Going Green (A Shifting Sands Story) - Chapter 12

[CDfm]

Loved this chapter. We actually found a female in the family who was pretty cool. At least you can tell she truly loves Oliver.  I also loved his chosen word.  Worth every second spent standing in the corner. Even though Grandma is right and he should apologize to his sister, it would be a cold day in hell before she got any sort of an apology from me. Same holds true for mom. Not even the slightest chance I would apologize to her either.  I do think I would’ve explain my feelings to Grandma though and let her know exactly why I felt that way. 
I had missed seeing this chapter posted. I will check closer to make sure that doesn’t happen again. 

[Little Sherri]

Chapter 9

Oliver woke up to the sounds of activity downstairs, and the smell of bacon. He immediately registered that he was enveloped in a warm dampness that hadn’t been there when his grandmother had diapered him for bed. He slid out from under the covers and stood up. His diaper had a sag to it, but was not as heavy as the one he’d worn for several hours the night before. Feeling a chill across his back, he decided to pull a hoodie out of his closet and put it on.

He pressed the teat from his pacifier up against the roof of his mouth, pondering if he should take it out or not, as he walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the toilet, feeling a slight need to pee, but then he once again was reminded of his current wardrobe restrictions, and reluctantly, slowly, allowed himself to wet his diaper. The dribble turned into a surge as he walked over to the sink and put his pacifier down on the counter, before looking at himself in the mirror. The pearlescent white plastic pants harboured a slight yellowing at the lower front.

I like the blue ones better.

He decided to abandon the pacifier, as he was going downstairs for breakfast in any case. Feeling the diaper rubbing between his legs in a way it hadn’t when he ascended the staircase the night before, after delivering a goodnight apology to the guests, he descended to the kitchen.

He walked in to find his mother standing in front of the induction range – gas created emissions, his dad had admonished them. Bacon was sizzling in a heavy skillet. Grace was sitting on a stool at the island across from the stove, fiddling with her phone. His grandparents were sitting on chairs at the kitchen table, preferring them to the bar height stools that the island required.

“Soother, Oli,” Grace said, seemingly without looking up.

Oliver sighed, but decided that losing control of his emotions was not going to help him mount an effective argument against having to keep the embarrassing plastic plug in his mouth.

“I forgot it in the bathroom,” Oliver responded. “I figured we’d be eating breakfast, anyway.”

“Why were you in the bathroom?” Grace asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oliver, flustered, felt his cheeks start heating up. “I… I wanted to wash my face.”

“How’s your diaper, Oli?” his mother asked him without turning around.

Oliver considered the question.

Wet? Humiliating? Gross?

“It’s fine,” he said quietly.

Cheryl turned around from the range and walked over to her son, lifted the front of his hoodie and tugged open the lace waistband of his plastic pants, peering at the damp cotton folds for a moment, before pulling the pants up and laying the elastic over his belly button.

“Did that happen last night, or this morning?”

“Both, I think,” Oliver whispered.

“Well, it looks like they held up their end of the bargain. How are your sheets? Dry?”

“They felt dry when I got up.”

“That’s good news, little man. Are you okay in that diaper until after breakfast?”

Oliver nodded.

“I’ll change it for you when it’s time to get ready for church,” his mother noted as she walked over to the oven. “Now, I have to see if this quiche is firming up.”

“Wha… wait, mom, I am not wearing this to church,” Oliver stammered.

“No, you’ll be in a fresh diaper, sweetie.”

Tears sprung into Oliver’s eyes and his cheeks burned anew. Cheryl didn’t notice, because her back was to the kitchen, but Greta stood and walked over to Oliver, leading him by the hand over to the chair she’d been sitting on, and then maneuvering him onto her lap, after sitting down. Feeling the damp fabric pressed into him by her knees only made him feel worse, because he was sure she could feel the squishiness of the material through her nightgown.

“I’ll get baby’s pacifier,” Grace announced. “I have to go upstairs and deal with some laundry, anyway.” She dashed up the stairs, keeping a hand on the hem of her nightie as she dismounted her stool.

“Moving the laundry room upstairs when we did the renovations was the best thing we ever did,” Cheryl noted, to nobody in particular.

“WHAT’S GOT OLI ALL BENT OUT OF SHAPE ALREADY?” Robert Sr. bellowed. In the morning, his hearing seemed to be worse than it was later in the day.

“SHUSH, ROBERT,” Greta admonished, while rubbing Oliver’s back.

Robert Sr. stood up indignantly. “GET SOME PANTS ON THAT BOY. I’M GOING TO PUT SOME IRISH CREAM IN MY COFFEE. ANYBODY WANT ANY?”

Greta shook her head. “Are you sad that you wet your diaper, Oliver? It’s okay, you know. That’s what they’re for.”

Oliver shook his head emphatically. In a hitching voice, he whispered, “I don’t want to wear a diaper to church, Nan. My friends are gonna be there.”

“Shhhh, Oli, shhhh. It’s okay. I’m sure they won’t know you have a diaper on. It’s okay. You’re going to be fine, Oli, shhhh,” she cooed.

“Yeah, Oli, I’m sure they won’t notice your giant puffed-out butt, and there’s no way they’ll hear your plastic panties,” Grace said in mock reassurance, re-entering the room at a bit of a sprint. She held a light purple soother out for Oliver.

“That’s not the one I was using,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“I got you new one from your room,” she replied, as though waiting for him to thank her. Nan took the pacifier and held it up for Oliver, who took it in his mouth and went quiet, putting his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes.

Grace rolled her eyes and tilted her head at her grandmother.

Be nice, Greta mouthed, without saying the words. Grace gave her a half nod and then bolted back towards the stairs.

Robert Sr. returned with his coffee spiked, and his hearing aids in. He tussled Oliver’s hair.

“BUCK UP, SON.” He flicked open a newspaper section with a livers-spotted hand.

Cheryl pulled a pie plate from inside one of the wall ovens, and sat it on a chrome rack, testing the firmness of its eggy contents with a fingertip. “I think we are going to be eating momentarily. Everyone, please have a seat at the table. Grace, dear, if you don’t mind, put some orange juice in a sippy cup for your brother… where’d Grace go?”

Nan delicately directed Oliver off her lap and onto the chair next to her. “She’s doing some laundry I think,” she replied. Cheryl placed a plate in front of him, on which was a piece of the quiche, oozing melted cheese from within, and two pieces of bacon.

Grace walked back into the room.

“Grace, refill your brother’s bottle,” Cheryl repeated. Grace walked back from the fridge a few moments later, and placed a glass of orange juice next to Oliver’s plate, then said, “Just kidding!” and switched it for his sippy cup. Nan took Oliver’s pacifier out of his mouth and placed it on the edge of his plate.

“Grace, text your father and tell him that breakfast is served,” Cheryl requested, as she continued bringing plates over from the kitchen.

Bob Jr. came walking in a few minutes later, wearing a forest green cardigan over dress pants. He refilled his coffee, and then sat down at one of the head chairs at the table, with Robert Sr. occupying the other.

“How’d your Christmas diapers work out, Oli?” he asked cheerfully.

Oliver gave him a baleful glance. “Fine,” he croaked.

“See? We can all do our part for the environment, and, we can be comfy and dry. There doesn’t have to be compromise, just consciousness.” He tucked into his breakfast.

Cutlery clinked and people sipped coffee and passed the salt and pepper and ate their breakfast. Oliver avoided his at first, but then thought ahead to what Grace was probably preparing to say, once she noticed, something like Do you need someone to feed it to you, baby Oli? So, he picked up his fork and began eating his breakfast, interspersing bites with an occasional pull on his sippy cup. His dad and his grandfather passed sections of the paper back and forth.

As the last of the morsels disappeared from plates and everyone declined seconds, Cheryl stood up and took the remains of the food back to the island, before announcing, “Oliver, since your sister helped me set the table, you can clear it. Wait for me on your changing table when you’re done, and we’ll get you dressed for church.”

She leaned over, picked up his pacifier, and slipped it resolutely between his lips, then cupped his chin for a moment. “Cheer up, and you won’t have to suck on that in church,” she added.

“Stop babying the lad,” Robert Sr. said in a slightly lower voice, as Greta adjusted the settings on his hearing aid using an app on his phone. “Oliver, spit out that baby soother, chin up, clear the table, and get ready for church. I’ll pry you out from under these skirts later and we’ll go get an ice cream or something, just men. Do you like cigars…?” He gave Oli a wink, as his wife shot him a glare.

Oliver got up off of his chair, feeling the wet folds of his diaper peel away from his skin in response to gravity. Silent, and without removing his pacifier, he collected the plates, mugs and cutlery that were on the table, and carried them over to the island. He eyed the two dishwashers, trying to figure out which one was empty, and then noticed that the blue CLEAN LED was illuminated on the left one, meaning that it had been run but not unloaded yet. He opened the right one, and put the dishes inside.

Grace skipped upstairs, looking over her shoulder at him as she went by, undoubtedly excited to get dressed up in nice clothes for the service. Oliver took his time with his chores. He rinsed out his sippy cup and put it inside the stainless-steel machine, hoping not to see it for a while. At last, his date with destiny approached, and ploddingly, he ascended the stairs. He heard the laundry room door slam shut as he entered his room and deployed the step stool on his changing table. He unzipped his hoodie, flung it onto his bed, and lied down. The pot lights in his room dazzled his eyes, so he placed the crook of his elbow across his face, and started suckling on his pacifier, before realizing what he was doing, and stopping.

His mother entered the room and started talking to him about what they were going to do after church, but he did not move his arm from his eyes, and he did not reply. She fastened the safety strap across his chest, and then he felt the drawers underneath him open and close, and then he lifted his hips in response to feeling fingers in the waist of his plastic pants. His mom slid them down to his ankles, and then came back up and quickly unpinned his twinned diapers, before withdrawing them with a weighty tug, leaving a cooling sensation from the middle of his back all the way to his belly button.

He flinched slightly at the coolness of the baby wipes as Cheryl gave him a quick cleaning. Then, she directed him with a hand on his shoulder to roll onto his side towards the wall, before nudging him back with a tug on his elbow. He felt his behind settle onto dry cotton, and then his mother expeditiously pulled the front panel up between his legs, letting it drape across his right thigh while she applied diaper cream that smelled like Grace’s deodorant. Then, she shook on baby powder, which smelled exactly the same, and she positioned the front of the diaper into a triangle that was overlapped by the wings of the rear panel.

“Looks like we’re down to the pink pins, Oli, but nobody’s going to know except you and I,” Cheryl said conspiratorially, with a wink that Oliver didn’t see threw his elbow. She pinned his diaper on with improved efficacy.

“Which panties do you want to wear, Oli – we have light blue, blue gingham or clear,” she asked.

Oli remained still on the table, the rise and fall of his chest his only motion in response. “Gingham it is, then. Ankles up!”

Oliver raised his ankles without looking, and the plastic pants he’d been wearing were swept off and replaced with new ones that were not clammy on the insides.

Yet.

He lifted his legs and then his hips without being asked, as she slid them up and into place, eliciting a “Good boy” in response.

“Now, what on earth are we going to put over these?” his mother asked out loud. “You’re dress pants were already getting a bit snug on you – I bought them when you were nine. I should have thought of this when I ordered the diapers – I knew your dad was going to want some photos at a church service over the holidays. Hmmm…”

Cheryl unbuckled Oli, and he sat up, still with his arm over his eyes, and slid off the changing table with a quiet thump as his feet touched down on the hardwood. He lowered his arm and walked over to stand behind his mom as she thumbed through hangers in his closet. There was a slight pee smell in the room, and Oliver realized it must have come from when she’d opened his diaper bin.

As though reading his mind, Cheryl spoke from within the closet. “We’ll have to run a load of those tomorrow. We have a few flats left, but I forget we’d be using two sometimes.”

That caused Oliver to pull open the front of his plastic pants and look inside.

This seems like one diaper.

“I only put you in one for now because I doubt we’d fit two of them under your suit pants, and, at some point, you’ll make a poop, anyway. Don’t do that in church unless you absolutely have to, would be my suggestion. Dr. Paige said not to tell you how to use your diapers, but, maybe we can make an exception when it comes to pooping in the middle of a church service.”

“There’s a nursery at the church, mom, you could change him there” Grace said, as she walked into Oliver’s room. “Getting the baby dressed?” she asked rhetorically.  

“If you don’t have anything nice to day, don’t say anything,” Cheryl said over her shoulder, as she pulled out a pair of grey woolen slacks.

“I like your pretty panties, Oliver,” Grace said in response.

Oliver clenched his teeth on his pacifier but said nothing. He felt heat spreading into his neck.

“Well, you can help me get Oli dressed, since you’re here,” Cheryl noted. “Turn and face your sister.”

Oliver rotated in place, and raised his eyes to Grace. Under a beaming, reptilian smile, she wore a predominantly white, long-sleeved, woven dress, with the faintest ghosts of blue leaves outlined on the draping material below her waistline. The upper portion was cable knit, with a turtleneck collar. It fell to just above her knees, which were wrapped in white tights.

She squatted down, put a hand on Oliver’s hip and kissed his nose. “So cute,” she whispered.

His pacifier bobbed in response.

Cheryl furled her brow as she held the pants up in front of her face, now off the hanger.

“It looks like very pair of Oliver’s dress pants were put in the dryer at some point! It must have been the housekeepers. They’re wrinkled and I can see by the length of them that they’ve shrunk. Christ! Well, there’s nothing for it. We’ll have to see if we can squeeze you into them.”

Cheryl kneeled down behind Oliver, straightened his plastic panties, and then held the waist of his pants open just above the floor. Oliver looked down, and lifted first one leg, and then the other, as his mom fed them over his feet. Both Cheryl and Grace worked them up past his knees, however they stopped as they came up to his plastic pants. The waistband was already starting to be stretched by his thighs, and they were just at the cusp of enveloping his diaper.

“I don’t know if these are going to go over his diaper,” Cheryl despaired.

“Let’s try mom,” Grace encouraged, and then pulled up on the front of Oliver’s pants by the beltloops. Cheryl followed from behind him, and with some tucking, the diaper and plastic pants went inside the woolen slacks, but when they were pulled up over his hips, the waist was hopelessly outmatched by Oliver and his diaper’s combined diameter. And, the cuffs of the pants were partway up his calves.

Oliver grimly withstood the tugging and the shimmying going on around his lower half, with burning red cheeks. His sister’s French braid bobbed back and forth below his chin as she leaned into closing his un-closeable pants. A tuft of the ballooning gingham diaper cover got caught in his zipper when she tried to pull it up.

“It’s no use, Grace, let’s try another pair.”

 

________

 

“Cheryl!” Greta’s voice came floating up the stairs from the entranceway. “Are you going to be much longer? Should we take our own car, maybe?”

“We need a few minutes – we’re having trouble getting Oliver dressed. The damned housekeepers shrank his dress pants!” Cheryl yelled over the top of Oliver’s head.

Grace put a note of faux concern into her voice. “I don’t know mom, maybe Oliver just won’t be able to wear pants to church,” she mused.

“Nonsense, Grace, it’s December, I’m not taking him to church without pants on.”

Oliver pulled his pacifier out of his mouth. “Maybe if I didn’t wear the diaper…” he offered.

“No, Oliver, I doubt these would fit even then, and anyway you’re not showing up at church in a disposable diaper, that would be just what dad’s opponents want to see.”

“What about if we put them in the dryer on the steam cycle, mom – would that let us stretch them out?” Grace asked.

“No, Grace – that’s probably what did this in the first place. Steam and heat make wool shrink.”

“Oh, wow, I had no idea.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do here. I can’t take him to church in Jeans. You might have to stay home with him, and we’ll just go with your grandparents.”

“Wait, mom – I have an idea!” Grace stood up, leaving the last pair of pants they’d tried binding Oliver’s thighs. She dashed out of the room, returning a minute later with a bundle of green and back tartan fabric slung over an outstretched arm. In her hand was a balled-up wad of a cream, fuzzy material.

“Okay, mom, listen to me for a second. ‘Holbrook’ is an English name, but, what’s your maiden name?”

“Mackenzie? I don’t see your point, Grace.”

“Mackenzie is a Scottish name, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care if it’s Chinese right now, Grace.” Cheryl looked at her daughter and shook her head.

“No, mom, listen – we’re half Scottish, aren’t we?”

“Well, I guess so, yes.”

“So….” Grace unfurled the panel of material she’d had over her arm, and held it aloft. “Would one of my kilts go over Oliver’s diaper? And he can wear tights to keep his legs warm – I found an old pair that would fit.” She dangled the tights.

Oliver hadn’t been following the conversation, but when he saw his mom reach over his shoulder and take the off-white pair of tights from Grace, his eyes shot wide open and he looked back at her. She was holding them up and eyeing them in deep thought.

“NO!” Oliver spat. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but stop thinking it. Those are girls’ tights.”

“Put your paci back in, Oliver,” Cheryl said flatly.

Grace squatted down again, and pulled out her phone. She tapped on the screen for a moment, and then turned it so that Oliver could follow as she scrolled through a series of images showing boys and men wearing kilts.

“See, Oliver, lots of boys wear kilts…”

The images flicking passed on her phone started showing girls in school uniforms, so she scrolled back to images of men standing on grassy hills overlooking a rocky coastline, but Oliver knew that she was holding in her hand was from her school uniform, a couple of years back.

“Your diaper will disappear under a kilt, Oli, whereas if we squeeze you into a pair of these pants, assuming they don’t split at some point, let’s just say, your situation is going to be, uh, apparent.”

“CHERYL! LET’S GO!” Robert Sr. bellowed from the foyer.

“Oh for Chrissake, let’s just try it,” Cheryl sighed. She tugged the shrunken wool pants down to his feet and lifted his feet out of them. She was being so abrupt that Oliver had to put a hand on his sister’s shoulder to steady himself. His mother fed the stretchy, fuzzy material up over his feet, first on the left, then on the right, awkwardly from behind, and then Grace gripped the waistband and pulled them up, stopping past his knees to draw some of the material up from lower down. Although the tights were from a couple of years ago, they were still a bit long on Oliver’s slight frame.

Cheryl took over and tugged the waist up the rest of the way while Grace fiddled with the fit around his knees, until his plastic pants were a bulging bluish silhouette under the stretched woolen tights.

“Well, these fit, anyway,” Cheryl exclaimed.

“They’re perfect - let’s try the skirt,” Grace suggested, and then she laid out the tartan material on the floor, and located the oversized safety pin that secured the bottom edge of it. She picked it up by the waist and lowered it so that it made a plaid ring in front of Oliver.

Oliver’s feed remained glued to the floor, so his mom somewhat roughly lifted one, and then the other, as Grace fed the woolen material under them, before drawing it up. She overlapped the Velcro waist strips as far as they could go, and there was still sufficient coverage to allow the kilt to close. The bulk of the diaper helped. Next, she adjusted the safety pin at the hem to allow it to drape naturally. A few inches of the tights were visible above the waist of the kilt.

“Put his white sweater on him, mom – it will kind of match the top of my dress.”

“Is white okay with the cream tights?” Cheryl said, hesitantly.

“Nobody will care. He’ll look adorable.”

Cheryl fetched the white sweater he’d worn the day before from his closet, and walked around in front of her son to pull it on. Only then did she see that his cheeks were streaked with hot tears, and that he was breathing in hitches and gulps around his pacifier.

“There’s no time for hysterics, Oliver – hands up please,” she said dismissively. Oliver raised his hands, and the sweater was pulled over his head.

Chery stood back and looked at the overall picture. Yes, Oliver was technically wearing part of Grace’s school uniform from a couple of years ago, and yes, his waistline was maybe a little bulbous for the rest of his frame, but overall, he could pass for a young Scotsman, she thought. She was impressed that Grace had really taken charge of the situation, as well – Cheryl wasn’t sure if she would have come up with putting him in a kilt on such short notice.

“WE’RE ON OUR WAY DOWN, GO OUT TO THE TRUCK!” Cheryl hollered down the stairs.

She reached into her pocket, found the remains of a paper cocktail napkin, and used it to wipe Oliver’s nose. Taking his hand, she tugged him towards the door, but found him rooted to the spot. She squatted down, throwing an arm around the back of his thighs. He sobbed as she heaved him into the air and turned to walk down the stairs, carrying him facing backwards over her shoulder. He was heavy, but not unmanageable, she thought.

Grace followed behind, trying to catch Oliver’s panicked eyes the whole way down.

“PWEASE MOMMY I DON’TH WANNA WEAW A DWESS AND A DIAPHER!” Oliver shrieked around his pacifier.

“It’s a skirt, Oli,” Grace said quietly.

 

[CDfm]

Yup when you thought it couldn’t get worse, sure enough it did.  With the fit I would be throwing I seriously doubt Cheryl would be able to carry me down the stairs or out the door.  Not even a beating would get me out of the house and to church dressed that way. His friends are at church and will see him like that.  So now he knows he no longer has any social life but then the way he is treated does he want one? 
It was another wonderful chapter.  Very well written.  I will be looking forward to reading more. 

[A_Pale_Spirit]

Great chapter like usual, your descriptive writing is excellent.

[Pierry Louys]

Great chapter ! And why grace is so mean with him because is clearly her scheme to shrink all his pants to make him use a skirt to go to the church ! I hope she gets punished! And in the other side if I was a adversary of bob jr I totally gonna use the fact he is humiliating his son and treating him like a object so he can win a election 

[Andyman3]

Cool story but I have to wonder why you wrote it this way. Seems really dark

[D503]

Oh poor Oli, how traumatic. Still,I'm sure he'll look adorable as the little Scotsman, even if he should probably be wearing knee high socks, rather than tights!

[Little Sherri]

Chapter 10 – Taking a Seat

Oliver’s chest heaved with heavy sobs as his mother belted him into the tight confines of the third row of seats in their electric SUV. Robert Sr. stood outside the futuristic white vehicle, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe the start that the morning had gotten off to; they were likely going to be late for church, and he detested being late for anything. On top of that, his grandson was having an absolute meltdown. It had taken both Cheryl and Grace to stuff him into the rearmost seat of the SUV, while his face ran with tears and snot.

He couldn’t believe his eyes when his daughter-in-law had emerged from the house, carrying the boy like a toddler. He was torn, however, on whose fault the situation was. Ultimately, he concluded, it came down to the fact that they’d been coddling Oliver for his entire life, so that when things didn’t go the way he wanted them to, his reactions were entirely disproportionate. But, at the same time, he did look ridiculous, wearing a kilt. They weren’t highlanders. This wasn’t Robbie Burns Day. Why in Christ they’d dressed him up like that, he couldn’t imagine. But he didn’t want to feed into his grandson’s behaviour by siding with him in a conflict against his mother.

“GET CONTROL OF YOURSELF, LAD - YOU’RE ACTING LIKE A SNIVELING TODDLER,” he barked over Cheryl’s shoulder.

Then, in a lower voice, he turned to Grace. “Why did your mother put him in that outlandish outfit?”

“It was the only thing that would fit over his diapers, Gramps,” she said in a serious tone. “It looks like the housekeepers might have shrunk Oli’s dress pants – they wouldn’t even close. Luckily, I had a kilt from an old school uniform, and tights that would fit him.”

Cheryl stepped back from buckling Oliver into the car, and Robert swung the rear door shut, so that neither Oliver, nor his wife, would hear him talking to his daughter-in-law.

“Charyl, you’ve got to be tougher with that boy – he’s becoming a little porcelain doll. You’ve got him diapered and you’re carrying him around, sucking on a soother, wiping the snot off his face… it’s too much. What he needs is a good spanking.”

“Gramps,” Cheyrl responded, “You know where Bob is on spanking. I really want to give diapering him a bit more of a chance – according to the therapist I’ve been talking to, her program is capable of transforming his behaviour, both with respect to the bedwetting, which he’s really getting too old to be doing anymore, and, with teaching him to control his emotions better. Please, just support me on this for the moment. If it’s not working out after a couple of weeks, then we can tack in another direction. He only got the diapers yesterday – I want to give them an honest shot. And it works very well with Bob’s campaign. Please.”

Bob Sr. shook his head again, but then gave her a nod. She was the boy’s mother. He had opinions, but raising his grandchildren was not his responsibility. He wouldn’t have put up with discordance from his parents, or Greta’s, when he was raising his own kids. He opened the door again, taking a moment to figure out the newfangled door handles, which were flush with the sheet metal for some reason. He motioned for Grace to slide into the middle of the rear bench, next to Greta, before he ducked like he was being put into a police car, and sat down.

Why do they make the door slope down so much at the rear? What’s wrong with a rectangle? And door handles that anyone can work?

Greta was twisted partway around and was trying to sooth Oliver over the seatback.

“Greta, enough is enough, stop babying the boy.” He craned his neck and addressed Oliver directly. “You’re going to do what your mother tells you to do. If you don’t want to wear that kilt into the church, then you can go in your diaper. Your choice.”

Grace sniggered, and Greta glared past her, at her husband. “You’re going to want to turn your hearing aides down, Robert, if you keep talking like that, because I am going to give you a piece of my mind.” She looked down at Oliver, who seemed to be studying his lap over the top of his pacifier. “He’ll walk into church like a big boy, you’ll see.”

Bob Jr. cleared his throat as he backed the vehicle out of the driveway and onto the quite side street.

“I don’t think we’ll, uh, walk him straight into the church. He looks too upset, and, frankly, there may be pictures taken – Christine is meeting us there. I think it would be best to walk him down to the nursery school. He can, uh, help out old Mrs. Jacobs down there with the little ones for a bit. Maybe if he feels better, he can come up with them when they do the story time with the Reverend.”

Grace chortled and looked over her shoulder, trying to catch Oliver’s eye, but his eyes were pressed closed.

“That’s fine,” Cheryl concurred. “He’ll have some time to get over himself, and he won’t be the first thing everyone sees when they come over to say hi to you.”

“I think you’re babying him again,” Robert Sr. interjected from the back seat. “Sending him to the nursery with the toddlers and the kindergarteners, you’re just giving in. He’s old enough to sit with the big kids and the adults.”

“I think Bob’s right,” Charyl stated. “We don’t want a scene. Christine can get a picture of him on the stage, ‘volunteering’, during story time, if she wants one.”

Robert Sr. rolled his eyes and then looked out the side window at the houses they were passing, most decorated with holiday lights and wreaths. The electric SUV emitted a muted hum as it rolled along.

 

_________

 

Bob Jr. navigated around the parking lot to a side entrance that would let them avoid the throng at the front of the church, as people wished each other a happy holiday season and talked about their plans for New Years Eve or their upcoming travel. He wanted to dispense with Oliver’s morose, kilted visage, prior to pressing the flesh.

Robert Sr. stepped out of the vehicle, along with Grace, to let Oliver out of the back seat. Cheryl got out of the front passenger seat and asked Grace to unbuckle her brother. Grace leaned in and over the folded rear seatback, releasing Oliver’s seatbelt.

“Close your legs, Oli – I can see up your skirt. You need to learn to set with your knees together, or everyone is going to see your cute little plastic panties.”

“Nonsense, Grace,” Cheryl objected. “They can’t see anything through those tights. But your sister is right, Oliver – when you’re sitting on the floor in there, make sure your kilt is covering your lap.”

Oliver raised his eyes and fixed the whole ensemble standing outside the vehicle with a baleful stare.

“Come on, Oli, let’s go,” his dad said in a short tone, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

Greta reached over from her seat on the left side of the vehicle, aided by the right seatback being down, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Go on, Oli – you’ll be okay. This, too, shall pass.”

Robert Sr. cleared his throat. “Oli, I think I told you what I was going to do if you kicked up a fuss at the church. If you don’t wan to wear your sister’s kilt, you don’t have to, but you ARE going inside that church, kilt or no kilt. You’ll cut a dashing figure, in your sister’s tights and a diaper.”

Tears swam in Oliver’s eyes. He leaned forward and pushed off the seatback with his elbows, clambering over the folded middle row and out onto the asphalt. Cheryl squatted and straightened the pleats on his kilt, and then took him by the hand and pushed through old, white double metal doors that led into the lower hallways below the main church hall.

The basement had a characteristic smell that Oliver remembered from his youth, when he used to participate in the nursery’s Sunday school program. It smelled musty, like old books, and leather, and wood. He looked down the hall and was relieved not to see anyone mulling around, who might have recognized him. His mother dragged him behind her at a fast walk towards a grey metal door midway down the hallway, which had a green paper Christmas tree stuck onto it, with paper cut-outs of presents under it, and a cross at the top, with spears of light projecting off of it, like it was superimposed on a star.

Oliver put his hand over his mouth like he was stifling a permanent yawn, in order to hide his pacifier, as his mom turned the doorknob and the heavy door opened. Looking inside the room, he immediately recognized it, although it had been changed around a bit since the last time he’d been there, probably a few years before.

There were low rows of pine bookshelves along the far side of the room, below windows that looked out into the parking lot. In the middle of the room, there were several low, round tables, surrounded by chairs that were also quite low, and then a carpeted area with one adult-sized chair positioned in front of it, for gathering for stories. The back corner of the room to the right had a countertop and a kitchen sink in it, a low, white ceramic drinking fountain, an old cream stove, and a matching fridge. To the left of the entrance was a hallway that, Oli recalled, led to two washrooms, both with low toilets in them, and past them was a room with mats laid out on the floor, for napping on. And, directly across from the door, there was a real Christmas tree, decorated with crafts. It partially obscured a piece of furniture that was tucked in beside it, a high white table with two shelves below it.

The changing table.

Oliver’s heart skipped a beat, but he realized that it was way too small for him – his changing table at home was much larger.

I have my own changing table. What the hell…

Mrs. Jacobs, short, grey, and clad in a lavender, full-length dress, stood with her back to them, cutting up apples on the counter. She was putting the resulting wedges into little paper cups, two per cup. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder.

“Just give me a moment to wash my hands, dears. Would you believe I don’t have anybody down here with me yet? Everyone is upstairs, telling their friends what they got for Christmas, I’m imagining. I hope they’re not talked out, by the time the get down here, because I want to hear about it too.”

She dried her hands on an orange gingham towel that was hanging from the handle on the stove door, and then walked over towards them while waving her hands around, as though trying to dry them further.

“Cheryl – hi! I haven’t seen you in ages. Oliver Holbrook, is that you? How’s my little Oli? My my, you’ve grown a few inches since the last time you were here, haven’t you? Oh, but goodness, is there something wrong with your mouth?”

Cheryl turned to her son. “Put your hand down, Oliver – don’t be rude. Say hello to Mrs. Jacobs.”

Oliver’s hand made a slow journey from in front of his face, down to his side, as his eyes slid up from the floor, towards the kind old lady’s wrinkled face. He saw her eyes pause on the light purple shield that was obscuring his lips.

Cheryl put a hand on her son’s shoulder and smiled at Mrs. Jacobs. “He’s having a hard day, Mrs. Jacobs, and we thought he’d probably do better down here with you, than up in the service, at least for now. He’s not very happy about wearing his new kilt today.”

Mrs. Jacobs smiled and leaned down slightly, so that she was eye to eye with Oliver. “You look like a fine young Scotsman, Oliver – was that kilt a Christmas present?”

“Sort of,” Cheryl replied. She looked up and down the hallway behind her and then dropped her voice a bit. “Oliver… has been having little accidents here and there.”

“Oh? What kind of accidents?”

“He’s had a little trouble with wetting himself, lately. I’m working with an excellent therapist on this, but, here’s the thing…,” Cheryl said, lowering her voice further. “He’s back in diapers for the moment. I thought you should know. He was changed maybe an hour ago, so he should be fine while he’s here. But he’s not to be going off to the washroom by himself.”

“I see,” Mrs. Jacobs said in a serious tone. “And the soother is for… moral support?” she asked, addressing the question to Cheryl while looking down at Oliver.

“It’s there to help him keep his emotions under control, or that’s the theory. He doesn’t have to use it while he’s here with you, but I wanted you to know that he has it. If he gets upset or he isn’t listening to you, you have it as an option.”

“I understand… Well, we’ll take good care of Oli for you, don’t you worry about it. I don’t think we’ll be having any listening issues – he was always a very good boy for me. Does he have a diaper bag or anything that you want me to have?”

Cheryl sucked in a breath. “Damn, er, I mean, darn, no, I guess I’m not used to having a kid in diapers yet. I didn’t even think of that – it’s back at the house. But he’s in a fresh underpants – he really should be fine until we can go back home. Are you wet at all, Oliver?”

Oliver’s cheeks went from pink to bright red, and his eyes dropped to his feet. He slowly shook his head. He could feel a small spot of dampness in the front of his diaper, but most of it was bone dry. The tights kept everything pressed up against him, so it was easy to tell.

Taking one more look up and down the hall, Cheryl reached down, and quickly lifted the back of Oliver’s kilt. She pulled open his tights and reached in for the elastic of his plastic pants, hooking both the vinyl waistband, and the thick cotton fabric of his diaper with a finger, before pulling them open briefly and taking a fast glance into the shadows of his diaper. She let them snap shut, but held his tights open, and invited Mrs. Jacobs to look. She leaned over Oliver for a glance, and Oliver felt his cheeks goup twenty degrees in temperature. Finally, his mom tugged the tights up, and then smoothed his kilt down.

“I think he’ll be fine for a couple of hours, Mrs. Jacobs.” She ruffled Oliver’s hair with her hand. “Are you pinned tight enough?”

Oliver swallowed and nodded once.

“Cloth diapers, eh? I haven’t dealt with those in ages. Most of the kids down here wear disposables or pull-ups. But I remember them well. They’re a lot of work! I raised five kids in cloth diapers. I was doing laundry every day.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a bit of work, but you know, with Bob’s job – I mean, the position he’s running for – we didn’t want Oli in disposable diapers. And I think cloth diapers are more comfortable, anyway.”

Mrs. Jacobs leaned down again, and reached for Oliver’s right hand, which had been autonomously covering itself in the sleeve of his sweater. “Come on in, Oli, let’s get you seated at one of the tables. I wonder if you’ll fit on my chairs anymore. You have a good service up there, Mrs. Holbrook. I’ll bring Oli up with the group for the Reverand’s story time, and you can collect him from beside the stage afterwards.”

Cheryl smiled, nodded, and left the small classroom.

Oliver walked forward, following Mrs. Jacobs, while reaching for his pacifier with his other hand. She led him over to a low chair at a low table, in the middle of the room, and then she pulled it out and invited him to sit. He lowered himself onto the chair, feeling some air escape from his plastic pants as he touched down. Its seat was close to the ground, leaving him feeling slightly like he was squatting, and once he slid in under the table, his knees touched the underside of it. However, he was grateful for the cover the low table provided; he felt like his kilt and puffy diaper were mostly concealed.

Mrs. Jacobs took his pacifier from his left hand, and walked over to the kitchen sink. She rinsed it off, and placed it on a small paper plate, before walking back and putting it on the table in front of him.

“There, your soother is available if you need it. Do you want to do a craft or something? The other kids should be coming down any minute now.”

Oliver looked at his purple pacifier, sitting on a white paper side plate in front of him, tiny water droplets clinging to the clear silicone nipple. He felt a humid warmth in his diaper, exacerbated by the tights he had been put in. Their uniform compression of his legs felt foreign to him, but at the same time, did not completely alleviate the sensation that he didn’t have any pants on. He put his elbows on the table and lowered his head onto his hands.

[Pierry Louys]

Poor Oliver ! I think more more his parents is couple of bastards since they discarded Oliver so he don’t make a scene ! Even if their fault of Oliver meltdown!

I really hope his parents and especially his sister get punished like they deserve ! This not the way you treat your son and brother 

[CDfm]

I can certainly feel Oliver’s embarrassment and it hasn’t even gotten really bad yet. I expect that when he is taken upstairs for the Reverend’s story, things are going to get way worse. It will be then he will be in front of peers and classmates.  We all know how cruel kids can be. The thing he has going for him right now is that the kilts is hiding the diaper better than a pair of pants would.  The last thing he wants or needs now is for everyone to discover that is wearing a diaper as well as a skirt and tights. So he does need to be extra careful and not accidentally display the diaper by spreading his legs or in some way raising the kilts. 
I am still really enjoying the story and am looking forward to seeing more. 

[Pierry Louys]

3 hours ago, CDfm said:

I can certainly feel Oliver’s embarrassment and it hasn’t even gotten really bad yet. I expect that when he is taken upstairs for the Reverend’s story, things are going to get way worse. It will be then he will be in front of peers and classmates.  We all know how cruel kids can be. The thing he has going for him right now is that the kilts is hiding the diaper better than a pair of pants would.  The last thing he wants or needs now is for everyone to discover that is wearing a diaper as well as a skirt and tights. So he does need to be extra careful and not accidentally display the diaper by spreading his legs or in some way raising the kilts. 
I am still really enjoying the story and am looking forward to seeing more. 

I think Oliver gonna be exposed by his sister in front of everyone in church since is totally for someone rais his kilt so can show his diapers for everyone 

really hope when this happen everyone can see Oliver suffering and this blows in his father campaign 

[A_Pale_Spirit]

Wow, what an excellent chapter!

I still can't get over how descriptive your writing is, it's great.

Can't wait to find out what's in store next for Oli, love this story.

[D503]

Nice chapter capturing everyone's emotions. 

We're in the "Shifting Sands" universe where it seems the people of this town or wider, seem to accept the "institute" and its diapers for treating accidents and behaviour. That doesn't seem to lower the embarrassment for Oli (or Zack), so it suggests it might be relatively new or just not widespread - loved by mega Karens and Kevins.

Perhaps we'll see some people rally against this phenomenon and maybe they'll get routed by some powerful people.

[Little Sherri]

Sorry about the delay on this story, folks - I started writing chapters for the main Shifting Sands story, and this one got pushed off the main track, so to speak. My goal with this story was to write and then publish almost immediately, whereas with Shifting Sands, I usually have at least a few chapters in the can when I publish something, which allows a bit more plot weaving and foreshadowing. I've left Oli sitting in the church nursery in a cloth diaper, wearing his sister's kilt for quite a while now, but the holidays have been busier than I expected and I haven't had time to pick up the ball. I also kind of want to be wearing cloth when I get into the cockpit behind Oli's eyes, but we've had people coming by or staying with us constantly, so it's been a "disposable Christmas" for me so far. 

[D503]

Thanks @Little Sherri it's been a great ride so far. I love the dedication of wearing cloth for the story. Happy New Year!

[dmavn]

Guess we know what “Laundry” his sister was doing upstairs before breakfast.. 

I like the story, I just get angry with the, The child is wetting the bed so needs to be punished thing. Probably because this happened to be when i was young. 

[Little Sherri]

Chapter 11 – Helping Hands

Mrs. Jacobs looked at her new charge, sitting at one of the low tables, contemplating his pacifier, with tears running down his cheeks. Her heart swelled with maternal concern for him; she’d known Oli since he was a toddler, and she could see that he was very upset about his current predicament.

“Oli,” she said gently, “do you need your pacifier?”

Oliver nodded without lifting his eyes from the table in front of him. He didn’t mean to nod, it just kind of happened. He felt a pressure cooker of emotions welling up inside him, and he knew that in moments, the room was going to begin filling with excited preschoolers and early grade kids, eager to share stories of their Christmas presents, have snacks, and sing seasonal songs together. Plus one or more older helpers, a task which Oliver had performed himself many times.

“Go ahead, Oliver – use your paci,” the kindly lady said. Oliver reached for it with a shaking hand, retrieving it from the plate, and placed it in his mouth.

“Now,” she continued, “I’m pretty sure that at least some of what you’re upset about is the kids coming in here and seeing you while you’re… still getting control of your emotions. Is that right?”

“Yeth,” Oli said around the soother.

“And also, you’re concerned about being in that skirt, I’d imagine. I have an idea… do you maybe want to have a lie down in the nap room for a little while, rather than sitting out here where everyone will be coming and going?”

Oliver remembered back to when he had been a regular attendant of the Sunday school, and the throng of parents and kids milling about as jackets were hung up and shoes were taken off, hats and mittens secured and noses wiped. He knew that chaotic influx was moments away. Solemnly, he nodded.

Mrs. Jacobs walked over and took him by the hand, leading up past the washroom doors and into the nap room. Looking around, the room appeared more or less as he remembered it. There were mats on the floor, although now they were in bright colours, whereas when he was smaller, he thought they had all been blue. The windows were covered in blackout curtains, and unlike in the main area, which was lit by bright fluorescents, in this room, the ceiling lights were off, and there were lamps on tables that emitted a low, warm light, and which could be turned on and off from a main switch by the door.

He swallowed, concerned about lying down on one of the mats, in plain view in the middle of the floor, but Mrs. Jacobs led him down a path between them. He looked up, and realized they were headed towards two enormous metal cribs that lined the wall under the cloaked windows. Covered in flaking white paint, they looked like they’d been scavenged from some long-closed 1950’s paediatric ward.

Oliver had never been in one of the cribs himself, but he remembered that they were used to sleep the very young parishioners’ children, little ones too small to be relied upon to stay planted on their mat for nap time. Each crib could sleep a few tots, laid down crosswise. He looked up at Mrs. Jacobs as they approached the crib on the right.

She let go of his hand, and reached down to the underside of the crib, which had a high clearance underneath it, almost big enough to slide a standard-height bed under. She struggled under the crib with something, eventually pulling a lever that was recessed, and with a clang and several creaks, the railing of the crib dropped on slides until it was in contact with the floor, bringing it a couple of feet below the level of the head and footboards, and the rear railing.

Mrs. Jacobs reached under the adjacent crib and pulled out a grey metal step stool, sliding it in front of the opened crib, before placing a hand on her back, and wincing.

“I’m not built to operate these things anymore – it’s hard for me to bend over like that!” She rubbed her back and smiled at Oliver.

“Before you lie down, Oli, we should take of your skirt – it might get wrinkled if you sleep in it,” she said, as she crouched, lifted the hem of his sweater, and slid a finger around the inside of his waistband. She found the outside edge of the Velcro fastening panels, noted where they were, and then dropped to her knee with an intake of breath, and quickly opened the oversized safety pin along the lower pleats of the skirt, leaving it fastened on one side after delicately sliding it free of the other. Finally, she took the edge of the kilt and pulled back on it. The Velcro emitted a tearing noise, and then the bolt of tartan fabric fell free, and she expertly unwrapped Oliver without letting it touch the floor.

Oli’s cheeks burned as he felt the coolness of the basement air against his nylon-clad legs, and the comparative warmth of his compressed plastic pants and diaper. Mrs. Jacobs folded the kilt and laid it over the footboard of the opened crib, before reaching down for the lower edges of Oliver’s sweater. Wordlessly, she lifted the garment, waiting for Oliver to raise his arms, which, slowly, he did. The sweater came off with a crackle of static electricity through his hair, and then he was standing in the nap room on the lower floor of the church, wearing white tights over a pair of light blue gingham plastic pants, which looked even lighter under the white nylon.

Mrs. Jacobs tugged his tights up over the top of his plastic pants, until they enveloped a good part of his belly and his lower back. She placed a hand on his bottom and directed him onto the stool, which he climbed robotically, pacifier bobbing in the middle of his red face. Oliver stepped gingerly over the metal crib railing, which flared outward at the top in an industrial attempt at softening its appearance, reaching over to the headboard as he pulled himself up, leaving him standing on the mattress, which emitted a plasticky crinkle and sank only the smallest amount under his feet. He turned and stood standing with his hands at his side, as Mrs. Jacobs lifted the crib railing with some apparent effort, until it engaged in its upward position with a pronounced, metallic click.

Tears trembled at the edges of Oliver’s eyes. Mrs. Jacobs smiled warmly, and wiped them away with her thumb, left to right. “Don’t fret, little one, I’m going to drape a blanket over the railing, so nobody coming in here will even know you’re there.”

She kissed him on the forehead and said “Lie down, cutie.” Oliver put his hands on the railing to steady himself, and sunk to his knees on the firm, plastic-covered mattress, before folding over onto his side, and putting his head on a thin pillow, which also issued a crinkle from under its thin cotton cover. The elderly lady returned a moment later, and draped a white comforter over the crib railing so that it completely obscured his view through the bars, into the nap room. Then, she laid a pink and yellow quilt overtop of him, letting it fall over his shoulders, because she could not reach far enough over the railing to tuck him in.

Oliver rolled onto his back and pulled the quilt up to his chin, as he heard her footsteps recede across the room. She flicked the lights off, and now, it felt like he was at the bottom of a well, looking up along the square metal bars, to the darkened ceiling. He listened for the door to click shut behind her, but it didn’t, allowing him to overhear the murmurs and excited squeaks from the other room as kids started entering the Sunday school.

Oliver cringed every time he heard footsteps enter the room he was in, but eventually concluded that he was, indeed, effectively hidden in his crib cave. Kids put belongings down next to their mats and left the room, navigating by the light coming in through the door. Oliver took a sharp breath in when, once, the overhead fixtures went on, flooding the room with stark white light, but then he heard Mrs. Jacobs say “Turn the lights off, Ana, I have a baby sleeping in here,” and then the lights went off again.

After a while, the activity seemed to move away from the room he was in, and far off into the other room, and Oliver was able to relax a bit. He sucked on his paci for a while, and then felt stupid, and decided he was tired of having it in his mouth, so he took it out and put it beside him on the mattress. He acknowledged a twinge from his bladder by relieving himself in his diaper, feeling the moist warmth fan out behind him. Eventually, he found his mind drifting, as the sounds of children singing carols floated in from the other room, and his eyes got heavy.

_________

 

Oliver awoke with a start, not sure for a moment where he was… some kind of cage?!? Then it came back to him. A crib. In the church nursery school.

He’d been awakened by the lights coming on again, not the bright overhead ones, but rather, the table lamps. He heard footsteps in the room and held his breath, listening. They weren’t the heavy, soft footfalls of Mrs. Jacobs. They were lighter, and had a scraping whisper to them. Some kid. He assumed that they would go away shortly, but then he heard them drawing closer to his crib.

Suddenly, there was a voice, almost directly in front of him, from behind the blanket draped over the crib railing.

“Mrs. Jacobs! The baby dropped her soother! I’ll put it back in the crib!”

Oliver’s eyes went wide, and he did a quick sweep beside him with his arm. The pacifier was gone. He’d knocked it through the bars of the crib while he was sleeping.

Fuck.

“No, Anastasia, it’s fine, leave the baby…” he heard Mrs. Jacobs say from outside of the room, but it was too late. With a woosh, the blanket covering the side of the crib fell to the floor, and in front of Oliver’s wide eyes appeared a girl of about eight or nine, with long red hair, wearing a white Sunday dress. In her right hand, she held Oliver’s purple pacifier.

“OH!” she exclaimed, and took a step back. “It’s a boy! I thought you were a baby!”

Mrs. Jacobs fast-walked into the room, coming up quickly behind her. She had a slightly embarrassed smile on her face as she put a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Oli, I’m sorry about this. I see you’ve met Anastasia. Ana is one of my helpers – she comes down to assist me with getting the smaller kids up to the alter for their blessing. Ana, this is Oliver. He used to be one of my helpers, too. He’s not feeling well today, so his mommy brought him here to lie down.”

Anastasia, looking confused, held out the pacifier again. “Is this yours?”

Mrs. Jacobs took it from her extended hand, and dropped it into one of her pockets. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well help me get Oliver out of the crib – we’re going to be running late for our part in the service if we don’t hurry.”

Oliver’s eyes went wide and he sat partway up, propped on one elbow, while being careful to keep the quilt over himself. “Mrs. Jacobs – I don’t need help! I can get dressed!”

“No, Oliver, you can’t help me open up the crib from inside it, I’m afraid. Ana, can you reach under the railing for me? There is a metal lever down there. You’ll have to give it a good push.”

Anastasia knelt down, her knee-length dress covering her white leather shoes. She reached beneath the crib and saw a grey, metal rod that extended down at an angle, so she grabbed hold of it. It took her a couple of tries to figure out that it had to be pushed upward to disengage the latch, which moved with a heavy, gritty action. Mrs. Jacobs put a hand on the crib railing so that it wouldn’t drop onto her extended arm, although its motion was slowed, in any case, by an evident need for lubrication.

The crib rail descended with a few creaks, and then Mrs. Jacobs extended a hand into the crib. “Come, Oli, I’ll help you get out.”

Oliver remained frozen in position on his side, propped partway up on his elbow. His mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out. Wordlessly, Mrs. Jacobs reached in and extracted the quilt he was under with a sharp tug that he was not ready for and did not have time to resist.

Oliver emitted a strained whine and curled in on himself, turning his face into the pillow below him. Anastasia took in the image of a boy who seemed to be around her age, wearing tights that were the same as hers, cradling himself in a crib. She could see that he was wearing blue underwear under the tights… quite puffy underwear. Right then, she detected a twinge of baby powder on the air around him, with a very slight urea undertone that an adult nose, with its time-blunted capabilities, probably would not have noted.

He's wearing diapers.

Stepping forward, she placed a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Shush, it’s okay, little guy, I’m a helper here,” she said in a soft voice.

She turned her head and looked up at Mrs. Jacobs. “Is he sick, Mrs. Jacobs?”

Mrs. Jacobs nodded. “Yes, Ana, he hasn’t been feeling well for a while. Here,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “This might help. Give him his soother.”

“His name is Oli?” the girl asked, with wide eyes.

“Yes.”

“Oli,” she whispered, “do you want your soother? You can have it. Here…” she leaned into the crib and slowly and carefully touched the clear silicone nipple to the side of his cheek. Oliver turned his face just slightly towards the pacifier, with lips that where pinched closed as tightly as his eyes. Ana angled the nipple in against his closed mouth.

In that moment, something inside Oliver snapped, his head turned, his lips quivered, and he parted them slightly, accepting the pacifier. His eyes opened, spilling tears onto his cheeks, and slowly, he unravelled himself, standing up in the crib, with his hands at his side. Silent sobs shook his frame as both Mrs. Jacobs, and Anastasia each took one of his hands and helped him step down out of the crib. At the entrance from the hall, in the doorway, were a few pairs of eyes, low to the ground, taking in the confusing scene unfolding at the other end of the nap room.

[CDfm]

Happy New Year!

Awesome chapter.  Almost made me want to cry.  I would like to hug Mrs Jacobs.  At least she seemed to understand and wanted to help Oli. Having the young girl discover his situation was bad but it could still be so much worse.  I wonder if Mrs Jacob’s can come up with some kind of excuse to keep Oli from having to go up to the main sanctuary with the rest of the little kids. I am sure appearing in front of the entire congregation would be mortifying for him. 
Looking forward to finding out what happens next. 

[A_Pale_Spirit]

Great chapter, as always, love your writing!
Looking forward to what happens next.

[Little Sherri]

Chapter 12 – Pinned In

Oliver stood still, head bowed, as Mrs. Jacobs carefully wrapped his sister’s tartan kilt around his lower body. He felt mild relief when his tights and plastic pants were covered, although now, he was once again wearing what felt like a skirt. The kind old lady winced as she bent over to pin the hem of the garment, and then she lifted his cable-knit sweater for him and waited for him to lift his arms, which, after a moment, he did.

When the sweater was pulled down over his head, Anastasia smoothed it down over the top of his white tights, which protruded above the waistband of the kilt. Oli reflexively sucked on his pacifier. He could feel the tears drying on his skin.

“There, Oli, you look much better now, like a proper little Scottish schoolboy. One thing I didn’t think of, though, before we got you dressed – how is your diaper? Is everything copasetic?”

Oliver didn’t know what ‘copasetic’ meant, but based on the context, he assumed it meant either okay, or comfortable. He thought about the question. There was some slight dampness in his seat area, and up the front, but most of the diaper still felt dry.

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

Anastasia addressed Mrs. Jacobs, because before she wrapped Oliver in his kilt, she’d been perplexed while examining what he had on under his white, translucent tights. “What kind of diaper is he wearing, Mrs. Jacobs? Pull up ones?”

“You probably haven’t seen these before, Anastasia, because they aren’t common nowadays, but what Oli has on is called a cloth diaper. They’re kind of like rectangular towels that his mommy would have pinned onto him. However, they’re not waterproof, so what you were looking at were his plastic panties, which she would have pulled on over his diapers.”

“So his mommy can wash his diapers and use them again?”

“Exactly, sweetie. Instead of throwing them away, they can be washed and used again. Oli’s mommy and daddy are very interested in reducing the amount of garbage that they throw away. Isn’t that right, Oliver?”

Oliver nodded slightly.

Mrs. Jacobs stood up abruptly, and turned towards the door. “We are going to be wanted upstairs very shortly for story time. I need to get the rest of the kids lined up. Anastasia, lead Oliver with you when we head to the sanctuary. It’s been a while since he’s walked in under the stage. Go find his shoes for him by the door as well. They’re black slip-on dress shoes – you’ll see them right away, they’re bigger than the other shoes.”

Anastasia nodded brightly, and took Oliver’s right hand in hers, before leading him out of the room and over to the shoe rack at the entrance to the nursery school. Mrs. Jacobs corralled the other kids and got them putting shoes or boots on and lining up along the wall, in preparation for exiting.

“All right, kids, single file, holding the hands of the person in front of you and behind you, we will walk as one unit, under the stage and up the back staircase to the sanctuary. When we get out onto the stage, I want all of you to sit down in front of the altar, backs to the congregation, facing Reverend Smith in a semi-circle, the same as we did last week. You can wave to your parents and your brothers and sisters after Reverend Smith is finished speaking.”

The children liked up, a gaggle of young boys and girls in dress pants and buttoned shirts, or smart looking dresses, all wearing their best shoes, hair neat, their excitement for the most part under control. Most of them wanted to get back home so that they could play with their new gifts, but they knew that they had to put in a good appearance at the church first. Misbehaviour would have repercussions later, treats curtailed, toys confiscated.

Oliver lined up with them, looking slightly out of place as the tallest non-adult with the group, taller than his minder, Anastasia, who was herself tall for her age. Mrs. Jacobs did a final inspection of the kids lined up against the wall, and the she motioned for them to follow her and opened the classroom door. They filed out one behind the other, holding hands as instructed, and she looked over her shoulder frequently as she led them, to make sure they were holding their tongues and keeping up. Anastasia took up the rear guard, with Oliver trailing along behind her. As they walked down the hall and through a metal door, into a room that was lined with cloaked pieces of furniture and props, the sounds from above grew louder, and Reverend Smith’s booming voice could be heard, reverberating through the floorboards from the PA system.

Then, Mrs. Jacobs realized that the last few kids were filing in without Anastasia or Oliver behind them, so she instructed them all to halt, and walked back along the line and out into the hall.

Oliver was crouched over, holding his hand against his side, with a pained look on his face, and Anastasia was trying to determine what was going on, and why he’d forced her to fall behind the queue she was supposed to be managing.

Mrs. Jacobs stooped over Oliver. “What’s going on, Oli? Is something the matter?”

“It’s my side, Mrs. Jacobs, it’s… something is stabbing me or stinging me,” he said in a strained voice, with tears once again in the corners of his eyes.

“I think I know what’s going on here – I think you’ve popped a diaper pin, Oli. Let me have a look.”

Mrs. Jacobs slid down the side of Oliver’s kilt that he was desperately rubbing at, and then rolled down his tights and pulled open the upper elastic on his plastic pants at his hip, revealing a strip of his heavy cotton diaper, which was mildly humid to the touch. She slid her fingers along the inside and outside of the folded material, and sure enough, she discovered that his diaper pin had opened and backed itself out of the material sufficiently to be poking him in the skin.

Anastasia looked on with big eyes, not sure how to help. Mrs. Jacobs looked over at her. “Run in and lead the young ones up to the stage, Ana, and get them arranged as we did last week. Tell Reverend Smith that I’ll be a few moments, and to start whenever he is ready.”

Anastasia nodded and dashed off, while Mrs. Jacobs tried to refasten Oliver’s diaper with her arthritic fingers, without undressing him further, if possible.

A group of kids from the Choir came out of another room, all wearing identical black pants and white shirts, and they filed past Oliver as Mrs. Jacobs laboured to close the pin that held together the right side of his underpants. They were two to three years younger than Oliver, generally, and not all of them knew him, but some had older siblings and had met him at functions before. They craned their necks and tried to understand what Mrs. Jacobs was doing – we she putting him in a costume? Or, had something bad happened to his clothes? Why did it look like he was wearing a skirt? But none of them asked any of the questions that were painted on their faces, out loud, because they were on a mission to get upstairs on time, as well.

Finally, the kindly lady was able to tug Oliver’s plastic pants up over his diaper, and then roll his tights up and pull the waist of his kilt back into place. Oliver reached down and pulled the kilt sharply further up, hoping that when he sat down on the floor on the elevated stage, in front of the congregation, it would prevent anyone from seeing the top of his tights if his sweater rode up. However, that left it above his knees, and he didn’t like how much of his legs were showing now.

Mrs. Jacobs motioned to him to follow her, and then she went back into the prop room under the stage, heading towards the staircase. Father Smith’s voice boomed through the floor, and they could hear the audience chuckling.

“Anastasia is one of the helpers with the Sunday School; Ana – can you tell me when Mrs. Jacobs is going to be joining us? What’s that?... yes, okay…. I see… Okay! Thanks for your help. Everyone be seated, Mrs. Jacobs will be with us shortly. Apparently one of her young charges was having trouble with a diaper pin, sounds like a real emergency….”

Laughter filtered down as Mrs. Jacobs positioned herself at the bottom of the stairs, and waved Oliver to go up ahead of her. But Oliver was now frozen, midway across the floor, looking up at the ceiling in open horror.

“We’ve all been there, folks, we were all that age at one time, and all of our kids were that age at one time. Good on whomever the parents are to be using pin-on diapers, that’s very environmentally responsible of them. Those were common enough in my day but they aren’t common anymore. But Mrs. Jacobs is, I’m sure, our resident expert – I think she’s been running the Sunday School and the daycare since cloth diapers were the newest technology…”

The crowd chuckled again.

“Not to imply that Mrs. Jacobs is that old, nope, I am not saying that!”

Mrs. Jacobs walked over to Oliver, grasped hold of his right hand, and began dragging him towards the staircase. The spell that was holding Oliver rooted in place broke, and he robotically began putting one foot in front of the other, until he was climbing the circular, iron staircase that emerged behind a panel at the rear of the stage, behind the altar. Oliver stumbled out, and froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the sea of faces looking up towards the stage, and seemingly, exclusively at him.

“There we are…,” Father Smith boomed through the PA system, via a microphone clipped to the front of his shirt. “Diaper troubles sorted out? Where is the little one?” he inquired, tilting his head, with a big smile. Mrs. Jacobs came around the corner behind Oliver, and put hand on the small of his back, guiding him to walk forwards ahead of her. She directed him towards the outer edge of the half-circle of children seated on the stage, so that he would be next to Anastasia. As he walked forward, he realized that he was still looking out over the shield of his pacifier. He sat down with a thump, and crossed his legs, before putting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.

“Oliver,” Anastasia whispered, “uncross your legs – sit like me. This is how girls sit…”

Oliver lifted his head and looked over beside him, noting that Ana was sitting with both of her legs off to one side, folded in, and propped up on one arm, so that her legs were closed. Oliver realized that his tights and his diaper cover were probably visible to the side of the circle sitting across the stage from him, if they cared to look. He put his hands into his lap and pushed the kilt material down between his thighs, feeling heat radiating from his cheeks.

“Well, I was expecting someone little… uh, I don’t know what I was expecting, I guess. Is the young lady’s diap… uh, wardrobe emergency been sorted out?”

Mrs. Jacobs smiled from where she stood at the side of the stage. “Yes, Reverend Smith, everything has been sorted out His wardrobe has been repaired.”

“Well, excellent, then, shall we begin?”

[D503]

Oh poor Oli - I wonder if they'll have to get Snappis instead of pins.

[A_Pale_Spirit]

Happy to see a new chapter! Excellent writing as always!

[CDfm]

Very happy to see a new chapter! 
I am sure that Anastasia didn’t intend to announce that Oliver was wearing a diaper to the entire congregation but circumstances couldn’t have been worse for poor Oliver.  Now it’s even worse.  Now he is on full display in the front of the church.  Hopefully Grandma will come to his rescue and get him out of there. 
I will be looking forward to seeing more of the story. 

[007specialk]

Yes so glad to see your excellent work! Look forward to more of all your stories.

Thank You..