[A Done Deal 1 - 4]

Part 4

Lying alone on his bed his few moments of peace were rudely disrupted when Diane breezed into the room holding Alfie and saying he needed his nappy changed. Jason knew he had no say in the matter, it had been a few days now since the ‘grand move’, so didn’t comment other than try to curl up into a ball and pretend she wasn’t there. After some cooing, cute baby talk and the rustling of nappies and plastic pants, she lay Alfie down in his cot and turned to her step son.

“Okay, whilst I’m here I might as well change you.” She quietly offered. Since the twins now resided in his room and the initial upset had lessened (though not disappeared) they had adopted a less antagonistic role towards each other.

Jason bristled at the suggestion. How did she know? How did she always know? Once again on the way home from school he’d soaked his thick briefs. That’s why he’d thrown himself down on his bed to contemplate what to do (and hide his shame). Although this was getting to be more of a problem hoped he’d managed to keep these increasing day time accidents a secret... but she knew.

He mumbled he was fine and to leave him alone.

“Well, you’re not fine you’re wet and if for one minute you think I’m going to indulge you through getting a rash when it can so easily be avoided you’re sadly mistaken.”

He knew that tone and what’s more knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer but still...

“Go away, I don’t want or need your help... I just want to be left...”

“Oh stop your constant whining. We might have our differences but I know when somebody needs changing and as your father has let you know on many occasions we’re here to do just that.”

It was not true; his nappy changes were not supervised, they were performed by one of his parents, mainly Diane. Despite all her arguments that she was ‘overwhelmed’ with extra work, it didn’t stop her making a point of changing her teenage stepson. She knew he was at his most vulnerable and made sure he knew who was in charge. He was under intense scrutiny and worried that if he objected or said the wrong thing then his trip abroad would be unceremoniously cancelled.   

He sighed heavily not wanting to move but, with the ‘done deal’ and his now crowded bedroom, knew that there was an inevitability about what would happen next.

“Now, if you want, I can get daddy up here or you can just stop being a big, erm, (she nearly said baby but decided against that) a big pain in the butt, and let me make you more comfortable.”

He hadn’t known his father was home so that news jolted him a bit. He hated the fact that these days his father thought of him as a little kid. He needed to be grown up but under all this pressure it was hard. This was not going as hoped - he needed a win yet his dribbling dick kept letting him down.

Despite her annoyance at Jason she wanted her hubby to know that the nappies were working and the tension between step-mum and stepson had decreased. She had a new plan - make wearing nappies as natural as possible. She treated his nappy changes as she would the twins, necessary for their comfort but without too much ceremony. Of course the twins got baby-talk and loving snuffles, which occasionally crept into the way she changed Jason, but he didn’t like that. To appear more agreeable she was desperately trying to sound reasonable and toned down the disapproval in her voice whilst attempting to sound like she was on his side.

However, the threat that his dad might be called to do the job meant that he’d then know his eldest son not only needed to wear protection at night but also during the day... that was just too much to consider. Reluctantly he stripped out of his school uniform and guiltily stood there in his soaked underpants. Diane shrugged and once more indicated for him to lie out on top of the dresser, “...it makes things easier” and set about removing the soaked item and then wiped him down.  

“Look, do you want daddy to do this because I’m getting zero cooperation from you here?”

It was true, the resentment, even though she was helping, was there and he was finding it difficult to be anything but embarrassed by the entire operation (how had he let this happen, being treated like a little baby, wasn’t he a teenager?). He’d lost his one tiny piece of independence, his room, so there was nothing else she could take. But the prospect of dad coming up and finding just how soaked his pants were was worse than what was actually happening so he said “No” and became slightly more cooperative – the loss of his holiday looming large in that decision.

“That’s better. Now Jason, I know you’re not happy with things as they are now but you’ll get used to it and whilst you’re still going through this, erm, wetting phase...” She was trying to make him see that it wasn’t all bad but also making sure he knew the reason things were happening the way they were was because of him. She wasn’t making him wet it was all down to him so he had no reason to be angry at her. However, she didn’t want him to think she was totally blaming him so took a different tack by hoping he’d see this ‘development’ was an obvious way to make things work for all concerned.

Of course another opportunity arose for her to embarrass him more but thought she’d try to phrase it in a sympathetic way.

“You need to take more care of yourself and keep this area,” she wiped his cock and balls, “free from any chance of disease. There’s already slight redness...  so... I’m sorry to say it but this hair will need to go AND we might need to rub on more anti-rash cream at night to begin to relieve the situation.”

She could see the anger flair behind his eyes but it immediately gave way to a look of resignation. To begin with he fought her putting his nappy on (until dad had yet another, more forceful word) but slowly he seemed to accept this is what he needed and wasn’t as abrasive (or abusive) as he had been.

“Look, it’s for your own good. Your father agrees and so does every medical site I’ve read. Whilst you’re peeing your nap...  erm, pants, this patch of hair is nothing but a playground for germs that if not kept under control, will make your life hell. I’m sure a lad your age doesn’t want to be seen by all the girls at school scratching his balls all the time... now do you?” She smiled as if she understood the embarrassment that would cause and was only thinking of him.

Jason knew that if it had been discussed with dad then it was already a ‘done deal’ so would be useless to complain. After all, it was just another thing taken away, even if it was for ‘...his own good’. 

“You won’t tell dad,” he asked uncertain, “you know, about me just wetting my undies will you?” He nervously mumbled knowing if she kept his secret he’d be in her debt.

This was a strange request because his father knew he wet his pants. Diane wondered if he’d simply forgotten but then realised it was the intensity of the soaking that worried him. Damp versus soaked... a huge change in circumstances. Of course she was quick to take advantage of the boy’s vulnerability.

She followed Jason’s gaze to the small pile of soaked cotton material she’d just removed from him.

“Your father and I have no secrets Jason, and nor should you. It’s not right to hide things from your parents when they’re only there trying to help.” She heard him inwardly groan. “But, I suspect, if you give me no more trouble and accept the way things are, then, I suppose it can be between just us two. However, if you give me grief, I’ll tell the entire street about it.... and you know I’m not joking... right?”

This was a heavy blow but, with thoughts of his trip abroad still in his head, realised he had no alternative but to agree so nodded “Yes”.

It still hadn’t filtered into his brain that dad already knew about his wetting getting worse and was on his wife’s side in combatting it becoming a bigger problem. He thought she was doing her best and it was his son who was putting up unnecessary barriers, instead of fighting her Jason should be grateful for the simple solution she offered.

“Look,” she said wiping him dry,” I’ll get you some depilatory cream (she’d read about some that removed unwanted hair and then slowed down its re-growth and thought that would be ideal) and then we can get rid of it all in one go, okay?”

She was trying her best to sound understanding and sympathetic but under it all she was just tightening control over him. Removing his pubic hair would be a psychological blow to the image he had of himself. Although, as she said, it was a sensible precaution the fact that he’d look just like her much younger sons ‘down there’ tickled her no end. His bragging rights to being a teenager were fast diminishing, and as far as Diane was concerned, rightly so for a bed wetter.

So, as she had him lying naked and vulnerable decided he might as well get put into his night time nappy; after all, it was after six.

“Look, I know it’s relatively early but you’d be doing me a big favour if we can get you into your nappy now. I have things to do and it would certainly help if I didn’t have to worry about doing it later. It also means that you aren’t subjected to this twice... which must be good for you, hmmm?”

Jason felt sick. He had no further fight left in him. Everything had changed and left him with nothing. He didn’t want to admit it but in truth he’d been defeated, yet for the first time in ages, she wasn’t bitching but talking to him in a reasonable fashion. This had been a moment; a moment when he had to accept defeat and that there was absolutely nothing he could do that wouldn’t make life more difficult for himself. This was the way things were and, if he wanted to have any life at all, he...

No, no, NO... he couldn’t give up but what can a lad who has nothing do?

+

All this was going on in his head and whilst wracked with indecision, he hadn’t answered her question. She was not one to wait on ceremony; she applied the cream in a thick dollop and quickly smoothed it in. Once happy that everything that needed coating was coated shook a cloud of baby powder over his genitals, then pulled out one of the fresh nappies and a thick piece of extra padding and without further chat, fastened him in. This time, perhaps for the first time, the resentment he normally had when this happened was no longer there, just an acceptance of the inevitable. And, although he’d had his nappy changed many times, this time it felt like it was done without any resentment from her as well.

There seemed to be a degree of care and consideration that he hadn’t noticed before, or more than likely just hadn’t been there. It was a strange feeling because without the resentment suddenly the process felt like this was something he’d actually forgotten... this attention. It was nice. Also not waiting for any further response she fluttered out a pair of blue plastic pants and eased them up his legs.

“There, now that’s done I can get on and finish making tonight’s meal.”

She’d acted so quickly he barely noticed his new circumstances, lying there feeling every bit like his baby brother who was lying just a few feet away in a cot wearing exactly the same.

She was clever and of course this was just what she wanted him to see that he was no more than another baby. She may have been gentler in her speech, maybe more understanding, but it would be done on her terms and as far as she was concerned the sooner Jason accepted his place the better.

He’d been unaware that she’d just treated him exactly like his baby brother; same understanding, same affection, same result. Of course she’d won on all counts but had a plan,e was still grumpy. and a cache of clothes, so wanted to push further. However, to do that she first needed to get a completely demoralised and needy Jason to relinquish any idea he was almost an adult. She had to make him grateful that his lovely step mother only wanted what was best for him and he’d do anything to seek her approval. What she didn’t bank on was that soon she’d discover something else that would make his transition to total dependency complete.

+ tbc +

[A Done Deal 1 - 4]

Thank you, thank you, thank you all.

Jason is up against a formidable lady who knows just what to do to keep a lad down.

His wetting seems to be getting worse but will daddy, erm, I mean dad... come to his rescue?

Next chapter all but ready...

 

[A Done Deal 1 - 4]

Part 3

As anticipated come the morning and the teen was in a bad mood, the bed was dry but his nappy was soaked. The confusion and inertia had gone to be replaced by a soggy annoyance. On waking up he realised the protection had done its job and was furious that they’d been proved correct. Even if he thought they were right he didn’t want to give Diane any satisfaction at all.

He pulled off the plastic protection and clammy padding that hung uncomfortably low at the back where, for some reason all his pee had migrated and threw them into the corner of the bathroom glad to be rid of such babyish items. So, after wiping himself clean (but for safeties sake putting on a couple of pairs of white cotton briefs before the rest of his clothes) he felt he’d regained some of his independence. Going downstairs he was trying to formulate an argument and was quick to launch into it once he saw Diane and dad at the kitchen table.

However, noticing his brothers sat eating their cereal meant he didn’t want to mention the nappy and stuff by name... even if he was angry he didn’t want them to know what had taken place.

“Bloody ‘things’ kept me awake all night...” he snarled but dad gave a stern “Language” and nodded towards Richard and William.

He complained that the items in question had kept him up all night as they were - too tight, too noisy, too hot or too uncomfortable. Of course it was a lie because he wasn’t happy about how he’d been compelled into wearing the damn things. He needed to assert that it wouldn’t be happening again and that everyone was aware of that fact.

“Ah,” said a knowing Diane, “but is your bed dry?”

Being caught in a quandary, because he didn’t know how much his brothers knew, Jason didn’t answer that particular question but continued to argue. Unfortunately, it only added to his father’s opinion his wife was correct – he was confrontational, didn’t listen and still thought peeing the bed was better than wearing protection - the boy was wrong.

“Your nappy did what it was supposed to do,” Diane lambasted back, “You should be grateful, never mind giving it the big sobs... you just don’t know what’s best for you you’re such a self-centred...” Well, the cat was out of the bag now so Jason angrily stomped out of the kitchen knowing his argument had failed at the first obstacle... his step-mum.

+

Unfortunately, such had been Diane’s devastating attack on her stepson’s character the previous night that Howard wouldn’t really listen to any of his complaints. She’d proved to her husband (more by insinuation than fact) Jason’s wetting was getting worse and had convinced him that he probably wet during the day. So, to try and stop her from exploding or having a breakdown, all the precautions she recommended should and would come into play for a ‘peaceful’ existence at home. She contended that without a strong lead from Howard then the entire fabric of the household would fall apart... and it would be entirely as a result of his inaction if it did.

Under such a barrage of derision and accusations of possible failure Howard followed Jason back to his room and had further words. In private, Jason grudgingly admitted that the wetting was getting slightly worse and that he’d occasionally had damp underpants. Thinking he was being honest and his father would appreciate such honesty he was surprised at the reaction. His dad reasoned that in that case it would be sensible to wear protection all the time.

Despite a teenage temper tantrum and volatile resistance, Jason found it hard to challenge his father because he really didn’t want him to know just how bad the wetting had become. Dad’s logic was always precise and to the point so any antagonism he felt towards his father was really only half-hearted. However, he’d never come up against his dad being so adamant on any subject so that he had absolutely no choice. If dad deemed it necessary (and to make sure of compliance) Jason would have regular nappy inspections when at home and not just when he woke up with soggy padding.

Jason couldn’t believe dad had not only agreed to all this but was dogged in his view that it needed to happen. The thing is he was already on shaky ground and arguing seemed to make things worse. The teenager in him wanted to rebel but the guilt of pissing the bed left him with no alternative but to resentfully submit to his dad’s rationality. His arguing and general irritation to the situation had made things worse. He had no independent support and his obvious denial (but evidence of a wet nappy) simply didn’t help his position. So, just like the twins he was to be made to wear a nappy and plastic pants all the time when not at school, where, appreciatively for Jason, his father thought such action would cause too many problems.

+

At first Jason thought this new rule was a joke – ‘nappy inspections’ was a laughable idea. He wasn’t going to wear a nappy when at home – but dad made no bones about it. That was how it was going to be and any further argument just went to prove his wife was correct in her opinion of him. Jason didn’t want to go against dad but this was stupid so wasn’t going to put up with it. However, dad brought out a threat that he couldn’t ignore. His summer plans, plans he’d been talking about and looking forward to all year, to go with one of his mates on a holiday abroad would be instantly cancelled.

Jason was aware that the trip was dependent on dad financing it and that as money was tight it would be an easy item to dispense with. This was a devastating blow and no amount of shouting or pleading would change dad’s mind. The resolute look on his father’s face told him the decision had been taken and now it was down to him. Reluctantly this possibility was just too much to contemplate, so, he’d just have to put up with this new rule until on holiday or dad saw sense. Well that was the hope anyway.   

“You need to know Jason,” said his dad, “that you’re not always going to get your own way”.

“But I NEVER get my own way,” he choked with annoyance.

“Well, I’ll see this as a trial... think on... as Newton’s Third Law states - For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Don’t push your luck... it might just turn round and push back.”

His reaction was to burst into tears. This just wasn’t fair but his father had spoken and, although wasn’t too sure what the quote meant, it came with a risk he couldn’t ignore. Jason didn’t think his father knew how cruel he was being, whereas Howard thought his wife’s idea of ‘preventable wet episodes’ was, after his son had admitted to the problem getting worse, a simple remedy and couldn’t see why Jason, a reasonably intelligent boy, was against it. It was an obvious solution to a growing problem for all concerned.

Jason’s wrath at having to submit was difficult to channel but could at least take it out on his brothers.

+

In some ways the other two boys were pushed to the edges of family life because of the arrival of the twins and the battle between their older brother and mummy. Neither boy was demanding, Diane had brought them up to be polite and respectful but the atmosphere in the house had turned unpleasant at times, which had an effect on them. It wasn’t always like that because Jason had been a terrific big brother.

Of course, when Richard was born there had been an initial natural feeling for the five year old Jason that he was being usurped. His dad seemed to spend more time on the newcomer than him and so resented it. However, with the passage of time he grew to like looking after his little brother and was happy to teach him to read, learn his numbers and play together. By the time William came along, Jason was used to having these little people around and, with being that bit older, found he quite liked having a family. He even found his ‘new’ mum to be fun and attentive, whilst dad seemed to dote on them all.is relationship with his’new’ mother Dad, mum and the three boys looked the perfect family and so it continued... until the arrival of the twins.

If asked, Jason wouldn’t be able to tell you when or why he suddenly took against his step-mum but since becoming a teenager for some reason resentment had begun to grow. It might have been something that the gang of friends he hung around with jeered about in the schoolyard, or maybe something he’d seen on TV, or maybe games he was playing on PlayStation but he began to think - now he was grown up - he should think differently and live his own life.

Suddenly, he hated being told what to do but still being reliant on his parents for everything. He hated the demands put upon him by being ‘family’ and not an individual; whilst at the same time all his mates were boasting of their own rebellious successes. Well that is except for Pete whose family were off to Spain for their summer holidays and their only son was allowed to bring a friend... Jason had been first choice. He was very excited about the prospect of his first trip abroad and hoped it would cement his feeling of mature independence.

However, there were some stipulations to going and those were that Jason had to help out more. Making sure the boys were supervised, school work done, clothes clean and ready, fed and on time to catch the bus. Before Jason did this naturally but now, because mum was worn out looking after the twins, he resented it fell to him to sort it all out.

Unfortunately, Jason’s resentment grew along with the sudden appearance of wet pants. Guilt and general frustration as to ‘why?’ it was happening to him made his mood sour. The more he got angry, the wetter he seemed to get - though perhaps surprisingly he hadn’t put these two factors together.

+

Meanwhile, Richard was steeped in his school football team, quite independent in a boyish kind of way. Whereas William was quiet and followed behind his older brother, content to take a backseat and not push forward for anything. In their respective classes, Richard was a leader and academically good. Unfortunately, William’s reports suggested that he was slow to take advantage of what was going on around him and struggled to make himself heard in the general hubbub of school life.

Diane was very supportive of all her boys but looked after her youngest by more-or-less babying him... that was, until the twins began to loom large. As Diane expanded with child (or children as it turned out) William suddenly dropped out of being the one everyone looked out for. That, together with the growing impatience of Jason, made the poor lad feel left out so moped around the house trying to avoid contact with anyone. Richard, with whom he shared a bedroom, did his best to keep his spirits up but the dejected little fellow began to feel like a spare part.

With everything else that was going on – twins on their way, dad working all hours, school a challenge and Jason being obnoxious to mummy, William drifted into a world of solitude. Even when there were people around he’d have a book open and pretend to be engrossed, in fact, he had turned off completely and just wished the day away. His only escape was sleep so spent as much time as he could in his room; always thankful if Richard wasn’t there to chat. He’d often be found on his top bunk lying quietly and staring off into space.

However, with the arrival of the twins William found himself no longer the baby of the family and was now an older brother. He liked this sudden elevation and it helped snap him out of the depression no kid of six should have ever been in. Later, he celebrated his seventh birthday, which Richard had told him, was the age when things would be different as he was no longer a ‘little kid’. Nothing actually happened to physically change but because of what his brother had said, Will thought, whether he noticed or not, things had to be different so needed to act the ‘big brother’ to the new arrivals.

However, all the achievements the two boys were making were eclipsed by Jason and their mother seemingly in constant battle. If they took mummy’s side, Jason mocked them, if they tried to remain neutral they got a glare from mummy. Daddy was rarely around for them to take any direction from so they tried to keep out of the firing line as much as possible.

However, both of them were keen to help mummy as much as possible and loved it when she praised them for being ‘big boys’. However, Jason seemed to be stomping around the house being disagreeable, to which their mummy’s response was to ridicule him.

Then it happened.

Big brother wet the bed.

+

They heard mummy screaming at him about it not being the first time and she was convinced he was doing it on purpose. Then the two boys heard her rip into him – “If the twins wear nappies to prevent everything getting soaked then so should you”. The arguments and shouting went up a gear as mummy insisted that daddy had a word and eventually that led to their big brother wearing nappies at night.

Once put to bed Richard and William would lie in their bunks and whisper to each other wondering if Jason was turning into a baby. Whatever was happening neither of them wanted to be returned to wearing nappies, that would be too awful and more importantly, what would their friends say?

+

As always, thinking ahead, Diane knew that Jason would need more than just the few terry cotton nappies and plastic pants she’d bought in advance, some of which he was now wearing. So, as finances were scarce decided to try and find a cheap way of getting supplies.

She went on Mumsnet and assorted other online help and support groups and found someone local who was getting rid of their entire supply of teenage incontinence items because their son had grown out of it all. A couple of emails later and a package of very reasonably priced second-hand items arrived in a big box which she stashed away until she could introduce them to their ‘damp’ recipient.

On checking, and to her absolute delight, the box had everything; colourful childish disposables, plain coloured disposables and a dozen or so terry cotton nappy squares. The lady had also included an array of colourful and plain pairs of plastic pants, a couple of  onesies that fastened under the crotch to hold a nappy firmly in place and bottles and canisters of anti-rash cream, soothing oils and baby powder.  The package also contained a note.

Hi Diane

Here, as discussed, are the items we talked about but also, because of Darren’s growth spurt and suddenly becoming no longer incontinent I’ve included some things we never got around for him to use. Hope you find them useful and of course it was lovely to speak to you. Should you need an ear at any time to talk about your son’s problem, I’d be only too glad to lend it... you have my number.

All the best and good luck.

Gwyneth

p.s. Darren always looked so damn cute in the purple onesie and matching plastic pants... in some ways it’s a shame he grew out of it all.

+

Meanwhile, when her husband wasn’t around Diane seemed to take great delight in checking Jason’s newly enforced nappy regime especially when her friends stopped by. There was no escape for the teen because of the twins she constantly had a group of similarly supportive mothers who were battling with kids of their own. She was encouraged by them to bring the boy down a peg or two, even if that hadn’t proved successful with their own kids. They all took some strange delight in seeing Jason struggle with the responsibilities of wearing a nappy and still appearing to be a teenager. Privately they cackled at his miserable misfortune and applauded Diane’s no nonsense approach to dealing with a belligerent bed-wetter.

Apart from his family, for Jason there was another problem, his wetting was indeed getting much worse. He hadn’t been to see a doctor because he didn’t want anyone else to know about it and above everything else, hoped it would be, like Diane suggested, just a passing phase. So whenever a doctor’s appointment was raised he would lie and say that he thought he was getting better so no need to bother the local GP. The fact that he actually needed a nappy was pretty soul-destroying and trying to ignore his problem was becoming more and more difficult.

Jason hated himself for his constantly leaking cock; making him even more furious was that it was hard to blame anyone else. As a result he became more reclusive and tried to keep himself away from all that was going on by spending what little time he had in his one and only sanctuary, his bedroom. That had been his room since before Diane was on the scene and he held that privacy, no matter how vague, to be his by right... but his step mother had other plans. She’d already invaded his isolation by waltzing in with his freshly laundered clothes... and of course nappies. Any protest from him had been instantly dismissed by being told that “...pants-wetters don’t get privacy”.

Buoyed by her friends, and now getting such a kick out of her control over him, she made another decision that he wasn’t going to like. The twins, who up until then had shared their parent’s bedroom, were to be given a room of their own. It was proposed that the twin’s cots would be transferred to the bedroom Richard and William shared, whilst their bunkbeds would be moved in to Jason’s room. It would be a squeeze for the three boys to be together but Diane concluded that the twins and all their paraphernalia would just about fit into her boy’s room.

+

There was a general argument that none of the kids were happy about. Jason complained about being the eldest he should have privacy and, perhaps unsurprisingly, the two boys objected to sharing their room with a bed-wetter. As no one would be happy about any such arrangement Diane pretended to re-think the situation. She’d already planned what would happen but, discussing the objection between the boys with her husband promised she would come up with a suitable compromise that should settle any dispute. Once told of her decision Howard realised there was no real alternative as the house didn’t have enough space for a different outcome - so agreed to what was planned.

So, on a Friday morning, whilst Jason and the boys were all at school, and with the help of a couple of friends, Diane moved the two cribs, changing table and dresser into Jason’s room.

“Then I can have all those who require nappies in one place.” She said pleased with her ‘obvious’ solution and quite incidentally her two sons wouldn’t be put out at all.

The tantrum Jason threw on discovering what had happened was devastating for him, but his step mum simply pointed out to her husband that it proved he was nothing more than a little spoiled child who insisted on wetting his pants and getting his own way. She was in a fiery mood when she added her damning response to his sulk “Like a two year old”.

His room, which has to be said was quite spacious, was now cramped. His single bed, which had been set in the middle of the room with space to walk around, had been pushed up against one wall under the window. The twin’s cots were put side by side opposite with the large chest of drawers, whose extended top (complete with padded foam cover) was used as a changing table and set along the wall just about separated the two different aged bedwetters. Jason’s table and games console had been removed to make way for extra furniture for the twin’s clothes and his own wardrobe was also commandeered for more baby stuff. Every surface now looked (and smelled) like a nursery, with powders, lotions, creams and of course nappies all on view. Worse still were his nappies and plastic covers left on ‘easily accessible’ surfaces same as the twins. Whilst the shelf that contained his few bits and bobs became festooned with the trappings for babies.

Jason could hardly contain his anger but his seething was met by his step mother’s complete lack of empathy.

“I simply do not have time for your self-aggrandisement the world does not revolve around you and your wet pants,” she screamed at him. “I have enough to do with the twins and the rest of the family to have any more unnecessary worry.” There was a malicious accusation to her tone “Now everything for baby is where it should be and that’s in the same place, so stop being such a selfish, self-centred little brat.”

As a child she’d had plenty of practice in bringing down and putting in their place boys who thought they were something special. Jason was not going to fair well against her expertise in this area.

His PlayStation was now set up in a little alcove in the living room but was for all to play with. He also had to do homework on the kitchen table, and as that seemed to be in constant use he had to find elsewhere. The garage was cold but if he wanted some privacy, that was the only available but restricted space. His room, although now cramped as well, was the only place he could work. However, it hadn’t helped that whilst arguing with his step mum he’d pissed himself a little. He hoped she hadn’t noticed so had thrown himself down on his bed to not only hide his embarrassment but also to hide guilty tears.

+

Howard had been shocked on his return from work to find his fifteen year old son crying and in such a state. The boy was so upset he could hardly put words into sentences as he complained and begged for things to be returned as they were. But, as always in these matters, Diane had got in first and explained the problem, and the obvious solution that affected the least amount of people. So, even if Jason didn’t know it, his dad was well aware that it was the only sensible answer so... a done deal.

Diane had pointed out that with the twins in another room (as advised by all parental guides) that now they were able to sleep on their own, it would give the adults more time to themselves (and added sensually) a chance to be intimate without waking the babies. Obviously, although she could see Jason’s objections (and rejected them as being unworkable), having nappies, changing table and equipment where needed made perfect sense.

“It makes life so much easier and practical with everything in one place to make dealing with wet and stinky nappies stress-free.” Howard had to agree with his wife’s reasoning even if briefly he felt the pain and disruption of his eldest.

It had been true that the twin’s things seemed to occupy every surface and although in many ways that would still be the case, having a central point where they could change them and keep their nappies and clothes, as well as see to Jason’s increasing needs, was simply the only solution.

Jason tried to compromise with his father and said that he’d rather have Richard and William sharing his room but his tears fell even more when it was pointed out that they didn’t want to share because of the constant smell of wee and baby powder. Any autonomy Jason thought he had was completely eroded.

“The sooner you can get over this wetting problem son,” his father sympathised as best he could, “the sooner things might change.” However, Diane had left the idea he was wetting on purpose still as a possibility and that his avoidance of going to the doctor was proof. This was in the back of dad’s mind when he said “Sorry Jason but this is for the best.”

Those words were no comfort when he realised that a wet stain had appeared on the front of his school trousers. The thick double briefs he wore for school just not robust enough to take the amount of pee all this tension had produced. It was a defining moment. The sigh of self-pity was loud and long. He had few friends he could talk to, and besides, who would want to talk about a fifteen year old still wetting his pants? He felt imprisoned, isolated and inadequate.

He lay there for a good hour crying, resenting his family and trying to work out a way to change things. Alas, the house only had three bedrooms and his was the second largest so had no one to turn to for consolation. It was a done deal, and, as his father had become prone to tell him, he’d just have to ‘...get used to it’. Stuck in his mind was dad’s threat not to let him go on holiday with his mate if he didn’t just buckle down and do as he was told.

He hated everyone but there was another revelation, now the twins were in his room a new state-of-the art child mobile/monitor/camera had also been purchased and set up to keep an eye on them. The fact that sound and images of the room would be permanently accessible to Diane meant he’d have no privacy for anything a fifteen year old boy was prone to do.

+ tbc +

[A Done Deal 1 - 4]

3 hours ago, parkintochter said:

I'm still hoping that some day your Emily&Beth story will get an update, too. I really liked it. 

Sorry, I haven't done an Emily & Beth story as far as I can remember but I hope whoever is writing it takes note to finish it for you.

All the best and hugs

Les

2 hours ago, A_Pale_Spirit said:

This story is excellent. I've loved so many of your stories before I made an actual account on this site (originally in order to comment on another story I was a fan of) so I wanted to at the very least comment here and let you know how great this story is, and so many of your other stories.

Well thank you so very much A Pale Spirit for your kind words. I'm so pleased you've found some of my back catalogue and are enjoying them as well.

I enjoy writing for fun so it's always exciting to know that others are also enjoying what eventually ends up on the page.

However, I know there are many excellent storytellers on this site who are much better writers so once again I thank you for taking time out to  compliment me and my efforts... it is really appreciated.

Hugs to you and yours

Les

[A Done Deal 1 - 4]

Hi each and all

Many thanks for the positive comments but 'evil step mum'? surely not... just an understanding mum whose only thoughts and actions are for the benefit of... erm... all her family?

Hugs and huge THANKS

Les

[A Done Deal 1 - 4]

Part 2

Diane had Howard on side pretty early on. She continued to point out that his son, although getting older, was also getting more confrontational and disrespectful to both of them. As far as she was concerned this was not only a terrible thing to have to put up with but an awful example for Richard and William, who would be looking to their older brother as a role model.

“He needs to be shown that, as things stand, he is no more an adult than Jane or Alfie and should be treated as such... before he gets too clever and thinks he’s something special.” Diane’s anger at her stepson’s perceived disrespect for her and all she did for him meant she was not to be trifled with on these points.

“I don’t think wetting his bedding makes Jason something ‘special’,” his father tried to joke.

“Really, then why is he doing it?” Diane was adamant and wouldn’t let up, “I’m the one who has to do all the laundry, change the bedding and put up with his constant contempt. If I was you, as his father, I’d insist he wore a nappy all the time so he doesn’t forget he’s nothing more than a bed-wetting child.”

She threw the last phrase in with equal contempt she thought Jason paid her.

“Yes, yes, okay, I see your point.” Howard really wanted an easy life. His work was demanding and had long hours. If he had to go to court (where he hated sitting around waiting to be called) it meant other work had to be caught up on by his understaffed team. They, and he, were under constant pressure after government cuts causing tailbacks and the usual ill-conceived processes those cuts would cause. There was never enough time and everyone wanted results STAT or yesterday. It was never ending demand so he could have done without his son causing problems at home. He had hoped that with the twins now in the picture he’d have been able to rely on his eldest for a modicum of sensitivity to the situation.

There had been a time, and it didn’t seem that long ago to Howard, that his family got on well together. To him they were the complete set in Happy Families and that’s what he hoped was still the case. However, since the twins, and the extra work they brought, priorities changed and with that change... so did other things. Jason, who up until then had seemed a reliable teenager, had suddenly become, well, a teenager. When the family was focused on the new arrivals, he wanted some freedom and began to think about his own needs and not that of the family. The fact that, for no apparent reason, he’d began to have wet nights, which at the beginning he confessed to be down to anxiety nightmares, only added to a strange combination of individual requirements. Unfortunately for Jason, his timing was off because the twins were the centre of attention.   

Howard didn’t want to fight his wife (she’d had a tricky time with the twin’s birth) who was correct about his son’s awful attitude, it had been getting worse. So, on his next quiet chat with Jason he laid down the law. That meant, if there were any further complaint’s from Diane, all his grown up privileges would be taken away and just so he knew how that would feel, he’d be wearing nappies at night as a precaution.

Although his father wasn’t an angry man there was a perceived warning in his voice that Jason took seriously. To his horror he couldn’t help but notice that dad, a rather intense but thorough man, always looking forensically at a problem or situation, had decided to side with his wife. This hurt the boy because they used to have a much closer relationship. Jason resented the way he now had to share his dad with all his other kids and although he’d grown up with them that irritation was growing. Unfortunately, as that rage grew so was the intensity of his night time wetting.

He met every request from Diane (though not so much his father) with a grunt, an under-the-breath swear word or a huge put-upon sigh. He was being a teenager but that, together with his wetting problem, meant Diane wouldn’t put up with any of it. Her not coping was far from the truth, she was determined to succeed in getting her stepson to heel – she was the one in control whether her hubby or anyone else knew that or not.

“Just do as you’re told,” his father tried to rationalise the situation with his son, “she’s only doing what’s best for you and your constant obtuseness is not helping your case in the slightest. Make life easier for yourself and just get on with what she suggests... and then we’ll all be happy.”

His father never recognised the hurt and betrayal his son felt.

+

That first night when he was returned to wearing a nappy was quite traumatic for Jason. Of course he’d wet a few times but now everyone knew about his problem it was embarrassing. His father had made good points about why he needed to heed what his step-mum suggested and although in part agreed, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her win on any of them. He may not have wanted her to have such a say in what happened in his life but his father had, bit by clinical bit, reduced his argument to being that of a selfish irresponsible boy who was only making things worse and who really didn’t know what was best for him.

While he didn’t like the direction the ‘chat’ was going his father had made some irrefutable points (like his step-mum) but the one about waking up to a wet bed ‘just like a baby’ was the one that stung the most.

“But I’m not a baby,” Jason pouted, angry that his dad didn’t see that as a teenager such comparisons hurt. The annoying thing was that the wetting was getting worse but didn’t want to tell anyone... he was, despite his anger, pretty ashamed of that fact.

“Well you’re acting like one and what’s more your mother has an easy and none disruptive solution in preventing you waking up to a sodden bed. So, stop being obstreperous ... it’s for your own good as it can’t be very nice waking up...”

The fact that the way his dad now spoke to him was as a bedwetting little kid greatly demoralised Jason and realised despite being definite he wouldn’t wear a nappy... he wasn’t going to get much choice.

“Yes, yes, alright...” although he hated to admit it his dad was spot-on, it would be sensible to wear some form of protection. There was a moment of silence whilst both took in just what was being unwillingly agreed.

“Good, now I’m glad that’s settled.” Howard was relieved that at last his son saw sense.

However, Diane, having checked in on her kids who were fast asleep, had been listening at the door. She was armed with a fabric nappy, plastic pants, powder and cream... all the things the twins needed for a change, except larger. She knew she’d, erm, Howard would win the argument and, as in most things, was organised; not prepared to let things fester or for a change of mind. She gently knocked on the bedroom door.

“Yes love,” Howard answered and watched as she slowly entered armed with the very things Jason so hated.

“Uuuurrggghh” was the boy’s inevitable response.

“It’s getting late so I thought we’d get things underway... straight away... so we have no more worries, OK?” She looked to her husband for encouragement. Jason sat on his bed in silence though warily eyeing his step-mum. Unhappy that she came prepared but should have known, if his father was in favour, then he was going to lose the battle anyway.

“OK Jason, as it’s been quite some time since you last wore a nappy...”

Jason bridled now things were happening and it looked like she was going to do the deed. This was a culmination of events over some time – damp undies for several months but a soaked bed was really the last straw. He hadn’t been able to keep that a secret.

Howard gave an ‘affected’ cough, which indicated she needed to be more understanding and less pushy about her stepson’s current situation. She got the message though Diane being Diane completely ignored it. She may have at times acted like the timid and put-upon housewife but her self-awareness and determination was really what she was about.

She wasn’t going to put up with much more nonsense. “Look, you wet the bed and you need to wear some kind of protection. However, you can sleep in your stinking pit for all I care because I’m not going to wash and change your soggy bedding. Or, you can be sensible and wear what the Good Lord has recommended for centuries as the best and most instant way of making sure that a leaky pee-pee does the least damage.” She was half joking about the Lord’s recommendation but only half.

Jason was already feeling well-chastised by his father but willing to do as he suggested but now she, that bloody woman was having a go, and speaking to him like she would his little brothers. The enormity of the situation for him became too much and felt it difficult to keep his emotions under wraps; he unintentionally and embarrassingly began to sob.

Diane was quick to notice her obnoxious teen did after all have an emotional breaking point. Here was an unexpected opportunity where she could score points by immediately going over to comfort him. She knew that Howard would be on her side at this show of empathy so it would be down to Jason not to show his true colours.

“Now, now sweetheart, I know it’s all a bit, you know, weird but,” she said stroking his back and hugging him, though of course this was all mock concern “you really need to take notice of what daddy, erm, your father is saying. It’s what you need.”

He tried to pull away, he didn’t like that she was now so understanding, but her arm around his shoulder made movement difficult and any violent shrug would be noticed by dad... and he didn’t want to make things worse between them.

She indicated for Howard to leave them together so, ruffling his son’s hair, he departed silently and left the two protagonists together.

+

Jason couldn’t look at his step-mum but she gave him a long look of appraisal before she began. Sensing that he was already on the verge of capitulation and all he would need was a firm but loving push, she kept the ‘empathy’ going.

“Look love” she said in a soft confidential whisper, “there’s only the two of us now... it’s getting late and you need to wear one of these if you want to get a good night’s rest.” She waited for an eruption but it didn’t happen. “So, why not get undressed and I’ll help you with this.” She said holding up the piece of terry fabric. “I know, I know,” she said sympathetic to his shrug of reluctance, “but once it’s on and you’re settled, I can assure you you’ll be thankful for it.”

She nearly said something jokey about the twins being happy in their nappies but decided, at that time, it was best to remain ‘understanding’ but determined.

With hubby now out of the picture she didn’t have to ‘play nice’ but saw that it appeared to be working. He wasn’t as verbal or physical for that matter though thankfully it did look like he was coming to terms with the ‘grown-ups’ decision.

He gave no indication for her to proceed, although a good, uninterrupted night’s sleep would be most welcome. What was about to happen went against everything he thought made him a teenager but peeing the bed had reduced him to this level. He knew it but hated it. But, here she was, prepared and being nice and there seemed no other option but to submit. His thoughts and actions were a jumble and plagued by indecision, he couldn’t speak or move.

Not waiting any longer for a response Diane immediately began to get things ready.

With barely any resistance she helped him out of his clothes. Once he was all but naked, down to just damp underpants, she suggested he stripped the last item away himself. She noticed, as his shoulders drooped, the look of utter defeat cross his features. Despite everything he wondered if this was for the best and what she was doing was probably the right thing... well his dad thought so... but still... it was utterly demeaning.

“Look, the sooner we have you all sorted, the sooner all this will be over and I’m sure it will only be a temporary situation... you’re not going to be wetting the bed forever now are you?” She tried to sound upbeat but was determined not to let this moment of victory pass.

Jason was stunned into silence as thoughts over the last few months filled his head. How he’d managed to hide his wet undies for all that time but was he really fooling anyone or did she know all along? That first morning he woke up to a sodden bed and his ridiculous attempt to hide the fact... and then the embarrassment of having to admit to it when it happened again and again. In truth, despite his attempts to play down the situation, his need for some kind of padding had been a long time coming.

She didn’t wait for an answer but saw him hesitate and decided that she’d wasted enough time talking... it was time for action.

She dragged those yellowing white cotton briefs down and had him step out of them (she could have berated him about that but again kept her tongue), then wiped between his legs and crevasses with a towel, which was then laid on his bed so he could stretch out. He moved like a naked confused robot, not too sure what to do or where he should be. Diane knew this was an awkward but pivitol part of the proceedings so, without ceremony or permission quickly smeared in anti-nappy rash cream and doused him in powder before he had chance to complain or react.

There was an urge to protest, to shout and demand... something... but in fact the business he so tried to deny was occurring and he had no physical response to this initial assault.

She was tempted to talk baby-talk to him as she would when changing the twins but bit her tongue... now wasn’t the time to sound triumphant. She wanted it to look like the most natural thing in the world so, with practised hands (thanks to the twins) had the various substances applied in seconds.

As she rubbed it all in, Jason was stunned by her speed and efficiency. This was it, the thing he dreaded was happening and strangely found his speech and limbs could no longer fight off the inevitable. It was like he was suddenly turned into a baby and unable to respond. Even his breathing all but stopped for the duration as her firm determined fingers made sure every inch of susceptible skin was well protected. This entire state of affairs shocked him into inertia.

+

Recognising he had no further fight left in him she quickly folded the nappy and fed it under his immobile bum, then, with equal decisiveness yanked the fabric tightly up between his legs. He had a terrified look on his face as he realised the thickness of the material that now surrounded his privates but, with an air of satisfaction, she took two large baby pins and fastened it firmly into place.

“There, I’m sure you feel a lot better already,” she flapped out a pair of clear but crinkly plastic pants before he could comment. “One last thing to make you all nice and secure” again the expected protest didn’t come so nimbly drew the noisy item up his legs and over his now soft cushiony groin.

She patted the plastic to remove any trapped air and slid her hands around to make sure all the fabric was tucked in. Once that was completed she smiled. “There, that wasn’t so bad was it? All done and you’re all safe and secure for when you have another accident.”

His clear plastic pants shone in the bedroom light whilst the well-fitted nappy with the two huge pins was clearly visible underneath. She was pleased with her work and her teenage nemesis now looked like a toddler with a mummy who knew how to look after her bedwetting little boy.

It was getting late so she pulled the covers down and helped him into bed. Jason moved as if he wasn’t really there, mentally he was paralysed. He wasn’t sure how this had transpired so rapidly but it had and was reluctantly getting accustomed to his new thick supportive nightwear.

+

She’d done it; she had that insufferable child in a nappy now and was damn sure he wouldn’t be going to bed in future without an adult supervising his new routine. She’d enjoyed his sluggish reluctance as he climbed into bed but her success was to witness his well-padded and slinky bum slowly slip under the covers.

“Night-night love,” Diane said hardly keeping the sound of satisfaction from her voice, “Be a good boy and don’t try to take them off... I’m sure daddy would be most disappointed if you did.” So overawed by it all the ‘modest’ sound of victory passed by Jason who hardly heard the barb she’d thrown but still it left Diane very pleased with the result.

She chuckled to herself knowing that at that moment her teenaged stepson was wearing more or less the same as his eight months old brother and sister... no wonder she was so pleased with the outcome.

Once back downstairs and with all the kids now in bed it was just her and hubby... and she had a lot to say on the subject of his son.

She reiterated the problems and extra work he was causing and all but guaranteed that the ‘acquiescent’ young man she’d just left would be an angry and resentful brat when he woke up to a soaked nappy.

“He’ll be in a mood because we will have been proved right, it’s what he needs but that won’t stop him complaining and you dear husband need to be firm with him. Don’t give in and make sure he wears a nappy. We need to ensure he doesn’t renegade on wearing one so suggest we supervise him every night...  or it will be you paying for new bedding and a mattress.”

She knew with finances a bit tight her husband was worried about money. So, for the next couple of hours she went on emphasising her stepson’s need for padding.

She went on about how Richard and William had both been potty-trained by the age of three so had no worries there. Jason on the other hand was proving to be a bit of a soggy monster regarding his attitude to her, the family and his underwear... it had to be brought into line.

With a confidence that belied her slim physical appearance, she’d known, once Jason’s bedwetting showed no signs of stopping, there’d be a need to arrange protection for his bed and it would take more than a waterproof sheet. She wasn’t going to put up with a constant stream of wet bedding, underwear and pyjamas so settled on the best and simplest defence and that was nappies... if there were other choices, she didn’t even consider them.

She saw that getting him (rightfully) into wearing padding at night would not only protect the bed but might well rein-in some of his more bellicose behaviour. Howard was browbeaten with his wife's logic and intensity of what the answer to Jason’s problem was. And as the twins were wearing nappies why shouldn’t the only other pants-wetter in the family?  

+ tbc +

[A Done Deal 1 - 4]

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 1 - 4]

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 +

[Mom releasted from the hospital Parts 1 - 6]

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

Thanks😊

[Rheum for Change]

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

[Rheum for Change]

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

[Market Research 1-4]

 

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]

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.

# # #

[Market Research 1-4]

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

[Market Research 1-4]

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***

[Market Research 1-4]

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

[Market Research 1-4]

Do you think it's all a con?😕

[Market Research 1-4]

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?

****

[Market Research 1-4]

Hi Maly

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

[Market Research 1-4]

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)

***

[Market Research 1-4]

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.

[Market Research 1-4]

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

[Market Research 1-4]

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.😟

[Market Research 1-4]

😊

[Market Research 1-4]

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