felt better. I’d never been more positive and, the big thing was, I didn’t want to take them off. Had someone come up with a design for an everlasting nappy? I slept, woke, played, slept and giggled uncontrollably to myself but after each short nap I felt myself slipping back to my childhood where everything was wonderful. Not that it wasn’t now, or is that then? I don’t know but my nappy is full and surprise, surprise... that’s all I want to wear. I look at my bedside clock and it’s just after six a.m. yet I’m wide awake and want to play. My hectic night has reduced me to a chuckling big kid. I can see I’m physically still a, erm, well, umm, I forget but I don’t want this feeling to stop. I want to get up… er… when mummy tells me I can… ummm… no… I mean… I look around my bedroom for all my toys, Mr Teddy and other animals, my dummy… oops… my dummy? For some reason I daren’t get out of bed without mummy’s permission. There I’ve said it again “Mummy”, what the hell is going on. Oooo I’ve just sworn, even if it was in my head… mummy doesn’t like it if I say naughty words. I grip my blanket like a terrified tot wondering what mummy will do. My joyful giggling of just a few moments ago has been replaced by feelings of worry. However, my hand reaches down and I can feel my ‘special’ nappy. The feel is distinctive, its grip is unique, I do my special wriggle and I’m happy again because I am wearing my distinctive protection. Mummy comes in smiling and cheerily asks how her ‘special’ boy is doing. I’m glad she’s not angry so I stretch out my arms to greet her and she delivers a peck to my forehead as she rummages under my blanket to check. She pulls back the bedding and for the first time I see that my nappy is now completely red. “Oooo,” I say in wonder, “that’s pwitty.” At the same time I say this I can feel I’m filling it again. There’s a slight warmth but I look up at mummy and look as innocent as possible. “Is my little baby taking a wee-wee… hhhmmm… is he?” I nod as my special nappy whips away the flood and hides it in its many folds of material. I can feel it once again slightly expand to accommodate what I’ve done but it doesn’t feel in the least bit unpleasant. “Mummy.” “Yes Pumpkin.” “Where are my toys…?” Mum looks at me in a strange way. It seems she’s totting up something in her head or working out some problem. “All tidied away but now my little sweet-pea is awake he can get them all out again and play until breakfast.” “Yay…” I suddenly stop in mid yay… Toys? There is a sudden and unclear thought in my head that I don’t need toys at my age… but mummy has pulled my blanket back and is urging me out of bed and towards the cupboard. She’s patting my padded bottom and almost guiding me there, whilst she takes stock of my bulging nappy. “Your teddies and all your other favourites are in there as well sweetie.” There’s something not right about all this and for the briefest of moments I’m unsure of what I’m doing. However, mummy quickly encourages me forward and that doubt disappears as I open the door and see all my wonderful toys. “But I want you to play quietly so… pop this in until I call you for breakfast… and after that, we can get you changed for the day.” I’m confused as she slips in a dummy she’s produced from her pocket. At first I’m reluctant to take it but she has forced it in without too much effort and I’m already sucking enthusiastically on it… I do as instructed. By the side of all my toys are a stack of shelves where nappies, liners, disposable and plastic pants are kept. It’s strange that again I stop midway through what I’m doing as I’m convinced that my cupboard usually stored my real clothes but, they were nowhere to be seen. Once I looked more closely it was obvious that this was not my cupboard but one I had as a child, so, really, it was my cupboard but… Once again that brief moment of doubt passed as I reached in and checked out teddy. I look around and see that mummy’s gone so I pull out Mr Teddy and a few toys and prop myself up against the bed. I splay out my legs and am still amazed at the bright red colour of my padding. I feel such comfort as I start to play with my toys and suck intently on my dummy. There’s a big, old wind-up car I didn’t remember. I wound it up, pushed a lever and off it went at great speed. Wwweeeeeee! At the same time I let out my excited squeal I could feel my nappy being soaked once again. # I woke up from my dream absolutely convinced I’d flooded the bed but when I pulled back the blanket I was relieved that my nappy was warm, firm, blood red and had contained whatever I’d managed to dump into it during the night. I was also thankful that I wasn’t regressing as a baby and that, apart from by bulky nappy; all was back to what I knew. The dream, like most dreams I assume, felt real but I was a little worried that at my age, I appeared to enjoy being a little kid again. The fact that the nappy had absorbed everything and left me feeling completely dry was a surprise. However, even full (if the colour was anything to go by) my nappy hugged me in a most satisfying way. I’d slept the night, for the first time in many years, without plastic pants and yet my bedding was completely dry. Again I stood at the mirror and inspected the huge padding that now engulfed my groin yet it didn’t feel like it was a heavy burden. I had a slight waddle; the expansion between my legs was firm but not overly intrusive. I was just thinking whether to go down to breakfast dressed as I was (it wouldn’t have been the first time I sat at the table in just a nappy) or whether to put some shorts or jeans on over it when dad came in. “Wow.” He said from the doorway. “That looks... impressive.” I stood erect and let him view me and the disposable from every angle. He touched it and was fascinated with its firmness, yet it was also soft... “How does it feel son?” “Great.” I couldn’t think of anything else to add. “It’s the latest and newest technological development and you’re the first to experience it... I need more than... great if you don’t mind.” # Normally it’s mum who sees me first thing in the morning and we never have a conversation, if we do it’s always one way and she just accepts nods, smiles and acquiescence as my part in it. Dad wanted more so, as he felt around my crotch and padded bottom, I explained just how great it was and why. Every now and then he’d throw in a question like: “Did I sleep well?” or “Was it in anyway cumbersome?” “What about it did I like or dislike?” “Did I enjoy the fit?” “What feelings did it produce?” and lots of other stuff that I tried to answer as honestly as I could. I had to admit, I’d never worn anything like it before, nor had I actually ENJOYED wearing something like it before. Dad beamed his delight. “I’d be happy to wear this all the time.” I eagerly confessed. “Incredible.” Mum came into my bedroom at that moment and she was equally upbeat and cheerful... they nodded optimistically to each other. “Ohh Gary, not sure about the colour, it looks like someone has hacked away at his privates.” Up until mum mentioned it I didn’t think the colour was bad but now, all I could think was it looked a bloody parcel. “Mmmm okay,” dad said, “let’s get you out of that and into something cleaner and drier.” # Mum was already reaching for one of my thicker fabric nappies off the shelf. I was a bit disappointed after what I’d just experienced but I’ve learned not to argue and mum indicated I should get on the bed so she could relieve me of the red disposable and replace it with a nice thick fleecy nappy. She grabbed some pins and a pair of see thru plastic pants so I knew what I was going to be wearing for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, dad took the red discarded protection muttering something about “...orange, yes maybe orange...”but I have no idea where he then went with it. I assumed it must have gone for some kind of research. However, mum had drawn my attention back to the extra thick padding she was slipping into the material and telling me she wanted to see how much that would hold in comparison to what I’d just taken off. She used the see-thru plastic because she wanted to monitor me for the rest of the day... so no shorts or trousers either. Although being told what to do wasn’t new to me, what to wear and when to do my business, what was new was the way I suddenly felt about it all. For the first time, and I have to put it down to that fabulous ‘super disposable’ I’d come so quickly to love, I was happily compliant and interested in the future. In the past I would simply have gotten on with whatever my parents had told me to, no matter what that was. If I was uncomfortable or there was something about what I wore I didn’t like, it didn’t matter because, well, you know, “because we say so”. However, that wonderful creation that I’d just spent the night in had completely won me over, and on so many different levels. For the first time in my entire memory I thought I was part of something special. Something different and I was the one designated, the chosen one, to experience this breakthrough... scientific or otherwise. #tbc#

Thank you all for your comments I really appreciate you taking the time (and I'm glad you like the story.)

Part 5 I’m at a strange point in my life. I’m sixteen (well almost), I feel like I’m grown up yet my nappy says I’m not yet trusted to go to the toilet. I’m still at school and wear the uniform of a schoolboy but my body has developed and I no longer have the physique of a child. However, I also don’t have the pubic bush that all my friends and classmates appear to have sprouted in abundance. The lotion mum has spread on me over time has stopped that particular hairy growth. To be honest I’m not overly worried by this lack of hirsuteness ‘down there’ since mum said that a clean and hair-free groin is healthier and not prone to smelling. I take her words as gospel and “because she says so”. To be honest I have seen many naked guys online and have to admit that I prefer the shaved to the bushy and that goes for the face as well as the crotch. There are tons of conflicting emotions that grow day by day and yet, and yet… there’s also a feeling of… I don’t know how to explain it but, well, I feel… distinctive. Of course my parents have added to this response because of the way I’ve been treated all my life. I’m not even sure if it’s negative or positive. All I know, there are times when my body shakes with emotions I simply do not comprehend and my head is filled with thoughts I have no idea from where they came. I’m growing up, so I’m aware my body has changed and continues to change but, but, there is definitely something going on that my brain finds difficult to compute. It’s mixed up, perplexed, conflicting and often down right awkward, but then the next moment, I’m at peace, full of calm and unbelievably relaxed; the nappy causing me neither fear nor anger, sometimes, just utter and totally unexpected bliss. Although I often sit around wearing just a nappy when I’m at the desk in my bedroom, I’m wearing jeans at the moment just while I work. It’s not that I’m ashamed or anything just that they are a little distracting as I continually want to run my fingers over this new, soft, tantalising fabric... but I need to get my homework done. Even now, as I type this on the computer in my bedroom, a shiver has just run through my body. I sit; tapping away on the keyboard, dressed in the latest disposable, which I assume is from dad’s company and mum insisted I wear as soon I walked in from school. The thing is, at the moment, it’s doing it again… my nappy is giving me pleasure and comfort as I wriggle in its snuggly embrace. I’m beginning to realise (and not before time I suppose) that everything I wear has in some way to do with dad’s company. I’m not sure why I’m involved but I guess it’s only natural that I should somehow benefit from what they make. Still, I wish they would simply tell me rather than say “because we say so.” Under my jeans the cushioned layers of supple, velvety material slips around caressing my skin in a provocatively sensual manner, the soft new colourful textile sends desirous messages to my brain. It’s all slightly feminine in some way and yet in others, well, it doesn’t matter except... what the hell is going on? # A couple of hours later and with the drinks mum served beginning to press on my bladder, the first part of what she insists I do is imminent. I finish the homework I’m working on and move from the computer to the window and look out at the view. Nothing new, nothing has changed except, except, well, that short walk has brought me back to be fully aware of the nappy I’m wearing. I release my jeans and let them fall unaided to the floor before casually slipping out of them. At the same time, watch in complete fascination, as my disposable elegantly re-inflates and returns to the size it was originally. The materials are still gripping my groin and the wispy fabric tickles as well as caresses my skin. I watch myself in the full-length mirror, I look more colourful than usual but still like an incontinent teen. However, I’ve been given my instructions by mum so I return to look out over the back garden and concentrate as I release the pressure in my bladder. With the first spurt of pee the flimsy structure tightens a little and secures around my genitals. I try to hold back but it’s as if the material is pressing on my bladder, encouraging me to finish what I started. The sensation is just that, quite sensational. I stand looking out across the back lawn to the row of trees that surround the garden and it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time as my mind seems to join the flooded relief in my nappy. As I fill it, the pattern and colours change whilst the tightening bulk forces my legs apart a little. The flimsy fabric layers are now storing what I’ve just released and although I don’t feel wet, I can feel it expanding and becoming more solid. The fragile lattice work of alternative textiles are binding together to contain what I’ve let go and suddenly, without any warning, my bowel wants to join in the experience. I stand at the window transfixed as I fill the seat of dad’s latest development and notice that the colours change again. Where I’ve messed the colour is bright purple, where I’ve wet its bright yellow but there are other discrepancies. For one; the entire disposable is very solid and although I’m being gripped firmly, the weight is not there. However, I cannot smell anything, the contrivance has kept everything I’ve expelled well contained and that includes the stink I occasionally have to bear. Mum knocks on my bedroom door and walks in. She sees me standing at the window, legs now slightly apart and the new nappy obviously well used. “Well done Pumpkin.” She comes over and pushes a few stray hairs away from my eyes. “How does it feel?” There is certainly a different aspect to what I’m wearing though, for the moment, I am not really sure what it is. It feels unlike anything I’ve ever used before, as if it has moulded itself around everything and is giving me a pleasurable squeeze… like its congratulating me for using it. I know that’s stupid but that’s what’s going through my brain as mum inspects the thing. For some stupid reason I’m delighted that I’ve just messed and peed in my nappy and don’t feel in the least bit embarrassed as mum checks me out. She runs her hands over the bulk and its far more ‘dense’ now. The wispy material has bonded together to make a security proof seal, though the crimped filigree leg holes have given a softer edge to the tightened grip. There is a lacy, almost girlish look to the slick exterior and appears like a padded pair of panties. Even the tabs that fastened me in have blended into the surrounding fabric producing a colourful but unifying look. Mum smiles and whistles in appreciation, I just look dumbfounded. “Your father said it was special… what do you think?” I walked the few steps from the window to the mirror and am speechless; the entire look of the disposable has changed to something that looks more ‘permanent.’ I just nod. It’s no longer a soft, wispy concoction but something real and substantial. “Judging by the colours… there’s still plenty of use in it. Apparently, the disposable turns totally bright red when it’s full and needs changing. So… keep wearing it until it does. “But mum… er… I’ve… er…um… done a poo as well as wet… erm…” I started to tell her as I know she likes to keep me clean at all times. I’ve rarely worn a used nappy for more than a couple of minutes when at home, she’s that scrupulous about hygiene. “Well done love but, as it isn’t completely red yet, that means there is still plenty more absorbency in it so…” I’m a little shocked to still have to wear something I’ve messed in, despite the fact that it doesn’t actually feel like I’ve done so. I mean, well, there’s certainly some firmness to the disposable but all in all, I don’t sense it needed a change. The squishy mushiness that would normally follow me around after I messed just wasn’t there. This was one very strange and unique disposable. I peered in the mirror as mum gently ran her fingers over it and looked pretty pleased and impressed. Standing there, with mum fussing, it took me back to when I was a lot younger and she was always proud of the fact that I’d done my business. At that moment I felt like a three year-old and for the briefest of moments, the image looking back was just that, me at three. # It was getting late, so I wished mum a ‘goodnight’ and before tentatively easing myself under the covers I gave this incredible piece of clothing a final inspection. The wispy, floaty, quilted material had become firm but not immobile, there was still a bit of give to the structure and even the silky, supple texture was quite thrilling to fondle… I didn’t want to leave it alone. There was definitely something else happening that was making me regard this product in a completely different way I’d viewed everything I’d ever worn (and used) before. My fingers traced over what had once been a very insubstantial piece of incontinence-wear but now… something robust and strangely calming occupied my crotch… and my thoughts… yet I had no idea why. I tentatively slipped between the sheets wearing only the new piece of merchandise but for some reason was a bit apprehensive. Of course, over the many years wearing just a thick nappy and plastic pants to bed had become my natural sleep attire. In fact, I’d gotten used to the slippery nature of the vinyl and quite liked its silken, supple quality – I often fell asleep just stroking and enjoying the glassy material… although this was something else. Actually, that was what was different. I was enjoying wearing this new design, not only enjoying wearing it but enjoying still using it. My head was full of ridiculous thoughts as I caressed the special fabric. The soft lacy bits, together with the firmer, slicker padding, all sending wave after wave of utter delight through my system. Thoughts of pleasure, of accomplishment, of contentment… WHOA! The total sensation was making my heart and mind surge with complete gratification and my body shook as I realised that this was a very exceptional thing I was experiencing. #tbc#

Thanks, I'm pleased you're enjoying the story The nappy contains a few secrets.

Part 4 Gary Harrison had recently employed a new development team at the company. Although the old crew had some ideas, he wanted innovation not just alternatives. The old team had been trying out various homeopathic herb infusions into the fabric to give a feeling of well-being. Lavender, turmeric, sandalwood and a host of other essential oils were blended together and used in the design and make up of new products. Although they were quite well received, they didn’t have the desired ‘total impact’ Gary was searching for. # A year ago, I overheard mum and dad discussing the fact they had thought to pull me out of school. I was at an age where I could officially leave and go to work and they thought it would be better for me to do so. I was quite terrified of having to work, not that I’m scared of the idea of work; it’s just that I’m not sure I’m ready yet for such responsibility. However, I asked them if I could finish my exams even if I didn’t think I’d do too well in them. I didn’t, the results were pretty dire but my parents loved me enough to let me try again so... agreed to let me continue with my studies for the extra period. I’ve got two more years at school and then join father’s company. No chance of University I’m just not that clever but I would like to finish my main exams. I feel I’ve managed to put up with school and nappies long enough to see the thing through. Although what dad’s business is has basically passed me by, when they were having their conversation, I heard it being discussed that I would join the firm. Apparently I’d start in the warehouse and work every position to see what I’m either good at or… not. Anyway, being the only one in class to still wear nappies is difficult but, as I have no choice, I just wear them and get on with it. Over the years a couple of teachers had words with mum and dad but they were given short shrift and never mentioned it again. I have no idea what was said in those discussions but the teachers who’d voiced concern were most definitely silenced. From then on they were polite but wary of me and I’m conscious that they are making some kind of special effort - although I don’t know if it is for my benefit or theirs. # I was barely through the door when mum spoke. “Hey David, I’ve got something for you.” I’m late home having been doing some extracurricular work with a couple of my schoolmates in the science lab. Don’t worry, a teacher was there and we weren’t planning on making some magical potion or explosives… or drugs (although Keith had suggested that might be ‘fun’), we just wanted extra credit for the projects that were up-coming before the exams. Anyway, because of the lateness my nappy’s well soaked and has been for quite some time so I’m grateful when she hands me what is obviously a new disposable. “I bet you’re soaked.” After all this time, she knows exactly how squishy I am. “Let’s get you changed and into this lovely, bright new nappy eh?” I shrugged off my bag, slipped off my school blazer and went upstairs to my bedroom, which was already set out with the usual array of paraphernalia I need for a change. “It’s okay mum I can…” “No sweetheart, this is a new design… let me put it on first and check we’ve got it correctly…” It was my turn to interrupt. “Muuumm, after all this time don’t you think that…” “Pumpkin, no argument. I’ll see to it and that’s an end to the discussion. I want to ensure I follow the instructions carefully. It’s a new design and I think,” she smiled, “you’re going to like it a lot.” Why I was supposed to “like it a lot” I was unsure but, as per “Because I/we/they say so” I didn’t object. Mum was most insistent that I wear it straight away and I hardly have time to take off my shirt, trousers or soaked nappy before she’s there with wipes, powder and cream. I scarcely had time to draw breath before she has expertly taped me firmly into this new ‘fabrication’. There’s something to it that’s quite unlike anything else I’ve ever worn; I have to agree it does feel different. It’s pink and yellow, thick but soft and crinkles with a soft welcoming sound that makes me immediately feel relaxed… perhaps not relaxed but… something. I mean, it is comfortable, with the various, light, multi-layers of padding in its design. I’m conscious of it all… but not inconvenienced by any of it. In fact, as I run my hands over the pliable, almost weightless stuffing, the slippery, plastic-like outer covering is just so insubstantial. I know ‘nice’ isn’t an acceptable word but it’s as if I’m being given a friendly hug, a nudge to say ‘well didn’t I tell you it was something different?’ that has me feeling happy and contented. Yes, that’s it, I feel contented. I’m almost sixteen, wearing a nappy and yet, after all I’ve said, I wriggle in total satisfaction. That surely can’t be right? This new disposable feels ‘altered’, but not bulky. Well, let me re-phrase that observation. It looks bulky, it looks like a thick nappy but, it’s so light it feels like I’m wearing, very little. I check in the mirror and there is absolutely no mistaking what it looks like, it’s definitely a disposable. But, when I sit down, the seat seems to compact, although my groin still has that tell-tail bulge. However, even that can be pushed down as if the air is removed, although, as soon as I let go, it sort of self-inflates back to its original size. It’s quite substantial but feels very insubstantial… almost wispy. Weird but fascinating. Mum mentions that I need to wear it all the time and to do everything in it. I question her on ‘everything’ but she is adamant that I use it completely. I have to say I don’t particularly like this command but after they’d agreed to let me stay on at school I thought I owed them some reciprocal deal. However, not only do I decline to argue on this occasion, I am more than a little intrigued by the product. It feels unlike anything I’ve ever worn before. I question mum about the need for vinyl pants to cover it but she says to try it without first. I’m nervous of using it lacking such added protection but she is insistent that I do so. When I pull my jeans on over it, it all but disappears, like it’s deflated or something, yet I can still feel its protective grip around my genitals. Normally, I eventually forget I’m wearing a bulky item but although this looked bulky to begin with, it certainly doesn’t look that way under my pants. It’s deflated to nothing. #tbc#

It's nice to have a daddy who loves his little one so much and even better when that love is returned in force.

That's also a terrific complement Google can tell us most things but will a search bring up this fantastic event?

Part 3 When I was ten a pair of blue nylon ‘briefs’ had been accidentally folded in with my neatly doubled-up terry nappy, so I took the opportunity to put them on under my shorts. I didn’t realise that they were actually a pair of my mum’s knickers and when she patted my bum and realised I wasn’t wearing a nappy she went ballistic. My excuse that it was there amongst the stuff she’d left for me went unheeded as she accused me of pilfering her underwear from her and dad’s room. I was mortified at wearing her panties. Even though I thought they fitted me quite well and liked the thin silky texture with its delicate lacy design, I didn’t think of them as anything more than a different style of underpants. Had I had more time wearing them I think I might have preferred them to a nappy but, that was the first time I ever wore anything even resembling a pair of briefs. I pleaded my innocence but nonetheless still received a very red bottom at the hands of my irate mother. With each slap she made me beg to be returned to wearing a nappy so, to make the spanking stop, I cried out loudly I wanted my thick protection back and that I’d never try mum’s briefs on again. Actually, I’ve told a fib because a couple of years ago I bought some briefs of my own. I’d saved some pocket money and went to town shopping. I noticed this pack of three white cotton briefs in a sale and on impulse just bought them. Plenty of boys at school wore white underwear and I always thought it just looked like tight-fitting nappies. I should have known better because I didn’t try to hide them and they were soon discovered. Mum and dad accused me of being sneaky, of going against their wishes, of being a very naughty little boy who should know better. The term ‘naughty little boy’ really hit home and as they berated me for what I’d done that was just how I felt. At such times mum and dad have a way of making me feel I’m the most thoughtless, immature and ungrateful person in the world. Despite that, my bottom was well and truly spanked until I promised in future never to be so underhand again. They saw it as me being deceptive and secretive and they weren’t going to allow me to become that type of person. It was a strange punishment because throughout the spanking, dad spoke to me and made me feel I’d let everyone down. I came away not only hurting but feeling guilty, which has stopped me from doing anything similar since. However, once I’d been spanked, and made aware of my ‘crime’, both mum and dad always held me tightly and hugged me tenderly until I stopped crying. The other strange thing was, after I’d been summarily punished, it was the thick padding of the nappy I was then fastened into that helped ease the pain and offered so much comfort and reassurance. It was then a pleasure to wear it. Weird? I know. # I’ve been putting on my own nappies since I was seven but, when I’d throw a tantrum mum or dad would come to my room, spank my bare bottom and fasten me in and woe betide should I try to wriggle free. Then for the next few days I am supervised until they feel they can trust me and I’ve promised to behave. I’m not spanked as much now I’m a teenager, because I’ve learnt not to object to the way things are. Having said that, I’m not the type of person who would physically fight anyone let alone my parents so, even now, if I have to go over their knee to be disciplined, that’s just what happens. It’s not often but my fifteen year old bum does still sporadically get reddened in this fashion. So much for me saying they don’t treat me as a baby… they do if, in their words, “fussing and whinging”, I act like one. As I’ve said, neither bothers if I’ve wet or messed (though messing, other than occasionally first thing in the morning, is incredibly rare) they just take it in their stride. If one of them is around then they’ll volunteer to change me but, I’d rather do it myself. Their loving morning pats to my padded bottom I suspect are more to check that I‘m wearing what I has been designated as much as from familial affection. They expect and encourage me to not let a bulky nappy get in the way of my doing anything I want to. They even adapt my protection to suit any project or sporting event I might like to undertake but, nonetheless insist I wear either a disposable or fabric nappy... there’s no getting away from that. Even when I go swimming they have a special water-tight pair of briefs for me to wear. They look like a pullup but are very tight fitting with several layers of plastic, foam and absorbent material. The outer waterproof material has little fish swimming all over it – cute but attracts attention at the pool, which I’m not keen on. # To be honest I’d often go weeks without mentioning anything about my protection. The bulkiness in my pants just something I take in my (awkward) stride as it is always been there. Why? “Because we say so.” Because I’d only ever been nappy trained, it never occurred to me to think about being potty trained. By the time I went to school and all my friends were using the toilet, I was still wetting my nappy, although, because of the plastic pants, it was never really that apparent. They would stand up and pee in a bowl or into a urinal whereas I didn’t have to wait until break time, I would just go when I needed to. They argued that I was still a baby but I’d throw a wobbly, insist I wasn’t, which only seemed to prove I was. However, at that age you simply do not question your parents… well, I certainly didn’t. Since then, any other ‘revolt’ has been painful and short-lived. When they say, “Because we say so” I know I can’t argue. I’d done so on many occasions that now, even to myself, my protests seemed ridiculous because I already knew the outcome. “Because we say so.” There is no disputing that… they do and I do what they say. # I didn’t have many friends growing up (and still don’t). Those few I do have are used to me being who I am and wearing what I do even at school. Over the years the call of ‘Nappy Boy’ was less an insult and more a name which I responded to and everyone knew was true. I didn’t mind as it was a fact and there was nothing I could do to pretend otherwise. Under my shorts, under my trousers, under my jeans – there was (and is) always that bunch of fabric soaking up any dribbles or spurts, whilst the vinyl pants make sure my outerwear is never compromised. Once people know that what they say has no effect they soon get bored of saying it, especially if it isn’t getting any response from anyone. Over the years, once everyone knew, there was nothing anyone could say that made the slightest difference or impression on the people around me. If, when I was out, somebody commented on my padded bottom or smooth bulging crotch, it appeared to be more excitement for them than embarrassment for me… I was long past embarrassment. During the day my protective plastic pants are colour-coded to match whatever I’m wearing and I have a vast selection of shades and designs as options. The reason for this is that part of dad’s company is making various items for the medical supply business. Not drugs but equipment and specialist items like, well, plastic pants, disposables and the like. I suppose that’s why for some reason I’m kept in nappies, though it has never been explained as such. Apparently over the years the company developed different styles and sizes of disposable, nappies, plastic pants and other incontinence paraphernalia… all of which I suppose I’ve worn or used at some time or other. However, neither parent said that’s why I’m kept in them. They’ve never even suggested I’m wearing a sample and wanted to see how an item worked in a real life situation. In fact, until recently I never really knew what the company did. I just knew dad went out in the morning and came home at night, whilst mum worked at home on the computer doing her charity administration work. I suppose my lack of knowledge, or interest for that matter, in my parent’s work some might say proves how childishly self-absorbed I was. It was just never discussed with me. No doubt, over the years, I have worn many of the company’s prototype range without knowing that’s what I was doing. I can’t say I remember anything too bizarre, although there have been times when the padding has been more immense than usual, or newly designed pvc nappy covers have held me tightly in a hot embrace. When I think about it, there have been many different styles. There was one disposable where once it got wet filled out and became quite solid. It didn’t mould itself around your bits but became like a board forcing legs well apart so you were left with an unfavourable waddle. I think if they said I was some kind of ‘test-pilot’ checking out their range of items to see if they were reliable I might have felt involved… even privileged but, as it is, they’ve never said a word so my life in nappies just carries on “because they say so”. #tbc#

Miss Goodridge Patrick was dreading getting home. School had been horrendous, he’d had a fight with his best friend, he’d hit a teacher who stepped in to break it up and he swore at the principal. The anger that had built up inside him had found a very destructive way out and he was now regretting all that had transpired. He’d always been a bit of a bully even when he was in the nursery many years earlier, and his bullish attitude had carried over in each and every grade so far. He liked the fear he saw in some kid’s eye and his contempt for any authority meant he wasn’t scared of any of the punishments the school offered. However, he realised he might have gone too far this time, hitting a teacher and swearing was grounds for removal from school completely, and that would have been a step too far even for him. The day had been particularly bad. Unfortunately, for Patrick things were about to get a lot worse. * Needless to say his mother knew all about his day’s exploits and was not the happiest of people as her twelve year-old terror arrived home off the school bus. The phone call earlier that afternoon from the principal had spelt out just exactly what had happened and Patrick’s mother was only pleased that the voice at the other end of the phone had not ended the conversation with his expulsion from class completely. However, the principal had made it quite clear that she would not put up with such appalling behaviour or disruption to the running of the school. He’d been suspended for the rest of the week and would only be allowed back after an apology to the teacher Patrick had hit and he had a complete turnaround in his attitude. His mother was at her wit’s end but she had come up with a plan she’d read about online - a way of dealing with unruly kids. * Patrick surreptitiously opened the front door hoping against hope that he could make it up to his room before his mother caught him. “GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW.” His hope died as his mother’s angry voice echoed throughout the house. He shivered. Normally Patrick was used to getting into trouble and his mother’s punishment had always been sending him to his room, grounding him, withdrawing the use of the video games and TV privileges. This time he suspected, as they had all already been invoked, those options were no longer a possibility. He swallowed hard and walked into the living room where his mother was sitting with another lady he’d never seen before. “I received a call from your principal this afternoon.” She left that tiny piece of information to sink in so he knew there was no point in trying to deny what had happened. “What have you got to say for yourself?” Patrick’s mind was working overtime. Perhaps he should have developed a strategy before he arrived home but only now, as his fate loomed did he try to think of something, an excuse, a defence, something… but his twelve year-old brain was having none of it and he simply gulped back the fear saliva that had appeared in his mouth. “Er, er, er, it wasn’t my fault…” “You hit a teacher and another pupil…” “Yer, but that was Tommy,” he interrupted with an air of contempt, “he’s always such an annoying little bast…” Now it was his mother’s turn to interrupt. “You swore at the principal.” He smirked at the memory. “You appear to think this is some kind of joke. Do you think it makes you a big man in front of the rest of the class?” She was ridiculing and angry with him at the same time. “What do you think happens to school boys,” she emphasised that he was still just a boy, “who think it’s clever to fight and backchat adults?” Patrick wanted to come up with some kind of clever response but in truth, he’d never seen his mother so angry and thought that a ‘clever’ comment might not go down well. He shuffled his feet as he stood looking crestfallen in the living room doorway. He hoped that the adopted look of dejection would garner some sympathy as he put on his most sorrowful expression. “Well let me tell you,” his mother was still talking, “there are consequences.” She wasn’t fooled by her son’s obvious fake look of contrition and had the final thrust to her angry speech. “This is Miss Goodridge. From today until there’s been a change in your attitude, she will be in charge of you every minute of the day… from the moment you get up to the moment you go to sleep. From what you eat to what you wear. Indeed, there will not be one aspect of your life that is not sanctioned by Miss Goodridge and, she has my blessing to impose any punishment she sees fit to make sure you obey her every command.” For the first time he looked over at the lady sitting next to his mother and took her in. She looked slightly younger than his mother, she had dark hair, beautifully made up eyes and, what seemed even more appealing to Patrick, a rather full breast… he wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be a punishment or something else but he decided he wouldn’t mind doing whatever she wanted him to. The woman didn’t exactly smile or frown but there was a look that made Patrick feel very insecure as she acknowledged his presence. She was absolutely stunning but there was definitely something about her that wasn’t, as far as he was concerned, quite right, although he just couldn’t put his finger on it. His mother was still speaking. “You will go with Miss Goodridge now and I will see you again when she thinks your entire demeanour is suitable for…” “But mum, I have things planned for this week. Er, I’m in the school diving team so I…” This time Miss Goodridge interrupted. “Young boys do not interrupt when an adult is speaking.” “But, er, I….” “Do you not have ears? I just said young boys do not interrupt when adults are speaking. Are you stupid or something?” Patrick was shocked that he was being spoken to that way by this stranger, this guest in his home, this…” He was a bit too slow in his answer so Miss Goodridge jumped in. “I asked if you were stupid.” “Erm, er, no,” Anger was growing in his chest as he felt a hot furious shiver run through his body and was about to burst out in a tirade against being called stupid. She looked across at his mother. “Is he stupid?” She was laying on the insult pretty thickly. “Does this child not understand simple English?” His mother just shook her head and refused to come to his defence. “Well, I suppose if he doesn’t understand then that explains a great deal and of course I’ll have to start with the basics.” She nodded towards his mother who was standing there with a shrug and a smile as Miss Goodridge stood up, held out her hand and commanded Patrick to come with her. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know who you are but you…” Miss Goodridge was fast and grabbed hold of her young charge. Her grip was terrifyingly strong as he tried to pull away but she had him over her knee in a second and was spanking his upturned bottom; his thin school trousers and underpants offering scant protection from her fearless palm. He was stunned and tried to fight his way from her formidable grasp but she held him tightly in a position he found uncomfortable, embarrassing and painful. He wasn’t sure why the hold she had him in meant he couldn’t fight back but no matter how he wriggled and kicked out, he stayed exactly where she positioned him. His bottom received several smacks from a hand that was deceivingly strong and firm. After the initial assault she stopped and rummaged in her large bag, which had been sitting on the floor behind her legs and from which she produced a small wooden hairbrush. This replaced her palm as the instrument of punishment as she continued to spank his wriggling bottom for several more minutes. He was desperate not to show any weakness but his twelve year-old bottom was receiving some serious punishment and try as he might to refrain, tears welled up and streamed down his face as he bawled his apologies and begged for the spanking to stop. It didn’t straight away and his screams and tears continued until all fight had left his body and he lay there unable to stop the continual barrage from the brush. Eventually she stopped and stood her sore and snuffling charge up in front of her. “Now, you will do exactly as you are told.” She spoke sternly and obviously in command of the situation. “Any back chat, attitude or disobedience will result in your bare bottom getting a thrashing… and I can assure you it will not be the gentle taps you have just received.” Patrick was desperately trying to rub the heat from his bottom and looking at the ground as she spoke he thought “Gentle taps?” she had to be joking. She lifted his eyes to meet hers making sure he understood who was in command. “Do I make myself perfectly clear?” He was still rubbing his bottom but had no alternative but to look at this strong and wilful woman and take heed of what she said. He nodded. “Answer me when I ask you a question.” This was no polite request, this was a command… Patrick was still desperately trying to hold back his tears but nonetheless they were there and he was finding it difficult to get his thoughts and words into some kind of order. He simply wasn’t used to this kind of hostile stance from a grown up. “Yes.” He whispered between gulps of air. “You know my name, but, if you’ve forgotten then you call me Ma’am but I need to know you understand what I’ve just told you.” She reached for the hairbrush again and his face creased in trepidation that he might be about to receive another ferocious spanking. “Yes, er, Ma’am…” For the life of him he couldn’t remember her name it had escaped his brain completely. “I understand.” He was scared. He’d never been scared before and found he didn’t like the way it felt. He was made to feel like a vulnerable little kid who had no thoughts and no opinions and was just a… He didn’t want to think any more as she held his hand and guided him out to her car. This was an opportunity to run off. He wanted to fight, to protest, to show her he had a mind of his own and wasn’t the type of lad to be pushed around by a woman. However, his throbbing bottom and tearful face and the grip around his arm as he was marched to the car were evidence that this woman was completely in charge and he’d better not mess her around. The consequences for doing so were… incredibly painful. He didn’t even say goodbye to his mother who, although sad to see her son go, knew that he needed some discipline in his life, a discipline which she had been unable to give. ## Patrick was as good as gold during the journey to where ever he was going, mainly due to the fact that he just couldn’t sit comfortably in the car seat as his bottom throbbed so much. The threat of a much more severe punishment had an effect and he remained tight-lipped, desperately attempting, but unsuccessfully, to hold back tears as Miss Goodridge drove him he knew not where. This was how Miss Goodridge operated; her methods were undisclosed though effective. Her customers were only told their child would be away for “however long it took”. Some children reacted quickly to her ‘teaching’ methods, whilst others took more intense training over a longer period. However, the results were always the same, total compliance, total subservience and total control for their parents. Those who went through the ‘Goodridge System’ at the beginning were boys and girls who were growing up knowing their place and how to please others. She never discussed her methods just offered results and that was all any parent was paying for but she did offer the proviso that should she fail then all fees would be refunded without question. She had never yet had to return a fee. However, once the child was restored to its parents there was a list of measures and practices she gave them to continue her good work, thus avoiding any relapse. # Any time the child even thought about becoming confrontational or argumentative, planted in their mind was the command for their bladder and/or bowel to open and deposit whatever was in them into their pants. To prevent public messes, she also instilled in them a love and reliance on thick padding with suitable vinyl protection. So, when they returned to their parents, cowed and submissive, they also wore the defence that would keep them that way. It was strange that nearly every parent loved having their compliant child back in diapers. The super soft thick fabric, together with the soft rustle or crinkle of the chosen pvc panties making them more loving and dependent and that was a renewed and wonderful feeling those parents appreciated. # Miss Goodridge had been recommended to Patrick’s mummy. Well, perhaps not recommended as much as researched by her to try and find an answer to his growing unruliness. Miss Goodridge’s online references were brilliant and contained glowing reports from parents who had sent their troubled offspring to her and received back much improved children. Those reviews had convinced her that perhaps this mysterious lady might be just the answer to her rapidly growing problem. # Sixteen days after Patrick had left with Miss Goodridge he returned a new and improved boy. Perhaps a tiny bit clingy but now well behaved as well as thickly diapered. His manners had greatly improved and, like all her ‘students’, was full of praise for the lady who’d changed his life and made him understand his place in it. As per Miss Goodridge’s instructions, he was to have specific bedtimes, naps and food. TV and video games should be heavily monitored, or better still, banned altogether. Regular hugging and cuddling sessions should always accompany diaper changes as should positive baby talk and applications of baby oil and powder. That sense of touch around the diaper area, together with words of infant style encouragement, would be letting the child know he or she is loved but that comfort is reliant on mummy and daddy. Pacifiers and baby bottles should be used if needed to calm the child should it become agitated in any way. However, for Patrick the main thing was positive reinforcement that he was a sweet little boy who needed his mommy. Miss Goodridge also prescribed a certain dress-code which entailed him wearing diapers and rubber panties, and only those items, as often as possible. Likewise, all parents were told that their little one should never be asked (or allowed) to make a decision, this, in the ‘Goodridge System’, would only add confusion to the child’s mind. How a child was dressed and fed was of course up to the parent but Miss Goodridge advised that colourful, juvenile ensembles worked best for keeping a child engaged and in check, whilst bland food and drink would not fill the child with ‘E’ numbers and sugar. The child was also micro-chipped so that he or she could always be located if they wandered off. Any naughtiness, which she confidently predicted would hardly ever happen, but if it did, needed quick action - a thorough spanking and corner time was advised. They should wear thick, thick diapers around the house as well as for sleeping in and even when out and about his protection should be equally evident. Regular and obvious diaper checks in public were recommended. Patrick needed to know his place and that was as mommy’s sweet obedient little boy. # There was very little left of twelve year-old Patrick’s previous ways. The naughty boy was now more a pliant and happy cherubic two year-old dashing around the house in his crinkly protection. The mischievous pre-teen had been transformed into the sweetest and most loving twelve year-old who didn’t like to stray too far away from his mommy. At times of stress, like going outside, Patrick held on to her hand for dear life. The thick padding offering him the security needed should anything upset him. However, mommy was there to make sure her little boy was safe, secure and that nothing would harm or make him wet or mess his generous fluffy diaper. Yet, from the moment he’d returned home, and even without any family discord, he filled his protection with remarkable regularity. Not that mommy minded, it was like having her sweet little baby back and she was determined to make the most of the time they spent together. He loved his mummy and told her every day, she replied, to his obvious pleasure, that there was nobody cuter than her wonderful little boy... her Baby Patrick. ### p.s. Miss Goodridge was a mysterious woman. Her background was unknown to her present customers and few asked questions because her results were so defining. Also, her no-nonsense exterior meant just that - she wasn’t in the business to make friends; she was there to do a job, which she found demanding but ultimately rewarding. The reason her background was never spoken of was simple, from a very early age she had been brought up to administer pain to earn a living. The Far Eastern ‘family’ to whom she was indentured knew their customers well. A small young girl making demands and ruling her older clientele with a rod of iron (or anything else that came to hand) was something to which a certain affluent elite loved to subject themselves. Sing Lo was one of the few children in that ‘family’ who actually enjoyed her work. The implements of her trade, applied in the precise way, produced some remarkable results that this young girl found inspiring. She loved the suffering, inflicting ‘correction’, applying new techniques, but most of all she loved the power to control people. Now she’s older, and away from the influences of the ‘family’ she found, together with a new country, that her abilities were needed for a whole new, unruly younger generation desperately in need of discipline. So, she adapted her techniques, adopted a superior no-nonsense ‘nanny with attitude’ persona and found that it didn’t take long before the country’s ignorant, self-obsessed, rude and totally wayward youth were being submitted to receive her years of training. Her initial advertisement had simply said. Does your child have an attitude you dislike? Does your child never listen to a word you say? Do you worry about where all this may lead? Worry no more. I have the solution to getting your sweet innocent baby back. Her phone number and ‘rates to be discussed’ were the only other wording but in the first few months she was inundated with requests for help from desperate parents with problem kids. From that very small beginning her reputation and client list grew. Word of mouth was excellent, then the internet poured praise upon her results and now, she is permanently engaged in the betterment of youthful attitudes everywhere. # The ‘Goodridge System’ hasn’t gone un-noticed and is at the top of one particular government department list as a possible deterrent, or the way future punishment for young offenders (and would be offenders) might go. Diapers, binkies and plastic pants would seem a small price to pay to keep the insolence of the young in check and an unruly, defiant youth in a state of permanent dependence. Plans and laws are already being discussed in various secret committees to alter, or even strike down, certain rights (Human and Civil) that might interfere with this process. The discussions continue but the outcome is... inevitable. #######

Fantastic, thank you so much for your comment However, here's a warning... this one might not go completely as expected.

Part 2 Although I’m always well dressed for school or if we go anywhere, at home I often walk around wearing only my protection with a t-shirt or jumper. When I was little this was often the only clothing I got to wear indoors so, as I’ve gotten older, that initial repetition is still there so I haven’t changed. There’s no embarrassment because it’s something I’ve always been used to. Because I’ve been encouraged by my parents to be relaxed and have no hang ups about my padding, I’m equally at home sliding onto the furniture in my slippery plastic protection (and little else) as I am a pair of shorts covering my thick nappy. It’s another one of those things that, over the years, I’ve just found I prefer to do. It appears a very childish position to be in but neither mum nor dad recognises the supposition that it is in anyway immature. Nappies are what they’ve decided their son will wear, so that’s exactly what I do wear. Not childish, babyish, juvenile or any of the other comments I’ve had screamed at me by a guffawing group of kids. It’s just my parents preference so… no dispute. They are not a hindrance to my daily school or home life as I’m used to it. Equally, when I’m put into something bulkier I seem to be able to cope with it, although perhaps my waddle is slightly more pronounced. Mum doesn’t even see it as extra work. In fine weather the washing line in the back garden is in continuous use, when it is inclement the airing cupboard or drier has the job of freshening everything up. My large colourful fabric nappies and array of equally vibrant plastic pants hang side by side with the more mundane white versions of themselves. I have all manner of styles and designs. Some are hypoallergenic, others with different absorbency, special inserts using diverse materials or gels. Indeed all my fabric nappies are re-usable, although occasionally (and for no reason given to me) I’ll suddenly have a period of wearing disposables, eco-disposables or thick, thick pullups. Mum and dad are equally enthusiastic about changing me especially if it’s something new until I get the hang of doing it myself. Then there’s the selection of protective lotions, creams and powder spread around my groin and over my teenage bottom… and still I have no say. My pubic hair has never grown but that might be down to the lotions I’ve had spread down there since I was a kid. I scream “I’m fifteen for God’s sake…” but it has no effect whatsoever. Mum looks down on me benignly as if to say ‘I hope you’re not going to have a tantrum’, then continues her ministrations to make sure I am well cared for. She does this in such a loving way it’s very hard not to enjoy and appreciate such attention. Mum and dad smile their knowing smile, pat me on my padded seat and tell me how proud they are of having such a well-balanced teenager for a son. It’s difficult to get too agitated when you’re being praised and then there’s the obvious love that flows between us all. They don’t particularly spoil me but I’ve never had to go without anything. Having said all that, and despite my having to use my nappy for what it’s designed for, I’ve never truly had a nappy rash. A little reddening, yes, but never to the degree I’ve heard others have suffered. So, on that subject my parents do at least appear to know what they’re doing. # Although I always wear a nappy I’m not treated as a baby. Apart from when I was a baby and I had all the paraphernalia a baby needs; I’ve never been kept from growing up. My clothes, toys and education all kept pace with my age and, apart from insisting I wear what my parents tell me to in the underwear department; I’ve never felt at a disadvantage to any of my peers. Mind you, I still have to say poo and pee as mum, when I was nine and used the other more grown up words Sh*t and P*ss (even typing them makes me feel queasy) took me to the bathroom and washed my mouth out with a bar of soap. I don’t know if you’ve ever had it done but it’s a horrible, nasty taste and I was made to understand that swearing and using ‘naughty’ words was a definite no-no. Despite not actually saying or typing the entire words, to this day I can still taste the displeasure mum introduced me to when I hear them spoken or see them written down. So, you’ll only ever get poo and pee from me. To be honest, there are times when I actually like being ‘different’. I see all my school chums searching for some individuality, which they seem to find by copying someone else. I see the anxiety some exhibit quite a lot of the time. My well-wrapped groin has often given me the comfort and security that I once received from my teddy bear (Mr Teddy) as a kid, something indefinable, but being there when I’ve unexpectedly needed some kind of reassurance. Silly I know, but at times, without warning, something will happen and I’ve been really relieved to have my protection. A sudden fright, some emotional overload or the occasional excited but accidental spurt… Being an only child I am mollycoddled and mum and dad are very loving with lots of hugs and kisses and time together (which incidentally I love) but, other than the protection, I’m treated as a teenager. Having said that, even now mum leaves my daily protection on my dresser all neatly folded and with the various creams and powder I’ll need to maintain a nappied existence. It’s a process she’s continued since I began to dress myself. To begin with she checked I’d got everything fastened correctly and securely, praising me for getting the job done well and helping me if it wasn’t quite right. When I’d been left to my own devices I wasn’t that clever so, in those early days she helped by getting everything ready. It has simply continued since then. So, when I wake up to a soaked nappy, which is common, I dispose of them in a plastic bin with a lid, and my selected anti-rash creams, powder, nappy, pins and vinyl pants are there prepared for the day ahead. I’ve learned to efficiently use all these things by slathering on the correct barriers to prevent my skin for developing any nasty inflammation and cover it with nice tight leak-proof protection. I probably wake up wet on more occasions than someone my age would be expected to do. For instance, I can go days without any such night time involvement and then spend the next couple of nights waking up to a very soggy and sagging nappy. I suppose, because now as a fifteen year old it isn’t all the time, I feel I’m in some kind of control, though whether I am or not I can tell from my parent’s faces they think that’s a debateable point. However, once I do have a wet night the look on their faces tells me they are justified in their approach to my comfort… and it will continue. Perhaps they know my needs better than I do, I just wish they’d tell me… I’m used to slipping between my sheets accompanied by the slight rustle of plastic. I suppose, over the years, the smooth plastic panties have added to my nightly experience and have taken the place of my trusted teddy bear from when I was little. When I do wake up wet I am really glad that I’ve worn my night time protection and none of my bed linen has suffered. I only wear PJs over it all if we’re visiting relations or on a trip somewhere. Also, I prefer to have my legs unencumbered so it’s just a t-shirt and my glossy protection. I’ll also admit that even now, I can get a great deal of pleasure from having Mr Teddy in bed with me. I know at fifteen I should be well over such things but occasionally, just occasionally, hugging my bear is a fantastic confidence booster. A cartoon teddy bear wearing a nappy has been the company logo for the children’s range of products since very early on in the company’s history. Mr Teddy was the first promotional gimmick they used and has been passed down the family line for a good few years now, but still looks pretty good for his age. Mum keeps my room smelling fresh by never leaving a wet or smelly nappy lying around for very long. She collects whatever dirty items are left and it’s straight into the machine. Meanwhile, windows are thrown open, a quick spray and everything is back to relative freshness. She keeps a meticulous eye on my bedding and checks if I have leaked or had any other accidents during the night. My room and laundry are spotless and always unsullied by the usual detritus of a boy my age. My parents have got me well-schooled in maintaining a high degree of cleanliness and neatness, so my room is very well regulated with a place for everything… and everything in its place. # I’ve never been potty trained but I have been well nappy trained. As a toddler I would always wake up wet and messy, which mum or dad would sort out. I was always told what a “good boy” I was for filling my nappy. As I got older and moved from onesies to pyjamas mum would come in my room and check my bulging protection. If I was only wet she would get me out of bed and she’d stand behind me whilst rubbing my tummy, encouraging me to fill my nappy. Her words of whispered reassurance that it was okay to poo in my already soaked nappy, together with the slight pressure she put on my tummy as she gently rubbed, had me doing so in a relatively short time. In fact, mum’s (and occasionally dad’s) reinforcement that my nappy needed to be used would mean that all they had to say by way of encouragement was what a ‘clever boy’ I was to get the result they wanted. This meant that my thick, night time nappy was always used so I could be cleaned up and placed in fresh protection for the rest of the day. Very rarely did I mess my nappy during the day, my parents had got me well trained to do the works first thing. Even to this day that’s how it works; I get my poo time done before I get ready for the day ahead. Although occasionally, when we’re having an intimate loving family moment and mum says I’m a ‘clever boy’, it has led to an accident which would have been better to avoid. My nappy use has become very regulated. Apart from what I’ve mentioned about my early morning ablutions I have made my daytime wettings only happen when I know I’m about to be changed. I may be the only boy at school whose backpack contains a plastic zip-lock bag with emergency disposables, wipes, creams, lotions and plastic pants. I have to admit that I have occasionally wet myself at school. I have been known to drift off in lessons and I’d only become aware of what I’d done as the warmth spread around my groin. Thankfully, my vinyl pants meant I was the only person who knew what happened and perhaps strangely, it was in those moments I was really glad of mum’s insistence on my protection. I don’t like a messy nappy or for that matter a messy room, even though my parents don’t seem to worry about such a thing. So, now I’m older I time my toilet ‘main event’ to coincide with that release from the night time nappy and before my morning shower. I’m not supervised so, once I’ve done my poo for the day, relieved, I can scrub myself clean then put on the fresh nappy that’s been ‘decided and provided’. My home life is bizarre at times. #tbc#

“Because we say so.” I’m fed up with hearing those words from everyone. “Because we say so.” or “Because I say so.” It was the answer to my question, “Why do I have to wear a nappy?” “Because we say so,” was and is the constant reply. When I say “everyone” who I actually mean are my parents. It’s never expanded on. It’s never explained. It’s never negotiable but, since being a baby until now at fifteen, I‘m still told I have to wear a nappy. It isn’t like I have much choice in the matter; both mum and dad never gave me an option and insist that I wear all the time. As it’s the only thing I’ve ever known or been allowed to wear… it’s what I wear. At night I have varied fabrications to sleep in but most often it’s a hefty doubled-up one with a pair of heavy, slippery opaque vinyl pants, whilst during the day, the padding is less bulky but only marginally. The daytime plastic pants I wear over them are quite crinkly and sometimes see-thru but thankfully not as thick as those I have to sleep in. I vaguely remember when I was five, mum trying me out in a disposable to wear for sleep but waking up soaked through - not only me but the bed as well so, from that moment on, she insisted I also wore rubber pants over my nappies. In the intervening time she hasn’t seen any reason to change that decision so I have a selection of rubber, plastic, vinyl, pvc and other waterproof covers that range from the plain, to the colourful and some might say… ornate. There is no other underwear in the house, well not for me at least, and the times I’ve tried to refuse that cumbersome fabric embrace have been met with determined and sometimes painful opposition. “David, we’re not going through this again and again. We want you to be safe and secure at all times and we’ve decided the best way to maintain that is by wearing protection.” Well, that’s roughly what the answer used to be to begin with - now they just ignore my occasional grumbling. As I’ve gotten older I’ve tried reasoning with them, expressing the silliness of a lad my age still in nappies, the bulkiness of them and urine constantly next to my body… Dad says he can’t see why I complain. In his opinion it is simply a different type of underwear and I should think myself lucky I have parents who dote on me enough to make sure I’m always well-guarded. According to them, wearing my toilet is no excuse for not wearing it??? There is no logic to their argument, not that it is an argument. I wear because that’s how my parents want me to dress. I’m an only child and although I’ve never known anything different, I know the other boys at school don’t wear what I have to. My parents regard it, for me at least, the absolute pinnacle of underwear and I think they pity those young people who’ve made the change to briefs or boxer shorts... or so I’m led to believe. I’m always dressed impeccably, mum sees to that. My school uniform is always clean and pressed, fresh clean shirt, Windsor knot on my tie, I look like a new boy every morning. My parents don’t see the thickness in my pants, sending out messages of being incontinent or worse, as a problem. You’d think a pair of briefs would be better than the reams of fabric I’ve worn over the years but they just reiterate that how can I be sure I won’t wet... again? This is where they got me because once or twice my nappy had been soaked when I was younger and they used those few occasions as reason enough to keep me padded. Now I have no option but to flood my nappies because I have no way out of them. # Gary Harrison was grateful. A new job, in an executive position was just what he needed. His wife of barely a year, Jennifer, was expecting their first child, so this opportunity and financial reward couldn’t have come at a better time. Prestige Pharmacists Products, a company his grandfather had founded and run for a number of years was ill so the firm needed an injection of new blood to take it to the next generation of supplies to the industry. Gary’s father had recently passed, and with the prospect of the older member of the family also likely to be taken soon, there was urgency in keeping the family business on track. Even though Gary had tried to make his way in the world in his own fashion he hadn’t been involved in the family business up until that moment. However, with this new opportunity he found he had ideas and drive to take on such responsibility. Harry, Gary’s grandfather, had come up with the idea of developing products that would last through a child’s formative years and well past puberty. He was hopeful to expand the company and have ‘customers for a lifetime’, not just at an age when they would normally need some protection – babies and incontinent old age. It was an idea that came to him when he saw how fathers would take their sons to football games at an early age; indoctrinate them in the ways, chants and colours of the team, which invariably lead to that child becoming a fan for life. He wanted that same principle to be attached to a lifetime for loving his products. He was an innovator and wanted new, exotic, must-have, trendy personal health products that would transcend the fact they were originally designed for only the pant-wetter’s of the world. His plan would be part research, part commercial, part promotional and part innovation – but it needed a subject matter, a volunteer they could follow throughout his or her life. Gary suggested his own, as yet unborn baby might be the ideal guinea pig for this experiment. Despite an initial reluctance to allow this to happen, eventually, as her husband was suddenly promoted to CEO, Jennifer was talked into seeing the benefits of such exploration and agreed to pursuing the research with enthusiasm. It was agreed that their son David, must never know the reason for the way he was being treated otherwise might reject the entire notion when older. He needed to know from his first questioning moments that he was a normal boy and his treatment was special to him because it’s what his mummy and daddy thought was best. He must be continuously told it was for his own good and brook no nonsense from any and all nay-sayers. A firm and constant reply of “because we say so” to his curiosity from the very beginning would mean it unlikely that he’d grow up and make demands that would change this bizarre but important piece of research. Any questioning of their methods on how to bring up their child must be fiercely and vehemently defended. They would, over the years, learn to quell any and all objections to David’s way of life with a series of carefully defended and aggressively pursued explanations. No one really knew what the outcome might be but making their son know he was (and is) loved, and not aware of being used as a guinea pig in some obscure marketing experiment, was paramount. They didn’t want to confuse him with mixed messages or any doubts, the way they cared for their son was to appear normal in their household at least. # Over the years I’ve found that a tantrum leads to a spanked bottom and no amount of crying, pleading or begging makes the slightest difference. I still end up having to wear a nappy. I occasionally still have my petty little rebellions, usually after someone has passed a comment on a boy my age still in nappies, but it’s no use. I usually end up seething for a few minutes before I’m back to wearing what I’m told. I haven’t been brought up to be confrontational, that has long since been spanked out of me, so tend to do as I’m told most of the time. “Because I say so.” It can be either of my parents speaking; it’s always the same answer so my reluctance to do as I’m told has all but evaporated. I may be a teenager but whilst my peers are all angst and mood swings, I’m a fairly easy-going type of guy. Despite being forced to wear a nappy I don’t have any particular hang ups, which I truly don’t understand. In fact, there is something about the way dad says he’s doing his duty by how he treats me is both mystifying but also quite pleasing… there’s never a moment when I don’t think mum and dad are there for me or are honest in their desire to keep me well protected. Maybe it’s simply because I have to wear a nappy that I’m so easy-going and at ease with myself, I’ve had to put up with a lot... I don’t know, perhaps I’m immune to some of the pressures other kids suffer. However, mum and dad are certain that their way is the right way for me and I do as I’m told (more often than not). From being a kid the changing of my soaked nappy has become a fun ritual. There is quite a bit of laughter, whilst the intimacy and tender way both my parents attend me is incredibly loving. Now, at fifteen, I don’t baulk if either of them want to change me, it’s just part of our relationship so I have no concerns about whether it’s appropriate or not. It simply doesn’t matter. Despite all the “Because we say so’s”, I love my parents. I suppose my initial statement doesn’t look that convincing now I’ve written it down but there were (and are) times when the resentment teeters (briefly) on the verge of anger. Usually because someone else has wound me up over it. Over the years various boys (and the occasional girl) have gone out of their way to befriend or bully me into wetting myself. When I was younger, the bullies were almost nonstop in trying to get me to pee my nappy. They would pull down my shorts or trousers and insist that I wouldn’t get them back until they had proof I’d wet myself. The growing yellow spot or gradual inflation of a disposable soaking up my scared pee was enough to have them victoriously laughing at my situation. I’d arrive home crying and demanding to be let out of my nappy but, at those moments mum, who works as an administrator for an overseas charity, would show me photographs of the starving and destitute people they are trying to help and that soon puts a lid on any ‘pathetic’ grievance I think I might have. Seeing images of kids and entire countries desperately trying to find enough food to stave off starvation is not a helpful sight if your only complaint is that you have to wear a nappy; especially, when so many kids hardly have any clothes at all. It was a shock to the system that what I have to put up with is as of nothing compared to the suffering others have to manage on a daily basis. I was learning that fact from a very early age and it sort of dwells continually in my brain should my ‘suffering’ seem all consuming. However, mum never let me contemplate on it for too long and takes a similar view to dad saying that I am her (and by implication, their) ‘sweet little pumpkin’ who should have the constant reassurance that a loving family and nappy, offers. Why they decided that a nappy is the best way to show that fact I’m not sure (cos no one tells me anything) therefore, I’m always well-protected. #tbc#

Ah yes, never thought of that. Anyway, I'm so crap with my computer, I thought I'd downloaded the image but now I can't find it so it doesn't matter. Thanks for your comments.

Has anyone seen a recent photo-shopped image of the boys from Stand By Me? They are wearing very short shorts and I was wondering if anyone who is clever with such techie stuff, could put them in nappies as well? Just one of my (many) weird desires.

What a fantastic reaction, thank you so much for sharing

Part 7 1247 The plans for ‘Liam’s 10km Nappy Walk’ were put into place surprisingly quickly. It was decided that the fields around the hospice couldn’t contain the numbers that were expected to take part so between the police, the Council and the committee, it was obvious that the race/walk should start elsewhere and finish in the hospital grounds. Fifty Acre Park was designated the assembly and start point, which was conveniently situated just over nine miles from the hospital. A direct road linked the two places so closures and diversions could be kept to a minimum. The event suddenly had a date and time - Sunday 1st October, The Echo said that all applications to take part had to be registered, with a minimum £5 entry fee and only those with an official registered number would be allowed to participate. The police had put a maximum number allowed to compete but it was grossly over-subscribed. Those who were in it to raise more money for Saint Clare’s were given priority, whilst sponsorship from local businesses added a great deal to the charity’s coffers. Branding was going to be everywhere and it looked like it might become as big an event as the Funday. It ended up bigger; with all the merchandising and business opportunities that entailed. # Henry had thrown himself into his month of sponsored nappy wearing, both at school and out and about, he wore all the time. Now everyone knew the reason he was wearing them any churlish or childish comments sounded more like sour grapes than a put down. Everywhere he went applause followed him, it became hard to say who the most popular local personality was – handsome TV star Brendan Lee Cooper or nappy-wearing seven year old Henry Warren? Both his mother and sister loved dressing up their little hero who took it in his stride when they improvised a bit with the clothes he’d been given. Loads of free stuff had been delivered to the Warren’s home and Debra was convinced they’d better get Henry into as much of it as possible. Sometimes he waddled out the house with padding so thick he wondered if they’d gone too far. However, his mum kept insisting that the suppliers (and sponsors) had various requirements so she was just following their instructions. Of course she loved every minute of it and cherished getting Henry ready for bed in the thickest fabric nappies available. Since that first night, when Mrs Parkhurst had seen him wearing padding and had fallen asleep dressed that way, he actually didn’t mind. He’d been surprised he could sleep with such bulk fastened around him but he’d slept well, it was very snug and he quite liked the comforting sensation it had given. Since his mother had told him to use the nappy to save on all the re-taping or re-pinning he’d often be wet for some time. This gave her the excuse to make sure both his day time and night time nappy was well-padded... so it held more and thus needed fewer changes. He did baulk at using a dummy or a baby’s bottle, which his mother had hoped to convince him to try. She tried to argue that it was that image of him in a nappy and carrying a baby’s bottle that had made this so successful but she couldn’t get him to agree on that. However, he often slept with a big cuddly stuffed animal, which Debra loved to see as he drifted off to sleep, his slippery vinyl pants shining in the evening light. In fact, that was one of the many things that she enjoyed about having her boy dressed in such a way. She thought the shimmering vinyl cover gave him an even more vulnerable look than just wearing a nappy, although in general she could never get over just how endearing the tight-fitting protection made him appear. Luckily, Ellie agreed with her mum and between them they simply encouraged Henry to “go with the flow” (as they now called it) and leave them to make the daily dress code and for him to simply wear what was given. # When the month of wearing nappies 24/7 first started Henry was adamant that he should only wear certain things and seemed determined not to be seen in anything outrageous. It only took a couple of days for his mum and Ellie holding stuff up and saying how wonderful he’d look in this, that or the other, for him to realise it was no good fighting them. In some ways it was unlike Henry to be so passive. He didn’t always do as his mum told him and although he loved her and his sister to bits, it wasn’t unknown for him to throw the occasional temper tantrum. However, these were few and far between and, though he might not have liked a great deal of what he was forced to wear, he knew it was for a higher cause. This had come about when once, when he’d been in a bit of a strop about a colourful childish onesie Debra had fastened in place, she was annoyed at his fussing. To make him stop she simply said that no doubt Liam wished he’d got a chance to worry about what he wore. This immediately stopped Henry thinking of himself and there were no more strops of any kind from that moment on. He simply let his mum and sister get on with it... she’d shamelessly made her young son feel guilty. Debra was in her element. There were a number of times when she could hardly hold back the tears of love she felt for her little boy. There were occasions, now he wasn’t so fussy, when she had him all cleaned up and wearing a lovely, soft, thick disposable just like when he was two. Exactly like then, he’d be laid out on the bed, legs wide with the fluffy white padding forcing them apart ready for his plastic pants and with a thin, well-made, white cotton onesie pulled over his head ready to be fastened into place. Then his eyes would be staring lovingly up at her whilst he sucked on his thumb or nursed on a dummy before the press-studs made a satisfying snap as they held his latest baby protection in place. There was no thumb sucking these days but she couldn’t shake that image. Her heart was made for such moments and she took full advantage, making sure she had a wonderful mental picture of the bulky mass stored away in her brain for when all this was over and he no longer needed the nappies... or her. He became a ‘free’ walking (or waddling) fashion model for pull-ups, disposables, all manner of fabric nappies, vinyl and rubber pants and a succession of items that certain companies were hoping to get into the shops. His initial reluctance to wear such colourful items was worn down by the constant approval he received from members of the public who just loved seeing him around town. He wasn’t paid anything for his contribution, in fact, money for Henry was never even considered. The sponsors loved him. He was an adorable, photogenic seven year old who had captured thousands of hearts and was now being happily exploited by several manufacturers and of course, the charity he’d become so aligned with. Although, to a certain extent, Henry was the face of the ‘Nappython’ (as some of the kids were calling it), it was perhaps inevitable that the fund-raising committee took full credit for all the effort others put into the project. In fact, the head of the charity committee was being nominated for ‘Man of the Year’ at the county’s annual business awards. Henry never lost sight of the fact he was doing this in memory of Liam, and that the sooner they could build the extension to the hospice, the more kids in a similar situation to his friend could be helped. That was the only spur he needed to keep going. His plans for a summer playing with his friends had been usurped by this charity stunt. It had got out of hand but there was no way of reeling it back in. With his family still very much in support of the whole idea, and what it was trying to accomplish, he decided to “go with the flow” as they called it. Kevin and the kids at the hospital all thought that ‘Nappython’ was a much better term than ‘Liam’s 10km Nappy Run’, The Echo agreed and it became known as ‘Liam’s Nappython’. Although some thought with the inclusion of ‘thon’ in its title it would be considered to be a marathon, the name stuck and the eventual ten mile course was announced. # All the kids in the hospital and hospice had, as a result of the publicity, become in demand. People wanted to meet them, take them out (where possible), invite them to functions etc. etc. their lives took on a different aspect to the one they’d been used to. This was seen by everyone as a fantastic bonus to the wellbeing of the young patients. Henry and Kevin spent a lot of time together and Henry had to admit that he’d easily got used to wearing a nappy every day. Kevin had warned him about the comforting hug and security it gave him and that once his friend had got used to it, knew he wouldn’t let them go easily. This became true when in September he started a new school term but there was still a month to go before the ‘Nappython’. He’d gone to school on that first day wearing briefs like any other kid. Unfortunately, all his mates, and even the teachers, seemed disappointed he wasn’t in his ‘trademark’ nappy. #boyinanappy The following day, and much to his mother’s obvious pleasure, he bowed to peer pressure turning up wearing a thick nappy under his grey school shorts. The edge of a pair of nursery print vinyl pants could just be seen at certain angles. His class mates scrabbled around him wanting to get a better look at what he was wearing... most thought it was ‘cool’. Those who took an alternative, negative view, were in the minority and found their voice being drowned out by those who were very much supportive of what the seven year old was doing. Kids in the playground joked about the soft rustling sound he made as he passed by but no one was nasty about it. Approval from all levels was almost universal. # Debra had her son back in nappies and couldn’t have been more pleased because now it was school nights, was able to insist on an earlier bedtime and stronger protection. This was down to the fact that her little boy had returned to wetting in his sleep. She didn’t mind as it appeared that Henry had simply become used to it so the night time nappy actually never stopped. It also didn’t help that she let him drink as much as he liked before bed... and he just loved his nightly milky treat. If he was awake he laid there until either mum or Ellie came to sort him out, the comfort from the thick sodden padding not giving him a moment’s worry. His daily clean-up operation started early in the morning but by the time he entered the classroom he was nicely padded and smelling sweetly. Kevin was right; a fresh dry nappy was something to look forward to. Henry’s fame was spreading as more and more news outlets latched onto this selfless and committed seven year old doing such a bizarre thing in memory of his dead friend. It was amazing the messages he was getting from around the world and even more offers arrived needing to be considered. One of these was for Henry to become the face of a juvenile disposable from a top brand manufacturer based in the USA. This time money was talked about and Debra was being pressured to sign a contract whilst her son was still ‘flavour of the week’. It wasn’t a large sum but one that, if put away until Henry reached the age of majority, would provide a tidy little nest egg for the lad. At first he wasn’t keen on the idea but his mum argued that he didn’t really have to do anything, as it was all about image, and that at least he’d be able to look back and know he’d got something out of it all. Henry simply said that he hoped a new wing on the hospice would do that. His mum, whilst she still thought of him as her cute little baby boy was, and not for the first time, surprised at the sophistication and sense her seven year old constantly brought to the proceedings. However, not seeing it as a problem he agreed and his mum signed the contract which made Henry the face of ‘Diapers for the In-B-tweenies’. The following Saturday, he was whisked to a production studio in the capital where he made a number of short commercials and had a photoshoot of him wearing the disposable. After all the time he’d now spent wearing nappies he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he’d be and the American director and British commercial manager congratulated Debra on having a son who was both photogenic and a pleasure to work with. It was a fantastic success although the advert was never seen in the UK. # 1247 This was my number – 1247. The number I was given to take part in Liam’s Nappython in aid of Saint Clare’s Hospital and Hospice Fund (registered Charity No 78923455B). I can’t quite express how excited I was to receive this piece of information and how my anticipation grew with each passing day leading up to the event. I need to confess something here. Not everything I’ve written is true. I mean the names are true. The challenge was true. The Nappython took place but, where I was ignorant of the true information, I made it up. I mean, I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible. I’ve read all the articles, I’ve watched all the TV reports and interviews but I never actually met the hero of the moment, Henry. I contribute to the TV, Theatre and Movie reviews section for The Echo, so know Thomas particularly well and it was from him, as one of the main characters in how all this came about, that I gleaned most of my information. He was the one who informed me that quite a bit of Henry’s enthusiasm for all this came from his mother. She had a zeal about the entire project and it was her who came up with the idea that the sponsors insisted he wear certain things - this was untrue, the impetus came from her. I also can’t stress enough how, from the first report that hit the paper about this incredible, nappy-wearing seven year old, how the ABDL sites I’m a member of took up the gossip, conjecture and hopes that little boy engendered in each one of us. He set our imaginations on fire. #boyinanappy Blogs and sites carried opinions and quite often wrote their own narrative. I am beholden to these people for some of the ideas I’ve used here when I didn’t have a clue as to what actually happened. I hope I can’t be accused of plagiarism but they certainly gave my creativity a boost when needed. I’ve been a Nappy Lover (Diaper Lover to our American friends) since I was twelve. The urge struck me then, and although my usage was minimal, it never left me. When I was working, and could afford to wear full time, that’s exactly what happened and, although I wasn’t then out and proud about it, I did and do wear 24/7. # When the 1st October came around I can’t explain the eagerness I felt to get to the park and join my fellow aficionados. The weather promised to stay fine and warm and there had been a general buzz of excitement in the town all week. At around 7am my neighbour told me that she’d already noticed a number of nappy-clad people congregating at the park where she walked her dog. As the event wasn’t scheduled to start until 10.30 I thought these people must be very keen. I myself hadn’t got ready at that time but admit had planned what I was going to be wearing for quite some time. I had a lovely, thick fleecy terry nappy with three booster pads tightly pinned in place, my exceptionally crinkly see-thru plastic pants moulded themselves around the full contours and I wore a pink t-shirt that simply advertised Pampers. In the park I heard a lady saying that she had her children in nappies until they were ten years old... and it is from her I added the only fictional character in my piece, Mrs Parkhurst. Once at the park I couldn’t believe the numbers of people, 80% of whom were in nappies of one kind or another, there must have been thousands and I guess not all of them were registered to run. I spotted certain t-shirts that I knew were only available from particular ABDL sites, some even had their web address under them. Cars and vans were pulling up full of packages of disposables in all colours and sizes, which they were flogging. There were plenty of official stalls but where there’s a market, there’s an opportunist. I was impressed by the people that had gone to exceptional lengths to be involved; several couples were acting as nanny and baby, complete with prams and push-chairs. There were two or three huge inflatable babies, crawling babies and some with reins held by mummies or daddies (or masters or mistresses). There were several who had taken Henry’s ‘collector’s uniform’ as a blueprint and versions of him could be seen darting all over the event. Dummies, bibs, bonnets, infantile clothes, baby’s bottles, baby food, toys were everywhere and stalls were doing fantastic business selling all this stuff to those who hadn’t actually brought it with them. Some clever entrepreneur had t-shirts made with that image on the front. Whoever it was must have done a terrific trade because it was everywhere. ‘Pweeze Giv’ on the front and ‘tank u’ on the back was homage to Henry and just what he’d done for this eager and happy group of nappy wearers. It was such a colourful cavalcade. People were undoubtedly dressing over the top and young men and women in frilly plastic pants appeared to be the norm. Even the people who’d just come to offer support (or out of curiosity) were smiling and appeared to be having a good time. Nappies being changed al fresco were all the rage, as was the constant crinkle and rustle of plastic pants. The smell of baby powder and lotion filled the air as did the occasion whiff of urine as someone in a soggy nappy passed by. A small fair had established itself that was aimed more at kiddies, this didn’t stop quite a number of baby-looking adults climbing into the tea cups or horses on the roundabout, and having their photograph taken. There were male, female, old, young, fat, thin and every ethnicity, I was quite bowled over by the all-encompassing power that my (and many others) fetish could produce. Of course, not all those taking part were anything but advocates of the charity and who’d been inspired by the events of the past few months... but an awful lot were like me. # TV crews were following Brendan and some of his soap star mates around and I was pleased to see that he was wearing a wonderful thick plasticky disposable with space ships all over it. He was smiling a lot and having selfies taken with his fans. There were other TV cameras doing news reports, vox pops and interviews, it was all so, well, unbelievable. It was hard to believe that this started as a result of a young boy, a seven year old boy at that, who didn’t want his friends to think he thought any less of them because they had to wear protection all the time. His solution had been simple; to wear a nappy himself to prove it. How this simple, selfless act had finally resulted in this mass of nappy-wearing folk in a park raising money for charity, was quite beyond comprehension. However, here we all were. At 10.30 the Lord Mayor gave a little speech welcoming everyone and hoping the event would lead to raising even more funds for the charity. When he announced that Henry was going to signal the start of the race a huge cheer went up. So when he and a lad in a wheelchair, who I recognised as Kevin, took to the dais, the applause and cheering was deafening. After the hubbub died down an air-horn indicated the start of the race. A couple of guys in front of me looked like they were running in very full nappies, I could smell the urine and only hoped that they’d put plenty of Vaseline on, otherwise they’d be badly chafed by the end. People set off at different speeds, some running, others jogging. Most, like me, enjoying the freedom this moment had given and desperate to make it last for as long as possible, slowly waddled along. As I moved past the dais, this was the only time I saw Henry for real. Up until that moment I’d seen his photograph of course, the one that started this whole shebang, and I’d seen him on TV but as I passed I was actually in awe of a seven year old. He was wearing something as bulky as mine except his vinyl pants had cartoon character all over them and he was laughing, thoroughly enjoying the event and hugging his friend. That was the first and last time I saw him. # I made loads of contacts that day and my number of ABDL friends has grown considerably. We may all have thought we were on the periphery of society with our particular penchant but this event proved we were definitely not alone. I asked my editor Thomas Peake if he thought it would become an annual event like the Funday but he just shook his head. “Without Henry the impetus would simply vanish. The story will no longer be a story and the people won’t be as engaged as they are at this moment.” I wanted to disagree with him but realised he was talking about the public in general and not just us ABDLers. It seemed a shame but I could see his point and I have to admit that that one day in October did an awful lot for me and I suspect quite a number of others who perhaps had never had the nerve to appear in public wearing just their protection. I thank Henry, Kevin, Liam and all those who made it happen.... it was one fantastic, memorable day. # Postscript The bit about Henry being signed up to be the face of some disposable manufacturer was a lie. I don’t know if that happened or not as it was just a bit of wishful thinking on my part. I hoped that such a brave and compassionate young lad made something out of what happened. There is now an area around the hospice that has been screened off and it looks like work is soon to start on the second phase of the building. He’d help raise quite a sum for others and I thought it would be nice if he got some financial reward as well. I wanted him to be happy and see the fruits of what he’d accomplished, if not now, then later on. I also hoped that he’d be nominated as ‘Person of the Year’ but surprisingly the awards committee overlooked him. I wish him luck and often wonder if in fact, like Kevin suggested, he maintained wearing a nappy for much longer? I love that little guy for what he did for this town, what he did for his friends, what he did for the ABDL community (even if he wasn’t aware of that bit) and especially what he’s done for me. Thanks Henry. #anotherboyinanappy