Jump to content
LL Medico Diapers and More Bambino Diapers - ABDL Diaper Store

Recommended Posts

The Suit


I just started grammar school; surprisingly passing the exams, which neither of my two older brothers did, so was regarded by my family as a bit of an oddity, but a good one. This was something special, for the first time ever, one of the family going to grammar school.


Mum and dad said they were so proud of me. Had I peaked at eleven years old?

We didn’t have much money but mum was so thrilled she couldn’t wait to take me to get my new school uniform. I already had grey shorts and socks but needed a new school blazer with the badge that meant so much, together with the correct school tie and cap. It came to a small fortune but mum and dad scraped the bottom of whatever barrels we had in order to pay for this fine achievement.

Getting ready for my first day I was so nervous but mum said, as she passed me a freshly ironed shirt, she couldn’t believe her ‘little sweetheart’ was going to such a prestigious academy. She seemed more excited than I was as she added both her and dad couldn’t have been more delighted about my success because of what the future now held. They both firmly believed that this type of education was a guarantee of future accomplishment.


The housing estate we lived on was very working class and although there were bound to be others my age who had passed their exam, I didn’t know anyone. My brothers, and all their friends, went to the local secondary school so I was a bit of an anomaly.  Most of the families were just about getting by, some a lot worse than we were, so I knew mum and dad were probably sacrificing quite a lot to let me go to this particular ‘elite’ place of education.


My first day at ‘big school’ was quite daunting. Most of my class were, like me, wearing shorts but a few eleven year olds had made the leap into long trousers. I was surprised as I thought we would all be wearing the same uniform. Mum had said that for the first couple of years, the rule was that ‘junior’ boys should wear shorts. Obviously this wasn’t true, and though it didn’t click in my mind at the time, the reason I stayed in shorts was simply because I was still growing and we hadn’t enough money to buy such ‘extras’.

My older brothers at their school were wearing long trousers but, as they grew out of them, first Joe who then handed them down to Geoff, they were really in no fit state as hand-me-downs for me. However, like a lot of the kids on the estate, it’s how I ended up with most of my clothes. In fact, my new blazer, tie and cap were about the only new thing that I possessed that were mine alone.

Their trousers with worn out knees through general wear and tear made them almost useless for anything other than cutting down and converting to ‘playing out’ shorts. Mum had gotten to be a dab hand at sewing and patching stuff up but even she couldn’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear, and certainly not for her boy in grammar school.

Although only three and two years (respectively) older than me, my rough and tumble brothers, Joseph and Geoffrey, were big boys for their age, whereas I’d maintained a small stature like mum, they had gained dad’s genes and had grown a lot quicker than me. As a result, I had an abundance of shorts, which not surprising for my size always fit. I wasn’t going into long trousers for some time yet… not with money being at a premium and two brothers who also needed clothes for school as well as everything else.

Whilst I was wearing shorts at least I looked as smart as any other new boy in class. Patched up long trousers just wouldn’t do.

As there were others in the same boat as me, I wasn’t that bothered about wearing shorts. Because, when I’d arrive back home from school I always changed out of my uniform and into something more scruffy and relaxed, which generally meant a different pair of shorts and jumper. I was still the youngest (and smallest) of the family so got all my clothes from my older brothers. I was used to wearing hand-me-downs so it didn’t worry me. The thing was they were still growing teenagers whereas I seemed to have slowed down with my growth spurt so all new clothing was aimed at them.


However, on a different subject, with grammar school came homework, and proper homework, not like you’d get at junior school.

I didn’t like it and found it difficult to sustain any interest in doing work away from class.

Even when my older brothers tried to help me… I was hopeless.

The teachers at the academy were a fierce bunch of old men in gowns who terrified me and my real ability became apparent, I lacked any great talent for learning.

At my earlier schools the teachers had been friends and very supportive, but now, well it was down to me to work, and work hard, to produce results. Not that the teachers were bad, in fact, they were very good, it was just that you were left to prove, improve and motivate yourself.

It just wasn’t me.

I’m sure the teachers were encouraging in their own way but I suppose I just wasn’t ready for such a dramatic change in what was now expected of me.

I guess I was just a bit lazy and had no idea how I came to pass the exam in the first place. There were around a hundred of us inducted that year and we were divided into Forms 1a, 1b and 1c, I wasn’t by any means the worst but I was left in the lower half of the class… and I was in the bottom section for my age.


About six months into term I woke up one Monday morning and I was wet through. I’d had a homework assignment over the weekend that I just couldn’t seem to get a handle on and I’d been dreaming about how my teachers would react to such a “stupid boy”. My night time worries had become very apparent as I gingerly got up and had to tell mum what had happened.

When she saw me standing in the kitchen in soaked pyjamas and a very worried look on my face she seemed sympathetic but also a little saddened. She had hoped that I’d bloom at this school, which was very well regarded, but I really was in fear of the strict teachers even though, as yet, I’d not fallen foul of any of them.

It was just the shear dread of what might happen rather than any actual experience.

Although mum had to dash off to work she stripped my bed, turned the mattress and opened the windows to air things out. She said that she’d sort everything else out by the time I got home from school but in the meantime, just to do the best I could. She also insisted that I had a really good wash as she didn’t want me to go to school smelling of pee.


Mum worked part-time at Boots the Chemist, whilst dad worked as a warehouse stockman for one of the big supermarket chains. Neither were extravagantly paid jobs but they both worked hard to give us kids whatever they could. I may have dressed in old clothes but we never went hungry or shoeless… and I didn’t have parents who drank their way through any problems.


I pulled on my uniform, checked that my shoes were shiny; the school masters were very insistent that shoes should always gleam. We had regular inspections to make sure we kept up to a certain level of cleanliness, hairstyle, hygiene and our uniforms should be well maintained. If you faltered in any of these areas a terse and awkward letter from the headmaster would be sent to your parents – standards had to be upheld at all times - this included any time your wore the uniform whether in school time or not.

All this ‘pressure’ was weighing heavily on my shoulders. Other kids at school seemed to revel in this new responsibility and not being treated as thoughtless adolescents, whilst it simply scared me. Meanwhile, after what appeared to have been only a few weeks, I was one of the few boys in my class still wearing shorts, which of course only added to the fact that I didn’t feel grown-up compared to those who were in long trousers.

Out of the three classes, there were still less than twenty of us in our grey school shorts, the rest having ‘graduated’ into long trousers. We who were still wearing shorts felt under duress to conform but not all families (like mine) had the wherewithal to make that financial leap.

Occasionally some of the older boys, and those in my class with self-confidence, commented on the fact that, being on the short side, I looked like I still belonged in junior school and hadn’t quite made the grade to senior level. With short grey school shorts revealing my hairless bare legs, slim diminutive figure, floppy dark brown hair and still quite babyish soft features, I probably did look exactly as they described.


At night, as I slept, whatever the reason, all this was getting to me in some way and I woke up soaked every morning.

Thankfully, after that first wet night, mum had put a plastic sheet on my bed to protect the mattress. After my third wet night she’d managed to get a discount on nappies from her work place and after that, I spent every night tightly pinned into them as I slept.

There were tears and I tried my best to reject the inevitable but both my parents said it was for the best, so that was me… sunk.

This helped with the wet bed (though not soaked nappies) but did nothing for my self-esteem and my brothers, being brothers (Geoffrey 14, Joseph 15), took great delight in making sure that their ‘clever’ little brother knew he was nothing more than a dumb, pissy little baby.

If they’d ever shown resentment at mum’s pride in my getting to grammar school that soon disappeared as they saw I was unable to cope and had become almost incontinent. They appeared almost gleeful in my decent into becoming a bed wetter. Mum had a catalogue from which she bought most of our clothes in instalments and they would often leave it open at the infants page, circling prams, onesies and baby’s plastic pants.

As it was, thanks to her work at the chemist, mum had brought home a pack of twelve adolescent fabric nappies and a few pairs of very strong rubber pants that she’d been assured by the company were leak-proof and odour-free. These were to become the defence that kept my bed dry and the damp contained as I slept. They were smooth and glossy to the touch but gripped my waist and legs like a vice. They didn’t hurt, the thick rubber saw to that, but they were heavy and together with a well-padded nappy, were a force to be reckoned with.

However, they did work very well and my small bedroom (my brothers shared a much larger bedroom) didn’t smell of pee. My nappies, plastic pants and various creams were kept away from their prying eyes, whilst mum and dad made sure I was well shielded every night in my heavy protection.

As you can tell, things were getting worse and try as I might, my body was behaving badly and there seemed very little I could do to control it.


However, mum did tell me that soon I’d be getting my first suit. Not a hand-me-down, one that Auntie Annie, mum’s auntie, was getting made especially for me. She knew I was growing up and wanted to get something that was just for me… something to celebrate securing a place at grammar school. I was so excited I badgered mum to give me details.

All she said was that I’d have it before my twelfth birthday and that auntie mentioned it was blue. So, despite having to wear nappies at night, I was finally going to be treated as a grown-up and have my own clothes.


Auntie Annie is my mother’s auntie who, together with her husband Bill, had taken in mum when she was a girl after her mother had died. Her father was a hopeless drunk and couldn’t cope with his young daughter’s grief along with his own, so Annie, his sister, had stepped in to help. Aunt Annie and Uncle Bill had all but adopted mum and she lived with them until she married and left home.

I never knew Uncle Bill, he’d died long before I was born. However, Auntie Annie was my favourite relative and since being a little baby, I’d always spent time with her. Even as I got older and more independent, I would still visit her as often as I could… and sometimes stay over to keep her company.


Unfortunately, before the suit arrived I had an enormous set-back at school; I accidently wet my pants in the middle of a science lesson. Sorry to say, I drifted off as the teacher spoke about chemical symbols, and in that few moments of total relaxation my bladder gave way and a river of stored pee exited and covered the front of my shorts.

Barry Turner, who I was sitting next to, couldn’t believe his eyes as the dark grey stain spread across my shorts and a trickle of pee ran down my leg. He was quick to notify everyone in class and the teacher, realising he had one very damp eleven year old, gave me permission to go and see the school matron.

Now I’m not sure if this was something that regularly happened at the academy but judging by the verdict from my classmates, it was both a funny and diabolical thing to have happen. I slouched, undignified from the chemistry lab, down several flights of stairs to matron’s room.

On the way I tried to conceal my obvious stain but it was too large for my tiny hand to completely hide. Two older boys I passed on the stairs smiled before I heard a huge guffaw once there were a couple of floors separating us. I couldn’t have been more embarrassed, well I thought not, until I knocked on matron’s door.


She looked aghast, shook her head and told me to take off my shorts.

I was reluctant to do anything but too afraid of any form of authority in this place, and she was definitely scary, so I did what I always did when authority spoke, just as I was told.

I stood there holding my wet grey school shorts and offered them to her. My sodden underpants sagged a little and she looked perplexed.

“And those,” she said pointing to the droopy white cotton.

She passed me a thin cotton towel and told me to dry myself, whilst she busied herself sorting stuff in a cupboard.

I checked to make sure I hadn’t wet my shirt, although one of my socks was also soaked with pee, but I didn’t want to draw attention to that fact.

Once relatively dry I stood waiting for whatever it was matron had decided I needed. She’d pulled out a few items, which I couldn’t quite make out what they were, and then went over to the phone on her desk and dialled a number.

It was the contact number for mum and after a few intermediaries she eventually answered. Matron told her what had happened and asked if she could come and collect me. There was more of a conversation and I saw matron listening intently occasionally murmuring a “Yes “or an “I see” ending with a “Yes, please bring those”.


It felt strange standing all but naked in the middle of the office but after a couple of minutes (which seemed like an eternity) eventually she finished and confirmed that mum would pick me up shortly (45 minutes) and that in the meantime I’d have to wait with her.

Matron checked I’d dried myself properly and then, much to my surprise, fluffed out a large disposable and told me to sit on her table so she could put me in it.

My half-hearted protest was dismissed as she took complete charge and had efficiently taped me up in a matter of moments.

“I can’t have you sitting around with no clothes on, and, as I don’t know if you might wet again, this is my solution.”

She wasn’t being unkind but I was a little tearful that a boy my age (at grammar school no less), had been reduced to wearing a thick nappy. The fact that I was already regarded as a ‘little kid’ by some of my fellow students made my situation worse. Word would be all around the school about my wet incident and I could feel my standing in the school yard, although not great, would be taking a dive.

She checked that the disposable fitted correctly and then pulled my shirt down as best she could to hide the bulky mass. She slipped my wet clothes into a plastic bag and handed them back.

“Sorry about this, I know you’ll be feeling a little anxious but I don’t have…”

She appeared to have an idea and went off to check on something else.

The padding was pleasant and in all honesty I was quite grateful to be out of sopping pants, but, as I sat waiting for her return I was too embarrassed to admit to matron that I’d recently begun to wear a nappy at night… although in retrospect, perhaps mum had mentioned that fact in her brief conversation.

She came back triumphantly holding a pair of white nylon gym shorts.

“I thought there might be something in the lost property box… here… put these on.”

I squeezed myself into them but it was difficult. They would probably fit had I not had such a cushion around my groin but with such thick padding I struggled.

Matron looked on somewhat pleased with herself being able to find something to spare my blushes. However, she told me that under normal circumstances I’d be sent straight back to class but as this was an ‘exceptional’ event, I should sit in her outer office, read and wait for mum to arrive.


It wasn’t like a doctor’s waiting room with games for kids and out of date magazines for older folk, this one had two plastic chairs, wasn’t particularly warm and had glass windows where anyone walking down the corridor could look in.

I sat slightly demoralised holding onto my plastic bag and wishing mum would hurry up. Matron must have taken sympathy on me as she came out of her office and handed me a very old copy of the Beano comic. For a couple of minutes it held my attention until the end of lesson bell rang and the entire school moved around to their next class.

Several people walked or hurried down the corridor and past matron’s window. For those who had eyes to see, there I was, sat in the briefest of shorts, a disposable clearly jutting down the leg-holes and with me reading a particularly childish comic. Of course it only occurred to me how stupid I looked after everyone had gone to their respective classrooms and I took stock. I hadn’t quite realised how much of the nappy was visible as I’d been engrossed in the cartoon capers and shuffled around getting comfy on the plastic chair, my tight little shorts had become very revealing.

A huge sigh escaped my lips as I wondered if anything worse could happen.

# tbc #

  • Like 2
Link to comment

I really liked it, but that should come as no big surprise. I like all your stories. The only surprise is that the story isn’t complete yet before I actually commented on it. I wonder if the nappy in school is about to become a permanent fixture for him.  If not right now, I am sure it will be soon. I am looking forward to reading more. 

Link to comment

Thanks CDfm, as always I appreciate you taking time to comment and I'm always pleased you find them entertaining.

A boy, his nappy and a caring aunt... what more could a sweet boy at grammar school need? :)

Link to comment

Part 2

I had plenty of time to think about my situation. Of course, the class would have a field day from then on, mum and dad would be none too pleased and I could hear my brothers thoroughly enjoying my humiliation with their not so subtle barbed quips

At last mum arrived carrying a large bag, which I hoped would contain some fresh clothes.

“Hi mum,” I said nervously. “Sorry about all this… erm, uh, it was an accident.”

Although she kissed the top of my head in greeting I detected she wasn’t very happy at having been summoned to pick me up.

“You okay sweetheart?”

There was little affection in the acknowledgment.

I nodded but matron had come out to meet mum and they disappeared into her office without me and without leaving her bags for me to get changed.

I could hear talking but it was very low and I didn’t get much of an idea what exactly was being discussed.

A few minutes later mum surfaced but without the bag.

“Can I change…?”

“Sorry Adam, that was things matron needed for any future ‘accidents’.”

She emphasised the last word and I knew I was in trouble from her tone.

“But mum, I, I, I… erm…”

“Let’s get you home and changed…”

“Mum I can’t walk around the school dressed like this people will see and… and…”

“I wouldn’t worry about that…”

Before I could say another word she grabbed my hand and was leading me out of school, across the playground and out onto the main street where we had to catch a bus home. I felt so self-conscious standing in the queue waiting for a Number 63 that would take us to the end of our street because I knew the little white nylon shorts were showing the world I was wearing a thick disposable.


I didn’t know what to say - I was grumpy, scared and ashamed.  The way mum all but dragged me out of school meant I was on very dodgy ground if I complained and, like I was a little kid, she still held my hand as we waited. My school blazer didn’t cover much of my childish shorts so the thick padding protruding from the leg holes was very obvious.

I felt awful, I could feel the emotion begin to fill me up. Mum must be so humiliated by her grammar school going son wetting his pants in class. What kind of eleven (almost twelve) year old has that kind of accident “… it beggars belief”.

It wasn’t a long bus ride but it was a very guilty journey. I wasn’t sure I could justify falling asleep in class, even for a few seconds, without me sounding a little thoughtless and pathetic. Even though this was a one off, for some reason I knew this was a turning point in mum’s opinion of me. She’d been so proud of her youngest going to grammar school but now everyone could see that I was nothing but a pant-wetting baby who was obviously way out of his depth.

Mum was taking no notice of my ‘sniffles’ and whispered ‘sorrys’ and we didn’t speak until we got home.


The main thing I wanted when we got through the door was a hug. A hug that meant that mum understood it was an accident and that I was sorry to have caused her such embarrassment. Alas she had me stand in the kitchen whilst she unfurled the plastic bag matron had given me with my damp clothes in. Unceremoniously she emptied my shorts and underpants in to the washing machine, where my night time fabric nappies had been soaking since the morning.

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders as if she’d come to a conclusion.

 “Okay Adam, go and take off your uniform and hang it up… give me those shorts I’ll give them a rinse through… but keep the disposable on.”

“But mum I don’t want…”

“At this moment Adam, it’s best I don’t hear any argument from you… just do as you’re told. I’ll be up in a minute.”

I’ve never seen mum really lose her temper, well, not with me, but I could tell she wasn’t happy about the day’s events. I furtively made my way upstairs, scared that the disposable crinkling might make too much noise and I didn’t want to upset her in any way.

Once in my room I did as I was told and hung up my blazer and tie, put my shirt on a hanger, then took off my shoes and put my socks, one of which still felt damp from my accident, into the hamper in the bathroom and waited for mum.

The disposable was a lot bigger than the one I’d worn before and as I inspected it my mind began to wander… and wonder. I wondered what it would be like to wet such a large object? How many times would I have to pee to completely saturate it and how much would it expand as a result?

If I did a poo in it how much would it hold?


I’d not had any such thoughts before, even when mum put me in my first night time nappy a while ago; it must have been the novelty of the disposable.

I was standing in front of the mirror, examining it from all angles, completely absorbed in these questions when mum came in. She sat down on my bed and tapped the space by her side as an invitation.

She looked at me in a very serious manner as if she was deciding just how to approach a difficult subject.

“What’s going on with you at the moment?”

Her eyes searched my face desperate for an answer that would be realistic and plausible.

I had no idea. I knew I’d begun to wet in my sleep but other than that, the accident at school was just that, an accident.

“Nothing mum, honest.”

“What about your bed wetting?”

“Erm, um, er, I, I, I don’t know. I just wake up wet and I can’t remember any reason why I should.”

“Do you know you’re doing it?”

I hated this question because it made it sound like I wanted to pee my pants and I didn’t. I was on the verge of tears.


Why would anyone want to wet the bed, or worse, wet in front of their entire class. Of course I don’t mean to do it. I didn’t say that I hoped my emphatic denial would be enough.

I’m not a liar. Mum knows I don’t tell fibs because when I was younger and did, my face would just go red and she’d know instantly… so I don’t lie to her or dad.

“Are you being bullied?”

“No mum, nothing like that honest. I just don’t know. I mean, I was just not paying attention in class today and before I knew it…”

I left the obvious outcome as I indicated the huge disposable I was now wearing.

“Did you fall asleep in class?”

It was a tricky question because I’d been thinking about this and I might have just nodded off for a short while. I didn’t want to admit to mum I’d found the teacher’s voice and subject both boring but…  ‘Yes’, I did drift off.

“Mmm maybe.”

“Oh Adam.”

She seemed genuinely disappointed and that made me feel guilt-ridden.

“I’m sorry mum it won’t happen again, honest.”

She sighed.


“Look Adam, the school has very high standards and a boy who wets his pants in class, well; it isn’t looked on with any degree of sympathy.”

I looked at mum wondering if I’d been expelled and began to tear up again.

“I’m sorry mum,” I sniffled into her bosom hoping for some comfort, “It won’t happen again.”

She hugged me close and patted my padded bottom.

She sighed again and pulled me away so she could see my face.

“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to wearing protection for school because…”

I roared as the full weight of what she was telling me sunk in. There was no holding back the tears and it was a good five minutes before she could calm me down.

“They will not put up with boys of any age wetting in class. I couldn’t convince them you don’t have a problem especially when they asked if you wet at home and, sorry darling, but I had to be honest about you wearing protection at night.”

She hugged me close.

“So from now on, until I can convince them otherwise… you’ll need to wear protection for school.”

So the package mum brought was ‘insurance’ the school wanted so they could sort out any future accidents. I was both angry and impressed. Angry that they assumed it was going to be a regular thing but impressed that they intended to make sure I didn’t miss any lessons because of it.

Mum surreptitiously patted and checked my disposable and decided I was dry enough.

“Let’s get you sorted,” she said and produced a pair of glassy white plastic pants to pull over the large mass of material.

“This should keep you… and everything else dry…”

She smoothed and patted the slinky material down.

“You might as well stay in them for the time being.”

She passed me a pair of hand-me-down grey shorts, which were a little baggier than usual but now, thanks to the bulk around my waist, fitted perfectly.


“The headmaster has said that you are falling behind in class because you aren’t concentrating and that you’re easily distracted. He hopes that if you have to wear a nappy it might focus your mind a little more.”

Tears were cascading down my face but I couldn’t disagree, I was finding it very difficult to keep focused in lessons. However, I hadn’t known it was that obvious, that it had been noticed, that the Head was involved and now my mum knew. I felt like I’d let everyone down and as punishment, I was being put permanently back in nappies.

“Look sweetheart, don’t be too downhearted… it’s the weekend in three days… then you have seven days end-of-term break and… Auntie says your new suit is ready so I’ve arranged for you to go over and stay with her for a while.”

The thought of soon having my own grown-up suit was just the information I needed to lift me from the current low ebb. I hoped I could manage nappies in school until the weekend before we had a week’s holiday and hopefully, by my return to lessons, I’d be cured of my wetting problem.

However, that night I slept in the disposable the school had put me in but still woke up soaked the following morning. I wasn’t sure why I thought it would make a difference… but it hadn’t.

I think I slept better wearing the disposable than the fabric nappy but mum had mentioned that we weren’t made of money, and disposables were expensive, so it would be re-useable, well-padded fabric nappies until I was able to use the toilet properly.

I don’t think mum was chastising me, just letting me know the way things were and how the school saw things. I knew I would have to ‘grow out of it’, as my brothers kept telling me when I complained about their constant ribbing, but I didn’t know how. I wasn’t doing it on purpose.

That morning mum cleaned me up, pinned me tightly in a fabric nappy with a couple of soaker pads, made sure the thick rubber pants contained everything and sent me off to school as usual.


I walked slowly; there was a slight rustling sound as the rubber worked against my polyester grey shorts, which I hoped no one but me could hear. It felt a bit uncomfortable though I’m sure at certain angles, that glossy white latex protection was visible and easily identifiable. I was anxious the entire day but not once did I feel like falling asleep in a lesson. So the Head had been right about that.


At night you don’t really feel the way a nappy can bunch up or grab your bits and pieces and hold them in a strange way. But, wearing them during the day, I was very aware I had this huge piece of padding between my legs... I couldn’t help continually adjusting them.


For school Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I wore the same ‘underwear’ and got the same comments and jokes. Kids holding their noses announcing they could smell pee, baby references, offers to change my diaper (how very American some of them had become) and almost continuous pats to my padded backside. Each day my nappy was quite damp by the time I got home but I think this was more from fear of revealing it if I went to the boy’s room - although, to be honest, in retrospect, I might have only been fooling myself on this.

Thankfully, I avoided any further calamities and my protection prevented any further wet stains appearing on my shorts. This meant that the supply of disposables mum had left with matron remained unused, although she did look at me suspiciously because I hadn’t been to see her.

As I say, I’m not a fighter so just had to put up with it but as far as I was concerned the week’s break couldn’t come soon enough. On top of that, getting away from my equally irritating brothers (who were taking great pleasure in my humiliation), to stay with auntie seemed the best possible solution to my current low esteem.

“Hey mum,” Joe shouted across the room one morning when I came down in a very wet nappy, “Is there a grammar kindergarten anywhere locally for my clever baby brother?”

He laughed at his own joke but mum gave him such a look it soon wiped the smile off his face.


I’d woken up this promising Saturday morning unfortunately wet, very wet, so mum made me wear thick protection (she said ‘we’ were not taking any chances). Once I was all cleaned up surprisingly she produced a disposable only a slightly bit smaller than the one matron had fastened me in. This fit me better, and because of the extra padding she inserted into it, it felt a lot tighter.

Once she’d added the plastic pants I thought I was definitely well protected for what was really just an hour’s journey time.

Actually, it was two trips; the first was the bus from home into town, and then catch another bus across town to get up to auntie’s house. I thought I could last that long easily and, as I didn’t want to wear a nappy any longer than I had to, hoped that once I got to auntie’s she would let me wear my normal underwear.

However, there is a saying I’ve heard my father use – the best-laid plans of mice and men…

I was about to find out just what that phrase meant.

# tbc #

  • Like 3
Link to comment

Another awesome chapter. It sure didn’t take very long for Adam to be back in nappies full time. I didn’t think the school would be so strict with just one accident. Oh well, it’s just going to be a little harder for Adam to convince everyone that he doesn’t need protection. I love your discreption of his thick cloth nappies and heavy plastic pants.  In my opinion there’s no better protection than thick cloth diapers and good plastic pants. I would wear cloth all the time but it’s not very discrete. I was pleased I could give it a like and I will be looking forward to reading more. 

Link to comment

Part 3

Once I get the bus from the end of our street the trip into town usually takes about twenty minutes. It’s a route I’ve travelled many times both alone and with family. I’ve often travelled to aunties unaccompanied, well, since I was ten, so the journey holds no fear for me and besides, in winter I take the bus to school… although that’s only part of the distance.

I’m familiar with crossing town and catching the Number 43 which then takes me up to aunties but on this occasion I’d just missed a connection. However, I don’t often get into town on my own so, the curiosity to fill the twenty minutes waiting time with a look around the department stores was just too good to miss.

Although I have the odd pair of ‘long’ jeans (they are very old hand-me-downs that are pretty patched and tatty) mum doesn’t like me going anywhere if I’m not relatively smart. Like for school, as I don’t possess other long trousers, I’m dressed in shorts. I know I’m perhaps one of only a few boys my age that still has to wear shorts but due to our financial position I don’t make a fuss. Anyway, the prospect of me soon getting my first ‘grown-up suit’ all to myself meant I was in a fairly good mood, despite the padding that was filling my smart-ish grey shorts.


The truth about my ‘wardrobe’ of clothes - even all the hand-me-down stuff – the shorts at least seemed to be robust enough to remain relatively neat and tidy, which is perhaps why I had plenty and still wore them whenever we went anywhere. I’m the youngest, smallest and it’s never looked that much out of place being dressed in such a fashion.

My two brothers are much taller than me and it isn’t just the few years age gap that makes the difference. In attitude, activities and size, I am still the baby of the bunch (which they never let me forget, especially now I have to wear nappies at night), always following, never leading like Joe and Geoff seem to have no trouble in doing.

Even when I play out on our estate there’s a couple my age running around wearing the same as me. Where we live no one has money to throw away and often, especially when there were large families, clothes had to stretch through several age groups and last until the youngest kid had grown up? I knew a couple of boys on the estate who were the youngest in a family of girls and the items that had to be adapted (or not) for them to wear… sheesh... at least we were all boys in my family.

However, mum always kept some of my shorts for ‘special’ occasions. That simply meant I wasn’t allowed to play out in them so had a clean and relatively smart pair for such visits as going to see auntie. We called these my ‘best’ shorts, just so mum could differentiate between ‘playing out’, ‘school’ or ‘best’ shorts, when letting me know what to wear.

On this occasion I wore school grey shorts, which in truth were quite stretched over the bulky protection, a t-shirt under a thick jumper, long grey socks, black shoes and a nice warm jacket -more or less my usual clothes during the cooler months.

Mum had also loaded my backpack with the things I’d need for a few days stay with auntie; my jammies, shirts and shorts and hopefully some spare undies. She’d also written a ‘thank you’ card, which I was under strict instructions to give to auntie the moment I arrived. I assumed it would also contain a little bit of ‘private’ gossip mum had picked up at work that she wanted to share.


As I wandered around ‘window-shopping’ and choosing what I’d like if I had the money to buy whatever I wanted, I was well aware of the thick padding mum had made sure I wore that morning. It was fun looking at all the stuff and wishing we were rich enough for me to indulge myself, but of course this wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

Time just flew by and before I knew it forty minutes had passed and I’d missed another connecting bus.

Meanwhile, I was regularly pulling at my crotch trying to make myself more comfortable from the slight bunching that was going on but the plastic pants made getting a grip difficult so just ended up with partial relief.

What I hadn’t realised was that with all the pulling and pushing, and attempts at getting more snug, my shorts had ridden up and the plastic pants were visible from the back. I’d heard a few comments and giggles as I made my way around some of the shops but it never occurred that I was the centre of attention.

However, I noticed the time and anxiously made my way back to the bus stop and hoped the Number 43 would come quickly as I was desperate to use the toilet. I knew I could last twenty minutes even though my bladder felt like it was about to burst but hoped I could control myself until I got there. On top of that, I hadn’t actually done a Number 2 that morning (even though I told mum I had) so that was something else brewing I could have done without. So, despite being a bit uncomfortable I was confident my nappy would remain pristine, and with any luck auntie wouldn’t know about the padding and I could change to my normal underwear once there. 


The bus was taking forever to come and the queue was getting longer. What should have been a maximum trip of an hour was now stretching to two. A couple of older boys were standing behind me pointing and laughing whilst unaware I was the subject of their amusement.

“My brother has to wear pants like them,” I heard one of them say.

“Yer (giggles) but he’s only two (more giggles)”

And then I felt a hand brush my bottom and end up touching the rim of my plastic pant leg.

“Ain’t that sweet… he’s wearing a nappy as well.”

I was horrified at their discovery and the easy way I was made to feel so babyish. It didn’t help that I blushed furiously and was unable to have a comeback comment. I felt my eyes tear up and I heard the boys in mock seriousness say.

“Don’t cry baby… I’m sure mummy will be along soon to change you.”

They made some other babyish noises and it was only when an old lady told them to stop and that they should be ashamed of picking on a “young kid” that they finally departed in hysterics and I was left being comforted by a pensioner.

“Don’t cry sweetheart... the bullies have gone.” She spoke low and soothing. “The bus will be here soon.”

The problem I now had was I was desperate to pee. I knew there was a public toilet not far away but I wasn’t sure that if I went I’d miss my bus again.  Caught in such a quandary my mind was made up as I saw the bus coming along the street but at the same time a shiver ran down my body for some reason and felt the first warming spurt of pee into my nappy.

Because of the traffic, by the time the bus had slowly ambled along the street I was standing bow-legged, well soaked and in well-expanded plastic pants. For the second time, I’d wet myself in public. I waddled onto the bus, paid my fare and squishily sat down in my flooded protection. Thankfully I hadn’t leaked and I just hoped no one knew what I’d done. I nervously looked around the other passengers and nobody but the old lady was looking at me. She had a benign smile and was nodding as if to say “Everything will be alright now”.

I tentatively smiled back.

However, an old problem was now making itself known more forcefully, my bowel was sending windy, farty messages, that it also needed an outlet. I prayed to anyone who might be able to help not to let me fill my nappy whilst on the bus because I knew I couldn’t hide that particular action if I did.


The journey seemed to take forever. There were queues to get on or off the bus at each bus stop, which made the entire ride at a snail’s pace. I was afraid to let out the vast amount of wind that I knew was filling up my bum because I was scared of the results should I lose control and let rip. It was getting painful.

I had the backpack on my lap and was surprised at just how hard I was clutching it as uncomfortable jolts of pain travelled around my lower body. I feared a massive eruption if I didn’t get relief soon.

After what seemed like an eternity the bus arrived at my destination. I’d sat wriggling in tremendous discomfort and now, as I was about to get up and leave my seat, the full weight of my saturated nappy felt like it was holding me down.  My shorts had risen up and my plastic pants were visible for all to see as I cautiously shuffled to the door to be allowed my escape.

I could hear a few murmurs as the rest of the passengers took in the view.


An old lady got off before me as I struggled to dismount and I held on to the bus stop for support. A sudden pain drove through my guts as the door closed and the bus set off. It was such a relief getting off, but with the strain of holding it in for so long something had to give, so, with the noisiest of farts, I filled the rear of my nappy.


Escaped my lip, followed by an equally strange moan as my bowel emptied and I could do nothing but groan and felt my protection filling up whilst doing its best to soak it all up.

I stood at the bus stop with my legs wide, afraid to move in case the mess somehow spurted out and covered the vicinity.

“Aren’t you Annie Lomax’s nephew?” The kindly lady who’d just got off the bus with me queried.

I nodded.

“Have you had a bit of an accident?”

It was a rhetorical question because my face, the smell and my soggy stance all proclaimed in a huge non-verbal way what had just happened.

“Come on dear let me help get you to your aunties.”

She couldn’t have been more understanding as she held my elbow and guided me slowly the few hundred yards to my aunt’s house.

She knocked on the door and it was opened by auntie looking somewhat surprised.

“Is this the clever, grammar school boy you’re so proud of?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“Well, he’s just shit his-self.”

With that she turned away before auntie could respond and left me feeling more like a ridiculous little toddler than I’d ever felt before.

“Oh dear, I was expecting you over an hour ago?”

# tbc #

  • Like 2
  • Confused 1
Link to comment

Poor boy. Here I was thinking what a nice little old lady to help him to his Aunties house. All she wanted to do was embarrass the both of them. You kind of knew that bad things were going to happen when he failed to do as he should have and gone directly to his Aunties rather than messing around. Well worth a like and I am looking forward to reading more. 

Link to comment

Part 4

She held the door open for me without further comment and indicated I should go straight upstairs to the bathroom. Auntie followed close behind and I’m afraid her first greeting of me was my bottom tentatively climbing each step, with a foul-smelling load just inches from her face.

“Your mother mentioned you’ve been having night time accidents…” she sniffed. “I didn’t know you were having them during the day as well.”

As I entered her bathroom I was just too embarrassed to speak but auntie, no stranger to the toilet habits of little kids (she’d baby sat just about every kid in the street at some time or other) eased me out of my shorts. Although I was humiliated by everything I just wanted out of that saggy and messy nappy. So when she indicated I actually climb into the tub I stepped out of my shoes and got in without question.

My shorts were speckled with residue but both the nappy and vinyl pants were a horrendous colour. I was ashamed and very self-conscious as she hesitantly pulled down the protective pants and the full dread of what I’d done became apparent. The entire thing flopped in a messy heap onto the floor of the bath leaving me dirty and naked from the waist down.

She helped me out of the rest of my clothes and once that was complete tried to soothe me with gentle quietening noises. The reason for that was, despite being almost twelve, tears of mortification streamed down my face and I was instantly back to the little boy she’d looked after all his life. Whilst she placated me with gentle rubs and comforting sounds she turned on the shower hose and let the warm jets clean everything away.

Once all that was done and happy I was back to being a clean nephew she threw a towel around me and guided me up into the attic which was to be where I slept.


Auntie doesn’t have a big house but it’s in an old part of town where street after street and row-upon-row of back-to-back homes were built for the workers who serviced the town’s industrial mills. Over the years, most of these massive estates had been cleared away but in this area, there was something of a community still clinging on. 

Auntie lived in a middle terrace (although they now call them Town Houses in the more up-market areas), with a kitchen and living room downstairs, a large bedroom and bathroom on the first floor and a large attic. Like auntie, most people had converted their attic space to make another bedroom and, for those families that had stayed, it was mostly where the kids slept.

When I was a toddler and auntie was babysitting all three of us, Geoff and Joe made the attic their fortress, whilst I, being the youngest, was kept under supervision and slept in auntie’s bed. However, as my brothers had other interests and sort of grew away from visiting auntie, from the age of nine I had my independence and graduated to the large double spare bed in the attic.

The large attic was also the storage space for everything. It was a bit cramped because auntie was of the generation that didn’t throw much away, thinking it was bound to come in useful again at some point.


I was a little disconcerted to see some toys and various piles of what appeared to be baby equipment and, because of my current situation, began to wonder just what mum had told auntie my problem was.

She saw the bewildered look on my face.

“Oh love,” she said reassuringly, “it’s not for you. I’ve been babysitting Jane, you know, the Kilsden’s at number 17’s youngest and her brother Johnny. Deidre their mother is back in hospital and Terry is working nights so…”

I vaguely remembered Deidre and Terry Kilsden, a young couple who hardly seemed old enough to have kids themselves. I remembered Johnny being about four or five but didn’t remember their latest child Jane.  Although judging from the nappies and other equipment she must be a toddler at least. I was relieved it wasn’t for me but didn’t want auntie to think I couldn’t remember what was going on in the neighbourhood so merely nodded.

She’d been the one person neighbours had turned to for help ever since she took in mum as an eight year old all those years ago. So, for a couple of generations, in this cosy but working class little community, Auntie Annie was the ’go to’ lady if you needed a temporary hand with your kids.

In fact, I was now aware of a smell of urine in the air and wasn’t quite sure if it was me, the baby or Johnny. As auntie defended the noticeable atmosphere, it turned out, as Jane was in a crib in auntie’s room, six year-old Johnny, who had been staying the last couple of nights in the attic, had unfortunately, still been a bedwetter so needed to sleep in nappies.

All the kiddie nappies and stuff that surrounded the bed were obviously for his use, which probably explained the slight rustling sound when I put stuff on the bed; evidently there was still a plastic sheet in place. Although, when I thought about it, I think the waterproof mattress protector had always been there.


Despite just taking a shower and covered by a thick towel I began to feel a little clammy about my situation. I was sure that the plastic sheet would be staying, after all, hadn’t I just made a complete mess of my own nappy? I couldn’t see auntie taking precautions with a six year old and not me… although I really hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

Normally I’m full of fun and life at auntie’s house. The confident and positive way I’d started the day had slowly been eaten away and that upbeat feeling had all but departed. I needed something to get back to being me again.

On the bed was my backpack and I hurried over to retrieve some fresh clothes as I wanted to return to ‘normal’ as soon as possible. Alas mum had only packed disposables and vinyl pants for my underwear, together with a couple of pairs of shorts, jumpers and t-shirts, a dress shirt, socks and my jammies.

Auntie saw me empty everything onto the bed and gaze down more than a little disappointed. She saw the letter and I passed it to her. Whilst I was deciding what to wear (and hoping that somewhere amongst the protection a pair of my briefs still resided) she read whatever mum had written.

“Your mum thinks… oh… and the school also thinks… you need to be kept in nappies until everyone is sure you are over your wetting spell.”

She looked across at me and noticed I wasn’t receiving this news particularly well. I had been half expecting it but I was still a little miffed that no one seemed to realise school had been just an accident. However, my recent catastrophe pointed in another direction all together and I still couldn’t explain my night time wetness.


“Sorry sweetheart but it looks like, well, for the foreseeable future these are to be your underwear.”

She lifted a couple of the neatly packed thick, white and plasticky disposables. I think mum thought it would be easier for auntie to use them so had included quite a few in my backpack. I assumed she must have got a sample box or something from her job at the chemist.

“To be honest love, I’m not keen on disposables because they aren’t recyclable… but… as this is what your mum has supplied… I suppose…”

Auntie obviously wasn’t a fan and shook her head as she checked and unfurled one of the disposables.

She spread out the towel and asked me to lie out. I was very reluctant but would never argue with auntie so half-heartedly did as I was told.

At home I disliked being nappied. Firstly, I was simply embarrassed. Secondly, mum or dad always supervised as if I was still a toddler and thirdly, my brothers would be around to supply the grief. Mum and dad had warned them not to be nasty but they couldn’t help themselves and a snide or mean remark often followed the sound of crinkling as I sat down anywhere.

“Mmmm the lovely smell of baby powder.” Geoff would whisper so mum or dad couldn’t hear. He was joking of course but it always irritated.

I wasn’t enjoying having to wear such stuff to sleep in and having to wear them for school as well had really hit my confidence. Every time I wet I wondered why. I couldn’t blame it on a dream or nightmare and as far as I knew I wasn’t ill with anything so I really had no reason for my nappy to be soaked every morning.


Meanwhile, I was a little put off by the fact that Johnny’s ‘stuff’; the creams, the powder, even his nappies and plastic pants, were all within easy reach. In fact, there was an abundance of baby stuff and appropriate paraphernalia, which made me very uncomfortable as I could see auntie obviously wanting to use them rather than what mum had supplied.

As no underpants were on offer I had no choice but to let auntie get on with the job.

However, she spread in the same lotion that no doubt was used on her earlier, younger, nappied charges, sprinkled powder and fastened me tightly into the clean and crinkly disposable. She then automatically reached over and grabbed a pair of plastic pants off the dresser and inched them up my thighs. They weren’t the new softer vinyl ones mum had packed but before I could mention this small fact, the tighter and thicker protection was manoeuvred firmly into place.

Auntie checked to make sure everything was tidily kept within the plastic bounds and helped me up.

“There, that should keep you…” She smiled but didn’t finish her comment.


I felt ridiculous. I’m almost twelve for heaven’s sake; I shouldn’t need auntie making sure I’m leak-proof. However, because of the firmness of the plastic pants the padding didn’t seem as obvious so, although I knew I was well cushioned, I hoped that at least visually, others wouldn’t detect I was wearing anything unusual. This made me feel a little more positive and I thanked auntie for thinking of it.

She looked at me as if she wasn’t sure what I was talking about but nonetheless smiled and passed me another pair of shorts (khaki) and a dark blue jumper before we headed downstairs. It was just after noon so auntie suggested we have a spot of lunch before doing anything else.


Over lunch I asked her about my new suit and various other things and it became apparent, and something perhaps I should have realised before, auntie had not only bought a new suit for me but she’d actually paid for the school uniform as well. I was aware we didn’t have a lot of spare cash but not how much we were indebted to auntie’s generosity.

It wasn’t that she was bragging about any of this, I just pieced together some of the things we were discussing. However, I did suddenly begin to feel guilty.

Now my lack of ‘brilliance’ at grammar school, and the achievement of getting there meant I was letting people down. It had never occurred to me before that those who had been proud of my outstanding personal ‘triumph’ were now caught up in this personal fiasco. My lack of concentration, or inability to just keep up… and now my wetting, all seemed to conspire to make me feel a complete and utter failure.

That sudden feeling of guilt produced an unsolicited spurt of pee into my clean disposable. I wasn’t really getting off to a good start.

Auntie knew me very well. She’d obviously spoken to mum when I started wetting the bed and, with the note, had probably been brought up to date with everything else. She wasn’t making a big deal about it but was something we needed to talk about.

There was a look of concern in her eyes, but, like everyone else, was positive I’d be past this problem very soon. In many ways auntie was like a second mother to me, we’d spent so much time together I never felt awkward in her company. After all, she’d been taking care of me one way or another on a regular basis since I was a baby.

Without the distractions of the rest of my family, she had observed all my fears and been able to placate them. To be honest I was never happier than when it was just me and her because I didn’t feel I was competing all the time.

“Well sweetheart,” auntie smiled, “let’s get you through this as quickly as possible. I’m sure you don’t want to be wearing nappies for any longer than necessary.”

I nodded in agreement as I followed her downstairs, feeling the tightness of my padding but glad that no one would see or know about it except auntie and me.


Auntie had let me know that this new suit was a reward for getting to grammar school, for being the first person in our family to achieve such status and wanted to get something to mark the occasion that was just for me. She’d discussed it with mum who’d told her that I’d always wanted something that wasn’t a hand-me-down and auntie suggested that perhaps a new suit would be ideal.

Mum said it was a fabulous idea but worried at the cost. However, auntie dismissed her concern and she’d organise it with a tailor she knew as a surprise and was quite excited at the prospect of me trying it on.

I was excited myself at receiving this gift but was also full of guilt that I didn’t actually deserve it. Other than getting to grammar school I had done nothing that warranted such a congratulatory reward. However, auntie said that after lunch we’d go and get it from Mr Gold’s who had a small tailoring shop on the corner a few streets away.


Where auntie lived nearly every corner used to have some kind of shop. Now some had been transformed into bigger homes but, like Mr Golds, there was a small grocery shop at the bottom of the street. At the top of the hill was Yaxley’s Fish and Chip shop (who auntie said made the best batter in the world), whilst three streets over was a newsagents who delivered her daily paper. How these small places survived was anyone’s guess but locals seemed to appreciate having such facilities in their area.

Anyway, after lunch auntie got me all enthusiastic again as we made ready to walk the few hundred yards to Mr Gold’s tiny little tailoring shop.


Mr Gold is a small, demure and fastidious little man well into his seventies. He’d been tailoring all his life and although there were rolls of various fabrics piled high all around the outfitters the main focus of attention were the photographs of his many satisfied customers. Just about every suit he’d ever made was photographed and the most recent displayed in a prime position for all to see. He was very proud of his work and, judging by the look of his patrons, his work was much admired.

He greeted both auntie and me at the door with a smile and a handshake. He seemed as excited as I was about the suit and, after chatting with auntie for a few seconds disappeared into a back room and brought out this unique outfit.

It was Royal Blue with subtle chalk-white stripes giving it a grown-up look but still quite trendy, colour-wise at least. He offered me the jacket to try on and I excitedly slipped it over my rather boring jumper, it didn’t match my khaki shorts and I couldn’t wait to try on my first pair of long trousers.

When he passed them to me I thought something was wrong, they were in fact a pair of shorts. I felt deflated and looked at both auntie and Mr Gold who both had eager expressions on their faces.  My heart bumped to the ground, I was deflated and could have cried I was so disappointed.


The one thing that would have made me think I was a grown-up and taken away this current feeling of inadequacy had been whisked away. I was left with my new outfit, one I’d be wearing continually for the foreseeable future, and it had ‘childish’ short pants.

I’m sure they noticed my expression and lack of enthusiasm and wondered what was amiss.

“Is something wrong dear? Do you not like the colour or something?”

I saw the now worried look on both their faces and although I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, I had lost any fervour about it. I felt let down.

“No auntie, it’s, it’s a lovely colour but I was, er, um, expecting long trousers.” I almost whispered the last couple of words.

Auntie and Mr Gold looked at each other.


“Why not try the entire thing on,” Mr Gold was gushing again and guided me to a curtained off section where I could change. “I’m sure you’ll feel better when you see it in its entirety.”


I certainly didn’t want to take off my shorts and put another pair on although the main reason was, I was sure Mr Gold would see my protection.

Seeing my reluctance to even move auntie made the very suggestion I’d dreaded.

“Mr Gold, would you be kind enough to supervise my nephew?”


I was hoping just by my expression and tone of voice she would realise I was embarrassed about my nappy.

“Don’t be silly sweetheart, I’m sure Mr Gold has seen plenty of boys in all manner of underwear, he’s not going to be fazed by yours.”

Well it was out there now and I could have died as Mr Gold led me behind the curtain and held the suit’s blue shorts, whilst I dropped the ones I was wearing. I shyly pulled them off revealing my shiny plastic pants but at the same time auntie put her head around the corner and suggested that perhaps it would work better with a shirt rather than the jumper I was wearing.

Mr Gold nodded and went off to get a shirt, whilst auntie helped me off with the jumper. A few seconds later he was back with a nice pale blue short-sleeved shirt and I was standing naked apart from my lustrous padding.

A short discussion between the two adults took place (as if I wasn’t there) about the line of cut, the stitching and the quality of the material.

Although there wasn’t the thickness around my groin I couldn’t pretend that I looked anything other than an incontinent little kid. Those thick, glossy plastic pants certainly looked like they were made to withstand any amount of mess. At that particular moment, with adults talking around me, and not having much to say for myself, I felt like a toddler waiting to be dressed in the morning.


I put the shirt on first and buttoned it up, next I slipped the shorts on which were a lot larger than the ones for school. The shorts were loose fitting and the jacket was also quite large. In general, the entire thing was a couple sizes too big. Unfortunately both Mr Gold and auntie thought I looked splendid.

“Plenty of room for him to grow into it,” Mr Gold enthused to auntie who patted the suit with pride saying how handsome I looked.

I gazed at myself in the mirror and was more than a little dejected by the whole experience. To me it looked like a well-made, but ill-fitting, suit for some kid from years ago, I was depressed and unfortunately it showed.

“Oh dear Adam, I thought you’d like it. As soon as I saw the design in Mr Gold’s tailoring magazine I immediately thought it was for you.”

She looked pleadingly across at Mr Gold who suddenly went off and returned with the offending magazine.

As he leafed through the pages auntie continued.

“It said something in Italian that I thought meant ‘For the Modern Young Man’… I hoped you’d love having something fashionable, Italian designed, something all of your own.”

I didn’t want to appear ungrateful but I thought it looked dated and baggy, all the things I’d desperately been trying to avoid. I wanted to scream, “I wanted something trendy… or at least with long trousers and a nice jacket… what could be simpler?” but of course I didn’t I just looked sad.

Mr Gold found the page with the feature that had prompted this abomination I was wearing and auntie eagerly pointed out how up-to-date and ‘trendy’ (yes she used that word albeit rather uncomfortably) and showed it to me as if to prove her point.


There on the page was my outfit worn by a young Italian boy, smiling and being eagerly shown the various sites around Venice by his mother. Indeed, he had a similar pale blue short sleeved shirt (in one shot his jacket was slung over a shoulder), red tie, red braces, red knee-length stockings and blue leather sandals; I had to admit that he did look happy with what he was wearing. Also, if I’m honest, he looked the part of a smart, trendy boy of the era.

However, what auntie hadn’t seen was the reference to the ‘Retro 1960 design advert’ that led into the feature.  This was an actual advert for the Modern Italian ‘Young Man’ (and that title obviously meant young boy) from 1963. You could tell from the cars and what his mother was wearing it didn’t refer to now, surely auntie and Mr Gold could see that… couldn’t they?

But there was something else, and it was something that sent a shiver through my body. Amazingly, the boy in the photo-spread, who seemed about eight or nine years old, looked exactly like me. No wonder auntie had decided on this particular outfit, it appeared to have been specifically designed for me… because there I was, in several different poses around Venice, actually wearing my new suit.

I was speechless but auntie just put the image up against my reflection in the mirror and nodded enthusiastically.

“Sweetheart, it’s made for you and like the photograph, you look wonderful.”


Although I didn’t have the red tie or the red stockings… it did look like I’d been on that particular photoshoot. Mr Gold had gone off to retrieve the very things that were missing and was soon making sure the braces were set at the correct level of support before slipping a tie over my head. He didn’t have the red stockings or blue sandals but I was now looking even more like the young boy on the page.

Auntie’s and Mr Gold’s hands were everywhere straightening this, pulling at that, rearranging something else. Auntie smoothed the shorts over my bottom and again both agreed that the loose cut meant there was a plenty of room to fill out for a growing boy. 

By implication I took this to mean that as I was still growing shorts were a better prospect than long trousers and that I’d only get my much desired long trousers, when I eventually stopped growing. As I was already a little bit smaller than others in the class (but by no means the smallest), and with my two brothers also still growing, I would be at the bottom of the line for new clothes for some time before I got anything even near grown-up.


I had begun to tremble, it all seemed so, so, stupid. How could I be in a 1960’s advert?

With Mr Gold picking a few pieces of lint off the jacket and auntie fussing over me I became all hot and bothered and at the same time, unannounced, I peed again into my nappy, which made me even more flustered.

There was no reason for it, I just went. I had no excuse my pee just flowed into the thirsty disposable and for the first time I was glad that these big blue stripy shorts hid what I’d just done.

Being referred to as a boy and not a young man would have annoyed me if the warmth spreading about my groin wasn’t reminding me of my juvenile act. It’s strange what goes through the mind at certain moments.

It was like even my bladder was mocking the very idea of me advancing up to wearing long trousers. It was as if it was saying ‘You may have got to grammar school and you might think you’re a big boy but… guess what?’ No wonder neither of these grown-ups saw me as an adult yet, I was still trying to master going to the toilet… I was nothing but a silly, pants-wetting toddler and felt ashamed.

# tbc #

Link to comment

Part 5


At first I thought it was a bit creepy but, with both auntie and Mr Gold fussing around, I felt like I was fitting into a role that was inevitable. My new suit would brand me as a boy and not a man so, at my twelfth birthday, which wasn’t very far off, I’d still be wearing childish clothes and seen as a kid and not the aspiring teen I was hoping long trousers would bestow on me.


However, as per every other one of his customers, and as was the custom, I had my photograph taken wearing my new suit for him to display for all to see. Auntie was excited at the prospect and got him to take a couple of me and her together as she gushed about how lovely it would look in a nice frame on her sideboard. There would be no getting away from it.

To make matters worse, as I stood outside Mr Gold’s business getting ready for that all important shot, a couple of young jeans-wearing boys on bikes rode past and said, “Nice suit mate” and for half a second I thought they meant it. Just a few feet further on almost fell off their bikes laughing at their calculated put-down.


I’m not sure if Mr Gold was happy with the way things were turning out, whilst auntie looked undecided and that made the guilt come sweeping in. As I’d discovered, auntie had done loads for my family and here I was an ungrateful nephew who should know better.

I’m the one who’s spent most time with auntie over the years, I’m the one who visits her as often as possible and I knew, deep down, I was her favourite (even if aunties shouldn’t have favourites).

She hadn’t said anything about me turning up at her door with a full nappy, nor baulked at cleaning up my mess. Yet here was I moaning like a spoilt child, that I hadn’t got a suit with long trousers. Never thinking that she had gone out of her way, and I suspected at some expense, to give me something she thought I’d be proud of. Something special, Italian designed, something just for me, I was suddenly very ashamed of my ungrateful self-pity.

Her kindness and generosity towards me had been fantastic so this was no way to repay her.


I achieved a smile for the camera, and despite the kids laughing just a few feet away, managed to look a little more cheerful for the photo with auntie. Although I’d wished for something better the cut of the suit meant that the shorts were longer than the style I wore for school. Normally those grey shorts are particularly short as my chubby thighs make them ride up into my crotch. However, for the last few of days I’d had to wear a nappy to school, so managed to find a looser pair that disguised (if not hide) what I was ashamed was rustling under the thin material.

The new suit shorts hung down to about two inches above my knees so in a very small way, I was wearing longer trousers, although in truth this was hardly a consolation. However, my selfishness and disappointment had to be overcome so I thanked both auntie for such a wonderful gift and enthused to Mr Gold for making such a ‘brilliant and stylish’ suit.

They both looked relieved that I was no longer unhappy, and even though I wasn’t happy, I tried my best to hide that fact.

The other thing I tried to hide was the fact that I’d wet my disposable whilst all this was going on. I could feel it had expanded a little and strangely, that made the new shorts fit slightly better. After the fuss I’d just caused I didn’t want to give auntie anything else to worry about so I stayed silent about my little accident and hoped nobody would notice.


Eventually I was able to change back, this time without anyone’s help, to my khaki shorts and jumper. Mr Gold lovingly placed the suit and all the other bits and pieces in a rather nice presentation box and bid us a “Good Day”. I assumed auntie had settled up whilst I was changing back and no one but me knew my nappy was soaked.

I was glad to be out of my new suit, it had felt too large and way too stylish and wondered where I’d be going to warrant wearing such a glamorous outfit. All these thoughts were running through my mind as I pulled up my khaki shorts, which I’d never been happier to wear. They felt a little tight.

We went back home and dropped off the suit and I was about to confess about my wet nappy but auntie suggested, as it was still a nice afternoon, we should go for a walk in the nearby park. I thought I could last a little longer so nodded my agreement and without further ceremony we set off.

Once in the park I counted only three other boys wearing shorts and all of them were much younger than me. That is except for a group of four older boys who were playing footy and had their team colours – red shirts and flimsy red shorts.


However, what was now occupying my thoughts was the advert. I couldn’t get my head around how similar the boy in the feature looked to me. I asked auntie if she noticed and she nodded.

“Sweetheart, as I said, everything about that piece in the magazine seemed to be telling me it was especially for you.”

I could see how she might have thought that but, that boy in the ad had been a good two or three years younger than me, so I wondered if that was how she still saw me – an eight year old.

 “I was discussing the fact with Mr Gold that I wanted something special for my fav… er… nephew and he suggested perhaps something Italian designed. He showed me the page, and to be honest Adam, I thought it was precisely what I was looking for.”

I listened intently rubbing my naked knees and trying not to make it obvious as I rearranged my soggy nappy.

 “Well,” I said discreetly grabbing my damp crotch and giving the fabric a pull, “he, er, um, did you not know it was from a design a long time ago?”

“To be honest sweetheart, I didn’t even look I just thought it was definitely for you. Tell me the truth… do you like it?”

Auntie looked into my eyes as if she was searching for the truth and I’m a terrible liar but, I certainly had no intention of upsetting her.

“I loved the design, the colour and everything but I was hoping for long trousers… but… well… I can understand that I’m still growing and shorts are a better bet…”

I didn’t finish because the look of relief on her face told me she was happy. However, the dampness in my nappy was causing some bunching and itching so I was glad she suggested we went home.


Once home, and as suspected, auntie was quick to suggest I change out of my wet disposable. I didn’t try to deny it and was really grateful when she followed me up to the attic and suggested I let her clean me up.

“You youngsters are never quite thorough enough. You miss spots and that can lead to an itch or an even worse infection… so… just leave it to me.”

It appeared that auntie’s recent babysitting had sharpened her nappy changing routine, if indeed it had ever needed sharpening, because she didn’t think twice about laying me out and taking full responsibility for my cleanliness and fresh protection.

Thankfully my shorts were still dry, so they could be used again without a wash but as auntie released the plastic pants she said they’d need a soak. Then she pulled at the tapes and freed me from my soggy prison. The air rushing in was chilly but very welcome before she grabbed various things from the nearby pile and proceeded to do what any child-minder would do for a damp toddler.


As I wasn’t allowed underpants, and auntie seemed on top form as she meticulously wiped every nook and cranny, I lay back and let her get on with it. I closed my eyes and just pretended I wasn’t there and the initial embarrassment disappeared.  The wipes smelled a bit of menthol and were surprisingly cooling and as she worked away I floated off into a different realm. I’m not sure where I went but for a brief moment this was happening to the boy in the advert… although we were one and the same.

I could also imagine him/me sightseeing with his/my mother and eagerly running around, pointing out the various places of interest and excitedly exploring each new attraction.

The thing was, in my mind’s eye I was very happy – laughing and enthusing as I raced from place to place; my younger age making not a scrap of difference.

In between all these thoughts, auntie rubbed in anti-rash cream and powder, whilst I felt my legs being lifted as she wiped my most intimate area.

It was really quite remarkable how easily I let auntie change me. At home, as I’ve said, I felt inhibited with the rest of the family around but with it being just me and her, well, it seemed normal. I suppose, over the years I’d been changed by auntie several hundred times so this, even though I was a lot older, was no different. I know I should have been very embarrassed by it all, and to a certain extend I was, but this was auntie so couldn’t object.


My brief flight of fantasy was brought back to Earth as auntie said that, although mum had supplied enough disposables, whilst I was with her she’d rather use her fabric nappies. She murmured something about not being environmentally friendly, landfill and other reasons, as she’d seen a programme on it, which hadn’t been very positive about them.

As I lay there naked from the waist down, with my bits and bobs well-coated in various lotion and powder, she explained how she folded what looked like a huge piece of white fabric and made it suitable for a boy - girls, she said, needed a different technique.

My legs were raised as she slipped the well-folded material under my bottom and I was surprised at how different it felt against my skin. Moments later, and with a spongy insert, I was pinned tightly in and the padding between my legs was a lot more than the disposable.

She seemed pleased to have me all wrapped up before reaching for a pair of pale blue vinyl pants, which she proceeded to flap out - they seemed immense.  Pretty soon she was inching them up over the thick bulge and making sure everything was tidied away behind the plastic protection.

I stood up and almost laughed at the bulk of it all but then I realised I wouldn’t be able to get my shorts over it all.


“Auntie, what am I going to do?” I asked anxiously.

“Well sweetheart, we’re not going anywhere so… why not wear just that.”  She smiled as if it was an obvious solution. “You’re decent enough and I’m used to kids running around in just their underwear. In no time at all you’ll not notice the difference.”

I looked at her a little dumbfounded; surely she didn’t really expect me to wear just… this. But auntie was full of encouragement (as always) and before I knew it I was walking with a loud crinkle towards the stairs.

It was beginning to feel a little surreal as I ambled downstairs to watch TV but that’s how I spent the rest of the night, curled up on the sofa next to auntie or at the table eating some scrummy thing that she’d prepared.

She was right, after a while I didn’t care; the padding and slippery plastic pants seemed to be offering me more comfort than distress. Later, that’s also what I wore for bed, my PJs bottoms wouldn’t fit over it so I just wore the padding and my PJ top. I slept like a log and woke up dry, which was the first time for a few days.

“Morning Adam,” auntie swept into the attic all bright and cheerful, “how did you sleep?”

Thankfully I’d just removed my hand from down the front of my protection (that would have been embarrassing if auntie caught me checking myself) however, I was pleased to report my damp-free circumstances.

“That’s wonderful love. Do you want a bath or a shower this morning?”

I was still yawning a little so wasn’t really sure why she was asking me that question.

She looked as if I should know. “Church.”


Oh yes, I forgot.  Mum and dad aren’t great churchgoers, in fact I’d say I’d never been to church with them but when I stayed at aunties, and it was a Sunday, she was keen on attending.

“Sorry auntie, I forgot, erm, I’ll have a shower if that’s OK.”

“No problems sweetheart, just don’t take too long.” She smiled. “But don’t miss anywhere either.”

“No I won’t… I’ll be thorough.”

“Good boy.”

She left and I was able to get out of bed and feel really pleased with my arid state. It was almost like I’d won some kind of competition… I was so relieved and hoped this would be the start of my journey back to proper underwear and wet-free nights.

I stripped out of my pyjama top and protection, grabbed a towel and wandered into the bathroom, used the toilet and set the spray on the shower to my preferred setting. Auntie had one of those shower nozzles that you could change to make a fine, heavy or a pulsating spray – the last was my favourite.


I was perhaps under longer than I should have been and when I returned to my room auntie was waiting. I thought she was going to be mad at me for taking so long but I should have known – auntie was never mad with me. However, laid out on the bed was another nappy, a deeper blue pair of plastic pants and my new suit had been pressed ready for its first official outing.

Auntie looked expectantly as I wiped away the last droplets and guided me over to the waiting pre-folded nappy. I had hoped that with me not wetting during the night I might be excused or at least have the thinner disposable but, no, she had another thick bunch of materials already to wrap me in.

The thing was, although I was almost twelve, in auntie’s presence I was still that little boy who came to visit. She did everything for me and, other than occasionally going to the local shop for her, I didn’t lift a finger… and that’s the way she wanted it. I was her Little Adam, the nephew she’d doted on since being a baby and I liked being that special.

# tbc #

Link to comment

Part 6

I really didn’t want to wear a nappy but, with her encouraging smile and soothing manner, I hopped right into the middle of that laid out piece of terry material and, after she’d rubbed in the various creams and lotions, was pinned in without any fuss from me.

I don’t know how or why auntie had such a supply of nappies and stuff that fit but another darker pair of blue vinyl pants was slipped over the bulky softness. The blue short sleeved shirt was ironed so I put that on and auntie then held the shorts for me to climb into. Although I’d worn them the day before, with the new, thicker nappy in place I had to manoeuvre them over the padding. However, once in place they felt like they fitted better, but I still wore the thick red braces.

Auntie helped tie the tie and I didn’t know but Mr Gold had put  a pair of red and blue long checked socks in with the parcel so I was given them to wear with my black, now highly polished (thanks to auntie) shoes. I still thought the jacket felt a bit long and the sleeves covered about a third of my hands but I was ready and auntie gave me the most wonderful rewarding smile I’d ever seen. She was obviously very proud of the overall effect although I still had my doubts. However, we were off to church so any trepidation I may have had was going to be tested.


Auntie was clearly pleased with having such a smart young man accompany her and she and I were greeted with huge smiles and pleasantries. Most of the older ladies and gents who spoke to auntie also had a kind word for me often saying how smart I looked in my new suit. The general opinion was very positive amongst this particular age group where I seemed to challenge all that was missing in today’s youth – who were grubby, scruffy and lacked any personal values or morals – apparently the suit automatically bestowed values and morals without question.

After church I accompanied auntie to her club, it was something the older congregation organised for themselves, a social group where they could play bingo. I would much rather have gone home and changed but I’d been with her before and the bingo was actually fun… and I was allowed to play. It was for prizes but the final ‘house’ was for a cash prize, which over the weeks, had amounted to quite a tidy sum.

Not that auntie needed or wanted the money, she saw it mainly as a social event where she could meet up with the friends she hadn’t seen the rest of the week. Mrs Avescroft, who as long as can remember, always looked like she was over a hundred, looked me up and down and whispered to auntie how much I looked like Barnaby Blue. I had no idea who this character was. However, as she said it with a degree of fondness and a light appeared in auntie’s eyes, I guess whoever he was… was liked.


Once the term ‘Barnaby Blue’ was discovered it wasn’t long before every one of the over sixties seemed to refer to me by that name. I was confused but they were all smiles and the number of pats to my padded bottom as each seemed to think this was expected was immeasurable. No one commented on the obvious padding or the occasional rustle as I moved around but the name stuck.

For the rest of the session I was referred to as ‘Little Barnaby or Barnaby Blue’ and apparently my blue suit (shorts and all) were reminiscent of a story strip in an ancient children’s magazine. Auntie explained that Barnaby Blue was a young boy, who, though still at school, had an enquiring mind and set about solving various mysteries.

“Now I think about it, they’re right, you do look a bit like him. I used to have an annual when I was younger… ohh… but that was a long time ago. I remember the front cover… with his little blue suit, a magnifying glass and a large question mark behind him. It was all very thrilling to us young ones and…”

“How old was he?” I interrupted.

“About your age sweetie… or maybe a little younger.”

“He was nine,” Mrs Dixon confirmed, “and an inspiration to just about every child of the time. He could do, and solve, anything”. She said in a dreamy way, “Yes a great inspiration.”


I was confused and intrigued but all the older ladies and a couple of gents who were of that age all seemed to be in agreement, I was the embodiment of this youthful sleuth.

Mr Parkinson, who once owned the corner shop but was now in a retirement community home ‘Sun View House’ added.

“In the annual his trademark was his little blue suit.”

He ran his hand over mine and patted my nicely padded bottom, which up until they had all started to touch and stroke as if I was a new-born animal, I’d all but forgotten about… so became a little self-conscious.

“No one would suspect a little boy in short trousers of being cleverer than the entire police force, all the detectives and even government minister were outwitted as he solved each crime or mystery.” Mrs Parkinson whispered but everyone seemed to agree.

There then followed quite an intense reminiscence among the group, each reminding the others of one of his famous and almost forgotten stories.

I had become the centre of attention as they beamed their encouraging smiles and reminisced.

Meanwhile, I saw auntie chatting to Mrs Goodall who was taking a thorough good look at me and nodding to whatever it was auntie was saying. I could see auntie mouthing the words “Thank you” before Mrs Goodall nodded once more then turned and left.

“Honesty and logic... er, I think that was his catchphrase?” Mrs Bellows looked to the others for confirmation.

When they referred to Barnaby they always looked my way and smiled as if they were actually speaking about me. It was very strange but, as I listened, I became fascinated by this character of yesteryear.


He was a precocious preteen who baffled and confused those around him by his clever deductions and dogged investigation. Personally, I couldn’t see it in a twenty-nine year old man, never mind a nine year old boy, but the more they chatted and enthused about this boy wonder, and the constant references to the similarities to his blue suit and mine, the more at ease I felt being almost twelve and still wearing short trousers.

Whilst all this was going on around me, in my head I was thinking that short trousers, of any colour or style, were no sign of being grown-up or intelligence and wriggled contentedly in my protection. He was clever and his short trousers didn’t inhibit him in any way, which for some unknown reason I took comfort in that thought.

It didn’t occur to me the children of that era, just after World War 2; dressed in shorts because material, like so many other items, was in short supply so they had little option. According to auntie, who mentioned this in a passing discussion as we went to the park the day before, shorts were perfectly normal for children to wear whilst still at school... and well into their teens.

“I’ll have to see if I can find that annual.” Auntie whispered a little conspiratorially to me.

I nodded enthusiastically as the conversation continued unabated around us both.


Unfortunately for me, my breakfast fruit juice and the rather large Coca Cola I’d downed since being at the club had filled my bladder to bursting point. I was being silly (not something Barnaby could be accused of) but I knew I was in desperate need of the toilet but I was lapping up all the praise, as if it was all about me.

Eventually, I stood up to let auntie know I was going to the men’s room but for some reason the effort of standing seemed to be the signal for my bladder to let go. The sudden rush took me by surprise and I wasn’t sure where to put myself.

I couldn’t stop it and I didn’t want to sit down as I assumed everyone would know something was wrong. I couldn’t believe I was filling my nappy in front of dozens of people and flushed a bright red at the fact that I was.

“We’re embarrassing the boy.” Miss Armitage observed and smiled compassionately, as I blushed.

“That was something else Barnaby did… he’d get flushed if a girl spoke to him.” Mr Cameron laughed at the memory.

I certainly was flushed and I could feel the warmth of my hot pee soaking into the front and slowly around to the seat of the fabric. I just hoped that the vinyl pants would keep everything under control; I would have died several times over had my shorts suddenly sprouted a wet stain.


After a further twenty minutes of wriggling a little uncomfortably in my chair, auntie apologised to the group and told them we had to get going for lunch. I knew auntie had put the timer on the oven before we left so I was grateful that we had an excuse to leave.

However, just about everyone patted my head, shoulder or padded bottom as I left and had forgotten my name as they all smiled and called me Barnaby.

“I saw you wriggling darling,” auntie whispered, “are you wet?”

I nodded so auntie grabbed my hand and together we walked the mile home from the club.

As we walked we talked about Barnaby Blue and the memories of some her friends.

“Yes it is strange that many can remember things from decades ago but not what they had for breakfast.”

She shrugged her shoulders and I nodded.

“I think today though… you’ve brought back something so, so, so pleasurable and nostalgic for them… I reckon you’re going to be in great demand every time I visit the centre they’ll be asking about you.”

My new suit had certainly made an impression, and, odd though it may seem, their enthusiasm, even though it wasn’t about me in particular, had made me more at ease wearing shorts. All those old people had thought I looked smart, well-groomed (I heard someone say) and I appeared to be a credit to auntie, which was the comment that pleased me most.

The fact I’d wet myself wasn’t mentioned until we got home where she guided me up to my room, stripped me out of the suit, which she hung up with care, and then proceeded to clean me up like she always did… with love and compassion.

# tbc #

Link to comment

Part 7

Once she’d finished I was wearing a double thickness nappy (she’d seen just how much I’d wet) and a voluminous pair of white pvc pants were stretched over it. Again, my shorts wouldn’t fit so I suggested I put on the suit shorts as I knew they would. Auntie said they were far too smart to be sitting around in so, I guessed it would be back to wandering around the house in just my protection.

Auntie loaded the suit onto hangers and said she’d put it in her wardrobe until I went home.  On exiting the attic she mentioned that, as we had no plans on going anywhere else for the rest of the day, and unless I wanted to play outside, which she said was fine by her, I might as well stay as I was.

Again I marvelled where auntie got all this stuff from but I suppose, after years of baby sitting and looking after the neighbourhood’s kids (of all ages), she was bound to have loads of equipment.

I asked if she knew if she’d kept her Barnaby Blue annual. She shook her head but after a seconds thought suggested that I take a look in one of the many storage cases that were piled up around me in the attic.

“I’ve no idea what you might find in those.”

She said pointing to a particularly ancient looking case and several other boxes piled in the corner.

In fact, the room was crammed with packages, boxes and suitcases; the only space was about a two foot corridor around the bed. The attic was quite a big area so she’d been able to cram a lot of stuff up there over the years and had obviously forgotten just which box contained what.


As I started to move items around I became aware of just how much ‘baby’ stuff she had. She’d obviously got it all ready for little Jane and Johnny’s needs… and now mine. There were piles of plastic pants of all colours and sizes, bottles, nappies, clothing and quite a few other appropriate things, which I assumed spanned several decades.

At one point, burrowing amongst some ancient looking boxes, I was frightened by a sudden groan, which sounded like a ghost or something. For a few seconds I was stunned into paralysis as I feared what ‘undead’ character I might have disturbed. Thankfully, I came to my senses and grasped that a very old and moth-eaten teddy bear had rolled over and emitted its broken growl.

That brief few seconds of fear had released a spurt of nervous pee, which had turned into a torrent that I didn’t know I was holding on to. However, my nappy did its business and soaked it up and although a lot damper, I didn’t let it dampen my enthusiasm in searching for the Barnaby Blue annual.


Dust was getting everywhere as I delved into each and every container. There were clothes and toys I suspected from when mum lived here, a chest with Uncle Bill’s old clothes and a few of his belongings, as well as items I assumed were from when auntie was a newlywed.

Old curtains, sheets, blankets, wallpaper pattern books, old crockery, pans, furniture and newspapers, books and reams of paper crammed into folders that looked like they’d been kept from some work project. There appeared to be some useful stuff around but in general, I couldn’t see a function for most of it.

Time just disappeared as I hunted for that illusive book and I only realised how long I’d been searching when auntie called me down to eat.

She laughed when she saw me as I was absolutely covered in cobwebs and who knows what else.

My t-shirt had dirty marks all over it but oddly enough, the white pvc plastic nappy cover looked as pristine as it had when it was put on. Of course she couldn’t tell that underneath I was flooded because of the thick, shiny, dust and crap resistant fabric.

“Are you going back up to search some more after dinner?”

“There’s so much up there to explore…”

“Okay, well I’ll leave you as you are for the time being but you’ll need to wash your hands and face.”

She pointed to the bathroom so did what was expected. I didn’t know whether to confess my nappy was wet but I thought she had enough to do with getting the meal ready and didn’t need something else to distract her. Although I was wet, for some reason, it wasn’t bothering me. Nor was the fact that I’d just peed myself and had let loose without even thinking about what I was doing.


When I returned, waiting on the table was a fantastic beef hot-pot one of my favourite meals auntie cooks.

After I’d finished having several helpings I really was too full to do any further exploring so, still wearing my wet nappy and pvc pants, settled down in front of the TV with auntie. All in all it had been quite a busy day and I dozed off whilst watching one of the ‘soaps’ auntie followed.

Auntie gently woke me up as she slipped her finger up the leg hole of my pants and found I was sopping. I couldn’t be sure but may well have wet some more whilst dozing. She’d been in two minds whether to leave me until bedtime proper but thought it best rather than sit around in my own pee to get me ready for bed.

Auntie led me to the bathroom and I was surprised to see that now there were more supplies stacked on the set of drawers.

“It will be easier, after a bath or shower, to just change you here although there’s still plenty next to your bed.”

She smiled reassuringly as if I should be pleased with this new arrangement of now having two changing areas.

I wasn’t not pleased… but once again felt guilty about the workload I was giving auntie. What was worse, I wasn’t even questioning why I was wetting my nappy… I just did it and sometimes, even when I wasn’t sleeping.

This was stupid. I needed to get back control as I could think of no reason to be in this wetting situation. I had no worries. I wasn’t at school. Auntie was her usual wonderful self.  So, why I had suddenly stopped knowing when to go to the toilet was a mystery.

And then I had a thought.


It’s a mystery that Barnaby Blue might like to investigate. I was in two minds as to whether to go up to my bedroom and recommence the search for the illusive album but, auntie had already set out a fresh nappy (with extra padding) so I wasn’t going anywhere in the near future… except maybe to bed.

As I’d made such a soggy mess of the other nappy she was obviously taking further precautions for when I slept. I suppose she thought I was more likely to wet whilst asleep than when awake. Anyway, it felt like I was wearing a cushion and when she slipped up the clear, tight vinyl pants, the padding made walking almost impossible.

As I’d fallen asleep once already auntie led me straight up to my room and tucked me in. It wasn’t very late but it didn’t seem to matter as she kissed me good night and added that the bed looked pretty big with just me in it. With that she passed me a rather soft stuffed monkey for company and smiled.

There’d been a group of stuffed animals in a plastic container, some were in better condition than others, the monkey was perhaps the newest.

I wasn’t sure if this was something she’d done with little Johnny or if it was for my benefit but when auntie smiled her encouraging smile, I found it irresistible. Without thinking about it I acted like a toddler (not even an eight year old) as instinctively I immediately hugged him tightly and settled down with my new friend.


The night was filled with bits of silly little dreams. There was nothing much I could remember in the morning but despite that I felt like I’d had a very busy night. However, to my surprise I woke up dry.

I was pretty pleased with myself, and, at nearly twelve, I should be because I saw this as a sign.

I’d pretty much woken up soaked for the past few weeks, peeing my pants in school had been an accident, as had the messy nappy I’d presented to auntie when I arrived. I put that down to just bad planning but I couldn’t explain why, sometimes during the day, my nappy could sometimes mysteriously wet itself without realising it.

I’d been lying awake for a few minutes thinking about this when auntie came in all cheerful smiles and enthusiastic chat.

“It looks like it’s going to be another lovely Monday… “

She looked at me as if she knew I hated Mondays and she was having a joke at my expense.

“I’m not sure what you want to do but I need to do a bit of shopping… you can come with me if you like… or there’s the park or…”

“Actually auntie, I’d like to see if I could find that book.”

For a brief moment a memory of one of my dreams, of me as Barnaby Blue almost solving a case, slipped into my head, but then it just as easily slipped away again.

“Well, I’ve been trying my best to think,” she tapped her head, “where it might be and, although I’m not certain, I suspect if I still have it… it will be over there.”

She pointed to the darkest corner of the room that was piled high with stuff that I’d not got round to even thinking about sorting through in yesterday’s search.

My heart sank a little because of the amount of junk I’d have to plough through but, I was determined, if auntie had kept it, I wanted to read about this incredible nine year old in action.

I’d become obsessive.


“Well that sounds like my friends at the club have really sold that little guy to you.”

I nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay sweetie, get up for some breakfast when you’re ready…”

Actually I was famished; those hectic dreams had really taken it out of me.

“I’m ready now,” and swept back my blankets to reveal my dry protection.

“I’ll change you after you’ve eaten…”

“No need auntie,” I smiled, “I’m dry.”

“Alright then, let’s get this day rolling.” I’m always surprised when auntie says something like that because I don’t expect her to use that kind of vocabulary but that’s auntie for you… an enigma.

I waddled downstairs wearing what I’d just slept in and ate breakfast, after which she asked if I wanted something less bulky for the day. Actually I was quite comfy and dry so told her it was unnecessary and happy to stay as I was. I also pointed out that as I was going to be covered in dirt and dust by the time I finished my search, perhaps it was best not to add to the laundry just yet.

Auntie nodded approvingly and patted my well-padded bottom as I excused myself and went to work on project ‘Barnaby Blue’.

I was actually pretty excited about exploring the attic some more. I’d already discovered loads of things, which I hoped to chat to auntie about at some point, though in the meantime the Barnaby annual was my main objective. Now auntie had pointed me in the right direction (or so I hoped) I couldn’t wait to get started.


I hadn’t peed in my nappy but it was a little damp through night sweats and the plastic holding in all the moisture. However, I quite liked the firm feeling it gave shaped snugly around my crotch… also the plastic pants would be easily washable compared to wearing normal shorts with all that dust around. Although this level of thoughtfulness was usually beyond me, I was thinking in a way I hoped Barnaby thought.

As it was, Auntie had made it plain that she expected everything that was moved to be kept neat and tidy; she didn’t want to return to an area as if a bomb had dropped on it. So again, not like me, I was methodical in the care I took, which also meant it took quite a bit of time sorting through everything and then re-stacking them cautiously.

There were boxes full of balls of wool and half started knitted items. I remembered that nearly every year when my brothers and I were young, we’d each receive a couple of new jumpers from auntie. They were always pretty good.

Piled high were newspapers, clothing patterns, magazines, books, photo albums mixed in with ancient kitchenware and bedding. It was all quite a mish-mash but if there were books in the pile, I couldn’t avoid taking a closer look just in case ‘Barnaby’ had gotten mixed up between them.

I have to say auntie appeared to have kept every book she must have ever read, they occupied boxes and boxes, however, it wasn’t obvious that she’d have kept something from her own youth.


I had no idea how long I was hunting around but auntie must have gone out and returned from her shopping expedition and I had only just broken the surface. Occasionally I’d stop, my attention being grabbed by something; a toy, a book, a headline on a newspaper, so time just flew by without me really noticing it.

When she appeared at the top of the stairs with an ice-cold orange drink I hadn’t realised just how thirsty I was. My mouth had gone dry with all the dust particles so the refreshing drink was downed in one long satisfying gulp.

She went and got me another and on returning found me looking at an old photo album. A beam of sunlight was streaming in through the small attic window that only illuminated a tiny area. I sat in that bright shaft thumbing through the album’s contents, noticing mum as a young lady with auntie and Uncle Bill.

The attic wasn’t cold but in that shaft of sunlight it felt very warm and inviting so I settled looking at the photographs. Some seemed very old although, thankfully, most had captions. I was very relaxed sitting in the sun and it was remarkable just how quickly my plastic pants heated up. I was soon sweating and the plastic became very hot and malleable.


As I downed my second glass auntie joined me and happily reminisced over a few of the photographs. I was glad of the short break and she laughed whilst removing a smudge of dirt from my face.

“Just like your mother… always getting into scrapes …”

It was funny because I never imagined mum being my age and the thought made me smile as auntie told me about some of her adventures where she ended up covered in mud and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Apparently mum was a bit of a tomboy.

Eventually, auntie picked up the empty glass and told me not to be too long as she’d have a meal on the table in thirty minutes.

She looked at her watch. “Actually, you’ve been up here hours, I bet your starving.”

She looked around the attic and said I’d done a good job keeping it all tidy but we’d have to do something about all the disturbed dust before I went to bed that night.

Then, suddenly, out of the corner of her eye she spotted a small, battered blue case propping up an old wood and glass display cabinet.

“Ohh, I’d forgotten all about that,” she said pointing to it, “I think the annual might just be in that… because that case was one your mum used to keep all he ‘secret’ stuff in. I also remember her reading that book once so… it just might be in there.”

I became quite excited… that was a mistake.

The idea I might be spying into something mum had kept secret and that the book might actually be within my grasp was exciting. I had to crawl between a couple of ‘A’ frame beams with low buttresses to reach it and my plastic pants got caught on a sharp splinter of wood. I realised I was jammed and tried to wriggle past the obstacle only for my protection to get pulled down. My plastic pants were ripped and, up until that moment, I hadn’t known I was wet until the smell of warm pee filled my nostrils.

Pretty soon, my wriggling, reaching, squirming and pulling produced results; my nappy was stuck on the spike of wood and had become decorated with streaks of dust. After a bit of awkward manoeuvring, I was able to retrieve the small blue case and return to my patch of sunshine.


  • Like 1
Link to comment

I feel so bad. I had been caught up but now 10 straight days of 12 hour shifts has me way behind again. I am loving how the story is progressing.  I can truly love this Auntie. What a sweet and loving person she is. I am curious about what might be causing all of his accidents. It’s strange for me because I normally don’t like forced diapering but in this story it just seems necessary and in a loving way. I was happy to give it a like but it should have been several likes if I had been able to keep up. I am looking forward to reading more. 

Link to comment

Part 8

The dust motes spinning frantically in the beam of sunlight only emphasised the battle that had just taken place to retrieve my prize. Everything about me was caked in grime and several years of previously happily dormant dust and, as auntie looked on at my sweaty, dishevelled state, simply sighed.

“I hope it’s worth it.”

I was just so pleased to have it in my grasp but, as I nervously flicked the two little securing locks, as if anticipating any action on my part, they sprang open with ease ready to reveal its contents.

Meanwhile, auntie tugged at the now large ripped piece of plastic, which was protecting neither my dampness nor modesty and insisted that before I start searching the contents, she had to get me cleaned up and into something a little fresher.

“You’re absolutely drenched dear. Don’t you think it would be better investigating the contents when dry and over a cup of tea?”

She raised her eyebrows and I gathered what she really meant was that she was also intrigued but wanted a nicer setting to see what lay within.


Before the tea though there was another thing that needed urgent attention. My fabric nappy was in quite a state, the vinyl pants were unusable and, as I looked like I’d just emerged from a coal mine, auntie wasn’t going to let me anywhere near her furniture in that condition. I left the unexamined case on the bed as I followed auntie down to the bathroom.

Thankfully, with only a mucky t-shirt, a destroyed pair of plastic pants and a rather dirty, saggy and ripped nappy to remove I was soon stripped and heading for the shower. Whilst I cleaned myself up auntie had gone downstairs, put the kettle on and returned to supervise my re-nappying.

It was strange standing under the warm jets because I could feel the strain my young muscles had been under as I lifted and bent to search and retrieve the case. I hadn’t realised how achy my body had become and the relief the shower offered was greatly appreciated.

Wallowing under the spray and thinking about the suit, the old people and Barnaby I couldn’t quite get my head around why I’d become so infatuated with everything, it seemed like all the elements had come together for a reason of which I wasn’t aware. 


I heard auntie give a discrete cough, which meant I’d been under that thought-provoking spray for long enough.  Whilst I’d been deep in contemplation auntie had prepared a super-thick nappy and had a pair of industrial-strength pink rubber pants that looked big enough to envelop ten nappies folded together.

She took control of the towel and made sure I was well rubbed dry and had prepared all the various creams and lotions.

“Erm, I was hoping to be out of all this…” I indicated the paraphernalia around me, “before I went back to school.”

“I was hoping so too sweetheart,” she resumed her work, “but you’re not the first boy your age to have this little problem.”

I knew by calling it a ‘little’ problem she was trying not to make it a major thing but I was still worried about what I was doing on such a regular basis. I was even more worried about returning to school and still have to wear a nappy. Thoughts were filling my head of the Headmaster checking daily that I was well-padded and leak-proof.

“I’m not sure why you suddenly started to wet yourself” she continued, “but… I’m sorry to say… it doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

I nervously shrugged.

“In fact, I think it might be getting worse.”

I sighed at an observation I hadn’t really wanted to admit was true but could tell by the thicker nappy things weren’t getting any better and auntie was taking no chances. In fact, there was a newer, thicker, fluffier pile of pristine nappies stacked up, one of which she now placed me in. I hadn’t seen these before but, after all the rummaging around we’d done, I suspected she’d found them under a pile of old magazines or something.


“However Adam, you must not be disheartened. Many boys and girls your age have these unexpected dips,” she smiled brightly, “but get through them fairly quickly.”

She pulled the ends of the nappy together, it did feel thicker but also much softer against my skin, then pinned them tightly into place before having me step into the roomy vinyl pants.

“These will be a little sturdier.”

She didn’t expand on that line of thinking and I didn’t feel I could complain seeing as how I’d just destroyed a perfectly adequate pair of plastic pants.

They rustled loudly as she pulled them up my legs and I had no doubt they would do the job of containing anything I released.

“I’ve looked after other’s your age who had similar… difficulties, which disappeared as quickly as they came. The thing is not to get depressed about it because that just complicates issues.”

Well that explained how come she had so much stuff… and stuff that fitted me.

“What do you mean?”


“Well, if stress, say at school, brought this on, which your mother thinks might be the case, stressing over the remedy is just adding more fuel to the fire…”

“Oh, I never thought of it like that… does mum think it is stress…?”

“Well sweetie, you’re the only one in our family to ever get to grammar school so perhaps that has been hanging heavily on your shoulders…”

She looked at me questioningly as if to see if I thought this was a possible motive.

“We’re all pretty proud of you but you’re young,” I heard her say ‘In so many ways’ under her breath as she pulled something off the pile behind her, “maybe you aren’t ready just yet to take on that responsibility.”

She saw me looking even more perplexed.

She sighed. “You have a problem for now which has manifested itself in you being unable to control various parts of your, erm, body. Once you accept you have a problem and there is no way around it, but that the solution to such a problem is a simple ‘fix’, simply accept that for what it is - a temporary remedy for a temporary situation… so don’t worry. It may take a nappy today but later, well, I should think your underwear will soon be back to normal.”


This all made some sense but didn’t stop me fretting about just how thick my nappies had become and how things were not improving. Another thing entered my brain… if it was stress, then how come I didn’t wet the bed when I was sitting the exam or my first day at school? I didn’t remember much about it but surely, if anything would have set me off, it was those times.

“I think the moment you stop worrying about it… things will improve.”

“But auntie I’m almost twelve I shouldn’t need a nappy.”

“That may be true sweetheart but the fact is, at the moment you do.”

She patted the bulky plastic.

“No one is trying to make it difficult for you but it’s something you need; a simple, instant and safe solution to the immediate ‘challenge’. You won’t be the first kid your age to need one and I doubt you’ll be the last”

Auntie smiled reassuringly as once again she made sure I was tucked in before putting a red t-shirt over my head, except it wasn’t just a t-shirt as it came down and fastened between my legs.


“Is this a baby’s romper suit?” I asked a bit incredulously as she snapped the five little studs closed.

I was a bit surprised to say the least and sighed to auntie that I looked like a baby. I didn’t want to appear a moaner, or that I didn’t appreciate what she was doing for me, but I was a little bit miffed (and getting stressed), at this development.

“Sweetheart don’t worry, it will just help hold the heavier nappy and pants in place… so less likely to sag or snag… you’ll feel comfier.”

Actually, since I’d been pottering around the house in just my protection, the sagginess hadn’t really bothered me but I could see auntie’s point. On a couple of occasions now I’d wet myself without knowing so it might be her way of safeguarding her home without saying anything that could upset me.

As if to echo my thoughts.  

“You’ve wet a couple of times and not told me and I’m not certain that you’ve actually known yourself… that’s why the thicker nappy… to soak up more than one wetting, erm, so you ‘ll be changed less often.”

Again her voice trailed off as she reached for my hand and we waddled (well I waddled) down stairs.


Auntie was correct; the romper did hold everything in place and, if I’m honest, made me feel pretty secure. The downside, it emphasised my protection. Not only that but the robust pink rubber pants, which held the soft cushiony thick fabric tightly was visibly bulging out below the red cotton romper, which I thought made me look childish.

I wasn’t happy and auntie noticed my moody silence.

As she made a pot of tea she asked from the kitchen if I was happy.

“Not really auntie, I just don’t like…” I wasn’t sure how to continue. “You know, I look and feel like a baby and I’m…”

“Tell me Adam, were you a happier, more confident boy when you wet the bed at home?”

“No, I hated being wet… Joe and Geoff took the pi, er, mickey.” I whinged

“And when you wet your pants at school was that good for your self-esteem?”

The teapot was brought to the table as was a host of sandwiches and biscuits.

“No,” I wasn’t and didn’t feel confident at all.

She looked intently into my eyes.

“I thought you’d be happier not having the disapproval of your brothers. Not having to feel guilty over something you can’t help. Not worrying about having to wear a nappy…”

She searched my eyes for a reaction but I was a little dumbfounded.

Her eyes lessened in intensity and she gave me that awkward smile that meant she was going to reveal something.

“Well young man, all I can vouch is that since you’ve been here, and despite a few ‘accidents’ your nappy hasn’t prevented you from doing anything.  You’ve explored, been to church, you’ve been to my club and spoken to loads of people. You’ve been to the park… you’ve even faced down some young thugs who were ‘taking the Mick’. To be honest Adam, I’ve never seen you more involved in life.”

I looked up at auntie to see her glowing with pride.

“You’ve immersed yourself in tracking down this Barnaby Blue book. You look terrific in the new suit, and again Adam, seem a great deal more self-confident now than I’ve ever seen you. Wearing a nappy hasn’t been a problem at all.”


It was true, once the initial upset of the short pants had passed and I’d bathed in all the positive comments from auntie’s friends, or the fact that I had to wear a nappy, or come to think of it, even wearing just a nappy around the house at auntie’s… all was of no importance once I’d set about my task.

Another thing I realised that when I started wetting the bed at home I very quickly accepted the decision to return me to nappies as a solution. I had squirmed and cried but once the pronouncement had been made I simply accepted it as a done deal. It appeared that once I accepted a situation I was less anxious so perhaps mum and auntie were correct.

The nappy had served its purpose on more than one occasion and prevented anyone else knowing what I’d done. There seemed to be a free flow from my bladder that wasn’t connected to my brain giving me instructions to get to the toilet. It had protected and averted any tell-tale stains. It had done what it was there to do and I should be grateful to it… rather than whining about it. I tuned back into what auntie was saying.

“…at the moment your parents and school say you need to wear protection and, judging by the accidents you’ve been having they are correct. Since you’ve been here you’ve been soaked a few times so, to prevent any unfortunate leaks, I’ve decided to increase the size of your nappy to cope with any excess. Your shorts won’t fit over the bulk but, as you’re indoors I don’t think it matters. However, if what you’re wearing is uncomfortable, let’s go and change… I have loads of other clothes you can wear.”

“No, no, no auntie… erm… I’m sorry; it’s alright… um… I was being silly.” I’d seen all the baby clothes piled up in the attic and realised that some were more than large enough to fit me. “I’m fine.”

It came as a surprise to realise just how right auntie was, I’d never been that involved at school. Perhaps that’s what I needed, some project, something to hold my interest… something…

“If you’re sure, I don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable sweetie… but sometimes, and I’ve learnt this over years of looking after kids… of all ages… some baby clothes styles are actually pretty well-designed for their purpose.”

I nodded my agreement as the onesie easily held the bulky protection in place.

“Okay then, if you’re sure let’s have our tea.” She beamed now things were settled.


  • Like 2
Link to comment

Awesome. I loved the logical way Auntie thinks and acts. Adam needs to take her advice and go along with what she feels is best. I also love his thick cloth nappies and heavy plastic pants. Today being my first day off in a couple of weeks, I to, have spent it in a thick cloth diaper with plastic pants. I also have a onesie holding everything snuggly in place. I have used my likes for the day but would have very much liked to give this one. I will be looking forward to reading more. 

Link to comment

Part 9


After I’d eaten the sandwiches and finished my drink she suggested I went and retrieved the case so we could both discover its secrets. The way she spoke it was like we were both embarking on some kind of secret mission.


I went upstairs and realised I needed a pee. This was the first time in ages that I hadn’t just filled my nappy. I stopped at the bathroom and began fiddling with the snaps under my crotch and eventually undid them. I just about had time to pull at the rubber pants and manoeuvre my willy from under the thick fabric, which meant that with a great deal of effort and aim, I actually got most of my pee in the toilet. Alas, when I tucked it back there were a couple of delayed little spurts left, which thankfully the thick fabric took care of.

I was a bit annoyed with myself because I’d hoped I was perhaps on the way to control such calls of nature and angrily tried to fasten the snaps of the romper before I waddled up to the attic. It was all a bit fiddly so I failed, managing only to secure one snap.

However, just seeing the case again renewed my excitement so picked it up and shuffled back down the two flights. As I negotiated the stairs the romper, which was hanging on by just the one stud, burst open completely under the strain and on my arrival in the living room was surprised to see Mrs Goodall sitting chatting away to auntie. I’d heard talking on the way down but thought it must have been the television and wasn’t expecting visitors.


I hadn’t been as careful as auntie had been when she’d tucked the rubber pants and nappy under the cotton of the romper so presented quite a sight to the old lady I’d suddenly confronted. I was carrying the fragile case with both hands so was in no position to shield myself from her gaze. The long loose ends of the romper flapped about and my huge plastic pants, which sagged well below, showed my protection to all and sundry. The yellowing edges of the fabric from where I’d so recently accidentally dripped were on full display… I looked a ragged mess.

“Hello Adam,” she smiled, “nice to see you looking so… well.”

She then turned to auntie.

“Is that the onesie I made for the Bottomley boy last year?”

“Yes it is, and what a brilliant piece of work it is too.”

“Well you will keep taking in these problem children dear, I’m always surprised…”

Auntie interrupted her.

“How did the latest project go?”

She dug deep into her bag and brought out something that looked like a pair of pyjamas.

It was pale blue with dark blue highlights in a sort of fleecy type of material.

She held it up for auntie to inspect. 


Mrs Goodall is a small industrious little woman known for being a pretty terrific seamstress. She could (and did) knock up various items of clothing in minutes. She had a weird superpower, and that was, she could just look at the person she was making the item for and automatically know that person’s measurements. She was never wrong.

I’d known her most of my life, although I wouldn’t say we were close, more she was one of auntie’s friends who I occasionally bumped into when visiting.


The item was a lot bigger than she was and struggled to show the entire thing off.

“Put the case down Adam and help Mrs Goodall please there’s a good lad.”

I did as I was told and Mrs Goodall then held the garment up against me, I was shocked to see it was my size.

“I asked Mrs Goodall to make you some pyjamas sweetie because I thought you might not be happy about… well… you know.” 

She eyed my sagging protection.

It was way past being discreet and Mrs Goodall seemed to know no barriers as she suggested I try it on to see if her usual splendid work lived up to her reputation.

“Let me help you off with this…”

Before I had chance to say anything both women were getting things done. Auntie pulled the entire red romper suit over my head, whilst our visitor unzipped the large one-piece pyjama. I was left standing with only a messily arranged nappy around my groin.

“OK love,” Mrs Goodall said socially, “put your feet in the leg holes and… oh…”

“Is there a problem Ada?” Auntie said.

“I’ve just thought. I normally make these for younger kiddies… I’m afraid I’ve put the zip up the back.”

She said as she zipped me up and I was suddenly embraced by a body-covering of fleece.

“Well,” auntie said as she inspected the garment, “there’s plenty of room in it to hide the nap, erm, protection…  and it fits in all the right places so, I think you’ve done a terrific job Ada… very nice indeed… and at such short notice.”


I was more than a little embarrassed by all this. Auntie had got me a suit I wasn’t happy about because of the shorts aspect to it and now, she’d gone to the expense of one-piece fleecy pyjamas, which appeared to be solely designed to hide a nappy.

I was desperate to remind her of what she’d already said - that this need for nappies was just a temporary thing. I wanted to tell her that I’d already negotiated peeing in the toilet, although that seemed a silly thing to point out as I could feel the dampness spreading from those little late spurts, so decided to keep quiet. Also, I didn’t think it was a good idea to voice any such thoughts in front of Mrs Goodall.

Auntie and her were still stroking the fleecy material and admiring the work involved. Mrs Goodall was saying she had plenty of similar material and was always being asked to make onesies and PJs for people.

To prove her point she pulled another fleecy onesie, this time with short legs, from her huge bag and explained that she was making it for auntie’s ‘collection’ just in case she had any other ‘problem’ kids in the future. It looked like a blue version of the red one I’d just been wearing, although the press studs along the crotch looked a great deal more substantial than those previous ones. She also pulled out a pair of fleecy blue shorts, which she explained were to go with the onesie but were nice and loose to hide any bulge (she said that word quietly as if trying not to embarrass me).

I didn’t realise at the time but these were also meant for me, auntie was preparing for the long term.

Auntie thought she’d done a brilliant job and dived for her purse and handed Mrs Goodall a few notes. I couldn’t see precisely how much there was but both seemed happy with the transaction.


After Mrs Goodall had gone auntie looked at me in the full, new, fuzzy pyjamas and looked very pleased.

“Well,” she said adjusting the fit on my hips, “you’ve got something to sleep and walk around the house in so you don’t have to feel embarrassed…”

I shook. “Thanks auntie but it wasn’t necessary I…”

“Nonsense dear, I’ve noticed your reluctance with having your nappy on show and, this was a bonus from Ada, er, Mrs Goodall, these shorts will cover it completely. Two very nice items don't you think?”

To be honest the one-piece pyjama felt rather wonderful. The fabric seemed to caress my skin and, as I ran my hand over the bulge, the soft fabric made the thick cushioning seem like a soft, furry animal resting in my lap.

At the same time I was experiencing that sensation, I was also worried that auntie appeared content with such a regression.

“Auntie, don’t you think I’m a bit of, erm, a ‘problem’?”

“What do you mean dear?”

“Well, is this how you see me… a little toddler who’s still wetting his nappy?”

Auntie looked at me as if trying to weigh up exactly what she wanted to say.


“I’m sorry love if that’s what you think.”

She came and sat by my side and pulled me in for a cuddle.

“I always think of you as that thoughtful little boy who went out of his way to be so loving and kind to his auntie.”

She beamed.

“When you were young and still in kindergarten those birthday and Christmas cards you made for me... were so special. The pleasure your company has always given me… and the continuing visits now you’re getting older. You’ve always been a kind-hearted and sweet boy… and I value all the time we spend together”

She seemed to drift off slightly.

I wasn’t sure what to say but I was enjoying that not only had auntie provided so much for me but unknown, I’d given something back, which I never realised.

She hugged me tightly.

“I can’t help it sweetheart. I still think of your mother as that sweet but scared little eight year-old who arrived at our door all those years ago. It doesn’t matter how old she gets, married and a wonderful family… that is the image that stays… and that’s because it means so much.”

She hugged and looked into my eyes to push her point home.

“No matter how old you get, you’ll always be that wonderful little boy who also means so much to me.”

The problem I had was that auntie didn’t appear aware of the doubts that were running around my head because as far as she was concerned, this is how you take care of someone.

Was I, like Mrs Goodall had intimated one of Aunt Annie’s problem kids she occasionally had to look after? I then began to think of all the other children over the years that she’d taken care of when their own parents couldn’t. Did she…?

I was letting my imagination run wild and for no reason. Auntie had always looked after me with loving care so really she had no reason to change now, especially as I was having a bit of a wetting crisis.

I was comfortable in her embrace but wasn’t feeling my age. I did suddenly feel like the little boy who excitedly visited auntie, reliving those happy times when it was just me and her together laughing and having fun. At that moment, I wasn’t worried about anything because, strangely enough, the nappy, plastic pants and pyjamas, together with auntie’s loving cuddle, was all that mattered and I felt safe and secure.

It’s difficult to object when everything’s done in a spirit of love.


I lay contented for a few minutes before the phone rang and broke the mood. It was mum checking to see all was well.

Auntie passed me the phone and for the next few minute’s I chatted to mum about what we’d been up to. She was as enthusiastic as ever and never mentioned my nappies, although she did say that Geoff and Joe had gone off camping for a couple of days (thanks to the generosity of auntie I didn’t doubt), which had been wonderful for her and dad. I knew she was joking and it was good to hear her having a laugh at her kid’s expense.

Eventually I passed the phone back to auntie and, leaving me on the sofa watching TV, she slowly walked into the kitchen for a bit of privacy. For a moment I was worried that she’d tell mum that my wetting was getting worse and that might upset her. However, I had no say in what they talked about or discussed so it was pointless getting in a panic over it.

Auntie came back with a huge smile on her face.

“Your mum is really missing you.”

I smiled back, hoping that was true.

“Apparently you need a haircut before you go back to school so how about I take you to Pritchard’s tomorrow?”


Pritchard’s was a barbers three streets over. Like most businesses in the area it was run from a corner plot at the end of a long street of back to back houses. I’d been once before and it was a very old fashioned place but Mr Pritchard had been taught be his father, and he was teaching his son the tricks of the trade himself. So three generations of the family were, or were becoming, barbers.


I nodded because I knew the school would send a note to my parents if I didn’t keep up those ‘grammar school standards’ of smartness, cleanliness, decency and good behaviour.

With all this going on I almost forgot about the tatty blue container I’d brought down for our inspection. In one way I didn’t want to open it in case it didn’t have the book, yet on the other hand I was fascinated to see what my mum’s secrets were.

Eventually curiosity got the better of me and I sat with it on my knee and carefully lifted its lid. A tiny fluffy teddy, a small, still dressed, doll and a bunch of faded paper flowers were what greeted our curious eyes. A diary of my mum’s thoughts and poems, a report card from when she was fifteen and several sheaves of a story she was writing.

I was fascinated to see how creative mum was when she was a girl; I hadn’t seen any such leanings at home. Of course I had every intention of reading everything but first I needed to sort through what remained and either find or discount the existence of the Barnaby Blue book altogether.

There, at the very bottom of the pile was the very thing I’d been searching for.


  • Thanks 1
Link to comment

Dang it! It’s almost 1:00 AM and I still don’t have any likes for the day. Again I have fallen in love with Auntie. I get such a warm comfortable feeling reading about how much she cares for Adam and takes care of him. I will be looking forward to reading more. 

Link to comment

Thanks for your comments. I hope you continue to enjoy Adam's discoveries and his auntie's continued love. :)


Part 10

Just as had been described, the cover showed Barnaby Blue Investigates as the main title. A young boy, in a blue suit like mine but with very short trousers (even shorter than the ones I wear for school) was the main image. As was also mentioned, a large question mark hovered above his head and a magnifying glass and a file that read TOP SECRET were held in his hand.

He looked a great deal younger than I’d imagined. In fact, because of all the comments from the folk at auntie’s club I had convinced myself that, like the Italian advert for the suit, Barnaby would look just like me. However, his hair was black and very short, with a cute little quiff, whereas mine is brown, thick and at times a little unruly. However, holding the file he looked determined, which was very reassuring as, like me, he wore knee length socks and black shoes, which always made me feel juvenile compared to my long-trousered class mates, but he also appeared curious and confident, if a little suspicious. 


As I wriggled contentedly in my fleecy pyjamas, the thick nappy hugging and making me feel warm and cosy I wondered if he wore a nappy under his shorts. Why I should think such a thought at that moment I wasn’t sure, perhaps I was actually hoping we had quite a bit in common.

“You should get your hair done like Barnaby’s.” Auntie indicated, “He looks very smart… and we’re going to the barber tomorrow.” She paused and saw me looking unsure. “You could definitely carry off that look.”

Even though I smiled at auntie’s suggestion I really wasn’t too sure. He looked like a boy from the 50s and I wasn’t sure I even liked that particular style.

“I’d never get my hair to look that shiny,” I offered as a way of saying I didn’t think so, without actually saying it.

“Of course you would. I bet there is still some of your Uncle Bill’s hair tonic in one of those boxes upstairs; that will make it stay in place.”

In my search I had actually come across a box containing Uncle Bill’s shaving stuff and there had been various tubes and containers of oils and creams, although I was sure none of it would be suitable, or even usable, after all this time.

I opened the book and saw that the rest of the illustrations for each chapter were in black and white. There was no denying who he was but to be honest, he didn’t look so impressive in monochrome. However, the topic of haircuts was dropped as I immersed myself in the first chapter and auntie read mum’s story.


After the opening lines I was hooked. It may have been because I’d actually read very few books (other than those the school said I should) and I liked the way there was a cliff-hanger to finish each chapter.

Auntie made cocoa, which made me even more cosy and warm and it wasn’t long before I couldn’t keep my eyes open. It was still relatively early when auntie suggested I toddled off to bed.

“Even though you haven’t been far, I can see all that searching, reaching and lifting has left you quite drained.”

She smiled as she indicated bed and I was stifling a yawn so had no way to object.

The pyjamas felt wonderful, my thick nappy wasn’t bothering me even though it was fairly damp.

“Do you need changing?”

“No, it’s alright auntie, I’m not that wet…” the yawn escaped. “Mmmmyyhhhh, sorry, I’ll be fine thanks.”

“Okay sweetheart, I’ll check in on you later. Don’t read for too long.”

I climbed into bed. The rustle of both the protecting sheet and my own protection sounding a welcome I wasn’t sure I’d been too aware of previous nights. However, the pyjamas and blankets cocooned me in such fleecy softness I was asleep before I even noticed that auntie had cleaned and vacuumed up quite a bit of the dust. For the first time the room smelled of some kind of floral bouquet and not baby powder and pee.


My dreams were of Barnaby/me - yes we’d sort of morphed into the same person. I’d only read about four chapters but here I was, solving cases and chatting to influential people, dazzling them with my clever brain and powers of deduction.

Except, I wasn’t actually solving anything.

Every time I came to some conclusion and impressed the people present, I’d feel myself flooding my nappy and, afraid of being noticed or my shorts exhibiting the childish stain, would rush off under some ridiculous excuse.

In the morning, I woke up to the most sodden of nappies, and although I hoped I hadn’t leaked, there were a few wet streaks on the bottom sheet.

It took a few minutes for me to decide what to do. There was no point in pretending it had never happened and although I was sure I could just pull the covers back over the wet spot, I didn’t like to mislead auntie.

Reluctantly I wandered downstairs where auntie was in the kitchen making a pot of tea. Already on the table were a bowl, a box of cereal and a glass of orange juice.


“Morning sweetheart, sleep well?”

“Mmmm I think I must have done, although I dreamt of being Barnaby.”

She smiled as she brought her cup to the table.

I was wriggling and itching so she knew something was up.

“Are you very wet?”

I nodded.

“Is it itchy?”

I nodded again.

“Shall we get you changed before breakfast?”

I lifted the first spoonful of Frosties to my mouth.

“No, it’s okay auntie, I think I can last but, erm, unfortunately… erm, the nappy leaked and the bottom bed sheet is a little wet... as are my pyjamas.”

“Ohhh Sweetie, just when you hoped things were improving. Well, don’t worry about any of it. It’s happened, we can fix it with another nappy, and we’ll be back to normal in no time.”

It wasn’t the speech I wanted to hear but auntie was being positive so I thought I should be as well.

I delved into my cereal with a degree of pretend enthusiasm.


Back up in my room auntie was busy changing the bedding whilst I wriggled out of my pyjamas and bloated protection. There was no doubt about just how sodden the fabric was as it sloshed at my feet the moment I’d removed the voluminous plastic pants.

Picking up the wet sheet, my pyjamas and the rest of the wet stuff auntie told me to get a shower and she’d see to me when I’d finished.

In fact, auntie met me in the bathroom and once certain I was well dried made me lie out on the plastic covered counter. I was a bit big for it, no doubt the kids she’d changed on it in the past were the right size but I was fractionally too big and my legs hung over the edge.

“Let’s first check about this itching.”

I said nothing just let her get on with it.


I lay there naked, which was not unusual these days, as she set about inspecting every crevice.

“Ohh sweetheart, the top of your legs are quite red… and so is your bottom…”

She reached over and grabbed a tube of something. Squeezing whatever the tubes contents were onto her fingers she proceeded to rub a thick dollop of it all around my vitals. I was only slightly embarrassed when she told me to roll over so she could administer the same to my itchy red bum cheeks but, I was glad that something was being done to stop the irritation.

“You know Adam, you shouldn’t sit in a wet nappy for too long, it can cause all manner of…”

“Yes, sorry auntie.”

I interrupted her words, I felt stupid because both mum and dad had made sure I was aware of the pitfalls of wearing wet nappy for too long, and, on top of that, auntie had also issued similar warnings.

“Anyhow, we seem to have caught it before it can do too much damage and I think this cream will ease the itching and offer some future protection.”


She sprinkled baby powder over the thick gloopy salve and reached for a couple of soaker pads which she placed into a pre-folded nappy. With a bit of effort she pulled up a large pair of white rubber pants, which gripped and held me tightly before handing me my shorts and jumper.

Unfortunately, after a moments struggle we both realised that the padding was too thick for me to pull my shorts over so auntie suggested I wear my suit instead. I wasn’t too sure but then she said it would be a shame to dress up and not go somewhere special so, she sent me up to my room to put it on.

“… and don’t forget the shirt and tie…”

She called as I scurried, with a very pronounced gait, up the stairs.


Two bus rides later and we were in the grounds of Henningsbrough Hall, Gallery and Gardens, a popular Nation Trust building from the 17th Century.

Despite it being fairly local to where I lived, I’d never visited the place before and, as on the journey auntie had described some of its history, I was looking forward to the experience.

Auntie loved the grounds most and although some of the flowers and exotic plants in the hot-houses weren’t all in bloom, the place was still a colourful and bouquet-filled encounter. Although with every step I could feel my huge padding gripping me tightly and making me aware of my problem. Thankfully, my new suit shorts hid the bulkiness quite well… I felt unbelievably proud and content.

There were quite a few visitors. I suppose because it was the school break, more parents had decided to ‘treat’ their kids to the delights of a ‘bit of history’. To be honest, I was in my Sunday best, and it wasn’t even Sunday. I felt special looking around a huge mansion, which looked like a castle, so I found the entire thing fascinating.

Once in the Hall itself, we joined a tour guide who led us from room to room and explaining how the Dukes, Knights and other very important people visiting the building lived. I became engrossed when he told the tale of the ‘Missing Crown’ and how, on a visit by the monarch, jewellery and a crown had gone missing.

The monarch was said to have gone berserk at the theft and threatened the then encumbered Duke to find it or lose his head.


In the telling of this tale I suddenly found myself slipping into the boyish body of Barnaby Blue who no doubt would have no trouble untangling this web of treachery.

As the story unfolded, my Barnaby persona took over and I was digesting each little piece of information and slotting it into a thought process that was sure to solve this ancient felony. I even saw myself presenting a very thankful Queen with the recovered crown and jewels; Her Majesty, so overcome with gratitude, made me Duke of Henningsbrough and I inherited the hall, the gallery and gardens.

In the end I decided – the badly treated servants had made off with the loot. I’m sure Barnaby Blue would have been proud of such a concise assessment.


There were some boys from school I recognised as we toured around, some acknowledged me with a nod, some ignored me, whilst others passed with undisguised giggles. However, although I didn’t like the suit to start with, in auntie’s company I felt very smart and was actually living up to the grammar school’s policy of looking well-groomed and a credit to the superior educational establishment.

Despite the shorts, and it has to be said the image of the talented Barnaby Blue in my head, I began to feel at ease with the way I dressed. He may be a clever young know-it-all but I had a respect for the little fellow I don’t think I ever had for any one before and, perhaps strange as it may seem, I felt more confident in myself.

What was even nicer the tour guide seemed very enthusiastic to answer all my ‘probing’ questions.


We had lunch in the rather splendid café before we continued our tour of the gallery.

Again I was quite taken by the huge paintings of the various important people in all their finery. Some were in armour, others robes of unbelievable elegance, whilst there were images of their children; many of whom, according to the guide, didn’t live very long lives, but looked wonderful in their colourful and refined outfits.

Once again I was shocked when auntie pointed out a boy in a short sailor suit from around the turn of the 19th Century who she proclaimed was the dead ringer of me. His hair was long and the blue piping on his sailor suit was in shiny satin, his white socks up to his knees and his white linen shorts barely touching them, so, despite being aristocracy, I had to agree, did look a lot like me. His name was Anthony Barnaby Whitworth-Cleeve, and was the youngest son of the new owners who took over the house back in 1890.

Another Barnaby? All I needed now was to know that’s what they called the young Italian boy and I really would be wondering about the way the Fates worked. I’d seen a huge painting of Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos in the gallery so actually knew who the Fates were, thanks to our ever knowledgeable tour guide.

Anthony Barnaby Whitworth-Cleeve was just a boy in a painting, but like the advert and my affinity to Barnaby Blue (even though he wasn’t a real person) I was struck by the way I could so easily identify with them all on some level.

There was something else that suddenly struck me… we all wore shorts. I’m sure this was just a coincidence but I felt a tingle run down my spine at this realisation. At the same time I felt the first spurt of pee into my nappy. Up until that moment I was feeling pretty proud of myself being in control, alas, that mood soon passed as a flood followed and I could do nothing to stem the flow.


  • Thanks 1
Link to comment

Great chapter! I am loving how Adam is recognizing the similarities between himself and these heroes. He isn’t actually identifying himself as a hero but all of his heroes are so similar to himself. I don’t have a like to give it but I would have if I could. I am always eager to read anything you post. 

  • Like 1
Link to comment

Part 11

With a warm nappy, and absolute confidence in the plastic pants auntie had chosen for me that morning, I carried on as if nothing had happened. The longer shorts and dark material of the suit also gave me confidence.


Even with the occasional mocking snicker from a younger kid dressed in jeans or trousers I wasn’t bothered. I knew they couldn’t see what I was wearing under my shorts so I had no reason to feel guilty about it. I felt like yelling at them “Well I’m wearing a soaked nappy but you can’t tell” but that would be both pointless and stupid.


After a very pleasant day looking around Henningsbrough Hall, auntie said we should head back home. I think by then she’d tumbled I was wet but didn’t mention it.

“Well sweetheart, that was a lovely experience and I think you were a hit with the tour guide.”

I smiled modestly, I’d never been that forward in my life, asking questions to an adult and getting such clear and definite responses.

“And,” she added, “you looked splendid in your suit... it really does suit you.”

She laughed at her own feeble joke.


Once we were back in the pleasant warmth of her home, auntie suggested with a knowing nod that I change.  She said to leave the shirt out to be washed as apparently I’d spilt a little of my lunch on the collar and to leave the suit for her to check and press.

“I’ll be up in a minute sweetheart.”

She didn’t need to say anything further because I knew she meant that she’d be up to supervise my clean up and change.

Standing in the bathroom naked auntie joined me a few minutes later. She sponged me down, dried me off and lavished a great deal of anti-rash cream around my shrunken willy.

“I do wish you’d tell me when you’ve wet Adam… this patch here,” she said directing my eyes to a rather red area at my crotch. “This is where a nappy rash can start so easily, it needs to be kept as dry as possible…”

“Yes, umm, sorry auntie.”

“It’s for your own good sweetie”

She whispered as she rubbed in some oily cream before sprinkling loads of baby powder onto the same area.

As the scented cloud descended the confidence I’d had at the Hall suddenly evaporated and I started to fill up.

“I’m sorry auntie… I’m, I’m a stupid little baby…” unbidden a huge sigh escaped.

Despite everything so far I was suddenly hit by guilt. Guilt at wetting at my age and even more so at auntie had to sort out her growing nephew who should be past all this type of thing. I shouldn’t be getting a nappy rash at my age... I shouldn’t even need a nappy... I was just a complete failure.

The tears welling up were also unexpected and auntie hugged me until I got some control back.

“I’m really sorry auntie but I can’t go on like this… I thought I could but… I can’t.”

“I know love,” she said stroking my hair, “and if I could magically make it disappear I would but neither of us can.”


She looked around the piles of nappies and stuff that seemed to fill every surface in that small bathroom.

“All these things have, over the years, helped quite a number of kids. Some had problems, some found coping difficult, some just needed a little comfort in their lives… and… if I’m honest, I’ve always found a boy or girl in a nappy  a lot less stressed than without one. It gives them one less problem to worry about.” She sighed herself. “Well, that’s the way I see it anyway.”

She continued to rub in the powder.

“However, if you want, I’ll find you something less bulky to fit under your shorts, if you think you can manage.”

I saw the genuine look of concern on her face and, if I’d ever had any doubt about her sincerity (which I hadn’t) I knew then and there that auntie would always do her best for me.

I toyed with the idea of trying something else, although I had no idea what that could be.

“No auntie, I think you’re right, I need a nappy… a nice and thick nappy, because at the moment I can’t trust myself not to pee everywhere.”

I said this with a smile so she knew I was joking, well about peeing everywhere at least.

“If you’re sure sweetie then let’s get you ready. As we’re not going anywhere, and to save doing things twice, how about I get you ready for bed now?”

It seemed a good idea.

She pinned me into a double thick nappy and pulled from the top of a pile a very firm pair of slinky blue pants. She told me to stay where I was and disappeared for a few seconds, only to reappear with the short legged onesie and shorts.

The blue plastic matched perfectly to the fleecy material and the large silver press studs under the crotch reassuringly closed together with an emphatic ‘click’. Once that held me tightly she inched up the loose fitting matching shorts and it looked like I had on one very comfy play suit.


Indeed, I was very comfy. The soft fleece was both excellent to wear and feel and as I read Barnaby’s further escapades, I spent a great deal of time gently stroking the bulge in front of my new shorts. The slippery and high-gloss plastic pants that auntie slipped over the thick well-padded nappy was held in place by the well-tailored onesie clipped securely under my crotch. To say I was as snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug would not be far from the truth… as I say… I was very comfy indeed.

I had no inhibitions about sitting there caressing my crotch, it was like I was petting a furry animal. I certainly wasn’t getting any stimulation as the nappy was so thick, I was simply enjoying the sensation the fabric gave. Mrs Goodall made very good clothing and I began to appreciate that auntie wanted my week with her to be nice and carefree. The fact that I had occasional ‘problems’ were to be ignored whilst I enjoyed the simple pleasures of what some personal time with auntie offered.

At home I have to admit I don’t have a terrible life, it’s just that with two older brothers, at times, I feel edged out a bit. Joe and Geoff are no worse (and often a great deal better) than other kids their age on the estate, but with parents who don’t indulge us and only buy what’s needed, I have no choice but let them be first in the queue for everything.

Although they have much more demanding personalities than me, they still don’t get everything they want simply because the money isn’t there. I’m also sure that they have no idea how much money flowed from auntie to help mum and dad out. That’s why we don’t have personal phones or computers, we don’t have WiFi and I’m sure we’d still have the pixelated ancient TV had auntie not bought us a fab new one for Christmas. We also possess only one, pay-as-you-go mobile phone which is mainly in the care of mum and I suspect was another gift from auntie.


Eventually I got tired of reading and, armed with a lovely cup of cocoa, snuggled down with auntie to watch one of her programmes. She likes ‘soaps’, period dramas, quiz shows and anything to do with nature. There was a feature on trawlermen battling the elements in search of a catch. The weather had turned nasty and the fish had all but disappeared and they were having a horrendous time battling the seas.

It was night and the men, dressed in their bright yellow and orange oilskins were being tossed around by the violent waves that were crashing over their small boat as they tried to drag in the nets. Under the floodlights and pitch black seascape, all that could be seen were the shiny glowing figures and the occasion avalanche of sea water as it crashed over them.

It all looked pretty terrifying. The guys were being knocked about as they struggled to pull in their catch. It was hard, dangerous work and the camera captured the drama they had to go through on an everyday expedition out to earn a living. It was brutal, although the colourful reflective protection from the elements looked somewhat ethereal under the ship’s deck lights.

Both auntie and I cowered as each new noisy wave swept across the bow, crashing into men and machinery in a spray of silver light. I was in awe of the job these men go through to get me my fish-fingers and decided I probably wouldn’t be going to sea when I eventually left school.


The documentary finally finished with them returning to port (which had a lovely sunrise welcoming them home after all the storms they had been through) and then selling the fish. I’d finished my cocoa and was just about as exhausted as the fishermen so, as it was ten o’clock, kissed auntie ‘goodnight’ and toddled off to bed.

“Okay sweetheart, see you in the morning… erm… do you need a change?”

“No auntie I’m dry thanks. Goodnight.” I said again as I slowly climbed the stairs.

My onesie and shorts were like a pair of pyjamas and, as I snuggled under the blankets, I could feel Mrs Goodall’s wonderful design holding my protection firmly in place. I was asleep in minutes.


Far from the excitement of Henningsbrough Hall and its wonderful gallery occupying my dreams, it was the trawlermen and their disturbing occupation that swamped my brain. I became one of those men, my bright yellow oilskin lit up in the night as I, like those in the documentary, was beaten by wave after terrorising wave.

The catch had almost been landed but I was tightly grasping a rope that would open the net and release it into the hold. However, there was a problem, somehow the rope had got caught and I couldn’t pull it hard enough for the thing to operate correctly. I was screaming instruction as huge waves slammed into the boat knocking us over. I still gripped the rope, desperate to release the catch so we could all get below and out of the storm.

I was shouting so loudly for assistance but the rope still held as another wild wave smashed over us. The trawler heaved hard to port and we were all washed to one side but this action released the trapped piece of net, which in turn freed most of the catch into the hold. However, another wave smashed over the rigging and sent some of the fish cascading down over me and I found flapping fish slipping between me and my oilskins.

Somehow the slippery wet sea creatures were wriggling and flailing next to my body, sliding across my chest and down my back before sliding into my pants. I could feel the fish flapping about next to my body, squirming between my genitals and slipping around my bum trying to wriggle in.

A long slithering eel was trying to gain access but I was pushing back hard to try and prevent entry. The fish was determined and as it drove forward I felt myself being opened up. The oilskins made it impossible for me to get a grip on the intruder so I made one last ditch effort to drive it out. I forced back with all my might…

For some reason I was terrified and screaming for help to get rid of these twisting slippery creatures and it was then that auntie woke me from my horrifying dream.


“Shhhh… sshhhhh… you’re safe… sshhhhh…”

My heart was pounding, I was whimpering and although I was held in auntie’s arms, I was still frightened by my encounter. The creaking, storm-lashed vessel, a strained and battered body covered in fish scales and who knew what else, plus the eel like creature slipping around and trying to get inside me… eeuughhh!

Once awake I remembered even as this terrifying storm proceeded I couldn’t help but notice how fanciful the slick wet oilskins looked with each deluge - their slippery wet surface reminding me of my own glassy plastic pants.

Finally, thanks to the care of Auntie Annie, I was able to calm down. Her soothing words and gentle caresses settled me down until I could smell something unmistakable… and it wasn’t fish.

“Erm, auntie, errrrr, I think…”

Before I said the words I could feel a mass in my nappy and knew what I’d done.

“I know sweetheart, you’ve had a nightmare. You were screaming and obviously very scared of something so... when you’re ready, we’ll get you sorted…”

The shame of messing for the second time was overwhelming; even though I’d had the most terrifying of dreams, I was totally humiliated by what had happened.

I clung to auntie because I was worried in case she showed any disapproval, I don’t think I could endure her being anything but understanding… yet I could understand if she was fed up of my childish ‘accidents’. A wet nappy is one thing but a messy, stinky one is something else entirely.

I really didn’t want to move but I disliked the clinging mass and pulled myself together quickly enough to not let things drag on for too long.


With a great deal of caution I waddled, shamefaced and bow-legged down to the bathroom where auntie started the shower.

“Let’s get you out of everything sweetheart.”

I was still shaking from my night terror and auntie slowly helped me out of the shorts, pulled open the silver studs under my crotch and felt the weight of the nappy sag causing a strange, vacuum type of sensation as my genitals were suddenly released from their tight bond.

‘Eeuughhh’ wasn’t enough of a description for my smelly, drooping protection. However, auntie removed the onesie and then set about easing me out of the filthy plastic pants and loaded nappy.

She directed me under the shower and whilst I was there got rid of the offending articles.

I had no idea what time it was but as auntie was still in her nightie I guess it wasn’t getting up time yet.

Once out of the shower auntie was waiting with a huge towel. She dried me thoroughly and then had me lie out as I was covered in more creams and powder than I’d ever undergone before. I was guiltily silent as she meticulously rubbed in everything.


The nappy I had been wearing was thick with soaker pads, but the new one was doubled and pinned very tightly into place. I didn’t dare say anything but I could hardly move. She asked me to raise my feet and proceeded to inch a very thick pair of shiny pink rubber pants up my legs. These were huge but the elasticated cuffs and waistband held me rigidly, whilst the thick fabric was squeezed against my body in a tight hug.

She pulled a pale blue t-shirt over my head, which just came down to my hips.

“There sweetheart, I’m sure that should see you through the night okay…”

I meekly nodded. I’d never worn such a thick nappy before or had such glossy pink pants holding me so securely.

She held out her hand and guided me to her room.

“I think I’ll be fine now auntie. Thank you but…”

“I’m sure you will sweetie but I want to keep my eye on you for the rest of the night. You’ve had a bit of a fright and I want to make sure you’re fine… that’s all.”

It was like I was back to being a toddler again. Sleeping in the same bed as auntie so she knew I’d be safe. However, I noticed a small crib in her room and for a second thought she was going to insist I used that. I then realised that I wouldn’t have fitted and also it must have been left over from when she was looking after baby Jane and Johnny Kilsden.


As I climbed into her bed I briefly glimpsed the bedside clock; it read 11.52 not even midnight and all this had happened. I was exhausted but shuffled over to the side I used to sleep on when I was little and although memories came flooding back, I really didn’t want to face the fact that my dear old aging auntie had once again changed her nephew’s poo-filled nappy.

I turned on my side facing away and felt auntie get in beside me. She patted my huge padded bottom and whispered a sweet goodnight, that all would be well and not to worry… I soon drifted off.


During the night Adam became restless again, kicking and mewling like a cat caught in a trap. His wriggling woke up auntie who did what she’d done for the hundreds of agitated young kids she’d cared for over the years. Reaching into her bedside cabinet, found what she was looking for, and slipped a dummy between Adam’s whimpering lips. Within a minute he was calm and sucking peacefully so both he and his auntie could continue uninterrupted with their night’s sleep.



I woke up slowly and wondered what I had between my lips and was sucking on. My heart sank when I realised I had a baby’s dummy in my mouth and I felt stupidly childish when the events of earlier that night began to come flooding back.

No wonder auntie shoved a dummy in my mouth, crying and messing myself yet again, I’d acted like a big baby.

I turned to see if auntie was awake but her side of the bed was empty and was relieved I didn’t have to mention or answer any questions about what had happened. The padding felt huge so I tentatively reached down to see if I’d wet (or worse) during the night. Thankfully, although the padding was very thick, it hadn’t rode up; I was still firmly held in place and better still, I was dry.

Moments later auntie appeared round the door with her usual smile.

“Morning sweetie… I thought I’d let you catch up with your sleep… you had a hectic night.”

I felt so guilty I found it difficult to look her in the eye.

“I’m really sorry, um, err, um…”

“It’s okay love… you had a bad dream… you mustn’t blame yourself… you just had a bad accident.”

I felt myself begin to fill up with tears of shame.

“But auntie…”

I think auntie knew I was struggling and came over to comfort me. Once again I cried into her shoulder as she patted my back and offered soothing words. It really was like I’d never grown up. It could quite easily been a scene from when I was four or five and fallen over in the street and not only grazed my knee but wet my pants at the same time.

“Come down for some breakfast you’ll feel better once you’ve eaten something.”


I slowly eased myself from her embrace and pulled back the blanket. The huge shiny pink rubber pants looked ridiculous but I understood why she was taking such a precaution. Gradually, I followed her down stairs and sat at the table. I was surprised to feel how much padding there was under my bottom and just how comfy it was.

Over breakfast I explained about the nightmare and she agreed that I probably had no option but to mess myself when defending my bottom from a scary slithering eel.

“Well, I bet it won’t try that again.” She offered with a smile and a touch to my wrist.

Typical of auntie she was trying to make me feel good about myself rather than the shame I was actually feeling. I hadn’t wanted to put auntie through any of this nappy business but, because mum and the school had insisted I wear one, she had just got on with the job. As it turned out, they were all correct.


“Er, auntie.”

“Yes sweetie.”

“Why did I wake up with a dummy in my mouth?”

Again the doubts were running around my head that because I wore a nappy I was being treated as a baby. Surely this was proof, although why auntie would be a party to such a thing I wasn’t sure.

“Well, you see sweetheart, your dreams weren’t quite over and you were anxiously tossing and turning, crying and kicking…”

“Oh dear, I wasn’t… was I?”

I remembered the nightmare and understood that I had been screaming and struggling to…

“Sorry darling but you needed something to calm down.”

“And a dummy helped?” I asked a bit incredulously.

“It had an immediate effect, and, once you were sucking on it, you became very placid and seemed to slip into a peaceful sleep.”

I had no recollection of having dreamt any more so it must have worked because I woke up dry and feeling well rested.

“Oh.” Was the only answer I could offer.


  • Like 1
  • Thanks 1
Link to comment

Haha I laughed in several different places during this chapter. The best was the eel. “I bet it won’t try that again” poor eel I am sure it isn’t going to try and get into Adan’s nappies. Having strange dreams like his has an effect on me as well. No, I don’t mess myself but I do notice that my diapers are much wetter than normal on a night when I have these strange and scary dreams. I also seem to dream more often and have more vivid dreams when I am sleeping during the day.  Means I have to wash bedding more often as well. Gosh how I love having to work nights. I was happy I had a like to give this. I am really enjoying this story and am looking forward to reading more of it. 

Link to comment

Part 12

After the few warm and pleasant days we’d enjoyed, the morning had turned murky with drizzle and mist hanging disagreeably in the air. As always auntie kept her home nice and warm so, because I wasn’t wet, I quite happily stayed wearing only my protection up until lunchtime.

I’d more or less given up trying to get my shorts over the thickness so, when it was just me and auntie I wandered around wearing just that. Meanwhile, the padding offered a great deal of extra comfort when I sat at the table or huddled with her on the sofa. I pretended they were just another, although glossier, version of my school shorts, yet doubted I’d want to wander from lesson to lesson dressed in such a style.

I read further chapters from the annual and really got into the little hero’s way of thinking. So much so that I began to wish I was as clever as this particular nine year-old. With each piece of evidence he uncovered, and appropriate conclusion made, I was in awe of his childish brilliance. The strange fact was, I stopped thinking of him as a character in a book but like he was real, he was the type of person I wondered if I could have become if I’d only concentrated at school.

He became more than a hero, he became my idol.


Just after lunchtime the clouds cleared and auntie suggested that we take the opportunity to go to Pritchard’s and get my hair cut. I knew it had to be done before I returned to school and, as we’d already put it off for a day, I agreed.

I went upstairs to change, unbelievably happy that I hadn’t wet my nappy at all throughout the morning. I removed it and went to the toilet before auntie came up and suggested, just to be on the safe side, to put me in one of mum’s disposables (which were a lot thinner to wear) and a pair of the opaque vinyl pants that hardly made any noise at all.

As I knew auntie was thinking of me being out in public, and that I’d be wearing either my grey or khaki shorts, I agreed hoping that such padding would be much less noticeable.


There were three other people queueing when we got there so we took a seat and waited. As I sat, I heard that faint, though now constant, rustle; the plastic crinkle of the disposable somewhat hidden under the tight vinyl pants. The place didn’t seem all that different to Mr Gold’s tailoring business, the room was better organised, with two barber’s chairs, large mirrors on two walls and an array of hairstyle photos from a mixture of decades.

I could see myself reflected in one of the mirrors opposite and detected the vinyl bulge pushing out the crotch of my tight shorts. If I moved my legs and sat with them wide apart, it would be obvious to anyone looking in the mirror what I was wearing. These skimpy shorts were quite unforgiving in that way but would have been even more revealing had auntie insisted I wore a fabric nappy.

I detected a smile from the middle-aged man who was having his haircut and sharing the same mirror as I was. I think he noticed before I did and it was some time before I realised and slammed my knees together. As if we shared some secret together he surreptitiously nodded and grinned at me as he left the shop.

Henry Pritchard had set the place up back in the 1950s when men’s haircuts were basic and just about all workers had the same style. Auntie told me that Uncle Bill liked to keep his hair short and always looked well turned out with his heavily Brylcreemed short back and sides. In fact, she said, most school boys also wore that style and said how pleased she was to see it returning these days.

Indeed, Henrik Radmundsson had made it very popular. I knew about Henrik since my brother Joe hated him because this latest footballing superstar, who’d recently signed for United, was dating Emma Hewitt. Emma was a little pixie of a woman with a huge voice and was currently dominating the music charts.  Joe had been a fan since she won a TV talent show a couple of years earlier and his bedroom walls were festooned with her image.

He was livid when she hooked up with a footballer (no matter how talented) and not him.


Henrik and Emma made a wonderful couple, well as far as the media were concerned; they were fun and extremely photogenic. They’d recently rocked up to the Premier of the latest in the Star Wars franchise, she in a peach satin party dress a five year old would have been proud of, and he in a cut down, cartoon version of a tuxedo. He wore a white jacket with black piping and black dress shorts with white piping. He’d worn long black and white checked socks that matched his shiny patent leather shoes.

They looked like a cheeky but endearing young couple enjoying life to the full.

However, Emma’s party dress was so short it hardly covered her frilly matching satin knickers, which the press couldn’t get enough of photographing. There were even comments that she may well have been padded for the occasion. The image of them both flirting with the cameras had made sure that every front page carried their photograph with barely a mention of the movie anywhere.

(That image of Emma showing off her frilly satin knickers had got Joe locked in his bedroom on several occasions. I’d often hear Geoff, who shared the room, banging on the door and telling him to stop wanking and let him in.)

Meanwhile, Henrik had his blond hair cut very short and with a much stylised quiff, which was being copied by fans all over the world.

With that thought buzzing in my mind as auntie and I talked, and the fact that Barnaby had short hair, I wondered if it was time for a drastic change of style for me. When it got to my turn in the chair I’d got Evan Pritchard, Henry’s son who, when I explained what I wanted simply nodded and whispered to auntie he was glad to see the return of such a simple cut.


My thick bushy hair was clipped away in seconds and the skin of my skull could clearly be seen under a fine layer of what was left. The top was comparatively long so that when oil was used, a parting could be applied which gave way to a suitable quiff on the other side.

I’d been quite nervous of having such a severe cut and as I sat there watching the electric clipper mow away my hair, I’d quite nervously (and stupidly) filled my disposable and could feel it warmly pooling around my crotch. I’d already been a little worried about the slight crinkle I’d made as I sat down and was praying  the plastic pants auntie made me wear would be good enough to hold everything in.  When Mr Pritchard had finished and pulled away the protecting cape, I didn’t want a large damp patch proving I’d had an accident in the barber’s chair.

By this time there were no other customer’s and auntie was in conversation with Mr Pritchard as he styled what was left of my locks. His son Tom, who’s in his early twenties, was very complimentary, saying that I’d be the envy of my classmates when school restarted. He assured auntie that although my haircut was stylish and modern, as far as he knew, most schools, and the head master at my school in particular, were very approving of their student basically returning to styles of the 50s.

When he’d finished and pulled up the little mirror to show the back of my head I couldn’t believe just how short it was.  Well it was done now and after auntie had paid him we stepped outside and I was surprised at how cold my head felt with so little covering it. Meanwhile, auntie was enthusing about my little quiff saying how much it reminded her of Uncle Bill. I was pleased I could do that for her but the soggy mass in my shorts also reminded me that I had unsuccessfully completed a day without wetting so I was a bit annoyed with myself.


As we wandered back home I began to worry if mum and dad would mind such an extreme change to my hair style.

“If you say that it’s ‘headmaster approved’ I don’t think they’ll mind... and besides… I think you look very dashing.”

Auntie was adding her endorsement and I knew she’d be on my side if either of my parents questioned it.

Alas, as I walked feeling the chill around my cropped head I could also feel the pee cooling in my disposable. Also, now it had expanded a little there was a very distinct tightness to my shorts and my padding had become more obvious. I think some other kids out and about also noticed my slight waddle and plastic pants peeking down the leg hole, but perhaps it was the fact that I was holding auntie’s hand that drew most attention.


It was perhaps strange that I felt safe (and happier) if I was holding auntie’s hand when we were out.  At first I persuaded myself it was me acting like a gentleman and escorting a lady but I suppose this is the type of thing that just creeps up on you without realising its happening. Of course she didn’t mind but I think before this week I might not have been as keen as I was now to do so.  

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held either of my parents hand when out and about. I suppose, once a kid gets the feeling of independence that’s what they value most. The thing is, I was feeling distinctly, well, more like my idol Barnaby than was really good for me. I knew my twelfth birthday was fast approaching (only a week away) but was now happy being regarded (and therefore treated) as a much younger kid; I was completely identifying with him.

Barnaby had proved that a young lad was capable of all manner of adventures and that age was not a barrier to do anything.

This I also knew was complete rubbish, there were loads of things kids couldn’t do or even attempt until they were older, but knowing this didn’t seem to matter; especially if I was submerged in another of Barnaby’s fantastic stories.


Wearing shorts, nappies and plastic pants had suddenly become of little or no importance… I wanted to be Barnaby, and I wanted Barnaby to be me. There was more, I was also identifying with the young Italian boy in the advertisement and the soft featured image of the Duke of Henningsbrough’s son in the gallery.  All seemed to have an air of confidence in who or what they were.

A soon-to-be twelve year old grammar school boy was no competition to being a nine year old super sleuth, model or member of the aristocracy.

I couldn’t tell anyone about this self-discovery but despite this optimism, and perhaps bizarrely, the sudden notion of my imminent return to school made me nervously fill my nappy once again with a stream of warm pee.

I’d forgotten all about my problems at school; the homework I was supposed to have already done (and which I’d told my mum I had) and being one of the few students still in short trousers.

Yes, stress attacked at some very odd moments.


A lot had happened in the last few days. There’s no doubt that under auntie’s guidance I was less stressed and had tuned into another part of myself. The fact that I wasn’t all that tense about wearing a nappy, or even wetting, meant I was less worried about things in general. I know I should have been anxious about things getting worse, after all, there’d been no reduction in my soaked nappies, but, because auntie wasn’t making a fuss, nor was I.

I’d been surprised at just how much confidence I’d had whilst wondering around the historic estate, and I put that down to the way my suit made me feel… in control. Yes things were certainly getting better, well, in some ways. I’d managed to get to the toilet on time on a few occasions and that gave me confidence that I could do it again. Alas, no sooner had I had such success than later on, without so much as a minor warning, I’d fill my nappy again.

I looked at the front cover of the Barnaby Blue annual, I think my hair was now fractionally shorter than his but we did sport a similar quiff. I even speculated that even if he had a wet nappy under his blue shorts that wouldn’t stop him tracking down clues and coming up with a solution to the crime; I assumed soaked protection was no hindrance to success.

The next day the weather didn’t improve and, because I’d already started some kind of process, I spent a lot of time with auntie just sorting out the attic.


She said that… as she wasn’t getting any younger… it was probably time to chuck some of the stuff. At the time I didn’t get the reference because auntie had always been ‘hale and hearty’ and death had never affected my world. I’d never thought of auntie being old, in fact, I always thought she was so much younger than the old people at her club… who really did look old… but not auntie.

As we sorted things into various piles; newspapers here, old kitchen stuff there (yes you’d be surprised at some of the things she’d kept ‘just in case’) and assorted other piles of clothing, linens, photo albums etc etc. In fact, it was the photo albums that stopped us regularly in our tracks as she’d reminisce and I’d be laughing my socks off at some of the things she’d tell me. Uncle Bill, mum and a host of young people I’d never heard of were given page after page of memories, even if they weren’t aware.


The piles of stuff to go and stuff to stay grew. All the books were going to charity; all the papers and magazines were going for recycling. In fact, the number of items destined for charity I thought would’ve filled the small neighbourhood shop two or three times over. Auntie was being very determined to get the attic contents down to a minimum but she kept all the clothes, mum’s and Uncle Bill’s stuff, and every item of paraphernalia she’d stored and used over the years as she baby sat – she pointed out that her days as an occasional carer weren’t over just yet. She said she wanted to be prepared for any and all eventualities.

In amongst all the clutter I’d found mum’s white confirmation dress (I never knew mum was a Catholic even though auntie did go to church on Sunday) all neatly stowed away in a thick plastic wallet. Later, I found a doll, dressed similarly, which auntie said was mum’s favourite and one she wanted to be at her confirmation (thus the dress). I turned it over and saw that the poor doll had no knickers and suggested to auntie that it wasn’t right for her to be so uncovered.

She agreed and sorted through a pile of bits and pieces of fabric, found a white fuzzy linen-type square, folded like she did my nappy and pinned it safely in place, thus restoring the doll’s dignity. I’m sure, like me, she appreciated the comfort of a nice clean nappy.


As I looked around the attic I was amazed to see how much space we’d now created. Auntie had told me to put anything I personally wanted on the bed so it wouldn’t accidently get thrown away. I’d kept a teddy, the doll I wanted to give mum as a surprise (and to see if it still meant anything to her), Uncle Bill’s shaving kit (?) and a few historical books, which I hoped would tell me more about folk like the those who’d lived at Henningsbrough Hall.

Auntie was pleased I’d chosen the historical books but asked why?

I said that I’d found the trip to the Hall very interesting and wanted to know more.

She beamed.

“I think that’s a fantastic step.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant but recognised my quizzical expression.

“Look sweetheart, if you can find something that interests you in any subject, it makes that subject that much easier to enjoy.”

I still looked questioningly.

“You said that you found keeping up at school difficult, well, what I’m saying is, if you find say, the people from Henningsbrough Hall interesting, there’s a lot more than them to find out about. History is full of incredible events, interesting people…”

“But I just hate all those dates and stuff…” I whined.

“But don’t you see those will come once you are interested in the events. Same for geography, physics, chemistry… even maths. I know there’s a lot of complicated stuff around but, if you can find a fun element, or an interesting aspect, it will make it less scary. You don’t have to be brilliant in everything, or anything for that matter, just find something in each subject that excites you a little.”


I knew auntie was trying to be helpful but I’d not found much in the lessons so far. In fact, on the contrary, I’d been terrified of being the dumb one in everything and scared of the whole school. It was so big, impressive, and ancient, whilst the teachers (masters) were all academics and… well… I was way out of my depth and terrified.

Mum thought my wetting was down to being stressed about school and not being able to cope, I think she was right. The thing was, even during this break from school I’d still wet my nappy, so, still needed all the protection I could get. I’d also got used to it. I didn’t necessarily want it, but I’d grown to think I needed it and so far it had saved me from more embarrassment than it caused.

Meanwhile, after we’d congratulated ourselves on a job well done; a clean(ish) attic and a host of things to dispose of, auntie treated us the Fish and Chips from Yaxley’s. I have to say, the battered fish was huge, whilst the chips slathered in salt and vinegar and dipped in tomato ketchup were simply wonderful.

With a pleasantly filled tummy we watched TV together but by around nine my eyelids were getting heavy and I was dozing in the chair. Auntie suggested bed and, as I was still dry from an afternoon change, I wandered back up to the attic and without a second’s thought, climbed in with my newly acquired old teddy bear.

That night I had the strangest dream I think I’d ever had.


  • Like 1
Link to comment

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
  • Create New...