Site Logo

DailyDiapers is presented in part by our proud sponsors:


Daily Diapers is your Adult Baby, Diaper Lover and Age-Play Playground!

Home About Us Photos Videos Stories Reviews Forums & Chat Personals Links Advertise Donate Contact

After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index


Dale’s Story                                                                                                   by Les Lea

He was typing away furiously. His index fingers working like lightning to get every letter that was in his head down onto the computer. The keyboard rattled under the constant bombardment of Dale’s double digits, it was a shame he’d never got the hang of touch-typing, his keyboard would have been grateful not to suffer such a pounding.

His head was full of stories and ideas but was having difficulty keeping up with each thought. Still he typed, desperate to get every nuance and sentence down, he knew he had a great story, he knew it would be a best-seller, he knew this was the one that would tip him from obscurity into the dizzy heights of celebrity and movie rights… this was the one.

He sat back in the pool next to his villa on the beautiful isle of Ibiza and luxuriated in the balmy ambient temperature as yet another pink cocktail suddenly appeared by his side. He was warm, floaty and… and… and where had that cocktail appeared from…?

Oh no, not again.


Dale woke up in his studio apartment deflated that it was only a dream. He surreptitiously looked across at his computer, hopeful that there might be something on the screen but alas, though he’d sleep-typed like a deranged secretary, it was all just a jumble of letters and numbers, none of which indicated the best-selling novel he’d hoped for. What’s more, that nice comforting warm ‘sunsation’ was beginning to get clammy and wet around his groin as he realised that all was not well beneath the crumpled blanket.

He groaned. He’d gone almost a week without any night time wetting and had hoped that his problem was over. Alas, as the damp coolness became more obvious, he could only turn over, try to ignore it and return to sleep where everything was wonderful.  He dozed fitfully. His moist underpants, clinging to his privates, producing an irritating itch that he just couldn’t ignore no matter how many times he drifted back to sleep. Unfortunately, those brief slips into oblivion were rudely interrupted by his need to scratch. A banging on his door brought him to full consciousness and, as he wandered to answer the constant knocking, the itch seemed all consuming.

Standing in only his t-shirt and wet briefs whilst wildly scratching his groin he opened the door to see his irate Aunt Christine looking less than pleased. She took one look at him and pulled a face of disgust - then the smell of the room engulfed her.

“Fucking hell Dale, this place smells worse than a Parisian pissoir.” She pushed past him and swatted his soggy cotton-clad bottom.

He had no idea what a Parisian pissoir was but could guess from his aunt’s demeanour it was none too flattering. She could feel the damp on her hand even after such a brief little smack and that only increased her look of repugnance.


Eighteen year-old Dale was useless. His father certainly thought so and so, to a lesser extent, did his mother and two younger sisters. Not only was he useless but lazy, messy, muddled, unbelievably incompetent and, if it hadn’t been mentioned, USELESS.  Some might have said that he was a very laidback young man, those who knew him saw the truth, and he was useless. It wasn’t that he was easy-going, didn’t have a care in the world, had himself ‘well sorted’, none of these descriptions really applied to him because he was useless, and, hopeless.

His thin, five foot six inch frame, with thick greasy black hair and vacant green eyes seemed to carry the world on its shoulders when in fact; he hardly had any responsibilities at all. The lethargy seemed to seep from every bone in his body. The one, simple thing he had to do was keep an eye on his aunt’s property where he lived, rent free, and report back to her any problems or complaints from the student tenants who occupied the rest of the building. It was the simplest of jobs, even Aunt Christine thought he should be capable of carrying out such uncomplicated work as talking to the residents and reporting back. Unfortunately, it was all too much for Dale. He thought it was snooping and much preferred to get stoned with the group of 2nd years up on the top floor. He told them he was writer (even though he’d never had anything published in his life) and as such they were a little in awe of their ‘talented’ neighbour. He didn’t mention that his aunt was their landlord and turned a blind eye to damage, both major and superficial, that the building seemed to acquire on a daily basis.

However, word had got back to Aunt Christine and now it was time for action.


Dale’s bed-wetting had been one of the reasons his father had thrown him out. He couldn’t stand the fact that is eldest son was a ‘big baby’ and was tired of both he and his wife constantly cleaning up after him. He didn’t want a lazy, deadbeat son and was damned if everyone else was going to chase around for his benefit. His constant ‘zoned out’ attitude and complete detachment from what was going on around him was bugging everyone. One morning, four months ago, his father had simply told him to pack his stuff (the little he had) and find a place of his own. Stunned (and still slightly stoned) he picked up his bag and was just about to leave the house when his aunt arrived with a birthday present for one of his sisters.

Aunt Christine was his father’s twin sister. She was eighteen minutes older than him but the difference was incredible. Whereas, at twenty one, when they had both received a modest inheritance, he’d got married, she’d invested in property. It was strange to see them together because, although Dale’s dad was brash and loud most of the time, he was no competition for his ballsy and strident sister to whom he meekly acquiesced. Yes, he may have been ‘cock-of-the roost’ in his own home but if she was around all that faded into the background. He would marshal the kids as if they were on parade for her inspection and his wife, Sandra, who was the most quietly spoken woman in the world, would scurry around plumping up cushions and making sure all was tidy for her visit. Christine didn’t expect such treatment but so in awe of her was the family, they all made that extra effort when she was around.


On seeing her nephew with his bag in the doorway she asked him if he was going on vacation. When his reply was that his father had just kicked him out he shrugged and set off on his way. Christine may have been a ball-crusher in business but she had a soft spot for her nephew and nieces, even if she did think their parents were idiots. She quickly came up with a solution, which to his credit her brother was dead against, in which she would employ Dale at a small salary and he could live rent free in one of her properties near the university. He would simply be the janitor and keep an eye on it for her. She didn’t think he could screw such a simple task up and waved away the protests of her brother.

Of course now, and as much as it pained her to even think it, her brother had been correct, this simple job was way beyond her nephew’s capabilities. However, she saw beyond what Dale outwardly offered, and, so she didn’t praise her brother, decided that her nephew’s attitude was as much a result of his parent’s approach to raising children as it was himself. His father had chided his son at just about every opportunity from a very young age. Christine had watched, but not interfered, in this process but thought perhaps it wasn’t all Dale’s fault. However, she was now in a position to do something about it and she would be damned if she didn’t give it a try.


Christine looked around the rubbish tip that was, only a few months ago, quite a nice little apartment. Clothes, empty beer cans, cigarette ash, butts overflowing ashtrays and crockery, half-eaten pizza, boxes, dust, walked in mud, unmade messed up bed and that overpowering stink of stale urine, testosterone, cum, cigarettes and God knows what else pervading the small space… it was enough to make anyone retch.

Standing in the middle of all this chaos and filth was her semi-naked, damp nephew who really didn’t know why his aunt was there. Such was the sudden shock of her arrival he wasn’t really all that aware that he was standing in just his wet, yellowing undies.

“Oh, er, hi Aunt Christine, er, mmm,” Dale stumbled over his words, “what time is it? Is there a problem?”

She took little notice of her nephew as she inspected the bed and noticed that the mattress was soaked through and had a stench that was hard to imagine. Her nose wrinkled in revulsion. At that point Christine’s business partner, Miss McCloud, walked in, took one look at the thin, stinky boy that stood in front of her, looked across at Christine and said.

“I’ll take him home.”

Within seconds she had a blanket wrapped around him and was being guided to her car. She didn’t give him time to find any clothes; the mess was way beyond finding anything that wasn’t in a similar state to what he now wore. Besides, if Christine was held in high regard, then Miss McCloud’s reputation for no nonsense was even more terrifying to those who knew her. Christine and Miss McCloud made a formidable team; organised, competent, tough, uncompromising and had vision, which made for scary opponents should you get on the wrong side of either of them.

Dale had wanted to protest, he wanted to at least put his trainers on and a pair of jeans but Miss McCloud would have none of it.

“Best get you away from all this,” she said eyeing the debris that was all around, “before your aunt has time to think.”

Slowly realising that he had in fact, sort of, maybe, fucked up ,and fearing his aunt’s anger, made Miss McCloud’s strong hands directing him away from trouble as quickly as possible,  seem a good idea.


The drive to his aunt’s house was in silence. He sat shivering, not because he was cold but he was desperate for some weed, or a cigarette or something and he also began to worry what his aunt would say when they were alone. Wriggling uncomfortably in his itchy drying pants was the distraction he needed as he scratched at his crotch, much to Miss McCloud’s disgust.

The detached house, set in its own grounds, was huge compared to his family’s home and proved just how well his aunt had done over the years. The house was over seventy years old, with four large reception rooms and kitchen on the ground floor, four bedrooms (two en-suite) and a large family bathroom on the second and a converted attic space that made another bedroom/study.  The driveway was beautifully landscaped, whilst at the rear of the property there was a large garden where fresh vegetables, tomatoes, fruit trees and flowers were tended by Aunt Christine and Miss McCloud, they lived together.

Miss McCloud held her breath for as long as she could but had to roll down the window in the car to get some air circulating and flush out the smell of her passenger. She wasn’t sure if it was just urine, BO or what but there was no doubt that the first challenge was to get him cleaned up, and odour free. Once in the house Miss McCloud guided her blanket-covered charge straight up to the bathroom.

She ran him a bath as he stood stock still desperate for his first ‘toke’ of the day and still slightly shivering as to what the immediate future held. Once the bath was full and scent and bubbles had been added Miss McCloud indicated he should get in. He was reluctant getting naked in front of this lady but she was having none of this false modesty.

“Get in the bath now.”

He shook his head and turned to leave. Not a wise thing to do. She yanked off his protecting blanket and delivered a couple of fierce swats to his retreating butt with the wooden back scrubber.  Stunned, Dale didn’t know what to do but all decisions were taken away from him as he was stripped and, trying desperately to hide his penis, shoved towards the bath.

“Now, no more of this silliness, get in.”

Thoroughly chastised, and in fear of another walloping, he settled himself gingerly into the foam, his sore and throbbing bottom now the only thing on his mind. Once he was submerged Miss McCloud immediately rolled up her sleeves and commenced bathing him. Dale was actually scared of her as she’d proved she wouldn’t take any sort of disagreement. For the fourth time she rinsed the shampoo from his thick mop of black hair and still wasn’t happy that it was yet clean enough.

He got a thorough all over scrubbing and another application of shampoo, followed by an aggressive scalp massage, which Miss McCloud hoped would finally clean out the last of the greasy mop; although she still wasn’t one hundred percent happy and thought a more radical procedure was called for. The head massage wasn’t unpleasant, Dale actually quite liked it. He’d forgotten what fun it was to be, well, looked after. He sat in the warm suds and as Miss McCloud was doing all the work, perhaps, he thought, the swats to his behind had been worth it to get this kind of treatment.

Eventually, after quite some time, Miss McCloud seemed satisfied that he was as clean as she could get him. She made him stand up and inspected his body. Again he tried to cover himself up but a swat to his hand and a very stern look made him put his hands to his side and let her get on with her inspection.  She was more than a little concerned about the angry looking rash that appeared to surround his genitals and bottom, no doubt caused by his constant wetness. She dried him off and then, covered in only the thick towel, led him up to the room in the attic.


The room was pleasant but designed for an eight year-old. In fact it was originally designed for Miss McCloud’s young son, Harry. Unfortunately, when she divorced her husband (a house master at one of the UK’s top private schools) it was he who got custody and she only had access occasionally. Her son was already enrolled at the school (which she agreed was a good idea) but as a result she rarely saw her boy. However, when she did, there was a room already prepared for him.  Still, since the room had been equipped, Harry had only ever visited twice - the fact that she’d shacked-up with Christine hadn’t helped her custody case but that was another story altogether.

There was a bed, in the shape of a racing car, a closet with a few of Harry’s clothes, a night stand, a desk and chair, a fully laden bookcase - it was minimalistic but comfortable for an eight year-old but a bit of a surprise for an eighteen year-old.

“I’m staying,” Dale looked around in bewilderment, “in a kid’s room?”

“For the moment.” Miss McCloud gently guided him further into its centre

“Now,” she said pulling away the towel, “let’s get you organised.”

Dale was again nervous about being naked but that look told him to stop any thought of argument and see how things transpired.

She pointed to large thick-pile rug on the floor and told Dale to lie out on it. He had that questioning look but Miss McCloud was already reaching for tubes of cream.

“This ointment will relieve the itching,” she said as she began to apply it to his groin, “and should begin the healing process.” She smoothed it on thickly, “Though it may take some time as it’s a very severe rash.”

Dale closed his eyes desperately trying to block out her tickling fingers as she layered the cream onto every part of his most sensitive, though itchy, areas. She told him to flip over and did the same to his very spotty and inflamed rump, which of course hadn’t been helped by the fierce swats she’d delivered earlier.  The cooling balm seemed to have an instant effect and the itching gradually began to fade. Miss McCloud told him to lift his legs and, wondering what she was going to do next, hold them up. She slipped an unfolded disposable nappy under his bottom and told him he could let his legs down.

Realising what was about to happen he rolled onto his side in a bid to get away.

“I’m not wearing a fucking nappy for god’s sake. I’m eighteen not eighteen months…”

His displeasure would have continued if Miss McCloud had not delivered another series of forceful swats to his naked backside and told him, in no uncertain terms, to get his bottom back onto the nappy. Twice now, in a matter of just a few minutes he’d been spanked, even his father had never resorted to that kind of punishment. It hurt and he didn’t like it.

Through a gathering of tears he begged Miss McCloud to come up with an alternative to him having to wear a nappy. There was no negotiation and, having added a couple of thick pads to the unfurled disposable and sprinkled baby powder all over his exposed area, she quickly pulled it between his legs and taped it into place. Dale was holding back anger, frustration and tears in equal amounts but she just patted it around his groin to make sure it fit snugly and then, to Dale’s final humiliation, pulled up a pair of stiff, tight-fitting clear plastic pants. The pleasing crinkle meant that it was a tough, if not very pliable, material that would hold in whatever Dale delivered into his nappy.

“There now, doesn’t that feel better?” Miss McCloud was smiling now that the job was done. “You’ll feel better once the antiseptic cream starts to work and it shouldn’t be too long before we get that nasty rash under control.”

“But I’m wearing a nappy,” Dale sobbed. “I shouldn’t have to…”

“Dale,” Miss McCloud grabbed him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes, “you are a mess. You were wet, your place stunk of old urine and we don’t as yet know if you have a problem or you just don’t care.” She let her words sink in. “But, until we know we can trust you not to pee everywhere we will be taking this precaution. It’s as much for your own good as the welfare of our furniture.”

Dale would have given anything at that moment to be elsewhere and preferably high as a kite somewhere but that wasn’t to be. He moaned and tried to argue the point but he’d come up against an immovable object and she was determined to see it through.

“The thick fabric will keep all the creams next to your skin and should make it heal much quicker.”

She then looked at him and gave a stern warning.

“If you try to take it off without your aunt’s or my express permission you will be treated as a naughty little boy and punished...” she let her words sink in, “and I don’t mean the gentle taps you’ve received… so far.”

Dale shivered at the thought of something worse than what his sore bottom had already encountered; he didn’t like the sound of that and he certainly didn’t want to experience it either.

“What about my clothes?” He whined.

“I should think they are all on a bonfire by now, you’d let yourself get into such a pathetic, smelly state.” She smiled a modicum of encouragement. “However, your aunt only wants what’s best for you and intends to do whatever is needed to put things right.”

“Yes,” he brightened up a little, “Aunt Christine won’t be pleased about all this, she’ll tell you off for dressing me as a baby, you’ll see, she won’t be happy.”

The enthusiasm he had at the start of the sentence began to fade as he realised that she was probably the architect of all this. The noise his thick plastic pants generated as he moved even slightly wormed its way into his head and trembled a little once he grasped that perhaps this was only the start.



Part 2

Dale looked down disgustedly at his protection and then back up at Miss McCloud.

“Don’t you have any clothes I can wear to cover all this?”

“Well I think you look fine,” she said with a smile and a ruffle of his thick mop of hair - there was no doubt about it that hair definitely needed seeing to, it was such a straggly mess.

She thought for a while. “Well I suppose you can see if any of Harry’s clothes fit.”

She opened the wardrobe to let him look but few, if any, of the eight year-olds clothes were the right size or even something he’d be found dead wearing... he thought they were no better than what he was already wearing. He shrugged and looked in the draw. Harry’s underwear was all cartoon characters and way too small for him to even attempt to squeeze into. Stacked in the bottom of the closet were packages of disposables and pull-ups, as well as piles of terry cloth nappies, assorted powders and creams; apparently, Harry had a wetting problem of his own. His mother was prepared, which is why the protection Dale was now wearing had been so easily available.

As Dale moved there was, much to his alarm, a distinct and constant crackle that accompanied him. The plastic pants made their presence known and he hated that, in fact he hated the entire stupid situation he now found himself in, but couldn’t think of a way out.

Miss McCloud put her arm around Dale’s shoulder, he was about three inches shorter than her and it didn’t look like he was going to have a sudden growth spurt anytime soon. The plastic pants were as clear as glass so his thick disposable could be clearly seen and, should he have any accidents, the problem would be instantly identified. She didn’t want his rash to get any worse and knew that it would need regular treatment to keep it under control and the constant visibility, if a change was needed, was a definite plus. However, she could see that he was having difficulty with the situation but the truth was they hadn’t had time to get any extra clothing for their guest so, for the time being at least, he’d have to make do.

Suddenly she had a thought and told Dale to wait and she’d be back in a moment. Minutes later she returned with a package that was gift wrapped.

“You may as well open it now. It was going to be a present for your birthday but…” She handed him the gift.

Feverishly he opened the present and saw that it was a yellow onesie… a style of clothing he’d detested since they were all the rage, several years ago. He unfolded it and found that not only was it a onesie it was actually designed like the Pikachu character from Pokémon.

Miss McCloud was enthusiastically smiling. “Do you like it? Your Aunt Christine remembered you liked Pokémon and thought this would be fun for you…”

Dale looked up incredulously, and sneered. “Yer, when I was about six. I can’t wear this, it’s, it’s… stooopid…”

Miss McCloud looked a bit crestfallen, she thought it was a fun gift and one that he and his sisters would enjoy because of its silliness, quirkiness and childishness but perhaps they’d moved on and were no longer interested in such a playful item.

“Oh!” She said with a shrug. “Well, I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got so…” she paused for effect, “it’s either that or you stay as you are… I think you look OK but either way, it’s up to you. Come down when you’re ready and I’ll get you something to eat.”

She left him to contemplate his choices and went down to the kitchen.


Dale went back to the closet and tried to find something, anything to wear which would be better than the noisy protection or the onesie. He tried on a few pairs of shorts but they were way too small. He tried on a couple of t-shirts and jumpers but again even on his slim frame they were too much of a struggle – small he may have been but he was no eight year-old. In the end he had no choice; it was either the onesie or nappy.

Miss McCloud heard the rustling before she saw Dale as he arrived at the kitchen looking like a dispossessed Pikachu. She thought he looked ridiculous but also very, very endearing. She wasn’t really all that aware of the little yellow character, although she had heard of Pokémon, but also hadn’t realised there was a hood attached that completed the look. Dale may have hated it but it made Miss McCloud smile as she patted his bottom; more to ascertain that he still had on his protection than an act of support. He had and the bulk was clearly visible, and audible, as he sat down at the table to eat the meal she’d prepared.

He would much rather have had a spliff than a sandwich, and a beer over the glass of juice but, as he wasn’t given a choice he had to make do. Just as he was finishing up Aunt Christine arrived home and he nervously waited for what she had to say. He was also hoping against hope that his little pile of drugs he kept in one of his trainers had been found and she’d slip it too him later. Alas, it didn’t happen and probably just as well because she was still simmering about what had taken place.

She was angry at the fact that she’d trusted him (against his father’s better judgement) to accomplish such a simple task. She’d even thought that because aunt and nephew got on so well he’d respect her property and what she was trying to do for him. She hated the fact that she had misjudged his character so badly only to get her kindness thrown back in her face. Her reputation as a canny business woman had been severely undermined by one of her own family. To say she was livid would have been an understatement. She was determined that Dale should pay for his failings and, more to the point; she was in no mood to put up with her whining, useless nephew.


Seeing Dale dressed in his Pokémon outfit had made her chuckle to begin with, but despite his cute and defeated look she decided on a course of attack rather than conciliation. She sat opposite him at the table and as Miss McCloud served some food she launched into her denunciation.

“You, young man have behaved disgracefully.”

This was just the start… she was going to let him have every little thing she’d been waiting to say since seeing the state of the building he was supposed to be supervising.

“I give you a simple job; with accommodation and pay to help you out and you… you take advantage, flaunt simple common decency, renege on our deal and turn my building into a filthy drug den.”

She overstated this last part but was trying to make a point whilst not letting her emotions boil over and knock his bloody head off.

Pikachu had never looked so guilty and wriggled nervously in his seat; the only positive being the disposable and cream were helping ease his itchy crotch. Even so, he wished he had some drugs to escape her verbal assault. She seethed: The lack of respect, the damage, the sheer vindictive attitude towards her had been appalling and made her determined he should pay for all his ‘misdemeanours’.

Without a ‘spliff’ he was unable to escape from any of what she had to say so suffered under the stream of invective and anger heaped on him. He never knew his aunt could be so descriptive or her opinion of him so low, or that she could be so determined he would pay back every penny of what she thought he owed. He couldn’t give back her dented reputation but she was going to make an example of him, one that he would never forget and, as a secondary element, perhaps warn off others who might have similar ideas. She was not a woman to be trifled with.


By the time she had finished she was angry and red in the face.

His only response was a mumbled, “I’m eighteen and I can do what I want… you can’t make me do anything… I’m a grown man.”

In his aunt’s current state this was definitely the wrong way to go and she called Miriam (Miss McCloud) to give her the list. She set a spreadsheet in front of him with all the problems and related costs that his arrogant, uncaring attitude had caused - the sum total was in the tens of thousands. She then added in his ‘free’ accommodation and the salary she paid him, which she said was taken under false pretences and therefore a crime. He had no idea if this was true or not but his aunt and Miss McCloud seemed certain so he reckoned that police action might be the result. On top of that, there were photos of all the damage and, most damning of all, statements from some of the fellow tenants in the building that he supplied drugs.

His aunt was seething. “You are an adult, and you will be tried as an adult,” she flipped the list towards him. “You can leave here this very moment, dressed as you are and I never want to see you again.” She could see he was thinking about this option, “but this list and everything on it goes straight to the police and I wash my hands of you like the rest of your family.”

This last statement hit home and for the first time since his aunt had started her tirade tears formed and a sob escaped.

She hadn’t quite finished.

“I’m not going to let you off so, it’s either you go this instant or you stay and attempt to pay me back.”

She paused to see if there was a reaction but he didn’t know what to say or do. He wriggled uneasily in his noisy plastic armour.

“If you stay you will remain in this house under our rules and you will do everything we tell you without question. I will tell you now, I want my money back and as you can’t pay… you will work it off.”

She was very definite about his duty to her and the reparations he needed to make.

“This is an alternative to a probable prison sentence but let me make it perfectly clear, this will be no picnic, you will be punished for any transgression and punished severely. Mariam has already said she’s had to discipline you… that’s as nothing if you disobey in future.”

Dale sniffled and shuffled guiltily and wanted to die. He wanted a smoke more but realised that he was never going to get one so shrugged and said nothing.

Aunt Christine went to the front door and opened it. “Decision time: Go now and don’t come back or stay and adhere to our rules.”

She half expected his ‘no worries, can’t be arsed’ attitude to carry him out the door but there had been a slight change since he’d sobered up and wondered just what to do if he did leave. Where would he go? He couldn’t go home, he was hated there. He had no friends as such and certainly couldn’t go back to the accommodation; they called him a drug dealer. The possibility of ending up in prison scared him so he realised that there wasn’t any alternative.

“Are you staying or going?” Christine asked with finality.

“I’ll stay.”

She slowly closed the door, “OK then, let’s start as we mean to go on. Go to bed now.

He was quite glad to get away from both his aunt and Miss McCloud and started to waddle back to his room.

Christine and Miriam both couldn’t help notice how dejected he looked and the Pikachu outfit made the entire scene a little bizarre but there was something else.

“Are you wet?” Christine asked sternly.

During the tirade his bladder had just let loose and he was just too scared to say anything in case he got another spanking, something he wanted to avoid at all costs. He dare not say a word but with his back to his audience of two he nodded.

“OK, we’ll be up in a minute to change you.”


The racing car bed didn’t look particularly inviting but he was overcome with fatigue and threw himself down on it. He was surprised to find that he fit quite well but heard the crinkle sound which meant that there was a plastic sheet protecting the mattress as well as the safeguard he wore. So that was why he had this room, it was already equipped for a bed-wetter. He hated the idea but was far too tired to respond to the noise as he snuggled down and surprisingly immediately fell to sleep.

Christine and Miriam stood in the doorway to the attic; a small amount of daylight still penetrated the room, which seemed to fall on the sleeping figure. He hadn’t taken his Pokémon onesie off but the drop down rear flap had come undone so his thick protection could clearly be seen.

“He’s wet; do you think we should wake him up and change him?” Christine asked her loving partner.

Miriam put her arm around her waist and whispered that she thought they should let him sleep.

“The poor guy has had a rough day. I think the disposable and plastic pants should keep him reasonable comfortable and I gave him a good methodical daubing of antiseptic cream… so he should be OK.”

Christine smiled back. “I hope you aren’t going soft on the little bugger. I could have quite happily strangled him earlier when I saw the state of the building…”

“I know, I know,” Miriam said comforting her. “Now we have the opportunity to at least try and turn him around. I don’t think it’s going to be easy but, we are both determined people and I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something”.

Christine stared at the passive body that lay before them both.

“Do you know what he told the students at the house?” Raising her eyebrows as she looked to her partner, “He told them that he was a writer working on his latest novel.”

Miriam smiled and shook her head.

“Yes,” Christine shrugged and, with an expression of disbelief, looked back at the prone body, “It’s hard to believe but our Pokémon has delusions of being an author.”

With a slight sense of mocking Miriam commented. “Well it’s good that he has ambition. Who knows, perhaps there is a new Dickens residing in that yellow onesie.”

They both smiled and hugged each other.

“I think we need to start with his education.” Christine half said to herself.

“Well, my husband, er, ex-husband always says that you should keep a boy occupied.”  

She was warming to a subject she knew quite a bit about seeing as how Harry was at the same boarding school were her ex-husband taught and she’d spent some time there herself (as the faithful wife) before the divorce.

“The school insisted that boys weren’t left to lounge around, no matter how old they were. No sitting around watching TV or playing video games…” She had a further thought. “They have a dress code that is strictly adhered to, whether it’s for lessons, doing sport or taking part in some kind of social club…”

“I think that’s just what he needs but… do you think we can do that?” Christine questioned.

“Yes, but it’s going to take quite a bit of our time. He’ll need constant supervision and he’ll need a goal.”

They surveyed the room and decided to leave him for now.

“He’s got no clothes,” Miriam commented, “I don’t think he can be in that onesie for ever, which, by the way he hated, too juvenile …”

“That’s rich coming from him considering the way he behaves…”

“Yes, but we’ll have to get him something.” She said with a shrug.

“Well perhaps we make that his goal.” Christine looked at her partner for approval.

“He gets to dress as he wants if and when he passes certain levels of achievement?”

Again she was just throwing out ideas and hoping that Miriam would nod her agreement.

Miriam joined in the brainstorm.

“Yes, he could receive points when he gets to a certain level of competence.” She was on a roll now. “If he doesn’t work he gets nothing, no privileges, just the basics”

They both liked that idea.

“The number of points means he can access something; an hour’s worth of TV, time spent on a computer game… that type of thing…”

“He’s a lazy little bugger,” Christine added as a warning that she wasn’t expecting a great deal of effort on his part.

“But didn’t you say that he never got any encouragement from his family? Miriam then went on to make a suggestion. “Perhaps we need to educate him better, start again and give him a chance to improve his attitude.”

Christine seemed excited at the way the conversation was developing.

“OK, if we are going down this road of his education, let’s start with a school uniform that he has to wear for lessons,” she beamed at the thought, “I’ll get him some shorts and a shirt and tie… oh… and PE shorts, vest and trainers.  I’ve just had a brainwave about who might be able to help us.”

Christine was now quite enthusiastic as her brain was in a different, decision-making mode now and Miriam could see her plans ticking over as she looked on.

“I think your ex has the right idea about boys and I think we’ll put that particular boarding school’s ethics into practice. We need to make a few calls.”

Miriam kissed the top of Christine’s head. “Are you sure you know what you’re… we’re… letting ourselves in for?”

Christine gave a huge sigh, “No idea but I’m determined to turn Dale around... it’ll be for his own good… wont it?”


Part 3

The dream of him creating his latest blockbuster novel was turning over in his mind. His typing wasn’t quite as manic and his thoughts were less turbulent. In fact, it was more like he was watching a movie of a story he’d written, that had already been made into a movie, in which he was writing a novel.  He was slightly detracted, looking on and confused about the process. There was definitely something he should be doing but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was beginning to irritate and now people were calling so could no longer concentrate...

When Christine called in on him first thing in the morning she could see he’d hardly moved from the position in which he’d fallen asleep. He was still face down on the bed, his onesie bum flap was open and she could clearly identify, from the coloured indicating stripe on the disposable, that he was very wet indeed. Seeing as they currently had no other clothes for him she decided that, for the immediate future at least, he should wear only his protection. She thought it would make it simpler for her and Miriam to monitor just when and how often Dale pissed his pants, as well as making applying more antiseptic cream that much easier. She’d liberated one of her own old t-shirts for him to wear but that, and his nappy, would be his entire wardrobe.


Dale reluctantly left his dream and returned to the real world. It took him several moments to remember any specifics of the day before but seemed none the worse for having slept as a wet Pikachu. He rolled over to be greeted by his aunt’s stern face and then every detail came rolling back.

“Morning Dale.” She delivered the greeting without any emotion.

“Morning aunty.” He nervously awaited further instructions.

Knowing the answer already she asked, “Are you wet?”

Embarrassed he nodded.

“Right, first we need to get you out of that soaked disposable and into something drier.”

Dale squirmed uncomfortably in his sopping protection.

“Follow me.”

Slowly he dragged himself up out of bed and only then realised he was wearing a onesie but was so wet, that was the least of his problems as he shuffled after his aunt. It was an effort. His nappy had expanded so much that he thought he’d gone bow-legged. The sticky dampness clinging to his genitals was not in the least bit comfortable. She led him down to the bathroom and instructed he use the toilet.

She saw him slowly strip out of the onesie, struggle to remove the plastic pants and fiddled about trying not to touch his soaked disposable.

“I want you to use the toilet every morning at this time.”

“But aunty, what if I can’t go?” His nappy needed a bit more effort if he was to release it from his hips

“That’s simple, you’ll be carrying it around in your nappy for the rest of the day.”

Dale shuddered and a sort of “Yuuuukk” noise followed as the soggy load fell to the floor.

“You need to get into a routine: Wake up, lavatory, shower, breakfast… that sort of thing…”

He sat on the toilet wishing she’d go. How could he take a shit with someone looking but she busied herself and, although still checking he did what he was supposed to do, she gave him the privacy of not standing and encouraging him like she would have done a toddler.

Once he’d flushed she guided him to the shower.

With her naked nephew standing in front of her she couldn’t help thinking just how young he actually looked. When wearing his Pokémon outfit he looked like an eight year-old, but now naked he gave the impression of being more like a naughty twelve year-old than an obnoxious eighteen year-old.

“Miss McCloud will be with you by the time you’ve finished and will supervise from then on.”

He just shrugged.

“She’ll be in charge and you are to do exactly what she tells you… do you understand?”

As he turned on the shower she heard a mumbled reply.

“I said, do you UNDERSTAND?”

She shouted over the powerful shower jets making it clear a response was expected.

“YES AUNTY,” he yelled back, already regretting having agreed to her conditions.


As she left the room Miss McCloud swapped places and stood waiting with a towel having already prepared his bedroom for the next part of the procedure.

He wondered why the dream he’d been having had changed slightly. He had no computer, in fact, where was his computer, he’d have to ask his aunt and that might be a perilous question. Once he’d let the refreshing spray wake him up he was surprised to see his aunt’s business partner waiting and apparently preparing to rub him down. He now knew there was no point in being modest so, dripping and naked, he walked over expecting her to commence.

However, she just threw the towel at him and said. “I’m not your personal servant, do it yourself and make sure you’re scrupulous I want you completely dry.”

As he set about obeying her command she led him back to the attic.

Laid out on the floor was a plastic changing mat and a pile of other mysterious items, she indicated he should settle himself down on the mat.

“OK,” she said as a matter of fact, “I need to make sure that your rash hasn’t become infectious anywhere, so I’m afraid I need to do some light pruning.”

She produced a pair of battery operated clippers and set about removing his pubic hair. The scream of nervy indignation that this action caused was supressed as he knew better than to cause further trouble. He lay there with eyes clamped tight shut hoping that his penis or balls didn’t get snipped as he felt the buzzing implement manoeuvring around.  Miss McCloud’s expertise and professional approach had him clear of hair in just a couple of minutes and she saw that the rash had indeed developed in that damp unruly forest.

“Mmmmm,” she looked into his relieved eyes, “just as well,” she pursed her lips as if she was about to do major surgery, “that rash could have given you a terrible time if it went unchecked; it’s very inflamed.”

Miss McCloud inspected further and smiled; his now naked and smooth groin brought back happy memories of when she used to rub soothing lotion into Harry when he had his nappy changed. However, the brief pleasant reminiscence evaporated when she remembered the task in hand. She lathered on a different, thicker lotion to last time and made sure it clung and reached into every crease and crevice.  She then applied a thick balm to his spotty bottom and slipped her finger up his bum hole to make sure that got equal attention. He squirmed, it was very tender up there, which wasn’t surprising as she confirmed that the rash had become very infectious and had spread everywhere.


Once he was suitably well anointed she sprinkled loads of baby powder over it all. Again, like the previous day, she told him to hold his legs up. This time he knew what was happening and thought better than to create a scene. However, instead of a disposable she folded a thick fabric nappy under him, then added a soak pad and placed a soft liniment infused sheet on top of those. Dale cringed inwardly as Miss McCloud pinned the structure, much bulkier than the disposable, and then pulled up the noisy, crinkly, glasslike plastic pants to hold it all in place.

She wiped her hands on the discarded towel and gave Dale the t-shirt from his aunt. It was quite baggy, proclaimed that ‘Hawaii’ was the ‘Surf Capital’, but was just a little too short to hide his drooping bulging protection.

He knew he shouldn’t but tentatively asked anyway, “Are you sure I need all this?”

Miss McCloud just looked at him, she thought he looked ideal and in truth, the weather was so good he needed little else.

“Are you uncomfortable?” She enquired.

“Yes but it’s huge I…”

“Is your rash giving you problems?”

“Mmm, no, it feels…”

“Did you piss yourself last night?” Her words were meant to hit home.

“Erm… yes… but… I thought…. I mean, I wondered…”

“Until we’re sure about just how incontinent you are and that we have the inflammation under control, this is how you’ll be dressed. We can check easily if you piss yourself because we can see.  If we need to apply more lotion, and keep that lotion where it needs to be,” she indicated his nappy, “this is the best, most efficient way. The fabric is very soft and coated in ointment so shouldn’t aggravate the skin”


Until she’d said the word ‘incontinent’ he wasn’t sure it applied to him but now he wondered if it did. At home, when his father had called him it, he thought it was just an over-reaction and that anyone could have the odd ‘accident’. He hadn’t really grasped what a problem it had become and moving out, having a place of his own, had made him even more careless. He often hadn’t realised he’d pissed himself because most of the time he was so stoned it didn’t register or worry him and he certainly wasn’t aware of the itchy consequences.

“Couldn’t I wear the pull-ups in the closet instead of this bulky nappy?”

“Do you think you’ve earned the right to pants?” She said accusingly.

Dale felt a shiver run down his spine because he simply didn’t know. Was a nappy all an eighteen year-old pants-wetter could and should expect?

“Besides… I’m afraid pull-ups wouldn’t manage the flow you produce.”

She continued to tuck in the nappies edges and made sure that the plastic pants were as leak-proof as she could make them.

“For the next few days at least I need to keep an eye on that rash so there will be regular inspections for which I will need easy access and, as I’ve said, this soft fabric will be gentle enough on your skin”

She slipped her hand up past the leg of the plastic pants and into his nappy to check that he had some access to his penis. It was tight and took a bit of cajoling through the layers but, if he was determined, he could relieve himself but that wasn’t the priority. He was shocked by her action and his immediate reaction was to slap her hand away but instead he lay out on the plastic mat like an adorable, if resentful, big baby.

“If you can make it to the bathroom all well and good, but if not, don’t worry, just let one of us know you’re wet and we’ll change you.”

“What if I need to… you know… er… do a Number Two?” He suddenly felt bashful at even mentioning it.

“Haven’t you already done that?”

“Yes but… what if I need to go again? What if….”

He was suddenly thinking that messing his pants that way had never happened. Of course his boxer shorts did get a bit streaky but he’d never shit himself, well not that he could remember, but now, for some reason he thought he might.

Miss McCloud simply patted his padded, protected area and smiled as if that was the answer.

“If I have to be like this… can’t I change myself?” He hopefully ventured, “I’m not a baby I’m a grown-up.”

Whilst this was undeniably true there was also no doubt that there were certain identifiable babyish characteristic in his behaviour: His lack of awareness when he wet himself, his inability to concentrate on anything for any length of time and the reality he had no concept of the consequences to his actions.

It appeared ridiculous that an eighteen year-old in a nappy should say he was a grown up and credit to Miss McCloud, she stifled a giggle and replied straight faced to his declaration.

“Dale, it may be news to you but at the moment nobody thinks of you as very adult or a trustworthy person. No one thinks you are capable of doing anything right and most of all you have yet to prove you can be relied to use your nappy correctly.”

She saw him shiver at her criticism.

“Until we are certain about these aspects you will wear a nappy at all times, both day and night. When you need a change you come up here, collect a clean nappy, set out the lotions and powders, get out this changing mat and wait for either your aunt or I to come and attend to you. Can you do that simple task?”

He looked sheepishly at the floor feeling more like the baby he’d just protested he most definitely wasn’t. “Yes Miss McCloud.”

For the five years she’d been his aunt’s business partner (they hadn’t known it was more than that), she was always referred to as Miss McCloud, so he never thought to call her Miriam or simply Miss, it was always Miss McCloud.

“Good, then let’s get you some breakfast but before that, you need to pick up all your wet items from the bathroom. In future you’ll put the nappy and cover in the washer in the utility room and the other stuff and the disposable in the black plastic bag next to it.”

In the bathroom he picked up the sodden objects with a feeling of trepidation and disgust.

“Come on, they aren’t going to bite. From now on, this is what you’ll be required to do after all your nappy changes. You will be in charge of your own laundry so, once they are washed, you will, if the weather is suitable, hang them out on the line to dry and get a thorough airing.”

She could see he didn’t like that idea at all but was sensible enough to say nothing.

“You will be responsible for the condition of your nappies so if they are still damp when you need changing, that’s what you will wear. We are not going to be running around after you… your comfort will be your responsibility.”

He stood a little stunned at this sudden obligation.

“Once we get that rash under control, it will be up to you to keep it that way because we won’t be responsible for it, you will… and the best way to achieve that is keeping yourself as dry as possible and well protected.”


After they’d eaten Miss McCloud directed Dale towards the garden. He was shocked that he was going outside dressed in only his protection and was nervous in case anyone should see him.

“You can help me in the garden this morning,” she said handing him a small implement.

Horrified at the idea he told her, “I can’t go out dressed like this.”

“You will do exactly as you are told. “ She said with purpose and then relenting a bit, “Besides, it‘s such a beautiful day.”

“But what will the neighbours think of me in…”

He was whining and that wasn’t going to be tolerated. She picked up a bamboo cane that had been helping hold up a tall sunflower shoot and delivered a hefty swat across his padded backside. He hardly felt it but the intent was there so he immediately co-operated.

“Sorry Miss McCloud,” He wanted to make amends and avoid any further punishment.

“You need to understand Dale that there will be no slacking, no argument, no free ride, those days are now behind you. If you want anything you will have to earn it and you’ll earn it the hard way. Any defiance and you will be disciplined. Do I need to make the situation any clearer?”

She waved the cane in the air to make her point.

Alarmed Dale just shook his head and got on with the weeding he’d been designated.


The change from disposables to cloth nappies was both financial (disposables being expensive over a long period) and practical (fabric were washable so therefore re-useable), well that was how Miss McCloud had thoughtfully explained the change to Dale as she’d pinned him in earlier.

Although he wasn’t happy about their choice of dress for him, in some way he could see the sense of getting the rash and inflammation under control. Despite the bulkiness between his legs as he worked it was true that the soft material was gentle against his skin and the itch was receding. He also realised that he was perhaps wearing stuff that was originally intended for Miss McCloud’s son and thankful that at least some items fit so he didn’t have to work naked.  The constant crackle of the plastic pants accompanying every movement was annoying but they also kept his nappy dirt free.

As he worked Miss McCloud explained what each plant, flower and bush were, where they were from and what problems they had to look out for to keep the garden healthy. Later, she handed him a spade and made him dig over some bedding area in preparation for seeding. The part of the garden that needed digging was quite large and Miss McCloud wouldn’t let him slacken the pace she set. He’d never had to work as hard in his life before and, with the sun bearing down, was sweating profusely into his nappy. Every time he thought he could relax she was there beside him waving the cane. He received a couple more swats before lunch break when he got fifteen minutes to eat his sandwich and down his glass of milk.

She checked that he was damp rather than soaked and was surprised that he hadn’t wet though could be fairly certain it would only be a matter of time. Like the lady herself, the inspection was quick and efficient and he hardly had time to become embarrassed.

As he ate under her watchful eye he shuddered. He missed his drugs and missed having any control over his life (even though that was fairly hit and miss). He hated being made to wear a nappy and such fucking noisy covers but, and this was the big surprise, he was actually beginning to think that he’d wasted his life so far. His big plans to be a writer, a successful novelist had come to nothing simply because of the self-imposed distractions. He preferred to ‘mellow’ out with his friends, watch TV or play some video game rather than actually put his brain into gear and think. Perhaps he didn’t like what was happening to him but his aunt was right, he should account for his deeds. He’d fucked up big time and it was only now, with a more sober head, the shoots of awareness were beginning to bloom.

However, during the rest of the afternoon resentment and lethargy were doing equal battle in his mind with his new found awareness. However, one too many mistakes and stupid lack of respect had, as a result, seen him receive a thorough whipping across the top of his legs where the plastic pants met flesh. He squealed and danced as each blow rained down from some very effective and well-aimed strokes of the cane. His nappy was now filled with both sweat and piss; though any lethargy he may have had disappeared as he upped his digging speed to avoid any further punishment.

Miss McCloud knew he was wet but was desperate to keep him working now he realised the incentive not to, even for a short space of time, simply wasn’t worth it. Unfortunately, in his shock and fear his stomach reacted by gurgling with the promise of something Dale would rather not happen. He fought it for as long as he could but just as Miss McCloud was about to call the end to the working day, his anal muscles gave up the fight and he loaded his nappy in a most undignified wet and noisy way.

He carried on slowly digging trying to hold back his embarrassed tears, scared to stop for fear of punishment but there was no doubt that the boy was in trouble. Even worse it all coincided with the return home of his aunt who waved a quick acknowledgement, whilst he stood, legs apart and feeling the mess oozing around his privates. With even the slightest move the lumpy, dirty feeling was very distressing. The fact that his nappy was slowly changing from pristine white to a rather mucky brown meant that the soaker pads were also too full to cope. He looked over at his aunt and her lover in conversation and was desperate for them to do something. His only saving grace was that the hated noisy plastic pants had kept it all contained so there was no stream of shit running down the inside of his legs, not that that was much consolation.

His desperate attempt not to look like a stupid little baby who had no control, together with the fear and self-loathing that was coursing through his body, had left him paralysed. Somehow he had to admit to both women what had happened but, he wondered, would they rush to help him or stew in his own filth?



Part 4

An embarrassed, aching and exhausted Dale ambled cautiously up to his bedroom and prepared to be changed. As had been explained to him earlier he assembled all the items needed and stood by the side of the mat waiting for one of the ladies to come and sort him out. His blubbing had stopped now that he was in capable hands and he’d never felt more indebted.

From the moment Christine and Miriam had noticed Dale’s predicament they were nothing but concern and diligence. Because of his see-thru plastic pants they had immediately observed the developing problem, whilst the tears rolling down his face meant that it was not something he’d planned or indeed had any control over. As they rushed to his aid all he could do was mutter his apologies.

“Sorry, I’m…” he tried to hold back the despair he was feeling, “so sorry. I tried to stop it.”

His degradation was overwhelming, whilst his body shook under his weeping and torment. The poor guy, who now appeared to the two women like a small neglected child incapable of looking after himself, had them desperate to quickly fix the problem.

It had been strange that only earlier, even though it had never happened before, he was worried about soiling himself. It was if there was some kind of wish fulfilment there but couldn’t comprehend why that might happen.


There was no doubt about it Dale was very nervous around these two formidable women (though he didn’t know his father also felt the same way); they seemed to exude power and control. After the afternoon’s ‘behavioural correction’, as Miss McCloud called it, his thighs still stung though any anger and resentment were barely noticeable as he was now filthy, humiliated and extremely tired. However, because he felt smelly, clammy and uncomfortable he was actually looking forward to getting his nappy changed.

Christine led him to the bathroom and helped him out of the mess. As he wriggled free of the stinking heap the look of dejection, shame and failure were etched into his tear-stained face. The smell hardly registered with Christine as she guided him to the shower and took charge in making sure every bit of the poor boy was cleaned.

No questions this time as Dale did exactly what he was told; he turned when she said to, he held his arms up on command and he bent over and felt the wonderful warm shower clearing away the remains of his accident. Once that was accomplished she soaped and shampooed the rest of his body whilst inspecting the marks on his legs where Miriam had used the cane. Happy there was no serious damage she wrapped him in a towel and told him to go up to his bedroom.


A few minutes later she entered his room carrying a couple of bags, which she put down on his bed, then indicated Dale should lie out on the plastic mat. He slumped down naked but with relief. Christine didn’t know why he’d stood shivering and waiting to be told he could sit but she liked the fact that unbidden he had sought permission; perhaps there was some understanding of his situation penetrating that addled brain.

She’d thought Miriam had done a rather thorough job fastening him in that morning and, as it turned out, the soak pad had been needed. However, this time she thought she’d be on the safe side and add further pads… just in case. She inspected the rash, both front and back and, after an antiseptic wet-wipe of his entire genital area, re-applied more lotion before securing him into an even thicker and well stuffed nappy. Dale didn’t mind. Huge though his nappy now was he smiled for the first time, desperately grateful to be out of the soggy and heavy mass, it was a relief to be snug and dry.

Christine told him to wait where he was on the mat while she unpacked the bags she’d brought up with her. He was happy just to lie, in fact, had it not been so early he could just as easily have dropped off there and then.

She hung a few of things up in the wardrobe, put a few more items in the draws and finally brought a new pair of plastic pants over to fit him in.  These weren’t as tight as the other pair but just as see-thru. However, they were voluminous, capable of covering a much thicker nappy than the one he had on, although the downside was that they crinkled even more. She slid them up his legs and made sure his nappy was completely contained before she made him stand up. She smoothed and tucked, well aware that the bulge behind the nappy was much bigger than before. Dale was obviously reacting to the physicality of the operation, but she also knew that the extra padding would keep him snug, safe… and moral.

It wasn’t that she had a problem with him doing what a normal teenage boy did but she didn’t want it to be an easy escape from his responsibilities. She wanted him to think about everything he did - its consequences and not do it simply because it was ‘something to do.’ She knew boys will find a way to relieve themselves no matter how many hurdles were put in their way but, she liked the idea of there being hurdles, then perhaps the accomplishment was worthwhile.


Over the evening meal his aunt explained that she was impressed that he had got so much of the garden excavated but was not impressed that Miss McCloud had to discipline him. He sat and squirmed in the comfort of his thick dry nappy, though mentally could still feel those hefty swats hitting the back of his thighs.

“Yes, I’m really sorry.” He looked from his aunt to her lover, “I’m really very sorry Miss McCloud.”

Indeed he was sorry; he bore the marks to prove it. Meanwhile, the tears he’d shed at the time had made no difference he still had to get on and finish the work whether he was hurting or not.

 “Tomorrow we begin a new era, well, you begin a new era,” Christine corrected, “and you’d better be on your best behaviour. For the foreseeable future your life is going to be busy; a nonstop rollercoaster of exertion and stimulation.”

Again Dale shuffled uneasily in his nappy not daring to ask the question he was dying to ask, ‘What exactly did that mean?’

He wanted something to take his mind off it and to relax so asked if he could watch TV.

“You haven’t earned any points yet to qualify to have any treats.” Miss McCloud answered.

“TREATS?” The word loudly slipped out without him thinking.

“Yes, you have to earn everything from now on. We told you that there was no more free rides so, as it is for everyone else, you need to earn your livelihood. Points will be awarded to your tasks and, if they are carried out to the specified levels, you will eventually be able to swap those points for rewards. TV is a reward, as is computer time, video games, clothing, food, your room and the roof over your head.” She spread her all-encompassing arms to indicate everything.

“Fucking hell aunty, what kind of…” he nearly went on with his own frustrated angry outburst but that flash in his aunt’s eye made him think again.

“BED… NOW.” She was fuming and needed a couple of moments to calm down.

“I’m sor…”

“NOW,” she screamed, “and wait by your bed.”

It was only six thirty but Dale knew he’d made a huge mistake and dreaded what was about to happen but flew up the stairs to his room as best as he could; the bulkiness making progress difficult but scared that if he dawdled he’d get into further trouble.


After five minutes he could hear the ladies coming up the stairs. In his head he’d already prepared his apology and thought, together with a few heartfelt sobs, his recent messy accident and their understanding of that problem, he might get away with his outburst.

Miss McCloud told him to take down his plastic pants. He tried to say something but she ignored him as he reluctantly and noisily, pulled them down around his ankles.

“Now the nappy.”

He unpinned the bulk and let it slide to the floor.

“Now, bend over the end of the bed.”

“Pleaseeee aunty, Miss McCloud, don’t do this I’m really very sorry. I promise I…”

“Over the end of the bed now. If I have to make you,” his aunt said determinedly, “you will receive twice the punishment.”

Once again his legs were paralysed with fear and he couldn’t get them to make even the most basic movement.

Miss McCloud grabbed him and pushed him over the bed. She held his head down so that his naked and spotty bottom was available for what his aunt intended on doing. He soon found out that the caning he’d received earlier was as nothing compared to the hairbrush that was suddenly inflaming his rear.  With each crack he screamed in pain but Miss McCloud’s grip prevented him from doing anything but suffer.


He couldn’t believe his aunt had such a powerful swing though the only thought he had was praying it would soon stop. Tears poured down his chin, snot was drippling into his mouth and he was wracked in the most excruciating agony he could have imagined. His squealing apology was falling on deaf ears and he trembled as his nervous system shakily took over control of his body.

His learning curve had suddenly hit a steep gradient and any sympathy they may have had for his earlier messy predicament was clearly a thing of the past.

After what seemed like hours to Dale, she stopped. The women had planned that both would deliver any discipline but Christine had maintained her rhythm and thought she should complete his punishment. His spotty bottom was now purple and raw but he was too scared to do anything but cry. He couldn’t even apologise for his outburst he just lay, bent over his bed and wailed into his pillow.

After a few moments Christine told him to get up. He felt too exhausted to even move but the worry that more punishment would be meted out saw him slowly rise. He was too embarrassed to turn around and he dare not because he’d not been given permission to do so.

With a sigh of fatigue Christine hugged her nephew. Miss McCloud joined them in the embrace and the three of them stood holding each other for a few minutes. Four firm large breasts held the weeping naked boy in place but he was in no state of mind to appreciate the situation. This strange but loving act confused Dale and his bawling increased. Eventually Christine broke the little circle and turned Dale to face her. He looked a picture of abject misery.

“Do you know why you’ve been punished?” She spoke softly so as not to alarm the boy further.

He was trying to control his sobbing and finally was able to nod.

In truth she probably landed more than was absolutely necessary. She’d kept her anger in check but there were still some residual feelings of rage that had spurred her on to make sure he understood his lowly position.

The terror in Dale’s weepy eyes told her she may have gone too far but, as she reapplied the cream and fastened back his protection she needed to make sure he knew about consequences.

She pushed his thick mop of hair away from his forehead and quietly told him.

“You’ve got to learn quicker than that. No one will put up with your bad behaviour or smart mouth or lax attitude any more. You need to avoid punishment because you just aren’t built to take it.”

He dare not say a word. His bottom was throbbing and there were still a huge amount of tears he hadn’t expelled yet but was afraid to do so in front of his aunt. Miss McCloud guided him to his bed and helped him climb in; such was the pain in his bottom he decided to sleep on his front.  She went to the wardrobe and pulled out the one thing that always comforted Harry when he was upset and laid it at the forlorn lad’s side. The big stuffed Tigger wasn’t immediately grabbed but as Dale’s coping mechanism collapsed once more and the tears started to flow he reached out and hugged the toy animal tightly.

Neither Christine nor Miriam felt proud of what they’d done but both thought it had been necessary. As they left the room the sight of him clutching Tigger and dressed only in his protection, his huge, shiny, padded plastic bottom the focus of attention, actually made both women quite broody and they too had an early night.


The dream of being an author or him being in a movie was replaced by a mix of short confusing scenes. The main point to them all was that he couldn’t find his way home. In one he was standing at a bus stop but didn’t know the correct number bus to get on, so he was afraid to get the ones that came in case they took him to the wrong place.

In another he was out in the middle of the desert, again waiting for a bus, but on a long empty road that disappeared in a straight line off into infinity. There was no traffic but it was hot, he could feel the sweat flooding his clothes but he was desperate to find a way home. Suddenly huge white arrows appeared on the road’s surface pointing off towards the horizon. He was nervous; his clothes were soaked in perspiration, the water bottle empty and knew he’d die if he didn’t move. However, he was suspicious of these indicating arrows and decided to go in the opposite direction. That way lay a curvier road.  It led to scary, precarious rocks, then a jungle and there were mountains in the distance.  But that distant jungle would offer shade, whereas the straight road had none. As he walked he could hear animal noises and he sensed that he was being stalked. He staggered along, the heat was unforgiving, his clothes stuck to his body and fear began creepy up on him as he realised he wasn’t alone.

The roar scared him. His entire body jerked in response as he spun to face the attacker.


Part 5

The sudden panic had woken him. He opened his eyes and was immediately confronted by the face of a wild animal. He felt his body drain of blood as fear took over. For the briefest of seconds he was terrified until he recognised Tigger. A huge sigh of relief escaped as he grasped he was in his own room. However, that noise that had scared him in sleep came again.



 “What the…?” A confused Dale saw an old man lingering at the side of his bed.

“I’m Mr Brown, but you can call me Sir… or, more usually, Mr Brown sir.” The old man said in a very authoritative voice.

Dale was wriggling uncertainly under his blanket wondering what a strange, six foot tall, grey haired old man with sparkling eyes was doing in his bedroom. He looked around to see if his aunt or Miss McCloud were to be seen but it was just the two of them. He felt very uncomfortable and pulled up the blanket as a security shield.

“Your aunts have asked for my assistance.”

It was the first time Dale had thought of them both as aunts and not individuals but the old man had more to say.

“I am to be responsible for your physical wellbeing, education, social and moral welfare.”

Dale didn’t like the sound of that.

“Like fuck you are.” His comment was derisive and dismissive.

“I think the first thing is for you to lose that attitude, no one likes a foulmouthed teen… what are you thirteen, fourteen…?

“Eighteen?” Dale said indignantly.

“Eighteen?” Mr Brown looked on in surprise as he pulled away the blanket to reveal Dale wearing his necessary but childish bulky protection.

“HEY!” Dale reacted to the sudden revelation and tried, somewhat chastened, to grab back his bedding. “Give that back you mad old twat.”

Without a word Mr Brown reached in and grabbed him by the arm. Dale was surprised that the old man had such a powerful grip as he easily yanked the squirming teenager from his warm, if juvenile bed. Pulling desperately to try and get away Dale was no competition for Mr Brown who dragged him over to a chair propped against the wall. Mr Brown sat himself down and hauled the screaming and abuse shouting boy over his knee.

“Stop it, stop it, I’m not a fucking kid anymore. You can’t hit me. STOP IT.” He screamed and wriggled and fought but it was useless. “Nooooo!”

With a quick twist of the arm up his back pain shot through his body and his noisy resistance came to an end.

Mr Brown patted the plastic covering and, as one hand held Dale steady, the other pulled down his protection in a swift movement. The purple was fading from the previous night’s beating but was soon being replaced by the hefty hand swats of this remarkably tough old man. Dale’s legs swung and danced in protest as each wallop hit its mark. Mr Brown was thorough, severe and accurate, whilst the squealing boy on his lap could do nothing but writhe in agony.


Tears were streaming down his face as he pleaded for it to end. However, it would only stop after the man had made sure further defiance was understood to be futile. Dale’s bottom was red hot and throbbing but Mr Brown wouldn’t let him rub or try to soothe away the pain. Instead, he made the recalcitrant teen stand in front of him and apologise for swearing.

The agony and embarrassment left him speechless with supressed fury and obvious fear.

As he stood silent, apart from the sniffing back of tears, Mr Brown surveyed his charge. He certainly didn’t look eighteen; he put him early teens at the most. His shaven pubic area, sad sulky bottom lip and weepy eyes made him look even younger, whilst that mop of black hair certainly needed attending to; a boy in his care had to be smart. The rule was, hair should be off the collar, no rings or piercings, nor jewellery of any kind and always dressed appropriately. He knew he would very quickly have to impress on this particular student the rules by which he was going to be living.

“I’m waiting for an apology young man.”

Dale squirmed under the man’s scrutiny. He desperately wanted to say then he’d die waiting but any thoughts of being clever and obstinate were no longer part of his vocabulary. He wanted to run away, he wanted his mum, at that moment he wanted someone to offer comfort and take away the hurt but all he had was a very stern looking man who wasn’t going away anytime soon.


The apology was taking far too long so Mr Brown reached out and dragged the crying boy back over his knee. Two swats later and the apology arrived. Ten swats later and Dale’s sore bottom throbbed as if a thousand wasps had descended and left their sting. Not only that but he was promising this tyrant anything he asked if only the punishment would stop. Eventually it did but still made the quivering boy stand to attention and apologise properly with an undertaking that he’d never swear again. The weeping and very sore-bottomed teen had no option but to pledge to do whatever the man demanded and in return the man promised that should he even think about returning to his old ways, he would be disciplined even more severely. Dale looked into the man’s eyes as he said this and realised there was no doubt at all in the threat.

“Right, now we’re on the same page… we are late.” The old man went to the wardrobe and pulled out a vest, trainers and a pair of gym shorts.

Dale was smarting from the spanking and really didn’t know what was going on but knew that he’d better not annoy this man again. With Mr Brown searching in his wardrobe Dale tentatively rubbed his bottom to try and relieve some of the sting that was still careering around his body. His bum had taken a great deal of punishment over the past couple of days so, as he secretly tried to alleviate the pain, he was certain that he didn’t want to experience any more.

He caught the clothing as it was tossed to him but, with his nappy and pants still around his ankles he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“For heaven’s sake boy pull up you nappy.”

Suddenly Mr Brown told him to wait.

“Are you wet?” He enquired.

Dale was looking at the ground and despite his reluctance to answer eventually found his voice and to his genuine surprise found he was dry.


Mr Brown looked a little exasperated.

“No what?”

“No I’m not wet,” Dale responded petulantly until he saw the look on Mr Brown’s face and realised his mistake.

“No I’m not wet Mr Brown sir.”

Mr Brown nodded, “Let’s start the way we mean to carry on. Polite, focused and enthusiastic so… let’s try that again.”

With a touch more enthusiasm and a little less resentment he repeated his words.

 “No I’m not wet Mr Brown… SIR.”

Mr Brown nodded his approval. His stern expression gave way to one of jovial friendliness.

“Right we are going for a little jog.”

Mr Brown noticed the look of alarm flit across the boy’s face but Dale was smart enough not to say a word.

“So, pull up your pants, tuck in your nappy and put on your gym kit.”


The shorts were very short white cotton gym shorts that only just covered (though didn’t conceal) his bulky protection. The white vest was also short and tight which hardly reached the top of his nappy, thankfully the trainers fit fine. They were plain white though not a brand that Dale recognised but at least the size was correct. It was only then that he noticed the time on Mr Brown’s watch and it read 6.30. Six thirty in the morning was not a part of the day Dale had been acquainted with for quite some time. He normally didn’t get up until much later and even staying with his aunt hadn’t had to rise until around 8.30. However, this powerhouse of an old man was dressed in a tracksuit and ready to take his unwilling student on his first ever jog so they seemed little option.

Mr Brown understood that this was all new to Dale. In the conversation he’d had with his friends Christine and the lovely Miriam they’d explained his background, told him what they expected and that their ultimate goal was to have a nephew who was a productive and useful member of society. Because of his fascinating background they thought Mr Brown was just the man to do the job.

Mr Edward Brown was almost 70 year old; ex-marine, ex-boxer and ex-school master at one of the UK’s top private schools. He was a stickler for protocol and imbued his students with a confidence and energy that few other teachers could accomplish. He was stern, uncompromising, dedicated and got results. He had many successes, was well-liked by his students simply because he never sold them short, always encouraged and gave himself completely over to the advancement of his boys. It was said that with Mr Brown in your corner, nothing was impossible and many students, including some very high powered people, acknowledged his positive effect on their lives.


Now he’d set the boundaries with Dale he was hopeful that he could get on and help the boy accomplish something with his life. First he needed to test him to see what level he was at in fitness and knowledge. He was aware that Dale was a bit worried about running the streets wearing such a skimpy pair of shorts that exposed his nappy. Mr Brown’s view was that worrying about such a minor thing was a waste of energy and focus; if he had to wear a nappy, for whatever reason, that was his business and nothing to do with anyone else.

The jog was slow as a reluctant Dale wasn’t in the least bit enthusiastic. They hadn’t travelled very far when the sprightly Mr Brown joked and cajoled his latest student to try and at least keep up with the ‘old man’ – hoping by using Dale’s opinion of him in a jocular manner to spur him on. However, he could see that the nappy was interfering as Dale kept trying to pull his shorts down a little in an attempt and hide it.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said eying the problem, “You’d be surprised how many lads your age still wear a nappy. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, nor should you let it define you. Why not regard it as ‘super underwear’ and you’re one of those ‘chosen’ to wear them?”

He beamed at his little joke and Dale saw that perhaps his nappy wasn’t that much of a problem after all. After all, even this old lunatic wasn’t mocking him for wearing them.

“Super Undies?” Dale considered the idea and then shrugged. “Yes, everyone will want to wear them with that name.”

They chuckled at the thought as they navigated their way through the public.

Although Dale was having trouble keeping up, partly because his bottom was still throbbing from the discipline, he became less concerned with the bulky thing that kept his dick warm on such a cool early morning run. There were many people bustling along on their way to work and the two, master and student, jogged between them and completed their first circuit.

Mr Brown was full of praise and encouragement even though Dale was almost dead from this initial effort. However, the pat on the back and the continual reassurance from this ‘old twat’ was having an effect. The teen had never been praised before. He’d never had someone give such individual effort to his wellbeing so that when Mr Brown suggested another circuit, despite him being knackered, Dale was unexpectedly desperate to take up the challenge.


During the next circuit he wet himself. It was only after it had happened that he became aware of the sogginess in his nappy. He didn’t know whether to tell Mr Brown about it or just carry on but the cooling urine and bunched up protection was causing some concern so he reluctantly and nervously explained the situation. He was worried that the old man would call him names and think he was nothing but a ‘big baby’ but it didn’t happen that way at all. Mr Brown acknowledged the problem and guided him back to the house with constant reassurances and support. Again this wasn’t what he expected from this stern man who he now realised, once he got to know him, was on his side. Perhaps it was because of his clear head but it had only taken a short jog for him to realise this and the revelation was surprising.

Christine and Miriam were having breakfast when they arrived back, both dressed in business suits and looking as intimidating as ever. Mr Brown was greeted with a kiss and hug, whilst they both had positive words for Dale who, despite his soaked nappy, looked fresh and blooming after his early morning exercise. His protection was beginning to annoy him so he was in a hurry to get it off and slip into the shower to refresh and revitalise. But first he remembered his aunt’s instructions to use the toilet before enjoying the powerful warm jets that strafed his body.


When he’d finished, and he gathered up his wet things, returned to his room and was surprised to find Mr Brown waiting for him. The mat and all the things he needed had been set out and Dale wondered if he would watch while his aunt or Miss McCloud changed him. Mr Brown indicated that he should lie out on the mat. Dale was more than a little reluctant but Mr Brown’s soothing words soon had him complying.

“Do you know how many boys I’ve had to change?” He asked with a humour in his voice.

It was a rhetorical question and he didn’t expect an answer.


“Yes, but I’m not a boy… I’m a man,” He suddenly worried if he was on shaky ground, was he a man?

Mr Brown shrugged. “Don’t be in such a rush to bracket yourself… just enjoy the freedom that your current situation offers.”

Mr Brown tapped the mat and was insistent that Dale now do as he was bid. 

“I don’t ask twice,”

Dale had quickly learned what that look meant so immediately complied.

“I hope we become friends, of sorts anyway, and that you trust me to have your best interests at heart.” Using the towel he wiped the last remaining droplets of water away. “Your aunts have gone to work so I will be supervising until they return and then you are their responsibility.”

He said the last few words as if Dale was lucky to have such wonderful women in his life; it was obvious he thought very highly of them.

The rash was healing nicely but Mr Brown still daubed on a great gluey mass of antiseptic cream and joked as he sprinkled powder all over the well anointed spot. The old man had made what could have been an awkward situation into a light, unfussy process which quickly saw him pinned securely.

Mr Brown completed the task by shimmying a softer pair of blue plastic pants over the bulge, which together with the tighter fitting nappy, gave the teen a weirdly new found confidence.

“Your aunts insist that you stay well protected and I have to agree with them, until you can get the incontinence under control, this will keep you dry and you’ll have the self-assurance that such security offers.”


Mr Brown went to the wardrobe and saw what was hung up waiting for the next part of Dale’s education.

He passed him a white shirt and told him to put it on, which he did. He then handed him a tie and told him to do the same. Dale hadn’t worn a tie since he was at school, he hated them, but Mr Brown was insistent so he struggled and eventually it was in place. At first Dale didn’t know where all these clothes were coming from but then remembered that his aunt had hung stuff up the previous night. He also recalled just how sore his bottom had been after her spanking and a shiver ran down his spine as he shuffled nervously around in his nappy.  He didn’t want a repeat of that so when he was given a pair of grey school shorts to wear, although he wanted to rebel and to scream ‘NO’, instead he meekly stepped into them and pulled them over his bulging protection. Like his gym shorts, they covered rather than concealed.

“That’s better,” Mr Brown said approvingly.

“I don’t understand… why am I dressed as a schoolboy?” He was looking disdainfully at his new outfit.

“Because you are going back to school.”

 It was a statement of fact that Mr Brown wasn’t sure needed further explanation however, he noticed the confusion drift across Dale’s face.

“Your aunts have decided you need another chance to… get on in life.”

He looked to see if Dale was paying attention.

“Don’t worry we won’t be starting from scratch but for the time being at least, part of your day will be spent on your re-education, whilst I’m sure your aunts will have plans to occupy you at other times.”

As Mr Brown was explaining Dale’s immediate future he passed him a pair of knee length grey socks and a pair of new black shoes to complete the uniform. There was also a jumper with a crest on it that Mr Brown thought finished the entire ensemble off just right. He nodded approvingly at the relatively smart boy who had suddenly materialised in front of him but, he would have to do something with that long thick hair, it just was spoiling the entire image.

“Mr Brown… sir… isn’t all this,” and his hands panned down his juvenile clothes, “all a bit childish?”

His teacher smiled, “Well Dale there are several ways you can look at this: We are going to explore you and your intellect and we are going to do that within the framework of school.”

Dale shrugged not really liking where this appeared to be going.

“However, I have found, over the years, that a school uniform gives a student focus, he’s not distracted about what others are wearing because, well, everyone is wearing the same. A school uniform is often derided by those who have never felt pride in anything. It can be a source of ‘family and fraternity’ something that binds you to another person, a group, an idea… it is the start of when a person begins to feel some self-respect”

Dale was not particularly feeling it at that moment.

“A schoolboy uniform,” Mr Brown continued, “is no different from any other uniform; in the armed services, the pilot of a jetliner, the captain of a ship or even stacking tins of beans at your local superstore, all have a uniform; it’s a unifying emblem that says you belong. It may seem strange to think it but a uniform gives you an identity, it gives you purpose, it gives you the opportunity to be part of something bigger than yourself. Though you may not know it, you are part of something special and should wear that uniform with pride.”

“But why am I wearing shorts,” he looked down uncomprehendingly, “Why not trousers?”

“You are wearing the same uniform that Harry would wear to his school. Perhaps you’re wearing his clothes?”

Dale shrugged. None of it was making too much sense but was still a bit fazed by the speech and didn’t really know what to say. However, Mr Brown noticed that his latest pupil was a bit nonplussed by it all and thought he’d try to put his mind at rest.

“Or if you prefer…” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “because I say so.”

Dale didn’t know whether to laugh or not so instead he simply followed Mr Brown down the stairs and out into the garden.


The small summer house had been equipped with a desk, chair and a few other items that were needed.

“This will be your classroom. Every morning, after your exercise and breakfast, you will assemble here at 8.30, dressed as you are now and be prepared to commence work.”

It was making no sense to Dale and again he felt the urge to tell Mr Brown to fuck off, and take his aunt and Miss McCloud with him. However, he stifled his defiance and went along with what was being said. At the back of his mind were the severe beatings he’d taken for being mouthy and not complying with what, in retrospect, were fairly basic requirements of politeness and respect.

“I want you to achieve all those things that as a small boy you yearned to achieve. Hopefully we’ll even surpass those aspirations and give you new ones. Who knows, maybe we can get that best-selling novel out of you.”

Dale was shocked. How did this man know about his dream? How on Earth could he possibly know that was what he craved for before? Well, that was before he found other things which simply stopped him having to think. He shifted uneasily in his cumbersome shorts and actually wondered if this man was a mind-reader or something even scarier.

The old man had already proved that he was fit; he had drive, he had personality, he also had a bloody hard hand if Dale stepped out of line but, and this was slowly dawning on his no longer drug addled brain, the man was there totally for his benefit.

Even when younger and at school he couldn’t remember any of the staff being as encouraging as this man was. He couldn’t remember ever being spoken to in a reasonable tone; it was always condescension, mockery, contempt or a battle trying to get his voice heard over the clamour of a class full of noisy kids. As he settled at the prepared desk, and despite the silly uniform (though his tight-fitting nappy and shorts were remarkably comfortable), his padded bottom sitting snugly cushioned on the hard chair, he thought he should at least give the man a chance and see where it led. Besides, he needed to find out how he knew about his writing ambitions.

On the second day Mr Brown took a pair of scissors and the clippers to Dale’s thick bush of hair and gave him a style, much shorter and more acceptable to the teacher’s high personal standards. Dale hadn’t wanted to lose his long dark locks but another fight, and one he knew he’d never win, would have been pointless so he just let him get on with it. However, his mood improved when his aunt and Miss McCloud both commented separately on how much more ‘mature’ he looked with it shorter. Which, even though he was wearing a schoolboy uniform pleased him no end?


Over the coming weeks Dale excelled in his personal development. Without drugs or alcohol, but with a nutritious if Spartan diet, his body and demeanour improved. The lessons weren’t as bad as he anticipated, the exercise he was now forced to undertake was beneficial and fun, whilst the resentment and lackadaisical attitude he had to life waned rapidly once he saw that his ‘novel’ was taking shape under Mr Brown’s encouraging guidance. He even didn’t mind the schoolboy uniform if that’s what his teacher insisted he wear, whilst his respect and gratitude for this old man was rocketing with each passing day.

In the afternoon, once his education for the day was over, Aunt Christine or Miss McCloud would take Dale off to work on some project where he was given the job to paint, decorate, garden or repair, in fact, do the things he’d been paid to do previously. The work on these many and varied properties was constant. It was hard work just keeping up with all the old properties they owned but as new ones came onto the company’s portfolio, the demands on his time grew and grew. Often he didn’t finish until late at night, when he’d tumble home in a soaked nappy and be almost too tired to change. His aunt and Miss McCloud no longer supervised his urinal needs, that was his own responsibility but, as he continued to have his wetting problem, the fabric nappies and protection stayed an important part of his life.

He’d come to accept that his aunt and Miss McCloud had been correct in making him ‘re-pay’ his debts and although the work was hard they hadn’t abandoned him and he still lived in their home where most of his needs were met. These days his dreaming was intermittent; possibly because he was so worn out at the end of each day. However, the old dream of him being an author occasionally returned but now it had a touch of clarity about it. Plots and dialogue had replaced manic typing and now, shrouded each night in a thick and comforting fluffy nappy, he woke to a dry bed even if his protection was soaked through, although even that occurrence was getting less often.

Strangely, Dale found his daily protection had become an integral element in the overall positive mood he was now enjoying and rarely gave a thought to anyone who might see or comment on them, though in truth, few people did. He often worked with the top of his nappy showing above his waistband and, as he always wore shorts (another ‘habit’ he’d adopted) the thick silky bulky plastic could often be seen drooping down his legs… he didn’t care.

Under Mr Brown’s guidance he quickly comprehended just what was being offered and his outlook on life changed immediately. No silly arguments, no protestations, no shirking responsibilities. Indeed he was eternally grateful to the two women who saved him from becoming a useless, drugged idiot who achieved nothing. He was rejuvenated, happy, motivated and often couldn’t wait for his early morning run so that he might exchange ideas with wonderful mentor.

Once in the classroom those ideas were developing his first novel, he was resolutely exploring each storyline and playing with nuances. He felt invigorated at how, with such incredible encouragement from those around him, that youthful ambition was slowly but ultimately taking shape. He happily worked as hard as he could during the day and, if he had the time, at night he’d be back and working on his literary project.

Now there didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to achieve what he wanted to do and, with no procrastination in his life, he was desperate to start another chapter… in every sense of the word.


After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index

© Copyright 1999 - 2021 VTL DailyDi Websites for - All Rights Reserved
"The Daily Diaper", "DailyDiapers" and "Daily Diapers" are trademarks of