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  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