Phone Conversation

[freswith]

Mothers Know Best

The next two weeks seemed to pass very quickly. I spent a lot of time with Juliet and Patch, and the news that I had so cheerfully borne to school - that I was effectively getting my own pony - had made me some new friends, but had also deepened the antipathy between myself and Mags and Linda. They now described me as the "Poor Little Rich Girl with her nappies and her baby pants", and I took care to avoid them as much as possible. It didn't seem to matter; I now had my own friends, and they were much nicer people.

I had another go at Mum, well, apart from having a moan every night on the subject. Mum was always very patient about it, but when I threatened to take my night-nappies off anyway, she got angry and threatened me with the sleepsuit that zipped up the back and was almost impossible to undo. I had been deeply shocked, as I was now getting up for a pee in the night quite often, and as a result was staying dry. The sleepsuit, to which I hadn't been subjected for a year or two, would make this almost impossible. In fact it would make it quite impossible - that was the whole point of it; once it was on I had no option but to pee in my nappy, which destroyed the whole object of the exercise. I certainly didn't want that, but in my mind I suspected that I had long outgrown it. However, I wasn't going to get it out of the cupboard to try it in case Mum realised it would fit me, and seeing me with it on would assume I accepted it.

This time I made sure Juliet was within earshot when I re-started the row. I had got much closer to Juliet than ever before, and after her offer to let me look after Patch I trusted her completely. Juliet had always despised the whole idea of my wearing nappies, although she had accepted the reality that they were essential; I had not only worn them but also needed them almost every night up until three weeks ago, and even I accepted there would have been an awful mess if I hadn't had them. I simply didn't know what it was like to wet the bed; I had had the occasional leak and small wet patch, but could only speculate at the full horror of flooding the bed itself.

I made my plea, and Mum refused it. I said I'd been dry three whole weeks, and she replied it wasn't enough - three months was her minimum. On hearing the raised voices Juliet came into the room.

"You didn't make me wear nappies for three months after I dried up." She said simply, "so why be so harsh on Amelia? You can see that she's hacked it. We haven't had a wet nappy off her since she was at Pembroke."

"You were different. You were much older, twelve, nearly thirteen, and trusted to put them on yourself. You just decided to stop." That was news to me. I had heard that Juliet had stopped wetting quite suddenly after she had met Peter, but I didn't know the actual details. Juliet hated to talk about that side of it, she only spoke about meeting Peter, and I was hearing this for the first time.

"I wasn't much older, Amelia's ten and going up eleven, she isn't that far behind. How old were you?"

"Thirteen!" said Mum, getting embarrassed, and beginning to get flustered. "Children seemed to mature more slowly in those days. It was the food, you know."

Juliet sucked her teeth, and replied. "So you'd expect Amelia to mature a little earlier?"

I could have kissed her. It was a good solid hit on Mum's argument. She began to dissemble. "You don't have to wash the sheets. Besides, what would happen if she started wetting again? She would have to be put back into nappies, and that would be terribly disappointing to her. Do all kinds of damage."

The last remark had me a bit confused. How could nappies cause damage? What was she going to do? Nail them on? I took my courage in both hands. "If I start wetting again, I won't mind having to go back into nappies. I promise!" Perish the thought! I would fight like hell, and I knew it. So did Mum. It didn't have quite the effect I'd hoped for.

"Well, if that's the case, you won't mind carrying on wearing nappies for the time being!" snapped Mum. End of case; I'd lost that round. I felt my eyes start to brim with tears.

"But how long is "The Time Being""? asked Juliet. "When I dried up I stopped using them after about a week, and never wet again. Three months is way over the top."

Mum relented a little. She had won the argument, re-established her authority and saved her face, but was now confronted by one tearful daughter and one angry one. I suspected that she too was anxious to part from her elder daughter on the best of terms, and not leave a lingering sore which might flare again in the future and spoil relations between them.

"Very well then. Two months. One month already gone. How's that?"

My heart hardly leapt. One month was still a long time, but the sentence was already half-served, and we had managed to crack the edifice of Mum's diktat. One more push at the right time, and we - Juliet and I - might manage to topple it entirely. However, this wasn't the moment. Mum slapped the last tape down on my nappy and the matter was concluded.

The next day was Sunday, and we were due over at Gran's for lunch. This was Juliet's last Sunday before college, so it was rather important and formal, and my presence was required. The main attraction was that Peter had been given leave from his flying course and had come down all the way from Lincolnshire to be there.

I managed to get in a ride on Patch in the morning, but on breezing back into the house at the requisite hour - I was, after all, keeping my nose clean as well as my bottom dry - I was greeted by a foot-tapping mother.

"Hurry up and get changed!" she said, "You should have been here half an hour ago. I've put your things out ready for you!" and with that I was marched upstairs, stripped of my riding clothes, washed, scrubbed and marched back into my bedroom. There it was, still folded, but obviously intended to be the fundamental item of my apparel.

"Mum?!?" My protest was stifled.

"We're going to Gran's. Pembroke. You are still in nappies so Pembroke Rules apply!"

"Oh, Mum! I don't need it!"

"You don't have to use it, but you are going to wear it. I'll be the judge of whether you need it or not. Now get your pants down!"

"Pleeease Mum!" to no avail. My pants were whipped down, the nappy was shaken out to receive me, and I was sat down onto it. I stopped my protesting, as it would simply be undignified and I would lose. I played the obedient child, even holding the front up while the sides were taped. Fifteen minutes later (five to get dressed, ten while Mum tried to tame my notorious mane of hair without much success) I was at the front door dressed in my Sunday Best dress with tights keeping my nappy out of sight. I had even considered slipping into the toilet and taking the wretched thing off, but that could cause huge trouble, and probably cost me my hard-won gains in the getting-out-of-nappies game. I would have to keep on playing the Good Little Girl, even if it choked me.

I practised my scowl all the way to Pembroke, a whole ten minutes away, but I lost my resolve after I got there, and Gran was so nice. I could hardly keep it up after Juliet told her how well I was doing, and I just hoped to God I didn't have an accident. Gran praised me and asked if I thought I was drying up forever this time, and I nodded vigorously, then she asked me how much longer Mum required me to stay dry before she let me out of them.

"Another whole month!" I spat in disgust, and Gran simply nodded and said mothers know best. I could hardly disagree with Mum's mother on this so I just nodded. I shifted from leg to leg in my renewed discomfort and embarrassment, and the bulk of the now-slightly-clammy nappy made itself known. Gran asked me if I was comfy, which meant was I wet yet. It was very difficult to answer this. Yes, it was dry, Yes, it was comfortable as padding goes, even if it was bulky between my legs with sticky plastic already getting sweaty, Yes I was happy that I couldn't have an accident on those fabulously valuable carpets, but No, I was frustrated, humiliated, and crushed. Now that I had passed muster I was tempted again to slip away and dispose of it, but then I thought of the scene that would result and the further I thought of the likely outcome, the less attractive it seemed. The only change available was likely to be those cloth nappies that were probably still on the nursery shelf, and they would be much more bulky, much thicker, and impossible to conceal. I had no intention of waddling home like a duck.

They sat me down at the end of the table, between Gran and Mum, presumably where every move I made could be monitored. They had provided a cushion, but the table was still a bit too high for me and made it quite awkward to manage knife and fork, but I did so without making a mess. I was just so glad to be spared the booster chair, and just for a moment thought of the high chair that had once stood in the corner; that would have been the ultimate humiliation.

The meal seemed to take a very long time and much grown-up talk went on, droning away about stupid things I could barely understand. We had to hear about Gran and Granpa's holiday cruise and how polite and respectful the Captain had been. Poor man, I thought; fancy having an Admiral on your ship for two weeks, albeit a retired one. Then we had a blow-by-blow account of Peter's proposal, and endless discussion about who should do what to whom and how and when. That bored me stiff and I just had to sit there with my legs swinging and let it all flow over me. I had been there anyway, and knew who had done what to whom and when, but this probably wasn't the best time to bring it all up. Then Granpa got Peter talking about his flying course, and we had to listen to all the technical details about the aeroplane he was learning to fly. It all went way over my head, and I felt so left out of it. I was the only one who hadn't achieved anything, unless you count not having wet my nappy for three whole long weeks, and that hardly seemed to be the subject to bring up during lunch.

It's a custom on Granpa's formal meals that no-one is supposed to leave the table until the meal has ended and the Queen's health has been drunk. Granpa's idea.; he likes to think he's still in the Navy. As I sat there I realised I really should have used the toilet during my hasty ablution, but I didn't really have the chance with Mum standing there in a froth of impatience. Now I was caught between Scylla and Charybdis. In the old days - only a month ago - I would have taken the very simple solution of doing it in my nappy and then asking for a change when the meal was over, but if I did that today it would mean another two months - at least. I didn't know what the penalty would be for leaving the table in the middle of the meal - keelhauling across the garden pond sounded likely - but the matter was, to say the least, pressing.

I tried to get Mum's attention, but she was rabbiting on to Juliet about some finer point of catering on a yacht, and I couldn't get through to her. I looked the other way and found Gran was looking at me with some concern, so I asked her in a very small voice if I could leave the table. She looked across briefly to where Peter was saying something frightfully important to Granpa about "going solo" or something, and Gran told me to slip away quietly and do my business, but to come back soon before the Toast. I managed to do so without causing any comment, and got to the toilet in good time, but afterwards I had great difficulty putting my nappy back on; in my haste the tapes had torn clean out of the plastic, and I couldn't refasten them. I was beginning to panic a bit when there came a very soft knock at the door and Mum was asking if she could help. I was so grateful; I let her in and, almost in tears, explained my problem. Her reaction was simple. She leant down, removed my nappy entirely, and said, softly, "Gran has spoken. Pembroke Rules don't apply to you any more. Just be careful, that's all." and with that she pulled my tights back up.

I crept back into the dining room, as softly as I could, still bemused by the sudden turn of events, but my stealth was not enough. I was greeted with a cheer and congratulations. I think I grew about a foot taller as I walked from the door to my chair; it certainly didn't feel so low now. Granpa gave me a big wink, and best of all, Peter smiled at me, a big, big smile.

[jbz2079]

Another good update, thanks.

I like the chance of reading the events through someone elses experiance.

So Amilia's account is fascinating.

[freswith]

Going Solo.

On Juliet's advice I didn't bring the subject up that night, as both Juliet and I were hoping Mum might take the hint from Gran and decide not to nappy me for bed, but it was not to be. The ritual proceeded exactly as it always had. After my bath I would walk back into my bedroom with just a bathrobe on, and find my nappy all laid out ready for me on my bed, and Mum waiting. She would take my bathrobe off, slip my pyjama top over my head and turn me round and sit me carefully down into the centre of my nappy. I would lie back and spread my legs, and lift my bottom while she adjusted the position of the nappy. Then she would spread the ointment on me, and bring the front of the nappy up between my legs and spread it over my tummy, finally bringing the sides around and taping them down over the front. If it was winter she would put my pyjama bottoms over my feet, then stand me up, make sure my nappy was fitted properly, and finally pull the pyjama bottoms up to my waist, tucking the top in so I was all neat and tidy. If it was summer she left the pyjama bottoms off, as it made it easier for her to check and change me. Afterwards she would sit me at my dressing table, try once again to brush my hair into some kind of tidiness, and only after that was done was I free to stagger off to kiss Daddy goodnight. He would give me a hug, say something sweet to me, and kiss me, and I would waddle back to my bed, a little less awkwardly as may nappy shaped itself to my groin, and climb in. Mummy would kiss me goodnight as well and tuck me in, and I would lie back in the half-light of the partly open bedroom door and think of Peter and how warm and safe I felt. Lately I would do the forbidden thing, and run my hands down around the smooth plastic of my nappy, trying to remember how wonderful it felt when Peter put it on me. Sometimes, much later, I would half-wake when Mum came in and check it, and she would slide her cool hands down inside my pyjamas to see if I was wet. If I was, that would mean all the fuss and bother of a nappy change, but that hadn't happened in quite a long time.

Usually I would sleep through the night, but lately I had been waking up with a full bladder. I had learnt to recognise the signs, of those strange dreams in which I would always be trying to find a toilet, or worse still, of walking barefoot along a wet pathway in the rain. I would then drag myself from my stupor, and my warm, soft bed, switch the light on, stagger off to the toilet, pull one tape away at my waist, slide the nappy down my legs and have a pee. Then I would pull it up again, do my best to refasten the tape, and stagger back to bed. It hardly seemed worth it when I could just stay in bed , spread my legs and allow the warm wetness to trickle own between them and form a hot pool under my bottom. Finally I could go to sleep and not worry about anything until the morning, when Mum would release me from my wet nappy with no comment, or at worst, an expression of sympathy.

Things were different now. I had got a record to try for, a target, and I had Patch between my legs as proof I was getting somewhere. Even Gran, ever the immovable object, had recognised I was making progress. I wanted Peter to respect me as a person, not just as a little baby girl who still wore nappies. I had grown very, very tired of the taunts from other children, and I wanted to round on them and be able to tell them I was normal with all the credibility of knowing it to be true. Those dreams of toilets and wet pavements were an alarm call to me now, and I would wake with a start when I recognised them. That meant the tedious trip to the toilet, but I drove myself to do it. I had a battle on to convince Mum that I was really getting dry, and I was determined to win it.

I had once seen a picture of Francis Drake and I thought he was wearing nappies, but I knew better now. However, by then I had read all about him, he had become my hero, and I would often ask myself what he would have done in any situation. It had sometimes got me into trouble as I would do things other children would never dare to, but I had learned the thrill of danger, and it was a wonderful antidote to the safe-but-boring world I was required to inhabit. Never refuse a challenge! Never give up! Always take the opportunity! Now my challenge was to get dry, and my foe was my own wretched little bladder, and I was determined to win. That way I would gain Peter's respect, and be able to look him in the eye. I suppose, looking back on it, I had got myself into a bit of a cleft stick; I wanted Peter to respect me, but I also wanted him to change my nappies.

I carried on. Each morning I was dry. One morning in particular I went to the lavatory just as it was getting light, but when I came to refasten my nappy I fumbled the tapes, and seeing morning was not far off, I took the nappy clean off and went back to bed. I was lucky - I got away with it, and when Mum found the still-dry nappy on the floor she simply wagged her finger at me and uttered a sharp reminder, but she accepted my explanation. I was finally getting there.

I spent Saturday with Juliet and Patch. Juliet was getting ready for college, which she was due to start on Monday, so tomorrow we would all go down to Bristol with her and install her in her room in college, then go to visit Uncle Tom and Aunt Emma in the city. Tom was a lecturer at the university, and it was an unspoken part of the deal that they would help Juliet if she needed it. I was eager to go on the trip so I could renew my acquaintance with my little cousin Vickie, and also to admire the new baby, William, whom I hadn't yet met. Mum and Dad were out for the evening to a big dinner in London, and wouldn't be back until very late, so I was going to have my sister as my sitter for this evening, and was looking forward to it. We had got much closer after she entrusted Patch to my care, and I had really enjoyed her company; it was just like the old days.

I helped Juliet pack her suitcase, shared supper with her, and managed to spin out bedtime for nearly an hour before she realised the time, and shooed me up for my bath. As I was in the bath the phone rang. It was Peter, which always meant Juliet would be some time. I dried myself quite quickly, and went down in my bathrobe to join her. She was a listening attentively as Peter talked about flying, which was his great passion at the moment. His course had gone very well and they had let him take the aeroplane up on his own, at which point I learned what was meant by "going solo". From what I could gather, curled up by Juliet's side, he had been hoping for it, but it was actually sprung on him at the last minute so he wouldn't have time to get worried or too excited about it. His instructor just gave him a short chat and sent him off. All told I spun out bedtime by another twenty minutes or so, and was starting to get a bit sleepy when he eventually said all kinds of soppy things, wished Juliet well at Uni and said he would call her there tomorrow night.

When Juliet finally put the phone down and looked at the clock, she realised it was long past my bedtime and ordered me upstairs without further delay. I went into my bedroom where the usual items were laid out and I shrugged off my bathrobe and got up onto the changing table in just my pyjama top. Juliet came in, picked up the nappy started to unfold it, and then stopped. I sat there, stark naked and wondered what on earth was happening. Then Juliet looked at me for one long moment, and said "Do you want to try a night without one?"

I looked back at her. I knew exactly what she was doing; she was sending me solo. I hadn't time to get worried or excited about it, but it was a huge naughtiness and I did what I usually did in such circumstances; I thought what Francis Drake would have done when confronted by a risky enterprise. I nodded my agreement, and Juliet put the nappy down, and picked up my pyjama bottoms instead. I put them on as fast as I could before she changed her mind, and climbed into bed. Juliet promised me she would get me up to use the toilet before Mum and Dad came home, and I wondered what Mum would say and do. It was pretty obvious; I expected she would blow her top with Juliet - and with me - and I would be nappied without further ado. Probably just as well - I didn't want to get Juliet in a load of trouble.

I lay there in the darkness feeing quite strange. There was something missing, and the emptiness shouted. I wasn't in my normal safe, well-padded condition, and now staying dry really mattered. I curled up, my hands pressing underneath as if to stop any leaks, and I pressed my legs together tightly. Sometime later Juliet kept her word, and I tried to withhold my normal protests at being dragged from my nice warm bed and made to go on the nasty cold toilet, but go I did. I was nearly there. Soon Mum would come home and put my nappy on and I would be safe and Juliet wouldn't get blamed and I would have shown that I could get through half the night without a nappy on and without wetting the bed.

The next thing I knew it was morning. As consciousness returned I suddenly remembered all that had happened, and I reached downwards in a panic. I was dry here...and I was dry there... and I was dry here as well...and I didn't even have a nappy on, there was just me down there. I sat up with a jerk, and took in the whole event. Then I made for the toilet; this was certainly not a moment for an accident. Mum must have forgotten to give me her customary nappy-check when she came in, and I had got away with it! I had spent a whole night without a nappy on, and I still hadn't wet the bed. I went back to the bed and sat down, and saw the nappy that had been meant for me was still on the changing-table and still folded. I punched the air in celebration and crowed with delight.

When eventually there came sounds of movement from my parents' room my exultation gave way to trepidation over what might be said to whom. I had been very naughty - I had broken one of Mum's great rules in that I had not worn a nappy to bed - but I did have Juliet as witness and defence, and I had stayed dry. It was just a case of convincing Mum that it had been deliberate, a successful experiment, and trying to get her on side. Mum came in, and I sat there, trying not to grin too much. She just came over, looked at me, then peeled the bedclothes back, and ran her hand down the middle.

"Well done, Amelia!" was all she said, and then she gave me a hug and a kiss. In return I let my grin get as wide as it liked, and hugged her right back.

[jbz2079]

Thanks for the update Freswith.

I like Amelia's hero "Sir Francis Drake" and how when she got older she realised that having such a daring hero spurred her on.

It compliments some of the things and situations she gets into later on. Great stuff. Thanks.

[freswith]

This is also her heritage - pirate, slave trader, buccaneer, opium smuggler, gambler, and when things get a bit quiet, naval officer or supermodel. She has a high risk-reward rationale, to put it in modern terms. She's a "rakehell" in more traditional ones.

[freswith]

Delivering Juliet

Bristol was another problem; it was at least a two-hour drive, and that put in it the category of being a "nappy trip". Since I was generally considered to have only one hour's bladder capacity, and there was often no convenient place to "go" en route, it was customary for me to wear some protection "just in case". With this in mind I made myself scarce after breakfast, and managed to get out of the house altogether on the pretext of going to see if Patch was all right. For once it worked, and I managed to time my return so that Dad was starting to get a little bit impatient, and I was bundled into the back of the car amidst a mild scolding for holding everybody up. There was no time left for a visit to the changing-table, and I would be the last one to remind Mum about it; she was all taken up with seeing her elder daughter had absolutely everything she needed anyway, and I was something of a supernumerary on this trip.

As it happened we made a comfort stop at the service area at Oxford, and another one at a place called Leigh Delamere, which was quite unusual; Dad normally did the journey in one go, and when we got to Aunt Emma's house I would be whipped upstairs for a change. I usually needed it as well; two hours between visits can be a long time for me. However, this time, sitting in the back with Juliet, I managed the whole trip easily, and I didn't even have to cross my legs on the last bit. When we arrived at Uncle Tom's house, and after the normal greetings, Aunt Emma said "I suppose you'd like to take the little one upstairs." This was the normal invitation for a change, but Mum simply shook her head and replied; "Not needed today." and I detected a certain smugness in her voice. I took the hint anyway, and used the downstairs loo; I certainly wasn't going to blot my copybook now, and certainly not in front of a very curious Vickie.

Leaving the grown-ups to do their usual boring things Vickie and I slipped away to her bedroom to exchange our own news. I was bursting to tell her all about the business at Pembroke, and about Patch, and all about Peter, as well as something about Juliet, but she only wanted to know why I wasn't wearing a nappy. Vickie was very fed up. The arrival of baby brother William had rubbed it in that she was still in nappies at night, and sometimes during the day as well, and not just any nappies. Tom and Emma were very much into "Save the Earth" and all that, and saving the earth meant Vickie had to wear real nappies - big towelling ones, and she loathed it. She especially loathed the forced association with six-month old William: "You've no idea what he does in his nappies! It's horrible!" she said in disgust. I made a point of not telling her of my Big Accident of just over a month ago, as I didn't think it would help very much. I was reduced to telling her that it just stopped, and she looked at me in poorly concealed disbelief. I knew exactly how she felt; I had been told the same story so many times: "When you're ten or twelve or so it'll all stop and you'll be dry." and now I was in the position of telling it to her. It was the very first time I had ever told it, and it already felt worn and hackneyed, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I realised the bond which had united us was now broken; I was a grown-up to her now, no longer the fellow sufferer, and she had taken my erstwhile role as the eldest kid in the family to still be in nappies years and years after she should have dried up.

"It's only a few more years." I said lamely, "I'm only five years older than you."

"Four years, ten months, twenty one days" replied Vickie bitterly. I didn't argue; I'd learnt not to argue with Vickie over any matter of doing sums because she was always exactly right. Her Dad taught sums at university, and he had taught her. Many was the time I'd wished I'd had Vickie with me in a maths test, but not to be.

"That's not all that long!" I said, trying to cheer her, but the words fell to the floor like a well-soaked nappy.

"Mum won't give me a chance!" complained Vickie, "I'm never even allowed to try a night without a nappy. I'm sure they're really what makes me wet. I could manage to stay dry if I didn't have to wear one every night."

"But do you still wet your nappy every night?"

"Well, yes, but it's only because I've got one on. I'm sure I would stop if I didn't have to wear one."

Something about chickens and eggs came to mind, but I realised it wouldn't really help to mention it. I tried to change the subject. "Where's you new little brother? I haven't seen him yet."

"Having a nap." replied Vickie, "That's the worst of it. We go out. Him in his push-chair and me having to walk alongside it. Both of us in our nappies; both of us little babies. It makes me feel so silly - I'm a big girl now!"

"I know exactly how you feel." came a voice from behind us. Juliet had come into the room as quietly as ever. "I had to waddle along beside Amelia's push-chair when we went to feed the ducks, and I loathed it. I also hated it when Gran would change both of us one after the other. It was so humiliating. I didn't need them at all then, but I used them because they were there. It's just easier to do what you're expected to do than to keep on fighting about it."

Vickie shrugged sullenly. "I can't imagine you in nappies, Juliet," she replied, "You've always been a big girl to me."

"I had to wear them too. Towelling ones like yours, too. So bulky. Weighed a ton. But at least they never seemed to leak. I was well past twelve going on thirteen before I got out of them altogether. I was even wearing one when I met Peter."

Vickie just stared at her, open mouthed. "That must have been horrible!" was all she said.

"Worse still, I'd just wet it, and I didn't dare to move because he would have seen it all sodden and droopy, so I just had to sit there and try to pretend it was nothing. Amazingly he wasn't at all bothered about it. He's a wonderful man, Peter."

I concurred. I wondered if Peter had changed Juliet then, or later. It brought it all back to me with a rush, but suddenly I realised that particular pleasure had now gone - for ever - and I suddenly felt a funny twinge as if I missed it.

"Come on," said Juliet, "Lunch is ready." And we followed her out.

As we went past the other bedroom I saw Mum and Aunt Emma bent over a table. A pair of chubby pink legs waved in the air from behind Emma, and that was my first sight of my little cousin William. Of course I had to go and look. He was exactly like the pictures I'd seen, with his fine blond hair, just like Vickie. He wriggled and protested as he was being changed and Mum and Emma were chuckling as he kicked out at the fresh nappy. Just like a boy! It didn't do him any good and the pins went in just the same. He turned to face me for a moment and blew a bubble, so I went over to say hello. I held his little hand as Emma slid the plastic pants up his flailing legs and then she said "Do you need a change too, dear?" I froze solid for a moment until Vickie's voice came from behind me with a firm "NO!". I hadn't even realised Vickie was kitted-up, and for a moment I thought Emma was offering to change ME. Despite the frisson of shock, some still, small voice within me regretted not accepting the offer. Peculiar, that,...it must have been pure habit.

William was duly passed around from lap to lap, and ended up in mine, warm and soft and heavy. I remembered to support his head in the way I'd been told, but that still left me a hand free to play with him. It was the first time I'd been allowed to hold a real live baby and I was surprised to feel how heavy he was, and when he was passed back to Emma he left a damp patch, but thankfully it was only my perspiration; he hadn't leaked. I realised that I was no longer bracketed amongst the little children, that I had myself now been allowed the custody of a child, albeit for just a few minutes, and I felt appropriately honoured.

Having had a leisurely lunch, we took Juliet to her hall of residence and installed her in her new room. After the suitcases had been carried from the car there was one bag left. I didn't offer to carry it in. I didn't want even to know it was there, and still less to draw Mum's attention to it; it was my changing bag, which had evidently been brought along "just in case", and I realised I was by no means out of the wood yet - I still had the homeward journey to make. Mum got a bit emotional when she said goodbye to Juliet, and was very quiet for a time, but brightened up when Dad mentioned he had left his coat behind at Tom and Emma's, and we had better go back for it. That turned into tea, and was heading towards supper when Mum remembered that tomorrow was a school day, and we still had a two-hour journey to get home. Before we left I went upstairs to see William being put to bed, and say goodbye to Vickie. I had to wait until she finished in the bathroom, and so I talked with Emma while she folded Vickie's night-nappies ready for her. She said that Vickie didn't normally wear during the day, but that morning she had had a little accident, probably because she was very excited about us arriving, so Emma had thought it better to give her some protection. She asked me how I felt now that I was out of nappies, and I had replied that I felt marvellous, then I realised it was the first time anyone had actually put it into words. Mum must have told Emma, but it rubbed it in further that she hadn't told me; she was apparently withholding the final decision until a later time. I resolved to make quite sure I went to the toilet before we left, and to stay awake all the way home.

When Vickie saw me in her bedroom with her mother she stopped dead in her tracks, and I could see a blush begin to spread up the pale skin of her cheeks. I suddenly realised that a barrier now existed between us. We had been nappied at the same time on many occasions, and chatted and played as it was done, but now I had been promoted to the other side of the safety pin so to speak, and she was terribly embarrassed at my being present while she suffered her nightly humiliation, so I made my excuses and left them.

I rejoined Mum and Dad downstairs, and made sure Mum saw me going to the toilet. When I came out, Emma and Vickie were coming downstairs, Vickie in her pyjamas and rustling slightly but looking much less embarrassed. We said our goodbyes and took our leave. I found myself with the entire back seat of the car to myself, and the absence of Juliet started to come home to me. It would be several weeks before she was expected back, and I realised I had lost my closest friend and strongest champion; I was going to have to fight my own battles from now on. I was terrified I would fall asleep and have an accident on the back seat of the car, and I knew Dad would be terribly unforgiving if I did; the seats were real leather, and he was very proud of them. I recognised an old fear creeping back on me; the sense that my bladder was filling inexorably towards its maximum capacity and I was going to have to ask Dad to stop the car in some God-awful place to let me relieve myself. I knew it was really all in my mind, but then that is where I am located as well, and I knew I couldn't escape.

By the time we got to Oxford I had crossed my legs and was squeezing, which Mum must have seen because she suggested, in that certain voice she has, that we stop at the service area for a few minutes. I was very grateful when I reached the toilets, but a little shamefaced when I realised the matter wasn't half as pressing as I thought it had been. It was actually a bit of a waste of time, but I felt much better for it. When Mum and I got back to the car, Dad was fumbling around in the boot*. For one dreadful moment I thought he was going to emerge with my changing bag and I had visions of being nappied on the back seat of the car in the middle of the busy car park, but it was not to be, and he was only doing that strange general rummaging that Dads seem to like doing.

I tried very hard to stay awake for the remainder of the journey, but it was way past my usual bedtime, and the drive home, which is boring enough in the daylight, becomes hopelessly soporific after dark. I awoke as we pulled into the driveway, and instantly felt underneath my backside in a moment of panic only to find I was as dry as a bone. Mum lost no time in chivvying me up to bed, and for once I made no objection. I came out of the shower to find Mum wasn't there as she usually was, and so I just stood there for a few minutes, staring expectantly at he white plastic bag which held my supply of nappies. Then Mum came into the room and asked what I was waiting for. She followed my eyes, and then smiled slowly. "I don't think you need those anymore, Pet, do you?" she said quietly, "You can have one if you want, but you don't have to. I think it's time you were out of them. Now hurry up and get your pyjamas on, it's way past the time you were in bed." I didn't argue. I put my pyjamas on as quickly as I could and slipped between the sheets. "Mind you!" Mum went on, raising a warning finger, "Any wetting and you might have to go back into them. I'll leave them there, just in case!" She kissed me goodnight and left the room. In the gloom I could just make out the shape of the white bag. Strangely enough, I felt I was missing something. I no longer had that sense of safety, of being snugly, warmly, wrapped, of being able to sleep come-what-may. I realised I had taken a big step into the grown-up world and things would never be quite the same again and I wondered - why is it that just when you get really good at it, you find childhood has ended?

(*boot = trunk, for our American cousins)

[babykeiff]

Freswith,

another excellent instalment. It is nice to see events as they unfold from Amelia's point of view. I remember reading Vickie's story, and in that, Vickie giving out that she was in nappies and Amelia not (Vickie's Story Episode 'Peter' - 'Dr Who' vs Amelia's Story, Episode 'Delivering Juliet'). It must be a huge milestone to Amelia for her to mention it.

Also, in Amelia's story, it is easy to see why, at the time of Peter's wedding that she was not in a diaper and that Vickie was, yet from Vickie's perspective it may seem unfair.

These subtle differences brilliantly conceived by you in the way you show your characters inner feelings about each event, and how from a top down perspective, each align to show that the decisions made, although from the characters perspective, may seem harsh or unfair at the time, but are made with the best interest of the person in mind - Vickie's mother choosing to place Vickie in a diaper at the wedding when Amelia is not, from Vickie's perspective seems unfair to Vickie, but Amelia has proved that she does not need diapers, whilst Vickie is only at the transition step from diapers at the time.

Again, very well done.

[freswith]

Many thanks - I enjoy writing my characters and giving each of them diiferent objectives, ambitions and feelings. I have quite a lot more to do with Amelia but I don't want to rush things. She now has a lot of growing-up to catch up on, and not much of it is to do with nappies, so that will have to go on the back burner for a bit, but I'll come back to it. I am sure she has a few surprises in store for us.

[warpiper]

freswith, you are a master with words. that last line was pure gold.

[freswith]

Thank you - it was actually the first line I wrote - I was just waiting for the chance to use it!

[freswith]

Helen.

I walked to school on the following morning with a light heart. I had my news to tell, the biggest news I had personally ever had, but I couldn't tell it. They all knew, of course, but I had never admitted it, so now I could hardly tell them that what had never been was now no more. It cramped my style somewhat, but I still felt good that I had caught up with all the others. Nature continued to call, naturally, and I observed my long-held ritual of going to the loo between classes; today was not the day to blot my copybook - or to make a puddle on the floor. I even said a cheerful "Good Morning" to Mags and Linda when I passed them, and got the usual sneer in response. To be honest, Mags looked as if she had just sucked a particularly sour lemon, and Linda looked as if it had been supposed to be hers. I didn't mind. I felt so good in myself, so confident, that nothing could upset me. The day went quickly, even Maths was bearable, and when final bell rang I was still walking on air.

Perhaps I should have been more on my guard when I left the playground, swinging my satchel, but when I saw Mags and Linda beside the path, I thought nothing of it, and wished them a cheerful "Good Night!". As if in reply, Linda stuck her foot out and I went sprawling painfully onto the pavement.

"Aaaw, poor ickle dearie!" sang Mags, putting one foot on my skirt so it was impossible for me to get up. "Hurt her ickle selfy-welf and going to cry, Diddums!"

Linda leered down at me. "No doggy here today, Diddums, just us and our friends." I noticed a group of other kids in the background, none of whom were my special friends. "No Horsey-worsey to gallop off on, just ickle Amelia. Going to wet yourself, Diddums? Got your nappy on? Come on, let's see you wet it! You know you'd like to really, don't you?"

I tried to get to my feet. I knew once I did I could outrun all of them, I was the fastest child on school sports day, and by quite a good margin. Certainly I was much faster than Mags, who tended a bit toward the heavy side - that is, an awful lot toward the heavy side. Unfortunately she was standing on the hem of my skirt, and if I got up I would probably lose it altogether. "What have I ever done to you?" I wailed. It was true. I'd never hurt them. They just picked on me because I was a bit different, because I had a problem, because my dad was a bit better off, because I had a pony, and because I was slim and good at sports. And they had nothing, no money, no pony, no looks, just a whole lot of wobbling flesh, and unfortunately the muscles to support it. Linda moved in, fists clenched: this was going to hurt.

"What's All This About?" came a sharp voice. Mum!... Grace of God, Mum! Mags and her friends evaporated, running in all directions, leaving me sitting on the ground holding my grazed and bloody knee and sobbing desperately. Mum picked me up and helped me limp back towards the school building. My teacher, Miss Sparrow, came out in a rush and took my other arm. I was taken to the first aid room and there was a huge fuss, everybody talking at once. I was interrogated, and answers were extracted, either by my mum or by the Head Teacher or by Miss Sparrow. I didn't want to tell them the names, I didn't want to be a sneak, but I was outnumbered, outsized and still shaking with shock. They got the names; I got a big sticking plaster on my knee, comforted, and taken home. Mum had been on her way home from the shops, and breaking her normal habit had decided to pick me up from school. To that whim I owed so much - it had been a very sticky situation.

Once home, and I had straightened myself up a bit, Dad appeared. He asked me lots more questions. What had they done, who had done it, how often had this kind of thing happened, why hadn't I told them about it? I told him everything, and he got angrier and angrier. Granpa was called, and Dad spent sometime on the phone to him. Then the Head Teacher came round, and spent a lot longer in the study with Dad, and left looking very worried. Eventually I was put to bed a little earlier than the usual time. The sticking plaster on my knee was replaced, with Dad looking on. He was not happy, and I was careful not to make any protest at the earliness of the hour. Eventually I was sitting on the side of my bed in my pyjamas, and only Mum was there. I looked at the white package on the dresser, and Mum looked at me, long and hard.

"Would you like one on?" she said softly, "It might make you feel safer. We won't tell anyone. It won't matter if you need to use it."

I shook my head vigorously. "No! No way! Never!" I told her I wasn't going to give up all that I had earned over a little thing like this. After a moment, Mum just nodded. She turned and picked up the package.

"We'll put them away somewhere, shall we? They might be useful if little Vickie comes to stay. Or even for someone else" I nodded, and Mum turned and left the room. I switched off my bedside light and wriggled down into bed nursing my wounded leg, which was beginning to sting a little bit. Mum had left the door open - presumably she wanted to keep an eye on me - and in the gloom I looked at the empty place on the dresser which had hosted the bag of nappies for so many years. Something inside me regretted my speedy decision. I suddenly felt it would be nice to be wrapped up all safe and sound with no worries, and thus make my peaceful voyage into morning. However, I was growing up now, at long last, and comforted myself that they couldn't take that away from me. One little question remained unanswered: who was the "someone else" who might have needed the nappies?

I didn't go to school the following day. Mum said she didn't want me walking too far on that leg, but I didn't quite believe her. The day after that Mum took me to school herself, something she hadn't done for years. When I went in to the classroom there was an awkward silence, and then I noted the two empty places where Mags and Linda normally sat. Miss Sparrow came in and surveyed the room. "Let's re-arrange things." she said, "We'll have you boys over there, and make some space over here - and Helen, would you come and sit next to Amelia, that's nice - thank you and now let's have you over here..." and so it went on. I was quite pleased, I was now in the front row, and Helen was as near as I had to a best friend. She was small and fair, and she reminded me of Vickie, although Vickie was a much paler blonde. Helen had a pony too, which shared a field with Patch, and her parents were very horsey. We started to get on very well, and by break-time Helen had invited me to a sleepover on Hallowe'en.

"I can't come, it's...difficult. My Mum won't..."

"My Mum's already spoken to her, and it's all OK." replied Helen with a wink. "Will you come? We'd all miss you if you didn't." And, having been asked so sweetly, I could hardly refuse. I'd never been allowed on sleepovers before, for obvious reasons; it would never have done to be nappied in front of all my friends, and for that same reason I had never been allowed to go to one. By a funny coincidence it had been one of the things I'd told Mum about the day before, when she asked me if I had any close friends at school.

It was several days before Mags and Linda reappeared, and when they did they were sat at widely-separated desks and seemed to be keen to avoid me - and I was quite happy to avoid them. I was getting on well with my own little group of friends, and sometimes, on the quiet, I let them ride Patch. He didn't seem to mind at all and was very quiet and gentle with them, which was just as well; I didn't want any accidents to explain.

When Hallowe'en finally came I was much more confident about my ability to stay dry, which was probably just as well. There were six of us there, all friends from school, and Helen's little sister as well, and we had lots of fun trying to frighten each other and it was quite late before Helen's long-suffering mum managed to get us all to bed. I noticed - but pretended not to - that my bed had a plastic sheet over the mattress. Helen caught my eye, and sheepishly admitted that hers did too - her mum was obviously not taking any chances with any of us, which was just as well in view of the amount of drink we'd consumed. I didn't wet the bed - quite - as I managed to wake up in time and go to the toilet. As I came out, Helen was waiting to go in. We exchanged silly grins, and when we got back to bed started whispering softly to each other.

"I hate having to do that." said Helen, "I'd much rather stay in my nice warm bed."

"So do I. It's better than the alternative, though."

"Mum gets so angry with me if I wet the bed," Helen went on, "but I only do it once in a while. It's horrible!"

"As you all seem to know, I've never actually done it in the bed."

"Yeah, I've heard the stories, but Mum says you've stopped now and you're out of them."

"Hope so. I'd hate to have to go back into them."

"Mum threatens me with that every time I'm wet. At first it frightened the life out of me, but you know how parents go on and on, and never really mean it. I don't think she'll ever really do it. I just wouldn't stand for it."

"You don't. You lie down and it's all done for you." We both suppressed our giggles so as not to wake the others.

"What's it really like?"

It took me a few moments to reply. I had to go back over so many years and so many experiences, add them all up and then, with a certain amount of pleasure, draw a line underneath and summarise the whole thing in a dormitory whisper.

"It's... it's not so bad. They're bulky but not uncomfortable when dry. When they're warm and wet it's OK, but if they get cold and wet it's miserable. I can sleep in a wet nappy no problem, but sometimes in summer I would shrug the bedclothes off, and the nappy would get cold. That's a bind. The only way you can warm it up again is to have another pee in it."

"You mean you would do it deliberately?"

I thought for a moment. "Yeah. Sometimes it was simply more convenient - and more comfortable - to do it in my nappy rather than stagger off to the loo and go through all the paraphernalia of taking the nappy off and putting it back on again. Mum never knew, I never told her, and so I never got scolded for it."

"You mean she didn't make a scene if you wet your nappy?"

"No, never, it was a sort of quid-pro-whatsit. I didn't object to wearing nappies; she didn't scold me for wetting them." I felt my eyelids getting heavier as sleep descended inexorably upon me. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow if you like." and I let myself drift off.

[weeboy]

Hi freswith

The story is nearly at the bottom of the page again, must mean we are overdue a new chapter or two lol

anything on its way soon?

[freswith]

Yup. Too much work and a bit of writer's block. I'll get on with it!

[jbz2079]

Thanks Freswith, I was going to give you a bump for the christmas update.

[freswith]

I'm writing hard; it's just that I've got Amelia at a crossroads, and have to explain why she is taking a particular route.

[freswith]

Perspective

The following morning I was dry and, although I had largely stopped worrying about it at home, it was very important to me on this first sleepover that I didn't make a fool of myself. I went home and Mum didn't even ask me if I'd stayed dry; it was accepted that I had been. I told her how much I'd enjoyed being with the other kids, and how much fun we'd had, and she suggested I return the hospitality by hosting a sleepover at our house for my birthday. It seemed a brilliant idea, and we agreed on numbers and where we could put them; Juliet wasn't planning to come home for that weekend, so we could use her room, and with a couple of camp beds that gave us enough for the party. It had always been a little bit of a problem having a birthday at the end of November as there was usually so little to do in the short, dark days when everyone was looking forward to Christmas, but that's the way it was, and I had learned that a sleepover could be as much fun as an outing.

I met Helen down at Patch's field, and told her all about my plans for a sleepover on my birthday. She was delighted, and we laid joint plans for the party. After we'd fed the ponies we retreated to the hayloft, which was quiet and warm and out of the wind - and out of the sight of any grown-ups as well, which was even better. Helen raised the subject that was still obviously bothering her. She asked me what it was like to have to wear nappies. I was quite surprised; nobody had ever asked me before - they'd told me many times, sympathised with me regularly, laughed at me quite often and humiliated me sometimes, but never, ever had I been asked how I really felt about it.

I tried to put my thoughts in order, and realised my feelings had changed in the few weeks I had been out of nappies. Already the humiliation and the total inconvenience of the things was fading in the way that the memory of pain does; something inside me was purging the bad memories, and where I expected myself to be shocked, angry and embarrassed by the question, I discovered I could now put it into some perspective; it was no longer the elephant in the room about which no-one dare speak.

I started my reply with a list of all the things that were horrible about them; noisy, wet, clammy undignified and uncomfortable, but then I ran out of invective and other memories began to surface. The closeness I'd had with my mother, her endless patience and tolerance at the failings of her daughter, her everlasting patience with my failure to control a natural function long after every other mother's child in the village had dried up. The endless subterfuges that had been necessary to cover my shortcomings, the complete absence of any deliberate humiliations, and the care she had taken not to hurt my feelings. I suddenly remembered that Mum hadn't actually hugged me for a few days past, and the evening ritual of intimate contact and the few minutes of her time I could always command while she nappied me for bed were no longer available. If I wished to raise something with Mum, I had to pick my opportunities carefully in between the other demands on her time. When I went to bed now, I was alone, even if Mum looked in to wish me goodnight, tell me to stop reading, and turn the light off, it was only for a few seconds.

I realised too that, when I went to bed, there was always the vital need to empty my bladder thoroughly and even then I still had to sleep with one eye open, be aware of the tiniest tingle from my bladder, and make myself get up out of my warm bed and fumble to the cold, cold toilet with bleary eyes to relieve myself. No more could I simply let it all go into my nappy, and then go back to sleep without all the paraphernalia of a trip to the loo. I found myself remembering the warm, soft, smooth padded safety and comfort of my nappy with something like nostalgia, and I missed the hands-on attention of my Mum.

When my first spate of revulsion had passed I found myself speaking more slowly and hesitantly to Helen, who was listening carefully to every word. I mentioned the positive aspects of wearing nappies, and her eyes widened. I said it all, rather disjointedly, and even summed up with the old hoar that it was better to wet a nappy than to wet the bed. It rang as hollow then as it had always done.

"You mean you didn't really mind it?" she exclaimed, "Being nappied like a baby? Waddling about, wailing and sucking on a dummy?"

"Well, I didn't." I replied, "It wasn't like that. Babies do that because they are babies, and I wasn't a baby. It was really no more than putting my pyjamas on, but with Mum in attendance and helping me. There was no-one around to laugh or jeer, it was always taken as perfectly normal, no big thing, and Mum was always very kind and gentle. Nobody ever teased me about being a baby, nobody ever tried to humiliate me. It was just part of the routine."

"But what if you wet them?"

"No problem. Unless they leaked, of course. Then Mum would be a bit angry. Once, long ago I took the nappy off deliberately and then wet the bed; she was absolutely livid, and there was a big scene and shouting and tears and everything. She made me wear a sleeper after that. Zipped all the way up the back. Couldn't get it off, couldn't get to the lavatory even if I woke up and wanted to. I sort of gave up trying after that. Didn't seem to be much point, so if I needed to, I would just wet my nappy and go back to sleep. Eventually I outgrew the sleeper and she didn't replace it, and I never took my nappy off again."

"But what happened if you wet your nappy? Wasn't your mother terribly angry?"

I shrugged. "No, not at all. That was the deal. I would wear them without too much fuss, and in exchange she would accept that I would wet them, also without too much fuss. It worked quiet well, and it avoided all the shouting and nagging. I did my best to stay dry, most of the time, and she accepted that. I was never humiliated - even Juliet understood I couldn't help it, and it was perfectly normal within the family, and it was always kept a secret from anyone else."

"Not kept very well. It's been whispered about all round the school."

"I know. Couldn't be helped. I think all the mothers must talk together and they pass these things on. It didn't help when she used the old cloth nappies on me, either. She would dry them on the washing line and it must have sent a signal to everybody; those square white towels could only be one thing, and they knew I was the youngest person in the house. She even dried the plastic pants on the line until I pleaded with her to stop. Everybody must have known I was in nappies, and that was it. At least disposable are more discreet, and I could wear them under my clothes when we travelled, and they don't have to hang on the washing line."

"You mean you had to wear them during the day?"

"Sometimes, yes. Going on long car journeys; it wasn't always possible to stop somewhere in time. I know Dad insisted, because Mum would then be so adamant that I had to wear them, and I could never argue or negotiate. Same with any long journeys. I hated flying because it usually took hours between changes, and there was never enough room for a change in an aircraft. Trains just the same. Cars not so bad, because Dad could often stop according to my needs, but I dreaded being changed on the back seat in a car park or layby. I would deny that I was wet and would rather sit there in a wet nappy to the journey's end than suffer that indignity. Wet nappies aren't so bad, as long as they don't get cold. Then they're miserable. I would wear tights over them in the winter to help keep them up, and Gran made me some big pants to cover them in summer. Dresses help to conceal them. Jeans can be a bit difficult - they make changes very awkward."

"How often did you need changes?"

"Not too often. I could hold it for a couple of hours, normally, but that would be at a risk of an accident. Going down to France was the big thing. They have these vast motorways that go on forever, and it's all flat and sometimes very warm. I would drift off to sleep on the back seat, and Mum and Dad would take the chance to press on. I would end up being changed in one of their rest areas, but it wasn't so bad there for some reason. The French seem to take a more sensible attitude to such things, and besides, we were on holiday and nobody knew us and we could do what we liked. I might be changed two or even three times between Calais and Provence."

I thought for a moment. Next summer we would probably go down there again. Bugger! No nappy to rely on next time. I had managed Bristol without an accident, but France was going to be a marathon in comparison.

"Do you still have some? I'd like to have a look at them just in case, so I'll know what to expect if Mum carries out her threat. Being Mum she'll keep it as a surprise, and I can see us having one Hell of a row, so I want to be ready for it."

"Mum took them away, but I think I know where she put them. I had lots and lots of rows with her and Dad. Didn't do any good. They always won. They're bigger than us."

We agreed that, if Helen came around that afternoon to play, I would try to find the nappy-bag for her and show her what they looked like. Of course, we would keep it secret from our parents; they always seemed to misunderstand the things that were important to us.

Helen duly came round that afternoon, and was greeted warmly by Mum. After the usual formalities I took Helen up to my room, to my private world where no friends had previously been allowed. However, the departure of that wretched white bag had now made everything possible. I showed Helen my computer, and my books, and then my collection of dolls, introducing them individually. I had got as far as the auburn-haired Marguerite, Juliet's old favourite, whom she had passed onto me years ago with fearsome injunctions to look after her, when Mum looked in to check on us. Seeing us playing quietly and sensibly she returned downstairs, which was the signal I had been waiting for. I gave her ten minutes - four more dolls - then I crept to the door and looked out. All was clear, and the sound of the radio was murmuring from the kitchen. Mum was obviously playing quietly and sensibly in her own world and it was time for an adventure.

I briefed Helen on the art of walking along the sides of the corridor to avoid any creaking boards, and we crept, backs to the wall, along the landing to the little box-room at the end. It really wasn't necessary; Mum had checked us recently and would not reappear for an hour or so, at least until the end of the afternoon play on the radio, but it added greatly to the excitement to do as if we were pirates, which in a sense we were. As Francis Drake I led the ambush on the box-room galleon, pulling the door gently towards me before twisting the handle so it wouldn't snap open with it's normal noise, and then easing it open slowly so as not to waken the sleeping Dons inside. We slipped inside the door, and part-closed it to give ourselves privacy before I slipped along the wall to the big cupboard at the end. I remember hearing it opened and closed when Mum had taken the bag of nappies away, and it had been the obvious place to look.. I opened it an inch at a time so no noise would escape to alert the Spanish. Inside I found the stack of treasure, the almost-full bag that Mum had taken from my bedroom, and another completely full bag. Almost two months supply! How little she had believed me when I said I was over it and I was now dry! I reached out and touched the bag, and then slipped my hand in between the tightly packed nappies, savouring the cool smoothness on my fingers. Suddenly I had memories of Peter approaching me with one of them in his hands, ready to put it on me whether I liked it or not, and for a moment that funny tingle returned to me I closed my eyes for a moment to capture the thrill, but the Helen whispered, "Are those them? Can I have a look?" and I drew one out rustling softly from the bag and passed it to her. She held it, cautiously at first, then with more confidence she began to unfold it. The scent came to my nostrils and once again brought back memories of Peter. "Big, aren't they!" she exclaimed, still in a whisper.

"They have to be. Take it all. No leaks." I replied.

"Even if you crap in them?" said Helen, still in a whisper, but on the verge of giggling.

"Should do. Never tried." I replied. Not quite true, but there are limits, and the Incident at Pembroke was better buried.

"And so soft!" she said, running her fingers gently down the lining inside. "Do they stay that way?"

"When wet? Yes. The pee is sort of drawn inside, and it's sometimes difficult to know when you are wet." That reminded me of the mornings when I had actually woken up dry, but thinking I was wet, and had added to what I thought was a wet nappy, only to curse at my mistake. I had borne that in mind every morning for a month at the end - there was no point in making that mistake.

There was a change in the susurration from the kitchen radio; the play must be ending and Mum would come to check on us. I lifted a finger and we hurriedly, but carefully shut the cupboard door and retraced our steps back to the bedroom. We had managed it with perfect timing before I noticed that Helen was still clutching the nappy. I whipped it out of her hand and hid it under the bed, and both of us were playing innocently with my dolls when Mum came in the door. She observed our glowing halos with satisfaction before saying how pleased she was that we had been good - my mind suddenly interpreted this as being dry - and telling us that tea would be served in a quarter of an hour.

As Mum departed I reached under the bed and retrieved the nappy. It wouldn't do to forget it. In a moment of mischief I offered it to Helen, asking if she would like to try it on. She shook her head vigorously in a flurry of blond pigtails, and so I returned it to its hiding place. On the way down the stairs I had a sudden realisation. The "Someone else" whom mum had mentioned as being the person who might need those nappies could well be Helen - I well knew how all our mothers corresponded - and I suddenly felt dreadful. If Helen's Mum did finally decide to put her back in nappies, then I felt it might be in part due to me; my drying out had made it all possible. I found myself praying that Helen would stay dry as I didn't want to be the one who supplied the means of her humiliation.

That night as I lay in bed, my mind running over all that had happened over the weekend, I remembered the nappy under my bed. I reached down for it, and my fingers stroked the cool plastic. After a while I began to get cold, so I drew the nappy into bed with me, and comforted by its warm softness, I fell into a deep sleep.

[jbz2079]

Will Amelia be tempted to put the nappy on?

Will the famillier soft warm safe feeling win her over?

I suppose we will have to wait and see.

[weeboy]

Freswith

Thanks for the new chapter

the shacking has stopped and the withdrawel symptems fading lol

great chapter cant wait for the next oine now.

thanks

[freswith]

The Threat

Two weeks later I received an invitation to take Patch to a hunt meet with Helen Harris's parents. It was a bit of a sham. As a members of the Pony Club we paid a nominal cap to the secretary, attended the meet, rode over a couple of fields, and then were expected to return home to our mothers suitably thrilled and tired. That wasn't my plan, and it certainly wasn't Patch's. He had been stabled all week during the cold snap, overfed, and come Saturday he was corned-up to his rolling eyeballs and raring to go. Helen's mother was of a sterner breed, had been a keen horsewoman since she could walk, and was bringing Helen up the same way. We went as far as the first draw with all the other kids, and then a fox broke cover and all Hell let loose. Patch took off like a rocket, and I hung on for dear life as he pounded across the pasture after the pack. A fence appeared, and he took it without slowing. I'd jumped him before, of course, but that was in a paddock over little, dainty, brightly-painted jumps, and this was the real agricultural thing. As we pounded across the next field I felt a sense of exultation rising within me; I was on my own, doing my own thing, free of parental control and thrilling in the speed and danger of the chase - and I could handle it!

The fox loped across three more fields without the pack being able to narrow his lead, and then across a freshly ploughed and manured field without slackening his easy pace. This slowed the pack as it lost the scent, and reduced the horses to a slow and ponderous walk. On the other side of the field was the main railway, and the fox ran up the embankment and started running along the line. The furious huntsman called the pack off to avoid a potential massacre, and the field regrouped. The fox stopped, turned, and examined us with cool contempt as though challenging us to come and get him, and then an express train came thundering past. When it had gone, so had the fox. Looking around, I saw that Helen and I were the only children left; the others had all bilked at one or more of the fences, and started making their way back to their worried mothers. Since Helen's distinctly unworried mother was still with the field, this was simply accomplished. Patch was breathing hard, his breath condensing in the chilly air, but his head was up, his ears pricked and he was obviously ready to go again, just as I was. It was the first time I'd ever been allowed to do something dangerous on my own and I was exulting in my achievement - I'd kept up with all the grown-ups and stayed on my pony.

We took the safe route under the railway, and tried to pick up the fox's scent again on the other side but without success. The huntsmen remarked that the wretch could have doubled back, and "foxed" us, and was probably the same one they had hunted unsuccessfully on several occasions before. We moved on, and drew two more spinneys before we flushed another fox. This led us for another wild chase before it slipped through a dense thicket backing on to a built-up area, and the huntsman had to let it go as well. He wasn't having a very good day.

By this time the short November afternoon was wearing on and Patch's head was starting to sag, as was that of Helen's pony. Mrs Harris, having looked us over carefully, decided to call it a day and her ever-patient husband was summoned to bring the horsebox. She then told the huntsman we were leaving the field, and he nodded his acknowledgement then looked directly at me, and nodded again. I felt a tingle of pleasure as I realised I had been noticed and approved in this very adult world.

We stopped at a pub on the way back, where all the other hunting people were gathering. It wasn't a pub for children, so we stayed in the cab of the horse box having been well bribed with bottles of orangeade and Scotch eggs. I hadn't eaten Scotch eggs before and I looked at the rough brown lump with some apprehension. Helen explained that it was only a hard-boiled egg covered with a thick layer of sausage meat and breadcrumbs and very eatable, but I should have some sympathy for the poor Scottish chickens that had to lay them. The thought of that alone made my eyes water, but the egg tasted good. I told Helen that we should get some for my birthday party and sleepover. Then Helen dropped the bombshell. "I can't come."

I was devastated. Helen was my best friend. "Why ever not?" I spluttered through a mouth full of Scotch egg.

Helen turned very red, and her face screwed up. "I - I wet the bed last night. Mum said it was the last straw. She said she's going to see your mum and get some of your big nappies and put them on me and I've got to wear them every night until I stop wetting. She's putting me back in nappies! Oh God!"

My mouthful turned to dust. I swallowed it desperately. "She can't do that. It isn't fair! It just isn't fair!" I finally managed.

"She's my Mum. I can't stop her."

"How often do you wet the bed?"

"Three times this month. So far."

"That's nothing. I used to do it every night. I needed my nappies, that's why I wore them. Three times a month is nothing!"

"You know my Mum. She says she's going to school me, as though I was a horse. I've got to wear nappies until I stop wetting. That's her decision, and I've got to put up with it. I'm going to fight her! I won't have it!"

I knew her mum. She was not the kind of woman who would put up with any backchat. She'd listen, yes, but then put her arguments and come back with a decision, no appeal allowed. If she said Helen was going back into nappies then nappies it would be for Helen and that was that. She was just as stubborn as Gran, but less subtle about it.

"No, don't fight. You lose, and then you get nappied like a baby, all tears and wriggles and kicks, and it's not a good scene. Believe me, I've tried it. Stay cool. Keep whatever dignity you can. Make her feel bad about it. Don't even speak to her."

I went home in a very worried state. The first thing I checked was the bags of nappies in the box room. One bag was missing. I looked at the empty space for a long time, and tried to work out the implications. Mum found me there and asked what I was doing. I told her about poor Helen, and she sat down beside me, and admitted that she had supplied a bag of nappies to Mrs Harris for use on Helen. I felt devastated. I had hoped to be able to intervene on Helen's behalf, but now it was too late; and I would have to face her on Monday and admit to what Mum had done. I explained to Mum what Helen had said, and told her how terribly worried Helen was about it. At the same time I was kicking myself at not briefing Helen about it and preparing her better.

"Why didn't you tell me?" was the best I could manage.

"What could you have done? You couldn't have stopped her wetting the bed every night." Mum replied, unfazed.

"She didn't wet the bed every night. She only did it three times in a month. Surely that's not enough for her mother to put her back into nappies?"

Mother paused for a moment. "Mrs Harris said it was every night. Are you sure about this?"

"I don't think Helen would have lied. She was saying three times as though it was a lot, not a little. She didn't say it was only three times."

Another pause. "It isn't a lot. Perhaps Helen was mistaken."

I looked up sharply at Mum. I knew Helen and trusted her. She wasn't one to exaggerate, and if she said three times, it was three times.

"Never mind." Said Mum. "It's not such a big thing, you know. No worse than putting a sticking plaster on a cut. No one else will know."

"She has an older sister and a younger brother. He's awful. He'll know. He'll make her life hell about that. And it IS such a big thing. It was a really big thing to me. It's an even bigger thing to her; it's making a baby out of her. She'll be terribly crushed."

"I don't think so, Amelia, after all, it didn't do you any harm, did it?"

I glared at Mum. No harm! She could have had no idea of how humiliated I'd felt, even though I was well used to it. Helen wasn't used to it; she would feel the disgrace keenly, and she would lack the sympathy of other family members who had never been faced with it. I tried to put this across as best I could, but it's very hard when you are ten years old and arguing with grown-ups - they have all the clever tricks and the long words and they always have the last one; I was nearly in tears, and Mum wasn't giving way on anything. There was just one card left to play.

"Helen said she won't come to my birthday party and sleepover. Her Mum wouldn't let her and, besides, she'd be too embarrassed. It wouldn't be any fun without her; she's my best friend." That, thrown down like a gauntlet, was finally enough to stop Mum. She looked long and hard at me. I tried very hard to keep my tears back, and stared her down. Ultimately she broke first.

"It really doesn't do to try and tell other mothers how they should bring up their children, you know. It doesn't do at all. But if Helen is only wet once in a while then perhaps the advice I gave her mother wasn't right, and I could do better. I'll talk to her again, and mention the things you've told me. She might think differently about it. Either way, Helen is more than welcome to come on your sleepover; I'm sure we can work something out."

I thanked her. I think it was the best deal I could have got, and it might even work At least I had tried for Helen. However, it left me sure about one thing; there was still an almost-full bag of nappies left in that cupboard, and I could be fairly certain they had been left there with someone in mind, and that someone was me. I would have to continue being very careful about not wetting the bed, because I could see Mum using Helen as a precedent to put me back into nappies if she thought it necessary.

[WBDaddy]

Just wanted to put this back on the front page where it deserves to be.

[freswith]

The Sleepover

I met Helen at school on the Monday morning. She looked very subdued, and responded to my cheerful greeting with only a grunt. I let her be, because I didn't like Monday mornings much myself. We had an extended assembly because of a lecture to the whole school on the subject of "Being Abused". It was just another one of those lectures, where they told us everything, but didn't really explain what "abuse" was, except it was obviously very unpleasant. They mentioned bullying, and I could go along with that, but the other stuff remained a bit of a mystery to us. They told us that if we were being abused we should always tell an adult, presumably one other that the one who was abusing us. I thought for a while on that, and concluded that it really wasn't on, as the only adults I really knew were my parents and the teachers, and from experience I knew that approaching teachers could often be quite risky; I would end up being kept in on detention or being made to write something out hundreds of times. Either way I would be asked lots and lots of silly questions and then told I was making it up. Better to sort things out myself. As for approaching parents, I knew well that they would always have the last word anyway, so what was the point?

When break-time came I asked Helen what the matter was. She looked carefully around us to make sure she wasn't being overheard and told me that her mother had carried out her threat. Helen had arrived in the bedroom after her bath and found her mother waiting for her with a nappy open and ready on the bed. There had been a row, tears, struggling, and general misery, but Helen had ended up in bed with a nappy on and under strict injunction not to take it off under pain of a bare-bottom spanking. Helen hadn't taken it off, nor had she wet it, so it was a bit of a no-score draw so far. She was wondering if that counted as "abuse" and I rather felt that it did, but then to whom can one complain if it is your mother doing it? And worse still, doing it "for your own good"? I did my very best to sympathise with her and comfort her, but there wasn't a lot I could do. She told me that she really didn't want to come to my sleepover if she had to wear a nappy, and I told her that in our house, our rules applied, and I would try to work my way around Mum on the subject. Frankly, I didn't hold out much hope, but I was desperate to comfort Helen. At least I was sure she would never be spanked in our house if she took the wretched thing off, even if she wet the bed afterwards; I knew Mum didn't hold with that kind of thing. I pointed out the other girls who were coming were all close friends and would support her, and no boys would be there, I mean, whoever would want to sleepover with a nasty rough smelly boy? It took a long time, but eventually a little gleam of sunshine came through Helen's personal thundercloud, and the bell rang to finalise my little diatribe and send us back to lessons.

I reserved my spite for when I went home, and vented it on Mother. "Tell an adult" they had said, well here she was and here I told her, and listen she did, too. I knew I had her on the back foot over having provided the nappies to Helen's mum and I drove my advantage home. Once again Mum promised to have a word with Helen's mum, and this time I think she meant it. I mentally sheathed my cutlass and went to my room to have a good sulk; I wanted to underline my resentment and I certainly didn't want Mum to have the opportunity to come back for a return match.

Later that evening Mum came up to see me, and sat on the bed beside me. It was just like old times, and reminded me of just how much I had missed those few minutes of closeness when Mum used to put my nappy onto me and tuck me into bed. She told me she had phoned Mrs Harris, and had talked it all over with her again. Apparently the row she had with her daughter had upset her far more than she had expected, and she was dreading a repetition tonight. They had discussed various approaches, including waking Helen later in the night to make her use the toilet yet again, and had agreed on giving Helen a clear path out of her quandary. If she could stay dry for three weeks - to the end of that particular bag of nappies - that would be enough, but if she was wet at any time then Mrs Harris would be in the market for another bagful. I recognised the technique, and felt myself silently praying for Helen to make it. I thanked Mum and she gave me a hug. It was just like it used to be, and I went to bed feeling well satisfied.

I did my best to comfort Helen over the rest of the week and we discussed ways in which she might come to the sleepover without facing the shame of appearing in front of her friends with a nappy on. We still hadn't reached a satisfactory solution when the evening came. Helen arrived, but her mother was still adamant, and my ideas of sort of sneaking Helen into bed without the others seeing were obviously deeply flawed. I fell back on fundamentals. What would Drake have done? He would have taken the bull by the horns and faced the matter bluntly. I decided to do the same. The first thing to do was to call a Council of War.

I made my preparations carefully, sounding out each of the girls who were staying the night and, under terrible oaths of secrecy, I explained the situation to each one separately until I was sure any deliberations of my Council would go my way. I found huge sympathy for little Helen; she had a sunny disposition, had never hurt anyone, and was very popular, and pleading her case was like skiing downhill. Then, taking advantage of a few precious moments when we weren't being supervised, I put my idea to the others. Eventually I got their agreement, not least because I had done so much lobbying beforehand, but I found the idea of mass revolt had a surprising amount of support amongst these proto-teenagers. If there was one thing that united us it was that we were all very, very tired of being treated like children, and the prospect of thumbing our noses at parental authority was all too attractive.

We got our chance after we had our baths and were heading for bed. Our parents disappeared completely, giving us only a general injunction to "get ready for bed" - I think the distinctive "chink" of a decanter from downstairs had something to do with it - and I got the chance to put our, or rather my, plan into action. I slipped quietly along the passage to the boxroom and located them where they had been stored in the big cupboard. I took half-a-dozen out, and carried them back to my bedroom where the other girls had congregated, and dished them out to eager hands. After some fumbling we managed to get them on; I always thought I would be an expert at this, but it suddenly occurred to me that I had nearly always been the subject of this action, not the performer. As it was, when Mum and the other parents returned to wish us goodnight, there we were, all six of us, all in nappies, and we faced them down.

A couple of the mothers burst out laughing, Mrs Harris turned red, and my mum just stood there, nodding gently and sucking her teeth. Eventually she said "Alright, fair enough, if that's the way you want it, that's the way it'll be. Now, into bed, all of you, and let's get those lights out." And laughing in the knowledge that we had shown solidarity with our friend and suitably embarrassed Mrs Harris, we tumbled into bed and let the parents go about their own business.

We waited until our parents were settled, then the whispering began. "It feels so weird!" exclaimed Leslie, "I can hardly get my legs together. How do you get to sleep like this?"

"Tiredness usually does it. They shape themselves to you after a few minutes, and it gets easier." I replied. I slipped my hand down between my legs, feeling the cool, soft smoothness of the plastic. I thought of Peter, and how he used to nappy me. Now, shorn of the humiliation, and the fear of being seen, I could appreciate the better side of the whole thing. I stroked the front of my nappy gently, and thought again of how he had changed me on the grass in the forest clearing. How good it had felt, just the two of us, and how helpless I had felt in his hands, and how secure I had felt while he was there, and how safe I had felt as my fresh nappy was wrapped around me.

"Are you alright, Amelia?" asked Helen in a forced whisper.

"Yes, I'm fine." My reverie was shattered, and Peter shrunk to a speck in my mind.

"You were breathing very hard. You don't snore, do you?"

"No. Not that I know. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"A boy!" That sounded very daring!

"Which Boy?" came the instant demand "I think they're all so stupid!"

"Not all of them!" and I thought again of Peter, leaning over me, and I held myself tightly as the tingling returned, and started to burn like a fire. For a moment I worried that something had gone wrong with me, and then I was afraid that I was wetting myself, but it seemed to die down after a while and I was able to breathe again, very quietly. The other girls were still whispering, but I wasn't terribly interested in what they had to say. I shifted my position slightly, and felt my nappy grip me securely all round, and for a moment I had the crazy thought that it was very nice to wear a nappy when you didn't actually have to wear them for wetting.

The following morning I got rid of my nappy as soon as possible, and Helen contributed her (dry) one to the bag. A couple of the other girls had taken theirs off in the night, complaining they were too hot, but Jessie seemed quite content to stay in hers until the jibes got the better of her. Whatever, Helen was no longer fearing what others might think of her humiliation.

Later that morning I saw that Mum had removed the remaining nappies from the cupboard in the boxroom. I suspect she had put them in the dustbin. But not all of them. There were four concealed in the roof-space of my dolls house, and only I knew they were there. I wanted that feeling again, and I wanted to find out how much further I could take it.

[warpiper]

Once again amazing freswith. you have such a way with words. I'm so glad to see this story back on the front page where it belongs!

[jbz2079]

Great, another installment, thanks.

[freswith]

Many thanks - I'll put another episode up on Friday - it's still in "finishing and polishing" at the moment.

[freswith]

Leading Child.

The Monday after my birthday the men arrived to redecorate Juliet's bedroom. They changed it from a proper girl's bedroom, all bright paint and posters, into a sort of adult nothing-room, all tidy and smart and stylish and about as interesting as a long sermon. They changed the single bed for a double one, and although it all looked very nice, I really wouldn't want to sleep there. I preferred my own little den where I could snuggle up and play with my own things and make a mess if I wanted to. I realised why it had all been done when Juliet came home, and very soon afterwards just before Christmas, Peter came to stay. He stayed with her in her room instead of the guest room; I suppose that was because they were engaged now.

It was lovely having Juliet around - I'd missed her a lot, and I even let her ride Patch. I know, he was really her horse, but I had got so used to having him that it seemed strange to be stuck back on my own two feet while she was riding, but it was worth it to have Peter around again.

Just before Christmas Mum said I'd been invited on a sleepover. I raised my eyebrows. There really wasn't time before Christmas day to fit one on, and I wanted to be around Peter, and Juliet. Then Mum said that I would be sleeping over at Pembroke, that Vickie would be staying, and we could share a room. The nursery would be full of her little brother, William, and it was felt that Vickie would keep him awake too much, and vice-versa. I agreed. I was very fond of Vickie and took every chance to spend time with her, and I wanted to see more of little William, too. He was in the crawling stage, and needed a lot of attention, and it would be my chance to act the grown-up in helping to look after him. I didn't work it out until later that this would allow the grown-ups to do their grown-up things without Little Gooseberry hanging around; I had effectively been dumped.

We arrived at Pembroke, only a few miles away, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, and after the usual greeting from Gran she took me into to Granpa's study; a rare honour. I was a little concerned, as my liberation from Pembroke Rules was fairly new, and I was wondering what they had in store for me. Granpa was, as always, very sweet, and complimented me on how much I'd grown since he last saw me. It was true. I was now the tallest girl in my senior year, and taller than most of the boys, too, and clothes didn't seem to last long before they were outgrown. Then Granpa said that as I was now the oldest child - Juliet was obviously considered to be Grown Up now that she was at college, I would be advanced to Leading Child and put in charge of the others. Since this meant only Vickie and William, it was hardly the whole world for me and I accepted gratefully; I was hungry for any token of my growing up. Granpa said I would have a "killick" on my sleeve. I had no idea what it meant, but it sounded a bit messy.

Just then Asbo started barking, and shortly afterwards there was the sound of a car on the drive. Aunt Emma had arrived with Uncle Tom, Vickie and William, and all the fuss started again. I followed Aunt Emma up to the nursery where she changed William, and just when I had got into conversation with Vickie she was herself hoisted on to the changing table for a nappy check and the usual clucking, followed by a change. It had been a long journey up from Bristol, and for the six-year-old Vickie that was a nappy-trip if ever there was one, so they had taken the usual precautions; rightly as it had turned out. Vickie continued to chat with me as her tights and disposable nappy were removed, and a fresh nappy applied. It was the first time for months that I had seen it done - in fact it was the first time I had seen the full ritual since I had been the subject of it, and I felt a certain nostalgia. It reminded me of the time when Peter changed me, and how much I had enjoyed that.

Vickie started to object to being nappied again, and Aunt Emma simply restated that it was Pembroke Rules. Besides, Vickie always wore a nappy at Christmas so she could play as much as she liked without danger of having accidents, except of course, having them in her nappy where they didn't matter. Vickie stuck to her guns. Did Amelia have to wear a nappy, too? She wore them last Christmas! No, came the reply, Amelia was a big girl now and didn't wear nappies any more. Vickie protested with a bit of a wriggle, but it was past the best time for that, and the tapes were fastened before she could really get going.

Once back on her feet Vickie made no further comment, although I could sense a lingering resentment in the way she avoided my eyes. However we soon gave our attention to William, who was crawling everywhere and, if his hands were held, taking a few steps to great encouragement. Vickie and I went to inspect our bedroom, and I was surprised to see it had a double bed. I was to share it with Vickie, which sounded rather fun as I had never slept so close with another person before. Then we went down for tea.

I opened the toddler-gate at the top of the stairs, and slid it back into its recess in the banisters as Aunt Emma carried William down. More of the family were arriving in the form of Uncle Percy with his girlfriend. It had seemed that every time I saw Percy he would have a different woman, but this was the first time he had brought one home for Christmas. He lived in London, and was making a successful career as a lawyer, somewhat to Granpa's disgust, since Granpa thought there was only one acceptable job for a Tarr: service in the Navy, but Percy had broken the mould and seemed to be very successful at it. He always had a nice car, a decent-sized yacht and an attractive girlfriend, which I suppose is success. We all lined up to be introduced to Claire, who it appeared was also a barrister in Percy's chambers, and she duly perused each of us in turn. I took a liking to her immediately; there was laughter in the corners of those kind eyes, elegance in the way she moved, and as I listened to the soft, clear tones of her voice I envied her; one day I wanted to be like that, and escape the awkward child's body I currently inhabited. Percy was plainly on his best behaviour, and was obviously very pleased to be in the company of such a beautiful woman. Later that evening Mum whispered to me that there was something very serious going on between them, and I must be careful to behave properly and make sure the other children didn't upset them in any way. I realised that my appointment as Leading Child carried some real responsibilities with it. I'd asked Gran what a "killick" was, and she told me it was a sort of anchor badge which Leading Seamen wore on their sleeves. It still sounded silly to me.

William was put to bed in the nursery at the usual time, but since it was Christmas Eve Vickie and I were to be allowed to stay up late and join the adults for supper. It was a significant privilege, and I was determined that neither Vickie or I would be allowed to make a scene. I took my responsibilities seriously delivering William to the nursery, helping to bathe him - keeping well clear of the splashes - and putting him to bed. I was surprised that Aunt Emma used cloth nappies on him; I thought they were no longer used, but she explained they were better for the earth, that disposables took five hundred years to decay in the landfill. I thought about this and wondered who'd watched the landfill for five hundred years to find this out, but I took her word for it. I helped as best I could by passing the pins when necessary, and then the pants, ready scrunched-up to be passed over his feet. Emma also explained that they were less prone to leak and so she found them better for Vickie, who preferred to sleep on her side. I took all this in without comment; memories were still rather fresh for me.

When we had put William to bed I realised that I had neglected Vickie, and she hadn't been changed or toileted since mid-afternoon. I didn't know quite how to raise the matter, but when I asked Vickie if she needed the toilet I got an abrupt "No!" she was quite alright, Thank You. I didn't ask again, as she was obviously a bit sore about something. We sat through supper at the foot of the table with Emma between us, and like all grown-up meals it went on much too long. I had several chances to speak to Peter, and did my best to please him, but it didn't seem to have much effect. Finally Emma said it was time for bed, and I was quite grateful to escape the hard chair and the difficult conversations, which all went over our heads. Gran kissed us both goodnight and we went upstairs to our bedroom. When I entered I had a bit of a surprise.

On the shelf above the big iron radiator there were two sets of nappies laid out. Two big white squares of towelling, folded carefully. Two long, narrow, towelling booster pads. Two pairs of plastic pants, one pair significantly larger than the other. Two muslin squares, which I knew the fanatically-ecological Emma used in place of liners, two pairs of nappy pins. One set for Vickie, fair enough, and the other set for, well, who else was there?... Me!

I stood there for some seconds, taking it in. Then I felt that funny warm tingle between my legs again. One part of me was horrified at the idea that I might be nappied tonight, but another part remembered the excitement when Peter had nappied me, and his presence this evening had brought those memories back so very clearly. Every time when I looked at him it had taken me back to the last time we were in Pembroke, and he had changed me so many times.

I didn't dare ask who the other set of nappies were for; it was quite possible they were there in case Vickie needed changing in the night, and my asking if they were for me would only result in getting my leg pulled about it. I stayed quiet, and did my best to be helpful. It didn't take long to discover that Vickie hadn't needed the lavatory; she had used her nappy quite freely instead, but Emma made no comment at all as she folded it up and put it in the bag. This was Christmas, and part of Pembroke Rules meant that they were "free" ones, the child didn't make a scene about wearing nappies and was never scolded for using them. It was a fair arrangement, and quite useful if you were prone to having little accidents. I didn't go into the bathroom with Emma and Vickie, as I didn't want to lord it over Vickie with my new-found seniority, but I waited in the bedroom. The pile of nappies seemed to fill the room, and at one point a slipped my fingers in between the layers of towelling, feeling how very soft they were, and warm from the radiator beneath. The pants in contrast were smooth and cool, but equally soft. Once again I thought of how they used to be put on me every night, and the few minutes of special attention it involved. Going to bed now was so mundane in comparison.

Vickie came out of the bathroom, looking all clean and pink, and was guided to the bed. Emma picked up the big towelling nappy, shook it out of its folds, spread it on the bed and folded it, adding the booster and the muslin liner in turn.. Vickie stood beside her mother with her eyes downcast, occasionally stealing a slightly resentful glance at me. Once the folding was complete Vickie was divested of her bathrobe, and a large dollop of ointment was spread over her buttocks, Emma commenting that she wouldn't want to start Christmas day with a bad dose of nappy-rash, now would she? Vickie grunted a non-committal answer before she was lifted under the armpits and sat down squarely in the middle of her night-nappy, looking very embarrassed. Emma gently pushed her backwards and told her not to be so silly, applying more ointment between her legs and in front.. Then the sides of the nappy were brought around her waist to ensure it was central, her legs were spread apart and the front of the very thick nappy was brought up between them and spread across her tummy, at which point she made a brief, instinctive and futile attempt to push it away with her hands, something which had always been a no-no. "Don't be silly, Vickie, you know you have to wear a nappy in bed!" chided Emma gently, " You'd make the bed all nasty and wet without it, and Gran would be angry with you." Vickie withdrew her hands, wriggled slightly and glared at me but made no further resistance.

I passed the pins, one by one, and Vickie was duly secured into a very large terry nappy, so thick that I was sure she wouldn't be able to get her legs together sufficiently to walk. Emma then folded the surplus material at the legs inside, saying to me that it made it much tidier and less inclined to leak if she did it that way. I picked up the plastic pants, and scrunched them, but instead of passing them to Emma, this time I put my own hands through the leg-holes, and grasped Vickie's feet as I'd seen Emma do to William earlier, sliding the leg elastics cleanly over her ankles and giving her no chance to kick or wriggle. It felt quite funny doing this to somebody else for the first time, just as I'd had it done to me so many times before. I slid the pants up to her knees, after which Emma sat her up, pulled her to her feet, and slid them up the rest of the way, before running her hands around the elastics to make sure the nappy was all tucked in, finally pushing the leg elastics up as far as possible, telling me that this also made leaks less likely. "We'll make a mother of you yet, Amelia" she said, which got me another glare from Vickie. "It won't be long now before you are baby-sitting yourself, and you'll have to know these things." And then to Vickie "There you are, darling, all done, it wasn't so bad was it. Now be a good girl and try to keep it dry, won't you." It wasn't a question, it was hardly an order, perhaps it was a prayer, although Emma obviously didn't expect that Vickie would actually stay dry; no-one puts that amount of nappy on a child unless they expect an overnight inundation. Finally Vickie's pyjama top was pulled over her head, and her pale blonde hair was lifted clear of the collar, she was kissed, and released. She took a step or two, but the bundle between her legs obviously made it very difficult, so she turned, climbed onto the bed, and crawled across to the pillow end, and all I could see was a vast nappied rump wobbling along the bed. Having got there she sat down and looked expectantly at me.

Emma turned to me. "Your turn for the bath I think." I grinned and nodded and started to withdraw. "and then, Would You Like To Wear a Nappy Tonight?"

The bombshell, half-expected, but a bombshell none the less. "I don't wear nappies at night any more" came my automatic reply. I looked again at the other pile of nappies and pants; they had been intended for me after all. Somewhere inside me I felt a thrill. It wasn't entirely the thrill of danger either, it was more that strange, warm, pleasant tingle that I had sometimes before, when Peter had nappied me, and it started to feel very good. I hesitated.

"I think it might be a very good idea." Said Emma softly, "You've had an awful lot to drink and you are obviously very tired. It wouldn't do to wet the bed tonight, of all nights, especially with Vickie next to you. Whatever would she think?"

I wavered, and didn't reply straight away.

"It would be a free one, of course, and no-one ever need know."

I looked at Vickie. Her deep blue eyes were pleading with me, almost on the point of tears. I realised I had humiliated her terribly by helping put her nappy on her, and I was very fond of Vickie and felt guilty about having embarrassed her so much. I looked at the nappy, so soft and warm, and I thought of how it would feel to be wrapped securely once again and not have to sleep with one eye open as I had been doing for so many months, not to have to worry about the smallest twinge from my bladder.. The tingle grew inside me. "The others mustn't know!" I said, and I realised I had said too much, it was now a lost cause; I had admitted the principle and started to negotiate the terms.

"Of course they'll never know. There's going to be lots of wet nappies in the pail, and one more won't be noticed."

I hadn't thought that far ahead. I hadn't imagined I might actually wet one, but I realised the logic of her argument. I nodded.

"That's a good girl!" said Emma, smiling, "now hurry up and have your bath."

I hurried up and had a shower; it was quicker, and I wanted this exciting tingle to last. As soon as I had towelled myself off I took a deep breath, and dressed in just my bathrobe I re-entered the bedroom. The nappy and pants were still there, but Emma was at the dressing table brushing Vickie's hair. I stopped in the doorway as she turned, my heart was beating wildly, and I was still in two minds, wondering if there was still time to run for it. Emma smiled at me, and Vickie, angelic as ever, positively beamed. I took a step forward, and then another. Emma put the brush down and started towards me slowly.

"There's a good girl, all nice and fresh and clean. Come on then." And instinctively I walked towards her. She picked up the nappy and shook it out, letting it float down on to the bed in a diamond shape, and began to fold it, corner to middle, corner to middle. I stand transfixed, unable to move or speak at the enormity of what I'm doing. Emma lays the booster carefully inside the nappy, and then shakes out the muslin square. I watch every little move. It's one of the almost-new nappies that had arrived this summer, and has probably never been used before I managed to become dry so suddenly, and now it is finally fulfilling its destiny. The muslin floats down on top of the nappy. I find my tongue. "I won't need that. I'm never dirty" I say in feeble protest.

"Let's just make sure." replies Emma. The inevitable parent's reply. As though the great big nappy itself isn't going to be surety enough. Emma just carries on. "Now come here, darling." And like an automaton. I come. She undoes the belt of my bathrobe and slides it off my shoulders, leaving me utterly naked and defenceless. It's too late to change my mind now. The ointment pot is opened with a slight sucking noise, and a three-finger dollop is scraped out. Emma reaches behind me and the cool ointment is spread around my bottom. The wrm tingle starts again. She takes me by the shoulders and steers me backwards towards my waiting nappy. My knees meet the edge of the bed and I sit down in the middle of the muslin area, lying back out of sheer habit. I lie there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, seeing nothing, but feeling everything. Emma spreads my legs even though something in my mind is screaming at me to resist, to clamp them shut and curl up into a ball. The cool ointment arrives in my groin and is spread over my tummy. I feel myself breathing very deeply, but I keep my eyes on the ceiling. All the time Emma speaks softly to me, words of comfort and encouragement, soothing me and entrancing me. "There you are, Darling, we don't want a nasty rash from your wet nappy do we, dear, so let's have lots of lovely ointment. And now here comes your nappy, stay still, don't struggle," she pulls the nappy gently up between my thighs and the tingling builds up until for a moment I think I'm going to explode, or at least wet myself there and then. "you know it's for your own good and it'll keep you comfortable when you're wet; so much more comfortable than a wet bed." I lie there thinking to myself that I'm doing this for Vickie, I'm doing it for Vickie, No, I'm doing it for me; it feels so good. "What a lovely warm cosy nappy it is too, I do love to see a little girl in a nice white fluffy nappy, you look so cute and cuddly - Thank you, Vickie - now hold still while I pin it on you, we don't want you to be pricked, do we dear." Her cool fingers are inside my nappy as the first pin is passed through, making sure it doesn't stab me. "Look how good she is Vickie, she doesn't try to wriggle or push her nappy away like you did, now for the other pin, thank you, that's not too tight is it, Amelia?... There you are!" The sound of the locking pins being clicked down, "All nice and neat, now lift your legs dear, thank you." I lift my legs, and feel the cuff of surplus nappy being tucked up inside my thighs. It makes it even bulkier between my legs, but my mind is far away. I look downwards and see a mountain of white towelling with the silver pins perched on top, heads inwards, holding it all together. I reach down and touch it, marvelling in its softness and warmth. In the distance I can hear Peter's voice on the landing and in my mind it is Peter's hands in my nappy in that area which is so much mine. "Lift your feet, dear," Peter's hands grasp my feet and the cool soft plastic begins its journey up my legs. Peter's voice getting nearer and nearer, his hands at my knees. "Up you get!" Emma seizes my hands and pulls me upright and the world returns to reality. I stand and the plastic pants are pulled up to my waist and Emma's hands run around the elastics tucking everything in and making everything neat and I am nappied again, not just for show but nappied for real, nappied because I am going to wet myself, nappied because I need to be nappied and nappied I because I have no choice and Peter is speaking right outside the door.

Reality comes crashing back. He mustn't see me like this. I seize the proffered pyjama top and slip it over my head pulling it down as far as possible.

"Where are the bottoms?" I whisper desperately to Emma.

"You won't need those, darling." she replies evenly "It's easier to change you if we leave them off. Don't you look so cute?"

My heart beats in a panic, and then Peter sticks his head around the door. "I came to say goodnight. We're off to midnight service, and then back to your parents' house. Oh, I thought you were finished with those?" I stand rooted to the spot. No words would ever be enough. Peter comes in. "My, you look so cute." he says, Any other time, any other situation and I would take it as a great compliment, but now, conscious of the bulk around my loins and the smooth plastic pillow between my legs and Peter within touching distance, within smelling distance, and not showing any sign of surprise or reacting to my horrified embarrassment in any way, I can't react or think of anything to say.

"She's such a good girl. Didn't argue or make a scene. Didn't wriggle or kick." Says Emma. Horror upon horror! Peter grins. "Perfectly sensible for Christmas - especially if you are sharing a bed with Vickie, you never know what might happen and we would never know who to blame. Goodnight, pet, sleep well," he reaches around me, gives me a big hug, a big kiss "Try your best to keep it dry and we'll see you in the morning!" and he gives me a cheerful slap on my well-padded rear, turns and leaves.

I think I've wet myself a little bit, but there's a strange feeling of anticlimax, of something which should have happened, but didn't quite happen. Still quivering, I crawl stiffly up the bed and join Vickie between the sheets. Is this what all boys are like?