Les Lea

Hi Maly Jason is in for a bit of a ride but will he be happy about it... that's the question. It doesn't look like it now but will his stepmum have her own ways of helping him into nappies? Hi Parkintochter No your criticism was not harsh nor was it dismissed as I can see your point in the first chapter. However (and hopefully) as the story progresses some of those rushed parts will be addressed. But, as always, I thank you for taking the time to comment and such comments are always useful. Thanks Les

A Done Deal Another upsetting night’s sleep – my duvet was bunched up and looked like I’d had a fight with it, the fleecy throw was caught up in some kind of jumble with my pillows and worst of all, my nappy, as it had been for the past few weeks, was soaked. A few months ago a nightmare scenario started where I was either being chased or attacked by something which I couldn’t identify but found incredibly scary. I’d fought this unknown monster, I’d done battle with an unseen force and when, after the second encounter and second soaked bed, my mother (step-mother) had demanded I wore protection until the phase (as she called it) was over, I didn’t like it. I shouted and screamed my absolute refusal, which didn’t go down well as I’d got to the stage (being fifteen) of arguing with every decision she made. That was until dad (Howard) came and ‘had a word’, which has seen me resentfully wearing a thick terry cotton nappy to bed every night since. Dad is a practical man, an intense man; he’s also a very important and busy man and has little time for ‘stupidity’. He listened to all my arguments as to why I shouldn’t wear a nappy and then slowly, but methodically, disassembled each one of my points as either being unreasonable, selfish or simply illogical. He pointed out a nappy was what I needed and so that’s what I would wear. No ifs, no buts, it was all a ‘done deal’, that mother was right and I should “just get on with it”. + My real mum had died when I was barely two years old so I don’t remember her too well but dad had remarried when I was five. He’d actually been seeing Diane for a year before he introduced us and was told that I was getting a new mummy... and new baby brother. She moved in, they married and I now share a house with my step-family of Diane, Richard, who’s nine, William who’s seven and now, eight month old twins, Jane and Alfie. My father is a good man, he’s a pathologist at a lab in the city and we’re close and although Diane is a nice lady, as I’ve gotten older, for some reason I’ve grown to resent her and my brothers and sister. I suppose, because I’m the eldest, it’s fallen to me to look out for my siblings but now I’ve had enough of baby-sitting and being, what I feel is, a general dogsbody. Dad keeps telling me it’s what I get an allowance for but I feel I do more than my fair share of... well... everything. Which I suppose is what has led me to arguing all the time because mum is always at home now with the twins so I’m expected, because dad is out at work all day and has late hours to make extra money to keep a roof over his family, to ‘step up more’. Bloody hell... I do enough around the house I barely get a moment to myself. I rarely get chance to go out because of school work and the family. My mates don’t come around any more because of the constant demand for attention from everyone. “Jason can you do this?” “Jason, can you do that?” “Jason can you do the other?” “It will only take a minute” It never does and once started there’s always something else... it never bloody ends. “While you’re there can you...” The house is a mess and all about the twins; the smell of pee and powder and if the weather’s bad clothes and washed nappies drying on radiators. Constantly being told to be ‘quiet’ because they’re sleeping and because she is always involved with them, I’m supposed to keep my two younger brothers occupied to make sure they do their homework (projects) which I also have by the way. If they need to be at football practice or some after-school activity, it’s me that has to chaperone them. The list never ends and so I don’t get much time to myself. I resent everything and everybody. + Before the nightmares began, and I suppose it linked in to when the twins arrived, I’d begun to have little accidents. What I mean is that occasionally I’d pee in my undies, not enough to cause too much trouble, like stains on my trousers or jeans, but enough for me to know I’d better change my briefs pretty soon. I kept these little accidents secret and was able to deal with the wet undies myself. However, something else seemed to be bothering me and I didn’t know why. I know that with the announcement that twins were on the way, dad, and mum to a certain extent, went into panic mode and I suppose, because I’m the eldest I noticed more than my brothers. I’m of the opinion that the twins were an accident: certainly from just how fraught the house has been since their arrival. Dad already was overloaded with work and now, with extra family to feed and clothe his life/work load is immense. I’m not sure if some of his obvious anxiety has rubbed off on me. We used to be quite a happy little bunch and dad had time for us all. Diane, was also pleasant to be around but now she just gives the impression of being constantly worn out and complains she doesn’t have the time to ‘pretty herself up’ for dad or for them to go out occasionally. As a result her attention has turned to me as the eldest to ‘help out’ but I already did that but since the twins my workload has escalated and I rarely see anyone except at school. It’s as if she’s decided that if she isn’t going to have fun and do what she wants then neither is anyone else. However, somehow with the twins came a number of new friends, mothers all, who pop around and tell Diane what a wonderful job she’s doing, what a hero she is looking after such a diverse family and that it’s quite right to expect me to step up. She’s been encouraged to be ‘the queen bee’ and we’re all there for her pleasure. Well that’s how it seems from the comments I get when they’re all around sipping tea (or sometimes a glass of wine) and complaining about their own lives and how easy men have it. Of course they often bring their kids around and so there’ll be a couple of screaming babies or tots seemingly having a breakdown. + I’m not sure if I could blame the twins on my initial wet pants but I ask myself if all this extra responsibility is the reason I’m seriously wetting at night and have to wear a nappy to keep from nightly flooding the bed. I’m fifteen so of course shouldn’t be wearing a nappy any time, which means I’m constantly in a bad mood. This is not helped by my step mum also being in a very ‘fragile’ mood, when it comes to me. If I’m in a mood, she’s in one. Of course my younger brothers are too young to take on too much responsibility but they get praised for doing the slightest thing and I’m held up to ridicule for complaining about the amount I have to do. As a result my step-mum has it all worked out and it appears I’m there to benefit her decisions. She gets fatigued with the Jane and Alfie, and as dad starts work early, I have to fill in while she’s ‘resting’. As I say, I have to make sure the boys are up and ready for school fully dressed and breakfasted... and have done any homework, which I have to say, at their age is very simple but still it takes up my time and have precious little of it as it is. I’m sick of it but now, because of these unsettling night time activities, which result in my daily soaked nappies, I’m constantly in a state of anxiety. Mum has pulled me up on several occasions about my ‘attitude’ and has decided that I’m just like the twins and need similar treatment. She seems to get a kick out of putting my nappies and plastic pants out on the line next to theirs. It’s embarrassing because it means neighbours know, though suspect, because of my ‘attitude’ towards her, she’s already gleefully told them that she now has to nappy another ‘baby’ in the house. This doesn’t stop my resentment but at least I have my own room where I can occasionally find time and space for myself. However, even that is no longer private as she’ll waft in without so much as a knock and deposit my laundered clothes, and clean nappies, with a flourish and give me a condescending smile as she makes sure I’m aware of the crinkly plastic pants she blatantly puts on the dresser. “Your protection darling,” she announces with a forced grin, “you will let me know if I’ve got yours and the twins nappies mixed up won’t you?” I’ve asked for privacy but she just smiles and whispers that babies who still need their nappies don’t get privacy. Then flounces off leaving me steaming but with nothing I can do about it. At one point I was so angry I told her that I’d go off and live with my grandparents (on my mother’s side) and she just laughed and said that an incontinent teenager is no doubt just what they want in their dotage. He actual words were, “Bugger off then, I’m sure they can’t wait to look after a pants wetting, obnoxious little shit like you.” She’s twelve years younger than dad and has the ability to be as sweet as pie when in public but as vicious as hell if you get on the wrong side of her. Which I have to say has become a great deal more noticeable since the twins arrived. + Dad has quite a liberal, easy-going background where diplomacy, discussion and reason are the way people interact. He has always been there for me and we get on very well. I respect him and listen to what he has to say. I never used to argue with him. Diane on the other hand comes from a family that has a military background, where she and her three brothers were in constant competition for their parent’s approval. They moved a lot from bases around Europe, so were never settled for too long, or there were long passages of time when their father wasn’t around as he’d been posted overseas. I suppose, if there’s conflict and your dad’s involved, that must leave you in a state of nervous anticipation the entire time he’s away. However, in a family of such an abundance of masculinity, the sole daughter had found that by undermining those brothers she often was able to deviously direct action her own way. I’ve never met that side of the family. At the registry office wedding I can only remember dad, her and me, plus the registrar and a couple of witnesses. I gather that because she was pregnant said she didn’t want others to know her ‘condition’ so a big wedding was out of the question. Thinking back, maybe I might be remembering this wrong, but I might have overheard granny telling someone she thought dad had been tricked into marrying her... but I could be wrong. I might have just thought that myself. + Dad had warned me about my attitude towards his wife... I mean... I stopped calling her mum but she wasn’t happy with me calling her Diane so sent dad to have ‘another quiet word’. She insists that Richard and William call her mummy and now when she speaks to me she calls herself ‘mummy’ to me as well. If dad isn’t around I try and fight back but she just tells him when he gets home from work and I’m back in hot water. Then he goes off on one saying he expects me to pull my weight around the house, less back chat, more respect for what she has to do... oh... and act my age. Diane then undermines that by treating me like a little kid. She doesn’t let me forget I still wet the bed so sees me as just a big ungrateful toddler who still needs to wear a nappy. “I wasn’t there when you were a baby,” she gives me that sickly smile, “but there again; it looks like you’re reliving being one. How lucky am I to get to change your soggy nappies?” I seethe with rage but, as she’s holding up my well-soaked morning padding, it’s hard to argue the point. The weird thing is she doesn’t seem that bothered about the wetting because as far as she’s concerned, the bedding is safe now I’m well contained at night. She has said, in one of her less aggressive moments that it’s no trouble washing my nappies as she has the twin’s daily contribution to do anyhow. She makes out she’s a martyr and I’m an ungrateful teen who acts like a toddler going through his ‘terrible twos’. She demoralises me all the time and dad, because he’s so busy and under a load of work-related stress, says “Listen to your mum.” He thinks, because of what Diane has said about me, that I’m just acting out and should be “contributing - not alienating” everyone around me. It doesn’t help that at her insistence either she or dad has to help me with the pins and material to make sure my night time nappy is on correctly, although I suspect it’s more to make sure I wear one to protect the bedding. Yes that’s the other thing, she’s not only convinced dad that I need a nappy but I’m too incompetent to sort it for myself so need supervision. She mentions the extra laundry she had to do when all this first started (‘as if I don’t have enough to do’ she complained to dad) and insisted on not only a waterproof mattress protector but as I’ve said, nappies and plastic pants to act as the best barrier. She convinced dad that I’m too resentful not to try and take it off so she needs to be sure. So, I’m supervised each night to avoid any possible leakage, which in truth they did on a few occasions where I half-heartedly put the nappy on myself. Dad has taken her side in all this (I suppose I can’t blame him too much because I’m fifteen and wetting the bed) and often looks at me as if I’m doing it on purpose... but why would I? + Before all this my bedtime was when I wanted to go, I didn’t have a specified hour but ‘just be sensible’. However, now, because I have to be put in protection she insists I am ready by 8pm (at the latest) because she doesn’t want to be changing me at any time of my choosing. Sometimes, and I’m sure it’s out of spite, she tells me to get ready as soon as I’m in from school as she’s too tired to worry about putting an ‘argumentative teenager’ back in a nappy when it suits him. Dad takes her point and agrees which means often I’m wearing a nappy around the house when I’m still doing chores or worse still, when her friends pop by. I try and escape to the privacy (as if) of my room but that isn’t always possible. I’ve complained that I can’t go out like that but she says that’s up to me. If I want to go out there’s no one stopping me, which is true but how can I go out and meet friends whilst wearing a nappy? My friends haven’t yet abandoned me but I see them so rarely, apart from school, that I might as well be a recluse. As I’ve mentioned, ‘Mum’ on the other hand, has loads of ‘friends’ who also have kids and all seem to congregate at our house. There’s barely a pause in the number of people who are always popping in or ‘just passing’ and of course my nappies are not a secret to any of these visitors. Diane happily discusses my problem as if she’s talking about the twins and though I’ve objected and asked dad to have a word he just tells me to get over it.... “What if they come up with a solution?” and that puts an end to my complaint as far as he’s concerned. So far they haven’t and I don’t anticipate they ever will (find that elusive solution) but it’s an argument I can’t win so the humiliation continues. If I’m in the living room or just passing through she’ll make a comment, or one of her friends will, and, as I say, she always speaks as if I’m a baby, so they do as well. I hate everyone and everything yet still can’t stop this night time flood, which of course makes me even angrier but also makes Diane’s position that much stronger. And if I’m being honest the constant stream of pee seems to be getting worse. + tbc +

Well done, just completed the entire story and thoroughly enjoyed it. Thanks😊

Well, I thought about writing another chapter but quite liked the simple finish to this one so decided against doing that... sorry. Hope that doesn't disappoint anyone and I'm sure to be back with something new in the not too distant future. Hugs Les

High praise indeed... thank you very much for the ego boost 😉 This was planned as just a quick one off so don't think there will be another chapter but I'm glad you would like another. Hugs Les

Thanks CDfm There are two things for certain - taxes and death - so the saying goes. No matter how much we regress we still get older and this struck me as a poignant sadness. I hope this hasn't upset too many people but I thank everyone who read it. Hugs to you all Les

Rheum for Change I woke up suddenly, something had jolted me awake but I didn’t know if it was something physical or mental that was the cause. I opened my eyes and peered around my bedroom but it was strange, everything looked like it was bathed in mist. I assumed my eyes must have been filled with sleep’s residue and ran my fingers over my face eventually landing with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand pressed in to the tear ducts and gently scooped out the little bit of crusty sleep that I was sure caused my temporary loss of clear vision. There was something else – as I’d ran my hand over my face it felt wet, as if I’d been crying but try as I might, that sudden leap from unconscious thought and heavy sleep into wakefulness had killed off whatever had been going on in my head moments earlier. Still, there was still some sticky residue in the corners of both eyes which was taking a bit of effort to dislodge. Just as I finished I felt a yawn coming on and switched from eye contact to a stretch that seemed to take in my entire body. I opened my eyes and was surprised to see the mistiness had not changed and a quick re-rub didn’t alter anything... so why was my room like a line drawing? I did a quick audit – my bedding was still the same, although it faded towards the foot of it. I could make out the outlines of the wardrobe, the desk and the dresser, all of which are large and sturdy as I’ve stubbed my toe against each piece at some time or other. I could make out the curtains flapping slightly as a breeze made its way through the slightly open gap, but even all that looked like a line-drawing and nothing solid. Lastly, I checked myself. I sleep in the nude, apart from underpants, so reached down and ran my hand over the stretchy, soft cotton fabric that was nicely hugging my cock and balls. As I pulled away the duvet I looked the same physically though perhaps slightly paler than normal. I try to keep a healthy-looking tan but that had faded like everything else. Oddly, my white briefs stood out against the rest of the washed-out room and fairly gleamed their bright independence. Not only that but they looked loose and I never wear loose fitting undies so that was strange. Also, my muscles had, like the rest of my physique, seemed to have paled and not be as prominent. Indeed, they gave the impression to have settled back into my rather slim body. I haven’t been that slim since I was ten... I’m now twenty...erm... # I eased myself, well, to be honest, I uneasily eased myself out of bed and tried to get a grip on the situation. I noticed the outline of the full-length mirror and thought I’d check myself out but all I saw was a bleached outline... it might have been me it might have been a ghost? There were two eyes, well, black outlines of eyes staring back and a shadow of where my mouth should be, other than that there were no other details at all. This was all very strange; it was like I was caught up in a drawing that hadn’t been finished, or maybe was only just being started. In fact, it looked like only faint outlines had been drawn of whatever the artist had intended. Some areas further away looked like an eraser had been taken to it and was being rubbed out as I watched - an initial outline that the artist wasn’t yet pleased with. I turned back to view my bed and that too had faded to just a sketch, the pattern on my duvet just a bleached indistinct pile. What the hell was going on still escaped me but I looked down at my own body to see if I was also fading away. There was no doubt something was happening, I looked washed out except for my briefs, which still looked pristine and sparkling white but also about ten sizes too big. I was holding them up so were they getting larger or were my hips getting smaller? I tentatively left my room, was this the same everywhere or only...? Yes, the landing that led to my parent’s room, the bathroom and the spare room had disappeared to a blank sheet, not even outlines... nothing. All I could see was me and my immediate surroundings but they were also just dull versions of what once was there. # I was standing at the top of the stairs and felt a wobble, my legs seemingly unsteady for a brief moment. As I reached out to steady myself by using the wall my underpants slipped to the floor, the elastic in the waistband no longer strong enough to hold them up. I took a moment to let the weird feeling that washed over me pass but try as I might I could only just make out the stair case. This was strange because I’ve lived in this house all my life and I know there are two steps down to a small landing and then another thirteen stairs down to the ground floor, and yet I couldn’t see downstairs it was just another white mass. A clear page that had yet to be drawn on. However, once I’d supported myself and felt able to continue I looked back and that had also just become an empty area and the only option was to go down the flight of almost invisible stairs. I reached down and picked up my shiny underpants, convinced that there was something important as to why they were still the only thing that had any shape or dimension or bulk to them. However, I was now naked, nervous and unsure what my next move should be. Cautiously I checked that there was a stair there, it was so faded I was worried I’d plummet into some kind of snowy abyss, thankfully my foot, which I could hardly make out, stepped onto something solid. That was scary but promising. The distance felt huge, had the steps got steeper, it was unnerving? With each furtive slow stride down I began to feel my body tremble, was it nerves or was there change? My mind slipped back to when I was little and used to cheekily descend the stairs in a similar silent fashion after my bedtime. If caught pretended I just wanted a drink - a strange thing to think about under the circumstances. Off in the distance I could hear someone singing, it was a light female voice sounding happy. I stood trembling, as I had as a child, half way down and felt feint. I wasn’t sure I could go on but inspecting behind there was nothing there. I had to keep going but each step now seemed a massive distance to climb down and despite the cheery singing, the unknown was daunting. # Despite the lack of any definition I knew I was about halfway down the staircase and that, with another half dozen steps I’d reach the hallway where, to the left led to the living room, whilst turning right would take me into the kitchen, which is where the singing was coming from. Each step down was becoming more and more difficult; the distance made me unsteady as I hesitantly stretched my foot down to the next one, each time I wobbled so tried to steady myself against the wall. It seemed a giant empty space I was negotiating until my foot finally hit something solid to stand on but then I had to negotiate the next and the next. Meanwhile, the bright white of my underwear I still grasped tightly in my hand, felt as if in some way it was acting as my protector. It didn’t light the way but was the only solid item I could identify. The singing got louder and I felt a chill, as if someone had opened a door and a breeze had been let loose. Suddenly the singing stopped and I could hear the noise of appliances and the general sound of a kitchen in use – things being moved, pots clattering together, cupboard doors being opened and closed. With one final and immense step I reach level ground and the faint line drawings began to become more substantial. I looked back and the stairway had all but disappeared and there was no sign of there ever having been an upstairs. Yes the outline of the front door was taking shape as was the door to the living room but off to the right, the kitchen door was half open and more robust. In fact, I could see more of a kitchen where a table and chairs were visible... and looked fairly solid. I stepped forward still holding my bright white underpants tightly and cautiously pushed the door open. As more of the kitchen was revealed its colourful interior was revealed, everything became more solid, warmer and more inviting. When the door had completely opened I could see a young woman in her mid-twenties washing pots at the sink. To begin with she was just humming a tune to herself and hadn’t noticed my sudden appearance. I wasn’t sure if I knew her or not so was a bit reluctant to make myself known. However, she looked around and saw me standing in the doorway and a huge smile spread across her face in happiness. “There she is, my little princess...” (princess?) She wiped he hands on her apron and moved towards me. I wasn’t sure what to do and made to step back but instead simply rocked on my heels and fell on my bare bum. “Oh sweetheart be careful...” she came over picked me up and hugged me tightly as she saw I was confused at what had just happened. Then it hit me; how come she could pick me up so easily but had no time to think. “... sweetpea, you must stop losing your nappies like this.” It was only then I remembered I was naked. I offered her my underpants “Yes, yes sweetheart, your nappy is nice put it doesn’t keep you all nice and tidy when you wriggle out of it.” This was all very confusing because my briefs had become a large square of bright white material. My nappy? I was positioned on her hip, nappy held tightly in my grip, as she travelled over to a pile on top of the washer where she fluffed out a small piece of fabric. Within seconds, and the practised art of a professional, she had a fresh disposable up between my legs and was pulling tapes to hold it in place. Next, and with hardly any pause in the proceedings, she reached over and grabbed a pair of shiny white plastic pants with a pink ruffle and pushed my feet into them. With an equally well-practised shimmy they were up and over the padding in seconds. “There, that should keep my little nakid rambler all nice and tidy... for a while anyway.” Then, producing a dummy from her apron pocket, slipped it between my lips and set me back down on the kitchen floor on my cushioned bottom. Everything looked big, the padding I was sat on was fine and comfy but who was this woman and why was I... I... I still wasn’t sure what was happening. The warm kitchen, the lady’s smile, the comfy nappy and the sucky dummy all made me feel cosy. Was any of this real? Babble and dribble flowed from my mouth as I tried to speak, whilst at the same time I tried to maintain myself in the sitting position, which was taking some wobbly effort. “Mommy (mommy?) has got a new toy for her little lamb,” and placed a colourful object down in front of me which got my attention. I reached out and noticed my soft pudgy arms and small fingers trying to grab at the plastic thing now occupying my vision. I think I was happy now I had this ‘thing’ to play with although had no idea what it was. Mommy got down to my level and started helping me figure out what it was and what it did. It made a noise that had me giggling, whilst bits could be moved around which made different sounds. “That’s a moo cow,” she explained, “and that’s (another noise) a wittle piggy...” more giggles from behind the dummy, which I seemed to enjoy sucking. I reached out and pushed something and it made another noise. “Who’s my pudgy little sweetheart...?” A loving hand stretched out to help my hand push another big button’ “Naaayyy...that’s a horsey...” My entire focus was now on this wonderful thing. It was fun and had me giggling each time it made a noise when something was pressed or moved, which seemed to make mommy happy. “That’s my clever girl.” I joyfully bounced up and down in wonder. The padding so comfy, whilst the plastic pants rustled with each excited movement. I was transfixed. “Who’s mommy's cutest little sweetpea?” Apparently I was. # # #

Hi Maly Thanks for your continued support tho thinking about it... perhaps warning people not to read it was a bad way to start a story. I hope the ending didn't upset anyone and if it did... sorry. Hugs as always Les

Part 4 Angela looked sympathetically at me and continued to busy herself cleaning up and sorting something out in the bathroom. I just wanted her to go. There was a lot of confusion spinning around in my head and being with others wasn’t going to help. Eventually she’d done as much as she could, patted the bag with all my ‘nasties’ contained in it and asked if I was ready to return to the conference room. “You go,” I indicated the door, “I have a few things I need to think about before I can... well... you understand...” I wasn’t sure she did but there again, she was part of this team who knew what the end result was, so wasn’t an innocent bystander. A bombshell had just landed in my head and I needed time... “If you have questions I’m sure we can answer them better than you just thinking about stuff on your own.” She offered helpfully. “Maybe but, I need to sort things out for myself before I even know what questions to ask.” I thought I was being quite reasonable but there was an edge to my voice that was verging on irritation. I felt I’d been duped by some over-complicated TV prank show... and I HATE such shows. They rely on the goodwill of the victim, I always wanted to smack those pranksters in the face and wipe that damn ‘only joking’ smile of their fucking faces. “But Gordon don’t you think...” The sweet patronising nature of those words, whether intended or not, broke me. She may have just changed my nappy but at that moment I needed to think. “For fuck sake GET OUT,” I lost my temper but despite the anger I felt tears roll down my face. What disturbing emotional state had I got myself into? Angela looked back to see if I was OK but her concern was not returned I just shooed her away and was thankful when the door clicked closed. Alone and my emotions peaked as I lay in the foetal position on the bed and cried like a two year old. I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about I only knew that something momentous had happened that I wasn’t equipped to deal with. **** It was perhaps weird that I felt thankful for the thick cushiony comfort of the disposable hugging my hips. I thought I wanted to sleep, just in case I’d dreamt... well, what was it... a revelation or prank? What were they about to offer me? It seemed that I could be ‘Born Again’, if I got the message correctly but that was impossible so... were they just after money? I mean, I had some but not that much. All Sam’s royalties headed towards his charity and although I was pretty comfortable, and had the house, I wasn’t a millionaire... so what was it I could offer. Surely, they weren’t after my seventy one year old body? I lay there trying to work things out. It’s times like this when I hate being alone. Sam, ever practical Sam, would have been very logical and have all his questions in a list. Unfortunately, I was never quite that organised. I mulled over the fact that they had just told me that they had created the impossible AND to the benefit of a couple of sweet gay boys who wanted a family. I mean is that what they were actually offering – a chance to be reborn into a family that wants you? But why go to all that trouble? Personally I had a terrific family life. We weren’t rich, no one was on the council estate where I grew up and, despite my parent’s divorce, life was pretty okay. I can’t say I ever went hungry or without sufficient clothes or a roof over my head. But back to what had been revealed... there seems to be an abundance of children around and making them must be a damn sight easier than creating one from the bones of an old man... surely? But, what if they can actually do as they say... is it something I would want? It’s true I’m no believer in the ‘afterlife’ and I have no religious convictions that Sam and I would be bonded as angels in ethereal bliss when my time comes. So, what is it that’s nagging at the back of my head... if it WAS possible would I want it? **** I lay there pondering, the fresh padding was, thanks to Angela’s unbelievable caring nature, giving me a comforting hug and my mind slipped into the world of being a baby. I know that the fact I wear a nappy doesn’t mean I am a baby but having worn one for a while now, I can attest to the fact that they are very comfy and at my age, give a feeling of security. However, is that a good enough reason to become a baby again and, AND, what guarantees go with that weird situation. I mean, who’d become responsible if the couple who adopted you broke up? Do you in fact ever grow up? Is there a lifetime connection and re-evaluating of the circumstances? Does it need a continual ‘top-up’? Angela was correct, these weren’t questions I could sort out myself I needed to ask the people involved and that meant a return to the conference room. The decision to move was made even more urgent when room service came to make up my room ready for the next guest, whom I hoped wouldn’t be in the same quandary. To be honest I wanted out of that room because if there was any evidence as to what I’d done or worn hanging about, I didn’t want to be there to take any accusatory looks from the poor overworked housekeeping soul. I thanked her for her patience and scooted back down to the lobby where Ben was waiting. **** “Ah Ben, sorry about that, just a little overwhelmed by what was being implied.” I offered as an apology. Ben shrugged. “Gordon, there was nothing implied - it’s all fact.” He paused a moment before leading me back to the conference room. “Look, we know this all seems strange but it is true. However, I’m sure that my word isn’t going to be enough so... waiting to speak to you further we have Professor De La Mere lined up to bring you up to speed. However, before that there is a pre-recorded video we’d like you to watch first as that might shed some light on what this is all about.” He looked at me for an answer, I merely nodded and he led me back into the now empty conference room where only the big blue screen was lit up. “Take a seat Gordon and we’ll be back at the end of the video.” I sat down and he pressed something on his iPad and the screen burst into colour. First the word WELCOME in various languages appeared on screen followed by the face of the professor who smiled... but about what? “Welcome sceptics. Welcome doubters. Welcome to... the unbelievable truth. Welcome everyone.” Change to a forest scene with a lake in the distance with Professor De La Mere walking into shot and addressing the camera. “This place is lovely isn’t it? A sort of Disneyesque interpretation of what paradise should look like.” She looked over her spectacles at the camera as if this next bit was an aside. “However, Shangri La, Xanadu, Elysium, El Dorado and many more myths; maybe a city made of gold, one that contained the Fountain of Youth, a country where no one got old or perhaps a simple spring that was the Font of all Knowledge. There are many such stories, there are many testaments to places such as these to exist but so far, no one has been able to find these Lost Legends. Well perhaps one person and that person is my Great, Great Grandmother Doctor Hilda Helperman. She then went on to explain how, in the 1800s, on an expedition to the Far East she fell upon a scene similar to the one behind her. How horrified she watched as a local tribe threw their oldest inhabitants into the lake and then had a feast, made music and danced. A couple of hours later crying could be heard, in fact it was not one but two babies crying and a few of the younger men in dug-out canoes where ferrying them to the shore. The professor went on to describe how her team of explorers were discovered by the tribe and taken captive and back to the village. A village unlike anything she’d imagined, something she assumed would be of a primitive tribe in a lost area of the country. She was wrong. The detail and sophistication of the place stunned them all but they were told in no uncertain terms that they would never be allowed to leave. As it turned out, that wasn’t such a gruelling prospect as in many ways, back then, they were more advanced than the explorers own home countries. The upshot was they all married into the tribe. Her great, great grandmother married the chief’s son Deski Maquanda, which meant Man from Water (perhaps later to become De La Mere), and spent a further five years with the tribe. Eventually, her desire to return home proved too great, she wanted to tell the world about this Eden, this absolute gem of a discovery but was forbidden to do so, unless she and her husband travelled together... really to make sure she never said too much. As it turned out she realised that its discovery would possibly mean the end of the tribe but was able to convince the chief to offer some of the tribes secret remedies and the speciality of the Humarnni (the resurrection waters) as a possible help to her people who were plagued by ill health and disease. She brought a file of water back to her own city, set up a lab and over the years had been refining and ‘reverse engineering’ what that small file might offer. The result... after all these years was real Rebirth. Whilst living with the tribe she’d seen the results several times and each time had been amazed. Alas, none of the locals knew why or how it happened, they were just grateful that it did and celebrated the fact when an aged family member could be returned to them as a new born. They never questioned this miracle, they never thought to explain it, they appreciated the wonder and celebrated that fact. She went on to explain a few other things about the power of this new and constantly improving elixir but insisted that it was still in the testing stages. So far, all trial subjects had been positive and had returned as a new born. The professor knew she had the secret to eternal life, she was also well aware that such a discovery would change the course of history and make governments keen on obtaining it and those who discovered such a world shattering potion. She’d kept it secret but knew that there was an inevitable end to the story so, before that happened she’d decided to offer it to a select few. She had a nephew who was gay and was sad that he couldn’t adopt in the country where he lived. However, when his aunt offered a solution and an old gay man offered his services as a Guinea pig, that old man found a new start in a home where he’d be wanted... the first of many re-births and the opening of an adoption hospital geared to gay couples was established. **** I was finding it difficult to take all this info in or get my head around the concept – my re-birth? It was all bunkum but... what if? I’d just watched a very nice video of what could really be described as a movie script. All the elements were there and surely, with what they can do these days with special effects, it would be no trouble at all to see an old man become a baby but... I wasn’t convinced any of this was real. Surely it would involve loads of paperwork but also would it be something, if even possible, I would favour? It seemed a strange and expensive way to give a few desperate gay and lesbian couples a child when there were so many available to adopt, not least being that it seemed many folk can create them at the drop of a hat. Was this not a waste of resources, something so revolutionary surely had better aims and outcomes? However, all these doubts I had were batted away by the team as inconsequential... their aim was to give me a second life as the baby of a doting gay couple. When I asked, if I did agree to all this, what would I have to do they explained about the ‘home’ where I’d live until it was time. That home was in the very same annex as their hospital and adoption centre. All this seemed so unlikely my doubts were peaking. “And what about my money? I’ve not got a lot but I have some.” I thought this might trip them up. “Well Gordon this is where our finance team can help. You can either give it all away to anyone you like OR you can put it in a Trust Fund, our legal team will hold for you, and then, at a suitable time that money could be released to your adoptive parents... so in fact... you would be taking it with you.” I shook my head; this was getting madder and madder but was beginning to make sense. How that happened I had no idea. The team were still all smiling and encouraging me to take part. “After all,” as they said, “what was there to lose?” The thing was I didn’t really have much else to live for. All my family were dead and I had no connection with any of their offspring. Sam’s family had all passed so I suppose I could just give the money away and have done... except the house... I still needed somewhere to live. But they were offering me a home with them until they re-birthed me and I’d be the baby a loving couple wanted. This was stupid, mad, ridiculous, but what was there to lose? Ohhh, this was weird - everything seemed to be speeding up and felt my resilience weakening. Panic suddenly entered my body because I could feel it become hot and tight. I’m alone so... what was there to lose? I needed to sign on the dotted line soon before the offer was taken away. As I’d told them before I didn’t believe in God so I needed something... anything. But, my body just didn’t seem right... I felt a mental tugging... now I was burning up... ohhhhhhhh...... **** A pain in my chest was making breathing and moving difficult and it had woken me from a deep and unusual sleep. The chair I was sitting in had held me up but I could feel all my strength draining and my vision blurring. I grabbed my phone and pressed – the only thing that came up was the confirmation from Hillary about the time and date, a week from now, that I’d agreed for Market Research. Surely that wasn’t what I was dreaming about? Trembling, I couldn’t hold on and it fell to the floor and out of reach. The clock read 23:32, I must have dozed off... but I cried out... this pain was excruciating. The ache intensified and I could feel a warmth begin to surround me... oh... I was pissing myself. A vague recollection of wearing a nappy these days for sporadic incontinence flitted into my head... so that would take care of that. I was grateful but had no idea who I was being grateful to. Another stab of pain, or was it just getting more intense? I let out a scream for help but it was so low I doubt if anyone had been in the room would have heard. Breathing was proving difficult and my hands were clutching my chest as another jolt blocked out any understanding. My befuddled brain was wondering if this was the start of my re-birth... was there HOPE? I tried to remember what the offer was but the pain was too intense and became all consuming. I tried to get up, to raise an alarm, perhaps make it to the door but I was stuck, unable to move as dread began to grow. My chest felt so constricted I couldn’t breathe; it was like a huge snake had wrapped itself around me and was just squeezing away my life. I searched the room, the same room I’d lived alone in for the past nine years, and saw the photographs on the desk but could see no detail. The images of Sam and me had grown faint as tears of pain and loss dripped from my cheeks. I tried to call out to my partner but was in too much agony there was hardly a whisper. I wasn’t holding my breath I just couldn’t breathe, the tightness gripped and all around begin to fade. I was alone and my heart, instead of pumping to keep me alive, was complicit in squeezing life out of me. The pain doubled, then trebled and then, with a silent scream, I fell to the floor... **** “Poor old sod,” the man decked out in facemask and hazmat suit said, “looks like he’s been dead for quite some time. We’re getting more and more of this... it seems neighbours just aren’t that interested any more. Oh well.” As he checked the body he noticed, lying on the table besides him, an open book called Fables, Myths & Legends, the man’s glasses resting on a page called The Spring of Eternal Youth. “He might have been some kind of academic...” He shrugged as he surveyed the rest of the corpse and continued with his assessment. Meanwhile, his younger colleague looked around the house and noticed the impressive LEGO building. “You’d have thought the kids who built that would have got worried...” She searched for more clues amongst the photographs but only saw images of two older men smiling happily on location in some corner of the globe. She checked her blue nitrile gloves and joined her colleague. “This house will sell for a pretty penny,” she sniffed the leaden air, “after they’ve gotten rid of the smell that is.” A little later they zipped the black body bag up and between them stretchered what remained of Gordon out to the waiting vehicle. No one was at their doors to see him go... no one would be at his funeral... no one cared. ***his end***

Thank you Adultinnocence for your comment... the final chapter of this is complete and will be with you shortly and I suspect the hook you refer to... mmmm.... perhaps not what you might have thought. Thanks to all who have read this story so far... Hugs to you all. Les

Do you think it's all a con?😕

Part 3 “So,” I harrumphed as only a seventy-one year old can, “I’ve got that wrong but... I’m not far off am I?” “You’re about as far off as you could be,” Cordulla added, her German accent just slightly more discernible than earlier. “However, tomorrow is to be our final day... so might I suggest you sleep on the fact we’re here for your benefit and that won’t change.” Now, I know that it seems that I’m being more than a little gullible – after all this is not proceeding like any other research project with which I’ve ever been involved. In fact, my brain is buzzing with everything... I mean thoughts, ideas and memories are firing around in my head like they’ve never done before, well as far as I can remember (and my memory seems pretty good at the moment). None of this makes any sense, I know it’s not making any sense and yet... all I can say is that I’ve been won over by this enthusiastic team and I’m quite intrigued to know where this will end. They keep saying it will be for MY benefit (and eventually that of older people), though won’t say exactly what that entails but their positivity has been catching so, here I am. “We all think you’re the ideal candidate,” Asim added maybe massaging my ego, “Please have only good thoughts as we can promise you, after tomorrow, with the company’s permission, we can take the final steps and then it’s up to you.” Bed did seem a great option, especially when I checked my watch it was nearly midnight. What a full and strange day it had been but I was still no nearer knowing anything about this ‘project’ that suspiciously promised something... though they weren’t saying what. As Ben escorted me to my bedroom and used the card to unlatch the door he handed the pass back to me. “Sleep well, the feedback from our company to all we’ve discussed has been very favourable.” He smiled the most encouraging smile. “We will just wait on their final judgement and tomorrow, hopefully, we’ll be able to tell you more. Good night Gordon.” There’s that reassurance. I sauntered a little unsteadily into my room wishing I was back to being a teenager, Ben would have been... oh well... silly to even think about it... and turned on the light. I was surprised at what greeted me. *** Together with an unopened pack that contained a pair of paisley pyjamas, not unlike the pair I wore in the little video I’d made for them, were a set of three different kinds of nappy. A large terry towel square, with extra absorbent pads and plastic pants, a pair of thick white adult pull-ups and surprisingly (well even more surprisingly) a pair of adult but thick juvenile looking Rearz Safari’s in all their colourful splendour... plus of course the required lotions and powder to complete the set. An advert for Poonami Proof Pampers flitted into my thoughts... but how have these guys got everything covered? I laughed out loud because I’d obviously been kidding myself that the nappy and plastic pants I was wearing under my trousers had gone un-noticed. I knew from past market research meetings I’d been to that they can get a little intense and go on longer than planned. I know there was never anyone stopping you nipping off to the toilet if needed but you didn’t want to be ‘that person’ who couldn’t control their bladder. You realised if you did, the word might get around and you wouldn’t be the first choice for any future work. Anyway, that’s how I saw it but, on this occasion, I felt a lot safer wearing some padding as, though I hate to admit it, I’d had one or two ’near misses’ and one or two ‘not so near misses’ so had begun to wear a nice thick nappy when I went anywhere. To begin with I simply put it down to my advanced years, which of course was true, but I also quite liked the feeling wearing such an item gave. When sporting one I remembered my time with Kenneth and those few happy days we had together. Pervy or not, it had been a very special time and had obviously had some effect on the way I am now... because, after all these years, I still think of it fondly. I also thought back to the time I’d tried to engage Sam in something similar but he wasn’t interested. It had been a bit of a disappointment but I never pushed it as it was obviously something that just didn’t appeal. As a result, I never broached the subject again. However, as he got sicker and less mobile I had coerced him to see the need of them and, being a fairly practical guy, he acquiesced to my careful pleading. Even after all the time together he was still embarrassed and nervous as I put him in his first nappy since childhood. I could see how uncomfortable he was about it but nonetheless he allowed me to continue. There wasn’t a lot I could do for his illness but I was pleased to be able to offer such comfort in those final stages. I loved taking care of my man and thankfully it soon became just part of a daily routine for which he was grateful. But since he’d passed I have reassessed my relationship with my padded friends. Now, as I wear one, there’s a connection to a man I spent almost forty years with and, if I’m being honest, it feels like a loving hug from the man who made me happy. Stupid I know. *** So, this ‘revelation’ of three sets of nappies proved that this ‘market research team’ knew me better than I thought and were trying to make me content. Had they somehow looked on the browser of my computer and seen what I’d been searching for and looking at – all those lovely people wearing their protection and looking happy about it - just as I felt all those years ago. At times, as I sorted through the images or read the stories, I slipped back to those days with Kenneth and being a twenty year old and wearing lovely thick padding with no one judging me... if anything, it was encouragement. I suppose, this little research group, in their own way were offering me similar type of acceptance and encouragement, though how they knew escaped me. Of course, none of this seemed real but I’d been here a long time and that doesn’t normally happen in these research groups. No doubt everything we talked about was taped for referral but perhaps it was also a live feed to someone – as a result they were able to determine a great deal from answers I’d given. I’d heard of algorithms (though had no idea what they were) being able to collate information and through key words, gestures and tone... so perhaps I was giving off more than I thought in these discussions? Meanwhile, my ‘special’ secret underwear wasn’t that secret and I admired each piece laid out on the bed and my heart filled with gratitude. Of course, that might just have been the brandy and my brain conspiring but did prove to me how thoughtful these young people were being. Or maybe, I was just a sucker for nappies. Anyway, I’d seen the Safari’s online and admired them but had not bought any as I regarded them as a waste on someone my age. Whilst searching the sites I thought the pretty childish and colourful selections always looked good on youngsters I’d seen wearing them but on an older, maybe more wrinkly body (and that was mine), not quite so cute. However, now here was a pair, and they were for me. I stumbled into the bathroom, stripped (with a degree of alcohol induced difficulty) threw my soggy nappy I’d been wearing all day into the bath, wiped myself down and, foregoing the lotion and preliminaries, slipped almost too comfortably into a very plasticky but thick Rearz. It felt divine as I patted and stroked the soft, smooth fabric and admired my seventy-one year old body in the full length mirror. I think they call it “looking through beer (brandy) goggles” but I thought I looked childishly splendid. With a sigh and a few aching groans I fell into bed, pulled up the substantial duvet, wriggled contentedly and slipped into deep satisfying slumber. *** I slept the sleep of the innocent and woke up to the sound of the bedside phone ringing. I peered at my watch and saw it was just past nine and was quite surprised that not only had I slept so late (for me) but felt pretty good after having drank so much the night before. “Hello” “Morning Gordon,” it was the cheery voice of Asim, “just wondering if you’d care to join us for breakfast.” “Erm, yes,” Although my head wasn’t fuzzy I was still trying to wake up properly. “I’ll be down, erm, in about half an hour... or so.” “That would be fantastic we’ll all be waiting as we have some news for you.” His voice was laden with secrets but I didn’t react - laid in bed I sort of just shrugged and began to assess myself. Firstly, my hand reached down and the firmness of the Safari told me that I’d wet. I did a quick grope around but didn’t find any damp spots on the sheet... that was lucky. On the dresser opposite I could see the fresh white fabric nappy and disposable from last night in a pile and wondered which would be better for the day. Oh, I’d sort that out after I’d had a shower. I got out of bed surprisingly nimbly for a man of my age and impediments but was struck by the reflection in the mirror – the firm Safari, now hanging less tightly to my hips, still looked pretty impressive. I did a little turn and noticed the padded bum looked quite full and wondered if I’d missed an important part of what was actually filling it. Tentatively I patted the seat and was glad to feel it was padding and not mush, so that immediately lifted my spirits. Still, I had a breakfast meeting (I hadn’t said those words for a number of years) and didn’t want to keep the encouraging little quintet waiting too long. I climbed into the bathtub shower and, with a little regret, pulled at the tabs of the Safari and let it flop into the base of the unit where it joined my old and well used nappy and plastic pants from the day before. I made a mental note to get some lovely colourful Rearz for myself. As I showered my mind was full of thoughts about nappies and being a kid again – now that’s pretty good marketing if just wearing a Safari once had made me want to wear them more. I still thought they were better on a young body, a baby’s body or a young guy’s body but, what the hell, at my age I can really do what I like and no one is going to say a damn thing. So, after I’d cleared myself out and cleaned myself up I decided I’d wear what I’d worn the day before, hoping that the new fabric nappy and plastic pants would service me better than just a disposable. It was nice that they’d supplied me with a lovely scented lotion and a canister of Johnson’s Baby Powder but I also noticed, which I’d missed the night before, a small zip-up collapsible bag which I could parcel all my new (and old) bits and bobs in rather than carrying around a used nappy all day for all to see. I slipped the new pyjamas in as well and thought I could return them unused if they needed them. *** Once dressed, and with the fresh nappy clinging tightly to my ageing groin, I set off with my little inconspicuous bag for breakfast. I felt on top of the world and completely refreshed despite my previous night’s alcohol intake and that was a surprise. The smell of food as I entered the buffet-style cafeteria made me realise just how hungry I was. After all, despite several biscuits I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and that seemed ages ago. However, before I could make it to the counter I was greeted by the happy face of Ben who guided me to the table where the rest of the team were ensconced. “And how are we today?” Sabrina cheerfully asked. “We,” I said looking back at the array of fried food I was desperate to get my teeth into, “are hungry and in need of a bacon infusion... how are you?” The entire team smiled at my ‘joke’ and guided me to a seat at their table. “Can we get you anything?” Asim enquired. “Well now, let me see,” I teased, “I’m seventy one and quite capable of getting what I want myself so, if you don’t mind, you all sit down and do just that.” I didn’t wait for any further comments and made my way to the buffet. Thankfully there was plenty of bacon and scrambled eggs left but first I loaded up the toast making apparatus (it was like a conveyor belt) and then went off to choose my breakfast. Angela asked if I wanted tea or coffee and as that was about as much as she’d said to me since I’d been there I politely asked for tea. I piled my plate up, collected the four rounds of toast I’d let loose on the machine and returned to my seat. The others looked like they’d already finished their sparse meals and were ready to go. I told them they didn’t have to keep me company and that I’d meet up with them in whatever chatting area they decided for the next part of the meeting. They all looked pretty excited and the fact I was delaying them telling me their news was obviously driving them to distraction. I thought whatever it was could wait... never rush a nice full brekkie. * I sauntered into the smaller, more intimate Conference Room 4, well fed and feeling better than I’d done for quite some time. I wondered if that was part of the ‘research for the elderly’ and if it was, it was working, or simply being in the company of five young people. Anyway, whatever the reason, I was in a very nice place. I have to say it did feel strange being the only one left of the twenty that started, and of course I felt weirdly proud that at seventy one I’d outlasted them but... In the room the eager faces were all looking in my direction and I noticed a large TV screen set up. That got me wondering as we’d not had that before. “We haf zome news vor you Gordon,” Cordulla began, her accent even more distinct, and I could see all the others had smiling and expectant faces. “Our director has agreed zat you are an ideal candidate and vants to offer you a chance of a lifetime.” She said ‘lifetime’ as if it had a deep hidden meaning but I still wasn’t getting what the offer was. “Could you be more specific Cordulla? I get that I’m special but what makes me so special to receive this, this... I’m still not sure what ‘this’ is?” Ben added his piece. “Gordon, what we’re about to show you is quite unbelievable but please bear with us and any questions will be answered at the end of the presentation, OK?” He pressed a key on his iPad and the screen burst into life. *** The image pulled out from a little sleeping new-born baby being held in the arms of two young guys who were looking adoringly at the child and whispering words of love (I think so although they were speaking in Italian). A respectable looking lady stepped in front of the camera and introduced herself as Professor Louisa De La Mere. “Good morning Gordon,” she said, which took me by surprise. “This is Gilbert and François,” the two boys looked and nodded to camera. “They have just adopted their first child, who they are going to call...” she let Gilbert speak in Italian “Il suo nome è Guillermo”. “What a lovely name Guillermo.” She thanked the boys in Italian and they wandered off-screen happy with their baby son. “Now Gordon, you may be wondering what all that has to do with you... well... you may be interested to know...” she paused and let her words linger, “Guillermo used to be eighty-five year old Constantine Papadakis and now, as you can see, he’s quite a special little guy to a couple of wonderful boys who were desperate to start a family of their own.” It took a moment for my head to process what was being said and what that meant and what I think I was about to be offered. It was like an assault on my brain which wasn’t prepared for such a shock and all hell broke loose. I’m not sure what happened next because my body ran through the entire gamut of shivers to extreme heat before disaster, my sphincter opened and I felt an unwelcome surge into the seat of my nappy... then I passed out. *** I was out for only a few seconds but the team had gathered around and helped me back onto the chair. They all looked concerned. Sabrina was patting my hand, Cordulla was wafting me with her iPad and Ben had fetched me a glass of water. “Erm, sorry about that...” I tried to compose myself but wasn’t sure if they knew what had happened in my pants, also, had I heard correctly, had I interpreted what was being said wrongly, I needed time to think. “I’m afraid I’ll need my bag and a visit to the toilet... or bathroom preferably... erm, I need, ermmmmm...” By then I think they’d noticed that I needed to change. Angela was the first to react and grabbed my bag and held out her hand for me to take as she said she’d deal with it. I gave her my pass card and we entered the lift, thankfully we were the only occupants, and travelled up the two levels to my room which had yet to be cleaned by the maid service. She opened the door to let me pass and surprisingly followed me in. “I can manage from here love, thanks.” I said trying to remove her from my embarrassing circumstance. “I’m sure you can Gordon but, my background is caring for the elderly and despite what I know are going to be your protestations, I am also a qualified nurse... so Mister... you have had a bit of a shock and I’ll be looking after you from now on.” “No need for that love I...” I tried to deny I needed help but there was no doubt I was in a state of shock and wasn’t too sure my shaking hands would have been able to do much. “Nonsense, leave everything to me and I won’t hear another word... this is my job and for the moment you are in MY care so don’t be an awkward old bugger.” Up until that moment I hadn’t taken much notice of this member of the group but she was not taking any attitude or embarrassment from an old man who’d just pooped his pants. With that firmness of tone I found myself being led into the bathroom and my pants being slowly pulled down. “Ah, good job you chose the plastic pants option,” she said with complete authority, “we might have been stuck for clean pants otherwise.” Meanwhile my shoes and socks were removed. Now I’m sure this happens on a daily basis in hospitals and care homes and in fact I’d done this with Sam, but someone else involved in my change was distressing. I was uneasy, I hardly knew the girl and yet she was in charge of what was about to happen. My protestations were hopeless as she unzipped my little bag, noticed the couple of used nappies already held in it and fished the unused disposable out, as well as wipes, and lotion. “This is a lovely thick brand,” she fluffed the thin and tiny looking disposable out to gain some air and then left it as she eased down my plastic pants. The smell wasn’t nice but she just guided me over to the sink and began the wipe down. I was still shaking but I’d held my shirt up out of the way and tried to think would I have been this nervous if either Ben or Asim had been the ones doing it. “Oh God, don’t think of that now.” I said to myself but louder than I thought. “What’s that Gordon?” She continued with her professional duties. “Oh nothing just wishing things were different and not so embarrassing.” “You needn’t be embarrassed on my count Gordon. Anyway, you’re just about done now,” As she held the soft white fabric out at my feet so I just had to step into them. I did as instructed and then she wriggled them up my legs and firmly patted them into place. “There, all nice and snug.” “Thank you young lady, I’m much obliged...” For reasons beyond my knowledge I sounded like I was in some American movie. Thankfully I stopped myself from continuing the silliness by simply grabbing my pants and slowly pulling them up without further help. Once she saw I was satisfied with the way everything looked, and she’d packed the rest of the evidence away, she smiled a little too much and said: “Now, before we return to the conference room, do you need a minute to think about what you saw on screen?” “I think I need longer than a few minutes, I mean, I mean, I, I ummmm, can’t believe any of this.” I sat down on my unmade bed and rested my head in my hands; the thickness of the disposable crinkled reassuringly but at that moment, that was the only thing I could believe in. I mean, what the Professor had said was impossible. Not only that but WHY, why would they go to all that trouble, it’s not like there aren’t enough babies available? What on Earth would be the point? I let out a long soft sigh and wondered what I’d let myself in for... or, perhaps more weirdly, was this all a complex joke? ****

Hi Maly I'll check in on you when it's finished see if you were correct. 😉

Part 2 As I say, the meal was very nice and sitting with five young and enthusiastic researchers who only picked at their meals whilst chatting amiably about our pasts, time quickly slipped by. I wasn’t sure if this wasn’t the ‘next stage’ and that we’d be paid for eating a meal but, although the gentle interrogation continued, I still couldn’t see what they really wanted, especially as now there were only us two. However, after the meal Elsie went off with the girls whilst I was left with Ben and Asim. “The next few questions are of a more personal nature,” Asim earnestly said as he set his little voice recorder going, “and we thought you might feel a little easier speaking to just us guys.” He looked at me for conformation. “Is that okay with you?” I didn’t mind but I thought it had all been pretty personal so far, so just nodded. “Good, thank you Gordon,” Ben joined in. “Now, if you don’t mind, when you drifted off earlier in the meeting could you tell us what you were thinking of or remembering please?” A cold shiver ran down my spine and wriggled more than a little uncomfortably in the chair. “Erm, I’m not sure what, ummm, I can...” “Look,” said Ben trying to allay any fears that had suddenly sprung up, “I could tell from your face what you were ‘seeing’ was pretty intense and seemed very important. It’s that type of feedback or reminiscence we need for the progress of the programme.” I looked at him with more suspicion than I’d had so far – the ‘programme’, the ‘programme’ but what the hell is the damn programme? I also couldn’t tell them how embarrassed I’d be to speak out about my early sex life, yet this appeared to be what they were asking. “You want me to splurge out about my life, and my sex life?” I asked incredulously. “If that’s what was in your head at that time, yes.” He was gleeful that I now knew exactly the type of info they were after. “Just think of it like you were writing your autobiography and reading passages out...” “But I wouldn’t have included that, erm, that type of thing...” “C’mon Gordon. We know your partner was Sam, he wrote books...” “Children’s books,” I added. In fact Sam, under the pseudonym Chris Brabham, had written several Children’s books. He’d initially been a primary school teacher but, although he enjoyed working with kids, the pressures, even in that age group thanks to constant government interference and targets, were becoming intolerable. Once he left he used his storytelling talents to good use and produced a whole series of colourful, fun and engaging stories aimed at tots to pre-teens. Incredibly, it seemed that adults liked them and he sold millions and did very well from them. A couple of years before he died the BBC had animated his best loved story The Great Gahoon, which became the most watched show over the holiday period. It found a new audience and sales went through the roof. Now, you may think that we were rolling in money, and to be honest, we were doing okay between us but, Sam had a very big heart and conscience, so, 75% of profits went to a charity that contributed towards educational programmes in Africa. Apparently, my experiences on that continent hadn’t put him off helping others there and he was very up on the educational needs in that neck of the global woods. “You yourself wrote reviews and articles for several publications and online... I have some here...” Asim went to his iPad and started swiping through various pages until he found something relevant. Actually he was correct, I had written and contributed to the literary mass; little reviews, comments and occasional articles earned me a wage but not on the same scale as Sam. I’d also written features and stories for a couple of fetish magazines and hoped he wasn’t going to read out one of them. I wasn’t sure if they knew about those more, erm, X-rated stories but didn’t want them repeated here if they did. “Okay, okay,” I said knowing that this market research was nothing like anything I’d been involved with before. “Stop, stop,” I raised my hands to physically let them know what I meant. “If you want to know such personal details then I need to know more of what my info will be used for.” I felt I’d been fairly adamant and sat waiting for the full revelation of what this project, this ‘programme’, was all about. It wasn’t that Ben and Asim were playing ‘good cop – bad cop’ they were both at the same intensity but I needed answers. “I’m afraid Gordon, we can’t tell you that... at the moment... BUT before you rush out and abandon the rest of the interview let me just tell you this. We need that info to make sure we are directing this ‘change the world’ project towards what YOU need. This is an individual venture that will have various applications but we are aiming it at certain members of the older community and to be honest... we feel you are THE ideal candidate but we do need to know more about you.” Ben was staring into my eyes and patting my sleeve all the way through this rather intense bit of speech and realised he was being impassioned and truthful in what was said. To be honest my ego was being manipulated, and I didn’t mind. “There has been a breakthrough, if in fact that’s the correct term, in the reassessing of age.” He paused whilst that slipped into my thought process. “I’m afraid that’s as much, in fact, more than I’m supposed to say, but it is life changing though still in the experimental stage. “So, you expect me to spill my thoughts without knowing what it will be used for.” Asim took the reins, “What we will be offering at the end of all this is a customised package aimed solely at you. You will be the beneficiary of a process so advanced it’s beyond most people’s perception but, to get to that final stage, we need to know everything about you. Your dreams, your hopes AND especially your memories to make sure you will be a suitable candidate. We think you are but others need to know they are not wasting their efforts on someone who isn’t compatible with what the research,” he smiled at the word, “reveals.” Ben added, “This is a project that might benefit loads of pensioners who like we suspect you are, are feeling a little lost... perhaps useless.” I bridled a bit at that comment but soon accepted he was probably correct. “The only thing I can say, to try and encourage you to keep going with all this,” and he spread his hands wide as if giving me the world, “is that we are certain, when it comes to the final stage it is something you’ll be both glad of and welcome.” For some reason a TV advert for Life Insurance (for the over 45s) entered my head. Planning for the future they called it and the old man selling it was very positive that if you signed up now, when you died, your family would benefit. I just hoped this wasn’t a scam for that company. ** I gave these guys the benefit of the doubt and of course was quite intrigued by whatever it was and that I, out of, well I didn’t know how many, had been chosen to receive this special... whatever it was. I sat mulling this over and looked at my watch as if I might have somewhere else to be and noticed that we were well into the afternoon and I’d been there over four hours already. I quickly totted up 4 x 60 and realised I’d made at least £240 so far. I don’t need the money but it was fun to think that way for a moment at least. “Okay, let’s crack on. If you think it’s necessary I’ll start by telling you what memory I had in the meeting earlier. So, embarrassment aside, I recounted that early part of my life in detail. They particularly loved the account of my nappy experience and we spent quite some time getting to the bottom of my feelings toward Kenneth and what I thought about a twenty year-old wearing such a childish item. We even touched on the fact that at a point early in our partnership I had suggested we try wearing nappies as a ‘joke’ but Sam was none too keen and so the subject was dropped. Never to be mentioned again except, when Sam got ill, I had him wear a nappy at night because getting to the loo had become too much of an effort and quite painful. We joked about getting back to our childhood and... It was at this point - recounting all this led me to realise once again just how much Sam had meant to me and how important our forty-odd year relationship had been. I welled up. Yes I became an emotional pensioner and, at the same time both loved and resented my memories. Some were more painful than I thought they would be. The loss of my man was still heavier than expected. You think, after a year or so you can cope, and usually you do because you just have to get on with it, whatever ‘it’ may be. Then, like now, a sudden thought enters your head and you are rolled back to an unexpected place – grief returns and it just swamps all other feelings. They waited for me to compose myself before I could carry on recalling those times. They loved all I had to say and encouraged me to tell them more about my life with Sam. Once started there was no stopping me because, although we shared our lives only with each other, he was my life and therefore enjoyed reminiscing about him... he was a fantastic, loving and humorous man. ** “So, you and Sam never wanted children?” It was a question out of the blue. “You mean because he was a teacher?” I said apprehensively. “Well, yes, I mean...” Asim faltered but I took up his line of questioning. “We were together for twenty-odd years before we were able to enter a Civil Partnership and ‘marry’. By then we were comfortable there being just the two of us. There were trips abroad where our only interaction with anyone else was the waiters or staff in shops, other than that we were content with being together. We didn’t need or seek out anyone else.” “Were you happy about that?” Ben asked doubtfully, hardly believing that two people could be so content with so few ‘others’. “Well yes, and by the time gay couples were thought capable of providing a decent and stable home for adoption, we were already set in our ways and quite honestly – didn’t need any disruption.” “Is that how you see children... a disruption?” “No, and if everything had been allowed and the world hadn’t been such a dumb place when it came to sexuality in our early days, I’m sure we would have loved to have kids.” I shrugged as if to say ‘but the time has passed’. “What do you think about all those celebrities that just seem to travel the world and adopt with impunity?” Asim asked. “I have no problem with anyone adopting if it helps the child... and not as a fashion accessory. I absolutely love it when I read that a gay couple have wanted a child so much that they go to the lengths of surrogacy or adoption because you know... that child is definitely wanted... and that is what matters.” “What, that the child is wanted?” “Yes, kids seem easy to produce but not all of them are welcome and that has to be the shame of having a child... that it’s not wanted and is a hindrance to the parent’s life.” They nodded in agreement and I was glad I didn’t have to fight my corner but had more to say... on perhaps less controversial areas of my life. Time disappeared and I was still recounting all manner of past memories and incidents and hadn’t looked at my watch for several hours, when I did I saw it was way past nine at night. Good job I’d eaten lunch but now, despite the constant stream of coffee, tea and biscuits I was beginning to flag. ** “I’m sorry guys,” I was apologetic but already moving to get up to leave, “but it’s getting towards my bedtime so really should be on my way home... sorry.” Ben got to his feet. “Of course, of course,” he smiled and added, “You are one fascinating character Gordon and I hope we can continue with this.” I, in mock grumpiness, said that would be okay but not tonight. “Actually Gordon,” this was Asim, “We have a room for you here at the hotel if you’d like to stay and then we could perhaps continue this in the morning?” “What do you mean, you have a room for me... how did you know I would want to stay?” I was confused. “We didn’t, but after all that you’ve told us we are keener than ever to make sure you are the right person for the ‘programme’ and we’d like to finish the interview with you a.s.a.p. to get things moving.” “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t brought anything to change into; no toothbrush... not that I need one these days... ” I added as slight aside to myself as I ran my tongue over the few that were left. There was another reason that I didn’t want to mention but thought a better excuse. “I can get a taxi home and I return here tomorrow...” “If that’s what you want Gordon then of course that’s fine. However, you are very special to us and we are more than happy for you to experience that as our guest here at the hotel. As we’ve been speaking we have a room, a very nice executive room, all kitted out. You’ll have all you need and more importantly, we’ll have you.” “As a sort of prisoner,” I shrugged. Ben was taking charge and knew how to press my buttons. “Well, I’d not put it that way but, yes, but not in a bad way. We simply would hate for you to not return in the morning so hopefully, your room will have everything you desire, including a free bar, and in exchange, we have you here already.” “I’m that important am I?” I said with a vague degree of modesty. Ben and Asim chuckled at my self-deprecation. “Gordon, we want you to be happy. We want you to want what this endeavour (endeavour is it now?) is leading us towards. Please believe me when I say that I hope you’ll agree we want only what you want... although that may be a little unclear at the moment.” I think he’d agree his argument was failing a little. However, I was being offered a night in a swish hotel and I’d only be going home to an empty house, which, in my current state of emotion, could possibly lead me to do something stupid. The reason I wanted to go home was because, well, I needed a change of ‘underwear’ my ‘special underwear’ but thought I could probably do without for a night so agreed, relieved to have my mind on something different. It may sound strange but in just the one day I’d taken to these two ‘boys’ and whatever it was they were offering, or intending to offer, I was now quite caught up in what it might be. There was no doubt that this had been the strangest ‘market research’ I’d ever done for Hillary and I was in two minds as whether I should check in with her but the boys asked me down to the bar for a nightcap and I thought it would be rude not to accept. I couldn’t pretend I was no longer seventy-one but these young lads (sorry, men) had certainly got me thinking. It was nice to be in the company of two such amiable people who wanted to know more about me. Besides, they were paying for all this, so... why the hell not? ** When we got down to the bar the girls were there waiting. Elsie wasn’t in the picture and, according to Cordulla, she was fantastic but in the end, not quite the type of person they were looking for. I’d detected a slight accent from her when she’d briefly spoken to me before and I thought it sounded German. Anyway, so now I was on my own and the centre of five young people’s attention and I have to admit to being both disappointed and elated. Disappointed I didn’t have the ‘boys’ to myself (as if I had a chance) but quite delighted I was ‘unique’ (also, as if). “Sabrina and I,” Angela said, “have checked out your room and made sure that everything you might need is there... including a toothbrush. If you need anything special please just mention it to any of us and we’ll get it for you.” I was enjoying my drink but then it hit me. “Oh bloody hell... I’ve forgotten my pills. They went completely out of my head, erm...” I suddenly felt a bit panicky, even with the double brandy I was now nursing. “Don’t worry about that Gordon,” Cordulla was gently stroking my arm, “We have it all in hand you just relax and enjoy yourself.” I wasn’t sure how they would know what pills I was on as I hadn’t mentioned it on any of the questionnaires or during any of the chats so far. Despite that the girls seemed to have it covered so I did relax and let the warming notes of the rather first class brandy permeate my body. I had thought that Ben was in charge of the little group but it became apparent that it was Cordulla who was the senior researcher because she led the gentle inquisition as I sipped my drink. Yes it was most certainly a German accent. I wanted to find out more about this little group but other than the ‘research’ company they worked for and a rather unconvincing declaration of other ‘research’ they’d undertaken, I learned nothing. “Okay guys,” I said feeling the effects of my second (or was it third double brandy), “you can stop being so cagey.” They all looked at me with that fixed smile but I knew they wondered what I was going to say next. “Are you from *Dignitas or some place similar?” They looked at each other and after a brief moment all burst into fits of laughter. “Oh dear,” Ben chimed in with a friendly slap on the back, “Have you ever got us wrong.” *(Dignitas, legal assisted suicide company based in Switzerland - Presently assisted suicide in the UK is illegal) ***

Hi CDfm Glad that you're happy to see a new one from me but let me warn you... this is not what it seems. I was watching afternoon TV and the adverts were a series of quite depressing messages one after another: Life Insurance - so you have enough to pay for your funeral. Marie Curie Charity - featuring them calling in on lonely and ill old people Funeral plan - book in advance and then there were the ones over Christmas where, over a dreary Salvation Army Band playing a quite mournful piece, they asked for £29 to save some old persons lonely Christmas. It was all just too much and has produced this. I'd say 'enjoy' but I'm not sure you will. Huge hugs from me to anyone who's feeling a bit lonely, depressed or anxious... but don't read this story.

Hi Babypants Great to hear from you. As you will see as the story progresses there's a lot more than Market Research going on here. I have to warn you though... this is not what you might expect (or hope for?) In the meantime... HUGS to you all. Les

Thanks for the comment but I think life gets worrying for some over 65s.... mind you, you're correct about things not quite working as they once did.😟

😊

Hi Maly Yes, a new story but I'm not sure it will be all that popular as the subject matter isn't particularly joyful. There's a bit of humour, a few nappies but mostly it's an old man pondering. Anyway, it will be interesting to see any comments folk might have. Hugs as always to all my readers... and thanks. Les

Market Research I’d been doing the occasional bit of Market Research for the past few years. It helped supplement my pension and the lady who owned the company was very nice keeping me in mind for several major studies and investigations. Hillary Crown Partnership was the name of her company and the lady herself was a nice middle-aged woman who looked after her clients very well. I’d been involved in some wonderful campaigns and had occasionally seen the result of those campaigns appear on TV advertising a few months or years later on. Of course it wasn’t all just reviewing brands for Supermarkets, or looking at what advert appeals to which section of the public, no, I’d been involved in political focus groups and assorted things I’d had to sign an NDA (None Disclosure Agreement) to even be considered for participation. Yes it was always very special when I got a call from Hillary and she might hint at the assignment, which was always tempting for me as I had precious little else going on in my life. My partner Sam died nine years ago and I had no family and very few friends, we’d lived a pretty cellular life that perhaps a hermit would have been proud of. Anyway, after his death and the opportunity to be involved in this Market Research business came along, I jumped at the chance to give me something, even just occasionally, to cling on to. * This one I’m about to undertake is another of those ‘secret’ campaigns where a NDA was required before I could even be considered. Hillary had said that it was aimed at the ‘over 65s’ and she thought I’d be an ideal contributor. Now, I’m actually 71 but I flatter myself I can get away with being in my late 50s, but I could just be fooling myself. However, one or two people have commented on the fact I don’t look my age and appear younger so if nothing else it’s boosted my ego. I put it down to never having children but who’s to say? Having said that, I do have an occasional heart flutter, the rheumatoid arthritis makes my knees ache on a wet day, my fingers lack too much manipulation so I now can only write in a spidery scrawl, I’m slightly incontinent (especially at night) and I’m on the verge of Type 2 diabetes, so, nothing to write home about. Oh, except, I still have a full head of hair. I had to fill in a questionnaire before the meeting but Hillary had insisted it was most important that our answers were as truthful as possible. It was mainly a sort of a walk down memory lane. Our favourite music, movie, holiday and various other memory related questions. They also asked us to make a short video of ‘a typical day’. I sent a very short one of me in my pyjamas getting up, making a pot of tea and telling whoever would be viewing it to rewind and play three more times and then I went back to bed. I thought it was fun (though unfortunately truer than I meant it to be) and hoped they’d get the gag. They did and I was accepted onto the research programme, although for what wasn’t disclosed except it was for the benefit of the elderly. Which I thought was a good planning strategy as that was an ever increasing number of the population. * There were twenty of us that congregated in Meeting Room 1 (the largest) at a hotel in town. Surprisingly, the people who greeted us were all quite young and had that well-groomed look that we of a certain age and disposition quite liked. Their attitude was both welcoming and friendly and there was tea, coffee and biscuits available throughout what was supposed to be a one hour ‘introductory event’. For our participation we’d receive a ‘thank you’ of £60 (about the going rate) but as the programme progressed, if you were still involved then more would be on offer. Just what the final amount might be was kept under wraps. I was amazed at the cross-section of us old age pensioners (OAP) that they’d gathered. Of course I didn’t know anyone but a few were already chatting to each other as if they’d known each other all their lives, whilst I sat quietly on the outskirts just watching the interaction. Ben, or so it said on his badge, which incidentally we were all wearing to identify ourselves, sidled up and asked if I was okay. “Fine, fine, just not used to so many old people all in one place.” I shrugged. “Not one for bingo then,” he joked. I gave him one of my wry and knowing grimaces and hoped he’d understand. Now this may sound silly, and maybe it is, but in my head I don’t feel like a seventy-one year old. Yes, even with all the accompanying aches and pains I just don’t see myself the age I am. Since Sam died I’ve let my mind wander and many times I’ve enjoyed being childish, watching kids TV programmes and I even bought myself a LEGO set, which I actually enjoy building up. Another, possibly sad fact is, since Sam died, I sleep with a three foot tall teddy bear which I call Sammy. I also wear protection because, as I’ve implied, I can be slightly incontinent. But enough about my proclivities, as soon as I’m with other oldies, and they’re talking about families and grand-kids, I feel weird because I’m not part of that ‘team’, I’m on the loners team and then that’s what makes me feel old. I can’t quite explain it but suddenly a gloom and inevitability of impending death surrounds me and I... well... it’s just a peculiar feeling. “Not one for social groups then?” Ben enquired with his practised professional gentle interrogation. “Not really, hate small talk and general jibber-jabber... sorry.” “No, no, we know this isn’t for everyone and to be honest, that’s the kind of feedback we’re after.” I looked at him suspiciously because I know from past research groups I’ve been involved with, that is just what they want – loads and loads of opinions and feedback. If you don’t talk or have an opinion you’re generally no use to them and you don’t get asked back. “Oh well, I’ll try and be forthcoming in my assessment of whatever it is your company is offering.” I smiled my usual non-committal smile and he just patted my shoulder and disappeared. Meanwhile, I went over, got myself a cup of tea and a couple of custard creams and wondered back to find a seat for the start of the meeting. * Ben, Sabrina, Asim, Angela and Cordulla where the five young people who were our leaders as, after we all introduced ourselves, we were broken up into groups of four with one of them keeping the research questions on track. Ben was in charge of my little group of two males and two females. I didn’t mind but wondered if, as I’m gay and there were quite a few ‘related’ questions, if I’d be inhibited from answering ‘honestly’. The questionnaire was the basis so we started easily enough - what sort of feelings did our favourite music, movie or memory evoke. We had a wide selection of tastes in music so wasn’t sure the research group would get much from that but the two ladies, Joan and Greta’s favourite movies were RomComs (I can’t remember the titles), the other chap’s was Ben Hur and mine was Home Alone. We all then looked to see the reaction of Ben (not Hur). He had that practised and understanding smile on his face, he wasn’t giving anything away. Anyway, that part was informal but then we went onto what were our feelings about getting old. The two old ladies said they didn’t mind as they had between them a family of ten children, ten grandchildren and two great grandchildren and it was they that kept them ‘young at heart’. The other guy, Douglas, who was seventy six, was a bit like me, less forth-coming but was also alone, although he’d been married to Hilda for over forty-four years and had three grown-up kids he rarely saw... them having moved to different parts of the country. He said in a less than candid moment he was just waiting for death as he hated being alone in his big house. When Ben asked if he’d ever thought about selling up and moving into sheltered housing he looked glum and said no - it was where his memories were. I heard the two ladies sigh at this revelation and, from the comments made; I could see they were determined to get a little group together to help support him. For me, I said that, as we lived a less than conventional life, Sam and I were used to being alone so, being alone now didn’t worry me. I’m not sure if they knew I was lying but there were nods and sighs from our little quintet. To be honest there’s many a night when I can let myself get so depressed the last thing I want is to wake up in the morning. Of course I do and, after changing if I’ve got a wet nappy to deal with, try and think of things to occupy myself, which often is little more than watching TV or listening to my collection of albums. Sometimes the music of my youth can get me quite excited at memories of past concerts and festivals I attended with mates or with Sam, but then I just wish he was still with me and I get all maudlin. Even as the others were talking I slipped back to memories I had of the two of us together. It wasn’t easy being a gay couple at the beginning of our relationship but thankfully it did get easier. Although we were not in the forefront of Gay Rights, we both contributed what we could. * We were in our mid-twenties when we met, Sam was older by a couple of years. I’d lived abroad for a few years and it was whilst there I realised how gay I was. There were quite a few ‘experimentations’ – some loving, some painful and some downright kinky (or so I thought in my naiveté) although now they just seem like a sort of ‘rites of passage’. After working for a couple of years straight from school, and being bored out of my mind, I went to join my brother who was a volunteer teacher in Africa. My idea was to spend a couple of weeks over Christmas with him and then hitch from where he was based down to Cape Town and possibly get a job on ship or yacht to take me to my next (unknown) destination. I wanted adventure and decided if I didn’t do it now, then I’d never do it. So resigned my job, checked my bank account and said farewell to mum and hoped for the best. I don’t suppose it’s something many people do these days, the world has got a lot more dangerous, but back then, it wasn’t so bad. As I said, I met quite a few people on my journey and fairly early on, in the back of a bar in Bulawayo, my naïve young cock was sucked by a forty-odd year-old farmer called Wilf who invited me back to stay overnight. Despite my doubt (and terror) about the prospect he was so insistent that after a few beers I accepted his offer. That night I lost my virginity... more than once if that’s possible. We were in the middle of nowhere, his house was nothing but a shack, so my screams as I was introduced to the ‘pleasures’ of anal went unheard... except possibly by some local wild animals, which if I remember correctly were also howling loudly as they had sex. Of course, the first time is rarely forgotten even if you’ve tried to bury it as deep as possible, it will still bounce back to haunt you. However, as I remembered that night yet another occasion came flooding back when I was in a different town and somehow I’d become the object of a local celebrity’s attention. That wasn’t as special as it sounds because the populous was so small, and where everyone knew everyone else (and their business) a new face was bound to attract attention. Now, although he was much older (mid to late fifties) I was flattered and as he was nice, polite and promised nothing untoward would happen (and I’d been hitch-hiking and living in a small pup-tent for a few weeks so was desperate for a hot bath) I took up his offer. Okay, so, despite having had a couple of ‘experiences’ on my hitch-hiking journey up to that point, I wouldn’t say I was an expert and still unbelievably unsophisticated. After a wonderful hot shower in his luxurious bathroom I returned to find he’d set out on the bed some fresh items of clothing for me to wear. He sat there beaming as he invited me over to join him and I was convinced he wanted my bum because of the eager smile I received as I arrived wearing only a towel. At that time in my life there were no love handles or anything but soft to firm young muscles but even softer skin. As a naïve, five foot eight and ‘cute’ twenty year old, with flowing curly blond hair and ‘lovely green eyes’ (said to me by a girl who was desperate to get into this then eighteen year old’s pants) there was an innocence to me that others found very attractive. However, he patted the bed next to him and invited me to lie out on a soft foam pad that was there. It had cute little characters and was plainly something for a baby or toddler and had some white cotton material draped over it. The thing is, and I’m sorry if you think I lacked any gumption at all, but I felt I owed him something for offering me a place to stay for a couple of days (which is what he suggested) so thought “Why not”? Astonishingly, he flipped the towel away and poured oil onto my crotch and gently rubbed it in. Then shook baby powder all over the same area and put me in pre-prepared folds of material, which he pulled up between my legs and fastened into place. Now I was stunned because I had reacted, well my dick had, to his gentle caress but was struck dumb and wasn’t sure what to do as he rubbed my hardening cock through the fabric... though only for a few seconds. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” He smiled as he gently made sure the material fitted around me perfectly. I wasn’t but my cock didn’t know that and I just didn’t know what to do. I was wearing a thick white terry fabric nappy and he was cooing at me as if I was a little baby. I lay there mortified... that is until he blew a huge raspberry on my powdered tummy and that set me off giggling. After that he had me parading around his home wearing just the nappy, which he said brought back happy memories for him. He never explained what those memories were. Now, the outcome of this encounter was that I ended up staying with him for a week and the only stipulation was that I wore a nappy the entire time. As it was hot most of the time I wore shorts, which he liked as they were quite short (as was the fashion at the time), so I wasn’t fooling anyone if I’d try to deny anything... the bulge and the obvious fabric occasionally on show below my shorts leg giving the game away. Thankfully, no one made much in the way of nasty comments and I did get quite a number of similar offers from gentlemen of a certain age. I suppose I looked cute, perhaps even stunning and for some unknown reason didn’t actually mind the attention. His house was fantastic, he treated me with kindness and understanding and when we were alone and not meeting his very influential friends, who all seemed to know the deal; even if I pretended I didn’t, he never once suggested or instigated having sex. Kenneth was his name and although there was no sex there were plenty of hugs. He just loved patting the thick padding and hugging me tightly and say stuff like “Oh Gordy, sweetness, you don’t know just what you’re doing for me.” He just wanted a ‘boy’ he could look after and I quickly found, curling up in his arms on a night, watching TV and sucking juice or milk from a bottle quite a lovely experience. He liked me to wet my padding though wasn’t keen on any messing, although at one point did say that if I wanted to he wouldn’t mind. The thought of walking around anywhere with a full nappy I thought was quite disgusting so avoided that as much as possible. Except, one morning (the night before we’d had a very hot curry and I hadn’t taken to it) I didn’t get to the toilet in time and between the bedroom and the bathroom, my bowel decided it needed urgent emptying. I was very embarrassed though he took it in his stride and had me cleaned up and in another nappy with what seemed like practised ease. As a child you don’t necessarily remember the times mummy or daddy or someone changes your messy nappy but at twenty it certainly left an impression. At the time I kept telling myself how wrong this was but back then I was a ‘people pleaser’ and often put other’s needs before my own. I thought he was a strange and pervy bastard when I recounted this story to anyone else, but in truth, he was as gentle and as loving as anyone I’d ever known. Certainly compared to that painful first night in Bulawayo... I was still feeling sore a good week after I hitch-hiked out of that town. Anyway, when I returned back to the UK, I nervously called in at the town’s only gay pub and saw Sam in the middle of a group of guys and they were laughing and joking... * With that memory I welled-up but tried to hide it from the others in our small focus group. That image of my young and handsome boyfriend, later, many years later, to become my Civil Partner, holding the entire group in hilarious rapture as he told one of his many, many amusing anecdotes to me he was like a beacon. I may have had some experience of reacting to people but I’d never felt such a rush of emotion as I watched him time and time again reduce his audience into fits of laughter. He saw me sitting alone and came over and dragged me protesting into that group. Up until then it was the best night of my life. After a few weeks of seeing him in the pub I eventually dared ask him out to a party that one of the lads was holding. He agreed and when we arrived at the student’s hall of residence where it was being held, and at the specified time, we were the first ones there. Under a fairly inactive glitter-ball we stole our first nervous kiss and, after another fifteen minutes when still no one else arrived he suggested we go back to his place and have a party of our own. That night was the next best night ever. He taught me not to rush things, I taught him... “And what about you Gordon?” I came out of my reflections to see Ben and the other’s looking at me and waiting on my reply. I had no idea what the question had been. “Sorry, sorry, just, erm... you know...uuummm...” “That’s alright Gordon we know that we’re dragging up memories and sometimes they are more important than what we’re talking about.” He nodded as if he understood so I nodded back and gave my full attention. * Later, when the hour was up and Ben was thanking everyone for their attendance, just as I was about to shuffle out he asked me to stay behind for a moment as there was something he wanted to ask about on my questionnaire. The two ladies had taken to Doug and as they exited looked back at me with warm smiles and said they hoped they’d answered all the questions correctly and added to the research. Ben was full of praise for their contributions. “Okay, Gordon, I’m sure this isn’t what you might have imagined.” He looked a bit nervous as he spoke, “But we’d like you to go on to the next round of interviews... if you’d like to of course.” “Well, to be honest, I’m not sure what you gleaned from what you’ve just heard. I mean there were no products discussed, no advertising campaign, no....” “You’re correct of course,” he interrupted, “but we are planning something which we hope will be for the benefit of some members of the elderly... but we need people like you to help.” He touched my arm as if he was imploring me to continue. “Of course, there is an extra bonus if you do continue AND, if you complete the course, you will be one of the first to benefit from our programme. “What’s the programme?” “Ah, that’s just the trouble... I can’t tell you just yet but I can promise you this... it is revolutionary.” “When would you want me to start?” “Well, if you’re doing nothing at the moment then we can start immediately.” He seemed excited to offer this option. It was true I had nothing else on and could quite happily sink another tea and a few biscuits but thought for a few moments longer before I agreed. “Oh, that’s fantastic Gordon, you won’t regret this.” Ben seemed relieved. He pointed to another room further down the hall and there were just one other person sat at the table with a menu.” “What’s all this?” I enquired. “Well, I thought we might all get to know you and Elsie here a little better over lunch. What do you say?” “Are there no others joining us?” “Let’s just say, at the moment, you two are the only ones who made it to take part in the next phase.” I suppose they wanted us to feel we were special and I saw Elsie straighten her back and wiggled demurely as if to prove that they were correct in their assumption. Yes indeed, Elsie knew she was special. So eighteen down and it was just us two but we still had no idea what on Earth we were selected for. The only thing they kept insisting is that it was for the benefit of the elderly and that we’d proved, by our open answers so far, to be the type of people they would need for this to progress any further. So, although it appeared to make little sense I was happy to get a free lunch anytime so happily sat down and perused the proffered menu. I thought I might struggle with the steak so settled on Salmon – lime and coriander coated crumbs in a light soy sauce - or some such thing. I thought I was going to enjoy the next stage if they were going to feed us so royally. The five of them, and the two of us sat around the table and they seemed happy to let us reminisce as much as we liked “After all,” they reminded us, “this was what the programme was all about.” However, we still had no idea what that was... though lunch was superb. ** tbc

Hi Maly Glad you enjoyed this brief trip... and yes I do have a couple of other stories in the pipeline. Stay tuned. Hugs

The Train Journey The young man boarded the train; it was only to journey to the next town, which would, with occasional station stops, take a little less than half an hour. All the seats were taken apart from one opposite a much older man but, as it was also a window seat, he took it before his chance to sit for the entire trip was taken by another passenger. He smoothly glided into his seat and caught the eye of his fellow passenger who nodded politely with the trace of a smile. They sat for a while until they both heard the whistle blow and the train slowly begin to leave the station. The older man smiled and nodded in acknowledgement to his follow traveller as it stuttered to a start and then slowly began to roll away from the platform. He’d noticed as the lad (for in his aged eyes that’s really what the young man looked like), the slight rustling sound as he sat down and the smooth bulky shape to his bum and crotch. The older man knew immediately that the nice young person opposite was wearing padding. The young man had brought nothing with him, not even ear-buds, to while away the time so interested himself in the view as the outside passed by. This gave the older man a little more time to scrutinise his much younger tripper. He noticed that the young man (boy in his book) looked, at a push, to be in his early twenties. His facial hair was bitty and not very consequential and spoiled an otherwise cute, blemish-free face. His hair was an untidy mop but suited him and had small hands with well-manicured fingers. He didn’t look particularly sporty, but that could have been because of the loose green fleece he was wearing, though his pale brown chinos tightened as he sat in place and displayed the sweet bulge at his padded crotch. A smile danced in the older man’s head as he began to think of starting a conversation with his journeyman (boy). He thought he’d be direct and hope for the best. “Excuse me young man,” the older man tried to get the lad’s attention. It took a couple of whispered starts before acknowledging he was being spoken to. His mother hadn’t brought him up to be an ignoramus or blank the older generation but he really just wanted his own thoughts for the journey. He was already out of his comfort zone wearing what he was wearing and although he was enjoying the feeling and his own bravery of being out and about in public, he was still a little apprehensive about the entire trip. This was his first time dressed as he was and it had taken a great deal of soul-searching and several attempts before he’d been brave enough to slip into something he’d wanted to do for ages. A new store was having its grand opening in the next town over and was offering a ‘special edition’ t-shirt to the first one hundred customers. It wasn’t that he was obsessed with t-shirts but had used the excuse to exit the house so his parents didn’t see what he was wearing, just in case they noticed something different. His nerves had been jangling from the moment he’d got up and decided that this was going to be the day. The pack of disposables he’d purchased online had arrived over a month ago but had still been too scared to wear them but... today was that day. Taping himself into the plasticky padding and feeling the warm hug as they’d tightened the material around him had been both wonderful but terrifying in case of discovery. He was lucky, no one saw, and to make sure no one did he wanted to exit the house as quickly as possible, sure that once he was away from his parents surveillance no one else would be aware. Anyway he was wearing what he was wearing now and was safely on his way to another town where no one knew him. He’d loved the feeling as he’d walked to the station and had enjoyed the sweet rustling sound that accompanied each stride. The full feeling between his legs had comforted him but still, anxiety was in his head and he hoped not to have to speak with anyone. But he was here now and wriggled a little uneasily as the man spoke. “Yes, hello, but tell me... do you wear a nappy for medical reasons or for fun?” The older man had spoken low but he hadn’t misheard him and blood rushed to his face. “I, errr, ummm...” Oh God, Oh God, Oh God - the young man thought but dare not speak. This was a mistake, he knew it would be and... The older man could see the lad had flushed bright crimson under his ‘innocent’ question. He also noticed him look around, maybe to try and find a way of escape or was he merely making sure no one else had heard the question. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you... well... not much, “ the older man whispered his tease, “but I certainly wouldn’t want my little boy to be out on his own, he’d be under constant supervision from mummy or daddy.” The young man felt trapped. Caught like a deer in headlights he just couldn’t move. The older man had cut straight to the bone and knew... but how? “Don’t worry, the people around us aren’t listening or I would suspect be that bothered... surprisingly, people aren’t usually bothered but some little boys do get a little bit agitated when their secret is uncovered. I wouldn’t let that happen to my little boy that’s for sure.” The redness in the boy’s cheeks was beginning to fade although his breathing was a bit tight. “I just want to say I think it’s wonderful for a boy your age to venture out in your lovely padding.” He saw the boy swallow hard but still didn’t speak. “What is your favoured brand of nappy - fabric or disposable?” The boy wriggled uneasily. “I love to see any little one in lovely thick and colourful disposables like REARZ or CUDDLZ... you know the ones with all the little characters charging around; makes them look both cute and juvenile, which of course is exactly how it should be.” The older man seemed really at ease talking of such things. Despite this not only being a one way and awkward conversation the boy wondered how the man knew he was wearing a thick disposable with little baby bears wearing nappies frolicking around it. However, the man had more to say. “Do you wear plastic pants over them? I mean, personally I think it’s a very sensible precaution to take as you never know when the little one needs that little bit of extra help with leaks.” The older man chuckled slightly, “Yes slipping daddy’s, or mummy’s, little baby into his fresh morning nappy and pulling a nice bright and shiny slippery pair of vinyl pants over for added security would be a must.” By now the young man was caught up in what the older man was saying and although full of anxiety he was being held spellbound by what was being said. “I think a baby should be loved and looked after and that’s a twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week job. Their sweet little body should be kept smooth and hair-free and a nice big paci should always be available for when the little one frets or needs calming. Like now, with you.” He smiled a knowing smile. “Yes, it would be a privilege to keep the little one all clean and tidy, happily engaged in play and... well... let’s take this journey for instance.” He saw the boy opposite shimmy in his seat a little as if he was relaxing... even if only slightly. “Now a little boy of mine would have a big colouring book and some crayons to help pass the time as we travel to our destination. Seeing him sucking on his paci as he concentrated on making sure his crayons kept inside the guidelines... that would be a wonderful sight.” The boy was really quite stunned by the way this unexpected conversation was going and oddly enough he felt his boyhood begin to grow in the folds of his colourful disposable. He tried to inconspicuously wriggle to release it owing to being trapped and sticking down as it tried to rise up. However, there was no doubt about it, the old man seemed to know exactly what he’d dreamed of for some time now. “Of course,” a wrinkled smile caused his eyes to twinkle, “night time and any little baby should be wrapped in the comforting hug of a lovely thick and fleecy fabric nappy; one that soaks up and holds any and all of the little cuties night time accidents. However, that should all follow a lovely warm and comforting bubble bath where the little one could play with his toys and let mummy or daddy bathe and sponge him all nice and clean.” The boy opposite felt a throb behind his nappy. “Once all lovingly rubbed down in a lovely thick towel they’d be smothered in lotion and have their special baby parts all nicely powdered before being dressed for nice long sleepy-byes. Everything would be kept in place by a colourful onesie that fastens between their legs to hold the nappy firmly up and snugly against the sweet little thing.” About this time, as the train pulled into one of the local urban stations, the boy wished he had a paci. It was true he’d thought about getting one but was scared that his parents might find it and... well... he had the same fear about buying the disposable he was now wearing and that step had taken both a great deal of time and worry. But the man was still talking as folk got off and on the train, which then carried on to its next destination. “So then... plastic pants?” The man asked whilst nodding in the direction of the boy’s crotch. The young man sorrowfully shook his head “no” as if he felt guilty by such neglect. He still couldn’t speak but nor could he run away because this conversation had stirred up so many thoughts in his head... and crotch. He needed to relieve the pressure, and pain, his growing but scrunched-up penis was causing. He knew he was leaking and as such was grateful to his decision to wear padding but it was now getting awkward and uncomfortable in that area. “You seem a little uncomfortable...” it was as if the old man could read his mind, “please don’t be afraid of getting things rearranged... no boy should be uncomfortable when wearing his favourite nappy.” The boy looked around to see if there was anyone staring in their direction, thankfully, the coast was clear and was able to do a quick manipulation. What a relief - but now the curvy front bulge under his brown chinos was even more pronounced by the released stiff penis. “That’s what a lovely cosy nappy will do to a boy if he’s not under constant supervision.” He leant in closer to confide in the lad. “Sometimes, a boy needs to be protected from himself and a nice thick and tightly wrapped nappy, encased in thick rubber pants and wearing a sweet pair of restrictive mittens will keep him from being too grown up when all that self-touching is so unnecessary.” With the release of his bunched up penis he hadn’t realised his bladder was also calling for relief and he shot a stream of warm pee straight into the folds of his disposable. He tried to keep the look from his face but was unable to stop the flow, which of course the man opposite noticed. “Now, that should be under a daddy or mummy’s control. A little baby needs their protection, love and control to make sure they stay the sweet little thing they want to be. Maybe, what some boys and girls need is restricted access and firm control... maybe a bottom needs a spanking first to achieve this.” The older man looked him straight in the eye as if challenging the boy whose features unfortunately gave the game away. He saw the boy physically shake and knew that he’d just spurted a milky load into the front of his newly soaked nappy. The older man sat back and let the boy recuperate as the train began to slow down on its approach to yet another small urban station. “Well thank you young man for a most enjoyable chat. You’ve made this regular but boring journey special.” He got up and smiled his thanks then departed the scene. His seat was quickly taken by someone else, a lady in her fifties. Meanwhile, the boy still had another stop to go before he completed his journey, although in many ways, he already had. ####

Sammy was going to add more but Andrew just wants him to be his little baby boy who enjoys picture books, cartoons and his nappies. So sadly... that's all folks (as his favourite cartoon says).

Sorry for taking so long to reply but a huge THANKS for finding one of my old stories and taking the time to comment... it is greatly appreciated. So you get another big THANKS😉

Hiya Good question, but I don't think Andrew knows himself. He knows that this desire is 'weird' and a strange 'fetish' but it's what drives him to keep Sammy that way. He's always loved seeing a baby, a child, youths and young men in nappies and associates wearing such an item with childishness behaviour... which he's keen for them to pursue. Of course, as with previous relationships, eventually Sammy might want to change the status quo but form the moment... being the centre of Andrew's life, wearing nappies and acting like a baby suits him to keep things as they are. For most of his life Sammy has been deprived of love and now he'll do whatever it takes to keep the love he has... Meanwhile, Andrew loves his baby boy... and needs nothing else. Glad it's had that effect Maly... lovely to have such a response. Thanks😊