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OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: this is my first story as well as my first post on this forum. I'm one of those long-time lurkers. I was so taken with the idea of the Keeperverse that I felt compelled to make my own contribution. This is a slowish regression, and in that sense is a deviation from the universe as we know it. Feel free to consider this non-canonical. Like any first attempt at fiction, I'm sure the marks of an amateur are all over this one. But with any luck, someone here might enjoy it anyway. Chapter One The sudden ring emanating from my pocket ignited a flicker of hope in me. In the past week alone I’d filled out twelve different job applications. Not one of them had received a response. Maybe this message contained good news. I wanted to check right away, but there was an obstacle I had to contend with first. The use of cellphones behind the checkout counter was strictly forbidden, and the manager always seemed to be lurking around the corner. In spite of the threat of reprimand, I knew there was no way I could withstand the anxiety until my next break. This would require some finesse. I scanned the store as well as I could and strained my ears for signs activity. After a moment the manager came into view. All I had to do was wait for him to become distracted. A customer approached him to ask a question, but that was no good - he still had a direct line of sight to me and could turn around at any instant. Eventually he disappeared behind one of the shelves and struck up a conversation with a co-worker. This was my chance. After fumbling with my phone's lock screen, I saw that there was a new email. The subject read, “Thank you for your interest.” So much for good news. Working at the bookstore was fine most of the time. It had a certain dignity that other low-level jobs lacked. Some might call it arrogant, but things like that were important to me. But even though I felt better about myself working here than I would in a fast food restaurant, I lived in perpetual fear of the moment when an old acquaintance would walk in wearing something expensive, and I'd have no choice but to compare my life to theirs. At thirty years old, I’d gotten no further in life than most teenagers. It was a depressing thought. I was shelving books from a recent shipment when a voice surprised me from behind. “Excuse me, I – oh! I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just wonder-“ She stopped speaking the moment our eyes met. I realized I was looking at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. To say that I was attracted to her would be an understatement. I was fascinated by her. She seemed to radiate an aura of pure grace. In that moment, I would've had no trouble believing that she was the only person on the planet who truly mattered. It occurred to me that we had been staring at each other for several seconds. I decided it was up to me to break the silence somehow. I had every intention of saying “How can I help you?” but the experience of love at first sight was interfering with my diction. What came out of my mouth was a strange, nonverbal sound, somewhere between a cough and a hiccup. She giggled slightly at this, which I supposed was a reaction I could live with. Then she looked at me quizzically. “Have I met you somewhere before?” she asked. “I don't know… I don't think so.” “Strange, you look so familiar.” I scoured my memory for occasions when we might have seen each other, and came up with nothing. In spite of that fact, I had a peculiar notion that this person was, or world come to be, someone extremely important to me. “Never mind,” she said. “I'm sure I'm just imagining things. I was wondering where I could find travel guides?” “In the lifestyle section, right next to the cookbooks.” “Thanks,” she said and walked away. And then she was gone. I made a mental note to slap myself later. I could've asked where she was going, struck up a conversation about travel, and who knows where that might have gone? I could have even PRETENDED to be someone she knew. But I missed my chance. Another entry on the list of today's failures. I went back to work, completely unaware of the change that had just been set in motion. Chapter Two I slept poorly that night. My bedroom was uncomfortably hot, even after foregoing sheets and a comforter. And yet my thermostat continued to insist that the temperature was a cool 68 degrees. I wondered if I might be coming down with a fever, perhaps brought on by some seasonal virus. My suspicion was compounded by the way I felt after breakfast. I treated myself to a pair of brown sugar and cinnamon pop tarts, and within an hour my stomach was throwing a tantrum. I might have suspected food poisoning, but I was fairly sure that Pop-Tarts couldn’t go bad. I spent most of the workday feeling sorry for myself. My current physical condition combined with the events of yesterday left me in a decidedly dejected state. I found my thoughts turning to the woman who came to me looking for travel guides. The prospect of never seeing her again made me genuinely sad. Was it possible to miss someone after only one day? I tried to console myself with the thought that she couldn't possibly be as perfect as she seemed during that brief encounter. I'd been through enough ill-fated High School crushes to know that idolizing someone in such a way was bad for everyone involved. I thought of the song “She’s So High” from the nineties. Had I really become that pathetic? I decided that a little self-medication was in order. My companion that evening would be a certain Evan Williams. Fortunately, my tastes knew how to adjust to suit my budget. A few hours later, I was walking out the sliding glass doors of the grocery store, my recent purchase in hand. And then I saw her. Standing in the parking lot was the woman I had met the day before, the traveler. I felt excitement and anxiety welling up inside me. Both of these feelings intensified considerably when I realized she was walking towards me. “Hello again,” she said, smiling. “Hey.” “I wasn’t expecting to run into you so soon." “It must be fate.” “Must be.” There was a brief pause. “I'm Sandra,” she said, holding out her hand. “Dylan,” I replied, and took her hand in mine. The moment our hands touched, a warm feeling to spread throughout my body. Her expression suggested that she had felt something too. “Did you find what you were looking for yesterday?” I asked. It wasn't a great icebreaker, but it was all I had to work with. “Yup. I'm planning a trip to Italy. Have you ever been?” “Years ago with my family. Don't spend more than a day in Venice, it's not worth it.” “Good to know.” We were both silent for a moment . “Do you want to get coffee somewhere?” she asked. “There’s a Starbucks just down the street and – Oh, you probably have food you need to put in the fridge.” She glanced at my shopping bag. “No, it's just-“ I stopped, thinking that I might not want to reveal that I was buying cheap whiskey on a Wednesday evening. “It's nothing perishable. I can meet you there and-“ “I can drive us both there. No sense wasting gas, right? I'll take you back here when we’re ready to go.” I followed her to her car. Once we were both inside, she did something I never would have expected. Without a moment's hesitation, she reached across to my side and fastened my seatbelt. Her face turned red. “I'm not sure why I did that. Can we pretend that never happened?” “No problem. I guess you're concerned about my safety,” I said jokingly. “I guess so.” And then we were off. We approached the counter and ordered our drinks, hers about Earl grey and mine a decaf latte. Before I could ask the barista to split the bill, she handed over her credit card. I mumbled a couple words of gratitude, but in truth I felt a little uncomfortable. I was beginning to wonder how she saw me. Part of me wanted to protest that I could buy my own drinks as well as I could buckle my own seatbelt, but saying something like that meant that something like that needed to be said. In other words, the very need to make such a protest undermined my status as an independent, fully functioning adult. “I don't normally do this,” she said as we sat down at the table. “Asking someone out so abruptly, I mean. I was debating whether or not to tell you this, but when I saw you yesterday - I had this strange feeling that I was supposed to meet you. Does that sound totally crazy?” I took a sip of my latte. It was stronger than I would have liked. “No,” I said, “I think I felt it too.” “Is that so? Well, seeing as fate or karma or whatever has brought us together, we might as well get to know each other. What do you like doing outside of work?” “I play a lot of video games. I also like to draw, but I’m not very good.” “Aww, I bet you’re not as bad as you think. I’d love to see one of your drawings.” “I’m actually pretty shy about showing them too people.” I took another sip. The bitterness of the drink was really overwhelming. “That's no fun. What's the point of making art if you can't show it off to anyone?” “I guess it’s sort of an escape. If I had to worry about people judging what I made, it wouldn't be an escape anymore. It’d be another source of stress." There was a sudden, uncomfortable stirring in my stomach. Had this morning’s illness returned for an encore? “I never thought about that way. I still want to see one though.” “What about you? What do you do?” “I'm a marketing coordinator for a publishing company. We’re sort of in the same field, come to think of it.” “That's a very generous way of putting it.” The churning in my stomach intensified. Was there something wrong with the drink? Would it be rude to send back a drink she had paid for? “Are you feeling alright? You look kind of uncomfortable.” I tried to reassure her that I was fine. But the sensation was getting stronger. “If you're not feeling well, we can do this another time. It's really not a big deal.” I was hit by a wave of gastric turbulence. I could tell that this wasn’t going to end peacefully. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” I said, and made a beeline for the bathroom. I won't bother trying to put this delicately - once I made it to the toilet, I proceeded to puke my guts out. And it hurt. I coughed and gasped for breath as the contents of my stomach were forced out of me. There was a knock at the door. “Everything ok in there?” It was Sandra's voice. She had heard me! My shame reached a critical level. “I'm fine,” I shouted back, “I'll be out in a minute.” No response. After the worst was over, I took a moment to reflect on how horribly things were turning out. I was sure she would lose all interest in me now. Maybe I should just apologize and disappear with what little dignity I had left. Whatever happened, I knew I couldn't avoid facing her, as much as I would have liked to. I summoned up my remaining courage and walked back to our table. “Sandra,” I said, “I am SO sorry. Let's just go back to my car and I won't bother you anymore.” “It's fine! Really, these things happen. I’m a little concerned, but you don't have to feel embarrassed.” “Thanks,” I murmured. “That said, if you're feeling sick, I probably should take you home.” “You mean to my car.” “Yes, right. To your car.” Neither one of us said much on the ride back. After we pulled up next to my car, she took out a small notepad. “I’m going to leave you my number,” she said, “And I want you to text me so I have yours. I also want you let me know how you’re feeling later. I'll worry if you don't. Can you do that for me?” “Sure,” I replied meekly. “And one other thing. I saw what was in your bag, and I don't think you should have anything to drink tonight. Promise me?” “I promise.” “Then I'll see you soon.” On the drive home, I had an intense internal debate about where all this was going. The thought of disappointing Sandra was devastating to me. And yet she hadn't seen that all shocked or disgusted – just concerned. And that made my feelings for her grow even stronger. My body betrayed me one more time before I made it home. When I was just five minutes away from my apartment, I suddenly noticed that my bladder felt extremely full. It was like I had been holding in for hours. But I was sure hadn't felt the slightest urge a moment ago. How could it just kick into emergency mode with no warning? Holding it in took effort. Driving while holding it in took even more. I tried to clamp down and realized I wasn’t sure which muscles to clamp. I grew tense all over, desperate to fight the growing pain just for just a couple more minutes. Once I had parked my car, I practically sprinted to my front door. I couldn't recall whether I remembered to turn off the headlights, but there was no time to worry about trivialities. I made it to the bathroom with mere seconds to go. As I basked in the feeling of relief, I wondered what the hell had just happened. Could this be related to the episode at the café? Was there some kind of disease that caused nausea AND an overactive bladder? Whatever it was, my life was going to get a lot more difficult if it didn't stop soon. I retrieved the bottle of whiskey from my car and took it inside. I stared at it longingly and contemplated whether I ought to go through with my original plans for the evening. I was really looking forward to drinking my blues away. But opening that bottle meant breaking my promise. Breaking my promise meant displeasing Sandra. And that was a price I could not pay.

Ann And Joe Learn Joe's Rightful Place Chapter 1 ‘Joe!’ Ann called angrily to her husband of three years. She stood waiting in the kitchen, having turned off the smoking, empty frypan on the stove. ‘What?’ replied Joe from the study of the comfortable ranch style home Ann’s money had paid for. ‘Joe, come here please!’ Ann shouted. 'And turn down that racket!’ Grumpily, Joe killed the sound on the PlayStation and slouched towards the kitchen. It was 8.30 in the morning. Ann was smartly dressed for work but Joe was still in his pyjamas. He had been supposedly looking for work for the last four months, but job interviews were less frequent now and he often stayed in his pyjamas all day. He knew that riled Ann, but he didn't really care. She made more than enough money for both of them, and she loved her job whereas Joe had hated his. Ann held up the frypan as Joe sauntered into sight. ‘First you ruin one of my good saucepans, now this, Joe,’ Ann said with exasperation. ‘I forgot,’ muttered Joe. ‘Sorry.’ He had put the frypan on the stove to preheat a but, but had become engrossed in his war game. ‘And you broke the tip off my good German knife doing God knows…’ Ann continued. ‘Yeah, I said I was sorry,’ Joe said rolling his eyes. Ann spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘You're always sorry,’ she said, ’But sorry is not enough. It's not the cost, which is considerable, it’s your lack of responsibility. You don't seem to care. You lounge around playing your stupid games all day, drinking can after can of beer and leaving a trail of mess. In my house.’ Joe looked at her sharply at the last sentence. That subject was by mutual agreement off limits. Ann lowered her angry gaze. ‘You can’t even keep yourself decent. Close up the fly on your pyjamas. I don't want to see your willy dangling around,’ she said. Joe looked down at the gaping fly of his pyjamas and tried to tug the opening closed. ‘Hold on a minute,’ said Ann, stepping towards Joe and crouching to inspect his pyjamas.'Move your hands away, please.' ‘You are disgusting,’ she said, reaching out to feel the soft flannel. ‘Look at the front of your pants! Take those off now!’ Joe, to his credit, blushed hotly. ‘Ann…’ he began. ‘I don't want to hear it,’ said Ann. ‘You have absolutely no decency. You're too tired, or lazy, to think of me for your sexual activities, but you're happy enough to masturbate in your pyjamas like a teenager. The semen on your pyjamas is still wet, for heaven's sake. As if your sloppy bathroom habits weren't bad enough. You stain the back of your underwear with revolting brown streaks and the front with, well, I don't even like talking about it. A toddler’s dirty diapers aren't much worse. And don't start that lip quivering self pity act,’ she continued, looking fiercely at Joe. ‘I know you've had a hard time, I know you've been under pressure and I know what Dr More said about rest and recovery, but she didn't mean that includes behaving like an irresponsible child who can't keep from playing with himself.' Joe did his best to look pitiable. He actually felt pitiable. He was 27 and Ann was 35, richer, employed in a more important job than Joe could ever aspire to, and to boot, Joe was totally out of condition while Ann’s regular workouts kept her in top trim. She was taller than Joe, and he had to admit, probably stronger. The couple stood facing each other. Ann felt like hitting Joe while Joe felt like crying. ‘I said take your pants off,’ she said matter of factly. Joe turned to go to the bedroom. ‘No,’ said Ann. ‘Here. Now.’ Joe looked at her questioningly. ‘Now, Joe,’ Ann commanded him. ‘Now means now.’ Joe began to untie the cord at the waist of his pyjama pants. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ said Ann. She strode towards Joe and with both her hands tugged the loose fitting pyjama pants to Joe's ankles. Joe’s hands flew to his groin. ‘Ann!’ he objected. Ann laughed. ‘I don't care if you cover that little thing or not,’ she said. ‘I'm not interested, especially after you've been touching it. Now, take your foul pyjama pants to the laundry, and come straight back. Don't put any other pants on. I don't think you’re worthy of an adult privilege like being fully dressed.’ Joe stood stock still, staring at Ann. He was still trying to process the awful things she had just said. The mention of adult privilege really stung. Joe’s last boss had said something similar when she had fired him. Joe was even closer to tears now, ironically out of concern that he wasn't considered adult. Ann waited a moment, then grabbed Joe firmly by one arm and turned him towards the laundry. As she did so, she spanked Joe’s bare behind as hard as she could with her free hand. It hurt her hand plenty, and she hoped it hurt Joe. It did. Joe looked at her in shock, wailed ‘You hit me!’ and burst into tears. ‘And I'll spank you again if you don't do what you're told,’ said Ann, and propelled Joe towards the laundry. She watched with steely satisfaction as Joe’s white bottom, branded with her angry red hand mark, receded. Then she noticed something reflecting the sunlight from the tiled floor. She looked more closely and saw a trail of little puddles and droplets of urine tracking Joe’s path. Joe, meanwhile, was standing in the laundry where he'd dropped his pyjama pants on the floor. He was crying and helplessly peeing through his fingers to create a large puddle around his feet. He heard Ann’s quick steps coming along the passage, and desperately wiped up the puddle on the floor using his foot on the pyjamas. ‘Great,’ said Ann from the doorway, where she stood in her closely fitting tan business pants and neat off white blouse. ‘I suppose you'd made a mess of your pyjama pants already. Pee all over them isn't going to be much worse. When you've cleaned up your trail of pee in the hall - with a mop like a grownup - I want to have a serious talk with you. And no pants. Irresponsible, messy little boys don't need pants.’ Joe looked at Ann fearfully. ‘Ann, I…’ he began through his sobs. ‘Save it,’ said Ann. ‘Clean yourself up and see me in the living room.’ Ann glanced with displeasure at Joe’s modest penis, now sticking out horizontally beneath his rounded tummy. ‘And I don't care how stiff your little wee wee is, don't touch it. I'll see you in the living room,’ she said, then turned on her heel and left. Joe did as he was instructed, and hurried to the living room, trying to will his stiff little member to soften as it bounced with his steps. Ann was standing like a sergeant major when Joe arrived. ‘Stand in front of me,’ she ordered him. ‘And take your hands away from your penis,’ she added. ‘Your wee wee is out of bounds for your dirty little hands. That's new rule number one. No masturbating. It's disgusting and I won't have it in my house. That little thing is for peeing only unless I say otherwise.’ Ann paused, looking at Joe’s penis sticking out from his sparsely haired groin. ‘Do you find this exciting?’ she asked Joe. ‘N,no,’ replied Joe, looking down and still sobbing. ‘Mm,’ said Ann. ‘Rule number two, you sit on the toilet to do all your business from now on. I'm sick of cleaning the floor around the toilet of your smelly mess, and half the time you don't lift the seat anyway. And you wipe properly, front and back, whenever you use the toilet, OK?’ ‘Yes,’ mumbled Joe. ‘And rule number three, you've caused enough chaos in the kitchen,’ Ann said. ‘You are now banned from there. If you want a drink, or something to eat, you ask me, OK? You're not responsible enough to be allowed in a kitchen by yourself. Got that? What do you do if you want something from the kitchen?’ ‘I ask you,’ said Joe quietly. ‘Why do you have to ask me?’ said Ann. ‘Speak up.’ ‘Because, because I'm not resp, resp, responsible enough,’ replied Joe. ‘Good boy,’ said Ann. ‘Come with me.’ Ann headed down the hallway with Joe following, still trying to will down his erection. Ann took Joe's hand and led him into the master bedroom. She went to the chest of drawers and opened her underwear drawer. ‘These are new,’ Ann said, handing Joe a pair of white cotton interlock full briefs with elasticated waist and leg openings. ‘I don't like the idea of you wearing undies with any access to your wee wee through the front, so you'll wear these all the time now, day and night. They will show up any stains or disgusting marks, so I expect an improvement in your childish toilet habits. Put them on please.’ Carefully, Joe put on the briefs. Ann watched him, then tugged the panties up snug high around his waist. She inspected him front and back, then pulled the front of the briefs away from his stomach and pushed his penis downwards. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘It's only a little bump anyway.' The touch of Ann's cool fingers had done a lot to deflate Joe’s modest manhood, and there certainly wasn't much to show now. ‘Go and put your track pants on. We'll see if you can keep your new panties clean, then I'll think about you being allowed to wear grownup boys' pants with a fly,’ Ann said. ‘You can play in the study until I come back at lunchtime. I don't want to see you until then. I've had enough of you for a while. Off you go.’ Ann went back to the living room. Joe began to stifle his sobs and found his track pants. Before he put them on he glanced at his reflection in the big wardrobe mirror. His pale legs stuck out from what looked like a juvenile girl’s panties. Joe swallowed and pulled on his track pants. At least the new underpants felt warm and comfortable. He felt his penis begin to grow again down between his legs. He dared not put his hands anywhere near it. He went to the study, avoiding looking into the living room. To be continued

New story from the creative minds of Sophie & Pudding! Actually this one was my idea, so I'm really proud of it. It's a slow regression story, but I think there's enough content to keep everyone engaged. The story is also available on Patreon for supporters in ePub and PDF formats. I hope you enjoy it! Small Frosty Pt. 1 by: Sophie & Pudding 1.) I sat quietly at the kitchen table, playing with the ring on my finger. Remy was working late again - he always worked late on Fridays. I just thought maybe tonight would be different. He would get home and there would be a huge surprise dinner for him! I started preparations at noon. But as I played with the ring on my finger - a ring he'd given me no more than a year ago - I knew it was all for nothing. I licked the tip of my finger and squeezed the flame out of the candle. Maybe he would have some free time this weekend, I thought. We could go to the aquarium, like we used to. Wednesday had wasted so much money on that meal, money that had been earmarked for other, more important things. What had possessed her to be so compulsive? I'd told her long in advance about last night, I'd told her and all she ever cared to remember was what suited her and her fairy tale narrative. Ugh. I was still in my work suit at five in the morning, washing dishes and throwing away food she couldn't even have the good sense to put in the fridge for leftovers, while the love of my life was sleeping on the sofa, drooling on the fabric again. "Wake up." I nudged her gently, my tone warm and soft as it always was. “Come on, up to bed with you." Don't ask me to carry you, don't ask me to carry you, don't ask me to carry you... why was I even fighting it in my head? It was her trademark move. It was morning? The sun was just barely poking through the windows, which I'd forgotten to close. I looked up at Remy with a small, sleepy smile. He was still in his work clothes, though? When had he gotten home? Had he worked all night? Was it Saturday? Too many questions... too sleepy... "Carry me?" I asked with a little pout. I was impossible to refuse. It was hard to mount any kind of protest against Ginger’s insinuations that I was engaged to a child in an adult’s body when she went and did things like that. Ever diplomatic and warm, kind even when I was annoyed with her, I leaned down and scooped her up into my arms the same way I always had. It was easy when she barely bristled 5’1. "You know you're not allowed to sleep on the couch, you goofball." "I was waiting up for you." He picked me up under the legs and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He looked tired. He really had worked all night, hadn't he? "Sleep with me for a while? And I thought today we could go to the aquarium, or we could see a movie?" It felt like I hadn't seen Remy in years! "We'll see, Frosty.” Because one of us hadn't already slept the whole night. Honestly she should have been asking what she could do during the day while I slept, but expecting that much level of adult initiative of Wednesday was naive of me. Ginger was right about her. I mean, she wasn't. I was just tired and irritated. Wednesday was my fiancée and I needed to be more understanding about her personality. But sometimes she made it hard. He had to shower. I told him I could shower with him! But the second he put me down on the bed, I was out like a light. When I woke up, it was two in the afternoon and Remy wasn't in bed with me. I rubbed my eyes and scrambled for my phone. He'd always text me if he went somewhere, but there weren't any texts. He must be around here somewhere... oh, I was still in my day clothes from yesterday. There was laughter coming from the living room when she came down the hall. The woman with hair the color of a fire hydrant that my fiancée was none too much a fan of was setting stuff on the table for an english afternoon tea, crustless sandwiches and all. Ginger noticed we weren't alone first. "Oh heeeey Wendy, you're finally awake, and before the sun went to sleep, too! I guess I lost that bet. Go wash your hands, princess, and sit at the table." Ginger worked with children, she told me. As her night job. She wasn't intentionally condescending - it was just how she was. "Well go on, you hear what Ginger said.” I opened my mouth in frustration and decided against it. Ginger was one of Remy's work friends. She worked two floors above him, in a different department. How they'd gotten so chummy, I didn't understand. But I hated her. I knew she didn't mean to talk down to people, but that didn't make her any easier to deal with. And she spent too much time with Remy... "Be right back," I said under my breath and went into the bathroom to wash my hands. "Make sure to get under your nails, Wendy~" "She's in a bad mood, I'm sorry. She slept on the sofa and then overslept, you know how she is." "She just needs some discipline, Jeremy." Ginger was the only one who called me by my full name, and it made me feel... masculine. I liked that. "Girls like her, her Daddy spoiled her growing up and now she thinks the world is her sandbox." "Come on Ging, she's not like that, she's just... idealistic, that's all." "You mean childish, right?" I came out of the bathroom at the tail of the conversation. Childish? I gave her a harsh glare. "Are you here for something?" “I just brought some tea and cakes over." "Thanks for stopping by." I walked past her and took a cake off the tray, popping it in my mouth. Remy knew I didn't like her. He kept telling me I had to "get to know her better". Why do people always say that? Why would I want to get to know someone better if I already hate them? "Be polite, Wednesday, Ginger is our guest. She even cut the crusts off the sandwiches, just for you." Not because it was tradition or anything. But sometimes being engaged meant understanding when the truth was not always the best option of what to say. "Would you like some tea? Go on, sit down alright, we're doing afternoon tea, it's like what they do in England." Somewhere Wendy desperately wanted to visit, once we had the money. "Fine," I relented, and went to sit down at the coffee table in the living room. I looked up at the two of them, working the kettle together. Like it was a two person fucking job. Whatever. I knew Remy wouldn't cheat on me. I trusted him. I just... I sighed and leaned back on the sofa. I wanted to go to the aquarium today... I wanted to spend time alone with him. The sandwiches had cucumber and cream cheese, which Wednesday hated. Sprouts and butter, which Wednesday hated. And Nutella and banana, which Wednesday loved. Ginger gave me a wry smile across the living room and I rolled my eyes. "Okay, so having tea hot, that's new, right? Isn't it Wednesday? How do we take it, Ginger? Is it like coffee?" I knew, of course. Ginger and I had done this before, but I wanted my pouty faced fiancee to be involved in this. "Not quite." The woman poured the tea and I ate one of the little sandwiches. My fingers were sticky from the tiny cake I'd eaten, but I soon licked them clean. Ginger passed me a teacup and the little sugar cube. "You'll like it more with this." Begrudgingly, I took the cup and dropped the cube into it. It made the tea a little milky. And it tasted pretty good, too! Huh... "See? Isn't this fun?" "This is what we grown-ups do on Saturday afternoons, you know, instead of sleeping in all day." "What's this?" "It's a sticky bun." "What's it got in it?" "It's a sticky bun, just try it, Jeremy." Sometimes she even made me feel like a kid, but she did so playfully. Ginger was much more pointed when it came to my fiancée. Jeremy. Ugh. She was so fucking pretentious. I took another sip of tea and bit into my sandwich. When was she going to leave? "So. Ginger. Does this project thing keep you busy all the time too? Remy's been working crazy hours." What did I want her to say? Yes? And she was alone with my fiancé every night? I shuffled uncomfortably on the sofa. "Oh it's such a bear, Wendy, you simply have no idea. I have another project in the evening, and then there with your boy working on the project until the sun shows its pretty face. Sometimes when you grow up, you work two jobs, though. Don't worry too much about it, though, Jeremy's in line for promotion, so you not working won't be a big deal." "Oh, yeah." I hadn't told Wednesday about that yet. "It looks like I'm getting a promotion, doll, isn't that great?" "...a promotion?" I tried to ignore Ginger's rude comments; she had worked with kids for most of her life, so the condescension came naturally. It wasn't my fault I didn't work! I got laid off, and... and well I just hadn't gotten around to getting a new job yet. It was a tough market out there! "Does that mean you'll be working less? You already work so much..." "It could mean a little more hours, but..." "If you pick up the slack around here, then he won't need to come home and clean and tidy up after you, and you'll get more time together." Yeah, I'd vented to Ginger about this morning, which was probably a mistake, but her and I were becoming really close friends. What? What had she said? I just stared at her, my mouth open wide, and then I looked up at Remy in frustration. "What are you telling her?! I don't pull my weight around here? You're always working! Always! And I'm here alone and..." Suddenly, and very unexpectedly, I felt tears in my eyes. Damnit. Fuck. "Fine. Whatever." I got up off the sofa and went to grab my jacket. I'd just get a fucking job. Fuck this. "Wait." Surprising maybe everybody, it was Ginger who grabbed Wednesday by the wrist, and she immediately pulled the crying girl into her arms like she'd done that a thousand times. I watched, gobsmacked, as she played with my fiancée’s hair and cooed gently to her, speaking too quiet for me to hear. "Nobody thinks you don't do enough, nobody thinks you're not good enough. Working isn't something for a pretty fiancée to be doing, why work for someone else? Work for your man, because he loves you. You're his princess. And you're beautiful. You're beautiful and it's okay. You're not in any trouble." I didn't expect that. I didn't expect her to stop me or to hold me or to... to make sense. More than anything, I didn't expect to hug her back. The top of my head only came up to her shoulders and I pushed my face into her neck. She was warm. She was a good hugger. I still hated Ginger, I did. But she really knew how to make a girl feel better... "Nobody is cross with you, just try to be good going forward, okay? Will you do that? For Jeremy? He's so kinda and gentle, isn't he? He's very clever, and he loves you very much." I didn't know what happened. How my fiancée had gone from explosion to peaceful calm, her puffy red eyes the only sign once she sat back down that anything had happened. Quietly, she ate another finger sandwich. I didn't like that I wasn't working. I didn't like that I was stuck inside alone all day. And I did make him dinner! He just wasn't home to eat it. That wasn't my fault. But I guess I could clean up a little bit. And maybe I could ask Lala if she knew of any part time jobs in the area... or if they had an opening at her work. I sighed. I was over reacting...

I know I have other unfinished stories - my excuse is that I need to get back into the mood with a new one. I've pasted this from Word - sorry about the big spaces between lines. No time to fix. Joe and Sue Chapter One - The Start Joe look fearfully across the bed to Sue, who was still asleep. Joe carefully rolled himself off the soaked bottom sheet and stood next to the bed. He was wondering what todo next when Sue groaned and stretched out her arm. Joe was frozen to the spot. He watched as Sue’s hand rested for a moment on the sheet. Her fingers investigated the wet condition of the sheet, then her eyes opened. She looked up at Joe. ‘Not again, Joe,’ she said, not kindly but with exasperation. ‘I think it must have been the…’ he began. ‘No, Joe,’ said Sue, wide awake now and getting out her side of the bed. She stood up. Joe couldn’t help looking at his wife’s two magnificent boobs pushing out the soft fabric of her nightdress. ‘I think it must be you behaving like an irresponsible toddler,’ Sue said. ‘That’s three times in a week. We agreed last time that if it happened again, we’d see Kathy, didn‘t we?’ ‘Sue, it’s ok, it won’t…’ Joe said. ‘No Joe, I’m not taking any more of your excuses. I’m ringing Kathy this morning. I’m sick of this, on top of your filthy undies as well,’ said Sue. Joe felt his shame and anger rising simultaneously. He often leaked a little into his underpants. No big deal. Wetting the bed was worse, but he was under pressure at work, and it was an accident. There was no need for her to call him a toddler. He hated her doing that. It screwed him up inside. As if to make the point, Sue picked up a pair of Joe’s underpants from the clotehs on the chair where he usually left them. She sniffed them at a distance and threw them at Joe. ‘Urine, Joe,’ she said. ‘You probably should be in training panties.’ ‘Pants,’ Joe said crossly, daring a quick glance directly at his wife. ‘And Sue, I don’t want you to ring Kathy,’ he added with as much conviction as he could. ‘I don’t have to see her.’ The last person Joe wanted to know anything about his little problems was Dr Kathy Vincent. She was one of Sue’s gym mates, and she was even taller than Sue, who at 5 feet 11 inches was already a good two inches taller than Joe. Kathy gave a new meaning to the word buff as applied to females. She didn’t walk, she swaggered, and she scared Joe. It was hard enough maintaining his manly status in the presence of an Amazon like Kathy, and telling her he wet the bed didn’t bear thinking about. Sue laughed. It wasn’t the reaction Joe had hoped for. ‘So Mr ‘I’ve-just-wet-my-bed-again’ doesn’t think he has a problem,’ said Sue, walking around to where Joe stood. ‘Little Mr ‘I-can’t-keep-my-jarmies-dry mummy’ doesn’t need help, is that it?’ Sue said, reaching down and grabbing Joe’s private parts through Joe’s wet pyjama pants. Sue gave Joe’s balls a squeeze, and was rewarded with a flood of warm pee over her hand. She withdrew her hand in disgust. Joe was about to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t help it. I was getting up to go…’ Sue stood still for a moment, leaned forward and gently but quickly kissed him, then said calmly, ‘It’s alright, baby. Of course you can’t help it. That’s the problem isn’t it? Now go and have a shower and get dressed for work.’ Joe bit his lip and turned to go to the bathroom. As he reached the door, he felt the warmth of a stream of pee on his inner thighs. He didn’t even try to stop the flow, but traipsed wetly across the bathroom floor and sat peeing through his pyjamas on the toilet, crying as he did so. Joe and Sue Chapter Two – Sliding Back Work hadn’t been going so well for Joe. He was in customer service for a national computer franchise. He wasn’t particularly attached to the place, nor it to him. He got on well with most of the staff, who were mostly women, aged from about 20 to around 50, so Joe sat square in the middle of their age group. He was young enough that the women in the office under 30 treated him more or less as an equal, and the older women found him youthful enough to fuss over. But the work seemed to be becoming more difficult, and several times the most junior girl in the office had taken him aside and explained easier ways to do the work especially the calculations. Joe began to feel that his status in the office slipping as he required more help. He was also finding urination more urgent, and had had a few close escapes, unknown to the women. It was bad enough the office junior helping him with some work he had got stuck with. Having them know he sometimes wet a little would be the end. Increasingly, Joe’s superiors would assign to others the work Joe felt he normally did. He found himself making more coffee, and doing more photocopying and filing than actual work. Joe’s role in servicing customers was formally changed a few weeks later. The office manager, a kindly older woman, told Joe that he seemed to be struggling a bit, and that she felt he might be getting and stale and so it would be better if his role changed a little. Joe was to become ‘office support’ although, the woman assured him, he would certainly be considered for a different role if his standard of work was consistently good. ‘I’m sorry, Joe,’ the former office junior had said to him that afternoon. ‘It’s the last way I would have wanted to get the promotion.’ The penny dropped for Joe. He hadn’t really considered his move a demotion, but now, as smiled weakly at the former junior and wished her well, he realised what had happened. His smile changed to a bitten lip, and he felt like crying as he turned away from the girl. He did cry, too, all the way home in his car. He straightened himself up by the time he reached the front door. Sue was home, and met him with the news that she had made an appointment with Kathy for the following day, and that she had rung Joe’s manager to secure a day off for him. The office had told Sue that they had a work experience girl who could fill in for Joe, and that he should take the rest of the week off. That news surprised her, and Sue listened to Joe tearfully relating how he had been demoted, that his pay had been reduced, and that he didn’t feel confident he could get back to where he was. ‘Now I’m just doing coffee and photocopying and stuff, and running errands,’ said Joe through his tears. ‘Even for the young ones. It makes me feel, you know, like I’m, you know…’ he added, his voice trailing off unhappily. ‘Not equal?’ Sue suggested helpfully. Joe nodded his head. ‘And the, and then, with…’ said Joe. Sue guessed what he was talking about and felt for him. They knew each other well enough that she could usually read his thoughts. She knew how embarrassed he felt about his bedwetting and his damp undies. She was looking forward to seeing Kathy and finding out what could be done for Joe. There was something that was unsaid between them. It occurred to Sue sometimes when she was putting on her sheer nylon panties, and watching Joe pull on the thick cotton underwear she bought for him. She always bought for Joe briefs with a double panel at the front. It wasn’t much, but she felt it would help Joe if he was a little damper than usual. No wonder he felt unequal. Having that childish problem, then effectively being made the most junior staff member at work couldn’t be an easy load to carry. Joe and Sue Chapter Three – A visit to the doctor The next day, Joe showered and dressed before the visit to Dr Kathy. He walked into the living area ready to go, to find Sue on the phone. ‘Yes, he wet last night, but he’s showered and ready now. No, just undies. No, I don’t think he would. Oh, here he is now. See you soon!’ said Sue, putting the phone down. ‘Who was that?’ Joe asked urgently. ‘Don’t worry, honey, it was just Kathy. She and I have been best friends for years, so don’t worry.’ Sue kissed Joe and stroked his hair. ‘But you said, you know, last night,’ objected Joe. ‘She needs to know everything,’ said Sue reassuringly. ‘And she is a doctor,’ she added with a smile. Joe felt worried. He squeezed his thighs together as he felt a slight trickle in his underpants. ‘Do you need the bathroom before we go?’ asked Sue. ‘No,’ said Joe stiffly. ‘I’ve been.’ It was a little annoying to be reminded to use the bathroom, especially by a well dressed, adult woman wearing tight, light grey pants which would have shown the slightest dribble from down there, while he was wearing his usual dark loose slacks and thick cotton underwear, which were now damp. ‘OK then, hop in the car, sweetie, and we’ll get going.’ Joe didn’t have to ask whose car they would use. The thought occurred to him that he was being subtly demoted at home, too. Wetting the bed didn’t help his self-confidence about his status relative to Sue either. It seemed to underline his lesser position in the house. And now he was definitely earning less money than Sue. Thank God they didn’t know about his night time issues at work, Joe thought. Joe walked towards their two cars. Sue marched straight to the passenger door of her SUV and held it open for Joe, who quickly climbed in. Sue got in the driver’s seat, then turned to Joe. ‘Buckle up, honey, please,’ she said, guiding Joe’s hand to the seat belt. ‘I was just going to,’ he said crossly, and buckled himself in. ‘Good boy,’ said Sue, and turned her head away from Joe as she backed from the driveway. Joe was quiet during the 15 minute drive to Kathy’s rooms. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being taken to the doctor’s against his will. He had had no say in it, that was for sure. Clearly, Sue and Kathy had discussed the whole thing, too. Sue pulled into the carpark of the surgery and was out of the car and holding Joe’s door open while he was still fumbling with his seat belt. ‘Don’t dawdle, honey,’ she said. ‘We’re a couple of minutes late as it is.’ Joe was not looking forward to this. He felt himself wet a little as he clambered out of the car. Sue grabbed his hand. ‘Come on, slowcoach,’ she said, and led him across the carpark and through the glass doors of the surgery. Joe looked back to see a mother dragging her young child across the carpark by the hand just as Sue had done. The sight gave Joe a jolt, and he managed to let go of Sue’s hand as they went along a corridor to Kathy’s rooms. The first room the entered was the waiting room, and Sue went straight to the receptionist. ‘And this is Joe,’ said the immaculately groomed receptionist with a smile. ‘Hullo Joe,’ she added. ‘Hi,’ muttered Joe, and plonked himself on one of the chairs in the room. The lady from the carpark arrived, still with her young son in tow. ‘Doctor will be a few minutes late,’ the receptionist told Sue, then she looked at Joe who looked less than comfortable on his chair. ‘There’s a bathroom just along the hall, if you need,’ the receptionist said with another pleasant smile. ‘I’m OK,’ said Joe quietly. ‘Thank you,’ Sue reminded him as she sat next to him. ‘Thank you,’ Joe dutifully said, and received another smile. Why did she mention the bathroom, Joe wondered. He really didn’t feel in charge of anything here. Surreptitiously, he rested his hand on his crotch. He could feel it was a little damp, but his pants were very dark and he had got away with similar situations before. A few minutes later, Kathy put her head around a door into the waiting room. ‘Would you like to come in now, Sue?’ she asked. ‘Hello Joe,’ she said, turning to him and smiling. ‘Hi Kathy,’ replied Joe, and followed Sue into the room. The two women discussed some paperwork while Joe looked around. To be continued…

Oh, BabyLock, you're a lifesaver! I was hoping someone had archived this! Sorry I cna't write more now, but I'll get on with it, and Max and Joy, when I can. XXX Wife In Charge Chapter 1 Bob and Sue's marriage had been stormy in its few short years. Sue had the big house, the big job and a big income. Bob had bought his few prospects and his pleasant company, and the second only when made the effort. Making an effort turned out not to be one of Bob's stronger points, thought Sue as she made arrangements for a new kitchen benchtop to be installed after Bob had left an electric frypan on high all afternoon while he went to the football, and burnt the laminate. He just wasn't safe in the kitchen, Sue had decided. He had cut himself quite badly a few weeks before, trying to cut cheess with the carving knife because he was too lazy to use the proper implement. 'Ban him,' Sue's jazzercise friend Josey said on the phone as Sue told her tale of woe. 'What?' replied Sue. 'Ban him from the kitchen, Sue' Josey repeated. 'I can't do that,' said Sue. Josey wasn't married, and Sue was pretty sure she knew why. Josey rarely ahd a good word for any man, and while Sue enjoyed the way Josey soaped her back in the shower after an exercise session, she would get a bit eager sometimes and Sue had occasionally to gently fend off her wandering hands. Not that she got much in the way of physical affection from Bob these days. 'Sure you can, Sus,' said Josey. 'It's your kitchen. Anyway, who's in charge around there?' 'He'd go nuts,' said Sue. 'So what?' said Josey. 'Tell him it's off limits to him. The lazy bastard will probably be grateful because you'll be doing all the work in there.' 'He doesn't do anything much there now,' said Sue. 'Exactly,' said Josey. 'Lay down some rules. You let him get away with too much as it is.' 'Rules?' said Sue. 'He's not a child, Jose.' 'No?' said Josey. 'He's never seemed that mature to me. You said he can't even keep his underwear dry, or clean.' 'Don't start,' said Sue. 'He can't help that.' She'd heard Josey's 'I don't know what you see in him' speech before. 'Come one, Sus, he's a pussy,' said Josey. 'Around you, maybe,' said Sue. 'You intimidate him.' 'Oh, Sue,' said Josey with a laugh. 'I turn up in a black leotard and...' 'You'd intimidate anyone,' said Sue. 'I don't intimidate you, though,' said Josey quietly. Sue thought of their slightly too lingering cuddle at the door last time Josey had been around in her jazz gear. She recalled the taste of Josey's lipstick and the press of her full breasts and pubic bone. 'No, you don't,' admitted Sue, then changed the subject. 'So what do I do, just tell him?' 'Yep,' said Josey. 'Take charge, Sue. It's your only hope. Got to go - I'm late for training.' Josey was a strong swimmer and trained with a water polo team several times a week. Sue left her to it, and went to the living room, where she found Bob with a beer in hand, watching a sports program. 'My only hope,' thought Sue. 'Bob,' she said, standing next to his easy chair, 'That burnt benchtop was too much.' 'Later, Sue,' said Bob, not looking up at her. Chapter 2 Sue glared down at Bob and grabbed the remote from the arm of his chair. She punched the off button, tossed the remote into his lap and stood back, her arms folded. Bob looked up without comprehension. 'What's up?' he asked, picking up the remote. He was about to turn the TV back on when Sue leant down and snatched the remote from his hands. 'No, Bob.' she said. I want you to listen to me.' Bob laughed. Sue rarely put up a show like this. He wondered what was coming, and soon found out. 'You are banned from the kitchen, Bob. Starting now,' Sue said angrily. 'What?' said Bob. 'You heard,' said Sue. 'You are not responsible enough to have kitchen privileges. You burnt the benchtop, you cut yourself the other day, you make a mess every time you go in there. I'm sick of it.' Bob sat with his mouth open. Sue was on a roll, and starting to enjoy herself. The feeling of commanding Bob was quite intoxicating. 'You're not behaving like a responsible adult, Bob,' Sue continued. 'And until you can show some adult responsibility, the kitchen, my kitchen in my house, is off limits to you. If you want something from there, you ask me, OK? You ask an adult. If Josey or someone is over, you ask them, OK? But you are banned. Got it?' Bob was stunned. 'Come on, Sue, what's this really about? What are you projecting about? And what's it got to do with that bitch Josey?' Bob asked, trying to sound like the voice of reason. 'Projecting?' Sue almost shouted. 'I'm not projecting anything, Bob. I'm facing facts, and I wish you would too. It's simple. You are not allowed in the kitchen because clearly you are not responsible enough. You are not a responsible person, much less a responsible husband, or even a responsible man!' Sue shifted her stance. That was a bit farther than she intended to go, but she could now feel the slight slipperiness between her legs. She yanked up the waist of her jeans, enjoying the momentary pressure on her clitoris.This was great. 'Sue, if you're upset about something...' Bob began. 'Of course I'm upset about something. You!' she said. 'I've put up with your irresponsible habits for too long. You're like a child, Bob. You can't even keep your underpants clean and dry!' That was too much, Bob thought. He finally realised that Sue was really angry. The subject of his underwear had always been off limits. He couldn't help it, just like Sue couldn't help swearing obscenely during sex. Sue had crossed a line with the underpants comment. Bob took a deep breath and was about to speak, but Sue had turned away and was heading back to the kitchen. Bob held his tongue and stood up, then followed her to the kitchen. Sue turned around. 'Where are you going?' she asked. 'After you,' Bob said. 'I want to talk this through.' 'There's nothing to talk about, Bob,' Sue told him. 'I've said what I wanted to say.' 'This is ridiculous,' said Bob. 'Is it?' said Sue. Bob rolled his eyes and moved to get past Sue, who was blocking the door to the kitchen. 'You're barred from my kitchen, remember?' said Sue, putting an arm in Bob's way. 'You're not, you're not grown up enough.' 'What?' said Bob. 'You're mad.' 'I don't think so, Bob,' said Sue. 'Here's the deal. You can go into the kitchen, but you have to keep going, out through the back door. Then you don't come back, got it? I don't actually need you, Bob. You can leave my house, and my car that you drive that I pay for, and all the other things that I pay for. Good luck, Bob. Or you can stay, and do as you're told. That's the deal.' Bob swallowed. This was a lot more serious than he thought. She was projecting. He could taste a reflux of the last mouthful of beer he'd drunk. Her beer, he had to admit. Figures in dollars swam in his head, and he tried to put them out of his mind. He knew that their monthly mortgage payments alone were more than his monthly income. He always tried not to think too much about their finances, which Sue more or less managed, but she was right, for the moment anyway. She had him. 'So?' said Sue. Bob's shoulders slumped. 'OK,' he said quietly. Bob hated this. He had the same feeling he got at Christmas when they went to Sue's parent's seafront holiday house. It was all about money. Sue's wealth didn't just give her options. It gave her power, especially over him. He had options too, but they were few, stark and mostly unpleasant. 'Good,' said Sue. She could see Bob's bottom lip quivering. Sue knew the look and felt like laughing triumphantly. The look said 'You win'. It was a great feeling, but she held her composure. She couldn't wait to tell Josey how things had worked out. She knew how Bob felt about Josey, and decided to turn the knife a bit. 'Oh, Josey's coming over after her swimming,' Sue said calmly. Bob felt totally lost. The last few minutes had laid bare the ugly, unspoken issue of financial power in their marriage. Some couples might by now have been headed for an erotic make-up session, but not Sue and Bob. They were headed for a vist from the alpha female man hater Josey. All muscles and cleavage. Even her big mound looked more substantial than Bob's modest package. She never got changed after her exercise sessions, and whenever she called in she seemed intentionally to piss off Bob, or Bobby as she called him. She was taller than he was, and probably stronger too, Bob thought miserably. She wasn't feminine at all, he thought. More like a, well, he didn't know what. He had to admit, she even scared him a bit. How did things ever come to this, he wondererd. 'Your pants, Bob.' said Sue suddenly. 'Go and change.' Bob looked at Sue, and followed her eyes to his crotch. Of all the times for this to happen, he thought. Very occasionally, and only when he was under max stress, he leaked a bit. The fist-sized wet patch in his groin said it all. Bob looked away from Sue, silently turned and walked with as much dignity as he could to the bathroom. On the way he told himself it could happen to anyone. He'd had, what, three beers watching the game. that was it. On the other hand, it didn't happen to anyone, did it? What other husbands wet their pants? Maybe Sue was right. Maybe he wasn't really grown up. But he was, obviously. It was just an accident. Too much stress. Nothing to worry about. As Bob reached the bathroom he felt the warm pee cascading down the legs of his pants. He walked awkwardly to the toilet and began to undo his belt, but it was too late. He'd finished peeing. Now he was crying, and he couldn't stop that, either. Bob took off his pants and sat unhappily on the toilet, looking at the mass of wet denim on the floor in front of him. After a few minutes, he managed to stop crying and was about to get up when he felt the sudden urge for a bowel movement. He dealt with that, then stripped off his shirt and got into the shower. 'Are you OK in there?' he heard Sue ask though the door. 'Yeah, just having a shower,' he replied. At least she still cares, a bit anyway,' Bob told himself. 'I'll put your wet things in the wash,' Sue added, and Bob heard the door open. 'No, I'll do it,' he said quickly. 'Too late,' said Sue. 'I've got them.' Bob watched Sue's shape though the obscured glass. She picked up the clothes. Bob waited, but Sue just said that Josey would be around in an hour or so, and left the room. Bob was not happy about the way things were going. Sue was surprised to see the extent of Bob's wetting, and oddly pleased. Varous new and bizarre ideas swam in her head, and she enjoyed the odd thoughts. Sue tugged up her jeans again and leaned against the corner of the laundry trough. Smiling, she pushed her weight against the cold stainless steel. Chapter 3 Josey arrived an hour later as predicted. Bob had changed into his track suit, and was trying to get back into Sue's good books by helping with the housework. He was vacuuming the living room when Josey burst into the house. She was in her black leotard again. The black spandex was stretched over her big breasts and clung to her curves. Her long, muscular legs were encased in red spandex, flanking the big, curving black vee of her crotch. Bob tried not to watch as she strode into the room. 'Well, well,' she said, walking past Bob and giving him a playful slap on his backside. 'Wonders will never cease. Bobby doing housework! I wish I had a tame maid at home to do mine!' Bob grimaced. 'Hi Josey,' he said as politely as he could under the cirumstances. He didn't add 'And you look like the giant Amazon bitch you are,' although he thought it. He turned around with the vacuum cleaner so he wouldn't have to look at her. 'Oh, Bob's in the naughty corner at the moment,' said Sue with a laugh. 'Oh?' said Josey. 'What's he done?'' 'Well,' said Sue, 'He didn't get to the bathroom in time. We had a little accident in our pants. Quite a big one, actually.' Bob froze with the vacuum cleaner. He couldn't believe what Sue had just said. Josey's eyes widened. 'Not....?' 'Oh, no,' said Sue. 'Just pee. But it was bad enough. So now he's being extra helpful to make up for the mess. Aren't you Bob?' 'For fuck's sake,' said Bob, and threw down the wand of the still running cleaner. 'Sue...' 'Bob,' said Sue calmly. 'Jose is one of my best friends. We share things. We've talked about this, Bob.' Bob glared at both women, shook his head and stomped out of the room. 'Are you going to turn off the vacuum cleaner?' Sue called after him. 'No,' came Bob's voice from the passage, followed by the study door slamming. Sue shrugged, and smiled at Josey. 'There's somehting I want to talk to you about, Jose,' she said, walking over to the cleaner and turning it off. 'I'm all ears,' said Josey. Bob had trouble getting to sleep that night. Sue hadn't mentioned his wet clothes, or the altercation with her and Josey. Bob lay next to her, worrying about what she was thinking. He didn't dare bring up the matter, preferring to let sleeping dogs lie. But he lay awake well after Sue had gone to sleep. He'd tried to cuddle up to her, but she wasn't having it. Bob worried about that, too, and eventually fell into a troubled sleep. Bob had a dream about his embarrassing problem in the bathroom, only in his dream, Sue and Josey were watching him pee his pants. 'Bob!' Sue was saying. 'Bob! For heaven's sake!' How real that sounded, Bob thought in his dreamy state. Then he felt his shoulder being pushed. 'Bob! Look at this!' Bob opened his eyes to see Sue on the far side of the bed, angrily holding the bedclothes up to reveal a huge dark patch on the bottom sheet. This was real, he thought with horror. Sue got out of the bed, dragging the bedclothes with her, exposing Bob in his soaked pyjama pants. She pulled the side of her panties away from her hip. The sheer fabric was wet with Bob's pee. 'Christ, Bob,' Sue said. 'First your pants, now this. What's going on, Bob? Are you unwell?' 'No,' said Bob. He didn't think he was. He didn't really know what to say. He hadn't wet the bed since he was 15. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I don't know why it happened.' 'Great, said Sue.