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A New Start

Part 1

Love isn’t all you need… but it’s certainly a start.

Cardinal Willem Luthar Flischer (1949 - )

Joshiwoo was more than a little agitated as he sat in his playpen pushing the toy plastic train around and around. The soft vinyl mattress he was playing on had got a few ‘hills’ and ‘dales’ for him to at least make his choo-choo sounds a little different as the train climbed up and down its enclosed plastic domain.

His own plastic pants, with the multi-teddy bear motif that encased his thick disposable, crinkled as he crawled around and was a nice accompaniment to the tinkling sounds of the overhead mobile plinking a soft nursery rhyme.

His super-soft pale orange t-shirt had an image of a smiling brown and orange monkey hanging from a branch and the words ‘Lil Monkey’ written in swirling letters underneath. He was warm, he was safe and thanks to his super-thick nappy, he felt extremely secure.

Sitting in one corner was his new, sparkling white, soft and smiling plushie, Snowy the polar bear. Lying quietly behind him was pink Bunny Fluffytail and his plastic T-Rex, Tex.

The size of his playpen was adequate enough to contain him and his myriad of toys and fluffy creatures, and, for the last few months it had been a big part of his world. That and being looked after by ‘mummy’.  

The thing was he’d been on his own for some time now and was missing her.


Four months ago she had discovered an almost broken young boy on the verge of suicide and contemplating the welcoming embrace of the rail line as he stood perilously close to the edge of the bridge.

He’d lost everything: His job, his home, his money and his friends.

He’d got addicted to something that had changed his personality so much that no one wanted anything more to do with him – fame.

Fleeting though it was, it had filled him with an attitude and a carelessness that made him believe he was indestructible (he’d not allow any reasoning voice to alter its ego-boost). He’d been stupid enough to believe his own hype and let others take care of ‘all the other stuff’.

His swift rise as an eighteen year-old reality star had taken its toll on his personality, the very thing that had made him so popular in the first place. His small stature, baby face, sweet nature and a choirboy innocence (that would have let him get away with murder) had endeared him to the public consciousness whilst the show was on.

However, once the show finished and the offers came flowing in; the fame and the money, the parties and the celebrity all conspired to ruin him. The newspapers were quick to castigate such a ‘nasty little upstart’ and he quickly lost all the goodwill he’d had because of a series of devastating headlines.

Whoever said that any publicity is good publicity was wrong when it came to the career of Gordon ‘Little’ Littlewood. Just two years after it had started, it was over. His small stature and schoolboy looks didn’t stop the papers from holding him up to public ridicule for his drunkenness, drug abuse but the final straw had been the rape charge.

Twitter, newsgroups, social media and newspapers in general became like a pack of wolves around the subject of Gordon Littlewood. After all, the news media had decided, as he was over eighteen he was targetable. The public were getting fed up with rich, young, good-looking celebs; it was time to take them down a peg or seven.

There was once a time when a gentler, more forgiving, atmosphere existed in the world but nowadays it had been replaced by anger, spite and lethal vindictiveness and, if you were in their sights and vulnerable, you were eaten alive. ‘Little’ became a BIG but unedifying story for the media and anyone with an axe to grind.

It hadn’t helped that his sweet personality had so rapidly changed to become unbearable and self-possessed. The sad thing for Gordon was he had nothing to back up what people had seen in him in the first place. That easy charm he’d revealed in the show was perceived (thanks to those highly defamatory articles and gossip columns) as nothing more than fake. The fact that he was once a ‘nice lad’, corrupted by fame and turned into this spiteful, self-opinionated sleaze ball, was absolutely no defence. As the papers joyously pointed out, it was easy to blame everyone else for his self-inflicted failings.

The rape charge was eventually thrown out of court for ‘lack of evidence’ but he was never completely exonerated, even though most people ultimately realised the accuser was sick and had made the entire scenario up.

Unfortunately, by then it was all too late and, as everything was gone; the money, the fame, the ‘friends’ (who delightedly cashed in on his celebrity) and any self-respect he once might have had departed. So, at just nineteen (almost twenty) years old he stood on the bridge wondering what life would be like dead.


The playpen was quite large and comfy as he lay listening to the plinky-plonk sound of his mobile. He hugged Bunny Fluffytail and held tightly onto his fleecy blankie, whilst gazing up at the stars and flying horses that circled over his head. The large white dummy he gently slurped on was also a comfort as he waited for mummy to come and change his soaked nappy.

Earlier in the day his mummy had gently pulled him from his crib where he was all warm and sleepy and checked on his wet night time protection.  She only changed him after he’d suckled on his bottle of formula and eaten the large spoon’s full of mushy Honey Oaties he enjoyed so much.

He liked it when mummy changed him. She spoke such sweet words, kissed and tickled his tummy, cleaned and powdered him in such a loving way that, even when he was wrapped in his clean thick new disposable, he wanted it to continue.

Thankfully, once the process was complete and mummy was happy with the way her little baby boy was dressed, she’d hug and cuddle him tightly to her bosom and rock him as she hummed a little tune. He’d close his eyes and suck on his dum-dum whilst mummy patted his well cushioned bottom as she finished her devoted morning ritual.


Gordon no longer remembered his past, all he knew was the present and the affectionate attention mummy lavished on her ‘sweetums’. In fact Gordon no longer existed, he’d become Joshua or more exactly, Joshiwoo. Yes, that’s what mummy called him: “My sweet little Joshiwoo - the sweetest of sweetums in the entire world.”

He’d learned to say ‘Mummy’ but very few real words passed his lips. Gurgles and chuckles, bubbles and smiles were all mummy needed from him. He’d stretched out his hands to cup his new white bear or call for his pink rabbit and make some baby words that had entered his head but even his conversation with his toys was mainly babble. He might call out for ‘Shnowy’ or ‘Bun-bun’, he knew their names but was still learning to say them properly, but most of his vocabulary was just one word and pointing.

Sometimes he’d sob a little even though he didn’t know why, but mummy came and tenderly stroked his hair or gently hugged him until whatever had caused the tears had been banished. Sometimes the snuffles were just because he was hungry, other times that he was saturated but mainly it was because he loved to have his mummy play with him. His teddy and other stuffed animals were fun and always felt nice to hug but it was mummy he liked to hug the most. She’d play with him and make noises that the animals or toys made and he’d learn from repeating mummy’s words or sounds.


Angela Epstein (nee Applegate) had been married to Doctor Joshua Epstein for two years when tragedy struck. She was just finishing her own nursing qualification when a huge accident on the fog bound M1 motorway had taken the life of her husband, which left her almost completely destroyed. The only thing that kept her going was the recent news that she was expecting her first child so devoted the next few months into making sure the birth of their baby would be a wonderful, uncomplicated experience.

Unfortunately, the birth had been a messy and painful experience and her son had died just minutes after he had been welcomed into the world. A series of neural and physical difficulties meant that the sweet little baby boy never drew breath and his heart-broken mother only got to hold him for a few seconds before he was rushed away.

Angela fell into a deep depression and for a couple of years hardly went anywhere, spoke to anyone or allowed friends to comfort her. She was utterly devastated. Every waking hour she just thought of what her baby would be doing at that moment had he survived. She’d named him Joshua after his father but even naming him didn’t make much difference to the deep morose feelings that seemed to engulf her.


That was until one day, whilst walking through the city’s shopping mall she noticed a sign on a window display saying that there were staff vacancies. Despite everything that had happened, this opportune moment came when she looked into the display of clothes and baby items in Everything4Baby and for the first time felt happy rather than resentful. All the colourful cute outfits and items for baby for some reason now filled her full of pleasure and on a whim she applied for a job.

At the interview she never mentioned the loss of her baby but did mention the loss of her husband. Her nursing background was seen as an advantage and within a week she found herself working in an environment that once would have filled her with sadness but now filled her with joy.

Everything4Baby had given her a job and a purpose. She loved the new mummies coming in and excitedly buying cute new stuff for their upcoming child. She loved suggesting items and helping pick out little onesies, nappies, bottles and toys for these young mothers. She was often surrounded by a sea of babies with their parents all searching for that specific item to make their little one ‘individual’. Because of constant requests for that ‘unique’ or ‘designer’ item, she’d found new suppliers, designers and clothes makers who, at a price, would create something ‘different and special’ – perhaps surprisingly, there was a great deal of social one-upmanship and elitism in the world of baby clothes.

She was good at her job and soon found that she rose up the staff ranking and within two years was managing the branch. A year later and she bought out the owner and set about a series of adjustments that would develop the business far beyond what had originally been planned.

Because of the way she ran the enterprise, the place catered for mummies, babies and those interested in baby stuff, even if they weren’t quite real babies themselves.  Everything4Baby could have been renamed ‘Everything4allbabies’ because of the diverse selection of customers who came into the shop.

That was ten years ago and she’d never been happier.


However, one late night driving home she noticed a dishevelled and sad young boy looking like he was contemplating his life as she saw him climbing up onto the rail bridge’s safety barrier. A shiver of concern ran through her body but the fact that there were few people around made her slam on the brakes and decide to try to do something.

The boy only looked to be in his early teens, possibly thirteen or fourteen, and immediately thought how old her own son would have been had he lived. Her heart went out to this obviously distressed young man. She had no idea what to say or do once she got there nor how he’d react, it was a matter of trying to do something rather than nothing.

Angela knew it may already be too late and the boy may have plummeted onto the busy rail line below but she also knew she had to try and help him.

“What if,” she imagined, “this had been her own son in such turmoil?” She’d hope that some passing Samaritan would try and help.

# tbc #



























Part 2

They sparkle and twinkleth like diamonds caught in starlight

Edmund White-Thomlinson (1801-1843)

Joshiwoo was sucking on his bottle. The warm liquid filling his tum-tum and making him wriggle contentedly in mummy’s lap. He had no concept of time or of his past life, right now was the only thing he knew and to his mummy at least, he appeared happy enough. She kept him warm, safe, clean and loved.


She had poured everything she knew, every resource possible, called in every favour and provided all she could into giving her new baby all the things she would have given to her own had fate not claimed him.

She was now in possession of a boy who had been damaged by the consequences of his life and was in need of a new beginning, she was going to make sure he received it.


Angela had managed to get to the highly distraught boy just seconds before he jumped. He was surprised to see this woman approach and a brief thought that it was someone, like the rest of his money grabbing family and members of the public, who wanted to taunt him. But, and this had been the surprise, in a calm and soothing voice she had simply said: “Please don’t jump.”

After the beating he’d taken from his family, friends, press and his most recent experience, these were the first tender and concerned words he’d heard in a long time. He was shaking as he stood on the railings; he really didn’t want to jump but could see no alternative to the mess he’d made of his young life. The hate he seemed to have generated, the nasty and vindictive personality he’d adopted, the laughing stock he’d become – none of this really suited him and it was time to end it all. But, he wavered as the kindly lady reached out and simply said: “Let’s make your life better.”

The steady gloved hand hung in the night air as she managed to coax the young boy down. Angela was completely unaware who he was, he simply looked like a damaged young teen in desperate need of help.


Baby Joshua sucked on his dum-dum as his mummy patted his nicely padded bottom. She’d been amazed at how much liquid he was able to produce but now, several weeks in, she liked the look of her well-cushioned ‘son’ and the number of stuffers in his nappy certainly made him bulky but, as she smiled to herself, incredibly cute. His plastic pants were tight under the dinosaur onesie he wore to keep everything snug but it also helped the soft rustling sound as he shuffled about. Angela just loved to observe Joshiwoo as he played, napped and lived his new unencumbered life.

“This is how it should have been.” She thought as Gordon became Joshua and she was able to be a proper mother to her ‘little’ one. Both had a new take on life; a new deal, a new reason to be alive… a brand new start.


When Angela had got the disturbed boy home he was shaking, tired and completely exhausted. She thought, whatever he’d been through, it must have been something quite traumatic. He was dirty, wretched and looked like a he could use a meal but, as he sat in her lounge; all he really wanted was to sleep. Without much thought other than helping the poor boy she suggested he take a bath and then, if he wanted, have a nice long sleep. Gordon was thankful for the suggestion and grateful for the offer of somewhere to stay for the night and, above all else, that he didn’t have to explain anything there and then. A warm bath and a bed were just what he needed.

Whilst he relaxed for the first time in many months he let the warm embrace of the bath soothe his troubled mind. Meanwhile, Angela was busy making up the bed in the other room, the room that would have been Joshua’s. It was, despite the passage of time, still full of many of the nursery items she had bought all those years ago. Lying unmade against the far wall was the crib in which he would have spent those first few months of his life and a tremor ran through her body. Tears sprung to her eyes and she wept for her loss… it wasn’t the first time and she doubted it would be the last.


She went back to the bathroom to check on her guest and saw that he had fallen asleep. She smiled and returned to the room to make space for the inflatable mattress she manoeuvred into the place and added sheets and a blanket.  When she’d finished she looked around the room, it still had very much the nursery and baby look; cartoon characters, baby animals in diapers, mobiles and loads of fluffy animals, toys, blankets and the soft, subdued lighting she though a baby might need.

Using a selection of baby blankets she quickly made up the bed. It may not be what a teenager might want to sleep on but with all the soft fleecy material it certainly looked comfy. A thought flashed into her head – should she make him wear a nappy? It might have been because she was already in a hyped up state, being back in her child’s nursery but that weird thought seemed to come out of nowhere.

It was true that whenever she ventured into the nursery all the ‘what might have been’ came flooding back. Even though the room never got to experience a child sleeping and playing in it there was an atmosphere of baby powder and infant about the place.

Nappies danced for a few brief seconds in her head and, in her mind’s eye, she saw herself putting baby Joshua into a pair. She smiled at the thought but quickly realised her guest was hardly likely to wet the bed and didn’t think it a problem if he did, the inflatable was made of plastic so very little could be ruined. It had been a strange and unusual few moments, besides, she doubted if any of the baby stuff she had would fit a boy the size of the one snoozing in her bath.

She laughed at her own silly thoughts and went to retrieve the slumbering lad.


A heap of filthy clothes piled on the chair needed sorting, there wasn’t much but far too dirty for him to sleep in. She decided to wash and dry them but was surprised to see a set of keys, a phone and a bunch of coins sat on top of the pile. The phone wasn’t turned on so might have been broken and if what she saw was the sum total of the boy’s money, he really was in a bad way. Anyway, none of it mattered at that moment so went off to find some pyjamas or shorts or ‘something’ he could wear.

After several minutes searching she’d found very little that might be appropriate but a pair of her own flowery thick cotton winter PJs and some white cotton knickers she hadn’t worn in years. She decided that they would do temporarily and, after putting his dirty clothes into the washer, went and woke her sleepy soaking guest.


He took some rousing from the bath but eventually she was able to help him up and, after offering him a fresh towel, left him to dry off. He didn’t appear that bothered that a complete stranger was taking care of him and, seemed more than grateful, for the underwear and even the floral jammy bottoms. Her kindness and sympathy was just what he needed so was content to be warm and clean with someone fussing around him, it had been a while.

The lighting in the bedroom was low and as she guided him towards the temporary inflatable. She apologised for not having a proper bed but assured him that others who had slept on it in the past had found it quite comfortable.  He was really too tired to worry and just glad of a place to lie down, he would have happily stayed in the bath had she left him.

She reminded him where the toilet was in case he needed it during the night and jokingly added that if he wet the bed then it would be nappies in future. A quizzical expression passed over his features (he hadn’t noticed the nursery print wall paper and the room’s other juvenile trappings), she giggled embarrassingly letting him know she was only making fun.

He was well-tuckered out and, as the room was pleasantly warm lay out on the blankets, curled up into the foetal position, and almost immediately started drifting off to sleep.

A quiet “Thank you” escaped his lips as he snuggled against the fleecy blankets. He slipped the soft material with the childish motifs over his body as a huge relaxed sigh and wiggle to get comfortable brought the evening as far as he was concerned to a close.

Unconsciously she reached out and stroked his hair.

“You’re welcome sweetheart.”

Kneeling next to his bed she watched for a few moments as he settled down and soon his shallow breathing signalled he was asleep. Her heart once again went out to this poor little guy as she wondered what had driven him to contemplate suicide.  However, at the same time she pondered this, she was also thinking of her lost baby and as she looked down on her sleeping visitor, all she really saw was her own son.

Her heart welled up and she sobbed wishing that this poor boy was indeed her little boy and she could look after him and make sure he’d come to no further harm. As she looked on he lay there tightly cuddling the fleecy blanket in his left hand whilst his right made its way to his lips. She watched with a smile on her face as he soothed whatever worries he had with the aid of his spit soaked thumb.

“Goodnight Joshua.” She whispered and kissed his head.



























Part 3

“As you grow the small child within is not holding you back but offering a place to heal”

Mohammed Devwhalli (1901 -2000)

Baby Joshua was wet, very wet as he woke from his nap. He clutched ‘Sh-nowy’ tightly and its soft white fleecy coat tickled his face as he slowly returned to wakefulness. Almost immediately his mummy was by his side and letting down the bars of the crib, checking her boy’s night time protection and beamed with pleasure as she helped him get to his feet. He tried to return his happiness at seeing mummy again by smiling round his dummy but all that achieved was more drool dripping onto his brightly coloured onesie, his chest was almost as wet as his nappy.

This was baby Joshua’s favourite part of the day when mummy cleaned him up, tickled and played fun games, bathed and dressed him. He’d giggle almost continually until she’d help him downstairs for something to eat. Sometime, if he’d had a restless night and was still half asleep, mummy would hold him in her arms whilst he drank his formula from a bottle. Once he’d sucked it all down she’d burp him and then put him down so he could sleep until he was ready to face the day. There was little point in changing him until then as he always wet when he slept and all that formula had to go somewhere. Mummy made sure the thick soak pads added to his nappy would keep him from completely flooding his cot.


Angela knew that she should be trying to get in touch with the boy’s parents so that they were aware he was OK. However, because he’d been in such a state she thought it better to wait, have a chat with her guest and then decide on who needed to be informed. Once this decision had been made she settled down on her sofa to catch up on some paperwork. It was very late. The events of the evening had eaten into the time but there were still things for work she had to do before the morning.

As she examined the various bills, quotes, designs, worksheets etc. progress was very slow because her mind kept returning to the poor lad upstairs. She’d rescued the boy but now felt some kind of responsibility to him and his family. Her concentration level was poor until she happened on a bill from one of her ‘specialist’ firms. This small firm produced bespoke, original items in any size and had quickly become one of the main suppliers to her ‘alternative’ baby customers.

When she’d first embarked on this side of furnishing the needs for this group of customers, she had to source the companies herself, check if they were up for making the items requested and then agreeing a supply chain, delivery dates and, most importantly, happy customers. All these points were achieved with relative ease and it could be said she was one of the few such providers in the county. Everything4Baby had quickly become the place to shop for such a market and, the once-a-month late night private shopping, had proved both popular and a location where like-minded people could meet and discuss their predilection - babies during the day, ABDL at night.

Now as she examined the bill and the items ordered her mind focused on what it would be like to have something similar herself. It was for an adult crib with lockable sides and a deep soft plastic mattress with a baby duckling design. The person who requested it also wanted an entire set of bedding and baby clothes to match. It was a huge, expensive order but she had been able to coordinate all the different suppliers to work together and produce a superb finished product where all the component parts worked in harmony. She was justly proud of what the happy customer received and he, rightly, was nothing but praise as word spread throughout the community.


She slept fitfully that night. Her mind full of adult babies and the charming little get ups they wore. She’d often passed comment on how wonderful they all looked in their baby clothes: The made-to-measure nappies, shiny vinyl pants, dresses, onesies, pjs, colourful vests, bibs, cartoon all-in-ones, indeed, even the suppliers were delighted with this new, demanding and growing outlet for their pricey but high-end creations.

However, when her dream started incorporating her visitor she struggled against the idea – it was stupid, insane, and probably even against the law and, more to the point, RECKLESS. However, dreams being dreams, the thought lingered and she became captive in a life, a dream life, which had him at its centre but as a baby.

When she woke up she was most uncomfortable with what was in her head. There again…


She quietly opened his bedroom door and was surprised to see that he’d hardly moved in the night. He was still lying on top of the blankets although one was now gripped tightly against his body but she detected the tell-tale smell of urine. Despite her thinking it wouldn’t happen she soon realised that her guest hadn’t made it to the bathroom and could see the outline of the ‘tidemark’ around his floral cotton PJs. He was still fast asleep.

She cautiously shook him awake. It took a while but eventually managed to get him to near consciousness as he looked around unsure of his bearings.

“Sorry to wake you, er, erm, er,sweetie ,” she was a bit hesitant because she still didn’t know his name. “I have to go to work but, if you want to stay in bed, I’ll be home around lunchtime…”

He yawned and stretched but was still unbelievably tired.

“Er, OK.” He simply acknowledged her offer to stay in her home for a little longer; after all, he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Yer, er, I could do with some more sleep… thank you.”

He mumbled but smiled his thanks and waited for her to leave.

As she hesitated at the door he suddenly realised that she might actually have some doubts about leaving him alone.

“Oh, your stuff will be alright, I’m not a thief and I’m grateful to you for…”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Now it was Angela’s turn to feel she needed to explain. “It’s just…”

He suddenly became aware of the pool of smelly dampness he was lying in.

“Oh for Christsake, what the fuc…”

“No, no don’t worry… I… er, we can…”

She saw him fling back the blanket he was clutching and look down at his soaked jammy bottoms and the urine soaked sheet he’d been lying on. The plastic inflatable mattress making sure no further harm was done but that also meant however much his bladder released had now soaked into everything else.

He looked up at her and his irate expression changed to one of distress and regret. In that brief moment he’d changed from an angry young man into a sad little boy. His face screwed up in abject failure and was almost on the verge of letting his tearful emotions take control. It wasn’t a clever contrived reaction to his damp situation, it was real.

For a few seconds there were no further exchanges, they were both a little overawed by what had happened. Eventually, he looked around the room and gave her an apologetic smile.

“I suppose if I’m going to piss myself, at least I’m in the right place to do so… you’d better get the nappies ready.”


Although the last line was said as a joke his mind immediately slipped back to ‘There and Then - Here and Now’ the reality TV show he’d appeared on.

It was roughly an updated, 24/7 version of the popular ‘Big Brother’ franchise with live and recorded segments broadcast (though which segment was recorded and which part live was never relayed to the contestants) of course there was also tasks to be completed daily. Each player gained points every twenty four hours depending on how well they ‘performed’; this was done by phone votes and logged on-line responses. Once the contestant was voted out of the house, their accrued points were available and up for grabs, which the public could then, via a live phone in, allocate to other members of the cast.

This intense involvement from viewers had seen the show top the ratings and become the ‘must watch’ programme on TV. The newspapers ran an almost blow by blow account of the outrageous behaviour of the contestants, who became instant celebrities, whilst the public in general just couldn’t get enough of it… especially as they could submit tasks to be performed.

This interaction was one of the segments of the re-vamped show the public liked best because they could actually appear on it via social media and suggest what was to happen. Although these bits looked ‘live’ they were in fact recorded so as to give the production crew time to get any props organised.


One such suggestion was to split the house into two - one side to be mummies and daddies, whilst the other had to be babies. Of course, as it turned out Gordon ended up being a baby and was suitably dressed. His small frame gave him an advantage and his bulky nappy, shiny plastic pants and frilly bonnet seemed just perfect for him as the challenge got underway.

He took to the part like a duck to water and immersed himself in the antics of a baby. He was convincing and, with his little tubby tummy on show and the huge protection that the cameras just loved to constantly feature, he was the one the audience adored.

The public loved this feature and called in with ideas for what they should wear, what they should be fed and the babyish games they should play. And, whereas the other ‘babies’ baulked at some of the suggestions; Gordon played the part to the fullest. On more than one occasion what they were dressed in bordered on the fetish rather than adolescent, whilst the outrageous bulky nappies, satin dresses or juvenile onesies were just too much for some.

Those who were acting babies were not allowed to speak but could only make their wishes known by crying, pointing and gurgling. The six other babies were hopeless but Gordon proved to be a winner and made front page news in his cute baby outfit with this particular task when he wet and messed himself live on air.

What the public were not aware of was that his ‘accident’ was just that. He hadn’t meant for it to happen but, a long nap, together with some rather dubious baby food and drink had led to a spectacular reaction. The stunned and confused expression on his face (and the tears that followed) was something that no one could ignore.

The public were appalled and delighted, the ratings soared and Gordon won infamy as well as the public vote.  It was he who walked away with the £250,000 prize at the end of the show.


Despite all this public affirmation and notoriety the programme had passed Angela by. She had of course heard of it but hated reality shows and rarely watched TV. She was also not in the least bit bothered about gossip (celebrity or otherwise) or indeed any sort of ‘popular culture’ so the fortunes of the shows ‘stars’ had come and gone without so much as a comment from her.

She still had no idea who this soaked boy in her spare room was but who, at that moment, looked even more pathetic than he had when standing on the bridge preparing to commit suicide. His slim pale body, shaggy hair and big brown eyes doing nothing to confirm he was an adult. He really did look like a small child confused by the way his bladder had let him down. He had no excuse for why he wet the bed and possibly ruined a kindly woman’s patience… for a brief moment he wished he’d taken up her jokey reference to wearing a nappy.

This was not the first time he’d wet himself, and not just on the TV show, that was one of the many things his ‘loving’ family were able to torment him about. He was constantly bullied by his family and being the youngest and smallest, he was an easy target. His occasional bouts of incontinence also added to the vast amount of abuse the boy suffered all his life… he was the butt of everyone’s jokes.

He had no idea the reaction his stupid bodily malfunction would garner from this guardian angel.

For Angela’s part, she knew he needed time to heal from whatever had driven him to contemplate that final act of self destruction. His pissing the bed only added to the boy’s vulnerability and further evidence he needed to be cared for.


























Part 4

I fear a future that has no future

Izzy Downing (1980 - ) from the poem ‘Magole’s Lament’

“Look, don’t worry about anything.”

She looked around the nursery and thought he was right, it was the correct place to do it if you were going to pee your pants.

“I have to go to work but, your clothes are in the washer and should be dry in a short while. If you can put all this stuff on at some point,” she said indicating the wet bedding, “I’d be very grateful.”

Gordon nodded.

“Thanks. Look,” she said as an afterthought, “if you want to go, please just drop the latch as you leave, but, should you want to take some time to think or… talk, I’ll be back at lunchtime and we can chat then. After all, I don’t even know your name.”

Gordon couldn’t believe he hadn’t been recognised although in truth, he did look different now than he had when he was in the show. He was both suspicious and relieved that his identity was unknown and wondered how he could spin this anonymity to his advantage.

“OK, and, if that’s alright with you… I’d like to stay a little longer to try and get my head in order… and a chat at lunchtime sounds fine.”

He smiled and then as if to bring the conversation to an end looked down at the mess he’d made and grimaced.

“I’ll have this all cleaned up by the time you return.”


It was a busy half-day in the shop for Angela. It seemed that everyone in town who was pregnant had decided to pay a visit and she was rushed off her feet. She didn’t mind that amount of business, she didn’t mind the questions, nor did she mind the continuous nervous and excited requests for advice and information. As manager/owner of Everything4Baby she was used to being asked everything from infant fashion guidance to relationship problems. It was that type of store and the reason why it had become so successful. Nevertheless, by 1pm she was completely shattered and ready to get home having in the past few hours temporarily forgotten about her guest.

However, before she left she grabbed a couple of items from the storeroom and put in a call to one of her ‘specialist’ contacts.


Once home she was pleased to find him dressed and watching TV with a mug of coffee by his side.

To Angela he looked even more like a young teenager; his now clean, if ripped, jeans and Call of Duty t-shirt, mop of ill-kempt hair, bare feet and nervous nod of acknowledgement only making him appear like a schoolboy truant.

“Hello,” she smiled and carried things through to the kitchen.

“Glad you decided to stay for a while.” She called over her shoulder.

Gordon was engrossed in the programme but looked up and smiled as she zipped through the living room and up the stairs.

“Yer, yer, er, I think I need time to, er, think… if that’s OK with you?” He called back to her.

She disappeared into her bedroom but carried on the conversation… only a little louder.

“No problem. Have you eaten?” Her voice carried from the bedroom as she slipped off her coat and sorted out some of the items she’d brought home.

“I had some toast earlier, I’m not really hungry… er, can I get you a coffee, tea or something? You look like you’ve had a busy day?”

Almost immediately she was back down stairs and into the living room.

“Please, tea would be nice and yes… it has been very hectic.”

Gordon busied himself in the kitchen boiling up the kettle, putting tea in the teapot, putting milk in a jug, although his brief search didn’t turn up any sugar. He saw there was one bone china cup and saucer and correctly assumed that was how she preferred her tea served. She was a stylish lady so no doubt drank her tea with a degree of finesse and that classy crockery, he thought, suited her just right. Meanwhile, Angela settled herself on the sofa and was looking forward to having a nice chat.


Joshiwoo lay on the carpet in front of the TV watching cartoons and burbling away to ‘Sh-nowy’. He was wearing only his little t-shirt and thick protection, his yellow plastic pants crinkling noisily as he swayed from side to side in time to the music. He was ‘singing’ along to the melody whilst watching the colourful characters light up the screen.

His mummy really loved it when she could see her boy enjoying himself in such a way, it made it all worthwhile. Whatever doubts she may have once had, they were swept away by the sheer pleasure he gave her and the unconditional love she could shower on him.


Once he’d served tea Gordon came and sat down next to Angela. She turned off the TV and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Angela.”

She offered her hand and he took it.

“Pleased to meet you Angela, er, I’m Terry.” Gordon lied.

“Pleased to meet you too Terry.”

She noticed that his t-shirt didn’t quite reach to top of his jeans. The waistband of his clean but ancient underwear was just visible and his little pale tummy appeared more apparent because of this revealing gap. Perhaps it was just her but this made him seem even more defenceless. Again, Angela desperately wanted to wrap him in her arms and let him know all was well, to take away any pain or hurt he had suffered and return him to a life of childish bliss.


As they chatted the story that ‘Terry’ wanted to tell slowly emerged. If she really didn’t know who he was (and she hadn’t given any indication she did) he thought he’d spin a story of near truths.

She asked him if he shouldn’t let his family know he was OK, they might be worried but he countered with the fact that it was his abusive family he was escaping from.

He lay on the abuse, sexual as well as mental, which wasn’t too far away from the truth (although the sexual abuse came later and not from his family). However, the fact was that his family were a bunch of nasty, self-serving, money-grabbing, thoughtless, vindictive degenerates who had loved Gordon’s fame and the money that success brought so who went all out to exploit him, and it, to the fullest. The fact that it all but destroyed him didn’t even register on their collective consciousness, they just saw the money.


From where Angela was listening little Terry was struggling with his tale. She could see the emotion just pour out and watched as he wriggled uncomfortably with some of his descriptions. Of course she believed everything he said, and most of it was true except he left out certain pieces of the jigsaw. No mention of the TV programme, the public humiliation or his later encounters with people even worse than his family passed his lips, he kept it all at a family level.

Since he was a toddler the constant put downs, malicious words, spiteful actions and the relentless air of malevolence had been his unceasing companion. No childhood bliss for this boy. No ‘sweetness and light’ mother to comfort and cherish him. Apart from the fact he was the youngest so obviously an easy target, the reason they constantly put him down was because he was different. He did have a spark of kindness, affability, empathy and understanding but this showed his family up for what they were. Whenever this side of Gordon raised its head, the rest saw it as their duty to mock and mistreat him until he they would no longer be confronted by something that was actually considerate.

No. No. No.

Parents and siblings alike goaded their innocent little brother into becoming a monster. Because he’d been successful on TV and was a celeb they encouraged him to get an attitude, to demand rather than ask and to be as awful as they were, unfortunately for him, he took their advice.

That was when his descent into oblivion started.

It was them he was terrified of and, although he didn’t go into too much detail, what he left unsaid, Angela was able to fill in those horrifyingly painful blanks herself. He alluded to other things since he’d escaped from home and how he’d really screwed up elsewhere in his life. Again, specifics were left to her own imagination. Angela couldn’t understand how such a young boy could have so many troubles but as the story unfolded the reasons became apparent. The essentials were missing but it left his host in no doubt that her guest was the victim of some shocking and disturbing events.

At one point his tears flowed and Angela comforted the poor boy hugging him through the worst of this emotional black spot. The tears had been real when Gordon realised just how completely abandoned and destitute he really was. He was so alone and broken that when the opportunity arose, clung to anyone who seemed to understand his situation.


Alas, the last people he had confided in had been only too pleased to find such an amiable ‘toy’ they could use and abuse.  His celebrity had been a bonus as they kept him prisoner and sexually used and abused him for a few days. By the time they had finished, the boy that was already broken was just an empty shell who understood once and for all he was worthless. Their actions, together with all that had gone before, destroyed his spirit. The feeling of utter uselessness had driven him to that final decision; the only way to stop his suffering was to end it all.

Angela was in tears herself by the time he’d finished explaining what had happened. She was both angry and sad at what the youngster had been through and railed against how terrible people were to take advantage of someone else’s suffering; especially such a defenceless young boy. So, his reasons for suicide were powerful and why he was in no rush to let anyone know where he was equally poignant.

He was so very grateful to have someone, after so much pain, to actually care. Because of her kindness and concern in his darkest hour, he literally owed her his life. He wanted to disappear but, and this was down to Angela, he no longer wanted to kill himself.


As the story of his hateful family revealed more and more dysfunction, she began to feel very protective of this sad looking teenager. She still assumed he must be about the same age Joshua would have been had he lived, fourteen, but never got around to asking him his real age. She did ask if he’d thought about going to Social Services for help but he shrugged and said his mother always said that’s where they’d send him if he ever revealed anything about the family.

In their house Social Services was regarded as the enemy and a place to be avoided; full of stress, horror and anxiety, staffed by hateful perverts and certainly more unpleasant than what he was already used to. The bullying family had certainly planted the notion he’d get no help from them. He had a deeper fear of Social Services than of his own appalling family.

He said he was scared of what might happen if anyone knew he was still around and begged Angela not to tell anyone. That fear of being discovered and sent back to a life so abusive he shook with dread as he pleaded with her to keep his secret.  He urgently wanted to become invisible so that to all intents and purposes he no longer existed. He wanted time to think and hopefully find some solution and perhaps start again… though exactly how he was to accomplish this he had no idea.

However, he smiled when he looked deep into Angela’s eyes, as far as he was concerned she had lived up to her name because like an angel she’d rescued him. It was an emotional moment that wasn’t in the least insincere; it was an honest reaction to what had happened over the last twenty-four hours or so.

She felt it as well.


There was a bond between them and it was getting mixed up in her mind. One second she could deal with this teenager with ease, knowing what was needed and what to do. The next moment, she only saw her son Joshua and desperately wanted to mother him and keep him safe.

He had asked what she did for a living, so happily explained about her ‘little baby clothes shop’. The mention of ABDL stuff was left out of the conversation but she did allude to her ‘growing’ group of customers and how much she enjoyed the ‘fascinating’ world of babies.

She didn’t want to go into any great explanation about living on her own but the observant little chap had noticed her wedding ring so simply confirmed that her husband had died. She didn’t enlighten him any further and wisely he realised it might be a prohibited area for discussion.

However, that maternal feeling had been getting stronger the more time they spent chatting and foolishly she was getting comfortable with a ridiculous notion forming in her brain. An idea that was simply not practical or how things worked in the real world.

Strangely, it was a feeling she’d had from the moment she’d coaxed him down from that bridge. When she thought about it, she’d already done things that were primarily, if unconsciously, aimed at ‘Terry’ being part of her family in some way or other.

Although she couldn’t really keep him from a cruel world, every fibre of her body told her he needed protection and she felt almost compelled to be the one to do just that.


They talked for ages. Time didn’t seem to matter and ‘Terry’ was able to keep up his temporary façade simply because Angela saw no need to doubt or challenge him on anything he said. Over a hastily prepared meal he explained what he really wished for was a brand new start. He wished for a place where his family didn’t exist, where no one knew him and somewhere he felt safe. He looked at Angela with his huge innocent eyes and her heart melted.

Despite the fact that she knew she shouldn’t be holding such thoughts, Angela wondered how easy it would be to grant that wish. To keep this scared boy in her protection. To keep him away from railway lines and that feeling of futility she’d observed when he hung nervously onto that bridge. This was not the act of an attention seeker; this was the last despairing act by someone who had come to the end of their reasoning. It was the final act of escape.

Perhaps she could provide a better finale.


Eventually, the chat got less and less as tiredness crept in to their conversation. It was time for bed. Angela realised that she hadn’t checked in the nursery or made ‘Terry’ a bed for the night and was surprised that he’d already made up the inflatable mattress.

“I wasn’t sure if… after last night’s, er, accident, that you’d let me stay another night”

He looked shamefully at the ground.

“I’m really sorry about that but, well, er, I couldn’t help it, I, er…”

“Not to worry.” He was grateful she had interrupted his apology.

It was difficult for him to admit that it wasn’t the first time to happen and also knew he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. He just hoped that he would be able to get to the toilet in time.

She checked the bed was made up to her satisfaction. He’d piled all the clean and dry fleecy blankets he could find on top because they’d made him feel incredibly comfortable and strangely safe.

“OK Terry,” he appeared at least to have the bedding sorted, although no doubt his brain would take a little longer to be equally as well organised.

Now she could see he was organised in some way that made her feel sad. She wanted to think of him as a helpless toddler reliant on her for everything.  

She also wished she’d been able to use some of the items she’d brought home from work; the pack of disposables and the large plastic pants. In her mind she already saw his well-padded bottom snuggling down under the fleecy pale blue blanket but alas reality returned.  

Angela had no idea how she expected to get him to wear such items but that impulsiveness to bring them home in the first place made her think perhaps it was something he might need.

As it turned out, the morning proved just that.









Part 5

A dream may inspire - so should never be ignored

Dr Aaron Livitt (1900 – 1973)

“Oh Josh… er, Terry.”

Angela was aghast at the smell of pee and the fact that all the baby blankets were soaked and strewn in wet lumps around the inflatable mattress. ‘Terry’ was just coming round and had no real idea what was going on as nothing quite registered at that point.

Judging by the state of the bedding her guest probably had a very disturbed night. He also must have pissed a couple of gallons around the place for everything to get so saturated. The warmth of the room only emphasised the smell but he seemed oblivious to what had happened.


He lay there all but naked wearing only his soaked and stinky underpants as Angela busied herself in drawing back the blinds and opening a window. A cool gust of wind agitated the air and sent a shiver briefly across the wet boy’s body. It was that cooling shock which woke him up to realise what he’d done. In remarkable quick succession of expressions - horror, confusion and sadness - crossed his face. He knew he was in trouble, thinking no one would put up with an adult pissing the bed.

Seeing ‘Terry’ coming to terms with his damp situation Angela couldn’t help but think she already had the solution to the problem.  

“OK mister,” she picked up a few of the soaked items. “This isn’t going to happen again.”

Despite herself she admonished him as if he was a toddler because, in her eyes, she thought of him as a young teenager not an adult. He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, guilt let it pass.

Everything was soaked but any excuse he hoped to come up with was a nonstarter because there wasn’t one he could offer to explain why this happened for a second time.

She looked in his bleary, almost tearful eyes and saw only despondency as he tried to emerge from a rather deep and what had been to him at least a rather peaceful sleep. Indeed, the last two nights had proved wonderful for his ability to sleep without any anxious thoughts, stress or fear. So, when Angela hinted that precautions would be taken in future he simply accepted it.

“Yer, ermm, sorry, I, er, ermmmmm, sorry.” His voice was feeble and filled with dejection.

He’d slept with a warm glow making him feel safe and secure; he hadn’t worked out that maybe that ‘glow’ wasn’t just an internal feeling but a physical one as well.


He tried to think why he’d pissed himself again. Once could have been an accident but a second time just seemed laziness. There were no dreams he could remember that might have caused it, all he could remember was that as he slept he was no longer concerned about anything. Indeed, the room was at a pleasant temperature, the fleecy blankets cosy, the bouncy mattress comfortable; he’d slept in a haze of utter contentment. He was at a place, and more importantly, with someone who cared, so, after the year he’d had this was an unbelievable bonus. He didn’t want it to end by alienating the one person who’d stretched out a helping hand.


The open window allowing a cool breeze to circulate the room drew attention to ‘Terry’s’ soaked underwear; his limp penis damply outlined as the white discoloured material stuck against genitals and pubic hair. He felt guilty and tried to cover up but of course Angela had seen all there was to see and wasn’t impressed. Guilt turned to apprehension, he certainly didn’t want to leave this safe haven and find himself back out in a world he’d so recently wanted to depart.

She may be an angel but… even angels must have a natural abhorrence of pissy people so realised, if he proved too much of a burden, that he couldn’t rely on her understanding to keep a place in the house.

He nodded at the inferred changes, although she didn’t say what, as she picked up all the damp stuff.

As she inspected one of the scrunched-up, wet fleecy sheets a little sigh escaped her lips. It wasn’t aimed at ‘Terry’ but he caught what that sound might suggest. In fact, she was merely remembering when she’d bought it - the day after she’d been told of her pregnancy and in a deliriously happy mood had seen it in a shop window and bought it on a whim.


Angela went to the bathroom and returned with a hand towel. She pointed to his groin indicating his underwear needed to join everything else in the wash. Feeling greatly embarrassed he sheepishly removed and handed them over. He could barely make eye contact he felt so small, stupid and babyish. Wetting again had literally dampened any of the confidence he was getting back.

She left the room with a pile of washing and a raised eyebrow as he timidly held the small piece of fabric against his genitals. To Angela this image just confirmed once again what a shy, innocent and tragic little boy she had under her roof.

The room temperature had certainly dropped a few degrees; this was partly due to the open window but mainly to the shame he was feeling. Of course, standing around naked didn’t help. He shivered and wondered if because of this incident he’d have to leave.

His body shook at the thought, whilst his breathing became strained and his chest tightened. There was a sudden rush of fear because he was scared of being out in public again… he wasn’t ready. His head was filled with worry and unexpectedly his panic attack resulted in something else.

His bladder contracted and a stream of warm golden piss flooded the towel pressed against his lower extremities.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”


He took a shower and hoped to feel better when finished. As he scrubbed away the debris of his wet night, and surreptitiously wrung out the freshly washed towel, he reviewed the conversation and thought that Angela’s words hadn’t actually meant he was being thrown out, which was a great relief. However, he also knew she rightly had some concerns and decided to comply with whatever was requested. He thought it only fair and besides, for the moment, he had no better plans and nowhere else to go. He realised he needed her to continue to care.

When he returned to the nursery everything had been picked up. All that was left was the grey inflated plastic mattress, which he’d found surprisingly comfy to sleep on. The damp sheets and blankets had all been removed and the place was left looking more like a child’s nursery than it had appeared before.  She’d also given the room a quick spray of air freshener, which certainly helped.


As if seeing it for the first time he really investigated the room. The paper on the walls, the soft pastel colours and the images of baby animals in nappies were all really quite endearing. He was suddenly jealous of their innocence, half of him wished he could turn back the clock but then remembered his childhood hadn’t been all that wonderful. However, those smiling, happy images made him wish for better times.

He wondered about the unmade crib and whilst nosing around in the drawers and closet noticed baby clothes and toys. He took out and examined one of the small white onesies that again was incredibly soft but so tiny only a new baby would fit into. He wasn’t sure if they were for a particular infant, or items from her shop.


She hadn’t told him about her lost child although they had talked about her husband and ‘Terry’ thought that perhaps his Good Samaritan might be pleased to have company for a little while. Although she seemed happy and organised he had wondered if she might be a bit lonely to have taken him in so readily.

However, as he dried himself down he deliberated if she had kids of her own. She hadn’t mentioned it but the nursery setting meant she had, or was thinking about, babies. He was still thinking of that when he looked around for his clothes.

As he’d arrived at Angela’s home wearing only the clothes on his back, his choice of attire was limited. He still had his jeans and shirt piled on a chair where he’d dumped them the previous night. However, also set out on the dresser, next to his phone, keys and small pile of change, were the washed white knickers and PJ bottoms she’d given him the night he arrived. They were a lot more comfortable to wear around the house so slipped into them and, barefooted, made his way to the kitchen.



“Yes Terry.”

“My er, the spare room, the er, nursery… is that for your baby or stuff from work?”

Angela knew that this observation would come at some point but was conflicted about telling the truth.

“Mostly items from the shop.”

She decided on keeping the real reason to herself, even though some of that stuff had been around for fourteen years or more.

“I keep some things to check details, quality, you know, and make reports back to the suppliers.”

She wasn’t sure if he believed her but it sounded plausible.

“What about the wall paper?”

“Er, well, er, it was like that when I took this place on and I, well, I thought it looked cute so just haven’t got around to re-doing that room yet.”

She smiled through her lie hoping it would be the end of that particular line of questions. It was.


“Look,” ‘Terry’ said sheepishly, “I’m so sorry about all the extra work I made for you last night. I don’t mind doing the washing myself, I don’t see why you should be inconvenienced. I mean, you took me in and, er, this is not the payment you probably expected.”

Angela looked at him in a strange and irritated way.

“I didn’t… and don’t expect any payment.”

She seemed aggravated.

“You needed help and I was pleased I could offer it and… and… there is no rush on this… when you feel able to, I’m hopeful you’ll get on with your young life in a happier frame of mind.”

The words streamed from her mouth but it was apparent she was angry at the very suggestion of some kind of payment.

“I’m sorry,” ‘Terry’ gulped at the gaffe he realised he’d made.

“I didn’t mean that the way it came out.” He looked guiltily down at his bare feet.

“I meant, erm, it was a poor way for me to repay your kindness by giving your more work… erm.. er... Oh, I’m sorry if it came out any other way.”

Angela was pleased that he was a bit on the defensive because she hoped it would end the ‘nursery’ discussion. However, the main reason she was angry was that some kind of ‘payment’ had crossed her mind but probably not in a way ‘Terry’ would have thought.

She instantly calmed down.

“Of course sweetheart, I’m sorry I jumped down your throat.”

She smiled an apology.

“Of course you didn’t mean anything by it and you don’t have to worry. You can stay here until you are ready to move on. We need to get you that ‘new start’ you said you wanted.”

She ran her hand down the chastised boy’s arm in a friendly manner.

“Now… what would you like for breakfast?”























Part 6

Take your destiny out of the hands of others


Angela’s house was bigger than something a single person might need. She and husband Joshua had fallen in love with its rural cuteness and proximity to the city: it seemed to have the best of both worlds. After his death, and the death of their child, she couldn’t bear to part with the only thing that linked them all together, so she stayed and her love for the place had increased with time. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else and, thanks to the huge insurance pay out, she didn’t need to find anywhere smaller.

That was partly why she never re-furnished the much hoped for nursery. It was that one contact between them all and she simply hadn’t wanted to change things. Joshua, her darling doctor husband, had loved decorating the room ready for their first child. He’d done it on whim just two days after he’d been told the news Angela was expecting, and only a week before he died so tragically.

No, the room stayed as it was and how it should have been. Those sweet little animals wearing nappies were just typical of her hubby. He was thoughtful, loving and soppy; all the things that had made Angela fall for him in the first place.


The property was a large, three bedroom detached house at the bottom of a cul-de-sac.  It had plenty of land around it and the large back garden led down to a fence that separated it from a rough piece of common land full of weeds and tall grass. Downstairs the house had a large kitchen that led through to a utility room and garage on one side, whilst the other had a nice sized lounge and a similar sized dining room. Upstairs was Angela’s en-suite main bedroom, a small box-room, another family bathroom and a further two similar sized bedrooms. One had the nursery, the other, which would have been the child’s play-area, was full of junk Angela hadn’t got around to sorting out or throwing away.


From the moment she saw the young man about to commit suicide Angela’s submerged maternal feelings had surfaced. She wasn’t totally aware at the time but there was no doubt about it, she was definitely thinking nurturing thoughts about her guest. With the revelations about his life she became even more motherly and just wanted to protect the boy from a world that had so cruelly dumped on him.

At work she’d been able to keep any maternal feelings under control. Surrounded by happy, weepy, terrified mothers (and mothers-to-be) she saw it as her duty to be caring but not to drown in the entire baby and baby clothing industry. One of the things that stopped her getting trapped in that hormonal clique was her ‘other’ customers, the ones who had a different take on the baby business.

She loved the idea of grown-ups dressing and acting as toddlers or attempting to stem the rush to adulthood of certain children who needed more time. There appeared to be many different reasons for the ABDL community (she now knew her customer’s desires had a title) to want a shop like hers and was pleased to be able to satisfy that need. The mail order side of it alone had blossomed from absolutely nothing into a very lucrative part of the enterprise and Angela was satisfied with all the new suppliers and customers it brought her into contact with. She was surprised at just how big that particular community actually was and intrigued by many of her client’s requests, whilst being fascinated by the alternative ‘babies’ and ‘toddlers’ she met in store.


As word spreads throughout the ‘community’ these gatherings became more and more popular. On those special Sundays mummies and daddies brought their ‘little ones’ out for this brief, but much needed, social meeting. Kids, teens, and middle aged men and women, dressed in a variety of juvenile attire and often very thick protection, would somehow all be happily playing together, whilst their ‘carers’ looked on; exchanging stories, advice, buying new clothes and planning other more specialist purchases.

Graham ‘Daddy’ Griffin was a rich, powerful looking man with a very gentle way of speech. He had two young teen boys he dressed as twin toddlers who always looked so sweet and innocent together. In their matching little outfits they would play together whilst ‘Daddy’ shopped. Their bulky nappies only partly contained in tiny shiny nylon shorts as the cuffs of their plastic pants peaked out from the leg-holes whilst they careered around the place. He lavished toys, gifts and the cutest of cute baby style clothes on them, which, as far as Angela was concerned, made them simply adorable.

Since Mr Griffin and his boys had first entered Everything4Baby Angela had thought them the cutest of cute ‘families’. Many of her other customers played their part and acted as kids but this seemed more real. In fact it was very real and it aroused her curiosity.

In a quiet moment, when she asked him how he was able to keep them so young and dependent on him, he confided it was down to constant positive reinforcement of their toddler status. Also, encouragement that they were both very good boys, a rather wonderful subliminal audio file he’d developed over the years and, he whispered as if it was the biggest secret of them all, “A file of Blueline30”.

This last piece of information stuck in her mind. She had no idea what it was or what it might refer to but the name stuck.


Joshua was wet through.

It was a Sunday afternoon and mummy needed to attend to other business so unfortunately had to desert him for some time. She hated leaving her Sweetums alone at all but occasionally, especially as the company was going through a bit of transition, it just couldn’t be helped. He had plenty of things in his large playpen to keep him occupied but for the last hour and a half he’d been crying on and off because his nappy was full and uncomfortable.

Mummy had put him in an extra-large disposable with several thick gel absorbency pads in the hope that it would hold him until her return. It almost had but his rather cute little butterfly onesie, with matching plastic pants had reached its absorbent limits. There were four snaps at its crotch to hold the onesie in place. Unfortunately, the two middle ones had popped under the strain so her little bundle of joy looked like he’d had a medical accident. The huge bloated nappy had squeezed out of the gap and made it look like some huge growth had appeared between his legs. The butterfly motif on his plastic pants looked none too happy at being put under such stress.

He stood holding the bars searching for any sign of mummy - his baby coordination not allowing him any chance of escape. Meanwhile, the pet lip and snivelling sobs made him one very unhappy baby. The TV was running a cartoon channel and the radio was tuned to a children’s music station, it was hoped that between them and his toys they would keep her little boy entertained until she returned.

A low moan escaped the little chap’s lips as he plopped down, exhausted from all his crying and standing, hardly noticing the squelch as he landed on his padded bottom. The sudden pressure on his bloated protection burst the final two snaps and releasing his onesie, which flew up to his chest, leaving the startled boy staring at his swollen plastic pants.  

He didn’t know what to do so snatched up Bunny Fluffytail and clutched her tightly. Worried about the loss of his mummy, being alone and seeking some kind of comfort, he pushed the stuffed animal’s ear into his mouth and sucked. He hadn’t noticed that his dum-dum was on a ribbon pinned to his onesie just inches away. However, Bun-Bun’s ear was a comfort and eventually he sunk into a sleepy doze with his head resting against the bars of the playpen.


As soon as Angela had left for work ‘Terry’ cleaned up his mess, shoved it in the washer and tumble dried all the bedding. He really hated the fact that he’d wet and promised himself it wouldn’t happen again. He also wanted Angela to note that he wasn’t leaving everything to her; he was quite prepared to pull his weight, if she would let him.

He found the vacuum cleaner and went around all the rooms lost for a short while in the sucking up of dust and worrying about nothing else. He left Angela’s room, thinking it would be a bit disrespectful to enter uninvited but made a mental note to explain why he had not ventured in.

The house wasn’t in bad order but it was obvious that Angela was a very busy woman and had very little time for intense housekeeping. ‘Terry’ was happy to do his bit, cleaning the kitchen, organising the utility room and even ironing some of the items once they were dry. It didn’t take him long and once he’d plumped up the cushions, was happy to just lounge around with nothing more taxing than decide which TV channel to watch.


Whilst her guest had that to decide, Angela was in the throes of starting to make some significant changes to her work life. She had resolved that ‘Terry’ was too precious to leave to the vagaries of chance. He had met with nothing but abuse and harm his entire existence and was determined, one way or another, to change that for him. She was angry that such a sweet natured teenager should have suffered so much in his young life.

As it was an opportunity arose for her to find out a little more about this ABDL thing that was now occupying a great deal of her business. A supplier had sent an order to the shop instead of direct to the customer. It was a pair of matching shortalls that Daddy Griffin had ordered for his twin boys so Angela put in a call asking if he’d like her to send them on or, if he was in the vicinity, perhaps he’d like to call in. He said he’d pick them up that lunchtime and, he added flirtily, if she was available he’d like to take her to lunch. Needing information she coyly accepted his invitation and hoped this man would provide it.


Perhaps unsurprisingly Angela’s most recent dream had featured, yet again, baby Joshua except with the face and teenage build of ‘Terry’. The dream was bizarre because this amalgamation of two different people didn’t concern her. In fact, in the dream, baby ‘Terry’ crawling around dressed only as an infant had appeared the most natural thing in the world. Even friends who were visiting appeared to accept this large child and everyone loved the cute, loving way he did everything.

She’d woken up with this dream very much at the forefront of her mind and, together with the ABDL stuff she’d learned, wondered just how feasible it would be to transform Terry into a dependent little baby.

Of course, she was having internal arguments about this game-changing course of action, but still, when she eventually settled the quarrel in her head, it ended up with Terry being with her but not as a teenager. That maternal feeling, the idea of being a mother and having someone completely dependent on her, was very powerful. Logic escaped her as she wondered if her ABDL friends and acquaintances might be able to help. She had no real idea just what steps, if any, needed to be taken, though Mr Griffin’s earlier chat about his boys had firmly planted a seed.


Angela had been unable to find any reference to Blueline30 on the net, although had found a great deal about various tones, rhythms and hypnosis.  She’d read that for many Adult Babies/Diaper Lovers (she quite liked the term ‘Diapers’ but wondered if there was perhaps an English version, maybe the TNLL, The Nappy Lovers League?) their only involvement was the wearing of nappies and other childish regalia. For others there was a deeper need which liked a mummy and daddy relationship, whilst for different reasons, some needed to be coerced into a regressed but happier state of mind.

This final condition of returning a person to childhood really appealed to her. She wondered about using a similar strategy on Terry and perhaps letting him once and for all, escape from the rotten life that seemed to have engulfed him.


She had taken to ‘Terry’ the second she’d seen this distraught young boy contemplating ending his life. Angela remembered being swamped with concern and compassion, feelings that overwhelmed her to the point her unintended emotions took complete control. She hadn’t known the backstory then yet everything she saw in those initial few seconds screamed at her to look after this boy. What psychic power, what interference from God, what blessings from above had suddenly entered her thoughts, she had no idea. However, she knew instantly she had to protect this child.

Unbeknown to both the seed for Gordon’s /Terry’s adoption and regression had been there from that very first sighting. Her soothing initial words, that first understanding touch and the deep desire to be loved by the seriously scared youth clinging to the railings and about to jump to his death, had been Kismet. Fate and fortune intertwined, their future forever interlocked. Although neither was aware of it, both parties needed something, someone in their lives. The stars had aligned and their destiny became one. Gordon didn’t know it but Angela instinctively knew her life was about to change. She had a vision of that future almost immediately, why or where these thoughts /ideas/desires came from was unknown but they had assailed her in several ways. Somehow she knew that this grubby young teenager was destined to be in her life for a long time. She didn’t exactly know how but intended to see it through and hoped that the reason would present itself eventually.


Over lunch Graham Griffin proved to be wonderful company. For the first time in many years Angela was able to relax in the presence of another man. Not that she’d been off-hand or terrified in the past, it was just that there was always a guilty feeling that she was somehow betraying her late husband by even speaking with another man. Graham was different. He was polite, respected boundaries, was playful in the way he addressed her and wasn’t in the least bit pushy, letting Angela lead the conversation.

As the lunch progressed Graham (they were now on first name terms) was full of praise for how Angela had taken Everything4Baby and managed to develop it so well. He told her how much it was appreciated by the ‘community’ that she had made space for them to meet and how clever it was to hold that gathering in the shop – the latest baby ranges giving everyone new and exciting ideas.

They valued the lengths she had gone to in developing new suppliers, fostering novel ideas, encouraging innovation in parallel with her main business, and in such diverse ways. He also made known that because of her meetings, others planned on having ABDL gatherings at their homes or premises. So the group was becoming even friendlier and more community spirited.

Because of this, he tentatively asked if she herself had such preferences, then immediately apologised for being so forward and presumptive that it was something she would share with a relative stranger.


She flushed a bright red and again Graham apologised for being so invasive but she waved her hand to indicate he had no reason to express regret but confirmed she herself had no such desires.

However, Angela decided to tell him a few things that she hoped would explain her current interest in all things ABDL but first asked if this smart debonair man wore nappies and such himself.

His face split into a huge grin as he laughed out loud. “No, no, no… I love to see them on others and I can understand why some love to wear them but for myself, no.”

He elucidated.

“My interest is in my boys. When I first knew about them they were young tearaways heading for a rather gloomy existence. Their past had been horrendous and they’d been horribly scarred by their juvenile life… parents, (he shrugged and sighed) an uncaring and hostile environment. I wanted to change that.”

This of course struck a chord with Angela.

“I’d like to say I did it for the best of reasons but, in truth, they give me far more than I can give them.”

He looked down at his empty plate.

“I fear I’ve robbed them of growing up to be noisy, naughty, mistake-making, uncaring teenagers, growing into adulthood.”

He looked Angela in the eyes.

“I love my boys and would do anything for them but I can’t let them ever be anything but toddlers. I’d hate the world to crush them and I have no doubt that the direction they were going, and the choices they’d already made, that would have happened.”  

He gave a huge sigh.

“I can prevent that so they can have a stress-free life of nappies and toys, playtime and fun for as long as I have the ability to give it to them.”

He was surprised after such a confession that Angela wasn’t being judgemental.

She’d seen how happy and loving the boys were when she had met them on previous occasions at those Sunday meetings. How keen they were to do as daddy said and how polite they were to everyone. They almost glowed with pride if daddy praised them, which he often did, and they would giggle and wriggle in a joyously boyish way before getting back to their play.

Graham confessed further that when he’d put the boys in nappies at the very beginning he thought they looked so damn cute and innocent it was difficult seeing them in any other way. It became the prototype look, the one that he based all other decisions on. So, that’s how they were kept, reliant on ‘daddy’ to change and look after them and for them to remain unsophisticated - pure and infantile.


Angela was more than a bit surprised that her lunchtime companion should have spoken so openly about his boys, and yet she understood perfectly. Was this not the way she hoped to help Terry achieve his ambition of a new start? Was this not exactly the same scenario that might just lead to complete contentment on both his and her part?

She was excited to know more.


Part 7

To reach your peak, there are many steps to climb

Mary Rutherford (1701-1754)

Baby Joshua snuggled up to mummy’s bosom, he loved the way she held him tightly - it was such a warm embrace. He wriggled blissfully as he sucked his favourite drink, his mummy encouraging each enjoyable mouthful, saying what a good boy Little Joshi was.

She’d pat his padded bottom and slide her hand over the silky vinyl admiring the soft but necessary bulk beneath. Joshua had proved to be a very wet boy who needed his protection especially when he was getting ready to go ‘night-night’.  The double fabric nappies and soaker pads making sure her bundle of joy kept his bedding dry no matter how swamped he got whilst sleeping.

He squirmed some more as he finished his drink and mummy lifted to burp him before returning her sweet baby back to her loving embrace. Joshua settled his head between mummy’s soft breasts and gurgled his pleasure. Angela slipped a large silicon dum-dum in and let him slowly drift off, which he nearly always did once his darling little tummy was full of milk.

Mummy purred and gently rocked him, not quite believing that her life was now complete. His innocent unconditional love and total dependence on her may have been time consuming but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She loved everything about Baby Joshua; his baby talk, his baby clothes, his smiling face, the way his eyes lit up when she picked him up and his lack of any understanding apart from “Mummy”. She loved the way he giggled when tickled and changed. She found that he offered her so much more than she anticipated – he was such an adorable little boy.


“What is Bluefile30?” Angela queried. “I could find no reference to it online so feel it’s something I should know about but don’t.”

“Ah. I see you’ve been doing some research.” Graham smiled.

“That’s what I call it. It’s a neural inhibitor but the title is so damn technical I can never exactly remember it all. However, it comes to me in a glass file with a blue line down it and it is graduated into thirty doses.”

He smiled again as if hoping this explained everything.

“Thus Blueline30… you understand?”

Angela nodded but still felt none the wiser.

Graham could see her confusion.

“Erm, let me try and explain.”

He lowered his voice and Angela drew nearer to be able to hear his whispered tone.

“This drug has the mechanism to stop certain actions and responses that say, you and I take for granted, from reaching the brain…er… in particular the pre-frontal cortex.”

He looked to see if Angela was following his line of conversation. She was very interested even if she did find it all a bit difficult to follow.

He explained some more about the technical and psychological as well as chemical and neurological reactions this drug offered but ended with the phrase that stuck in Angela’s mind.

“In return it makes access to the amygdala area, the area that has more to do with childhood, open up and respond to very simple instruction.”

She nodded sagely but inside her stomach had butterflies – was this the panacea? Was this the actual thing she needed to fulfil her nurturing desires?  She was enthused and needed to know more.


“It has helped me, and I have to confess one or two others, in taking our ‘babies’ back to a simpler time. It regresses the mind, breaks down resistance and makes the subject far more acquiescent to suggestion. Thus, when used in conjunction with positive enforcement, certain deep subliminal words and sound waves, it releases various pleasure neurons which make the subject very, very happy.”

Angela was captivated by the possibilities and suddenly saw a real opportunity opening up in front of her. She was excited at the prospect of what she’d be able to do and what the happy result would be for ‘Terry’. The new start he wanted looked like it was a distinct possibility.

“Is it safe?”

It was a question that Angela asked but wondered if she was all that bothered about the answer… and she felt slightly guilty that this negative thought had flashed through her brain.

“Well, Andy and Jamie (his boys) have been on it for some time now. The doses are a lot smaller and less frequent and my only complaint is… they’re just too loving.”

She nodded but wanted further clarification.

“What did you mean by ‘it stops certain actions and responses you and I take for granted’?”

Graham leaned in even further and whispered his response.

“The plus side - the recipient is very loving but the most obvious and immediate reaction to the drug is it removes any control over the bladder... and a little later… the bowel.”

He shrugged apologetically as if he was offering a warning to the downside of the treatment.

“So, a supply of nappies and all sorts of other protection is needed from the start. Being well prepared from the very beginning is paramount. I’m used to it with my boys so it’s not a problem but at first I wasn’t expecting such instant and dramatic results.”

His eyes lit up as they always appeared to do when he referenced his boys.

He grinned.

“They constantly want to be held, hugged, kissed… and changed… I never get a moment’s peace.”

He let out a huge belly laugh.

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way… they give me a life that I love and I love my boys.”


Angela’s mind was buzzing with all this information - the opportunities and possibilities that had suddenly presented themselves. She had confided in Graham that she could do with some Blueline30 because of an errant nephew who was getting way out of hand. She didn’t go into too much detail but flippantly told him that it seemed a wonderful ‘cure all’ to such a problem. The boy had been a wonderful and beautiful baby, it was a shame he couldn’t be returned to such a state.

Angela schemed a little by painting this ‘nephew’ in similar colours to Graham’s own boys – on a downward slope heading for a criminal future etc etc. She made it sound like unfortunately nothing could be done for him as he was probably too far down that road to self-oblivion. Graham had sympathy with the situation and offered (as Angela hoped he would) to get a file and bring it in the following day when he’d have the boys with him.

She thanked him but tried to deflect him from thinking it was for her use by wondered if her ‘sister’ would go along with such treatment. However, she added, it might be worth a try.


Despite the excitement that was bubbling inside her about such a prospect she changed the subject and asked where the boys were. Apparently Graham’s sister was looking after them. They called her Nanny and she took as much joy from their childish ways as their daddy.

“What a fantastic idea… to have a nanny… that must be such a help?”

Angela was now forever on a quest for more and more knowledge.

“Yes, yes it is.”

He looked at his watch.

“I’m sorry Angela but, help or no help, I need to collect my boys… and no doubt you need to return to the shop.”

“Good heaven’s… is that the time?”

She picked up her things and handed the package of coveralls to Graham.

“I’m sure Jamie and Andy will look delightful in these… I look forward to seeing them… sometime.”

They parted with a smile, a shake of hands and a promise that he’d return the following day.


Later that evening when she arrived home her mind was full of all manner of plans. She had already spoken to some of her suppliers and got quotes and given instruction for new specialised items to be delivered to her home. Angela could see the future from her perspective and was eager to get things underway.

She was pleased to see that Terry had hoovered and tidied the place up a bit and that he had started preparing a meal for them both.

“You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble Terry… but thank you… it is appreciated.”

He was delighted he’d been able to please her.

 “No trouble at all, however, I didn’t vacuum your bedroom, erm, sorry but, I, er, thought it a bit presumptuous to enter your space.

She smiled at his respectful manner and again thanked him for his thoughtfulness. The fact that such hesitation to do anything that might upset her was also pleasing to her plans. The other gratifying thing was – he was only dressed in her floral pyjama pants and a t-shirt, which simply emphasised his adolescent quality.

Whilst he continued preparing the meal Angela went upstairs to change out of her clothes and to put on something a little more comfortable. Before she did she inspected the nursery and saw how tidy he’d made it and even how comfy the inflatable looked with its clean and fresh bedding nicely laid out.

However, she was now full of ideas so before venturing back downstairs to join Terry for the meal she lay out a pair of semi-transparent plastic pants and a disposable on top of his bed. She wasn’t going to insist he wear them but hoped that he would feel compelled into doing so if she could make him feel guilty about wetting before they retired for the evening.


The meal was a pasta dish that Terry had cobbled together using a can of soup, and a mixture of ham, cheese and a few mixed herbs to make the sauce. Angela was impressed that such a young boy (she just couldn’t see him as a young man) had such culinary skills. There was a huge amount and perhaps surprisingly delicious, she was impressed that he was being so helpful. They sat and chatted for a while before she excused herself to do some work on her laptop and left him to watch TV on his own.

She spent a couple of hours catching up and responding to email and other queries and was overjoyed to get a message from a firm that said they had the item she’d requested in stock. Delivery and erection could be made in 24 hours if desired and that the other items would take approximately four days.

She was pretty pleased with the efficiency of this particular supplier but she had given him a great deal of business over the past few years.


Later, she returned with a hot drink for them both and they settled in front of the TV for a drama and the late news. However, once he’d finished it, and it was time to retire, she wondered if perhaps having tea so close to bed time had been a good idea. It was a very obvious hint but she didn’t exactly say the words about him not soaking the bed. However, she did imply that there were precautions left out should he want to avail himself of them.

With that she excused herself, wished him a goodnight and climbed the stairs leaving Terry to contemplate what had just been said.

He had no inkling as to what exactly those precautions might be so shrugged, took the empty cups into the kitchen, and washed them before calling it a day.

He was astonished to see what Angela had left out. Under normal circumstances he’d have rebelled against such babyish items, even though they were the correct size for him. He had wet the bed twice and almost convinced himself he wouldn’t do it again but still there was a nagging doubt whether he’d succeed. However, the resentment that such items instilled brought on flashbacks to when his older brothers and sister made him wear nappies for their own amusement.


From a very early age they had used the fact that he was the youngest, and therefore most compliant, to entertain them by making him wet his pants. He was late to be potty trained and that seemed the excuse to continue his embarrassment. It wasn’t always his fault, often, as he slept, they would piss on him so that it looked like he’d pissed himself during the night. His mother, unaware of the truth (she wouldn’t believe her youngest son’s excuses over the united voices of her other children), so insisted he wore a nappy until she was sure he wouldn’t wet again. His siblings loved to humiliate him in this way and made sure everyone knew what he was wearing, often pulling his shorts or jeans down to reveal the cumbersome infantile fabric.  The abuse lasted until he was thirteen, and a couple of times since then, but his family never tired of this particular joke.

However much he hated the way he’d been treated in the past he couldn’t really blame Angela’s solution - wet disposable-versus-wet bedding - it seemed a simple choice. Reluctantly he saw he had no real option, if he wet again he dreaded being thrown out and the smell in the nursey was getting far too obvious.

Grudgingly he taped himself into the well-padded disposable. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it but he’d hoped it would be the last. There was no mirror to check it was fitted correctly but it did feel tight on his hips.  The misty vinyl pants were ample enough to cover his nappy and as he climbed under the fleecy blankets he had a happier memory. The last time he’d worn such an item it resulted in him winning a quarter of a million. He snuggled down with a smile on his face.


To begin with he felt most uncomfortable. His mind raced as thoughts of his family who’d stolen and spent every penny he’d earned, without so much as a thought for him, both angered and left him distraught. He’d become the ‘money cow’ (that’s what his eldest brother had nicknamed him) delivering money and being milked of it. The rest of them just used his name to get things and they abused other people in doing so. Many of the things that he was accused of doing were a result of his money-grabbing, attitude-wielding scumbag of a family but he got the blame. It was them who turned the public against him and it was they who had eventually killed the golden goose.

The heat from the nappy and the frustration he felt made him boil with resentment. He tossed and turned, scratched and itched, he was sure he’d never sleep with all the thick, hot fabric and the diaphanous plastic pants surrounding his groin. However, like most teenage boys he soon found a way to help relax. With a hand inside his nappy it didn’t take long to get the release needed and settle down to what he hoped would be another wonderful night’s sleep.

Whereas previously he’d been able to drop off without the slightest trouble, now his mind was working on making sure he didn’t wet. He had a fitful night, constantly waking up and being relieved, when he shoved his hand down the front of the protection to find he was dry… if just a bit sticky.

This happened a few times, the last being just as the light from behind the curtains indicated that dawn had almost arrived. He was part dozing and part awake but pleased that he’d managed to get through the night with no accidents. Stroking the front of his lustrous pants his mind was relaxed as he slowly drifted off back to sleep.


Angela came into Terry’s room and was pleased that there wasn’t that tell-tale smell of urine that had been so obvious on previous occasions. She could tell he was still fast asleep but, because the blankets had fallen off the bed, happy to discover that he was wearing the protection she’d left out. She also noticed that the semi-transparent pants were bulging quite considerably which indicated the disposable had served its purpose.

There was something sweet and childlike as she watched the slow rise and fall of his breathing. He squirmed slightly and his plastic pants gave off that rather telling, if muted, rustling sound, the bright blue indicator strips could be seen through the translucent material and his lips were shiny with dribble as he turned to face her.

She didn’t want to break the spell but as she had to go to work and needed to set a couple of other ideas of hers in motion had to wake him.


Calling his name she gently shook him awake.

“Terry, Terry… Terry, wake up love there’s something I need to ask you.”

Slowly his eyes focused and he was aware of Angela’s smiling face in front of him.

“Sorry to wake you up, I just wondered, if you’re up for it, and things aren’t too heavy… if you could do something for me?”

He lazily stretched and noticed the blanket had fallen away and he was lying there wearing only a nappy and plastic pants. He made a scramble for the blanket to try and cover up but shamefacedly realised that Angela would have noticed that his disposable was expanded and soaked.

She saw the embarrassment add colour to his skin. She smiled encouragingly.

“Oh Terry, don’t worry, it’s better to use the disposable than have everything else sopping wet.”

Her kind words didn’t really lift the gloom that he was feeling. However, he tried to respond to her earlier question.

“What is it you want me to do?”

“Oh yes, I think we need to make some changes to your room…”

He noticed she had said “Your room”

“So, if you can, and stuff isn’t too heavy, could you take the crib down to the garage and then, all the boxes in the other bedroom room need to be cleared out. If you could store them down there as well, that would be terrific.”

Absentmindedly his hand stroked the front of his bloated diaphanous plastic pants as he listened to her request.

Angela noticed, or maybe read into this particular scene, that his sodden nappy and slick vinyl pants were the focus of his attention in such a distracted way. There was something very innocuous about it all, as if he didn’t really mind that much.

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to manage it all but any help you can give would be most appreciated. Leave what you can’t carry and perhaps this evening we can organise its removal together?”

“Sure. I’ll do what I can.”

He gave her a weak smile and hoped she’d leave ‘his room’ so he could be embarrassed on his own.










Part 8

Don't grow up, it's a trap!

Peter Pan

After he’d heard the door bang shut and car drive off Gordon lay on the bed and ran his hand over his bloated night time protection. There was no denying that it had done its job perfectly well but there was still a slight nagging resentment at the back of his mind - Christ he was twenty years old and shouldn’t be wetting his pants at all. However, he was pleased he’d made the decision to wear the disposable because he was sure Angela wouldn’t put up with any more soaked bedding.

He lay there thinking of her words “Your room” and began to relax a little… that seemed very positive. He had no idea why he was wetting at night but whilst he did… perhaps wearing a nappy to sleep in was not a bad price to pay for a roof over his head and a kind lady who was doing her best for him?

As his thoughts played with the possibilities his hand distractedly played with the soft silky mound; it was curiously sexy, childish and comforting and he enjoyed the sensation. He knew it was still fairly early so rolled over, pulled the fleecy blankets back over and drifted back to sleep.

His dream was almost instant and found himself in a world where he wore a nappy and everyone was smiling. There was no shock or ridicule, everyone seemed pleased to see him and admired his cute colourful protection. This was a world without his family, the press, the trolls on social media… it was a very happy place to be. He was smiling a lot and, until he came to stay with Angela, it was something he hadn’t enjoyed doing for quite some time.


As mummy led him out Joshua was alarmed to find two others in his playpen. They were both smiling boys who were dressed like him - thick nappies, plastic pants and white cotton t-shirts with huge colourful but different dinosaurs printed on the front.

At first he was a bit scared of these newcomers but one of them offered him a small but cute looking “dinoroar” (as the new boy called it) and then made him smile behind his dummy when he started dancing and ‘singing’ and pulling faces pretending to be the fierce creature. Joshi wasn’t sure but then the other started crawling around growling, soon all three were holding animals and making whatever noises they thought appropriate.

Although the other two boys had a much better vocabulary than Joshi, they seemed more than happy to join with the youngest member of their tight little pack in just making noise.

Mummy and Daddy looked on, happy that this first meeting hadn’t been the problem they thought it might be. The babies hugged and swayed whilst having a conversation that the two adults couldn’t understand but which the little kids did. Gibberish babble soon had the juvenile trio deep in playtime, where the newness of the meeting had been immediately forgotten. The huge plastic area of his playpen crinkled and squeaked, as they squealed and screeched, in a joyful fantasy of their own making.


Gordon woke up from his pleasant dream to find his nappy expanded to capacity. This time he actually remembered the moment just before waking up when he’d voluntarily peed, enjoying the warming sensation that followed. He couldn’t understand why it had given his so much pleasure.

He threw back the covers and, despite being only slightly annoyed that he’d done what he’d done, was glad that nothing else was wet. He got to his feet and was amazed just how much his disposable held because it felt so big and heavy hanging in his glossy plastic pants.

He was a bit thrown by his emotional state, whereas, only yesterday wetting the bed had caused him great concern, today, with it all contained, he felt bizarrely elated. Standing contemplating this turn of events he ran his hands over the shiny plastic and realised it was they and they alone that was keeping everything in. He wiggled his hips - the weighty bulk providing a peculiar buzz. He began to dread taking them off in case his piss just flooded out everywhere. Also, and perhaps inexplicably, he didn’t want to take them off.

His mind raced to find some kind of rationalisation because he knew he should be horrified; had his family’s past exploits schooled him into believing this was acceptable or was he simply relieved that he hadn’t wet the bed and such a reprieve was showing up in this odd way?

He swayed again, the morning sunlight catching his straining shiny plastic pants and for a moment made them glow – it looked like his groin was encased in polished silver.


Angela was full of plans. She couldn’t wait for Graham to arrive but in the meantime, in between serving her eager mums-to-be, managed to organise the delivery of her latest project. She hoped Terry would be able to move most of the stuff from his room and the spare room because she had big plans for both areas.

Two young boys dressed in junior school uniforms were her first indication that Graham had arrived.  Excitedly, the two giddy kids, looking well-turned-out in the uniforms of an independent school over in the next city – grey shirt and shorts, purple and grey tie and purple blazers, greeted her with a hug. She was just as pleased to see them as they were her and handed them both a lollipop, which she kept for just such occasions.

“Tank yew Miss,” they chorused.

As the boys hugged Angela she could hear the crinkle of plastic pants and could see the thick outline of their protection filling out their stylish little grey corduroy shorts. As daddy entered the shop she patted their bottoms and pointed them towards the latest arrivals in the toy section.

“Morning Angela,” he beamed.

“Morning Graham, nice to see Andy and Jamie looking so smart… are they going somewhere special?”

“They’re visiting friends a little later but were very excited when I told them they were coming to see you first… you seem to have been a great hit with them.”

“Oh, I hope so; they’re both very sweet boys.”


She was desperate to know if he’d brought the Blueline30 but was content to go along with the pleasantries first. Graham was a very easy man to talk to and even some of the other lady customers turned their heads to admire this smart and dignified man with two young children in tow. They may have been a little bigger than what you’d expect of junior schoolboys but the uniform was quite prestigious because this high-class learning establishment was well known at being sticklers for wearing the correct uniform at all times. The private school’s illustrious status also indicated that the wearers of such a uniform came from a very well to do family of privilege and money.

To Graham this was just another form of camouflage to keep people from asking too many questions. Both boys were actually teenagers but they behaved and had the mental and verbal capacity of toddlers, which was how their daddy liked to keep them. So he’d adapted several outfits that the boys could wear in public that wouldn’t draw too many searching questions; schoolboys, cub scouts, football and other sports strips.

Although he could quite easily have dressed them ‘age appropriately’ he was of the opinion that they would have trouble with their peers and that it would only add confusion to their innocent demeanour. Wearing childish clothing may have led to ridicule from their peers, though in fact it just made these older children not want to be involved with such ‘babies’, so they kept their distance. 

The boys didn’t know any different, like all toddlers, they wore whatever daddy dressed them in. As long as they didn’t have to answer questions things were OK. However, they’d been instructed that if anyone spoke to them they had to run and find daddy immediately. So far this little deception had worked fairly well.


Back at the house and Gordon was still dressed in his night time protection but had already cleared the crib and other bits and pieces from his room down to the garage. He enjoyed being busy, as well, bizarrely, the feeling his ballooning nappy was giving him. Quite a few times he’d stop and run his hands over the distended plastic mass and shiver with delight at this slippery marvel.

The other room was full of boxes, cases, trunks and an assortment of old clothing. Still, he’d been asked to empty the entire room so just got on with Angela’s request. He struggled with a few of the weightier items but was determined to have the job done before Angela returned from work.

He was also wondering just what her plans were for both rooms.

He’d taken her “Your room” as proof that he wasn’t going to be kicked out any time soon, although why he thought he’d become a permanent fixture he wasn’t sure. The thing was, in just a very short time he’d come to rely on Angela as a ‘mother’ figure. It was true that his first thought was that she maybe wanted some kind of ‘toyboy’ but her approach towards care and understanding had definitely been more maternal than carnal.

He’d dismissed the sex side of things pretty rapidly because of the way she’d shot him down when he spoke of ‘payment’. However, she had said that once he was on a more even keel, and felt he could sort out his problems, he would no doubt be on his way. This was the last thing he wanted. He definitely didn’t want to go anywhere and would do all he could to stay under such a caring person’s roof because quite simply – he felt both safe and loved.

Meanwhile, as he looked around the now empty second bedroom he hoped that one of the rooms would include a more permanent bed for him. He let his mind wonder as to how he’d like ‘his room’ decorated and the bedding he’d choose…

He had no idea what Angela had in store for him.


Quite some time before Terry arrived in Angela’s life the ABDL side of the business was already doing very well. The mail order had grown from nothing to quite a thriving little industry in its own right. However, it was the variety of people and interested parties this lifestyle brought into Angela’s sphere she liked the most. It was different, it was a little spooky, it was loving, it was cute but occasionally it was scarily innovative.

Angela had become obsessed with how Andy and Jamie acted. They weren’t ABDL people, they were regressed teenagers who were kept as toddlers for their own good, well, for their daddy’s good actually, but she didn’t see anything wrong with that. All she saw was two big kids enjoying a carefree life full of love and concern. They wanted for nothing and in Graham they had a ‘daddy’ who would move Heaven and Earth for their happiness.

Of course, the greater part of her ABDL customers were nothing like these two boys. They were grown-ups with certain childish desires but who in the main operated as grown-ups the majority of the time. However, her plan was to have Terry the same way Graham had his boys. This desire on her part had come to her very quickly once she had Terry in her home.

It appeared that in just a couple of days, after the initial normal response to a scared and suicidal teenager, Angela, armed with what just could be done to people like Andy and Jamie, had set herself on an innovative course of her own.

Terry needed love and by the sound of things, hadn’t received much of that so far in his life. Angela wanted to change his circumstances, alter his references, obliterate the negative from his past and let him experience unreserved love from the very beginning… his beginning… his new start.


Graham passed a small package over to her and, keeping his voice low, reminded her that it was important that the dose shouldn’t be exceeded.

“An overdose could prove very problematic, you might never get your nephew back, and he’d be forever lost as an incontinent, needy juvenile.”

Angela nodded that she understood. An email the previous night explaining Blueline30’s effects and how it needed to be administered with care had proved most interesting reading. He also gave her a copy of his own subliminal audio file to help in his conditioning.

“Play this to him as often as you can and have it playing when he goes to sleep.  You might find that after the first dose he will be easier to control and will respond more quickly to your suggestions if his mind already thinks a certain way”

“You mean more childish?”

Graham nodded.

Angela didn’t know if Graham had already sussed that the drug was for her personal project but he never questioned her motives. In many ways Graham and Angela were very much alike; they had tons of love to give but had been deprived of that outlet for one reason or another. She had a great deal of time for both him and his boys.


Gordon was sweating profusely. He’d managed to clear everything out of the spare bedroom and stack it neatly (even if he did say so himself) in the garage. He let out a sigh of contentment at a job well done.

It was 2pm and he still wore his soaked nappy, he hadn’t bothered to get changed thinking that as there was no one else around he didn’t need to. However, he was beginning to itch a little and thought it time to take a shower and change into some daytime clothes.

Once he’d stripped he felt strangely naked without his full nappy. That thickness and silky outer skin had captivated him all morning and now suffering its loss wriggled distractedly under the warming jets. Perhaps he was just realising how heavy it had become and relieved now he’d discarded the weight. However, his thoughts were not on what he was going to wear once out of the shower but looking forward to hopefully having to wear his night time protection again. Angela had noticed the fact that he was wet so he did a little dance of pleasure when he thought she would insist he stuck to wearing protection later on.

He checked his bottom and groin and could see that it was all looking a little redder than it should. He searched in the cabinet and found some moisturising cream and some talc and spread them around the glowing parts before putting on his underwear and the pyjama bottoms. His t-shirt barely came down to the top but he felt comfortable padding around barefoot exactly as he was. He even planned on making a special meal for when Angela got home.  


Things were moving at a rapid pace.

In such a short space of time Angela had made decisions, come to conclusions and put her plans into place to make sure Terry would have his new start. She was determined that he would know love from the very first moment and that that love was constant and unwavering. His new start would be just that; a brand new start from the very beginning. He’d know the love only a mother can give so she needed him to be totally reliant on her for everything.

A teenage boy was fairly independent and Terry had been so far, even if it had all got too much for him. She would take him back to a new childhood and away from any grown up worries. She would make sure he got his new start and, armed with the file of Blueline30, couldn’t wait to get the process underway.

As Angela drove home she was feeling well equipped; she already had the nappies, disposables, vinyl pants and suitable clothing for her ‘Little Baby Boy’ organised in the boot of her car.  The following day the crib she ordered would arrive so that would be a very good starting point. She also had workmen planned to construct the nursery and then build the playroom – her new baby would have plenty of space for fun.


Later, after another pretty successful meal, as they sat watching the final news story of the night something happened that made Angela look at Terry in a most disbelieving way.


















Part 9

Change me not the child, his purity is divine

Rev Llewelyn Farnsby (1873 – 1952)

“Concern has been raised over the whereabouts of former reality TV star Gordon Littlewood after a disturbing video has been uploaded onto social media.”

There then followed the newsreader giving a potted analysis of his career featuring a montage of clips of Gordon’s time on ‘There and Then - Here and Now’ and a series of unedifying headlines about his downfall in the public consciousness.

“The recently released video shows twenty year-old Mr Littlewood being abused by several men...”

Angela looked at Terry in complete disbelief. How come this schoolboy was being described as a twenty year-old former TV personality? She was shocked but not as shocked as Terry who looked both sad and terrified as tears streamed down his cheeks.

The newsreader continued.

“…whilst his anxious family revealed there has been no contact with the former television personality for several weeks...”

A further montage of photographs, including one of him dressed as a baby on the show continued.

“His distressed family are worried that he may have been kidnapped, although no ransom has yet been received.”

There was then a short but tearful interview with his mother who, fearing the loss of her youngest son was in a highly emotional state.

“The police are continuing their investigation but anyone knowing the whereabouts of Gordon Littlewood should notify the police immediately.”


A stunned silence followed.


“What the hell was all that about?”

Angela was very confused.

“Terry, what is going on?”

“Sorry, Sorry, Sorry”

Terry’s apology could hardly be heard. His head was spinning out of control as his body simply submerged itself in anguish. He felt his life collapsing in on him and the wail of misery couldn’t be contained.

Although Angela was mystified by the news story she’d just witnessed, there was a young boy next to her crying his eyes out and in desperate need of some kind of solace.

She pulled him into an embrace and stroked his hair. Sorrow wracked his body and, in between huge gulps for air, all he could mumble was the word “sorry”.

Even though she’d just heard that the little innocent boy she comforted was a television star and twenty years old, she found it hard to equate the two. Terry was a sweet boy, whereas Gordon, according to the news reports, was a vile young man.


Angela held Terry tightly until the sobbing lessened.

Eventually he couldn’t put off his defence much longer.

“I’m so sorry Angela. I’ve been trying to avoid my past for ages now… erm… I’m sorry I lied to you but I, er, thought, um, if you knew who I was, erm….”

The words dried up as emotion got the better of him and he hugged her and wept some more.

There was no denying that for Terry, the comfort of Angela’s warm embrace, made him feel safe though he was unsure just what this news would mean. Probably that he’d be on his way very soon, but whilst he could he wanted her to know how much her kindness was valued.

Angela decided to stay silent until he’d said his piece. The Blueline30 that was just inches away in her handbag would have to wait now that a rather large spanner had been thrown into the works.

The word ‘Sorry’ was mumbled in between Terry’s sniffs and blubbing.

It gave her time to think.


In due course Terry was able to pull himself together and explain what she’d just seen in the news report.

Yes, he had been on a TV reality show. He had won a quarter of a million and his family had taken it all. His mother insisting that his eldest brother looked after his finances, whilst the rest of them would be employed in other ways.

He described the relief he felt whilst in the TV house away from his family, a few weeks of total bliss.

The tasks they had to perform and the humiliation designed for the titillation of viewers was as of nothing compared to his constant violation at home. Once he’d won the show his family took full advantage and, he pleaded his innocence with Angela, that most of the bad press was as a result of his rotten family using his celebrity.

Angela listened without asking questions. He looked so small and scared and despite everything, she could still only see him as a frightened and suicidal little boy - the fact that he was dressed in such a kiddie way; barefoot, floral pyjama bottoms and t-shirt only added to her concern.


He explained the video that had been uploaded and had caused the concern… and yes that was his mother showing how emotional she was about the situation and with a sniff added.

“She should get an Oscar for that ‘caring’ performance.”

He clarified that at his most depressed he fell in with a group who had recognised him and offered to help. However, all they were interested in was having ‘fun’ with this dejected celebrity so used and abused him in ways he’d really rather not talk about.

Angela nodded, seeing how much pain he was in just telling the absolute minimum, she knew how bad it must have been.

“I’d been walking the streets for a couple of days since they let me go… until you found me.”

He looked at her.

“I’m really sorry Angela but your kindness was the first time someone actually cared about me, not knowing who I was… it was fantastic… and I worried that, er, if you found out you’d like me less.”


Terry spoke a great deal about how much, in just the few days he’d known her, he saw there were kindness, empathy and understanding in a world which he’d been keen to leave. He told her that had she not turned up when she did, he would have jumped simply because he had nothing to live for.

At the end of his story Angela knew more, understood more and didn’t blame Terry for doing and saying what he had. She wanted to look out for this sad young man and all that he’d described tugged even more on her heartstrings. His life had been rotten, it needed a drastic change, she was more determined than ever to give him the new start he so craved.

Finally she looked him straight in the eyes.

“OK Terry, er, Gordon, er, Mr Littlewood there is only one thing I need to know.”

Terry looked scared but knew this moment was coming, the moment when he’d be kicked out and he’d have to sort out his own life without the influence of his guardian angel.

“Do you still want a new start?”

This wasn’t the question he was expecting and she’d asked it in such a quiet enquiring manner, not an ultimatum or in anger, it was more like a secret request. He was pleased and his heart skipped a couple of beats as he thought of a future… a future he was unsure of but at least he was going to get help from Angela in achieving it. He was happy.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want.”

“Good,” Angela smiled.


The Blueline30 stayed in her bag. She had planned to administer the first dose in the final drink of the night. For the moment that had to be put on temporary hold as Angela thought about a course of action.

“You’ll never get a new start if the police are looking for you so… I suggest you let them know you are safe…”

“No, no.” Terry became a little agitated.

“They’ll insist that my family gets involved and I don’t want that to happen…”

“I realise that.” Angela was being very reassuring.

She’d surprised herself with how quickly she came up with what she hoped would be a solution but first wanted to sleep on it, toss the idea around before revealing it to Terry.

“You don’t have to worry Ter, er, Gord, er… no, you don’t have to worry. Trust me. I’ll be with you every step of the way and I won’t let your family, or the police, take you away.”

It was silly really. He was actually over the legal age and could do what he liked. However, Angela still saw him as a little boy and the grateful look on his cherubic face didn’t detract from that image.

Terry looked positively relieved at her comforting words.

However, I think we need to sleep on it so… time for bed.”


She’d already laid out another disposable and a pair of pale blue plastic pants on his bed and whilst there had picked up Terry’s useless phone and hoped to get it to work.

He was happy to see the protection and this time there was no resentment as he taped himself in and pulled on the sleek cover. Smoothing them against his groin he gave a huge sigh; one of relief, mixed with one of pleasure.

He climbed under the fleecy blankets and bounced around a little on the inflatable bed as he got comfortable. Terry was a little more relaxed now he thought Angela was on his side and determined to help in some way.

She popped her head around the door.

“Terry, you’ve been through a lot so… I have this relaxing music I use if I get agitated or too many thoughts are rushing around in my head. I find it helps give me a good night’s sleep.”

She plugged in the player and switched it on without Terry saying much but nodded his approval.

Graham Griffin’s audio file started low.

“I’m sure you’ll find it as beneficial as… well… it’s designed to remove nightmares and fill your head with relaxed thoughts as the gentle sounds register in your subconscious.”

She said this in a rather airy, light-hearted, dismissive way as if she didn’t quite believe its qualities herself, but she was acting.

She really didn’t need to go into any explanation, Terry was already very comfortable under his blankets and his smooth, slippery protection made him wriggle with delight.

“Good night Terry, sleep well.”

The door closed and the soothing tones and soft waves crashing against a beach added a calm and reassuring ambience to the darkened room.

He fell asleep not knowing that although his nappy was soon to become a permanent thing; his days of sleeping on an inflatable bed were numbered. Meanwhile, his head was filled with suggestions and words of encouragement: He was very lucky, his mummy loved him, it was OK to wet his nappy, he was a very good boy. These thoughts circled his mind but the music was so appealing and relaxing it all made sense.


Angela’s workmen arrived early to make a start on the alterations to the bedrooms.

Terry had only just woken up when he heard the knock on the door but didn’t know what was happening.

Angela installed the workers in the spare room before looking in on Terry who was up and wondering what was going on.

“Sorry about the noise. The, er, builders have arrived.” She said by way of explanation.

Despite him standing dressed only in his night time protection, which didn’t appear to worry him at all, or that Angela could once again see he had filled his bloated nappy; he was more concerned with what was going on. He looked anxious again.

“Sorry Terry, I was hoping to keep it a secret but, you know; now there’s little point in keeping it from you. The men are here to fix the spare room into a place more suited to your needs. A proper place to sleep and some space for… er… yourself.”

Terry’s eyes lit up in appreciation.

“Oh mum… er… Angela, thank you, thank you… how… fantast…”

He rushed up to her and hugged tightly.

“That’s so nice.” He weakly whispered… again overcome with emotion.

She patted his soaked nappy. She liked this intimacy and loved the feel of his soft and slippery protection.

He, also enjoying the situation, held her for quite some time.

There was a warmth and understanding in her that Terry craved.

Ever since that first touch, when she guided him down from the bridge, he’d desired her kindness and approval. Never had he been a recipient of such natural affection and in truth thought he was both lucky but undeserving. He didn’t want anything to change that dynamic… and now he was getting his own room, the signs were for an auspicious future.

Angela broke into his thoughts.

“It’s a nice day. The men don’t want us under their feet, so why don’t we get to work on making sure the police are no longer searching, or people worried, about you?”


As the workforce got stuck in redecorating, laying new carpet and building a large crib and playpen Angela guided Terry out into the back field to make their little video.

She’d taken Terry’s phone and recharged it hoping that was all it needed to make it work; she was pleased to see it operated just fine once the battery was full.

Angela had also spent the night doing her own research on Gordon (Little) Littlewood and was amazed at just how famous he was… once was. She was appalled at some of his antics and laughed at some of the stuff reported he’d done on the reality show. Yes his small stature and baby looks had certainly helped make him a winner - shame that it hadn’t lasted.


“Do you still have access to your Facebook page?”

Terry wondered why she was asking such a question.

“I think so, I haven’t been on for such a long time, I was getting way too many nasty comment I stopped using it.”

“I understand that but, do you still have access?”

He still didn’t completely understand.

“Look, what we need to do is for you to make a little movie using your phone camera. You need to tell everyone that you are sorry that you’ve caused such a worry but that you’ve been trying to avoid being in the public eye. You’ve been depressed but now you’ve met up with some people on the same wavelength as you so are happy leaving the limelight to those who want it.”

He was beaming from ear to ear.

“Does this make sense?”

“Angela, that’s brilliant… I can say what I like. Maybe emphasise I don’t want to waste the police’s precious resources, I’m avoiding my terrible family and that I want to disappear completely and have no wish to be searched for because I’m now happy away from the press and pressures of… everything.”

He gabbled.

Angela was pleased that he’d cottoned on so quickly and was enthusiastic to do his piece. She was also surprised at just how good he was at coming up with such coherent thoughts and expressing them into camera (she supposed it was probably something to do with the reality show he’d been on).

They found a rather inconspicuous area in the overgrown field behind Angela’s home and rehearsed his piece a couple of time before she held the camera and Terry performed his bit.


The spare room was being quickly transformed. The team worked speedily and had the room exactly like Angela requested; pale yellow walls, pale blue ceiling, and light-eliminating blinds. The construction of the crib was easy to slot together and screw firmly into place, as were the closet, draws and the changing table. The playpen took slightly longer with wooden bars circling it to keep baby safe and securely in place. The last things they installed were the thick plastic mattress in the crib and a similar, though much larger one to cover the entire play area. Both areas were now slippery, soft, comfy, baby-safe and waterproof.

Soon everything was looking good and all but complete; Angela herself would add the finishing touches. The piles of nappies, the colourful plastic pants, baby clothes, bottles and containers of soothing oils and powder, the room would smell of a well looked after baby. Images of babies in nappies were planned for a border to stretch all the way around the room as were smiling cartoon animals to match some of the bedding she’d already ordered. She couldn’t wait to install the mobile she’d bought when first expecting all those years ago. The room would be a wonderful haven for a happy baby.


Gordon Littlewood was suddenly in his element. He wanted to put an end to the police activity but thought they might need a good motive to stop looking. He took a great delight in listing the reasons why he was disappearing and laid the blame squarely on his scumbag (his word) of a family. He wanted to move the spotlight from him and onto that nasty group of tormentors who’d made his life hell. He wanted to make sure that the next round of newspaper headlines was about them and not him.

He let rip.

Comforted by the wet nappy he’d never removed, he enjoyed having such power. His mind raced to put all his grievances into a tight little two minute segment.

Angela held the camera but couldn’t help notice that throughout his tirade to camera he wiggled and constantly played with his cumbersome groin… it was if he was finding comfort, inspiration and support from his nappy.  The camera didn’t show that on screen.

He wasn’t sure why but seemed to have gained confidence and awareness in himself and as a result, a nappy, wet or dry, was something he wanted and liked to wear.

There was a happy glow about him now. He was buoyant and alive and this transferred itself onto the little video. He still looked like a young teenager but his words had been damning for his family and his desire to disappear seemed to make a great deal of sense after what they’d put him through.


Gordon was able to upload straight from the phone to his Facebook page and with a hug and a sigh felt that was the end to that part of his life.

Angela checked to make sure his little video was correctly and completely installed on his page and with a look of relief congratulated him on a job well done. At the back of her mind she hoped that if they tried to trace back to the phone it would prove authentic but useless.

Angela and Terry (he was still Terry to her) celebrated with a bottle of soda each and a feeling of total liberation; they toasted to a better life and a new start.


The line that was often repeated by members of the public was his reaction to the sordid video that had been placed on social media and had caused this search in the first place.

“Those men did some awful, unforgivable things to me but that was as nothing to the lifelong suffering and abuse my family inflicted.”

He finished the piece to camera wishing every one well and hoping that they would find the happiness he had found.

Although it sounded like he’d joined a cult, the fact that he’d done nothing illegal brought any police involvement to a close.

As an offshoot, it also increased Gordon’s profile and a desperate desire by reporters to get the ‘real’ story about Gordon Littlewood. The Facebook video was soon trending and became one of the most watched YouTube clips.

His family were ridiculed and ferociously castigated in the press; the very press that had been so quick to vilify Gordon now held him up as a victim. New stories about him appeared - anything to cash in on his name now it was back in the public arena.

An exclusive and syndicated interview would have netted him another small fortune but he was unaware of this interest because Blueline30 was now flowing through his bloodstream.


Once they’d confirmed the video had uploaded correctly Angela took the phone, removed the SIM card and tossed it into the undergrowth.

“There, now they can’t track you down or annoy you anymore.”

She gave him a conspiratorial smile, which he returned with a hug.

“Thank you.”

They toasted their success with a cooling fizzy drink, both relieved that it was now all over.

Angela looked up into the sunlit sky and then back to Terry.

“Things are going to be different from now on,” she confided. “Everything is about to change… for both of us.”


The spiked soda was already working and the unexpected loss of bladder control made Terry suddenly stand still wondering what was going on. The soft hissing sound of pee adding to his already full nappy, together with the sudden vacant look in his eyes, meant that Blueline30 was working as promised.

Angela was well prepared. She’d brought a bag with various items she knew would be needed.

Terry stood doubting what was happening but could no longer comprehend anything. His body shivered and a tear came to his eye, something was wrong, something had…

He was no longer able to control his body and, as his nappy filled, all he could do was sob.

Taking a change mat from her bag Angela spread it out on the ground and helped the confused and immobile teen down onto it. She relieved him of his soaked disposable and for the first time, set about cleaning up her baby.

“There, there sweetheart… I’ll have you all clean and tidy in a moment.”

She looked down at a naked Terry and realised that there needed to be a few cosmetic changes to his hairy little body… but all in good time.

Angela loaded a disposable with extra soak pads and then taped the thick garment into place before pulling up some bright cartoon vinyl pants. Terry didn’t appear to know what was happening, his limbs, floppy and uncoordinated, offering no resistance as she went about dressing him. A colourful childish t-shirt and loose fitting cotton shorts added to making him look even younger than before.

“Who’s my Sweetums?” She cooed and kissed his forehead, whilst patting reassuringly on his bulging padded groin.

He looked so cute but there was still a slight strained, unhappy look on his face with weepy eyes and a cry not very far away.

She took out the final emblem of his new life and slipped a soothing pink dum-dum between his lips.

Within a short space of time, Terry/Gordon disappeared replaced by a nursing little baby Joshua.

A new name and a new start, Angela wondered, if anything could be better.

The Beginning


The End

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