Search the Community

A Done Deal Another upsetting night’s sleep – my duvet was bunched up and looked like I’d had a fight with it, the fleecy throw was caught up in some kind of jumble with my pillows and worst of all, my nappy, as it had been for the past few weeks, was soaked. A few months ago a nightmare scenario started where I was either being chased or attacked by something which I couldn’t identify but found incredibly scary. I’d fought this unknown monster, I’d done battle with an unseen force and when, after the second encounter and second soaked bed, my mother (step-mother) had demanded I wore protection until the phase (as she called it) was over, I didn’t like it. I shouted and screamed my absolute refusal, which didn’t go down well as I’d got to the stage (being fifteen) of arguing with every decision she made. That was until dad (Howard) came and ‘had a word’, which has seen me resentfully wearing a thick terry cotton nappy to bed every night since. Dad is a practical man, an intense man; he’s also a very important and busy man and has little time for ‘stupidity’. He listened to all my arguments as to why I shouldn’t wear a nappy and then slowly, but methodically, disassembled each one of my points as either being unreasonable, selfish or simply illogical. He pointed out a nappy was what I needed and so that’s what I would wear. No ifs, no buts, it was all a ‘done deal’, that mother was right and I should “just get on with it”. + My real mum had died when I was barely two years old so I don’t remember her too well but dad had remarried when I was five. He’d actually been seeing Diane for a year before he introduced us and was told that I was getting a new mummy... and new baby brother. She moved in, they married and I now share a house with my step-family of Diane, Richard, who’s nine, William who’s seven and now, eight month old twins, Jane and Alfie. My father is a good man, he’s a pathologist at a lab in the city and we’re close and although Diane is a nice lady, as I’ve gotten older, for some reason I’ve grown to resent her and my brothers and sister. I suppose, because I’m the eldest, it’s fallen to me to look out for my siblings but now I’ve had enough of baby-sitting and being, what I feel is, a general dogsbody. Dad keeps telling me it’s what I get an allowance for but I feel I do more than my fair share of... well... everything. Which I suppose is what has led me to arguing all the time because mum is always at home now with the twins so I’m expected, because dad is out at work all day and has late hours to make extra money to keep a roof over his family, to ‘step up more’. Bloody hell... I do enough around the house I barely get a moment to myself. I rarely get chance to go out because of school work and the family. My mates don’t come around any more because of the constant demand for attention from everyone. “Jason can you do this?” “Jason, can you do that?” “Jason can you do the other?” “It will only take a minute” It never does and once started there’s always something else... it never bloody ends. “While you’re there can you...” The house is a mess and all about the twins; the smell of pee and powder and if the weather’s bad clothes and washed nappies drying on radiators. Constantly being told to be ‘quiet’ because they’re sleeping and because she is always involved with them, I’m supposed to keep my two younger brothers occupied to make sure they do their homework (projects) which I also have by the way. If they need to be at football practice or some after-school activity, it’s me that has to chaperone them. The list never ends and so I don’t get much time to myself. I resent everything and everybody. + Before the nightmares began, and I suppose it linked in to when the twins arrived, I’d begun to have little accidents. What I mean is that occasionally I’d pee in my undies, not enough to cause too much trouble, like stains on my trousers or jeans, but enough for me to know I’d better change my briefs pretty soon. I kept these little accidents secret and was able to deal with the wet undies myself. However, something else seemed to be bothering me and I didn’t know why. I know that with the announcement that twins were on the way, dad, and mum to a certain extent, went into panic mode and I suppose, because I’m the eldest I noticed more than my brothers. I’m of the opinion that the twins were an accident: certainly from just how fraught the house has been since their arrival. Dad already was overloaded with work and now, with extra family to feed and clothe his life/work load is immense. I’m not sure if some of his obvious anxiety has rubbed off on me. We used to be quite a happy little bunch and dad had time for us all. Diane, was also pleasant to be around but now she just gives the impression of being constantly worn out and complains she doesn’t have the time to ‘pretty herself up’ for dad or for them to go out occasionally. As a result her attention has turned to me as the eldest to ‘help out’ but I already did that but since the twins my workload has escalated and I rarely see anyone except at school. It’s as if she’s decided that if she isn’t going to have fun and do what she wants then neither is anyone else. However, somehow with the twins came a number of new friends, mothers all, who pop around and tell Diane what a wonderful job she’s doing, what a hero she is looking after such a diverse family and that it’s quite right to expect me to step up. She’s been encouraged to be ‘the queen bee’ and we’re all there for her pleasure. Well that’s how it seems from the comments I get when they’re all around sipping tea (or sometimes a glass of wine) and complaining about their own lives and how easy men have it. Of course they often bring their kids around and so there’ll be a couple of screaming babies or tots seemingly having a breakdown. + I’m not sure if I could blame the twins on my initial wet pants but I ask myself if all this extra responsibility is the reason I’m seriously wetting at night and have to wear a nappy to keep from nightly flooding the bed. I’m fifteen so of course shouldn’t be wearing a nappy any time, which means I’m constantly in a bad mood. This is not helped by my step mum also being in a very ‘fragile’ mood, when it comes to me. If I’m in a mood, she’s in one. Of course my younger brothers are too young to take on too much responsibility but they get praised for doing the slightest thing and I’m held up to ridicule for complaining about the amount I have to do. As a result my step-mum has it all worked out and it appears I’m there to benefit her decisions. She gets fatigued with the Jane and Alfie, and as dad starts work early, I have to fill in while she’s ‘resting’. As I say, I have to make sure the boys are up and ready for school fully dressed and breakfasted... and have done any homework, which I have to say, at their age is very simple but still it takes up my time and have precious little of it as it is. I’m sick of it but now, because of these unsettling night time activities, which result in my daily soaked nappies, I’m constantly in a state of anxiety. Mum has pulled me up on several occasions about my ‘attitude’ and has decided that I’m just like the twins and need similar treatment. She seems to get a kick out of putting my nappies and plastic pants out on the line next to theirs. It’s embarrassing because it means neighbours know, though suspect, because of my ‘attitude’ towards her, she’s already gleefully told them that she now has to nappy another ‘baby’ in the house. This doesn’t stop my resentment but at least I have my own room where I can occasionally find time and space for myself. However, even that is no longer private as she’ll waft in without so much as a knock and deposit my laundered clothes, and clean nappies, with a flourish and give me a condescending smile as she makes sure I’m aware of the crinkly plastic pants she blatantly puts on the dresser. “Your protection darling,” she announces with a forced grin, “you will let me know if I’ve got yours and the twins nappies mixed up won’t you?” I’ve asked for privacy but she just smiles and whispers that babies who still need their nappies don’t get privacy. Then flounces off leaving me steaming but with nothing I can do about it. At one point I was so angry I told her that I’d go off and live with my grandparents (on my mother’s side) and she just laughed and said that an incontinent teenager is no doubt just what they want in their dotage. He actual words were, “Bugger off then, I’m sure they can’t wait to look after a pants wetting, obnoxious little shit like you.” She’s twelve years younger than dad and has the ability to be as sweet as pie when in public but as vicious as hell if you get on the wrong side of her. Which I have to say has become a great deal more noticeable since the twins arrived. + Dad has quite a liberal, easy-going background where diplomacy, discussion and reason are the way people interact. He has always been there for me and we get on very well. I respect him and listen to what he has to say. I never used to argue with him. Diane on the other hand comes from a family that has a military background, where she and her three brothers were in constant competition for their parent’s approval. They moved a lot from bases around Europe, so were never settled for too long, or there were long passages of time when their father wasn’t around as he’d been posted overseas. I suppose, if there’s conflict and your dad’s involved, that must leave you in a state of nervous anticipation the entire time he’s away. However, in a family of such an abundance of masculinity, the sole daughter had found that by undermining those brothers she often was able to deviously direct action her own way. I’ve never met that side of the family. At the registry office wedding I can only remember dad, her and me, plus the registrar and a couple of witnesses. I gather that because she was pregnant said she didn’t want others to know her ‘condition’ so a big wedding was out of the question. Thinking back, maybe I might be remembering this wrong, but I might have overheard granny telling someone she thought dad had been tricked into marrying her... but I could be wrong. I might have just thought that myself. + Dad had warned me about my attitude towards his wife... I mean... I stopped calling her mum but she wasn’t happy with me calling her Diane so sent dad to have ‘another quiet word’. She insists that Richard and William call her mummy and now when she speaks to me she calls herself ‘mummy’ to me as well. If dad isn’t around I try and fight back but she just tells him when he gets home from work and I’m back in hot water. Then he goes off on one saying he expects me to pull my weight around the house, less back chat, more respect for what she has to do... oh... and act my age. Diane then undermines that by treating me like a little kid. She doesn’t let me forget I still wet the bed so sees me as just a big ungrateful toddler who still needs to wear a nappy. “I wasn’t there when you were a baby,” she gives me that sickly smile, “but there again; it looks like you’re reliving being one. How lucky am I to get to change your soggy nappies?” I seethe with rage but, as she’s holding up my well-soaked morning padding, it’s hard to argue the point. The weird thing is she doesn’t seem that bothered about the wetting because as far as she’s concerned, the bedding is safe now I’m well contained at night. She has said, in one of her less aggressive moments that it’s no trouble washing my nappies as she has the twin’s daily contribution to do anyhow. She makes out she’s a martyr and I’m an ungrateful teen who acts like a toddler going through his ‘terrible twos’. She demoralises me all the time and dad, because he’s so busy and under a load of work-related stress, says “Listen to your mum.” He thinks, because of what Diane has said about me, that I’m just acting out and should be “contributing - not alienating” everyone around me. It doesn’t help that at her insistence either she or dad has to help me with the pins and material to make sure my night time nappy is on correctly, although I suspect it’s more to make sure I wear one to protect the bedding. Yes that’s the other thing, she’s not only convinced dad that I need a nappy but I’m too incompetent to sort it for myself so need supervision. She mentions the extra laundry she had to do when all this first started (‘as if I don’t have enough to do’ she complained to dad) and insisted on not only a waterproof mattress protector but as I’ve said, nappies and plastic pants to act as the best barrier. She convinced dad that I’m too resentful not to try and take it off so she needs to be sure. So, I’m supervised each night to avoid any possible leakage, which in truth they did on a few occasions where I half-heartedly put the nappy on myself. Dad has taken her side in all this (I suppose I can’t blame him too much because I’m fifteen and wetting the bed) and often looks at me as if I’m doing it on purpose... but why would I? + Before all this my bedtime was when I wanted to go, I didn’t have a specified hour but ‘just be sensible’. However, now, because I have to be put in protection she insists I am ready by 8pm (at the latest) because she doesn’t want to be changing me at any time of my choosing. Sometimes, and I’m sure it’s out of spite, she tells me to get ready as soon as I’m in from school as she’s too tired to worry about putting an ‘argumentative teenager’ back in a nappy when it suits him. Dad takes her point and agrees which means often I’m wearing a nappy around the house when I’m still doing chores or worse still, when her friends pop by. I try and escape to the privacy (as if) of my room but that isn’t always possible. I’ve complained that I can’t go out like that but she says that’s up to me. If I want to go out there’s no one stopping me, which is true but how can I go out and meet friends whilst wearing a nappy? My friends haven’t yet abandoned me but I see them so rarely, apart from school, that I might as well be a recluse. As I’ve mentioned, ‘Mum’ on the other hand, has loads of ‘friends’ who also have kids and all seem to congregate at our house. There’s barely a pause in the number of people who are always popping in or ‘just passing’ and of course my nappies are not a secret to any of these visitors. Diane happily discusses my problem as if she’s talking about the twins and though I’ve objected and asked dad to have a word he just tells me to get over it.... “What if they come up with a solution?” and that puts an end to my complaint as far as he’s concerned. So far they haven’t and I don’t anticipate they ever will (find that elusive solution) but it’s an argument I can’t win so the humiliation continues. If I’m in the living room or just passing through she’ll make a comment, or one of her friends will, and, as I say, she always speaks as if I’m a baby, so they do as well. I hate everyone and everything yet still can’t stop this night time flood, which of course makes me even angrier but also makes Diane’s position that much stronger. And if I’m being honest the constant stream of pee seems to be getting worse. + tbc +

The Bradley Girl's School was a private school for girls. One September Wednesday, a teacher suddenly quit her post there, and the Girls' school found it hard to find someone that would work there. The school was kind of strict on the teachers because they were worried about the kids that went there. Therefore, teachers had to be able to stay with their classes the whole day, even during lunch, and even when their kids go to specials, the new teacher would need to teach PE. If the teachers had to use the bathroom, they had to call for assistance from the office, and then wait for someone to watch the class for them so they could do so, and so had to be able to hold it up to an hour at times. The teachers were also responsible for taking their classes on learning but relaxation days at least once a month, sometimes, the trips continuing for two days, where the kids would come back to school and go home for the night, but then come to school only to be carted off where they were the day before.... The school had a lot of money for its programs because it was a charter school, and the charters were trying to see if kids might learn better through natural experiences rather than just being at one building all the time. Susan Myers got tired of the substitutes seeming to leave the PE classes with no cohesion, and she was tired of the third graders getting a different substitute teacher every two or three days, so she finally did something she probably shouldn't have. She reached out to her old friend who had been in the Army before. If anyone knew about physical fitness, it would be an old Army grunt, right? So Susan called her old friend, and she knew he was between employment at the moment anyway. "Listen, ___________, I know you are looking for work, unless you found something?" "You haven't? Great. I have a position that really needs filled badly. If you just report to work on Monday, I'll fill you in on the details. Please come to the Bradley Girls' School at six on Monday. Normally, you don't need to be there until 7:30, but I need to fill you in on a lot of stuff before the students get there. We can do a trial, and if you like the job, and it looks like the kids are doing better than with substitute after substitute, then you'll be hired full on with benefits? Is that okay with you?" It was nearing the middle October, and the class was supposed to have an upcoming trip to a candy factory and a little Halloween theme haunted house experience at the end of the month, and Susan really hoped to get the class used to one teacher before that, because third graders would likely need someone they trust if they got scared from the haunted house....

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

Miu Nakayama, (played by Robehouse), is a typical eightteen year old fashion sense smart Japanese student who has not yet decided on a career, which is becoming more and more common in Japan recently, though such students are still way outnumbered by others who already have dreams of what they want to do.