Les Lea

Really, really really... thank you I'm so pleased Henry's tale has people wanting more.

Part 6 Fame Thomas Peake couldn’t have been more correct if he’d written the script himself. The story ran in the following morning’s edition of the Echo and by evening the office and Saint Clare’s had received new donations by the ton. As he predicted, Henry’s story of the nappy challenge and what he did so his friends didn’t feel self-conscious, had resonated with the newspaper’s readers. Vast amounts of money were being pledged, sponsors were coming forward and the Echo even took on someone just to deal with all the calls and people turning up at the office to donate something. Henry’s selfless act was a major talking point and one taken up by a national newspaper. Of course, as Thomas Peake knew, it was the initial image that sold the story and, at the end of the latest piece he’d added a rear-view photo of Henry from the Funday. It was another cute image, this time of his slightly sagging nappy, his bucket and the words on the back of his t-shirt ‘ tank u’. Once the national paper ran with the complete story and images, the donations from around the country, and some from overseas, the charity began to realise they might achieve their ambitions sooner rather than later. Back in his hometown Henry suddenly found he had problem. Though he may not have wanted to be called ‘The Boy in a Nappy’, that’s just how he was being described. Every reference or donation was aimed at ‘The Boy in a Nappy’. Henry didn’t appear to have a name, just a title, even the hashtag on Twitter was #boyinanappy. The thing was; everyone was talking about him and that image. People who had probably never thought about charity were being arm-twisted into giving something because of this selfless little boy... the Boy in the Nappy. Not only that, but the Echo reported that one individual was offering a donation to the cause as long as Henry continued wearing a nappy 24/7. This was not a small amount and once it became known that the offer had come from Brendan Lee Cooper, quite a few other famous people got on-board and offered more contributions with the same condition, he had to remain wearing a nappy. At first it appeared as if this was all a joke but, as the amount of pledged money built up, it became impossible to ignore. # Brendan Lee Cooper had issued a statement on Facebook and Twitter about the Funday and his position as patron at the hospice. In the message, sent to well over a million of his followers, he commented on the photograph saying what a “...brave and thoughtful young lad he was...” He also went on to say the reason he wanted to sponsor Henry to keep wearing a nappy was simply because he couldn’t think of a better role-model, to all those who had to wear protection but felt victimised because of it, than the selfless seven year old. He encouraged his fans to ‘dig deep’ if they were able but ‘offer support’ in any way they could to all those in hospitals and hospices everywhere. #boyinanappy # Away from the hospital and out playing with his school friends Henry had become a minor celebrity. They all knew about the challenge, they’d all seen the photograph and everyone had read the story, the trouble was, they now expected him to wear a nappy all the time. Even when visiting his mate’s homes it appeared that each member of the family wanted to check, by patting his bottom, to see if he was well-padded. They all appeared incredibly disappointed since he’d returned to wearing underpants. To begin with he took it good-naturedly but when strangers started doing it in the street he got a bit self-conscious. At the time he knew little about the people who wanted to sponsor him to be protected full time but eventually that news trickled down to his ears. It had been as he visited Kevin and the gang at the hospice that he heard the rumour about the sponsorship deal. The kids seemed to know about it and were talking as if it was a done deal, not even a rumour. When pressed, Kevin had to admit it was only that morning the gossip mill had been in full flow and because of all the famous personalities that were rumoured to be involved, the hospital execs expected to have its new extension started in a matter of months. Henry wasn’t pleased and wondered why neither his mother nor Ellie had mentioned any of it. # Thomas Peake was overjoyed with the reaction to the story but, at the request of Debra, had not gone into any detail about the response with Henry. He didn’t know that thousands and thousands of pounds had been added to the fund-raising total. He also didn’t know about the piles of clothing and toys that, over the past few days, were amassing at the Echo’s office aimed at ‘the Boy in the Nappy’. It appeared that not everyone was bothered about the hospice but a huge number were worried about a little boy not having enough nappies to change into... it was as if two charitable causes were being run at the same time. (Debra had already stashed away the initial bundle Mr Peake had brought with him to the interview. Obviously he had hoped to get Henry to wear some of it but the boy had made it very clear that wasn’t going to happen. Of course, his mother, ever hopeful of getting her baby boy back, clung on to it all “Just in case” she told herself.) Debra had simply not believed the stories of all the celebrities wanting to sponsor Henry to wear a nappy 24/7; she thought it was just some kind of weird hoax. However, as the guaranteed sums of money escalated beyond a joke she had to take it more seriously. The newspaper was desperate to relate this extra bit of the story but because of a reticence to inflict further embarrassment on her son (even though the whole idea appealed to her) Mr Peake held back. However, the pressure was mounting and Ellie was being gently persuaded by the charity committee at the hospice to get her brother to comply. Meanwhile, because it was such a terrific story, the editor was telling Debra that they were going to publish but needed an answer as to whether Henry would agree. Mr Peake pointed out that people, who had invested in sending in vast donations, would probably feel let down if her son didn’t take up this extra fund-raising challenge. To be honest she could see this as something positive for the hospice and although desperately wanting Henry to “go with the flow” (as Thomas Peake had flippantly enthused) knew that Henry himself was happy about the return to wearing briefs. In fact, once he was out of the night time nappy that Carmen witnessed had vowed to his mum he’d never make that mistake again. # When his mother picked him up from the hospital Henry wanted answers, thankfully his mother had decided on speaking to him about all that had been going on. She was honest, telling him she herself hadn’t believed the offers and it was only now, with the paper about to print the story, that it had become serious. Henry wanted to be angry with her but realised she’d been trying to shield him from further publicity but, as everyone in the hospice knew about it, he had some serious thinking to do. When Ellie came home they all sat down to discuss it. Henry told them the kids at the hospice had thought it was a done deal and the committee were ready to bring the builders in to start on the extension. Ellie had to agree that the way things were being talked about the finances were going to hit the target soon. However, in all honesty, she had to admit, the amount Henry’s nappy sponsors were offering would make that happen a lot sooner. Debra told them about the impending publication by the Echo and that, as the editor said, it would look better if Henry was on board with the idea then everyone would be happy. The seven year old pointed out that wasn’t true. #boyinanappy # The pros and cons were discussed and young Henry had a surprising grasp on the implications. The youngster was being drawn into something he saw he would have no control over but decided, albeit hesitantly, to go along with it anyway. He understood it would be terrific if more terminal kids could be cared for, so that was a good thing. It might also be useful to raise awareness about those who had no choice but to wear protection and shouldn’t be side-lined because of it. The pros seemed to out-stack the cons. In fact, the main con was that Henry would be in a nappy all the time but, as Debra cleverly pointed out, his friend Kevin and quite a number of other youngsters at the hospice, and around the country, would be similarly dressed because they had to, whilst Henry would be doing so because he wanted to. Then there was another element no one seemed to have thought about; with such large amounts of money being suggested surely someone would need to monitor whether he wore a nappy or not? His mother said that as her part in all this, and despite her own hectic work schedule, she would take on the responsibility of making sure he was well-padded each day and that Henry would have no problems to deal with, she would sort everything out. Ellie said of course she’d do her bit when she could and that between them all he needed to do was wear what he was put in. Regardless of all the extra work this would entail for everyone Henry seemed relieved that his family was showing such support though wondered if he’d have to report to some independent person on a daily basis. After a call to the Echo and a discussion between them, the charity and the sponsors, it was agreed that they trusted Henry completely. If he said he’d wear a nappy 24/7 then they’d believe him. There was an unwritten, though implied, threat that if he was found to be cheating, the money might be forfeit. As it was Mr Peake had found someone to sponsor the entire provision of products, which together with all the stuff that had already been donated, meant that little Henry was going to be extremely well-padded for the duration of the challenge. There were four weeks left of the summer break before a new school term began so, after agreement within the family and a long talk with Kevin (who reiterated that Henry would never return to briefs once he’d enjoyed the soft, thick padding of a nappy for such a length of time), agreed to do it for that length of time. “I don’t think I have an option,” said Henry with a resigned shrug of the shoulders. #boyinanappy # “How can we be sure that those who say they’re happy to sponsor this event will actually cough up the promised money in the end?” It was Ellie who asked the question. Whereas Debra had been getting very excited about all the lovely nappy changes she was looking forward to, it was her daughter who voiced a cautionary note. Henry was looking through the piles of nappies and stuff that now seemed to occupy every surface of the Warren home. “We don’t want Henry here to go through all that for nothing so, if...” Her mother interrupted. “Do we really want to get bogged down in this kind of worry?” Ellie hugged a now concerned looking Henry to her side. “I’m only thinking of Henry.” “Yes, we all are sweetie but let’s leave the money and such stuff to the Echo and Saint Clare’s to sort out... I think Henry has enough to think about without worrying about that... don’t you?” It was true. Once they started to over-think, scrutinise, worry and fret over everything, it would simply become a terrible experience. Their mother was correct; let others worry about all that. They should just concentrate on their side of the bargain and that was to make sure Henry was happy and organised for what he had to wear every day. # The story ran the next day. A list of sponsors and some of the sums of money promised was published alongside of a photo of Henry, wearing a thick nappy, holding a pile of disposables in his right hand and a pile of plastic pants in the other. There was also a rather cheeky little interview that ran alongside the item where Henry said he wished he’d never started this and blamed Kevin for issuing the challenge and beginning this unbelievable ball rolling. Thankfully, Kevin would be joining him in this particular project and would also be wearing nappies 24/7 (of course Kevin had no choice in the matter, he had to wear them). It was a joke which Kevin thought was hilarious. There were also messages of support from sponsors and the letters page was full of incredible feedback and encouragement from the public. #boyinanappy Meanwhile, despite his reluctance, and whilst wearing his briefs for the last time, the two boys discussed this extension to their challenge. Kevin came up with an idea so that, at least one point in the process, Henry need not feel he was doing all this alone. The ten year old put forward a proposal that, at the end of Henry’s sponsored time in nappies, the charity should hold a huge final fund-raising event. This would entail a sponsored 10km walk around the hospice but everyone had to wear protection to take part. In theory at least ‘Liam’s 10km Nappy Walk’ was born. # Not surprisingly Thomas Peake loved the concept but doubted that the charity would be able to organise such an event so rapidly. However, to keep the story going, he suggested the paper would act as sponsors and quickly got one of the major incontinence product manufacturers to add their name to the list of co-sponsors. Saint Clare’s charity committee also thought the suggestion was a great idea but, to be honest, simply saw ‘£’ signs and their fund growing rapidly. They never gave much thought to either Henry or Kevin who were the actual instigators of the charity’s current run of good fortune. They were happy to sit back and just watch the money come rolling in. However, until the various interested parties could make some decisions, the proposed run wasn’t going to be officially announced. This lead to a small problem. # Such was the newsworthiness of the latest development in the story Henry and his mother had been invited onto a local TV news show to explain why he was now wearing a nappy all the time. Debra had taken great delight in getting him ready making sure he wore a thickly padded nappy, covered by a pair of clear vinyl pants and wearing a onesie with snaps between his legs. She had reminded her son that this would keep everything held close and prevent any tell-tale sagging. Although it might be bulky under his shorts, it shouldn’t show below them. He didn’t like this slight change to the way he wore a nappy but realised that his mother might just know better than him about such things. Also, she reminded him that some other patients, from babies to teenagers at the hospice, wore them so there was no reason for him to feel anxious. Subsequently, because of that particular argument he didn’t put up much of a fight when each morning she would happily get all his stuff ready and lovingly apply the various creams and powder. She told him that as he was wearing a nappy, and to prevent it all coming loose by constantly pinning and unpinning, he should use it for what it was designed for like Kevin had to. This was something Henry didn’t want to do but saw the sense in what his mother stated. There was no doubt about just how padded Henry was and the cameras picked up on the bulk in his shorts. The interviewer was very nice and supportive but like so many older people talked down to Henry which really annoyed the boy. During the interview Henry gave credit for the entire thing to Kevin and let the cat out of the bag about the proposed run. He even inferred that all the famous sponsors would no doubt be turning up to run in nappies to show their support. He also hoped that the interviewer, who had spoken such encouragement, would also be taking part. She was left looking less than thrilled at the prospect. The studio’s switchboard lit up like a Christmas tree with people wanting to know when and how they could take part. The Echo and Saint Clare’s switchboards were also inundated with requests for application forms and Brendan Lee Cooper was forced to change his initial reluctance to being involved to one of support and that he’d definitely be taking part. # Debra and Ellie had come to some sort of agreement about the way Henry should be dressed. She inferred that the sponsors would want him to wear certain clothes and have a certain amount of visibility. She also thought that because of the kindness of those who sent in particular items for the ‘Boy in a Nappy’ to wear, it would be nice if he did. She argued that if a photograph was taken, and on the off chance they saw him wearing it, it would be good and encouraging for all concerned. So, with the nappy sponsors insisting that their products were seen and in any interview Henry was to speak in positive tones about them, the scene was set for our padded hero. This turned out easier than Henry imagined because Kevin had been correct, he soon wore a nappy with the ease and confidence of someone who’d had to wear one all their life. Kevin had a smug knowing look on his face every time he met up with his well-padded mate. #boyinanappy # ...to be continued

Glad you enjoyed it Thanks for the comment

Part 5 Embarrassment The sun was up early on Monday morning and so was their next door neighbour’s youngest, Carmen. Like Henry she was seven and one of his best friends. They played together, went to school together, and rode bikes together, except recently she hadn’t seen as much of him as usual. However, today she’d been excited to see a lot more of her friend because in the local paper, which had just been delivered, and on the front page no less, was a colour photograph of her buddy. At the breakfast table her family had read the article and smiled at the photograph of Henry wearing his ‘collector’s uniform’ and the by-line that accompanied it. The heading promised a full report on the record-breaking Funday inside on pages 4 and 5, the large image on the front of the paper was just a teaser. What had made the family smile was the image of the nappy-clad seven year old, which showed his nappy with orange stains down the front and him straining to lift the heavy coin-filled bucket. To all intents and purposes, it looked like he was straining in his sagging nappy to fill that rather than the bucket. Underneath the by-line read: Volunteer, seven year old Henry Warren helping out at the St Clare’s fund-raising Funday – a bucket full of change before a nappy change. It was a throwaway gag heading but one that caught the imagination of the paper’s readers. # Debra answered the incessant knocking on her front door wondering what the excitement was all about. She was surprised to see Carmen waving a newspaper and enthusiastically pushing it at her. Before she had chance to take in what was happening the little girl animatedly announced that Henry was famous. They wandered through to the kitchen. “See, see, see he’s famous, he’s on the front page... mum says he must be famous...” She jabbered on as Debra, looking stunned, saw the photograph, read the by-line and burst out laughing. “Oh my. Oh my-oh my...” At the same moment Ellie arrived in the kitchen, surprised to see her neighbour at such an early hour looking bright and excited next to her mother. “Hello Carmen... you’re up early... are you going somewhere special today?” The little girl just continued to giggle whilst Debra passed the offending article over for her daughter to consider. A smile spread across her face which she had trouble keeping in check. “Oh, I think we know someone who’s not going to be happy.” She looked at her mum then turned her attention to the still gleefully giggling neighbour. “Happy in a nappy, Happy in a nappy...” her little voice began to sing-song. “Unhappy more like,” Ellie said as an aside to her mother. “I’m sure... but doesn’t he look so damn cute?” Ellie nodded. “We’re going to have to put a positive spin on this...” “Put a spin on what?” Standing in the doorway a sleepy Henry wanted to know what was going on with all the door banging and laughter. # “Oh hi Carmen...” He took in his friend but had completely forgotten what he was still wearing. “Happy in a nappy. Happy in a nappy.” She sang and giggled and pointed at Henry’s sleeping attire. He suddenly flushed. It was all a bit saggy, even though he was still dry and although he’d been seen around the Funday wearing a nappy, for some reason it felt strange that he should be wearing one around his neighbour away from the hospice. He felt guilty and exposed. He was about to turn and disappear back to his bedroom when Ellie said she had something to show him. Debra quickly added that they were so very proud of him but, it appeared he’d made quite an impression on the local photographer. “What do you mean?” Henry questioned. “Well, erm, um, it appears that the reporter... you know... the guys from the local paper? Well, it would... erm...” She handed him the cover photograph. He couldn’t take in that it was a fantastic image, the colour wonderful and the focus superb, all he noticed was that from the expression on his face it looked like he was just about to mess himself. “Muuuummm.” He cried. “What... if... why... er, ummmm, NO!” “You’s famous,” Carmen added with a sweet smile. “Mummy says you look like my baby brother...” She thought for a second, “’cept he’s not on the front of the paper... wearing a nappy.” Henry blushed with embarrassment and found himself speechless. He was making some sounds but actually saying nothing, he couldn’t believe it. The phone rang and his mother answered. It was another neighbour who’d just picked up her copy of the paper. “Yes, were looking at it now. Yes it is a good photograph.” Something else was said. “Well, Henry was volunteering to help out at the hospice and that was the outfit they gave him... it was part of a challenge...” The conversation continued out of Henry’s hearing but Ellie had pulled her dumbfounded brother into her arms and was both consoling and praising what he’d done the day before. Henry wasn’t happy. She didn’t realise she was patting his padded bottom as she spoke and Carmen couldn’t take her eyes from his thick padding and shiny nursery print plastic pants. “Henry wears a nappy. Henry wears a nappy...” This was a tuneful refrain he didn’t want to hear. # Debra thanked Carmen for bringing the paper but ushered her out the door before she could come up with any other rhyme or song to annoy her son. Tears had erupted and Ellie fought to keep her brother from feeling bad. He, on the other hand, was angry at the injustice of it all. He didn’t see it as the reporter saw it; having ‘fun with the Funday’. Complete with a rather wonderful photograph that, to the reporter at least, said all that was good about the fund-raising event, and that was... every one happily getting involved. As far as Henry was concerned the journalist had made him out to be a silly, nappy-wetting baby. The phone never stopped ringing; family, friends, folk from the hospice and Henry’s school chums were all eager to comment on the photograph. The cover star himself hid up in his room and refused to speak to anyone. The overnight nappy and plastic pants were irritably thrown into a pile in the corner as he lay on his bed wearing just a pair of his favourite underpants and wondering how he was ever going to live down this total embarrassment. # Later that afternoon the phone rang again. Debra had hardly been able to get any work done because of the constant interruptions and had decided that after this call, she’d unplug it for a few hours so she could get some peace. “Hello, could I speak to Debra Warren?” “Speaking, who’s this?” “Oh, good afternoon, this is Thomas Peake, editor of the Echo, I got your number from Saint Clare’s.” “Ahh yes, Mr Peake, thought you might like to know you’ve made a young boy very unhappy... he’s refusing to come out of his room, embarrassed about what people will say after seeing that HUGE photograph on your front page.” “Mmmm yes, that’s what I wish to speak to you about... it’s had the most amazing reaction.” “Yes it has here... my son...” “Sorry to interrupt Mrs Warren but money has been flowing into our office to go towards Saint Clare’s fund and all, I repeat ALL, because of that photograph. It seems to have hit a nerve with the public that we on regional papers rarely see. He’s made a connection with the community that in my twenty years as the paper’s editor I’ve never seen the like of.” “Erm, I’m sorry. What did you just say?” “The front cover image of your son has hit the ‘charity’ button with hundreds of people. We are being inundated with cheques, cash donations... most saying it’s because of your son that they wished to... well... help Saint Clare’s reach their fund-raising goal.” # They spoke for over twenty minutes and Debra explained about her daughter wanting to be a paediatric nurse and Henry helping her out. About his visit to the hospital and immediately hitting it off with some of the kids there and of course... the ‘nappy challenge’. The editor found all this fascinating and reckoned there was a further story there, a human interest story featuring a fearless, empathetic little seven year old, that might get even more people to donate. “Hold your horses a moment.” Debra tried to slow the conversation down. “This all sounds very good but I have a shattered and sullen seven year old who thinks the world is laughing at him. He may not be too keen on being part of more publicity.” Mr Peake had simply assumed that Mrs Warren would be incredibly keen to have her son involved and hadn’t slotted into the equation Henry being less than thrilled at the prospect. There was something else that he had to tell Debra and that was, piles of nappies, disposable and other clothing had arrived at the Echo office, addressed to the ‘Sweet Nappy Boy in need of a change’. The editor was convinced he had the makings of a fantastic story and hoped that Mrs Warren would be able to get Henry to agree to it... after all, he was only seven, so how hard could it be to convince him of the good he’d do for his friends at the hospice. # When Mr Peake heard from Debra about the sudden death of his friend Liam he knew he had another angle and suggested that perhaps, they could make all donations in memory of the boy. Did she think that Henry would go with such an idea? Debra wasn’t too sure but the editor convinced her that the story had merit and agreed to speak to her son about it. Meanwhile, Thomas Peake, sensing a really good feature that he hoped would be picked up by one or two of the nationals, set to work. By late afternoon, he had spoken at the hospice to the fund-raising committee, Kevin and one or two of the other kids, as well as having a long chat with Ellie. Like her mother she wasn’t sure how Henry would go with it but saw the truth in the fact it was a great story and one that could lead to even more contributions to the expansion work Saint Clare’s was aiming to undertake. The sooner they reached the £1million ear-marked for the start of building work, the sooner more deserving children could be accommodated at the hospice. Meanwhile, the number of hits on the Echo’s online site where loads of other images of the event were stored only advanced Mr Peake’s conclusion that there was one hell of a story waiting to be unleashed on a receptive public. # The tap on his bedroom door brought a snoozing Henry slowly to his senses. Debra took in the fact that his discarded nappy and plastic pants were thrown into the corner but he’d obviously fallen asleep reading a book and wearing only his underwear. Even though the window was open, it was still stuffy and warm in the room. “How you feeling sweetie?” His mother stroked her son’s head and lifted the book away from his chest. After the past few days of Henry wearing a nappy he looked strange in just his thin cotton Ninja Turtles briefs, it didn’t seem he was dressed correctly but didn’t say anything straight away. She told him about all the phone calls, ALL of which she said were positive - saying what a brave and wonderful example he was to others his age. It wasn’t completely true but Debra had to make her son feel good about what he’d done and not dwell on the negative. “Actually sweetheart, the photograph has had a very positive effect. The Echo called and said that because of it, people are sending in further donations... and that my darling, is simply down to you being so understanding to the needs of Kevin and the other kids at the hospital.” “But mum, they made it look like I was messing myself. People will think I did.” “I’ve talked to the editor and, he thinks he can make it okay by telling your story about the challenge.” “Who told him about that?” “Well I did sweetie. I know how upset you were with the photo being taken out of context, so I told him you were dressed like that for a reason.” She looked to see if Henry was taking any of this in or whether he was still mad with the world. It was difficult to tell, although he was obviously thinking about something. “He thinks you are more of a hero than... a little baby. He says you taking up the nappy challenge was a courageous think to do, and thinks, if we tell that story... other people may well add to the fund-raising. That would be a good thing... wouldn’t it?” # She continued in this manner for a short while, hugging her son to emphasise certain bits of her argument. “But Carmen saw me in a nappy and she’ll tell everyone I wear...” “But sweetheart, it doesn’t matter because once the real reason is out there, no one will be able to see it as anything but a good thing.” Debra wasn’t sure if this would be true but she at least had to try to make him less anxious about that front page and be more optimistic. “Mr Peake, the editor at the Echo, has even suggested that maybe he could get the people at the hospice to name part of the fund-raising after your friend Liam... now wouldn’t that be a great way to remember him by?” Despite all the positive words Debra wondered if she’d over stepped the mark when Henry burst into tears. He held onto his mother as he roared his heart out at the memory of Liam. She realised how stupid and insensitive this had sounded and was angry with herself for being so abrupt. This was not the way she’d hoped that suggestion would go but comforted her son, who seemed grateful for her reassuring cuddles. At the same time he was crying his hardest, he involuntarily peed into his briefs. The sudden realisation that he was wetting his pants for a third time made Henry clamp his bladder closed as tightly as he could. There was not enough to cause a flood but enough that his mother would probably notice. As he came round from his sorrow he was feeling very guilty, he was wet for the second, no, third time, and desperate to deflect what he was convinced would be his mother’s anger. She surely wouldn’t put up with her toilet-trained youngest starting to wet himself again. He looked over at the nappy and vinyl pants he’d earlier so bitterly kicked into the corner and at that moment wished he’d still been wearing them. After so childishly wetting his briefs, and the warm clamminess beginning to worry him, yet before the dampness alerted his mum to what he’d done, he knew what he had to do. Debra knew none of what was going on in her son’s head. Nor was she aware her son had wet himself, something he hadn’t done since he was a toddler. So, oblivious, she just beamed and hugged him when he whispered that it was okay to do the interview with Mr Peake. # It was 5pm when the editor arrived at their home for the interview. He’d already spoken to all the others and it was just a few words from Henry and his mother to finish the piece. In his head Thomas Peake already knew he had a great story and couldn’t wait to see the reaction in the following morning’s edition. Henry had secretly changed out of his wet briefs, cleaned himself up but was wearing shorts and a polo shirt when the photographer arrived. Although tempted, he decided to avoid the disposable and wore another pair of briefs (the wet ones having been rinsed through and guiltily hidden in the laundry basket). The photographer wanted a shot of mother, daughter and son all together, as well as a couple of Henry playing with his toys or out in the garden. Both the editor and photographer were sad that he wasn’t still wearing padding though Mr Peake had brought the bundle of clothes that had, along with several hundred pounds worth of cash and cheques, been donated at the Echo’s office. He offered it as evidence to show just how much people had been influenced by Henry. # Henry wasn’t sure why people would donate clothes but, as they had been addressed to ‘the Boy in a Nappy’, they’d definitely been for him. Not only was there an array of both fabric and disposable nappies, there were several pairs of plastic and rubber pants, dummies and what appeared to be big onesies that would be the right size for Henry. The seven year old couldn’t understand why people would send such stuff but the editor explained that not everyone read the article but only saw the image and decided to send something they thought would help Henry personally. For instance, he clarified, the drooping nappy would be held in place by the plastic pants and the onesie that fastened with snaps between his legs. Henry was getting a bit confused and annoyed. “Yes, I know, I used to have one when I was a baby but why would they send them to someone my age?” “Ellie told me that some of the kids at the hospice wear them,” his mother spoke trying to calm him down. “They like the fact that it holds all their protection in place... and it’s easier to change someone...” Her explanation drifted off because she was imagining him wearing it. Meanwhile, the editor relied on all his powers from his journalistic trade, to cajole the story from the boy and to try and enlighten the lad of the power an image can have. “Henry, I’m told you didn’t like the fact of your photograph being used.” “No I wasn’t.” He harrumphed. “So, let me tell you that to many others this image, your image, was the visual kick they needed to stop being complacent and actually do something.” Henry wriggled uncomfortably in his seat now that he was the complete and utter focus of the editor’s argument. “You, and that wonderful photograph, have set in motion something that may well be bigger than you can imagine. You are an inspiration to others who, by their donations of money and clothing, have proved that not only was the Funday a way of raising funds, but by your unselfish action, more donations and ways to raise further finances for the hospice have become possible.” The positive reinforcement, the encouragement, the intensity of the editor’s words scared Henry. It was as if he would be letting everyone down if he didn’t agree and that comment about a memorial to Liam more or less sealed his fate. He’d have to do what was being asked of him otherwise he’d look a very bad friend indeed. He tried to put a brave face on it... so reluctantly agreed. It had been a lot for the seven year old to take in but Henry deduced, by the praise and smiles from his mother and sister, all this was a good thing and he should be proud of himself and not worry about what a few people might say. However, that was his big worry and despite being up for the twenty-four hour ‘challenge’ set by Kevin, he really wasn’t happy with being known as the ‘Boy in a Nappy’. # ...to be continued

Well thank you for taking the time to comment I really appreciate it.

Thanks to you both for your comments Hope you enjoy what else is to come for our Henry

Make way Alan Shearer, Phil Neville and the rest of the World Cup pundits, Elfy has you all beat for insight and brevity. Thanks

Thank you, we've still got a little way to go with Henry yet so I hope you'll enjoy the rest just as much. Thanks again for taking the trouble to comment.

Part 4 A friend in need By the time the event ended and the family returned home, they were all pretty exhausted. Henry had been cheered by all the kids at the hospice, Debra had been congratulated on having such wonderful, thoughtful children and Ellie had been a huge success with the toddler group. The seven year old was even too tired to change out of his ‘collector’s uniform’ and was driven home just as he was. The ‘Pweeeze giv’ t-shirt looking a bit worse for wear, whilst the bulging nappy was in a sorry, saggy state... but he was simply past caring. The entire day had been exciting, busy and energy-sapping so all Henry wanted to do when he got in was rest. Ellie suggested he take a nice relaxing bath, then she’d put him in his night time fleecy nappy so he was ready for bed when he wanted to go. He was past thinking and let Ellie do what he’d agreed with Kevin he should wear for the rest of the challenge. So, after a lovely soothing, foamy bath, Henry had the appropriate lotion and powder spread all about him. The new thick, well-padded night time downy nappy Ellie fitted snuggly around his waist was indeed something huge and cumbersome, whilst the addition of a pair of frosted vinyl pants noisily crinkled as they were pulled up his thighs. She said that it was exactly what Kevin wore every night when he went to bed so, as per the challenge; her duly encased brother was unable to complain about the awkwardness of it all. Movement was ungainly and Henry wondered if this was what all the nappy-wearing kids in the hospice and children’s wing felt like every night. Despite this he nodded to Ellie when she suggested he should come down to spend some time watching TV, relaxing and having a nice ‘slurpy’ drink. For a moment he lay out on his bed and thought about the day. He’d got Brendan Lee Cooper’s autograph, with a personal message, and had made friends with just about everybody he’d met... it had been a fantastic, if hectic, day. Even Mrs Parkhurst, who he’d seen briefly, commented on what a good job he was doing, but of course repeated to anyone within earshot her usual refrain that any child under ten should always wear a nappy. She insisted that an excited child couldn’t be trusted to not wet their pants so it was simply a sensible precaution. Despite that, and his babyish outfit, it had been exactly what it was supposed to be... a brilliant FUNDAY for the visitors, and, although hard work for him, was glad to have been part of it. Alas, the cool strawberry milkshake lovingly made by his proud mother and standing enticingly on the coffee table downstairs stayed undrunk because a shattered, well-padded and cosy little chap fell asleep on top of his bed. # Later, when his mother popped her head around the door she couldn’t help but think what an adorable sight her son made. He’d not even got round to slipping on a t-shirt so he lay naked but for his thick protection, his room still quite warm from the day’s heat. She stood for over fifteen minutes just watching her little boy sleep as his stomach gently expanded and fell with each softly taken breath. Though Henry had acted nothing like a baby, it was the way he was dressed which filled her full of overwhelming emotions. He wasn’t a delicate boy, he was always coming home with cuts and scrapes, and he’d shown just how determined a seven year old could be by his recent action. However, looking at him swaddled in a huge nappy and enormous plastic pants cut through that boyish bravado and all Debra saw was her sweet baby boy once more. Eventually, she took one of his old soft cuddly toys off the dresser and gently laid it in his arms. Automatically, his hands seemed to sense its presence hugging it close. Debra was quite overcome, it was like Henry was two again and all those feelings of maternal love and protection for an infant came flooding back. She just wanted to pick him up and hug him to her chest so he’d sleep in her arms. The urge was strong but she fought it back. The day had been strange for her as well. Every time she seemed to look up her son, dressed in a nappy and looking to the entire world like a big toddler, was being photographed. Everywhere he went people wanted him to join in their selfies. At times she was both jealous and frightened for her boy because he looked so vulnerable, yet had launched himself into the challenge with a steely determination like a boy twice his age. Eventually she reached over and pulled a blanket over him, he wriggled and crinkled in sleepy contentment; that was her cue to kiss him goodnight and leave him to his dreams. # Henry slept like a log. His mother came in at 8am Sunday morning and the little fellow was still hard on. The ear on his soft toy was soaked where he’d spent the night sucking on it like he used to do when a baby. She gently roused him and automatically slipped her hand down the front of his plastic pants. He was too tired to notice but surprisingly his mum found him saturated as he stretched and yawned his way into consciousness. For some reason a smile appeared on her face. Why she should be happy that her seven year old son should be soaked she couldn’t justify. However, there was no way to pretend otherwise, it did please her. “Morning sweetie,” she grinned. “You must have been worn out... you’ve slept for over twelve hours.” His bleary eyes eventually focused and he nodded back to his mum. “Is it time to get up?” “Only if you want to... you did mention that you’d help out at the hospice this morning and I’m sure you need to catch up with Kevin and the clan.” “Mmmm, I s’pose so,” he stretched more and then detected the crinkle of his plastic pants. At the same time he became aware of something else. Debra didn’t want him to be embarrassed about wetting his nappy so cheerfully brought it up. “Seems my little hero was too shattered to make it to the toilet...” she smiled. Henry turned red with embarrassment. “No need to feel embarrassed sweetie, you were dog-tired after all you did yesterday so a little accident is nothing to be worried about.” This was awful. How did she know he was wet? Henry was on the verge of self-conscious tears. “Sweetie, don’t worry, it’s not that important... and besides, you were well protected so no harm done... it’s an accident.” Although his mother was being positive and encouraging, Henry was none too happy. He knew some of the kids at the hospice wet themselves but couldn’t work out why he had. He was sure his mother wouldn’t like the fact that her seven year old had wet his nappy as if it was normal. However,suddenly his mind went to something Kevin had said about waking up wet, The feeling of being changed into something fresh, clean and dry made up for the morning’s damp discomfort. The stiffness in his body eased as he let himself relax. “Look darling, let’s have breakfast before I get you out of those,” his mother said pointing to the bulk. “After, have a shower and then I’ll take you over to see your friends.” # Although he’d sat around in a nappy several times now, this was the first time the bulk had been added to with his pee and it felt strange. It didn’t feel the same as the day before when he’d accidentally peed in his disposable. He wasn’t sure if the difference was down to his knowledge that he’d actually peed in his nappy and had known nothing about it, or that he’d peed in his nappy and his mother appeared fine by it. Just sitting in such a thick wet piece of material in the first place was a peculiar sensation but now it had expanded his waddle was far more pronounced, in fact, the entire thing was odd. However, and this was another thing that shocked him, he wasn’t fazed by it. Perhaps, after all the positive things Kevin, Liam and the gang had said about having to wear a nappy was beginning to sink in that it was something you just got used to. After breakfast, and as per instructions from Ellie, Debra changed her son into his daytime disposable. If truth be told, she’d actually been a little envious of her daughter changing Henry so took her time (and great delight) in getting him ready. Henry, although a little shy of his mum being so thorough, knew he’d be hopeless if he’d had to do it himself. He comforted himself with the fact that this would be the last time as by noon his twenty-four hour challenge would be up. His mother, on the other hand, wished this wasn’t the last time she’d get to do this. # Much to his initial embarrassment, she reminisced throughout the procedure about how she used to change him (kissing his tummy and making him giggle), when he was a baby. However, even when she finally pulled everything together through his legs and taped him securely in place he still found himself amused at some of the things she said. He was chuckling away at her silly impression of Mrs Parkhurst saying all children should be in nappies until they were “...ten, no... twenty, no... thirty years old”. Besides, she’d done a great job - the disposable was nice and tight and had chosen a pair of plain blue plastic pants instead of the nursery print ones. Dressed in his blue and white polo shirt, his pale blue shorts and blue sneakers he looked like he was destined for the beach more than a visit to see his friends at the hospital. The bulk was barely showing under his shorts, the firm grip of the plastic pants adding a secure feeling, and he felt good about himself. He wondered if Kevin and the others ever felt like this or did they just put up with it because they had to? His mother patted his padded bottom as he got into the rear seat of her car and really wished she had more time with him like that but of course said nothing. As the car drove off the phone in the hallway was ringing. It was Ellie trying to tell her mother not to bring Henry to Saint Clare’s. # Unfortunately, once at the hospital a different atmosphere pervaded than the previous Funday. Yesterday afternoon, whilst enjoying himself with his mates at the Funday, Liam took a turn for the worse. One minute he was laughing, the next he was struggling for breath and sadly, despite the doctor’s efforts, they couldn’t revive him. His friend finally gave up the fight just as Henry fell asleep at home from his exhausting day. The seven year old didn’t know about death and even though Ellie had explained the purpose of the hospice side of the hospital, it came as a shock. When he walked into the ward he found a sad bunch of kids, some still in tears, mourning their friend’s passing. Henry didn’t know what to do or say but found Kevin and automatically went and hugged him. The release from Kevin was instant and audible as he poured out his grief whilst his new friend embraced him. Ellie was about to intervene but, with arms wrapped around each other, both boys emptied their sorrowful hearts. Tears were part of the grieving and healing process but for now the boys could only think of the loss of their friend. They unashamedly found what they needed in their mutual support. Despite his lifelong affliction Liam had been positive, fun and great company, although everyone knew what was coming, the suddenness, and at such a joyous occasion, had stunned them all. Ellie had been surprised at just how compassionate her little brother had become... and in such a short space of time. Henry was proving to be a surprisingly perceptive seven year old. # Outside in the hospital grounds and surrounding fields the clean-up operation continued. The stage had to be dismantled, so did all the stalls and rides, rubbish cleared and a lorry was going round the site picking up the Portaloos and loading them on the back. It was this last activity that got Kevin and Henry out of their funk. As the crane device hooked up one of the big blue plastic toilets and lifted it into the air Kevin nodded to Henry and said he hoped no one was still using it. There was a giggle of relief followed by a full belly laugh as the boys broke the sombre mood. Liam wasn’t forgotten but life went on for the rest of the hospice’s patients and the comment went a long way to restoring a little life back into proceedings. Ellie was doing the rounds and asked Kevin if he needed a change, which he answered with a shy nod. She looked over at Henry who seemed to suddenly realise he was also wet. He hadn’t known that his emotions had let loose his bladder and he’d unwittingly filled the front of his nappy. There was also an air of pee which he had detected from some of the nappy wearers at the hospice which Liam and others had said “...was an inevitable outcome of incontinence”. What Henry didn’t realise was that air of pee was now coming from him. Some of the patients wore bags to collect their urine but most preferred their comforting thick protection; it was a choice some struggled with. However, this was the second time he’d wet himself without knowing it (he didn’t count his Funday experience as that was simply an accident) and was thinking frantically for an excuse. “Erm, um, Ellie, I think I need a change too.” He said quietly, desperate to come up with a reason. He didn’t need one. His sister understood they’d both been under immense emotional strain and that was plenty enough explanation for her. “Okay sweetie, come with me and Kevin and I’ll change you after him.” Then she realised something else. “Henry, I know your challenge is just about over but, I’m sorry to say, I haven’t brought any underpants for you to change into... I’ve only got...” Henry nodded that it was okay to be changed into a nappy. For the time being at least he didn’t feel the need to alter anything that reminded him of his friend, in fact, all his friends. # Kevin had eased himself out of his wheelchair and on to the counter top to be changed. Ellie once offered to lift him but he said it was one of the few acts of independence he had, so no matter how difficult, he’d always try and do it himself. Once laid out Ellie undid his pants, eased off his plastic cover and pulled the tabs apart. “Well sweetie (it seemed she called everyone sweetie), you’re pretty well soaked so let’s get you into a booster as well as a disposable... is that okay with you?” Kevin grimaced as his soaked disposable landed with a sodden splat in to the ‘used’ bucket. His nurse was quick to cover him up with wipes and cleaned the area before smoothing in a fair amount of lotion and topping it off with a liberal sprinkling of powder. The ultra-thick nappy was fastened in place and his white, shiny vinyl pants were shuffled up his legs. Soon he was back in his wheelchair and out to meet Henry who was patiently awaiting his turn. “Next.” Kevin and Henry fist-bumped as they swapped places. Ellie had already organised a disposable and quickly got to work sorting out her brother. Even so, she was just as thorough as she’d been with Kevin although Henry’s nappy wasn’t quite as thick. However, she noticed that some of the leg elastic on his blue plastic pants had started to crack and replaced the ones he had with a pair of soft pink vinyl. “Pink! They hardly go with my blue shorts...” He said with arms folded. “Yes I’m sorry but those,” she said pointing to the blue ones he’d only recently been wearing, “will cut into your thigh and may even leak...” He didn’t mention it but they had been pinching at his thighs a little bit so was pleased to get an alternative. “Don’t you have any white ones?” “Sorry Henry but they’ve all gone. We have pink and nursery print... oh, and these heavy white rubber ones.” She held up a voluminous pair of rigid rubber pants. Henry shuddered at having to wear something so large and wondered who at the hospice they were for. “Okay, okay pink it will have to be.” He said reluctantly. “Well, these are mostly white with just a few cartoon animals on.” She held up the nursery print. “Oh, I don’t s’pose it matters,” Henry sighed in resignation. “I s’pose they’re going to be hidden anyway.” “Precisely.” As she was holding the nursery print pants at the time it was those that got fed up his legs to cover the disposable. # Ellie watched with interest at how the boys handled the death of their friend. The hospice of course had seen its fair share of young deaths, but it had been a new experience for Henry. He’d shared in the ward’s grief like he’d shared in their nappy regime and hadn’t expected to be treated any differently from the others. After lunch, and as the summer weather still held, the boys went outside to watch the dismantling of the Funday equipment. Kevin found some prizes that hadn’t been claimed (or simply left) in a plastic bag by a rubbish bin. He became the owner of a very sad looking plastic clown, a brown pottery dog, a cheap looking water pistol, a large unopened Toblerone and a half drunk bottle of Coke. Somehow they managed to make up a story regarding the clown and the dog and were giggling like maniacs before too long - they decided to give the bottle of Coke a miss but enjoyed the triangles of Swiss chocolate. A few of the other boys and girls came to join them and the mood changed to a slightly better, chocolatey atmosphere. They went off to find a tap to fill the water pistol. At one point Kevin said about Liam. “That’s what the hospice is all about... you know... making the last few days or weeks or however long you have left... better. I think he was happy... well I hope so.” Henry just nodded and put an arm around Kevin’s shoulder who, after a few seconds, slipped his hand down to his friends padded bum and said he bet he’d never get used to underpants again... they both laughed. Later, when Henry got home and it was time for bed he didn’t remove the padding; he just slipped under the cover and snuggled down wearing only his protection. He would wear his briefs tomorrow but for now, in memory of Liam and his well-padded jogging pants, he would stay as he was. # ...to be continued

Thank you for your comment, as always it is greatly appreciated.

Let it... flow (Nothing to do with Frozen) I was looking at some old photographs the other day and one of them was of my dad holding me outside our terraced (and somewhat dilapidated) old house. The caption, obviously written by my father, read - 9 month old Popsi and me taking the morning air. Apparently, my nickname as a baby was Popsi and, from the image at least, my sex indeterminate, which I suppose is OK for a baby, as it really doesn’t matter. As it was, I was dressed in a grey looking smock but my large white nappy was clearly visible resting on dad’s arm. I was giggling about something, and dad was smiling, so it must have been a fun occasion for all concerned but the thing was, I never remembered ever being called Popsi. Now you may be wondering why I’m telling you about this. In fact, I have no idea why I’m sharing this little titbit of my life except as a reminder of the things you forget or aren’t aware of. I’m sure I was called Popsi (by my parents at least) for quite some time although as far as I know, I’ve never had a nickname at school or throughout my adult life. So, although that early part of my life has been forgotten, there is one thing I do remember because in one way or another it continues to this day. * Like I remember, I must have been about six years old and having a bath on my own. I was enjoying playing with my little plastic boats and suddenly I needed a pee. Of course I was already in the bath so it seemed silly to get out and then pee in a different ‘bowl’ of water so I just relaxed and let it flow. I was completely transfixed by the small yellow plume that emerged from my little ‘pidge’ and found that it was something I ended up doing every time I had a bath. Quite simply it was fun and felt good to do. The problem was, even though my potty training had lasted until I was four and I hadn’t wet the bed for over two years, I suddenly started again. These days I can see a link between the two incidents but at the time, well I was only a kid and it never occurred to me. The warmth of the bath and the warmth of my bed both perhaps working on my brain to give me a similar feeling of relaxation; the two experiences were becoming one and the same. However, the connection between the two wasn’t made because no one knew I peed in the bath, all mum saw was that one morning I woke up to a soaked bed. That was followed by further wet bedding and jammies so after a week of such accidents, mum said that I had to return to nappies until I was “over it”. To say I wasn’t happy about this announcement was a bit of an understatement as I threw a tantrum and became very angry. The very idea of being returned to a ‘baby’ had me screaming the house down in protest, which didn’t help my case. Now mum had never been a fan of disposables, I’m not sure if that was a result of worrying about the environment or because of the expense, either way, she never had them in the house. As babies we were always put in thick cloth nappies covered in a rather milky white pair of rubber or plastic pants. I have to say they seemed to do the job remarkably efficiently and mum never seemed bothered about colour or fashion. She is also a no nonsense type of woman. She’s very loving but once her mind is set on a course of action nothing is going to change it. I think dad liked that spark in mum and that’s why he married her (also my oldest brother was on the way). So, once she’d decided on what needed to be done to protect my bed and bedding, her damp little son was going to be well-wrapped at night whether I liked it or not and, as I said, I did not. Besides, I had two older brothers and they would just take the piss (so to speak). They did - as soon as they saw the plastic under-sheet being fastened over my mattress. I was now fair game being referred to as the ‘baby of the family’ and spoken to as if I was still a toddler. My brothers didn’t tire of ‘diddum’s this’ and ‘diddum’s that’ or be constantly checking my padded night time nappy and telling me it was time all babies should be in bed… at 6.30 or earlier. Anyway, it wasn’t something you could talk to a six year old about so my parents just assumed I was being lazy, which may have been part of it, or that I’d probably grow out of my bed-wetting problem soon enough. In the meantime, nappies were the most obvious solution. On that first night mum put me in them I was furious but had no option, both mum and dad said it was for my own good and that the sooner I stopped wetting the bed the sooner I could return to my normal PJs. That initial night was hell, I couldn’t get used to them. They were hot, bulky, uncomfortable and sweaty, which made me squirm around in bed until they were so loose they ‘accidently’ wriggled off. This was a bad move on my part as in the morning my bed was soaked but not the nappy so it was obvious to mum that I hadn’t been wearing it. I got a couple of quick swats to my bare bottom for both lying to her about how it came off and for wetting once again. The following night she pinned me in, added plastic pants over them and made sure I was under no illusions that if everything wasn’t exactly as she had left it (I.e. me in my protection) I’d be feeling more than the little ‘taps’ I’d received as punishment earlier. She had also made it very clear that I wasn’t to take it off, only she and dad were allowed to do that, so I was to stay in my nappy until told otherwise. It was still a damned uncomfortable night but I dare not wriggle free of them this time. My crinkly plastic pants and under-sheet adding to my awkwardness but in the end sleep did visit and so did the pee fairy because in the morning my nappy was soaked. Thankfully, as mum saw it, everything else was dry so her precautions had been a huge success. It felt really awful sitting at the breakfast table with my brother’s giggling at my bloated nappy and plastic pants. Mum said she’d change me when it was time for school. This really worried me because I thought she meant I’d have to wear a nappy to class but in the end she didn’t mean that at all and I went to school in my normal undies … and uniform. What a relief. I didn’t have accidents during the day it was only when I was asleep or in the bath… but then the ones in the bath weren’t accidents… I really liked the feeling and watching the almost invisible pale yellow trails disappear into the rest of the water. I also discovered that if I peed near the surface, and my boats were somewhere near the flow, I could get the current to make them sail in a particular direction. I got pretty good at keeping a load of pee for when I was scheduled for a bath so I could spend more time on this incredible discovery. However, protection at night became a regular feature of my bedtime and eventually my brothers got used to seeing me being wrapped in terry cloth and fitted into rubber pants before I went to bed I shared a room with my two brothers, Leo, the eldest was nine and Gary who was eight shared a big double bed, whilst mine was a small single bed pushed up against the far wall. When all three of us were up or in the room at the same time, like when getting ready for school, it was a very cramped space. With draws, a wardrobe and of course the beds, we had no room for play, it was strictly a place for sleep and changing. This meant that when mum changed me into my night time protection, this was dealt with on my bed and became a bit of a ritual before my brothers needed to get ready. Otherwise there simply wouldn’t have been the room for us all to be changing at the same time and the bathroom was quite small, so there wasn’t much space in there either. We coped but it had to be done to mother’s precision organisation. She liked to apply the various oils and powders and though I resented being put into nappies, that resentment was getting less and less every time. The thing was I was enjoying peeing in my nappy. On more than one occasion I’d woken up and could quite easily have made it to the toilet in time but enjoyed the warm surge. My nappy, like the bath, became the place to let it flow. Mum was slightly annoyed that her washing line was once again filled with my flapping nappies and rubber pants; she thought she was over all that, but as the alternative was fluttering bed sheets and jammies, she let it go. My night time toilet arrangements became quite a topic of conversation between mum and the neighbours who commiserated with her on my immature return to nappies. As far as I knew, and certainly mum never led me to believe otherwise, I was the only six year-old on the estate still needing night time protection. Mum made sure if I was staying up to watch TV or we were doing something else, she always wanted to make sure I was in my protection well before bedtime. She dreaded that I might nod off when not in protection and shame myself by leaving a pool of pee that someone else might notice. I couldn’t understand this as I never arrived home from school in wet pants so why she thought I couldn’t be trusted I wasn’t so sure. Although I suspected it was just the normal amount of gossiping and conclusions drawn that went on between ‘concerned’ neighbours. If mum or dad were going to be busy, on more than one occasion I’d arrive home from school or from playing out and I’d be taken upstairs and made ready for an early night. So, quite often I’d be in my nappy for ages before actual bedtime. So seeing me totter around the house wearing just a t-shirt and nappy was not unusual. I’d try and disguise my padding by choosing a brightly coloured t-shirt, which to me at least, drew attention away from the bulky material between my legs. However, the urge to fill it then was strong, but I was sure that if they knew I could’ve made it to the bathroom and yet didn’t, then I would be in a great deal of trouble. If they thought it was accidental, and I did it in my sleep, that was acceptable. Sometimes I’d have an early night just so I could pee in my nappy as soon as I got into bed. The feeling was wonderful and I’d often fall asleep almost immediately after the event. Mum once or twice checked me when she came to bed and, finding me wet would change me into a clean and dry one only for that to be soaked by morning. There was no doubt I was peeing in my nappy more and more and both Leo and Gary started to complain about the overpowering odour of these ‘mishaps’. As I didn’t seem to be in the process of stopping (and there was nowhere else for me to sleep) her solution was thicker nappies, thicker soak pads and very robust rubber pants. Mum claimed that nothing would get out of this fortified prison and all my changes were to be performed in the bathroom from then on. It was far more cramped and uncomfortable but I couldn’t complain (although I did a little bit). Mum was giving me more and more responsibility for my own changes. I was left to put it on myself, after suitable instruction and supervision from her, and I got quite adept at pinning myself into multiple folds of soft white (now slightly yellowing) fabric. The doctor I went to see told dad there was nothing wrong with me and after giving him the third degree about how I was punished, and satisfying himself I wasn’t being abused, said that I’d probably grow out of it pretty soon. Dad was annoyed that the doctor assumed it was his fault I wet and as a result, I was constantly under dad’s scrutiny and encouraged to improve my night time toilet habits. I did try. I hated that dad was so upset with the disgusting insinuation he was abusing me, so I did get dry for a week or so. Eventually, the strain of staying dry gave way to the pleasure of being wet so nothing changed. Although the outcome of all this was, because of his inquisition dad refused to let me see a doctor again regarding my nightly ‘accidents’. Even when I reached my seventh, eighth and ninth birthdays I was still wearing my night time armour (as I’d jokingly come to call it) but that changed when dad got promoted and transferred to a different town. A change of house, school and friends suddenly had me more interested in that than my wet habits and miraculously (as mum and dad called it) I suddenly found I was dry and the toilet was not an alien place for me to visit at night. Pretty soon, after almost three years I was back to proper nightwear and a dry bed. From then on I hardly ever thought about my ‘golden flow’ and certainly didn’t miss the thick nappy. # Here I’m going to do a potted history of my life then until now, simply because what happened during these years from when I stopped has no bearing on what I want to tell you about (well I don’t think so). I had been working since I left school at eighteen though I never went to college, but found myself at a new firm that had ambition and a workforce that functioned very well together. I was one of their go-getters and the firm was in the right place at the right time for the technical facilities it offered. It was a great place to be and we all did fairly well sharing in the company’s successes. At twenty-one I inherited money that my grandparents had put in trust for me. It was quite a considerable amount and enabled me to put the deposit down on a place of my own. By twenty-four I was married to a nice girl but my sex drive, which had never been prolific, eventually drove her into the arms of another man (a workmate) and I was divorced by the time I reached twenty-seven. During in all that time, I never thought about nappies or wetting and those two thoughts have only just recently surfaced, and that has taken me to a place I wished I’d found earlier. Let me explain. # It’s several months since my divorce and I now live alone. Recently I was taking a shower - don’t get me wrong, I’d taken many showers since the decree absolute, it was just this one was sort of a turning point. It was early morning and as I let the warm jets pulsate against my head and back I let my night time bladder build-up go in the cubicle. Now I’m sure I’d done this more times than I remembered but on this occasion something actually happened. As the stream of bright yellow pee joined the river of warm water I watched in wonder and my mind was immediately transferred back to the moment when I was six and peed in the bath for the very first time. Then it was pale yellow and in volume hardly much at all but now I witnessed a yellow torrent mixing and mingling with a clear water flow and disappear in a swirl down the plughole. It was magical. It brought back that instant over twenty years earlier, when a shiver of excitement, wonder and sheer pleasure led to that most joyful of discoveries - peeing was fun… and not only in the bath. I’d been in a little bit of self despair because I felt useless and it wasn’t just because of the break up. The divorce hadn’t hit me hard because I more or less knew it was coming from the moment I married Penny. We were more friends than lovers and we’d let ourselves fall into the trap that friends could be lovers. Alas, after just a few short, frustrated years (for Penny) it was over. Since then my self-imposed depression meant I wasn’t the bundle of fun I used to be and quite a few of my ‘friends’ took the opportunity to let our friendship slide. I can’t blame them I wasn’t much company but it was all a mask for something… though at the time I hadn’t realised what that might be. However, a stream of pee and a delightful memory had had the most amazing effect and I bounced into work a new man. For the first time in absolutely ages I felt happy. There was energy to my attitude and a zing in my step. I was, to put it mildly, amazingly focused on ME. Not in a depressed state of mind, not self-destructive, not in a negative way at all. In fact, I was all the things I used to be before I got tangled up in growing up. It was surprising how liberated I felt. I could do my job, I could function around others, and the divorce I realised meant a great weight of a lifetime of responsibility had been lifted from my shoulders. THANK YOU GOD… or whoever is in charge of such things. Now, as I live on my own, I saw no reason not to indulge once again in a physical reminisce and went out to purchase a bag of Abena Abri-Form M4 disposables and a couple of pairs of thick shiny plastic pants (they were in packs of two). This was an incredible, life-changing decision. From now on, when not at work (and occasionally when I was, though not as thickly) nappies, disposables and plastic pants would be my underwear of choice. I have once again begun to appreciate that soft rustling sound of a slick pair of vinyl pants, the bulk between my legs, the smooth rounded front to my genital area and wondered why had I let these feelings go? Powder, lotion and a return of baby pins that help make my fabric nappies fit tightly and look so special was like finding old and much missed friends. Now I was older peeing in the bath had more force. I watched the few suds being swept into the current and being destroyed, much to my juvenile enjoyment. I began to drink more liquid in the hope that my bloated bladder made the length of pee last much longer. I now try to hold off from going to the toilet wanting to keep it for my bath time ritual… or later. When bed time comes I just let nature take its course and I find filling my disposable immensely satisfying. I don’t want my complete childhood back but there are things I do that make me giggle like the little kid I once was. The little kid who peed in the bath and enjoyed the sensation of letting go… and letting it flow… a newly warm wet nappy is a thing of immense pleasure. ##################################################

Thanks for a touch of the Vapors I wonder how many other countries taking part in the World Cup have a similar song?

I think I'm turning Japanese... yes I'm turning Japanese.... One of the front runners.... I hope Thanks Elfy

Part 3 The Funday Eventually Debra led her sleepy son up to his room. He seemed exhausted and didn’t even try to pull his pyjamas over the thick protection but simply crawled into bed as he was. His mother lovingly patted his padded bottom before pulling a blanket over and left her son to all the sweet dreams he could summon before the big day. Although the week had begun cloudy and cool, the last few days had seen a return of the summer sun the weather forecasters had been promising. Henry woke up to find himself sweating as the early morning sun streamed in through his open window. He stretched and yawned and wondered why he’d woken up naked, then remembered the previous night and knew he wasn’t quite naked after all. He reached down and felt the slippery cover and the thick bulk between his legs and wondered how he’d managed to sleep with all that pinned to him. However, he’d had no trouble sleeping so threw back the cover and looked at his padding. He was feeling very hot down there, the plastic pants keeping all the heat in as he sweated even more once the sunlight had begun to do its work. He slipped his hand down the front of the nappy and it felt moist, he was sure he hadn’t wet during the night but couldn’t be certain. Furtively, he dragged down the plastic cover and unpinned the fabric. Cautiously he looked to see if there was any tell-tale signs of him having peed the bed, thankfully there was nothing and his nappy showed no staining that might have indicated anything else. It was simply perspiration. # A gentle knock on his bedroom door meant that Ellie wanted to come in. That reminded him of the fact that today he was ‘volunteering’ at the Funday and she’d come to see he was fit and well and hadn’t suddenly developed some rare and incapacitating disease. Even if he had he was sure his mother wouldn’t let him back down, she was so proud of her little boy having such a community spirit. Ellie cautiously opened the door and saw the nappy and plastic pants in a pile on the floor. She smiled as her brother hopped around desperately trying to quickly get into a pair of underpants to hide his nakedness, which was silly really as she’d seen him naked most of his life. “Did you sleep alright sweetie?” She enquired. “Mmmm, I think so, no probs.” He replied having succeeded in getting his briefs in place but now distractedly looking for a pair of shorts. “Great, er, um, do you want me to put your nappy on here at home or wait until we get to the hospice?” Standing in just colourful cartoon briefs and holding a pair of shorts he looked undecided. “Remember you said you’d wear the same as Kevin for twenty four hours…?” “Yes, yes, I know,” he seemed a bit annoyed at being reminded. “I suppose it’s best to change here. What time are we expected at the hospice?” “Well, there will be a briefing and I think you should go and chat to your friends there first… so they can see for themselves how committed you are to the challenge…” “Okay, okay, um, does the fact that I spent the night wearing a nappy go towards the twenty-four hour…? He ventured in hope. “I don’t think so sweetie but you can always tell Kevin you got to wear a nappy last night and see if he agrees.” Henry thought for a while. “He’ll think I wanted to wear one…” “Maybe.” She smiled at the memory of both her and their mother admiring just how cute he looked. It was in Ellie’s DNA. She’d always had a soft spot for babies and children, that’s why she wanted to become a paediatric nurse. But even before that, with her little baby brother, she always loved getting him ready for the day ahead; cleaning him up, feeding his breakfast, dressing him in nice toddler outfits, he was such a happy, loving child and eager to please. That was Henry’s major attribute – he was a loving and caring... and a handsome boy who everyone liked. After a little thought he suggested that perhaps just before they have to set off it would be best if the disposable was fitted then. He also wondered what exactly his ‘uniform’ would entail. # However, owing to a slight misjudgement, both mum and her daughter taking longer than anticipated with their ‘make-up’ regime, Ellie didn’t get time to pre-nappy Henry before they made it to the hospice so had to do it there. At Saint Clare’s Henry was telling Kevin and the other interested boys (which seemed to include them all) about what his sister had arranged and that was – from the time he is made ready for the Funday he would be wearing exactly the same as what Kevin would wear at any given time… “...except without the wheelchair”. Liam giggled at that bit. That means disposable by day and an extra thick padded nappy at night and the challenge would last a full twenty-four hours. He didn’t mention that he’d already spent the night dressed in a similar way, he didn’t want them to think it was something he enjoyed doing. However, now that he had spent so much time dressed that way, he was a little less worried about the challenge. Kevin had stopped saying that Henry didn’t have to accept the challenge, instead he was in admiration that his new seven year old chum would go to such lengths… but wasn’t sure why? Anyway, the Funday had given them all an excuse to dress up if they wanted; fancy dress had been offered should the urge be taken by any of the hospice’s patients. The younger ones wanted face painting, whilst some of the older ones just wanted to meet new people and didn’t think fancy dress would do their reputation any good whatsoever. Eventually Henry had to go and get ready for his collecting duties and said that no doubt he’d see them around as he went about trying to get money from strangers. What he didn’t know was that his sister and the committee had come up with a special outfit that would prove embarrassing, but highly effective. # The Funday was just minutes from the opening ceremony when Henry arrived at the volunteer’s tent. The scout, the guide, Captain America and the mascot were already and armed with their buckets. Ellie rushed her brother into a slightly cornered off part of the tent, it was to be used as a First Aid post so needed a bit of privacy, and helped him off with his clothes. She asked him to lay out on the rickety bed that was there so she could fit the nappy but added lotion and powder she thought would be advisable as he was to wear a nappy all day and in such hot weather. Because he was a little late and everyone was waiting for him - a photographer was expecting to take a group shot for the local paper - Henry didn’t object as she taped him snugly and expertly into a thick disposable. She then pulled up a pair of plastic pants, not unlike the nursery print ones he’d worn the night before, but which he thought were just too juvenile. His objection to them was stopped as an urgent call that the photographer was getting anxious and Henry was holding up proceedings. Henry, although doubtful about what he had to wear wondered where his uniform was. Ellie slipped a small revealing baby blue t-shirt over his head and quickly led him by the hand out to join the rest of the group. He had no time to realise the t-shirt read: ‘Pweeeze giv’ in swirly pink childish writing, whilst on the back it said ‘tank U’ in an equally toddlerish manner. The t-shirt hardly reached the top of the plastic pants, which in turn were very crinkly as he waddled out of the tent. A bucket was thrust into his hands and the photographer gathered the collectors around the famous patron and a couple of kids in wheelchairs, who Henry didn’t recognise, for what he said would be the main picture for the local paper. Henry tried to ask Ellie where the rest of his ‘uniform’ was but all he got a shrug of her shoulder as if to say “That’s it.” She was busy chaperoning a group of toddlers who wanted to go to the children’s play area. He didn’t get time to complain as they were all rushed to the stage where soap-star, and kids favourite, Brendan Lee Cooper officially opened the event. All the collectors were on stage, with Henry feeling embarrassed and exposed in what little he was wearing, which was compounded when the soap-star signalled him out as the cutest collector he’d ever seen and encouraged the crowd to give generously. As the Funday began Henry had no way out. He wasn’t to know how it would all pan out or his part in its success. # The kids from the hospice saw the way Henry was dressed and laughed. He hadn’t needed to go to such extremes but there was no doubt about it, he was really proving a point. They didn’t know that Henry had had no say in what he wore and had been duped into wearing only this rather babyish outfit. Although Kevin and all the guys from the hospice knew that quite a number of them wore nappies, they were never expected, or made, to parade around the wards in nothing else. Each patient was treated with respect, no matter how old they were. It was funny to see Henry wearing nothing but a nappy but, they all agreed, he did look the part. It was a wonderful day to hold such an event. Over the past few days the weather had been getting warmer and by the time the Funday got underway, it was as if summer had finally arrived. A perfectly blue sky, a gentle warm breeze and the promise of some excellent entertainment, had brought the crowds out in the hundreds… probably even thousands. The collectors wandered the grounds, cheerfully stopping people and rattling their buckets, pretty soon these were being filled up with all manner of charitable donations. Henry could hardly go a couple of yards without being stopped and a photo request made, it seemed everyone wanted a picture with him. His bucket was filled up first and he went to the organiser’s tent to get it emptied. The seven year old was given another bucket and encouraged to do his best but, with the hot day and constant attention, Henry was fading fast. They gave him a large refreshing soda, which he downed straight away, but then gave him a baby’s bottle full of juice, which they said would add to his appeal. He wasn’t keen on the idea but realised that he’d been quite thirsty most of the time so to have his own supply wasn’t such a bad idea. He bumped into his mother who was there with a clutch of women from a support group she organised. She proudly introduced her boy and told them how keen he’d been to get involved with the hospice’s work and how wonderful it was that he’d helped out his sister. The women were obviously impressed (as his mother hoped) and each found Henry in a nappy to be the cutest of cute (again something his mother hoped but didn’t say anything), they dug deep and slipped several large denomination notes into his collecting bucket. Praise was coming his way in bucket-loads but he had little chance to enjoy it before someone else grabbed his attention. More photos and another contribution-filled bucket followed. # After a couple of hours the large soda made its presence felt and he really did need to pee but, despite the presence of his disposable, preferred to use a proper toilet. There were many blocks of Portaloos scattered around the site but the young lad didn’t fancy using any of them. They had a very strange atmosphere; smelling of plastic and urine, whilst the seat and surroundings looked like a heavy disinfecting would make the unit a much better place. He probably wasn’t alone in making such a decision but at least he knew of an alternative. Finding his way back to the hospice he went to the only toilet that was not being used, the disabled toilet, and eased himself out of his plastic pants. He was hot, tired and bursting so once he had manoeuvred his disposable down he sat down and relaxed to completely empty his bladder. Unfortunately, his little willy was facing out and not down so when he began to pee the warm golden stream didn’t hit the pot, it shot under the seat rim and pooled very nicely into the back of his disposable. He only discovered what had happened when he pulled everything up. The feelings of shame, disgust and annoyance weren’t helped by the sudden banging on the door of someone desperate to use the facilities. As he wasn’t handicapped he now felt guilty that he was stopping someone needier than himself and had to act fast. Although he didn’t want to, he had no alternative than to fasten the sodden thing in place, pull up his plastic pants and hope they’d hide what had happened, then try to find his sister to get changed. With a guilty nod to the distressed looking girl in an electric wheelchair he escaped without having to explain himself but the soggy back of his disposable was hard to ignore. No sooner was he back in circulation than he was being grabbed and cajoled into various group photo opportunities, whilst once again his bucket was slowly filling up. The squelchy mass had expanded so he was now walking with a slightly more pronounced waddle. The crowd just loved him, patting his plastic padded bottom with familiarity and using baby talk as if he really was just a toddler... and this was just the first few hours of his self-imposed twenty-four hour nappy confinement. His drenched padding and plastic pants, together with the nonstop sunshine, was making things difficult for the little volunteer but eventually, after a further hour, he found his sister and tried to explain what had happened. She could believe he had an accident, just not the accident he was claiming. He also complained that the plastic pants were making him too hot. She got around that problem by simply tightly pinning him into a thick fabric nappy and sending him on his way because a queue of other wet toddlers had turned up needing to be changed. # Although embarrassed by wearing merely a nappy, Henry had to admit that without the plastic pants he didn’t feel as clammy... also he was not followed around by a continuous crinkle. The fact that Ellie had fastened it so tightly also meant that it wasn’t in danger of falling down any time soon. He also appreciated a dry nappy, the soggy one had clung to everything and had been quite uncomfortable but this new soft and fleecy nappy gave him a renewed confidence. Before long a third and fourth bucket had been quickly filled with donations. Henry had been popular and, as the organisers were keen to point out, he’d raised the most out of all the collectors. As the event drew to a close Henry was struggling with his final heavy bucket, what he hadn’t noticed was the fact that his baby’s bottle full of juice had leaked and the front of his nappy was covered in very orangey hue. When he finally returned to the tent with the last, heavy contribution everyone was congratulating each other on such a splendid day and, the organisers were in no doubt that it would be a record fund-raising event. Henry met Kevin and a few of the other kids for a chat and a catch up because ‘the collector’ had been so busy, he’d hardly been able to stop and speak to anyone for any length of time. Although he kept spotting his friends from time to time, there were so many attendees that they sort of got lost in the crowds. Meanwhile, they’d had a great time watching bands perform, going on some rides, whilst Kevin had particularly enjoyed inspecting the display of vintage cars. They all appeared to have had a great time and sympathised with Henry who had hardly got to experience any of the entertainment. Anyway, the boys were congratulating their friend on a job well done and were even proud of his soaked nappy. Henry tried to tell them it was spilled juice but again, although they nodded in agreement, they all thought he’d really just peed himself like they did. No one was having a go at him because it’s just what happens when you have to wear a nappy 24/7. # ...to be continued

Always wonderful to know my stories are being enjoyed. A boy and his nappy should never be parted.

OK count me in as well... I'm sure the young England team will be kicking ass all over the place but when I'm watching I always hope they're wearing a nappy under their shorts. Is that too much to ask? Good Luck and thanks for the Fun Elfy

Thanks for the comments hope you enjoy what's to come.

Thank you for your lovely comments I usually put a little bit of me in most stories I write and what I'd like (for instance, if I was seven again) to happen. I've mapped out this story and I'm hoping that you'll get all the things you would like... from Henry.

Part 2 The challenge Back downstairs a cup of hot chocolate awaited the two ‘workers’. Their mother was a little disappointed to see Henry now wearing pyjamas but without the thick protection underneath. She thought it wise not to comment but couldn’t help but once again become swamped in the nostalgia of her youngest so dressed… he’d looked so adorable. Up until she actually saw her son wearing a nappy, and the loving way Ellie attended to him, she had never thought of him as anything but a growing boy. There was a sudden pang of realisation that took her by surprise, and that was, her little boy was growing up but she wasn’t really ready for such a change. However, there was little she could do about it, Henry was growing and a lively little chap he’d become as well. He was much liked at school, had loads of friends and, thankfully, was still a loving son at home. Some of the other kids on the estate were terrors so she was grateful Henry wasn’t one of those. It was strange though, every time she looked across at him sitting in his jammies watching TV, she wished he was cuddled up with her in the thick nappy she’d so recently seen him wearing. She couldn’t shake the thought. In her head and under her breath she cursed her stupid brain for thinking in such a way. In fact, the ‘under her breath’ bit wasn’t quite true because Ellie asked her what she just said. “Oh, er, nothing love,” she said thinking quickly. “Just wondering out loud about something your aunty said.” She smiled to diffuse the situation and both her children went back to watching their programme. # Over the next few days, when she got home from work, Ellie would engage Henry in further procedures. She went through a whole gamut of bandaging techniques, looking for veins for injections (although Henry never had to suffer the actual prick). He also had to pretend he was infirm, couldn’t walk, had motor neurone disease and a host of other problems that kept him immobile and so Ellie had to lift and make comfortable. Henry quite enjoyed playing these parts and got into them with a vulgar enthusiasm that took Ellie by surprise. He thought it was funny to act the way he did and at times he was being thoughtlessly silly so she suggested that perhaps he’d like to visit Saint Clare’s and meet some of the children there. The suggestion sounded like it was a pleasant invite but in fact Ellie wanted Henry to appreciate what he had and to see for himself what other kids his age had to put up with. After a bit of badgering Henry reluctantly agreed to visit that weekend. His enthusiasm for ‘having fun’, whilst Ellie had to manoeuvre his immobile body around, waned and he took his job more seriously. Their mother would keep popping in to see if she could help or offer refreshments… but the real reason was the hope of finding her son nicely bound in more protection. She’d become slightly obsessed but didn’t dare suggest to Ellie to repeat the nappying process. Henry’s nappy wearing had only been for only a couple of hours over two nights so, once Ellie had been satisfied she’d got it right, with relief from her guinea pig, he was quickly back to normal underwear. # Ellie was pleased that her brother had agreed to visit the children’s hospital and hospice. Although at first not keen, he’d wanted to join his friends on a weekend camping expedition, the bad weather had made the decision for him. The kids from the children’s wing of the hospital were encouraged to be friends with those in the hospice. The interaction was deemed a progressive way for those with illnesses of all kinds to establish understanding and compassion. He met ten year old Kevin, who was confined to a wheelchair and nine year old Liam whose internal organs were in such a dreadful state it was a wonder he was still alive. Both these boys were restricted to wearing nappies 24/7 but coped admirably with what made their bodies the way they were. The trainee paediatric nurse hoped her brother would understand, first - how lucky he was and second - how others managed their situations. Henry wasn’t stupid but as a boisterous seven year old he took a great deal for granted. Although his sister didn’t want to bring him down, she hoped he’d learn to be compassionate about other people, especially those dealing with infirmity and some facing a very insecure future. She also hoped that he’d make friends with some of the kids and become a regular visitor because some of the children only ever saw those in hospital and had little or no contact with people outside. # After a tentative start Henry got on well with Kevin playing a video game together and eventually just generally chatting as they read Superhero comics. Eventually, in conversation, the inevitable came up. “...my friends sort of disappeared once I was in this.” Kevin indicated his wheelchair. “Annnnd… the fact I wear protection all the time doesn’t exactly add to my appeal.” “What happened?” It was an innocent enough question. “Car wreck...” he shrugged as if nothing more needed saying. “Erm, is that, awkward…?” “The wheelchair or the nappies?” “Nappies I suppose.” Henry wasn’t sure he should even be asking such personal questions but decided as Kevin had brought the subject up it was okay. Liam was listening nearby; there was no denying the thick protection bulging out his grey cotton jogging pants. “Not really,” Kevin sighed. “If you have no choice you just get on with it and… your sister is lovely when she has to change us.” Henry giggled. “She practiced on me.” Kevin and Liam looked shocked. “You wear nappies as well?” “No, no, no… she just practiced on me. She didn’t want to get it wrong when she had to change you, erm, I mean, anyone.” “Well there’s a difference between wearing them for a few minutes and having to wear them all the time, especially if you don’t know you’ve filled them.” Liam said cheekily but there was also a guilty look on his face as if this happened far too often for his liking. “There are a good few of us that have to wear protection all the time,” Kevin added. “It can be embarrassing if you have company but, you’ve just to get over that.” “I bet,” replied Henry. The conversation went on like this for some time, Henry asking questions and Liam and Kevin adding the answers and in the end… a challenge. # Kevin was in need of a change. A certain smell had suddenly added to the atmosphere and Ellie came over to sort out the situation. “I’ve just suggested to Henry,” Kevin said as Ellie smiled and asked if he was ready to be taken to the changing area. “He should wear a nappy for twenty-four hours so he can see what it’s like… but I bet he daren’t.” Ellie raised her eyebrows at her suddenly cornered brother. “Well that’s a challenge isn’t it?” A few other kids had gathered around now, not all wearing padding but a good number of them that was for sure. She suddenly had an idea. “Well, I know Henry isn’t afraid of anything… he’s brave and courageous… and I’m sure something that simple isn’t going to faze him.” She looked intently at Henry to see his reaction. All who heard the challenge now stared Henry’s way who found himself both embarrassed and unable to speak. “I don’t blame him,” Kevin offered. “It’s not nice having to wander around wearing a sopping nappy…” He smiled as if to say the challenge wasn’t real and he didn’t really expect his new friend to comply. Liam was deciding on whether to make chicken noises when Henry blurted out. “No. I’ll do it.” Everyone was stunned. “Look, you challenged me for a reason.” It was true. Kevin knew that most of his friends thought of him as a big baby because of his nappy. They thought he was stupid because of the wheelchair and either talked loudly at him or ignored him and spoke to his carer… he hated the fact that most people were okay with that assessment. He wasn’t and at times it angered him but now realised he was being a bit unfair with a new friend. Kevin touched his arm, “I was only kidding Henry.” He looked over at his sister for support. “You know you don’t have to,” Ellie said, “but I’d be very proud if you did.” Whilst Henry thought a little more about what he’d just agreed to do, Kevin wheeled himself to the changing area, whilst Liam and others just looked on in admiration and congratulated their new friend on his pluckiness. “How bad can it be?” Henry half-heartedly muttered to himself. # The gallant seven year-old hadn’t thought it through. Although he had his sister’s support he had no idea how or when this challenge would take place. He wished he hadn’t agreed to it and was hoping against hope that something would come along to prevent it happening. Of course, he didn’t want to be seen as backing down but, and this was most important, he didn’t want to wear a nappy for twenty-four hours either. However, Ellie had an idea, which she discussed with her mum who was very excited about such a suggestion. The following Saturday was the Saint Clare’s Hospital and Hospice Funday, an annual event to raise much needed funds to provide specialist services and equipment for the institution. It had grown over the years from a simple tombola and raffle event, to become one of the main calendar events of the town. It not only took over the grounds of the hospice but also two nearby fields that were transformed into a huge funfair, performance area, market stalls, displays and a host of other exciting presentations… including the ever popular a line-up of vintage cars. The Hospice patron was Brendan Lee Cooper, a local young actor who had been a child TV star and who was now one of the leading teenagers in the country’s top soap opera. He was set to open the Funday, accompanied by the Scout’s marching band, whilst the town’s mayor would lead a charity auction. Part of the Funday was that helpers went around collecting money in a bucket from those who attended. The buckets were sealed with a plastic cover but with a slot where money could be slipped in. Over the years, everything from fifty pound notes to foreign currency had been collected but all of it had been useful and gone on to buy some wonderful equipment for the hospice. This time there were to be four ‘collectors’; a scout, a guide, a local bodybuilder who was dressed as Captain America and the local football teams mascot Kenny the Kangaroo. To this list, and after she’d explained the circumstances to the organisers, was added ‘Baby’ helper… Henry. # Debra was quite thrilled at the entire idea and asked Ellie if she’d do a sort of preview of exactly what Henry would be wearing on the day. She said she didn’t want him to feel silly but Ellie reminded her that he was to wear exactly the same as what Kevin wore. However, Kevin’s day time nappy was a padded disposable, which wasn’t as thick as his night time one which was a very generous, though fluffy, fabric nappy. So, come Friday evening and Ellie explained to Henry that they needed a run through because he was obviously nervous and the idea was to put those nerves to bed before he went to bed. She smiled at her not very clever explanation. Hesitantly, he agreed to go along with her suggestion after first getting a short lecture on obligations from his proud mother. # At eight o’clock on Friday night Ellie was tucking the thick fabric nappy into the nursery print plastic pants. Henry was horrified that he looked so much like a toddler he was on the verge of rebellion. He waddled downstairs to the kitchen, rustling as he went, to complain to his mother about just how thick his nappy was and how childish he felt. “Look mum… look what she’s asking me to wear… it’s, it’s… it’s stupid can you tell her…” “Well I think you look fine and wearing what all boys should to go to bed in.” It wasn’t the voice of his mother but Mrs Parkhurst, the old lady who lived across the street and three doors down. Henry was shocked that they had a visitor he wasn’t warned about and as he now stood in a nappy in the middle of the kitchen it was difficult to back out without appearing rude, which his mother would never allow. His mother turned and smiled. “Well I think you look perfect darling. You’re doing a wonderful thing for your friends and helping to raise money for the hospice.” She couldn’t help the strange maternal feeling overwhelm her as she watched her little boy turning red because of her guest. However, there was no getting away from it, he did look like a toddler but pretended it didn’t matter. “Say hello to Mrs Parkhurst dear… there’s a good boy.” “Erm, yes, ummm, Hello Mrs Parkhurst.” Henry wanted to turn and run but with both adults smiling and nodding in some kind of mutual appreciation he found he could hardly move. “As you know Debra,” Mrs Parkhurst started, “all my boys slept in nappies until they were ten.” This was news to no one. Mrs Parkhurst had made no secret of the fact that her three boys, who because of their circumstances all had to share a bed whilst growing up, had been made to wear protection until they were ten years old. “Of course,” she continued, “when we moved to this house, and we had more room, we could change that… although,” she reminisced, “Norman stayed in them until he was thirteen.” Everyone knew the story because at some time or other, nearly all the kids on the estate had been babysat by the woman. In fact, it’s fair to say that some parents, having got fed up with their child’s attitude, would organise her to babysit them even if they really had no plans. It was a well-known fact that she had very particular ideas about protection at bed time, and bed times. # Under tens were nappied and in bed by 7pm, over tens were nappied and in bed by 8pm. She was of the opinion, and one she often shared with any other parent on the street, that kids who were of school age should have regular early bedtimes. She believed that a growing body needed sleep but the nappies were just a sensible precaution. Also, when they stayed over at her house she didn’t want any unfortunate accidents in her spare bed where the kids she babysat slept. Mums and dads were often quite jubilant that she was a woman few, if any, kids dared defy. She was insistent that her rules were obeyed and any child left in her care, which was a job she relished now her own kids were all grown up, had no choice or say in the matter. Even those who’d been potty trained were not exempt from those rules and, on more occasions than she could remember, had been proved correct with her charges often waking up in a soaked nappy. Whether this was just a lucky happenstance or the children had been too afraid to go to the toilet was a matter of debate. She’d brought her own children up to respect and obey the rules of the house. More polite and friendly boys would have been hard to find so she must have been doing something right. However, other kids grew up scared of the woman, whilst some adults loved the fact they had someone who could bring a young terror to heel simply by babysitting them for one night. Just the threat of her babysitting had kids begging their parents not to send them to her. Discipline was achieved by proxy. # Mrs Parkhurst continued. “Yes, Norman was slow to stop his bedwetting but, as I always say, a soaked nappy is better than a soaked bed.” Ellie arrived. “Oh, Hello Mrs Parkhurst, how are you?” “Fine Eleanor Thank-you. Your mum’s been telling me about the new nursing job. She’s very proud of you.” Ellie smiled at the praise but also had a respectful, if nervous, disposition around the old woman. When Ellie was nine and she and her baby brother were babysat by her. Mrs Parkhurst had insisted that the resourceful and able young girl was nappied before bed. She protested, like so many before her, but found no amount of argument and insistence that she was well potty-trained had any effect. Nappies and an early bedtime were greeted the following day by yawns and wet padding. An embarrassed Ellie had proved Mrs Parkhurst’s defence options to be correct. Ellie was devastated. With nowhere to go, and now the subject of the discussion, a beet-red Henry stood anxiously as the three ladies continued their debate about the way he was dressed. “Of course, if he was mine he’d be in bed by now,” Mrs Parkhurst was back on her favourite subject. “Yes, well, er, it’s the weekend and, er, on school nights he’s… erm….” His mother was getting quite defensive but wasn’t sure what to say. She actually agreed with many of the old lady’s opinions. Ellie explained how brilliant Henry had been when visiting Saint Clare’s and how, out of sheer compassion, had agreed to be dressed as he was to show the other kids that wearing a nappy was nothing to be ashamed of. Mrs Parkhurst ran her hand over the slippery childish plastic cover. “Well, I have to hand it to you Eleanor; you have done a very good job getting your brother ready for bed.” “He’ll be wearing something similar tomorrow at the Funday… this was just a trial run... I, er... um...” “Under a uniform…” Henry chimed in, the first words he’d spoken for some time - the scrutiny of the women making it unnecessary for him to speak. Ellie hadn’t actually explained exactly what his ‘uniform’ would be like as it was still being made but she didn’t want to spoil the ‘surprise’ or give him an excuse to back out so kept quiet. She simply nodded and smiled. # After another fifteen minutes of inspection and chat Mrs Parkhurst said her goodbyes but with the promise that she’d see them all at the Funday. Debra had meantime made them all a warm drink and ushered her two children into the living room to watch TV. “I’ll just go and change.” Henry was about to disappear back to his room. “Just a minute young man.” His mother said in mock severity. “You heard what Mrs Parkhurst said, 7 o’clock bedtime for under tens or…” she said with a wink, “you can stay up with the grown-ups as long as you stay protected.” “But muuummm.” Although he thought she was joking he didn’t want to test his theory. So, reluctantly he waddled into the living room and plonked himself down in front of the TV. His favourite comedy programme was just about to start so he huddled into a corner of the sofa and drank his hot milk. She tried not to show it but Debra was beside herself with happiness. Her baby boy looked so special and wonderful sat in his thick padding and shiny plastic pants with the adorable printed baby teddy bears all over them. Unceremoniously she sat down next to him and gently eased him over so he was lying against her. She smiled and stroked his hair as he settled into the crook of her arm… this was something they hadn’t done for quite a few months but Debra was in her element. Surprisingly, whether through her gentle caresses of his plastic pants and soothing rub of his naked tummy, Henry soon fell asleep. She was enjoying the situation and in no rush to wake him up and send him off to bed. Ellie and her mum exchanged smiles. “He really has been a wonderful brother and example to the other kids at the hospice. I can’t get over that a boy his age to have such empathy. He’s well liked, has joined in with everything, he’s been a real little hero…” His mother looked down at her sleeping son and sighed. “He’ll be all grown-up soon and I won’t be able to do this… I just wish I could keep him like this for a little while longer.” His flawless chest expanded as he gulped in a huge breath, wriggling slightly to get more comfortable, his plastic pants sliding along his mother’s arm before settling once more and falling into a deep sleep. “Everyone has to grow up mum… he’s a credit to you.” “To us.” ...to be continued.

Thanks I'm glad you enjoyed his love of the life he now leads.

Henry is seven (Not to be confused with any of the Shakespearian Henrys) The paediatric nurse Ellie is eighteen and able to leave school to pursue a career close to her heart. Ever since she was little she’d always wanted to take care of children and, when an opportunity came up to take a course in paediatric nursing she jumped at the chance. She’d already been a volunteer at Saint Clare’s the local hospice and of course, what also helped was being ten years older than her brother, so had, over the years, taken care of him when their mother was otherwise engaged. Ellie was a young woman full of care, consideration and love, all of which she displayed to those she was charged to look after. She loved the work. Her brother Henry had been born ten years after Ellie, same mother but from a different father. Her own dad, Michael Warren, had married his childhood sweetheart Debra Gold, when, at the age of twenty-five, they could see no reason not to. He’d got a well-paid job at the local quarry straight from school and she’d been a top honours student but wanted to work rather than pursue further studies. She quickly established herself in the financial accounts department of a legal firm and made quite a reputation for herself. With the birth of Ellie, decided she’d cope with child and career from home and set up her own freelance financial advice/accounts company. Unfortunately, eight years later an accident at the quarry had left the wonderful Michael fatally injured and the small family unit almost fell apart. They managed the best they could, the compensation pay-out helping alleviate the financial worries a little. However, eighteen months later Daryl Woodhouse met and dated Debra. He was a funny, slim man, almost the exact opposite of her first husband, and he brought a much-needed breath of fresh air into the household. Alas, he was a freeloader and Debra only realised her mistake when, as the money run out, so did he. By then she was three months pregnant but thanks to her daughter and close-knit family, managed to get over him. She wasn’t going to let her resentment of his father cloud the view of her new son, Henry (named after Michael’s father) and so put the name Warren on the birth certificate. Although Ellie and the family knew he was from a different father, Debra insisted that he be treated as if he was Michael’s son and he was never to know who his real father was. Keeping this lie proved easier than expected because baby Henry was a little treasure. Everyone, including his older sister, doted on this smiling bundle of joy and he instantly slipped into being an important part of the family. Brother and sister were inseparable; he adored Ellie and she was always there to help and teach him as he grew up. # With Ellie already having helped out at the children’s hospital and the attached hospice she knew that paediatric nursing was not an easy job. Not only was she helping children from babies to teenagers, she also had the emotional journey of all that entailed. Babies that needed almost twenty-four hour care, young boys and girls who from some accident or disease needed help or supervision, the job was as much about sensitivity as medical care. Ellie was determined to get it right from the off and throw herself into it with gusto… she didn’t want to get anything wrong. To this end she decided to enlist the help of Henry. He was a robust, noisy, exuberant seven year old, who enjoyed all the pleasures a second grader could appreciate. However, when asked by his adored sister if she could practice on him, he approached this request with some apprehension. He wasn’t sure what it entailed but she promised it wouldn’t involve any ‘medical’ procedure. She said she just didn’t want to harm kids who were already suffering in one way or another simply because of not knowing how to do something quickly, carefully and with a degree of professionality. Henry had always done as his sister wanted but now, at seven, he felt he liked his independence and was weary of committing himself to do anything. Especially as the summer break was here and he planned to be out and about playing with his group of school mates. Ellie promised she would only practice on him when he was home our before bed and that nothing she did would impose on his fun. His mother encouraged him to ‘rally round’ and had a private word with him saying how pleased she’d be if he helped his sister attain the job she so desperately wanted. He loved his mom and loved his sister so… how could he refuse? # Ellie explained to her brother just what her job would entail. He wasn’t aware she would have to look after kids who were nearly as old as she was and who needed help with even the most basic of tasks. Even though she’d changed Henry’s nappy when he was a baby, he was potty trained by his third birthday, and she really had no idea how to go about changing someone older. She knew she’d be taught how to cope with a larger body but there were other considerations to think about. Most of the paediatric staff was female but they would be required to attend to older boys as well as girls, she wanted to get it right. So, on that first night of ‘Henry practice’ the bandages and other medical kit she was going to employ to begin with had been left in a separate bag at the hospice. Thankfully, the actual bag she had brought had all the things she needed for other training purposes. She nappied him. He was embarrassed throughout the entire procedure and had been reluctant to let it happen. However, she’d insisted that some kids needed help even getting undressed so he should let her do everything and that included seeing him nude. Not that his sister hadn’t seen his naked little bum racing around the house ever since he could crawl but at seven years old bashfulness was becoming a thing he was aware of. Any unwillingness was overcome by a word of encouragement, and promise of some future wish granted from his mother, which meant Ellie could get on with the exercise and Henry would simply comply. She stripped him and applied the wipes and creams she’d been told were needed to keep that particular area free of ‘the nasties’. She let out a schoolgirl giggle when she described it with those words to her brother. He looked horrified that such areas should even have ‘nasties’ around. She explained throughout the procedure what she was doing and why. Despite the awkwardness he realised just what a hard job his sister was undertaking. The idea that older kids might need nappies had never occurred to him and, after giving him a couple of examples of the problems some of her patients had, Henry was a little less anxious. “Don’t you use disposables?” Henry wondered. “Most of the time, but some kids are allergic or have different needs so we have to learn to be able to do everything… and that my dear, sweet little brother, is why I need to practice on you.” She smiled as the soft but thick fabric was pulled up between his legs. “So feel free to wriggle around a bit.” Once fitted in the nappy and plastic pants she asked him to walk around and give his opinion of fit; tightness, looseness, comfort, etc. Henry looked at himself in the mirror and burst out in embarrassed laughter. “I look, I look like a big… a big… “ “Maybe, but think of the poor kids who HAVE to wear that all the time?” Ellie looked at him in the mirror and patted the padding down a bit. “Erm, yes, er, it fits well.” For a moment guilt swept through his seven year old body when he realised some unfortunate kids had no alternative. After all, no one else knew or could see him wearing a nappy so why should it bother him? He knew his sister only wanted what was best for her patients and decided that if he could help, even in just this most simple of ways, he would. The padding wasn’t hurting him and Ellie had laid it on pretty thick (just like the nappy) he would be helping her help them. He paraded around the bedroom for a short while. “It does feel strange having all this between my legs… but it’s not uncomfortable.” “That’s reassuring,” she said relieved. With each unfamiliar step Henry could hear the tell-tale rustle of the plastic. The plain white vinyl cover really not hiding the fact of what lay beneath. “This,” he said rubbing the slippery cover, “doesn’t hide anything…” “It’s not supposed to,” Ellie confirmed. “It’s to keep from any leaks happening.” She slipped her finger between the tight elasticated legs and gently felt the soft fabric underneath. “This can get absolutely soaked so, like when you were a baby, it keeps the rest of your clothes and bedding dry until someone can come and change you.” He looked at her as if she thought he was stupid. “I know that.” # She patted his padded bottom. “Okay clever dick, let me try a different way of folding the fabric and see how that feels and then…” After a brief sigh he let Ellie get on with the second change and again was positive about a job well done. She explained that some kids were simply incontinent; whilst others had medical procedures that meant different techniques of protection were needed. Henry looked at the pile of disposable, fabric nappies, plastic covers and other assorted items she needed for her job and was glad he didn’t require any of this stuff on a permanent basis. Ellie was thorough as she manoeuvred the dense material under his bottom, pulled it through his legs and pinned it into place. As if on cue, his mother popped her head around the door to see how things were going. “Oh sweetheart, you look… lovely.” Although this had been said in a friendly way, Henry, who was laid out on the floor, and all but naked, wriggled in embarrassment. “Moommmmm.” “Sorry, sorry… but you do look cute.” She teased. “Mom!” There was no doubt about it, seeing her seven year old son wearing nothing but a nappy had made her go all gooey inside. She was shocked at just how much the feeling of maternal pride and love swamped her body just from seeing him look so sweet and vulnerable. She swallowed a gulp of emotion and smiled. “Okay. I’m making a hot drink… do you two want one as well?” “Yes please,” they chorused. “But not in a baby’s bottle.” Henry added. “Owww but sweetheart… you’d look…” She couldn’t help herself especially when she realised she wasn’t just teasing him. “MOM.” She disappeared just as Ellie pulled him to his feet. “For the last time tonight… how does that feel?” He stood up and walked around and gave a little jump. The nappy was soft, thick and fleecy and it did feel slightly different to the others. “A bit loose… I think with the plastic pants it would be alright.” He gave another little jump as if to prove his point. They didn’t fall down so he jumped again but the nappy stayed steadfastly in place. Not for the first time a smile appeared on Ellie’s face. “Mum’s right, you do look very cute in those.” “Look, if you’re gonna make fun I’m…” “No, sorry, you’re correct. Thank you for all your help. Let me take it off for you… unless you want to keep it on?” She chuckled to herself at the idea, whilst Henry simply pulled at the pins to dispose of the thing as quickly as possible. …to be continued

I Love My Daddy There have been quite a few times when I’ve been glad I was wearing a nappy whilst out and about in public. I know a seventeen year-old should be past that stage by now but, for instance, when an F16 screams in over your head at about 200 feet, pulls back and accelerates away vertically before going into some incredible aerial manoeuvres, you know that the spine-tingling pee you’d just excitedly let loose, it’s a nappy that saves you from an embarrassing damp patch on your pants. It is times like that, when the unexpected leads to a sudden loss of control, a nappy is designed for. To explain the F16: Daddy and I have recently moved to his villa on the coast near Murcia in Spain, where the local Air Base was having an open day and part of their itinerary was a fantastic air display. People had flocked to the beach to watch and the place was crammed packed with visitors. Although Daddy always insists I wear a nappy I’m constantly thankful for that resolve when such things happen. The display had seen loads of different aircraft, both old and new, doing incredible stunts in formation and solo. Loving planes like I do I was in my element and marvelled at the clever pilots as they guided their planes through various brilliant aero-spectaculars. Suddenly, from behind where we were standing, a F16 military jet roared in over our heads. The noise was deafening but I stood thrilled and in total admiration, giggling and crying in absolute delight as the pilot swung his jet into the most wonderful aerobatics. Physically, I was not in control of my body, which was jumping up and down like an excited two year-old, whilst my bladder had a mind of its own. Being seventeen made no difference, I was so gripped by the awe-inspiring display and oblivious to what else was going on in my baby pink shorts but thankfully, the nappy and matching pink plastic pants were as dependable as ever. My heart was beating madly as the pilot veered his aircraft into yet another superb roll right over my head and several other jets of pee excitedly filled my soaked nappy. However, before Daddy insisted on what I wear I’d had enough embarrassing incidents of wet and messy pants to know his solution was correct. Like earlier in my young life, I was in a London shopping mall and I came face to face with one of my TV heroes. I didn’t dare speak to him but the fact that he was only a few feet away from where I stood, signing autographs and having his photo taken, prompted another loss of control and I wet myself. Had I then had the protection it would have saved me from ridicule but, as it was, the flow didn’t just stop at my pants but trickled onto the marble floor. I’m emotionally and physically unable to stop the excitement I feel at any time from spreading out in other directions. Each time my shorts or trousers would be soaked if not for my well-padded and protected lower half. From the moment Daddy had made that decision he ensured I was always expertly fastened in my nappy and securely wearing plastic protection. It might be ungainly at times but at least I felt safe from any mishap that such a sudden exhilarating thrill might cause. Daddy knew how to prepare me for the day (and night) and Daddy knows best. * Daddy is in fact my Uncle John. He took me in when I was four years old after my parents died in a particularly grizzly accident, one in which I somehow (and some said miraculously) survived. However, once I was out of hospital it was Uncle John, being mum’s younger brother and my only close relation, who took me in and brought me up as his own. From the moment I entered his home he has treated me as a bewildered little boy in need of constant care and attention. Needless to say, to begin with I was scared and terrified of a world without my parents and that led to some pretty appalling moments. I was angry at everything and alas couldn’t contain any of my bodily functions without tears, tantrums and general hysterical, messy behaviour. I was a four year-old jumble of emotions who acted like an irritable toddler all the time. Uncle John eased me through it all, slowly realising just what I needed to help me control my mental and physical problems. Off course he found that cuddles and reassurance helped enormously but to control my incontinence I needed something far more practical. Nappies were his solution and because of the number of times and the amount I peed, thick nappies with thick rubber pants he deemed best. I didn’t like the idea at first but he was insistent that my life would be better if I was protected in such a way. He gently explained that part of why I was getting so upset was the obvious evidence of a wet spot, so, he reasoned, if we could prevent that, it would help. I still wasn’t convinced and hated being put in nappies but they did stop the tell-tale stain, and, more to the point I was no longer plagued by worry of ridicule. Sometimes, if I’d had a bad dream, I would wander into his room crying and wet but he’d never get mad. He’d just pull back the covers and let me snuggle in beside him. His gentle soothing caresses relieved my agitation and I’d drop off quickly. Every so often, he could see that the drooping soggy mass needed instant attention, so he wouldn’t flinch at changing me at such an unsociable hour, my comfort being of the utmost importance. He’d then guide me to my room but it wouldn’t be long before I’d pad back, the soft rustle of my protection accompanying each step, and slip in next to him. His comforting arms always made me feel safe and secure as I’d wriggle up close to his warm, strong, reliable body. He didn’t mind the continuous changing because of the trauma I’d been through and actually thought, as a four, five and six year-old, it was OK for me to still be wearing such stuff. I didn’t know at the time but he later told me that despite all the seething resentment at losing my parents I had coursing through my young mind, I looked innocent and lovable when dressed in thick protection. He was amazed at how peaceful I became once I was cleaned up and put into a nappy, it was a sort of acceptance of how things were before my parents died - apparently they had also kept me in rubber pants as I was very slow to toilet train. It was also at this time, as he was changing me and I was giggling at something he’d done, that I accidentally said “Thank you Daddy” instead of uncle - he liked that. He hugged and kissed me so tightly that I had no option but to return the love and gratitude I felt for him. So, it was a very easy transition seeing as when we went out, most people assumed I was his son anyway, and he never corrected that assumption. * Bits of my memories from those early days keep coming back to me and I can see how the bond between us grew. The first intimate recollection was once as he changed me out of a particularly wet and messy nappy. I was overwhelmingly upset and crying. However, undaunted, he cleaned me up, fitted a thick disposable and, as he pulled up my protecting plastic pants, I threw my arms around him and sobbed uncontrollably for ages. All the time he soothed me with gentle massages to my back and padded bottom. He nuzzled and kissed the top of my head easing away my utter distress - hushing away the tears and rocking me gently. He told me that I’d hugged him so tightly and begged him not to leave (apparently I was so scared of losing him) he replied he wouldn’t want to go anywhere without his ‘Little Soldier’. I fell asleep in his arms and when I eventually did wake up I was still laid in his arms but in his bed and he was sleeping. As I lay there, snug and warm, even as a young boy, I realised the love he had for me and I wanted to return that love. I huddled up close and wrapped my small arms around him as much as I could and fell back to sleep. When we woke up again, to my shame I was wet. Thankfully my nappy had protected me from any spillage but I felt guilty for doing what I’d done in my daddy’s bed. I was sure I would be punished for it but, once he realised what I’d done he just smiled. “It’s a good job my little fellow has adequate protection,” he beamed. “As long as you’re watertight,” he rubbed the front of my plastic pants, the damp nappy underneath feeling a bit strange as it slipped against my skin, “we’re all safe from whatever you do.” * He told me it was strange that these days, when I wore a nappy, I hardly ever wet or soil myself but, as soon as he puts me in briefs (which I insisted on wearing like other boys my age), I inevitably peed my pants. He also noticed that if I got excited about anything, no matter how small (or huge) a deal it was, I would somehow manage to let a little trickle of pee out, often without even knowing I’d done so. I remember fairly early on that Daddy took me to a Christmas Panto and I’d got so excited while watching (there was a lot of flashing lights, bangs and smoke) that I wet myself and the seat pretty badly. I think he was embarrassed as he explained to the manager what had happened but he just smiled knowingly and told Daddy that he’d be surprised at just how many kids wet themselves when the villain appears. I would even wet myself whilst watching TV, or if I received a new toy or even saw a toy on TV or in a shop window. It appeared to Daddy that anything and everything slightly excitable could lead me to fill my pants and the only way to prevent that tell-tale damp stain was a nappy and thick plastic pants. This led me to become even further embarrassed and nervous about going out in public. Despite carrying on alarmingly about having to wear them, he eventually convinced me that they were necessary, and so as not to cause further humiliation (I think he meant arguments and damage to people’s furniture), they became compulsory. Of course I argued about how unfair it all was but time and time again I was thankful to have my boy bits safeguarded as I inadvertently wet my pants. * Daddy has been quite strict with me since those earlier days of messy tantrums and fits of non-stop weeping. He said he understood why these things were happening to me but from that early age he curbed my mental anguish by instilling a ‘nappy regimen’. He said that because I found it ‘calming’ the ‘daily diaper’ (a term he used occasionally) became part of both my waking and sleeping arrangements. He checked that everything fitted well and was watertight so no drips or dribbles would appear in my bed or on my outer clothes. He also hoped I wouldn’t feel ill at ease to do all the things an active boy wanted to do. The bulk I eventually got used to and Daddy’s constant approval and compliments gave me confidence. If I asked him if he thought the nappy was too obvious he would tell me how well it all fitted and how no one would be able to tell so, over time, he persuaded me I need not worry. He also convinced me that my needs were paramount and other people’s opinions didn’t matter. Throughout the years daddy has taken great delight in making sure I was always clean and dry. He loves to see me in a pristine nappy and my plastic armour (as he calls them), often making sure that all the fabric is tucked under the smooth, glossy cover and I’m waterproof. Daddy insists on what I should wear, what I should eat and the TV programmes I am allowed to watch (which even now he still keeps an eye on) and to do as I am told - he will not take any cheek or disrespect. In those early days my rebellion was met with understanding but as soon as I went to school and adopted my friend’s defiance, he became more and more insistent on making sure my conduct was acceptable. The strict nappy regimen was the way in which he curtailed any bad behaviour and, he pointed out, the thickness of my protection made my overall attitude a lot more agreeable. Although he was firm on this point, he was also very loving. He admitted that what makes his life worthwhile is seeing me out and about enjoying my childhood, whilst a glimpse of my plastic pants when I’m charging around wearing shorts (which I now wear all the time) confirms my status as a little boy who still needs his Daddy to look out for him. I wore padding under my school clothes because I wet unexpectedly. I didn’t want to but the embarrassment of a damp smudge appearing on my school pants would have been a beacon to the rest of the class to torment me. Because of the precautions that Daddy took, I was never such a target. However, once home he would check to see if I was wet and we were both often amazed at the amount of pee my nappy had soaked up though thankfully leaving me feeling relatively dry. So now I do what I’m told with no argument because I have learned that Daddy is always right and to defy his ‘rules’ is a stupid course of action. It wasn’t all instant acceptance; it took a couple of extremely fierce spankings to begin with for me to grasp that Daddy’s word was law and, even though I might have once wanted to dress like a big boy and be treated as such, I had to learn that Daddy insisting on my childhood being extended for as long as possible is a good thing and not a punishment. He likes me to dress more as a toddler than a teenager. He thinks that it is far more appropriate for a boy wearing a nappy to sport such clothing. He says it fills him with pride and delight to see me running around in my colourful outfits with my protection clearly defined. The thick nappy or pull-ups are always augmented by a pair of colourful plastic/rubber pants, which sometimes get revealed if I bend over or stretch. Daddy says it teaches me my place in his life - that of a sweet, innocent little boy who wants nothing more than to please him. Besides, as these are the only clothes I get bought I am now used to them and, the up side to this is… I am so well protected I never get embarrassed by any unforeseen wet spots. He says my ‘individual look’ constantly reminds him just how precious and unique I am and if my protection wasn’t there I’d actually miss not having that secure feeling between my legs. However, Daddy likes it best when I act like a kid; a silly, irresponsible little kid who just wants to enjoy himself and one not bogged down with the baggage of growing up. The clothes and how Daddy treats me certainly help me feel that way, with the lack of restraint to do anything, say anything that is anything but childishly fun has me behaving exactly as Daddy wants… and I love it. I might have to wear juvenile outfits but I have a terrific, fun-filled life and we do loads together. Daddy loves me and I love my daddy. * Week days my bed time is seven o’clock unless we are away or on vacation, then it can move around a bit. But daddy used to insist that on school nights I was ready and in bed for seven and that is the same now as it was when I was four or five. Daddy thinks boys should get a good night’s sleep at any age and that just staying up watching TV is not good for a young mind. Since we’ve moved out to live in Spain permanently I spend more and more time in just my protection. Certainly around the villa, which is quite private, it has a pool and a large garden and even the two young guys who come to keep it all tidy don’t appear to bat an eyelid as I play around wearing my plastic pants. I chat to them in my very poor Spanish as they trim the vegetation or keep the pool area clean. They are two very handsome young guys, probably a little older than me, and I really feel at ease around them. Sometimes, as I’m lying out in the sun I wonder what they’d look like wearing what I do. I’m sure Daddy would be happy to have them dressed in protection as they went about their business but alas, as yet, they seem content wearing just their bright red shorts and matching red and white t-shirts. They’re always good-humoured and comment with a smile when I wear something colourful, shiny, rubbery and new that Daddy has bought. At night Daddy fixes me into my night time protection after he’s applied all the various lotions and potions he says I need to keep me from getting a rash. He makes this fun and I’m giggling as he pins me in and pulls up my night time rubber pants - they are a good deal thicker than what I wear during the day but Daddy says this is all just a precaution to keep me safe and my bed dry. It’s a nightly routine that I like and makes me feel very special. Sometimes, depending on the temperature, I am left to sleep in just my protection but other times Daddy zips me into a onesie or footed PJs or something else he thinks I look cute in. More often than not I get fed a final juice or a warm bottle of milk, which I suck down as he gently rocks my sleepy body cradled in his arms. Once that’s finished, if I’m not drowsy enough he’ll read me a story or put some soothing music on to help me relax. I have a selection of dummies and stuffed animals that also accompany me to bed and he’ll make sure I am sucking on a dum-dum and cuddling a furry friend before he turns out the light and leaves me to the Sandman. Even now, I like this routine as I feel it brings me and Daddy closer together… and I love my Daddy. **********

It was a wonderful surprise but, over the years, I have learned that this particular beir keller attracts huge crowds and often they are young guys on stag dos or team celebrations... and anything can happen. Diapers and tiny shorts are just a couple of the pleasures I've seen there.

The Problem With Mikey Part 2 For over eight weeks all had been going well. Mikey had not been involved in even the slightest ‘accident’ and the family all heaved a sigh of relief on his behalf. Although he sort of missed his night time diapering he realised that he was now able to do what big boys do, and get up and go to the bathroom when needed or hold it until he could. His mother still hadn’t taken the rubber sheet off his bed (just in case) but PJs, underwear… everything was just what a boy of nearly 15 should be wearing… even if Mikey himself still had a liking for childish cartoon briefs. He hadn’t worn a diaper, pull-ups or his training pants for over six weeks (for the first fortnight he’d had some protection) and even though he still had his childish ways, it was a joy to see him confidently going to school and not feeling he was different. He charged around like any boy his age would do and his constant pleasure at not having to be checked for wetness improved his self-assurance. He was even invited to his first ever sleepover and, despite his mother’s worry and misgivings, the night passed off without incident. In fact the mother of the boy he was staying with had phoned to compliment Mikey’s mother on her son’s sweet nature and impeccable manners. She simpered with relief and gratitude on hearing such positive remarks. Mikey’s closet still had his stash of diapers, pull-ups and protective pants (should he ever need them again) but for the moment cartoon boxer shorts and briefs were his favourite underwear. His PJs were equally childish and fun but his mother didn’t think this mattered that much and, as they still fit him, there was no point in buying anything new. She realised the reason he liked to parade around the house dressed only in his underwear was, for the first time, he didn’t have to wear any protection and, in his own way, he was proud of that fact and wanted to share that pleasure. Peter and Mary had both quickly got used to their older brother wandering around clad like that and understood what this newfound freedom meant to him. His family had always been positive, loving and caring over his past dependency on diapers and were pleased at this new and sometimes amusing show of independence. For instance, occasionally, when he received a new piece of underwear, he’d tell everyone he met what he was wearing and insist on displaying his ‘big boy’ pants. He wasn’t in the least bit embarrassed to tell the story, no matter how childish, of the cartoon images that were emblazoned on the material hanging from his hips. Pulling down his jeans or shorts to reveal the colourful character briefs beneath, in some of the least conducive situations was both embarrassing and funny - he was innocent and always happy to share and chat with anyone. # A new restaurant had opened in the nearby town and the family had won tickets for a free, special offer, Mexican meal. Mom, dad and the three kids all trooped off excited at this new edition to the gourmet delights of their slowly expanding town. The place was packed and it looked like half the neighborhood had decided on experiencing what ‘El Cantino’ had to offer. Tasty bits and pieces of Mexican food (as well as some All American treats) were sampled and ravenously devoured as the continuous supply of flavorsome dips and spices teased the taste buds of the delightfully enthusiastic crowd. Mikey wasn’t one for spicy food but, thanks to his new found confidence, thought he should at least try it. His younger brother and sister seemed to be enjoying it so he thought he’d give it a go. It really was a bit rich and spicy for him, it was too hot and he needed a great deal of iced water to help control the fire in his mouth but, as no one else was complaining, decided to keep quiet and just not eat too much. However, on the journey home he could feel his stomach begin to growl in protest and he felt the first, unintentional spurt of pee into his Spongebob briefs. Everyone else in the car was saying how fantastic the food had been but Mikey sat with a half-smile on his face concentrating on keeping his pants dry. He failed. # The urge to pee came over him so quickly that he didn’t even have time to request his father stop the car and his light brown chinos suddenly began to turn darker. His bladder released the many glasses of iced water he tried to use to quell the heat in his mouth. Peter was the first to notice and almost apologetically brought the incident to the attention of the rest of the family. His mother was surprised but, as he hadn’t wet for some time, thought it was just a one off as she had seen her oldest son struggle with the spicy food. Thankfully they were nearly home so no great problem as she ushered him inside and up to his room. He couldn’t stop apologising and whining about how he was a big boy now and please not to put him back in diapers. Alas, that’s just what his mother did as soon as she had him stripped, washed and cleaned up. She assured him it was only a temporary setback and that all would no doubt be well in the morning but this was just a precaution whilst he slept. He really didn’t put up much of an argument as she powdered and fitted one of his old disposables. She settled him down and once she was sure he was comfortable went off to discuss the event with his father. Although Mikey was happy to be in briefs, the sudden return to wearing a thick disposable was not the blow it perhaps could have been. Once his mother had left the room he wriggled in the soft dry comfort his protection offered. He liked the soft ruffle and crinkle as he moved and the plastic pants took him back to only a few weeks before when this was his normal attire for bed. He wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be and grabbed one of the never far away stuffies and pulled him into bed. Now the feeling was complete and he could settle down and… # Whilst Mikey slept his parents agreed that this was probably just a minor setback, thanks to the excitement and food but, and this was the main thrust, if he wet in the night, he’d have to wear diapers again until they were sure he could go without them for a week. They both had been glad to have their eldest son out of diapers and had hoped that his problem had now passed but they also couldn’t pretend that seeing his eager little diapered butt careering around the house hadn’t been missed. Mikey was such a joy to be with - always smiling, always happy, always loving, there were no sides to the teenager that didn’t make you just want to hug the guy. His simple approach to everything; his easy acceptance of his situation, his quick compliance with his parents requests, the total lack of any form of nastiness was something both absolutely adored about their ‘slow’ but endearing boy. They had been thrilled when the child psychologist Dr Thompson had fixed the incontinent side of Mikey’s problem but surprisingly, they missed so much of what his problem meant to them. Now, as Peter and Mary were growing up, they were becoming more independent, had less time for their family and forming a new family of friends. Mikey had been the one that held them all together, his diapers and accidents being a sort of glue that bonded them all. Mikey’s mother wondered what the good Doctor would make of that situation? # Unsurprisingly, Mikey’s mom woke her son up to find that he was indeed very, very wet. Those several glasses of water at the restaurant were now soaked into his disposable causing it to expand considerably. Thankfully, her foresight to include a pair of rubber pants had mercifully kept the access from seeping onto anything else. Strangely, she was relieved that her precautions had been successful… and that he’d wet. He was still very dozy as she roused him for school and it took a few seconds for him to realize just how sodden his diaper was as he struggled to get out of bed. His mother helped him up and guided him to the bathroom. Mikey wasn’t sure if she’d be disappointed in his return to soggy diapers and was glad that she didn’t seem overly concerned. She stripped him down, let him shower and then guided him back to his room where she towelled him dry. It was like it used to be and Mikey was sure his mother would diaper him for the day, which was exactly what she did. She rummaged in his closet, pulled out the nicely folded away terry diapers, collected the lotion and powder and proceeded to get her son ready for a new challenging day. Finally she fitted his thick plastic pants and let him pull up his jeans himself. All the while she was encouraging him and saying that this was only temporary and that he shouldn’t worry he’d soon be back in his ‘big boy’ underwear. The bulk under his jeans couldn’t be denied but it didn’t seem to worry Mikey as he accepted it was something he needed and set off to school with barely a thought about his returned slight waddle. His mother smiled at the sight but was suddenly overcome with the feelings of guilt that she had taken so much pleasure in what had just happened. Surely she didn’t want to see her son return to being incontinent and relying on diapers? Surely she wanted what was best and that this was only a brief hiccup? Surely she wasn’t hoping he’d have another wet diaper to change when he got home? Alas, this was precisely what she was hoping for, even if she wasn’t quite ready to admit it. # For the next few days his mother kept him tightly protected both day and night. By day he seemed to be able to get to the toilet in time but at night his old wetting problem returned and he didn’t wake up dry once. It was back to his bulging PJs but Mikey, although sorry to lose his cartoon briefs did seem to settle down to sleep a lot quicker than he had been doing. His mother made sure he was prepared properly and supervised his night time protection. At first she let him fit the diaper himself but he just wasn’t co-ordinated well enough to make the fabric and pins fit correctly. He quickly got used to pulling his PJ bottoms over the silky, vinyl bulky mass and was pleased that he still wore something that had his much-loved cartoon characters all over them. During the day he mainly wore disposables but occasionally, if they were out of them, he’d wear the fabric ones to school. He didn’t mind and again, it barely raised a mention from the rest of his class. The trouble with Mikey was, he was no longer any trouble. Things had returned to ‘normal’ and it wasn’t a problem. He looked relieved now he was back in diapers that he didn’t have to worry about getting to the toilet any more, whilst his mum and dad were happy to see the return of their well-padded, plastic panted oldest son. Like before they would support him for as long as it took but were in no rush to return to the doctor and change Mikey in any way. ### The End ###

The Problem With Mikey Mikey was very excited. Tomorrow his father had promised him that he’d be wearing his trainer pants instead of the diaper he always wore. This was a huge event for the 14 year-old, it was in recognition that he’d gone three months without any kind of accident in his pants and was now on the verge of becoming a ‘big boy’. He’d tried trainer pants before. When he was three, and after a great deal of effort, the potty training had eventually succeeded and his parents, with a huge sigh of relief, had hoped that their son would finally be able to negotiate its use, as well as know when to use it properly. Alas, the training pants had made the boy confident he was becoming a ‘big boy’ (growing up in fact) but, alas, that info had not been delivered to his bowel and bladder. Time after time what looked like success was soon followed by the messy failure contained in his briefs. Diapers were the only solution as pull-ups just weren’t absorbent enough for Mikey’s random but full scale incontinence assault. # His younger brother and sister were both potty trained and had no such problem but Mikey continued to wear diapers and thick plastic pants 24/7, it was the only way to ensure that there was no embarrassment for him and no mess for others to experience. At first he’d disliked having to wear them to school but, after some very messy events in class and in public, the solution was obvious – to be on the safe side he needed constant protection. His school mates had long since run out of comments, and those that did still make them got no response from Mikey and worse, no response from their peers. What was the point of trying to embarrassing someone if they weren’t embarrassed and your audience weren’t party to the supposed ridicule? Besides, if he did the deed whilst in class, he was always allowed to go immediately to the nurse to be changed. He’d put up his hand and, no questions asked, he was excused because in truth, no one really wanted a damp or smelly kid sitting next to them. Had he been brighter then no doubt he could have turned this ‘inconvenience’ to his advantage but Mikey wasn’t like that, he didn’t plot, scheme or tell lies. # As mentioned, Mikey wasn’t the brightest boy in class, in fact it could be said that he was a bit slow. To some this totally explained why he was incontinent, while others just thought he was lazy and just couldn’t be bothered. The difficulty he had was that his younger siblings, 12 year-old Peter and 10 year-old Mary, were both very bright. They were in their top stream at school, were always reading, asking questions and doing things, whereas Mikey often had no idea what was going on around him. He’d happily sit all day in front of the TV watching cartoons and the only books he was interested in were those he could colour or were full of pictures. His choice of bedroom furniture was that of a toddler. Where other boys his age would have cars, spaceships, models, pop stars etc all over their walls, Mikey liked animals, he especially liked cartoon animals and those were what greeted you when you entered. He also had a vast array of stuffed and cuddly animals on display. Despite this he was very loving and loyal to everyone. Loved his parents, always happy to play with his brother and sister and was usually welcome in neighbour’s homes, liked by his friends (although often the butt of jokes he didn’t really understand) and could regularly be seen taking the family dog out for a run… he was a normal 14 year-old who mentally could at times quite easily pass as a toddler. In spite of his cumbersome diaper and rubber pants Mikey was happy. He understood that all this extra ‘attention’ was needed so as not to be a burden on others who had to clean up after him. Sometimes, when the family were all going out together, or he’d gone some period of time with no mess, he was allowed to wear disposables (with tight-fitting plastic pants) which didn’t feel as chunky or as restricting as the thick cloth diapers he usually wore. When this happened he was happy because he hoped that it signalled he was growing up, a ‘big boy’, and overcoming his problem. Unfortunately, as soon as he was home and getting ready for bed the heavy stuff would come out and he was wrapped in a thick, thick diaper and thick rubber pants. He never argued or complained about this return to the ‘normaility’ but, inside, he was a little crushed that he couldn’t sustain his brief ‘big boy’ status. His mattress had been covered in a waterproof sheet since he had made the transition from a crib to a single bed, so he’d always been used to the distinct smell and texture of his rubberised sleeping arrangements. His parents had tried to make this a fun time and not a punishment but, as slow as Mikey was, he knew it was something he should be over by his age but he just couldn’t help himself. Doctors, medicine and psychiatrists had all been involved in an attempt to ‘cure’ Mikey, as well as many articles read to try and alleviate his unfortunate disposition. When small victories had been attained, a setback was nearly always close behind and a sorrowful and apologetic Mikey would be sobbing as he sat in his messy diaper with the hope his mother or someone would come and change him. Now the family was used to it there was no trauma involved it was just simply acknowledging the situation and getting Mikey as dry and clean as soon as possible. Sometimes he’d go days, sometimes over a week, without any accidents and everyone would get hopeful but, sad to say, it never lasted. # However, he’d gone three months now without any real dramatic accidents. With an unbelievable effort on his part he’d been able to recognise when he needed to go and had been able to get to the toilet in good time… more often than not. So, training pants were going to be tried for the second time in his turbulent toilet-training life and everyone hoped this would signal an end to his problem. His father had bought some layered, brightly coloured pants that looked almost the same as a boy’s regular pair of briefs only slightly thicker. Mikey couldn’t wait to get up, get out of his night time diaper, take a shower and try on his new pants. Now, without either of his parents fastening him into a thick disposable, he was able to pull on the pants himself… and he loved the independence and sense of achievement this small act gave him. He even paraded himself in front of the mirror and enjoyed the look of the brightly coloured pants (with the waterproof interior) hugging his boy bits. Where once there was an obvious diaper, he now wore his new underwear with pride. His confidence grew and, although whilst playing with Peter and Mary he found himself having to constantly tell himself to go to the toilet, the weekend was a relative success. Even at night, as an experiment, he was allowed to wear just a pair of pull-ups under his training pants and Mikey couldn’t get over how different it felt to go to bed without his heavy protection. To be truthful, he didn’t sleep very well. He was constantly making trips, unnecessary trips at that, to the bathroom and somehow, the nightly hug his previous bulky protection had given him had made sleep easier and instant. However, snuggled under his mouse, rabbit and teddy bear decorated duvet cover he tried his best to get the rest his parents said a growing boy needed. # Monday morning arrived and he got himself up and ready for school. He wore a different pair of the special trainer pants under his jeans and, like always, looked forward to another day in class with all his friends. Just as he stepped out the door to go and catch the school bus he suddenly felt strange. It was like some kind of fear gripped his tummy and he felt sick, at the same instant his bladder gave way, which was quickly followed by the seat of his pants filling up with a dirty brown liquid. Unfortunately, his training pants, as good as they were, could not contain the elements that were so forcefully dumped in them, and soon his jeans and shirt appeared to be absorbing all that his pants couldn’t. A tearful Mikey stood in the doorway unable to move. He was overcome with both the debris of his body and with the shock to his system. It had all been going so well and this was a tremendous setback for all concerned. After taking care of her sorrowful son, Mikey’s worried mother called the school and then the doctor. After a long chat and a desperate plea for some further help, he recommended she try and get an appointment with a Doctor Mark Thompson, a man who was said to be having huge success in his field of Child Psychology, especially with those who had a similar problem to Mikey. Back in ultra-thick diapers and rubber pants Mikey and his anxious mother were in the Doctor’s office awaiting their appointment. Without any fuss Mikey had accepted his situation and was actually playing with another, but much younger, child on the floor as they battled with a couple of dinosaurs. Mikey’s mother, although desperate for her eldest son to grow up and enjoy the things that any teenage boy should be doing, still loved seeing the innocent way he played and interacted with others. The fact that he was most content when doing childish things didn’t seem to matter she just wanted him to be happy and hoped the Doctor had an amicable solution. # Doctor Mark Thompson’s reputation and accomplishments in dealing with the child psyche had come on in leaps and bounds over the past couple of years: Anger, violence, fear, timidity, self-loathing, self-harm… indeed, the entire panoply of youthful psychoses had been diagnosed and treated by this eminent man with extensive and successful results in this particular field. Please see ref: https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/topic/60763-never-more-content-part-1-5-end/ # Doctor Thompson read Mikey’s file and after a brief interview with his mother asked if it would be OK to chat with the patient on his own. She would have liked to have stayed but the Doctor said that he often got more information if the subject didn’t have any distractions. He explained to her that to begin with he would just talk with Mikey but that eventually, he would like to hypnotise him and see if he could regress him back to the part in his life when the ‘problem’ started. This, he pointed out, was often the trigger to where many children develop their fixation, phobia or obsession and, if this can be identified, it offers a starting point to possibly finding an antidote. Once Mikey’s mother was back in the waiting room the Doctor arranged groups of toys around the room and asked his new (and it had to be said, cute) patient what he’d like to play with. As the boy chose from the selection the Doctor couldn’t get over the bulky bulge under his trousers but that this rather sweet boy appeared to have no hang-ups about his situation. It may have caused him to waddle slightly but he was definitely not a baby and had managed to come to terms with his situation and deal with its awkward presence. Mikey settled on the floor surrounded by a selection of soft toys, dolls and a colourful kiddie’s jigsaw. The Doctor got down on the carpet with him and together they began to play and chat… and as they played the Doctor slipped in some questions. He found the boy a joy to talk with. No side to him, no hiding his feelings, in fact, no pretence of any kind. Obviously the boy had some kind of baggage, otherwise he wouldn’t still be messing himself, but other than that the Doctor loved the openness and innocence of the lad. After their session was over the Doctor took Mikey’s mother aside and suggested that if they could afford it, he would like to have her son as a patient at his clinic. This would mean that the boy would be away from home for a week or so but with him being close on hand he could give him regular and continuous attention and assessment, which he hoped would speed the process of solving Mikey’s problem. Two weeks later, and after 14 days of mess, Mikey’s mother delivered him to Doctor Mark Thompson and the treatment could begin. # Dressed only in his diaper and plastic pants Mikey was allowed to play with all the other similarly dressed kids, who were also the Doctor’s patients. Observing how they all interacted gave him a keen insight into many of their underlying problems. Individually, each child was then given one to one psychotherapy, whilst some were hypnotised so the therapist could dig deeper. The Doctor loved seeing his charges playing in only their protection. He found that without their normal clothing his young patients strangely appeared less inhibited and he enjoyed the spectacle of their colorful, padded bottoms in simple and pure interaction. There was no denying his success with the therapy he used even if some might see it as diametrically opposed to the norm. However, the effectiveness and success of his procedure was the main criteria and he was way ahead of anyone else in this area of psychoanalysis on these important counts. Under hypnosis the Doctor regressed Mikey through various stages of his life. He was a dream patient; quick to put under, willing to reveal all, no sense of anger, betrayal or thankfully any indication of sexual abuse. Indeed, as Mikey lay on the sofa wearing his ultra-thick padding, he looked as innocent, happy and relaxed as any toddler might who’d just been put down for his afternoon nap. It wasn’t long or difficult to get to the bottom of Mikey’s trouble, the only thing was, how to fix it? # Mikey’s voice got quieter and more childish the further the Doctor delved, this was normal and it was when he was three that something happened. As Mikey explained the Doctor wondered if such a rather small and in general, insignificant event could be the root to his dilemma. Mikey explained in his own childish way: He was standing in his room. He was wearing only a soggy diaper and looking at his reflection in the mirror when his mother came in and announced that he was going to have a baby brother. As she was changing him she was telling him that now he would have to be a ‘big boy’ and help look after the new baby who would soon be arriving. She emphasised that his diaper days should soon be behind him and he would be both a ‘big boy’ and a ‘big brother’ and would be responsible in helping look after the new arrival. The Doctor realised that the young Mikey just wasn’t prepared for such an obligation and was instantly scared at the prospect of having to be so responsible. That image of the soggy diaper stuck in his mind as the last link to him being treated special as from then on, his little baby brother would hold that position. Three year-olds can and do take in an awful lot that parents don’t necessarily understand or comprehend. Some can take it in their stride as they grow up, some relish the responsibility, while others, like Mikey, dread being told he was expected to act in a certain way. # Reluctantly, over the next few days, the good Doctor slowly coaxed Mikey away from his childish dependency. He wished he could have taken the lovely lad away and, like his own teen-toddler Little Robbie, let him enjoy being a tot permanently. However, Mikey was no cast-off or neglected child, he was a precious and loved member of the family despite his problem and so he saw it as his duty to try and help the loving family as much as he could. When Mikey’s mum came to collect him on his final day, he was no longer in thick diapers, plastic pants or any protection at all. Mikey was no more intelligent but he was now able to go to the toilet when he needed to and understand that he no longer needed a diaper. He was proud of his cartoon briefs and wore them with confidence. However, the Doctor did tell his mother the reason for her son’s dependence on diapers (even if the boy was unaware of the cause) and that occasionally, and in future moments when things feel like they might get on top of him, he may crave the security of his diapers. He suggested that they keep a supply handy more for that reason than the fact that he’d start wetting again. ++ TBC ++