Phone Conversation

[freswith]

OK, because you've been so loyal, I'll put you out of your misery. Here is the next one. I hope you enjoy it!

[freswith]

Crossing the Rubicon

Gran started with a few niceties, which did nothing to put me at ease. She asked me if I had enjoyed last-night's service, if I had slept well, and if I had enjoyed the small presents in my stocking, I agreed to each one guardedly and made no mention at all of Juliet's present, although I did exchange glances with her, and saw her amusement. That bra-and-knickers set was well concealed - and going to stay that way. I was already wondering how I could wash them without Mum finding out; at least until I had worn them when I was with Matt. Even then, I don't think I would want Matt to see them. Not just yet. They were just for me, and how I felt about myself.

I was still on my guard when Gran got down to business. Aunt Emma had told her about the row we had had in the bedroom over Vickie's excessively wet and leaking nappy. I told Gran that I had offered to help Vickie take it off, and had been refused because Vickie had said... and so on. When I got to the bit about the sleeper which Vickie couldn't remove, Gran pointed out that sometimes little children were silly about keeping their nappies on, some rules had to be set and enforced, and it was not up to me to criticise Aunt Emma, and certainly not in front of Vickie. I felt my blood running hot, but Juliet nudged me, and addressed Gran.

"Are you saying that Vickie mustn't ever take her nappy off in any circumstances?"

Gran paused. She could see the trap that Juliet had laid.

"Well, if she were older...."

"She's eight, for God's sake! Most kids are out of nappies by the time they're three! What if she wakes up and wants to go to the lavatory? With that awful sleeper on she has to do it - all of it - in her nappy. It's hardly the way to get her to stop bedwetting, is it?"

"She could wake her mother. Or Amelia could have taken it off for her."

"Aunt Emma was very strict. She wasn't to take it off. I thought if I did I would upset Emma." I chimed in, "I thought I was there just to keep Vickie company in a strange place, not to pot her or change her nappies." Gran hesitated. I could see a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel, so I pursued my advantage. "She told me she had woken up in the dark and wanted to pee, but she didn't want to make a fuss and so she did it in her nappy deliberately." It struck me that Vickie had sworn me not to tell her mother about this, but then I wasn't telling her mother - I was telling Gran.

Gran looked at me very hard. "She really said she did that?"

There was no going back now. We were in the terrible field of Wetting Deliberately; always a serious charge. I thought briefly of Francis Drake fighting the Dons; there was no way to retreat, so press on. "She wanted to go to the loo, she said so, but she couldn't get the sleeper off without waking me and making a big fuss." Then I used the child's ultimate writ: "It Isn't Fair!"

Juliet interjected quietly; "If she's waking up before she pees, then we all know what that means."

"She's still too young!" said Gran curtly, "I expect she'll be in nappies for years yet."

My blood began to run hot in my veins again; I had the enemy on the run, but I knew I could lose it all in a moment if I took a wrong step. "Juliet was thirteen, I was only eleven. What is wrong with eight? Most kids are out of them by three."

Gran's mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out. This was revolutionary in our family where daughters were expected to wet the bed - and everything else - until puberty at the earliest. Juliet filled the silence. "She should at least be able to go to the toilet if she wakes up and wants to. She should be praised for it, not punished. That sleeper is a monstrosity; it should never be used on a child of her age."

Gran finally found her voice, and it was the voice of the defeated. "As you say, dear. The sleeper is now in the wash after Amelia let her leak all over it." I started to rise the slander, but Juliet kept one foot on mine. "It won't be ready for this evening unless we go to a lot of effort. But she'll have to wear something, after all it's too cold to sleep with nothing on." I relaxed. We had won the battle, now it was just a case of negotiating the peace treaty.

"I don't think Amelia ever made Vickie wet anything, and as for the sleeper, it's not a problem." said Juliet sweetly, "I know Mum is going to give her a nightdress, a lovely one, in the old Victorian style. Not quite as warm as a sleeper but not so long as it can't be pulled up for the toilet, or, if the worst comes to the worst, for a change."

I threw in my three-ha'pence; "If she can wake up before peeing, I'll help her with her nappy." I promised.

"Do you really know how to, my dear?" said Gran patronisingly.

"I'm sure I could change a cloth nappy, after all I've worn enough of them. I've changed lots of disposables on Viola, and some on William, too. They didn't leak."

"We'll have to see, child, we'll have to see."

I just smiled sweetly at Gran. It was the first time in my life I had ever won an argument with her, and that in itself was worth any number of small-hours nappy changes.

We trooped out in order of seniority, Navy style. I closed the library door behind me with some satisfaction, and Gran went to supervise her three daughters in the kitchen. I stayed well clear, with four cooks in the same kitchen there was bound to be trouble, and I could justly claim that as senior child I had certain duties to attend to. I found my charges in the lounge, where Vickie was sensibly trying to keep William from climbing the curtains while Viola was crawling earnestly towards the coal scuttle. I gently fielded Viola, patting her gently on the rump to see if it had the heavy feel of a nappy which was wet or worse, but decided no further action was necessary. I turned toward Vickie, who was manhandling William away from the window, and asked if they had all used the lavatory. Vickie nodded. I had included her in the "all", and she had tacitly accepted the question.

Juliet joined us, as Peter was with the other men making themselves busy with the wine. Why it took five of them to open a few bottles was quite beyond me, but evidently the job required much considered discussion and perhaps a little sampling. That was one thing I was determined to stay clear of; my debacle over the champagne on that Christmas-before-last was still fresh in my mind, and I had formed the opinion that alcohol disagreed with me, and worse still, it made me wet the bed. I would stick to water and orange juice today, and not too much of that after teatime anyway. I remembered - rather vaguely - the occasion as the last time I had been nappied, and worse still of waking up wet the following morning and wondering what my mother would say. As it happened, she never said anything, but perhaps she never knew, as it was Emma and Peter who had officiated. That suddenly stuck me - Peter really hadn't needed to be there, but obviously he had chosen to be. It was almost as if he liked it. I added it to the other occasions he had changed me, drew a line through them and extended it; I wondered if I was the only person who had these strange feelings, perhaps Peter had them too?

When the adults were out of the room - with the exception of Juliet who, once more, we counted as one of us - I told Vickie what had been said in the library. She was very sorry that I had got into trouble for not changing her, but I managed to reassure her that I, or rather Juliet, had put things right. Vickie was delighted that her sleeper had been put in the wash, and reiterated how much she hated it. Juliet nodded gently; I knew Vickie's remarks would now find their way back to Gran and something would be done. Then it occurred to me that Gran would ensure that nothing would be done, at least in terms of washing Vickie's sleeper, and that it would probably vanish quietly into the attic like so many other things had when they became inconvenient. I was delighted by this turn of events, and pleased that the three of us were friends again, united against the slings and arrows of outrageous parents.

The rest of the day went very well, and I found I was quite tired when Aunt Emma, having finally persuaded the almost tireless William to retire to bed, came to fetch her older child to attempt the same process. I went upstairs to take the opportunity to freshen up, and I was still in our bedroom when Emma brought the freshly-bathed Vickie back from the bathroom.

"So you can change a cloth nappy, can you?" came the challenge, and I had no choice but to accept, despite the sudden scowl that afflicted Vickie's face. "Well, let's see if you really can!" and that committed me; there was no backing out now. For a moment we just stared at each other, then I realised they were both waiting for me to act. I took a deep breath, signalled an apology to Vickie with my eyebrows, and went to the cupboard. I took one of the big nappies from the top of the stack, turned, and threw it open onto Vickie's bed, noting that it had been carefully laundered and was very soft. The sweet smell of the soap powder was still in it as I folded the corners to the middle in the old kite-fold as I had been taught. I remembered to make them overlap, as Emma had last night, because they were really much bigger than Vickie really needed, and this way the surplus remained in the middle where it would be most useful. "Right!" said Emma, not so much in approval as in acknowledgement as she peeled Vickie's dressing-sown from her shoulders and backed her towards the bed and the folded nappy. Vickie's eyes were downcast, and her lips a thin line; she was not enjoying this; it was one thing to have it done by one's mother, but quite another to be nappied by someone else. I remembered how I had tried everything to stop my sitter from nappying me; it had been worth having Mum do it before they went out, even if it cost a midnight change when they came back. I knew exactly what Vickie was going through, but there was nothing I could do to help. Emma had turned my protest round on me, and where there had been unity between us children, she had now driven a wedge of cold hostility. It was obvious that Gran had had words with her, and those words had not been well received, and now she was looking to re-establish her authority.

Vickie laid herself down in the middle of her nappy and then, almost with an air of triumph, Emma passed me the ointment pot. I took it reluctantly, and looked into Vickie's hostile eyes. This was the crunch, this was where it became irreversibly personal. This was where I diverged from the comfortable confederation of childhood and joined the ranks of the Others, the Grown-Ups. I took a deep breath, looked Vickie in the eyes again, and said "Let's do it!", and I saw a slight nod from her which said she understood, and would play along; the union held, and she wasn't going to hold this against me. The rest of it went very smoothly, with Vickie's full cooperation, and the result was a snugly-fitted nappy which would do its job but not come off in the night. As I pulled the plastic pants up her thighs, she reached down, took over, and hauled them up to her waist, running her fingers around the leg elastics, tucking them up into her nappy for a comfortable and leak-proof fit. We then both looked towards Emma and dared her to criticise, but all she did was to smile and nod; I , or rather we, had obviously passed the test, and could be trusted to change Vickie in the night if needed. I helped Vickie into her new nightie, and we both admired the overall effect in the long mirror; she was pretty enough to make an angel envious, and there was only a slight bulge at her midriff to betray the layers of padding beneath.

Since the nightdress had been a gift from my Mum, Vickie was allowed to go downstairs again to thank her and, in theory, to say goodnight. By careful manoeuvring she managed to stay downstairs through most of the evening, and was finally carried back up to bed fast asleep in her father's arms.

I had joined the grown-ups for supper - a privilege of which I was very proud and which I would defend against all comers, even though I was also dog-tired by now. I was particularly careful to avoid the wine; I well knew what the results could be on my system, and had long resolved to be very abstemious: a dizzy head is one thing, but a wet bed is quite another. Fortunately I was sitting next to Dad, who was driving, so I managed to escape the refills. When I felt myself nodding, I made my excuses, said my goodnights, gave my thanks, and retired gracefully. Emma followed me up, ostensibly to check on the children. When I emerged from the bathroom, Emma was still in my bedroom giving Vickie a nappy check. It was apparent she was still dry, and I remarked that the nappy and pants laid out on my bed would not be needed.

Emma smiled. "They're not needed for Vickie, so would you like them?"

Suddenly I was fully awake. Very awake indeed. My mind ran through the possibilities. Something in me wanted them very much, wanted the comfort, wanted the security, wanted the safety, but everything else repelled me. Emma had tried this before, but this time I was determined to resist it. I wasn't going back to the little girl again. While my mind raced, Emma spoke again: "You've had such a lot to drink, and you know what is likely to happen. It happened last Christmas, and it just might happen again!"

I was staggered. I was also sober, and had been so determined that what had happened, not last Christmas but the Christmas before, would NEVER happen again, that I was taken completely by surprise. When I got my voice back it was a croak of refusal, but it didn't stop Emma. She smiled again. "But.... would you like to have a nappy on? I promise I won't tell anyone." Now that was a different matter! The something inside me that wanted it rose like a balloon in my mind, inflating it and threatening to exclude all else. I could almost feel the soft terry towelling parting my legs, I could feel the smoothness of the pants, and I could feel the warm security of the whole package wrapping my backside. I gritted my teeth.

"NO, thank you, Aunt Emma, I no longer need them." I replied, and realised immediately that I should have said "I no longer want them." but by then it was too late. Emma looked carefully into my eyes, and I had the impression she was looking right through me, and all my secrets were being peeled open like an onion. I stuck to my guns. "I'm grown up now, you know!" and with that I unzipped my dress and let it fall, revealing the sexy underwear that Juliet had given me that day.

Emma's eyes opened even wider; "So I see!" she said, "Where on earth did you get those?"

"Juliet gave them to me." I said, before I even thought about it. "Nice, aren't they?"

Emma simply nodded, and took the nappy and pants and put them back in the cupboard.

I woke up in the middle of the night for the usual reason. I knew I wouldn't get back to sleep without the inevitable ritual. Suppressing a curse I swung my legs out of my lovely warm bed and felt for my slippers. I should have said "yes" to Emma.

"You should have said "Yes" to Mum." Came Vickie's sleepy voice, "Then you could have stayed in bed like me."

"You weren't supposed to be awake!" I retorted. "Let alone listening in on things like that."

"Bloody difficult to sleep through a nappy check." replied Vickie.

"While I'm about it, do you want the loo?" I asked, remembering my duties.

"No thanks. Not yet awhile. You have one for me while you're there, I think I'll stay here in the warm." she replied. "I don't need it yet, and it's bloody cold out there. Nappies do have their uses, you know."

I could only agree, and began my long bleary walk to the toilet. On the way I came to a decision: next time Emma offered - if she ever did - the answer might be different.

[fyunch]

Delicious.

[jbz2079]

Thanks Freswith, Great.

Do you want a nappy on?

Noooo! (But yes!)

[weeboy]

Freswith,

Thankyou for another superb chapter

Looking forward to the next one as always

[WBDaddy]

I just wanted to say, Freswith, that I have started reading this story (allllllll the way back at the beginning) to my babygirl as a bedtime story, and she is absolutely loving it. I even put on a subtle English accent when I read - she loves the authentic edge that gives it. Thank you for giving us another vehicle by which we can grow closer.

[freswith]

Thank you for that! I hope your baby girl enjoys your English accent; perhaos I will throw in a Scotsman speaking RabbieBurns to see how far you get with that!

In the meantime I am about half-way through writing the next episode, but for some reason my mainrame computer has decided it cannot post to DD so I am having to try a work-around.

[WBDaddy]

Meh. I hung out with Atholl Highlanders at the games back in '87, and it stirred the bloody Scotsman inside me, which never went away. I can brogue with the best of them, laddy...

[weeboy]

Freswith

If you are still having problems posting to DD when the chapter is ready then you could e.mail it to me and I could post it on your behalf.

Just PM me for the email addy if this helps you.

Anything to get the next chapter up, the withdrawal symptoms are kicking in again lol

[freswith]

Rumbled

I couldn't shake that feeling. The following morning I helped Vickie remove her wet nappy, and after her shower I asked Emma, who was busy with William, which one I should put on her for the journey back. Emma replied that a disposable would be best, as they might have to change her on route and that would be so much less fuss. I led Vickie back to our bedroom and pulled a disposable out of the bag.

"I can do it myself!" said Vickie promptly.

"Your Mum told me to, and we don't want it coming off, do we?"

"You're getting just like a grown-up, Amelia. Always being right, always having to have your own way."

"Oh, come on, Vickie, or would you rather wait here in your dressing-gown getting cold until Emma has done with William. Does it matter a damn who puts your nappy onto you? Doesn't Juliet nappy you sometimes?"

"Yes It Does Matter!"

"So who would you like to nappy you now?"

Vickie thought for a minute. The house was full of grown-ups, and I could think of very few who I would allow to nappy me. She soon came to the same conclusion. "Oh, alright. If you insist. But I'm hardly likely to have an accident now then, I've only just been."

"Still - your mum - and Gran - will expect to see you properly and safely nappied, won't they, and if you aren't, then we'll both be in trouble, won't we?" She nodded. I spread the disposable on the bed, and she took her dressing-gown off, sat down carefully in the middle of it and laid back. It only took a few moments; then she was "properly and safely nappied". The old phrase, which I had heard so many times, now came easily to me, and in my new role as carer I could appreciate it now. Now there could be no puddle, no stains, no changes of clothing, no tears and no recriminations. Vickie had a weak bladder although her daytime accidents were now very few and far between, but if she did happen to have one then nothing would ever be said; she would simply be changed. It was the easiest way, and it kept the peace in the family. It may not have been the best way, and I could understand Vickie's dislike of the humiliation involved, but this was Christmas, this was Pembroke, and it was essential to keep the peace and even Vickie, when it came to the crunch, preferred a wet nappy to a painful scene.

We completed her dressing with tights and a fairly short dress then I shooed her off towards the breakfast room. She would be going home today, as I would be too, and I took a last look into the cupboard where all the nappies had been kept. These would be staying here, probably shifted to the big chest in the attic, until Vickie came again when, freshly washed and fragrant, they would be waiting for her. It was a service Gran maintained, as she loved to see her family and would do anything to facilitate their visit. It would also be my last chance to see them or handle them until then. The strange feeling was still with me, reinforced by what I had just done, and I ran my hands gently over the soft folds of towelling and the smooth cool plastic of the pants, wishing I could put them on again and appreciate the warm soft bulk spreading my legs and the feeling of safety they represented. I recognised the same feeling when I was riding Patch, although the feeling of security was certainly not there; Patch needed riding!

"Nice, aren't they?" came a soft voice from behind me. I jumped; I didn't know how long Emma had been standing there watching me, or how much she had seen. "Warm and soft. I used to feel so good when I had one on. There are times when I still miss them."

My first instinct was to bolt, but Emma was blocking the only way out and I was cornered. I swallowed to ease my suddenly-dry throat, and started an explanation, something about tidying up the stack, but my lies came out with that tinny sound that beads make when they are dropped onto glass. I felt my face start to burn. I am not a good liar; I have never had the need to practise and I knew that Emma, a mother and a teacher, would never be convinced. She just stood there, arms folded, smiling gently at me. "Takes one to know one," she said, "but I'll keep your secret if you'll keep mine."

I suppose I should have asked "What secret?" and acted the dumb innocent, but I was in too much of a turmoil. I had thought that I was the only person in the world who felt like this, and had felt so guilty about it. I had bottled up my feelings until I thought I would burst, even though I was not sure what my feelings really were. Emma came closer. I avoided her eyes; I had given too much away already. "Don't worry about it dear, you're not the only one, you know, and it isn't serious. It's better to keep quiet about it, but don't torture yourself. In time you'll learn to enjoy it." I risked looking up at her eyes to see if she really meant it, and she was looking straight into mine, and smiling. We stood there silently for some seconds, then she took my arm and said, "Come on dear, let's go to breakfast!" and, still stunned, I went.

After breakfast I briefly liberated Vickie from her nappy so she could use the lavatory. It was along way back to Bristol, and she certainly didn't want to have to stop en route or worse still, have a big accident in the car. I made sure she was properly taped up afterwards, then I helped her pack her bags for her return home. While I was doing it, Emma came in with another holdall, and asked me to pass the nappies out of the cupbard for her to pack. Apparently she was taking some of the large-size cloth nappies from Pembroke to fit her growing daughter, although she was also taking some of the very big ones that had been purchased especially for Juliet just before she dried up. She was my age before that happened, which I pointed out with some glee - it wasn't often I was able to better Juliet at something. I also mentioned that they would be too big for Vickie at the moment, but Emma replied that she would have to fold them a bit smaller, and Vickie was hardly going to have to walk anywhere in them; they were for night-time use only. I could see that Vickie was going to have another hurdle between her and the lavatory, but this time I didn't say anything; I didn't want a repeat of yesterday's row. Emma took them one by one and put them in the case, but she unfolded the last one and held it out in front of me.

"Hmm, about your size, I think!" she said. I gave a quick wan smile and took half a step backwards, but not before the towelling had brushed against me and set off that familiar tingle. I dragged my eyes away from it; part of me wanted to have it, but the other part was still repelled by the idea. Emma just smiled at me, refolded the nappy, and added it to the others. "And the plastic pants, please!" said Emma and I grabbed the clammy pile and passed it to her. Once again she took the top pair, and opened them out. "Bit big for Vickie at the moment." She said "and I'm quite surprised they have lasted this long. I'll have to get some more anyway; these might be too hard and too brittle. Oh well, more expense." I could see what she meant; they would have fitted me rather than Vickie, and may even have been used by me as well. I went down stairs carrying the bags and saw the family off.

I decided I had had enough of nappies, in fact I had had more than enough, and I wanted some distraction. I called Matt, and got myself invited round, then I fixed up for my parents to come to pick me up later in the day, and made the short walk around to Matt's house. He was delighted to see me, and after having made my number with his very pleasant parents we repaired to Matt's room ostensibly to play on his computer, but really to play a much older game between us. We were handicapped a little in this by his little sister, Olivia, who was only ten and couldn't understand the games that Matt and I wanted to play. For the first time I found myself in Juliet's position of having a dreadful little sister who was always getting in the way, but I was careful not to show it, in fact her presence did fulfil a purpose; she was effectively chaperoning us.

My relationship with Matt was not that easy; I knew exactly what he wanted, but there was no way I was going to give it to him. Mum's warnings and lectures had been taken to heart and I realised the wisdom of them, but I also knew that Matt was a very handsome boy, nearly two years older than me, and I had my work cut out to keep his interest against the competition, who I had good reason to believe were not quite so virtuous. I began to kick myself over wearing Juliet's present yesterday instead of today - I could have done with at least the moral support of knowing I had them on underneath, even if I tried to keep his hands out of there. Well, I at least I tried to keep his hands out of there; I didn't always succeed. I didn't always want to.

We were just cruising along; Matt's hand had reached that point on my inner thigh which was about as far as I was prepared to allow him, when Olivia perked up and said "Is it true that you have to wear nappies all the time?"

I sat up sharply. Matt grunted in annoyance. "Who's been saying that?" I bristled.

"Matt said it, and lots of other people have told me. Is it true?"

I glared at Matt. He wilted. I realised that little sisters can be an absolute pain the neck and for an instant I felt so much for Juliet having put up with me for all those years. I came back with the standard answer. "I used to have to wear them in bed, but that was a long time ago now."

"Did you wet them?" she went on. If my hands hadn't been full of Matt I think I could have strangled her.

"Yes. That was rather the point, wasn't it? I mean, it was either that or wet the bed."

"Weird!" said Olivia, "I thought only babies wore them."

"Lots of children have to. It's just not something I like to talk about."

"Olivia, I think I heard Mum calling you." interjected Matt. "Don't you think you ought to go and see her?"

"I didn't hear her." replied Olivia.

"Well, why don't you go and make sure!" came the sharp-edged reply.

Olivia looked suitably miffed and then got up and went out of the door. I rounded on Matt. "Did you tell her that?" I demanded.

He looked terribly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I might have mentioned it. It's common gossip. She must have picked it up. Lots of girls are envious of you. Your parents are rich, you have a pony, you come from a classy family. They seem to take pleasure in teasing me about you. I don't like it. You're my girlfriend and I really like you..." (Okay, Matt, ten out of ten for that!) "and I don't know how to reply to them. I've always been too shy to ask you directly, and I don't have an answer."

I relaxed a little, and gave him a little squeeze. He really was very sweet and gentle, and had given the chance to open the subject, which had been the elephant-in-the-room in our relationship for quite some time.

"Yes, I used to wear them. Mostly at night. I would have wet the bed otherwise, but I finally dried out some years ago." I said. A small exaggeration was surely permissible here; I was really out of nappies by only two years - just! I felt Matt relaxing as well. "Does it matter to you?"

"Not at all." then he paused. "I bet you looked really cute in them!"

I was on my guard again. The C-word! "I didn't wear them because I wished to look cute. I wore them because Mum made me wear them. I wore them because I would have wet the bed otherwise, and there would have been a stink." I regretted my choice of words instantly, so I carried on quickly to cover it. "It's better if the pee goes into a nappy than all over the bed. Is there something wrong with that?" I challenged him.

"No. I think you're gorgeous anyway. I feel so proud when you are with me." Oh clever Matt! That gets you two more points! "It's just the thought of you wearing them. It would make you so defenceless, so helpless, it makes me feel I want to take care of you." Oh! Two more points! That gets you a kiss, Matt!

"How do you know I haven't got one on right now, then?" I teased. Matt's hand shot up right where it shouldn't and I wriggled in a mixture of surprise and mock outrage.

" 'Cos I can feel you haven't!" he grinned.

I pushed his arm away. "Cheeky Boy!" I admonished him.

Heavy parental footsteps approached the door. Mat's mum looked in. "Lunch is ready!" she said. "Cold Turkey, I'm afraid." Surprise, surprise; yesterday's turkey to finish off, just like in every other household. "Have you been good?"

"Yes!" we both replied simultaneously, "Very Good!" and she looked as if she almost believed it.

[jbz2079]

Another good chapter, Thank You Freswith.

[warpiper]

You never cease to amaze me freswith. Another amazing chapter. thank you so much!

-piper

[fyunch]

Gee, and now we know that Emma has the bug. Another thread to explore ...

[freswith]

The Other Side of the Pin.

I'd been very careful. No, not about that; I still hadn't allowed Matt to do it with me, but I had stayed right away from the "N" things, and I was thinking I had beaten it. I managed it when Vickie and family came up for Granpa's birthday and for once I didn't have to stay the night to keep Vickie company, as they went back the same day. I even managed to dandle William on my lap without even thinking of what lay beneath, and if Vickie was wearing, then I didn't see it. On the way to and from school I walked past the baby-wear shop on the other side of the road, and if I ever got a twinge I would draw closer to Matt and make his day. The matter really didn't bother me until I was summoned to Pembroke for a fitting for my bridesmaid's dress, which Gran was making.

Juliet's wedding to Peter was the big event of the summer, scheduled for August after she had graduated, and when Peter was due some leave after his helicopter course. Gran, being determined to remain on top of everything, was busy making the bridesmaid's dresses as early as April, although caution and experience dictated that I would probably have grown out of it by the time of the wedding four months later. Still, I was informed that Gran would allow for a little more growth, and that worried me even more. I dreaded the thought of going up the aisle dressed in something that fitted like a sack.

I arrived to find Emma, Juliet and Vickie already in the nursery where Gran had set up her dressmaking room, and the atmosphere was electric. It appeared there was a running fight going on over whether Vickie should wear a nappy under her bridesmaid's dress for the wedding. I kept to the sidelines. I didn't want to get involved, and I didn't want to queer my pitch with Emma, knowing what she knew about what I knew. In the to and fro I came to understand that Juliet had already got on the wrong side of Emma on the way there; they had stopped for a "comfort break" at a service station, and Juliet had removed Vickie's nappy and not replaced it. There hadn't been any accident in the remainder of the journey, and somehow Vickie had avoided being nappied according to Pembroke Rules on arrival, and was vehemently defending her position; she didn't need nappies in the daytime anymore, and was determined not to wear one under her dress when she followed Juliet up the aisle. Emma and Gran were entrenched on the other side, and all was certainly Not Quiet on the Western Front; Juliet was stalwartly defending Vickie, and so I felt I had to weigh in on her side. The row went on for what seemed like hours, and all the old saws cam out together with a new one; I was told I was now on "the other side of the pin" which rather lost its effect as I couldn't quite grasp what Gran was on about.

We won. At a cost, but, but we held the moral ground; it wasn't at all needed, nor was it fair to Vickie. I threw in the fact that there was a toilet in the vestry, added a couple of fine canards about the Vicar, and promised to take responsibility before the throne of God for any puddles on the church floor. It was agreed that the matter would be reviewed, but the dress fittings would go ahead as planned, and that included a nappy which Vickie should have been wearing anyway, this being Pembroke. She had to submit to being nappied by Gran in Gran's special "invisible" and "soundless" tailored nappy secured in the front by a "pretty" pink nappy pin. As though that wasn't enough Emma held Vickie's hands aloft out of the way as Gran shook out a pair of pink frilly baby pants, and the child was obliged to step into them to her much-voiced resentment. Finally, to add insult to injury, she was hoisted over the side rails that fenced off the corner of the nursery to form a huge playpen, and told to play with William and keep him company. It was just then that Peter arrived, right into the middle of a family row, and I suddenly felt I didn't want to be involved; I had had enough arguing, and poor Vickie was about to burst into tears of humiliation, so I swung my legs over the rails and joined her, my back to Gran and Emma, and my arm around the poor child to support and comfort her. I didn't even give Emma and Gran a scowl; I reckoned they didn't deserve it, but I did give Peter a smile, and something in me kicked off memories. There I was, in a playpen with Vickie and William, both in nappies and I was the odd one out. Just for a moment I wanted to be like the others. I wanted Peter to come and give me a kiss, and I wanted to put my arms around his neck, and I wanted him to pat my roundly nappied bottom in the same way he had just done to little Vickie, but he didn't do so. All I got was a smile and a nod. Perhaps he would have done so if I had been in a nappy too. The thought snagged me, and wouldn't go away, and I actually envied Vickie her bulging pants with all the frills and I wanted to be in her place. I even envied William, contentedly pushing his toy car across the floor and crawling behind it with his enormous backside. Not a care in the world; loved unconditionally by everybody; he had it made. Life was so much simpler then, and yet for me it got more complicated by the day. Something in me wanted to stay in that playpen, letting other people have all the worries and make all the decisions while I just played with my toys. Alas, it was not to be; Gran declared lunch and we all repaired to the dining room. I was the last to leave the playpen, having handed William over the rail, and then assisted Vickie across before swinging my own legs out of it and returning to the real, cold, hard world outside. As I walked behind, a stray thought occurred to me; one day I would have a place of my own, all to myself. In that place I would have a room, to which only I would ever go. In that room I would make a nursery, just like the one at Pembroke, where I could go now and again, chill out and get away from everything, to be a little girl again, and leave all the rest of the world far outside.

After lunch I slipped out to the garden to get some sunshine, and sat down on the edge of the patio where the steps went down to the lawn. Juliet and Peter were out there too, canoodling in the big swing seat. I tried not to intrude on them, and busied myself in making a fuss of Asbo, which is a limitless occupation. By and by Vickie came out to join me, and I made available a portion of Asbo's tummy for patting. He stretched out his paws in bliss at the extra attention, and Vickie whispered her thanks to me for my support of the morning. As she squatted beside me her little red sundress rode up at the back, and I could see she still had her nappy on from this morning, the pink frills of her well-padded baby pants showing under the hem at the back of the dress as the bangs of her hair hung down at the front. I envied her. I envied her long blonde hair, I envied her little red sundress, I envied her pretty face, and her gentle innocent disposition, and I found myself envying her nappy and those pants. It wasn't a nasty envy, as I enjoyed the presence of this pretty creature, but I wished I had that soft pillow between my thighs, I wished I could feel the elastics gripping me safely around my legs and the tickle of the frills at the back and above all I wished I could have the cushion of a nice thick nappy between my bottom and the rough stone of the steps. As I sat there I felt the first tickle of a call of nature coming on, and knew I would very soon have to head for the toilet; I might be out of nappies and no longer subject to Pembroke rules, but I still had a small bladder and the cost was continuous vigilance. I began to envy Vickie her independence in that matter; if she left it a bit too long in fussing Asbo the only cost would be a nappy-change, and the other side of Pembroke rules meant that no adverse comment would ever be made; as long as she submitted to wearing a nappy it was expected to fulfil its purpose, and no blame would be attached to Vickie if she had to use it.

In the middle of my thoughts I was summoned to the nursery for another dress fitting, and arrived to find Mum and Gran examining the dress closely for loose threads and crooked seams. I tried it on, commented on the very full skirt and was told that it had been designed with Vickie in mind; it was sized to take a nappy without showing. That really impressed me, I mean here I was thirteen years old and being dressed in clothes designed for a toddler. I kept my mouth shut; one row in a day was about all I could take, and I tried the dress on. The skirt was much fuller than anything I had ever worn before, and it felt like a tent. I was still wanting the loo, and I wondered how in hell I would ever manage such a skirt in the toilet. Then it occurred to me that this was exactly why they were determined that Vickie should wear a nappy on the day; the prospects of a major toilet situation were all too apparent. When I thought a little further I realised the difficulties of changing her nappy under such a full skirt would be equally daunting, but I kept this to myself; there would be a time and a place to bring that up.

While I was struggling with the skirt a new problem was presented: matching shoes, but with much higher heels than I had ever tried before. I felt I had to practise; on an occasion so raddled with superstitions the bridesmaid wobbling and falling over was certainly not auspicious, and I was determined not to be the one who went arse-over-elbow halfway up the aisle. Mum and Gran assisted me with advice, and I was soon parading up and down the nursery with a book balanced on my head in the finest model-girl style, thanking my lucky stars for all those dancing lessons that I thought were so pointless at the time.

As I was so engaged Vickie was summoned to the nursery-cum-fitting-room, and arrived protesting that she was still dry and wouldn't need a change. She was reassured and divested of her sundress, then the bridesmaid dress was slipped over her head and she was transformed into a perfect little angel; all she needed was a pair of wings. I could now see Gran's strategy, as the bulk of the nappy was well concealed, and even gave her the appearance of having some womanly curves whereas in fact she went straight down like the White Cliffs of Dover. Entranced by the beautiful dress, she began to cheer up, and I could see that the only remaining problem would be to get her to take it off after the fitting.

Nature began to call with the irascibility of a drill-sergeant, and I made my excuses. I slipped to the loo, and found I could manage the full skirt with something like ease, which made me feel much better about it. The heels were fast becoming second nature too, and my self-confidence was growing rapidly. I returned to the nursery to find Vickie on the changing table, being comforted with the usual expressions of sympathy: "just a little one", "That's what it's there for", "have you fixed in a minute", "what a good thing you had your nappy on" and "here's a nice dry one for you, lift your legs!" culminating in the obligatory "Comfy now dear?". Bearing in mind the other side of Pembroke rules, I made no comment at all; it appeared that Vickie had faced the same problem as I had, but had solved it in her own special way. Unfortunately this was going to make it very difficult to sell Vickie's case for going to the wedding unprotected, and I would have to keep my powder dry about that for a bit longer.

I kept back out of sight, as was expected of me under the Rules, and then I had a sudden insight into what Gran had meant. Vickie had had an accident and wet her nappy. So what? It happened all the time. Then I realised what would have happened in a normal family if a child had a similar accident; there would have been a huge scene with scoldings and tears, a board of enquiry convened, blame attached, sentence passed and reprimands issued, and the bridesmaids dress pronounced as ruined. Hot water would have been fetched, teeth would have been sucked, clothes changed, carpets scrubbed, apologies made, and a tearful and humiliated child would have been sent to stand in the corner or some such nonsense. In our family the conversation barely missed a beat; Vickie had been hoisted onto the convenient changing table, stripped, wiped, comforted, and then wrapped in a fresh dry nappy, shriven of her sins, patted on the bottom and allowed to go about her business. Another wet nappy would flop into the Great Pail of Life and by tomorrow everyone would have forgotten about it and Vickie would assure everyone that she "hadn't had a daytime accident in months". It was the only way a family like ours could work; without Pembroke Rules we would have torn ourselves apart years - generations - ago.

I saw it from the other side, too. Tonight Vickie would wait patiently beside her bed for Aunt Emma to come and put her night-nappy on, and they would both go through the routine, as I had done so many times. The nappy being slid under your bottom, a dab of ointment, a puff of powder, then the soft bulk of the nappy being pulled gently up between your legs, perhaps a wriggle or even a kick of futile protest at lost dignity as the white benevolence enclosed you, a token objection to the humiliation of infancy, to the restriction of movement a fresh nappy always involved. Then with the plastic pants came the feeling of safety and security, the knowledge that you no longer fear the treachery of your bladder, that you were fully expected to wet your nappy, that there would be no comment if you did, that the nappy's lot was to get wet, and it would surely happen. The deep feeling of relaxation as you were tucked into bed, soon followed by deep and blissful sleep. I remembered so well those times I would wake briefly in the small hours with the ragged spasms of a full bladder, and how I would just release it, feeling the warmth trickling down between my legs to make a soggy puddle under my bottom, and the pleasure it gave me as I sunk back into slumber. Waking in the morning, recognising the sogginess for what it was, and just letting go some more; waste not want not. I realised that Vickie hated and fretted at the process, understandably enough, but how could I ever explain how much I missed it, and how much I envied her? To know that when this nappy was wet there would be another one, and another one, and so on for ever. Oh Vickie, you just don't know how lucky you really are!

However, that left me with the last little problem. I had sworn to Vickie that I would fight her corner to the last, but now something in me realised that she might actually be happier going up the aisle in a nice safe nappy as opposed to having a very public accident, spoiling her whole day and Juliet's too. I had finally made my journey to the other side of the nappy pin.

[fyunch]

Aaaaah :-)

[fyunch]

I have to go back and reread some earlier episodes, but doesn't Amelia ultimately express solidarity with Vickie by wearing a diaper at the wedding?

[fyunch]

Ah, here it is ... the section is titled "Review" and Freswith posted it on 5 June 2009.

[freswith]

Thank you, but you should read it more carefully!

[WBDaddy]

IIRC, she threatened that solidarity, but didn't follow through with it.

[fyunch]

The next installment explains it:

'While the photographer was marshalling the other guests I leaned over my petticoats, and whispered desperately to Amelia. "What happens if they get wet?"

Amelia grinned. "The only way they're going to get wet is if a pipe bursts in the nursery. You don't really think we're kitted up do you? We're just winding Gran and Emma up. We managed to get rid of them while Emma wasn't looking."

So Vickie and Amelia were just pretending to get a rise out of Emma and their grandmother.

[freswith]

Ah! Thanks. Now I know what to write...I think.

[freswith]

Some time ago I made a number of sketches to illustrate "Phone Conversation", and in order to torment you further I have posted them on my gallery.

If you click on the image-thingy to the left, then "Gallery" and "Phone Conversation" you can have a look, and if you dare to, you can leave comments. If I get some nice comments I might even draw some more pictures.

I warn you I am no artist!

(Nor am I much of a seamstress)

[freswith]

Half-term.

I was doing well. I was three days into a sulk and trying for the record; only one more day to do. I'd paid great attention to doing it well. Silent, replying only in grunts if I had to, off my food, disappearing into my room for hours at a time, listening to dreary classical music, shuffling my feet when I walked, hiding behind my hair, never looking anyone in the eye, I reckoned I had got it down to a fine art.

The problem was Mum and Dad. They simply didn't understand me, and obviously cared nothing for my wants and needs. I had been perfectly reasonable; it was simple enough thing. Matt, having taken his exams, was going for a week's holiday over half-term to Newquay in Cornwall in order, so he said, to learn how to surf, and he had asked if I wanted to go with him. I mentioned it to Mum, and I was sure she would say Yes, when she turned it down flat. I was too young, she said, and Newquay at half-term was notorious for under-age drinking, drugs and riotous behaviour. I merely pointed out that I didn't do drink - we both knew the disastrous effect it had on my bladder control - and I was most anxious not to see if drugs would produce the same result. Mum was still adamant. I was too young for riotous behaviour. I protested, and appealed to Dad in my most appealing manner, but he had heard the same stories as Mum, and turned me down even flatter. It was so unfair; here was I; fourteen - well, apart from six months - and I was perfectly capable of looking after myself, bit they wouldn't let me off the toddler reins that kept me stuck at home while Matt was living it up with all those big busty blondes in their tiny bikinis. As I told Mum, in that kind of place he would need me to look after him, but she still refused to let me go. I was so angry I actually kicked my teddy bear. Matt would come back with all kinds of stories about parties and pranks and exciting chases when the police found out about them, and I only had Patch to ride, and Asbo to walk and a really boring week in prospect.

It was only after Mum had called three times in increasing frustration that I put in an appearance. I grunted a reply, stumbled miserably down the stairs, and waited silently for her to say her piece, which I would ignore utterly. Aunt Emma had been on the phone, and so had Juliet. They were inviting me to go down to Bristol for Juliet's last week at university, and to do the post-exam parties there with Juliet to accompany me. I would stay with Tom and Emma, as Juliet's flat was still full, and that might involve a bit of babysitting, but what the Heck - there'd be students and parties and all kinds of things going on. This was quite something; I had never been allowed to go on holiday without my parents before, and the prospect of this gateway into adulthood was much more than I had hoped for.

I was three-parts through packing my holdall before I remembered I was supposed to be sulking. Oh Well, never mind - I'd have another go at the record next year.

The trip down to Bristol was another first for me; the first time I had been allowed to make so long a journey by myself. Juliet met me at the station, and walked me to Tom & Emma's house. We stayed there for supper, and then, at what would normally have been my bedtime Juliet said there was a party on down the road and we were invited. That being exactly what I had come for, I readily agreed to go with her, and as soon as I had changed into something of which my mother would not have approved, off we went. It wasn't quite the drunken orgy I'd been hoping for, but with time, it got better; there were certainly a good number of interesting young men around, and as Juliet's sister I was easily accepted. I thanked my stars that I was relatively tall for my age, as it helped me fit in with the grown-up company, and if I worked at it hard, I could keep up with the conversation and banter. I was being very careful about what I drank, and was quite thankful when one of the boys suggested I try the "fruit cup", which I found to be sweet, fragrant, and delightful, and he assured me it contained little or no alcohol, so I had a second, and ultimately a third glass. As the evening wore on, I realised that the men were becoming much more attractive and our conversation was much wittier. Then they suggested I try something called "Southern Comfort" from a bottle they had kept hidden behind the sofa, as it was a great favourite with girls who had a sweet tooth. I tried it and liked it, and had another one...I think... or it might have been two,... or more and the evening became brighter still as they kept refilling my glass. Then suddenly Juliet was standing in front of me and not looking very happy. I heard her hiss something about me being only thirteen to one of the boys, who suddenly looked a bit worried. I was a bit annoyed at this as I had just told him I was eighteen, and I think I'd managed to convince him of it, which was quite an achievement for me. Anyway, Juliet took my arm, and despite my protests, we found ourselves in the street outside, where my legs didn't seem to belong to me anymore.

Never mind, Juliet took one on my arms around her shoulder and we made our way homewards, wherever the Hell that was, and it seemed such a long way back, but I di remember pointing out to Juliet how funny the street-lamps were, and I just couldn't stop giggling about them. When we finally reached Emma's front door, she was there to greet us, standing there with her folded arms and a rather quizzical expression on her face, although I couldn't quite think why. She asked me what I had been drinking, and I mentioned the lovely fruit cup that was so non-alcho-whatever, and how I had loved the Southern Comfort.afterwards.

I don't remember much about going to bed, but just after I had got undressed - how, I'm not quite sure - Emma reappeared with something in her hands. It was a nappy, a pot of ointment and a pair of plastic pants. Suddenly I was stone-cold sober.

"Now my dear, we know what happens when you get drunk, don't we? And we certainly don't want a wet bed, do we?" she said. I tried to reply, but my throat had tightened somehow and the words wouldn't come out, so I just nodded. She went on: "And we know what to do to prevent that, don't we? So are you going to be a good girl and wear a nappy, or do we have to wake up in a wet bed and have all kinds of a row, and probably end up sending you home to your parents in disgrace?"

I took it in slowly. My voice wanted to say "No Way!" but something else was happening inside me. My eyes were fixed on the folded towelling, and on the puckered elastic of the leg-holes in the baby pants, and something was rising inside me right from the very darkest pit of my soul. I wanted them, I had lain awake nights wondering how to get them, and here they were, and I hadn't even had to ask for them, I didn't even need to hide them, it was all decided for me, and I felt my head nod in agreement where my mind told me I should have objected violently.

Emma threw the nappy open on the bed and began to fold it. The fresh scent of the soap powder tickled my memories The same old ritual, but this time it gave me a fizz exactly where it should not have done.

"Now, dear, are we going to be sensible about this, or do you want to be nappied like a little baby, all wriggling and kicking?"

I nodded again. I was on autopilot now, not consciously directing my actions, transfixed by the towelling kite which was now ready for my loins. I didn't actually move until Emma took me by the shoulders and steered me, hobbling with tiny steps until my back was to the nappy, then she peeled down the panties, which I had forgotten I was wearing, all down my legs, pushed me gently and guided me down into the centre of the nappy. I laid back out of sheer habit, and the room swam about me. Emma pulled my panties completely off over my feet, I spread my legs and lifted my hands in the way I had always been told to do. Emma tried the sides of the nappy to check that it was central, and then opened the ointment pot. I stared at the ceiling as I was anointed, my mind was miles and miles away, and years and years away, but every nerve ending in my skin was on full alert and not even the slightest movement of Emma's fingers was missed. I looked down in time to see the front of the nappy being drawn up between my legs, enclosing me, securing me, still warm from the linen cupboard, and wrapping me in its softness. I writhed briefly, not in resistance but in ecstasy as Emma put the first pin in and was chided for it, and warned not to get pricked by the sharp point. I lay very still as Emma pulled the waist tight and slipped the second pin in, feeling the coolness of her fingers as they slipped briefly inside the nappy to feel for the point and guide it back through the towelling rather than into my skin. I reached down to feel the looped fabric and the smoothness of the pin on what was now not just any nappy, but my nappy, my own, very personal nappy, wrapped tightly around my hips and spreading my legs with its bulk.

Emma's hands continued their work, folding in the excess on each leg to make a neater package that would not leak through the legs of the pants. This increased the pillow between my legs still further and, when she shook out the plastic pants and scrunched them up, I had difficulty in getting my legs together enough for her to slip them over my pointed feet and up to my thighs, where the leg elastics started to grip me. I reached out my hands, and Emma helped pull me to my feet before she pulled the waistband of my baby pants up over my nappy and ran her fingers around all the elastics to make sure every last bit of the nappy was safely tucked inside. A whiff of the fresh PVC reached my nose; the pants were obviously brand new. I just stood there savouring the completeness of it; round and padded and safe and secure - I was nappied again, fully and properly night-nappied, and whatever I did inside would stay there, and whatever was outside couldn't get in. I reached down to feel the soft cool plastic, but was called to raise my arms as Emma drew my pyjama top over my head. I waited briefly for the pyjama bottoms, but they didn't arrive; apparently, like a baby, I was to be left with just my baby pants on the lower half in case I needed changing.

"All Done!" Emma murmured, "Now into bed, and don't worry; you nappy will go into the wash tomorrow whether it is wet or dry. Probably better you do not use the lavatory in the night in your present state; even if you did it successfully, I don't think you would get the nappy back on right.. Remind me, what was it you were drinking?"

My voice came back thickly; "Southern Comfort" and I turned towards the bed, and started to crawl towards the pillow.

Emma patted me on my thickly-padded bottom. "Well, you've got some southern comfort there. Sleep well!" and I rolled myself in between the sheets, lying with one leg akimbo to accommodate the bulk of towelling between my legs as Emma tucked me in, wished me goodnight, or what was left of it, and switched out the light. I lay there, starting to spiral down away from the world, as my hands slowly explored the surface of my plastic pants and traced the elastics in their course around my thighs, before holding me tightly between my legs to sense the great bulk of my nappy, ready to do its duty.

I was back at the party again, and my glass was full and the conversation was battering away, and I was busy talking, but there was somewhere I had to go. I left the room and walked down a long corridor, looking for it, but every door led back to the party and there was no sign of it until I reached the last door and there it was, white and cool and running with water, but it was too late as the treacherous trickle had overcome all resistance and was tingling out of me. There was something I had to do, something I hadn't done, I was under water and had to get back to the surface so I swam upwards for ever and ever until I broke clear and reached for the side of the lifeboat, and woke up. There I was, back in bed, warm and comfortable, and my limbs were like lead and not obeying me, but the warm trickle between my legs told its own story. I had a nappy on! Thank God I had a nappy on! I breathed again, relaxed, and well, since I had started, I might as well continue. I let the trickle continue, amazed at how long it took, how much there was, how warm it felt as it pooled under my bottom, and how blessed the relief of my bladder. I shifted my position in the bed, and realised that the bulk between my legs was no longer so obstructive, rolled onto my side and gave myself back into the arms of Morpheus.

[weeboy]

Freswith

Thank you for another great chapter

Im looking forward to reading all what else happened during Half-term.

[fyunch]

Delightful.