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This is my first story on this site, and it owes a great deal to two of my favourite authors here, Elfy and SallyKat. Apologies to both for what is probably a shadow of the real thing. Another more ambitious project is in the works, and I hope to learn some lessons from this first attempt. Feedback welcome. Some unwelcome news…. “That’s, erm, really great,” Greg said. “Super exciting.” He tried hard to make it sound as though he meant it, and that he shared Anna’s joy at the news that his mother-in-law had put in a successful offer for the house next door. In reality he felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Kathryn, or rather Dr Kathryn Schwarz as Greg tended to think of her, was now in her early sixties and retired, with too much time and too much money on her hands. Her highly successful career as a research scientist had culminated in a professorship and a very well paid position as a senior adviser to one of the world’s leading pharmaceutical giants. Her one and only husband had died many years previously, a couple of years after the birth of Anna, their only child. Kathryn Schwarz now spent her time travelling and cultivating her stunning garden at the family home in southern California, and she was bored. To Greg, Kathryn always induced what can best be described as imposter syndrome. She was rich, highly intelligent, sophisticated, always immaculately coiffured and dressed, and he felt that she could somehow see straight through him. He was inadequate and barely to be tolerated in her eyes, he felt. Anna, on the other hand, was Kathryn’s princess, and surprise visits to the couple’s small flat in London had become increasingly frequent since the mother's retirement. “I just thought I would stop over for a couple of weeks on my way back from Bhutan/Sri Lanka/the Maldives (insert the name of any other exotic location where Kathryn had been spending her time),” she would say as Greg hauled his mother-in-law’s heavy and expensive luggage up the stairs to their flat. And now, Anna explained, Kathryn planned to spend up to half a year enjoying the cultural delights of London and the rest of Europe from her base next door. Naturally Kathryn had not just bought a flat in the building next door, but the entire three floors plus garden, and she now intended to convert the three flats it contained back into a single family home, complete with accommodation for a cook/housekeeper. Needless to say, this was going to be a major renovation and design project, and Kathryn had told her daughter that she would have to live her (she forgot to mention Greg) while the work was carried out to her specifications. Greg speculated that this would mean living with his mother-in-law for at least six months, and probably rather longer. The prospect filled him with dread. Kathryn moves in Weeks went by while the lawyers completed the purchase of Number 8, Wellington Gardens until one day Anna announced that her mother would be arriving the following Monday to begin the renovation project by interviewing prospective architects, project managers and builders. That left Greg with one final weekend of freedom for the foreseeable future, and he made plans for a couple of days of footie and heavy drinking. Greg had met Anna at university, and having graduated and embarked on their respective careers, they had married shortly after their 24th birthdays which both fell in May. Anna worked in PR and was clearly headed for a glittering career; Greg worked in IT for a publishing house. After four years of marriage the couple had no plans to start a family, although Anna sometimes toyed with the idea of what it might be like to have a baby. But there was still plenty of time, and she settled down into a routine of work and visiting art galleries and painting in her spare time. Greg, on the other hand, never seemed to grow up. Ever since his teenage years, his passions had been playing football, or soccer as Anna insisted on calling it, going to watch his team play, and long, boozy sessions with his mates in the pubs and bars of north London. For Greg Wednesday nights were practice nights, followed by a trip to a pub; Thursday nights usually found him out somewhere with his work colleagues; Friday nights were usually spent at home before he headed off to watch his team play on Saturdays, followed by post-match analysis over yet more beers. Sunday mornings saw Greg playing for the second team down at the park, followed once again by beers with his mates. Unsurprisingly, Anna had come to feel neglected by her husband, and although he had tried to persuade her to come and join him and his mates for drinks on a Sunday lunchtime, she never felt comfortable in the company Greg kept, and so she stayed alone or headed off to one of her beloved art galleries. Kathryn had been observing her daughter’s increasingly sterile and boring married life on her trips to London, and now she resolved that it was time to intervene. Anna clearly loved Greg, that much she knew, and as she settled into the small guest bedroom, Kathryn was confident that an extended stay with her daughter and son-in-law would give her scope to carry out more than one project. The ten week project Kathryn had spent her first couple of weeks busying herself with the building project, but that still left her with plenty of spare time during which she set about building up a social network and doing household chores to help her daughter while she was at work. The household chores involved food shopping, a little light cleaning and doing the laundry for Anna and Greg. It was while she stood folding a pile of freshly laundered clothes one day that Kathryn broached the subject of Greg with her daughter. “How are things with Greg?” she asked. “He certainly seems to spend a lot of time kicking a ball around and consuming beers.” Anna felt as though a dam had burst, as she poured out her long pent-up frustration and feelings of neglect. “I love him, I really do,” she sobbed, “but it gets so lonely, and I don’t know what I can do to persuade Greg to spend more time together.” Kathryn hugged her daughter and said, “I’ve been giving this some thought and I think I know what we need to do, but you are going to have to trust me 100% and do exactly as I say for this to work.” “OK,” Anna replied, slightly nervously. “What do you have in mind?” “In essence we need to work on Greg’s motivation so that rather than wanting to spend time with his friends drinking and playing soccer, he comes to understand that he is happier and feels more secure being with you. To the extent that he actually does not want to go out with his friends any more.” Anna listened intently. This seemed to make sense, and she respected her mother’s experience and thoughtful approach. “First things first,” Kathryn said, as she gestured to a pile of Greg’s colourful boxer briefs. “These have to go. Young men these days don’t like wearing plain white briefs, and Greg will probably be embarrassed to be seen wearing them in the locker room. It’s a small beginning, but it will unsettle him slightly. At the same time, you need to reward him for wearing more manly underwear, and that will mean conditioning him to associate your choice of underwear for him with sex.” “OK,” said Kathryn. “I understand. But is there anything else?” “Changing his underwear is just the first step of a ten week plan,” Kathryn explained. “In one of my last projects before retiring I supervised the development of a new drug for use in a specialised branch of urology. Essentially the drug gradually shrinks a patient’s bladder and reduces control. It is still pending approval, but extensive testing has shown very encouraging results, and one of my contacts has provided me with a supply.” Anna looked worried. “I don’t want to hurt him or cause him any long-term damage. I could never do that.” “Don’t worry. Greg will not experience any pain, and his loss of control will be gradual and in time, the evidence suggests that he will return to normal bladder function.” After discussing the implications and details, Anna found herself agreeing to go with her mother’s plan, beginning immediately. Her first task was to head off to the shops while Greg was still away at soccer to buy six pairs of plain white men’s briefs. The boxers would go to recycling.

I have a couple if unfinished stories here. I've come to a sort of block with them. My way of working through that is to diversify with another short story. This is one of those. Chapter 1 Although she was alone in the house this Saturday morning, Sara glanced left and right before pausing, and clicking with her slim finger on the link on the news page displayed on the laptop on the kitchen bench. She knew Jim was at the hardware store, but she still felt a kind of nervousness. She took a deep breath, and began to look at the site. Sara was 34, happily married, and they were generally doing well. 'They' was her and Jim, her handsome husband. Life was good, except for one thing. Sara stared at the images on the site. That the images even had meaning for her now was a measure of the situation. She wiped an unbidden tear from her flawless cheek, and then stared out through the kitchen window to where her lovely little Alfa Romeo, now sold, used to be parked. Then the doorbell rang. Sara's fingers went to the crotch of her track pants, and briefly rested there before she closed the page and left the kitchen. Then she felt behind at the top of her thighs for the little wings of dark damp that occasionally appeared despite her precautions. Sometimes, increasingly lately, she wet a little without realising it. Some weeks ago, she had started using sanitary pads, which she despised, every day, She'd managed to hide that from Jim. She had felt as embarrassed for him as she did for herself when it happened at a barbecue recently. Luckily, the only other person to notice was kind enough to take Sara aside and let her know. They left immediately, with Sara in apologetic tears and Jim being kind and understanding as always. She'd gone to the doctor again after that, and had received sympathy but no hope for change. The condition was what it was, as Jim had told her. They had so much else that was good and to be thankful for. None of that made Sara feel much better about herself. 34 years old, fit, successful, and having to scope wherever they went for the nearest bathroom. And checking her crotch and bottom for dampness when the doorbell rang. It was a woman doing a survey. Sara dealt with her as politely as she could, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. 'Thank you,' she said at last, closed the front door, and had to run to the bathroom. She knew what was happening as she got to the door. Involuntarily, she gave a short moan and sat on the toilet. There was no time to do anything else. She began crying as she sat, pissing her panties and track pants and listening to her pee cascading into the toilet bowl. She heard the front door opening. 'Hi darling!' Jim called. 'Who was that?' She heard Jim walk into the kitchen. 'Honey?' he said loudly. 'In here, in the bathroom,' she replied keeping her voice as steady as she could. She must have failed in that, because a moment later she heard Jim's voice outside the door. 'Are you ok?' he asked. 'Yep,' she replied, her voice breaking. There was a silence. 'Honey...' Jim said. Sara could hear the kindness and concern in his voice. 'I'm OK, Jim,' she said. Another short silence. 'I love you, honey,' Jim said. 'Just say if you need help.' Sara nodded, then felt silly, since Jim couldn't see her. 'Mm,' she managed. 'OK,' replied Jim. There was another brief silence, and she heard his footsteps retreating. Sara stood up. Her track pants and undies were saturated. Carefully, she pulled them down together to her thighs, and removed the sodden pad from the panties. She turned and dropped it into the bowl, then unrolled some toilet paper, carefully wiped her crotch and flushed the toilet. She kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her wet pants, then bunched them up and put them in the laundry basket in the room. There was no point in trying to hide what had happened. She would either have to face Jim in soaked pants or come clean, as it were. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and as before, she was glad to have an excuse of sorts. She picked up her shoes and walked pantless into the living room to find Jim. It was awful, she knew that, and tried to banish the weird, erotic little buzz she was feeling. She'd felt that before when something similar had happened. It was a mixture of exhibitionism, which was not part of her personality, and extreme and even strangely exciting vulnerability. She knew how much she needed Jim. She felt helpless. She'd begun shaving her crotch for hygiene since all this started, and facing Jim without any pubic hair felt odd, but exciting. She stood next to the chair he sat in, and despite her intention of explaining what had happened, she found herself crying again and unable to speak. 'Poor baby,' said Jim gently as Sara moved in front of him and collapsed into his arms. 'You couldn't help it, could you?' he asked in his strong, caring voice. Sara shook her head, and gave herself up to his embrace. To be continued