Phone Conversation

[fyunch]

Beautifully done. I feel like this story is one slowly building crescendo.

[weeboy]

Thanks for another great chapter!!!

Is the next one in the pipeline?

weeboy

[freswith]

Emma's Talk.

That certain feeling of discomfort brings me slowly back to consciousness from the depths of sleep. It's still completely dark, and I take a little time to remember where I am, and why. Vickie is warm beside me, I can hear her even breathing and I stay very still for fear of waking her. We are lying like spoons, my little cousin cupped within my lap, and I listen for the sounds of morning. No footsteps, no traffic, no birds. It's still very early. Too early to get up, but get up I must. I recover my hand slowly from where it's trapped between us but as I do so it rubs against the smooth soft plastic of Vickie's baby pants, and I remember all that happened. I half-remember someone coming in the night and checking my nappy, and I remember trying very hard to ignore it and go back to sleep. I wonder how I'm going to do this, to slide out of bed, get to the loo, relieve myself, and get back into bed without waking Vickie. I wonder how I am going to get this huge nappy down and replace it. Replace it? Why? Because I have to. I agreed to wear it and so I have to keep it on. Until a grown-up takes it off me. No taking it off when their backs are turned. Set such a bad example to Vickie. On the other hand I could almost... No, not that. I listen again. No sounds of incipient morning come to my rescue. I shift my legs, and roll onto my back, very slowly so as not to wake Vickie, and then relax again, one leg bent to accommodate the wedge of nappy between my thighs. The call becomes more urgent. I remember that I nearly wet myself, perhaps I did a little bit, last night when Peter hugged me. So it's already a little bit wet. And it a Free One too, so it really doesn't matter, so I suppose I could and.... I reach the point of no return - and I don't return. The crucial muscle relaxes and the warm fluid starts to trickle down between my legs to spread out under my bottom. Relieved, I start to relax. That wasn't difficult, was it? I could have helped it, but at the cost of waking Vickie, who would never get back to sleep, it being Christmas morning and all. She would probably need, and fairly demand a change as well. Better to wet my nappy. I had an excuse, and it was a free one, and I can argue I didn't wet accidentally, and it was a long, long time to morning, so I empty my bladder as much as I can.

The ancient central heating system started to bubble and gurgle, playing Judas to my assumption that it was the middle of the night. Pembroke was starting to wake up, just as I wanted to go back to sleep. It's still a long time to daylight and I curl myself around Vickie once more to share the warmth.

Suddenly it's daylight and Christmas morning, and Vickie is stirring. She gives a whoop and calls to me. At the bottom of the bed are two stockings filled with parcels, and we both pounce on them with delight and begin to open our presents. Nothing too big or precious, but enough to keep us entertained while the grown-ups sleep on. A little rag doll, a toy pony, and the inevitable orange. We begin to chatter and play in a world of our own, until we hear the sound of the nursery door. Emma is up and attending to William, and she will eventually come to us. I am suddenly conscious of the wetness between my legs, and how it has started to cool down to an uncomfortable degree. I remembered very well how to fix that, in for a penny in for a pound, so I let go again and empty my bladder into the already damp nappy, soaking it thoroughly, but restoring a comfortable level of warmth. Vickie and I returned to our games, sitting cross-legged on the big double bed.

There were noises from the bathroom, which was shared between our bedroom, which at sometime had been the nanny's room, and the nursery. Eventually Emma came in from the bathroom, carrying a freshly washed and changed William, and wished us a happy Christmas.

"Who's first?" she asked, putting William down on the bed. Vickie put her hand up. "Come on then!" and she half-lifted her daughter to her feet, slipped her thumbs into the waistband of Vickie's baby pants and eased the whole package downwards Halfway down Vickie's thighs it dropped to the floor with a heavy thump. "Oh Dear, never mind," said Emma, "we'll soon have you fixed up. Go and wash - Thoroughly!" and Vickie trotted off into the bathroom. "And how about you? "she looked at me. I look at her. I was terribly conscious of the drooping wet mass between my legs and the vital importance of having a good explanation.

"I didn't want to wake Vickie up." I said "I was afraid I would do it if I went out to the bathroom." Emma's eyebrows began their ascent. "I thought that if I woke her she would be wet and want a nappy change. I don't think I know how to do that properly" Emma's eyebrows reached the top, but she remained painfully silent. The onus was still on me, and I felt it keenly. Eventually I took my courage in both hands. "I did it in my nappy." I managed. "I thought it would be the better thing." Emma kept one eyebrow raised in that "I-don't-believe-it-but-I-can't-disprove-it-so-I'll-make-my-doubts-quite-clear" way that adults all seem to have. She remained silent for several more seconds as my wet explanation fell heavily to the floor in the same way Vickie's soaking nappy had just done. I awaited her judgement and sentence.

"Alright," she said, at length, "probably the best thing to do in the circumstances. I certainly didn't want to have to change her in the middle of the night. But why didn't you take it off as soon as you got up?"

I thought for just a moment. I could have done, but I didn't. All those years of training had conditioned me that I mustn't take my nappy off even when it was wet; it was an adult's job. It simply hadn't occurred to me that I might now be allowed to do so. Then I remembered similar interrogations and lectures in school, and plucked at a straw. "I didn't want to set Vickie a bad example." I said.

Emma nodded. "Well done. Let's get it off you now." And I submitted to the same treatment that Vickie just had, as Emma slid the wet package down over my hips, The cool air hit my wet bottom and the nappy left a ring of dampness around my thighs. I stepped out of it gingerly. "My, you were very wet!" exclaimed Emma, "Weren't you uncomfortable? Didn't it keep you awake?"

"No, not really. I'm still used to it after all. Just went back to sleep. Couldn't do that without having a pee. And it was a Free One. You did say so."

Emma nodded again, and then went to field William, who was heading for a power socket. "Get yourself cleaned up. There's something serious I have to talk to you about. To do with this. But get yourself cleaned up first."

Thus freed, and hopefully pardoned, I made for the bathroom. On the way in I passed Vickie coming out. We were both naked from the waist down. She giggled. "You wet your nappy as well, didn't you?" I didn't reply. I wanted to preserve as much of my dignity as possible. Even half-naked, and the wrong half at that, I was still Leading Child.

I topped and tailed myself - washing my face and then my loins - as Mum used to do to me every morning, and then returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around me. Vickie was just being taped into a disposable; it appeared that Emma's views on saving the Earth had been suspended for Christmas and convenience was the order of the day. I didn't hurry to join them. The packet was still open, and I had a sudden nasty idea that the serious matter Emma wanted to discuss with me might involve the suspension of my freedom from Pembroke Rules, followed by their immediate application in the form of a nappy like Vickie's. I braced myself for the worst.

It didn't happen. Emma lifted Vickie off the bed and told her to watch William, and so she took her baby brother's hands and started cruising with him around the bedroom. Emma sat down on the bed and patted that space beside her. Oh Dear: It's That Serious! I sat down beside her and awaited revelation.

"You've met Claire?" said Emma, needlessly. I nodded. Of course I'd met Claire. "Do you like her?" I nodded, more vigorously; Claire was really nice. "Uncle Percy wants to marry her, but she hasn't yet agreed." That came as a surprise to me. In all the stories I'd heard, and when I watched Peter proposing to Juliet, the woman always answered Yes. It was a sort of Romantic Imperative, like all frogs having to be enchanted princes and all Godmothers having to be Fairy. I paid rapt attention to what Emma was saying. This was serious grown-up talk, and for me it was a new experience to be involved in matters of such importance. "Percy has brought her here so she can meet our family, in the hope it'll convince her that he's the right kind of person for her to marry." It sounded sensible so far. "So we've all got to be on our very best behaviour." Fair enough. I wasn't actually planning any bank raids for today. "Especially we don't want her to know about our little family problem." continued Emma. Percy hasn't told her and is very worried she might find out. I didn't need further explanation about that. Vickie cruised past with William, he was one year old and in nappies; right, but she was six years old and still in nappies; not right. At least, not right outside Pembroke's ivy-clad walls, but fully accepted within them. But how did I fit in? "William doesn't matter. Vickie will have to be in nappies of course; we don't want an accident in the middle of the day creating a big scene, do we?" I shook my head. Even in our family it would cause a lot of fuss. "But she'll be wearing a long dress and tights, so it won't be at all obvious." Ah! That explained Emma's sudden conversion to disposable nappies; last Christmas it had been cloth nappies and frilly pants. For me too. And strangely enough, I'd quite liked it. I liked the pants: very girly. I'd liked the freedom to go on playing for as long as I wanted to without being pestered to go to the lavatory at short intervals. I thought of this Christmas, when the facility wouldn't be there, and realised where this was probably leading. I was being cornered.

"What we want you to do is to look after little Vickie very carefully. Make sure her skirt doesn't ride up so you can see her nappy. Let me know - Quietly! - if you think she's wet or needs the toilet." I cast a glance at the packet of disposable nappies and Emma followed my gaze. "You won't have to wear a nappy yourself, of course." She paused for a moment. "because you've finally grown out of them." She paused again, a trifle longer. I looked again at the packet of nappies, as Vickie and William waddled past. Then I sensed Emma was looking at me quite intently. "Unless you would like to wear one, of course." I froze.

After a long moment I shook my head. "I'm not in nappies anymore. Not in the day. Not during the night. Not at Pembroke. Not in nappies." I replied, with my eyes on the nappy packet as though my hand was on the Bible, and suddenly I felt as if I had just painted myself into a different corner. I'd been keyed up to be put back into nappies, and it hadn't happened, and yet, and yet... I felt a slight twinge of disappointment.

Eventually Emma said; "That's all right then, and if it all works out right, I'll see if I can get you a job as a bridesmaid." That sounded better.

"When will they get married?" I asked. Grown-ups seemed to take ages and ages to do anything like this.

"Quite soon. Quite soon. A few weeks. They're going to have to hurry up a bit."

The implication sunk in. I'd heard about this. I knew why people had to hurry. "Does that mean she's going to have a ..." Emma put a finger to her lips.

"We hope so. But it's a big secret. You mustn't mention it."

"But that means she won't have a choice; they'll have to get married."

"Well, yes, probably. Claire has a very good job and great prospects. She might decide to have the baby on her own, or she might even..." She stopped, looking very uncomfortable. I took her drift. Sometimes in the playground, behind the big tree, we girls had whispered about it. The thought chilled me. Whoever could do that to a little baby? Whoever could be so heartless? Even Mags and Linda had come down against it. I realised we were playing for huge stakes, a tiny baby's life no less, and I had an important part to play. The killick weighed down heavily on my sleeve, and I vowed to myself that I would do nothing wrong, nothing that might endanger the life of a baby who was, after all, one of Us.

[jbz2079]

Another belter, thanks.

[babyglyn]

Simon's Family.

The following morning I awoke to find the bed empty beside me, and only the palest residual warmth where Simon had once been. I looked for him, he wasn't in the bathroom, and there was no sign of him downstairs. In a panic I looked outside and his car was gone. All my fears welled up inside me; he'd been revolted by all the talk of weak bladders and Pembroke Rules and he'd crept away in the night and left me. I sat on the side of the bed and began to cry. I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually Clare came and tried to comfort me, but when she failed she went to fetch Mum and Juliet. I blurted out my worries and Juliet started to talk to me in a calm voice, and told me that Simon had mentioned that he was nearly out of petrol and had gone to refill the car before today's journey. He hadn't woken me because he said I looked so beautiful sleeping there, and he didn't want to disturb me. Unfortunately I was too far-gone to believe it. The spectre of Simon finding out about our family problem had been haunting me for ages, and was too deeply into my mind to be erased by a few well-meant words. It had played on my other insecurities about Cambridge, Darren, Mum, and above all my very informal relationship with Simon, and had now overwhelmed me, and the presence of these most trusted friends only allowed the sluice gates to open further.

I must have been making a right blubbering fool of myself when Holly walked in wearing only a blouse and a nappy. That was all I needed, and it was some seconds before I saw, through my tear-filled eyes, Simon's familiar shape behind her, his face filled with concern. I reached out my arms and he picked me up from between Juliet and Mum, held me close in his arms and rocked me like a baby. Juliet came up with a phoney explanation of my grief, something about a pet hamster having died. How she thought of it so quickly was a complete mystery, but it did the job, and I gradually snuffled my way back to normality. Simon's arms were exactly what I wanted, exactly where I wanted to be, and nowhere else. I made a dreadful mess of his shirt, but he kept on holding me until it was all cold and wet. I kept on holding him and wouldn't let go.

I had managed to straighten myself out by the time came to leave, and the only damage visible was some reddening of my eyes. Simon had been wonderfully patient, and had apologised for going off without telling me. We left just behind Peter and Juliet, and the sight of Holly's bulging rear as she climbed into the car was no longer worrying to me; it had actually been Simon who taped her nappy on this morning, so I had no further doubts about whether he accepted our problem. Viola turned out to see us off, wearing the jeans Amelia had given her, and I could see that Percy had relented on his decision about her wearing protection; the jeans were very svelte and tight-fitting and there was no way she could have been wearing a nappy underneath them. We exchanged smiles - we both knew there had been a victory for common sense. Juliet had told me there was now a challenge on between Viola and Holly as to which could get dry first. Odds were being quoted, and bets laid. Currently Viola was the favourite, even with Juliet, partly on the grounds of age but also on the fact that she had obviously just discovered what boys were for, which Juliet felt was the clincher. Even little Alice had demanded to be let in on the race, and it was felt she should at least have the chance, even though she was only seven. This rang falsely with me - I had managed it at eight - and Alice had all the characteristics of a dark horse to me; she was just the type to slip through on the inside on the last furlong. Out of fairness I placed my bet on her, even though I was the only one to do so.

I said goodbye to my parents, who were staying on a little longer. Gran had suggested the relationship between William and Viola be allowed to flourish, as it would do the world of good for Viola to feel that she was not a freak and could be wanted, even if she did still have to wear nappies from time to time. I took a long look at the pair of them as they stood by the door. Gran was right. They had grown up enormously over the last couple of days, and the improvement was obvious. I also saw the point of Gran's remark about nappies having other uses; they certainly deterred too much exploration in that department, although I thought a tight pair of jeans was probably even better. However, knowing William I doubted if even an armour-plated chastity belt would be sufficient.

The roads were still bad and I stayed fairly quiet while Simon negotiated the holiday traffic, but at Aynho we got stuck in a hold-up due to an accident on the icy slope and there was a chance to talk. By now I was fully recovered, and could see how silly I'd been. I apologised to Simon, and asked him how he had discovered our secret. He laughed it off, and said that Peter had briefed him about it months ago. If anything this made me feel even sillier. I asked him if he realised what it meant, and how any daughter we might have would probably suffer from it. I was so relieved about it that I said this before I even thought about it, but Simon had already spoken about us having children and he had said they would be sons. I asked him why he was so confident about this. He delayed answering for a minute and then said his family had a secret as well. It went back for generations. One of his forbears had been very harsh when throwing some gypsies off his land, even though one of the women was in labour. An old gipsy hag had rounded on him and cursed him, saying that his family would never again know a daughter's love, and the curse had stuck. For generations the French family had only borne sons, and his own family had had four of them in a row. The main effect had been that where the family were once great landowners, their holding had been splintered into many smaller farms, and so the younger sons had been obliged to go into the church or the military. Now Simon's elder brother was destined to continue on the farm, and so Simon had chosen a naval career. He had been very frightened of telling me in case it put me off. I told him I felt quite relieved; it seemed a minor problem compared with our curse.

Simon asked me if I had any idea where our own curse came from. I matched it with a story that I had once heard from Gran, and she said she heard it from her own grandmother. Her side of the family had been sea-captains for many generations, and at least one had been involved in the Africa Trade - that sweet-sounding euphemism for the slave trade - and had made the family fortune there. She said a witch-doctor amongst the slaves had cursed him saying that while his ships leaked, so would his daughters. Simon was hugely amused and said that perhaps we should set the witches one against the other. I thought it must have been the strangest marriage proposal ever made, and said so. Simon said nothing for a few long seconds and then looked me in the eye and said "And why not?"

It was my turn to chew that one over. I simply replied: "Cambridge."

"It's only three years. I'll wait for you!"

"Will you?"

"Of course. If you'll have me."

Crunch time! I hesitated. More for effect than because I needed time to think; I could think very quickly indeed when I needed to.

"I'll have you. If you'll wait."

Simon pulled the handbrake on, undid his seatbelt, leaned over, and kissed me. Just then the traffic in front of us began to clear, the traffic behind began to hoot and so the both of us, close together, moved on.

We reached Simon's family farm near Evesham just before lunchtime, having run a little late because of the traffic-jam and the road conditions. It was a large Georgian house with a range of other farm buildings, and as always with a farmhouse, we went in the back way. There was a long passageway leading from the yard to the back door, smelling sweetly from the stone-flagged floor. Just inside was a huge kitchen, with hooks hanging from the ceiling that must once have held sides of bacon, and an enormous Aga cooker capped with a cluster of steaming saucepans. In front of it was a thin worried-looking auburn-haired woman in an apron; Simon's mother. When Simon introduced us, she wiped her hands on the apron before she shook my hand, and I could feel that she was just as nervous as I was. I could see that she was involved in a massive catering exercise, and offered to help, but she declined my offer and insisted that we go ahead into the lounge to meet the rest of the family. I took a deep breath, and my courage in both hands, and entered the room. I hardly needed any introductions. Simon's father, big, square rigged, standing by the great fireplace, his elder brother Ian, ditto, both with huge firm handshakes. His younger brother Robert, pale and delicate by comparison, who was at college studying art, and his youngest brother Stephen, short, round in body and face, bespectacled and halting in speech. This was the child with Down's Syndrome, and it showed plainly. I was greeted with much warmth, although I also had the impression I was being sized up as though I was some kind of farm animal. I seemed to pass this appraisal, especially from poor Stephen who stood there mouth agape until Robert drew him aside.

I really felt guilty about Simon's poor mum cooking for all this lot, and there was no other woman in the house, so I made an excuse and went back to the kitchen to see if Sheila really needed any help. Having broken the ice, she was very grateful assistance, and we talked while we dished up the meal. She was delighted to have some female company in this all-male household, and I asked her about their family curse. She confirmed it - they always had sons. She had tried four times until Stephen came along, and then she said that was enough. She told me that the risks of Down's Syndrome increased with the age of the mother, and putting down the oven-cloth for a moment, looked me in the eye, and said "Whatever you do, Vickie, don't leave it too late - or try too hard!" and I could see her point. I replied that I didn't mind if we only had sons, then I realised that I had said a mouthful - without having a ring on my finger, I had inadvertently declared the seriousness of our relationship long before I meant to. The conversation we had in the car was still working its way through my mind, and I found I really liked the idea, even though something inside me said I shouldn't: bloody Cambridge again! I felt myself blushing under Sheila's sudden gaze, so I carried on dishing up the meal without further comment.

In the afternoon Simon showed me round the farm. It seemed enormous to me, field after field with some stretches of woodland, and on the way back we found Simon's dad and Stephen bringing the cows in for milking; even over a holiday, the dairy work went on. Simon took me into an old wooden barn, and showed me where, on one of the great timbers, all the men of the family had carved their initials. Some of them were three hundred years old. He also told me the farm was mentioned in the Doomsday Book and some of the brickwork in the cellars was Roman. There had probably been a farm here for thousands of years, and the French family had a history that was as old as that of my own family, though much less bellicose.

As the daylight faded we returned to the warmth of the lounge and the roaring fire within and I got to know Simon's family a little better. It soon became apparent that Ian had divorced rancorously from his wife, Robert was really not the marrying kind, and poor Stephen had no hope at all of marriage or children. That explained why the appraisal I'd received was such a practical one; unless Ian remarried it was Simon's job to carry on the family line, and any girl he brought home would be assessed for her child-bearing abilities. I felt very cornered by this, I really didn't like it at all and I felt oppressed by the weight of tradition and the maleness of the establishment. I was quite relieved when Sheila, assisted by Stephen, brought the supper in.

I was able to relax during the meal, not least because the wine was very good, but also because the family were more relaxed around me. Underneath his brusque exterior, Simon's Dad was gentle and charming, as was Ian, and Robert had a lively wit. I began to realise that Stephen's devotion to me was more dog-like than sexual; he was just so desperately anxious to do the right thing and please me, it was apparent he was completely unused to having a woman around who wasn't his mother.

Everyone went to go to bed quite early by my standards, and Simon and I were the last to go, putting the guard in front of the fire and turning out the lights. Simon said the early hour was because the cows would need milking again at dawn, and their udders didn't observe any holidays. We were just going into our bedroom when Stephen came out of his room to wish us goodnight. As he retired noticed a band of plastic at the back of his pyjamas, and the distinctive squared-off buttocks, but Simon had already told me all about that. Once inside we were alone together again and Simon took me into his arms and kissed me, long and slow. Then he asked me how it had been. I presumed he meant meeting his family as opposed to being kissed, and replied that they were lovely people and had been so nice to me. Simon relaxed visibly and cuddled me.

"I'd been so worried!" he said, "I know they can be quite an intense lot, and I know how shy you are; I was terrified they were going to mob you like they did..." and he stopped.

"Like they did when? Simon"

"...when I brought Paula home to meet them." Simon, to his credit, had only once ever mentioned his previous girlfriend.

"What happened?"

"Everything! Every wretched thing! Ian was just going through his venomous divorce and was like a bear with a sore head, Dad had problems with the cattle, Mum was badly overwrought, Robert had brought his latest boyfriend home - a ghastly scruffy student character, and Stephen kept trying to feel her. She was a spoilt city-bred thing, and had never spent a night in the country, let alone amongst a farming family, and she picked fault in absolutely everything. The following morning she went out to the bathroom and Stephen dashed past with his nappy down to his knees, Mum and Dad had a row, Ian had a hangover, Robert's boyfriend left a used needle in the bathroom, and when we went into the barn, she bumped into a brace of pheasant that Ian had shot and hung there, and probably forgotten about. I explained that you're supposed to hang pheasant for several days to tenderise the meat, but these were maggoty, and my explanation made her vomit. She insisted on being taken home. I was under orders to join my ship, we expected to be away for months as guard ship in the Caribbean, but just before I left she sent me a resounding "Dear John" and that's the last I ever heard from her."

I started to laugh. "It must have been like a weekend in Hell!"

"I'd rather have a weekend in Hell!" he replied, "I made my views very clear to my family and they were terribly sorry, but by then the damage had been done. I've been so worried that something similar might happen this time. I wanted to tell you about Stephen, but I could never pluck up the courage to do so."

"He's alright, really, he can't help it, poor boy. Anyway, I'm a city-bred girl and I would like to be spoilt. And I love your farmhouse. It's even older than Pembroke."

"At least you can handle Stephen's nappies. Paula was revolted."

"I wore nappies myself for nearly half my life, like I told you, it sort of runs in the family."

"Learning about that was actually a great relief; I knew then that you'd understand about Stephen."

"You could hardly avoid learning about them after last night. They were right under your nose." I suddenly realised that sharing our terrible secrets had not only relieved our worries about them, but it had broken down barriers between us and opened new subjects of conversation. Simon had never mentioned his previous girlfriend before, and his emphatic burial of her had removed one more niggling worry of mine; I no longer feared she might reappear. I had learnt something about relationships from this.

"That wasn't too bad - they were kids, anyway. A bit old for nappies, but they didn't seem to be shy about them. I just took my cue from the others."

"That's because the girls accepted you as a member of the family. You seem to have won their confidence very quickly. Holly has been desperate to conceal it from you up until now, but now she accepts you, and the others have followed her lead. Did you realise Viola actually wet her nappy while she was in your lap? You tickled her; she laughed too much and soaked herself. Claire said both Alice and Holly were wet after the tickling session, too; Pembroke Rules did a very good job."

"No, I didn't notice anything then, I just thought the Rules were rather heavy."

"I suppose they are - but they kept you dry! Certainly I used to object - at first - but there was another side to it. For years Amelia had to wear them too, so I had her example, and it seemed just part of Christmas. I objected to having them put on, and to wearing them in the daytime, but after a few minutes it was business as usual and I could play as long as I liked. All the rest of the year I would be interrupted and made to go to the toilet every hour or so, but at Christmas I could play with my new toys as much as I liked and I was never scolded if I had an accident; I would be changed in five minutes and allowed back to play. It's a sort of truce in an endless battle for toilet-training. There's no humiliation involved - in some ways it's a privilege; Percy's mistake was to use it as a punishment as instead of a precaution, but he's a Judge, and that's probably the way he thinks."

"Weren't they terribly uncomfortable?"

"Not really: bulky, yes, but after a few minutes you didn't notice that, and they formed a nice cushion so you could sit comfortably on the floor, nobody ever remarked on them, and if I wanted to go and not interrupt my game, I knew I could do so and carry on playing. I'd be changed by-and-by."

"Is that what happened at the Monopoly game yesterday?"

"Almost certainly. It's a serious thing, Monopoly, and you really can't turn your back on the other children in case they cheat you."

"Aren't they very uncomfortable when they're wet? I mean babies are always crying because they're wet."

"Only if they're cold. You can sleep in a wet nappy as long as it's warm. It's better than trying to sleep in a cold wet bed. Mind you, I never wet the bed because I always had a nappy on, but sometimes they leaked."

"I bet you were glad to get rid of them!"

"Too right! I wanted to be like the other kids, act my age, and not have that terrible secret at home, but there were some things I missed. I missed being "babied" every evening when Mum or Dad put my nappy on for bed. There was something very intimate about it, and I had them to myself at that time. Sometimes Juliet would do it if she was sitting me, and once or twice Amelia nappied me, too, but I never allowed the sitter to do it. That was just too much!"

"What was the problem?"

"They always leaked - not the nappy, the sitter - and word would get out that I had to wear them, and it always got back to me in the school playground. I would get bullied and my life would be pure hell. I didn't have many friends at school - I suppose I'm rather shy as a result. At least I could trust Juliet not to betray me. It's made me very close to her and Amelia."

"What would you do if Juliet wasn't available?"

"Oh, Mum would put my nappy on me after teatime and then pot or change me when they came back. I would spend the evening trying to avoid the sitter, but never succeeding. Sometimes they wouldn't believe I was still dry and insist on giving me a nappy check, and if necessary, a change. I felt like I'd been violated."

"Weren't there ever any good points about nappies?"

"You know, after I was dry there were even times when I missed them. I felt so warm and safe with a nappy on, I knew nothing could go wrong and I wouldn't be in trouble if I had an accident. It also saved a cold trek to the toilet in the middle of the night. Sometimes in the morning too, I would wake in a nappy that was already wet and would want a pee, so I would just let it go - it's also a good way to warm up a nappy that's cold and wet - and Mum would change me as usual. Two for the price of one!"

"You mean you would wet your nappy deliberately while you were in bed?" Simon said with amazement.

"Well, yes - and don't look so shocked!" I had to admit. "If it was choice between lying awake for hours because I wanted to pee but not being able to do so without taking my nappy off and risking Mum's wrath, or staying in the warm bed, having a decent pee, going back to sleep again and just putting up with Mum's muttering, then I would wet deliberately. I expect Stephen sometimes does that too, on the quiet."

"So Stephen's got a good deal, then?"

"Looks like it, but I'm sure he'd love to get out of them if he could. It's a stigma, a humiliation, and I'm sure Stephen has as much right to his self-respect as any of us."

By now we were ready for bed, and Simon turned down the covers, then picked me up and laid me into the bed. I landed with a bit of a crinkle. Simon desperately fumbled at the side of the mattress. "Oh God!" he said, "Mum must have misunderstood me. She's fitted one of Stephen's waterproof mattress covers to the bed!"

I just grinned at him. Early nights could be useful, sometimes. "It's alright Simon. Your poor mum has tried so hard to make me welcome. I'll promise not to wet the bed as long as you don't either. If you're really worried, I'm sure we can get a nappy from Stephen - and I'll put it on you. Now be a good boy, turn the light out and come here, and I'll show you something else a naughty little girl can do in bed!"

i live in tenby not far from pembroke

[babyglyn]

hi freswith..was it pembroke wales u refered 2 , i live in tenby wales not far from pembroke

[freswith]

NO, "Pembroke" is just the name of a house - purely fictional. For continuity purposes it is set somewhere around Woburn Sands/Apsley Guise but there is no actual house of that name or description there. Envisaged as a Georgian pile with many bedrooms, large garden, secluded street. The name was picked out of the air. The farm at Evesham is/was real, as is Culdrose. Only one or two of the peripheral characters are based on real people. Unfortunately the three girls are completely fictional. It was sometime after I invented "Simon French" that I discovered i had an indirect a facebook connection with a real person of that name. Strangely, several other coincidences have turned up since I started writing this.

Thanks JBZ, Fyunch & Weeboy; I've got another one-and-a-half episodes written, I'll stick the next one up on Friday.

I am trying to tell the story of how someone becomes a diaper lover, including the pitfalls. Way to go yet! I hope you like Amelia - she's developing quite a character. There may be times when the diaper element may have to be reduced in order to give connectivity to the plot, and give her character room to broaden. I have to take a break sometimes; although the overall plot is covered in former episodes, I have to try to tie it all together and then throw in something new. Sometimes my muse takes a break, too.

See you Friday!

(My mistake - Babyglyn- please edit that big quote out - it's in the way a bit!)

[weeboy]

freswith,

Thanks for that new chapter, great as usual....looking forward to friday.

(confused face) what quote is in the way?

[freswith]

You have "replied to" a whole chapter: "Simons Family" so the website has reproduced it in full and out of sequence. It might confuse people. If you would kindly press "delete" at the bottom, it will put it out of the way.

Thank you. I'm very glad you were pleased with the latest chapter.

[freswith]

Binge.

Breakfast was soon over, and I had taken my duties seriously. Vickie was duly toileted and refastened into her nappy without Claire being any the wiser. Mum and Dad arrived again with Peter and Juliet, and the women of the family busied themselves in the kitchen while the men were exiled to the lounge to talk about Men things. The children sort of circulated, getting under everyone's feet. William set up a regular patrol route, taking in every power socket, the coal scuttle, the open fire, the stairs, the Christmas tree (he tried to climb it) and every frangible ornament less than four feet above ground. Despite the lures of several toy cars, his teddy bear and squeaky ball he obviously felt that the far horizons of Pembroke were much more exciting, and so I found that keeping him out of trouble was a full-time occupation. I tried my best to keep Vickie out of trouble, but she seemed to gravitate to Claire's presence and go through the whole repertoire of scratching her crutch (my nappy is chafing) hopping from leg to leg (my nappy is soaked and about to leak) and hitching her waistband (my sodden nappy is drooping) to make Claire think that there was something decidedly suspect about this child, the Tarr family, and motherhood in general. I did my best, and managed to get both my charges settled in a corner of the lounge behind the big sofa playing Our House and out of sight and hearing of the adult world. Shortly before lunch was declared, Emma took little William up to the nursery for a change, and I managed to persuade Vickie to go along as well in case he got frightened, and surprise, surprise, have a change as well. It was altogether the busiest Christmas morning I could ever remember. Thankfully I even remembered to use the toilet myself, or I could have been the one to have the accident; indeed, for a moment I found myself regretting Emma's kind offer of some protection; it was also my first Christmas out of nappies, and I began to appreciate the convenience they had once provided me.

Lunch was a huge affair, and lasted much too long. We children were eventually released from the table, but had to wait for the adults to finish before we got on to the main business of the day; presents! The heap of parcels under the Christmas tree was larger than ever, and Gran had the job of dishing them out. I soon discovered the downside of growing up; people gave me useful things rather than toys. Mum and Dad gave me a new pair of riding boots, and while I needed them, wanted them, and was very excited to have them, there isn't much play value in them By the time I had tried them on (a bit big on me, allowing room to grow) and marched this way and stomped that, and then tramped back again, I had just about exhausted the possibilities and was quite glad to be able to take them off. Vickie had fared rather better, and had received an enormous dolls house, even bigger than mine, with six big rooms on three floors including a splendid kitchen with a maid doll and a nursery with a baby doll. I was envious, although I was trying to pretend I was growing out of playing with dolls, the fascination persisted. I found myself helping Vickie play with her present. All the dolls had to be named, of course, and their relationships established, then Vickie being Vickie, everything had to be counted at least twice, and the number of items per doll and per room had to be established. I noticed Claire watching us with interest, and double checked that Vickie wasn't showing any unusual bulges about her nether regions.

William came up trumps. From amidst his plethora of toys he crawled over to the side of Claire's armchair and dragged himself up onto his feet, gazing adoringly at her and trying to engage her in conversation. William is a very pretty baby with pale blond hair and huge blue eyes, and Claire was delighted at her new conquest. I watched carefully, but did not interrupt, as William did the best sales job for motherhood that I have ever seen. Eventually he excelled himself. Casting off his solid grip he set off staggering towards his mother, unaccompanied and unsupported. Vickie watched her little brother carefully, and started counting each step aloud. Other people joined in as William took his first unassisted steps across the vast swathe of Pembroke's mighty lounge carpet. At the eighth step he reached his mother's arms to a great cheer of encouragement, and was lifted into her lap as a reward. Five minutes later, rested and refreshed, he started off on the return journey, and after one spectacular wobble he managed to reach Claire, and was duly hoisted into her lap in turn, to their mutual delight. I caught Uncle Percy's eye and he gave me a huge wink; it was all going very well.

We played peacefully with our toys and with each other's for most of the afternoon. Emma quietly slipped away with Vickie for ten minutes for the obvious purpose, and I took the chance to use the toilet as well. I was still very conscious of my new-found privileges under Pembroke Rules and fully aware of how rapidly they could be withdrawn, and was determined not to make a fool of myself; I hadn't forgotten how much my invisible cousin-to-be might be relying on my good behaviour. On the way out I passed Peter and Juliet, gently canoodling by themselves in a little sofa away from the rest of the throng and, although I rendered my respects in passing, I was careful not to trouble them.

As the daylight finally died, Emma carried a very tired and over-filled William up to the nursery for bath and bed. To my surprise Claire went with them, and when I happened by a little later Claire was drying off a warm pink William inside a large towel. I stayed to watch as the two women attended to William's night attire, using the over-sized changing table that had hosted me so many times. As they powdered the wriggling William they were discussing matters ecological, which turned out to be as much a hobby of Claire's as it was of Emma's, with particular reference to the iniquity of disposable nappies versus ecologically-sound cloth. William's legs were now waving from amidst a bundle of the latter, and it was obvious that Claire approved; both of William himself and of Emma's mothering choices.

I went back via the room I shared with Vickie to deposit my precious new riding boots. As I entered the door the first thing I saw were the nappies laid out on the shelf above the radiator. Two sets of nappies, liners, pins and pants. One set for Vickie, and one for me; that much was now obvious. In Aunt Emma's eyes my explanation of this morning's wet nappy had not been sufficiently convincing, and she was planning to put me in a nappy tonight as well. I licked my lips. I didn't know whether to protest, create a rumpus, scream the place down... or to celebrate. I was finding strange sensations lurking in the corners of my mind; for a moment the prospect of wearing a nappy again was very pleasant and the prospect of Peter changing me brought that funny tingle back again. Then I thought of Percy and Claire, and the tiny life inside her. It was not the time to make a scene about being put back into nappies. I would have to make my case quietly at the appropriate time, but I knew that my case was a poor one; I cursed at my weakness of this morning - I really should have gone to the toilet and woken Vickie and the rest of the house if necessary. My planning was interrupted by the sound of the nursery door and footsteps approaching down the corridor. I hastily slipped out, and closed the bedroom door tightly behind me. Claire mustn't see in there! I stood in front of the door smiling sweetly as they passed me; no way would they have got inside except over my dead body. As it was, they just smiled and went past towards the stairs. I had got away with it - for now. Later would have to take care of itself.

Vickie was the next to fade. Within an hour we were both curled up in one of the big armchairs and Vickie's head was resting on my shoulder. Emma decided it was bedtime for her, and prised the sleepy child loose from our impromptu den, patted her gently on the rump and reaffirmed the urgency of taking her upstairs. Vickie didn't protest; she had had a very good day. I wasn't yet ready for bed, and did my best to sink back into the armchair and not be noticed. The presence of Peter so near, and the prospect of being nappied so soon had preyed upon my mind. The danger of discovery had always leant a certain thrill of fear to being seen wearing a nappy, and it got to the point that I quite enjoyed it; it had become a dare, and I could never refuse a dare. I toyed with the idea I might somehow get Peter to nappy me, and far fetched as it was, it was also very attractive. I wondered if he would pop in to wish me goodnight as he had done last night, and I wanted that feeling again. I wanted it a lot.

There was something happening. There was a tension in the air, people were moving and I raised my head cautiously over the leather arm of the chair to take a quiet shufti and try to find out what was happening. Mum spotted me and came over. Damn! This could mean bedtime! Instead she spoke quietly and asked me if I would like to stay up a bit longer and have supper with the grown-ups. I agreed instantly, of course. Not that I was hungry for food, but I was always hungry for adulthood. I nipped upstairs to grab a quick wash and use the toilet before the meal. As I went into the room, Emma was just putting Vickie into bed. I made an explanation, partly to escape any suggestion that I had come for bath and bed myself, but also to brag to Vickie about being allowed to stay up to supper with the adults. As I came out of the little bathroom I saw Claire come into the bedroom to wish Vickie a good night. The other set of nappies was plainly visible on the radiator shelf and she could hardly escape noticing them. I sidled across towards them to try and cover them with my body, but it was no use as they were much larger than baby's nappies and wider even when folded than their intended recipient. However, Claire's attentions were on the freshly washed and brushed Vickie, sitting up in the bed with her halo shining over her angelic blonde hair, so I took the chance to smuggle them into the bathroom and through to the nursery, where I put them on the radiator shelf there, before returning to see what diversion I might introduce. We were all suddenly undone anyway; Claire bent down to Vickie, and Vickie sat up. As she did so it was quite obvious that she was wearing a nappy and baby pants where her pyjama bottoms should be. I tried desperately to think of some serious distraction when I saw Claire pause, looking down at Vickie's waist, where her white plastic pants bulged out.

Emma saved the day. "Vickie has a little problem, Claire." she said, "She is a little bit inclined to wet the bed sometimes." That was the understatement of the year; Vickie drenched herself every night in the finest traditions of the family.

"Oh, you poor little thing!" exclaimed Claire, "Never mind, I'm sure you will soon grow out of it. How sensible you are to take precautions." Vickie pouted, and for a moment I thought she would roll back to have her tummy patted like Asbo would have done.

"I only wear them at night," she said, "and when we're here." Yes, I thought, we wear them all the time when we are here, don't we? I slipped out of the door before any difficult questions were asked, and left further explanations to Aunt Emma.

We sat down to dinner. Cold turkey, what else? I kept a low profile. Percy cleared his throat and everyone fell silent. In his typical rather pompous style he began waffling about the "Current Situation" and "Negotiations" and "Future Plans" and everybody sat quietly until I began to fidget, then Percy stopped for a moment and said "the upshot is that Claire and I are getting married." There was a wave of congratulation, and Peter produced two bottles of champagne, which he must have prepared earlier. A salute of corks was fired and Peter circled the table charging the tall glasses at each place. He got to me and looked at Mum. To my complete surprise she nodded, and Peter filled the glass in front of me. I had drunk champagne before, usually mixed with orange juice, and I had come to like it, not least because it usually had to be stolen at some risk of discovery, but never before had I had a whole glass to myself and with parental approval. I sipped it cautiously, savouring every drop, signifying as it did not just my advancement to a seat amongst the adults, but also to the success of my small part in the fruition of Percy's plan and the security of the tiny baby who was to be my new cousin.

The table buzzed with conversation, and it was some time before I managed to get in a question of importance, and got an affirmative reply: yes, I could be a bridesmaid, along with Vickie. Claire would be delighted to have us. With that essential point settled I took another swig of champagne to celebrate. The bottle was passed again, but my glass wasn't refilled. I took advantage of a moment when the table was being cleared and everybody was returning to the lounge, craftily refilled my glass and drained it all in one. Then I followed them through, half-suppressing an enormous belch. The adults distributed themselves around the various armchairs and sofas, and I went over to where Mum and Emma were sitting. Bad Move.

"It's way past your bedtime!" said Mum. The ritual started.

"Can I have a few more minutes, Please"

"You've had a few more minutes already."

"Oh PLEASE!"

"No, No Please, Off to bed!"

I'll take her." said Aunt Emma and started to get up. I backed away, but backed into Peter, who promptly picked me up. Well, that was all right by me. I put my arms around his neck and hung on. He carried me over to the door and whispered in my ear that I'd been very good and mustn't spoil it now. At the doorway we stopped, and Peter turned and told me to wish everyone good night. I gave them all a general goodnight, detached one arm and gave them a wave. This was fun. I was all in favour of being carried off to bed by Peter, although the motion made me feel a bit funny - it was as if the room was slowly turning round and round. He put me down at the foot of the stairs and I held onto the newel-post for support as the hallway swayed around me. I could see Emma following us smiling gently, so I gave her a wave, which was cut short by a hiccough.

"Oh, Dear!" said Peter. "Too much champagne for a little one, I think."

"I'm not little, I'm a big girl now!" I managed, although my tongue seemed to lag someway behind me. I tried to take a step up the stairs, but my feet seemed to get tangled in something. Peter picked me up again, one arm under my knees, and carried me upstairs, which I thought was very funny.

As we reached my bedroom he put me down, which was even funnier, but my giggles stopped very suddenly when I wet my pants. I managed to hold it, just, but not before Emma had spotted it. I was whisked into the bathroom, where my dress was swiftly removed and the damage surveyed. Fortunately I had only made myself a little bit wet, my tights had caught it and it hadn't reached the dress itself. I was swiftly stripped, put on the toilet to complete the process, then Emma topped and tailed me quite briskly with a washcloth. I hung onto the washbasin to keep upright as the world rotated. Then she took my hands and I cruised - as William liked to cruise - out through the other door and into the nursery, where Peter lifted me onto the changing table. I was still giggling gently and being shushed so as not to wake William, but the giggling began again until suddenly a dummy was put in my mouth to shut me up. Startled, I did just that and tried to giggle through it. I know what is happening, after all it's the most natural thing in the world. My legs are lifted, my bottom anointed and a when I come down again it's onto the soft muslin liner of a nappy. "Hello Nappy!" I murmur to myself, "My, aren't you nice and soft and warm!" although it's reduced to grunts by the dummy in my mouth. It must be one of William's. "Hello Dummy!" . I reach down to try to repel my nappy, but my hands are caught and held by Peter and lifted back over my head. I hold his hands tightly as other hands are busy down there, and I am being wrapped in the warm towelling. I spread my legs and wriggle a little at the ecstasy of the feeling. The warmth is spreading like delicious fire all over my tummy and down my legs and that wonderful tingle was getting stronger and stronger all the way up my legs to my chest. I feel hands on my feet and the smooth clenching of the elastic and the delicious smooth plastic is drawn up my legs. My legs are lifted again and my baby pants are drawn under my bum. I feel Emma's fingers running round inside the elastics and tucking my nappy in; it tickles and the fire down there explodes and threatens to consume me. Then all at once Peter picks me up again and I try to throw my arms around his neck, but all I get are the sleeves of my pyjamas. I stare into his eyes as he pulls them up my arms, over my head and down to my waist, until I finally manage to get my arms around his neck. He picks me up with his hands under my now thickly-padded bottom, and carries me back through the bathroom into our bedroom. I try to kiss him, although the dummy is in the way, but I do manage to slide my legs around his waist and squeeze him tightly. The pulsing fire in my loins comes to a crazy peak and then starts to subside, and I just feel terribly tired but in a strange way victorious, as though I had just won a race.

Peter lowers me gently onto the bed beside the soundly-sleeping Vickie, and I reopen my eyes. I take the dummy out so I can pant for air. He gives me a big smile and a wink and then backs away. I still want to hold him, but he keeps on going, and just gives me a little wave. Emma reappears, lifts the bedclothes over me and tucks them in. We are alone in the room now, except for the sleeping Vickie.

"You've done very well." she whispers, "You've been so good all day. Don't worry about the accident, it was only a little one and didn't even make your dress wet." Accident? Accident? That was hours ago. "Now sleep tight and don't worry about having another. You've got a nice big nappy on and you can do it all in there, and no-one will ever mind. And you've shown you can keep a secret. That's very good. And I think I know one of your secrets, as well." I query her with my eyebrows, I am just too tired to speak. "I think you really like wearing nappies, don't you?"

From somewhere deep in my heart, the reply begins to rise. Uncluttered by guile, unaltered by tact, unsullied by discretion it arrives in my throat like a gust of wind rushing through a reed-bed, and without any conscious effort the unmentionable truth reaches my lips and escapes in a long sibilance: "Yessss!"

"I'll tell you one of mine then." whispers Emma. "I enjoy putting them on you!" and she puts the dummy back in my mouth before I can reply, then rises and leaves, closing the door with a soft click behind her.

I roll onto my side, slip an arm round the slumbering Vickie and spiral down and down into a deep, soft, warm pit of sleep.

[fyunch]

Ah, brilliant. The game is now afoot.

[jbz2079]

Thanks Freswith, You really write so very well.

How that chapter went where we were expecting it to was amazing, also how it all came together is truly amazing.

I wish I could write as fluently and expressivly as you do. Thanks.

[freswith]

Many thanks for that1 Here's the next one - a little shorter as it ends an episode. Naturally (in so far as this is natural) Binge is followed by Purge. There may be an interregnum before the next episode, partly because I haven't yet started it, but also because I want to sort out a bit more of the plot. I hope you'll bear with me.

[freswith]

Purge.

The following morning I awoke with that old familiar feeling between my legs and let forth a low groan. Vickie appeared in my line of blurred vision and her little piping voice cut through to my resurfacing consciousness. "You've wet your nappy, haven't you?" I stirred, and the clammy wetness stirred with me; I could not argue with Vickie's gleeful observation so I ignored it. I pulled the dummy out of my mouth and, mustering all my strength, I sat up. The sunshine was pouring in the window and it was obvious I had slept much later than usual; Vickie was up, washed, brushed and dressed and standing beside the bed looking at me, and I felt like a vegetable garden; all mud and compost. "They told me you were out of nappies." piped Vickie once again.

"I was." I replied, "At least, I thought I was.... Oh God!"

"Would you like your dummy?"

My mouth felt like a cat-litter tray. The prospect of a latex-something inside it almost made me retch. I thought of the bathroom, and the prospect of cool, clean tiles and hot, running water became irresistibly attractive. I staggered to my feet and the weight of my wet nappy made itself uncomfortably obvious; the worst of it was I couldn't remember wetting it. I staggered into the bathroom, and closed the door. I wanted to be alone, especially alone from the pristine Vickie and her helpful observations. The water came rushing into the washbasin and I felt the sudden urge to pee. Oh Bother! I just let it go where I stood, and the crutch of my pants sagged down almost to my knees. In disgust I slid the package down to the floor and stepped out of it, whereupon I instantly felt about a stone lighter. I removed the pins and dropped the nappy into the pail where it joined at least two others; apparently Vickie had, as expected, also been wet. As I did so it occurred to me that I didn't usually do this; it had always been the job of a chiding mother until now, but this morning I had obviously been left to sleep in and then to fend for myself. The road to adulthood has some strange byways.

I dressed again in casual clothes; yesterday's long dress was indeed unmarked, but my tights were certainly in the washing basket. Fortunately I had brought some jeans with me and a warm top. I was going home today, so I wasn't worried. Feeling human again I went down to breakfast.

It appeared I wasn't the only one who was running late that morning, and I was saved the embarrassment of being last to breakfast by no less a personage than Granpa, who arrived looking like he had had a hard night. Buoyed by the enlargement of his family, and the possibility of a grandson to carry on the Tarr name, he had spliced the main brace in no uncertain manner, and now he was heard to murmur something about having a taste in his mouth as though there had been a Frenchman living in it. Apparently the party had gone on late into the night, and eventually Juliet had had to drive my parents and Peter home, as she was the only one sober. The human cost of the celebration was all too visible in the men's faces around the table, and the women didn't look too lively, either. As I was leaving the table, Gran asked Emma and me to drop into the library. This was an unusual privilege, but when Emma was waved to a seat while I was plainly expected to stand I realised that the intention was to hold a Board of Inquiry into my behaviour last night. Gran's questions soon elicited the details; I had drunk too much champagne, been carried to bed, had an accident, been thoroughly and multiply nappied, and had then wet them. I had to admit that I had drunk more than I had been supposed to, and had refilled my own glass then finished off a couple of abandoned glasses, and Gran was certainly not amused by that. I hung my head in shame. Emma spoke up for me, and said that I had only had a tiny accident from laughing too much and it didn't get as far as my dress or the carpets. Gran then asked how and why I had been nappied, and Emma explained that I was sleeping in the same bed as Vickie and she thought it would be for the best, not just for me but for Vickie. The nappies were there because I had worn them last night, and had needed them. This brought another rash of questions and I used the same defence that I had wet my nappy in preference to waking Vickie at an "early hour" on Christmas morning, and I pointed out that Vickie's usual habit was to demand a change loudly as soon as she woke. This seemed acceptable, and Gran even nodded approval; I relaxed a little. The she shifted her attention onto this morning. I admitted I had been quite wet, and Gran clucked with disapproval. I admitted I had been very naughty in drinking more champagne that I was allowed, and that I'd had a little accident, but I'd managed to stop it. I really hadn't meant to wet the nappy, but I did so in my sleep, and I was very, very sorry. Then Gran asked what I intended to do about it. I replied that I was very sorry but I didn't think it would happen again as I hadn't liked the sensation of being drunk at all and would try to avoid it in the future.

Gran paused, her lips pursed, considering her verdict. I had visions of being subjected to Pembroke Rules With Immediate Effect, a sentence that might not have been unreasonable in the circumstances, but I realised with a shudder that this would mean cloth nappies as there were no disposables to be had in my size. The lack of jeans would also mean wearing a romper, or at least pyjama bottoms as there was no prospect of my jeans fitting over a cloth nappy. I had visions of my returning home the way Vickie had arrived; strapped into a safety-chair with a great pillow of nappy showing between my thighs. Suddenly the whole idea of nappies revolted me, and the memory of how I had woken up this morning - swathed in baby-nappies saturated with my own urine, wearing baby-pants and with a baby's dummy in my mouth - made me feel like I could die; I vowed I would never, ever get drunk or wear a nappy, let alone wet one, in the rest of my life, and if anybody tried to put a dummy in my mouth I would bite their hand off.

The room was so silent I could have heard the sound of a safety-pin being dropped, even on the thick pile of the carpet. At last Gran gave her judgement. "Very well. But this mustn't happen again. I won't tell you that you can never drink alcohol again; it is most unlikely you will obey me, but I will say that you must never drink alcohol in this house unless you are wearing suitable protection. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Gran." I replied, suitably downcast. I had been expecting far worse. I really hated the idea of wearing a nappy and couldn't understand what I had ever found attractive in it. Mind you, I had enjoyed the champagne - up to a point. "You're not going to put me back into nappies, are you?" I asked with desperate worry. "I know I was very naughty."

Gran looked at me carefully over her reading glasses. Another silence. "No, dear, I don't think that's necessary. Pembroke Rules have never been a punishment, only a precaution, in the way you might have a sticking plaster put on a cut; they avoid all kinds of nastier things. You are now out of nappies, child, you have crossed that Rubicon, and once out you shouldn't ever need to go back into them." - she looked quite hard at me - "Even if you wanted to."

I felt myself floundering. I could remember my affirmative reply to Emma last night as she put the nappies on me and asked me if I really liked them, but that was another person, months ago, and on the other side of about three glasses of champagne in my eleven-year-old head. I couldn't know what Emma might have said to Gran, later in the evening as the wine had flowed still further, and I couldn't tell whether or not my monstrous indiscretion had even been noticed. I couldn't reply either way to Gran, so I dodged the implied question, refused to enter a plea and simply thanked her, then gave her a hug and a kiss, and cheerfully accepted my dismissal from the Board of Enquiry with a default verdict of "Not Proven".

I went to look for Vickie, my friend and to some extent my charge, at least in the absence of Emma, who remained closeted with Gran. I found her kneeling on our bedroom floor, dutifully packing her presents for the trip home. Instinctively I tucked her top in at the back of her jeans where it had ridden up to expose her nappy; there was no point in attracting further attention from soon-to-be-Aunt Claire, and together we carried her "take" down to the car where Tom was busy packing in the luggage. Emma appeared from the house carrying a well-quilted William, and installed him in his safety seat in the back of the car. Then she gave me a huge conspiratorial wink, as if to say "We got away with it!". I felt my spirits rising again, and helped Vickie into her seat on the other side. Finally Emma packed in the large changing bag that would serve both of them if the need arose, and the rest of the family came out to say goodbye. I cast a careful look at Vickie, but the bulge between her legs was barely visible under her jeans, and she was holding her new teddy bear over it anyway. Emma said I should come down and visit them in Bristol and perhaps stay a night or two. I accepted cheerfully, although a few moments later I had a sudden realisation of just what that could mean, but I kept on smiling just the same. Shortly after they left, my parents arrived to reclaim me, and I was duly strapped into the back of the car, and although I was grateful that the short journey back tour house was not a "nappy trip", I wondered about poor Vickie ensconced in her child safety seat, legs spread by the bulk of her nappy, and expected to need it and use it before the family reached their own home. Growing up had its advantages.

After we got home I carried my bag up to my bedroom. There was one piece of unfinished business I wanted to complete. In the roof of my doll's house, where the batteries for the lights were fitted, there were the last four disposable nappies, which I had carefully concealed there for ... I don't know what, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. My plan was to remove them discretely to the dustbin and get them out of my life forever. I opened the lid and reached inside, but just then I heard Mum's footsteps coming up the stairs, presumably carrying the rest of my presents, and it occurred to me that this was not the moment to be found with handfuls of contraband nappies. I stopped with my fingers around the soft plastic, held them there for just a moment, caught a whiff of the scent, and then withdrew them slowly and closed the lid. Maybe I should get around to that later...

[fyunch]

Lovely rendering of the morning-after ambivalence. Great storytelling.

[weeboy]

Bump

Freswith

Another good chapter.

It there any update coming soon?

[freswith]

OK - thanks for the "bump" - it's always nice to know there are fans out there. I will try to get down to writing one this wekend, as the weather forecast is awful. Th eproblem is that I've got Amelia out of nappies, in the "purge" part of the cycle, and I've got to turn her round gently to rebuild the momentum. She has also got puberty to contend with, and I need a bit of a story line. I'll put my mind to it for you.

[jbz2079]

I know what you mean about the weather, Aww wel that's the UK for you.

Looking forward to the next instalment, thanks.

[freswith]

Bridesmaid

Uncle Percy had been very considerate in postponing his wedding day until after the close of the hunting season, or so it seemed. I understand a great deal had to be arranged, and any deal between two lawyers involves always involves a feeding frenzy of quibbling, as I had just learned; the matrimonial settlement between Percy and Claire was rumoured to run to more than a hundred pages and to include references to any grandchildren and further issue they might have had. Thankfully, to me it simply meant I wouldn't have to miss a day's hunting. I had become much enthused with the delights of tearing hell-for-leather across the winter landscape, being out of parental sight and control and in charge of my own destiny, and irrespective of whether the pack ever caught a fox or not, my Saturdays of freedom made up for the tedium of being an irrelevant little schoolgirl for the rest of the week.

Now for once I had to forgo my usual attire of riding boots and tweed jacket in favour a proper girly dress, and it felt quite strange. Mum had brought me my first bra only a few weeks previously, and this was the first time I had really worn it for an occasion. This was certainly an occasion; it had been found impossible to book a church for a wedding in London at the height of the wedding season, especially at the short notice that was essential in this case, and Claire's local vicar had not been terribly co-operative - apparently she was anything but a regular churchgoer, and so Percy had done the obvious thing, the thing everybody did, and taken the problem to Gran. Fortunately Granpa, as Vice-Admiral Sir Jack Tarr and half the alphabet, carried some clout locally and so our Vicar was only too pleased to make provision for the Admiral's son's wedding, so the whole thing was being launched from the family "fleet headquarters" of Pembroke. That meant that Tom and Emma would be bringing their two children up from Bristol to stay at Pembroke.

It was the first time I had seen Vickie since Christmas. I had tried to erase that episode from my memory, and busy myself with all the other things that I could do, but I still hadn't thrown away those four incriminating nappies I had concealed in my dolls-house roof. However, here was Vickie, in her underclothes to change into her bridesmaid's dress, and underclothes for Vickie, when dressing for a lengthy church service, only meant one thing - and she was very unhappy about it. I could sympathise with her; I had been subjected to the same discomfort and indignity on so many occasions, not that the service at our local church was very long, but the risk of having an accident and the resultant scene was considered to be unacceptable, and so church services were considered to be an extension of Pembroke Rules. I had waddled off to church so many times with a well-padded bottom that I came to loathe Sundays and hate the long boring services. My own mum had relented some years ago, and sometimes I could stay at home with Juliet, who harboured similar opinions, but when it was a full family turnout and Gran and Granpa were present, I would be "rigged for church" in Granpa's phrase, which meant full house of nappy and pants and a long skirt to try to conceal them. Now times had moved on a bit, and I was out of nappies, but Vickie was still in them and still subject to Pembroke rules. In her case this meant a disposable nappy with a frilly cover over it, and she didn't like it at all.

Emma was fussing over her daughter, and had a nappy spread open on the bed. Vickie was doing everything she could to keep out of arms' reach and away from its soft welcome, when Emma turned to me and said; "Will you be wearing a nappy today, Amelia?"

The question hit me like a bucket of cold water. I'd never dreamed she might ask me anything like that. I took half a step backwards, shaking my head in revulsion, and Emma merely said "Are you sure? There's one been laid out for you as well. Don't you normally wear a nappy to church?"

"I'm out of nappies!" I snapped.

"Even for church?" Emma replied, unfazed. "Vickie will be wearing one, of course. I just thought you might like to."

Like to! As though anyone should want to wear a nappy! The humiliation, the bulk, the discomfort, who on earth would enjoy that? I took another step backwards, and then I caught sight of Vickie's glaring face. Every line and molecule said Betrayal! I realised what was behind it all. Emma wanted me to wear a nappy so Vickie would drop her objections. However, there was something else in there. I remembered Emma's remark about her liking to nappy me, and I realised I was being cornered again. Unfortunately I had been taken by surprise, and my response was purely instinctive. For years I had longed to be out of nappies and had finally achieved it, and less than a year before. I wasn't going to give that up, no way! I backed off and I felt the nape of my neck tingling as though my hackles were rising, just like Asbo's did when he was angry, and I squared for a fight. Emma's smile waned, the she said, "Oh Alright then, if you're so sure, but I just thought you might like the security of it. It's going to be a long service, you know."

I shook my head again. I was set and resolved, and nothing would shift me. Vickie had made the mistake of coming closer to see my response, and had got too close to her mother, who seized the opportunity to lift her under the armpits, swing round, and deposit her in the middle of the proffered nappy before she could organise any resistance. Despite a perfunctory wriggle and kick, the front of the nappy was pulled up between her legs, Vickie's protesting hands were brushed out of the way and it was all over bar the taping of the sides. When she finally struggled free it was as a well-padded toddler, and no further argument was practical.

I stayed out of the firing-line - it wasn't my business, anyway. Emma was here to look after Vickie, and Juliet was Maid of Honour, so all I had to do was trail along and look pretty. I caught sight of myself in a mirror, and stopped to look again. With my hair all done (that was a long hour in the hairdresser's chair!) with real flowers entwined, and a slightly different shape underneath my dress, I was suddenly reminded of the Ugly Duckling, and for the first time I realised that my own spring was coming. I turned this way and that, and admired my new image. That would do; that would do nicely! With a new self-image; not quite grown, but no longer quite the little child, Miss Amelia Grace stepped out.

Vickie followed me, still a bit red-faced and angry, but nappied just the same. It was the first time in a while I had thought about them, In fact I had tried to stop thinking about them since the Christmas debacle, but it was not just Vickie's, but also Peter's presence amongst the guests had kicked off memories. It was the first time I had seen him since Christmas, although I remembered him helping to nappy me, hopefully for the last time ever, after the party, and I blushed at the memory. To my shame I had needed the nappy, too; it was evident that champagne and Amelia were not the best mixture, and could result in unplanned events. I remembered what I could of the incident with self-loathing, but also with something else; that burning tingling feeling that made me feel so alive, and that had reappeared on a number of occasions since then. If Mum was well out of the way I would open the roof of my dolls-house and gently remove one of the nappies I had secreted there, and turn it in my hands, and sniff the baby scent, and listen to the gentle rustle. I hadn't unfolded it or put it on; that would be going too far, but it brought back those memories and a certain amount of that strange compulsion.

Now Vickie was back beside me, and Peter, resplendent in his Naval uniform, only a few paces away and I could hardly avoid my thoughts taking me in that direction. I tried to suppress them, to think of other things, but like a dripping tap they just kept on coming.

All went well until we got to the top of the aisle, and suddenly I realised I had forgotten something important. I hadn't gone to the loo before the service, as required by my personal Standing Orders. It began to nag at my mind. Then it began to nag at my bladder. I didn't dare to make a dash during the service, but just sat there, thankful for the hard pew underneath me and gritted my teeth. Vickie sat beside me; I fancied that I heard her rustle slightly as she moved, and suddenly realised I would have loved to have had a nappy on like her, and just to be able to let it all go if I needed to. I squeezed my thighs together, but it just seemed to make things worse. The service droned on, and I tried to calculate the number of minutes left. Why on earth did it take so long? Why did God need so much praise? Was he so insecure? Didn't he already know that we loved him? Oh Hell! If I wet myself now would I be damned forever? Would I be damned to wearing nappies forever? ....And would that be a bad thing? I glanced long the pew to where Peter was sitting on the other side of Juliet. What would he say? What would he do? Would there be any way I could trick him into changing me ever again? Then I thought; I'm Eleven. Eleven and a half. Nearly. I'm too old for that kind of thing....but I'm not old enough for the other kind of thing, either. I'm in a fix here, neither one thing nor the other. I squirmed a little. Juliet turned and looked quite hard at me. She obviously read the signs, and if Juliet could read them, others in the family could too. I raised my eyebrows in appeal, and Juliet leaned over to me and said: "Any minute now..." and indeed I felt like it... "they'll be off to sign the register. There's one in the vestry. Other side, front. Nobody will mind. Can you manage?" I nodded. Carefully. Sure enough, Percy kissed his new bride, carefully, errors and omissions excepted, and they went off to sign the necessary documents and do whatever lawyers do when they marry. Juliet gave me a nudge, so I edged past a rather surprised Vickie and slipped over to the other side of the church where I found the promised door, and inside: the promised convenience. I managed the wretched full skirt with desperate speed and - Oh! - blessed relief, and not a moment too soon.

I sat there far longer than was strictly necessary, just letting my breathing slow to normal, then adjusted my clothing and returned to the body of the church. Mum looked at me, a little thoughtfully, Gran smiled, and Juliet winked. I sat down again next to the smugly smiling Vickie, and I prayed silently that she wouldn't blurt out some clever remark, swearing that if she did I would strangle her there and then, church or not, and happily serve life for it. She didn't have to worry, she had been very thoroughly nappied in the expectation she would need it and knew there would be no scolding or recrimination if she used it. I felt my views changing, and I regretted that I had declined Emma's kind offer of similar treatment for myself.

As soon as we reached the reception, Emma hustled William and Vickie off to the baby changing room together with a large pink bag. I started to feel slightly better about things; if I had accepted Emma's kind offer I would be in there too, and without the reasonable excuse that Vickie had; everybody would think she was going to help change William, and none would guess that she herself would probably be the recipient of a fresh nappy as well. I doubted if such charity would extend to me, and certainly not within the circle of our family. I made my way to the Ladies as a precaution, and joined the queue that had formed there. I was a big girl now!

Big girl or no, I stuck to the orange juice during the reception, and was on my very best behaviour. Christmas had taught me to be wary of the combination of champagne and a weak bladder, and I had had my awkward moment already this day, and didn't want to risk another. I was delighted by how easily I was accepted into adult company, and flattered when I was told I looked much more than my eleven years. There are certainly some advantages in being taller than average, and I enjoyed the challenge of making proper conversation with grown-ups. This time I neglected my erstwhile role as "leading child" and left the little children to their games; Miss Amelia Grace had arrived!

Later that afternoon, after Juliet had dutifully caught the thrown bouquet, I went to say goodbye to Emma and Vickie as they set off home. William was strapped reluctantly into his car seat, and Vickie the started to strap herself into her own seat, which task was taken over by her father who made sure everything was secure. It was apparent that Emma had already made Vickie secure, and the wedge of padding was clearly visible between her legs, as both she and William sat similarly splay-legged in the back seat. Tom and Emma were not taking any chances with her, and obviously planned a non-stop trip to get home before bedtime.

I went back to my bedroom, and shrugged off my bridesmaid dress. Patch would need some attention to make up for his lack of exercise, and so I went to get my good old jeans. On the way, I passed my doll's house, and after making sure my parents were safely elsewhere, I lifted the roof and slipped my hand in between the cool smooth plastic of the nappies I had secreted there. I had had a narrow escape, I thought, but then the nagging doubt arose; had I only missed an opportunity?

[fyunch]

Delicious.

[jbz2079]

Thanks, up to the usual high stardard.

[weeboy]

*Bump*

Thanks Freswith

Another great chapter.

How long till the next chaper I needy fix lol

[freswith]

I'm working on it - I've moved her on a couple of years through puberty to give her another perspective on things.

[weeboy]

Bump

Missing this story :-(

any new chapters in the pipeline Freswith?

[WBDaddy]

I too am missing this story, if for no other reason than a breath of fresh literary air in the midst of so much fap material lately...