An Old Problem 1-24

[Pierry Louys]

I think Anthony has two personalities! The big question is what personality is gonna take control of his life now !! The toddler or the adult ?

[Eagle0769]

I really hoped he would have woken up dry and not messed his bed.

His brain is really messed up right now. Pooping in his bed is

bad enough but the dream that made him do it was what

caused it.

I really think Mrs. Dewhurst loved the poem he sent even if he

didn't remember sending it. It was on his mine that's why he

wrote it.

There are worst things that could happen then having 2 pretty

coworkers change his diaper.

Love this story and like you keep us on board with each chapter.

?

[Sarah Penguin]

[maly]

Well i didn't see that coming, i was waiting for a dream within a dream scenario.

Thanks for the update.

Maly.

[Les Lea]

Thanks for staying with this story and the swerve I hoped you didn't suspect was coming.

Maly you are correct, when I first finished this story there was a sort of dream within a dream ending, which on re-reading I wasn't happy with, although it would have answered a few questions. However, what was originally destined to be  a 50,000 word story has blossomed to 75,000... I just hope I can keep you guessing and entertained.

Thanks to all who've commented I am most grateful.

Les

[Les Lea]

Part 15

 

With that thought in my head I followed Mrs Patel to Mrs Dewhurst office, which had obviously been established as the place any changing would take place. I’d apparently missed something over the past couple of hours because my boss didn’t even bat an eyelid as I was ushered in.

 

“Paula my dear,” Her Hindi/Yorkshire accent certainly making everything more exotic than I suppose it really was, “I’m afraid our Anthony needs his auntie to clean him up and slip into something a bit drier.”

The word ‘auntie’ sort of stuck in my head. When I was at school I’d heard a couple of my Asian mates refer to all female friends of their mothers as ‘aunties’, which I’d found funny but also rather nice and polite.

“Yes, sure Sunita... do you need any help?” Mrs Dewhurst was rising from her desk and already getting out the various supplies needed.

I hadn’t realised I’d been holding Mrs Patel’s reassuring hand as she guided me to the office and was still holding it as she organised things with our boss.

She looked and smiled at me in a calming way and insisted I needn’t worry as she’d soon have me ‘smelling sweet... all nice and comfy.’

“Do you want to take down your shorts Anthony?”

It was a friendly request but Mrs Patel’s accent made it seem impolite to refuse so I did as asked.

“There’s a good boy. Now Paula, do you have his clean nappies available please and...?”

Mrs Dewhurst already had some of the items needed in her hand and produced the other stuff very quickly.

“Thank you. Now Anthony,” she said so I didn’t feel I wasn’t involved, “I’m going to unpin your nappy... and there is no reason for you to be embarrassed. My son Devansh wet the bed until he was ten... so I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Oh really,” Mrs Dewhurst joined in, “my Julie also wets like Anthony when a thunder storm frightens her...”

“Oh, so we understand the problem of possible embarrassment for an older child?” I was naked and she was cleaning my crotch with very cool wet-wipes and chatting away like it was the most natural of situations. It amazed me how quickly this had become ‘normal’ behaviour.

“Devansh’s problem - he was being bullied at school and too scared to tell us. He’d rather wet the bed than admit he was scared by the bigger boys who picked on him. Even now he still sleeps in protection but more as insurance than a definite need.”

“Oh dear that’s awful, poor boy.” Mrs Dewhurst sympathised.

Mrs Patel said all this whilst rubbing in some anti-rash cream and powdering the area prior to my fresh padding.

“You’re not being bullied are you Anthony?” She looked straight into my eyes and as I hadn’t dared say a word so far merely shook my head ‘No’. “Good, we don’t want anything like that here do we Paula?”

“Certainly not.”

Mrs Patel got serious. “You’re getting a little red and sore here,” she said prodding my inner thigh near my balls, “might I suggest you leave the nappy off when at home if you can and let some air get to it. I had the same problem with my Devansh,” she said talking to Mrs Dewhurst, “He wore a dhoti around the house and the loose fit worked wonders...”

“Make a note of that Anthony,” Mrs Dewhurst said pointedly, “wear something loose and cotton or linen around the house.”

She passed the pre-folded nappy to Mrs Patel who asked me to lift then slipped it under my bum. She added a final huge dollop of anti-rash cream on the red area before taking the pins from Mrs Dewhurst. Pulling all the edges together and up between my legs, she smiled in encouragement, as she fastened me in tightly.

Thankfully, throughout the procedure my little cock had stayed as it should do in such circumstances, quiet and mouse-like.

“There, all clean and tidy. Stand up Anthony, let me check...”

“Very nice Sunita.” My boss said admiring her work and slipped a pair of clear plastic pants into her hand to finish the job.

“OK Anthony almost finished. Let’s get these over it all and you nicely tucked in.”

She had me step into them and gradually wriggled them up my legs and over the thick padding.

“There you go.”

I still hadn’t said a word as I’d been dumbstruck throughout the proceedings. I knew it was happening but I didn’t believe it was me it was happening to. However, now she was finished, and both women beamed with pride, I was pulled from my hypnotic state and said in the quietest, childlike voice I’d ever heard myself utter, ‘Thank You’.

“It’s our pleasure Anthony... you never have to sit in a wet nappy when we’re around. And, to avoid getting a rash, I’m sure your mum has told you to get a change as soon as possible.”

I nodded. I’d been told this many times and, as I didn’t much like the feel of a wet nappy, was keen to be in a fresh one as quickly as I could.

I watched as Mrs Dewhurst collected the wet items and slipped them into a plastic bag for me to take home later. Now it was all done I saw her open a draw and pull out the box of Roses chocolates.

“I think we’ve all deserve a little treat.” And she offered them to both of us. “I think you’ve got me hooked on these Anthony since you bought me the last...”

My plastic pants crinkled as I eagerly bent forward to inspect the contents.

Letting Mrs Patel go first I delved in and found the orange crème and couldn’t get it in my mouth quick enough. This time, as I slid my shorts up and over the bulky item, I said to both ladies “Thank You” with more emphasis as the sweet confection burst so flavourfully on my tongue. Mmmm I just love that orangey tang.

#

It had all seemed so bizarre but what was even more surreal was that within twenty minutes I was in a meeting with Phil and Mrs Dewhurst discussing the proposals I’d come up with and everything was ‘normal’.

I mean, I was wearing a thick nappy under my shorts but business was back to how it was and I wasn’t feeling out of it. In fact, if anything, I was being quite creative and many of my suggestions were written down by Phil who smiled and nodded as we discussed and improved on some of those ideas. He made notes and by the time he left the meeting I thought I’d contributed quite a lot to the way the company would function in future.

Once Phil had gone Mrs Dewhurst said how impressed she’d been and wondered if that was down to wearing a dry nappy. Of course she was joking but it got me thinking. Then another thought filled my head; why did I taste that orange flavour all the time. Maybe it was connected to being changed; were they both something I enjoyed... was it a reward of some kind like the chocolate?

Mrs Dewhurst had been all encouraging and at one point said I looked more comfortable, happy and relaxed. I suppose because now everyone knew, there was no need for secrecy and it made a difference. I did feel relieved about it all.

When I got home mum said that she’d had a call from Mrs Dewhurst about the rash and wanted to check it wasn’t getting worse. So I was whisked to my bedroom and the dry nappy (yes I hadn’t wet on the bus home) was removed for mum to inspect the slightly raw area.

“Mmmm, your boss is correct you are looking a bit inflamed. OK, for tonight just wear a pair of your baggiest cotton boxers around the house, let some fresh air get to it and I’ll try you tonight without plastic pants... just a loose nappy and hope for the best.”

It didn’t appear I was getting a say in any of this but followed her instructions though not before I looked up the word ‘dhoti’ to see exactly what it was. Just a very loose and large nappy from what I could gather and imagined what it was like for Mrs Patel’s ten year-old son to have to wear that for a while. Still, if it worked, it worked. However, I didn’t want my ‘loose nappy’ to be like that.

Mum rubbed in some different cream into the reddened area and told me to go put on some cotton boxer shorts. Of course I did as I was told and found an old baggy pair of dad’s that should have been thrown away years ago but, I tend to keep clothes until I have to get rid. They were in my bottom drawer where stuff I haven’t worn for ages (and had more or less forgotten about) is kept. I have no idea why I’d kept his boxers but mum grimaced as I pulled them up my thighs.

“Where on earth have they come from?”

I wasn’t sure if her raised eyebrows were accusing or merely surprised.

They were a pair of paisley boxers which had ended up in a pile of old washing that came to me a while back but I’d never bothered returning them. I’d not worn them just put them in with my other shorts and forgot about them. Still they were baggy and I was sure the air could circulate if I was wearing them. It felt strange that I wasn’t wearing a nappy but mum told me to be aware of what I was doing and regular visits to the toilet were recommended – to be on the safe side.

Just ‘dangling’ was a strange experience after having everything so tightly compact before. The loose fit and no nappy was very liberating and, as I walked around, the air did circulate and just hoped that would be enough to cure the rash.  

Although I’m eighteen I was pretty pleased I wasn’t the only older person who needed to wear a nappy. Both Mrs Patel’s son and Mrs Dewhurst daughter had problems requiring padding so, although slightly younger than me, proved it wasn’t that unusual. Of course, I’d been online to see if there were others who had this problem with storms and anxiety but it was just general information rather than specific people. There were also groups of people who just liked wearing them, which I found bewildering.

Back in my bedroom my thoughts were broken when mum, who was casually adjusting items on the dresser top, mentioned...

“I gather all your work mates now know you wear nappies...”

“Oh, Mrs Dewhurst’s told you did she?” I said with an air of I have no privacy at all.

“She said you were a bit dumbstruck by their reaction but, according to her, everyone seemed positive and encouraging.”

“Yes, they all want a hand in the changing when I’m wet.”

Mum laughed, I wasn’t sure if she knew or thought I was kidding. Anyway she left leaving a pile of freshly laundered nappies in a bag as replacement for work.

#

We’d all been happily surprised that the weather, for this part of Northern England especially, had been so pleasant. We can never guarantee a warm spell never mind the hot spell we were enjoying but it was the topic of conversation as we sat out in the evening air in the garden.

Mum, our family weather forecaster supreme, said that there was a slow moving cooler front coming down from the north, which would clash with the warm front coming up from the south – the benefit of which we’d been enjoying for the past couple of weeks. She said this did not bode well for folk afraid of summer storms and predicted that we were in for some very ‘unsettled’ weather in the next few of days.

I could feel my leg shaking at the news and a sudden urge for an Orange Crème, but quickly made my way to the toilet just in time to witness, a flow I actually controlled. I can’t tell you how proud I was of this small but significant victory. However I returned and asked mum if we had any chocolates left. I’d never seen her look so guilty as she confessed they’d all been eaten.

Later, when we were all retiring for the night, mum came into my room and searched for an Abena.

“I think if you wore one of these loosely taped on tonight it might be better than these.” She touched the pile of terry cotton nappies on my dresser top.

“I’m sure the natural fabric would be better but, if you wet, they don’t help without plastic pants and we’re trying to avoid them. So, let’s see if this will be OK for tonight at least.”

“OK.” I wasn’t going to argue because I knew from experience that, once fluffed out, the M4 felt incredible on.

“Well, we can try them and see... if they aren’t suitable,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “it will be back to a nice chunky nappy and lashings of Sudocrem.”

I didn’t mind either option, a nappy was a nappy to me though was interested in whether the tabs on the M4 would be easy to open and re-close.

I pulled down my boxers and mum came with extra cream and checked again if the rash was getting worse.

“Doesn’t look too bad now... does it itch or feel uncomfortable?” She said as she inspected the area.

“No, if it hadn’t been noticed I don’t think I’d have known... still...”

“Well, it’s always best not to let these things get the upper hand... so...” as I was standing naked in front of her she smeared a load of sticky gloop across my inner thighs, then spread it further to cover my cock and balls and finished with a large splurge of the stuff over my bum cheeks.

“Muummm!”

“Look love, let’s get ahead of this.”

She shook out and made sure the M4 was as fluffy and soft as it could be before making me lie out on it. She pulled the tapes gently together and asked how it felt.

I had to admit it felt really nice and comfy and, after my initial displeasure at mum’s wide-ranging rubbing in of lotion, smiled appreciatively at the final result.

“OK sweetheart, let’s hope that will be sufficient for tonight... ni-night.” She kissed my head and exited leaving me to luxuriate in the soft padding.

#

The night was still relatively warm, the cold front mum promised a good twenty-four or so hours away, so lay under a flimsy sheet and wriggled around contentedly. The looseness of the M4 was most pleasant and I got quite excited as it slipped around my vital but timid parts. The suppleness and soft crinkle as I manoeuvred around getting comfy (and giving myself the most wonderful sensation) was something I didn’t usually get with my terry nappies. I wasn’t sure I’d get to sleep because I was enjoying it so much and ran my hand continually over the spongy sensuous fabric.

I slept badly. Well, actually, I didn’t sleep at all because of two things. I was dreading wetting the bed so every few minutes made my way to the bathroom – just in case. Then on my return, I got back into being delighted in the way the disposable wrapped so silkily around my bits and bobs and kept me in a state of excitement throughout.

There was something else I quite liked and that was the way the blue light from my clock made the bright white of the Abena stand out. Its fuzzy blueness was quite enthralling, especially when I caught sight of it in the mirror. At times, I could only make out the bright outline so looked like it had a detached life of its own.

In due course I looked at the clock - 6.45 – I’d be getting up in 45 minutes but I checked and I was still dry. However, sleep overtook me and when the alarm went off at 7.30 my disposable was absolutely solid, I’d completely soaked it. I didn’t even feel myself do it and what was worse, it had leaked a bit.

I sat on the edge of my bed sighing, I thought I’d done so well but alas, I was still leaking without knowing.

Jenny knocked on my door. “Bathroom’s free” and I heard her bedroom door close. I know dad will have already done whatever he needed to do and mum usually waits until the rest of us have finished.

I waddled toward the bathroom holding the soaked disposable up as it was heavy and in danger of falling down and tripping me up.

Coming out of her bedroom mum caught sight of me. “Oh Anthony... did it not work?”

“Nearly, but I’m afraid I leaked so the bottom sheet...” I pointed towards my unmade bed, “will need a wash... sorry.”

“Not to worry love but has the rash improved?”

“I think so, I mean, there’s no itching or anything.”

“OK, well you take a shower and I’ll check when you’ve finished.”

I ambled into the bathroom and slipped the lock. I looked at my sorry figure in the full-length mirror and sighed again. I looked like a small child who hadn’t quite got a handle on how he should wear a nappy. I sighed again, what a picture.

#

When I’d finished in the shower mum was already waiting and had stripped the bed.

“Not too much damage sweetheart but in future I don’t think we’ll do without these.” She held up a pair of shiny vinyl pants.

I knew I couldn’t have done too much damage because my mattress has had a waterproof cover for quite a number of years. However, I had to agree with mum that it was a mistake to try sleeping without the added help of protective pants.

Mum checked the inflamed area and said that the cream she’d used was doing its job but suggested that today we add a couple of extra soft absorbent pads to my terry cloth as a safeguard. She also said that there were a couple more soaker pads in my backpack with the replacement nappies as a further precaution if needed.

With the extra pads, once the extra thick fabric nappy was pinned in place, there was considerable bulk that I now had to find a way to disguise. I wore a pair of old opaque white plastic pants over it all but wondered what to wear over all that. So far shorts had been the best solution but for a change I tried all my long trousers first. In fact, the only item that hid it with any degree of comfort was the old green canvas lounge pants I’d worn before.

Although I knew Mrs Dewhurst wouldn’t object, I still thought of them as not good enough for work. I rattled through my wardrobe searching for possibilities but then remembered something I’d seen earlier. Whilst looking for the paisley boxers I noticed a grey pair of shorts I’d had since my last days at junior school.

What I remembered about them was that when they were bought they had been too large and loose, mum I suspect expecting a sudden growth spurt that never really spurted. As a result, they were too large for me to wear comfortably and looked silly and floppy when I tried. They quickly got packed away eight years ago and, until this moment, forgotten about.

Surprisingly, even though they were that old the sturdy quality of the fabric held my protection in tightly and concealed it well. So, even though they were schoolboy shorts, they were still relatively new and unworn and more importantly I was made up that there was something that could hide that extra wadding so well.

I was in two minds but practicalities, and time, made me decide they would be my choice. I found a dark blue polo shirt with a nice gold emblem on the breast pocket and thought I looked smart and respectable for the office. As the weather was still nice I put on a pair of dark blue knee-length socks and matching sneakers. Once I slid on my dark blue hoodie I felt I was dressed acceptably for work and no one outside would know I was wearing any protection... well that’s what I told myself.

I didn’t bother with breakfast as I’d taken so long to make my decision and as mum was in the kitchen I shouted my ‘good-bye’, rather than my usual farewell kiss. With my bag over my shoulder I sauntered down to the bus stop confident and relaxed in the early morning sun. As I stood waiting for the Number 134 I realised I’d forgotten my pass so would have to pay the fare. I was shocked when I asked for a ticket to town I was given half-fare, it was only then I noticed the bus was full of school kids, a few lads dressed not too dissimilar to me.

At first I chuckled to myself that I’d got away with paying such a low fare but as I drew nearer my stop I felt that the other kids were whispering and looking at me. There was a group of girls that reminded me of Trinny and her mates. I got hot and flustered that at any moment something would be said and that school-yard bullying would start all over again. I was glad to get off before they did.

#

 

Thankfully, after that experience, the office had never seemed so welcoming. I suppose now everyone knew about my ‘problem’ I wasn’t that worried about hiding it despite my attempts at doing so. However, the greeting each member of staff gave was unexpectedly reassuring and the smiles on their faces appeared genuine.

Tommy Thompson was the first to comment that it was nice to be back at the first day of school. This was followed by Greta and Sophia who also commented on my look. They could so easily have been obnoxious about the way I was dressed, because the longer I was in the office the more it became obvious that everyone had noticed I’d inadvertently dressed like a schoolboy. As it was, everyone I assumed thought I was doing it as a joke now the office knew about the nappies and I was taking the piss out of my own ‘juvenile’ situation.

Mrs Dewhurst joined in and asked me to bring my ‘homework’ to her office (giggles all around) but she said how smart I looked but really only wanted to know if I needed a change yet. Asides like that happened throughout the morning but I didn’t get one comment that I didn’t think had some kind of friendly reassurance behind it. They appeared to want to be in on the joke, or at least be as supportive as they could. I have to say that I found this attitude in an office such as this, of young and old together, so refreshing after my incident with Trinny.

As I sat at my desk and worked away like the rest of them I couldn’t help but wonder why I’d decided on this outfit. I must have known I looked like I was going to school because I’d sought out the grey shorts I used to wear. However, I can honestly say, it never occurred to me until the bus ride as to what I looked like. Even in my bedroom at home, when I looked in the mirror, all I really noticed was just how good the old shorts were at hiding the padding, and for that I was grateful.

Meanwhile, it wasn’t only Mrs Dewhurst who complimented me on my ‘uniform’ several of the team said how much they thought it suited me. I don’t know why but I was quite enjoying the office banter even if it did cast me in the part of a work experience schoolboy. One thing was for certain – being a pretend schoolboy in the office was far less stressful than being a real schoolboy at my old place of education.

# # #

...to be continued

 

 

 

[Sarah Penguin]

[maly]

Thanks fo r the new chapter.

Maly.

[Les Lea]

Part 16

 

What could have been a strange and uncomfortable day because of my own ‘fashion folly’ ended up to being quite pleasant. After a while the cheery comments ceased and, like the fact I wore nappies, was just taken on board ‘that’s Anthony’. Of course, I hadn’t planned on wearing this get-up to the office again but the fact it caused no major ripples was just another factor that made me glad of the place I worked.

 

Even as the office junior I wasn’t put upon to make the tea or be expected to be at everyone else’s beck and call... it was never like that... I was treated fairly and involved in everything as an equal. I have to tell you, as a sixteen year old and having that kind of respect was very gratifying. It also helped me get out of night time nappies and back into my sleep shorts and briefs fairly quickly... the initial anxiety of a new job disappearing.

Thankfully, we have a cross-section of sexes, ages, religions, British and foreign nationals here at the office... quite a mini United Nations. I think that’s what pleases me most that in such a diverse and tiny space, we all get along. When I joined I was (and still am) the youngest member of staff. I was nervous and unsure of myself but, as I said, Mrs Dewhurst took me under her wing and I was happily surprised that she’d built such a varied and friendly team around her.

I think Deidre is perhaps the only one who I thought might be a problem, with her gloomy take on certain situations. However, no matter how gloomy her predictions, she was as friendly as everyone else and we laughed a great deal. Of course, recently, they’ve had to contend with finding out about my wetting problem and, surprise-surprise, they didn’t seem to be anything other than supportive. I’m not sure I would have found that in any other company, certainly at school such a reputation would have meant a great deal of misery.

The embarrassment of those stupid rhymes, now that they had signalled my need for nappies, appeared to have no relevance to anything any more. How something I’d unintentionally done had paved the way to the office understanding my situation I’ll never know. How the hell does a subconscious act like that work anyway?

The absurdities just kept piling up but appeared to be to my benefit as there was no backlash at all – well, apart from the constant leaking.

In fact, yesterday Deidre quietly promised to bring in something to cheer me up. Not that I needed cheering up but she was so excited about it that I smiled at her obvious enthusiasm. She didn’t say what and I’d forgotten about it until lunchtime when unfortunately I realised I was wet. A look at the schedule showed that it was Greta’s and Sophie’s turn to take charge of my change but Sophie had gone for an early lunch so Deidre asked if she could help.

Yes, I know, I’ve accepted being changed at some point by the entire team very easily. Their rota should have been an anathema to an eighteen year-old but I wear a nappy and at the moment I have no control when I wet it.

I don’t like to wear a wet nappy for long.

However, as I’ve said on other occasions, I also dislike confrontation and would rather die than get into any kind of dispute. If I did (and I do) have some doubts, I smother them down and go along with the popular vote. On this occasion, the team want to get involved so a couple of minutes of me feeling vulnerable is better than carrying around the guilt of causing an argument and changing the congenial ambiance of the place. I’d simply worry about it, which would cause me to get more anxious and in the end be in a much worse state.

There is something else, and this only occurred to me as I got up from my desk, I trusted them all. I’ve been employed for two years and I’ve never once heard a snide remark or malicious gossip. There are plenty of opinions and comments that fly around but none I remember being aimed at anyone to be particularly spiteful.

 

Again I made my way to the office, this time not led like a toddler, and Mrs Dewhurst made way for the two women to set to the task. Of course I’d already been changed by Deidre but this was all new to Greta and I wondered how she’d cope with a guy my age needing a soggy nappy change.

Greta’s father is German and her mother is Estonian but she desperately wanted to come to Britain to work, learn the language and settle here. She’s almost thirty and has been here for eight years, I just hoped changing an eighteen year-old’s nappy wasn’t going to shake her faith in this country.

However, she, like the rest, had volunteered their services and couldn’t have been nicer and more attentive. Deidre, her assistant, had brought her own contribution to the event, a large but colourful disposable with cute cartoon animals all over it.

“I thought this might be a nice change...” She beamed as she emphasised the last word, proud of its double meaning.

She didn’t say where she got it from or how she became its owner but once fluffed out the two women both agreed that it was just what I needed as it was quite thick and should do the job just as well as my fabric nappy. It wasn’t as cumbersome as the fabric but as the ladies discussed its ‘holding’ capabilities I found myself on the side-line as they chatted about its obvious qualities throughout the cleaning and replacement procedure.

Perhaps not unsurprisingly I was a bit annoyed. I mean, were they now trying to baby me, which was something I didn’t want to happen. Causing a fuss was the last thing I wanted to do but I thought something needed to be said.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa... what’s this? I can’t wear that. I know I have to wear a nappy but...” I tried to sound as non-confrontational as possible.

“Anthony, Anthony,” Deidre sighed and looked worried. “Sorry, I just thought...”

“Look, I know this is a bizarre situation, but I wear because I have a problem I don’t wear because I want to...”

“Yes, yes, sorry but, you always seem so easy going and I thought... it might be fun for you to have, you know, something like this for a change...” (The joke wasn’t getting any better.)

Greta looked on as Deidre tried her best not to look disappointed. Deidre saw that although I wasn’t angry I wasn’t pleased with these circumstances.

“I’m sorry, I just thought it would be fun but now I see... sorry... I... er, um, um...” She looked a bit deflated. However, I didn’t think there was any malicious intent it was just me who was concerned as to where this could lead.

I mean, there I was, partly naked, in a wet nappy and had been dressed as a schoolboy so I could hardly take some kind of snooty attitude about it could I? I needed to make this right.

“No, sorry, it’s me Deidre, Greta,” I looked from one to the other. “I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m a baby. I don’t want to be a baby and I don’t want anyone to think of me that way... it’s enough having to wear a nappy.”

I was hoping they’d understand and they nodded.

However, I reached over and felt the thickness and even though I didn’t want to show it, it did feel really soft and...

“Yes,” agreed Greta, “don’t you think this looks fun? Wearing a nappy doesn’t have to be all serious does it?”

I’m not sure if this was a German or Estonian trait but she cut through my doubts as if I shouldn’t really have any. What was I complaining about? It was a nappy, it would do the job and it was nice and colourful... what was my problem?

Of course she didn’t say any of this but I got the gist from her no nonsense accent.

“No but, erm, I...” I looked from the boring, but thick, fabric nappy that was the alternative, and then at the colourful characters on the new disposable and had to agree... it looked delightful. Again I ran my hand over the soft structure and realised it had a nice plastic texture to it and wondered what it would feel like on. Would it be as nice as the Abena?

The two ladies looked on in anticipation.

“Well OK but, no more babyish stuff... I don’t want to find a baby’s bottle or dummy on my desk... this is it, OK?”

Both women beamed and nodded at my decision though wasn’t sure they were on board with it... they were just pleased to continue their job of getting me into a dry, but colourful, disposable.

Of course at first I was doubtful, I had my pride and I’m eighteen after all, but once they had it taped into place it really did feel snug and I was enjoying its cosiness. The colourful images just brought the entire thing to life and found it impossible to condemn wearing such a childlike disposable because it was obviously made for someone bigger than a toddler. Again I wondered where Deidre had come by it though my huge smile dissipating any doubts the ladies had.

Anyway, before I had chance to pull up my shorts, a couple of people peeped around the door and whistled their appreciation. I blushed furiously and yanked them up quickly but not before the word had spread and others wanted to look.

The office seeing me wearing a nappy had become ‘normal’ very quickly. So, although slightly self-conscious, I let my co-workers have a look and feel. They all seemed to like what they saw and were quite vocal in their appreciation of my new protection. Of course, there were a few ‘baby’ comments but mainly about how cute I looked and I don’t think you can take too much offence at being called cute. I know this should have been a terribly awkward moment but I was actually enjoying their delight and encouragement. Perhaps, that’s all I really want... approval... or is that too simple (obvious)?

 

#

The thing is – I don’t think the need for approval has never been a part of who I am - I just accept stuff. I quite like me; that’s despite sometimes wearing a nappy, despite being small for my age and looking younger than I am. Despite all that, which might get some people down, it doesn’t me because I’ve been brought up in a family that is positive, nurturing and loving. I’ve told you about mum’s virtues on several occasions but I can say the same for dad and Jenny... and I hope myself.

However, there are quite a number of things going on in my life that I can’t explain and that are more than slightly, erm, perplexing. For instance; gaps in time I don’t know about, writing silly poems when I thought I’d completed a works project, and wetting without any sense I’m doing so.  

I assume it’s all connected with witnessing that lightning strike because that’s when it all started and mum has more or less inferred that since that moment I’ve changed in other, non-specific ways as well. When I think about that stormy night it’s a bit of a jumble because I know what I witnessed but afterwards... no idea what happened... apart from the huge puddle.  

It seems so long ago that I used to sleep wearing just a pair of shorts or go about my day with nothing more substantial than briefs for urine protection. I can understand the wetting being brought on by the lightning making a link with my old fear and reaction to storms but the rest (shrug)?

I’ve tried to remember. I’ve tried to fill in those blank spots, to make sense of it all but the only thing that seems real... I have a leaky ‘tap’.

And there’s another thing. After Greta and Deidre changed me I was enjoying the fact that I was wearing such a juvenile looking nappy. I mean, I don’t remember ever having such a colourful disposable or nappy cover on any other occasion growing up. Oddly, it did feel different under my grey shorts, but I had no idea if this new reaction was mental or physical or I just liked the idea of something that was a bit of a novelty. It seemed that once I was wearing a nappy of any kind I was relaxed about having to do so and it didn’t worry me at all.

What did concern me was that whenever I had another appointment with Dr Ames, there would be an awful lot of stuff for her to get her teeth into.

However, on the bus home I was incredibly happy. Maybe, that's because there were no school kids to give me grief... or look menacing. The new disposable, although still feeling very comfortable against my skin, had, despite my concerns, brought a smile to my face. I found it hard to believe that so many people in the office had rallied round the way they had and was annoyed with myself for not seeing the fun side to having to wear a nappy. It had simply never occurred to me before nappies could be fun.

In the past they were there to do a job and I simply wore them without a second thought because they were very good at that job.

Unbothered by other passengers I sat in my seat and heard the soft crinkle as I moved... that’s what was bringing a smile to my face. I let my mind wander, settling on the fact that now it might be something to take the edge off of being eighteen and having to wear protection. Yes, the idea of all those little colourful animals wrapped around my bits and bobs had given a new dimension to nappy wearing.

Greta and Deidre (and maybe others) had quickly decided that fun was more important than embarrassment.

It appeared from our brief exchange that they had an attitude of - So what... you wear a nappy... so how can we make it an enjoyable experience? The answer - not take it seriously at all.

Of course, to me it wasn’t a joking matter, although, as far as I knew no one ever made a joke of it. I simply didn’t like wetting myself in public and wasn’t particularly pleased that everyone now knew that I did. However, the way these two ladies and the office in general, had gone about giving me a different perspective was quite an eye-opener.

When I thought about it some more, I don’t think I’d ever taken my ‘temporary’ incontinence all that seriously. I mean I did and I didn’t. It wasn’t a problem, it was just something that mum and dad sorted with a very simple device to stop me ruining clothes and bedding... and it worked. I knew that after a few days (or weeks) things would be back to normal... only this time it didn’t appear to be the case. The intensity and regularity of my soaked padding giving me, and I suppose mum and dad, room for doubt.

Strangely, I found myself chuckling more as I gazed out the window and wondered how many on the other side of the glass would find as much delight as I did due to wearing such an infantile looking piece of underwear. As the journey progressed I felt increasingly relaxed about being in such a situation, although, gradually became aware that I was sucking my thumb... and had that orangey taste again.

#

As I got off the bus I felt the first spot of rain. The sky had clouded over and looked strange. There was a muted yellow glow where the clouds weren’t that dense, which quickly faded and looked most threatening. I didn’t have far to get home and I noticed a few other pedestrians started to walk with purpose in anticipation. The orangey taste grew and I thought I’d ask mum if she knew why I should be experiencing such a strange oral sensation. Perhaps unsurprisingly, at the same time as I noticed that tang I underwent that familiar warming glow inside a certain colourful disposable.

Thankfully, by the time I got home the ominous weather had held off but my nappy was drenched. Even after such a short distance and almost jogging the last few yards, I had no control. Nevertheless, the feel of the soggy material as it rubbed against my privates and thighs as I moved gave me altered perceptions from what I’d had before. Maybe these juvenile looking disposables had different properties to fabric nappies and M4s.

As I walked through the front door my senses were assaulted by the smell of fresh baking, it appeared mum had spent the day at one of her favourite pastimes. When I entered the kitchen the table was loaded with cakes, buns, biscuits and pies, the oven was still cooking something and I guessed that was tonight’s meal.

“We’re having a slow cooked, Mary Berry inspired, lamb Ratatouille for tea but, your dad won’t be home until 7.30 and I want us all to eat together... can you last until then?”

Mum had delivered all this as she stirred something in a pan on the cooker but when she turned round she raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Good grief, you took me back ten years and your first day at junior school.” Her surprise faded and she smiled. “You look so damn cute but not an image I thought you’d like...”

I shrugged.

“These shorts hid everything better than anything else and as it took me so long to decide, I just threw everything else on and didn’t realise the ‘look’ I’d created.”

“Well sweetheart, you look perfect to me,” she came over and kissed my forehead and stoked my padded bottom. “Mmmm, I think someone needs a change.”

“Yes I do but...”

“Let’s get you sorted.” She turned off the cooker rings and was about to follow upstairs when the phone rang. “I’ll be up in a minute pet... just get things ready eh?”

#

I’d taken off my hoodie but stood looking at myself in the mirror. There was no doubt I was dressed like a school kid and at that moment, knowing I was wearing a wet childish nappy, I wasn’t in the least bit worried about that fact. I looked the part and I wasn’t embarrassed about it. As I did a little wriggle a satisfying surge of happiness and pleasure engulfed my body. I know I’ve been having a load of strange and disturbing ‘moments’ recently but this wasn’t one of them - this was incredibly pleasing.

The problem was, only last Sunday I had the complete belief that I was in control of my bladder. I was filled with the desire to prove to everyone I could handle what needed to be handled. My confidence was high, my emotions were high and I was convinced the throbbing fervour running through my body meant I was invincible... and look how that turned out.

I just hoped this feeling of euphoria wasn’t just an omen to crapping myself... again.

Still mesmerised by my reflection my mind filled with all this ‘stuff’ when mum came in.

“That was Doctor Ames’s office - she’s booked you in for the last session on Friday at 6pm. I told her you’d probably have finished work by then... was that OK?”

I was only half listening and answered with a “Hhhhuuummm, yer...” I was sure the way I was feeling now was somehow different from anything I’d experienced before.

Mum noticed my disconnection and asked if there was anything wrong. She stood behind me and we looked at our reflections together.

“Sometimes,” I said wistfully, “I look in the mirror and I just don’t appear to have grown up.”

Mum said nothing just put her hand on my shoulder as she listened.

“The other day I noticed that Jenny is taller than me and looks like an adult whilst I...”

“I suppose this outfit does make you look younger but it’s bound to... the shorts you’ve had for ages.”

I know mum was trying to stop me from dwelling too deeply on what I thought were my physical flaws by a little distraction but to me the comment just emphasised my point.

“Yes but they didn’t fit then... they were baggy... but now, when I wear padding underneath, they fit perfectly and hide everything... I mean... it’s as if they were made for me to wear a nappy.”

Mum could see my confusion.

“I’m not complaining mum I’m really not... but... but... something else happened today and it made me feel... different... no... made me feel brilliant. In fact, as good as I felt spending time with you at the coast.” 

She smiled and murmured how much she’d enjoyed our trip as well but I needed to tell her more. I wasn’t sure how to make my next move. Here I was, sort of being concerned about not growing up and I then had to show her something juvenile that I enjoyed. So, I took a deep breath and released the catch on my shorts, pulled down the zip and let them fall to the floor. I saw a weird reaction cross mum’s face.

I wasn’t sure what it meant but I needed to fill even that brief moment of silence with something... so I started.

“One of the ladies in the office brought these in.... she thought they would ‘cheer me up’. That was her reason. Not to baby me but to ‘cheer me up’ and have fun. She said that if I have to wear a nappy, why not make it a fun thing to do.”

I saw mum lost for words but I carried on.

“Wearing protection has never bothered me, I’ve had to do it on and off for so long but I’d never thought of it as ‘fun’ before. And today, once this colourful thing was taped into place... that was my only thought. This WAS fun... but I couldn’t explain why.”

Unfortunately, the reflection was giving me no answers but now, wearing just my childish disposable, I felt like a toddler... an eighteen year-old toddler... a working eighteen year-old toddler. No wonder I was feeling confused but surprisingly... fortunate.

Mum seemed to have quickly got over her shock and simply patted the wet padding.

“Oh sweetheart... you are quite a complex bo... erm... character. You’ve been through quite a lot over the past few weeks and I’m sure you’ll have a lot to tell the doctor. However, I don’t see it as a problem if it’s something you like...”

The reflection in the mirror was of an obviously concerned but supportive mother and her confused little boy with shorts around his ankles and a soggy, but cheerful, disposable sagging at his crotch.

#

As I stripped down, and whilst mum was getting replacements ready, I asked if she had any idea why I was getting the taste of orange just before I wet.

She looked at me as if to say what an odd question, but was also considering it.

I mentioned that the first time Mrs Dewhurst had changed me, thanks to the box of Roses mum had brought in as a thank you gift, I’d sucked on an orangey chocolate and since then kept getting that taste whenever I wet or thought about nappies... though often didn’t realise I was thinking about either of them.

She wasn’t sure but did in due course remember all those years ago, when I was three and been scared by the storm at the French camp site, and with thunder crashing around us, I drank from a juice box, an orange juice box, which she hoped would help calm me down.

“Your scared eyes darted everywhere as the crashing continued around us but you sucked hungrily on that juice... though not sure it helped distract you much.”

My mind was ticking over with this new information but I couldn’t formulate any answer or any other question, anyway she continued.

“It was the only drink we had because everything else was packed away for an early departure.” She shrugged. “It kept you quiet until you finished then the tears started again and, as we’d dispensed with a dummy by then so your little thumb was an immediate substitute.”

She frowned as if actually remembering that moment in full and let out a thoughtful ‘hhhmmmm’ like something had clicked in her memory.

She’d never spoken about the orange juice before only that sucking my thumb had ultimately helped to get me off to sleep. So now I wasn’t sure if this was a trigger of some kind because I have always favoured orange flavoured drinks (and chocolate) over any other. It had never occurred to me before that there might be a reason behind such a preference. Mind you, I’d never had that historical context before either.

#

I lay out naked as mum cleaned me up, wiped me down and applied some protective cream. She gave me the choice of Abena or fabric and I asked for Abena. I watched in fascination as she fluffed out and spread the disposable to get as much airy bulk into the clever absorbent (but plain) structure as possible before adding an extra soaker pad then fastening it securely around me.

Even now, with everything that’s happened, mum was still committed to making sure that no matter which nappy was decided on it should fit snugly and be the best she could make it. That kind of devotion had been there for as long as I can remember and not only was I grateful for it, I realised that at whatever age I was, as long as I needed to wear protection, I certainly didn’t want it to stop.

“OK, you choose which pants you want, while I dispose of this.” She held up the soggy, though still colourful disposable I’d just been wearing. “I have to admit these are damned cute... I wonder where she got them from.”

I nearly said not to bother getting me any but I had enjoyed wearing them and thought if I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t be accused of being childish. Not sure if I was kidding anyone but in the end said a soft but appreciative “Thanks mum.”

The extra padding meant that I toddled over to the drawer where I decided on a clear plastic pair of pants. I don’t know why because I had some coloured ones but nothing matched the ‘fun’ little cartoon characters that had featured so prominently on Deidre’s disposable. I’d definitely want to wear clear plastic pants if I wore such a nappy again - those happy characters brought a smile to my face.

I pulled on a pair of red Adidas shorts and matching t-shirt and checked the mirror again. Despite the puffed out shiny nylon fabric the little kid had gone and a sporty looking ‘me’ had reappeared. I was quite pleased by this simple transformation – it seemed that as long as I was wearing a nappy and shorts, I felt comfortable and at ease.

# # #

...to be continued

 

[Pierry Louys]

That’s a good progression and I think Antony is beginning to understand his feelings! Great work les!

[Sarah Penguin]

[Les Lea]

Thanks to both of you and glad you're still enjoying the story. ?

[maly]

On 12/11/2020 at 11:49 AM, Les Lea said:

her assistant, had brought her own contribution to the event, a large but colourful disposable with cute cartoon animals all over it.

So does she have an AB at home? Thanks for this chapter.

Maly.

[Eagle0769]

I am ga ga about this story. I'm wondering if Anthony's mom or maybe a female at work would like to go a step further in treating him as a baby maybe at work or at home?

[Les Lea]

Thanks Eagle0769 glad you're so involved.

Anthony has made it clear that he doesn't want to be treated as a baby and would fight against someone making him. However, there is another trip to the psychiatrist coming up so who knows what she'll discover ?

[Eagle0769]

3 hours ago, Les Lea said:

Thanks Eagle0769 glad you're so involved.

Anthony has made it clear that he doesn't want to be treated as a baby and would fight against someone making him. However, there is another trip to the psychiatrist coming up so who knows what she'll discover ?

Yes I know I remember reading him saying that but maybe he would like to try.

Can't wait for the next chapter.

[Les Lea]

Part 17

 

For the past few weeks Britain had been experiencing a rather wonderful spell of superb warm weather. Of course there had been sporadic storms here and there (with my current problem as a result) but by and large, it had been perfect for most people.  Despite the equally sporadic and unplanned incontinence I simply got on with my life as normal. I’d had this problem on and off for a while now so this new bout of wetting didn’t stop me doing anything.

 

Because I loved the freedom they offered (and the lovely weather), I wore shorts to work as well as at home, as much as I could. Nappies were now my constant underwear and the staff in the office continued their helpful changes when needed. That was the unfortunate thing... I still hadn’t regained control over my bladder so unexpected warm flushes around my crotch were becoming increasingly common.

As mentioned, I cannot tell you how much my family mean to me. The way they are; the love, patience and understanding are not what everyone experiences, especially if you have my complications. I also have to offer my appreciation for the incredible way my colleagues at work have rallied round and offered their unconditional support. All of this makes me realise just what a lucky boy I’ve been.

In spite of everything; my memory lapses, the strange other glitches to my bodily functions, I didn’t hate the situation I’ve found myself in. Although in the past I’d be over the incontinence by now, the thick nappies were offering comfort and security, which I found not in the least bit annoying.

However, it seemed I was reappraising my situation and the forthcoming appointment with the doctor didn’t scare me as much as before. This time, I was more prepared and had a lot I wanted to say and hopefully find answers to some of my questions/problems.

On my last visit we left it at the point of why my brain wasn’t sending the correct signals to my bladder... I think my ‘problems’ had escalated considerably since then, although that particular one still continued.

#

At 6pm exactly with a huge friendly smile Dr Laura Ames invited me into her office.

“Ah Anthony, great to see you again, glad you could make it. How are you?”

In truth, and despite my readiness to ask questions, I’d been a bit anxious all day. In fact, so bad had it got that I’d needed my nappy changed three times at work and could feel the dampness rising again. The problem was, throughout the day, mum’s prediction of a storm front coming our way had been threatening since early morning and now I could hear distant rumbling.

Although I preferred to wear shorts, today I’d worn my new long green trousers (the ones I’d bought at the Outlet), which didn’t hide the padding half as well. Unfortunately, dad had not so subtly suggested that the doctor needed to see an eighteen year-old and not a school boy. He’d been gentle with his recommendation but as usual, I did as suggested and wore what he thought more appropriate.

It hadn’t occurred to me until he mentioned it that I did feel a lot younger when wearing shorts and although I often bemoaned the fact of being treated as a kid, at times I actually liked the response. Stupid I know but blame dad cos he set me off. So, this means I have even more to discuss with the doctor now.

#

The session started with small talk and she asked me about any developments. As I answered her questions the room was getting ominously darker as the storm clouds gathered and I began to wonder if it was all in my imagination or actually happening.

In what appeared to be only moments the storm was crashing around us and the thunder drowned out my voice...

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~~

~~~~~ ~~~~~~

~~~~~~

~

That was all I remember until I was gently being shaken by Doctor Ames.

“Come on Anthony, wake up. Come on back... come on... ah... there you are.”

I opened my eyes and though disorientated, realised I was sucking on my thumb and was absolutely soaked. I lay out on the couch and tried to get my bearings wondering why the doctor was encouraging me to wake up.

Doctor Ames had a hold of my hand and was gently soothing my confusion. Once she thought I was compos mentis her smile grew bigger and she seemed relieved to have me back.

“Well Anthony, the last fifty minutes or so proved very interesting.”

Now I was awake and aware I suddenly felt guilty because I could feel my soaked nappy and hoped that I’d only wet it. I gave a tentative wiggle and inhaled deeply, neither of these actions, to my relief, indicated a messy nappy.

“I’m afraid that the storm has left its trademark effect and you are sodden. And, as your mum reported, you stood at the window throughout it mewling, sucking your thumb, filling your protection and appearing to be... totally disconnected from the moment.”

She wasn’t coating what she saw in psychobabble just telling me exactly how it was. So, now she’d witnessed my problem (or one of them) what was her solution?

“Firstly, do you need to go and change?” Her question was full of understanding and concern. “As you know from last time, I have some Tena pull-ups if they’d be OK?”

I hated wearing a soaked nappy for too long and, if what she’d said was true, then I’d been in this one for about an hour.

“I’ve called your mother and she’ll be here soon... so if you prefer to wait.”

I knew I’d used all my clean nappies at work and my backpack had a plastic bag full of wet ones so didn’t have any spare. Mum I knew would bring some fresh and more substantial nappies than the Tena so said I’d wait, if that was OK with her. She said that was fine.

I sat on the couch swamped by the squishy fabric and tried not to move. I was only grateful for the plastic pants which were holding back any chance of leakage but didn’t know for how long.

The fact that she’d witnessed what happened I thought would mean everything would be explained. However, I did wonder why she hadn’t intervened and pull me from my hypnotic stance or try to get me to do something else. Had she simply watched?

Meanwhile, as we waited for mum Doctor Ames told me that she’d tried my dad first, seeing as he was in the same building but unfortunately, he was at a meeting in another town so couldn’t come and pick me up. When mum heard about what had happened she insisted on coming and ‘sorting me out’, which I gather was what the doctor hoped as she wanted to talk to one or both my parents as well as me.

She asked what I thought about my co-workers gathering around and helping. I said that at first I was nervous and couldn’t believe what they were doing but I’m used to it now.

She nodded and wrote something down on her note pad then wondered if any other teenage boy with my ‘problem’ would have agreed to such an operation in his workplace. I had to agree that I doubted that would happen but I thought my team were special and I was lucky to have them.

She made further notes as I gushed about how grateful I was to be working in such an environment.

There was something about that question that made me think there was probably a different answer but it had passed me by. I know this (and excuse me if this sounds silly) but I felt a shiver run down my back and a sort of mental ‘ping’ go off in my head... you know like when your microwave meal is ready... but I ignored it. I even ignored the sudden spurt of pee as I added to the fullness of my already squishy padding.

We chatted about why I thought that way and, as I suddenly got the citrusy tang again, so mentioned about the taste of orange I was experiencing.

I wondered about the loss of time, which she’d witnessed and how thankful I was to be wearing a nappy to soak up my incontinence and jokingly added the fact that so far I hadn’t disgraced myself all over her office.

“You’ve come to rely on your nappies haven’t you?” She smiled her question.

I shrugged but she was correct. “When I witnessed the strike, and all this began... again... I left a huge puddle on my bedroom floor. I think that was more embarrassing then wearing a bit of padding...”

“But it’s not just a ‘bit of padding’ is it?” She interrupted. “You have to wear thick padding and vinyl pants all the time. Doesn’t that get... annoying?”

There was that ‘ping’ again but I didn’t get the reference.

I shrugged again because in reality it didn’t bother me... padding successfully stopped anyone else knowing I had a problem. Well, that was until the office now knew... but that was my own doing even though some had already suspected as much. But ‘no’ it was never annoying just a sartorial fact – I needed them.

She made further notes but I did notice a small recording devise on the table and wondered if she’d captured my ‘mewling’. I wondered what I sounded like but thought it sounded silly to ask to listen to myself in such a state.

Now she’d observed my storm reaction for herself I think it had given her a lot to digest. However, as I had so many other concerns I wanted to talk about put my soaked nappy to the back of my mind and tried to get everything else out as quickly as I could. Unexpectedly, I found it great to talk about the things that had happened and my thoughts surrounding them.

Once started I wondered why I’d been so anxious... this was turning out great. I was enjoying this ‘therapy thing’.

#

Just before seven o’clock mum bustled in carrying what I recognised as my nappy bag. She hugged and patted my bottom and then hugged Doctor Laura in a friendly greeting.

“Sorry you had to experience that... he does tend to pee a lot.” Was mum’s opening line to Laura.

“Well no harm done. I’m sure Anthony is keen to change out of...”

“Oh yes, yes off course... let’s sort you out shall we?”

I was pointed towards the bathroom I used on the last appointment. Thankfully this time mum, now armed with her well provisioned bag, came to help me out.

“Does he always need assistance?” Doctor Ames queried.

“Ermmmm,” mum sounded wary, “We just find it quicker and easier if I’m there.”

Mum answered whilst escorting me in and closed the door.

“Have you had to leave Jenny alone?” I asked concerned once the door was shut.

Mum took a deep breath before answering as if she was thinking something over in her head.

“No sweetie, she’s at a friend’s doing a school project together.” She answered cheerily.

“Oh, sorry to drag you out in this weather.”

“The storm’s passed; it’s now quite fresh outside, which is a bonus...”

We kept up this small talk all the way through the operation and in the end I was surprised to see she’d fluffed out a large colourful disposable, not unlike the one Deidre had me wear.

“Mum, where did you get this?” I asked in surprise but I’m sure my obvious pleasure was, well, obvious.

“Never you mind. I took on board the fact that nappies might be fun so... here you are... a fun nappy... hope you like it”

To be honest I was surprised on two counts. One; the disposable had colourful little cartoon dinosaurs printed all over it. And secondly; how had she been able to find such a thing so quickly?  However, neither of these points mattered as the crinkle, as she unfolded them and jigged them about to open them up and fluff them out, made me smile like a two year old getting a huge ice cream.

“You know... you had some vinyl pants as a baby like these... all bright colours and jolly...” Her voice trailed off as I think she realised it perhaps wasn’t a comparison best to be making.

There were many times when mum could be wise and unmovable but there were also times, like now, where she seemed innocent and vulnerable. Such openness always took me by surprise... though made me love her all the more.

Once it was taped in place she handed me a pair of shiny white plastic pants and a pair of shorts from amongst the stuff she’d brought. So whilst mum cleaned the place up, I slipped into them. I felt restored straight away but really didn’t want to hide the colourful print on the disposable with the plastic cover. Then again, thought I’d leave that discussion for another time.

#

We emerged to find Doctor Laura sitting waiting for us; obviously the session hadn’t finished just yet. However, the bulge under my shorts (and the soft rustling as I moved) was obvious so she knew I had substantial protection there. Still, I was glad to be wearing the new colourful disposable and pleased that the doctor didn’t know about its design. I suddenly wondered if she would think worse of me because of it.

“All OK now?” Doctor Laura beamed as we re-entered her office.

“Yes thanks.”

“Ahh shorts,” she nodded in their direction, “I remember you said you prefer them.”

I’m not sure if they met with her approval but I was certainly glad to be dry and wearing them.

“Yes,” I answered with a smile and smoothing down the slight bulge.

“And mum, does she like to see you wear them?”

“Mum’s a mum... she likes me in anything and everything. She’s always very encouraging whatever I wear.” I added nonchalantly.

I saw both women nodding but in different ways. The Doctor made a note.

“Now I’ve got you both together I hope you don’t mind if I get your take on each other.”

I saw mum visibly wince and I immediately thought this might not be a good idea but... we were here to sort things out and if the doctor thought it was something she needed then we should comply.

“Of course Laura,” mum said being as helpful as possible, “but we’ll have to make it quick because I have a fourteen year-old at home alone.”

I knew mum was lying because she’d just told me something different.

“Oh, from what you’ve told me about Jenny I’m sure she’ll be just fine.”

Doctor Laura didn’t miss much.

“What would you like to know?” Mum smiled her question.

“Well for starters... how often is Anthony put in nappies?”

#

It wasn’t an awkward question but I could see it had thrown mum a bit. Doctor Ames had already had my version of this question and I’d answered honestly yet mum seemed to be having a little difficulty actually remembering the whys and wherefores.

Where I could remember I chipped in and had nothing but praise for the way mum and my family supported me when I had these ‘bouts of incontinence’ (as the doctor called them).

Although I knew mum and Laura were ‘friends’ I was surprised at some of the questions she asked. I would have thought, considering she’d known her since I was seven, they’d have talked about some of these things between themselves in the past. She was drawing info from mum who I noticed was desperate for the session to be over.

Despite being free and uninhibited with my own answers I noticed mum avoiding some of hers. This I thought was most unlike her and wondered why she was being so evasive.

“Well thank you both,” Doctor Ames eventually ended the appointment with a flourish. “You’ve both been very helpful but, I would like to see you again sometime soon Anthony if you can manage it. In fact, shall we put it in the diary now?”

Oddly, despite all that anxiety with the storm, I’d enjoyed the session and hoped she had enough information to help, so I was keen to come back. I booked a session for same time the following Friday.

The ‘short’ conversation had lasted another hour so it was just before 8pm when we left the office. Mum was quiet and appeared to be in quite a rattled state as we drove home.

I, on the other hand, was pretty pleased with myself due to the fact I was wearing a thick, comfy and colourful kiddie style disposable... and still dry. The fun, colourful disposable had cheered me up. Although I wasn’t down, the fact I was wearing it had an effect but again had no idea why. I just had a permanent grin on my face and felt comfortable.

#

Mum had calmed down quite a bit once we were home and the rest of the family were there. We talked about the storm that had happened and again I said I didn’t remember anything about it but that the Doctor had observed it and found my reaction ‘interesting’.

We all wondered what that might mean but decided that no doubt psychiatrists liked their own veil of secrecy if it was something they didn’t understand.

We joked about it and wondered what effect it would have had on her but I said she didn’t seem in the least bit perturbed and didn’t do anything, as far as I knew, to stop it. As we talked about my soaked nappy I was going to mention the colourful disposable I was wearing but noticed that the smile on mum’s face was a little strained so changed the subject.

After the meal mum had busied herself doing the extra laundry (she had more than enough fabric nappies to wash and dry) and Jenny and I argued over what to watch on TV. Dad, as usual, was engrossed behind a pile of folders and papers, work never far away with him.

I hadn’t changed out of what I was wearing so was still in my sort of ‘school uniform’, which I suppose led to my sister telling me about a new lad in Year 8 at her school who looked just like me. I was a bit weary of where she was going, or what she’d say about a thirteen year-old who was my ‘spittin’ image’, but she said all the girls were going ‘bonkers’ over him. For some reason I took his popularity as my own and felt pretty good about myself.  

#

When I did go to bed mum came up as usual to bring new supplies and check I was OK but it was my turn to ask what was troubling her.

“Oh nothing for you to worry about sweetie,” she dismissed my interest but I wasn’t having that.

“MUM,” I put on my sternest voice, “you can’t tell me that because I sat and watched you with Doctor Ames and you didn’t seem best pleased to say the least.”

She shrugged but I knew there was something.

“Look, I’ll be seeing her next Friday and I’ll ask her if you don’t tell me now.” I was adamant mum needed to tell me her worries like I told her mine.

She looked like she didn’t want to burden me with her problems but at last she spoke.

“Well love, it’s like this,” she swallowed and took a deep breath. “The way the questions were posed and my responses led me to believe that she thinks I’m responsible for your, erm, problem.”

I looked a bit stunned. Firstly, I didn’t get that impression from the questions I heard and secondly, how can mum be responsible for me wetting my pants?

“Are you sure?” Was all I came up with.

“No, not sure, just the impression I got aaannnddd...” she drew out the last word before answering, “if I’m honest... I did feel a little guilty about buying you those.” She pointed to my kiddie-style disposable.

“Why? I mean, why would you feel guilty? They feel nice to wear and...”

I saw the expression on mum’s face change and knew that was the point... they were pretty childish.

“She thinks that I like to see you wearing nappies and that I enable you to... oh... I don’t know... but I felt really ill at ease in her office.”

I thought about what she’d just said and although I didn’t get the same impression from Doctor Ames the fact that mum thought this was annoying because I believed mum had done, and continues to do, everything for my benefit.

“Mum, I have a problem which you and dad... and Jenny help me with. I’m sure that now the doctor has seen what happens and how I react when a storm comes she knows it’s nothing you do. And these,” I felt the soft thickness of my disposable, “are just fun... why should you feel guilty about wanting me to have fun... they still do the job they’re designed for...?”

“Ah sweetie you’re right, I’m probably reading too much into it because I always worry...”

“Mum, the wetting’s the problem not what I wear. My colleagues at work don’t think you’ve done anything wrong so why should the doc... I mean she’s seen me peeing myself, suck my thumb and make noises. She knows that the fact you put me in a thick nappy stopped me flooding her office. No, no, no... you’ve done all you can and I’m grateful to you...” Then I had a different thought. “Mum, do you feel guilty about me... at my age... you know... not being more of a man?”

She sighed and I thought we’d got to the crux of her feelings. Almost immediately I wished I’d not asked the question because I didn’t want the answer.

“Well sweetie I do feel responsible for the number of times, as Laura pointed out, I’ve resorted to putting you in nappies as a solution to any anxiety you may have had.”

I was standing now just wearing the disposable which unconsciously I was filling though mum hadn’t yet noticed. I had that weird shiver run through my body and once again had that tangy taste in my mouth.

“... I just wonder if it has somehow held you back in some way...”

I wasn’t sure what to say because I was being engulfed in a warming glow and my mind drifted off..........

# # #

 

 

...to be continued

 

[Pierry Louys]

Wow that was intense ! Now I want to know what gonna be the doctor response of all of this

[maly]

Yes it would be good to see what the doctors point of view is.

Thanks for the new chapter.

Maly.

[Sarah Penguin]

 

[Les Lea]

Part 18

 

It was the strangest of sensations. I could see mum speaking but that slow and pleasant warmth spread from my crotch to engulf my entire body. In slow-motion my mind floated back through the many times I’d worn protection. It was eerie observing being put into nappies and being delighted for the younger versions of me. This was despite the fact that I could feel I was filling my own disposable at the same time.

 

Even as I watched those diminishing images my senses were alert to the way mum wrapped me in a fresh nappy, the material softly encasing my boyish parts and hugging my bottom. The various styles of rubber and plastic pants that I didn’t remember... I now noticed as the slide back continued.

Mum was always smiling, unflappable and full of sweet words, telling me not to be troubled, everything would be alright, I looked as cute as cute could be. There was an awful lot of that type of emphasis and encouragement that I wasn’t to worry... I wasn’t to worry... I wasn’t to worry. The worry of wet pants quickly transformed into a wet nappy, which was no worry at all.

It was the same at eighteen, sixteen, twelve, ten, seven... as I reversed through imagined time there was always that praise, reassurance and love... and it was special... it made me feel special. Even though no words were said, I could ‘hear’ them echoing around in my head. And even though these were extremely swift glimpses, they were incredibly detailed.

I tumbled further back and was suddenly brought to a dead halt by the sound of thunder rushing from the front to the back of my head. I was small and scared even though mum and dad were there with me. Again my body was engulfed in that hot flush and I knew I was filling the seat of my pants. They were trying to soothe and reassure me but I was too scared to listen and my soft cotton pyjamas were becoming a total mess.

It must have been my first experience of such a phenomenon, not helped by the rolling noisy echo that reverberated down the valley where we were camped. I had no concept of thunder sounding like this. The only thing I did have some idea about was that monsters created a ferocious roar to scare kids. Each ear-splitting roar and rumble making me fear the huge scary beast that must be creating it.

Mum asked dad to get a towel and after she stripped me out of the stinky disaster and wiped away most of the mess, wrapped it around like a make-do nappy. I immediately began to settle down but was still blubbing. I saw dad grab a carton of juice and fit a straw, which he gave to mum to see if I could be distracted by a cool drink. It worked for a while.

“He’s shaking like a leaf...” Mum said as she patted my towel covered bottom.

“A very messy leaf.” Dad humorously mumbled half to himself.

“He’ll be over it soon.”

I observed all this ‘history’ in a micro-second as another loud crash set the three year-old me off once again. I’d never been so scared, it was a totally new experience and I was terrified, not just for myself but also how that imagined creature would overwhelm my parents.

I finished the drink but the rumbling down the valley continued. Mum held me tightly and kept up her reassuring stroking and petting of my towelled bottom. However, the juice and any other fluid in my frightened body were seeping into the towel so that was also getting rapidly soaked.

“I think we’ll need another towel pretty soon.”

“OK, will this yellow one do?” Dad was sorting through the pre-packed cases.

“Might be a good idea but I’ll only change him when he settles down. Ssshhhuussshh sweetheart, there’s nothing to be scared of... mummy and daddy are here... Ssshhhsss...”

Whilst still trying to placate my young mind she manoeuvred my thumb between my lips and instantly started to pacify myself. She reassured and cooed in my ear, whilst dad wondered aloud if they hadn’t let me out of nappies too soon. I think they must have agreed on that point because I was changed into another towel as a make-do nappy.

Eventually I must have dropped off.

Still held in mum’s protective arms my head ached... no... more than ached it felt painful... there was turmoil, fear, thunder and blackness... but then nothing.

 

I was completely disorientated when I came round it was daylight and I was back home. I had no memory of us packing up and leaving the campsite but was still trembling a little and aware of the thick wet towel between my legs.

Every night from then on I wore a nappy, which was just as well seeing as how, for quite a while after that frightening experience, I had regular nightly accidents.

However, although I saw everything so clearly, or so I thought, my memory didn’t go any further back and I was both scared and numb.

#

“Anthony, Anthony are you OK sweetie?”

Mum looked worried as I came back from my revealing mental journey.

“Sweetie you’re soaked,” she tried to cheer me up because I apparently looked ‘weird’. “Your dinosaur chums look desperate to find dry land.” She was stroking my colourful padding.

Mum had put me in this disposable so was she treating me as a little kid now?

Why this thought entered my head I don’t know but she needn’t have worried. It had served its purpose because despite the amount I’d peed there were no leaks. However, some of the dinosaurs looked a bit the worse for wear.

As my padding was still warm it confirmed all that I’d conjured up in that weird and unwarranted flashback had happened in mere seconds.

“Let’s get you into a fresh one for the night shall we?”

It wasn’t a question but I wasn’t sure how to react after all I’d just ‘witnessed’. I mean, there wasn’t a moment in that memory when wearing a nappy I wasn’t content to do so. Yet there also wasn’t a moment in that brief excursion into my past, where I wore my normal underpants. Obviously I had, and for the majority of time, though it simply didn’t register in that weird scrutiny I’d just endured.

I wasn’t sure what my brain was telling me, or if indeed it was trying to tell me anything, all I seemed to get from that slip into a time-warp was, whenever I needed a nappy I was grateful to be put in one.

Conversely, I kept telling myself you’re eighteen... you’re eighteen... yet... and yet... I just didn’t feel that mattered. My age was of absolutely no consequence because all that was significant ended up to be something I had no control over. I surmised that as the flashback stopped at the tent in France that must have been the start of all my problems.

However, as mum ripped away the tapes and let the disposable fall heavily to my bedroom floor I wondered if I was the one making the ‘old problem’ real. I mean, there was no thunder or anxiety now but I had just completely sodden my ‘Dino disposable’ and mum was about to put me in a clean and dry fluffy piece of fleecy material. It was something I looked forward to without thinking just what it meant.

I loved the way mum was so careful, so upbeat, so loving. I couldn’t remember her once being upset that I needed a nappy. Though it meant more laundry, more supervision, more work on her part she never complained. Her solution to a wet boy, and one I never disagreed with, a nappy was a quick and easy fix. Even now, at eighteen, mum’s the one who tends to my ‘problem’ and I’ve always enjoyed the attention.

#

Up until we’d talked with Doctor Ames neither of us had felt any guilt about what we did to prevent wet pants. The psychiatrist hadn’t been caustic, clever or critical, merely asked alternative questions, which surprisingly had made us both think differently. Now I was looking at things from an altered point of view I could see how mum might have thought the doctor was blaming her.  

I reasoned that was all very well and good but why was I having gaps in my memory? Why had I written poems I had no knowledge of? Why did I taste orange? Why had the lightning strike...?

Why? Why? Why? Doctor Ames had certainly got into both mine and mum’s heads.

As mum left my room, but now with a fresh thick nappy firmly pinned on, I searched for the plastic pants I wanted to wear. There it was – I WANTED TO WEAR. I could so easily have rummaged through my underwear drawer and found a pair of pants or shorts or something to cover it up (well maybe only slightly) but I didn’t, I went straight to my pile of plastic pants. I felt safer knowing my nappy was secured behind a leak-proof guard and no other thought entered my head.

However, I searched through my underpants and inspected them. I wasn’t sure why because I knew I had mainly tighty-whities but also a few pairs of colourful spandex style trunks, a couple of dark blue boxers and loads of stuff from my childhood I’d never got around to throwing out. It all just lay in the drawer for when I was over my wetting spell. They hadn’t been disturbed for a couple of weeks or so now, whilst the heap of fabric nappies grew as did the packs of disposables.

I felt the pile of thick terry nappies, they were everywhere, big and cumbersome but I enjoyed going to sleep with them encased in vinyl knowing I was so well protected. The disposables - both the Abena and mum’s latest childish (but oh so cute) Dinosaur ones - were likewise fantastic and I loved wearing them all.

In the past, when I wet from being anxious or because of a storm, I knew that I’d be back in briefs as soon as I stopped soaking my pants either at night or during the day. However, for the moment at least, that seemed a target too far. What’s peculiar this time than in the past, the lightning strike had affected me mentally somehow and, if I wanted to get back to any kind of normality, where my workmates didn’t need to change my dripping nappies, or indeed have need for nappies, I had to find that explanation and deal with it. However, there was a problem – and it had taken talking to the psychiatrist to realise just how much this was a fact, I didn’t mind the current fuss.

#

There have been moments since the strike when I obviously know I’ve had no control yet still had the illusion I had. There have also been times when I was outwardly horrified as to what was happening (like peeing in front of our neighbour on the way to the seaside) but quickly came to terms with it. The problem I had now was that Doctor Laura had gently and expertly probed deeply enough for me to deliberate on the things I’d just accepted. Like; why had I not mastered pinning on a nappy? Why had I accepted the workforce had a place in my nappy change regime and why was I so happy to be wearing nappies?

There was absolutely no reason why, if needed, I couldn’t pin myself into a fabric nappy. I’d found it difficult to begin with and had leaked a bit the few times I’d tried but that was no excuse to stop trying and letting mum take on total responsibility for any change. The trouble was, I’m used to it being done that way and I like it. It doesn’t hold any embarrassment to the proceedings just because I’m eighteen. I get the impression from the good doctor that it should worry me and should be embarrassed that mum still has that responsibility. I’m not.

In fact, apart from once or twice getting annoyed at waitresses asking if I wanted the Children’s Menu in a restaurant, I’m fairly easy-going about how I appear to others. When I think about it, I even think my annoyance is a bit of an act because I don’t really mind. I might have felt I ‘should’ say something but didn’t need to...

Oh Doctor Laura... you’ve got me thinking I might also be a fraud.

 

Then I think, I can’t be a fraud, I let my workmates change my wet nappies... that’s hardly a fraudulent thing to do... but then I can almost hear her asking the question “Why do you let them?”

The arguments in my head continue as I reason it’s the weather that makes me wet. What did Mrs Dewhurst say her daughter suffered from... biometeorology... surely that’s not made up? However, I am wetting all the time now so there must be something other than that causing my trouble. I just haven’t found out what yet.

 

#

I’d been standing at the window looking out but whatever was going on out there was of no consequence compared with what was going on in my head. I was wearing a t-shirt, a thick nappy and plastic pants, exactly as mum left me a few... I looked at the clock... over two hours ago.

I sighed and looked in the mirror and was trying to decide something about that guy looking back at me. He looked the same and dressed the same as me... but I was beginning to have doubts about just how grown up that eighteen year old was. I was dressed as a toddler and when I thought about it, I spent quite a bit of my life wearing just this outfit. It had never bothered me because I never thought, until now, just what a juvenile outfit it was. My solution was to simply pull up some shorts and I was ready to go.

I was a kid.

I might have moments of being an adult, or thinking I’m an adult, but there was absolutely no doubt, the majority of the time I looked like a kid.

A shiver of recognition ran down my back and I wondered if the reflection had come to the same conclusion?

#

Brrr-brrr, brrr-brrr, brrr-brrr....

 

Mary Turner picked up her mobile as she sorted through a batch of freshly cleaned nappies she’d just pulled from the drier.

 

“Hello.”

 

“Yes, hello Mary it’s Laura, Laura Ames.”

 

“Yes Laura,” she answered suspiciously, “what can I do for you?”

 

“First, let me thank you for coming in today... I think it helped me understand Anthony’s situation a little better.”

 

“Ohh, erm, in what way?” She paused from folding the large soft cotton squares.

 

“Well Mary, he’s such a sweet boy. Most teenagers I meet are absolute terrors so it’s nice to talk with someone who doesn’t want to kill their parents or...” She suddenly realised she was talking too much. “Anyway, what I’m really calling for is something I forgot to ask both of you...”

 

“Which is?”

 

“When did Anthony last see a GP.... or have a medical... or a full examination?”

 

Mary had to think hard because he hadn’t actually been to their GP except for the usual childhood inoculations.

 

“Erm, not for quite some time, uumm, there’s nothing wrong is there?” Mary was suddenly concerned.

 

“Well, I’ve been going over my recent notes and those from when he was seven when I first saw him. Some things seem a little baffling...”

 

“In what way?” She wasn’t sure if this was worrying or the doctor just being a bit guarded.

 

“Well, my observations then...” Laura decided, for the moment at least, against raising her doubts with her patient’s mother. “Look... let’s do some tests before we get too bogged down in speculation.”

 

“Good heavens,” anxiety crept into Mary’s voice, “what do you think needs to happen?”

 

“Well, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to do a couple of neurological tests and, erm, stuff.”

 

“Oh god, this sounds serious?”

 

Although the psychiatrist thought there was more to Anthony’s problem than she was letting on... she didn’t want to exacerbate the situation so played it down.

 

“No Mary, this is just to rule out a few things... and it also might explain why Anthony has so many bouts of incontinence. It could be just some kind of hormonal imbalance but... I’d like to check. To be honest, I was hoping your GP would have picked up on that by now but, if he hasn’t seen your son...”

 

Although this sounded like an accusation of some kind Mary calmed down thanks to the lack of an immediate threat to her son’s well-being. Although, now something had been said she’d some thoughts herself.

 

“OK, Tom’s private health insurance covers the family so, how quickly can you organise this... test?”

 

“Well, I have a friend at the BUPA hospital who deals with this so, once I get your OK, I’ll start the ball rolling.”

 

“Will Anthony need any referral from his GP?”

 

“It wouldn’t harm but I think we can arrange this privately if you prefer.”

 

“Look, are you sure there’s not something I should be aware of?”

 

“Mary, if there was I would tell you... these are only tests...”

 

Mary thought for a moment and then asked anxiously.

 

“But you’ve phoned me at home and...”

 

The doctor recognised the high level of apprehension in Mary’s voice and knew she’d need to calm her further.

 

“Well, you looked pretty fed up when you left the office and I got the impression you thought I was blaming you for Anthony’s problem.”

 

“Erm.”

 

“Well, I think from all you’ve both said that whatever is ailing Anthony it stems from his scary camping trip to France... so... if there is anything else you can remember from that trip, any small detail, please let me know as it may just be the pointer we need.”

 

“Oh, OK.”

 

“Great, then you’re OK with me having a word with my colleague and getting the ball rolling?”

 

“Absolutely... I’ll check with Tom’s insurance... but I’m sure we’re covered.”

 

“Fine, good, I’ll do that then. Also Mary, don’t worry, Anthony’s a fine lad and a credit to you and Tom... I wish all my patients were as affable as he is.”

 

“Thanks Laura, if that’s all... good night.”

 

“Good night Mary I’ll be in touch as soon as I can sort something out.”

 

“Bye then.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Mary patted the pile she’d expertly folded throughout the conversation.

 

However, once the phone call was over she sat down and began to think. Anthony’s own questioning about that camping holiday had made her review the trip herself. There was something else that happened at the campsite, something she’d all but forgotten about because it didn’t appear relevant. It seemed such a minor thing but...

 

# # #

 

...to be continued

 

[Pierry Louys]

Awwww what a mean cliffhanger!!! Really liked this chapter 

[Sarah Penguin]

Were they attacked by a werebaby  who drooled on our soggy protagonist?

[Les Lea]

WEREBABY - wish I'd thought of that - brilliant

Well, as Santa has again forgotten to bring me what I asked for - a flat tummy and an everlasting nappy.... it just leaves me to offer Yuletide Felicitations to each and all and hope for a less infectious 2021

Thanks for reading and hugs

Les

[maly]

'Curiouser and curiouser!” Cried Alice. love the new chapter.

Maly.