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Hi folks! I decided when I finished my latest mainstream book that I wanted to do a short story for Christmas before getting back into the grind of daily updates on multiple stories. However, I've not done very well at finishing this one… and it seems unlikely now that it will be finished in time to be "seasonal". So… I'm eager to hear opinions about whether I should finish it anyway, or leave it until it's seasonal again next year. This one started out as a simple idea, but became more complex as I planned it, and the characters seemed to have their own ideas how they want it to go. There may be some serious themes in the first and last chapters; and some of the (adult) characters wanted to get a bit frisky. So if you want content warnings for particular topics on any future chapters, please let me know. I know 24 parts sounds like a lot for a Christmas short. Really, it's 6 chapters. But each chapter is broken up into four parts, one for each character, making 24 parts in total. Hope that's not too many words for anyone. Feedback please! Seeing people's opinions, and predictions, always makes it more fun and easier to keep on writing. Gift Exchange Act 1: Driving Home for Christmas David, broken-hearted businessman Snow-dusted trees whizzed past outside the window as David rehearsed his lines, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel. “We decided to take a break,” he mumbled, wincing at how unconvincing it sounded even to his own ears. He knew he’d have to answer these questions sooner or later, even if everybody was too polite to ask. He cleared his throat and tried again, injecting more false cheer into his voice: “Me and Sarah just realised we wanted different things out of life. But it's okay, it means I can see you guys for Christmas again. Just like the old days.” The words rang hollow in the cosy confines of his car, and the wind whistling along beside him almost seemed to be laughing. David sighed, raking a hand through his soft brown hair. How could he possibly fool his perceptive family when he couldn't even convince himself? As he turned onto the off-ramp and saw the town spread out below, a dazzling array of twinkling lights caught his eye. Houses transformed into gingerbread fantasies, with icicle lights dripping from eaves and inflatable snowmen waving merrily. The residents of Maple Street always went the extra mile, knowing that they would be the first thing every visitor from beyond the valley saw. The cheery festive scene, now complemented by seasonal music and animated light shows, tugged at something deep in David's memory. “Wow,” he breathed, slowing the car to drink in the magical sight. Unbidden, a long-forgotten image swam to the surface of his mind. Elves swarming to put the lights back on a Christmas tree after some malevolent force had knocked it down. The kids singing and whooping, hoping to chase off evil spirits while Dad cheered them on. “Must be mixing up dreams and reality again,” he mused with a shake of his head. “Does everyone remember such a crazy childhood, or is that a side-effect of having a children’s author as your dad? All those pictures and epic bedtime stories gave me the most amazing dreams. But I wish I could remember more stuff that really happened. Yet as he drove on, more improbable recollections bubbled up. A genie’s lamp wedged against the wall to calm a wobbly table. Statues that winked and waved when they thought no grown-ups were looking. Talking squirrels, and hedge mazes that led all the way into the elf quean’s labyrinth. Enough fantasies to fill a whole shelf of novels, and the images in his mind’s eye were always as clear as the primary-coloured cover illustrations that used to rule the fantasy shelves of the school library. “Come on, Wilkinson,” David chided himself, managing to find a moment’s humour as he caught himself sounding just like his boss. “Next you'll be remembering flying reindeer and–” He broke off and shook his head, trying to dismiss mental images of star-dusted skies flashing past so fast they became a blur. But now he was just being silly, sticking fantastic trappings onto a half-remembered trip on a late-night bullet train or something. “Nope,” he said. “That one’s definitely fiction. If Santa was one of Dad’s characters, he’d be getting a whole lot more royalties. No more daydreaming for now. Time to focus.” He squared his shoulders, and saw determination etched across his features in the rear view mirror. “You can do this,” he told his reflection, who clearly didn’t believe him. “Smile. Laugh. Pretend everything's fine. It's just for a few days.” But as David rehearsed his cheerful facade once more, he couldn’t quite shake the lingering feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, his subconscious mind was trying to tell him something useful through all these disjointed recollections of childhood dreams. But how would he even recognise the one real moment when he saw it? He pushed that thought to one side and gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening as he steeled himself for the performance ahead. “It's simple,” he muttered. “Smile, nod, grin and bear whatever Lily wants to rib me about.” A recent breakup would be sure to put an edge on his sister’s teasing this year, but in a way he was looking forward to the next step in the sibling-rivalry arms race. At least he had fresh ammunition this year. His eyes flickered to the pile of presents on the passenger seat, landing on the neatly wrapped bundle for his sister. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he imagined her reaction. “Oh, workout clothes! How thoughtful,” he mimicked her voice badly, voice heavy with sarcasm. “They'll go great with that treadmill I’ve been using as a clothes rack.” Of course, she’d never say something like that when she could talk about how she was going to finally go running on it later this week, or next month, or maybe in June. But she didn’t need to admit it, because the words were already in the thoughtful note he had included for her. She would have to feign gracious acceptance and find some way to ambush him with a hidden barb in her words later. And he knew that she really enjoyed the struggle for the upper hand as much as he did. The laughter died in his throat as he imagined Sarah again, wondering if she was laughing just as much about the familiar ache she had left in his chest. He tried another chuckle, but the sound was hollow. David couldn’t get his thoughts away from her, or from the life he had expected to be living right now. Their first real Christmas together, actually making joint plans and obsessing over making them perfect, after so many years of winging it. “Face it,” he told himself, “it was too late. No time to change plans. No time to fit someone else into those plans even if I could find someone that quickly. At least I can spend time with my family.” When he said that, it was so easy to picture Dad’s pitying looks, or Mom giving him dating advice. Too easy to get hung up on questions that were too painful to answer. And easy to imagine the subtle ways Lily would find to work his predicament into her little jabs. And he knew that if he showed them how he was really feeling, the cloud of melancholy hanging over his head would spread to envelop the whole house. That was something he didn’t want on his conscience. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he waited for a red light to change. “I won’t ruin their Christmas too. They still invited me, and did everything to make it possible at short notice. I’ll smile, I’ll laugh, I’ll be the perfect son and brother for all of them.” The car started moving again and David took a deep breath, plastering on a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He knew the performance ahead of him was going to be particularly challenging, and there was so little time left to figure out what he was going to say to them all. His eyes flickered back to the little stack of gifts in between checking that the road ahead was clear. It was a stark contrast to the presents he had received as a child, when every mysterious shape had been a source of mystery. Most of the presents he was giving this year were perfunctory tributes of sweaters and socks, meant only to affirm that you didn’t really know someone well enough to choose a gift for them. There were a couple for him on the seat too, from other relatives and coworkers, but the shapes told him already that the biggest surprise would be what spirit was in the bottle. Lily’s new outfit was probably his only success at giving something slightly more original. Except for Dad’s gift, of course, sitting in a decidedly un-sock-like irregular parcel at the bottom of the pile. David was sure the old man wouldn’t be expecting it, but less certain whether it violated the enigmatic rules of regifting. A spark of genuine excitement flickered in David’s chest when he wondered how Dad would react to being presented with a purportedly magical treasure after so many years. If nothing else, he could hope it would bring back positive memories. “Surprising Dad has to be worth bonus points,” he told himself. “The man who supposedly knows every possible twist.” He allowed himself a proud smile, imagining his father's face lighting up with childlike wonder. But the pleasant daydream was short-lived, as unbidden reminders of his recently-ended relationship crept in like unwelcome holiday guests. “We were supposed to start our own traditions this year,” he sighed. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel until he forced himself to get a grip and relax a little. “Not look for ways to revisit memories I don’t even remember. Hot cocoa by the fire might have been sweet, or matching pyjamas. Picking out our first tree together. Something that’s special just for us. And now…” He shook his head, trying to dispel the bittersweet memories. “Focus on the good stuff, David. Family. Presents. Mom’s cinnamon rolls.” But even as he listed those comforts, his mind wandered traitorously back to the ghosts of relationships past. The mental echo of her laughter mingled with the cheerful carols on the radio, and David knew it would be a long time before he could consider letting her go. As long as he was alone, those memories could keep tormenting him forever. “It's not fair,” he whispered. “We had it all planned out. What am I supposed to do? Just forget everything that was good?” And that was the real problem. Everything had been good. It had almost been perfect. They had been building a future together, and they had been perfect for each other. They had the same kinds of jobs, and both liked to travel. When they came to plan something, whether it was a trip together or moving into their new apartment ready for the holidays, they had always been on exactly the same wavelength. Sarah had understood him. They had an apartment lined up. They’d planned together how to decorate it. Both the regular decor and the festive additions. They’d chosen a tree, and picked out matching tasteless Christmas sweaters for each other. Everything had pointed towards a long and happy life together. Or so he thought, right up until she said that she’d had enough. They’d been perfect, and now they were nothing. He’d really thought that he’d found the right person for him this time. They had a future together. Romance, happiness, an apartment, and maybe even marriage. He had been so sure it would last. And now, he couldn’t bear to tell his family why he was crawling back to them with his tail between his legs, instead of starting new traditions for the two of them like he had wanted. He was so deep in his thoughts that he almost missed the turning. He had been cruising along the ridge road, with the rich neighbourhoods that ringed the town showing off their elaborate decorations to his right. But as he crested the hill he took a turn to the left and all those lights were soon gone behind him. Now he was on a narrow country road, with the only illuminated trees being the ones that lurched out of the gloom each time his headlights found a turn ahead. David had to focus on driving now, he didn’t want to get distracted here. Next year they would have come here. After making a home with his girlfriend, he would have wanted to introduce her to his parents. But that wouldn’t be this late at night, with plans changed at the last minute, dreading every question that they might ask. They probably already knew that David and Sarah were single again. He hadn’t told anyone, but his parents surely knew that a man would only come home for Christmas if he was a singleton without any other possibilities for the holidays. And they hadn’t asked why or how. Those questions would come when he was least expecting it, and he had to be ready. Lily might not ask; bringing up something like that would be a low blow, and he thought that she would probably stay cautious until she knew more. But his parents would be legitimately curious, maybe even wanting to help him. And questions asked innocently could hurt all the more. “It’s Christmas,” he muttered to himself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “There’s other stuff to talk about, they won’t be so worried about me.” But saying the words didn’t make them feel real. He was spending the holidays single again, and even if they didn’t pressure him for the details they would know that his planned future had fallen apart. They would be looking down at him like he looked down on himself, and the only thing he could do was put on a show of not caring. That way everybody else could avoid thinking about it too much. But how could he– A horn blared, and David jerked the wheel sharply to one side. His headlights illuminated fence posts and a frost-covered field, dragging his mind right back to the practical realities of a journey back to his childhood home. He must have drifted towards the middle of the road while he was lost in his own thoughts, and there was no better reminder of the immediate realities of his situation. The road, the trees, the darkness; those needed all his attention right now. He didn’t have time to lose himself in endless worries about what might have been, or he wouldn’t get home at all. At least he wasn’t far away now. He glanced out of the side window, where he could see the first traces of red and gold light becoming visible between the trees. Just another couple of hair-raising bends in the darkness, and then he would be back in the village of his childhood. The place of so many adventures, some of which could even have been real memories. On their way back to the road ahead, David’s eyes lingered again on the gifts in the passenger seat. On the present he was returning to Dad. His father had always been an amazing storyteller, and it was only natural that David would have wanted to follow in his footsteps, until he found his own path in life and someone to follow it with. But he should have known that Dad would always be the master of that craft. From the books that everyone clamoured to get from the school library, to the more personal narrative of his bedtime stories, Dad had a story for everyone. “No wonder I remember dragons,” David whispered to himself, and laughed. A masterful storyteller, who integrated elements from their everyday lives into his stories, so that looking back now it was hard for David to draw a line between real memories, his dreams as a child, and the stories Dad had told him. That had been something he wondered about for years, anyway. Whether the stories he had told Dad about his dreams had become inspiration for his published books as well as the bedtime stories they shared; or whether it was the stories that had inspired the dreams. It seemed like it didn’t really matter after so many years, but he would still have been curious whether his fruitful imagination as a child had been original. One more sharp bend passed by without incident, and then the road was illuminated by the simple light displays of the houses beside it. He was back in the village now, passing Mrs Finch’s cottage, and the rectory. Remembering how much trouble he’d gotten into when he was younger for building a treehouse in the orchard there. Seeing the spire of St Michael’s church, visible only where it blotted out the stars on a moonless night; and his mind’s eye furnishing the darkness with memorable landmarks that were so familiar his inability to see them didn’t matter at all. He was home now, and he took a deep breath as he relaxed for the last fifteen minutes of the drive. “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” he reassured himself. Maybe he would run into old school friends while he was still in town and have enough fun to push more recent events out of his mind; or meet an old flame and get a second chance to say the right things. It was unlikely, sure, but Christmas was supposed to be a time of miracles. And he was sure that there were endless possibilities better than the loneliness he anticipated. So long as he kept a smile on his face, anything could happen. Martina, devoted mother Martina’s hands trembled slightly as she measured flour into a mixing bowl. She frowned at the small dusting of white scattered across her pristine countertop, an occurrence which had become increasingly common this year. It wasn’t a significant problem, as she would have to dust a work surface with flour in order to roll out the dough in any case; and there was no reason why it shouldn’t be here. But her declining worry was one of several small worries coming hand in hand with her age and, hopefully, wisdom. But the familiar motions of holiday baking brought their own comfort. No matter how hard it became, this was one ritual she was determined to maintain. She could have asked Lily to help her with this, of course. Her daughter was right there, carefully guiding an electric whisk around a mixing bowl as she combined the butter and sugar. Emerald eyes remained focused on Martina’s hands, ready to offer help the instant she sensed it was wanted, and yet she somehow held enough awareness to keep her hair out of trouble each time some movement sent those energetic red tresses bouncing from her shoulders towards the bowl. Martina should have been delighted to have Lily here and David on the way. Every year since high school – and even the last year before graduation, when Lily had joined her classmates in delivering gifts to children less fortunate than themselves – Martina had hoped and prayed when waiting to see which of her children would be here this year. And yet when she could finally entertain both of them for the holidays, she could only wish that it hadn’t turned out this way. Just three weeks ago, they had known that David would be spending his first Christmas in a new home with his latest girlfriend, so when he had asked to come home for the holidays there was little doubt about the story he would come to share. And Martina would happily have sacrificed her family reunion if it meant her son could have the life he wanted. “I’m sorry, David,” she whispered, as if her own wishes might have contributed to his misfortune. “The cookies will cheer him up,” Lily said, with a little forced brightness in her voice. “Remember how he used to steal them right off the cooling rack?” “Mmm,” Martina agreed absently, studying Lily's face as she spoke. “And like you did too, though I suspect you ate more of them. David liked to present still warm cookies to that Becky next door, didn’t he?” “Clarissa,” Lily corrected with a smile. “Becky was the one with the puppy, wasn’t she? Or the… No, wait, that wasn’t really…” She stood lost in thought for a moment, the whisk driving all the sweet mixture to the other side of the bowl as it rested for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t remember our childhood as much as I thought. So many friends, and crazy times, it’s hard to keep straight in my mind. Sometimes I wonder if I get my memories mixed up with the stuff we watched on TV, or dad’s old stories.” “It all becomes a blur after enough years,” Martina said. But she was sure she was right now. Lily often talked as if she was so excited she couldn’t keep in all the things she wanted to say. But now, the way her eyes darted down and didn’t quite meet her mother’s, it was more like she was talking to avoid thinking about what was really on her mind. But she would talk when she was ready, Martina was sure of that. And she didn’t want Lily to feel pressured into addressing something she wasn’t ready for yet. She thought it would be better all around if the conversation could just drift back onto a non-controversial topic. “But the things that matter are always there,” she said, feeling a little proud of herself for the segue. “You remember the time your brother snuck into Seamus’s study and perched himself in front of the typewriter? That’s one memory out of so many adventures, but I remember it like it was yesterday.” “He said he was going to be a great writer, just like Dad,” Lily confirmed with a laugh that might have been real. “But we were four then, or five, and he still needed help to spell his own name right. Always the optimist, our David.” “Has he told you any more about why he’s coming?” Martina asked carefully, keeping her tone light as the flour she was sifting. “He never even mentioned it to me,” Lily answered. “Didn’t tell me he was going to be here. I’d already mailed a gift to that new apartment, and now I bet Sarah will keep it for herself. He’s lucky he’s so easy to shop for, so I could nip out to buy something in town.” She had stopped her whisk while she was talking, but now she seemed to notice that Martina’s hands weren’t moving either. “What?” she said. “You think she would have passed it on to him? Trust is trust, but a dollar is a dollar, and even the smallest gift can turn into a credit note if you have the receipt.” Martina was startled, and didn’t quite know how to respond. The words were harsh, but they were also an exact mirror of the things she herself had never been able to say about the woman who had been the love of David’s life at the end of summer. “Better not say that in front of David,” she said eventually, while Lily resumed her baking duties with renewed energy. Each year, Martina was surprised by how much Lily or David took after her or Seamus. There was as much physical similarity between them as you might expect for any group of four strangers, with the biggest commonality being an off-white skin tone; but when it came to the way they thought and felt, or how the readiness with which they banded together against anyone who hurt a family member, there was no doubt that they were a family. The same was especially true of Lily and David. They were fierce rivals, teasing each other as mercilessly as any siblings ever had. But if an outsider ever criticised one in earshot of the other, they would have each other’s back in an instant. There was no way anyone could be closer, not even the twins in fiction who had powers of telepathy or similar fantasies. But almost two months between Lily and David’s birthdays left no space at all where anyone could possibly come between them. Glancing at the clock, Martina quickly called for a little help to swap around the baking trays in the oven. There were four different kinds of treats in the oven now, from Christmas cake to butter cookies, and she carefully took down a pen to make a note on a scrap of paper pinned to the corkboard. She was confident in her ability to remember what needed to come out at what time, but sometimes it was better to be safe than sorry. The kitchen quickly filled with the aroma of sweet spices, giving a hint that the next batch was going to be just as good as they were every year. “That smells lovely!” Lily commented, after taking a deep breath. “Vanilla creams? Oh, did I tell you about the new coffee shop near the market? They have these ice cream floats that actually taste like vanilla. I’ve been going there almost every week, though… I wouldn’t be much of a fitness specialist if I was filling up on treats every time. Most days I just get these peppermint mochas.” “That sounds nice,” Martina answered quickly. “I shall have to try it some time, if I can find the opportunity to visit. I’m sure your father would love being able to see your new habitat, and I don’t think we’ve actually visited you since you had that place in Bay City. You found an amazing little bistro there as well, didn’t you? Seems it’s something you have a knack for.” “You should have known that when all the girls in school were going to Starbucks for those fancy milkshakes and I wanted to try the espressos,” Lily answered with the obligatory chuckle. “Always been a coffee addict. But yeah, I’d love to see you some time. Haven’t got a big spare room, though, and it’s finding a time when I’m not on call that’s a pain these days. Don’t want to disappoint my regular clients. But I’d love to show you around. It’s not too far to travel for you?” “Shush!” Martina laughed. “I’m not that old yet. We could probably get a bus and enjoy the ride. Or make a road trip of it, just like the olden days. I’d take turns driving with Seamus and have a break to stretch our legs whenever we pass some tourist trap. Call it an early mid-life crisis, trying to recapture our misspent youth.” “Not that early now, Mum,” Martina answered, and it seemed the amusement in her voice was more real this time. Something was clearly bothering her, but this subject had drawn her mind away to happier memories. “Heck, I’m probably closer to a mid-life crisis than you are. If you’re still middle-aged we might overtake you in ten years.” “Time marches on,” Martina said with a sigh. “I remember when you only came up to my knee. Now those were some Christmases. Remember when David borrowed your father’s Three Wishes Ring and asked a genie if we could meet Santa?” “He used to get so caught up in our dreams and fantasies,” Lily said, smiling again. “No matter what we imagined, he’d play along with us as if it were real. You both would, and no daydream was too absurd. I read some of my old diaries when I was moving, and there’s everything from wizards to aliens in there. Maybe I should have tried writing books about it too; but I already knew where I wanted my life to go by the time I was old enough to understand how magical that writing was.” “And how’s life going?” Martina asked, not watching Lily’s expression right now because her eyes were fully occupied as she pried some of her special winter gingerbread off its tray and made a neat display on a serving plate. “I hope that your love life has been less chaotic than your brother’s.” “I’ve not met the right guy yet,” Lily answered, as always. And then she stopped where she was standing and looked down at her hands, lost in her own thoughts for the shortest fraction of a second. “I guess that stuff doesn’t really matter for me.” “Oh, honey,” Martina said, and almost reached out to offer a hug, forgetting about the tray and oven mitts for the smallest fraction of a second. She put them down instead, before turning around. “There’s nothing wrong with taking your time. You’re getting your career in order first, so that you know you’ll be able to pay your share when you start dating, and that’s very responsible. There’s nothing wrong with doing your own thing until the right guy crosses your path. Or the right girl, if that’s better for you. And you’re still young, whatever it might seem.” “No, it’s not… Lily answered, and the worries she had been hiding were on display on her face now. She was nervous, not ready to share, and Martina wished that she hadn’t tried to help without thinking first. She didn’t know what the problem was, and it seemed like the moment hadn’t actually been right for motherly advice. “I’m sorry, honey,” Martina tried again. “I spoke without thinking. Maternal instincts can be a little too strong at times. We don’t have to talk about this if you’re not ready. Christmas is a time for fun, yes?” “And cookies,” Lily pointed out. “Dad’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t get these while they’re still warm.” She picked up a batch, and hurried through into the lounge. Watching her go, Martina couldn’t help worrying about her daughter now. There was clearly something worrying her, some setback in her life, but Lily wasn’t ready to share it yet. Martina knew that she would open up when she was ready, but it was hard to keep her thoughts away from the topic, and she knew that she would be worrying about Lily until she knew just what the problem was. It wouldn’t be a romance thing, that wasn’t like her at all, but it was clear that there were clouds on the horizon in some way. Martina picked up another selection of her baking and followed through to the lounge, hoping that the conversation wouldn't be too strained until Lily was ready to share. Seamus was sitting in his usual armchair, silver hair catching the winter light from the window as he checked his phone again. Even after all these years, seeing him there still brought a flutter to her heart – the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was worried, the gentle way he held himself as if ready to spring into action at any moment. Even though leaping into action these days was likely to be a case of picking up his phone and giving advice to children who were still less prepared for some of the complexities of the world. His head was bowed over his phone now, but looked up as Martina and Lily sat down on the couch. “Any word?” Martina asked. “Not yet,” he said. “He should have been here by now. Unless Mockingbird Lane is flooded and he has to go the long way around, but I saw one of those council trucks only last week, trying to clear the leaves out of all the drains. And he would have called, wouldn’t he?” “He’s probably on the way,” Lily said. “He knows his way here, doesn’t he? Maybe he doesn’t realise how late it’s getting, or there’s nowhere to pull off and make a phone call. We should try some of these cookies, and try not to worry about him until we know more.” Seamus nodded, and turned his phone face-down on the arm of his chair. And then he reached out for one of the ginger thins, carefully holding his left hand beneath it to catch any crumbs before they could desecrate his favourite sweater. He took a bite and closed his eyes to savour the taste, and just for one moment Martina was glad to find something that could leave her husband speechless.

Hi all, This is a sequel to a previously written story, but reading that isn't essential. This new story stands on its own The previous completed part is contained here: If you want the vibe, I suggest reading the interludes “The Great Shittening” and "Ditzies does it Again" https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?/topic/77379-weaponised-incontinence-in-a-world-of-late-bloomers-completed/&do=findComment&comment=1888109 Below is a summary on all of the important story beats: Prequel Summary Three generations after the fallout of an endemic, people have been left with long toilet-training times, up to 17 years in most. Nick is a very average teenager, if not below-average, who rode the wave of popularity when he toilet trained himself at fourteen, amongst the youngest in his class. He joined the popular group, made friends exclusively with those who were toilet trained, and lived confidently atop his precarious pedestal. He is however shadowed by his step-sister Laura, the class valedictorian, who is an incredible high achiever and beacon of knowledge. Her only flaw? At eighteen, she is still in nappies, with no sign of a successful training anywhere in the near future. Just how she wants to keep it. Laura is an incredible annoyance to Nick, always acting innocent to play jokes on him and scratch at his ego. Her tricks pique Nick’s intrigue one day when she soils herself in front of his friends to prank them. Nick suspects that she must have control over her movements, but just chooses to lie about it. Through a series of escapades, Nick goes on a number of dates with Laura’s secret nemesis, and the most popular girl in school, Cassie. It turns out that she was using Nick to get back at Laura who knows her secret - that she still pees herself sometimes. The story concludes with Nick finding out Laura’s secret, and her admitting to him that she likes using her nappies, and likes the way that he changes her. Unfortunately, things get strange between them as they open up to each other, and Nick moves across the city when their school year ends, to go to university over there. Laura, of course, will attend the best uni in the city. Chapter 1: Houseparty Blues Nick stood out on the grass under the cool and dark night, the house’s lights flooding the backyard and shining into his eyes and face. His hand formed a visor to cut through the beams, but even still his friends were just silhouettes in the brilliance. A muffled doof-doof crawled from the cracks in the shed door to his right, buzzing across the mud and grass and into Nick’s shoes. God a dance would be good right now. He was at a party, after all. He took a sip of his beer, trying to listen to what his mate was saying, but getting distracted by a bassline that he thought he knew. These really were the best nights, those in late March when summer’s last tendrils fought the Autumn chill. This time of year brought with it a still and frosty cold, one that reminded you how late the night was, and let you snuggle into blankets to fight it, but that dissipated with the still-hot sun. Perfect weather, Nick thought. One hand on his beer, the other around his girlfriend’s waist, perfectly chill night - this was meant to be the life. So why was he on edge? “Yeah, well Nick’s having trouble with that, aren’t you, babe?” Sarah said, and Nick was pulled back from his strange anxiety into the moment. What was the question? “Trouble with what?” “With motivation at uni. You know, there’s that accounting subject you hate,” Sarah said, and Nick nodded absently, hand squeezing her waist. He found that even without thought, his fingers played with the exposed edge of her nappy’s waistband. “Oh, yeah, don’t get me started. I’d rather shit myself than listen to the lecturer.” “Big words from you!” Luke, who stood as a black figure against the light, whistled. “You’ve got a perfect streak - not a nappy since you were 14.” “Yeah, well, I’m not gonna shit myself, am I?” Nick huffed. “So I guess I’m going to keep listening to old-mate explain balancing a book.” Shitting pants, if that wasn’t Nick’s life now. He figured that he’d never see another wrecked nappy after moving away from her family and step-sister Laura, who had been using nappies for pleasure and revenge rather than necessity, but then he’d moved into a sharehouse with a girl who was legitimately incontinent... “So how’d you two meet?” Tony, the other friend in the circle asked. “First I’ve heard of this relationship.” “Oh, Nick moved in with me,” Sarah giggled. “Moving quick,” Luke joked. “It’s a sharehouse,” Nick clarified. “They had an extra bed, so I took it. Moved in about three months ago.” “And that’s how the love story starts?” Tony asked. “Yeah, sorta,” Sarah blushed. “I guess it’s a little cliche, but Nick offered to help me clean up one of my nappy blowouts, and we caught feelings from there.” “Textbook movie stuff of the modern era,” Nick joked along, although cringed behind his facade. Somewhere in the past few years Nick’s wires had crossed, and the act of cleaning a nappy and caring for somebody had become sexy, and tied itself to his off-brand masculinity. Coincidentally, Sarah must have had a thing for guys with good hands rearranging her pants, and she’d been clinging to those hands ever since. Now, though? Nick dreaded every off-smell he caught from her direction. It’d only been three months and he’d already uncrossed those misplaced wires well and truly. This girl could blow-out a nappy like a chocolate grenade, and he’d somehow been caught with the medic’s duties. She shifted in his grip, her sides tensing, and Nick’s heart dropped in dread. Not now! he whined. But she relaxed too quickly, nodding to the conversation that carried on, and no smell came. Nick wheezed his relief. “How’s the rest of uni, then?” Luke asked. “And work? I heard from Shano that you’re a bit of a salesman.” Wasn’t this the question. “Well, uni’s otherwise alright, I guess,” Nick said, deflating to think about it. What even got him excited these days? It wasn’t uni, and it really wasn’t Sarah’s dirty nappies. “I just…I dunno. I guess I thought that by nineteen I’d understand myself better, but that birthday is just a few months away and I still don’t know if I like what I’ve gotten into.” “It’s only been a few weeks, though!” Luke said. “Can’t know whetheryou like it this quick.” “Yeah, but we’ll be twenty before we know it, you know,” Nick continued his moping. “And it just seems like I’m not ready for that - to know where I want to be, and what I want to do..” “I hear you,” Luke nodded. “In any case, I can just hope that Greg was right, and that Commerce really is the degree to get. But then what, join the corporate wank-fest?” “Who’s Greg?” Tony asked, and Nick was reminded that he’d only been hanging out with this crowd for a short while. All to get away from Laura and her drama. “My step dad,” Nick answered. “You might the office world once you get there,” Luke said, then pondered. “Although I can’t imagine you just sitting at a desk for hours on end.” “Me neither,” Nick agreed. “My work now is fun, but I can’t work at a Bunnings forever.” “You could.” “Well I wouldn’t want to, either.” Nick noted, realising that he hadn’t left himself with any options. “It would be nice if I could just keep the current status quo forever. Easy work at a hardware store, get the money, pay the rent, drink on fridays, Bob’s your uncle.” “That’s what my cousin does,” Tony spoke up, and Nick almost forgot the boy was there. “He has fun with it.” “Stasis life,” Nick repeated. “It’d be great.” Just then Sarah drifted away from Nick’s grip, spreading her legs as she shifted onto her far foot. Nick’s hand rode her short skirt from her waist down to her bum, where his hand rested, cupping her nappy. () He was startled when he felt the plastic press outwards against him Without even a grunt or a wink from the girl, a load dropped into the seat of her nappy, right against his hand. The plastic ballooned against him, hot and damp, as the mess creamed into the space. He then heard the wet squelch as more poured out, exploding into the seat of her pants. The nappy’s waistband puffed out with the bubbling farts, and he was sure this would be a blowout. He was not going to deal with this right now. “Sorry to bring the mood down,” he apologised, and retracted his hand. “But I’ve got to see a toilet about a piss. I’ll be back.” And he rushed off in a puff of smoke, almost spilling his beer as he jogged across the muddy yard. Really, Nick didn’t have to piss, he just had to get away, and he fumbled hastily through the house to the lone toilet at its far end, upon which he sat and locked the door behind him. Oh well, when in Rome, and he whipped his dick out anyway, just to see if he needed to go. Meanwhile, his other hand lifted his phone, and its fingers absently gravitated their way over to instagram, onto the profile at the top of his search history. Cassie’s profile. His high-school crush, and the girl who get away. Man… Nick bit his lip, looking at her most recent photo. This girl was hot - and she’d been into him for a bit, hooking up, almost fucking. Well...it was for the purposes of social espionage on her part, but that didn’t take away the fact that it had happened. He grumbled, scrolling on, admiring her. Was there a way that, if he could go back in time, he could have kept her interest in him? She was essentially nappy-free, which on its own was a ten-outta-ten feature. Sure, she wet a pull-up or two, lots of people did, but that was relative heaven compared to the scraping up of mudcakes which he did for Sarah. Could he rekindle something here? Was it worth sending a DM? His finger hovered dangerously close to the button. This action would drive a fork in the road - on one prong, a perfect life with a perfectly hot chick and no nappies to be seen, on the other prong, the ruthless humiliation of crawling back to a crush who rejected you. Or a third prong, the one where things go alright, she leads him on, and then breaks things off again, crushing him further. Nick was almost convinced to just smash his finger down on that paper plane icon, but he used his restraint. Having not pissed, he stood and flushed the toilet so that anybody waiting wouldn’t question him as he left, and bustled back through the houseparty to the backyard. There, the glaring spotlight from the house shone harshly upon Sarah’s face,which was sour and desperate. Luke and Tony turned to greet him, their faces structured in harsh shadows. “Babe,” Sarah whined and Nick neared closer. He knew what was coming. “Yes babe,” he said, pretending not to see the distress plastered to her facade. “Babe, I made a boom boom,” she said, and sniffled for effect. “Can you clean me?” Nick sighed. “Yes, come on,” and he gestured her up the hill and towards the house. Having gotten what she wanted, she skipped merrily along and up ahead, beating him to the steps for the back door. With her ahead and in the light, he could see the extent of the job ahead. From under her short skirt the nappy bulged into sight, waistbands stained brown. In the small of her back, just above the waistband - and luckily clear of her cropped shirt - sat a pool of sticky, melted shit. A fucking blow-out, Nick sighed.