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Found 7 results

  1. Les Lea

    Chrissy

    Chrissy Chrissy stood on the porch holding his mother’s hand. It was late, very late for him but the night was perfect, not a cloud to obstruct the glorious view of the starry night. Debbie, his mother, had got her sixteen year-old son up to see a spectacle; a nocturnal display of bright shooting stars streaking across the sparkling dark mass. It was something every child should experience so thought her son would be as enthralled as she was, not only by the blazing trails but the glorious and immense clear night sky of which Earth was just a tiny part. It was around 1am, although Chrissy had no idea what time it was because normally he’d be fast asleep. In fact, he’d probably have been in bed for five or six hours but his mother didn’t want him to miss this wonderful phenomenon. He’d been disturbed from his usual deep, deep slumber and was barely conscious of his mother rousing him from his warm cot to witness something outside. He was vaguely aware of the noise as the holding clips on the safety bars were unfastened and slid down before a pair of hands reached in and gently pulled him to his feet. As he was gradually cajoled from under the covers and led unsteadily out onto the porch he stumbled and grabbed her hand for support. “What do you think Chrissikins… isn’t that just beautiful?” His mother spoke with wonder and enthusiasm but Chrissy just shuddered and rubbed his eyes to see what exactly she was pointing at. “Mama… it’s the… er… the dark.” She smiled as she often did when her sweet son didn’t quite comprehend something that was bigger than his imagination. “Yes it is sweetie, but look how clear it is… how beautiful the sky is lit up for you… how each star is twinkling to greet you…” She would have gone on but saw her son’s eyes begin to focus as he observed his first real shooting star zip across the ‘dark’. “Wowww.” # The night was warm but a gentle breeze occasionally rippled across the grassy lawn and subtly flapped at his nightie. The soft shiny white nylon, which barely came down to his thighs, tickled as he ran his hand over it to keep the flimsy garment from blowing up and revealing his matching silky padded diaper. Not that anyone in the darkness would have noticed, or cared, Chrissy had worn a diaper since he was eight, so it was certainly no secret. His mother was dressed in her own nightie though had a silky bathrobe wrapped over it hugging tightly to her ample frame. Her son was only a couple of inches shorter but standing in his loose girlie nightwear, wispy blond hair flowing to his shoulders, had there been anyone around to notice, they looked more like mother and daughter. Another, longer breeze made him shiver, his bare legs displaying small goosebumps as he hugged his teddy for comfort. Although warm, it wasn’t as warm as his comfy bed so this brief waft of cooler air had an effect - he released a spurt of pee into his damp diaper. The warm glow lasted longer than the trail of the falling star his mother had just pointed out, the appearance of which made him slightly happier to be standing out in the open at such an unsociable hour. Chrissy yawned but still held her hand tightly; in the other he clutched Mr Cribbs, his long serving teddy bear. Mr Cribbs was very rarely far away from Chrissy’s grasp but when it was the howl of distress could be heard in the next village. For Chrissy at least, the cool night and sound of all those nocturnal critters making noises of love and death, gave the situation an uneasy eerie feel… he was glad of Mr Cribbs’s reassuring furry presence. # His mother kept pointing to various glimmering stars and planets, naming the constellations and getting excited as yet another meteor ripped across the sky tracing its brief but brilliant sparkling trajectory. Chrissy nodded and tried to be as enthusiastic as mama but really wanted to get back to bed so he and Mr Cribbs could get some sleep. Besides, now he was awake he could feel just how heavy his diapers was, which meant he was already pretty clammy so would rather his mama change him than look at silly stars. Usually, when he goes to bed, and the safety bars are drawn up to stop him from falling out, he lies there knowing that mama has wrapped him in a thick diaper and rubber panties secure enough to soak up any accidents and stop any leakage. With such padding he generally lasted the night unhindered and unconcerned but now he was vertical, and standing in the open air, he wondered if she would attend to his sagging needs. Not that such things worried him, he may have been aware of it but rarely did he have any say in when or where he got changed. The weight and fullness of his soggy diaper had made him waddle more than usual. He stood with his legs well apart and hoped that the return to his cosy cot wasn’t going to be too long in coming. He yawned and shivered, then stretched and wriggled - the silky mound of his shiny panties and the movement of his nightie caught a little of the light from the meagre source available. On some level the fabric’s sudden streaks of dull quicksilver were not unlike the aerial display. “Mama… am cold,” he shivered, “can I pweese go bye-byes?” She nodded, sad that he wasn’t as interested in the magnitude of the night sky as she was but grateful that she had such a sweet and loving son. # Once inside and Chrissy had been led back to his room she checked if his diaper needed changing. She pulled the nightie up to his chest and gently slid her hand down the front of his protection. It was a process he’d gotten used to over the years and didn’t mind that, like on other occasions, this didn’t lead to a change. “OK honey, you’re damp,” she smiled, “but there’s plenty of absorbency left. Do you think you’ll manage until morning?” Chrissy was so tired he hardly registered what was happening just glad to be back in bed. The sleepy boy’s eyes were already heavy and she could see it was a struggle for him to stay awake. Something that might have been the sound of agreement passed his lips as he settled down into the comfort of his cosy bed where he was already cuddling Mr Cribbs. She rearranged his nightie so it almost covered his thick diaper and kissed his precious head. The soft fleecy bunny rabbit blanket was pulled up slightly to cover his naked legs but, almost automatically, his feet kicked it off as he turned onto his side and wriggled against teddy to get comfy. Debbie watched for a few moments as her boy fidgeted. The thick padding and silky cover once again the focus of attention in his cot, whilst the rustling of his protection against the plastic undersheet reminded her of her little boy’s own trials and tribulations. She sighed. The pacifier that hung on a ribbon from the nightie was inserted back between his lips, which accepted the soother with no complaint. Yet before mama had raised the safety bars, Chrissy was once again on his way back to dreamland. She’d never had a problem with Chrissy; he’d always been a good sleeper. Other parents might have complained that their new babies were just too demanding, getting them up to be fed throughout the night, but not so little baby Christian. For some reason he slept through the night and although he cried occasionally (and certainly made up for it during the day) their night times were very rarely disturbed. He was a good baby… and still a good boy. The only illumination in the room was from a revolving nightlight that spread shadows of running horses across the wall. It had been his sister’s and like Mr Cribbs, he wouldn’t part with it for the world. # Debbie sighed again as she remembered the last eight traumatic years. When these thoughts invaded her head she knew there would be no sleep until she had exorcised her inner monologue. They surfaced quite regularly these days but usually she was able to bury them under her daily work and time spent looking after Chrissy. However, tonight the wonderful night sky had been just one of the many triggers that set her off down Memory Lane. She returned to the porch and once again took in the wonderful glittering heavenly vastness before examining the view from her home and looking out across the dark expanse of lawn. It was a scene she never tired of, even at night. Her old ‘homestead’ style property was set in a couple of acres in a beautiful rural part of town. The large, four bedroom, wooden structure seemed to fit in well with the surroundings and had been much admired by visitors. The nearest neighbours were quite some distance away and the lane leading up to their home was almost half a mile long. Even in the dark she could just make out the vague grey outline of the white driveway that eventually led to the welcoming wooden front porch. In the west the glow on the horizon showed where the town was, its lights probably killing off the aerial spectacle for its inhabitants. However, because of the lack of clouds, it was just a pale radiant blush. Sometimes, when clouds were low and heavy it appeared as a seething tangle of yellow light giving the impression the place was on fire. To the north was a gentle light indicating the much nearer village but the rest was just wonderful countryside; fields, fences, rolling hills and way off in the east, the craggy points of Darvil’s Bluff. As far as Debbie was concerned, when snow fell and the moon climbed large behind it in a clear night sky, it produced the most beautiful sight in the world. It was partly the reason she never wanted to leave even though there was just her and Chrissy living in such a large house in such a secluded area. Because the location was much sought after there had been offers but was adamant - she would only leave in a box… and not a moment before. She sat on the porch swing and searched the heavens once more. The sky was alive with millions of rippling stars billions of miles away but the brightest twinkled as if just for her. She sighed once again and tears formed. “Oh Christine,” she whispered half to herself and half to any godly presence that might be listening. “We miss you honey. We miss you every day.” The star continued to dazzle as another, much larger, meteor ripped a huge arc across the spectacular night sky as if in response to Debbie’s tears. “Just the thought of you cheers me up sweetheart… but thank you for showing me you’re there and listening.” It was nights like this when she felt the closest to her daughter. They had both appreciated the beauty of the large shimmering moon rising behind Darvil’s Bluff and both agreed it was probably the most stunning and picturesque vista in the entire county. Tears of both love and grief rolled down her face as she gently swung back and forth. Her deliberations drifted back and how the last eight years had changed both her and Chrissy’s life so dramatically. #### It had started with the symptoms of flu. Christine, Debbie and Thomas Longstaff’s vibrant, all-action fourteen year-old daughter had, unlike her usual easy going temperament, complained of a dry throat, cough and ‘stuffed’ nose. Her mother checked and noticed the temperature was climbing towards 100 degrees but it was decided a few days rest with plenty to liquid would soon have her back up and about. Unfortunately, the symptoms deteriorated and by the weekend she was running a colossal fever and had become completely lethargic. The doctor was summoned and whilst she waited for him to arrive Debbie called her husband at work to tell him of the new developments, her worries and for him to return home as soon as possible. The family owned the company but his office said he wasn’t in that day, despite when he left that morning saying an urgent order needed processing… he was nowhere to be found? Her suspicions had been raised for some time now about Tommy, her husband of fifteen years, and his late nights or weekend working. However, now, with their daughter ill, that mistrust had to take a back seat. She left messages on his cell and at the office for him to come home immediately. She emphasised the urgency but even when the doctor arrived he still hadn’t returned the call. # After a very brief examination the doctor called the emergency services, Christine’s dramatic downturn was more serious than anyone thought and she needed crucial specialist care. In the meantime, Debbie’s sister arrived just in time to look after Christian; the Longstaff’s other child, their eight year-old son who was already in a distressed state over his sister’s illness. He couldn’t understand how his lively playmate and best friend looked so awful lying there and he couldn’t get her to respond to his silly jokes. He was very worried. With a noise that could be heard a good five minutes before its arrival the ambulance, with siren blaring, drew up sharply outside the house. The doctor and medics quickly loaded up Christine and her mother into the back before, with sirens blaring, taking off at pace down the country roads. Standing hugging each other for comfort was Christian and his aunt, both in tears and both extremely anxious. That was to be the last time Christian ever saw his sister again. Whatever disease had taken hold of her body suddenly became ultra-toxic and even before the ambulance arrived at the hospital Christine had died. The death of such a lively girl was a tremendous shock and the effect it had on the family was equally toxic. It saw the implosion of the family unit happen with speed. Thomas eventually arrived at the hospital but Debbie, in no mood to be placated even over the death of her daughter, launched into a frenzied attack of her unfaithful, selfish and lying husband. Anger had overtaken grief and her final words “It should be you lying in the morgue” aimed at her double-dealing husband meant that any pretence of family togetherness was no longer possible. # Christine and Christian had been very close. Despite the six year age gap both siblings enjoyed each other’s company and were often seen together on some adventure or indulging in one of their special games where only they knew the rules. Now, with the last image of his sister being stretchered away amid urgent wailing sirens, Christian fell to pieces. The fact that his best friend and sister was no longer going to be around left him unable to cope, which toppled him into a deep and dark despair. It was the start of the eight year-old relapsing slowly back into his childhood where he felt safe. Meanwhile, as the truth of where Thomas had been when their daughter had been rushed to hospital eventually became known, the divorce wasn’t too far behind. Debbie despised her husband, and the trollop he was having an affair with, but made sure that the settlement was very much in her favour and she retained the house. She was determined that Chrissy and her were not going to suffer because of her husband’s infidelity and when all the assets were added up, she retained a large chunk of both the business and property portfolio. She was a far better negotiator than all her husband’s legal team but stayed her hand at bankrupting him completely. He walked away with occasion parental visiting rights but not enough money that would give him, and his whore, the lifestyle she’d come to expect. That relationship didn’t last long after the settlement. # However, there was another casualty in all this - Christian found the loss of both sister and father just too much to cope with (even though his father had visiting rights) and slipped into a strange world that only he seemed to understand. To begin with the difficulty was revealed by night-time accidents. He’d wake up crying and his bed would be a horrendous wet mess; after three consecutive nights of this Debbie put him temporarily back into diapers. Part of the reason was to prevent the bedding from being destroyed by his soiling but also hoped that being in a diaper might make him feel too babyish and, through embarrassment, stop his nightly bodily expulsions. This action gained no response. He didn’t argue or create or complain that his thick protection was for babies - he didn’t realise or even acknowledged this change to his nightly routine. Over the coming weeks the problem got worse and he’d wake up screaming, crying and with a completely filled diaper. Things escalated when every night he’d tremble as some kind of terror overtook his mind, which saw him physically throwing himself out of bed and often causing injury. The local psychiatrist was no help at all coming up with no better suggestion than Christian being restrained to the bed. As a last resort, Debbie had his cot adapted and fitted with high rails to stop him falling and hurting himself. This seemed to make a difference so the disturbed boy began to settle down to a reasonably untroubled night. It appeared whenever his routine was altered; changed out of diapers and returned to briefs or the rails on the bed were left down, his anxieties reared up again. He fretted and became nervous of others. If he was out walking along the street with his mother and an emergency vehicle sped past with its siren blaring, Christian’s bladder and bowel reacted and he messed his pants. His body trembled nearly all the time. He was scared of perhaps, like his sister, being taken away and never seen again. He cried, he had temper tantrums over nothing and then he’d cry some more holding on to his mama for dear life, telling her he was never going to let go. It seemed that the only way he could cope was if he was completely safe, bodily and physically, at all times. His diapers became thicker and in use 24/7. He wanted constant attention and cried if he didn’t get it, which was something he’d never done before and, perhaps strangest of all, sulk if his mama didn’t praise him like she had when he was a little boy. He went out of his way to be a good boy for mama because mama looked after him. He needed her constant reassurance. Mama and Mr Cribbs were the only two things in his life he cared about, whilst diapers took care of everything else. # He’d found all his old baby stuff put away in the spare room and insisted, through constant pleas and pet lips, that his mother use it. She’d already found use for his fabric diapers, pins and baby powder but now found herself surrounded with his toys, rattles, stuffed animals, baby bottles, pacifiers, onesies and a host of old baby clothes. He’d happily play for hours with a little plastic toy or his stuffed animals and hardly acknowledge anything else going on until it was time to be fed. Of course he was too big for most of the clothing but that didn’t stop him trying to wear whatever he could. He’d cry and cry because it no longer fit and stomp around still trying to get into it. Debbie didn’t know what to do but noticed that he calmed down considerably if he was sucking on his binkie or fed from a baby’s bottle. She knew that there was something inexplicable going on in her son’s head. After all that had happened she wasn’t that surprised but no amount of therapy seemed to make a difference, it was as if he’d just shut down on growing up. Also, and the main thing that Debbie was paranoid about, was losing her other child. The thought of him in some kind of institution, although suggested, had been dismissed immediately. She would do what was needed to keep him safe, secure and nearby. Her solution was to get him the onesies and other babywear he so desired, which would stretch to fit and keep him comfortable. Christian’s speech pattern also changed and became more childlike. He wobbled as he walked and that wasn’t just because of the huge diaper he wore between his legs, he seemed so much more unsteady around the house and, without help, mostly just crawled from place to place. When they did go out he clung to his mother’s hand and didn’t dare let go. Something else happened and Debbie didn’t realise she was doing it until her sister pointed it out, she spoke to him as if he was still a baby. Short sentences, baby descriptions, simple phrases and words, otherwise Chris would just look at her as if confused by what she was saying. All these things worked and Christian seemed to be happy with his new life dressed and acting like a toddler. For his mama, washing diapers every day didn’t seem a chore, nor did the constant changing or keeping him all clean and tidy because she knew her little boy was so sweet and loving and more importantly, always close. # One evening, about four months after his sister had died, Christian wondered naked, apart from his protection, into her bedroom and, unknown to his mother, put on some of Christine’s clothes. When he caught his mother’s attention she suddenly called out “Chrissy”, the name they all called Christine. She was shocked by his sudden appearance and for a few seconds thought she was seeing an apparition. She was still in shock when he waddled over to her and cried as he hugged his mama. “I… I… I mish,” he sobbed and had trouble getting the words out, “I mishh… Chrishy.” His roar of absolute grief was only matched by the sudden realisation that his mama was also bawling as she hugged and stroked her son’s dress. He held on to her for comfort as tightly as she held on to him and patted his thickly padded bottom through the thin flowery fabric. It was quite some time before either would let go. When they did, the fact he was wearing some of his sister’s clothes didn’t seem so much of a problem. However, Debbie suggested that perhaps he should only wear her clothes at certain times and when she knew about it. Somehow he seemed to understand and accept these conditions with a childish shrug but that night wore one of her nighties over his thick night-time diaper and refused to wear anything else when he went to bed. This was the moment when Christian became Chrissy, a sort of loving term that referred to both Christine and Christian and a name which he responded to very well. From then on his night-time regime was mainly bath, powder, diaper, plastic (or some other shiny cover) and perhaps one of Christine’s nighties… and of course… Mr Cribbs. Occasionally, on a cool night, his mama could get him into a pair of PJs or a thick onesie but he preferred to wear his sister’s nightie. His mama thought this was his way of still being close to her and, as that’s why Debbie had kept all her stuff, so she could still maintain that link, she couldn’t deny her son that same connection. It appeared that once his mama had settled him down with a bottle, a binkie or sweet words of encouragement, and the safety bars were locked into place on his cot, her little boy knew he was secure and could safely drop off. However, he was always dressed for bedtime by 8pm and seemed happy with this arrangement which stayed with him as he grew older. # His mama was strangely jovial with this turn of events. Quite unexpectedly she now had a baby, and occasional daughter, to look after. He dressed in his sister’s clothes when the urge took hold but always wore his diaper underneath. Unfortunately, his potty training was negligible; it was as if he’d completely given up on the entire idea of going to the toilet, so his diapers were in constant use. His thick cushion of protection was the dominant thing to whatever he wore and would poke out from under his dress or swell out his juvenile shorts. Over the years, as the sadness of losing her daughter gradually began to be less painful she saw that Chrissy had provided her with a wonderful alternative reason for living… and one to which she was happy to devote her life. As he grew older his clothes stayed as he liked them; colourful and juvenile. His mother thought he was the most endearing little toddler and did all she could to keep him content in his infantile, diaper-clad world. When his father came to visit, which was only at Christmas and birthdays, he hated to see his son in such a state, although he couldn’t deny the boy seemed blissfully happy. Every time he hugged his son and patted his well-padded bottom he wished he’d never had the affair because perhaps then his son might be growing into a man instead of staying in his closed infantile world. He found it difficult that his son had stopped maturing and had settled for diapers and a pacifier as his life. He begged his ex-wife to get Christian to a psychiatrist, which she always told him the same thing - there was nothing they could do for him… his mind had simply shut down to everything except what he now had. No amount of bribes, cajoling, threats or visits to the psychiatrist had changed his mental state in all this time so, whether they liked it or not – Chrissy was who he was. # “Wake up Chrissy, time to get up and…” He was quite exhausted from all the charging about with the Teletubbies in his dreams, and of course the break to his usual sleep pattern to watch shooting stars, so it took a few moments to make the transition from slumber to wakefulness. “Morning mama.” The sweet childish voice said through bleary eyes. “Morning sweetness, let’s get you ready for the day. It’s wonderful outside so I think we need to be out in the fresh air for as long as we can…” She ran her finger playfully over his naked hairless tummy. The bunny fleece blanket had got caught around his legs, whilst the nightie had ridden up his chest, leaving the huge soaked cushioning around his groin needing urgent attention. The shiny cover was stretched tightly over the sodden diaper but the size didn’t seem to worry Chrissy as he lay enjoying his mama’s attention. She teasingly tickled some more as the baby-teen wriggled and chuckled his way into the morning’s brightness. “He-he he-he he-he… awwww mama stop.” The rustle of those shiny pants as he squirmed delightedly on top of the rubber sheet making mama beam at his giggly wake up routine. As usual he was still wetting as he struggled childishly against his mama’s nimble fingers. Eventually she stopped and slid those pleasing fingers down the front of his plastic pants to check the state of wetness. “Ohh Chrissikins, soaked again,” she said mischievously as he tried to recover from a bout of happy squealing and snickering. He smiled up at her. It didn’t matter whether he was wet or dry (which was very rare) mama always liked to make a good-humoured fuss when it came to change, clean and put her precious child back in fluffy diapers. He is mama’s sweet little baby so it’s expected that diapers will get messy because that’s what they are there for. As mama always explains; her lovable little boy shouldn’t have to worry about finding a toilet when he’s always well-shielded should he need one. Mama always made sure his protection fitted tightly, that rubber pants or plastic covers keep him from leaking but the rule is - he must tell her should he wet, he doesn’t want one of those nasty, itchy rashes now does he? She likes to know that he’s happy and comfortable, clean and tidy and always smells like a ‘sensitive rose bathed in the morning dew’. That’s what she always says as she washes him spotless and sprinkles on baby powder over his pale sleek body. Once he’s all cleaned-up the fuzzy diaper with the thick soaker is applied and snugly pinned into place. Occasionally at this point he’d totter over to the dresser and chose what he wants to wear, though more often than not it’s left to his mama to dress him and then he’s ready for the day ahead. Every day it’s the same. Debbie faces it with same determination she always has, since her daughter’s death and the ‘re-birth’ of her son, she’s there to ensure his world makes sense and that in turn makes sense of hers. The End
  2. Les Lea

    Diapermania (re-post)

    Diapermania At this moment Michael de Vie is probably the most famous seventeen year-old in the world. His six number one records and two best-selling albums of the past two years have rocketed this sweet natured, blond-haired, blue-eyed, good-looking, talented young singer into mega-star status. His two sell-out world tours were seen by an estimated audience of three million, whilst any magazine or newspaper that carries his photo or a story (true or false) has the same effect on its sales. There is no doubt about it, this nice young lad from the mid-West, is the most bankable piece of pop merchandise to come along for many years. Not for Michael the pouting brat that has earmarked other young performers, nor the cavorting in semi-pornographic videos to promote each new song. No, Michael’s image is not only that of a clean-cut teenager but one who respects his peers, adults and the world in which he lives. This is down to his family. His interviews always site the influence of this very important part of his life. His mother Jean is his manager, his eldest sister Ba–Ba (Barbara) is the keyboard player and leader of his backing band (The Protectors), his middle sister Mu (Muriel) is his PA and his other sister JJ (Jean Junior) runs the fan-club. Mother Jean is a ‘no messing’ type of lady who knows what she wants and generally gets just that. All her daughters are older than her son who was the last of her litter separating the first and last by thirteen years. The girls were all products of Jean’s husband George Clarkson, Michael was the off-spring of a drunken one night stand with someone Jean couldn’t remember having sex with. In fact, it wasn’t until she was almost five months pregnant that she realised what the result of that misguided sexual encounter had generated. The unplanned foetus growing in her womb had passed the abort stage, and, with no option, she eventually looked forward to the birth of her son. George Clarkson had died two years before that drunken night and Jean had been in grieving for quite some time before the ill-conceived romp took place. However, it was George’s name that appeared on the birth certificate and not the real father’s. So, that drunken need for sex, though for some time appeared to be the stupidest thing to have happened, now appeared to be the best. The family, thanks to Michael’s all-encompassing talent and appeal, are sitting pretty on a fortune that their bastard son and sibling has generated. However, it isn’t all down to Michael of course. No one could have achieved what he has done without superb management. His family were quick learners, smart at what they did and their talented brother was indebted to his family for the success he was now reaping. The baby of the family was kept just that way. All decisions were taken by the women in his life; all he had to do was perform. Even when not on stage it was his family that surrounded him and they wanted to look after that asset by making sure no one else got a look in. Little Mikey (as he was affectionately known to his family) had to adhere to some very strict rules that had governed his life since he was a born: Do exactly as told, argue and a spanking follows, diapers to be worn at all times. This last rule started as just a way to enforce the female domination of his life. However, Jean soon noticed how keeping her son in protection made him incredibly obedient and endearingly docile, so much so that now that sweet touch of childish purity was what made Little Mikey different. His stage clothes were solely for that because once the performance was over and the well-wishers had gone, one of the females took charge and returned Little Mikey to what he was, the baby of the family. Ever since he was an infant, that’s how the family had treated him. Mainly his young life consisted of being bottle fed, plain food, diaper changes, early nights, cartoons on TV, bedroom and bedding covered in cute animals and the constant love and attention from his ever caring family. Once out of the spotlight his diaper was checked and changed, he was put in a onesie or footed pyjamas and told to go to sleep. Mikey didn’t complain, why would he he’d never known anything different? As he grew up he was still kept in diapers and plastic pants “For your own protection” he was always told. Even at school, when his peers were moving into briefs and boxers he was wearing thick diapers under his school uniform. Once he returned home he was immediately changed out of that and into something deemed more suitable; cute romper pants or shorts. This regime was easy to maintain because since he was a babe in his mother’s arms all his sisters loved dressing him up. No sooner had one got him dressed to her satisfaction, than one of the others had a different idea and he would be stripped where ever he was, powdered, changed and slipped into something equally sweet but undeniably babyish. This continues to this day and Michael appears quite content with the situation, well, at least he’s never complained. His connection with anyone outside of his family is fleeting and supervised. Fans say ‘Hello’, want photographs, scream for him and at him but they only got near him when he’s on stage. Once he’s left the ‘performance’ area (as his family called it) he is theirs and the public are not allowed into that intimate and very private inner-sanctum. Little Mikey feels he’s special but not because of his undeniable talent but the love and attention of his family who do everything for him. * Michael had won a local TV talent show when he was ten. The song he sung was a self-penned little tune about his love for a cat. He never mentioned the word cat in it so it sounded just like a love song and people adored it. For a short time the local press hailed this ‘Small Town Boy’ as the next big thing. Alas, his fame never spread beyond the county although, from then on, people loved his voice and he was in demand for regional concerts and state fairs. The young singer/songwriter performed anywhere and everywhere under the watchful eye of his mother. From the family home she directed his burgeoning career and made sure at all times he had at least two of his family present. She also took the opportunity to home-school him, especially as demand for his shows was increasing and travelling meant he couldn’t attend a regular class. As he grew up and was influenced more and more by things, stories and people around him, his song writing got stronger and stronger. However, Jean wanted to keep her boy just that, a boy. She didn’t want him in a rush to grow up and saw that his appeal was down to his childlike looks, unsophisticated attitude and general sweet demeanour. He was so unlike anyone else performing at the time; ‘innocence’ was not what the public wanted, or so it thought. However, a spot on national TV raised his profile and his self-penned and self-released single “Too Good” was an instant success on download, which in turn grabbed the attention of the big record companies. Michael was still only fourteen when it went on general release. Accompanied by a video which showed him working on a farm in a pair of dirty shorts and ripped t-shirt surrounded by loads of cute animals, proved a clever move and the public loved it. YouTube went berserk and suddenly he had a massive hit on his hands. Despite loads of tempting offers from International agencies, it was his mother’s planning and strict supervision that made it all work. She took complete command and steered her young son’s career to the success it is now. * He’s happy in the care of his family; the regular diaper changing and dressing up only reinforces that bond. He’s never worn anything but a diaper so other types of underwear for a boy have never been offered. He’s reasonably potty trained but is just as happy to use his diaper as use the bathroom and certainly it doesn’t seem the most important thing to change that dynamic. His mother, when thinking it all through, decided that part of her sons appeal is his naivety. She is of the opinion that wearing diapers and depending on them, gives him an unconscious vulnerability that people find very appealing. Not that they planned on telling anyone. In fact, it is a family secret, which they are all involved in maintaining and all take a share in the responsibility of keeping Michael clean, dry and well padded. Now here’s a little fact; when his sister put together his backing band for tours, she picked all-female musicians and named them ‘The Protectors’ in recognition of her brother’s dependency on diapers. Clever eh? There is purity to Michael’s voice that a studio doesn’t need to fix or mix with electronic gadgets and that had an appeal right across the board; kids and adults love him. Most boys his age hated him for his success but that still didn’t stop his first ‘star’ calendar selling millions and featuring on as many boys’ bedroom walls as it did girls. In interviews he never tries to be clever. If the journalist or TV personality tries to ask him an embarrassing question he is simply embarrassed; he giggles, shakes his head and states publicly he didn’t have an answer. More often than not it goes in his favour; the public like his honesty, they like his unworldliness, they like him. Jean is not immune to overprotecting her baby boy and if she is crossed or thought that the questioning has been too intrusive, she happily confronts the perpetrator and takes them to task, often very publicly. Her fierce defence of her boy is seen as a positive by the public but hated by the media who see no limit to how insensitive they can be. The fact that they can’t find any dirt or humiliating little secret on this ‘little goody-goody’ is driving them nuts. They print lies and then, in huge headlines say that “… they refused to deny…” such and such. It sold newspapers and magazines but a photo shoot, organised by Jean, of her clean-cut boy, loving his family and actually helping out on a farm for injured animals, proved a better selling point. * However, just before Michael’s eighteenth birthday, Jean got wind that there was going to be a photo expose. The photographer on one shoot had caught Michael bending over and his diaper was clearly visible. There were several images that made the evidence irrefutable and the photographer had sold them to the highest bidder and raked in an absolute fortune for himself. The story was scheduled to run in the biggest circulating Sunday newspaper in the world so Jean, ever on the ball, decided to do a couple of things. First was not to deny or comment on it, the second was to quickly tie up a deal with a maker of teenage diapers. De Vie Diapers; colourful, absorbent, fashionable. Every photo and video that had ever featured Michael suddenly was doctored and had him wearing diapers. Some got very close to the type and style he actually wore but in general, they just wanted to humiliate him… but it didn’t. The more they pushed the diapers angle the more the YouTube clips were viewed. The brighter the diapers and frilly the plastic pants, the more hits and ‘Likes’ the image received. Suddenly, diapers were everywhere and embraced by a huge section of the youthful populace. Yes, the hoped for backlash didn’t happen, instead fans bought diapers and pull-ups and wore them to his concerts. Those who had to wear them were suddenly released from their guilt. Letter after letter, interview after interview, were all supportive and damning of the shady and sensationalistic way the newspaper had treated the subject, which in turn led to a campaign so virulent that it cost them half their readership. Michael De Vie and his diapers were everywhere. Kids were wearing them in the street as a fashion statement and the headlines around the world were – DE VIE’S DIAPERMANIA. Jean simply refused to enter into any conversation about why he still wore diapers and this led to a mass of speculation in the press. Late night TV programmes brought in ABDLs, as well as those who actually wore them for medical reasons, to discuss the pros and cons of this phenomenon. Of course everyone wanted to hear from Michael himself but, as he couldn’t see what all the fuss was about, he never made any statement or participated in a debate on the subject. Jean thought that his face on the diaper packaging and his latest single ‘Hug Me’ (his 7th Number One) was enough involvement for her son. He quite liked the fact that he now had an array of colourful printed animals on his diapers (Jean had been keen to direct the profits into an animal charity) and continued to wear them with all the special diaper covers that companies sent him for approval in the hope of adding his name as a sponsor. Pretty soon he was engulfed in hundreds of such items; ruffles, lace, frills, silk, satin, plastic, rubber, you name a material, he received something made in it. Little Mikey loved these new additions to his wardrobe and, as long as it fit over his diapers, he wore with pride simply because he’d never known anything else. His mother and sisters took great pleasure in keeping their baby boy dry, clean and happy, while he in turn loved the tight loving hug his protection, and protectors, constantly gave him. ************ Part 2 Mikey loved his life; he loved his mother and his sisters. He loved to perform and sing. He thought he was the luckiest boy in the world to have all these amazing things happening to him and he loved that his family were all there to enjoy the experience with him. It was JJ who first got the idea that her baby brother would make a great toy. She was ten; Muriel was eleven, whilst big sister Barbara was a teenager, but only just. JJ had heard her baby brother crying and mom just wasn’t in the room at that particular moment so, being a fairly active girl, she had taken it upon herself to soothe the troubled tot. She smelled what the problem was and quickly stripped him, cleaned him up, applied the various creams to his diaper area and fitted him in a clean one, pinning it into place like a professional. Once that was done she really wanted to play with him but he wasn’t at the age for reciprocal games, so she got out all his baby clothes (and some that had been kept from when she was young) and played dress-up with him. He was in no position to object and, as he smiled and giggled and made what noises he could, she realized that it kept him from crying and he seemed to enjoy it. Of course it wasn’t long before her sisters noticed she appeared to be having fun and that their baby brother might offer more than long spells of crying interspersed with smelly diapers. In fact, once JJ started dressing and playing with him his crying stopped and he appeared to be taking an interest, well as much as a few month old baby could. Soon her sisters were involved and they all took it in turns to change and dress their brother from then on. Mom was delighted that her daughters had taken so well to this ‘late delivery’ (as she called him) and soon realized that what she thought might be a burden, wasn’t. He was cute, he was engaged and having a boy around was no different from having girls, well apart from one major fact and that was hidden under his diapers soooo… out of sight and out of the way. As he got slightly older the girls loved to see Little Mikey running around the house in just his protection and it appeared that he preferred to be dressed that way. Perhaps as an unconscious protest to all the previous dressing up he’d had to endure, no matter what clothes he was put in, as soon as he could he’d pull them off and he’d be back to his diapers and plastic pants. It became a regular sight, his padded plastic covered bottom getting into all kinds of mischief, his body smeared in dirt and dust as he chased an animal to give it a cuddle. He loved animals. The family cat was constantly being picked up and hugged, stroked or involved in whatever game he’d thought up. Something else he liked to do was sit on the floor and listen to Barbara practicing on the piano. When her lesson was over Mikey would crawl onto her lap in just his protection and sit watching what she did and attempt to do the same. She actually quite liked her little brother’s silky bottom sitting in her lap and, as he wriggled around, she began to get the first stirrings of womanhood. Also, to her surprise, he picked up playing the piano almost as quickly as she did even though he was still only a toddler. Something else he picked up from a very early age was his padded comfort. When he’d been diapered for bed and with the plastic protection in place he was always left on his tummy to sleep. He’d found that by gently rocking himself against the mattress made him feel happy and it was only a few minutes before he was comfortably fast asleep. His diaper gave him comfort and that was another reason why he never wanted to lose it. * Jean had re-named her son De Vie for that first TV programme for two reasons; the first was that there was already a singer in their county called Michael Clarkson, and the second was because in her own, quaint, Mid-western way, she thought a slightly exotic sounding name would attract attention and help his career. She’d settled on Vie because it was French for life (she added the ‘de’ because she thought it sounded ‘real foreign’) and in a vote between her daughters that name stuck. To begin with it was Jean and Barbara who chaperoned the talented youngster. Mainly Jean would drive him to his shows and if she couldn’t Barbara would take on the responsibility, although this was a point of contention between mother and eldest daughter. Ba-Ba (as Mikey called her) had become quite a good musician in her own right. She’d formed her first band whilst still at school and had played a few gigs locally but had never broken through to gain any real following. She was about to get engaged and give up music when Mikey became ‘in demand’ after his local TV appearance and her mother had requested that she help her baby brother’s blossoming career. Reluctantly she agreed (such were the powers of persuasion by Jean) but under her influence also helped him structure songs and improve his musicianship. The rest as they say is history. Soon the entire family were working hard to make Little Mikey a star but Jean knew there were many other talented youngsters desperate for the big time and she needed to make sure her son, her sweet little baby boy, stood out. * His diaper regime had been in existence since he was a baby. His sisters had all been late to potty-training and Jean was taking no chances with him. Also there was no denying that each of his sisters loved looking after him where keeping him clean and tidy had become a game of one-upmanship between them. They competed to see who could make him wear the sweetest outfit, the prettiest bonnet, the bulkiest diaper etc., their amusement at this never stopped; even as he grew up, the competition simply increased. With mum leaving him in diapers until he was ready to be potty-trained the girls made sure their game wasn’t spoiled, so made certain he never was. It was only later, once his fame had begun to spread that Jean wondered about the ‘diaper situation’ (should her boy still be wandering around in them?). However, she realised that they had ‘something’ special in Mikey. That ‘something’ special was innocence, something that was so obviously missing from all the other wannabes and something, she appreciated, which was helped by his reliance on diapers. The decision was made for him that, in the foreseeable future anyway, the diapers would continue. Unlike his sisters, who were always arguing between themselves and with their mother, Mikey was spoken of, but not included in, any ‘discussions’. Despite the company name that Jean had set up to look after his interests, ‘Famille de la Vie’, it was agreed that they knew what was best for him and he’d only complicate things if he got a say in proceedings. As far as they were concerned (and it was agreed between all the females) Little Mikey was at his best when he was dependent on his family for everything and that included organising each and every aspect of his life; from the moment he got up (and his diaper changed) to the time when he was put to bed (in a fresh thick diaper to help him sleep). His mother and sisters knew best and he obediently did as he was told. As his fame spread and the demands for appearances grew more and more Jean tightened her grip on those she let near him to avoid any outside influences. Even record company execs, TV producers and other celebrities, were all given scant access to him without her being around. A nod from her would have at least one of the girls interrupting any chat he may be having, whisking him away to an important ‘phone call’, ‘meeting’ or ‘photo opportunity’. No one got to know anything about him other than what was in Jean’s press releases, the occasional photo piece she used to update his website or the ‘Mikey Messages’ she sent out to his legions of fan club members. The money that was now coming in to the business ‘Famille de la Vie’ made it possible for them all to move to a ranch out in the countryside. It was also an opportunity for Mikey to indulge in his favourite pastime, animals. The place was filled with all manner of livestock; a couple of exotic monkey’s and llamas but mostly cats, dogs, sheep, goats, chickens, a couple of rescue donkeys and horses. Each member of the family had their own horse, which had been a dream for the girls since they were tots themselves. * However, now that Diapermania had set in, the diaper company was happily having trouble keeping up with demand because, it would seem, everybody wanted diapers with cute animals printed all over them. Certainly the rustle of diapers and crinkly plastic pants could be heard everywhere. Some kids thought it was a badge of honour to have the noisiest and bulkiest protection in tribute to their hero. ABDL groups were overrun with new members and those who couldn’t get in created their own. ‘Diaper Lovers of the World Unite’ was a chant that someone set to one of Michael’s early hits and the video on YouTube became the fastest and most viewed clip. Intercut with images of the lad himself, there were shot after shot of young diaper lovers enjoying their love of diapers in different locations in countries all around the world. The other strange thing that happened was that parents were writing to Mikey, and perhaps more so his mother, thanking both for the opportunity to return their kids to Pampers or indeed any other brand of diaper. It seemed that the wearing of diapers by some (though not all by any means) had improved their child’s behaviour. Some, who had been terrifying teens, had actually regressed to a time when mom and dad would look after them, nurture them and be pleased to have them around. This had always been the case with Mikey but for some parents it was a complete revelation and one that they found difficult to deal with… at first. Over time mom and dad saw the plus side to this strange cultural return to the more innocent attitude that was taking place. Mikey’s diapers had proved a way for parents and children to re-start some shattered relationships, well, so the letters explained. It wasn’t all positive though; a British newspaper complained of the ‘Rise of the Incontinent Kid’ and blamed an upsurge in doctor visits to treat ‘ultra-nappy rash’ and the return of ‘stinky teens’ causing a smelly problem to the ‘…beautiful backwaters of the British Countryside’. Just how many people took these reports seriously is hard to know but most thought it was just a typical response of a press with nothing better to do. Meanwhile, Japan had a diaper festival, Brazil had a 'de Vie Day' and even the President had made a humorous passing comment about diapers in a speech to congress. * Whilst all the madness was going on around him, Little Mikey had been in the studio recording his third album. He’d written ten new songs whilst Barbara had contributed two of her own and the ‘unofficial’ word was that it was a completely different direction to his previous offerings. The public wondered if there would be any reference to diapers, especially after the phenomenal success of ‘Hug Me’ and a great deal was being made of the proposed title ‘Wrap Me In Your Love’. If the cameras that had requested the opportunity to cover the album’s creation had been admitted, which they weren’t, they would have seen a very relaxed young man, wearing his now recognisable t-shirt and well-padded shorts, singing and effortlessly hitting the peak of his creativity. His ideas for the arrangement of ‘Wrap Me In Your Love’ involved a large choir and full orchestra, neither of which he’d used before. The song itself would prove to be the most successful of his career, winning him awards, critical acclaim, multiple cover versions and the knowledge that its ambiguous lyric had pleased both musical purists and diaper lovers equally. Throughout the entire recordings Mikey would parade around the studios wearing just his protection whilst singing his heart out. Now his diaper wearing was out there his mother saw no problem for him to wear just that in private and there was no doubt, diapers and plastic pants appeared to release any restrictions he may have previously had whilst recording. His ideas flowed and Barbara was playing catch up to his ever growing need for bigger production and more complicated arrangements. He may well have been full of ideas but when either his mother or sisters told him it was time to stop, or to take a nap, or have some food, he did as he was told. He never let, or was allowed to let, his ego rule; he was a little boy who had to obey the rules not set them. The album was completed quickly and the record company, fearful of this proposed ‘new direction’, was in a rush to release it and capitalise on their best-selling artist. They needn’t have worried. Jean was already busy organising some early promotion and had decided to release one shot from his new star calendar that she was sure would whet his fan’s appetite. The photoshoot had taken place on the family ranch on a wonderful, clear, sunny day. The photographer merely had to follow him around taking only candid shots and, at Jean’s instructions, wanted “nothing posed”. However, the photographer had posed a few of the shots and one in particular, which Jean thought would make the cover of the calendar had been stunning. Mikey had never been happier or healthier, having had a couple of months off and be with his animals. However, one of the final shots, just as the sun was setting saw him riding his horse over the countryside. When he finally arrived back at the ranch he and the horse were both sweating and looked elated from their gallop. The photographer had greeted them on their return and took several shots; Mikey was naked apart from his usual diaper, which was covered by a new pair of plastic pants. They were a new design that had been sent to him in the hope of receiving some kind of endorsement; they had quickly become his favourite. The designers had made them from a thick, plastic material that was supple, looked like a pair of shorts and had horses embedded in the design. The shiny material shimmered in the dipping sun and caught the rivulets of sweat on both horse and rider. The sweetness of a young blond-haired boy and a particularly great looking horse with their faces pressed close to each other was magic and later became the album cover. Demand for that image was astronomical. There was no doubt that Mikey’s all but naked slim physique, tanned and slightly dusty body together with a very attractive horse were just the perfect combination. Those stylish plastic pants went on everyone’s ‘must have’ list. Meanwhile, Jean released to the fan club a thirty second preview of ‘Wrap Me In Your Love’, which was an instant sensation. So much so that demand meant that its actual release had to be brought forward even though ‘Hug Me’ was still doing well in the charts. Advance orders for the single meant immediate Number One status in most countries and the album, to follow later that month, was already set to outsell all other album sales put together. “Not bad for a diaper wearing boy.” Jean proudly said to no one in particular. ********
  3. Les Lea

    Crinkle 1-6 (end)

    Crinkle Part 1 He loved that sound as he moved. That tell-tale ‘crinkle’ that announced to those in the know just what it was he was wearing. They were a new acquisition. The online firm had been very specific that this particular piece of protection was very noisy. Up until he saw the colourful image of butterflies and birds festooned all over the satin briefs, he had never really wanted anything that might draw attention to his ‘slight’ fetish. He was happy for those in the know to be one – him. He wasn’t interested in having DL friends. He wasn’t interested in being babied, all he wanted was that comfort he felt when he wore his nappy and the joy it gave him putting it on and taking it off. However, the online firm he bought his little ‘bits and pieces’ from had launched a new ‘noisy’ range and the photo of this particular pair of waterproof pants had attracted his attention. MAKE SOME NOISE said the headline for the range, and there had been a fair few pairs of pants that he would have been happy to buy but it was this, rather cute, childish and sweet design that appeared to have made the biggest impression. They must have done because for almost a week before he bought them they were occupying his dreams, both night and day. Eventually, the obsession needed to be satisfied so, via PayPal, he made the purchase and waited impatiently for them to be delivered. ++ The impatience didn’t last long because within two days a brown package arrived at his home where, as he was out at work, his mother signed for them. She squeezed the package as she took possession from the mailman and liked the soft feel and the muted crinkle she heard as she did so. She smiled to herself and assumed her boy was treating himself again. Good for him, she thought, he should have other interests beside computers and work. Her son Ryan was 24, slim, nice-looking (she always said he was the handsomest and cutest baby) but a bit of a loner. Her husband Jeff had died in an accident at work when Ryan was 4 years-old so for the past twenty years it had just been the two of them together. The insurance had made it so she was well compensated for her loss and the fact that her son seemed more than happy to live at home had made her content with life. Mother and son spent a lot of time together and socialised (if that was the correct term for the few friends that they bothered to see) and even went on vacation together hardly ever inviting others into their tight band of two. Despite Ryan feeling his ‘fetish’ was only know by him, his mother had known about it for a long time. In fact, she remembered the time it took to get him out of nappies and how much her son of 9 had cried when he was made to wear only his pyjamas when he went to bed instead of the protection he’d happily worn up until then; his mum eventually convincing him to be grown-up, even if she had a secret longing for him to stay forever her baby. Of course for a mother all children remain their babies… no matter how old they get and Ryan, well Ryan had found his own way to satisfy something he needed. She was happy about this but didn’t want to be seen obviously condoning it because she knew that he thought his secret was just that… a secret. However, she had a secret of her own and that was she knew Ryan wore his nappies to sleep in and had noticed he occasionally went to work wearing his padding. It was at those times she just wanted to ‘mother’ him and return to those days when she looked after every aspect of his life. But, she was of the opinion that she would only do so if and when her son asked her to. She didn’t want to provoke any reaction that might somehow make things awkward at home. She liked her son being with her and would hate for him to feel she had driven him away because of something she wanted. No, the best thing was to support her son when it was needed but in the meantime, enjoy her memories of when he was young… though she could add those images that ran around her head of him sucking his thumb and wearing his nappy now. +++ He walked up and down his bedroom knowing that no one else would know what he was wearing but rather pleased about what he could hear. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Over the years he’d kept this secret he’d had no desire to broadcast it to anyone else but, and this was the part he really wondered about, this new possession, this stunning pair of satin and plastic protection, gave him a whole new insight to his fixation. The nappies had been wonderful; comfortable, soft, bulky and held happy memories for him. The plastic pants had been a later addition; one that seemed to set off his nappy and give it a new, smooth, sensual aura that he suddenly craved. These new pants had been that step further; an acknowledgement of his own desires (even if he was only admitting it to himself) with that audible response to each step he took. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. He thought this was a bold step, although he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t a brave man and couldn’t see himself wandering down the road ‘rustling and crinkling’ till heart’s content but the fact that he had picked up the nerve to buy them, he thought, must mean something. He looked in the mirror. Naked apart from his thick nappy and beautiful silky covering he was amazed at how spectacular and wonderful it all looked. He moved slightly… crinkle… he moved again… crinkle… he was looking forward to sleeping in his new noisy protection. In fact, he might have an early night so he could enjoy the strange and electric sensations that were coursing through his body. Just as he was about to shout down to his mother (who he presumed would be downstairs watching the TV) unannounced she walked in to his room. ++++ An ice-cold feeling of panic coursed through his body. This was the first time his mother had seen him dressed in such a way since he was a child. The smile on her face wasn’t noticed as he screamed angrily at her to “Get Out”. “Get out, get out, GET OUT.” Despite his harsh words terror rooted him to the spot, his slim naked frame only highlighting his padded outline but his mum wasn’t to be put off. “Ryan it’s alright I…” But Ryan shook his head and screamed more, “Get out, GET OUT.” The feeling of wellbeing that had encompassed his body and mind just a few moments earlier were now transformed into anger and guilt… he shivered at those very guilty feelings. His mum stepped forward to comfort her irate son but he stepped away, trying to hide his embarrassment and push her away at the same time. “Don’t worry Ryan… it’s going to be OK… I…” Again he pushed his mother towards the door, tears beginning to form in his eyes, but at that moment fury conquered his guilt as he spat those words once more. “GET OOOOOUUUUTTTT”. His mother’s beseeching hands held out in comfort were rejected amid her son’s confusion and terrified shame. He screamed at her but this time his mum would have none of it. She grabbed him by the arms, spun him around and landed three quick slaps to his padded bottom. He would have hardly felt a thing but was so surprised by this that he immediately stopped screaming. His mother sensing the change of mood stormed in. “Don’t you ever,” spank, “raise” spank, “your voice” spank, “to your mother” spank, “again.” She knew her actions would have caught him off guard and pressed this slight advantage. “Ryan Gatland… do you understand?” and she raised her hand as if threatening to repeat the spanking. “Yes,” his voice was almost inaudible. “Yes what?” His mum pursued her point with another slap. Through sniffles he told her the words she insisted on hearing. “I will not shout at mum… mummy.” She hugged him close to her chest and smoothed her son’s hair. “That’s right. Mummy is always here for her little baby boy… no matter what.” She hugged and kissed his head more. “No matter what…” she quietly repeated. +++tbc+++
  4. BABY-BEDTIME-BEAR

    Adult baby looking for a mommy in Columbus, Ohio

    hcjm,fjchxgfhdgf
  5. repetitivediaperwetter88

    Schizophrenia

    Well, today I took my mother down to another city about 300 miles from where I am at. she was wanting to see a doctor that basically does not exist......... well, he kinda does, anyway,
  6. Becky

    You've been a naughty boy

    I knew I'd gone too far this time. I was always teasing my little sister and making her cry, but this time she was really sobbing.
  7. tresson

    Isabella Candie

    From the album: My art

    One of the main nurses and Doodle's caretaker. Note: This is an old drawing of her and I tried to fix it as best I could.