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[freswith]

Home Alone.

The rest of the holiday passed in a glorious blur.  I spent most of my time with Matt on the beach, or in the campsite hanging out with the other surfers.  Juliet would take me down early in the morning, and if the weather was nice - which it mostly was - would spend some time on the beach with us before going about her other duties.  Usually Peter would appear on the campsite in the evening to take me home - I was a bit reluctant to go, but Peter does have a certain air of authority about him, and the threat of being picked up and carried away over his shoulder was enough.  To be fair to him, he only had to actually do it once, to the hilarity of the campers. 

Matt's leg healed quite rapidly, and my ministrations were no longer needed, however I carefully kept the pin as a souvenir.  He started to teach me how to surf, but well down the beach where it was safer.  I didn't have a surf suit like Matt, and being of a skinny build I soon got very cold in the chilly Cornish water, but I did manage to ride a couple of waves and developed a bit of a taste for it.  I spent most of the time wandering along the surf line in my little pink bikini, watching in admiration as Matt kept falling off his board, and savouring the admiring glances I was getting from the other boys.  I particularly enjoyed the way people seemed to view us as being an item, and it laid to rest my fears of some older girl taking my place.  I was in no doubt of my ability to compete with them in terms of looks - I was developing nicely, and the amount of sport I had been doing had given my body a sleek tone to which a fortnight on the beach had added a delicious tan.  Matt, on the other hand, was very grateful for the meals that Peter and Juliet provided him - Oh Boy, how he could eat!

All too soon it was back to school and the daily drudge of going in by train every day.  In November I passed one more milestone - I turned fifteen, and felt very pleased with myself.  Not that it brought me any immediate advantages, but when Mum and Dad went up to their London thing - it was the big annual dinner of his trade association - for once I wasn't subjected to a sitter, or dumped on Gran; I was left home alone for the whole weekend as Mum and Dad would be staying with Percy and Clare for both Friday and Saturday nights.  That suited me just fine; all I had to do was to organise a little bit of burglary at Pembroke and I could enjoy myself doing my own thing.  The raid was easily accomplished by biking over to Pembroke the weekend before to visit Matt, then having tea with Gran, and while she was washing up and Granpa was taking a nap, I excused myself to answer a call of nature.  I ran lightly up into the attic, slipped a handful of nappies into my knapsack and returned downstairs again before anybody missed me.

The rest of the week passed quite pleasantly, and I proudly told Matt that I would be enjoying a weekend home alone, which seemed to impress him.  He told me he had a big Rugby match on the Saturday against another school quite a long way off, and would probably be spending the weekend there.  I feigned dismay, saying that I would miss him so much, while secretly ticking one more box: there would be no interruption to my plans from that source.  I mentioned Matt's plans to Mum, as well.  No problem there; it would put her mind at rest a bit.  Unfortunately news came that Gran was laid low by a bug, and would not be able to provide any hospitality for me over the weekend, so I expressed my sympathy and concealed my relief - there would be no supervision from those all-seeing eyes either.  I was going to get what I wanted - a place of my own - even if it was only for two days.

On the Friday evening I bid my parents goodbye like a dutiful daughter and watched them go down the drive and out of sight.  Then I closed the door carefully and headed for my bedroom.  I opened the cupboard door, pushed back the heap of sweaters that concealed my secret stash of nappies, and very slowly ran my hands over the smooth shiny plastic, feeling the soft padding underneath, savouring the feel of them until I drew one out and slowly unfolded it listening carefully to that wonderful rustle, held it close under my nose to get the evocative scent of it, then I re-folded it and laid it reverentially on the pillow of my bed with my pyjamas.  I even got Teddy down from the top shelf of the cupboard and put him on my bed.  Just like the old days!

I decided to re-enact the old ritual line by line.  I had my supper, watched a little television, then went up for my bath like a good little girl.  I undressed slowly, peeking at the folded nappy lying there waiting for me, and changed into my bathrobe.  I took quite a long bath, missing only the little plastic duck I used to have.  Then, having lingered as long as I could, just like the old days, I lifted myself from the cooling water and towelled myself down, returning to the bedroom in only my bathrobe to see the nappy laid out for me like an instrument of punishment.  For a long moment I wished there was someone there to do it for me, to add that element of compulsion, that tiny bit of humiliation, but I could only try to use my imagination.  Very slowly I unfolded the nappy and spread it, turned my back, and sat down upon it.  So many times I had been pushed down on to it, and by so many people, but this time it was only me.  I laid myself back, felt for the sides, checked it was central, and then pulled the front up between my legs.  I paused for a moment, remembering how I had sometimes tried to push it away at this stage, always without success, but just to make my point, before the soft rustle of the plastic came smoothly between my legs and wrapped me.  It was a little bit small on me, my hips seemed to have grown wider than I realised, but it still fitted.  I taped the sides one by one and ran my hands around the legs, appreciating the bulk that resisted my attempt to close them.  I lay there for long minutes, one leg akimbo, moving my hands over the surface, between my legs and pressing the nappy against me.  I began to feel a little cold, so I put my pyjama top on, but I stopped short of fitting the pants; I didn't want anything over the nappy, so I pretended it was still summer when I used to be put to bed in just my pyjama top and nappy, "In case you need changing in the night, Dear".

I slid between the sheets and turned out the light, and my hands returned to their patrol between my thighs..  This was just how it used to be.  I was warm and safe, securely nappied against the almost inevitable bedwetting, and then, just for a moment it occurred to me that I had forgotten the other ritual; I hadn't gone to the lavatory for the thorough emptying of my bladder that had been so necessary for so many years.  I almost laughed at myself; just for once it didn't matter.  I was, in the other way, quite prepared.  I even remembered that there was a plastic sheet under me; Mum had never quite trusted me enough to dispense with that precaution, even years after she had given up on nappying me every night.  I tickled the tingle more and more until I finally came in my nappy, then I lay back and let sleep take me away.

I came slowly back to consciousness with that usual feeling.  This time I just lay there quietly, with my arms wrapped around Teddy, but nothing came.  I rolled on to my back and spread my legs, but still nothing came.  I got bored, and shuffled up in my bed until I could rest my head on the headboard, and began to think of what I would do tomorrow.  I thought of Patch, and Asbo, and then of Matt.  Patch needed exercising.  He wasn't in the first flush of youth, but he was well fed and even in this weather he needed riding so...  then it came.  A little at first, but then more and more, flowing down hot between my legs, kissing my buttocks and then vanishing.  I lay quite still.  I hadn't felt it do that for years ands years.  I mean, when I was little, I quite often did it, it was so much easier than going for that long, cold walk, but the relief was the same.  I waited a while, then I snuggled back down into the bed, and sleep overcame me again.

I slept a little late the following morning; there was no school to get up for , and no mother to chase me.  I had slept very deeply and very well, although I had had all manner of strange dreams about being stuck in a wet nappy in all manner of strange situations, and not being able to get rid of it without being discovered.  I rolled onto my back and stretched myself, and the tell-tale ring of wetness around the top of my thighs reminded me of the reality.  I had wet myself fairly thoroughly last night and my nappy was well saturated.  I seemed to be much wetter than I thought I had been and wondered if I had added any more in my sleep.  I dragged myself out of bed and stood, suddenly feeling the heavy nappy start to sag.  Holding it by the waist I waddled over to the window, parted the curtains slightly, and looked out.  It was grey and horrible, and I groaned; riding Patch in this weather wasn't going to be much fun, but it would have to be done; he was in sore need of the exercise.  I waddled back to the bathroom, and headed for the shower.  As I turned the water on I suddenly felt the need to pee again, but waste not, want not, I decided to do it in my nappy.  It felt silly, but for some strange reason I didn't want to take it off.  Eventually I got tired of holding it up and let it slither down my legs to the floor, then stepped smartly into the shower before the cold got to me.

After my shower, I packed the nappy up into a plastic supermarket bag, and took it down to the kitchen, whence it eventually found its way into the wheelie bin outside the back door.  I made a late breakfast/early lunch, and then went to get dressed.  Riding patch meant riding clothes, and I was just sorted out my breeches when my eyes lighted upon the remaining nappies on the upper shelf, partially concealed under my jumpers.  An idea occurred to me.  I had bought back four nappies, which was all my bag would carry without arousing suspicion, and that was more that I would need for the two nights.  As I pulled my chunky sweater out, that familiar rustle stopped me.  I paused.  Temptation.  I ran my hands along the smooth plastic, and succumbed; I put one on, then covered it with the riding breeches.  There were still a couple of bulges, and the well-padded seat was a dead giveaway, but the heavy cloth of the breeches did a very good job of concealment, and after I added a big heavy sweater nothing significant could be seen.  With my long Barbour coat on top as well I would be safe from discovery.  It was a risk, but risks were fun to me, so I dared myself to take it.

It felt a bit strange riding a horse while so well padded, but it wasn't uncomfortable although it did take away some of the feel of the saddle and the horse.  At least I would be spared the embarrassment and inconvenience of having to dismount in order to obey a call of nature, or to use the horrible cold draughty toilet in the stable block.  I rode Patch for much longer than I had intended, and the short winter afternoon was decaying into dusk as I led the grateful Patch back into his stable.  I needed the loo.  No Problem.  I went, there and then.  I stood still for a few moments, as I wasn't sure that it wouldn't leak, but there was no telltale trickle, so I turned back to unsaddle Patch.  I had just started to undo the girth when a figure appeared at the stable door.

"What are you doing here, Matt?  I thought you were off somewhere playing rugby."

"Match cancelled.  They've got a bug down there, Norovirus I suspect."  he replied.  I didn't want to argue with a doctor's son, so I accepted without question.  He leant over the stable half-door, and gave me a hug and a kiss.  "I tried to call you, but I didn't get any answer, so I came over on the off-chance.  I thought I would find you here.  Do you need a hand?"

That was a kind offer.  I removed Patch's saddle and passed it to him over the door.  "Thanks.  You know where it goes."  He smiled, and carried it off to the tack room.  I completed the removal of Patch's tack and went to get his evening feed.  When I got back, Matt had started to groom Patch as I had taught him how to do.  It was nice having a young man to do the heavy work for me, and Patch knew him well, so there was no problem..  Matt even helped me clean the tack afterwards, and we talked quietly about little things.  I kept my coat on, not just because it was cold but I was afraid that my wet nappy would be starting to bulge, and I certainly had no intention of Matt being able to see that.

Matt escorted me home, and naturally I invited him in.  I was cold and hungry now, and really needed something to eat.  Once inside I had a bit of a problem, since I would have to get rid of my boots and my big coat.  I decided to make use of Matt's willing slavery; I got him to pull my riding boots off, then teased him into making the tea while I "slipped into something more comfortable" and took a quick shower - I was very conscious of smelling more of old horse than of sweet young girl.  I made a dash for the bathroom, locked the door, divested myself of all my clothes, and stuffed the wet nappy into the pedal-bin.  After a quick shower I emerged in just my bathrobe to see Matt entering my bedroom door carrying a tea-tray.

Oh Dear!  That wasn't planned.  I was hoping he would wait downstairs.  Had he been a gentleman, of course he would have done, but it seemed that being a gentleman was exactly what he didn't have on his mind at that moment.  I took the tea-tray from him, noting in passing that he had done a very good job of filling it with biscuits and cakes, and our hands touched.  And stayed in contact for several seconds.  Some very unladylike thoughts began to form in my own head.  I put the tray down on the table, and Matt, relieved of the tinkling responsibility, began to look around him.  To my horror I saw the cupboard door was still open, and there, staring me in the eyes and impossible to miss, were two folded disposable nappies.  Any moment now and he would see them.  Any moment then and there would be a questions; very awkward questions.  I had to distract him.  I moved to his other side, came close and looked up at him expectantly.  That did the trick.  He bent down a little and kissed me.  Then I realised my mistake; I was between him and my bed, with my back to it, and nowhere to retreat.  He had seen my manoeuvre, and naturally taken the wrong idea from it.  I raised my hands and put them against his chest so I could keep him back, but in so doing I had inched backwards towards my bed.  He didn't try to push me.  He didn't even try to kiss me.  He just reached up with one hand, touched me so very lightly on my temple, then stroked me behind my ear, so softly, so gently, and I felt the tingle starting in my loins and the blood rushing to my skin beneath his fingers.  Very slowly his fingers moved downwards on the side of my neck and the tingling grew and spread up my chest and around my shoulders.  I released the pressure that my hands were exerting on his chest, and moved them up to his shoulders, and then around his neck.  As his hands reached my waist I pulled him down onto my lips and kissed him, open mouthed, long and hard, and our tongues touched.  I kept on pulling and we subsided slowly onto my bed, with my whole body aflame, and I could feel every fibre in my bathrobe individually as it pressed harshly against my skin.  Matt's hands seemed to be everywhere at once, and nowhere I could catch them if I tried.  I didn't try; my hands were everywhere on him as well;  I only remembered poor Teddy being elbowed aside in a moment of terrible rejection.

God knows where Matt's clothes went - I just hope we didn't tear them in our frantic haste - but all too soon we reached the point of no return.  For a brief moment I was back on a skiing holiday, at the top of a very steep mogul slope, steeper and rougher than I had ever tried before, and knowing that once I pushed off there would be no going back and no stopping until I reached the bottom, however I reached it..  I had thought briefly of what Francis Drake would have, done and then threw myself down the slope, taking every mogul as it came, my weight well forward, my legs desperately absorbing mogul after mogul as I cut my way down the slope, until finally arriving at the bottom, still in one piece, but a much older and wiser person and a much better skier.  Now, uttering a prayer to Sir Francis - certainly not Saint Francis, I threw myself down this slope as well.  I spread my legs and pulled Matt down on top of me, and lived second by second.  The actual moment completely took my breath away, expelled with a great yelp, followed by a wild torrent of sensations which I didn't manage to separate or analyse, but I remember gasping for breath and clutching at Matt as if my very life depended on him.  I saw his face inches away from mine, and felt his chest surging as he too fought for breath - can it really be so hard to do it? - as the fire ran through my body like molten metal.

A long age passed, and the abyss in which I floated and span gently gave way to bed and sheets and a heavy, sweaty husk of a man on top of me.  Eventually he rolled off, a spent and empty Matt, into the place where Teddy had lain only minutes - or was it ages? - before.  After a few moments he uttered those words, which could only be uttered by an Englishman who was deeply in love: "Tea's getting cold."

[Sarah Penguin]

Thanks for the update, it was fun, even if tea isn't my thing

[weeboy]

*Bump*

Hey Freswith, any updates coming soon?

Missing this story!!!

[freswith]

Coming soon!

[jbz2079]

Coming soon!

[freswith]

The Battle of Pembroke

I had a desperate time washing the sheets after Matt left.  Thank heavens we had a good washing machine and tumble drier - left over from the days when I wore cloth nappies - and I was able to get the sheets washed, dried, and back on my bed before Mum & Dad came home on the Sunday.  I had a bit of a job holding Matt off, as he wanted to make love again and although I wanted him to, I was very sore and I really couldn't face it.  He was all a bit hurt, and I had to explain, then he was worried that he had hurt me.  It was our first row, but I found that the tenderness involved in making up afterwards was well worth the effort.

Our relationship deepened after that; it wasn't so much a matter of the surface stuff - indeed we played around and smooched rather less if anything - but we felt easier and more relaxed with each other.  Eventually he admitted that it had been his first time too, and I believed him.  So much for all my imaginings of those older girls who were busy seducing him - I needn't have worried after all.

I went to tea with Gran on the Wednesday afterwards.  I was still full of myself and was itching to tell someone about it, but I knew that someone certainly wasn't Gran; she'd have hit the roof if she'd found out.  All went very well until she began asking about Matt, how he was, and what was he doing.  I had to feign a certain indifference, as I didn't want to give anything away.  She even asked if he had come round while I was home alone, and I answered that he'd had to go away that weekend for an important rugby match.  She replied how unfortunate that must have been and mentioned that it would have been so nice if he could have come round to keep me company, but I replied that rugby football seemed to be very important to Matt and he had enjoyed the match.  Gran listened, and nodded sympathetically, and then she asked:

"Did he score?"

There was a sudden silence.  The gentle tinkle of her teaspoon in her teacup had stopped and even the wind and rain outside seemed to be holding its breath; I noticed she had stopped nodding and was watching me intently.  For a moment I wanted the floor to open and swallow me, but then I managed to relax my throat enough to splutter a reply.  "I forgot to ask; he didn't tell me if he did,"  and I even managed a little smile.  Gran didn't reply, but after a few moments she just smiled back sweetly.

"Boys...I'm sorry...Men will be men, won't they.  All they seem to care about is Rugby." and I smiled and nodded.  We changed the subject and talked about Christmas.

As I was leaving, Gran walked me to the door.  "I'm so glad to hear that you managed you weekend home alone so well," she said, and the looking me straight in the face, "If anything should go wrong at any time, you know you can always come to me." And I smiled and thanked her.  I have no idea how much she knew or guessed, but I knew she was very thick with Mrs Johnson, Matt's mother, and I'm sure every move Matt and I had made had been watched carefully.  One consolation, which I had hardly noticed at first, was that my strange attraction to nappies and all that went with them seemed to have vanished, and I felt quietly pleased with myself.

By the time Christmas came I was getting very worried about a more pressing matter; I was a little bit overdue and fearing the worst.  I tried to comfort myself that it couldn't happen the first time, and that we had only done it once, but I was still fretting, wondering what I was going to say to whom and when.  Thankfully, on Christmas Eve of all times, my period started, and I was never more relieved to have one in my life.  Normally it was about the last Christmas present I would ever want, but I had no difficulty in letting my relief cover my discomfort.  When Gran asked after my health I even had the presence of mind to tell her that I was feeling just a little bit peaky - "Time of the month, you know."  -  and I was delighted to see her suppress a smile; I was finally learning the codes that adults use.

Christmas day was hectic.  I was still officially the "Leading Child" and , although I was beginning to resent the title, I was never more needed.  Although Vickie was ten years old now, and fairly well clear of Pembroke Rules - as was her little brother William, poor Viola was nowhere near being toilet-trained and needed regular changes, as did little Holly whose first Christmas this was.  Fortunately Gran, having three daughters to help in the galley, was able to discharge Juliet to look after Holly which meant I only had three small children to look after for an hour or two.  William and Holly had been put in the nursery with Viola, and that made it the obvious place to base myself.  Holly had started to crawl, which meant she had to be watched, but Juliet was there to do that.  The four-year-old William was an outright pest, but Vickie was there to look after him, and had become quite the mother, taking her responsibilities very seriously;  William wasn't allowed to get away with anything.  That left me with Viola who, at three, was utterly sweet and a delight to play with.  As I mentioned, she was still in nappies full-time, but Clare hadn't given up hope.  She had been very annoyed to discover the family secret, but it was held that it only affected to females of the family, and since was Percy's child it was hoped the family curse would not have been transmitted to her.  However, she was still very much subject to Pembroke Rules and that meant that she was fully nappied - Gran took the view that it was better to do that than to spend the whole of Christmas Day nagging the child to remember to use the toilet. 

The old nursery carpet had been replaced by a splendid new unstained one to honour Viola's arrival, and it certainly wasn't worth taking any risks on this day of all days.  On checking Viola's nappy just before lunch I found that she was slightly wet, and thought it better to change her now and keep her comfortable than to risk a scene, and possibly a leak, later on, so I persuaded her to visit the changing table.  She made no objection when I taped a fresh one on her, but started to protest when a curious William came to watch.  I shooed him away, but he only took a couple of steps backwards and continued to observe.

"Go away.  This is private!" I snapped at him, but he wouldn't go.

"I don't wear nappies now!" he said, "They're just for little babies.  I'm a big boy now!"

"It wasn't so long ago that you had to wear them, you know."

"But I don't wear them now.  Viola does.  Because she wets them.  And I think she even poos in them."

"No she doesn't poo in them.  She's a good girl, and it's just that she needs them now and again."

"She wet her nappy just now.  I saw it.  It was all wet."

"Well, that's none of your business.  You used to wet them, and you poo'd  in them too."

"But I don't now."

"You still might."

"No, I won't.  I don't do that.  I'm not a baby anymore.  Viola is.  Just a little baby who wets in her nappies."

"Well she can't help it so don't tease her about it, or I'll put one on you too.  That'll teach you!"

William's face was a picture of horror, but there was something else in there, too; there was fascination, and even more, there was a dare.  He took another half-step backwards, and turned to check his escape route was clear, but on doing so came face to face with Vickie, who was wearing an evil grin.

"Yes, let's put a nappy onto William!" she said "To teach him not to be rude to us girls."

William looked about him desperately.  There was no sanctuary available, and the only other escape route would be past Juliet who was sitting in the nursing chair dandling Holly on her knee.  Juliet was laughing at him and Holly burbled with delight.  There would be no support there either, and he was outnumbered four - five if you counted Holly - to one.  I saw his expression turn from fear to horror, and I realised that the joke had been taken too far.  It was so wrong to reduce a small boy to tears, and certainly not on Christmas morning, so it was up to me to put a stop to it.

"Don't be silly, he doesn't need one." William's relief was almost palpable.  "But remember, William, never make fun of the girls and their problems.  They have too many ways of getting their own back."  He even smiled slightly, and nodded.  Vickie was still glowering; William had committed a major sin by our family's code, and I could see she was determined he would not forget it. 

Just then the big gong in the hall was sounded, and Juliet started to carry Holly off to the dining room for lunch.  Vickie lingered for a moment with me, and said "You shouldn't have let him off like that.  He's not all that safe you know, and he could well have an accident."

"I know, but it should never be a punishment to have to wear one.  You could see how upset William was getting.  There are easier ways to do it without having a row, you know."

"Such as what?"

I grinned at her.  "Well, you could try doing what I did at Juliet's wedding, and offer to wear one yourself."

Vickie reddened - with her fair skin she blushed very easily - and replied, "I'd never do that.  I don't need them anymore."

"I didn't need one at the wedding, but I offered to wear one if you did." 

Vickie reddened a little more.  I caught sight of William out of the corner of my eye, moving in closer to see how Vickie would handle the challenge.  Vickie turned to him and said: "If you'll be good and wear one, I will too, so you won't be made to look stupid.  How about that?"  William shook his head vigorously and, with his escape path now clear, made rapid use of it.  "There you are.  I said it wouldn't work!" she said primly and followed him out of the door.

Christmas lunch was normally a long-drawn-out affair, and this one was longer than most.  It was the custom, derived from the Granpa's navy days, that one could not leave the table until the Queen's health had been toasted - while sitting down, of course.  This was very hard on the children who were impatient to get on with opening presents, and had eaten more than their fill already.  There were also other demands, of course, and in our family they also had to be taken seriously.  Unfortunately this time Granpa and Peter had got onto Naval history, and Granpa was retelling - for the umpteenth time - the story of the sinking of a battleship in the arctic night somewhere north of Norway, using the tableware to explain the manoeuvring of the various ships.  Nature began to call me, and I suspected it must be just as hard for the others.  I tried to catch Granma's eye, but I didn't manage to do so at first.  I did a quick survey of my charges.  Holly was safely in her mother's arms, and Viola looked comfortable, as well she might, being well padded out and thus self-contained in the matter, but Vickie was shifting uncomfortably and I was near to bursting.  I had to do something.  Just as the salt and pepper were going in for the final torpedo attack on the gravy boat I finally caught Gran's eye, and she interrupted Granpa just as the poor gravyboat was heading for Davy Jones Locker, and asked if the children might be excused.  Granpa nodded agreement, and we made as rapid an escape as dignity allowed, leaving the men to fight their war in peace.  I made a bolt for the downstairs loo, but I was beaten to it by Vickie.  She seemed to take an unconscionably long time about it too, and left me hopping from foot to foot outside the door, and the thought came into my mind that it would have been so much simpler if only I had a nappy on too and could ignore these desperate imperatives.  Once in, the thought took over everything else, and I had just vowed to myself that as soon as I could I would put one on just for the security it offered.  No sooner had I done so that Vickie finally came out.  I passed her almost in the doorway, and I hope she wasn't hurt by the blast from my shock-wave.

Five long minutes later I was myself again, and climbing the stairs with Vickie.

"I wish Granpa wouldn't go on like that.  It's like the way men go on while talking football, I mean who cares about fighting ships, it's so stupid.  I was so busting for a pee, I thought I would have an accident if he went on any longer."  she said; I agreed with her.  "In fact I even thought it would have been nice to have a nappy on like Viola, just in case I couldn't hold it."

"That's funny, I had exactly the same thought.  You should have taken me up on that offer before lunch."

Vickie laughed.  "That's wasn't such a bad idea!" and we reached the top of the stairs where William and Viola were waiting by the toddler gate, having been unable to open it.  A very unhappy William, too, as his wet trousers testified.

"I couldn't open the stupid gate!" he wailed, "I tried and tried but I couldn't do it!"  The tears were starting to fill the corner of his eyes, and speedy palliative action was the order of the day.  I opened the gate - it was arranged so it took the span of an adult's hand to do it - and let the children waddle ahead of me as fast as they could in the circumstances.  Once in the nursery I concentrated on William, as his was the greater need.  I took his shoes off,  peeled his trousers and pants down, and shooed him gently into the bathroom to complete his work, then grabbed a handful of wipes from the changing table in order to clean him up.  He made no objection to my helping; he was plainly glad of any assistance at that point, and there were no problems until I ushered him back into the nursery to find Vickie standing by the changing table with one of Viola's pink-printed nappies in hand and an obvious plan of action in her mind.  I felt William stiffen as he saw her, and could feel his vulnerability; he was naked from the waist down, Vickie had the drop on him, and the weight of reason and precedent in the family would make conviction and sentence a mere formality.

"Come on, it's the rules!" said Vicki, getting her shot in before I had even loaded.  "Pembroke Rules.  If he's wetted himself, he'll have to wear a nappy.  To save the carpets.  To save having a scene." She seemed oblivious to the scene she was already causing.  However, she had a point and I had to consider it.  I looked down at the small boy beneath me and noticed he had started to tremble.  I really couldn't do that to him, it wasn't my job, and certainly as Leading Child such decisions were above my pay grade.  I turned towards Juliet, who was busy changing Holly, and saw her frown in disapproval, although I couldn't be sure if it was disapproval of William's wetting or of the suggestion that he should be nappied for it.  William started a wail of protest.

"Surely it's a bit like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted." I ventured.

"Mum always nappied me after I had an accident," replied Vickie, "I was never let off.  I was told if it happened once it would probably happen again."  Precedent again, but it wasn't quite like that; wearing nappies was a preventative, but never a punishment.  I remembered Vickie's remark in the stairs about nearly having lost it during Granpa's long story.  That gave me an idea.

"Well Vickie, since you said you nearly had an accident, perhaps you would like to wear one too?"

That shut Vickie up for a moment, and gave William some hope.  For a moment it shut me up too.  I remembered admitting to Vickie that I had felt the same way, and what was sauce for the goose was certainly sauce for the gander., and I was hoping that Vickie was too incensed about William to remember it.  No such luck.  I learnt once again never to underestimate Vickie, neither her reasoning abilities nor her memory.  "That was just talking.  I didn't mean it." I raised my eyebrows theatrically, and she continued " Okay, I'll wear a nappy, but only if you and William wear them too." she snapped triumphantly.  I thought for a moment.  Long Christmas dresses would conceal a nappy.  I was not averse.  I would have an excuse.  It would be an adventure.  It might even be necessary.  There were still some of the big ones in the trunk in the attic.  It could work.  And Vickie was bluffing, and even though she was a superb poker-player, I could feel it.  She didn't know about the bag in the attic; only Emma and I knew about that.

Speak of the Devil, I was just drawing breath to call her bluff, when, to my great relief, the door opened and Clare and Emma came in.  Emma took the whole scene in with one glance and, ignoring Vickie, went to William's bag and withdrew fresh clothing.  "Come here, young man!" she said and William, let off the hook, gratefully ran to her.

As Gran started to pass out the presents from around the Christmas tree, I sat at the back of the room immersed in my own thoughts.  The constant reminders about wearing nappies, and the strange ambivalence of my feelings had disconcerted me.  I had thought I had got over it since I made love with Matt, but here were all those funny feelings coming back to me.  I wanted Matt to be there, to act as an antidote, but he was doubtless busy with his own family, and I was alone in that respect.  I realised that I would have to have a serious talk with Matt, about where we went from here and on what terms, what we did and how we did it.  Somewhere alone, somewhere private, just to sort things out.  I wanted to do it again, properly this time, taking longer over it, and without the pain and soreness.  And with some contraception!  I wanted to enjoy him at my leisure.  Then, creeping into my mind from under its stone came the strangest thought; I wonder what it would be like putting a nappy on Matt?

[Sarah Penguin]

Another fun update! Thanks!

[watsonlee24]

Think vickie should have to wear a nappy for teasing

[weeboy]

Thanks Freswith, another great chapter!

[jbz2079]

Thanks Freswith, enjoyable as ever.

[weeboy]

Bump

Hey Freswith, how are you doing?

Any updates in the pipeline?

[freswith]

Thanks for the bump; I have been rather usy these last few weeks, but I promise I will get around to writing another chapter soon!

[weeboy]

Thanks Freswith

Looking forward to it!!!

[freswith]

The Rock.

The next two years were very good but my relationship with Matt, rather than deepening, all seemed to have gone wrong.  Part of it was Newquay.  I had finally been allowed to go down there with Matt and it rained all week.  There were just the two of us making love in his little tent - how romantic! - in the pouring rain - how ghastly! -and absolutely everything was wet, except my bikini.  It wasn't the best of tents, either, being designed only for weekends and festivals, and it was all made of nylon, so there was a load of condensation inside.  I mean it's fun making love, even if you have to try and do it silently, (which was certainly not my style!) but it rather puts the chill on it when the inside of the tent was wet and you kept getting a cold wet kiss from the nylon at the most passionate moments.  I made lots of trips to the launderette to dry our clothing and sleeping bags but still everything was damp; it was like living inside a huge damp nappy but without the prospect of a change.  At the end of it I had had more than enough of Matt and his surfing, and it was compounded when he said he had been accepted for medical school - but in Edinburgh of all places.  Why he couldn't have found a place in London I do not know, but apparently his father went to medical school there, and it made everything easier.  I found myself falling out of love with Matt.

When I got back I was delighted to accept an invitation from Uncle Percy and Aunt Clare to join them in a villa in Spain for a couple of weeks.  Apparently their au-pair girl had received an offer she couldn't refuse and had decamped back to Slovenia or wherever she had came from.  I didn't mind doing a bit of looking-after for Viola and little Alice in exchange for some sunshine and a chance to dry out.  I begged some extra pocket money from Dad, as I'd spent far too much in Cornwall trying to sty warm and dry, and as usual he was very generous.

It turned out I was needed; Viola was now six, and suffering the family curse.  Unfortunately her mother, Clare, wasn't "of the blood" and had never realized what a damnation it can be, and as a result was somewhat less than sympathetic to poor Viola, who was also having to come to terms with the fact that other kids of her age no longer had to wear nappies at night, while she was still obliged to.  To give her credit, there was the occasional dry morning, if I could get to her early enough, but there was no let up from the nightly routine of being nappied for bed and then waking up wet in the morning.  At least she could hold it during the day (most days), which was a blessing, and so that only left little Alice, not quite two years old and as bright as a cricket, but still in nappies all the time.

The adults - and I felt I could now include myself in that number - slipped easily onto the Mediterranean lifestyle; take a siesta after lunch for an hour or two in the heat of the day, then revive during the cool of the evening and eat late, returning to bed by midnight.  It wasn't so easy for Viola, who had to be persuaded to take a nap like a little child when she really wanted to be out and about, and it was still harder to get her to accept the inevitable precautionary nappy while she did so.  However, the reward of being able to stay up late with her parents was generally felt to be sufficient compensation, although after one unfortunate accident Percy insisted she wear a nappy under her long dress when we went out for late supper.  We usually ended the evening with both girls leaning asleep against their parents, exhausted from a busy day in the sunshine and Percy's dictatorial ukase would often be justified, as I would have to change Viola into her night-nappy before bed and would find that she had made generous use of what was supposed to be a precaution.  I never mentioned this to Clare, who would be busy the Alice anyway at that point; some secrets are best kept between us girls.  I also came to appreciate the other side of the penny, that sharing the curse made for an affinity between us girls which Clare could never quite understand, and it allowed me to win Viola's confidence very easily.

Our relationship was put to the test when Percy and Clare decided on a day trip to Gibraltar, since Percy had some professional business to do there.  It would mean a lot of driving, and also, given that it was a hire car and no accidents on the back seat could be risked, a journey on which necessary precautions would have to be taken; this was a "nappy trip".  Unfortunately it went down like a lead balloon with Viola, who objected volubly, then made herself scarce shortly before departure.  I knew what she was up to, and a game of hide-and-seek duly began, and lasted until Percy's patience was tried to the limit at which point I found the child lurking at the bottom of the garden.  I had great difficulty in persuading her back to the house, but I did manage to deliver her to the bedroom where her impatient mother lost no time in pulling per pants down and sitting her down on to the nappy lying ready on the bed.  Viola continued her protest as the front was drawn up, even trying to push it away with her hands, but to no avail.  The sides were taped firmly, and rather tightly around her, and she was pulled back on to her feet and pushed towards the door.  I followed just behind, and so was able to disentangle the skirt of her dress where it had been caught in the waistband of the nappy during the hasty change.  I could see Viola's point; we had run out of the slim daytime nappies and she was having to wear one of her thick night-nappies that made her waddle rather than walk, and her sun dress barely concealed her well-padded rump.  As Viola was being hurried down to the car, Clare asked me to bring the big changing bag.  I took my chance and picked up Viola's underpants and tucked them in; if I got the job of changing her I would do my best to release her from that awkward humiliation.  I noticed that Clare had packed no fewer than three changes of Viola's larger nappies; she obviously wasn't going to take any chances with her, and so it was up to me

As we went towards the car Viola, becoming desperate, asked her mother why she had to wear a nappy "while Amelia didn't!". 

Clare just brushed it off with "Amelia doesn't wear nappies.  Not now." and it sort of kicked something off in me.  I hadn't really given it much thought recently, as I had been so involved with Matt, and I had long since used up the last of my stash at home.  I didn't really have much to do with them in day-to-day life, and they had sort of slipped behind the drawer in my mind.  Now Viola's remark and her awkward waddle had brought it all back to me, all those times when I had been nappied for a long journey and resented it, all those times I had been strapped into the back seat as the journey went on for hours, and finally when nature had called as I was half-asleep, how I had used it; not entirely out of urgent need but mostly out of laziness and boredom.  It was so much easier to sit there in a wet nappy until we got there than to go through all the scene of asking Dad to stop, finding a hedgerow, disappearing behind it and getting stung on the butt by nettles or thistles or whatever nasty insect was lurking for me there.  Now I was strapped in the back of another car, and beside me were two small girls, each with their legs splayed and a pillow of white nappy showing between them, and I actually felt envious.  I envied them the comfort of it, I envied the security of it, and I envied the frisance of fear and excitement that my nappy might be spotted by some passer-by who would wonder why such a big girl like me still needed to wear one.  In addition, I was sitting in the middle of the three back seats, with one foot each side of the tunnel-thing in the middle, and my legs are quite long - I had finally stopped growing at five foot ten, and most of it was leg.  As a result I too was splay-legged, but wearing jeans instead of sundress and without the pillow of nappy between my legs, somehow I felt I was missing out on something which should rightfully be mine.

The journey to the Rock was only a bit over an hour, which hardly justified it being a nappy trip, but the wait in the queue for customs at the border was about forty minutes, during which we had little to do except fidget and talk.  Percy began to question me about my plans for the future, for college and a career.  I hadn't really given it much thought, and most of it had been negative.  I had seen Juliet go all through college - that sounded like fun - after which she had only worked briefly in teaching before her second child, Jack, had come along.  I didn't fancy teaching; I had met too many teachers.  Oddly enough I had had it in mind to go and work for Dad.  I know selling tractors and farm machinery is hardly a girl's world, but Dad had the business, and it would be easy to get a job there, and in the talks I had had with him while he ran me into town had given me some background into the wider aspects of being in business, and I liked the idea of making money.  I had thought of doing something related in college - not that I fancied an agricultural college, but something that would lead to a business career.  Preferably in London.  Things happened in London, lots of interesting things.  Not like Edinburgh.  I was tired of my rural upbringing and I wanted some independence, some bright lights, and perhaps someday some decent money.  Percy, naturally, asked if I had considered the Law as a career, but I replied that I thought it was a bit intellectual for me, which was partly true, and withheld the opinion that I had seen what the Law had done to Percy, and I didn't particularly want to be a stuffed-up pompous so-and-so.

At that moment we reached the customs, and the man started to go through the formalities in a very unhurried manner.  I gained the impression he really didn't like people going across the border.  All our papers were inspected in great detail, and he gave a long look at my passport photograph, taken when I was twelve, and then another longer lingering look at me, now aged seventeen.  He sucked his teeth and shrugged.  Then he examined the two children.  Alice looked back, and said "That man's got a funny hat!", but Viola just pulled the hem of her dress down to try to conceal her nappy, and flushed red.  Finally, with a practised, languid wave, he ushered us through.

Once across the border everything changed.  Customs and immigration were very quick and friendly and waved us onwards.  We held for a couple of minutes at a traffic light while an airliner landed across the road, and then we crossed the runway into town.  After what seemed like an endless journey threading our way along narrow streets and through ancient fortifications we reached a large car park with- of all things - a cable car station on the side of it.  Extracting ourselves stiffly from the car we took stock of our situation.  Percy had to walk some way back into the old town for his business meeting and little Alice was in urgent need of a change, so we split up and made arrangements to meet later.  I was desperate for the toilet myself, and was trying not to ask Viola, as I could guess what her answer would be.  As it happened we made it in the nick of time for both of us, to our great relief.  I extracted Viola's underpants from the changing bag and pointedly hustled her into the ladies, leaving Clare and Alice to go into the baby changing room.  Viola came out a few minutes later, much slimmer about the backside and smiling for the first time since we had left our villa.  Once again, the strange club to which we belonged had proven its worth, and us girls had stuck together.  We strolled into town along the narrow main street doing some window-shopping, and although every possible type of merchandise seemed to be on show it was all rather cheap and glitzy.  At least all the signs were now in English and we could understand them.  It was peculiar to see a British red telephone box and letterboxes against the distinctively Mediterranean architecture and the policemen all in the same uniform as our Bobbies, and the whole place seemed to have a sort of pastiche of Britishness about it.  It was rather fun.

We bought some small items, and Clare also bought a fresh pack of slimmer daytime nappies for Viola, taking advantage of the fact that everybody spoke English, and so she could explain why the extra-large size was needed, but still I felt it better if Viola and I waited outside the shop to spare poor Viola's blushes; I remember too many expeditions to buy nappies in the days when I wore them, and the feeling of standing there in the shop while the assistants looked at me and all I wanted was for the floor to open and swallow me.  Eventually, with the package tucked under Alice's pushchair we made our way back to the car park to meet up with Percy.  Following Viola's pleas we took a trip up to the top of the Rock in the cable car, where to Alice's squeals of delight we were met by a monkey.  We were told that, tame though they looked, these creatures were wild animals and expert at fleecing tourists of anything that even remotely looked like food, such as any plastic bag.  Suddenly I realised that the only plastic bag in our party was the one hanging down between Alice's legs as she desperately reached for the monkey with one hand while the other was being equally desperately held by her mother.  The monkey gave us his expert appraisal, decided we carried nothing edible and transferred his attention to some other tourists.  Apparently he was well aware that the aforesaid plastic bag contained nothing that was worth eating, and that biting even the most obnoxious child would have immediate repercussions.  Viola was equally intrigued, but was old enough to heed the warning that these monkeys were wild and inclined to bite, and didn't get too near to them.

We had lunch at the top of the Rock, enjoying the fabulous views and then spent the afternoon on the little beach we had spotted from the top, before dining in the town and finally joining the queue for the Spanish border.  The Spanish seem to want to annoy people on the Rock as much as possible, so the queue was a long one.  At one point it became obvious that Alice needed changing, and there was nowhere to do it except the back seat of the car.  I got out of the way to give Clare room to work, and was idly looking through the border fence when I heard Clare call Viola back to the car.  I could see the nappy in her hand, and I couldn't believe she would inflict such an indignity on her daughter in that very public place, but she did.  I felt I had to do something to distract the onlookers but there was nothing I could do.  Then I had an idea; I went around to the other side of the car, took my hairbrush out of my bag, removed the band from my hair, and began to brush it.  I have a lot of hair, and it takes a lot of brushing.  I swung my hips a little, and tossed my head, and saw that I had the attention of every man, and most of the women in the cars in the queue.  Strangely, it gave me a bit of a buzz to be getting all that attention, and I found myself grinning happily.  Then Clare called me over, too.  I was feeling good, and just for a moment I let the Devil take my tongue.  "Are you going change me into a nappy as well Clare?" I asked gaily, "I'm sure everybody would appreciate seeing that!" and was rewarded by a slight reddening in Clare's sunburned face and a soft snigger from Viola, but all she wanted was to say the queue was moving forward again.  I was still grinning when we passed the Spanish customs man, and he smiled back.  Typical Spaniard, fancied himself no end.  I kept smiling, but felt a certain revulsion for him; he was about as sexy as a freshly-opened tin of sardines.

It was quite dark by the time we got back to the villa, and well past the children's normal bedtime, and Viola had spent the last hour or so with her head resting warm and heavy on my shoulder, sleeping deeply.  I wished I could have done the same; it had been a long day.  I had hoped to be able to point out to Percy and Clare that the precautions they had insisted on with regard to their elder daughter had been unnecessary, but the sodden thump with which Viola's nappy fell to the bathroom floor proved that they had been right all along, so I held my tongue.

I looked in on the children later, and pulled the sheet gently over Viola where she lay, just in nappy and T shirt for the night, then I went to bed myself.  I lay there for a long time in the heat, thinking of how much I would like to be like Viola, and have a nice big nappy on and be able to sleep deeply in safety and the confidence that no sudden accident or call of nature would wake me and sent me plodding for the bathroom.  As I drifted off, I resolved that someday, one day I would have a place of my own where I could do exactly that, and have no-one around who could see me or know about it.  Then I could sleep as deeply as I liked.

[jbz2079]

Thanks, Freswith.

Another great addition.

[Sarah Penguin]

That was lots of fun Thanks so much for carrying on with your story. *waves and hugs*

[derj]

Thank you so much.

[freswith]

College

I was really pissed off.  It wasn't my fault, but I had to pick up the pieces.  My flatmate Stephanie had buggered off and left Helen and me in a fix.  She owed us rent, and the gas bill was overdue and they were sending threatening letters.  I could ask Dad for some money, and I'm sure he would provide it, but pride stood firmly in the way; I was hoping to go to work in his business, and it was hardly propitious if I couldn't even manage the affairs of a three-girl flat.  I wandered miserably along the High Street, wondering what I could economise on, what I could do without, even what I could sell to get myself out of the hole I was in.  I knew that Helen was just as hard-pressed, and it was no good asking her.  The autumn wind blew my hair into my face and I brushed it back desperately, but the wind blew it in again, this time with some of the rain in it.  I was really fed up, fed up with college, fed up with the course I was on, which was boring, fed up with the flat, fed up with Stephanie, fed up with myself for dumping Matt and fed up with Matt for accepting being dumped.  Above all, at that moment, I was fed up with my hair, which was ragged and dirty and too long and much too much of it.  It needed some proper attention, some tender, loving care and that cost money and I was broke or worse.

At the end of the street the wind came round the corner and hit me like a great big wet sack.  It took my balance away for a moment and I reeled into a shop doorway.  I paused, getting my breath, and my eyes lighted on a small sign in the door:  "Models Wanted", and an idea occurred to me that perhaps I could get my hair done for cheap, even for free.  I was used to getting an estimate, not just because it was good practice according to the Business Studies course I was on, but also because I had so darn much hair.  Nothing to lose by asking, so I went inside.

The receptionist, underneath three layers of make-up and four pounds of mascara, looked at me with dead eyes as a made my query.  There was a pause while my question was processed through her brainicle organ, and then she said "Take a seat, I'll fetch the owner." which I duly did.  After a few minutes a middle aged woman, blonde and buxom, came out of the back and greeted me cheerfully, saying her name was Sharon.  I stated my business again, and she nodded.  "Let's have a good look at you, then!" and led me to one of the chairs in the working section.  She moved the lights a little, and began examining my hair quite closely, asking me friendly questions about my hair, how I looked after it, and also about who I was and what I was doing, and finally what I wanted done with my hair.

"Cut it off!" was my reply, "I've always had long hair, and far too much of it.  I really can't afford to look after it properly, it's in the way, it's heavy, and it takes a whole evening to wash and dry.  I'm fed up with it.  I would like to try something short; an urchin cut or something."  Then a further thought occurred to me "Is it possible to sell it?  I really could do with the cash."

Sharon went quiet for a moment, then sucked her teeth.  "That would be a great pity.  Situation's bad as that is it?" and I nodded miserably, then something in her voice put me on my guard - she was thinking of something, thinking of some way to exploit me, and I didn't like it.  I felt I had told her too much.  Eventually she said: "We normally do the training in the mornings.  Could you come tomorrow morning at half eight? " I thought for a moment.  My first lecture was at the suitably studently hour of twelve.  I could do it.  I nodded.  "I'll be getting someone in specially, so don't let me down." 

I agreed.  "How much will it cost?" I said guardedly, fearing the worst.

Sharon sucked her teeth again.  "For you, Amelia, we'll do it for free, but I don't want to cut it short - that would be sacrilege, it's lovely hair, but if you don't like what I'm going to do with it, we'll talk about cutting it and possibly even selling it." 

I accepted.  It was better than I had hoped for: that was one little worry less.  I might even be able to pay the gas bill.

I'd been invited round to Percy and Claire's for supper, which was always welcome as it meant I got well fed without having to pay for it.  Claire was a phenomenal cook and it always amazed me how she managed housework and children while pursuing a legal career.  Admittedly they could afford an au-pair girl to look after the children during the day, but even so Claire really had her hands full, and so I wasn't surprised when I was asked to help out from time to time.  This evening was no different.  Claire had handed the kitchen over to Percy while she bathed Alice, and was giving him directions, which he seemed to have difficulty in understanding.  I am probably even less able as a cook than Percy, so I went to the bathroom where Alice was making cheerful mayhem to relieve Claire from her watery duty.  Alice, now approaching four, was delighted to see me and I was delighted to avoid the resultant splash.  Claire hooked her out of the bath, wrapped her in a towel, and handed her to me before running to answer the cries of dismay and distress from the kitchen.  I avoided Alice's wet embrace until I had her well dry, then carried her back to her bedroom.  Although she had inherited Claire's energy along with her looks and her fair hair, she had also inherited the curse from our side of the family, and her night-nappy was laid out ready for her.  Thankfully she hadn't yet realised that there was a problem, and she made no objection as I went through the nightly ritual of powder and ointment, and she was soon bundled up securely in her sleeper as I fastened the poppers between her legs.  Clutching her favourite soft toy, the monkey she had brought back from Gibraltar, she led me by the hand to say goodnight to her father.  Percy had now been banished from the kitchen and had ensconced himself in his armchair in the lounge with a whisky and soda in hand.  As Alice climbed into his lap he put the drink aside to receive her, but remembered to offer me one.  I declined.  I knew only too well what alcohol did to me, let alone soda, and wanted to keep what capacity I had for a glass or two of the decent wine that could be expected with the forthcoming meal. 

After she had said goodnight to her father I took little Alice back to her bed and tucked her in, making sure her monkey was close to her.  I read her a story from her favourite book until her eyelids began to sag, then I kissed her and slipped quietly out of the door, leaving it ajar in case she woke in the dark and was frightened.  I repaired to the dining room where the main purpose of my visit was already on the table.  Viola was allowed to stay up to late supper now, a privilege she guarded ferociously as a sign of her growing up and making progress, and which in some ways made up for what we knew would follow, when she would be bathed and then nappied for bed as though she was still an infant even though she was now eight years old.  It was never mentioned, of course, in her hearing as she was still very conscious of her problem, and hated any reference to it, but it was absolutely essential for her, as she was wet nearly every night, and sometimes excessively so.  There was little prospect of washing and drying the resultant volume of wet bedclothes in the flat, so nappies it had to be, and she had learned to put up with it.

The food was good, and the wine was excellent, not your cheap Rioja on which we had existed in Spain, but an Australian wine called Penlove or Penfold or something, and it slipped down very smoothly.  I asked the reason for this extravagance and Claire proudly informed me that Percy had "taken silk" and been promoted.  He could now call himself a "Queen's Counsel" and would be earning much more money.  I raised my glass in congratulation and, seeing it drained, Percy happily topped it up for me.

I am normally very careful about what I drink, and how much of it.  Alcohol has a very nasty effect on me; it revives my old, old problem with bedwetting.  I will only drink one or two full-sized drinks and then go on to soft ones.  This had restricted my college life, since I refrained from the all-night drinks parties and had become a bit of a wallflower as a result; the boys had yet to learn that getting Amelia Grace drunk was a sure and certain way of NOT getting her into bed.  Thankfully I now had Helen as a flatmate, and Helen had known me from childhood and knew of my problems, and of my simple solution;  I had a large pack of nappies on the top shelf of my cupboard and she would remind me to put one on when I had been drinking.  So far I had done so on about half-a-dozen occasions, and on several of them it had been needed.  This had another advantage; I could wear one if I wanted to without being questioned about it.  It reminded me of the famous drunk who always carried a bottle of whisky to use in the event of being bitten by a snake, but to make doubly sure he also carried a small snake.  Where it became a limitation was that I had to be very careful of the boys I went out with;  I had either to drink or if I chose, go to bed with them, but never both.  Mostly, to be fair, I drank; nappies may give you a rash, but at least you don't get a baby.  Anyway, enough of that.  This night I was safe amongst my family so I could drink, and the wine was excellent.

As the meal concluded Claire started to chase Viola off to bed.  It took a little bit of doing, because she wanted to stay up and join in the celebration, but Claire reminded her that it was School Tomorrow and she would have to be up in time for it.  That made me mention that I had a hairdresser's appointment tomorrow as well, at the unearthly hour of half-past eight in the morning, a time when no self-respecting teenager would be out and about.  Now  I hardly had that excuse either; I would be twenty in two weeks, and firmly on the road to old age.  I mentioned I would be used as a model for the apprentice, which caused Claire to raise her eyebrows, so I told her I was getting my hair done for free as I really couldn't afford to have it done properly anyway.  As Claire chivvied Viola off to her bath, I started to clear the table and wash up.  Percy helped me by bringing in more crockery, and in the privacy of the kitchen he asked me about how I was managing financially.  I told him the truth, and he sympathised, but reminded me of my forthcoming birthday and said I might get some money as a present.  I really hadn't thought of it in that way, but thanked him anyway;  it would be one less thing to worry about.

With the crockery put away I returned to the lounge just as Viola came in to say goodnight to us.  I was honoured in this case; Viola was understandably shy of anyone seeing her wearing the nappy that was all too apparent under her pyjamas, but I was family and was her favourite choice of sitter because I understood the problem and wouldn't go gossiping it around the community.  I could remember enough evenings when I had chosen to be nappied at teatime before my parents went out rather than at bedtime by the stranger who was sitting me.  It had led to some awkward situations where I would spend the whole evening pretending I wasn't wearing one, and the sitter would tactfully pretend not to know that I did, but then would wet it, while awake or not, and require changing.  I was always embarrassed when the sitter refused to take my word that I was dry, and would insist on checking my nappy.  It was so much easier when Juliet was my sitter - long lost days - and we could make a game of it, with me acting the baby for her, and hopefully playing her up until Peter intervened and nappied me.  Happy days, long gone now.  Juliet now had her hands full with a one-year-old son and a six-year old Holly who both needed her, and Holly could indeed act up at bedtime.  Peter, if he was at home, would then take over and see that her nappy went on properly; she never struggled when her Daddy came to do it.  Lucky, lucky Holly - she didn't know how fortunate she was - I would cheerfully have changed places with her!

With Viola tucked up in bed it became time for me to thank my hosts for the meal - and for the wine - and return to my flat.  Percy was insistent that I take a taxi from a firm he knew to be reliable, and he even paid for it.  I could hardly refuse, since I never felt quite safe at night in the cheap neighbourhood in which I was obliged to live.

The flat was empty when I got back to it, as Helen was out on a date with her boyfriend, so being aware of the early appointment I didn't stay up late.  I set the alarm clock, and then commenced the old familiar ritual; spread the nappy on the bed, lower myself on to it, pull the sides round to make sure that it was central, pull the front up, tape the legs and then the waist.  Finally put my pyjama trousers on to cover it ands slide under the duvet, wriggling down until I was warm and snug.  Curl up, slip my hands between my legs so I could feel the comforting bulk of my nappy, and, knowing that I was safe against any little accident, let myself drift off into a deep untroubled sleep.

[jbz2079]

Thanks again, Freswith.

Good as usual.

[Sarah Penguin]

Yay another fine update, thanks *waves*

[babykeiff]

Another good additions to the story... and it is nice to see Amelia supporting Vickie. I like how this fork-prong of Amelia's life shows how she got started into modelling. I still admire your literary skill, and wait in anticipation for the next installment.

[freswith]

Thank you Keiff. I am sure Amelia's inherent recklessness has some way to go before she settles down - if she ever does.

[freswith]

Julian.

I don't know who invented the alarm clock, but it must have been someone who hated the human race.  It dragged me back from some beautiful place where I was making beautiful romantic love with...  with ...  someone I loved, but couldn't remember quite who.  A sort of Petermattjohndoe, but he was wonderful.  I resurfaced, fumbled across the bedside table for the clock and hit the button.  Then I gathered my thoughts together and decided, on the majority verdict, that I was Me, and this was Reality, Planet Earth,  Such a disappointment!  I opened my eyes and looked at the clock.  What on earth was it doing waking me at this God-forsaken hour? Oh!  The Hairdresser's Appointment.  Must keep that.  It was the one useful, clever thing I had done all week.

I swung my legs out of bed and sat up.  Eeeew!  Wet!  I hadn't meant to do that! It was the other kind of wetness I had been dreaming about!  I cast my mind back to last night - was it two, or three, or even four glasses of wine I'd had?  Something told me three, but my pride said four at least.  I ran my hand back under the bedclothes to the spot where I'd been lying, and found it dry.  Thank God! My nappy had held it!  Thank Heaven I had remembered to out it on!  I tried to get up, then mustered my strength and tried again, this time successfully.  The dead weight of the sodden garment began to hang accusingly between my legs.  I muttered a curse out loud, and staggered towards the kitchen.  On the way I passed Helen's door, still closed, and noted her coat on the hook by the door.  She had evidently come back even later than I had.  For a sudden horrible moment I wondered if she had brought her boyfriend back with her, and he could appear at any moment to see me in just a T shirt and a sodden, drooping nappy.  As I reached the kitchen door I looked around it carefully - no, he wasn't there.  I stepped inside and took one of the supermarket plastic bags from the container by the bin, I slipped out again to the bathroom.  No sounds from inside, so I went in and locked the door behind me.  I undid the tapes and the nappy slid gratefully down my legs to the floor.  As quickly as I could I picked it up, folded it, put it in the supermarket bag and tied the top firmly - twice!  Then I stepped into the shower and began my morning routine.

As I went out I dropped the package into the dustbin, and followed it with the plastic pedal-bin liner full of peelings and worse; no-one would delve through them to examine the contents of the lower bag!

By the time I arrived at the hairdresser almost all my brain-cells were firing normally thanks to a brisk walk through the chilly morning air.  I knocked on the door, and Sharon let me in.  I was surprised that there was no apprentice there, but Sharon didn't comment, and started going through the routine of washing, trimming, setting and drying my hair.  It wasn't until I was under the drier that she left me to answer the door again.  I didn't see who it was she let in, but she returned and carried on with my hair.  After another ten minutes it was starting to look - well - terrific!  She had somehow doubled the body into a formidable mane, added a sheen that seemed to catch the light, and arranged to so it fell in soft curves down over my shoulders to my waist.  It looked a million dollars, but it was hopelessly impractical for a hard-working student.  I was opening my mouth to point this out when I caught sight of the other person in the room, a tall middle-aged man with carefully waved hair and a beautifully tailored suit.  Even my relatively primitive gaydar bleeped that he was, in Granpa's gruff words, "as queer as a nine-bob note" and I tried to reconcile him with the young girl apprentice I had been expecting.

"What do you think Julian?" said Sharon.

"Yes!" said Julian, "Fantastic!" and then to me.  "Let me introduce myself, I'm Julian Lemay, and I work for Marguerite Channon."

"Who?" I answered, slightly nonplussed.

"Marguerite Channon, of Marguerites!" he replied, caressing the word as if it was a precious jewel - a pause while my mind remained blank - "The model agency!"

From a delicately limp hand I took a business card.  It was a nice one, copper engraved, but I already knew that meant nothing.  "Sharon said that you were something quite special, someone I should see, and she certainly wasn't exaggerating." 

I mumbled a response of some kind, trying to be polite but non-committal.  I was wondering what he was getting at, where the trap was, how I could keep clear of it.

"Have you ever considered modelling?" 

Ah! Yes, my mind was catching up.  He was a talent scout - I think - and he was trying to recruit me.  Oh Come Off It!  This kind of thing only happened in kid's comics and fantasies, and this is supposed to be the real world.  Was I still in bed? Was I dreaming this?  Was I about to wet myself?  The old warning signs...  I decided to play him along - he would be less dangerous if I did.  No I hadn't ever considered modelling, I wasn't really that kind of girl - I didn't actually say that, just felt it.  If he wanted me to buy a "modelling course" he would be disappointed - I was utterly broke, and wouldn't be fooled by such a ploy.  But no, he didn't take that route.  He explained that they were always in the lookout for new talent for their books, and I had the kind of looks that were in great demand.  Yup, I've read "Fanny Hill" too, I thought.  I could earn a lot of money if I wanted to.  Now you're talking my language, and I'm still not falling for it, but he had certainly got my interest and I gave him a hearing.  He was utterly charming, and very persuasive.  At the end of it he begged me to call in to the model agency and meet Marguerite, the principal.  I promised faithfully that I would, but I would have to attend my lectures first.  He bid me an unctuous farewell and said he hoped to hear from me.  I gave him my nicest smile, and assured him he would, but inside me I was still very, very doubtful.  Such things don't happen to me in the real world.  I watched him leave with some relief - I had made my escape!

I thanked Sharon very much for her time and effort, and with great trepidation I asked if I owed her anything for her services.  She smiled and refused.  "I said I would do it for free, and I'll keep my word." she said.  "Julian's a strange chap isn't he, but he's on the straight and level.  I've known him for years, I've done lots of work on his models at photoshoots and shows, and they all think the world of him.  Marguerite's a bit of a harridan, but she knows the business inside out and she can spot a winner straightaway.  It's certainly worth going to meet her."  I thanked her again, and feeling slightly less cynical about the business, I returned to the flat.

Helen had her nose in a bowl of cornflakes when I went in.  She looked up at me and exclaimed "Hey! You look fabulous! Did she really do that for free?" and I began to recount my adventures.  I fished in my bag , found the business card, and passed it to her.  "Holy Shit!" she exclaimed in a shower of milk and cornflakes, "Marguerites!  You can't be serious!  Haven't you ever heard of them?  They're huge!"  She, too, had said the name as though it was a jewel, or even a magic charm.  I had to confess ignorance.  Helen was studying Design and Fashion, and was in that world; my business studies course was more interested in business law and regulation.  I didn't read the fashion magazines because everything cost much more than I could afford and I didn't want the temptation or the envy that went with looking at all the fabulous clothes I could never have.  "When are you going?"

I was a bit nonplussed; I still half thought it might be a scam or a trap, and I hadn't intended to take it any further, but now I realised Helen would never forgive me unless I did.  Now I began to take it seriously.  I knew that the modelling business was anything but regular employment, but the prospect of paying the gas bill with a morning's work was very attractive.  I dithered.  I had college work to do.  I had my lecture notes to write up and expand.  God, what a bore that lecture had been!  Too long, too complicated and too detailed, but not apparently related to anything in the real world.  However, as such it was all the more likely to be set as an exam question.

I fell back on the decision-making principle favoured by Gran: imagine you have made the decision and ask yourself "Do I feel happy about it?".  She reasoned that we all make decisions emotionally in the end, and that way you might not make the right one, but you will make one with which you are most likely to be happy.  From somewhere the image of Francis Drake came to mind.  He was saying "If it's there; Go For It!".  Without further conscious thought I reached into my bag for my phone.

The offices were very stylish and elegant, and it made me feel scruffy just to be there.  I went to the beautifully dressed receptionist and told her my name.  She seemed to have been expecting me, and called Julian, who appeared within seconds.  He escorted me through a busy general office and into the executive area at the end, while explaining how grateful he was I had decided to come, and how surprised he was that I was on time - apparently models are always late.  I was ushered into the last, biggest and most luxurious office where I was introduced to Marguerite Channon, a sharply-dressed middle-aged woman who exuded self-confidence.  I was suddenly very conscious of my jeans and trainers, but Margeurite smiled widely and said; "Hello Amelia!  Julian has told me such a lot about you, I'm so glad you've decided to come and see us."

I felt slightly more at ease.  She looked me up and down in one sweeping detailed scan.  I began to feel small again.  I just wished I had dressed up a bit more for the occasion, a thought which was reinforced by Marguerite's next remark; "You haven't done any modelling before, I see."  I swallowed.  It must have been obvious from my clothes that I was not a part of the fashion industry.  It really wasn't my world, I mean I knew that you couldn't wear a Barbour jacket unless it had at least three holes in it, but that would hardly cut any ice in Mayfair.  These people, if ever they were seen in a Barbour, would insist on it being brand new and teamed with a scarf just the right, fashionable shade and tied just so. 

"No." I replied, "It's all a bit new to me."

"That's fine.  We're always in need of fresh faces.  As long as you haven't done any glamour work - that's a separate side of the industry and we don't have anything to do with it." She said.  I denied it strongly.  The very thought conjured an image of Gran blowing a gasket.  Besides, my breasts were hardly centrefold material.

"Height?"  Five-foot ten in my bare feet

"Dress size?" Eight.  Dammit.  It wasn't all that easy getting things to fit me.  Mags and Linda used to call me The Spider, and that's when they were being kind.  At least I had filled out a bit since those days.

"Do you have a portfolio?"  A what?  "Pictures.  Good ones."  No I didn't have a portfolio.  I suppose that would count against me.  "No problem, we'll get one started."  That sounded much more promising.

Marguerite used the intercom to fix a session with a photographer to take some proper portfolio shots, and then we went on to talk contracts and terms.  It seems I had impressed Marguerite enough for her to commission a portfolio for me.  There was no actual promise of work but she had a couple of small jobs in mind for which she would put me forward.

Julian escorted me to the door, and took the chance to brief me about the portfolio shoot.  He said it was with one of the best photographers in London, and make sure I turned up on time.  I asked him what I should wear, and what kind of make-up he wanted, but he told me not to worry - clothes and a beautician would be on hand to do whatever was needed.  Apparently I was getting the royal treatment, he said he had never seen Marguerite so enthusiastic.  He could have fooled me; I felt I had just been through an interrogation and was on my way to the torture chamber so the interrogators to get the rest out of me.

I arrived home and Helen was desperate to hear all about it.  I was interrogated once again, even more thoroughly, by the excited Helen, who even broached a bottle of cheap wine to loosen my tongue.  It was quite late before I finally got into bed, my head spinning.  I took the necessary precautions of course, with lots of ointment and fastening the tapes tightly.  As I drifted off, I thought of the wretched unpaid gas bill, and then put it to one side.  Then I worried if I had used enough ointment.  It would never do to tune up with nappy rash, but then of course, I wasn't going to do any glamour work, so I wouldn't have to take my clothes off.  Finally I wondered of I had done the tapes up too tightly and if they would leave marks, or worse still, break and cause a leak...  but finally sleep took me away to a land of well-paid gas bills and, for some strange reason, the nursery at Pembroke.  I was warm and comfortable and secure, and I slept like a baby.  Just like a baby, and I couldn't give a damn if I woke up wet or dry.

Thank you for your kind remarks.  I think we should expand a little on Amelia's character and why she is that way.

Black sheep?  It is important to remember that Gran's forbears - the Sinclair family - were all black sheep with barely a white one among them.  Black Jack Sinclair was a notoriously efficient pirate at the end of the seventeenth century and into the eighteenth.  He amassed a considerable fortune and was finally able to negotiate a full pardon from the cash-strapped Queen Anne, and returned to live the life of an (almost) respectable country gentleman.  He actually won the old house at Pembroke in a card game with a singularly stupid aristocrat who later died of drink. It is he who is believed to have buried a chest of treasure in the house, for which every subsequent generation of children have hunted in vain.  There isn't a wooden panel or squeaking floorboard which hasn't been tapped, thumped and even - when adults were safely out of the way - prised loose in the search for the treasure, but all to no avail.

Subsequent generations of the family were into every shady, doubtful enterprise available on the fringes of the law, and have never quite been accepted into polite society.  These have included  slaving, opium smuggling and looting (there are several articles from the Chinese Summer Palace tucked away unrecognised in the attic.) with greater or lesser success.  The common thread has always been high-risk high reward, and the family have survived on their wits.  One foray into decent employment came to an end when an ill-judged order made two battleships collide, and Admiral Sinclair was returned in disgrace.  His thunderous arrival back at Pembroke caused two of his younger daughters to wet themselves, and led to the formulation of the draconian "Pemboke Rules" requiring vulnerable persons to wear appropriate protection.  This, combined with a rogue gene causing delayed development of certain parts of the endocrine system of the daughters of the family, is the basis of "Phone Conversation".

The family suffered badly in the two World Wars, and the house was left to Georgina Sinclair with very little to support it.  Some of the land was sold off for housing, including the house which Peter's parent's lived in when he met Juliet. Pembroke had been much adapted by then, with a Georgian facade (from the profits of slave trading) and a Victorian extension (from opium smuggling)  at the back which included the huge lounge and library, and the bedrooms upstairs, and the large nursery, where the nanny's bedroom was later converted into a en-suite bathroom.  This extension also linked the house to the what had been the old kitchen block, which became an annex and laundry/utility/rumpus room, and servant's flat.

Georgina's reaction to keeping up the house was to find a wealthy husband, but in the end she fell for the handsome young Vernon (Jack) Tarr, a promising young officer in the Royal Navy.  She seduced him and married him, and thankfully his rapid promotion allowed them to keep Pembroke going.  The marriage resulted in two daughters, Pat and Emma, and finally a son, Percy.  Jack's great disappointment was that Percy chose a career in the law rather than the Navy, and Jack has had great difficulty in coming to terms with it.  Pat's marriage to a local businessman, Bill Grace, was a great relief to the family, as has Percy's success in the law.  Emma married a penniless university lecturer in mathematics Dr Tom Petersen, whose father had come to Britain from German-occupied Norway to fight in the Commandos, and had bought the blond hair into the family, the hair which so distinguishes Vickie and William.

Amelia has inherited the wayward risk-taking genes and the courage of her forbears, as well as the family problem.  Although she dried up by the age of eleven, her formative experiences of being changed by Peter has given her a decided kink, and made her into a diaper lover.  The overall object of the story is to explore all the variation of diaper-loving through a series of examples.  Vickie has it to a minor, sub-conscious degree, and Juliet hates it, but Peter is just a little bit ambivalent.  Amelia is becoming a raving DL.

As for "dissolute" - she is not very much that way, passionate and headstrong, no more than many of her family has been.  We will see later how it develops, but she cannot handle her drink, and has a hot temper with an inclination to lash out when her pride is injured.  This is something she will have to learn to control.  There's a way to go yet.

[Sarah Penguin]

Yay! Thanks for the update, interesting, I wonder how far she'll pursue this...

[freswith]

Thank you Sarah,