Phone Conversation

[warpiper]

You spoil us with a terrific update, Freswith. Thank you so much!

[freswith]

Justice.

Sunday morning, calm and quiet, no work today, just snuggle down against Matt and let my mind roll on. 

Grace, my model agency was doing very nicely, and I was mostly involved with promotion. Julian did the administration and I acted as the figurehead.  No more catwalk work for me, just go in to London or Paris or New York to, well, socialise and do publicity. 

A spot on a TV panel show, an occasional magazine column, being seen at all the fashion shows and yakking with the designers and photographers and so on.  Fashion line, in partnership with my old friend Helen.

Twin daughters growing up apace.  Soon be dry, moving on to the next stage of life.  Pretty as you can get. Clever, too, sometimes a bit too clever.

Husband warm beside me.  Consultant surgeon, regular hours, good income, and still quite a bit of a hunk.  

House.  Bit too small now.  Need more space for entertainment.  Just inside the M25 London ring road.  Expensive area, but good schools.

Feel warm  Feel contented.  Snuggle up.  What more could I want? How about another baby?  Thoughts tumble.  A son, perhaps.  A little Matt.  Easily toilet trained.  Red hair.  Blue eyes. Little brother for the girls to look after. Patter of little feet.  Nice. I reach out to stroke my husband....

"Mum!"

Groan.  Reach back. Unsnuggle.

"Mu-u-umm!"

I roll over, open my blurry eyes, and see Kate my younger daughter (by twenty minutes) standing framed in the doorway. At her shoulder, Liz, her "big" sister, almost completely indistinguishable except for a thunderous look.

"What is it Kate?" I reply, my voice a growl because of the vocal cords that have relaxed over the night. I start to roll back again.
"MUM!"  I freeze, and re-open an eye.  "I'm dry!"
"Oh, jolly good.  Well done.  Take it off, and I'll see you at breakfast."
"But Mum, you said if I was dry for four weeks in a row I could..."
"Yes dear.  We'll talk about that later, shall we."  She didn't move.  I waited.  She had a point.  It had always been one month dry and they were out of nappies, and that was carved in stone somewhere.  I looked at Matt for support. He opened his eyes, then winked at me, half smiling.  I sat up, slowly and reluctantly and reached for my dressing gown and put on my Kindly Mother mask over my Bloody Livid face.  Kate was right, and in the High Court of Parenthood I was obliged to take this plea very seriously.

We trooped across to the twin's bedroom in line astern, an excited Kate leading, an unusually quiet Liz trailing.  At the great dark wood cupboard that housed the necessary items I opened the left door, on the back of which was fastened a year planner with many boxes, one for each day.  From the top each box was filled with large "W"s, but in the middle a number of "D"s began to appear, and by summer the "D"s predominated, until the last "W" appeared in the middle of July.  Since then there were twenty-seven "D"s.  Kate dropped her nappy, picked up a pen, and wrote a large "D" in the twenty-eighth box.  I nodded sagely, lips pursed, and took it all in.  Not a full month, but a calendar month, certainly.  I thought for a minute, as Kate jumped up and down.

Judgement had to be given.  "Very well.  Let's try a night or two without.  Any accidents and it's be another month in nappies, understand?  Now for heaven's sake go and use the toilet before you have one."  Kate bolted for the bathroom, whooping.  I turned and saw Liz glaring at me.  I opened the other cupboard door, where Liz's chart was pinned.  There stood the cascade of "W"s, but tailing off into a field of "D"s until almost the present.  Then two weeks ago, a single "W" stood in mute condemnation. I looked at Liz.  She was not a pretty sight.  Appealing, slightly trembling, her eyes starting to moisten, and I had to give judgement. "Only two weeks dry!" I said, clucking .  
"It was only a little one," said poor Liz, on the verge of tears. "I woke up and stopped it. Without that I would have been dry a week ago!"
Kate reappeared, and saw the tenseness of the situation.  She looked from one of us to the other, and to the damning chart, then straightened her back. "If Liz has to stay in nappies for another week, then so shall I!" she said bravely, and put an arm around her sister.

That was the perfect excuse for which I'd been looking.  I was now outnumbered and opposed by superior forces. "Very well then.  Just this once. Liz, you are out of nappies as well, BUT... one wet bed from either of you and you will BOTH be back in for another month!"
Judgement duly given, and dignity preserved, I closed the cupboard doors. Mrs Justice Mother left the courtroom, and the twins embraced.

My return to our bedroom was quite slow.  I had suggested before that we might have another baby, and had presented it as the chance to have a little boy for Matt.  His response had always been: "Let's get the girls out of nappies first", which is not unreasonable. Now I had a fresh card to play.

I found Matt in the bathroom,  shaving slowly and methodically, his razor ploughing fresh strips of cheek between the foam.  The razor stopped halfway down, and he said "What was all that about?", and I told him carefully what I had decided.  "But what about the holiday?" was his reply, and the razor continued its journey.  I had forgotten about that.  Up until now the rule was that any drive or flight that was significantly over the hour required nappies to be worn, and that meant long skirts to conceal them.  I put my foot down (daintily of course: I was a model after all) and Matt grudgingly agreed with my judgement.  I slept the next couple of nights in the old way; with one eye open and alert for the sounds of trouble emanating from the twins' bedroom. 

There was only one incident of bed-wetting, a month or so later.  It was Kate that time.  There was a terrible silence that morning as the twins awaited my judgement.  I was caught by my own memories and tried to remember the intensity of my feelings when I had had an accident and was similarly threatened.  I had promised to put them both back into nappies for a month if they ever wet the bed again, and the big dark cupboard had been left there to underline the threat.  Now it loomed beside me like an executioner waiting eagerly for employment.  I was now caught between Loving Mum and Mrs Justice Mother.  I realised that it is never a sin to fail to carry out a threat; it might be bad tactics, and set a bad precedent, but as Henry Fielding wrote, "we are all as God made us and most of us much worse".  So much for my resolve.  I forgave Kate and just gave her a kiss, and told her to take the sheet off the bed, wipe the waterproof sheet down and put all the bits in the laundry basket: just one more load for the washing machine. 

The girls' self-confidence flowered magnificently over the next few weeks.  They were even trusted to go to a sleep-over, a privilege long denied them for obvious reasons I realised once more that our current house really wasn't big enough, and we would have to fill their bedroom with camp beds and heaven knows what; that is the problem with London and its suburbs; property is ridiculously expensive.  Despite all that had been in the press about my huge earnings as a model, when it came to the  final accounts they were not quite so splendid.  My deals with Helen's fashion house did make me money, but I could probably have made much more by working for the bigger firms I wanted a bigger house, but that would mean moving out, and both our jobs meant we worked at some strange hours and needed to commute to and fro.  Still, I had to make do with what I had.  I set about rearranging the furniture in the girls bedroom, got rid of the changing table, and then I came to the big brown cupboard where the nappies were stored.  I looked at it, and felt it looking at me in mute accusation.  Then I resolved to empty it; its job had been done.

While the kids were at school I went to clear the cupboard.  Opening the doors I looked at what would be involved. I started at the top where the old terry nappies were stacked, and worked downwards past the plastic pants to where the disposables were, and onwards to the all-in-ones.  Then I stopped for a while.  Those all-in-ones had been specially made by Helen's company and were brightly coloured, beautifully made, and had been very expensive. I ran my hands over them, enjoying the warmth and softness, and I realised that I was going to miss them, the intimacy I had enjoyed with my daughters was no longer there.  They got themselves to bed now.  

I wanted to throw everything away and suppress my feelings, but part of me said "No".  They might still be needed somewhere else in the family.  Juliet's daughter Holly had just moved in with her boyfriend, and although there was nothing yet, it was probably just a matter of time.  The rogue genes in our family would probably mean another incontinent child who would appreciate, or more accurately, despise them.  The right place would be in the big trunk at Pembroke where such things could be stored until needed somewhere in the family.  A trip to Pembroke was called for.

[Sarah Penguin]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

:)

[jen1234]

Hi, wonder if there is going to be any new chapters, twins are out of diapers, but mom wants a new baby and may still have desires to wear again, or may have to if she becomes pregnant again.  Jen

 

[Eliah]

Felt this one deserved a bump. My favorite story of all time!

[warpiper]

Freswith hasn't signed on since last December. I check his profile periodically to see if he signed on without luck, and I'm kind of worried. Anybody know a way to contact him so we can check on him?

[freswith]

My goodness!  It took me twenty minutes to find it!  Yes, I'm still here, and still too lazy to sign in.  Anyway, there's another episode coming soon, just as soon as I've polished it.

[jen1234]

Great, can't wait

[freswith]

Percy's Surprise

 

The years passed.

My two daughters flowered, and carved a path through the opposite sex, carefully avoiding all commitment.  My model agency "Grace" grew and grew, but I rarely modelled these days, specialising in promoting the business while my manager Julian did the donkey work.  Matt retired from active medicine and took up the chair of surgery at a London college.

Then came a summons from Uncle Percy.  He was having a retirement bash, and the family was to attend en masse at Pembroke House.  Such an order had to be obeyed.

We pulled up beside Pembroke's front door, noting the other cars parked there.  Peter and Juliet's big saloon, Haldane's little sports car, Mum & Dad's little runabout - although Mum, who was now 80, did most of the driving.  Our two girls had declined the invitation, preferring a ball at college and felt it was too far to come just for Uncle Percy's retirement bash.  There was a charging point by the garage door, so we backed up to it.  Matt never liked electric cars, but they were much more convenient for nipping in and out of London, and Pembroke was within range, but Matt was not very trusting even of modern batteries.

We went inside and met the rest of the family.  It was a very warm, humid night and the french doors on the lounge were all open to the terrace, so we drifted in and out as the mood took us.  The terrace was still hot from the long summer's day, and so, drinks in hand, we strolled down onto the lawn.  Out of respect for Percy's precious grass I kicked my high heels off and walked onto the cool grass in stockinged feet. 

Suddenly the cool grass bought a memory back to me, of being eight or nine, and staying with Gran while my parents were off elsewhere.  Dumped was the word, and I had been in a bit of a sulk that day.  Now it was bedtime and still being under Pembroke rules I had been put into my night nappy.  I had protested - I had only needed one change of disposable during the day, but my protest had been overruled, and a large terry nappy had been pinned around me.  Gran obviously wanted me to go the whole night without another change and it was quite a bit thicker than my normal disposable night-nappy, so walking was going to be difficult.  Gran finished off by tucking the leg elastics of my plastic pants up unto the nappy to stop leaks and pulling my short nightie down to cover my humiliation - well, almost.  It didn't make walking any easier but I managed a waddle over to the window. The scent of the flowers wafted in - Gran always planted stock near the house, and I had an idea.

"Gran? Can I go down to smell the flowers, they are so lovely! Just for a few minutes."

Gran came over. A whiff of air drove the scent further in, and she stopped for a moment to savour it.  "Please Gran?", My number one cute smile and big eyes looking upward.  Usually works.  It worked

"Alright then, but just ten minutes."  I was delighted, all day long I had been good, apart from that one wet nappy, and had managed to get my way on something at last.

I managed to make it down the stairs, although Gran was careful to hold my hand, and staggered down the steps from the terrace until my bare feet were on the cool damp grass.  There Gran left me and returned to the house to attend to something, and I carefully took one step after another as best as I could with that great pillow of towelling between my thighs, aiming to put as much distance as possible before the inevitable summons came to return to the confined boredom of my cot.  I made it to the end of the flowerbed, and checked to see that Gran was still busy, then I set off in the direction of the pond where the fountain was still running.  I stood there a while, enjoying the colours of the sunset and the scent of the flowers and the tinkle of water falling into the pond, but then nature called.  I looked back up to the house.  It was a long way.  I started off at the best waddle I could manage, but it wasn't enough. After a dozen steps the call had become a command, and I looked around desperately.  There was nowhere to go, and the house looked further away than ever, and I wasn't even sure I could get rid of that huge nappy, have a pee, and get all those folds of towelling back up again. Suddenly I lost my footing on the damp grass, sat down sharply.  The warmth flooded in between my legs and the bulk seemed to soften.  The sense of urgency vanished so I let it all go, and I waited a few moments until all was done, then rolled onto all fours and got back to my feet.  It was much easier now, and I began to move back towards the house.

Halfway up the lawn I began to wonder how I was going to explain myself, then I thought that since I wasn't very wet and my nappy was very thick I wouldn't say anything; I knew I could sleep in a wet nappy if I had to - I did it nearly every morning anyway.  Gran came out to fetch me and followed me up the stairs to the nursery.  There my plans came undone when Gran checked my nappy, and I found myself  back on the changing table in short order.  She asked me if I even realised I was wet, and I told her no, not really.  (Wetting deliberately was a serious offence!)  and she just tut-tutted and let it pass.  I was relieved of my wet nappy, cleaned up with a wet-wipe and put through the same ritual of large nappy, but now with baby nappy soaker, and muslin sheet.  This time there was no problem in walking; I was carried to the cot and plonked inside, tucked in, the side was raised and clicked closed.  There would be no more walking in the garden that evening.

All was well until morning when Gran was cleaning me up again - I had been very wet - and remarked that I had now got a nappy rash.  That was most unusual and she put it down to the very warm weather. I got myself a coating of ointment, but Gran said the best thing for it was lots of fresh air, so she double-nappied me and omitted the plastic pants.  I didn't like that at all; it felt so insecure, and was made a hundred times worse when she told me I had to stay on the plastic sheet in the pen, where I wouldn't wet on the carpet.  As it was I managed to stay dry for nearly the whole morning - I was too afraid to try taking my nappy off, even when it was wet. I was allowed a visit to the toilet at lunchtime, and then nappied again for an afternoon nap, also on a plastic sheet.  By teatime the rash had gone and I was never more pleased to be put back into my plastic pants and allowed the run of the house and garden.

I was brought back to the present by the tinkle of ice in my glass as Matt refilled it.  We headed back towards the house where lights were now visible in most windows.  I noted the nursery light was on, and I wondered who was using it.  Once inside I made an excuse and headed for the toilet, but since the downstairs one was busy I went up stairs, and met Juliet's daughter, Holly with her own ten-year-old daughter Jennifer.  Time flies, but I had got used to being a great-aunt!  Jennifer was looking distinctly bashful, and I was careful not to ask what she had been up to; the slight rustle as she passed me told me all I needed to know.  Pembroke Rules were still being applied there.  Just for a moment I was envious.  Jennifer was secure, comfortable, and without fear of having an accident.  I was getting less secure by the minute, so we just gave passing honours and carried on.

I used the nursery toilet as it was nearest.  On the way out I paused.  There were so many memories in this room, although the tatty wallpaper was now showing its age.  Percy had not redecorated it in a generation.  The changing table was still there, under a dust sheet, as was the oversized cot; the room had seen so many guests over the years, and as many of them had suffered the family curse it made sense to keep the facilities available.  I peeked into the changing-table shelves behind the dust sheet, and there were a few of the white towelling squares, neatly folded, still there.  I touched them. Still soft - so soft.

 

The sound of the dinner gong broke my reverie.  Dinner was being served, and we repaired to the dining room.

The dining room was still as splendid, and the long mahogany table was covered with a spotless white sheet and a load of silver.  There was a separate table for the children, who could riot at their pleasure without continuous correction.  The tablecloth was not quite so white, having been washed so often, and the drinks were soft.  That allowed the parents to relax, and riot at their pleasure.  It was an old-fashioned custom, but it worked.

The dinner was superb, and at the end of it Percy took the floor. I relaxed - he was inclined to be long-winded, and when he dropped his bombshell it took me several seconds to react to what he said.

"I have decided to sell Pembroke." he said, "It's just too big and it needs so much work to look after it and neither of us are getting any younger."

I sat up sharply.  Sell Pembroke?  What treachery was this!  It had been in our family for three centuries.  It WAS us!  The others seemed just as much perturbed, and Percy was forced to elaborate.  He told us of the work in needed and how he had received a splendid offer from a chain of nursing homes, and how he intended to retire to a much smaller property.  His children weren't interested; each had chosen their homes and careers and didn't wish to take on the huge and crumbling property.  He was sure the nursing home would be able to restore it properly.  I was choking at the idea of it becoming a house for the dying.

I didn't feel like lingering after a shock like that, and was still aghast when Matt was driving me home down the motorway.  My mind was replaying all my memories of Pembroke, and the loved ones it had held.  The thought of it being passed on the strangers was just too much.

The answer came to me in a jolt.  "Matt, we could buy Pembroke. We deserve a decent house at last!  And we need room for the girls."

Matt brought the car back under control and after a moment began the case for the defence.  We had a really good row all the way home, but I remained adamant.  I was not going to let Pembroke be taken out of the family.

[Eliah]

Yes yes yes yes! Finally your back! Great chapter and really looking forward to more chapters

[dondd]

Welcome back!  It was worth the wait...

[D503]

That was a cute little flashback and they can't sell Pembroke!

[jen1234]

I wonder what is going to happen once she moves into Pembrook

[freswith]

Survey and Plans

"You fell for it!" was Matt's most cutting remark, and I had to admit he was right.  Percy had played me like a fish, but I was still determined to have my way.  The price Percy demanded was not unreasonable, but Pembroke needed a lot of work.  I began to review my assets.  I had built up a splendid pension fund from my modelling days, and my business, Grace, the modelling agency, was flourishing, but buying Pembroke from Percy would still make a big hole in my estate.

Matt suggested selling my old mews house in Hampstead, and it would certainly help.  I had held on to it for good reasons, not only was it a good investment, and had been let out to many of my models in past years (it had seen more action than Harvey Weinstein's casting couch), but the main reason was Spike's mural of me on the wall of the ground floor.  Spike's pictures now fetched huge sums, enhanced by his considerately being dead, and the notorious manner of his passing - accidentally hanging himself during a bondage game with Marguerite.  The problem was that he had portrayed me as stark naked, lounging on the top of my pink sports car.  I had protested vehemently until Spike painted some clothing on me.  Unfortunately Spike knew me only too well, and the clothing he chose was a strapped romper bulging over a very obvious nappy.  When we broke up, I had put up a studding wall across the picture, and there it still lay concealed from the world.  If I sold the house the new owner was bound to make some alterations, and all would be exposed.

I had agonised over the problem for a long time,  for a generation in fact.  Then Matt came up with an idea: brazen it out!  Put the blame on Spike's notorious fetishism, say he had done it to humiliate and control me, which everyone would cheerfully believe.

So it worked out.  The studding wall came down, and the art world was aghast.  It was the first major work by Spike to be discovered in decades,  and the interest and publicity was intense.  The expert from Christies examined it and thought it might be possible to remove it intact, although doing it without demolishing the house would be rather difficult, but he was confident it could be done.  He suggested that we sell it together with the mews house - both were valuable and attractive and leave the problem to the new owner.  The mews had become very fashionable after a Hollywood star had moved in to the house at the end.  We decided to trust Christies, and the result did not disappoint; the house and painting fetched a price rather higher than Pembroke was worth.  We could now go ahead with our purchase.

I was just a little curious about the Arab oil sheikh who had bought it - there were a lot of rumours about his sexual tastes as well, but it was time to move on.  I had plenty to do, even though the sight of me in a nappy and romper had had quite an effect on me - it had triggered feelings I had almost forgotten.  I would have to do something about it, and soon.

We ran into a problem with my daughters. They were very metropolitan, and the prospect of moving out to the country horrified them - all that grass and mud!  All those animals!  They objected to me selling the mews house as well, as they had had their own eyes on it as a place beyond parental controls.  They were very disparaging about Spike's painting as well, although they were fascinated by the romper and asked if I still had it.  I played them along, and said that, as far as I knew, it was in the big chest in that attic at Pembroke.  That gave me some thought, and I made sure the contract included all fixtures and fittings and any contents that Percy would leave behind.  

I also promised the girls that I would convert the old laundry block into a cottage that they could use.  I had a fair idea what they had in mind, and at least I would have a few yards - and much double glazing - in between me and the noises off.  To add a sting to it I said they could use the nursery as and when they needed a change.  I didn't get the reaction I had expected.
"Oooh!  Really?" exclaimed Kate, "Are you going to change us?"
"Bags the big cot!" Liz demanded.
"Nappies!"
"Pins!"
"Plastic pants!"
"Frilly ones!"
"Bottles!"  
The ideas battled to and fro, and my bluff was called, I was outnumbered, outflanked and surrounded. "Every night!" was the best I could manage.  Following the best traditions, I withdrew under a smoke screen. "You can do all the washing, though..."
"Coooool!" said my grinning daughters in unison, exulting in their victory.

I paid a visit to Pembroke to make a list of any repairs and redecorations needed.  The old house was showing the effects of being owned by old people; there were no signs of recent redecorations.  I went into each room in turn, and decided which I would have to do first.  In due course I came to the nursery, and lifted the dust sheets.  This was going to be a problem, as I didn't really want to change anything; I had been changed so many times there and had fond memories of it.  Any real redecoration would have to be done so as not to raise too much suspicion.  There were no small children in the immediate family at the moment, and certainly none expected from my two daughters, who were hell-bent on enjoying themselves.  I could perhaps "restore" it to the condition in which I remembered it, and keep it for the children of any guests whom I might invite.  That would excuse me keeping the big cot, the changing table, and things like the safety bars on the windows.

I stood before the big cot, and the memories came back.  I saw me, as a child, standing inside it of a morning waiting for someone to come and change my sodden nappy before it slipped down my legs. I knew that eventually Gran would appear, march over to me, seize my pants each side, and slide the whole package rapidly down my legs,  two cold wet rings going all the way down.  While it stayed up, at least it was warm. 

I clutched my pants and held them up; if they were still up when Gran came in I could probably get away with just a disposable or even trainer pants for the day.  Gran would then direct me to the bathroom with instructions to clean myself up. I did not tarry; I knew that if I was not back out promptly, then Gran would come in and clean me up herself - very thoroughly.  When I came out, with just a towel around my loins, my daytime garb would be laid out on the changing table ready for me. Usually that meant a large terry nappy, neatly folded with a liner on top, plastic pants and a romper - the "full house", much as I wore the night before save for the baby nappy folded as a booster.  At least the lack of a booster meant I would still be able to walk, but with some difficulty until it all settled down - or was wetted.
  
 I would be invited to mount the scaffold and Gran would position me on top of the nappy and then anoint me, and give a puff of sweet-smelling baby powder. I would lie still,  no wriggling or kicking at the nappy as it was drawn up between my legs fairly loosely, and then the sides would be pinned around me as tightly as possible to stop it falling down.  Gran would then shake out the plastic baby pants, and slipping her hands through the leg holes she would seize my feet and slide the pants up my legs.  While she was doing so, I used to run my fingers over the soft towelling of my nappy and over the smooth pin, checking the top had been snapped down and it wouldn't come open and prick me. It was the only time I was ever allowed to touch my nappy, although sometimes at night I would slip my hand inside to check it was still dry.  I co-operated in lifting my feet as she slid the rustling pants over my ankles, and then lifted my bottom so she could pull them up underneath to my waist, then that lovely feeling when she tucked the leg elastics up into my nappy.  Finally I would be topped off with a romper or onesie .  Then I was free to play.

 I would have to ask, perhaps several times, to be allowed to go to the toilet for a "big job", and everything would be put back afterwards.  I would be left to play around the house and garden until lunchtime, then I would be changed again and put down for a nap.  My holidays - or dumping - at Pembroke meant nappies or trainer pants all the time, and the best I could hope for was a fresh dry change.  Gran said the idea was to take all the strain and shame off me; no having to pay continuous attention to avoid making sudden rushes to the toilet, no accidents, no worries - I could have a break from the daily routine at school and home and relax a little.  Perhaps she was right;  I was happy not to have the shame of big wet marks down my jeans accusing me of inattention.  I could control myself for much of the time, but then, when the impulse came, I had only a few moments to get to the toilet before it all came out anyway.  Without some kind of protection I was always on edge, and with good reason.

Although trainer pants were more comfortable, I quite enjoyed being nappied; it got me the attention I craved, and I felt so much safer when I was well padded out, warm and dry and care-free, even if it made walking a bit of a chore. 

If I wanted to go outside the nursery I would normally have to wear a romper over the top - it stopped my nappy from falling down, dry or wet, and looked more respectable.   Instead of straps, it was zipped up the back, so I couldn't "accidentally" remove my nappy whilst playing.  I never actually tried to take  it off, as I knew I would never be chided for wetting my nappy; that was taken for granted,  I was expected to wet it, that was what it was there for, and so I wet it whenever I felt the urge.  It also saved Gran's carpets from the occasional smelly puddle, too.  It might be embarrassing to still be in nappies at eight years old, but Pembroke and its huge garden were very private, and I could have the run of the place without any outsiders knowing.

I would be put back into my cot after lunch, nominally for a nap, although I think it was Gran who actually needed the nap.  I didn't always sleep, but I nearly always wet; I had to do something to pass the time.   After an hour or so, Gran would come in, check my nappy, and then if I was wet she would change me again.  
I was then free until I had had tea, and my bath.  I would come out of the bathroom to see a pile of terry towelling ready for me on the changing table. This time the booster was there, and it was all nearly twice as thick.  I found it very difficult to walk, but I would waddle as far as my cot where I would be lifted in, told to lie down and be tucked in.  I had to lie with my legs spread to accommodate all that towelling, mostly on my back, but sometimes, to make a change I lay on my front; it didn't seem to make much difference as by morning my nappies would be well soaked anyway.  To add a final insult I would be given a bottle of milk, which most times I drank purely out of habit. Then, when I had settled down, the side would be raised with firm click.  Such was my daily routine at Pembroke.

I came reluctantly back to the present. I noted down:  Nursery: Redecorate.  Restore.  And left it at that.  I would also have to overhaul the laundry arrangements to take account of my plans.

I stayed in the nursery far longer than was really necessary, wondering if I could ever re-create that feeling.  It would be difficult, and washing the nappies afterward would need to be done discretely, but I reckoned I could manage it.

I was still thinking of the nursery when I got as far as the laundry.  Here it was another story, and where there had once been a big washing machine and lines of nappies hanging out to dry, it was now just a box room.  It had originally been the kitchens of the old house, before even the present Georgian house had been built, and separated from it in case it caught fire, as they so often did.  Now it was just a big empty space, only the massive chimney-breast remained, covered in peeling plaster.  Here my ideas for redecoration would not be sufficient; it would be a job for an architect.  Nice little cottage for my daughters or other guests.  Preserve some of the character.  Keep it alive instead of it becoming ruined.

Finally I checked the attic.  The big chest was still there, and I opened the lid.  There were heaps of neatly folded nappies, plastic pants and clothing.  I ran my fingers down inside the layers of towelling.  They were still soft and dry.  I checked the plastic pants, and found the elastics were sadly perished.  No problem.  As soon as I was settled in, I would buy some more.  In my size.
 

[jen1234]

So it appears she is finally going to go back to her love of wearing nappies.  LOL

 

[derj]

Thanks Freswith. I'm excited to see if she will back in nappies and what will happen with her daughters? Will the also be back in nappies?

[terrytwo]

Dear Freswith

Great story, been reading it all for ages

Love to read a chapter on aunt Emma and her nappy history and love.

Look forward in apprehension

Regards, Terry Two

[freswith]

 

Heritage

It had been a busy few months.  I had finished the redecoration of most of Pembroke. My tour of inspection took me all around the house, but when I was on the landing I heard some giggling coming from the nursery.  I opened the door to find Kate sitting cross-legged in the cot, and Liz sitting on the changing table.

"What on earth are you two doing there?" I said, taken completely by surprise.  My twins were twenty-one now, and about to start their final year at college. Kate is a bit mature to be in a cot, even with the side down; her five-foot-ten frame would hardly fit inside anyway.  I knew that because I had already tried my own five-ten frame in there.
"Just having some fun!" replied Liz, swinging her long legs beside the table. "We were talking about how it used to be in here.  It's the part of Pembroke that we remember most.  Lots of nights spent here.  Good times.  Glad to see you have kept it much the same....But why?"

"Well, in case we have children to stay, of course." It was a point I had made with Matt, who had asked which children would that be.  Fair enough - we were a bit short of them at the moment, only Percy's grandchildren qualified; Viola had a daughter of eight, and Alice had two of five and seven. Juliet had a grand-daughter who was ten, and just finishing up, but still might need "Pembroke Rules" The family gene had expressed itself in them, and all three were incontinent.  They had been frequent visitors to Pembroke, and the nursery had been retained to meet their special needs.  I argued that we might find ourselves saddled with them from time to time; indeed, they would be welcome here, as it was their ancestral home as well as ours.  That was the official reason - but I had reasons of my own to want to keep it.  I planned to relive some of my own memories from time to time.  Preferably when there was no-one else around.

Liz stopped swinging her feet, and held her legs out straight, toes touching. "Are you sure it is just for them?" she said softly,  "Don't you have some affectionate memories of those days?  ...We certainly do!"

"How do you mean?" I prevaricated.  I was now on the defensive, and up against two intelligent minds who knew me so well."Surely you don't want to go back to those days!"

Kate pursed her lips and spoke. "Oh, nappies were not so bad. The feeling of security,  the knowledge that we wouldn't wake up in a cold wet bed with a long time to go before we would be allowed to get up, and then to face an angry parent."

Liz brushed her auburn hair back out of her face. "The comfort, the peaceful feeling... Being wrapped up snug and warm.... and safe.  It might have been humiliating, but a wet bed is even more so."

"Not having to get out of our nice warm beds and go to the cold lavatory, cold feet on the lino floor, all making it much worse.  So much nicer just to lie back, let it go, and get back to sleep in a few moments." added Kate.  They had the habit of finishing each other's sentences.  "Don't you remember that?"

I did, and it was true. There was the knowledge that I would never be chided for having wet my nappy, but I would be in for a very rough time if I wet the bed.  It came back to me every time I had to get up in the night.  There were so many times I wished I could be wearing a nappy instead, but grown-ups are not supposed to think that way.  Grown-ups had to think of washing the nappies afterwards.  It's called "responsibility" and you can have all too much of it.

"Well, no-one's stopping you" I replied - it was time to go onto the offensive. "You can wear nappies at night if you want to.  Or in the day, for that matter.  As long as you wash them or use disposables."

There was a sudden silence.  My counter-attack had been successful.

The counter-counter-attack came from a different quarter. "That picture Spike painted..." mused Kate, "I wonder where he got the idea from?  It's not an obvious thing to do."

"He was the perfect pervert," I replied, "And he knew me very well indeed."  Too well, I thought.  He had the emotional insight of a true artist, and he'd sussed me out.  Pity the woman who has an all-too-perceptive lover.

"He knew about you being made to wear nappies, then?  Until you were almost a teenager?"  came back Liz.  I nodded.  It was simply true.

"Did he put you into nappies again?" said Kate, once again following her twin sister's line of thought.  Slowly, I nodded.  He really was a demon lover, and could see right through me.  "Did he enjoy humiliating you?"  Yes, he did. It gave him control of me.  But I enjoyed it.  The long, slow foreplay, the ritual, the intimacy.  I didn't object.

"I used to enjoy it when you were putting us to bed." said Liz, "It was the only time we felt really close to you.  You were always out at work during the day, on business, travelling.  We had just that one hour with you when you put us to bed, the chance to speak our minds and really talk to you."

Kate added: "It wasn't so bad in the mornings either.  "If I wanted to pee, and my nappy was already wet, I didn't have to get up and go to the nasty cold bathroom, I could just let it all go.  If I took my nappy off, I would be in for a scolding.  And there was the attention we got in the mornings, too."

I was crushed.  All those years of being a supermodel, and then a businesswoman, and they had really wanted me there with them all that time.  "We had to make a living.  To make a home for you."  It was the best I could come up with.  A pause.  "I cherished those moments as well.  Having you close to me, warm and soft, feeling the life within you.  I would love to be able to re-live that."  I felt my tears welling up.

Liz slipped down off the changing table and came to my side.  Kate arrived a moment later and we wrapped our arms around each other, and I stood there with my daughters' heads on my shoulders.  I wished that loving moment could have lasted forever.
 

[D503]

So lovely, kinda feels like we've followed their whole lives.

[Ras57]

freswith, just wanted to tell you this is one of my top five story's that I read over the years.  The main reason for me to set up an account on this site. Was to tell you thanks for the story.

[Eliah]

Thanks for finishing this one! Just realized I’ve been following this story for 14 years! Great job and if you ever feel like writing a followup you have some readers here :)

[warpiper]

Wait, this isn't the end is it? 

For everyone counting, this story is by my count 446,497 words, which makes it almost 4 times the length of most novels, and almost double the length of the longest harry potter book

[jen1234]

My count is 442,495, but what is a few words among friends, Let's keep it going to 750,000

 

[warpiper]

2 hours ago, jen1234 said:

My count is 442,495, but what is a few words among friends, Let's keep it going to 750,000

 

Yours might be more accurate, I think the bulk of the copy I got originated with you anyway. When the purge happened, this story was a casualty, but we got it put back together. I've been reading this story for over a decade at this point. 

[freswith]

Thank you for the kind remarks; there are a couple more episodes in it before the planned finale.  I am not sure which of the girls I will "do" then, perhaps I will have an inspiration.

The length is in the same order as "Lord of the Rings" (excluding The Hobbit).  It would be nice to match it.