Phone Conversation

[freswith]

Thank you - the next episode is nearly done - I'll try to post it on Friday evening.

[warpiper]

weeeeeee! I'm so excited!

[freswith]

Matt.

My new school was very different world from the little village school to which I had been used, and it was a bit of a shock to go from being a senior at the old school to being the most junior at the new one. Still, I could handle it, I was thirteen now, obviously capable of looking after myself, and was trusted to take the little train each morning and evening in the way Juliet had done, even though I didn't have someone like Peter to travel with me and look after me. I took Juliet's advice, and rode in the front coach, well away from all the rough boys who rode in the back one. Another shock was finding Mags and Linda were now going to another school in the town; I tried to make friends with them, but they hadn't changed and still seemed to hate me. I tried to ignore them after that. They rode in the back coach, with all those rough boys. I felt I was growing up, and if fact I was doing just that: upwards. I was taller than Mum, as tall as Juliet, and taller than most of the boys of my age and, as far as boys were concerned, I looked at them slightly differently now.

I had had my first period, followed by a long, long talk with Mum, and felt I understood what it was all about. I thought it was intriguing but I wasn't exactly inclined to try the practical yet, for one thing the boys of my own age still seemed to be so childish, and the older boys quite fearsome. There was also something that bothered me a bit. That tingling feeling. I now knew what it was and what it meant, but I couldn't understand why I associated it with, of all silly things, nappies. It seemed so ridiculous when I thought about it, but then in those moments when I was only half-thinking, back came the memories of Peter and how he had changed me, and that certain tingle reappeared without me really wanting it to. It came to me at the oddest moments, when a toddler waddled across my path, I remembered the bulkiness of them, when I went past a baby shop I would look in briefly and remember the smell of them, and when I saw a baby being changed on the grass in the park I remembered how I had once been changed by Peter in the open air, and felt the ecstasy and the humiliation in equal quantities, spiced by the fear that someone might stumble on us in the act. I kept wanting to feel Peter's strong, rough hands on me again, and give myself up to them. I knew there was something wrong about it, and I tried to suppress the feelings, but they kept on popping up at the oddest moments.

I'd been put on the spot when the family had gathered at Pembroke for Gran's birthday. Tom and Emma had brought the children to stay for a couple of nights, to Gran's delight. Vickie was now eight, and William two-and-a-half, and to Vickie's horror William was now almost toilet-trained, leaving her, over five years his senior, still wet at nights and still obliged to wear nappies. There was little I could do to help. Now that I was long out of nappies myself, Vickie viewed me with a certain suspicion since I had left her in pole position as the oldest child still to be in nappies. I went into the nursery when Vickie was being put to bed, to wish her good night, and then I wished I hadn't. Emma still had Vickie on the changing table and was applying the ointment when she turned to me and asked me to pass over Vickie's nappy from the changing bag. I did as I was asked, of course, but was stopped in my tracks by a glare from Vickie. I realised I had crossed the Rubicon, and was now a "grown-up" in Vickie's eyes, and had joined the opposition. My betrayal was obviously not to be forgiven, and it troubled me, because I loved my little blonde cousin and greatly valued our friendship.

Further problems had arisen with Viola, the daughter of Percy and Claire, who was now up and walking. As "Leading Child" I was sometimes put in charge of her, and on occasion that included changing her nappies. Although familiarity certainly bred contempt when taking the wet - or, God help us, sometimes dirty - one off, by the time I had got the clean one on her, and was taping it closed, the feelings started to return. It wasn't helped by Viola's obvious charm as she wriggled and giggled and looked up at me, and when I stood her up to straighten her clothes she would hug me and give me a kiss. I wanted to be changed. I wanted to be fussed over. I wanted to be powdered and anointed. I wanted the soft thick nappy pulled up between my own legs, and I wanted to be picked up and hugged and kissed too, but it wasn't allowed. Not any more. I had given all that up, and there was no going back.

I had used three of the nappies I had stored in the roof of my old dolls' house, and finally managed to dispose of the last one in the nick of time before it went into store in the box room. They had been long afternoons when my parents had been out, and I had been home-alone on the understanding I was now old enough to be responsible. I had waited until I saw their car leave the drive, and my mind focussed on the doll's house and what I had planned to do. I hesitated, then hesitated again, struck by the enormity of what I had planned. Then, acting almost like an automaton I went to the doll's house and lifted the roof, pausing for a moment while I contemplated what was within. Then I reached in and slipped my fingers between the layers of cool plastic, and drew one out, relishing the smooth hiss as the nappies rubbed against each other. I closed the lid and went to my bed, holding the nappy out before me as though it was some kind of ceremony. I unfolded the it and laid it out ready on the bed, then checking for the last time that my parents had really gone, I slipped down my jeans and pants and lowered myself very slowly down onto it checking carefully that it was centred, and laid back. No powder. Damn. No ointment. Damn. No Peter to put them on: Damn. No Peter to spread my legs and pull the nappy up between them: Double Damn! No Peter to tape me in firmly and tightly with his strong hands: Damn and Blast! Never mind, get on with it.

I leaned down and did it myself, relishing the smooth plastic rubbing against my thighs and the soft padding between my legs. I gave a little wriggle partly for old time's sake, but mostly to make sure everything fitted snugly. The tingle was now raging within me. I taped the sides -or tried to, it was more difficult that I remembered, but then I remembered I had never done it to myself before; there had always been someone else there doing it for me, and finally I laid back, nappied once again, and exulting in the warm padding and the sense of security it bought me and which I had partly forgotten. I ran my fingers around the elastics, tucking in where necessary, and then over the smooth curves between my legs. I ran my fingernails lightly over the smooth plastic, and then breaking all the rules and loving it, down inside, stroking myself.

I made it last as long as I could, and I must have drifted off to sleep, because suddenly it was dark outside, and there was the sound of a car in the drive, so I desperately stripped the nappy off, noting that it was just a little moist rather than wet, and put my clothes back on, desperately stuffing the nappy into a drawer, and appearing calm and collected in time to greet my parents as they returned. I had the devil's own job getting the nappy out of the house and into the dustbin without being noticed, but looking back on it later I actually quite enjoyed the thrill of having been nearly being found out; it only increased the level of excitement I had felt.

I tried to suppress the feelings, and immersed myself in school, particularly the games and athletics, I spent lots of weekends riding Patch and sometimes we went hunting with Helen and her parents. Dad had acquired a horsebox now, and that meant I could go to more things with Patch; and little by little my horizons were expanding.

One afternoon when I was strolling back from school towards the station, I passed the big babywear shop on my route. I didn't exactly linger, but I made sure I could take one sweeping glance inside as I passed, purely for old times sake. That afternoon I regretted it. "Oh Looky Looky!" came the familiar jeer, and my blood ran cold. "Ickle Amelia is shopping for her nappies again!" Mags and Linda, always together, always hostile, but now with a couple of boys in tow. I recognised one of them, Bradshaw, and knew him by his reputation as a dim-witted bully from the next village but one: large, fat and nasty, I was not surprised to see that he was now part of Mags' and Linda's gang, since in build and temperament he could have been Mags' brother. I suppose I should have done what the adults said I should do, and confront them and talk it out, reason with them, and make a peace, but there were five or six of them, none of the looked very reasonable, and flight was so much the better option. I took to my heels, and left them behind with the greatest ease, although their laughter rang in my ears.

At the corner I turned back and shouted at them; "Bitch! Stupid Fat Ugly Bitch!" and the laughter stopped. I turned away and continued to run, long easy strides that I knew they couldn't match, but within me something told me I shouldn't have said that. True it was, every word, but it might have been better not to have said it.

I thought no more about it until a couple of days later when I was going down a small side-street to the station, and suddenly Bradshaw appeared in front of me grinning evilly. I stopped, but he came closer, so I turned around and made ready to run for it, when I found that Mags and Linda and the rest of the gang had crept up behind me. I was trying to think of a way out of it when Bradshaw grabbed my arms from behind me and Mags advanced on me leering.

"Got you this time, you nasty little sneak!" said Mags

"You got us into trouble with all your stories," added Linda "now it's payback time!" and she struck me in the mouth with her fist..

For a moment I was so frightened I couldn't move, and then the injustice of the whole thing got to me. There were about five of them against only me, and it just wasn't fair and I just wasn't going to have it. I felt all my muscles tighten and my eyesight seemed to go funny the fire burned across my shoulders and I could have sworn I felt my hackles rising, just like Asbo's did when something had made him really angry. I knew from some of the rough-and-tumble we had had with the boys in the stables that you never hit boys there because it wasn't sporting, but that was the only part of Bradshaw that I could get my hands to, and I wasn't feeling like I wanted to be sporting so I whipped my hand back in a claw, grabbed and squeezed hard. Bradshaw's howl of pain was followed by him suddenly releasing my arms and folding over behind me, propelling me rapidly towards Mags. She swung another punch and hit me in the eye. I had had enough. I balled my hands into fists and punched her in the face as hard and fast as I could. She reeled back and fell against Linda, who seemed too surprised to do anything. I turned to face Bradshaw, since he was plainly the greater threat, as he began to straighten up and come towards me with his face twisted in pain and fury. However, before I could do anything another, taller boy appeared in between us wearing the blue blazer of the boys' school. He jabbed a punch at Bradshaw, hitting him firmly on the nose; I actually saw the flab of his face ripple as the fist hit him, and his expression turned to one of pure surprise. He went down heavily on to the ground, and blood started to flow from his nose.

A metallic clicking noise came from behind me and at once the crowd was still. I turned to see an old man come limping towards us, walking stiffly with a stick, the noise being made by what was obviously an artificial leg.

"Who hit him?" came the peremptory question.

"I did, Sir!" the blue-jacketed boy replied, instantly.

"It was a fair fight, sir." came a voice from the crowd, "Bradshaw was holding the girl's arms."

Bradshaw was struggling to his feet. He made no attempt to re-start the fight but was obviously trying to straighten up in the presence of the old man, who looked at each of us in turn, bright blue eyes beneath silver hair. I was scanned carefully, but evidently passed muster.

"Very well, Johnson, see me in the morning. I want a report."

"Yes sir!"

"Now look to the lady."

"Yes sir!"

"The rest of you about your business. No more of this. Get you gone!" The crowd instantly evaporated, Linda leading the shocked and blubbering Mags away by the arm. After a moment the old man stomped away without further remark. The tall boy stayed by me.

"Are you all right?" he asked. I just nodded, I hadn't really got enough breath back to reply. "That was a great fight you put up. Bradshaw's a monster, but he's a coward at heart. One punch and he runs way." As I caught my breath, I looked up at my rescuer. He was auburn-haired, angular of face, a year or so older than me, and he had big hands. Big strong hands. "My name's Matt," he said, "Matt Johnson. What's yours?"

"...'melia...," I cleared my throat, "Amelia Grace"

I felt myself swaying slightly, the fury that had driven me had suddenly evaporated and left a great hollowness and weakness. My eye hurt. My mouth hurt, and I wanted to cry but that wasn't the way I'd been brought up. Granpa's stories and my experiences in the hunting field had taught me that you only complain about the pain in cases of extreme death. Matt took my arm and steadied me. If I'd had better presence of mind I would have swooned into Matt's arms there and then, but I didn't object; those strong hands were very welcome at that moment, and in turn I held onto him with both of mine.

"I've got to go to the train."

"I know. I've seen you riding in the front coach. I normally ride in the back one. Shall I walk you to the station?"

I nodded. My eye hurt again.

"May I carry your bag for you?" he said softly, and once again I nodded.

.............

I tried to slip in the door unnoticed but, as luck would have it, Juliet was home for the weekend and Gran had come over for tea. As soon as Gran saw my face she exploded. I was sat down, cold compresses were applied to my eye and furious questions were applied to my ears. What had happened, who had done it, where had it happened and why had it happened and why didn't I call them straight away and why didn't I go to the hospital and why didn't I go back to the school, the police, the fire brigade, the water board, and so on and so on. I must have mentioned Matt in one of my answers, because I was then interrogated about him. I told them all I knew, all I had been able to find out as he rode home in the train beside me. He lived in the next village where his father was the doctor, and quite close to Pembroke. He knew Pembroke and Granpa by reputation, but had never met him. He was mad keen on Rugby football, and wanted to be a doctor like his father when he grew up. He was just a couple of years older than I was, and went to the private boy's school in the town, the equivalent of my school. I was getting more and more distressed as the thought occurred to me that I might be getting Matt into a lot of trouble, but eventually Juliet intervened on my behalf, and I was allowed to eat my tea. The telephone was kept busy with Mum and Dad speaking to all kinds of people, and by and by Granpa arrived, examined my eye and my lip carefully and said that worse things happened at sea. That was what he always said, and I concluded that the sea must be a very dangerous place.

Eventually I was released from all the fuss, which seemed to be thoroughly excessive in my view, and allowed to go to bed. Juliet came up with me, and it was only when I looked in the bathroom mirror that I realised what the fuss was about; I looked like I had been in a prize fight, with a black eye and thick lip; I really hadn't appreciated the extent of my injuries. Juliet sat beside my bed for a while, and we talked. I hadn't really talked with Juliet for years, and now we were on a different level. I sensed that I was no longer the inconvenient, spoilt little sister who was always getting in the way, but now we were something more equal, and she had time for me, and I mattered. She talked about Peter and about their wedding, which was set for the next summer, and then she asked me again about Matt, and especially if I liked him, and I heard myself saying that I did, that he was big and strong, but at the same time kind and gentle, and how much safer I felt on the train when he sat beside me. She even referred to him as my "new boyfriend", but I could see that she was only pulling my leg. I hardly knew Matt, and he was older than me, and he belonged in the back coach with all the rough boys, and I knew he would be called a sissy if he preferred my company. Boys are silly like that.

Eventually, when the conversation slowed, Juliet tucked me in and kissed me goodnight. I hadn't been tucked in like that for years, and it was pure bliss. It brought back all those memories of being looked after. All that was lacking was the bulk between my legs, and the warm secure feeling it provided. I lay on my side, my hands tucked between my legs and replayed those memories of when Peter had nappied me for bed, and I played them again and again, but then I realised it wasn't Peter who was nappying me in my imagination - it was Matt.

[WBDaddy]

Brilliant work, sir. Brilliant.

[jbz2079]

Thanks Freswith, Up to the usuall standard, Excellent.

[weeboy]

Thanks Freswith,

Another great chapter

Looking forward to the next chapter

[fyunch]

The plot thickens. I guess we need to adapt that song to say, I want a writer with a slow hand :-)

[Astra]

I've just started reading this, but I'm enjoying it very much so far. I like the intergenerational nature of the story. It's like the diaper-lit version of A Hundred Years of Solitude, except unlike 100 Years this is actually enjoyable to read.

[freswith]

Many thanks for your kind remarks. Here is another chapter. I am now off on holiday to France for a couple of weeks, to polish some mountains. As a result it might be a month or so before the next installment, but here is something to keep you going:-

[freswith]

The Passing of a Tomboy.

The following morning was a Friday, but Mum told me she didn't want me to go to school that day as there were things - I imagine she meant people - who needed to be sorted out. I didn't object, my eye still hurt, although my lip had returned almost to its normal size, but I was worried about Matt; he had been told to report to the one-legged man, whom I presumed was a teacher, and I was afraid he would be in trouble over the fight. I didn't want him to be punished for rescuing me, and I wanted to be there to put my side of things and to speak for him. I watched the little train come into the station from my bedroom window, but I couldn't see Matt. I just had to go with him in my imagination.

Juliet and I went down to see Patch after breakfast, and had much to talk about. I had to answer for my custody of Patch, but that was easily done; he was fine, and very pleased to see Juliet again, and I was very pleased to see her riding him, although I had now come to look on him as my own horse. When I rode him later Juliet joked about how I had grown up to fit him, like a puppy growing to match his paws, and it was true; I was forever growing out of my jeans, and usually just when they had just become well-worn and comfortable, and I was even growing out of some of Juliet's hand-me-downs. I was all legs, and sometimes they seemed to have stopped obeying me, making me awkward and gangling. I found I couldn't do some of the dance moves I used to be able to do, but the gym mistress said it was all because I was growing so fast, and the strength would all come back in a year or two if I kept exercising.

As we walked back to lunch Juliet remarked that I was being very quiet and asked me if my eye was hurting me. It wasn't, and in fact I had almost forgotten about it, but I told her I was worried about Matt being in trouble because of me, and how it wouldn't be fair to punish him for what he'd done. Juliet smiled at the mention of his name and promised that she would try and find out what was happening. She used the word "boyfriend" again, I I thought she was pulling my leg which was cruel of her. I made the point that he was two whole years older than me and that was much too old to be my boyfriend. She kept on smiling and replied that Peter was more than one year older than her. I said I was a bit frightened of Matt as he was so much more grown-up than me and I found it quite difficult to talk to him as I didn't know what to say. Juliet told me not to worry about that as Matt was probably feeling the same about me; conversation is something which grows between two people and she was sure that we would be able to find we had things in common. I felt much easier after that. In the afternoon Gran came round again, and said that she had spoken to Matt's mother, whom she knew from the Ladies Circle, and I wasn't to worry about Matt, as he had said the one-legged teacher, Mr Carter, was a fair man and not to be unduly feared, but I told her I was still a bit concerned about him. She smiled at me and told me not to worry myself too much about him, he was bound to be all right, and I felt a bit better.

Juliet took Patch out on the Saturday and Mum took me shopping, which meant I go the worst of both deals. It was a super day for hunting, and I wanted to be out in the fields, but Mum said I had to go shopping for a new skirt for school. I had been in trouble for shortening the hem of the skirt more than the rules allowed, and protested that the hem hadn't got shorter, just my legs had got longer, but either way Mum decided I would have to have a new one. I trailed along miserably, and even allowed her to buy me a dress. I mean who wears dresses these days? I wore uniform to school, and hated it, but I wore jeans or riding breeches to the stables like all the other kids. I never wore dresses, but Mum said I could have one for my birthday, even though I had asked for a new bridle for Patch. Dresses seemed so silly in comparison, but she insisted on me having it; you know how difficult parents can be! Anyway, she bought me this cream jersey thing with a chain belt, and I suppose it looked nice and girly if you like that sort of thing. She bought me some shoes to go with it, with slightly raised heels, just to make them useless around the stables. I wondered if I would ever get to wear them before I grew out of them.

On the Sunday, I went down to see Patch in the morning to see if he was alright, and so, of course, I went down in the afternoon as well to make quite sure he was still alright, and the short November afternoon was starting to fade when I finally arrived home to find Mum waiting for me impatiently.

"Didn't you remember we are going to Gran's for tea?" she asked.

I murmured an apology. Never mind, we can go now.

"You are not going anywhere looking like that!" she exclaimed "Just look at your boots with all that stuff on them!"

I grunted. "It comes out of horses, Mum. I can't avoid it if I am near them."

"And you've got straw in your hair!"

"It's hay, Mum." I corrected her.

Juliet intervened with a long sigh just in time to avoid me being murdered, and made me take my boots off. Then she herded me upstairs to my bedroom, clucking and muttering. Once we got there she made me strip off. This brought back memories - not very good ones - of so many Sunday afternoons going for tea at Gran's, when I had been shooed upstairs in order to change, but going to Gran meant Pembroke Rules, and changing meant I had to wear underwear of the protective sort, which was always a bone of contention. I would waddle off to Gran's in my little short dress and then be sat on "Amelia's chair" which had a plastic cushion on it for my own already well-padded backside, and a footrest for my little legs so I didn't have to swing my feet. All it lacked was a tray in front of me, and rings for attaching my harness to stop me falling out. I hated it, and I hated the way my nappy would stick to the plastic of the cushion, but above all I hated the humiliation it represented. Thankfully it was now Vickie's Chair, and stacked against the wall. Some things had moved on, but just for a moment I wondered if Juliet remembered that. I was half expecting a nappy to be produced for me, and yet - and yet something inside me actually wanted it. I remembered those days too well, after all they only ended just over two years ago.. I remembered how sometimes after Church Mum would forget that I was still nappied and I would be left to play through the afternoon, until an exasperated Mum would change me for the trip to Gran's, and I would go off there with the full house of protection. At least those covered pants didn't stick to the chair cushion in the same way the disposable nappies did.

This time Juliet's objective were different. Once I was undressed I was pushed into the shower and told not to come out until I had got rid of the horsey smell. I washed everything except my hair - always a huge job that took hours - and returned to find Juliet had laid out my new dress. I objected, and she told me not to be so silly. Once again I was reminded of the old days: "Don't be so silly, Amelia, we don't want any accidents at Gran's now do we?" followed by the swift application of a nappy. This time I took the easier course. Juliet had already laid out my best underwear, and - surprise, surprise, a pair of her sheer tights as opposed to the thick Lycra ones I normally wore. I put them on gingerly, then Julia took the bands off my pigtails and attacked my hair with energy. I have an awful lot of hair, and had often asked mum if I could cut it short, as it would be less bother, but Mum always made excuses. Anyway, after about ten minutes hard brushing, Juliet had made some progress with it and it began to look almost tidy. Then she made me put the silly dress on, and those shoes, and inspected me carefully.

"Nearly there!" she said, "Just wait there a minute." She disappeared into her own room, reappearing with her make-up bag. This was very new; Mum had always forbidden me to wear cosmetics, telling me I was too young, and so this counted as mischief, which meant, as always, I was up for it.

Juliet, sucking her teeth and admonishing me to keep still, applied thin layers of blusher, delicate lines of mascara and a slightly thicker coat of lipstick, until she was finally satisfied, and bid me take a look in the long mirror. The transformation was amazing. Not only did I look incredibly girly, more that I ever imagined I could, but also about five years more grown-up. I turned this way and that, noticing I had curves now where none had been before as the soft stretchy dress clung to me, then I turned that way and this, now hiding behind my hair, then tossing it back, and I looked even better. Juliet gave me a thin silver chain necklace with a little mother of pearl flower dangling from it, which neatly filled my lower-than-usual neckline. The hands let it down a bit - too much mucking-out in the stables had reddened them but I was hugely entranced by the overall effect.

Little Amelia, the awkward little tomboy who had formerly been going to her Granny's house for a bunfight, now entered Pembroke as Miss Grace, arriving to take tea with Lady Tarr. My composure lasted until I entered the lounge, for there by the fireplace, talking to Granpa, was Matt. For long seconds I was the child again, taken by surprise, frightened of the stranger, trying to think how to react. Then they caught sight of me, and both of them stood up. I had never been accorded that kind of respect before, and the least I could do was rise to it myself, so I gathered my wits and walked as elegantly as I could across the thick carpet in those heels that had once looked so low and yet now felt so high. I kissed Granpa and shook hands with Matt, and now I realised the importance that Juliet had attached to my appearance; she had known that Matt would be there. I held on to Matt's hand for as long as was seemly; it was a big, strong hand, like Peter's, and I wanted to keep on holding it. Granpa explained that Gran had invited Matt around to thank him for coming to my aid, and I thought 'Yes, that, and to inspect him closely.' but it was apparent that Matt had passed muster in Granpa's eyes, and was fit to be formally introduced to his granddaughter. All I had to do now was to ensure Granpa wasn't going to try to sell him a career in the Navy as he had done to Peter.

At first I found myself a bit tongue-tied talking to Matt, but as Juliet had said, we soon found we had things in common, that we knew many of the same people, and liked the same music. I asked him if he had been in trouble over the fight, and he said no, Mr Carter wasn't like that, he'd just wanted to find out what had been going on. He told me that everyone respected Mr Carter hugely because he had lost his leg in a tank battle. I'll never understand boys; why that should be a clever thing to do was quite beyond me, but I listened respectfully and attentively. I showed him around Pembroke, the library, the portraits of all my notorious ancestors including the one who was supposed to have won the house in a card game, and the one of Granpa in full uniform, and he was duly impressed. I was very careful not to show him the nursery; there were too many things about that I didn't want him to know, although later I came to regret it; the fantasy I had of him changing my nappy just wouldn't go away.

Finally when we came back to the lounge, Dad said I was not to worry about riding on the train with Mags and Linda as he would be taking me into school from now on, and Mum would be picking me up. Suddenly the bottom fell out of my world. I had been imagining myself riding in the train with Matt beside me, and I had actually been looking forward to Monday morning. Mum and Dad seemed astonished at my obvious disappointment but, right on cue, Matt said that he would travel with me on the train and I needn't fear any bullies when he was around. Juliet spoke up in my support recalling how she had spent many years travelling with Peter and nothing bad had happened. I even noticed Gran nodding quietly as Juliet spoke. Eventually Dad relented, and accepted Matt's offer. I was delighted, and before I knew what I was doing, I had swung my arms around Matt's shoulders and kissed him. Peculiar that, me kissing a nasty rough boy, but I certainly didn't regret it.

[WBDaddy]

The AB/DL world has its very own Charles Dickens. Wonderful work, my friend.

[weeboy]

Freswith,

Is there a new chapter due soon?

Missing the regular updates I take it your busy these days

[weeboy]

Freswith,

Is there a new chapter due soon?

Missing the regular updates I take it your busy these days

[freswith]

Thank you - I've been on holiday, molesting the Alps in France, but I have not forgotten you and I managed to start the next episode while in a tent, only desisting when the battery on my laptop ran low. I hope to get it finished by the weekend. Please bear with me!

[weeboy]

Lol

Thank you

Hope you had a great holiday!

[freswith]

Kicking the Habit.

On the Monday morning Dad took me to the station, and handed me over to Matt, and yhe two of us travelled up to Bedford in the front carriage. There was no sign of either Mags or Linda, but that was not so surprising as they normally went in the back carriage anyway. Matt walked me to the gates of my school before going on to his own, half a mile further.

I was worried about being in trouble in school over what had, in effect, been a street brawl, which was not the kind of thing that went down very well with a snooty private girls school. However, from what I had learned about Miss Berry, whom I had met when foxhunting, was that she took an equally strong position on her girls standing up for themselves. Nothing was said, but in the break I learned I had been selected for the hockey team. I was quite surprised, but then I realised it had one extra privilege - I could now carry a hockey stick to and from school several times a week, no questions asked.

The train trip with Matt each morning and evening soon set tongues wagging, and I began to realise that he had been regarded as quite a catch by the other girls, and I had put a few noses out of joint without realising it. After my initial difficulties I found Matt very easy to talk to, particularly if it was about Rugby football, about which I knew almost nothing, but was anxious to learn. In fact I was keen to learn as much as possible about Matt, and at first I was worried about the two-year difference in our ages, and my comparative immaturity, but after a while it didn't seem to matter as much. There was one thing that was never mentioned, however, and that was our little family secret. I didn't tell him, of course, and I hoped he would never find out from the village gossips. In fact, the memory of it began to fade as I started to learn new pleasures with Matt in those times and place where adults were not looking. There was much to learn, and we were avid students. I hoped that I could overlay that strange fascination I had once had about nappies with what I perceived as more normal and acceptable action with Matt, and to a great extent I think I succeeded.

Then Christmas came around again, and with it Tom and Emma brought their children up to stay at Pembroke. I was looking forward to seeing Vickie again, as I was painfully aware of the differences that had grown between us. Not only had I reached puberty, got myself a boyfriend and put my dolls and other toys away, but I was now on the other side of the safety-pin, so to speak. Vickie was still not dry, and thus subject to the full imposition of Pembroke rules, while I, as "Leading Child", was expected to keep an eye on the matter. My progress from being subject to Pembroke rules myself to being expected to enforce them on the other children had been meteoric, and I couldn't help myself from siding with Vickie against what I felt was an excessive precaution. It didn't do me much good, and it wasn't helped by Gran's "suggestion" (that is "order") that I should stay at Pembroke to keep Vickie company, as otherwise she would be all alone in the little bedroom at the back, the nursery being taken up with William and Viola, and Vickie was now rather too old to be expected to share their routines.

I agreed, but a bit reluctantly. I wanted to be treated more as a grown-up this Christmas, wearing a proper dress and even some cosmetics, and being allowed to stay up late and join in some of the more adult conversations, but it was not to be, and so there I was in the other twin bed next to Vickie, the only difference being that my bed no longer had a waterproof sheet underneath it. I was also attired somewhat differently, and allowed to get myself to bed without the full ceremony that Vickie went through. Poor Vickie. I happened to be there when she came in from the bathroom, clutching her bathrobe about her against the inadequacies of Pembroke's rather ancient central-heating system, her lower lip thrust out in what I recognised as being Expression Number Nine: Stubborn and Resentful. The process would normally have been completed on the big changing table in the nursery, but that was now darkened and full of slumbering infants, and Vickie was to be changed on her own bed and, so it appeared, right in front of me. I started to make an excuse to save her the embarrassment of having this infantile humiliation being performed before an audience, but Emma asked me to stay and help, although I could hardly see that it would take two of us to perform what Emma normally did alone. However, since both Emma and Vickie were between me and the door, I had no choice.

"Would you pass Vickie's nappy, please Amelia? One of each, they're in the cupboard."

I duly opened the cupboard, and there was a stack of terry nappies, neatly folded, and a packet of paper liners. I knew what they were for, they would help shield Vickie from the wetness of the terry nappy and, God Help Us, catch most of the faeces if Vickie had a big accident. Thankfully, I had been told that Vickie never actually did this, it was just a precaution; I prayed that it would remain as just a precaution as long as I was sharing the room with her. I had been hoping that Emma would finally have been converted to using disposables like all the other mums I knew, but no such luck. She was very much into Conservation of the Environment, and regarded disposables as being a blight on the earth. It hadn't stopped her from using them on both Vickie and William for the car journey up here, but I could imagine terry nappies were not quite the thing for a car-park change if one became necessary. I remarked on it, but was told that Vickie liked to sleep on her side, and disposables were known to leak when she did that. Vickie's expression became thunderous, and I decided to drop the subject. I passed her the soft towelling nappy, and Emma folded it, placing the liner in the middle. It was one of the nappies from the stock that had been held at Pembroke for visiting children, a stock which Gran had maintained for years so there would never be an excuse for her family not staying the night. This nappy might well have been used on me at some time; I was still wearing them at eleven, and Julia wore them even longer. It was certainly one of the larger sizes, and I suspect was perhaps a bit larger than Vickie normally took. Certainly Emma had to overlap the folds quite a lot to make it a reasonable fit for Vickie.

"Come here, dear." she said to Vickie, who was trying very hard to vanish into the wallpaper, "Let's get you done as soon as possible, it's not too warm in here is it?" and she unwrapped Vickie's bathrobe and positioned the little girl over the nappy, before nudging her to sit down on it, which the reluctant child did, apparently out of sheer habit, before obediently leaning back and spreading her legs, then she reached down to pull the front of her nappy up to cover her nakedness. Emma gently pulled it down again in order to spread the ointment, as this was not a night to let Vickie get any nappy-rash. It struck me that Vickie's reactions were a bit unusual; on previous occasions I had seen her try to push her nappy away, and even try to kick at it , but this time my presence seemed to have made her very bashful, and as soon as her loins had been anointed, she reached down again, seized the thickly-folded front of her nappy and pulled it up over her tummy. This time Emma did not object, Vickie was being very good and making no attempt to wriggle or escape; she seemed to want the process to be concluded as rapidly as possible; she had been conditioned by having this little ceremony performed every night of her life, as it had been for me until comparatively recently, and there was nothing to be gained by resisting. As I watched I started to feel strangely envious of Vickie, being the centre of attention, and being wrapped in that thick cosy nappy the way I had been, and I closed my eyes for an instant and thought of Peter doing it to me, replaying the treasured memory.

Emma brought the sides of her daughter's nappy round to check they were central and held them there with one hand while she extended the other one towards me. "The pins, please, Amelia." snapped me out of it and I pulled two pins out of the soap bar, and passed them to Emma, one by one, carefully making sure the blunt ends went first. Vickie rested her feet against Emma's shoulders as she slipped the pins into each side of the taught nappy, and Vickie even rolled co-operatively each way to make it easier for her to slide them in through the several layers of terry towelling. Emma finally tucked the surplus in around her legs, making a seal of many layers of toweling. The result was as neat and tidy a nappy as Emma's eight years of practice could make it, although it was plain Vickie didn't appreciate the expertise. I, on the other hand, was actually envying her the soft bulk that was spreading her legs.

I didn't wait for the command. I took the plastic pants from the cupboard, shook them out and passed them to Emma, who scrunched them up and put her hands through the leg holes. Vickie promptly offered her feet, and Emma slipped the pants over them and up over her knees. "Hup!" and Vickie stood while Emma pulled the waistband up over her daughter's bulging nappy before running her hands around the elastics to ensure it was all tucked in safely. I watched each movement, remembering how it had been done to me and how, in retrospect, I had loved it.

"Would you pass her blue sleeper, please?" said Emma, and I took the pile of blue fleece from the cupboard and duly handed it to her. She opened it, and for a moment I got a little confused; it looked like she was putting it on Vickie backwards, and Vickie was reaching forward to put her arms into the sleeves. Then I realised it zipped up the back, unlike any other sleeper I had ever seen. I remarked on this to Emma who grinned as she began her reply; "Vickie has been very silly recently and has been taking her nappies off in the night. This is the best way to stop her doing it. Once she's in, then she's in for the night until I unzip her in the morning." The claim was supported by Vickie's blush and lowered head.

"I wanted to go to the lavatory!" she said, breaking a long silence. "I had to take my nappy off. I just couldn't get it back on right."

"Then you wet the bed didn't you?" Vickie's blush deepened. She nodded slightly. "How many times have I told you? You're in nappies, dear, all night, every night. If you ever need the lavatory, you must ask me, and I will see you are properly nappied again afterwards. No more trying to do it by yourself!." Vickie nodded again, but I could see that she was almost in tears. "If you need to go, then you can do it in your nappy like you normally do. You know I won't be angry if you do that." Vickie nodded again, but I could see that she still did not accept the situation. "Now turn around, dear." and Vickie turned around instantly, not least to hide her tears and anger, and swept her hair forwards over her shoulders. Emma zipped the sleeper closed over Vickie's now very well-padded bottom, and buttoned a flap over the zipper at the top. "There you are dear! All done, now pop into bed! It's nice and warm!" Vickie didn't need further prompting, but climbed in and pulled the bedclothes over her to hide her embarrassment. "There's a good girl. Now, how about you, Amelia; would you like to have a nappy on tonight as well?"

My jaw nearly hit the floor. It was completely unexpected. Most of me was horrified, but a small, treacherous part of me exulted. My stuttered refusal was hardly complete before something inside me regretted it, but I was saved by Emma's laugh; "Only joking! I bet you're glad you're finally out of them aren't you?" I nodded automatically, and shut my mouth before that deviant something could get out with an enthusiastic acceptance. I had followed every move Emma had made with rapt attention, and had been wishing it could have been me there on the bed instead of Vickie, but I knew that had gone forever ... unless... somehow.... I could fix it. Now the opportunity had passed, and once again, I couldn't go back to it. To cover my confusion, I made for the door, before turning, blowing a goodnight kiss to Vickie, and then making good my escape. One thing was clear; despite all the attention I had been receiving from Matt, my hopes of kicking my fascination with nappies were shattered. I was halfway down the stairs before something clicked about Emma's manner; it was almost as if she had been hoping I would agree to it. It was almost as if the whole business of asking for my unnecessary help had been a lead-up to the question. It was almost as if Emma had been testing me. I went down to supper in a state of confusion.

There was a surprise waiting for me. I walked in the middle of a family discussion, and was duly invited to go with the grown-ups to the midnight service. This was indeed progress, as heretofore I had been counted amongst the children, and tucked up in bed with a teddy-bear to cuddle and a sitter to look after me while the grown-ups all went out and did those strange things that grown-ups do at midnight on Christmas Eve. Now I was to be counted amongst he grown-ups, and of course I accepted instantly; I was in need of a little grown-upness after the scene upstairs.

The walk to the church was cold, but invigorating, our breath condensing in the sparkling night. I had been up late on a few occasions before, notably when we were on holiday in France or Greece, and I had been allowed to "stay up late" as long as I had taken a siesta during the day, but this was a bit different. I was now being accepted as an adult, amongst other adults, and doing an adult thing. As a result I was very careful of my behaviour, not running ahead, not skipping, not holding Mum's hand, instead I walked sedately beside Juliet and Peter in our little family procession, doing my best to be sensible and to fit in.

The service was beautiful, but boring. I looked at the crib, and thought it a pretty thing but a kid's thing. I thought of the baby in Mary's arms, and found myself wondering what they did for nappies in those days, and what they did instead of plastic pants, and suddenly the thought struck me as to whether Jesus's dirty nappies had smelt just as bad as ours. I had to pull myself up sharply; this was not the time and place for such speculation; I was not a child any longer and should behave and think with the gravity of an adult. I raised my eyes and beheld the figure on the cross; twisted and tortured and suffering for our sins and wearing a .... nappy. Oh God!... Oh Shit could He hear me? Why did these thoughts keep creeping in on me? Did I have some little demon inside who kept prompting them? Stop Amelia, stop being so silly! Nobody had such things! They were a sign of madness. Perhaps I should discuss it with someone. Julia, for example. I was suddenly aware that everybody else had sat down, and I frantically did the same, worried that they might wonder about me. Why did I feel so different?

I returned to my bedroom after the service, shoes off, walking softly, as close to the wall as I could to stop the boards creaking and not to wake Vickie. I looked at her as she lay three-quarters face down, her pale blonde hair spread around her on the pillow like a huge halo and looking for all the world like a sleeping angel. Only the hump over her backside reminded me of the scene I had witnessed earlier. As I slipped off my clothes, as rapidly as I could since Pembroke's antique heating system had stopped for the night, Emma came in from the nursery where she had been checking on the infants. I expected her to give Vickie a nappy-check, but realised that her sleeper made it almost impossible; whatever Vickie had already done in her nappy was going to be with her until the morning, like it or not. I shrugged and got into bed. Emma put her finger to her lips, and carefully hung a pillowcase of toys on the foot of the bed, and with a wink, hung another, smaller one on the foot of mine. Father Christmas had come, and I realised sadly that increasing age also meant a thinner Christmas stocking, and no more toys, just useful things.

I woke only once during the small hours . The deep silence pervaded everything, and there was not even the smallest gurgle from the radiator. I had awoken for the usual reason. I staggered down the long, cold corridor to the toilet and relieved myself before shuffling back to my bed. I paused for a moment, looking at the still-sleeping Vickie. I wondered if I should keep faith with her desire to dry up at night, and lift her for a toilet trip, but then I thought of all that would involve; the guided waddle down the corridor with a sleepy child, the awkwardness with her sleeper, the paraphernalia with her nappies, the possibility she was already wet and the subsequent need for a change, and the total sum of a lot of fuss and bother when I could just leave her, wet or dry, and sort it out in the morning. I suddenly appreciated Emma's position; put a good thick nappy on the child and let her sleep, it didn't matter if she wet herself or not, then deal with it tomorrow. I thought also of the risks inherent in waking a child in the small hours of Christmas morning, and letting her see a Christmas stocking - neither of us would get any more sleep that night. I settled myself back into the residual warmth of my bed with gratitude, and felt myself envying Vickie with her privilege of being able to sleep through the whole night without this necessary interruption, and the whole of me regretted not accepting Emma's kind offer. Next time - if there ever was one - I might well take her up on it.

[weeboy]

Thanks Freswith

Great new chapter but now you have me craving the next chapter lol

[jbz2079]

I had a strange feeling of Da Ja Vue reading that chapter.

When I was in my early teens my brother was placed in a terry nappy and plastic pants every night due to his bedwetting.

I was always jealous of the attention he got and I didn't.

Had terry nappies and platic pants to hand for years after I had stopped using them myself and never gave them a thought

Well not until I got curious one time while alone in the house.

I got a nappy and some pins and after a while managed to get it pinned on in a fashon and I thought, I've gone this far I might as well go the whole hog

and put some plastic pants over them.

Well it was like finding something you had lost a long time ago, The feeling was just about undescribeble.

At the same time I was telling myself that I was far too old for nappies and the consequence of being caught wearing them didn't bear thinking about.

This was the point in my life that I started on the road to being a D/L.

I too thought all my desires and feelings for nappies would be overtaken by girlfriends and growing up, but it never went away.

[weeboy]

Hi Freswith,

Any updates coming soon :-)

[freswith]

I'm working on it; it's long and complicated, and I am rather busy elsewhere. I might just post it in two separate parts.

Thank you for asking, anyway.

[freswith]

I had a strange feeling of Da Ja Vue reading that chapter.

When I was in my early teens my brother was placed in a terry nappy and plastic pants every night due to his bedwetting.

I was always jealous of the attention he got and I didn't

I too thought all my desires and feelings for nappies would be overtaken by girlfriends and growing up, but it never went away.

This is roughly the plot line I am taking with Amelia. Having covered as many of the other by-waters of the DL experience I thought I would try to cover the transition from a late-bedwetter with nappied siblings to s full-blown DL. It's something I really haven't dared to do, I left Juliet with some residual DL feelings but did not develop them. I would like to live up to the standard I've set and allow my character to develop slowly, logically, and - I hope - credibly.

I do so hate the stories which start "I am a 5'2" natural blonde but small for my age" and go on later to "SPANK SPANK SPANK...". I think my readership deserves a little more respect for their intelligence, and so I am drawing out the tale and exploring both the fetish and the character in depth. I've got a long way before I get to Amelia the Supermodel and daiper lover, so please have patience. I hope you enjoy the trip!

[freswith]

The In-Betweener

The gurgling of the radiator brought me back to consciousness. I lay there still and silent while I gathered my bearings. I heard a rustle of paper and opened my eyes; there was Vickie on the next bed, sitting on her heels and opening a parcel from her stocking.

"Are you going to sleep all day?" she said, "There's lots of presents for you at the end of your bed." Vickie had long since rumbled the Father Christmas myth; she was anything but stupid, but she played it along to please her parents. I surfaced with the usual lack of enthusiasm, and sat on the side of my bed, yawning and having a comforting scratch. My eyes adjusted to the light and I scrabbled on the bedside table for my watch.

"Oh God! It's not yet seven! What are you doing up so early?" I gasped. I had only had six hours of sleep, and felt as if I wanted about four more.

"I'm normally up at seven," she piped, "For school!"

"You're on holiday. You don't have to get up." I protested. I should have known better.

"But it's Christmas!" came the all-purpose excuse. I realised I wasn't going to get anywhere, so I clambered to my feet, took my dressing-gown from the hook, and headed for the door, bound for the usual place at the start of the day.

"Where are you going?" said Vickie, surprised.

"For a pee." I replied, with candour appropriate to the unearthly hour. Then I stopped. "Don't you want one, too?" Vickie paused for a moment in her play.

"No. Thanks. No need." she replied. I woke up a little more. Oh God, I had forgotten; she was about as well padded-out as any child could be, and probably had spare capacity through to the middle of next week as well.

"Are you wet?" I asked, purely out of politeness. There was no doubt what the answer would be. Vickie just nodded. It wasn't even worth her breath to answer, and the dreadful words "I've done it in my nappy." could remain unsaid. I thought back. I'd never known a dry Christmas morning until recently either, and I knew what the next exchange would be.

"Would you like a change?"

"No thanks. I'm not very wet, and Mum would be angry if I took it off without her permission. I did it in the night, even though I was awake. I can't get this wretched sleeper off without help, so I used my nappy. Mum doesn't seem to mind that as much."

"You could have woken me."

"Didn't want to. Didn't want to make a fuss. Much easier to do it in my nappy."

Honour was satisfied. Vickie wasn't all that wet, and wouldn't want a change until she had opened and played exhaustively with every present. Even then her mother would have difficulty in getting her down to the bathroom. She had her nappy on, and she would rather use it than interrupt her play, such was the custom at Pembroke on Christmas Day. I left her to it, and padded down the landing to the toilet.

When I came out, washed, showered and somewhat fresher, the nursery door was open. I stepped inside and heard sounds of running water from the bathroom. Time, tide, and babies wait for no-one, and Clare was engaged with looking after her daughter as early as she was on any other morning. Viola's cot was empty, and William was sitting on his bed playing with a toy car; he too had found his stocking and was now quite old enough to know what Christmas was all about. He smiled happily up at me and bid me admire his new toy car, which I felt bound to do. As he crawled across the bed I saw that he too was soaked, probably more than his sister. Just then Clare came out of the bathroom holding her freshly-scrubbed daughter and carried her to the changing table. There being no sign of his mother, I picked William up - God, he was getting heavy - and carried him into the bathroom despite his protests. At least he was still holding his car, and managed to do so as I topped and tailed him, before marching him out towards the now-vacated changing table, where Clare joined me to hoist him onto the soft plastic mattress that covered it. I suddenly got a flashback to when I had been so hoisted by Peter and for a brief moment I was envious of William, of the attention he was getting, and I found myself wishing that the rustling nappy which was now being pulled up between his kicking legs was being pulled up between mine. I remembered desperately trying to fend off the encroaching nappy myself, and what a waste of time it was against the sure and strong hands of my mother. At least Clare wasn't uttering the soothing old chestnuts about it being for "your own good" or to make "you more comfortable"; this nappy was going on to keep William from peeing everywhere, and no amount of infantile protest would obstruct its intended enclosure of his uncontrollable parts. The tapes were peeled and fastened and patted down, just as they had once been done with me, and William was lifted and sat on the side of the table to be dressed, just as I once was. I felt myself craving the care and attention that he was getting, and I longed for the feeling of being safely wrapped around the loins and not having to keep a permanent guard on my weak bladder. I saw the wisdom of Gran's Pembroke rules. This was a day for children, and letting them relax and enjoy it without having to keep one eye - or one hand - on that treacherous organ was all part of the holiday.

As I left the nursery I was reminded of my status. I was "Leading Child", not an adult, but not quite a child; I was the only one not in nappies, and that cut me out of their cosy camaraderie. They didn't trust me; to them I was part adult, and yet the adults didn't trust me either because to them I was still part child. I was an in-betweener, a teenager, and that by only just a month.. I felt a little sad that I was no longer a part of the nursery set, and yet it was still taking me so long to grow up into the adult world.

On the way back to the bedroom I met Emma escorting an angry-looking Vickie towards the nursery. "Wet right through! She's wet right through! Didn't you notice?"

My mouth moved wordlessly; there were just too many issues to compute. Vickie hadn't been "wet right through" when I left her, it wasn't necessarily my job to notice, and Vickie had sharply refused my offer to get her out of her wet nappy then. I spluttered a general denial, but Emma only snorted as she pushed past. As they retreated I saw wet marks had appeared on the legs of Vickie's voluminous sleeper. They certainly hadn't been there before. It occurred to me that she had peed into her nappy again after I had left, and that, and her kneeling position had been enough to make a leak. There wasn't much I could do, and so I carried on to the bedroom while Vickie was cleaned up and changed; any hope that Vickie might have harboured about doing Christmas without nappies was now completely lost, and Pembroke Rules would be fully applied.

I sat down on my bed, and contemplated the ruin of wrapping paper that covered Vickie's bed opposite, and a very new teddy bear that had obviously just come into her possession. I looked to my own stocking, containing the usual number of small gifts which were supposed to keep me amused while the adults got themselves up. I began to unwrap them; a book of Thelwell cartoons about horses, which I scanned and reserved for more detailed study later, the inevitable orange, though God knows when I was supposed to eat that - certainly not in the middle of my bed - and a soft flexible package marked "To Amelia from Juliet". This was slightly unusual - such gifts were normally put beneath the tree and opened publicly after lunch, and my relationship with Juliet was inclined to be rather awkward. After I had met Matt I had gone through paroxysms of guilt when I realised what a complete and utter little fool I had been over Peter, and what a pain in the neck I had been when trying to compete with my grown-up sister in vying for his attentions. I had suffered plenty of her put-downs as a result, and some of them had stung, even though most of them had been merited. What she hadn't touched on, and which would have been thought a terribly low blow by the standards of our family, had been about the time I had been in nappies. She had never reminded Peter of the times he had changed me, and for that I was quite glad. In fact, I had thoroughly enjoyed it and I was pretty sure Peter had too, but that was our little secret and the less Juliet knew about it the better.

I fingered the package for a moment, trying to work out what was inside it. It was soft and flexible, and something in the back of my mind said "underwear", so for a moment my mind lingered on Vickie's underwear, examples of which were clearly visible in the open cupboard, and I wondered if Juliet was having a joke on me; the Christmas before last I had got woefully drunk on about three glasses of champagne, and that had been the last time I had ever worn - and needed - a nappy and plastic pants. The weight and feel of the package was now saying "Pants, baby, frilly, , Christmas Day for the wearing on ....pairs one", and Juliet was having a huge joke at my expense. In great trepidation I began to prise the package open as though it was an unexploded bomb. I peeked inside, and it was indeed pink and frilly. I peeled it open further, one ear on the landing outside, listening for the return of Emma and Vickie, fearful that they would arrive in the doorway just as I was holding a large handful of serious humiliation. Further in it became silk, not plastic, and lace, and straps. I removed a set of underwear that Mum would never have approved; much too grown-up for little Amelia, and just the kind of thing I had seen Juliet wearing while dressing for a serious date with Peter. This was entirely new; entirely unexpected, and I sat there bemused while I tried to work out the implications. Eventually the penny dropped. This was Juliet telling me that I was no longer a little girl, but a growing woman, no longer a little nuisance, but a friend and confidante, no longer a rival for Peter's attentions, but now Matt's girlfriend. I breathed a sigh of relief, and murmured an apology to Juliet for so misunderstanding her motives.

I checked the landing for noises of people approaching, then slipped off my bathrobe and stepped into the knickers, pulling them up swiftly at first, and then very slowly, savouring the feel of the smooth silk against my thighs, and exulting in their arrival at my loins with a cool smooth softness. I picked up the bra, sorted out the straps and wrapped it around me. All right, I barely filled it, but it too was soft and cool, and seemed to fit perfectly everywhere. I admired myself in the mirror, seeing how they flattered my developing curves and made me look about five years older. This was the business! I had never dared to hope for such a gift - my underwear tended to be bought on the "what is acceptable for school" principle - so Mum would regard these as being utterly frivolous and unsuitable and as a result I absolutely loved them.

Footsteps sounded from the landing and I whipped up my dressing-gown and wrapped it closely around me as Emma and Vickie entered the room. I wanted Juliet's gift to remain secret for as long as possible, I didn't want anyone else to know, just me, and under my long dress it would be my private source of self confidence; I would be the femme fatale, the seductress, and even sweeter if my mundane relations didn't know anything about it.

Emma removed Vickie's bathrobe, and left her standing there uncomfortably in just her nappy while she extracted vest and tights from the drawer of the dresser. Vickie gratefully pulled them on to cover herself, and then the pink and white dress that was mandated for Christmas festivities, and competed her attire with Mary-Jane shoes and a pink Alice band in her hair. She looked just like a miniature angel with her long pale blonde hair and big blue eyes, but paid it no heed. The short dress was very practical for the kind of activities she had in mind for a Christmas party; not too constricting, even if it didn't conceal her nappy very effectively, but everyone knew she was wearing one and not surprisingly she didn't like it, but such were Pembroke Rules. At least Emma had relented on her usual greeny-earth-mother bit - Vickie was wearing a disposable, and that did allow certain possibilities. As Leading Child I would be able to take her to the toilet every so often; I had no doubts about refastening a disposable, but I would not want to try my hand at any real nappies. Had she been wearing those, she would have had little option but to await her mother's pleasure, or simply wet herself.

As she tended her daughter, Aunt Emma made polite conversation with me, and asked me if I had had any good presents in my stocking. I told her about the Thelwell book, and gaily tossed the orange into the air, but didn't mention Juliet's gift; that was not for parents or aunts, or any grown-up for that matter; it was just for me. Then Emma asked me if I had realised how wet Vickie had been, and I told her that Vickie wasn't all that wet when I left her, and that I really didn't want to take her sleeper off when Emma had obviously gone to so much trouble to stop Vickie taking it off herself. This went down like a lead balloon, but Emma really couldn't argue; that dreadful sleeper with its zip up the back was obviously designed to stay on until removed by a second party; once she had it on Vickie had no choice but to use her nappy when nature called. Emma simply retorted that when I had children of my own I would realise how awkward they could be. I was quite grateful when she left the room albeit still in a bit of a huff.

I was still a little annoyed when I started to dress, and realised too late that Vickie had seen my new underwear. Her big blue eyes widened in wonder and she exclaimed with envious approval. I told her that Juliet had given them to me and they were a big secret, especially from the grown ups. She nodded agreement, and crossed her heart promising to keep the secret, although her giggles somewhat spoiled the effect. She said that she would love to have some proper grown-up clothes someday, and that she was so sick of having to wear nappies, that she hardly ever really needed them. I remarked that she had certainly needed them last night, but she replied that she had woken before she did it, but it was such a long cold trip to the loo that it was easier for her to use her nappy, and a lot more comfortable, but that was a secret I had to keep or her mother would be angry with her. I duly promised and crossed my heart too, because some confidences should be kept secret; you can never trust adults to react sensibly where important things are concerned. I struck a deal with her. I would take her to the toilet when she asked, and save her from having to wet if her mother was busy. Then, fences mended and friends again, we started to look through Thelwell's cartoons until we were summoned to breakfast.

Juliet and Peter arrived soon after the meal, bearing an armful of presents to put around the base of the huge Chrismas tree in the hall. While we were doing that, Emma took her children upstairs for a change, and then to my discomfort, Gran asked me to come and talk to her in the library. This seldom augured well, and I looked desperately around for some excuse or help. Juliet caught my eye, and winked, then she put a hand on my shoulder and came with me into the library. I was very grateful as to be called into the library by Gran usually meant trouble, and I had heard that Juliet was the only person who could stand up to her.

[jbz2079]

Yes I'm enjoying the trip, have been since day one.

No one could write this story but you Freswith, it all came together in your head.

We can only follow your lead.

Thanks for the latest addition.

[weeboy]

Thanks Freswith

Very well written as usual

Looking forward to the next part

Thanks

[weeboy]

Hey Freswith

Is there a chapter this week

I'm sitting in the Library like a fly on the wall and the suspense is killing me lol