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An Old Problem                                                                                                 by Les Lea

The noise of the rain beating against my bedroom window woke me up. It was coming down in torrents and, as I looked at the blue display on the clock, which read 2.13 I thought, as I normally sleep with the window slightly open, it might be wise to close it.

My room looks out over the back garden and off into the countryside. Well, it isn’t all countryside; there is a local road that runs along the back and then a sort of T-junction that goes off in another direction. However, it’s very dark and only the occasional beam from our rear motion sensor security light illuminates a few nearby trees. However, the bulb had recently blown so everywhere was completely black and though I knew there were some nearby trees beyond our fence, I couldn’t make them out.

I closed the window but was mesmerised by wave after wave of rain that beat heavily against the glass. I stood there for a few minutes completely hypnotised by the rhythm of the falling rain. Then the song entered into my head and I couldn’t move as I watched deep into the pitch black; the reflective blue of my bedside clock occasionally being caught in the raindrops as they streamed down the pane. It was quite compulsive.

In the distance I could see sporadic flashes and wondered if the storm was coming or going. The weather forecast had promised a period of sudden summer storms but they’d be quite erratic and some places would escape completely. I could hear a distant rumbling but it was mostly masked by the sound of rain incessantly beating against the window. However, it was a severe summer storm and standing there, wearing just the shiny green Adidas shorts I’d adopted as my favourite form of sleepwear, I started counting the seconds between the flashes and distant rumblings of thunder the way I had as a child.

I don’t know why I simply hadn’t returned to bed but, five minutes later I was still looking, head pressed against the rain-streaked glass and noticed the lightning and thunder getting closer together.

Over the years thunder and lightning had proved a daunting problem for me but, as I was tracking this one I thought I wouldn’t be scared as easily as I had been when in the middle of all that noisy rumbling.

However, a sudden bright flash lit up the garden and nearby wooded area as I witnessed a strike about couple of hundred yards away where a tree burst into flame. I instinctively flinched and ducked down below the window ledge as the instant roar around the house rumbled on for ages.

Although stunned I returned to the window to see the fractured tree still ablaze but the rain trying to dampen the flames. Moments later and something else caught my attention there was liquid pooling at my feet. I’d let lose a stream of uncontrollable piss. My shorts clung to my thighs and hips as the flow of urine continued; the nylon fabric being no use at all in absorbing much of it.

Not only was I pissing myself but I was actually shaking where I stood. It may seem strange that an eighteen year-old should be scared of a storm. However, this incident brought back unwanted memories of other times.


I glanced at the clock which now read 3.12. Astonishingly, I’d been standing at the window transfixed for an hour, thankfully only paddling in my own piss for a minute or so since that terrifying strike. The pool on the hardwood floor was clearly visible whilst my shorts adhered to my skin and felt very uncomfortable. A couple more flashes and distant rumbles told me the storm was in retreat but thought it better to clean up the mess before returning to bed.

Not wishing to cause any further commotion I tiptoed to the bathroom, picking up a couple of cloths to clean up the puddle. I turned on the main bedroom light to make sure I got the lot and was surprised at the amount but relieved it hadn’t flowed to the edge of the rug. I mopped it up and caught a glimpse of myself on my hands and knees in the mirror. Even though my shorts still had the sheen of Adidas’s shiny nylon, they glowed even further with the addition of liquid. They may have been my favourites but felt awfully clammy to wear.

The hand-cloths gradually soaked up my shame and within a few short minutes I was back in the bathroom and rinsing out my stained shorts. As I said those old shiny nylon Adidas were my favourite. I’d had them ages and loved the fact not only did they still fit but felt wonderful to sleep in, although not at that moment.  

I have a quite a few pairs of shorts because I prefer to wear them when I’m home. Ever since school days and made the move to long trousers, I’ve always changed the moment I got home and do the same now when I get back from work. I’m always at my happiest wearing shorts. I’d like to think it was because I was athletic... but it’s not really.

Anyway, I cleaned myself up and returned to the bedroom, fished out a pair of white cotton PE shorts for the rest of the night and settled back under the sheets. Despite the rain it was still a relatively warm summer’s night so had no need for extra cover. I was however, surprised to notice I was still shaking; my stomach was knotted and in general felt more than a little nervy.  

Though the hypnotic rain beating against the window wasn’t letting up I turned on my side to try and exclude the storm from my brain.


I closed my eyes and immediately my mind went back to when I was three years old and mum and dad had taken me to France on my first camping trip. This was before my sister Jenny was born so there was only the three of us but, on the last night, a terrific storm had torn down the valley where we were staying. The thunder crashes seemed even worse as they echoed and rumbled for ages against the mountain sides. I was terrified and even being clutched close to mum and her soothing words didn’t help relieve the fear. I wet and messed myself as a result.  

Being three I’d just stopped wearing nappies during the day and my parents were experimenting with me just wearing pyjamas at night. That immediately stopped after this night, and, as it turned out, just as well because from then until I started in kindergarten, I often woke up soaked. I’m not sure if they made a link that it was because I was traumatised by the noise or not. However, from then on I seemed to be able to saturate my night time protection with or without the help of a raging thunderstorm.

Much to mum and dad’s relief I eventually grew out of it but when I was seven, we went camping once more up into the Yorkshire Dales. The weather had been surprisingly warm, calm and a little muggy all day and that night, in our new two bedroom tent (we were separated by the open kitchen area) me and my three year-old sister had a room to ourselves I was woken up by another fierce roar of thunder crashing around us.

It didn’t seem to worry Jenny who slept through it but I was seven, a boy and couldn’t let mum and dad in the partition across the way know I was still scared of a bit of thunder. However, the noise got more intense and lasted for about fifteen loud and, to me at least, terrifying minutes. Only at the end of which I realised I was crying; I’d messed both my pyjamas and sleeping bag completely. I lay in my shitty stew sobbing and half dozing until morning.  

I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t done what I’d done but of course we all thought it was a one off. Alas, for the rest of the holiday, every morning I woke to a soaked sleeping bag and, even when we returned home, I woke up to a sodden bed. Mum solution was that I joined my sister and immediately put me back into nappies. This was just as well because for the next few months I needed them at least a couple of times a week.

How I could have been so traumatised by it all I wasn’t sure but did notice that back then, even a noisy truck rumbling down the road produced the odd spurt, which I did my best to disguise. Mum never said anything but I suspect that, as she washed my underpants, was well aware of the yellow stains they rarely escaped.

Now at eighteen, I would have hoped to have outgrown my anxiety of thunder and lightning but that puddle had been a definite clue I hadn’t. However, what undeniably made me realise I was still like a scared little boy was the fact that in the morning I was transported back to my youth having woken up to sodden shorts and soaked sheets.

It had been a while since this last happened - wet shorts and even wetter sheets were not a good way to start the day. However, whilst in the middle of stripping the bed mum came in to get me up for work.

“Oh, I wondered if the storm kept you awake.”

In resignation I sighed. “It did more than wake me up.”

“Your old problem?”

I nodded and shrugged which was a bit non-committal.

“I see... look... leave all that to me, you go and get yourself ready for work and tonight... we might have to see about precautions.”


Not every thunder storm produced that result because over the years there had been plenty and I’d not been too affected, well not as much for folk to notice...a little spurt maybe. It helped if it was distant and during daylight, or I was in a crowd, or at least immersed in something keeping me occupied. Unfortunately, being in my room alone left me more susceptible than I realised.

Unenthusiastically I nodded in agreement with mum’s assessment but noticed in the shower I was still shaking and that perturbed me a great deal. Maybe, seeing that tree burst into flame was something both incredible but scary. In retrospect I think that affected me more than I realised.

Although it’d been quite some time since my last wet disaster I knew precisely what those ‘precautions’ mum suggested would be. I know that at my age I should have cringed at the thought but in truth I agree it’s a sensible way to go... well at least until I’m over the shock. Especially as the weather forecast indicated that the meteorological oddity hanging over our particular part of the country might produce more storms.

I wasn’t happy about this. In fact it sent a chill whenever I thought about it but, hopefully, now I was an adult this would pass a lot quicker than it had done when I was younger. In fact, because I was now an adult I didn’t even think about any further protection as I got dressed... I simply assumed my puddle moment was all about last night and not about the day.

Getting dressed I looked out of the window at the splintered tree and even though the sun was up and no clouds dulled the blueness, I was feeling a little shattered though determined not to dwell on such an eventful night.


I was naïve. Even though I tried I was a fool to think I could ignore what’d happened.

I couldn’t get much work done as I worried about how the night’s weather had affected me and the trembling seemed to get worse as the day progressed. Lack of sleep made my body clock out of sync and I was feeling quite agitated, which was silly really as, at that point in the day, there was no thunder around.

My job, which I’d had since leaving school at sixteen, isn’t hard because I’m sat at a desk behind a computer most of the day. It’s a very friendly office and there’s plenty of standing around chatting. As long as we get the job done, and on time, the office manager Mrs Dewhurst is pretty easy going. Alas, just after 14.30 I was still so jittery I pissed my pants.

Quite unexpectedly, and without the aid of thunder or even a passing truck, I felt a warmness where there shouldn’t have been any and saw the front of my beige chinos begin to turn dark. I could feel my briefs clinging to my crotch and decided I couldn’t sit around in wet pants for the rest of the day. I leapt from my chair, grabbed a folder and headed to the unisex washroom, which was thankfully empty. I turned on a tap and splashed water trying to disguise what had happened.

I took off my chinos and held them under the powerful hand drier. However, my shirt, which was hardly long enough to hide my wet briefs, was useless at hiding my embarrassment. If anyone came in I would timidly explain that I’d splashed whilst washing my hands.

My chinos were taking too long to dry and I wished I’d thought about this a bit longer because I stood there in my soaked tighty-whities feeling stupid. A couple of people came in and I explained I’d turned the tap on too high and it splashed up and soaked my pants. There were plenty of smiles and I think my excuse was bought. Thankfully they didn’t inspect my underwear.

As I’m the youngest in the office, and perhaps just a tad smaller than average in height, I’m sure they thought it typical of a daft kid who hadn’t worked out the complexities of turning on a tap and the force of water. I obviously had a lot of the basics still to learn.

There are twenty of us working in the open plan area, only the supervisor has her own office. Since I started they have called me the office baby, which I suppose age and size-wise I am.  Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t vindictive or nasty or anything and I really don’t mind. It’s not like it’s something they’re always teasing me about. On the contrary it’s a friendly place to work and I get on well with everyone. The older ladies especially want to mother me.

Anyway, twenty minutes later and my chinos were dry enough to wear. I slipped into a cubicle, pulled off the soaked briefs and slipped back into my dry trousers; all very efficient except I had no idea what to do with my sopping briefs. In the end I simply tossed them in the bin going commando and feeling a little strange and oddly guilty.


When I got back to my desk I found a message flashing on the screen with an attachment. It was a file we’d been waiting on and needed urgent attention. I’d have to work late to get it done.

As I say, the firm is pretty easy-going but when something urgent comes in it’s expected that you buckle down and accommodate what needs to be done. If you’ve made plans, you put them on hold; it’s the trade-off for having the comfortable work environment we have. Get it done and your time’s flexible.

I let mum know I’d be working late, but of course I didn’t mention the wet pants scenario. She said she’d clean things up so wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I thanked her, told her not to make me a meal as I didn’t know just how long I’d be, and got back to work.

For the rest of the day we worked hard trying to get the project complete for the deadline. We were doing quite well but an important piece of information was missing and another part of the company, in a different area of the country, was busy finding it and then had to email it over.

The missing folder arrived late but only a handful of the staff was needed to work on it... I was one of them. Just before I started on my bit of the project, the clouds re-gathered and the world seemed to darken. Rain poured from the heavens and a distant rumble announced another summer storm was on its way.

As I pulled up the first page on my computer I felt that strange, though not unknown, apprehensive tingle run down my spine. I closed my eyes and told myself to breathe deep, exhale after a count of five and repeat. I was with a few others, in a working environment, so should be OK... or at least I hoped so.

I re-read the page and was happy to see that my part in the urgent assignment wasn’t that difficult. In fact, I chided myself for being so self-possessed about a coming storm and to just get on with it. I knew if I gave it my full, uninterrupted attention, I could have this done before 9pm... not as late as some nights I’d worked in the past. This eased my thinking, just as a brilliant flash and instant crash of thunder took out our computer system.


The associated rumble was loud and, in the dark for me at least, quite scary. The others left in the office to deal with this urgent assignment were laughing, though I’m not sure if it was because they found the situation funny or were hiding their own anxiety. However, the emergency generator kicked in but only supplied enough energy for lighting and the most basic of functions. There wasn’t enough power to run the computer systems and the associated bank of servers. Things were working but barely on essentials.

I was standing in the office wondering what to do next when Paula, the head of department, noticed my wet pants. Almost at the same moment I felt a strange tingle as a trickle of pee streamed down the leg of my chinos. I looked down and was surprised to see just how wet I was then my gaze travelled back to the supervisor who had a concerned look on her face.

“Thunder not your thing?” she enquired.

I was struck dumb with dismay as I searched her face for censure but none was forthcoming. Instead she seemed to read my predicament and ordered me to follow. I kept mumbling my apologies as I shuffled, rather than walked, the twenty or so yards to her office.

It said - Paula Dewhurst – Head of Tech and Projects – on her door.

She didn’t seem to react to anything I said but once behind closed doors sat on the edge of her desk and for the first time in ages, I realised I was talking to my boss.

Mrs Dewhurst was one of the most relaxed and even-tempered people I’d ever met and since joining the team straight from school, I’d always got on well with her. Although I was young and a trainee when I started, she took me under her wing and quickly earned a position as a specialist in the organisation and research of historical computer files.

She herself was very tech savvy and while a good twenty years older than me (in fact about the same age as my mum), we had worked amicably together on various projects. Up until then, the office had been very relaxed and an incredibly wonderful place to work but, as she sat on her desk appraising me, for the first time since I’d been employed there, I felt what I was... a stupid kid who’d just wet his pants.

She didn’t insist on a regimented office – it was all first names and friendly. However, at that moment Paula was most definitely Mrs Dewhurst... my supervisor.

It could have been my mum sitting there and deciding what to do but it wasn’t... it was my boss. I felt the flame of embarrassment flow from my toes to my face. I tried to apologise but wasn’t sure if that was enough. I just mumbled.


I didn’t know what to say or do so I just stood there with my hands covering the damp patch, and I wasn’t doing a particularly good job at that. Eventually she seemed to relax as if she’d come to some conclusion.

“I have a daughter who reacts to thunderstorms... human biometeorology or some such thing... and although she’s now just become a teenager, she still takes fright when one is forecast. She has a similar response but has learned to take precautions.”

I stood there ashamed and not knowing quite what was expected of me.

“You’ve appeared a little off all day... and now...” She pointed to the dark stain down my right leg.

I could say nothing to explain, I didn’t know how to start.

She delved into her bottom draw and pulled out a small package.

“I can’t have you working out there in that state... and as I don’t think we’re going to get the systems back up and running before tomorrow, I suggest you put this on.” She pushed the folded package over to me. “Clean yourself up as best you can and get off home.”

At first it didn’t register what she’d given me but then it dawned... it was a Tena Pants Maxi.

“That should keep any dribbles or other frights at bay until you get home and... I know you may not be all that keen...” She must have recognised the shock as I looked at what I’d been given. “However, if you were my son I’d just tell you to man up and put it on. You really don’t want any more embarrassing accidents.”

I didn’t know what to say because I was quite flustered but, with her saying... ‘if I was her son’ I knew this was more an instruction than a request. I’m eighteen but it felt like mum was telling me something for my own good so I didn’t feel I could argue the point.

I felt like a naughty, silly little toddler but did as told and shuffled out of her office very conscious of how nasty and cloying wet pants were. Because I’d gone commando there’d been no underpants to help limit the flood... and boy had I flooded. I entered the restroom, pulled down my soaked pants and wiped the damp area with toilet paper before shuffling the strange but nicely padded feminine item up my legs. Man up indeed.

I stood for a second or two... taking in the moment...  ‘biometeorology’ was that what she’d said?

Oddly enough, the soft quilted and supportive padding made me instantly feel better. I ran my hands over the flexible fabric and it reminded me of the pull-ups I occasionally wore when younger. Even though I was at work, and would have dreaded anyone finding out about my need for protection when a thunderstorm came, it was wonderful that my boss understood my predicament. Despite being designed for a lady, they seemed to grip me in all the right places and some of my confidence returned.

Again I smoothed my palms over the soft material and the distant thunder now didn’t seem so threatening.

I pulled up my chinos and whilst they were stained I thought, with a bit of manipulation of the rest of my clothes, I’d manage to get out of the building before anyone else noticed. The thunder had rumbled off but it was still bucketing down. As no doubt I was going to get soaked again on the way to the bus, drying my pants first would have been a senseless undertaking. I nervously slipped on my jacket and collected my things. Meanwhile, Paula, although I could only see her now as the authoritative Mrs Dewhurst, was waiting at the door. I nodded my thanks and said my goodbyes.

“Hope you have a comfortable journey home.” She smiled before telling the rest of the office to return bright and early tomorrow morning. “Be in for 7.30 please, we need to get this all done and dusted by noon.”

The look she gave me when I smiled my thanks was returned but I felt there was more to it and just hoped she could keep a secret. However, that Tena Maxi Pant hugged me all the way home and if I’m honest, not only felt fantastic but did the job it was supposed to do. I had a smile on my face for most of the journey just thinking about what I was wearing under my trousers.

However, because of temporary flooding the bus got stuck in traffic, which meant the soak-ability of the Tena was put to the test. Nervously, with other passengers all around, I released my bladder, so, as the rain beat against the bus window, my absorbent girlie pants did a fine job. 

# # # be continued

Part 2

I arrived home not much later than usual.

“Hello love, I thought you said you’d be late.”

“Yer, sorry mum, I should have called but there was a power cut in the office and work was suspended... so we got sent home but have an early start tomorrow... 7.30.”

“Oh, that is an early start... I’ll make sure you’re up at six that should give you plenty of time to get yourself sorted.”

It didn’t sink in at that moment just what mum meant but said she’d rustle something up to eat if I wanted to get changed. I’m sure she didn’t know I was nursing a wet Tena but I was soaked to the skin from the constant downpour so possibly looked like a drowned rat.

“Thanks mum... you’re the best.”


In my room I stripped off... everything was wet so everything would have to go straight into the laundry basket. I padded over to the bathroom where it’s kept and threw my damp stuff in. However, I was down to my soaked Tena wondering how to dispose of that when mum, carrying a pile of washing and other bits and pieces, came in and clocked me.

“Well, you weren’t wearing those this morning were you?”

I blushed and tried to hide myself behind my hands, which was silly as mum had seen me naked before, but it was the Tena I was trying to hide. I was suddenly mumbling but without saying anything.

“Look, here’s your clean stuff.” She looked over to the loaded basket. “I think I’d better put your other things on to wash.”

“Erm mum, can you soak my chinos please... I had a bit of an accident at work and, umm, wet them.”

“More storms uh?”

I nodded.

She mumbled something about the return of my old problem as she rummaged in the laundry basket.

“Are your underpants in here? You’d better let me have them as well.”

A sudden pang of guilt ran through my body and a spurt rushed into the already well-soaked Tena.

“Mmmm, no I left them at work... I was too embarrassed and...”

“Don’t say anything else Anthony but you shouldn’t leave stuff for others to clean up after you.... you know better than that.”

It was strange that even though I was working and eighteen, without meaning to, she could make me feel like a silly, inconsiderate little kid. Here was mother complaining of leaving stuff for others to clean up and yet she was still cleaning up after me.

“Sorry mum.”

She put her spare arm around me and pulled me in close and kissed the top of my head. I’m a sucker for a hug.

“Well, where did the Tena come from?”

I looked at her questioningly. “How did you know it was a Tena?”

“Believe me son, women know and put their faith in products like Tena. Once you’ve had kids they’re an indispensable part of the mother’s underwear draw.”

This made no sense to me and I didn’t want to take this discussion any further so, having taken the pile of ironed clothes from her, started to leave the bathroom to put them away when I got back to my bedroom.

Mum followed.

“Aren’t you going to tell me where you got the Tena from?” She was smiling but I detected she wanted to know and I knew better than to keep secrets.

“Er, my Boss, Mrs Dewhurst... saw I’d soaked my pants... the thunder.” I bashfully explained. “She offered this as something to help...”

“Well that was very nice and thoughtful of her... you’ll have to thank her... how about a box of chocolates or something?”

Mummm, I don’t think it warrants that...” I felt the even stodgier material so perhaps her thoughtfulness had actually saved me further embarrassment on the bus.

Mum was flapping her finger and looking at the expanded Tena indicating I should give it to her.

“Look, I’ll get rid of that...” There was a soft ‘ping’ from downstairs “Ah, your tea’s ready so get some pants on and come down.”

Mum went and started wiping stuff down and tidying things up in the bathroom as I diligently put my freshly ironed clothes away, the embarrassment of only wearing the sopping Tena Pants Maxi, now of little concern.

I tentatively pulled it down and mum reappeared and tossed a towel at me. I didn’t need any further instruction as I passed her the mangled wet fabric.

“Oh, there are a couple of old pull-ups in a cardboard box at the back of our wardrobe I’ll go and fetch it. I think you should wear one of those for tonight.”

“What? When did you get them?” I asked incredulously.

“The last time... a couple of years ago now but we kept them just in case.”

I remembered I’d had a few weeks just before I started my job where on occasions I wet at night. Amazingly that seemed years and years ago but it was only two and I’d all but forgotten about that... though mum obviously hadn’t.

“Do I have to? I mean I’m...” I was whining like a three year-old.

She returned with a large box that, judging from the image on the front, once held an old computer screen.

“Look, dad and Jenny are watching TV and I think the last thing they’ll want is for you to have a sudden leak don’t you? You’ll be wearing one for bed so I don’t see what the problem is.”

She was being quite pushy about all this but I wasn’t sure it was that necessary. However, I should have worn something for work; though it honestly never occurred to me I would do what I did whilst in the office.

“Oh no problem,” I murmured under my breath, “I bet they don’t fit now... that was ages ago.”

The truth is I’ve only grown an inch since I was sixteen and my slim build just doesn’t get fat no matter how much I eat. I’m still just as slight as I’ve always been, perhaps since I started work my hair’s a bit tidier but that’s about it.


It was dad who insisted I got a haircut for work. In just about all other things mum leads but he was adamant that I presented a mature and dignified look on my first day. Since being a kid I’d always had thick floppy hair that I quite liked but on this occasion dad was firm – Get Your Haircut.

He said the style made me still look like a schoolboy, which was all very well and good, but he wanted my new colleagues (his words) to take me seriously.

Anyway, I don’t argue with my parents and both mum and Jenny agreed with him so, I did what I was told. Now my hair’s much shorter and dad was pleased at the change. Anyway, there I was, all grown up... but about to return to my childhood pull-ups.

Mum was continuing her conversation.

“...well before you get all hoity-toity about what you think and don’t think just check and see... otherwise, you’ll have to wear a couple of my Tena Lady’s tonight instead.”

I looked apprehensively at her.

“Well you did look fetching in one.” She teased.

I wasn’t sure if she was joking or not but took the cardboard box and peered in. I was surprised to see it not only held a large batch of pull-ups but various bottles, creams and assorted other bits and bats.

I grasped one folded package and it looked far too small. However, once I’d flapped it out and slid it up my legs it felt tight but extremely comfortable hugging my bits and pieces. Not unlike Mrs Dewhurst’s Tena pants the padding was subtle and hardly noticeable... I suppose until wet.

I’d worn nappies and pull-ups on a few occasions over the years yet approached this as if it was a new experience. I put that down to the fact that I regarded myself at eighteen an adult, before I’d only been a kid, and, the last time I’d needed such night time protection was over two years ago. I hadn’t had an accident since... well not one that anyone knew about.

Like always I slipped on a pair of shorts and tee-shirt, my favourite way to dress, and met mum in the kitchen but not until I’d said my hellos to dad and Jenny.


We were all sat around watching ‘Line of Duty’ when the credits rolled.

“Don’t forget you’ve got an early start tomorrow... and I suspect you didn’t sleep particularly well last night so how about an early night for you?”

I could quite easily have fallen asleep in the chair; the padding of the pull-up was quite comforting under my shorts.

To be honest I was quite tired watching TV as my eyes had been drooping. So mum was probably right... I needed to get a good night’s sleep.

Both dad and Jenny had noticed the lightning tree out back and I told them I’d witnessed the strike. Both seemed impressed and although I enthused about its spectacular nature I didn’t go into too much detail about the wet floor... or the wet work pants as a result. However, talking about it had sent another one of those strange ripples through my body so thought it was definitely time for bed.

As is our family practice I went around and kissed them all goodnight. It was something we’d always done and even at eighteen didn’t see why I should stop. It was a nice way of ending the day.

“I’ll be up in minute.” Mum murmured as I slipped in to kiss her cheek.

“It’s OK I’m fine...” I sleepily mumbled back.

“Sweetheart... you’re wet.” She whispered.

It was only then I noticed that the front of my shorts had become semi-opaque and the swelled pull-up, with the colourful skateboarder motif, could quite easily be seen under it. I hadn’t known that had happened.


I hurried up to my room hopeful that dad and Jenny hadn’t noticed though it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they had... as it wouldn’t have been the first time.

I took the stairs two at a time and with each step could feel the enlarged soaked pull-up rubbing against my crotch. I stood staring in the mirror at my shorts and for a brief moment I stumbled back in time to when I was about seven and had a similar ‘accident’. At that age I was stunned at how much liquid a pull-up could contain and yet didn’t feel wet.

I had no idea why my body was reacting and doing what it did but that strange tingle should have been a clue.

“Don’t worry love... it might have been all that talk about the lightning strike.” Mum was at my door exactly the same way as when I was younger gently soothing my awkwardness. “Let’s get these off,” she said tugging at my shorts, “and you into something a bit more fitting.”

I was a bit embarrassed but looked over at the box as if it contained the answer to several problems and noticed more pull-ups waiting to be used.

I tried to stop mum faffing.

“Mum I can do it I’m not a child.” I said it with more assertiveness than I meant.

“I’m sure you’re right but, you’re my little boy and at the moment I think you need a mother’s care and attention so...”

I’m not sure if all mums are the same but when mine gets something in her head there’s no stopping her - ignoring any protests and simply getting on with it.

My shorts and wet pull-up were down and mum had me naked as she looked in the box.

“Now, what do we have in here?”

Whilst doing that she also passed me the towel from earlier, which was conveniently still hung over the bottom of my bed. I automatically began to wipe the area and then wrap it around my waist as she picked stuff out.

At the bottom of the box she found a couple of large folded white squares of fabric.

“Ah, mmm, yes these might be useful.”

I watched in fascination but wasn’t keen on having to wear a nappy. I kept quiet because I didn’t want to give her ideas.

“Probably not, you’re older now so I can see that... hmmm... these look like they might not fit so perhaps... hmmm... erm... tonight... we can double the pull-ups hmmm?”

She looked at me for a response.

“I’m not sure I can get two pull-ups over each other they’re a bit tight.

“Well,” mum offered, “let’s get you into a dry one first and then think about it. You get off to the bathroom and clean up first.”

I did as directed, giving myself a damn good wipe with the very cloths I’d used the night before to wipe up the puddle. I left the wet pull-up and damp shorts on the floor by the laundry bin for mum to sort out like she always did. Returning to my room she’d disappeared but returned shortly with a few things in her hand.

“Right, first things first, have you got a pull-up on?”

I shook my head.

“Well then do that now.”

A couple I’d inspected earlier were laid out on the bed so, without removing my towel slipped one up my legs. Mum noticed the extra lotions in the box and had another thought.

“Wait, wait. Before you do I think we need to give your tender boy parts,” she smiled knowingly, “a bit more protection.”

Squeezing a huge dollop into the palm of her hand she yanked away my modesty towel and, with the pull-up around my ankles, immediately started to spread the stuff all around my privates and bum cheeks.

Mummm.” I complained about being treated like a child.

“Stop your squirming.”

Being eighteen obviously meant nothing to her as she thoroughly applied the creamy lotion and then watched as I finished sliding into a fresh pull-up. God it was like first day of school all over again but I kept silent.

“OK, yes, they do look a little tight but, if you put this over it,” she showed me one of her Tena Lady pads, “and then add these,” she held up a pair of plastic pants. “You should see the night through.”

Mummm.” I was so shocked I didn’t even ask her where the plastic pants came from.

“Look, we both know that this peeing isn’t just going to stop, and even more so if there’s another storm tonight, so let’s just be ready and I’ll organise something better in future. I’ve already checked the waterproof mattress protector is fitted correctly.... so basically... you’re ready to go.”

For a moment I was a bit confused as I didn’t know if she expected me to wet there and then.

“But mum... I can’t wear... I mean...”

“Just put them on and complain tomorrow if you wake up to a wet bed... otherwise...”

I knew there’d be no argument and I suppose I was glad she’d come up with some kind of solution but I felt strangely trapped in all this stuff and wondered if I’d ever get to sleep.

Despite moments of slight discomfort the padding did make me feel fairly safe.  After those initial doubts sleep came fairly quickly and, as far as I know, we had a storm-less night.

However, come the morning and the plastic pants had slipped down my legs and I’d leaked a little bit onto my sheets. So, it looked like I was back needing extra protection on a night and I wondered how long it would last this time.


Mum was disappointed that her double pull-up hadn’t worked and decided that the plastic pants were too thin and loose to make any real difference. Anyway, she didn’t get in the least bit impatient because, as she justified: “We were just trying things out.”

“Sorry mum, but there’s a bit more washing.”

She just waggled her head. “"Comme-ci comme ça".

I wasn’t sure what was meant but then she looked at the clock and said “If you’d been going into work at the normal time I’d have come into town with you but no shops will be open this early... so I’ll go in later.”

I just shrugged and checked out a darker pair of trousers mum had pressed and hung up for work, which was a shame with it being such a sunny day. With these trousers I always think a shirt and tie are needed instead of just a polo shirt. That was what I liked about the chinos, casual but smart, they were summery and made me look a little less formal around the office.

Had it been allowed I would have opted for shorts and a polo shirt and although it was my preferred way to dress, no one else in the office wore shorts to work.

Anyway, after the night I’d had it seemed more appropriate to wear pull-ups instead of my normal briefs ‘just in case’. Wetting in the office hopefully had been a one off but didn’t want to repeat that experience so this extra bit of protection was an added boost to my confidence.

Mum checked by smoothing the material down. “Hmmm, I hope this will be sufficient.”

I nodded. I was getting used to mum treating me like a schoolboy and checking I’d got all the right things for class... except I am eighteen so quit it mother. I may have thought it but I wouldn’t say it. I hate confrontation even at such a basic level.

She told me to pack a couple of spares. I debated with myself about anyone seeing them but thought I doubted anyone would even notice or be that bothered. Maybe that was wishful thinking but going on how unconcerned Mrs Dewhurst was I anticipated the rest of the team would be of a similar mind.

It was 6.35 and mum and I sat at breakfast together. Jenny was still in bed as school was a good two hours away for her and dad had already left for his job.

“Mum, have you ever heard of biometeorology?”

She looked curiously at me.

“I have, it’s something your father and I looked into a couple of years back. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it was something Mrs Dewhurst said about her daughter... that she suffers when a thunderstorm comes and she has to take precautions.”

“Really, well Mrs Dewhurst sounds like a very knowledgeable woman.”

“She’s great and as I mentioned before very supportive of her staff...”

“She must be if she gives out her Tena to one and all.” She smiled cheekily at her joke.

“So,” I grinned back to let her know I knew she was joking, “what do you know about it?”

“Well... biometeorology tells us that the weather can cause people to suffer from various ailments; migraines, blocked noses, weepy eyes, sleep problems, asthma... all kinds of stuff and some can be quite debilitating.”

“But I’m not incapacitated... I mean I’m eighteen so surely things like that shouldn’t affect me”

“Yes and no. Look love, storms have affected you quite often throughout your life and we all assumed you’d grow out of it, or at least wouldn’t be so much of a problem. But last night was different... you witnessed a strike for the first time. It was all so close and you say you watched for over an hour. You were drawn to it. It’s not surprising it had some affect.”

I sat there thinking about what she’d said. I was also trying to remember the last time I had a wet night and that was over two years ago when I was about to start work. I don’t think there were any storms around then but perhaps there was and I just didn’t remember.

“So the storms are still causing my problem?”

“More than likely, although we haven’t found any similar reaction on the web. We have tried to find out sweetheart but have found nothing. I mean, loads of people are stressed by them, and it can drive people to extremes but perhaps you’re just wired differently and so... the effects are different.”

I nodded taking all this in but the bottom line was that yesterday, not only had I wet the bed but I’d also peed my pants at work and that wasn’t on.

Mum reached out and held my hand as I brought the mug of tea to my lips.

“Look sweetheart, do you realise you’re trembling now just talking about it?”

I hadn’t but suddenly became aware I was flooding my pull-up.

# # # be continued


Part 3

I felt like a silly little kid wetting myself in front of mum. She saw I was shaking, did she know I was peeing my pants as well?

“Mum, I’ve, I’ve... er... I need to go and change.” I said - guilt and shame making me blush furiously.

“Oh sweetheart, have you had an accident?” She asked with such love and concern.

I nodded.

“OK, let’s get you changed and see if there’s anything else we can use.”

We got to my room and mum immediately went to rummage through the box again. This time the large white squares of material were spread on the bed as she checked them out.

“Look love, get out of that pull-up... clean yourself and come back as soon as you can and let’s get this sorted quickly otherwise you’ll end up missing the bus.”

I went to the bathroom and shrugged down my pants. The pull-up had done quite a good job of soaking up the piss and I was quite impressed that it had absorbed so much liquid. I hadn’t noticed before but the material was still quite warm so I paused a moment before I pulled them off.

As I ran my hands over it I began to appreciate what a fantastic invention they were. I was quite proud of the bulge the engorged padding had given me and, as I patted it, how solid that area had become. It was a strange mix of feelings – gratified I had large manly bulge whilst being childish for soaking myself... also the pull-up had a cartoon image of a boy skateboarding on it... Jeez.

I heard mum calling and rushing me to get a move on so I stepped out of it, grabbed a sponge and quickly wiped myself down and then, with trousers in one hand but otherwise dressed smartly in a shirt and tie, made my way back to where mum was still fiddling with various items laid out on the bed.

“Sorry love but we’re going to have to improvise a little bit and I’m not sure you’re going to like it but...”

I could see what she was hinting at... those large fabric squares were now folded into a tell-tale shape... I was going to be wearing a nappy.

Mummm.” I was using the tone which even to me sounded quite juvenile.

“Look love, I’ll get something better when I can get to town but in the meantime, and to give you at least a modicum of security, I think it’s best to use something that has been tried and tested before and proved effective.”

It’s true.  There had been a few times, and at various ages, when I’d had need of a nappy so it wasn’t an alien concept for me to have to wear one now. However, I’M EIGHTEEN so surely...

“But mum,” there was that childish moan again, “a nappy? Surely there’s something...?”

“If there was then I would have suggested it,” she interrupted with an edge.

Just then Jenny appeared at the door yawning and stretching.

“What time is it... am I late for school?”

“No darling, sorry, just getting your brother off to work, I’m afraid he had another bad night... the old problem.”

“Sorry to hear that.” She yawned again. “OK, I’ll get up in a minute.”

“Go back to sleep love... if you want you can have another hour...”

’S ok... I’m awake now...” and wandered back to her room.

I’d stood there, naked from the waist down and my sister never batted an eyelid. She hadn’t queried the box or the fact that we’d just been talking about me wearing a nappy... the situation seemed so bizarre.

“Let’s get you into this and then you can get off to work.”

“Mum I can’t be seen wearing a nappy to work, I’ll just wear another pull-up I’m sure I’ll be OK.”

“Well you might think you’ll be OK but from past experience... you know you can’t guarantee anything. So, for your own good, let’s make it something that will save any embarrassment.”

“Don’t you think wearing a nappy to work will be embarrassing in itself?”

“Look, I’m not arguing with you... so wear what you want but I think you’ll feel better knowing that should you have an accident at least everything will be contained. It’s up to you.”

Mum was looking at me as if to say ‘your move’ but, even though I really didn’t want to, I think she was probably right and a nappy would be best.


There had been times over the two years since I got the job that, although I’m quite settled and competent, I felt that I’m still a little kid only playing at being grown up. It’s not something I exhibit, well at least I don't think so, but sometimes, in my head, there’s a voice that’s saying what a lucky boy I am. Where that voice comes from, or who said it, I have no idea but, and I won’t admit this to anyone but occasionally in the office I have to rush to the toilet and check I haven’t wet my underpants. Sometimes I have.

“OK, let’s get that nappy on.” I said pretending it was my decision.

“Good choice love... now lie out on this towel and I’ll rub in some cream and a bit of powder and we’ll be done in seconds.”

As I lay out on the soft material my thoughts returned to when I last needed this. I had just finished school and was nervous about the new job I was starting. For a couple of weeks before and another few after I commenced, I woke up wet. I was anxious and embarrassed but my parents were quick to make sure I adopted a ‘safety first’ way of thinking.

“You need to wear protection when you go to bed.” They both chorused, so I had little option. First it had been pull-ups but once I started work for some reason I needed extra protection at night. “Back to nappies until you’ve had several dry nights in a row” was the rule.

At that time mum introduced me to terry cotton nappies and promised that once she pulled the ends of material together, pinned it on tightly and added a nice pair of vinyl pants - I’d be as ‘Happy as Larry’, less anxious and all my worries would fade away.

“A nappy is not your enemy... it’s a very good friend. Learn to appreciate that it’s you it’s protecting.”

Mum made it sound so positive when I was sixteen and she was doing the same now at eighteen.

She was as good as her word and had me tightly bound in moments. She also found another pair of plastic pants hidden at the bottom of the box but struggled to pull them up because they were too tight to go over the bulk. However, after I got up and wriggled them around a bit they eventually had the fabric tightly contained.

“I know they’re a bit constricting... but they’ll hold everything in quite well so you’ll just have to put up with them for now.”

Once I’d pulled my trousers up the bulge didn’t seem so bad although I certainly knew I was wearing a hefty piece of underwear.


I sat on the bus into town conscious of the fact that I was, at eighteen, wearing a nappy to work. I had mixed feelings because, although I felt silly at being reduced to this, the padding was strangely comforting. The tight plastic pants keeping everything tidy also provided a sort of soft silky hug with each slight movement. There was a soft rustle but I didn’t think many would notice, and again, I found it quite reassuring.

Mind you, the rounded, but nonetheless, impressive mound in the front of my trousers fascinated me. I couldn’t stop prodding or squeezing it until I saw an old lady looking across from the seat opposite and she wasn’t very pleased. There isn’t much you can say in your defence and announcing it was only a nappy I’m not sure would have gone down any better. So, flushed with embarrassment, I stopped and looked out the window for the remainder of the ride.

The journey usually takes about twenty-five minutes but this much earlier time than I usually go had me outside the office well before 7.30, I hoped that would stand me in good stead.

Of course Mrs Dewhurst was already there and a couple of others. In fact, when I thought about it, there would only be the handful of us who were sent home last night, the rest would arrive at the usually time around nine.

“Morning Anthony, nice and early, thank you it’s much appreciated.” She said with a smile.

“Is everything running OK... nothing blow up I hope?” I added as I switched on the terminal.

“All tickety-boo. OK guys and gals... fresh coffee and doughnuts for those who need a sugar fix over there.” She pointed to full percolator and large box of Krispy Kremes.

Everyone made a beeline straight for the treats.

“Oh Anthony... hope you got home alright last night?” She said when no one else was nearby.

I was ill at ease that she was bringing up the subject but nervously nodded, hoping against hope that she didn’t notice the padding in my trousers.

“Good good...” and toddled off back into her office.

Armed with the welcome refreshments I waddled back to my desk and settled in to catch up on the project - my security confirming padding making its presence felt. However, ignoring its tightness, by 9.30 we were well into it and by almost eleven Phil, the ‘Initiative Manager’, was compiling the finished assignment for Mrs Dewhurst’s official clearance. Meanwhile, other, normal day-to-day stuff had to be done but that was so much less intense.

The task passed approval and Mrs Dewhurst came out and thanked us all for such sterling work.


At just after 12.30 I had a visitor. Mum, armed with loads of bags, came into the office to check I was OK.

Mummm.” It seemed I couldn’t stop myself from that childish whine.

“It’s OK love I’m just here to let you know I’ve got everything and to see if you’re coping alright with...?” She nodded towards my crotch.

“Mum,” The entire office was looking in my direction and I saw Mrs Dewhurst come out to see if there was something she should know about. No one had met my mother before so they weren’t sure who she was.

“Everybody this is my mum... mum this is everybody.” I said breathing out and wishing I’d had warning she was going to drop in.

“Hi Mrs Turner,” some said in acknowledgement.

Once that was over, everyone returned to work except Mrs Dewhurst, who came to introduce herself properly.

“Hello, Mrs Turner I’m Paula Dewhurst... I’m your son’s supervisor.”

“Hello Mrs Dewhurst...”


Paula... pleased to meet you... Anthony speaks very highly of you... he loves working here.” She added unnecessarily I thought.

“We like having him here as well... he’s a great asset and a fine lad... a tribute to you and your husband no doubt.”

“Well that’s very kind... er... I was just checking to make sure he was OK...” Mum looked around to see if I was listening... and I was.”

“Actually Mrs Turner...”

“Mary please.”

Mary... could I have a word in my office?”

Mum’s smile remained as she followed Paula but I could tell she was a bit worried about what was about to take place. The door closed and I was left sitting at my desk anxious about what these two women would be telling each other. I desperately wanted to sneak up and listen but that couldn’t happen in our open plan office.

“That doesn’t augur well.” Deidre who sits next to me had a grimace on her face.

I just sighed and shrugged I just wish mum had gone straight home rather than call in to check on me.

Suddenly my nappy felt tight and restrictive and it was only then I realised I’d wet it.

Bloody hell.”


As she took the offered seat Mary asked anxiously. “Is everything alright... have I broken a rule about visiting my son?”

“No, no, nothing like that... it’s just, well a little delicate.”

Paula was half hoping the Mrs Turner would automatically know what she was hinting at but then realised what a sensitive subject it might be for all concerned.

“It’s about Anthony’s little accident yesterday.” She almost whispered.

“Thank heaven for that,” Mary looked relieved and then a little guilty. “I mean, I thought it was about something terrible... sorry... I mean I thought he might be fired for some misdemeanour...”

“Well, look, er, um...” Paula was trying to find the correct words. “Yesterday... in the office... he wet his pants twice.”

She searched Mary’s expression to see if she knew.

“Oh.” She hadn’t known it had been twice.

“Of course, it isn’t a cause for dismissal, heavens no, but I was just wondering if, well, if there was anything we could do here at the office to help.”

“Well, it’s an old problem... you see my son gets scared by thunder storms and witnessed a particularly bad one over the weekend that produced an old problem of an uncontrollable bladder.”

She looked to see if Mrs Dewhurst understood.

“We have no idea why he should... but he does... and sometimes that weakened state can last for quite some time. I think Anthony thought at his age he was over such a reaction.” Now she’d started speaking it all just flooded out. “However, the same happened at home and as of today he’s back to wearing more robust protection.”

The conversation carried on for a good ten minutes where Mrs Dewhurst said she was conversant with parts of Mary’s story as her daughter also had a similar problem.

They discussed their past and present means of containing the dilemma and both seemed to agree that a firm insistence on thick protection was the best first step.

“I get my daughter into a disposable at the earliest opportunity,” Paula smiled.

“We used to do that but, as we never know how long it will last... it can end up expensive so we put him back into these...”

She opened one of the huge bags she had with her and took out a couple of hefty terry cotton squares.

“I’ve had to buy some new ones today but... ummm... I’m not sure how you feel about this but... do you think I could leave a couple here for him to change into?” Unsure she looked up into Paula’s eyes. “I mean, he’s hopeless at changing himself but at least he’d have something spare here should he need it. Sitting at his desk in a wet nappy is not going to be good for him.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would.” A little off-guard Paula agreed. “Perhaps you could leave a couple of disposables instead... I’m only thinking out loud... trying to keep the poor lad from too much embarrassment.”

“Well,” Mary sounded disappointed, “if you think that would be better... I think her prefers fabric because that’s what we’ve got him used to but...”

“No, no, no... I’m sorry... of course, if you think these fabric nappies are best then...”

“Look I have extra pins, powder, cream and plastic pants. I could leave a supply here with you and then...”

“Wouldn’t he be embarrassed coming to me for his supplies?”

“I think he’d be more upset if his work colleagues knew about his problem.”

“Mmmm, yes, I can see that.”

“He always speaks highly of you and, I hope I’m not being out of line here but... he sees you as his surrogate mother anyway.”

“Oh.” It was Paula’s turn to be a bit disappointed.

Mary was quickly in. “I mean he always speaks well of you and says how fantastic it is to work alongside you. Quite simply he’s in awe and has the utmost respect for you and your position. Please don’t take what I say the wrong way but he idolises you.”

Mrs Dewhurst thought for a moment. She couldn’t help that the unsolicited praise had struck a welcome and surprising motherly chord.

“You say he’s hopeless at changing his own nappy so...”

“Afraid so. It’s one of those things he’s just not got a handle on with any degree of success. I think he excels in other areas.” She gave a hopeful shrug.

“He’s very competent when it comes to anything here at work. He and I have developed a few new systems...”

“Well, to be honest I think that’s what he needs... the firm encouragement of a woman who knows what taking charge is all about. AND, although I know I’m asking a lot, it would mean a great deal to know he was being looked after right here at work.”

There were a few moments silence as the women ruminated on their conversation. Anthony wasn’t a child and this wasn’t a kindergarten but was in a vulnerable position if he couldn’t help wetting himself. No one wanted this eighteen year old to be embarrassed at work and although precautions would be taken... perhaps it would put minds at rest if a resolution was found and agreed to.

Mrs Dewhurst sat up at her desk for a moment deliberating. “Well, I have to admit, after yesterday I did feel sorry for the poor boy... and lending him one of my Tena...”

“Ah yes, thank you for that and,” Mary delved into her bag and brought out a colourful box, “Anthony insisted that I get you these as a thank you for being so considerate. He really appreciated your thoughtfulness.”

Roses chocolates, my favourite.”

“I don’t think there are many women who can refuse a box of these. I know I can’t they last a couple of days at most in our house... and it’s mainly me who eats them.” She chuckled at her little self-deprecating comment.

Meanwhile, although the chocolates had been a slight distraction Paula was still unconvinced by this unconventional solution.

“Are you sure he’ll go for me changing him?”

Mary allowed herself a little smile.

“Just be firm, as if he was your daughter, because you know what’s best for him and...” she fondled the nappy material that was draped over her knee, “he will do as he’s told. A strong insistence and I’ve never known Anthony either answer back or not do as he’d told. He absolutely hates confrontation of any kind.”

“So, unlike my daughter... at thirteen she’s as argumentative as anything... it can get a little waring at times.”

“Well I can assure you that’s not Anthony. He’d be more embarrassed at causing a scene than having a nappy changed.” She thought for a moment, “and I would suspect be more than grateful to be relieved of a wet nappy and have a dry one instead. However, I know this isn’t something you’d be expected to consider as part of your working day so I’ll understand if I’m asking too much.”

Again there were another few moments of silence but although Mary knew she was asking a great deal hoped her son’s boss would agree. If not, then Anthony would have to struggle through it on his own.

Mary looked at her watch.

“Sorry Mrs... erm... Paula, I’m taking up far too much of your time and I’m sure you have better things to do than worry about my son.”

“Actually Mary, it’s been wonderful to speak with you and you’ve given me a different perspective on Anthony so, why don’t you leave those things and I’ll do what I can.”

“Well that’s incredibly thoughtful of you. Anthony always says you are very, very kind so thank you from both of us. I hope it’s not going to be too much trouble.”

“We’ll see... er.... um... we don’t know how long his problem will last do we?”

“No, that’s correct, but the storm was quite intense and he saw a strike on a tree not far from  our house so... this is a new intensity and we’re really just preparing for the worst but hope for the best.”

Mrs Dewhurst nodded in agreement.

“I’m sure that despite the occasional wet nappy, it really won’t interfere with his work...”

“No it hasn’t so far so I suppose that’s a good thing.”

Mrs Turner folded the spare items on Mrs Dewhurst desk, together with the creams, pins and powder. She than slipped a packet of plastic pants on top.

“There are three pairs in that packet... luckily they were in a sale so I went mad and bought a few packs... they should be large enough to keep him snug and safe once he’s been changed.”

“OK, well thank you for coming in and bringing me up to date on Anthony. I’m sure we can work some process out that will keep him safe, secure and dry.” She said as she ran her hand over the pile of soft fabric on her desk.

“Well thank you for being so understanding. Anyway, I’d better get off and thanks again.”

Mrs Dewhurst led her out and with a wave to her son, and whilst hauling those huge bags, Mary hurried from the office.

# # # be continued

Part 4

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god... what had mum and Mrs Dewhurst talked about?”

Mum seemed to have been in there ages. In fact, it must have been quite some time because I’ve wet my nappy in nervous anticipation whilst waiting for her to come out. I didn’t even get chance to question her before she rushed off home. No doubt I’m going to be called in soon and told off for mum’s impromptu visit.

Mrs Dewhurst looked out to me as she drew the blinds to her office. She’s done that before if she gets a migraine and no doubt mum had encouraged one along. I was trying to concentrate on my work but had a nagging suspicion mum had fled so she wouldn’t have to explain anything.

What could that be?

After about half an hour Mrs Dewhurst beckoned me to her office. Again pessimistic Deidre voiced her troubled opinion – “That can’t be good” – before I nervously made my way there.

She was sitting behind her desk unwrapping the shiny purple covering of a Hazel in Caramel from a large box of Roses Chocolates on her desk.

“Thank you for these... they weren’t necessary but much appreciated.”

“Oh, that’s why mum came. I, I, erm, wanted to thank you again for your, um, kindness...”

“Yes, your mother said you were considerate that way.” She smiled a chocolatey smile.

I felt relieved that’s what mum brought in but now I felt stupid for getting myself in a state and flooding my nappy.

“You’re a very lucky lad Anthony having a mother who is so attentive to your needs.”

“Yes, well we’re that type of family... all quite close and all...”

“Needless to say, we did talk about your little accident in the office yesterday and the possible reasons for that.”

I felt everything tighten up in response and another spurt of pee entered my already soaked nappy. I didn’t know what to say or do and I stood there struck dumb waiting for her to dismiss or ridicule me or...”

“She tells me that you are back in protection is that correct?”

I didn’t want to admit it but this was someone in power so I wasn’t going to lie. I nervously nodded yes.

“I suspect that you are wet at the moment... is THAT correct?”

Again, I was in no position to deny anything and reluctantly nodded.

“OK, well your mother has convinced me that to get the best out of you whilst you have this problem, and that you will work more efficiently, is if you are put into a dry nappy.”

She looked into my eyes that were trying desperately to look elsewhere.

“Do you think she’s correct in that assessment?” She’d never spoken to me in that sort of inquisitive tone before and I was caught off-guard.

My entire body was in flight mode and yet I was stuck, unable to force my muscles to respond, her deep pile carpet held me like a spider’s web. It felt like I’d been a naughty little lad caught in some stupid act.


She slipped another chocolate in her mouth, I couldn’t see which one but it did give time to think about my next move. There wasn’t one.

“Hmmm not very talkative at the moment but your mother and I have sorted your dilemma. As from today, until you are over these damp episodes, I have spare nappies and stuff here for you to change into.”

Now my body really was reacting to this news and I was shaking violently within.

“As you are wet at the moment I don’t see why you shouldn’t change now.” It didn’t seem a request just something that was going to happen. “And, if you’ll pardon my presumption, although your mother has already sanctioned the next move, I’m going to change you as I would my thirteen year old daughter when she has a similar problem.”

I could feel a scream, a shout, a pleading but nothing but numbness gripped my body. I definitely wanted to say no but...  mum had already authorised this, this, this betrayal of my privacy.

I was praying for someone to come in, or the phone to ring, or something to avoid the embarrassment that mum and Mrs Dewhurst had organised. I couldn’t believe what she’d just said or that was an action she’d be prepared to take.

I found my voice... it was small and almost imperceptible. “But, but...” and that was the sum total of my protest.

“Anthony, I know this might seem a bit unconventional,” her probing voice had become more friendly and understanding. “But you are in a very delicate position and your mother is worried that your nappy will cause further problems if left unattended.”

I stood mortified.

“OK Anthony, just lie out on the carpet and leave the rest to me. Think of me as your surrogate mother... and I’ll think I’m changing my daughter... so we should both be less embarrassed.”

I was standing stock still and stunned... this can’t be happening.

Anthony,” she barked. “I’ll not tell you twice and in future you’ll do as I say immediately if you don’t mind. I have other things to deal with apart from your wet nappy. Now take off your pants and lie out on the carpet.”

When authority barks an order I do as I’m told so nervously lowered my pants, exposing the soaked and saggy material being held up by an equally bulging pair of opaque plastic pants. 

“Your mother is correct a wet nappy shouldn’t be left for too long.”

Good grief how on earth had they got around to talking about nappies?

The thing was the fabric had turned a pale yellow and the odour of urine assaulted the senses. If it wasn’t for the firmness and immediate action of Mrs Dewhurst I would have died from embarrassment. I didn’t get the time or opportunity to protest as she just looked around, I guess to make sure she had all the correct items to complete the change.

Now I was dreading anyone coming in but the office knew if the blinds were drawn only in emergency was she to be disturbed. We were all aware of the nasty migraines she suffered and needed a few minutes of peace and quiet to fight it off.

I lay there like a statue unable to speak or move.  This was terrible pressure and I felt myself spurt another warm jet into my already sodden nappy.

She opened her desk and took out some wet wipes, tubes of ointment and container of powder. She hesitated a little bit before revealing a brand new nappy, which she then immediately set about folding.

Once that was ready she released the saturated material around my hips and exclaimed just how wet it was. I was dying from total embarrassment as she wiped the damp area around my equipment.

“Now don’t be embarrassed Anthony (a bit late for that) just relax and I’ll have this done in a short while.”


Why was this happening? I’m a working man not a toddler. This shouldn’t be happening.

It felt like my body was ablaze with humiliation as she wiped across my penis and balls. I could see she was about to say something but changed her mind and just decided to say how nice, clean and dry I’d be before too long.

I could have done with one of those chocolates and, as if reading my mind, she picked one out and handed it to me. “To take your mind off things...”

I sighed and, as she pulled the entire damp thing away “Lift up sweetie... erm... I mean please Anthony” instantly slipped the fresh nappy under my bum.

I did and she quickly manoeuvred it into place, rubbed in some lotion followed by a sprinkling of powder.

“Best not have too much, don’t want everyone wondering who smells of talc now do we.”

By then I’d managed to unwrap the sweet and popped it into my mouth to slowly let it melt on my tongue. It’s my favourite way of eating chocolate. It did ease some of my anxieties.

She pulled the fabric edges up between my legs and across my lower abdomen and, after a bit of tugging and realigning, pinned them tightly together with a couple of huge pins with blue plastic covers over the ends.

“Is that OK?”

I nodded but it felt different from when mum does it.

“Good, well nearly done.” She then reached over and pulled out what I assumed were a packet of plastic pants. I was correct.

She used her teeth to rip open the seal and jiggled out three huge pairs of glass-like covers.

“Well, these aren’t what I was expecting but it’s what your mother left so...”

Again my voice, although inwardly crying out in protest, remained stoically silent to anyone else. Also I’d reached the centre of the chocolate and a sweet, sticky orangey flavour burst on to my tongue. Mmmmmmm that tastes sooo good.

At the same moment she shuffled the slippery plastic up my legs, the dry thick material clearly visible under cover and squeezed all the excess air out before indicating I could put my trousers back on.

I stood up and couldn’t get over how different a dry nappy felt, it seemed to hang differently as well but under the vinyl pants all I could identify were the folds and pins.


She watched in fascination as I nervously dragged my pants up. There was a slight feeling of extra padding but otherwise she’d done a good job. Although I was horrified by what had just happened, I was also appreciative of being out of a soaked nappy. Whenever I was put into a nappy I had these mixed feelings - annoyed yet appreciative.

She slipped the used wet items into a plastic bag.

“You need to come and collect this before you go home tonight... your mother will be expecting them.”

At that moment I simply nodded as if I was a schoolboy and been told I could take home some project made in class to be admired by the family.

In fact, the entire procedure had me thinking back to being a kid and the times I’d been scared by a storm and my wetting returned. Although most of the earlier occasions were sketchy I remembered some where we never knew just how long the problem would last.  Damp patches appeared without warning and then so did saturated pull-ups or nappies, which meant I was changed in assorted places as mum or dad made sure I didn’t sit around in soggy stuff for too long.

“Ermm, thank you... erm...” I didn’t know whether to call her Paula or Mrs Dewhurst. Using her Christian name seemed a bit too familiar and disrespectful considering what had just taken place.

I left her office and the eyes of the team where on me. “No raise I’m afraid... mum just checking on my holiday entitlements.” It was the best excuse I could come up with on the spur of the moment.

The rest of the day passed without incident or comment and I was glad to get my bus home, armed with my secret shame in a plastic bin bag. The day had been peculiar and as the journey continued I began to chuckle to myself. Incredibly, I’d been changed by the boss. I’d had a chocolate shoved in my mouth to keep me occupied, reminiscent of the times mum would slide a dummy in to keep me quiet when I had a change. Weird or what?

Despite the strange circumstance I was glad to be in a dry nappy, it made such a difference to how I worked and reacted to those around me. To be candid, a soggy wet nappy is not nice to sit around in so no matter how excruciating the change was, I was very grateful.

Most of the time I forgot I was wearing anything but when I did there was a surge of relief. No one mentioned anything but I was in a peculiar mental situation - I’d just been changed by my boss and hadn’t objected; that was just plain crazy. Also, the fact that the office was on a high because we’d finished the project on time and management had been very impressed by our department and the speed we’d turned things around. The fact I’d been part of that success filled me with pride. I may have had my doubts earlier that morning but mum had been correct, wearing a nappy to the office had not hindered my work in any way.

It had been quite an unusual day and I found myself smiling at what transpired, which would make it difficult to be angry with mum when I got home.


The bus ride was uneventful and although I noticed the larger bulge I refrained from playing with it, I didn’t want to raise the indignation of any other passenger.

The weather had been pleasant all day and I noticed a lot of summery clad people out and about. I hated wearing a shirt and tie, always had, but dad had convinced me that when working in the environment I did, looking smart gave the correct impression.

Thankfully, the office under Mrs Dewhurst jurisdiction only insisted on smart casual but a suit was quite permissible should that be your thing. I only wore my suit for the first week after that it was much more relaxed attire. So, having spent the day in a shirt and tie and heavier than normal dark wool trousers I was looking forward to shedding the lot and slipping into my favoured t-shirt and shorts.


When I got home there was only Jenny in the kitchen finishing her tea.

“Where is everyone?”

“Dad’s not home yet and mum’s visiting Mrs Symanski.” She said before piling more salad on her fork.

Mrs Symanski is a pensioner who lives a few doors down from us and who mum does the shopping for.

“Oh” was my spot on comment.

“There’s tuna salad in the fridge and I can put some garlic bread on if you want to go and change.” She said helpfully.

“Mmmm, that would be great. I’m sweating like a pig in all this.”

“You do know you could undo your tie when not at work don’t you?”

This simple suggestion made me realise just how bright my fourteen year old sister actually was. It had simply not occurred to me on my sweaty journey home.

“Boys?” She said dismissing me and searching for the garlic bread in the freezer.

It didn’t click that she hadn’t said “Men?” until I got up to my room and that was only when I’d taken off my pants. Briefly I felt annoyed she hadn’t said Men but then I saw in the mirror my shiny underwear and decided I had no reason to be annoyed with her at all.

Why mum had bought these particularly revealing plastic covers I didn’t know but I just shrugged and decided it couldn’t matter less. They held the fabric together nicely and didn’t crinkle too much under my pants.

I put everything away and then checked that I was still watertight, I was. I slipped on a pair of loose white nylon P.E. shorts and a black t-shirt I used to wear for gym at school and headed back to the kitchen. By then Jenny had gone but set out on the table was my salad and a large slice of garlic bread, which was something I really liked. She’d also poured a glass of juice and cleared her own stuff away.


As I ate I felt quite comfortable sat in the still dry thickness of the nappy Mrs Dewhurst had put me in. The bulge in the shorts was quite pronounced but, as I had no plans on visiting anyone was happy how I was for the rest of the evening. The slippery glassy cover could be made out under the shorts but I was just pleased to be released from the restrictions of office clothes.

I saw Jenny out in the back garden under a parasol enjoying the early evening sunshine. It was still quite lovely so picked up my plate and drink and headed to the small table outside to take my meal al fresco.  

She’s four years my junior and now almost as tall as me but the difference between us is considerable. Jenny has always had a thing about fashion and looking good, and, even as a schoolgirl exudes sophistication and confidence. Laying in the sun now she looked terrific, like she was posing for the cover of one of her fashion magazines. Here I was, dressed in my old school P.E. outfit, more or less the complete opposite of style. She didn’t mind, in fact, she’d never been one to criticise me or my ‘problems’.

As I shovelled in a forkful of lettuce and tuna I saw she had her eyes closed and even the way she was laid out had a touch of finesse. My younger sister was destined, especially as she had brains as well, for an unbelievable future... or so the family anticipated.

It seemed that from being a twelve year old flat chested schoolgirl to the now pert-busted young lady had been a natural development that had passed me by. She looked stunning and I’d heard there were already a number of seniors flocking around in the hope of becoming her boyfriend.


When she was three and we were camping and sharing the same tent compartment, not only did she not wake up during the storm she never said a thing when we both ended up being put into nappies. Now I think about it her seven year old brother was wearing protection for longer than she was.

Then, throughout my history of suddenly needing protection, she’d never once thrown that fact in my face, used it as ammunition or tried to belittle me because of it. She’d always seemed to understand. Over the years she’s seen me at various ages suddenly wearing a nappy but like mum and dad, just accepted the fact and realised it didn’t need a comment.

I should also say that it was her encouragement that got me the job I’m in now. Two years ago, mum, Jenny and I were on a shopping excursion in town. It was the school summer holidays but mum wanted us to look for clothes for the new term.  She’d gone off to pay some bills or something and to prevent us getting bored the two of us ended up at Burger King for a milkshake.

I have to admit that both my parents thought I should pursue more academic studies but I’d told Jenny in confidence that I was, despite not being a complete dummy, hating school more and more each day. She said that I should look for work to see what was on offer.

“If it involves computers and,” she said with a grin, “not too physical, go for it.”

I took her advice and within four weeks I’d found the trainee job where I am now and I’d never been happier. Had it been left to mum and dad, I’d be still in school and resenting every minute. Although not completely on board with my decision they saw I was determined and when I secured the position couldn’t really insist anymore.

However, there was a drawback, I suddenly started wetting the bed which I presumed was the anxiety after the interview though before I started work. That’s when mum bought me pull-ups to sleep in and hopefully keep the wetting under some control because during the day I was fine but at night... no chance. Once I started work my sixteen year old anxiety levels increased and so did the amount I seemed to pee so for a couple of weeks my night-ware had a thick nappy with plastic pants as its base. Thankfully though... no daytime wetting.


I wasn’t sure why the memories were so strong but all the times I’d been put back into pull-ups or nappies came flooding into my mind. When I thought even more on the subject it was apparent that Jenny had grown up over the years whilst I had, apart from getting a job, stayed more or less the same; same physique, same choice of clothes, same enjoyment of stupid, silly computer games. To say my development was stunted (I hardly had any body hair) and the fact my penis hadn’t advanced the same way as Jenny’s breasts had flourished made me wonder why. However, just a quick look down at the thick fabric bulge under my shorts surely explained everything. I was still locked in some sort of childhood battle with thunder and lightning... and the elements were winning.

# # # be continued


Part 5

Mum and dad had both joined us out in the garden, the warm evening air enticing us away from the TV and promoting family time.

“Was a salad OK for everyone?” Mum queried.

“No probs.” Jenny

“Just fine love.” Dad

“I had a slice of garlic bread with mine so... it was great.” I added to the small talk.

Similar general chat went on - very relaxing, everyone happy and no drama. It was like a scene from a pretty boring British sit-com. Except later...

“Good, good. Erm... Mrs Symanski is going to stay with her sister on the coast next week... erm... anyone fancy a trip to the seaside at the weekend?”

Dad was quick on the uptake.

“I guess by that you mean you’ve volunteered us to take her?”

“Well, yes, but I thought it would be terrific if we all went and made a weekend of it... for a change... and a break from work... and a nice neighbourly thing to do.” Mum was trying to be altruistic but failing.

I think we all sort of shrugged. A couple of hours in the car with Mrs Symanski not something anyone would want... that woman could talk. However, mum suggested that once we dropped her off at her sisters then our time would be our own and, we’d stayed there in the past in a caravan and had a great time. Mind you, we were only kids then.

The upshot was – dad said he had to work Saturday, Jenny simply said she didn’t want to go as had things planned and I, well I couldn’t come up with an excuse I thought anyone would buy. So it seemed mum, me and Mrs Symanski would be driving to the coast.

Now that was settled mum went off to book accommodation for me and her, whilst Jenny read her magazine, dad snoozed and I unconsciously wet my nappy.

I sighed realising what I’d done because the warmth of my crotch was growing hotter than the heat of the pleasant evening... I also noticed that my hands and legs were shaking, which I’m sure wasn’t a good sign but tried to hide it.


I waited until mum got off the computer and confirmed she’d arranged our stay at a small hotel that had ‘popped up’ when she went online to find a place on the coast.

“It sounds really nice. It has an indoor pool, a bar and a lovely garden... 200 yards from the beach... so, quite a step up from a caravan... eh?”

I nodded and smiled, for a moment she’d taken my mind off what I’d come to talk to her about.

“It’ll be fun... providing the weather holds and the long range forecast said this should stay until the middle of next week.”

“Mmmm good but... why did you tell Mrs Dewhurst about my...?”

Her smile stayed but she knew I was irritated so pulled me in to talk seriously as she’d done ever since I was a kid... and I still felt like a little kid now.

“Oh sweetheart, she was the one who brought it up. Don’t forget you’d accepted one of her Tena AND,” she raised her eyebrows as if making a point, “she told me that you’d wet your pants twice in the office.”  

Once again mum had taken the wind out of my sails as I was now on the defensive. I hadn’t known Mrs Dewhurst had seen my first wetting but I suppose she’d put one and one together after the second accident.

Mum was quickly in. “I came to check you were OK because I’d bought some new and hopefully, better fitting things for you and I was going to take you somewhere to change... make it more comfortable. But, then, Mrs Dewhurst called me into her office and we got chatting.” She looked me over and could tell I was fidgeting. “So, between us we came up with a solution which I hoped would help.”

“But she’s my boss,” I whined and my leg was shaking but just a little.

 “More especially Anthony, she’s a mother who knows about the problem.”

“But, but,” This seemed to be the total of my argument these days as mum asked if I was wet now. I nodded.

It was a really good job mum insisted on me wearing nappies, otherwise I imagined there’d be a stream of pee following me around.

“C’mon then let’s get you changed.” She’d cleverly changed the direction of my annoyance to one where I was the one that needed attention.

Once again I thought I was in the middle of some kind of sit-com, it was just so bizarre.



That feeling of being a dumb kid returned as she led me up to my bedroom. But I kept thinking – why involve anyone else in my worries?

Muuumm, I’m eighteen, it’s embarrassing...” my grumbling voice just wouldn’t stop.

She ignored my protest but added her own. “And you have yet to master putting on a nappy so...”

But she’s my boss...” I mumbled more to myself than mum.

Once in my bedroom she didn’t waste any further time and yanked down my shorts.

“Ohh, where did you get these plastic pants from?”

“She said you’d brought them.”

“Ohh mmmm, see-thru but the front of the packet didn’t show them like that... you’ve got a couple more packets of them as I bought a few in the sale.” She did a double take and decided they were acceptable. “Still, they look like they’ve done their job and, if I’m honest being able to keep an eye on your wetting might be a good idea.” She joked... I think.

Mum was being both encouraging and practical – they weren’t what I was used to so I’d just have to make do.

“OK,” She pulled down the plastic pants and gave me a stern look. “They’ve done a good job because you’re soaked and nothing’s leaked. How long have you been like this?”

“Not long... around the time you talked about taking Mrs Symanski to her sister’s”

She smiled at the mound of soggy material in front of her.

“Mrs Dewhurst has a daughter doesn’t she?” I nodded. “That’s why she’s folded this nappy for a girl... not a boy... did it feel different?”

A girl not a boy, how many ways were there to fold a nappy?

Again I nodded.

“Did it feel OK?”

“Yes, it was a bit different but felt tight enough... and... she thought the see-thru plastic pants were sturdy and would hold it together firmly.”

I was making small talk about the nappy as mum slowly unpinned it and let the folds slide away revealing my damp crotch.

“Do you need to go to the loo?”

I shook my head; I think the last soaking had got rid of anything that had been in my bladder.

“What about number two’s?”


It’s difficult being angry with mum when she takes so much trouble over making me all clean and dry. I enjoy this special time with her.


Without further chat she set to work wiping the area and, as all the other trappings needed were nearby, I was cleaned, oiled and powdered in quick succession.

As I lay there naked apart from a t-shirt she dove under the bed and pulled out a large bag.

“These are what I bought this morning.”

I recognised the bags from those she’d been carrying into the office. I watched as she pulled out the contents. Several thick cotton squares and a couple of packets not unlike the one Mrs Dewhurst had to open. So I knew they were more plastic pants.

Finest, robust vinyl for heavy wetters,” she read the info on the side of the packet. “AND three for the price of two... what an offer.” She added as if I should be pleased with her abilities to find a bargain. “Look, see, the image on the front is just the outline of plastic pants there’s no description of them being anything but plain.”

Well, I suppose that justified it all then. She then moved to her other purchases.

“Now these nappy squares are thicker and more absorbent than your others but so much softer... feel... they’re quite lovely.”

“Mum,” I pointed out, “you’ve just taken one off that Mrs Dewhurst put on me this afternoon.”

“Oh yes, well it was well soaked so I suppose they’re doing what they say. How many times have you wet today?”

“Erm, just the once.” I had to consider had I wet and not realised. “I think..?.” I wasn’t sure and judging by the look on mum’s face nor was she.

“Well,” mum then produced another bag with even more stuff in it. “These are for night time when you wet the most...” she was thinking, “well, we’ll see but, they have a thicker absorbent middle gusset so should hold even more...”

“Mum, why have you gone mad buying all this stuff, I mean I’ll be over it soon surely?”

“Look love, we’re not sure how long it will last this time. I’m hoping you’ll be as right as rain and back in your sweet tighty-whities soon but... the number of times you’ve wet since witnessing that lightning strike...”

She left me to contemplate what she was thinking.


The memory of that tree bursting into flame and that roar as the thunder rattled our house clouded my mind. I shook myself free of the image and responded.

“Ah, yes, but I was watching that storm coming for quite some time before the lightning hit the tree and I’d been OK...”

Really?” Mum asked doubtfully. “Are you sure you were in control up until then?”

“Yes, erm,” Now I was hesitant and questioning just what had happened. “Yes I’m sure I, er, I, ummm...”

Actually, I wasn’t sure because an hour past and I wasn’t aware of all that time I’d spent at the window.

“Look darling... your father and I have been discussing your old problem and what’s happened since you had that scary experience. We think it’s affected you more than perhaps you realise, so... we’re verging on caution.”

I was shocked she should think this way but began to wonder myself. There had been an awfully big puddle by the time I’d grasped what was going on with my bladder. Perhaps the flash and the tree bursting into flame had merely brought on a sudden spurt that made me aware. But, why should mum doubt me?

“Why are you...?” I asked emotionally.

“Look sweetheart. We’ve dealt with this for quite some time and we’d all hoped you’d be over it by now but... it appears to us... and I think also to you if you’re honest... that something else is happening. We’re not quite sure what or why but in some ways your continued reactions are getting longer.”

I looked at mum as if she’d told me some terrible truth. What did she know that I didn’t or what did she think she knew that I didn’t. Now she had doubts and so did I. The thing was, I couldn’t be certain when I’d wet next because it was happening without my knowledge. Perhaps mum and dad were right to be cautious.

“We all hope for the best but, and I’m sorry if this sounds heartless, it isn’t meant to be, we have to prepare for the worst scenario and protecting you is the main thing... just in case this lasts.”

“But I feel OK, normal, I can still work, nothing’s changed...” I could tell I was gabbling the words just couldn’t come out quick enough.

“Yes, yes... and we want the same as you... normality... but you have to admit that wetting twice at work and here...” She gave me a look that said I wasn’t admitting to just how many times my pants had flooded. “It’s a precaution that’s all but... I think its nappies now full time until we see some improvement.”


I was shocked by all this and hadn’t taken in that mum had (even as we chatted) put me in a new, thick, double-gusseted nappy and pinned it on. She began to rip open one of the packets of new vinyl pants and three dropped onto the front of the fresh white material... these were purple.

Mummm, I can’t...”

But mum just shrugged her shoulders as if it was of no consequence and inched one of the pairs up my legs.

I couldn’t fight her and I don’t suppose I really wanted to because a decision had been made and this was it – thicker nappies and coloured covers. I suddenly had the taste of orange in my mouth and I didn’t know why.

For some reason that ‘taste’ relaxed me but at eighteen and back in nappies at mum’s insistence, felt a bit strange. Whenever this had happened in the past I always knew the decisions made were in my best interest and imagined that must be the case now so arguing would be pointless. However, the new thick fabric was sending strange messages to my brain as I wriggled to see how manoeuvrable I was.

“Look, I know it’s early but you’re ready for bed now so you can come down and talk to me and your dad if you’ve any questions or stay up here and play on your computer... it’s up to you.”

The ‘improved’ nappy was huge but in truth didn’t feel at all bad as I moved around trying it out. Because I’ve had to wear them on and off for some time now, I actually didn’t mind having such thick fabric wrapped around my bits. It was snug and felt nice.

“You see,” mum observed, “nothing to worry about and you seem fine with it.”

“But look... purple.” I said as I stroked the slinky material. I wasn’t letting on but it had a very smooth and sensual touch to it.

“No one but us need to know... it’s not like you’re going to be showing everything off to your workmates now is it? The colour isn’t important, the fact they’ll keep everything tidy is what matters.”

I don’t think even as a kid I’d ever had plastic pants in this shade. Up until that moment they’d always been opaque whitish.

Quite unintentionally I found myself smiling as I ran my hands over the slippery vinyl cover. I suppose it was a nice change to get some colour ‘down there’ and they did feel particularly soft yet tough. I resigned myself to wearing nappies and this added protection for the foreseeable future. I’m sure somewhere in the world there are other eighteen year olds wearing something similar... or so I hoped.

Thankfully the slight shake in my legs had gone along with the wet nappy but I suddenly had a craving for chocolate - that ‘taste’ of orange filled my mouth again and I wondered if mum had bought a box of Roses for home.

Mum stacked the stuff in the wardrobe and left the room. I just stood there for a few minutes checking myself out in the mirror. The padding was large but not so gigantic that it looked stupid and I suppose the purple wasn’t too bad. If I was honest with myself, I think I did need the extra protection from now on - mum had convinced me of that. It also looked like she’d convinced my boss the same so now had two women looking out for my welfare.


Mum had got me thinking and so sat at the computer and typed in ‘thunder and nappies’ to see if there was any new research... or indeed anything to link the two – nothing. I tried a few different browsers but came up empty. There were tons of stuff on nappies/diapers (and the many ways to fold them) and loads of info about thunderstorms but the two together... zilch.

Eventually, having read a heap of info about nappies, and that there are people who like to wear them... and not just those who wet their pants like me, I got bored with coming up with no info on the two together. So, sensing the need for a bit of TV I slipped a pair of loose green satin boxer shorts over my bulge and set off downstairs. Things were tight and I’m not sure they hid much but I thought it would be better than wondering into the living room wearing only my latest protection. My eyes lit up when I saw the family gathered around and an open box of Roses on the coffee table.  

“So, not just for Mrs Dewhurst then?” I nodded toward the box and smiled at mum.

“As if... everyone likes a choccy now and then... and I think we all deserve a treat.”

I wasn’t complaining and the orange creamy things were there. I dived in.

Mum was watching one of her soaps, dad was reading some notes from work and Jenny still had her nose stuck in her mobile but occasionally commented on someone on screen.

“She’s going out with him off that hospital series.”

“She’s not.” Mum joined in the conversation. “I thought she was going out with Malcolm from...”

“No, no they finished ages ago... it was in last week’s OK.”

“Ohh,” was mum’s interested response.

She knew if OK Magazine said so it must be true and never doubted Jenny’s far superior knowledge about who wore what, who was going out with who (or is that whom?) and which celeb was cheating on another.

“Yes and now she’s going out with that director,” Jenny was in her element, “they’re tipping her for the next Bond girl.”

“Good heavens - that’s a move from soap to film star isn’t it?” Mum loved this type of gossip I think it brought them close together because neither dad nor I were in the least bit interested. Well I pretended not to be but I took it all in.


Over the next hour or so the TV lost some of its usual charm as they reviewed the love history of the soap’s cast and between us we demolished the best part of three quarters of the chocs.

Mum saw the diminishing amount and slipped the lid on. “Better keep some for another day.”

Dad had fallen asleep and mum shook him awake and pointed to bed. “You look so tired love, why not have an early night and I’ll be up in a minute?”

Dad nodded, got up and kissed me and Jenny then made his way upstairs whilst mum did a bit of tidying up and then kissed us goodnight as well.

“Don’t stay up too late... school tomorrow Jenny...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” We both waved mum off to bed.

“Anything special you want to watch?” I said pointing the remote at the TV.

“Not really bothered.” Jenny shrugged. “Any Family Guy on anywhere?” She mentioned as an afterthought.

I flitted through several channels before we did land on one of the many repeats.

“Oh, I’ve seen this one recently... how about Mock The Week... Dave usually has something funny on at this time.”

Dave is the channel we rely on for a good laugh, even an old, much repeated laugh, especially when the other channels are absolute crap. I pressed in the channel number and saw the credits rolling, we’d just missed one.

“I think I’ll have an early night as well... you coming?”

“Er before you go, erm, can I ask you something?” I was being afraid to ask my fourteen year old sister something I should have worked out for myself but needed her to confirm or deny it.

“If it’s about mixing shiny purple and shiny green I’d say go for it - a glittering, bold combination.” Grinning she seemed amused at her own observation.

Guiltily, I rubbed the front of my boxers which hadn’t hidden the bulge at all. In fact, all night, unnoticed by me, my purple vinyl pants could be seen drooping down the leg at times.

“Do you think I’m getting worse?” I asked timidly.

She put down her mag and looked over and surveyed me for a few moments before she answered.

“What do you think?” Typical of Jenny, she’s too clever not to find out first what answer I want her to give. If I wanted an answer then I’d have to answer her questions.

I fidgeted uneasily in the seat but glad that the thick padding was soft on my genitals.

“Well mum’s said that I need to wear protection 24/7 so that means to work and... well... that might be embarrassing...” I looked to her for some response but she wanted more. “And she’s now involved my boss Mrs Dewhurst, which I find very disconcerting.”

I saw her eyebrows rise at this news so that was something she wasn’t in on.  She wanted more info on this fascinating little titbit.

“In what way is it disconcerting?”

I’d let the cat out of the bag now and if I didn’t tell her she’d simply ask mum so I had nothing to lose really.

“She’s left some stuff for her to change me if I wet at work.” I dropped my eyes to the floor I was quite ashamed.

“Well the question is... have you been wetting yourself at work?”

I reluctantly nodded.

“And mum has got your boss involved to the extent she’d prepared to change you?”

Again I nodded.

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s getting worse” and she pointed to my shiny bulge, “but you have a lovely pair of pants AND two women fussing over you... is that worse?” She had a huge smile on her face. “To me it sounds like you’ve hit the jackpot.”

I could almost hear the ‘studio audience’ laughing.

This wasn’t the way I expected the conversation to go or the direction I thought Jenny would take but she’d answered my question.

“Is that all?” She obviously didn’t think my predicament was all that significant to worry about.

I nodded

“Then I’m off to bed.” She came over and kissed my cheek. “Night-night bro you really are...”

She didn’t finish that last sentence so I was confused – should I be happy or sad. Suddenly a loud cheer went up on the TV as the comedian at Live at the Apollo introduced the first act.

Is this a sign?

# # # be continued



Part 6

I watched the new comedian and thought he was very funny. A young guy from Scotland, gay and whose accent took some getting used to but his observations were spot on. However, by 10.30 I could feel my early morning catching up and decided bed was probably the best course of action.

Even though I’d been sporting my newer nappy all night, and it had more or less been on view, I hadn’t felt that it was much different from anything else I’d worn in the past. It was strange because everything seemed normal but it obviously wasn’t and I couldn’t put my finger on the reason... apart from someone my age wearing such robust protection. Maybe wearing a nappy was becoming second nature.

I waddled upstairs, opened the window a bit further to let in some air as it was still relatively warm, and removed the satin boxers. As I checked myself and found everything relatively dry I looked in the mirror one last time and decided I’d worry about which trousers I should wear to hide the bulk in the morning.

I was engulfed with fatigue and lay out on top of the bed as it was too warm to get under cover. There were a few animal noises outside that I couldn’t identify and gave up trying fairly quickly as sleep took care of everything.

I’d like to say my dreams were filled with pleasant scenes of fun and frolics but in truth, the only thing I can actually remember was the taste of orange and the feeling I’d joined Homer Simpson in one of his fantasies about chocolate. Too much telly I suppose?


I woke up with mum shaking me and saying to get up or I’d be late. Strangely, I was just coming around from the dream about sucking some chocolate but found I had my thumb in my mouth. It was all moist and drippy and I wondered how long I’d been slurping on that. The soaked pillow showed I’d been drooling for quite some time. Yuk.

There were times when wet nappies, thumb sucking and going off to work just didn’t feel right or normal. Then that moment would pass and nothing could have been more natural. In fact, the more I thought about it, quite a lot of what was happening was surreal and I wondered if it was actually happening to me? Like an out of body experience.

I think I was still in the same position I’d fallen asleep but of course soaked. The newer, thicker nappy seemed to have done its work and the more substantial plastic pants had done theirs... so... just me to sort out... as normal. 

Mum pulled back the curtains and encouraged me to get up.

“Jenny’s already gone to school, an early project she wanted to complete, dad’s gone to an early meeting so, guess what, just you and me for breakfast and the bathroom is all yours.”

She pointed towards the bathroom as a little indication to get a move on but I looked at my clock and it wasn’t that late, I had plenty of time.

“Move it.” Mum could see I was debating whether to take a few extra minutes to recoup but she came over to inspect the new, but soaked, nappy.

“How’s this done?” She patted the front padding. “Hmmm, seems OK no problems sleeping by the looks of things...” she smiled, “I think these purple plastic pants are more cheerful than any PJs you’ve had in the past. Yes, highly recommended.”

She was having fun and I knew she wouldn’t stop until I’d entered the bathroom and taken a shower.

“OK, OK, I can take a hint... jeez can’t a chap...” Actually there was nowhere to go with that conversation as mum started to sort out my clothes for work.

“I can do that.” I said in annoyance.

“You could but you haven’t, so why not shower and then I can get you properly ready for the day ahead. Remember, we’re trying something more substantial this time and we need to find out what’s best to discretely hide the protection.”

There seemed nothing wrong with mum sorting out my clothing and getting me ready for work. She always did that when I was at school, so toddled off to the bathroom and left her to find the correct combination.


The ‘nappy bin’ had reappeared in the bathroom so that’s where I deposited my overnight things. Mum would have them in the washer and out on the line before I left for work that’s for sure. The return of the nappy bin also meant they expected this to last so I needed somewhere to dump the used nappies on a regular basis.

I took a quick trip to the toilet then had a thorough shower and, in less than ten minutes, arrived back in the bedroom still drying my hair. In that short space of time mum had got everything ready.

“OK let’s get your nappy on first and then you can try on some of these.” She’d laid out nearly all my different trousers and even some of my smarter ‘dress shorts’, as mum liked to call them.

“As much as I would like to mum... I’m sure the wearing of shorts is not something anyone approves of.”

“Really?” She seemed surprised.

“Well, over the two years I’ve been there I’ve never seen anyone wear them except maintenance or delivery men.”

“OK, well, we’ll give them a miss... it’s a shame because they would work really well and hide everything. Still...”

A nappy was prepared waiting for me to lie out so I did. Mum took time rubbing in the cream and sprinkling a little powder around before she pulled and pinned the new nappy into place. Another pair of purple plastic pants was wriggled up my legs then she helped me up before squeezing the excess air out from the balloon like structure.

I had a sudden thought that perhaps I was enjoying this pampering more than I should but that guilt soon passed to being in a lovely comfort zone. That’s the thing, I’m more than comfortable having mum change me... it keeps our relationship close.

We tried several pairs of trousers but the one that seemed to work best I didn’t think was smart enough for work - a green canvas style material I didn’t think were as stylish as the shorts. Very loose, made for lounging around rather than for anything important but I had to admit they hid everything so much better than any of my other pants.

Mum then twinned them with a nice tight-fitting purple and green polo shirt (if I’d worn the shorts she recommended I could have passed as one of Wimbledon’s ball boys) thankfully, the ensemble didn’t look too shabby.

“Well I think your nice green cotton shorts would have worked better but you look fine. I should have thought and bought you some new pants whilst in town yesterday. Perhaps you can nip out in your lunchbreak and find something?”

I hate shopping. Not like mum or Jenny who both love it. If it was left to me I’d wear the same things all the time. In fact, shorts and t-shirt, with an occasional hoodie thrown in is all I feel I ever need. If it wasn’t for mum and aunties seeing something they think will ‘suit’ me I’m sure I’d still be wearing my old school uniform.

In fact, I was sure I still had it in my wardrobe.

However, the comforting bulge under my canvas pants was hidden and I felt able to go to work and not worry about anyone noticing.


The weather proved to be hottest week of the year so far and I had to admit that wearing a nappy with plastic pants made me sweat quite a lot. However, the fabric soaked it all up and apart from an occasional ride up in the folds I managed to cope. Most of the week I managed to get to the toilet before I peed myself, so, in the end only needed Mrs Dewhurst’s involvement on one occasion.

I got regular internal emails on my computer asking if I needed a change. To be honest she asked me a couple of times a day but on this one occasion I was soaked and didn’t remember doing so. In fact, I’d only been to the toilet a few minutes earlier before it happened. I guess this’s why mum insists I wear a nappy... it takes away the risk.

I sent the simple response YES and she told me to wait ten minute, whilst she closed her office blinds and then she’d call me in. I was shaking again but didn’t know if it was from being in Mrs Dewhurst proximity or the fact I’d wet some more.

This system worked well and I don’t think we aroused any suspicion when she asked if I could give her a hand with something in her office. Once there she locked the door and I could see everything laid out ready. I was a bit disappointed because there was no box of Roses anywhere to be seen. The problem I had was that I could taste the orange delight already and knew that I’d need something to distract me if she was going to be using a couple of wipes down below.

I know, I know, wanting a treat was very childish and there were times I did feel like a kid when in her office. The other thing I’d noticed, though tried to ignore, was I became totally compliant in her presence.

She smiled as I looked apprehensive.

“First, I’ve approved your request for Monday off... “

“Thanks, mum wants us to have some time at the coast.”

“Sounds nice,” she saw me still looking a little unsure. “Don’t worry I’ve been practicing on Julie my daughter so I’ve got it down to a fine art.”

I nodded and loosened my canvas pants.

“These aren’t what you usually wear,” she observed.

I grimaced because I knew they weren’t really smart enough.

“No, sorry, but because the padding is thicker I needed something that, you know, didn’t call attention in the office... I don’t want people to know that I’m wetting my pants at my age.”

“No, I understand and that’s sensible.”

“Mum thinks my dress shorts...” I was making small talk as she got on with pulling my pants and plastic pants off (she did go “Ooh nice” when she saw the purple) and unpinned the soaked nappy.

“Don’t you like wearing shorts then?” She wiped away and I took a deep breath as its cool wetness surrounded my naked pubic area.

“Actually I prefer them to trousers,” I said finding my voice “and would wear them all the time if it was allowed.”

“Well, who said it wasn’t?” She’d already had me lift up so she could run the fresh fabric under my bum.

“Erm, well, um, I’ve never seen anyone else in the office wear them so I assumed it, erm...”

The thing is... I always prefer to wear shorts because I think they suit me better. I feel it’s the real me and I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not. Mum and dad are used to seeing me wearing them around the house and I think mum is of the opinion they suit me best as well. She always says I look smart when we go anywhere... and has done ever since I was little.

“You’re a young man,” Mrs Dewhurst continued, rubbing in some anti-rash cream, “so I can’t see why not, especially as the weather is so hot. As long as they aren’t gaudy coloured board shorts or swimwear... I can’t see any problem”

“But none of the others do.” I mentioned as she sprinkled powder.

“To be honest there are those who I’d prefer not to see in shorts but you’re youthful and shouldn’t worry. I’m happy if you, or anyone else who want to wear them to the office for that matter, to do so. Especially if you think they would hide the padding better.” She pulled up a pair of see-thru pants and then told me to retrieve my canvas joggers. “It’s up to you but there’s no rule saying you can’t.”

Well, that was interesting. Changed and being told shorts were fine. I think, with the weather how it was, shorts would be a lot better idea and maybe some air could get up my pant leg and keep me from over-heating there.

I smiled my thanks as I left her office and she called a “Thank you for your help” for the rest of the office to hear.

No one looked up or batted an eyelid.


For the next few of days I wore shorts to work and although there were a couple of remarks from older colleagues (shouldn’t I be in school) no one was nasty and when other young members of staff followed my lead that was an end to any comments. Anyway, we’d got the seal of approval from the supervisor so there was no argument. I think we all felt better for air getting to our legs and I had to agree with mum again, shorts were a lot smarter than the canvas pants.

In fact, though I was still wearing a nappy the tight cotton of the shorts seemed to hold everything in place so the bulge wasn’t that noticeable. The legs came to about three inches above my knees so no plastic could venture into view and the firmness gave me so much confidence I wasn’t worried about wearing protection at all.

To be honest I was in my element and, though I’m not sure why, each day seemed to just zoom by. In fact, both mum and Mrs Dewhurst said the same thing; contrary to what some might have expected, I appeared so much happier. 


By Friday I was so confident about my control in not filling a nappy I suggested to mum that for our drive to the coast with Mrs Symanski I wear normal underwear.

“Are you sure, I mean she already knows about your problem so you wouldn’t be...”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Actually it was that and was shocked someone else knew about my old problem. “I just think I’ve got a handle on it and know when to... you know... anticipate things.”

Despite what I said I wasn’t that confident as when I started my request and that was down to the fact that I was more than a bit annoyed mum had shared my ‘secret’ with our old neighbour.

“Mum, how does Mrs Symanski know about...?”

“I’m sorry love but we’ve been neighbours since you were born... so... don’t you think she’s seen you at your best and... wettest over that time. And, if I’m honest, she’s been a fantastic source of knowledge for most of that time.”

“But mummm...” Yes I know that childish whine again.

She shrugged as if to say it’s wasn’t the biggest secret in the world and shouldn’t matter that much.

“Look, if you’re sure you don’t want a nappy, although I think you’re making a mistake, then of course it’s up to you. However, I’ll be bringing something with me because, although the nice weather is predicted to continue, there may be sudden storms brewing so I’ll not take any chances.” She smiled but I knew she meant it.


Friday night, and hoping to prove a point, I slept in my clean Adidas shorts without a nappy underneath. Both my parents had tried to convince me that it was too early but I was determined to break the control my bladder had over me.

I woke up in the morning and nervously felt the front of my shorts... they were a little damp. I checked and it looked like I’d done a small pee. I felt stupid but didn’t want to admit it. I got up, washed my shorts through so to all intents and purposes, nothing had happened. I showered and got ready wearing white briefs and my new favourite uniform of dress shorts and polo shirt. I chose pale blue, mid-length shorts and a green and blue paisley short-sleeved shirt... I looked the dog’s bollocks.

At breakfast I said nothing about my little spurt and as mum had loaded the car pretty soon we were on our way to pick up our talkative neighbour. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday and I just hoped that not everyone else would be heading to the coast otherwise it would be an even longer journey in the company of Mrs Symanski.

She was waiting at her door with a large wheelie suitcase and looking like she’d dressed for a summer pageant - a flowery dress, large sun hat and a huge handbag which I suspect could hold as much as her suitcase.

Anyway, I volunteered to take control of her suitcase and rolled it to the boot and slid it in between our more conservative packing. Before I could claim my front passenger seat back she’d climbed in so I was left with the back seat all to myself. Well, not quite, as I was now sharing it with Mrs Symanski large hat. She kept her ginormous bag on her knee.

“My Anthony you do look smart... very summery.” She beamed her toothy smile, “and Mary, you look lovely as well.”

“That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing...” Mum countered and, as we set off that was the subject of conversation for the next half hour. Where she was when she saw it. How she wasn’t sure about it and went back a couple of times before deciding to buy it... and a host of other pretty boring things related to how often she’s worn it, the choice of wearing it today and the fact she thought it made her look younger. How mum could keep any trace of interest in her voice I’ll never know.


Despite her constant forensic review and inclusion of every minor detail, I took the opportunity to nod a little bit, so the two hour drive fairly flew by and we were soon off the A-roads and onto the country lanes that led to Mrs Symanski sister’s cottage near the coast. Unfortunately, as sometimes happens on such roads, a farmer was herding his cows from one field to another and that held up the traffic. I could also feel I urgently needed the toilet but, as we hadn’t stopped, merely drove slowly on. I couldn’t get out and... too late.

Although I knew I needed to go, which was an improvement to when I had no idea I’d wet at work, when the flood broke, I had no control.

I closed my eyes and unprepared, my bladder exploded in my pale blue shorts drenching them and my briefs. When I opened my eyes I saw Mrs Symanski looking at me and watching the wet stain quickly covering the front changing from pale to dark blue.

“Mary, I thought you said he was back in nappies.”

That comment didn’t help but I was in no position to complain.

“No, he says he has control now so doesn’t need...”

“Well I think you’d better pull over because he’s pissed his pants pretty badly.”

I could have done without her pithy observation but she wasn’t wrong.

“Oh... just a minute Anthony whilst I find somewhere to pull in.”

Mrs Symanski kept her eyes on me the whole time as I fidgeted in shame on the back seat.

“Mind my hat.” Was the only other thing she said until we were past the herd that sauntered into a field and we joined the line of cars through to the next village. There was a car park so mum drove to the furthest corner and for the first time was able to see the damage.

“Oh Anthony, I said this might happen.” She wasn’t so much angry as resigned that she needed to change me when it could have been avoided if I’d only listened.

She got out the car and rummaged around in the boot and brought out a large pack of Abena Abri-Form Premium M4. I was surprised because mum doesn’t use disposables as a rule.

“I’ve come prepared sweetheart... I hope these will do.”

“Mum, leave it until we get to the hotel... I can wait.” I pleaded.

“Don’t be stupid Anthony,” this was Mrs Symanski, “You don’t want to be sat around in pee-soaked pants you’ll smell and then the car will smell and...”

“Yes, yes,” mum interrupted her flow, “I think we’ve got this covered thank you.”

She looked at Mrs Symanski who sniffed but said nothing else.

“Take off everything that’s wet please.”

I didn’t want to especially with Mrs Symanski sitting in the front seat. However, the alternative was being changed out in the open where any passing person could see, and didn’t fancy that, no matter how sunny the day was. I tried one last time.

“Mum I can wait... honestly.”

Mum gave me that look that meant she was not to be swayed, so reluctantly I unbuttoned my shorts and pulled them free.

“....and your undies... and the shirt it looks like the bottom has got a bit wet.”


So naked, on the back seat of our car I was bright red with embarrassment, feeling stupid and childish after what had just happened. Mum handed me a small hand towel and some wipes.

“Can I help love?” Mrs Symanski had changed from judging me to being her helpful self. She gazed at me and shrugged. “Don’t worry Anthony these things happen even to the best of us.”

I was only half listening but did that sound like she was admitting to wetting herself or was she just trying to be nice?

“If you can hold these.”

Mum offered the unopened package to her whilst she put my wet clothes in a plastic bag.

“Oh I’ve heard these are nice dear... thick and fluffy,” she smiled, “I wish they had them like this when my kids were babies.”

“Babies?” I wasn’t a baby... it annoyed me that she thought that... or at least said that even if she didn’t direct it at me.  I wished she wasn’t here to witness this but unfortunately there was no escape as mum seemed determined to get me cleaned up with or without an audience... our neighbour wasn’t one for privacy.

Mrs Symanski’s family were all grown up now. She had three daughters and two sons. The daughters were married and living in Poland, one of her son’s had emigrated to Australia and her youngest, Stephan, worked out on the oil rigs but rarely visited his mother.

Always the master of small talk she launched into what nappies were like as she was raising her brood. Thankfully it was quite distracting as mum made sure I was dry before adding the thick gloopy mass of anti-rash cream she smoothed in. All the time Mrs Symanski kept up a litany of things she didn’t have that parents were lucky to have these days. Including such well-made disposables as were now being successfully taped into place around my groin and the new shiny purple plastic pants which she thought were ‘adorable’.

I have to admit that the disposable was so much quicker and mum had everything done in super quick time.

She eventually slammed the car boot closed and, as if making a point, didn’t hand me any shorts to cover myself up. I thought it was her way of making sure I knew in future not to go against her advice. The rest of the trip I sat in a thick nappy and ‘adorable’ plastic pants whilst Mrs Symanski went on about the last time she’d visited her sister and the rows they had.

I could imagine it, especially if they were as talkative as each other.

Occasionally she would turn to me if she was making a point and stare at my padding and smile. I wasn’t sure what was going on in her head but I’m sure it would make another tale to tell on any future journey. I just hoped I wouldn’t be there when it happened.

Eventually we arrived at her sister’s place and they were all hugs and smiles as they embraced each other. Whilst I’d gone to get our neighbour’s case I also retrieved a pair of football shorts to quickly cover the padding. I hoped the two old ladies wouldn’t pass comment but her sister noticed and with an air of some authority asked if I was OK and did I need somewhere to change.

“No love he’s only just been changed,” she helpfully explained to her sister, “He peed his pants on the way...”

I’m sure she could have gone on for another twenty minutes but I was so embarrassed I ran to the car told mum to put her foot down and get out of this place.

“She was only being friendly.”

I said we would be there the entire weekend if we engaged in further ‘pleasant little chats’.

Mum laughed at my joke and with a final wave we were on our way to the hotel, which was about five miles further down the coast.

# # # be continued


Part 7

The hotel was set in quite a pretty area and had a sign that proudly proclaimed ‘200yds to the Beach’ down an unmade road. The coast could quite easily be seen from where we stood at the car park so was hopeful my room would have a nice sea view.

I pulled our case from the boot.

“Don’t forget the nappies.” Mum chided me for not picking them up.

I sighed but knew she’d made a point earlier.

I went back and got them and tried to hide what they were between me and the two small wheelie cases. I caught mum up in reception where an elderly gentleman was just checking out. I hoped all the clientele weren’t his age.

Once the man left with a greasy ‘Thank you’ to the pretty young receptionist she turned her attention to us. I saw her briefly scan our luggage and no doubt noticed the large pack of disposables. They weren’t that easy to disguise.

“Reservation for Turner,” mum smiled her smile at the receptionist.

I was hoping against hope that this girl, who couldn’t have been much older than me, hadn’t noticed or if she had didn’t automatically think they were for me.

“Ah yes, twin room, second floor Room 21.”

Mum handed the girl her credit card and the transaction passed off without incident. She received a similar looking card as the key and I wondered where my card was.

“Mum, what room am I in?”

“You’re with me silly.”

I was just about to demand (well as much as I demand anything) that she book me my own room when she gently squeezed my padded bottom and asked quietly if I needed a change.

I nervously turned to check if the receptionist had heard but she was on the phone and chatting to someone else.

Muummm.” Yes it was that whine again.

“I think it best that we stay as close together as possible don’t you?” It wasn’t a question more a statement as she led us up to our room.

There were two quite large beds, a separate bathroom and thankfully our view did look out over the gardens and towards the sea.

“Mum I’m eighteen surely I should have...” She squeezed my thick nappy again. That shut up any further discussion.

“I don’t know about you but it’s almost lunchtime so how about something to eat before we spend time on the beach?”

I was hungry so we quickly unpacked the few things we’d brought. Mum asked me to change out of the football shorts and wear something decent. The other nice pair she reminded me, was soaked and wrapped in a plastic bag in the car. She wasn’t going to let me forget my misdemeanour, well not just yet anyway.

“Do you need a change before we go?”

I shook my head thinking how I’d brought this on myself.

“OK Anthony, that was the last jibe and I want us to have a good time together so... I’m not going to ask again as long as you let me know straight away if you do need changing. Do we have a deal?”

Yes,” and then I was overcome with regret, “sorry mum I should have listened to you.”

“You should always listen to your mother.” She said stroking my hair and gently kissed the top of my head. “A mother always knows what her children need... even if they don’t.”

I smiled and nodded now we were back to our usual selves. I slipped into my favourite dark green shorts.


After a rather nice lunch at the hotel bar we went back to the room... I was wet. As we’d planned  a couple of hours taking advantage of the glorious weather and lying out on the beach it meant I didn’t need changing except into my swimming trunks.

“Seems like a plan.” Mum said “However, don’t forget to give yourself a wipe down before you put them on.”

“No mum.” I said in some exasperation.

We got ready and mum looked pretty good in her swimsuit and I looked like her young son in my pale blue Speedos. This was what I meant by not buying much new stuff, I’d had these Speedos for ages and although a very tight fit, didn’t want to lose them.

Mum looked down at my crotch. “It really is time to get something better... look... why not wear your football shorts instead?”

“Because they become see through once they’re wet.”

“OK, but put them over your trunks until we get to the beach at least... they look painful.”

Although I didn’t want to admit it once again mum was right, I must have grown a little since last time I’d worn them because they were very tight indeed but I hadn’t bought any new ones. It’s silly really as I had loads of shorts I could have brought. I felt a bit stupid that I’d only brought the Speedos, perhaps in future I should let mum pack my bag.

I could see mum was still debating with herself whether it would be advisable for me to wear a disposable but, if I intended going in the sea at some point that would be a waste.

“OK, let’s get going shall we?”

We packed a couple of towels and hoped that the beach would have loungers and parasols.


The beach was crowded and it seemed everyone had decided to spend Saturday making the most of a British summer, because you never knew how long it was going to last.

I looked around and there seemed to be kids of all ages screaming, playing footy, tossing Frisbees, batting balls, swimming and floating. Right next to where we pitched our towels (no loungers left) was a family with three boys and a baby girl having a picnic.

Mum did what mums do and said to the wife how beautiful and cute her baby daughter was and added how well behaved her boys were.

“You should have been here ten minutes ago... they were running riot but hopefully, with a bit of grub in them, they’ll calm down a bit.”

We all laughed as the boys looked up chomping on some kind of meaty sandwich stuck in their mouths.

We lay out and I spread some sun tan lotion on mum’s back and she did the same to me. I’d wriggled out of the footy shorts by then and just lay in my Speedos.

“Is this your boy?” the woman asked.

“Yes, Anthony... say hello.”

“Oh hello.”

“What Year is he in?” She pointed to obviously the eldest son, “Johnny, he’s in Year 6, this one is in Year 4 and these two... still at home with mummy.” She smiled and rubbed her youngest son’s tummy so he giggled hysterically.

I was pretty indignant. Why had she asked mum and not me and... bloody cheek... she thought I was still at school.

Mum saw I’d gone red, and not because of the sun, so changed the conversation.

“Well he seems a joyful little chap,” mum was looking at the chuckling little handful and I could see he was still wearing padding under his little Minion shorts.

“Let’s hope it lasts,” the woman replied knowingly.

“I think I’ll go for a swim.” I needed to get away from that family set up. I didn’t want to be dragged in to this exchange of pleasantries.

“Oh OK.” Mum acknowledged.

As I got up to leave so did the other two boys. “We’ll come and join you.” It wasn’t a request.

So we ventured down to the water’s edge where I was going to dare them to take the plunge. I didn’t need to dare them as they both dove in and swam easily in the cold sea.

Now I was in a quandary. I wasn’t actually planning on swimming, just a bit of paddling but I couldn’t be shown up by these two kids. Besides, I suddenly felt my Speedos getting warm and I realised my leg was shaking and unconsciously peeing so I needed to get in quickly. However, the eldest noticed before I had chance to submerge.

“You’re s’posed to wait until you get in the water before you pee.” He laughed.

I was quite embarrassed and decided not to respond so spent a few minutes surface diving and hoping they’d go away. However, every time I resurfaced they’d be there and wanting to chat.

Eventually I could put them off any longer and they introduced themselves Johnny, who I knew was eleven and nine year old Kevin... they were from Bradford and went to a school whose name I didn’t catch. I told them my home town and they wanted to know which year I was in.

“I work, I left school at sixteen and found a...”

You work?” Johnny sounded incredulous. “What, you’re sixteen... we thought you’d be in Year 6 like me... wow... “

I didn’t know what to say so I dove under the water and hoped to change the subject when I resurfaced.

Although it had been commented on before, my slim stature had never bothered me and I didn’t know why it was doing so now. I am who I am but more than once, when out with the family, it has been assumed I was barely older than Jenny. It’s annoying when you get handed the Children’s Menu. Dad just takes it off me and hands it back to the waiter or waitress and asks for a proper menu. At this point they’re usually a little flustered but after apologising are super attentive.


When I did resurface they’d got chatting to another group of kids so I took the opportunity to slowly backstroke myself away. Although it was summer the sea wasn’t that warm and whilst I was getting used to it could feel my genitals shrink to nothing. I then began to think that I didn’t want to get out because folk would see I had no bulge, which was at odds when I wore a nappy because of course that gave me a significant outline around my pubic region.

This was stupid. I didn’t really want to swim I just wanted to relax in the sun and hopefully get some rays on my pale body. I ventured back and thankfully noticed mum was laid out and asleep or at least not engaged in chat any more. I stretched out beside her and she looked over and shrugged. She must have known I’d had a bit of a trial.


“Yes love.”

“Just give me a shove to turn over in about twenty minutes.”


The sound of waves gently rolling in and astonishingly, even the sound of the seagulls and noise of the crowd lulled me into a deep relaxation. I settled down and, once I wriggled about and got myself comfortable, drifted off.

With the sun beating down my body warmed nicely and although I was aware of the sounds around, they didn’t intrude as different thoughts floated into my head. I was on the cusp of sleep and wakefulness when a dream took hold and I was with those three boys.

They were pointing and laughing because they said I wet my pants. I was trying to hide away but when I turned they could see the padding and purple plastic pants bursting out from behind my tiny Speedos, which only encouraged them to jeer more. They began to push me and I felt small and abused and couldn’t fight back. Their pushes turned more aggressive to shoves and were taunting ‘baby pants, baby pants, baby pants’.

I came too with a start and almost in tears but mum was gently shaking my shoulder telling me to turn over.


I looked over to the family and they were all sprawled out and sunbathing quietly. I was just about to turn over when I realised I was shaking and peeing into my Speedos. There was quite a flood and I knew that the towel was going to be soaked and I dreaded anyone, especially the kids opposite, knowing what I’d done.

Mum saw the anxious look on my face.

“Are you alright sweetheart?”

However, my slow response and look of shame told her exactly what had happened.

Although the sky out to sea was a wonderful shade of blue, back the other way dark clouds were amassing overland. It looked like another summer storm was brewing.

“OK Anthony, enough sun for the moment let’s get back to the hotel and...” she nodded towards my swimming trunks but didn’t finish the sentence. “Thankfully, we don’t have far to go so... just wrap the towel around your waist.”

To be honest I couldn’t get away quick enough but as I rushed I saw Johnny wave and smile a friendly smile, “Nice meeting you Anthony.” I felt guilty for casting him as a villain who would make fun of my predicament.

I sneakily held the towel covering my trunks so it wouldn’t show just how wet either was. Thankfully, sand had attached itself to my wet outline so as we walked away I pretended to shake it off. I’m not sure if it worked and no one was any the wiser but I thought I’d handled the situation quite well.


However, as I stood under the shower back at the hotel watching sand and stale urine getting washed down the plughole I wondered why I’d had that half-dream. Apart from the fact that they thought I was younger than I am there was no inkling that they regarded me as anything but a new friend. I assumed that’s why I had that, that hallucination, but didn’t know if it was the reason I peed myself. It could have been because I felt threatened but whatever the reason I don’t think mum will be keen on my return to underpants anytime soon.

I rinsed out my Speedos and hung them on the showerhead to dry and then dried myself. Mum was sat on her bed as I entered from the bathroom and I saw she had the pack of disposables all ready.

“You’ve wet yourself twice today sweetheart...”

“Three... I’ve wet three times... sorry mum.”

“It’s OK dear but I think it’s these until we get home.” She dangled an unopened Abena M4.

I nodded and hadn’t actually minded wearing the one I was changed into in the car park. Like Mrs Symanski said, they were quite soft, fluffy and fitted surprisingly well. Oddly I had that taste of orange chocolate in my mouth and wondered if mum had brought some with her. When I asked her she said she hadn’t so didn’t let on about the strange ‘tang’ in my mouth.

Mum helped me dry off and thought we should look around the garden and perhaps take a walk along the cliff tops before the storm came. It seemed as good an idea as any.

She spread out the full disposable on my bed and got me to lie out. Somehow she had a tube of anti-rash cream and smoothed that around before pulling the tapes together and fastening me in. She started looking in one of the draws and I saw she’d also brought a selection of vinyl pants. Obviously she’d suspected I’d need them at some point. They were in various colours but I chose a dark blue pair and slipped them up and over the disposable. There was a look in mum’s eye and I couldn’t work out if it was the inevitability of what she’d done or whether approval of the fit. Either way she passed me the rest of my clothes and before too long we had viewed the garden and launched ourselves along the cliff tops.


It was nice just sauntering along. The views out to sea were breath-taking and we could see four large ships on the horizon, together with a couple of yacht and several small fishing boats. People were still splashing and swimming around in the surf below and the screams overhead of the cacophonous birdlife all added to that awe-inspiring moment. On top of that, a pleasant cool breeze wafted around and up my shorts keeping me satisfyingly refreshed.

We chatted and laughed about nothing in particular but mum did have some choice and amusing things to recount regarding Mrs Symanski. She wasn’t nasty or gossipy just some of the silly, long-winded ways she explained things. Although as a family we are very close, I’d never felt closer to mum than I did on that walk. We hugged and walked arm in arm like we used to do when I was just a little kid... it was wonderful. The weather was warm and the sun shone – everything was just perfect.

In fact, apart from Mrs Symanski witnessing my accident, this was turning out to be a brilliant break and I’m so glad we were able to take this together. It might have been nicer for all the family to be here but I wasn’t complaining mum was such great company.

We seemed to walk for miles but I suppose it wasn’t really all that far. The earlier threatening clouds appeared to have broken up and mum checked the forecast on her phone. Although it did say ‘possible intermittent thunder showers’ it seemed that today, in our little piece of paradise, it decided not to bother. With the breeze rushing around my groin mum’s ‘standby’ protection didn’t feel a burden and I was beginning to enjoy the caress of an M4. I’d never had to wear one before... and I liked it.


In the evening, on the recommendation of the hotel, we ate at a restaurant just a few doors away from where we were staying even receiving a voucher for a free bottle of Prosecco if you bought two main meals.

Mum got a few disapproving looks from some of the other diners as she filled up my glass to accompany the fine roast leg of lamb with garlic and rosemary, accompanied by a medley of fresh local farm vegetables, we both enjoyed.

I overheard someone say it was disgraceful that she should be letting a child drink alcohol but by then I was happy in letting them think I was younger. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time today.

We giggled like school kids on the walk back to the hotel and only just made it before the clouds burst and a torrential shower drove the happy holiday-makers off the streets.

We watched a bit of TV before bed but when I undressed I was surprised to see I’d soaked the disposable. I never realised or noticed until I took down my shorts and plastic pants. I sighed but mum must have heard me and came into the bathroom and told me not to worry. I wasn’t worrying but grateful that mum had brought extra protection. I cleaned myself up and mum rubbed in more cream. She also commented on how nice they felt and made a big thing about fluffing them out and getting me to lie out before pulling everything together and taping me in.

“They look good,” she said as she threaded fresh plastic pants over them, “do you want to go to sleep or watch a bit more telly?”

It was only about ten so we opted for a film that was about to start. I only saw about half of it before I was yawning and sliding between the welcoming covers of my bed. I don’t think mum was long after me, whilst the disposable felt large, fluffy, welcoming... so it was easy to fall asleep.


Mary Turner wasn’t sure why she woke up but intuition made her aware of... something. There was a low mewling sound she could hear but wasn’t sure where it was coming from. She looked at her phone, 3.32, she would have shrugged and gone back to sleep except that sad noise was still there.

A distant flash lit up the window and illuminated the outline of her son.

“Anthony... Anthony are you... alright?” She spoke quietly as the night often makes people do.

No reply.

She turned on the bedside lamp which was of a very low wattage so wasn’t very effective in illuminating the entire room. However, it was powerful enough for her to see her son kneeing on the sofa and staring out into the night sky.

“Anthony, Anthony.” She whispered.

Still no reply - so got out of bed noticing his bloated, bright, shiny purple plastic pants glowing even under such soft lighting. Silently she walked over to where he was kneeling. The soft sound she’d heard was now evident her son was sucking his thumb, shaking and making gentle little cries.

Over the years she’d found him in similar circumstances after a storm and the image almost always made her think about that time in a tent in France. Even now, all these years later, he looked so small and juvenile, like a little kid, vulnerable and anxiously waiting for something.

However, although as a child he cried if it thundered, she’d not heard him react that way recently.

His eyes were open and she followed his gaze. Although the sky was clear and the stars and planets shone brightly, over on the far horizon soft distant flashes indicated a storm out to sea. She listened but could hear no rumbling so assumed it was too far away.

She’d heard no storm pass nearby so perhaps it hadn’t woken him... in fact... she wasn’t sure he was awake. But how then had he known there was a storm? Although his eyes were open and was staring out to sea, there was no reaction when she gently stroked his hair and tenderly wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Come on sweetie, let’s get you back into bed.”

Although it was dark, the occasional distant flash vaguely lit up his face but his eyes barely registered what he saw. However, his thumb sucking got more fervent as his mother tried to rouse him.

Aware that the storm must be having some influence she checked. Slipping her hand down the front of his plastic pants and the poor boy was saturated. She examined the back and it was waterlogged, probably meaning the disposable had taken a few soakings.

“Oh sweetie...”

She gently pulled his thumb from his lips and guided him towards the bathroom. He walked as if in a daze but at least moving under his own power no matter how slowly. Once there she pulled down the bloated plastic cover and released the tabs, the disposable flopped with a sodden splat onto the tiled flooring. Anthony had no idea what was going on but thankfully the mewling had stopped and, his mother hoped, so had his peeing.  However, she wanted to get him back into fresh disposable as soon as possible just in case he started again.


As If on auto-pilot a slightly trembling Anthony lay out on the cold tiled floor whilst his mother quickly wiped him down before going to retrieve a couple of fresh M4s. She expertly lifted his legs and placed the thick fabric under his bottom and then, with some effort, taped him in. Using the same pair of plastic pants, she tugged them up and over the double padding but it was a squeeze.  

Pulling him to his feet she checked all was safely gathered behind the plastic cover and then led him back to bed and covered him with a blanket. Sitting on the bed and stroking his hair she wasn’t sure what to make of this development. Perhaps this was how he’d been when he witnessed that lightning strike back home.

Between them both Mary and her husband had wondered if that strike might have had more of an effect than their son realised. He did seem to need nappies more but otherwise he was functioning normally. That link between a thunderstorm and Anthony’s reaction to them had been an issue for many years... but why?

That was the question that absorbed her as she continued to stroke his hair to comfort him. It was if time had simply been rolled back ten or so years, Anthony looked so young, innocent and totally dependent on her.

Meanwhile, his right hand found its way from under the covers and his thumb found its way between his lips. A soft slurping noise could just be heard as he turned on his side, closed his eyes and slipped back into a deep sleep.

Mary sat for a short while longer wondering what to say come the morning but, as there was nothing she could do there and then, returned to her own bed. After turning off her bedside light, she saw a few distant flashes barely light up the room and soon found herself also drifting off.  

# # # be continued


Part 8

“C’mon sweetheart breakfast is being served in the garden... and it’s such a beautiful morning I don’t want to miss any of it.”

Mum had just nudged me awake and I was barely conscious as she raved on about what we might do for the rest of the day. She seemed pretty immersed in a “Things to do...” brochure.

“Yeah, yeah OK, erm, what’s this?”

I’d reached under the blanket and detected that my padding was thicker than usual... it was also wet as usual but...

“Oh yes, well sweetie, last night you did a bit of sleep-walking and spent some time at the window,” she nodded towards it so I knew exactly which window she meant. “You were watching a storm on the horizon but you’d saturated your nappy so I had to put you in a fresh one.”

“Really, I mean, I don’t remember getting up... or you changing me...”

“No love, I think you were in some sort of trance but... you were very, very wet so I changed you.” She smiled her winning smile. “So sharing a room wasn’t such a bad idea... hmmm? C’mon, get up and let’s make a start on the day.”

I pulled back the cover and revealed my bulky plastic pants.

“So, I seem to have wet twice last night...” I shrugged patting the large squishy cushion I was wearing.

“Twice, maybe more...” she shook her head as if there was more to it but she didn’t want to say, “those were just as a precaution but look like they paid off.”

The thickness spread my legs a bit and although this was nothing new, I did feel like a toddler as I tried to rise from my bed.

“Did the storm wake you as well?” I asked hoping she wouldn’t notice I was struggling a bit.

“Actually, I don’t think the storm came anywhere near us...” she looked out the window, “I can’t see any puddles or any evidence that it rained last night so, it might have only been out at sea.”

As she searched for any tell-tale signs I managed to wriggle myself out of bed and stood in wonder at the huge glassy pants surrounding my wet nappy.

“I wonder why... it doesn’t make any sense if it didn’t wake me up... I mean...” I didn’t remember anything about last night and now I felt completely detached from what went on.

“That’s why you’re in nappies...” she smiled in encouragement, “They’re there to protect you from a wet bed. Thankfully, they do what they’re supposed to do and you seem none-the-worse for it. So, sleepy head... c’mon, let’s get you changed and see what delicacies they have for breakfast.”

Her eighteen year-old son, wearing a huge swollen nappy didn’t seem to faze her at all as she urged me to get a move on.


I did my toilet, had a quick shower and was back ready for mum to do her thing and wrap me up for the day.

“Do you think you can handle two?” She was rummaging around in the pack of disposables.

“I don’t think I could get my shorts over two so let’s not push it. I should be alright with what I normally wear.”

She inspected me thoroughly for any redness or rashes before rubbing in cream and taping me in.

“I really like these Abenas... they don’t half give me a soft reassuring hug.” I enthused.

“Good, but don’t get used to them, they’re expensive and... only for special occasions when we can’t do such personal laundry. It will be back to fabric when we get home.”

“In that case, I better make full use of them,” I teased.

I slipped into my green shorts and a pale blue crew-necked t-shirt “Ready.”

“Have you got everything you’ll need for the day?” She said as she held out my small backpack that I knew held a couple of disposables and various other bits and bobs should the weather turn.

“I have now thanks. I’m starved.” I kissed mum on the cheek and we set off to find a nice place to have breakfast in the garden.

Mum went to discuss something with reception; I suppose it was about entry to some of the places we were planning on visiting, whilst I found a corner table for two. I hadn’t realised just how thirsty I was so before mum arrived back I’d sunk two large glasses of orange juice.

(I wonder if this is why I keep getting a tang of orange in my mouth... the amount of OJ I drink?)

Although mum settled for a bowl of mixed fruit followed by croissants and a pot of tea for breakfast I was hungry and decided on scrambled egg, toast and bacon. They were very generous with the rashers and I ate the lot then needed another large glass of orange to help it all down.

We chatted about mum’s plans, she wanted to visit two nearby sites which for some reason, when we came before, she never got round to seeing. She also asked if I wanted to go back to the beach and I said that if the sun was still shining when we’d done her tour I wouldn’t mind a little lie out.

“OK then, that’s what we’ll do.” She shoved the last piece of buttered croissant in her mouth with an air of comic finality, whilst I sank the last of the juice.

I thought it was a great start to the day.


Before we left mum was making reservations, well, asking the receptionist, to make reservations, at a restaurant we’d been recommended when chatting to people the previous day. Meanwhile, as I stood around with my backpack perched strategically on my shoulders I noticed a girl I thought I recognised waiting. She had sunglasses on, so I wasn’t too sure but I made myself known anyway.

“Hi, Trinny isn’t it?” I smiled what I hoped was a winning rather than predatory smile.

“Who’s asking.” She was very offhand but at least she was talking.

“It’s me, Anthony, Anthony Turner from...”

“Ah, from school, Year 5... Mrs Anghar’s class?”

“Year 11 actually.” Yes it was definitely her. She was always putting me down because of my size and it looked like things hadn’t changed.

The thing was, now I’d made contact I remembered I didn’t like her much and she didn’t like me but... we’re grown-ups now so hopefully...

“You still in class?” She was off hand but at least making small talk.

“No, I work. I’m a computer analyst.” I have no idea why I said that because although I work with computers that’s not my job description.

“Oh,” her interest perked up.

“Yes, recruited when I was sixteen,” God what was I saying? I’m trying to impress a girl I never got on with... what’s wrong with me?

“So, here having a dirty weekend like...” She didn’t finish saying as mum walked over.

“Oh my god you’re dating an oldie?”

“No, no, no... I’m...” I was lost for words but in some way I just didn’t want to correct her. Part of me was hoping this would get back to all my old school mates... and even those who weren’t my mates.

“C’mon sweetie momma needs her fix.”

“Yes, fine OK, erm I’m needed so... by Trinny, hope you have a great day.”

It all happened so quickly and I just hope she didn’t detect the slight rustle of my plastic pants or notice the bulge in my shorts... and if she did, put it down to something sexual.

I couldn’t wait to tell mum what had just happened but then wondered if she would be pleased at being called an oldie. Perhaps better to remain quiet on the subject. However, as we set off I had a huge self-satisfied smile on my face.

And I thought the day had already started well.


When we got to the car I noticed mum also had a huge grin on her face.

“Well that was fun.”

“Erm, what was?” I asked innocently.

She looked at me as if I wasn’t fooling anyone.

“You were trying to impress that girl.”

“But, but...”

“I overheard everything darling... she now thinks you are dating an older, sophisticated lady... you wish.”

I sort of smiled and grimaced at the same time because I’d been found out.

“Was she a friend?”

“No, I recognised her from school but she didn’t like me - not trendy or tough enough I guess.”

“And yet you still....”

“Yes I know, I know stupid...” I sighed, “she always treated me as a nobody.”

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart... you’re trendy and tough enough for momma.” And she burst into gales of laughter, which made me feel better. “Now then, the castle first, I think it opens in about ten minutes and it’ll take us about twenty to get there.”

We jumped in the car and I felt the thick, soft padding hugging me as I settled into the seat. This really was a brilliant way to start the day.


The castle on a sunny day was proving popular so mum said we’d only take a quick look around after all. Despite the blurb in the “Things to do...” section it didn’t have a lot to see or do once you got there. So after a few posed photographs, I clambered up a reinforced battlement and had to admit that the view was quite spectacular.

There was another soft click so knew mum was getting a few more images to show to dad and Jenny.

On the way to the castle mum had told me about the siege that had taken place during the War of the Roses and I tried my best to visualize the battle. I closed my eyes and wondered what a battle would sound like; unfortunately my imagination just wasn’t up to it. However, a couple of young girls were screaming as they jumped from one battlement to another and that seemed to create a similar chaotic atmosphere.

As their excited screams and laughter continued I stood looking out feeling the strong cooling breeze wafting around my unexpectedly trembling legs. It was at that moment I felt my bladder give way and the amount of orange juice I’d gulped down at breakfast make a hasty exit into my disposable. I’d had no warning, although perhaps should have expected it, but, like back in the office, I couldn’t stop the flow. The stream seemed to take an awful long time and was worried that the M4 just wouldn’t cope with the amount but trusted the plastic pants would do their job.

Mum was waiting as I tentatively climbed down from my prominent position and looked questioningly at me. There was another soft click she caught the moment of my al fresco embarrassment. She knew what she’d just taken a shot of and smiled knowingly as I drew near.

“I guess it’s time to find somewhere to change you.”

I nodded because the soaked disposable had expanded quite significantly so my shorts looked like I’d been storing an inflatable cushion around my groin. I tried to walk as normal but could tell I had a bit of a waddle, which felt strange but not too uncomfortable.

Mum found a disabled toilet and we popped in. Without much ceremony I undid my shorts, slid the plastic pants down and mum got to work yanking the sodden piece of material off. It seemed massive.

My backpack had all the items needed to make me clean and fresh for the rest of the trip and mum wasted no time giving me a quick wipe and then taping me in. The entire process only took a couple of minutes but when we let ourselves out who should be the first person I saw, Trinny.

She looked shocked as she saw us both emerge and I hoped she thought we were having a quickie. Alas, as I was still hitching up my pants, she might well have heard me thanking mum for the change but she hadn’t quite put the disposable away and saw her stuffing things into my backpack. A huge smile spread across Trinny’s face.

“Still wetting your pants... you always were a little kid... thankfully your mummy’s there to change you.”

She laughed and then walked over to a lad who looked like he should be playing rugby for Leeds Rhinos. Any comment or clever response went unsaid and all I could think about was - a guy my age wearing a nappy was good gossip for someone like Trinny.

Unfortunately, my fantasy of being seen as some kind of sexual stud had lasted less than two hours.

However, despite the total embarrassment, I was wearing a nice new dry Abena... so it wasn’t all bad.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Mum apologised.

I was flushed but just shrugged, it wasn’t important.

“Not your fault mum... and I doubt if I’ll see her again anytime soon. Not that I want to see her anyway...”

She put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a hug.

“Right, on to Mansion Gardens I think and then perhaps we’ll have time for the beach later this afternoon.”

We got in the car and left. I had to admit that the ruins looked pretty impressive from a distance but I was glad we were leaving. However, Trinny’s words Still wetting your always were a little kid” were giving me food for thought.


As we drove I was processing a few things.

Like, why did thunder storms affect me so much and so easily, surely this was something only a child would have problems with? This most basic of question which I’d never been able to find an answer to... but there was no denying the soggy effect such meteorological events had on me.

From when I was young and became aware of this climate phenomenon I was always left peeing my pants. My parents of course were very understanding and simply put it down to the event stressing me out in some way. Trinny’s observation that I was ‘still wetting my pants’ meant that I hadn’t hid that fact very well when at school. This was a surprise because in general, I never got any anguish from wearing at school because I rarely wore padding and didn’t think anyone knew. Shows how wrong I was.

There’s no doubt that if thunder was forecast I got quite agitated but mum had read that it might be better for me to confront, rather than hide, from it. Although I’d not been affected for some time, the recent bout of thunder and lightning, especially the tree strike, had had an absurd effect on my mental capacity to control my bladder – day and night.

Another thing running through my head: Had I accepted having to wear nappies too easily?

I argued with myself ‘No’, because wetting the bed and also unwittingly peeing my pants in the office meant protection was sensible. I’m eighteen so I should be sensible.

And then there’d be that other voice chipping in.

‘Yes but you’re eighteen... so shouldn’t be wearing a nappy at all.’

Allowing mum and now my boss to change me... that can’t be right... so why had I consented to the situation without a fight?

And that’s why Trinny’s words had hit home “ always were a little kid.”

Is that what all this is about - mentally I haven’t progressed from being a scared three year-old terrorised in a tent in France?

Mum, and dad are very loving and the one thing neither Jenny nor I were short of was affection. They praised any of our accomplishments no matter how small and encouraged us in all our juvenile endeavours. When I had first got scared of the storms and wet myself, it wasn’t made to be a big problem. Something easily sorted with a quick wrapping in a nappy.

I accepted it then and I accept it now. They’d done it all my life – if I had a problem when a storm (or any other stressful incident) came then some form of protection was never far away. I’d taken it as a practical solution so that’s why I hadn’t hesitated now. I didn’t see it as babyish. Nappies were a comfort and something I could rely on not to let me down. It’s doing so now, whilst sitting in the car on the way to the garden mum’s so keen to see.


The radio was playing when a ‘Golden Oldie’ came on and mum looked at me and enthused.

“This used to be your favourite song when you were little. It always got you up dancing and singing along... even though you didn’t know the words.” She smiled and launched into the chorus trying to encourage me to do the same.

As I wriggled in my padded seat I felt comfortable and I looked over at mum... the truth was being with her was giving me immense pleasure. It took me back to when I was young and often just the two of us would be doing things together... I’d loved it then as I did now.

Here I am, singing to a song that was a childhood favourite, dressed in shorts, a t-shirt and wearing a nappy. So the question has to be asked: Have I grown up at all?

My sister at fourteen has happily moved from childhood to teenage siren, taking care to show off her developing attributes and enjoy the change. Whereas, I come home from work (ah yes very adult), change out of my grown up workwear and straight back into t-shirt and shorts and play computer games that I’ve had since I was ten. I don’t like noisy, gun-toting, battle things I prefer gentle games that build or tease. I am just a big kid... and not that BIG either.

The thing is... apart from my wayward bladder... I like who I am. I mean, even if I’m wet in bed I’m happy because I’m padded and therefore safe and surely that’s a good thing no matter at what age.

That’s the trouble when I start to think... I don’t come up with any answers or solutions to my problems... just more questions.


We arrived at Mansion Gardens and again were met by queues of people out enjoying the sunny weather. However, the receptionist had told mum that the gardens were looking spectacular at the moment and it would be a shame to miss them at their best... so we waited.

However, the words of the song I’d been singing along to were still bouncing around in my head, which unfortunately brought Trinny’s words to the fore again only this time as part of that damn song - “You always were a little kid.” Dum di dum di dum...

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that.

Did she mean I always looked like a little kid because I was slightly smaller than other boys?

Did I exude the air of childishness with the way I behaved?

Did she know that I sometimes wore padding to school, or that I occasionally had small accidents in my undies?

Did she know about my fear of thunder and lightning?

Or, was it something else she’d detected that I didn’t know I was doing?

What was it about me that made her say those words – we weren’t friends, she hardly knew me?

That was a lot of pressure to worry about from a girl I didn’t care about as I was never part of her social group.


A sensed a slight tremble pass up my body as I couldn’t rid myself of that stupid refrain and before long that unmistakeable warming glow filled my M4. I sighed to myself but didn’t want mum to worry about a change so didn’t mention anything as we eventually paid the entrance fee and slipped into the wonderful gardens. I think it was the third glass of OJ making its presence felt.

In point of fact, apart from the disposable getting a bit stiffer I didn’t feel any dampness and wandered happily with mum as she gushed over the magnificent displays and intoxicating fragrances. Actually, I’ve stolen those last five words from the guide to the gardens mum was referring to as we meandered around.

The expanded disposable wasn’t in the least annoying so maybe it would take another soaking before it needed a change. I was aware of it gripping tightly under my shorts and if I was being honest - it felt really quite nice. Much better than the fabric ones I have to wear at home. I understood mum’s argument about costs but this was more than a treat and would have liked this Abena outing to last for a while longer. Alas, when we go home tomorrow I’ll be back in my usual terry cotton nappy until this current episode of wetting goes away.

That got me thinking. This has happened many times before, and my parents have fixed it with either pull-ups or nappies but usually I get over the nightly soakings and then it’s back to tighty-whities, which I preferred to wear for school and now work. Why had they decided that this time it would be longer? I mean mum had bought quite a supply of new nappies and even left some at work... so why was it different this time?

Had they noticed something about me that I hadn’t? Was I doing things differently?

I thought about asking mum but she was focused on the plant life so probably didn’t want any of my on-going worries at that moment. Besides, despite my distraction, when I did tune back in, mum was explaining about how the gardens came about, the plants from around the world and the ‘Festival of Colour’ they ran every year.

I’m sure she’ll come away inspired to recreate some of this in our back garden and liked the possibility of her running her own ‘Festival of Colour’ with the neighbours.


It was late afternoon by the time we got back onto the beach for a few rays. It was still very sunny and warm but the crowds had thinned so we had more space to find the correct place to lay our towels. Mum had decided not to change into her swimsuit so was just wearing what she had for the day but I’d gone back to the room, to get out of my soaked disposable and wriggle into the Speedos. I wasn’t sure if I’d go in the water but wanted to be ready if I decided to.

Mum was looking at her mobile and cheerfully told me that had we set off home we’d have been caught in a ten mile snarl up on the motorway. She was glad that we had this extra day here and could take our time driving home tomorrow... thankfully, without Mrs Symanski who was staying a month with her sister.

It was nice to have so much space so I stretched out as mum rubbed suntan cream into my back.

“I’ve booked us in for a meal at The Plough this evening... that nice girl on reception said they do a very tasty crab ravioli made with locally sourced crab,” she said smoothing in the lotion.

“Mmmm that feels... ermmm... sounds good.” I lazily corrected.

“Ohh there’s that girl you know again. God her boyfriend is a bit of a hunk isn’t he?”

Mum.” I rebuked.

“I’m only saying. She might be a bitch but he’s quite a catch... she’s...”

“She’s not coming this way is she?” I nervously enquired without raising my head. I didn’t want to be seen.

“No, she’s walking down the beach towards the dunes... I suppose...”she giggled.

“Muuummm, stop it.” But I did rise on one elbow and watched her and boyfriend disappear into the sandy slopes.

We both grinned knowingly. What a terrible pair we were.


Whilst I relaxed and drifted off mum phoned home to see how dad and Jenny were coping without us. “Very well” was dad’s verdict and said we should go away more often as the place was a lot more peaceful. I’m sure there were a lot more triviality’s that a husband and wife indulge in but I was in a very nice drowsy state and enjoying the still warm sun spreading its glow across my back.

In that strange half-awake/half-asleep state I suddenly found myself on the dunes with Trinny and her boyfriend. At first they looked at me in disgust because I was only wearing a nappy... a very fluffy, thick nappy the likes of which I’d only ever seen the Fairy Liquid fairy wear.

Their anger at being disturbed quickly changed to one of mock friendliness and I was encouraged to join them. Of course, I thought they were just being friendly so I did. Trinny was stroking my chest and saying what a sweet baby boy I turned out to be, whilst her tough but handsome boyfriend was snuggling the back of my nappy and rubbing himself up against it.

I wanted to speak but she slipped my thumb between my lips and told me to relax they’d take care of baby. There were kisses on my back and neck from her boyfriend and she was gently stroking the front of the thick fluffy nappy.

“Yes our little baby is soooo cute isn’t he?”

It was a rhetorical question as they both continued to paw me. The thing was I quite enjoyed the attention.

“Maybe we should adopt him and keep him nice and safe in his nappy.” She continued saying stuff like this to her boyfriend who was getting excited round the back. I could feel something prodding and pushing past the fabric.

Mmmmmmm” was the hunks entire contribution to the conversation.

I was dumb but excited as she began to unpin the nappy.

“Let’s get our baby ready shall we... he might be wet and...”

At that moment I could feel my bladder fail and I looked down and embarrassingly saw my fluffy nappy turning yellow. Also at the moment I actually woke up face down to feel mum rubbing in more suntan lotion... and me peeing once again into my Speedos.

“Are you awake Anthony... you’ve been making quite the most disturbing sounds?”

“Um, er, yes just having a strange dream.”

“Well, that explains it. Are you alright your body seems to have flushed a bit red?”

I knew it wasn’t something I could hide but at that moment I didn’t want to reveal I’d wet and orgasmed in my little nylon swimming trunks. If I turned over now mum would see my shame. I could always rush to the sea and plunge in. Yes... that seemed a great idea but thought I’d wait a bit until mum was distracted and then I could saunter down without her being suspicious.

After a few minutes she was back Googling or reading something on her phone so I discreetly got up and wandered down to the water’s edge. It felt colder than last time but I knew I had to submerge myself if I wanted to wash away the damning evidence. I took a deep breath, there were after all several younger kids splashing around not bleating about how cold the water was. Anyway, with a deep breath I plunged under and as the water rushed over me, I rubbed at the front of my Speedos desperate to remove any proof of my dreamy indiscretion.

I stayed submerged for as long as my breath would hold and when I resurfaced the sea didn’t appear as cold as I first thought. I swam around for a bit enjoying the experience and when I did finally decide to return to my pee-soaked towel who should be walking up the beach but the ‘terrible two’ baby-snatchers. For some stupid reason I was angry at them about what had happened in my dream.

As she walked past, they didn’t notice me at all. They were so into each other I doubt that I or anyone else registered in their little sex-filled world. As she passed by I saw that she hadn’t pulled her bikini bottom up correctly and flapping at the back like a beacon was a used condom. I chuckled because others were noticing but I wasn’t going to inform them... I mentally wished them well.


Stupidly, when I returned to my towel mum had of course noticed the huge wet stain.

“Were you going to tell me?”

I looked a little ashamed. “It was the dream I was having.”

She put her arm around my shoulder.

“Look love, these accidents are happening more and more and there’s not a thunder storm in sight, maybe it’s time we went to see someone about it... hmmmm?”

I stood shivering, though it wasn’t from the cold, so wrapped the pee-soaked towel around my shoulders. I wondered who we’d be seeing but she didn’t take it any further.

“OK, it’s getting late so, why don’t we go back to the room, you can have a nice long soak in the bath and then we can get ready for our walk to The Plough. Does that sound like a plan?”

I nodded, just glad that she didn’t ask about my dream but I wondered what the sounds were I’d been making that drew her attention in the first place. She was also correct about me wetting more... was it getting worse or was it just that...?

A shiver ran down my spine and not from the cold. Thankfully, I had the towel to hide under as another spurt of pee rushed into my little nylon Speedos. I think mum’s point had been made.

# # # be continued


Part 9

As we entered the hotel mum collected a package from reception. The same girl was there and she looked over and smiled. Well, I wasn’t sure if it was a smile or a smirk but then I remembered she’d seen the pack of Abenas as we booked in, perhaps that was what she was reacting to. What I didn’t discover until we got back to the room was that mum had had the stuff I’d ruined on the journey here cleaned and I was getting back freshly laundered shorts and shirt. I wondered if mum had let slip to our receptionist the reason for the need to be cleaned... or she might simply have put two and two together to get an answer.

“Thought you might be fed up with wearing the same thing... and you do look smart in these.”

She unwrapped and hung them over the closet door. They’d even pressed a crease down the short’s legs, which I thought a bit unnecessary. I noticed mum hadn’t got my underpants cleaned but could hardly blame her for that, it was unlikely, as things stood, I’d be wearing them again anytime soon.

However, in the bathroom the hotel had left a small bottle of lavender bath gel for our convenience. It was amusingly called Sheep Dip Bubble Bath and assumed it was cheap stuff. So I emptied the entire amount in, planning a fun bubble encounter.

The efficient bath quickly filled as did the mountain of bubbles the gel had produced. I read the instructions and it did have a little grading on the bottle to show how much should be used per bath. There were five grades, for five baths, and I’d used the lot in one go. This was going to be extreme bubble-bathing but I’m eighteen, so felt up to the challenge.

I stripped out of my flimsy swimming trunks and threw them into the sink, then gently dipped an exploratory toe in to test the heat. It seemed perfect so I stepped in - such a rookie mistake. The floor of the bath was still covered in gel and I slid the full-length landing with a huge splash on my back, banging my elbow and dispersing water and suds everywhere.

“Owwww.” I squealed as the pain shot up my arm. I felt stupid.

This was no cheap bubble bath but top quality that the hotel obviously prided itself on. The bathroom was covered in what should have been in the tub but I was stunned by the speed at which I’d ended up flat out in the bottom of the bath. Also a handicap was my now throbbing elbow, which made gripping difficult, and the bath’s high-quality white gloss acrylic finish was so slippery I was having trouble getting myself out again.

(Any sit-com would have been proud of such a scene)

Mum came in to see what the commotion was all about and looked, with undisguised horror at the chaos I’d just caused. She quickly picked up several towels and began the mop up, whilst I still struggled to get myself sitting up in what water remained.

I sat with bubbles surrounding my body, in my hair and halfway up the walls. I gripped my elbow trying not to be a big baby because I’d knocked it but it did hurt. Mum was busy trying her best to stem any water from escaping from the tiled bathroom and into the carpeted sleeping area... she was doing fantastic work. As I tried once again to get out of the slippery bath, and failing, I started, despite the injured elbow, to giggle at the stupid situation I’d got myself in and saw a fantastic grin split mum’s face.

“You’re bloody hopeless at times.” She beamed. “I can’t trust you to take a bath without making a mess.” Then she knelt down beside the bath and grabbed a lovely thick flannel the hotel also provided. “OK mister, arms up and because my little soldier is wounded...” I was gripping my sore arm so I doubt she could be more caring? “I’ll get you all sparkling.”

We giggled like two naughty kids.  

So, I threw my hands in the air and with all the love and consideration she’d give to a new born, gave the most gentle rub down possible. I think the amount of lavender fragrance in the atmosphere made me relax more than usual and I enjoyed something I’d not experienced for quite a number of years. I felt pampered, loved and absolutely wonderful... like the times when as a kid mummy kissed everything better and gently bathed away the hurt of a scuffed knee or bumped head.


Afterward she finished I soaked in the bath for a little while and, bless her, mum tidied around and mopped up the remaining puddles. I don’t want you thinking mum often bathes me because that isn’t the case. Having said that, she is in charge of my nappy changes and, because over the years she always has, when I needed protection she’s simply got on with fixing it.

Of course I’ve attempted to put a nappy on myself but the results have been quite pathetic (although I can manage pull-ups with flair) so if it’s fabric, and mum thinks they are better for the environment, she, as I say just gets on with it. I think she thinks that she knows what needs to be done so there’s no point in hanging around discussing it, or thinking about it... do it and then it’s done. Mum is usually that practical, after all, that’s how I ended up wearing nappies in the first place.

Just before I got out of the bath I looked down and saw I was peeing. A little pale yellow streak had flattened some of the white bubbles. The thing was it didn’t feel like I was responsible for it. My bladder was emptying without any effort on my part. Although this had been happening now since the previous weekend, this was the first time I’d witnessed it and it scared me. I wasn’t responsible for my own piss.

With some effort I managed to escape the bath’s slippery clutches, wrapped a dressing gown around me and made my way to where the beds were. Mum was talking on her phone to dad and I just wanted to flop down on the bed, which had the disposable, plastic pants and associated cream and powder laid out.

Rather than wait to be told I simply shuffled onto the spread-out nappy and taped it on myself. Mum watched as she continued to talk to dad but stopped me finishing the job by realigning my bum and pulling the tabs tighter for a much better fit. She passed me the plastic pants which I stepped into and then, once she saw I was safe from any leakage, gave the phone and dad all her attention.

She appeared to know that I could leak at any moment and not be aware I was doing so. This was a precaution before I put on any further clothes as it was a little early to get ready for dinner. I lay out on the bed and switched on the TV, there was some athletics on so I watched that. The shiny, purple mound together with the soft cushion under my bum was very reassuring and I felt safe that should I leak again, all would be enclosed. It was comforting to remember that over the years nappies had often come to my rescue in similar ways. I felt sleepy, probably due to the abundance of lavender I’d inhaled, and fell asleep thinking how any incontinent athlete wearing such tight lycra shorts would have trouble hiding their padding.


Mum woke me up with her hand down the front of my plastic pants checking I was still dry.

“Still dry sweetie.” She enthused. “Time to get ready, it’s still quite nice out so we can just saunter along the cliff top, through the woods and down to the restaurant in our own time.”

I was surprised I’d slept for so long but rather relieved I’d woken up dry. I thought it proved I didn’t wet every time I dozed. Then I remembered that actually, I’d been peeing whilst wide awake so nothing should to be taken as proof of anything.

I put on the blue shorts and nicely pressed shirt and looked in the mirror. I did look pretty good and there was only the slightest bulge should anyone be looking. It’s amazing how the shorts I wore seemed to hide the padding so much better than trousers. Anyway, the weather was still fine and warm and I felt quite sprightly as we set off along the cliffs towards the restaurant.

“Did dad have anything special to say?”

“I was chatting about him about having a word with Doctor Ames and making an appointment seeing as they’re in the same office block.”

“Is everyone OK?” I stupidly asked because I should have guessed it was about me.

“I want you to speak to a specialist.”

“You mean a psychiatrist.”

“Yes, you saw Laura back when you were seven...”

“Well she won’t remember me from then.”

“Maybe, but we know her and, more importantly, she knows you, so that’s good.”  

Dr Laura Ames was a Child Psychologist when I first went to her. I assumed she’d progressed over the years to be a proper Clinical Psychologist since then if mum wanted me to see her again.

“I think you’ve got to agree that this time your spasmodic wetting, especially when you’re unaware you’re doing so, is different than when it’s happened in the past.”

It was a lovely walk along the cliff in the opposite direction to where we walked before. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk about seeing a doctor but we were doing that now so had no option. Besides, mum was right it was getting more often than I’d experienced with these events in the past.

Involuntary, I rubbed the bulge under my shorts, the action made me wonder if I was anxiously checking I still felt secure even though the conversation was making me a little nervous.

“You stopped wetting just a couple of days after you saw her last time,” mum continued, “but... as I’ve mentioned before, your father and I think that the lightning strike you witnessed has had an affected on a different level. We need to get to the bottom of it sweetie... for your own sake. I’m sure you don’t want to be wearing a nappy for the rest of your life.”

Mum’s assessment made me think and I felt that shiver run up my back with the unfortunate result I spurted pee into my disposable (and for no reason at all that taste of orange was in my mouth). I couldn’t tell mum what had happened because she hadn’t brought the nappy bag with her and there’d be nowhere to change even if she had until we got to the restaurant. Anyway, I could feel the little stream being soaked up pretty efficiently by the special properties of the disposable and just hoped that if it expanded a lot my shorts could cope.

“When did he say he’d speak with her?”

“First thing tomorrow when he gets into work.”

“Oh well, I suppose it’s for the best.”

“Let’s hope so sweetheart,” and she patted my padded bottom in a gesture that was friendly but also making a point.


Once mum had got me on board with the doctor’s visit the subject changed and we chatted a little easier about TV, books, Jenny’s ‘development’, dad’s work and a host of silly stuff which continued throughout the meal. In the end mum did have the receptionist recommended crab ravioli, whilst I, being a free-thinker, indulged in The Plough ‘Special’ of scampi, chips, mushy peas and tartar sauce. The food was excellent, cooked to perfection and well worth the twenty-five minute walk to get there.

We did have a moment when the waitress asked mum if I wanted the child’s portion of scampi. I saw mum’s expression change as she knew in the past I’d reacted badly to this type of situation. The innocent waitress was still smiling and looking from me to mum waiting for an answer. I wriggled in my seat and actually heard the soft crinkle of my plastic pants and decided I was in no position to have a go.

“Mummy,” I said in my most juvenile voice, “can I pwease have the big boy scampi.”

The waitress’s look changed to one of horror when she realised I was not a child but taking the piss.

“Oh, I’m so sorry... I... I... erm... can I get you any drinks first...?”

“I’m sorry love,” I apologised, “You aren’t the first person to believe I’m a kid but I was just having fun. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” Which of course was precisely why I did say it.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume...” She apologised as best she could.

“No harm done,” I continued, “but if you want to add extra chips that would be OK for me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” With smiles she took our order and brought our drinks in double quick time.

Mum just looked at me. “I think all that was a bit unnecessary,” she scolded, “that poor girl.”

“I’m sure we can make it up with the tip.”

Mum nodded and we changed the subject to what we thought of Trinny and her boyfriend. I didn’t mention exactly what I’d dreamt about earlier whilst lying out in the sun. I think that’s best kept to myself because it was both horny and unsettling.


Although the night was still young and the weather fine we decided to get a taxi back to the hotel as we’d both eaten so much we thought might not make the return trip along the cliffs.

The driver was a very nice Eastern European man who informed us that a thunderstorm was coming. Mum looked at her phone and checked the weather but it didn’t mention anything. However, he was sure his prediction was correct because he could ‘read the sky’ and tell the few tiny visible clouds would soon to be joined by others.  

As we sat in the back of the cab I could feel my disposable filling up and it was already sodden so I just hoped it would hold until we got back to our room. We searched the sky to see if we could determine if anything was approaching but everything looked fine.

When we got back to the room it was still early so mum said that after a quick change she fancied sitting out in the garden with a nice glass of wine; hoping to take in the final hours of our trip together, whilst watching the ships out at sea. This sounded wonderful so, she hurriedly whipped off my shorts, plastic pants a very soggy disposable and with equal speed (not that mum was desperate for a glass of wine you understand) slipped me confidently into a fresh nappy, found the thicker than usual pair of white rubber pants and returned my shorts.

“I think you should be safe if a storm does come... although... I can’t see that happening myself.” She shrugged.

“Well,” I smiled patting the thick slippery rubber, “these seem like they could take on anything the weather wants to throw at us. Have you been keeping these for a special occasion?”

“No, no, just in amongst a few item I brought to be on the safe side... and... should we have a storm... well you’re prepared aren’t you?”

I smiled because I felt well and truly gripped and... safe.

“OK, you ready for a drink?”

“Come on... let’s hope we can get a nice sea-view.” I slipped on my hoodie as we headed down to the garden.

“I should think so... most of the guest will have gone home today so I suspect there will only be a few of us left.”


The sun was just about set when we found a table and mum suggested we share a bottle of sauvignon blanc but I preferred a Tango. There were a couple of boats that we could see going in opposite directions and we spent a bit of time guessing where we thought their destination might be, which then became where we’d like to go on holiday and what we’d need if we were stranded on a desert island. Mum wanted a hair drier and I wanted a knife.

Our desires for the finer things eventually got ridiculous so changed the criteria to which famous person we wanted to be marooned with. This became a minefield of whether we fancied someone or not... mum shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine she was sharing too much.

It was all very silly and the time just seemed to shoot by when we decided to go to bed.

It was just after 11.30 when mum kissed me night-night but I it was still quite warm so I settled for sleeping on top of the covers and wearing just a t-shirt and my thick padding.

It was 2am when mum shook me awake and I was at the window watching the storm pass over our hotel. Lightning flashed and the thunder crashed around us but it was mum that woke me up not the noise. According to her I’d been glued to the window for about twenty minutes making little whimpering noises and she suspected, filling my nappy.

I was soaked as usual but didn’t remember watching the storm at all, although now I could hear it as it trundled out to sea.

“Oh, mum, ermmm, have I, um, been....”

I was a bit lost for words because I wasn’t really aware of what was going on except I could see the distant flashes and hear far off rumbling.

Mum saw my confusion.

“Like last time, I woke up to see you at the window watching but definitely not aware of where you were. You seemed transfixed and I could tell, even in the dark, you were wetting your nappy.”

She patted the soggy material.

“Mmmm very wet sweetheart... I think you’ve wet a few times but those rubber pants have prevented any leaks like I hoped they would.”

“Did you know?”

“No love, it was just that, well, after the taxi driver seemed so sure I thought it best to be on the safe side. Just as well really huh?”

“So, you’ve been watching what I did... and... did I do anything strange?” I was a bit perplexed but wondered what I’d been up to.

“When I woke up you were already at the window. You were sucking your thumb,” she shrugged as if she had no idea why, nor did I, “and making a strange little crying noise.”

“How did you know I was peeing?”

“I can tell sweetheart. I’m your mum and there’s very little I don’t recognise from odd grimaces to happy giggles to strained grunts... I know each of my kid’s little ways.”

I looked back out the window to the horizon but the sky was mostly stars... it did look pretty but the sea had blended with the sky to be only blackness.

“Well, I suppose I better get back into bed.” I yawned.

“Do you want me to change you first?” Mum was patting the soggy bulk.

“I think it might be for the best... do we still have any left?”

“Just a couple and you’ll need one for tomorrow but... well... let’s get you out of this.”

She went to the closet and pulled out the now much smaller Abena package, dug out a dry one and gave it a shake to give it some volume.

“Actually, there are... three... four left... do you want to double for tonight?”

“No thanks I should be OK... but,” I said running my hand over the slippery surface, “these rubber pants seemed to work pretty well so I better have them again if they aren’t too damp.”

“Well, I’d rather give them a rinse through and have them available for tomorrow just in case we get caught in traffic. I’d prefer to put you in one of the other pairs...”

I yawned again and let mum get on with it and thankfully I was clean and in a fresh nappy in just a few minutes. She’d also found a pair of see-thru plastic pants to hold it all in, so now there was a definite crinkle when I moved.

“There, let’s hope that’ll hold until morning. Night-night love, hope you sleep well.”

“Night mum, sorry for waking you.” She kissed my forehead and we both returned to our beds.

“No worries sweetheart but let’s try and get you sorted hmmm?”

I lay there wondering how that could happen. How I appeared not to know what I was doing when a storm came. The fact that I was wetting all the time and have little or no control over it was more than frustrating. However, I was calmed as I settled under the covers, heard the confidence building crinkle and felt thankful that the bulk of my nappy would keep me from any huge catastrophe. Abena M4s were really very comfy to sleep in.

# # # be continued

Part 10

Checking out time was 11.00 and after a very nice cooked breakfast we were on our way home by 10.45. Of course I’d woken up absolutely saturated so after a ‘shit and shower’ mum slipped me into a fresh disposable plus those very ‘robust’ rubber pants and I was ready for whatever the day threw at us.

“We can take our time getting home and there’s that new Outlet Shopping Centre on the way so... how about us trying to find you some trousers for work?” Mum enthused but I also suspect she fancied the idea of a bit of retail therapy for herself.

“Sounds ok,” I wasn’t as keen but, as this summery weather wouldn’t last for ever, saw it as probably a good idea to try and find something other than shorts to cover my padding.

Despite it being well past rush hour the roads were quite busy, I suppose Monday mornings always are but it just surprised me a little. I think, not being a driver (never felt the need to learn) I just noticed the traffic more. Anyway, by noon we were pulling into a parking space in the ‘green’ parking section of the Centre which also looked busy. My heart sank a bit because it was a much larger structure than I’d envisaged and was hoping we’d be in and out in minutes. It didn’t look as if that was going to happen.

As we walked in one of the many entrances it proudly proclaimed ‘over 100 outlets, 6 screen cinema, 20 restaurants, children’s play area, etc, etc.’ this was definitely not my favourite way of spending a day off. However, mum wanted to see the lot and I just knew her credit card, and quite possibly mine, were going to get a bashing today and she was very eager to get started.


Three hours later we trundled back to the car laden with bags of stuff. I think mum had dragged us into just about every shop and had bought stuff for Jenny and dad as well as me and herself. I hated having to try things on but realised, because of padding, it was no doubt better for me to at least see if they fit before buying anything. I hated queuing for the changing rooms, especially when mum insisted I come out and display how it all looked.

She’d pat, grab and smooth items down as I uneasily paraded in front of her and she’d give me her opinion. Occasionally, other customers might be looking on and no doubt a few noticed I had some sort of padding. No one said anything but there were a few strange looks. Strangely enough, a lady around Mrs Symanski age, and oddly sounding like her, expressed her opinion that I was ‘a well-behaved and lovely little lad’. Mum smiled and nodded at the old lady but didn’t put her right. I was too gobsmacked to respond.

I tried on what felt like several hundred pairs of trousers in several different stores before she gave me the thumbs up. So, I bought two pairs, one in black the other in dark green. However, I did indulge myself because one of the Outdoor retailers dealing with walking, camping and promoting a healthy explorer lifestyle was having a sale and I bought a couple of very hardwearing camping shorts to add to my collection. They looked particularly sturdy with pockets and zips everywhere. I was quite pleased that I’d found a bargain and therefore it justified this horrendous shopping trip.

Then of course with my purchases done I had to wait whilst mum tried things on and that seemed to take forever. She seemed to know dad’s taste and style so would just grab clothes for him without a second thought but was more meticulous in what she found for Jenny.

Our last stop was a huge pharmacy though we didn’t spend too much time searching for stuff. It appeared mum had pre-ordered for us to collect (no wonder she spent so much time looking at her phone) and I only wished she’d done that with everything. Anyway, there were two extra-large packages for me to carry back to the car.

The boot was crammed to capacity so thank god we didn’t actually have Mrs Symanski because together, her and her suitcase would have made it impossible to fit everything in.

 “So, what have you been buying?” I enquired as I squeezed the last package in as best I could.

“You said you liked the Abena disposables you’re wearing so I thought, as they’re cheaper here than anywhere else I’ve checked, we’d get a few in for emergencies.” She said matter-of-factly.

I just nodded but was really quite pleased and then for the first time since we’d arrived at this Retail Plaza wondered if I was still dry. I wasn’t, I was soaked through but the thick rubber pants had held me so tightly I wasn’t aware that the M4 had expanded.

“Mum, I’m wet.”

“Do you want to go back in and change in the washroom?”

“Actually, no, I think that’s enough of that place for the time being. Let’s get home and I’ll make do until then... I’m sure it will all hold.”

“If you’re sure... it’ll take us an hour, an hour and a quarter.” Mum shrugged and we set off.

Mum turned on Radio 5 to hear their discussion on current topics and I began to wonder just why mum was stocking up on more padding. There was something else mum had observed that I now began to zero in on.  It was something I thought quite odd - why was I sucking my thumb and crying when a storm came? Then another bizarre thought struck me – why did I keep ‘tasting’ the orange chocolate crème?

Even though me and mum had a fantastic time over the last couple of days and discussed quite a lot, there were areas of my old problem that I was still quite vague about. I assume that’s why she wanted me to see Doctor Ames again, to get to the bottom of it. That journey home certainly gave me a lot to think about.


As we unloaded the boot mum split the packages and told me which to take up to my room... that included the two big packs from the pharmacy. Jenny met us at the door, she was still wearing her school uniform so might have just got in herself and thanked mum when handed a couple of bags from trendy stores.

She said that dad planned to be home for 6.30 and had already started preparing a meal for us all. That’s Jenny, never one to let the grass grow under her feet, she simply sees what needs to be done and gets on with it... much like mum.

By now my wet nappy was uncomfortable so wanted out of it as soon as I could. I rushed up to my room, laden with my purchases, and threw them on the bed thinking to sort them out later. Of course, either Jenny or dad had been keeping up with the washing and there already was a stack of clean fabric nappies piled up on the top of the chest of drawers... a smaller pile of coloured plastic pants were shoved on top of them. I hadn’t realised I’d needed so many changes before our weekend away. Thank heaven for the M4s and we weren’t bringing back any soiled nappies... I know I’d have used quite a few.

The wardrobe had mirrored sliding doors and I caught sight of myself and thought the blue shorts were not hiding my expanded padding at all well. I unzipped and let them fall to the floor revealing the shiny rubber pants that had swollen considerably so I must have wet more than once on the way home. However, I had to admire their glossy sturdiness because they did look pretty effective and quite racy.

Racy, erotic, stimulating? I don’t think I’d ever thought of nappy covers in that way before. I’d always been grateful to them for stopping any leaks and bolstering my confidence but perceiving them in this way made me stop and wonder – what am I thinking? There was suddenly a throbbing extra bulge under the soggy disposable that needed consideration.

Too late, mum came in at that point and said how cute I looked. It was the type of thing she often said after I’d been changed. I think, over the years, this was partly so I didn’t get a complex about having to wear protection and it had just become second nature. I’m not sure she meant a great deal by it.

“I have to say,” she said sliding her hands over the glassy rubber surface, “these do look a lot more durable than the plastic pants I bought in the sale. I’m glad I’ve invested in a couple more pairs for you.”

I thought about asking her ‘why’ but that would be silly as she would simply point out the super-soaked disposable I was wearing and know without asking that I had no idea I’d wet so often. I needed as much protection as I could get... well at least until I’d seen the doctor.

“Sweetheart, let’s get you out of this wet disposable and into a nice dry fabric nappy... oh... do you want some time on your own?” She asked seeing the small but unmistakable bulge, “I can come back later.”

Although I was embarrassed mum had seen it I can’t say it was the first time. Mum had been changing my nappies when needed throughout my eighteen years and she’d seen me in just about every state possible. My little dick wasn’t going to embarrass her and I desperately did want to just ignore it as I’d prefer to be into something dry.”


There was a large bath towel folded at the bottom of my bed which I spread out. Mum was checking the pile of clean nappies and deciding which to use, whilst at the same time grabbing pins and lotion she’d need. I pulled a box of wet wipes from the bed side table and then slowly dragged down the thick rubber pants. The disposable was in a terrible state, I’d worn it to such an extent that it had become crumpled and saggy making me look like I had a deformed extended crotch. Not a good sight.

By the time we’d pulled all the items together and I was laid out on the towel naked from the waist down, my awkward demanding dick had returned to its usual mouse-like state and mum could get on with the clean-up.

It felt strange to be back in a fabric nappy but it was welcome as mum shuffled a pair of see-thru plastic pants that had a loud crinkle when slipped into place.

“These are noisy.” I said running my hands over the glassy material.

“Are they, I hadn’t noticed,” she had a thought. “Maybe because the rubber pants were noiseless these appear noisy... just a thought.”

Mum might be right.

Anyway, she helped me up and as per usual patted the back of my slippery padding as I made my way over the chest of drawers to get a pair of shorts. I had a quick search and settled on a pair of pale blue Adidas but before I could clamber into them mum turned me round to face her.

“Thanks for this weekend Anthony... I really enjoyed spending this much time together.” She had a lovely grateful look on her face.

“Same here mum... it was great fun... if a little bit wetter than I’d hoped.”

Mum’s face changed to one of concern.

“Has any of that worried you too much?”

“Not really, it’s just, well, I know I need all this padding and when I’m wearing it I’m very grateful because I know it will stop any embarrassing displays on my part. I just wish, well, that I was over all this by now.”

“I know love... I’ve always been grateful myself that you’ve never let it get you down. But you know we are worried that witnessing that strike might have set you back but... you’ve coped with it remarkably well. However, kneeling up at the window and not being aware as you fill your nappies... is a departure from the norm so that’s why we want you to see Laura...erm... Doctor Ames.”

“I understand mum and I’m with you 100%... it would be nice to get to the bottom of all this. In the meantime,” I said opening up the shopping bags and taking out my new trousers. “I can hide the incriminating evidence under these for the near future anyway.”

I opened the wardrobe and hung everything up.

Mum beamed her support. “OK, let’s see what Jenny and your father have been up to.”


Dad had said he’d managed to get an appointment with Doctor Ames at 3.30 Friday afternoon and would that be convenient. I told him that I’d check when I got in to work but usually Mrs Dewhurst was OK with doctor’s appointments although that it also depended on how busy we were. The upshot was, Friday was OK and I could leave work early - no problem.

In fact, the following week was as nice as last week weather-wise but thankfully, our area of the UK had no thunderstorms. However, I was still wearing nappies to work and wetting them all the time but only had Mrs Dewhurst change me a couple of times. She seemed happy to do it, I think she missed doing it for some reason... perhaps her daughter had got control back and I’d become a sort of substitute.

She seemed really happy to see me back and I’d only had the one extra day off. I think she was more keen than I was to get me into a dry nappy and I was quite amazed at how organised she was. Despite that, she took her time and made each element of the operation just perfect; making sure the wet wipes weren’t too wet, the anti-rash cream was enough and not too much talcum powder. She arranged the nappy ‘just so’ and made sure I was comfortable and that it hugged me correctly before finally pinning me in. To be honest, it was a bit more attention than I expected or wanted but she did it with such affection it wasn’t something I felt able to complain about.

It became easier because Mrs Dewhurst was spearheading a new project for which Phil in our office was writing the programme, whilst I, and Debby in the London office, were doing the online tactical and response work; finding any gremlins, faults, offering feed-back and other uses for the finished programme. Mrs Dewhurst was coordinating firewalls and the security element and looking to other areas of the company where her latest creation would be of benefit. It meant that we spent quite a bit of time working together both in her office and out in the main area.

With the summer days still being pretty hot I was wearing my new ‘Outlet’ inspired purchase of lightweight but weather protective shorts I’d bought from the outdoor store. It said they were not only 100% nylon but had a water-repellent coating of the fabric, which they proudly proclaimed - allows the wearer to avoid the effects of rain during outdoor events. I thought that fact might come in handy if I had a bit of an accident. However, they hid my padding exceptionally well and, whilst sat at my desk in the layers of padding, I felt very confident that, even with crinkly plastic pants underneath, my secret was safe.

As usual I was enjoying my work and constantly glad, despite the wet nappy, that I’d managed to get myself a job where I was excited every day to be there. I was a very lucky boy.


At 3.20 Friday afternoon I was in the waiting room at the psychiatrist’s office. Mrs Dewhurst had been insistent that I not miss a doctor’s appointment and had let me go at 3.00. She wanted to know if I needed a change before I went and I did... so I arrived fresh and dry.

Dr Laura Ames and a group of other medical and psychological practitioners had the entire ground floor of the block where dad worked. He was on the top level, Level 9, where the company he worked for had that entire floor as well. Dad played golf with Dr Ames’s husband and they had been to our house for a meal on occasions.

Other than the last time I visited her when I was seven, medically, I’ve had nothing to do with her or her husband who is also a doctor. Socially, we’ve seen each other around but other than that.... not a lot.

I was a little nervous; after all it had been some time since I was last her patient. As I sat waiting I felt that slight, nervy shiver run through my body and realised I’d wet my fresh nappy. Thank heaven Mrs Dewhurst had changed me otherwise I might have leaked had I kept the previous one on... and then what would the good doctor think if I dribbled all over her office?

The thing I didn’t know until later was that she knew all about my problem because my parents had kept her up to date over the years... at a social level. So when she eventually asked me to sit down in her office I thought we’d be starting from scratch... we didn’t.

“Nicer office than last time we talked.” She was smiling encouragingly obviously aware that I was more than little apprehensive.

Her room was nice and tastefully decorated with nothing too outlandish or that cried out ‘Head Doctor - Run Away’.

Mmmm, and a nod was all I could add in agreement to her opening gambit?

Although, surprisingly, now I was with her, I did remember quite well, the room when I was seven. It was a pokey little room with loads of cartoon characters and toys scattered around. It was part of the Children’s Hospital and there were colourful walls which had a huge mural of rainbows and baby animals painted across two of its surfaces.

Still I was here now and I’m not a kid anymore so didn’t need toys to get me to chat. Well I hoped not anyway. I smiled to myself as I thought about it and she caught the emotion.

“Well Anthony... your parents have told me some of what’s happened but I’d like to hear it from you... if that’s OK?”

She was quite direct. I thought I’d have to go through my history but she seemed to want to start from where I was now.

“Erm.” I was a bit stunned as to where to start. “What have mum and dad said?”

She reeled back a bit on the probing, noting that I was taken aback by the sudden launch into my ‘old problem’.

“Before we get into what they said... how about you tell me about this.” She pointed directly at the bulge under my shorts.

“Oh, that... you can tell... erm... I wet myself and I don’t know I’m doing it.”

She let that statement hang for a few seconds and then followed up in a very quiet voice.

“Does that worry you?” Her enquiry was gentle and interested and didn’t seem in the least bit invasive.

Although, this wasn’t what I was expecting at least she didn’t ask “And how does that make you feel?” Well, I suppose she did but at least it sounded like a friendly question rather than a psychoanalytical one.

However, she was a woman in a position of authority and had asked a question so had to answer honestly.


She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

“Thank you for being honest... let’s see if we can continue that way shall we?”

I didn’t see I had any alternative. She already knew all about me thanks to mum and dad, and, I’ve never seen the point in lying... that’s also thanks to mum and dad (remember the one spanking I’d ever received?).

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

Even as I said these words another shiver ran through my body and this time I felt a stream of pee gush into my rapidly soaking material. I just hoped the see-thru plastic pants would be sufficient.

I tried not to be scared but was worried what the clever Dr Laura Ames might notice.

# # # be continued

Part 11

Dr Laura Ames continued like we’d known each other for ever. She was friendly but strangely I still felt like the nervous seven year-old I’d been the last time I saw her. We talked briefly about that time and what I’d been doing but of course she mainly wanted to know how many times I’d been affected by thunder storms since that session.

Too many to list was the true answer.

Her manner was very relaxed and only asked questions for clarification. When I looked back I found myself surprised at just how often mum had put me back into nappies when I started wetting the bed again. I also mentioned that at sixteen, when I’d got a job, I had the need for some extra night time protection “...but only for a few anxious weeks” I was at pains to explain.

For some reason I thought this was not connected to the other times and spoke at length to make sure she realised that.

The conversation went on and the time simply flew by but I became conscious that my nappy kept soaking up more and more as I dribbled into it throughout the session. It was more like I was an incontinent three year-old rather than a seven... er... I mean an eighteen year-old.

She asked me about the last thunder storm I was affected by at the weekend and as it was still fairly clear I was able to relate what mum had told me about sitting transfixed at the window and watching its progress.

“Mum said I just looked out on the horizon and, although my eyes were open, I seemed oblivious of anything around me.

“Do you only remember what your mother told you?”

“Yes, I didn’t know what I’d done until I woke up and saw mum had put me in extra padding because she said I’d soaked what I usually wear at night.”

“Usually at night?”

“Hmmm, yes, well, erm, since the, ummm, I started wetting again mum’s put me back into nappies at night but, more recently, I’ve had to wear them all the time as I leak.”

“OK, that’s interesting... well, we’ll come back to that... anything else?”

“She did say I was making little crying noises and sucking my thumb.”

“Do you normally suck your thumb when a storm comes?”

“Well, apparently, the last couple of times mum’s seen me I have... but I can’t say I’ve never done it before, I just don’t have any recollection of doing so... apart from when I was three.”

I guiltily laughed at the memory of sucking my thumb that very first time because mum didn’t have a dummy as she comforted me throughout the storm.”

“Do you remember if you did it or did your mother encourage you...?”

“No, I was three, I just remember being scared of the thunder and everything else I’ve just assumed or what I think mum’s said rather than what I remember. So, I don’t know... I just think my thumb soothed my panic. Oh!”

For the first time I’d made a link and one that the doctor had expertly led me to... I was still behaving like a frightened little three year old.

“And when you were three who saw to your wet pyjamas?”

“Mum.” I answered ruefully.

“Did mum make it better?” She said softly looking into my eyes which were welling up.

“Yes, she cleaned me up and held me throughout all the terrifying noise until I fell asleep.”

“Do you think that’s what’s happening now...?”

“I, I don’t know. I mean, I’m eighteen I shouldn’t need...”

“Should or shouldn’t doesn’t come into it...”

“But,” I said positively, “there have been other storms around and I’ve not needed, er, wanted, erm, um... thought about that.”

We paused a moment as I thought about the situation and I could feel my soggy nappy getting cool and not nice to wear.

“OK, so why do you think you now have a thumb in your mouth?”

I pulled my thumb away in horror but a string of drool was still attached. I hadn’t even realised what I was doing. I felt like a silly little kid but she didn’t appear worried so moved on. I recognised that orangey taste again but didn’t know why.

“Perhaps the lightning strike you witnessed has in some way made you recall what took place when you were three and that first experience of a scary storm.”

“But why would that happen? I mean, I work, I function, I’m an adult...”

“But still you’re wetting yourself and don’t know you’re doing so...”

She rested a hand on my arm to let me know she understood.

“There’s no reason why you can’t function as normal except that, as happened in the past, your brain currently isn’t sending any adult messages to control your bladder.”

This didn’t seem new news but hearing her say it out loud made it appear more definite and true. But why?


“But why?” I cried and could feel my eyes filling up.

“That’s what we need to find out.” She looked at her watch, “But that will have to be another session as we’ve run out of time. Make another appointment at your convenience with the receptionist. Meanwhile, are you wet now?”

Laden with guilt and shame I nodded.

“We have disposables if you would like to change in the bathroom.”

I was embarrassed and tearful, which was silly after all that we’d been talking about but the nappy was very uncomfortable.

She led me to the rather large private bathroom at the side of her office and, I don’t know where it came from, gave me a Tena pull-up.

“Do you think that will do until you get home?”

I nodded and besides, I had plastic pants so that should stop any leakage.

I pulled down my shorts and saw the bloated nappy under its glass-like cover. It seemed to take me ages to wrestle with the pins before I was able to release the heavy saturated bundle from my crotch. I threw it in the sink and pulled some paper towels from the holder and wiped myself dry. I looked in the mirror at my dark sobbing eyes and thought I still looked more like a badly aged three year old than my real age.

Once clean it took me a little while to get round to pulling the pull-up up. Laura Ames asked if I was OK or did I need some help. At that moment I was a little shaky and uncoordinated so would have loved some help and for a grown-up to take charge. It was then I realised what all this was about. It had taken speaking to a psychiatrist for me to see things, obvious things, a little clearer.

I slipped the plastic cover over the Tena and pulled up my shorts, splashed my face with cold water and thanked the doctor as I headed home, wet nappy in my backpack. However, there was another realisation lurking at the back of my mind and I wanted to sort that out before I saw the doctor again.


All the way home on the bus I kept thinking how all this wetting was obvious. The storms somehow make me regress to that very first time. But is that true? I mean, it may happen now but over the years there have been many storms and I’ve not resorted to sucking my thumb or mewling like a baby... haven’t I?

I know I’ve not told mum or dad every time I’d had an accident in my pants because it wasn’t always that obvious. So there were times when I kept quiet and simply slid the offending stained undies into the laundry. What I couldn’t pretend didn’t happen was the fact that I still had mum change me once I’m wet. It had never really occurred to me until the doctor pointed it out. I needed my mummy like I had when three years old... and over the years, that hadn’t changed.

I examined myself on the bus and did a quick inventory; lack of stature and body hair, small penis, prefer shorts and still wearing a nappy. Yep, that sounds like a little kid. I hadn’t developed since I was a small boy, I still am a small boy... then how the hell did I get a job? That’s the difficult thing to rationalise... or was there no connection... they were two different parts of my character?

I mean, would I have gone for it without the encouragement of my sister?

Doh, probably not.

When I thought about it, even though I’m the older brother, I’ve always acceded to Jenny. She’s always been my best playmate, best friend and apart from mum and dad, the one person of whom I still take most notice.

I mean, my job has a woman in charge and that woman is now changing me when I wet. I didn’t know exactly what mum and Mrs Dewhurst talked about, all I know was that it ended up with her agreeing to change me if I wet in the office. How easily I’d slipped into that comfort zone but then why had she so easily agreed to it... surely we can’t all have some kind of ‘mummy complex’? Oh, this was annoying. The more I thought about it the more stupid and unreal the situation seemed and yet... here I was.


The journey home wasn’t long enough for me to sort my ‘old problem’ out but the more I thought about it the more I realised just how long I’d relied on nappies to help me over those periods of anxiety, which is what I put my incontinence down to.

Once back I called out a “Hello” to anyone who was around but I only got a muted response from Jenny who was on the phone to her friends. Mum and dad weren’t home yet so made my way to my bedroom and stripped down to my Tena, which I could tell under the glassy cover was still dry. This was something I couldn’t explain as I’d been pissing myself almost nonstop in the doctor’s office.

Of course I’m used to seeing myself dressed in such a way but I was trying to get angry about it, or at least find some negativity but I couldn’t... under the present conditions, this was what I needed. I began to think that perhaps I should wear jeans or jogging bottoms to cover it up but I’ve never found them as comfortable as an old pair of shorts. So I grabbed another pair from my Adidas collection and although they bulged out a little I thought looked fine. At home I’d never been embarrassed by being well-padded or that anyone might notice.

Jenny was still on the phone, had the TV on low volume but was still watching some programme or other. I wandered into the kitchen and saw that she’d already started getting the meal ready. I was carrying my soaked nappy that I’d changed in the doctor’s office so shoved it in with the rest of my ‘to be washed’ pile next to the machine. I grabbed a Coke from the fridge and returned to the living room to watch a bit of TV with my sister. However, she’d finished on the phone and watched as I sat down but she was quickly in.

“How did it go with Laura?” First name terms, perhaps more had gone on between our families than I realised.

“She was OK I guess, got me thinking but...”

“Wasn’t that the idea?”

“Yes, but I don’t think I’m cured.”

I could see her eyes flick down to my padding which had crept down the leg of the shorts.

“No I can see that but surely you didn’t expect to be so... ahhh,” She saw the smile on my face, “you’re having fun at my expense.”

“Yes I am,” I grinned but then got serious. “Can I tell you something...?”

She smoothed down her dress and her boobs seemed to push themselves forward as if I should be addressing them.

“Erm, as we talked about it... I just couldn’t stop peeing into the Tena. I mean, I had absolutely no control. So, by the end I was saturated.”

“So you’re saying that even talking about it sets you off?”

“Yes but, and get this, I changed at the office to a pull-up...”

“Did Laura change you?” She added with a bit of devilment.

“Good God no I... oh.... so you’re getting your own back and having a laugh at my expense.”

“Got it in one... see bro there’s nothing wrong with your sense of humour.”

“I never thought there was.”

“Well why then are you looking so fed up? Mrs Woodward my teacher says ‘If you’ve got a sense of humour, you’ve got the answer to any problem’.”

This was the first time I thought my sister sounded her age. Repeating a pleasantry her teacher had probably said in a throwaway moment in class – humour wouldn’t solve this wetting problem.

She wasn’t done. “You’ve had this problem all your life and I’ve never once seen it get you down or all that worried and yet you are now.... why?”

She made a good point but the thing was if I didn’t know when I was pissing myself, it was obviously getting worse.  

“Because I think I’ve lost all control and, although a nappy copes with the outcome, it doesn’t bode well for my future if I’m still reliant on one for the rest of my life. I need to get back control. I mean, I’ve had it after storms in the past but now...”

My voice tailed off as she came up and put her arm around my shoulder.

“You’re my big brother so no matter what... I’ll still love you.” She then kissed the top of my head like mum would do and I was grateful for her kind words. However, I suddenly realised that my Tena was now soaked and I could see the expanded fabric pushing out the glassy see-thru plastic pants under my shorts.

“I just need to get back control.” I whispered forlornly more to myself than Jenny.   


Back in my bedroom I didn’t change just waited for mum to come home. Off course, when we set off to the coast with Mrs Symanski I was convinced I could control my bladder and wouldn’t need any protection. Mum, on the other hand, came prepared and knew what I needed even if I didn’t. Thankfully, I liked the M4s and it turned out just as well because my constant leaking cock definitely needed heavy protection if I wasn’t to embarrass myself further. Mrs Symanski knowing my old problem wasn’t yet cured was more than anyone needed because I knew she’d make that into one of her long-winded anecdotes.

Mum and I had touched on this control issue whilst away, but I was at ease with how things panned out. I let things go, and so did mum, because it was just that... easy. We were enjoying the weather, the seaside and each other’s company so we concentrated on that.

As I’ve said before, mum and dad never made my ‘problem’ an issue, it was the way I was and it could be solved quickly and without ceremony or fuss by the addition of night time protection. Once that was in place, to all intents and purposes, the problem was resolved. Except, I’d now hit a different level, a more advanced level, so that conundrum needed to be sorted before it became something I couldn’t influence.

I don’t like thinking about me, it seems quite an indulgence and it’s something I’ve rarely done. I tend to just go along with things believing that others know best, or certainly better than I do. Teachers never got a squeak out of me and nor has Mrs Dewhurst except there I’m part of a team and I have put forward my ideas and been encouraged to develop them... so perhaps I’m not so reticent after all. However, that is definitely a new development on my part though doubt if they are in any way connected.

Another thing I’m a little confused by (and as you can see there are a few ‘things’) is why mum bought all those disposable Abenas. I mean, she’d been dead against disposables for a long time and yet she’s stocked up on some because (she says) I said I liked them. Why then send me to a psychiatrist to help me over it all... and still have a huge supply of the things?

I suddenly thought that mum didn’t believe I could change, that I was too nerdy or fragile and I’d always need nappies. I got myself into a state believing my parents had all but given up on me and became quite annoyed and fraught.

All these different thoughts were spinning around in my head and I felt quite sick and unbalanced by the whole thing. I wished it would all go away but wishing wasn’t going to help. I ran my hand over the squishy fabric and experienced two sensations at the same time – disgust and comfort.


Doctor Ames had certainly made me address several things and I didn’t like it at all.

I was sat on my bed when mum came in.

“Anthony I... what on earth’s the matter sweetheart?” She immediately saw I was perturbed and in need of some reassurance.

“Why, why, did you buy all those disposables... don’t you think I can get control back?”

“Oh sweetie. I’m sorry if it seems that way but haven’t I always said ‘Hope for the best but prepare for the worst’?

I buried my head in her arms as she gently rocked me.

“I’m hoping against hope that Laura can help and if she can, how long it will take we don’t know. I’m not sure she can sort things out like that (and she clicked her finger). However, you seemed so happy wearing these new disposables and I thought, if you have to wear nappies for any longer I want you to be just that... happy.”

She stroked my hair then patted my spongy bum.

“I have total faith in my boy... I always have.”

She hugged me some more.

“Look if it’s upsetting you then you don’t have to see her again it’s just, well, we think you might be happier if we find a way over this... anxiety.”

“No, no mum, she’s not upsetting me but, but, I’ve never had to think like I am now and consider things I’d just sort of let slide.”

“Well,” she said pulling me up to face her, “she seems to be doing her job but, I can feel my boy needs a change so let’s get you into something dry and then I’m sure things will seem a bit clearer... or at least not as soggy.” She smiled at her weak joke and pulled off my shorts.


Mum has never shirked from changing my wet nappies. All through my life, when I needed a nappy there was one available and when it needed changing, she got on with the job without any fuss.

“I see you’ve got a pull-up on... is that from the doctor’s?”

I nodded.

Well let’s get that off and into something dry and then you can tell me how it went.”

She went to the dresser drawer and pulled out an Abena disposable.

“Shall we try one of these? I’m sure you’ll feel much more comfortable.”

I nodded enthusiastically...then had a thought.

“It’s OK mum, I’ll do it myself,” and held out my hand for her to pass it to me.

“Are you sure sweetie I don’t mind?” She didn’t look convinced or was she sad that I wanted to do it?

Whoa... is that it? Mum had enabled me all this time because she liked to...? No, it was a stupid thought. Why would mum want to keep me in nappies, it just didn’t make sense. However, now that thought was in my head... it was taking some shaking.

“Well, if you’re sure,” she beamed in support. “Five minutes and dinner will be ready.”

Once she’d gone I stood in my wet Tena and although knew this was something I could do, I was sad that I’d dismissed mum. She always did it with such love and care. I nearly called her back but didn’t and eventually struggled with the tapes a few time to get it to fit properly.

Whilst there was a pile of freshly laundered colourful plastic pants I wanted to ‘get back to basics’ though I wasn’t sure why. I searched for an opaque pair of plastic pants, pulled them up, looked in the mirror and it hung reasonably well. Although the padding around my bum seemed a little more puffy than usual I didn’t mind. This time I consciously dragged my jogging bottoms over it all and set off to the kitchen where Jenny had prepared our meal.


As we ate I brought the family up to date on my session with Laura Ames and we exchanged thoughts and areas of chat for my next visit. I told them I hadn’t as yet booked a second session but they all encouraged me to get one sorted as soon as possible ‘whilst I had momentum’.

No one said anything about my cover up but the crinkle as I moved about seemed a lot louder under my jogging pants than it ever did whilst wearing shorts. That surprised me.

After we’d eaten dad was helping Jenny with her maths homework, he’s a whiz with numbers, which I think is where I get my interest from and why, as a result, a computer is more than a games machine to me. In fact, no matter how brilliant the graphics are, or hectic the storyline is, it’s the mechanics of computing that I find more fascinating. Anyway, whilst I helped mum with the washing up it gave me chance to quiz her further about Laura.

“Mum just how well do you know Doctor Ames?”

“Quite well, why?” She carried on washing the dishes whilst I wiped them dry.

“She said she knew about my problem.”

“Well you saw her when you were seven and was a child psychologist at the hospital. We were worried then that the storms had a strange effect on you and, at the time, she helped you through your anxieties.”

“Yes, I remember all that but she seemed to be bang up to date on my more recent problems.”

“Ah yes, that will be me. You know her and husband Peter are clients of your father’s?”

“No I didn’t.”

“Well, I don’t suppose you should really but we’ve been online friends since you were her patient and because of that connection and your father’s, we chat online and on the phone occasionally.”

“Was it you or her who suggested I should make an appointment?”

“I assume it was me simply because I’d mentioned the latest development with you on our last call and she seemed interested. I was worried it might turn into something more serious because, whether you’re aware or not, you’ve never lost control of your bladder like this before.”

“Mmmm.” It was as if mum had said those magic words ‘lost control’ because I suddenly realised I was leaking into my M4. At this rate I’d be using up that supply she’d got pretty damn quickly.

“Will you be speaking with her tonight?”

“I can do if you want.”

“Erm, Um.” Without warning I was suddenly engulfed in tears. I had no idea where they had come from but suspected this was something I’d held back in the doctor’s office. Unexpectedly, my body shivered and I felt like I had no control over anything

Mum was quick to hug and hold me saying not to worry, we’d sort it all out and other comforting phrases. I believed her.

Mum spoke into my hair as she reassured me.

“I’ve said it before... and we’re all in agreement... you’re safe with us sweetheart. You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. We’ll do what we can to help so no matter how long it takes... your family will be right by your side.”

“Mummm,” I sobbed, “why have I regressed to a baby who can’t...”

“Oh darling... you’re not a baby and it doesn’t help if you think in those terms. You’re an adult who just happens to need a nappy for the moment. You’ll get better... you’re just having some problems at the moment...”

I’m sure there were another few words mum was going to add but I needed her cuddle more than I needed pleasantries.

“Thanks mum.” I squeezed her tightly.

She squeezed back and it was at that moment, stood in the middle of the kitchen, I did something I hadn’t done for years... I let out a startled stifled groan whilst filling the back of my new Abena.

# # # be continued


Part 12

I don’t know who was surprised more by this sudden and copious expulsion. Of course, it had been accompanied by an almost silent wet fart but mum knew immediately what had happened.

“Oh sweetie... this can’t be good.” She hugged me tightly and another splurge was forced from my bottom and into the shitty fabric.

Muummm!” I sobbed. “This can’t be happening.”

“Don’t worry love... just make sure you finish and everything goes in the nappy, we don’t want any further accidents.”

I think she knew I’d not make it to the bathroom in time and wanted to keep the ‘fallout’ to an absolute minimum. I felt stupid standing there with mum clasping me to make sure I finished crapping in the disposable.

The feelings of helplessness and shame rushed through my body. I was only glad that dad and Jenny weren’t witnesses to this latest incident. Although how I thought I’d be able to keep it a secret is anybody’s guess.

I wanted to run and hide my humiliation but I couldn’t move. The stuff kept pouring out and I had no response other than to stand and wait. Mum checked that the plastic pants were keeping everything where it should be as slowly I started to spread my legs, desperate for the fabric to soak up as much as it could.

I’d had no warning and there was no thunder in the area. I didn’t think I was all that anxious even though I’d spent a lot of time thinking about my situation. Surely just thinking or talking about it couldn’t induce such a response... could it?

I wondered if I’d been more scared of seeing the psychiatrist than I thought and this was the result. I hoped not because they were all keen that I should continue with therapy.

Shaking in my mother’s embrace I eventually told her I didn’t think there was any more.

“Are you sure sweetie?” She had the same tone as when I was younger and had an equally messy accident.

I nodded but was far from convinced that was the end of it.

“OK, can you walk to the bathroom and we’ll get you sorted?”

She let go and I stood traumatised for a moment transfixed by the weight of stuff that now hung in the heavy folds of the absorbent fabric. My rear felt like it was loaded with a couple of pounds of lumpy mashed potato as slowly, and very deliberately, I waddled after mum. Each step reinforcing the disgust I was feeling and the horror waiting when she pulled down my plastic pants. I’m sure neither of us was looking forward to that.

I kept mumbling ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’ from behind my thumb, which I hadn’t realised was occupying my mouth. Mum gently eased it away and, as I stood in front of her, I’d never felt more like a three year-old then I did at that moment.

Although earlier I might have wanted to prove my independence to put on and take off my own M4, I was reluctant to push for that. Mum didn’t ask, once she could see I was standing in the shower stall and any drips would be caught she pulled down the plastic pants. The glossy material held but was streaked with overflow, and in trepidation she tugged at the tabs.

The mess and stink were horrendous as the entire construction slopped onto the tiled floor. I could hardly look her in the eye as she grabbed the shower hose and started to spray the various bits stuck to my body. Shaking with embarrassment I watched mesmerized as the sludge slithered down the plughole.

I took quite a lot of cleaning up... as well as air-freshener sprayed around in the bathroom... before there was a return to any kind of normality.


There was absolutely nothing I could think of to say by way of explanation. I’m not sure I could have rectified the situation so was glad mum had been there to take charge. In those terrifying moments I realised how dependent I was on her for just about everything.

As I’ve said before, she’s not one to make a fuss but certainly on this occasion I would have been totally lost without her. I wouldn’t have known where or how to get started and suspect I’d be still standing there, nappy even fuller, wondering what to do.

Once I was all tidied up and back in a fresh disposable I tried to make sense of it.

“Mum, I don’t know why that happened... I had no warning... I...I... just... erm...”

She’d searched through the top drawer where my plastic pants were kept and found another pair of those rather thick rubber pants I’d worn before.

“No sweetheart, I’m not sure either but,” she had me step into them then inched the rugged fabric up my thighs and over the M4, “let’s make sure if it happens again we’re prepared eh?”

I merely nodded as she patted out the trapped air and smoothed the slick white material into place.

“There, they should do. Now, are you coming down or staying up here?”

I was grateful she’d let me wear a disposable because normally for bed I had to wear a terry cotton nappy. At least she could simply throw this away should I have another catastrophe. I’d hate to think how many times a fabric nappy would need washing to get that much crap out. Although as I thought about it, mum must have had to do so on quite a few occasions in the past.

“I think I’ll stay here but please don’t tell dad or Jenny... it’s so embarrassing.”

“To be honest sweetie, I don’t think it’s a secret... that smell permeates the entire house.”

I sighed. That’s all I needed... being responsible for creating a big stink.


It was still relatively early. The summer sun was slowly sinking but the pale blue, cloudless sky seemed to bring out the crowds. I could see from my window that the lightning struck tree had created an attraction because a few people had gathered to inspect the damage. It was then I noticed the orange tape surrounding it so perhaps it was too dangerous to get near.

A couple of joggers looked pretty bright as the setting sun caught their day-glo orange vests and shiny black lycra shorts. A few of the neighbourhood kids were out on their bikes, whilst Mrs Johnson and Mrs Ramrish were chatting and guiding their babies in push-chairs side-by-side down the road. In fact it was quite a busy evening with people everywhere but my eyes returned to the broken and splintered tree in the distance.

For the briefest of seconds I literally had a flashback – I relived that strike hitting the tree, bursting into flame and that intense rumble that surrounded the house. It all happened in a moment but I could feel my disposable having to work soaking up the deluge I’d just made.

However, even though I thought it had all happened instantly it was night outside, the people had gone and only pale darkness illuminated the gloom. I had no idea how long I’d been standing there until I heard dad’s voice quietly ask if I was doing OK.

I shook myself and tried to say something but it just came out as garbage. It was then I noticed I had my thumb stuck in my mouth so couldn’t speak properly.

“Yumsh... shess...mmmmussssm.” was all I managed.

Dad seemed to understand. “OK, night Anthony, sleep well.” He closed the door and left me to my thoughts.

Where had all the time gone?

Despite the expanded bulk of my disposable I didn’t feel like changing so crawled under the bedclothes and had no recollection of anything else.


I woke up grateful I’d had an uninterrupted sleep but with the taste of orange in my mouth. I had no idea what time it was but my face felt strange lying on a damp surface. It took a couple of seconds to take in the fact that my thumb was still embedded between my lips and a pool of drool was the culprit.

I withdrew my digit and stared wondering why I’d started sucking on it. It was wet and slippery but I was enthralled. So, as I used to do when younger, speculated on whether by sucking on it you can make it smaller – like a lollipop?  Also, did I somehow have the residue of something orangey still on it? I reached under the cover and inspected the billowing disposable hidden under those sturdy pants and thought no matter what time it was – It was time for a change and I should get up.

I glanced over at my bedside clock it was just after eight and I could hear family moving around.

I carried the soaked pillow to the windowsill and hoped, if I left it, that the sun would dry it out before I needed it again, then turned and shuffled towards the bathroom. Jenny was just coming out of her bedroom heading in the same direction.

Suddenly it turned into a competition as to who could get there first. Even though it was little more than a couple of yards we both wanted to win.

“Ant stop,” she screamed horror struck, “what’s that hanging from your nappy?”

She looked scared so I immediately halted to inspect what had frightened her. As I turned to see what was trailing behind me I heard the word “Sucker” as she disappeared into the bathroom and the lock slip into place. She’s such a clever kid because that was a distraction I’d never have thought of. Mind you, she doesn’t wear a nappy so it would have been a pretty stupid thing to say.

I know from experience that she was going to be in there for quite some time so toddled back to my room and stared out the window.


It was another glorious day but in the distance I could see workmen and they were assembled around the tree. They’d cleared a large area as a safety measure and for some bizarre reason I thought they were giving the tree some protection... like my nappy is mine... the barriers were for its benefit. Daft I know.

However, it soon became clear they weren’t there to shore up the tree but to bring it down.

The men wore hi-vis jackets and I could see a couple of them had chain saws, whilst the others had ropes. There were four of them and a truck with a flashing hazard light parked nearby. It suddenly became more than a simple truck as some machinery started and a ‘cherry-picker’ began to rise up.

I wondered if the tree had become unstable because the night before I’d noticed several branches lying on the ground. I hoped no one was hurt when they fell. Anyway, it looked like my lightning tree wasn’t going to dominate the view for much longer as the men immediately attached ropes to branches and began the work of lopping at various tentacles.

Because of my connection with it I had thought I’d be emotional... but although I felt something, I just wasn’t sure what.


Mum shouted from downstairs that breakfast was ready so reluctantly I left my post and headed for the kitchen. As it was Saturday mum had made a lovely cooked breakfast but was surprised to see I’d arrived and sat down wearing only my bloated padding.

“Spending the day like that?” She nodded her head in the direction of the substantial package between my legs.

“Nah... Jenny’s in the bathroom...”

“She isn’t. She left about thirty minutes ago.”

“But it’s only eight....”

“No sweetie... it’s twenty past nine... where have you been?” She asked concerned.

I was taken aback to say the least. Loosing track of time and having no memory was becoming too regular an occurrence.

“Oh, I’ve been distracted by the workmen, you know, over by the tree. It looks like they’re cutting it down... maybe it’s a hazard or something?”

“Are they? I wondered what that distant buzzing was... that’s a shame it was nice to have a talking point.” She shrugged.

I wriggled in my seat and could feel the bulky full cushion under my bum was more than a little squishy.

“Any plans for today?” She came and sat down and the two of us tucked into a ‘Full English’.

“Not really, thought I’d nip over and watch the men... see what they do with the tree.” I smiled because I knew one thing for certain. “I expect Mr Bennet will be there stocking up on logs for his wood-burner.”

Mum gave out a laugh. “I bet he’s not the only one, no matter what time of year they’re obsessed with collecting wood for the winter months.”

She’s correct. Any time the wooded area had a branch fall there’s always someone out quickly to harvest what they could get. Sometimes it’s funny to see a person arrive with their wheelbarrow a little late then leave looking pretty angry and frustrated.

“You got any plans?” I ventured.

“Just more laundry this morning,” she pointed out the window and I could see the first batch already hung out. “I’ve put Jenny’s bedding on as well so that, together with your nappies and stuff... makes a large load.”

I didn’t say anything because even though it might sound like mum was having a go at my contribution, she wasn’t. I could tell by the tone she was just stating a fact.

“This afternoon I’m meeting up with some of the girls for a coffee... might recommend that hotel we stayed in last weekend.” She ventured as another forkful off egg, beans and bacon disappeared into her mouth.

“The ‘girls’ meant, the ladies from the book club mum’s a member of. I’ve met them at a get-together they had at our house and a noisy, boozy but fun quintet they are too.

“Dad...?” I ventured.

“Playing golf over at Pannal... a client’s invited a few from the firm so don’t expect him back until later tonight.”

“Oh very nice... I wonder just how much business gets done at each hole.”

“Well he says it’s the best office in the world for finalising details.”


I finished my breakfast and washed up whilst mum attended to the next load for the machine. By then the Abena was beginning to get more heavy and uncomfortable but oddly I didn’t mind the weight as it hung, thanks to the rubber pants, firmly to my hips. However, I waddled back to my room and stripped leaving the rubber pants and my soaked M4 glued together on the floor as I went off to wash. I was surprised when I thought about Jenny and how absorbed I’d been in the workmen I hadn’t heard her finish.

Anyway, it was my time now and I enjoyed the firm flow of the shower as it cleansed my body and perked up my spirit. I’d been under the spray for some time so when I returned to my room mum had tidied up. Gone were my used disposable and rubber pants, and laid out on the bed was a large terry nappy and a couple of thick soaker pads. I was going to wear one of the Abenas but obviously mum thought I’d be better off in a fabric nappy.

Mum waltzed in carrying a plastic bag.

“These are replacements for you to take into work and give to Mrs Dewhurst. If you can put them in your bag now so you don’t forget.”

She then proceeded to slide them in herself. I watched but said nothing. Strangely, the shower had left me invigorated and felt there was now a purpose to my day.

“Right, nappy...” Mum said in a ‘let’s get on with it’ way.

“I was going to wear a disposable today... I thought it might be too hot to wear a fabric one...”

“Well, if that’s what you’d prefer, fine. But, after last night, and your soggy disposable this morning, I would have thought you’d want as much protection as possible just to make sure.”

Mum was correct of course. Despite knowing what I’d done I wasn’t thinking what I’d be like if it happened again.

She saw hesitation and simply indicated I should lie out and let her get me wrapped and ready for the day. No fuss, though I could feel the way the extra padding splayed out my legs. She went to the drawers and pulled out a couple of pairs of plastic pants for me to choose.

I pointed to the blue pair so that’s what was shuffled over the huge pillow hugging my groin.

“OK love, that’s it for now. Are you going out or...?”

“Actually, whilst in the shower I’d had a thought about one of the projects I’m involved in at work. I spent most of yesterday thinking about meeting with the doctor I didn’t get much done. So, I might spend a bit of time on my computer catching up and see if I can come up with anything.”

“Well, that’s very admirable... I’m sure Mrs Dewhurst will appreciate your diligence.”

I smiled at mum’s praise but really, I couldn’t have gone too far with the thickness of the padding... I’d have been sweating like a pig in heat... in the heat, so this seemed like a sensible way of spending my Saturday.


Despite my intentions of going to see what the workmen were up to, once I opened the computer I became gripped by the way my mind was working. I was eager to produce something grown up. I didn’t want to play games, surf Google or look up my favourite sites. Once I’d opened the page and reread the brief for the new office project I set to work.

Although the padding was huge I was very comfortable sitting and working. The room was pleasantly warm and although the plastic billowed out a bit I flattened out the air, which was becoming a bit of a game in itself, and I was back in my comfort zone. I didn’t even bother with any shorts and, to the accompaniment of the distant buzzing saws, set my mind in work mode.

Each little movement had the effect of reassuring me of the extra padding’s presence.  With my legs wide open the smooth plastic bulge was a beacon to my hand as I stroked and fondled the area as I worked. This was a lot better than sucking my thumb but didn’t detract from the task. I found the activity and the fabric comforting and inspiring.

Despite the distance I was from the tree I could hear voices, yells and the occasional crash as branches fell to earth. Mentally I could imagine the tree being pruned down bit by bit. The different sounds the machinery made as it cut deeper or at an angle, although loud, didn’t disturb my concentration.

I hadn’t done a great deal of coding but I saw where I might help by changing the ‘sorting valuation’ and one or two other small changes, which I hoped would improve the system. There was also a batch of historical files that needed a storage space, so I gave that some thought.  I hadn’t realised how long I’d been working on it until mum came in and asked what I wanted for tea. Thankfully, mum’s big breakfast had seen me right through and I hadn’t even stopped to drink or go to the toilet.

That was over six hours nonstop intense work and I had no idea where the time had gone. I guiltily looked down at my nappy, surprisingly it was dry. I’m sure, with all the inadvertent massaging I would have been aware had I wet but, none of that worry had entered my head as I’d become preoccupied with the project.

Although I didn’t think I needed to go I slipped along to the bathroom and, after a bit of faffing around, managed to pee into the toilet and not the nappy. I had needed to go because the power and length of the stream proved my bladder was full. Still, this was the first time in ages I’d been able to negotiate where and when I wanted a piss.

I returned to my room feeling cocky at this new development and looked out the window to check what was happening in the world. It was still hot and busy but the tree had all but gone. It was strange because the constant buzz of the saw had been a background noise to my work and seemed to spur me on.  

Without getting up to check I just imagined the tree being cut down piece by piece and bizarrely, that made me feel different... like... as the tree came down I was developing in some way. Stupid I know but I’m getting strange and miscellaneous feelings a lot these days and wonder if that’s down to my daily padding.

Now all I could see and hear were the workmen using the shredder to get rid of the small branches and leaves but the trunk had been reduced to a mere stump.

I sighed but, maybe this was a sign. I could now go to the loo when I felt the need – so that was definitely some kind of progress.

I began to think what the tree looked like before and just couldn’t bring that image to mind and it was with a sense of relief I returned to my computer. Perhaps the tree had signified something and now it was gone. Well?

I emailed Mrs Dewhurst the file and then downloaded my work onto a memory stick as back up. I was quite pleased with my day’s work and smugly slipped the colourful flash drive in my backpack alongside the change of nappies mum had already shoved in there. Hoping, come Monday morning, my efforts would be both appreciated and successful.  

I wasn’t wet and I’d done some work... so not a wasted day. I was pretty impressed with the fact I wasn’t soaked so, after slipping over a pair of my loosest shorts, joined mum out in the garden to take in the lovely late afternoon sun.


Jenny was saying how upset a few people were that the ‘lightning tree’ had been cut down by the council. It had become a bit of an attraction and kids seemed to like playing around it. Unfortunately, as a couple of branches had broken off it had been deemed unsafe and, fearful of injuries and being sued, the decision had been made that it had to come down.

Mum asked what I thought, seeing as I’d witnessed the dramatic strike, but I simply shrugged.

“If it was a danger I suppose it’s for the best... safety first?” I cheerfully patted my bulging nappy to emphasise the point for some reason. I couldn’t explain why I felt relief because I was sure it had nothing to do with the danger it posed in that state. It felt like some kind of mysterious oppression had been lifted.

Mum agreed – safety first but she was also a little sad that it had gone.

“I’ll tell you someone who’s very happy about it... Mr Bennet... he was asking the workmen to leave the heavy branches...” Jenny looked mischievously as she spoke, “they let him take a few logs but I think he wanted the entire tree.”

We all had a giggle at Mr Bennet’s expense.

Mum then looked over at me.

“And how has your day gone?” She peered at the bulge under my shorts. “Did you need any extra...?”

“No, no... still the one from this morning... and still dry.” I said with some degree of accomplishment.

Her eyebrows raised. “Well that’s some achievement isn’t it?” Both mum and Jenny nodded impressed and I felt pretty pleased with myself as well.


Sunday morning I woke to discover another surprise, I wasn’t wet. There’s no doubt that my mind had had a sort of ‘jolt’ and, without any real reason to do so, put that down to the tree disappearing. The pleasure I felt at waking up to a dry nappy was immense and made me snuggle down in my warm bed to enjoy the sensation a little longer. The plastic pants were warm and smooth as I ran my investigating hands over the padding feeling every soft bump and enjoying doing so.

Over the years I’ve worn padding many, many times but it was only at that comfy, dry and richly-padded moment that I appreciated actually having to wear it at all. Although I try to be a positive person in all things, this was perhaps the first time I thought this huge cushion of security meant more than I’d acknowledged in the past. I was positively glowing from within at having to wear such an item. Normally I just see it as something I needed to wear but now there was a shift in my thoughts. Because I wasn’t wet I felt I was in control.

Early morning euphoria filled my entire body and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more tranquil and alive at the same time. It was a brilliant emotion and one I didn’t want to break by getting up. Then dad knocked on my door and asked if I was ever going to get up. I didn’t want to but remembered I’d agreed to mow the lawn and help him in the garden... so had to get a spurt on.

Of course, as soon as I thought about moving, and I knew my bladder needed emptying, I let loose and soaked the thing... but on purpose. The knowledge of what I was doing made me smile guiltily as the warm piss filled the material and soaked around my cock, balls and arse. The feeling just got better... I was in control. However, that orangey taste returned and I wasn’t sucking on anything.

“Morning sweetheart.” Without knocking mum bounced in with her usual happy demeanour and asked if I was wet.

“Yerrrr, ‘fraid so.”

“So, nappy or disposable today?” She obviously wanted to get things underway so she could then start on her projects.

“It’s OK mum, I’ll sort myself out.”

She looked surprised but suppose knew I was hiding a warm, wet nappy and didn’t want to embarrass me any further.

I mean, there had been a few times over the years when I’d peed just before I’d woken up and the freshness of such a wet nappy looked like I’d done it on purpose. Who knew I’d actually done so this time?

“Breakfast is on the table and your dad wants to get things started as the forecast is for rain later.”

“OK, I’ll be down in a minute.”


It was nicely warm as I ventured out into the garden wearing a freshly, self-applied Abena, twinned with see-thu plastic pants under my khaki shorts. I quite liked the slight crinkle as I walked though it wasn’t as cumbersome as the previous day’s nappy. Dad had got the electric lawnmower ready and was pottering around in the vegetable patch under the watchful supervision of mum. Jenny’s full social calendar meant she was off somewhere with her army of mates, probably making all the boys drool.

The pleasant sensations running through my mind and body were giving me the best temperament ever. Even better than walking along the cliff tops with mum, I just couldn’t understand why I suddenly felt this elated.

Understand, I’d gone to the toilet when I wanted, I’d wet my night time nappy when I wanted and I was wearing a disposable, which was what I wanted. And yesterday I’d even put in a full day’s work on my day off, which I wanted to do... everything seemed to be working for my benefit and that had left me exhilarated. It meant, for the moment at least, I could do without wearing a nappy but... wanted to.

The only time I’d ever come near to feeling like this was when I received confirmation of getting the job. However, that had its own affect with me then spending weeks wearing protection. It didn’t feel like that on this occasion... I had a choice.

As I paraded up and down the front lawn pushing the mower I felt strangely at peace. The noise was a soft electric motor drone, which, together with the rubbing of my plastic clad thighs and gentle hug of the M4, was giving me a pronounced waddle and sway to my own rhythm. Every now and then, as I turned to cut in the opposite direction, my shorts would catch a slight breeze and send a ripple of cool excitement up the legs.

I finished the front and, after a bit of more intense micro clipping of the hedge, was pleased with the result. Mrs Johnson, still guiding her baby daughter, who I think is called Sandra, stopped to comment.

“Well Anthony, that looks like a job well done.”

“Thanks, but I have a very demanding boss... she’s not one to let me slack at all.” I replied with a smile that I hoped said I was only joking.

“Is your mother around by any chance?” She queried.

“She’s out the back planting winter vegetables with dad I think... would you like me to get her?”

“No, it’s OK...”

“It’s no trouble it will only take a few...”

“Well, in that case... Yes, please I’d like some advice on Alexandra (not Sandra)” Her eyes indicating the sweet, dummy sucking baby in her stroller.

“I won’t be a minute,” and pushed the lawnmower back around the corner and told mum she had a visitor.

“Oh, OK, I wonder what she wants.” She looked questioningly at me.

“Something to do with her baby I think.”

“Little Zanda... has she brought her?” Mum bucked up no end as she hurried round to the front garden.

I heard enthusiastic greetings but set to work on the much larger rear lawn. I rubbed the front of my shorts and felt the smooth bulge underneath - God it was a good day and I felt wonderful yet couldn’t explain why I had such a spring in my step.

Meanwhile, dad had set the ladder up against the security light that had been out for a few weeks now and persuaded me to change the bulb. It was fascinating, just that little extra height and the cooling breeze that whipped around my padded crotch produced a very pleasant sensation.

# # # be continued


Part 13

As dad predicted the weather changed just as we put the finishing touches to the garden. Mum was happy the rain would help bed in her latest crop, dad moaned about his back, whilst I was glad to finish the lawn, which looked pretty neat. Jenny, who’d managed to avoid any involvement, arrived home from friends wondering how long until the Sunday roast would be ready. Mum hadn’t cooked.

“Just grab what you fancy from the freezer,” she looked around at us all, “that goes for each of you and I’ll cook it when you’re hungry.”

Dad said he fancied one of her homemade lasagne and we all agreed that would be great but, as we were all starving didn’t want to wait. I followed Jenny into the kitchen to get things underway and whilst she searched the freezer I set the oven to heat up. As I bent over fiddling with the temperature and timer I had a sudden childish desire to let rip but wasn’t too sure if it might be more than a fart.

That bloated feeling could so easily be got rid of by a sudden explosive blast, which would be both very relieving and very, very funny. A fart is always funny. However, remembering when I’d filled my pants earlier, and the awful sensation of a nappy full of ‘mashed potato’, made me think again.

Jenny produced a large dish and announced that seeing as we’d all been working in the garden she would attend to lunch. As we stood side-by-side at the oven it was the first time I really noticed she was slightly taller than me and of course, with her fourteen year-old boobs snugly emphasised under her t-shirt, looked like my big sister. I was glad I didn’t fart because next to her it would have made me appear a silly little kid.


However, the rain had started lashing down and I had the urge to be out in it. So, strong was the desire that after kicking off my trainers I quickly slipped out of my t-shirt and shorts and wandered out into the garden. So, from worrying that breaking wind would make me appear childish, I’d cast off my clothes like a toddler and raced to be out enjoying the heavy summer shower.

“What are you doing... it’s pouring down?” Jenny cautiously enquired.

I pointed to the Abena. “This is already wet so I don’t think I can make it any worse.”

It wasn’t, I just had the impulse to do something silly and fancied seeing how absorbent the disposable really was.

I’m not sure if Jenny thought I was just being a little eccentric or a complete bell-end but was laughing as I pulled off the plastic pants and stood with my arms out letting the downpour pummel my body.

It was a feeling of complete freedom.

I danced, barefoot around the garden thoroughly relishing the fact I was an eighteen year-old wearing only a saturated nappy... and wasn’t in the least bit bothered.

The freshly clipped lawn felt soft and wonderful between my toes. It was strange because I’d loved the feeling of sand as I’d walked along the beach but this was strangely erotic. Although, having said that, I’m not sure if that word was registering... it felt sensuous... perhaps that’s a better term.

My expanding nappy began to feel heavier but even that was ‘sensuous’, I was having a great time as I slipped, ran and danced across the freshly mown grass.

It was quite exhilarating but when I looked around mum and dad were both at the window looking confused. I’m not sure what thoughts the image of me pirouetting in the middle of the garden had produced but, whereas I was having fun, both appeared a little concerned.

This may sound strange but, for the past few weeks I definitely felt like a little kid because of having to wear a nappy. I’m surely not the only person who, because they have to wear a nappy, isn’t immediately influenced by its presence. However, at that refreshingly damp moment I felt my real age, like a rebellious teen but in total control of myself. As the rain was absorbed so was the bladder full of pee I let loose... what a fantastic dual experience.


However, this ‘giddy’ feeling had me wondering – what was going on. One second I’m worrying about appearing childish, the next I’ve cast off any inhibitions and not caring what anyone thinks. Confusing?

As I’ve said before, I’m normally a positive person and came to terms with wearing a nappy fairly easily. Because I’d needed one at various points in my life, so for those times, nappies had become ‘second nature’. Nonetheless, it now felt like I’d been released from some link I hadn’t known I had. My mind had convinced me that I was in total control so therefore could do anything I wanted.

My nappy was just that, MY NAPPY and I could wear it if I wanted, when I wanted, where I wanted... or not at all.

I couldn’t explain why it was that I’d never quite got a handle on putting one on correctly. Like I could put one on but it was never satisfactory and would leak or eventually fall down and become uncomfortable to wear. Mum had never shirked from making sure I was always leak-proof when I had to wear one and so I left it to her expertise to make sure it was on correctly.

It’s only recently that I’ve had to wear one during the day as well as at night but I accepted that need with barely a protest and if I was being honest, didn’t mind continuing that comfy hug.

Nevertheless, I planned on doing a little experiment that night and NOT wear one to sleep in. Of course I’d still let mum put me in my night time nappy because I’m sure she thinks it would be for the best. However, once tucked up and relaxed then I’d slip out of it and see what happened. I was convinced I wouldn’t wet the bed. Then, in the morning when I woke up all warm and dry, I’d slip it back on and let the stream flow – knowing that everything was now under my control.

(All that was going on in my head as I pranced around the garden like some kind of mad gazelle.)  

Eventually, the rain calmed, the clouds lifted and the final rays of the day lit up a very green looking garden, which coincided with mum’s lasagne being ready. Alas, I couldn’t just sit down to eat whilst wet so me and mum went up to my room for a quick wipe down and a fresh disposable.

“What’s got into you Anthony... you seem a bit..?” She took control wiping me down with a towel before releasing the heavily rain soaked nappy.

“Frisky?” I said perkily relieved of the weight.

“Nnnmmm,” mum added doubtfully, “more peculiar.” She spread on some lotion.

“It’s been a fantastic day and I’m simply enjoying it... aren’t you?”

“Yes love, yes, it has been a wonderful day...” A shower of baby powder followed and I giggled.

“What did Mrs Johnson want?”

“Ohh, erm, she’d seen those thick rubber pants on the washing line and asked where I bought them as she wanted something similar for Alexandra.”

Now it was my turn. “Ohh.”

I was about to share my underwear with a baby. Well, obviously I mean, figuratively not actually but then I thought more positively.

“Good, that will be very good... then we can play together and not worry.”

Mum looked at me as if I were mad.

For the briefest of seconds the idea of playing with a baby had seemed a really wonderful possibility. Then I wondered myself - What the hell are you saying?

“Only joking,” I tried to cover my embarrassment.


She remained silent as she grabbed one of the towelling nappies and picked up a couple of nappy pins.

“Erm, I thought, maybe a disposable for the...”

“There’s no point in getting you ready for bed twice now is there? I might as well get you well-padded and then it’s done and... you’ll be ready for any occasion.” She said the last bit as if there was some doubt.

I thought about arguing but decided better of it as she lay in an extra soaker pad and pinned the thing tightly on. I don’t know why but she seemed angry, well perhaps not angry but definitely uncomfortable and otherwise engaged.

“Mmmm, there’s something going on with you Anthony and I’m not sure what it is. You are... mmm... not always... I mean... not always you.”

I had no idea what she meant as I’d never felt better but she obviously thought differently. I just shrugged and we went down for the meal but not until after mum had reached for those thick rubber pants Mrs Johnson had asked about and had me step into them.

“I hope these’ll suffice.” She said half to herself.

I wondered what was going on with mum... and how had Mrs Johnson seen them out on the washing line? I suspected she and mum must have chatted at some point in the back garden and seen them out drying. I wasn’t happy if that was the case. However, the smell of the freshly cooked lasagne blocked any further thoughts and enticed us to the kitchen.


At a couple of points in the evening both mum and dad asked if I was OK about the dismantling of the tree. I mean, why they should have thought it had affected me I didn’t understand but I assured them I was fine.

I saw mum keep checking my bulge as if expecting a problem. I had to admit, with her constant scrutiny I became more and more distrustful about just how thick the padding was and yet, I wasn’t uncomfortable wrapped up so tightly.

Throughout the night they kept staring as if appraising what I was doing... and I was doing nothing but watching TV. After a while I began to feel a bit uncomfortable and excused myself for an early night, after all I had my own plans. I’d worked hard on the new coding and wanted to get Mrs Dewhurst approval for my ‘diligent’ weekend efforts, so getting into the office all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed didn’t seem a bad idea either.

I excused myself, kissed everyone night-night, whilst each affectionately patted my padded bottom as I made towards my bedroom. Normally they don’t bring attention to the fact I’m wearing a nappy so that was different.

I got my clothes ready for the following day and actually thought about wearing underpants... I hadn’t worn my tighty-whities since the accident Mrs Symanski witnessed... I smiled because despite that incident I knew I was in control so had that choice.

I slid under the covers and squirmed around for a while as the rubber slipped over the bedding I gently rubbed the smooth surface deciding just when to take the entire bulk off.

‘No time like the present’ I decided because I wanted to keep it in one piece, after quite a long struggle, I slowly hauled everything down.

Eventually I managed to wriggle out of it and was able to leave it all on the floor next to my bed. I pulled my t-shirt off and lay for a while feeling the peculiar sensation of being totally naked. I rarely sleep without wearing something and this was so different from wearing only a nappy I wasn’t sure I liked it. That didn’t matter as I was conducting an experiment so the quicker I got to sleep the quicker I could prove my new superior control. The room was warm so being naked and only wrapped in a sheet meant I wasn’t fighting the elements and slipped smoothly into the Land of Nod.

# #  # be continued

Part 14

The crowds had gathered outside the house as I returned victorious from the Honours Ceremony carrying the ‘Best Ever’ golden award for all to admire. The streets had been lined with a cheering throng as I carried the glorious statuette in the open-topped limo.

More applause and whistles grew as I stepped from the car and showed everyone that I was in fact The Best Ever. The ovation was deafening as I walked down the pathway to the front door, bypassing the washing line absolutely filled with my nappies and colourful plastic pants wafting in the breeze. I grimaced when I saw them but the clapping and cheering continued. I took the accolades until the cheering slowly merged into jeering.

What the hell was going on?

Voices of derision and disapproval were now loud as rotten fruit and vegetables bombarded me and the house.

“Quick let’s hide.” I said to no one in particular and tried to make my escape.

Just then a huge wad of something soft and icky splattered against my receding backside. Instantly followed by more slushy impacts and someone had turned a hose on me. People were chanting my name but not in a nice way like they had been. “Anthony, Anthony, Anthony you fool”. I was drowning in a sea of garbage.

“Anthony, Anthony, Anthony... wake up son... you’re having a nightmare.” I sighed in relief when I saw it was dad but he looked serious and concerned. Then the smell hit me. I’d shit the bed.


“Oh Anthony, why did you take your protection off?”

It was mum and I could tell she was not happy. In fact, had I been a kid I suspect I’d have been over her knee getting a firm spanking. It had only ever happened once when I was around eight and had told lies - never again. But now, I was almost in tears like a child and I wasn’t sure from the look on mum’s face she didn’t think it was something I deserved.

“Sorry mum, sorry dad... I, I...” There was a definite sob in my little voice as it drifted into silence.

“Well don’t just lay there... get to the bathroom and clean yourself up. It’s almost time to get up anyway.” Mum was back in charge. “I’ll be there in a minute to check.”

I looked down at myself and the bedding and everything was absolutely covered in shit and piss. I’d never made such a mess in my life and I had no idea why I had now. I kept saying to myself I had it under control. Wasn’t that what the ‘award’ was for?

I was confusing my dream with reality but the confused and upset look from both mum and dad had me worried.

It’s like when he was three.” I heard mum whisper to dad as she set about getting me up.

After a while she said “There’s something going on in that head of yours Anthony and I’m not sure what but...” She paused as if taking stock and reassessing the state I was in. “I think we’d better get in touch with Doctor Ames and see if we can’t get you an urgent appointment.”

She showered me, scrubbed me and showered me again to make sure there was no trace of my nightmare. This wasn’t the loving mum, the caring mum I had in the hotel bathroom... it was the officious mum who didn’t take any nonsense. Whilst she got me ready for work I was unsettled by my own mother as she grabbed at the various creams, powders and double fabric nappies she had every intention of making me wear.

Actually, it wasn’t so much mum’s attitude but more my shame and feeling I deserved her disapproval. I felt small and stupid and as always mum was right to chastise me for thinking otherwise.

“You need to be aware of your protection young man; with the way things are... I just don’t know what you were thinking taking it off.” She looked at me as if I had the answer but I was so intimidated I couldn’t do anything but acquiesce to what she did.

My great experiment to prove I was in control now just a mess of my own making.

She tried to pull up the tough rubber pants but the nappy was too bulky so she went to the chest of drawers and pulled out a massive pair of clear plastic ones. These slipped over with a loud crinkle but hardly any trouble.

I was shaking like a naughty two year-old and feeling like one but trying to hide it. How could I have been so irresponsible? Just what had gotten into me?

Of course I wasn’t fooling anyone and I saw that mum noticed I was a little scared of what had taken place. Her features changed from obligation to concern and patted my naked leg in reassurance.

“OK, I think shorts will be better today even though it’s a few degrees cooler you should be alright.”

Like a little boy I stepped into my new hiking shorts without comment. She was correct they did hide things better than my long trousers but there was still no doubt what I was wearing underneath. I didn’t want to go to work.

“Mum, can’t you phone in and tell them I’m sick?”

“You’re not ill... so I’m not lying to Mrs Dewhurst and I’m surprised at you Anthony, especially after all the work you put in on Saturday.”

Yes, mum was correct again, I wasn’t sick just confused but proud of the work I’d done and should be there to see my boss’s appreciative face.

Despite wearing a nappy mum had never babied me or made me feel I was a burden, no one in the family had. Yet, these last couple of weeks had affected me in ways I wasn’t sure except for my total acceptance of having to wear a nappy. I’m eighteen so that cannot be right but here I am... the padding felt huge.

“Look, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – if you don’t make a fuss about it,” Mum said pointing to the shapely bulge, “no one else will even notice.”


All the way on the bus journey into town I could hear the thick padding crinkle and creak. I had to sit very still so as not to draw attention but I could see some school kids look around wondering what that sound could be. I think a couple of older ladies knew and sat smugly in their knowledge. When I got off I could see their smiles and bright eyes... I might have made their day.

When I got into work I noticed a few of the team grouped around a computer and laughing. I wondered what they found amusing but had no time to find out as I was quickly beckoned in to Mrs Dewhurst’s office.

I thought she’d be impressed because of the file I’d sent but she looked shocked and serious.

“Anthony, what was the file you sent all about?” She asked in a very worried manner.

I perked up. “Yes, I spent all day Saturday on it. It’s a new idea I had for make things work better around here.”

“Really, in what way?” I could see her brows furrow quizzically.

“Well, as you can see...” I went to her computer and there on the screen was the open file. “There is...erm... I... ummm... what’s this?”

“It’s what you sent me.”

There on the screen were just a bunch of childish rhymes. Nothing to do with me and certainly not the clever improvements I’d made to help...

“No. I mean, I’ve never see any of this before. I mean, I don’t, I can’t, err... wait.”


I emptied my backpack out on her desk and the new nappies, pins and associated paraphernalia dropped out as did the USB flash drive.

Pointing at her screen I looked as shocked as she’d been.

“Look, I don’t know where that came from but this is a copy I’ve brought from home of some coding for...”

I was sweating and my stomach was churning, I couldn’t understand what was going on. It must be some joke by one of the team who’d found out about...

I plugged in the USB, brought up the file and nervously clicked to open. There were the same group of ‘poems’ that she’d just read. I couldn’t understand it. I knew I’d written code and come up with some fantastic changes that would help the entire office but no... all that was on her screen were stupid, childish rhymes.

Mummy and daddy have often said

A boy my age shouldn’t wet the bed

But if he does there is a solution

To a room full of his pollution

Grab a load of thick, thick wadding

Making sure he wears plenty of padding

Just to ensure there is no seepage

Plastic pants prevent childish leakage


Mrs Dewhurst is so kind

She cleans me up, powders my behind

She spreads the cream so nice and thick

Around my balls and along my prick

Then at last to make me happy

Pins me in a lovely thick nappy


Thank you, thank you to my boss

She cleans me up when I’m at a loss

The sagging load that she sees

To her is just a simple breeze

Mummy brought in a thick, thick nappy

To make her boy once more happy

Clean and tidy she satisfies my need

Mrs Dewhurst is very nice indeed



“How much coding have you done in the past Anthony?”

“Not much I, er, ummmm...”

“I haven’t noticed you coding much before....”

I felt that familiar tremble, the one I thought I could control, run through my body.

“I’m sorry Mrs Dewhurst I don’t know what’s happened. I’m sure I’d...” and then right on cue I felt my bladder let go a stream into the bulky padding. “Oh no... not now.” I whined.

It took a second or two for Mrs Dewhurst to realise what was happening.

“Anthony, are you peeing your pants?” She seemed concerned.

The trembling increased as did the force as I continued to empty my full bladder. I merely nodded I didn’t know what else to do.

“OK, let’s get you changed quickly before anyone is any the wiser.”


I was stunned into silence and became incapacitated so she had to take charge as I was in no fit state. In fact, the truth was I was trying not to cry but the tears were streaming down my face and my thumb made its way between my lips. Mmmm that ‘taste’ of orange again.

Mrs Dewhurst seemed to know that I was going to be next to useless and simply got on without my involvement. She pulled me from behind her desk, unzipped my shorts and as they fell to the floor asked me to step out of them.

Through my voluminous clear plastic pants she could see the fabric turning yellow and asked if I’d finished yet. I shook my head no. She went and retrieved a towel and wipes from a desk drawer... I was just about empty on her return.

“OK Anthony I’m going to...”

At that moment there was a quick knock on her door and a few of the ladies came barging in and saw me standing in just soggy protection and polo shirt, which hardly hid anything. On this occasion Mrs Dewhurst’s door was not the impenetrable barrier it was meant to be.

“Oh no, no, no.” My mind silently screamed.

“Ah Paula,” Gillian said, “we’ve all read Anthony’s, erm... revealing poems and think you shouldn’t have to bear changing our sweet little pants-wetter alone.” She didn’t wait for a response from either of us. “In fact, Deidre here has organised a quick rota for all us girls to take turns. We feel you have enough to do without taking sole responsibility for Little Ant and you know he’ll be in good hands.”

Oh God, I must have copied everyone into the email, shit. ‘Little Ant’ – ‘Pants-wetter’? I wasn’t sure I liked being called that but there was nothing I was going to do about it.

“I have to say Anthony the way of revealing your problem is very unorthodox but we want you to know... everyone here will be supportive.”

I was looking to Mrs Dewhurst to say or do something but they weren’t giving her much of a chance to argue. Meanwhile, I stood immobile and dumb sucking my thumb as the small group of determined ladies stepped forward.

“You’re very brave,” Gillian shook her head as if to say she couldn’t believe I had to put up with this iniquity, “to be living with this, um, problem. We hadn’t realised that the lightning strike you told us about had had such a devastating effect and that Paula here was helping you through it. No need to keep it a secret any more... we’re here for you.”

She smiled a very understanding smile but I was left wondering what the hell was happening. Of course, I was still too dumbstruck to voice any sort of panic.

“We knew there was something going on and your email confirmed it... a sort of plea for help and understanding...” The other lady Brenda’s voice trailed off as she looked to Paula for confirmation.

I think perhaps for the first time in her career Mrs Dewhurst was uncertain of what to do. She’d been caught off-guard but it appeared these ladies only wanted to help out.


They looked concerned but despite that ‘understanding’ took great delight in patting my thick soaked nappy perhaps pleased to enjoy my total humiliation.

That silent but loud voice in my head was still screaming “NO” but doing nothing to stop what was happening.

I trembled some more but the fact I was standing in heavily soaked material left no doubt in anyone’s mind I needed a change.

“Oh yes... he is a little wet isn’t he?” Gillian looked from me to Paula and Brenda then back and smiled.

“You’ve been the subject of much speculation sweetie.” She had that knowing smile on her face as she inspected just how wet I was. “For the past couple of weeks, your lovely padded little bottom has had us all talking... and wondering. Now, after reading your lovely little poems and seeing for ourselves just what a damp little fellow you are. Well it all falls into place... it all makes sense.”

I couldn’t react. I mean the words were there but unable to come out. Just what had they been speculating about?

“OK Brenda... you’re first.” Gillian indicated the other’s in her posse should come in and get involved. “That’s a stroke of luck the nappies and stuff are already here on the table.” She ran her hand over them. “Ohh yes very nice, soft and thick... mmmm... better get crackin.”

Oh God... was this really about to happen... please no... stop... the protest was... silent.

Gillian left her two lieutenants as I suppose she went to report back to the rest of the team.

Brenda and Deidre stayed in the room and it seemed Deidre couldn’t wait to pull down my plastic pants and unpin the sopping wet nappy. I just stood there dumbfounded and sucking my thumb.

“Well good for your mummy because she’s got her little soggy-boy all nicely padded... we’d better do an equally good job hadn’t we?”

“No, no, no.” Silently circled my brain.

This was incredibly weird. I’d been sat next to this woman for almost eighteen months and never in all that time would I have anticipated her to react this way. I mean, she was always, well, pessimistic... expecting the worse. Now she was alive and enthusiastic.

Deidre pulled away the soaked fabric and smiled at my nakedness. “Mmmmmmm” she purred, “what a sweet little willy, just as I imagined.” She looked over grinning at her eager co-conspirator who nodded in agreement.

I was mortified but made no move to stop them.


They set to work and my shame wasn’t helped by my noisy thumb sucking, which anxiously stepped up a gear. They spent a great deal of time making sure the area was wiped clean and tidy. I just let it happen.

Meanwhile, as Brenda folded the thick fabric terry square in a way I’d never seen before, Deidre continued to clean and powder the area ready to receive it.

“You do realise Anthony that this... situation... only makes you more appealing?” Deidre grinned as she rubbed the powder into my bum. “From the moment you arrived we knew there was something special about you and now... every woman in the office has volunteered to change your soaked nappies... and I’m sure the guys will join in eventually.”

“Special? What do they mean by that? What signs have I been giving out?”

“You’re one lucky little boy to have so many loving mummies and daddies to attend to you?”

Lucky little boy I’ve heard those words on more than one occasion but couldn’t pinpoint where.

I know I should have protested but confrontation was never my thing. This had to be part of an elaborate dream as it made no sense to me, even if the women were friendly and diligent to their task. Unfortunately, I knew that the chance of mum or dad waking me up for work and saying I was having a bad dream wasn’t going to happen. I could smell the baby powder... and taste the orange?


I felt like they were treating me like a little kid and for some reason, deep down, I agreed with them. I looked pleadingly to Mrs Dewhurst but on this she was being totally outmanoeuvred. 

Although my anxiety levels were high I think my bladder must have been empty I’d soaked the nappy enough and had no more. Then I worried about the ‘mashed potato’ scenario and dreaded what would be said should that happen. 

Brenda smiled a strange smile as she approached with her contribution, probably because of the pins held between her lips. She looked very determined; the nappy expertly folded and ready for my bum to receive its fluffy thickness.

No, no... ohhhh... I didn’t want this to happen but when it did... mmmm... that’s nice and soft.

Brenda spent some time tugging it into position and delighted in pulling it between my legs and fastening it on tightly. Both women had done their job with ease and competence and I was oddly grateful to be in a dry nappy.

I tried to think but had no idea what the future now held. Strangely I had that tang of orange back in my mouth but unfortunately no sign of Mrs Dewhurst’s box of chocolates. I didn’t know why that was the case but could have done with a chocky to suck on rather than my thumb. However, Brenda shook out a fresh pair of purple plastic pants (one of the three pairs mum had left with Mrs Dewhurst) and tugged them up my thighs.

“Ohhh sweetheart... you’ll look so... precious.” She purred with affection.

There was a look of resignation on Mrs Dewhurst face as the women had taken complete control. They’d not flinched from their work and simply treated me as a sodden little kid who needed a change.

I’d not said a word throughout the entire proceedings, although in my head I’d protested this assault on my privacy.

Then Deidre added with a smile. “Don’t worry... wet nappies on our little office boy won’t be a problem... we’ll look after you.” Then her face lit up even more, “AND... I’ve got one or two things at home I think might be useful and keep you happy.”

I stood glued to the spot wearing just a polo shirt and a thick dry nappy with a shiny purple cover.

“There you go, all done,” Brenda patted my glossy bum, whilst Deidre just looked proud.

Gillian looked in and smiled. “My, my, you do look cute... who’s one lucky boy?”

There it was, that phrase again but as before I couldn’t quite place it. Lucky Boy, Lucky Boy? In what way was I lucky? Anyway, the fresh nappy was hugging me tightly, which was so much better than a wet one, and I was unreservedly grateful.

“Let’s get back to work... we don’t want to get Paula into trouble for having a lax office now do we? Come along baby... you’ve got work to do as well.”

Gillian was the eldest female member of the team and had been Mrs Dewhurst right-hand person from long before I came to work there. She was like a mother to everyone, always there to listen, to help, someone to confide in and on top of all that, managed her work with equal efficiency and dedication.

The term ‘baby’ didn’t register as detrimental because she uses that word in a nice way to just about all the males in the office... of all ages. I think most of the office enjoyed her loving and friendly attitude and I quite liked it now.

I was led back to my seat. Everyone smiled in reassurance then went back to work.

Everything remained the same yet everything had changed... how does that work?


After a few minutes Mrs Dewhurst came and sat next to me at the computer. I hadn’t realised until she sat down I wasn’t wearing shorts just the billowing nappy and slinky purple cover.

“Are you OK Anthony?” She asked with concern in her voice.

“I don’t understand... I mean... why is everybody being...” I shrugged, “weird?”

“I think, well, I know, it’s because everyone likes you and wants to help.”

“But I was happier when no one knew.” Of course they had guessed about my padding but were just too polite to mention it.

“Yes, yes but you have to understand... it’s you who’s revealed your secret... the poems.” She whispered quietly.

“Ohh yes... but...” I was embarrassed about all that dumb stuff. “I don’t remember writing any of that. I was convinced I’d come up with a brilliant new system that would benefit everyone.”

My voice trailed because I had no way of proving what I thought I’d done... only those stupid, stupid rhymes.

“Well, although they were quite revealing... I did appreciate the sentiments... so thank you Anthony... I’m glad you think so well of me.”

“I always do... but honestly... the tree’s gone and...” The tree! It was unexpectedly at the forefront of my brain.

That sudden thought made less sense than anything else. Was it because of the tree being cut down... and if so... why? Why would that make the slightest difference? I mean, I’m flooding my nappy even when there are no storms anywhere in the area. So what’s going on?

There was nothing I could say to retrieve the situation or that my boss would understand, because I didn’t.

She passed my shorts.

“I think you might be better wearing these... that is, unless you prefer to be only in your...”

“No, no, erm, thanks,” and tugged them up. Brenda and Deidre had done a good job and despite the initial embarrassment, the thick fabric nappy felt very comfy. Now everyone had seen what I wear I don’t suppose it mattered that much.

“Look Anthony, you said you thought you’d come up with a new system so why not try and recreate it, hmmm? Forget everything else just think of it as one less secret and a ‘family’,” she used her hand to indicate the entire office, “here who want to help.”

I looked at her still stunned but trying to take in what she was inferring.

“Surely,” she added, “it’s better they know than every day trying to keep secrets and worrying about wetting and...”

“Yes, yes, I know but... it’s just weird.” I interrupted.


It wasn’t just my work mates I found weird, I felt in general things were bizarre. I simply could not equate what was going on in my nappy with a tree being struck by lightning. But, the truth was, after witnessing that tree burst into flame, pissing my pants had started again.

I couldn’t see any connection between why I thought I was writing a computer programme only to end up with childish gibberish. I know I appeared to ‘lose time’ when watching a storm but how could that effect what was happening now? None of it was in the least bit logical and what was worse, the control I thought I’d had was simply an illusion.

I mean, I was acting like a big kid thinking I could do something to impress, only to find I couldn’t. This was getting difficult because my mind was wandering all over the place (or not working at all), so, just another bloody thing for me to worry about.

Oh God... not another anxiety to cause me to piss myself.

Mrs Dewhurst was still trying to make me feel better.

“You have loads of support here Anthony, and to be honest, I’m quite surprised how they’ve all rallied around. I’m impressed.”

I tried to reason the situation out and explain I’m not always dependent on nappies.

“There are times when I don’t need a nappy. I mean, I hadn’t worn one for ages... up until that thunder storm so...?” The thing is - I know I sounded like a little kid trying to justify himself.

She shook her head.

“The thing is... you don’t have to worry whether you do or don’t...”


She left me to get on with my work but I clicked on the email file and it filled the screen. There, as I scrolled past the bottom of the page, almost hidden from the rest was another silly rhyme.

The Lightning Tree

Made me pee

But now you see

It’s gone.

So, full of glee

It’s only me

Can make me pee

All       day     long

Is that how it’s going to be from now on or will Doctor Ames sort me out? With the way things had developed in such a short space of time, it was asking a great deal of the psychiatrist.


I looked at the small digital clock in the right hand corner of the screen and noticed it was just after noon. There was a large empty bottle of water from the fridge, which I didn’t remember getting or drinking and my screen just had the two words LIGHTNING TREE written out hundreds of times.

Again, I could have sworn I’d spent my time working on the project Mrs Dewhurst had set. So, was surprised, disappointed and worried when all I could see for those few hours ‘work’ was two bloody words over and over again.

What the hell was happening?

I began to feel childishly awkward, as if I’d made some calamitous mistake and was about to be found out and punished for ‘pretending’.

I looked back at my screen and it sort of ‘flashed’ for no apparent reason. How could that happen and was that a rumble in the distance? I looked around the office, nothing different there. In fact, everyone seemed to be deep in concentration getting on with their work. However, the words on the screen had changed and formed the shape of the lightning tree.

None of this can be right, I must be imagining it? This is a bloody dream... it has to be.

Mum’s words began to fill my head; “Prepare for the worst but hope for the best. Prepare for the worst...” The nappies I was now wearing were so much thicker, held more fluid and hugged me much tighter. Everyone wanted to ‘help’ but why.

What the hell had mum been implying... had she expected this, this madness?

I could feel that strange shiver run up my spine and began to shake. Then I looked down the bulge in my shorts appeared to be growing and my thumb found its way between my lips. Meanwhile, that tang of orange was nudging my taste buds and I was on the verge of tears. I swallowed hard; this was getting very unnerving.

This is so stupid. My computer can’t suddenly do what it’s just done. It can’t...

And then it happened... with a soft mewling sound around my slick thumb I swamped my nappy. Only this time I was aware of it.

I cautiously looked around and felt the warmth spreading around the fabric. There was nothing I could do to stop it as I looked at the empty bottle of water on my desk wondering if I was going to fill the material with a half-litre of pee.

The thing was, although I was living through what was happening, it didn’t feel like it was a result of something I was doing. I wasn’t forcing anything it was just leaking without any involvement from me. The guilt and shame I’d experienced in the past just wasn’t there... it was almost as if it was something expected.

I wriggled in my sodden nappy and heard the soft crinkle of the plastic pants dimmed slightly by my shorts. I quickly pulled my thumb from my mouth and wondered, if I sat quietly, didn’t cry or shuffle about, and if no one noticed, could I last until I got home to change.


Office life was going on around me as if nothing had changed. Perhaps it was me just over reacting but I wasn’t convinced. However, there was a full afternoon of work to negotiate and wasn’t sure if a screen full of Lightning Tree would be looked on without comment. I’d have to tell Mrs Dewhurst I wasn’t feeling well and hope I could...

There was a ‘ping’ on my In Box. The tree ‘vanished’ and was replaced by a message from Mrs Dewhurst.

Great ideas, I like what you’ve done, let’s get you, me and Phil together after lunch

and see if we can make them work.

I didn’t remember sending her anything... what was going on?

So I’d sent her something but what and when and why was she pleased about it?

I know I should have been relieved but was simply further confused. What had that thunder storm done to me because nothing was making any sense?

I wriggled some more because my shorts seemed to have got heavier and tighter.

Then I saw Mrs Patel smiling over at me and she had four kids of her own, so could no doubt detect a wet nappy at a hundred paces.

Doctor Ames was going to have her work cut out because I couldn’t explain any of this. There were too many gaps, too much confusion, too many helpful people but unhelpful situations... then I remembered what mum said.

“Prepare for the worst...”

“C’mon Anthony,” It was Mrs Patel in her soft Indian accent, “I think I’ve got a soggy little bottom that needs a change.”

She took my hand and led me away from the desk. I could feel my nappy getting warm as more pee flooded the already pretty well-soaked material.

She patted my padded bottom.

“Don’t worry I’ll have you all nice and clean and dry in moments...” her mixed but endearing accent was quite reassuring.

I shrugged. I was looking forward wearing a nice, dry nappy... there was nothing nicer.

# # # be continued

Part 15

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Certainly not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where on earth have they come from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


“Look love, let’s get ahead of this.”

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

# # # be continued

Part 16

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was hoping they’d understand and they nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

The two ladies looked on in anticipation.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

I shrugged.

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

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

“Yes I do but...”

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mum could see my confusion.

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

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

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

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

I saw mum lost for words but I carried on.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

# # # be continued

Part 17

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

~~~~~ ~~~~~~



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mum answered whilst escorting me in and closed the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

“Yes thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doctor Laura didn’t miss much.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

She shrugged but I knew there was something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

# # # be continued

Part 18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’ll be over it soon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually I must have dropped off.

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

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

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

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


Anthony, Anthony are you OK sweetie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

I was a kid.

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

“Which is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh god, this sounds serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Will Anthony need any referral from his GP?”

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

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

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

Mary thought for a moment and then asked anxiously.

“But you’ve phoned me at home and...”

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

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


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

“Oh, OK.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye then.”


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

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

# # # be continued

Part 19

I woke up to find Jenny standing over me and asking if I was OK. I was just emerging from a deep dream where mum and I were sat on a bench looking out to sea with a storm noisily crashing around us. Incredibly, we were both sat crossed-legged because we thought if our feet didn’t touch the ground then the lightning couldn’t strike us. We were also cowered under a large colourful golfing umbrella with a metal spike... but that seemed quite normal.

I felt my shoulder being shaken.

Ant, Ant, are you OK?” Jen sounded alarmed and concerned.

“Mmm... errr, whattt, ummm....”

“You’re making a lot of noise... more than usual anyway.”

It took me a few seconds to determine I was no longer in my dream where I was huddled up close to mum and crying because I was scared of the thunder.

“Oh, erm, sorry Jen, I, er, er...”

“You sounded really frightened. I’ve never heard you making such...”

I wasn’t actually crying like I was in the dream but could feel my heart racing so knew I was troubled about something.

“I was in the middle of a storm. I, errruuuummm...”

It was taking me a little while to get myself under control but at least now I was awake Jen didn’t look so panicked. However, I still wasn’t sure what was going on except I could feel my nappy was sodden but that wasn’t unusual first thing in the morning. It hadn’t occurred to me that the main light was on and it was still night. I looked at the bedside clock, the clear blue numbers indicated it was still only 2.13, for some reason that particular time made me shiver and I felt another spurt of pee enter my soaked padding.

I saw Jen shrug her shoulders waiting for me to say something and as I became more aware of my circumstances. “What type of noise?”

“I don’t know... I was just coming back from the loo and you... well... it just seemed you were really scared of something. Not like the usual noises you make,” she added with a quick smile.

“I don’t make noises.” I said indignantly.

“Yer, sure, Mr Silent Sleeper you ain’t.” She said sarcastically and toddled back to her own room.

She left me alone and after a couple of minutes I threw back the sheet and checked in case I’d leaked. As usual, all was safely contained but I didn’t want to return to sleep knowing I had a sopping wet nappy so waddled to the dresser and took out some wipes. The new package of Dino disposables lay open by the side of the wardrobe.

I decided wipes wouldn’t be enough so grabbed one of my wonderful, cheery disposables and headed to the bathroom. I turned on the main light to checked myself. The plastic pants were ok but the white thick fabric underneath was saturated. It’s strange that since mum had bought these extra thick night time nappies (as she’d called them) I had used them to their fullest and became quite grateful they could take the excess liquid I seemed to produce. However, the pins were fiddly so no wonder I was always pleased when someone else did my change. Despite this drawback, I managed and threw the soaked thing into the laundry basket (the one reserved only for my stuff) and sponged myself down with warm water instead of the cold wet-wipes mum often used.


Once cleaned up properly, I applied lotion and powder, slipped into a nice thick Dinosaur nappy and felt pretty good that at least for the rest of the night I’d be dry. I decided that a pair of clear vinyl pants should then be enough to keep me safe for what remained of the night.

As I waddled back mum was standing on the landing in her nightie obviously awaken by my various noises.

“Is everything alright Anthony?” Mum looked tired and drawn but perhaps anyone would at two-thirty in the morning.

“Fine mum,” I forced a smile, “just needed a change.”

She gave a small smile as she checked out my cheerful disposable, perhaps knowing how much I enjoyed wearing them.

“Night then love... but I do have something I need to chat to you about in the morning.”

“Do you want to talk now?”

“No sweetie it can wait. You get back to sleep and we’ll chat later.”

I shrugged. “OK, night mum.” I watched mum return to her and dad’s room before I waddled back to my own. The soft rustling that accompanied each movement made me smile.

Back in my bedroom I slipped effortlessly under the covers, the new disposable giving me a pleasant crinkle as I settled down. I ran my hand over the soft but welcoming fabric completely forgetting the need for plastic pants. I quickly fell asleep stroking the front, enjoying the impressive bulge and wondering what mum needed to chat about.

My dream was of me in exactly the same place as I was before Jen woke me up, only this time I was sat on a bench on my own. I was wearing just the Dino disposable because the weather was hot and the people as they passed nodded and smiled and I felt at peace with the world. The thing was I knew I wasn’t eighteen any more.

Eventually, I joined in with a group of small kids who were playing down on the beach, the beach me and mum had visited, and set about building sandcastles. Judging by the remarks and looks I was getting, jovial though they were, I knew I was only a toddler to their eyes... but it didn’t worry me. I giggled and pulled at the sand to cover my legs and just left the dinosaurs on display because we’d made a game... it made no sense but these cartoon creatures somehow played an important part.

We were all having a fantastic time - shouting, screeching and laughing. It was fun.


It was just after nine when I woke up. Mum had come into my bedroom and told me that breakfast would be on the table in ten minutes. With the smell of bacon already wafting up from the kitchen she knew I would never miss a Saturday morning fry-up.

I flipped my legs from under the cover and was happy to see I was still dry, those little dinosaurs still cheerily chasing each other around the bulging fabric. Deciding to wear them for the rest of the day (or until they were too soggy) I grabbed a pair of clear vinyl pants off the dresser and pulled them up, followed by a pair of white polyester gym shorts and headed downstairs.

Dad and Jenny were already dressed both looked like they had made arrangements for a trip out somewhere and wondered if I’d missed some important plans.

“Going anywhere nice?” I asked as I took my seat next to Jen.

Mum was plating up the bacon and eggs. I noticed that she’d also got scrambled egg on toast for Jen, because she kept an eye on her youthful, but fast maturing figure.

“Dad’s got a meeting in Manchester later this morning so I’ve cadged a lift for me and Claire to go over and do a bit of shopping.”

“Is Claire coming here?” I liked Claire she was very funny and the only one of Jenny’s friends I could actually speak to without feeling I was being judged. Not that her other friends said much, it was more a feeling and the odd surreptitious look that made me uncomfortable around most of them.

“No, we’re picking her up on the way... but we’ll get the train back as dad doesn’t know what time he’ll finish.”

Mum slid the plates in front of us all. “You be careful young lady and make sure you’ve got your phone... I want regular texts please.”

Yes mum.” Like all teenagers she was in despair over the attention parents had over her movements.

“Yes well, let me know what train you’re on...”

“Yes mum,” she shrugged in annoyance but really knew mum was looking out for her and wasn’t really angry.

“That goes for you as well,” she nodded towards dad. “Let me know when we can expect you back.”

“Yes mum,” Dad did a comic impression of Jen and we all laughed.

“That just leaves me and you sweetie, have you got any plans?”

“No not really. I messaged Peter last night and he said he might come over this afternoon but wasn’t sure.”

The rest of the meal past with similar inconsequential chat.


When they’d left and it was just me and mum I could tell something was disturbing her because of the way she looked at me. Finally, as she finished washing up and I dried the dishes she asked me to sit down as she had something to talk to me about.

“Last night Laura Ames called.”

I nodded but said nothing.

“She said she’d been reviewing your case from when she first saw you at seven... and... compared them with what she knew now.”

I could see mum was getting a bit uncomfortable.

“She didn’t accuse you of being the reason I wet did she because that’s...”

“No, no, erm, nothing like that... she, er, um, wants to do some tests.”

“What kind of tests?” I asked suspiciously.

Those stupid ink-blot cards immediately sprung to mind, which I’d always thought were stupid and not very scientific way of gauging people’s innermost thoughts.

Mum was reticent to say anything further but obviously, now she’d started the conversation couldn’t leave it there.

“She wants to test the functions of your brain... she wants to give it a scan.”

I was a bit slow on the uptake. “What do you mean... a scan?”

“I think she thinks there is more than just a psychological reason for your problem.” Mum looked pained at saying this.

Not only that but it all sounded serious and a cold shiver ran down my back, immediately followed by a hot flush into the disposable.


I sat slightly numb (and wet) as mum tried to placate my worries.

“She said it might be some kind of hormonal imbalance... or something...”

“But she wants to wire me up?” I asked incredulously.

“I think it’s more about ruling certain things out rather than anything else... and...”

I didn’t like the sound of that AND.

“... there’s something else about when you were a toddler and we were on holiday in France all those years ago...”

Mum looked uneasy... and why had she changed the subject?

“You mean when I got scared of the thunder storm.” I knew what she meant but certain aspects of that trip were forgotten, well by me at least.

“Yes love...” she paused before continuing. “This is awkward but... with the storm the whole thing was pretty scary for you but we eventually managed to get you off to sleep and we thought that was all fine.”

She came and sat down beside me and held my hand.

“With you asking about it, and Laura mentioning it, I’ve been forced to relive something else that happened that night that I really hadn’t given much thought to for all these years... and now I feel so guilty for not knowing...”

I could see mum was struggling with an explanation of some kind but I didn’t want to interrupt even though my stomach was in knots wondering what this huge ‘guilty thing’ was.

“With the storm came a great deal of rain and because we were camped near the river, the management of the campsite warned us that the levels could rise considerably and advised everyone nearby to move to higher ground.”

She looked at me still with that pained expression on her face.

“We’d already packed quite a bit of our equipment in the car so dad thought we might as well pack everything and, with the prospect of flooding, get away from that valley and start the journey home early.”


“Mum, what’s the problem, why are you still feeling guilty over something that happened...” I mentally counted backwards, “fifteen years ago?”

“Well, as I said, you were fast asleep and I was so grateful you didn’t have to worry about all the panic going on around us because folk started evacuating the area... and moving and such... we were just happy you were out for the count.”

“Mum, just tell me... I...” I was annoyed because I suddenly felt my bum hole offer no resistance to a silent fart and the threat of worse but I didn’t want her to not finish her story.

“I was carrying you to the car, to fasten you into your booster seat and have you safely ensconced in the dry and out of the way so we could finish the packing. When, as I grabbed the handle, a huge gust of wind caught hold and blew it wide open. It hit me still carrying you, and sent me for six.”

I looked to her to wonder why this was such a catastrophe. I saw her unconsciously rubbing her arm.

“I got quite a whack and had a bruised arm for ages but I thought my body had protected you because you slept right through it.”


“Well sweetheart, you slept all the way from the campsite to Calais...” I looked at her wondering what she was insinuating. “We were just grateful you were sleeping even if it was for such a long time. We reasoned that your fear of the storm had taken it out of you and...”

“Mum, do you think I was injured?”

She nodded guiltily. “Yes sweetheart. We were young and I didn’t know any better but I fear you may well have also been hit by that flying door and I hadn’t noticed.”

She had tears in her eyes now and I felt my nappy rapidly filling with extra pee and poop... I was shaking and feeling like a three year old because I didn’t know what to say or do.

“Last night I discussed the possibilities with your father, who knew nothing about any of that other than I got a bruise from somewhere. Because you were asleep for so long he suggested there was a chance you might have actually have been concussed or something so to call Laura back and get her professional opinion. I did and she suggested... a full scan.”

I burst in to tears.

“Oh sweetie, don’t be scared it’s not painful it’s...” She wasn’t sure what it was but anyway, I wasn’t listening. All I was aware of was the fact I felt helpless because of the full disposable that clung to my groin. It was like I was three all over again and needed someone to come and change me. My anxiety level maxed out and I could hear a mewling sound and noticed my thumb in my mouth.


It only lasted a few seconds but that feeling of being totally helpless had to have been one of the strangest experiences I’d ever had... and I’d been having  a few of them recently. Even though sitting down I could feel the weight and mess splurging around. Mum was trying to calm my sudden dissolve into tears though she must have thought the idea of having a scan was the reason. I don’t think it was because for a brief moment my mind had gone blank and a pain had shot through my head like I’d never experienced before.

I sat with mum for a few minutes, whilst she tried her best to reassure me once again that all was well and I had nothing to fear because mummy was here. I was grateful to her hand that slowly stroked my hair and hugged me at the same time.

“OK love, I think we’d better get you into something...”

“Sorry mum, I don’t know what happened.” I softly spoke into her bosom where my head was nestling.

“Not to worry love, it’s a strange time and I fear I might have been...”

Again she didn’t finish her sentence but she held my hand and guided me back up to my room. The mess in my nappy reminding me with each step how thankful I was to have been wearing such good protection.


I came back from the shower clean and refreshed and feeling a lot better. I’d had time to think about the proposed neurological tests and decided, after what mum had revealed, it might be better than the psyche evaluation. Of course mum was waiting for me as I continued to towel dry my hair but for the first time in ages she hadn’t got anything laid out and ready.

“Anthony love, erm, you’ve had quite a lot to take in and I’m wondering if you’d prefer to wear something, ummm, different today. Something less, erm, protective.... you know... something... like you wore when we went to the coast.”

I hadn’t clocked that was why she was standing by the dresser with the underwear drawer open. She fished in and produced a pair of white briefs and one of the pairs of microfiber trunks.

“Maybe one of these?” She offered.

I could see, for the first time, mum was feeling guilty about putting me in nappies. She was desperate to make some kind of amends and thought this small gesture was perhaps the start.

She brought both pairs of pants over to me and offered me the choice.

“Mum, it’s not your fault that I wet and certainly not your fault that I messed my...”

“But sweetie, how do we know?” I mean, I might have thought I was doing it for your own good but in fact, it was easier because you’ve never once reacted against it.”

“Exactly mum, you know it has never bothered me... well... I don’t remember it ever having done... but the point is... I feel safer knowing I’m well covered and these...” I said offering up my white briefs, “offer no security at all.”

Mum shrugged but I could tell she wasn’t happy. I don’t think it was with me but she sighed as I went and pulled a large terry cotton nappy (with the extra absorbent gusset), and said I didn’t want to fight her but I needed this to feel secure.

She sighed but smiled and said that if I was sure.

“Let’s get it on you then as we can all live without you parading around with no clothes on.”

Strange that apart from a towel loosely draped around my shoulders I’d not realised I was completely naked throughout our conversation.

It hadn’t bothered either of us because I was used to mum seeing me this way and ready to get me nicely fastened tightly in to my welcoming padding.

The nappy was thick and for the briefest of moments the towel I’d been dressed in as a three year-old flashed into my head followed by that awful pain.

Uuurrggg,” I shuddered, blacked out and fell to the floor.

# # # be continued

Part 20

I was only out for a few seconds but could see the fear in mum’s eyes as she held me when I came round. There was still a nagging ache in my head but not the spike I’d just experienced. Mum and I sat on the floor, me wearing only the thick nappy she’d just pinned on but she was shaking more than I was.

Seeing how distressed she was I tried to make light of it. “That was new.” I just got hugged tighter.

“Mum, I’m OK now... don’t worry, it’ll be alright.” Yes I know, I was echoing the many times mum had said that to me.

Eventually I gently wrestled myself free from her strong embrace and saw just how badly the last few minutes had affected her.

“What, what if it is all my fault?” She swallowed hard thinking what her actions might have caused. “I neglected to check on my little baby boy... and look...”

The tears fell, she looked old, defeated, lost... but I wanted to keep mum’s spirits up like she had always done mine.

“Mum, don’t blame yourself... wait until we’re sure... and then I can blame you.” I gave her a sideways glance so she knew I was joking.

She smiled and ruffled my hair. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

“Well, let’s get up and see.”

We struggled to our feet but seemed able to stand without propping each other up.

“Look, let me get dressed and I’ll see you downstairs in a minute OK?”

I just wanted a few minutes on my own to assess what had just happened but without seeing mum looking so troubled.

“OK sweetheart, if you’re sure you’re OK, I’ve got a call to make.”

She ambled from my room but I knew she was going to try and contact Doctor Ames. This last couple of days seemed to have aged her and I didn’t like it. Not being her usual sunny and effusive self was not how I wanted my mother to be. For both our sakes we had to get to the bottom of all this soon.


I looked out of my bedroom window at the mid-morning scene and was surprised to see how busy it all was. It’s easy to think when it’s only me, or mum and me, then that’s the world, but the truth is, life doesn’t stop just because you’re having problems.

Now I was attuned to what was going on outside the noise was most welcome. Kids were playing in the street, riding bikes or shuffling along on skateboards. A bunch of teenagers were bouncing a ball and obviously heading for a game of footy. A couple of women with toddlers were chatting by the stump of what’s left of the lightning tree. Joggers and pram pushers, dog walkers and deliverymen, young, old, male and female - all people going about their business with their own cares and worries but still ‘just getting on with it’.

I ran my hand over the soft fullness of my fresh nappy and realised I was just getting on with it as well, only my getting on with it included a thick, thick nappy, which perhaps should have worried me but didn’t.

I was surprised that the blackout had had such little effect on me. I mean, of course it did have an effect; I did have a headache but was more worried about mum than myself. Thankfully, the soft cushion of padding had calmed and soothed any anxiety like it had always done.

Mum was taking a lot of grief on herself for something that happened all those years ago and I’d seen the guilt etched in her features. I’m sure dad and Jen had noticed but perhaps were too polite to mention it. Although, maybe they had and I just didn’t know it.

In fact, she was blaming herself for everything that has happened to me since then and, despite my joke, I couldn’t let her take that much blame. Perhaps it was simply that I liked nappies?

There, I’ve said it.

I picked up a pair of blue plastic pants and pulled them over the soft fabric and then found the holiday pair of blue shorts and a darker blue sweat shirt. I felt comfortable once I’d fished a pair of blue trainers from under my bed and checked myself out in the mirror. The guy looking back may appear young but there was a hint of determination that had not often been there.

I wasn’t sure what I was determined about but not going...

I heard mum answer a knock at the front door, which cut into my train of thought, when she shouted up... “Peter’s here.”

“OK, coming.” And I went down to greet my friend.


Pete and I have been mates for over ten years. We were at school and in the same class together and he’s probably the only friend from school I still meet up with. He knows about my wearing nappies because he used to sleep over fairly regularly when we were kids. His mum and dad were going through a divorce and he sought (and received) sanctuary at our house. I think both his parents were glad he had a friend he could rely on and get him away from their constant bickering.

I’ve never tried to hide the fact that sometimes (I don’t want you thinking I was permanently attached to a nappy), if things got on top of me (besides storms), I wet the bed. I never hid it from him. To begin with he was shy about it, then got curious and finally tried it overnight when we were eleven. It was quite a thrill to see someone else my age wearing a nappy but I didn’t tell him that only alluded to the fact that I thought he looked OK. I woke up wet, he didn’t and as far as I know, his curiosity was satisfied because he never asked to try them again. Also, as far as I know, he’s never let on to anyone else.

I checked in with mum and she was still on the phone although indicated by mime she’d be OK if I went out. Pete now lived at home with his mum (dad long gone) and a new baby sister, thanks to his mother’s boyfriend Sam. Although there’s talk of marriage no date has yet been set and Pete isn’t the biggest fan of his mum’s choice. However, it’s not because of anything he’s said or done, in fact he’s quite an amiable guy. I think Pete thinks no one is good enough for his mother and after the last disaster doesn’t want her to end up with another ‘wrong ‘un’. However, he loves his little sister and I suppose he’ll want her to have a proper mum and dad.

Anyway, we didn’t have anything particularly planned so we just wandered around in the pleasant weather catching up. I had a lot to tell him and he seemed fascinated about the tree strike. Of course he knew about it, everyone in our area did, but he hadn’t observed the event like I had. Once I started on about the consequences to my witnessing the event he wondered how I’d coped at all with constantly wet pants. Of course I had to reveal that I still needed more than a pair of tighty-whities to combat the flood and showed him (privately) the plastic pants hiding my thick personal protection.

“Hell that looks comfy.” He said with a smile, whilst idly patting my slightly bulky bottom.

I laughed back in agreement. I like Pete a lot.


We walked up and past the stump and said our hellos to the folk we knew. In fact, I’m not sure whether the slight bulge under my shorts was noticeable but didn’t see any reaction as we passed by. I was enjoying the rub of the thick cotton as we sauntered along and could feel the plastic of my pants slide against the fabric of my shorts... it gave me a little buzz.

Although he was my best friend I didn’t mention that I was seeing a psychiatrist or that I might need my brain tested, I didn’t want him to think I was in some way damaged goods.

Peter’s a good few inches taller than me and was wearing jeans with rips at the knee. He’s always fashionable and had, as far as I remember, quite a following from the girls in class. He wasn’t overly sporty except in one area, swimming, where he was unbelievably quick. We had a small school team that went into competitions but in truth, we only had Pete, who usually won his heats. I have a photograph of him and me somewhere, he’s wearing his tiny green school Speedos, we’re fourteen and I’m hugging him as he’d just won a final.  It’s strange that I’d never thought about it until that moment, but I suppose he was a bit of a hero as well as a friend.

Pete’s main gossip was that he had got Catherine, his little sister, to say her first word ‘Pee’, which he was convinced was her trying to say his name. Also he was dreading having to go off to University if he got the results expected and leaving mum to, well, be without him for the first time in their lives.

“You don’t have any jobs going at your place do you?” He asked as a sort of general enquiry, but I wasn’t sure he meant it.

“Not that I know of in our little section but,” I looked to see if he was serious, “I can always ask if you’d like me to.”

“I envy you... you know... actually having a job. If I go to uni for three years and then have to start looking... you know I have absolutely no idea what I want to do...” He sounded exasperated with having to think about his future.

I was slightly taken aback by the fact he said he envied me. A shiver of pleasure shot up my spine but decided best not to make too much of it.

“Well perhaps you can go into teaching babies to talk.” I humorously volunteered.

“Well I have learned to change a nappy so, you know where to come if you need...” he patted my padding.

We both sort of laughed but this was the first time he’d mentioned my nappies as such and I began to wonder what that would be like. Hell, the office changes me so... what would it be like if...?

Uh-oh... how the hell did that happen?

This was a strange sensation because it had never happened at any time when I’d been changed in the office by my work mates. There was no build up, there was no warning but there was a warm splurge in my nappy, which I hoped I didn’t have to explain.

I quickly rearranged my padding for more comfort. Then felt guilty for imagining such a thing and hoped Pete hadn’t noticed my excitement at his suggestion.

As it was he hadn’t really wanted a job he just craved someone to talk to about his fears so between us, we had one hell of a ramble... both physically and verbally. 

We must have spent a good couple of hours just wandering around and despite my recent blackout didn’t feel all that bad. Although, I did feel my nappy getting warm as we passed the lightning tree stump for the second time. However, I was heading home so no need to worry.

Giggling at their own bravery there were two little kids jumping on and off the newly levelled remnant. I could tell they were both thickly padded and wondered if they were also wet like me. Surely it wasn’t just me that the tree, even in its current state, had an effect on.

Pete had to do something with his mother and sister that afternoon, so arranged to see each other later in the week... schoolwork permitting.


Until I got in and chatted to mum I hadn’t realised how long it had been since I’d had a really good long talk with anyone other than family and work mates. In the past couple of years, since getting a job, I think I can count the times that I’d met up with any of my school mates on one hand. I’m not sure if this was my doing or theirs, all I do know is that Peter is the only one I see now.

In all our up-dating I’d forgotten to mention seeing Trinny and her fashion faux pas as she walked along the beach after having sex with her boyfriend. It made me smile as I remembered the scene and knew it would have had Pete in stitches. However, that would have to wait because mum came up and told me that she and Doctor Ames had been talking and the blackout had moved things on. She was able to organise a session at the hospital with a neurologist for Tuesday afternoon.

Typical of mum, she’d already called Mrs Dewhurst to clear me taking Monday and Tuesday off. I wasn’t sure how much she told her but wanted to keep an eye on me until the doctor had checked everything out.

It seemed things had moved on a pace since I’d been out and it had all been done without any consultation with me and to be honest, I was feeling a tad annoyed. I know, I know, I’ve been acting like a little kid for some time now so why would I think I should be involved now... but I was.

However, there looked to be some sign of relief on mum’s face now she had things underway, so I said nothing. Also, and this is another point, I was wet and needed mum to take care of it like she’d always done. Now wasn’t the time to tell her I was an eighteen year old adult who should be making his own decisions.


On Sunday we had a downpour, which seemed to signal the end of summer. In fact, the ground had got so dry there was flooding in various towns, villages and cities right across the country. We were fine, well, except that a local electrical substation somehow got flooded and took the power out for several hours. Mum, me and Jen played board games, whilst dad grumbled that his one day off (when he had planned to play golf) had been ruined. Jen also beat us all at Monopoly, which I’m sure just added to his woe.

As usual, I was still wearing shorts around the house to conceal my nappy but added a t-shirt and jumper as the temperature had dropped a little. So, apart from the weather nothing much changed.

The family had been brought up to date about my blackout and the fact that I was going for some tests. Mum let Jenny in on the reasons she was so worried, my sister’s reply was “Well I hope you never dropped me.” She was joking of course but I saw mum stiffen a little before her own reply. “I did but you just bounced.”

Both dad and Jen asked if I was nervous about these tests and I said “No not really” but the constant wet nappy meant I was but tried to put on a brave face. The thing was, mum had insinuated that when I was three I may well have suffer some kind of brain trauma and that information had sent more than a little flurry of worry down my spine and into my bladder. Certainly, over the last few weeks, things had happened I couldn’t explain though in general I thought I’d managed quite well. Mum also must have thought so because she never said anything (although might have suspected something, only not what she was now faced with).

The wearing of a nappy has never been a problem, nor have plastic pants, so that’s something I just accepted... but now? Was it all connected? Well, now they wanted to check my brain and I’d had a blackout so... were things getting worse?

Mum didn’t want me to go anywhere without one of the family being around just in case of another blackout, which was OK with me as I had no plans. However, that meant I had more time to myself and the internet can be a terrible thing if you start looking up ‘symptoms’. So I went up to my room, sat at the computer and started searching for... I wasn’t sure what but, as I was sitting in a nice thick nappy and clear plastic pants, I felt completely at ease.

However, surfing the net was a huge mistake because Sunday evening, I read about something called Hydrocephalus, and decided that was what I had. I have to admit that by this time I’d scanned so much I was more than a little confused and might have been attributing ailments and symptoms to both opinions and medical facts, not a good combination in my view. However, I’d taken so much ‘info’ in and not separated the various sites, by the end I was sure that: incontinence, lack of sleep, blackouts, memory loss, anxiety and the weather were all down to this one thing – Hydrocephalus.

Of course I had no idea if that was the case but it scared me so much that I inadvertently filled my nappy without knowing I had until I got up and felt the mess I’d made. Even the smell only hit me once I moved and looked down at the front of my plastic pants which looked fine, yet I could feel the squishy mass dragging down the back. I picked up a couple of disposables as replacements and awkwardly made my way to the bathroom and hoped to clean myself up before anyone else noticed.

I was quite embarrassed.


As Tuesday afternoon approached, and despite me saying to everyone I was OK, my nether regions were almost constantly wet. Thankfully, I’d had no further blackouts or memory problems. I tried to hide my apprehension but something else was telling my bladder otherwise. I arrived at the ‘Neurological Dept– Clinical observance’ and was greeted by Doctor Ames and Doctor Sanjid Mandip, who I took to straight away as he had a similar friendly accent as Mrs Patel at the office. Mum had insisted on being with me every step of the way, which was just as well because I needed a change before we entered the pristine white office. We did that in a handicapped toilet on the ground floor; thankfully no one was waiting when we exited.

Over the past few days I’d tried to drink and eat as little as possible but I still managed to pee with alacrity. However, mum said it might be worse if I was dehydrated so insisted I took regular sips of water. I felt a little light-headed when I entered the office.

After a few pleasantries the neurological doctor talked me through what was going to happen and what they could discern from these tests. The first thing was an EEG (Electroencephalography), which he said measured neuron activity. I pretended I knew and was fine about it all but in truth... wanted to run a mile. My original idea of just getting on with it disappearing leaving me mesmerised by all the electronic equipment.

Laura Ames said she would ask some questions like she normally did and, with the helmet they’d placed on my head, would be able to see how my brain reacted. I tried to think back to episodes of House or Casualty or  Grey’s Anatomy to see if I remembered anything but really, I just wanted to get it over with and then go home. Suddenly, I felt slightly afraid and wanted mummy, erm, mum but thankfully didn’t cry out for her, it was all in my head.

Thoughts of Dr Brown Bear from Peppa Pig entered my head (I used to watch her with Jen when she was little) and I immediately felt less stressed. However, I was aware of the sensors in the helmet picking up on my brain waves and wondered if an image of Peppa and the doctor would appear on screen. I didn’t pursue that thought as Doctor Laura started her questions again. She’d told me we’d be going over some old ground but she wanted to see how my brain reacted. I was in her hands so mum watched, whilst Doctor Mandip monitored the, erm, monitor.

At one point Laura asked if I used the nappy to masturbate, a question she’d never asked before, and one that took me by surprise. She assured me that it was a perfectly normal enquiry and no one would think any less if I did. I saw her watch the monitor as I thought about the question for a few seconds. My bladder flooded my nappy and I felt the warmth grow but wasn’t sure if it was from the stream of pee or embarrassment.

Apparently, the monitor peaked for a moment but I answered that it happened occasionally but not usually. Of course I was trying not to think of my recent encounter with Peter but that was all I could think about. I just hoped they couldn’t tell.

A host of other similar sexual questions followed which I answered as truthfully as I dare with mum looking on. She didn’t seem perturbed by any of them and neither did the doc who carried on regardless. I just sat there in a flooded nappy glad that my plastic pants were keeping me from leaking right there in hospital. I wouldn’t want them observing that in this observance unit.


After about thirty minutes she had images and a printout of my reactions and whilst she studied that and chatted to mum, I was escorted down the hall to the MRI unit for a scan. I was greeted there by a couple of nurses (or technicians) who again talked me through what was about to happen. As I slid into the chamber Doctor Mandip joined us and shielded himself in a little cubicle. I was given some headphones and told that as the machine can make people feel a bit claustrophobic there’d be music to help me relax and an emergency button should it all get too much for me.

They asked me to lay as still as possible and they’d talk via the headphones if they needed me to move or if they were going to change any of the settings, so not to worry.

I hadn’t had time to get a change so lay there in a saturated nappy hoping no one would be able to tell (I wasn’t certain exactly what an MRI could detect). Anyway, the music started to play and it was nursery rhymes set to music. I didn’t know if they were taking the piss or a young kid had been in there before me but that’s what I got. As it was, Doctor Brown Bear entered my thoughts again and the anxiety of being in such an enclosed space left me.

I’m not sure how long I was in there for because I think I drifted off for a while but eventually the machine stopped and I was let out.


Back in Clinical Observance we all met up. I could see mum and Laura had been having a discussion whilst I was away.  They had forced smiles on their faces so whatever had gone on must have been pretty intense. Their polite enquiries as to how it had gone were more for show than a need to know. I wondered what had been going on.

Meanwhile, Doctor Mandip entered the room and had things fed through to another screen on his desk.

He started pointing to an image of my brain from the scan, talking about ventro something or other here and prefrontal do-dahs there. I had no idea what an amygdala was (he even spelt it out but it didn’t help) but it seemed important. So, although the medical stuff passed me by, the upshot was... there was a dark stain on my brain.

Brain damage immediately shot through my damaged brain.

I was shaken but the doctor smiled and said I shouldn’t worry (how often had I been told that... and now... there was something definitely I needed to worry about). Apparently, it was an area that wasn’t reacting like normal but wasn’t a huge problem. However, they would study all these results together and plan a course of action if one was needed.

‘Of course action was needed’ my damaged brain screamed but I just sat there numb feeling my nappy gain even more weight.

That’s when I must have passed out. My anxiety level had hit a peak and I came too with the doctor and a nurse faffing over me... unfortunately it wasn’t Doctor Brown Bear (that would have been fun) I was sucking my thumb and the low mewling was also coming from me sounding like a wounded kitten. Mum looked concerned but Doctor Laura had disappeared.

Mum spoke to the doctor explaining this was exactly how I reacted as a three year-old when the storm scared me. He typed stuff into the computer and mumbled something about it explaining...

I was still a bit zonked out but heard him say to her that it could be possible that whatever the injury was, certain information just wasn’t being transmitted or received and that possibly (and he kept stressing the possibility) my brain had found another pathway... and possibly (again) might be short-circuiting under stressful conditions.......

There again, I may have dreamt all that and in fact none of it happened because moments later I woke up in a side room, on a doctor’s examination table, where mum was just finishing changing my nappy.

“Oh sweetie... you’ve been through a lot today, let’s get you home.” The look of concern was back but so was the love that she always showed when changing me.

“Have they done all they need to?” I quietly enquired.

“For the moment love but they have to check a few more things. Having said that, the doctor says, they have all the information they need, they just need to pour over it to make a final diagnosis.”

“What did Doctor Laura say?”

“Do you need to know right now,” she sounded a bit drained so I just shook my head and, with a fresh thick nappy in place, we set off home.

* * *

Doctor Laura Ames                                                                                   Case AT - 20001

Notes and observations

          Doctor Mandip has now checked the Neuroimaging and compared the readings against the MRI scan. He had my psychological report and witnessed for himself some of the problems that Anthony presented with.

          The scan identified some damage to the cerebral cortex. A part of his brain has been impaired but the EEG confirmed that the nervous system controlling bladder functions appears to have remapped a course which can become short-circuited at times of stress.

          Although the damage is small the scarring has suppressed these and possibly other, as yet unrealised, functions though synaptic activity still clearly registers.

          Doctor Mendip is of the opinion that surgical action is not needed unless the patient’s symptoms markedly deteriorate.

          This will be a relief to everyone.


          Anthony has recently been under extreme stress owing to witnessing a particularly violent thunder storm. This reaction related back to an undiagnosed head trauma he received when three years old during a similar event.

          His parents were unaware of the trauma Anthony suffered, but it would appear that at times of high anxiety memory of that incident becomes the main focus and there is a return to this early juvenile state.

          Anxiety, whether caused by weather conditions, fear or concern over day to day occurrences have led to a failure, in part, of the patient’s neurological impulses. Thus impairing his ability to control certain bodily functions, which in turn leads him to seek security and comfort in areas he feels safe.

          This, together with the reinforcement over many years that the wearing of protection to control the problem is required, has indelibly stamped this course of action in his mind.

          This is because, according to his mother, when his occasional bouts of incontinence started, it became the easiest form of security to administer. Therefore the first and quickest line of defence, which has not only become the norm but also the most desired.

          Other than when he was three and his incontinence lasted for a number of months, he usually overcomes these bouts in a few weeks and is then back to wearing age appropriate underwear. This time, the constant and unexpected incontinence has increased in volume and duration.       

          Although he works with computers, in many ways Anthony, at eighteen years of age, still hasn’t really grown into full adulthood. He’s a likeable young man not known for displays of anger or temper tantrums. However, stress leaves him open to lack of bladder control, which may over the years have dented his self-confidence.

          His reliance on his mother, which is a wonderful bond, is also one that may have led to the underdevelopment of his own abilities and the need to be looked after. She has never withheld in this area, always being keen to help and encourage her son... even still being the one to change his nappies.

          Because of how long this method of coping with his periods of wetness has been going on, no one of the family is surprised to see an eighteen year-old wondering around the house wearing bulky protection. It is simply accepted.

          The recent ‘blackouts’ can be assigned to the anxiety Anthony has experienced since the lightning strike, which I have to agree with his mother, appears to have been the main cause for his recent, more noticeable problems. The mental impact of this event now and in the past, cannot be understated.

          Having spoken to his parents we have approved a process to try and get Anthony to recognise when anxiety arises and ways for him to calm and manage that apprehension. We need to guide him away from his dependence on protection and attempt to break the link between current worries and his childhood trauma.

          My main diagnosis is that most of the recent ‘developments’ are psychosomatic undoubted brought on by the witnessing of the ‘close call’ lightning strike. We will develop new coping mechanisms for him to employ.

          Outcome will depend on how attached Anthony is to wearing protection. At the moment he doesn’t regard the wearing of protection at his age as any different than wearing a pair of boxer shorts.

          Anthony is at ease with how he looks and dresses and seems to regard the wearing of protection as a necessity. (If I wet I need a nappy – is how he puts it)

          According to his mother shorts are the main item of clothing he wears both at home and when out and about. It’s his preference which gives him an even younger appearance than just his lack of stature. This is another issue we need to explore.

          I think because of the lack of any medical or psychological assessment over his lifetime (when I believe his problems could have been caught earlier) a series of sessions with an accomplished physiotherapist will hopefully help ease Anthony forward.

          Anthony will have a further EEG assessment in six months’ time.

# # # be continued


Part 21

I suppose the main thing was that Doctor Ames had been proved correct in her assumption that there was more to my situation than just being frightened of thunder. Indeed, that there were other underlying factors to do with both physical and mental issues... and a new one was about to be added... nurture.

At the hospital I’d found the entire procedure both thrilling and scary. I was overcome by the fact they’d discovered scarring but relieved they didn’t have to drill into my skull to fix it. Doctor Mandip was nice and reassuring and I liked the way he talked me through all that they’d uncovered. He was helpful explaining the colourful images of how my brain worked and what part was doing what; it gave the impression there was a kids TV show going on in there.

However, it seems that Doctor Ames and I would be seeing a lot of one and other over the coming months. She and mum had a very long talk and I think between them they’ve delved deeply into my past and uncovered some things of which I wasn’t necessarily aware. I could tell that the psychiatrist had got into mum’s head as well because her attitude around me altered.

I gathered from little snippets of over-heard conversation she had with dad that the psychiatrist had put mum on the spot. A brief outline to what was said – mum was to blame for rushing to put me in a nappy at the first sign of incontinence and not taking me to a paediatrician or doctor when I began to regularly wet when I got stressed.

Putting me in a nappy may have been a speedy way of dealing with my anxiety-wetting but, and it was a big BUT, according to Laura Ames, it bordered on neglect by not sorting out the problem, merely hiding it.

I think mum would have rounded on her if she also hadn’t thought it was all her fault and seemed keen to do all she could to remedy the situation.

If I’m truthful, I’m a little worried because mum has already said that she foresees changes.

“Wouldn’t it be nice not to wake up wet in the morning, or worry about having to wear a nappy all the time?”

I mean, of course it would...

“Not being afraid whenever a thunder storm was forecast?” She emphasised with seriousness.

I nod in agreement but...

Mum kept up a litany of things that would be better, though I could tell she was only echoing the psychiatrist’s thoughts.

What if Doctor Laura changes my personality?  

What if she makes it so I don’t like certain people... or things?

The bottom line is... I’m mainly worried that at the end of all this... I won’t be me.


Mum started making changes straight away. The main change was... that from now on... she wouldn’t be supervising my changes. I’d have to learn to do it myself. That also meant the same at the office... no more community nappy changes.

“Sorry Anthony but from now on, nappies are your responsibility. So, you’ll have to change yourself and be responsible for washing and drying all your protection... I won’t be buying any more supplies of disposables.”

She said all this just a couple of mornings after my hospital visit. It didn’t help that I was lying in a double thick soaked nappy and was caught more than a little off-guard. I knew mum had said there would be some adjustments but this was a very dramatic and unexpected development.

“Oh, erm, why... can’t you, errr, ummm...?” I sleepily tried to argue my position.

“Doctor Ames has told me to let you deal with your problem yourself, give you room to understand what’s happening and to let you... you know... sort it on your own.”

“But, I mean, I like you, ummm.” I was speechless wondering why mum didn’t want to help anymore and why my psychiatrist had prescribed such a course of action.

“She thinks it will be better for you to... well...” She didn’t carry on with what she was going to say and it was only later I realised she was going to say... “grow-up.”

I had to get up to go to work but I felt a burden had been placed on my shoulders and the motivation to go into the office, for the first time since I got the job, wasn’t there. So, not only did I have to sort my own nappy... the support that had been so willingly offered by my colleagues was also to be taken away. I’d grown to like the fuss and attention I received from my fellow workers, it made me feel special.

I mean, we’d even talked about it in Doctor Ames’s office... how nice and special it was and how wonderful because all my colleagues had been so supportive. I hadn’t realised just how unhelpful she’d thought my work mates had been.

I waddled to the bathroom, the nappy hefty after my nightly flood. It flopped heavily to the tiled floor and with a huge sigh I turned on the shower to wake up properly. Once finished I scurried back to my bedroom but more or less knew mum wouldn’t be there to help. Lazily drying myself I looked around to see what supplies remained; only a couple of white disposables and three of the joyful cartoon ones were left. I thought that was a shame because I’d really gotten into wearing those in particular.

There was still a pile of thick fabric nappies stacked up on the dresser and piles of plastic pants, pins, lotion and powder available for use. Of course, it was only recently mum had let me wear disposables, she being against the landfill side of a used one. However, I knew I couldn’t just put on my briefs and all would be well, so I struggled to get myself pinned into a thick cotton fleecy nappy and pulled up a pair of white shiny plastic pants to hold it firmly in place.


The weather had turned much cooler so shorts were out of the question even if they did hide things better, so I sorted out a pair of longs and got ready for the bus ride into town. I put a couple of spares in my backpack and, because I was running late left to catch the bus without so much as a ‘goodbye’ to mum.

If I’m honest I was pretty annoyed with her and Doctor Laura, things had moved on at pace since my scan and I wasn’t quite prepared for just how it would affect me.

However, because I’d put my protection on myself, I’d never been more conscious of what I was wearing. Every step seemed to convince my brain that the thickness wasn’t a problem because the fabric and plastic combined to make its presence known with each little movement. It was both stimulating and security.

There was no question – although I’d worn protection loads and loads of times – this was the first time I had a raging hard on all the way to work. I had no idea why suddenly, something I’d taken for granted, and rarely thought of in a sexual way, was making me feel so horny. All the way into town the phrase that then kept repeating in my head was “Do you masturbate in your nappy?”

Well thank you Doctor Laura because now that’s all I could think about. It probably didn’t help that the nappy was loose (not quite the tight way mum pins it on) so I was being buffeted and caressed by the soft material all the time. I felt a little giddy by the sensations the material and the bus’s vibrations were sending to various parts of my body.


Sadly, in the office there seemed to be on a downer, a blanket of... I don’t know what, just an impression the place had lost some of the joy I’d taken for granted. Of course I might have been projecting something I was feeling onto them but the atmosphere had seemed to have dropped.

Deidre said how sad she thought it was that they weren’t allowed to help out any more but intimated she was happy to continue if I wanted. However, with Mrs Dewhurst telling me first thing that from ‘now on’ (how I was beginning to hate those two words) I couldn’t expect anyone else to help when I needed a change; they were all under strict instructions from mum. Otherwise, she said quite upbeat, nothing has changed. I wasn’t sure if she realised just how ironic her choice of words were.

Anyway, to try and avoid any conflict, for me or for my colleagues, I tried my best to control any wetting. I made a point of visiting the loo as often as I could but that had a detrimental influence on just how effective the tightness of my nappy was. Oddly enough, I was able to keep my nappy relatively dry until the bus ride home, when I felt the usual warmth. But guess what... it was excited again so the rest of the ride wasn’t all that bad. By the time I walked through the front door at home I was feeling exhausted but in dire need of a change.


Mum was near the front door as I came in.

“Hello love, had a good day at work?” She smiled as if nothing had altered.

“Different.” Was all I could muster in reply.

“Oh, erm, well your tea will be on the table in ten minutes.”

“I need to change...” I shrugged and went to my room.

I saw her hesitate as she nearly followed me up the stairs but that natural response was broken and simply returned to the kitchen.

I was pretty glad really, I didn’t want her to see the sticky state the wet nappy was in. It was my secret.

I began to wonder why, after all this time, my thick nappy now meant something different to me. It wasn’t like I’d never exploded in a nappy before but now... well it seemed that’s what it was there for. Why this had never occurred to me before I will never know because it felt really, really, good.

Up in my room I shrugged off pants, folded them neatly and hung them up. I slipped out of my shirt and jumper and was left wearing just my soiled nappy and rather shiny plastic pants. I wandered over to the window and looked out. “This is where it all started” I began to tell myself. “Weeks ago and that...”

Suddenly I saw again that tree burst into flame and the loud crack of thunder that rattled my brain. Except. Except. EXCEPT...

Look, I wasn’t shaking. I hadn’t pissed myself, well not any more than was already there. Even with the sound of thunder still running around my head, I was thinking clearly... or was I?

I moved from the window and stood staring at myself in the mirror. I peered closely into my own eyes. I guess I was trying to see which areas of my brain were lighting up like they had on the EEG. I gazed intently wondering if I got close enough I’d be able to detect those flashes of neurons going about their business... mapping and remapping my thoughts.

I felt myself being pulled closer into my own reflection, my nose all but touching the glass but I detected none of those sparks of activity behind my eyes and felt strangely let down.

A sudden touch on my shoulder pulled me from sinking any further into my image.

“Anthony, Anthony, sweetie... we’ve been waiting twenty minutes for you... are you coming down... are you OK?”

The focus of my deep scrutiny quickly moved and I could see mum looking concerned over my shoulder.

“Yes, errrmmm, OK, fine just... you know... checking...” I stammered guiltily for being up close to the mirror like that. “Just wondering about those new pathways the doctor was talking about.”

This didn’t seem a bad answer considering.

Mum just made a sort of “OK then” noise but was still taking in the way I looked. It was only on closer inspection I realised I was all but naked - the thick shiny plastic pants that still hid my mucky nappy... perhaps I should have changed first.

“Are you planning on wearing them all night?” She half smiled and I was a bit confused, did she want to change me?

“No, I, umm, just got thinking about what the doctor said about my brain making adjustments and, well, I think it might have just made another.”

That seemed a better answer than admit I was trying to see the colourful bits of my brain lighting up.

Mum rubbed my neck and sighed. “C’mon sweetie, come and get your tea and then we can discuss things if you want.”

I did want. I wanted to take mum to task about her announcement of no more nappy changes. I wanted to tell her the office didn’t seem as friendly now. I wanted to tell her about my most recent discovery of thinking about the lightning tree and not panicking. Oh yes there was a lot to talk about but in the end I reached for a pair of shorts, pulled on a jumper and joined the family at the table.


As we ate our meal, a rather delicious creamy Roquefort, mushroom and walnut tagliatelle, nothing appeared different. Dad was mainly silent, Jen was gossiping about school, mum was saying that Mrs Symanski had called saying how she’d had enough of her sister and was ready to come home. No subtle hinting as far as she was concerned... she expected mum to go and collect her.

“So,” she smiled at us all around the table, “anyone fancy a trip to the coast this weekend?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Dad gruffly responded.

“No chance,” was Jen’s equally dismissive answer.

“Well sweetie,” mum looked in my direction, “looks like it’s me and you again?” She raised her eyebrows as if it was both a question and something taken as read. “I’m sure she’d be hurt if she didn’t have her favourite neighbour there...”

“Mum, do I have to?” I asked rather more sullenly than intended.

She looked a bit sad.

“I thought you liked our trip to the seaside.”

I had. I’d absolutely loved it but things had changed. As of this morning mum, you changed things and, and, and... I wanted to scream but of course I stayed mute.

“C’mon sweetie, keep your old mum company. It can be a long drive and I like to...”

She could see the grimace on my face and her encouraging smile faded.

“Oh OK, if you don’t want to come I can’t make you but we could go on Saturday, stay at the hotel and pick her up Sunday afternoon...”

I loaded my fork and carried on eating without replying further.


Mum does make lovely meals and despite the mood I was in felt pretty shitty at being in that mood and not telling her how much I enjoyed the pasta. The thing was, sitting in my used nappy was getting uncomfortable and the slight wriggling around was making a noisy crinkle... more so than usual. My head was full of arguments but didn’t want to say anything in case I said something I’d regret later. I’m not one for confrontation or arguments normally but my head was buzzing.

It all just felt strange and un-necessary.

Mum and Jen cleared away the empty plates, dad retired to the living room and I thought it about time to... oh... yes it was time because I was experiencing another warm flush and I wasn’t sure just how much more the nappy could absorb.

Back in my room I desperately wanted to change into the Dino disposable but, as I only had three left, decided to keep them for special occasions... if there were to be any. I grabbed one of the super-thick fabric nappies off the dresser, a pair of thick rubber pants, four pins and headed for the bathroom.

I shucked off my shorts, wriggled down the plastic pants and the entire soaked nappy drooped between my thighs. It was heavy so just let it fall to the floor with a sodden squelch. I looked in the laundry bin and saw I had a couple of other items in there to wash so I knew that was my next job (oh, and rinse through the several pairs of vinyl pants that also needed attention) only after I’d cleaned up and fastened myself into a fresh nappy.

As I’d done it once I was sure I could make it tighter than the morning’s attempt but the thicker rubber pants were going to be my insurance to hold everything in place for the night. I put on a large baggy t-shirt that just about covered my bulky bottom and sauntered downstairs to the machine. It surprised me to think that this was something I’d never even thought about doing previously.

There was a pre-soak setting and then it would automatically run a wash and spin cycle. I set it to do all that so by the morning, if the weather was fine, I could hang everything out on the line before I went off to work. I was pretty pleased with my pre-planning and was returning back up to my room when Jen asked for some help with her homework. She rarely did this so I knew it must have been important and, as I was only going to read in bed, went into her room where I spent a good couple of hours.

Of course being used to the sight she never mentioned my rubber pants but I was pleased that I felt so secure behind them. It was nice to be completely at ease with my sister and I felt good that I was able to help her. Later mum and dad came in to kiss us ‘goodnight’ and told us not to work too late but as we worked through the problems our conversation eventually turned personal.

I was sitting on her bed dressed in a nappy and rubber pants, whilst she, even in her pyjamas, looked like she’d just stepped off a catwalk. She asked me more about the tests I’d had at the hospital. What I thought about it all and did I blame mum? I said I wanted to blame her but it’s difficult to blame someone who just didn’t know something might have happened when there was no obvious sign.

She pointed to the large white bulge between my legs. “And does that ever worry you?”

I shrugged my shoulders but I noticed her emphasis on the word ‘ever’.

“It’s never bothered me because I know I wear it for a reason. I think I would hate it more if I was piss... peeing... all over the place.” She was far more sophisticated than me and yet here I was, trying to protect my fourteen year-old sister from such a swear word as ‘piss’. I must have appeared ridiculous.

She looked and raised her eyebrows much the same way mum did when I’d acted a bit stupid.

“What I mean is,” she started on me again, “here you are, eighteen, and still wearing a nappy. I mean, I don’t think there is anyone else I know who wouldn’t think that strange or at least be resentful about it.”

She waited for an answer but I wasn’t sure I could give her the one I thought she wanted.

“As long as I’ve known you,” she carried on, “at some point for one reason or another you have been returned to nappies and I’ve never heard one word of complaint... or... seen an ounce of regret.”

There was no demand for answers in her voice, she was simply stating what she saw as facts and I couldn’t refute her on any of it.

“Ermpphhh?” was my initial response. What I should have said was that I didn’t mind wearing a nappy because it gave, and continues to give, comfort and security.

I ran my hand over its slippery surface as if to confirm what I was thinking... it did.

The conversation then went to the fact that now I knew why I wet... what was I going to do about it?

That was more difficult because I wasn’t sure. For some reason I simply thought that between them, mum and Doctor Ames would have come to some conclusion and that would be it.

She wondered what I thought of having to see a psychiatrist who had suspected something was wrong so quickly.

This was not the girl I’d watched Peppa Pig with... she was so much more adult than me.

As we talked I was surprised how much our chat was putting things into perspective and, although I may have aided Jen with her maths, she’d more than repaid the favour. Her observation, and criticisms, were not meant to hurt but certainly made me think. I returned to my own room, it was past eleven by then, so slipped under the covers with a different awareness of myself.


The power chords and screaming guitar had brought the song to an end. The huge arena had burst into wild applause and I was taking a bow. Dressed like I’d just been on an expedition through a desert (or I could have been a scout), the audience loving every movement, swish and wink as I barrelled into the next song... these were my adoring fans.  

On lead guitar was Pete, looking exactly like he had the last I saw him and the rest of the band made up of school mates and musicians I’d seen on TV, we rocked the stadium as we ploughed into another of our rock classics.

Slowly the scene dissolved and the screaming fans became a line of dolls, stuffed animals and my old action figures. The stadium had shrunk to a large playpen where both Pete and I were frolicking. Now we were just a couple of nappy-clad babies giggling and crawling around, hugging toys and building bricks; he with a bulbous nappy restricting much movement, which was covered in shiny plastic nursery print pants and me in an even thicker nappy and large white rubber pants that glowed in the lights.

We had a toy screen in the playpen that was flashing 2.13 at us but we were just happy to push a ball between each other’s outstretched legs. The scene pulled back further and we were reduced to colourful childish cartoon characters, who mum, dad and Jen were watching on TV.

“Oh, Ant would love this show.” Jen said as she watched the two of us giggling like pixies whilst we entertained ourselves.

That’s when I woke up. My clock clearly telling me the time - 2.13 - in bold blue and I could feel that I was in the process of wetting the thick padding between my legs. Although the dream was clear I just couldn’t be bothered and let my rubber pants take on the responsibility of keeping the bed dry. I rolled over and fell back to sleep.


When mum came in to wake me up for work at 7.30 I could feel the thick padding had been needed but the main thing going around my head was just how well I remembered the dream. This was unusual but it seemed so important, I thought it must have meaning though the reason completely escaped me.

My sister had asked a very important question “What was I going to do about it?” and that was also resonating around my head. As I fondled my swollen nappy I wondered if the dream had been influenced by that question. Were the two things connected?

I have to tell you here that my thinking was not forensic. It was all over the place and fluttered like a butterfly on a warm summer’s day from one blossom to the next. There was a blame game but how could I play that when I might have been as culpable as anyone else?

Up until Doctor Laura neither I, or anyone else in the family, had ever asked ourselves any of these questions, we’d simply got on with what we thought needed to be done with everyone accepting their part of keeping to the status quo... but now.  

I waddled to the bathroom and all the way through the shower and clean up I could think of nothing else. That was until mum knocked on the bathroom door and told me that the laundry had finished. It was getting late and I didn’t want to miss my bus so cut short my thoughtful meanderings and concentrated on what needed to be done.

There on the floor was still my sodden nappy, which in other circumstances mum would have removed. Now that was my job. As I picked up the sopping material and shoved it in the bin, another fact dawned on me - I was forever going to be in a circle of washing and drying nappies unless I could shrug off whatever it was that kept my bladder from permanently leaking.

Back in my bedroom I wondered if I should give my briefs a try but quickly decided that I wasn’t confident enough yet to go a day without some fortification. I grabbed a surprisingly soft nappy from the pile and went through the folding procedure that mum had done so many times. Although it still didn’t quite feel the same as when she did it, I had to go with what I’d done and knew that the tight plastic pants would hold it in place. Actually, I settled on thicker rubber ones to do that job and tottered downstairs to see breakfast set out and mum sitting drinking coffee.

“I’ve pegged out your nappies sweetie because there’s a nice breeze this morning but it might rain this afternoon. Don’t worry, I’ll be here to see to them... have you rinsed through the vinyl pants?”

“Thanks and yes, they’re hanging up in the bathroom.”

“Oh, well I’ll get them and peg them out as well... might as well let the sun do its job whilst we can.”

“I’ll go and get them.”

“Have your breakfast first love or you’ll be late for the bus.”

It’s amazing how quickly little bits of life creep in when you’re trying to solve the big picture. I instantly forgot the questions and dream and wondered if I had time to eat breakfast, pack my bag, retrieve the plastic pants and get to the bus in the next few minutes. Mum made it easy for me... despite nappies being my responsibility, she said she’d sort all that out... much to my relief.


I had another couple of days with only slightly wet nappies but I can’t say the same for the nights when I woke up absolutely soaked. My next appointment with Doctor Ames was fast approaching and other than mum (or anyone in the office) no longer changing me nothing much had changed. For some reason, after all the tests and evaluations, I thought she’d expect a complete turnaround in my wetting routine.

Six o’clock Friday and back in her office where she was all smiles and friendly welcomes but I’d become conflicted; I wasn’t sure whether I could or should trust her any more. I was worried that she was going to change me and despite my commitment to resolving my problem, I wasn’t sure if that’s what I really wanted.

“Hello Anthony, nice to see you again, take a seat.”

As last time I’d arrived straight from work so had a thick nappy (dry thanks to a late change in the toilets before I left) and the rubber pants I put my faith in to hold my feeble attempts in making the padding secure. I was getting better but I still didn’t trust myself to do the task correctly.

I was a bit more reserved and surveyed the office before I sat down. It was like I was checking for... what... I have no idea. I was just being cautious... then of course I rustled as I took a seat.

In many ways it was a silly stance to adopt because she now knew more about me than before, so if I clammed up, she would know I was doing just that. However, mum withdrawing her nappy changing had made me think badly of the doctor... it was like mum was withdrawing her love and I’d had that unconditionally all my life.

“So, how’s the nappy situation coming along?”

No messing with Doctor Laura Ames, straight in with the questions.

“Still peeing a lot at night but not so much in the day.”

I thought I’d be as direct as her but she didn’t react to my answer other than waiting for me to elaborate. We waited for a minute or so before the silence got too much and I had to explain myself.


I’m not sure if she said it at all but “And how does that make you feel?” seemed to be carried in each reply to my reply.

I eventually got around to saying that I hated the loss of mum’s love... and there it was, crying about a love I perceived I had lost when really I hadn’t. My emotions were all wrapped up in my relationship with mum and I felt that the psychiatrist had spoiled it.

I was upset, I’d had enough and wanted to go home but the child in me said I couldn’t just get up and walk away without being told I could. This was stupid, I’m eighteen, a fact I kept hammering home to her but she just wrote something down or sat back and let me carry on.

The stress levels in my head were rising and I could feel my nappy was about to take the brunt of that worry.

I was just about to explode when she said in a firm and controlling voice: “STOP.”

I felt my bladder slam shut as I looked across and she was leaning forward with a steely expression on her face.

“You can make it all stop if you want to. You can do whatever you want, you are in control.”

I gazed at her wondering what she was on about.

“You’ve let things happen because it’s easier than confronting them...”

“But I don’t like confrontation... I... I...” It was that small childish voice I’d heard so often.

“You don’t like confrontation because it’s easier not to have to do so.”

“No, no, I get stressed if...”

“Yes, yes, you pee your pants... I know... but that’s your decision.”

“What, I don’t, umm, ermmm, I don’t pee my pants on purpose.” I whined.

I almost got up to leave. Oh god this was getting worse and I couldn’t escape. This three year-old, no, eighteen year-old, couldn’t escape from my tormentor because I hadn’t been given permission.

“If you leave now it will just prove my point... you are in control. You decide your actions.”

I wavered in the chair but felt the bulky padding almost dragging me back down.

The tears were rolling down my face as I tried again to get up but I was afraid. I wanted mummy and I wanted to be away from all this, this stress... but my nappy remained dry.

She sat watching for a few moments as I tried to compose myself. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a hanky to wipe away the tears but they kept coming. She reached forward and held my hand. It was what I needed, some comfort, someone to say it was all OK, an authority figure who would help get me through this... mummy.

I felt my nappy warming up... the flood had started.

# # # be continued

Part 22

I woke up as usual Saturday morning to a well soaked nappy. It would be the third change I’d had since I got home Friday night and despite Doctor Laura saying I had control - this just proved I hadn’t.

Last night when I got in I was feeling pretty raw. The psychiatric session had me confused because it had been quite emotional. However, I was having a hard job piecing together the exact events for it to make sense. I know I cried a lot and I know I drenched my nappy (thank heavens I hadn’t decided to wear briefs) but something else had happened during that meeting which I was unsure about. Did I cry out for my mummy?

Or worse, did I call Doctor Ames mummy?

After the session it took a few minutes to compose myself enough to catch the bus home. I didn’t change in her office but I wasn’t sure if she knew I’d wet or not. Anyway, the offer to change didn’t come up and had it, I think I would have said I was OK until I got home, which is what I did.

On the journey I kept thinking something happened, something happened but just couldn’t focus on what. Anyway, when I got in I went straight to my room, removed all my clothes and checked the sodden material between my legs. I knew it was bad and on a cursory inspection I could see that I’d had a very slight but embarrassing accident in the rear. Thankfully, it hadn’t been as explosive as others I’d had recently but still saw it as a warning.

I rushed to the loo, took a shower and pre-rinsed the messed in material like mum did. As I walked back to the room wrapped in a towel I just hoped this wasn’t a sign that things had suddenly deteriorated. I think I was feeling quite down at that moment and didn’t really know what to do.

My mind was full of something, unfortunately I couldn’t quite put my finger on what and that was bugging me.

Distractedly I entered my room and mum was waiting for me looking concerned.

“Are you alright sweetheart?”

I simply shrugged and dried myself a bit more, although in truth I was so pleased to see her.

“Things not gone too well this time?” She obviously knew from my demeanour something was up.

I shrugged again but noticed mum had laid out a fresh nappy like she used to.

“Look, I can tell you’re upset about... something (how did she know it was something?) and I don’t like seeing you like this so... let’s get you into a fresh one of these,” she said patting the soft fabric, “and then we can talk about it.”

I should have known mum would come through for me. Her understanding  my confusion had made what had gone on over the last few days not count... my stress level immediately dropped to zero.

She pulled the towel away and told me to lie out.

“Oh sweetie,” she said taking a close look at my genital area, “you’re going to have to take more care... it looks like the start of a rash... this area is looking a bit sensitive.”

Mum cared and I couldn’t have been happier as she slavered on tons of cream and bathed me in a flurry of baby powder. The nappy was soft and thick and contained a booster pad but I was so grateful to feel the welcoming embrace of fabric and her loving touch, I happily put up with the bulk. Next came the purple plastic pants, which expanded to engulf the entire thing. Once she’d finished I sat and hugged her in complete gratitude.

“Sorry mum, I’ve really missed that... I know you’re trying to wean me off... but, you know, it’s...”

“I know love and I miss it too but...” and we both hugged each other again.


I didn’t really want to talk I was just happy to be in mum’s affectionate embrace; a nappy and a hug from mum what more could I want?

“Look, I’m going to pick up Mrs Symanski tomorrow, why don’t you come with me and we can talk on the journey... besides... I’ll need some moral support for the trip back.”

We giggled because we both knew just how trying that was going to be.

Even though I didn’t want to talk right then and there, I did think that perhaps between us we could sort some of the new questions and problems that filled my head.

I agreed to go with her and then we went downstairs to grab a bite to eat and watch some TV. For once dad wasn’t surrounded with papers but reading a golfing magazine, which gave a reasonable idea what he was going to be doing  when we drove to the coast. Jenny was staying over at a friend’s house, so we watched some detective drama mum had got in to.

By ten I was almost falling asleep. In fact, I must have dozed for a few minutes because when I woke up realised I was soaked again. This time I didn’t mention it to mum because I wasn’t sure how dad would take it. So far, he hadn’t commented much on the results of my examination other than to express his sorrow that he and mum hadn’t picked up on it earlier. As always, he was supportive but I’m not sure how much mum had told him so didn’t go into any detail. Anyway, mum said we’d be setting off to the coast around ten but she’d get me up in time to have a nice big breakfast before we went.


Back in my room and I peeled myself out of the very wet padding, cleaned myself up but picked up one of the thicker, double-gusset fabric nappies and fitted that as best I could. Mentally I wasn’t in the best place to be taking any chances.

The laundry bin was quickly filling up so knew I had another job to do in the morning. There was a pair of thick clear plastic pants, which mum must have missed and had slipped behind the radiator. I used them to keep the reassuring fleecy fabric in place.

I was whacked but kept running my hand over the bulbous slippery surface thinking of how enjoyable the sensation was. My thoughts turned to when mum changed me and how, even in such a short space of time, I’d had missed that connection.

That was it... mum and me and my nappies... I drifted off thinking of this holy trinity.


I woke up before mum came in and could feel the full saturated material. I listened and there didn’t seem to be any movement in the bathroom yet so got up and waddled there to relieve myself of the saggy cargo and have a damn good clean out before the rest of the house stirred.  

Once all that was done I headed back to my room and turned on my computer and checked what the weather would be like here and by the coast for the rest of the day. We were in luck, providing everyone else didn’t decide they’d like a day at the seaside, we had picked a nice day for the retrieval of Mrs Symanski.

We weren’t planning on staying over this time, just a quick pick-up and return so decided I could wear one of my cartoon disposables and a pair of clear plastic pants under green hiking shorts. Once the disposable was in place I looked in the mirror and smiled, yeah I looked like a little kid but I loved the feel of the thick plastic coating and soft but very absorbent stuffing, I was content.

I gathered up all my used nappies from the laundry bin and took them downstairs and set the washing going and then, on impulse, decided I’d make breakfast for us all. I looked at the clock and it was coming up to 8am and knew dad would want an early start for his game of golf. In fact, I could hear him in the bathroom so got the bacon, sausage, egg and beans ready. I fancied the idea of being in some kind of control... for once.

As I bent, lifted, moved around the kitchen, my nice (childish) disposable was caressing my bum and bits. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so aroused whilst making any meal, so this was a first. Mum wandered down in her dressing gown surprised to see me dressed and ready for our journey and well underway with breakfast. She offered to help but I poured an orange juice and indicated she should just sit down.

“I’ll do this.... you just relax and then, you can get ready after you’ve eaten.”

She rested her hands on my shoulders and thanked me for being so considerate and then patted my bum. I knew she was checking but I was OK with that and just gratified she let me carry on.

Dad arrived looking just like you’d expect, I have no idea why the clothing for such a sport is so weird and colourful, he’d never wear such a combination anywhere else... mind you I was in no position to bring up any clash of colour. The crispy bacon and scrambled egg were ready at the same time so as dad sat down, I was able to serve what for me, is always the best meal. I just love my big breakfasts.


Dad was off with a thanks, a kiss on the top of my head, a pat on my padding and the advice not to forget earphones to block out Mrs Symanski. Mum cheerfully admonished him for being disrespectful about our neighbour but he just shrugged and said “You’ve been warned”. Of course, I knew exactly what to expect. However, this journey was in support of mum rather than a trip to the seaside for our own benefit.

Just before 10am we were ready. Mum wore jeans and a colourful top I was in green shorts and a pale green and white striped jumper. I thought we both looked younger than we were... it seemed a weight had been lifted from mum as well as me.

For the first few miles we’d discussed the directions and where we hoped we’d miss any traffic build-ups. Thankfully, although the roads were busy it all appeared to be flowing well.

“OK, who’s going to start?” Mum asked the question.

There was a lull in conversation and that’s when she asked the question.

“I’ll start.” She said.

I looked nervously over to her but mercifully my nappy remained dry.

“Did you know,” she queried in a voice that was filled with tease and humour... and about to reveal something I didn’t know, “when you were a bit younger, and we occasionally put you back into nappies, it was Mrs Symanski who supported such action?”

I looked at her in astonishment. “What do you mean... supported such action?”

“Well, you were about six and suddenly started wetting the bed again but we didn’t know why. Both you father and I worried that putting you back in nappies, although would solve the problem, we worried you might get upset... you being six and all.”

“But I thought, ermm...” Mum interrupted my train of thought.

“Well, I was chatting to Mrs Symanski one day and the topic came up... as it does.” She smiled trying excuse herself for spilling a family secret.

“She was so positive.”

I already knew the old lady, and I’m sure other people in the neighbourhood also knew, but I hadn’t expected her to be the one to support my need for protection.

She said that no matter at what age, if a boy needs a ‘pieluszka’, Polish for nappy, he should wear one... it’s a sensible precaution to take.

I looked at mum even more astonished, Mrs Symanski said that... our Mrs Symanski... the grumpy old lady from...?

“Yes, that Mrs Symanski.” It was as if mum was reading my mind.


“No idea but she offered loads of advice. You might not remember but she was a godsend and very helpful... brought round useful bits and bats... even babysat occasionally... and adored you.”

I shivered in my seat trying to take it all in. I just couldn’t associate the two things Mrs Symanski and my nappies.

I mean, on the last trip hadn’t she gone off on one after I peed my pants. Actually, when I thought about it she hadn’t... it was me who was embarrassed... she simply said not to worry as it could happen to anyone.


We drove on in silence for a little while then mum got back to the subject she really wanted to talk about.

“You looked really sad last night when you got in and suspect the session hadn’t gone as you hoped.”

As usual she was right on the button.

I sighed. “Yer... I cried a bit... well... I cried a lot actually.”

“Why, what happened?” Her curiosity had been pricked.

It was difficult to explain, I hadn’t quite got it organised in my head except for the fact that I was getting anxious and suddenly she’d shouted at me.

“She shouted at you?” mum asked incredulously. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Well, perhaps not shouted but commanded me to STOP.” And I slammed the palms of my hand down onto bare legs just above my knees to emphasise the point. (A stupid thing to do because it hurt but I didn’t want to change the subject so had to put up with stinging legs)

“Why did she do that?”

“Well she’d asked me so many questions I was beginning to get quite anxious – telling me I was in control; that I chose to wet. I, I, I could feel my bladder about to give way... and she shouted STOP.”

“Stop what?”

“I wasn’t sure but whatever was about to fill my nappy decided against it and my bladder tightened up.”

“Good heavens... what a thing...”

“Not only that... I felt scared and wanted to leave.”

“Did she try and stop you?”

I shrugged “No I didn’t feel I could.”

“Were you hypnotised or something?” She asked hesitantly.

“No, well I don’t think so but I felt I couldn’t leave without permission and... she hadn’t said I could.”

“Oh dear, that all sounds very dramatic.”

“Yes, I suppose it was and I burst into tears.” Mum just looked and nodded as I thought about that scene. I felt stupid and ashamed of my actions and wondered what mum made of such a display.

“What did Doctor Ames do?”

“She held my hand.” I shrugged again because I really was having trouble putting these events in some semblance of order that made sense to me. “Just like you would” I mumbled.

“What happened then?”

“I filled my nappy.”


At this admission I got a bit embarrassed. I know, stupid. I’ve been wetting myself over many years and in various circumstances, yet can’t remember the last time I felt this self-conscious over a soaked nappy.

We drove on in silence; I think mum knew I needed time to compose myself.

We turned off the main road and started down through the little villages, which led to where our passenger lived, including the one where I’d been changed on our last visit.

As we passed the car park where the deed had been executed mum cheekily asked if I needed the use of its facilities. I could see she was kidding and it did help me get back to feeling less awkward.

Now the veil I’d drawn had been lifted mum proffered an idea.

“Why do you think she shouted at you to STOP?” She actually raised her voice exactly like the psychiatrist had done.

“Erm, errr, I don’t know but it was a shock.”

“I wonder if that was the idea.” She deliberated. “I mean, she must have done it for a reason and, as she’d said you were in control, perhaps it was her way of showing you just that?”

“But I wasn’t... I’ve never been...”

“Didn’t you say you were at a high anxiety level and felt you were about to burst into your padding?”

“Yes, but I didn’t.”

“Exactly,” she said with some air of satisfaction.

“Exactly what?” I looked even more confused.

“You DIDN’T wet.”

“No, I was too shocked.”

“Precisely, don’t you see what see did?” Mum’s face was lit up like she’d just solved the riddle of the Sphinx.

I still had no idea but mum was very mobile in her seat excited that she might be on to something... the very something that eluded me.


“OK, are you going to tell me what’s made you so animated?” We were approaching the last bit of the journey that led to Mrs Symanski’s sister’s cottage.

“I think she was distracting you.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Well, think about it. She wanted to see if you were in control so she gave you another stimulus just as you were about to pee your pants right?”


“But you didn’t pee your pants did you? Instead, you were distracted by something else so perhaps that might be a solution, or at least a chance of a solution, to your wetting.”

I was left wondering if mum had gone do-lally though she was sure she was on to something. Meanwhile, I tried to get to grips with what she’d just announced... I wasn’t having much luck.

“Maybe,” she announced as we neared the cottage, “as Doctor Mandip said, your brain has made new pathways and connections since the accident and the lightning strike just exacerbated those links ... or maybe forced new ones on you.” She nodded hoping I was taking in her logic. “And maybe, what needs to happen is a different stimulus coming in as you are about to wet to challenge that pathway... mmm?”

She looked at me to confirm she was on the right track but I wasn’t too sure.

“I think that’s what Laura plans to do... make new pathways... introduce different motivations...”


The conversation came to an end as we pulled up outside the cottage. It all looked so peaceful as we left the car and tapped on the door.

It took a couple of moments for it to be answered and it was her sister who greeted us.

“Come in, come in... can I get you a drink or something to eat?”

“Thank you Zofia, that would be nice... it’s such a hot day.”

“Lena... your chariot has arrived.” Zofia shouted down the hall. “She’s just finishing packing... why she brought so much I do not know... anyway...” She guided us out to the rear garden.

The view was stunning you could see for miles. There was an uninterrupted view over fields to the cliffs and beyond to the sea.

Mum and I just looked at each other... why would you want to leave this place, it was beautiful.

We sat at a table with four chairs a large green umbrella shading the entire thing and settled to enjoy the view.

Sofia arrived with a tray of St Clements (orange and bitter lemon), a refreshing drink I’ve always associated with summer, but who could deny it was appropriate for the entire scene.

“This is a beautiful place you have here Zofia, absolutely wonderful.” Mum enthused.

“Thank you. My husband was brought up in this part of the country and we bought this place from an old couple over forty years ago. When he died the cottage was just full of him and his memories so, despite offers, large offers from people wanting to buy this place, I couldn’t leave.”

Just then Mrs Symanski came out to join us.

You could tell they were sisters because they looked and dressed almost identical. There was a no-nonsense air about them both although age may have taken its toll, they weren’t about to give up any independence.

“Ah Lena, I’ve just been saying to Mary and Anthony about the offers I’ve had on this place.”

“Yes, two whilst I’ve been here. Bold as brass, come up, knocked on the door and asked if the place was for sale. Cheeky beggers.” She sort of harrumphed. “Is there a bleeding sign? I’d ask them and when they looked shy and embarrassed I slammed the door in their face.”

We laughed but the two women were sort of slightly riled up by these occasional intrusions.

“Mind you,” Mrs Symanski said (I can’t bring myself to call her Lena that would seem very disrespectful) some of the offers have been humungous and I’ve told her to sell up and come and live with me.”

“I couldn’t live with you you old bat... you’d drive me up the wall in minutes.”

“That’s the type of response you get when you’re willing throw open your doors to the old and infirm...” Mrs Symanski’s chided her sister.

I wasn’t sure if this was their usual way of communication but I knew we were in for a long discussion if mum didn’t break up this line of chat.

As it was, another hour later and I hinted to mum I needed to go to the toilet but in fact, I needed a change as I’d already unknowingly wet myself whilst listen to these two’s lively bickering.

“Excuse me Zofia, can Anthony use your bathroom please?” Mum gently inserted herself into their conversation.

“Of course. Do you need a nappy change Anthony... there’s powder in there,” she pointed the way but I was shocked she’d brought up the subject, “through the door and first on the left.”

“If you need a hand Anthony don’t be too proud to ask for help.” Mrs Symanski added with a knowing nod.

“It’s OK ladies, he’s learning to do it himself.” Mum intervened passing her large shoulder bag, but it didn’t help with my embarrassment.

Muuuummm.” It was that childish whine again, which I guess didn’t help with the old ladies opinion of me.

“Good for you Anthony,” Mrs Symanski added, “you shouldn’t be embarrassed around us. If a boy needs a nappy he should wear one and not have to worry about it.”

I could hear that conversation carry on as I disappeared into the bathroom.


The bathroom was spotless but smaller than I’d expected. Although tidy, there were bottles, powders, potions, ornaments, pot pouri, tissues and the overpowering smell of lavender.

I shrugged down my shorts and slid out of the plastic pants before releasing the soaked material. Although I’d got myself well-padded I’d forgotten that I had worn my cartoon disposable and as I rummaged around in mum’s bag there was only a large square of white fabric and a pair of rubber pants available.

This meant it was going to take me a bit longer than with a disposable and I was slightly cursing mum for not thinking ahead. Which I realised was stupid as mum had said it was all my responsibility now and I hadn’t brought anything.

Standing there naked I was still rooting around in the bottom of the bag for some pins when there was a knock on the door.

“Thank god,” I thought, “mum’s come to help.”

“Come in,” I whispered.

In walked Mrs Symanski.

“I thought you might be struggling in this small area love so I’ve come to give you a hand.” She looked at my nakedness. “I know your mum wants you to do it yourself but I know how difficult that can be.” She whispered conspiratorially.

“Erm, er thanks but I’m sure I can manage,” I stammered as I tried to cover my privates.

“Nonsense, we can have you ready in seconds if you just leave it to me.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Simply took the pins I was holding in my hand and slipped them between her lips. Saw the white fleecy square of material sitting on the bath edge and had it folded in seconds. She then asked if I’d wiped myself clean yet.

I shook my head.

“Boys,” she tutted and ran a face-cloth under the warm tap.

As she did that I noticed my rather bedraggled looking cartoon disposable lying discarded next to the sink and quickly tried to retrieve it.

“They look fun.” She said hardly missing a beat. “I’ll get rid of that once we’re done.”

Although a bit embarrassed about the childish disposable I was still a bit stunned by the intrusion. However, I grasped that things were now out of my control (so much for Doctor Laura) so tried to relax and let her get on with it. To be honest, once I got over the shock, as with mum, it was nice to have someone else in charge.

“You’re a good boy Anthony so just relax and I’ll have you all freshly sorted in moments.”

I didn’t get any opportunity to say much but wondered if she would ever see me as more than the little lad she’d known for most of my life. Even as she gently held my penis and gave it a good wipe down, I just thought of myself as a little boy who needed his nappy changed and to let the adult get on with it.

I was cleaned, oiled and powdered in just a couple of minutes with a thick nappy and plastic pants in position as well.

“There,” she said satisfied, “that should last until you get home at least.” She left me to put on my shorts and disappeared off to another room with my soggy disposable neatly balled up.

When I reappeared things had moved on a pace as mum and Zofia were at the door and it looked like we were almost ready to leave.

“Go and help Mrs Symanski with her case dear.” Mum said pointing down the hall... as she took her bag back I don’t think she was aware that the old lady had just changed me. “It’s quite heavy so be careful.”  

I remembered the size of her case but thankfully it was on wheels so wasn’t going to be too difficult to manoeuvre out to the car.

In her bedroom Mrs Symanski was putting a few bits and pieces in her large handbag and I took the opportunity to thank her for what she’d just done.

“My pleasure Anthony,” she smiled. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry to...”

She didn’t finish because Zofia came in and rebuked her for “wittering and boring the boy”. She nagged her to get a move on, whilst chiding her for keeping everyone waiting and besides... she was desperate to have her house back to herself.

Despite all this they hugged and I dragged the case out to the car and shoved it in the boot... it did seem heavier than when she came but perhaps I’d just got weaker over all that time.

I waited for them to finish their farewells. Mum was already politely waiting in the car, but this time I held the passenger door open for Mrs Symanski. Once on board I got in the back seat.

As I fastened the seat belt I couldn’t help but feel well protected. It had been OK doing the job myself but far better when someone else took charge. This crazy, but understanding, old Polish lady had fastened me in and I’d never felt more secure. My head was buzzing with how considerate she’d been and wondered, after all this time and with her kids gone, how she’d been able to keep up her nappy changing skill.

As we set off on our return journey Mrs Symanski turned to mum and with a grimace but a face that said otherwise.

“Thank God you came... another day and I’m sure we’d have killed each other.”

The drive home did not go as expected. Mrs Symanski didn’t regale us with a minute by minute account of what she’d done the entire time she was away, instead she told us something not even mum knew about.

# # # be continued


Part 23

To begin with the drive was pretty uneventful, although our passenger did dig into her bag and produce a box of orange flavoured chocolates.

“The local village shop may have lacked many of the basics but this exclusive brand of Orange Crème’s I remembered was your favourite and thought we’d enjoy them on the journey home.” She grinned as she saw both mum’s and my eyes brighten.

We all eagerly took one and the woman wasn’t wrong, they were simply - melt in the mouth perfect.

At least we weren’t spending the entire trip talking about some dress she’d bought or luckily, how she’d spied the sweets in the village shop and debated whether to buy them or not.

There was a nice period of sucky silence as we enjoyed the chocolatey goodies. One wasn’t going to be enough so we each had a couple more... yes they were very moreish.

This length of silence, although welcome, was not like Mrs Symanski at all and after a while she suddenly announced.

“Anthony,” she began, “Zofia and I had a really good chat about you.”

The pleasant calm I’d retreated to whilst savouring those orange choccies was suddenly interrupted, I don’t know if she could hear my buttocks clenching but mum seemed fascinated.

“Oh, why was that?”

She knew she had our attention. “Well, she’d noticed Anthony was wearing a nappy... and I’m sorry to say this,” she said turning to face me for a second, “she wondered why a boy of twelve was still in them.”

I flushed. I remembered that she hadn’t exactly tried to cover my awkwardness, telling her as an introduction to a woman I’d never met before that I’d pissed myself and had just been changed... and she thought I wasn’t even a teenager.... grrr. Anyway, I looked out at the passing countryside pretending I wasn’t bothered and hoping I wouldn’t have to hear a tirade of ‘old people’s disapproval’.

“She wondered if perhaps you’d had a terrible shock. So, I mentioned about you occasionally having night time accidents when you get a bit scared.” She paused and thought for a moment, “She was fascinated to hear about the lightning strike you witnessed. She wondered if that had perhaps turned into some kind of irrational fear and wearing a nappy had become, like, a security blanket.”

It’s amazing that people had opinions and explanations for something only I was experiencing. Meanwhile, mum was sort of making agreeing mumbles and I heard the word ‘perceptive’ mentioned.

I wasn’t happy that my need for a nappy was the topic of discussion because I didn’t see that it was anybody else’s business. Of course, now I was suddenly dragged back from quite enjoying the ride to being the centre of attention, I squirmed uneasily in the thick padding that the woman I was hoping to silence had fitted me in. I couldn’t have it both ways I suppose.

She went on about how they’d sat out in the back garden and over several cups of tea, deliberated in general how certain things affect people in different ways. How anxiety and shear fear play such an important part in a young person’s development and how it was a shame I’d suffered on and off for most of my life.

I harrumphed my disapproval in the back seat but mum kept interjecting her thoughts and so the conversation continued.

She did eventually get round to saying to her sister that I was a lovely boy - polite, well-mannered and very friendly, which she was keen to add she couldn’t say about many youngsters on our estate.

We’d been driving for about thirty minutes when that little tit-bit came about and it was just nice to hear something I didn’t have to justify.

“... and then she asked me if I saw Stefan in you?”

This sudden turn in conversation took me by surprise because her youngest son wasn’t someone she’d talked about before. In fact, I remembered mum saying many moons ago that he was a subject that they never discussed.

Mum was quick on the uptake. “And do you?”

“I see what I could have had with Stefan had I treated him like you treat Anthony.”

There was a catch in her voice and a slight sob as she searched in her large handbag for a tissue.

“If only I hadn’t been so damn stupid.”

She dabbed at the tears.


Although always nice to me I’d simply assumed she was really just a ‘stuck in her ways’ type of old lady. I’d never seen her get emotional before and it came as a bit of a shock. However, I saw this wasn’t a party piece or someone looking for sympathy and I felt sorry for her. If the seat belt hadn’t restricted my movements I’d have probably reached over and offered a consoling hand on her shoulder... or something.

“Are you OK?” Yes I know it was a stupid question but it was the only one at that moment I could come up with.

“Would you like me to pull over?” Mum’s was a more practical suggestion.

“No love you’re alright... it’s just me... I’m sorry.” She said trying to hide her sorrow.

“Mum, I think you should pull in as soon as you can... let Mrs Symanski get some air.” Was my next attempt to come up with something better than “Are you OK?”

A few hundred yards later we’d driven down a minor road, which led to a village. We parked up by a small pond surrounded by trees but dominated by a large weeping willow. There was next to no other traffic but the sun dappled the area in a soft light and, although not as warm as it had been recently, it set a relaxing scene. I undid my seat belt and rested my hand on the old lady’s shoulder.

I could tell she was really suffering and I didn’t know why but my natural empathy took over.

“Take your time but... do you want to talk about it?” Hell, I suddenly sounded like Doctor Ames.

Meanwhile, mum had got out and gone to the boot of the car and retrieved a large box of tissues and a bottle of water. If there had been one around I’m sure she would have taken us to a pub but she was as concerned as I was that this old lady was suddenly looking her age.

Of course she was a bit reticent at first but mum has a way of making it easier for people to talk. A couple of sighs, a few understanding looks, an empathetic hug and before we knew it... we got what had brought on her weepy state. This tactic had worked on me hundreds of times.

“He’ll be forty in two weeks’ time,” she shrugged and sighed, “and I’ve not seen or heard from him since, on his sixteenth birthday, he upped and left home.”

“Oh dear Lena,” mum proffered the box of tissues, “what happened?”


Over the next hour Lena Symanski became a different person as she wept and told her story of how, after her husband died in an accident at work, she fell apart. The rest of the family also suffered but worst affected of all was her youngest, ten year-old Stefan.

The news of Mr Symanski’s death was devastating for everyone but it had the effect on young Stefan who was so inconsolable he started to wet the bed. Lena herself was finding it hard to deal with the loss and herself spiralled out of control. Although her eldest daughter Anna was married and living in Poland, and her eldest son Tomaz married and working in Australia, she was finding it difficult keeping a roof over the rest of the family’s head.

Husband, Victor, had been the supervisor on a building site, and the company was trying to blame him for the accident. A large crane came apart, plummeted to the ground, killing the driver and four others on the ground, Victor among them. The company had a very effective group of lawyers that held up any compensation and dragged the proceedings slowly through the courts.

What little savings the Symanski’s had was swallowed up by the mortgage, whilst Lena had taken the trauma badly, finding solace in the bottle and too distraught to care much about anything, or anybody else. Her grief was, as she said, ‘unbearable’.

I wondered what on earth had gone on between the two sisters for her to open up the way she was. Perhaps it’s just the thought of her son reaching forty that had set her off but in truth I was a bit shell-shocked as the story unfolded.

Trauma affects people in different ways and she was hit badly. So, whilst dealing with all that, she couldn’t cope with her son wetting the bed and took all her anger and frustrations out on the poor lad.

Even though it was her who insisted he wore a nappy to bed she ridiculed a boy of his age waking up wet. Sometimes, in the morning, because she was past caring, she’d make him wear the soaked item to school, where he was ostracised by his school mates. She didn’t care she thought he deserved it, that he was doing it on purpose, and he should stop because he was too old to wet the bed.

Shamefaced she admitted that year after year, as his incontinence got worse, she just continued blaming and verbally, and sometimes physically, abused him using the most degrading names and spanking the poor boy for making extra laundry.

He had always been a slight lad, not one to argue or cause trouble (I saw why her sister had wondered if she saw me in Stefan). A boy to be protected not attacked but still she didn’t let up. She’d convinced herself that he was doing it just to annoy her or as an act of attention seeking and it was only her youngest daughter Katarina who really acted as mum and changed, washed and consoled the suffering Stefan.

Even in his teens the lad was made to wear a nappy because his wetting became a daily problem. But the constant put downs from his mother were hurting and he needed to get away.

Since her husband’s death they’d lived hand to mouth but her youngest’s bruises, both physical and mental, were taking their toll. His mother had no sympathy and, after six years of abuse, on his sixteenth birthday (no party had been organised) she came home to find Katarina saying he’d packed a bag and left.

“I wasn’t worried.” She proclaimed in a weepy voice. “He had nowhere to go so I expected him to return, with his tail between his legs and begging for forgiveness.”

She let out a roar of emotion. “Damn it, I should have been the one asking for forgiveness.”

The emotional barrier broke further and both mum and I hugged a sad, lonely old woman on a bench over-looking a village pond.

The weeping willow couldn’t have been more apt.


We all sat on the bench for a while in silence.

For the first time in ages I felt grown up. I had sympathy and understanding of a disastrous period in Mrs Symanski life and realised how easily it was for things to go wrong. The spiralling out of control of the situation, enhanced by the bitterness at losing a loved one in such tragic circumstances, and the resulting fallout could happen to even the most innocent, it was a lesson to learn.

However, I suddenly realised that I was soaked. I think I’d felt a kinship with Stefan and his horrendous treatment had seen me empathetically flood my nappy. I didn’t say anything, merely sat there considering how such an experience had eventually turned this bitter old lady around. It was mum who put a voice to the question.

“Is that why you were always so supportive of Anthony when you got to know about his problem?”

“Yes, I didn’t want any other parent making the same mistakes I made.” She sniffed into her tissue.

That made two of us. I was so grateful my family had not reacted in any way like Mrs Symanski.

“Lena, you’ve always been a good friend to me, and without your friendly advice and encouragement... well, it certainly made life easier in the way we were able to treat Anthony here.” Mum was gently stroking her hand and including me in the conversation.

Mrs Symanski shrugged.

“I remember the first time you came over to our house and you saw Anthony wondering around wearing a nappy and I was embarrassed. I thought at five years-old it might reflect badly on us the fact that our son didn’t appear potty-trained.”

The old lady just nodded as if she was also just remembering.

“Do you know what you said?” She didn’t give her chance to recollect she just ploughed on. “If a boy needs a nappy, he needs a nappy – it’s not the end of the world and you shouldn’t force him to give it up if that’s not what he needs.”

Mum was pleased she remembered it so clearly.

“Over the years as we got to know each other better and we had out little chats, you became a font of information about anxiety issues and how they effect a young mind. Until now I never knew why you were so amazing and understanding but I guess you’ve had a great deal of time to reflect on what happened. Meanwhile, I took in everything you said and I think it made life easier for all of us.”

I was amazed that our neighbour had such an influence on mum... and as it turned out... the fact that because of her the family accepted why I still wore nappies.

However, I wasn’t that sure now why she saw Stefan in me. I mean, he started wetting from grief and the constant bickering, argument and blame made his condition worse. That in no way reflected on my situation but perhaps it could have been very negative without her input. I should be grateful just in case.

Mum continued in her praise of Mrs Symanski... and I’m not sure it was only to make the old lady feel better.

“If Anthony was anxious and began to wet the bed... your advice was a nappy would instantly solve the problem. As he got older, and because he never complained about wearing one, it seemed the most effective way and became an easy fix. Throughout that time you always said a boy shouldn’t have to worry about a different style of underwear...”

Mrs Symanski interrupted. “I had a lot of time to think of my selfishness... and stupidity once Kat got married and left home. Much too late - I hated what I’d put the family through, especially Stefan. I know I was grieving but what sort of mother treats her son...” The tears sprung into her eyes and we waited for the moment to pass.


From our shocked looks to each other I think both mum and I had been stunned by her confession. Obviously, from the way mum reacted, this information was all new to her and we saw sadness and regret in our neighbour we’d never seen before. Over twenty years without seeing or hearing if your son is dead or alive must have been one hell of a weight to carry. Especially when you blamed yourself for what happened.

Then mum realised that the information about me since Mrs Symanski had been away had changed, and a whole lot of other influences, elements and data had been included into why I still wet myself.

Now wasn’t a time to go into all that, and besides it didn’t help that I could feel the pooling cooling and I wanted to be in something more comfortable as soon as possible. We’d been sitting there for an age so perhaps now was the time to make a move to finish the journey home.

I wasn’t sure how I could move things along so I’d be able to change at home. I don’t think either mum or Mrs Symanski had noticed I was wet but I was fidgeting a little uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench.

Eventually the situation appeared to have come to some conclusion and home seemed the best way forward. As I got up to help Mrs Symanski to her feet I unconsciously grabbed my crotch to rearrange the soaked padding. The old lady noticed.

“Erm, Mary, I think Anthony needs a change...”

“No, no, I’m fine.” I tried to convince mum there was no urgency but she wasn’t going to be fooled and because there was a more experienced voice I was reminded that it wasn’t healthy staying in a wet nappy for too long.

My protests fell on deaf ears and between them I was cajoled onto the back seat and told to remove my shorts so they could check.

“Mum, you said I have to do this on my own.” I thought this was a good way around any argument, even though I was dead against having a nappy change in such an idyllic spot.

“OK love then do it yourself. Have you brought any spares with you?”

“No, erm, but, I...”

I knew that mum had at least another change in her bag because I saw it when I was changed in the bathroom but she was right, I hadn’t thought to bring anything.

Mrs Symanski took charge and simply told me to sit back and let the professionals deal with it. Mum was smiling at the way she had snapped out of her doldrums now she had a project.

Of course mum’s bag contained all that was needed and I was stripped, wiped, cleaned and powdered efficiently on the back seat of her car, which seemed to be getting a bit too regular.

“Muuumm.” Yes that whine again didn’t cut it as she passed Mrs Symanski each item and watched in admiration as the old lady completed the task. She had me nappied and pulling up my shorts in just a couple of minutes.

“I see you haven’t lost your flair, Lena... all very professional.” Mum was smiling so, now I’d been attended to, we could continue on our journey home.

I don’t think I’d ever been changed in such a lovely spot or under such circumstances and although I whined in protest, I was grateful to be wearing fresh and dry padding.

This had been one hell of a trip... and now thankfully... a much more comfortable journey for me at least.


Once we’d dropped our passenger off we found the house empty, neither Jen nor dad having returned from their outings. In some ways it had been quite a gruelling, if illuminating, excursion, which was going to take time to process. To help with that, I popped on the kettle and made us both some tea.

As we settled down mum began. “Well sweetheart, what did you make of all that?”

Where to start? Was mum referring to the old lady’s confession, her participation in changing my nappy or her surprise involvement in my family’s attitude to me still wearing protection?

“Poor Stefan,” was all I could come up with.

“Yes, yes,” mum nodded in agreement, “that was such a revelation and does explain a lot as to the advice she’s given over the years.”

I looked at her to explain.

“Well, as you know, although your father and I have always used nappies as  the first line of defence when your night time wettings began, we often wondered if it wasn’t babying you too much and you’d grow up to resent us.”

I was going to comment but decided to wait.

“It was Lena who advised us to not make a big thing about it, make it normal, make it so you were always dry and comfortable and then... let you make your own decision.” She looked at me to see if I reacted. “A nappy isn’t for everyone but for some it’s just what they need.”

“That’s not the impression I get from Doctor Ames.” I gestured.

“No, no, indeed, she and Doctor Mandip have added a different dimension to it all but I don’t think anyone is wrong.”

She paused for a long while and I wasn’t sure if I had anything intelligent to add so I quietly sipped my tea.

“There’s something about you Anthony that makes you unique.”

There it was again something if only we knew what that something was.

It was nice to hear mum thought I was unique but there again, don’t all parents think their offspring are special and unique, isn’t that their job to feel that way?

Never mind, she went on.

“The things you wear, the choices you make, the love and patience you have... the things you accept and never question...”

She looked as if she was deliberating before saying more.

“I think we’ve all got ideas, strategies and over the past few weeks you’ve had to put up with quite a lot,” mum persisted, “but I think you like the world you’ve created.”

# # # be continued

Part 24

As I lay in bed that night, heavily padded as usual, I couldn’t get mum’s words out of my head. They circled and bounced around but I couldn’t get rid no matter how much I tried to let the sexy, silky smooth covering take my mind off them...  “You like the world you’ve created”.

I hadn’t known I’d created anything. I just went along with whatever was there. I didn’t complain, I didn’t argue, I didn’t confront... so how was I the creator of anything?

Thankfully, about 2.13 in the morning, after nonstop tossing and turning another thought did enter my head... Stefan and what that poor ten year-old had endured. My opinion of Mrs Symanski had changed as she’d told her story – I had sympathy for her grief, but couldn’t understand how anyone could treat a poor inconsolable boy the way she had.

However, last night mum had explained that shortly after he left home the court case eventually came to an end. Her husband was exonerated and, fearing bad press, the company decided to pay the families a vast amount to keep them silent, so Mrs Symanski became quite well off.

It was a shame that all those elements came together at the same time. In fact, within weeks of each other but of course by then it was too late. No money problems, her dead husband cleared of blame... those weights had been lifted to be replaced by the guilt of knowing she’d cruelly driven away her son.  

Even though her house was large and worth quite a sum she refused to leave because - as the guilt-ridden woman explained as we were sat by that village pond. “What if he returns and there’s no one to greet him?”

Twenty odd years she’d lived alone with just an occasional visits from her family and taking hardly any time away, just on the off-chance he would come home. The trip to her sister’s had been a rare outing so, unknown to the neighbours, that little old Polish lady living in the big house, was hoping all this time for her son’s return and forgiveness.   

As I thought about the bed-wetting ten year old I began to think how dreadful losing a parent would be, and then of course I started wondering if I lost a parent how I’d react. So, when I did finally drop off, off course that’s exactly what I dreamt about, losing mum and dad.

I was searching, searching, searching but couldn’t find either of them. In my head and heart I knew they were dead but I had no proof. I was calling out for them but I was younger, possibly about six or seven and I was alone, scared and...

I woke up whimpering, the bed clothes all awry and my nappy in a terrible condition. Whatever I’d done in it had been spread around as I’d tossed and turned in whatever insanity had driven this appalling nightmare.

The blue figures on the bedside clock said it was 3.12 so too early to get up but I was scared of going back to sleep. I didn’t want that dream to return.


Once my heartrate slowed down and I’d assessed the amount of damage in my padding the need to clean myself up overtook any other thought... hopefully without disturbing anyone else in the process. Even though it was only a relatively short distance from my room to the bathroom, I tiptoed nervously but could feel the heavy mess I’d made with each furtive step.

There was a smell but I’m trying not to dwell on that particular essence... it was gross.

I inched down the plastic pants trying my best not to disturb the material in case the entire structure just gave way. I dreaded what I’d find once I’d unpinned the fabric and my fears were well and truly confirmed as it slopped disgustingly onto the floor of the shower.

Everything about the scene was disastrous and I couldn’t wait to get under the shower and clean myself up. I was under those warm jets for ages, using almost a bottle of shower gel to purge myself of all that was dirty. 

Eventually, having done what I could do to remove all traces of my stinky disaster, I returned huddled in a nice blue towel to my room. I knew that the sound of me showering may well have woken up the house but I didn’t expect what happened next.

Sat on my bed, amongst a pile of pre-folded nappies and assorted paraphernalia, was dad.

“Sorry dad, did I wake you?” I tried not to appear surprised.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry son... I know you’ve been through quite a lot recently and it’s having a detrimental effect.”

I looked at him as if I couldn’t believe he knew. Silly really, we’re a close family and, as far as I knew, there were few secrets between us.

“Your mum and I talk,” he said by way of explanation, “and she’s talked a lot about what you’re going through.”

Because my room was a great deal chillier than the bathroom I hugged the towel tightly around me as I ambled over and sat down next to him.

“We don’t often talk about these things but I want you to know that I do understand what you’re going through.” He rested his hand on my shoulder.

I found this simple act quite reassuring.

There was a slight pause before he continued. “It looks like you’ve already had a problematic night...?”

I nodded; sure he could smell what the ‘problem’ had been.

“... and I’m sure you’re pretty whacked right now but I wanted to try and put your mind at rest just in case it may help with where your head is... at the moment.”

I think I shivered because dad noticed a slight tremble.


“OK, first things first... I need to get you dressed and back in bed before you freeze to death... and then we’ll chat... just for a while... OK?”

Dad hadn’t changed my nappy for ages and I hadn’t expected him to this time but he removed my towel and indicated he wanted me to lie out.

Nervously I did as he said so, with no qualms or over-thinking, dad just got on with what needed to be done.

“Anthony,” he said as he rubbed in some anti-rash cream, “you’re eighteen, an adult, but still love your nappies.”

There was no accusation in his voice just a sort of understanding. He saw me squirm a little nervously and I wasn’t sure if I should protest or agree... or not. However, he indicated for me not to speak, just whispered a soft ‘Ssshhh’ and shook his head.

He efficiently rubbed the cream in then showered me in powder before gently massaging that into the area where my nappy fit.

He pulled up a large double gusset nappy that was pre-folded and also contained a soak pad for extra protection. He slipped the pins into his mouth as he needed both hands to pull the edges and corners together to make a tight fit.

“Thish takeths me back.” He comically said through clenched teeth before professionally pinning me in.

I smiled... I loved my dad.

The white rubber pants were next and once they were wriggled into place he produced something I hadn’t worn for ages... a pair of pyjamas. Normally it’s boxers and a t-shirt and has been for a few years now but these were the last pair mum bought – thick, soft, dark blue, fleecy cotton with white stars all over them. I was surprised when dad pulled them up that they still fit but had to agree they felt comfy.

In fact, the entire experience of dad looking after me had been perfect and even more so when he indicated I should snuggle down under the covers and he lay on top by my side.


“Your mother thinks you are a bit of a conundrum.”

“Dad, I’m sorry if...”

He held up his hand for me to remain quiet and listen.

“I know what you’re going to say and there’s nothing to apologise for. You are who you are Anthony, and though that sometime sounds like it’s an excuse, in your case... we don’t think so.”

I was so desperate to speak but dad was stroking my hair making me feel relaxed.

“You’ve always been a gentle soul and, when you announced you were leaving school and started looking for a job, we thought you’d be better off going to college and... well... experiencing that sort of life.”

He looked down at me with a smile.

“We didn’t think you’d manage to...”

“Cope?” I whispered.

“Yes, I suppose we thought you weren’t ready or tough enough to make your way at sixteen and expected that you’d follow our suggestion for further education... but guess what? We were wrong.” His face showed genuine pride. “Mrs Dewhurst has nothing but praise for you and the way you work with the team she’s pulled together... so thank you... for proving us wrong.”

We had a few moments of silence but dad never stopped stroking my hair.

“Do you like the feel of a wet nappy?” I looked up at him and shook my head ‘no’.

The fact is, I’ve never liked that but I’m grateful when I have to wear protection, it keeps it all contained. I’m relieved not to be embarrassed by wet pants so can go about my day to day (and night) business without the worry. I’m also happy when the wet spell is eventually over and I can get back into my briefs.

You’d possibly wonder why we hadn’t had this conversation a hundred times already but in truth, we hadn’t. Of course we chat all the time. Dad comments on the things I do and I know he’s proud of me... yet, this was a different, newer intimacy.


“What son.”

“I like this.” I snuggled further under the covers and could feel the substantial padding gripping me tightly. “I like my family and I like me... and I think you’re right... I do like my nappies.”

“Well son, if that’s the main worry you’re going to give us... I think we’d count ourselves lucky... because we love you too.”

“Do you think it wrong...?”

“Over the past few days we’ve found that bonk on the head when a tot might be the key to why you wet, but we don’t know for sure. What we do know is that anxiety causes you problems and the solution to that problem is...”

“But the nappies... the nappies...?” I interjected.

“Son, nappies or no nappies... we don’t care what you wear as long as you’re happy. As far as I can remember, they’ve never caused you a moment’s distress, and, if I’m being honest... I think sometimes your childlike innocence and behaviour is a definite positive.”

I was looking up at him in earnest thinking he surely thinks I’m nothing but a big kid.

“Do you think it’s all too babyish?” I wondered.

“When you need them.... you need them... no matter what for, but, let’s not get bogged down in all this, you wear a nappy because you wet. When you don’t wet you wear your briefs or whatever. The nappies are for security and, if you like doing so, so much the better, it means you don’t feel trapped or that you’re being punished and forced to wear them. As I see it, that’s a good thing.”

“Thanks dad.” I smiled and yawned somewhat relieved. “Do you think I could get some sleep now?” I added cheekily.

“Goodnight son.” He said with a final stroke of my hair and a gentle kiss on my forehead.

As I slipped into a deep sleep the last thing I could her was a gentle hiss.

Not me on this occasion... just dad making full use of the air freshener.


It was almost ten in the morning when I eventually woke up. Dad had told everyone I’d had a rough night and to leave me to sleep it off, so when I did wake up I felt quite refreshed.

Two things I noticed right away – my protection was dry but the weather seemed the complete opposite of the day before... it was throwing it down. I lay there listening to the rain beat against the window but enjoying the warmth and luxury of my bedding rather than being eager to get up and change out of a soaked nappy.

Last night dad’s words and actions had quite an effect... they soothed both my mind and body. Even as I revelled in the comfort and security he’d provided I thought how lucky I was to have parents... and sister who were there for me. 

After I’d yawned and stretched and eventually got a handle on the day I began to think what an amazing time these last few weeks have been. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried (quite a lot actually) and things have happened which I can’t explain but it’s been a journey (Oh hell, sorry, that sounds like the back story for a contestant on the X Factor) that has made me realise quite a bit about myself.

I began to question whether things happen for a reason or is it all haphazard? Is everything pre-ordained or is chaos the main director for life? I think you’ll agree these are very grown-up thoughts and not those of a toddler but then my mind wandered and, for no reason, I began to think where I might have put my old teddy bear. At that moment, and with those deep thoughts pushed to the back of my mind I just knew I was so comfy and felt so good, I just didn’t want to get up.

However, Sunday morning or not, and even though I had absolutely nothing planned, it was time to face the day. Pulling back the covers I felt a brief chill but not like usual... I’d forgotten just how sensible pyjamas were for keeping legs nice and warm and thick nappy in place. Actually, the pyjama bottoms didn’t keep stuff in place they just made it cosy; the rubber pants did most of the work.

I slipped out of bed and looked out the window, the rain was still falling, a hefty breeze had blown up and there were few people out on the streets. In the distance I could still make out the tree stumps so stood for a moment thinking how that damn tree had started all of this.

Actually, it hadn’t started all this as I so incorrectly put it... it had only been part of what had happened... a sort of catalyst. It may well have caused a dramatic change in the way my body reacted but by doing so it also brought so much more to the surface as to why I still had my old problem.

However, as I looked out, not a tingle or spurt or anything affected my body. I pushed my hand down the front of my protection to confirm this new fact... yep... still dry. I looked over at the clock and was grateful no huge passage of time had mysteriously disappeared.

I moved over and stood in front of the mirror to inspect myself. The pyjamas bulged out where you’d expect but all in all I wasn’t upset by my reflection. If I looked in any way different I think it was because I felt carefree. I’m not sure what changed, perhaps dad’s chat, mum’s understanding or Mrs Symanski’s revelation, maybe it was a combination of all those things. All I was certain of was that something (yes that something) in the millions of manic neurons flashing around my head had decided that a period of calm was now on offer.

I’m very sorry that I can’t explain something... it’s a feeling, a shiver, a tingle, a heartbeat, a smile, I... well... I don’t know what... but something felt different and it was a real.


I wandered down to the kitchen but the others had already eaten. They were sat in the front room reading; Jen on her phone, mum marking the TV guide and dad tutting at something political in the paper. I said a cursory ‘morning’ to them all and went to find something to eat.

Whilst I sat there sipping a refreshingly cold orange juice, and downing toast piled high with marmalade, I let out a huge sigh. I felt very, very content. I mean, I knew there were obviously many more things that needed explaining so that would mean more sessions with Doctor Ames. She’d have to delve deeper to see why the weather played a part in my troubles. She now knows there’s a physical reason for my ‘problem’ but still thinks that most of it is psychosomatic... that means we’re not done yet.

I absentmindedly tapped my head as if all the secrets were safely stored in their just waiting for release.

Maybe even Doctor Mandip would need to check that my neural network is operating efficiently. Can a new pathway be subverted or diverted or even ‘perverted’? I knew there may well be further wet mornings (and perhaps days) but also knew I had my family... and that was important. After Mrs Symanski’s disclosure I realised just how important families are and how special mine is... I’m so lucky.

As I wriggled around on my chair enjoying the last few tasty orangey bites of toast I thought about Mrs Dewhurst and the team and again how fortunate I was to be part of all that. In the office I was an equal whether wearing a nappy or not. It would seem that my being in a nappy was not the end of my career. It might make me feel like a big kid at times (being changed by them all) but it didn’t stop me functioning as an adult so...?

Yes, that had been something... except a something that was tangible - the definite realisation that I actually liked things as they were. It should have been obvious, and it may well have been to others, but it had taken me this long, combined with everything that has happened recently, to be aware of that simple fact.

They’ve never bothered me because (trumpet fanfare) - I like to wear nappies.

I looked back across into the living room where everyone was simply getting on with their lives. I imagined that this, and many other scenes of folk just getting on with it, would be played out in homes all around the world. One way or another, all we could expect was to live our lives the best we can.


In future, when I get anxious, I’m going to try and interfere with my brain pattern with other thoughts and diversions. I’ll give it a go at least. I’ll let Doctor Laura probe and prod my subconscious and find anything else that’s hidden in there. However, now we know about the bash to the head, I think that particular line of neurons has cultivated a playful, childish and amenable course that I’m in no rush to give up.

I looked down at my cosy pyjamas and noticed a large blob of marmalade had dripped from the toast and landed on the jacket right in the middle of one of the white stars. I scooped it up and relished a final orangey experience and those neurons sparked again.

This time it was a flashback to when I was a kid and had to wear a bib whilst I ate a freshly peeled orange mum had given me. I saw it all vividly but wondered why this moment to remember it. The juice dribbled everywhere but it was obvious I’d found something I loved. Apparently, from then on, according to mum, whenever we passed oranges either on display in a grocer’s shop window, or in a bowl of fruit, I’d try to reach for one.

I started giggling to myself. What if, at the end of these last few months of madness, weird dreams and wet nappies this is what it came down to... a repeat of my childhood: A contented eighteen year-old just reliving his happy childhood but in his own special way?

Now wouldn’t that be something?

The old problem had never been old, it had been with me all of my life and was with me still.

So that means, because my head likes playing little tricks and I’m confused at times, I actually didn’t mind this.

I stroked the front of my soft but impressive bulge in my starry pyjamas and smiled... I could feel it getting warm... and I was content... and that was something too.

# # # # # #

The End


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